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diff --git a/41032-8.txt b/41032-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 54803d5..0000000 --- a/41032-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,57878 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World. Volume III; Numbers 1, -2, 3, 4, 5, 6., by E. Rameur - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Catholic World. Volume III; Numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. - A Monthly Eclectic Magazine - -Author: E. Rameur - -Release Date: October 12, 2012 [EBook #41032] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, VOLUME III *** - - - - -Produced by Don Kostuch - - - - -[Transcriber's notes] - This text is derived from - http://www.archive.org/details/catholicworld03pauluoft - - Although square brackets [] usually designate footnotes or - transcriber's notes, they do appear in the original text. - - This text includes Volume III; - Number 1--April 1866 - Number 2--May 1866 - Number 3--June 1866 - Number 4--July 1866 - Number 5--August 1866 - Number 6--September 1866 -[End Transcriber's notes] - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -_Monthly Magazine_ - -of - -GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. - - - -VOL. III. - -APRIL TO SEPTEMBER, 1866. - - - -NEW YORK: - -LAWRENCE KEHOE, PUBLISHER, - -145 Nassau Street. - -1866. - - - -CONTENTS. - - - -All-Hallow Eve; or The Test of Futurity, 97, 241. -Abbey, Glastonbury, 150. -Animal Life, Curiosities of, 232. -Alexandria, Christian Schools of, 354, 484. -Abbeville, a Day at, 590. -Asses, Dogs, Cats, etc., 688. -A Celtic Legend, 810. - -Benedictines, Rise of, 150. -Buried Alive, 805. - -Curiosities of Animal Life, 232. -Catholic Publication Society, The, 278. -Christian Schools of Alexandria, The, 354, 484. -Cuckoo and Nightingale, The, 543. -Cardinal Tosti, 851. - -Dr. Spring, Reminiscences of, 129. -Dreamers and Workers, 418. -De Guérin, Eugénie, Letters from Paris, 474. - -Eirenicon, Reply to, by Very Rev. Dr. Newman, 46. -Eirenicon, Pamphlets on the, 217. -Eve de la Tour d'Adam, 366. -Ecce Homo, 618. -Episcopal Church, Doctrine on Ordination, 721. - -France, Two Pictures of Life in, 411. -Franciscan Missions on the Nile, 768. - -Glastonbury Abbey, 150. -Gerbet, l'Abbe, 308. -God Bless You, 593. -Gipsies, The, 702. - -Haven't Time, 92. -Hürter, Frederick, 115. -Heaven, Nearest Place to, 433. - -Ireland and the Informers of 1798, 122. -Irish Folk Books of the Last Century, 679. - -Jenifer's Prayer, 17, 183, 318. - -Kilkenny, a Month in, 301. - -Legend, a Celtic, 810. - -Miscellany, 137, 421, 570, 853. -Madeira, Tinted Sketches in, 265. - -Newman, Very Rev. Dr., Saints of the Desert, 16, 170, 334. -Newman, Very Rev. Dr., Reply to Dr. Pusey's Eirenicon, 46. -New York; Religion in, 381. -Necklace, the Pearl, 693. -Nile, Franciscan Missions on the, 768. -Nile, Solution of the Problem of the, 828. - -Old Thorneley's Heirs, 404, 443, 599, 738. -Our Ancestors, Industrial Arts of, 549, 780. - -Patriarchate of Constantinople, Present State of, 1. -Prayer, Jenifer's, 17, 183, 318. -Problems of the Age, 145, 289, 518, 577, 758. -Perico the Sad, 497, 660, 787. -Perreyve, Henri, 845. - -Reminiscences of Dr. Spring, 129. -Religion In New York, 381. -Reading, Use and Abuse of, 463. -Rome the Civilizer of Nations, 638. - -Saints of the Desert, The, 16, 170, 334 -Steam-Engine, Proposed Substitutes for, 29. -St. Paul, Youth of, 531. -Sealskins and Copperskins, 557. - -The Age, Problems of, 145, 289, 518, 577, 758. -Turkestan, A Pretended Dervish in, 198, 370. -Two Pictures of Life In France before 1848, 411. -Three Women of our Time, 834. -Tosti, Cardinal, 851. - -Unconvicted, 404, 443, 599, 738. -Use and Abuse of Reading, 463. - -Virtue, Statistics of, 731. - -Weddings, East Indian, 635. - --------- - -POETRY. - -Bury the Dead, 379. -Banned and Blessed, 306. - -Christine, 32, 171, 335. -Claims, 556. -Carols from Cancionero, 692. -Christian Crown, The, 736. - -D«y-Dreams, 483. - -Hymn, 548. -Holy Saturday, 634. - -Lockharts, Legend of the, 127. -Lost for Gold, 826. - -Mater Divinae Gratiae, 216 -May Breeze, 442. - -Our Neighbor, 317. -Our Mother's Call, 462. - -Poor and Rich, 240. -Peace, 410. - -Requiem AEternam, 263. - -Shell, Song of the, 96. -Sapphics, 517. -Sacrilege, the Curse of, 656. -Sonnet, 850. - -The King and the Bishop, 528. -Therein, 597. -The Martyr, 617. -Thy Will be Done, 778. - -Words of Wisdom, 121 - - ------- - -{iv} - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -Archbishop Hughes, Life of, 140. -Apostleship of Prayer, 428. -Agnes, 431. -Appleton's Annual Cyclopaedia, 719. -Army of the Potomac, Medical Recollections of, 854. - -Biology, Spencer's Principles of, 425. -Blessed Virgin, Devotion to in North America, 574. -Biographical Dictionary, 574 -Books for Young People, 720. -Criterion, Tuckerman's, 143. -Christ the Light of the World, 144. -Christus Judex, 288. -Christian Examiner, 427. -Christine,717. -Cosas de Espana, 858. - -Dictionary, Webster's, 143. -Draper's Text Books of Chemistry, etc, 576. -Darras' Church History, 719. - -Eirenicon, Dr. Pusey's, 283. -Eugénie de Guérin, Letters of, 859. -English Language, Practical Grammar of, 860. - -Faber's New Book, 287. -Froude's History of England, 718. - -Grahams, The, 288. -Grant, Headley's Life of, 575. - -Hughes, Archbishop, Life of, 140. -Holy Childhood, Report of, 573. -Headley's Life of Grant, 575. -Homes without Hands, 860. - -Kennett, Story of, 431. -Keating's Ireland, 432. - -Mount Hope Trial, 430. -Marshall's Missions, 430. -May Carols, De Vere's, 432. -Marcy's Army Life, 716. - -New-Englander, The, 855. - -Prayer, Apostleship of, 428. -Priest and People, Good Thoughts for, 431. -Poetry of the Civil War, 576. - -Queen's English, A Plea for the, 857. -as -Spencer's Principles of Biology, 425. -Spalding's Miscellanea, 571. -Shakespeare on Insanity, 860. - -Wyoming, Valley of, 859. - ------- - -{1} - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -VOL. III., NO. 1.--APRIL, 1866. - - - -[ORIGINAL.] - - -THE PRESENT STATE OF THE -PATRIARCHATE OF CONSTANTINOPLE. [Footnote 1] - - [Footnote 1: "L'Eglise Orientale, par Jaques G. Pitzipios, Fondateur - de la Société Chrétienne Orientale." Rome: Imprimerie de la - Propagande, 1855.] - -In the year 1841, the bishops of the Protestant Episcopal dioceses of -Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Missouri, Maryland, -and Pennsylvania, professing to speak in the name of their church in -the United States, addressed the following language to the -schismatical Patriarch of Constantinople, whom they style "the -venerable and right reverend father in God the _Patriarch of the Greek -Church,_resident at Constantinople:" - -"The church in the United States of America, therefore, looking to the -triune God for his blessings upon its efforts for unity in the body of -Christ, turn with hope to the Patriarch of Constantinople, _the -spiritual head of the ancient and venerable Oriental Church._" -[Footnote 2] - - [Footnote 2: Quoted in the "Memoir of Rev. F.A. Baker," p. 47.] - -This is by no means the only instance of overtures of this kind, -looking toward a union between Protestant Episcopalians and Eastern -schismatics, with the view of concentrating the opposition to the -Roman See under a rival Oriental primacy. The Non-jurors, who were -ejected from their sees at the overthrow of the Stuarts, proposed to -the Synod of Bethlehem to establish the primacy in the patriarchate of -Jerusalem; but their proposal was met by a decidedly freezing refusal. -The American bishops who signed the letter from which the foregoing -extract is taken show a remarkable desire to bow down before some -ecclesiastical power more ancient and venerable than themselves; and -in their extreme eagerness to propitiate the Eastern prelates, they -acknowledge without scruple the most arrogant titles usurped by the -Patriarch of Constantinople, although from their want of familiarity -with the ecclesiastical language, they do it in a very unusual and -peculiar style. Whatever may be at present the particular views of -those who are seeking to bring about a union between the Protestant -Episcopal churches and the Easterns, in regard to the order of -hierarchical organization, they are evidently disposed to pay court to -the successor of Photius and Michael Cerularius, and to espouse {2} -warmly his quarrel against Rome. His figure is the foremost one in the -dispute, and there is every disposition to take advantage as far as -possible of the rank which the See of Constantinople has held since -the fifth century, first by usurpation and afterward by the concession -of Rome, as second to the Apostolic See of St. Peter. We do not accuse -all those who are concerned in the union movement of being animated by -a spirit of enmity against Rome. Some of them, we believe, are seeking -for the healing of the schisms of Christendom in a truly Catholic -spirit, although not fully enlightened concerning the necessary means -for doing so. We may cherish the same hope concerning some of the -Oriental prelates and clergy also, especially those who have -manifested a determination not to compromise a single point of -Catholic dogma for the sake of union with Protestants. We are quite -sure, however, that the loudest advocates of union in the Protestant -ranks, and their most earnest and hearty sympathizers in the East, are -thoroughly heretical and schismatical in their spirit and intentions, -and are aiming at the overthrow of the Roman Church, and a revolution -in the orthodox Eastern communion, as their dearest object. While, -therefore, we disclaim any hostile attitude toward men like Dr. Pusey -and other unionists of his spirit, and would never use any language -toward them which is not kind and respectful, we are compelled to -brand the use which other ecclesiastics in high position have sought -to make of this Greek question as entirely unprincipled. Their -cringing and bowing before the miserable, effete form of Christianity -at Constantinople, dictated as it is chiefly by hatred against Rome, -is something unworthy of honest Christians and intelligent Englishmen -and Americans. Many very sincere and well-disposed persons are no -doubt misled by their artful misrepresentations. On that account it is -very necessary to bring out as clearly as possible the true state of -the case, as regards Oriental Christendom, that it may be seen how -little support Anglicanism or any kind of Protestantism can draw from -that quarter; and how strongly the entire system of Catholic dogma is -sustained by the history and traditions of the Eastern Church. - -We may possibly hereafter discuss more at large some of these -important subjects relating to the Eastern Church and the schism which -has desolated its fairest portions for so many centuries. On this -occasion we intend merely to throw a little light on the present -actual condition of the patriarchate of Constantinople, in order to -dissipate any illusion that may have been created by high-sounding -words, and to show how little reason there is to "turn with hope to -the spiritual head of the Oriental Church" for any enlightening or -sanctifying influences upon the souls which are astray from the fold -of St. Peter. We waive, for the time, all consideration of past -events, anterior to the period of Turkish domination, and all -discussion of the remote circumstances which have brought the See of -Constantinople into its present state of degradation, and of obstinate -secession from the unity of the Church. - -We take it as we find it, under the Mohammedan dominion, and will -endeavor to show how it stands in relation to other churches of the -East, and what are its claims on the respect and honor of Western -Christians. - -The Patriarch of Constantinople is not the Patriarch of the "Greek -Church." There is no designation of this kind known in the East. The -style there used is, the "Holy Eastern Church." The Greek rite, or -form of celebrating mass and administering the sacraments in the Greek -language, is only one of the rites sanctioned by the Catholic Church -which are in use among those Christians who are not under the Latin -rite. What is usually called in the West the Greek Church has several -independent organizations. {3} The Patriarch of Constantinople, who -very early subjugated the patriarchs of Alexandria, Antioch, and -Jerusalem to his dominion, now rules over the same patriarchates, -which have dwindled to very insignificant dimensions, and over all the -separated orthodox Christians of the Turkish empire. The Russian -Church, which was erected into a distinct patriarchate by Ivan III., -is under the supreme jurisdiction of the imperial governing synod. The -Patriarch of Constantinople is treated with respect and honor, and -referred to for advice and counsel, by the Russian authorities; but he -has no more jurisdiction in Russia than the Archbishop of Baltimore -has in the province of New York. The Church of Greece not only threw -off all dependence on the See of Constantinople after the revolution, -but renounced all communication with it, for reasons to be mentioned -hereafter. The separated Greek Christians of the Austrian empire are -governed by the Patriarch of Carlovitz, and there is at least one -other separate jurisdiction in the Montenegrine provinces. The -Patriarch of Constantinople possesses, therefore, an actual -jurisdiction over a fraction only of the Eastern Church. Within the -proper limits of his own patriarchate this jurisdiction is absolute, -both in ecclesiastical and civil matters, subject only to the supreme -authority of the sultan. Immediately after the capture of -Constantinople by the Turks, the Sultan Mahomet II. conferred upon the -Patriarch Grennadius the character of _Milet-bachi_, or chief of a -nationality, giving him investiture by the pastoral staff and mantle -with his own hands. The reason of his doing so was, that the -Mohammedan law recognizes only Mohammedans as members of a Mohammedan -nationality. In more recent times, the sultans, disgusted by the venal -and tyrannical conduct of the patriarchs, have refused to confer this -investiture in person, and it is now done by the grand vizier. Eight -metropolitans, namely, those of Chalcèdon, Ephesus, Derendah, -Heraclèa, Cyzicus, Nicomedia, Caesarèa, and Adrianople, form the -supreme council of the patriarchate, and, with the patriarch, -administer the ecclesiastical and civil government of the Christians -of their communion throughout the Ottoman empire. They have the -control of the common chest or treasury of the Oriental rite in -Turkey, and of that of the provinces; two great funds established -originally for helping poor Christians to pay the exactions levied on -them by the Mussulmans, but at present diverted to quite other uses by -their faithless and rapacious guardians. They are also exclusively -privileged to act as ephori or financial agents and bankers for the -other one hundred and thirty-four bishops of the Turkish provinces, -each one of them having as many of these episcopal clients as he can -get. - -Possessed of such an amount of ecclesiastical and civil power as the -patriarchate of Constantinople has been within the Ottoman empire for -several centuries, it is plain that it might have become the centre of -an incalculable influence for the spiritual, moral, and social good of -its subjects. Everything would seem to have combined to throw into the -hands of the patriarch and his subordinate bishops the power of being -truly the protectors and fathers of their people, and to furnish them -with the most powerful motives for being faithful to their trust. The -oppressed, despised, and impoverished condition of their poor, -miserable people, slaves of a fanatical, barbarous, anti-Christian -despotism, was enough to have awakened every noble and disinterested -emotion in their bosoms, had they been men; and to have aroused the -most devoted, self-sacrificing charity and zeal in their hearts, had -they been Christians worthy of the name or true Christian pastors. -Moreover, if they had been true patriots, and really devoted to the -interests of Christianity and the church, there was every inducement -to avail themselves of their position {4} and to watch the opportunity -of cultivating unity and harmony with the Catholic Church and the -powerful Christian nations of the West, in order to secure their -eventual deliverance from the detestable Moslem usurpation, and the -restoration of religion among them to its ancient glory. All causes of -misunderstanding and dissension had been done away at the Council of -Florence. The perfect dogmatic agreement between the East and the West -had been fully established. The Greek and other Oriental rites, and -the local laws and customs, had been sanctioned. The patriarchs and -hierarchy had been confirmed in their privileges. The Patriarch of -Constantinople was even tacitly permitted to retain his high-sounding -but unmeaning title of ecumenical patriarch without rebuke, and -allowed to exercise all the jurisdiction which other patriarchs or -metropolitans were willing to concede to him, subject to the universal -supremacy of Rome. The remembrance of the gallant warfare of the Latin -Christians against their common Moslem enemy, and especially of the -heroic devotion of the cardinal legate and his three hundred -followers, who had buried themselves under the walls of Constantinople -at its capture, ought to have effaced the memory of former wrongs -[Footnote 3] and subdued the stupid, fanatical, unchristian sentiment -of national antipathy against Christians of another race. Everything -concurred to invite them to play a noble and glorious part toward -their own Christian countrymen and toward Christendom in general. We -are compelled, however, to say, with shame and pain, that they have -proved so recreant to every one of these trusts and opportunities, -their career has been one of such unparalleled infamy and perfidy, as -to cover the Christian name with ignominy, and to merit for themselves -the character of apostates from Christianity--seducers, corruptors, -oppressors, and robbers of their own people. - - [Footnote 3: The Crusaders undoubtedly committed some great - outrages, in revenge far the treachery of the Byzantines, and some - Latin missionaries imprudently attacked the Oriental rites and - customs, but these acts were always disapproved and condemned by the - Popes.] - -We will first give a sketch of the line of conduct they have pursued -in relation to ecclesiastical matters, and afterward of their -administration of their civil authority. - -It is notorious that the schismatical bishops and clergy of Turkey -neglect almost entirely the duty of preaching the word of God and -giving good Christian instruction to their people. The sacraments are -administered in the most careless and perfunctory manner, and real -practical Christian piety and morality are in a very low state both -among clergy and laity. The clergy themselves are grossly ignorant and -unfit for the exercise of their office, taken from the lowest class of -the people, without instruction or preparation for orders, and treated -by their superiors as menial servants. The bishops and higher clergy -do not trouble themselves to remedy this gross incapacity of their -inferiors, or to supply it by their own efforts. Consequently, the -common Christian people of their charge have fallen into a state of -moral degradation below that of the Turks themselves, by whom they are -despised as the outcasts of society. The striking contrast between the -schismatical clergy, monasteries, and people, and the Catholic, is -proverbial among the Turks, and an object of remark even by Protestant -travellers. It is probable that there have been many exceptions to the -general rule of incompetence and supine neglect; but, viewing the case -as a whole, it must be said that the patriarchs of Constantinople and -their subordinate prelates have completely failed to do their duty as -pastors of their people and their instructors and guides in religion -and virtue. Their unfortunate position furnishes no adequate excuse, -as will be seen when we examine a little further into the enterprises -they have actually been engaged in, and see how well {5} they have -succeeded in accomplishing what they have really desired and -undertaken, which is nothing else than their own selfish -aggrandizement. Look at the contrast between their conduct and that of -the Catholic hierarchies of Russia, Poland, and Ireland under similar -circumstances of oppression, and every shadow of excuse will vanish. -No doubt there were many causes making it difficult to elevate the -character of the ordinary clergy and the people, and tending to keep -them down to a low level of intelligence and knowledge. This would -furnish an excuse for a great deal, if there had been an evident -struggle of the hierarchy to do their best in remedying the evil. -Instead of doing this, they are the principal causes of the -perpetuation and aggravation of this degraded state. Since the decay -of the Ottoman power commenced, the clergy have had it in their power -to bid defiance in great measure to the Turkish government. They have -been able to control immense sums of money and to wield a great -commercial and financial influence. They might have employed the -intervention of Christian powers, and especially of Russia, if they -had been governed by enlightened and Christian motives, in order to -gain just rights and the means of improvement for their people. The -Ottoman government, itself, has come to a more just and liberal -policy, in which it would have welcomed the aid of the Christian -hierarchy, had there been one worthy of the name. Their complete -apathy at all times to everything which concerns the spiritual and -moral welfare of their subjects will warrant no other conclusion than -that they have practically apostatized from the faith and church of -Christ, and are mere intruders into the fold which they lay waste and -ravage. - -In their attitude toward the Catholic Church and the Holy See, the -hierarchy of the patriaichate are ignorantly, violently, and -obstinately schismatical, and even heretical. The public and official -teaching of the Eastern Church is orthodox, and therefore no one is -adjudged to be a heretic simply because he adheres to that communion. -One who intelligently and obstinately adheres to a schism as a state -of permanent separation from the See of St. Peter, is, however, at -least a constructive heretic, and is very likely to be a formal -heretic, on several doctrines which have been defined by the Catholic -Church. The nature of the opposition of the clergy of Constantinople -to the Roman Church, the grounds on which they defend their -contumacious rebellion, and the dogmatic arguments which they employ -in the controversy, are such as to place them in the position of the -most unreasonable and contumacious schismatics, and as it appears to -our judgment, in submission to that of more learned theologians, of -heretics also. So far as their influence extends, and it is very -great, they are chiefly accountable for the isolated condition of the -entire non-united Eastern Church. As the ambition of the Patriarch of -Constantinople was the original cause of the schism, so now the -ignorant and violent obstinacy of the clergy of the patriarchate, and -their supreme devotion to their own selfish and narrow personal and -party interests, is, in connection with a similar though less odious -spirit in the chief Muscovite clergy, and the worldly policy of the -Russian czar, the chief cause of its perpetuation. - -The clergy of Constantinople have not hesitated to resort to forgery -in order to do away with the legal and binding force of the act of -their own predecessors in subscribing and promulgating throughout -their entire jurisdiction the act of union established at the Council -of Florence. Gennadius, the first patriarch elected after the Turkish -conquest, was one of the prelates who signed the decree of the Council -of Florence, a learned and virtuous man, and is believed to have lived -and died in the {6} communion of the Holy See. Actual communication -between Constantinople and Rome was, however, rendered absolutely -impossible by the deadly hostility of the conquerors to their -principal and most dangerous foe. The slightest attempt at any -intercourse with the Latin Christians would have caused the -extermination of all the Christian subjects of the Ottoman empire. It -is difficult to discover, therefore, when and how it was that the -supremacy of the Roman Church, whose actual exercise was thus at first -impeded by the necessity of the case, was again formally repudiated by -the patriarchs. There is a letter extant, written in the year 1584 by -the Patriarch Jeremiah to Pope Gregory XIII., in which he says that -"it belonged to him, as the head of the Catholic Church, to indicate -the measures to be employed against the Protestants," and requests him -in virtue of this office to point out what measures can be taken to -arrest the advance of Protestantism. This is the last official act of -the kind of which there is any record. The patriarchs and their -associates have relapsed into an attitude toward the Holy See which is -equally schismatical and arrogant, though through their degraded -condition far more ridiculous than that which was assumed by their -predecessors before the Council of Florence. In order to nullify, as -far as possible, the legal force of the act of union promulgated by -that council, they have resorted to a forgery, and have published the -acts of a pretended council under a patriarch who never existed and -whom they call Athanasius. There is no precise date attached to these -forged acts, but they are so arranged as to appear to have been -promulgated soon after the return of the emperor and prelates from -Italy, and before the Turkish conquest; and in them, some of the -principal prelates what signed the decrees of the Council of Florence -are represented as abjuring and begging pardon for what they had done. -They are said to have been moved to this by the indignation of their -people and a sedition in Constantinople in which the rejection of the -act of union was demanded. The forgery is too transparent to be worthy -of refutation, and could never have been executed and palmed off as -genuine in any other place than in Constantinople. They have also put -out a book called the "Pedalium," in which they revive all the -frivolous pretexts on account of which the infamous Michael Cerularius -and his ignorant ecclesiastical clique of the _Bas Empire_ pretended -to prove the apostacy of the Bishop of Rome and all Western -Christendom from the faith and communion of the Catholic Church, and -the consequent succession of the Bishop of Constantinople to the -universal primacy. The clergy of the patriarchate have taken the -position that the Catholic Church at present is confined to the limits -of what we call the Greek Church. They claim for themselves, -therefore, that place which they acknowledge formerly belonged to the -See of Rome, and thus seek to justify and carry out the usurpation of -supreme and universal authority indicated by the title of ecumenical -patriarch. The absurdity of this is evident, from the very grounds on -which the title was originally assumed, and the traditional maxims -which directed the policy of the ambitions Byzantine prelates -throughout the entire period of the Greek empire. The original and -only claim of the bishops of Constantinople, who were merely -suffragans of the Metropolitan of Heraclèa before their city was made -the capital of the empire, to the patriarchal dignity, was the -political importance of the city. Because Constantinople was new Rome, -therefore the Bishop of Constantinople ought to be second to the -Bishop of ancient Rome; and not only this, but he ought to rule over -the whole East with a supremacy like that which the Bishop of Rome had -always exercised over the whole {7} world. This false and schismatical -principle is contrary to the fundamental principle of Catholic church -organization, viz., that the subordination of episcopal sees springs -from the divine institution of the primacy in the See of St. Peter, -and is regulated by ecclesiastical canons on spiritual grounds, which -are superior to all considerations of a temporal nature. The Patriarch -of Constantinople has long ago lost all claim to precedence or -authority based on the civil dignity of the city as the seat of an -empire. According to the principles of his predecessors, the primacy -ought to have been transferred to the Patriarch of Moscow, when the -Russian patriarchate was established by Ivan III. Nevertheless, he -still continues to style himself ecumenical patriarch, and the eight -metropolitans who form his permanent synod continue to keep the -precedence over all other bishops of the patriarchate, although their -sees have dwindled into insignificance, and other episcopal towns far -exceed them in civil importance. In point of fact, the baselessness of -his claim to universal jurisdiction has been recognized by the Eastern -Church. His real authority is confined to the Turkish empire, where it -is sustained by the civil power. Russia has long been independent of -him. The Church of Greece has completely severed her connection with -him. The schismatical Greeks of the Austrian empire, and those of the -neighboring provinces, are severally independent. The false principle -that produced the Eastern schism in the first place thus continues to -work out its legitimate effect of disintegration in the Eastern -communion itself, by separating the national churches from the -principal church of Constantinople, which would itself crumble to -pieces if the support of the Ottoman power were removed. The -privileges of the See of Constantinople have now no valid claim to -respect, except that derived from ecclesiastical canons ratified by -time, general consent, and the sanction of the Roman Church. The -instinct of self-preservation ought to compel its rulers to fall back -on Catholic principles, and submit themselves to the legitimate -authority of the Roman Pontiff as the head of the Catholic Church -throughout the world. They are following, however, the contrary -impulse of self-destruction, to which they are abandoned by a just God -as a punishment for their treason to Jesus Christ and his Vicar, and -in every way seeking to strengthen and extend the barrier which -separates them from the Roman Church. - -This policy has led them to do all in their power to establish a -dogmatic difference between the Oriental Church and the Church of -Rome. Not only do they represent the difference in regard to the -procession of the Holy Spirit from the Son, as expressed by the -"Filioque" of the Creed, which was fully proved at the Council of -Florence to be a mere verbal difference, as a difference in regard to -an essential dogma, but they have brought in others to swell their -list of Latin heresies. The principal dogmatic differences on which -they insist are three: the doctrine of purgatory, the quality of the -bread used in the holy eucharist, and the mode of administering -baptism. Only the most deplorable ignorance and factiousness could -base a pretence of dogmatic difference on such a foundation. In regard -to purgatory, the Roman Church has defined or required nothing beyond -that which is taught by the doctrinal standards of the Eastern Church. -The difference in regard to the use of leavened or unleavened bread, -and the mode of baptism, is a mere difference of rite. In regard to -the last-mentioned rite, however, the clergy of Constantinople have -even surpassed their usual amount of ignorance and effrontery. They -pretend that no baptism except that by trine immersion is valid, and -consequently that the vast majority of Western Christians are -unbaptized. This position of theirs, which will no doubt be {8} very -satisfactory to our Baptist brethren, makes sweeping work, not only -with the Latin Church, but with Protestant Christendom. Where there is -no baptism, there is no ordination, no sacrament whatever, no church. -What will our Anglican friends say to this? The clergy of -Constantinople rebaptize unconditionally every one who applies to be -received into their communion, whether he be Catholic or Protestant, -clergyman or layman. It would be folly to argue against this -sacrilegious absurdity on Catholic grounds. It is enough to show their -inconsistency with themselves, by mentioning the fact that the Russian -Church allows the validity of baptism by aspersion, and that even -their own book of canons permits it in case of necessity. But why look -for any manifestation of the learning, wisdom, or Christian principle -which ought to characterize prelates from men who have bought their -places for gold, and who sell every episcopal see to the highest -bidder? The simony and bribery which have been openly and unblushingly -practised by the ruling clerical faction of the Turkish empire since -the time when the monk Simeon bought the patriarchal dignity from the -sultan, make this page of ecclesiastical history one of the blackest -and most infamous in character. As we might expect under such a -system, virtuous and worthy men are put aside, and the episcopate and -priesthood filled up from the creatures and servile followers of the -ruling clique. Such men naturally disgrace their holy character by -their immoral lives, and bring opprobrium on the Christian name. The -history of the patriarchate of Constantinople, therefore, since the -period of Gennadius and the first few successors who followed his -worthy example, has been stained with blood and crime, and darkened by -scenes of tragic infamy and horror. We will relate one of the most -recent of these, as a sufficient proof and illustration of the heavy -indictment we have made against the patriarchal clergy. - -At the time of the Greek revolution, the patriarch and principal -clergy of Constantinople received orders from the sultan to use their -power in suppressing all co-operation on the part of the Christians in -Turkey with their brethren in Greece, and to denounce to the Ottoman -government all who were suspected of conniving at the insurrection. -Their political position no doubt required of them to remain passive -in the matter, to refrain from positively aiding the revolutionists, -and also to suppress all overt acts of the Christians under their -jurisdiction against the government. Nevertheless, as a people -unjustly enslaved by a barbarous, anti-Christian despotism, they owed -nothing more to their masters than this exterior obedience to the -letter of the law. They could not be expected to enter with a hearty -and zealous sympathy into the measures of the government for -suppressing the revolution; and, indeed, every genuine and noble -sentiment of Christianity and patriotism forbade their doing so, and -exacted of them a deep, interior sympathy with their cruelly oppressed -brethren who were so nobly struggling to free their country from the -hated yoke of the Moslem conqueror. The really high-minded Greeks of -the empire did thus sympathize with their brethren. The ruling clergy, -however, manifested a zeal for the interests of the Ottoman court so -_outré_ and so scandalous that it not only outraged the feelings of -their own subjects, but, as we shall see, aroused the suspicions of -the tyrants before whom they so basely cringed, and brought -destruction on their own heads. They accused a great number of -Christians of complicity in the insurrection, seizing the opportunity -of denouncing every one who had incurred their hatred for any reason -whatever, so that the prisons were soon crowded with their unfortunate -victims, all of whom suffered the penalty of death. The patriarch -pronounced a sentence of major excommunication against Prince -Ypsilanti, and all the Greeks who {9} took part in the revolt. A few -days afterward, on the first Sunday of Lent, during the solemnities of -the pontifical mass, the patriarch, his eight chief metropolitans, and -fifteen other bishops, pronounced the same sentence of -excommunication, together with the sentence of deposition and -degradation, against seven bishops of Greece, partisans of Prince -Ypsilanti, and all their adherents, signing the decree on the altar of -the cathedral church. Such a storm of indignation was raised by this -nefarious act, that the prelates were obliged to pacify their people -by pretending that they had acted under the compulsion of the -government. A few days after, the patriarch and the majority of the -bishops who had signed the decree were condemned to death and -executed, on the charge of participating in the revolution. Even after -the great powers of Europe had acknowledged the independence of -Greece, the ruling clergy of Constantinople endeavored to curry favor -at court by sending a commission, under the presidency of the -metropolitan of Chalcèdon, to recommend to the Greeks a return to the -Turkish dominion! It is needless to say that this invitation was -declined, although we cannot but admire the self-control of the Greek -princes and prelates when we are told that it was declined, and the -ambassadors dismissed, _in the most polite manner_. - -One more intrigue, the last one they have been left the opportunity of -trying, closes the history of their relations with the Church of -Greece. The clergy and people of the new kingdom were equally -determined to throw off completely and for ever the ecclesiastical -tyranny of Constantinople. At the same time they were disposed to act -with diplomatic formality and ecclesiastical courtesy, as well as in -conformity with the laws and principle of the orthodox church of the -East. The second article of the constitutional chart of the kingdom -defines in a precise and dignified manner the position of the national -church. "The orthodox Church of Greece, acknowledging our Lord Jesus -Christ as its head, is perpetually united in dogma with the great -Church of Constantinople and every other church holding the same -dogmas, preserving, as they do, immutably the holy canons of the -apostles and councils, and the sacred traditions. Nevertheless, it is -autocephalous, exercising independently of every other church its -rights of jurisdiction, and is administered by a sacred college of -bishops." This article was established in 1844. In 1850, the clergy -obtained from the government the appointment of a commission, composed -of one clergyman, the archimandrite Michael Apostolides, professor of -theology in the University of Athens, and one layman, Peter -Deligianni, _chargé d'affaires_ at Constantinople, to establish -concordats with the patriarchate and the governing synod of Russia, on -the basis of the above cited article of the Greek constitution. In -lieu of this proposed concordat, the Greek commissioners were duped by -the patriarchal synod into signing a synodal act, in which the -Patriarch of Constantinople, qualifying his see as the vine of which -other churches are the branches, and styling himself and his -associates [Greek text]--"Watchful shepherds and scrupulous guardians -of the canons of the church"--pretends by his own authority to grant -independent jurisdiction to the Church of Greece as a privilege. At -the same time he designates the Archbishop of Athens as the perpetual -president of the synod, ordains that the holy chrism shall always be -brought from Constantinople, and imposes other obligations intended to -serve as signs of dependence on the Patriarchal Church. The Greek -parliament, however, annulled this concordat, and the synod of Greek -bishops at Athens determined that henceforth there should be no -relation between the Church of Greece and that of Constantinople, -subsequently even forbidding priests ordained out of {10} the kingdom -to officiate in the priesthood. Although the Greek clergy had shown -themselves so forbearing and patient, it seems that the arrogance and -perfidy of the clergy of Constantinople had at last roused their just -indignation. The learned archimandrite Pharmacides published a book -against the synodal act and the policy of the Constantinopolitan -clergy, entitled "Antitomos; or, Concerning the Truth," in which he -ridicules the pompous pretensions which they make to pastoral -vigilance and fidelity in these words: - -"Since you obtained the sacerdotal dignity by purchase, if you had -really the intention in becoming bishops to watch and to fatigue -yourselves by guarding the Church, no one of you would be a bishop; -for you would not have spent your money in buying vigils and labors." - -Such being the nature of the solicitude of these watchful pastors and -scrupulous guardians of the canons for the welfare of those over whom -they claim a patriarchal authority, we need not be surprised at any -amount of reckless contempt which they may show for the general -interests of Christendom, and the admonitions they from time to time -receive from the veritable pastor of the flock of Christ. -Nevertheless, we cannot but wonder that the respectable portion of the -Oriental episcopate should permit themselves to be compromised by an -act which seems to cap the climax of even Byzantine stupidity and -effrontery. We refer to the reply to the noble and paternal encyclical -of Pius IX. to the Oriental bishops, put forth by Anthimus, the late -patriarch. Anthimus himself was notorious throughout the city for his -habits of drunkenness, which were so gross as to incapacitate him from -all business and expose him to the most ignominious insults even from -his own subordinates. The letter which he and several of his bishops -subscribed and sent to the Holy Father was written by the monk -Constantine OEconomus, and, in answer to the earnest and affectionate -appeals of the Holy Father to return to the unity of the Catholic -Church, makes the following astounding statement: - -"The three other patriarchs, in difficult questions, demand the -fraternal counsels of the one of Constantinople, _because that city is -the imperial residence_, and this patriarch has the synodal primacy. -If the question can be settled by his fraternal co-operation, very -well. But if not, the matter is _referred to the government_ (_i.e._, -Ottoman), _according to the established laws_." - -We think that the reason of the grave charge of schism, heresy, and -apostacy from the fundamental, constitutive principles of the Catholic -Church, which we have made against the higher clergy of -Constantinople, will now be apparent to every candid reader. The -history of their action in relation to the Church of Greece proves -that their principles and policy tend to disintegrate within itself -still more that portion of Christendom which they have alienated from -the communion of Rome and the West, and thus to increase the force of -the movement of decentralization, and to augment the number of -separate, local, mutually independent, and hostile communions. That -the natural tendency of this principle is to produce dogmatic -dissensions, and to efface the idea of Catholic unity, is too evident -from past history to need proof. It is only neutralized in the East by -the stagnation of thought, and the consequent immobility of the -Oriental mind from its old, long established traditions. The -essentially schismatical _virus_ of the principle is in the -subordination of organic, hierarchical unity to the temporal power and -the civil constitution of states, or the church-and-state principle in -its most odious form, which was never more grossly expressed than in -the letter above cited of Anthimus. This principle not only tends to -increase disintegration in the church, but to bar the way to a -reintegration in unity, and to destroy all desire of a return to -unity, as is also amply proved by the acts of the clergy of -Constantinople. A schismatical principle held {11} and acted on in -such a way as to make schism a perpetual condition, and thus not -merely to interrupt communion for a time but to destroy the idea of -Catholic unity, becomes heretical. Moreover, when doctrinal forms of -expressing dogmas of faith, or particular forms of administering the -rites of religion, are without authority set forth as essential -conditions of orthodoxy, and made the basis of a judgment of heresy -against other churches, those who make this false dogmatic standard -are guilty of heresy. This is the case with the clergy of -Constantinople, who make the difference respecting the use of -"Filioque" in the Creed the pretext for accusing the Latin Church of -heresy, and who deal similarly with the doctrine of purgatory, and the -questions respecting unleavened bread in the eucharist and immersion -in baptism. They have constantly persisted in their effort to -establish an essential dogmatic difference between the Latin and Greek -Churches and to make the peculiarities of the Greek rite essential -terms of Catholic communion, in order to widen and perpetuate the -breach between the East and West, and to maintain their own usurped -principality. They have been the authors of the schism, its obstinate -promoters, the principal cause of thrusting it upon the other parts of -the Eastern Church, and the chief instrument of thwarting the -charitable efforts of the Holy See for the spiritual good of the -Oriental Christians. They have done it in spite of the best and most -ample opportunities of knowing the utter falsehood of all the grounds -on which their schism is based, in the face of the example and the -writings of the best and most learned of their own predecessors, and -with a recklessness of consequences, and a disregard of the interests -of their own people and of religion itself, which merits for them the -name not only of heretics, but of apostates from all but the name and -outward profession of Christianity. - -This last portion of the case against them we must now prosecute a -little further, by showing what has been their conduct in the exercise -of their temporal power over their fellow-Christians in Turkey. - -The reasons and extent of the civil authority conferred upon the -Patriarch Gennadius by Mahomet II. have already been exposed. It is -obvious that although this authority would have enabled the governing -clergy to succor and console their unhappy people in their condition -of miserable slavery, if they had been possessed of truly apostolic -virtue, it opened the way to the most frightful tyranny and -oppression, by presenting to the worst and most ambitious men a strong -motive to aspire to the highest offices in the church. No form of -government can be worse than that of privileged slaves of a despot -over their fellow-slaves. Accordingly, but a short time elapsed before -the unhappy Christians of Turkey began to suffer from the effects of -this terrible system. Simoniacal bishops who bought their own dignity -by bribing the sultans and their favorites, and sold all the inferior -offices in their gift to the highest bidder; who were careless and -faithless in the discharge of their spiritual duties; and who had -apostatized from the communion of the Catholic Church, would, of -course, exercise their civil functions in the same spirit and -according to the same policy. They associated themselves intimately -with the Janissaries, on whom they relied for the maintenance of their -power; gave their system of policy the name of the "System of -_Cara-Casan_," that is, "Ecclesiastical Janissary System;" enrolled -themselves as members of the _Ortas_ or Janissary companies, and bore -their distinguishing marks tattooed on their arms. This redoubtable -body found its most powerful ally in the clergy up to the time of its -destruction by Mahmoud II. The author of the work whose title is -placed at the head of this article, James G. Pitzipios, is a native -Christian subject of the Sultan of Turkey, and was the secretary of an -imperial commission appointed to examine into the {12} civil and -financial administration of the Christian communities, as well as to -hear their complaints against their rulers. His position and -circumstances, therefore, have enabled him to investigate the matter -thoroughly. His estimate of the civil administration of the clergy of -the patriarchate from the time of Mahomet II. to that of Mahmoud II.-- -that is, from the Turkish conquest to the projected reformation in the -Ottoman government--is expressed in these words: - - "We have seen why it was that the Sultan Mahomet II. delegated the - entire temporal power over his Christian subjects to the Patriarch - Gennadius and his successors; gave to the religious head of the - Christians of his empire the title of _Milet-bachi_, and rendered - him the absolute master of the lot of all his co-religionists, as - well as responsible for their conduct and for their fulfilment of - all duties and obligations toward the government. Such an - arrangement was calculated to produce in its commencement some - alleviations and even some advantages to these unfortunate - Christians, as in point of fact it actually happened. But it was - sure to degenerate sooner or later into a frightful tyranny, such as - is naturally that of privileged slaves placed over those of their - own race. Accordingly, as we have stated in several places already, - the clergy of Constantinople made use of all the means of - oppression, of vexation, and of pillage of which the cunning, the - depraved conscience, and the rapacity of slaves in authority are - capable. The clergy of Constantinople having become in this way the - absolute arbiters of the goods, the conscience, the social rights, - and indirectly even of the lives of all their Eastern - co-religionists, continued to abuse this temporal power not only - during the period of the old regime, but even after the destruction - of the Janissaries, and, again, after the reform in Turkey, and up - to the present moment" [Footnote 4] (1855). - - [Footnote 4: "L'Eglise Orientale," p. iv., pp. 17, 18.] - -The allusion to the reform in the lost clause of this extract requires -a fuller explanation, and this explanation will furnish the most -conclusive evidence of the degradation of the patriarchate, by showing -that not only have its clergy submitted to be the tools of the Ottoman -government when it was disposed to oppress the Christians in the worst -manner, but that they have even resisted and thwarted the efforts of -that government itself, when it was disposed to emancipate the -Christians from a part of their bondage. - -The Sultan Mahmoud I I., a man of superior genius and enlightened -views, devoted all the energies of his great mind to the effort of -restoring his empire, rapidly verging toward dissolution, to -prosperity and splendor. He devised for this end a gigantic scheme of -political reformation, one part of which was the abolition of all -civil distinction between his subjects of different religions. He was -unable to do more, during his lifetime, than barely to commence the -execution of his grand project. His son and successor, Abdul-Medjid, -continued to prosecute the same work, and, at the beginning of his -reign, published a decree called the _Tinzimat_, enjoining certain -reformations in the manner of administering law and justice in the -provinces. The Christian inhabitants of Turkey were the ones who ought -to have profited most by this decree. On the contrary, the very -privileges which it accorded them, by withdrawing them in great -measure from the authority of the local Mussulman tribunals, deprived -them of their only resource against the oppressions and exactions of -their own clergy, and rendered their condition worse. The bishops -succeeded in getting a more exclusive control than ever over all cases -of jurisdiction relating to Christians, and made use of their power to -fleece their people more unmercifully than they had ever done before. -Encouraged by the publication of die Tinzimat, these unhappy Christian -communities ventured to send remonstrances to the Ottoman {13} -government against their cruel and mercenary pastors. In consequence -of these remonstrances, the Porte addressed the following official -note, dated Feb. 4, 1850, to the Patriarch of Constantinople: - - "Since, according to the Christian religion, the bishops are the - pastors of the people, they ought to guide them in the right way, - protect them, and console them, but never oppress them. As, however, - many metropolitans and bishops commit actions in the provinces - _which even the most despicable of men would not dare to - perpetrate_, the Christian populations, crushed under this - oppression, address themselves continually to the government, - supplicating it to grant them its assistance and protection. - Consequently, as the government cannot refuse to take into - consideration these just complaints of its own subjects, it wills - absolutely that these disorders cease. It invites, therefore, the - patriarch to convoke an assembly of bishops and of the principal - laymen of his religion, and, in concert with them, to consider - fraternally of the means of doing away with these oppressions and - the just complaints in regard to them, by regulating their - ecclesiastical and communal administration in conformity with the - precepts of their own religion and with the instructions the - Tinzimat." [Footnote 5] - - [Footnote 5: Ibid., p. iii., p. 144.] - -A very edifying sermon this, from a Mohammedan minister of state to -the "spiritual head of the ancient and venerable Oriental Church!" -Like many other sermons, however, it did not produce a result -corresponding to its excellence. The good advice it contained was -followed up by levying a new tax. The patriarch sent immediately to -all the bishops a circular in which he prescribed to them "to admonish -the people, that since the government had imposed upon the church the -obligation of conforming to the demands of certain dioceses, and -applying everywhere the system of giving fixed salaries to the -bishops, the most holy patriarch is obliged to conform himself to the -orders of the government and to put them in execution as soon as -possible. But since both the general commune of Constantinople and the -particular ones of the several dioceses are burdened with debts which -amount to about 7,000,000 of piastres, it is just that the people -should previously pay off these debts; the bishops are, therefore, -ordered to proceed immediately to an exact enumeration of all the -Christian inhabitants of the cities, towns, and villages, without -excepting either widows or unmarried persons. In this way the -patriarchate, taking the census as its guide, can assign to each -Christian the sum which he is bound to pay for the pre-extinction of -the communal debts, and afterward apply the system of fixed episcopal -revenues." [Footnote 6] - - [Footnote 6: Ibid., p. 144., p. 145.] - -The poor people, terrified by this enormous tax, and by the -persecution which overtook the prime movers in the remonstrance, as -the secretary of the commission on the Tinzimat informs us, "swallowed -painfully their grievances and no longer dared to continue their just -reclamations to the government." The Ottoman government, intimidated -by the threats of the ecclesiastical Janissaries of the Cara-Casan, -"was obliged to yield to the force of circumstances, as they were used -to do in the time of their terrible _confrères_, and abandoned the -question completely." - -The Greek revolution has also in one way aggravated the lot of the -Christians of Turkey, by causing the compulsory or voluntary removal -from the capital of the principal merchants and other Christians of -superior station and influence, who formed the greatest check upon the -unworthy clerical rulers. Under the name of "primates of the nation," -they had a share in the management of ecclesiastical finances and -other temporal affairs, and as their compatriot, Mr. Pitzipios, -affirms, "these good citizens, inspired by their charitable {14} -sentiments, and encouraged by the influence which they had with the -Ottoman government, repressed greatly the abuses of the clergy, and -moderated, as far as they were able, the vexations of the people." -[Footnote 7] The men of this class who remained in Constantinople were -removed by the government, as foreigners, from all share in the -administration of Christian' affairs, and their places filled with the -creatures of the patriarchal clique, men of the lowest rank and -character, who were ready tools for every nefarious work. - - [Footnote 7: Ibid., p. 147.] - -As a natural consequence of the faithless abuse of the sacred -religious and civil trust committed to the higher clergy, they and -their inferior clergy are detested and despised by their people, who -are held in subjection to them only by physical coercion. Mr. -Pitzipios assures us that there is among them a very strong -predisposition to Protestantism. A form of deism, introduced by -Theophilus Cairy, a Greek priest, who died in prison in the year 1851, -made great progress before it was suppressed by the civil power, and -is now secretly working with great activity in Greece and Turkey. - -We cannot but think that the last and most degraded phase of the -Byzantine _Bas Empire_, impersonated in the schismatical patriarchate -of Constantinople, is destined soon to pass away. We hope and expect -soon to see the end of the Ottoman power, which alone sustains this -odious ecclesiastico-political tyranny. The signs of the political -horizon appear to indicate that Russia is destined to gain possession -of the ancient seat of the Greek empire. However this may be, if the -Church of Constantinople, and the other far more ancient churches -within her sphere of jurisdiction, are ever to be restored to a -healthy Christian vitality, and made to reflourish as of old, it must -be by a thorough ecclesiastical reformation, which shall sweep away -the present dominant clique in the clergy and the whole policy which -they have established. - -The beginning of this reformation has already been inaugurated in the -kingdom of Greece. The bishops of that kingdom, in recovering freedom -from the odious yoke of Constantinople, have recovered the character -of Christian prelates and pastors. The severe remarks which we have -made respecting the Oriental hierarchy must be understood as -applicable only to that particular clique who have heretofore made -themselves dominant through intrigue and violence. There no doubt have -been, and are, among the higher clergy of the Turkish empire, some -exceptions to the general rule of incompetence and moral unworthiness. -The Greek bishops themselves who were established in their sees under -the old regime, manifested by their open or tacit concurrence in the -revolution that virtue had not completely died out under the pressure -of a long slavery. Since the establishment of Grecian independence, -the measures they have taken, in concert with the other members of the -higher secular and monastic clergy and the government, for the -amelioration of religion, are such as to reflect honor on themselves, -and to give great promise for the future. They live in a simple and -frugal manner, and some of them, instead of leaving millions of -piastres to their relatives, like their Turkish brethren, have not -left behind them enough money to defray their own funeral expenses. -They endeavor to select the best subjects for ordination to the -priesthood and to give them a good theological and religious training. -Professorships of theological science are established in the -University of Athens. The catechism is carefully taught to the young -people and children, and every year ten of the most competent among -the clergy are sent at the public expense to preach throughout all the -towns and villages of the kingdom. Such is the happy result of the -successful effort of these noble Greeks, so endeared to every lover of -learning, valor, and {15} religion for the memories of their glorious -antiquity, to shake off the yoke of the sultans and the patriarchs of -Constantinople. It is this miserable amalgam of Moslem despotism, and -usurped or abused spiritual power in the hands of a degenerate clergy -at Constantinople, which is the great obstacle in the way of the -regeneration of the East. We have already seen that the ecclesiastical -tyranny of the patriarchate is now confined to the one hundred and -forty-two small bishoprics, and the few millions of people included in -them, which are situated in Turkey. Nevertheless, the political views -of the Russian emperors, and the traditional reverence of the Russian -clergy, still maintain the patriarch and his synod in a modified -spiritual supremacy over the Russian Church, to which two-thirds of -the Oriental rite belong. If Constantinople should fall into the hands -of any of the great powers of Western Christendom, of course the -Cara-Casan, or system of mixed ecclesiastical and civil despotism, -will be overturned, the patriarch will become a mere primate among the -other metropolitans of the nation, and the patriarchate be reduced to -a simply honorary dignity like that of the Western patriarchs of -Venice and Lisbon. If the Czar becomes the master of European Turkey, -the same result will take place, with this only exception, that the -See of Constantinople will become the primatial see of the Russian -empire, and the Russian hierarchy will take the place of the effete -Byzantine clergy, which they are far more worthy, from their learning -and strict morality, to occupy. - -What is to be the political and ecclesiastical destiny of the East, -and Russia, its gigantic infant, who can foretell, without prophetic -gifts? If the Russian emperors prove that they are destined and are -worthy to begin anew and to fulfil the grand design of Constantine, -Theodosius, Justinian, Pulcheria, and Irene, by creating a thoroughly -Christian empire of the East, we shall rejoice to see them enthroned -in Constantinople. If they are destined to restore the cross to the -dome of St. Sophia, and to renovate the ancient glory of that temple, -desecrated by Christian infamy more than by the Moslem crescent, we -shall exult in their achievement. If new Chrysostoms and Gregories -shall rise up to efface the dishonor of their predecessors, we will -forget the past, and give them the homage due to true and worthy -successors of the saints. We have no desire to see the Church of -Constantinople degraded, or the Eastern Church humiliated. The -Oriental Church is orthodox and catholic in its faith, and its several -great rites are fully sanctioned and protected by the Holy See. The -heresies which are found among a portion of its clergy are personal -heresies, and have never been established by any great synod, or -incorporated into their received doctrinal standards. We do not -condemn the great body of its people of even formal schism, but rather -compassionate them as suffering from a state of schism which has been -forced on them by a designing and unworthy faction, and is perpetuated -in great part through misunderstanding, prejudice, and national -antipathies. The causes and grounds of this unnatural state must -necessarily come up among them very soon for a more thorough -investigation. Study, thought, discussion, and contact with Western -Catholicism, as well as Western Protestantism and rationalism, will -compel them to place themselves face to face with their own hereditary -and traditional dogmas; and either to be consistent with themselves, -and submit to the supremacy of the Roman See, or to give up their -orthodoxy and open the doors to a religious revolution. We cannot deny -that the latter alternative is possible, although we are sure that Dr. -Pusey, and men like-minded with him, would deplore it as a great -calamity. We trust it will be otherwise. The Easter morning of -resurrection, which {16} we are now celebrating, dawned for us in _the -East_. It is the land, of Christ and his apostles, the birth-place of -our religion. We hope the day of resurrection for its decayed and -languishing churches may not be far distant. - ------- - -From The Month. - -SAINTS OF THE DESERT. - -BY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D. - - - -1. Abbot Antony pointed out to a brother a stone, and said to him, -"Revile that stone, and beat it soundly." - -When he had done so, Antony said, "Did the stone say anything?" He -answered, "No." - -Then said Antony: "Unto this perfection shalt thou one day come." - -2. When Abbot Arsenius was ill, they laid him on a mat, and put a pillow -under his head, and a brother was scandalized. - -Then said his attendant to the brother: "What were you before you were -a monk?" He answered, "A shepherd." Then he asked again, "And do you -live a harder or an easier life now than then?" He replied, "I have -more comforts now." Then said the other, "Seest thou this abbot? When -he was in the world he was the father of emperors. A thousand slaves -with golden girdles and tippets of velvet waited on him, and rich -carpets were spread under him. _Thou_ hast gained by the change which -has made thee a monk; it is thou who art now encompassed with -comforts, but he is afflicted." - -3. When Abbot Agatho was near his end, he remained for three days with -his eyes open and steadily fixed. - -His brethren shook him, sayings "Abbot, where are you?" - -He replied, "I stand before the judgment seat." - -They said, "What, father! do you you too fear? think of your works." - -He made answer: "I have no confidence till I shall have met my God." - -4. Abbot Pastor was asked, "Is it good to cloak a brother's fault?" - -He answered: "As often as we hide a brother's sin, God hides one of -ours, but he tells ours in that hour in which we tell our brother's." - -5. The Abbot Alonius said: "Unless a man says in his heart, I and my -God are the only two in the world, he will not have rest." - -6. Abbot Pambo, being summoned by St. Athanasius to Alexandria, met an -actress, and forthwith began to weep. "I weep," he said, "because I do -not strive to please my God as she strives to please the impure." - -7. An old monk fell sick and for many days could not eat, and his -novice made him some pudding. There was a vessel of honey, and there -was another vessel of linseed oil for the lamp, good for nothing else, -for it was rancid. The novice mistook, and mixed up the oil in the -pudding. The old man said not a word, but ate it. - -The novice pressed him, and helped him a second time, and the old man -ate again. - -When he offered it the third time, the old man said, "I have had -enough;" but the novice cried, "Indeed, it is very good. I will eat -some with you." - -When he had tasted it, he fell on his face and said: "Father, I shall -be the death of you! Why didn't you speak?" - -The old man answered: "Had it been God's will that I should eat honey, -honey thou wouldst have given me." - -{17} - - -From The Literary Workman. - -JENIFER'S PRAYER. - -BY OLIVER CRANE. - -IN THREE PARTS. - - -I. - -He and she stood in a room in an inn in the town of Hull--and how she -wept! Crying as a child cries, with a woman's feelings joining -exquisite pain to those tears; which tears, in a way wonderful and -peculiar to beautiful women, scarcely disordered her face, or gave -anything worse to her countenance than an indescribably pathetic -tenderness. - -He was older than she was by full ten years. He only watched her. And -if the most acute of my readers had watched _him_, they would have -been no wiser for their scrutiny. - -At last she left the room; he had opened the door and offered his hand -to her. It was night; and she changed her chamber-candle from her -right hand to her left, and gave that right hand to him. He held it, -while he said: "I spoke because I dread the influence of the house we -are going to, and of those whom you will meet there." - -"Thank you. Good night" And so she got to a great dark bed-room, and -knelt down, like a good girl as she was, and cried no more, but was in -bed and asleep before he had left the place he had taken by the side -of the sitting-room fire, leaning thoughtfully against the -mantel-shelf, when her absence had made the room lonely. - -Then he ran down stairs and rushed out into the streets of the kingly -Hull--Kingston of the day of Edward I. The man we speak of was no -antiquary, and he troubled himself neither with the Kingston of the -royal Edward nor the _Vaccaria_ of the abbot from whom the place was -bought; he walked at a quick pace through streets dim and streets -lighted, toward the ships, or among the houses; to where he could see -the great headland of Holderness, or behold nothing at all but the -brick wall that prevented his going further, and told him by strong -facts that he had lost his way. So he wandered, walking fast -often--again, walking slowly; his head bowed down, his features -working, and his eyes flashing--clenched hands, or hands clasped on -his breast, as if to keep down the surging waves of memory, which -carried on their crests many things which now he could only gnash his -teeth at in withering vexation. - -He and she had come from Scotland. I have said that she was -beautiful--she was English, too; but he was Scotch born and bred, and -not dark and stem, or really wild or poetic, as a Scotchman in a story -ought to be. He was simply a strong, well-formed man, of dark, ruddy -complexion, and fine, thick, waving brown hair. He might have been a -nobleman, or a royal descendant of Hull's own king. He looked it all, -without being downright handsome. But he was, in fact, only one of the -many men who have come into a thousand a year too soon for the -preservation of prudence. Between sixteen, when he succeeded to it, -and twenty-one, when he could spend it, he had committed many follies, -and found friends who turned out worse than declared enemies--since -twenty-one he had fallen {18} in love more than once. He had been -praised, blamed, accused, acquitted. But whether or not this man was -good or bad, no living soul could tell. He was well off, well looking, -well read, and in good company. He re-entered the inn at Hull that -April night, stood by the fire smoking, asked for a cup of strong -coffee, went to bed. - -The next morning the two met at breakfast They were going south. No -matter where. Whether to the dreamy vales of Devonshire, to verdant -Somersetshire, or the gardens of Hampshire--no matter. They were going -to what the north Britons call the south. And it did not mean Algeria. -Railways were not everywhere then as railways are now. They had to -travel nearly all day, then to "coach it" to a great town, in whose -history coaches have now long been of the past. Then to get on a -second day by the old "fast four-horse," and to arrive about five -o'clock at a little quiet country town, where a carriage would take -them to the friends and the house whose influence he dreaded. - -In fact, that night, in the inn sitting-room, he had offered marriage -to the girl whom he had in charge for safe guardianship on so long a -journey to her far-off home where he was to be a guest. She had felt -that he had abused his trust and taken an unfair advantage of her; -also, she was in that peculiarly feminine state of mind which is -neither expressed by _no_ nor by _yes_. She had upbraided him. He, -pleading guilty in his soul, was in a horror at the thought of losing -her; losing her in that way too, because he had done wrong. Being -miserable, he had shown his misery as a strong man may. He spoke, and -self-reproachfully; but, as he pleaded, he betrayed all he felt. The -girl saw his clasped hands, his bent form, as he leaned down from the -chair on which he sat in the straggling attitude which expressed a -disordered mind. He spoke, looking at the carpet, not loud nor long, -but with a terrible earnestness that frightened the girl, and then she -cried all the more, and seemed to shrink away as if in alarm, and yet -almost angrily. Why would he speak so fiercely--why had he taken this -advantage of her? - -Then he had risen up quickly, and said, "Well, you know all now. We -will talk of something else." But she only shook her head and moved -away, and, as we have seen, went to bed. - -The next morning they met calmly enough. On his side it was done with -an effort; on hers without effort, yet with a little trembling fear, -which went when she saw his calm, and she poured out tea, and he drank -it, and only a rather extraordinary silence told of too much having -being said the night before. - -Now, why was all this? Why were this man and this young English girl -travelling thus to the sweet south coast, and to expecting friends? - -While they are travelling on their way, we, you and I, dear reader, -will not only get on before them, but also turn back the pages of -life's story, and read its secrets. - -They were going to a great house in a fine park, where fern waved its -tall, mounted feathers of green, and hid the dappled deer from sight-- -where great ancestral oaks spread protecting branches; where hawthorn -trees, that it had taken three generations of men to make, stood, -large, thick, knotted, twisted--strange, dark, stunted looking trees -they looked, till spring came, and no green was like their green, and -the glory of their flower-wreaths people made pilgrimages to see. The -place was called Beremouth. - -A mile and a half off was a town; one of those odd little old places -which tell of days and fashions past away. A very respectable place. -There had lived in Marston the dowager ladies of old country families, -in houses which had no pretensions to grandeur as you passed them in -the extremely quiet street, but which on the other side broke out into -bay windows, garden fronts, charming conservatories, and a {19} good -many other things which help to make life pleasant. So the inhabitants -of Marston were not all mere country-town's people. They knew -themselves to be _somebodies_ and they never forgot it. - -Now, in this town dwelt a certain widow lady; poor she was, but she -had a pedigree and two beautiful daughters. Mary and Lucia Morier were -not two commonly, or even uncommonly, pretty girls; they were -wonderfully beautiful, people said, and nothing less. So lovers came a -courting. One married a Scotchman, a Mr. Erskine. They liked each -other quite well enough, Lucia thought, when she made her promises, -and received his; and so they did. They lived happily; did good; -wished for children but never had any, and so adopted Mr. Erskine's -orphan nephew--namely, the very man who behaved with such strange -imprudence in the inn at Hull. Mr. Erskine the uncle was twenty years -older than Mrs. Erskine the aunt. Mr. Erskine the younger was but a -child when they adopted him. But he was their heir, as well as the -inheritor of his father's' fortune, and they loved and cared for him. - -Mary Morier did differently. She married at twenty, her younger sister -having married the month before at eighteen. Mary did differently, for -she did imprudently. They had had a brother who was an agent for -certain mines thirty miles off; and there he lived; but he came home -often enough, and made the house in the old town gay. A year before -the sister married, in fact while that sister was away on a visit to -friends in Scotland, the brother came home ill. He was ill for six -months. It is wonderful how much expense is incurred by a mother in -six months for a son who is sick. It made life very difficult. The -money to pay for Lucia's journey home had to be thought of. To be -sure, she was not there to eat and drink, but then her extra finery -had cost something. George had only earned one hundred a year. It had -not been more than enough to keep him. He came home ill with ten -pounds in his pocket, beside his half-year's rent, which would be due -the next month--certainly money at this time was wanted, for our -friends were sadly pinched. But the one most exemplary friend and -servant Jenifer was paid her wages, and tea and sugar money to the -day; and the doctor got so many guineas that he grew desperate and -suddenly refused to come--then repented, and made a Christian-like -bargain, that he would go on coming on condition that he never saw -another piece of any kind of money. - -Mary and her mother looked each other in the face one day, and that -look told all. There was some plate, and they had watches, and a -little fine old-fashioned jewelry--yes, they must go. They were -reduced to poverty at last--this was more than "limited means"--hard -penury had them with a desperate grasp. - -Fortune comes in many shapes, and not often openly, and with a -flourish of trumpets--neither did she come in that way now; but -shamefacedly, sneakingly, and ringing the door-bell with a meek, not -to say tremulous pull; and her shape was that of a broad-built, short, -wide-jawed, lanky-haired, pig-eyed, elderly man, with a curious -quantity of waistcoat showing, yet, generally, well dressed. "Your -mistress at home?" "Yes, Mr. Brewer." "Mr. George better?" "No. Never -will be, sir." "Bless me! I beg your pardon!" "Granted before 'tis -asked, sir." "Ah! yes; I have a little business to transact with your -mistress. Can I see her alone?" Mr. Brewer was shown by Jenifer into -the little right-hand parlor. He gravely took out a huge pocket-book, -and then a small parchment-covered account-book appeared. I believe he -had persuaded himself that he was really going to transact business, -and not to perform the neatest piece of deception that a {20} -respectable gentleman ever attempted. A lady entered the room. "Madam, -jour son has been my agent for mines three years--my mine _and land_ -agent since Christmas. He takes the additional work at seventy-five -pounds a year extra. The half of that is now due to him. I pay _that_ -myself. I have brought it" And thirty-seven pounds ten shillings Mr. -Brewer put on the table, saying, "I will take your receipt, madam. -Don't trouble Georges's head about business; for when you _do_ speak -of that you will have, I am sorry to say, to inform him that in _both_ -his places I have had to put another man. I have to give George three -months' payment at the rate of one hundred and seventy pounds a year, -as I gave him no quarter's warning. That is business, do you -understand?" asked Mr. Brewer. "It is for my son to discharge himself, -sir--since he cannot"--the mother's voice faltered. "Ah--only he -didn't, and I did," said Mr. Brewer. "Your receipt? When your son -recovers, let him apply to me. I am sorry to end our connexion so -abruptly. But it is business. Business, you know"--and there Mr. -Brewer stopped, for Mary Morier was in the room, and her beauty filled -it, or seemed to do so. And Mr. Brewer departed muttering, as he had -muttered before often, "the most beautiful girl in the world." Still, -he had an uncomfortable sensation, for he felt he was an underhand -sneak, and that Mary had found him out; and so she had. She knew that -her brother had been "discharged" only to afford a pretext for giving -the quarter's money; and she was sure that his being land agent, at an -additional seventy-five pounds a year, was a pure unadulterated -fiction. - -Mr. Brewer was an extraordinary man. He had a turn for the -supernatural. He would have liked above all things to have worked -miracles. He did do odd things, such as we have seen, which he made, -by means of the poetic quality that characterized him, a purely -natural act. He was praising George for a saving, prudent, industrious -young man, who had never drawn the whole of his last year's salary, -before an hour was over. And his story looked so like truth that he -believed it himself. - -Mr. Brewer was what people call "a risen man." But then his father had -been rising--and, for the matter of that, his grandfather too. All -their fortunes had flowed into the life of the man who has got into -this story; and he, having had a tide of prosperity exceeding all -others, in height, and strength, and riches, had found himself -stranded on the great shore of society, at forty years of age, with -more thousands a year than he liked to be generally known. Could he -have transformed himself into a benignant fairy he would have been -very happy, and acts of mercy would have abounded on the earth. But -no--Mr. Brewer was Mr. Brewer, and anything less poetic to look -at--more impossible as to wands, and wings, and good fairy appendages, -it is difficult to imagine. Mr. Brewer was a middle-aged man, with -hands in his pockets; plain truth is always respectable. There it is. - -But there was a Mrs. Brewer. Now Mrs. Brewer was an excellent woman, -but not excellent after the manner of her husband. She was three years -older. They had not been in love. They had married at an epoch in Mr. -Brewer's life when public affairs occupied his time so entirely as to -make it desirable to have what people call a "missus;" we are afraid -that Mr. Brewer himself so called the article, a "missus, at home." -Mrs. Brewer had been "a widow lady--young--of a sociable and domestic -disposition" who "desired to be housekeeper--to be treated -confidentially, and as one of the family--to a widower--with or -without children." On inquiry, it was found that young Mrs. Smith had -not irrevocably determined that the owner of the house that she was to -keep should have been the husband of one wife, undoubtedly {21} dead; -the widower was an expression only, a sort of modest way of putting -the plain fact of a single man, or a man capable of matrimony--the -expression meant all that; and when Mrs. Smith entered on the -housekeeping, she acted up to the meaning of the advertisement, and -married Mr. Brewer. Neither had ever repented. Let that be understood. -Only, Mr. Brewer, when he knew he could live in a great house, dine -off silver, keep a four-in-hand, or a pack of hounds, or enter on any -other legitimate mode of spending money, did none of them; but eased -his mind and his pocket by such contrivances as we have seen resorted -to in the presence of the beautiful Mary Morier. He tried curious -experiments of what a man would do with ten pounds. He had dangerous -notions as to people addicted to certain villanies being cured of -their moral diseases by the administration of a hundred a year. In -some round-about ways he had put the idea to the proof, and not always -with satisfactory results. He held as an article of faith--nobody -could guess where he found it--that there were people in the world who -could go straighter in prosperity than in adversity. He never would -believe that adversity was a thing to be suffered. He had replied to a -Protestant divine on that subject, illustrated in the case of a -starving family, that that might be, only it was no concern of his, -and he would not act upon the theory. And the result was a thriving, -thankful family in Australia, to whom Mr. Brewer was always, ever -after, sending valuable commodities, and receiving flower-seeds and -skins of gaudy feathered birds in return. - -Mr. Brewer had a daughter, Claudia was her name. "A Bible name," said -Mr. Brewer, and bowed his head, and felt he had done his duty by the -girl. What more could he do? She went to school, and was at school -when he was paying money in Mrs. Morier's parlor. She was then ten -years old; and being a clever child, she had, in the holidays just -over, chosen to talk French, and nothing else, to a friend whom she -had been allowed to bring with her. A thing that had caused great -perturbation in the soul of her honest father, who prayed in a -wordless, but real anxiety, that the Bible name might not be thrown -away on the glib-tongued little gipsy. It will be perceived that -Claudia was a difficulty. - -Now, when Mr. Brewer was gone out of Mrs. Morier's house, the mother -took up the money, wiped her eyes, and said, "What a good boy George -was." And Mary said "_Yes;_" and knew in her heart that if there had -been any chance of George living, Mr. Brewer would never have done -_that_. - -George died. There was money, just enough for all wants. Lucia came -home engaged to the married to Mr. Erskine. And when she was gone -there went with her a certain seven hundred pounds, her fortune, -settled--what a silly mockery Mr. Erskine thought it--on her children. -The loss made the two who were left very poor. Lucia sent her mother -gifts, but the regular and to be reckoned on eight-and-twenty pounds a -year were gone. She who had eaten, drank, and dressed was gone -too--but still it was a loss; and Mary and her mother were poor. Also, -Mary had long been engaged to be married to the son of a younger -branch of a great county family house, Lansdowne Lorimer by name. He -was in an attorney's office in Marston. In that old-world place, the -attorney, himself of a county family, was a great man. It was hard to -see Lucia marry a man of money and land, young Lorimer thought, so he -advised Mary to assert their independence of all earthly -considerations, and marry too. And they did so. - -The young man had no father or mother. He had angry uncles and -insolent aunts, and family friends, all to be respected, and prophets -of evil, every one of them. He had, also, a place in the office, a -clear head, a determined will, a handsome {22} person, a good -pedigree, and a beautiful wife. She, also, had her eight-and-twenty -pounds a year. But they gave it back regularly to Mrs. Morier; for, -you know, they, the young people, _were_ young, and they could work. -Mrs. Morier never spent this money. She and Jenifer, the prime -minister of that court of loyal love, put it by, against the evil day, -and they had just enough for themselves and the cat to live upon -without it. - -The county families asked their imprudent kinsman to visit them with -his bride. How they flouted her. How they advised her. How they -congratulated her that she had always been poor. How they assured her -that she would be poor for ever. How, too, they feared that Lansdowne -would never bear hard work, nor anxiety, nor any other of those -troubles which were so very sure to happen. How surprised they were at -the three pretty silk dresses, the one plain white muslin, and the -smart best white net. How they scorned when they heard that she and -Jenifer, and her mother, and a girl at eightpence a day, had made them -all. And, then, how they sunned themselves in her wonderful beauty, -and accepted the world's praises of it, and kept the triumph -themselves, and handed over to her the gravest warnings of its being a -dangerous gift. - -Dangerous, indeed! it was the pride of Lorimer's life. And Mary was -accomplished, far more really accomplished than the lazy, half-taught -creatures who had never said to themselves that they might have to -play and sing, and speak French and Italian, for their or their -children's bread. Mary had said it to herself many a time since her -heart had been given to the man who was her husband. A true, brave, -loving heart it was, and that which her common sense had whispered to -it that heart was strong to do, and would be found doing if the day of -necessity ever came. So, at that Castle Dangerous where the bride and -bridegroom were staying, Mary outshone others, and was not the -better loved for that; and one old Lady Caroline crowned the triumph -by ordering a piano-forte for the new home at Marston, with a savage -"Keep up what you know, child; you may be glad of it one day." Old -Lady Caroline was generally considered as a high-bred privileged -savage. But that was the only savage thing she ever said to Mary. She -told Lorimer that he was a selfish, unprincipled brute for marrying -anybody so perfect and so pretty. And Lorimer bore her -misrepresentations with remarkable patience, only making her a -ceremonious bow, and saying in a low voice, "You know better." "I know -you will starve," and she walked off without an answer. - -They did not starve. In fact, they prospered, till one sad day when -Lorimer caught cold--and again and again caught cold--cough, pain, -symptoms of consumption--a short, sad story; and then the great end, -death. Mary was a widow three years after her wedding day, with a -child of two years of age at her side, and an income from a life -insurance made by her husband of one hundred a year. We have seen the -child--grown to a beautiful girl of seventeen--we have seen her in the -room with Mr. Erskine, at the inn at Hull. - -Mrs. Lorimer went back to live with her mother, Jenifer, and the great -white cat. - -The year after this great change, Mrs. Brewer died, and Claudia at -thirteen was a greater difficulty than ever. The first holidays after -the departure of the good mother, the puzzled father had written to -the two Miss Gainsboroughs to bring the child to Marston and stay at -his house during the holidays. He entertained them for a week, and -then went off on a tour through Holland. The next holidays he proposed -that they should take a house at Brighton, and that he should pay all -expenses. This, too, was done, and Mr. Brewer went to a hotel and -there made friends with his precocious daughter in a way that -surprised and pleased {23} him. He visited the young lady, and she -entertained him. He hired horses, and they rode together. He took -boxes at the theatre, and they made parties and went together. He gave -the girl jewelry and fine clothes, and they really got to know each -other, and to enjoy life together as could never have been the case -had they not been thus left to their own way. The child no longer felt -herself of a different world from that of her parents--the father had -a companion in the child who could grace his position, and keep her -own. They parted with love and anxious lookings forward to the summer -meeting. They were both in possession of a new happiness. When Mr. -Brewer got back to Marston, he led a dull, dreamy life--a year and a -half of widowhood passed--then he went to Mrs. Morier's, saw Mary, and -asked her to be his wife. It is not easy to declare why Mary Lorimer -said--after some weeks of wondering-mindedness--why she said "Yes." -She knew all Mr. Brewer's goodness. She preferred, no doubt, not to -wound a heart that had so often sympathized with the wounded. She -never, in her life, could have borne to see him vexed without great -vexation herself. She liked that he should be rewarded. She was -interested in Claudia. She liked the thought of two hundred a year -settled on her mother. She liked to feel that her own little Mary -might be brought up as grandly as any of those little saucy "county -family" damsels, her cousins, who already looked down on her, and -scorned her pink spotted calico frock. - -Mary and Mr. Brewer walked quietly to church; Mrs. Morier still in -astonishment, and Jenifer "dazed;" bat all the working people loved -Mr. Brewer. And they walked back, man and wife, to her mother's house, -and had a quiet substantial breakfast before they started for London. -And when there Mr. Brewer told her that they were not to return to the -respectable stone-fronted house facing the market-place in Marston, -but that he had bought Lord Byland's property--and that Beremouth was -theirs. Beremouth, with its spreading park, and river, and lake, its -miles of old pasture-land, its waving ferns, and dappled deer; -Beremouth, with its forest and gardens, royal oaks and twisted -hawthorn trees; Beremouth, the finest place in the county. And all -that Mary felt was, that he who had kept this secret, had had a true -hero's delicacy, and had never thought to bribe her, or to get her by -purchase into his home. I think she almost loved him then. - -In due time, after perhaps six months of wandering, and of -preparation, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer arrived at their new home, made -glorious by all that taste and art could do, with London energy -working with the power of gold. With them came Claudia. The child -loved her new mother with an abandonment of heart and a perfect -approval. She was still too young to argue, but she was not too young -to feel. The mother she had now got, though not much more than ten -years older than herself, was the mother to love, admire, delight -in--is the mother who could understand her. - -Then Beremouth just suited this young lady's idea of what was worth -having in this world; and without any evil thought of the homely -mother who had gone, there was a thought that "Mother-Mary," as Mrs. -Brewer was called by her step-daughter, looked right at Beremouth, and -that another class of person would have looked wrong there--so wrong -that her father under such circumstances would never have put himself -in the position of trying the experiment. - -Minnie Lorimer was very happy in her great play-ground; for all the -world, and all life, was play to little Minnie. She loved her new -sister; and the new sister patronized and petted her, so all seemed -right. It was, indeed, a great happiness for Claudia that her father -had chosen Mary Lorimer. Claudia was a vixenish, little handsome -gipsy; very clever, very {24} high-spirited, full of life, health, and -fun--a girl who could have yielded to very few, and who brought the -homage of heart and mind to "Mother-Mary," and rejoiced in doing it. -These two grew to be great friends, and when after three years Claudia -came home and came out, all parties were happy. - -In the meantime Mr. Brewer's way in the world had been straight, -plain, and rapidly travelled. The county was at his feet. Mary was no -longer congratulated on having been brought up to poverty. Behind her -back there were plenty of people to say that Mr. Brewer was happy in -having for his wife a well connected gentlewoman. Her pedigree was -told, her poverty forgotten. Her singing and playing, dancing and -drawing, were none the worse for unknown thousands a year. And people -wondered less openly at the splendor of velvets and diamonds than they -had at the new muslin gown. To Mary herself life was very different in -every way. Daily, more and more, she admired her husband, and approved -of him. It was the awakening into life of a new set of feelings. She -knew none of the love and devotion she had felt for her first husband. -Mr. Brewer never expected any of it. But he intended that she should, -in some other indescribable manner, fall in love with him, and she was -doing it every day--which thing her husband saw, and welcomed life -with great satisfaction in consequence. - -It was when Claudia came out that the man we have seen, Horace -Erskine, first came to them. He was just of age. Mary did not like -him. She could give no reason for it. Her sister had always praised -him--but Mary _could_ not like him. He came to them for a series of -gay doings, and Mr. Brewer admired him, and Claudia--poor little -Claudia! She gave him that strong heart of hers; that spirit that -could break sooner than bend was quite enslaved--she loved him, and he -had asked for her love, and vowed a hundred times that he could never -be happy without it. He asked her of her father, and Mr. Brewer -consented. It was not for Mary to say no; but her heart went cold in -its fear, and she was very sorry. - -The Erskines in Scotland were delighted--all deemed doing well. But -when Horace Erskine talked to Mr. Brewer about money, he was told that -Claudia would have on her marriage five thousand pounds; and ten -thousand more if she survived him would be forthcoming on his death-- -that was all. "Enough for a woman," said Mr. Brewer; and Erskine was -silent. It went on for a few weeks, Horace, being flighty and odd, -Claudia, for the first time in her life, humble and endearing. Then he -told her that to him money was necessary; then he asked her to appeal -to her father for more; then she treated the request lightly, and, at -last, positively refused. If she had not enough, he could leave her. -If he left her, would she take the blame on herself? It would injure -him in his future hopes and prospects to have it supposed to be _his_ -doing if they parted? Yes, she said. It was the easiest thing in the -world. Who cared?--not he of course--and, certainly, not Claudia -Brewer. It broke her heart to find him vile. But she was too -discerning not to see the truth; her great thought now was to hide it. -To hide too from every one, even from "Mother-Mary," that her heart -felt death-struck--that the whole place was poisoned to her--that life -at Beremouth was loathsome. - -She took a strange way of hiding it. - -A county election was going on. The man whom Mr. Brewer hoped to see -elected was a guest at Beremouth. An old, grey-haired, worldly, -statesmanlike man. A man who petted Claudia, and admired her; and who -suddenly woke up one day to a thought--a question--a species of -amusing suggestion, which grew into a {25} profound wonder, and then -even warmed into a hope--surely that pretty bright young heiress liked -him, had a fancy to be the second Lady Greystock. It was a droll -thought at first, and he played with it; a flattering fancy, and he -encouraged it. He was an honest man. He knew that he was great, -clever, learned. Was there anything so wonderful in a woman loving -him? He settled the question by asking Claudia. And she promised to be -his wife with a real and undisguised gladness. Her spirit and her -determination were treading the life out of her heart. She was sincere -in her gladness. She thought she could welcome any duties that took -her away from life at Beremouth, and gave her place and position -elsewhere. - -Mary suspected much, and feared everything. But Claudia felt and knew -too much to speak one word of the world of hope and joy and love that -had gone away from her. She declared that she liked her old love, and -gloried in his grey hairs, and in the great heart that had stooped to -ask for hers. - -Now what are we to say of Horace Erskine? Was he wholly bad? First, he -had never loved Claudia with a real devotion. He had admired her; she -had loved him. He had gambled--green turf and green cloth--gambled -and recklessly indulged himself till he had got upon the way to ruin, -and had begun the downward path, and was glad to be stopped in that -slippery descent by a marriage with an heiress. There was a sparkle, -an originality, about Claudia. It was impossible not to be taken with -her. But Claudia with only _that_ fortune was of no use to him. He -knew she was brave and true-hearted; so he boldly asked her to guard -his name--in fact, to give him up, and not injure his next chance with -a better heiress by telling the truth. _He_ told _her_ the truth; that -he wanted money, and money he must have. She would not tell him that -the worst part of her trial was the loss of her idol. It was despising -him that broke her heart. But because he had been her idol she would -never injure him--never tell. - -So the day came, and at Marston church she married Sir Geoffrey -Greystock, "Mother-Mary" wondering; Mr. Brewer believing, in the -innocence of his heart, that the fancy for Horace Erskine had been a -bit of the old wilfulness. "The last bit--the last," he said, as he -spoke of it to her that very day, making her chilled heart knock -against her side as he spoke, and kissed her, and sent her with -blessings from the Beremouth that she had married to get away from. - -_To get away_--it had more to do with her marrying than any other -thought. To get away from the house, the spreading pastures, the -bright garden, and above all from the _old deer pond_ in the park--the -most beautiful of all the many lovely spots that nature and art, and -time and taste, had joined to create and adorn Beremouth. The old deer -pond in the park! Sheltered by ancient oak; backed by interlacing -boughs of old hawthorn trees; shadowed by tall, shining, dark dense -holly, that glowed through the winter with its red berries, and -contrasted with the long fair wreaths of hawthorn flowers in the sweet -smiling spring. There, in this now dreaded place, Horace Erskine had -first spoken of love; and there how often had he promised her the -happiness that had gone out of her life--for ever. In the terrible -nights, when her broken-hearted pains were strongest, this deer pond -in the park had been before her closed eyes like a vision. In its -waters she saw in her sleep her face and his, so happy, so loving, so -trusting, so true. Then the picture in that water changed, and she -watched it in her feverish dreams with horror, but yet was obliged to -gaze, and the truth went out of his face, and the terror came into -hers. And, worse and worse, he grew threatening--he was cold--he had -never loved--he was killing her; and she fell, fell from her height of -happiness; no protecting {26} arm stayed her, and the dark waters -opened, and she heard the rushing sound of their deadly waves closing -over her, as she sunk--sunk--again and again, night after night Oh, to -get away, to get away! And she blessed Sir Geoffrey, and when he said -he was too old to wait for a wife she was glad, for she had no wish to -wait. Change, absence, another home, another life, another -world--these things she wanted, and they had come. Is it any wonder -that she took them as the man who is dying of thirst takes the -longed-for draught, and drains the cup of mercy to the dregs? - -It was a happy day to marry. Mr. Brewer had not only an excuse, but a -positively undeniable reason for being bountiful and kind. For once he -could openly, and as a matter of duty, make the sad hearts in -Marston--and elsewhere--sing for joy. His blessings flowed so -liberally that he had to apologize. It was only for once--he begged -everybody's pardon, but it could never happen again; he had but this -one child, and she was a bride, and so if they would forgive -everything this once! And many a new life of gladness was begun that -day; many a burden then lost its weight; many a record went up to the -Eternal memory to meet that man at the inevitable hour. - -Little Mary was the loveliest bridesmaid the world ever saw; standing -alone like an angel by her dark sister's side. She was the only thing -that Claudia grieved to leave. She was glad to flee away from -"Mother-Mary." She dreaded lest those sweet wistful eyes should read -her heart one day; and she could not help rejoicing to get away from -that honest, open-hearted father's sight. Her poor, wrecked, shrunken -heart--her withered life, could not bear the contrast with his free, -kind, bounteous spirit that gave such measure of love, pressed down -and running over, to all who wanted it. Her old husband, Sir Geoffrey, -resembled that great good heart in whose love she had learnt to think -all men true, more than did her young lover Horace Erskine--she could -be humble and thankful to Sir Geoffrey; a well-placed approval was a -better thing than an ill-placed love. So with that little vision of -beauty, Minnie Lorimer, by her side, Claudia became Sir Geoffrey's -wife. - -Four months past, the bride and bridegroom were entertaining a grand -party at their fine ancestral home, and Mr. Brewer was the father of a -son and heir. Horace Erskine read both announcements in the paper one -morning, and ground his teeth with vexation. He went to his desk and -took out three letters, a long lock of silky hair, a small -miniature--these things he had begged to keep. Laughing, he had argued -that he was almost a relation. His uncle had married "Mother-Mary's" -sister. She had had no strength to debate with him. She had chosen to -wear the mask of indifference, too, to him. He now made these things -into a parcel and sent them to Sir Geoffrey Greystock without one word -of explanation. When they were gone he wrote to his uncle, begged for -some money, got it, and started for Vienna. The money met him in -London, and he crossed to France the same day. - -In the midst of great happiness the strong heart of good Sir Geoffrey -stood still. His wife sought him. She found him in his chair in a fit. -On a little table by his side was the parcel just received. Claudia -knew all. She took the parcel into the room close by, called her -dressing room, rung for help, but in an hour Sir Geoffrey was dead; -and Claudia had burnt the letters and the lock of silky hair. - -The business of parliament, the excitement attendant on his marriage -with that beautiful girl, the entertainment of that great house full -of company--these reasons the world reckoned up, and found sufficient -to answer the questions and the wonderings on Sir Geoffrey's death. -But when those solemn walls no longer knew their master, Claudia, into -whose new life the new things held but an {27} unsteady place, grew -ill. First of all, sleepless nights: how could she sleep with the -sound of those waters by the deer pond in her ears? How could she help -gazing perpetually at the picture on the pond's still surface: Horace -and Sir Geoffrey, and herself not able to turn aside the death-stroke, -but standing, fettered by she knew not what, in powerless misery, only -obliged to see the changing face of her husband till the dead seemed -to be again before her, and Horace melted out of sight, and she woke, -dreading fever and praying against delirium? She was overcome at last. -Terrible hours came, and "Mother-Mary's" sweet face mingling with some -strong, subduing, life-endangering dream, was the first thing that -seemed to bring her back to better things, and to restore her to -herself. - -In fact, Claudia had had brain fever, and whether or not she was ever -to know real health again was a problem to be worked out by time. -Would she come back to her father's house? No! The very name of -Beremouth was to be avoided. Would she go abroad? Oh, no; there was a -dread of separation upon her. "Somewhere where you can easily hear of -me, and I of you; where you can come and see me, for I shall never see -Beremouth again." It was her own thought, and so, about five miles -from Beremouth, in the house of a Doctor Rankin, who took ladies out -of health into his family, Claudia determined to go. It was every way -the best thing that could be done, for every day showed more strongly -than the last that Claudia would never be what is emphatically called -"herself" again. So people said. - -Dr. Rankin was kind, learned, and wise; Mrs. Rankin warm-hearted and -friendly. Other patients beside Lady Greystock were there. It was not -a private asylum, and Claudia was not mad; it was really what it -called itself, a home which the sick might share, with medical -attendance, cheerful company, and out-door recreations in a well-kept -garden and extensive grounds of considerable beauty. Claudia had known -Dr. and Mrs. Rankin, and had called with her father at Blagden, where -they lived. And there her father and "Mother-Mary" took her three -months after her husband's death, looking really aged, feeble, and -strangely sad. - -After a time--it was a long time--Claudia was said to be well. -"Perfectly recovered," said Dr. Rankin, "and in really satisfactory -health." So she was when Minnie Lorimer stood in the room at the inn -in Hull, talking to that very Horace Erskine, who was bringing her -home from her aunt's in Scotland to her mother at Beremouth. - -"Sweet seventeen!" Very sweet and beautiful, pleasing the eye, -gratifying the mind, filling the heart with hope, and setting -imagination at play--Minnie Lorimer was beautiful, and with all that -peculiar beauty about her that belongs to "a spoilt child" who has not -been spoilt after all. - -Claudia--how old she looked! Claudia, with that one only shadow on her -once bright face, was still living with Dr. and Mrs. Rankin. It was -Lady Greystock's pleasure to live with them. She said she had grown -out of the position of a patient, and into their hearts as a friend. -"Was it not so?" she asked. It was impossible to deny that which -really brought happiness to everybody. "Well, then, I shall build on a -few rooms to the house, and I shall call them mine, and I shall add to -the coach-house, and hire a cottage for my groom and his wife--I shall -live here. Why not? You will take care of me, and feed me, and scold -me, and find me a good guidable creature. You know I shall be ill if -you refuse." - -It all happened as she chose. Hers was the prettiest carriage in the -county, the best horses, the most perfectly appointed little -household--for she had her own servants. Among her most devoted -friends were the good doctor and his wife. Lady Greystock was as -positive and as much given to {28} govern as the clever little Claudia -in school-girl days. But the arrangement was a success, and -"Mother-Mary," who saw her constantly, was very glad. Only one trouble -survived; Claudia would never go and stay at Beremouth. She would -drive her ponies merrily to the door, and even spend an hour or two -within the house, but never would she stay there--never! She used to -say to herself that she dared not trust herself with the things that -had witnessed her love, her sorrow, her marriage--with the things that -told her of him who had ruined everything like a murderer--as he was. - -And so, to save appearances, she used to say that she never stayed -away from Blagden for a single night, and she never left off black. It -was not that she wore a widow's dress, or covered up the glories of -her beautiful hair. She was but twenty-nine at the moment recorded in -the first page of this story. She was very thin and pale, but she was -a strong woman, and one who required no more care than any other -person; but she had determined never again to see Horace Erskine. What -he had done had become known to her, as we have seen. She only -bargained with life, as it were, in this way, that _that_ man should -be out of it for ever. And for this it was that she made her -resolution and kept it. - -Horace Erskine had been abroad for some years; but though she had felt -safe in that fact, she had looked into the future and kept her -resolution. And so she lived on at Blagden, doing good, blessing the -poor, comforting the afflicted, visiting the sick, and beautifying all -things, and adorning all places that came within her reach. Certain -things she was young enough to enjoy greatly; the chief of these was -the contemplation of Frederick Brewer, her half-brother, a fine boy of -nine years old, for nine years of widowhood had been passed, and -through all that time this boy, her dear father's son, had been Lady -Greystock's delight. She loved "Mother-Mary" all the better for having -given him to her father, and she felt a strong, unutterable -thanksgiving that, his birth having been expected, the test of whether -or not Horace Erskine loved her for herself had been applied before -she had become chained to so terrible a destiny as that of being wife -to a thankless, disappointed man. Terrible as her great trial had -been, she might have suffered that which, to one of her temper, would -have been far worse. So Fred Brewer would ride over to see his sister. -Day after day the boy's bright face would be laid beside her own, and -to him, and only to him, would she talk of Sir Geoffrey. Then they -would ride together down to Marston to see Mrs. Morier and Jenifer, -who was a true friend, and lived on those terms with the lady who -loved her well; then to the market-place where the old home stood, now -turned into an almshouse of an eccentric sort, with all rules included -under one head, that the dear old souls were to have just whatever -they wanted. Did Martha Gannet keep three parrots, and did they eat as -much as a young heifer? and scream, too? ah, that was their -nature--never go against a dumb creature's nature, Mr. Brewer said -there was always cruelty in that--and did they smell, and give -trouble, and would they be mischievous, and tear Mrs. Betty's cap? -Indeed. Mr. Brewer was delighted. An excellent excuse for giving new -caps to all the inmates, and to look up all troubles, and mend -everybody's griefs--such an excellent thing it was that the fact of -three parrots should lead to the discovery of so many disgraceful -neglects that Mr. Brewer begged leave to apologize very heartily and -sincerely while he diligently repaired them. It was a very odd school -to bring up young Freddy in. But we are obliged to say that he was not -at all the worse for it. - -And here we must say what we have not said before. Mr. Brewer was a -Catholic. He and Jenifer were {29} Catholics; Mrs. Brewer had not been -a Catholic; and Claudia had been left to her mother's teaching. When -Freddy was born, Mr. Brewer considered his ways. And what he saw in -his life we may see shortly. He had been born of a Catholic mother who -had died, and made his Protestant father promise to send him to a -Catholic school. He had stood alone in the world, he had always stood -alone in the world. He seemed to see nothing else. Three miles from -Marston was a little dirty sea-port, also a sort of fishing place. A -place that bore a bad character in a good many ways. Some people would -have finished that character by saying that there were Papists there. -To that place every Sunday Mr. Brewer went to mass. Many and many a -lift he had given to Jenifer on those days. How much Jenifer's talk -assisted his choice of Mary for his wife, we may guess. When Freddy -was born Jenifer said her first words on the subject of religion to -Mr. Brewer: "You will have him properly baptized:" "Of course." "Order -me the pony cart, and I'll go to Father Daniels." "I must tell Mrs. -Brewer." "Leave that to me--just send for the cart." It _was_ left to -Jenifer. By night the priest had come and gone. It had not been his -first visit. He had been there many times, and had known that he was -welcome. The Clayton mission had felt the blessing of Mr. Brewer's -gold. He had seldom been at the house in the market-place in Marston, -but at Beremouth Mary had plucked her finest flowers, and sent them -back in the old gentleman's gig, and he had been always made welcome -in her husband's house with a pretty grace and many pleasant -attentions. Now, when Freddy was baptized, Mr. Brewer went to his wife -and bent over her, and said solemnly, "Mary--my dear wife; Mary--I -thank thee, darling. I thank thee, my love." And the single tear that -fell on her cheek she never forgot. - -Then Mr. Brewer met Jenifer at his wife's door. "It's like a new life, -Jenifer." And the steady-mannered woman looked in his bright eyes and -saw how true his words were. - -"It's a steady life of doing good to everybody that you have ever led, -sir. It was a lonely life once, no doubt. I was dazed when she married -you. But, eh, master; I have _that_ to think about, and _that_ to pray -for, that a'most makes me believe in anything happening to _you_ for -good, when so much is asked for, day and night, in my own prayer." - -"Put _us_ into it; let me and mine be in Jenifer's prayer," he said, -and passed on. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ----- - -From The Month. - - -PROPOSED SUBSTITUTES FOR THE STEAM-ENGINE. - - -The present year has been remarkable for the large number of machines -invented for the purpose of superseding steam, in at least some of its -lighter tasks. Many of these are due to French engineers; being -further proofs, if any were required, of the great activity now -displayed in France in all matters of mechanical invention. - -Two of these new engines are especially interesting as illustrating -that all-important law in modern physics, the correlation or -convertibility of forces. By this is meant that the forces of -inanimate nature, such as light, heat, electricity--nay, even the -muscular and nerve forces of living beings--have such a mutual -dependence and connection that each one is only produced or called -into action by another, and only ceases to be manifest when it has -given birth to a fresh force in its turn. Thus motion (in the {30} -shape of friction) produces heat, electricity, or light; heat produces -light or electricity; electricity, magnetism; and so on in an endless -chain, which links together all the phenomena of this visible -universe. - -As a metaphysical principle, this is as old as Aristotle, and may be -found dimly foreshadowed in the forcible lines of Lucretius: - - "--Pereunt imbres, ubi eos pater aether - In gremium matris terrai praecipitavit; - At nitidae surgunt fruges, ramique virescunt, - Arboribus crescunt ipsae, fetuque gravautur, - Hinc alitar porro nostrum genus atque ferarum. - -* * * * * * - - Haud igitur penitus pereunt quaecumque videntur, - Quando aliud ex alio reflcit natura, nec ullam - Rem gigni patitur, nisi morte adjuta aliena." [Footnote 8] - - [Footnote 8: Lucret. lib. i. 250-65.] - -But the rediscovery of this law, as a result of experiment, is due to -English physicists of our own day; and it is so invariably true, and -the produced force is always so perfectly proportioned to the force -producing it, that some [Footnote 9] have gone so far as to revive a -very old hypothesis in philosophy, supposing that all the forces of -nature are but differently expressed forms of the Divine Will. - - [Footnote 9: Dr. Carpenter, Philos. Trans. 1840, vol. ii. ] - -As a corollary to this law, it follows that many a force of nature, -hitherto neglected because of its position or intractability, may be -turned to practical account by using it to produce some new power, -which may be either stored up or transmitted to a distance, and so can -be employed wherever and whenever it is required. Thus, in the first -machine we propose to notice, a M. Cazal has just hit upon a plan by -which to use the power of falling water at a considerable distance. He -employs a water-wheel to turn a magneto-electric machine (of the kind -used for medical purposes, on a very large scale), and the electric -force so obtained may be conveyed to any distance, and employed there -as a motive power. In this way a mountain stream in the Alps or -Pyrenees may turn a lathe, or set a loom in motion, in a workshop in -Paris or Lyons; or even (as has been remarked), if a wire were laid -across the Atlantic, the whole force of Niagara would be at our -disposal. - -The idea is at present quite in its infancy; but we are told that the -few experiments hitherto made show that such an engine is not only -very ingenious but perfectly feasible, and (most important of all) -economical. - -The second engine gave promise of considerable success when first -brought out in Paris about eight months ago. It was invented by a M. -Tellier, and proceeds on the principle of storing up force, to be used -when wanted. It has long been well known to chemists that a certain -number of gases (as chlorine, carbonic acid, ammonia, and sulphuretted -hydrogen) can be condensed into liquids by cold or pressure, or both -combined. Of all these gases, ammonia is the most easily liquefied, -requiring for this purpose, at ordinary temperatures, a pressure only -six and a half times greater than that of the atmosphere. A supply of -liquid ammonia obtained in this manner is kept by M. Tellier in a -closed vessel, and surrounded with a freezing mixture, so that it has -but little tendency to return to the gaseous state. A small quantity -is allowed to escape from this reservoir under the piston of the -engine, and, the temperature there being higher than in the reservoir, -the ammonia becomes at once converted into gas, increasing thereby to -more than twelve hundred times its previous bulk, and so driving the -piston with great force to the top of the cylinder. A little water is -now admitted, which entirely dissolves the ammonia, a vacuum being -thus created, and the piston driven down again by the pressure of the -air without. M. Tellier employs three such cylinders, which work in -succession; and the only apparent limit to the power to be obtained -from this machine is the amount of liquid ammonia which would have to -be used, about three gallons (or twenty-two pounds) being required for -each horse-power per hour. There is no waste of material; for the -water which has dissolved {31} the gas is saved, and the ammonia -recovered from it by evaporation, and afterwards condensed into a -liquid. M. Tellier proposed to use his engine for propelling omnibuses -and other vehicles; but it would appear that it is too expensive and -too cumbrous to be practically useful; there can, however, be very -little doubt that the principle will be used with success in some new -form. A patent has quite recently been taken out for such an engine in -England. It will be perceived at once how the ammonia engine -illustrates the law of storing up force. It originates no power of its -own, but simply gives out by degrees the mechanical force which had -been previously employed to change the ammonia from a gas to a liquid. - -Lenoir's "gas-engine" has been more successful; for, although but a -few months old, it has been already largely adopted in Parisian -hotels, schools, and other large establishments, for raising lifts, -making ices, and even--for what is not done now-a-days by -machinery?--cleaning boots. In London, it was lately exhibited in -Cranbourne Street, and is now used for turning lathes and for other -light work. - -This engine, like the ammonia-engine, is provided with an ordinary -cylinder, into which coal-gas and air are admitted, under the piston, -in the proportions of eleven parts of the latter to one of the former. -The mixture is then exploded by the electric spark, and the remaining -air, being greatly expanded, drives up the piston. When the top is -reached the gas and air are again admitted, but this time above the -piston, and the explosion is repeated, so that the piston is driven -down again. The most ingenious part of the whole thing is the -mechanism by which the electric spark is directed alternately to the -upper and lower ends of the cylinder. This cannot be satisfactorily -explained without a diagram, but is brought about (roughly speaking) -by connecting either end of the cylinder with a semicircle of brass, -which is touched by the "rotary crank" in the course of its -revolution. The crank is already charged with electricity, and so -communicates the electric spark to each of the semicircles in turn. -The cylinder is kept plunged in water, so that there is no fear of its -overheating by the constant explosions. - -This engine has cheapness for its main recommendation. A -half-horsepower gas-engine (the commonest power made) costs, when -complete, £65, and consumes twopence worth of gas per hour; while the -cost of keeping the battery active is about fourpence per week. - -An engineer of Lyons, M. Millon, has since proposed to use, instead of -coal-gas, the gases produced by passing steam over red-hot coke. These -gases are found to explode rather more quickly than coal-gas, when -mixed with common air, and fired by the electric spark. They will -probably be found cheaper and more efficient when they can be -obtained; but in many cases coal-gas will be the only material -available. - -A M. Jules Gros has recently invented an engine in which gun-cotton is -exploded in a strong reservoir and air compressed in another, the -compressed air being afterward employed to move the pistons of the -machine. This sounds more dangerous than it perhaps really is, since -gun-cotton is now known to be more tractable than gunpowder, when -properly used; but we very much doubt whether the machine can be -regular or economical enough to be more than a curiosity. - -To close the list of French inventions of this kind, we may state that -Count de Molin has lately patented an electro-magnetic machine, which, -he states, will be more powerful than any previously made. It is too -complicated for a mere verbal description to be of any use; but is -apparently not free from the fault of all electro-magnetic engines, of -costing too much to be of practical value. - -{32} - -[ORIGINAL] - -CHRISTINE. - -A TROUBADOUR'S SONG, - -IN FIVE CANTOS, - -BY GEORGE H. MILES. [Footnote 10] - - [Footnote 10: Copyright secured.] - -PRELUDE. - - The Queen hath built her a fairy Bower - In the shadow of the Accursed Tower, - For the Moslem hath left his blood-stained lair, - And the banner of England waveth there. - Thither she lureth the Lion King - To hear a wandering Trovère sing; - For well she knew the Joyous Art - Was surest path to Richard's heart. - But the Monarch's glance was on the sea-- - Sooth, he was scarce in minstrel mood, - For Philip's triremes homeward stood - With all the Gallic chivalry. - And as he watched the filmy sail - Upon the furthest billow fail, - He muttered, "Richard ill can spare - Thee and thy Templars, false and fair; - Yet God hath willed it--home to thee, - Death or Jerusalem for me!" - Then pressing with a knightly kiss - The peerless hand that slept in his, - "Ah, would our own Blondel were here - To try a measure I wove last e'en. - What songster hast thou caught, my Queen, - Whose harp may soothe a Monarch's ear?" - She beckoned, and the Trovère bowed - To many a Lord and Ladye fair - That gathered round the royal pair; - But most his simple song was vowed - To a sweet shape with dark brown hair, - Half hidden in the gentle crowd; - Pale as a spirit, sharply slender. - In maiden beauty's crescent splendor. - And never yet bent Minstrel knee - To Mistress lovelier than she. - -{33} - - - - - -THE FIRST SONG. - -I. - - Ye have heard of the Castle of Miolan - And how it hath stood since time began, - Midway to yon mountain's brow, - Guarding the beautiful valley below: - Its crest the clouds, its ancient feet - Where the Arc and the Isère murmuring meet - Earth hath few lovelier scenes to show - Than Miolan with its hundred halls, - Its massive towers and bannered walls, - Looming out through the vines and walnut woods - That gladden its stately solitudes. - And there might ye hear but yestermorn - The loud halloo and the hunter's horn, - The laugh of mailèd men at play. - The drinking bout and the roundelay. - But now all is sternest silence there. - Save the bell that calls to vesper prayer; - Save the ceaseless surge of a father's wail, - And, hark! ye may hear the Baron's Tale. - - -II. - - "Come hither. Hermit!--Yestermorn - I had an only son, - A gallant fair as e'er was born, - A knight whose spurs were won - In the red tide by Godfrey's side - At Ascalon. - -{34} - - "But yestermorn he came to me - For blessing on his lance, - And death and danger seemed to flee - The joyaunce of his glance, - For he would ride to win his Bride, - Christine of France. - - "All sparkling in the sun he stood - In mail of Milan dressed, - A scarf, the gift of her he wooed, - Lay lightly o'er his breast. - As, with a clang, to horse he sprang - With nodding crest - - "Gaily he grasped the stirrup cup - Afoam with spicy ale, - But as he took the goblet up - Methought his cheek grew pale. - And a shudder ran through the iron man - And through his mail. - - "Oft had I seen him breast the shock - Of squire or crownèd king, - His front was firm as rooted rock - When spears were shivering: - I knew no blow could shake him so - From living thing. - - "'Twas something near akin to death - That blanched and froze his cheek, - Yet 'twas not death, for he had breath, - And when I bade him speak, - Unto his breast his hand he pressed - With one wild shriek. - - "The hand thus clasped upon his heart - So sharply curbed the rein, - Grey Caliph, rearing with a start, - Went bounding o'er the plain - Away, away with echoing neigh - And streaming mane. - - "After him sped the menial throng; - I stirred not in my fear; - Perchance I swooned, for it seemed not long - Ere the race did reappear, - And my son still led on his desert-bred. - Grasping his spear. - -{35} - - "Unchanged in look or limb, he came. - He and his barb so fleet, - His hand still on his heart, the same - Stem bearing in his seat, - And wheeling round with sudden bound - Stopped at my feet. - - "And soon as ceased that wildering tramp - 'What ails thee, boy?' I cried-- - Taking his hand all chill and damp-- - 'What means this fearful ride? - Alight, alight, for lips so white - Would scare a Bride!' - - "But sternly to his steed clove he, - And answer made he none, - I clasped him by his barbèd knee - And there I made my moan; - While icily he stared at me, - At me alone. - - "A strange, unmeaning stare was that, - And a page beside me said, - 'If ever corse in saddle sat, - Our lord is certes sped!' - But I smote the lad, for it drove me mad - To think him dead. - - "What! dead so young, what! lost so soon, - My beautiful, my brave! - Sooner the sun should find at noon - In central heaven a grave! - Sweet Jesu, no, it is not so - When Thou canst save! - - "For was he dead and was he sped, - When he could ride so well, - So bravely bear his plumèd head? - Or, was't some spirit fell - In causeless wrath had crossed his path - With fiendish spell? - - "Oh. Hermit, 'twas a cruel sight. - And He, who loves to bless, - Ne'er sent on son such bitter blight. - On sire such sore distress, - Such piteous pass, and I, alas, - So powerless! - -{36} - - "They would have ta'en him from his horse - The while I wept and prayed, - They would have lain him like a corse - Upon a litter made - Of traversed spear and martial gear. - But I forbade. - - "I gazed into his face again, - I chafed his hand once more, - I summoned him to speak, in vain-- - He sat there as before, - While the gallant Grey in dumb dismay - His rider bore. - - "Full well, full well Grey Caliph then - The horror seemed to know. - E'en deeper than my mailèd men - Methought he felt our woe; - For the barbed head of the desert-bred - Was drooping low. - - "Amazed, aghast, he gazed at me, - That mourner true and good. - Then backward at my boy looted he. - As if a word he sued. - And like sculptured pile in abbey aisle - The train there stood. - - "I took the rein: the frozen one - Still fast in saddle sate. - As tremblingly I led him on - Toward the great castle gate. - O walls mine own, why have ye grown - So desolate?-- - - "I led them to the castle gate - And paused before the shrine - Where throned in state from earliest date, - Protectress of our line. - Madonna pressed close to her breast - The Babe Divine. - - "And kneeling lowly at her feet, - I begged the Mother mild - That she would sue her Jesu sweet - To aid my stricken child; - And the meek stone face flashed full of grace - As if she smiled. - -{37} - - "And methought the eyes of the Full of Grace - Upon my darling shone, - Till living seemed that marble face - And the living man seemed stone, - While a halo played round the Mother Maid - And round her Son. - - "And there was radiance everywhere - Surpassing light of day, - On man and horse, on shield and spear - Burned the bright, blinding ray; - But most it shone on my only one - And his gallant Grey. - - "A sudden clang of armor rang, - My boy lay on the sward. - Up high in air Grey Caliph sprang, - An instant fiercely pawed. - Then trembling stood aghast and viewed - His fallen lord. - - "Then with the flash of fire away - Like sunbeam o'er the plain, - Away, away with echoing neigh - And wildly waving mane. - Away he sped, loose from his head - The flying rein. - - "I watched the steed from pass to pass - Unto the welkin's rim, - I feared to turn my eyes, alas, - To trust a look at him; - And when I turned, my temples burned - And all grew dim. - - "Sweet if such swoon could endless be, - Yet speedily I woke - And missed my boy: they showed him me - Full length on bed of oak. - Clad as 'twas meet in mail complete - And sable cloak. - - "All of our race upon that bier - Had rested one by one, - I had seen my father lying there, - And now there lay my son! - Ah! my sick soul bled the while it said-- - 'Thy will be done!' - -{38} - - "Bright glanced the crest, bright gleamed the spur, - That well had played their part, - His lance still clasped, nor could they stir - His left hand from his heart; - There fast it clove, nor would it move - With all their art - - "I found no voice, I shed no tear. - They thought me well resigned. - All else who stood around the bier - With weeping much were blind; - And a mourning voice went through the house - Like a low wind. - - "And there was sob of aged man - And woman's wailing cry, - All cheeks were wan, all eyes o'erran, - Yon fair-haired maidens sigh. - And one apart with breaking heart - Weeps bitterly. - - "But sharper than spear-thrust, I trow, - Their wailing through me went; - Stem silence suited best my woe, - And, howe'er well the intent. - Their menial din seemed half akin - To merriment - - "For oh, such grief was mock to mine - Whose days were all undone. - The last of all this ancient line - To share whose grief was none! - Straight from the hall I barred them all - And stood alone. - - "'Receive me now, thou bed of oak!' - I fell upon the bier. - And, Hermit, when this morning broke - It found me clinging there. - O maddening morn! That day dare dawn - On such a pair! - - "I sent for thee, thou man of God, - To watch with me to-night; - My boy still liveth, by the rood, - Nor shall be funeral rite!-- - But, Hermit, come: this is the room: - There lies the Knight!" - -{39} - -III. - - But she apart - With breaking heart?-- - That very yestermorn she stood - In the deepest shade of the walnut wood, - As a Knight rode by on his raven steed, - Crying, "Daughter mine, hast thou done the deed? - I gave thee the venom, I gave thee the spell, - A jealous heart might use them well." - But she waved her white arms and only said, - "On oaken bier is Miolan laid!" - "Dead!" laughed the Knight. "Then round Pilate's Peak - Let the red light burn and the eagle shriek. - When Miolan? heir lies on the bier, - Low is the only lance I fear: - I ride, I ride to win my Bride, - Ho, Eblis, to thy servant's side. - Thou hast sworn no foe - Shall lay me low - Till the dead in arms against me ride!" - ------- - -THE SECOND SONG. - -I. - - They passed into an ancient hall - With oaken arches spanned. - Full many a shield hung on the wall, - Full many a broken brand. - And barbèd spear and scimetar - From Holy Land. - - And scarfs of dames of high degree - With gold and jewels rich, - And many a mouldered effigy - In many a mouldering niche, - Like grey sea shells whose crumbling cells - Bestrew the beach. - -{40} - - The sacred dead possessed the place, - The silent cobweb wreathed - The tombs where slept that warrior race, - With swords for ever sheathed: - You seemed to share the very air - Which they had breathed. - - Oh, darksome was that funeral room, - Those oaken arches dim, - The torchlight, struggling through the gloom, - Fell faint on effige grim, - On dragon dread and carvèd head - Of Cherubim. - - Of Cherubim fast by a shrine - Whereon the last sad rite - Was wont for all that ancient line, - For dame and belted knight-- - A shrine of Moan which death alone - Did ever light. - - But light not now that altar stone - While hope of life remain, - Though darksome be that altar lone, - Unlit that funeral fane, - Save by the rays cast by the blaze - Of torches twain. - - Of torches twain at head and heel - Of him who seemeth dead, - Who sleepeth so well in his coat of steel. - His cloak around him spread-- - The young Knight fair, who lieth there - On oaken bed. - - One hand still fastened to his heart. - The other on his lance, - While through his eyelids, half apart. - Life seemeth half to glance. - "Sweet youth awake, for Jesu's sake, - From this strange trance!" - - But heed or answer there is none. - Then knelt that Hermit old; - To Mother Mary and her Son - Full many a prayer he told, - Whose wondrous words the Church records - In lettered gold: - -{41} - - And many a precious litany - And many a pious vow, - Then rising said, "If fiend it be, - That fiend shall leave thee now!" - And traced the sign of the Cross divine - On lips and brow. - - As well expect yon cherub's wings - To wave at matin bell! - Not all the relics of the kings - Could break that iron spell. - "Pray for the dead, let mass be said, - Toll forth the knell!" - - "Not yet!" the Baron gasped and sank - As if beneath a blow, - With lips all writhing as they drank - The dregs of deepest woe; - With eyes aglare, and scattered hair - Tossed to and fro. - - So swings the leaf that lingers last - When wintry tempests sweep, - So reels when storms have stripped the mast - The galley on the deep, - So nods the snow on Eigher's brow - Before the leap. - - Uncertain 'mid his tangled hair - His palsied fingers stray, - He smileth in his dumb despair - Like a sick child at play. - Though wet, I trow, with tears eno' - That beard so grey. - - Oh, Hermit, lift him to your breast, - There best his heart may bleed; - Since none but heaven can give him rest, - Heaven's priest must meet his need: - Dry that white beard, now wet and weird - As pale sea-weed. - - Uprising slowly from the ground, - With short and frequent breath. - In aimless circles, round and round, - The Baron tottereth - With trailing feet, a mourner meet - For house of death. - -{42} - - Till, pausing by the shrine of Moan, - He said, the while he wept, - "Here, Hermit, here mine only one, - When all the castle slept, - As maiden knight, o'er armor bright, - His first watch kept. - - "This is the casque that first he wore, - And this his virgin shield. - This lance to his first tilt he bore, - With this first took the field-- - How light, how lâche to that huge ash - He now doth wield! - - "This blade hath levelled at a blow - The she-wolf in her den. - With this red falchion he laid low - The slippery Saracen. - God! will that hand, so near his brand, - Ne'er strike again? - - "Frown not on him, ye men of old. - Whose glorious race is run; - Frown not on him, my fathers bold. - Though many the field ye won: - His name and los may mate with yours - Though but begun! - - "Receive him, ye departed brave, - Unlock the gates of light. - And range yourselves about his grave - To hail a brother knight. - Who never erred in deed or word - Against the right! - - "But is he dead and is he sped - Withouten scathe or scar? - Why, Hermit, he hath often bled - From sword and scimetar-- - I've seen him ride, wounds gaping wide, - From war to war. - - "And hath a silent, viewless thing - Laid danger's darling low, - When youth and hope were on the wing - And life in morning glow? - Not yonder worm in winter's storm - Perisheth so! - -{43} - - "Oh, Hermit, thou hast heard, I ween, - Of trances long and deep, - But, Hermit, hast thou ever seen - That grim and stony sleep. - And canst thou tell how long a spell - Such slumbers keep? - - "Oh, be there naught to break the charm, - To thaw this icy chain; - Has Mother Church no word to warm - These freezing lips again; - Be holy prayer and balsams rare - Alike in vain? . . . . - - "A curse on thy ill-omened head; - Man, bid me not despair; - Churl, say not that a Knight is dead - When he can couch his spear; - When he can ride--Monk, thou hast lied. - He lives, I swear! - - "Up from that bier! Boy, to thy feet! - Know'st not thy father's voice? - Thou ne'er hast disobeyed . . . is't meet - A sire should summon thrice? - By these grey hairs, by these salt tears, - Awake, arise! - - "Ho, lover, to thy ladye flee, - Dig deep the crimson spur; - Sleep not 'twixt this lean monk and me - When thou shouldst kneel to her! - Oh 'tis a sin, Christine to win - And thou not stir! - - "Ho, laggard, hear yon trumpet's note - Go sounding to the skies, - The lists are set, the banners float. - Yon loud-mouthed herald cries, - 'Ride, gallant knights, Christine invites. - Herself the prize!' - - "Ho, craven, shun'st thou the melée, - When she expects thy brand - To prove to-day in fair tourney - A title to her hand? - Up, dullard base, or by the mass - I'll make thee stand!" . . . . - -{44} - - Thrice strove he then to wrench apart - Those fingers from the spear. - Thrice strove to sever from the heart - The hand that rested there. - Thrice strove in vain with frantic strain - That shook the bier. - - Thrice with the dead the living strove, - Their armor rang a peal, - The sleeping knight he would not move - Although the sire did reel: - That stately corse defied all force, - Stubborn as steel. - - "Ay, dead, dead, dead!" the Baron cried; - "Dear Hermit, I did rave. - O were we sleeping side by side! . . - Good monk, I penance crave - For all I said .... Ay, he is dead, - Pray heaven to save! - - "Betake thee to thy crucifix, - And let me while I may - Rain kisses on these frozen cheeks - Before they know decay. - Leave me to weep and watch and keep - The worm at bay. - - "Thou wilt not spare thy prayers, I trust; - But name not now the grave-- - I'll watch him to the very dust! .... - So, Hermit, to thy cave. - Whilst here I cling lest creeping thing - Insult the brave!" - ------- - - Why starts the Hermit to his feet, - why springs he to the bier, - Why calleth he on Jesu sweet, - Staying the starting tear. - What whispereth he half trustfully - And half in fear? - -{45} - - "Sir Knight, thy ring hath razed his flesh-- - 'Twas in thy frenzy done; - Lo, from his wrist how fast and fresh - The blood-drops trickling run; - Heaven yet may wake, for Mary's sake, - Thy warrior son. - - "Heap ashes on thy head, Sir Knight, - In sackcloth gird thee well, - The shrine of Moan must blaze in light, - The morning mass must swell; - Arouse from sleep the castle keep, - Sound every bell!" - - They come, pale maid and mailèd man - They throng into the hall, - The watcher from the barbican, - The warder from the wall. - And she apart, with breaking heart, - The last of all. - - "__Introibo! _Introibo!_" - The morning mass begins; - "_Mea culpa! mea culpa!_" - Forgive us all our sins; - And the rapt Hermit chaunts with streaming eyes, - That seem to enter Paradise, - "_Gloria! Gloria!_" - The shrine of Moan had never known - That gladdest of all hymns. - ------- - -II. - - - The fair-haired maiden standeth apart - In the chapel gloom, with breaking heart. - But a smile broke over her face as she said, - "The draught was well measured, I ween; - He liveth, thank Allah, but not to wed - His beautiful Christine. - No lance hath Miolan couched to-day: - Let the bride for the bridegroom watch, and pray. - Till the lists shall hear the shriek - Of the Dauphin's daughter borne away - By the Knight of Pilate's Peak." - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - -{46} - -A LETTER TO THE REV. E. B. PUSEY, D.D., -ON HIS RECENT EIRENICON. - -BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D., -OF THE ORATORY. - - -Veni, Domine, et noli tardare, -relaxa facinora plebi tuae; -et rovoca dispersos in terram suam. - - - -No one who desires the union of -Christendom, after its many and -long-standing divisions, can have any other -feeling than joy, my dear Pusey, at -finding from your recent volume that -you see your way to make definite -proposals to us for effecting that -great object, and are able to lay down -the basis and conditions on which you -could co-operate in advancing it. It -is not necessary that we should concur -in the details of your scheme, or -in the principles which it involves, in -order to welcome the important fact -that, with your personal knowledge of the Anglican body, and your -experience of its composition and tendencies, you consider the time to -be come when you and your friends may, without imprudence, turn your -minds to the contemplation of such an enterprise. Even were you an -individual member of that church, a watchman upon a high tower in a -metropolis of religious opinion, we should naturally listen with -interest to what you had to report of the state of the sky and the -progress of the night, what stars were mounting up or what clouds -gathering; what were the prospects of the three great parties which -Anglicanism contains within it, and what was just now the action upon -them respectively of the politics and science of the time. You do not -go into these matters; but the step you have taken is evidently the -measure and the issue of the view which you have formed of them all. - -However, you are not a mere individual; from early youth you have -devoted yourself to the Established Church, and after between forty -and fifty years of unremitting labor in its service, your roots and -your branches stretch out through every portion of its large -territory. You, more than any one else alive, have been the present -and untiring agent by whom a great work has been effected in it; and, -far more than is usual, you have received in your lifetime, as well as -merited, the confidence of your brethren. You cannot speak merely for -yourself; your antecedents, your existing influence, are a pledge to -us that what you may determine will be the determination of a -multitude. Numbers, too, for whom you cannot properly be said to -speak, will be moved by your authority or your arguments; and numbers, -again, who are of a school more recent than your own, and who are only -not your followers because they have outstripped you in their free -speeches and demonstrative acts in our behalf, will, for the occasion, -accept you as their spokesman. There is no one anywhere--among -ourselves, in your own body, or, I suppose, in the Greek Church--who -can affect so vast a circle of men, so virtuous, so able, so learned, -so zealous, as come, more or less, under your influence; and I cannot -pay them all a greater compliment, than to tell them they ought all to -be Catholics, nor do them a more affectionate service than to pray -that they may one day become such. Nor can I address myself to an act -more pleasing, as I trust, to the Divine Lord of the church, and more -loyal and dutiful to his Vicar on earth, than to attempt, however, -feebly, to promote so great a consummation. - -{47} - -I know the joy it would give those conscientious men of whom I am -speaking to be one with ourselves. I know how their hearts spring up -with a spontaneous transport at the very thought of union; and what -yearning is theirs after that great privilege, which they have not, -communion with the See of Peter and its present, past, and future. I -conjecture it by what I used to feel myself, while yet in the Anglican -Church. I recollect well what an outcast I seemed to myself when I -took down from the shelves of my library the volumes of St. Athanasius -or St. Basil, and set myself to study them; and how, on the contrary, -when at length I was brought into Catholicism, I kissed them with -delight, with a feeling that in them I had more than all that I had -lost, and, as though I were directly addressing the glorious saints -who bequeathed them to the Church, I said to the inanimate pages, "You -are now mine, and I am now yours, beyond any mistake." Such, I -conceive, would be the joy of the persons I speak of, if they could -wake up one morning and find themselves possessed by right of Catholic -traditions and hopes, without violence to their own sense of duty; -and, certainly, I am the last man to say that such violence is in any -case lawful, that the claims of conscience are not paramount, or that -any one may overleap what he deliberately holds to be God's command, -in order to make his path easier for him or his heart lighter. - -I am the last man to quarrel with this jealous deference to the voice -of our conscience, whatever judgment others may form of us in -consequence, for this reason--because their case, as it at present -stands, has, as you know, been my own. You recollect well what hard -things were said against us twenty-five years ago, which we knew in -our hearts we did not deserve. Hence, I am now in the position of the -fugitive queen in the well-known passage, who, "haud ignara mali" -herself, had learned to sympathize with those who were inheritors of -her past wanderings. There were priests, good men, whose zeal -outstripped their knowledge, and who in consequence spoke confidently, -when they would have been wiser had they suspended their adverse -judgment of those whom they had soon to welcome as brethren in -communion. We at that time were in worse plight than your friends are -now, for our opponents put their very hardest thoughts of us into -print. One of them wrote thus in a letter addressed to one of the -Catholic bishops: - - "That this Oxford crisis is a real progress to Catholicism, I have - all along considered a perfect delusion. ... I look upon Mr. Newman, - Dr. Pusey, and their associates as wily and crafty, though - unskilful, guides. . . . The embrace of Mr. Newman is the kiss that - would betray us. . . . But--what is the most striking feature in the - rancorous malignity of these men--their calumnies are often lavished - upon us, when we should be led to think that the subject-matter of - their treatises closed every avenue against their vituperation. The - three last volumes [of the Tracts] have opened my eyes to the - craftiness and the cunning, as well as the malice, of the members of - the Oxford convention. . . . If the Puseyites are to be the new - apostles of Great Britain, my hopes for my country are lowering and - gloomy. . . . I would never have consented to enter the lists - against this strange confraternity ... if I did not feel that my own - prelate was opposed to the guile and treachery of these men. . . . . - I impeach Dr. Pusey and his friends of a deadly hatred of our - religion. . . . . What, my lord, would the Holy See think of the - works of these Puseyites? . . ." - -Another priest, himself a convert, wrote: - - "As we approach toward Catholicity our love and respect increases, - and our violence dies away; but the bulk of these men become more - rabid as they become like Rome, a plain proof of their designs. ... - I do not believe that they are any nearer the portals of the - Catholic Church than the most prejudiced Methodist and Evangelical - preacher. . . . Such, rev. sir, is an outline of my views on the - Oxford movement." - -{48} - -I do not say that such a view of us was unnatural; and, for myself, I -readily confess that I had used about the church such language that I -had no claim on Catholics for any mercy. But, after all, and in fact, -they were wrong in their anticipations--nor did their brethren agree -with them at the time. Especially Dr. Wiseman (as he was then) took a -larger and more generous view of us; nor did the Holy See interfere, -though the writer of one of these passages invoked its judgment. The -event showed that the more cautious line of conduct was the more -prudent; and one of the bishops, who had taken part against us, with a -supererogation of charity, sent me on his death-bed an expression of -his sorrow for having in past years mistrusted me. A faulty -conscience, faithfully obeyed, through God's mercy, had in the long -run brought me right. - -Fully, then, do I recognize the rights of conscience in this matter. I -find no fault in your stating, as clearly and completely as you can, -the difficulties which stand in the way of your joining us. I cannot -wonder that you begin with stipulating conditions of union, though I -do not concur in them myself, and think that in the event you yourself -would be content to let them drop. Such representations as yours are -necessary to open the subject in debate; they ascertain how the land -lies, and serve to clear the ground. Thus I begin; but, after allowing -as much as this, I am obliged in honesty to say what I fear, my dear -Pusey, will pain you. Yet I am confident, my very dear friend, that at -least you will not be angry with me if I say, what I must say, or say -nothing at all, that there is much both in the matter and in the -manner of your volume calculated to wound those who love you well, but -love truth more. So it is; with the best motives and kindest -intentions, "Caedimur, et totidem plagis consumimus hostem." We give -you a sharp cut, and you return it. You complain of our being "dry, -hard, and unsympathizing;" and we answer that you are unfair and -irritating. But we at least have not professed to be composing an -Irenicon, when we treated you as foes. There was one of old time who -wreathed his sword in myrtle; excuse me--you discharge your -olive-branch as if from a catapult. - -Do not think I am not serious; if I spoke seriously, I should seem to -speak harshly. Who will venture to assert that the hundred pages which -you have devoted to the Blessed Virgin give other than a one-sided -view of our teaching about her, little suited to win us? It may be a -salutary castigation, if any of us have fairly provoked it, but it is -not making the best of matters; it is not smoothing the way for an -understanding or a compromise. It leads a writer in the most moderate -and liberal Anglican newspaper of the day, the "Guardian," to turn -away from your representation of us with horror. "It is language," -says your reviewer, "which, after having often heard it, we still can -only hear with horror. We had rather not quote any of it, or of the -comments upon it." What could an Exeter Hall orator, what could a -Scotch commentator on the Apocalypse, do more for his own side of the -controversy by the picture he drew of us? You may be sure that what -creates horror on one side will be answered by indignation on the -other, and these are not the most favorable dispositions for a peace -conference. I had been accustomed to think that you, who in times past -were ever less declamatory in controversy than myself, now that years -had gone on, and circumstances changed, had come to look on our old -warfare against Rome as cruel and inexpedient. Indeed, I know that it -was a chief objection urged against me only last year by persons who -agreed with you in deprecating an oratory at Oxford, which at that -time was in prospect, that such an undertaking would be the signal for -the rekindling of that fierce style of polemics which is now out of -date. I had fancied you shared in that opinion; but now, as if {49} to -show how imperative you deem its renewal, you actually bring to life -one of my own strong sayings in 1841, which had long been in the -grave--that "the Roman Church comes as near to idolatry as can be -supposed in a church, of which it said, 'The idols he shall utterly -abolish,'" p. 111. - -I know, indeed, and feel deeply, that your frequent references in your -volume to what I have lately or formerly written are caused by your -strong desire to be still one with me as far as you can, and by that -true affection which takes pleasure in dwelling on such sayings of -mine as you can still accept with the full approbation of your -judgment. I trust I am not ungrateful or irresponsive to you in this -respect; but other considerations have an imperative claim to be taken -into account. Pleasant as it is to agree with you, I am bound to -explain myself in cases in which I have changed my mind, or have given -a wrong impression of my meaning, or have been wrongly reported; and, -while I trust that I have better than such personal motives for -addressing you in print, yet it will serve to introduce my main -subject, and give me an opportunity for remarks which bear upon it -indirectly, if I dwell for a page or two on such matters contained in -your volume as concern myself. - -1. The mistake which I have principally in view is the belief, which -is widely spread, that I have publicly spoken of the Anglican Church -as "the great bulwark against infidelity in this land." In a pamphlet -of yours, a year old, you spoke of "a very earnest body of Roman -Catholics" who "rejoice in all the workings of God the Holy Ghost in -the Church of England (whatever they think of her), and are saddened -by what weakens her who is, in God's hands, the great bulwark against -infidelity in this land." The concluding words you were thought to -quote from my "Apologia." In consequence, Dr. Manning, now our -archbishop, replied to you, asserting, as you say, "the contradictory -of that statement." In that counter-assertion he was at the time -generally considered (rightly or wrongly, as it may be), though -writing to you, to be really correcting statements in my "Apologia," -without introducing my name. Further, in the volume which you have now -published, you recur to the saying, and you speak of its author in -terms which, did I not know your partial kindness for me, would hinder -me from identifying him with myself. You say, "The saying was not -mine, but that of one of the deepest thinkers and observers in the -Roman communion," p. 7. A friend has suggested to me that, perhaps, -you mean De Maistre; and, from an anonymous letter which I have -received from Dublin, I find it is certain that the very words in -question were once used by Archbishop Murray; but you speak of the -author of them as if now alive. At length a reviewer of your volume, -in the "Weekly Register," distinctly attributes them to me by name, -and gives me the first opportunity I have had of disowning them; and -this I now do. What, at some time or other, I may have said in -conversation or private letter, of course, I cannot tell; but I have -never, I am sure, used the word "bulwark" of the Anglican Church -deliberately. What I said in my "Apologia" was this: That that church -was "a serviceable breakwater against errors more fundamental than its -own." A bulwark is an integral part of the thing it defends; whereas -the words "serviceable" and "breakwater" imply a kind of protection -which is accidental and _de facto_. Again, in saying that the Anglican -Church is a defence against "errors more fundamental than its own," I -imply that it has errors, and those fundamental. - -2. There is another passage in your volume, at p. 337, which it may be -right to observe upon. You have made a collection of passages from the -fathers, as witnesses in behalf of your doctrine that the whole -Christian faith is contained in Scripture, as if, in your sense of the -words. Catholics contradicted you here. {50} And you refer to my notes -on St. Athanasius as contributing passages to your list; but, after -all, neither do you, nor do I in my notes, affirm any doctrine which -Rome denies. Those notes also make frequent reference to a traditional -teaching, which (be the faith ever so certainly contained in -Scripture) still is necessary as a Regula Fidei, for showing us that -it is contained there--_vid_. pp. 283, 344--and this tradition, I -know, you uphold as fully as I do in the notes in question. In -consequence, you allow that there is a twofold rule. Scripture and -tradition; and this is all that Catholics say. How, then, do Anglicans -differ from Rome here? I believe the difference is merely one of -words; and I shall be doing, so far, the work of an Irenicon, if I -make clear what this verbal difference is. Catholics and Anglicans (I -do not say Protestants) attach different meanings to the word "proof," -in the controversy whether the whole faith is, or is not, contained in -Scripture. We mean that not every article of faith is so contained -there, that it may thence be logically proved, _independently_ of the -teaching and authority of the tradition; but Anglicans mean that every -article of faith is so contained there, that it may thence be proved, -_provided_ there be added the illustrations and compensations of the -tradition. And it is in this latter sense, I conceive, the fathers -also speak in the passages which you quote from them. I am sure at -least that St. Athanasius frequently adduces passages as proofs of -points in controversy which no one would see to be proofs unless -apostolical tradition were taken into account, first as suggesting, -then as authoritatively ruling, their meaning. Thus, _you_ do not deny -that the whole is not in Scripture in such sense that pure unaided -logic can draw it from the sacred text; nor do _we_ deny that the -faith is in Scripture, in an improper sense, in the sense that -_tradition_ is able to recognize and determine it there. You do not -profess to dispense with tradition; nor do we forbid the idea of -probable, secondary, symbolical, connotative senses of Scripture, over -and above those which properly belong to the wording and context. I -hope you will agree with me in this. - -3. Nor is it only in isolated passages that you give me a place in -your volume. A considerable portion of it is written with reference to -two publications of mine, one of which you name and defend, the other -you tacitly protest against: "Tract 90," and the "Essay on Doctrinal -Development," As to "Tract 90," you have from the first, as all the -world knows, boldly stood up for it, in spite of the obloquy which it -brought upon you, and have done me a great service. You are now -republishing it with my cordial concurrence; but I take this -opportunity of noticing, lest there should be any mistake on the part -of the public, that you do so with a different object from that which -I had when I wrote it. Its original purpose was simply that of -justifying myself and others in subscribing to the Thirty-nine -Articles while professing many tenets which had popularly been -considered distinctive of the Roman faith. I considered that my -interpretation of the Articles, as I gave it in that Tract, would -stand, provided the parties imposing them allowed it, otherwise I -thought it could not stand; and, when in the event the bishops and -public opinion did not allow it, I gave up my living, as having no -right to retain it. My feeling about the interpretation is expressed -in a passage in "Loss and Gain," which runs thus: - - "'Is it,' asked Reding, 'a received view?' 'No view is received,' - said the other; 'the Articles themselves are received, but there is - no authoritative interpretation of them at all.' 'Well,' said - Reding, 'is it a tolerated view?' 'It certainly has been strongly - opposed,' answered Bateman; 'but it has never been condemned.' 'That - is no answer,' said Charles. 'Does any one bishop hold it? Did any - one bishop ever hold it? Has it ever been formally admitted as - tenable by any one bishop? Is it a view got up to meet existing - difficulties, or has it an historical existence?' Bateman could give - only one answer to {51} these questions, as they were successively - put to him. 'I thought so,' said Charles; 'the view is specious - certainly. I don't we why it might not have done, had it been - tolerably sanctioned; but you have no sanction to show me. As it - stands, it is a mere theory struck out by individuals. Our church - _might_ have adopted this mode of interpreting the Articles; but, - from what you tell me, it certainly has not done so.'"--Ch. 15. - -However, the Tract did not carry its object and conditions on its -face, and necessarily lay open to interpretations very far from the -true one. Dr. Wiseman (as he then was), in particular, with the keen -apprehension which was his characteristic, at once saw in it a basis -of accommodation between Anglicanism and Rome. He suggested broadly -that the decrees of the Council of Trent should be made the rule of -interpretation for the Thirty-nine Articles, a proceeding of which -Sancta Clara, I think, had set the example; and, as you have observed, -published a letter to Lord Shrewsbury on the subject, of which the -following are extracts: - - "We Catholics must necessarily deplore [England's] separation as a - deep moral evil--as state of schism of which nothing can justify the - continuance. Many members of the Anglican Church view it in the same - light as to the first point--its sad evil; though they excuse their - individual position in it as an unavoidable misfortune. . . . We may - depend upon a willing, an able, and a most zealous co-operation with - any effort which we may make toward bringing her into her rightful - position, in Catholic unity with the Holy See and the churches of - its obedience--in other words, with the church Catholic. Is this a - visionary idea? Is it merely the expression of strong desire? I know - that many will so judge it; and, perhaps, were I to consult my own - quiet, I would not venture to express it. But I will, in simplicity - of heart, cling to hopefulness, cheered, as I feel it, by so many - promising appearances. . . . - - "A natural question here presents itself--what facilities appear in - the present state of things for bringing about so happy a - consummation as the reunion of England to the Catholic Church, - beyond what have before existed, and particularly under Archbishops - Laud or Wake? It strikes me, many. First, etc. . . . A still more - promising circumstance I think your lordship will with me consider - the _plan_ which the eventful 'Tract No. 90' has pursued, and in - which Mr. Ward, Mr. Oakeley, and even Dr. Pusey have agreed. I - allude to the method of _bringing their doctrines into accordance - with ours by explanation._ A foreign priest has pointed out to us a - valuable document for our consideration--'Bossuet's Reply to the - Pope,' when consulted on the best method of reconciling the - followers of the Augsburg Confession with the Holy See. The learned - bishop observes, that Providence had allowed so much Catholic truth - to be preserved in that Confession that full advantage should be - taken of the circumstance; that no retractations should be demanded, - but an explanation of the Confession in accordance with Catholic - doctrines. Now, for such a method as this, the way is in part - prepared by the demonstration that such interpretation may be given - of the most difficult Articles as will strip them of all - contradiction to the decrees of the Tridentine Synod. The same - method may be pursued on other points; and much pain may thus be - spared to individuals, and much difficulty to the church."--Pp. 11, - 35, 38. - -This use of my Tract, so different from my own, but sanctioned by the -great name of our cardinal, you are now reviving; and I gather from -your doing so, that your bishops and the opinion of the public are -likely now, or in prospect, to admit what twenty-five years ago they -refused. On this point, much as it rejoices me to know your -anticipation, of course I cannot have an opinion. - -4. So much for "Tract 90." On the other hand, as to my "Essay on -Doctrinal Development," I am sorry to find you do not look upon it -with friendly eyes; though how, without its aid, you can maintain the -doctrines of the Holy Trinity and incarnation, and others which you -hold, I cannot understand. You consider my principle may be the means, -in time to come, of introducing into our Creed, as portions of the -necessary Catholic faith, the infallibility of the Pope, and various -opinions, pious or profane, as it may be, about our Blessed Lady. I -hope to remove your anxiety as to these consequences, before I bring -my {52} observations to an end; at present I notice it as my apology -for interfering in a controversy which at first sight is no business -of mine. - -5. I have another reason for writing; and that is, unless it is rude -in me to say so, because you seem to think writing does not become me. -I do not like silently to acquiesce in such a judgment You say at p. -98: - - "Nothing can be more unpractical than for an individual to throw - himself into the Roman Church because he could accept the _letter_ - of the Council of Trent. Those who were born Roman Catholics have a - liberty which, in the nature of things, a person could not have who - left another system to embrace that of Rome. I cannot imagine how - any faith could stand the shock of leaving one system, criticising - _it_, and cast himself into another system, criticising _it_. For - myself, I have always felt that had (which God of his mercy avert - hereafter also) the English Church, by accepting heresy, driven me - out of it, I could have gone in no other way than that of closing my - eyes, and accepting whatever was put before me. But a liberty which - individuals could not use, and explanations which, so long as they - remain individual, must be unauthoritative, might be formally made - by the Church of Rome to the Church of England as the basis of - reunion." - -And again, p. 210: - - "It seems to me to be a psychological impossibility for one who has - already exchanged one system for another to make those distinctions. - One who, by his own act, places himself under authority, cannot make - conditions about his submission. But definite explanations of our - Articles have, before now, been at least tentatively offered to us, - on the Roman and Greek side, as sufficient to restore communion; and - the Roman explanations too were, in most cases, mere supplements to - our Articles, on points upon which our Church had not spoken." - -Now passages such as these seem almost a challenge to me to speak, and -to keep silence would be to assent to the justice of them. At the -cost, then, of speaking about myself, of which I feel there has been -too much of late, I observe upon them as follows: Of course, as you -say, a convert comes to learn, and not to pick and choose. He comes in -simplicity and confidence, and it does not occur to him to weigh and -measure every proceeding, every practice which he meets with among -those whom he has joined. He comes to Catholicism as to a living -system, with a living teaching, and not to a mere collection of -decrees and canons, which by themselves are of course but the -framework, not the body and substance, of the church. And this is a -truth which concerns, which binds, those also who never knew any other -religion, not only the convert. By the Catholic system I mean that -rule of life and those practices of devotion for which we shall look -in vain in the Creed of Pope Pius. The convert comes, not only to -believe the church, but also to trust and obey her priests, and to -conform himself in charity to her people. It would never do for him to -resolve that he never would say a Hail Mary, never avail himself of an -indulgence, never kiss a crucifix, never accept the Lent -dispensations, never mention a venial sin in confession. All this -would not only be unreal, but dangerous, too, as arguing a wrong state -of mind, which could not look to receive the divine blessing. -Moreover, he comes to the ceremonial, and the moral theology, and the -ecclesiastical regulations which he finds on the spot where his lot is -cast. And again, as regards matters of politics, of education, of -general expedience, of taste, he does not criticise or controvert. And -thus surrendering himself to the influences of his new religion, and -not losing what is revealed truth by attempting by his own private -rule to discriminate every moment its substance from its accidents, he -is gradually so indoctrinated in Catholicism as at length to have a -right to speak as well as to hear. Also, in course of time, a new -generation rises round him; and there is no reason why he should not -know as much, and decide questions with as true an instinct, as those -who perhaps number fewer years than he does Easter communions. {53} He -has mastered the fact and the nature of the differences of theologian -from theologian, school from school, nation from nation, era from era. -He knows that there is much of what may be called fashion in opinions -and practices, according to the circumstances of time and place, -according to current politics, the character of the Pope of the day, -or the chief prelates of a particular country, and that fashions -change. His experience tells him, that sometimes what is denounced in -one place as a great offence, or preached up as a first principle, has -in another nation been immemorially regarded in just a contrary sense, -or has made no sensation at all, one way or the other, when brought -before public opinion; and that loud talkers, in the church as -elsewhere, are apt to carry all before them, while quiet and -conscientious persons commonly have to give way. He perceives that, in -matters which happen to be in debate, ecclesiastical authority watches -the state of opinion and the direction and course of controversy, and -decides accordingly; so that in certain cases to keep back his own -judgment on a point is to be disloyal to his superiors. - -So far generally; now in particular as to myself. After twenty years -of Catholic life, I feel no delicacy in giving my opinion on any point -when there is a call for me, and the only reason why I have not done -so sooner, or more often than I have, is that there has been no call. -I have now reluctantly come to the conclusion that your volume _is_ a -call. Certainly, in many instances in which theologian differs from -theologian, and country from country, I have a definite judgment of my -own; I can say so without offence to any one, for the very reason that -from the nature of the case it is impossible to agree with all of -them. I prefer English habits of belief and devotion to foreign, from -the same causes, and by the same right, which justify foreigners in -preferring their own. In following those of my people, I show less -singularity and create less disturbance than if I made a flourish with -what is novel and exotic. And in this line of conduct I am but -availing myself of the teaching which I fell in with on becoming a -Catholic; and it is a pleasure to me to think that what I hold now, -and would transmit after me if I could, is only what I received then. -The utmost delicacy was observed on all hands in giving me advice; -only one warning remains on my mind, and it came from Dr. Griffiths, -the late vicar-apostolic of the London district. He warned me against -books of devotion of the Italian school, which were just at that time -coming into England; and when I asked him what books he recommended as -safe guides, he bade me get the works of Bishop Hay. By this I did not -understand that he was jealous of all Italian books, or made himself -responsible for all that Dr. Hay happens to have said; but I took him -to caution me against a character and tone of religion, excellent in -its place, not suited for England. When I went to Rome, though it may -seem strange to you to say it, even there I learned nothing -inconsistent with this judgment. Local influences do not supply an -atmosphere for its institutions and colleges, which are Catholic in -teaching as well as in name. I recollect one saying among others of my -confessor, a Jesuit father, one of the holiest, most prudent men I -ever knew. He said that we could not love the Blessed Virgin too much, -if we loved our Lord a great deal more. When I returned to England, -the first expression of theological opinion which came in my way was -_apropos_ of the series of translated saints' lives which the late Dr. -Faber originated. That expression proceeded from a wise prelate, who -was properly anxious as to the line which might be taken by the Oxford -converts, then for the first time coming into work. According as I -recollect his opinion, he was apprehensive of the effect of Italian -{54} compositions, as unsuited to this country, and suggested that the -lives should be original works, drawn up by ourselves and our friends -from Italian sources. If at that time I was betrayed into any acts -which were of a more extreme character than I should approve now, the -responsibility of course is mine; but the impulse came not from old -Catholics or superiors, but from men whom I loved and trusted who were -younger than myself. But to whatever extent I might be carried away, -and I cannot recollect any tangible instances, my mind in no long time -fell back to what seems to me a safer and more practical course. - -Though I am a convert, then, I think I have a right to speak out; and -that the more because other converts have spoken for a long time, -while I have not spoken; and with still more reason may I speak -without offence in the case of your present criticisms of us, -considering that, in the charges you bring, the only two English -writers you quote in evidence are both of them converts, younger in -age than myself. I put aside the archbishop, of course, because of his -office. These two authors are worthy of all consideration, at once -from their character and from their ability. In their respective lines -they are perhaps without equals at this particular time; and they -deserve the influence they possess. One is still in the vigor of his -powers; the other has departed amid the tears of hundreds. It is -pleasant to praise them for their real qualifications; but why do you -rest on them as authorities? Because the one was "a popular writer;" -but is there not sufficient reason for this in the fact of his -remarkable gifts, of his poetical fancy, his engaging frankness, his -playful wit, his affectionateness, his sensitive piety, without -supposing that the wide diffusion of his works arises out of his -particular sentiments about the Blessed Virgin? And as to our other -friend, do not his energy, acuteness, and theological reading, -displayed on the vantage ground of the historic "Dublin Review," fully -account for the sensation he has produced, without supposing that any -great number of our body go his lengths in their view of the Pope's -infallibility? Our silence as regards their writings is very -intelligible: it is not agreeable to protest, in the sight of the -world, against the writings of men in our own communion whom we love -and respect. But the plain fact is this--they came to the Church, and -have thereby saved their souls; but they are in no sense spokesmen for -English Catholics, and they must not stand in the place of those who -have a real title to such an office. The chief authors of the passing -generation, some of them still alive, others gone to their reward, are -Cardinal Wiseman, Dr. Ullathorne, Dr. Lingard, Mr. Tierney, Dr. -Oliver, Dr. Rock, Dr. Waterworth, Dr. Husenbeth, and Mr. Flanagan; -which of these ecclesiastics has said anything extreme about the -prerogatives of the Blessed Virgin or the infallibility of the Pope? - -I cannot, then, without remonstrance, allow you to identify the -doctrine of our Oxford friends in question, on the two subjects I have -mentioned, with the present spirit or the prospective creed of -Catholics; or to assume, as you do, that, because they are -thorough-going and relentless in their statements, therefore they are -the harbingers of a new age, when to show a deference for antiquity -will be thought little else than a mistake. For myself, hopeless as -you consider it, I am not ashamed still to take my stand upon the -fathers, and do not mean to budge. The history of their times is not -yet an old almanac to me. Of course I maintain the value and authority -of the "Schola," as one of the _loci theologici;_ still I sympathize -with Petavius in preferring to its "contentious and subtle theology" -that {55} "more elegant and fruitful teaching which is moulded after -the image of erudite antiquity." The fathers made me a Catholic, and I -am not going to kick down the ladder by which I ascended into the -church. It is a ladder quite as serviceable for that purpose now as it -was twenty years ago. Though I hold, as you remark, a process of -development in apostolic truth as time goes on, such development does -not supersede the fathers, but explains and completes them. And, in -particular, as regards our teaching concerning the Blessed Virgin, -with the fathers I am content; and to the subject of that teaching I -mean to address myself at once. I do so because you say, as I myself -have said in former years, that "that vast system as to the Blessed -Virgin . . . . to all of us has been the special _crux_ of the Roman -system," p. 101. Here, I say, as on other points, the fathers are -enough for me. I do not wish to say more than they, and will not say -less. You, I know, will profess the same; and thus we can join issue -on a clear and broad principle, and may hope to come to some -intelligible result. We are to have a treatise on the subject of our -Lady soon from the pen of the most reverend prelate; but that cannot -interfere with such a mere argument from the fathers as that to which -I shall confine myself here. Nor indeed, as regards that argument -itself, do I profess to be offering you any new matter, any facts -which have not been used by others--by great divines, as Petavius, by -living writers, nay, by myself on other occasions; I write afresh -nevertheless, and that for three reasons: first, because I wish to -contribute to the accurate statement and the full exposition of the -argument in question; next, because I may gain a more patient hearing -than has sometimes been granted to better men than myself; lastly, -because there just now seems a call on me, under my circumstances, to -avow plainly what I do and what I do not hold about the Blessed -Virgin, that others may know, did they come to stand where I stand, -what they would and what they would not be bound to hold concerning -her. - - -I begin by making a distinction which will go far to remove good part -of the difficulty of my undertaking, as it presents itself to ordinary -inquirers--the distinction between faith and devotion. I fully grant -that _devotion_ toward the Blessed Virgin has increased among -Catholics with the progress of centuries; I do not allow that the -_doctrine_ concerning her has undergone a growth, for I believe that -it has been in substance one and the same from the beginning. - -By "faith" I mean the Creed and the acceptance of the Creed; by -"devotion" I mean such religious honors as belong to the objecis of -our faith, and the payment of those honors. Faith and devotion are as -distinct in fact as they are in idea. We cannot, indeed, be devout -without faith, but we may believe without feeling devotion. Of this -phenomenon every one has experience both in himself and in others; and -we express it as often as we speak of realizing a truth or not -realizing it. It may be illustrated, with more or less exactness, by -matters which come before us in the world. For instance, a great -author, or public man, may be acknowledged as such for a course of -years; yet there may be an increase, an ebb and flow, and a fashion, -in his popularity. And if he takes a lasting place in the minds of his -countrymen, he may gradually grow into it, or suddenly be raised to -it. The idea of Shakespeare as a great poet has existed from a very -early date in public opinion; and there were at least individuals then -who understood him as well, and honored him as much, as the English -people can honor him now; yet, I think, there is a national devotion -to him in this day such as never has been before. This has happened -because, as education spreads in the country, there are more men able -to enter into his {56} poetical genius, and, among these, more -capacity again for deeply and critically understanding him; and yet, -from the first, he has exerted a great insensible influence over the -nation, as is seen in the circumstance that his phrases and sentences, -more than can be numbered, have become almost proverbs among us. And -so again in philosophy, and in the arts and sciences, great truths and -principles have sometimes been known and acknowledged for a course of -years; but, whether from feebleness of intellectual power in the -recipients, or external circumstances of an accidental kind, they have -not been turned to account. Thus, the Chinese are said to have known -of the properties of the magnet from time immemorial, and to have used -it for land expeditions, yet not on the sea. Again, the ancients knew -of the principle that water finds its own level, but seem to have made -little application of their knowledge. And Aristotle was familiar with -the principle of induction; yet it was left for Bacon to develop it -into an experimental philosophy. Illustrations such as these, though -not altogether apposite, serve to convey that distinction between -faith and devotion on which I am insisting. It is like the distinction -between objective and subjective truth. The sun in the springtime will -have to shine many days before he is able to melt the frost, open the -soil, and bring out the leaves; yet he shines out from the first, -notwithstanding, though he makes his power felt but gradually. It is -one and the same sun, though his influence day by day becomes greater; -and so in the Catholic Church, it is the one Virgin Mother, one and -the same from first to last, and Catholics may acknowledge her; and -yet, in spite of that acknowledgment, their devotion to her may be -scanty in one time and place and overflowing in another. - -This distinction is forcibly brought home to a convert, as a -peculiarity of the Catholic religion, on his first introduction to its -worship. The faith is everywhere one and the same; but a large liberty -is accorded to private judgment and inclination in matters of -devotion. Any large church, with its collections and groups of people, -will illustrate this. The fabric itself is dedicated to Almighty God, -and that under the invocation of the Blessed Virgin, or some -particular saint; or again, of some mystery belonging to the Divine -name, or to the incarnation, or of some mystery associated with the -Blessed Virgin. Perhaps there are seven altars or more in it, and -these again have their several saints. Then there is the feast proper -to the particular day; and, during the celebration of mass, of all the -worshippers who crowd around the priest each has his own particular -devotions, with which he follows the rite. No one interferes with his -neighbor; agreeing, as it were, to differ, they pursue independently a -common end, and by paths, distinct but converging, present themselves -before God. Then there are confraternities attached to the church: of -the sacred heart, or the precious blood; associations of prayer for a -good death, or the repose of departed souls, or the conversion of the -heathen: devotions connected with the brown, blue, or red scapular; -not to speak of the great ordinary ritual through the four seasons, -the constant presence of the blessed sacrament, its ever recurring -rite of benediction, and its extraordinary forty hours' exposition. -Or, again, look through some such manual of prayers as the _Raccolta_, -and you at once will see both the number and the variety of devotions -which are open to individual Catholics to choose from, according to -their religious taste and prospect of personal edification. - -Now these diversified modes of honoring God did not come to us in a -day, or only from the apostles; they are the accumulations of -centuries; and, as in the course of years some of them spring up, so -others decline and die Some are local, in memory of some particular -saint who happens to be the evangelist, or patron, or pride of the -{57} nation, or who is entombed in the church, or in the city where it -stands; and these, necessarily, cannot have an earlier date than the -saint's day of death or interment there. The first of such sacred -observances, long before these national memories, were the devotions -paid to the apostles, then those which were paid to the martyrs; yet -there were saints nearer to our Lord than either martyrs or apostles; -but, as if these had been lost in the effulgence of his glory, and -because they were not manifested in external works separate from him, -it happened that for a long while they were less thought of. However, -in process of time the apostles, and then the martyrs, exerted less -influence than before over the popular mind, and the local saints, new -creations of God's power, took their place, or again, the saints of -some religious order here or there established. Then, as comparatively -quiet times succeeded, the religious meditations of holy men and their -secret intercourse with heaven gradually exerted an influence out of -doors, and permeated the Christian populace, by the instrumentality of -preaching and by the ceremonial of the church. Then those luminous -stars rose in the ecclesiastical heavens which were of more august -dignity than any which had preceded them, and were late in rising for -the very reason that they were so specially glorious. Those names, I -say, which at first sight might have been expected to enter soon into -the devotions of the faithful, with better reason might have been -looked for at a later date, and actually were late in their coming. -St. Joseph furnishes the most striking instance of this remark; here -is the clearest of instances of the distinction between doctrine and -devotion. Who, from his prerogatives and the testimony on which they -come to us, had a greater claim to receive an early recognition among -the faithful? A saint of Scripture, the foster-father of our Lord, was -an object of the universal and absolute faith of the Christian world -from the first, yet the devotion to him is comparatively of late date. -When once it began, men seemed surprised that it had not been thought -of before; and now they hold him next to the Blessed Virgin in their -religious affection and veneration. - -As regards the Blessed Virgin, I shall postpone the question of -devotion for a while, and inquire first into the doctrine of the -undivided church (to use your controversial phrase) on the subject of -her prerogatives. - -What is the great rudimental teaching of antiquity from its earliest -date concerning her? By "rudimental teaching" I mean the _primâ facie_ -view of her person and office, the broad outline laid down of her, the -aspect under which she comes to us in the writings of the fathers. She -is the second Eve. [Footnote 11] Now let us consider what this -implies. Eve had a definite, essential position in the first covenant. -The fate of the human race lay with Adam; he it was who represented -us. It was in Adam that we fell; though Eve had fallen, still, if Adam -had stood, we should not have lost those supernatural privileges which -were bestowed upon him as our first father. Yet though Eve was not the -head of the race, still, even as regards the race, she had a place of -her own; for Adam, to whom was divinely committed the naming of all -things, entitled her "the mother of all the living;" a name surely -expressive not of a fact only but of a dignity; but further, as she -thus had her own general relation to the human race, so again had she -her own special place, as regards its trial and its fall in Adam. In -those primeval events, Eve had an integral share. "The woman, being -seduced, was in the transgression." She listened to the evil angel; -she offered the fruit to her husband, and he ate of it. She -co-operated not as an irresponsible instrument, but intimately and -personally in the sin; she brought it about. As the history stands, -she was a _sine qua non_, a positive, active cause of it. {58} And she -had her share in its punishment; in the sentence pronounced on her, -she was recognized as a real agent in the temptation and its issue, -and she suffered accordingly. In that awful transaction there were -three parties concerned--the serpent, the woman, and the man; and at -the time of their sentence an event was announced for the future, in -which the three same parties were to meet again, the serpent, the -woman, and the man; but it was to be a second Adam and a second Eve, -and the new Eve was to be the mother of the new Adam. "I will put -enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed." -The seed of the woman is the word incarnate, and the woman whose seed -or son he is is his mother Mary. This interpretation and the -parallelism it involves seem to me undeniable; but, at all events (and -this is my point), the parallelism is the doctrine of the fathers, -from the earliest times; and, this being established, by the position -and office of Eve in our fall, we are able to determine the position -and office of Mary in our restoration. - - [Footnote 11: _Vid_. "Essay on Development of Doctrine," 1845, p. - 384, etc.] - -I shall adduce passages from their writings, with their respective -countries and dates; and the dates shall extend from their births or -conversions to their deaths, since what they propound is at once the -doctrine which they had received from the generation before them, and -the doctrine which was accepted and recognized as true by the -generation to whom they transmitted it. - -First, then, St. Justin Martyr (A.D. 120-165), St. Irenaeus (120-200), -and Tertullian (160-240). Of these Tertullian represents Africa and -Rome, St. Justin represents Palestine, and St. Irenaeus Asia Minor and -Gaul--or rather he represents St. John the Evangelist, for he had been -taught by the martyr St. Polycarp, who was the intimate associate, as -of St. John, 60 of the other apostles. - -1. St. Justin: [Footnote 12] - - [Footnote 12: I have attempted to translate literally without caring - to write English. ] - - "We know that he, before all creatures proceeded from the Father by - his power and will, . . . and by means of the Virgin became man, - that by what way the disobedience arising from the serpent had its - beginning, by that way also it might have an undoing. For Eve, being - a virgin and undefiled, conceiving the word that was from the - serpent, brought forth disobedience and death; but the Virgin Mary, - taking faith and joy, when the angel told her the good tidings, that - the Spirit of the Lord should come upon her and the power of the - highest overshadow her, and therefore the holy one that was born of - her was Son of God, answered. Be it to me according to thy - word."--_Tryph_. 100. - -2. Tertullian: - - "God recovered his image and likeness, which the devil had seized, - by a rival operation. For into Eve, as yet a virgin, had crept the - word which was the framer of death. Equally into a virgin was to be - introduced the Word of God which was the builder-up of life; that, - what by that sex had gone into perdition, by the same sex might be - brought back to salvation. Eve had believed the serpent; Mary - believed Gabriel; the fault which the one committed by believing, - the other by believing has blotted out."--_De Carn. Christ_, 17. - -3. St Irenaeus: - - "With a fitness, Mary the Virgin is found obedient, saying, 'Behold - thy handmaid, O Lord; be it to me according to thy word.' But Eve - was disobedient; for she obeyed not, while she was yet a virgin. As - she, having indeed Adam for a husband, but as yet being a virgin, - . . . becoming disobedient, became the cause of death both to herself - and to the whole human race, so also Mary, having the predestined - man, and being yet a virgin, being obedient, became both to herself - and to the whole human race the cause of salvation. . . . And on - account of this the Lord said, that the first would be last and the - last first. And the prophet signifies the same, saying, 'Instead of - fathers you have children.' For, whereas the Lord, when born, was - the first begotten of the dead, and received into his bosom the - primitive fathers, he regenerated them into the life of God, he - himself becoming the beginning of the living, since Adam became the - beginning of the dying. Therefore also Luke, commencing the lines of - generations from the Lord, referred it back to Adam, signifying that - he regenerated the old fathers, not they him, into the gospel of - life. And so the knot {59} of Eve's disobedience received its - unloosing through the obedience of Mary; for what Eve, a virgin, - bound by incredulity, that Mary, a virgin, unloosed by faith."-- - _Adv. Haer_, iii. 22. 34. - -And again: - - "As Eve by the speech of an angel was seduced, so as to flee God, - transgressing his word, so also Mary received the good tidings by - means of the angel's speech, so as to bear God within her, being - obedient to his word. And, though the one had disobeyed God, yet the - other was drawn to obey God; that of the virgin Eve the virgin Mary - might become the advocate. And, as by a virgin the human race had - been bound to death, by a virgin it is saved, the balance being - preserved, a virgin's disobedience by a virgin's obedience." - --_Ibid_. v. 19. - -Now, what is especially noticeable in these three writers is, that -they do not speak of the Blessed Virgin as the physical instrument of -our Lord's taking flesh, but as an intelligent, responsible cause of -it; her faith and obedience being accessories to the incarnation, and -gaining it as her reward. As Eve failed in these virtues, and thereby -brought on the fall of the race in Adam, so Mary by means of them had -a part in its restoration. You imply, pp. 255, 256, that the Blessed -Virgin was only a physical instrument in our redemption; "what has -been said of her by the fathers as the chosen _vessel_ of the -incarnation, was applied _personally_ to her" (that is, by Catholics), -p. 151; and again, "The fathers speak of the Blessed Virgin as the -_instrument_ of our salvation, _in that_ she gave birth to the -Redeemer," pp. 155, 156; whereas St. Augustine, in well-known -passages, speaks of her as more exalted by her sanctity than by her -relationship to our Lord. [Footnote 13] However, not to go beyond the -doctrine of the three fathers, they unanimously declare that she was -not a mere instrument in the incarnation, such as David, or Judah, may -be considered; they declare she co-operated in our salvation, not -merely by the descent of the Holy Ghost upon her body, but by specific -holy acts, the effect of the Holy Ghost upon her soul; that, as Eve -forfeited privileges by sin, so Mary earned privileges by the fruits -of grace; that, as Eve was disobedient and unbelieving, so Mary was -obedient and believing; that, as Eve was a cause of ruin to all, Mary -was a cause of salvation to all; that, as Eve made room for Adam's -fall, so Mary made room for our Lord's reparation of it; and thus, -whereas the free gift was not as the offence, but much greater, it -follows that, as Eve co-operated in effecting a great evil, Mary -co-operated in effecting a much greater good. - - [Footnote 13: Opp., t. 8, p. 2, col. 369, t. 6, col. 342.] - -And, beside the run of the argument, which reminds the reader of St. -Paul's antithetical sentences in tracing the analogy between Adam's -work and our Lord's work, it is well to observe the particular words -under which the Blessed Virgin's office is described. Tertullian says -that Mary "blotted out" Eve's fault, and "brought back the female -sex," or "the human race, to salvation;" and St. Irenaeus says that -"by obedience she was the cause or occasion" (whatever was the -original Greek word) "of salvation to herself and the whole human -race;" that by her the human race is saved; that by her Eve's -complication is disentangled; and that she is Eve's advocate, or -friend in need. It is supposed by critics, Protestant as well as -Catholic, that the Greek word for advocate in the original was -paraclete; it should be borne in mind, then, when we are accused of -giving our Lady the titles and offices of her Son, that St. Irenaeus -bestows on her the special name and office proper to the Holy Ghost. - -So much as to the nature of this triple testimony; now as to the worth -of it. For a moment put aside St. Irenaeus, and put together St. -Justin in the East with Tertullian in the West. I think I may assume -that the doctrine of these two fathers about the Blessed Virgin was -the received doctrine of their own {60} respective times and places; -for writers after all are but witnesses of facts and beliefs, and as -such they are treated by all parties in controversial discussion. -Moreover, the coincidence of doctrine which they exhibit, and, again, -the antithetical completeness of it, show that they themselves did not -originate it. The next question is, Who did? For from one definite -organ or source, place or person, it must have come. Then we must -inquire, what length of time would it take for such a doctrine to have -extended, and to be received, in the second century over so wide an -area; that is, to be received before the year 200 in Palestine, -Africa, and Rome? Can we refer the common source of these local -traditions to a date later than that of the apostles, St. John dying -within thirty or forty years of St. Justin's conversion and -Tertullian's birth? Make what allowance you will for whatever possible -exceptions can be taken to this representation; and then, after doing -so, add to the concordant testimony of these two fathers the evidence -of St. Irenaeus, which is so close upon the school of St. John himself -in Asia Minor. "A three-fold cord," as the wise man says, "is not -quickly broken." Only suppose there were so early and so broad a -testimony to the effect that our Lord was a mere man, the son of -Joseph; should we be able to insist upon the faith of the Holy Trinity -as necessary to salvation? Or supposing three such witnesses could be -brought to the fact that a consistory of elders governed the local -churches, or that each local congregation was an independent church, -or that the Christian community was without priests, could Anglicans -maintain their doctrine that the rule of episcopal succession is -necessary to constitute a church? And recollect that the Anglican -Church especially appeals to the ante-Nicene centuries, and taunts us -with having superseded their testimony. - -Having then adduced these three fathers of the second century, I have -at least got so far as this, viz., no one, who acknowledges the force -of early testimony in determining Christian truth, can wonder, no one -can complain, can object, that we Catholics should hold a very high -doctrine concerning the Blessed Virgin, unless indeed stronger -statements can be brought for a contrary conception of her, either of -as early, or at least of a later date. But, as far as I know, no -statements can be brought from the ante-Nicene literature to -invalidate the testimony of the three fathers concerning her; and -little can be brought against it from the fourth century, while in -that fourth century the current of testimony in her behalf is as -strong as in the second; and, as to the fifth, it is far stronger than -in any former time, both in its fulness and its authority. This will -to some extent be seen as I proceed. - -4. St Cyril, of Jerusalem (315-386), speaks for Palestine: - - "Since through Eve, a virgin, came death, it behoved that through a - virgin, or rather from a virgin, should life appear; that, as the - serpent had deceived the one, so to the other Gabriel might bring - good tidings."--_Cat_. xii. 15. - -5. St. Ephrem Syrus (lie died 378) is a witness for the Syrians proper -and the neighboring Orientals, in contrast to the Graeco-Syrians. A -native of Nisibis, on the farther side of the Euphrates, he knew no -language but Syriac: - - "Through Eve the beautiful and desirable glory of men was - extinguished; but it has revived through Mary."--_Opp. Syr._, ii. p. - 318. - -Again: - - "In the beginning, by the sin of our first parents, death passed - upon all men; to-day, through Mary, we are translated from death - unto life. In the beginning, the serpent filled the ears of Eve, and - the poison spread thence over the whole body; to-day, Mary from her - ears received the {61} champion of eternal happiness; what, - therefore, was an instrument of death, was an instrument of life - also."--iii. p. 607. - -I have already referred to St. Paul's contrast between Adam and our -Lord in his Epistle to the Romans, as also in his first Epistle to the -Corinthians. Some writers attempt to say that there is no doctrinal -truth, but a mere rhetorical display, in those passages. It is quite -as easy to say so as to attempt so to dispose of this received -comparison, in the writings of the fathers, between Eve and Mary. - -6. St. Epiphanius (320-400) speaks for Egypt, Palestine, and Cyprus: - - "She it is who is signified by Eve, enigmatically receiving the - appellation of the mother of the living. . . . It was a wonder that - after the fall she had this great epithet. And, according to what is - material, from that Eve all the race of men on earth is generated. - But thus in truth from Mary the Life itself was born in the world, - that Mary might bear living things and become the mother of living - things. Therefore, enigmatically, Mary is called the mother of - living things. . . Also, there is another thing to consider as to - these women, and wonderful--as to Eve and Mary. Eve became a cause - of death to man . . . and Mary a cause of life; . . . that life - might be instead of death, life excluding death which came from the - woman, viz., he who through the woman has become our life." - --_Haer_. 78. 18. - -7. By the time of St. Jerome (331-420), the contrast between Eve and -Mary had almost passed into a proverb. He says (Ep. xxii. 21, ad -Eustoch.), "Death by Eve, life by Mary." Nor let it be supposed that -he, any more than the preceding fathers, considered the Blessed Virgin -a mere physical instrument of giving birth to our Lord, who is the -life. So far from it, in the epistle from which I have quoted, he is -only adding another virtue to that crown which gained for Mary her -divine maternity. They have spoken of faith, joy, and obedience; St. -Jerome adds, what they had only suggested, virginity. After the manner -of the fathers in his own day, he is setting forth the Blessed Mary to -the high-born Roman lady whom he is addressing as the model of the -virginal life; and his argument in its behalf is, that it is higher -than the marriage state, not in itself, viewed in any mere natural -respect, but as being the free act of self-consecration to God, and -from the personal religious purpose which it involves: - - "Higher wage," he says, "is due to that which is not a compulsion, - but an offering; for, were virginity commanded, marriage would seem - to be put out of the question; and it would be most cruel to force - men against nature, and to extort from them an angel's life."--20. - -I do not know whose testimony is more important than St. Jerome's, the -friend of Pope Damasus at Rome, the pupil of St. Gregory Nazianzen at -Constantinople, and of Didymus in Alexandria, a native of Dalmatia, -yet an inhabitant, at different times of his life, of Gaul, Syria, and -Palestine. - -8. St. Jerome speaks for the whole world, except Africa; and for -Africa in the fourth century, if we must limit so world-wide an -authority to place, witnesses St. Augustine (354-430). He repeats the -words as if a proverb; "By a woman death, by a woman life" (Opp. t. v. -Serm. 233); elsewhere he enlarges on the idea conveyed in it. In one -place he quotes St. Irenaeus's words as cited above (adv. Julian i. -4). In another he speaks as follows: - - "It is a great sacrament that, whereas through woman death became - our portion, so life was born to us by woman; that, in the case of - both sexes, male and female, the baffled devil should be tormented, - when on the overthrow of both sexes he was rejoicing; whose - punishment had been small, if both sexes had been liberated in us, - without our being liberated through both."--_Opp. t. vi. De Agon, - Christ_, c. 24. - -{62} - -9. St. Peter Chrysologus (400-450), Bishop of Ravenna, and one of the -chief authorities in the fourth General Council: - - "Blessed art thou among women; for among women, on whose womb Eve, - who was cursed, brought punishment, Mary, being blest, rejoices, is - honored, and is looked up to. And woman now is truly made through - grace the mother of the living, who had been by nature the mother of - the dying. . . . Heaven feels awe of God, angels tremble at him, the - creature sustains him not, nature sufficeth not, and yet one maiden - so takes, receives, entertains him, as a guest within her breast, - that, for the very hire of her home, and as the price of her womb, - she asks, she obtains, peace for the earth, glory for the heavens, - salvation for the lost, life for the dead, a heavenly parentage for - the earthly, the union of God himself with human flesh."--_Serm._ - 140. - -It is difficult to express more explicitly, though in oratorical -language, that the Blessed Virgin had a real, meritorious -co-operation, a share which had a "hire" and a "price" in the reversal -of the fall. - -10. St. Fulgentius, Bishop of Ruspe in Africa (468-533). The homily -which contains the following passage is placed by Ceillier (t. xvi. p. -127) among his genuine works: - - "In the wife of the first man, the wickedness of the devil depraved - her seduced mind; in the mother of the second Man, the grace of God - preserved both her mind inviolate and her flesh. On her mind he - conferred the most firm faith; from her flesh he took away lust - altogether. Since then man was in a miserable way condemned for sin, - therefore without sin was in a marvellous way born the God - man."--_Serm_. 2, p. 124, _De Dupl. Nativ._ - -Accordingly, in the sermon which follows (if it is his), he continues, -illustrating her office of universal mother, as ascribed to her by St. -Epiphanius: - - "Come ye virgins to a virgin, come ye who conceive to her who - conceived, ye who bear to one who bore, mothers to a mother, ye that - suckle to one who suckled, young girls to the young girl. It is for - this reason that the Virgin Mary has taken on her in our Lord Jesus - Christ all these divisions of nature, that to all women who have - recourse to her she may be a succor, and so restore the whole race - of women who come to her, being the new Eve, by keeping virginity, - as the new Adam, the Lord Jesus Christ, recovers the whole race of - men." - -Such is the rudimental view, as I have called it, which the fathers -have given us of Mary, as the second Eve, the mother of the living. I -have cited ten authors. I could cite more were it necessary. Except -the two last, they write gravely and without any rhetoric. I allow -that the two last write in a different style, since the extracts I -have made are from their sermons; but I do not see that the coloring -conceals the outline. And, after all, men use oratory on great -subjects, not on small; nor would they, and other fathers whom I might -quote, have lavished their high language upon the Blessed Virgin, such -as they gave to no one else, unless they knew well that no one else -had such claims as she had on their love and veneration. - -And now I proceed to dwell for a while upon two inferences, which it -is obvious to draw from the rudimental doctrine itself; the first -relates to the sanctity of the Blessed Virgin, the second to her -greatness. - -1. Her _sanctity_. She holds, as the fathers teach us, that office in -our restoration which Eve held in our fall. Now, in the first place, -what were Eve's endowments to enable her to enter upon her trial? She -could not have stood against the wiles of the devil, though she was -innocent and sinless, without the grant of a large grace. And this she -had--a heavenly gift, which was over and above and additional to that -nature of hers, which she received from Adam, as Adam before her had -also received the same gift, at the very time (as it is commonly held) -of his original creation. This is Anglican doctrine as well as -Catholic; it is the doctrine of Bishop Bull. He has written a -dissertation on the point. He speaks of the doctrine which "many of -the schoolmen affirm, that Adam was created {63} in grace--that is, -received a principle of grace and divine life from his very creation, -or in the moment of the infusion of his soul; of which," he says, "for -my own part I have little doubt." Again, he says: "It is abundantly -manifest, from the many testimonies alleged, that the ancient doctors -of the church did, with a general consent, acknowledge that our first -parents, in the state of integrity, had in them something more than -nature--that is, were endowed with the divine principle of the -Spirit, in order to a supernatural felicity." - -Now, taking this for granted, because I know that you and those who -agree with you maintain it as well as we do, I ask, Was not Mary as -fully endowed as Eve? is it any violent inference that she, who was to -co-operate in the redemption of the world, at least was not less -endowed with power from on high, than she who, given as a helpmate to -her husband, did in the event but co-operate with him for its ruin? If -Eve was raised above human nature by that indwelling moral gift which -we call grace, is it rash to say that Mary had a greater grace? And -this consideration gives significance to the angel's salutation of her -as "full of grace"--an interpretation of the original word which is -undoubtedly the right one, as soon as we resist the common Protestant -assumption that grace is a mere external approbation or acceptance, -answering to the word "favor;" whereas it is, as the fathers teach, a -real inward condition or superadded quality of soul. And if Eve had -this supernatural inward gift given her from the moment of her -personal existence, is it possible to deny that Mary too had this gift -from the very first moment of her personal existence? I do not know -how to resist this inference--well, this is simply and literally the -doctrine of the immaculate conception. I say the doctrine of the -immaculate conception is in its substance this, and nothing more or -less than this (putting aside the question of degrees of grace); and -it really does seem to me bound up in that doctrine of the fathers, -that Mary is the second Eve. - -It is to me a most strange phenomenon that so many learned and devout -men stumble at this doctrine, and I can only account for it by -supposing that, in matter of fact, they do not know what we mean by -the immaculate conception; and your volume (may I say it?) bears out -my suspicion. It is a great consolation to have reason for thinking -so--for believing that in some sort the persons in question are in the -position of those great saints in former times who are said to have -hesitated about it, when they would not have hesitated at all if the -word "conception" had been clearly explained in that sense in which -now it is universally received. I do not see how any one who holds -with Bull the Catholic doctrine of the supernatural endowments of our -first parents, has fair reason for doubting our doctrine about the -Blessed Virgin. It has no reference whatever to her parents, but -simply to her own person; it does but affirm that, together with the -nature which she inherited from her parents, that is, her own nature, -she had a superadded fulness of grace, and that from the first moment -of her existence. Suppose Eve had stood the trial, and not lost her -first grace, and suppose she had eventually had children, those -children from the first moment of their existence would, through -divine bounty, have received the same privilege that she had ever had; -that is, as she was taken from Adam's side, in a garment, so to say, -of grace, so they in turn would have received what may be called an -immaculate conception. They would have been conceived in grace, as in -fact they are conceived in sin. What is there difficult in this -doctrine? What is there unnatural? Mary may be called a daughter of -Eve unfallen. You believe with us that St. John Baptist had grace -given to him three months before his birth, at the time {64} that the -Blessed Virgin visited his mother. He accordingly was not immaculately -conceived, because he was alive before grace came to him; but our -Lady's case only differs from his in this respect, that to her grace -came not three months merely before her birth, but from the first -moment of her being, as it had been given to Eve. - -But it may be said, How does this enable us to say that she was -conceived without _original sin_? If Anglicans knew what we mean by -original sin, they would not ask the question. Our doctrine of -original sin is not the same as the Protestant doctrine. "Original -sin," with us, cannot be called sin in the ordinary sense of the word -"sin;" it is a term denoting the _imputation_ of Adam's sin, or the -state to which Adam's sin reduces his children; but by Protestants it -is understood to be sin in the same sense as actual sin. We, with the -fathers, think of it as something negative; Protestants as something -positive. Protestants hold that it is a disease, a change of nature, a -poison internally corrupting the soul, and propagated from father to -son, after the manner of a bad constitution; and they fancy that we -ascribe a different nature from ours to the Blessed Virgin, different -from that of her parents, and from that of fallen Adam. We hold -nothing of the kind; we consider that in Adam she died, as others; -that she was included, together with the whole race, in Adam's -sentence; that she incurred his debt, as we do; but that, for the sake -of him who was to redeem her and us upon the cross, to her the debt -was remitted by anticipation; on her the sentence was not carried out, -except indeed as regards her natural death, for she died when her time -came, as others. All this we teach, but we deny that she had original -sin; for by original sin we mean, as I have already said, something -negative, viz., this only, the _deprivation_ of that supernatural -unmerited grace which Adam and Eve had on their creation--deprivation -and the consequences of deprivation. Mary could not merit, any more -than they, the restoration of that grace; but it was restored to her -by God's free bounty from the very first moment of her existence, and -thereby, in fact, she never came under the original curse, which -consisted in the loss of it. And she had this special privilege in -order to fit her to become the mother of her and our Redeemer, to fit -her mentally, spiritually, for it; so that, by the aid of the first -grace, she might so grow in grace that when the angel came, and her -Lord was at hand, she might be "full of grace," prepared, as far as a -creature could be prepared, to receive him into her bosom. - -I have drawn the doctrine of the immaculate conception, as an -immediate inference, from the primitive doctrine that Mary is the -second Eve. The argument seems to me conclusive; and, if it has not -been universally taken as such, this has come to pass because there -has not been a clear understanding among Catholics what exactly was -meant by the immaculate conception. To many it seemed to imply that -the Blessed Virgin did not die in Adam, that she did not come under -the penalty of the fall, that she was not redeemed; that she was -conceived in some way inconsistent with the verse in the _Miserere_ -psalm. If controversy had in earlier days so cleared the subject as to -make it plain to all that the doctrine meant nothing else than that, -in fact, in her case the general sentence on mankind was not carried -out, and that by means of the indwelling in her of divine grace from -the first moment of her being (and this is all the decree of 1854 has -declared), I cannot believe that the doctrine would have ever been -opposed; for an instinctive sentiment has led Christians jealously to -put the Blessed Mary aside when sin comes into discussion. This is -expressed in the well-known words of St. Augustine. All have sinned -"except the holy Virgin Mary, {65} concerning whom, for the honor of -the Lord, I wish no question to be raised at all, when we are treating -of sins" (de Nat. et Grat. 42); words which, whatever St. Augustine's -actual occasion of using them (to which you refer, p. 176), certainly, -in the spirit which they breathe, are well adapted to convey the -notion that, apart from her relation to her parents, she had not -personally any part in sin whatever. It is true that several great -fathers of the fourth century do imply or assert that on one or two -occasions she did sin venially or showed infirmity. This is the only -real objection which I know of; and, as I do not wish to pass it over -lightly, I propose to consider it at the end of this letter. - -2. Now, secondly, her _greatness_. Here let us suppose that our first -parents had overcome in their trial, and had gained for their -descendants for ever the full possession, as if by right, of the -privileges which were promised to their obedience--grace here and -glory hereafter. Is it possible that those descendants, pious and -happy from age to age in their temporal homes, would have forgotten -their benefactors? Would they not have followed them in thought into -the heavens, and gratefully commemorated them on earth? The history of -the temptation, the craft of the serpent, their steadfastness in -obedience--the loyal vigilance, the sensitive purity of Eve--the great -issue, salvation wrought out for all generations--would have been -never from their minds, ever welcome to their ears. This would have -taken place from the necessity of our nature. Every nation has its -mythical hymns and epics about its first fathers and its heroes. The -great deeds of Charlemagne, Alfred, Coeur de Lion, Wallace, Louis the -Ninth, do not die; and though their persons are gone from us, we make -much of their names. Milton's Adam, after his fall, understands the -force of this law, and shrinks from the prospect of its operation: - - "Who of all ages to succeed but, feeling - The evil on him brought by me, will curse - My head? Ill fare our ancestor impure; - For this we may thank Adam." - -If this anticipation has not been fulfilled in the event, it is owing -to the needs of our penal life, our state of perpetual change, and the -ignorance and unbelief incurred by the fall; also because, fallen as -we are, from the hopefulness of our nature we feel more pride in our -national great men than dejection at our national misfortunes. Much -more then in the great kingdom and people of God--the saints are ever -in our sight, and not as mere ineffectual ghosts, but as if present -bodily in their past selves. It is said of them, "Their works do -follow them;" what they were here, such are they in heaven and in the -church. As we call them by their earthly names, so we contemplate them -in their earthly characters and histories. Their acts, callings, and -relations below are types and anticipations of their mission above. -Even in the case of our Lord himself, whose native home is the eternal -heavens, it is said of him in his state of glory, that he is a "priest -for ever;" and when he comes again he will be recognized, by those who -pierced him, as being the very same that he was on earth. The only -question is, whether the Blessed Virgin had a part, a real part, in -the economy of grace, whether, when she was on earth, she secured by -her deeds any claim on our memories; for, if she did, it is impossible -we should put her away from us, merely because she is gone hence, and -not look at her still, according to the measure of her earthly -history, with gratitude and expectation. If, as St. Irenaeus says, she -did the part of an advocate, a friend in need, even in her mortal -life, if, as St. Jerome and St. Ambrose say, she was on earth the -great pattern of virgins, if she had a meritorious share in bringing -about our redemption, if her maternity was earned by her faith and -obedience, if her divine Son was subject to her, and if she stood by -the {66} cross with a mother's heart and drank in to the full those -sufferings which it was her portion to gaze upon, it is impossible -that we should not associate these characteristics of her life on -earth with her present state of blessedness; and this surely she -anticipated, when she said in her hymn that "all generations shall -call her blessed." - -I am aware that, in thus speaking, I am following a line of thought -which is rather a meditation than an argument in controversy, and I -shall not carry it further; but still, in turning to other topics, it -is to the point to inquire whether the popular astonishment, excited -by our belief in the Blessed Virgin's present dignity, does not arise -from the circumstance that the bulk of men, engaged in matters of the -world, have never calmly considered her historical position in the -gospels so as rightly to realize (if I may use the word a second time) -what that position imports. I do not claim for the generality of -Catholics any greater powers of reflection upon the objects of their -faith than Protestants commonly have, but there is a sufficient number -of religious men among Catholics who, instead of expending their -devotional energies (as so many serious Protestants do) on abstract -doctrines, such as justification by faith only, or the sufficiency of -holy Scripture, employ themselves in the contemplation of Scripture -facts, and bring out in a tangible form the doctrines involved in -them, and give such a substance and color to the sacred history as to -influence their brethren, who, though superficial themselves, are -drawn by their Catholic instinct to accept conclusions which they -could not indeed themselves have elicited, but which, when elicited, -they feel to be true. However, it would be out of place to pursue this -course of reasoning here; and instead of doing so, I shall take what -perhaps you may think a very bold step--I shall find the doctrine of -our Lady's present exaltation in Scripture. - -I mean to find it in the vision of the woman and child in the twelfth -chapter of the Apocalypse. [Footnote 14] Now here two objections will -be made to me at once: first, that such an interpretation is but -poorly supported by the fathers; and secondly, that in ascribing such -a picture of the Madonna (as it may be called) to the apostolic age, I -am committing an anachronism. - - [Footnote 14: _Vid_. "Essay on Doctr. Development," p. 384, and - Bishop Ullathorne's work on the "Immaculate Conception," p. 77.] - -As to the former of these objections, I answer as follows: Christians -have never gone to Scripture for proofs of their doctrines till there -was actual need from the pressure of controversy. If in those times -the Blessed Virgin's dignity were unchallenged on all hands as a -matter of doctrine, Scripture, as far as its argumentative matter was -concerned, was likely to remain a sealed book to them. Thus, to take -an instance in point, the Catholic party in the English Church (say -the Non-jurors), unable by their theory of religion simply to take -their stand on tradition, and distressed for proof of their doctrines, -had their eyes sharpened to scrutinize and to understand the letter of -holy Scripture, which to others brought no instruction. And the -peculiarity of their interpretations is this--that they have in -themselves great logical cogency, yet are but faintly supported by -patristical commentators. Such is the use of the word [Greek text] or -_facere_ in our Lord's institution of the holy eucharist, which, by a -reference to the old Testament, is found to be a word of sacrifice. -Such again is [Greek text] in the passage in the Acts, "As they -_ministered_ to the Lord and fasted," which again is a sacerdotal -term. And such the passage in Rom. xv. 16, in which several terms are -used which have an allusion to the sacrificial eucharistic rite. Such, -too, is St. Paul's repeated message to the _household_ of Onesiphorus, -with no mention of Onesiphorus himself, but in one place, with the -addition of a prayer that "he might find mercy of the Lord" in the day -of {67} judgment, which, taking into account its wording and the known -usage of the first centuries, we can hardly deny is a prayer for his -soul. Other texts there are which ought to find a place in ancient -controversies, and the omission of which by the fathers affords matter -for more surprise; those, for instance, which, according to -Middleton's rule, are real proofs of our Lord's divinity, and yet are -passed over by Catholic disputants; for these bear upon a then -existing controversy of the first moment and of the most urgent -exigency. - -As to the second objection which I have supposed, so far from allowing -it, I consider that it is built upon a mere imaginary fact, and that -the truth of the matter lies in the very contrary direction. The -Virgin and Child is _not_ a mere modern idea; on the contrary, it is -represented again and again, as every visitor to Rome is aware, in the -paintings of the Catacombs. Mary is there drawn with the Divine Infant -in her lap, she with hands extended in prayer, he with his hand in the -attitude of blessing. No representation can more forcibly convey the -doctrine of the high dignity of the mother, and, I will add, of her -power over her Son. Why should the memory of his time of subjection be -so dear to Christians, and so carefully preserved? The only question -to be determined, is the precise date of these remarkable monuments of -the first age of Christianity. That they belong to the centuries of -what Anglicans call the "undivided church" is certain; but lately -investigations have been pursued which place some of them at an -earlier date than any one anticipated as possible. I am not in a -position to quote largely from the works of the Cavaliere de Rossi, -who has thrown so much light upon the subject; but I have his "Imagini -Scelte," published in 1863, and they are sufficient for my purpose. In -this work he has given us from the Catacombs various representations -of the Virgin and Child; the latest of these belong to the early part -of the fourth century, but the earliest he believes to be referable to -the very age of the apostles. He comes to this conclusion from the -style and the skill of the composition, and from the history, -locality, and existing inscriptions of the subterranean in which it is -found. However, he does not go so far as to insist upon so early a -date; yet the utmost liberty he grants is to refer the painting to the -era of the first Antonines--that is, to a date within half a century -of the death of St. John. I consider then that, as you fairly use, in -controversy with Protestants, the traditional doctrine of the church -in early times, as an explanation of the Scripture text, or at least -as a suggestion, or as a defence, of the sense which you may wish to -put on it, quite apart from the question whether your interpretation -itself is traditional, so it is lawful for me, though I have not the -positive words of the fathers on my side, to shelter my own -interpretation of the apostle's vision under the fact of the extant -pictures of Mother and Child in the Roman Catacombs. There is another -principle of Scripture interpretation which we should hold with -you--when we speak of a doctrine being contained in Scripture, we do -not necessarily mean that it is contained there in direct categorical -terms, but that there is no other satisfactory way of accounting for -the language and expressions of the sacred writers, concerning the -subject-matter in question, than to suppose that they held upon it the -opinions which we hold; that they would not have spoken as they have -spoken _unless_ they held it. For myself I have ever felt the truth of -this principle, as regards the Scripture proof of the Holy Trinity; I -should not have found out that doctrine in the sacred text without -previous traditional teaching; but when once it is suggested from -without, it commends itself as the one true interpretation, from its -appositeness, because no other view of doctrine, which can be ascribed -to the inspired writers, so happily {68} solves the obscurities and -seeming inconsistencies of their teaching. And now to apply what I -have said to the passage in the Apocalypse. - -If there is an apostle on whom, _à priori_, our eyes would be fixed, -as likely to teach us about the Blessed Virgin, it is St. John, to -whom she was committed by our Lord on the cross--with whom, as -tradition goes, she lived at Ephesus till she was taken away. This -anticipation is confirmed _à posteriori_; for, as I have said above, -one of the earliest and fullest of our informants concerning her -dignity, as being the second Eve, is Irenaeus, who came to Lyons from -Asia Minor, and had been taught by the immediate disciples of St. -John. The apostle's vision is as follows: - -"A great sign appeared in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and -the moon under her feet; and on her head a crown of twelve stars. And -being with child, she cried travailing in birth, and was in pain to be -delivered. And there was seen another sign in heaven; and behold a -great red dragon . . . And the dragon stood before the woman who was -ready to be delivered, that, when she should be delivered, he might -devour her son. And she brought forth a man-child, who was to rule all -nations with an iron rod; and her son was taken up to God and to his -throne. And the woman fled into the wilderness." Now I do not deny, of -course, that, under the image of the woman, the church is signified; -but what I would maintain is this, that the holy apostle would not -have spoken of the church under this particular image _unless_ there -had existed a Blessed Virgin Mary, who was exalted on high, and the -object of veneration to all the faithful. - -No one doubts that the "man-child" spoken of is an allusion to our -Lord; why, then, is not "the woman" an allusion to his mother? This -surely is the obvious sense of the words; of course it has a further -sense also, which is the scope of the image; doubtless the child -represents the children of the church, and doubtless the woman -represents the church; this, I grant, is the real or direct sense, but -what is the sense of the symbol? _who_ are the woman and the child? I -answer, They are not personifications but persons. This is true of the -child, therefore it is true of the woman. - -But again: not only mother and child, but a serpent, is introduced -into the vision. Such a meeting of man, woman, and serpent has not -been found in Scripture, since the beginning of Scripture, and now it -is found in its end. Moreover, in the passage in the Apocalypse, as if -to supply, before Scripture came to an end, what was wanting in its -beginning, we are told, and for the first time, that the serpent in -Paradise was the evil spirit. If the dragon of St. John is the same as -the serpent of Moses, and the man-child is "the seed of the woman," -why is not the woman herself she whose seed the man-child is? And, if -the first woman is not an allegory, why is the second? if the first -woman is Eve, why is not the second Mary? - -But this is not all. The image of the woman, according to Scripture -usage, is too bold and prominent for a mere personification. Scripture -is not fond of allegories. We have indeed frequent figures there, as -when the sacred writers speak of the arm or sword of the Lord; and so -too when they speak of Jerusalem or Samaria in the feminine; or of the -mountains leaping for joy, or of the church as a bride or as a vine; -but they are not much given to dressing up abstract ideas or -generalizations in personal attributes. This is the classical rather -than the Scripture style. Xenophon places Hercules between Virtue and -Vice, represented as women; AEschylus introduces into his drama Force -and Violence; Virgil gives personality to public rumor or Fame, and -Plautus to Poverty. So on monuments done in the classical style, we -{69} see virtues, vices, rivers, renown, death, and the like, turned -into human figures of men and women. I do not say there are no -instances at all of this method in Scripture, but I say that such -poetical compositions are strikingly unlike its usual method. Thus we -at once feel its difference from Scripture, when we betake ourselves -to the Pastor of Hermes, and find the church a woman, to St. -Methodius, and find Virtue a woman, and to St. Gregory's poem, and -find Virginity again a woman. Scripture deals with types rather than -personifications. Israel stands for the chosen people, David for -Christ, Jerusalem for heaven. Consider the remarkable representations, -dramatic I may call them, in Jeremiah, Ezechiel, and Hosea; -predictions, threatenings, and promises are acted out by those -prophets. Ezechiel is commanded to shave his head, and to divide and -scatter his hair; and Ahias tears his garment, and gives ten out of -twelve parts of it to Jeroboam. So, too, the structure of the imagery -in the Apocalypse is not a mere allegorical creation, but is founded -on the Jewish ritual. In like manner our Lord's bodily cures are -visible types of the power of his grace upon the soul; and his -prophecy of the last day is conveyed under that of the fall of -Jerusalem. Even his parables are not simply ideal, but relations of -occurrences which did or might take place, under which was conveyed a -spiritual meaning. The description of Wisdom in the Proverbs, and -other sacred books, has brought out the instinct of commentators in -this respect. They felt that Wisdom could not be a mere -personification, and they determined that it was our Lord; and the -later of these books, by their own more definite language, warranted -that interpretation. Then, when it was found that the Arians used it -in derogation of our Lord's divinity, still, unable to tolerate the -notion of a mere allegory, commentators applied the description to the -Blessed Virgin. Coming back then to the Apocalyptic vision, I ask, If -the woman must be some real person, who can it be whom the apostle -saw, and intends, and delineates, but that same great mother to whom -the chapters in the Proverbs are accommodated? And let it be observed, -moreover, that in this passage, from the allusion in it to the history -of the fall, she may be said still to be represented under the -character of the second Eve. I make a further remark; it is sometimes -asked, Why do not the sacred writers mention our Lady's greatness? I -answer, she was, or may have been, alive when the apostles and -evangelists wrote; there was just one book of Scripture certainly -written after her death, and that book does (if I may so speak) -canonize her. - -But if all this be so, if it is really the Blessed Virgin whom -Scripture represents as clothed with the sun, crowned with the stars -of heaven, and with the moon as her footstool, what height of glory -may we not attribute to her? and what are we to say of those who, -through ignorance, run counter to the voice of Scripture, to the -testimony of the fathers, to the traditions of East and West, and -speak and act contemptuously toward her whom her Lord delighteth to -honor? - - -Now I have said all I mean to say on what I have called the rudimental -teaching of antiquity about the Blessed Virgin; but, after all, I have -not insisted on the highest view of her prerogatives which the fathers -have taught us. You, my dear friend, who know so well the ancient -controversies and councils, may have been surprised why I should not -have yet spoken of her as the Theotocos; but I wished to show on how -broad a basis her greatness rests, independent of that wonderful -title; and again, I have been loth to enlarge upon the force of a -word, which is rather matter for devotional thought than for polemical -dispute. However, I might as well not {70} write on my subject at all -as altogether be silent upon it. - -It is, then, an integral portion of the faith fixed by ecumenical -council, a portion of it which you hold as well as I, that the Blessed -Virgin is Theotocos, Deipara, or Mother of God; and this word, when -thus used, carries with it no admixture of rhetoric, no taint of -extravagant affection; it has nothing else but a well-weighed, grave, -dogmatic sense, which corresponds and is adequate to its sound. It -intends to express that God is her Son, as truly as any one of us is -the son of his own mother. If this be so, what can be said of any -creature whatever which may not be said of her? what can be said too -much, so that it does not compromise the attributes of the Creator? -He, indeed, might have created a being more perfect, more admirable, -than she is; he might have endued that being, so created, with a -richer grant of grace, of power, of blessedness; but in one respect -she surpasses all even possible creations, viz., that she is Mother of -her Creator. It is this awful title, which both illustrates and -connects together the two prerogatives of Mary, on which I have been -lately enlarging, her sanctity and her greatness. It is the issue of -her sanctity; it is the source of her greatness. What dignity can be -too great to attribute to her who is as closely bound up, as -intimately one, with the Eternal Word, as a mother is with a son? What -outfit of sanctity, what fulness and redundance of grace, what -exuberance of merits must have been hers, on the supposition, which -the fathers justify, that her Maker regarded them at all, and took -them into account, when he condescended "not to abhor the Virgin's -womb?" Is it surprising, then, that on the one hand she should be -immaculate in her conception? or on the other that she should be -exalted as a queen, with a crown of twelve stars? Men sometimes wonder -that we call her mother of life, of mercy, of salvation; what are all -these titles compared to that one name, Mother of God? - -I shall say no more about this title here. It is scarcely possible to -write of it without diverging into a style of composition unsuited to -a letter; so I proceed to the history of its use. - -The title of _Theotocos_ [Footnote 15] begins with ecclesiastical -writers of a date hardly later than that at which we read of her as -the second Eve. It first occurs in the works of Origen (185-254); but -he, witnessing for Egypt and Palestine, witnesses also that it was in -use before his time; for, as Socrates informs us, he "interpreted how -it was to be used, and discussed the question at length" (Hist. vii. -32). Within two centuries (431), in the general council held against -Nestorius, it was made part of the formal dogmatic teaching of the -church. At that time Theodoret, who from his party connections might -have been supposed disinclined to its solemn recognition, owned that -"the ancient and more than ancient heralds of the orthodox faith -taught the use of the term according to the apostolic tradition." At -the same date John of Antioch, who for a while sheltered Nestorius, -whose heresy lay in the rejection of the term, said, "This title no -ecclesiastical teacher has put aside. Those who have used it are many -and eminent, and those who have not used it have not attacked those -who did." Alexander again, one of the fiercest partisans of Nestorius, -allows the use of the word, though he considers it dangerous. "That in -festive solemnities," he says, "or in preaching or teaching, -_theotocos_ should be unguardedly said by the orthodox without -explanation is no blame, because such statements were not dogmatic, -nor said with evil meaning." If we look for those, in the interval -between Origen and the council, to whom Alexander refers, we find it -used again and again by the fathers in such of their works as are -extant: by {71} Archelans of Mesopotamia, Eusebius of Palestine, -Alexander of Egypt, in the third century; in the fourth, by Athanasius -many times with emphasis, by Cyril of Palestine, Gregory Nyssen of -Cappadocia, Gregory Nazianzen of Cappadocia, Antiochus of Syria, and -Ammonius of Thrace; not to speak of the Emperor Julian, who, having no -local or ecclesiastical domicile, speaks for the whole of Christendom. -Another and earlier emperor, Constantine, in his speech before the -assembled bishops at Nicaea, uses the still more explicit title of -"the Virgin Mother of God;" which is also used by Ambrose of Milan, -and by Vincent and Cassian in the south of France, and then by St. -Leo. - - [Footnote 15: _Vid_. "translation of St. Athanasius," pp. 420, 440, - 447.] - -So much for the term; it would be tedious to produce the passages of -authors who, using or not using the term, convey the idea. "Our God -was carried in the womb of Mary," says Ignatius, who was martyred A.D. -106. "The word of God," says Hippolytus, "was carried in that virgin -frame." "The Maker of all," says Amphilochius, "is born of a virgin." -"She did compass without circumscribing the Sun of justice--the -Everlasting is born," says Chrysostom. "God dwelt in the womb," says -Proclus. "When thou hearest that God speaks from the bush," asks -Theodotus, "in the bush seest thou not the Virgin?" Cassian says, -"Mary bore her Author." "The one God only-begotten," says Hilary, "is -introduced into the womb of a virgin." "The Everlasting," says -Ambrose, "came into the Virgin him." "The closed gate," says Jerome, -"by which alone the Lord God of Israel enters, is the Virgin Mary." -"That man from heaven," says Capriolus, "is God conceived in the -womb." "He is made in thee," says Augustine, "who made thee." - -This being the faith of the fathers about the Blessed Virgin, we need -not wonder that it should in no long time be transmuted into devotion. -No wonder if their language should be unmeasured, when so great a term -as "Mother of God" had been formally set down as the safe limit of it. -No wonder if it became stronger and stronger as time went on, since -only in a long period could the fulness of its import be exhausted. -And in matter of fact, and as might be anticipated (with the few -exceptions which I have noted above, and which I am to treat of -below), the current of thought in those early ages did uniformly tend -to make much of the Blessed Virgin and to increase her honors, not to -circumscribe them. Little jealousy was shown of her in those times; -but, when any such niggardness of devotion occurred, then one father -or other fell upon the offender, with zeal, not to say with -fierceness. Thus St. Jerome inveighs against Helvidius; thus St. -Epiphanius denounces Apollinaris, St. Cyril Nestorius, and St. Ambrose -Bonosus; on the other hand, each successive insult offered to her by -individual adversaries did but bring out more fully the intimate -sacred affection with which Christendom regarded her. "She was alone, -and wrought the world's salvation and conceived the redemption of -all," says Ambrose; [Footnote 16] "she had so great grace, as not -only to preserve virginity herself, but to confer it upon those whom -she visited." "The rod out of the stem of Jesse," says Jerome, "and -the eastern gate through which the high priest alone goes in and out, -yet is ever shut" "The wise woman," says Nilus, who "hath clad -believers, from the fleece of the Lamb born of her, with the clothing -of incorruption, and delivered them from their spiritual nakedness." -"The mother of life, of beauty, of majesty, the morning star," -according to Antiochus. "The mystical new heavens," "the heavens -carrying the Divinity," "the fruitful vine," "by whom we are -translated from death to life," according to St. Ephrem. "The manna -which is delicate, bright, sweet, and virgin, {72} which, as though -coming from heaven, has poured down on all the people of the churches -a food pleasanter than honey," according to St. Maximus. - - [Footnote 16: "Essay on Doctr. Dev.," p. 408] - -Proclus calls her "the unsullied shell which contains the pearl of -price," "the church's diadem," "the expression of orthodoxy." "Run -through all creation in your thought," he says, "and see if there be -one equal or superior to the Holy Virgin, Mother of God." "Hail, -mother, clad in light, of the light which sets not," says Theodotus, -or some one else at Ephesus--"hail, all-undefiled mother of holiness; -hail, most pellucid fountain of the life-giving stream." And St. Cyril -too at Ephesus, "Hail, Mary, Mother of God, majestic common-treasure -of the whole world, the lamp unquenchable, the crown of virginity, the -staff of orthodoxy, the indissoluble temple, the dwelling of the -illimitable, mother and virgin, through whom he in the holy gospels is -called blessed who cometh in the name of the Lord, .... through whom -the Holy Trinity is sanctified, through whom angels and archangels -rejoice, devils are put to flight, .... and the fallen creature is -received up into the heavens, etc, etc." [Footnote 17] Such is but a -portion of the panegyrical language which St. Cyril used in the third -ecumenical council. - - [Footnote 17: Opp., t. 6, p. 355. ] - -I must not close my review of the Catholic doctrine concerning the -Blessed Virgin without directly speaking of her intercessory power, -though I have incidentally made mention of it already. It is the -immediate result of two truths, neither of which you dispute: first, -that "it is good and useful," as the Council of Trent says, -"suppliantly to invoke the saints and to have recourse to their -prayers;" and secondly, that the Blessed Mary is singularly dear to -her Son and singularly exalted in sanctity and glory. However, at the -risk of becoming didactic, I will state somewhat more fully the -grounds on which it rests. - -To a candid pagan it must have been one of the most remarkable points -of Christianity, on its first appearance, that the observance of -prayer formed so vital a part of its organization; and that, though -its members were scattered all over the world, and its rulers and -subjects had so little opportunity of correlative action, yet they, -one and all, found the solace of a spiritual intercourse, and a real -bond of union, in the practice of mutual intercession. Prayer, indeed, -is the very essence of religion; but in the heathen religions it was -either public or personal; it was a state ordinance, or a selfish -expedient, for the attainment of certain tangible, temporal goods. -Very different from this was its exercise among Christians, who were -thereby knit together in one body, different as they were in races, -ranks, and habits, distant from each other in country, and helpless -amid hostile populations. Yet it proved sufficient for its purpose. -Christians could not correspond; they could not combine; but they -could pray one for another. Even their public prayers partook of this -character of intercession; for to pray for the welfare of the whole -church was really a prayer for all classes of men, and all the -individuals of which it was composed. It was in prayer that the church -was founded. For ten days all the apostles "persevered with one mind -in prayer and supplication, with the women, and Mary the Mother of -Jesus, and with his brethren." Then again at Pentecost "they were all -with one mind in one place;" and the converts then made are said to -have "persevered in prayer." And when, after a while, St. Peter was -seized and put in prison with a view to his being put to death, -"prayer was made without ceasing" by the church of God for him; and, -when the angel released him, he took refuge in a house "where many -were gathered together in prayer." - -{73} - -We are so accustomed to these passages as hardly to be able to do -justice to their singular significance; and they are followed up by -various passages of the apostolic epistles. St. Paul enjoins his -brethren to '"pray with all prayer and supplication at all times in -the Spirit, with all instance and supplication for all saints," to -"pray in every place," "to make supplication, prayers, intercessions, -giving of thanks for all men." And in his own person he "ceases not to -give thanks for them, commemorating them in his prayers," and "always -in all his prayers making supplication for them all with joy." - -Now, was this spiritual bond to cease with life? or had Christians -similar duties to their brethren departed? From the witness of the -early ages of the church, it appears that they had; and you, and those -who agree with you, would be the last to deny that they were then in -the practice of praying, as for the living, so for those also who had -passed into the intermediate state between earth and heaven. Did the -sacred communion extend further still, on to the inhabitants of heaven -itself? Here too you agree with us, for you have adopted in your -volume the words of the Council of Trent which I have quoted above. -But now we are brought to a higher order of thoughts. - -It would be preposterous to pray for those who are already in glory; -but at least they can pray for us, and we can ask their prayers, and -in the Apocalypse at least angels are introduced both sending us their -blessing and presenting our prayers before the divine Presence. We -read there of an angel who "came and stood before the altar, having a -golden censer;" and "there was given to him much incense, that he -should offer of the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which -is before the throne of God." On this occasion, surely, the angel -Michael, as the prayer in mass considers him, performed the part of a -great intercessor or mediator above for the children of the church -militant below. Again, in the beginning of the same book, the sacred -writer goes so far as to speak of "grace and peace" being sent us, not -only from the Almighty, but "from the seven spirits that are before -his throne," thus associating the Eternal with the ministers of his -mercies; and this carries us on to the remarkable passage of St. -Justin, one of the earliest fathers, who, in his "Apology," says, "To -him (God), and his Son who came from him, and taught us these things, -and the host of the other good angels who follow and resemble them, -and the prophetic Spirit, we pay veneration and homage." Further, in -the Epistle to the Hebrews, St. Paul introduces, not only angels, but -"the spirits of the just" into the sacred communion: "Ye have come to -Mount Sion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, to myriads of angels, to God, -the Judge of all, to the spirits of the just made perfect, and to -Jesus, the Mediator of the New Testament." What can be meant by having -"come to the spirits of the just," unless in some way or other they do -us good, whether by blessing or by aiding us? that is, in a word, to -speak correctly, by praying for us; for it is by prayer alone that the -creature above can bless or aid the creature below. - -Intercession thus being the first principle of the church's life, next -it is certain again that the vital principle of that intercession, as -an availing power, is, according to the will of God, sanctity. This -seems to be suggested by a passage of St. Paul, in which the supreme -intercessor is said to be "the Spirit:" "The Spirit himself maketh -intercession for us; he maketh intercession for the saints according -to God." However, the truth thus implied is expressly brought out in -other parts of Scripture, in the form both of doctrine and of example. -The words of the man born blind speak the common sense of nature: "If -any man be a worshipper of God, him he heareth." {74} And apostles -confirm them: "The prayer of a just man availeth much," and "whatever -we ask we receive, because we keep his commandments." Then, as for -examples, we read of Abraham and Moses as having the divine purpose of -judgment revealed to them beforehand, in order that they might -deprecate its execution. To the friends of Job it was said, "My -servant Job shall pray for you; his face I will accept." Elias by his -prayer shut and opened the heavens. Elsewhere we read of "Jeremias, -Moses, and Samuel," and of "Noe, Daniel, and Job," as being great -mediators between God and his people. One instance is given us, which -testifies the continuance of so high an office beyond this life. -Lazarus, in the parable, is seen in Abraham's bosom. It is usual to -pass over this striking passage with the remark that it is a Jewish -expression; whereas, Jewish belief or not, it is recognized and -sanctioned by our Lord himself. What do we teach about the Blessed -Virgin more wonderful than this? Let us suppose that, at the hour of -death, the faithful are committed to her arms; but if Abraham, not yet -ascended on high, had charge of Lazarus, what offence is it to affirm -the like of her, who was not merely "the friend," but the very "Mother -of God?" - -It may be added that, though it availed nothing for influence with our -Lord to be one of his company if sanctity was wanting, still, as the -gospel shows, he on various occasions allowed those who were near him -to be the means by which supplicants were brought to him, or miracles -gained from him, as in the instance of the miracle of the loaves; and -if on one occasion he seems to repel his mother when she told him that -wine was wanting for the guests at the marriage feast, it is obvious -to remark on it that, by saying that she was then separated from him -_because_ his hour was not yet come, he implied that, when that hour -was come, such separation would be at an end. Moreover, in fact, he -did, at her intercession, work the miracle which she desired. - -I consider it impossible, then, for those who believe the church to be -one vast body in heaven and on earth, in which every holy creature of -God has his place, and of which prayer is the life, when once they -recognize the sanctity and greatness of the Blessed Virgin, not to -perceive immediately that her office above is one of perpetual -intercession for the faithful militant, and that our very relation to -her must be that of clients to a patron, and that, in the eternal -enmity which exists between the woman and the serpent, while the -serpent's strength is that of being the tempter, the weapon of the -second Eve and Mother of God is prayer. - -As then these ideas of her sanctity and greatness gradually penetrated -the mind of Christendom, so did her intercessory power follow close -upon and with them. From the earliest times that mediation is -symbolized in those representations of her with uplifted hands, which, -whether in plaster or in glass, are still extant in Rome--that -church, as St. Irenaeus says, with which "every church, that is, the -faithful from every side, must agree, because of its more powerful -principality;" "into which," as Tertullian adds, "the apostles poured -out, together with their blood, their whole doctrines." As far, -indeed, as existing documents are concerned, I know of no instance to -my purpose earlier than A.D. 234, but it is a very remarkable one; -and, though it has been often quoted in the controversy, an argument -is not the weaker for frequent use. - -St. Gregory Nyssen, [Footnote 18] a native of Cappadocia in the -fourth century, relates that his namesake, Bishop of Neo-Caesarea, -surnamed Thaumaturgus, in the century preceding, shortly before he was -called to the priesthood, received in a vision a creed, which is still -extant, from the Blessed Mary at the hands of St. John. - - [Footnote 18: _Vid_. "Essay on Doctr. Dev." p. 386.] - -{75} - -The account runs thus: He was deeply pondering theological doctrine, -which the heretics of the day depraved. "In such thoughts," says his -namesake of Nyssa, "he was passing the night, when one appeared, as if -in human form, aged in appearance, saintly in the fashion of his -garments, and very venerable both in grace of countenance and general -mien. Amazed at the sight, he started from his bed, and asked who it -was, and why he came; but, on the other calming the perturbation of -his mind with his gentle voice, and saying he had appeared to him by -divine command on account of his doubts, in order that the truth of -the orthodox faith might be revealed to him, he took courage at the -word, and regarded him with a mixture of joy and fright. Then, on his -stretching his hand straight forward and pointing with his fingers at -something on one side, he followed with his eyes the extended hand, -and saw another appearance opposite to the former, in the shape of a -woman, but more than human. . . . When his eyes could not, bear the -apparition, he heard them conversing together on the subject of his -doubts; and thereby not only gained a true knowledge of the faith, but -learned their names, as they addressed each other by their respective -appellations. And thus he is said to have heard the person in woman's -shape bid 'John the Evangelist' disclose to the young man the mystery -of godliness; and he answered that he was ready to comply in this -matter with the wish of 'the Mother of the Lord,' and enunciated a -formulary, well turned and complete, and so vanished. He, on the other -hand, immediately committed to writing that divine teaching of his -mystagogue, and henceforth preached in the church according to that -form, and bequeathed to posterity, as an inheritance, that heavenly -teaching, by means of which his people are instructed down to this -day, being preserved from all heretical evil." He proceeds to rehearse -the creed thus given, "There is one God, father of a living Word," -etc. Bull, after quoting it in his work upon the Nicene faith, alludes -to this history of its origin, and adds, "No one should think it -incredible that such a providence should befal a man whose whole life -was conspicuous for revelations and miracles, as all ecclesiastical -writers who have mentioned him (and who has not?) witness with one -voice." - -Here she is represented as rescuing a holy soul from intellectual -error. This leads me to a further reflection. You seem, in one place -in your volume, to object to the antiphon, in which it is said of her, -"All heresies thou hast destroyed alone." Surely the truth of it is -verified in this age, as in former times, and especially by the -doctrine concerning her on which I have been dwelling. She is the -great exemplar of prayer in a generation which emphatically denies the -power of prayer _in toto_, which determines that fatal laws govern the -universe, that there cannot be any direct communication between earth -and heaven, that God cannot visit his earth, and that man cannot -influence his providence. - - - -I cannot help hoping that your own reading of the fathers will on the -whole bear me out in the above account of their teaching concerning -the Blessed Virgin. Anglicans seem to me to overlook the strength of -the argument adducible from their works in our favor, and they open -the attack upon our mediaeval and modern writers, careless of leaving -a host of primitive opponents in their rear. I do not include you -among such Anglicans; you know what the fathers assert; but, if so, -have you not, my dear friend, been unjust to yourself in your recent -volume, and made far too much of the differences which exist between -Anglicans and us on this particular point? It is the office of an -Irenicon to smooth difficulties; I shall be pleased if I succeed in -removing some of yours. Let the public judge between us here. Had you -{76} happened in your volume to introduce your notice of our teaching -about the Blessed Virgin with a notice of the teaching of the fathers -concerning her, ordinary men would have considered that there was not -much to choose between you and us. Though you appealed ever so much to -the authority of the "undivided church," they certainly would have -said that you, who had such high notions of the Blessed Mary, were one -of the last men who had a right to accuse us of quasi-idolatry. When -they found you calling her by the titles of Mother of God, Second Eve, -and Mother of all Living, the Mother of life, the Morning Star, the -Stay of Believers, the Expression of Orthodoxy, the All-undefiled -Mother of Holiness, and the like, they would have deemed it a poor -compensation for such language that you protested against her being -called a co-redemptress or a priestess. And, if they were violent -Protestants, they would not have read you with that relish and -gratitude with which, as it is, they have perhaps accepted your -testimony against us. Not that they would have been altogether right -in their view of you;--on the contrary, I think there is a real -difference between what you protest against and what with the fathers -you hold; but unread men and men of the world form a broad practical -judgment of the things which come before them, and they would have -felt in this case that they had the same right to be shocked at you as -you have to be shocked at us;--and further, which is the point to -which I am coming, they would have said that, granting some of our -modern writers go beyond the fathers in this matter, still the line -cannot be logically drawn between the teaching of the fathers -concerning the Blessed Virgin and our own. This view of the matter -seems to me true and important; I do not think the line _can_ be -satisfactorily drawn, and to this point I shall now direct my -attention. It is impossible, I say, in a doctrine like this, to draw -the line cleanly between truth and error, right and wrong. This is -ever the case in concrete matters, which have life. Life in this world -is motion, and involves a continual process of change. Living things -grow into their perfection, into their decline, into their death. No -rule of art will suffice to stop the operation of this natural law, -whether in the material world or in the human mind. We can indeed -encounter disorders, when they occur, by external antagonisms and -remedies; but we cannot eradicate the process itself out of which they -arise. Life has the same right to decay as it has to wax strong. This -is specially the case with great ideas. You may stifle them; or you -may refuse them elbow-room; or you may torment them with your -continual meddling; or you may let them have free course and range, -and be content, instead of anticipating their excesses, to expose and -restrain those excesses after they have occurred. But you have only -this alternative; and for myself, I prefer much, wherever it is -possible, to be first generous and then just; to grant full liberty of -thought, and to call it to account when abused. - -If what I have been saying be true of energetic ideas generally, much -more is it the case in matters of religion. Religion acts on the -affections; who is to hinder these, when once roused, from gathering -in their strength and running wild? They are not gifted with any -connatural principle within them which renders them self-governing and -self-adjusting. They hurry right on to their object, and often in -their case it is, more haste and worse speed. Their object engrosses -them, and they see nothing else. And of all passions love is the most -unmanageable; nay, more, I would not give much for that love which is -never extravagant, which always observes the proprieties, and can move -about in perfect good taste, under all emergencies. What mother, what -husband or wife, what youth or maiden in love, {77} but says a -thousand foolish things, in the way of endearment, which the speaker -would be sorry for strangers to hear; yet they were not on that -account unwelcome to the parties to whom they are addressed. Sometimes -by bad luck they are written down, sometimes they get into the -newspapers; and what might be even graceful, when it was fresh from -the heart, and interpreted by the voice and the countenance, presents -but a melancholy exhibition when served up cold for the public eye. So -it is with devotional feelings. Burning thoughts and words are as open -to criticism as they are beyond it. What is abstractedly extravagant, -may in religions persons be becoming and beautiful, and only fall -under blame when it is found in others who imitate them. When it is -formalized into meditations or exercises, it is as repulsive as -love-letters in a police report. Moreover, even holy minds readily -adopt and become familiar with language which they would never have -originated themselves, when it proceeds from a writer who has the same -objects of devotion as they have; and, if they find a stranger -ridicule or reprobate supplication or praise which has come to them so -recommended, they feel as keenly as if a direct insult were offered to -those to whom that homage is addressed. In the next place, what has -power to stir holy and refined souls is potent also with the -multitude; and the religion of the multitude is ever vulgar and -abnormal; it ever will be tinctured with fanaticism and superstition -while men are what they are. A people's religion is ever a corrupt -religion. If you are to have a Catholic Church, you must put up with -fish of every kind, guests good and bad, vessels of gold, vessels of -earth. You may beat religion out of men, if you will, and then their -excesses will take a different direction; but if you make use of -religion to improve them, they will make use of religion to corrupt -it. And then you will have effected that compromise of which our -countrymen report so unfavorably from abroad:--a high grand faith and -worship which compel their admiration, and puerile absurdities among -the people which excite their contempt. - -Nor is it any safeguard against these excesses in a religious system -that the religion is based upon reason, and develops into a theology. -Theology both uses logic and baffles it; and thus logic acts both as a -protection and as the perversion of religion. Theology is occupied -with supernatural matters, and is ever running into mysteries which -reason can neither explain nor adjust. Its lines of thought come to an -abrupt termination, and to pursue them or to complete them is to -plunge down the abyss. But logic blunders on, forcing its way, as it -can, through thick darkness and ethereal mediums. The Arians went -ahead with logic for their directing principle, and so lost the truth; -on the other hand, St. Augustine, in his treatise on the Holy Trinity, -seems to show that, if we attempt to find and tie together the ends of -lines which run into infinity, we shall only succeed in contradicting -ourselves; that for instance it is difficult to find the logical -reason for not speaking of three Gods as well as of one, and of one -person in the Godhead as well as of three. I do not mean to say that -logic cannot be used to set right its own error, or that in the hands -of an able disputant the balance of truth may not be restored. This -was done at the Councils of Antioch and Nicaea, in the instances of -Paulus and Arius. But such a process is circuitous and elaborate; and -is conducted by means of minute subtleties which will give it the -appearance of a game of skill in the case of matters too grave and -practical to deserve a mere scholastic treatment. Accordingly, St. -Augustine simply lays it down that the statements in question are -heretical, for the former is trltheism and the latter Sabellianism. -That is, good sense and a large {78} view of truth are the correctives -of his logic. And thus we have arrived at the final resolution of the -whole matter; for good sense and a large view of truth are rare gifts; -whereas all men are bound to be devout, and most men think they can -argue and conclude. - -Now let me apply what I have been saying to the teaching of the church -on the subject of the Blessed Virgin. I have to recur to a subject of -so sacred a nature, that, writing as I am for publication, I need the -apology of my object for venturing to pursue it. I say then, when once -we have mastered the idea that Mary bore, suckled, and handled the -Eternal in the form of a child, what limit is conceivable to the rush -and flood of thoughts which such a doctrine involves? What awe and -surprise must attend upon the knowledge that a creature has been -brought so close to the Divine Essence? It was the creation of a new -idea and a new sympathy, a new faith and worship, when the holy -apostles announced that God bad become incarnate; and a supreme love -and devotion to him became possible which seemed hopeless before that -revelation. But beside this, a second range of thoughts was opened on -mankind, unknown before, and unlike any other, as soon as it was -understood that that incarnate God had a mother. The second idea is -perfectly distinct from the former, the one does not interfere with -the other. He is God made low, she is a woman made high. I scarcely -like to use a familiar illustration on such a subject, but it will -serve to explain what I mean when I ask you to consider the difference -of feeling with which we read the respective histories of Maria -Theresa and the Maid of Orleans; or with which the middle and lower -classes of a nation regard a first minister of the day who has come of -an aristocratic house and one who has risen from the ranks. May God's -mercy keep me from the shadow of a thought dimming the light or -blunting the keenness of that love of him which is our sole happiness -and our sole salvation! But surely, when he became man he brought home -to us his incommunicable attributes with a distinctiveness which -precludes the possibility of our lowering him by exalting a creature. -He alone has an entrance into our soul, reads our secret thoughts, -speaks to our heart, applies to us spiritual pardon and strength. On -him we solely depend. He alone is our inward life; he not only -regenerates us, but (to allude to a higher mystery) _semper gignit;_ -he is ever renewing our new birth and our heavenly sonship. In this -sense he may be called, as in nature, so in grace, our real father. -Mary is only our adopted mother, given us from the cross; her presence -is above, not on earth; her office is external, not within us. Her -name is not heard in the administration of the sacraments. Her work is -not one of ministration toward us; her power is indirect. It is her -prayers that avail, and they are effectual by the _fiat_ of him who is -our all in all. Nor does she hear us by any innate power, or any -personal gift; but by his manifestation to her of the prayers which we -make her. When Moses was on the Mount, the Almighty told him of the -idolatry of his people at the foot of it, in order that he might -intercede for them; and thus it is the Divine presence which is the -intermediating power by which we reach her and she reaches us. - -Woe is me, if even by a breath I sully these ineffable truths! but -still, without prejudice to them, there is, I say, another range of -thought quite distinct from them, incommensurate with them, of which -the Blessed Virgin is the centre. If we placed our Lord in that -centre, we should only be degrading him from his throne, and making -him an Arian kind of a God; that is, no God at all. He who charges us -with marking Mary a divinity, is thereby denying the divinity of -Jesus. Such a man does not know what divinity is. Our Lord cannot {79} -pray for us, as a creature, as Mary prays; he cannot inspire those -feelings which a creature inspires. To her belongs, as being a -creature, a natural claim on our sympathy and familiarity, in that she -is nothing else than our fellow. She is our pride,--in the poet's -words, "Our tainted nature's solitary boast." We look to her without -any fear, any remorse, any consciousness that she is able to read us, -judge us, punish us. Our heart yearns toward that pure virgin, that -gentle mother, and our congratulations follow her, as she rises from -Nazareth and Ephesus, through the choirs of angels, to her throne on -high. So weak, yet so strong; so delicate, yet so glory-laden; so -modest, yet so mighty. She has sketched for us her own portrait in the -magnificat. "He hath regarded the low estate of his handmaid; for -behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. He hath -put down the mighty from their seat; and hath exalted the humble. He -hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent -empty away." I recollect the strange emotion which took by surprise -men and women, young and old, when, at the coronation of our present -queen, they gazed on the figure of one so like a child, so small, so -tender, so shrinking, who had been exalted to so great an inheritance -and so vast a rule, who was such a contrast in her own person to the -solemn pageant which centred in her. Could it be otherwise with the -spectators, if they had human affection? And did not the All-wise know -the human heart when he took to himself a mother? did he not -anticipate our emotion at the sight of such an exaltation? If he had -not meant her to exert that wonderful influence in his church which -she has in the event exerted, I will use a bold word, he it is who has -perverted us. If she is not to attract our homage, why did he make her -solitary in her greatness amid his vast creation? If it be idolatry in -us to let our affections respond to our faith, he would not have made -her what she is, or he would not have told us that he had so made her; -but, far from this, he has sent his prophet to announce to us, "A -virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name -Emmanuel," and we have the same warrant for hailing her as God's -Mother, as we have for adoring him as God. - -Christianity is eminently an objective religion. For the most part it -tells us of persons and facts in simple words, and leaves the -announcement to produce its effect on such hearts as are prepared to -receive it. This at least is its general character; and Butler -recognizes it as such in his "Analogy" when speaking of the Second and -Third Persons of the Holy Trinity: "The internal worship," he says, -"to the Son and Holy Ghost is no further matter of pure revealed -command than as the relations they stand in to us are matters of pure -revelation; for the relations being known, the obligations to such -internal worship are _obligations of reason arising out of those -relations themselves_." [Footnote 19] - - [Footnote 19: _Vid_. "Essay on Doctr. Dev.," p. 50.] - -It is in this way that the revealed doctrine of the incarnation -exerted a stronger and a broader influence on Christians, as they more -and more apprehended and mastered its meaning and its bearings. It is -contained in the brief and simple declaration of St John, "The Word -was made flesh;" but it required century after century to spread it -out in its fulness and to imprint it energetically on the worship and -practice of the Catholic people as well as on their faith. Athanasius -was the first and the great teacher of it. He collected together the -inspired notices scattered through David, Isaias, St. Paul, and St. -John, and he engraved indelibly upon the imaginations of the faithful, -as had never been before, that man is God, and God is man, that in -Mary they meet, and that in this sense Mary {80} is the centre of all -things. He added nothing to what was known before, nothing to the -popular and zealous faith that her Son was God; he has left behind him -in his works no such definite passages about her as those of St. -Irenaeus or St. Epiphanius; but he brought the circumstances of the -incarnation home to men's minds by the manifold evolutions of his -analysis, and secured it for ever from perversion. Still, however, -there was much to be done; we have no proof that Athanasius himself -had any special devotion to the Blessed Virgin; but he laid the -foundations on which that devotion was to rest, and thus noiselessly -and without strife, as the first temple in the holy city, she grew up -into her inheritance, and was "established in Sion and her power was -in Jerusalem." Such was the origin of that august _cultus_ which has -been paid to the Blessed Mary for so many centuries in the East and in -the West. That in times and places it has fallen into abuse, that it -has even become a superstition, I do not care to deny; for, as I have -said above, the same process which brings to maturity carries on to -decay, and things that do not admit of abuse have very little life in -them. This of course does not excuse such excesses, or justify us in -making light of them, when they occur. I have no intention of doing so -as regards the particular instances which you bring against us, though -but a few words will suffice for what I need say about them:--before -doing so, however, I am obliged to make three or four introductory -remarks. - -1. I have almost anticipated my first remark already. It is this: that -the height of our offending in our devotion to the Blessed Virgin -would not look so great in your volume as it does, had you not placed -yourself on lower ground than your own feelings toward her would have -spontaneously prompted you to take. I have no doubt you had some good -reason for adopting this course, but I do not know it. What I do know -is that, for the fathers' sake, who so exalt her, you really do love -and venerate her, though you do not evidence it in your book. I am -glad, then, in this place, to insist on a fact which will lead those -among us who know you not to love you from their love of her, in spite -of what you refuse to give her; and Anglicans, on the other hand, who -do know you, to think better of us, who refuse her nothing, when they -reflect that you do not actually go against us, but merely come short -of us in your devotion to her. - -2. As you revere the fathers, so you revere the Greek Church; and here -again we have a witness on our behalf of which you must be aware as -fully as we are, and of which you must really mean to give us the -benefit. In proportion as this remarkable fact is understood, it will -take off the edge of the surprise of Anglicans at the sight of our -devotions to our Lady. It must weigh with them when they discover that -we can enlist on our side in this controversy those seventy millions -(I think they so consider them) of Orientals who are separated from -our communion. Is it not a very pregnant fact that the Eastern -churches, so independent of us, so long separated from the West, so -jealous of antiquity, should even surpass us in their exaltation of -the Blessed Virgin? That they go further than we do is sometimes -denied, on the ground that the Western devotion toward her is brought -out into system, and the Eastern is not; yet this only means really -that the Latins have more mental activity, more strength of intellect, -less of routine, less of mechanical worship among them, than the -Greeks. We are able, better than they, to give an account of what we -do; and we seem to be more extreme merely because we are more -definite. But, after all, what have the Latins done so bold as that -substitution of the name of Mary for the name of Jesus at the end of -the collects and petitions in the breviary, nay, in the ritual and -liturgy? Not {81} merely in local or popular, and in semi-authorized -devotions, which are the kind of sources that supplies you with your -matter of accusation against us, but in the formal prayers of the -Greek eucharistic service, petitions are offered, not "in the name of -Jesus Christ," but "of the Theotocos." Such a phenomenon, in such a -quarter, I think, ought to make Anglicans merciful toward those -writers among ourselves who have been excessive in singing the praises -of the Deipara. To make a rule of substituting Mary with all saints -for Jesus in the public service, has more "Mariolatry" in it than to -alter the Te Deum to her honor in private devotion. - -3. And thus I am brought to a third remark supplemental to your -accusation of us. Two large views, as I have said above, are opened -upon our devotional thoughts in Christianity; the one centring in the -Son of Mary, the other in the Mother of Jesus. Neither need obscure -the other; and in the Catholic Church, as a matter of fact, neither -does. I wish you had either frankly allowed this in your volume, or -proved the contrary. I wish, when you report that "a certain -proportion, it has been ascertained by those who have inquired, do -stop short in her," p. 107, that you had added your belief, that the -case was far otherwise with the great bulk of Catholics. Might I not -have expected it? May I not, without sensitiveness, be somewhat pained -at the omission? From mere Protestants, indeed, I expect nothing -better. They content themselves with saying that our devotions to our -Lady _must necessarily_ throw our Lord into the shade, and thereby -they relieve themselves of a great deal of trouble. Then they catch at -any stray fact which countenances or seems to countenance their -prejudice. Now I say plainly I never will defend or screen any one -from your just rebuke who, through false devotion to Mary, forgets -Jesus. But I should like the fact to be proved first; I cannot hastily -admit it. There is this broad fact the other way: that if we look -through Europe we shall find, on the whole, that just those nations -and countries have lost their faith in the divinity of Christ who have -given up devotion to his Mother, and that those, on the other hand, -who have been foremost in her honor, have retained their orthodoxy. -Contrast, for instance, the Calvinists with the Greeks, or France with -the north of Germany, or the Protestant and Catholic communions in -Ireland. As to England, it is scarcely doubtful what would be the -state of its Established Church if the Liturgy and Articles were not -an integral part of its establishment; and when men bring so grave a -charge against us as is implied in your volume, they cannot be -surprised if we in turn say hard things of Anglicanism. [Footnote 20] -In the Catholic Church Mary has shown herself, not the rival, but the -minister of her Son. She has protected him, as in his infancy, so in -the whole history of the religion. There is, then, a plain historical -truth in Dr. Fisher's words which you quote to condemn: "Jesus is -obscured, because Mary is kept in the background." - - [Footnote 20: I have spoken more more on this subject in my "Essay - on Development," p. 438. "Nor does it avail to object, that, in this - contrast of devotional exercises, the human is sure to supplant the - divine, from the infirmity of out nature; for, I repeat, the - question is one of fact, whether it has done so. And next, it must - be asked, _whether the character of Protestant devotion toward our - Lord has been that of worship at all:_ and not rather such as we pay - to an excellent human being? . . . Carnal minds will ever create a - carnal worship for themselves; and to forbid them the service of the - saints will have no tendency to teach them the worship of God. - Moreover. . . . great and constant as is the devotion which the - Catholic pays to St. Mary, it has a special province, and _has far - more connection with the public services and the festive aspect of - Christianity,_ and with certain extraordinary offices which she - holds, _than with what is strictly personal and primary_ in - religion." Our late cardinal, on my reception, singled out to me - this last sentence for the expression of his especial approbation.] - -This truth, exemplified in history, might also be abundantly -illustrated, did my space admit, from the lives and writings of holy -men in modern times. Two of them, St. Alfonso Liguori and the Blessed -Paul of the Cross, for all their notorious devotion {82} to the -Mother, have shown their supreme love of her divine Son in the names -which a have given to their respective congregations, viz, "of the -Redeemer," and "of the Cross and Passion." However, I will do no more -than refer to an apposite passage in the Italian translation of the -work of a French Jesuit, Fr. Nepveu, "Christian Thoughts for every Day -in the Year," which was recommended to the friend who went with me to -Rome by the same Jesuit father there with whom, as I have already -said, I stood myself in such intimate relations; I believe it is a -fair specimen of the teaching of our spiritual books: - - "The love of Jesus Christ is the most sure pledge of our future - happiness, and the most infallible token of our predestination. - Mercy toward the poor, devotion to the Holy Virgin, are very - sensible tokens of predestination; nevertheless they are not - absolutely infallible; but one cannot have a sincere and constant - love of Jesus Christ without being predestinated. . . . The - destroying angel which bereaved the houses of the Egyptians of their - first-born, had respect to all the houses which were marked with the - blood of the Lamb." - -And it is also exemplified, as I verily believe, not only in formal -and distinctive confessions, not only in books intended for the -educated class, but also in the personal religion of the Catholic -populations. When strangers are so unfavorably impressed with us, -because they see images of our Lady in our churches, and crowds -flocking about her, they forget that there is a Presence within the -sacred walls, infinitely more awful, which claims and obtains from us -a worship transcendently different from any devotion we pay to her. -That devotion might indeed tend to idolatry if it were encouraged in -Protestant churches, where there is nothing higher than it to attract -the worshipper; but all the images that a Catholic church ever -contained, all the crucifixes at its altars brought together, do not -so affect its frequenters as the lamp which betokens the presence or -absence there of the blessed sacrament. Is not this so certain, so -notorious, that on some occasions it has been even brought as a charge -against us, that we are irreverent in church, when what seemed to the -objector to be irreverence was but the necessary change of feeling -which came over those who were there on their knowing that their Lord -was away? - -The mass again conveys to us the same lesson of the sovereignty of the -incarnate Son; it is a return to Calvary, and Mary is scarcely named -in it. Hostile visitors enter our churches on Sunday at mid-day, the -time of the Anglican service. They are surprised to see the high mass -perhaps poorly attended, and a body of worshippers leaving the music -and the mixed multitude who may be lazily fulfilling their obligation, -for the silent or the informal devotions which are offered at an image -of the Blessed Virgin. They may be tempted, with one of your -informants, to call such a temple not a "Jesus Church," but a "Mary -Church." But, if they understood our ways, they would know that we -begin the day with our Lord and then go on to his mother. It is early -in the morning that religious persons go to mass and communion. The -high mass, on the other hand, is the festive celebration of the day, -not the special devotional service; nor is there any reason why those -who have been at a low mass already, should not at that hour proceed -to ask the intercession of the Blessed Virgin for themselves and all -that is dear to them. - -Communion, again, which is given in the morning, is a solemn, -unequivocal act of faith in the incarnate God, if any can be such; and -the most gracious of admonitions, did we need one, of his sovereign -and sole right to possess us. I knew a lady who on her death-bed was -visited by an excellent Protestant friend. She, with great tenderness -for her soul's welfare, asked her whether her prayers to the {83} -Blessed Virgin did not, at that awful hour, lead to forgetfulness of -her Saviour. "Forget him!" she replied with surprise; "why, he has -just been here." She had been receiving him in communion. When, then, -my dear Pusey, you read anything extravagant in praise of our Lady, is -it not charitable to ask, even while you condemn it in itself, did the -author write nothing else? Did he write on the blessed sacrament? Had -he given up "all for Jesus?" I recollect some lines, the happiest, I -think, which that author wrote, which bring out strikingly the -reciprocity, which I am dwelling on, of the respective devotions to -Mother and Son: - - "But scornful men have coldly said - Thy love was leading me from God; - And yet in this I did but tread - The very path my Savior trod. - - "They know but little of thy worth - Who speak these heartless words to me; - For what did Jesus love on earth - One half so tenderly as thee? - - "Get me the grace to love thee more; - Jesus will give, if thou wilt plead; - And, Mother, when life's cares are o'er, - Oh, I shall love thee then indeed. - - "Jesus, when his three hours were run, - Bequeathed thee from the cross to me; - And oh I how can I love thy Son, - Sweet Mother, if I love not thee?" - -4. Thus we are brought from the consideration of the sentiments -themselves, of which you complain, to the persons who wrote, and the -places where they wrote them. I wish you had been led, in this part of -your work, to that sort of careful labor which you have employed in so -masterly a way in your investigation of the circumstances of the -definition of the immaculate conception. In the latter case you have -catalogued the bishops who wrote to the Holy See, and analyzed their -answers. Had you in like manner discriminated and located the Marian -writers, as you call them, and observed the times, places, and -circumstances of their works, I think they would not, when brought -together, have had their present startling effect on the reader. As it -is, they inflict a vague alarm upon the mind, as when one hears a -noise, and does not know whence it comes and what it means. Some of -your authors, I know, are saints; all, I suppose, are spiritual -writers and holy men; but the majority are of no great celebrity, even -if they have any kind of weight. Suarez has no business among them at -all, for, when he says that no one is saved without the Blessed -Virgin, he is speaking not of devotion to her, but of her -intercession. The greatest name is St. Alfonso Liguori; but it never -surprises me to read anything unusual in the devotions of a saint. -Such men are on a level very different from our own, and we cannot -understand them. I hold this to be an important canon in the lives of -the saints, according to the words of the apostle, "The spiritual man -judges all things, and he himself is judged of no one." But we may -refrain from judging, without proceeding to imitate. I hope it is not -disrespectful to so great a servant of God to say, that I never read -his "Glories of Mary;" but here I am speaking generally of all saints, -whether I know them or not; and I say that they are beyond us, and -that we must use them as patterns, not as copies. As to his practical -directions, St. Alfonso wrote them for Neapolitans, whom he knew, and -we do not know. Other writers whom you quote, as De Salazar, are too -ruthlessly logical to be safe or pleasant guides in the delicate -matters of devotion. As to De Montford and Oswald, I never even met -with their names, till I saw them in your book; the bulk of our laity, -not to say of our clergy, perhaps know them little better than I do. -Nor did I know till I learnt it from your volume that there were two -Bernardines. St. Bernardine, of Sienna, I knew of course, and knew too -that he had a burning love for our Lord. But about the other, -"Bernardine de Bustis," I was quite at fault. I find from the -Protestant Cave that he, as well as his name-sake, made himself -conspicuous also for his zeal for the holy name, {84} which is much to -the point here. "With such devotion was he carried away," says Cave, -"for the bare name of Jesus (which, by a new device of Bernardine, of -Sienna, had lately began to receive divine honors), that he was urgent -with Innocent VIII. to assign it a day and rite in the calendar." - -One thing, however, is clear about all these writers; that not one of -them is an Englishman. I have gone through your book, and do not find -one English name among the various authors to whom you refer, except, -of course, the name of that author whose lines I have been quoting, -and who, great as are his merits, cannot, for the reasons I have given -in the opening of my letter, be considered a representative of English -Catholic devotion. Whatever these writers may have said or not said, -whatever they may have said harshly, and whatever capable of fair -explanation, still they are foreigners; we are not answerable for -their particular devotions; and as to themselves, I am glad to be able -to quote the beautiful words which you use about them in your letter -to the "Weekly Register" of November 25th last. "I do not presume," -you say, "to prescribe to Italians or Spaniards what they shall hold, -or how they shall express their pious opinions; and least of all did I -think of imputing to any of the writers whom I quoted that they took -from our Lord any of the love which they gave to his Mother." In these -last words, too, you have supplied one of the omissions in your volume -which I noticed above. - -5. Now, then, we come to England itself, which after all, in the -matter of devotion, alone concerns you and me; for though doctrine is -one and the same everywhere, devotions, as I have already said, are -matters of the particular time and the particular country. I suppose -we owe it to the national good sense that English Catholics have been -protected from the extravagances which are elsewhere to be found. And -we owe it, also, to the wisdom and moderation of the Holy See, which -in giving us the pattern for our devotion, as well as the rule of our -faith, has never indulged in those curiosities of thought which are -both so attractive to undisciplined imaginations and so dangerous to -grovelling hearts. In the case of our own common people I think such a -forced style of devotion would be simply unintelligible; as to the -educated, I doubt whether it can have more than an occasional or -temporary influence. If the Catholic faith spreads in England, these -peculiarities will not spread with it. There is a healthy devotion to -the Blessed Mary, and there is an artificial; it is possible to love -her as a Mother, to honor her as a Virgin, to seek her as a Patron, -and to exalt her as a Queen, without any injury to solid piety and -Christian good sense: I cannot help calling this the English style. I -wonder whether you find anything to displease you in the "Garden of -the Soul," the "Key of Heaven," the "Vade Mecum," the "Golden Manual," -or the "Crown of Jesus?" These are the books to which Anglicans ought -to appeal who would be fair to us in this matter. I do not observe -anything in them which goes beyond the teaching of the fathers, except -so far as devotion goes beyond doctrine. - -There is one collection of devotions, beside, of the highest -authority, which has been introduced from abroad of late years. It -consists of prayers of various kinds which have been indulgenced by -the popes; and it commonly goes by the name of the "Raccolta." As that -word suggests, the language of many of the prayers is Italian, while -others are in Latin. This circumstance is unfavorable to a -translation, which, however skilful, must ever savor of the words and -idioms of the original; but, passing over this necessary disadvantage, -I consider there is hardly a clause in the good-sized volume in -question which even the sensitiveness of English Catholicism would -wish changed. Its anxious observance of doctrinal exactness is almost -a fault. {85} It seems afraid of using the words "give me," "make me," -in its addresses to the Blessed Virgin, which are as natural to adopt -as in addressing a parent or friend. Surely we do not disparage divine -Providence when we say that we are indebted to our parents for our -life, or when we ask their blessing; we do not show any atheistical -leanings because we say that a man's recovery must be left to nature, -or that nature supplies brute animals with instincts. In like manner -it seems to me a simple purism to insist upon minute accuracy of -expression in devotional and popular writings. However, the -"Raccolta," as coming from responsible authority, for the most part -observes it. It commonly uses the phrases, "gain for us by thy -prayers," "obtain for us," "pray to Jesus for me," "speak for me, -Mary," "carry thou our prayers," "ask for us grace," "intercede for -the people of God," and the like, marking thereby with great emphasis -that she is nothing more than an advocate, and not a source of mercy. -Nor do I recollect in this book more than one or two ideas to which -you would be likely to raise an objection. The strongest of these is -found in the novena before her nativity, in which, _apropos_ of her -birth, we pray that she "would come down again and be re-born -spiritually in our souls;" but it will occur to you that St. Paul -speaks of his wish to impart to his converts, '"not only the gospel, -but his own soul;" and writing to the Corinthians, he says he has -"begotten them by the gospel," and to Philemon, that he had "begotten -Onesimus in his bonds;" whereas St. James, with greater accuracy of -expression, says "of his own will hath God begotten us with the word -of truth." Again we find the petitioner saying to the Blessed Mary, -"In thee I place all my hope;" but this is explained in another -passage, "Thou art my best hope after Jesus." Again, we read -elsewhere, "I would I had a greater love for thee, since to love thee -is a great mark of predestination;" but the prayer goes on, "Thy Son -deserves of us an immeasurable love; pray that I may have this grace ---a great love for Jesus;" and further on, "I covet no good of the -earth, but to love my God alone." - -Then, again, as to the lessons which our Catholics receive, whether by -catechizing or instruction, you would find nothing in our received -manuals to which you would not assent, I am quite sure. Again, as to -preaching, a standard book was drawn up three centuries ago, to supply -matter for the purpose to the parochial clergy. You incidentally -mention, p. 153, that the comment of Cornelius à Lapide on Scripture -is "a repertorium for sermons;" but I never heard of this work being -used, nor indeed can it, because of its size. The work provided for -the purpose by the church is the "Catechism of the Council of Trent," -and nothing extreme about our Blessed Lady is propounded there. On the -whole, I am sanguine that you will come to the conclusion that -Anglicans may safely trust themselves to us English Catholics as -regards any devotions to the Blessed Virgin which might be required of -them, over and above the rule of the Council of Trent. - -6. And, now at length coming to the statements, not English, but -foreign, which offend you in works written in her honor, I will -frankly say that I read some of those which you quote with grief and -almost anger; for they seemed to me to ascribe to the Blessed Virgin a -power of "searching the reins and hearts" which is the attribute of -God alone; and I said to myself, how can we any more prove our Lord's -divinity from Scripture, if those cardinal passages which invest him -with divine prerogatives after all invest him with nothing beyond what -his Mother shares with him? And how, again, is there anything of -incommunicable greatness in his death and passion, if he who was alone -in the garden, alone upon the cross, alone in the resurrection, after -{86} all is not alone, but shared his solitary work with his Blessed -Mother--with her to whom, when he entered on his ministry, he said for -our instruction, not as grudging her her proper glory, "Woman, what -have I to do with thee?" And then again, if I hate those perverse -sayings so much, how much more must she, in proportion to her love of -him? And how do we show our love for her, by wounding her in the very -apple of her eye? This I said and say; but then, on the other hand, I -have to observe that these strange words after all are but few in -number, out of the many passages you cite; that most of them exemplify -what I said above about the difficulty of determining the exact point -where truth passes into error, and that they are allowable in one -sense or connection, and false in another. Thus to say that prayer -(and the Blessed Virgin's prayer) is omnipotent, is a harsh expression -in everyday prose; but, if it is explained to mean that there is -nothing which prayer may not obtain from God, it is nothing else than -the very promise made us in Scripture. Again, to say that Mary is the -centre of all being, sounds inflated and profane; yet after all it is -only one way, and a natural way, of saying that the Creator and the -creature met together, and became one in her womb; and as such, I have -used the expression above. Again, it is at first sight a paradox to -say that "Jesus is obscured, because Mary is kept in the background;" -yet there is a sense, as I have shown above, in which it is a simple -truth. - -And so again certain statements may be true, under circumstances and -in a particular time and place, which are abstractedly false; and -hence it may be very unfair in a controversialist to interpret by an -English or a modern rule whatever may have been asserted by a foreign -or mediaeval author. To say, for instance, dogmatically, that no one -can be saved without personal devotion to the Blessed Virgin, would be -an untenable proposition: yet it might be true of this man or that, or -of this or that country at this or that date; and if the very -statement has ever been made by any writer of consideration (and this -has to be ascertained), then perhaps it was made precisely under these -exceptional circumstances. If an Italian preacher made it, I should -feel no disposition to doubt him, at least as regards Italian youths -and Italian maidens. - -Then I think you have not always made your quotations with that -consideration and kindness which is your rule. At p. 106 you say, "It -is commonly said, that if any Roman Catholic acknowledges that 'it is -good and useful to pray to the saints,' he is not bound himself to do -so. Were the above teaching true, it would be cruelty to say so; -because, according to it, he would be forfeiting what is morally -necessary to his salvation." But now, as to the fact, where is it said -that to pray to our Lady and the saints is necessary to salvation? The -proposition of St. Alfonso is, that "God gives no grace except through -Mary;" that is, through her intercession. But intercession is one -thing, devotion is another. And Suarez says, "It is the universal -sentiment that the intercession of Mary is not only useful, but also -in a certain manner necessary;" but still it is the question of her -intercession, not of our invocation of her, not of devotion to her. If -it were so, no Protestant could be saved; if it were so, there would -be grave reasons for doubting of the salvation of St. Chrysostom or -St. Athanasius, or of the primitive martyrs; nay, I should like to -know whether St. Augustine, in all his voluminous writings, invokes -her once. Our Lord died for those heathens who did not know him; and -his mother intercedes for those Christians who do not know her; and -she intercedes according to his will, and, when he wills to save a -particular soul, she at once prays for it. {87} I say, he wills indeed -according to her prayer, but then she prays according, to his will. -Though then it is natural and prudent for those to have recourse to -her who, from the church's teaching, know her power, yet it cannot be -said that devotion to her is a _sine quâ non_ of salvation. Some -indeed of the authors whom you quote go further; they do speak of -devotion; but even then they do not enunciate the general proposition -which I have been disallowing. For instance, they say, "It is morally -impossible for those to be saved who _neglect_ the devotion to the -Blessed Virgin;" but a simple omission is one thing, and neglect -another. "It is impossible for any to be saved who _turns away_ from -her;" yes; but to "turn away" is to offer some positive disrespect or -insult toward her, and that with sufficient knowledge; and I certainly -think it would be a very grave act if, in a Catholic country (and of -such the writers were speaking, for they knew of no other), with -ave-marias sounding in the air, and images of the Madonna at every -street and road, a Catholic broke off or gave up a practice that was -universal, and in which he was brought up, and deliberately put her -name out of his thoughts. - -7. Though, then, common sense may determine for us that the line of -prudence and propriety has been certainly passed in the instance of -certain statements about the Blessed Virgin, it is often not easy to -prove the point logically; and in such cases authority, if it attempt -to act, would be in the position which so often happens in our courts -of law, when the commission of an offence is morally certain, but the -government prosecutor cannot find legal evidence sufficient to insure -conviction. I am not denying the right of sacred congregations, at -their will, to act peremptorily, and without assigning reasons for the -judgment they pass upon writers; but, when they have found it -inexpedient to take this severe course, perhaps it may happen from the -circumstances of the case that there is no other that they can take, -even if they would. It is wiser then for the most part to leave these -excesses to the gradual operation of public opinion--that is, to the -opinion of educated and sober Catholics; and this seems to me the -healthiest way of putting them down. Yet in matter of fact I believe -the Holy See has interfered from time to time, when devotion seemed -running into superstition; and not so long ago. I recollect hearing in -Gregory the XVI.'s time of books about the Blessed Virgin which had -been suppressed by authority; and in particular of a representation of -the immaculate conception which he had forbidden, and of measures -taken against the shocking notion that the Blessed Mary is present in -the holy eucharist in the sense in which our Lord is present; but I -have no means of verifying the information I received. - -Nor have I time, any more than you have had, to ascertain how far -great theologians have made protests against those various -extravagances of which you so rightly complain. Passages, however, -from three well-known Jesuit fathers have opportunely come in my way, -and in one of them is introduced, in confirmation, the name of the -great Gerson. They are Canisius, Petavius, and Raynaudus; and as they -speak very appositely, and you do not seem to know them, I will here -make some extracts from them: - -(1.) Canisius: - - "We confess that in the _cultus_ of Mary it has been and is possible - for corruptions to creep in; and we have a more than ordinary desire - that the pastors of the Church should be carefully vigilant here, - and give no place to Satan, whose characteristic office it has ever - been, while men sleep, to sow the cockle amid the Lord's wheat. . . - . For this purpose it is his wont gladly to avail himself of the aid - of heretics, fanatics, and false Catholics, as may be seen in the - instance of this _Marianus cultus_. This _cultus_, heretics, - suborned by Satan, attack with hostility Thus, too, certain mad - heads are so {88} demented by Satan, as to embrace superstitions and - idolatries instead of the true _cultus_ and neglect altogether the - due measures whether in respect to God or to Mary. Such indeed were - the Collyridians of old. . . . Such that German herdsman a hundred - years ago, who gave out publicly that he was a new prophet and had - had a vision of the Deipara, and told the people in her name to pay - no more tributes and taxes to princes. .... Moreover, how many - Catholics does one see who, by great and shocking negligence, have - neither care nor regard for her _cultus_, but, given to profane and - secular objects, scarce once a year raise their earthly minds to - sing her praises or to venerate her!"--_De Mariâ Deiparâ_, p. 518. - -(2.) Father Petau says, when discussing the teaching of the fathers -about the Blessed Virgin (de Incarn. xiv. 8): - - "I will venture to give this advice to all who would be devout and - panegyrical toward the Holy Virgin, viz., not to exceed in their - piety and devotion to her, but to be content with true and solid - praises, and to cast aside what is otherwise. The latter kind of - idolatry, lurking, as St. Augustine says, nay implanted, in human - hearts, is greatly abhorrent from theology, that is from the gravity - of heavenly wisdom, which never thinks or asserts anything but what - is measured by certain and accurate rules. What that rule should be, - and what caution is to be used in our present subject, I will not - determine of myself, but according to the mind of a most weighty and - most learned theologian, John Gerson, who in one of his epistles - proposes certain canons, which he calls truths, by means of which - are to be measured the assertions of theologians concerning the - incarnation. . . By these truly golden precepts Gerson brings within - bounds the immoderate license of praising the Blessed Virgin, and - restrains it within the measure of sober and healthy piety. And from - these it is evident that that sort of reasoning is frivolous and - nugatory in which so many indulge, in order to assign any sort of - grace they please, however unusual, to the Blessed Virgin. For they - argue thus: 'Whatever the Son of God could bestow for the glory of - his mother, that it became him in fact to furnish;' or again, - 'Whatever honors or ornaments he has poured out on other saints, - those all together hath he heaped upon his mother;' whence they draw - their chain of reasoning to their desired conclusion; a mode of - argumentation which Gerson treats with contempt as captious and - sophistical." - -He adds, what of course we all should say, that, in thus speaking, he -has no intention to curtail the liberty of pious persons in such -meditations and conjectures, on the mysteries of faith, sacred -histories, and the Scripture text, as are of the nature of comments, -supplements, and the like. - -(3.) Raynaud is an author full of devotion, if any one is so, to the -Blessed Virgin; yet, in the work which he has composed in her honor -("Diptycha Mariana"), he says more than I can quote here to the same -purpose as Petau. I abridge some portions of his text: - - "Let this be taken for granted, that no praises of ours can come up - to the praises due to the Virgin Mother. But we must not make up for - our inability to reach her true praise by a supply of lying - embellishment and false honors. For there are some whose affection - for religious objects is so imprudent and lawless, that they - transgress the due limits even toward the saints. This Origen has - excellently observed upon in the case of the Baptist, for very many, - instead of observing the measure of charity, consider whether he - might not be the Christ"--p. 9. ". . . St. Anselm, the first, or - one of the first, champions of the public celebration of the Blessed - Virgin's immaculate conception, says (de Excell. Virg.) that the - church considers it indecent, that anything that admits of doubt - should be said in her praise, when the things which are certainly - true of her supply such large materials for laudation. It is right - so to interpret St. Epiphanius also, when he says that human tongues - should not pronounce anything lightly of the Deipara; and who is - more justly to be charged with speaking lightly of the most holy - Mother of God, than he who, as if what is certain and evident did - not suffice for her full investiture, is wiser than the aged, and - obtrudes on us the toadstools of his own mind, and devotions unheard - of by those holy fathers who loved her best? Plainly as St. Anselm - says that she is the Mother of God, this by itself exceeds every - elevation which can be named or imagined, short of God. About so - sublime a majesty we should not speak hastily from prurience of wit, - or flimsy pretext of promoting piety; but with great maturity of - thought; and, whenever the maxims of the church and the oracles of - {89} faith do not suffice, then not without the suffrages of the - doctors. . . . Those who are subject to this prurience of - innovation, do not perceive how broad is the difference between - subjects of human science and heavenly things. All novelty - concerning the objects of our faith is to be put far away; except so - far as by diligent investigation of God's word, written and - unwritten, and a well founded inference from what is thence to be - elicited, something is brought to light which, though already indeed - there, had not hitherto been recognized. The innovations which we - condemn are those which rest neither on the written nor unwritten - word, nor on conclusions from it, nor on the judgment of ancient - sages, nor sufficient basis of reason, but on the sole color and - pretext of doing more honor to the Deipara."--p. 10. - -In another portion of the same work, he speaks in particular of one of -those imaginations to which you especially refer, and for which, -without strict necessity (as it seems to me), you allege the authority -of à Lapide: - - "Nor is that honor of the Deipara to be offered, viz., that the - elements of the body of Christ, which the Blessed Virgin supplied to - it, remain perpetually unaltered in Christ, and thereby are found - also in the eucharist. . . . This solicitude for the Virgin's glory - must, I consider, be discarded; since, if rightly considered, it - involves an injury toward Christ, and such honors the Virgin loveth - not. And first, dismissing philosophical bagatelles about the - animation of blood, milk, etc., who can endure the proposition that - a good portion of the substance of Christ in the eucharist should be - worshipped with a _cultus_ less than _latria_? viz., by the inferior - _cultus_ of _hyperdulia?_ The preferable class of theologians - contend that not even the humanity of Christ is to be materially - abstracted from the Word of God, and worshipped by itself; how then - shall we introduce a _cultus_ of the Deipara in Christ, which is - inferior to the _cultus_ proper to him? How is this other than - casting down of the substance of Christ from his royal throne, and a - degradation of it to some inferior sitting-place? Is is nothing to - the purpose to refer to such fathers as say that the flesh of Christ - is the flesh of Mary, for they speak of its origin. What will - hinder, if this doctrine be admitted, our also admitting that there - is something in Christ which is detestable? for, as the first - elements of a body which were communicated by the Virgin to Christ - have (as these authors say) remained perpetually in Christ, so the - same _materia_, at least in part, which belonged originally to the - ancestors of Christ, came down to the Virgin from her father, - unchanged, and taken from her grandfather, and so on. And thus, - since it is not unlikely that some of these ancestors were - reprobate, there would now be something actually in Christ which had - belonged to a reprobate and worthy of detestation."--p. 237. - -8. After such explanations, and with such authorities, to clear my -path, I put away from me, as you would wish, without any hesitation, -as matters in which my heart and reason have no part (when taken in -their literal and absolute sense, as any Protestant would naturally -take them, and as the writers doubtless did not use them), such -sentences, and phrases, as these: that the mercy of Mary is infinite; -that God has resigned into her hands his omnipotence; that -(unconditionally) it is safer to seek her than her Son; that the -Blessed Virgin is superior to God; that he is (simply) subject to her -command; that our Lord is now of the same disposition as his Father -toward sinners, viz., a disposition to reject them, while Mary takes -his place as an advocate with Father and Son; that the saints are more -ready to intercede with Jesus than Jesus with the Father; that Mary is -the only refuge of those with whom God is angry; that Mary alone can -obtain a Protestant's conversion; that it would have sufficed for the -salvation of men if our Lord had died not to obey his Father, but to -defer to the decree of his mother; that she rivals our Lord in being -God's daughter, not by adoption, but by a kind of nature; that Christ -fulfilled the office of Saviour by imitating her virtues; that, as the -incarnate God bore the image of his Father, so he bore the image of -his mother; that redemption derived from Christ indeed its -sufficiency, but from Mary its beauty and loveliness; that us we are -clothed with the merits of Christ, so we are clothed with {90} the -merits of Mary; that, as he is priest, in like manner is she -priestess; that his body and blood in the eucharist are truly hers and -appertain to her; that as he is present and received therein, so is -she present and received therein; that priests are ministers, as of -Christ, so of Mary; that elect souls are born of God and Mary; that -the Holy Ghost brings into fruitfulness his action by her, producing -in her and by her Jesus Christ in his members; that the kingdom of God -in our souls, as our Lord speaks, is really the kingdom of Mary in the -soul--and she and the Holy Ghost produce in the soul extraordinary -things--and when the Holy Ghost finds Mary in a soul he flies there. - -Sentiments such as these I never knew of till I read your book, nor, -as I think, do the vast minority of English Catholics know them. They -seem to me like a bad dream. I could not have conceived them to be -said. I know not to what authority to go for them, to Scripture, or to -the fathers, or to the decrees of councils, or to the consent of -schools, or to the tradition of the faithful, or to the Holy See, or -to reason. They defy all the _loci theologici_. There is nothing of -them in the Missal, in the Roman Catechism, in the Roman '"Raccolta," -in the "Imitation of Christ," in Gother, Challoner, Milner, or -Wiseman, as far as I am aware. They do but scare and confuse me. I -should not be holier, more spiritual, more sure of perseverance, if I -twisted my moral being into the reception of them; I should but be -guilty of fulsome, frigid flattery toward the most upright and noble -of God's creatures if I professed them, and of stupid flattery too; -for it would be like the compliment of painting up a young and -beautiful princess with the brow of a Plato and the muscle of an -Achilles. And I should expect her to tell one of her people in waiting -to turn me off her service without warning. Whether thus to feel be -the _scandalum parvulorum_ in my case, or the _scandalum -Pharisaeorum_, I leave others to decide; but I will say plainly that I -had rather believe (which is impossible) that there is no God at all, -than that Mary is greater than God. I will have nothing to do with -statements which can only be explained by being explained away. I do -not, however, speak of these statements as they are found in their -authors, for I know nothing of the originals, and cannot believe that -they have meant what you say; but I take them as they lie in your -pages. Were any of them the sayings of saints in ecstasy, I should -know they had a good meaning; still, I should not repeat them myself; -but I am looking at them not as spoken by the tongues of angels, but -according to that literal sense which they bear in the mouths of -English men and English women. And, as spoken by man to man, in -England, in the nineteenth century, I consider them calculated to -prejudice inquirers, to frighten the unlearned, to unsettle -consciences, to provoke blasphemy, and to work the loss of souls. - -9. And now, after having said so much as this, bear with me, my dear -friend, if I end with an expostulation. Have you not been touching us -on a very tender point in a very rude way? Is not the effect of what -you have said to expose her to scorn and obloquy who is dearer to us -than any other creature? Have you even hinted that our love for her is -anything else than an abuse? Have you thrown her one kind word -yourself all through your book? I trust so, but I have not lighted -upon one. And yet I know you love her well. Can you wonder, then--can -I complain much, much as I grieve--that men should utterly misconceive -of you, and are blind to the fact that you have put the whole argument -between you and us on a new footing; and that, whereas it was said -twenty-five years ago in the "British Critic," "Till Rome ceases to be -what practically she is, union is _impossible_ between her and -England," you declare, on the contrary, "It is _possible_ as soon as -Italy and England, {91} haying the same faith and the same centre of -unity, are allowed to hold severally their own theological opinions?" -They have not done you justice here because, in truth, the honor of -our Lady is dearer to them than the conversion of England. - -Take a parallel case, and consider how you would decide it yourself. -Supposing an opponent of a doctrine for which you so earnestly -contend, the eternity of punishment, instead of meeting you with -direct arguments against it, heaped together a number of extravagant -descriptions of the place, mode, and circumstances of its infliction, -quoted Tertullian as a witness for the primitive fathers, and the -Covenanters and Ranters for these last centuries; brought passages -from the "Inferno" of Dante, and from the sermons of Whitfield; nay, -supposing he confined himself to the chapters on the subject in Jeremy -Taylor's work on "The State of Man," would you think this a fair and -becoming method of reasoning? and if he avowed that he should ever -consider the Anglican Church committed to all these accessories of the -doctrine till its authorities formally denounced Taylor and Whitfield, -and a hundred others, would you think this an equitable determination, -or the procedure of a theologian? - - - -So far concerning the Blessed Virgin, the chief but not the only -subject of your volume. And now, when I could wish to proceed, she -seems to stop me, for the Feast of her Immaculate Conception is upon -us; and close upon its octave, which is kept with special solemnities -in the churches of this town, come the great antiphons, the heralds of -Christmas. That joyful season, joyful for all of us, while it centres -in him who then came on earth, also brings before us in peculiar -prominence that Virgin Mother who bore and nursed him. Here she is not -in the background, as at Eastertide, but she brings him to us in her -arms. Two great festivals, dedicated to her honor, to-morrow's and the -Purification, mark out and keep the ground, and, like the towers of -David, open the way to and fro for the high holiday season of the -Prince of Peace. And all along it her image is upon it, such as we see -it in the typical representation of the Catacombs. May the sacred -influences of this time bring us all together in unity! May it destroy -all bitterness on your side and ours! May it quench all jealous, sour, -proud, fierce antagonism on our side; and dissipate all captious, -carping, fastidious refinements of reasoning on yours! May that bright -and gentle lady, the Blessed Virgin Mary, overcome you with her -sweetness, and revenge herself on her foes by interceding effectually -for their conversion! - -I am, yours, most affectionately, -John H. Newman. - -THE ORATORY, BIRMINGHAM, -_In fest. S. Ambrosii_, 1865. - -{92} - - -From The Sixpenny Magazine. - -HAVEN'T TIME - - -A CHAPTER FOR PARENTS. - - -"That boy needs more attention," said Mr. Green, referring to his -eldest son, a lad whose wayward temper and inclination to vice -demanded a steady, consistent, wise, and ever-present exercise of -parental watchfulness and authority. - -"You may well say that," returned the mother of the boy, for to her -the remark had been made. "He is getting entirely beyond me." - -"If I only had the time to look after him?" Mr. Green sighed as he -uttered these words. - -"I think you ought to take more time for a purpose like this," said -Mrs. Green. - -"More time!" Mr. Green spoke with marked impatience. "What time have I -to attend to him, Margaret? Am I not entirely absorbed in business? -Even now I should be at the counting-house, and am only kept away by -your late breakfast." - -Just then the breakfast bell rang, and Mr. and Mrs. Green, accompanied -by their children, repaired to the dining-room. John, the boy about -whom the parents had been talking, was among the number. As they took -their places at the table he exhibited certain disorderly movements, -and a disposition to annoy his younger brothers and sisters. But these -were checked, instantly, by his father, of whom John stood in some -fear. - -Before the children had finished eating, Mr. Green laid his knife and -fork side by side on his plate, pushed his chair back, and was in the -act of rising, when his wife said: - -"Don't go yet. Just wait until John is through with his breakfast. He -acts dreadfully the moment your back is turned." - -Mr. Green turned a quick, lowering glance upon the boy, whose eyes -shrank beneath his angry glance, saying as ho did so: - -"I haven't time to stay a moment longer; I ought to have been at my -business an hour ago, But see here, my lad," addressing himself to -John, "there has been enough of this work. Not a day passes that I am -not worried with complaints about you. Now, mark me! I shall inquire -particularly as to your conduct when I come home at dinner-time; and, -if you have given your mother any trouble, or acted in any way -improperly, I will take you severely to account. It's outrageous that -the whole family should be kept in constant trouble by you. Now, be on -your guard!" - -A moment or two Mr. Green stood frowning upon the boy, and then -retired. - -Scarcely had the sound of the closing street-door, which marked the -fact of Mr. Green's departure, ceased to echo through the house, ere -John began to act as was his custom when his father was out of the -way. His mother's remonstrances were of no avail; and, when she -finally compelled him to leave the table, he obeyed with a most -provoking and insolent manner. - -All this would have been prevented if Mr. Green had taken from -business just ten minutes, and conscientiously devoted that time to -{93} the government of his wayward boy and the protection of the -family from his annoyances. - -On arriving at his counting-house, Mr. Green found two or three -persons waiting, and but a single clerk in attendance. He had felt -some doubts as to the correctness of his conduct in leaving home so -abruptly, under the circumstances; but the presence of the customers -satisfied him that he had done right. Business, in his mind, was -paramount to everything else; and his highest duty to his family he -felt to be discharged when he was devoting himself most assiduously to -the work of procuring for them the means of external comfort, ease, -and luxury. Worldly well-doing was a cardinal virtue in his eyes. - -Mr. Green was the gainer, perhaps, of two shillings in the way of -profit on sales, by being at his counting-house ten minutes earlier -than would have been the case had he remained with his family until -the completion of their morning meal. What was lost to his boy by the -opportunity thus afforded for an indulgence in a perverse and -disobedient temper it is hard to say. Something was, undoubtedly, -lost--something, the valuation of which, in money, it would be -difficult to make. - -Mrs. Green did not complain of John's conduct to his father at -dinner-time. She was so often forced to complain that she avoided the -task whenever she felt justified in doing so; and that was, perhaps, -far too often. Mr. Green asked no questions; for he knew, by -experience, to what results such questions would lead, and he was in -no mood for unpleasant intelligence. So John escaped, as he had -escaped hundreds of times before, and felt encouraged to indulge his -bad propensities at will, to his own injury and the annoyance of all -around him. - -If Mr. Green had no time in the morning or through the day to attend -to his children, the evening, one might think, would afford -opportunity for conference with them, supervision of their studies, -and an earnest inquiry into their conduct and moral and intellectual -progress. But such was not the case. Mr. Green was too much wearied -with the occupation of the day to bear the annoyance of the children; -or his thoughts were too busy with business matters, or schemes of -profit, to attend to the thousand and one questions they were ready to -pour in upon him from all sides; or he had a political club to attend, -an engagement with some merchant for the discussion of a matter -connected with trade, or felt obliged to be present at the meeting of -some society of which he was a member. So he either left home -immediately after tea, or the children were sent to bed in order that -he might have a quiet evening for rest, business reflection, or the -enjoyment of a new book. - -Mr. Green had so much to do and so much to think about that he had no -time to attend to his children; and this neglect was daily leaving -upon them ineffaceable impressions that would inevitably mar the -happiness of their after lives. This was particularly the case with -John. Better off in the world was Mr. Green becoming every day--better -off as it regarded money; but poorer in another sense--poorer in -respect to home affections and home treasures. His children were not -growing up to love him intensely, to confide in him implicitly, and to -respect him as their father and friend. He had no time to attend to -them, and rather pushed them away than drew them toward him with the -strong cords of affection. To his wife he left their government, and -she was not equal to the task. - -"I don't believe," said Mrs. Green, one day, "that John is learning -much at the school where he goes. I think you ought to see after him a -little. He never studies a lesson at home." - -"Mr. Elden has the reputation of being one of our best teachers. His -school stands high," replied Mr. Green. {94} "That may happen," said -Mrs. Green. "Still, I really think you ought to know, for yourself, -how John is getting along. Of one thing I am certain, he does not -improve in good manners nor good temper in the least. And he is never -in the house between school-hours, except to get his meals. I wish you -would require him to be at your counting-house during the afternoons. -School is dismissed at four o'clock, and he ranges the streets with -other boys, and goes where he pleases from that time until night. - -"That's very bad,"--Mr. Green spoke in a concerned voice,--"very bad. -And it must be broken up. But as to having him with me, that is out of -the question. He would be into everything, and keep me in hot water -all the while. He'd like to come well enough, I do not doubt; but I -can't have him there." - -"Couldn't you set him to do something?" - -"I might. But I haven't time to attend to him, Margaret. Business is -business, and cannot be interrupted." - -Mrs. Green sighed, and then remarked: - -"I wish you would call on Mr. Elden and have a talk with him about -John." - -"I will, if you think it best." - -"Do so, by all means. And beside, I would give more time to John in -the evenings. If, for instance, you devoted an evening to him once a -week, it would enable you to understand how he is progressing, and -give you a control over him not now possessed." - -"You are right in this, no doubt, Margaret." - -But reform went not beyond this acknowledgment. Mr. Green could never -find time to see John's teacher, nor feel himself sufficiently at -leisure, or in the right mood of mind, to devote to the boy even a -single evening. - -And thus it went on from day to day, from month to month, and from -year to year, until, finally, John was sent home from school by Mr. -Elden with a note to his father, in which idleness, disorderly -conduct, and vicious habits were charged upon him in the broadest -terms. - -The unhappy Mr. Green called immediately upon the teacher, who gave -him a more particular account of his son's bad conduct, and concluded -by saying that he was unwilling to receive him back into his school. - -Strange as it may seem, it was four months before Mr. Green "found -time" to see about another school, and to get John entered therein; -during which long period the boy had full liberty to go pretty much -where he pleased, and to associate with whom he liked. It is hardly to -be supposed that he grew any better for this. - -By the time John was seventeen years of age, Mr. Green's business had -become greatly enlarged, and his mind more absorbed therein. With him -gain was the primary thing; and, as a consequence, his family held a -secondary place in his thoughts. If money were needed, he was ever -ready to supply the demand; that done, he felt that his duty to them -was, mainly, discharged. To the mother of his children he left the -work of their wise direction in the paths of life--their government -and education; but she was inadequate to the task imposed. - -From the second school at which John was entered he was dismissed -within three months, for bad conduct. He was then sent to school in a -distant city, where, removed from all parental restraint and -admonition, he made viler associates than any he had hitherto known, -and took thus a lower step in vice. He was just seventeen, when a -letter from the principal of this school conveyed to Mr. Green such -unhappy intelligence of his son that he immediately resolved, as a -last resort, to send him to sea, before the mast--and this was done, -spite of all the mother's tearful remonstrances, and the boy's threats -that he would {95} escape from the vessel on the very first -opportunity. - -And yet, for all this sad result of parental neglect, Mr. Green -devoted no more time nor care to his children. Business absorbed the -whole man. He was a merchant, both body and soul. His responsibilities -were not felt as extending beyond his counting-house, further than to -provide for the worldly well-being of his family. Is it any cause of -wonder that, with his views and practice, it should not turn out well -with his children; or, at least, with some of them? - -At the end of a year John came home from sea, a rough, cigar-smoking, -dram-drinking, overgrown boy of eighteen, with all his sensual desires -and animal passions more active than when he went away, while his -intellectual faculties and moral feelings were in a worse condition -than at his separation from home. Grief at the change oppressed the -hearts of his parents; but their grief was unavailing. Various efforts -were made to get him into some business, but he remained only a short -time in any of the places where his father had him introduced. -Finally, he was sent to sea again. But he never returned to his -friends. In a drunken street-brawl, that occurred while on shore at -Valparaiso, he was stabbed by a Spaniard, and died shortly afterward. - -On the very day this tragic event took place, Mr. Green was rejoicing -over a successful speculation, from which he had come out the gainer -by two thousand pounds. In the pleasure this circumstance occasioned, -all thoughts of the absent one, ruined by his neglect, were swallowed -up. - -Several months elapsed. Mr. Green had returned home, well satisfied -with his day's business. In his pocket was the afternoon paper, which, -after the younger children were in bed, and the older ones out of his -way, he sat down to read. His eyes turned to the foreign intelligence, -and almost the first sentence he read was the intelligence of his -son's death. The paper dropped from his hands, while he uttered an -expression of surprise and grief that caused the cheeks of his wife, -who was in the room, to turn deadly pale. She had not power to ask the -cause of her husband's sudden exclamation; but her heart, that ever -yearned toward her absent boy, instinctively divined the truth. - -"John is dead!" said Mr. Green, at length, speaking in a tremulous -tone of voice. - -There was from the mother no wild burst of anguish. The boy had been -dying to her daily for years, and she had suffered for him worse than -the pangs of death. Burying her face in her hands, she wept silently, -yet hopelessly. - -"If we were only blameless of the poor child's death!" said Mrs. -Green, lifting her tearful eyes, after the lapse of nearly ten -minutes, and speaking in a sad, self-rebuking tone of voice. - -When those with whom we are in close relationship die, how quickly is -that page in memory's book turned on which lies the record of -unkindness or neglect! Already had this page been turned for Mr. -Green, and conscience was sweeping therefrom the dust that well-nigh -obscured the handwriting. He inwardly trembled as he read the -condemning sentences that charged him with his son's ruin. - -"If we were only blameless of the poor child's death!" - -How these words of the grieving mother smote upon his heart. He did -not respond to them. How could he do so at that moment? - -"Where is Edward?" he inquired, at length. - -"I don't know," sobbed the mother. "He is out somewhere almost every -evening. Oh! I wish you would look to him a little more closely. He is -past my control." - -"I must do so," returned Mr. Green, speaking from a strong conviction -of the necessity of doing as his wife suggested; "if I only had a -little more time----" - -{96} - -He checked himself. It was the old excuse--the rock upon which all his -best hopes for his first-born had been fearfully wrecked. His lips -closed, his head was bowed, and, in the bitterness of unavailing -sorrow, he mused on the past, while every moment the conviction of -wrong toward his child, now irreparable, grew stronger and stronger. - -After that, Mr. Green made an effort to exercise more control over his -children; but he had left the reins loose so long that his tighter -grasp produced restiveness and rebellion. He persevered, however; and, -though Edward followed too closely the footsteps of John, yet the -younger children were brought under salutary restraints. The old -excuse--want of time--was frequently used by Mr. Green to justify -neglect of parental duties; but a recurrence of his thoughts to the -sad ruin of his eldest boy had, in most cases, the right effect; and -in the end he ceased to give utterance to the words--"I haven't time." -However, frequently he fell into neglect, from believing that business -demanded his undivided attention. - ------- -[ORIGINAL.] - - -THE SONG OF THE SHELL. - -WRITTEN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. - - - There's a music aloft in the air - As if devils were singing a song; - There's a shriek like the shriek of despair. - And a crash which the echoes prolong. - - There's a voice like the voice of the gale, - When it strikes a tall ship on the sea; - There's a rift like the rent of her sail. - As she helplessly drifts to the lee. - - There's a rush like the rushing of fiends. - Compelled by an horrible spell; - There's a flame like the flaming of brands, - Snatched in rage from the furnace of hell. - - There's a wreath like the foam on the wave, - There's a silence unbroke by a breath; - There's a thud like the clod in a grave, - There are writhings, and moanings, and death! - ------- - -{97} - -From The Lamp. - -ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY. - -BY ROBERT CURTIS. - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -The chief was well aware of the reputation which the priest had -obtained through the parish for medical skill, and was himself -convinced of how well he deserved it. Indeed, had the alternative -rested in any case between Father Farrell and the dispensary doctor, -there was not a parishioner who would not have preferred his pastor's -medical as well as spiritual aid. - -The chief, instead of ordering off the dispensary doctor to see young -Lennon upon a rumor that he was worse, went quietly to Father Farrell, -who must know the truth, and be able to give good advice as to what -steps, if any, were necessary to adopt. - -The matter turned out to be another black-crow story. Father Farrell -had also heard it in its exaggerated form, and had not lost a moment -in proceeding to the spot. Young Lennon had gone out to assist his -father in planting some potatoes--so far the rumor was correct. But he -had been premature in his own opinion of his convalescence. The very -first stoop he made he felt quite giddy; and although he did not fall -forward on his face, he was obliged to lean upon his father for -support for a few moments. This little experiment served to keep him -quiet for a while longer; but Father Farrell assured the chief that -matters were no worse than they had been--he might make his mind easy; -there was no injury beyond the flesh, which, of course, had become -much sorer, and must do so for a few days still. - -The chief, however, suggested the prudence, if not the necessity, of -having a medical man to see him. "Not," said he, "but that I have as -much, if not more, confidence in your own skill and experience than in -any which is available in this wild district." - -"That is rather an equivocal compliment; but perhaps it is fully as -much as I deserve," said the priest. - -"Well, I don't mean it as such, Father Farrell; but you know a great -responsibility would rest upon me, should anything unfortunate occur." - -"I see. It would not do in a court of justice to put a priest upon the -table in a medical position. I certainly could not produce a diploma. -You are quite right, my dear sir; you would be held responsible. -However, I can go the length to assure you that at present there is -not the slightest necessity for medical aid, particularly--between you -and me--under existing circumstances, which I understand very well. -The matter was a mere accident I am fully persuaded. Bat, supposing -for a moment that it was not, I know young Lennon since he was a child -running to school in his bare feet, with 'his turf and his -read-a-ma-daisy;' and I am convinced that no power on earth would -induce him to prosecute Tom Murdock." - -"Why? are they such friends?" - -"No; quite the reverse, and that is the very reason. But ask me no -more about it. Another objection I see to calling in the dispensary -doctor is this--that I am aware of an ill-feeling existing between him -and Tom {98} Murdock about a prize at a coursing-match, which the -doctor thinks was unfairly given to Tom Murdock through his influence -with the judge; and the doctor was heard to say in reference to it, -'that it was a long lane that had no turning.' Now here would be an -open for the doctor to put a turn on the lane, however straight it -might be in fact. He would not certify that Lennon's life was out of -danger--you would have to arrest Tom Murdock; young Lennon would go -distracted, and the two parishes would be in an uproar. Ill-will would -be engendered between all the young men of opposite sides, and all for -nothing; for young Lennon will be as well as ever he was in ten days. -These are my views of the case. But if your official responsibility -obliges you to differ with me, I am ready to hear you further." - -This was a great oration of Father Farrell's, but it was both sensible -and true from beginning to end, and it convinced the chief of the -propriety of "resting on his oars" for a few days longer at all -events. - -The result proved at least that there was more luck in leisure than -danger in delay. Emon-a-knock grew better; but it was by degrees. He -could not yet venture to attend to his usual daily labor, by which he -so materially contributed to the support of the family. The weather -was fine, and "the spring business" was going forward rapidly in all -directions. Poor Emon fretted that he was not able to add his -accustomed portion to the weekly earnings; but Father Farrell watched -him too closely. Once or twice he stole out to do some of their own -work, and let his father earn some of the high wages which was just -then to be had; but his own good sense told him that he was still -unable for the effort. At the end of an hour's work the old idea -haunted him that an attempt had been made to murder him, and if he had -been made a merchant-prince for it, he could not recollect how it had -happened. The only thing he did recollect distinctly about it was, -that Shanvilla won the day, and that he had been sent home in Winny -Cavana's cart and jennet--_that_, if he were in a raging fever, he -could never forget. - -But it was a sad loss to the family, Emon's incapacity to work. He had -been now three weeks ill; and although the wound in his head was in a -fair way of being healed, there was still a confused idea in his mind -about the whole affair which he could not get rid of. At times, as he -endeavored to review the matter as it had actually occurred, he could -not persuade himself but that it was really an accident; and while -under this impression he felt quite well, and able for his ordinary -labor. But there were moments when a sudden thought would cross his -mind that it had been a secret and premeditated attempt upon his life; -and then it was that the confusion ensued which rendered him unable to -recollect. What if it were really this attempt--supposing that -positive proof could be adduced of the fact--what then? Would he -prosecute Tom Murdock? Oh, no. Father Farrell was right; but he had -not formed his opinion upon the true foundation. Emon-a-knock would -not prosecute, even if he could do so to conviction. He would deal -with Tom Murdock himself if ever a fair opportunity should arise; and -if not, he might yet be in a position more thoroughly to despise him. - -In the meantime Lennon's family had not been improving in -circumstances. Emon was losing all the high wages of the spring's -work. Upon one or two occasions, when he stealthily endeavored to do a -little on his own land, while his father was catching the ready penny -abroad, he found, before he was two hours at work, the haunting idea -press upon his brain; and he returned to the house and threw himself -upon the bed confused and sad. In spite of this, however, the wound in -his head was now progressing more favorably, and {99} returning -strength renewed a more cheerful spirit within him. He fought hard -against the idea which at times forced itself upon him. The priest, -who was a constant visitor, saw that all was not yet right. He took -Emon kindly by the hand and said: "My dear young friend, do you not -feel as well as your outward condition would indicate that you ought -to be?" - -"Yes, Father Farrell, I thank God I feel my strength almost perfectly -restored. I shall be able, I hope, to give my poor father the usual -help in a few days. The worst of it is that the throng of the spring -work is over, and wages are now down a third from what they were a -month or three weeks ago." - -"If _that_ be all that is fretting you, Emon, cheer up, for there is -plenty of work still to be had; and if the wages are not quite so high -as they were a while back, you shall have constant work for some time, -which will be better than high wages for a start. I can myself afford -to make up for some of the loss this unfortunate blow has caused you. -You must accept of this." And he pulled a pound-note from his breeches -pocket. - -If occasionally there were moments when Emon's ideas were somewhat -confused, they were never clearer or sharper than as Father Farrell -said this. It so happened that he was thinking of Winny Cavana at the -moment; indeed, it would be hard to hit upon the moment when he was -not. Shanvilla was proverbially a poor parish; and Father Farrell's -continual and expressed regret was, that he was not able personally to -do more for the poor of his flock. Emon was sharp enough, and stout -enough, to speak his mind even to his priest, when he found it -necessary. - -He looked inquiringly into Father Farrell's face. "No, Father Farrell, -you _cannot_ afford it," he said. "It is your kindness leads you to -say so; and if you could afford it there are--and no man knows it -better than you do--many still poorer families than ours in the parish -requiring your aid. But under no circumstances shall I touch _that_ -pound." - -The priest was found out, and became disconcerted; but the matter was -coming to a point, and he might as well have it out. - -"Why do you lay such an emphasis upon the word _that_?" said he. "It -is a very good one," he added, laughing. - -"Well, Father Farrell, I am always ready and willing to answer you any -questions you may choose to ask me, for you are always discreet and -considerate. Of course I must always answer any questions you have a -right to ask; but you have no right to probe me now." - -"Certainly not, Emon, but you know a counsel's no command." - -"Your counsel, Father Farrell, is always good, and almost amounts to a -command. I beg your pardon, if I have spoken hastily." - -"Emon, my good young friend, and I will add, my dear young friend, I -do not wish to probe you upon any subject you are not bound to give me -your confidence upon; but why did you lay such an emphasis just now on -the word _that_? If you do not wish to answer me, you need not do so. -But you must take _this_ pound-note. You see I can lay an emphasis as -well as you when I think it is required." - -"No, Father Farrell. If the note was your own, I might take the loan -of it, and work it in with you, or pay you when I earned it. But I do -not think it is: there is the truth for you, Father Farrell." - -"I see how it is, Emon, and you are very proud. However, the truth is, -the pound was sent to me anonymously for you from a friend." - -"She might as well have signed her name in full," said Emon, sadly, -"for any loss that I can be at upon the subject--or perhaps you -yourself, Father Farrell." - -"Well, I was at no loss, I confess. But you were to know nothing about -it, Emon; only you were so sharp. {100} There is no fear that your -intellects have been injured by the blow, at all events. It was meant -kindly, Emon, and I think you ought to take it--here." - -"You think so, Father Farrell?" - -"I do; indeed I do, Emon." - -"Give it me, then," he said, taking it; and before Father Farrell's -face he pressed it to his lips. He then got a pen and ink, and wrote -something upon it. It was nothing but the date; he wanted no -memorandum of anything else respecting it. But he would hardly have -written even that, had he intended to make use of it. - -The priest stood up to leave. He knew more than he chose to tell -Emon-a-knock. But there was an amicable smile upon his lips as he held -out his hand to bid him goodby. - -Oh, the suspicion of a heart that loves! - -"Father Farrell," he said, still holding the priest's hand, "is this -the note, the very note, the identical note, she sent me?" - -"Yes, Emon; I would not deceive you about it. It is the very note; -which, I fear," he added, "is not likely to be of much use to you." - -"Why do you say that, Father Farrell? You shall one day see the -contrary." - -"Because you seem to me rather inclined to 'huxter it up,' as we say, -than to make use of it. Believe me, that was not the intention it was -sent with; oh, no, Emon; it was sent with the hope that it might be of -some use, and not to be hoarded up through any morbid sentimentality." - -"Give me one instead of it. Father Farrell, and keep this one until I -can redeem it." - -"I have not got another, Emon; pounds are not so plenty with me." - -"And yet you would have persuaded me just now that it was your own and -that you could afford to bestow it upon me!" - -"Pardon me, Emon, I would not have persuaded you; I was merely silent -upon the subject until your suspicions made you cross-examine me. I -was then plain enough with you. I used no deceit; and I now tell you -plainly that if you take this pound-note, you ought to use it; -otherwise you will give her who sent it very just cause for -annoyance." - -"Then it shall be as she wishes and as you advise, Father Farrell. I -cannot err under your guidance. I shall use it freely and with -gratitude; but you need not tell her that I know who sent it." - -"Do you think that I am an _aumadhawn_, Emon? The very thing she was -anxious to avoid herself. I shall never speak to her, perhaps, upon -the subject." - -The priest then left him with a genuine and hearty blessing, which -could not fail of a beneficial influence. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -The priest had been a true prophet and a good doctor, and perhaps it -was well for all parties concerned that the dispensary M.D. had been -dispensed with. Emon now recovered his strength every day more and -more. The wound in his head had completely healed. There was scarcely -a mark left of where it had been, unless you blew his beautiful soft -hair aside, when a slight hard ridge was just perceptible. Father -Farrell had procured him a permanent job of some weeks, at rather an -increase of wages from what was "going" at the time, for the spring -business was now over and work was slack. But a gentleman who had -recently purchased a small property in that part of the country, and -intended to reside, had commenced alterations in the laying-out of the -grounds about his "mansion;" and meeting Father Farrell one day, asked -him if he could recommend a smart, handy man for a tolerably long job. -There would be a good deal of "skinning" and cutting of sods, {101} -levelling hillocks, and filling up hollows, and wheeling of clay. For -the latter portion of the work, the man should have help. What he -wanted was a tasty, handy fellow, who would understand quickly what -was required as it was explained to him. - -Father Farrell, as the gentleman said all this, thought that he must -have actually had Emon-a-knock in his mind's eye. He was the very man -on every account, and the priest at once recommended him. This job -would soon make up for all the time poor Emon had lost with his broken -head. And for his intelligence and taste Father Farrell had gone bail. -Thus it was that Emon after all had not broken the pound-note, but, in -spite of the priest, had hoarded it as a trophy of Winny's love. - -Emon would have had a rather long walk every morning to his work, and -the same in the evening after it was over. But Mr. D---- on the very -first interview with young Lennon, was sharp enough to find out his -value as a rural engineer, and, for his own sake as well as Lennon's, -he made arrangements that he should stop at a tenant's house, not far -from the scene of his landscape-gardening, which was likely to last -for some time. Mr. D---- was not a man who measured a day's work by -its external extent. He looked rather to the manner of its -accomplishment, and would not allow the thing to be "run over." He did -not care for the expense; what he wanted was to have the thing well -done; and he gave Father Farrell great credit for his choice in a -workman. If he liked the job when it was finished, he did not say but -that he would give Lennon a permanent situation, as overseer, at a -fixed salary. But up to this time he had not seen, nor even heard of, -Winny Cavana, except what had been implied to his heart by the -priest's pound-note. He was further now from Rathcash chapel than -ever; nevertheless he would show himself there, "God willing," next -Sunday. What was Tom Murdock's surprise and chagrin on the following -Sunday to observe "that confounded whelp" on the road before him, as -he went to prayers--looking, too, better dressed, and as well and -handsome as ever! He thought he had "put a spoke in his wheel" for the -whole summer at the least; and before that was over, he had determined -to have matters irrevocably _clinched_ if not _settled_ with Miss -Winifred Cavana. - -After what manner this was to be accomplished was only known to -himself and three others, associates in his villany. - -The matter had been already discussed in all its bearings. All the -arguments in favor of, and opposed to, its success had been exhausted, -and the final result was, that the thing should be done, and was only -waiting a favorable opportunity to be put in practice. Some matters of -detail, however, had to be arranged, which would take some time; but -as the business was kept "dark" there was no hurry. Tom Murdock's -secret was safe in the keeping of his coadjutors, whose "oath of -brotherhood" bound them not only to inviolable silence, but to their -assistance in carrying out his nefarious designs. - -The sight of young Lennon once more upon the scene gave a spur to -Tom's plans and determination. He had hoped that that "accidental tip" -which he had given him would at least have had the effect of reducing -him in circumstances and appearance, and have kept him in his own -parish. He knew that Lennon was depending upon his day's wages for -even the sustenance of life; that there was a family of at least four -beside himself to support; and he gloated himself over the idea that a -month or six weeks' sick idleness, recovering at best when there was -no work to be had, would have left "that whelp" in a condition almost -unpresentable even at his own parish chapel. What was his -mortification, therefore, when he now beheld young Lennon before him -on the road! - -{102} - -"By the table of war," he said in his heart, "this must hasten my -plans! I cannot permit an intimacy to be renewed in that quarter. I -must see my friends at once." - -Winny Cavana, although she had not seen Emon-a-knock since the -accident, had taken care to learn through her peculiar resources how -"the poor fellow was getting on." Her friend Kate Mulvey was one of -these resources. - -Although it has not yet oozed out in this story, it is necessary that -it should now do so: Phil M'Dermott, then, was a great admirer of Kate -Mulvey. He was one of those who advocated an interchange of -parishioners in the courting line. He did not think it fair that -"exclusive dealing" should be observed in such cases. - -Now, useless as it was, and forlorn as had been hitherto the hope, -Phil M'Dermott, like all true lovers, could not keep away from his -cold-hearted Kate. It was a satisfaction to him at all events "to be -looking at her;" and somehow since Emon's accident she seemed more -friendly and condescending in her manner to poor Phil. It will be -remembered that Phil M'Dermott was a great friend of Emon-a-knock's, -and it may now be said that he was a near neighbor. It was natural, -then, that Kate Mulvey should find out all about Emon from him, and -"have word" for Winny when they met. This was one resource, and Father -Farrell, as he sometimes passed Kate's door, was another. Father -Farrell could guess very well, notwithstanding Kate's careless manner -of asking, that his information would not rest in her own breast, and -gave it as fully and satisfactorily as he could. - -Kate Mulvey, however, "would not for the world" say a word to either -Phil M'Dermott or Father Farrell which could be construed as coming -from Winny Cavana to Emon-a-knock; she had Winny's strict orders to -that effect. But Kate felt quite at liberty to make any remarks she -chose, as coming from herself. - -Poor Emon, upon this his first occasion of, it may be said, appearing -in public after his accident, was greeted, after prayers were over, -with a genuine cordiality by the Rathcash boys, and several times -interfered with in his object of "getting speech" of Winny Cavana, who -was some distance in advance, in consequence of these delays. - -But Winny was not the girl to be frustrated by any unnecessary prudery -on such an occasion. - -"Father," she said, "there's Emon at our chapel to-day for the first -time since he was hurt. Let us not be behindhand with the neighbors to -congratulate him on his recovery. I see all the Rathcash people are -glad to see him." - -"And so they ought, Winny; I'm glad you told me he was here, for I did -not happen to see him. Stand where you are until he comes up." And the -old man stood patiently for some minutes while Emon's friends were -expressing their pleasure at his reappearance. - -Winny had kept as clear as possible of Tom Murdock since the accident -at the hurling match; so much so that he could not but know it was -intentional. - -Tom had remarked during prayers that Winny's countenance had -brightened up wonderfully when young Lennon came into the chapel, and -took a quiet place not far inside the door; for he had been kept -outside by the kind inquiries of his friends until the congregation -had become pretty throng. He had observed too, for he was on the -watch, that Winny's eyes had often wandered in the direction of the -door up to the time when "that whelp" had entered; but from that -moment, when he had observed the bright smile light up her face, she -had never turned them from the officiating priest and the altar. - -Tom had not ventured to walk home with Winny from the chapel for some -Sundays past, nor would he to-day. What puzzled him not a little was -what his line of conduct ought to be with respect to Lennon, whom he -had not seen since the accident. His course {103} was, however, taken -after a few moments' reflection. He did not forget that on the -occasion of the blow he had exhibited much sympathy with the sufferer, -and had declared it to have been purely accidental. He should keep up -that character of the affair now, or make a liar of himself, both as -to the past and his feelings. - -"Beside," thought he, "I may so delay him that Miss Winifred cannot -have the face to delay for him so long." - -Just then, as Emon had emancipated himself from the cordiality of -three or four young men, and was about to step out quickly to where he -saw Winny and her father standing on the road, Tom came up. - -"Ah, Lennon!" he said, stretching out his hand, "I am glad to see you -in this part of the country again. I hope you are quite recovered." - -"Quite, thank God," said Emon, pushing by without taking his hand. -"But I see Winny and her father waiting on the road, and I cannot stop -to talk to you;" and he strode on. Emon left out the "Cavana" in the -above sentence on purpose, because he knew the familiarity its -omission created would vex Tom Murdock. - -"Bad luck to your impudence, you conceited cub, you!" was Murdock's -mental ejaculation as he watched the cordial greeting between him and -Winny Cavana, to say nothing of her father, who appeared equally glad -to see him. - -Phil M'Dermott had come for company that day with Emon, and had -managed to join Kate Mulvey as they came out of chapel. She had her -eyes about her, and saw very well how matters had gone so far. For the -first time in her life she noticed the scowl on Tom Murdock's brow as -she came toward him. - -"God between us and harm, but he looks wicked this morning!" thought -she; and she was almost not sorry when he turned suddenly round and -walked off without waiting for her so much as to "bid him the time of -day." - -"That's more of it," said Tom to himself. "There is that one now -taking up with that tinker." - -He felt something like the little boy who said, "What! will nobody -come and play with me?" But Tom did not, like him, become a good boy -after that. - -He watched the Cavanas and Lennon, who had not left the spot where -Lennon came up with them until they were joined by Kate And Phil -M'Dermott, when they all walked on together, chatting and laughing as -if nobody in the world was wicked or unhappy. - -He dodged them at some distance, and was not a little surprised to see -the whole party-"the whelp," "the tinker," and all--turn up the lane -and go into Cavana's house. - -"_That will do_," said he; "I must see my friends this very night, and -before this day fortnight we'll see who will win the trick." - -Emon-a-knock and Phil M'Dermott actually paid a visit to old Ned -Cavana's that Sunday. Tom Murdock had seen them going in, and he -minuted them by his silver hunting-watch--for he had one. His eye -wandered from the door to his watch, and from his watch to the door, -as if he were feeling the pulse of their visit. He thought he had -never seen Kate Mulvey looking so handsome, or Phil M'Dermott so clean -or so well-dressed. - -But it mattered not. If Kate was a Venus, Tom will carry out his plans -with respect to Winny, and let Phil M'Dermott work his own point in -that other quarter. Not that he cared much for Winny herself, but he -wanted her farm, and he _hated "that whelp Lennon."_ - -They remained just twenty-five minutes in old Cavana's; this for Kate -Mulvey was nothing very wonderful, but for two young men--neither of -whom had ever darkened his doors before--Tom thought it rather a long -visit. - -{104} - -There they were now, going down the lane together, laughing and -chatting, all three seemingly in good humor. - -Cranky and out of temper as he was, Tom's observation was correct in -more matters than one, Phil M'Dermott was particularly well-dressed on -this occasion, his first visit to Rathcash chapel. Perhaps after -to-day he may be oftener there than at his own. - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -Perhaps there was nothing extraordinary, after the encouragement which -Emon had met with upon his first appearance at Rathcash chapel after -"the accident," if he found it pleasanter to "overtake mass" there -than to come in quietly at Shanvilla. The walk did him good. Be this -as it may, he was now a regular attendant at a chapel which was a mile -and a half further from his home than his own. - -Two Sundays had now come round since Tom Murdock had seen the -reception which "that whelp" had met with from the Cavanas, not only -as he came out of the chapel, but in asking him up to the house, and, -he supposed, giving him luncheon; for the visits had been repeated -each successive Sunday. Then that fellow M'Dermott had also come to -their chapel, and he and Kate Mulvey had also gone up with the -Cavanas. This was now the third Sunday on which this had taken place; -and not only Winny herself, but her father seemed to acquiesce in -bringing it about. - -Tom's fortnight had passed by, and he had not "won the trick," as he -had threatened to do. "Well," thought he, "it cannot be done in a -minute. I have been dealing the cards, and, contrary to custom, the -dealer shall lead beside; and that soon." - -Winny's happy smile was now so continuous and so gratifying to her -father's heart, that if he had not become altogether reconciled to an -increased intimacy with Edward Lennon, he had at all events become a -convert to her dislike to Tom Murdock, and no mistake. - -In spite of all his caution, one or two matters had crept out as to -his doings, and had come to old Ned's ears in such a way that no doubt -could remain on his mind of their veracity. He began to give Winny -credit for more sharpness than he had been inclined to do; and it -crossed his mind once that, if Winny was not mistaken about Tom -Murdock's villany, she might not be mistaken either about _anybody -else's worth_. The thought had not individualized itself as yet. In -the meantime young Lennon's quiet and natural manner, his unvarying -attention and respect for the old man himself, and his apparent -carelessness for Winny's private company, grew upon old Ned -insensibly; and it was now almost as a fixed rule that he paid a -Sunday visit after mass at Rathcash, the old man putting his hand upon -his shoulder, and facing him toward the house at the end of the lane, -saying, "Come, Edward Lennon, the murphys will be teemed by the time -we get up, and no one can fault our bacon or our butter." - -"_My_ butter, Emon," said Winny on one occasion, at a venture. - -Her father looked at her. But there was never another word about it. - -All this was anything but pleasing to Tom Murdock, who always sulkily -dogged them at some distance behind. - -Now we shall not believe that Emon-a-knock was such a muff, or Winny -Cavana such a prude, as to suppose that no little opportunity was -seized upon for a kind soft word between them _unknownt_. Nor shall we -suppose that Kate Mulvey, who was always of the party, was such a -marplot as to obstruct such a happy casualty, should it occur, -particularly if Phil was to the fore. - -Emon's careless, loud laugh along the road, as he escorted Kate to her -own door, gave evidence that his heart was light and that (as Kate -thought, though she did not question him) {105} matters were on the -right road for him. Winny, too, when they met, was so happy, and so -different from what for a while she had been, that Kate, although she -did not question her either, guessed that all was right with her too. - -Matters, as they now seemed to progress, and he watched them close, -were daggers to Tom Murdock's heart. He had seen Winny Cavana, on more -than one evening, leave the house and take the turn toward Kate -Mulvey's. On these occasions he had the meanness and want of spirit to -watch her movements; and although he could not satisfy himself that -young Lennon came to meet her, he was not quite satisfied that he did -not. - -Winny invariably turned into Kate Mulvey's, and remained for a long -visit. Might not "that hound" be there?--Tom sometimes varied his -epithets--might it not be a place of assignation? This was but the -suspicion of a low, mean mind like Tom Murdock's. - -The fact is, since Tom's threat about "winning the trick" he had been -rather idle. His game was not one which could be played out by -correspondence--he was too cunning for that--and the means which he -would be obliged to adopt were not exactly ready at his hand. He saw -that matters were not pressing in another quarter yet, if ever they -should press, and he would "ride a waiting race," and win -unexpectedly. Thus the simile of Tom's thoughts still took their tone -from the race-course, and he would "hold hard" for another bit. -Circumstances, however, soon occurred which made him "push forward -toward the front" if he had any hope "to come in first." - -Edward Lennon having finished his "landscape gardening" at Mr. D----s, -and the overseership being held over for the present, had got another -rather long job, on the far part of Ned Cavana's farm, in laying out -and cutting drains, where the land required reclaiming. He had shown -so much taste and intelligence, in both planning and performing, that -old Ned was quite delighted with him, and began to regret "that he had -not known his value as an agricultural laborer long before." There was -one other at least--if not two--who sympathized in that regret. At all -events, there he was now every day up to his hips in dirty red clay, -scooping it up from the bottom of little drains more than three feet -deep, in a long iron scoop with a crooked handle. This job was at the -far end of Ned's farm, and, in coming to his work, Lennon need hardly -come within sight of the house, for the work lay in the direction of -Shanvilla. Emon did not "quit work" until it was late; he was then in -anything but visiting trim, if such a thing were even possible. He, -therefore, saw no more of Winny on account of the job than if he had -been at work on the Giant's Causeway. But a grand object had been -attained, nevertheless--he was working for Ned Cavana, and had given -him more than satisfaction in the performance of the job, and on one -occasion old Ned had called him "Emon-a-wochal," a term of great -familiarity. This was a great change for the better. If young Lennon -had been as well acquainted with racing phraseology as Tom Murdock, he -also would have thought that he would "make a waiting race of it." But -the expression of _his_ thoughts was that he "would bide his time." - -The Sundays, however, were still available, and Emon did not lose the -chance. He now because so regular an attendant at Rathcash chapel, and -went up so regularly with old Ned and his daughter after prayers, that -it was no wonder if people began to talk. - -"I donna what Tom Murdock says to all this, Bill," said Tim Fahy to a -neighbor, on the road from the chapel. - -"The sorra wan of me knows, Tim, but I hear he isn't over-well -plaised." - -"Arrah, what id he be plaised at? Is it to see a Shanvilla boy, -without a cross, intherlopin' betune him an' his bachelor?" - -"Well, they say he needn't be a bit afeared, Lennon is a very good -workman, {106} and undherstan's dhrainin', an' ould Ned's cute enough -to get a job well done; but he'd no more give his daughter with her -fine fortin' to that chap, than he'd throw her an' it into the -say--b'lieve you me." - -"There's some very heavy cloud upon Tom this while back, any way; and -though he keeps it very close, there's people thinks it's what she -refused him." - -"The sorra fear iv her, Tim; she has more sinse nor that." - -"Well, riddle me this, Bill. What brings that chap here Sunda' afther -Sunda', and what takes him up to ould Ned Cavana's every Sunda' afther -mass? He is a very good-lookin' young fellow, an' knows a sheep's head -from a sow's ear, or Tim Fahy's a fool." - -"_Och badhershin_, doesn't he go up to walk home wid Kate Mulvey, for -she's always iv the party?" - -"And _badhershin_ yourself, Bill, isn't Phil M'Dermott always to the -fore for Kate?--another intherloper from Shanvilla. I donna what the -sorra the Rathcash boys are about." - -Other confabs of a similar nature were carried on by different sets as -they returned from prayers, and saw the Cavanas with their company -turn up the lane toward the house. The young girls of the district, -too, had their chats upon the subject; but they were so voluble, and -some of them so ill-natured, that I forbear to give the reader any -specimen of their remarks. One or two intimate associates of Tom -ventured to quiz him upon the state of affairs. Now none but an -intimate friend, indeed, of Tom's should have ventured, under the -circumstances, to have touched upon so sore a subject, and those who -did, intimate as they were, did not venture to repeat the joke. No, it -was no joke; and that they soon found out. To one friend who had -quizzed him privately he said, "Suspend your judgment, Denis; and if I -don't prove myself more than a match for that half-bred _kiout_, then -condemn me." - -But to another, who had quizzed him before some bystanders in rather a -ridiculous point of view, he turned like a bull-terrier, while his -face assumed a scowl of a peculiarly unpleasant character. - -"It is no business of yours," he said, "and I advise you to mind your -own affairs, or perhaps I'll make you." - -The man drew in his horns, and sneaked off, of course; and from that -moment they all guessed that the business had gone against Tom, and -they left off quizzing. - -Tom felt that he had been wrong, and had only helped to betray -himself. His game now was to prevent, if possible, any talk about the -matter, one way or the other, until his plans should be matured, when -he doubted not that success would gain him the approbation of every -one, no matter what the means. - -The preface to his plans was, to spread a report that he had gone back -to Armagh to get married to a girl with an immense fortune, and he -endorsed the report by the fact of his leaving home; but whether to -Armagh or not, was never clearly known. - -Young Lennon went on with his job, at which old Ned told him "to take -his time, an' do it well. It was not," he said, "like digging a plot, -which had to be dug every year, or maybe twice. When it was wance -finished and covered up, there it was; worse nor the first day, if it -was not done right; so don't hurry it over, Emon-a-wochal. I don't -mind the expense; ground can't be dhrained for nothin', an' it id be a -bad job if we were obliged to be openin' any of the dhrains a second -time, an' maybe not know where the stoppage lay; so take your time, -and don't blame me if you botch it." - -"You need not fear, sir," said Lennon. (He always said "sir" as yet.) -"You need not fear; if every drain of them does not run like the -stream from Tubbernaltha, never give me a day's work again." - -{107} - -"As far as you have gone, Emon, I think they are complate; we'll have -forty carts of stones in afore Saturda' night. I hope you have help -enough, boy." - -"Plenty, sir, until we begin to cover in." - -"Wouldn't you be able for that yourself? or couldn't you bring your -father with you? I'd wish to put whatever I could in your way." - -"Thank you, sir, very much. I will do so if I want more help; but for -the lucre of keeping up his wages and mine, I would not recommend you -to lose this fine weather in covering in the drains." - -"You are an honest boy, Emon, and I like your way of talkin', as well -as workin'; plaise God we won't see you or your father idle." - -Up to this it will be seen that Emon was not idle in any sense of the -word. He was ingratiating himself, but honestly, into the good graces -of old Ned; "if he was not fishing, he was mending his nets;" and the -above conversation will show that he was not a dance at that same. - -It happened, upon one or two occasions, that old Ned was with Emon at -leaving off work in the evening, and he asked him to "cum' up to the -house and have a dhrink of beer, or whiskey-and-wather, his choice." - -But Emon excused himself, saying he was no fit figure to go into any -decent man's parlor in that trim, and indeed his appearance did not -belie his words; for he was spotted and striped with yellow clay, from -his head and face to his feet, and the clothes he brought to the work -were worth nothing. - -"Well, you'll not be always so, Emon, when you're done wid the -scoopin'," said old Ned; and he added, laughing, "The divil a wan o' -me'd know you to be the same boy I seen cumin' out o' mass a Sunda'." - -Emon had heard, as everybody else had heard, that Tom Murdock had left -home, and he felt as if an incubus had been lifted off his heart. Not -that he feared Tom in any one way; but he knew that his absence would -be a relief to Winny, and, as such, a relief to himself. - -Emon was now as happy as his position and his hopes permitted him to -be; and there can be little doubt but this happiness arose from an -understanding between himself and Winny; but how, when, or where that -understanding had been confirmed, it would be hard to say. - -Old Ned's remarks to his daughter respecting young Lennon were nuts -and apples to her. She knew the day would come, and perhaps at no far -distant time, when she must openly avow, not only a preference for -Emon, but declare an absolute determination to cast her lot with his, -and ask her father's blessing upon them. She was aware that this could -not, that it ought not to, be hurried. She hoped--oh, how fervently -she hoped!--that the report of Tom Murdock's marriage might be true: -that of his absence from home she knew to be so. In the meantime it -kept the happy smile for ever on her lips to know that Emon was daily -creeping into the good opinion of her father. Oh! how could Emon, her -own Emon, fail, not only to creep but to rush into the good opinion, -the very heart, of all who knew him? Poor enthusiastic Winny! But she -was right. With the solitary exception of Tom Murdock, there was not a -human being who knew him who did not love Edward Lennon. But where is -the man with Tom Murdock's heart, and in Tom Murdock's place, who -would not have hated him as he did? - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -Tom Murdock, seeing that his hopes by fair means were completely at an -end, and that matters were likely to progress in another quarter at a -rate which made it advisable not to let the leading horse get too far -ahead, {108} determined to make a rush to the front, no matter whether -he went the wrong side of a post or not--let that be settled after. - -He had left home, and left a report behind him, which he took care to -have industriously circulated, that he had gone to Armagh, and was -about to be married to "a young lady" with a large fortune, and that -he would visit the metropolis, Fermanagh, and perhaps Sligo, before he -returned. But he did not go further than an obscure public-house in a -small village in the lower part of the county of Cavan. There he met -the materials for carrying out his plan. The object of it was shortly -this--to carry away Winny Cavana by force, and bring her to a -_friend's_ house in the mountains behind the village adverted to. Here -he was to have an old buckle-beggar at hand to marry them the moment -Winny's spirit was broken to consent. This man, a degraded clergyman, -as the report went, wandered about the country in green spectacles and -a short, black cloak, always ready and willing to perform such a job; -doubly willing and ready for this particular one from the reward which -Tom had promised him. If even the marriage ceremony should fail, -either through Winny's obstinacy or the clergyman's want of spirit to -go through with it in the face of opposition, still he would keep her -for ten days or a fortnight at this _friend's_ house, stopping there -himself too; and at the end of that time, should he fail in obtaining -her consent, he would quit the country for a while, and allow her to -return home "so blasted in character" that even "that whelp" would -disown her. There was a pretty specimen of a lover--a husband! - -It was now the end of June. The weather had been dry for some time, -and the nights were clear and mild; the stars shone brightly, and the -early dawn would soon present a heavy dew hanging on the bushes and -the grass. The moon was on the wane; but at a late hour of the night -it was conspicuous in the heavens, adding a stronger light to that -given by the clearness of the sky and the brilliancy of the stars. - -Rathcash and Rathcashmore were sunk in still repose; and if silence -could be echoed, it was echoed by the stillness of the mountains -behind Shanvilla and beyond them. The inhabitants of the whole -district had long since retired to rest, and now lay buried in sleep, -some of them in confused dreams of pleasure and delight. - -The angel of the dawn was scarcely yet awake, or he might have heard -the sound of muffled horses' feet and muffled wheels creeping along -the road toward the lane turning up to Rathcash house, about two hours -before day; and he must have seen a man with a dark mask mounted on -another muffled horse at a little distance from the cart. - -Presently Tom Murdock--there is no use in simulating mystery where -none exists--took charge of the horse and cart to prevent them from -moving, while three men stole up toward the house. Ay, there is -Bully-dhu's deep bark, and they are already at the door. - -"That dog! he'll betray us, boys," said one of the men. - -"I'd blow his brains out if this pistol was loaded," said another; -"and I wanted Tom to give me a cartridge." - -"He wouldn't let any one load but himself, and he was right; a shot -would be twiste as bad as the dog; beside, he's in the back yard, and -cannot get out. Never heed him, but to work as fast as possible." - -Old Ned Cavana and Winny heard not only the dog, but the voices. -Winny's heart foretold the whole thing in a moment, and she braced her -nerves for the scene. - -The door was now smashed in, and the three men entered. By this time -old Ned had drawn on his trousers; and as he was throwing his coat -over his head to got his arms into the sleeves he was seized, and ere -you could count ten he was pinioned, with his arms behind him and his -legs tied {109} at the ankles, and a handkerchief tied across his -mouth. Thus rendered perfectly powerless, he was thrown back upon the -bed, and the room-door locked. Jamesy Doyle, who slept in the barn, -had heard the crash of the door, and dressed himself in "less than no -time," let Bully-dhu out of the yard, and brought him to the front -door, in at which he rushed like a tiger. But Jamesy Doyle did not go -in. That was not his game; but he peeped in at the window. No light -had been struck, so he could make nothing of the state of affairs -inside, except from the voices; and from what he heard he could make -no mistake as to the object of this attack. He could not tell whether -Tom Murdock was in the house or not, but he did not hear his voice. -One man said, "Come, now, be quick, Larry; the sooner we're off with -her the better." - -Jamesy waited for no more; he turned to the lane as the shortest way, -but at a glance he saw the horse and cart and the man on horseback on -the road outside; and turning again he darted off across the fields as -fast as his legs could carry him. - -Bully-dhu, having gained access to the house, showed no disposition to -compromise the matter. "No quarter!" was his cry, as he flew at the -nearest man to him, and seizing him by the throat, brought him to the -ground with a _sough_, where in spite of his struggles, he held him -fast with a silent, deadly grip. He had learned this much, at least, -by his encounter with the mastiff on New Year's day. - -Careless of their companion's strait, who they thought ought to be -able to defend himself, the other two fellows--and powerful fellows -they were--proceeded to the bed-room to their left; they had locked -the door to their right, leaving poor old Ned tied and insensible on -the bed. Winny was now dressed and met them at the door. - -"Are you come to commit murder?" she cried, as they stopped her in the -doorway; "or have you done it already? Let me to my father's room." - -"The sorra harm on him, miss, nor the sorra take the hair of his head -well hurt no more nor your own. Come, put on your bonnet an' cloak, -an' come along wid us; them's our ordhers." - -"You have a master, then. Where is he? where is Tom Murdock?--I knew -Tom _Murder_ should have been his name. Where is he, I say?" - -"Come, come, no talk; but on wid your bonnet and cloak at wanst." - -"Never; nor shall I ever leave this house except torn from it by the -most brutal force. Where is your master, I say? Is he afraid of the -rope himself which he would thus put round your necks?" - -"Come, come, on wid your bonnet an' cloak, or, be the powers, we'll -take you away as you are." - -"Never; where is your master, I say?" - -"Come, Larry, we won't put up wid any more of her pillaver; out wid -the worsted." - -Here Biddy Murtagh rushed in to her mistress's aid; but she was soon -overpowered and tied "neck and heels," as they called it, and thrown -upon Winny's bed. They had the precaution to gag her also with a -handkerchief, that she might not give the alarm, and they locked the -door like that at the other end of the house. - -Larry, whoever he was, then pulled a couple of skeins of coarse -worsted from his pocket, while his companion seized Winny round the -waist, outside her arms; and the other fellow, who seemed expert, soon -tied her feet together, and then her hands. A thick handkerchief was -then tied across her mouth. - -"Take care to lave plenty of braithin' room out iv her nose, Larry," -said the other ruffian; and, thus rendered unable to move or scream, -they carried her to the road and laid her on the car. The horseman in -the mask asked them where the third man was, and they replied that he -must have {110} "made off" from the dog, for that they neither saw nor -heard him after the dog flew at him. - -This was likely enough. He was the only man of the party in whom Tom -Murdock could not place the most unbounded confidence. - -"The cowardly rascal," he said. "We must do without him." - -But he had _not_ made off from the dog. - -The cart was well provided--_to do Tom Murdock justice_--with a -feather-bed over plenty of straw, and plenty of good covering to keep -out the night air. They started at a brisk trot, still keeping the -horses' feet and the wheels muffled; and they passed down the road -where the reader was once caught at a dog-fight. - -But to return, for a few minutes, to Rathcash house. Bully-dhu was -worth a score of old Ned Cavana, even supposing him to have been at -liberty, and free of the cords by which he was bound. The poor old man -had worked the handkerchief by which he had been gagged off his mouth, -by rubbing it against the bed-post. He had then rolled himself to the -door; but further than that he was powerless, except to ascertain, by -placing his chin to the thumb-latch, for he had got upon his feet, -that it was fastened outside. He then set up a lamentable demand for -help--upon Winny, upon Biddy Murtagh, and upon Bully-dhu. The dog was -the only one who answered him, with a smothered growl, for he still -held fast by the grip he had taken of the man's throat. Poor Bully! -you need not have been so pertinacious of that grip--the man has been -_dead_ for the last ten minutes! Finding that it was indeed so, from -the perfect stillness of the man, Bully-dhu released his hold, and lay -licking his paws and keeping up an angry growl, in answer to the old -man's cries. - -We must leave them and follow Jamesy Doyle across the fields, and see -if it was cowardice that made him run so fast from the scene of -danger. Ah, no! Jamesy was not that sort of a chap at all. He was -plucky as well as true to the heart's core. Nor was his intelligence -and judgment at fault for a moment as to the best course for him to -adopt. Seeing the fearful odds of three stout men against him, he knew -that he could do better than to remain there, to be tied "neck and -crop" like the poor old man and Biddy. So, having brought Bully-dhu -round and given him 'his cue, he started off, and never drew breath -until he found himself outside Emon-a-knock's window at Shanvilla, on -his way to the nearest police station. - -"Are you there, Emon?" said he, tapping at it. - -"Yes," Emon replied from his bed; "who are you, or what do you want?" - -"Jamesy Doyle from Rathcash house. Get up at wanst! They have taken -away Miss Winny." - -"Great heaven I do you say so? Here, father, get up in a jiffy and -dress yourself. They have taken away Winny Cavana, and we must be off -to the rescue like a shot. Come in, Jamesy, my boy." And while they -were "drawing on" their clothes, they questioned him as to the -particulars. - -But Jamesy had few such to give them, as the reader knows; for, like a -sensible boy, he was off for help without waiting for particulars. - -The principal point, however, was to know what road they had taken. -Upon this Jamesy was able to answer with some certainty, for ere he -had started finally off, he had watched them, and he had seen the cart -move on under the smothered cries of Winny; and he heard the horseman -say, "Now, boys, through the pass between 'the sisters.'" - -"They took the road to the left from the end of the lane, that's all I -know; so let you cut across the country as fast as you can, an' you'll -be at Boher before them. Don't delay me now, for I must go on to the -police station an' hurry out the sargent {111} and his men; if you can -clog them at the bridge till I cam' up with the police, all will be -rights an' we'll have her back wid us. I know very well if I had a -word wid Miss Winny unknown to the men, she would have sent me for the -police; but I took you in my way--it wasn't twenty perch of a round." - -"Thank you, Jamesy, a thousand times! There, be off to the sergeant as -fast as you can; tell him you called here, and that I have calculated -everything in my mind, and for him and his men to make for -Boher-na-Milthiogue bridge as fast as possible. There, be off, Jamesy, -and I'll give you a pound-note if the police are at the bridge before -Tom Murdock comes through the pass with the cart." - -"You may keep your pound, man! I'd do more nor that for Miss Winny." -And he was out of sight in a moment. - -The father and son were now dressed, and, arming themselves with two -stout sticks, they did not "let the grass grow under their feet." They -hurried on until they came to the road turning down to where we have -indicated that our readers were once caught at a dog-fight. Here Emon -examined the road as well as he could by the dim light which -prevailed, and found the fresh marks of wheels. He could scarcely -understand them. They were not like the tracks of any wheels he had -ever seen before, and there were no tracks of horses' feet at all, -although Jamesy had said there was a horseman beside the horse and -cart. - -Emon soon put down these unusual appearances--and he could not well -define them for want of light--to some cunning device of Tom Murdock; -and how right he was! - -"Come on, father," said he. "I am quite certain they have gone down -here. I know Tom Murdock has plenty of associates in the county Cavan, -and the pass between 'the sisters' is the shortest way he can take. -Beside, Jamesy heard him say the words. Our plan must be to cut across -the country and get to Milthiogue bridge before they get through the -pass and so escape us. What say you, father--are you able and willing -to push on, and to stand by me? Recollect the odds that are against -us, and count the cost." - -"Emon, I'll count nothing; but I'll-- - -"Here, father, in here at this gap, and across by the point of Mullagh -hill beyond; we must get to Boher before them." - -"I'll count no cost, Emon, I was going to tell you. I'm both able and -willing, thank God, to stand by you. You deserve it well of me, and so -do the Cavanas. God forbid I should renuage my duty to you and them! -Aren't ye all as wan as the same thing to me now?" - -Emon now knew that his father knew all about Winny and him. - -"Father," said he, "that is a desperate man, and he'll stop at -nothing." - -"Is it sthrivin' to cow me you are, Emon?" - -"No, father; but you saw the state my mother was in as we left." - -"Yes, I did, and why wouldn't she? But shure that should not stop us -when we have right on our side; an' God knows what hoult, or distress, -that poor girl is in, or what that villain may do to her; an' what -state would your mother be in if you were left a desolate madman all -your life through that man's wickedness?" - -These were stout words of his father, and almost assured Emon that all -would be well. - -"Father," he continued, "if we get to the bridge before them, and can -hold it for half an hour, or less, the police will be up with Jamesy -Doyle, and we shall be all right." - -The conversation was now so frequently interrupted in getting over -ditches and through hedges, and they had said so much of what they had -to say, that they were nearly quite silent for the rest of the way, -except where Emon pointed out to his father the easiest place to get -over a ditch, or through a hedge, or up the face of a {112} hill. Both -their hearts were evidently in their journey. No less the father's -than the son's: the will made the way. - -The dappled specks of red had still an hour to slumber ere the dawn -awoke, and they had reached the spot; there was the bridge, the -Boher-na-Milthiogue of our first chapter, within a stone's throw of -them. They crept to the battlement and peered into the pass. As yet no -sound of horse or cart, or whispered word, reached their ears. - -"They must be some distance off yet, father," said Emon; "thank God! -The police will have the more time to be up." - -"Should we not hide, Emon?" - -"Certainly; and if the police come up before they do, they should hide -also. That villain is mounted; and if a strong defence of the pass was -shown too soon, he would turn and put spurs to his horse." - -As he spoke a distant noise was heard of horses' feet and unmuffled -wheels. The muffling had all been taken off as soon as they had -reached the far end of the pass between the mountains, and they were -now hastening their speed. - -"The odds will be fearfully against us, father," said Emon, who now -felt more than ever the dangerous position he had placed his father -in, and the fearful desolation his loss would cause in his mother's -heart and in his home. He felt no fear for himself. "You had better -leave Tom himself to me, father. I know he will be the man on -horseback. Let you lay hold of the horse's head under the cart, and -knock one of the men, or both, down like lightning, if you can. You -have your knife ready to cut the cords that tie her?" - -"I have, Emon; and don't you fear me; one of them shall tumble at all -events, almost before they know that we are on them. I hope I may kill -him out an' out; we might then be able for the other two. Do you think -Tom is armed?" he added, turning pale. But it was so dark Emon did not -see it. - -"I am not sure, but I think not He cannot have expected any -opposition." - -"God grant it, Emon! I don't want to hould you back, but don't be -'fool-hardy,' dear boy." - -"Do you want to cow me, father, as you said yourself, just now?" - -"No, Emon. But stoop, stoop, here they are." - -Crouching behind the battlements of the bridge, these two resolute men -waited the approach of the cavalcade. As they came to the mouth of the -pass the elder Lennon sprang to the head of the horse under the cart, -and, seizing him with his left hand, struck the man who drove such a -blow as felled him from the shaft upon which he sat. Emon had already -seized the bridle of the horseman who still wore the mask, and pushing -the horse backward on his haunches, he made a fierce blow at the -rider's head with his stick. But he had darted his heels--spurs he -had none--into his horse's sides, which made him plunge forward, -rolling Emon on the ground. Forward to the cart the rider then rushed, -crying out, "On, on with the cart!" But Lennon's father was still -fastened on the horse's head with his left hand, while with his right -he was alternately defending himself against the two men, for the -first had somewhat recovered, who were in charge of it. - -Tom Murdock would have ridden him down also, and turned the battle in -favor of a passage through; but Emon had regained his feet, and was -again fastened in the horse's bridle, pushing him back on his -haunches, hoping to get at the rider's head, for hitherto his blows -had only fallen upon his arms and chest. Here Tom Murdock felt the -want of the spurs, for his horse did not spring forward with life and -force enough upon his assailant. - -A fearful struggle now ensued between them. The men at the cart had -not yet cleared their way from the {113} desperate opposition given -them by old Lennon, who defendant himself ably, and at the same time -attacked them furiously. He had not time, however, to cut the cords by -which Winny was bound. A single pause in the use of his stick for that -purpose would have been fatal. Neither had he been successful in -getting beyond his first position at the horse's head. During the -whole of this confused attack and defence, poor Winny Cavana, who had -managed to shove herself up into a sitting posture in the cart, -continued to cry out, "Oh, Tom Murdock, Tom Murdock! even now give me -up to these friends and be gone, and I swear there shall never be a -word more about it." - -But Tom Murdock was not the man either to yield to entreaties, or to -be baffled in his purpose. He had waled Edward Lennon with the butt -end of his whip about the head and shoulders as well as he could -across his horse's head, which Lennon had judiciously kept between -them, at times making a jump up and striking at Tom with his stick. - -Matters had now been interrupted too long to please Tom Murdock, and -darting his heels once more into his horse's sides, he sprang forward, -rolling young Lennon on the road again. - -"All right now, lads!" he cried; "on, on with the cart!" and he rode -at old Lennon, who still held his ground against both his antagonists -manfully. - -But all was not right. A cry of "The police, the police!" issued from -one of the men at the cart, and Jamesy Doyle with four policemen were -seen hurrying up the boreen from the lower road. - -Perhaps it would be unjust to accuse Tom Murdock of cowardice even -then--it was not one of his faults--if upon seeing an accession of -four armed policemen he turned to fly, leaving his companions in for -it. One of them fled too; but Pat Lennon held the other fast. - -As Tom turned to traverse the mountain pass back again at full speed, -Lennon, who had recovered himself, sprang like a tiger once more at -the horse's head. Now or never he must stay his progress. - -Tom Murdock tore the mask from his face, and, pulling a loaded pistol -from his breast, he said: "Lennon, it was not my intention to injure -you when I saw you first spring up from the bridge to-night; nor will -I do so now, if your own obstinacy and foolhardy madness does not -bring your doom upon yourself. Let go my horse, or by hell I'll blow -your brains out! this shall be no mere tip of the hurl, mind you." And -he levelled the pistol at his head, not more than a foot from his -face. - -"Never, with life!" cried Lennon; and he aimed a blow at Tom's -pistol-arm. Ah, fatal and unhappy chance! His stick had been raised to -strike Tom Murdock down, and he had not time to alter its direction. -Had he struck the pistol-arm upward, it might have been otherwise; but -the blow of necessity descended. Tom Murdock fired at the same moment, -and the only difference it made was, that instead of his brains having -been blown out, the ball entered a little to one side of his left -breast. - -Lennon jumped three feet from the ground, with a short, sudden shout, -and rolled convulsively upon the road, where soon a pool of bloody mud -attested the murderous work which had been done. - -The angel of the dawn now awoke, as he heard the report of the pistol -echoing and reverberating through every recess in the many hearts of -Slieve-dhu and Slieve-bawn. Tom Murdock fled at full gallop; and the -hearts of the policemen fell as they heard the clattering of his -horse's feet dying away in quadruple regularity through the mountain -pass. - -Jamesy Doyle, who was light of foot and without shoe or stocking, -rushed forward, saying, "Sergeant, I'll follow him to the end of the -pass, {114} an' see what road he'll take." And he sped onward like a -deer. - -"Come, Maher," said the sergeant, "we'll pursue, however hopeless. -Cotter, let you stop with the prisoner we have and the Young woman; -and let Donovan stop with the wounded man, and stop the blood if he -can." - -Sergeant Driscol and Maher then started at the top of their speed, in -the track of Jamesy Doyle, in full pursuit. - -There were many turns and twists in the pass between the mountains. It -was like a dozen large letter S's strung together. - -Driscol stopped for a moment to listen. Jamesy was beyond their ken, -round one or two of the turns, and they could not hear the horse -galloping now. - -"All's lost," said the sergeant; "he's clean gone. Let us hasten on -until we meet the boy; perhaps he knows which road he took." - -Jamesy had been stooping now and then, and peering into the coming -lights to keep well in view the man whom he pursued. Ay, there he was, -sure enough; he saw him, almost plainly, galloping at the top of his -speed. Suddenly he' heard a crash, and horse and rider rolled upon -the ground. - -"He's down, thank God!" cried Jamesy, still rushing forward with some -hope, and peering into the distance. Presently he saw the horse trot -on with his head and tail in the air, without his rider, while a dark -mass lay in the centre of the road. - -"You couldn't have betther luck, you bloodthirsty ruffian, you!" said -Jamesy, who thought that it was heaven's lightning that, in justice, -had struck down Tom Murdock; and he maintained the same opinion ever -afterward. At present, however, he had not time to philosophize upon -the thought, but rushed on. - -Soon he came to the dark mass upon the road. It was Tom Murdock who -lay there stunned and insensible, but not seriously hurt by the fall. -There was nothing of heaven's lightning in the matter at all. It was -the common come-down of a stumbling horse upon a bad mountain road; -but the result was the same. - -Jamesy was proceeding to thank God again, and to tie his legs, when -Tom came to. - -Jamesy was sorry the man's _thrance_ did not last a little longer, -that he might have tied him, legs and arms. With his own handkerchief -and suspenders. But he was late now, and not quite sure that Tom -Murdock would not murder him also, and "make off afoot." - -Here Jamesy thought he heard the hurried step of the police coming -round the last turn toward him, and as Tom was struggling to his feet, -a bright thought struck him. He "whipt" out a penknife he had in his -pocket, and, before Tom had sufficiently recovered to know what he was -about, he had cut his suspenders, and given the waist-band of his -trousers a _slip_ of the knife, opening it more than a foot down the -back. - -Tom had now sufficiently recovered to understand what had happened, -and to know the strait he was in. He had a short time before seen a -man named Wolff play Richard III. in a barn in C.O.S.; and if he did -not roar lustily, "A horse, a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" he -thought it. But his horse was nearly half a mile away, where a green -spot upon the roadside tempted him to delay a little his journey home. - -Tom was not yet aware of the approach of the police. He made a -desperate swipe of his whip, which he still held in his hand, at the -boy, and sprung to his feet. But Jamesy avoided the blow by a side -jump, and kept roaring, "Police, police!" at the top of his voice. Tom -now found that he had been outwitted by this young boy. He was so -hampered by his loose trousers about his heels that he could make no -run for it, and soon became the prisoner of Sergeant Driscol and his -companion. Well done, Jamesy! - - - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -{115} - -Translated from Le Monde Catholique. - -FREDERICK HURTER. - - -Frederick Hurter, the illustrious historian of Pope Innocent III., -died on the 27th of August, 1865, in Gratz, Austria, in the -sevens-eighth year of his age. Of all the great Catholic characters -which we have lost during the past year, there were undoubtedly very -few who have shed a greater brilliancy on our era, and still our loss -has, comparatively, passed unnoticed. Germany has certainly paid some -homage to the memory of that great Christian; but outside that country -almost general silence has enshrouded his tomb. In France, for -example, not more than three or four religious newspapers have devoted -to him even a few lines, and these all derived from a common source, -and we should not be surprised if many of our own readers should now -learn for the first time, from this notice, the death of a man so -justly celebrated. - -To what, then, have we to ascribe this forgetfulness or indifference? -Perhaps a simple comparison of dates will account for it. Hurter died, -as we have stated, in the latter part of August, and La Moricière in -the early part of the following month. It is therefore natural to -conjecture that the memory of the great historian was almost -forgotten, or for the time absorbed, in the midst of the extraordinary -manifestations and triumphal funeral ceremonies which have honored the -remains of the immortal vanquished of Castelfidardo. It must be -admitted, however, that such was not just; it would have been better -to allow to each his legitimate share of respect, and, without -derogating from the glory of La Moricière, render also to Hurter the -honor to which he was so justly entitled. Beside, their names were -destined to be associated, for both have fought under the same flag, -although in a different manner. Both have been the champions of the -Papal See, one with his brave sword and the other with his not less -brave pen; and both have left magnificent footprints in the religious -annals of the nineteenth century. - -Another explanation of this apparent neglect, more natural and perhaps -more truthful, might be found in the character of Frederick Hurter -itself, and in that of his last writings. A long time previous to his -death he had achieved the zenith of his fame; the latter part of his -long life being devoted to learned studies of undoubted merit and -immense advantage, but which have not had the same general attraction -as his earlier productions, particularly with the French people. We -freely acknowledge that this fact does but little credit to the -Catholic mind of France, but it is nevertheless undeniable. A kind of -comparative obscurity has covered with us the latter portion of -Hurter's life, and this, in our opinion, is the principal reason that -the news of his death has not created a deeper sensation in this -country. - -In order to repair, as far as it lies in our power, this injustice -which the Catholics of Germany might well consider unfair or -ungrateful, we would like to render, in these few pages, at least a -feeble homage to the illustrious dead. We desire to gather together a -few of the glorious remembrances which are associated with his name, -and, above all, to point out that insatiable love of truth and justice -which {116} was the distinguishing feature of his character and which -seems to have pervaded his whole being under all circumstances and at -all times. - -Frederick Emmanuel Hurter was born of Protestant parents on the 19th -of May, 1787, in Schaffhausen, Switzerland. His father was prefect of -Lugano; his mother remarkable for her intellect as well as for her -decision of character, having sprung from the noble family of the -Zieglers. When scarcely six years old, the child was deeply moved at -hearing an account of the execution of Louis the Sixteenth, and before -he had attained the age of twelve years he had conceived such a -distaste for the excesses of the revolutionary spirit then prevailing -that it seems never to have forsaken him. At this early age he was an -eager student of the "History of the Seven Years' War," and declared -himself in favor of Maria Theresa and against the King of Prussia. Two -years afterward a discussion having arisen between himself, his -school-fellows, and his teacher, on the relative merits of Pompey and -Caesar, he promptly and energetically took the part of the former, -believing that in the character of the latter was to be seen the -personification of the revolutionary spirit. These were the first -germs of that admirable sense of right which distinguished him on all -occasions. There could even then be foreseen in that child the future -man destined at some day to be the defender of the most august power -in the world. - -From his youth upward, and doubtless from the same feeling of being -right, he applied himself with marked attention to ascertain the true -history of that most misrepresented epoch, the middle ages, its -monastic institutions, and its great pontiffs. Of the latter St. -Gregory VII. seemed to have most attracted him, and his youthful mind -seems to have delighted in comparing him with the great men of ancient -Rome. - -Having finished his preliminary studies in his native town, Hurter -studied in the different classes of theology at the University of -Göttingen, whence he obtained his diploma, and, having been first -appointed pastor of an obscure village, was soon removed to -Schaffhausen. - -In 1824 he was appointed chancellor of the consistory; but neither his -theological studies nor the duties of his office as pastor, a calling -he had embraced through deference for his father rather than from -personal inclination, diverted him from the object of his early -predilections. Thus, while at Göttingen he found leisure to write a -"History of Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths." It was his first essay -as historian, being at the time only twenty years old. - -Later he wrote a book on the following subject, proposed by the -National Institute of France: "The Civil State during the Government -of the Goths, and the Fundamental Principles of the Legislation of -Theodoric and his Successors." But this work remained among his -manuscripts unpublished. It was at Schaffhausen that he resumed his -favorite studies on the middle ages, and completed them. His great -attraction was not, as might be expected, Gregory VII., but Innocent -III., probably on account of a collection of letters written by that -great pontiff, published by Baluze, and which he had formerly bought -at public sale at Göttingen. He certainly had not then the remotest -idea that that book would at some future day form the foundation of -his fame, and the means of a radical change in his Christian and -social life. He commenced his book on Innocent III. in 1818, but it -was not until 1833 that the first volume appeared. The second was -published the year following. In 1835 he became president of the -consistory, an office which placed him at the head of the clergy of -his district, and which he resigned after fulfilling its duties for -six years. He published the third volume of his "History of Pope -Innocent" in the meantime, and in {117} 1842 the fourth and last -volume was given to the press. - -This "History" was not only a great literary success, it was more. It -produced a decided revolution in historical science. The effect of it -in Switzerland, Germany, and in fact the whole of Europe, was immense. -The extraordinary part enacted by that great Pope was seen for the -first time in its proper light. By the irresistible logic of facts, -Hurler demonstrated how the august institutions of the papacy -accomplished its mission with a success which, up to his time, had -never been conjectured. Every one became convinced that it was the -papacy alone that had mastered and tempered the overwhelming forces of -the half-civilized nations of Europe, in order to more eternal and -spiritual ends. "Since then," says Hurter himself, in his preface to -the third German edition of his first volume, page 21, "a great number -of inveterate errors were corrected, many traditional prejudices -dissipated, many doubts removed; certain minds drew light therefrom, -others found a guide in it, and others attained _conviction_ from its -pages. Comparing the present with the past, people became more -circumspect in their judgments and less inconsistent in their -conclusions, and at last an answer was found to the famous question of -the Roman governor, "What is truth?" (_Quid est veritas?_) "Truth is -what is based on the indisputable proofs of history and agrees with -the nature of all things." Sebastian Brunner, a distinguished German -writer, after reading the "History of Innocent III.," gave the -following opinion of its author: "I hold Mr. Hurter to be the greatest -of historians; no one previous to him embraces a whole century in so -admirable a picture. Hurter is the apostolic historian of the -nineteenth century." This apostleship of Frederick Hurter was the more -efficient, being exercised by a Protestant, and, what was more, by the -president of a consistory. And beside, who would not yield to the -testimony of a man whose loyalty and integrity were above all -suspicion, and who had made it the rule of his life to observe the -most rigid impartiality in all his own views; to seek nothing but the -truth, and to honor virtue and merit wherever met, without excepting -those who differed from him, so as to neglect nothing in the -accomplishment of his task in the most perfect possible manner? His -indeed were admirable qualities, particularly when we consider how -history was written in those times by writers looked upon as models -and masters. But let us not enlarge on this topic; the "History of -Innocent" is found in every library; let us rather show how that book -earned for its author a reward far greater than mere worldly -reputation. - -His literary success, and, what was more, the undeniable services he -had rendered to the Catholic cause, could not but excite the jealousy -and dislike of his fellow Protestants. His "Excursion to Vienna and -Presburg," which was published soon after he visited Austria, in 1839, -excited their anger to the highest degree. Blinded by their passions, -they resolved to put him on trial, so as to find him guilty and so -depose him. In his "Exposé of the Motives of his Conversion" he states -that they put him the unfair question, "Are you a Protestant at -heart?" "This question," he continues, "had no relation whatever with -the alleged facts bearing on my public office, but only with my -'History of Innocent III.' and with a visit to Vienna. I refused to -answer, because they wanted rather to discover what I disbelieved than -what I believed." This refusal excited a violent storm of indignation -against him. After trying many times to avert it, and after suffering -the most unworthy attacks with patience and fortitude, he seized his -pen and fulminated his defense under the following title, "President -Hurter and his Pretended Colleagues." - -More painful trials still awaited him. Two of his daughters, one -immediately after the other, became afflicted with {118} a malady -which was soon to deprive him of them, and, while prayers for their -recovery were being offered up in all the Catholic convents of -Switzerland, his puritanical opponents exhibited the most uncharitable -joy, thrusting the dagger of grief still further into a parent's -heart. A less energetic character would doubtless have succumbed to -such cruel wounds, but Hurter remained true to the maxim of the poet: - - "Justum et tenacem propositi virum - Non civium ardor, prava jubentium, - Non vultus instantis _tyranni_ - Mente quatit solida. . ." - -"The race of those tyrants is not yet extinct," he somewhere says. "I -find still men who desire every one to bow before them, and that -everything they do against those who dare discard such a miserable -servitude should be commended." [Footnote 21] Hurter did better than -to imitate the ancient philosopher; he accepted his trials with truly -Christian resignation, perceiving in them the call of God to newer and -higher duties. "I discovered in them," he writes, "the means of my -salvation and my sanctification. I look upon the storm which has burst -over me as a signal on the road I have to follow. At the same time I -received the deep conviction that no peace was to be expected with -such people. My choice was therefore made. I threw off titles, -offices, and incomes, and went back to private life because I was -disgusted with a sect which, through rationalism, upset all Christian -dogmas, and, through pietism, tramples morals under foot." [Footnote -22] What hearty frankness, what Noble feelings, and what a true sense -of justice! - - [Footnote 21: Third ed., 1st vol. (Pref. P. V.)] - - [Footnote 22: "Life of Fr. Hurter," by A. de Saint Cheron, p. 120. - Some of the details of this article are extracted from this work, as - well as from an article published in "Le Catholique" of Mayence, of - September, 1865.] - - -Justice he demanded as well for others as for himself; therefore he -did not fear to defend the Catholic cause in his books. In his work on -the "Convents of Argovia and their Accusers" (1841), and on the -"Persecutions of the Catholic Church in Switzerland" (1843), he -denounces the tyranny of his Protestant compatriots in unmeasured -terms. For this reason, also, he went to Paris in 1843 to plead, -although in vain, the cause of the Catholics in Switzerland. - -Having, as we have seen, resigned his position, he had ample leisure -to devote himself to the more profound study of the Catholic doctrine, -the dogmas of which he had already inwardly admitted. The "Symbolism" -of Moehler he found of great utility, and the "Exposition of the Holy -Mass," by Innocent III., served greatly to strengthen his religious -convictions. - -Hurter, however, was not precipitate. He desired that in taking so -important a step conviction should be preceded by mature deliberation. -About this time he writes: "He would certainly be mistaken who should -think that I entered the _interior_ of the Catholic Church because I -was solely led away by its external forms. I was neither a wanderer -nor hair-brained. Undoubtedly the exterior impressed me; but I was -not, however, therefore relieved from examining its fundamental -principles with due care, or from studying the interior with proper -caution. I entered it first through curiosity, a mere visitor, as it -were, and I examined everything that I saw like one who, wanting to -purchase a house, first looks closely at every part of it before -closing the bargain. In that way I think I acquired, on many points, -truer and more complete ideas than the frequenters of the house, and -those who have spent their lives in it. I have too long postponed my -free decision not to have earned the right to be able to decide -whether the house suits me or not, or if any changes be required." - -It is interesting to see, in his "Exposition of Motives," the -narration of all the doubts under which he labored previous to making -a final decision; how his mind gradually approached to a knowledge of -the truth as he progressed in his investigation; how a thousand -external circumstances, designed by Providence, powerfully {119} -contributed to shake his will, and finally how his conversion was less -his own work than the effect of that divine favor solicited by -Catholic charity, of which he speaks so feelingly in his "Geburt und -Wiedergebart." - -The struggle was at last over. On the 16th of June, the feast of St. -Francis Regis, he formally made his abjuration before Cardinal Ostini, -formerly nuncio in Switzerland, at the Roman college, and five days -afterward, on the feast of St. Louis de Gonzaga, he received the -blessed sacrament in the presence of an immense congregation of the -faithful. The prophetic words of Gregory XVI. were then confirmed: -"_Spero che lei sera mio figlio_" (I hope that one day you will be my -son). The church and her head numbered one child more. God had thus -rewarded by his grace the perfect sincerity which the humble penitent -had ever made the rule of his life. We may also be allowed to believe -that the sweet protection of the Mother of God had efficaciously -operated in his favor, for even while a Protestant he had many times -pleaded her cause with his brethren. - -The news of his conversion created quite different feelings. If the -great Catholic family rejoiced, and with unanimous voice thanked God -for having favorably heard their prayers, Protestantism felt wounded -to the very heart. The reason is easily understood. The edifying -example of humility exhibited by a man like Hurter was necessary to -win over a great number of souls until then irresolute and wavering, -as some planets attract their satellites in space. - -As to him, full of gratitude toward God, his soul replete with light -and peace, his head high and serene, he went back to his native town -to resume his literary labors in retirement, as well as to undergo a -series of new persecutions, the last consecration of the Christian. "I -am not so narrow-minded," he wrote some time afterward, "that I did -not expect wicked judgments, base calumnies, and every kind of insult. -Facts have, however, far exceeded my anticipations, and I must confess -that I did not think those men capable of going so far in their -wickedness." Finally it became impossible for Hurter to remain longer -at Schaffhausen, and, beside, a new and better career was soon opened -for him. He received from Vienna an invitation to become the -historiographer of the empire. He accepted the appointment and entered -upon the fulfilment of its duties. Safe from the interruptions caused -by the troubles of 1848, he soon after accepted the position, of privy -councillor and the patent of nobility which were tendered him. - -The last portion of his life was devoted to the practice of Christian -virtues and to the completion of his great work on Ferdinand II. To -this book he devoted twenty years' arduous labor, and was fortunate -enough to complete it one year previous to his death. - -In commencing this work Hurter collected all his powerful faculties, -intending to display in its composition all that remarkable mental -energy with which he had been gifted by nature. With incredible -patience he examined one after another thousands of documents of all -kinds long buried in the archives of the empire, and most of which -were utterly unknown even to the learned. He could not understand to -be history that which was not supported by undeniable documents. _Quod -non est in actis, non est in mundo_, was his maxim--a maxim, alas! -which is too often neglected by the generality of our modern -historians. Nothing excelled his perseverance, I might almost say his -rapture, when he desired to throw light on an obscure fact, to fill a -hiatus, or to discover any historical truth. Never, perhaps, were -scruples of accuracy, and at the same time independence of thought and -courage in expression, carried to greater limits. Let us add, that -when composing the "History of Ferdinand II." he was filled with a -strong sympathy for his subject, and {120} in his admiration for that -great man he could, like Tacitus, console himself with the sight of -like grievances, and say with the Roman historian: _Ego hoc quoque -laboris praemium petam, ut me a conspectu malorum, quae nostra tot per -annos vidit aetas, tantisper, aum prisca illa tota mente repeto, -avertam, omnis expers curae quae scribentis animum, etsi non flectere -a vero, sollicitum tamen efficere possit._ - -This work of Hurter's consists of eleven volumes. The first seven -comprise the history of events from the reign of Archduke Charles, -father of Ferdinand II., to the coronation of the latter prince; the -remaining four being exclusively devoted to the reign of Ferdinand. In -this comprehensive review of the events of that epoch the illustrious -author has shown, by the light of true history, the great emperor and -all the principal personages by whom he was surrounded, or in any way -connected; particularly portraying the Archduke Charles, the -Archduchess Maria, that splendid model of a Christian mother, Gustavus -Adolphus of Sweden, Tilly, and Wallenstein. Hurter studied the -character of the latter with particular zeal, first in his sketch of -the "Material to be used for the History of Wallenstein" (1855), and -then in the more elaborate monography, "The last Four Years of -Wallenstein" (1862), and finally in the "History of Ferdinand" itself. -He arrives at the conclusion that the Duke of Friedland had really -been guilty of treason, and that his tragic end is in no way to be -attributed to Ferdinand. At the same time he does full justice to the -great qualities of Wallenstein, acknowledging in him great capacity -for organization, wonderful activity, and almost regal liberality; nor -does he hesitate to class him among not only the greatest men of his -age, but of all time. - -But, as may be well understood, his great central figure was -Ferdinand, whom he considers a most admirable and accomplished type of -all the virtues surrounding royalty, notwithstanding his memory has -been burthened with such foul calumnies by Protestant historians and -their copyists. To relieve his name from these unjust aspersions was a -task worthy of the genius of the historian of Innocent III. Having -shown in the life of that pontiff the true embodiment of the Christian -principles of the supreme priesthood, should he not also point out a -temporal prince as the personification of genuine Catholic royalty? - -We would desire to reproduce here the incomparable portrait of -Ferdinand as it has been drawn by Hurter in his last volume, but, -unfortunately, the limits of this article do not permit it. What -compensates us, in some measure, for being able to give only so feeble -an idea of that great work is, that we hope soon to see the _studies_ -undertaken to speak of it more fully. We hope also that a competent -translator will be soon found to give to France that work which, with -the "History of Innocent III.," will immortalize the name of Hurter. - -Yes, the great historian shall live in his writings, in which he has -shown a soul so strong, so firm, so just, so humble, and yet so proud; -so earnestly devoted to truth and so deeply adverse to falsehood, -meanness, and hypocrisy. He will live in those countless works of -charity of which he was the ever efficient author. He will live in the -remembrance of so many hearts he has edified by his pious example, -strengthened by his advice, and brought back to the true path by his -admonitions. He will live, also, in the perpetual and grateful regard -of a company, always so dear to him, to which he has given one of his -sons, and whose motto he was proud to quote on the frontispiece of his -great work. _Ad majorem Dei gloriam_. - -We will end this sketch by repeating the words which an apostolic -missionary, now a cardinal, once applied to the great historian; they -cannot be {121} better or more happily chosen to sum up his whole -life. Twenty years ago, after being a witness to his conversion, the -Abbé de Bonnechose, writing from Rome, says of him: "_Justum deduxit -Dominus per vias rectas et ostendit illi regnum Dei, et dedit illi -scientiam sanctorum; honestavit illum in laboribus et complevit -labores illius_" (Sap. x.) Yes, Hurter's mind was right, and God led -him by the hand. He has shown him his kingdom on earth, the church of -Christ, and the chair of Peter, where his authority sits enthroned, -where he speaks and governs in the person of his vicar. It was he who -endowed him with a knowledge of the science and philosophy of his -doctrine and of the divine mysteries of the faith, and inspired in him -those noble ideas the end and aim of which ought always to be the -worship and exaltation of the true church, and the defence of the -pontificate when calumniated. He has blessed the labors which have -been conducted with such success, filling them with spirit and energy, -to the end that they may bear the fruits of immortality! _Honestavit -illum in laboribus et complevit labores illius._ - -J. MARTINOF. - ------- - -WORDS OF WISDOM. - -TRANSLATED FROM THE CHINESE BY DR. BOWRING. - - To seek relief from doubt in doubt, - From woe in woe, from sin in sin-- - Is but to drive a tiger out, - And let a hungry wolf come in. - - Who helps a knave in knavery. - But aids an ape to climb a tree! - On an ape's head a crown you fling; - Say--Will that make the ape a king? - - Know you why the lark's sweet lay - Man's divinest nature reaches? - He is up at break of day - Learning all that nature teaches. - - The record of past history brings - Wisdom of sages, saints, and kings; - The more we read those reverend pages - The more we honor bygone ages! - - Whate'er befit--whate'er befal. - One general law commandeth all: - There's no confusion in the springs - That move all sublunary things. - All harmony is heaven's vast plan-- - All discord is the work of man! - -{122} - - -From The Sixpenny Magazine. - -IRELAND AND THE INFORMERS OF 1798. - - -There has lately issued from the press a work under the title which -heads our article, and which is amusing and instructive in the highest -degree. Were it not written by a man whose ability and character are -pledges for his veracity, we should rank it with Harrison Ainsworth's -efforts, and designate it as an almost impossible romance. It has, as -we think, appeared at a very opportune and timely juncture, and, in -our opinion, Mr. Fitzpatrick is entitled to great praise for the -talent, industry, and research evidenced in his volume. - -Francis Higgins, the hero of Mr. Fitzpatrick's remarkable biographical -sketch, and familiarly known by the title of "The Sham Squire," was -born nobody exactly knows where, and reared nobody knows how. He -commenced his career, however, in stirring times, and when great -events were in their parturition, during which the history of Ireland -presents a series of panoramic images--a mixture of light and -shadow--instances of devoted fidelity and abounding rascality-- -groupings of mistaken enthusiasm, selfish venality, and the most -abhorrent domestic treason--such as we in vain look for in the annals -of any other country or any other age. It is supposed that Higgins was -born in a Dublin cellar, and while yet of tender years became -successively "errand-boy, shoeblack, and waiter in a -public-house"--improving trades for one of so ripe a spirit, but which -he soon left, directed by a vaulting ambition, in order to become a -writing-clerk in an attorney's office. While in this position, he -commenced practice on his own account, by rejecting popery as -unfashionable and impolitic, and by forging a series of legal -documents purporting to show to all "inquiring friends" that he was a -man of property and a government official. He had an object in this, -as he was by this time to appear in a new character, as the lover of -Miss Mary Anne Archer, who possessed a tolerable fortune and a foolish -old father. Miss Archer happened to be a Roman Catholic, and was -strong in her faith; but this was only a trifle to Higgins, who again -forsook the new creed for the old, and proved thereby, like Richard, -"a thriving wooer." They were married, and the Archer _père_ did at -last what he ought to have done at first, ferreted out the real -antecedents of his precious son-in-law, and discovered that he had a -very clever fellow to deal with; while his daughter, finding, after a -short time, that her husband was "by no means a desirable one," fled -back to her bamboozled parent, who straightway indicted the pretender. -Higgins was found guilty and imprisoned for a year, and it was during -Judge Robinson's charge to the jury that he fastened the name of the -"Sham Squire" on the prisoner, a sobriquet which stuck to him -persistently during the remainder of his life, and proved a greater -infliction to his vanity than an apparently heavier penalty would have -been. This was in 1767. "Poor Mary Anne" died of a broken heart, and -her parents survived her for only a short lime; while the widower, in -order to make his prison life endurable, paid his addresses to the -daughter of the gaoler and eventually married her, as her father was -pretty well to do in the world, the situation being a {123} -money-making one, as the order of that day was, as proved before the -Irish House of Commons, that "persons were unlawfully kept in prison -and loaded with irons, although not duly committed by a magistrate, -until they had complied with the most exorbitant demands." When the -Sham's term of a year's imprisonment ended, he had life to begin anew, -and for some years we find him exercising many vocations, such as -"setter" for excise officers, billiard-marker, hosier, etc. For an -assault as a "setter," he was again tried and again convicted; but -nothing daunted, as his old webs were broken, he proceeded in the -construction of new. In 1775, we not only find him "a hosier," but -president of the Guild of Hosiers; and in 1780 his services were -engaged by Mr. David Gibbal, conductor of the "Freeman's Journal," -then, as now, one of the most popular and well-conducted papers in -Ireland. But from the period of the Sham Squire's connection with it, -it seems to have degenerated, as in April, 1784, the journals of the -Irish House of Commons show an "order" that "Francis Higgins, one of -the conductors of the 'Freeman's Journal,' do attend this house -to-morrow morning." He did so, and escaped with a reproof. Having -gained some knowledge of law in the solicitor's office, we now find -him anxious to become an attorney, which end he accomplished by the -aid and influence of his friend and patron John Scott, afterward -chief-justice, and elevated to the peerage as Lord Clonmel, rather for -his political talents than his professional ones. From 1784 to 1787 -Higgins also acted as deputy coroner for Dublin. By a series of -manoeuvres he became the sole proprietor of the "Freeman's Journal," -and became at once what is called in Ireland "a castle hack." Both as -attorney and editor, the Sham Squire was now a man of importance, and -many called in on him. Shrewd, sharp, and clever, with a glib tongue -and a facile pen, no business was either too difficult or too dirty -for him. He was made a justice of the peace by Lord Carhampton, who, -as Colonel Luttrell, was designated by Grattan as "a clever bravo, -ready to give an insult, and perhaps capable of bearing one;" in fact, -the last allusion was deserved, as Luttrell had been called "vile and -infamous" by Scott without resenting it. Lord Carhampton became -commander-in-chief in Ireland, and during the outbreak of '98 was a -merciless foe to the rebels who fell into his hands. Higgins, by this -time, had become a great man, and lived in St. Stephen's Green, in -magnificent style, keeping his coach and entertaining the nobility. He -was a loyalist of the rosiest hue, and thought no mission too -derogatory by which he might show his zeal. He attended divine service -regularly, and that over, proceeded to "Crane Lane," in order to count -over and receive his share of the gains in a gambling house of which -he was principal proprietor, and which his influence with the police -magistrates prevented the suppression of--then to his editorial -duties, which were to uphold the measures of government and its -officials, and to lampoon, cajole, or threaten all who dared to oppose -them. - -It was in the disastrous period of '98, however, that the Sham -Squire's most sterling qualities came into active requisition, as -evidenced by the following extract of a letter written by the -Secretary Cooke to Lord Cornwallis, then lord lieutenant of Ireland. -"Francis Higgins," he writes, "proprietor of the 'Freeman's Journal,' -was the person who procured for me all the intelligence respecting -Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and got--to set him, and has given me -otherwise much information--£300;" meaning thereby that his -excellency should sanction that annual amount for "secret service," -out of a sum of £15,000, specially laid aside for that purpose. Beside -this, however, a lump sum of £1000 was given to Higgins on the 20th of -June, 1798, for the betrayal of his friend; and, independent of this, -a confederate of his named Francis Magan, a barrister, {124} and a -close ally of Lord Edward, and who positively "set" the unfortunate -nobleman at Higgins's instigation, received £600 and a pension of £200 -per annum for the worthy deed. Probably the most startling of all -these revelations of domestic treachery was the conduct of Leonard -McNally, barrister at law, and selected "for his ability, truth, zeal, -and sterling honesty," as Curran's assistant in defending the -prisoners implicated in the rebellion. This fellow seems to have -outsoared even Higgins and Magan in his duplicity, since not alone did -he keep government duly informed of the movements of the suspected, -but when on their trial he exhibited the greatest activity in -suggesting points for their defence, seconding his celebrated leader -in his unwearied endeavors to save them, although he had previously -made known to the law officers what course the accused men's counsel -meant to take for the day, so that Curran and his legal friends were -puzzled and surprised at having their best-concocted measures -anticipated and baffled, although not a man of them ever thought of -looking to "honest Mac" as the cause. For this and other services -McNally received some thousands, and was gratified, in addition, with -a pension of £300 per annum. Singularly enough, the terrible secrets -of Magan and McNally were well kept until long after their deaths, and -until the publication of the "Cornwallis Papers" enabled inquirers to -strike on the true vein. Both these men are said to have been -corrupted by the Sham Squire, who seems to have been the -Mephistopheles of his time; but a still more notorious "informer," -because an open one, was Reynolds--Tom Reynolds--who was promised a -pension of £2000 a year and a seat in parliament for his services, but -did not receive quite so much. In 1798, however, he received £5000 and -a pension of £1000 a year; and as his demands were always importunate, -it is known that during the remainder of his life he extracted £45,740 -from his employers. Reynolds went abroad and died there, as Ireland -would hardly have been for him either a safe or a pleasant residence; -but Magan and McNally lived at home for many a goodly year, and were -looked upon as honest men and sterling patriots to the last. Higgins -did not long survive his victims; he died suddenly, in 1802, worth -£20,000, a greater part of which, strange to say, he left for -charitable purposes! - -In reviewing thus the history of this Irish Jonathan Wild and his -detestable comrogues, our object must, we hope, be evident. Their -lives and actions are instructive in many ways, and never promised to -be more so than now. What happened then may happen again; treason will -be dogged by traitors to the end. Fear and avarice are omnipotent -counsellors, and, when coupled with talent and ingenuity, marvellous -indeed are the misery they can cause and the wide-spread devastation -that travels in their track. That a needy and unscrupulous vagabond -like Higgins should hunt his dearest friends to the scaffold is not to -be wondered at; but that men of position and education like Reynolds, -McNally, and Magan should join in the chase, and for years after look -honest men in the face, evinces a hardihood of disposition and a -callosity of conscience which, as a lesson, is instructive, and, as an -utter disregard of remorseful feeling, appears all but impossible. No -doubt such miscreants excuse their crimes on a plea of loyalty, and -the plea would be all-sufficient had they not stipulated for the -price, and had they not exulted in receiving it. There is something -especially abhorrent to our natures in those wretches who voluntarily -plunge into the ranks of anarchy and disaffection at one time, and -then, when cowardice or cupidity overcomes them, overleap all the -boundaries of honor and faith, and trade on the blood or suffering of -the unfortunate men who placed their liberties or lives in their -safe-keeping. - -{125} - -In the notes which Mr. Fitzpatrick has appended to his biography of -the "Sham Squire" as "addenda" we have some well-authenticated and -racy revelations of many of the singular Irish characters who -flourished during the last thirty or forty years of the last century, -and in the first few years of the beginning of this. Ireland appears -to have been the "paradise of adventurers" in that day, as the times -appear to have been out of joint, and the habits and general _morale_ -of the upper and middle ranks were to the last degree loose and -irregular. As the manners and modes of action of a people are in a -considerable degree fashioned and influenced by the example set them -by those who are placed in authority over them, it is not too much to -assert that a great deal of the lax morality, unscrupulous spirit, and -general demoralization were produced by some of the occupants of the -vice-regal throne, and their "courts," the character and course of -life of whom are painted by our author in anything but a seductive -way. Brilliancy, show, pleasure, wit, and extravagance were the order -of the day; lords-lieutenant were either dissipated _roués_, or -incompetent imbeciles, and in either case they were sure to be coerced -or cajoled by a mercenary tribe of political adventurers, who directed -their actions and influenced their minds. We at once see by the -wholesale corruption practised to bring about the Union, how utterly -depraved must have been the men who openly or covertly prostituted -themselves, when it was in contemplation; and never was political -profligacy more open and more daring in its violation of honor, -probity, and principle than in the abject submission of the Irish -parliament, and its unhesitating anxiety to sell themselves, souls and -bodies, to those who tempted them, and who had studied them far too -accurately not to be sure of their prey. Amongst those who consented -to accept the remuneration thus profusely offered them the lawyers -bore a very prominent part; in fact, government could hardly have -succeeded without their aid; of these, Fitzgibbon, afterward Lord -Clare and chancellor, was the most forward and efficient. There was -never a man better adapted for the work he had to do. Bold, active, -astute, and unscrupulous, he could be all things to all men; those -whom he could not cajole, he frightened; equally ready with the pen, -the pistol, and the tongue, he was neither to be daunted nor silenced; -terrible in his vengeance, no windings of his victims could escape -him; and extravagant in his generosity (when the public purse had to -bear the blunt), his jackals and partisans felt that their reward was -sure, and therefore never hesitated to comply with his most exact -demands. Few men had a larger number of followers, therefore, and no -man ever made a more unscrupulous use of them. He had nothing of the -recusant about him, however, and first and last he was consistent to -his party and to the Protestant creed which he had adopted in early -life, for he had been born and partly reared in the Roman Catholic -faith. In his personal demeanor he was a lion-hearted man; when hissed -in the streets by the populace he calmly produced his pistols; and -once, on hearing that a political meeting against the Union was being -held, he rushed into the middle of the assembled mass, commanded the -high-sheriff to quit the chair, and so closed the meeting. On the -bench he was equally fearless, and when recommended to beware of -treachery, his answer was, "They dare not; I have made them as tame as -cats." "If I live," he said, "to see the Union completed, to my latest -hour I shall feel an honorable pride in reflecting on the share I had -in contributing to effect it." He did live to see it, and to take his -seat in the British parliament; but matters were altogether altered -there. In his maiden effort he was rebuked by Lord Suffolk, called to -order by the lord chancellor, while the Duke of Bedford indignantly -snubbed him by {126} exclaiming, "We would not bear such insults from -our _equals_, and shall we, my lords, tolerate them at the hands of -mushroom nobility?" while, to cap the climax, Pitt, after hearing him, -turned to Wilberforce, and said loud enough to be heard by Lord Clare, -"Good G--d! did you ever, in all your life, listen to so -thorough-paced a scoundrel as that!" Disappointed and despairing, he -returned to Ireland, and died of a broken heart, while almost the last -words he uttered to a friend were, "Only to think of it! I that had -all Ireland at my disposal cannot now procure the nomination of a -single gauger!" - -John Scott, afterward Lord Chief-Justice Clonmel, was another -prominent actor in those busy times. His birth was lowly, but his -talents were considerable; he was light and flippant rather than -profound, and he felt to the last a terrible mortification that his -claims had been postponed to those of Lord Clare. He had neither the -grasp of mind, nor the unhesitating manner of the chancellor, however; -he was apt to surround himself with companions, like the "Sham -Squire," for instance, who might be pleasant but were by no means -reputable. Beside, his character for probity was distrusted; his first -uprise in life was his wholesale appropriation of the property of a -Catholic friend which he held in trust, as Catholics, at that time, -could not retain property in their hands, and which he refused to -disgorge. He was both venal and vindictive, and but too often -prostituted his authority in pursuit of his passions. On one occasion, -however, he was signally discomfited. A man of the name of Magee, who -owned and edited the "Evening Post," had frequently come under the -lash, and was treated with no mercy. Magee's vengeance took a curious -form. Lord Clonmel was an ardent lover of horticulture, and had spent -many thousand pounds in making his suburban villa a "model." Magee -knew this, and as the chief demesne was skirted by an open common from -which a thick hedge alone separated it, the journalist proclaimed a -rural _fête_, on an enormous scale, to be held on the vacant ground, -and to which the whole Dublin population, gentle and simple, were -invited. Meats and liquors were given to an unlimited extent, and, in -the evening, when the "roughs" were primed with whiskey, several pigs -(shaved and with their tails well soaped) were let out as part of the -amusement of the day. By preconcert, the affrighted animals were -driven against Lord Clonmel's inclosure, which they speedily -over-leaped, followed by the mob. Trees, shrubs, flowers, vases, and -statues were in a wonderfully short time demolished in the "fun," -while, to make the matter still more deplorable, the owner of the -property thus wantonly devoted to revenge stood on the steps of his -own hall-door, and with alternate fits of imprecation and entreaty -besought the spoilers to desist, but in vain. Toward the close of his -life, Lord Clonmel became a hypochondriac, and, supposing himself to -be a tea-pot, hardly ventured to stir abroad lest he should be broken. -On one occasion, his great forensic antagonist, Curran, was told that -Clonmel was going to die at last, and was asked if he believed it. "I -believe," was the reply, "that he is scoundrel enough to live or die -_just as it meets his convenience_." Shortly before his death he said -to Lord Cloncurry, "My dear Val, I have been a fortunate man, or what -the world calls so; I am chief-justice and an earl; but were I to -begin life again, I would rather be a chimney-sweeper, than consent to -be connected with the Irish government." - -Another "celebrity" was John Taler, "bully, butcher, and buffoon," who -was afterward a peer and a judge. He was a bravo in the house and a -despot on the bench. He jested with the wretched he condemned, and -seemed never so happy as when {127} the scaffold was before his eyes. -He was ignorant but ferocious, and when he could not conquer an -opponent he would browbeat him. - -"Give me a long day, my lord," said a culprit, whom he had just -doomed. - -"I am sorry to say I can't oblige you, my friend," replied Lord -Norbury, smiling; "but I promise you a strong rope, which I suppose -will answer your purpose as well." - -When he died, and was about to be lowered into the grave himself, the -tackle was rather short. - -"Tare-an-agers, boys, don't spare the _rope_ on his lordship; don't -you know he was always fond of it?" said one of the standers-by. - -"I never saw a human face that so closely resembles that of a -bull-dog!" remarked one barrister to another in court. - -"Let him get a grip of your throat, and you will find the resemblance -still closer," was the reply. - -These and a hundred others, their equals, instruments, and -subordinates, may be supposed to represent the Irish "turnspit" -element; it must be acknowledged, however, that in contradistinction -to them, there were sounding examples of men of a different and far -superior class, such as the Leinsters, Charlemonts, Plunketts, -Currans, Ponsonbys, and so forth, who would have adorned any country, -and who certainly contributed to relieve their own from the almost -intolerable odium which the wholesale venal profligacy of a large -number had brought upon it. - ------- - -From Once a Week. - -THE LEGEND OF THE LOCKHARTS. - -I. - - King Robert on his death-bed lay, wasted in every limb, - The priests had left, Black Douglas now alone was watching him; - The earl had wept to hear those words, "When I am gone to doom, - Take thou my heart and bear it straight unto the Holy Tomb." - -II. - - Douglas shed bitter tears of grief--he loved the buried man. - He bade farewell to home and wife, to brother and to clan; - And soon the Bruce's heart embalm'd, in silver casket lock'd, - Within a galley, white with sails, upon the blue waves rock'd. - -III. - - In Spain they rested, there the king besought the Scottish earl - To drive the Saracens from Spain, his galley sails to furl; - It was the brave knight's eagerness to quell the Paynim brood. - That made him then forget the oath he'd sworn upon the rood. - -IV. - - That was his sin; good angels frown'd upon him as he went - With vizor down and spear in rest, lips closed, and black brow bent: - Upon the turbans, fierce he spurr'd, the charger he bestrode - Was splash'd with blood, the robes and flags he trampled on the road. - -{128} - -V. - - The Moors came fast with cymbal clash and tossing javelin, - Ten thousand horsemen, at the least, on Castille closing in; - Quick as the deer's foot snaps the ice, the Douglas thundered through, - And struck with sword and smote with axe among the heathen crew. - -VI. - - The horse-tail banners beaten down, the mounted archers fled-- - There came full many an Arab curse from faces smear'd with red, - The vizor fell, a Scottish spear had struck him on the breast; - Many a Moslem's frighten'd horse was bleeding head and chest. - -VII. - - But suddenly the caitiffs turn'd and gathered like a net, - In closed the tossing sabres fast, and they were crimson wet, - Steel jarr'd on steel--the hammers smote on helmet and on sword, - But Douglas never ceased to charge upon that heathen horde. - -VIII. - - Till all at once his eager eye discerned amid the fight - St. Clair of Roslyn, Bruce's friend, a brave and trusty knight. - Beset with Moors who hew'd at him with sabres dripping blood-- - Twas in a rice-field where he stood close to an orange wood. - -IX. - - Then to the rescue of St. Clair Black Douglas spurred amain, - The Moslems circled him around, and shouting charged again; - Then took he from his neck the heart, and as the case he threw, - "Pass first in fight," he cried aloud, "as thou wert wont to do." - -X. - - They found him ere the sun had set upon that fatal day, - His body was above the case, that closely guarded lay. - His swarthy face was grim in death, his sable hair was stain'd - With the life-blood of a felon Moor, whom he had struck and brain*d. - -XI. - - Sir Simon Lockhart, knight of Lee, bore home the silver case. - To shrine it in a stately grave and in a holy place, - The Douglas deep in Spanish ground they left in royal tomb. - To wait in hope and patient trust the trumpet of the doom. - - -{129} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -REMINISCENCES OF DR. SPRING. [Footnote 23] - - [Footnote 23: "Personal Reminiscences of the Life and Times of - Gardiner Spring, Pastor of the Brick Presbyterian Church in the City - of New York." 2 vols. 12mo. New York: Charles Scribner & Company.] - -Few persons who have lived much in New York during the last quarter of -a century are not familiar with the dignified, resolute, yet kindly -countenance of the pastor of the Brick Presbyterian church. Fewer -still are ignorant of his reputation as a leading and representative -man in his denomination; a keen polemic; a great promoter of -missionary, tract, and Bible societies; and, we may add, a very -determined enemy of the Pope of Rome and all his aiders and abettors. -For more than fifty-five years he has preached to the same -congregation which gave him a call when he was first licensed as a -minister. During his career thirteen Presidents of the United States, -from Washington to Lincoln, have died; three Kings of England have -been laid in their graves; the horrors of the Reign of Terror, the -execution of Louis XVI., the rise and fall of the first Napoleon, the -shifting scenes of the Restoration, the Orleans rule, the second -Republic and the second Empire, have hurried each other across the -stage of French history. He has long passed the scriptural term of the -life of man; and now, at the almost patriarchal age of eighty-one, he -gives us a collection of reminiscences of what he has seen and done -during this protracted and eventful career. - -It would be natural to suppose that such a book by such a man must be -full of interest. As one of the recognized leaders of a rich and -influential religious denomination, and one of the oldest and most -respectable citizens of the first city of America, how many historical -characters must he have met! to how many important events must he have -been a witness! But any one who takes up these volumes in the hope of -obtaining through them a clearer view of persons and times gone by, -will be disappointed. They are interesting, it is true, but not, we -will venture to say, in the way their author meant them to be. They -cause us to wonder that the doctor should have seen so much and -remembered so little. Yet as a picture of the life of a representative -Presbyterian preacher and a complete exposure of the utter emptiness -of the Presbyterian religion, these garrulous and random -"Reminiscences" are the most entertaining pages we have read for many -a month. We propose to cull for our readers a few of the most -interesting passages. - -Dr. Spring was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, Feb. 24, 1785. His -father was a minister, of whom the son says that "he would not shave -his face on the Lord's day, nor allow his wife to sew a button on her -son's vest; and on one occasion, when his nephew, the late Adolphus -Spring, Esq., arrived in haste on a Saturday evening with the message -that his father was on his bed of death, he would not mount his horse -for the journey of seventy miles until the Sabbath sun had gone down." -Though young Gardiner used to wonder, when a boy, why he was not -allowed to participate in the customary sports of children, he seems -to have preserved a warm affection for both his parents, of whom he -speaks in a loving and reverential tone which we cannot too carefully -respect. The thought that most affected him on their death was {130} -"_that he had lost their prayers._" Gardiner was sent to Yale College -at the age of fifteen, and during "a remarkable outpouring of the -Spirit" upon that rather unregenerate institution, in the year 1803, -he became, for a season, "hopefully pious." He had been uneasy for -some time about the state of his soul, and one afternoon he resolved -to pray, several hours, if necessary, until his sins were forgiven. -"There," he says, "in the south entry of the old college, back side, -middle room, third story, I wrestled with God as I had never wrestled -before." The result of this spiritual struggle we do not profess to -understand. He says that he rose from his knees without any hope that -he had found mercy, yet feeling considerably relieved. For several -weeks he went about, peaceful and happy, when, unluckily, the Fourth -of July came, with its speeches and fireworks, and his "religious -hopes and impressions all vanished as a morning cloud, and as the -early dew." It was five or six years before they came back again. - -When he graduated his father came to hear him speak, and at the close -of the exercises gave him his blessing and told him to shift for -himself. So, there he was, twenty years old, with four dollars in his -pocket and a profession yet to be acquired. He borrowed two hundred -and fifty dollars from a generous friend, obtained a situation as -precentor in a church, opened a singing school, and applied himself -zealously to the study of law. Before long he married a young lady as -poor as himself, and went with her in 1806 to Bermuda, where he taught -school for some time very successfully; but rumors of war between this -country and Great Britain drove him back to the United States, and in -his twenty-fourth year he entered upon the practice of the law at New -Haven. - -In the meanwhile those uneasy feelings of the soul, which he seems -unable to analyze (though we warrant a good confessor would quickly -have solved his perplexities) had not left him at peace. He writes to -his father from Bermuda upon the state of his interior man: - - "I should wish to go to heaven, because I should be pleased, with - its employment. Were all my sins mortified and I rendered perfectly - holy, I think I should the happy. . . . . Sometimes I can say, Lord, - I believe; help thou mine unbelief. .... I am avaricious; and in the - present state of my family, make money my god. I strain honesty _as - far as I can_ to gain a little." - -This was certainly not a satisfactory condition of things. The lust -for mammon seems strong enough, but the aspirations for heaven might -well have been rather more ardent. He goes to church and sings and -weeps, and the minister and elders crowd around him to see what is the -matter. He goes to prayer-meeting at last in New Haven, and there the -conversion--such as it is--is effected: "As the exercises closed and -the crowded worshippers rose to sing the doxology, I felt that I could -'praise God from whom all blessings flow.' Praise! praise! It was -delightful to praise him! On the 24th of April following, I united -with the visible church under Mr. Stuart's pastorate, and began to be -an active Christian." - -We must say that this seems to be a very simple and easy process of -getting out of the power of the devil. Conversion, according to Dr. -Spring's idea, is simply an emotion of the mind, a spasm of sentiment. -It includes neither satisfaction for the past, nor the performance of -any definite religious duty in the present or the future. Any one who -can excite himself into the belief that he is regenerate, or tickle -his mind into the pleasant state indicated by the man who, when asked, -"How it felt to get religion?" replied that "it was just like having -warm water poured down your back"--any such one, we say, may rest -assured of his eternal safety. Dr. Spring is no more exacting with -other candidates for conversion than he was with himself. To a sick -man who inquires "what he shall do?" he answers: "Believe on the Lord -Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." - -{131} - -"But will you not tell me _how_ I shall go to him?" - -"Yes, I can tell you; you must not go in your own strength; for your -strength is weakness. You must not go in your own righteousness, for -you have none. You must feel your need of Christ, and see that he is -just the Saviour adapted to your wants. You must adore, and love, and -trust him. . . . . Commit to him your entire salvation, and in all -holy 'obedience live devoted to his service.'" Now in all this there -is just one practical suggestion, namely, to "live devoted to God's -service"--and that the man could not follow because he was dying. Let -our readers contrast Dr. Spring's death-bed ministrations with what a -Catholic priest would have said and done in similar circumstances. The -priest would have given definite instruction and divine sacraments; -the preacher has nothing better to offer than a few commonplace -generalities from his last Sunday's sermon. - -But we must return to the reverend doctor's biography. Close upon the -heels of his conversion came the resolution to be a minister. The -pecuniary difficulties in the way of this change of profession were -soon obviated by the generosity of a rich widow of Salem. There was -another obstacle, however, of a more serious nature. This was Mrs. -Spring. She was "not a professed Christian." She was "a worldly -woman." She sought the honors of the world. She did not want to be a -minister's wife. The doctor had a great respect for her. He was afraid -to tell her of his resolution. We must let him describe in his own -words how he got out of the difficulty: - - "I then began a course of conduct which I have ever since pursued, - and that was, in all cases where my own duty was plain, and my - resolution formed, quietly to carry my resolution into effect, and - meet the storm afterward. I did so in the present instance, though - there was no other storm than a plentiful shower of tears. I said - nothing to my wife; nothing to any one except Mr. Evarts. I sent my - wife on a visit to my only sister, the wife of the Hon. Bezaleel - Taft, at Uxbridge, the native place of my father, where I engaged in - a few weeks to meet her, and make a further visit to Newburyport. - She had no suspicion of my views, and left me with the confident - expectation that she would return to New Haven. - - "In the meantime, after she left me, I was busily employed in - arranging my affairs for my removal to Andover. I announced my - purpose to the church at the next prayer-meeting, and received a - fresh impulse from their prayers and benedictions. Mr. Evarts took - my office and my business, and closed up my unsettled accounts with - his accustomed accuracy, and my ledger now records them. Mr. Smith, - my old teacher, laughed at me; Judge Daggett was silent. Judge - Rossiter said to me, 'Mr. Spring, the pulpit is your place; you were - formed for the pulpit rather than the bar.' My business in New Haven - was closed; my debts paid; my household furniture, small as it was, - was carefully stowed away; my law library, worth about four hundred - dollars, was disposed of, and I was on my way to Uxbridge, - Newburyport, Salem, and Andover. - - "When I reached Uxbridge, and was once more in the bosom of my - little family, I felt that the trial had come. I could not at once - disclose my plans to my wife, and was saved that painful interview - by the suspicions of Mr. Taft, who told her that he believed I was - going to be a clergyman! She laughed at him; but she saw a change in - my deportment, and began to suspect it herself. I told her all. She - went to her chamber and wept for a long time. But she came down, - subdued indeed, but placid as a lamb, and simply said, 'It is all - over now; I am ready.' Oh, how kindly has God watched over me! It - seems as though the promise was fulfilled, 'Return unto thy country - and to thy kindred, and I will deal well with thee.' Some day or two - before we left Uxbridge, Mr. Taft said to me, 'Brother Spring, I - have a case before Justice Adams this morning; you are still a - lawyer, and I want you to go and argue it with me.' The thought - struck me pleasantly, and I resolved to go; but instead of assisting - him, without his knowledge I engaged myself to what I thought the - weaker party; and my last effort at the bar was in battling with my - sister's husband, and in the place of my father's nativity." - -{132} - -After eight months devoted to the study of theology at the Andover -seminary, Mr. Spring was licensed to preach and received a call from -the Brick church in New York. As a preliminary to his ordination, it -was necessary for him to preach a trial sermon before the presbytery, -and to submit to an examination as to his orthodoxy. In this latter -test he did not give unqualified satisfaction, nevertheless they -passed him, and he was duly ordained to the pastorship. As a salve, we -suppose, for their consciences, the presbytery deputed the Rev. Dr. -Milledollar, one of their number, to talk with the young minister, and -try to reason him out of certain heterodox opinions which he -entertained upon the subject of human ability. The result of the -interview was that, in Dr. Milledollar's judgment, "the best way of -curing a man of such views was to dip his head in cold water." - -It was but a dismal religion of which he now became the minister. -Tears, gloom, discomfort, and brokenness of heart were the -characteristics of the spiritual life, and peace of mind was an -alarming symptom of the dominion of the devil. "Newark is again highly -favored," writes the minister to his parents: "there are not less than -five hundred persons _very solemn_." "My people appear solemn; they -were so at the lecture on Thursday evening." "I preached on Monday to -a very solemn audience at my own house." "The state of things in the -congregation, notwithstanding the war, is looking up. Our public -meetings and our social gatherings are more full and more solemn." He -visits Paris, and there passes an evening with a small party of his -countrymen: "We could not refrain from weeping during the whole time -we were together." The quantity of tears shed in the course of the -book is positively appalling. Of course there is nothing that remotely -resembles the gift of tears with which Almighty God sometimes rewards -and consoles his saints. It is merely a perpetual gush of mawkish -sentimentality, and we defy anybody to read these "Reminiscences" -without having before him an image of the whole Brick church with -chronic redness of the eyes. A member of the congregation went to the -doctor once with a request that he would baptize a child. He was not -one of the weepers, or, as Dr. Spring expresses it, "not a religious -man." The opportunity was too good to be lost. The doctor labored with -him, preached at him, probably wept at him, tried to impress him with -the solemnity and privilege of the transaction, did not baptize his -child, but finally prayed with him and urged him to come again. The -result of the exhortation is a good commentary upon the whole system -of sentimental spasmodic religion: "He went away," says Dr. Spring, -"and being requested by his wife to have another interview with me, -replied, 'No; _you will not catch me there again_.'" We suppose that -the child was not baptized; but that, according to Dr. Spring, and in -spite of the Bible, makes very little difference. It was his rule "to -baptize only those children, one of whose parents was a professed -Christian"--that is to say, a member of the church; and except in one -instance he has never varied from this strict practice. "That," he -says, "was in the case of a sick and dying grandchild, whose father -was a man of prayer, but not a communicant, and I myself professed to -stand _in loco parentis_, I now look upon the whole transaction as -wrong." - -Dr. Spring has done a great deal of theological fighting in his day; -but his foes have been chiefly those of his own household. Now and -then he has carried the war into foreign countries, as at the time of -the famous School Question in New York, when he had a tilt with Bishop -Hughes before the Common Council, and got decidedly the worst of it; -but for the most part he has devoted himself to intestine feuds. The -controversy between Hopkinsians {133} and Calvinists in the -Presbyterian denomination; the disputes in the American Bible Society; -the schism in the Young Men's Missionary Society of New York; the -effort to create a division in the American Home Missionary Society; -the controversies about the New Haven school of theology and the -exscinding acts of the General Assembly;--these and many other -religious quarrels took up a great deal of the doctor's time, and he -still writes about them with no little acrimony and personal feeling. -We subjoin a few extracts: - - "The wrath of the Philadelphia Synod is praising the Lord. We shall - have a battle in the spring, and lay a heavy hand upon that report. - I shall not hesitate to take my life in my hand if Providence allows - me to go to the Assembly."--_vol. i., p._70. - - "The Rev. Ezra Stiles Ely had published his celebrated work, - entitled 'The Contrast,' the object of which is to show the points - of difference between the views of Hopkinsian and Calvinistic - theology. It was addressed to prejudice and ignorance, and was aimed - at the youthful pastor of the Brick church."--_Vol. i., p._ 129. - - "I find my heart strangely _suspicious_. Sometimes I am resolved to - withdraw from the Missionary and Education cause, because I foresee - they will be scenes of contention. But then, again, I know they are - exposed to evils, and the church is exposed to evils, through the - mismanagement of these excellent institutions, which perhaps I may - prevent."--_Vol ii., p_. 78. - -We doubt whether Dr. Spring's clerical brethren like the following -passage; but anyhow, there is a great deal of truth in it: - - "There have been spurious revivals in my day, and the means of - promoting them are the index of their character. In such seasons of - excitement, great dependence is placed on the way and means of - _getting them up_, and little of the impression [sic] that not a - soul will be converted unless it be accomplished by the power of - God. Whatever the words of the leaders may profess, their conduct - proclaims, 'Mine own arm hath done this!' There is a familiarity, a - boldness, an irreverence in their prayers, which ill becomes worms - of the dust in approaching him before whom angels veil their faces. - A pious and poor woman, in coming out from a religious service thus - conducted, once said, 'I cannot think what it is that makes our - ministers _swear_ so in their prayers.' They count their converts, - and when they survey their work, there is a triumph, a self-reliant - exultation over it, which looks like the triumph of the pagan - monarch, when he exclaimed, 'Is not this great Babylon which I have - built!' And hence it is that so many of the subjects of such a work, - after the excitement is over, find that their own hearts have - deceived them, that they are no longer affected by solemn preaching - and solemn prayers, that _their past emotions were nothing more than - the operations of nature, and that when these natural causes have - exhausted their power there is no religion left."--Vol. i., p_. 219. - -Dr. Spring gives a curious illustration of the length to which -excitement sometimes carries the poor victims of the revivalists, in -the case of a Mrs. Pierson, "around whose lifeless body her husband -assembled a company of _believers_, with the assurance that if they -prayed in faith, she would be restored to life. Their feelings were -greatly excited, their impressions of their success peculiar and -strong. They prayed and prayed again, and prayed _in faith_, but they -were disappointed," vol. i., p. 229. - -He is rather free sometimes in his criticisms upon his brother -ministers. He listens to a sermon from the Rev. Mr. Finney, a noted -revivalist, and says that there was nothing exceptionable in it -"except a vulgarity that indicated a want of culture, and a coarseness -unbecoming the Christian pulpit." He hears a Mr. Broadway preach at -sea, and thus records his impressions: "I must say he is a _John Bull_ -of a preacher. What a pity that men who need to be taught what are the -first principles of the oracles of God, should undertake to teach -others!" We dare say Dr. Spring's judgment of both these gentlemen was -sound; but we see no propriety in printing it. - -He made several voyages to Europe, and travelled through France, -Germany, and Great Britain. Respecting the state of Protestantism in -France, he makes some significant admissions: - - "Protestantism in France is not what I have been in the habit of - considering it. {134} I knew it was in a measure corrupt, but not to - the extent in which I actually find it. I do not think that the - Romanists, as a body, have much confidence in the Roman religion. - But the mischief is that when thinking men throw off the bonds of - Romanism, _they relapse into infidelity_. . . . . - True religion in France _finds its most bitter and unwearied enemies - in Protestants themselves_. The Protestants of this country are high - Arians, if not absolute Socinians. There are now [1835] three - hundred and fifty-eight Protestant pastors in France, beside their - few vacant churches. _But there are comparatively few among them all - who love and obey the truth."--Vol, ii., pp._ 260, 361. - -The pages devoted to his European tours are remarkable -exemplifications of the truth of the old adage, that _coelum, non -animum, mutant qui trans mare currunt_. Wherever he goes, his breadth -of vision seems bounded by his own pulpit. The venerable cathedrals of -Europe, rich with the noblest memories, and the great historic places -haunted by the grandest associations of the past, fill him with no -thoughts more elevated than those awakened by the Brick church. He -sees everything distorted through the medium of his own inveterate -prejudices. If he visits a religious shrine, he can think of nothing -but the abominations of the scarlet woman of Babylon. If he sees a -convent, he tells us a cock-and-bull story about subterranean passages -paved with the bones of infants. If he witnesses some grand and -imposing ceremonial, he throws up his eyes, rushes out of the church, -and, while he shakes the dust off his feet, groans over the wickedness -of the Romish priests and their blasphemous mummeries, farcical shows, -and hypocritical disguises. One Sunday, while at Paris, he went with -the well-known missionary. Dr. Jonas King, and some other American -friends, to visit a hill called Mont Calvaire, near the city, to which -numbers of pilgrims were then resorting. They filled their pockets -with tracts, which they distributed, right and left, among the -thousands that were going up and down the mountain. They even -interrupted kneeling worshippers at their prayers to give them tracts. -These valuable gifts were received with avidity, for, as the narrator -elsewhere explains, our respectable parsons were mistaken for Catholic -missionaries. A few days afterward they made another excursion of the -same sort to Mont Calvaire. We give the conclusion of the adventure in -the words of Dr. King, from whose journal Dr. Spring copies it: - - "Mr. and Mrs. Wilder, and Miss Bertau, and Mr. Storrow's children, - had gone to Mount Calvary to distribute tracts and Testaments. Dr. - Spring and myself, having filled our pockets, and hats, and hands, - with tracts and Testaments, set off with the hope to find them. Just - as we began to ascend the mountain, we met them coming at a - distance. On meeting them, they informed us that they had been - stopped by the Commissary of the Police, and that a gendarme, by - order of the missionaries (Rom. C. M.), had taken away their tracts - and Testaments, and prohibited them in the name of the law to - distribute any more on Mount Calvary. Mr. W. advised us not to - proceed with the intention of distributing those which we had. We - however, went, giving to every one we met, till we came in sight of - the _gendarmes_, when we ceased giving, but occasionally let some - fall from our pockets, which the wind, which was very high, - scattered in all directions, and were gathered up by the crowd. At - length we arrived at the top of the mountain, took our stand on the - highest elevation near the cross, and there, in our own language, - offered up, each of us, a prayer to the God of heaven for direction, - and to have mercy on those tens of thousands that we saw around us, - bowing before graven images. _I then felt in some degree - strengthened to go on, and, taking a tract from my pocket, presented - it to a lady who stood near me, and who appeared to be a lady of - some distinction._ She received it with thanks, and I was not - noticed by the _gendarmes_. Dr. S. let some fall from his pocket, - and we made our way down to one of the stations. There he laid some - on the charity-box, while I stood before him, to hide what he did. - We then went to another station, and I gave ten or twelve to a lady, - whom I charged to distribute them." - -The heroism of these Presbyterian missionaries, who go up and down -hill, dropping divine truth from their coat-tails, reminds us of a -crazy old lady {135}so in New York, whose will was lately contested -before our courts. She had peculiar ideas of her own on the subject of -politics and the war, and used to inscribe her thoughts on great paper -kites, and give them to little boys to fly in the Central Park, in the -belief that the words would somehow or another be disseminated through -the city. Imagine St. Francis Xavier setting sail for the Indies with -his hat, and pockets, and hands full of tracts, scattering them -broad-cast along the inhospitable shores, or trusting them to the -breezes, like those charitable Buddhists Father Huc tells of, who go -up a high mountain on windy days, and throw into the air little paper -horses, which being blown away are, as they believe, miraculously -changed into real horses for the benefit of belated travellers. -Suppose Father Matthew, instead of preaching a crusade against -drunkenness, had contented himself with sneaking into shibeens and -taverns, and, behind the friendly shelter of a companion's back, had -deposited little bundles of temperance tracts on the top of every -barrel of whiskey, as if he expected them to explode like a torpedo, -and fill the air with virtue. Or what would Dr. Spring think if some -Sunday, in the midst of his prayer, two or three Catholic priests -should march into the Brick church and distribute Challoner's -Catechisms up and down the aisles, making the "solemn" Presbyterians -get up from their knees to receive them? It would not be a bit more -outrageous than the doctor's behavior during the mission on Mont -Calvaire. - -American travellers in Europe, especially of the fanatical sort, are -but too apt to disgrace themselves and their country by their conduct -in sacred places. Here is another extract from Dr. Spring's book which -no respectable American can read without blushing. The incident -occurred in the famous cathedral of Rouen, built by William the -Conqueror, and reckoned the finest specimen of Gothic architecture in -France: - - "A little circumstance occurred here that was somewhat amusing. [!] - Mr. Van Rensallear, in order to procure some little relic of the - place, instead of gathering some flowers, broke off the _nose_ of - one of the marble saints! He hoped to escape the detection of the - guide, but unfortunately, on leaving the cathedral, we had to pass - the mutilated statue, and were charged with the sacrilege. It was a - lady saint whose sanctity our gallantry had thus violated, and we - had to meet the most terrific volleys of abuse. A few glittering - coins, however, obtained absolution for us, but neither entreaty nor - cash could obtain the _nose_." - -That must have been a funny scene one Sunday in crossing the ocean, -when the doctor and his wife, and the rest of the passengers, held -service under difficulties: - - "We assembled for praise and prayer. Susan was quite sea-sick, yet - she came on deck. The day was cold, and she sat with _a hot potato - in each hand to keep her warm_." - -This is certainly the oddest preparation for approaching the throne of -grace that we ever heard of. - -Mrs. Spring is a prominent figure all through the book, giving her -reverend husband advice and comfort, and helping him in the work of -the ministry, especially with regard to the women of the flock. He -laments in his introductory chapter that the death of his "beloved -Mrs. Spring must leave a vacuum in these pages which nothing can -fill." In the second volume he gives a long and detailed account of -her sufferings in child-bed when she "became the mother of a lovely -daughter." When she died in 1860, he wrote in his diary as follows: - - "I have been her husband and she my wife for four-and-fifty years; - our attachment has been mutual, and strong and sweet to the end. I - had no friend on earth in whom I had such reliance; no counsellor so - wise; no comforter so precious. For the last thirty years we have - rarely differed in opinion; when we did, I generally found she was - right and I was was wrong; and when I persevered in my {136} - judgment she knew how to yield her wishes to mine, and would - sometimes say with a smile, 'God has set the man above the woman. - You are _king_, my husband; but I am the queen!' In all my ministry, - in sickness and in health, at home and abroad, by night and by day, - I never knew her own convenience, comfort, or pleasure take the - place of my duty to the people of my charge. . . . . I bless God - that I had such a wife--that I had her at all, and that I had her so - long. . . . My darling wife, I give you joy: but what shall I do - without you?" - -This last question is soon answered in an unexpected manner. Only -eight pages further on, Dr. Spring, aged eighty, records the following -passage: - - "_April 13th,_ 1865.--My sweet wife was too valuable a woman ever to - be forgotten. The preceding sketch furnishes but the outline of her - excellences, which I have presented more at large at the close of - the sermon commemorative of one who was my first love. I never - thought I could love another. But I was advanced beyond my - threescore years and ten, partially blind, and needed a helper - fitted to my age and condition; no one needs such a helper more than - a man in my advanced years. I sought, and God gave me another wife. - A few days only more than a year after the death of Mrs. Spring, on - the 14th of August, 1861, I was married to Abba Grosvenor Williams, - the only surviving child of the late Elisha Williams, Esq., a - distinguished member of the bar. She is the heiress of a large - Property, and retains it in her own hands. She is intent on her duty - as a wife, watchful of my wants, takes good care of me, is an - excellent housekeeper, and instead of adding to the expenses of my - household, shares them with her husband."--Vol. ii., pp. 91, 92. - -With this extract, Dr. Spring may be left to the charity of our -readers. We have said nothing of the vanity which allows him freely to -quote the commendations of his friends on his efforts in the pulpit -and his publications through the press; because, inconsistent as it -may be with a very elevated piety, it is a weakness that might be -pardoned in such an old man. But we cannot help remarking how on every -page he gives evidence of the utter baselessness of the thing he calls -religion; the unsubstantial, unsatisfying character of those human -emotions which he perpetually mistakes for the operations of the Holy -Ghost; and the strangely unreal, unsanctified nature of the fit of -mental perturbation which he denotes conversion and labors so hard to -produce. The conclusion to which every unprejudiced person must come, -on closing the volumes, is that Dr. Spring has lived in vain. - ------- - -{137} - -MISCELLANY. - -_Arabian Laughing Plant_.--In Palgrave's "Central and Eastern Arabia" -some particulars are given in regard to a carious narcotic plant. Its -seeds, in which the active principal seems chiefly to reside, when -pounded and administered in a small dose, produce effects much like -those ascribed to Sir Humphrey Davy's laughing gas; the patient -dances, sings, and performs a thousand extravagances, till after an -hour of great excitement to himself and amusement to the bystanders, -he falls asleep, and on awaking has lost all memory of what he did or -said while under the influence of the drug. To put a pinch of this -powder into the coffee of some unexpecting individual is not an -uncommon joke, nor is it said that it was ever followed by serious -consequences, though an over quantity might perhaps be dangerous. The -author tried it on two individuals, but in proportions if not -absolutely homoeopathic, still sufficiently minute to keep on the safe -side, and witnessed its operation, laughable enough but very harmless. -The plant that hears these berries hardly attains in Kaseem the height -of six inches above the ground, but in Oman were seen bushes of it -three or four feet in growth, and wide-spreading. The stems are woody, -and of a yellow tinge when barked; the leaf of a dark green color, and -pinnated with about twenty leaflets on either side; the stalks smooth -and shining; the flowers are yellow, and grow in tufts, the anthers -numerous, the fruit is a capsule, stuffed with greenish padding, in -which lie imbedded two or three black seeds, in size and shape much -like French beans; their taste sweetish, but with a peculiar opiate -flavor; the smell heavy and almost sickly. - - - -_The Congelation of Animals_.--It is generally supposed that certain -animals cannot be frozen without the production of fatal results, and -that others can tolerate any degree of congelation. Both these views -have been shown to be incorrect in a paper read before the French -Academy, by M. Pouchet. The writer arrives at the following -conclusions: (1.) The first effect produced by the application of cold -is contraction of the capillary blood-vessels. This may be observed -with the microscope. The vessels become so reduced in calibre that the -blood-globules are unable to enter them. (2.) The second effect is the -alteration in form and structure of the blood-globules themselves. -These alterations are of three kinds: (_a_) the nucleus bursts from -the surrounding envelope; (_b_) the nucleus undergoes alteration of -form; (_c_) the borders of the globule become crenated, and assume a -deeper color than usual. (3.) When an animal is completely frozen, and -when, consequently, its blood-globules have become disorganized, it is -dead--nothing can then re-animate it. (4.) When the congelation is -partial, those organs which have been completely frozen become -gangrenous and are destroyed. (5.) If the partial congelation takes -place to a very slight extent, there are not many altered globules -sent into the general circulation; and hence life is not compromised. -(6.) If, on the contrary, it is extensive, the quantity of altered -globules is so great that the animal perishes. (7.) On this account an -animal which is partially frozen may live a long time if the -congelation is maintained, the altered globules not entering into the -general circulation; but, on the contrary, it dies if heat be suddenly -applied, owing to the blood becoming charged with altered globules. -(8.) In all cases of fatal congelation the animal dies from -decomposition or alteration of the blood-globules, and not from -stupefaction of the nervous system. - - - -_Ordnance and Targets_.--The Admiralty having erected a new target, -representing a portion of the side of the _Hercules_, experiments were -made at Shoeburyness which proved that a thickness of armor casing had -been attained which afforded perfect security against even the largest -guns recently constructed. The target has a facing of {138} 9-inch -armor-plates, and contains altogether eleven inches thickness of iron. -Against this three 12-ton shunt guns were fired, at a distance of only -200 yards, with charges varying from 45 lbs. to 60 lbs. of powder. One -steel shot, of 300 lbs. weight, 10-1/2 inches in diameter, fired with -60 lbs. of powder, at a velocity of 1,450 feet per second, barely -broke through the armor, without injuring the backing. Sir William -Armstrong has expressed his conviction, in the _Times_, that the -600-pounder gun will be unable to penetrate this target, and that it -will, in fact, require a gun carrying 120 lbs. of powder and steel -shot to pierce this massive shield. Mr. W. C. Unwin has pointed out, -in a letter to the _Engineer_, that for similar guns with shot of -similar form, and charges in a constant ratio to the weight of the -shot, the velocity is nearly constant. Then, assuming the resistance -of the plates to be as the squares of their thicknesses, it follows -that when the diameter of the shot increases, as well as the thickness -of the armor, the maximum thickness perforated will (by theory) vary -as the cube root of the weight of the shot, or, in other words, as the -calibre of the gun; and the weight of the shot necessary to penetrate -different thicknesses of armor will be as the cubes of those -thicknesses. The ratio deduced from the Shoeburyness experiments is -somewhat less than this, being as the 2.5 power and the 5.2 power -respectively. Practical formula deduced from experiments are given, -which agree with Sir William Armstrong's conclusion, and prove that a -gun which can effectively burn a charge of at least 100 lbs. of powder -will be required to effectually penetrate the side of the _Hercules_. - - -_The Moa's Egg_.--Since our last issue a splendid specimen of the egg -of the Dinornis has been exhibited in this country, put up to auction, -and "bought in" by the proprietors for £125. Some interesting details -concerning the history of gigantic birds' eggs have been supplied by a -contemporary, and we quote them for our readers: In 1854, M. Geoffroy -de St. Hilaire exhibited to the French Academy some eggs of the -Epyornis, a bird which formerly lived in Madagascar. The larger of -these was 12.1 inches long, and 11.8 inches wide; the smaller one was -slightly less than this. The Museum d'Histoire Naturelle at Paris also -contains two eggs, both of which are larger than the one recently put -up for sale, the longer axis of which measures 10 inches, and the -shorter 7 inches. In the discussion which followed the reading of M. -de St. Hilaire's paper, M. Valenciennes stated it was quite impossible -to judge of the size of a bird by the size of its egg, and gave -several instances in point. Mr. Strickland, in some "Notices of the -Dodo and its Kindred," published in the "Annals of Natural History" -for November, 1849, says that in the previous year a Mr. Dumarele, a -highly respectable French merchant at Bourbon, saw at Port Leven, -Madagascar, an enormous egg, which held "_thirteen wine quart bottles -of fluid_." The natives stated that the egg was found in the jungle, -and "observed that such eggs were _very, very rarely_ met with." Mr. -Strickland appears to doubt this, but there seems no reason to do so. -Allowing a pint and a half to each of the so-called "quarts," the egg -would hold 19-1/2 pints. Now, the larger egg exhibited by St. Hilaire -held 17-1/2 pints, as he himself proved. The difference is not so very -great. A word or two about the nests of such gigantic birds. Captain -Cook found, on an island near the north-east coast of New Holland, a -nest "of a most enormous size. It was built with sticks upon the -ground, and was no less than six-and-twenty feet in circumference, and -two feet eight inches high." (Kerr's "Collection of Voyages and -Travels," xiii. 318.) Captain Flinders found two similar nests on the -south coasts of New Holland, in King George's Bay. In his "Voyage, -etc.," London, 1818, he says: "They were built upon the ground, from -which they rose above two feet, and were of vast circumference and -great interior capacity; the branches of trees and other matter of -which each nest was composed being enough to fill a cart."--_The -Reader_. - - - -_The Birds of Siberia_.--In an important treatise, published under the -patronage of the Imperial Geographical Society of St. Petersburg, and -which is the second of a series intended to be issued on Siberian -zoology, the author, Herr Radde, not only records the species, but -gives an account of the period of the migration of Siberian birds. He -{139} gives a list of 368 species, which he refers to the following -orders: Rapaces, 36; Scansores, 19; Oscines, 140; Gallinaceae, 18; -Grallatores, 74; and Natatores, 81. Concerning the migration of -birds, Herr Radde confirms the result arrived at by Von Middendorf in -his learned memoir, "Die Isepiptesen Russlands;" the most important of -them being, (1) that the high table-land of Asia and the bordering -ranges of the Altai, Sajan, and Dauria retard the arrival of the -migratory birds; (2) eastward of the upper Lena, toward the east -coast of Siberia, a considerable retardation of migrants is again -noticeable; and (8) the times of arrival at the northern edge of the -Mongolian high steppes are altogether earlier than those of the same -species on the Amoor. - - -_Plants within Plants_.--In one of the recent numbers of the "Comptes -Rendus," N. Trécul gives an account of some curious observations, -showing that plants sometimes are formed within the cells of existing -ones. He considers that the organic matter of certain vegetable cells -can, when undergoing putrefaction, transform itself into new species, -which differ entirely from the species in which they are produced. In -the bark of the elder, and in plants of the potato and stone-crop -order, he found vesicles full of small tetrahedral bodies containing -starchy matter, and he has seen them gradually transformed into minute -plants by the elongation of one of their angles. - - - -_The Extract of Meat_.--Baron Liebig, who has favored us with some -admirable samples of this excellent preparation, has also forwarded to -us a letter in which he very clearly explains what is the exact -nutritive value of the _extractum carnis_: "The meat," says the baron, -"as it comes from the butcher, contains two different series of -compounds. The first consists of the so-called albuminous principles -(albumen, fibrin) and of glue-forming membrane. Of these, fibrin and -albumen have a high nutritive power, although not if taken by -themselves. The second series consists of crystallizable substances, -viz., creatin, creatinin, sarcin, which are exclusively to be found in -meat; further, of non-crystallizable organic principles and salts -(phosphate and chloride of potassium), which are not to be found -elsewhere. All of these together are called the extractives of meat. -To the second series of substances beef-tea owes its flavor and -efficacy, the same being the case with the _extractum carnis_, which -is, in fact, nothing but solid beef-tea--that is, beef-tea from which -the water has been evaporated. Beside the substances already -mentioned, meat contains, as a non-essential constituent, a varying -amount of fat. Now neither fibrin nor albumen is to be found in the -_extractum carnis_ which bears my name, and gelatine (glue) and fat -are purposely excluded from it. In the preparation of the extract the -albuminous principles are left in the residue. This residue, by the -separation of all soluble principles, which are taken up in the -extract, loses its nutritive power, and cannot be made _an article of -trade_ in any palatable form. Were it possible to furnish the market -at a reasonable price with a preparation of meat containing both the -albuminous and extractive principles, such a preparation would have to -be preferred to the _extractum carnis_, for it would contain all the -nutritive constituents of the meat. But there is, I think, no prospect -of this being realized." These remarks show very clearly the actual -value of the extract. It is, in fact, concentrated beef-tea; but it is -neither the equivalent of flesh on the one hand, nor an imperfectly -nutritive substance on the other. It is, nevertheless, a most valuable -preparation, and now commands an extensive sale in these countries and -abroad; and it is, furthermore, the only valuable form in which the -carcases of South American cattle (heretofore thrown away as -valueless) can be utilized.--_Popular Science Review_. - ------- - -{140} - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - - -LIFE OF THE MOST REVEREND JOHN HUGHES, -D.D., First Archbishop of New York. -With Extracts from his Private Correspondence. By John R. -G. Hassard. Pp. 519. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1866. - -Mr. Hassard is one of our most promising writers. He contributed -several excellent articles to "Appleton's Cyclopaedia," edited "The -Catholic World" with judgment and good taste for several months at its -first establishment, and since that time has occupied the position of -editor of the Chicago "Republican." This is his first literary essay -of serious magnitude, and a more delicate or difficult task could not -well have been confided to his hands. He has fulfilled it with care, -thoroughness, and impartiality. The style in which it is written is -remarkably correct and scholarly, and exhibits a thorough acquaintance -with the English language as well as a pure and discriminating taste -in the choice of words. It is a kind of style which attracts no -attention to itself or to the author, but is simply a medium through -which the subject-matter of the work is presented to the reader's -mind; and this, in our view, is no small merit. The subject-matter -itself is prepared and arranged in a methodical, accurate, and -complete manner, which leaves nothing in that regard to be desired. -The work belongs to that class of historical compositions which -chronicle particular events and incidents, relate facts and -occurrences as they happened, and leave them, for the most part, to -make their own impression. The author has endeavored to take -photographs of his illustrious subject, and of the scenes of his -private and public life, but not to paint a picture or his character -and his times. Those who are already familiar with the scenes, the -persons, and the circumstances brought into view in connection with -the personal history of the archbishop, and who were personally -acquainted with himself, could ask for no more than is furnished in -this biography. We have thought, however, in reading it, that other -readers would miss that filling up and those illuminating touches from -the author's pen which would make the history as vivid and real to -their minds as it is made to our own by memory. A graphic and complete -view of the history of the Catholic Church, so far as Archbishop -Hughes was a principal actor in it, and of the results of his labors -in the priesthood and episcopate, is necessary to a just estimate of -his ecclesiastical career, is still a _desideratum_. In saying this, -we do not intend to find fault with Mr. Hassard for not supplying it. -He has accomplished the task which he undertook in a competent manner, -and produced a work of sterling merit and lasting value. We could wish -that the biographies of several other distinguished prelates, of the -same period, might be written with the same minuteness and fidelity, -and, above all others, those of Bishop England and Archbishop Kenrick. -Very few men could endure the ordeal of passing through the hands of a -biographer so coldly impartial as Mr. Hassard. But those who are able -to pass through it, and who still appear to be great men, and to have -lived a life of great public service, may be certain that their -genuine, intrinsic worth will be recognized after their death, and not -be thought to be the coinage of an interested advocate, or the -furbished counterfeit whose glitter disappears in the crucible. -Moreover, the reader of history will be satisfied that he gets at the -reality of things, and the writer of history that he has authentic -data and materials on which to base his judgments of men and events. -No doubt this species of history would disclose many defects and -weaknesses, many human infirmities and errors, in the individuals who -figure in it, and lay bare much that is unsightly and repulsive in the -state of things as described. This is true of all ecclesiastical -history. Truth dissipates many romantic and poetic illusions of the -imagination, which loves to picture to itself an ideal state of -perfection and ideal heroes far different from the real world and real -men. Nevertheless, it manifests more clearly the heroic and divine -element really existing and working in the world and in men, and -manifesting itself especially in the Catholic Church. {141} We -believe, therefore, that the divinity of the Catholic religion would -only be more clearly exhibited, the more thoroughly its history in the -United States was brought to light. We believe, also, that the -character and works of its valiant and loyal champions will be the -more fully vindicated the more dispassionately and impartially they -are tried and judged. - -A calm consideration of the condition of Catholicity, thirty-five or -forty years ago in this country, in contrast with its present state, -will enable us to judge of the work accomplished by the men who have -been the principal agents in bringing about the change. Let us reflect -for a moment what a difference it would have made in the history of -the Catholic religion here, if some eight or ten of the principal -Catholic champions had not lived; and we may then estimate the power -and influence they have exerted. Leaving aside the numerical and -material extension of the Catholic Church under the administration of -its prelates and the clergy of the second order, we look at the change -in public sentiment alone, and the vindication of the Catholic cause -by argument at the bar of common reason, where it has gained a signal -argumentative triumph over Protestantism and prejudice, through the -ability and courage of its advocates and the soundness of their cause. -The principal men among the first champions of the Catholic faith who -began this warfare were, in the Atlantic states, Dr. Cheverus, Dr. -England, Dr. Hughes, and Dr. Power. We speak from an intimate and -perfect knowledge of the common Protestant sentiment on this matter, -and with a distinct remembrance of the dread which these last three -names, and the veneration which the first of them, inspired. Every one -who knows what the almost universal sentiment of the Protestant -community respecting the Catholic religion and its hierarchy was, is -well aware that it was a sentiment of intense abhorrence mingled with -fear. It was looked upon as a system of preternatural wickedness and -might, and yet, by a strange inconsistency, as a system of utter folly -and absurdity, which no reasonable and conscientious man could -intelligently and honestly embrace. The priesthood were regarded as a -species of human demons, and those among them who possessed -extraordinary ability, were believe to have a diabolical power to make -the worse appear the better reason and the devil an angel of light. -Those whose sanctity was so evident that it broke down all prejudice, -as Bishop Cheverus, were supposed not to be initiated into the -mysteries of the Catholic religion, but to be at heart really -Protestants, blinded to the errors of their system by education, and -duped by their more cunning associates, like "Father Clement" in the -well-known tale of that name. The Catholic clergy were shunned and -ostracised, looked on as outlaws and public enemies, worthy of no -courtesy and no mercy. Their religion was regarded as unworthy of a -hearing, a thing to be scouted and denounced, trampled upon like a -noxious serpent and crushed, _if possible_. _Contempt_ would be the -proper word to express the common estimation of it, if there had not -been too much fear and hatred to make contempt possible. Its -antagonists wished and tried to despise it and its advocates, but -could not. Every sort of calumny and vituperation was showered upon -them by the preachers, the lecturers, and the writers for the press -who made Catholicity their theme. Some, perhaps many, honorable -exceptions, which were always multiplying with time, must be -understood, particularly in Boston, Baltimore, and Charleston. John -Hughes, the poor Irish lad, who had knelt behind the hay-rick on his -father's farm to pray to God and the Blessed Virgin to make him a -priest, who had come to this country with no implement to clear his -way to greatness but the pick and shovel which he manfully grasped, -was one of those who were chosen to lead the van in the assault -against this rampart of prejudice. That he vanquished his proud and -scornful antagonists is an undoubted fact. Beginning his studies, as a -favor reluctantly conceded to him on account of his importunity, at a -later period than usual, with a grammar in one hand and a spade in the -other, he was first a priest, faithful to his duty among many -faithless, courageous and enterprising among many who were timid, -strong among many weak, staunch and unflinching in a time of schism, -scandal, and disaster, and bold enough not only to lay new foundations -for the church of Philadelphia, which others have since built upon, -while the old ones were half crumbled, and to repress mutiny and -disorder in the ranks of his own people, but to {142} attack, -single-handed, the enemies who were exulting over the discord and -feebleness which they thought foreboded the disruption of the Catholic -body. This, too, almost without encouragement, and with no hearty -support from those who were older and more thoroughly trained and -equipped in the service than himself. He became the coadjutor and -successor of the very man who had refused his first application to be -allowed to purchase the privilege of studying under him, by his daily -labor. He died the metropolitan of a province embracing all New York, -New Jersey, and New England, and including eight suffragan bishoprics -with more than a million of Catholics; confessedly the most -conspicuous man among his fellow-bishops in the view of Catholics and -Protestants alike, one of the most trusted and honored of his compeers -at the See of Rome, well known throughout Catholic Christendom, a -confidential adviser and a powerful supporter of the United States -government, a recognized illustrious citizen of the American republic -as well as one of the ornaments of his native country, with all the -signs and tributes of universal honor and respect at his funeral -obsequies which are accorded to distinguished personal character or -official station. Let the most severe and impartial critic apply his -mind to separate, in this distinguished and useful career, the -personal and individual force impelling the man through it, from the -concurrence of Divine Providence, the aid of favorable circumstances -and high position, the supernatural power of the character with which -he was marked, and of the system which he administered, and the -strength and volume of the current of events on which he was borne, -and, if we mistake not, he will find something strong enough to stand -all his tests. An ordinary man might have worked his way into the -priesthood, fulfilled its duties with zeal and success, attained the -episcopal and metropolitan dignity, won respect by his administration, -and left a flourishing diocese to his successor. But an ordinary man -could never have gained the power and influence possessed by -Archbishop Hughes. Our early and original impressions of his -remarkable power of intellect and will have been strengthened and -fixed by reading his biography, and the greatness of the influence -which he exerted in behalf of the Catholic religion is, to our mind, -established beyond a doubt. His chivalrous and valiant combat with -John Breckinridge, at Philadelphia, was a victory not only decisive -but full of results. We know, from a distinct remembrance of the -opinions expressed at the time, that Mr. Breckinridge was generally -thought, by Protestants, to have been discomfited. We have heard him -speak himself of the affair with the tone of one who had exposed -himself to a dangerous encounter with an enemy superior to himself, -for the public good, and barely escaped with his life. We remember -taking up the book containing the controversy, from a sentiment of -curiosity to know what plausible argument could possibly be offered -for the Catholic religion, and undergoing, in the perusal, a -revolution of opinion, which rendered a return to the old state of -mind inherited from a Puritan education impossible. This we believe is -but an instance exemplifying the general effect of the controversy -upon candid and thinking minds, not hopelessly enslaved to prejudice. -We remember hearing him preach in the full vigor of his intellectual -and physical manhood, in the cathedral of New York, soon after his -consecration, and the impression of his whole attitude, countenance, -manner of delivery, and cast of thought is still vivid and _unique_. -Those who have seen the archbishop only during the last fifteen years, -have seen a breaking-down, enfeebled, almost worn-out man, incapable -of steady, vigorous exertion, and oppressed by a weight of care and -responsibility which was too great for him. To judge of his ability -fairly it is necessary to have seen and heard him in his prime, before -ill-health had sapped his vigor. And to appreciate the best and most -genial qualities and dispositions of the man, it is necessary to have -met him in familiar, unrestrained intercourse, apart from any official -relation and away from his diocese--or, at least, in those times when -all official anxieties and cares of government were put aside and his -mind relaxed in purely friendly conversation. That he was a great man, -a true Christian prelate, and accomplished a great work in the service -of the church, of his native countrymen, and of the country of his -adoption, is, we believe, the just verdict of the most competent -judges and of the public at large upon the facts of his life. He will -not be forgotten, for his life and acts are too closely {143} -interwoven with public history and his influence has been too marked -to make that possible. We trust that those who enjoy the blessings of -a securely and peacefully established Catholic Church will not be -disposed to forget the men who, in more troubled times, have won by -their valor the heritage upon which we have entered. The record of -their lives and labors is of great value, and this one, in particular, -is worthy of the perusal of every Catholic and every American, and has -in it a kind of romantic charm and dramatic grouping which does not -belong to the life of one who has been more confined to the seclusion -of study or the ordinary pastoral routine. - -We regret the mention made of Dr. Forbes's defection, and the -publicity which is again given to painful matters which had become -buried in oblivion. It appears to us that, as Dr. Forbes has not -publicly assailed either the church or the late archbishop, it was -unnecessary to allude to him in any way, and it would have been more -generous to have suppressed the remarks made in the archbishop's -private correspondence. The mechanical execution of the work is in -good style, and we recommend it to our readers as necessary to every -Catholic library. - - -AN AMERICAN DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. -By Noah Webster, LL.D. Thoroughly Revised and Greatly Enlarged and -Improved, by Chauncey A. Goodrich, D.D., Late Professor of Rhetoric -and Oratory, and also Professor of the Pastoral Charge in Yale -College, and Noah Porter, D.D., Clark Professor of Moral Philosophy -and Metaphysics in Yale College. Royal quarto, pp. 1840. Springfield, -Mass.: G. & C. Meiriam. 1866. - -There have been published, within the last twenty-five years, several -editions of "Webster's Dictionary," but the present one, the title of -which is given above, seems to be the crowning effort of dictionary -making. It surpasses all other editions of the same work both in its -typography, its illustrations--some 3,000 in number--and its -philological completeness. "Webster's Dictionary" has always been of -high authority in this country, and is now held in great repute in -England, where it is accepted by several writers as the best authority -in defining the English language. The present edition is a most -beautiful one, and contains all the modern words which custom has -engrafted upon our language. It also contains, in its pronouncing -table of Scripture proper names, a supplementary list of the names -found in the Douay Bible, but not in King James's version. In fact, -care has been taken to make this edition as free as possible from -partisan and theological differences in regard to the definitions of -certain words which heretofore got a peculiarly Protestant twitch when -being defined. The publishers deserve great praise for the manner in -which they have done their portion of the work; it is a credit and an -honor to the American press. - - -THE CRITERION; OR, THE TEST OF TALK ABOUT FAMILIAR THINGS: -A Series of Essays. By Henry T. Tuckerman. 12mo., pp. 377. New York: -Hurd & Houghton. 1866. - -Mr. H. T. Tuckerman is a man of letters, and we thought he would not -be likely to put his name to anything discreditable to an enlightened -author; but, to judge from many things in the above production, we -think he has missed his vocation, and would find more appropriate -employment as a contributor to the publications of the American Tract -Society, or the magazine put forth, monthly, by the "Foreign and -Christian Union." Else, why is every pope "shrewd," every priest an -"incarnation of fiery zeal?" why "the lonely existence and the subtle -eye of the Catholic?" why "the medical Jesuit, who, like his religious -prototype, operates through the female branches, and thus controls the -heads of families, regulating their domestic arrangements, etc.?" why -"Bloody Mary" and "Rom_ish?_" why is "superstition the usual trait of -Romanists?" and this: "One may pace the chaste aisles of the -Madeleine, and feel his devotion stirred, perhaps, by the dark -catafalque awaiting the dead in the centre of the spacious floor; and -then what to him is the doctrine of transubstantiation?" (!) We are -truly sorry to see these indications of a spirit with which we think -the author will find very little sympathy outside the clique of -benighted readers of the publications above quoted. - -{144} - -CHRIST THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. -By C. J. Vaughan, D.D., Vicar of Doncaster. 18mo., pp. 269. Alexander -Strahan, London and New York. 1865. - -This beautiful little volume contains twelve sermons, or rather -religious essays, written in a pleasing style, but altogether too -lengthy and too exhaustive in character. We have no doubt but that the -author is a good preacher, and if these essays were ever preached by -him as sermons, they were listened to with pleasure. But in their -present shape, enlarged, systematized, and--shall we say--almost too -carefully prepared for the press, they are a little tiresome. One -feels in reading them how much the naturalness, as well as the -elegance of diction, is marred by the vague evangelical phraseology, -"coming to Christ," "laying hold on Christ," etc., which occurs so -constantly in these pages. The author, being a Low Evangelical -Churchman, gives us, of course, "justification by faith" and the -Calvinistic view of the Fall. Yet, in the latter half of the volume he -seems to speak more like one who imagines that man has something to do -for his own justification, and takes a higher and nobler view of -humanity. We give the following passage from the last sermon, entitled -"Cast out and found," as a good specimen of what we should call -practical preaching. "When Jesus found him, he said unto him. Dost -thou believe on the Son of God? 'Thou!' The word is emphatic in the -original, 'Thou--believest thou?' We are glad to escape into the -crowd, and shelter ourselves behind a church's confession. But a day -is coming, in which nothing but an individual faith will carry with it -either strength or comfort. It will be idle to say in a moment of keen -personal distress, such as probably lies before us in life and -certainly in death and in judgment, 'Every one believes--all around -us believe--the world itself believes in the Son of God:' there is no -strength and no help there: the very object of Christ's finding thee -and speaking to thee is to bring the question home, 'Dost _thou_ -believe?' A trying, a fearful moment, when Christ, face to face with -man's soul, proposes that question! Perhaps that moment has not yet -come to you. You have been fighting it off. You do not wish to come to -these close quarters with it. The world does not press you with it. -The world is willing enough that you should answer it in the general; -and even if you ever say, 'I believe in Jesus Christ his only Son our -Lord,' it shall be in a chorus of voices, almost robbing the -individual of personality, and making 'I' sound like 'we.' But if ever -your religion is to be a real thing, if ever it is to enable you to do -battle with a sin, or to face a mortal risk, if ever it is to be a -religion for the hour of death, or for the day of judgment, you must -have had that question put to you by yourself, and you must have -answered it from the heart in one way. Then you will be a real -Christian, not before!" - -The book is elegantly got up in the style and care for which the -publisher is noted. - - - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From P. O'Shea, 27 Barclay street. New York: -Nos. 18, 19, and 20 of Darras' History of the Church. - - -From P. Donahoe, Boston: The Peep o' Day; or, -John Doe, and the Last Baron of Crana. By -the O'Hara Family. 12mo., pp. 204 and 243. - - -From Hon. Wm. H. Seward. Secretary of State, -Washington, his speech on the "Restoration -of the Union," delivered in New York, Feb. 22, 1866. - - -From Peter F. Cunningham, Philadelphia: The Life of Blessed John -Berchmans, of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the French. With -an Appendix, giving an account of the Miracles after Death which have -been approved by the Holy See. From the Italian of Father Boreo, S.J. -1 vol. 12mo., pp. 358. - - -From John Murphy & Co., Baltimore: The Apostleship of Prayer. A Holy -League of Christian Hearts united with the Heart of Jesus, to obtain -the Triumph of the Church and the Salvation of Souls. Preceded by a -Brief of the Sovereign Pontiff Plus IX., the approbation of several -Archbishops and Bishops and Superiors of Religious Congregations. By -the Rev. H. Ramiero, of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the -latest French Edition, and Revised by a Father of the Society. With -the approbation of the Most Rev. Archbishop Spalding. 12mo., pp. 393. - - -From Kelly & Piet, Baltimore: Life in the Cloister; or, Faithful and -True. By the author of "The World and Cloister." 12mo., pp. 224. - ------- -{145} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD - -VOL. III., NO. 14--MAY, 1866. - - - -[ORIGINAL.] - - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -INTRODUCTION. - -We wish to state distinctly and openly, at the outset of this work, -that the solution given of the problems therein discussed is a -solution derived from the Catholic faith. Its sole object will be to -make an exposition of the doctrines of the Catholic faith bearing on -these problems. By an exposition, is not meant a mere expansion or -paraphrase of the articles of the Creed, but such a statement as shall -include an exhibition of their positive, objective truth, or -conformity to the real order of being and existence; and of their -reasonableness or analogy to the special part of that universal order -lying within the reach of rational knowledge. In doing this we choose -what appears to us the best and simplest method. It differs, however, -in certain respects, from the one most in vogue, and therefore -requires a few preliminary words of explanation. - -The usual method is, to proceed as far as possible in the analysis of -the religious truths provable by reason, to introduce afterward the -evidences of revealed religion, and finally to proceed to an -exposition of revealed doctrines. We have no wish to decry the many -valuable works constructed on this plan, but simply to vindicate the -propriety of following another, which is better suited to our special -purpose. We conceive it not to be necessary to follow the first method -in explaining the faith of a Christian mind, because the Christian -mind itself does not actually attain to faith by this method. We do -not proceed by a course of reasoning through natural theology and -evidences of revelation to our Christian belief. We begin by -submitting to instruction, and receiving all it imparts at once, -without preliminaries. The Christian child begins by saying "Credo in -Unum Deum." This is the first article of his faith. It is proposed to -him, by an authority which he reveres as divine, as the first and -principal {146} article of a series of revealed truths. If that act is -right and rational, it can be justified on rational grounds. It can be -shown to be in conformity to the real order. If it is in conformity to -the real order, it is in conformity also to the logical order. The -exposition of the real order of things is the exposition of truth, and -is, therefore, sound philosophy. A child who has attained the full use -of his reason and received competent instruction, either has, or has -not, a faith; not merely objectively certain, but subjectively also, -as certain and as capable of being rationally accounted for, though -not by his own reflection, as that of a theologian. If he has this -subjective certitude, a simple explication of the creditive act in his -mind will show the nature and ground of it in the clearest manner. If -he has not, children and simple persons who are children in science, -_i.e._, the majority of mankind, are incapable of faith--a conclusion -which oversets theology. - -We have now indirectly made known what our own method will be; namely, -to present the credible object in contact or relation with the -creditive subject, as it really is when the child makes the first -complete act of faith. Instead of inviting the reader to begin at the -viewing point of a sceptic or atheist, and reason gradually up from -certain postulates of natural reason, through natural theology, to the -Catholic faith, we invite him to begin at once at the viewing point of -a Catholic believer, and endeavor to get the view which one brought up -in the church takes of divine truth. We do not mean to ask him to take -anything for granted. We will endeavor to show the internal coherence -of Catholic doctrine, and its correspondence with the primitive -judgments of reason. We cannot pretend to exhibit systematically the -evidence sustaining each portion of this vast system. It would only be -doing over again a work already admirably done. We must suppose it to -be known or within the reach of the knowledge of our readers, and in -varying degrees admitted by different classes of them, contenting -ourselves with indicating rather than completing the line of argument -on special topics. - -The Catholic reader will see in this exposition of the Catholic idea -only that which he already believes, stated perhaps in such a way as -to aid his intellectual conception of it. The Protestant reader, -accordingly as he believes less or more of the Catholic Creed, will -see in it less or more to accept without argument, together with much -which he does not accept, but which is proposed to his consideration -as necessary to complete the Christian idea. The unbeliever will find -an affirmation of the necessary truths of pure reason, together with -an attempt to show the legitimate union between the primitive ideal -formula and the revealed or Christian formula, binding them into one -synthesis, philosophically coherent and complete. - -II. - -RELATION OF THE CREDIBLE OBJECT -AND THE CREDITIVE SUBJECT. - -Let us begin with a child, or a simple, uneducated adult, who is in a -state of perpetual childhood as regards scientific knowledge. Let us -take him as a creditive subject or Christian believer, with the -credible object or Catholic faith in contact with his reason from its -earliest dawn. Before proceeding formally to analyze his creditive -act, we will illustrate it by a supposed case. - -Let us suppose that, when our Lord Jesus Christ was upon earth, he -went to visit a pagan in order to instruct him in the truths of -religion. We will suppose him to be intelligent, upright, and sincere, -with as much knowledge of religious truth as was ordinarily attainable -through the heathen tradition. Let us suppose him to receive the -instructions of Christ with faith, to be baptized, and to remain ever -after a firm and undoubting {147} believer in the Christian doctrine. -Now by what process does he attain a rational certitude of the truth -of the revelation made by the lips of Christ? - -In the first place, the human wisdom and virtue of our Lord are -intelligible to him by the human nature common to both, and in -proportion to his own personal wisdom and goodness. Having in himself, -by virtue of his human nature, the essential type of human goodness, -he is able to recognize the excellence of one in whom it is carried to -its highest possible perfection. The human perfection visible in Jesus -Christ predisposes him to believe his testimony. The testimony that -Jesus Christ bears of himself is that he is the Son of God. This -declaration includes two propositions. The chief term of the first -proposition is "God." The chief term of the second proposition is -"Jesus Christ." The first term includes all that can be understood by -the light of reason concerning the Creator and his creative act. The -second term includes all that can be apprehended by the light of faith -concerning the interior relations of God, the incarnation of the Son, -or Word, the entire supernatural order included in it, and the entire -doctrine revealed by Christ. The idea expressed by the first term is -already in the mind of the pagan, as the first and constitutive -principle of his reason. His reflective consciousness of this idea and -his ability to make a correct and complete explication of its contents -are very imperfect. But when the distinct affirmation and explication -of the idea of God are made to him by one who possesses a perfect -knowledge of God, he has an immediate and certain perception of the -truth of the conception thus acquired by his intelligence. God has -already affirmed himself to his reason, and Christ, in affirming God -to his intellect, has only repeated and manifested by sensible images, -and in distinct, unerring language, this original affirmation. - -It is otherwise with the affirmation which Christ makes respecting the -second term. God does not affirm to his reason by the creative act the -internal relations of Father and Son, completed by the third, or Holy -Spirit, and therefore, although it is a necessary truth, and in itself -intelligible as such, it is not intelligible as a necessary truth to -his intellect. The incarnation, redemption, and other mysteries -affirmed to him by Christ, are not in themselves necessary truths, but -only necessary on the supposition that they have been decreed by God. -The certitude of belief in all this second order of truths rests, -therefore, entirely on the veracity of God, authenticating the -affirmation of his own divine mission made by Jesus Christ. We must, -therefore, suppose that this affirmation is made to the mind of the -pagan with such clear and unmistakable evidence of the fact that the -veracity of God is pledged to its truth, that it would be irrational -to doubt it. Catholic doctrine also requires us to suppose that Christ -imparts to him a supernatural grace, as the principle of a divine -faith and a divine life based upon it. The nature and effect of this -grace must be left for future consideration. - -These truths received on the faith of the testimony of the Son of God -by the pagan are not, however, entirely unintelligible to his natural -reason. We can suppose our Lord removing his difficulties and -misapprehensions, showing him that these truths do not contradict -reason, but harmonize with it as far as it goes, and pointing out to -him certain analogies in the natural order which render them partially -apprehensible by his intellect. Thus, while his mind cannot penetrate -into the substance of these mysteries, or grasp the intrinsic reason -of them after the mode of natural knowledge, it can nevertheless see -them indirectly, as reflected in the natural order, and by -resemblance, and rests its undoubting belief of them on the revelation -made by Jesus Christ, attested by the veracity of God. - -{148} - -In this supposed case, the pagan has the Son of God actually before -his eyes, and with his own ears can hear his words. This is the -credible object. He is made inwardly certain that he is the Son of God -by convincing evidence and the illustration of divine grace. This is -the creditive subject, in contact with the credible object. It -exemplifies the process by which God has instructed the human race -from the beginning, a process carried on in the most perfect and -successful manner in the instance we are about to examine of a child -brought up in the Catholic Church. - -The mind of the child has no prejudices and no imperfect conceptions -derived from a perverted and defective instruction to be rectified. -Its soul is in the normal and natural condition. The grace of faith is -imparted to it in baptism, so that the rational faculties unfold under -its elevating and strengthening influence with a full capacity to -elicit the creditive act as soon as they are brought in contact with -the credible object. This credible object, in the case of the child, -as in that of the pagan, is Christ revealing himself and the Father. -He reveals himself, however, not by his visible form to the eye, or -his audible word to the ear, but by his mystical body the church, -which is a continuation and amplification of his incarnation. The -church is visible and audible to the child as soon as his faculties -begin to open. At first this is only in an imperfect way, as Jesus -Christ was at first only known in an imperfect way to the pagan above -described. As he merely knew Christ at first as a man, and in a purely -human way, so the child receives the instruction of his parents, -teachers, and pastors, in whom the church is represented, in regard to -the truths of faith, just as he does in regard to common matters. He -begins with a human faith, founded in the trusting instincts of -nature, which incline the young to believe and obey their superiors. -As soon as his reason is capable of understanding the instruction -given him, he is able to discover the strong probability of its truth. -He sees this dimly at first, but more and more clearly as his mind -unfolds, and the conception of the Catholic Church comes before it -more distinctly. Some will admit that even a probability furnishes a -sufficient motive for eliciting an act of perfect faith. This is the -doctrine of Cardinal de Lugo, and it has been more recently propounded -by that extremely acute and brilliant writer, Dr. John Henry Newman. -[Footnote 24] - - [Footnote 24: Since the above was written the author has seen reason - to suspect that he misunderstood Dr. Newman. The point will be more - fully discussed hereafter.] - -According to their theory, the undoubting firmness of the act of faith -is caused by an imperate act of the will determining the intellect to -adhere firmly to the doctrine proposed, as revealed by God. There are -many, however, who will not be satisfied with this, and we acknowledge -that we are of the number. It appears to us that the mind must have -indubitable certitude that God has revealed the truth in order to a -perfect act of faith. Therefore we believe that the mind of the child -proceeds from the first apprehension of the probability that God has -revealed the doctrines of faith to a certitude of the fact, and that, -until it reaches that point, its faith is a human faith, or an -inchoate faith, merely. The ground and nature of that certitude will -be discussed hereafter. In the meantime, it is sufficient to remark -that the child or other ignorant person apprehends the very same -ground of certitude in faith with the mature and educated adult, only -more implicitly and obscurely, and with less power to reflect on his -own acts. Just as the child has the same certainty of facts in the -natural order with an adult, so it has the same certainty of facts in -the supernatural order. When we have once established the proper -ground of human faith in testimony in general, and of the certitude of -our rational judgments, we have no need of a particular application to -the case of {149} children. It is plain enough that, so soon as their -rational powers are sufficiently developed, they must act according to -this universal law. So in regard to faith. When we have established in -general its constitutive principles, it is plain that the mind of the -child, just as soon as it is capable of eliciting an act of faith, -must do it according to these principles. - -The length of lime, and the number of preparatory acts requisite, -before the mind of a child is fully capable of eliciting a perfect act -of faith, cannot be accurately determined, and may vary indefinitely. -It may require years, months, or only a few weeks, days, or hours. -Whenever it does elicit this perfect act, the intelligible basis of -the creditive act may be expressed by the formula, _Christus creat -ecclesiam_, [Footnote 25] In the church, which is the work of Christ -and his medium or instrument for manifesting himself, the person and -the doctrine of Christ are disclosed. In the first term of the -formula, _Christus_, is included another proposition, viz., _Christus -est Filius Dei_. [Footnote 26] Finally, in the last term of the -second proposition is included a third, _Deus est creator mundi_. -[Footnote 27] The whole may be combined into one formula, which is -only the first one explicated, _Christus, Filius Dei, qui est creator -mundi, creat ecclesiam._[Footnote 28] - - [Footnote 25: Christ creates the Church.] - - [Footnote 26: Christ Is the Son of God.] - - [Footnote 27: God is the creator of the world.] - - [Footnote 28: Christ, the Son of God, who is the creator of the - world, creates the Church.] - -In this formula we have the synthesis of reason and faith, of -philosophy and theology, of nature and grace. It is the formula of the -natural and supernatural worlds, or rather of the natural universe, -elevated into a supernatural order and directed to a supernatural end. -In the order of instruction, _Ecclesia_ comes first, as the medium of -teaching correct conceptions concerning God, Christ, and the relations -in which they stand toward the human race. These conceptions may be -communicated in positive instruction in any order that is convenient. -When they are arranged in their proper logical relation, the first in -order is _Deus creat mundum_, including all our rational knowledge -concerning God. The second is _Christus est Filius Dei_, which -discloses God in a relation above our natural cognition, revealing -himself in his Son, as the supernatural author and the term of final -beatitude. Lastly comes _Christus creat ecclesiam_, in which the -church, at first simply a medium for communicating the conceptions of -God and Christ, is reflexively considered and explained, embracing all -the means and institutions ordained by Christ for the instruction and -sanctification of the human race, in order to the attainment of its -final end. In the conception of God the Creator, we have the natural -or intelligible order and the rational basis of revelation. In the -conception of the Son, or Word, we have the super-intelligible order -in its connection with the intelligible, in which alone we can -apprehend it. God reveals himself and his purposes by his Word, and we -believe on the sole ground of his veracity. The remaining conceptions -are but the complement of the second. - -All this is expressed in the Apostles' Creed. In the first place, by -its very nature, it is a symbol of instruction, presupposing a -teacher. The same is expressed in the first word, "Credo," explicitly -declaring the credence given to a message sent from God. The first -article is a confession of God the Father, followed by the confession -of the Son and the Holy Ghost. After this comes "Sanctam Ecclesiam -Catholicam," with the other articles depending on it, and lastly the -ultimate term of all the relations of God to man, expressed in the -words "Vitam aeternam." - -Having described the actual attitude of the mind toward the Creed at -the time when its reasoning faculty is developed, and the method by -which {150} instruction in religious doctrines is communicated to it, -we will go over these doctrines in detail, in order to explain and -verify them singly and as a whole. The doctrine first in order is that -which relates to God, and this will accordingly be first treated of, -in the ensuing number. - ------- - -From The Dublin University Magazine - - -GLASTONBURY ABBEY, PAST AND PRESENT, - -THE RISE OF THE BENEDICTINES. [Footnote 29] - - [Footnote 29: Authorities.--Acta Sanctoram: Butler's Lives of the - Saints; Gregory's Dialogues; Mabillon Acta Sanct.; Ord; Benedicti; - Zeigelbauer's Hist. Rei Liter.; Fosbrooke and Dugdale.] - -As Glastonbury Abbey was one of the chief ornaments of the Benedictine -Order; as that order was one of the greatest influences, next to -Christianity itself, ever brought to bear upon humanity; as the -founder of that order and sole compiler of the rule upon which it was -based must have been a legislator, a leader, a great, wise, and good -man, such as the world seldom sees, one who, unaided, without example -or precedent, compiled a code which has ruled millions of beings and -made them a motive-power in the history of humanity; as the work done -by that order has left traces in every country in Europe--lives and -acts now in the literature, arts, sciences, and social life of nearly -every civilized community--it becomes imperatively necessary that we -should at this point investigate these three matters--the man, the -rule, and the work:--the man, St. Benedict, from whose brain issued -the idea of monastic organization; the rule by which it was worked, -which contains a system of legislation as comprehensive as the -gradually compiled laws of centuries of growth; and the work done by -those who were subject to its power, followed out its spirit, lived -under its influence, and carried it into every country where the -gospel was preached. - -Far away in olden times, at the close of the fifth century, when the -gorgeous splendor of the Roman day was waning and the shades of that -long, dark night of the middle ages were closing in upon the earth; -just at that period when, as if impelled by some instinct or led by -some mysterious hand, there came pouring down from the wilds of -Scandinavia hordes of ferocious barbarians who threatened, as they -rolled on like a dark flood, to obliterate all traces of civilization -in Europe--when the martial spirit of the Roman was rapidly -degenerating into the venal valor of the mercenary--when the western -empire had fallen, after being the tragic theatre of scenes to which -there is no parallel in the history of mankind--when men, aghast at -human crime and writhing under the persecutions of those whom history -has branded as the "Scourge of God," sought in vain for some shelter -against their kind--when human nature, after that struggle between -refined corruption and barbarian ruthlessness, lay awaiting the night -of troubles which was to fall upon it as a long penance for human -crime--just at this critical period in the world's history appeared -the man who was destined to rescue from the general destruction of -Roman life the elements of a future civilization; to provide an asylum -to which art might flee with her choicest treasures, where science -might labor in safety, where {151} learning might perpetuate and -multiplied its stores, where the oracles of religion might rest -secure, and where man might retire from the woe and wickedness of a -world given up to destruction, live out his life in quiet, and make -his peace with his God. - -That man was St. Benedict, who was born of noble parents about the -year 480, at Norcia, a town in the Duchy of Spoleto; his father's name -was Eutropius, his grandfather's Justinian. Although the glory of Rome -was on the decline, her schools were still crowded with young -disciples of all nations, and to Rome the future saint was sent to -study literature and science. The poets of this declining age have -left behind them a graphic picture of the profligacy and dissipation -of Roman life---the nobles had given themselves up to voluptuous and -enervating pleasures, the martial spirit which had once found vent in -deeds with whose fame the world has ever since rung, had degenerated -into the softer bravery which dares the milder dangers of a love -intrigue, or into the tipsy valor loudest in the midnight brawl. The -sons of those heroes who in their youth had gone out into the world, -subdued kingdoms, and had been drawn by captive monarchs through the -streets of Rome in triumph, now squandered the wealth and disgraced -the name of their fathers over the dice-box and the drinking cup. -Roman society was corrupt to its core, the leaders were sinking into -the imbecility of licentiousness, the people were following their -steps with that impetuosity so characteristic of a demoralized -populace, whilst far up in the rude, bleak North the barbarian, with -the keen instinct of the wild beast, sat watching from his lonely -wilds the tottering towers of Roman glory--the decaying energies of -the emasculated giant--until the moment came when he sallied forth and -with one hardy blow shattered the mighty fabric and laid the victors -of the world in abject slavery at his feet. Into this society came the -youthful Benedict, with all the fresh innocence of rustic purity, and -a soul already yearning after the great mysteries of religion; -admitted into the wild revelry of student life, that prototype of -modern Bohemianism, he was at once disgusted with the general -profligacy around him. The instincts of his youthful purity sickened -at the fetid life of Rome, but in his case time, instead of -reconciling him to the ways of his fellows, and transforming, as it so -often does, the trembling horror of natural innocence into the wild -intrepidity of reckless license, only strengthened his disgust for -what he saw, and the timid, thoughtful, pensive student shrank from -the noisy revelry, and sought shelter among his books. - -About this time, too, the idea of penitential seclusion was prevalent -in the West, stimulated by the writings and opinions of St. Augustine -and St. Jerome. It has been suggested that the doctrine of asceticism -was founded upon the words of Christ, "If any man will come after me, -let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me." [Footnote -30] St. Gregory himself dwells with peculiar emphasis upon this -passage, which he expounds thus, "Let us listen to what he said in -this passage--let him who will follow me deny himself; in another -place it is said that we should forego our possessions; here it is -said that we should deny _ourselves_, and perhaps it is not laborious -to a man to relinquish his possessions, but it is very laborious to -relinquish _himself_. For it is a light thing to abandon what one has, -but a much greater thing to abandon what _one is_." [Footnote 31] -Fired by the notion of self-mortification imparted to these words of -Christ by their own material interpretation, these men forsook the -world and retired to caves, rocks, forests, anywhere out of sight of -{152} their fellow-mortals--lived on bitter herbs and putrid water, -exposed themselves to the inclemency of the winter and the burning -heats of summer. - - [Footnote 30: Matt. xvi. 24.] - - [Footnote 31: St. Greg. Hom, 32 in Evangel.] - -Such was the rise and working of asceticism, which brought out so many -anchorites and hermits. Few things in the history of human suffering -can parallel the lives of these men. - -As regards conventual life, that is, the assemblage of those who -ministered in the church under one roof, sharing all things in common, -that may be traced back to the apostles and their disciples, who were -constrained to live in this way, and, therefore, we find that wherever -they established a church, there they also established a sort of -college, or common residence, for the priests of that church. This is -evident from the epistles of Ignatius, nearly all, of which conclude -with a salutation addressed to this congregation of disciples, -dwelling together, and styled a "collegium." His epistle to the Church -at Antioch concludes thus, "I salute the sacred College of Presbyters" -(Saluto Sanctum Presbyterorum Collegium). The Epistle ad Philippenses, -"Saluto S. Episcopum et sacrum Presbyterorum Collegium"--so also the -epistles to the Philadelphians, the Church at Smyrna, to the -Ephesians, and to the Trallians. - -But when St. Benedict was sent as a lad to Rome, the inclination -toward the severer form of ascetic life, that of anchorites and -hermits, had received an impulse by the works of the great fathers of -the church, already alluded to; and the pensive student, buried in -these more congenial studies, became imbued with their spirit, and was -soon fired with a romantic longing for a hermit life. At the tender -age of fifteen, unable to endure any longer the dissonance between his -desires and his surroundings, he flood from Rome, and took refuge in a -wild, cavernous spot in the neighboring country. As he left the city -he was followed by a faithful nurse, Cyrilla by name, who had brought -him up from childhood, had tended him in his sojourn at Rome, and now, -though lamenting his mental derangement, as she regarded it, resolved -not to leave her youthful charge to himself, but to watch over him and -wait upon him in his chosen seclusion. For some time this life went -on, St. Benedict becoming more and more attached to his hermitage, and -the nurse, despairing of any change, begged his food from day to day, -prepared it for him, and watched over him with a mother's tenderness. -A change then came over the young enthusiast, and he began to feel -uneasy under her loving care. It was not the true hermit life, not the -realization of that grand idea of solitude with which his soul was -filled; and under the impulse of this new emotion he secretly fled -from the protection of his foster-mother, and, without leaving behind -him the slightest clue to his pursuit, hid himself among the rocks of -Subiaco, or, as it was then called, Sublaqueum, about forty miles -distant from Rome. At this spot, which was a range of bleak, rocky -mountains with a river and lake below in the valley, he fell in with -one Romanus, a monk, who gave him a monastic dress, with a hair shirt, -led him to a part on the mountains where there was a deep, narrow -cavern, into which the sun never penetrated, and here the young -anchorite took up his abode, subsisting upon bread and water, or the -scanty provisions which Romanus could spare him from his own frugal -repasts; these provisions the monk used to let down to him by a rope, -ringing a bell first to call his attention. For three years he pursued -this life, unknown to his friends, and cut off from all communication -with the world; but neither the darkness of his cavern nor the -scantiness of his fare could preserve him from troubles. He was -assailed by many sore temptations. - -One day that solitude was disturbed by the appearance of a man in the -{153} garb of a priest, who approached his cave and began to address -him; but Benedict would hold no conversation with the stranger until -they had prayed together, after which they discoursed for a long time -upon sacred subjects, when the priest told him of the cause of his -coming. The day happened to be Easter Sunday, and as the priest was -preparing his dinner, he heard a voice saying, "You are preparing a -banquet for yourself, whilst my servant Benedict is starving;" that he -thereupon set out upon his journey, found the anchorite's cave, and -then producing the dinner, begged St. Benedict to share it with him, -after which they parted. A number of shepherds, too, saw him near his -cave, and as he was dressed in goat-skins, took him at first for some -strange animal; but when they found he was a hermit, they paid their -respects to him humbly, brought him food, and implored his blessing in -return. - -The fame of the recluse of Subiaco spread itself abroad from that time -through the neighboring country; many left the world and followed his -example; the peasantry brought their sick to him to be healed, -emulated each other in their contributions to his personal -necessities, and undertook long journeys simply to gaze upon his -countenance and receive his benediction. Not far from his cave were -gathered together in a sort of association a number of hermits, and -when the fame of this youthful saint reached them they sent a -deputation to ask him to come among them and take up his position as -their superior. It appears that this brotherhood had become rather lax -in discipline, and, knowing this, St. Benedict at first refused, but -subsequently, either from some presentiment of his future destiny, or -actuated simply by the hope of reforming them, he consented, left his -lonely cell, and took up his abode with them as their head. - -In a very short time, however, the hermits began to tire of his -discipline and to envy him for his superior godliness. An event then -occurred which forms the second cognizance by which the figure of St. -Benedict may be recognized in the fine arts. Endeavors had been made -to induce him to relax his discipline, but to no purpose; therefore -they resolved upon getting rid of him, and on a certain day, when the -saint called out for some wine to refresh himself after a long -journey, one of the brethren offered him a poisoned goblet. St. -Benedict took the wine, and, as was his custom before eating or -drinking anything, blessed it, when the glass suddenly fell from his -hands and broke in pieces. This incident is immortalized in -stained-glass windows, in paintings, and frescoes, where the saint is -either made to carry a broken goblet, or it is to be seen lying at his -feet. Disgusted with their obstinacy he left them, voluntarily -returned to his cavern at Subiaco, and dwelt there alone. But the -fates conspired against his solitude, and a change came gradually over -the scene. Numbers were drawn toward the spot by the fame of his -sanctity, and by-and-bye huts sprang up around him; the desert was no -longer a desert, but a colony waiting only to be organized to form a -strong community. Yielding at length to repeated entreaties, he -divided this scattered settlement into twelve establishments, with -twelve monks and a superior in each, and the monasteries were soon -after recognized, talked about, and proved a sufficient attraction to -draw men from all quarters, even from the riotous gaieties of -declining Rome. - -We will mention one or two incidents related of St. Benedict, which -claim attention, more especially as being the key to the artistic -mysteries of Benedictine pictures. It was one of the customs in this -early Benedictine community for the brethren not to leave the church -immediately after the divine office was concluded, but to remain for -some time in silent mental prayer. One of the brethren, however, took -no delight in this holy {154} exercise, and to the scandal of the -whole community used to walk coolly out of the church as soon as the -psalmody was over. The superior remonstrated, threatened, but to no -purpose; the unruly brother persisted in his conduct. St. Benedict was -appealed to, and when he heard the circumstances of the case, said he -would see the brother himself. Accordingly, he attended the church, -and at the conclusion of the divine office, not only saw the brother -walk out, but saw also what was invisible to every one else--a _black -boy_ leading him by the hand. The saint then struck at the phantom -with his staff, and from that time the monk was no longer troubled, -but remained after the service with the rest. - -St. Gregory also relates an incident to the effect that one day as a -Gothic monk was engaged on the border of the lake cutting down -thistles, he let the iron part of his sickle, which was loose, fall -into the water. St. Maur, one of Benedict's disciples--of whom we -shall presently speak--happened to be standing by, and, taking the -wooden handle from the man, he held it to the water, when the iron -swam to it in miraculous obedience. - -As we have said, the monasteries grew daily in number of members and -reputation; people came from far and near, some belonging to the -highest classes, and left their children at the monastery to be -trained up under St. Benedict's protection. Amongst this number, in -the year 522, came two wealthy Roman senators, Equitius and Tertullus, -bringing with them their sons, Maurus, then twelve years of age, and -Placidus, only five. They begged earnestly that St. Benedict would -take charge of them, which he did, treated them as if they had been -his own sons, and ultimately they became monks under his rule, lived -with him all his life, and after his death became the first -missionaries of his order in foreign countries, where Placidus won the -crown of martyrdom. Again, St. Benedict nearly fell a victim to -jealousy. A priest named Florentius, envying his fame, endeavored to -poison him with a loaf of bread, but failed. Benedict once more left -his charge in disgust; but Florentius, being killed by the sudden fall -of a gallery, Maurus sent a messenger after him to beg him to return, -which he did, and not only wept over the fate of his fallen enemy, but -imposed a severe penance upon Maurus for testifying joy at the -judgment which had befallen him. The incident of the poisoned loaf is -the third artistic badge by which St. Benedict is to be known in art, -being generally painted as a loaf with a serpent coiled round it. -These artistic attributes form a very important feature in monastic -painting, and in some instances become the only guide to the -recognition him the subject. St. Benedict is sometimes represented -with all these accompaniments--the broken goblet, the loaf with the -serpent, and in the background the figure rolling in the briers. St. -Bernard, who wrote much and powerfully against heresy, is represented -with the accompanying incident in the background of demons chained to -a rock, or being led away captive, to indicate his triumphs over -heretics for the faith. Demons placed at the feet indicate Satan and -the world overcome. Great preachers generally carry the crucifix, or, -if a renowned missionary, the standard and cross. Martyrs carry the -palm. A king who has resigned his dignity and entered a monastery has -a crown lying at his feet. A book held in the hand represents the -gospel, unless it be accompanied by pen and ink-horn, when it implies -that the subject was an author, as in the case of Anselm, who is -represented as holding in his hands his work on the incarnation, with -the title inscribed, "_Cur Deus Homo_," or it may relate to an -incident in the life, as the blood-stained book, which St. Boniface -holds, entitled "De Bono Mortis," a work he was devotedly fond of, -always {155} carried about with him, and which was found after his -murder in the folds of his dress stained with his blood. But the -highest honor was the stigmata or wounds of Christ impressed upon the -hands, feet, and side. This artistic pre-eminence is accorded to St. -Francis, the founder of the order which bears his name, and to St. -Catharine, of Siena. A whole world of history lies wrapped up in these -artistic symbols, as they appear in the marvellous paintings -illustrative of the hagiology of the monastic orders which are -cherished in half the picture galleries and sacred edifices of Europe, -and form as it were a living testimony and a splendid confirmation of -the written history and traditions of the church. - -Although, at the period when we left St. Benedict reinstalled in his -office as superior, Christianity was rapidly being established in the -country, yet there were still lurking about in remote districts of -Italy the remains of her ancient paganism. Near the spot now called -Monte Cassino was a consecrated grove in which stood a temple -dedicated to Apollo. St. Benedict resolved upon clearing away this -relic of heathendom, and, fired with holy seal, went amongst the -people, preached the gospel of Christ to them, persuaded them at -length to break the statue of the god and pull down the altar; he then -burned the grove and built two chapels there--the one dedicated to St. -John the Baptist and the other to St. Martin. Higher up upon the -mountain he laid the foundation of his celebrated monastery, which -still bears his name, and here he not only gathered together a -powerful brotherhood, but elaborated that system which infused new -vigor into the monastic life, cleared it of its impurities, -established it upon a firm and healthy basis, and elevated it, as -regards his own order, into a mighty power, which was to exert an -influence over the destinies of humanity inferior only to that of -Christianity itself. St. Benedict, with the keen perception of genius, -saw in the monasticism of his time, crude as it was, the elements of a -great system. For five centuries it had existed and vainly endeavored -to develop itself into something like an institution, but the grand -idea had never yet been struck out--that idea which was to give it -permanence and strength. Hitherto the monk had retired from the world -to work out his own salvation, caring little about anything else, -subsisting on what the devotion of the wealthy offered him from -motives of charity; then, as time advanced, they acquired possessions -and wealth, which tended only to make them more idle and selfish. St. -Benedict detected in all this the signs of decay, and resolved on -revivifying its languishing existence by starting a new system, based -upon a rule of life more in accordance with the dictates of reason. He -was one of those who held as a belief that to live in this world a man -must do something--that life which consumes, but produces not, is a -morbid life, in fact, an impossible life, a life that must decay, and -therefore, imbued with the importance of this fact, he made labor, -continuous and daily labor, the great foundation of his rule. His vows -were like those of other institutions--poverty, chastity, and -obedience--but he added labor, and in that addition, as we shall -endeavor presently to show, lay the whole secret of the wondrous -success of the Benedictine Order. To every applicant for admission, -these conditions were read, and the following words added, which were -subsequently adopted as a formula: "This is the law under which thou -art to live and to strive for salvation; if thou canst observe it, -enter; if not, go in peace, thou art free." No sooner was his -monastery established than it was filled by men who, attracted by his -fame and the charm of the new mode of life, came and eagerly implored -permission to submit themselves to his rule. Maurus and Placidus, his -favorite disciples, still {156} remained with him, and the tenor of -his life flowed on evenly. - -After Belisarius, the emperor's general, had been recalled, a number -of men totally incapacitated for their duties were sent in his place. -Totila, who had recently ascended the Gothic throne, at once invaded -and plundered Italy; and in the year 542, when on his triumphant -march, after defeating the Byzantine army, he was seized with a strong -desire to pay a visit to the renowned Abbot Benedict, who was known -amongst them as a great prophet. He therefore sent word to Monte -Cassino to announce his intended visit, to which St. Benedict replied -that he would be happy to receive him. On receiving the answer he -resolved to employ a stratagem to test the real prophetic powers of -the abbot, and accordingly, instead of going himself, he caused the -captain of the guard to dress himself in the imperial robes, and, -accompanied by three lords of the court and a numerous retinue, to -present himself to the abbot as the kingly visitor. However, as soon -as they entered into his presence, the abbot detected the fraud, and, -addressing the counterfeit king, bid him put off a dress which did not -belong to him. In the utmost alarm they all fled back to Totila and -related the result of their interview; the unbelieving Goth, now -thoroughly convinced, went in proper person to Monte Cassino, and, on -perceiving the abbot seated waiting to receive him, he was overcome -with terror, could go no further, and prostrated himself to the -ground. [Footnote 32] St. Benedict bid him rise, but as he seemed -unable, assisted him himself. A long conversation ensued, during which -St. Benedict reproved him for his many acts of violence, and concluded -with this prophetic declaration: "You have done much evil, and -continue to do so; you will enter Rome; you will cross the sea; you -will reign nine years longer, but death will overtake you on the -tenth, when you will be arraigned before a just God to give an account -of your deeds." Totila trembled at this sentence, besought the prayers -of the abbot, and took his leave. The prediction was marvellously -fulfilled; in any case the interview wrought a change in the manner of -this Gothic warrior little short of miraculous, for from that time he -treated those whom he had conquered with gentleness. When he took -Rome, as St. Benedict had predicted he should, he forbade all carnage, -and insisted on protecting women from insult; stranger still, in the -year 552, only a little beyond the time allotted him by the -prediction, he fell in a battle which he fought against Narses, the -eunuch general of the Greco-Roman army. St. Benedict's sister, -Scholastica, who had become a nun, discovered the whereabouts of her -lost brother, came to Monte Cassino, took up her residence near him, -and founded a convent upon the principles of his rule. She was, -therefore, the first Benedictine nun, and is often represented in -paintings, prominent in that well-known group composed of herself, St. -Benedict, and the two disciples, Maurus and Placidus. - - [Footnote 32: "Quem cum a longe sedentem cerneret, non ausus - accedero sese in terram dedit."--St. Greg. Dial., lib. ii., c. 14.] - -It appears that her brother was in the habit of paying her a visit -every year, and upon one occasion stayed until late in the evening, so -late that Scholastica pressed him not to leave; but he persisting, she -offered a prayer that heaven might interpose and prevent his going, -when suddenly a tempest came on so fierce and furious that he was -compelled to remain until it was over, when he returned to his -monastery. Two days after this occurrence, as he was praying in his -cell, he beheld the soul of his beloved sister ascending to heaven in -the form of a dove, and the same day intelligence was brought him of -her death. This vision forms the subject of many of the pictures in -Benedictine nunneries. One short month after the decease of this -affectionate sister, St. {157} Benedict, through visiting and -attending to the sick and poor in his neighborhood, contracted a fever -which prostrated him; he immediately foretold his death, and ordered -the tomb in which his sister lay in the church to be opened. On the -sixth day of his illness he asked to be carried to it, where he -remained for some time in silent, prayerful contemplation; he then -begged to be removed to the steps of the high alter, where, having -received the holy viaticum, he suddenly stretched out his arms to -heaven and fell back dead. This event took place on Saturday, the 21st -March, 543, in the 63d year of his age. He was buried by the side of -his sister Scholastica, on the very spot, it is said, where he threw -down the altar of Apollo. In the seventh century, however, some of his -remains were dug up, brought to France, and placed in the Abbey of -Fleury, from which circumstance it took the name of St. Benoit, on the -Loire. After his death his disciples spread themselves abroad over the -continent and founded monasteries of his name and rule. Placidus -became a martyr, and was canonized; Maurus founded a monastery in -France, was also introduced to England, and from his canonized name, -St. Maurus, springs one of the oldest English names--St. Maur, -Seymaur, or Seymour. - -Divesting this narrative of its legendary accompaniments, and judging -of St. Benedict, the man, by the subsequent success of his work, and -the influence of his genius upon the whole mechanism of European -monasticism, and even upon the destinies of a later civilization, we -are compelled to admit that he must have been a man whose intellect -and character were far in advance of his age. By instituting the vow -of labor, that peculiarity in his rule which we shall presently -examine more fully, he struck at the root of the evils attending the -monasticism of his times, an evil which would have ruined it as an -institution in the fifth century had he not interposed, and an evil -which in the sixteenth century alone caused its downfall in England. - -Before proceeding to examine the rule upon which all the greatness of -the Benedictine order was based, it will be necessary to mention the -two, earliest mission efforts of the order. The first was conducted -under the immediate direction of St. Benedict himself, who in the year -534 sent Placidus, with two others, Gordian and Donatus, into Sicily, -to erect a monastery upon land which Tertullus, the father of -Placidus, had given to St. Benedict. Shortly after the death of the -saint, Innocent, bishop of Mans, in France, sent Flodegarde, his -archdeacon, and Hardegarde, his steward, to ask for the assistance of -some monks of St. Benedict's monastery, for the purpose of introducing -the order into France. St. Maurus was selected for the mission, and, -accompanied by Simplicius, Constantinian, Antony, and Faustus, he set -out from Monte Cassino, and arrived in France the latter end of the -year 543; but to their great consternation, upon reaching Orleans, -they were told that the Bishop of Mans was dead, and another hostile -to their intentions had succeeded him. They then bent their steps -toward Anjou, where they founded the monastery of Glanfeuil, from -whose cloisters issued the founders of nearly all the Benedictine -institutions in France. From these two centres radiated that mighty -influence which we shall now proceed to examine. - -As we have in a former paper sketched the internal structure of the -monastery, we will before going further fill each compartment with its -proper officers, people the whole monastery with its subjects, and -then examine the law which kept them together. - -The abbot was, of course, the head and ruler of the little kingdom, -and when that officer died the interval between his death and the -installation {158} of his successor was beautifully called the -"widowhood of the monastery." The appointment was considered to rest -with the king, though the Benedictine rule enjoined a previous -election by the monks and then the royal sanction. This election was -conducted in the chapter-house: the prior who acted as abbot daring -the time the mitre was vacant summoned the monks at a certain hour, -the license to elect was then read, the hymn of the Holy Ghost sung, -all who were present and had no vote were ordered to leave, the -license was repeated--three scrutators took the votes separately, and -the chanter declared the result--the monks then lifted up the elect on -their shoulders, and, chanting the _Te Deum_, carried him to the high -altar in the church, where he lay whilst certain prayers were said -over him; they then carried him to the vacant apartments of the late -abbot, which were thrown open, and where he remained in strict -seclusion until the formal and magnificent ceremony of installation -was gone through. In the meantime the aspect of the monastery was -changed, the signs of mourning were laid aside, the bells which had -been silent were once more heard, the poor were again admitted and -received relief, and preparations were at once commenced for the -installation. Outside also there was a commotion, for the peasantry, -and in fact all the neighborhood, joined in the rejoicings. The -immense resources of the refectory were taxed to their utmost, for the -installation of the lord abbot was a feast, and to it were invited all -the nobility and gentry in the neighborhood. On the day of the -ceremony the gate of the great church was thrown open to admit all who -were to witness the solemn ceremony, and, as soon as the bells had -ceased, the procession began to move from the cloisters, headed by the -prior, who was immediately followed by the priest of the divine -office, clad in their gorgeous ceremonial robes; then followed the -monks, in scapulary and cowled tunic, and last of all the lay brethren -and servants; the newly elect and two others who were to officiate in -his installation remained behind, as they were not to appear until -later. The prior then proceeded to say mass, and just before the -gospel was read there was a pause, during which the organ broke out -into strains of triumphant music, and the newly chosen abbot with his -companions were seen to enter the church, and walk slowly up the aisle -toward the altar. As they approached they were met by the prior (or -the bishop, if the abbey were in the jurisdiction of one), who then -read the solemn profession, to which the future abbot responded; the -prior and the elect then prostrated themselves before the high altar, -in which position they remained whilst litanies and prayers were -chanted; after the litany the prior arose, stood on the highest step -of the altar, and whilst all were kneeling in silence pronounced the -words of the benediction; then all arose, and the abbot received from -the hands of the prior the rule of the order and the pastoral staff, a -hymn was sung, and, after the gospel, the abbot communicated, and -retired with his two attendants, to appear again in the formal -ceremony of introduction. During his absence the procession was -re-formed by the chanter, and, at a given signal, proceeded down the -choir to meet the new abbot, who reappeared at the opposite end -bare-footed, in token of humility, and clad no longer in the simple -habit of a monk, but with the abbot's rich dalmatic, the ring on his -finger, and a glittering mitre of silver, ornamented with gold, on his -brow. As soon as he had entered he knelt for a few moments in prayer -upon a carpet, spread on the upper step of the choir; when he arose he -was formally introduced as the lord high abbot, led to his stall, and -seated there with the pastoral staff in his hand. The monks then -advanced, according to {159} seniority, and, kneeling before him, gave -him the kiss of peace, first upon the hand, and afterward, when -rising, upon the month. When this ceremony was over, amid the strains -of the organ and the uplifted voices of the choir, the newly -proclaimed arose, marched through the choir in full robes, and, -carrying the pastoral staff, entered the vestiary, and then proceeded -to divest himself of the emblems of his office. The service was -concluded, the abbot returned to his apartments, the monks to the -cloisters, the guests to prepare for the feast, and the widowhood of -the abbey was over. The sway of the abbot was unlimited--they were all -sworn to obey him implicitly, and he had it in his power to punish -delinquents with penances, excommunication, imprisonment, and in -extreme cases with corporal punishment--he ranked as a peer, was -styled "My Lord Abbot," and in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries -kept an equal state and lived as well as the king on the throne: some -of them had the power of conferring the honor of knighthood, and the -monarch himself could not enter the monastery without permission. The -next man in office to the abbot was the prior, [Footnote 33] who, in -the absence of his superior, was invested with full powers; but on -other occasions his jurisdiction was limited--in some monasteries he -was assisted by sub-priors, in proportion to the size of the -institution and number of its inmates. - - [Footnote 33: Heads of priories were priors also, but they were - equally subject to their respective abbeys.] - -After the prior in rank came the precentor or chanter, an office only -given to a monk who had been brought up in the monastery from a child. -He had the supervision of the choral service, the writing out the -tables of divine service for the monks, the correction of mistakes in -chanting, which he led off from his place in the centre of the choir; -he distributed the robes at festivals, and arranged processions. The -cellarer was intrusted with the food, drink, etc., of the monastery, -also with the mazers or drinking cups of the monks, and all other -vessels used in the cellar, kitchen, and refectory; he had to attend -at the refectory table, and collect the spoons after dinner. The -treasurer had charge of the documents, deeds, and moneys belonging to -the monastery; he received the rents, paid all the wages and expenses, -and kept the accounts. The sacristan's duties were connected with the -church; he had to attend to the altar, to carry a lantern before the -priest, as he went from the altar to the lecturn, to cause the bell to -be rung; he took charge of all the sacred vessels in use, prepared the -host, the wine, and the altar bread. The almoner's duty was to provide -the monks with mats or hassocks for their feet in the church, also -matting in the chapter-house, cloisters, and dormitory stairs; he was -to attend to the poor, and distribute alms amongst them, and in the -winter warm clothes and shoes. After the monks had retired from the -refectory, it was his duty to go round and collect any drink left in -the mazers to be given away to the poor. The kitchener was filled by a -different monk every week in turn, and he had to arrange what food was -to be cooked, go round to the infirmary, visit the sick and provide -for them, and superintend the labors of his assistants. The infirmarer -had care of the sick; it was his office to administer to their wants, -to give them their meals, to sprinkle holy water on their beds every -night after the service of complin. A person was generally appointed -to this duty who, in case of emergency, was competent to receive the -confession of a sick man. The porter was generally a grave monk of -mature age; he had an assistant to keep the gate when he delivered -messages, or was compelled to leave his post. The chamberlain's -business was to look after the beds, bedding, and shaving room, to -attend to the dormitory windows, and to have the chambers swept, and -the straw of the beds changed once every year, and under his {160} -supervision was the tailory, where clothes, etc., were made and -repaired. There were other offices connected with the monastery, but -these were the principal, and next to these came the monks who formed -the convent with the lay brethren and novices. If a child were -dedicated to God by being sent to a monastery, his parents were -required to swear that he would receive no portion of fortune, -directly or indirectly; if a mature man presented himself, he was -required to abandon all his possessions, either to his family or to -the monastery itself, and then to enter as a novitiate. In order to -make this as trying as possible, the Benedictine rule enjoined that no -attention should be at first paid to an applicant, that the door -should not be even opened to him for four or five days, to test his -perseverance. If he continued to knock, then he was to be admitted to -the guests' house, and after more delay to the novitiate, where he was -submitted to instruction and examination. Two months were allowed for -this test, and if satisfactory, the applicant had the rule read to -him, which reading was concluded with the words used by St. Benedict -himself, and already quoted: "This is the law under which thou art to -live, and to strive for salvation. If thou canst observe it, enter; if -not, go in peace, thou art free." The novitiate lasted one year, and -during this time the rule was read and the question put thrice. If at -the end of that time the novice remained firm, he was introduced to -the community in the church, made a declaration of his vows in -writing, placed it on the altar, threw himself at the feet of the -brethren, and from that moment was a monk. The rule which swayed this -mass of life, wherever it existed, in a Benedictine monastery, and -indirectly the monasteries of other orders, which are only -modifications of the Benedictine system, was sketched out by that -solitary hermit of Subiaco. It consists of seventy-three chapters, -which contain a code of laws regulating the duties between the abbot -and his monks, the mode conducting the divine services, the -administration of penalties and discipline, the duties of monks to -each other, and the internal economy of the monastery, the duties of -the institution toward the world outside, the distribution of charity, -the kindly reception of strangers, the laws to regulate the actions of -those who were compelled to be absent or to travel; in fine, -everything which could pertain to the administration of an institution -composed of an infinite variety of characters subjected to one -absolute ruler. It has elicited the admiration of the learned and good -of all subsequent ages. It begins with the simple sentence: "Listen, O -son, to the precepts of the master! Do not fear to receive the counsel -of a good father, and to fulfil it fully, that thy laborious obedience -may lead thee back to him from whom disobedience and weakness have -alienated thee. To thee, whoever thou art, who renouncest thine own -will to fight under the true King, the Lord Jesus Christ, and takest -in hand the valiant and glorious weapons of obedience, are my words at -this moment addressed." The first words, "Ausculta, O fili!" are often -to be seen inscribed on a book placed in the hands of St. Benedict, in -paintings and stained glass. The preamble contains the injunction of -the two leading principles of the rule; all the rest is detail, -marvellously thorough and comprehensive. These two grand principles -were obedience and labor--the former became absorbed in the latter, -for he speaks of that also as a species of labor--"Obedientiae -laborem;" but the latter was the genius, the master-spirit of the -whole code. There was to be labor, not only of contemplation, in the -shape of prayer, worship, and self-discipline, to nurture the soul, -but labor of action, vigorous, healthy, bodily labor, with the pen in -the scriptorium, with the spade in the fields, with the hatchet in the -forest, or with the trowel on the walls. Labor of some sort there must -be daily, but no idleness: that was branded as "the {161} enemy of the -soul"--"Otiositas inimica est animiae." It was enjoined with all the -earnestness of one thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the great -Master, who said, "Work whilst it is yet day, for the night cometh, -when no man shall work;" who would not allow the man he had restored -to come and remain with him--that is, to lead the life of religious -contemplation, but told him to "go home to thy friends, and tell them -how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion -on thee!" That is the life of religious activity. The error of the -early monasticism was the making it solely a life of contemplation. -Religious contemplation and religious activity must go together. In -the contemplation the Christian acquires strength, in the activity he -uses that strength for others; in the activity he is made to feel his -weakness and driven to seek for aid in contemplation and prayer. - -But, beside being based upon divine authority and example, this -injunction of labor was formed upon a clear insight into and full -appreciation of one of the most subtle elements of our constitution. -It is this, that without labor no man can live; exist he may, but not -live. This is one of the great mysteries of life--its greatest -mystery; and its most emphatic lesson, which, if men would only learn, -it would be one great step toward happiness, or at least toward that -highest measure of happiness attainable below. If we can only realize -this fact in the profundity of its truth, we shall have at once the -key to half the miseries and anomalies which beset humanity. Passed -upon man, in the first instance, by the Almighty as a curse, yet it -carried in it the germ of a blessing; pronounced upon him as a -sentence of punishment, yet there lurked in the chastisement the -Father's love. Turn where we may, to the pages of bygone history or to -the unwritten page of everyday life, from the gilded saloons of the -noble to the hut of the peasant, we shall find this mysterious law -working out its results with the unerring precision of a fundamental -principle of nature. Where men obey that injunction of labor, no -matter what their station, there is in the act the element of -happiness, and wherever men avoid that injunction there is always the -shadow of the unfulfilled curse darkening their path. This is the -great clue to the balance of compensation between the rich and the -poor. The rich man has no urgent need to labor; his wealth provides -him with the means of escape from the injunction, and there is to be -found in that man's life, unless he, in some way, with his head or -with his hands, works out his measure of the universal task, a -dissonance and a discord, a something which, in spite of all his -wealth and all his luxury, corrupts and poisons his whole existence. -It is a truth which cannot be ignored--no man who has studied life -closely has failed to notice it, and no merely rich man lives who has -not felt it and would not confess to its truth, if the question were -pressed upon him. But in the case of the man who works, there is in -his daily life the element of happiness, cares flee before him, and -all the little caprices and longings of the imagination--those -gad-flies which torment the idle--are to him unknown. He fulfils the -measure of life; and whatever his condition, even if destitute in -worldly wealth, we may be assured that the poor man has great -compensations, and if he sat down with the rich man to count up -grievances would check off a less number than his wealthier brother. -Whatever his position, man should labor diligently; if poor he should -labor and he may become rich, and if rich he should labor still, that -all the evils attendant upon riches may disappear. Pure health steals -over the body, the mind becomes dear, and the little miseries of life, -the petty grievances, the fantastic wants, the morbid jealousies, the -wasting weariness, and the terrible sense of vacuity which haunt {162} -the life of one-half of the rich in the world, all flee before the -talisman of active labor; nor should we be discouraged by failure, for -it is better to fail in action than to do nothing. After all, what is -commonly called failure we shall find to be not altogether such if we -examine more closely. We set out upon some action or engagement, and -after infinite toil we miss the object of that action or engagement, -and they say we have failed; but there is consolation in this -incontrovertible fact, that although we may have missed the particular -object toward which our efforts have been directed, yet we have not -altogether failed. There are many collateral advantages attendant upon -exertion which may even be of greater importance than the attainment -of the immediate object of that exertion, so that it is quite possible -to fail wholly in achieving a certain object and yet make a glorious -success. Half the achievements of life are built up on failures, and -the greater the achievement, the greater evidence it is of persistent -combat with failure. The student devotes his days and nights to some -intellectual investigation, and though he may utterly fail in -attaining to the actual object of that search, yet he may be drawn -into some narrow diverging path in the wilderness of thought which may -lead him gradually away from his beaten track on to the broad open -light of discovery. The navigator goes out on the broad ocean in -search of unknown tracts of land, and though he may return, after long -and fruitless wanderings, yet in the voyages he has made he has -acquired experience, and may, perchance, have learned some fact or -thing which will prove the means of saving him in the hour of danger. -Those great luminaries of the intellectual firmament--men who devoted -their whole lives to investigate, search, study, and think for the -elevation and good of their fellows--have only succeeded after a long -discipline of failure, but by that discipline their powers have been -developed, their capacity of thought expanded, and the experience -gradually acquired which at length brought success. There is, then, no -total failure to honest exertion, for he who diligently labors must in -some way reap. It is a lesson often reiterated in apostolic teaching -that "whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth;" and the truth of that -lesson may be more fully appreciated by a closer contemplation of -life, more especially this phenomenon of life in which we see the -Father's love following close upon the heels of his chastisement. The -man who works lives, but he who works not lives but a dying and a -hopeless life. - -That vow of labor infused new vitality into the monks, and instead of -living as they had hitherto done upon the charity of the public, they -soon began not only to support themselves, but to take the poor of -their neighborhood under their own especial protection. Whenever the -Benedictines resolved on building a monastery, they chose the most -barren, deserted spot they could find, often a piece of land long -regarded as useless, and therefore frequently given without a price, -then they set to work, cleared a space for their buildings, laid their -foundations deep in the earth, and by gradual but unceasing toil, -often with their own hands, alternating their labor with their -prayers, they reared up those stately abbeys which still defy the -ravages of age. In process of time the desert spot upon which they had -settled underwent a complete transformation--a little world populous -with busy life sprang up in its midst, and far and near in its -vicinity the briers were cleared away--the hard soil broken -up--gardens and fields laid out, and soon the land, cast aside by its -owners as useless, bore upon its fertile bosom flowers, fruit, corn, -in all the rich exuberance of heaven's blessing upon man's -toil--plenty and peace smiled upon the whole scene--its halls were -vocal with the voice of praise and the incense of charity arose {163} -to heaven from its altars. They came upon the scene poor and -friendless--they made themselves rich enough to become the guardians -of the poor and friendless; and the whole secret of their success, the -magic by which they worked these miracles, was none other than that -golden rule of labor instituted by the penetrating intellect of their -great founder; simple and only secret of all success in this world, -now and ever--work--absolute necessity to real life, and, united with -faith, one of the elements of salvation. - -Before we advance to the consideration of the achievements of the -Benedictine order, we wish to call attention to a circumstance which -has seldom, if ever, been dwelt upon by historians, and which will -assist us in estimating the influence of monachism upon the embryo -civilization of Europe. - -It is a remarkable fact that two great and renowned phases of life -existed in the world parallel to each other, and went out by natural -decay just at the same period: chivalry and monasticism. The latter -was of elder birth, but as in the reign of Henry VIII. England saw the -last of monasticism, so amid some laughter, mingled with a little -forced seriousness, did she see the man who was overturning that old -system vainly endeavoring to revive the worn-out paraphernalia of -chivalry. The jousts and tournaments of Henry's time were the sudden -flashing up of that once brilliant life, before its utter extinction. -Both had been great things in the world--both had done great things, -and both have left traces of their influence upon modern society and -modern refinement which have not yet been obliterated, and perhaps -never will be. It may then be interesting and instructive if we were -to endeavor to compare the value of each by the work it did in the -world. The origin of monasticism we have already traced; that of -chivalry requires a few comments. Those who go to novels and romances -for their history, have a notion that chivalry existed only in the -thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, the periods chosen -for the incidents of those very highly colored romances which belong -to that order of writing. There is also a notion that it sprang out of -the Crusades, which, instead of being its origin, were rather the -result of the system itself. The real origin of chivalry may be fairly -traced to that period when the great empire of the West was broken up -and subdivided by the barbarians of the North. Upon the ruins of that -empire chivalry arose naturally. The feudal system was introduced, -each petty state had a certain number of vassals, commanded by -different chiefs, on whose estates they lived, and to whom they swore -fealty in return for their subsistence; these again looked up to the -king as head. - -By-and-bye, as the new form of life fell into working order, it became -evident that these chiefs, with their vassals, were a power in -themselves, and by combination might interfere with, if not overthrow, -the authority of the king himself. Their continued quarrels amongst -themselves were the only protection the king had against them, but -gradually that ceased, and a time came when there was no occupation -for the superfluous valor of the country; retainers lay about -castleyards in all the mischief of idleness, drunken and clamorous; -the kings not yet firmly seated on their thrones looked about for some -current into which they might divert this dangerous spirit. The -condition of things in the states themselves was bad enough; the laws -were feebly administered; it was vain for injured innocence to appeal -against the violence of power; the sword was the only lawgiver, and -strength the only opinion. Women were violated with impunity, houses -burned, herds stolen, and even blood shed without any possibility of -redress for the injured. This state of things was the foundation of -chivalry. {164} Instinctively led, or insidiously directed to it, -strong men began to take upon themselves the honor of redressing -grievances, the injured woman found an armed liberator springing up in -her defence, captives were rescued by superior force, injuries -avenged, and the whole system--by the encouragement of the petty kings -who saw in this rising feeling a vent for the idle valor they so much -dreaded--soon consolidated itself, was embellished and made attractive -by the charm of gallantry, and the rewards accorded to the successful -by the fair ladies who graced the courts. Things went on well, and -that dangerous spirit which threatened to overturn royalty now became -its greatest ornament. In process of time it again outgrew its work, -and with all the advantages of organization and flatteries of success, -it once more became the tenor of the crowned heads of Europe. At this -crisis, however, an event occurred which, in all probability, though -it drained Europe of half her manhood, saved her from centuries of -bloodshed and anarchy; that event was the banishment of the Christians -and the taking of Jerusalem by the Saracens. Here was a grand field -for the display of chivalry. Priestly influence was brought to bear -upon the impetuous spirits of these chevaliers, religious fervor was -aroused, and the element of religious enthusiasm infused into the -whole organization; fair ladies bound the cross upon the breasts of -their champions, and bid them go and fight under the banners of the -Mother of God. The whole continent fired up under the preaching of -Peter the Hermit; all the rampant floating chivalry of Europe was -aroused, flocked to the standards of the church, and banded themselves -together in favor of this Holy War; whilst the Goth, the Vandal, and -the Lombard, sitting on their tottering thrones, encouraged by every -means in their power this diversion of the prowess they had so much -dreaded, and began to see in the troubles of Eastern Christianity a -fitting point upon which to concentrate the fighting material of -Europe out of their way until their own position was more thoroughly -consolidated. The Crusades, however, came to an end in time, and -Europe was once more deluged with bands of warriors who came trooping -home from Eastern climes changed with new ideas, new traditions, and -filled with martial ardor. But now the Goth, the Vandal, and the -Lombard had made their position secure, and the knights and chieftains -fell back naturally upon their old pursuit of chivalry, took up arms -once more in defence of the weak and injured against the strong and -oppressive. That valor which had fought foot to foot with the swarthy -Saracen, had braved the pestilence of Eastern climes and the horrors -of Eastern dungeons, soon enlisted itself in the more peaceable lists -of the joust and tournament, and went forth under the inspiration of a -mistress's love-knot to do that work which we material moderns consign -to the office of a magistrate and the arena of a quarter sessions. - -It was in this later age of chivalry, when the religious element had -blended with it, and it was dignified with the traditions of religious -championship, that the deeds were supposed to be done which form the -subject of those wonderful romances;--that was more properly the -perfection of the institution; its origin lay, as we have seen, much -further back. - -As regards the difference between the work and influence of chivalry -and monasticism, it is the same which always must exist between the -physical and the moral--the one was a material and the other was a -spiritual force. The orders of chivalry included all the physical -strength of the country, its active material; but the monastery -included all its spiritual power and thinking material. Chivalry was -the instrument by which mighty deeds were done, but the intellect -which guided, directed, and in {165} fact used that instrument was -developed and matured in the seclusion of the cloister. By the -adoption of a stringent code of honor as regards the plighted word, -and a gallant consideration toward the vanquished and weak, chivalry -did much toward the refinement of social intercommunication and -assuaging the atrocities of warfare. By the adoption, also, of a -gentle bearing and respectful demeanor toward the opposite sex, it -elevated woman from the obscurity in which she lay, and placed her in -a position where she could exercise her softening influence upon the -rude customs of a half-formed society; but we must not forget that the -gallantry of chivalry was, after all, but a glossing over with the -splendors of heroism the excrescences of a gross licentiousness--a -licentiousness which mounted to its crisis in the polished gallantry -of the court of Louis XIV. Monasticism did more for woman than -chivalry. It was all very well for _preux chevaliers_ to go out and -fight for the honor of a woman's name whom they had never seen; but we -find that when they were brought into contact with woman they behaved -with like ruthless violence to her whatever her station may have -been--no matter whether she was the pretty daughter of the herdsman, -or the wife of some neighboring baron, she was seized by violence, -carried off to some remote fortress, violated and abandoned. -Monasticism did something better, it provided her when she was no -longer safe, either in the house of her father or her husband, with an -impregnable shelter against the licentious pursuit of these _preux -chevaliers_; it gave her a position in the church equal to their own; -she might become the prioress or the lady abbess of her convent; she -was no longer the sport and victim of chivalrous licentiousness, but a -pure and spotless handmaiden of the Most High--a fellow-servant in the -church, where she was honored with equal position and rewarded with -equal dignities--a far better thing this than chivalry, which broke -skulls in honor of her name, whilst it openly violated the sanctity of -her person. It may be summed up in a sentence. Monasticism worked long -and silently at the foundation and superstructure of society, whilst -chivalry labored at its decoration. - -When we mention the fact that the history of the mere literary -achievements of the Benedictine order fills four large quarto volumes, -printed in double columns, it will be readily understood how -impossible it is to give anything like an idea of its general work in -the world in the space of a short summary. That book, written by -Zeigelbauer, and called "Historia Rei Literariae Ordinis Sancti -Benedicti," contains a short biography of every monk belonging to that -order who had distinguished himself in the realms of literature, -science, and art. Then comes Don Johannes Mabillon with his ponderous -work, "Acta Sanctorum Ordinis Sancti Benedicti." These two authorities -gave a minute history of that marvellous institution, of whose glories -we can only offer a faint outline. - -The Benedictines, after the death of their founder, steadily -prospered, and as they prospered, sent out missionaries to preach the -truth amongst the nations then plunged in the depths of paganism. It -has been estimated that they were the means of converting upwards of -thirty countries and provinces to the Christian faith. They were the -first to overturn the altars of the heathen deities in the north of -Europe; they carried the cross into Gaul, into Saxony and Belgium; -they placed that cross between the abject misery of serfdom and the -cruelty of feudal violation; between the beasts of burden and the -beasts of prey--they proclaimed the common kinship of humanity in -Christ the Elder Brother. - -Strange to say, some of its most distinguished missionaries were -natives of our own country. It was a {166} Scottish monk, St. Ribanus, -who first preached the gospel in Franconia--it was an English monk, -St. Wilfred, who did the same in Friesland and Holland in the year -683, but with little success--it was an Englishman, St. Swibert, who -carried the cross to Saxony, and it was from the lips of another -Englishman, St. Ulfred, that Sweden first heard the gospel--it was an -Englishman and a Devonshire man, St. Boniface, who laid aside his -mitre, put on his monk's dress, converted Germany to the truth, and -then fell a victim to the fury of the heathen Frieslanders, who -slaughtered him in cold blood. Four Benedictine monks carried the -light of truth into Denmark, Sweden, and Gothland, sent there in the -ninth century by the Emperor Ludovicus Pius. Gascony, Hungary, -Lithuania, Russia, Pomerania, are all emblazoned on their banners as -victories won by them in the fight of faith; and it was to the -devotion of five martyr monks, who fell in the work, that Poland -traces the foundation of her church. - -It is a remarkable fact in the history of Christianity, that in its -earliest stage--the first phase of its existence--its tendency was to -elevate peasants to the dignity of apostles, but in its second stage -it reversed its operations and brought kings from their thrones to the -seclusion of the cloister--humbled the great ones of the earth to the -dust of penitential humility. Up to the fourth century Christianity -was a terrible struggle against principalities and powers: then a time -came when principalities and powers humbled themselves at the foot of -that cross whose followers they had so cruelly persecuted. The -innumerable martyrdoms of the first four centuries of its career were -followed by a long succession of' royal humiliations, for, during the -sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries, in addition to what took -place as regards other orders, no less than ten emperors and twenty -kings resigned their crowns and became monks of the Benedictine order -alone. Amongst this band of great ones the most conspicuous are the -Emperors Anastasius, Theodosius, Michael, Theophilus, and Ludovicus -Pius. Amongst the kings are Sigismund of Burgundy, Cassimir of Poland, -Bamba of Spain, Childeric and Theodoric of France, Sigisbert of -Northumberland, Ina of the West Saxons, Veremunde of Castille, Pepin -of Italy, and Pipin of Acquitaine. Adding to these their subsequent -acquisitions, the Benedictines claim up to the 14th. century the honor -of enrolling amongst their number twenty emperors and forty-seven -kings: twenty sons of emperors and forty-eight sons of kings--amongst -whom were Drogus, Pipin, and Hugh, sons of Charlemagne; Lothair and -Carlomen, sons of Charles; and Fredericq, son of Louis III. of France. -As nuns of their order they have had no less than ten empresses and -fifty queens, including the Empresses Zoa Euphrosyne, St. Cunegunda, -Agnes, Augusta, and Constantina; the Queens Batilda of France, Elfreda -of Northumberland, Sexburga of Kent, Ethelberga of the West Saxons, -Ethelreda of Mercia, Ferasia of Toledo, Maud of England. In the year -1290 the Empress Elizabeth took the veil with her daughters Agnes, -queen of Hungary, and the Countess Cueba; also Anne, queen of Poland, -and Cecily, her daughter. In the wake of these crowned heads follow -more than one hundred princesses, daughters of kings and emperors. -Five Benedictine nuns have attained literary distinction--Rosinda, St. -Elizabeth, St. Hildegardis, whose works were approved of by the -Council of Treves, St. Hiltrudis, and St. Metilda. - -For the space of 239 years 1 month and 26 days the Benedictines -governed the church in the shape of 48 popes chosen from their order, -most prominent among whom was Gregory the Great, through whose means -the rule was introduced into England. Four of these pontiffs came from -the original {167} monastery of Monte Cassino, and three of them -quitted the throne and resumed the monastic life--Constantine II., -Christopher I., and Gregory XII. Two hundred cardinals had been monks -in their cloisters--they produced 7,000 archbishops, 15,000 bishops, -fifteen of whom took off their mitres, resumed their monks' frock, and -died in seclusion; 15,000 abbots; 4,000 saints. They established in -different countries altogether 87,000 monasteries, which sent out into -the world upwards of 15,700 monks, all of whom attained distinction as -authors of books or scientific inventors. Rabanus established the -first school in Germany. Alcuin founded the University of Paris, where -30,000 students were educated at one time, and whence issued, to the -honor of England, St. Thomas à Becket, Robert of Melun, Robert White, -made cardinal by Celestine II., Nicholas Broakspear, the only -Englishman ever made Pope, who filled the chair under the title of -Adrian IV., and John of Salisbury, whose writings give us the best -description of the learning both of the university and the times. -Theodore and Adrian, two Benedictine monks, revived the University of -Oxford, which Bede, another of the order, considerably advanced. It -was in the obscurity of a Benedictine monastery that the musical scale -or gamut--the very alphabet of the greatest refinement of modern -life--was invented, and Guido d'Arezzo, who wrested this secret from -the realms of sound, was the first to found a school of music. -Sylvester invented the organ, and Dionysius Exiguus perfected the -ecclesiastical computation. - -England in the early periods of her history contributed upwards of a -hundred sons to this band of immortals, the most distinguished of whom -we will just enumerate--St. Cuthbert, bishop of Lindisfarne, whose -life Bede has written, and whose "Ordinationes" and "De Vita -Monastica" have reached to our times. St. Benedict Biscop, the founder -of the monasteries of St. Peter and St. Paul, at Wearmouth and Jarrow, -a nobleman by birth, and a man of extraordinary learning and ability, -to whom England owes the training of the father of her ecclesiastical -history, the Venerable Bede. St. Aldhelm, nephew of King Ina, St. -Wilfrid, St Brithwald, a monk of Glastonbury, elevated to the dignity -of Archbishop of Canterbury, which he held over thirty-seven years. -His works which have come down to us are a "Life of St. Egwin, bishop -of Worcester," and the "Origin of the Monastery of Evesham." Tatwin, -who succeeded him in the archbishopric. Bede the Venerable, who was -skilled in all the learning of the times, and; in addition to Latin -and Greek, was versed in Hebrew; he wrote an immense number of works, -many of which are lost, but the best known are the greater portion of -the "Saxon Chronicle," which was continued after his death as a -national record; and his "Ecclesiastical History," which gives to -England a more compendious and valuable account of her early church -than has fallen to the lot of any other nation. He was also one of the -earliest translators of the Scriptures, and oven on his death-bed -dictated to a scribe almost up to the final moment; when the last -struggle came upon him he had reached as far as the words, "But what -are they among so many," in the sixth chapter of St. John's Gospel, -and the ninth verse. St. Boniface, already alluded to as the apostle -of Germany, was a native of Devonshire. He was made Archbishop of -Mentz, but being possessed with an earnest longing to convert the -heathen Frieslanders, he retired from his archbishopric, and putting -on his monk's dress took with him no other treasure than a book he was -very fond of reading, called "De Bono Mortis," went amongst these -people, who cruelly beat him to death in the year 755; and the book -stained with his blood {168} was cherished as a sacred relic long -after. Alcuin, whom we have already mentioned as the founder of the -University of Paris, was a Yorkshireman, and was educated under Bede. -He lived to become the friend of Charlemagne, and next to his -venerable master was the greatest scholar and divine in Europe; he -died about the year 790. John Asser, a native of Pembrokeshire, is -another of these worthies. It is supposed that Alfred endowed Oxford -with professors, and settled stipends upon them, under his influence, -he being invited to the court of that monarch for his great learning. -He wrote a "Commentary" upon Boethius de Consolatione Philosophiae, -the "Life of King Alfred," and the "Annals of Great Britain." St. -Dunstan, a monk of Glastonbury, the best known of all these great -Englishmen, died Archbishop of Canterbury; but as we shall have much -to say of him hereafter we pass on to St. Ethelwold, his pupil, also a -monk at Glastonbury, distinguished for his learning and piety, for -which he was made abbot of the Monastery of Abingdon, where he died in -the year 984. Ingulphus, a native of London, was made Abbot of -Croyland, in Lincolnshire, in the year 1075. A history of the abbey -over which he presided has been attributed to him, but its -authenticity has been gravely disputed. Alfric, a noted grammarian. -Florence, of Worcester, was another great annalist, who in his -"Chronicon ex Chronici" brings the history down to the year 1119, that -in which he died; his book is chiefly valuable as a key to the "Saxon -Chronicle." William, the renowned monk of Malmesbury, the most elegant -of all the monastic Latinists, was born about the time of the Norman -Conquest. His history consists of two parts, the "Gesta Regum -Anglorum," in five books, including the period between the arrival of -the Saxons and the year 1120. The "Historia Novella," in three books, -brings it down to the year 1142. He ranks next to Bede as an historic -writer, most of the others being mere compilers and selectors from -extant chronicles. He also wrote a work on the history of the English -bishops, called "De Gestis Pontificum Anglorum," in which he speaks -out fearlessly and without sparing: also a treatise on the antiquity -of Glastonbury Abbey, "De Antiquitate Glastoniensis Ecclesiae;" his -style is most interesting, and he is supposed to have written -impartially, separating the improbable from the real, and gives us -what can readily be appreciated as a fair and real picture of the -state of things, more especially of the influence and policy of the -Norman court, and the opening of the struggle between the two races. -Eadmer was another contemporaneous celebrity with William of -Malmesbury; he was the author of a history of his own times, called -"Historia Novorum sive Sui Secula," which is spoken of very highly by -William of Malmesbury; it contains the reigns of William the Conqueror -and Rufus, and a portion of that of Henry I., embracing a period -extending from 1066 to 1122. Matthew Paris, another historian who -lived about the year 1259, closes our selection from the long list of -British worthies who were members of the Benedictine order. - -When we reflect that all the other monastic systems, not only of the -past, but even of the present day, are but modifications of this same -rule, and that it emanated from the brain, and is the embodiment of -the genius of the solitary hermit of Monte Cassino, we are lost in -astonishment at the magnitude of the results which have sprung from so -simple an origin. That St. Benedict had any presentiment of the future -glory of his order, there is no sign in his rule or his life. He was a -great and good man, and he produced that comprehensive rule simply for -the guidance of his own immediate followers, without a thought beyond. -But it was blessed, {169} and grew and prospered mightily in the -world. He has been called the Moses of a favored people; and the -comparison is not inapt, for he lead his order on up to the very -borders of the promised country, and after his death, which, like that -of Moses, took place within sight of their goal, they fought their way -through the hostile wilds of barbarism, until those men who had -conquered the ancient civilizations of Europe lay at their feet, bound -in the fetters of spiritual subjection to the cross of Christ. The -wild races of Scandinavia came pouring down upon southern Europe in -one vast march of extermination, slaying and destroying as they -advanced, sending before them the terror of that doom which might be -seen in the desolation which lay behind them; but they fell, -vanquished by the power of the army of God, who sallied forth in turn -to reconquer the world, and fighting not with the weapons of fire and -sword, but, like Christian soldiers, girt about with truth, and having -on the breastplate of righteousness, they subdued these wild races, -who had crushed the conquerors of the earth, and rested not until they -had stormed the stronghold, and planted the cross triumphantly upon -the citadel of an ancient paganism. Time rolled on, and the gloom of a -long age of darkness fell upon a world whose glory lay buried under -Roman ruins. Science had gone, literature had vanished, art had flown, -and men groped about in vain in that dense darkness for one ray of -hope to cheer them in their sorrow. The castle of the powerful baron -rose gloomily above them, and with spacious moat, dense walls, and -battlemented towers, frowned ominously upon the world which lay abject -at its feet. In slavery men were born, and in slavery they lived. They -pandered to the licentiousness and violence of him who held their -lives in his hands, and fed them only to fight and fail at his -bidding. But far away from the castle there arose another building, -massive, solid, and strong, not frowning with battlemented towers, nor -isolated by broad moats; but with open gates, and a hearty welcome to -all comers, stood the monastery, where lay the hope of humanity, as in -a safe asylum. Behind its walls was the church, and clustered around -it the dwelling-places of those who had left the world, and devoted -their lives to the service of that church, and the salvation of their -souls. Far and near in its vicinity the land bore witness to assiduous -culture and diligent care, bearing on its fertile bosom the harvest -hope of those who had labored, which the heavens watered, the sun -smiled upon, and the winds played over, until the heart of man -rejoiced, and all nature was big with the promise of increase. This -was the refuge to which religion and art had fled. In the quiet -seclusion of its cloisters science labored at its problems and -perpetuated its results, uncheered by applause and stimulated only by -the pure love of the pursuit. Art toiled in the church, and whole -generations of busy fingers worked patiently at the decoration of the -temple of the Most High. The pale, thoughtful monk, upon whose brow -genius had set her mark, wandered into the calm retirement of the -library, threw back his cowl, buried himself in the study of -philosophy, history, or divinity, and transferred his thoughts to -vellum, which was to moulder and waste in darkness and obscurity, like -himself in his lonely monk's grave, and be read only when the spot -where he labored should be a heap of ruins, and his very name a -controversy amongst scholars. - -We should never lose sight of this truth, that in this building, when -the world was given up to violence and darkness, was garnered up the -hope of humanity; and these men who dwelt there in contemplation and -obscurity were its faithful guardians--and this was more particularly -the case with that great order whose foundation we {170} have been -examining. The Benedictines were the depositaries of learning and the -arts; they gathered books together, and reproduced them in the silence -of their cells, and they preserved in this way not only the volumes of -sacred writ, but many of the works of classic lore. They started -Gothic architecture--that matchless union of nature with art--they -alone had the secrets of chemistry and medical science; they invented -many colors; they were the first architects, artists, glass-stainers, -carvers, and mosaic workers in mediaeval times. They were the original -illuminators of manuscripts, and the first transcribers of books; in -fine, they were the writers, thinkers, and workers of a dark age, who -wrote for no applause, thought with no encouragement, and worked for -no reward. Their power, too, waxed mighty; kings trembled before their -denunciations of tyranny, and in the hour of danger fled to their -altars for safety; and it was an English king who made a pilgrimage to -their shrines, and prostrate at the feet of five Benedictine monks, -bared his back, and submitted himself to be scourged as a penance to -his crimes. - -Nearly fourteen hundred years have rolled by since the great man who -founded this noble order died; and he who in after years compiled the -"Saxon Chronicle" has recorded it in a simple sentence, which, amongst -the many records of that document, we may at least believe, and with -which we will conclude the chapter--"This year St. Benedict the Abbot, -father of all monks, went to heaven." - ------- - -From The Month. - -SAINTS OF THE DESERT, - -BY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D. - - - -1. Some old men came to Abbot Antony, who, to try their spirits, -proposed to them a difficult passage of Scripture. - -As each in turn did his best to explain it, Antony said: "You have not -hit it." - -Till Abbot Joseph said: "I give it up." - -Then cried Antony: "_He_ has hit it; for he owns he does not know it." - - -2. When the Abbot Arsenius was at the point of death, his brethren -noted that he wept. They said then: "Is it so? art thou too afraid, O -father?" - -He answered: "It is so; and the fear that is now upon me has been with -me ever since I became a monk." - -And so he went to sleep. - - -3. Abbot Pastor said: "We cannot keep out bad thoughts, as we cannot -stop the wind rushing through the door; but we can resist them when -they come." - - - -4. Abbot Besarion said, when he was dying: "A monk ought to be all -eye, as the cherubim and seraphim." - - - -5. They asked Abbot Macarius how they ought to pray. - -The old man made answer: "No need to be voluble in prayer; but stretch -forth thy hands frequently, and say, 'Lord, as thou wilt, and as thou -knowest, have mercy on me.' And if war is coming on, say, 'Help!' And -he who himself knoweth what is expedient for thee, will show thee -mercy." - - - -6. On a festival, when the monks were at table, one cried out to the -servers, "_I_ eat nothing dressed, so bring me some salt." - -Blessed Theodore made reply: "My brother, better were it to have even -secretly eaten flesh in thy cell than thus loudly to have refused it." - - - -7. An old man said: "A monk's cell is that golden Babylonian furnace -in which the Three Children found the Son of God." - ------- - -{171} - - -[ORIGINAL] - -CHRISTINE: - -A TROUBADOUR'S SONG, - -IN FIVE CANTOS. - -BY GEORGE H. MILES. [Footnote 34] - - [Footnote 34: Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year - 1886, by Lawrence Kehoe, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court - of the United States for the Southern District of New York.] - -(Continued) - - - -THE THIRD SONG. - -I. - - - Fronting the vine-clad Hermitage,-- - Its hoary turrets mossed with age, - Its walls with flowers and grass o'ergrown,-- - A ruined Castle, throned so high - Its battlements invade the sky, - Looks down upon the rushing Rhone. - From its tall summits you may see - The sunward slopes of Côte Rotie - With its red harvest's revelry; - While eastward, midway to the Alpine snows, - Soar the sad cloisters of the Grande Chartreuse. - - And here, 'tis said, to hide his shame, - The thrice accursed Pilate came; - And here the very rock is shown. - Where, racked and riven with remorse, - Mad with the memory of the Cross, - He sprang and perished in the Rhone. - 'Tis said that certain of his race - Made this tall peak their dwelling place. - And built them there this castle keep - To mark the spot of Pilate's leap. - -{172} - - Full many the tale of terror told - At eve, with changing cheek, - By maiden fair and stripling bold, - Of these dark keepers of the height - And, most of all, of the Wizard Knight, - The Knight of Pilate's Peak. - His was a name of terror known - And feared through all Provence; - Men breathed it in an undertone. - With quailing eye askance, - Till the good Dauphin of Vienne, - And Miolan's ancient Lord, - One midnight stormed the robber den - And gave them to the sword; - All save the Wizard Knight, who rose - In a flame-wreath from his dazzled foes; - All save a child, with golden hair. - Whom the Lord of Miolan deigned to spare - In ruth to womanhood, - And she, alas, is the maiden fair - Who wept in the walnut wood. - - But who is he, with step of fate, - Goes gloomily through the castle gate - In me morning's virgin prime? - Why scattereth he with frenzied hand - The fierce flame of that burning brand, - Chaunting an ancient rhyme? - The eagle, scared from her blazing nest, - Whirls with a scream round his sable crest. - What muttereth he with demon smile. - Shaking his mailed hand the while - Toward the Chateau of La Sône, - Where champing steed and bannered tent - Gave token of goodly tournament, - And the Golden Dolphin shone? - "Woe to the last of the Dauphin's line, - When the eagle shrieks and the red lights shine - Bound the towers of Pilate's Peak! - Burn, beacon, burn!"--and as he spoke - From the ruined towers curled the pillared smoke, - As the light flame leapt from the ancient oak - And answered the eagle's shriek. - Man and horse down the hillside sprang - And a voice through the startled forest rang-- - "I ride, I ride to win my bride. - Ho, Eblis! to thy servants side; - Thou hast sworn no foe - Shall lay me low - Till the dead in arms against me ride." - -{173} - - -II. - - Deliciously, deliciously - Cometh the dancing dawn, - Christine, Christine comes with it, - Leading in the morn. - Beautiful pair! - So cometh the fawn - Before the deer. - Christine is in her bower - Beside the swift Isère - Weaving a white flower - With her dark brown hair. - Never, O never, - Wandering river. - Though flowing for ever, - E'er shalt thou mirror - Maiden so fair! - - Hail to thee, hail to thee, - Beautiful one; - Maiden to match thee, - On earth there is none. - And there is none to tell - How beautiful thou art: - Though oft the first Rudel - Has made the Princes start, - When he has strung his harp and sung - The Lily of Provence, - Till the high halls have rung - With clash of lifted lance - Vowed to the young - Christine of France. - - Ah, true that he might paint - The blooming of thy cheek. - The blue vein's tender streak - On marble temple faint; - Lips in whose repose - Ruby weddeth rose. - Lips that parted show - Ambushed pearl below: - Or he may catch the subtle glow - Of smiles as rare as sweet, - May whisper of the drifted snow - Where throat and bosom meet. - And of the dark brown braids that flow - So grandly to thy feet. - Ah, true that he may sing - Thy wondrous mien. - -{174} - - Stately as befits a queen, - Yet light and lithe and all awing - As becometh Queen of air - Who glideth unstepping everywhere. - And he might number e'en - The charms that haunt the drapery-- - Charms that, ever changing, cluster - Round thy milk-white mantle's lustre,-- - Maiden mantle that is part of thee. - Maiden mantle that doth circle thee - With the snows of virgin grace; - Halo-like around thee wreathing, - Spirit-like about thee breathing - The glory of thy face. - - But these dark eyes, Christine? - Peace, poet, peace, - Cease, minstrel, cease! - But these dear eyes, Christine? - Mute, O mute - Be voice and lute! - O dear dark eyes that seem to dwell - With holiest things invisible, - Who may read your oracle? - Earnest eyes that seem to rove - Empyrean heights above, - Yet aglow with human love. - Who may speak your spell? - Dear dark eyes that beam and bless, - In whose luminous caress - Nature weareth bridal dress,-- - Eyes of voiceless Prophetess, - Your meanings who may tell! - O there is none! - Peace, poet, peace. - Cease, minstrel, cease, - For there is none! - O eyes of fire without desire, - O stars that lead the sun! - But minstrel cease, - Peace, poet, peace. - Tame Troubadour be still; - Voice and lute - Alike be mute, - It passeth all your skill! - - Sooth thou art fair, - O ladye dear. - Yet one may see - The shadow of the east in thee; - -{175} - - Tinting to a riper flush - The faint vermilion of thy blush; - Deepening in thy dark brown hair - Till sunshine sleeps in starlight there. - For she had scarce seen summers ten, - When erst the Hermit's call - Sent all true Knights from bower and hall - Against the Saracen. - Young, motherless, and passing fair, - The Dauphin durst not leave her there, - Within his castle lone, - To kinsman's cold or casual care, - Not such as were his own: - And so the sweet Provençal maid - Shared with her sire the first Crusade. - And you may hear her oft, - In accents strangely soft. - Still singing of the rose's bloom - In Sharon,--of the long sunset - That gilds lamenting Olivet, - Of eglantines that grace the gloom - Of sad Gethsemane; - And of a young Knight ever seen - In evening walks along the green - That fringes feeble Siloë. - - Young, beautiful, and passing fair-- - The ancient Dauphin's only heir, - The fairest flower of France,-- - Knights by sea and Knights by land - Came to claim the fair white hand, - With sigh and suppliant lance; - And many a shield - Displayed afield - The Lily of Provence. - Ladye love of prince and bard - Yet to one young Savoyard - Swerveless faith she gave-- - To the young knight ever seen - When moonlight wandered o'er the green - That gleams o'er Siloë's wave. - And he, blest boy, where lingers he? - For the Dauphin hath given slow consent - That, after a joyous tournament, - The stately spousals shall be. - - Christine is in her bower - That blooms by the swift Isère, - Twining a white flower - With her dark brown hair. - -{176} - - The skies of Provence - Are bright with her glance, - And nature's matin organ floods - The world with music from the myriad throats - Of the winged Troubadours, whose joyous notes - Brighten the rolling requiem of the woods. - With melody, flowers, and light - Hath the maiden come to play, - As fragile, fair, and bright - And lovelier than they? - O no, she has come to her bower - That blooms by the dark Isère - For the bridegroom who named the first hour - Of day-dawn to meet her there: - But the bridal morn on the hills is born - And the bridegroom is not here. - Hie thee hither, Savoyard, - On such an errand youth rides hard. - Never knight so dutiful - Maiden failed so beautiful: - And she in such sweet need, - And he so bold and true!-- - She will watch by the long green avenue - Till it quakes to the tramp of his steed; - Till it echoes the neigh of the gallant Grey - Spurred to the top of his speed. - - In the dark, green, lonely avenue - The Ladye her love-watch keepeth, - Listening so close that she can hear - The very dripping of the dew - Stirred by the worm as it creepeth; - Straining her ear - For her lover's coming - Till his steed seems near - In the bee's far humming. - She stands in the silent avenue, - Her back to a cypress tree; - O Savoyard once bold and true, - Late bridegroom, where canst thou be? - Hark! o'er the bridge that spans the river - There cometh a clattering tread, - Never was shaft from mortal quiver - Ever so swiftly sped. - Onward the sound, - Bound after, bound, - Leapeth along the tremulous ground. - -{177} - - From the nodding forest darting. - Leaves, like water, round them parting. - Up the long green avenue, - Horse and horseman buret in view. - Marry, what ails the bridegroom gay - That he strideth a coal black steed, - Why cometh he not on the gallant Grey - That never yet failed him at need? - Gone is the white plume, that clouded his crest, - And the love-scarf that lightly lay over his breast; - Dark is his shield as the raven's wing - To the funeral banquet hurrying. - Came ever knight in such sad array - On the merry morn of his bridal day? - The Ladye trembles, and well she may; - Saints, you would think him a fiend astray. - A plunge, a pause, and, fast beside her. - Stand the sable horse and rider. - Alas, Christine, this shape of wrath - In Palestine once crossed thy path; - His arm around thy waist, I trow, - To bear thee to his saddle-bow. - But thy Savoyard was there. - In time to save, tho' not to smite, - For the demon fled into the night - From Miolan's matchless heir. - Alas, Christine, that lance lies low-- - Lies low on oaken bier! - - Low bent the Wizard, till his plume - O'ershadowed her like falling doom: - She feels the cold casque touch her ear, - She hears the whisper, hollow, clear,-- - "From Acre's strand, from Holy Land, - O'er mountain crag, through desert sand, - By land, by sea, I come for thee. - And mine ere sunset shalt thou be! - Dost know me, girl?" - The visor raises-- - God, 'tis the Knight of Pilate's Peak! - As if in wildered dream she gazes, - Gazing as one who strives to shriek. - She cannot fly, or speak, or stir, - For that face of horror glares, at her - Like a phantom fresh from hell. - She gave no answer, she made no moan; - Mute as a statue overthrown. - Her fair face cold as carved stone, - Swooning the maiden fell. - -{178} - - The sun has climbed the golden hills - And danceth down with the mountain rills. - Over the meadow the swift beams run - Lifting the flowers, one by one, - Sipping their chalices dry as they pass, - And kissing the beads from the bending grass. - The Dauphin's chateau, grand and grey, - Glows merrily in the risen day; - His castle that seemeth ancient as earth, - Lights up like an old man in his mirth. - Through the forest old, the sunbeams bold - Their glittering revel keep, - Till, in arrowy gold, on the chequered wold - In glancing lines they sleep. - And one sweet beam hath found its way - To the violet bank where the Ladye lay. - O radiant touch! perchance so shone - The hand that woke the widow's son. - - She sighs, she stirs; the death-swoon breaks; - Life slowly fires those pallid lips; - And feebly, painfully, she wakes, - Struggling through that dark eclipse. - Breathing fresh of Alpine snows, - Breathing sweets of summer rose. - Murmuring songs of soft repose, - The south wind on her bosom blows: - But she heeds it not, she hears it not; - Fast she sits with steady stare. - The dew-drops heavy on her hair, - Her fingers clasped in dumb despair, - Frozen to the spot: - While o'er her fierce and fixed as fate, - The fiend on his spectral war-horse sate. - A horrible smile through the visor broke, - And, quoth he, - "I but watched till my Ladye woke. - Get thee a flagon of Shiraz wine, - For the lips must be red that answer mine!" - Cleaving the woods, like the wind he went. - His face o'er his shoulder backward bent, - Crying thrice--"We shall meet at the Tournament!" - - Clasping the cypress overhead, - Christine rose from her fragrant bed. - And a prayer to Mother Mary sped. - Hold not those gleaming skies for her - The same unfailing Comforter? - And those two white winged cherubim, - She once had seen, when Christmas hymn - Chimed with the midnight mass, - Scattering light through the chapel dim, - Alive in me stained glass-- - -{179} - - What fiend could harm a hair of her. - While those arching-wings took care of her? - And our Ladye, Maid divine, - Mother round whose marble shrine - She wreathed the rose of Palestine - So many sinless years, - Will not heaven's maiden-mother Queen - Regard her daughter's tears! - Yes!--through the forest stepping slow, - Tranquil mistress of her woe, - Goeth the calm Christine; - And but for yonder spot of snow - Upon each temple, none may know - How stem a storm hath been. - For never dawned a brighter day, - And the Ladye smileth on her way, - Greeting the blue-eyed morn at play - With earth in her spangled green. - A single cloud - Stole like a shroud - Forth from the fading mists that hid - The crest of each Alpine pyramid; - Unmovingly it lingers over - The mountain castle of her lover; - While over Pilate's Peak - Hangs the grey pall of the sullen smoke, - Leaps the lithe flame of the ancient oak - And the eagle soars with a shriek. - Full well she knew the curse was near. - But that heart of hers had done with fear. - By St. Antoine, not steadier stands - Mont Blanc's white head in winter's whirl - Than that calm, fearless, smiling girl - With her bare brow upturned and firmly folded hands. - - Back to her bower so fair - Christine her way, is wending; - Over the dark Isère - Silently she's bending, - Thus communing with the stream. - As one who whispers in a dream: - "Waters that at sunset ran - Round the Mount of Miolan; - Stream, that binds my love to me, - Whisper where that lover be; - Wavelets mine, what evil things - Mingle with your murmurings; - Tell me, ere ye glide away. - Wherefore doth the bridegroom stay? - Hath the fiend of Pilate's Peak - Met him, stayed him, slain him--speak! - -{180} - - Speak the worst a Bride may know, - God hath armed my soul for woe; - Touching heaven, the virgin snow - Is firmer than the rock below. - Lies my love upon his bier, - Answer, answer, dark Isère! - Hark, to the low voice of the river - Singing '_Thy love is lost for ever!_' - Weep with all thy icy fountains, - "Weep, ye cold, uncaring mountains, - I have not a tea! - Stream, that parts my love from me, - Bear this bridal rose with thee; - Bear it to the happy hearted, - Christine and all the flowers have parted!" - - They are coming from the castle, - A bevy of bright-eyed girls, - Some with their long locks braided, - Some with loose golden curls. - Merrily 'mid the meadows - They win their wilful way; - Winding through sun and shadow, - Rivulets at play. - Brows with white rosebuds blowing, - Necks with white pearl entwined. - Gowns whose white folds imprison - Wafts of the wandering wind. - The boughs of the charmèd woodland - Sing to the vision sweet. - The daisies that crouch in the clover - Nod to their twinkling feet. - They see Christine by the river, - And, deeming the bridegroom near, - They wave her a dewy rose-wreath - Fresh plucked for her dark brown hair. - Hand in hand tripping to meet her, - Birdlike they carol their joy. - Wedding soft Provençal numbers - To a dulcet old strain of Savoy. - -{181} - -THE GREETING. - - Sister, standing at Love's golden gate. - Life's second door-- - Fleet the maidentime is flying. - Friendship fast in love is dying, - Bridal fate doth separate - Friends evermore. - - Pilgrim seeking with thy sandalled feet - The land of bliss; - Sire and sister tearless leaving, - To thy beckoning palmer cleaving-- - Truant sweet, once more repeat - Our parting kiss. - - Wanderer filling for enchanted isle - Thy dimpling sail; - Whither drifted, all uncaring. - So with faithful helmsman faring, - Stay and smile with us, awhile, - Before the gale. - - Playmate, hark! for all that once was ours - Soon rings the knell: - Glade and thicket, glen and heather, - Whisper sacredly together; - Queen of ours, the very flowers - Sigh forth farewell. - - Christine looked up, and smiling stood - Among the choral sisterhood: - But some who sprang to greet her, stayed - Tiptoe, with the speech unsaid; - And, each the other, none knew why. - Questioned with quick, wondering eye. - One by one, their smiles have flown. - No lip is laughing but her own; - And hers, the frozen smile that wears - The glittering of unshed tears. - "Ye nave sung for me, I will sing for ye, - My sisters fond and fair." - And she bent her head till the chaplet fell - Adown in the deep Isère. - - -THE REPLY. - - Bring me no rose-wreath now: - But come when sunset's first tears fall. - When night-birds from the mountain call-- - Then bind my brow, - - Roses and lilies white-- - But tarry till the glow-worms trail - Their gold-work o'er the spangled veil - Of falling night - -{182} - - Twine not your garland fair - Till I have fallen fast asleep; - Then to my silent pillow creep - And leave it there-- - - There in the chapel yard!-- - Come with twilight's earliest hush, - Just as day's last purple flush - Forsakes the sward. - - Stop where the white cross stands. - You'll find me in my wedding suit, - Lying motionless and mute, - With folded hands. - - Tenderly to my side: - The bridegroom's form you may not see - In the dim eve, but he will be - Fast by his bride. - - Soft with your chaplet move. - And lightly lay it on my head: - Be sure you wake not with rude tread - My jealous love. - - Kiss me, then quick away; - And leave us, in unwatched repose, - With the lily and the rose - Waiting for day! - - - But hark! the cry of the clamorous horn - Breaks the bright stillness of the morn. - From moated wall, from festal hall - The banners beckon, the bugles call, - Already flames, in the lists unrolled - O'er the Dauphin's tent, the Dolphin gold. - A hundred knights in armor glancing. - Hurry afield with pennons dancing, - Each with a vow to splinter a lance - For Christine, the Lily of Provence. - "Haste!" cried Christine; - "Sisters, we tarry late. - Let not the tourney wait - For its Queen!" - And, toward the castle gate, - They take their silent way along the green. - - - -TO BE CONTINUED - - ------- - -{183} - - - -From The Literary Workman. - -JENIFER'S PRAYER. - -BY OLIVER CRANE. - -IN THREE PARTS. - - - -PART II. - -Mary Lorimer returned in safety to Beremouth under Horace Erskine's -care, welcomed as may be supposed by the adopted father and her -mother. Not that "Mother Mary," as Lady Greystock in the old Claudia -Brewer days used to call her, could ever welcome Horace. She had never -liked him; she had always felt that there was some unknown wrong about -his seeking and his leaving Claudia; she had been glad that a long -absence abroad had kept him from them while her darling Mary had been -growing up; and it was with a spasm of fear that she heard of his -spending that autumn at her sister's. And yet she had consented to his -bringing Mary home. Yes, she had consented, for Mr. Brewer in his -overflowing hospitality had asked him to come to them--had regretted -that they had seen so little of him of late years--and had himself -suggested that he should come when Mary returned. - -Nine years does a great deal; it may even pay people's debts -sometimes. But it had not paid Horace Erskine's debts: on the -contrary, it had added to them with all the bewildering peculiarities -that belong to calculations of interests and compound interests. He -had got to waiting for another man's death. How many have had to -become in heart death-dealers in this way! It was known that he would -be his uncle's heir, and his uncle added to what he supposed Horace -possessed a good sum yearly; making the man rich as he thought, and -causing occasionally a slight passing regret that Horace was so -saving. "He might do so much more if he liked on his good income," the -elder Mr. Erskine would say. But he did not know of the many sums for -ever paying to keep things quiet till death, the great paymaster, -should walk in and demand stern rights of himself, the elder, and pass -on the gold that we all must leave behind to the nephew, the younger -one. - -But in the nine years that had passed since the coward took his -revenge on a brave woman by doing that which killed her husband, great -things had happened to pretty Minnie Lorimer. The "county people" had -been after her--those same old families who had flouted her mother, -and prophesied eternal poverty to her poor pet baby--fatherless, too! -a fact that finished the story of their faults with a note of peculiar -infamy. - -That a man of good family should marry without money, become the -father of a lovely child, and _die_--that the mother should go back to -that old poverty-stricken home where that stiff-looking maid-servant -looked so steadily into the faces of all who stood and asked -admittance--that they should pretend to be happy!--altogether, it was -really too bad. - -Why did not Mrs. Lorimer, widow, go out as a governess? Who was to -bring up that unfortunate child on a paltry one hundred a year? Of -course {184} she begged for help. Of course they were supported by Mr. -Erskines's charity. A pretty humiliation of Lorimer's friends and -relations! - -Altogether, the whole of the great Lansdowne Lorimer connection had -pronounced that to have that young widow and her daughter belonging to -them was a trial very hard to bear. They had not done talking when -Mary made that quiet walk to church--no one but her mother and Jenifer -being in the secret--and reappeared in the county after a few months' -absence as mistress of Beremouth. Mr. Brewer had counted his money, -and had told the world what it amounted to. And this time he never -apologized, he only confessed himself a person scarcely deserving of -respect, because he had done so little good with the mammon of -unrighteousness. But Mary now would tell him how to manage. He did -perhaps take a little to the humble line. He hoped the world would -forget and forgive his former shortcomings; such conduct would -assuredly not now be persevered in; and that resolution was fulfilled -without any doubt. The splendors of Beremouth were something to talk -about, and the range of duties involved in a large hospitality were -admirably performed. - -Old Lady Caroline, whose pianoforte survived in Mrs. Morier's house at -Marston, considered the matter without using quite as many words as -her neighbors. "That man will be giving money to Lorimer's child." She -was quite right. He had already invested five thousand pounds for -Minnie. Lady Caroline (what an odd pride hers was!) went to Beremouth, -and got upon business matter with "Mother Mary." - -She would give that child five thousand pounds in her will if Mr. -Brewer would not give her anything. Alas! it was already given. Mr. -Brewer used to count among his faults that, with him, it was too much -a word and a blow, especially when a good action was in question, and -this curious unusual fault he had decidedly committed in the case of -Minnie Lorimer. The money was hers safe enough, invested in the hands -of trustees. "Safe enough," said Mr. Brewer exultingly; and then, -looking with a saddened air on Lady Caroline, he added, gravely, that -it couldn't be helped! "The man's a saint or a fool, I can't tell -which," was Lady Caroline's very cute remark. "The most unselfish -idiot that ever lived. Does Mary like him, or laugh at him, I wonder?" - -But Lady Caroline cultivated Mr. Brewer's acquaintance. Not in an evil -way, but because she had been brought up to _use_ the world, and to -slave all mankind who would consent to such persecution. Not wickedly, -I repeat, but with a fixed intention she cultivated Mr. Brewer, and -she got money out of him. - -Mr. Brewer still made experiments with ten pounds. He helped Lady -Caroline in her many charities, as long as her charities were confined -to food and clothing, so much a week to the poor, and getting good -nursing for the sick. But once Lady Caroline used that charity purse -for purposes of "souping"--it has become an English word, so I do not -stop to explain it--and then Mr. Brewer scolded her. Nobody had ever -disputed any point with Lady Caroline. But Mr. Brewer explained, with -a most unexpected lucidity, how it would be _right_ for him to make -her a Catholic, and yet _wrong_ for her to try her notions of -conversion on him. - -Lady Caroline kept up the quarrel for two years. She upbraided him for -his neglect, on his own principles, of Claudia. She abused him for the -different conduct pursued about his son. Mr. Brewer confessed his -faults and stood by his rights at the same time. Two whole years Lady -Caroline quarrelled, and Mr. Brewer never left the field. And -afterward, some time after, when Lady Caroline was in her last -illness, she said: "I believe that man Brewer may be right after all." -When she was dead young Mary Lorimer had double the sum that had {185} -been originally offered, and Freddy her largest diamond ring. - -But another thing had to come out of all this. Mrs. Brewer became a -Catholic; and that fact had made her recall her daughter to her -side--that fact had made Horace Erskine say, at the inn at Hull, that -he dreaded for the girl he, spoke to the influence of the home and the -people she was going to--that fact had brought that passion of tears -to Mary Lorimer's eyes, and had made her feel so angrily that he had -taken an advantage of her. - -Here, then, we are back again to the time at which we began the story. -Mary got home and was welcomed. - -The day after their arrival, if we leave Beremouth and its people, and -go into Marston to Mrs. Morier, "old Mrs. Morier" they called her now, -we shall see Jenifer walk into the pleasant upstairs drawing-room, -where the china glittered on comer-shelves, and large jars stood under -the long inlaid table, and say to her mistress: "Eleanor is come, if -you please, ma'am." - -Mrs. Morier looked up from her knitting. She had been sitting by the -window, and the beautiful old lady looked like a picture, as Jenifer -often declared, as she turned the face shadowed by fine lace toward -her servant with a sweet, gentle air, and smiling said, "And so you -want to go to Clayton--and Eleanor is to stay till you come back?" -"Yes, ma'am--it's the anniversary." "Go, then," said the gentle lady. -"And you must not leave me out of your prayers, my good Jenifer; for -you may be sure that I respect and value them." "I'll be back in good -time," said Jenifer; and the door closed, and Mrs. Morier continued -her knitting. - -Soon she saw from the window that incomparable Jenifer. Her brown -light stuff gown, the black velvet trimming looking what Jenifer -called _rich_ upon the same. Buttons as big as pennies all the way -down the front--the good black shawl with the handsome border that -had been Mr. Brewer's own present to her on the occasion of his -wedding; the fine straw bonnet and spotless white ribbon--the crowning -glory of the black lace veil--oh, Jenifer was _somebody_, I can tell -you, at Marston; and Jenifer looked it. - -It was with nothing short of a loving smile that Mrs. Morier watched -her servant. Servant indeed, but true, tried, and trusty friend also; -and when the woman was out of sight, and Mrs. Morier turned her -thoughts to Jenifer's prayer, and what little she knew of it, she -sighed--the sigh came from deep down, and the sigh was lengthened, and -her whole thoughts seemed to rest upon it--it was breathed out, at -last, and when it died away Mrs. Morier sat doing nothing in peaceful -contemplation till the door opened, and she whom we have heard called -Eleanor came in with inquiries as to the proper time for tea. - -I think that this Eleanor was perhaps about eight-and-twenty years of -age. She was strikingly beautiful. Perhaps few people have ever seen -anything more faultlessly handsome than this young woman's form and -face. She looked younger than she was. The perfectly smooth brow and -the extraordinary fair complexion made her look young. No one would -have thought, when looking at Eleanor, that she had ever _worked_. If -the finest and loveliest gentlewoman in the world had chosen to put on -a lilac cotton gown, and a white checked muslin apron, and bring up -Mrs. Morier's early tea, she would perhaps have looked a little like -Eleanor; provided her new employment had not endowed her with a -momentary awkwardness. But admiration, when looking at this woman, was -a little checked by a sort of atmosphere of pain--or perhaps it was -only patience--that surrounded the beautiful face, and showed in every -gesture and movement, and rested on the whole being, as it were. - -{186} - -Eleanor suffered. And it was the pain of the mind and heart, not of -the body--no one who had sufficient sensibility to see what I have -described could ever doubt that the inner woman, not the outer fleshly -form of beauty, suffered; and that the woe, whatever it was, had -written _patience_ on that too placid brow. - -"And are they all well at Dr. Rankin's?" "Very well, ma'am, I believe. -I saw Lady Greystock in her own rooms an hour before I came away. I -said that I was coming here, and she said"--Eleanor smiled--"Lady -Greystock said, ma'am, 'My duty to grandmamma Morier--mind you give -the message right.'" - -"Ah," said Mrs. Morier, "Lady Greystock is wonderfully well." "There -is nothing the matter with her, ma'am." "Except that she never goes to -Beremouth." What made the faint carnation mount to Eleanor's -face?--what made the woman pause to collect herself before she -spoke?--"Oh, ma'am, she is right not to try herself. She'll go there -one day." "I suppose you like being at Dr. Rankin's?" "Very much. My -place of wardrobe-woman is not hard, but it is responsible. It suits -me well. And Mrs. Rankin is very good to me. And I am near Lady -Greystock." "How fond you are of her!" "There is not anything I would -not do for her," said the woman with animation. "I hope, indeed Dr. -Rankin tells me to believe, that I have had a great deal to do with -Lady Greystock's cure. She has treated me like a sister; and I can -never feel for any one what I feel for her." "Lady Greystock always -speaks of you in a truly affectionate way. She says you have known -better days." "_Different_ days; I don't say _better_. I have nothing -to wish for. Ever since the time that Lady Greystock determined on -staying at Blagden, I have been quite happy." "You came just as she -came." "Only two months after." "And did you like her from the first?" -"Oh, Mrs. Morier, you know she was very ill when she came. I never -thought of love, but of every care and every attention that one woman -could show to another. Had it been life for life, I am sure she might -have had _my_ life--that was all that I _then_ thought. But when she -recovered and loved me for what I had done for her, then it was love -for love. Lady Greystock gave me a new life, and I will serve her as -long as I may for gratitude, and as a thanksgiving." - -When Eleanor was gone, her pleasant manner, her beauty, the music of -her voice, and the indescribable grace that belonged to her remained -with Mrs. Morier as a pleasant memory, and dwelling on it, she -lingered over her early tea, and ate of hashed mutton, making -meditation on how Eleanor had got to be Jenifer's great friend; and -whether their both being Catholics was enough to account for it. - -This while Jenifer walked on toward Clayton. She stood at last on the -top of a wide table-land, and looked from the short grass where the -wild thyme grew like green velvet, and the chamomile gave forth -fragrance as you trod it under foot, down a rugged precipice into the -little seaport that sheltered in the cove below. The roofs of the -strange, dirty, tumble-down houses were packed thickly below her. The -nature of the precipitous cliff was to lie in terraces, and here and -there goats and donkeys among the branching fern gave a picturesque -variety to the scene, and made the practical Jenifer say to herself -that Clayton Cove was not "that altogether abominable" when seen to -the best advantage on the afternoon of a rich autumn day. A zigzag -path, rather difficult to get upon on account of the steepness of the -broken edge and the rolling stones, led from Jenifer's feet down to -the terraces; short cuts of steps and sliding stones led from terrace -to terrace, and these paths ended, as it appeared to the eye, in a -chimney-top that sent up a volume of white smoke, and a {187} pleasant -scent of wood and burning turf. By the side of the house that owned -the chimney, which was whitewashed carefully, and had white blinds -inside the green painted wood-work of small sash windows, appeared -another roof, long, high, narrow, with a cross on the eastern gable, -and that was the Catholic chapel--the house Father Daniels lived in; -and after a moment's pause down the path went Jenifer with all the -speed that a proper respect for her personal safety permitted. When -the woman got to the last terrace, she opened a wicket gate, and was -in a sunny garden, still among slopes and terraces, and loaded with -flowers. Common flowers no doubt, but who ever saw Father Daniels's -Canterbury bells and forgot them? There, safe in the bottom walk, -wide, and paved with pebbles from the beach, Jenifer turned not to the -right where the trellised back-door invited, but to the left, where -the west door of the chapel stood open--and she walked in. There was -no one there. She knelt down. After a while she rose, and kneeling -before the image of our Lady, said softly: "Mother, she had no mother! -Eleven years this day since that marriage by God's priest, and at his -holy altar--eleven years this day since that marriage which the laws -of the men of this country deny and deride. Mother, she had no mother! -Oh, mighty Mother! forget neither of them. Remember her for her -trouble, and him for his sin." Not for vengeance but for salvation, -she might have added; but Jenifer had never been accustomed to explain -her prayers. Then she knelt before the adorable Presence on the altar, -and her prayer was very brief--"My life, and all that is in it!"--was -it a vain repetition that she said it again and again? Again and -again, as she looked back and thought of what _it had been_; as she -thought of that which _it was_; and knew of the future that, blessed -by our Lady's prayers, she should take it, whatever it might be, as -the will of God. And so she said it; by so doing offering _herself_. -One great thing had colored all her life; had, to her, been _life_-- -_her_ life; she, with that great shadow on the past, with the weight -of the cross on the present, with the fear of unknown ill on the -future, gathered together all prayer, all hope, all fear, and gave it -to God in those words of offering that were, on her lips, an earnest -prayer; the prayer of submission, of offering, of faith--"_My life, -and all that is in it_." - -Jenifer could tell out her wishes to the Mother of God, and had told -them, in the words she had used, but it was this woman's way to have -no wishes when she knelt before God himself. "My life, and all that is -in it;" that was Jenifer's prayer. - -After a time she left the chapel, putting pieces of money, many, into -the church box, and went into the house. She knew Mrs. Moore, the -priest's housekeeper, very well. She was shown into Father Daniels's -sitting-room. He was a venerable man of full seventy years of age, and -as she entered he put down the tools with which he was carving the -ornaments of a wooden altar, and said, "You are later than your note -promised. I have therefore been working by daylight, which I don't -often do." She looked at the work. It seemed to her to be very -beautiful. "It is fine and teak-wood," said Father Daniels; "part of a -wreck. They brought it to me for the church. We hope to get up a -little mariner's chapel on the south side of the church before long, -and I am getting ready the altar as far as I can with my own hands. -'Mary, star of the sea'--that will be our dedication. The faith -spreads here. Mistress Jenifer; and I hope we are a little better than -we used to be." And Father Daniels crossed himself and thanked God for -his grace that had blessed that wild little spot, and made many -Christians there. {188} Jenifer smiled, as the holy man spoke in a -playful tone, and she said, "It is the anniversary, father." "Of -Eleanor's marriage. Yes. I remembered her at mass. Has she heard -anything of him?" "Yes, father; she has heard his real name, she -thinks. She has always suspected, from the time that she first began -to suspect evil, that she had never known him by his real name--she -never believed his name to be Henry Evelyn, as he said when he married -her." - -"And what is his real name?" - -"Horace Erskine," said Jenifer. - -"What!" exclaimed Father Daniels, with an unusual tone of alarm in his -voice. "The man who was talked of for Lady Greystock before she -married--the nephew of Mrs. Brewer's sister's husband!" "Yes, sir." -"Is she sure?" "No. She has not seen him. But she has traced him, she -thinks. Corny Nugent, who is her second cousin, and knew them both -when the marriage took place, went as a servant to the elder Mr. -Erskine, and knew Henry Evelyn, as they called him in Ireland, when he -came back from abroad. He _thought_ he knew him. Then Horace Erskine, -finding he was an Irishman, would joke him about his religion, and how -he was the only Catholic in the house, and how he was obliged to walk -five miles to mass. Time was when Mr. Erskine, the uncle, would not -have kept a Catholic servant. But since Mr. and Mrs. Brewer married, -he has been less bigoted. He took Corny Nugent in London. It was just -a one season's engagement. But when they were to return to Scotland -they proposed to keep him on, and he stayed. After a little Horace -Erskine asked him about Ireland; and even if he knew such and such -places; and then he came by degrees to the very place--the very -people--to his own knowledge of them. Corny gave crafty answers. But -he disliked the sight of the man, and the positions he put him into. -So he left. He left three months ago. And he found out Eleanor's -direction, and told her that surely--surely and certainly--her -husband, Henry Evelyn, was no other than his late master's nephew, who -had been trying to marry more than one, only always some unlooked-for -and unaccountable thing had happened to prevent it. Our Lady be -praised, for her prayers have kept off that last woe--I make no -doubt--thank God!" - -"How many years is it since they married?" "Eleven, to-day. I keep the -anniversary. He is older than he looks. He is thirty-two, this year, -if he did not lie about his age, as well as everything else. He told -Father Power he was of age. He said, too--God forgive him--that he was -a Catholic." - -"But when I followed Father Power at Rathcoyle," said the priest, -"there was no register of the marriage. I was sent for on the -afternoon of the marriage day. I found Father Power in a dying state. -He was an old man, and had long been infirm. The marriage was not -entered. It was known to have taken place. Your niece and her husband -were gone. I walked out that evening to your brother's farm. He knew -nothing of the marriage. He had received a note to say that Eleanor -was gone with her husband, and that they would hear from them when -they got to England. Why Father Power, who was a saintly man, married -them, I do not know. It was unlawful for him to marry a Catholic and a -Protestant. If your sister went through no other marriage, she has no -claim on her Protestant husband. If she could prove that he passed -himself off as a Catholic, she might have some ground against -him--but, can she?" - -"No, sir; on the contrary, she knew that she was marrying a -Protestant; she had hopes of converting him; she learnt from {189} -himself, afterward, that he had deceived the priest. She had said to -him that she would many him if Father Power consented. He came back -and said that the consent had been given. He promised to marry her in -Dublin conformably to the license he had got there--or there he had -lived the proper time for getting one, so he declared. But I have -ceased to believe anything he said. Then my brother wrote the girl a -dreadful letter to the direction in Liverpool that she had sent to -him. Then, after some months, she wrote to me at Marston. She was -deserted, and left in the Isle of Man. She supported herself there for -more than a year. I told Mr. Brewer that I knew a sad story of the -daughter of a friend, and one of her letters, saying her last gold was -changed into silvery and that she was too ill and worn oat to win -more, was so dreadful, that I feared for her mind. So Mr. Brewer went -to Dr. Rankin, and got her taken in as a patient, at first, and when -she got well she was kept on as wardrobe-woman. She had got a tender -heart; when she heard of Lady Greystock's trial, she took to her. Dr. -Rankin says he could never have cured Lady Greystock so perfectly nor -so quickly, but for Eleanor." - -"That is curious," said Father Daniels, musingly. "Have you been in -Ireland since the girl left it with her husband?" - -"I never was there in my life. My mother was Irish, and she lived as a -servant in England. She married an Englishman, and she had two -daughters, my sister--Eleanor's mother--and myself. My mother went -back to Ireland a year after her husband's death, on a visit, and she -left my sister and me with my father's family. She married in Ireland -almost directly, and married well, a man with a good property, a -farmer. She died, and left one son. My sister and I were four and five -years older than this half-brother of ours. Then time wore on and my -sister Ellen went to Ireland, and she married there, and the fever -came to the place where they lived, and carried them both off, and she -left me a legacy--my niece Eleanor--oh, sir I with such a holy letter -of recommendation from her death-bed. Poor sister! Poor, holy soul! -Our half-brother asked to have Eleanor to stay with him when she knew -enough to be useful on the farm. He was a good Christian, and I let -him take the girl. She was very pretty, people said, and I wished her -to marry soon. Then there came--sent, he said, by a great rich English -nobleman--a man who called himself a gardener, or something of that -sort. He lodged close by; he made friends with my brother. He was -often off after rare bog-plants, and seemed to lead a busy if an easy -life. He would go to mass with them. But they knew he was a -Protestant. Eleanor knew that her uncle would not consent to her -marrying a Protestant. But, poor child, she gave her heart away to the -gentleman in disguise. He had had friends there--a fishing party. Sir, -he never intended honorably; but they were married by the priest, and -he got over the holy man, whom everybody loved and honored, with his -falseness, as he had got over the true-hearted and trusting woman whom -he had planned to desert." - -"Well," said Father Daniels, "you know I succeeded this priest for a -short time at Rathcoyle. He died on that wedding day. I never -understood how it all happened. I left a record to save Eleanor's -honor; but she has no legal claim on her husband--it ought not to have -been done." Jenifer shrank beneath the plainness of that truth--"_My -life, and all that is in it,_" her heart said, sinking, as it were, at -the sorrow that had come on the girl whom her sister had left to her -with her dying breath. - -"She ought not to have trusted a man who was a Protestant, and not -willing to marry her in the only way that is legal by the Irish -marriage-law." "_My life, and all that is in it._" {190} So hopelessly -fell on her heart every word that the priest spoke, that, but for that -offering of all things to God, poor Jenifer could scarcely have borne -her trial. - -"And if this Henry Evelyn should turn out to be Horace Erskine, why, -he will marry some unhappy woman some time, of course, and the law of -the land will give him one wife, and by the law of God another woman -will claim him. Oh, if people would but obey holy church, and not try -to live under laws of their own inventing." "_My life, and all that is -in it!_" Again, only that could have made Jenifer bear the trials that -were presented to her. - -"And if gossip spoke truth he was very near marrying Lady Greystock -once--Mr. Brewer, himself, thought it was going to be." One more great -act of submission--"_My life, and all that is in it!_"--came forth -from Jenifer's heart. She loved Mr. Brewer, with a faithful sort of -worship--if such a trial as that had come on him through her -trouble!--_that_ was over; _that_ had been turned aside; but the -thought gave rise to a question, even as she thanked God for the -averted woe. - -'"Is it Eleanor's duty to find out if Henry Evelyn and Horace Erskine -are one?" "Yes," said the priest "Yes; it is. It is everybody's duty -to prevent mischief. It is her duty, as far as lies in her power, to -prevent sin." - -"And if it proves true--that which Corny Nugent says, what then?" - -"Be content for the present. It is a very difficult case to act in." - -Poor Jenifer felt the priest to be sadly wanting in sympathy--she -turned again to him who knows all and feels all, and she offered up -the disappointment that _would_ grow up in her heart--"_My life, and -all that is in it!_" - -She turned to go; and then Father Daniels spoke so kindly, so -solemnly, with such a depth of sympathy in the tone of his voice--"God -bless you, my child;" and the sign of the cross seemed to bless her -sensibly. "Thank you, father!" And, without lifting her eyes, she left -the room and the house; and still saying that prayer that had grown to -be her strength and her help, she went up the steep rugged path to the -spreading down; and then she turned round and looked on the great sea -heaving, lazily under the sunset rays, that painted it in the far -distance with gold and red, and a silvery light, till it touched the -ruby-colored sky, and received each separate ray of glory on its -breast just where earth and heaven seemed to meet--just where you -could fancy another world looking into the depths of the great sea -that flowed up into its gates. It seemed to do Jenifer good. The whole -scene was so glorious, and the glory was so far-spreading--all the -world seemed to rest around her bathed in warm light and basking in -the smile of heaven. She stood still and said again, in a sweet soft -voice: "_My life, and all that is in it!_" - -Her great dread that day when Mr. Brewer had told her to put him and -his into her prayer, had been lest the punishment of sin should come -on the man who had deserted her dear girl, and lest that sin's effect -in a heart-broken disease should fall on the girl herself. - -When Mr. Brewer said, "Put me and mine into that prayer, Jenifer," the -thought had risen that she would tell him of Eleanor. She had told -him, and he had helped her. But she had never thought that, by acting -on the impulse, the two women whose hearts Horace Erskine had crushed, -as a wilful child breaks his playthings when he has got tired or out -of temper, had been brought together under one roof, and made to love -each other. Yet so it had been. The woman who could do nothing but -pray _had_ prayed; and a thing had been done which no human -contrivance could have effected. And as Jenifer stood gazing on the -heavens that grew brighter and brighter, and on the water that -reflected every glory, and seemed to bask with a living motion in the -great magnificence that was poured upon it, she recollected how great -a pain had been {191} spared her; she thought how terrible it would -have been if Claudia Brewer had married Horace Erskine--Horace -Erskine, the husband of the deserted Eleanor; and she gave thanks to -God. - -Now she drew her shawl tighter round her, and walked briskly on. She -got across the down, and over a stone stile in the fence that was its -boundary from the road. She turned toward Marston, and walked fast--it -was almost getting cold after that glorious sunset, and she increased -her pace and went on rapidly. She soon saw a carriage in the road -before her, driving slowly, and meeting her. When it came near enough -to recognize her, the lady who drove let her ponies go, and then -pulled up at Jenifer's side. "Now, Mistress Jenifer," said Lady -Greystock, looking bright and beautiful in the black hat, and long -streaming black feather, that people wore in those days, "here am I to -drive you home. I knew where you were going. Eleanor tells me her -secrets. Do you know that? This is an anniversary; and you give gifts -and say prayers. Are you comfortable? I am going to drive fast to -please the ponies; they like it, you know." And very true did Lady -Greystock's words seem; for the little creatures given their heads -went off at a pace that had in it every evidence of perfect good will. -"I came to drive you back, and to pick up Eleanor, and drive her to -Blagden after I had delivered you up safely to grandmamma Morier. -Mother Mary came to see me this afternoon. You had better go and see -Minnie soon. Jenifer"--Jenifer looked up surprised at a strange tone -in Lady Greystock's voice---"Jenifer," speaking very low, "if you can -pray for my father and his wife, and all he loves, pray now. It would -be hard for a man to be trapped by the greatness of his own good -heart." - -"Is there anything wrong, my dear?" Jenifer spoke softly, and just as -she had been used to speak to the Claudia Brewer of old days. - -"I can't say more," Lady Greystock replied; "here we are at Marston." -Then she talked of common things; and told James, the man-servant, to -drive the horses up and down the street while she bade Mrs. Morier -"Good night." And they went into the house, and half an hour after -Lady Greystock and Eleanor had got into the pony carriage, and were -driving away. The quiet street was empty once more. The little -excitement made by Lady Greystock and her ponies subsided. Good-byes -were spoken, and the quiet of night settled down on the streets and -houses of Marston. - -Jenifer had wondered over Lady Greystock's words; and comforted -herself, and stilled her fears, and set her guesses all at rest by -those few long-used powerful words--"_My life, and all that is in -it!_" She offered life, and gave up its work and its trials to God; -and Jenifer, too, was at rest then. - -But at Clayton things were not quite in the same peaceful state as in -that little old-fashioned inland town. Clayton was very busy; and -among the busy ones, though busy in his own way, was Father Daniels. - -That morning a messenger had brought him a packet from Mrs. Brewer; -for "Mother Mary" since becoming a Catholic had wanted advice, and -wanted strength, and she had sought and found what she wanted, and now -she had sent to the same source for further help. As soon as Jenifer -was gone, Father Daniels put away his teak-wood and his carving tools, -and packed up his drawings and his pencils. He was a man of great -neatness, and his accuracy in all business, and his fruitful -recollection of every living soul's wants, as far as they had ever -been made known to him, were charming points of his character-- -points, that is, natural gifts, that the great charity which belonged -to his priesthood adorned and made meritorious. {192} While he -"tidied away his things," as his housekeeper Mrs. Moore used to say, -bethought and he prayed--his mind foresaw great possible woe; he knew, -with the knowledge that is made up of faith and experience united, -that some things seem plainly to know no other master than prayer. -People are prayed out of troubles that no other power can touch. Every -now and then this fact seems to be imprinted in legible characters on -some particular woe, actual or threatened; and though Father Daniels, -like a holy priest, prayed always and habitually, he yet felt, as we -have said, with respect to the peculiar entanglements that the letter -from Mrs. Brewer in the morning and the revelation made by Jenifer in -the afternoon seemed to threaten. So, when he again sat down, it was -with Mrs. Brewer's letter before him on the table, and a lamp lighted, -and "the magnifiers," to quote Mrs. Moore again, put on to make the -deciphering of Mrs. Erskine's handwriting as easy as possible. Mrs. -Brewer's was larger, blacker, plainer--and her note was short. It only -said: "Read my sister's letter, which I have just received. It seems -so hard to give up the child; it would be much harder to see her less -happy than she has always been at home. I don't like Horace Erskine. -It is as if I was kept from liking him. I really have no reason for my -prejudice against him. Come and see me if you can, and send or bring -back the letter." Having put this aside. Father Daniels opened Mrs. -Erskine's letter. It must be given just as it was written to the -reader: - - DEAREST MARY: - - "You must guess how dreadful your becoming a Catholic is to us. I - cannot conceive why, when you had been happy so long--these thirteen - years--you should do this unaccountable thing now. There must have - been some strange influence exercised over you by Mr. Brewer. I - feared how it might be when, nine years ago, your boy was born, and - you gave him up so weakly. However, I think you will see plainly - that you have quite forfeited a mother's rights over Mary. She is - seventeen, and will not have a happy home with you now. Poor child, - she would turn Catholic to please you, and for peace sake, perhaps. - But you cannot _wish_ such a misery for her. She will, I suppose, - soon be the only Protestant in your house. I can't help blaming old - Lady Caroline, even after her death; for she certainly brought the - spirit of controversy into Beremouth, and stirred up Mr. Brewer to - think of his rights. Now, I write to propose what is simply an act - of justice on your part, though really, I must say, an act of great - grace on the part of my husband. Horace is in love with Mary. As to - the fancy he was supposed to have for Claudia, I _know_ that _that_ - was only a fancy. He was taken with her wilful, spoilt-child - ways--you certainly did not train her properly--and he wanted her - money. Of course as you had been married four years without - children, he did not suspect anything about Freddy. It was an - entanglement well got rid of; and Claudia wanted no comforting, that - was plain enough. But it is different now. Horace _is_ in love - _now_. And if Mary is not made a Catholic by Mr. Brewer and you and - old Jenifer, she will say, 'Yes,' like a good child. We are - _extremely_ fond of her. And Mr. Erskine generously offers to make a - very handsome settlement on her. I consider a marriage, and a very - speedy one, with Horace the best thing; now that you have, by your - own act, made her home so homeless to her. I am sure you ought to be - very thankful for so obviously good an arrangement of difficulties. - Let me hear from you as soon as Horace arrives. He is going to speak - to you directly. - "Your affectionate sister, - "Lucia Erskine. - - "P.S.--As Mr. Brewer has always said that, Mary being his adopted - child, he should pay her on her marriage the full interest of the - money which will be hers at twenty-one, {193} of course Horace - expects that, as we do. Lady Caroline's ten thousand, Mr. Brewer's - five thousand, and the hundred a year for which her father insured - his life, and which I find that you give to her, will, with Horace's - means, make a good income; and to this Mr. Erskine will, as Mary is - my niece, add very liberally. I cannot suppose that you can think of - objecting. L. E." - -Father Daniels read this letter over very carefully. Then he placed -it, with Mrs. Brewer's note, in his pocket-book, and immediately -putting on his hat, and taking his stick, he walked into the kitchen. - -"Where's your husband?" to Mrs. Moore. - -"Mark is only just outside, sir." - -"I shall be back soon. Tell him to saddle the cob." One of Mr. -Brewer's experiments had been to give Father Daniels a horse, and to -endow the horse with fifty pounds a year, for tax, keep, house-rent, -physic, saddles, shoes, clothing, and general attendance. It was, we -May say as we pass on, an experiment which answered to perfection. The -cob's turnpikes alone remained as a grievance in Mr. Brewer's mind. He -rather cherished the grievance. Somehow it did him good. It certainly -deprived him of all feeling of merit. All thought of his own -generosity was extinguished beneath the weight of a truth that could -not be denied--"that cob is a never-ending expense to Father Daniels!" -However, this time, without a thought of the never-ending turnpike's -tax, the cob was ordered; being late, much to Mr. and Mrs. Moore's -surprise; and Father Daniels walked briskly out of the garden, down -the village seaport, past the coal-wharves, where everything looked -black and dismal, and so pursued his way on the top of the low edge of -the cliff, to a few tidy-looking houses half a mile from Clayton, -which were railed in from the turfy cliff-side, and had painted on -their ends, "Good bathing here." The houses were in a row. He knocked -at the centre one, and it was opened by a man of generally a seafaring -cast. "Mr. Dawson in?" "Yes, your reverence. His reverence, Father -Dawson, is in the parlor;" and into the parlor walked Father Daniels. -It was a short visit made to ascertain if his invalid friend could say -mass for him the next morning at a later hour than usual--the hour for -the parish mass, in fact; and to tell him why. They were dear friends -and mutual advisers. They now talked over Mrs. Erskine's letter. - -"There can be no reason in the world why Miss Lorimer should not marry -Horace Erskine if she likes him, provided he is not Henry Evelyn. He -stands charged with being Henry Evelyn, and of being the doer of Henry -Evelyn's deeds. You must tell Mrs. Brewer. It is better never to tell -suspicions, if you can, instead, tell facts. In so serious a matter -you may be obliged to tell suspicions, just to keep mischief away at -the beginning. Eleanor must see the man. As to claiming him, that's -useless. She acted the unwise woman's part, and she most bear the -unwise woman's recompense. He'll find somebody to marry him, no doubt; -but no woman ought to do it; no marriage of his can be right in God's -sight. So the course in the present instance is plain enough." Yes, it -was plain enough; so Father Daniels walked back to Clayton and mounted -the cob, and rode away through the soft sweet night air, and got to -Beremouth just after ten o'clock. - -"I am come to say mass for you to-morrow," he said to Mr. Brewer, who -met him in the hall. "No, I won't go into the drawing-room. I won't -see any one to-night. I am going straight to the chapel." - -{194} - -"Ring for night prayers then in five minutes, will you?" said Mr. -Brewer. And Father Daniels, saying "Yes," walked on through the hall, -and up the great stair-case to his own room and the chapel, which, -were side by side. In five minutes the chapel bell was rung by the -priest. Mrs. Brewer looked toward her daughter. "Mary must do as she -likes;" said Mr. Brewer, in his open honest way driving his wife -before him out of the room. There stood Horace Erskine. It was as if -all in a moment the time for the great choice had come. They were at -the door--the girl stood still. They were gone, they were crossing the -hall; she could hear Mr. Brewer's shoes on the carpet--not too late -for her to follow. Her light step will catch theirs--they may go a -little further still before the very last moment comes. Her mother or -Horace? How dearly she loved her mother, how her child's heart went -after her, all trust and love--and Horace, _did_ she love him?--love -him well enough to stay _there--there_ and _then_, at a moment that -would weigh so very heavily in the scale of good and evil, right or -wrong? If he had not been there she might have stayed, if she stayed -now that he was there, should she not stay with him--more, leave her -mother and stay with him? Thought is quick. She stood by the table; -she looked toward the door, she listened--Horace held out his -hand--"With me, Mary--with _me_!" And she was gone. Gone even while he -spoke, across the hall, up the stairs and at that chapel door just as -this last of the servants, without knowing, closed it on her. Then -Mary went to her own room just at the head of the great stair-case, -and opened the doors softly, and knelt down, keeping it open, letting -the stair-case lamp stray into the darkness just enough to show her -where she was. There she knelt till the night prayers were over, and -when Mr. Brewer passed her door, she came out, a little glad to show -them that she had not been staying down stairs with Horace. He smiled, -and put his hand inside her arm and stopped her from going down. "My -dear child," he said, "I have had the great blessing of my life given -to me in the conversion of your mother. If God's great grace, for the -sake of his own blessed mother, should fall on you, you will not -quench it, my darling. Meanwhile, I shall never have a better time -than _this_ time to say, that I feel more than ever a father to you. -That if you will go on treating me with the childlike candor and trust -that I have loved to see in you, you will make me happier than you can -ever guess at, dear child." And then he kissed her, and Minnie eased -her heart by a few sobs and tears, and her head rested on his -shoulder, and she thanked him for his love. Then Father Daniels came -out of the chapel, and advanced to where they stood. Mary had long -known the holy man. He saw how it was in an instant. "Welcome home, -Mary; you see I come soon. And now--when I am saying mass to-morrow, -stay quietly in your own room, and pray to be taught to love God. Give -yourself to him. Don't trouble about questions. His you are. Rest on -the thought--and we will wait on what may come of it. I shall remember -you at mass to-morrow. Good-night. God bless you." - -"I can't come down again. My eyes are red," said Mary, to Mr. Brewer, -when they were again alone. And he laughed at her. "I'll send mamma -up," he said. And Mary went into her room. But she had taken no part -_against_ her mother; so her heart said, and congratulated itself. She -had not left her, and stayed with Horace. She had had those few words -with her step-father. That was over, and very happily too. She had -seen Father Daniels again. It was getting speedily like the old -things, and the old times, before the long visit to Scotland, where -Horace Erskine was the sun of her {195} new world. Somehow she felt -that he was losing power every moment--also she felt, a little -resentfully, that there had been things said or thought, or -insinuated, about the dear home she was loving so well, which were -unjust, untrue, unkind; nay, more, cruel, shameful!--and so wrong to -unite _her_ to such ideas; to make her a party to such thoughts. In -the midst of her resentment, her mother came in. "Nobody ever was so -charming looking," was the first thought. "How young she looks--how -much younger and handsomer than Aunt Erskine. What a warm loving -atmosphere this house always had, and _has_." The last word with the -emphasis of a perfect conviction. "And so you have made your eyes red -on papa's coat--and I had to wipe the tears off with my -pocket-handkerchief. Oh, you darling, I am sure Horace Erskine thought -we had beaten you!" Then kisses, and laughter; not quite without a tear -or two on both, sides, however. "Now, my darling, Horace has told us -his love story--and so he is very fond of you?" "Mamma, mamma, I love -you better than all the earth." Kisses, laughter, and just one or two -tears, all over again. - -"My darling child, you have been some months away from us--do you -think you can quite tell your own mind on a question which is -life-long in its results? I mean, that the thing that is pleasant in -one place may not be so altogether delightful in another. I should -like you to decide so great a question while in the full enjoyment of -your own rights _here_. This is your _home_. _This_ is what you will -have to exchange for something else when you marry. You are very young -to marry--not eighteen, remember. Whenever you decide that question, I -should like you to decide it on your own ground, and by your own -mother's side." - -"I wonder whether you know how wise you are?" was the question that -came in answer. "Do you know, mother, that I cried like a baby at -Hull, because I felt all you have said, and even a little more, and -thought he was unkind to press me. You know Aunt Erskine had told me; -and Horace, too, in a way--and he said at Hull he dreaded the -influence of this place, and--and--" "But there is nothing for _you_ -to dread. This home is yours; and its influence is good; and all the -love you command here is your safety." Mrs. Brewer spoke boldly, and -quite with the spirit of heroism. She was standing up for her rights. -But Mr. Brewer stood at the door. "The lover wants to smoke in the -park in the moonlight. Some information just to direct his thoughts, -you little witch," for his step-child had tried to stop his mouth with -a kiss-- - -"Papa, I am so happy. I won't, because I can't, plan to leave -everything I love best in the world just as I come back to it." "But -you must give Erskine some kind of an answer. The poor fellow is -really very much in earnest. Come and see him." "No, I won't," said -Mary, very much as the wilful Claudia might have uttered the words. -But Mary was thinking that there was a great contrast between the -genial benevolence she had come to, and the indescribable _something_ -which was _not_ benevolence in which she had lived ever since her -mother had become a Catholic. Mr. Brewer almost started. "I mean, -papa, that I must live here unmolested at least one month before I can -find out whether I am not always going to love _you_ best of all -mankind. Don't you think you could send Horace off to Scotland again -immediately?" "Bless the child! Think of the letters that have -passed--you read them, or knew of them?" "_Knew_ of them," said Mary, -nodding her head confidentially, and looking extremely naughty. "Well; -and I asked him here!" "Yes; I know that." "And you now tell me to -send him away! {196} My dear!" exclaimed Mr. Brewer, looking -appealingly at his wife. "Dearest, you must tell Mr. Erskine that Mary -really would like to be left quiet for awhile. Say so now; and -to-morrow you can suggest his going soon, and returning in a few -weeks." "And to-morrow I can have a cold and lie in bed. Can't I?" -said Mary. But now they ceased talking, and heard Horace Erskine go -out of the door to the portico. "There! he's gone. And I am sure I can -smell a cigar--and I could hate smoking, couldn't I?" Mother and -father now scolded the saucy child, and condemned her to solitude and -sleep. And when they were gone the girl put her head out of the open -window, and gazed across the spreading park, so peaceful in its -far-stretching flat, just roughened in places by the fern that had -begun to get brown under the hot sun; and then she listened to the -sound of the wind that came up in earnest whispers from the woody -corners, and the far-off forests of oak. The sound rose and fell like -waves, and the silence between those low outpourings of mysterious -sound was loaded with solemnity. - -Do the whispering woods praise him; and are their prayers in the tall -trees? She was full of fancies that night. But the words Father -Daniels had said to her seemed to her to come again on the -night-breeze, and then she was quiet and still. And yet--and -yet--though she _tried_ to forget, and _tried_ to keep her mind at -peace, the spirit within would rise from its rest, and say that she -had left an atmosphere of evil speaking and uncharitableness; that -malice and harsh judgment had been hard at work, and all to poison -_home_, and to win her from it. - -And while she was trying to still these troublings of the mind, Mr. -Brewer, by her mother's side, was reading for the first time Mrs. -Erskine's letter, which Father Daniels had returned. "My dear, my -dear," said Mr. Brewer, "a very improper letter. I think Mary is a -very extraordinary girl not to have been prejudiced against me. I -shall always feel grateful to her. And as to this letter, which I call -a very painful letter, don't you think we had better burn it?" And so, -by the assistance of a lighted taper, Mr. Brewer cleared that evil -thing out of his path for ever. - -"Eleanor," said Lady Greystock, "how lovely this evening is. The moon -is full, and how glorious! Shall we drive by a roundabout way to -Blagden? James," speaking to the man who occupied the seat behind, -"how far is it out of our way if we go through the drive in Beremouth -Park, and come out by the West Lodge into the Blagden turnpike road?" -"It will be two miles further, my lady. But the road is very good, and -the carriage will run very light over the gravelled road in the park." -"Then we'll go." So on getting to the bottom of the street in which -Mrs. Morier lived, Lady Greystock took the road to Beremouth; and the -ponies seemed to enjoy the change, and the whole world, except those -three who were passing so pleasantly through a portion of it, seemed -to sleep beneath the face of that great moon, wearing, as all full -moons do, a sweet grave look of watching on its face. - -"Isn't it glorious? Isn't it grand, this great expanse and this -perfect calm? Ah, there goes a bat; and a droning beetle on the wing -just makes one know what silence we are passing through. How pure the -air feels. Oh, what blessings we have in life--how many more than we -know of. I think of that in the still evenings often. Do you, -Eleanor?" - -"Yes, Lady Greystock." But Eleanor spoke in a very calm, -business-like, convinced sort of manner; not the least infected by the -tears of tenderness and the poetical feeling that Lady Greystock had -betrayed. - -{197} - -"Yes, Lady Greystock And when in great moments"--"Great moments! I -like that," said Claudia--"when I have those thoughts I think of -you." "Of me?" "Yes. And I am profoundly struck by the goodness of -God, who endowed the great interest of my life with so powerful an -attraction for me. I must have either liked or disliked you. I am so -glad to love you." - -"Eleanor, I wish you would tell me the story of your life." They had -passed through the lodge gates now, and were driving through Beremouth -Park. "You were not always what you are now." - -"You will know it one day," said Eleanor, softly. "Oh, see how the -moon comes out from behind that great fleecy cloud; just in time to -light us as we pass through the shadows which these grand oaks cast. -What lines of silver light lie on the road before us. It is a treat to -be out in such a place on such a night as this. Stay, stay, Lady -Greystock. What is that?" - -Lady Greystock pulled up suddenly, and standing full in the moonlight, -on the turf at the side of the carriage, was a tall, strong-built man. -He took off his cap with a respectful air, and said, "I beg pardon. I -did not intend to stop you. But if you will allow me I will ask your -servant a question." He addressed Lady Greystock, and did not seem to -look at Eleanor, though she was nearest to him. Eleanor had suddenly -pulled a veil over her face; but Lady Greystock had taken hers from -her hat, and her uncovered face was turned toward the man with the -moonlight full upon it. He said to the servant, "Can you tell me where -a person called Eleanor Evelyn is to be found? Mrs. Evelyn she is -probably called. I want to know where she is." Before James, who had -long known the person by his mistress's side as Mrs. Evelyn, could -speak, or recover from his very natural surprise, Eleanor herself -spoke. "Yes," she said, "Mrs. Evelyn lives not far from Marston. I -should advise you to call on Mrs. Jenifer Stanton, who lives at -Marston with Mrs. Morier. She will tell you about her." "She who lives -with Madam Morier, of course?" said the man. "Yes; the same." -"Goodnight." - -"Good night," said Lady Greystock in answer, and obeying Eleanor's -whispered "Drive on," she let the ponies, longing for their stable, -break into their own rapid pace, and, soon out of the shadows, they -were in the light--the broad, calm, silent light--once more. - - - - -TO BE CONTINUED - ------- - -{198} - - -Translated from Le Correspondant - -A PRETENDED DERVISH IN TURKESTAN. [Footnote 35] - -BY ÉMILE JONVEAUX - - [Footnote 35: "Herman Vambéry's Travels In Central Asia." Original - German edition. Leipzic: Brockhaus,1865. Paris: Xavier. French - translation by M. Forgues. Paris: Hachette.] - - -A brilliant imagination, a sparkling and ready wit, an indomitable -energy, the happy gift of seeing and painting man and things in a -lively manner, such are the qualities which we remark at first in the -new explorer of central Asia. But he is not only a bold traveller, a -delightful story-teller, full of spirit and originality, we must -recognize also in him a learned orientalist, an eminent ethnologist -and linguist. - -Born in 1832, in a small Hungarian town, he began at an early age to -study with passion the different dialects of Europe and Asia, -endeavoring to discover the relations between the idioms of the East -and West. Observing the strong affinity which exists between the -Hungarian and the Turco-Tartaric dialects, and resolved to return to -the cradle of the Altaic tongues, he went to Constantinople and -frequented the schools and libraries with an assiduity which in a few -years made of him a true effendi. But the nearer he approached the -desired end, the greater was his thirst for knowledge. Turkey began to -appear to his eyes only the vestibule of the Orient; he resolved to go -on, and to seek even in the depths of Asia the original roots of the -idioms and races of Europe. [Footnote 36] In vain his friends -represented to him the fatigues and perils of such a tour. Infirm as -he was (a wound had made him lame), could he endure a long march over -those plains of sand where he would be obliged to fight against the -terror of tempest, the tortures of thirst--where, in fine, he might -encounter death under a thousand forms? and then, how was he to force -his way among those savage and fanatic tribes, who are afraid of -travellers; and who a few years before had destroyed Moorcraft, -Conolly, and Stoddart? Nothing could shake the resolution of Vambéry; -he felt strong enough to brave suffering, and as to the dangers which -threatened him from man, his bold and inventive spirit would furnish -him the means to avert them in calling to his assistance their very -superstitions. Was he not as well versed in the knowledge of the Koran -and the customs of Islam as the most devout disciple of the Prophet? -He would disguise himself in the costume of a pilgrim dervish, and so -would go through Asia, distributing everywhere benedictions, but -making secretly his scientific studies and remarks. His foreign -physiognomy might, it is true, raise against him some obstacles. But -he counted on his happy star, and, above all, on his presence of mind, -to succeed at last. These difficulties were renewed often in the -course of his adventurous tour; more than once the suspicious look of -some powerful tyrant was fixed upon him as if to say: "Your features -betray you; you are a European!" The extraordinary coolness, the -ingenious expedients to which Vambéry had recourse in these -emergencies, give to the story of his travels an interest which -novelists and dramatists might envy. To this powerful charm, the work -of which we give a rapid sketch unites the merit of containing {199} -the most valuable notes on the social and political relations, the -manners and character, of the races which inhabit Central Asia. - - - - - - [Footnote 36: The linguistic and ethnographical studies form a - separate volume, which the author proposes to publish very soon.] - - -I. - -It was early in July, 1862, that Vambéry, leaving Tabriz, began his -long and perilous journey. Persia, at this period of the year, does -not offer the enchanting spectacle which the enthusiastic descriptions -of poets lead us to imagine. This boasted country displays only to the -eye a heaven of fire, burning and desert plains, through the midst of -which sometimes advances slowly a caravan covered with dust, exhausted -by fatigue and heat. After a monotonous and painful march of fifteen -days, our traveller sees at last rising from the horizon the outlines -of a number of domes, half lost in a bluish fog. This is Teheran, the -celestial city, the seat of sovereignty, as the natives pompously call -it. - -It was not easy to penetrate into this noble city; a compact crowd -filled the streets, asses, camels, mules laden with straw, barley, and -other marketable articles jostled each other in the strangest -confusion. "Take care! Take care!" vociferated the passers-by; each -one pressed, pushed, and blows of sticks and even of sabres were -distributed with surprising liberality. Vambéry succeeded in getting -safe and sound out of this tumult; he repaired to the summer residence -of the Turkish ambassador, where all the effendis were assembled under -a magnificent silken tent. Haydar Effendi, who represented the sultan -at the court of the Shah, had known the Hungarian traveller in -Constantinople; he received him most cordially, and very soon the -guests, gathered round a splendid banquet, began to call up souvenirs -of Stamboul, of the Bosphorus, and their delightful landscapes, so -different from the arid plains of Persia. - -The contrast of character is not less noticeable between the two -nations who divide the supremacy of the Mohammedan world. The Ottoman, -in consequence of his close relations with the West, is more and more -penetrated by European manners and civilization, and gains by this -contact an incontestable superiority. The Persian preserves more the -primitive type of the Orientals, his mind is more poetic, his -intelligence more prompt, his courtesy more refined; but proud of an -antiquity which loses itself in the night of time, he is deeply -hostile to our sciences and arts, of which he does not comprehend the -importance. Some choice spirits, indeed, have endeavored to rejuvenate -the worm-eaten institutions of Persia, and to lead their country in -the way of progress. The pressing solicitations of the minister -Ferrukh Khan engaged, some years ago, several nations of Europe, -Belgium, Prussia, Italy, to send ambassadors in the hope of forming -political and commercial relations with Iran; but their efforts were -checked, Persia not being ripe for this regeneration. - -Thanks to the generous hospitality of Haydar Effendi, Vambéry was -rested from his fatigues. Impatient to continue his journey, he wished -to take immediately the road to Herat; his friends dissuaded him from -it, because the hostilities just declared between the sultan of this -province and the sovereign of the Afghans rendered communications -impossible. The northern route was quite as impracticable; it would -have been necessary to cross during the winter months the vast deserts -of central Asia. The traveller was forced to await a more favorable -season. To remove gradually the obstacles which prevented the -realization of his plan, he began immediately to draw around him the -dervishes who every year pass through Teheran on their way to Turkey. -These pilgrims or hadjis never fail to address themselves to the -Ottoman embassy, for they are all _Sunnites_ and {200} recognize the -emperor of Constantinople as their spiritual head; Persia, on the -contrary, belongs to the sect of the _Shiites_, who may be called the -Protestants of Islam, with so profound a horror have they inspired the -faithful believers of Khiva, Bokhara, Samarcande, etc. Vambéry, who -proposed to visit all these fanatic states, had then adopted the -character of a pious and zealous Sunnite. Very soon it was noised -abroad among the pilgrims that Reschid Effendi (_nom de guerre_ of our -traveller) treated the dervishes as brothers, and that he was no doubt -himself a dervish in disguise. - -In the morning of the 20th of March, 1862, four hadjis presented -themselves before him whom they regarded as the devoted protector of -their sect. They came to complain of Persian officials who, on their -return from Mecca, had imposed upon them an abusive tax long since -abolished. "We do not demand the money of his excellency the -ambassador," said he who appeared to be the chief; "the only object of -our prayers is, that in future the Sunnites may be able to visit the -holy places without being forced to endure the exactions of the -infidel Shiites." Surprised at the disinterestedness of this language, -Vambéry considered more attentively the austere countenances of his -guests. In spite of their miserable clothing, a native nobility -discovered itself in them; their words were frank, their looks -intelligent. The little caravan of which they made a part, composed in -all of twenty-four persons, was returning to Bokhara. The resolution -of the European was immediately taken; he said to the pilgrims that -for a long time he had had an extreme desire to visit Turkestan, this -hearth of Islamite piety, this holy land which contained the tombs of -so many saints. "Obedient to this sentiment," said he, "I have quitted -Turkey; for many months I have awaited in Persia a favorable -opportunity, and I thank God that have at last found companions with -whom I may be able to continue my journey and accomplish my purpose." - -The Tartars were at first much astonished. How could an effendi, -accustomed to a life of luxury, resolve to encounter so many dangers, -to endure so many trials? The ardent faith of the pretended Sunnite -was hardly efficient to explain this prodigy, so the dervishes felt -themselves bound to enlighten him on the sad consequences to which -this excess of zeal might expose him. "We shall travel," they said, -"for whole weeks without encountering a single dwelling, without -finding the least rivulet where we can quench our thirst. More than -that, we shall run the risk of perishing by the robbers who infest the -desert, or of being swallowed up alive by tempests of sand. Reflect -again, seigneur effendi, we would not be the cause of your death." -These words were not without their effect, but, after coming so far, -Vambéry was not easily discouraged. "I know," said he to the pilgrims, -"that this world is an inn where we sojourn for some days, and from -which we soon depart to give place to new travellers. I pity those -restless spirits who, not content with having thought of the present, -embrace in their solicitude a long future. Take me with you, my -friends; I am weary of this kingdom of error, and I long to leave it." - -Perceiving in him so firm a resolve, the chiefs of the caravan -received the pretended Reschid as a travelling companion. A fraternal -embrace ratified this engagement, and the European felt not without -some repugnance the contact of these ragged garments which long use -had impregnated with a thousand offensive odors. - -Following the advice of one of the dervishes, Hadji Bilal, who -entertained a particular friendship for him, the traveller cut his -hair, adopted the Bokhariot costume, and the better to play the part -of a pilgrim, an enemy of all worldly superfluity, he left behind his -bedding, his linen, everything, in {201} short, which in the eyes of -the Tartars had the least appearance of refinement or luxury. Some -days after, he rejoined his companions in the caravansery where the -hadjis had promised to meet him. There Vambéry ascertained, to his -great surprise, that the miserable garments which had disgusted him so -much were the state robes of the dervishes; their travelling dress was -composed of numerous rags, arranged in the most picturesque manner and -fastened at the waist by a fragment of rope. Hadji Bilal, raising his -arms in the air, pronounced the prayer of departure, to which all the -assistants responded by the sacramental _amen_, placing the hand upon -the beard. - -Vambéry quitted Teheran not without sadness and misgiving. In this -city, placed on the frontiers of civilization, he had found devoted -friends; now, in the company of strangers, he was about to face at -once the perils of the desert and those, more to be feared, which -threatened him from the cruelty of the inhabitants of the cities. He -was roused from these reflections by joyous ballads sung by many of -the pilgrims, others related the adventures of their wandering life or -boasted of the charms of their native country, the fertile gardens of -Mergolan and Khokand. Sometimes their patriotic and religious -enthusiasm led them to intone verses from the Koran, in which Vambéry -never failed to join with a zeal which did honor to the strength of -his lungs. He had then the satisfaction of observing the dervishes -look at one another and say, in an undertone, that Hadji Rescind was a -true believer, who, without doubt, thanks to the good examples before -his eyes, would soon walk in the steps of the saints. - -At the end of five days the pilgrims reached the mountain of -Mazendran, the western slope of which extends its base to the Caspian -sea. Here the sterility of the country yields to the freshest, the -richest vegetation; splendid forests, prairies covered with thick -grass, extend themselves everywhere before the charmed eye of the -traveller, and from time to time the murmur of a waterfall delights -his ear. The sight of this smiling country drove away all the sad -presentiments which had possessed the soul of Vambéry; mounted upon a -gently-treading mule, he arrives full of confidence at Karatèpe, where -he is to embark upon the Caspian sea. There an Afghan of high birth, -whom the pretended Reschid had met upon his journey, and who knew the -consideration which he enjoyed at the Ottoman embassy, offered him the -hospitality of his house. The news of the arrival of pilgrims had -collected a great number of visitors; squatted along the walls of the -houses, they fixed upon Vambéry looks of mingled distrust and -curiosity. "He is not a dervish," said some, "you can see that by his -features and complexion." "The hadjis," replied others, "pretend that -he is a near relation of the Turkish ambassador." All then, shaking -their heads with a mysterious air, said in an undertone, "Only Allah -can know what this foreigner is after." During this time, Vambéry -pretended to be plunged in a profound meditation; in which as a -Protestant, he committed a grave imprudence, for the Orientals, liars -and hypocrites themselves, cannot believe in frankness, and always -infer the contrary of whatever is told them. These suspicions, -moreover, had nearly frustrated at the outset the bold designs of the -European. The captain of the Afghan ship, employed in provisioning the -Russian garrison, had consented for a small sum to take all the hadjis -in his ship across the arm of the sea which divides Karatèpe from -Ashourada. But learning the reports which were in circulation -regarding our traveller, he refused to permit him to embark; "his -attachment for the Russians not allowing him," he said, "to facilitate -the secret designs of an emissary of Turkey." In vain Hadji Bilal, -Hadji Salih, and others of the caravan endeavored to change his {202} -resolution. All was useless, and Vambéry was doubting whether he -should not be forced to retrace his steps, when his companions -generously declared that they would not proceed without him. - -Toward evening, the dervishes learned that a Turcoman named Yakaub -proposed from a religious motive, and without desiring any recompense, -to take them in his boat. The motive of this unexpected kindness was -very soon discovered. Yakaub, having drawn Vambéry apart, confessed to -him in an embarrassed tone, which contrasted singularly with his wild -and energetic physiognomy, that he nourished a profound and hopeless -passion for a young girl of his tribe; a Jew, a renowned magician who -resided at Karatèpe, had promised to prepare an infallible talisman if -the unhappy lover were able to procure for him thirty drops of essence -of rose direct from Mecca. "You hadjis," added the Tartar, casting -down his eyes, "never quit the holy places without bringing away some -perfume; and as you are the youngest of the caravan, I hope that you -will comprehend my vexation better than the others, and that you will -help me." The companions of Vambéry had in fact several bottles of the -essence, of which they gave a part to the Turkoman, and this precious -gift threw the son of the desert into a genuine ecstasy. - -The voyagers passed two days on a _kèseboy_ a boat provided with a -mast and two unequal sails, which the Tartars use for the transport of -cargoes. It was almost night when Yakaub cast anchor before Ashourada, -the most southerly of the Russian possessions in Asia. The czar -maintains constantly on this coast steamers charged with repressing -the depredations of the Turkomen, which formerly inspired terror -throughout the province. All natives before approaching the port of -Ashourada must be provided with a regular passport, and must submit to -the inspection of the Russian functionaries. This visit caused Vambéry -some alarm; would not the sight of his features, a little too -European, provoke from the Russian agent an indiscreet exclamation of -surprise? and would not his incognito be betrayed? Happily, on the day -of their arrival Easter was celebrated in the Greek Church, and, on -account of this solemnity, the examination was a mere formality. The -pilgrims continued their voyage, and landed the next day at -Gomushtèpe, a distance of only three leagues from Ashourada. - - - -II. - -The hadjis were received by a chief named Khandjan, to whom they had -letters of recommendation. The noble Turkoman was a man of about forty -years; his fine figure, his dress of an austere simplicity, the long -beard which fell upon his breast, gave him a dignified and imposing -air. He advanced toward his guests, embraced them several times, and -led the way to his tent. The news of the arrival of dervishes had -already spread among the inhabitants; men, women, and children threw -themselves before the pilgrims, disputing with one another the honor -of touching their garments, believing that they thus obtained a share -in the merits of these saintly personages. "These first scenes of -Asiatic life," says Vambéry, "astonished me so much that I was -constantly doubting whether I should first examine the singular -construction of their tents of felt, or admire the beauty of the -women, enveloped in their long silken tunics, or yield to the desire -manifested by the arms and hands extended toward me. Strange -spectacle! Young and old, without distinction of sex or rank, pressed -eagerly round these hadjis covered yet with the holy dust of Mecca. -Fancy my amazement when I saw women of great beauty, and even young -girls, rush through the crowd to embrace me. These demonstrations of -sympathy and respect, however, became fatiguing when we {203} arrived -at the tent of the chief _ishan_ (priest), where our little caravan -assembled. Then began a singular contest. Each one solicited as a -precious boon the right of receiving under his tent the poor -strangers. I had heard of the boasted hospitality of the nomad tribes -of Asia, but I never could have imagined the extent of it. Khandjan -put an end to the dispute by himself distributing among the -inhabitants his coveted guests. He reserved only Hadji Bilal and -myself, who were considered the chiefs of the caravan, and we followed -him to his _ooa_ (tent)." - -A comfortable supper, of boiled fish and curdled milk, awaited the two -pilgrims. The touching kindness with which he had been received, the -comfort by which he was surrounded, filled Vambéry with a joy which -accorded ill with the gravity of his assumed character of dervish. His -friend Hadji Bilal felt bound to advise him upon this subject. "You -have remarked already," said he, "that my companions and I distribute -_fatiha_ (blessings) to every one. You must follow our example. I know -it is not the custom in _Roum_ (Turkey), but the Turkomen expect it -and desire it. You will excite great surprise if, giving yourself out -for a dervish, you do not take completely the character of one. You -know the formula of this blessing; you must, then, put on a serious -face and bestow your benedictions. You can add to them _nefes_ (holy -breathings) when you are called to the sick; but do not forget to -extend at the same time your hand, for every one knows that the -dervishes subsist by the piety of the faithful, and they never leave a -tent without receiving some little present." - -The Hungarian traveller profited so well by the advice of Hadji Bilal -that, five days after his arrival at Gomushtèpe, a crowd of believers -and sick people besieged him from the moment that he rose, soliciting, -one his blessing, another his sacred breathing, a third the talisman -that was to cure him. Thanks to the complaisance and marvellous tact -which characterized him, Vambéry henceforth identified himself -completely with the venerable personage of Hadji Reschid, and never -during a period of two years escaped him the smallest gesture or word -which could possibly betray him. His reputation for sanctity increased -every day, and procured for him numerous offerings, which he received -with a truly Mussulman gravity. This increasing confidence permitted -the European to form with the Turkomen frequent intimacies, of which -he profited to study the social relations of these tribes, to discover -the innumerable ramifications of which they are composed, and to form -an exact idea of the bonds which unite elements in appearance so -heterogeneous and confused. But he was obliged to exercise great -prudence; a dervish, wholly preoccupied with heavenly things, never -ought to ask the smallest question in regard to affairs purely -worldly. Fortunately, the Tartars, so terrible and so impetuous, when -they have completed their forays, pass the remainder of their time in -absolute idleness, and then they amuse themselves with interminable -political and moral discussions. Vambéry, dropping his beads with an -exterior of pious revery, lent an attentive ear to all these -conversations, of which he never lost the slightest detail. - -One thing which surprised him among the Turkomen was to see that if -all are too proud to obey, no one seems ambitious to command. "We are -a people without a head," they say; "and we wish no head. Every one is -king in our country," Yet, notwithstanding the absence of all -restraint, of all authority, these savage robbers, the terror of their -neighbors, live together amicably, and we find among them fewer -robberies and murders, and more morality than among the majority of -the Asiatic people. {204} This is explained by the action of an -all-powerful law, which exercises over the inhabitants of the desert -more empire than religion itself; we speak of the _Deb_, that is to -say, the custom, the traditions. An invisible sovereign, obeyed -everywhere, it sanctions robbery and slavery, and all the -prescriptions of Islam fall to the ground before it. "How," asked -Vambéry one day of a Tartar famous for his robberies and his great -piety, "how can you sell your Sunnite brother, when the Prophet has -said expressly: Every Mussulman is free?" "Bah!" he replied, "the -Koran, this book of God, is more precious than a man, and yet you buy -and sell it; Joseph, the son of Jacob, was a prophet, and yet they -sold him, and was he ever the worse for it?" The influence of Deb -extends throughout central Asia; in converting themselves to the -worship of Mohammed, the nomad tribes have taken only the exterior -form; they adored formerly the sun, the fire, and other natural -phenomena--they personify them to-day under the name of Allah. - -Many ancient and singular customs are found everywhere in central -Asia; marriage is accompanied by characteristic rites. The young girl, -in her rich bridal costume, bravely bestrides a furious courser, whom -she urges to his utmost speed; with one hand she holds the rein, with -the other she presses to her bosom a lamb just killed, which the -bridegroom, mounted also on a fast horse, endeavors to take from her. -All the young people of the tribe take a part in the eager pursuit, -and the sandy desert then becomes the theatre of this fantastic -contest. - -The ceremonies prescribed for funerals are not less singular. When a -member of a Turkoman family dies, the mourners come every day for an -entire year, at the hour when the deceased expired, to utter sobs and -cries, in which the relations are bound to join. This custom seems to -prove that the Tartars, superior in this respect to civilized people, -consecrate to their dead a remembrance more profound and more durable; -but, in fact, one must abate a little of this praise; the tears and -prolonged mourning are only a matter of form, and Vambéry often could -hardly suppress a smile when he saw the head of the family tranquilly -smoking his pipe or enjoying his repast, interrupting himself now and -then to join the noisy lamentations of the choir. It is the same with -the ladies; they cry, they weep in the most lugubrious fashion, -without ceasing to turn the wheel or rock the cradle. But what then? -is not human nature the same everywhere, and do the Turkoman ladies -differ so much from our inconsolable widows, to whom, as La Fontaine -says with good-natured malice, "mourning very soon becomes an -ornament." - -Vambéry, venerated as one of the elect of the prophet, often passed -his evenings among these Tartar families. Then, surrounded by a large -audience, the troubadour, accompanying himself upon the guitar, -chanted the poetry of Koroghi, of Aman Mollah, or more frequency of -Makhdumkuli, the Ossian of the desert, whom his compatriots regard as -a demigod. This holy personage, who had never studied in the colleges -of Bokhara, received the gift of all science by a divine inspiration. -He was one day transported in a dream to Mecca, in presence of the -Prophet and of the first caliphs. Seized with respect and fear at the -sight of this august assembly, he prostrated himself, and, throwing -around him a timid look, perceived Omar, the patron of the Turkomen, -who, with a benevolent air, signed him to approach. He received then -the benediction of the Prophet, a light blow on the forehead, which -awakened him. From this moment a celestial poesy flowed from his lips; -he composed heroic hymns which the Tartars regard to-day as the most -beautiful productions of the human mind. - -{205} - -About this time, a mollah having undertaken a trip to Atabeg and the -Göklen, our traveller seized the occasion to examine the Greek ruins -which perpetuate among these savage people the remembrance of the -conquests of Alexander. He recognized the wall built by the Macedonian -hero to oppose a barrier to the menacing stream of the desert tribes. -The legend of the Turkomen shows how the oriental imagination clothes -the events of history with poetic and religious fiction. Alexander, -they say, was a profoundly religious Mussulman; and as the saints -exercise all power over the invisible world, he commanded the spirits -of darkness, and it was by his order that the genii built the sacred -wall. - -Notwithstanding the generous hospitality of Khandjan, Vambéry began to -get tired of his residence at Gomushtèpe. The continual raids of the -Turkomen peopled their tents with a crowd of Persian slaves, whose -tortures revolted any one who had a spark of humanity. These unhappy -beings, surprised for the most part in a nocturnal attack, were -dragged from their families, and loaded with heavy chains which -betrayed the slightest movement and hindered every attempt at flight. -Khandjan himself possessed two young Iranians of eighteen and twenty -years, and, singularly enough, this man, so good and so hospitable, -overwhelmed these young men with injuries and insults on the slightest -pretext. Our traveller could not, without betraying himself, manifest -the least compassion for these poor slaves. Notwithstanding, the pity -which they sometimes surprised in his looks induced them to address -him. They begged him to write to their relatives, imploring them to -sell cattle, gardens, and dwellings in order to release them from this -frightful captivity; for the Turkomen often maltreat their prisoners -merely in the hope of obtaining a great ransom for them. - -Vambéry then learned with joy that the khan of Khiva, for whom the -physicians had prescribed the use of buffalo's milk, had sent his -chief of caravans to Gomushtèpe to buy two pair of these animals, in -order to have them acclimated in his own country. To join an officer -who knew the invisible paths of the desert better than the most -experienced guides, was an unexpected good fortune for the pilgrims, -and Vambéry urged Hadji Bilal to improve so good an opportunity; but -Hadji Bilal was surprised at the impatience of his friend, and -remarked that it was extremely childish. "It is of no use to be in a -hurry," said he; "you will remain on the banks of the Gorghen until -destiny shall decree that you quench your thirst at another river, and -it is impossible to tell when the will of Allah will be manifested." -This answer was not particularly satisfactory to Vambéry; but he could -not attempt the desert alone; he was forced then to submit to the -oriental slowness of his companions. - -The little caravan was to return to Etrek, the capital of a tribe of -warriors, to wait until the chief of caravans should join it. One of -the most renowned chiefs of this tribe came just at this time to -Gomushtèpe. His name was Kulkhan-_le-Pir_ (chief). His sombre and wild -physiognomy, little calculated to inspire confidence, never brightened -at the sight of the pious pilgrims; nevertheless, out of regard for -Khandjan, he consented to take the hadjis under his protection, -recommending to them to be ready to start with him in two days, for he -awaited in order to return to his tent at Etrek only the arrival of -his son, who had gone on a raid. Kulkhan spoke of this expedition with -the paternal pride which makes the heart of a European beat in -learning that his son has covered himself with glory on the field of -battle. Some hours later, the young man, followed by seven Turkomen, -appeared on the banks of the Gorghen. A great crowd had gathered, and -admiration was painted upon every face when the proud cavaliers threw -themselves with their {206} prey, ten magnificent horses, into the -midst of the river, which they crossed swimming. They landed -immediately, and even Vambéry, in spite of the contempt with which -these acts of pillage inspired him, could not take his eyes from these -bold warriors, who, in their short riding-habit, the chest covered -with their abundant curling hair, gaily laid down their arms. - -About noon the next day the traveller quitted Gomushtèpe, and was -escorted for a considerable distance by Khandjan, who wished to fulfil -punctually all the duties of hospitality. It was not without heartfelt -regret that he parted from this devoted host, from whom he had -received so many marks of interest. The pilgrims travelled toward the -north-east; their road, which led them from the coast, was bordered by -many mounds raised by the Turkomen in memory of their illustrious -dead. When a warrior dies, every man of his tribe is bound to throw at -least seven shovelsful of earth upon his grave. So these mausoleums -often appear like little hills. This custom must be very ancient among -the Asiatics; the Huns brought it into Europe, and we find traces of -it to-day in Hungary. Half a league from Gomushtèpe the little caravan -reached magnificent prairies, the herbage of which, knee-high, exhaled -a delicious fragrance. But these blessings of nature are thrown away -upon the Turkomen, who, wholly occupied in robbery and pillage, never -dream of enriching themselves by peaceful, pastoral occupations. -"Alas!" thought our European, "what charming villages might shelter -themselves in this fertile and beautiful country. When will the busy -hum of life replace the silence of death which broods over these -regions?" - -Approaching Etrek, the landscape suddenly changes. This lonely verdure -is exchanged for the salt lands of the desert, whose rank odor and -repulsive appearance seem to warn the traveller of the sufferings -which await him in these immense solitudes. Little by little Vambéry -felt the ground become soft under foot; his camel slipped, buried -himself at each step, and gave such evident signs of intending to -throw him in the mud, that he thought it prudent to dismount without -waiting for a more pressing invitation. After tramping an hour and a -half in the mire the pilgrims reached Kara Sengher (black wall), where -rose the tent of their host, Kulkhan-le-Pir. The district of Etrek is, -to the populations of Mazendran and Taberistan, a by-word of terror -and malediction. "May you be carried to Etrek," is the most terrible -imprecation which fury can extort from a Persian. One cannot pass -before the tents of the Turkomen of Etrek without seeing the unhappy -Iranian slaves, wasted by fatigue and privations, and bent under the -weight of their chains. But the nomad tribes of Tartary offer a -singular mixture of vice and virtue, of justice and lawlessness, of -benevolence and cruelty. Vambéry, in his character of dervish, made -frequent visits among the Tartars. He always returned loaded with -presents and penetrated with gratitude for their charitable -hospitality. To this sentiment succeeded a profound horror at the -barbarous treatment inflicted upon their slaves. At Gomushtèpe such a -spectacle had already revolted him; and yet this city, compared to -Etrek, might be considered the _Ultima Thule_ of humanity and -civilization. - -One day, returning to his dwelling, Vambéry met one of the slaves of -Kulkhan, who, in a piteous tone, begged him to give him to drink. This -unfortunate being had labored ever since morning in a field of melons, -exposed to the heat of a burning sun, without any other food than salt -fish, and without a drop of water to quench his thirst. The sight of -this poor sufferer, and of the cheers which ran down over his thick -black beard, made Vambéry forget the danger {207} to which an -imprudent compassion might expose himself. He gave his bottle to the -slave, who drank eagerly and fled, not without having passionately -thanked his benefactor. - -Another time the European and Hadji Bilal called on a rich Tartar, -who, learning that Vambéry was a disciple of the Grand Turk, cried, -with great glee, "I will show you a spectacle which will delight you; -we know how well the Russians and the Turks agree, and I will show you -one o£ your enemies in chains." He then called a poor Muscovite slave, -whose pallid features and expression of profound sadness touched -Vambéry to the heart. "Go and kiss the feet of this effendi," said the -Turkoman to the prisoner. The poor fellow was about to obey, but our -traveller stopped him by a gesture, saying that he had that morning -begun a great purification and that he did not wish to be defiled by -the touch of an infidel. - -At last a messenger came to inform the pilgrims that the chief of -caravans was about to leave, and that he would meet them at noon the -next day on the shore opposite Etrek. The hadjis therefore began their -journey, escorted by Kulkhan-le-Pir, who, thanks to the introduction -of Kulkhan, neglected nothing for the security of his guests. Now, as -these districts are infested by brigands and very dangerous for -caravans, the protection of this _graybeard_ was very useful to the -travellers. Kulkhan was, in fact, the spiritual guide and grand -high-priest of these fierce robbers; he united to a character -naturally ferocious a consummate hypocrisy which made him a curious -type of the desert chiefs. One ought to have heard this renowned -bandit, who had ruined so many families, explaining to his assembled -disciples the rites prescribed for purifications, and telling them how -a good Mussulman ought to cut his moustache, etc. A sort of pious -ecstasy, a perfect serenity, the fruit of a good conscience, was -visible meanwhile upon the countenances of these men, as if they -already enjoyed a foretaste of the delight of Mohammed's paradise. - -The chief of caravans now joined the pilgrims. Vambéry desired very -much to win the good graces of so important a man, and was, therefore, -much alarmed when he saw that this dignitary, who had received the -other pilgrims with marks of great respect, treated him with great -coldness. Hadji Bilal eagerly undertook the defence of his friend. -"All this," he cried angrily, "is no doubt the work of that miserable -Mehemmed, who, even while we were in Etrek, tried to make us believe -that our Hadji Reschid, so holy and so learned in the Koran, was a -European in disguise! The Lord, pardon my sins!" This was the favorite -exclamation of the good dervish in his moments of greatest agitation. -"Be patient," he added, addressing his companion, "once arrived at -Khiva, I will set this opium-eater right." Mehemmed was an Afghan -merchant, born at Kandahar, who had frequently met Europeans. He -thought he discovered in Vambéry a secret agent travelling, no doubt, -with great treasure, and he hoped, by frightening him, to extort from -him considerable sums; but the European was too cunning to be taken in -this trap, and he found a secure protection in his reputation for -sanctity and in the generous friendship of Hadji Bilal. - -This incident had no immediate consequences. The chief of caravans, -who was now chief of the united caravans, ordered each pilgrim -carefully to fill his bottle, for they would travel now many days -without meeting any spring. Vambéry followed the example of his -companions, but with a negligent air which Hadji Salih thought himself -bound to reprove. "You do not know yet," said he, "that in the desert -each drop of water becomes a drop of life. The thirsty traveller -watches over his bottle as a miser over his treasure; it is as -precious to him as his eye-sight." - -They travelled the whole day over a sandy soil, at times slightly -undulating, but where it was impossible to discover the least trace of -a path. The sun alone indicated their course, and during the night the -_kervanbashi_ (chief of caravans) guided himself by the polar star, -called by the Turkomen the iron pin, because it is motionless. -Gradually the sand gave place to a hard and flinty soil, on which -through the silent night resounded the foot-fall of the camels. At -day-break the caravan stopped to take some hours of rest, and -presently Vambéry perceived the kervanbashi engaged eagerly in -conversation with Hadji Bilal and Hadji Salih, the subject of which -their looks, constantly directed toward him, sufficiently indicated. -He pretended not to observe it, and occupied himself with renewed -earnestness in turning over the pages of the Koran. Some moments after -his friends came to him, and said "his foreign features excited the -distrust of the kervanbashi, for this man had already incurred the -anger of the king because he had some years before conducted to Khiva -a European, whom this single journey had enabled to put down on paper -with diabolical art all the peculiarities of the country, and he never -should be able to save his head if he committed another such blunder. -It is with great difficulty," added the dervishes, "that we have -persuaded him to take you with us, and he has made it a condition, -first, that you shall consent to be searched, and secondly, that you -will swear, by the tomb of the Prophet, that you will not carry about -you secretly a _wooden pen_ as these detestable Europeans always do." - -These words, we may imagine, were not very agreeable to Vambéry, but -he had too much self-control to permit his agitation to be seen. -Pretending to be very angry, he turned toward Hadji Salih, and, loud -enough to be heard by the chief of caravans, replied, "Hadji, you have -seen me in Teheran, and you know who I am; say to the kervanbashi that -an honest man ought not to listen to the gossip of an infidel." This -pretended indignation produced the desired effect; no one afterward -expressed a doubt in regard to the pilgrim. Vambéry could not resolve -to keep his promise, and, whatever it might have cost him to deceive -his friends, he continued to make in secret some rapid notes. "Let one -imagine," says he, to excuse himself, "the latter disappointment of a -traveller who arriving at last, after long efforts and great peril, -before a spring for which he has eagerly sighed, finds himself -forbidden to moisten his parched lips." - -The caravan advanced slowly through the desert; in compassion for the -camels, who suffered much from the sand, upon which they could hardly -walk, the pilgrims dismounted when the road became very bad. These -forced marches were a severe trial to Vambéry on account of his -lameness; but he endeavored to forget, his fatigue and to take a part -in the noisy conversations of his companions. The nephew of the -kervanbashi, a Turkoman of Khiva, entertained a particular affection -for him; full of respect for his character as dervish, and won by the -benevolence of his looks, he took great pleasure in talking to him of -his _tent_, the only manner in which the prescriptions of the Prophet -permitted him to speak of the young wife whom he had left at home. -Separated for a whole year from the object of his tenderness, Khali -Mallah appealed to the science of the pretended hadji to pierce the -veil which absence had placed between himself and his family. Vambéry -gravely took the Koran, pronounced some cabalistic words, closed his -eyes, and opened the book precisely at a passage in which women are -spoken of. He interpreted the sacred text so as to draw from it an -oracle sufficiently vague, at which the young Tartar was transported -with joy. - -On the 27th of May the travellers reached the table-lands of -Korentaghi, a chain of mountains surrounded by vast valleys, to the -west of which extend ruins probably of Greek origin. {209} The nomads -who inhabit this district came in crowds to visit the caravan, and for -some hours the encampment had the appearance of a bazaar. The -merchants and drovers who accompanied the kervanbashi concluded -important bargains with the natives, mostly on credit; but Vambéry was -surprised to see the debtor, instead of giving the note as a guarantee -to the creditor, tranquilly put it in his own pocket. Our European -could not refrain from speaking of this, and he received from one of -the merchants this answer of a patriarchal simplicity: "What should I -do with the paper? it would not do me any good; but the debtor -requires it in order to remind him of the amount of the debt and of -the time when it is to be paid." - -Two days after a dark blue cloud appeared in the horizon toward the -north; this was Petit-Balkan, the elevation, the picturesque -landscapes, and the rich mineral resources of which are celebrated in -all Turkoman poetry. The travellers passed along the chain of -mountains, perceiving here and there green and fertile prairies, and -yet the profound solitude of these beautiful valleys filled the soul -with a vague sadness. Beyond commences the Great Desert, where the -traveller marches for many weeks without finding a drop of water to -quench his thirst, or a tree to shelter him from the rays of the sun. -In winter the cold is intense, in summer the heat; but the two seasons -present an equal danger, and frequent tempests swallow up whole -caravans under drifts of snow or whirlwinds of sand. - -"In proportion," says Vambéry, "as the outlines of Balkan disappear -from the horizon, the limitless desert shows itself, terrible and -majestic. I had often thought that imagination and enthusiasm enter -largely into the profound impression produced by the sight of these -immense solitudes. I deceived myself. In my own beloved country I have -often seen vast plains of sand; in Persia I have crossed the salt -desert; but how different were my feelings to-day! It is not -imagination, it is nature herself who lights the sacred torch of -inspiration. The interminable hills of sand, the utter absence of -life, the frightful calm of death, the purple tints of the sun at his -rising and setting, all warn us that we are in the Great Desert, all -fill our souls with an inexpressible emotion." - -After travelling many days, the provision of water beginning to be -exhausted, Vambéry knew for the first time the horrible tortures of -thirst. "Alas!" he thought, "saving and blessed water, the most -precious of all the elements, how little have I known your value! what -would I not give at this moment for a few drops of your divine -substance!" The unfortunate traveller had lost his appetite, he -experienced an excessive prostration, a devouring fire consumed his -veins, he sank upon the ground in a state of complete exhaustion. -Suddenly he heard resound the magic words, "Water! water!" He looked -up and saw the kervanbashi distribute to each of his companions two -glasses of the precious liquid. The good Turkoman had the habit -whenever he crossed the desert of hiding a certain quantity of water, -which he distributed to the members of his caravan when their -sufferings became intolerable. This unexpected succor revived the -strength of Vambéry, and he acknowledged the justice of the Tartar -proverb: "The drop of water given in the desert to the traveller dying -of thirst, effaces a hundred, years of sin." - -The next day numerous tracks of gazelles and wild asses announced to -the travellers that springs were to be found in the neighborhood; -thither they hastened to fill their bottles, and, relieved now from -all anxiety lest water should fail them before their arrival at Khiva, -they gave themselves up to transports of joyful enthusiasm. Toward -evening they reached the table-land of Kaflankir, an island {210} of -verdure in the midst of a sea of sand. Its fertile soil, covered with -luxuriant vegetation, gives asylum to a great number of animals; two -deep trenches surround this oasis, which the Turkomen say are ancient -branches of the Oxus. The caravan, instead of going directly to Khiva, -made a circuit to avoid a tribe of marauders; the first of June it -arrived within sight of the great Tartar city, which, with its domes, -its minarets, its smiling gardens, the luxuriant vegetation which -surrounds it, appeared to the travellers, worn by the monotony of the -desert, an epitome of the delights of nature and of civilization. - - - -III. - -On entering the city their admiration was somewhat lessened. Khiva is -composed of three or four thousand houses, constructed of earth, -scattered about in all directions and surrounded by a wall, also of -clay, ten feet high. But at every step the pious Khivites offered them -bread and dried fruits, begging their blessing. For a long time Khiva -had not received within its walls so great a number of hadjis; every -face expressed astonishment and admiration, and on all sides resounded -acclamations of welcome. Entering into the bazaar, Hadji Bilal intoned -a sacred canticle, in which his companions joined; the voice of -Vambéry predominated; and his emotion was very great when he saw the -surrounding crowd rush toward him, to kiss his hands, his feet covered -with dust, and even the rags which composed his dress. - -According to the usage of the country, the travellers returned -immediately to the caravan which served as custom-house. The principal -_mehrum_ (royal chamberlain) fulfilled the functions of director; -hardly had he addressed the usual questions to the kervanbashi when -the miserable Afghan before spoken of, furious at having been thwarted -in his avaricious designs, advancing, cried in a tone of raillery: "We -have brought to Khiva three interesting quadrupeds, and a biped who is -not less so." The first part of the expression, of course, alluded to -the buffaloes which had been brought from Gomushtèpe; the second was -pointed at Vambéry. Instantly all eyes were fixed upon him, and he -could distinguish among the murmurs of the crowd the words: "Spy, -European, Russian." Imagine his agitation! The khan of Khiva, a cruel -fanatic, had the reputation of reducing to slavery or destroying by -horrible tortures all suspected strangers. In this emergency Vambéry -was not intimidated; often he had considered the possible consequences -of his bold enterprise, and looked death in the face. - -The mehrum, lifting his brows, considered the foreign countenance of -the unknown, and rudely ordered him to approach. Vambéry was about to -reply when Hadji Bilal, who did not know what was going on, eagerly -entered to introduce his friend to the Khivite officer; the exterior -of the Turkoman dervish inspired so much confidence that suspicions -were instantly changed into respectful excuses. - -This peril avoided, Vambéry could not deny that his European features -raised in his way every moment new difficulties; he must have a -powerful protector always ready to defend him. He presently remembered -that an important man, named Shukrullah Bay, who had been for ten -years ambassador to the sultan from the khan of Khiva, must know -Constantinople and every official of that city. Vambéry thought he -should find in this dignitary the support which he desired, and he -repaired the same day to the _medusse_ (college) of Mohammed Emin -Khan, where he resided. Informed that an effendi, recently arrived -from Stamboul, wished to see him, the ex-minister immediately -appeared. His surprise, already very great, was not diminished when he -saw enter a mendicant covered with {211} rags and frightfully -disfigured; but after exchanging a few words with his strange visitor, -his distrust vanished; he addressed him question after question -regarding his friends whom he had left at Constantinople, and, from -the mere pleasure of hearing him speak of them, he forgot to raise a -doubt regarding the supposed quality of the traveller. "In the name of -God, my dear effendi," said he at last, "how could you quit such a -paradise as Stamboul to come into our frightful country?" The -pretended Reschid sighed deeply. "Ah, pir!" he replied, putting a hand -upon his eyes in sign of obedience. Shukrullah was too good a -Mussulman not to understand these words; he was persuaded that his -guest belonged to some order of dervishes, and had been charged by his -_pir_ (spiritual chief) with some mission which a disciple was bound -to accomplish even at the peril of his life. Without asking any -farther explanations, he merely inquired the name of the order to -which Vambéry was attached. Vambéry mentioned the Nakish bendi, -[Footnote 37] implying that Bokhara was the end of his pilgrimage, and -he retired, leaving the Khivite minister marvelling at his learning, -his wit, his sanctity, and his extensive acquaintance. - - [Footnote 37: A celebrated order which originated in Bokhara, where - its principal establishment still exists.] - -The khan, hearing of the arrival of a Turk, the first who had ever -come from Constantinople to Khiva, sent in all haste a _yasoul_ -(officer of the court) to give the European a small present and inform -him that the _hazret_ (sovereign) would give him audience the same -evening, for he greatly desired to receive the blessing of a dervish -born in the holy land. Our voyager, therefore, accompanied by -Shukrullah Bay, who made it a point to present him, repaired to the -palace of the formidable monarch. We will leave Vambéry to relate -himself this curious interview: - -"It was the hour of public audience, and the principal entrance and -halls of the palace were filled with petitioners of every rank, sex, -and age. The crowd respectfully made way at our approach, and my ear -was agreeably tickled when I heard the women say to each other: 'See -the holy dervish from Constantinople; he comes to bless our khan, and -may Allah hear his prayer!' Shukrullah Bay had taken care to make it -known that I was very intimate with the highest dignitaries in -Stamboul, and that nothing should be omitted to render my reception -most solemn. After waiting a few moments, two yasouls came to take me -by the arm, and, with the most profound demonstrations of respect, -conducted me in the presence of Seid Mehemmed Khan. - -"The prince was seated upon a sort of platform, his left arm resting -upon a velvet cushion, his right hand holding a golden sceptre. -According to the prescribed ceremonial, I raised my two hands, a -gesture which was immediately imitated by the khan and others present; -then I recited a verse from the Koran, followed by a prayer much used -beginning with the words: '_Allahuma Rabbina_.' I concluded with an -_amen_, which I pronounced with a resounding voice, holding my beard -with both hands. '_Kaboul bolgay!_' (may thy prayer be heard), -responded in unison all the assistants. Then I approached the -sovereign and exchanged with him the _mousafeha_, [Footnote 38] after -which I retired a few steps. The khan addressed me several questions -regarding the object of my journey, and my impressions in crossing the -Great Desert. - - [Footnote 38: Salute prescribed by the Koran, during which the right - and left hand of each party are placed flatly one upon the other. ] - -"'My sufferings have been great,' I replied, 'but my reward is greater -yet, since I am permitted to behold the splendor of your glorious -majesty. I return thanks to Allah for this favor, and I see in it a -good omen for the rest of my pilgrimage.' - -{212} - -"The king, evidently flattered, asked how long I proposed to remain at -Khiva, and if I were provided with the necessary funds for pursuing my -journey. - -"'My intention,' I replied, 'is to visit before my departure the tombs -of the saints who repose in the vicinity of Khiva. As to the means of -pursuing my journey, I give myself no anxiety. We dervishes occupy -ourselves very little with such trifles. The sacred breathing which I -have received from the chief of my order suffices, moreover, to -sustain me four or five days without any other nourishment; therefore -the only prayer which I address to heaven is that your majesty may -live a hundred and twenty years.' - -"My words had gained the good graces of the khan; he offered me twenty -ducats, and promised to make me a present of an ass. I declined the -first of these presents, because poverty is the necessary attribute of -a dervish; but I accepted the animal with gratitude, not without -piously remarking that the precept of the Prophet requires that a -white ass should be used for pilgrimages. The king assured me that I -should have one of this color, and he put an end to the interview, -begging me to accept at least during my short residence in his capital -two _tenghe_ (1 franc 50 centimes) a day for my maintenance. - -"I retired joyfully, receiving at every step the respectful homage of -the crowd, and regained my own dwelling. Once alone, I uttered a sigh -of satisfaction, thinking of the danger which I had incurred, and the -happy manner in which I had escaped it. This dissolute khan, savage -and brutal tyrant, had treated me with unexampled kindness; I was now -free from all fear, and at liberty to go where I liked. During the -entire evening, the audience of the khan was present to my mind; I saw -again the Asiatic despot, with his pallid countenance, his eyes deeply -sunk in the orbits, his beard sprinkled with white, his white lips and -trembling voice. So, I thought, Providence has permitted that -fanaticism itself should serve as a bit to this suspicious and cruel -tyrant." - -It was soon understood in Khiva that the dervish of Constantinople was -in great favor with the khan, therefore the notables of the city -delayed not to overwhelm him with visits and invitations; the -_oulemas_ especially, anxious to enlighten themselves with his light, -asked him a thousand questions regarding various religious -observances. Vambéry, repressing his impatience, was obliged to spend -whole hours instructing these fervent disciples on the manner of -washing the feet, the hands, the face; explaining to them how, not to -violate any precept, the true believers ought to sit down, to rise, to -walk, sleep, etc. The pretended pilgrim, who was supposed to be a -native of Stamboul, venerated seat of religion, passed for an -infallible oracle, for the sultan of Constantinople and the grandees -of his court are regarded at Khiva as the most accomplished observers -of the law. They there represent the Turkish emperor as _coiffé_ in a -turban at least fifty or sixty yards long, wrapped in a long trailing -robe, and wearing a beard which falls to the girdle. To inform the -Khivites that this prince dresses like a European, and has his clothes -cut by Dusautoy, would only excite their pious indignation; any one -who would attempt to disabuse them on these points would pass for an -impostor, and would only risk his own life. Vambéry was obliged to -answer the most ridiculous questions: one wished to know if in the -whole world there was any city to be compared to Khiva; another, if -the meals of the grand sultan were sent to him every day from Mecca, -and if it only took one minute for them to come from the Kaaba to the -palace at Constantinople. What would these pious enthusiasts say if -they could know with what honor _Chateau-Lafitte and Chateau-Margeaux_ -figure upon the table of the actual successor of the Prophet? - -{213} - -The convent which gave asylum to the pilgrims served also as a public -square; it contained a mosque, the court of which, ornamented with a -piece of water surrounded with beautiful trees, was the favorite -lounge of all the idle people in town. The women came there to fill -the heavy jugs which they afterward carried to their dwellings. More -than one of these recalled to the European the daughters of his dear -Hungary; he took great pleasure in watching them, and never refused -them his blessing, his powder of life, or even his sacred breathing, -which had the power of curing all infirmities. On these occasions, the -sick person squatted upon the threshold of the door, the pretended -dervish, moving his lips as if in prayer, extended a hand over the -patient, then he breathed three times upon her and uttered a profound -sigh. Very often the innocent creatures fancied that they had -experienced immediate relief, so great is the power of the -imagination! - -During the time that Vambéry was at Khiva, a fair had assembled there -from twenty leagues round all the rich natives. Most of these came to -the markets not so much to buy and sell as to gratify that love of -display so inveterate among the Orientals; their purchases were often -limited to a few needles or similar trifles; but it was an excellent -occasion to parade their beautiful horses, to display their richest -clothes and their finest weapons. Khiva, moreover, is the centre of an -active commerce; beside the fruits, which enjoy great renown, and are -exported to Persia, Turkey, Russia, and China, the stalls of the fair -contain excellent manufactured articles. Beside the _urgendi -tchapani_, a kind of dressing robe made of woollen or silken stuffs of -two colors, are displayed the linens of Tash-hauz, the bronzes of -Khiva, muslins, calicoes, cloth, sugar, iron sent by Russia to be -exchanged for cotton, silk, and furs, which the caravans deliver in -the spring at the markets of Orenbourg, and in the autumn at those of -Astrakan. The transactions with Bokhara are equally important: they -export thither robes and linens, and receive in exchange tea, spices, -paper, and fancy articles. - -Vambéry, divided between the friendship of Hadji Bilal and his daily -increasing intimacy with Shukrullah Bay, led a very agreeable life at -Khiva. Unhappily this calm was troubled by the secret intrigues of the -mehter (minister of the interior), who was a personal enemy of the -Khivite ambassador. He persuaded the khan that our traveller was a -secret agent of the sultan of Bokhara, and Seid Mehemmed resolved to -have a second interview with the would-be dervish, and submit him to a -strict examination. Vambéry, exhausted by the extreme heat, was taking -a siesta in his cell when he was warned by a messenger to report -himself to the sovereign. Surprised at this unexpected order, he -departed with some anxiety. In order to reach the palace he was -obliged to cross the grand square, where were assembled all the -prisoners taken in a recent war against the neighboring tribe of the -Tchandors, and the sight of these unfortunate beings impressed him -most painfully. The khan in company with the mehter awaited his -arrival; he overwhelmed him with artful questions, and said that, -knowing how thoroughly versed he was in the worldly sciences, he -should like very much to see him write some lines after the manner of -Stamboul. The necessary materials having been brought, Vambéry wrote -the following epistle, when, under pompous flowers of rhetoric, he -slipped in a bit of raillery pointed at the mehter, who was extremely -vain of his own beautiful writing: - -{214} - - "Most majestic, powerful, terrible, and formidable monarch and - sovereign: - - "Inundated with the royal favor, the poorest and most humble of your - servants has, until this day, consecrated little time to the study - of penmanship, for he remembers the Arab proverb: 'Those who have a - beautiful handwriting have ordinarily very little wit.' But he knows - also the Persian adage: 'Every defect which pleases a king becomes a - virtue.' This is why he ventures respectfully to present these - lines." - -The khan, charmed with the pompous eloquence of our traveller, made -him sit beside him, offered him tea and bread, and had with him a long -political conversation, the subject of which had been agreed upon -beforehand. In his quality of dervish, the adroit European maintained -an austere silence. Seid Mehemmed drew from him with great difficulty -some sententious phrases, which offered not the slightest pretext to -the malicious designs of the mehter. - -On leaving the royal audience, a yasoul conducted Vambéry to the -treasurer to receive his daily allowance. He was obliged to cross a -vast court, where a horrible spectacle awaited him. Three hundred -Tchandors, covered with rags and wasted by hunger till they looked -like living skeletons, were expecting the sentence which was to decide -their fate. The younger ones, chained one to another by iron collars, -were to be sold as slaves or given as presents to the favorites of the -king. More cruel punishments were reserved for those whose age caused -them to be considered as chiefs. While some of them were conducted to -the block upon which already many heads had fallen, eight of these -unhappy old men were thrown upon the ground while the executioner tore -out their eyes. It is impossible to enter upon the frightful details -of these barbarous punishments. Arriving at the office of the -treasurer, Vambéry found him singularly occupied in sorting silken -vestments of dazzling colors, covered with large golden embroidery. -These were the _khilat_, or robes of honor, which were to be sent to -the camp to recompense the services of the warriors; they were -designated as robes of four, twelve, twenty, or forty heads. This -singular mode of distinguishing them, which the designs upon the -tissue in no way explained, having excited the curiosity of Vambéry, -he inquired the reason. "What!" was the reply, "have you never seen -similar ones in Turkey? In that case, come to-morrow to assist at the -distribution of these glorious emblems. The most beautiful of these -vestments are intended for those soldiers who have brought forty -enemies' heads, the most simple for those who have furnished only -four." In spite of the horror which this custom inspired, the European -could not without exciting suspicion refuse the invitation thus -extended to him. Accordingly, the next morning he saw arrive in the -principal square of Khiva a hundred cavaliers covered with dust; each -one of them led at least one prisoner fastened to the pommel of the -saddle, or to the tail of his horse; women and children bound in the -same manner making a part of the booty. Beside, all the soldiers -carried behind them large bags filled with heads cut off from the -vanquished. They delivered the captives to the officer in charge, and -then emptied their bags, rolling out the contents upon the ground with -as much indifference as if they had been potatoes. These noble -warriors received in exchange an attestation of their great exploits, -and this billet would give them a right after a few days to a -pecuniary recompense. - -These barbarous customs are not peculiar to Khiva; they are found in -all central Asia. Tradition, law, and religion agree in sanctioning -them. During the first years of his reign, the khan of Khiva, wishing -to display his zeal for the Mussulman faith, proceeded with the utmost -rigor not only against the heretic Tchandors, but also against his own -subjects who were found guilty of the least infraction of the -commandments of the Prophet. The oulemas endeavored to moderate the -too ardent piety of the king; but, notwithstanding their intervention, -not a day passes without {215} some person admitted to audience of the -khan being dragged from the palace, after hearing the words, -equivalent to his death-warrant: "_Alib barin!_" (take him away). - -Notwithstanding the cruelties by which Khiva is disgraced, it was in -this city that Vambéry passed, under the costume of a dervish, the -most agreeable days of his journey. Whenever he appeared in public -places he was surrounded by a crowd of the faithful, who heaped -presents upon him. Thus, though he never accepted considerable sums, -and though he shared the offerings of the pious believers with his -brethren the hadjis, his situation was much improved; he was provided -with a well-lined purse, and a vigorous ass; in short, he was -perfectly equipped for his journey. His companions were very anxious -to arrive at Bokhara, fearing that the heat might render it -impracticable to cross the desert, and they urged Vambéry to terminate -his preparations for departure. Before quitting Khiva our European -wished to bid adieu to the excellent protector to whose hospitable -reception he owed so much. - -"I was deeply moved," he says, "to hear the arguments which the good -Shukrullah Bay employed to dissuade me from my enterprise. He painted -Bokhara under the most gloomy colors, the distrustful and hypocritical -emir, hostile to all strangers, and who had even treacherously put to -death a Turk sent to him by Reschid Pacha. The anxiety of this worthy -old man, so convinced at first of the reality of my sacred character, -surprised me extremely. I began to think that he had penetrated the -secret of my disguise, and perhaps divined who I was. Accustomed to -European ideas, Shukrullah Bay understood our ardor for scientific -researches, for in his youth he had passed many years in St. -Petersburg, and often also, during his residence in Constantinople, he -had formed affectionate intimacies with Europeans. Was it on this -account that he had manifested so warm a friendship for me? In parting -from him I saw a tear glisten in his eye; who can tell what sentiment -caused it to flow?" - -Vambéry gave the khan a last benediction. The prince recommended to -him on his return from Samarcande to pass through his capital, for he -wished to send with the pilgrim a representative, charged to receive -at Constantinople the investiture which the masters of Khiva wish to -obtain from every new sultan. This was by no means the plan of our -traveller. "_Kismet_," he replied, with his habitual presence of mind; -a word altogether in the spirit of his character, and which signifies -that one commits a grave sin when one counts upon the future. - ------- - -{216} - -From Aubrey De Vere's May Carols. - -MATER DIVINAE GRATIAE. - - - The gifts a mother showers each day - Upon her softly-clamorous brood: - The gifts they value but for play,-- - The graver gifts of clothes and food,-- - - Whence come they but from him who sows - With harder hand, and reaps, the soil; - The merit of his laboring brows, - The guerdon of his manly toil? - - From him the grace: through her it stands - Adjusted, meted, and applied; - And ever, passing through her hands, - Enriched it seems, and beautified. - - Love's mirror doubles love's caress: - Love's echo to love's voice is true:-- - Their sire the children love not less - Because they clasp a mother too. - ------- - - As children when, with heavy tread, - Men sad of face, unseen before, - Have borne away their mother dead-- - So stand the nations thine no more. - - From room to room those children roam, - Heart-stricken by the unwonted black: - Their house no longer seems their home: - They search; yet know not what they lack. - - Years pass: self-will and passion strike - Their roots more deeply day by day; - Old servants weep; and "how unlike" - Is all the tender neighbors say. - - And yet at moments, like a dream, - A mother's image o'er them flits: - Like hers their eyes a moment beam; - The voice grows soft; the brow unknits. - - Such, Mary, are the realms once thine, - That know no more thy golden reign. - Bold forth from heaven thy Babe divine! - O make thine orphans thine again! - ------- - -{217} - - -From The Month - - -PAMPHLETS ON THE EIRENICON. - - -The appearance of a work such as the "Eirenicon," from the pen of one -in so conspicuous a position as Dr. Pusey, was sure to attract general -attention, and to call forth a great number of comments and answers -more or less favorable to it or severe upon it. It gives an occasion -for, and indeed invites, the frankest discussion of a very wide range -of most important questions; and in doing so it has rendered a great -service to the cause of truth. Many of these questions are of that -kind which those whom the "Eirenicon" itself may be supposed more -particularly to represent have been in the habit of avoiding, at all -events in public, although their own ecclesiastical position depended -entirely upon them. It is a very great gain that these should now be -opened for discussion, at the invitation of one who has long passed as -a leader among Anglicans. Moreover, a book which handles so many -subjects and contains so many assertions has naturally raised -questions as to itself which require consideration. It is a -comparatively easy matter to look on it as a simple overture for -peace, or to speculate on the possibility of that "union by means of -explanations" which Dr. Pusey tells us is his dearest wish. Even here -we are directly met by the necessity of further investigations. Dr. -Pusey puts a certain face on the Thirty-nine Articles, and on Catholic -doctrines and statements with regard to the questions to which those -Articles refer. Is he right in his representation either of the -definitions of his own communion or of the support which those -definitions may receive from authorities external to it? Is it true -that the "Catholic" interpretation is the legitimate sense of the -Articles? Is it true that that interpretation is supported by Roman -and Greek authorities? Is there no statement, for instance, in the -Council of Trent about justification to which any in the Anglican -communion can object? It must be quite obvious that a great number of -sanguine assertions such as these require examination in detail; and -surely no one can complain if they are not admitted on Dr. Pusey's -word. Then again, unfortunately, he was not content with painting his -own communion in his own colors; he must needs give a description of -the Catholic system also. He has told us--and we are both willing and -bound to believe him--that he has not drawn this sketch in a hostile -spirit; perhaps he will some day acknowledge--which is much more to -the point--that he has drawn it in great and lamentable ignorance, the -consciousness of which ought to have deterred him from attempting it. -Surely there are some enterprises which are usually undertaken by none -but the dullest or the most presumptuous of men. Such an enterprise is -that of giving an account of a practical system which influences and -forms the hearts and minds of thousands of our fellow-creatures, when -we have ourselves lived all our days as entire strangers to it. If it -be something simply in the natural order, such as the polity or the -customs of a foreign nation, we do not feel so much surprise at the -blunders made by the {218} writer who undertakes to describe them, as -at his temerity in making the attempt. This is, of coarse, enhanced -greatly in proportion as we ascend into the higher spheres of the -spiritual and supernatural life. It is strange enough to see any -sensible man writing as if he could fairly characterize the devotional -sentiments and religious thoughts of men of a different belief; but it -becomes something more than strange when this venturesome critic -proceeds not only to characterize, but to condemn and to denounce in -the strongest language that which he might in all reason and modesty -have supposed himself, at least, not quite able fully to comprehend; -and this at the very time that he is proposing peace. - -We are not, however, here concerned with this more painful view of the -subject. We are only pointing out that the elaborate chapter of -accusation against the Catholic Church which Dr. Pusey has drawn up -could not fail to be received with great indignation on the part of -Catholics, and that the overtures which accompany it cannot be fairly -dealt with until it has been thoroughly sifted by criticism as well as -by controversy. How can we explain a "system" which we deny to exist? -Of course, no Catholic will acknowledge Dr. Pusey's representation as -anything but a monstrous caricature. Of course, also, the chief heads -of accusation can be easily dealt with one by one, and positive -statements given as to what is really taught, thought, and felt by -Catholics with regard to them. But this leaves the book untouched. How -came these charges to be made? What grounds has Dr. Pusey for -asserting that to be true which we all know to be so false? Does he -quote rightly? Has he understood the books he cites, where he has read -them? And has he read them through? Are the authors whom he gives as -fair specimens of Catholic teaching acknowledged as writers of credit, -or are some of them even on the Index? Has he ever understood the -Catholic doctrines on which he is severe, such as the immaculate -conception and the papal infallibility, or the meaning of the Catholic -authorities whom he seems to set in some sort of opposition to others, -such as Bossuet and the bishops, whose answers he quotes from the -"Pareri?" It is true that questions like this are to some extent -personal; but Dr. Pusey makes it necessary to ask them, and he is the -one person in the world who ought to wish that they should be -thoroughly handled. We cannot believe that he approves of the tactics -of some Anglican critics, who speak as if the ark of their sanctuary -were rudely touched when it is said that he can be mistaken or -ignorant about anything. He has never shown any lack of controversial -courage. Up to the present time we are not aware of a single -publication of any note from the Catholic side of the question which -has not exposed some one or two distinct and important errors of fact, -quotation, historical statement, or some grave misconception of -doctrine on his part; and this, it is to be observed, has hitherto -only been done incidentally by writers who have not addressed -themselves to the systematic examination of the "Eirenicon" as a work -of learning. - -Lastly, this miscellaneous work has occasioned a call which, also, we -are glad to feel sure, will be adequately answered; a call for calm -and learned statements from Catholic theologians on some of the chief -controversial questions touched on by Dr. Pusey. What is the real -unity of the church? What is the true doctrine of her infallibility -and of that of the Roman Pontiff? and how are the commonly alleged -(though so often refuted) objections--as, for instance, that about -what Dr. Pusey calls _formal heresy_ of Liberius--to the met? What is -really meant by the immaculate conception, and what was in truth the -history of the late definition? {219} These, and a few more -important matters--such as the doctrine of transubstantiation, and the -historical truth as to the cases of Meletius and the African -churches--will be treated at length in the forthcoming volume of -essays announced under the title of "Peace through the Truth." The -case of the Anglican ordinations has been incidentally raised by Dr. -Pusey; but it will be natural for Catholic critics to wait for a -volume on the subject which has been announced by Mr. F. G. Lee. As -far as the alleged sanction of those ordinations by Cardinal Pole is -concerned, Dr. Pusey does not seem inclined to raise the question -again. - -We have thus a tolerably large promise of work for theological writers -and readers; and it cannot but be looked on as a good sign that so -strong an impulse to controversial activity should have been given by -one who has not hitherto been fond of inviting attention to the -difficulties of his own position. It is but natural that the more -solid and erudite works called forth by the "Eirenicon" should be the -last to appear; and any one who has read but a few pages of that work -will understand the difficulty which its writer has imposed on any -conscientious critic by a frequently loose way of quoting, and an -occasional habit of giving no authority at all for statements that -certainly require more proof than a bare assertion. But we have -already the beginning of a most valuable collection of publications by -men of the highest position, dealing either with detached portions of -Dr. Pusey's work or in a summary way with its general plan; and some -service has been done by letters in the papers, such as those of Canon -Estcourt and Mr. Rhodes. Father Gallwey's "Sermon" has been widely -circulated; Canon Oakeley has given us an interesting pamphlet on the -"Leading Topics of the Eirenicon;" Dr. Newman has written a letter to -its author, and is understood to be preparing a second; and his grace -the Archbishop of Westminster has dealt with several of Dr. Pusey's -assertions in his "Pastoral Letter on the Reunion of Christendom." We -propose now to deal shortly with some of these publications, which, -though they belong to the earlier and more incidental stage of the -controversy, are of the highest value in themselves and on account of -the position of their authors. [Footnote 39] - - [Footnote 39: We have found it impossible to deal with so important - and authoritative a è as his Grace's "Letter" in our present paper.] - -We must first, however, speak of a work put forth by Dr. Pusey as a -sequel or a companion to the "Eirenicon." This is a republication -(with leave of the author) of the celebrated Tract 90, preceded by an -historical preface from Dr Pusey's own pen, and followed by a letter -of Mr. Keble on "Catholic Subscription to the Articles," which was -widely circulated, though not published, in 1861. Of the tract itself -we need not, of course, speak. Dr. Pusey's preface, however, is open -to one or two obvious remarks. It is remarkable for the manner in -which he identifies himself with the Mr. Newman of the day, though it -appears that the proof of the tract in question was submitted to Mr. -Keble, and its publication urged by him, while Dr. Pusey himself was -only made aware of its existence by the clamor with which it was -received. Then, again, the remarkable difference of view between Dr. -Pusey and Mr. Newman as to the "Catholic" interpretation of the -Articles forces itself again upon our notice. From the tract itself -all through, and its explanations by its author at the time and since, -it is perfectly clear that nothing more was meant by it than to claim -such latitude of interpretation of the Thirty-nine Articles as would -admit the "Catholic" sense on equal terms, as it were, with the -anti-Catholic; and the same view is urged by Mr. Keble in his letter. -The writer of the tract supposes that the Anglican formularies were -drawn {220} up with designed ambiguity, in order to catch Catholic -subscriptions. He compares the tactics adopted by the framers of the -Articles to those which were followed by M. Thiers: "A French -minister, desirous of war, nevertheless, as a matter of policy, draws -up his state papers in such moderate language that his successor, who -is for peace, can act up to them without compromising his own -principles. . . . The Protestant confession was drawn up with the -purpose of including Catholics; and Catholics now will not be -excluded. What was an economy in the reformers is a protection to us" -(Tract 90, conclusion). This is a plain common-sense view of the -matter, and is abundantly supported by history. But it obviously -leaves a stain on the Anglican establishment, which will appear of -vital or of trifling importance according to the different views under -which that community is regarded. If it is looked upon as a political -and national organization, it was no doubt a stroke of prudence so to -frame the formularies as to include both sides. If it is considered as -a church of Christ, it can hardly be anything but discreditable that -it should thus compromise divine truth. But Dr. Pusey's view of the -"Catholic interpretation," as expressed both in his present preface -and in the "Eirenicon," claims for it the exclusive title of the -natural and legitimate sense. It may seem almost incredible that any -one should maintain this; but so it is. Dr. Pusey thus speaks of the -"Protestant" interpretations: "We had all been educated in a -traditional system, which had practically imported into the Articles a -good many principles _which were not contained in them nor suggested -by them;_ yet which were habitually identified with them. . . . . We -proposed no system to ourselves, but laid aside piece by piece the -system of ultra-Protestant interpretation, which had incrusted round -the Articles. This doubtless appeared in our writings from time to -time; but the expositions to which we were accustomed, and which were -to our minds the genuine expositions of the Articles, had never before -been brought into one focus, as they were in Tract 90. . . . Newman -explained that it was written solely against this system of -interpretation, which brought meanings into the Articles, not out of -them, and also why he wrote it at all" (Pref., v.-vii.) Yet the words -of Mr. Newman's explanation, which are quoted immediately after this -last passage, distinctly contradict the interpretation of the tract -put forward by Dr. Pusey. Mr. Newman says that the Anglican Church, as -well as the Roman, in his opinion, has a "traditionary system beyond -and beside the letter of its formularies. . . . . And this -traditionary system not only inculcates what I cannot conceive -(receive?), but would exclude any difference of belief from itself. -_To this exclusive modern system_ I desire to oppose myself; and it is -as doing this, doubtless, that I am incurring the censure of the four -gentlemen who have come before the public. _I want certain points to -be left open which they would close._. . . In thus maintaining that -we have open questions, or, as I have expressed it in the tract, -'ambiguous formularies,' I observe, first, that I am introducing no -novelty." He then gives an instance which shows that the principle is -admitted. Again, he says: "The tract is grounded on the belief that -the Articles _need_ not be so closed as the received methods of -teaching closes them, and _ought_ not to be for the sake of many -persons" (Letter to Dr. Jelf, quoted by Dr. Pusey, p. vii.) - -It is obvious that the interpretations contained in the tract, however -admissible on the hypothesis of their author, become little less than -extravagant when they are considered in the light in which Dr. Pusey -now puts them forward; and it is but fair to Dr. Newman and others to -point out the change. Moreover, it is not {221} impossible that this -republication of the tract, together with the avowals made in the -"Eirenicon" as to the interpretation of the Articles, may be -considered as a kind of challenge thrown out on the part of Dr. Pusey -and his followers to the authorities of the establishment and the -parties within it that are most opposed to "Catholic" opinions. It may -be considered fairly enough that if this "claim to hold all Roman -doctrine"--as far as those well-used words apply to it--is allowed to -pass unnoticed, the position of the "Anglo-Catholic" clergy in the -establishment will be made as secure as silent toleration on the part -of authorities can make it. [Footnote 40] Be it so by all means; but -let it be understood that the claim now made is quite different from -that made by Mr. Newman in 1841; and that if it enjoys immunity from -censure, on account of the far greater latitude now allowed in the -establishment to extreme opinions of every color except one, it has -still to free itself from the charge of being one of the most -grotesque contortions of language that has ever been seriously -advocated as permissible by reasonable men. One of the Articles, for -instance--to take the case adduced by Canon Oakeley--says that -"transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of the bread and -wine) in the Supper of the Lord cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is -repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of -a sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions." On the -other hand, let us place the Tridentine Canon: "If any one saith that -in the sacred and holy sacrament of the eucharist the substance of the -bread and wine remains conjointly with the body and blood of our Lord -Jesus Christ, and denieth that wonderful and singular conversion of -the whole substance of the bread into the body, and of the whole -substance of the wine into the blood--the species only of the bread -and wine remaining--which conversion the Catholic Church most aptly -calls transubstantiation, let him be anathema." (Sess. xiii.) Not only -does Dr. Pusey assert that there is a sense in which the two -statements are compatible, but he maintains that such an -interpretation is the one single obvious grammatical and legitimate -interpretation of the words of the Anglican Article. We can only -imagine one process of reasoning by which this conclusion can be -maintained; and we have little doubt that if Dr. Pusey's argument were -drawn out it would come to this. The Articles must mean "Catholic" -doctrine, whether they seem to do so or not, because the Anglican -Church is a true and orthodox portion of the Catholic Church. And a -part of the proof that she is such a portion consists in the fact that -her formularies signify Catholic doctrine! - - [Footnote 40: Canon Oakeley, in the pamphlet of which we shall - presently speak, says of Dr. Pusey's interpretation: "Dr. Pusey's - avowal, moreover, not merely involves the acceptance of that - interpretation of the Thirty-nine Articles for which Mr. Newman was - censured by nearly every bishop of the establishment, but goes - beyond that interpretation in a Catholic direction, inasmuch as it - comprehends the doctrine of transubstantiation, which Mr. Newman, I - believe, never thought to be included within the terms of the - Articles. It also goes beyond Mr. Newman's argument in his tract, - _in that it supports the Catholic sense of the Articles to be their - obvious and only true sense._ Instead of being merely one of the - senses which are compatible with honest subscription. And here I - must say, in passing, that I think Dr. Pusey somewhat unfair on Mr. - Ward in attributing to him the unpopularity of Tract 90, since, in - extending the interpretation of the tract to our doctrine of the - blessed eucharist. Dr. Pusey is in fact adopting Mr. Ward's - Construction of the Articles, and not Mr. Newman's" (p, 6).] - -The other noticeable feature in Dr. Pusey's preface is an attempt to -throw the blame of the undoubted unpopularity of Tract 90 upon Mr. -Ward rather than on the tract itself. Mr. Ward was probably at one -time the best-abused person of all the followers of the tractarian -movement; and if powerful reasoning, keen logic, unflinching openness, -and courageous honesty are enough to make a person merit wholesale -abuse, Mr. Ward certainly deserved it. But to attribute the -unpopularity of No. 90 to him is simply to forget dates and distort -facts. {222} In 1841, when the clamor against No. 90 was at its -height, Mr. Ward, though well known in Oxford for his decided opinions -and thorough honesty in avowing them, and though highly influential -(as he could not fail to be) over those who came within his reach, was -hardly known in the country at large. Dr. Pusey's mistake has been -pointed out by Canon Oakeley in the appendix to his pamphlet, of which -we shall speak presently. He observes that the word "non-natural"--of -which he gives a very plain and simple explanation, which quite -vindicates it from the interpretation commonly put upon it--was not -used till the appearance of "The Ideal of a Christian Church" in 1844. - -Canon Oakeley's pamphlet, like everything that he writes, is graceful -and courteous, lucid and cogent; and it ought to have all the greater -weight with Dr. Pusey from the evident disinclination of the author to -think or speak with severity. In fact, Dr. Pusey has already -[Footnote 41] had occasion to correct an over-sanguine conclusion as -to his own position which had been formed by Canon Oakeley in -consequence of certain explanations which he addressed to a Catholic -paper. - - [Footnote 41: In his second letter to the "Weekly Register."] - -We think that the fullest credit should be given to Dr. Pusey for -these explanations; but they must not be allowed to counterbalance -assertions which he has never withdrawn, and seems never to have meant -to withdraw. He has only negatively declared something about the -intention he had in making them. He says they were not meant to hurt -Catholics; he does not say that they were not meant to frighten -Anglicans. We refer, of course, to the large number of pages which he -has devoted to attacks on what he chooses to consider as the practical -system of Catholicism, chiefly with regard to the _cultus_ of our -Blessed Lady, and which no Catholic can read without intense -indignation. He has heaped up a number of extracts from books of very -little authority, and put forward as characteristics of the Catholic -system the pious contemplations of individuals, as well as tenets -which have been actually condemned. The charge is urged with all the -recklessness of an advocate, with eager rhetoric rather than calm -argument, with all the looseness of insinuation and inaccuracy of -quotation which mark the productions of a heated partizan. [Footnote -42] - - [Footnote 42: A writer in the current number of "Macmillan's - Magazine" (Feb., 1866) observes: "We could scarcely transcribe all - that is here set forth without offending the religious taste of our - readers, and appearing to gloat over the degradation of a church - which, amidst all its aberrations and after all ita crimes, is a - part of Christendom. We may reasonably hope, also, that there is - something to be said upon the other side: for, without casting any - suspicion upon Dr. Pusey's honesty, we must remember that he is - personally under a strong temptation to scare the wavering members - of his party from defection to the Church of Rome" (p. 277). This is - the opinion of an intensely anti-Catholic writer; and it would be - easy to quote scores of similar criticisms. A letter from Oxford, in - the "London Review" of February 3, says: "It seems a gentle irony, - certainly, to call a book an 'Eirenicon' which most mercilessly - exposes the errors, perversions, and tendencies of those whom it - proposes to conciliate. A great portion of the book might have been - written by the most distinguished Papophobe--we will not say Dr. - Cumming, for the style does not remind us of his publications." The - writer in "Macmillan" adds an observation on another point which is - well worthy of Dr. Pusey's consideration: "Dr. Pusey's argument, - both against Mariolatry and Papal infallibility, _appeals to - principles essentially rationalistic_, which are capable, as we - conceive, of being turned with fatal effect against himself" (p. - 230).] - -No part of his book shows more earnestness than this. Such being the -case, it seems to us very strange that any one should expect Catholics -to be satisfied with a simple assurance from Dr. Pusey that "nothing -was further from my wish than to write anything which should be -painful to those in your communion." [Footnote 43] - - [Footnote 43: Dr. Pusey to the "Weekly Register," Nov. 25, 1865.] - -We suppose that if some one were to write a pamphlet of a hundred -pages full of the hardest and most vulgar insinuations against -something that Dr. Pusey holds dear and sacred, his opinion of it -would hardly be changed by the assurance, unaccompanied by a single -retraction, "I never meant to hurt your feelings." He would naturally -ask in what sort of atmosphere such a person had lived, to be able to -think that such things _could_ be said without being "painful." He -disclaims {223} all desire to "prescribe to Italians and Spaniards -what they shall hold, or how they shall express their pious opinions." -But he is not speaking of Spaniards or Italians only in many of the -most offensive passages of his work. He says, for instance, that it -"is a practical question, affecting our whole eternity: What shall I -do to be saved? The practical answer to the Roman Catholic seems to me -to be, Go to Mary, and you will be saved; in our dear Lord's own words -it is, Come unto me; in our own belief it is, Go to Jesus, and you -will be saved" (p. 182). Can anything be more shocking than the -contrast insinuated here? Or, again, when he says in another place, -"One sees not where there shall be any pause or bound, short of that -bold conception, 'that every prayer, both of individuals and of the -church, should be addressed to St. Mary?'" Dr. Pusey must be perfectly -aware of the effect of words like these from him upon the mass of his -readers. It is certainly no sufficient _withdrawal_ of them to write a -letter to a Catholic newspaper, of limited circulation, saying that he -"never thought of imputing to any of the writers whom he quoted that -they took from our Lord any of the love which they gave to his -mother." Whatever he may think about the writers themselves, he -certainly asserts in the face of the world that they teach others to -do this. He asserts that there is a "system" in the Catholic Church, -of which this is the effect. If he "had no thought of criticising holy -men who held it," he still will not take Catholic explanations of -their words, which show that they did _not_ hold it; and his own words -imply, or at all events admit of, a reservation, that such is the -tendency of the system, from which certain individuals escape in -consequence of their holiness. Now, it is this assertion about the -system of the church which offends Catholics. They care little about -their own "feelings;" they resent false charges against the church all -the more when they proceed from one who professes to be nearer to them -than others, and to be a lover of peace, and who might easily have -satisfied himself that his accusations were groundless. People have -not complained of Dr. Pusey's intention in saying these things, but of -his having said them. They willingly accept his statement as to his -intention; but misrepresentations retain their mischievous character -till they have been formally withdrawn, whatever may have been the -temper in which they have been put forward. - -It is, moreover, obvious that this, which to ordinary eyes is the -prominent feature in Dr. Pusey's volume, must be taken into account in -all conclusions concerning the present state of mind among Anglicans -that are founded upon the reception which the "Eirenicon" has met with -among them. We think that there are but few among them, as there are -certainly very few among Catholics, who attach much practical -importance to the vague and dreamy ideas about corporate union by -means of mutual explanations which are put forward in other parts of -the work. It is perfectly clear that Dr. Pusey's account of the -Articles would be repudiated at once by all the Anglican authorities; -and equally clear that the points to which he still objects, such as -the papal infallibility and the dogma of the immaculate conception, -are among those which can never be conceded on the side of the church. -The proposals for union are not, therefore, generally looked upon as -matters for practical consideration; though, as Dr. Newman has -remarked, they may hereafter lead to results of the highest -importance. What has struck the Anglican public in the book is its -attack on Catholicism, which has, no doubt, surprised Protestants as -much as Catholics by its violence. We say, therefore, that to consider -Dr. Pusey's unrebuked declaration about the possibility of union as a -great sign of progress among Anglicans, without {224} taking into -consideration the other features of the work which he has put forth, -is to ignore the most essential circumstances of the case. Canon -Oakeley compares the outcry with which similar declarations were once -received on Mr. Ward's part and his own with the indifference and -absence of opposition now evinced toward Dr. Pusey. It is true that -the cases are in some respects parallel; but there is this vital -difference, that neither Mr. Ward nor Canon Oakeley accompanied their -declarations as to Roman doctrine with virulent abuse of Roman -practice; and we may feel pretty certain that the "Ideal of a -Christian Church" would never have been made the ground of an -academical condemnation of its author if it had contained the hundred -pages on the _cultus_ of the Blessed Virgin on which Dr. Pusey has -expended so much care, and which he has adorned with so much apparent -erudition. Englishmen judge roughly, and in the main fairly; and they -will look on the proposals for union as an amiable eccentricity in a -writer who has pandered so lovingly to their favorite prejudices. - -Canon Oakeley has drawn out very clearly another very important -qualification, which must modify our feelings of joy at the apparent -progress of Anglicans in general toward greater tolerance of Catholic -opinions among themselves. He has shown that this seemingly good sign -is in reality only an indication of increasing indifference to -doctrine of every kind. It is the reflection on the broad mirror of -public opinion of the uniformly latitudinarian tendency of the -authorities of the establishment, as evinced in the succession of -judicial decisions of which we have all heard so much. It is not -wonderful that Puseyism should share in this universal indulgence. We -have also to thank Canon Oakeley for a calm and forcible vindication -of the Catholic devotion to our Blessed Lady, which has been made the -subject of so violent an attack by Dr. Pusey--perhaps more in the form -of an apology than was necessary--and for some very sensible remarks -on the dream of "corporate union." - -There is one writer in England whose words on this subject will be -listened to with almost equal interest by Catholics and Protestants. -The conflict passes into a new phase with the appearance of Dr. Newman -upon the scene. It is "the great Achilles moving to the war." The -gleam of well-worn armor flashes on the eye, and the attention of both -armies is riveted on him as he lifts his spear. He cannot mutter his -favorite motto: - -[Greek text] - -for it is but lately that he struck down and kicked off the field a -swaggering bully from the opposite ranks hardly worthy of his steel. -It is different now. He will begin in Homeric fashion with a -complimentary harangue to the champion on the other side; but then -will come the time for blows--blows of immense force, dealt out with a -gentle affectionateness which enhances their effect tenfold. Dr. -Newman begins by a generous tribute to Dr. Pusey himself, and to those -whom he may be supposed to influence. No one can speak more strongly -on the paramount rights of conscience, which is not to be stifled for -the sake of making a path easy or removing a wearisome difficulty. Dr. -Pusey is allowed to have every right to mention the conditions on -which he proposes union, though Dr. Newman does not agree with them, -and thinks that he would himself not hold to them; he has also the -right to state what it is that he objects to, as requiring -explanation, in the Catholic system. But then the tone changes, and -business begins. Dr. Newman tells his old friend in the plainest way -that "there is much both in the matter and manner of his volume -calculated to wound those who love him well, but truth more;" and he -points out the {225} glaring inconsistency of "professing to be -composing an Irenicon while treating Catholics as foes;" and -characterizes, in his happy way, the proceeding of Dr. Pusey as -"discharging an olive branch as from a catapult." The hundred pages on -the subject of the Blessed Virgin which are contained in the -"Eirenicon" are so palpably "one-sided" that no one can venture to -deny it. Few have characterized them in stronger terms than Dr. -Newman. "What could an Exeter Hall orator, what could a Scotch -commentator on the Apocalypse, do more for his own side of the -controversy by the picture he drew of us?" Further on he pointedly -reminds Dr. Pusey that he all the time knew better. After a proof from -the fathers as to the doctrine in question, he says, "You know what -the fathers assert; but if so, have you not, my dear friend, been -unjust to yourself in your recent volume, and made far too much of the -differences which exist between Anglicans and us on this particular -point? It is the office of an Irenicon to smooth difficulties" (p. -83); and again, "As you revere the fathers, so you revere the Greek -Church; and here again we have a witness in our behalf, _of which you -must be aware as fully as we are_, and of which you must really mean -to give us the benefit" (p. 95); and again, "Then I think you have not -always made your quotations with that consideration and kindness which -is your rule" (p. 111). The calm gentleness of the language will -certainly not conceal from Dr. Pusey the gravity and severity of the -rebuke thus administered. Moreover, Dr. Newman has complaints of his -own to urge. With the most questionable taste Dr. Pusey has actually -brought "to life one of" Dr. Newman's "own strong sayings, in 1841, -about idolatry;" he has at least been understood to father upon him -the well-known saying, that "the establishment is the great bulwark -against infidelity in this land;" he has used some words from Dr. -Newman's notes to St. Athanasius in a collection of passages from the -fathers, the apparent purpose of which is to defend some Anglican -doctrine about the sufficiency of Holy Scripture against a supposed -Catholic contradiction. Dr. Newman also most clearly distinguishes his -own intention in publishing Tract 90 from that of Dr. Pusey in its -recent republication. - -The introduction to the letter before us concludes with a passage of -singular interest, in which Dr. Newman vindicates the right of a -convert to speak freely about the system of the church to which he has -submitted. We must confess that we hardly understood the passages in -Dr. Pusey's work, to which reference is here made, as denying the -right of free comment to a convert, in the sense in which Dr. Newman -affirms it. Dr. Pusey has a standard and measure of his own (external -to the Anglican establishment), by which he criticises, approves, or -condemns this or that feature in it; and he distinctly contemplates at -least the possibility of his being driven to quit it by its formal -adoption of heresy. Certainly, to submit to the Catholic Church, and -yet retain the right of measuring her in such a way by an external -standard, would be a contradiction in terms. But this does not touch -the right of a convert either to choose freely, according to his own -tastes and leanings, among those varieties of devotion and practice -which the church expressly leaves to his choice, or to express his -opinion on such subjects (so that it be done with charity), or on any -other matters which fall within the wide and recognized range of open -questions. If Dr. Pusey meant to deny this right, he will be convinced -by the frank use made of it by Dr. Newman in the passage before us. No -one, certainly, will assail _him_ as unorthodox; yet he takes his -stand openly on one particular side with regard to some of the moot -questions of the day, as to which certainly a large {226} number of -English Catholics will be as ready to say that they do not altogether -agree with him as to acknowledge that he has a perfect right to the -opinions which he expresses. Perhaps we should rather say that they -will profess their admiration for the authors whom he so far at least -disavows as to question their right to be treated in controversy as -the legitimate and exclusive representatives of English Catholicism; -for we need not understand Dr. Newman's words about the late Father -Faber and the editor of the "Dublin Review" as meaning more than this; -and his point, as against Dr. Pusey, is fully secured by the -indisputable fact that those distinguished men have never considered -themselves, or let others consider them, as such representatives. - -The greater part, however, of Dr. Newman's present letter is given to -an exquisite defence of Catholic doctrine and devotion as regards our -Blessed Lady. Its power and beauty are so great as to fill us with -inexpressible sadness at the thought that Dr. Newman has written -comparatively so little on similar subjects since he has been a -Catholic. This short and very condensed sketch on one particular point -has given him an opportunity of exercising, on however limited a -scale, those powers as to which he is simply unrivalled. There is the -keen penetration of the sense of Scripture, and of the relation -between different and distinct parts of the Holy Volume. After putting -forward the patristic view of our Blessed Lady as the second Eve, Dr. -Newman has occasion to defend that interpretation of the vision of the -woman in the Apocalypse which understands it of her. This has given -him occasion to explain how it is that this interpretation may be the -true one, although there is no great amount of positive testimony for -it in the fathers, and to refute from the general principles of -scriptural language that which looks upon the image as simply a -personification of the church. This passage is a real and great gain -in scriptural interpretation. Then, again, here is the masterly and -discriminating erudition, not dealing with the fathers as an -ill-arranged and incoherent mass of authorities, but giving to each -witness his due place and weight, pointing out what parts of the -church and what apostolical tradition he represents, and blending the -different sufferages into one harmonious statement. History is brought -in to trace the gradual development of devotion on points as to which -doctrine, on the other hand, was always uniform; and to give a natural -and simple explanation of the chronological order in which the heart, -as it were, of the church seems to have mastered the different -portions of the wonderful deposit which the apostles sowed in her -mind. The effect of Dr. Newman's explanation of the comparatively -later growth of certain devotions, which in themselves might have been -expected to precede others, is not only to remove the apparent -difficulty, but to make every other view appear more difficult than -that which he gives. Equally beautiful and convincing is his -explanation in the appendix of the historical account which may be -given of the strange sayings of certain fathers as to our Blessed Lady -having possibly fallen into faults of infirmity. Some most accurate -and delicate tests for the discernment of a real tradition are here -given, as well as reasons for the apparent absence of such a tradition -in a special case. Dr. Newman is one of the few writers who show us, -first, that they thoroughly understand a difficulty or an objection; -then, that they can make it even stronger; and then, that they can not -only say something against it, or crush it, but even unravel it, and -show that it was to be expected. In every one of these respects Dr. -Pusey is his exact contrary. Then again, Dr. Newman brings together a -series of passages from the fathers of the "undivided church"--to use -the now term invented, we believe, by Mr. Keble--of which, of course, -{227} Dr. Pusey was aware, but of which he has said nothing in his -"Eirenicon." These testify amply not only to the doctrine but to the -devotion of the fourth and fifth centuries as to our Blessed Lady. He -is, of course, sparing of quotations in a work like the present; but -he crowns his argument from authority by a number of passages not from -popular books of devotion among the Greeks, but from their liturgies -and authoritative formularies--on which Dr. Pusey would have founded -a strong argument to the effect that our Lady is elevated to the place -of our Lord, if he had been able to find them in circulation among -Catholics. In fact, a number of formal Greek devotions end with the -words, "through the Theotocos," instead of "per Dominum nostrum Jesum -Christum." The contrast between the cogency and appositeness of every -word of Dr. Newman's few quotations (almost universally given at -length), and the utter illusiveness and bewildering misapplication of -the clouds upon clouds of citations paraded in Dr. Pusey's volume, is -wonderfully striking. Nor, again, is the difference less great between -the two when a personal remark has to be made. Dr. Newman has no hard -words for any one. He does not shrink from pointing out faults, as we -have already said. He tells Dr. Pusey plainly enough that he does not -think that he even understands what the immaculate conception means; -and when he speaks of Anglicans being ignorant of the Catholic -doctrine of original sin, he seems carefully to omit exempting Dr. -Pusey from the general statement. He says again pointedly, "He who -charges us with making Mary a divinity is thereby denying the divinity -of Jesus. _Such a man does not know what divinity is._" He complains -of the unfairness--of which, we are sorry to say, Dr. Pusey seems -habitually guilty--of taking a strong and apparently objectionable -passage from an author who, either in the immediate context or -elsewhere, has qualified it by other statements, which any one but a -partizan writer would feel bound to take into consideration and to -place by its side, without giving the reader any intimation that such -qualifications exist. "When, then, my dear Pusey, you read anything -extravagant in praise of our Lady, is it not charitable to ask, even -while you condemn it in itself, Did the author write nothing else?" -(p. 101). He refuses to receive Dr. Pusey's collection of strong -passages as a fair representation of the minds of the authors from -whom they are quoted. He speaks of their "literal and absolute sense, -as any Protestant would naturally take them, and as the writers -doubtless did not use them" (p. 118). And again: "I know nothing of -the originals, and cannot believe that they have meant what you say" -(p. 120). But with all this strong and decisive language, which we may -be sure is the very gentlest that he can use, and implies an estimate -of the "Eirenicon" by no means in accordance with that of its -admirers, he is so uniformly calm and affectionate in manner that we -cannot but hope that Dr. Pusey and others who think with him will be -won over to think more seriously of the extreme gravity of their step -in casting forth upon the world of English readers so extremely -intemperate an accusation against the Catholic Church as that which -they have put in circulation. Nor can we abandon the hope that they -will listen to Dr. Newman's clear and unanswerable statement of the -doctrine of the fathers as to our Blessed Lady, and see how truly he -has pointed to the flaws and defects in their own thoughts with regard -to her. They will certainly be hardly able to deny that they have -misunderstood not only the immaculate conception, against which they -have talked so loudly, but even, it may be, original sin itself; nor -do we think that it can be questioned that he has put his finger upon -the fundamental error--not to say heresy---to which all their low -conceptions as to the Blessed Mother of God {228} are to be assigned -as their ultimate cause. Dr. Pusey, as Dr. Newman remarks, seems to -have no idea that our Blessed Lady had any other part or position in -the incarnation than as its _physical instrument_--much the same part, -as it were, that Juda or David may have had. The fathers, on the -contrary, from the very first, speak of her "as an intelligent, -responsible cause of our Lord's taking flesh;" "her faith and -obedience being accessories to the incarnation, and gaining it as her -reward" (p. 38). Dr. Newman insists on this vital and all-important -difference more than once, and seems to consider it the explanation of -the strange blindness of these students of antiquity. If they can once -gain a new and more Catholic idea as to that which is the foundation -alike of our Blessed Lady's greatness and the devotion of the church -to her--and certainly they must be very blind or very obstinate not to -see the reasons for such an idea in Dr. Newman's pages--then the -"Eirenicon" will have produced incidentally a far greater blessing to -themselves and others than if its strange interpretation of the -Anglican Articles had been allowed as legitimate in England, and there -had been half a score of Du Pins in France ready to enter into -negotiations with the Archbishop of Canterbury on the basis of its -propositions. These good men have in fact been living and teaching and -studying the fathers with one of the great seminal facts, so to speak, -of Christianity absent from their minds or entirely undeveloped in -them. "It was the creation of a new idea and a new sympathy, a new -faith and worship, when the holy apostles announced that God had -become incarnate; we a supreme love and devotion to him became -possible, which seemed hopeless before that revelation. _But beside -this, a second range of thoughts was opened on mankind, unknown -before, and unlike any other, as soon as it was understood that that -incarnate God had a mother. The second idea is perfectly distinct from -the former--the one does not interfere with the other."_ We conceive -that these words will fall strangely on the ears of Dr. Pusey, though -they might not perhaps do so on those of the author of the "Christian -Year" and the "Lyra Innocentium;" and if they do so, after the -incontestable proof which Dr. Newman has adduced from the early -fathers of their view of the position of our Blessed Lady in the -economy of the incarnation, it will only remain for Dr. Pusey either -to confute that proof or to acknowledge that he has been reasoning on -that great mystery without the guidance of the church, deaf to the -teaching of the fathers, and that he has incurred the usual fate of -men who so reason. May the prayers of the Blessed Mother, against -whose honor he has raised his voice so harshly, save him from closing -his eyes still more firmly! - -It appears to be one of the characteristics of Dr. Newman to look at -particular questions and phases of opinion with regard to a wider and -more comprehensive range of thought than other men. Possibly his -retired position favors this habit of mind; but it is, of course, far -more naturally to be attributed to a loftier intellectual stature and -a wider knowledge of history than others possess. Such a man is -eminently fitted for a controversy like the present, in which the word -peace has been blurted forth in so uncouth a manner, while yet it is -not the less the expression of the real and powerful longings of a -thousand hearts. It is a most unpromising overture, but it is an -overture nevertheless. Dr. Newman is not only fitted to deal with it -on account of his tender and large sympathies, and of the affectionate -solicitude with which he has always treated his former friends; he is -able also not indeed to go to the very verge of Catholic doctrine for -their sakes, or to encourage delusive hopes of a compromise which -would patch up rather than unite, but to speak with calm {229} -accuracy, looking on his own times as a philosophical historian of the -church may look at them by-and-bye, and point out what may be -accidental, transient, local, in the features of the religion of the -present day. No one can be less inclined to exaggerate, for instance, -the differences between English and Italian devotion; and we have -seldom felt ourselves in a more Italian atmosphere, out of Italy, than -in the oratory at Edgbaston. But he is not afraid of giving full -weight to national differences of character, nor of avowing himself a -hearty Englishman. In the same way, without going into the question of -fact as to alleged extravagances--which, after all, is of no real -cogency in the argument--he is ready to admit that there may be such, -and puts forward a simple common-sense argument to show that such may -be expected in the living working of energetic ideas generally, and -especially of such ideas in matters of religion, which acts on the -affections. This is the true philosophical answer; and it by no means -excludes other answers that might be given to particular charges, -which might be proved to be false in fact, or to apply to matters so -grave as that the church would never be allowed to permit the alleged -corruption. - -Dr. Newman never shrinks from allowing the full force of any principle -that he has laid down. Thus, he has distinguished between faith as to -our Blessed Lady's position in the kingdom of her Son and the devotion -to her founded upon that faith. The faith may have been from the -beginning, and actually was so, as he proves from the early fathers; -but the full devotion may not all at once have been developed; or -again, it may have been checked in particular countries at a -particular time, and so make no show in the writings of some fathers -of that age, in consequence of the baneful influence of a prevalent -heresy which cut at the faith itself. This, which is really almost -self-evident, enables him not only to explain the passages in St. -Chrysostom and St. Basil which are sometimes objected to, but to grant -that there are no certain traces of _devotion_, strictly so called, to -our Blessed Lady in the writings of others beside these. There need -not be, according to his principles. It must be remembered that all -these statements admit of great development and explanation; they are -germs of thought, and are only put forward most concisely in Dr. -Newman's present letter. It is more to our present purpose to observe -how ready he is to look through the cloud of charges, great and small, -which Dr. Pusey has blown in the face of Catholics, and to discern in -the book of his old friend a new and important turning-point in the -Anglican controversy. He thinks that the indignation of Catholics has -led them in consequence to misconceive Dr. Pusey, so as not, it would -seem, to give him credit for really pacific intentions. We think that -no one has denied--what, indeed, it does not become a critic to -question--the reality of a purpose distinctly avowed; but at the same -time we must repeat that it has never been denied by Dr. Pusey, nor do -we think it ever can be denied, that the book was written with a clear -and distinct intention so to represent Catholicism as to deter people -from submitting to it except on certain terms pointed out by the -author. Possibly Dr. Newman only means that Catholics have been more -alienated by Dr. Pusey's most unhandsome attack than attracted by his -professions of friendship; and certainly never was a friendly -expostulation, never was an earnest request for explanation on certain -points which appear to be difficulties in the way of a much-desired -union, proposed in a way less calculated to conciliate. Dr. Newman, -therefore, neither wonders nor complains at the strong feeling with -which the "Eirenicon" has been received; but he looks beyond the -present moment, and, recalling the former phases of opinion as to -{230} Catholicism which have prevailed among Anglicans, he sees in Dr. -Pusey's proceeding nothing less than the putting "the whole argument -between you and us on a new footing"--a footing which may really and -profitably be used by those who desire peace. No English Catholic but -will most heartily rejoice in this statement of Dr. Newman; and surely -one of our first feelings must be that of thankfulness that he is -among us at a time like this, and that circumstances will give him a -more patient hearing and a more ready acceptance, on the part of those -whose souls may be staked on the issue of this controversy, than he -might otherwise meet with. From him, at least, Anglicans will hear no -extreme or novel doctrine; him, at least, they will never accuse of -not loving everything that is English. He, if any one, may convince -them that no true child of the "undivided church" would be found at -the present day outside the communion of the Holy See; that the church -is the same now as she ever was, and as she ever will be; that she can -never compromise with her enemies, though she yearns with unutterable -love to take back every wanderer to her heart. - -Experience has happily shown that the great Shepherd of souls leads -men on in a way they neither discern nor desire, when they have once -set themselves to wish and pray for greater light; and that prophecies -of ill and suspicions of sinister purposes, which have not lacked -ample foundation, have yet been often defeated in the indulgent -dispensations of grace. Nor, indeed, at the present time, are all the -signs of the sky evil. In its most disagreeable and inexcusable -features the "Eirenicon" is not, we are convinced, a fair -representation of the mind of a great number who might commonly be -supposed to sympathize with its author. He has put himself for the -moment at their head; and they are, of course, slow to repudiate his -assistance; but we do not believe that the earnest men who publish so -many Catholic devotions, and who, however mistakenly, attempt to -reproduce in their own churches the external honors paid by Catholics -to him whom they also think that they have with them, would willingly -make themselves responsible for the hundred pages with which Dr. -Newman's present pamphlet is engaged. The advance toward Catholicism -among the Anglicans has, in fact, left Dr. Pusey some way behind other -and younger men. Even as to himself, he is hardly further away than -others have been who are now within the church. - -Only it must not be forgotten that the largest and most charitable -thoughts as to the meaning and intentions of individuals, and the most -hopeful anticipations as to the ultimate result of their movements, do -not exhaust the duties imposed upon Catholic writers at the present -moment. Let us see ever so much of good in demonstrations such as -this, and believe that there is a still greater amount of good which -we do not see. We may forbear to press men harshly, to point out -baldly the inconsistencies of their position; we may put up with the -rudeness of the language in which they propose peace. They may be -haughty and ungenerous now; but this is not much to bear for the sake -of that unity which those who know it love better than those who are -strangers to it. Let us be ready, as far as persons are concerned, to -be tender in exposing faults even wanton, and misconceptions which, as -we think, common industry and fairness might have obviated. For Dr. -Pusey himself we can wish no severer punishment than that he should be -able some day to look upon his own work with the eyes of a Catholic. -He has himself shown us, by the use which he has made of old -expressions of Dr. Newman and others, who have long since repudiated -them, that the retraction of charges against the Catholic Church by -their authors does not prevent {231} others from repeating them. We -are sorry to say--what we still believe will be acknowledged as true -by all who have been at the pains--pains not taken by some who have -written on this subject--of not merely considering the animus and -motives of Dr. Pusey, but of examining his book in detail, and taking -its measure as a work of erudition and controversy--that, unattractive -in style, rambling, incoherent, vague, and intentionally "loose" as it -is, it has one great quality, however unintentional--that of being a -perfect storehouse of misrepresentation. We speak simply as critics, -and we disclaim all attempts to account for the phenomenon. It -contains an almost unparalleled number of misstatements of every kind -and degree. Its author's reputation will give weight and currency to -these. Though never perhaps likely to be a popular book, it will still -take its place in Protestant libraries, and will be much used in -future controversies. No one can tell how often we shall have certain -extraordinary statements about the sanctification of the Blessed -Virgin, her active and passive conception, the protest of the Greek -Church against the doctrine, Bellarmine's assertion about general -councils, transubstantiation, extreme unction, and the like, brought -up against us; and the erroneous conclusions founded upon them cannot -be neglected by the defenders of Catholic truth. It is, therefore, -essential not that Dr. Pusey should be attacked in an unkindly spirit, -but that his book should be handled critically, and, as far as may be, -whatever it contains of misstatement, misquotation, unfair insinuation -and conclusion catalogued and exposed. It must be remembered that -there is a great demand for the materials of anti-Catholic -controversy. Dr. Pusey does not subscribe to the societies which -mostly hold their meetings in Exeter Hall in the month of May; but he -might well be made a life-governor of all of them in consideration of -this book. It will be used by the zealots who try to win the poor -peasants of Connaught to apostasy by means of food and clothing, and -by the more decorous "Anglo-Continentals," who are just now rubbing -their hands at the prospects of infidelity in Italy. Alas! it not only -teems with snares for the learned and conscientious, but it is full of -small insinuations for the ignobler herd of paid agents and -lecturers--"what the poorer people believe in Rome," what Catholic -churches are called in south India, what Cardinal Wiseman is reported -to have said of Archbishop Affré, "who died in recovering his people -at the barricades." These things may be passed by as simply faults of -taste; but the pretensions of the book to learning, and its historical -and doctrinal statements, cannot be admitted without sifting. Dr. -Pusey has imposed an unwelcome task on Catholic critics. At the very -time that they would be conciliating his followers, they are forced to -attack him. It has seemed to us indeed that ordinary care in examining -authorities, an attention to the common-sense rule that strangers -cannot understand a system from without, the use of the many means at -his disposal of ascertaining the Catholic meaning of Catholic -language, more self-restraint in assertion, in urging arguments that -appeared telling and conclusions that were welcome to himself, and -somewhat less of confidence in his own attainments as a theologian, -would have spared those who wish him well this painful undertaking at -a time when they would gladly say no word that may sound harsh to his -ears. But, after all, truth is more precious than peace, and peace can -only be had through the truth; and we can cordially return to Dr. -Pusey the assurance which he himself has proffered to Catholics, that -those engaged in the ungrateful task of subjecting his volume to the -analysis of criticism have no intention whatever of wounding his -feelings. - ------- -{232} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -CURIOSITIES OF ANIMAL LIFE. - - -There is an old aphorism which says that "all life comes from an -egg"--_omne vivum ex ovo_; but this, like a good many other old -aphorisms, is only a convenient and attractive way of stating a -falsehood. It is very true that almost all animals, from man down to -the mollusk, pass through the egg stage at an early period of their -existence; but we purpose to show our readers in this article that -there are others which appear to be sometimes exempted from the common -lot of their kind, and which indeed come into the world in such -curious fashions that we may almost say of them, in the words of -Topsey, that they "never were born; 'spect they _growed_." - -To begin with, what is an egg? According to the popular idea, it is an -oval-shaped body, consisting of a hard, thin shell inclosing a whitish -substance called the albumen, within which is a yellowish matter -called the yolk; it is the embryo form of the young of birds and some -other animals, which finally emerge from the shell after the egg has -been acted upon for some time by the heat of the parent's body. Now -this definition may do well enough as a loose description of the more -familiar varieties of eggs, but it will not do for all. It will -perhaps surprise the unscientific reader to be told that every animal -whatever produces eggs. A "mare's nest" is the popular expression of a -myth, an absurdity; but _mare's eggs_ are no myths; they are just as -real as hen's eggs; only we never see them, because they are hatched -in the parent's body before the young colt is brought forth. The same -is true of the eggs of all the other quadrupeds and of viviparous -animals in general. - -An egg, therefore, like the seed of a plant, is the germ from which -the embryo is developed. It may have a shell, or it may not; it may be -comparatively large, like birds' eggs, or it may be so small as to be -with difficulty discerned by the naked eye. When it is first formed it -is simply an aggregation of fluid matter, very minute in size, and -exceedingly simple in structure. By degrees this fluid is transformed -into the small particles or granules which form the yolk; the yolk -shapes itself into a multitude of _cells_--little microscopic bodies -consisting of an external membrane, or cell-wall, and of an inner -nucleus, which may be either solid or fluid; and in due process of -time a number of cells combine and form a living being. The albumen, -or "white," is, like the shell, an accessory. It performs important -functions in the development of the young from the germ, but we will -not stop to explain them here; the true egg is the yolk. In the lowest -forms of animal life the egg is a mere cell, with a light spot in one -part of it, and the creature which is developed from it is almost as -simple in structure as the egg itself. - -The ordinary mode of reproduction, as we have already said, is by the -formation of an egg in the body of the parent, from which the young -may be hatched either before or after they are brought into the world. -But there are certain of the lower orders of animals which sometimes -multiply and {233} perpetuate their kind in other ways also. Professor -Henry James Clark, of Harvard University, has lately published an -interesting treatise [Footnote 44] on animal development, in which -he gives some curious instances of the phenomena to which we refer. We -have drawn a good deal of what we have just said about the structure -of eggs from his valuable work, and we purpose now to follow him in -his remarks upon the processes of reproduction by what is called -_budding_ and _division_. - - [Footnote 44: "Mind in Nature; or, The Origin of Life and the Mode - of Development of Animals." 8vo. New York: D. Appleton & Co.] - -Let us look first at that exceedingly beautiful and wonderful animal -commonly called the sea anemone, on account of the delicate fringed -flower so much loved by poets. You may often find it on our coasts -contracted into a lump of gelatinous substance looking like -whitish-brown jelly; [Footnote 45] watch it for a while, and you -will see the body rise slightly, while a delicate crown of tentacles, -or feelers, steals out at the top. The jelly-like mass continues to -increase in height, and the wreath of tentacles gradually expands. -Soon you will perceive that this graceful fringe surrounds a wide -opening; this is the animal's mouth. When expanded to its full size -the anemone is about three or four inches in height. The body consists -of a cylindrical gelatinous bag, the bottom of which is flat and -slightly spreading at the margin. The upper edge of this bag is turned -in, so as to form a sack within a sack; this is the stomach. The whole -summit of the body is crowned by the soft plumy fringes which give it -such a remarkable resemblance to a flower. At the base it has a set of -powerful muscles, by which it attaches itself to rocks and shells so -firmly that it can hardly be removed without injury. Another set of -muscles enables it to contract itself almost instantaneously into a -shapeless lump. It is extremely sensitive, not only shrinking from the -slightest touch, but even drawing in its tentacles if so much as a -dark cloud passes over it. Anemones may be found, say the authors of -"Sea-side Studies," "in any small pools about the rocks which are -flooded by the tide at high water. Their favorite haunts, however, -where they occur in greatest quantity, are more difficult to reach; -but the curious in such matters will be well rewarded, even at the -risk of wet feet and a slippery scramble over rocks covered with damp -sea-weed, by a glimpse into their more crowded abodes. Such a grotto -is to be found on the rocks of East Point at Nahant. It can only be -reached at low tide, and then one is obliged to creep on hands and -knees to its entrance in order to see through its entire length; but -its whole interior is studded with these animals, and as they are of -various hues, pink, brown, orange, purple, or pure white, the effect -is like that of brightly-colored mosaics set in the roof and walls. -When the sun strikes through from the opposite extremity of this -grotto, which is open at both ends, lighting up its living -mosaic-work, and showing the play of the soft fringes whenever the -animals are open, it would be difficult to find any artificial grotto -to compare with it in beauty. There is another of the same kind on -Saunders's ledge, formed by a large boulder resting on two rocky -ledges, leaving a little cave beneath, lined in the same way with -variously-colored sea anemones, so closely studded over its walls that -the surface of the rock is completely hidden. They are, however, to be -found in larger or smaller clusters, or scattered singly, in any rocky -fissures overhung by sea-weed and accessible to the tide at high -water." - - [Footnote 45: "Sea-side Studies in Natural History." By Elizabeth - Alexander Agassiz. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1865.] - -Mr. Gosse, in his "History of British Sea Anemones and Corals," -mentions the existence of a singular connection between a certain -variety of these animals and a species of hermit crab that lives in -the deserted {234} shell of a mollusk. An anemone is always found -attached to the shell which the crab inhabits, and is so placed that -its fringed month comes just below the mouth of the crab. Whatever -food comes within reach of either animal can, therefore, be shared in -common. The crab is so far from objecting to this community of goods -that he seems unhappy without his companion. Though he is a hermit, he -is not exempt from the common lot of housekeepers; he submits every -now and then to the trouble of _moving-day_. - -Mr. Gosse observed one in the act of changing houses. No sooner had he -taken possession of the new shell than he began removing the anemone -from the old one, running his claw under it to separate it from the -shell, and then bringing it to the new house, where, having placed it -in its customary position, he held it down until it had attached -itself, and now and then pressed it closer, or gave it a pat to hasten -the process. In another instance, observed by Mr. Holdsworth, the -crab, after vainly trying for more than an hour to remove his -companion anemone, deserted his new quarters and went back to the old, -rather than submit to a separation. - -The anemone, for all that it is so delicate and graceful in -appearance, is a gluttonous little beast, eats raw meat in the -aquarium, and when upon its native coast sucks mussels and cockles out -of their shells. Queer compound of plant and animal in appearance, its -natural kingdom seems still more doubtful than ever if we watch it -while it is undergoing certain processes of reproduction. It does -indeed generally produce its young by maternal gestation; eggs are -formed in the cavity that surrounds its stomach, and at the proper -time the young swim out of the parent's mouth. But it has other modes -of propagation, one of which is almost exactly like the process of -raising plants from suckers. Very often you may see, growing out of -the lower part of the body of the anemone, and as a general thing near -the edge of the basal disc by which it attaches itself to the shell or -rock, little rounded protuberances, like buds; well, they are -buds--the buds of young anemones. In a short time six small tentacles -make their appearance on the top of each bud. A minute oblong aperture -opens in the midst of them. A digestive cavity is formed. The curious -internal structure of the animal (which we have not space here to -describe) is gradually developed. The bud becomes elongated and -enlarged every way. The tentacles multiply; the small aperture grows -into a mouth; and finally the young anemone drops off from its parent -and floats away to shift for itself. Professor Clark has seen as many -as twenty thus detach themselves in the course of a single month. This -is the process of generation by _budding_ or _gemmation_, of which we -spoke on a previous page. - -But we have not yet exhausted the list of wonders displayed by this -extraordinary plant-animal. We have seen that it has at least two ways -of being born; what will our readers say when we assure them that it -has not only two but _four?_ The remaining two both come under the -head of what is called _voluntary self-division_. One of them is -strikingly like the propagation of plants by cuttings. Little pieces -break off from the anemone at the base and float away. For a long time -they give no sign of life; but when they have recovered, so to speak, -from the shock of separation, they begin to shoot out their tentacles -and grow up into perfect individuals. The fourth method of generation -is still more wonderful. Now and then you find an anemone whose upper -disc is contracted in a peculiar manner at opposite sides. The -contraction increases until the disc loses its circular form and -presents the shape of the figure 8. The two halves of the 8 next -separate, and you {235} have an anemone with two mouths, each -surrounded by its own set of tentacles. Then the processes of -constriction and separation continue all down the body of the animal -from summit to base, and the result is two perfect anemones, each -complete in its organization. It is well that the lower orders of -creatures have none of the laws of inheritance and primo-geniture that -bother mankind, or such irregular methods of coming into the world -might breed a great deal of trouble among them. Here, for instance, -you have two anemones, which we will call A and B, formed by the -splitting asunder of a single individual; what relation are they to -each other? Are they brother and sister or parent and child? And if -the latter, how is any one to decide which is the parent? Then suppose -A raises offspring in the usual way from eggs, what relation are these -young to B? Are they sisters, or nieces, or grandchildren? - -Let us now look at another animal, the stentor, or trumpet-animalcule. -This is a minute infusorian, very common in ponds and ditches, where -it forms colonies on the stems of water-weeds or submerged sticks and -stones. Some of the varieties have a deep blue color, and a settlement -of them looks very much like a patch of blue mould. The stentor is -shaped like a little tube, about one-sixteenth of an inch in length, -spread out at the upper end like a trumpet, and tapering at the lower -almost to a point. When it has fixed upon a place of abode, it -constructs a domicile, consisting of a gelatinous sheath, perhaps half -as high as itself. It lives inside this sheath, with its smaller -extremity attached to the bottom of it, and its wide, funnel-shaped -end projecting above the top. When disturbed it retreats into the -house and shrinks into a globular mass. The disc of the trumpet end is -not perfectly regular; on one side the edge turns inward so as to form -a notch, and curls upon itself in a spiral form. Within this spiral is -the mouth, and a long funnel-shaped throat reaches from it to the -digestive cavity. Opposite the mouth there is a globular cavity, from -which a tube extends to the lower extremity of the body. The cavity -seems to perform the functions of a heart, and the tube takes the -place of veins and arteries. Once in three-quarters of a minute this -heart-like organ contracts and forces the fluid which it contains into -the tube; the latter in its turn, after expanding very sensibly to -receive the flow, contracts and returns it to the heart. - -The stentor propagates by budding, like the anemone. The first change -that takes place is a division of this contractile vesicle into two -distinct organs at about mid-height of the body, the lower portion -developing a globular cavity like the upper one. Soon after this a -shallow pit opens in the side of the stentor, in a line with the new -vesicle. This pit is the future mouth. A throat or oesophagus is next -fashioned; and all being ready for the accommodation of the new animal -the process of division begins, and goes on so rapidly that it is all -done in about two hours. - -A still more curious animal, in some respects, than either of those we -have just mentioned is the hydra, one of the simplest of the -zoophytes. To all intents and purposes it is nothing but a narrow -sack, about half an inch in length, open at one end, where the mouth -is situated, and attaching itself by the other to pond-lilies, -duck-weeds, or stones on the margins of lakes. Around the mouth it has -from five to eight slender tentacles, which are used as feelers and -for the purpose of seizing the food. What it does with its food after -it has swallowed it is, strange as the statement may sound, a question -to which naturalists have not yet found a satisfactory answer; for the -hydra has no digestive organs, and its stomach is merely a pouch -formed by the folding in of the outer skin. It has no glands, no -mucous membrane, no appliances of any sort for the performance of the -chemical process {236} which we call digestion. You may turn a hydra -inside out and it will get along just as well as it did before, and -swallow its prey with just as good an appetite. The French naturalist -Trembley was the first to notice this remarkable fact. With the blunt -end of a small needle he pushed the bottom of the sack through the -body and out at the mouth, just as you would invert a stocking. He -found that the animal righted itself as soon as it was left alone; so -he repeated the operation, and this time made use of persuasion, in -the form of a bristle run crosswise through the body, to induce the -victim to remain inside out. In the course of a few days its interior -and exterior departments were thoroughly reorganized, and it ate as if -nothing had happened. Trembley next undertook to engraft one -individual upon another! For this purpose he crammed the tail of one -deep down into the cavity of another, and, in order to hold them in -their position, stuck a bristle through both. What was his surprise to -find them, some hours afterward, still spitted upon the bristle, but -hanging _side by side_ instead of one within the other! How they had -got into such a position he could not imagine. He arranged another -pair, and on watching them the mystery was solved. The inner one first -drew up its tail and pushed it out through the hole in the outer one's -side where the bristle entered. Then it pulled its head out after the -tail, and sliding along the spit completely freed itself from its -companion. This it repeated as often as the experiment was tried in -that way. It then occurred to M. Trembley that if the inner hydra were -turned inside out, so as to bring the stomachs of the two animals in -contact, union would take place more readily; and so it proved. The -little creatures seemed much pleased with the arrangement, and made no -attempt to escape. In a short time they were united as one body, and -enjoyed their food in common. - -It was perhaps only natural to expect that animals which care so -little about their individuality that two specimens can be turned into -one, would be equally ready to multiply themselves by the simple -process of being cut to pieces. In other words, you may make one hydra -out of two, or two out of one, just as you please. M. Trembley divided -them in every conceivable manner. He cut them in two, and, instead of -dying, one half shot out a new head and the other developed a new -tail. He sliced them into thin rings, and each slice swam away, got -itself a set of tentacles, and grew into a perfectly formed -individual. He split them into thin longitudinal strips, and each -strip reproduced what was wanting to give it a complete body. Some he -split only part way down from the mouth, and the result was a hydra, -like the fabled monster, with many heads. The famous cat with nine -lives is nothing to these little zoophytes. They seem sublimely -indifferent not only to the most fearful wounds, but even to disease -and, we are tempted to add, decomposition itself. A part of the body -decays, and the hydra simply drops it off, like a worn-out garment, -and lives on as if it had lost nothing. - -If it can do all this, we need not wonder that it can reproduce its -kind by budding. Indeed, after we have seen a living creature split -itself up into a dozen distinct individuals any other process of -generation must seem tame by comparison. At certain seasons of the -year very few hydras can be found which have not one, two, or three -young ones growing out of their bodies. The budding begins in the form -of a simple bulging from the side of the parent, something like a -wart. This is gradually elongated, and after a time tentacles sprout -from the free end, and a mouth is formed. The young is now in a -condition to seek its own prey. Its independence is finally -accomplished by a constriction of the base of the new body at the -point where it is attached to the old stock, until finally it cuts -itself off. Before {237} this separation takes place, however, it has -often begun to reproduce its own young, and so we sometimes see a -large colony of hydras all connected together, like minute branching -waterweed. - -After all, you may say, it is not so very wonderful that a simple -animal like the hydra, which has no intestines, and scarcely any -special organs whatever, should be able to reproduce its lost parts, -or to multiply itself by the simple processes of growth and subsequent -division. Well, then, let us take a more complex creature, and we have -a remarkable example at hand in a certain marine worm called -_myrianida fasciata_. It is an inch or two in length, tapering off -gradually from the head. The body is marked with numerous rings or -joints, attached to which are oar-like appendages, serving not only as -instruments of propulsion but also as gills, or breathing organs. An -intestine extends from the head in a direct course to the posterior. -Blood-vessels are arranged about it like a net-work, and connect with -similar vessels in the gills. It has an organ which serves the purpose -of a heart, a nervous cord swollen at every joint into knots or -ganglions, and, in the head, one principal ganglion, which may be -considered as the brain. Its reproductive organs are situated only in -the posterior rings, and are located there in reference to the -peculiar mode of generation which we are about to describe. The young -worm begins to grow immediately in front of the parent's tail, that is -to say, between the last joint or ring and the next before the last, -and is formed by the successive growth of new rings. Before it is old -enough to be cast off another appears between its anterior end and the -next joint of the old stock; and so on until we have six worms at -once, all strung together behind the parent, and hanging, so to speak, -from one another's tails. They drop off separately, in the order of -their age. Now in this case, you will observe, there must be a -division of several organs--the intestine, the blood-vessels, and the -nervous cord; and each of the six young must develop a heart, a brain, -and a pair of eyes. An odd result of their method of growth (the first -one being formed, you will remember, not behind the parent but -_between_ her last two rings) is that the eldest offspring -appropriates the tail of his mother, while his five brothers and -sisters have to find tails of their own. We are here tempted to -indulge in a curious speculation: this first born produces its young -in the same way itself was produced, and passes on its inherited tail -to the next generation. The eldest born of that generation bequeaths -it to the next, and so on. What becomes of that ancestral tail in the -course of years? Does it at last wear out and drop off? Does the worm -that bears it die after a time without leaving any children? Or is it -possible that the process of entail has been going on without -interruption ever since the year one of the world, and that there may -be a _myrianida fasciata_ now living with a tail as old as creation? -Not very probable, certainly; but if any solution has been offered of -the great tail problem, we do not happen to have heard of it. - -Professor Clark also tried various experiments upon the common flat -worm, or _planaria_, which may be found so readily in our ponds, -creeping over stones and aquatic plants, and is so easily recognized -by its opaque white color, and the liver-colored ramifications of its -intestine. He cut the creature in two, and immediately after the -operation the halves crawled away as if nothing had happened; the -anterior part preceding an ideal tail, and the posterior one following -an equally imaginary head and brain. He watched the pieces from day to -day, and found that each reproduced its missing half by a slow process -of budding and growth. This _planaria_ may be cut into several pieces, -and each will reproduce what is requisite to complete the mangled -organism. If the tail of a lizard be broken off, a {238} new one will -grow; and crabs, lobsters, spiders, etc., are known to replace their -amputated limbs. The instances we now and then meet with of what are -called _monsters_--two-headed dogs, calves with six legs, and, more -rarely, even double-headed human beings, are examples of the -phenomenon of budding--which is very common, by the way, among fishes; -and there is an animalcule called the _amoeba_ which shows a more -remarkable tenacity of life than any of the other creatures we have -mentioned, since you may divide and subdivide it until it is -physically impossible to reduce it to particles any smaller, and yet -each piece will live. - - - -The discovery that animals may originate in so many ways independent -of maternal gestation naturally suggests the inquiry whether further -researches may not develop still other methods of reproduction, in -which the new-born creature shall have no connection whatever with any -previously existing individual. Thus we are brought back to the -question which was thought to have been settled long ago, whether -generation ever takes place spontaneously, as Aristotle and the old -physicists supposed it did. Later naturalists, following the Italian, -Redi, utterly rejected the supposition; but within the present century -it has found many reputable supporters, and Professor Clark is one of -them. When organic matter decays, numbers of _infusoria_, or -microscopic plants and animals, arise in it. Where do they come from? -Do the disorganized particles, set free by the process of -decomposition, combine into new forms, which are then endowed with -life by the direct action of Almighty power; or is the decaying -substance merely the _nest_ in which minute eggs or seeds, borne -thither upon the air, or dropped by insects, find conditions suitable -for their development in the ordinary natural way? The question is not -easily answered. Many of these germs are so excessively minute as to -defy detection. Some of the infusoria are no larger than the -twenty-four-thousandth of an inch in diameter, and it is estimated -that a drop of water might contain five hundred millions of them. It -is obvious that the germs of such little creatures must be invisible -even with the best microscope. The problem can only be solved by -placing a portion of the decomposing matter under such conditions that -any germs it may contain shall infallibly be killed and that none can -possibly reach it; then, if infusoria appear, we shall know that they -have been generated spontaneously. The great difficulty is in securing -these conditions. For the development of the living forms we require -both water and air. How are we to be certain that there are no living -germs in the organic matter before we begin the experiment? that there -are none in the water? that none are brought by the air? The action of -heat has been relied upon for the destruction of germs in the organic -matter and the water, and it has been sought to purify the air from -them by passing it through sulphuric add; but experience has shown -that sulphuric add does not kill the germs; so of course experiments -performed in that way prove nothing. Professor Clark quotes a series -of very delicate experiments tried by Professor Jeffries Wyman, of -Harvard University, which seem to us to come nearer to proving -spontaneous generation than any others with which we are acquainted. -He proceeded in three different methods, as follows: - -1. The organic matter, consisting of a solution of beef or mutton -juice (or, in a few instances, vegetable matter), was placed in a -flask fitted with a cork through which passed a glass tube. The cork -was pushed deeply into the mouth of the flask, and the space above it -was filled with an adhesive cement, composed of resin, wax, and -varnish. The tube was drawn to a narrow neck a little way above the -cork, and bent at right angles, and {239} the end of it inserted in an -iron tube, where it was secured by a cement of plaster of Paris. The -rest of the iron tube was filled with wires, leaving only very narrow -passages between them. The solution in the flask was then boiled--in -some cases as long as two hours--in order to kill any germs which -might be enclosed, and to expel the air. The iron tube and wires at -the same time were heated to redness. When the boiling had continued -long enough the heat was withdrawn from beneath the flask, and the -steam was allowed slowly to condense. As it did so, air flowed in -between the red-hot wires, which had been kept at a temperature high -enough, it was supposed, to destroy any germs in the air that passed -through them. The flask was then hermetically sealed by fusing the -glass tube with the blow-pipe. When opened, several days afterward, it -was found to contain animal life. - -2. A similar solution was placed in a flask the neck of which, instead -of being supplied with a cork and tube, was drawn out and bent at -right angles, and then fitted to the iron tube containing wires. The -experiment was performed as by method No. 1, and with the same result. - -3. That there might be no suspicion of imperfectly sealed joints, a -solution was put into a flask with a narrow neck, and the neck itself -was then closed by fusing the glass. The whole flask was then immersed -in boiling water. At the expiration of a few days living infusoria -were found in two instances out of four. - -Now these experiments undoubtedly prove that generation sometimes -occurs spontaneously, provided it be true, as Professor Clark assumes, -that there was no imperfection in the closing of the flasks (which we -see no reason to doubt), and that the infusorial germs are destroyed -by boiling. We confess that it is hard to believe they could have -survived such a heat as was applied to them in these cases; but is it -certain that they could not? A writer in an English review a few years -ago, whom we believe to have been Mr. G. H. Lewes, announced that he -had boiled certain germs _an hour and three-quarters_, and yet they -remained perfectly unaltered. At most, therefore, we can regard -spontaneous generation as a probable phenomenon. - -Whether spontaneous generation, if it occurs at all, occurs by the -formation of an egg from which the animalcule is hatched, or by the -immediate formation of the adult, Professor Clark does not attempt to -say; but the French naturalist M. Pouchet, who is one of the foremost -advocates of the theory, holds that an egg is produced first. If this -is true we shall have a striking correlative to the proposition with -which we began this paper: not only can living creatures be developed -where no egg has been deposited, but eggs can be produced where there -is no animal to lay them. _Omne ovum e vivo_ will be no more true than -_Omne vivum ex ovo._ - ------- - -{240} - - -From Chambers's Journal - -POOR AND RICH. - - In a shattered old garret scarce roofed from the sky, - Near a window that shakes as the wind hurries by, - Without curtain to hinder the golden sun's shine, - Which reminds me of riches that never were mine-- - I recline on a chair that is broken and old. - And enwrap my chilled limbs--now so aged and cold-- - 'Neath a shabby old coat, with the buttons all torn. - While I think of my youth that Time's footprints have worn. - And remember the comrades who've one and all fled, - And the dreams and the hopes that are dead with the dead. - - But the cracked plastered walls are emblazoned and bright - With the dear blessed beams of the day's welcome light. - My old coat's a king's robe, my old chair is a throne, - And my thoughts are my courtiers that no king could own; - For the truths that they tell, as they whisper to me, - Are the echoes of pleasures that once used to be, - The glad throbbings of hearts that have now ceased to feel, - And the treasures of passions which Time cannot steal; - So, although I know well that my life is near spent, - Though I'll die without sorrow, I live with content. - - Though my children's soft voices no music now lend; - Without wife's sweet embraces, or glance of a friend; - Yet my soul sees them still, as it peoples the air - With the spirits who crowd round my broken old chair. - If no wealth I have hoarded to trouble mine ease, - I admit that I doted on gems rich as these; - And when death snatched the casket that held each fair prize, - It flew to my heart where it happily lies; - So, 'tis there that the utt'rings of love now are said - By those dear ones, whom all but myself fancy dead. - - So, though fetid the air of my poor room may be. - It still has all the odors of Eden for me. - For my Eve wanders here, and my cherubs here sing, - As though tempting my spirit like theirs to take wing. - Though my pillow be hard, where so well could I rest - As on that on which Amy's fair head has been pressed? - So let riches and honor feed Mammon's vain heart, - From my shattered old lodging I'll not wish to part; - And no coat shall I need save the one I've long worn. - Till the last thread be snapped, and the last rent be torn. - ------- - -{241} - - -From The Lamp. - -ALL-HALLOW EVE; -OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY. - - -BY ROBERT CURTIS. - - -[CONCLUSION.] - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -While the above exploits were being performed by Jamesy Doyle and the -police, a sad scene indeed was being enacted at the bridge. Winny -Cavana, whose bonds had been loosed, had rushed to where Emon lay with -his head in his father's lap, while the two policemen, Cotter and -Donovan, moved up with their prisoner. They not only handcuffed him, -but had tied his legs together, and threw him on the side of the road, -"to wait their convenience," while they rendered any assistance they -could to the wounded man. - -The father had succeeded in stanching the blood, which at first had -poured freely from the wound. With the assistance of one of the -police, while the other was tying the prisoner, he had drawn his son -up into a sitting posture and leaned him against the bank at the side -of the road, and got his arm round him to sustain him. He was not shot -dead; but was evidently very badly wounded. He was now, however, -recovering strength and consciousness, as the blood ceased to flow. - -"Open your eyes, Emon dear, if you are not dead, and look at your own -Winny," she said; "your mad Winny Cavana, who brought you here to be -murdered! Open your eyes, Emon, if you are not dead! I don't ask you -to speak." - -Emon not only opened his eyes, but turned his face and looked upon -her. Oh, the ghastly smile he tried to hide! - -"Don't speak, Emon; but tell me with your eyes that you are not dying. -No, no, Emon--Emon-a-knock! demon as he is, he could not murder you. -Heaven would not permit so much wickedness!" - -Emon looked at her again. A faint but beautiful smile--beautiful now, -for the color had returned to his cheeks--beamed upon his lips as he -shook his head. - -"Yes, yes, he has murdered him," sobbed the distracted father; "and I -pity you, Winny Cavana, as I hope you will pity his poor mother; to -say nothing of myself." - -"No, no, do not say so! He will not die, he _shall_ not die!" And she -pressed her burning that's to his marble forehead. It was smooth as -alabaster, cold as ice. - -"Win--ny Ca--va-na, good-by," he faintly breathed in her ear. "My -days, my hours, my very moments are numbered. I feel death trembling -in every vein, in every nerve. I could--could--have--lived for -you--Winny; but even--to--die for you--is--a blessing, -because--successful. One last request--Winny, my best beloved, is ---all--I have--to ask; spare me--a spot in Rathcash--chapel-yard, in -the space allotted to--the--Cavanas. I feel some wonderful strength -given me just now. It is a special mercy that I may speak with you -before I go. But, Winny, my own precious, dearest love, do not deceive -yourself. If I reach home to receive my mother's blessing before I -die, it is the most--" and he leaned his head against his father's -breast. - -"No more delay!" cried Winny energetically, "Time is too precious to -be lost; bring the cart here, and let us take him home at once, and -send for {242} the doctor. Oh, policeman, one of you is enough to -remain with the prisoner here; do, like a good man, leave your gun and -belts here, and run off across the fields as fast as you can, and -bring Dr. Sweeney to Rathcash house." - -"To Shanvilla," faintly murmured the wounded man; "and bring Father -Farrell." - -"Yes, yes, to Shanvilla, to be sure," repeated Winny; "my selfish -heart had forgotten his poor mother." - -Emon opened his eyes at the word mother, and smiled. It was a smile of -thanks; and he closed them again. - -The policeman had obeyed her request in a moment; and, stripped of ail -incumbrances, he was clearing the hedges, ditches, and drains toward -Dr. Sweeney's. - -They then placed Lennon, as gently as if he were made of wax, into the -cart, his head lying in Winny's lap, and his hand clasped in hers, -while the distracted father led the horse more like an automaton than -a human being. They proceeded at a very gentle pace, for the cart had -no springs, and Winny knew that a jolt might be fatal if the blood -burst forth afresh. The policeman followed with his prisoner at some -distance; and ere long, for the dawn had become clear, he saw his -comrades coming on behind him, a long way off. But there was evidently -a man beside themselves and Jamesy Doyle. He sat down by the side of -the road until they came up. - -How matters stood was then explained to Sergeant Driscoll aside. -Cotter told him he had no hopes that ever Lennon would reach home -alive; that Donovan had gone off across the country for the doctor and -the priest, and his _carabine_ and belts were on the cart. - -"We will take that prisoner from you, Cotter," said Driscoll, "and do -you get on to the cart as fast as you can; you may be of use. I don't -like to bring this villain Murdock in sight of them; you need not say -we have got him at all. We will go on straight to the barrack by the -lower road, and let you go up to Lennon's with the cart. But see here, -Cotter--do not speak to the wounded man at all, and don't let anybody -else speak to him either. We don't want a word from him; sure we all -saw it as plain as possible." - -Cotter then hastened on, and soon overtook the cart. He merely said, -in explanation of being by himself, that his comrades had come up, and -that he had given his prisoner to them and hastened on to see if he -could be of any use. - -Winny soon suggested a use for the kind-hearted man--to help poor Pat -Lennon into the cart, and to lead the horse. This was done without -stirring hand or foot of the poor sufferer; and the father lay at -Emon's other side scarcely less like death than he was himself. - -When they came to the end of the road which turned to Rathcash and -Shanvilla, Winny, as was natural, could have wished to go to Rathcash. -She knew not how her poor father had been left, or what might be his -fate. She could not put any confidence in the assurance of such -ruffians, that a hair of his head should not be hurt; and did not one -of the villains remain in the house? Yes, Winny, one of them _did -remain_ in the house, but he _did no harm to your father_. - -With all her affection and anxiety on her father's account, Winny -could not choose but to go on to Shanvilla. The less moving poor Emon -got the better, and to get from under his head now and settle him -afresh would be cruel, and might be fatal. Winny, therefore, sat -silent as Cotter turned the horse's head toward Shanvilla, where, ere -another half-hour had added to the increasing light, they had arrived. - -Winny Cavana, who knew what a scene must ensue when they came to the -door, had sent on Cotter to the house; the father again taking his -place at the horse's head. He was to tell Mrs. Lennon that an accident -had happened--no, no, not _that_; but that {243} Emon had been hurt; -and that they were bringing him home quietly for fear of exciting him. - -These precautions were of no use. Mrs. Lennon had waited but for the -word "hurt," which she understood at once as importing something -serious. She rushed from the house like a mad woman, and stood upon -the road gazing up and down. Fortunately Winny had the forethought to -stop the cart out of sight of the house to give Cotter time to execute -his mission, and calm Mrs. Lennon as much as possible. It was a lucky -thought, and Cotter, who was a very intelligent man, was equal to the -emergency. - -As Mrs. Lennon looked round her in doubt, Cotter cried out, "Oh, don't -go that road, Mrs. Lennon, for God's sake!" and he pointed in the -direction in which the cart was not. It was enough; the ruse had -succeeded; and Mrs. Lennon started off at full speed, clapping her -hands and crying out: "Oh! Emon, Emon, have they killed you at last? -have they killed you? Oh! Emon, Emon, my boy, my boy!" And she clapped -her hands, and ran the faster. She was soon out of sight and hearing. - -"Now is your time," said Cotter, running back to the cart; "she is -gone off in another direction, and we'll have him on his bed before -she comes back." - -They then brought the cart to the door, and in the most gentle and -scientific manner lifted poor Emon into the house and laid him on his -bed. - -"God bless you, Winny!" he said, stretching out his hand. "Don't, like -a good girl, stop here now. Return to your poor father, who must be -distracted about you. I'm better and stronger, thank God, and will be -able to see you again before I--" - -"Whist, whist, Emon mavourneen, don't talk that way; you are better, -blessed be God! I must, indeed, go home, Emon, as you say, for my -heart is torn about my poor father. God bless you, Emon, my own Emon!" -And she stooped down and kissed his pale lips. - -Cotter and she then left the house and made all the speed they could -toward Rathcash. They had not gone very far when Cotter heard Mrs. -Lennon coming back along the road, and they saw her turn in toward her -own house. - -Bully-dhu having satisfied himself that nothing further was to be -apprehended from the senseless form of a man upon the kitchen floor, -and finding it impossible to burst open the door where his master was -confined, thought the next best thing that he could do was to bemoan -the state of affairs outside the house, in hope of drawing some help -to the spot. Accordingly he took his post immediately at the -house-door, still determined to be on the safe side, for fear the man -was scheming. Here he set up a long dismal and melancholy howl. - -"My father is dead," said Winny; "there is the Banshee." - -"Not at all, Miss Winny; that is a dog." - -"It is all the same; Bully-dhu would not cry that way for nothing; -there is somebody dead, I'm sure." - -"It is because he knew you were gone, Miss Winny, and he did not know -where to look for you; that's all, you may depend." - -"Thank you, Cotter; the dog might indeed do that same. God grant it is -nothing worse!" - -By this time they were at the door, and Cotter followed Bully-dhu into -the house. Winny, without looking right or left, rushed to her -father's room. She found it locked, but, quickly turning the key, she -burst in. It was now broad daylight, and she saw at a glance her -father stretched upon the bed, still bound hand and foot. She flew to -the table, and taking his razor cut the cords. The poor old man was -quite exhausted from suspense, excitement, and the fruitless physical -efforts he had been making to free himself. - -"Thank God, father!" she exclaimed; "I hope you are not hurt." - -{244} - -"No, dear. Give me a sup of milk, or I will choke." - -Poor Winny, in the ignorance of her past habits, called out to Biddy -to bring her some. - -Biddy answered with a smothered cry from the inner room. Cotter flew -to the door and unlocked it. In another moment he had set her free -from her cords, and she darted across the kitchen to minister to the -old man's wants at Winny's direction. - -Poor Bully-dhu then pointed out to Cotter the share he had taken in -the night's work, and it might almost be said quietly "gave himself -up." At least he showed no disposition to escape. He lay down at the -dead man's head, sweeping the floor with an odd wag of his bushy tail, -rather proud than frightened at what he had done. That it was his -work, Cotter could not for a moment doubt. The man's throat had by -this time turned almost black, and there were the marks of the dog's -teeth sunk deep at each side of the windpipe, where the choking grip -of death had prevailed. - -Cotter then brought a quilt from the room where he had released Biddy -Murtagh, and spread it over the corpse, and was bringing Bully-dhu out -to the yard, when he met Jamesy Doyle at the door. Jamesy took charge -of him at once, and brought him round to the yard, where for the -present he shut him up in his wooden house; but he did not intend to -neglect him. - -Jamesy told Cotter that Sergeant Driscoll and his men had taken their -prisoners safe to the barracks, and desired him to tell Cotter to join -them as soon as soon as possible. - -"I cannot join them yet awhile, Jamesy; we have a corpse in the -house." - -"God's mercy! an' shure it's not the poor ould masther?" said Jamesy. - -"No; I don't know who he is. He must have been one of the -depredators." - -"An' th' ould masther done for him!--God be praised? More power to his -elbow!" - -"No, Jamesy, it was not the old master. It was Bully-dhu that choked -him--see here;" and he turned down the quilt. - -"The divil a word of lie you're tellin', sir; dear me, but he gev' him -the tusks in style. Begorra, Bully, I'll give you my own dinner -to-day, an' tomorrow, an' next day for that. See, Mr. Cotter, how the -Lord overtakes the guilty at wanst, sometimes. Didn't he strike down -Tom Murdock wid lightning, an' he batin' me out a horseback? an I'd -never have cum up wid him only for that." - -Cotter could not help smiling at Jamesy's enthusiasm. - -"What are you laughin' at, Mr. Cotter? Maybe it's what you don't give -in to me; but I tell you I seen the flash of lightning take him down -ov the horse, as plain as the daylight. Where's Miss Winny?" - -"Whist, whist, boy, don't be talking that way. Never heed Miss Winny; -she's with her father. I would not like her to see this dead man here; -don't be talking so loud. Is there any place we could draw him into, -until we find out who he is?" - -"An' _I'd_ like to show him to Miss Winny, for Bully-dhu's sake. Will -I call her?" - -"If you do, I'll stick you with this, Jamesy," said Cotter, getting -angry, and tapping his bayonet with his finger. - -"Begorra, an' that's not the way to get me to do anything, I can tell -you; for I--" - -"Well, there's a good boy, James; you have proved your cell one -tonight; and now for God's sake don't fret poor Miss Winny worse than -what she is already, and it would nearly kill her to see this dead man -here now--it would make her think of some one else dead, -Jamesy--_thigum thu_? - -"_Thau_, begorra--you're right enough." - -{245} - -"Where can we bring him to? is there any outhouse or place?" - -"To be sure there is; there's the barn where I sleep; cum out wid him -at wanst. I'll take him by the heels, an' let you dhraw him along the -floore by his shoulders." - -There was a coolness and intrepidity about all Jamesy's acts and -expressions which surprised Cotter. With all his experience he had -never seen the same in so young a boy--except in a hardened villain; -and he had known Jamesy for the last four years to be the very -contrary. Cotter, however, was not philosopher enough to know that an -excess of principle, and a total want of it, might produce the same -intrepidity of character. - -Cotter took the dead man under the shoulders and drew him along, while -Jamesy took him by the feet and pushed him. - -Neither Winny, nor Biddy, nor the old man knew a word about this part -of the performance. Jamesy saw the propriety of keeping it to himself -for the present. Cotter locked the barn-door and took away the key -with him. He told Jamesy that he would find out from the other -prisoner "who the corpse was," and that he would call again with -instructions in the course of the day. He then hastened to the -barrack, and Jamesy went in to see Miss Winny and the ould masther. -The message which Cotter had sent her by Jamesy was this--"To keep up -her heart, and to hold herself in readiness for a visit from the -resident magistrate before the day was over." - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -It was still very early. The generality of the inhabitants were not -yet up, and Winny sighed at the long sad day which was before her. She -had first made her father tell her how the ruffians had served him, -and after hearing the particulars she detailed everything which had -befallen herself. She described the battle at the bridge, as well as -her sobs would permit her, from the moment that Lennon sprang up from -behind the battlement to their rescue until the fatal arrival of the -police, as she called it, upon the approach of whom "that demon fired -his pistol at my poor Emon as close as I am to you, father." - -"Well, well; Winny, don't lave the blame upon the police; he would -have fired at Lennon whether they cum up or not, for Emon never would -have let go his holt." - -"True enough, father. I do not lay it upon them at all. Emon would -have clung to his horse for miles if he had not shot him down." - -"Beside, Jamesy says the police has him fast enough. Isn't that a -mercy at all events, Winny?" - -"It is only the mercy of revenge, father, God forgive me for the -thought. The law will call it justice." - -"And a just revenge is all fair an' right, Winny. He had no pity on an -innocent boy, an' why should you have pity on a guilty villain?" - -"Pity! No, father, I have no pity for him. But I wish I did not feel -so vengeful." - -"But how did the police hear of it, Winny, or find out which way they -went; an' what brought Jamesy Doyle up with them?" - -"We must ask Jamesy himself about that, father," she said; and she -desired Biddy to call him in, for he was with Bully-dhu. - -Jamesy was soon in attendance again, and they made him sit down, for -with all his pluck he looked weary and fatigued. They then asked him -to tell everything, from the moment he first heard the men smashing -the door. - -Jamesy Doyle's description of the whole thing was short and decisive, -told in his own graphic style, with many "begorras," in spite of -Winny's remonstrances. - -"Begorra, Miss Winny, I tould Bully-dhu what they were up to, an' I -let him in at the hall doore, an' {246} when I seen him tumble the -fust man he met, and stick in his windpipe without so much as a growl, -I knew there was one man wouldn't lave that easy, any way; an' I med -off for the polis as fast as my legs and feet could carry me." - -"And how did--how--did--poor Emon hear of it?" sighed Winny. - -"Arra blur-an-ages, Miss Winny, didn't I cut across by Shanvilla, an' -tould him every haporth? Why, miss, he'd murdher me af I let him lie -there dhramin', an' they carrin' you off, Miss Winny." - -"Oh, Jamesy, why did you not go straight for the police, and never -mind Emon-a-knock?" she said. - -"Ah! Winny dear," said her father, "remember that there was nearly -half-an-hour's battle at the bridge before the police came up; and had -your persecutor that half-hour's law, where and what would you be -now?" - -"I did not care. I would have fought my battle alone against twenty -Tom Murdocks. They might have ill-used me, and then murdered me, but -what of that? Emon-a-knock would live, perhaps to avenge me; but -now--now--oh, father, father! I wish he had murdered me along with -Emon. But, God forgive me, indeed I am very sinful; I forgot you, -father dear. Here, Biddy, get the kettle boiling; we all want a cup of -tea;" and she put her handkerchief to her swimming eyes. - -Jamesy had thrown himself in his clothes on some empty sacks in a -corner of the kitchen, saying, "Miss Winny, I'm tired enough to sleep -anywhere, an' I'll lie down here." - -"Hadn't you better go to your own bed in the barn, Jamesy, where you -can take off your clothes? I am sure you would be more comfortable." - -"No, Miss Winny, I'm sure I would not. Beside, the policeman tuck--" -Jamesy stopped himself. "What the mischief have I been saying?" -thought he. - -"The policeman took what, Jamesy?" said Winny. - -"He tuck the key, miss. He said no one should g'win there till he cum -back." - -"Oh, very well, Jamesy; lie down, and let me throw this quilt over -you. But, God's mercy, if here is not a pool of blood! I wonder what -brought it here? Oh, am I doomed to sec nothing but blood--blood? What -is this, Jamesy, do you know?" - -"I do, miss. It was Bully-dhu that cut one of the men when they cum -in; and no cure for him, Miss Winny!" - -"Why, he must have cut him severely, James; the whole floor is covered -with blood." - -"Cut him, is it? Begorra, Miss Winny, he kilt him out-an-out. I may as -well tell you the thruth at wanst." - -"For heaven's sake, you do not mean to say that he actually killed -him, Jamesy?" - -"That's just what I do mane. Miss Winny, an' I may as well tell you, -for Mr. Cotter will be here by-an-bye with the coroner and a jury to -hould an inquest. Isn't he lyin' there abroad in the barn as stiff as -a crowbar, an' as ugly as if he was bespoke, miss? Didn't I help Mr. -Cotter to carry him out, or rather to dhrag him? for begorra he was as -heavy as if he was made of lead!" - -"Fie, fie, James, you should not talk that way of any poor -fellow-being--for shame!" - -"An' a bad fellow-bein' he was, to cum here to carry you away. Miss -Winny, an' maybe to murdher you in the mountain, or maybe worse. My -blessin' on you, Bully-dhu!" - -Winny was shocked at the cool manner in which Jamesy spoke of such a -frightful occurrence. She was afraid she would never make a Christian -of him. - -Cotter and a comrade soon returned and took charge of the body until -the coroner should arrive. They had served summonses upon twelve or -fourteen of the most respectable neighbors--good men and true. They -had ascertained that the deceased was a man named John Fahy, from the -{247} county of Cavan, a reputed Ribbonman. The cart had belonged to -him, but of course there was no name upon it. The news of the whole -affair had already spread like fire the moment the people began to get -about; and two brothers of Fahy's arrived to claim the body before the -inquest was over. - -Jamesy Doyle was the principal witness "before the fact." His evidence -was like himself all over. Having been sworn by the coroner, he did -not think that sufficient, but began his statement with another oath -of his own--the reader knows by this time what it was. The coroner -checked him, and reminded him that he was already on his solemn oath, -and that light swearing of that kind was very unseemly, and could not -be permitted. He advised him to be cautions. - -Jamesy had sense enough to take his advice, although he seldom took -Winny's upon the same subject. - -"When first I heerd the _rookawn_ I got up, an' dhrew on my clothes, -an' cum round the corner of the house. I seen three men stannin' at -the doore, an' I heerd wan of 'em ordher it to be bruck in. I knew -there was but two women an' wan ould man, the masther, in the house, -an' I knew there was no use in goin' in to be murdhered, an' that I -could be of more use a great dale outside. Bully-dhu was roarin' like -a lion in the back yard, an' couldn't get out. I knew Bully was well -able for wan of 'em, any way, if not for two, an' I let him out an' -brought him to the hall-doore. The minit ever I let him out iv the -yard he was as silent as the grave, an' I knew what that meant. Well, -I brought him to the doore, an' pointed to the deceased, for he was -the first man I seen in from me. Well, without with your lave or by -your lave, Bully had him tumbled on the floore, an' his four big teeth -stuck in his windpipe. 'That'll do,' says I, 'as far as wan of ye -goes, any way;' an' I med off for the police. I wasn' much out about -Bully, your worship, for the man never left that antil Mr. Cotter an' -I helped him out into the barn." - -Cotter was then examined. His evidence was "that he had found the -deceased lying dead on the kitchen floor; that the dog on entering lay -down at his head and put his paw upon his breast, as if pointing out -what he had done." That was all he knew about it. - -The doctor was then examined--surgeon, perhaps, we should call him on -this occasion--and swore "that he had carefully examined the deceased; -that he had been choked; and that the wounds in the throat indicated -that they had been inflicted by the teeth of a large, powerful dog; no -cat nor other animal known in this country could have done it." - -This closed the evidence. The coroner made a short charge to the jury, -and the verdict was "that the deceased, John Fahy, as they believed -him to be, had come by his death by being suffocated _and choked_ by a -large black dog called Bully-dhu, belonging to one Edward Cavana, of -Rathcash, in the parish, etc., etc.; but that inasmuch as he, the said -deceased, was in the act of committing a felony at the time, for -which, if convicted in a court of law, he would have forfeited his -life, they would not recommend the dog to be destroyed." - -The coroner said "he thought this was a very elaborate verdict upon so -simple a case; and disagreed with the jury upon the latter part of the -verdict. The dog could not have known that, and it was evident he was -a ferocious animal, and he thought he ought to be destroyed." - -"He did know it, your honor," vociferated Jamesy Doyle. "Didn't I tell -him, and wasn't it I pointed out the deceased to him, and tould him to -hould him? If it was th' ould masther or myself kilt him, you couldn't -say a haporth to aidher of us, let alone the dog." - -If this was not logic for the coroner, it was for the jury, who -refused to change their verdict. But the {248} tack to the verdict, -exonerating poor Bully-dhu, was almost unnecessary, where he had such -a friend in court as Jamesy Doyle; for he, anticipating some such -attempt, had provided for poor Bully's safety. His first act after -Cotter had left in the morning was to get a chum of his, who lived not -for off, to take the dog in his collar and strap to an uncle's son, a -first cousin of his, about seven miles away, to tell him what had -happened, and to take care of the dog until the thing "blew over," and -that "Miss Winny would never forget it to him." - -Billy Brennan delivered the dog and the message safely; "he'd do more -nor that for Miss Winny;" or for that matter for the dog himself, for -they were great play-fellows in the dry grass of a summer's day. Now -it was a strange fact, and deserves to be recorded for the curious in -such things, that although Bully-dhu had never seen Jamesy's cousin in -his life, and that although he was a surly, distant dog to strangers, -he took up with young Barny Foley the moment he saw him. He never -stirred from his side, and did not appear inclined to leave the place. - -Before the inquest had closed its proceedings the two brothers of the -deceased man adverted to had arrived to take away the dead body. It -was well for poor Bully-dhu, after all, that Jamesy had been so -thoughtful, although it was quite another source of danger he had -apprehended. The two Fahys searched high and low for the dog, one of -them armed secretly with a loaded pistol, but both openly with huge -crab-tree sticks to beat his brains out, in spite of coroner, -magistrate, police, or jury. But they searched in vain. They offered -Jamesy, not knowing the stuff he was made of, a pound-note "to show -them where the big black dog was." His answer, though mute, was just -like him. He put his left thumb to the tip of his nose, his right -thumb to the little finger of the left hand, and began to play the -bagpipes in the air with his fingers. - -They pressed it upon him and he got vexed. - -"Begorra," said be, "af ye cum here to-night after midnight to take -Miss Winny away, I'll show him to you, an' maybe it wouldn't be worth -the coroner's while to go home." - -"He may stay where he is, for that matther," said one of the brothers. -"He'll have work enough tomorrow or next day at Shanvilla;" and they -turned away. - -"Ay, and the hangman from the county of _Cavan_ will have something to -do soon afther," shouted Jamesy after them, who was never at a loss -for an answer. He had the last word here, and it was a sore one. - -As the brothers Fahy failed in their search for Bully, they had -nothing further that they dare vent their grief and indignation upon. -It was no use in bemoaning the matter there amongst unsympathizing -strangers; so they fetched the cart to the barn-door and laid the -corpse into it, covering it with a white sheet which they had brought -for the purpose. - -"Will I lind you a hand, boys?" said Jamesy, as they were struggling -with the weight of the dead man at the barn-door. - -The scowl he got from one of the brothers would have discomfited a boy -less plucky or self-possessed than Jamesy Doyle; but he had not said -it in irony. No one there appeared inclined to give any help, and -Jamesy actually did get under the corpse, and "_helped_ him into the -cart," as he said himself. - -The unfortunate men then left, walking one at each side of their dead -brother. And who is there, except perhaps Jamesy Doyle, who would not -pity them as they rumbled their melancholy way down the boreen to the -road? - -{249} - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -About two hours later in the day "the chief" arrived to "visit the -scene," as he was bound to do before he made his report. - -He was received courteously and with respect by Winny Cavana, who -showed him into the parlor. He considerately began by regretting the -unfortunate and melancholy occurrence which had taken place; but of -course added, the satisfaction it was to him, indeed that it must be -to every one, that the perpetrators had been secured, particularly the -principal mover in the sad event. - -Winny made no remark, and "the chief" then requested her to state in -detail what had occurred from the time the men broke into the house -until the shot was fired which wounded the man. She seemed at first -disinclined to do so; but upon that gentleman explaining that she -would be required to do so on her oath, when the magistrate called to -take her information, she merely sighed, and said: - -"I suppose so; indeed I do not see why I should not." - -She then gave him a plain and succinct account as far as their conduct -to herself was concerned, and referred him to her father and the -servants for the share they had taken toward them. - -He then obtained from old Cavana, Biddy Murtagh, and Jamesy Doyle what -they knew of the transaction; and thus fully primed and loaded for his -report, he left, telling Winny Cavana "the stipendiary magistrate had -left home the day before, but that he would be back the next day; and -she might expect an official visit from him, as he would make -arrangements with him that she should not be brought from her home, -when no doubt the prisoners would be remanded for the doctor's report -of the wounded man." - -The morning after "the chief" had been at Rathcash house, Winny -Cavana, almost immediately after breakfast, told Jamesy Doyle to get -ready and come with her to Shanvilla. She was anxious to ascertain -from personal knowledge how poor Emon was going on. She was distracted -with the contradictory reports which Biddy Murtagh brought in from -time to time from the passers-by upon the road. Winny had little, if -any, hope at all that Edward Lennon would survive. She had been -assured by Father Farrell, in whose truth and experience she placed -the greatest confidence, that it was _impossible_, although he might -linger for a few days. The doctor, too, had pronounced the same solemn -doom. Her thoughts as she hastened toward Shanvilla were full of awe -and _determination_. She had spent the night, the entire night, for -she had never closed an eye, in laying down a broad short map of her -future life, and it was already engraven on her mind. She had been -clever in drawing such things at the school where she had him been -educated, and her thoughts now took that form. - -Her poor father while he lived; herself before and after his death; -the Lennons one and all; Kate Mulvey, Phil M'Dermott, Jamesy Doyle, -Biddy Murtagh, and Bully-dhu were the only spots marked upon the map; -but they were conspicuous, like the capital towns of counties. There -was but one river on the map, and it could be traced by Winny's tears. -It was the great river of "the Past," and rose in the distant -mountains of her memory which hemmed in this map of her fancy. It -flowed first round old Ned and the Lennons, who were bounded by Winny -on the north, south, east, and west. It passed by Kate Mulvey and Phil -M'Dermott, and thence passing by Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and -Bully-dhu, it emptied itself into the Irish ocean of Winny's -affectionate heart. - -Winny knew that she would meet Father Farrell at Emon's bedside; he -scarcely ever left it; and she knew {250} that he would not deceive -her as to his real state. She knew, too, that he would not refuse her -a sincere Christian advice and counsel upon the sudden resolve which -had taken possession of her heart. - -Father Farrell saw her coming from Emon's window, and went to meet her -at the door. They stood in the kitchen alone. The poor father and -mother had been kept out of Emon's room by the priest, and were -bewailing their fate in their own room. - -"I am glad you are come, Winny, dear," said he. "The poor fellow has -not ceased to speak of you and pray for you from the first, when he -does transgress his orders not to speak at all." - -"How is he, oh, how is he, Father Farrell?" - -"Stronger just now, but dying, Winny Cavana. Let nothing tempt you to -deceive yourself. He has been so much stronger for the last hour or so -that I was just going to send my gig for yon. He said it would soothe -his death-bed, which he knows he is on, Winny, to see you and have -your blessing." - -"He shall have my blessing, and I shall claim every right to give it -to him. Father Farrell," she added, solemnly, but with a full, -untrembling tone, "will you marry me to Edward Lennon?" - -The priest almost staggered back from her for a moment. - -"Yes, Father Farrell, you have heard aright, and I solemnly and -sincerely repeat the question. Listen: You must know that never on -this earth will I wed any other. I shall devote myself and the greater -portion of any wealth I may possess to the church for charitable -purposes after Edward Lennon, my future husband--future here and -hereafter--is dead. I wish to call him husband by that precious right -which death will so soon rob me of. Even so, Father Farrell; give me -that right, short though it be. It will enable me legally to provide -for his honest, stout-hearted father and his broken-hearted mother, -without the lying lips of slander doubting the motive. Oh, Father -Farrell, it is the only consolation left me now to hope for, or in -your power to bestow." - -The priest was struck dumb. Her eyes, her breath, pleaded almost more -than her words. - -Father Farrell sat down upon a form. - -"Winny Cavana," he said, "do not press me--that is, I mean, do not -hurry me. The matter admits of serious consideration, and may not be -altogether so unreasonable or extraordinary as it might at first -appear. But I say that it requires consideration. Walk abroad for a -few minutes and let me think." - -"No, father. You may remain here for a few minutes and think. Let me -go in and see my poor Emon." - -"Yes, yes, you shall; but I must go in along with you, Winny. I can -come out again if I find that more consideration is necessary." - -Winny saw that she had gained her point. They then entered the room, -and Emon cast such a look of gratitude and love upon Winny as calmed -every doubt upon the priest's mind, for he was afraid that Emon -himself would object, and that the scene would injure him. - -Winny was soon at Emon's side, with his hand clasped in hers. - -"You are come, Winny dear, to bid me a final good-by--in this world," -he murmured. "God bless you for your goodness and your love for me!" - -"I am come, Emon dear, to fulfil that love in the presence of heaven, -and with Father Farrell's sanction--am I not, Father Farrell?" - -"I never doubted it, Winny dear." - -"And you shall not doubt it now. You shall die declaring it. Emon-- -Emon, my own Emon-a-knock, I am come to claim the promise you gave me -to make me your wife." - -"Great God, Winny I are you mad?--she not mad. Father Farrell?" - -{251} - -"No, Emon dear, she really is not mad. She will devote herself and her -whole future life to charity and the love of a better world than this. -She can do that not only as well, but better, in some respects, as -your widow than otherwise. I have considered the matter, and I cannot -see that there are any just reasons to deny her request." - -"Then I shall die happy, though it be this very night. But oh, Winny, -Winny, think of what you are about; time will soften your grief, and -you may yet be happy with ano--" - -"Stop, Emon dear--not another word; for here, before heaven and Father -Farrell, I swear never shall I marry any one in this world but you. -Here, Father Farrell, begin; here is a ring you gave me yourself, -Emon, and although not a wedding-ring it will do very well--we will -make one of it." - -Father Farrell then brought in Emon's father and mother, and married -Winny Cavana to the dying man. - -She stooped down and kissed his pallid lips. Big drops of sweat burst -out upon his forehead, and Father Farrell saw that the last moment was -at hand. Winny held his hand between both hers, and said, "Emon, you -are now mine--mine by divine right, and I resign you to the Lord." And -she looked up to heaven through the roof, while the big tears rolled -down her pale cheeks. - -"Winny," said Emon, in a solemn but distinct voice, "I now die happy. -For this I have lived, and for this I die. I cannot count on even -hours now; my moments are numbered. I feel death trembling round my -heart. But you have calmed its approach, Winny dear. Your love and -devotion at a moment like this is the happiest pang that softens my -passage to the grave. I can now claim a right to what you promised me -as a favor--my portion of your space in Rathcash chapel-yard. God -bless you, Winny dear!--Good-by--my--wife!" - -Yes, Emon had lived and had died for the love of her who was _now his -widow_. - -As Emon had ceased to speak, a bright smile broke over his whole -countenance, and he rendered his last sigh into the safe-keeping of -his guardian angel, until the last great day. - -Winny knew that he was dead, though his breath had passed so gently -forth that he might have been only falling asleep. She continued to -hold his hand, and to gaze upon his still features, while Father -Farrell's lips moved in silent prayer, more for the living than the -dead. - -"Come, Winny," he at last said, "you cannot remain here just at -present. Come along with me, and I will bring you in my gig to your -father's house, where I will tell him all myself." - -"Oh, thank you, thank you, Father Farrell," she said, turning -resignedly with him. "Tell poor Pat Lennon what has happened; their -pity for me as a companion in their grief may help to soften their -own. Tell him, of course, Father Farrell, that I shall take all the -arrangements of the funeral upon myself--God help them and me!" - -As they came from the dead man's room they met Pat Lennon in the -kitchen, and Winny, throwing her arms round his neck, caught the big -salt tears which were rolling down his face upon her quivering lips. - -"I have a right to call you father now," she exclaimed. "You have lost -a son, but I will be your daughter," and she kissed him again and -again. - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -On their way to Rathcash, Winny in the first instance told the priest -that "of course her poor husband should be buried in Rathcash -chapel-yard, and, as a matter in which she could not interfere, by -Father Roche." Here she stopped, but the kind-hearted priest took her -up at once. - -{252} - -"Of course, my dear child," he said, "that will be quite right. -Indeed, Winny, I should not wish to be the person so soon to add that -sad ceremony to the still sadder one I was engaged in to-day." - -"Before God or man, Father Farrell, you will never have cause to -regret that act. It was my own choosing after deliberate -consideration, and I was best judge of my own feelings. I _can_ be -happy now. I never _could_ be happy if it were otherwise." - -"God grant it, my love," said the priest. - -"But still, Father Farrell," she continued, "I have something more for -you to do for me. Will you not, like a good man, take all the -arrangement of the funeral upon yourself? I will pay every penny of -the expenses, and let them not be niggardly. Thank God, Father -Farrell, I can do so now without reproach." - -The kind, sympathizing priest engaged to do everything which was -requisite in the most approved of manner. The more he reflected upon -what he had done, the less fault he had to find with himself. There -was a calm, resigned tone about all that Winny now said very different -from what he might have anticipated from his knowledge of her temper -and disposition, had the fatal moment taken place when the shot was -fired, or even subsequently before she became Edward Lennon's wife. -Bitter revenge, he thought, would have seized her soul toward the man -who had deprived her of all hope or source of happiness in this world. -Now the only time she trusted her tongue to speak of him was an -exclamation--"May God forgive him!" - -They soon arrived at Rathcash house, where Father Farrell paid a long -visit to old Ned Cavana. His kindness quite gained upon the old man, -and, before he left, he acquainted him with the facts of his -daughter's position and the death of her husband. - -The old man sat silent for some time after the truth had been made -known to him. Winny stood hoping for a look of encouragement and -forgiveness; but the old man gave it not. At length, with that -impatience habitual to her disposition, she rushed into his arms and -wept upon his breast. - -"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "I could never be the wife of any man -living after poor Emon's death in defence of my life; ay, more than my -life, of my honor." - -"But oh, Winny, Winny! to sacrifice yourself for a man so near the -grave! There was no hope for him, I heerd." - -"None, father. I was aware of that. Had there been, I should have -waited patiently. I told Father Farrell here my plans, and the same -thing as swore that I would not alter them. He will now tell them to -you, father dear; and I shall lie down for a couple of hours, for -indeed I want rest of both body and mind." - -She then kissed her father again and again, and blessed him, or rather -she prayed God to do so, and went to her room. - -Father Farrell then explained all Winny's views to her distracted -father, observing, as he had been enjoined to do, the tenderest love -and respect for the old man; taking nothing "for granted;" but at the -same time showing the utmost confidence that all matters would still -be arranged for his daughter in the same manner he had often explained -to her to be his intention. "One step she was determined on," Father -Farrell said; "and that was to join a religious sisterhood of charity -in the north. Nothing should ever tempt her to marry." - -"I'll sell this place at wance," said old Ned. "It's not a month since -I had a rattlin' bid for it; but my landlord--and he's member for the -county, you know--tould me with his own lips, that if ever I had a -mind to part with it, he'd give me a hundred pounds more for it than -any one else." - -"That was Winny's wish, Ned; and that you should remove with her to -the north, where she would settle you comfortably, and where she could -{253} see you almost every day in the week." - -"Almost," repeated old Ned, sorrowfully. - -"Well, perhaps every day, Ned, for that matter." - -"Well, Father Farrell, I would not wish to stay here any longer afther -what has happened. I'll sell the place out an' out at wance. I have -nothing to do but to write to my landlord. I could not bear to be -lookin' across at Mick Murdock's afther what tuck place. I think my -poor Winny is right; an' that it was the Lord put it all into her -head. Athen, Father Farrell, maybe it was yourself laid it down for -the little girl?" - -"No, Ned; she laid it all down for me. I was going to reason with her -at first, but she put her hand upon my mouth, and told me to stop; -that nothing should alter her plans. I considered her words, Ned, for -a while, and I gave in; not on account of her determination, but -because I thought she was right. And I think so still; even to the -marrying of Emon on his death-bed." - -"Indeed, Father Farrell, you have aised my mind. Glory be to God that -guided her!" - -"Amen," said the priest. - -Father Farrell had now in the kindest manner dealt with old Ned -Cavana, according to Winny's wishes and instructions; so that it was -an easy matter for Winny herself on that evening, when she had joined -her father after a refreshing sleep, to explain more in detail her -intentions as regarded herself, and her wishes as regarded her -friends--those capitals of counties which were marked on the map of -her imagination. - -Old Ned was like a child in her hands; and no mother ever handled her -first-born babe more fondly than Winny dealt with her poor old father. - -"Ducks an' dhrakes iv it, Winny asthore; ducks an' dhrakes iv it, -Winny dear! Isn't it all your own; what do I want with it, mavrone, -but to see you happy? an' haven't you laid out a plan for both -yourself an' myself that can't be bet, Winny mavoureen?" - -The old man was perfectly satisfied with the map, and studied it so -well that he had it by heart before he went to bed, and could have -told you the boundaries of all Winny's wishes to the breadth of a -hair, as he kissed her for the last time that night. - -I will spare the reader a detail of the melancholy _cortège_ of poor -Emon-a-knock's funeral, which proceeded from Shanvilla to Rathcash -chapel-yard the day but one after. - -Winny had expressed a wish to attend it, but had yielded to the joint -advice of Father Farrell and Father Roche to resist the impulse. - -Emon-a-knock had been well and truly loved in life, and was now -sincerely regretted in death. Father Farrell, at the head of the -procession, was met by Father Roche bare-headed at the chapel-gate of -Rathcash, and the melancholy ceremony was performed amidst the silent -grief of the immense crowd around. Poor Emon's last wish was complied -with, and he now occupied his last resting-place with the Cavanas of -Rathcash. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -It was still about an hour after noon when Winny beheld from the -parlor window at which she stood a very exciting cavalcade upon the -road, slowly approaching the house. At once she became acquainted with -the whole concern. "The chief" had fore-warned her that she might -expect a visit from the magistrate the moment he returned; and her -intelligence at once recognized the addition of the police and -prisoners some distance in rear of the car. - -Winny's heart beat quick and high as she saw them draw nigh and turn -up the lane. It would be mock heroism to say that it did not. She knew -{254} that Tom Murdock, the murderer of her husband, must be one of -the prisoners, but she did not know why they were bringing him -there--for the police had now made the turn. She thought the -magistrate might have spared her that fresh excitement--that renewal -of her hate. But the magistrate was one of those who had anticipated -the law by his sense of justice and his practice. He was one who gave -every one of his majesty's subjects fair play, and it was therefore -his habit to have the accused face to face with the accuser when -informations were taken and read. - -Poor Winny was rather fluttered and disturbed when they entered, -notwithstanding "the chief" had considerately prepared her for the -visit. She did not lose her self-possession, however, so much as to -forget the respect and courtesy due to gentlemen, beside being -officers of the law. She asked them down into the parlor, and -requested of them to be seated. They accepted her civility in silence, -seeing enough in her manner to show them that she was greatly -distressed, and required a little time to compose herself'. She was, -however, the first to speak. - -"I suppose, gentlemen, you are come respecting this sad affair. I told -this gentleman here all I knew about it yesterday." - -"Yes, but matters are still worse today, although there was no hope -even then that they would be better. Of course it will relieve you so -far at once to tell you that we are aware of the position in which you -now stand toward the deceased." - -"Yes, sir. It was with a wish that the world might know it I took the -step I did. I had Father Farrell's approval of it, and my own -parish-priest's as well; but subsequently--" - -"My good girl, we did not come here to question the propriety or -otherwise of either your actions or your motives. Nor do I for one -hesitate to say that I believe both to have been unexceptionable. But -it will be necessary that you should make an information upon oath as -to what took place from the first moment the men came to the door, -until the shot was fired by which Edward Lennon came by his death." - -"I suppose, sir, you must have much better evidence than mine as to -the firing of the shot. I can only swear to the fact of two men having -tied me up and carried me away on a cart, and that there was a third -man on horseback with a mask upon his face; that when we came to Boher -bridge, the deceased Edward Lennon and his father came to our rescue; -that there was a long and distracting struggle at the bridge, which -lasted with very doubtful hopes of success for my deliverance until -Jamesy Doyle, our servant-boy, came up with the police; that the man -on horseback with the mask, whom I verily believe to have been Thomas -Murdock, turned to fly; that the deceased Edward Lennon fastened in -his horse's bridle to prevent him; that a deadly struggle ensued -between them, and that the man on horseback fired at the deceased, who -fell, I may say, dead on the road. The sight left my eyes, sir, and -except that we brought the dying man home on the cart, I know no more -about it of my own knowledge, sir." - -"A very plain, straightforward, honest story as I ever heard," said -the magistrate. "But it will be necessary for you, when upon your -oath, to state whether you know, that is, whether you recognized, the -man on horseback at time." - -"I could not recognize his features, sir, on account of the mask he -wore; but I did recognize his voice as that of Tom Murdock, and I know -his figure and general appearance." - -"That will do now, Mrs. Lennon. I shall only trouble you to repeat -slowly and distinctly what you have already said, so that I can write -it down." - -The magistrate then unlocked his leather writing-case, took out the -necessary forms for informations, and was {255} not long embodying -what Winny had to say in premier shape. - -He then went through the same form with old Ned, with Biddy Murtagh, -and with Jamesy Doyle. - -When the magistrate had all the informations taken and arranged, he -directed Sergeant Driscoll to bring in the prisoners, that he might -read them over and swear the several informants in their presence. -Winny became very nervous and fidgety, and would have left the room, -but the magistrate assured her that it was absolutely necessary that -she should remain, at least while her own informations were being -read. He would read them first, and she might then retire. He -regretted very much that it was necessary, but he would not detain her -more than a couple of minutes at most. - -Tom Murdock and the other prisoner were then brought in; and Winny -having identified the other man, her informations were read in a loud, -distinct voice by the magistrate, and she acknowledged herself bound, -etc, etc. - -"You may now retire, Mrs. Lennon," said the magistrate; and she -hastened to leave the room. - -Tom Murdock stood near the door out of which she must pass, his hands -crossed below his breast in consequence of the handcuffs. He knew that -there was no chance of escape, no hope of an alteration or mitigation -of his doom in this world. Everything was too plain against him. There -were several witnesses to his deed of death, and the damning words by -which it was accompanied, and he knew that the rope must be his end. -Well, he had purchased his revenge, and he was willing to pay for it. -He determined, therefore, to put on the bravado, and glut that revenge -upon his still surviving victim. - -"Emon-a-knock is dead. Miss Cavana," said he, as Winny would have -passed him to the door, her eyes fastened on the ground; "but not -buried yet", he added, with a sardonic smile. "I wish I were free of -these manacles, that I might follow his _remains_ to Shanvilla -chapel-yard." - -"You would go wrong," she calmly reply. "He is indeed dead, but not -buried yet. But he is my dead husband, and will lie with the Cavanas -in the chapel-yard of Rathcash, and rise again with them; and I would -rather be possessed of the inheritance of the six feet of grass upon -his grave than be mistress of Rathcash, and Rathcashmore to boot. -Where will you be buried, Tom Murdock? Within the precincts of--the -jail? To rise with-but no! I shall not condemn beyond the grave; may -God forgive you! I cannot." - -Even Tom Murdock's stony heart was moved. "Winny Cavana, do you think -God can?" he said, turning toward her; but she had passed out of the -door. - -The magistrate then read the informations of the other witnesses, -while Tom Murdock and the other prisoner, stood apparently listening, -though they heard not a word. - -Jamesy Doyle's informations were word for word characteristic of -himself. He insisted upon having the flash of lightning inserted -therein, as an undoubted fact, "if ever he saw one knock a man down in -his life." - -The magistrate and "the chief" had then some conversation with old Ned -and Winny, who had returned at their request to the parlor. It was of -a general character, but still respecting the melancholy occurrence, -or indeed occurrences, the magistrate said, for he had heard of the -death of the man who had been killed by the "watch-dog." Ere they left -they took Jamesy aside upon this subject, as the only person who knew -anything of this part of the business, and the magistrate requested -him to state distinctly what he knew of the transaction. - -Jamesy was _distinct_ enough, as the reader will believe, from the -specimens he has already had of his style of communicating facts. - -"Tell me, my good boy," said the magistrate, "did you _set_ the dog at -{256} the deceased?" laying a strong emphasis on the word. - -"Beghorra, your honor, Bully-dhu didn't want any settin' at all. The -minnit he seen the man inside in the kitchen, he stuck in his thrapple -at wanst. I knew he'd hould him till I come back, an' I med off for -the police." - -"Are you aware, my young champion, that if you set the dog at the -deceased you would be guilty of manslaughter at least, if not murder?" - -"Of murdher, is id? Oh, tare anages, what's this for? Begorra, af that -be law it isn't justice. Didn't they tie th' ould masther neck an' -heels? Didn't they tie Miss Winny and carry her off to murdher her, or -maybe worse? Didn't they tie Biddy Murtagh? and wouldn't they ha' tied -me af they could get hoult of me? an' would you want Bully-dhu to sit -on his boss, lookin' on at all that, your honor?" - -"That may be all true, Jamesy, but I do not think the law would -exonerate you, for all that, if you set the dog at the deceased man." - -"Well, begorra, I pointed at the man, your honor; but I tell you -Bully-dhu wanted no settin' at him at all; af he did I'd have given it -to him; and I think the law would onerate me for that same. See here -now, your honor. Af th' ould masther had a double-barrel gun, an' shot -the two men as dead as mutton that was goin' to tie him up, wouldn't -the law be well plaised wid him? and if I had a pistol, an' shot every -man iv 'em, wouldn't your honor make a chief iv me at least, instead -of sending me to jail? and why wouldn't Bully-dhu, who had on'y a pair -of double-barrel tusks, do his part an' help us? I'm feedin' an' -taichin' that dog, your honor, since he was a whelp, an' he never -disappointed me yet--there now!" - -There was certainly natural logic in all this, which the magistrate, -with all his experience of the law, found it difficult to contradict. -A notion had come into his head at one time that if Jamesy Doyle had -set the dog at John Fahy, he might be guilty of his death, -notwithstanding the said John Fahy had been committing a felony at the -time. But there was no proof that he had set the dog at the man beyond -his own admission, and the question had not been raised. Jamesy was -willing to avow his responsibility, as far as it went, in the most -open and candid manner, and not only that, but to _justify_ it, which -he had indeed done in a most extraordinary, clever manner. Then what -had been his conduct all through? Had it not been that of a -courageous, faithful boy, who had risked his own life in obstructing -the escape of the murderer? and was he not the most material witness -they had--the only one who had never lost sight of the man who had -shot Edward Lennon, until he himself had secured him for the police? -"No, no," reflected the magistrate; "it would be absurd to hold Jamesy -Doyle liable for anything, but the most qualified approbation of his -conduct from first to last." - -"Well, Jamesy," said he, out of these thoughts, "we will take your own -opinion in favor of yourself for the present. There is no doubt of -your being forthcoming at the next assizes?" - -"Begorra, your honor, I'll stick to the ould masther and Miss Winny, -an' I don't think they're likely to lave this." - -"That will do, Jamesy. Come, Mr.----, I think we have taken up almost -enough of these poor people's time. We may be going." - -A word or two about old Mick Murdock ere we close this chapter, as the -reader, not having seen or heard of him for some days, will no doubt -be curious to know what he had been doing, and how he comported -himself during so trying and exciting a scene. - -During the period which Tom had spent in the obscure little -public-house {257} upon the mountain road in the county Cavan, his own -report that, he had gone to the north had done him no service; for the -addition which he had tacked to it, about "going to get married to a -rich young lady," was not believed by a single person for whose -deception it had been spread abroad. That sort of thing had been so -often repeated without fulfilment that people reversed the cry of the -wolf upon the subject. - -There was nothing now for it with those to whom Tom was indebted but -to go to his father, in hopes of some arrangement being made to even -secure them in their money. Several bills of exchange--some overdue, -and some not yet at maturity--with his name across them, were brought -to old Mick for sums varying from ten to fifteen and twenty pounds. -Old Mick quietly pronounced them one and all to be _forgeries_. Tom -and he had had some very sharp words before he went away. He had -called the poor old man a "----old niggard" to his face, and he heard -the words "cannot lost very long," as Tom slapped the door behind him. - -Old Mick would have only fretted at all this had his son returned in a -reasonable time to his home, and, as usual, made promises of -amendment, or had even written to him. It was the first time that ever -a forged acceptance had been presented to him for payment, and Tom's -prolonged absence without any preconcerted object to account for it -weighed heavily upon the old man's heart as to his son's real -character. Tom was all this time, as the reader is aware, planning a -bold stroke to secure Winny Cavana's fortune to pay off these -forgeries. But we have seen with what a miserable result. - -It was impossible to hide the glaring fact of Tom Murdock's -apprehension and committal to jail upon the dreadful charge of murder -from his father. It rang from one end of the parish to the other. But -instead of rushing to meet his son, clapping his hands, and -exclaiming, "Oh! wiristhrue, wiristhrue! what's this for?" poor old -Mick was completely prostrated by the news; and there he lay in his -bed, unable to move hand or foot from the poignancy of his grief and -disgrace. - -If Tom Murdock has broken his poor old father's heart, and he never -rises from that bed, it is only another item in his great account. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -The reader will recollect that the incidents recorded in the two last -chapters took place toward the latter end of June. We will, therefore, -have time, before the assizes come on, to let him know how far Winny's -fancy map was perfected. - -For herself, then, first. She had determined to become a member of a -convent in the north of Ireland, giving up the world with all its -vanities--she knew nothing of its pomps--and devoting her time, her -talents, and whatever money she might finally possess, to religious -and charitable purposes. She had not delayed long after the magistrate -and "the chief" had left, and she had experienced a refreshing sleep, -in taking her father into her confidence to the fullest extent of her -intuitions, not only as regarded herself, but with respect to those -friends whom she had set down upon the map to be provided for. - -"Father," she said, continuing a conversation, "there is no use in -your moving such a thing to me. It is no matter at what time you -project it for me; my mind is made up beyond even the consideration of -the question. I will never marry. Do not, like a dear good father that -you have ever been, move it to me any more." - -"Indeed, Winny, I could not add a word more than I have already sed; -an' if that fails to bring you round, {258} share I'm dumb, Winny -asthore. God's will be done! I'm dumb." - -"It is his will I am seeking, father. What matter if we are the last -of the Cavanas, as you say? Beside, my children would not be Cavanas; -recollect that, father." - -"I know that, Winny jewel; but they'd be of th' ould stock all the -same. Their grandfather would be a Cavana, if he lived to see them." - -"Be thankful for what you have, father dear. There never was a large -clan of a name but some one of them brought grief to it." - -"Ay, Winny asthore; but there is always wan that makes up for it by -their superior goodness. Look at me that never had but the wan, an' -wasn't she, an' isn't she, a threasure to me all the days of my life? -Look at that, Winny." - -"And there is your next-door neighbor, father, never had but the one, -and instead of a treasure, has he not been a curse? Look you at that, -father." - -Old Ned was silent for some moments, and Winny did not wish to -interrupt his thoughts. She hoped he was coming quite round to her way -of thinking with respect to her never "getting married;" and she was -right. - -"Well, Winny asthore," he said, after a pause, "shure you're doin' a -good turn for your sowl hereafther at any rate; an' I'll be led an' -sed by your own sinse of goodness in the matther. For myself, Winny, -wheresomever you go I'll go, where I'll see you sometimes--as often as -you can, Winny. Be my time long or short, I know that you will never -see me worse, if not betther nor what I always was. But it isn't aisy -to lave this place, Winny asthore, where I'm livin' since I was the -hoith of your knee with your grandfather an' your grandmother--God -rest their sowls! There isn't a pebble in the long walk in the garden, -nor a pavin'-stone in the yard, that I couldn't place upon paper -forenent you there this minnit, and tell you the color of them every -wan. There's scarcely a blade of grass in the pasthure-fields that I -couldn't remember where it grows in my dhrames. There isn't a -furze-blossom in the big ditch but what I'd know it out iv the bud it -cum from. There isn't a thrush nor a blackbird about the place but -what I know themselves an' their whistles as well as I know your own -song from Biddy Murtagh's or Jamesy Doyle's. Not a robin-redbreast in -the garden, Winny, that doesn't know me as well as I know you; an' I -could tell you the difference between the very chaffinches--I could, -Winny, I could." - -"I know all that, father dear, and I know it will not be easy to break -up all them happy thoughts in your mind. But then you know, father -dear, I could not stop here looking across at the house where that man -lived. God help me, father, I do not know what to do!" - -Poor old Ned saw that she was distressed, and was sorry he had drawn -such a picture of his former happiness at Rathcash. The recollection -of these little matters had run upon his tongue, but it was not with -any intention of using them as an argument to change Winny's plans. - -"Winny," he said, "I didn't mane to fret you; shure I know what you -say is all thrue. I could not stop here myself no more nor what you -could, Winny, afther what has happened. Dear me, Winny jewel, how soon -you seen through that fellow, an' how glad I am that you didn't give -in to me! But now, Winny asthore, let us quit talking of him, and -listen to what I have to say to you. 'Tis just this. My landlord, who -you know is member for the county, tould me any time I had a mind to -sell my intherest in Rathcash, that he'd give me a hundred pounds more -for it than any one else. I'll write to him tomorrow, plaise God, -about it. You know Jerry Carty? Well, he is afther offerin' me seven -hundred {259} pounds into my fist for my good-will of the place. As -good luck would have it, I did not put any price upon it when my -landlord spoke to me about sellin' it. I can tell him now that I have -a mind to sell it, an' I won't hide the raison aidher. I can let him -know what Carty is willin' to give me for it, an' he's sure to give me -eight hundred pounds. You know, Winny, that your six hundred pounds is -in the bank b'arin' intherest for you, an' what you don't dhraw is -added to it every half year. But that's naidher here nor there, Winny, -for it will be all your own the very moment this place is sould, an', -as I sed before, you may make ducks and dhrakes iv it. Shure I know, -Winny, that'll you never see me want for a haporth while I last, be it -long or short. But, Winny dear, let us live in the wan house; that's -all I ax, mavourneen macree." - -"That will be about fourteen hundred pounds in all, father." - -"A thrifle more nor that, I think, Winny. Maybe you did not know how -much or how little it was, when you laid it out the way you tould me." - -"No, not exactly, father; but I knew I must have been very much within -the mark; I took care of that." - -"Go over it again for me, Winny dear, af it wouldn't be too much -throuble." - -"Not in the least, father. You know I took Kate Mulvey first, and -determined to settle three hundred pounds upon her for a fortune -against 'she meets with some young man,' as the song says. And I -believe, father, Phil M'Dermott, the whitesmith, will be about the -man. He is very fond of Kate, but he would not marry any woman until -he had saved enough of money to set up a house comfortly and decently -upon. Three hundred pounds fortune with Kate will set them up in good -style, and I shall see the best friend I ever had happy. Then, father, -there are the Lennons, my poor dear husband's parents, whom I shall -next consider. Pat Lennon, poor Emon's father, risked his life most -manfully in my defence. Were it not for his resolute attack upon the -two men with the cart, and the obstruction he gave them, they would -have carried me through the pass long before the police and Jamesy -Doyle came up; and the probability is that you would never have seen -your poor Winny again. I purpose purchasing the good-will of that -little farm and house from which the Murphys are about to emigrate, -and settle a small gratuity upon them during their lives." - -"Annuity, I suppose you mane, Winny; but it's no matther. How much -will that take, Winny?" - -"About two hundred pounds, father, including the--what is it you call -it, father?' - -"Annuity, Winny, annuity; I didn't think you were so--" - -"Annuity," she repeated before he had got the other word out, and he -was glad afterward. - -"Well, Winny, that's only five hundred out of somethin' over six." - -"Then I'll give Biddy Murtagh a hundred pounds, and she must live as -cook and house-maid with Kate; and I'll lodge twenty pounds in the -savings-bank for Jamesy Doyle. Perhaps I owe him more than the whole -of them put together." - -"That will be the first duck, Winny." - -"How is that, father?' - -"Why, it's well beyant the six hundred, Winny, which was all you were -goin' upon at first; but you may now begin with whatever we get by the -sale of Rathcash." - -"Well, father, I would only wish to suggest the distribution of that, -for you know I have no call to it, and God grant that it may be a long -day until I have." - -"Faix, an' Winny, af that be so, you've left yourself bare enough. But -don't be talkin' nonsense, child. What would I want with it? Won't -{260} you take care iv me, Winny asthore? an' won't you want the most -iv it where you are agoin? an' didn't you tell me already that you'd -like me to let you give it to the charities of that religious -establishment? Shure, there's no use in my askin' you any more not to -go into it." - -"None indeed, father, for I am resolved upon it. But you shall live in -the town with me, and I can take care of you the same as if I was in -the house with you. There shall be nothing that you can want or wish -for that you shall not have, and no day that it is possible that I -will not see you." - -"What more had I here, Winny, except the crops coming round from the -seed to the harvest, an' the cattle, an' the grass, an' the birds in -the bushes? Dear, oh dear, yes! Hadn't I yourself, Winny asthore, -forenent me at breakust, dinner, an' supper; an' warn't you for ever -talkin' to me of an evenin', with your stitchin' or your knittin' -across your lap; an', Winny jewel, wasn't your light song curling -through the yard, an' the house, afore I was up in the mornin'? But -now--now--Winny--oh, Winny asthore, mavourneen macree! but your poor -old father will miss yourself, no matther how kind your plans may be -for his comfort. Shure, the very knowledge that you were asleep in the -house with me was a blessin'." - -"Father," she said, "God bless you! I will be back with you in a few -minutes--do not fret;" and she left him, and shut herself up in her -room. - -But he did fret; and he was no sooner alone than the big tears burst -uncontrollably forth into a pocket-handkerchief, which he continued to -sop against his face. - -Winny had thrown herself upon her knees at the bedside, and prayed to -God to guide her. Her thoughts and prayers were too dignified and holy -for tears. But they had made a free course to the pinnacle of the -mercy-seat, and she rose with her soul refreshed by the glory which -had responded to her cry for guidance. - -She returned to her father, a radiant smile of anticipated pleasure -playing round her beautiful lips. There was no sign of grief, or even -of emotion, on her cheeks. - -"Father," she said, "I have been seeking guidance from the Almighty in -this matter; and the old saying that 'charity begins at home'--that is -moral charity in this instance--has been suggested to my heart. We -shall not part, father, even temporarily. Where you live, I shall -live. I have been told, father, just now, while upon my knees, that to -do all the good I have projected need not oblige me to join as an -actual member of any charitable or religious society. No, father, I -can carry out all my plans without the necessity of living apart from -you; we will therefore, father dear, still live together. But let us -remove when this place is sold to B----, where the establishment I -have spoken of is situated, and there, with my knitting or my -stitching on my lap before you in the evenings, I can carry on all my -plans in connection with the institution without being an actual -member, which might involve the necessity of my living in the house. -But, father dear, I hope you do not disapprove of any of them, or of -the distribution of the money, so far as I have laid it out." - -It was then quietly and finally arranged between them that as soon as -Rathcash was sold, and the stock and furniture disposed of, they would -remove to B----, in a northern county. They there intended to take a -small house, either in the town or precincts--the latter old Ned -preferred--where Winny could join the Sisters of Charity, at least in -her acts, if not as a resident member. The money was to be disposed of -as Winny had laid out, and legal deeds were to be prepared and -perfected; and poor Winny, notwithstanding the sudden cloud which had -darkened the blue heaven of her {261} life, was to be as happy as the -day was long. - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - - -Within a month from the scene between Winny and her father described -above, Rathcash bad been purchased and paid for. There had been "a -great auction" of the stock, crops, and furniture. The house was shut -up, the door locked, and the windows bolted. No smoke curled from the -brick chimneys through the poplars. No sleek dark-red cows stood -swinging their tails and licking their noses, while a fragrant smell -of luscious milk rose through the air. No cock crew, no duck quacked, -no Turkey gobbled, and no goose gabbled. No dog bayed the moon by -night. Bully-dhu was at the flitting. The corn-stands and haggard were -naked and cold, and the grass was beginning to grow before the door. -The whole place seemed solitary and forlorn, awaiting a new tenant, or -whatever plans the proprietor might lay out for its future occupation. -Winny and her father had torn themselves from the spot hallowed to the -old man by years of uninterrupted happiness, and to the young girl by -the memory of a blissful childhood and the first sunshine of the -bright hope which is nearest to a woman's heart, until that fatal -night when vengeful crime broke in and snapt both spells asunder. -Rathcash and Rathcashmore had been a byword in the mouths of young and -old for the nine days limited for the wonder of such things. - -If the goodness of his only child had broken the heart of one old man -from the reflection that her earthly happiness had been hopelessly -blighted, and his fond plans and prospects for her crushed for ever, -the villany and wickedness of another had not been less certain in a -similar result. Old Mick Murdock--ere his son stood before an earthly -tribunal to answer for his crimes--had been summoned before the court -of heaven. - -The assizes came round, "the charge was prepared, the judge was -arrayed--a most _ter_rible show." Old Cavana and his daughter were, as -a matter of course, summoned by the crown for the prosecution, as were -also Pat Lennon, Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and the policemen who -had come to the rescue. - -Old Ned was the first witness, Winny the second, Jamesy Doyle the -third. Then Biddy Murtagh and Pat Lennon, and finally, before the -doctor's medical evidence was given, the policemen who came to the -rescue, particularly he who had seen the shot fired and the man fall. - -This closed the evidence for the Crown. There was no case, there could -be no case, for the prisoner, beyond the futile cross-examination of -the witnesses, by an able and tormenting counsellor, old Bob B----y, -whose experience in this instance was worse than useless. - -The reader need hardly follow on to the result. Tom Murdock was -convicted and sentenced to death; and ere three weeks had elapsed he -had paid the penalty of an ungovernable temper and a revengeful -disposition upon the scaffold. - -Poor Winny had pleaded hard with the counsel for the crown, and even -with the attorney-general himself--who prosecuted in person--that Tom -Murdock might be permitted to plead guilty to the abduction, and be -sentenced to transportation for life. But the attorney-general, who -had all the informations by heart, said that the animus had been -manifest all through, from even prior to the hurling-match, which was -alluded to by the prisoner himself as he fired the shot, and that he -would most certainly arraign the prisoner for the murder. And so he -was found guilty; and Winny, with her heart full of plans of peace and -charity, was obliged to forge the first link in a chain the {262} -succeeding ones of which dragged Tom Murdock to an ignominious grave. - -Old Ned and Winny, accompanied by faithful Bully-dhu, had returned to -B----, where the old man read and loitered about, watching every -figure which approached, hoping to see his angel girl pass on some -mission of holy charity, dressed in her black hood and cape. - -Accompanied by Bully-dhu, he picked up every occurrence in the street, -and compiled them in his memory, to amuse Winny in the evenings, in -return for her descriptions of this or that case of distress which she -had relieved. Thus they told story about, not very unlike tragedy and -farce! - -A sufficient time had now elapsed, not only for the deeds to have been -perfected, but for the provisions which they set forth to have been -carried out. Pat Lennon had already removed to the comfortable cottage -upon the snug little farm which had been purchased for him by Winny, -and the "annuity" she had settled upon him was bearing interest in the -savings-bank at C. O. S. - -Phil M'Dermott was one of the best to do men in that side of the -country, and his wife (if you can guess who she was) was the nicest -and the handsomest he (now that Winny was gone) that you'd meet with -in the congregation of the three chapels within four miles of where -she lived. Jamesy Doyle had been transferred--head, body, and -bones--to the establishment, where he excelled himself in everything -which was good and useful and--_handy_. Many a figary was got from -time to time after him in the forge, filed up bright and nice, and if -he does not "sorely belie" his abilities and aptitude, he will one day -become a "whitesmith" of no mean reputation. - -Biddy Murtagh was to have gone as cook and thorough servant to _Mrs. -M'Dermott;_ but the hundred pounds which had been lodged to her credit -in the bank soon smoothed the way between her and Denis Murrican--a -Shanvilla boy, you will guess--who induced her to become cook, but not -thorough servant, I hope, to himself; so Kate M'Dermott--how strange -it seems not to write 'Kate Mulvey'!--was obliged to get somebody -else. - -Poor Winny, blighted in her own hopes of this world's happiness, had -turned her thoughts to a surer and more abiding source. She had seen -her plans for the happiness of those she loved carried out to a -success almost beyond her hopes. Her poor old father, getting whiter -and whiter as the years rolled on, attained a ripe and good old age, -blessed in the fond society of the only being whom he loved on earth. -Winny herself found too large a field for individual charity and good -to think of joining any society, however estimable, during her -father's lifetime, and was emphatically _the_ Sister of Charity in the -singular number. - -But poor old Ned has long since passed away from this scene of earthly -cares, and sleeps in peace in his own chapel-yard, between _two -tombs_. Long as the journey was, Winny had the courage and -self-control to come with her father's bier, and see his coffin laid -beside that of him who had been so rudely snatched away, and whom she -had so devotedly loved. Poor Bully-dhu was at the funeral, and gazed -into the fresh-made grave in silent, dying grief. When all was over, -and the last green sod slapped down upon the mound, he could nowhere -be found. He had suddenly eluded all observation. But ere a week had -passed by, he was found dead upon his master's grave, after the whole -neighborhood had been terrified by a night of the most dismal howling -which was ever heard. - -Winny returned to the sphere of her usefulness and hope, where for -many years she continued to exercise a course of unselfish charity, -which made many a heart sing for joy. - -{263} - -But she, too, passed away, and was brought home to her last -resting-place in Rathcash chapel-yard, where the three tombs are still -to be seen. Were she now alive she would yet be a comparatively young -woman, not much past sixty-four or sixty-five years of age. But it -pleased God, in his inscrutable ways, to remove her from the circle of -all her bounty and her love. Had it not been so, this tale would not -have yet been written. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -"REQUIEM AETERNAM." - - - Lo! another pilgrim, weary - With his toils, hath reached the goal. - And we lift our "_Miserere_" - For the dear departed soul; - God of pity and of love! - May he reign with thee above! - - By the pleasures he surrendered, - By the cross so meekly borne. - By the heart so early tendered. - By each sharp and secret thorn, - And by every holy deed-- - For our brother's rest we plead! - - 'Mid the throng who rest contented, - Earth to him was but a waste. - And the sweets this life presented, - Were but wormwood to his taste. - Faith had taught him from the first - For the fount of life to thirst - - Faith, the sun that rose to brighten - All his pathway from the font: - Then no phantom e'er could frighten, - Nor the sword of pain or want: - "For," he said, "though pain be strong, - Time shall vanquish it ere long." - - When he spoke of things eternal, - How the transient seemed to fade! - And we saw the goods supernal - Stand revealed without a shade: - "Surely 'twas a spirit spoke," - Was the thought his language woke. - -{264} - - Thought prophetic! _now_ a spirit - Speaketh from the world unseen: - And the faith we, too, inherit - Telleth what the tidings mean: - "Friend and stranger! oh, prepare-- - Make the wedding garment fair." - - Yet our brother's strength was mortal; - Bore he naught of earthly taint? - Did he pass the guarded portal - In the armor of a saint? - Lord of holiness! with dread - On this awful ground we tread. - - He was merciful and tender - To the erring and the weak; - Therefore will thy pity render - Unto him the grace we seek. - Whilst we bring to mercy's fount - Pledges uttered on the Mount. - - He remembered the departed - As we now remember him: - Bright, and true, and simple-hearted. - Till the lamp of life grew dim: - Friend was he of youth and age-- - Now a child--and now a sage. - - If those footsteps unreturning - Leave on earth no lasting trace: - If no kindred heart be yearning - Tearful in his vacant place: - If oblivion be his lot - Here below, we murmur not; - Only let his portion be - Evermore, dear Lord, _with thee!_ - -MARIE. - -Beaver, PA. - ------- - -{265} - - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - - -TINTED SKETCHES IN MADEIRA. - - -CHAPTER I. - -Notwithstanding that Madeira enjoys an imperishable distinction for -its matchless scenery, its sunny skies, and its healthful climate, yet -the character of its inhabitants seems to have been but little -studied, and still less the singular usages and customs which indicate -their nationality. Impressed with the idea that to supply some -information on these particulars might heighten the interest -experienced for the Madeirans as an isolated little community, I have -compiled a few pages descriptive of their social and domestic life, -intending them, however, merely as supplementary to the valuable -information afforded by others. - -Passing over the novel and amusing circumstance of landing at Funchal, -which has already been so often described, I find myself in a -boi-caro, or ox-car, traversing narrow and intricate streets; the -murmur of waters and soft strains of instrumental music saluting my -ear, while a faint perfumed breeze stirs the curtains of my caro. By -some travellers the boi-caro has been likened to the body of a calèche -placed on a sledge, but to me it neither had then, nor has it assumed -since, any other appearance than that of a four-post bed, curtained -with oil-cloth, lined with some bright-colored calico, and having -comfortably cushioned seats. It is made of light, strong timber, -secured on a frame shod with iron. A pair of fat, sleek oxen are yoked -to this odd-looking carriage, while from thongs passed through their -horns bits of carved ivory or bone hang on their foreheads to protect -them from the influence of Malochio or Evil-eye. - -Half an hour brought me to my destination, No.--, Rua San Francisco. -This house in its structure resembles the generality of the better -class of houses in the island, the sleeping-rooms being sacrificed to -the magnificence of the reception-rooms, the vastness of which appears -to mock the ordinary wants of daily life. The walls are pure white, -lined with prints, paintings, and mirrors; the floors are either -covered with oil-cloth or highly polished; and the windows are shaded -by lace curtains and Venetian blinds; the furniture is modern, and of -English manufacture. I have been thus minute because the interiors of -all the superior dwellings have the same general character. I cannot, -however, say the same with regard to the tastes and habits of the -occupants. The British prince-merchant, with his spirit, his -intelligence, and his philanthropy, gives his days to the busy cares -of life, and his evenings to the quiet enjoyments of home; while the -Madeiran gentleman passes his days in luxurious indolence, and his -evenings in crowded rooms. The ladies present an equally strong -contrast, and yet, during one short period in each day, their tastes -and purposes seem to assimilate: when the brief and beautiful -twilight, with its freshness, its odors, and its music, induces even -the exclusive English-women to appear in the shaded balcony, and find -amusement in the passing scenes. - -At this hour the peasantry may be seen returning to their homes in -little parties of four or five, each group being accompanied by a -musician playing on the national instrument, the machêtes, or -guitarette, and singing some plaintive air in which, occasionally, all -join. No sooner has one group passed, than the sweet, soft intonations -of other songsters are heard {266} approaching. Sometimes two or even -more parties will enter the street at the same time, when they at once -take up alternate parts, and that with such perfect taste and harmony -that when the notes begin to die away in the distance the listener's -car is aching with attention. These songs are usually of their own -composition, and are improvised for the occasion. They have but few -national ballads, and of these the subjects are either the -mischief-loving Malochio, or Macham and the unhappy Lady Anna, or the -fable of Madeira's having been cast up by the sea covered with -magnificent forests of cedar, which afterward, catching fire from a -sun-beam, burned for seven years, and then from the heated soil -produced the luxuriant vegetation with which it is now clothed. - -It must not be supposed, however, that the peasantry are of a -melancholy disposition because it is their custom to make choice of -plaintive music to time their footsteps when returning at the close of -a golden day to their homes by the sea or on the rugged mountain -heights. On the contrary, the character of their minds combines all -the variety of the scenes amongst which they were nurtured, though the -leading trait is a desire for the gay and fanciful, whether in dress -or amusement; While they regard neither money nor time in comparison -with the gratification of witnessing the numerous ceremonies and -pageants which every other day fill the streets with richly-dad trains -of ecclesiastics, flashing cavalcades, and troops of youths and -maidens in festive wreaths and gay attire. The season of Lent affords -them almost daily opportunities for the indulgence of this taste. - -At an early hour of the Monday morning in the first week in Lent the -ordinary stillness of the town is interrupted by loud and clamorous -sounds, such as sometimes assail the ear in a European town, at -midnight, when bands of revellers are reeling toward their homes. -Laughter, song, instrumental music, and the unsteady tramp of a crowd -meet the startled ear, suggesting the idea of the proximity of a -disorderly multitude. Opening the window cautiously you look down into -the street, and behold bands of men in masks and habited in every -variety of strange and ridiculous costume. Some few, however, display -both taste and wealth in the choice of their disguises, but the -generality of the crowd in their tawdry attire and hideous masks -appear to have studied only effectual concealment. For some hours -party after party continue to pass through the street, and as they -knock loudly at the doors, and even call on the inhabitants by name, -you discover that a feeling of impatience to have the shops opened and -the ordinary routine of business commenced is common to all, and, if -not gratified, may manifest itself in some open act of aggression. -Slowly and with evident reluctance the houses are opened, while the -curious and amused faces of children and servants may be seen peeping -from the trellised balconies down on the noisy crowd. After a time a -few men in ordinary costume begin to appear in the street, trying to -look unconscious and unsuspicious of any danger, and hurrying forward -with the important pre-occupied air of men of business. But neither -their courage nor cunning avails them anything. A shower of stale eggs -breaking on the stalwart shoulders of one merchant reminds him that -the more grave and English-like is his demeanor, the more is he -regarded as the proper subject for mirth; while a plate of flour -thrown over another would send a dusty miller instead of a dandy -flying into some open door for shelter, followed by the derisive -laughter of the insolent crowd. - -Amazed at such an exhibition of unchecked violence, the stranger -inquires the meaning of the scene, and learns that it is merely the -customary way of celebrating in Funchal the day known as Shrove -Tuesday, the people having from time immemorial {267} enjoyed an -established license to indulge on that day in such rude practical -jokes as are warranted by the usages of all carnival seasons. - -I may here observe that the Madeirans reckon their days from noon to -noon, instead of from midnight to midnight, though their impatience -for frolic and mischief frequently leads them, as on the present -occasion, into the error of beginning the day some hours too soon. -When, however, celebrating religious festivals, or on days set apart -for fasting and invoking of their patron saints--Nossa Senhora do -Monte and Sant Jago Minor--they carefully adhere to the established -rule. - -As the day advances the crowd becomes bolder, and no one, no matter -what his age, rank, or nation, is suffered to pass unmolested. These -coarse carnival jests are continued not only through the day but -through the night, and until noon the next day, when the firing of -cannon from the fort announces the cessation of the privilege of -outraging society with impunity. Although, however, practical joking -is prohibited from that moment until the next anniversary of the same -day, masquerading is allowed from Shrove Tuesday till the week after -Easter, the English being the chief, if not the only, objects for -raillery and ridicule. - -In general the most amicable feelings exist between the Madeirans and -all foreigners, yet the lower classes of the natives appear to derive -the utmost satisfaction in being openly permitted to caricature the -English, and under favor of their privileged disguise to display -John's eccentricities and weaknesses in the most ludicrous light, -while the jealousy of the authorities prohibits on his part the most -distant approach to retaliation. - -As the last echo of the warning gun died away amongst the hills, the -sun's position in the heavens indicated the hour of noon, and -instantly the musical peals of numerous bells came floating to the ear -from every direction, while above their sweet harmonious sounds is -heard the booming of cannon from the vessels anchored in the roads, -and the loud blasts of trumpets from the fort and the barracks. A -stranger might be excused for supposing that the people were about to -renew the carnival, whereas they were only announcing, in conformity -with ecclesiastical law, the commencement of the season of Lent. This -was the first day, or Ash Wednesday, though by our manner of computing -time it was still the noon of Tuesday. At one o'clock the roar of -artillery from the Loo Rock and the shipping was silent, the martial -strains ceased, but the bells at short intervals continued to ring out -their melodious summons, which was responded to by hundreds of persons -in ordinary costume, all moving in the direction of the sé, or -cathedral, in the Praca Constitutionel. Mingling with this decorous -portion of the crowd were many of the most grotesquely attired masques -of the previous day, whose antics and buffoonery, jests and laughter, -formed the oddest contrast to the costume and bearing of the others. - -Meanwhile, by one of those sudden changes so common in tropical -climates, the sky, which a short time before was so blue and serene, -began to show signs of a gathering storm. There was an ominous -stillness in the atmosphere, the dull leaden color overhead was -shedding its gloom everywhere, and I heard voices from the crowd -exclaiming, "Hasten forward there, the rain is coming--hasten!" A few -big drops just then fell with a plashing sound, and in a second or two -afterward down, with a terrific noise, poured the fierce wild rain, -coming on the streets with the noise of a waterfall, while on the -house-tops it fell with a sharp rattle, as if every drop was a -paving-stone. - -In a few moments from the commencement of the rain the people had all -disappeared, the streets had assumed the appearance of rushing -streams, while the three fiumeras traversing the town kept up an {268} -unceasing roar, as the swollen waters rushed plunging toward the sea. - -Formerly these fiumeras were uninclosed, and consequently after heavy -rains the torrents would enlarge their borders, spreading out on every -side and encompassing the town, until it assumed the appearance of -having been built in the midst of waves and currents. Now, however, -walls of strong masonry attest the wisdom and industry of the modern -Madeirans, and between these the rivers flow in shallow musical -streams in summer, or sweep on in deep, sullen floods during the rainy -seasons in spring and autumn. It sometimes, however, happens that, -though the rivers can no longer overleap their boundaries to career -round pillared edifices and lay bare their foundations, or, sweeping -up into their fierce embrace cottages and their inmates, inclosures -and their stalled cattle, hurry with them into the blue depths of the -bay of Funchal, they still, when increased by these mountain torrents, -which on leaving the heights are but whispering streamlets, gathering -depth and strength in their descent, will send boulders of many tons -weight over the high broad walls, followed by giant trees, planks of -timber, and jagged branches, as if from the heaving bosom of the angry -waters rocks and withered boughs are flung off with equal ease. - - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -From the period alluded to in the last chapter, namely, the beginning -of Lent, processions and public ceremonies become of such frequent -recurrence that I must either pass over a period of some weeks or fill -a volume in describing them. Believing the former course to be the -wisest, I shall pass on to the fourth Sunday in Lent. From an early -hour in the morning every bell-tower had been awakening the echoes -with its musical clamor, and every hamlet and village had responded to -the summons by sending forth crowds of hardy inhabitants in their best -attire, to join the gaily dressed multitudes thronging through the -narrow, angular streets of Funchal toward the Praca, in which, as I -have said, stands the sé, or cathedral. This building is -quaint-looking and massive, proclaiming the liberality, if not the -taste, of its founders. It is somewhat more than three centuries old, -having been completed in the year 1514, and is only now beginning to -assume that mellow and sombre hue which comports so well with the -character of such piles. By the hour of noon the Praca presented a sea -of human faces. The long seats beneath the shade of trees had been -resigned to the children, while the platform in the centre of the -square, occupied on ordinary occasions by the military bands, now -presented a waving parterre of the smiling and observant faces of -peasant girls, who, notwithstanding their proverbial timidity and -gentleness, had managed to secure that elevated position. Meantime the -balconies were filling fast with the families of the English and -German residents, all intent on seeing the remarkable pageant of the -day known as the "Passo." - -Having obtained a front seat in the balcony of the English -reading-room, I had a full view of the animated and picturesque scene -beneath, the latter feature being heightened by the striking contrasts -exhibited between the costumes of the peasant women and those of the -same grade residing in the town. As one looked at the latter it was -not difficult to imagine they had just come from Europe with the tail -of the fashions. Bonnets, feathers, flowers, ballooned dresses, all -were foreign importations; while the women who had come down from -those cottages on the heights, which, on looking up at, appear like -pensile nests hanging from the crags, wore dresses of masapuja--a -mixture of thread and bright wools manufactured by themselves--small -shawls woven {269} in bright stripes, and on their heads the graceful -looking lenco, or handkerchief, in some showy, becoming color. Others -from the fishing villages wore complete suits of blue cloth, of a -light texture, even to the head-dress, which was the carapuca, or -conical shaped cap, ending in a drooping horn and a golden tassel; -while a few wore cotton dresses, and covered their heads with the -barrettea, a knitted cap in shape like an elongated bowl, and having a -woollen tuft at the top glittering with gold beads. The elder women -covered their shoulders with large bright shawls, while the younger -wore tightly-fitting bodices, fastened with gold buttons, and over -these small capes with pointed collars. All, whether old or young, -wore their dresses full, and sufficiently short to display to -advantage their small and beautifully formed feet. - -In singular contrast with this simplicity of taste in their apparel, -is their desire for a profusion of ornaments. Accordingly, you will -find adorning the persons of the peasant women of Madeira rings and -chains and brooches of intrinsic value and much beauty, such as in -other countries people of wealth assume the exclusive right to wear. -An instance of this ruling passion came under my notice a short time -since, which I may mention here. - -Through a long life of toil and poverty a peasant woman had regularly -laid by, from her scanty earnings, a small sum weekly. Her neighbors -commended her forethought and prudence, not doubting but that the -little hoard so persistently gathered was meant to meet the -necessities of the days when the feeble hands would forget their -cunning. At length the sum amounted to some hundreds of testatoes, or -silver five-pences, and then the poor woman's life-secret was -discovered. With a step buoyant for her years, and a smile which for a -moment brought back the beauty of her youth, she entered a jeweller's -shop, and exchanged the contents of her purse for a pair of costly -earrings. Had she been remonstrated with, she would have betrayed not -only her own but the national feeling on the subject, by saying--"I -lose nothing by the indulgence. At any moment I can find a purchaser -for real jewelry." - -An hour passed, and signs of impatience were becoming visible in the -crowd, when the sounds of distant music caused a sudden and deep -silence. A feeling of awe seemed to have fallen at once on the -multitude, and every bronze-colored face was turned with a reverential -expression toward the street by which it was known the procession -would enter the Praca. Slowly the music drew near, now reaching us in -full strains, then seeming to die away in soft cadences. Meantime the -guns from the forts and shipping renewed their firing, and the bells -swung out their grandest peal. Curiosity was at its height, when the -foremost row of the procession met our view--four men walking abreast, -wearing violet-colored silk cassocks, with round capes reaching to the -girdles, and holding in their hands wax candles of an enormous size. A -long train, habited in the same way, followed these, and then came -four ecclesiastics in black silk gowns and Jesuits' caps, bearing -aloft a large and gorgeous purple banner, in the centre of which were -four letters in gold, "S.Q.P.R," being the initials of a sentence, the -translation of which is, "To the Senate and People of Rome." - -After this followed another long line of men in violet, and then again -four clothed in black, carrying a wax image, large as life, on a -platform, meant to represent the garden of Gethsemane. Round the edge -were artificial trees about a foot and a half in height, having their -foliage and fruit richly gilt. The figure was clothed in a purple -robe, and on the brow was a crown of thorns. It was in a kneeling -position, and the face was bowed so low you could not distinguish the -features, but the attitude {270} gave you the impression that it was -making painful attempts to rise, which the weight of the huge cross on -the shoulders rendered ineffectual. Another train of candle-bearers -followed this, and then, in robes of rich black silk, and having on -their shoulders capes of finest lawn trimmed with costly lace, came -four priests holding up a gorgeous canopy, having curtains of white -silk and silver, which glittered and flashed as the faint breeze, -sweet with the perfume of flowers and fruit-trees, dallied amidst the -rich folds. From the centre of the canopy was suspended a silver dove, -its extended wings overshadowing the head of the bishop, who walked -beneath, robed in his most gorgeous sacerdotal habiliments. Between -his hands he carried the host, and as he passed along thousands of -prostrate forms craved his blessing. Following the canopy were more -men with tapers, and dressed in violet silk; then another purple -banner of even greater expansion than the first; then a lovely train -of little girls dressed to represent angels; then the band playing the -Miserere; and lastly a regiment of Portuguese soldiers. As soon as the -last of the men in violet had entered the cathedral, the door was -closed; the soldiers formed in lines on each side; the band was -silent; and, at the command of an officer, all uncovered their heads, -and stood in an attitude expressive of deep humiliation. This scene -was meant to represent that sorrowful yet glorious one enacted -eighteen centuries ago in the judgment hall of Pontius Pilate. The -little girls remained outside as well as the soldiery. - -The dress of these children was tasteful and picturesque. They wore -violet-color velvet dresses, very short and full, and profusely -covered with silver spangles; white silk stockings and white satin or -kid shoes; rich white and silver wreaths, and bright, filmy, white -wings. - -For an hour the cathedral door was kept closed, the soldiers remaining -all that time with bowed heads, motionless as statues. At length the -door was slowly opened, and one of the men wearing violet, having in -his hand a long wand, at the end of which appeared a small bright -flame, passed out, and proceeded to light up numerous tapers which had -been placed on the front of different houses in the Praca. As soon as -this was done, a command from an officer caused the men to resume -their caps and their upright attitude. Presently the rich, expressive -music of a full band was again heard playing the Miserere, and the -procession passed out between the glittering and bristling lines, its -numbers and its images increased. - -Following close after the garden of Gethsemane, there was now an image -of the Virgin, attired in an ample purple robe and a long blue veil, -worked in silver. The exquisite taste and skill of the Madeiran -ladies, exerted upon the richest materials, had given to this figure a -lifelike appearance far surpassing that which usually distinguishes -other draped statues. Over the clasped hands the velvet seemed rather -to droop than lie in folds, while the expression of the attitude, -which was that of earnest supplication, as if craving sympathy for -some crushing woe, was heightened by the artistic arrangement of the -heavy plaits of the robe. - -The men who carried this image, and those immediately preceding and -following it, wore blue instead of violet cassocks, while the little -angels who had brought up the van of the first procession were now -clustered about the bearers of the image of the Virgin. - -From the cathedral the pageant passed on through the principal streets -into the country, the faint peal of the trumpets occasionally coming -back to the ear, mingled with the silvery sound of the bells, and the -deep boom of the minute-guns. At the foot of the Mount church, -however, various changes were effected. The little girls quietly -separated themselves from the crowd, and, being watched for by anxious -mothers and elder sisters, {271} were carried home. A deputy bishop -took the place of his superior beneath the canopy, other men relieved -the bearers of the banners and images, and other musicians released -those whose attendance had commenced with the dawn. All through the -day you could trace their course, only occasionally losing sight of -them, and all through the night too, by the light of the cedar-wood -torches borne by little boys, in snowy tunics, who had joined the -procession at the foot of the mount. - -To understand how beautiful was the effect of this, you must look with -me on the unique and picturesque town of Funchal, running round the -blue waters of the bay, and rising up into the vineyards and groves -and gardens clothing the encircling hills. A golden light slumbers -over the whole scene, so pure and luminous that we can trace -distinctly every feature in the luxuriant landscape. The white houses -of the town crowned with terrinhas, or turrets, and having hanging -balconies glowing with flowers of rare beauty; the majestic palms -expanding their broad and beautiful heads over high garden walls; the -feathery banana waving gracefully on sunny slopes, where clumps of the -bright pomegranates display their crimson pomp; the shady plane-trees -running in rows along the streets; the snowy quintas or villas on the -hills, becoming fewer and more scattered toward the summit; the -churches and nunneries on higher elevations; and still further up the -white cottages of the peasantry, with their vine-trellised porches and -their gardens of pears, peaches, and apricots; while above and around -all these, forming a sublime amphitheatre as they tower to nearly six -thousand feet above the level of the sea, are the Pico Ruivo and Pico -Grande. A wreath of purple mist lay that day, as it almost always -does, on their topmost peaks, giving now and again glimpses of their -picturesque outline, as, like a soft transparent veil, it was folded -and unfolded by the breeze roaming over the solitudes of scented broom -and heather. Through such scenes, in view of all, moved the long, -glittering pageant just described. - - - -CHAPTER III. - -Everywhere the grave declares its victory--in beautiful Madeira as -elsewhere. An old servant, whose business it was to cut up fire-wood -and carry it into the house, has performed his last earthly duty and -finished life's journey. He dwelt with his mother and sister in a -cottage at the extremity of the garden; and I was only apprised of the -circumstances of his death by hearing loud cries coming up from the -shady walks, and the exclamations: "Alas, my son, my son!" and "Oh, my -brother!" repeated over and over in accents of uncontrollable grief. - -It is customary, as soon as a death occurs in the family of one of the -peasant class, for all the survivors to rush forth into the open air, -and, with cries and lamentations, to call on the dead by every -endearing epithet and implore of them to return once more. The -neighbors being thus made acquainted with what has occurred, gather -round the mourners, and try to steal away the bitterness of their -grief by reminding them that all living shall share the same fate, and -that one by one each shall depart in his turn to make his bed in the -silent chamber of the grave. By such simple consolations--untaught -nature's promptings--they induce the bereaved ones to re-enter the -house and prepare the body for interment. - -The heat of the climate renders hasty burial necessary in Madeira, and -the authorities are strict in enforcing it. From ten to twelve hours -is the longest period allowed by law between death and the grave, and -the very poor seldom permit even so much time to elapse; they merely -wait to ascertain to a certainty that the hand of death has released -the imprisoned {272} soul before they wrap up the body and carry it -with hurrying feet to "breathless darkness and the narrow house." - -In such instances coffins are rarely used, and when they are, they are -hired by the hour. The usual way is to roll the body up tightly in a -sere cloth, then place it in a "death hammock" (which resembles an -unbleached linen sheet, tied at the ends to an iron pole); and hurry -with it to an unhonored grave. - -A few days subsequent to the death of the old servant, the remains of -a little girl were borne past; the sight was so singular I think it -worth describing. - -Moving slowly and solemnly along the street were a number of men, -habited in deep blue home-made cloth, the two foremost of whom carried -a light iron bier, on which lay the body of a little girl, whose brief -period of life numbered not more than five summers. A robe of soft, -clear, snowy muslin enveloped the motionless form like a cloud; on the -tiny feet, crossed in rest at last, were white silk stockings and -white shoes; and her little hands, which must so lately have found -gleeful employment in scattering the fragments of broken toys, were -now meekly folded on her bosom over a bouquet of orange blossoms. A -heavy wreath of the same flowers, mingled with a few leaves of the -allegro campo, encircled her young brow, which, as may be supposed, -wore that lovely, calm expression described by poets as the impress of -"heaven's signet-ring." - -In almost every one of the varied scenes of life orange blossoms are -made use of in Madeira, either as types or emblems. Wreaths of them -grace the bride's young head, as being emblematical of the beauty and -purity of her character; as typical of a grief which shall be ever -fresh, chaplets of them crown the pale brows of the dead. On the -anniversary of a birth-day they are presented to the aged as an -embodiment of the truth that they shall again renew their youth; while -the proud triumphal arch is adorned with their snowy bells, as an -assurance that the occasion for which it was erected shall be held in -ever-enduring remembrance. - -The little child on the rude bier, who looked as fair in her -death-sleep as these fairest of flowers, was being carried to the -cemetery belonging to the resident Roman Catholics, and known as -Laranjeira. There a priest was awaiting its arrival. He was standing -by the open grave, and when the body was laid at his feet he read over -it in Latin a short burial service, placed some grains of dust on the -pulseless bosom, and departed. Being carefully wrapped in a sere doth, -it was then placed in a shallow grave (according to custom) and -lightly covered with three or four inches of earth. - -Laranjeira is situated on the west of the town. Passing up the -Augustias Hill the stranger sees a large, handsome gate near the -empress's hospital; this is the entrance to the graveyard. Inside is a -small flower-garden, tastefully laid out and neatly kept, through -which you pass to the broad stone steps leading to the fine gravel -walk running quite through the cemetery. Another walk, also of -considerable width, leads round it, while several narrower ones, -shaded by hedges of geraniums, roses, and lavender, are cut through it -in different directions. Inclosing the whole is a high wall, studded -with monumental tablets, on some of which praise and grief are -charactered in deep, newly-cut letters, while from many others time -has either obliterated every trace of writing, or the pains and the -heat have washed and bleached them into meaningless, cloudy white -slabs. There are but few monuments or even tombstones of any -pretension, though many of the latter bear English inscriptions. Rows -of cypress trees border the centre walk, and almost every grave in the -inclosure is overshadowed by a weeping willow. - -{273} - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -It was the last week in Lent, and, according to our manner of -computing time, it was eleven o'clock A.M. of the day known as "Holy -Thursday." Reckoning, however, as the Madeirans do, it was the last -hour of that day, and the next would be the first of Good Friday. - -An unusual silence had reigned in the town since the first streaks of -purple light appeared in the east, as if to render more remarkable the -din which at the hour above-named assailed the ears of the inhabitants -of Funchal. Strains of military music filled the air, mingled with the -tolling of bells and the firing of guns, which found a hundred echoes -in the adjoining hills. These sounds were the signals to the people of -Madeira that the time was drawing near when the most imposing -ceremonial of their religion would be celebrated. With the first -trumpet-notes the streets began to fill, every house sending forth its -inmates, whether rich or poor, old or young, either to witness or take -part in the spectacles of the day. As on all like occasions, the -peasantry, in their best attire, poured in with astonishing rapidity; -while crowding in with them were ladies in hammocks, clad in robes of -rainbow hues, and partially concealed from curious eyes by silken -curtains of pink or blue, which were matched in color by the vests of -the bearers, and the ribbons with long floating ends adorning their -broad-brimmed straw hats; and gentlemen on horseback, whom you at once -would recognize as natives by their short stature, their bright vests, -neckties, and hat-ribbons, and their profusion of rich, showy -ornaments. Quietly making their way on foot through this throng were -the English merchants, with their wives and daughters, distinguished -from those by whom they were surrounded by an air of severe reserve -and a studied simplicity of dress. A few handsome wheeled carriages -also appeared on the scene, and one or two of the awkward looking -boi-cars. All were taking the same direction, the Praca da -Constitutionel, and the common object was to gain admission to the -cathedral. At every turn the crowd augmented, and even masquers joined -in considerable numbers--but these latter brought neither jest nor -laughter with their presence; the ceremonies of the day had subdued -even them, causing them to abandon the vacant gaiety appertaining to -their attire for a demeanor more fitting the time and occasion. - -Arrived at the cathedral, each party, no matter how exalted their -rank, encountered a delay in obtaining an entrance. The throng around -the door was great, and it was in vain that the soldiers endeavored to -keep the general crowd at a distance. Trained as the Madeirans are to -habits of deference to both military and ecclesiastical authority, -they become, like other people, audacious and headstrong when -assembled in large multitudes, and, in spite of both church and state, -they now sought an entrance by the exertion of physical force, and -some hundreds succeeded. - -While, however, the struggle and contention at the door remained -unabated, the ceremonial which all were so anxious to witness had been -enacted within. To describe it is needless. The hour when the God-man -poured forth his soul even unto death is a sad and awful memory -familiar to us all. Let us, therefore, look at the scene which the -cathedral presents at two o'clock on that day. - -The windows are boarded up on the outside, and within are covered with -curtains of heavy black cloth. The walls all round are hung with fine -stuff of the same color, concealing the paintings and other ornaments, -and the altar is hidden behind drapery of black velvet with -ghastly-looking borders of silver. Between this gloomy vail and the -cancelli, or railings, you see a magnificent catafalque, and on it -{274} a coffin covered and lined with rich black velvet. A pale, -corpse-like figure, wearing a crown of thorns, lies within, blood -flowing from the wounded brow (or appearing to flow) and from the -hands which lie outside the winding-sheet of snowy linen. Numerous -tapers surround the catafalque, but from some cause they carry such -weak, glimmering flames, that a dim, uncertain light pervades the -immediate precincts of the altar, leaving the rest of the building in -deep shadow. Habited in close-fitting black silk robes, and with heads -bowed down as in unspeakable sorrow, several priests stand round the -coffin, while fitful wails and sobs from the multitude show that the -scene is not without its effect. - -An hour passed thus, and was succeeded by a sudden and dismal silence, -as if the great heart of the multitude had become exhausted with -sorrow, when the melancholy cadences of the Miserere coming down from -the huge organ as if rolling from the clouds, awoke up anew the grief -of the people, and low cries and half-stifled groans mingled freely -with the long-drawn, plaintive notes. Meantime the bishop, habited in -his most simple sacerdotal robes, came from the sacristy and stood at -the foot of the coffin, while four priests raised it from the -catafalque by means of loops of black silk and silver cord. The bishop -then moved forward, the dense crowd opening a lane for him as he -passed slowly round the church, followed by the four priests carrying -the coffin, and by others bearing the dim tapers. As He returned -toward the altar the people's sorrow seemed to increase, and every -head was stretched forward to catch a last glimpse of the coffin, when -just as the procession got within the cancelli a heavy curtain was let -fall, shutting in altar, catafalque, and tapers, and leaving the -cathedral in utter darkness. - -This scene was meant to represent the burial in the tomb of Joseph of -Arimathea, and while the greater portion of the congregation were -weeping aloud, a voice was heard proceeding from the pulpit, and -pronouncing that preliminary sentence to a sermon known as the -"blessing." - -In an instant the sounds of grief were hushed, and the mute audience -seemed to suppress their very breathing while they anxiously listened -to the words of the preacher. - -Spoken in a tongue with which few visitors to the island are -acquainted, the discourse took to the ears of strangers the shape of a -varied murmur, whose tones and cadences played on the very -heart-strings of the auditors, awakening at will feelings of fear, -agony, remorse, and repentance. As he proceeded, the passion and -pathos of his accents increased, and when he ceased to speak a -desolate stillness pervaded the whole multitude. Presently two men -entered from a side door bearing dim tapers, and at the same moment -the great door leading into the Praca was opened, and the congregation -poured like a tide into the open air, while low, soft sighs and -murmurs falling on the ear told of feelings of relief which words were -powerless to express. - -For a moment the throng leaving the church mingled with the multitude -without. The solid mass swayed like a troubled sea, and then quietly -broke up and scattered widely. Men in trade turned their faces -homeward, the business of life being, in their judgment, of more -importance than any further participation in the day's proceedings. -Elderly men and women of the lower classes sought out those houses and -temporary sheds, over the doors of which the four golden letters, -"P.V.A.B.," served the same purpose as the less mysterious British -announcement of "entertainment for man and horse;" while the young -peasants and artisans, forming an immense concourse, went shouting -toward the Mount road, leaving the streets leading to the beach free -from all obstacles, a circumstance of which the more respectable and -even aristocratic {275} portion of the multitude eagerly availed -themselves. Mingling with all parties were ragged-looking vendors of -curiosities, clamorous old beggars, and younger ones whose brilliant, -laughing black eyes contradicted the earnest appeal of the lips. - -Should our taste or curiosity lead us to follow the mob to the Mount -road we behold one of those singular exhibitions which excite almost -to frenzy--a hideous, straw-stuffed figure, or effigy, of Pontius -Pilate, tied on the back of a poor, miserable, lean donkey. Amidst the -wildest shouts and fiercest turmoil this creature is dragged forward, -every one taxing his inventive faculties to discover new indignities, -by which to express his feelings of horror and disgust for the -original. While the tumultuous throng thus parade through the -principal streets of the town, the bay is seen covered by hundreds of -boats, people of almost every nation in Europe reclining beneath their -awnings as they sweep slowly over the blue waves toward the Loo Rock, -or idly glide in front of that well-known point, beneath which on the -sands a gallows had been erected in the morning. - -Some hours passed, however, and there was no occurrence either to -gratify the taste or arouse the attention of the pleasure seekers. The -sun was drawing near the verge of the horizon, and the sea, assuming -the most intense shades of crimson, gold, and purple, differed only -from the magnificent canopy which it mirrored in that it gleamed with -a more wondrous splendor, as if a veil of diamonds floated and -trembled over its broad expanse. Not alone the sea, however, but the -whole landscape was bathed in the rich amber and purple floods of -light which on that evening streamed down from the ever changing -firmament. The sublime mountains of Pico Ruivo and Pico Grande were -crowned with radiance, the graceful hills, with their unnumbered giant -flowers, their gardens and vineyards, their rivulets and waterfalls, -glowed in the lustrous beams, while the brown sands on the -semi-circular beach, reaching from the picturesque basalts of Garajaô -to Ponta da Cruz, glittered as if a shower of diamond sparklets had -fallen on them. - -At length loud and prolonged shouts, mingling with the music of -military bands, were heard approaching from the town, and immediately -after a riotous and excited crowd, amongst which appeared hundreds of -masquers, came pressing forward with extravagant gestures, and driving -before them toward the gallows the ill-used donkey and its foul and -hideous burthen. - -A general movement at once took place among the boats, as the crew of -each sought to obtain the most favorable position for witnessing the -revolting spectacle of hanging the effigy, which was accomplished with -all the appalling ceremonies which might have been deemed necessary, -or which the law might have demanded, had the Governor of the Jews -been there in person. - -The hatred of the exulting mob being at length satiated, the figure -was cut down and cast into the sea, calling forth a last volley of -execration as it rolled and floundered on the long blue swells, or -momentarily sunk out of sight in the troughs, while the ebbing tide -carried it out to the deep. - - -CHAPTER V. - -It may appear strange, perhaps even incredible, that the lower classes -of Madeirans should have leisure, from their humble duties and the -labors required by their daily necessities, to attend at so many -festas and public ceremonies as we shall have occasion to describe, -and to indulge beside in their extravagant fancy for golden ornaments. -But the seeming enigma is easily solved. In the first place, the men -of the peasant class leave home for Demara every year, remaining away, -at high wages, from six to eight months, and then returning with money -sufficient to enable them to indulge {276} their families daring the -remainder of the year in their oriental taste for festas and finery. -Secondly, almost all the manual occupations connected with agriculture -devolve on the women, so that the absence of either husbands, sons, or -brothers neither retards nor diminishes the autumn fruits. Added to -this, they employ themselves during the evening hours, and at other -seasons when out-door labor is either impossible or unnecessary, in -those arts to which female faculties are particularly appropriate. -Nothing can exceed the exquisite beauty of the embroidery on cambric -and lace executed by some of the peasant women, and which comes from -their skilful fingers so perfectly white and pure that it is fit for -the wear of a princess the moment it is freed from the paper on which -the design had been traced, and over which it had been worked. Others, -not possessing such delicate taste as the embroiderers, exert their -ingenuity in knitting shawls, and veils, and pin-cushion covers, in -black or white thread, drawing on their own imaginations for new and -curious patterns; while some few devote their leisure time to netting -black silk shawls and scarfs, for which they also invent the designs. - -The earnings of the women by the sale of these articles to strangers -are considerable, and so completely at their own disposal that they -can independently indulge, whenever opportunities offer, in their -taste for ornament and emotional spectacles. The wear and tear, -however, of such a mode of life deprive them at an early period of -their native beauty, leaving them at twenty-five little more than that -grace and freedom of attitude which they retain to the close of the -longest life. - -The men also have their handicrafts, and the emoluments arising from -their exercise; and those of them who are either too old or too young, -or too indolent, or too sincerely attached to home to seek the toils -of labor and their reward in Demara, employ themselves in making -articles of inlaid wood, such as writing-desks, work-boxes, -paper-cutters, and pen-trays. The designs on many of these give -evidence of refined and skilful taste, while others only indicate a -fantastic ingenuity. The most perfect of these manufactures are -eagerly secured for the Portuguese market by agents, who generally -make an honest estimate of their value, while those of less merit are -set aside till some of the visitors to Madeira proportion their worth -by their own abundant wealth. - -This digression has been so long that, instead of returning now to the -midnight wanderers mentioned at the close of the lost chapter, I shall -request my readers to imagine it ten o'clock A.M. on Saturday morning, -and, consequently, two hours before the commencement of the Sabbath of -the Madeirans. Once more the Praca da Constitutionel is filled with an -eager and picturesque throng--peasants, artisans, aristocrats, -merchants, masqueraders, beggars, and curiosity-venders all mingled -together, and all, either from motives of piety or inquisitiveness, -once more seeking admission to the cathedral, whose fine proportions -and gorgeous ornaments are still veiled in thick darkness. - -By some magic influence the wealthier portion of the multitude have -all obtained entrance, and then, the cathedral being full, the door is -forcibly closed. Directly this occurs the crowd disperse, and while -strangers are still trying to unravel the mystery of such unusual -self-denial, troops of little children and young girls are entering -the Praca dressed in white, wearing silver-tissue wings, snowy festive -wreaths, and carrying on their arms beautiful baskets of cane-work -filled with ranunculuses and lilies. Boys in embroidered tunics and -carrying silver censers follow these, and presently numbers of these -men who had left that the children might take up their proper -positions, now return, having in the meantime provided themselves with -fire-arms and rockets. - -{277} - -While all these changes take place without, preachers are succeeding -each other every half hour in the pulpit within the cathedral. At -length one loud sonorous stroke on a gong, or some other metallic -substance, is heard from the sacristy, announcing the hour of noon, -and then in an instant, as if by magic, the wooden blinds without and -the black curtains within are gone from the windows, the veil which -had concealed the altar disappears, and a blaze of light fills the -edifice, displaying a scene resplendent with gold and gems, tapers and -flowers; while simultaneously with the pouring in of the light, -thrilling and enthusiastic voices singing, "Christ is risen! Christ is -risen!" join the peal which, like a roar of triumph, had burst from -the organ. - -When the multitude have sufficiently recovered the stunning effects of -this scene to separate cause and effect, they perceive that every -pillar and column from pedestal to chapiter is enwreathed with -gorgeous ranunculuses and snowy lilies, mingled with the rich green -leaves of the allegro campo, that crowns and garlands of silver leaves -and artificial dew-drops are scattered profusely, yet with artistic -taste, over the high altar and the various side altars; while pendent -from that masterpiece of art--the sculptured ceiling of native -juniper--are rich chaplets of gold leaves and gems, seeming as if -ready to fall on and crown the heads of the worshippers. - -After a short interval, the bishop, in dazzling robes, wearing his -jewelled mitre, and followed by a train of priests in gorgeous -vestments, is seen standing in front of the high altar, which on this -occasion is covered with a white satin cloth, worked in silver, while -huge candelabras, inlaid with precious stones, gleam in front of the -recesses known as the diaconicum and the prothesis. In the former are -kept the vessels belonging to the altar, and in the other the bread -and wine used at the celebration of the mass. - -A short mass having been performed by priests and choir, the great -door is opened, and the people crowding into the Praca are met by the -little children and young girls strewing flowers over the streets, by -the graceful youths swinging silver censers and filling the ambient -air with light columns of costly incense; by bands playing the most -inspiriting airs; by masquers and others in ordinary costume sending -off rockets and Roman candles, and by hundreds of artisans bearing -fire-arms, the sharp report of which, mingling with the booming of -cannon, the braying of trumpets, and the soft chimes of bells, filled -the air with a most indescribable din. - -In a few moments, however, a cloud overshadows the scene--a cloud -which comes not silently but with a whirring, joyful noise, and with -the beat of fleet pinions. Every one looks up, and behold, there are -the doves--doves in hundreds, sent off by nuns, and monks, and other -devotees, to proclaim in their broad-winged flight the welcome news -that "Christ is risen!" - -Having witnessed all this, and while the joyful excitement is still -unabated, you enter your home, imagining that nothing of the peculiar -usages or customs of a place in which you are a stranger can follow -you there, save the sounds which float in through your shaded windows; -but an agreeable surprise awaits you. The Madeirans are too gentle and -affectionate in their dispositions to forget in a time of such -universal joy even the stranger who may differ from them in religion, -and, accordingly, you find awaiting you a little girl, neatly dressed, -and bearing in her hands a dish covered with a white lace veil. She -has been sent by the nuns, and delivers her present with a suitable -message. - -Uncovering the dish you see a wreath of flowers round the edge, and in -the centre a little lamb made of sugar, lying amidst almond comfits of -{278} every delicate shade of Magenta, blue, and violet. A wreath of -sugar-flowers crowns the head of the lamb, and a similar one graces -its neck. - -With this picturesque gift you may sometimes receive a present of -royal and heavenly bacon. These singularly-named dishes are composed -of eggs and sugar. The first is passed through a hair sieve, falling -in a heap of rings and curls on the dish; the other is made into thick -slices, and lies on the dish drowned in sweet syrup. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY. [Footnote 46] - - [Footnote 46: Prospectus of The Catholic Publication Society. Tract - No. 1, "Indifferentism in Religion and its Remedy." No. 2, "The Plea - of Sincerity." No. 3, "The Forlorn Hope." No. 4, "Prisoner of - Cayonne."] - - -Nothing in the history of the human mind can be more obvious, even to -a superficial observer, than the fact that every age has possessed -intellectual features peculiar to itself, growing out of its own -particular need. Thus we find the mental activity of one period -setting in a strong current toward moral and metaphysical speculation -and of another toward scientific discovery. When one has obtained -predominance, the other has been measurably neglected. - -At the present time, however, the fact is otherwise. The diligence -heretofore manifested in the conquest of special subjects is now -diffused over a greater area; and the energies of the mind, instead of -being concentrated upon the profound and exhaustive knowledge of a few -branches of learning, are directed to the acquisition of a general -knowledge of many. Hence, popular instruction today, to be successful, -must be simplified and condensed, rendered suitable to popular -apprehension and fixed at a point demanding the least amount of mental -labor and promising immediate and tangible results. - -It would need but little argument to show how these conditions of -knowledge have been brought about. The vast development and wonderful -discoveries of science within the last century, the increase of -commercial and mechanical industry, the settlement and growth of -America with its vast resources of wealth, are sufficient to account -for a material change in the intellectual status of Christendom. -Science by increasing the means of human enjoyment has increased the -extent of human wants; these, by the force of habit in one class and -the stimulus of ambition in another, have become in time absolute -necessities. Thus men engage in eager strife to attain what all unite -in esteeming essential to human happiness. - -Now since our nature has moral and intellectual longings--however -subdued by the engrossing occupations of active life--which are still -absolute and imperative, up to a certain point, it would seem that -instruction to suit the exigency of the times must be conveyed in such -a manner and by such means as the opportunities and inclinations of -mankind require. You may easily gain attention to truth by a concise, -simple mode of addressing the intellect, demanding but little time and -not very severe thought, when you cannot secure it by presenting the -subject in a more profound way, by more elaborate proofs or by more -subtle and comprehensive views. If knowledge, therefore, cannot be -imparted in such a way as to suit both the capacity and convenience of -men, it can rarely be communicated at all. {279} What is deemed the -most important pursuit of a man's life is that to which he will pay -the greatest attention. If he cannot attain mental improvement by -means he considers easy and agreeable, the probabilities are that in a -great majority of cases he will neglect it. Here, however, there is -but little difficulty. Whenever a public necessity is fully -recognized, the means of supplying it will not be long wanting. Hence, -we see at the present time every art and science reduced to its -elementary principles and presented to the public mind in plain -rudimentary lessons, so that, while comparatively few are deeply -versed in any one subject, the great mass of thinkers are well -informed in the general outlines of many. - -What has been said with regard to matters more strictly intellectual -may be affirmed with almost equal truth of such as are purely moral. -You may instruct a hundred men in their duty by means of a tract of -ten pages, setting forth incentives to virtue in a cogent argument or -forcible appeal, where you would scarcely be able to obtain a hearing -from one by means of an elaborate essay on ethics, however able or -convincing. Now, it is evident that a duty, carrying all the weight of -deep obligation, rests upon those who have the higher interests of -mankind at heart to provide for them the means of moral and -intellectual improvement; and not only so, but to furnish it in such a -shape as shall be most acceptable and productive of the most hopeful -and lasting results. That such an obligation exists, is apparent from -the general establishment of public and common schools and from the -numerous efforts constantly made to disseminate knowledge among the -masses. The ends here proposed, however, are animated by a sentiment -of general benevolence or political expediency. If, then, we owe to -society the moral and intellectual advancement of the people from -motives of public interest, surely our obligations are not diminished -by those higher considerations which readily suggest themselves to a -religious mind. - -We are now prepared for the question, Are we doing our duty in this -matter? But to bring it nearer home and to address the more immediate -circle of our readers, Are we Catholic Christians doing what we know -to be required of us in the education of our people with sufficient -faithfulness to satisfy an enlightened conscience? Engrossed in more -selfish pursuits, have we not rather neglected this business and -turned it over to others who are only more responsible than ourselves? -We speak to Catholic laymen when we say it is greatly to be feared -that we are not wholly blameless. And here one word as regards the -relative positions of clergy and laity in the church and their mutual -want of co-operation in such things as may fairly come under the -charge of both. - -Every one knows that among all sects of Protestants the laity perform -no inconsiderable amount of labor and share no little responsibility -with the pastor. As teachers and superintendents of Sunday-schools, -leaders of Bible classes, heads of missionary societies and the like, -their influence is much felt and their usefulness highly appreciated -by their co-religionists. Among Catholics, where the priests have -generally three times the ministerial duty of Protestants to perform, -the pastor of a church gets little or no aid from the laity. His -mission may extend over twenty miles of territory, and he is expected -not only to administer the sacraments to both sick and well, but to do -all that is necessary in the religious training of the children. In -fact, the instruction of the young is generally looked upon as -belonging peculiarly to his office. And yet it cannot be denied that -well-disposed laymen of moderate intelligence can at times, acting -under his advice and counsel, very materially assist the overworked -priest without trenching in the least upon his {280} vocation. The -benefit of such assistance could not but be sensibly felt in those -parishes which receive the services of a priest in common with others. -In the more thinly populated districts of our country the want of -priests is a crying necessity, known and felt by every prelate in the -land. It is morally impossible after mass said on Sunday morning, at -two points perhaps fifteen miles apart, that the priest can preach a -sermon and attend to other duties arising from the urgent and -imperative wants of his cure. He cannot administer holy baptism, hear -confessions, visit the sick, bury the dead, say mass, recite his -office, attend to church temporalities (no small affair in some -instances of itself) and yet find time to give the requisite -instruction to his people. - -We can but be aware that regular pulpit instruction is a most -effectual mode of promoting piety and one of which we ought not to be -deprived. We require at least all the agencies for this purpose -enjoyed by others. The people, too, are eager for it. Mark the strict -attention with which Catholic congregations follow every word of the -preacher, and mark, too, the effect of an earnest and appropriate -sermon! It is plainly visible upon the faces of old and young. In -addition to this, the command given in Holy Scripture to preach is -imperative. Are we not, then, bound to more than ordinary exertion to -comply with it? - -Such, unfortunately, is the proneness of men to forget their religious -duties that they require precept upon precept, often renewed and -diligently urged upon their minds. Surrounded by temptation, -forgetfulness of the great practical truths of religion is not strange -in the absence of direct spiritual teaching. The sacraments of the -church, especially the holy sacrifice of the altar, undoubtedly do -much to arrest spiritual decline in the people; but no one will deny -that frequent appeals to the conscience, and judicious instruction in -the principles of Catholic faith and morality, however conveyed to the -understanding, are valuable aids even to the worthy reception of the -sacraments. - -It is to supply the deficiencies here aimed at that this enterprise, -with the hearty approbation of several prelates, has been undertaken, -which, if it shall receive the cordial support of the Catholic public, -will produce results the extent of which is not to be easily foreseen. -Those persons who have attempted the task are actuated with a settled -determination that it shall succeed; and it is not to be believed, in -a matter of so great moment, that they are to be left without the -substantial help of Catholics throughout the country. A society has -been formed, and its work has already begun, styled "The Catholic -Publication Society," to which the attention of our readers was called -in our last number. This society proposes to issue short tracts and -pamphlets conveying that species of instruction required by Catholics -in the most entertaining form, so as to engage the attention, affect -the hearts, and suit the wants of all classes. To none would such a -blessing be more welcome than to the poor, who are in an especial -manner, from their very defencelessness, under our protection. These, -though they may not read themselves, can listen to their children, -taught at school, who can read for them. Thus, in a simple narrative -or dialogue some important practical truths may be impressed upon the -mind which shall do good service in a moment of temptation. It is by -these means that other denominations are instructing their people and -producing an influence on many outside of their own communions. - -The number of Catholics in this country, already large, is constantly -increasing, and unless we do something of the kind here suggested, -others will attempt it in our stead. Religious tracts from Protestant -societies are flying over the country like leaves before the autumn -wind, and it {281} would not be remarkable if our own people were -brought within the range of their influence. - -Beside this, there is another field in which we have not only the -right to work, but which we cannot, or at least ought not to, neglect. -There are thousands of young men in the land of fair education who, -impelled by necessity or ambition, flock to the great commercial -centres. These, careless in matters of religion, having no settled -principles of faith, often called upon to confront great dangers and -temptations, seldom attend any place of worship; or if so, only to -relieve the ennui of Sunday. These are souls to be cared for. They -need instruction upon cardinal points of the Christian faith. They may -have received something akin to it in early youth, but it has been -forgotten. They are difficult to reach, and in no way can access to -them be gained more readily than by the publications of this society. -A few words of earnest advice, a hint as to the end of a vicious -career, or a warning of the uncertainty of life, may excite -reflection, and reflection is the first step toward reformation. - -At a time like the present of vast intellectual activity, when myriads -of books are produced on all subjects embracing every description of -teaching, there must be abroad not only a great mass of error, but a -great number of unstable minds ready to receive it. Men imperfectly -educated, striving to master subjects far beyond their comprehension, -trained to no logical modes of thought, restrained by no respect for -authority, confounding scepticism with freedom of inquiry, are often -led by a dangerous curiosity to examine certain fundamental questions -which lie at the root of all knowledge, and which can only be safely -handled by the most learned and profound. Such is the class of persons -peculiarly to be benefited by Catholic teaching. A theology positive -and satisfying to the soul, that sets wholesome limits to human -knowledge, and is able to give adequate answers to great social and -moral problems, is best adapted to impress minds of this class. The -reading of three pages has before now convinced a man of the error of -his whole philosophical system, and may do it again. - -The spirit of Catholic charity takes in all sorts and conditions of -men. The mission of the church is well defined, and may be summed up -in one word, namely, to convert the world to God; and as every day -brings its blessings upon labors that have been already undertaken to -secure this object, we have reason to hope that new efforts and fresh -zeal, well directed, will produce abundant fruits. - -We cannot close this notice of the Catholic Publication Society -without adverting to one means of usefulness which we think it is -especially fitted to promote. - -Such has been the virulence of hostility to the Catholic religion in -days gone by, such the monstrous credulity and unreasoning prejudice -of its foes, that it is not surprising to find a true knowledge of the -Catholic faith exceedingly rare. Within the last twenty years, -however, a great change has taken place. The general blamelessness of -life in those who honor their religion, fidelity to social and -political duties, and charity toward our enemies, have not been -without precious results. At the present moment religious bigotry can -no longer animate the hatred alike of wise and simple. One who comes -prepared to censure, must come prepared also for the conflict of -truth. Statements, facts, and opinions are closely scrutinized. -Everything is not now taken upon trust. The attitude of controversy -begets caution. Now, what advantages may we not hope to reap from this -one isolated fact? A fair hearing for the true exposition of Catholic -doctrine; not doctrine carefully prepared with exterior show of -fairness and then imputed to us for the purpose of being more easily -{282} destroyed; but of the truths of Christianity as taught by the -church for ages. When we can gain the unprejudiced ear of the world, -truly we may begin to hope for the day of Christian unity. - -To disarm prejudice is of itself a work worthy of special effort. We -can hope to make no great progress in persuading men to listen to the -voice of Christian truth until we can convince them that our teaching -rests upon the basis of sound reason. Those who have been told that to -embrace Catholic doctrine is to surrender at discretion all the powers -of the mind, and even the evidence of the senses, must be undeceived -before they can be expected to make any progress in the impartial -investigation of it. But it is chiefly among Catholics themselves that -we predict the greatest success for this association. Of our own -people there are very many who need that instruction which hitherto we -have not had the adequate means of providing for them. We all feel how -important it is that every Catholic should be thoroughly intelligent -upon all that he is required to believe, and the reasons that exist -for requiring it. In every class of society Catholics are called upon -to render an account of the faith that is in them, to explain the -doctrines and ceremonies of their religion, and when unable to do so, -they both suffer the evil consequences of this ignorance themselves -and, by it, retard the spread of the knowledge of the truth among -those whom the church is equally commissioned to enlighten, guide, and -save. - -We have advocated the aims of the Catholic Publication Society at -greater length than we at first intended, but feel that in -consideration of their importance we have not said too much. It is -impossible to over-estimate the good this society may, with God's -blessing, be made to accomplish. To make it effective, its -organization throughout the United States should be co-extensive with -the church itself. Our work in this country is getting ahead of us. -The religious needs of our people are rapidly increasing. If we are -not up and doing in proper season, we shall find that during our -repose the enemy has been sowing tares among the wheat. The harvest is -great, but the laborers few. Let us all, then, as God gives us grace -to know our duty, take this matter earnestly to heart, and let us not -suffer under the reproach of denying to our fellow-Christians all the -spiritual food they are willing to receive. - -What is here proposed is truly a missionary work. Efforts of this kind -can only be successful by zealous labor and generous support; and we -sincerely hope, as the plan by which funds are to be raised becomes -generally known, the Catholic public will not deny liberal aid to so -worthy a cause. Almost every one can lend a helping hand. It will be -seen by reference to the Society's Prospectus that the sum of five -dollars constitutes a member for one year. Parents could hardly -gratify their children more than by subscribing for them. It gives -young folks the idea that they amount to something in this world when -they find their own names enrolled on the books of a religious -society. The sum of thirty dollars constitutes a member for five years -and of fifty dollars a life member. Patrons of one hundred and five -hundred dollars will not be wanting amongst so many generous and -appreciative Catholics as there are in the country. A number of these -last have already come forward in the city of New York, and subscribed -that amount to constitute a fund to enable the society to accomplish -its missionary work, and we are sure that this call will elicit a -similar ready response from many in other cities and towns who wait -only to know what to do for the advancement of their holy faith in -order to do it. Your parish priest is willing to spend and be spent in -your service. Show your gratitude by making him a member of one of the -above classes. He will accept it from you as a beautiful testimonial -of {283} your esteem and respect. It has also been suggested by an -eminent prelate and patron of the society that it would greatly -promote its success if a clergyman should be appointed in each diocese -by the ecclesiastical authority, to take charge of the society's -interests, and to act as its agent. - -We trust as the enterprise becomes more extensively known that -generous hearts will be found to feel a voluntary interest in this -work and prompted to aid it without further solicitation. Let it not -be forgotten that one of the objects of this society is to supply -religious reading to the inmates of hospitals, almshouses, asylums, -and prisons--a class of persons whose spiritual welfare requires to be -specially looked after. Benevolence has no more sacred field than -among this unfortunate class; and we hope that those who have so often -proved themselves worthy of their faith by relieving the physical -wants of their fellow-creatures, will not be found indifferent to the -spiritual. In short, what we desire of our fellow-Catholics is, that -an interest in this matter should become general throughout the -country; and that each one should assist as he is able, either alone -or in conjunction with his neighbors. Several prelates have already -become patrons of this society, and the venerable Archbishop of -Baltimore has honored it by contributing the first tract. - -While treating of the practical part of this subject, we desire to say -that priests residing in the remote parts of the country can be -furnished with the society's publications on precisely the same terms -as those living near at hand. They will be supplied at prices _never -exceeding cost_, postage prepaid. All Catholics, in every section of -our land, have an equal interest in its success. - -Upon the co-operation of the clergy we, of course, confidently rely. -To aid them in their arduous duties is one of the objects of the -society. It will be a most powerful auxiliary to the priesthood in -spreading instruction among our own people and the truths of the -Catholic faith among all classes of our community. If they should ask -us what we would have them do, we reply--"Reflect upon the immense -importance of this enterprise to the souls of men; and, when you have -comprehended what a vast work of usefulness lies before this society, -your own intelligence and good dispositions will best suggest the -manner in which you can most successfully lend your aid." - ------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND A PORTION OF CHRIST'S ONE HOLY -CATHOLIC CHURCH, AND A MEANS OF RESTORING VISIBLE UNITY. -An Eirenicon, in a Letter to the Author of "The Christian Year." By E. -B. Pusey, D.D., Regius Professor of Hebrew and Canon of Christ Church, -Oxford. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1866. (Reprint from the English -edition.) - -Dr. Pusey's "Eirenicon" has been extensively commented on by the -Catholic press both in England and on the Continent. Some of his -critics have regarded it with favorable eyes, as a sign of approach -toward the Catholic Church, and others with marked hostility, as an -evidence of determined opposition. We concur with the former class -most decidedly. The most remarkable of all the answers it has called -forth is that of Dr. Newman, republished in our April number, and -since then issued in a separate form, with all the notes, by Mr. -Kehoe. Dr. Newman confines himself to one point, however--the defence -of the {284} Catholic doctrine concerning the Blessed Virgin. The -"Dublin Review" has given a very able criticism on the portion which -relates to the attitude of the Church of England. An admirable article -has also appeared in the learned Jesuit periodical, "Etudes -Religieuses," published at Paris, which is especially valuable for its -exposition of the doctrinal authority of the Holy See. As a general -answer to Dr. Pusey's specific proposals concerning the way of -reconciliation with Rome, we consider P. Lockhart's article, in the -"Weekly Register," as the most judicious and satisfactory. The -following letter, from Dr. Pusey to the editor, shows how he himself -appreciated this answer: - -LETTER FROM DR. PUSEY -ON HIS HOPES OF REUNION. - - TO THE EDITOR OF THE WEEKLY REGISTER: - CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD, NOV. 22, 1865. - - Sir: I thank you, with all my heart, for your kind-hearted and - appreciative review of my "Eirenicon." I am thankful that you have - brought out the main drift and objects of it, what, in my mind, - underlies the whole, to show that, in my conviction, there is no - insurmountable obstacle to the union of (you will forgive the terms, - though you must reject them) the Roman, Greek, and Anglican - communions. I have long been convinced that there is nothing in the - Council of Trent which could not be explained satisfactorily to us, - if it were explained _authoritatively--i.e._ by the Roman Church - itself, not by individual theologians only. This involves the - conviction, on my side, that there is nothing in our Articles which - cannot be explained rightly, as not contradicting any things held to - be _de fide_ in the Roman Church. The great body of the faith is - held alike by both; in those subjects referred to in our Art. XXII. - I believe (to use the language of a very eminent Italian nobleman) - "your [our] _maximum_ and our [your] _minimum_ might be found to - harmonize." In regard to details of explanation, it was not my - office, as being a priest only, invested with no authority, to draw - them out. But I wished to indicate their possibility. You are - relatively under the same circumstances. But I believe that the hope - which you have held out, that the authorities in the Roman communion - _might_ hold that "a reunion on the principles of Bossuet would be - better than a perpetual schism," will unlock many a pent-up - longing--pent-up on the ground of the apparent hopelessness that - Rome would accord to the English Church any terms which it could - accept. - - May I add, that nothing was further from my wish than to write - anything which should be painful to those in your communion? A - defence, indeed, of necessity, involves some blame; since, in a - quarrel, the blame must be wholly on the one side or on the other, - or divided; and a defence implies that it is not wholly on the side - defended. But having smoothed down, as I believe honestly, every - difficulty I could, to my own people, I thought that it would not be - right toward them not to state where I conceive the real difficulty to - lie. Nor could your authorities meet our difficulties unless they knew - them. You will think it superfluous that I desired that none of this - system, which is now matter of "pious opinion," should, like the - doctrine of the immaculate conception be made _de fide_. But, in the - view of a hoped-for reunion, everything which you do affects us. Let - me say, too, that I did not write as a reformer, but on the - defensive. It is not for us to prescribe to Italians or Spaniards - what they shall hold, or how they shall express their pious - opinions. All which we wish is to have it made certain by authority - that we should not, in case of reunion, be obliged to hold them - ourselves. Least of all did I think of imputing to any of the - writers whom I quoted that they "took from our Lord any of the love - which they gave to his mother." I was intent only on describing the - system which I believe is the great obstacle to reunion. I had not - the least thought of criticising holy men who held it. - - As it is of moment that I should not be misunderstood by my own - people, let me add that I have not intended to express any opinion - about a visible head of the church. _We readily acknowledge the - primary of the Bishop of Rome; the bearings of that primacy upon - other local churches we believe to be a matter of ecclesiastical, - not of divine law; but neither is there anything in the supremacy in - itself to which we should object._ Our only fear is that it should, - through the appointment of one bishop, involve the reception of that - practical _quasi_--authoritative system which is, I believe, alike - the cause and (forgive me) the justification in our eyes of our - remaining apart. - - But, although I intended to be on the defensive, I thank you most - warmly for that tenderness which enabled you to see my aim and - objects throughout a long and necessarily miscellaneous work. And I - believe that the way in which you have treated this our _bonâtell - you fide_ "endeavor to find a basis for reunion, on the principle - debated between Archbishop Wake and the Gallican divines two - centuries ago," will, by rekindling hope, give a strong {285} - impulse toward that reunion. Despair is still. If hope is revived in - the English mind that Christendom may again be united, rekindled - hope will ascend in the more fervent prayer to him who "maketh men - to be of one mind in an house," and our prayers will not return - unheard for want of love. Your obedient servant, - - E. B. PUSEY. - - -This letter, with others which have appeared from time to time, and -the whole course of Dr. Pusey's conduct, prove, in our estimation, -that he is acting with sincere good faith and goodwill toward the -Catholic Church. The long list of objections and charges which his -book contains, and which has irritated some Catholics so much, proves -only that Dr. Pusey's mind is troubled and bewildered, but not that -his heart is malevolent. The doctor is a very learned man, and a very -deep thinker, but in the mystic or contemplative order. He is not -either rapid or clear in his intellectual conceptions, nor is he -precise and methodical in the arrangement of the subject of which he -treats. He represents the best school of English evangelical and -scriptural divines, with the addition of extremely high-church -doctrines. No one can question his devout and deeply religious spirit, -the extraordinary purity and goodness of his life, or the zeal and -ability with which he has labored for fifty years to propagate several -of the most fundamental Catholic dogmas. His essay on baptismal -regeneration is the most thorough and exhaustive one in our language, -and we have never met with anything equal to it in any other. It has -had an incalculable influence over the theological mind of the -Episcopalian communion in England and America, in laying the -foundation of a right belief in sacramental grace, and thus preparing -the way for the reception of the entire Catholic system. The same may -be said, in part, respecting the doctrine of the real presence, the -authority of tradition, and other points. We look on him as a kind of -_avant courier_ not only of high-churchmen, but of orthodox -Protestants generally, laboring his way with difficulty through -thickets and morasses back to the Catholic Church, by dint of study, -meditation, and prayer. That he has come so near, bringing with him -the sympathy of so large a number, is a sign that an extraordinary -grace of the Holy Spirit is drawing the most widely separated members -of the Christian family back to unity and integrity of faith and -communion. We request our readers to take note of the fact that Dr. -Pusey, boldly and without censure, maintains that the articles of his -church can and ought to be explained in conformity with the decrees of -the Council of Trent. He proposes these decrees as the basis of -reconciliation. That there should still remain certain difficulties, -prepossessions, and misconceptions in his mind, is not strange; and -while these exist as a bar to a complete and cordial reception of the -entire Catholic system, there is no other way for him to do but to -state them as strongly as possible, so as to bring them under -discussion. There are only two of these difficulties which are -formidable. One relates to the office of the Blessed Virgin as Mother -of the Incarnate Word and Queen of Saints; the other, to that of the -Pope as Vicar of Christ and supreme Bishop of the Catholic Church. A -critical notice gives no opportunity for discussing such great and -grave questions, which demand an elaborate volume. The prelates and -theologians of the church will no doubt give them the full and ample -treatment which they deserve. We simply note the fact that the whole -ground of discussion is reduced in fact, by Dr. Pusey, to the nature -and extent of the Papal supremacy, on which depends the definition of -the body actually constituting the _Ecclesia Docens_ or teaching -church, and the dogmatic value of the decisions made by the Roman -Church with the concurrence of the bishops in her communion. It is -evident that the concession of the supremacy claimed by the Roman -Church involves the admission of all the dogmatic decisions of the -councils ratified by the popes as ecumenical, from the Eighth Council -to the Council of Trent; together with the dogmatic definition of the -immaculate conception, and the condemnations of heretical propositions -which have issued from the Holy See and are universally acknowledged -and enforced by all bishops in her communion. There is but one point, -therefore, really in controversy with the party of Dr. Pusey, as there -is but one with the so-called Greek Church, viz.: the Papal supremacy. - -It will be noticed by every attentive reader that Dr. Pusey partially -admits {286} this doctrine already, and shows himself open to argument -on the subject. On the other great question, respecting the -prerogatives of the Blessed Virgin Mary, he appears to show himself -also disposed to listen to explanations tending to remove his -misconceptions. In a letter to Dr. Wordsworth, published in the -"Weekly Register," of Jan. 27, Dr. Pusey says: - - "In regard to 'the immaculate conception,' . . . I may, however, - take this opportunity of saying that I understand that Roman divines - hold that all which is defined is, that the soul of the Blessed - Virgin was infused pure into her body, and was preserved from both - guilt and taint of original sin for those merits of our Lord, by - whom she was redeemed, and that nothing is defined as to 'active - conception,' i.e., that of her body. In this case, the words, 'in - primo instanti conceptionis suae,' must be used in a different sense - from that in which St. Thomas uses it of our Lord. The - immaculateness of the conception would then differ in degree, not in - kind, from that of Jeremiah, who was sanctified in his mother's - womb." - -It must be borne in mind that Dr. Pusey finds no fault with the -language of the Latin or Greek missals and breviaries respecting the -Blessed Virgin. Let the quotations from the Greek books in the notes -to Dr. Newman's letter be carefully examined, and it will be seen that -they fully sustain the common Catholic belief and practice. We have -been ourselves fully acquainted with the doctrine and practice of the -children of St. Alphonsus Liguori, who are considered as having -carried devotion to the Blessed Virgin to the greatest extreme. We -can, therefore, give our testimony that there is nothing in it which -is not identical in principle with the prescribed devotions of the -missal and breviary. The notion of there being a substitution of the -Blessed Virgin for Christ, or an overshadowing of the supreme worship -and love of God, anywhere in the Catholic Church, is a mere chimaera, -a spectral illusion of an alarmed imagination. We know what St. -Bernard, St. Alphonsus, and other approved writers have said. There is -nothing there beyond the language of St. Ephrem, the fathers of -Ephesus, the Greek liturgies, the _Salve Regina, Regina Coeli, Ave -Domina_, and litany of Loretto. - -The array of quotations which Dr. Pusey has made from Catholic writers -will be found, on critical examination, to contain nothing formidable. -One of the works from which he quotes, that of Oswald, was placed on -the Index in 1855, and retracted by the author. Some of the other -passages are from works of a highly imaginative character, and contain -figurative or poetic expressions easily susceptible of an erroneous -sense when read by persons not intimately acquainted with the Catholic -religion. We think with Dr. Newman, with the late Archbishop Kenrick, -and with many other wise and holy men, that it is very ill-judged to -adopt such phraseology when it is sure to beget bewilderment and -misunderstanding. We have more need to teach the solid dogmas of faith -than to propagate pious opinions, and cultivate exotic, hot-house -flowers of piety. Dr. Newman has done more to establish a solid -devotion to the Blessed Virgin, by his brief theological essay, than -all the fanciful and rhetorical rhapsodies ever penned. We can forgave -Dr. Pusey for getting bewildered in perusing such a quantity of -poetry, accustomed as he is to Hebrew and other dry studies; but we -regret that he has displayed such an assortment of obscure and dark -sayings to bewilder others. We acquit him cheerfully of all blame for -it, but we nevertheless cannot help giving our deliberate judgment -that he has put forth one of the most mischievous books, to ordinary -and imperfectly informed minds, that has ever proceeded from the -English press. We cannot by any means recommend it to general perusal, -but those who do read it will do well to take its statements, on many -points, with great caution. We will conclude our remarks upon it with -noting some of its serious, albeit unintentional, misstatements: - -1. The correspondence between Archbishop Wake and Du Pin was not a -_bonâ fide_ negotiation between that prelate and orthodox Gallicans, -but with Jansenists, in view of a coalition against the Roman Church. - -2. There is no proof of any ratification ever having been made by Rome -of any ordinations according to the Anglican ordinal. - -3. It is a mistake to say that extreme unction is given only to those -whose life is despaired of. It may be given {287} in all cases where a -probable danger of death is feared. - -4. It is not admitted by Catholic writers that Russia was converted by -missionaries separated from the communion of the Roman Church. - -5. It is a mistake to suppose that the prelates of the United States -gave no response to the Holy See respecting the definition of the -immaculate conception. The question was discussed in a full council, -and the judgment of' the prelates was transmitted to Rome in favor of -the definition. The Blessed Virgin, under the title of the Immaculate -Conception, was proclaimed, by a decree of the prelates, the patroness -of the Church of the United States, and the Sunday within the octave -of the feast has been made one of the principal solemnities of the -year. - -Finally, a complete misconception of the whole question respecting -Papal infallibility and its limits underlies and vitiates all the -statements of the book on that subject. There is no dissension or -doubt existing in the Catholic episcopate in regard to any definition -of faith, or any doctrinal decisions whose acceptance is exacted by -the Holy See under pain of censure. The Pope and the bishops, as the -infallible _Ecclesia Docens_, are a unit. What one teaches and -requires to be believed, all teach alike. The unity of faith in the -episcopate was never so palpable a fact as it is at the present -moment. So far as relates to disciplinary authority over doctrinal -matters, the Roman Church is recognized in universal Catholic law as -the court of ultimate appeal, and all questions respecting the -interpretation of the definitions of the Council of Trent, which are -the great standard of orthodoxy, were expressly reserved to it by the -bull of confirmation, with the assent of the council itself, and by -the decree _De Recipiendis_, etc. There is no possibility, therefore, -of negotiating with the Catholic Church, or any portion of it, for -reconciliation, except through the head of the church. The conditions -of reconciliation are plain and distinct, and they will never be -modified so far as relates to doctrine or essential discipline. -Explanation, courtesy, benignant interpretation, full liberty in -regard to mere theological opinions, will be cheerfully accorded; but -no more. - -It is vain to expect any propositions for reconciliation to come from -the hierarchy of the Protestant Episcopal Church of England or -America. We advise those who desire the reunion of Christendom to -consider, carefully, the claims of the Roman Church, and if they are -convinced of their validity to effect their own personal union with -the mother and mistress of churches. If they are not, we do not wish -them to come to us, either singly or in a body. Those who really -become Catholics will desire to become members of the Catholic Church -as she is, and not of a reformed body, conglomerated from the -Catholic, Russian, and Anglican churches, and will not thank us to -concede an iota of principle. Strict, dogmatic unity, and -unconditional submission to the supreme authority of the See of Peter, -is the only condition of union in ecclesiastical fellowship. The -Greeks themselves have exacted that the question of dogma should be -settled first, before any propositions of intercommunion with -Anglicans can be entertained; so that the hope of obtaining -recognition from them, with the question of dogma left open, has been -overthrown. Our other Protestant brethren have embroiled themselves -worse than ever over their projects for an anti-Catholic union of -sects. There is not the faintest chance of any reunion of Christians -except by a return to the centre of unity. - -We are glad to see that Dr. Pusey has been passing some time with -Catholic bishops in France, and that there is a probability of his -going to Rome to confer with the Holy Father. We trust the learned and -venerable doctor will do so, and that he will find his doubts and -perplexities settled at the Seat of Truth, the chair of the Prince of -the Apostles, whence all unity takes its rise. - - -NOTES ON DOCTRINAL AND SPIRITUAL SUBJECTS. -By the late Frederick William Faber, D.D., etc. Vol. I. Mysteries and -Festivals. London; Richardson & Son, 1866. New York: Lawrence Kehoe. - -Father Faber was a man of cultivated mind, rich imagination, high -poetic gifts, exuberant sensibility, and ardent devotion. His life was -rich in good works and his death deeply regretted. In a literary point -of view we consider his poetry as the best portion {288} of the -products of his fertile mind and pen. His spiritual works, however, -have attained a great popularity and a wide circulation, and no doubt -have done and will do great good to that large class who love and -require instructions deeply imbued with sentiment and emotion. The -present volume consists of sketches of instructions never finished, -and is intended as an aid in preparing sermons or conferences on -spiritual subjects. We are glad to see that F. Faber's life is in -preparation, and shall await its publication with interest. If well -done, it cannot fail to be one of the most attractive of biographies. -The life and writings of F. Faber are well suited to please and -benefit a large class of Protestants as well as Catholics. We have -heard not only Episcopalians and Unitarians speak in warm terms of the -pleasure they take in his books, but even an aged and venerable -Presbyterian clergyman recite his poetry with enthusiasm. We do not -consider his works to be beyond criticism, and, for those who are able -to bear it, we regard the more solid and plain food of F. Augustine -Baker and Father Lallemant as more wholesome. But every one has his -own proper gift, and that of Father Faber was evidently to make -spiritual doctrine sweet and palatable to a vast number of persons who -would not receive it except through the avenue of sensibility. His -works are a wilderness of flowers and foliage; nevertheless they -contain a doctrine which is substantially sound and useful, and their -general aim and tendency is to establish solid, practical piety and -virtue. The volume before us is replete with thoughts and conceptions -redolent with all the peculiar vividness and brilliancy of the -author's style, and exhibiting also extensive and profound knowledge -of theology. We con recommend it to clergymen who wish for a treasury -of choice materials wherewith to enrich and enliven their discourses, -as a more complete and suggestive manual than any we have in the -English language, and one which may be used to great advantage if used -judiciously. It would be a very unsafe experiment, however, to attempt -a close imitation of F. Faber's style, especially for young and -inexperienced preachers, who might meet the fate of Icarus attempting -to fly with waxen wings. We cannot, therefore, unreservedly recommend -this volume as containing the best _models_ for imitation, but only in -a qualified sense as extremely suggestive and quickening to thought -and sentiment, and thus furnishing the materials and ornaments for -discourses planned and constructed in a plainer and more sober style. -We think it likely to become a great favorite with a large class of -clergymen, especially those who are anxious to make their sermons as -attractive as possible, and well fitted to be of great service to them -in the way we have indicated. - - -THE GRAHAMES. By Mrs. Trafford -Whitehead. American News Company. 1 volume 12mo, pp. 382. - -This is a commonplace, _fashionable_ novel, written in an inflated -style. Its sentiment is weak, its pathos twaddle, and its tone and -morality low and reprehensible. We hope none of our young people will -read it; but if they do that they will not imitate the heroine who -finds it her _mission_ to stay in a gentleman's house, in the capacity -of governess to a namby-pamby child, after she has discovered that the -lady is cold as ice, and the gentleman, whose eyes she cannot -understand, has _accidentally_ betrayed his penchant for herself. - -The lady, as in duty bound, dies, and the governess, of course, -marries the gentleman. - - -CHRISTUS JUDEX: A Traveller's Tale. -By Edward Roth. 12mo, pp. 78. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt. 1864. - -This is a piece of composition full of beauty and marked by the most -refined taste. There is a chaste elegance, too, about the typography -and binding which is highly creditable to the publisher. It is just -such a book as one wishes to find to present as a gift to a friend. We -heartily recommend it to all our readers. - - [Transcriber's note: This section was printed in small type; many - words are merely guesses.] - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From D. Appleton & Co., New York: The Temporal Mission of the Holy -Ghost; or Reason and Revelation, by Henry Edward, Archbishop of -Westminster 12mo, pp. 274. - -F. W. Christ???, New York: Victor Hugo's Les Travalileurs de las Mer. -Edition special pour les Etats-Unis. - -P. O'Shea, New York: Nos. 23, 24 and 25 of Darras' History of the -Church. - -Brophy & Burch, Washington, D.C: Argument in the Supreme Court of -United States of America, by Alexander J. P. Careschi[?], in the case -of the Rev. Mr. Cummings, plaintiff in error, vs. the state of -Missouri, defendant in error. - -{289} - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -VOL. III., NO. 15.--JUNE, 1866. - - -[ORIGINAL] - - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -III. - -THE BELIEF IN GOD IS THE FIRST ARTICLE OF A RELIGIOUS CREED. - -The first article of the Christian Creed is "Credo in Deum"--"I -believe in God." The Christian child receives this originally by -instruction before it attains the complete use of reason, and believes -it by a natural faith in the word of those who teach it. Afterward it -attains to a clearer and more distinct conception of its meaning and -truth. This conception, however, is still furnished to it by Christian -theology, and by theology itself is referred back to a revelation -whose beginning is coeval with the human race. The fact just stated in -regard to the belief of the Christian child is also true in regard to -the belief of mankind universally. Wherever the idea of God, as -exhibited by pure, theistic philosophy, is contained in the common -belief of the people, it is held as a portion of some religious system -purporting to be derived from revelation. It is learned from the -instruction of religious teachers, and transmitted by a sacred -tradition. We do not attain to the conception of God by the -spontaneous, unaided evolution of it in our individual reason. Those -nations which remain in the state of infancy, through a lack of the -civilizing and instructing power, do not attain to that conception. -The only way in which pure, theistic conceptions have ever been -communicated to any considerable number of persons previously -destitute of them, has been by the instruction of those who already -possessed them. - -This tradition goes back to the original creation of the race. Mankind -was originally constituted by the Almighty in a state of civilized and -enlightened society, fully furnished with that sacred treasure which -tradition diffuses universally, and which constitutes {290} the -inherited capital on which all the precious gain and increase in -science, civilization, and every kind of intellectual and moral -wealth, are based. It is in this way that the conception of God, which -the founders of the human race received by immediate revelation, has -been preserved and transmitted by universal tradition. In the pure and -legitimate line of descent it has come down uncorrupted through the -line of patriarchs and prophets to Jesus Christ, who has promulgated -it anew in such a manner as to secure its inviolable preservation to -the end of time. Indirectly, and subject to various changes and -corruptions, it has descended through human language and law, through -civilization and science, through Gentile literature and mythology, -and through philosophy. Directly or indirectly, all the conceptions of -mankind respecting God, whether perfect or imperfect, crude or mature, -have been transmitted by tradition from the original and primitive -revelation made to the founders of the race. - -The universal utterance of mankind is, and always has been, "Credo in -Deum." This is a common credence, possessed by the race from the -beginning, which the individual mind receives and acquiesces in with -more or less of intelligent belief and understanding, but never -totally eradicates from among its conceptions. It is a credence -perfectly enunciated in that divine revelation which the Christian -church possesses in its integrity, and communicates in the most -complete and explicit manner to all those who receive her -instructions. - -Here may easily arise a misunderstanding. Some one will say: "You -appear to resolve all our knowledge of God into an act of faith in a -revelation handed down from the past. But the very conception of -revelation implies the previous conception of God, who makes the -revelation. Faith in a revealed doctrine is based on the veracity of -God, who reveals it. But in order that one may be able to make this -act of faith, he must previously know that God is, and that he is -veracious. Thus, we must believe that God is veracious because it is -revealed, and believe this revealed doctrine that he is veracious -because of his veracity. This is a vicious circle, and gives no basis -whatever for rational belief." - -This objection has really been anticipated and obviated in the -preceding chapter. A full understanding of the answer to it will -require a careful reading of the present chapter entire, and perhaps -of the greater part of the succeeding ones. Just now, we simply reply -to the objector that we do not, as he imagines, resolve the evidence -of God's existence, and of other rational truths, into a tradition or -revelation. We hold firmly that these truths are provable by reason. -In speaking of revelation or tradition as our instructor in the -doctrine of God, what is meant is this: The correct and complete -formula, the divine word, or infallible speech, expressing in the -sensible signs of human language the explicit conception of that -divine idea which is constitutive of the soul's very rational -existence,--this _formula_ has been handed down by tradition from the -origin of the race. We do not propose this tradition as a mere -exterior authority to which the mind must submit blindly, from which -it must derive its rational activity, or in which it must locate its -criterion of rational certitude. We admit the obligation of proving -that this tradition is universal and divine. So far as the doctrines -it proposes are within the sphere of reason, we hold that reason -receives them because they are self-evident, or capable of being -deduced from that which is self-evident. Thus, for instance, in -proposing the veracity of God as the ground of faith in his -revelation, it is proposed as a truth evident by the light of reason. -Reason, however, is indebted to the instruction which comes by -tradition for that clear and distinct statement of the being and -attributes {291} of God, including his infinite and eternal veracity, -which brings the mind to a reflective consciousness of its own -primitive idea. - -This may be illustrated by a comparison of the exterior word or -revelation with that interior word or revelation which creates the -soul and gives it the natural light of reason. The word of God spoken -in the creative act creates the rational soul, and affirms to it his -being and the existence of creatures, including that of the soul -itself. This is a revelation. All natural knowledge is a revelation -from God. Our belief in the reality of the outward world, and of our -own existence, is resolved into a belief in the reality of the -creative act of God, or of that spoken word by which he creates the -world. We see no difficulty here, because we see that the word of God, -in this case, enlightens the soul to see the truth of that which it -declares to it. We need not find any more difficulty in the case of -the exterior word. When this exterior, word declares plainly to an -ignorant mind the nature and attributes of God, and the obligation of -believing and obeying the truth revealed by him, this word also -enlightens that mind to perceive the truth of what it declares. It -illuminates the soul to see more distinctly the truths that are within -the sphere of reason by direct, rational perception; and to see -indirectly and indistinctly those truths which are above reason, in -the self-evident truth of God's veracity, and in the analogies and -correspondences which exist between these truths and those which are -directly apprehended by reason. - -This is anticipating what is to be treated of expressly hereafter. We -trust it is now plain that we do not profess to derive the idea of God -in the human race, and in each individual mind, from a mere outward -tradition, or to prove its reality from a mere authoritative dictum of -revelation. What we really intend to do is, to exhibit the conception -of God contained in Christian theology, for the purpose of showing its -objective truth and reality by a rational method. In the first place, -we wish to bring out the conception itself as clearly as possible; to -describe a circle in language vast and perfect enough to include all -that is intelligible to human reason respecting God and his -perfections. In the second place, to review the different methods of -proving to reason the objective reality of this conception. And -finally, to propose what we believe to be the best and most complete -method of presenting to the reflective consciousness of the soul the -certitude of its positive judgment, affirming the being of God. -[Footnote 47] - - [Footnote 47: In the actual treatment of the subject, this order has - been changed for the sake of convenience.] - -A great task, certainly! Some may regard it as on evidence of -presumption to undertake it. Truly, if one should propose the -conception of the being of the infinite God as a mere hypothesis; -criticising and condemning the arguments of great men respecting it as -illogical and unsuccessful attempts to prove it; professing to have -discovered or invented some new process of demonstrating the problem, -and thus pretend to make that certain which has hitherto been doubtful -or probable, it would argue the height of arrogance and presumption. -We do not, however, propose any such thing. The idea of God -constitutes the very existence and life of the human soul. The -conception of God, more or less perfectly explicated, is the -possession of the human race universal, and in its completely -explicated form it is the possession of the church universal of all -ages. It is the treasure of universal theology and philosophy, handed -down by an universal and inviolable tradition not of mere dead words -and logical forms, but of the living thought and belief of all the -sages and saints of the earth. The truth that {292} God is, and is -infinitely perfect in his attributes, is the infallible and -irreversible judgment of the reason of mankind, whether naturally or -supernaturally enlightened. All that an individual can do is to -attempt to gain a distinct apprehension and a correct verbal -expression of the self-luminous idea which shines in all philosophy, -but especially in Christian Catholic philosophy. It is a mistake, -then, to consider an argument respecting the being of God as a mere -logical process, conducting from some known premises to an unknown -conclusion; a process in which any incorrectness in analysis or -deduction vitiates the result and leaves the unsolved problem to the -efforts of some new candidate for the honor of first discovering the -solution. The reflex conceptions of that infallible affirmation of God -to the soul which constitutes its rational existence must be -substantially correct. This is especially the case where revelation -furnishes a perfect and infallible outward expression of that inward -conception which the reflective reason is laboring to acquire. -Therefore we consider that there is a real agreement among all -theistic and Christian philosophers. All have true intellectual -conceptions of the idea of God. Yet there may be some of these -conceptions which, though true, are confused. Again, in the multiplied -reflex action of the mind upon itself and its own judgments and -conceptions, there may be some imperfections in the analysis or -critical examination of the component parts of the idea, in the -synthesis or construction of these component parts into an ideal -formula, and in the language by which verbal expression is given to -the conceptions of the mind. What is to be aimed at is, to obtain -intellectual conceptions which are clear and adequate to the idea, and -a verbal expression which is also clear and adequate to the mental -conception. In this direction lies the true path of progress in -Christian philosophy. It is a continual effort to apprehend more -clearly and adequately in the intelligence the conceptions given to -our reflective reason by revelation, and to express these conceptions -more clearly and intelligibly in language. Hence, so far as the -doctrine of God is concerned, philosophy can only strive after -formulas which express adequately the conception existing in every -mind which has brought the idea of God into reflective consciousness. -If this be true relatively to the common mind, it must be so much more -relatively to the instructed philosophic mind of the world, especially -the instructed theological mind of the church, where philosophy and -theology are developed in a scientific form. The individual may -reflect on that part of theology which his own intelligence has -appropriated and assimilated to itself, and may possibly advance -science by his reflections. But he cannot possibly cut himself off -from the intellectual tradition and the continuity of intellectual -life by which his reason lives and acts, without perpetrating -intellectual suicide. We despise and reject, therefore, all philosophy -or theology which severs itself from the great vital current and -pulsation of traditional wisdom and science. We despise also that -which merely repeats what it has learned, unless it has first made an -intelligent judgment that this is, in regard to whatever matter is -under discussion, the ultimatum that human reason can attain. One may -do some good by repeating and explaining to others what are, for him, -the last and most perfect words of wisdom which he has found in -studying the works of the great and wise teachers of men. This gives -him no claim to be honored as an original thinker or writer. He -diffuses but he does not advance science. It is better to do this than -to fall into error and folly, or at least to waste time and paper, by -vainly striving after originality for its own sake, or from a silly -motive of {293} vain-glory. Or one may really advance science by -original and valuable thoughts which are an elaboration of the truth -that has hitherto remained in a crude form; by a better analysis or -synthesis of common, universal conceptions; if nothing more, at least -by a better verbal expression and a more distinct and intelligible -method of exposition. For ourselves, we are satisfied to explain and -diffuse that wisdom which we have found in the writings of the -greatest and most profound thinkers, especially those who have created -or embellished Catholic theology. We strike out no new and unknown -path. We do not pretend even to push forward into any unexplored -region in the old one. All that is in this treatise may probably be -found elsewhere, and by many will be recognized as already familiar to -them. Although we do not choose to burden our pages with citations and -references, the reader may rely on it that in the main we follow the -common current of Catholic theology. If we sometimes deviate from it, -we are still, in most instances, following the steps of some one or -more of the giant pioneers who have gone on before, leaving a broad -trail to direct the weaker traveller in the path of science. - -What has just been said is applicable to every subject treated in -these essays. In relation to the special subject now under -consideration, we are very anxious not to seem captious or rash in -criticising the common methods of argument employed by theologians. We -recognize the substantial solidity of the doctrine of God contained in -the best philosophers of all ages, so far as it agrees with -revelation; and the perfect soundness and completeness of the doctrine -as taught by Christian theologians. It is only the form and method -that we intend to criticise, so far as theological doctrine is -concerned; and, so far as relates to the purely human and rational -element of philosophy, only that which is peculiar to individuals, -schools, or periods, and not that which is common and universal. Let -us remember that we are not reasoning as sceptics, and, beginning from -a principle of philosophic doubt, ignoring all knowledge and belief, -and striving to work our way upward to something positive and certain. -Whether we are positively Christian in our belief or not, we are -taking the viewing-point of Christian faith, and making a survey of -the prospect visible to the eye from that point. It presents to us the -completely developed idea of God as always known and always believed -with certitude. What we are to do, then, is to find the most adequate -expression of that which faith has believed and reason been able to -understand during all time respecting God. We stand not alone, in the -ignorance of our isolated, individual minds, to create by a slow and -laborious task the truth and the belief of which our souls feel the -need. We stand in union with the human race, always in possession of -at least the elements of truth. We stand in union with that favored -portion of the human race which has always clearly and distinctly -believed in the absolute truth of the being and infinite perfection of -God, and in a distinct revelation from him. We are about to examine -this universal belief, and these intelligent judgments of cultivated -universal human reason, and to compare them with the principles and -judgments of our own reason. To ascertain what Christian Catholic -faith is, and how it is radicated in an intelligent indubitable -certitude of reason--this is what we are about to attempt; and the -first part of our task is to examine the Christian conception of God, -as expressed in theistic philosophy and Catholic theology. We intend -to prove that it is the original, permits have, constitutive idea of -human reason, brought, into distinct, reflective consciousness; made -intelligible to the understanding, so far as it is not immediately -intelligible in itself, by analogy; and correctly expressed by the -sensible signs of language. - -{294} - - -IV. - -DIFFERENT METHODS OF PROVING THE BEING OF GOD. - -It is evident that we have no direct intellectual vision or beholding -of God. The goal is separated from him by an infinite and impassable -abyss. We cannot now take into account the person of Jesus Christ, or -of any who have been elevated to an intellectual condition different -from that which is proper to our present state on earth. Apart from -such exceptions, the soul even of the highest contemplative never -directly beholds God himself. In the words of St. Augustine; _"Videri -autem divinitas humano visu nullo modo potest; sed eo visu videtur, -quo jam qui vident, non homines sed ultra homines sunt."_ "The -divinity can in no way be seen by human vision: but it is seen by a -vision of such a kind that they who see by it are not men, but are -more than men." [Footnote 48] Neither have we the power to comprehend -the intrinsic necessity of God's being and the intimate reason and -nature of his self-existence. If we had a natural power of seeing God -immediately, we would be naturally beatified, and all error or sin -would be impossible. Moreover, we have not even a formed and developed -conception of God innate to our reason, such as that which the -instructed and educated reason can acquire. For, if we had, it would -be in all minds alike without exception; everywhere and under all -circumstances the same, without any need of previous reflection or -instruction. What, then, is the genesis of our rational conception and -belief of the divine being and attributes? How is it evident that God -really is? - - [Footnote 48: De Trin. lib. ii. c. ii.] - -The arguments employed by philosophers are usually divided into two -classes, those called _à priori_, and those called _à posteriori_. - -An argument _à priori_ is one which deduces a truth from another truth -of a prior and more universal order. Therefore, to prove the being of -God _à priori_ we must go back to a truth either really and in itself -antecedent to his being, or antecedent in the primitive idea of -reason. That is to say, there must be an ideal world of truth -logically antecedent to God, and independent of him; an eternal nature -of things which is in itself necessary, and intelligible to our -reason, before it has any idea of God. Or else, the primitive, -constitutive idea of our reason must be an idea of some abstract being -of this nature which is not God, and which in the real order is not -antecedent to God, but only antecedent to him in the order of human -thought and knowledge. If the first is true, God is not the first -cause, the first principle, the infinite and eternal truth in himself, -the absolute essence, and the immediate object of his own -intelligence. The very conception of God which is sought to be proved -is destroyed and rendered unintelligible. This will appear more -clearly when we come to develop more fully hereafter the idea of God -and his attributes. In the order of real being there is and can be -nothing before God. There is no cause, no principle, no truth, no -intelligible idea more universal than God, and prior to him, from -which his being can be deduced as a consequence. In this sense, then, -an _à priori_ argument for the being of God is impossible. - -If the second alternative is true, that we have a primitive idea of -something in our minds which is before the idea of God, the order of -ideas, of reason, of human thought, is not in harmony with the real -order. We apprehend the unreal and not the real. We see things as they -are not, and not as they are. The reason apprehends the abstract, -ideal universe, the eternal nature of things, the world of necessary -truth, as antecedent to God and independent of him, when it is not so. -If this were so, we could never attain to the true idea of God as -before all things and the principle of all. For reason most develop -{295} according to its primary and constitutive idea and its necessary -law of thought. If in this constitutive idea there is something before -God from which, as a prior principle, a more universal truth, the -being of God is deduced as a consequence and a secondary truth, we -must always look at things in this way, and can never directly behold -the real order of being as it is. Thus we can never attain the true -idea of God while we apprehend any intelligible object of thought as -prior to him who is really prior to all, and must be apprehended as -prior or else falsely apprehended. - -An _à priori_ argument in this sense is, therefore, as impossible as -in the other. - -Let us now examine more particularly some of the so-called _à priori_ -arguments. - -One is an argument from the conceptions, or, as they are commonly -called, the _ideas_, of space and time. It proceeds thus: We have an -idea of infinite space, and of infinite time, as necessary in the -eternal nature of things. Do what we will, we cannot banish these -ideas, or avoid thinking of space and time as necessary and eternal. -Therefore, there is an infinite, eternal being, of whose existence -space and time are the necessary effects. - -This argument dazzles the mind by a certain splendor and overwhelms it -by a certain profundity and vastness of conception, but yet leaves it -confused and overpowered rather than convinced. It will not bear -analysis, as Leibnitz has successfully proved in his letters to Adam -Clarke, who defended it with all the acuteness and ingenuity which his -subtle and penetrating intellect could bring to bear on the question. - -Nothing is, or can be, which is not either God or the creation of God. -Space and time, therefore, are either attributes of God, or created -entities, if they have any being or existence in themselves at all. -They are either identical with the essence of God, or they are -included within the creation and only coeval and co-extensive with it; -that is, bounded by finite and precise limits of succession and -extension. If the former, in perceiving them we perceive God directly. -This is not affirmed by the argument, which asserts that they are -effects of God's being and external to it. If the second, they are not -infinite; the idea of their infinity and necessity is an illusion, and -no argument can be derived from it. It is, beside, impossible to -conceive of space and time as entities, or existing things, distinct -and separate from other existences, and having certain defined limits. -The language used by those who distinguish them both from God and -creation, and call them necessary effects of the being of God, is -simply unintelligible. Their conception of infinite space and time is, -as Leibnitz calls it, a mere idol of the fancy, a phantasm -representing nothing real. There is no intelligible conception of -space and time as distinct both from God and creation. There is no -such thing in the order of reality or of thought as a _necessary_ -effect of God's being, or any effect except that produced by his free -creative act. Into the idea of God nothing enters except God himself. -Supposing that God exists alone without having created, when we think -of God we think of all that can be thought as actual. His being fills -up his own intelligence, of which it is the only and complete object. -Into a true conception of that being our notions of space and time -cannot enter. Nevertheless, in apprehending space and time there must -be some real and intelligible idea which is apprehended. This idea is -the possibility of creation, which in God is necessary and infinite. -By his very essence, God has the power to create, and this power is -unlimited. The idea of a created universe necessarily includes the -idea of its existence in space and time. The possibility of space and -time are, therefore, included in the possibility of creation, and as -no limits can be placed to {296} the one, so none can be placed to the -other. Our apprehension of infinite space and time is an apprehension -of the infinite possibility of creation in God. We apprehend God under -the intuition of the infinite, the necessary, and the eternal. This -intuition of the infinite enters into all our thoughts. And therefore, -however much we may extend our conception of actual duration or -extension in regard to the created universe, we must always think the -possibility of that duration and extension being increased even to -infinity. Ideal space and time is that which we apprehend of real -space and time, with the thought of their possible extension to -infinity included. Real space and time are not entities distinct in -themselves, but relations of succession and co-existence among created -things. As in God alone, as distinct from creation, there is nothing -intelligible but the divine being, so in the creation there is nothing -intelligible but that which God has created. God and the existences -which God has made are all that the mind can think. Take away God and -finite, real things; nothing remains. Think of God as not creating, -and God is the sole object of thought. Add to this the thought of God -creating, and you have finite created entities. But you have nothing -more; and if you fancy there is anything more, such as space and time -in the abstract, you have a phantasm or idol of the imagination, which -is nothing. Real space and time must be relations of existing things, -and ideal space and time the possibility of relations among things -which might be; or they are nothing. Destroy real entities, and you -destroy all real relations. Deny the possibility of real entities, and -you destroy all ideal relations. This answers the puzzling question -sometimes asked, "Can God annihilate space?" He can annihilate real -space by annihilating the real universe from which it is inseparable. -He cannot annihilate ideal space, because it is in himself, as -included in his eternal idea of the possible creation, or of his own -infinite power to create. Our apprehensions of space and time are in -the intelligible and not in the sensible world. The sensible form -which they have results from the universal law that all intelligible -conceptions come to us through the sensible, and represented to us -through sensible signs. They must ultimately terminate in the idea of -God as pure spirit, without extension or successive duration. When we -think of extension in space we imagine a material figure, or an -atmosphere whose circumference we extend further and further in all -directions. When we think of duration in time, we think of a -succession of material or intellectual actions, whose series we extend -backward into the past or forward into the future. But, no matter how -far we carry these processes, a definite and limited extension and -duration is all that we reach. It is impossible that the idea of -infinite space and duration should be actually realized in the order -of finite and created things. The impossibility of placing any limit -to them which shall be final must, therefore, be referred to an idea -beyond all relations of space and time, and truly infinite, which we -imperfectly apprehend by analogy through these relations. This is the -idea of God as having an infinite power to create which is -inexhaustible by any actual creation, however vast. Only in this way -is the idea intelligible, and we must affirm God as real and infinite -being before we can correctly apprehend it. - -It may be said that this is what is really meant by the argument from -space and time. We are willing to admit that it is what these eminent -writers really had in their minds. But it appears to us that they have -expressed it without sufficient clearness and precision, by reason of -the confusion which prevails in modern philosophy, and that it is not -really an _à priori_ argument, since it cannot be made {297} -intelligible without affirming the idea of God as prior to all other -ideas in the order of thought as well as in the order of being. - -Another argument is derived from the possibility of conceiving that -there is a being absolutely perfect. We can conceive that there is a -being possessing all possible perfections. But actual existence is a -perfection. Therefore if we conceive of a being possessing _all_ -perfection, we must conceive of him as having actual existence. - -This amounts merely to saying that actual existence enters into our -conception of God. Where is the proof that that conception is not -merely in our mind? Does the fact that we are able to form a -conception of God prove that God really exists? Some will answer. Yes. -Because it is absurd to suppose that the mind can form an idea greater -than itself, and conceive of a possible order of being greater than -the real order. It is, indeed, absurd; but the absurdity cannot be -shown without at the same time showing the impossibility of finding -any principle of reason prior to the idea of God. Is that which the -reason perceives real being? Then the idea of the infinite is the -affirmation of an infinite being. It is impossible to conceive of a -possible being greater than the real being, because the real being is -directly affirmed as infinite in the idea of reason. The very idea we -are seeking to prove real presents itself as real to the reason before -we can even begin the process of proving it. It is itself prior to -every principle we are looking for as the most ultimate and the most -universal. There cannot be found anything from which we can reason _à -priori_ to that which is itself prior to all. We have began by -affirming our conclusion as the basis of our proof. At the end of our -argument we come back to our starting-point. - -Is that which the reason perceives not real being? What, then, is it? -It will be said that it is an a idea. If so, this _à priori_ argument -proves only that the actual existence of God is conceivable, and that -it cannot be proved that there is no God. It may even make his real -existence appear to be probable, taken in connection with the other -arguments usually employed. At best, however, it leaves the idea of -God always under the form of an hypothesis, and affords no protection -against the corruption of the idea by pantheistic and materialistic -notions. Where is the passage from the abstract to the concrete, from -the mental conception to the objective reality? If our conceptions of -God lie in the order of an abstract world, and it is not the reality -which is the ultimate object of reason, how can we ever obtain -certitude that there is a real world corresponding to that abstract -world which exists in our own mind? Such is the reasoning of modern -materialism which is conducting vast numbers as near to absolute -atheism as the mind by its own nature is able to go. For the class of -men alluded to there are no realities except those of the sensible -world. The spiritual world of dogmatic truth, religious obligation, -and supernatural hopes, is ignored and neglected as merely abstract, -hypothetical, and having at best but a dubious claim on our attention; -one which may with safety and prudence be practically set aside for -the more obvious claims of the present life. The entire falsity of -this whole philosophy of the abstract, and the nullity of all -abstractions considered as self-subsisting objects of thought, will be -more directly shown hereafter. For the present we say no more on this -head, but proceed to consider another form in which the argument from -abstract, _à priori_ principles is presented. - -We have an idea of the good, the beautiful, the true, as being -necessary, universal, and eternal. Therefore there must be a being in -whose mind these ideas exist, or of whom these qualities can be -affirmed. This argument has been answered in answering {298} the -foregoing one, with which it nearly coincides. Are these ideas -abstract, independent of reality, antecedent to the idea of real, -concrete being? Then they are forms of the mind, and leave it without -a direct perception of the existence of a real, concrete being, -infinitely good, beautiful, and true; or rather, the infinite -goodness, beauty, and truth in himself. Are these ideas immediate -affirmations of this real being? Then we have lost again our _a -priori_ principle, by finding that the conclusion is actually prior to -it. Either we affirm the intuition of the concrete, real object, from -which the abstract conception of the good, the beautiful, and the true -is derived, or we can prove only the existence of these conceptions in -the mind, and cannot argue from the conceptions to the reality, or in -any way perceive clearly the existence of the reality in an order -external to our own mind. - -Let us pass now to the argument called _à posteriori_. This is a -method of reasoning exactly the reverse of the former; in which we -proceed from effects to their causes, and from particulars to the -universal. We endeavor to prove the existence of God from certain -facts which cannot be accounted for unless they are regarded as -effects of an absolute first cause. - -We may consider this argument from two distinct points of view. First, -we may take it as an effort to deduce the existence of God from a -great number of facts, as the result of our knowledge of these -particular facts; an effort to prove by experiment and observation an -hypothesis which is proposed as a probable solution of the problem of -the universe. We suppose that we begin without the idea of God. We -acquire the knowledge of particular facts through sensation and -reflection. By noting a great number of facts, and reflecting upon -them, we ascend to general and abstract truths, and as a last result -arrive at the conception of the being of God as the most universal -truth, and the one which is the sum of all probabilities. - -In the second place, we may take this argument as a method of -manifesting the way in which the action of the first cause is shown -forth in the universe. The idea of God is first affirmed, and the due -explication of the facts of the universe is then demonstrated to be -only an explication of the idea of God as first cause. The universe is -shown to be intelligible in its cause, and apart from it to be -unintelligible. Taken in this way the argument is identical with that -which we are about to propose a little later. - -Taken in the former sense, it is not a demonstration of the existence -of God. Suppose that we can begin to reason without the idea of cause, -and we can never establish its necessity by induction. Eliminate the -idea of self-subsisting, necessary, eternal being, and suppose it -unknown, unimagined; we can never rise above the particular, isolated -sensations and perceptions of which we are conscious. If the facts -which are called effects are intelligible in themselves, they imply no -cause, and none can be proved from them. If they are not intelligible -in themselves, they are from the first intelligible only in their -cause, and the idea of cause is ultimate in the mind, antecedent to -all knowledge of particulars, the first premised of every conclusion. -It cannot then be proved as the conclusion of any syllogism; for all -arguments start from it as the primitive idea and first principle of -reason. - -This method of argument belongs to that sceptical system of philosophy -which came in vogue with the theology of Protestantism, and has been -ever since working out its fatal results. It is the principle of -disintegration, doubt, and denial, transferred from the domain of -revealed dogma into the order of rational truths. Kant, the great -master of this philosophy, and one of the principal chiefs of modern -thought, carried out this philosophy to the denial of all possibility -of science, and therefore of all {299} Scientific knowledge of God, -immortality, and moral obligation. Having swept all natural and -revealed truths out of the domain of _pure_ reason, he made a feeble -attempt to establish their authority in the sphere of _practical_ -reason. The individual man and the human race need the belief in God -to keep them in the order required for their well-being. Therefore we -may believe that there is a God. It is needless to say that these -dictates of practical reason are not respected by those who carry out -consistently and boldly the sceptical philosophy. The ravages made by -the principle of scepticism among those who have cast off all -traditional belief in Christianity are obvious to all eyes. But it is -not so generally acknowledged that the same philosophy has had a wide -and baneful influence over Christian theology. Some Christian writers -would avowedly sweep away science to give place to faith, not -reflecting that faith tumbles to the ground when its rational basis is -removed. Others follow the method of a philosophy constructed upon -that method, a method which is altogether unfit to be a medium of the -rational explanation of Christian dogmas. Hence, there is a schism -between theology and philosophy, leaving both these sciences in a -mutilated condition. The manifest inadequacy of the common -philosophical system brings it into contempt, and induces the effort -to transfer the seat of all certitude and all true science to -theology. Theology cannot make the first step without a basis of -rational certitude for faith and for conclusions drawn from premises -which are furnished by faith. Consequently her efforts to walk on air -result to her discredit, and theology falls into contempt. This ends -in adopting Kant's practical reason as the basis of religious belief. -Philosophy and theology, as sciences of the highest order, are -deserted. Religion is defended and explained on the ground of its -probability and its utility. We cannot have science or make our belief -intelligible. It is safe and prudent to follow on in the way the great -majority of the wise and good have walked. Let us do so, and silence -the questionings of the intellect. [Footnote 49] The language of -scepticism! This is the mental disease of our day. Scepticism in -regard to the doctrines of revelation; scepticism in regard to the -dictates of reason! No doubt, if faith had full sway, and no false -philosophy prevailed, theology would be sufficient by itself. For it -contains in solution the true philosophy; and the simple, -unsophisticated Christian intellect will take it up and absorb it -naturally without needing to have it administered in a separate state. -But where the mind has been sophisticated by false philosophy, it -cannot take theology until the antidote of true philosophy has been -given to it. Here is a lack in our English-speaking religious world. -And this lack is, perhaps, the reason why some of the best writers -speak so uncertainly of the rational basis of faith in revealed -truths, and even in the truth of God's existence. While they affirm -the certitude of their own inward belief, yet they acknowledge that -they can only construct an argument which in philosophy is probable. -That is to say, they have not a philosophy in which the ground of -their inward certitude is expressed in a distinct formula, and by -which they can make their readers conscious of a similar ground of -certitude in themselves. They have no philosophy corresponding to -their theology, and therefore, when they address the unbelieving or -doubting world, they are at a loss for a bridge to span the chasm -lying between it and themselves. - - [Footnote 49: These remarks are not levelled against any approved - system of Catholic philosophy, but only against those which are in - vogue in the non-Catholic world, or among certain Catholic writers - of a modern date.] - -There is at present a laudable and {300} encouraging desire manifested -by the leading thinkers and writers of different churches to bring out -the great fundamental truth that God is the author of nature and -revelation, in such a way as to stem the tide of scepticism. Guizot, -who is among the most eminent, if not the very first, of the modern -advocates of orthodox Protestantism, in the programme of a recent work -in defence of revealed religion which he has published, expresses the -opinion that the differences between his own co-religionists and -Catholics are of minor importance compared to the great pending -controversy with modern scepticism. This, with many other indications -of a growing cordiality in earnest Protestants toward Catholics who -are similarly earnest, makes us hope to receive from them as well as -from the members of our own communion a respectful and candid hearing -of what we have to say on this weighty subject. - -And now, having done with the disagreeable task of criticism, we -entreat of our readers, if they have found the preliminary treatment -of the subject we are on abstruse and wearisome, to resume their -courage and push on a little further up the ascent toward the summit -of truth. The traveller, who struggles through thickets and over rocks -toward the top of a mountain is well rewarded by the landscape which -lies below and around him, lighted up by the radiance of the full orb -of day. So, gentle reader, whether you are believer or sceptic, there -is an eminence before us which we can attain, from which the fair -landscape of natural and supernatural truth is visible as far as the -outermost boundaries which fade away into the infinite. We wish to -lead you to this eminence, and to show you this landscape lighted up -with the radiance of the primal source of light, _the idea of God_, -the self-luminous centre of the universe of thought. We wish to show -you this idea of God in its absolute truth and certitude; clearly and -distinctly visible in that horizon which is within the scope of the -naked eye of reason, but whose boundaries are enlarged and its objects -magnified by the aid of that gigantic telescope called faith. - -{301} - -From Once a Week - -A MONTH IN KILKENNY. - -BY W. P. LENNOX. - - -There is little to attract the attention of the traveller between -Dublin and Kilkenny, except the fine range of mountains and the -Curragh of Kildare. The Newmarket of Ireland is a vast, unbroken, -bleak plain, consisting of 4,858 statute acres. It belongs to the -crown, and is appropriate to racing and coursing, the adjacent -proprietors having the privilege of grazing sheep thereon. The ranger -of the Curragh is appointed by the government, and has the entire -charge of this celebrated property. Of the race-meetings that take -place on this spot it is needless to speak, as they are recorded in -the newspapers of the day. Suffice it to say that the arrangements are -well carried out, the prizes considerable, the number of horses that -contend for them great, and the sport first-rate. - -After changing trains at Kilkenny, I reached Parsonstown, where a -carriage awaited me, to convey me to Woodstock, the hospitable seat of -my brother-in-law, the Right Hon. William Tighe, and my sister, Lady -Louisa Tighe. - -Inistioge, anciently called Inis-teoc, is a charmingly situated small -town overlooking the Nore, which is crossed by a picturesque bridge of -ten arches, ornamented on one side with Ionic pilasters. The town is -built in the form of a square, which being planted with lime-trees -gives it the appearance of a foreign town. In the centre of the square -is a small plain pillar, based on a pedestal of stone. This was the -shaft of an ancient stone cross, and bears an inscription to the -memory of David, Baron of Brownsfield, one of the Fitzgerald family, -who died in 1621. The emerald green turf, and the foliage of the -trees, in the square, give it a fresh appearance, and form an -agreeable contrast to the surrounding stone buildings. Inistioge was -once a royal borough, and famed for its religious establishments. It -also possessed a large Augustinian monastery. All that now remains of -it consists of two towers: one of them is incorporated with the parish -church; the other is square at the base and octagonal in the upper -stages. Of Woodstock itself, I will merely say that the house contains -a valuable library, some good paintings; the gardens can find no equal -in the United Kingdom; and the grounds, laid out with every diversity -that wood and water can bestow, are perfectly beautiful. At the back -rises a wooded hill, to the height of 900 feet, the summit crowned -with an ornamental tower; and as the demesne stretches for a -considerable distance along the Nore, there are some magnificent views -of - - "The stubborne Nenvre, whose waters grey, - By fall Kilkenny and Rosseponte bend;" - -which may be described in the words of the poet of the Thames-- - - "Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull: - Strong without rage; without o'erflowing fail." - -One of our first excursions was to Kilkenny, on our way to which city -we stopped at Bennet's Bridge, to {302} witness the humors of a -horse-fair. This small town is famed as having been the place where -the Duke of Ormonde held a review in 1704, and which attracted such -hosts of visitors that an inn-keeper is said to have made as much by -his beds as paid his rent for seven years. I have attended many fairs -in England, Scotland, Wales, France, Holland, Germany, and Canada, but -never did I witness such an extraordinary sight as the one that -presented itself at Bennet's Bridge. The hamlet itself, and its -outskirts, were filled for more than a mile with horses, ponies, and -vehicles, attended by a mass of people consisting of dealers, farmers, -peasants, tramps, and beggars. There might be seen some "artful -dodger" trying to palm off to one less experienced than himself a -spicy-looking thorough-bred nag, whose legs showed evident marks of -many a hard gallop, declaring that for speed the animal was -unequalled, and that there was not a stone wall in the whole county -that could stop him; there might be noticed a gallant colonel of -hussars, attended by his "vet," selecting some clever three-year-olds, -with which to recruit the ranks of her majesty's service. "Bedad, -gineral," exclaims the vendor, "with such a regiment of horses you'd -ride over the whole French cavalry, with Napoleon at the head of it." -"A broth of a boy" may now be pointed out, charging a stone wall, with -a raw-boned brute that never attempts to rise at it, and who, turning -the animal round, and backing him strongly, makes an aperture, at the -same moment singing a snatch of an Irish song, most appropriate for -the occasion--"Brave Oliver Cromwell, he did them so pommel, that he -made a breach in her battlements." Next, a ragged urchin, without -shoes and stockings, with what might be termed "the original shocking -bad hat" and which--on the principle of exchange no robbery--I was -credibly informed he had taken from a field, set up to scare away the -crows. Then there was the usual number of idlers and lookers-on, and -an unusual amount of hallooing, shouting, screaming, and bellowing. - -After devoting an hour to the humors of the fair, we proceeded to view -the remains of the abbey of Jerpoint, which was founded in 1180, by -Donogh, King of Ossory, for Cistercian monks. The monks, on the -arrival of the English, had interest sufficient with King John to get -a confirmation of all the lands bestowed on them by the King of -Ossory; and Edward III., in the thirty-fourth year of his reign, at -the instance of Phillip, then abbot, granted him a confirmation of -former charters. Oliver Grace, the last abbot, surrendered this abbey -on the 18th of March, the 31 Henry VIII. It then possessed about 1,500 -acres of arable and pasture land, three rectories, the altarages and -tithes of thirteen other parishes; all these were granted in the reign -of Philip and Mary to James, Earl of Ormonde, and his heirs male, to -hold _in capite_, at the yearly rent of £49 3s. 9d. It is an -interesting ruin, and well worthy the attention of the antiquarian. -From Jerpoint we proceeded to Kilkenny Castle, the home of the -Ormondes. - -Richard Strongbow, by his marriage with Eva, daughter of Dermot, King -of Leinster, came into possession of a great part of the province of -Leinster. Henry II. confirmed his right, with the reservation of the -maritime ports. On being appointed Lord Justice of Ireland in 1173, he -laid the foundation of a castle in Kilkenny, but it was scarcely -finished when it was demolished by the insurgent Irish. However, -William, Earl Marshal, descended from Strongbow, and also Lord -Justice, in 1195 began a noble pile on a more extensive scale, and on -the ancient site. A great part of this fine castle has survived the -convulsions of this distracted kingdom, and continues at this day a -conspicuous ornament of {303} the city of Kilkenny. A rising ground -was chosen, which on one side has a steep and abrupt descent to the -river Nore, which effectually protects it on that quarter by its rapid -stream; the other sides were secured by ramparts, walls, and towers, -and the entrance is through a lofty gate of marble of the Corinthian -order. Hugh Le DeSpenser, who obtained the castle by marriage, in -September, 1391, conveyed it and its dependencies to James, Earl of -Ormonde. In later days, the castle has been much improved; the -tapestry which adorns the walls of the entrance-hall and staircase -exhibits the history of Decius; it is admirably executed, and the -colors are fresh and lively. The ballroom, which is of great length, -contains a fine collection of portraits, landscapes, and -battle-pieces. - -From the castle we visited the cathedral church of St. Canice, which -is the largest church in Ireland, with the exception of St. Patrick's -and Christ church, Dublin. There are a centre and two lateral aisles. -The roof of the nave is supported by five pillars, and a pilaster of -black marble on each side, upon which are formed five arches. Each -lateral aisle is lighted by four windows below, and the central aisle -by five above; they are in the shape of quatrefoils. The origin of -this beautiful structure is uncertain, but it is conjectured that it -was begun in 1180, when a small church was erected near the round -tower. - -"Hugh Rufus laid the foundation of a noble edifice," say the old -writers, "and Bishop Mapilton, in 1233, and St. Leger, who succeeded -him, completed the fabric." In describing the church of St. Canice, I -cannot refrain from alluding to the extreme politeness of Father -Kavanagh, a Roman Catholic priest, who devoted his time to my party -and myself in pointing out the beauties of this venerable pile. - -The Black Abbey was founded by William, Earl Marshal, about 1225, for -Dominican friars. The founder was interred here in 1231, and three -years after his brother Richard, who was slain in a battle with the -O'Mores and O'Conors on the Curragh of Kildare. Henry VIII. granted -this monastery to the burgesses and commonalty of the city of -Kilkenny. In the time of the elder James it served for a shire-house, -and in 1643 it was repaired, and a chapter of the order held in it. -Its towers are light and elegant, and some of the windows are most -artistically executed. - -St. Mary's church contains some very interesting monuments, among them -one in memory of Sir Richard Shee, dated 1608, with its ten sculptured -figures at the base. There is one also to his brother, Elias Shee, of -whom Holinshed wrote that he was "a pleasant-conceited companion, full -of mirth without gall." On an unpretending tablet of black and white -marble appears the following inscription: - - "FREDERICK GEORGE HOWARD, - SECOND SON OF THE EARL OF CARLISLE - CAPTAIN OF THE 90TH REGIMENT - DIED A.D. 1833, AET. 28. - - "Within this hallowed aisle, mid grief sincere, - Friends, comrades, brothers late young Howard's bier; - Gentle and brave, his country's arms he bore - To Ganges' stream and Ava's hostile shore: - His God through war and shipwreck was his shield, - But stretched him lifeless on the peaceful field. - Thine are the times and ways, all-ruling Lord! - Thy will be done, acknowledged, and adored!" - -The above lines are from the pen of the late Earl of Carlisle, who -never went near Kilkenny without paying a visit to the tomb of his -brother. Poor Howard was killed by leaping out of a curricle, which -was run away with between the barracks at Kilkenny and Newtownbarry, -where his regiment was quartered. Another monument attracted my -attention; it bore an inscription to the memory of Major-General Sir -Denis Pack, recording the military career of this distinguished -soldier. I knew the deceased officer well during the Belgian {304} -campaign, and a thousand recollections sprang up in my mind when I saw -the bust, by Chantrey, of as brave a man as ever served in the British -army. But to return. - -Although the salmon fishing in Ireland has in many rivers sadly -degenerated within a few years, there is still excellent sport to be -had in many of the rivers and lakes. The Nore, which flows through the -county of Kilkenny, would be a first-rate river for salmon and trout -were it not for the number of weirs and the illegal destruction of the -fish by cross-lines and nets. At Mount Juliet, the romantic seat of -Lord Carrick, and Narlands, the river is partially preserved; and -here, as at Dunmore, the property of Lord Ormonde, the angling is -excellent. The general run of salmon flies suits the Nore; they should -be tied with dobbing of pig's wool, and a good deal of peacock in the -wing. For trout, the ordinary run of flies will be found to answer -well. - -Among other fishing localities in Ireland may be mentioned Lough Ree, -a fine sheet of water about twenty miles in extent, studded with -numerous islands, around the shores of which, and on the shoals, trout -abound. The lake of Allua, about ten miles above Macroom, in the -county of Cork, was once famous for trout and salmon, which have of -late years diminished considerably, in consequence of the introduction -of pike, the tyrant of the waters. The lakes of Carvagh, in Kerry, of -Inchiquin, of Currana (near Derrynane), Lough Kittane (four miles from -Killarney), Lough Brin (in Kerry), Lough Atedaun, Lough Gill (in -Sligo), and Lough Erne, are well supplied with trout and salmon; while -the far-famed lakes of Killarney will furnish sport to those who seek -pastime, in addition to the enjoyment of witnessing the most beautiful -and romantic scenery that is to be found in the Emerald Isle. The -rivers, too, abound in fish. Among the best are the Liffey, Laune, -Tolka, Bann, Blackwater (in Cork), Suir, Annar, Nire (a mountain -stream rising in the Waterford mountains), Shannon, Lee, and Killaloe -(remarkable for its eels, as also for the gastronomic skill of the -inhabitants in dressing them). - -I must now turn from the "gentle crafte" to otter-hunting, a sport -still carried on with spirit in Ould Ireland. The mephitic nature of -the otter renders him an easy prey to his pursuers, and his scent is -so strong that a good hound will at once challenge it. The lodging of -this subtle plunderer is called his _kennel_, or _couch_, and his -occasional lodgments and passages to and fro are called his _halts_. -So clever is he as an architect that he constructs his _couches_ at -different heights, so that, let the water rise or fall, he has a dry -tenement. Spring is the best season for otter-hunting, but it is -carried on during the summer in the Emerald Isle; and a day with the -amphibious tyrant of the finny tribe in the river Nore, which I -enjoyed last September, may not be uninteresting. - -At about eleven o'clock on a bright sunny day, with a refreshing -breeze blowing on us from the south-east, we met at Coolmore, the seat -of Mr. P. Connellan. The harriers--belonging to my host, and -consisting of about six couple of handsome, well-sized hounds, about -seventeen inches high--met in a field close to the house, attended by -a whipper-in, admirably mounted. The pack seemed to possess all the -qualifications of good harriers--fine heads, ear-flaps thin, nostrils -open, chests deep, embraced by shoulders broad but light, and wen -thrown back; the fore-legs straight, clean, bony, terminated by round, -ball-like feet, the hind-legs being angular, and the thighs powerful. -The beauty of the day had attracted a large party of both sexes from -the neighborhood, some of whom, and one young lady in particular, -managed a cot so ably, that she drew forth the following complement -{305} from one of the bold peasantry: "Bedad, miss, you'd do honor to -Cleopatra's galley." The principal part of the sportsmen and -sports-women were on foot, although a few were mounted, and among the -fair equestrians was a young lady whose seat and hand were perfect, -and who evidently wished to emulate the prowess of the Thracian -huntress. This modern Harpalyce, combining courage with feminine -deportment, was prepared to fly like the wind across the country, had -an occasion presented itself by the accidental discovery of a fleet -hare. Arrived at the river's side, two Saxons with loaded guns kept a -good lookout for the lurking prey, while the hounds swam across to a -small island, where an otter had been tracked by his _seal_ Shortly a -hound was heard to challenge, but on the approach of the pack the -"goose-footed prowler," having been hunted before, left his couch, and -diving under the water made head up the stream. Now every eye on shore -is intent on watching his _ventings_; his muzzle appears above the -surface for a second; again it disappears; and he can be tracked alone -by the bubbles of air he throws out. The sport is now exciting. One of -the police, armed with a primitive spear, which he had taken from a -river poacher, consisting of a three-pronged fork fixed into the end -of a long pole, is ready to hurl the weapon which has proved so fatal -to many a salmon, should the otter appear in view, while the staunch -hounds are close on the scent. "Have a care there," cries a keen -sportsman to the preserver of the peace. "Don't strike too quickly, or -bedad you may transfix a hound instead of the marauding animal." But -he is not doomed to die so inglorious a death as that caused by a -rusty fork, for before the crude spear is hurled the hounds have -seized him, and, after a desperate struggle, in which many of the -gallant pack were bitten, shake the life out of the captured prey. -While enjoying the sport of the morning, my attention was attracted to -a young lady on the opposite bank of the river, who, wising to join -our party, entered a small cot, and gallantly paddled herself across -the fast-flowing stream. So admirably did this "guardian Naiad of the -strand" guide her fragile bark, that I could not fail to congratulate -her upon her prowess. My compliments, however, fell very short of one -uttered by a ragged boatman, who exclaimed: - -"Ay, and sure, miss, you must be one of the queen's company. Bedad, -miss, you are worthy of taking a cot into the Meditherranean." - -While upon the clever sayings of the Irish, I must give an anecdote -which was told me by Sir John Power, of Kilfane, than whom a finer -sportsman or more hospitable man never existed. It seems that the -complaints made against the vulpine race by owners of poultry are not -confined to England, and upon one occasion a genuine Irishman, "Pat -Driscoll by name," claimed compensation for damage done to a turkey -and duck. This was awarded to him, when a week afterward he waited -upon the owner of Kilfane, and asked him for compensation for "a -beautiful cow killed by that nasty varmen, a fox." "A fox kill a cow!" -said Sir John; "impossible!" "Fait and sure he did," continued Pat. -"I'll tell you how it was. My cow was feeding in the meadow close to -my garden, and was eating a turnip, when up jumped a baste of a fox, -and frightened her so much that bedad the poor creature choked -herself." The good-humored baronet could not fail to be amused at -Driscoll's ready wit, but declined paying for the loss of the animal, -upon which Pat, not at all taken aback, remarked, "Well, Sir John, -it's rather hard upon me; but in future, instead of advertising your -meets at Kilfane or Thomastown, perhaps you will name _Kilmacoy_" -(pronounced "Kilmycow") "as more appropriate to case." - -{306} - -Chapters could be filled with Irish sayings, but space prevents my -giving more than one, which was told to me by a friend in whose -veracity I have perfect confidence. An English gentleman dining in the -house of an Irish lady, was greatly surprised at hearing the Butler -ask, "please, ma'am, will I strip?" "Yes", was the reply; "all the -company arrived." Turning to a neighbor, he inquired the meaning of -the expression, when he found it applied to taking the covers off the -dishes, and was quite foreign to the usual acceptation of the word -"strip." - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -BANNED AND BLESSED. - - "And the Lord God formed man of the slime of the earth; . . . . - Cursed is the earth in thy work. - - "And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us." - - - Bud out, glad earth, in beauty, - Ring out, glad earth, in song; - The funeral pall is lifted - That covered thee so long: - The heavy curse laid on thee - For Eden's primal wrong. - - Long ages gone, the angels - Hailed thee with pure delight. - The blooming of thy day-time. - The radiance of thy night; - And e'en thy Maker named thee - As pleasant in his sight-- - - Soon lost that early joyance, - Brief worn that birth-day crown! - The very stars of heaven - Look sorrowfully down - On fairest flowers withered - Beneath man's sinful frown. - - Blinded, and banned, and broken, - Along thy penance-path. - Thy vesture streamèd over - With the torrents of man's wrath; - Thou treadest through the ether - A thing of shame and scath. - {307} - Lift up thy head, poor mourner, - Shake the ashes from thy brow; - Lay off thine age-worn sackcloth - And wear the purple now: - Amid the starry brethren, - Who honor hath, as thou? - - The dust from off thy bosom - The Maker deigns to wear; - "The word made flesh," in heaven, - Hath given thee such share - No grandeur of thy brethren - With it can hold compare. - - Blest art thou that his footsteps - Along thy pathways trod; - Blest art thou that his pillow - Has been thy grassy sod; - And blest the burial shelter - Thou gavest to thy God. - - And for that little service, - Divine the meed shall be: - When "fervent heat" hath melted - The starry choirs and thee, - The moulded dust of Eden - Shall live eternally. - - "The first-born of all creatures" - Doth wear it on his throne, - The vesture of humanity - By which he claims his own. - How infinite the pardon - That doth thy penance crown! - - GENEVIEVÉ SALES. - March 22, 1806 - ------- - -{308} - -Translated from French. - -L'ABBÉ GERBET. [Footnote 50] - -BY C. A. SAINTE-BEUVE. - - [Footnote 50: "Considérations sur le Dogme Générateur de la Piété - Cathiolique." 4e édition, chez Vaton. 1859] - - -For a long time I have been reserving this subject for some feast-day, -for Corpus Christi or some festival of Mary, feeling that holiness -belongs to it; unction, grace mingled with science, and a reverential -smile. "But why," some of our readers will say,--"why does l'Abbé -Gerbet's name imply all this?" I shall try to show them the reason and -give some idea of one of the most learned, distinguished, and truly -amiable men that the church of France possesses, as well as one of our -best writers; and, without embarking on vexed or doubtful questions, -to delineate for them in soft tints the personality of the man and his -talent. - -But in the first place, that I may connect with its true date this -modest name, which has rather courted oblivion than notoriety, let me -remind my readers that during the Restoration, about the year 1820, -when that regime, at first so unsettled, was beginning to enter into -complete possession of its powers, a movement arose on all sides among -the youthful spirits, ardently impelling them to literary culture and -philosophical ideas. In poetry Lamartine had given the signal of -revival, others gave it in history, others again in philosophy; and -among the young people there sprang up a universal spirit of -emulation, a unanimous determination to begin anew. It seemed as if, -like a fertile land, the French mind, after its compulsory rest of so -many years, were eagerly demanding every kind of cultivation. Yes, in -religion then, in theology, it was the same; a generation had sprung -up full of zeal and animation, who tried, not to renew what is in its -nature immutable, but to rejuvenate the forms of teaching and -demonstration, adapt them to the mental condition of the times, and -make the principle of Catholicity respected even by its opponents. -For, in the words of one of these young Levites in the beginning of -the movement, "to act upon the age, we must understand it." - -I could cite the names of several men who, with shades of difference -known in the ecclesiastical world, had this in common, that they stood -at the head of the studious and intelligent young clergy: M. Gousset, -now cardinal archbishop of Rheims, and standing in the first rank of -theologians; Mgr. Affré, who met his death so gloriously as archbishop -of Paris; M. Douey, the present bishop of Montauban; and M. de -Salinis, bishop of Amiens. But at that time, between the years 1820 -and 1822, one name alone among the clergy offered itself to men of the -world as a candidate for widespread fame. M. de Lamennais in his first -Catholic fame had enforced the attention of all by his "Essay on -Indifference," stirring a thousand thoughts even in the minds of the -astonished clergy. - -And here for the first time we meet l'Abbé Gerbet. He was born in 1798 -{309} at Poligny, in the Jura. After completing his first studies in -his native town, he passed through a course of philosophy in the -academy of Besançon; and in obedience to an instinctive vocation, -which awoke within him at the age of ten years, began his theological -studies in the same city. During the dangers of invasion, in -1814-1815, he went into the mountains to visit a curate, a relation or -friend of his family, and remained there to study. Thither came one -day a young student of the Normal School, Jouffroy, two years his -senior, who in going home to pass his vacation in the village of -Pontets, had paused a moment on the way. Jouffroy, though in the first -flush of youth and learning, and wearing the aureole upon his brow, -did not disdain to enter into discussion with the young provincial -seminarian. He combated the proofs of revelation, and especially -contested the age of the world, relying upon the testimony of the -famous Zodiac of Denderah, so often invoked in those days, and so soon -destroyed. The young seminarian, in the presence of this unknown -monument, could only answer: "Wait." These two young men never met -again, compatriots though they were, and from that day forth -adversaries; but l'Abbé Gerbet and Jouffroy, while carrying on a war, -pen in hand, never failed to do so in the most dignified terms of -controversy, and Jouffroy, whose heart was so good despite his -dogmatic language, always spoke of l'Abbé Gerbet, if I remember -rightly, with feelings of affectionate esteem. - -On arriving in Paris at the close of the year 1818, l'Abbé Gerbet -entered the seminary of Saint-Sulpice, but his health, which was -already delicate, not allowing him to stay there long, he established -himself as a boarder in the House of Foreign Missions, where he -followed the rules of the seminarians. He was ordained priest in 1822 -at the same time with l'Abbé do Salinis, whose inseparable friend he -has always remained. - -A little later he was appointed assistant professor of the Holy -Scriptures in the Theological Faculty of Paris, and went to live in -the Sorbonne. Having no lectures to deliver, he soon began to assist -M. de Salinis, who had been made almoner in the college of Henry lV., -and it was at this time that he first knew M. de Lamennais. - -At twenty-four years of age, l'Abbé Gerbet had given evidence of -remarkable philosophical and literary talent, and had sustained a -Latin thesis with rare elegance in the Sorbonne. By nature he was -endowed with all the gifts of oratory, a sense of rhythmic movement, -measure, and choice of expression, and a graphic power which, in one -word, must become a talent for writing. To these endowments he added -an acute and elevated faculty for dialectics, fertile in distinctions, -which he sometimes took delight in multiplying, but without ever -losing himself among them. In the very beginning of his friendship -with M. de Lamennais, he felt, without perhaps acknowledging it to -himself, that that bold and vigorous genius, who was wont to open new -views and perspectives, as it were by main force, needed the -assistance of an auxiliary pen, more tempered, gentler and firm,--a -talent that could use evidence judiciously, fill up spaces, cover weak -points, and smooth away a look of menace and revolution from what was -simply intended as a broader expression and more accessible -development of Christianity. L'Abbé Gerbet clothed M. de Lamennais' -system as far as possible with the character of persuasion and -conciliation that belonged to it: to soften and graduate its -tendencies was properly the part he filled at this time of his youth. - -Upon this system I shall touch in a few words that will suffice to -explain what I have to say of l'Abbé Gerbet's moral and literary -gifts. Instead of seeking the evidences of Christianity in such and -such texts of Scripture, or in a personal argument {310} addressed to -individual reason, M. de Lamennais maintained that it should, in the -first place, be sought in the universal tradition and historical -testimony of peoples, for he believed that even before the coming of -Jesus Christ and the establishment of Christianity a sort of testimony -was to be traced, confused certainly, but real and concordant, running -through the traditions of ancient races and discernible even in the -presentiments of ancient sages. It seemed to him demonstrable that -among all nations there had been ideas, more or less defined, of the -creation of man, of the fall and promised reparation, of the expiation -or expected redemption--in short, of all that should one day -constitute the treasures of Christian doctrine, and was then only the -scattered and persistent vestige of the primitive revelation. From -this he argued that the lights of ancient sages might be considered as -the dawn of faith, and that without, of course, being classed among -the fathers of the primitive church, Confucius, Zoroaster, Pythagoras, -Heraclitus, Socrates, and Plato should be considered up to a certain -point as preparers for the gospel, and not be numbered among the -accursed. They might almost be called, in the language of the ancient -fathers, primitive Christians--at least they were like so many Magi -travelling more or less directly toward the divine cradle. By this -single view of an anterior Christianity disseminated through the -world, by this voyage, as it were, in search of Catholic truths -floating about the universe, the teaching of theology would have been -wonderfully widened and enlarged, for it necessarily comprised the -history of philosophical ideas. M. de Lamennais' system, which is -especially attractive when developed historically by the pen of l'Abbé -Gerbet, has not since then been recognized by the church. It appeared -to be at least delusive, if not false; but perhaps, even from the -point of view of orthodoxy, it can only merit the reproach of having -claimed to be the sole method, to the exclusion of all others; -combined with other proofs, and presented simply, as a powerful -accessory consideration, I believe that it has never been rejected. - -It may be understood, however, even without entering into the heart of -the matter, that in 1824, when l'Abbé Gerbet, in concert with M. de -Salinis, established a religious monthly magazine, entitled the -"Catholic Memorial," and began to develop his ideas therein with -modesty and moderation, but also with that fresh confidence and ardor -that youth bestows, there was, to speak merely of the external form of -the questions, a something about it that gave the signal for the -struggle of a new spirit against the stationary or backward spirit. -The old-fashioned theologians, whether formalist or rationalistic, who -found themselves attacked, resisted and took scandal at the name of -traditions which were not only Catholic but scholastic and classic. -But in l'Abbé Gerbet they had to deal with a man thoroughly well read -in the writings of the fathers, and possessed of their true -significance. He could bring forward, in his turn, texts drawn from -the fountain-head in support of this freer and more generous method; -among other quotations, he liked to cite this fine passage from -Vincent de Lérius: "Let posterity, thanks to your enlightenment, -rejoice in the _conception_ of that to which antiquity gave respectful -credence without understanding [its full meaning]; but remember to -teach the same things that have been transmitted to you, so that, -while presenting them in a new light, you do not invent new -doctrines." Thus, while maintaining fundamental immutability, he took -pleasure in remarking that, in spite of slight deviations, the order -of scientific explanation has followed a law of progress in the -church, and has been successively developed; a fact which he {311} -demonstrated by the history of Christianity. - -"The Catholic Memorial," in its very infancy, stirred the emulation of -youthful writers in the philosophical camp. It was at first printed at -Lachevardière's, where M. Pierre Leroux was proof-reader, and the -latter, on seeing the success of a magazine devoted to grave subjects, -concluded that a similar organ for the promotion of opinions shared by -himself and his friends might be established with even better results. -In that same year, 1824, "The Globe" began its career, and the two -periodicals often engaged in polemic discussions, like adversaries who -knew and respected each other while they clearly understood the point -of controversy. For the benefit of the curious, I note an article of -M. Gerbet's [Footnote 51] (signed X.) which represents many others, -and is entitled "Concerning the Present State of Doctrines;"--the -objections are especially addressed to MM. Damiron and Jouffroy. It -was the heyday then of this war of ideas. - - [Footnote 51: 1825. Vol. 4th, p. 188. ] - -L'Abbé Gerbet's life has been quite simple and uniform, marked by only -one considerable episode--his connection with l'Abbé de Lamennais, to -whom he lent or rather gave himself for years with an affectionate -devotion which had no term or limit except in the final revolt of that -proud and immoderate spirit. After fulfilling all the duties of a -religious friendship, after having waited and forborne and hoped, -Gerbet withdrew in silence. For a long time he had been all that -Nicole was to Arnauld--a moderator, softening asperities and averting -shocks as far as possible. He never grew weary until there was no -longer room for further effort, and then he returned completely to -himself. These ultra and exclusive methods are unsuited to his nature, -and he hastened to withdraw from them, and to forget what he would -never have allowed to break out and reach such a pass if he had been -acting alone. It needs but a word, but a breath, from the Vatican to -dissipate all that seems cloudy or obscure in l'Abbé Gerbet's -doctrines. His gentle clouds inclose no storm, and, in dispersing, -they reveal a depth of serene sky, lightly veiled here and there, but -pure and delicious. - -I express the feeling that some of his writings leave upon the mind, -and especially the work that has just been reprinted, of which I will -say a few words. "Les Considérations sur le Dogme générateur de la -Piété Catholique," that is to say, Thoughts upon Communion and the -Eucharist, first appeared in 1829. It is, properly speaking, "neither -a dogmatic treatise nor a book of devotion, but something -intermediate." The author begins by an historical research into -general ideas, universally diffused throughout antiquity--ideas of -sacrifice and offering, as well as of the desire and necessity of -communication with an ever-present God, which have served as a -preparation and approach toward the mystery; but, mingled with -historical digressions and delicate or profound doctrinal -distinctions, we meet at every step sweet and beautiful words which -come from the soul and are the effusion of a loving faith. I will -quote a few, almost at hazard, without seeking their connection, for -they give us an insight into the soul of l'Abbé Gerbet. As, for -instance, concerning prayer: - - "Prayer, in its fundamental essence, is but the sincere recognition - of this continual need (of drawing new strength from the source of - life) and an humble desire of constant assistance; it is the - confession of an indigence full of hope." - - "Wherever God places intelligences capable of serving him, there we - find weakness, and there too hope." - -And again: - - "Christianity in its fulness is only a bountiful alms bestowed on - abject poverty." - -{312} - - "Is there not something divine in every benefit?" - - "Charity enters not into the heart of man without combat; for it - meets an eternal adversary there--pride, the first-born of - selfishness, and the father of hatred." - - "The gospel has made, in the full force of the term, a revolution in - the human soul, by changing the relative position of the two - feelings that divide its sway: fear has yielded the empire of the - heart to love." - -L'Abbé Gerbet's book is full of golden words; but when we seek to -detach and isolate them, we see how closely they are woven into the -tissue. - -The aim of the author is to prove that, from a Christian and Catholic -point of view, communion, accepted in its fulness with entire faith, -frequent communion reverently received, is the most certain, -efficacious, and vivid means of charity. In speaking of the excellent -book entitled "The Following of Christ," he says: - - "The asceticism of the middle ages has left an inimitable monument, - which Catholics, Protestants, and philosophers are agreed in - admiring with the most beautiful admiration, that of the heart. It - is wonderful, this little book of mysticism, upon which the genius - of Leibnitz used to ponder, and which roused something like - enthusiasm even in the frigid Fontenelle. No one ever read a page of - the 'Following of Christ,' especially in time of trouble, without - saying as he laid the book down: 'That has done me good.' Setting - the Bible apart, this work is the sovereign friend of the soul. But - whence did the poor solitary who wrote it draw this inexhaustible - love? (for he spoke so effectively only because of his great love.) - He himself tells us the source in every line of his chapters on the - blessed sacrament: the fourth book explains the other three." - -I could multiply quotations of this kind, if they were suited to these -pages, and if it were not better to recommend the book for the -solitary meditation of my readers; I would point out to be remembered -among the most beautiful and consoling pages belonging to our language -and religions literature, all the latter part of Chapter VIII. Nothing -is wanting to make this exquisite little book of l'Abbé Gerbet's more -generally appreciated than it now is but a less frequent combination -of dialectics with the expression of affectionate devotion. Generally -speaking, the tissue of l'Abbé Gerbet's style is too close; when he -has a beautiful thing to say, he does not give it room enough. His -talent is like a sacred wood, too thickly grown;--the temple, -repository, and altar in its depths are surrounded on all sides, and -we can reach them only by footpaths. I suppose that this is because he -has always lived too near his own thoughts, never having had the -opportunity to develop them in public. Feeble health, and a delicate -voice which needs the ear of a friend, have never allowed this rich -talent to unfold itself in teaching or in the pulpit. If at any time -he had been induced to speak in public, he would have been obliged to -clear up, disengage, and enlarge not his views, but the avenues that -lead to them. - -In 1838, being troubled with an affection of the throat, he went to -Rome and, always intending to return home soon, remained there until -1848. It was there that in the leisure moments of a life of devotion -and study, in which, too, the most elevated friendship had its share, -he composed the first two volumes of the work entitled "A Sketch of -Christian Rome," designed to impart to all elevated souls the feeling -and idea of the Eternal City. "The fundamental thought in this book," -he says, "is to concentrate the visible realities of Christian Rome -into a conception and, as it were, a portrait of its spiritual -essence. An excellent interpreter in the way he has chosen for -himself, he goes on to speak of the monuments not with the dry science -of a modern antiquary, {313} or with the _naïf_ enthusiasm of a -believer of the middle ages, but with a reflective admiration which -unites philosophy to piety. - - "The study of Rome in Rome," he says again, "leads us to the living - springs of Christianity. It refreshes all the good feelings of the - heart, and, in this age of storms, sheds a wonderful serenity over - the soul. We must not, of course, attach too much importance to the - charm which we find in certain studies, for books written with - pleasure to one's self run the risk of being written with less - charity. But none the less should we thank the Divine Goodness when - it harmonizes pleasure with duty." - -In these volumes of l'Abbé Gerbet, introductions and dissertations -upon Christian symbolism and church history lead to observations full -of grace or grandeur, and to beautiful and touching pictures. The -Catacombs, which were the cradle and the asylum of Christianity during -the first three centuries, interested him especially, and inspired in -him thoughts of rare elevation. Here are some verses (for l'Abbé -Gerbet is a poet without pretending to be one) which give his first -impressions of them, and show the quality of his soul. The piece is -called "The Song of the Catacombs," and is intended to be sung. -[Footnote 52] - - [Footnote 52: We translate "Le Chant des Catacombes" into prose, - that the noble ideas may be given with literal accuracy. The author - intended it to be sung to the air of "Le Fil de La Vierge" (Scudo). - We give one verse of the original: - - "Hier j'ai visité les grandes Catacombes - Des temps anciens; - J'ai touché de mon front les immortelles tombes - Des vieux Chrétiens: - Et ni l'astre du jour, ni les célestes sphères, - Lettres du feu, - Ne m'avaient mieux fait lire en profonds caractères - Lo nom de Dieu."] - - "Yesterday I visited the great Catacombs of ancient times. I touched - with my brow the immortal tombs of early Christians, and never did - the star of day, nor the celestial spheres with their letters of - fire, teach me more clearly to read in profound characters the name - of God. - - "A black-frocked hermit, with blanched hair, walked on in front-- - old door-keeper of time, old porter of life and death; and we - questioned him about these holy relics of the great fight, as one - listens to a veteran's tales of ancient exploits. - - "A rock served as portico to the funeral vault; and on its fronton - some martyr artist, whose name is known, no doubt, to the angels, - had painted the face of Christ, with the fair hair, and the great - eyes whence streams a ray of deep gentleness like the heavens. - - "Further on, I kissed many a symbol of holy parting upon the tombs. - And the palm, and the lighthouse, and the bird flying to God's - bosom; and Jonas, leaving the whale after three days, with songs, as - we leave this world after three days of trouble called time. - - "Here it was that each one, standing beside his ready-made grave, - like a living spectre, wrestled the fight out, or laid his head down - in expectation! Here, that they might prepare a strong heart - beforehand for the great day of suffering, they tried their graves, - and tasted the first-fruits of death! - - "I sounded with a glance their sacred dust, and felt that the soul - had left a breath of life lingering in these ashes; and that in this - human sand, which weighs so lightly in our hands, lie, awaiting the - great day, germs of the almost god-like forms of eternity. - - "Sacred places, where love knew how to suffer purely for the soul's - good! In questioning you, I felt that its flame could never perish; - for to each being of a day who died to defend the truth, the Being - eternal and true, as the price of time, has given eternity. - - "Here at each step we behold, as it were, a golden throne, and while - treading on tombs we seem to be on Mount Tabor. Go down, go down - into the deep Catacombs, into their lowest recesses--go down, and - your {314} heart shall rise and, looking up from these graves, see - heaven!" - -Beside these verses, which are not found in the volumes of "Christian -Rome," and are only a first utterance, should be placed, as an -original picture full of meaning, his words concerning the slow and -gradual destruction of the human body in the Catacombs. We all know -Bossuet's _mot_ (after Tertullian) in speaking of a human corpse: "It -becomes a something unutterable," he exclaims, "which has no name in -any language." The following admirable page from l'Abbé Gerbet's book -is, as it were, a development and commentary of Bossuet's words. At -this first station of the Catacombs he confines himself to the study -of the nothingness of life: "the work I do not say of death, but of -what comes after death;" the idea of awakening and of future life -follows later. Listen: - - "In your progress you review the various phases of destruction, as - one observes the development of vegetation in a botanic garden from - the imperceptible flower to large trees, rich with sap and crowned - with great blossoms. In a number of sepulchral niches that have been - opened at different periods one can follow, in a manner, step by - step, the successive forms, further and further removed from life, - through which _what is there_ passes before it approaches as closely - as possible to pure nothingness. Look, first, at this skeleton; if - it be well preserved in spite of centuries, it is probably because - the niche where it lies was hollowed out of damp earth. Humidity, - which dissolves all other things, hardens these bones by covering - them with a crust which gives them more consistency than they had - when they were members of a living body. But not the less is this - consistency a progress of destruction; these human bones are turning - to stone. A little further on is a grave where a struggle is going - on between the power that makes the skeleton and the power that - makes dust; the first defends itself, but the second is gaining - ground, though slowly. The combat between life and death that is - taking place in you, and will be over before this combat between one - death and another, is nearly ended. In the sepulchre near by, of all - that was a human frame nothing is left but a sort of cloth of dust, - a little tumbled and unfolded like a small whitish shroud, from - which a head comes out. Look, lastly, at this other niche; there is - evidently nothing there but simple dust, the color of which even is - a little doubtful from its slightly reddish tinge. There, you say, - is the consummation of destruction! Not yet. On looking closely, you - discern a human outline: this little heap, touching one of the - longitudinal extremities of the niche, is the head; these two heaps, - smaller and flatter, placed parallel to each other a little lower - down, are the shoulders; these two are the knees. The long bones are - represented by feeble trails, broken here and there. This last - sketch of man, this vague, rubbed-out form, barely imprinted on an - almost impalpable dust, which is volatile, nearly transparent, and - of a dull, uncertain white, can best give us an idea of what the - ancients called a _shade_. If, in order to see better, you put your - head into the sepulchre, take care; do not move or speak, hold your - breath. That form is frailer than a butterfly's wing, more swift to - vanish than a dewdrop hanging on a blade of grass in the sunshine; a - little air shaken by your hand, a breath, a tone, become here - powerful agents that can destroy in a second what seventeen - centuries, perhaps, of decay have spared. See, you breathed, and the - form has disappeared. So ends the history of man in this world." - -This seems to me quite a beautiful view of death, and one that prompts -the Christian to rise at once to that which is above destruction and -escapes the catacomb--the immortal principle of life, love, sanctity, -and {315} sacrifice. I can only indicate these noble and interesting -considerations to those who are eager to study in material Rome the -higher city and its significance. - -Among l'Abbé Gerbet's writings I will mention only one other, which -is, perhaps, his masterpiece, and is connected with a touching -incident that will be felt most deeply by practically religious -persons, but of which they will not be alone in their appreciation. It -was before the year 1838, previously to the abbé's long residence in -Rome, that he became intimate with the second son of M. de la -Ferronais, former minister of foreign affairs. Young Count Albert de -la Ferronais had married a young Russian lady, Mdlle. d'Alopeus, a -Lutheran in religion, whom he eagerly desired to lead to the faith. He -was dying of consumption at Paris in his twenty-fifth year, and his -end seemed to be drawing near, when the young wife, on the eve of -widowhood, decided to be of her husband's religion; and one night at -twelve o'clock, the hour of Christ's birth, they celebrated in his -room, beside the bed so soon to be a bed of death, the first communion -of one and the last communion of the other. (June 29, 1836.) L'Abbé -Gerbet was the consecrator and consoler in this scene of deep reality -and mournful pathos, but yet so full of holy joy to Christians. It was -the vivid interest of this incomparable and ideal death-bed which -inspired him to write a dialogue between Plato and Fénélon, in which -the latter reveals to the disciple of Socrates all needful knowledge -concerning the other world, and in which he describes, under a -half-lifted veil, a death according to Jesus Christ. - - "O writer of Phaedon, and ever admirable painter of an immortal - death, why was it not given to you to be the witness of the things - which we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, and seize with the - inmost perceptions of the soul, when by a concurrence of - circumstances of God's making, by a rare complication of joy and - agony, the Christian soul, revealed in a new half-light, resembles - those wondrous evenings whose twilight has strange and nameless - tints! What pictures then and what apparitions! Shall I describe one - to you, Plato? Yes, in heaven's name, I will speak. I witnessed it a - few days ago, but at the end of a hundred years I should still call - it a few days. You will not understand the whole of what I tell you, - for I can only speak of these things in the new tongue which - Christianity has made; but still you will understand enough. Know, - then, that of two souls that had waited for each other on earth and - had met," etc. - -Then follows the story, slightly veiled and, as it were, transfigured, -but without hiding the circumstances. "Plato as a Christian would have -spoken thus," said M. de Lamartine of this dialogue, and the eulogium -is only just. - -L'Abbé Gerbet could, no doubt, have written more than one of these -admirable dialogues if he had wished to devote himself to the work, or -if his physical organization had enabled him to labor continuously. He -processes all that is needed to make him the man for Christian -_Tusculanes_. Three times in my life have I had the happiness of -seeing him in places entirely suited to him, and which seemed to make -a natural frame for him: at Juilly, in 1831, in the beautiful shades -that Malebranche used to frequent; in 1839, at Rome, beneath the -arches of solitary cloisters; and yesterday, again, in the episcopal -gardens of Amiens, where he lives, near his friend, M. de Salinis. -Everywhere he is the same. Imagine a slightly stooping figure, pacing -with long, slow steps a peaceful walk, where two can chat comfortably -together on the shady side, and where he often stops to talk. Observe -closely the delicate and affectionate smile, the benign countenance, -in which something reminds us of {316} Fléchier and of Fénélon; listen -to the sagacious words, elevated and fertile in ideas, sometimes -interrupted by fatigue of voice, and by his pausing to take breath; -notice among doctrinal views, and comprehensive definitions that come -to life of themselves and prove their strength upon his lips, those -charming _mots_ and agreeable anecdotes, that talk strewn with -reiniscences and pleasantly adorned with amenity,--and do not ask if -it is any one else--it is he. - -L'Abbé Gerbet has one of those natures which when standing alone are -not sufficient unto themselves, and need a friend; we may say that he -possesses his full strength only when thus leaning. For a long time he -seemed to have found in M. de Lamennais such a friend of firmer will -and purpose; but these strong wills often end, without meaning to do -so, by taking possession of us as a prey, and then casting us like a -slough. True friendship, as La Fontaine understood it, demands more -equality and more consideration. L'Abbé Gerbet has found a tender and -equal friend, quite suited to his beautiful and faithful nature, in M. -de Salinis; to praise one is to win the other's gratitude at once. -Will it be an indiscretion if I enter this charming household and -describe one day there, at least, in its clever and literary -attractions? L'Abbé Gerbet, like Fléchier, whom I have named in -connection with him, has a society talent full of charm, sweetness, -and invention. He himself has forgotten the pretty verses, little -allegorical poems, and couplets appropriate to festivals or occasional -circumstances, which he has scattered here and there, in all the -places where he has lived and the countries he passed through. He is -one of those who can edify without being mournful, and make hours pass -gaily without dissipation. In his long life, into which an evil -thought never glided, and which escaped all turbulent passions, he has -preserved the first joy of a pure and beautiful soul. In him a -discreet spirituality is combined with cheerfulness. I have by me a -pretty little scene in verse which he wrote a few days ago for the -young pupils of the Sacred Heart at Amiens, in which there is a faint -suggestion of Esther, but of Esther enlivened by the neighborhood of -Gresset. The bishop of Amiens always receives them on Sunday evenings, -and they come gladly to his _salon_, where there is no strictness, and -where good society is naturally at home. They play a few games, and -have a lottery, and, in order that no one may draw a blank, l'Abbé -Gerbet makes verses for the loser, who is called, I think, _le nigaud_ -(the ninny). These _nigauds_ of l'Abbé Gerbet are appropriate and full -of wit; he makes them _by obedience_, which saves him, he says, from -all blame and from all thought of ridicule. It is difficult to detach -these trifles from the associations of society that call them forth; -but here is one of the little _impromptus_ made for the use and -consolation "of the losers;" it is called the "Evening Game:" - - "My children, to-day is our Lady's day; - Now tell me, I pray, in her dear name, - Should the hand that this morning a candle clasped, - Hold cards to-night in a childish game? - - I would not with critical words condemn - A pastime the world holds innocent, - Let me but say that its levity - May veil a lesson of deep intent - - Think at the drawing of each card - That every day is an idle game. - If at its close in the treasures of God - There is no prize answering to your name. - - This evening game is an hour well passed - If God be the guardian of your sports; - And the day, closing as it dawned, - Shall rejoin this morning's holy thoughts. - - I startle you all with my grave discourse; - You would laugh and I preach with words austere; - No worldly place this--'tis the bishop's house; - So pardon this sermon, my children dear." - -This is the man who wrote the book upon the eucharist and the dialogue -between Plato and Fénélon, and who had a plan of writing the last -conference of {317} St. Anselm on the soul; this is he whom the French -clergy could oppose with honor to Jouffroy, and whom the most -sympathetic of Protestants could combat only while revering him and -recognizing him as a brother in heart and intelligence. L'Abbé Gerbet -unites to these elevated virtues, which I have merely been able to -glance at, a gentle gaiety, a natural and cultivated charm, which -reminds one even in holiday games of the playfulness of a Rapin, a -Bougeant, a Bonhours. There has been much dispute lately as to the -studies and the degree of literary merit authorized by the clergy; -many officious and clamorous persons have been brought forward, and it -is my desire to notice one who is as distinguished as he is modest. - -For a long time I have said to myself, If we ever have to elect an -ecclesiastic to the French Academy, how well I know who will be my -choice! And what is more, I am quite sure that philosophy in the -person of M. Cousin, religion by the organ of M. de Montalembert, and -poetry by the lips of M. de Lamartine, would not oppose me. - - Monday, Day after the Feast of Assumption, - Aug. 16, 1832. - - [Since the above article was written, the Abbé Gerbet has had - conferred on the episcopal dignity. He died about one year ago.--Ed. - C. W.] - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -OUR NEIGHBOR. - - Set it down gently at the altar rail, - The faithful, aged dust, with honors meet; - Long have we seen that pious face so pale - Bowed meekly at her Saviour's blessed feet. - - These many years her heart was hidden where - Nor moth nor rust nor craft of man could harm; - The blue eyes seldom lifted, save in prayer, - Beamed with her wished for heaven's celestial calm. - - As innocent as childhood's was the face, - Though sorrow oft had touched that tender heart; - Each trouble came as winged by special grace - And resignation saved the wound from smart. - - On bead and crucifix her fingers kept - Until the last, their fond, accustomed hold; - "My Jesus," breathed the lips; the raised eyes slept. - The placid brow, the gentle hand, grew cold. - - The choicely ripening cluster lingering late - Into October on its shriveled vine - Wins mellow juices which in patience wait - Upon those long, long days of deep sunshine. - - Then set it gently at the altar rail, - The faithful, aged dust, with honors meet; - How can we hope if such as she can fail - Before the eternal God's high judgment-seat? - ------- - -{318} - - -From The Literary Workmen - -JENIFER'S PRAYER. - -BY OLIVER CRANE. - -IN THREE PARTS. - - -[CONCLUSION.] - - -PART III. - - -Lady Greystock drove on briskly. They were out of the shadow of the -trees and again on the broad, white gleaming gravelled road that led -to the west lodge, and the turnpike road to Blagden. Not a word was -spoken. On went the ponies, who knew the dark shadows of the elms that -stood at intervals, in groups, two or three together, by the side of -the road, and threw their giant outlines across it, making the -moon-light seem brighter and brighter as it silvered the surface of -the broad carriage drive, and made the crushed granite sparkle--on -went the ponies, shaking their heads with mettlesome impatience when -the pulling of the reins offended them, not frightened at the whirling -of the great droning night insects, which flew out from the oak-trees -on the left, nor shying away from the shadows--on they went through -the sweet, still, soft, scented night air, and the broad, peaceful -light of the silent moon--on they went! Not one word mingled with the -sound of their ringing hoofs, not a breath was heard to answer to the -sighing of the leaves; the "good night" that had been spoken between -the stranger and themselves still seemed to live in the hearing of -those to whom he had spoken, and to keep them in a meditative and -painful silence. - -At last the lodge was reached. The servant opened the gates; the -carriage was driven through; the high road was gained, and all -romantic mystery was over; the dream that had held those silent ones -was gone; and like one suddenly awoke, Lady Greystock said: "Eleanor! -how wonderful; you knew that man! Eleanor! he knew you; asked about -you; had been seeking you. Why was he there in the Beremouth -woods--appearing at this hour, among the ferns and grass, like a wild -creature risen from its lair? Eleanor! why don't you speak to me? Why, -when he spoke of you by your name, did you not answer for yourself? -Why did you send him to Jenifer? Oh! Eleanor; I feel there is -something terrible and strange in all this. I cannot keep it to -myself. I must tell my father. It can't be right. It cannot be for any -good that we met a man lurking about, and not owned by you, though he -is here to find you. Speak, Eleanor! Now that I am in the great high -road I feel as if I had gone through a terror, or escaped some strange -danger, or met a mystery face to face." - -Lady Greystock spoke fast and in a low voice, and Eleanor, bending a -little toward her, heard every word. - -"You _have_ met a mystery face to face," she said in a whisper, which, -however, was sufficiently audible. "I _did_ know that man. And I am -{319} not denying that he sought me, and that he had a right to seek -me. But many things have changed since those old days, when, if I had -obeyed him, I should have done better than I did. I know what he -wants; and Jenifer can give it to him. Here we are at Blagden; think -no more of it, Lady Greystock." - -No answer was given to Eleanor's words; they met Dr. Blagden on the -steps at the door. "You are later than usual--all right?" "All quite -right," said Eleanor. "The beauty of the night tempted us to come home -through Beremouth," said Lady Greystock. "How lovely it would look on -such a sweet, peaceful night," said Mrs. Blagden, who now joined them; -and then Eleanor took the carriage wraps in her arms up stairs, and -Lady Greystock went into the drawing-room, and soon after the whole -household--all but Eleanor--were in bed. - -Not Eleanor. She opened a box where she kept her letters, and many -small objects of value to her, and carefully shutting out the -moonlight, and trimming her lamp into brilliancy, she took out letter -after letter from Henry Evelyn calling her his beloved one, and his -wife; then the letter from Corny Nugent, saying that Henry Evelyn and -Horace Erskine were one; and the one thing that Corny Nugent had sent -to her as evidence--it seemed to be proof sufficient. It was a part of -a letter from Horace to his uncle, Mr. Erskine, which had been flung -into a waste-paper basket, and which, having the writer's signature, -Corny had kept, and sent to Eleanor. Not, as he said, that he knew the -man's handwriting, but that she did; and that, therefore, to her it -would have value as proving or disproving his own convictions. - -Eleanor had never brought this evidence to the proof. She had laid by -Corny's letter, and the inclosure. She had put it all aside with the -weight of a great dread on her mind, and "Not yet, not yet," was all -she said as she locked away both the assertion and the proof. - -But her husband was at Beremouth now. Yes; and on what errand? She -knew that too. - -Mrs. Brewer had called that morning to see Lady Greystock. Mrs. Brewer -had come herself to tell Claudia that Mary would arrive, and that -Horace would bring her. She would not trust any one but herself to -give that information. She never let go the idea of Horace having -behaved in some wrong way to Claudia. She knew Claudia's disposition, -her bravery, her determination; and her guesses were very near the -truth. "Mother Mary" had those womanly instincts which jump at -conclusions; and the truths guessed at through the feelings are -truths, and remain truths for ever, though reason has never proved -them or investigation explained them. - -Then, too, there was her sister's letter, which Mrs. Brewer had sent -to Father Daniels. There the passing fancy for Claudia had been spoken -of. In that letter the love of money had peeped out, and supplied the -motive; but Mrs. Brewer knew very well that Claudia's disposition was -not of a sort to have any acquaintance with passing fancies. If she -had loved Horace, she had loved with her whole heart; and if she had -been deceived in him, her whole heart had suffered, and her whole life -been overcast. "Mother Mary" had felt to some purpose; and now, only -herself should say to Lady Greystock that he was coming among them -again. - -She had arrived at Blagden and she had told Claudia everything; what -Horace wished as to Mary, and what her sister and Mr. Erskine desired; -and she had not hidden her own unwillingness to lose her child, or her -own wish that Mary might have married, when she did marry, some one -more to her mother's mind, and nearer to her mother's {320} house. And -it was in remembrance of this conversation that Lady Greystock, when -she took Jenifer into the carriage, had said: "If you ever pray for my -father, and all he loves, pray _now_?" - -Something of all this had been told by Lady Greystock to Eleanor. And -in the time that the aunt and niece had been together that day, -Eleanor had said to Jenifer, "He is down at the park wanting to marry -Miss Lorimer." - -Jenifer's darling--Jenifer's darling's darling; how she loved "Mother -Mary," and Lansdowne Lorimer's child, only her own great and good -heart knew. What could she do but go to God, and his priest? What -human foresight could have prevented this? What human wisdom could set -things right? And after all, they did not _surely_ know that Eleanor's -husband and Claudia's lover were met in one man, and that man winning -the heart of lovely, innocent Mary Lorimer, and pressing marriage on -her. But for her prayer, Jenifer used to say, she should have gone out -of her mind. Oh, the comfort that grew out of the thought that GOD -KNEW! and that her life and all that was in it were given to him. Such -a shifting of responsibility--such a supporting sense of his never -allowing anything to be in that life that was not, in some way, for -his glory--such practical strength, such heart-sustaining power, grew -out of Jenifer's prayer that even Eleanor's numbed heart rested on it, -and she had learnt to be content to live, from hour to hour, a life of -submission and waiting. - -But was the waiting to be over now?--was something coming? If so, she -must be prepared. And so, diligently, by the lamp-light, Eleanor -produced her own letters, and opened that torn sheet to compare the -writing. It was different in some things, yet the same. As she gazed, -and examined, and compared terminations, and matched the capital -letters together, she knew it was the same handwriting. Time had done -its work. The writing of the present was firmer, harder, done with a -worse pen, written at greater speed. But that was all the change. She -was convinced; and she put away her sorrow-laden store, locked them -safe from sight, said her night prayers, and went to bed. Not a sigh, -nor a tear. No vain regrets, no heart-easing groans. The time for such -consolations had long been passed with Eleanor. Within the last nine -years her life had as much changed as if she had died and risen again -into another world of intermediate trial. A very great change had been -wrought in her by Lady Greystock's friendship. Eleanor had become -educated. The clever, poetical girl, who had won Horace Erskine's -attention by her natural superiority to everything around her--even -when those surroundings had been of a comparatively high state of -cultivation, had hardened into the industrious and laborious woman. -When it pleased Lady Greystock to hear her sing, in her own sweet, -untaught way, the songs of her own country, she had sung them; and -then, when Lady Greystock had offered to cultivate the talent, she had -worked hard at improvement. She had been brought up by French nuns, at -a convent school, and had spoken their language from childhood; when -Lady Greystock got French books, it was Eleanor's delight to read -aloud; and she had made Mrs. Blagden's two little girls almost as -familiar with French as she was herself. Those things had given rise -to the idea that Mrs. Evelyn, as she was always called, had seen -better days; and no one had ever suspected her relationship to -Jenifer. Mr. Brewer alone knew of it. As to Mr. Brewer ever telling -anything that could be considered, in the telling, as a breach of -confidence, that was, of course, impossible. - -That night--that night so important in our story, Jenifer, having done -all her duties by her mistress, which were really not a few, and -having seen that the girl who did the dirty {321} work was safe in the -darkness of a safely put out candle, opened her lattice to look on the -night. Her little room had a back view. That is, it looked over the -flagged kitchen court, and the walled-in flower garden, and beyond -toward the village of Blagden and the majestic woods at the back of -the house at Beremouth. - -Jenifer had gone to bed, and had risen again, oppressed by a feeling -that something was, as she expressed it, "going on--something doing -somewhere--'something up,' as folks say, sir. I can't account for it. -I fancied I heard something--that I was wanted. And I thought at first -that some one was in my room. Then I went into mistress's room, -without my shoes, not to wake her. She was all right, sleeping like a -tender babe. Then I went to Peggy's room. The girl was asleep. I -sniffed up and down the passage, just to find if anything wrong in the -way of smoke or fire was about. No; all was pure and pleasant; and -then I went down stairs to make sure of the doors being locked. -Everything was right, sir"--such was Jenifer's account to Mr. Brewer; -who, when she paused at this point, asked: "What next did you do? Did -you go upstairs again to bed?" "I went upstairs," the woman answered, -"but not to bed. I sat at the window, and looked out over the garden, -and over the meadows beyond the old bridge, and on to Beremouth. And -the night was the brightest, fairest, loveliest night I ever beheld. -And so, sir, I said my prayers once more, and went again to bed; and -slept in bits and snatches, for still I was always thinking that -somebody wanted me, till the clock struck six; and then I got up." -"You don't usually get up at six, or before the girl gets up, do you?" -"No, sir; never, I may say. But I got up to ease my mind of its -burthens. And when Peggy had got up, and was down stairs, I started -off for the alms-house; I thought Mr. Dawson might be up to say mass -there, for it was St. Lawrence's Day." "Well?" "But there had been no -message about mass, and no priest was expected. And as I got back to -our door there was Mrs. Fell, the milk-woman. She had brought the milk -herself. I asked how that should be. She said they had had a cow like -to die in the night, and that their man had been up all night, and -that she was sparing him, for he had gone to lie down. Then I said, -'Why, I could never have heard any of you busy about the cattle in the -night'--you see they rent the meadows. But she said they were not in -the meadows; the beasts were all in the shed at the farm. 'But,' she -said, it's odd if you were disturbed, for a man came to our place just -before twelve o'clock, and asked for you.' 'For me!' I cried--'a man -at your place in the middle of the night, asking for me!' She said, -'Yes; and a decent-spoken body, too. But tired, and wet through and -through. He said he had fallen into the Beremouth deer pond, up in the -park. That is, he described the place clear enough, and we knew it was -the deer pond, for it could not be anywhere else!'" "And did you ask -where the man went to?" "No, sir. I lifted my eyes, and I saw him." -"And who was he?" "Oh, Mr. Brewer, it must all be suffered as he gives -it to me to suffer; but I am not clear about telling his name." - -Mr. Brewer took out his watch and looked at it. "It is nearly ten -o'clock," he said. "Where's your mistress?" - -"Settled to her work, sir." - -Mr. Brewer held this long talk with Jenifer in that right-hand parlor -down stairs where he had paid that money to Mrs. Morier, when the -reader first made his acquaintance. He had great confidence in -Jenifer. He knew her goodness, and her patience, and her trust. He -knew something, too, of her trials, and also of her prayer; but he had -come there to investigate a very serious matter, and he was going -steadily through with it. - -"Listen, Jenifer." - -"Yes, sir." - -{322} - -"Last night, just after our night prayers, Father Daniels being in the -house, my friend, Mr. Erskine, who escorted my step-daughter, Mary -Lorimer, home, went out into the park, just, as was supposed, to have -a cigar before going to bed. Mrs. Brewer and I were in Mary's room -when we heard Mr. Erskine leave the house. He certainly lighted his -cigar. Mary's window was open, and we smelt the tobacco. Jenifer, he -never returned." - -They were both standing and looking at each other. "My life, and all -that is in it!" Up went Jenifer's prayer, but voicelessly, to heaven. -"My life, and all that is in it!" But a strong faith that the one -terrible evil that her imagination pictured would not be in it, was -strong within her. - -"He never returned. My man-servant woke me in my first sleep by -knocking at the bed-room door, and saying that Mr. Erskine had not -returned. I rose up and dressed myself. I collected the men and went -out into the park. We went to the south lodge, to ask if any one had -seen him. 'No,' they said. 'But the west lodge-keeper had been there -as late as near to ten o'clock, and he had said that a man had been in -their house asking a good many questions about Beremouth, and who we -had staying there, and if a Mr. Erskine was there, or ever had been -there, and inquiring what sort of looking man he was, whether he wore -a beard, or had any peculiarity? how he dressed, and if there had ever -been any report of his going to be married? They had answered his -questions, because they suspected nothing worse than a gossiping -curiosity; and they had given him a rest, and a cup of tea. He said -that a friend, a cousin of his, had lived as servant with Mr. Erskine; -and he also asked if Mr. Erskine would be likely to pass through that -lodge the next day, for that he had a great curiosity to see him. He -said that he had known him well once, and wanted greatly to see him -once more. He, after all this talking, asked the nearest way to -Marston. He was directed through the park, and he left them. Our -inquiries about Horace Erskine having been answered by this history -told by one lodge-keeper to the other, we could not help suspecting -that some one had been on the watch for the young man, and taking -Jones from the lodge, and his elder boy with us, we dispersed -ourselves over the park to seek for him, a good deal troubled by what -we had heard. We got to the deer pond, but we had sought many places -before we got there; it did not seem a likely place for a man to go to -in the summer night. We looked about--we went back to get -lanterns--they were necessary in the darkness made by the thick -foliage; one side was bright enough, and the pool was like a -looking-glass where it was open to the sloping turf, and the short -fern, which the deer trample down when they get there to drink; but -the side where the thorns, hollies, and yew-trees grow was as black as -night; and yet we thought we could see where the wild climbing plants -had been pulled away, and where some sort of struggle might have taken -place. As we searched, when we came back, we found strong evidence of -a desperate encounter; the branches of the great thorn-tree were -hanging split from the stem, and, holding the lantern, we saw the -marks of broken ground by the margin of the pond, as if some one had -been struggling at the very edge of it. Then, all at once, and I shall -never understand why we did not see it before--the moonbeams grew -brighter, I suppose--but there in the pond was the figure of a man; -not altogether in the water, but having struggled so far out as to get -his head against the bank, hid as it was with the grass and low -brush-wood, the ferns and large-leaved water-weeds; we laid bold of -the poor {323} fellow--it was Horace Erskine, Jenifer!" - -"_My life, and all that is in it_." But the hope, the faith, rather, -was still alive, that that worst grief should not be in it--so she -prayed--so she felt--for Jenifer! "Master," she gasped, "not dead--not -dead--Mr. Brewer." - -"Not dead!" he said gravely; "he would have been dead if we had not -found him when we did. He was bruised and wounded; such a sight of -ill-treatment as no eyes ever before beheld, I think. He must have -been more brutally used than I could have believed possible, if I had -not seen it. His clothes were torn; his face so disfigured that he -will scarcely ever recover the likeness of a man, and one arm is -broken." "But not dead?" "No; but he _may_ die; the doctor is in the -house, and the police are out after the man whom we suspect of this -horrible barbarity. Now, Jenifer, hearing some talk of a stranger who -seemed to know yon, I came here to ask you to tell me, in your own -honest way, your honest story." - -But Jenifer seemed to have no desire to make confidences. - -"Who told you of a stranger?" - -"Have you not told me yourself, in answer to my first questions, -before giving you my reasons for inquiring?" - -"No, sir; that won't do. I judge from what you said that you had heard -something of this stranger before you came here." - -"I had, Jenifer." And Mr. Brewer looked steadily at her. - -"Well, sir?" - -"Jenifer, I have really come out of tenderness to you, and to those -who may belong to you." - -"No one doubts your tenderness, sir; least of any could I doubt it. -Tell me who mentioned a stranger to you, so as to send you here to -me?" - -"Lady Greystock's groom, coming to Beremouth early, and finding us in -great trouble, made a declaration as to a stranger who had appeared -and stopped his mistress as she was driving through the park last -night. He says this man asked if they could tell where Mrs. Evelyn -lived, and Mrs. Evelyn, immediately answering, said that she lived -somewhere in the neighborhood, and that he could learn by inquiring -for you. The groom says that the man evidently knew Mrs. Morier's -name, as well as year name; and that after speaking to him, Mrs. -Evelyn asked Lady Greystock to drive on, and that she drove rapidly, -and never spoke till they had almost got back to Blagden." - -"It is quite true," said Jenifer. "He told me the same story this -day." - -"Can you say where this man is? He will be found first or last; and it -is for the sake of justice that you should speak, Jenifer. The police -are on his track. Let me entreat you to give me every information. -Concealment is the worst thing that can be practised in such a case as -this--have you any idea where he is? I do not ask you who he is; you -will have to tell all, I fear, before a more powerful person than I -am. I only come as a friend, that you may not be induced to conceal -the evil-doer." - -"The evil-doer," said Jenifer; "who says he did it?" - -"I say he will be tried for doing it; and that a trial is good for the -innocent in such a case of terrible suspicion as this." - -"May be," said Jenifer, "may be!" - -Then, once more, that prayer, said, from her very heart, though -unspoken by her lips; and then these quiet words--"And as to the man -himself. He is my brother. My mother's child by her second husband." -"Your brother--he with whom Eleanor lived in Ireland?" "Yes, Mr. -Brewer; he of whom I told you when you saved Eleanor so {324} many -years ago. And as to where he is--step into the kitchen, sir, and you -may see him sleeping in a chair by the fire--any way, I left him -there, when I came to open the door to you." - -Mr. Brewer had really come to Jenifer in a perfectly friendly way; -exactly as he had said--out of tenderness. He had known enough to send -him there, and to have those within call who would secure this -stranger, whoever he was, and wherever he was found. Now, known, he -walked straight into the kitchen, and there stopped to take a full -view of a man in a leathern easy chair, his arm resting on Jenifer's -tea-table, and sound asleep. A finer man eyes never saw. Strong in -figure, and in face of a remarkable beauty. He was sunburnt; having -pulled his neckcloth off, the skin of his neck showed in fair -contrast, and the chest heaved and fell as the strong breath of the -sleeper was drawn regularly and with healthy ease. It was a picture of -calm rest; it seemed like a pity to disturb it. There stood Mr. Brewer -safely contemplating one who was evidently in a state of blissful -unconsciousness as to danger to others or himself. - -"Your brother?" repeated Mr. Brewer to Jenifer, who stood stiff and -upright by his side. - -"My half-brother, James O'Keefe." - -"There is some one at the front door; will you open it?" - -Jenifer guessed at the personage to be found there. But she went -steadily through the front passage, and, opening the door, let the -policeman who had been waiting enter, and then she came back to the -kitchen without uttering a word. As the man entered Mr. Brewer laid -his hand on the sleeper's shoulder, and woke him. He opened his fine -grey eyes, and looked round surprised. "On suspicion of having -committed an assault on Mr. Horace Erskine last night, in the park at -Beremouth," said the policeman, and the stranger stood up a prisoner. -He began to speak; but the policeman stopped him. "It is a serious -case," he said. "It may turn out murder. You are warned that anything -you say will be used against you at your trial." "Are you a -magistrate, sir?" asked O'Keefe as he turned to Mr. Brewer. "Yea; I -am. I hope you will take the man's advice, and say nothing." - -"But I may say I am innocent?" "Every word you say is at your own -risk." "I ran no risk in saying that I am innocent--that I never saw -this Horace Erskine last night--though if I had seen him--" - -"I entreat you to be silent; you must have a legal adviser"--"I! Who -do I know?"' "You shall be well looked to, and well advised," said -Jenifer. "There are those in this town, in the office where Lansdowne -Lorimer worked, who will work for me." - -It was very hard for Mr. Brewer not to promise on the spot that he -would pay all possible expenses. But the recollection of the -disfigured and perhaps dying guest in his own house rose to his mind, -and he had a painful feeling that he was retained on the other side. -However, he said to Jenifer that perfect truth and sober justice -anybody might labor for in any way. And with this sort of broad hint -he left the house, and Jenifer saw the stranger taken off in safe -custody, and, mounting his horse, rode toward Blagden. He asked for -his daughter; and he was instantly admitted, and shown upstairs into -her sitting-room--there he found Claudia, looking well and happy, -engaged in some busy work, in which Eleanor was helping her. - -"Oh, my dear father!" and Lady Greystock threw the work aside, and -jumped up, and into the arms that waited for her. - -It was always a sort of high holiday when Mr. Brewer come by himself -to visit his daughter. When the sound of the brown-topped boots was -{325} heard on the stairs, like a voice of music to Claudia's heart, -all human things gave way, for that gladness that her father's great -heart brought and gave away, all round him, to everybody, -everywhere--but _there_, there, where his daughter lived--there, among -the friends with whom she had recovered from a great illness and got -the better of a threatened, life-long woe--there Mr. Brewer felt some -strong influence making him _that_, which people excellently expressed -when they said of him--"he was more than ever himself that day." - -Now Mr. Brewer's influence was to make those to whom he addressed -himself honest, open, and good. He was loved and trusted. It did not -generally enter into people's minds to deceive Mr. Brewer. Candor grew -and gained strength in his presence. Candor took to herself the -teachings of wisdom; candor listened to the advice of humility; candor -threw aside all vain-glorious garments when Mr. Brewer called for her -company, and candor put on, forthwith, the crown of truth. "My -darling!" said Mr. Brewer, as he kissed Claudia; "my darling!" - -"Oh, my dear father--my father, my dear father!" so answered Claudia. - -Then she pushed forward a chair; and then Eleanor made ready to leave -the room. "Yes, go; go for half an hour, Mrs. Evelyn. But don't be out -of the way; I have a fancy for a little chat with you, too, to-day." A -grave smile spread itself over Eleanor's placid face as she said she -should come back when Lady Greystock sent for her, and then she went -away. Once more, when she was gone, Mr. Brewer stood up and taking -Claudia's hand, kissed her. "My darling," he said, "I have something -to say, and I can only say it to you--I have some help to ask for, and -only you can help me. But are you strong enough to help me; are you -loving enough to trust me?" - -"I will try to be all you want, father; I _am_ strong; I _can_ -trust--but if you want to know how much I love you--why, you know I -can't tell you that--it is more than I can measure, I am afraid. Don't -look grave at me. It can't be anything very solemn, if _I_ can help -you; or anything of much importance, if my help is worth your having." - -"Your help is absolutely necessary; at least necessary to my own -comfort--now, Claudia. Tell your father why you broke off your -engagement with Horace Erskine." - -"_He_ did it"--she trembled. Her father took her little hand into the -grasp of his strong one, and held it with an eloquent pressure. - -"He wanted more money, father. It came as a test. He was in debt. I -had loved him, as if--as if he had been what _you_ must have been in -your youth. You were my one idea of man. I had had no heart to study -but yours. I learnt that Horace Erskine was unworthy. He was a coward. -The pressure of his debts had crushed him into meanness. He asked me -to bear the trial, and to save him. I did. I did, father!" - -"Yes, my darling." - -He never looked at her. Only the strong fingers closed with powerful -love on the little hand within their grasp. "But you were fond of Sir -Geoffrey?" - -"Yes; and glad, and grateful. I should have been very happy--but--" - -"But he died," said her father, helping her. - -"But Horace sent to Sir Geoffrey the miniature I had given -him--letters--and a lock of my poor curling hair--" How tight the -pressure of the strong hand grew. "I found the open packet on the -table"--she could not say another word. Then a grave, deep voice told -the rest for her--"And your honored husband's soul went up to God and -found the truth"--and the head of the poor memory-stricken daughter -found a refuge on her father's breast, and she wept there silently. - -"And that made you ill, my darling; my dear darling Claudia--my own -{326} dear daughter! Thank you, my precious one. And you don't like -Beremouth now?" - -"I love Beremouth, and everything about it," cried Lady Greystock, -raising her head, and gathering all her strength together for the -effort; "but I dare not see this man--and I would rather never look -again on the deer-pond in the park, because there he spoke: there he -promised--there I thought all life was to be as that still pool, -deep, and overflowing with the waters of happiness and their -never-ceasing music. We used to go there every day. I have not looked -on it since--I could not bear to listen to the rush of the stream -where it falls over the stones between the roots of the old trees, -between whose branches the tame deer would watch us, and where old -Dapple--the dear old beauty whose name I have never mentioned in all -these years---used to take biscuits from our hands. Does old Dapple -live, father? Dapple, who was called _'old'_ nine years ago?" And Lady -Greystock looked up, and took her hand from her father's grasp, and -wiped her eyes, and wetted her fair forehead from a bowl of water, and -tried by this question to get away from the misery that this sudden -return to the long past had brought to mind. - -"Dapple lives," said Mr. Brewer. And then he kissed her again, and -thanked her, and said "they should love each other all the better for -the confidence he had asked and she had given." - -"But why did you ask?" - -"I want to have my luncheon at your early dinner," said Mr. Brewer, -not choosing to answer her. "You do dine early, don't you?" - -"Yes, and to-day Eleanor was going to dine with me." - -"Quite right. And I want to speak to her. Claudia, something has -happened. You most know all before long. Everybody will know. You had -better be in the room while I speak to Eleanor. Let us get it over. -But you had better take your choice. It is still about Horace that I -want to speak--to speak to Eleanor, I mean." - -"I should wish to be present," said Claudia. And she rose and rang the -bell. - -"Will you ask Mrs. Evelyn to come to us?" she said, when her servant -appeared. In a very few minutes in walked Eleanor. - -"Mrs. Evelyn," said Mr. Brewer, "last night you directed a man to seek -Jenifer at Mrs. Morier's house. That man was James O'Keefe, Jenifer's -half-brother. You knew him?" "Yes, Mr. Brewer, I knew him." "But he -did not know you?" "No." "He asked about you. Why did you send him to -Marston?" "Because he could there learn all he wanted to know. I am -not going to bring the shadow of my troubles into this kind house." -"That was your motive?" "Yes. But I might have had more motives than -one. I think that was uppermost; and on that motive I believe that I -acted." - -"That man was in the park. At the lodge-gate he had made inquiries -after my guest, Mr. Erskine. That man was at Mrs. Fell's, the -dairy-woman, at midnight. He was not through; he had, he said, fallen -into the water--he described the place, and they knew it to be the -deer-pond." - -As Mr. Brewer went on in his plain, straightforward way, both women -listened to him with the most earnest interest; but as he proceeded -Eleanor Evelyn fixed her eye on him with an anxiety and a mingled -terror that had a visible effect on Mr. Brewer, who hesitated in his -story, and who seemed to be quite distracted by the manner of one -usually so very calm and so unfailingly self-processed. - -"Now Mr. Erskine had gone out into the park late. Mr. Erskine, my dear -friends,--Mr. Erskine _never came back._" {327} He paused, and -collected his thoughts once more, in order to go on with his story. - -"We went to seek for him. He was found at last, at the deer-pond, -surrounded by the evidences of a hard struggle having taken place -there, a struggle in which he had only just escaped with his life. He -has been ill-treated in a way that it is horrible to contemplate. He -is lying now in danger of death. And this morning I have assisted in -the capture of James O'Keefe, whom I found by Mrs. Morier's kitchen -fire, for this possible murder. I should tell you that Mr. Erskine is -just as likely to die as to live." - -"Mr. Brewer," said Eleanor, rising up and taking no notice of Lady -Greystock's deathlike face,--"Mr. Brewer, is there any truth in a -report that has reached me from a man who was in the elder Mr. -Erskine's service in Scotland--a report to the effect that Mr. Horace -Erskine wished to propose marriage, or had proposed marriage, to Miss -Lorimer?" - -"There _is_ truth in that report," said Mr. Brewer. - -"Then I must see that man," said Mrs. Evelyn. "Before this terrible -affair can proceed, I must see Horace Erskine. If indeed it be true -that he has received this terrible punishment, I can supply a motive -for James O'Keefe's conduct that any jury ought to take into -consideration." - -"But O'Keefe denies having ever seen him," said Mr. Brewer. "He does -not deny having inquired about him. He even said words before me that -would make me suppose that he had come into this neighborhood on -purpose to see him, and to take some vengeance upon him. Mr. Erskine -is found with the marks of the severest ill-usage about him, and you -say you can supply a motive for such a deed. O'Keefe, however, denies -all but the will to work evil; he confesses to the will to do the -deed, but denies having done it." - -"I must see Mr. Erskine," was all that Eleanor answered. "I must see -Mr. Erskine. Whether he sees me or not, _I_ must see _him_." - -The young woman was standing up--her face quite changed by the -expression of anxious earnestness that animated it. - -"I must see Mr. Erskine. Mr. Brewer, you must so manage it that I must -see Mr. Erskine without delay." - -"But you would do no good," said Mr. Brewer, in a very stern tone and -with an utter absence of all his natural sympathy. "The man is so -injured that his own mother could not identify him." - -"Then may God have mercy on us!" cried Eleanor, sinking into a chair. -"If I could only have seen that man before this woe came upon us!" - -And then that woman burst into one of those uncontrollable fits of -tears that are the offspring of despair. Lady Greystock looked at her -for a moment, and then rose from her chair. "Victories half won are -neither useful nor honorable," she said. "Wait, Eleanor, I will show -you what that man was." - -She opened a large metal-bound desk, curiously inlaid, and with a look -of wondrous workmanship. She said, looking at her father, "I left this -at Beremouth, never intending to see it again, But it got sent here a -few years ago. It has never been opened since I locked it before my -wedding day." She opened it, and took out several packets and small -parcels. Then she opened one--it was a miniature case which matched -that one of herself which had been so cruelly sent to good, kind Sir -Geoffrey--she opened it "Who is that, Eleanor?" It was curious to see -how the eyes, blinded by tears, fastened on it "My husband--my -husband--Henry Evelyn. My husband, Mr. Brewer. Oh, Lady Greystock, -thank God that at any cost he did not run his soul still {328} farther -into sin by bringing on you and on himself the misery of a marriage -unrecognized by God." - -"And because your unde, James O'Keefe, heard the report that got about -concerning that man and Miss Lorimer, he ran his own soul into a guilt -that may by this time have deepened into the crime of murder. Oh, -Eleanor! when shall we remember that 'vengeance is mine, saith the -Lord?'" - -"_My life, and all that is in it!_" The words came forth softly, and -Mr. Brewer, turning round, saw Jenifer. - -"He has been before the magistrates at Marston, Mr. Brewer. He has -denied all knowledge of everything about it. He is remanded on the -charge--waiting for more evidence--waiting to see whether Mr. Erskine -lives or dies. I hired a gig, and came off here to you as fast as I -could be driven. Mr. May, in the old office, says that if Mr. Erskine -dies, it will be hard to save him. But the doctor's man tells me Mr. -Erskine has neither had voice nor sight since he was found--I saw -Father Daniels in the street, and he, too, is evidence against the -poor creature. He knows of Corny Nugent's letter; and Corny wrote to -Jem also, so Jem told me, and he came off here to make sure that -Horace Erskine and Henry Evelyn were the same people. And he walked -from the Northend railway station, and asked his way to Beremouth, and -got a gossip with the gate-keeper, and settled to come on to Marston. -And he met Lady Greys took in the carriage, and asked where Eleanor -lived, and inquired his way. Did you know him, Eleanor?" - -"Yes, I knew him directly; and it was partly because I knew him that I -directed him on to you." - -"Then he lost his way, and took to getting out of the park by walking -straight away in the direction he knew Marston to be lying in. And he -got by what we call 'the threshetts,' sir--the water for keeping the -fishponds from shallowing--and there he must have fallen in, for he -says he climbed the hedge just after, and walked straight away through -the grass fields and meadows, and seeing the lights where the Fells -were tending the sick cow last night, he got in there, all dripping -wet, as the town-clock struck twelve. He does not deny to the -magistrates that if he had found Horace Erskine and Henry Evelyn to be -one and the same man, that he might have been tempted to evil; he does -not deny that. He says he felt sore tempted to go straight to -Beremouth House and have him out from sleep and bed, if to do so could -have been possible, and to have given him his punishment on the spot. -He says he wished as he wandered through the park that something might -send the man who had injured us all so sorely out to him, to meet him -in the way, that they might have come hand to hand, and face to face. -He says he has had more temptations since Corny Nugent's letter to -him, and more heart-stirrings in the long silent time before it came, -than he can reckon up; and that he has felt as if a dark spirit goaded -him to go round the world after that man, and never cease following -him till he had made his own false tongue declare to all the earth his -own false deeds--but something, he says, kept him back. Always kept -him back till now; till now, when Corny's last letter said that -Erskine was surely gone to Beremouth to be married. Then, he said, it -was as if something sent him--ah yes; and sent him _here_ to see the -man, to make sure who he was. To tell you, as a brother Catholic, the -whole truth--to keep from the dear convert mother the bitter grief of -seeing her child bound to a man whom she could never call that child's -husband. So {329} he came, Mr. Brewer. He came, and he was found -here--but he knows no more of the punishment of that poor man, that -poor girl's husband"--pointing to Eleanor--"than an unborn babe. As I -hear him speak, I trace the power of the prayer that I took up long -ago in my helplessness--when I could not manage my own troubles, my -own life, my own responsibilities, it came into my heart to offer all -to him. '_My life and all that is in it_.' You and yours have been in -it, Mr. Brewer. Your wife has been in it, her life, and her -child's--you, too, my dear," turning to Claudia,--"you whom I have -loved like one belonging to me--you have been in it; and that woman, -my sister's legacy to my poor helplessness. There were so many to care -for, to fear for, to suffer for, and to love--how could I put things -right, or keep off dangers? I could only give up all to the Father of -us all--'_My life, and all that is in it_.' And I tell you this, Mr. -Brewer--I tell it [to] you because my very soul seems to know it, and -my lips must utter it: In that life there will be no red-handed -punishment--no evil vengeance--no vile murder, nor death without -repentance. I cannot tell you, I cannot even guess, how that bad man -got into this trouble--I have no knowledge of whose hands he fell -into--but not into the hands of any one who belongs to me, or to that -life which has been so long given into God's keeping." - -Jenifer stopped speaking. She had been listened to with a mute -attention. Her hearers could not help feeling convinced by her -earnestness. She had spoken gently, calmly, sensibly. The infection of -her entire faith in the providence of God seized them. They, too, -believed. Lady Greystock, the only one not a Catholic, said afterward -that she felt quite overpowered by the simple trust that Jenifer -showed, and the calm strength with which it endowed her. And Lady -Greystock was the first to answer her. - -"It is no time for self-indulgence," she said. "Father, Eleanor and I -must both go to Beremouth. And we must stay there. We must be there on -the spot, to see how these things are accounted for--to know how -matters end--to help, as far as we may, to bring them right." - -And so, before two hours were over, Jenifer was back in Mrs. Morier's -parlor, and Mary Lorimer was with her; sent there to stay; and Lady -Greystock and Mrs. Evelyn were at Beremouth. - -There was silence in the house, that sort of woful silence that -belongs to the anxiety of a dreadful suspense. Toward evening there -were whispered hopes--Mr. Erskine was better, people thought. But the -severest injuries were about the neck and throat, the chest and -shoulders. His hair had been cut off in large patches where the head -wounds were--his face was disfigured with the bandages that the -treatment made necessary. He lay alive, and groaning. He was better. -When more was known about the injuries done to the throat and chest, -something less doubtful would be said as to his recovery. "If he can't -swallow, he'll die," said one nurse. "He can live long enough without -swallowing," said another. And still they waited. - -At night, Eleanor and Lady Greystock stood in the room, with Mr. -Brewer, far off by the door, looking at him. There was no love in -either heart. The poor wife shrank away, almost wishing that the -period of desertion might last for ever. - -A week passed, a terribly long week. He could swallow. He could speak. -He could see out of one eye. He had his senses. He had said something -about his arm. He would be ready in another week to give some account -of all he had gone {330} through. He would be able, perhaps, to -identify the man. In the meantime, James O'Keefe was safe in custody. -And Jenifer was saying her prayer--"_My life, and all that is in it;_" -still quite sure, with a strong, simple, never-failing faith, that the -great evil of a human and remorseless vengeance was not in it. And -yet, as time passed on, and, notwithstanding every effort made by the -police, backed by the influence of all that neighborhood, and by Mr. -Brewer himself, not a mark of suspicion was found against any one -else, it seemed to come home to every one's mind with the force of -certainty that James O'Keefe had tried to murder Horace Erskine--that -James O'Keefe had done this thing, and no one else. - -Very slowly did Horace seem to mend--very slowly. When questions were -put to him in his speechless state, he seemed to grow so utterly -confused as to alarm his medical attendants. It was made a law at -Beremouth that he was to be kept in perfect quietness. James O'Keefe -was again brought before the magistrates, and again remanded; and -still this time of trial went on, and still, when it was thought -possible to speak to Horace on the subject of his injuries, he grew so -utterly confused that it was impossible to go on with the matter. - -Was there to be no end to this misery? The waiting was almost -intolerable. The knowledge that now existed in that house of Horace -Erskine's life made it very easy to understand his confusion and -incoherency when spoken to of his injuries. But the lingering--the -weight of hope deferred--the long contemplation of the miserable -sufferer--the slowness of the passage of time, was an inexpressible -burthen to the inhabitants of Beremouth. - -One sad evening, Lady Greystock and her father, on the terrace, talked -together. "Come with me to the deer-pond, Claudia." She shrank from -the proposal "Nay," he said, "come! You said at Blagden that half -victories were powerless things. You must not be less than your own -words. Come to the deer-pond--now." So she took his arm and they -walked away. It was the beginning of a sweet, soft night--the evening -breezes played about them, and they talked together in love and -confidence, as they crossed the open turf, and were lost in the -thickets that gathered round the gnarled oak and stunted yew that -marked the way to the pond. - -It had been many years since Claudia had seen its peaceful waters; -terrible in dreams once; and now saddened by a history that would -belong to it for ever. They reached the spot, and stood there talking. - -Suddenly they heard a sound, they started--a tearing aside of the -turning boughs--a sound, strong, positive, angry--then a gentle -rustling of the leaves, a soft movement of the feathery fern--and Lady -Greystock had let go her father's arm, and was standing with her hand -on the head, between the antlers, of a huge old deer--Dapple--"Don -Dapple," as the children had called him--and speaking to him -tenderly--"Oh, Dapple, do you know me? Oh, Dapple--alas! poor -beast--did you do it--that awful thing? Are you so fierce, poor -beast--were you the terrible avenger?" How her tears fell! How her -whole frame trembled! How the truth came on her as she looked into the -large, tearful eyes of the once tame buck, that had grown fanciful and -fierce in its age, and of whom even some of the keepers had declared -themselves afraid. Mr. Brewer took biscuit from his coat-pocket, -chance scraps from lunches, secreted from days before, when he had -been out on long rounds through the farms. These old Dapple nibbled, -and made royal gestures of satisfaction and approval--and there, -viewing his stately head in the water, where his spreading antlers -were mirrored, they left him to walk home, with one wonder out of -their hearts, and another--wondering awe at the thing that had -happened among them--to by their for ever. - -{331} - -They came back, they called the doctors, they examined the torn -clothes. They wondered they had never thought of the truth before. - -Time went on. And at last, when Horace could speak, and they asked him -about the old deer at the pond, he said that it was so--it was as they -had thought. It had been an almost deadly struggle between man and -beast; and Horace was to bear the marks upon the face and form that -had been loved so well to his life's end. A broken-featured man, lame, -with a stiff arm, and a sightless eye--and the story of his ruined -life no longer a secret--known to all. - -Lady Greystock and Mrs. Evelyn remained at Beremouth. Mary Lorimer was -left at her grandmother's under the care of the trusty Jenifer. James -O'Keefe had returned to Ireland, leaving his niece and her history in -good guardianship with Father Daniels and Mr. Brewer; and Freddy, -being at school, had been happily kept out of the knowledge of all but -the surface facts, which were no secrets from anybody, that a man who -had been seen in the park and was a stranger in the neighborhood had -been suspected of being the perpetrator of the injuries of which the -old deer had been guilty. Poor old deer--poor aged Dapple! It was with -a firm hand and an unflinching determination that the kindest man -living met the beast once more at the deer-pond, and shot him dead. -Mr. Brewer would trust his death to no hand but his own--and there in -the thicket where he loved to hide a grave was dug, and the monarch of -the place was buried in it. - -Lady Greystock and Eleanor kept their own rooms, and lived together -much as they had done latterly at Blagden. When Horace Erskine was fit -to leave his bed-room, he used to sit in a room that had been called -"Mr. Brewer's." It was, in fact, a sort of writing-room, fitted up -with a small useful library and opening at the end into a bright -conservatory. He had seen Lady Greystock. He knew of Eleanor being in -the house. He knew also that his former relations with her were known, -and he never denied, or sought to deny, the fact of their Catholic -marriage. - -No one ever spoke to him on the subject. The subject that was first in -all hearts was to see him well and strong, and able to act for -himself. One thing it was impossible to keep from him; and that was -the anger of Mr. Erskine, his unde, an anger which Lucia his wife did -not try to modify. Mrs. Brewer wrote to her sister; Mr. Brewer pleaded -with his brother-in-law. Not a thing could they do to pacify them. -Horace was everything that was evil in their eyes; his worst crime in -the past was his having made a Catholic marriage with a beautiful -Irish girl, and their great dread for the future was that he would -make this marriage valid by the English law. They blamed Mr. Brewer -for keeping Eleanor in the house; they were thankless to Mr. Brewer -for still giving to Horace care, kindness, and a home. Finally, the -one great dread that included all other dreads, and represented the -overpowering woe, was that contained in the thought that Horace might -repent, and become a Papist. - -Mr. Brewer, when it came to that, set his all-conquering kindness -aside for the time, or, to adopt his wife's words when describing -these seeming changes in her husbands's character, "he clothed his -kindness in temporary armor, and went out to fight." He replied to Mr. -and Mrs. Erskine that for such a grace to fall on Horace would be the -answer of mercy to the prayer of a poor woman's faith--that he and all -his household joined in that prayer; that priests at the altar, and -nuns in their holy homes, were all praying for that great result; and -that for himself he would only say that for such a mercy to fall upon -his house would make him glad for ever. - -There was no disputing with a man who could so openly take his stand -on {332} such a broad ground of hope and prayer in such direct -opposition to the wishes of his neighbors. The Erskines became silent, -and Mr. Brewer had gained all he hoped for; peace, peace at least for -the time. - -At last Horace was well enough to move, and Freddy's holidays were -approaching, and there was an unexpressed feeling that Horace was not -to be at Beremouth when the boy came back. Mr. Brewer proposed that -Horace should go for change of air to the same house in which Father -Dawson was lodging, just beyond Clayton, where the sea air might -refresh him, and the changed scene amuse his mind; and where, too, he -could have the benefit of all those baths, and that superior -attendance, described in the great painted advertisement that covered -the end of the lodging-houses in so promising a manner. Horace -accepted the proposal gladly. He grew almost bright under the -expectation of the change, and when the day came he appeared to -revive, even under the fatigue of a drive so much longer than any that -he had been before allowed to venture upon. - -Mr. Dawson was to be kind, and to watch over him a little; and Father -Daniels was to visit him, and write letters for him, and be his, -adviser and his friend. Before he left Beremouth he had asked to see -Lady Greystock. She went with her father to his room quite with the -old Claudia Brewer cheerfulness prettily mingling with woman's -strength and woman's experience. He rose up, and said, "I wished to -ask you to forgive me, Lady Greystock--to forgive me my many sins -toward you!" She trembled a little, and said, "Mr. Erskine, may God -forgive _me_ my pride, my anger, my evil thoughts, which have made me -say so often I could never see nor pardon you." It seemed to require -all her strength to carry out the resolution with which she had -entered that room. "Of course," she went on, "the personal trial that -you brought upon me, here, in my young days, I know now to have been a -great blessing in a grief's disguise. Though not--_not yet_--a -Catholic, I know you were then, as now, a married man." Horace Erskine -never moved; he was still standing, holding by the heavy -writing-table, and his eyes were fastened on the carpet. She went on: -"Since then your wife, a beautiful and even an accomplished woman, has -become my own dear friend. We are living together, and until she has a -home of her own, we shall probably go on living together. I have -nothing, therefore, to say more, except--except--" Here her voice -trembled, and changed, and she was only just able to articulate her -last words so as to be understood by her hearers, "Except about my -dear husband's death--better death than life under misapprehension. -That too was a blessing perhaps. Let us leave it to the Almighty -Judge. I forgive you; if you wish to hear those words from my poor -erring lips, you may remember that I have said them honestly, -submitting to the will of _him_ who loves us, and from whom I seek -mercy for myself." - -She turned round to leave the room. "Stop, Lady Greystock; stop!" -cried Horace. "In this solemn moment of sincerity, tell me--do you -think Eleanor loves me now?" "I would rather not give any opinion." -"If you have ever formed an opinion, give it. I entreat you to tell me -what is, as far as you know, the truth. Does Eleanor love me?" "Must I -speak, father?" "So solemnly entreated, I should say, _yes_." "Does -Eleanor love me?" groaned Horace. "No," said Lady Greystock; and -turning round quickly, she left her father alone with Horace, and went -out of the room. - -Five years passed by. Freddy was growing into manhood, enjoying home -by his bright sister Lady {333} Greystock's side, and paying visits to -his other sister, the happy bride, Mrs. Harrington, of -Harrington-leigh, the master of which place, "a recent convert," as -the newspapers said, "had lately married the convert step-daughter of -Mr. Brewer, of Beremouth." Lady Greystock always lived with her father -now, united to him in faith, and joining him in such a flood of good -works that all criticism, all wonderment, all lamentation and argument -at "such a step!" was simply run down, overpowered, deluged, drowned. -The strong flowing stream of charity was irresistible. The solemn -music of its deep waters swallowed up all the surrounding cackle of -inharmonious talk. Nothing was heard at Beremouth but prayer and -praise--evil tongues passed by that great good house to exercise -themselves elsewhere. Evil people found no fitting habitation for -their wandering spirits in that home of holy peace. And all his life -Mr. Brewer walked humbly, looking at Claudia, and calling her "my -crown!" She knew why. He had repented with a great sorrow of those -early days when he had left her to others' teaching. He had prayed -secretly, with strong resolutions, to be blessed with forgiveness. And -at last the mercy came--"crowned at last. All the mercies of my life -crowned by the great gift of Claudia's soul." So the good man went on -his way a penitent. Always in his own sight a penitent. Always -recommending himself to God in that one character--as a penitent. - -Five years were passed, and Lady Greystock had been at Mary's wedding, -and was herself at Beremouth, still in youth and beauty, once more the -petted daughter of the house--but Eleanor was there no longer. Full -three years had passed since Eleanor had gone to London with Lady -Greystock, and elected not to return. They heard from her however, -frequently; and knew where she was. When these letters came Claudia -would drive off to Marston to see Grandmamma Morier, still enjoying -life under Jenifer's care. The letters would be read aloud upstairs in -the pretty drawing-room where the fine old china looked as gay and -bright as ever, and where not a single cup and saucer had changed its -place. Jenifer would listen. Taking careful note of every expression, -and whispering--sometimes in the voice of humble prayer, sometimes in -soft tones of triumphant thanksgiving--"My life, and all that is in -it!" - -But now this five years' close had been marked by a great fact; the -death of Horace Erskine's uncle, and his great estate passing to his -nephew, whom he had never seen since their quarrel with him, but whom -he had so far forgiven as not to alter his will. - -Horace Erskine was in London; and his Beremouth friends were going up -to town to welcome him home after four years of life on the continent. - -London was at its fullest and gayest. Mr. Erskine had been well known -there, making his yearly visits, taking a great house, and attracting -round him all the talent of the day. A very rich man, thoroughly well -educated, with a fine place in Scotland, and his beautiful wife Lucia -by his side, he found himself welcome, and made others in their turn -welcome too. Now all this was past. For two seasons London had missed -Mr. Erskine, and he had been regretted and lamented over, as a -confirmed invalid. Now he was dead. And after a little brief wonder -and sorrow the attention of the world was fixed upon his heir, and -people of fashion, pleasure, and literature got ready their best -smiles for his approval. - -Horace had been well enough known once. Never exactly sought {334} -after by heads of homes, for he was too much of a speculation. He was -known to be in debt; and all inquiries as to his uncle's property had -been quenched again and again by those telling words, "no entail." But -Horace had had his own world; and had been only too much of a hero in -it. That world, however, had lost him; and as the wheels of fashion's -chariot fly fast, the dust of the light road rises as a cloud and -hides the past, and the people that belonged to Horace Erskine had -been left behind and forgotten. Now, however, Memory was alive, and -brushing up her recollections; and Memory had found a tongue, and was -hoping and prophesying to the fullest extent of friend Gossip's -requirements, when the news came that Horace Erskine had arrived. "He -has taken that charming house looking on to the park. Mr. Tudor had -seen him. Nobody would know him. Broken nose, my dear! And he was so -handsome. He is lame, too--or if not lame, he has a stiff shoulder. I -forget which it is. He was nearly killed by some mad animal in the -park at Beremouth. He behaved with the most wonderful courage, -actually fought and conquered! But he was gored and trampled -on--nearly trampled to death. I heard all the particulars at the time. -His chest was injured, and he was sent to a warmer climate. And there -he turned Papist. He did, indeed! and his uncle never forgave him. But -I suspect it was a love affair. You know he has brought his wife home. -And she is lovely, everybody who has seen her says. She is so very -still--too quiet--too statuesque--that is her only fault in fact. But -all the world is talking of her, and if you have not yet seen her lose -no time in getting introduced; she is the wonder of the day." - -And so ran the talk--and such was Eleanor's welcome as Horace -Erskine's wife. Her husband had really repented, and had sought her, -and won her heart all over again, and married her once more. - -To have these great triumphs of joy and justice in her life was -granted to Jenifer's Prayer. - ------- - -From The Month. - -SAINTS OF THE DESERT. - -BY VERY REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D. - - -1. Abbot Cyrus said to a brother: "If thou hadst no fight with bad -thoughts, it would be because thou didst bad actions; for they who do -bad actions are thereby rid of bad thoughts." - -"But," said the other, "I have bad memories." - -The abbot answered: "They are but ghosts; fear not the dead, but the -living." - - -2. When Agatho was dying, his brethren would have asked him some -matter of business. He said to them: "Do me this charity; speak no -more with me, for I am full of business already." And he died in joy. - - - -3. An old man visited one of the fathers. The host boiled some -pot-herbs, and said: "First let us do the work of God, and then let us -eat." - ------- - -{335} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -CHRISTINE: - -A TROUBADOUR'S SONG, - -IN FIVE CANTOS. - -BY GEORGE H. MILES. [Footnote 53] - - [Footnote 53: Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year - 1866, by Lawrence Kehoe, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court - of the United States for the Southern District of New York.] - -(CONCLUDED.) - - -THE FOURTH SONG. - -I. - - Amid the gleam of princely war - Christine sat like the evening star, - Pale in the sunset's pageant bright, - A separate and sadder light. - O bitter task - To rear aloft that shining head, - While round thee, cruel whisperers ask-- - "Marry, what aileth the Bridegroom gay? - The heralds have waited as long as they may. - Yet never a sign of the gallant Grey. - Is Miolan false or dead?" - -II. - - The Dauphin eyed Christine askance: - "We have tarried too long," quoth he; - "Doth the Savoyard fear the thrust of France? - By the Bride of Heaven, no laggard lance - Shall ever have guard of thee!" - -{336} - - You could see the depths of the dark eyes shine - And a glow on the marble cheek, - As she whispered, "Woe to the Dauphin's line - When the eagle shrieks and the red lights shine - Bound the towers of Pilate's Peak." - - She levelled her white hand toward the west, - Where the omen beacon shone; - And he saw the flame on the castle crest. - And a livid glare light the mountain's breast - Even down to the rushing Rhone. - - Never braver lord in all the land - Than that Dauphin true and tried; - But the rein half fell from his palsied hand - And his fingers worked at the jewelled brand - That shook in its sheath at his side. - - For it came with a curse from earliest time, - It was carved on his father's halls, - It had haunted him ever from clime to clime, - And at last the red light of the ancient rhyme - Is burning on Pilate s walls! - - Yet warrior-like beneath his feet - Trampling the sudden fear, - He cried, "Let thy lover's foot be fleet-- - If thy Savoyard would wed thee, sweet. - By Saint Mask, he were better here! - - "For I know by yon light there is danger near, - And I swear by the Holy Shrine, - Be it virgin spear or Miolan's heir. - The victor to-day shall win and wear - This menaced daughter of mine!" - - The lists are aflame with the gold and steel - Of knights in their proud array, - And gong and tymbalon chiming peal - As forward the glittering squadrons wheel - To the jubilant courser's neigh. - - The Dauphin springs to the maiden's side, - And thrice aloud cries he, - "Ride, gallants all, for beauty ride, - Christine herself is the victor's bride. - Whoever the victor be!" - -{337} - - And thrice the heralds cried it aloud, - While a wondering whisper ran - From the central lists to the circling crowd, - For all knew the virgin hand was vowed - To the heir of Miolan. - - Quick at the Dauphin's plighted word - Full many an eve flashed fire, - Full many a knight took a truer sword, - Tried buckle and girth, and many a lord - Chose a stouter lance from his squire. - - Back to the barrier's measured bound - Each gallant speedeth away; - Then, forward fast to the trumpet's sound, - A hundred horsemen shake the ground - And meet in the mad melée. - - Crimson the spur and crimson the spear, - The blood of the brave flows fast; - But Christine is deaf to the dying prayer, - Blind to the dying eyes that glare - On her as they look their last. - - She sees but a Black Knight striking so well - That the bravest shun his path; - His name or his nation none may tell, - But wherever he struck a victim fell - At the feet of that shape of wrath. - - "'Fore God," quoth the Dauphin, "that unknown sword - Is making a merry day!" - But where, oh where is the Savoyard, - For low in the slime of that trampled sward - Lie the flower of the Dauphinée! - - And the victor stranger rideth alone, - Wiping his bloody blade; - And now that to meet him there is none. - Now that the warrior work is done, - He moveth toward the maid. - - Sternly, as if he came to kill, - Toward the damsel he turneth his rein; - His trumpet sounding a challenge shrill, - While the fatal lists of La Sône are still - As he paces the purple plain. - -{338} - - A hollow voice through the visor cried, - "Mount to the crupper with me. - Mount, Ladye, mount to thy master's side. - For 'tis said and 'tis sworn thou shalt be the Bride - Of the victor, whoever he be." - - At sound of that voice a sudden flame - Shot out from the Dauphin's eyes, - And he said, "Sir Knight, ere we grant thy claim, - Let us see the face, let us hear the name, - Of the gallant who winneth the prize." - - "'Tis a name you know and a face you fear," - The Wizard Knight began; - "Or hast thou forgotten that midnight drear, - When my sleeping fathers felt the spear - Of Vienne and Miolan? - - "Ay, quiver and quail in thy coat of mail, - For hark to the eagle's shriek; - See the red light burns for the coming bale!" - And all knew as he lifted his aventayle - The Knight of Pilate's Peak. - - From the heart of the mass rose a cry of wrath - As they sprang at the shape abhorred, - But he swept the foremost from his path, - And the rest fell back from the fatal swath - Of that darkly dripping sword. - - But uprose the Dauphin brave and bold, - And strode out upon the green, - And quoth he, "Foul fiend, if my purpose hold, - By my halidome, tho' I be passing old, - We'll splinter a lance for Christine. - - "Since her lovers are low or recreant. - Her champion shall be her sire; - So get a fresh lance from yonder tent. - For though my vigor be something spent - I fear neither thee nor thy fire!" - - Swift to the stirrup the Dauphin he sprang, - The bravest and best of his race: - No bugle blast for the combat rang; - Save the clattering hoof and the armor clang, - All was still as each rode to his place. - -{339} - - With the crash of an April avalanche - They meet in that merciless tilt; - Back went each steed with shivering haunch. - Back to the croup bent each rider staunch. - Shivered each spear to the hilt. - - Thrice flies the Baron's battle-axe round - The Wizard's sable crest; - But the coal-black steed, with a sudden bound, - Hurled the old Crusader to the ground, - And stamped on his mailed breast. - - Thrice by the vengeful war-horse spurned, - Lowly the Dauphin lies; - While the Black Knight laughed as again he turned - Toward the lost Christine, and his visor burned - As he gazed at his beautiful prize. - - Her doom you might read in that gloating stare, - But no fear in the maid can you see; - Nor is it the calm of a dumb despair, - For hope sits aglow on her forehead fair. - And she murmurs, "At last--it is he!" - - Proudly the maiden hath sprung from her seat, - Proudly she glanceth around, - One hand on her bosom to stay its beat, - For hark! there's a sound like the flying feet - Of a courser, bound after bound. - - Clearing the lists with a leopard-like spring, - Plunging at top of his speed. - Swift o'er the ground as a bird on the wing. - There bursts, all afoam, through the wondering ring, - A gallant but riderless steed. - - Arrow-like straight to the maiden he sped. - With a long, loud, tremulous neigh, - The rein flying loose round his glorious head. - While all whisper again, "Is the Savoyard dead?" - As they gaze at the riderless Grey. - - One sharp, swift pang thro' the virgin heart, - One wildering cry of woe. - Then fleeter than dove to her calling nest, - Lighter than chamois to Malaval's crest - She leaps to the saddle bow. - -{340} - - "Away!" He knew the sweet voice; away, - With never a look behind; - Away, away, with echoing neigh - And streaming mane, goes the gallant Grey, - Like an eagle before the wind. - - They have cleared the lists, they have passed her bower, - And still they are thundering on; - They are over the bridge--another hour, - A league behind them the Leaning Tower - And the spires of Saint Antoine. - - Away, away in their wild career - Past the slopes of Mont Surjeu; - Thrice have they swum the swift Isère, - And firm and clear in the purple air - Soars the Grand Som full in view. - - Rough is their path and sternly steep, - Yet halting never a whit, - Onward the terrible pace they keep, - While the good Grey, breathing free and deep, - Steadily strains at the bit. - - They have left the lands where the tall hemp springs, - Where the clover bends to the bee; - They have left the hills where the red vine flings - Her clustered curls of a thousand rings - Round the arms of the mulberry tree. - - They have left the lands where the walnut lines - The roads, and the chestnuts blow; - Beneath them the thread of the cataract shines, - Around them the plumes of the warrior pines. - Above them the rock and the snow. - - Thick on his shoulders the foam flakes lay. - Fast the big drops roll from his chest, - Yet on, ever on, goes the gallant Grey, - Bearing the maiden as smoothly as spray - Asleep on the ocean's breast. - - Onward and upward, bound after bound, - By Bruno's Bridge he goes; - And now they are treading holy ground, - For the feet of her flying Caliph sound - By the cells of the Grand Chartreuse. - -{341} - - Around them the darkling cloisters frown, - The sun in the valley hath sunk; - When right in her path, lo! the long white gown, - The withered face and the shaven crown - And the shrivelled hand of a monk. - - A light like a glittering halo played - Round the brow of the holy man; - With lifted finger her course he stayed, - "All is not well," the pale lips said, - "With the heir of Miolan. - - "But in Chambery hangs a relic rare - Over the altar stone: - Take it, and speed to thy Bridegroom's bier; - If the Sacristan question who sent thee there, - Say, 'Bruno, the Monk of Cologne.'" - - She bent to the mane while the cross he signed - Thrice o'er the suppliant head: - "Away with thee, child!" and away like the wind - She went, with a startled glance behind, - For she heard an ominous tread. - - The moon is up, 'tis a glorious night, - They are leaving the rock and the snow, - Mont Blanc is before her, phantom white, - While the swift Isère, with its line of light, - Cleaves the heart of the valley below. - - But hark to the challenge, "Who rideth alone?"-- - "O warder, bid me not wait!-- - My lover lies dead and the Dauphin o'erthrown-- - A message I bear from the Monk of Cologne"-- - And she swept thro' Chambery's gate. - - The Sacristan kneeleth in midnight prayer - By Chamber's altar stone. - "What meaneth this haste, my daughter fair?" - She stooped and murmured in his ear - The name of the Monk of Cologne. - - Slowly he took from its jewelled case - A kerchief that sparkled like snow. - And the Minster shone like a lighted vase - As the deacon unveiled the gleaming face - Of the Santo Sudario. - -{342} - - A prayer, a tear, and to saddle she springs, - Clasping the relic bright; - Away, away, for the fell hoof rings - Down the hillside behind her--God give her wings! - The fiend and his horse are in sight. - - On, on, the gorge of the Doriat's won, - She is nearing her Savoyard's home, - By the grand old road where the warrior son - Of Hanno swept with his legions dun, - On his mission of hatred to Rome. - - The ancient oaks seem to rock and reel - As the forest rushes by her, - But nearer cometh the clash of steel, - And nearer falleth the fatal heel, - With its flickering trail of fire. - - Then first the brave young heart grew sick - 'Neath its load of love and fear, - For the Grey is breathing faint and quick, - And his nostrils burn and the drops fall thick - From the point of each drooping ear. - - His glorious neck hath lost its pride, - His back fails beneath her weight. - While steadily gaining, stride by stride, - The Black Knight thunders to her side-- - Heaven, must she meet her fate? - - She shook the loose rein o'er the trembling head, - She laid her soft hand on his mane, - She called him her Caliph, her desert-bred, - She named the sweet springs where the palm trees spread - Their arms o'er the burning plain. - - But the Grey looked back and sadly scanned - The maid with his earnest eyes-- - A moment more and her cheek is fanned - By the black steed's breath, and the demon hand - Stretches out for the virgin prize. - - But she calls on Christ, and the kerchief white - Waves full in the face of her foe: - Back with an oath reeled the Wizard Knight - As his steed crouched low in the wondrous light - Of the Santo Sudario. - -{343} - - Blinded they halt while the maiden hies, - The murmuring Arc she can hear, - And, lo! like a cloud on the shining skies, - Atop of yon perilous precipice, - The castle of Miolan's Heir. - - "Fail not, my steed!"--Round her Caliph's head - The relic shines like the sun: - Leap after leap up the spiral steep, - He speeds to his master's castle keep, - And his glorious race is won. - - "Ho, warder!"--At sight of the gallant Grey - The drawbridge thundering falls: - Wide goes the gate at that jubilant neigh, - And, glory to God for his mercy to-day, - She is safe within Miolan's walls. - - -THE FIFTH SONG. - -I. - - In the dim grey dawn by Miolan's gate - The fiend on his wizard war-horse sate. - The fair-haired maid at his trumpet call - Creeps weeping and wan to the outer wall: - "My curse on thy venom, my curse on thy spell, - They have slain the master I loved too well. - Thou saidst he should wake when the joust was o'er, - But oh, he never will waken more!" - She tore her fair hair, while the demon laughed, - Saying, "Sound was the sleep that thy lover quaffed; - But bid the warder unbar the gate, - That the lost Christine may meet her fate." - - -II. - - "Hither, hither thou mailèd man - With those woman's tears in thine eyes, - With thy brawny cheek all wet and wan, - Show me the heir of Miolan, - Lead where my Bridegroom lies." - -{344} - - And he led her on with a sullen tread. - That fell like a muffled groan, - Through halls as silent as the dead, - 'Neath long grey arches overhead, - Till they came to the shrine of Moan. - - What greets her there by the torches' glare? - In vain hath the mass been said! - Low bends the sire in mute despair, - Low kneels the Hermit in silent prayer. - Between them the mighty dead. - - No tear she shed, no word she spoke, - But gliding up to the bier, - She took her stand by the bed of oak - Where her Savoyard lay in his sable cloak, - His hand still fast on his spear. - - She bent her burning cheek to his, - And rested it there awhile. - Then touched his lips with a lingering kiss, - And whispered him thrice, "My love, arise, - I have come for thee many a mile!" - - The man of God and the ancient Knight - Arose in tremulous awe; - She was so beautiful, so bright, - So spirit-like in her bridal white, - It seemed in the dim funereal light - Twas an angel that they saw. - - "Thro' forest fell, o'er mount and dell, - Like the falcon, hither I've flown. - For I knew that a fiend was loose from hell, - And I bear a token to break this spell - From Bruno, the Monk of Cologne. - - "Dost thou know it, love? when fire and sword - Flamed round the Holy Shrine, - It was won by thee from the Paynim horde, - It was brought by thee to Bruno's guard, - A gift from Palestine. - - "Wake, wake, my love! In the name of Grace, - That hath known our uttermost woe, - Lo! this thorn-bound brow on thine I place!" - And, once more revealed, shone the wondrous face - Of the Santo Sudario. - -{345} - - At once over all that ancient hall - There went a luminous beam; - Heaven's deepest radiance seemed to fall, - The helmets shine on the shining wall, - And the faded banners gleam. - - And the chime of hidden cymbals rings - To the song of a cherub choir; - Each altar angel waves his wings, - And the flame of each altar taper springs - Aloft in a luminous spire. - - And over the face of the youth there broke - A smile both stern and sweet; - Slowly he turned on the bed of oak, - And proudly folding his sable cloak - Around him, sprang to his feet. - - Back shrank the sire, half terrified, - Both he and the Hermit, I ween; - But she--she is fast to her Savoyard's side, - A poet's dream, a warrior's bride, - His beautiful Christine. - - Her hair's dark tangles all astray - Adown her back and breast; - The print of the rein on her hand still lay. - The foam-flakes of the gallant Grey - Scarce dry on her heaving breast. - - She told the dark tale and how she spurred - From the Knight of Pilate's Peak; - You scarce would think the Bridegroom heard. - Save that the mighty lance-head stirred. - Save for the flush in his cheek; - - Save that his gauntlet clasped her hair-- - And oh, the look that swept - Between them!--all the radiant air - Grew holier--it was like a prayer-- - And they who saw it wept. - - E'en the lights on the altar brighter grew - In the gleam of that heavenly gaze; - The cherub music fell soft as dew, - The breath of the censer seemed sweeter too. - The torches mellowed their requiem hue, - And burnt with a bridal blaze. - -{346} - - And the Baron clasps his son with a cry - Of joy as his sorrows cease; - While the Hermit, wrapt in his Rosary, - Feels that the world beneath the sky - Hath yet its planet of peace. - - But hark! by the drawbridge, shrill and clear, - A trumpet's challenge rude: - The heart of Christine grew faint with fear, - But the Savoyard shook his mighty spear, - And the blood in his forehead stood. - - "Beware, beware, 'tis the Fiend!" quoth she: - "Whither now!" asks the ancient Knight, - "What meanest thou, boy?--Leave the knave to me: - Wizard, or fiend, or whatever he be, - By the bones of my fathers, he shall flee - Or ne'er look on morning light. - - "What, thou just risen from the grave, - Atilt with an armèd man? - Dost dream that youth alone is brave, - Dost deem these sinews too old to save - The honor of Miolan?" - - But the youth he answered with gentlest tone, - "I know thee a warrior staunch. - But this meeting is meant for me alone. - Unhand me, my lord, have I woman grown? - Wouldst stop the rushing of the Rhone, - Or stay the avalanche?" - - He broke from his sire as breaks the flash - From the soul of the circling storm: - You could hear the grasp of his gauntlet crash - On his quivering lance and the armor clash - Round that tall young warrior form. - - "Be this thy shield?" the maiden cried, - Her hand on the kerchief of snow; - "If forth to the combat thou wilt ride, - Face to face be the Fiend defied - With the Santo Sudario!" - - But the young Knight laid the relic rare - On the ancient altar-stone; - "Holy weapons to men of prayer. - Lance in rest and falchion bare - Must answer for Miolan's son." - -{347} - - Again the challenger's trumpet pealed - From the barbican, shrill and clear; - And the Savoyard reared his dinted shield, - Its motto, gold on an azure field-- - "ALLES ZU GOTT UND IHR." - - To horse!--From the hills the dawning day - Looks down on the sleeping plain; - In the court-yard waiteth the gallant Grey, - And the castle rings with a joyous neigh - As the Knight and his steed meet again. - - And the coal-black charger answers him - From the space beyond the gate, - From the level space, where dark and dim - In the morning mists, like giant grim, - The Fiend on his war-horse sate. - - Oh, the men at arms how they stared aghast - When the Heir of Miolan leapt - To saddle-bow sounding his bugle-blast; - How the startled warder breathless gasped. - How the hoary old seneschal wept! - - And the fair-haired maid with a sob hath sprung - To the lifted bridle rein; - Fast to his knee her white arms clung, - While the waving gold of her fair hair hung - Mixed with Grey Caliph's mane. - - "O Miolan's heir, O master mine, - O more than heaven adored, - Live to forget this slave of thine, - Wed the dark-eyed Maid of Palestine, - But dare not yon demon sword!" - - But the Baron thundered, "Off with the slave!" - And they tore the white arms away, - "A woman 's a curse in the path of the brave; - Level thy lance and upon the knave, - For he laughs at this fool delay! - - "But pledge me first in this beaker bright - Of foaming Cyprian wine; - Thou hast fasted, God wot, like an anchorite. - Thy cheeks and brow are a trifle white, - And, 'fore heaven, thou shall bear thee in this fight - As beseemeth son of mine!" - -{348} - - The youth drank deep of the burning juice - Of the mighty Marètel, - Then, waving his hand to his Ladye thrice, - Swifter than snow from the precipice, - Spurred full on the infidel. - - "O Bridegroom bold, beware my brand!" - The Knight of Pilate cries, - "For 'tis written in blood by Eblis' hand, - No mortal might may mine withstand - Till the dead in arms arise." - - "The dead are up, and in arms arrayed, - They have come at the call of fate: - Two days, two nights, as thou know'st, I've laid - On oaken bier"--and again there played - That halo light round the Mother Maid - In the niche by the castle gate. - - Each warrior reared his shining targe, - Each plumed helmet bent. - Each lance thrown forward for the charge, - Each steed reined back to the very marge - Of the mountain's sheer descent. - - The rock beneath them seemed to groan - And shudder as they met; - Away the splintered lance is thrown, - Each falchion in the morning shone, - One blade uncrimsoned yet - - But the blood must flow and that blade must glow - E'er their deadly work be done; - Steel rang to steel, blow answered blow, - From dappled dawn till the Alpine snow - Grew red in the risen sun. - - The Bridegroom's sword left a lurid trail, - So fiercely and fleetly it flew; - It rang like the rattling of the hail, - And wherever it fell the sable mail - Was wet with a ghastly dew. - - The Baron, watching with stern delight, - Felt the heart in his bosom swell: - And quoth he, "By the mass, a gallant sight! - These old eyes have gazed on many a fight, - But, boy, as I live, never saw I knight - Who did his devoir so well!" - -{349} - - And oh, the flush o'er his face that broke, - The joy of his shining eyes, - When, backward beaten, stroke by stroke, - The wizard reeled, like a falling oak, - Toward the edge of the precipice. - - On the trembling verge of that perilous steep - The demon stood at bay. - Calling with challenge stern and deep, - That startled the inmost castle keep, - "Daughter of mine, here's a dainty leap - We must take together to-day. - - "Come, maiden, come!" Swift circling round, - Like bird in the serpent's gaze, - She sprang to his side with a single bound. - While the black steed trampled the flinty ground - To fire, his nostrils ablaze. - - "Farewell!" went the fair-haired maiden's cry, - Shrilling from hill to hill; - "Farewell, farewell, it was I, 'twas I, - Who sinned in a jealous agony, - But I loved thee too well to kill!" - - High reared the steed with the hapless pair, - A plunge, a pause, a shriek, - A black plume loose in the middle air, - A foaming plash in the dark Isére,-- - Thus banished for ever the maiden fair - And the Knight of Pilate's Peak. - - A mighty cheer shook the ancient halls, - A white hand waved in the sun, - The vassals all on the outer wall - Clashed their arms at the brave old Baron's call, - "To my arms, mine only one!" - - But oh, what aileth the gallant Grey, - Why droopeth the barbèd head? - Slowly he turned from that fell tourney - And proudly breathing a long, last neigh, - At the castle gate fell dead. - - -III. - - Lost to all else, forgotten e'en - The dark eyes of his dear Christine, - His fleet foot from the stirrup freed, - The Knight knelt by his fallen steed. - -{350} - - Awhile with tone and touch of love - To cheer him to his feet he strove: - Awhile he shook the bridle-rein-- - That glazing eye!--alas, in vain. - Bareheaded on that fatal field. - His gauntlet ringing on his shield, - His voice a torrent deep and strong, - The warrior's soul broke forth in song. - - -THE KNIGHT'S SONG - - And art thou, _art_ thou dead,-- - Thou with front that might defy - The gathered thunders of the sky. - Thou before whose fearless eye - All death and danger fled! - - My Khalif, hast thou sped - Homeward where the palm-trees' feet - Bathe in hidden fountains sweet, - Where first we met as lovers meet, - My own, my desert-bred! - - Thy back has been my home; - And, bending o'er thy flying neck, - Its white mane waving without speck, - I seemed to tread the galley's deck. - And cleave the ocean's foam. - - Since first I felt thy heart - Proudly surging 'neath my knee, - As earthquakes heave beneath the sea, - Brothers in the field were we; - And must we, _can_ we part? - - To match thee there was none! - The wind was laggard to thy speed: - O God, there is no deeper need - Than warrior's parted from his steed - When years have made them one. - - And shall I never more - Answer thy laugh amid the clash - Of battle, see thee meet the flash - Of spears with the proud, pauseless dash - Of billows on the shore? - -{351} - - And all our victor war, - And all the honors men call mine, - Were thine, thou voiceless warrior, thine; - My task was but to touch the rein-- - There needed nothing more. - - Worst danger had no sting - For thee, and coward peace no charm; - Amid red havoc's worst alarm - Thy swoop as firm as through the storm - The eagle's iron wing. - - O more than man to me! - Thy neigh outsoared the trumpet's tone. - Thy back was better than a throne, - There was no human thing save one - I loved as well as thee! - - O Knighthood's truest friend! - Brave heart by every danger tried, - Proud crest by conquest glorified. - Swift saviour of my menaced Bride, - Is this, is _this_ the end?-- - - Thrice honored be thy grave! - Wherever knightly deed is sung. - Wherever minstrel harp is strung, - There too thy praise shall sound among - The beauteous and the brave. - - And thou shalt slumber deep - Beneath our chapel's cypress sheen; - And there thy lord and his Christine - Full oft shall watch at morn and e'en - Around their Khalif's sleep. - - There shalt thou wait for me - Until the funeral bell shall ring. - Until the funeral censer swing. - For I would ride to meet my King, - My stainless steed, with thee! - ----- - - The song has ceased, and not an eye - 'Mid all those mailed men is dry; - The brave old Baron turns aside - To crush the tear he cannot hide. - -{352} - - With stately step the Bridegroom went - To where, upon the battlement, - Christine herself, all weeping, leant. - Well might that crested warrior kneel - At such a shrine, well might he feel - As if the angel in her eyes - Gave all that hallows Paradise. - And when her white hands' tender spell - Upon his trembling shoulder fell. - Upward one reverent glance he cast, - Then, rising, murmured, "Mine at last!" - - "Yes, thine at last!" Still stained with blood - The Dauphin's self beside them stood. - "Fast as mortal steed could flee, - My own Christine, I followed thee. - Saint George, but 'twas a gallant sight - That miscreant hurled from yonder height: - Brave boy, that single sword of thine, - Methinks, might hold all Palestine. - But see, from out the shrine of Moan - Cometh the good Monk of Cologne, - Bearing the relic rare that woke - Our warrior from his bed of oak. - See him pass with folded hands - To where the shaded chapel stands. - The Bridegroom well hath won the prize, - There stands the priest, and there the altar lies." - - -IV. - - When the moon rose o'er lordly Miolan - That night, she wondered at those ancient walls: - Bright tapers flashing from a hundred halls - Lit all the mountain--liveried vassals ran - Trailing from bower to bower the wine-cup, wreathed - With festal roses--viewless music breathed - A minstrel melody, that fell as falls - The dew, less heard than felt; and maidens laughed. - Aiming their curls at swarthy men who quaffed - Brimmed beakers to the newly wed: while some - Old henchmen, lolling on the court-yard green - Over their squandered Cyprus, vowed between - Their cups, "there was no pair in Christendom - To match their Savoyard and his Christine?" - ----- - -{353} - - The Trovère ceased, none praised the lay, - Each waited to hear what the King would say. - But the grand blue eye was on the wave, - Little recked he of the tuneless stave: - He was watching a bark just anchored fast - With England's banner at her mast, - And quoth he to the Queen, "By my halidome, - I wager our Bard Blondel hath come!" - E'en as he spoke, a joyous cry - From the beach proclaimed the Master nigh; - But the merry cheer rose merrier yet - When the Monarch and his Minstrel met. - The Prince of Song and Plantagenet. - "A song!" cried the King. "Thou art just in time - To rid our ears of a vagrant's rhyme: - Prove how that recreant voice of thine - Hath thriven at Cyprus, bard of mine!" - The Minstrel played with his golden wrest, - And began the "_Fytte of the Bloody Vest_." - The vanquished Trovère stole away - Unmarked by lord or ladye gay: - Perchance one quick, kind glance he caught, - Perchance that glance was all he sought. - For when Blondel would pause to tune - His harp and supplicate the moon, - It seemed as tho' the laughing sea - Caught up the vagrant melody; - And far along the listening shore. - Till every wave the burthen bore, - In long, low echoes might you hear-- - "Alles, Alles zu Gott und Ihr!" - ------- - -{354} - - -From The Dublin Review. - -THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS OF ALEXANDRIA.--ORIGEN. - - -_Origenis Opera Omnia_, Ed. De la Rue, accurante J. P. Migne. -Parisiis. _S. Gregorii Thaumaturgi_, Oratio Panegyrica in Origenem -(Opera Omnia), accurante J. P. Migne. Parisiis. - -Last July we commenced a sketch of the history and labors of Origen. -We resume our notes on those twenty years (211-280) which he spent -with little interruption at Alexandria, engaged chiefly in the -instruction of the catechumens. We have already seen what he did for -the New Testament; let us now study his labors on the Old. - -The authorship of that most famous Greek version of the Old Testament, -the Septuagint, seems destined to be a mystery in literature. The -gorgeous and circumstantial account of the Jew Aristeas, with all its -details of embassy and counter-embassy, of the seventy-two venerable -sages, the cells in the rock, the reverence of the Ptolemy, and the -wind-up of banquets, gifts, and all good things, seems, as Dom -Montfaucon says, to "savor of the fabulous." There is some little -difficulty about dates in the matter of Demetrius Phalerius, the -literary minister under whose auspices the event is placed. There is a -far more formidable difficulty in the elevation of Philadelphus, a -cruel, sensual despot, into a devout admirer of the law of Moses, -bowing seven times and weeping for joy in presence of the sacred -documents, and in the sudden conversion of all the cultivated Greeks -who are concerned in the story. The part of Aristeas's narration which -regards the separate cells, and the wonderful agreement of the -translations, is curtly set down by St. Jerome as a fiction. It seems -probable, moreover, that the translator of the Pentateuch was not the -same as the translate of the other parts of the Old Testament. In the -midst of uncertainties and probabilities, however, four things seem to -be tolerably clear; first, that the version called the LXX. was made -at Alexandria; secondly, that it was the work of different authors; -thirdly, that it was not inspired; fourthly, that it was a holy and -correct version, quoted by the apostles, always used in the Greek -church, and the basis of all the Latin editions before St Jerome's -Vulgate. - -All the misfortunes that continual transcription, careless blundering, -and wilful corruption could combine to inflict upon a manuscript had -fallen to the lot of the Septuagint version at the time when it was -handed Origen to be used in the instruction of the faithful and the -refutation of Jew and Greek. This was only what might have been fully -expected from the fact that, since the Christian era, it had become -the court of appeal of two rival sets of controversialists--the -Christian and the Jew. Indeed, from the very beginning it had been -defective, and, if we may trust St. Jerome, designedly defective; for -the Septuagint translation of the prophetical books had purposely -omitted {355} passages of the Hebrew which its authors considered not -proper to be submitted to the sight of profane Greeks and Gentiles. Up -to the Christian era, however, we may suppose great discrepancies of -manuscript did not exist, and that those variations which did appear -were not much heeded in the comparatively rare transcription of the -text. The Hellenistic Jews and the Jews of Palestine used the LXX. in -the synagogues instead of the Hebrew. A few libraries of great cities -had copies, and a few learned Greeks had some idea of their existence. -Beyond this there was nothing to make its correctness of more -importance than that of a liturgy or psalm-book. But, soon after the -Christian era, its character and importance were completely changed. -The eunuch was reading the Septuagint version when Philip, by divine -inspiration, came up with him and showed him that the words he was -reading were verified in Jesus. This was prophetic of what was to -follow. The Christians used it to prove the divine mission of Jesus -Christ; the Jews made the most of it to confute the same. Thereupon, -somewhat suspiciously, there arose among the Jews a disposition to -underrate the LXX., and make much of the Hebrew original. Hebrew was -but little known, whereas all the intellectual commerce of the world -was carried on by means of that Hellenistic Greek which had been -diffused through the East by the conquests of Alexander. If, -therefore, the Jews could bar all appeals to the well-known Greek, and -remove the controversy to the inner courts of their own temple, the -decision, it might be expected, would not improbably turn out to be in -their own favor. Just before Origen's own time more than one Jew or -Judaizing heretic had attempted to produce Greek versions which should -supersede the Septuagint. Some ninety years before the period of which -we write, Aquila, a Jewish proselyte of Sinope, had issued what -professed to be a literal translation from the Hebrew. It was so -uncompromisingly literal that the reader sometimes found the Hebrew -word or phrase imported bodily into the Greek, with only the slight -alteration of new characters and a fresh ending. Its purpose was not -disavowed. It was to furnish the Greek-speaking Jews with a more exact -translation from the Hebrew, in order to fortify them in their -opposition to Christianity. Some five years later, Theodotion, an -Ebionite of Ephesus, made another version of the Septuagint; he did -not profess to re-translate it, but only to correct it where it -differed from the Hebrew. A little later, and yet another Ebionite -tried his hand on the Alexandrian version; this was Symmachus. His -translation was more readable than that of Aquila, as not being so -utterly barbarous in expression; but it was far from being elegant, or -even correct, Greek. - -Of course Origen could never dream of substituting any of these -translations for the Septuagint, stamped as it was with the -approbation of the whole Eastern church. But still they might be made -very useful; indeed, notwithstanding the original sin of motive to -which they owed their existence, we have the authority of St. Jerome, -and of Origen himself, for saying that even the barbarous Aquila had -understood his work and executed it more fairly than might have been -expected. What Origen wanted was to get a pure Greek version. To do -this he must, of course, compare it with the Hebrew; but the Hebrew -itself might be corrupt, so he must seek help also elsewhere. Now -these Greek versions, made sixty, eighty, ninety years before, had -undoubtedly, he could see, been written with the Septuagint open -before their writers. Here, then, was a valuable means of testing how -far the present manuscripts of the Septuagint had been corrupted -during the last century at {356} least. He himself had collected some -such manuscripts, and the duties of his office made him acquainted -with many more. From the commencement of his career he had been -accustomed to compare and criticise them, and he had grown skilful, as -may be supposed, in distinguishing the valuable ones from those that -were worthless. We have said sufficient to show how the idea of the -"Hexapla" arose in his mind. The Hexapla was nothing less than a -complete transcription of the Septuagint side by side with the Hebrew -text, the agreement and divergence of the two illustrated by the -parallel transcription of the versions of Aquila, Theodotion, and -Symmachus; the remaining column containing the Hebrew text in Greek -letters. The whole of the Old Testament was thus transcribed sixfold -in parallel columns. These extra illustrations were furnished by the -partial use of three other Greek versions which Origen found or picked -up in his travels, and which he considered of sufficient importance to -be occasionally used in his great work. And Origen was not content -with the mere juxtaposition of the versions. The text of the -Septuagint given in the Hexapla was his own; that is to say, it was an -edition of the great authoritative translation completely revised and -corrected by the master himself. It was a great and a daring work. Of -its necessity there can be no doubt; but nothing except necessity -could have justified it; and it is certainly to the bold and -unprecedented character of the enterprise that we owe the shape that -he has given it in performance. To correct the Septuagint to his own -satisfaction was not enough; it must be corrected to the satisfaction -of jealous friends and, at least, reasonable enemies. Side by side, -therefore, with his amended text he gave the reasons and the proofs of -his corrections. He was scrupulously exact in pointing out where he -had altered by addition or subtraction. The Alexandrian critics had -invented a number of critical marks of varied shape and value, which -they industriously used on the works about which they exercised their -propensity to criticise. Origen, "Aristarchus sacer," as an admiring -author calls him, did not hesitate to avail himself of these profane -_notae_. There was the "asterisk," or star, which marked what he -himself had thought it proper to insert, and which, therefore, the -original authors of the Septuagint had apparently thought it proper to -leave out. Then there was the "obelus," or spit, the sign of -slaughter, as St. Jerome calls it; passages so marked were not in the -original Hebrew, and were thereby set down as doubtful and suspected -by sound criticism. Moreover, there was the "lemniscus," or pendent -ribbon, and its supplement, the "hypo-lemniscus;" what these marks -signified the learned cannot agree in stating. It seems certain, -however, that they were not of such a decided import as the first two, -but implied some minor degree of divergence from the Hebrew, as for -instance in those passages where the translators had given an elegant -periphrasis instead of the original word, or had volunteered an -explanation which a critic would have preferred to have had in the -margin. The "asterisk" and "obelus" still continue to figure in those -scraps of Origen's work that have come down to us; so, indeed, does -the lemniscus; but since the times of St. Epiphanius and St. Jerome no -MS. seems to make much distinction between it and the "asterisk." Of -the other marks, contractions, signs, and references which the MSS. of -Hexapla show, the greater part have been added by transcribers who had -various purposes in view. Some of these marks are easy to interpret, -others continue to exercise the acumen of the keenest critics. - -The Hexapla, as may be easily supposed, was a gigantic work. The labor -of writing out the whole of the {357} Old Testament six times over, -not to mention those parts which were written seven, eight, or nine -times, was prodigious. First came the Hebrew text twice over, in -Hebrew characters in the first column, in Greek in the second. -Biblical scholars sigh to think of the utter loss of Origen's Hebrew -text, and of what would now be the state of textual criticism of the -Old Testament did we possess such a Hebrew version of a date anterior -to Masoretic additions. But among the scattered relics of the Hexapla -the Hebrew fragments are at once fewest in number and most disputable -in character. The two columns of Hebrew were followed by Aquila the -stiff, and be by Symmachus, so that the Jews could read their Hebrew -and their two favorite translations side by side. Next came the -Septuagint itself, pointed, marked, and noted by the master. -Theodotion closed the array, except where portions of the three extra -translations before mentioned had to be brought in. Beside these -formidable columns, which may be called the text of the Hexapla, space -had to be found for Origen's own marginal notes, consisting of -critical observations and explanations of proper names or difficult -words, with perhaps an occasional glance at the Syriac and Samaritan. -Fifty enormous _volumina_ would hardly have contained all this, when -we take into consideration that the characters were in no tiny Italian -hand, but in great broad uncial penmanship, such as befitted the text -and the occasion. The poverty and unprovidedness of Origen would never -have been able to carry such a work through had not that very poverty -brought him the command of money and means. It is always the detached -men who accomplish the really great things of the world. Origen had -converted from some form of heresy, probably from Valentinianism, a -rich Alexandrian named Ambrose. The convert was one of those zealous -and earnest men who, without possessing great powers themselves, are -always urging on and offering to assist those who have the right and -the ability to work, but perhaps not the means or the inclination. The -adamantine Origen required no one to keep him to his work; and yet the -grateful Ambrose thought he could make no better return for the gift -of the faith than to establish himself as prompter-in-chief to the man -that had converted him. He seems to have left his master very little -peace. He put all his wealth at his service, and it would appear that -he even forced him to lodge with him. He was continually urging Origen -to explain some passage of Scripture, or to rectify some doubtful -reading. During supper he had manuscripts on the table, and the two -criticised while they ate; and the same thing went on in their walks -and recreations. He sat beside him far into the night, prayed with him -when he left his books for prayer, and after prayer went back with him -to his books again. When the master looked round in his catechetical -lectures, doubtless the indefatigable Ambrose was there, note-book in -hand, and doubtless everything pertaining to the lectures was rigidly -discussed when they found themselves together again; for Ambrose was a -deacon of the church, and as such had great interest in its external -ministration. Origen calls him his [Greek text], or _work-presser_. -and in another place he says he is one of God's work-pressers. There -is little doubt that the Hexapla is in great measure owing to Ambrose. -Origen resisted long his friend's solicitations to undertake a -revision of the text; reverence for the sacred words, and for the -tradition of the ancients, held him back; but he was at length -prevailed upon. Ambrose, indeed, did a great deal more than advise and -exhort; he put at Origen's disposal seven short-hand writers, to take -down his dictations, and seven transcribers to write out fairly what -the others had taken down. And so the gigantic work was begun. When it -was finished we cannot exactly tell, but it cannot have been till near -the end of {358} his life, and it was probably completed at Tyre, just -before he suffered for the faith. After his death, the great work, -"opus Ecclesia," as it was termed, was placed in the library of -Caesarea of Palestine. Probably no copy of it was ever taken; the -labor was too great. It was seen, or at least quoted, by many; such as -Pamphylus the Martyr, Eusebius, St. Athanasius, Didymus, St. Hilary, -St. Eusebius of Vercelli, St. Epiphanius, St. Basil, St. Gregory -Nyssen, St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, and especially St. Jerome and -Theodoret. It perished in the sack of Caesarea by the Persians or the -Arabs, before the end of the seventh century. [Footnote 54] - - [Footnote 54: A new edition of the fragments of the Hexapla is - announced, at we write, by Mr. Field, of Norwich. The first - instalment of this important work, for which there are now many more - materials than Dom Montfaucon had at command, may be expected almost - as we go to press. The editor's new sources are chiefly the recently - discovered Sinaitic MSS., and the Syro-Hexaplar version, part of - which he has lately re-translated into Greek in a very able manner, - by way of a specimen.] - -We need not say much here about the Tetrapla. Its origin appears to -have been as follows: When the Hexapla was completed, or nearly -completed, it was evident that it was too bulky to be copied. Origen, -therefore, superintended the production of an abridgment of it. He -omitted the two columns of Hebrew, the great stumbling-block to -copyists, and suppressed some of his notes. He then transcribed -Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion, putting his amended version of the -Septuagint, without the marks and signs, just before the last. The two -first answered the purposes of a Hebrew text, the last was a sort of -connecting link between it and the freedom of the Septuagint; and so, -for all practical purposes, he had a version that friends might put -their trust in, and that enemies could not dispute. - -Such was the work that Origen did for the Bible. It was not all done -at once, in a year, or in ten years. It was begun almost without a -distinct conception of what it would one day grow to. It progressed -gradually, in the midst of many cares and much other labor, and it was -barely completed when its architect's busy life was drawing to a -close. Every one of those twenty years at Alexandria, which we are now -dwelling upon, must have seen the work going on. The seven short-hand -writers, and the seven young maidens who copied out, were Origen's -daily attendants, as he seems to say himself. But the catechetical -school was in full vigor all this time. Indeed, the critical fixing of -the Bible text, wonderful as it was, was only the material part of his -work. He had to preach the Bible, not merely to write it out. His -preaching will take us to a new scene and to new circumstances--to -Caesarea, where the greater part of his homilies were delivered. But, -before we accompany him thither, we must take a glance at his school -at Alexandria, and try to realize how he spoke and taught. We have -already described his manner of life, and the description of his -biblical labors will have given some idea of a very important part of -his daily work; what we have now to do is to supplement this by the -picture of him as the head of the great catechetical school. - -One of the most striking characteristics of the career of Origen is -the way in which his work grew upon him. It is, indeed, a feature in -the lives of all the great geniuses who have served the church and -lived in her fold, that they have achieved greatness by an apparently -unconscious following of the path of duty rather than by any brilliant -excursion under the guidance of ambition. Origen was the very opposite -of a proud philosopher or self-appointed dogmatizer. He did not come -to his task with the consciousness that he was the man of his age, and -that he was born to set right the times. We have seen his birth and -bringing up, we have seen how he found himself in the important place -that he held, and we have seen how all his success {359} seemed to -come to him whilst he was merely bent on carrying through with the -utmost industry the affair that had been placed in his hands. We have -seen that, so far was he from trying to fit the gospel to the -exigencies of a cramped philosophy,--that he was brought up and passed -part of his youth without any special acquaintance with philosophy or -philosophers. He found, however, on resuming his duties as catechist, -that if he wished to do all the good that offered itself to his hand, -he must make himself more intimate with those great minds who, erring -as he knew them to be, yet influenced so much of what was good and -noble in heathenism. At that very time, a movement, perhaps a -resurrection, was taking place in Gentile philosophy. A teacher, -brilliant as Plato himself, and with secrets to develop that Plato had -only dreamt of, was in possession of the lecture-hall of the Museum. -Ammonius Saccas had landed at Alexandria as a common porter; nothing -but uncommon energy and extraordinary talents can have given him a -position in the university and a place in history, as the teacher of -the philosophic Trinity and the real founder of Neo-Platonism. Origen, -to whom the Museum had been strange ground in his early youth, saw -himself compelled to frequent it at the age of thirty. Saccas, to be -sure, was probably a Christian of some sort. At any rate, the -Christian teacher went and heard him, and made himself acquainted with -what it was that was charming the ears of his fellow-citizens, and -furnishing ground for half of the objections and difficulties that his -catechumens and would-be converts brought to him for solution. That -the influence of these studies is seen in his writings is not to be -denied. It would be impossible for any mind but the very dullest to -touch the spirit of Plato and not to be impressed and affected. The -writings of Origen at this period include three philosophical works. -There is first the "Notes on the Philosophers," which is entirely -lost. We may suppose it to have been the common-place book wherein was -entered what he learnt from his teacher, and what he thought of the -teacher and the doctrine. Then there is the "Stromata" (a work of the -same nature as the Stromata of his master, St. Clement), whose leading -idea was the great master-idea of Clement, that Plato and Aristotle -and the rest were all partially right, but had failed to see the whole -truth, which can only be known by revelation. This work, also, is -lost--all but a fragment or two. Thirdly, there is the celebrated -work, [Greek text], or, "De Principiis." Eusebius tells us expressly -that this work was written at Alexandria. Most unfortunately, we have -this treatise not in the original, but in two rival and contradictory -Latin versions, one by St. Jerome, the other by Ruffinus. Both profess -to be faithful renderings of a Greek original, and on the decision as -to which version is the genuine translation depends in great measure -the question of Origen's orthodoxy or heterodoxy. And yet this -treatise, "De Principiis," much as it has been abused, from Marcellus -of Ancyra down to the last French author who copied out Dom Ceillier, -and waiving the discussion of certain particular opinions that we may -have yet to advert to, seems to us to bear the stamp of Origen on -every page. It is such a work as a man would have written who had come -fresh from an exposition of deep heathen philosophy, and who felt, -with feelings too deep for expression, that all the beauty and depth -of the philosophy he had heard were overmatched a thousand times by -the philosophy of Jesus Christ. It is the first specimen, in Christian -literature, of a regular scientific treatise on the _principles_ of -Christianity. Every one knows that a discussion on the principles or -sources of the world, of man, of life, was one of the commonest shapes -of controversy between the {360} schools of philosophy; and at that -very time, the great Longinus, who probably sat beside Origen in the -school of Ammonius Saccas, was writing or thinking out a treatise with -the very title of that of Origen. It was a natural idea, therefore, to -show his scholars that he could give them better _principia_ than the -heathens. The treatise takes no notice, or next to none, of heathen -philosophy and its disputes; but it travels over well-known ground, -and what is more, it provokes comparison in a very significant manner. -For instance, the words wherewith it commences are words which Plato -introduces in the "Gorgias," and to those who knew that elaborate -dialogue, the sudden and unhesitating introduction of the name of -Christ, and the calm position that he and none else is the truth, and -that in him is the science of the good and happy life, must have been -quite as striking as its author probably intended it to be. The -treatise is not in the Platonic form--the dialogue; that form, which -was suitable to the days of the Sophists and the sharp-tongued -Athenians, had been superseded at Alexandria by the ornate monologue, -more suitable to an audience of novices and wonderers. Origen adopts -this form. One God made all things, himself a pure spirit; there is a -Trinity of divine persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; of the -rational creatures of God, some fell irremediably, others fell not at -all; others again--that is, the race of man--fell, but not -irremediably, having a mediator in Jesus Christ, being assisted by the -good angels and persecuted by the bad; the wonderful fact that the -Word was made flesh; man's free will, eternal punishment and eternal -reward; such are the heads of the subjects treated of in the "De -Principiis." The lame and disjointed condition of the present text is -evident on a very cursory examination; it is perfectly unworthy of the -"contra Celsum." But the reader who studies the text carefully, by the -light of contemporary thought, can hardly help thinking that materials -so solid and good must have been put together in a form as -satisfactory and as conclusive. A first attempt in any science is -always more admired for its genius than criticised for its faults. -This of Origen's was a first attempt toward a scientific theology. We -say a theology, not a philosophy; for, though philosophic in form, and -accepted as philosophy by his hearers, it is wholly theological in -matter, being founded on the continual word of Holy Scripture, and not -unfrequently undertaking to refute heresy. Christianity, as we have -before observed, was looked upon by strangers as a philosophy, and its -doctors rightly allowed them to think so, and even called it so -themselves. Now the "De Principiis" was Origen's philosophy of -Christianity. It did not prove so much as draw out into system. It -answered all the questions of the day. What is God? asked the -philosophers. He is the creator of all things, and a pure spirit, -answered the Christian catechist. Is not this Trinity a wonderful -idea? said the young students to each other, after hearing Saccas. -Christianity, said Origen, teaches a Trinity far more awful and -wonderful, and far more reasonable, too--a Trinity, not of ideas, but -of persons. The new school talked of the inferior gods that ruled the -lower world, and of the demons, good and bad, who executed their -behests. The Christian philosopher explained the great fact of -creation, and laid down the true doctrine of guardian angels and -tempting devils. The constitution of man was another puzzle; the -rebellion of the passions, the nature of sin, the question of -free-will. Plotinus, who listened to Saccas at the same time as -Origen, has left us the attempts at the solution of these difficulties -that were accepted in the school of his master; the answers of Origen -may be read in the "De Principiis." The earnest among the heathen -{361} philosophers were totally in the dark as to the state of soul -and of body after death. Some were ashamed of having a body at all, -and few of them could see of what use it was, or how it could subserve -the great end of arriving at union with God. Origen dwells with marked -emphasis, and with tender lingering, on the great key of mysteries, -the incarnation, and its consequences, the resurrection of the flesh; -and shows how the body is to be kept down in this life by the rational -will, that it too may have its glory in the life to come. The whole -effort and striving of Neo-Platonism was to enable the soul to be -united with the Divinity. Origen accepted this; it was the object of -the Christian philosophy as well; but he drew into prominence two -all-important facts--first, the necessity of the grace of God; -secondly, the moral and not physical nature of the purification of the -soul; together with the Christian dogma that it was only after death -that perfect union could take place. All this must have been perfectly -fitted to the time and the occasion. And yet there are evident signs -that it was not delivered or written as a manifesto to the frequenters -of the Museum; it was evidently meant as an instruction to the upper -class of the catechetical school. Its author's first idea was that he -was a Christian teacher, and he spoke to Christians who believed the -Holy Scriptures. What his words might do for others he was not -directly concerned with, but there is no doubt that the subjects -treated of in the "De Principiis" must have been discussed over and -over again with those students and philosophers from the university -who, as Eusebius tells us, flocked to hear him in such numbers, and -also with that large class of Christians who still retained their love -of scientific learning, though believing most firmly in the faith of -Jesus Christ. - -Of the matter of his ordinary catechetical instructions we need say -little, because it is evident that it would be mainly the same as it -has been under the like circumstances in all ages. Those of St. Cyril -of Jerusalem, delivered a century later, may furnish us with a good -idea of them, saving where doctrinal distinctions are discussed which -had not arisen in the time of the elder teacher. It is rather -extra-ordinary that so little trace has reached us of any formal -catechetical discourse of Origen. We are inclined to think, however, -that the "De Principiis," in its _original_ form, must have been the -summary or embodiment of his periodical instructions. But we have -numerous hints at what he taught in the several works on Holy -Scripture, some lost, some still partly extant, which he composed -during these twenty years at Alexandria. It appears that he was in the -habit of writing three different kinds of commentary on the -Scriptures; first, brief comments or notices, such as he has left in -the Hexapla; secondly, scholia, or explanations of some length; and -thirdly, regular homilies. But his homilies belong to a later period. -At Alexandria he commented St. John's Gospel (a labor that occupied -him all his life), Genesis, several of the Psalms, and the "Canticle -of Canticles," a celebrated work, yet extant in a Latin version, of -which it has been said that whereas in his other commentaries he -excelled all other interpreters, in this he excelled himself. But the -whole interesting subject of his creation of Scripture-commenting must -be treated of when we follow him to Caesarea, and listen to him -preaching. - -What we desire now, to complete our idea of his Alexandrian career, -and of what we may call the inner life of his teaching, is, that some -one--a contemporary and a scholar, if possible--should describe his -method and manner, and let us know how he treated his hearers and how -they liked him. Fortunately, the very witness and document that we -want is ready to our hands. One of the most famous of Origen's -scholars was St. Gregory Thaumaturgus, and the most {362} interesting -of the extant works of that father is undoubtedly the discourse and -panegyric which he pronounced upon his master, on the occasion of -bidding farewell to his school. Gregory, or, as he was then called, -Theodore, and his brother Athenodorus, were of a noble and wealthy -family of Cappadocia; that is to say, probably, descendants of Greek -colonists of the times of the Alexandrian conquests, though, no doubt, -with much Syrian blood in their veins. When Gregory was fourteen they -lost their father, and the two wealthy young orphans were left to the -care of their mother. Under her guidance they were educated according -to their birth and position, and in a few years began to study for the -profession of public speakers. As they would have plenty of money, it -mattered little what they took to; but the profession of an orator was -something like what the bar is now, and gave a man an education that -would be useful if he required it, and ornamental whether he required -it or not. The best judges pronounced that the young men would soon be -finished _rhetores_; St. Gregory tells us so, but will not say whether -he thinks their opinion right, and before proof could be made the two -youths had been persuaded by a master they were very fond of to take -up the study of Roman jurisprudence. Berytus, a city of Phoenicia, -better known to the modern world as Beyrout, had just then attained -that great eminence as a school for Roman law which it preserved for -nigh three centuries. Thither the young Cappadocians were to go. Their -master had taught them what he could, and wished either to accompany -them to the law university or to send them thither to be finished and -perfected. It does not appear, however, that they ever really got -there. Most biographies of St. Gregory say that they studied there; -what St. Gregory himself says is, that they were on their way thither, -but that, having to pass through Caesarea (of Palestine), they met -with Origen, to whom they took so great an affection that he converted -them to Christianity and kept them by him there and at Alexandria for -five years. The "Oratio Panegyrica" was delivered at Caesarea, and -after the date of Origen's twenty years as catechist at Alexandria; -but it will be readily understood that the whole spirit, and, indeed, -the whole details, of the composition are as applicable to Alexandria -as to Caesarea; for his teaching work was precisely of the same nature -at the latter city as at the former, with a trifling difference in his -position. The oration of St. Gregory is a formal and solemn effort of -rhetoric, spoken at some public meeting, perhaps in the school, in the -presence of learned men and of fellow-students, and of the master -himself. It is written very elegantly and eloquently, but it is in a -style that we should call young, did we not know that to make parade -of apophthegms and weighty sayings, to moralize rather too much, to -pursue metaphors unnecessarily, and to beat about a thing with words -so as to do everything but say it, was the characteristic of most -orators, old and young, from the days of Ptolemy Philadelphus till the -days when oratory, as a profession, expired before anarchy and the -barbarians. But its literary merits, though great, are the least of -its recommendations. Its value as a theological monument is shown by -the appeals made to it in the controversy against Arius; and in more -recent times Bishop Bull, for instance, has made great use of it in -his "Defensio Fidei Nicaenae." To us, at present, its most important -service is the light it sheds upon the teaching of Origen. We need -make no apology for making St. Gregory the type of the Alexandrian or -Caesarean scholar; they may not have been all like him, but one real -living specimen will tell us more than much abstract description. - -First of all, then, the scholar was not of an emphatically philosophic -cast of mind. The Greek philosophers were absolutely unknown to him. -He was a rich and clever young {363} man, bade fair to be a good -speaker, studied the law not because he liked it, but because his -friends and his master wished it; thought the Latin language very -imperial, but _very_ difficult; and had a habit of taking up what -opinions he did adopt more after the manner of clothes that he could -change as he pleased than as immutable truths. He was of a warm and -affectionate disposition, and had a keen appreciation of physical and -moral beauty. He was not without leanings to Christianity, but he -leaned to it in an easy, off-hand sort of way, as he might have leaned -to a new school in poetry or a new style of dress. He had no idea that -there is such a thing as the absolutely right and the absolutely wrong -in ethics any more than in taste. He was confirmed in this state of -mind by the philosophic schools of the day, among whom it was -considered disreputable to change one's opinions, however good the -reasons for a change might be; which was to degrade philosophy from -truth to the mere spirit of party, and to make a philosopher not a -lover of wisdom but a volunteer of opinion. So prepared and -constituted, the scholar, on his way to Berytus, fell in with Origen, -not so much by accident as by the disposition of Providence and the -guidance of his angel guardian; so at least he thought himself. The -first process which he went through at the hands of the master is -compared by the scholar to the catching of a beast, or a bird, or a -fish, in a net. Philosophizing had small charms for the accomplished -young man; to philosophize was precisely what the master had -determined he should do. We must remember the meaning of the word -[Greek text]; it meant to think, act, and live as a man who seeks true -wisdom. All the sects acknowledge this theoretically; what Clement and -Origen wanted to show, among other things, was that only a Christian -was a true philosopher in practice. Hence the net he spread for -Theodore, a net of words, strong and not to be broken. "You are a fine -and clever young man," he seemed to say; "but to what purpose are your -accomplishments and your journeys hither and thither? you cannot -answer me the simple question, Who are you? You are going to study the -laws of Rome, but should you not first have some definite notion as to -your last end, as to what is real evil and what is real good? You are -looking forward to enjoyment from your wealth and honor from your -talents; why, so does every poor, sordid, creeping mortal on the -earth; so even do the brute beasts. Surely the divine gift of reason -was given you to help you to live to some higher end than this." The -scholar hesitated, the master insisted. The view was striking in -itself, but the teacher's personal gifts made it strike far more -effectually. "He was a mixture," says the scholar, "of geniality, -persuasiveness, and compulsion. I wanted to go away, but could not; -his words held me like a cord." The young man, unsettled as his mind -had been, yet had always at heart believed in some sort of Divine -Being. Origen completed the conquest of his intellect by showing him -that without philosophy, that is, without correct views on morality, -the worship of God, or _piety_, as it used to be called, is -impossible. And yet wisdom and eloquence might have been thrown away -here as in so many other cases had not another influence, imperious -and all-powerful, been all this time rising up in his heart. The -scholar began to love the master. It was not an ordinary love, the -love with which Origen inspired his hearers. It was an intense, almost -a fierce, love (we are almost translating the words of the original), -a fitting response to the genuineness and kindly spirit of one who -seemed to think no pains or kindness too great to win the young heart -to true morality, and thereby to the worship of the only God--"to that -saving word," says St. Gregory, in his lofty style, "which alone can -teach God-service, which to whomsoever it comes home {364} it makes a -conquest of them; and this gift God seems to have given to him, beyond -all men now in the world." To that sacred and lovely word, therefore, -and to the man who was its interpreter and its friend, sprang up in -the heart of the scholar a deep, inextinguishable love. For that the -abandoned pursuits and studies which he had hitherto considered -indispensable; for that he left the "grand" laws of Rome, and forsook -the friends he had left at home, and the friends that were then at his -side. "And the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David," quotes -the scholar, noting that the text speaks emphatically of the union of -the soul, which no earthly accidents can affect, and finding a -parallel to himself in Jonathan, to his master in David, the wise, the -holy, and the strong. And though the hour for parting had come, the -moment when these bonds of the soul should be severed would never -come! - -The scholar was now completely in the hands of his teacher---"as a -land," he says, "empty, unproductive, and the reverse of fertile, -saline" (like the waste lands near the Nile), "burnt up, stony, -drifted with sand; yet not absolutely barren; nay, with qualities -which might be worth cultivating, but which had hitherto been left -without tillage or care, to be overgrown with thorn and thicket." He -can hardly make enough of this metaphor of land and cultivation to -show the nature of the work that the teacher had with his mind. We -have to read on for some time before we find out that all this -vigorous grubbing, ploughing, harrowing, and sowing represents the -dialectical training which Origen gave his pupils, such pupils, at -least, as those of whom Gregory Thaumaturgus was the type. In fact, -the dialectics of the Platonists and their off-shoots is very -inadequately represented by the modern use of the word logic. It seems -to have signified, as nearly as a short definition can express it, the -rectifying the ideas of the mind about itself, and about those things -most intimately connected with it. A modern student takes up his -manual of logic, or sits down in his class-room with his most -important ideas, either correct and settled, or else incorrect, beyond -the cure of logic. At Alexandria manuals were scarce, and the ideas of -the converts from heathenism were so utterly and fundamentally -confused, that the first lessons of the Christian teacher to an -educated Greek or Syrian necessarily took the shape of a Socratic -discussion, or a disquisition on principles. And so the scholar, not -without much amazement and ruffling of the feelings, found the field -of his mind unceremoniously cleared out, broken up, and freshly -planted. But, the process once complete, the result was worth the -inconvenience. - -It was about this stage, also, that the master insisted on a special -training in natural history and mathematics. In his youth Origen had -been educated, as we have seen, by his father in the whole circle of -the sciences of the day. Such an education was possible then, though -impossible now, and the spirit of Alexandrian teaching was especially -attached to the sciences that regarded numbers, the figure of the -earth, and nature. The schools of the Greek philosophers had always -tolerated these sciences in their own precincts; nay, most of the -schools themselves had arisen from attempts made in the direction of -those very sciences, and few of them had attempted to distinguish -accurately between physics and metaphysics. Moreover, geography, -astronomy, and geometry, were the peculiar property of the Museum, for -Eratosthenes, Euclid, Ilipparchus, and Ptolemy himself, had observed -and taught within its walls. Origen, therefore, would not be likely to -undervalue those interesting sciences which he had studied with his -father, and which nine out of ten of his educated catechumens were -more or less {365} acquainted, and puzzled, or delighted, with. Happy -days when mathematics was little and chemistry in its infancy, when -astronomy lived shut up in a tower, clad in mystic vesture, and when -geology was yet in the womb of its mother earth! Enviable times, when -they all (such at least as were born) could be sufficiently attended -to and provided for in a casual paragraph of a theological -instruction, or brought into a philosophical discussion to be admired -and dismissed! Origen, however, had, as usual, a deeper motive for -bringing physics and mathematics into his system. We need not remind -the reader that, if Plato can be considered to have a weak part, that -part is where he goes into Pythagorean speculations about bodies, -numbers, and regular solids. His revivers, about the time we are -speaking of, had with the usual instinct of revivers found out his -weak part, and made the most of it, as if it had been the sublimest -evolution of his genius. We may guess what was taking place from what -afterward did take place, when even Porphyry fluctuated all his life -between pretensions to philosophy and what Saint Augustine calls -"sacrilegious curiosity," and when the whimsical triads of poor old -Proclus were powerless to stop the deluge of theurgy, incantations, -and all superstitions that finally swamped Neo-Platonism for ever. -With this view present to our minds the words of the scholar in this -place are very significant "By these two studies, geometry and -astronomy, he made us _a path toward heaven_," The three words that -Saint Gregory uses in the description of this part of the master's -teaching are worth noticing. The first is Geometry, which is taken to -mean everything that relates to the earth's surface. The second is -astronomy, which treats of the face of the heavens. The third is -physiology, which is the science of nature, or of all that comes -between heaven and earth. So that Origen's scientific teaching was -truly encyclopaedic. He was, moreover, an experimental philosopher, -and did not merely retail the theories of others. He analyzed things -and resolved them into their elements (their "very first" elements, -says the scholar); he descanted on the multiform changes and -conversions of things, partly from his own discoveries, and gave his -hearers a rational admiration for the sacredness and perfection of -nature, instead of a blind and stupid bewilderment; he "carved on -their minds geometry the unquestionable, so dear to all, and astronomy -that searches the upper air." What were the precise details of his -teachings on these subjects it would be unfair to ask, even if it were -possible to answer. We know that he thought diamonds and precious -stones were formed from dew, but this is no proof he was behind his -age; and his acquaintance with the literature of the subject proves he -was, if anything, before it. With regard to naphtha, the magnet, and -the looking-glass, it will be pleasing to know he was substantially -right. He was, perhaps, the first to make a spiritual use of the -accepted notion that the serpent was powerless against the stag; the -reason is, he says, that the stag is the type of Christ warring -against Anti-Christ. That he believed in griffins is unfortunate, but -natural in an Alexandrian, who had lived in an atmosphere d stories -brought down from the upper Nile by the ingenious sailors. As to his -"denying the existence of _the Tragelaphus_" we must remain ignorant -whether it redounds to his credit or otherwise, until modern -researches have exhausted the African continent. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -{366} - - -Translated from the Revue Contemporaine. - -EVE DE LA TOUR-D'ADAM. - -BY G. DE LA LANDELLE. - - -I hate those pretentious and high-sounding Christian names which -certain upstarts inflict as a label of ridicule on their children; -but, though I should be accused of having two weights and two -measures, I should be pleased to see perpetuated in the descendants of -a noble race the most fantastic of those chosen by their ancestors. My -antipathy gives way before the religion of remembrance, before heroic -or knightly traditions. I love then even their oddity. I can pardon -even their triviality. I perceive only the old glory, the reflection -of which is preserved by these consecrated names. - -Among the Roqueforts, who claim to have sprung from the Merovingians, -they have, even to our days, the names of Clodimir, Chilpérie, or -Bathilde. Since the time of the Crusades, the youngest son of the Du -Maistres is always an Amaury. The Canluries of Gonneville owe their -names of Arosca and Essomerie to the discoveries of the celebrated -navigator, their ancestor, who brought from southern lands, in 1503, -the Prince Essomerie, son of the King Arosca, whom he adopted and -married later, in Normandy, to one of his relations. There is a family -in Brittany who never part with the names of Audren, Salomon, Grallow, -or Conau. The Corréas, originally from Portugal, pride themselves on -seeing on their genealogical tree those of Caramuru and of -Paraguassus, which signify the _Man of Fire_ and _Great River_. - -Chivalry, the Crusades, some semi-fabulous legend, some marvellous -chronicle, the grand adventures of a Tancred or a Bohemond, the -exploits of a Tannegry, finally, the great alliances, explain and -justify in certain families the privileged use of first names too -rare, or too commonplace, fantastic, romantic, strange, or old, to be -suitable except for them. - -Now, it was thus that, in virtue of an old custom, the grand-daughter -of the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam had received that of Eve at the -baptismal fonts of St. Sulpice. - -In passing the Gorge d'Enfer, not far from the famous valley of -Roncevaux, you have perhaps remarked the ruins, still majestic, of a -tower which leans above a frightful precipice. The shepherds of the -country maintain that it was built by the fathers of the human race; -were I the most profound of archaeologists I should be very careful -not to contradict them. Who can prove that the Pyrenees did not rise -on the limits of Eden? In the fourteenth century was not all Europe -convinced that the terrestrial paradise, engulfed in the Atlantic, -rises partly above the water in the form of Saint Brandan's Isle, the -promised land of the saints, where Enoch and Elias await the last day? - -In the same manner that the erudite La Tour d'Auvergne, as simple as -he was brave, has demonstrated in his "Origines Gauloises" that Adam -and Eve spoke Bas-Breton, in the same manner the Basque tongue -furnishes unexceptionable proofs of the antiquity {367} of the times -of Adam which the waters of the deluge respected. - -Be this as it may, antediluvian or not, Punic or Roman, Gothic, -Saracen, or Spanish, the old tower was the cradle of an illustrious -family--illustrious on both sides of the Pyrenees. From time -immemorial the first-born was given the name of Adam or of Eve. - -At the beginning of this simple history we have not the leisure to -recount how a royal Moorish prisoner, who, it is said, was called -Adam, escaped from the tower, carrying with him the heiress of the -castle. Nor can we stop from the wars in Palestine one of the warlike -ancestors of our Parisian heroine, a proud Crusader, who brought to -his domains an Oriental Eve, the beloved daughter of we know not what -Saladin. - -These different traditions, which were not the only ones, made the -customs of their ancestors very dear to the family of La Tour-d'Adam; -but the young and merry companions of the grand-daughter of the last -marquis did not care to inquire into the cause of her unusual name. -They kept themselves in bounds in finding it tolerably ridiculous that -she should be called just like the ancestors of the human species. - -"Really, I do not know who could have served as god-mother to our -beautiful friend," said Clarisse Dufresnois, biting her lips. "In my -days I would not consent to give so dangerous a name. When one hears -it one seems to have a too decided fancy for forbidden fruit." - -"Oh! Clarisse, that is mean," murmured Leonore. - -This charitable and timid observation received no response. Albertine, -Valerie, Suzanne, and several other young girls, who were chattering -together while waiting the opening of the ball, seemed by their smiles -to encourage the mocking spirit of Clarisse Dufresnois. They made a -charming group. Blondes and brunettes, red and white, adorned with -flowers and ribbons with delicate taste, they presented to the view an -adorable reunion of smiles and graces, as they said in the last -century. Youth, gaiety, freshness, beautiful black eyes, large blue -eyes, lovely figures, wilful airs, piquant countenances, enjoyment, -vivacity, delicacy--what then did they lack that the gentlemen -cavaliers should make them wait? Truly, we cannot say; but their -habitual delay contradicted the olden fame of French gallantry. These -gentlemen, without doubt, were a thousand times culpable for -Clarisse's little sarcasms. - -"With the fortunate name of Eve," she continued, "should one not -always be the first to show herself?" - -"If you would say, at least the first to arrive," interrupted Leonore. - -"But it has a grand air to appear late; it produces a sensation; one -seats by her entrance all the most elegant dancers; one would be -watched for, desired, impatiently waited for." - -"For that matter, I am sure," said Leonore quickly, "Eve thinks little -about all that; she is as simple as she is good." - -"You see, girls," replied Clarisse, with equal vivacity, "that I have -said something evil of our dear Eve! Goodness! I love her with all my -heart. She is languid, cool, and sentimental; she has her little -eccentricities. Who of us has not? I said simply that she is always -the last to arrive; but, however, I do not think she is so much -occupied in varying her toilette. She is inevitably crowned with -artificial jasmine." - -"Nothing becomes her better," said Leonore. "Beside, Eve is -sufficiently pretty to be charming in anything." - -"Doubtless," replied Clarisse, a little piqued; "only I ask, how can -you tell what becomes her best when she has never worn anything else -for at least four years." - -"Four!" cried nearly all the girls. "Four years! Why, that is an age!" - -"Four years of jasmine!" said Valerie; "what constancy!" - -{368} - -"Bouquet, garland, crown, and I don't know what else," continued -Clarisse, "Eve always has jasmine in some shape." - -"For me," said Suzanne, "I would not, for anything on earth, show -myself three times in succession with a branch or wreath of jasmine." - -The word jasmine, repeated four or five times, made a young girl -tremble as she entered, and, not knowing any of the young ladies, seat -herself at a distance; but, as if drawn by the word which affected her -so singularly, Louise de Mirefont took her place nearest to Clarisse. - -Louise was nineteen; she did not yield in natural grace to Suzanne nor -to Valerie; her color was equal in freshness to the charming -Albertine's; Lucienne had not such brilliant black hair, Leonore an -expression of gentleness not more sympathetic. A timidity acquired, -perhaps, by a sudden trouble veiled the looks of the new rival who now -disputed with all the palm of beauty; a lively carnation spread itself -over her features, which had a faultless purity. With her blushes and -her embarrassment was mingled a vague sentiment of sadness; but what -physiognomist would have been sufficiently skilful to explain the -impression which affected her? - -Of all the merry young girls collected at the ball, Louise was the -simplest attired. She was beautiful enough to carry off any costume; a -simple white dress, a light, rose-colored ribbon around her waist, -that was all. All her companions had either flowers or pearls in their -hair; she alone had no other coiffure than her waving curls, which -rolled round her white shoulders. Each young girl had some rarity in -her toilette. Clarisse, for example, had admirable bracelets and -ear-rings, Lucienne, had a valuable cameo, Suzanne was distinguished -by a spencer of an original pattern, even Leonore by knots of ribbons -of exquisite taste, Albertine by bands of coral interwoven in the -tresses of her fair hair. - -No borrowed ornament could have increased the value of Louise's -charms, whom if one could not without hesitation discern as the prize -of the concourse, at least as the most faithful lover of the Greek -type the model of which she presented in her classic perfection. - -At the moment she approached, Leonore had said, indulgently: "Four -years! four winters!--without doubt Clarisse exaggerates." - -"No, Miss Leonore, I do not exaggerate; I repeat that for four years -Eve has worn only jasmine." - -Clarisse alone could call up the memories of four years; she was the -oldest of all her friends. Some of these had been only a few months -out of the convent, others had made their entrance into society only -the winter preceding. She was not even of the same age as Eve, who had -come out much earlier than any of them. - -Clarisse had just passed the age of twenty-five. Having dreamed of six -or seven superb marriages, she had the grief of aspiring to a seventh -dream, and this was why her indulgence, at all times mediocre enough, -went decreasing in hope as hope deceived, or in inverse ratio to the -square of her age, to help ourselves for once, by chance, by the -algebraic style. Clarisse could have said, but she did not, that she -had seen Eve de La Tour-d'Adam, crowned with roses, the first time she -appeared at the house of the Comtesse de Peyrolles. - -Four or five springs, at most, made a second crown of roses for the -brow of that maiden, who conducted an old septuagenary whose ideas and -decorations recounted the exploits of a generation almost extinct. Eve -advanced on the arm of the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, who had not been -seen for several years. Man of the world as he had been in his youth, -and was no longer, the marquis reserved to himself to introduce her -into society. {369} Eve was very young, but the weight of years was -heavy on the old man. The hour was advanced because he wished it so. - -Their entrance made a great sensation; Clarisse remembered that it -made too much. - -Fair, delicately pale, frail and slender as a wasp, the only and last -heiress of the Lords de La Tour-d'Adam, Eve, the child yet unknown, -attracted all eyes. Give life to one of those aerial vignettes to -which the English sculptors deny nothing, unless it is a soul; render -motion to those images of the saints which the simple and pious -workmen sculpture and _animate_ in some sort with their faith, for the -front of our temples; spread an expression of angelic sweetness and -infinite tenderness over the countenance of a virgin purer than the -azure of the sky; around this creation of your least profane thought -let there reign an atmosphere of generous sympathies, that hearts may -be touched, that souls may he captive, that men and women shall be -equally attracted by this undefined sentiment, commonly called of -interest, that this interest shall extend to every harmonious gesture, -to every movement, to every word of the fair young girl; take into -account the veneration inspired by the presence of the old gentleman, -her grandfather--and you will understand at once what was Eve, and the -effect of her first appearance at Madame de Peyrolles'. - -Four years had passed since then. Eve now had entered her nineteenth -year. Had she grown old in one day, had she grown young again, or some -slow suffering, unknown phenomenon, some mysterious illness, was it, -that, without wasting the young girl, abruptly arrested her -development, up to that time so precocious? But, such as she was seen -at Madame de Peyrolles' four winters before, as such Eve reappeared in -the same drawing-room; only Clarisse Dufresnois had said enough about -it--the crown of roses was replaced by a branch of jasmine entwined in -her golden hair. - -And, indeed, a branch of jasmine was placed on the front of the girl's -dress, when dressed for the ball, and, accompanied by Madame du -Castellet, her governess, she presented herself to her grandfather, -who awaited her in the west parlor of the mansion of La Tour-d'Adam -and welcomed her with a tender smile. - -Eve came forward raising to him her sweet blue eyes, and, in melodious -accents: - -"My father," she said, "I have obeyed you; you see I am ready; but why -will you oblige me to leave you again alone for all one long evening?' - -"Child, I shall not be alone; I shall think that my Eve is amusing -herself, I shall see her as if I were there! Youth should have -innocent distractions. Oh! thou hast nobly loved me with all thy -heart, but the society of an old man like me does not suffice at thy -age." - -"God knows I would renounce this ball with happiness, in order to give -you your evening reading." - -"I do not doubt it, my child; but you have promised me that you will -go; go then, amuse yourself with your companions; dance, frolic, -receive the homage which is your due. I am not a miser who hides his -treasure, I wish that my diamond should shine for all eyes; your -triumphs are mine, and your gaiety is the joy of my life." - -"My father, I am never gay except by your side." - -The old man smiled, not without a little incredulity, but the young -girl's clear eyes were fixed on him with a touching expression of -veneration and filial love. Eve repeated with affecting candor that -the watch by her grandfather's side was to her a thousand times -preferable to the noisy pleasures of the world; she grew animated, -and, drawing yet nearer, she said: - -{370} - -"When I have passed the evening with you, I return joyously to my -room, my heart full of noble thoughts. Often you have recounted to us -some incidents of your life, and I am proud of being your child; I -wish for power to imitate your generous example; finally, I find an -inexpressible charm in your recollections and in your narratives. If -you have spoken to me of my father and my mother, whom I have never -known, I am still happy; my melancholy is sweet; I represent to myself -as my guardian angels those whom your words make me love more every -day." - -The Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam felt himself touched; the young girl's -governess had seated herself. Eve added in a less firm tone: - -"On the contrary, when I return from a ball, I feel an indefinable -sentiment of void and weariness; I do not know what it is that I want, -I am sad, discontented with myself." - -"Childishness!" interrupted the old gentleman. "Off with us! A little -thoughtlessness and folly, I insist upon it! One is discontented with -oneself only when one has failed in some duty; you are good, -submissive, pious, charitable." - -Eve blushed slightly, and while her grandfather was continuing his -eulogy she prepared him a cup of tea, drew the stool near, arranged -the cushion on which he rested his head, then, going to the piano, she -played an old battle air of which he was very fond. - -Meanwhile the marquis addressed the governess. - -"My cousin," he said (Madame du Castellet was a distant relative of -the Tour-d'Adams), "combat these tendencies, I implore you; pleasures -and distractions, they are the remedy! I do not understand why this -ball should sadden our darling Eve, why meeting her friends and her -partners should make her melancholy. Eve does not know how to be -untruthful, she hides nothing from us; but she is ignorant herself why -she suffers. Discover this secret, I implore you, that she may be -happy." - -"Eve's happiness is my only desire," replied the governess. "You know -that I love her as my own daughter. I never contradict her; indeed, -she never desires anything that is not praiseworthy. She plans to do -good with an admirable perseverance and delicacy." - -The old marquis at this moment recognized the martial air which Eve -was playing for him; he was deeply affected: - -"She forgets nothing," he murmured. - -Then noticing the flowers the young girl wore: - -"Always jasmine," he said to the governess. - -"She forgets nothing," said Madame du Castellet, in her turn. - -"It is then impossible to overcome the pride of those unfortunate -Mirefonts?" replied the marquis. - -"My nephew, Gaston, cannot get anything accepted," respondent the -governess; "but we will save them in spite of themselves." - -"Heaven preserve me," said the marquis immediately, "from blaming -their susceptibility; unfortunately, the secret means which Eve has so -long employed scarcely suffice; it is necessary to do more." - -"Gaston will aid us, I imagine," replied the governess in a low voice; -"but hush! my pupil will not pardon me if I betray her secrets." - -Eve returned from the piano; the marquis and the governess exchanged a -glance of prudent intelligence. - -"Off with us, young lady, to the ball, to the ball, the carriage is -waiting!" said the old gentleman gaily, kissing the young girl's -forehead. - -Madame du Castellet dragged off Eve; the marquis, left alone, thought -tenderly of his dear grandchild, the bouquet of jasmine, the -unfortunate Mirefont family, of all that Eve had said or done with her -habitual grace, while the military march she had played still -resounded in his heart. - -{371} - -"The noble child!" he murmured; "they counselled me to be severe; how -could I be? I have been indulgent; I have repressed nothing, spoiled -nothing; her generous nature has freely developed itself; she has made -herself blessed even by those who do not know her. Happy, yes, happy, -will he be who shall be her husband." - -The few words exchanged between the marquis and Eve's governess have -shown us that for some time, at least, the secret of one of the young -girl's good actions had been revealed to her grandfather. The old -gentleman would have thought little enough of the coiffures chosen by -Eve, or of her taste for such or such a flower; but Madame du -Castellet had been much surprised one day by her pupil's predilection -for bouquets and wreaths of jasmine. Questions followed each other; -Eve evaded them for a long time; the governess insisted. She blamed -the girl's extravagance, which did not cease to expend considerable -sums for the same flowers. - -"I wish to know if this caprice has anything reasonable in it?" she -said finally, with firmness, even at the risk of displeasing the young -heiress. - -Eve blushed; then in a suppliant tone-- - -"Be at least discreet," she said. "It is the matter of an honorable -family suddenly fallen into extreme poverty, whose only resource is -the sale of jasmine. People do not buy it, so it is that I buy so -much." - -"But still," said Madame du Castellet, "without doubt you know the -name of the family." - -"No, cousin. Fearing to wound worthy people, I have not asked it. Only -my artificial-flower seller told me that this jasmine was the work of -the only child of a poor knight of St. Louis, completely ruined by the -last revolution, and struck with incurable infirmities. His wife can -only take care of him and wait on him. I was much affected by the -story, and above all by the courage shown by this young girl, who -obtained a living for her father and mother by her work. I promised -often to buy jasmine on condition that my name should never be -mentioned; do not be surprised, cousin, that I keep my promise." - -Madame du Castellet embraced Eve with fervor. But soon going to the -source, she knew that the family suffering from so many misfortunes -was that of the Mirefonts. The marquis was instructed. Various offers -of assistance were made, but proudly refused. - -Eve continued to adorn herself with jasmine and to make liberal -presents of it to all her friends, which Clarisse Dufresnois -pleasantly laughed at. - -"Do you love jasmine?" she said, smiling. "Apply to Eve. For a -lottery, a vase or a crown of jasmine; for a present, jasmine; for a -head-dress, jasmine. Madeline, who has penetrated into the delicious -boudoir of Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam, saw only jasmine on every -side. Has she not given some to you also?" - -"Eve has given me a charming bunch," said Leonore. "It was a -master-piece of its kind; a flower was never more perfectly imitated." -Nobody listened to Leonore. - -"Jasmine is, then, Eve's adoration?" said Albertine. - -"Perhaps," suggested Suzanne, "it is the emblem of a deep sentiment, -some memory." - -"In any case, it is a passion, a mania." - -"I do not know what to imagine," said Leonore; "but I would rather -believe it a work of charity." - -"You hear Leonore, young ladies," cried Clarisse; "would it still be -wicked to find this abuse of jasmine monotonous?" - -Louise de Mirefont had started several times, for she was the unknown -artist whose filial devotion created the bouquets and wreaths which -Eve had not ceased to buy. - -For the second time in her life Louise penetrated into the -drawing-room of the Countess de Peyrolles, where she had been -presented the {372} preceding winter by Mlle. de Rouvray, an old -friend of her mother, and companion to the Countess. At the reiterated -requests of Mlle. de Rouvray, Louise's parents consented that their -daughter should go among the society in which her birth and education -called her to live, had not her entire want of fortune kept her away. - -At the time of that single party, which occupied a large place in the -young girl's memory, she had remarked one of her masterpieces over the -brow of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam. She had blushed, not without an -innocent joy. - -How different was her feeling now! Every mocking shaft of Clarisse -wounded her, the smiles of the other girls put her to torture; and -when Leonore, in her indulgent observations, which had consoled her a -little, innocently pronounced the word charity, she grew pale and felt -humbled. Pride brought to her eyes two tears, which vexation dried on -her eyelashes. - -"Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam has done me an act of charity," she thought -with a sort of wrath. "We have a disguised alms, and M. Gaston du -Castellet has failed in all his promises." - -Such were, we are obliged to avow it, Louise de Mirefont's first -thoughts; pride rendered her unjust and ungrateful. Alas! as we have -been told many times, first thoughts in our weak nature are not always -the best. An angry suspicion, moreover, augmented the girl's -indignation. - -The nephew of Eve's governess, Gaston du Castellet, introduced into -the family of Mirefont by Mlle. de Rouvray, had he, in an excess of -zeal, revealed the secret of a distress courageously concealed for -more than four years? Gaston was, himself, in a position of fortune -more than mediocre, he lived honorably, but in a very modest office. -He had been received with a noble simplicity; his tact, his delicacy, -rendered him worthy of such a reception, and he had also conquered the -good graces of M. and Mme, de Mirefont. - -Louise, during her long is hours of work, often surprised herself -thinking of the amiable qualities, the distinction, the benevolence, -of Gaston du Castellet. While with a light hand she cut out or -adjusted the green leaves or white flowers on their stem, she could -not forbid herself to dream of the prudent attentions which Gaston -showed her. Together with her fairy fingers, her imagination, or -rather her heart, built a frail edifice of green leaves, hope, and -white flowers, like the innocence of her love. A word, a glance, a -smile of Gaston's, some mark of solicitude for her venerable parents, -a generous word pronounced with feeling, received with eagerness, -plunged her in long and sweet reveries. Her floral task was generally -finished before her dream. - -"He wished to associate his efforts with mine to comfort my parents' -old age! With what eagerness he assisted my mother!" thought Louise, -trembling with emotion. "'Why can I not always replace you thus?' said -he. 'My presence will permit you to continue your pious work.' I -succeeded in finishing that evening the crown of jasmine for which my -employer waited so impatiently. And on Sunday, what could be greater -than Gaston's sincere goodness toward my father while my mother and I -had gone to pray for him? When we returned our prayers seemed to have -been heard: he suffered less, and attributed the amelioration of his -state to Gaston's cares, cordial gaiety, and conversation. Heavens! -what were they talking of in our absence?" - -And Louise's mind lost itself in sweet and charming suppositions. Add -to this, that a year before Gaston had met Louise at a ball at Madame -de Peyrolles'; he had noticed her there; and a few days afterward was -presented to her parents by their old friend Mlle. de Rouvray. Gaston -was the only young man admitted to their intimacy. Six months had not -rolled away before he occupied a room in the same house with Louise. - -{373} - -Louise believed herself loved, and did not fear to speak without -disguise of the extreme trouble of her family. The young man had -already ventured various offers of assistance, he returned to the -charge; H. and Mme. de Mirefont constantly with a grateful dignity -refused them. Louise, whose delicious work was selling better and -better, positively forbade him to attempt any officious proceeding. -Gaston promised to make none, and very sincerely kept his word. - -"But Gaston was the nephew of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam's governess. As -Clarisse Dufresnois said, Eve bought jasmine with devotion; according -to Leonore, it was without doubt from charity she did so. Well, then I -had Gaston broken his promise? his direct offers being refused, had he -employed indirect means? might he not be, finally, Eve de La -Tour-d'Adam's agent, her associate, her agent in good works?" - -Louise loved Gaston. And you will pardon her injustice, her -ingratitude, her jealousy; for her second thought was a burst of -repentance; she reproached herself for her pride, she was ashamed of -herself for doubting Gaston, and, more than all, for being ungrateful -to her benefactress. - -Eve entered; she entered crowned with jasmine. - -A tear--but this was a tear of gratitude--bathed Louise's eyelashes, -and slowly descended down her burning cheeks. Her heart was already -refreshed. She no longer heard Clarisse's whispers, she did not see -the mocking smiles of Valerie, Albertine, and their companions; she -did not even perceive that several young men were coming toward her, -and asking her hand for a contra-dance; Eve had entered--she saw only -Eve. - -"Oh! she is an angel! she murmured rapturously. - -"You say truly, Miss Louise, she is an angel!" replied Gaston, taking -her hand. - -Louise raised her head, dried her eyes, and permitted herself to be -carried off by her attentive cavalier, who had observed all, heard -all, and understood all, from the moment she had taken her place in -the circle of girls. - -Eve, conducted by her partner, passed near them, and turning: - -"Gaston," she said in a tone of affectionate familiarity, "will you be -our _vis-â-vis?_" - -The young girls found themselves in each other's presence, their looks -met; Louise's ardent gratitude suddenly aroused Eva de La -Tour-d'Adam's sympathy. - -"What a charming young girl! Do you know her, sir?" - -"No, Miss Eve," answered Eve's partner, and his reply was not finished -without the compliment called forth by a natural term of comparison, -but the triumphant gentleman expended his eloquence for nothing. - -"Does she know me?" said Louise to Gaston; "how she looks at me!" - -"Eve does not know who you are; she will doubtless ask me your name; -well, in telling it, I shall not relate any of your family secrets." - -"Oh! so much the better!" exclaimed Louise. - -"Just now you were blushing and turning pale, I heard, I noticed--" - -Louise lowered her eyes in embarrassment. - -"You were wrong," continued Gaston. "The only indiscretion committed -has been by your employer, the flower-merchant. Eve is interested in -you, she loves you without knowing your name. Her sincere solicitude -goes back already for four years; it is only one, Louise, since I had -the happiness of first seeing you. It was here. The next day Mlle, de -Rouvray received a visit from me, and a few days afterward your -parents kindly admitted me to their house." - -An expression of happiness lighted Louise's delicate features. - -"Then, just now," she said after a moment's interruption, "you divined -my thoughts?" - -{374} - -"I heard Miss Clarisse Dufresnois. I suffered as you suffered. I -hastened to justify myself to you." - -"Oh, Gaston, how much better is your beautiful cousin than I!" - -They now passed in the contra-dance; Eve's hand was not slow in taking -Louise's; the two girls shivered at once. - -Eve must have seemed singularly absent to her partner; she did not -cease to watch Louise and Gaston, she was troubled, and was conscious -of a strange uneasiness. - -"Why this extreme emotion?" she asked herself; "oh! how my heart -beats! I tremble, I suffer, my eyes are growing dim! What is the -matter with me? Who is this young girl, and what is Gaston saying to -her? They pronounced my name, I believe!" - -Gaston was talking enthusiastically to Louise. - -"Eve is not of this earth!" he said. "She is a celestial being whom I -feel myself disposed to invoke on my knees; the respect with which she -inspires me prevents me from seeing even her beauty. I venerate her, -but you, Louise, you I love!" - -Louise started. - -"Oh! do not be vexed by this avowal; I am permitted to make it. During -your absence, on Sunday, M. de Mirefont yielded to my request. My -happiness, Louise, depends on you alone." - -The young girl did not succeed in dissembling her joy, her smiles -crowned Gaston's wishes; he continued in a softened voice: - -"Oh! it was not without trouble that I triumphed, dear Louise. For a -long time your father rejected me on account of his deplorable -position; he would not consent, he said, that I should bind my future -to the sad destinies of his family. I spoke of my love, he replied by -reciting his misfortunes. Permit, I said to him, a son to diminish by -his zeal your Louise's task. Would you repulse me if fortune favored -you? or do you find me unworthy to share your lot? Her filial virtues -even more than her charms have captivated me. If she were destined to -opulence like Mlle, de La Tour-d'Adam, for example, I should be insane -to dare to aspire to her hand. But your Louise is the companion -necessary for a poor, hard-working man like me. She is courageous and -devoted. I came to supplicate you to accept my devotion and my -courage. Finally, overcome by my insistance, he held out his hand to -me; I bathed it with my tears; then, opening his arms: 'Louise shall -pronounce,' he said. With what impatience I waited for you that -evening! Your mother by this time should be aware of my application, -and to-morrow, if you consent, it shall not be simply as a friend, but -as your _fiancé_ that I shall enter under your parent's roof." - -"Gaston--my _fiancé_," murmured Louise. "O God! I am too happy." - -Eve also was near succumbing under a strange emotion; but by a supreme -effort she succeeded in conquering it; but she was so pale she might -have been taken for an alabaster statue. She was faint when she seated -herself at some distance behind Mme. du Castellet and Mlle. Rouvray, -who, retired to one side apart, were talking in a low voice but with -animation. - -Gaston's aunt and the countesses companion, drawn together by the -similarity of their positions, made part of that commendable variety -of aristocracy which we are permitted to call the poor of the great -world. Resigned, free from envy, devoted, body and soul, to the -families in which even their office increased the consideration and -the regard which they merited, such persons are always justly -respected. Their presence honors the houses which welcome them. They -lived in the highest sphere with an admirable abnegation; the firmness -of their principles equalled the amiability of their character: they -had espoused the interests which exclusively occupied them, and were -slaves to their duties. - -{375} - -Eve, still trembling, continued to watch Gaston and Louise, at the -same time that, as if her nervous excitement had given her the faculty -of hearing the feeblest sounds, she did not lose a word of the -conversation of the two old friends. - -"You cannot believe how much this marriage contents me," said Madame -du Castellet, "I have always been afraid that my nephew was taken with -Eve. Eve is so beautiful, so tender, so generous: one cannot know her -without loving her. Gaston already loved her like a brother; they saw -each other continually in spite of all my skill. I did well, the old -marquis did not even suspect the danger. It would have been imprudent -to have hinted the possibility; I have lived on thorns for three or -four years. Eve and Gaston have known each other from childhood; a -formidable friendliness reigned between them; Eve was full of sisterly -attentions; I trembled for my poor nephew." - -"It is certain that Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam, with her name and her -immense fortune, can only make a grand marriage," said Mlle, de -Rouvray. "We can doubly felicitate ourselves on the success of our -effort. The old Chevalier de Mirefont was ten years younger this -evening, when he announced to me the regular request made by Gaston." - -"It is scarcely any time since I said to the marquis how much I relied -on my nephew, but I did not know it was so advanced." - -"It is a settled thing," said Mlle. de Rouvray, smiling, for Gaston -and Louise had been constantly observed by the two old friends. - -"My nephew will soon be advanced," said Madame du Castellet, "he will -not lack a future, and moreover, he will not refuse the advantages of -which our good cousin will assure him by marriage contract. The -Mirefont family will soon find themselves in ease." - -"Louise is worthy of this good fortune," said Mademoiselle de Rouvray. - -"When I shall be permitted to tell Eve that her cousin is to marry her -interesting _protégé_, oh! I am sure she will be transported with -joy." - -Eve, at these words, thoroughly understood. Detaching from her -headdress a little branch of flowers, she contemplated it a moment. -Then she regarded Louise and Gaston, seated by each other, wrapped in -their happiness, oblivious of the world around them. - -"How happy they are!" she thought - -The ball was very animated, Albertine, Valerie, and Lucienne had -abandoned themselves to the gaiety of their age, but Clarisse, who -observed with secret envy sometimes Gaston and Louise, sometimes Eve, -pensive, refusing ten invitations,--Clarisse cried out all at once: - -"Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam is ill." - -The musicians stopped playing. Gaston rushed to his cousin. Louise was -the first to take in hers Eve's ice-cold hands; she could not refrain -from pressing them to her lips. - -Eve soon opened her eyes, saw Louise on her knees, Gaston at her side, -smiled on them with angelic sweetness, and addressing herself to the -young girl: - -"You do not know me," she said, "but I wish you to be my friend. You -will come to see me, will you not?" - -The little branch of jasmine which Eve had taken from her own forehead -remained in Louise's hands. Madame du Castellet, aided by her nephew, -carried away Eve de la Tour-d'Adam. - -A few minutes after Louise was conducted home. - -Clarisse Dufresnois did not fail to attribute Eve's fainting to the -desire of appearing interesting; this was at least the version which -she gave to the young ladies Suzanne, Valerie, Lucienne, and -Albertine, but the supposition which she expressed to the Vicomte de -la Perlière, the object of her seventh matrimonial dream, was less -inoffensive. - -{376} - -"Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam," said she, "was taken ill of jealousy -and vexation, on remarking her cousin's attention to Mlle, de -Rouvray's _protégé_." - -She enlarged on this theme with so much wit, that the Vicomte de la -Perlière, a man of sense who did not lack heart, forgot at the end of -the winter to propose to her. The autumn following he asked and -obtained Leonore's hand, which did not prevent Clarisse from being -more witty than ever. - - - -II. - -Eve passed a frightful night, a prey to the delirium of fever; the -doctors, forced to reassure the old marquis and the governess, did not -conceal from Gaston that his cousin's case presented very alarming -symptoms. Gaston was uneasy, Louise shared his fears, but their -betrothal took place notwithstanding; the promise already made by M. -de Mirefont was confirmed in the family, but on account of Eve's -illness Madame du Castellet's absence was excused. - -In the Castle de La Tour-d'Adam reigned a profound sadness. - -Eve had recovered her ordinary calm and serenity, but her weakness and -pallor were extreme; the old marquis was conducted to her room. - -"Eve, my dear child, when I think of all you said to me before going -to the ball, I reproach myself bitterly for having forced you to go." - -"Do not regret it, grandfather, for I am delighted to have seen the -young girl who is going to marry my cousin Gaston. I wish her to be my -best friend." - -"My child," said the marquis again, "is anything lacking that you -wish? Have confidence in me." - -"What can I lack? you refuse me nothing." - -"Doubtless, and for all," suggested the old man, with a real timidity, -"you fear to unveil for me the state of your heart! I hesitate to say -what I think, my dear daughter, but if you have a secret -inclination--" - -Eve shuddered, and lowered her large eyes. - -"Know well, at least, that I shall never be an obstacle to your -happiness; my Eve would not know how to make an unworthy choice." - -The young girl bent her head and remained silent. Mme. du Castellet -observed her sadly. - -"Eve," said she, "you answer nothing?" - -"What can I answer?" murmured the heiress, "I ask myself," she said -with feeling. "My good father," she said again, "words are wanting to -express to you my gratitude and my tenderness." - -"Then from what does she suffer?" the marquis asked himself in -despair. - -As a flower scorched by the sun, Eve languished; the fever -disappeared, but her strength did not return. Her only pleasure was to -put on, one after another, the freshest of her jasmine wreaths. - -The doctors understood nothing of her illness; the most skilful of all -interrogated the governess. - -"I fear that this young girl is struck by a moral hurt; love, when it -is opposed, sometimes presents analogous symptoms." - -"We have been beforehand with your question, doctor; Eve knows that -her choice would be approved; she made no response." - -"Has she pronounced any name in her delirium?" - -"None; she spoke only of the good works which constantly occupied -her." - -Madame du Castellet had found that Eve knew the whole history of -Louise's filial devotion. - -"Madame," replied the physician, "I persist in believing that Mlle, de -La Tour-d'Adam conceals her secret from you. A false shame, without -doubt, restrains her; send for her confessor, and have him, if -possible, oblige her to tell you the truth." - -When the doctor had gone, Madame du Castellet burst into tears. Eve -was given up by science, because they {377} absolutely would have it -that her illness had a mysterious origin. - -The confessor was called, although the governess hoped nothing from -his intervention. An emotion of profound piety was painted on the -features of the man of God when he came out of the invalid's chamber, -but Eve, calm and with pious recollection, was praying with her eyes -raised to heaven. The young girl made no confidence to Mme. du -Castellet, only several hours later-- - -"Cousin," she said, "Mlle. Louise de Mirefont and Gaston are slow in -coming to see me." - -It was not the first time that Eve had expressed the same desire; the -governess ordered the carriage in order to go for Mlle. de Mirefont. - -"Louise, generous Louise," murmured Eve, "I would that my soul could -be blended with yours!" - -Her heart beat violently as she thought of Gaston's happiness; Eve did -not account to herself for her poignant emotion, but she prayed that -God would permit her to live for her noble grandfather. - -"My loss would be too cruel for him," she murmured, weeping. - -Then she interrogated herself with a simple severity: - -"Would I then be culpable for not speaking of that of which I am -myself ignorant?" - -Her conscience responded by a firm resolution not to carry trouble to -the hearts of all those who cherished her. "My duty, I feel, is to -rejoice at the happiness of Gaston and of Louise. Do I deceive myself? -My God! enlighten me, guide me!" - -Eve was kneeling; the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, assisted by his -valet, entered, and in a reproachful tone-- - -"Why do you fatigue yourself thus?" said he; "Eve, I implore thee, be -careful of thy strength, if only out of pity for me." - -Eve arose with difficulty. - -"Forgive me," she said with a sweet smile, "I will not kneel again -until I am cured." - -Then she sat by her grandfather's side. The marquis, frightened at her -mortal pallor, contemplated her with anguish. - -"I saw her father perish in the flower of his age," he thought; "her -mother a few months after died in giving her life; she was an orphan -from her cradle. All my affections are concentrated in her; she has -never given me occasion for the least pain. Alas! I suffer to-day for -all the happiness she has given me." - -"Do not distress yourself, my father," said Eve, who surprised a tear -in the old man's dry eyes; "I have asked of God to let me remain to -console the rest of your days; my prayer has been heard, it will be -granted. Oh, for pity, do not cry more." - -The marquis took her hand and pressed it against his heart. - -"My father," said Eve after several moments of silence, "our cousin -has gone for Gaston and his _fiancée_; my father, I have a request to -make of you." - -"Tell it, tell it," said the old man ardently. - -Eve bent, and said in a trembling voice: - -"They are both of them generous and devoted; both of them have -suffered much: make them rich, I implore you, lest your wealth should -pass into avaricious hands." - -"Oh! my God! you expect, then, to die! Eve, my darling daughter, is -this your secret?" - -"No! I do not wish to die! no! I wish to live for you!" - -"But I am old, very old!" the marquis replied, with hesitation, -"and--after me--" - -"After you whom shall I love?" said Eve in a melodious voice. "Father, -I implore you, make Gaston and Louise's future sure, and you will have -crowned all my wishes." - -Eve had scarcely finished when Mme. du Castellet entered; Louise and -Gaston followed her. The two lovers succeeded in wiping away their -tears, but their emotion was {378} redoubled when they saw themselves -between the young girl and her grandfather. - -"Come to me," said Eve, "come, Louise! Do you not know that I loved -you before I knew you? See, all that surrounds me is your work. What -would I not give to have made, like you, one of these bouquets of -jasmine! - -"Mademoiselle," murmured Louise, "I have known you and have loved you -only for a few days; but my gratitude and my affection for you are -boundless." - -"Place them on Gaston: he is dear to me as a brother; and you, Louise, -call me henceforth your sister." - -She held her one hand, with the other she drew Gaston forward; then, -addressing the marquis: - -"Father," she said, "see them before you; bless them, I pray you." - -The old gentleman, weeping, extended his hands, then with a voice -choked with sobs: - -"Eve, my beloved child! Eve, thou wishest then to die?" - -The young girl blushed slightly, a ray of sunlight which played -through the curtains crowned her with a luminous halo; she had risen, -her ethereal figure mingled with the white flowers which adorned her -room. - -Gaston said in a low voice to Louise: - -"You see plainly, my friend, that she is not of the earth." - -They bent reverently; but Eve extended her arms: Louise found herself -pressed against her heart. - -The marquis, seeing Eve so radiant, renewed his hope: - -"She is saved!" he said to Madame du Castellet. "The presence of these -young lovers has done her good. Have them come often, I pray you. But -I should leave them together. Adieu, my children, adieu!" - -He was carried back to the great hall. However, the governess -trembled; she saw at last the fatal truth. The heiress's great blue -eyes were fixed on hers; the old lady's trouble increased. Eve put her -finger on her lips, and drawing her to one side: - -"Why are you still distressed, my good cousin," she said to her; "do -you not see how happy I am in their happiness?" - -Gaston's aunt retired heart-broken, doubtful of her suppositions, not -daring to hope for the young girl's recovery. - -Eve was seated between the two lovers: - -"I demand a part in your joy, my friends, and I wish that my memory -may always live with you." - -Then she recounted with simplicity the history of her four last years. -The praises which she gave to Louise's filial piety penetrated the -hearts of the two betrothed, who wished to prostrate themselves before -her, her words had so much purity, sweetness, and unction. Louise -reproached herself, as if it were a sacrilege, for the thought of -pride which she had felt at the ball. Gaston was under an indefinable -impression of tenderness and of gratitude. Eve addressed him with -noble and tender encouragement. Eve, with a pious ardor, made wishes -for the felicity of their union; finally, when they were retiring she -divided between them a branch of jasmine. - -"Preserve this," she said, "in memory of me." - -The sacrifice was accomplished. When they had gone, Eve sighed, -prayed, and felt herself weaker. She had expended in this interview -the little strength which remained to her. - -A despairing cry soon resounded through the house where the young -girl's inexhaustible goodness had won all hearts. - -"Mademoiselle is dying! Mademoiselle is going to die!" - -The Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, fulfilling his promise, went to add a -disposition to his will, in case the heiress should not attain her -majority. The pen fell from his hand, the chill of death ran through -his veins: - -{379} - -"Eve! Eve! who will take me to her?" - -But Eve entered the room, for she, on her side, had prayed the -governess to have her conducted there. - -The old man saw on her features the certain mark of death, and death -struck him. He murmured for the last time the name of Eve, then fell -back, cold, in his arm-chair. - -However, Eve lived an entire day after her grandfather. - -Her agony was slow and gentle. She asked for jasmine, her couch was -covered with white flowers, bathed in her tears whose filial love had -made them. - -"May Louise be your daughter," said Eve to Madame du Castellet "Louise -will replace me with you." - -Then, addressing Louise: - -"My sister, make your husband happy. Love the poor and pray with them -for my parents, my grandfather, and myself. God be praised," she -murmured finally, "my father's father has preceded me, I go to join -him. Adieu, Gaston! my brother, adieu!" - -Her voice failed, her heart ceased to beat, heaven counted one angel -more. - -Madame du Castellet, Gaston, and Louise passed the night in prayers by -the two beds of death. Finally, the same hearse conducted to the same -tomb Adam, Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, last of the name, and his -grandchild Eve, the last branch of an illustrious stock. - -A sword which had never been drawn except in a just and holy cause -decorated the aged man's coffin, but that of the child cut down at the -threshold of life was covered with the white flowers which she had so -piously loved. - -To-day the mansion of the Tour-d'Adams is inhabited by M. and Mme. de -Mirefont, Mme. du Castellet, her nephew Gaston, and her niece, Louise. - -A room hung with crowns and wreaths of artificial jasmine serves as -the family oratory. - -No one ever penetrates there except with recollection. - -The servants call it the saints' chamber. - -It is that whence rose toward heaven, as an agreeable perfume to God, -the soul of a maiden dying in all the purity of first innocence; dead -without knowing there existed a forbidden fruit; dead because she -loved with that celestial love which belongs only to the angels in -paradise. - ------- - -From The Month. - -BURY THE DEAD - - -"Give me a grave, that I made bury my dead -out of my sight."--Genesis xxiii. - - - Enwrapt in fair white shroud. - With fragrant flowers strewn. - With loving tears and holy prayers, - And wailing loud, - Shut out the light! - Bury the Dead, bury the Dead, - Out of my sight! - {380} - Corruption's touch will wrong - The sacred Dead too soon; - Then wreath the brow, the eyelids kiss; - Delay not long, - Behold the blight! - Bury the Dead, bury the Dead, - Out of our sight! - - But there are other Dead - That will not buried be, - That walk about in glaring day - With noiseless tread. - And stalk at night; - Unburied Dead, unburied Dead, - Ever in sight. - - Dear friendships snapt in twain. - Sweet confidence betrayed, - Old hopes forsworn, old loves worn out, - Vows pledged in vain. - There is no flight, - Ye living, unrelenting Dead, - Out of your sight. - - Oh! for a grave where I - Might hide my Dead away! - That sacred bond, that holy trust, - How could it die? - Out of my sight! - O mocking Dead, unburied Dead, - Out of my sight! - - O ever-living Dead, - Who cannot buried be; - In our heart's core your name is writ. - What though it bled? - The wound was slight - To eyes that loved no more, in death's - Remorseless night - - O still belovèd Dead, - No grave is found for you; - No friends weep with us o'er your bier. - No prayers are said; - For out of sight - We wail our Dead, our secret Dead, - Alone at night. - - Give me a grave so deep - That they may rest with me; - For they shall lie with my dead heart - In healing sleep; - Till out of night - We shall all pass, O risen Dead, - Into God's sight! - ------- - -{381} - - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -RELIGION IN NEW YORK. - - -The city of New York is supposed to contain about one million of -inhabitants. Of these, from 300,000 to 400,000 are Catholics, probably -60,000 Jews, and from 550,000 to 650,000 Protestants, or -Nothingarians. - -We will first speak of the provision made for the religions -instruction of the non-Catholic majority of our population. - -There are 280 churches of all descriptions, excluding the Catholic -churches. Of these, there are: - - Episcopalian 61 - Presbyterian 56 - Methodist 48 - Baptist 30 - Jewish 25 - Dutch Reformed 20 - Lutheran 9 - Congregational 4 - Universalist 4 - Unitarian 3 - Friends 3 - Miscellaneous 17 - [Footnote 55] - - [Footnote 55: These figures are taken from the last Directory. The - "Walk about New York" gives the number at 318.] - -The number of communicants in Protestant churches is estimated as -64,800. If the churches were all of ample size and equally distributed -through the city, they would suffice tolerably well for the -accommodation of the people, should they be generally disposed to -attend public worship. A large proportion of them, however, are small, -and only 80 churches are situated below First street. The lower and -more populous portion of the city is therefore very destitute of -church accommodation, while the great majority of the churches, -especially the largest and finest, are in the upper part of the town, -among the residences of the more well-to-do classes of the community. -The Protestant population as a whole is, therefore, very poorly -provided with church accommodation. - -A pamphlet, entitled "Startling Facts: a Tract for the Times, by -Philopsukon: Brinkerhoff, 48 Fulton street, 1864," gives a -considerable amount of information on this point. The estimates of -this gentleman are based on a supposed population of 950,000. For the -section of the city below Canal and Grand streets, including the first -seven wards, there are, according to him, 12 churches and 8 mission -chapels, capable of accommodating about 15,000 persons. The population -of this district is 185,000. Twenty Protestant congregations have -within the last twenty-five years abandoned their churches in this -district, and removed to new ones up town. One of the old churches -(St. George's) is retained as a mission chapel, and another, a very -fine one, the Rutgers street Presbyterian church, has been converted -into a Catholic church. These removals have reduced the church -accommodation from 18,000 to 20,000 sittings, while the population has -meanwhile doubled. - -For the section between Canal and Fourteenth streets, including also -seven wards, there are 88 churches for a population of 262,000. -Fourteen churches have been abandoned within ten years. Of these 34 -abandoned churches, 3 have been turned into livery stables, and the -remainder into public offices or stores and factories. - -The upper section, extending to Sixty-first street, includes eight -wards, with a population of 418,000, and has 82 churches. - -{382} - -This gentlemen has counted only what he calls "Evangelical" churches, -in which he estimates the total sittings throughout the whole city at -126,600, but the actual attendance at only 84,400. A "Condensed -Statement" which we have in our bands, estimates the total Protestant -church accommodation at 200,000, and the number of communicants at -64,800. If we allow 150,000 for the ordinary or occasional attendants -at Protestant worship, and 25,000 for the Jewish synagogues, we shall -have then from 375,000 to 475,000 of the non-Catholic population who -attend no place of religious worship or instruction at all. [Footnote -56] The author of the "Startling Facts," who summarily hands over all -except the attendants at "Evangelical" churches to the devil, takes a -very gloomy view of the state of things, and considers that "865,600 -out of the 950,000 pass to the judgment-seat of Christ WITHOUT THE -MEANS OF GRACE;" to be condemned, we are left to infer, because they -did not enjoy those means; while those who did enjoy them and failed -to provide for the wants of the remainder are to be rewarded. - - [Footnote 56: "The Great Metropolis, a Condensed Statement," gives - the Protestant church accommodation at 200,000. "Walks about New - York, by the Secretary of the City Mission," estimates the number of - attendants at "Evangelical churches" at 324,000. Allowing 10,000 - more for other Protestant congregations, and 25,000 for the Jewish - synagogues, this leaves 240,000 as the minimum number of the - non-Catholic population who attend no place of public worship. It - appears to us that it is a large calculation to allow 1,000 - attendants to each church, which would give the total of 280,000 - church-goers, leaving a remainder of 320,000. All the non-Catholic - churches together are capable of accommodating less than 225,000 - persons at one time, leaving 375,000 who have not sufficient - church-room to accommodate them, if all were disposed to attend - regularly. Nevertheless, it does not appear that the majority of the - Protestant churches are over-crowded. The mass of the - non-church-goers are quite apathetic on the subject. They do not - wish to have churches, and probably would not frequent them if they - were built for them free of expense.] - -It must be allowed, however, that he berates them handsomely for their -neglect of duty. He says: - - "Nor is it intended in these few pages to canvass the question as to - the necessity or the expediency, etc., of what is called the - _up-town removal_ of so many of the churches (in all 36), first from - the lower, and now from the central section of the city. All that - can be done is to note the following facts, and leave others to draw - their own inference as to their practical effects. - - "1. In every instance of such church removal, it has originated in - _the change of residence of a few of the wealthier families_ of said - church: this, of course, was followed by a diminution of the means - of support to the said church. Hence the plea of _necessity_ for its - removal; and, making no provision to retain the old church for - _missionary_ purposes, the effect has been to scatter by far the - larger portion both of the church members and of the congregation to - the four winds. For, - - "2. The old church property having been sold, the new location has - been selected with a sole view to the accommodation of these - families of wealth, who left it for an up-town palatial residence, - and a costly church edifice has been erected (often largely beyond - their means) compatible with their tastes. The _result_ of this has - been, - - 3. To place the privileges of the church beyond the reach of the - _mediocre_ and _lower_ classes. And this has led to an _ignoring_ of - that divinely appointed law of God, "_the rich and the poor meet - together, the Lord being the maker of them all_" (Prov. xxiii. 12). - Hence the origin of _caste_ in the churches. _Money_ has been - erected into _the standard of personal respectability_, by which - every man is measured; and hence a courting of the favor of the - rich, and a despising of the poor. - - "Thus the way is prepared _to account for the paucity_ of attendance - at many of these larger and wealthier churches. A consciousness of - _self-respect_ operates largely to deter those who might otherwise - repair to them. They shrink from an encounter, whether right or - wrong, from that _invidiousness_ to which the above principle of the - measurement of personal respectability subjects them; and taking - human nature as it is, it cannot be otherwise. Hence, finding - themselves thus "cut off" from the privileges of the churches, and - that by the act of the churches themselves, {383} they relapse into - a state of absolute "_neglect of the great salvation_." [Footnote 57] - - [Footnote 57: How this is possible in the case of those who have - received the gift of infallible perseverance, it is difficult to see, - unless the "elect" are chiefly found among the _élite_ of society.] - - "And when there is taken into the account _the neglect_ of these - wealthier churches to make provision for the populations in those - sections of the city formerly occupied by them, there is furnished - _an explanation of the vast disparity_ between the number of - churches compared with the immense population as a whole, which - remain unprovided for. - - "True, in order to escape the imputation of neglecting _'the poor of - this world'_ altogether, some of the wealthier churches have - established _missionary Sabbath schools outside_ of their own - congregations. The principal denominations--the Episcopalians, - Methodists, Baptists, Reformed Dutch Church, and Presbyterians, are - also doing something in the way of supporting _missionary chapels - for the poor_; but none of them are making provisions for them in a - manner or to an extent at all commensurate either with their _duty_ - or their _means_. - - "Take, in illustration, a view of the amount of missionary work - being done in this city by the large and wealthy presbytery of New - York. True, the Brick church; the Fifth avenue church, corner - Twenty-first street; the Fifth avenue church, between Eleventh and - Twelfth streets; the Presbyterian church in University place, corner - Tenth street, and perhaps one or two others, each support, - independently of drawing upon the funds raised for domestic - missions, a _mission Sabbath school and chapel_. But out of the - moneys contributed annually by the churches connected with the - presbytery, amounting to from $12,000 to $15,000, there are only - _two regularly organized missionary churches_ connected with that - body. These are the German mission church in Monroe street, comer of - Montgomery, and the African mission church in the Seventh avenue, - each supported at an expense of $600 per annum. Nor are the - ecclesiastical judicatories of other churches doing much better. - - "Is this, then, the way to _'continue in God's goodness?'_ Writing - on this subject, so long ago as 1847, the Rev. Dr. Hodge, the oldest - professor occupying a chair in the Princeton Theological Seminary, - and the learned and able editor of 'The Princeton Review,' had used - his pen in refuting the statement of those in the Presbyterian - Church who affirm that _'we have already more preachers than we know - what to do with,'_ etc.; and having disposed of that matter, he - passes to the subject of the _difference in the mode_ of sustaining - and extending the gospel in and by the Presbyterian Church. In - reference to the _policy_ adopted by said church to this end, he - says: - - "'Our system, which requires the minister to rely for his support - _on the people_ to whom he preaches, has had the following - inevitable results: 1. In our cities _we have no churches to which - the poor can freely go and feel themselves at home_. No doubt, in - many of our city congregations there are places in the galleries in - which the poor may find seats free of charge; but, as a general - thing, _the churches are private property_. They belong to those who - build them, or who purchase or rent the pews after they are built. - They are intended and adapted for the cultivated and thriving - classes of the community. There may be exceptions to this remark, - but we are speaking of a general fact. _The mass of the people in - our cities are excluded from our churches._ The Presbyterian Church - is practically, in such places, _the church for the upper classes_ - (we do not mean the worldly and the fashionable) _of society._" And - to this Dr. Hodge adds, as the _result_ of the working of 'our - system,' the following: - -{384} - - "'_The Presbyterian Church_ IS NOT A CHURCH FOR THE POOR. She has - precluded herself from that high vocation by adopting the principle - _that the support of the minister must be derived from the people to - whom he preaches._ If therefore, the people are too few, too sparse, - too poor, to sustain a minister, or too ignorant or wicked to - appreciate the gospel, THEY MUST GO WITHOUT IT.'" - -Thus far the author of the tract and Dr. Hodge. The statements of the -latter are indorsed by the General Assembly of the Presbyterian -Church. A Baptist clergyman, writing in the "Memorial Papers," a work -which was suppressed after publication, says: "The Church has no -conversions and no hold on the masses. The most successful church -building is that which excludes the poor by necessity." [Footnote -58] - - [Footnote 58: A high price will be paid at this office for a copy - of "The Memorial Papers."] - -We do not cite these statements in order to make a point against -Protestantism from the admissions of its advocates, or to exult over -these admissions. We respect our anonymous friend, and the learned and -accomplished Princeton divine, for their candor, honesty, and zeal for -the religious instruction of the poor. We have nothing in view except -an exposition of the real state of things in New York, and are anxious -to arrive at facts. Allowing for all errors and exaggerations, and -with a perfect willingness to admit everything which can be said to -extenuate the evil, we must admit the palpable, undeniable fact, that -some hundreds of thousands of our population are either unprovided -with the opportunity of attending any form of worship and religious -instruction, or are indifferent to the subject. Sunday is to them a -mere holiday from work (to many not even that), to be spent in -recreation and amusement, if not in something positively bad. - -It appears especially that the lower section of the city has been -almost entirely given up by Protestants. [Footnote 59] There is one -very notable and very honorable exception, however, in Trinity church, -which has always been the best managed ecclesiastical corporation of -all the Protestant religious institutions in our country. - - [Footnote 59: That is, except as a missionary ground.] - -The educational and eleemosynary institutions of New York are on a -colossal scale. We will not go into extensive details on this subject, -as our topic is properly the religion of the city. It is estimated -that there are 144,000 children in New York, of whom 104000 are at -school, [Footnote 60] and 40,000 growing up without instruction. The -poverty, wretchedness, and indifference of parents is more to blame -for the condition of that portion not at school, than the want of -accommodation. - -Hospitals, refuges, asylums of all kinds, abound in the city; as well -as dispensaries where medical assistance and medicine can be obtained -by the poor gratuitously. There is, beside, a gigantic system of -domestic relief and outdoor charity under the direction of the -municipal authorities. The number of individuals relieved in various -ways during the year by these public charities is about 57,000; 30,000 -receive gratuitous medical attendance from the dispensaries. For -education, $1,000,000 a year is expended by the city, and for public -charity, $700,000. The collections made for local purposes of -benevolence are estimated at $500,000, and the other collections made -in Protesant churches at $500,000 more. The ecclesiastical expenses of -maintaining the various churches are estimated at $1,000,000. The -great Protestant societies whose headquarters are in New York, receive -about $2,700,000 annually. $6,000,000 were distributed among the -families of soldiers during the late war. Beside these rough estimates -of the vast sums expended by great public organizations, there is no -counting the amount of individual contributions, often on a large -scale, to colleges, etc., and the sums expended in benevolent works by -private societies or individuals. - - [Footnote 60: This includes also Catholic schools and colleges. The - estimate is too small, however, and another gives 206,000 as the - number going to school.] - -{385} - -There can be no doubt that the people of New York, possessing means, -are a very liberal and philanthropic class. That there is still -remaining a great deal of "evangelical" religious zeal and activity is -also manifest. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the influence of -the old, orthodox Protestant tradition has remarkably diminished, and -that the minority of nominal Protestants have lapsed into a state of -indifference to positive Christianity. We doubt if 25,000 men can be -found in the city who sincerely profess to believe the tenets common -to what are called the "evangelical" churches; and of these but a -small fraction adhere intelligently to the distinctive doctrines of -any one sect; _e.g._, the Protestant Episcopal, or Presbyterian. The -remainder have a general belief in the truth of Protestant -Christianity, more or less vague, with a great disposition to consider -positive doctrines as matters of indifference. Outside the communion -list of the different churches, we believe the general sentiment to -be, among the educated, that Christianity is a very useful, moral -institution, containing substantially all the truth which can be known -respecting ultra-mundane things, but without any final authority over -the reason, and completely subject to the criticism of science. Among -the uneducated, we believe that negative unbelief, and a supine -indifference to everything beside material interests, prevails. We -will not attempt to assign causes or reasons for it; but the fact is -evident. A vast mass of the population is completely outside of the -influence of any religious body, or any class of religious teachers -professing to expound revealed truths concerning God and the future -life. Moreover, the traditional belief in revealed truths is much -weaker in the young and rising generation, even of those brought up -under positive religious instruction, than it is in the present adult -generation. There appears to be no tangible, palpable reason for -thinking that Protestant Christianity, under any form, is in a -condition to revive its former sway; to keep what it retains, or to -recover what it has lost. The mere lack of church accommodation will -not account for this, and if at once this lack were remedied, it would -not change it materially. For, in those places which are furnished -with a superabundance of churches, the same undermining of religious -belief is going on. The fact that the most respectable Protestant -publishers make no scruple of republishing the works of such writers -as Renan and Colenso, and that these books are read with such avidity, -indicates the way the current is setting. - -What the result of all this will be, is a matter for very serious -consideration. Our political, civil, and moral order is founded on -Christianity. The old Christian tradition has been the principle of -the interior life of the nation. Take away positive Christian belief, -and the moral principles which are universally acknowledged are still -only a residuum of the old religion. The spirit of Christianity -survives partly in civilization as its vital principle. How long a -certain political and social order may continue after faith has died -out, we cannot say. We cannot but think, however, that a -disintegrating principle begins to work as soon as religious belief -begins to die out. There is nothing, therefore, more destructive to -the temporal well-being of men, than the spread of sceptical and -infidel principles. Merely from this point of view, therefore, the -decay of religious belief and earnestness ought to be deplored as the -greatest of evils, and one for which no advance in physical science or -material prosperity can compensate. What the moral fruits already -produced by this decay are, and what the prospects are for the future -in this direction, we leave our readers to gather from the perusal of -the secular papers; and it may be estimated from the cry of alarm -which is from time to time forced from them, as new and startling -developments of the progress in vice and criminality are made. - -{386} - -We turn our attention now to the Catholic population of the city, and -the religious institutions under the control of the Catholic Church. - -The Catholic population is variously estimated at from 300,000 to -400,000. As no census has been taken, all estimates must be merely -approximate. One way in which an estimate may be made, is by taking -the returns of the census giving the total population of foreign -birth, and getting the proportion of Catholics to non-Catholics among -the various nationalities. Some probable estimate of the native-born -Catholics must then be made and added to the number of foreign-born. -In 1860 the number of inhabitants of foreign birth was 383,717, out of -a total of 813,669. If we suppose that the foreign-born population has -increased to 460,000, it seems not improbable that the Catholic -proportion of it, with the home-born Catholics added, will reach the -total of 400,000. - -Another basis of calculation is the ratio of baptisms to the whole -population. A register is kept with the utmost exactness in each -parish, and the result transmitted once a year to the chancery, where -it is entered in the diocesan record. We are furnished, therefore, -with an authentic census of births from Catholic parents each year, -and if the exact multiplier could be ascertained by which to multiply -this number, we should reach a certain result. It can only be -conjectured, however, with more or less probability, and varies in -different localities remarkably according to the character of the -population. The baptisms for one year are 18,000. Multiply the number -by 33, as is usually done in making the estimates of the general -census, and you have 594,000. This number is too large, however. If we -take 20, it gives us 360,000; 25, 450,000. We do not profess to come -any nearer than this to an estimate of the actual Catholic population. -The two conjectural calculations, compared with each other, appear to -settle the point that it is, as we have already stated, between -300,000 and 400,000. - -The number of churches is 32, or one to from 10,000 to 12,000 people; -and the number of priests 93, or one to about 4,000 people. In the -lower section, embracing the first seven wards, there are five -churches: St. Peter's in the Third ward, St. James's in the Fourth, -St. Andrew's and Transfiguration in the Sixth, and St. Teresa's in the -Seventh. These churches furnish nearly three times as much -accommodation as the Protestant churches in the same district. It must -be remembered that the capacity of a Catholic church includes standing -room as well as sittings, and must be multiplied by the number of -masses. A church which will hold, when crowded, 2,000 persons, and -where four masses are celebrated, will accommodate 8,000 on one -Sunday; and, considering the causes which keep many from attending -church regularly, 12,000 different individuals who attend regularly or -occasionally. One of these churches, St. Teresa's, is a very fine -building of stone, which was purchased about four years ago from the -Presbyterians, and was called in former times the Rutgers street -Presbyterian church. No Catholic church in the lower part of the city -has ever been closed, or moved up town, with the exception of St. -Vincent de Paul's. - -The middle district has nine churches: St. Alphonsus' in the Eighth -ward (German and English), St. Joseph's in the Ninth, St Bridget's in -the Eleventh, St. Mary's in the Thirteenth, St. Patrick's in the -Fourteenth, St. Ann's in the Fifteenth, Holy Redeemer (German), St. -Nicholas's (German), Nativity, in the Seventeenth. - -Below Fourteenth street we have, therefore, fourteen churches, most of -them very large, surrounded by a dense Catholic population, and -crowded with overflowing congregations. A very large proportion of our -Catholic population is in this part of the city. - -{387} - -Between Fourteenth and Eighty-sixth streets we have fifteen churches: -St. Columba's and St. Vincent de Paul's (French) in the Sixteenth -ward, St. Francis Xavier's and the Immaculate Conception in the -Eighteenth, St. Francis's (German), St. John Baptist's (German), and -St. Michael's in the Twentieth, St. Stephen's and St. Gabriel's in the -Twenty-first, Holy Cross, Assumption (German), and St. Paul's in the -Twenty-second, St. Boniface's, St. John's, and St. Lawrence's in the -Nineteenth. Above Eighty-sixth street we have St. Paul's, Harlem, and -the Annunciation and St. Joseph's (German), Manhattanville. [Footnote -61] - - [Footnote 61: Of these churches, St. Teresa's, Immaculate Conception - St. Michael's, St. Gabriel's, St. Boniface's, Assumption, St. - Paul's, and St. Joseph's (German), are comparatively new; and a very - large cathedral, capable of containing 10,000 persons is building. - St. Stephen's is also being enlarged to a capacity of 5,000, and a - church has been purchased for the Italians.] - -After the old Catholic fashion of jamming and crowding, all these -churches might allow somewhere near 200,000 persons, or two-thirds of -the adult Catholic population, to hear mass on any one Sunday, if they -should all attempt to do so on the same day. Judging by the way -churches are crowded, we would suppose that more than two-thirds -attend occasionally; and of those who do not, the majority neglect it -through poverty, discouragement, indolence, and a careless habit, or -some other reason which does not imply loss of faith. As to -confessions and communions, they flow in a ceaseless stream throughout -the year, as if the paschal time were perpetual. In cachone of our -churches there are from 100 to 500 communions every week, and a much -greater number on the principal festivals. Probably the usual number -of communions in the city, on any Sunday taken at random, is not short -of 5,000. At least 8,000 children receive first communion and -confirmation every year; and from 40,000 to 50,000 are instructed -every week in the catechism, the Sunday schools varying in their -numbers from 500 to 2,500. - -The Catholic population is increasing at the rate of at least 20,000 a -year. New York is now about the fourth city in the world in Catholic -population, and bids fair, in a few years, to rank next to Paris in -this respect. - -The Catholic institutions for education, strictly within the city -limits, are: - -1. Two colleges, St. Francis Xavier's and Manhattan colleges, the -first conducted by Jesuits, and the second by Christian Brothers. - -2. Two academies for boys and twelve for girls. - -3. Twenty-one parochial schools for boys, and twenty for girls, the -whole containing about 14,000 pupils. - -There are other very large and fine establishments in the vicinity of -New York, practically belonging to the city, but not within its -limits. - -There are 4 orphan asylums, a protectory for the reception of vagrant -children in two departments, male and female, which is out of town, -another for servant girls out of place, a very fine industrial school -for girls, 2 hospitals, 4 religious communities of men; and 11 of -women. The most numerous of these religious congregations are the -Jesuits and the Sisters of Charity; the former having in the diocese -39 fathers, beside numerous members of inferior grade, and the latter -333 sisters and 39 different establishments. - -In every sense except as regards municipal government, Brooklyn, which -is on the other side of East River, is a part of New York; and there -we have another diocese of immense proportions, with another great -congeries of Catholic institutions. On the opposite side of the town, -and on the Jersey shore of the Hudson, the churches of Jersey City, -which is remarkably advanced in Catholic institutions, are plainly -visible. - -Our object in this article has been to give a general idea of the -provision made for the religious wants of the mass of the population -in the city of New York. - -{388} - -In spite of the uncertainty of the estimates and statistics we have -given in regard to exact numbers, it is plain that this provision is -very inadequate; that a vast mass of our population is unprovided for -or totally indifferent; that the orthodox Protestant societies have -lost to a great extent their influence over the mass of the -population, and that a great body of practically heathen people has -been gradually forming and accumulating in the very bosom of our -social system. - -Where are we to look for a remedy to this state of things? It is -necessary to our political and social well-being that crime and vice -should be restrained, that the mass of the people should be instructed -and formed in virtue, taught sobriety, chastity, honesty, obedience to -law, fidelity to their obligations, and universal morality. Soldiers, -policemen, prisons, poor-laws, and all extrinsic means of this kind -are insufficient preventives or remedies for the disorders caused by a -prevalence of vice and immorality. They will burst all these bonds, -and disrupt society, if not checked in their principle. Can liberal -Christians, philanthropists, philosophers, political economists, and -our wealthy, well-informed gentlemen of property, who have thrown away -their Bibles, and who sneer at all positive revelation, indicate to us -a remedy? Can they apply it? Is it in their power, by scientific -lectures, by elegant moral discourses, by material improvements, by -societies, by laws, by any means whatever, to tame, control, civilize, -reform, make gentle, virtuous, conscientious, this lawless multitude? -Can they give us incorruptible legislators, faithful magistrates, -honest men of business, a virtuous commonalty? Can they create truth, -honor, and magnanimity, patriotism, chastity, filial obedience, -domestic happiness, integrity? If not, then give them their way, let -their doctrines prevail, throw away faith in a positive revelation, -and they will not be safe in their houses. The rogues will hang the -honest men, and might will be the only right. One of the leaders of -the party has not hesitated to avow that the prevalence of his -principles would necessarily produce a social and moral chaos of -disorder, before mankind could learn in a rational way that their true -happiness lies in intellectual and moral cultivation. What has the -sect of the philosophers ever done yet to produce virtue and morality -in the mass of mankind? What can they do now? They cannot even -reproduce what was good in heathenism, for that was due to an -imperfect and corrupted tradition of the ancient revelation, and the -influence of the sophists tended to destroy even that. Our modern -sophists act on the same principle, and are busily at work to destroy -the Christian tradition of faith, and with it the principle which -vitalizes Christian civilization. - -Can orthodox Protestantism recover its ancient sway, and reproduce a -state of religions belief and moral virtue equal to that which once -prevailed? We would like to have them prove their ability to do so, -and show that they have even made a fair beginning toward recovering -their lost ground. We leave them to do what they can, and to try out -their experiment to the end on the non-Catholic majority of our -population. If their intelligence, wealth, zeal, and prestige of -position were thrown into the defence of the common cause of Christian -revelation by union with the Catholic Church, the victory would be -certain. Unbelief and indifferentism could never make any stand -against a united Christianity, in a population so full of religions -reminiscences and predilections, and so susceptible to persuasive -logic and genuine eloquence, as our own. The Christian cause is -weakened by its divisions, and by the political and social schisms -which are bred by the schisms in religion. Not only those who are -separated from the common trunk of the Catholic Church suffer from the -separation, but the trunk itself suffers and is mutilated by the loss. -{389} The Catholic Church cannot do her work completely where the -majority of those who prefer Christianity are opposed to her, -especially when this majority includes the greater part of the more -elevated classes. - -It is evident, nevertheless, that the Catholic Church in New York has -done a great work in our population, and has a great work to do. We -have much more than one-third of the whole population, and the -majority of the laboring class, and of the poor people, on our hands. -The Catholic clergy alone possess a powerful and extensive religions -sway over the masses of the people. The poor are emphatically here, as -they have been always and everywhere, our inheritance. Nearly all that -has been done, and is now doing, in an efficacious manner and on a -large scale, for the religions welfare of the populace, is the work of -our priesthood and their coadjutors. It is impossible to estimate the -benefit to society in a political, social, and moral point of view, -accruing from the influence and exertions of the Catholic clergy. This -is persistently denied by a certain class of writers, who never do -justice to the Catholic Church except under compulsion. One of them, -writing in one of our principal weeklies, recently qualified the -Catholic Church in the United States, whose growth and progress he -could not ignore, as a mere empty shell without any moral life or -power. He accused the Catholic clergy of not exercising that moral -influence in the country at large which they ought to exercise, and -have exercised in other times and places. - -What a change of base this is! But now, the Catholic religion was a -kind of embodied spirit of evil, and her ministers had to vindicate -their title to the rank of men and Christians. Religion, morality, -liberty, happiness, would be swept from the country if they were not -exterminated! Now, forsooth, we are gravely asked why we do not exert -a greater influence for promoting the general well-being of the -country? The truth is, that the influence of the Catholic clergy on -the people at large has until now been a cipher. They have had no -recognized position, and have been counted for nothing, except so far -as certain individuals have commanded a personal respect. There is, -moreover, a great amount of sham and trumpet-blowing about the great -moral demonstrations of the day. The Catholic clergy have not chosen -to meddle with questions which were none of their business, or to -parade and speechify on platforms or at anniversaries. They have -enough to do in looking after the immediate and pressing spiritual and -temporal wants of their own people. And in doing this they prevent and -reform more vice, produce more solid morality, and work more -effectually for the well-being of their fellow-men, than could be done -by the best devised philanthropic schemes. One mission in a city -congregation, one paschal-time with its labor in the confessional, -will do more to uproot drunkenness, dishonesty, and licentiousness, or -to hinder these upas-trees from striking root in virgin soil, than our -amateur philanthropists could _describe_ if they were all to write and -lecture on the subject for a year. - -The one great, palpable fact which confronts us on every side is, that -the religious and moral education of nearly one-half our population is -in the hands of the Catholic Church, and that the well-being of our -commonwealth depends, therefore, to a great degree on the thorough -fulfilment of this task. It is evident that we have enough to do in -making provision for our vast and increasing Catholic population, to -employ all the energies and resources which can possibly be brought -into play, both by the clergy and the laity. - ------- - -{390} - - -Translated from Le Correspondant - -A PRETENDED DERVISH IN TURKESTAN. - -BY ÉMILE JONVEAUX. - - -IV. - -The next day the hadjis assembled in the court of the monastery in -which they had resided since arriving in Khiva. The caravan, thanks to -the generosity of the faithful, presented a very different appearance -from that which it offered at its arrival. They were no more those -ragged beggars, covered with sand and dust, whose pious sufferings the -multitude had admired; every pilgrim had the head enveloped in a thick -turban as white as snow, the haversacks were full, and even the -poorest had a little ass for the journey. - -"It was Monday, toward the close of the day," relates our traveller, -"that making an end of our benedictions, and tearing ourselves with -difficulty from the passionate embraces of the crowd, we left Khiva by -the gate Urgendi. Many devotees in the excess of their seal followed -us more than a league; they shed many tears, and cried despairingly, -'When will our city have the happiness again to shelter so many -saints?' Seated upon my donkey, I was overwhelmed with their too -lively demonstrations of sympathy, when happily for me, the animal, -fatigued by so many embraces, lost patience and started off at a grand -gallop. I did not think it proper at first to moderate his ardor; only -when at a considerable distance from my inconvenient admirers I -endeavored to slacken somewhat his pace. But my long-eared hippogriff -had taken a fancy to the course; my opposition only vexed him, and he -testified his ill-humor in noisy complaints which displayed the extent -and richness of his voice, but which I could have preferred to hear at -a distance." - -The travellers, after a day's march, encamped on the bank of the Oxus, -which they wished to cross at this point. The river, swollen by the -melting of the snows, becomes so wide in the spring that one can -hardly see the opposite bank. The yellow waves, hurried rapidly along, -contrast with the verdure of the trees and cultivated lands which -extend as far as eye can reach. Toward the north, a -mountain--Oveis-Karaine--is defined like an immense cloud upon the -azure sky. The passage of the Oxus, begun in the morning, lasted till -sunset. It would not have required so long a time, but the current -carried the voyagers into the midst of little arms from which it was -necessary afterward to ascend or re-descend, and this accident -occurred every few paces. The transportation of the donkeys, which it -was necessary now to put upon land, and again to gather into the -boats, was, as one may imagine, a prodigious labor. "We were reduced," -says our traveller, "to carry them in our arms like so many babies, -and I laugh yet when I think of the singular figure of one of our -companions, named Hadji Yakaub. He had taken his _monture_ upon his -back, and while he tenderly pressed the legs to his bosom, the poor -animal, all trembling, tried to hide his head upon the shoulder of the -pilgrim." - -{391} - -The caravan followed the banks of the Oxus for many days, or rather -during many nights, for the heat was so great that it was impossible -to travel until sunset. The pale light of the moon gave to the -landscape something fantastic; the long file of camels and travellers -extended itself in tortuous folds upon the flinty soil, the waters of -the river flowing slowly with a mournful noise, and beyond extended -afar the formidable desert of Tartary. This district, which bears the -name of Toyeboyun (camel's back), no doubt on account of the curves -described by the Oxus, is inhabited at certain seasons of the year by -the Kirghiz, a nomad people among the nomads. A woman to whom Vambéry -made some remarks on the subject of this vagabond existence, replied -laughing, "Oh, certainly! one never sees us, like you other mollahs, -remain days and weeks sitting in the same place; man is made for -movement. See! the sun, the moon, the stars, the animals, the fish, -the birds, everything moves in this world; only death remains -motionless." As she finished these words, the cry was heard, "The -wolf! the wolf!" The shepherdess cut short her philosophical -dissertation to fly to the assistance of her flock, and made so good a -use of voice and gesture, that the ferocious beast took flight, -carrying with him only the beautiful fat tail of one of the sheep. - -The Kirghiz are very numerous in central Asia; they inhabit the -immense prairies situated between Siberia, China, Turkestan, and the -Caspian sea; but it is difficult to compute their number. Ask them a -question on this subject, and they will reply emphatically, "Count -first the sands of the desert, then you will be able to number the -Kirghiz." Their wandering habits have secured them against all -authority, and Europeans are in an error when they believe them to be -subject to the government of Russia or that of the Celestial Empire. -None of these nations have ever exercised the least power over the -Kirghiz; they send, it is true, officers charged to left taxes among -them, but the nomads regard these functionaries as the chiefs of a -vast foray, and they only admire how, instead of despoiling them of -everything, they content themselves with levying upon them only a -slight tax. Revolutions have often changed the face of the world, the -inhabitants of the desert have remained the same for thousands of -years; singular types of savage virtue and vice, they offer today a -faithful image of the ancient Turani. - -The pilgrims were anticipating with delight the end of their journey; -only six or eight stages remained, when one morning at break of day, -two men almost naked approached the caravan, crying in suppliant -tones: "A morsel of bread, for the love of God!" Every one hastened to -assist them, and when food had somewhat restored their strength, they -informed the dervishes that, surprised by a band of Cossacks, _ataman -Tekke_, they had lost baggage, clothes, provisions, and were only too -happy not to have lost their lives. The brigands, one hundred and -fifty in number, were planning a raid upon the troops of Kirghiz -camped upon the banks of the Oxus: "Fly, then, or hide yourselves," -added the men, "or else you will meet them in a few hours, and in -spite of your sacred character, these bandits without faith or law -will abandon you in the Khalata, after robbing you of all you -possess." The kervanbashi, who had already been pillaged twice, no -sooner heard the words Tekke and ataman than he gave the order to beat -a retreat. Consequently after having rested the animals a short time -and filled their bottles, the hadjis, casting a look of inexpressible -regret upon the tranquil banks of the Oxus, made their way toward -those frightful solitudes which had already swallowed up so many -caravans. They advanced in perfect silence, not to arouse their -enemies; the step of the camels upon the dusty soil returned no sound, -and very soon the shades of night enveloped them. - -{392} - -Toward midnight all the pilgrims were obliged to dismount and walk, -because the animals buried themselves to the knees in the sand. It was -a severe trial for Vambéry; his infirmity doubled the fatigue of a -tramp over a moving ground, in the midst of a continuous chain of -little hills, therefore he hailed with joy the point designated for -the morning station. The place, however, bore a name little calculated -to inspire confidence. _Adamkyrylgan_ (the place where men perish) -justified in appearance its sinister appellation. As far as the eye -could reach, extended only a sea of sand, which, on one side raising -itself in hills like furious waves, still bore the visible imprint of -the tempest, and on the other resembled a tranquil lake hardly ruffled -by a light breeze. Not a bird traversed the air, not an animal, not an -insect gave an appearance of life to this desolate spot. Far and near -were seen only the blanched bones of men and camels, frightful -witnesses of the disasters caused by the _Tebbad_ or fever-wind, which -from time to time poured upon the desert its burning breath. - -The travellers were not pursued; the Tekkes themselves, bold -cavaliers, hesitated to penetrate the Khalata. According to the -calculation of the kervanbashi, six days' journey at most separated -the caravan from Bokhara; the bottles being well filled, the pilgrims -hoped they should not suffer from thirst; they had not counted upon -the burning sun of the dog-days, which evaporated the precious liquid. -In vain, to escape from this cursed region, they endeavored to double -the hours of march; many camel died of fatigue, and the water -diminished all the more rapidly. At last two hadjis, exhausted by -privations, became so ill that it was necessary to bind them upon -their donkeys with cords, for they were unable to hold themselves up. -"Water! Water!" they murmured in dying accents. Alas, their best -friends refused to sacrifice for them the least swallow of this -liquid, each drop of which represented an hour of life; so, on the -fourth day, when the pilgrims reached Medemin Bulag, one of these -unhappy men was released by death from the cruel tortures of thirst. -His palate had assumed a grayish tint, his tongue had become black, -the lips like parchment and the open mouth displaying the naked teeth. -Horrible to relate, the father hides from the son, brother from -brother, the provision of water which would relieve his torture! Under -any other proof, these men would, perhaps, have shown themselves -generous and devoted, but thirst drives from the heart every sentiment -of compassion. - -Vambéry soon experienced himself its terrible effects. He managed with -the parsimony of a miser the contents of his bottle, until he -perceived with fright a black point formed upon the middle of his -tongue. Then, blinking to save his life, he swallowed at once half the -water which he had left. The fire which devoured him became more -violent toward the morning of the fifth day, the pains in the head -increased, and he felt his strength failing him. Meanwhile, they -approached the mountains of Khalata, the sand became less deep, all -eyes eagerly sought the tracks of a flock, or the hut of a shepherd; -in this instant the kervanbashi called the attention of the pilgrims -to a cloud of dust which rose at the horizon, warning them to lose not -a moment in dismounting from their camels. - -"The poor animals," relates Vambéry, "felt the approach of the Tebbad. -Uttering a doleful cry, they threw themselves upon their knees, -extended their long necks upon the ground, and endeavored to hide -their heads in the sand. We sheltered ourselves near them as behind a -wall; hardly were we upon the ground when the tempest broke over us -with a sullen roar, leaving us the moment after, covered with a thick -coat of dust. When this rain of sand enveloped me, it seemed to me -burning like fire. If we had been attacked by this tempest two days -before in the midst of the desert, we must all have perished. - -{393} - -"The air had become of an overwhelming weight; I could not have -remounted my camel without the aid of my companions; I suffered -intolerable pains, of which no words can give the least idea. In face -of other perils, courage had now left me, but in this moment I felt -broken down, my head ached so that I could not think, and a heavy -sleep overcame me. On awaking, I found myself lying in a hut of clay, -surrounded by long-bearded men whom I recognized as Iranians." - -They were, in fact, Persian slaves sent into the desert to watch the -flocks of their master; these brave fellows made Vambéry swallow a -warm drink, and, soon after, a beverage composed of sour milk, water, -and salt, which soon restored his strength. Before quitting the -Sunnite pilgrims, in whom they must have recognized the bitterest -enemies of their race, the poor prisoners shared with them their -slender provision of water, an act of meritorious charity which -without doubt was regarded with complacency by the God of mercy who is -the Father of all. - -The caravan at last reached Bokhara, the most important city of -central Asia, but which preserves to-day few traces of its ancient -grandeur. Still, it possesses fine monasteries and colleges which -rival those of Samarcand. These schools, founded at a great expense -and sustained by great sacrifices, have given Europeans a high idea of -Asiatic learning; but it must be remembered, they are controlled by a -blind fanaticism. The exclusive spirit of the Bokhariots restricts -singularly the circle of studies, all instruction turning upon the -precepts of the Koran and religious casuistry. We do not find to-day a -single disciple who occupies himself with history or poetry; if any -one were tempted to do it, he would be obliged to conceal it, for -attention given to subjects so frivolous would be considered a proof -of weakness of mind. - -Vambéry and his companions found asylum in a _Tekki_ or convent, a -vast square building, of which the forty cells opened upon a court -planted with fine trees. The _Khalfa_, or "reverend abbot," as our -Hungarian traveller calls him, was a man of agreeable exterior and -gentle and published manners. He received Vambéry most graciously, and -the two interlocutors opened a pompous, subtle conversation, full of -reticence and mental reserves, which charmed the good Khalfa and gave -him also the highest opinion of his new guest; so from his arrival in -Bokhara, our traveller acquired a great reputation for learning and -sanctity. - -The next day, accompanied by Hadji Bilal, he went out to see the city. -The streets and houses of this noble city are chiefly remarkable for -their slovenly appearance and ruinous condition. After having crossed -the public squares, where they went up to the ankles in a blackish -dust, the two friends arrived at the bazaar which was filled with a -noisy and busy crowd. These establishments by no means equal those of -Persia in extent and magnificence, but the mingling of races, of -costumes and habits, forms a bizarre spectacle which captivates the -eye of a stranger. Persians, their heads wrapped in their large blue -or white turbans, according to the class to which they belong, jostle -the savage Tartar, the Kirghiz with his slouching gait, the Indian -with his yellow and repulsive face, bearing upon the forehead the red -brand, and, finally, the Jew, who preserves here, more than anywhere -else, his distinctive type, his noble features, his deep-sunk eyes, -where an astute intelligence glitters. Here and there we meet also a -Turcoman, easily recognized by his proud mien and bold glance; -motionless before the shops of the merchants, they think perhaps of -the precious booty which the riches displayed before them will furnish -for their forays. - -The pilgrims received everywhere marks of enthusiastic sympathy; the -foreign appearance of Vambéry excited particular admiration. "What -{394} faith he must have," said one, "to come from Constantinople to -Bokhara, and endure the fatigue of a journey through the great -Desert, in order to meditate at the tomb of Baveddin!" [Footnote 62] -"Without doubt," replied another, "but we also go to Mecca, the holy -city by eminence, and in order to accomplish this pilgrimage we leave -our business, and endure, I should think, quite enough fatigue. These -people," and he pointed his finger at Vambéry, "have no business to -occupy them; their whole life is consecrated to exercises of piety and -to visiting the tombs of the saints."--"Bravo, very well imagined!" -thought our traveller, while he cast glances which he tried to render -indifferent, upon the display of Russian and other European goods -exposed for sale; he often had great difficulty in repressing an -imprudent emotion when he saw articles of merchandise bearing the -stamp of Manchester or Birmingham. Quickly turning his head for fear -of betraying himself, he fixed his attention upon the products of the -soil and of native industry, examined a fine cotton fabric called -_Aladja_, where two colors alternate in narrow stripes, silken stuffs, -rich and various, from the elegant handkerchief as thin as the -lightest gauze, to the heavy _atres_, which falls in large luxurious -folds. Leathers play an important part in Bokharist manufactures, the -shoemakers of the country make of them long boots for both sexes; but -the shops towards which the people pressed most eagerly were those of -the clothes-merchant, where ready-made garments strike the eye by -their dazzling colors, for Bokhara is the Paris of central Asia, -regarded by the Turcomen as the centre of elegance. - - [Footnote 62: An ascetic celebrated throughout Islam, founder of the - order of the Nakishbendi, to which the Hungarian traveller pretended - to belong.] - -When he had sufficiently contemplated this curious tableau, Vambéry -asked Hadji Bilal to take him to a place where he might rest and -refresh himself; and the two friends went together to a place called -_Lebi Hanz Divanbeghi_(quay of the reservoir of Divanbeghi), where all -the fashionables of the city collect. In the middle of the square is -a reservoir one hundred feet deep and eighty wide, bordered with cubic -stones forming a stair of eight steps to the water's edge. All around -magnificent elms shade the inevitable tea-shop, and the colossal -_samovar_, not less inevitable, invites every passer-by to take a cup -of the boiling liquid. On three sides of the square, little stalls, -sheltered by bamboo matting, display to the eye bread, fruits, -confectionery, hot and cold meats. The fourth side takes the form of a -terrace, and close by rises the mosque _Mesdjidi Divanbeghi_, Before -the doors are planted a number of trees, under which the dervishes and -_meddah_ (popular orators) recount to the wondering crowd, the -exploits of heroes, or the holy deeds of the prophets. Just as Vambéry -arrived, the Nakishbendis crossed the square, making their daily -procession. "Never shall I forget," says our traveller, "the -impression which these wild enthusiasts made upon me: their heads -covered with pointed hats, with flowing hair, and long staves in their -hands, they danced a round like the orgies of witches, yelling sacred -songs, of which their chief, an old man with a gray beard, intoned -alone the first strophe." - -The secret inquisition established in Bokhara began very soon to annoy -Vambéry in spite of his reputation for sanctity. Spies sent by the -government came almost every day, upon one pretext or another, to open -with the stranger conversations which always turned upon Europeans, -their diabolical artifices, and the chastisements which had punished -the audacity of many of them. They hoped that some imprudent word -would drop to justify their suspicions, but the European was too much -on his guard to be caught; he listened at first with patience, and -then affecting an air of contemptuous indifference, "I left -Constantinople," said he, "to get away from these {395} cursed -Europeans, who, no doubt, owe their arts and sciences to the demon. -Now, Allah be praised! I am in Bokhara, and I don't want to be -troubled with thinking about them." - -The emir was then absent; the minister who directed the inquest, -seeing that his emissaries were completely foiled, resolved to make -the stranger appear before a tribunal composed of onlemas, where his -orthodoxy would be scrupulously examined. He had, in fact, to sustain -a running fire of embarrassing questions which would be sure some day -to pierce his incognito. Fortunately, he perceived the snare in time, -and changing his character, took himself the part of questioner. Urged -by a pious zeal, he consulted the learned doctors on the most minute -cases of conscience, wished to know the differences, often -imperceptible, between the _Farz_ and the _Sunnet_, precepts of -obligation, and the _Tadjib_ and the _Mustahab_, simple religious -counsels. This artifice had complete success; many an obscure text -furnished material for an animated discussion, in which Vambéry never -lost an occasion of making a pompous eulogium of the Bokharist -oulemas, and loudly proclaiming their superiority. Then the judges, -gained to his cause, told the minister that he had committed a grave -mistake. Hadji Reschid was a very distinguished mollah, well prepared -to receive the divine inspiration, precious heritage of the saints. - -Vambéry, free henceforth from all fear, could study at leisure the -character and aptitudes of the people of Bokhara. This city, which is, -according to him, the Home of Islam, since Mecca and Medina represent -Jerusalem, is not a little proud of its religious supremacy. Though it -recognizes the spiritual authority of the Sultan, it does not, like -Khiva, blindly submit to it, and it hardly pardons the emperor for -permitting himself to be corrupted by the detestable influence of -Europeans. Our traveller, in his supposed quality of Turk, was -frequently obliged to defend Constantinople from the reproaches -addressed to him: "Why," demanded, for example, the fervent -Bokharists,--"why does not the sultan put to death all the Europeans -who live in his states? why does he not ordain every year a holy war -against the unbelievers?" Or again: "Why do not the Turks wear the -turban and the long robe which the law prescribes? Is not this a -frightful sin? and also, why have they not the long beard and short -moustache which the Prophet wore?" - -The emir Mozaffar ed Din watches carefully over the maintenance of the -sacred doctrines. Every city has its _Reïs_ or guardian of religion, -who, whip in hand, runs through the streets and public squares, -interrogating every one he meets upon the precepts of Islam. Woe to -the unhappy passenger taken in the flagrant crime of ignorance: if it -were a gray-headed old man he is also, all business ceasing, sent for -a fortnight to the benches of the school. A discipline equally -rigorous, obliges every one to go to the mosques at the hour of -prayer. Finally, the espionage of the Reïs does not stop at the -threshold of the private dwelling, and in the privacy of his family a -Bokharist takes care not to omit the least rite, or even to pronounce -the name of the emir without adding the sacramental formula, "May -Allah give him a hundred and twenty years of life!" It needs not to -say that all joy and gaiety are banished from social life, except the -momentary animation of the bazaar. Bokhara presents a sad and -monotonous aspect. During the day, every one fears perpetually to find -himself in the presence of a spy; in the evening, two hours after -sunset, the streets are deserted; no one ventures to visit a friend, -the sick may perish for want of help, for Mozaffar ed Din forbids any -one to go out under the most severe penalties. - -Nevertheless, this prince is generally beloved by his subjects: he is -strictly faithful to the policy of his predecessors, but they cannot -reproach {396} him with any crime, or arbitrary or cruel act. A pious -and instructed Mussulman, he has taken for device the word "justice," -and he conforms himself to it scrupulously. This Bokharist justice -might appear a little summary to Europeans, and the war against -Khokand, is not, as we shall see by-and-bye, just in the full -acceptation of the word, yet a prince of central Asia, educated in the -bosom of the most fiery fanaticism, must be judged with some -indulgence. It must be said in his praise, that if he is sometimes -lavish of the blood of his nobles, he spares at least that of the -poorer class, so that his people have surnamed him "the destroyer of -elephants, and the protector of, mice." - -A declared enemy of all innovation, the emir applies himself -especially to maintain the austere manners of the ancient Bokhara. The -importation of articles of luxury is forbidden, very rigorous -sumptuary laws regulate not only dress, but even the structure and -furniture of the dwellings. Mozaffar ed Din gives the first example of -the contempt of all luxury; he has reduced by half the number of his -servants; and one vainly seeks in his palace the least appearance of -princely pomp. The same simplicity resigns in the harem, the oversight -of which is intrusted to the mother and grandmother of the sovereign; -the wise direction of these two princesses merits for this sanctuary a -high reputation for chastity. Its doors, carefully closed to laics, -open only to the mollahs, whose sacred breathings bring with them only -happiness and piety. The sultanas, four in number, are accustomed to -the exercise of domestic virtues; their table is frugal, their dress -modest; they make their own garments and sometimes those of the emir, -who exercises over all expenses a minute control. - -Before quitting Bokhara, Vambéry wished to visit the tomb of Baveddin, -the supposed end of his long pilgrimage. - -This saint, the patron of Turkestan, is the object of profound -veneration throughout all Asia. They regard him as a second Mohammed; -and even from the heart of China, the faithful come in crowds to kiss -his relics. The sepulchre is in a little garden, near which they have -built a mosque; troops of blind, lame or paralytic beggars completely -obstruct the approach. In front of the mausoleum is found the famous -_Stone of Desire_, which has been much worn by the contact of the -foreheads of pilgrims; on the tomb are placed rams' horns, a banner, -and a broom sanctified by a long service in the temple of Mecca. Many -times they have tried to cover all with a dome, but Baveddin prefers -the open air, and always after three nights the buildings are thrown -down. At least such is the legend, related by the sheiks, descendants -of the saint. - - - -V. - -The two companions of Vambéry, Hadji Salih and Hadji Bilal, were -impatient to quit Bokhara in order to reach before winter the distant -province where they lived. Our traveller proposed to accompany them to -Samarcand; he wished to see this celebrated city, and anticipating an -interview with the emir, he wished to secure for himself the support -of the pilgrims. The day of departure the caravan was already much -reduced, being contained entirely in two carts. The European, -sheltered from the sun by a hanging of mats, expected to repose -comfortably in his rustic carriage, but this illusion was soon broken. -The violent jolting of the vehicle threw the pilgrims every instant -here and there, now against each other, now against the heavy -wagon-frame; their heads were beaten about like billiard-balls. "For -the first few hours," adds Vambéry, "I was literally sea-sick; I -suffered much more than when mounted upon the camel, the swaying of -which, {397} resembling the rolling of a ship, I had dreaded very -much." - -The travellers followed, at first a monotonous road; short, stinted -pastures extended everywhere to the horizon, but nothing justified the -marvellous stories of the inhabitants of the charming villages and -enchanted gardens which lie between Bokhara and Samarcand. The caravan -crossed the little desert of _Chol Melik_, and reached the next day -the district of Kermineh; there the landscape suddenly changes, -beautiful hamlets, grouped near each other, offer to the eye their -inns, before which the gigantic _samovar_ makes the traveller dream of -solace and comfort; their farms, surrounded by rich harvests, by -prairies where magnificent cattle feed, and by farm-yards sheltering -their feathered population. Everything breathed life and abundance, -and Vambéry could not contemplate without emotion this smiling -picture, which recalled his fertile Germany. - -After a journey of five days the hadjis arrived within sight of -Samarcand. Thanks to the remembrances of the past, and the distance -which separates it from Europe, the ancient capital of Timour excites -a lively curiosity. We will permit the Hungarian traveller to -describe, himself, this famous city. - -"Let the reader," says he, "take a seat beside me in my modest -carriage. He will perceive toward the east a high mountain, the -cupola-like summit of which is crowned by a small edifice; there -reposes Chobanata, the venerated patron of shepherds. Below extends -the city. Its circumference nearly equals that of Teheran, but it must -be much less populous, for the houses are much more scattered; on the -other hand its ruins and public monuments give it an air more grand -and imposing. The eye is first attracted by four lofty dome-like -buildings, which are the _midresses_ or colleges. Further on we -perceive a small, guttering dome, then toward the south another, -larger and more majestic; the first is the tomb, the second the mosque -of Timour. Just in front of us, at the extreme southwest of the city, -rises on a hill the citadel (_Ark_), itself surrounded by temples and -sepulchres, which define themselves against the blue sky. If now we -imagine all this intermingled with gardens of the most luxuriant -vegetation, we shall have an idea of Samarcand. A feeble and imperfect -idea, it is true, for the Persian proverb justly says 'It is one thing -to see and another to hear.' - -"Alas! why must we add that in entering this city all this prestige -vanishes, and gives place to a bitter disappointment? We were obliged -to cross the cemetery before reaching the inhabited quarters, and in -spite of myself, this line of a Persian poet, which to-day seems -tinged with a cruel irony, came to my mind? - - "Samarcand is the sun of the world." - -The same evening Vambéry and his companions were received in a house -very near the tomb of Timour. Our traveller was delighted to learn -that his host filled important functions near the Emir. The return of -this prince, who had just finished a victorious campaign in Khokand, -being expected very soon, Hadji Salih and Haji Bilal consented, out of -regard to their friend, to prolong their stay in Samarcand until -Vambéry had obtained an audience of Mozaffar ed Din, and found a -caravan with which he might return to Persia. While waiting the -pilgrims visited the ancient monuments of the city, which, in spite of -its miserable appearance, is the richest city in Central Asia in -historical remembrances. The plan of this sketch does not permit us to -follow the author in the details which he gives of these remarkable -buildings. We only cite. - -1. The summer palace of Timour, which preserves, even to-day, some -vestiges of its ancient magnificence. The apartment, to which we -ascend by a marble staircase of forty steps, {398} contains rich mural -paintings, made with colored bricks, and the pavement, entirely of -mosaic, preserves the freshness and brilliancy of the first day. - -2. The citadel, where we admire in a vast apartment called "Timour's -audience-hall," the celebrated _Köktash_ (green stone) upon which was -placed the throne of the famous conqueror. - -3. The tomb of Timour, surmounted by a very beautiful stone of deep -green, two spans and a half wide, ten long, and of the thickness of -six fingers. Not far from this a black stone shades the sepulchre of -_Mir Seid Berke_, the spiritual director of the emir, near whom the -powerful monarch wished to be buried. In the vaults of this mausoleum -is preserved a copy of the Koran written upon gazelle skin, by the -hand of Osman, the secretary and successor of Mohammed. - -4. The _Midusses_, of which many, entirely abandoned, are falling into -ruin; others, yet flourishing, are maintained with care. The most -remarkable is that of Tillakair, so called from its golden ornaments. - -The new city is much smaller than the ancient capital of Timour; it -has six gates, and several bazaars where they sell at a very low price -manufactured articles, confessedly of European workmanship. Vambéry, -without thinking, like the Tartars, that "Samarcand resembles -Paradise," still found it quite superior to other Turcoman cities, by -the beauty of its situation, the splendor of its monuments, and the -richness of its vegetation. - -Meanwhile, days passed and the emir did not arrive, the caravan which -was to take Vambéry back prepared to start, when the conqueror of -Khokand at last made his triumphant entry. Mozaffar ed Din, following -the unscrupulous policy adopted in the east, had organized a vast -conspiracy against the sovereign of the rival khanat; then hired -assassins, by his orders, delivered him from his enemies; and -profiting by the confusion thus caused, Mozaffar succeeded in making -himself master of the capital. At this news Samarcand burst into -transports of joy, the people considered Mozaffar as a new Timour, who -was about to reduce successively under his dominion, China, Persia, -Afghanistan, India, and Europe; in their warlike ardor the Turcomen -saw already the world divided between their prince and the Sultan of -Constantinople. Nor must we be so much surprised that the taking of -Khokand had so greatly excited them; this city, four times as large, -they say, as Teheran, is the capital of a powerful khanat, which has -for a long time remained in a state of perpetual hostility to the -Bokharists. But one foresees that the Russian government will soon -establish peace between these two enemies, in assuming the part of the -judge in the fable. It slowly pursues its end, sows division, and -already its bayonets have subjected Tashkend, the most western city of -Khokand, and equally important in a commercial and military point of -view. - -At the period when Vambéry visited Samarcand, the intoxication of the -victory obtained by the emir dispelled all gloom; the Europeans and -their encroachments were forgotten in the noisy rejoicings. The happy -return of Mozaffar ed Din was celebrated by a national festival, in -which rice, mutton, tallow, and tea were distributed to the people -with royal prodigality; the next day, the emir having granted his -subjects a public audience, our traveller seized the occasion to be -presented. Accompanied by his friends the pilgrims, he was preparing -to enter the palace, when a Mehrem stopped him, saying that his -Majesty desired to see the hadji of Constantinople alone. "We were -extremely alarmed," relates Vambéry; "this distinction seemed to us an -ill omen. Nevertheless, I followed the officer with a firm step. He -introduced me into a spacious hall, where I perceived the emir seated -upon an ottoman, and surrounded with books and manuscripts of all -sorts. I did not suffer myself to be intimidated by the cold and -severe air of the {399} prince, and after having recited a short -_sura_, followed by the habitual prayer for the sovereign, I seated -myself without asking permission near the royal person. He did not -appear offended, for my character of dervish authorized this conduct, -but he fixed upon me his great black eyes with a suspicious and -interrogatory air, as if he would read to the bottom of my soul. -Fortunately, for a long time I have lost the habit of blushing, -therefore I sustained this scrutiny with coolness. - -"Hadji," at last the emir said to me, "you have come from Turkey, I -understand, to visit the tombs of Baveddin and the saints of -Turkestan?" - -"'Yes, Takhsir' (Your Majesty), but I wished also to refresh myself -with the sight of your divine beauty.' - -"'It is very strange! how, have you no other motive for undertaking so -long a journey?' - -"'No, Takhsir; I have always had an ardent desire to behold the noble -Bokhara, the enchanting Samarcand, the sacred soil of which, according -to the remark of the sheikh Djilal, ought to be trodden with the head -rather than with the feet. I have beside no other business in this -world, and for a long time I have wandered about like a pilgrim of the -universe.' - -"A pilgrim of the universe! you, with your lame leg!' - -"'Remember, Takhsir, that your glorious ancestor Timour, [Footnote -63] peace be with him, had the same infirmity, which did not hinder -him from being the conqueror of the universe.' - - [Footnote 63: This prince, from whom the emirs of Bokhara pretend to - descend, was lame, from whence came the surname of Timonr-leuk, or - Timour the lame, of which we make Tamerlan (Fr.), Tamerlane (Eng.) ] - -"These words charmed the emir; he addressed to me various questions -relating to my journey, asking the impression which Bokhara and -Samarcand had made upon me. My answers, all wrapped in Persian -sentences and verses of the Koran, gained the confidence of the -prince. Before dismissing me, he gave an order to remit to me a -complete suit of clothes, and to count me out thirty tenghes." - -Vambéry, much elated, hastened to inform his friends of the result of -the interview; they advised him not to count too surely on the royal -protection, and not to defer his departure. It cost him much to quit -these good dervishes, generous and devoted hearts, the faithful -companions of his hours of suffering. The bold explorer, the witty and -sarcastic writer, full of pungent humor, here finds words which -indicate deep feeling "I cannot describe," says he, "the emotion with -which we parted. For six months, we had lived the same life, shared -the same perils; perils in the midst of the burning sands of the -desert, perils from the savage Turcomen, perils from the inclemency of -nature and the elements. Differences of age, of position, of -nationality, had disappeared; we were members of one family. Now we -were to separate, never to meet again; death could not have parted us -more widely, nor left in our souls a deeper grief. My heart -overflowed, and I sobbed aloud, when I thought that even in this -supreme hour, I could not confide to these men, my best, my dearest -friends, the secret of my disguise. I must deceive those to whom I -owed my life. This thought caused me a real remorse: I sought, but in -vain, an occasion for bringing out the dangerous confidence." - -How, in fact, could he tell these pious pilgrims, zealous believers, -that the friend whose religious learning they had admired, whose faith -and virtue they respected, was an impostor, who, urged by the thirst -for secular learning, had surprised their confidence, profaned their -ministry, had trifled, in a word, with their dearest sentiments? Such -an avowal might not, perhaps, have broken the bonds of affection which -united him to the two dervishes, but what a bitter deception for these -fervent and sincere souls t {400} And why destroy an illusion so -sweet? Vambéry retained the secret ready to escape him; his eyes -swimming in tears, he tore himself from the embraces of his friends. -"I see them always," he adds, "motionless in the place where I had -quitted them, the hands raised toward heaven, imploring the blessing -of Allah for my journey. Many times I turned my head to see them -again; at last they disappeared in the fog, and I could distinguish -only the domes of Samarcand, feebly lighted by the rays of the moon." - -The journey home was marked by fewer dramatic incidents. Vambéry had -to cross the country of Bokhara, but avoiding the capital, he arrived -after three days at Karshi, the second city of the khanat in extent -and commercial relations. It contains six caravansaries and a -well-supplied market, where are seen very remarkable articles of -native cutlery, which are largely exported into central Asia, Persia, -Arabia, and even into Turkey. These fine blades, richly damaskeened, -the handles covered with incrustations of gold and silver, are far -superior to the best products of Sheffield or Birmingham. Vambéry's -new companions advised him to use such funds as he had left, in -purchasing knives, needles, and glass-ware, the exchange of which -would secure a pilgrim the means of existence among the nomad tribes. -Our traveller thought it best to follow this prudent counsel, and add, -as he gaily remarks, "the profession of merchant to that of antiquary, -hadji and mollah, without prejudice to a crowd of not less important -functions, such as bestowing benedictions, holy breathings, amulets, -and talismans." - -The caravan passed through Bokhara without disturbance; the rigor with -which the emir enforces the police regulations rendering all the roads -from across the desert perfectly secure, not only for caravans, but -even for individual travellers. Vambéry could hardly contain his joy -in crossing the frontier: at every step he approached the West; he was -about to revisit Persia, the first stage of civilization, the object -of his ardent desires. Other members of the caravan were not less -impatient, these were Iranian slaves, returning to their own country. -One of them, an old man, bent under the weight of years, had been to -Bokhara to pay the ransom of his son, the only support of his family, -the price demanded was fifty ducats, and the poor father had exhausted -his resources in the payment. "But," said he, "better to fear the -staff of the beggar than to leave my son in chains." Another of these -unhappy men greatly excited Vambéry's compassion; his wasted features, -and hair prematurely white, proved sufficiently his sufferings, eight -years previous, a Turcoman raid had carried away his wife, his sister -and his six children; the unfortunate man pursued them, vainly sought -them in the two Khanats of Khiva and Bokhara; when at last he -discovered the place of their captivity, his wife, his sister and two -children had perished under the rigors of slavery. Of the four who -remained he was able to ransom only two; the others having become men, -their master exacted so heavy a ransom that the unhappy father was -unable to raise the sum. - -These instances give but a faint idea of the scourge which has for -centuries depopulated the north of Persia and neighboring countries. -The Turcomen Tekkes number to-day more than fifteen thousand mounted -plunderers, whose only occupation consists in organizing a system of -vast brigandage, to decimate families and ravage hamlets. The -travellers crossed whole districts desolated by war and exactions of -all sorts; the laws are powerless to repress disorders, a bribe -suffices to exculpate one from the most odious crime; therefore every -one speaks with admiration of Bokhara, whose emir is regarded as a -model of justice and wisdom. An inhabitant of Audkuy acknowledged that -his compatriots envied the happiness of being {401} subject to the -sceptre of Mozaffar ed Din, and added that the Europeans would be -preferable to the present Mussulman chiefs. - -Meanwhile, the journey was long, and Vambéry saw with anxiety his -little package of merchandise diminish. He hoped to obtain assistance -at Herat; but unfortunately, when they arrived in this city, the key -of central Asia, it had just been put to sack by the Afghans. The -fortifications and houses were only a heap of ruins, the citadel -trembled, half demolished upon its crumbling base, some few -inhabitants here and there showed themselves, the celebrated bazaar, -which had stood so many sieges, alone offered some animation, but the -shops were opened timidly, the remembrance of the foray still -terrifying the people. Moreover, the custom-house system, established -by the rapacity of the Afghans, promises little prosperity either to -commerce or industry, an article of fur which has been purchased for 8 -francs, pays 3 francs tax; they levy one franc upon a hat of the value -of two francs, and so of every thing else. When we add to that, for -articles brought from distant provinces, the rights already collected -in intermediate districts, we see how much the merchant must raise his -price in order to realize anything. - -In a city so ravaged, the trade of a dervish is not lucrative; no one -asked Vambéry for his holy breathing, his cutlery and pearls were -exhausted; his travelling companions, very different from Hadji Bilal, -lent him no help. Only one young man named Ishak, remained faithful to -him. Every morning he begged the food for the day, and prepared the -frugal repasts of our traveller, whom he regarded as his master, and -served with affectionate respect. - -In order to neglect nothing which might enable him to continue his -journey, Vambéry resolved to apply to the Viceroy of Herat, Serdar -Mehemmed Yakoub, the son of the King of Afghanistan. The halls of the -palace were filled with servants and soldiers; but the large turban of -the pretended dervish, and the hermit-like air which long fatigues had -given him, were letters of recommendation which opened all doors. The -prince, not more than sixteen years old, sate in a large easy chair, -surrounded by high dignitaries. Vambéry, faithful to his character, -went directly to him, and sat by his side, pushing aside the vizier to -make himself a place. This behavior excited general hilarity. Serdar -Mehemmed regarded the stranger attentively, then rose suddenly, and -cried, half-laughing, half-bewildered: "You are an Englishman, I'll -take my oath!" He approached our traveller, clapping his hands like a -child who has made a happy discovery: "Say, say," added he, "are you -not an Englishman?" In the presence of this innocent joy, Vambéry had -half a mind to discover himself, but remembering that the fanaticism -of the Afghans might yet expose him to great perils, he resolved not -to raise the mask which protected him. Taking, then, a serious air: -"That will do," said he to the prince, "have you then forgotten this -proverb--'He who even in joke treats a true believer as an infidel, -makes himself worse than an infidel?' Give me rather something for my -benediction, that I may have the means of pursuing my journey." -Vambéry's look, and the maxim which he so appropriately recalled, put -the young viceroy out of countenance. He stammered some excuses, -alleging the singular physiognomy of the stranger, which was not of -the Bokhariot type. Vambéry hastened to reply that he was a native of -Stamboul; he showed to Serdar Mehemmed and to the vizier his Turkish -passport, spoke of an Afghan prince residing in Constantinople, and -succeeded in completely effacing the impression which he had at first -made. - -The 15th of November, 1868, the grand caravan which was going to -Meshed, left Herat, taking with it our traveller. It comprised not -less than two thousand persons, at least {402} half of whom were -Afghans, who, in spite of the most frightful misery, had undertaken, -with their families, a pilgrimage to the tombs of the Shiite saints. -In proportion as Vambéry approached civilization, he let fall little -by little the veil of his incognito, and let it be understood that in -Meshed he should find powerful protectors, and financial resources -which would enable him to recompense the services of his companions. -The doubtful light which surrounded him furnished inexhaustible matter -for conjecture, and gave rise to some lively discussions, which very -much amused Vambéry. At last, twelve days after leaving Herat, the -dome of the mosque, and the tomb of Iman-Riza, gilded by the first -rays of the sun, announced the approach to Meshed. The sight caused -the European deep emotion, his dangerous exploring expedition was -finished, and he had no further need of disguise. In passing the gates -of the city he forgot the Turcoman, the desert, the Tebbad, to think -of the happiness of seeing friendly faces, and of speaking at his ease -of Europe. He passed successively through Meshed, Teheran, and -Constantinople, where he bade adieu to Oriental life; then through -Pesth, where he left his Turcoman companion, the faithful Ishak, who -had followed him even to Europe, and the 9th of June, 1864, he arrived -in London. - -Singular force of habit. Vambéry had so identified himself with the -character of a learned effendi, he was so impregnated with Asiatic -manners and customs, that this son of Germany found himself ill at -ease in England. "It cost me," says he, "incredible difficulty to -accustom myself to my new life, so different from that which I had led -at Bokhara some months previous. Everything in London seemed strange -and novel; one would have said that the remembrances of my youth were -a dream; only my travels had left upon my mind a deep impression. Is -it astonishing that sometimes in Regent street or in the saloons of -the English aristocracy I felt myself as embarrassed as a child, and -that often I forgot everything around me to dream of the profound -solitudes of central Asia, of the tents of the Kirghiz and the -Turcomen?" - -Vambéry's book paints in vivid colors the real condition of central -Asia; it contains curious and characteristic details regarding the -three khanats of Turkestan (Khiva, Bokhara, and Khokand), on the -particular manners of each people, the commerce and industry of the -cities. We follow there the slow but continuous progress of the -Russian government, whose ambition is excited by the riches of these -fertile provinces. It advances with persevering obstinacy toward the -conquest of Turkestan, the only country which is wanting to-day to the -immense Asiatic kingdom dreamed of, four centuries ago, by Ivan -Vasilievitch. Since that period the czars have never lost an -opportunity to extend their influence in the Orient. Russia maintains -with the khanats regular and active commercial relations; her -exportations into central Asia were valued in 1850 at twenty-five -millions of francs, and her importations from thence at not less than -thirty-three millions. England, whose possessions in India approach -Turkestan, has not taken so deep root there, she understands less the -tastes, and submits less to the exigencies, of the Tartar populations. -At the same time, the protection which she gives the Afghans, the -declared enemies of the Khivites and Bokhariots, gives her a part to -play in the events which are preparing, and which the taking of -Tashkend by Russian troops will perhaps precipitate. - -Central Asia is destined to be absorbed by one or other of the rival -powers which every day embrace her more closely. Will she be Russian -or English? that is the only form the question takes to-day. - -{403} - -Persia and Turkey, tottering themselves, cannot protect her. The grand -contest, commenced centuries ago, between the two hostile -civilizations, between the sword of Mohammed and the cross of Christ, -to-day touches its term. Of the different oriental tribes, these -endeavor to revive themselves by the contact of our arts and sciences, -those intrench themselves behind their mountains and their deserts; -but these powerless barriers cannot hinder European activity from -reaching them. They are, moreover, condemned to inevitable ruin by -barbarism, superstition, and fatalism, which form the basis of their -character and their creeds, the populations, bent under an implacable -despotism, consider even the encroachments of Europeans as a benefit, -their faith, moreover, delivers them without defence to misfortune, to -tyranny, to the joke of the stranger, for it persuades them that an -inflexible destiny, against which the will of man is powerless, rules -the lot of individuals and nations. "Who can prevail agamst the -Nasib?" said to Vambéry an unfortunate man whose wife and children had -been carried off. "It was written!" replied the Mussulmans when their -most beautiful provinces were snatched from them. - -The European race, on the contrary, energetic and indefatigable, makes -all obstacles yield before it; its science and industry transform -nature into a docile instrument; difficulties stimulate its courage: -"This sea I will cross," it cries; "I will level this mountain; this -people, reputed invincible, I will subjugate." From antiquity it had -raised upon its flag this proud device, which made the grandeur of the -Roman world: "Audaces fortuna juvat." Afterward, Christianity, in -elevating minds, and pouring upon all hearts sentiments of tenderness -and charity heretofore unknown, brought new elements to this expansive -force. It showed God respecting, even in their errors, the liberty of -men; it showed the sacrifice of Jesus, this Son of the Most High come -upon earth to suffer all griefs, yet voluntarily powerless to save man -without his concurrence and his own participation. This noble morality -not only regenerated consciences, it developed individual action, made -known the value of the hidden force which we call the will, and -contributed largely to the social and political progress of the -western nations. At the same time, it is true, the Christian dogma -preached resignation in sufferings, but this pious resignation -resembles as little the oriental indolence as the calm of death -resembles that of strength and health. - -Such are the causes of European supremacy. The Asiatics, not less -gifted by nature, have stifled, under the double influence of fatalism -and a sensual morality, the germs of civilization which might have -given them a durable life and glory. To-day, as we learn from the -intrepid traveller who has penetrated into the very heart of Turkestan -and returned again safe and sound, everything among them is in decay; -their cities and institutions, alike, offer nothing but ruins. - ------- - -{404} - - -From The Lamp, - -UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS. - - - -CHAPTER I. - - - "Mr. Thorneley presents his compliments to Mr. John Kavanagh, and - would feel obliged if he would call in Wimpole street this evening - at seven o'clock. Mr. Thorneley wishes to have Mr. Kavanagh's - professional assistance in a matter of business. - - "100 Wimpole street, Cavendish Square, - "Oct. 23, 185--" - -The above note lay amidst a heap of letters awaiting my return from a -pleasant mountaineering tour among alps and glaciers, perpetual snows, -and ice-bound passes. Yes, it had been in every sense of the word a -delightful excursion, a real holiday to me,--me, a dusty, musty, -hard-working lawyer, living in chambers, poring over parchments, and -deeds, and matters dull and dry to all, save them whom those things -concerned,--me, a middle-aged bachelor, a solitary man, with little of -kith or kin left to surround my dying bed or follow my old bones to -their grave. It was a renewal of youth and early days to climb those -mountains, to face those majestic peaks, to scale those rugged passes, -and feel the fresh clear air fanning my brow as I raised it to God's -heaven above, whilst all that was of the world worldly seemed to lie -beneath my feet. My two months' holiday and repose from labor, when I -packed my modest portmanteau, locked up my papers, left my rooms to -the care of clerk and laundress, and took my ticket at London Bridge -for Dover or Boulogne, bound for Chamouni, Unterwalden, or the -Simplon,--these eight weeks of pure enjoyment were the oasis in the -desert of my life. But now, for this year at least, it was over. I was -back to busy life again; to work and daily duty; to my calf-bound -volumes, my inky table, my yellow sheets inscribed with the promises -of one said party to another said party--how soon to be broken, God -only knew--or the blue folio pages stating how this said man is to -bully that said fellow man, and how there is to be war between two -Christian beings, not to the knife, but to the bar, the judge, jury, -prison, and future ruin of one or the other fellow heir to the great -inheritance of a hereafter. I had returned to it all--this turmoil of -strife and struggle, out of which quagmire I got my daily bread, like -hundreds of others cruising in the same barque on the sea of life; and -my table was heaped with the business correspondence that once more -was to induct me into my ordinary avocations. There were -communications from old clients about affairs of long standing, and -familiar to me as my morning shave; and letters from new clients -promising fresh labor and new grist to the mill, but I scanned them -all with the same feeling of weariness and disgust--casting many a -regretful thought to the scenes I had left behind me,--inclined to -throw business, law, and clients wholesale and pell-mell into the Red -Sea. It was in this frame of mind that I opened the above note, but as -I read it, my ennui and lassitude gave place to the keenest interest -and curiosity. That old Thorneley should send for me professionally, -when I knew for certain that all his affairs were completely in the -hands, and he entirely under the thumbs, of my highly-respected -brother lawyers Smith and Walker, was enough to rouse one from a -mesmeric sleep. Old Thorneley; who {405} lived like a hermit, never -meddling with anything nor anybody; whose last intentions were -supposed amongst us in Lincoln's Inn to be hermetically sealed up in a -certain tin box, lodging at Messrs. Smith and Walker's; whose frugal -house-keeping and simple taste could involve him in no pecuniary -trouble,--what could he want with the professional advice of one who -was almost a stranger to him, whose standing in the law was of much -later date and whose clientage much less distinguished than that of -the firm above mentioned, and who had been his legal advisers during -his whole lifetime? - -Again I referred to the note--"Oct. 23;"--the interview was asked for -that very evening I looked at my watch--it was half-past six, the hour -named, seven. Tired with travel and hungry as a hunter, I was little -inclined to leave my cosy fire, my tender steak, my fragrant cup of -bohea, my delicious plate of buttered toast, and face the raw air and -mizzling rain of an autumnal evening at the beck of a man whose hand I -had never shaken, at whose table I had never sat, and whose foot had -never crossed my threshold. But curiosity and interest prevailed at -last, and these were induced by two motives. 1. Thorneley was a -millionaire--a man whose name Rothschild had not scorned on 'Change, -and whose breath had once fluttered the money-markets of Europe. 2. -And a far more powerful one,--he was the uncle of Hugh Atherton. O -Hugh, best of friends, thou man of true and noble heart, if these -pages ever meet your eyes, and you look back through the dim vista of -intervening years, bear witness how mournfully I stand by the grave of -our buried affection, opened on this night, how tenderly I touch the -fragments of our wrecked friendship! and from your heart, O lost -comrade and brother, believe that, whatever of pain lay between us -two, severing our lives, no thought disloyal to you ever crossed my -soul or shook the fealty of my honor and reverence. Hastily I -despatched the meal, made a few changes in my dress, threw myself into -the first hansom, and knocked at 100 Wimpole street, at five minutes -past seven. - -I was ushered at once into Mr. Thorneley's study--a -comfortably-furnished room, lined with well-stocked bookcases, and -hung with neatly-framed engravings of first-rate excellence. He was -sitting reading beside a cheery fire when I entered, and on a table -near him stood fruit, biscuits, and wine. I had not seen him for many -months; and as he rose to receive me, the light of the shaded gas lamp -falling upon his head and face revealed to me how aged and broken his -appearance had become in that period of time. Then I remembered him as -a hale, hearty old man, strong of limb, straight and square about the -shoulders, carrying himself with the air of an old soldier, gaunt, -upright, stern, unbending and unbent. Now, before me stood a bowed -infirm figure, with trembling hands and tottering feet, with thin -pinched features and sunken eyes. Little as I knew the man, and little -as I liked what I knew or had heard of him, I was touched to see what -a wreck he looked of his former outward self. Involuntarily I -stretched out my hand to him, and expressed my regret at seeing him -look so ill. He bowed, and touched my hand with the tips of his -fingers, which were clammy and cold. Then he motioned me in silence to -a chair on the opposite side of the fire to where he sat, and resumed -his own seat. - -"You are somewhat late, sir," he said querulously, glancing at me from -beneath his shaggy brows; the same keen searching glance I remembered -of old--the glance of a man who has made money. - -"But five minutes, Mr. Thorneley," I replied; "and that I think you -will excuse when I tell you I have crossed the Channel to-day, and -only arrived home about an hour ago." - -"Have you dined? Allow the to order you something." - -{406} - -"Nothing, thanks. I took my usual meal after a journey--a meat tea; -and, though despatched in haste, it sufficed for mine requirements." - -"At least," he said more courteously, "you will take a glass of wine!" - -"With pleasure, sir, after we have finished the business in which I -understand you require my assistance." - -He saw that I wished to come to the point at once; and drawing his -chair near to mine, he fixed his piercing gray eyes upon my -countenance. I returned his gaze steadily enough; and he then shifted -uneasily, so that his countenance was turned sideways to me. - -"You are aware, Mr. Kavanagh, that my family solicitors have been, and -still are, Messrs. Smith and Walker, and no doubt you are surprised -why I should now require other professional aid than theirs. Your -curiosity and speculative faculties, if you possess such, must have -been on the _qui vive_ since you got my note. Eh, sir?" - -There was a covert sarcasm in the old man's voice which vexed me. -"Every movement of Mr Thorneley's must be a matter of general -interest," I said, with equal satire. - -"Ha, ha, ha! Very good--given me back in my own kind,--tit for tat. -Like you all the better for it, Mr. Kavanagh,--a sharp lawyer is a -good thing in its way. Well, you've not repudiated the curiosity, so -I'll satisfy it. I sent for you to make _my Will_;" and again he -turned on me those shrewd glittering eyes, as if enjoying the -amazement I could not entirely suppress. - -"But I thought--" I stammered; "surely, sir, your own lawyers are the -fittest persons; it is against etiquette. Indeed, sir, I'd rather not -have any thing to do with it." - -"You will be _paid_ sir," he said rudely. - -"It is not a question of _payment_, Mr. Thorneley; simply, you place -me, I foresee, in an awkward position with regard to a firm with whom -I am on the most friendly terms. But of course they are acquainted -with your desire of having my services?" - -"Of course they are nothing of the sort. If you are squeamish in the -matter, I can get another man to do my business, and they'll not be a -bit more enlightened on the subject. Whomsoever I employ must be bound -to inviolable secrecy during my lifetime. Let us understand each -other, Mr. Kavanagh: I sent for you because I knew you to be a -discreet man, on whose prudence after my death I could rely. But I do -not choose that Smith and Walker should know any thing of this -transaction. You can do as you please in the matter, but you must make -your decision now." - -I gave a rapid glance at my position with all the care time would -allow; and one consideration outweighed every thing else,--I take -heaven to witness it!--the thought that Hugh Atherton's interests, -which I felt to be now involved, would be safer in my hands than in -those of any other man; and I replied, "So be it, Mr. Thorneley; you -may command my services." If I had known what was coming; if in mercy -one shadowy vision of that miserable future had been vouchsafed to me; -if but a ray of light had illumined my darkened sight, I had shaken -the dust off my feet, and left that doomed house never again to cross -its threshold. - -Thorneley rose and pushed a small writing-table towards me, on which -was placed the printed form of a will to be filled in. - -"Are you ready?" he asked. - -"I am." - -He bent forward, with his hand shading his rugged brow, his eyes fixed -intently on the fire and spoke in low distinct tones. I listened -almost breathlessly; and as I listened, I felt the cold sweat breaking -out upon my forehead. And then I made the will. Yes, God help me! I -made the will, for I saw it was inevitable. - -{407} - -"We must have witnesses," I said when it was finished. - -Mr. Thorneley rang the bell. "Tell Thomas I want him here, and come -back yourself." The two men returned in a few moments,--coachman and -footman; and before those two, with unshaken hand, with a face of -rigid firmness, Gilbert Thorneley wrote his name; the servants affixed -their signatures, and the deed was done. - -When we were alone I rose to depart, and bade him good-night. As I -left the room I looked back at the old man. He had sunk in his chair, -and his face was buried in his hands, bowed and bent beside the fire, -with his thin gray locks straying over his forehead, as if some bitter -blast had swept over him and left him desolate;--thus I saw him for -the last time on earth. - -I left that house with a heavy secret locked in my breast, with a -weight on heart and brain, and heeded not the blinding, drizzling rain -as I bent my footsteps rapidly homeward, longing only to reach my -quiet chamber, where I might commune with myself and be still. I am -not an inveterate smoker; but when I want to think out a knotty point, -when I wish to obtain a clear view of any difficult question, I can -quite appreciate the aid which a good cigar affords one. This night I -was dazed, bewildered, and mechanically I sought my old friend in my -breast-pocket. I stopped beside the window of a large chemist's shop -at the comer of Vere street and Oxford street to strike a light, when -some one hastily passed out of the shop and ran full against me. - -"Kavanagh!" "Atherton!" The man of all men in the world to meet _that_ -night! What fatality was it that was hedging me in and fencing me -round, without any agency of my own? - -"Who would have thought of seeing you here?" he exclaimed as he -grasped my hand. "I had no idea you had returned even." - -"I came back this very evening." - -"Only this evening! and whither away so soon, old fellow?" - -I muttered something about business. - -"Business! Come, I like that. You have changed your nature, John, if -you go after business the first evening of your return from -Switzerland. Why, I didn't suppose you would have stirred if my old -uncle yonder had sent for you to make his will, leaving me his sole -heir." And he laughed his old hearty joyous laugh, which had been -music to me from the time when I fought his first battle for him at -Rugby. Now it filled me with an unaccountable dread; now it fell on my -ear as the knell of times which were never more to come back. So near -the truth too as he had been, talking in his own thoughtless, -light-hearted way. What spell was over us all that fatal evening? -Perhaps--I think it must have been so--all the dark shadows which were -gathering over my soul revealed themselves in my countenance, for I -saw him look at me with the kind solicitous look that never became a -manly face better than his. - -"I'll tell you what it is, dear old John," he said, putting his arm -within mine; "you are looking terribly hipped about something or -another, and any thing but the man you ought to look, after such a -jolly outing as you've just had. Come, I'll go home with you, and -we'll have a prime Manilla, a steaming tumbler, and a cosy chat -together; and if that doesn't send the blues back to the venerable old -party from which they are generally supposed by all good Christians to -come, why, as Mr. Peggotty hath it, 'I'm gormed!' "And again that -fatal influence stepped in, making me its agent to bring upon us the -inevitable _To be_; and putting his friendly hand from off my arm, I -said, '"No, Hugh, not to-night; I have need to be alone. Indeed I am -too tired to be good company even to you." - -"Well, good-night then, my friend; I'll betake me to mine uncle, and -see {408} how the old man is getting along this damp weather. Lister -said he should look in, so we can tramp home together. But I won't be -shirked by you to-morrow, Master Jack,--don't think it; and I shall -bring somebody to fetch the Swiss toy I know you have got packed away -for her somewhere in your knapsack. Good-night, good-night." - -We shook hands, and he turned down Vere street. An impulse,--blind, -unreasoning,--seized me a minute afterwards to call him back and ask -him to come home with me; and I followed quickly upon his footsteps. -The evening was very dark, and the rain beat blindingly in one's face, -so that it was difficult, with my near sight, to distinguish his -figure ahead amidst the numerous other foot-passengers. After a few -moments I gave up the chase, half angry with myself for haying been -the sport of a sudden fancy. As once more I turned round to retrace my -steps, a woman passed me at a hurried pace, and as she passed she -almost stopped and gazed intently at me. A thick veil prevented my -seeing her face, and in no way was her figure familiar to me; but the -gesture with which she stared at me was remarkable, and for a moment a -matter of wonder; then I forgot the circumstance, and rapidly made my -way home, thinking of the strange revelations I had just heard; -thinking of Hugh Atherton and our chance meeting; thinking of the days -past and the days to come,--of much and many things which belong to -the story I am telling,--of the time when I was a boy again at school, -senior in my form and umpire in all pitched battles and the petty -warfare boys wage with one another, when that little curly-headed, -blue-eyed fellow, with his cheeks all aglow and his nostrils big with -indignant wrath, had come to me, a great burly clumsy lad of sixteen, -and laid his plaint before me: - -"Please, Kavanagh, the fellows say I'm a coward because I won't lick -Tom Overbury. Will you tell them to leave me in peace?--because I -_won't_ lick him." - -"Why not, spooney?" - -"Because I don't wish to." - -"That won't go down here, you know, Atherton; you must give your -reasons." - -"He's got something the matter with his right arm, and he can't hit -out. He'd have no chance against me. I know all about it, but the -other fellows don't, and they think he can't fight; he bade me not -tell any one. That's why they are always at him to make him pick -quarrels. They set him on at me; but I won't fight him, not for the -whole school, masters and all." - -Such was Hugh Atherton as a boy; such was he as a man,--ever generous -and noble-hearted. I thought of him as then, I thought of him as now, -remembering all our long friendship, our close intimacy, with the -weight of that dread secret upon me, and with the indescribable sense -of coming evil clinging to me. I wished I had yielded to his request, -and allowed him to accompany me home; I wished I had persevered in -going after him; in short, I wished anything but what then was. Were -those desires troubling me a taste of the vain, futile, heart-bitter -wishes which the morrow was to bring forth? So, with the cold wind -whistling round me, and scattering the dead leaves across the desolate -square, where stood the house wherein I dwelt, the rain beating -against my face, and the sky above black and lowering, I reached my -home, wet and weary. - -Methodical habits to a man brought up to the law, who has any pretence -of doing well in his profession, become like second nature; and when I -had divested myself of my wet garments, I took out my journal and made -an entry as usual of the date, object, etc., of my visit to Mr. -Thorneley; and then I wrote out a brief memorandum of the same, which -I addressed to Hugh Atherton in case of my death, and carefully locked -it up with some {409} very private papers of my own, about which he -already had my instructions. This done, I smoked a cigar, drank a -tumbler of hot brandy-and-water, and went to bed, thoroughly tired -out. But I could not sleep. For hours I tossed restlessly from side to -side; now and then catching a few moments' repose, which was disturbed -by the most horrible and distressing dreams. Toward morning, I -suppose, I must at last have fallen into a deep slumber--so profound -that I never heard the old laundress's hammering at the door, nor the -arrival of my clerk, nor the postman's knock. - -At last I awoke, or rather was awakened. The day had advanced some -hours; all traces of last night's rain seemed to have vanished, and -the sun shown full and bright in at the windows. Beside my bed stood -Hardy, my old clerk. - -"God bless you, sir, I thought you'd never wake!" - -"I wish I never had, for I am awfully tired. How are you. Hardy? and -how is all going on?" - -"Quite well, sir, thank you; and I hope you're the same. We've wanted -you badly enough. There's that Williams, he's been here almost every -day, teasing and tormenting about having his mortgage called in; and -Lady Ormskirk, she called twice, and seemed in some trouble. Then -there was a queer young chap from the country with a long case about -some inheritance; in short, sir, if you had been at home we might have -been no end busy--what with the old ones and what with the new;" and -Hardy cast a sigh after the possible tips and fees of which my absence -had deprived him. - -"Well, I'll see to it all as soon as I have dressed and had some -breakfast. I suppose they've brought it up, and also the hot water?" - -"Some time ago, sir; you slept so late that I ventured to come in." - -"All right. I shall be ready directly." - -Hardy still lingered, and I knew by his face there was some news -coming. - -"There's a fine to-do at Smith and Walker's, sir, this morning. I just -met their head-clerk as I was coming here." - -I sprang up in bed as if I had been shot, the old fancies and dread of -the previous night returning with full force. - -"Smith and Walker's!" I cried; "what is the matter there?" - -"Well, sir, I couldn't quite make out the particulars, he was in such -a hurry; but old Mr. Thorneley's been found dead in his room this -morning, and they suspect there has been foul play. Mr. -Griffiths--that's the clerk--was going off to Scotland Yard. It's a -terrible thing, an't it, sir, to be hurried off so quick? and none of -the best of lives too, if one may believe what folks say. It's shocked -you, sir, I see; and so it did me, for I thought of Mr. Atherton and -what a blow like it would be to him." - -Whiter and whiter I felt my face was getting, and a feeling of dead -sickness seized me. The man whom I had seen and spoken with but such -few short hours since lay dead! the secret of whose life I possessed, -knowing what I now knew of him, and what had been left untold hanging -like a black shadow of doubt around me; he was gone from whence there -was no returning,--he was standing face to face with his Creator and -his Judge! - -By this time Hardy had left the room, and I proceeded hastily to dress -myself, feeling that more was coming than I wotted of then, and that -the fearful storm which was gathering would quickly burst. - -Scarcely was I dressed when I heard a loud double-knock at the -office-door, and directly after Hardy's voice demanding admittance. I -opened my door. - -"Sir, there is a police-officer who wishes to see you immediately." - -I went out into the sitting-room. A detective in plain clothes was -there; I had known the man in another business formerly. - -"What do you want with me, Jones?" - -{410} - -"You have heard of Mr. Thorneley being found dead, sir?" - -"Yes--my clerk has just told me. What did he die of?" - -"He was poisoned, Mr. Kavanagh." - -I felt the man's eyes were fixed on me as if he could read in my soul -and see the fearful dread therein. I could have hurled him from the -window. - -"Who is suspected?" I asked as calmly as my parched tongue would let -me speak. - -The man did not answer my question. - -"You were with him last evening, sir, were you not?" - -"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, completely thrown off my guard; "they -surely don't suspect _me!_" - -"Not that I'm aware of, sir; but your evidence is necessary, since you -were _one_ of the last persons who saw him alive." - -"But not the last," I said, still blind to the fact pointed at. "Mr. -Atherton, his nephew, was with him after I left. I met him going there -at the comer of Vere street." - -There was a peculiar look on the man's countenance--of compassion for -me, I had almost said. - -"Mr. Kavanagh, sir, I had rather have cut off my right hand than that -you should have told me that, for you've both been kind gentlemen to -me and mine. _Mr. Atherton is arrested on suspicion of having -administered the poison to his uncle._ When you remember _where_ you -met him, you can guess what your evidence will be against him. -Here--Mr. Hardy! Help!" - -I remember nothing more, for I had fallen back insensible. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -[Original.] - -Peace. - - "Not as the world giveth give I unto you."--St. John 14th. - - - Break not its sleep, the faithful grief, still tender; - God gives at length his own beloved rest; - How worn and the suffering brow! Yet these meek fingers - Still press the cross of patience to her breast. - - Stir not the air with one sweet, lingering cadence - From life's fair prime of love and hope and song; - Serener airs, from martyr hosts celestial, - To that high trance of Conquered peace belong. - - Hush mortal joy or wail, hush mortal paeans; - Ye cannot reach that Thabor height sublime - Where God's eternal joy, in tranquil vision, - Seems nearer than the sights and sounds of time. - ------- - -{411} - -[Original.] - -TWO PICTURES OF LIFE IN FRANCE BEFORE 1848. - - -Those who are familiar with the Journal of Eugénie de Guérin, know -that in Languedoc, near the towns or villages of Andillac and Gaillac, -and not far from Toulouse, there is an ancient estate called Le Cayla; -but they know little more than this of the place where Maurice and -Eugénie de Guérin passed their youth in the quaint an beautiful -simplicity that stamped their genius with so marked and individuality. - -The peasantry of that region are wedded to old habits and traditions, -and the ancient families are imbedded like rocks in the land, says -Lamartine, (from whose "Entretiens" many of these local details are -taken), and are nobles by common consent, because the château is -merely the largest ruin in the village, and every one goes there as to -a home to get whatever he needs in the way of advice, agricultural -tools, medicine or food. - -Let us in the imagination visit the Château of like a lot, as it was -in the year 1837, four we must make our first acquaintance with it -when it is graced by the exquisite presence of those two, whose names -are fast becoming household words on both sides of the Atlantic ---Maurice and Eugénie de Guérin. - -It is not like one's dream of an ancient _castel_, this spreading, -rectangular house, built of brick and stone after a fashion of Henry -the Fourth's time, and perched on the summit of a sharp declivity. -There is little to distinguish it from the great farms of the country -round, but a half ruined portico, projecting over the flight of stone -steps, a pointed current and the grooves of a drawbridge, over which -the ruthless hand of 1793 as effaced the ancient arms of the Guérins. -The great flagstones of the courtyard were loosened and uprooted long -ago by the drainage from the stables, and in the angles of the wall -grow holly and elder bushes, not too aristocratic to take root in such -a soil. These gates stand open always, admitting wayfarers who may -wish for a cup of water from the bucket hanging behind the door, or -for a plate of soup to eat, sitting in the sunshine on the broad steps -that lead down into the courtyard from the kitchen, an important -department in this venerable homestead. - -Within doors blazes a goodly fire on the hearth, a whole tree, -standing on end, sending its smoke up a great chimney through which -daylight is visible, and ready to give a comfortable greeting to Jean, -or Gilles, or Romignières, when they come to talk about corn or sheep -with the master, they sitting on the stone settles, built into the -wall, he on one of those walnut armchairs standing between the kitchen -table and the fireplace. See the great copper boilers standing around -the wall, and those immense soup-tureens, ornamented with coarse -painting, and the big dishes for the fish that they catch in the -mill-pond once in three years. - -There--we have looked long enough; pass through this long smoke-dried -corridor to the dining-room, where masters and servants take their -meals together, excepting on state occasions, the menials standing or -sitting at the lower and of the unbleached cloth. - -Now down this little flight of steps to the _salon_, which is all -white, with a large sofa, some straw chairs, and a table with books on -it. Yes--here {412} we pause--here are the objects of our search. In a -faded tapestry arm-chair sits Maurice reading and Eugénie is near -here. He looks but shadowy still, having just recovered from a fever, -but the outline of his face is beautiful as he bends slightly over the -book, the refined mouth, the expressive, drooping eyelids, the noble -brow declaring him the worthy descendent of a long line of knights and -gentlemen. One of these ancestors, Guérin de Montaigu, Grand Master of -the Knights of Malta, looks down upon us from the wall as we stand -behind Maurice's chair, glancing, by the way, over his shoulder at the -page he is reading, one of Barbey d'Aurevilly's brilliant articles. -And now he reads aloud a striking passage, and Eugénie lifts her eyes -and lets the work drop on her lap. What earnest, dovelike eyes they -are! See how softly the hair parts on her forehead, passing over the -pretty ear and falling in little curls at the back of her neck. The -dress looks old-fashioned to us now, with its half-high, baby waste, -and belt, and tucker, and her hair is dressed too high to be becoming; -but there is the air of a refined lady in everything about her, and -her face is like the face of a sweet, good little child. - -The reading has stopped and their talk turns upon private matters, -something about Caroline, and hopes and fears for the future. We will -leave them to their conversation, and pass out through yonder door, -pausing for an instant to admire that picture of the Madonna and -child, presented to the family by the Queen, and to look through the -glass doors and arched window at the terrace, all green and blossoming -with roses and acacias. - -Here we are in an M. de Guérin's room, with its table and chairs -loaded with books and with dust! That priè-Dieu was embroidered by -Mme. de Guérin and whose pensive look face looks out from the -pictures, hanging between the fireplace and the bed. There is the -cross presented by Christine Rognier, and the holy water vase, and the -picture of Calvary before which Eugénie used to kneel and pour out her -childish woes. One day she prayed that some spots might disappear from -her frock, and a disappeared--and again she begged that her doll might -have a soul, but that never came to pass. No doubt it was in this -great state bed that Madame de Guérin died at midnight on the second -of April, 1819. Eugénie had fallen asleep at her mother's feet, and as -the spirit passed away from the long suffering body, M. de Guérin -waked the little girl. "My God! I hear the priest, I see the lighted -candles and a pale face the in tears," she wrote sixteen years -afterwards. Poor little soul! She awoke to the double responsibility -of child and parent, for the little eight-year-old Maurice was her -mother's legacy to her. - -Now a dark spiral staircase in the turret leads to a large hall on the -first story, and then winds on with several landing-places to the -upper part of the house where the servants sleep. - -This hall is the grand reception-room for guests of distinction, and -has more and air of grandeur then the rest of the château. This -ornamented ceiling and deep wainscoting of carved wood, these -paintings set in the panels, and that huge chimney-piece supported on -stone caryatides, call up to our fancy the days when stately dames and -gentle couriers visited Le Cayla for the hunting season. But there is -a golden renown in store for this shattered, time-worn house, more -precious than that shed upon it by any Guérin of the seventeenth -century. - -Suites of small rooms lead from the hall--here is the room that -Eugénie shares with her younger sister Marie, and near by is the -_chambrette_ where Maurice sleeps when he is at home. In his absence -it is her nest where she reads, writes, prays, or leans on the -window-sill to listen to the brook rippling below the terrace, two -doves, and nightingales and all the lovely {413} out-door sounds; or -to look over the corn-fields, groves, chestnut trees, and vineyards in -the valley, far away to the mountains where the friend, Louis de -Bayne, lives in a white château with a linden tree walk, in a country -of ravines and waterfalls;--but we have indulged long enough in this -summer dream of Le Cayla, and must turn to a picture full of sober -tints and shadows. - -LA CHENAIE - -In Brittany, within a few hours drive from Rennes, was the old family -place of the Lamennais, where about the year 1830 Hughes Filicité de -Lamennais drew about him several of the most promising intellects of -France, [Footnote 64] with the view of establishing a new religious -order, that should meet all the demands of that most grasping of -centuries, the nineteenth. Montalembert, Gerbert, Sainte-Beuve, -Lacordaire, Rohrbacher, Combalot, and many others of more or less -distinction, were inmates or frequent visitors in the old white house -with its peaked French roof, surrounded on every side by thick woods -that were full of beauty and song in summer, but in winter pressed -about it in dusky--brown monotony, while overhead on the grey, heavy -Breton sky. - - [Footnote 64: The precise period at which La Chênaie became the - resort of the celebrated men we have been unable to ascertain. - - The Lamennais were a commercial family in Bordeaux, ennobled during - the reign of Louis XVI. L'Abbé de Lamennais, the second son, - refusing to become a merchant, retired to La Chênaie, and prepared - himself for the priesthood.] - - -Here Lamennais passed through many of the struggles of his giant -nature, slow in its action, but never pausing until it had reached the -extreme result of any course of thought or feeling. Here, at fifteen -years of age, he took refuge with his brother, Jean de Lamennais, to -think out the perplexities that clouded his faith so persistently as -to prevent him from receiving his first communion until he was -twenty-two years old; and hither he came to labor over the task he had -proposed to himself, of procuring the banishment of tyranny and -suffering from the earth. - -At the time Maurice de Guérin [Footnote 65] joined the little circle -at La Chênaie, Lamennais had reached the turning point in his career. -After preaching in his journal, with the assurance of a prophet, the -public union of Catholicity and democracy, he had suffered the -mortification of finding himself obliged to suspend the publication of -_L'Avenir_. A visit to Rome, where he was treated with the greatest -personal consideration, convinced him that there was no prospect of -support from the Holy See, and he returned home oppressed with -disappointment, and though apparently submissive to the decisions of -his superiors, already resolving in his mind, perhaps unconsciously, -plans to crush the power that had crushed him. Those around him feared -that he would die of grief. One day he said to his favorite pupil, -Elie de Kertauguy, when they were sitting together under one of the -Scotch pines behind the chapel, in the great spreading garden: "There -is the place where I wish to rest," marking out on the grass the form -of a grave with his stick: "But no tombstone over me--only a mound of -earth. Oh! I shall be well off there." - - [Footnote 65: Vide M. Sainte-Beuve's "Notice sur Maurice de - Guérin."] - -"If," says M. Sainte-Beuve, "he had died then, or in the following -months, if his heart had snapped in it's hidden struggle, what a fair, -unblemished memory he would have left, what fame as a faithful -believer (fidèle) a hero--almost a martyr! What a mysterious subject -of meditation and revery to those who love to contemplate great -destinies thwarted!" And yet even then Lamennais' sufferings must have -proceeded more from wounded pride than from disappointed philanthropy, -for one can hardly imagine a sterner course of tyranny then that of -forcing dogmatically upon Catholic nations a theory of political -freedom that would have thrown half the civilized world into a state -of revolution. - -{414} - -A striking point in M. Sainte-Beuve's masterly analysis of the -character of his former friend is the strange contrast offered by the -double nature of Lamennais, who always leaned completely to one side -or the other, without any gradation, sometimes being possessed by what -Buffon calls, in speaking of beasts of prey, "a soul wrath;" and again -filled with a sweetness and tenderness that drew little children to -him, a truly fascinating mood; and from one humor to the other he -would pass in an instant. - -To La Chênaie and to the influence of this wonderful being, this -compound a pathetic gentleness and combative obstinacy, of magnetism -and repulsion, Guérin came one afternoon early in the December of -1832. M. Féli, as Lamennais was called in his household, where -ceremony was laid aside, and the most charming relations existed -between old and young, received him very cordially in his little -private parlor, which was furnished with one chair and a chest of -drawers. The master had a way of letting the person he was conversing -with say everything that he had to say upon a subject without -interruption (and uncomfortable method, by the way, of convincing one -of the paucity of one's ideas), and then he would take up the matter -himself, and speak "gravely, profoundly, luminously." But on this -occasion he gave himself up freely to a chat upon all sorts of -subjects calculated to draw out the general intelligence of his new -pupil--the weather in Languedoc, Maurice's traveling companions, his -age, the high tides that Saint Malo, Calderon, oyster fishing, -Catholic poetry, Victor Hugo, the most remarkable fishes on the coast -of Brittany--all the while hurrying to and fro in the little room, -presenting a singular appearance with his small, slender figure clad -in grey from head to foot, his oblong head, pale complexion, grey -eyes, long nose, and brow furrowed with wrinkles. - -The life at La Chênaie suited Guérin's taste admirably, excepting -perhaps the practice of rising at five o'clock, against which every -well-regulated mind must rebel. One of his great enjoyments was the -daily mass in the quiet little chapel below the terrace in the garden. -"At breakfast," he wrote to Eugénie, "we have butter, and bread which -we toast to make it more appetizing (toast was rather a luxury in -those days on the continent), butter plays an important part in the -meals. Dinner _très confortable_, with coffee and _liqueurs_ when we -have company, is seasoned with a rolling fire of wit, generally coming -from M. Féli--whose _mots_ are charming--vivid, piercing, sparkling, -and innumerable. His genius escapes in this way when he is not at -work, and from sublime he becomes fascinating." - -In studies, Maurice was thrown into modern languages, Catholic -philosophy, and the history of philosophy. Each pupil had a room to -himself, but they all studied in a common room sitting round a good -fire. Their recreations consisted in skating on a pond close by the -house, or taking walks in the woods, staff in hand, M. Féli marching -on ahead wearing a battered old straw hat such as great men love to -shelter their illustrious heads with. They had supper at eight o'clock -and then adjourned to the pleasant, quaint old parlor, where chess and -backgammon greeted the master's longing eyes, smoothing his brow and -putting him in genial mood. Then he would throw himself on the immense -sofa that stood under his grandmother's portrait, and become absorbed -into the threadbare crimson velvet, except the little head ever -rolling restlessly from side to side with eyes gleaming like -fire-flies. - - "And then he would talk, - Ye gods! how he would talk!"-- - -What treasures of wit, humor, anecdote, analysis, and broad -generalization poured from that horn of plenty, {415} his mind stored -with the prints of nearly half a century of philosophic research and -observation of men and things! His voice varied with his words from -grave to gay, and now and then came long peals of shrill laughter, -more derisive perhaps than mirthful. "That is _our man!_" said Maurice -proudly, after describing such an evening; that evening perhaps when -his own attractions eclipsed the master's brilliancy in the estimation -of one who saw him for the first time--M. de Marzan, a former pupil of -Lamennais, who revisited La Chênaie on the 18th of December, 1832. - -M. Féli was in one of his most delightful moods, recounting the -experiences of his late Italian journey, and drawing out in his genial -way the keen observations of the young men about him--of all excepting -poor Maurice, who stood silent among the hopeful, eager talkers, -painfully conscious of himself and distrustful of others, we must -confess, with all affectionate sympathy for our hero. But in his -reserved mien, in his expressive southern eyes and intellectual face, -there was a magnetism that won completely M. de Marzan's attention -from the delights of conversation, and as soon as the evening ended, -he obtained an introduction through Elie de Kertauguy, a handsome, -gifted youth from Lower Brittany, passionately devoted to Lamennais, -and compassionately attentive to Guérin, regarding him, as did most of -the inmates of La Chênaie, as a refined but very inefficient member of -their circle. - -Not so Marzan, who in twenty-four hours had thawed Maurice's reserve, -won his confidence, seen his journal, heard the circumstances of his -unrequited love for Mlle. de Bayne, and laid the foundation of a -friendship that lasted unbroken to the day of Guérin's death. What -days, and nights too, of rapture these two young poets used to spend -together, guided by their older and more experienced friend, Hippolyte -de La Morvonnais (a frequent visitor at La Chênaie), who had been to -Grasmere to visit Wordsworth, and come home imbued with veneration for -"Les Lakistes". (The Lake Poets). There came to be a mania among the -three friends for describing in homely language the simplest domestic -details, which they considered it a triumph in art to be able to give -in a rhythm so dubious that none but the initiated could tell whether -it was meant for prose or verse. - -Even at this early period, Guérin gave evidence of the peculiar -strength and weakness of his style, the vagueness and looseness of his -verse, the faultless harmony of his prose, which is as pure as air, -free from the least touch of provincialism or mannerism; and yet, in -the simple fervor of its revelations of the secrets that nature poured -into his attentive ear, we are reminded of the sweet pipings of the -Ettrick Shepherd, as dear old Christopher North interprets them to us. -Through him we see and hear trees wave and waters flow, birds sing and -winds sigh in the woods, and without being disturbed by moral -inferences and philosophical conclusions. And surely, when beauty -comes to us so pure and fresh and untarnished, she may be left to -teach her own lessons, which come to us so softly too from her lips. - -The months that Maurice spent at La Chênaie were not especially -fruitful to him, except in the sad experiences that tended to develop -his moral strength. But for Morvonnais and Marzan, he would have -remained quite unappreciated, for Lamennais, who gave the tone to the -household, was too much "absorbed in his apocalyptic social visions" -[Footnote 66] to be conscious of the jewel that glittered before his -eyes. Lamennais was a logician, a philosopher, a passionate and -fanatical worker. Guérin was a man of {416} exquisite artistic -perceptions, but dreamy, undecided, deficient in vigor. Odin and -Apollo,--sledge-hammer and chisel,--thunderbolt and sunbeam, are not -more unlike in use and significance. M. Féli offered nothing but -pitying tenderness, which Maurice accepted in dumb veneration. No -wonder that, with the life at La Chênaie, all intimate intercourse -between them ceased. - - [Footnote 66: Sainte-Beuve.] - -But it is a matter for surprise that, with all his powers of -fascination, Lamennais inflicted (so far as we can learn the -circumstances of the case) no permanent injury upon the faith of any -one of his companions at La Chênaie. Lacordaire, Gerbet, Montalembert, -and Bohrbacher became renowned champions of the church. Combalot, who -had adored Lamennais, burst forth into a storm of invectives against -him (as is the wont of disappointed idolaters), and then exclaimed, -"Alas! I have wounded that heart into which I could have poured -torrents of love!" Morvonnais and Marzan were ardent believers; Elie -de Kertauguy and Guérin died Catholics. In short, Lamennais had -devoted the prime of life to the church, and in those years had -uttered words of wisdom never to be unsaid or forgotten. In spite of -himself he must always be an eloquent advocate of the faith he -deserted, a powerful enemy of the cause he espoused. - -The time was already drawing near when the asylum should be closed to -Maurice where he had found, in spite of disappointment and frequent -depression, a happy, congenial home. On Easter Sunday, Lamennais -celebrated his last mass and gave communion to all the little circle. -"Who would have said" (we quote from Sainte-Beuve) "to those who -clustered round the master, that he who had just given them communion, -would never administer it again to anyone; that he would refuse it -forevermore; and that he would soon adopt for his too true device an -_oak shattered_ by the storm, with the proud motto: _I break but bend -not!_ A Titan's device, _à la Capanée!_" - -Early in the autumn of 1833, the Bishop of Rennes ordered the -dissolution of Lamennais' religious community, and the pupils were -removed to Ploërmel, where they continued their studies under the -supervision of M. Jean de Lamennais. M. Féli disbanded his little army -with the dignity of a defeated general, and then threw himself -single-handed again into the fight. He changed his patrician name to -F. Lamennais, and demanded of democracy (says one of his biographers), -as he had demanded of the church, a wand-stroke that should free the -world at once from suffering and oppression. His success may be judged -by the political history of France in the last sixteen years. In -religion he adopted "_Christianisme législate,_" [Footnote 67] -whatever that may be. "If," said he, "men feel so irresistibly -impelled to unite themselves to God that they return to Christianity, -let no one suppose that it can be to that Christianity which presents -itself under the name of Catholicism." - - [Footnote 67: Lamartine.] - -In the revolution of '48 he thought he saw the birth of liberty; in -the "Coup d'Etat" he received its death-blow in his own person. -Baffled on every side, he betook himself to literature, and translated -the "Divina Commedia;" then "feeling within him no life-sustaining -thought," he died in his seventy-third year, after an illness of a few -weeks, leaving these words in his will: "I will be buried among the -poor, and like the poor. I will have nothing over my grave, not even a -stone; nor will I have my body carried into any church." They laid him -in Père la Chaise, and no word of blessing was uttered over his grave. -Poor Lamennais! What magnificent possibilities were shattered in his -fall! - -And Maurice, what were his emotions when the door of La Chênaie dosed -behind him?--the "little paradise" he called it, but then, poor soul, -{417} anything that had escaped him for ever seemed to have been -paradise. He suffered all that must be endured by those who have -mistaken personal influence for a divine attraction. The novitate on -which he had entered at La Chênaie with a certain reluctance, galled -him beyond endurance at Ploërmel. "I would rather run the chance of a -life of adventure than be garrotted by a rule," he said, and so he -went out into the world again, feeling like a thing let loose in the -universe, and by the blessing of Providence was received into the home -of his unfailing friend, Hippolyte de la Morvonnais, who lived most -delightfully on the coast of Brittany, at a place called Le Val de -l'Arquenon. - -Two months of simple country life, and of intercourse with Morvonnais, -and with his wife, who exercised over Maurice the noblest and sweetest -influence, gave him renewed strength to battle with life again. In the -following extract from his journal, describing the last walk at Le -Val, we see with what tenacity he clung to the past, and with what -sadness he encountered the future: "Ten o'clock in the evening. Last -walk, last visit to the sea, to the cliffs, to the whole grand scenery -that has enchanted me for two months. Winter is smiling upon us with -all the grace of spring, and giving us days that make birds sing and -leaves burst forth on the rose-bushes in the garden, on the eglantine -in the woods, on the honeysuckle climbing over rock and wall. About -two o'clock we took the path that winds so gracefully through -flowering broom and coarse cliff grass, skirting along wheat-fields, -bending toward ravines, twisting in and out between hedge-rows, and at -last boldly ascending the loftiest rocks. The object of our walk was a -promontory that commands the Bay of Quatre-Vaux. A hundred feet below -us shone the sea, breaking against the rocks with sounds that passed -through our souls as they mounted to heaven. Toward the horizon the -fishing-boats unfurled against the azure sky their dazzling sails, and -as our eyes turned from this little fleet to the more numerous one -that sailed singing nearer to us, an innumerable crowd of sea-birds -fishing gaily, and gladdening our eyes with the sight of their bright -plumage and graceful movements over the water--the birds, the sails, -the lovely day and universal peace gave to the sea a festal beauty -that filled my soul with glad enthusiasm in spite of the sad thoughts -I had brought with me to our promontory; and then I looked with all my -soul at headlands, rocks, and islands, trying to imprint them on my -memory and carry them away with me. Coming home I trod religiously, -and with regret at every step, the path that had so often led me to -such beautiful thoughts, in such sweet company. The path is so -charming when it reaches the coppice, and passes on among high hazel -trees, and a thick, bushy hedge of boxwood! Then the joy that nature -had bestowed upon me died away, and the melancholy of parting took -possession of me. Tomorrow will make of sea, and woods, and coast, and -all the charms I have enjoyed, a dream, a floating thought to me; and -so, that I might carry away from these dear places as much as -possible, and as if they could give themselves to me, I besought them -to engrave their images upon my soul, to give me something of -themselves that could never pass away; and I broke off branches of -boxwood, bushes, and luxurious thickets, plunging my head into their -depths to breathe in the wild perfumes they exhale, to penetrate into -their very essence, and speak as it were heart to heart. - -"The evening passed as usual in talking and reading. We recalled the -happiness of past days; I traced a faint picture of them in this book, -and we looked at it sadly, as at some dear, beautiful, dead face." - -One more passage from his journal and we will leave Maurice de Guérin -in Paris. Two years from the following date he was a fashionable man -of the world, capable of vieing in {418} conversation with those -marvels of wit and brilliancy, the talkers of Paris; but we have to do -with him only as the banished recluse, the exile from La Chênaie. - - "Paris, Feb., 1834. - "O God! close my eyes, keep me from seeing all this multitude, whose - presence rouses in me thoughts so bitter and discouraging. As I pass - through it, let me be deaf to the sounds, inaccessible to the - impressions that overwhelm me when I am in the crowd; set before my - eyes some image, some vision of the things I love, a field, a - valley, a moor, Le Cayla, Le Val, something in nature; I will walk - with eyes fastened upon these dear forms, and pass on without a - sense of suffering." - ------- - -From the Month. - -OF DREAMERS AND WORKERS. - -Nearly all men are born either dreamers or workers; not perhaps only -the one or only the other, but one of these two points is the centre -of their oscillation. Like a pendulum, they can move only so far -toward their opposite, some more, some less; but, like the pendulum, -they invariably return to their centre. Do we not all know some man -with abstracted eye, high, retreating forehead, rather refined and -often slightly attenuated frame and features, and placidly resolute in -demeanor, who has held the same position in the opinion of his -fellow-men, or, it may be, has occupied the same bench on the Sunday -quietly for twenty years or more? He is a specimen of the extreme type -of dreamers--venerative, mystical, and benevolent; but to all -appearance practically useless, helpless, and inert. Viewed -physiologically, these men are chiefly fair-haired and of the nervous -lymphatic temperament; sometimes this is combined with the bilious -temperament, and in such cases (to some of which we shall have more -particularly to allude) they become remarkable characters. It has been -said that the religion natural to dreamers is a mild form of Buddhism; -but this is probably because most Buddhists are dreamers and mystics -in the highest degree. One thing is certain, dreamers are in politics -either conservative or utopian, and in religion are little disposed -either to reject what they have been taught or to influence others to -do so. If they have been educated as Catholics, mild and devout -Catholics they live and die; if as Protestants, they are unusually -gentle and tolerant, and oppose alike reforms that would be -innovations, and innovations that would be reforms. A man who lives by -faith, thus resting on the invisible, has at times an apparent -resemblance to a dreamer. It is not our object in this paper to point -out the distinction, wide as it indeed is. Dreamers are the subject of -wonderful anecdotes about their absence of mind: it is related of them -that they forget their meals, start on a journey without their hats, -walk with their eyes wide open over precipices, ride on their -walking-sticks, and are surprised when toll is not demanded of them -for their charger. There is no occasion to believe all these -preposterous tales, but no doubt there are many very curious and -perfectly well-authenticated cases of abstraction of mind so entire as -to cause catastrophes both painful and ludicrous. To these men their -real life is their dream, their working-day is only their interruption -and annoyance. They are in heart mystics, and only need a certain -activity of brain and speech to proclaim themselves as such. They -possess great store of happiness within themselves, owing to their -peculiarity of caring less than others for those {419} substantial and -golden rewards which cause the unrest of the world. They love the -unseen and mysterious better than the visible and sensuous, and would -in general barter any amount of distinct and limited reality for -indefinite prospects; so that the single streak of wan and dying -light, which sleeps on the edge of the dark horizon, is more precious -to them, as suggesting Infinity, than any view which could be offered -of noble cities or fertile plains. Almost all things are to them -symbolical. No action is in their thought simply what it seems to be; -but there is about every deed performed, circumstance encountered, or -season passed, a secret sense of omen or prescience, of brightness or -of shadow. Light becomes a sentiment calling up images of -corresponding radiance and beauty, but especially perhaps that early -morning light which seems, while yet sleeping, to float in on the -world, as opposed to the fading colors of departing day. Darkness, -again, sometimes lends a sense of peril; but more often is peopled by -spirits--a realm of shadows and shadowy delights, all called into -being, moved, governed, and colored by the dreamer in his dream. The -many gradations between brightness and gloom have each their especial -fascination for dreamers, who are in this respect as discriminative -and fanciful as the Jews, who, in olden times, distinguished two kinds -of twilight: the doves' twilight, or crepusculum of the day, and -ravens' twilight, or the crepusculum of the night. In truth, their -tendency is to behold all actual things as illusions, and to consider -the spiritual and unseen world as the only true one: thus, in the -cloudy mantle of constant reverie they hide all the ills and -infirmities of humanity, and slumber in the "golden sleep of halcyon -quiet apart from the everlasting storms of life." For when a man can -sit calmly on an uncomfortable pole, like the Indian mystic, and say -"I am the Universe, and the Universe is me," he has attained to the -greatest conceivable height and perfection of dream-life. From the age -of Plato to our own times dreamers have been born perpetually among -the sons of men. St. John is claimed by them as being the most -profound and loving mystic ever given to the world. There have been -countless others; we need not add a list of names; those of -Swedenborg, Boehmen, and Irving, will occur to the memory as -representing one class of dreamers. These leaders are, as one might -predict, regarded with the extreme veneration characteristic of the -order. Indeed, of some it may be chronicled, as it was of the ancient -deities, Buddha, etc., "Once a man, now a God!" In general, dreamers -have tenanted our madhouses rather than filled our prisons; if, -however, they do commit crimes, they are serious ones. Religious and -political assassinations have been commonly the fruits of mad -dreamers. In the ranks have been numbered many holy men, and as a rule -they have influenced mankind rather by the example of their life and -the teaching of their pen than by busy practical action. Only certain -professions and occupations are suitable for dreamers. In the olden -times they were poets, shepherds, prophets, soothsayers, diviners, -alchemists, rhabdomantists. [Footnote 68] In these days they are by -rights clergymen, authors, poets, philanthropists, and, philosophers. -If they enter trade they commonly end in the _Gazette_; and placed in -positions of authority, where severity of discipline has to be -exercised, they are uniformly unsuccessful; in situations of trust, -they are invariably single-hearted and faithful, but in every place -and at all times they are the most frequent victims of fraudulent -representations and impudent imposture. A certain number of the -priesthood among all nations, gentle, speculative, and saintly men, -{420} have been of this order; weaving their work and their dreams -together into a fair fabric of many colors, which if it seems to -ordinary eyes shadowy and unsubstantial as the mist, is yet, like the -air, elastic, solid, and capable of resisting a very heavy pressure. -Idealists are, however, rarely formidable in action unless the bilious -is largely transfused in their temperament. They then become -missionaries and martyrs; patriots, revolutionists, fanatics; they -head revolutions, plan massacres, overthrow monarchies, and shatter -creeds. Peter the Hermit, John of Leyden, are examples of this order. - - [Footnote 68: [Greek text], _a rod_; men who undertook, and in - certain unenlightened regions do still undertake, to discover wells - of water, veins of minerals, or hidden treasures of money and - jewels, by means of divining-rods. ] - -The workers born into the world are widely different in temperament -and disposition, and antagonistic in principles, sentiment, and -action. They consist both of those who work with their hands alone, -and of those who work up into a practical form the reveries and -speculative schemes of the dreamers. Physiologically viewed, the -extreme type of the worker exhibits most frequently the bullet-shaped -head, square jaw, muscular, thick neck, large chest development, and -elemental hand, commonly also the sanguine, sanguine-nervous, or -sanguine-bilious temperament, They have an irresistible propensity to -do, to acquire, to conquer or invade; they are fertile in resource, -opulent in stratagem, full of quarrel, and essentially aggressive. A -contest is to them an occasion of inexplicable delight; and naturally -dedicated to action, they are as unable to conceive of disappointment -as the other class are to resist that which is or seems to be their -destiny. They become engineers, manufacturers, merchants, inventors, -mighty hunters, soldiers, sailors, pioneers, emigrants, rough-riders, -pugilists, smugglers, aeronauts, acrobats, and celebrated performers -in travelling circuses and menageries, lion-tamers, snake-charmers, -rat-catchers, burglars, thieves, and highwaymen. They are gamekeepers, -and devote their lives to circumvent and strive in mortal strife with -poachers; or they are poachers, and spend their days and nights in -plotting against and harassing and threatening the gamekeepers. As -clergymen they are most hard-working, zealous and excellent, but also -the most quarrelsome and intolerant. When they come on to the earth as -younger members of the aristocracy, who may neither dig, trade, nor -fight in the ring, and have not the wherewithal to keep racehorses and -hunters, they enter the army or navy, and there in times of peace, -when no legitimate outlet presents itself for the expenditure of these -energies, they form a very insubordinate and turbulent item of the -population. The lower classes of the workers who cannot get work, then -crusade against the upper classes, who are in the same predicament; -and we see the result in the perpetual placarding in some journals and -newspapers of "deplorable blackguardism in high life." Three parts out -of five, or even a larger proportion, of the Anglo-Saxon population -are composed of workers as opposed to dreamers; and the seething -unquiet mass of humanity known and described by some writers as our -"dangerous classes" is almost entirely recruited from their ranks. -Many centuries ago they were Vikings, pirates, and border robbers; -they scoured the seas, made raids, reived the cattle, and levied -black-mail; anon they were crusaders, for though Peter the Hermit was -a dreamer, his followers were workers; subsequently they destroyed -monasteries; and in these days they have made railroads and abolished -the corn-laws. But, nevertheless, the men who first built churches, -and dwelt in monasteries, and discovered the mysterious agency by -which the engine was to do its work, were not workers, but dreamers, -and were reviled in their day as visionaries and enthusiasts. Where a -dreamer would have been an alchemist, a modern worker finds his -mission to be a gold-digger; where one is a shepherd, the other will -be a hunter or trapper:--the first works that he may retire to dream. -{421} the second dreams how he shall arise and work. - -The dreamers among men select as mates the workers among women, or are -(perhaps more often) selected by them, and _vice versa_. It is the old -eternal law of nature--the duality pervading all things, types, and -classes, man and woman, positive and negative, matter and spirit, -reason and faith; and, in spite of the gentle scorn which dreamers -cherish for workers, and the undisguised contempt with which workers -regard dreamers, so they will continue to exist side by side until the -day comes when the worker can work no more, and the dreamer shall have -dreamed for the last time. - --------- - -MISCELLANY. - - -_The Old Church at Chelsea, England_,--Mr. H. H. Burnell read a paper -before the British Archaeological Society lately, on the Old Church of -Chelsea. The chancel, with the chauntries north and south of it, are -the only portions of ancient work left. The north chauntry, called the -Manor Chauntry, once contained the monuments of the Brays, now in very -imperfect condition, having been destroyed or removed to make space -for those of the Gervoise family. There remains, however, an ancient -brass in the floor. Of the south, or More Chauntry, he stated that the -monument of Sir Thomas More was removed from it to the chancel; and -the chauntry had been occupied by the monuments of the Georges family, -now also removed, displaced, and destroyed. Mr. Blunt showed that, -notwithstanding the current contrary opinion, founded on Aubrey's -assertion, the More monument is the original one for which Sir Thomas -More himself dictated the epitaph. Mr. Burnell, the architect of the -improvements effected subsequently to 1857, spoke positively as to the -non-existence of a crypt which conjecture had placed under the More -Chauntry. The foundation of the west end of the church before it was -enlarged in 1666, he found west of Lord Dacre's tomb. On the north -side of the chancel an aumbrey, and on the south a piscina was found, -coeval with the chancel (early fourteenth century). The arch between -the More Chauntry and the chancel is a specimen of Italian -workmanship--dated 1528--a date confirmed by the objects represented -in the carved ornaments, those objects being connected with the Roman -Catholic ritual. It is a remarkably early instance of the use of -Italian architecture in this country. In a window of this chapel, then -partly bricked up, was found in the brickwork in 1858 remains of the -stained glass which once filled it. The body of Sir Thomas More was, -according to Aubrey, interred in this chapel, and his head, after an -exposure of fourteen days, testifying to the passers-by on London -Bridge the remorseless cruelty of Henry VIII. and his barbarous -insensibility, was consigned to a vault in St. Dunstan's Church, -Canterbury. It was seen and drawn in that vault in 1715.--_Reader_. - - -_New Artesian Well in Paris_,--A third artesian well is now being -added to the two which Paris' has already. Already the perforation has -reached the depth of eighty-two metres, being twenty metres below the -sea-level. Before reaching this point, considerable difficulties had -to be overcome in the shape of intermediate sheets of water, which -form a series of subterranean lakes. The first of these was kept in -its bed by means of a strong iron tube driven perpendicularly through -it; that which followed received wooden palings, and the subsequent -stratum being clay, the masonry was continued without difficulty to -about five metres above sea-level. But at this point a layer of -agglomerations was reached, which let a great deal of water escape. It -thus became necessary to have again recourse to pumps: those employed -were in the aggregate of 20 horse-power. Owing to the bad nature of -this stratum, it was resolved to protect the perforation by a -revetment of extraordinary thickness; and in order that the well might -preserve its diameter of two metres notwithstanding, the upper part -has had to be widened in proportion, so as to {422} give it the -enormous width of four metres at the top. After this labor the work of -perforation was continued through a stratum of pyrolithic limestone. -At the depth corresponding to the level of the sea, they reached a -layer of tubular chalk, all pierced with large holes, forming so many -spouts, as thick as a man's thigh, through which water poured into the -well with incredible velocity. While the pumps were at work to get rid -of this water, a cylindrical revetment of bricks was built on a sort -of wheel made of oak, and laid down flat at the bottom of the -perforation by way of a foundation, and the intermediate space between -this cylinder and the chalk stratum was filled with concrete, 47,000 -kilos, of which were expended in this operation. As soon as the -concrete might be considered to have set, or attained sufficient -consistency, the brick cylinder was taken to pieces again, and the -perforation continued to the pressure point, where a new sheet of -water has been reached, requiring ingenious contrivances._--Artisan_. - - - -_New Irish Coal Fossils_.--Through the labors of Professor Huxley, Dr. -E. P. Wright, and Mr. Brownrig, some very interesting fossils from the -Castlecomer coal-measures of Co. Kilkenny, Ireland, have been brought -under the notice of geologists. The specimens consist of fish, -insects, and amphibian reptiles. Three out of the five forms of these -amphibians are _undoubtedly new_ to science, and, in all probability, -the remaining two also. The first, and most remarkable genus, -Professor Huxley has named "_Ophiderpeton_," having reference to its -elongated, snake-like form, rudimentary limbs, peculiar head, and -compressed tail. In outward form _Ophiderpeton_ somewhat resembles -_Siren lacertina_ and _Amphiuma_, but the ventral surface appears -covered with an armature of minute, spindle-shaped plates, obliquely -adjusted together, as in _Archaegosaurus_ and _Pholidogaster_. The -second new form, which he names _Lepterpeton_, possesses an eel-like -body, with slender and pointed head, and singularly constructed -hourglass-shaped centra, as in _Thecodontosaurus_. The third genus, -which Professor Huxley names _Ichthyerpeton_, has also ventral armor, -composed of delicate rod-like ossicles; the hind limbs have three -short toes, and the tail was covered with small quadrate scutes, or -apparently horny scales. The fourth new amphibian Labyrinthodont he -appropriately names _Keraterpeton_, a singular salamandroid-looking -form, but minute as compared with the other associated genera. Its -highly ossified vertebral column, prolonged epiotic bones, and armor -of overlapping scutes, determine its character in a remarkable manner. -A paper has been read before the Royal Irish Academy upon the subject, -and, in the course of the discussion which followed, Professor -Haughton said he had Professor Huxley's authority for stating that the -coal-pit at Castlecomer had within a few months afforded more -important discoveries than all the other coal-pits of -Europe.--_Geological Magazine_. - - - -_The Accommodation-Power of the Eye._--The manner in which the human -eye alters its focus for the perception of objects at various -distances has always been a difficult problem for physiologists and -physicists. The literature of medical science is full of dissertations -on this subject, yet very little, if anything, is positively known of -the exact means by which the alteration is achieved. There appears to -be now a tendency among ophthalmologists to believe that the effect -required is produced by an alteration of the form of the crystalline -lens of the eye, which becomes less or more convex as occasion -demands. This view has just received a rather strong condemnation by -the Rev. Professor Haughton, of Trinity College, Dublin, in some -remarks published in the "Dublin Quarterly Journal of Science." -Speaking of the alteration of form in the lens, he says:--"Even this -must take place on a far greater and more important scale than -anatomists have as yet suspected. The change amounts to the addition -of a double convex lens of crown glass having a radius of a third of -an inch. Anatomists have not as yet discovered a mechanism for -changing the shape of the lens sufficient to produce these results. -The lens should almost be turned into a sphere, and I know of no -ciliary muscles capable of effecting so great a change."--_Popular -Science Review_. - - - -{423} - -_Petroleum as a Substitute for Coal_.--Some recent experiments with -petroleum oil used for heating water, gave results from which it was -estimated that petroleum had more than three times the heating effect -of an equal weight of coal. Mr. Richardson's experiments at Woolwich, -however, gave an evaporation of 13.96 to 18.66 lb. of water, by one -pound of American petroleum; 9.7 lb. of petroleum being burnt per -square foot of grate per hour. With shale oil the evaporation was 10 -to 10.5 lb. of water per pound of fuel. The evaporative power of good -coal may be taken, for comparison, at 8 to 8.5 lb. per pound of fuel. -Taking into account the saving of freight due to the better quality of -the fuel, and the saving of labor in stoking, it is possible that at -some future time mineral oil may supersede coal in some of our ocean -steamers.-- - - - -_Frith of Forth Bridge_.--Parliamentary sanction has been obtained for -a bridge over the Frith of Forth, of a magnitude which gives it great -scientific interest. It is to form part of a connecting-link between -the North British and Edinburgh and Glasgow Railways. Its total length -will be 11,755 feet, and it will be made up of the following spans, -commencing from the south shore:--First, fourteen openings of 100 feet -span, increasing in height from 63 to 77 ft. above high-water mark; -then six openings of 150 ft. span, varying from 71 ft. to 79 ft. above -high water level; and then six openings of 175 ft. span, of which the -height above high-water level varies from 76 to 83 ft. These are -succeeded by fifteen openings of 200 ft. span, and height increasing -from 80 ft. to 105 ft. Then come the four great openings of 500 ft. -span, which are placed at a clear height of 135 ft. above high-water -spring tides. The height of the bridge then decreases, the large spans -being followed by two openings of 200 ft., varying in height from 105 -to 100 ft. above high-water; then four spans of 175 ft., decreasing -from 102 to 96 ft. in height; then four openings of 150 ft. span, -varying in height from 95 to 91 feet; and lastly seven openings of 100 -ft. span, 97 to 93 feet in height. The piers occupy 1,005 feet in -aggregate width. The main girders are to be on the lattice principle, -built on shore, floated to their position, and raised by hydraulic -power. The total cost is estimated at £476,543.--_Engineering_, Jan. -5. - - - -_Origin of the Diamond_.--Contrary to the usual opinion that the -diamond has been produced by the action of intense heat on carbon, -Herr Goeppert asserts that it owes its origin to aqueous agency. His -argument is based upon the fact that the diamond becomes black when -exposed to a very high temperature. He considers that its Neptunian -origin is proved by the fact that it has often on the surface -impressions of grains of sand, and sometimes of crystals, showing that -it has once been soft. - - - -_The Purification of Coal-Gas_.--An important essay on this subject -has been written by Professor A. Anderson, of Queen's College, -Birmingham. It relates chiefly to the methods discovered by the author -for the successful removal of bisulphide of carbon and the -sulphuretted hydro-carbons by means of the sulphides of ammonium. By -washing the gas with this compound, a very large proportion (nearly 35 -per cent.) of the sulphur impurities are removed, and the illuminating -power of the gas, so far from being diminished, becomes actually -increased. Professor Anderson records several carefully conducted -experiments, all of which prove the truth of the conclusions at which -he has arrived. His method is now in operation at the Taunton and -other local gas-works, and is highly spoken of by those who have given -it careful consideration. - - -_Paraffine in the Preservation of Frescoes_.--In _Dingler's Journal et -Bulletin de la Société Chimique_ it is stated that paraffine may be -used with advantage for the above purpose. Vohl coats the picture with -a saturated solution of paraffine in benzole, and, when the solvent -has evaporated, washes the surface with a very soft brush. Paraffine -has this advantage over other greasy matters--it does not become -colored by time. - - - -_Welsh Gold_.--During the year 1864, we learn from statistics only -recently published, there were five gold-mines working in -Merionethshire. In these 2,836 tons were crushed, from which 2,887 -ozs. of gold, valued at £9,991, were obtained. This is in excess of -the quantity obtained in 1868, which was only 552 ozs.; but it is -considerably less than the production of 1862, when 5,299 ozs., having -a value of £20,390, were extracted. - -{424} - -_A New Train-Signaling Apparatus._--Sundry mechanical contrivances -and improvements in philosophical apparatus have been exhibited at the -scientific gatherings of the present season in London, attracting more -or less of attention, according to their merits and utility. Mr. -Preece's train-signalling apparatus for promoting the safety of -railway-travelling, can hardly fail of being interesting to everybody. -It is in use on the South-western Railway, and if properly used, -accidents from collision ought never to happen; it has the advantage -of being applicable to any number of stations, which is of importance, -considering how stations are multiplying in and around the metropolis. -Mr. Preece has a very simple and complete method of communication -between the signalman and switchman. The latter, on being informed -that trains are waiting to come in, operates on the lever-handles -before him, there being as many handles as lines of converging -railway; and these handles are so contrived, that on moving any one to -admit a train, it locks the others; so that if the switchman should -pull at any one of them by mistake, he cannot move it. He is thus -prevented from admitting two trains at the same time upon one line of -rails, and thus one of the most frequent occasions of railway accident -is avoided. And besides this, safety is further promoted by a series -of small signal-discs, which start up before the switchman's eyes at -the right moment, and give him demonstration that he has given the -right pull at the right handle. - - - -_Action of Liquid Manure on certain Soils_.--Some recent researches on -this point, conducted by Professor Voelcker, were alluded to by Dr. G. -Calvert in his Canton lecture before the Society of Arts. In some -respects Dr. Voelcker's conclusions differ from those of Mr. Way. They -are briefly as follows: (1.) That calcareous, dry soils absorb about -six times as much ammonia from the liquid manure as the sterile, sandy -soil. (2.) That the liquid manure in contact with the calcareous soil -becomes much richer in lime, whilst during its passage through the -sandy soil it becomes much poorer in this substance. (3.) That the -calcareous soil absorbs much more potash than the sandy soil. (4) That -chloride of sodium is not absorbed to any considerable extent by -either soil, (5.) That both soils remove most of the phosphoric acid -from the liquid. (6.) That the liquid manure, in passing through the -calcareous soil, becomes poorer, and in passing through the sandy soil -becomes richer in silica. - - - -_The Value of Sewage_.--This important question, which has been so -ably discussed by Baron Liebig in his various works upon Agricultural -Chemistry, had a paper devoted to it by Dr. Gilbert at a late meeting -(February 1st) of the Chemical Society. After entering into the -details of his subject, the author draws the following general -conclusions: 1st. It is only by the liberal use of water that the -refuse matters of large populations can be removed from their -dwellings without nuisance and injury to health. 2d. That the -discharge of town sewage into rivers renders them unfit as water -supplies to other towns, is destructive to fish, causes deposits which -injure the channel, and emanations which are injurious to health, is a -great waste of manurial matter, and should not be permitted. 3d. That -the proper mode of both purifying and utilizing sewage-water is to -apply it to land. 4th. That, considering the great dilution of town -sewage, its constant daily supply at all seasons, its greater amount -in wet weather, when the land can least bear, or least requires more -water, and the cost of distribution, it is best fitted for application -to grass, which alone can receive it the year round, though it may be -occasionally applied with advantage to other crops within easy reach -of the line or area laid down for the continuous application to grass. -6th. That the direct result of the general application of town sewage -to grass land would be an enormous increase in the production of milk -(butter and cheese) and meat, whilst by the consumption of the grass a -large amount of solid manure, applicable to arable land and crops -generally, would be produced. 6th. That the cost or profit to a town -of arrangements for the removal and utilization of its sewage must -vary greatly, according to its position and to the character of the -land to be irrigated; where the sewage can be conveyed by gravitation -and a sufficient tract of suitable land is available, the town may -realize a profit; but, under contrary conditions, it may have to -submit to a pecuniary loss to secure the necessary sanitary -advantages. - ------- - -{425} - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -THE PRINCIPLES OF BIOLOGY. -By Herbert Spencer. New York: -Appleton & Co. 1866, Vol. I. 12mo. Pp. 475. - -We have omitted the long list of works of which Herbert Spencer is the -author, works of rare ability in their way, but essentially false in -the philosophical principles on which they are based. Mr. Herbert -Spencer is naturally one of the ablest men in Great Britain, far -superior to the much praised Buckle, and equalled, if not surpassed by -John Stuart Mill, now member of Parliament. We have heretofore -considered him as belonging to the positivist school of philosophy, -founded by Auguste Comte, and the ablest man of that school; able, and -less absurd than even M. Littré. But in a note in the work before us -he disclaims all affiliation with Positivism, declares that he does -not accept M. Comte's system, and says that the general principles in -which he agrees with that singular man, he has drawn not from him, but -from sources common to them both. This we can easily believe, for in -the little we have had the patience to read of M. Comte's unreadable -works we have found nothing original with him but his dryness, -dulness, and wearisomeness, in which if he is not original, he is at -least superior to most men. Yet we have not been able to detect any -essential difference of doctrine or principle between the Frenchman -and the Englishman, and to us who are not positivists, M. Comte, M. -Littré, George H. Lewes, Herbert Spencer, John Stuart Mill, Miss -Evans, and Harriet Martineau belong to one and the same school. - -It is but simple justice to Herbert Spencer to say that he writes in -strong, manly, and for the most part classical English, and has made -himself master of the best philosophical style that we have met with -in any English or American writer. He understands, as far as a man can -with his principles, the philosophy of the English tongue, and writes -it with the freedom and ease of a master, though not always with -perfect purity. He must have been a hard student, and evidently is a -most laborious thinker and industrious writer. But here ends, we are -sorry to say, our commendation. It is the misfortune, perversity, or -folly of Herbert Spencer to spend his life in attempting to obtain or -at least to explain effects without causes, properties without -substance, and phenomena without noumena or being. In his _Principles -of Philosophy_, he divides the real and unreal into the knowable and -the unknowable, without explaining, however, how the human mind knows -there is an unknowable; and to the unknowable he relegates the -principles, origin, and causes of things; that is, in plain English, -the principles, origin, and causes of things, are unreal at least to -us, and are not only unknown, but absolutely unknowable, and should be -banished as subjects of investigation, inquiry, or thought. Hence the -knowable, that to which all science is restricted, includes only -phenomena, that is to say, the sensible or material world. - -Biology, which is the subject of the volume before us, is the science -of life, but on the author's principles, is necessarily confined to -the statement, description, and classification of facts, or phenomena -of organic as distinguished from inorganic matter. He can admit on his -philosophy no vital principle, but must explain the vital phenomena -without it, by a combination, brought about nobody knows how, of -chemical, mechanical and electric changes, forces, action, and -reaction--as if there can be changes, forces, action, or reaction -where there is no relation of cause and effect! But after all his -labor, and it is immense, to show what chemical, mechanical, and -electric changes and combinations, binary, tertiary, etc., are -observed in a living subject, he explains nothing; for life, while it -lasts, is neither mechanical, chemical, nor electrical, but to a -certain extent resists and counteracts all these forces, and the human -body falls completely under their dominion only when it has ceased to -be a living body, when by chemical action it is decomposed, and -returns to the several elements from which it was formed. Mr. Spencer -describes very scientifically the entire {426} process of -assimilation; but what is that living power within that assimilates -the food we eat and converts it into chyle, blood, and flesh and bone? -You see here a principle operating of which no element is found in -mechanics, chemistry or electricity, or any possible combination of -them. The muscles of my arms and shoulder may operate on mechanical -principles in raising my arm when I will to raise it; but on what -mechanical, chemical, or electric principles do I will to raise it? -That I will to raise it, and in willing to do so perform an immaterial -act, I know better than you know that "percussion produces detonation -in sulphide of nitrogen," or that "explosion is a property of -nitro-mannite," or "of nitroglycerine." - -The simple fact is that the physical sciences are all good and useful -in their place, and for purposes to which they are fitted; but they -are all secondary sciences, and without principles higher than -themselves to give dialectic validity to their inductions, they are no -sciences at all. There is no approach to the science of life in -Herbert Spencer's Biology; there is only a painfully elaborate -statement of the principal external facts which usually accompany it -and depend on it. Indeed, we had the impression that our most advanced -physiologists, while admitting in their place chemical and electric -forces as necessary to the phenomena of organic life, had abandoned -the attempt to expound the science of physiology on chemical, electric -or mechanical principles, or any possible combination of them. Even -Dr. Draper, if he makes no great use of it in his physiology, -recognizes a vital principle, even an immaterial soul, in man. We had -also the impression that the medical profession were abandoning the -chemical theory of medicine, so fashionable a few years ago. We may be -wrong, but as far as we have been able to keep pace with modern -science, Mr. Spencer is a quarter of a century behind his age. - -The chapter on genesis, generation, multiplication, or reproduction, -is as unscientific as it is unchristian. We merely note that the -author insists on metagenesis as well as parthenogenesis, that is, -that the offspring may differ in kind from the parents, and that there -are virgin, or rather, sexless mothers. Some years ago, in conversing -with a scientific friend, I ventured to deny this alleged fact, on the -strength of the theological and scriptural doctrine that every kind -produces its like. He laughed in my face, and brought forward certain -well-known facts in the reproduction of the aphid or cabbage-louse. I -assured him that if he would take the pains to observe more closely he -would find that his metagenesis and parthenogenesis are only different -stages in the entire process of the reproduction of the aphid. Of -course he did not believe a word of it; but a few days afterwards he -came and informed me that he had seen his friend. Dr. Burnham of -Boston, a naturalist of rare sagacity, who told him that naturalists -were wrong in asserting metagenesis in the case of aphides. "I have," -said he, "been making my observations for some years on these little -organisms, and I find that what we have taken for metagenesis is only -the different stages in the process of reproduction, for I have -discovered the young aphid properly formed and enveloped in the -so-called virgin or sexless mother." The naturalist is dead, but his -friend, my informant, is living. - -We have no space to enter into any detailed review of this very -elaborate volume. It contains many curious materials of science, but -the author rejects creation, generation, formation, and emanation, and -adopts that of evolution. Life is evolved from various elements which -are reducible to gases, and, upon the whole, he gives us a gaseous -sort of life. His theory seems to be that of Topsy, who declared she -didn't come, but _growed_. We cannot perceive that Mr. Herbert Spencer -has made any serious advance on Topsy. The universe is evolution, and -evolution is growth, and he must say of himself with Topsy, "I didn't -come, I growed." At any rate, he must be classed with those old -philosophers who evolved all things from matter, some from fire, some -from air, and some from water, and made all things born from change or -corruption; or rather, with Epicurus, who evolved all from the -fortuitous motion, changes, and combination of atoms. Those old -philosophers were unjustly ridiculed by Hermias, or our recent -philosophers have less science than they imagine. Verily, there is -nothing new under the sun, and false science only traverses a narrow -{427} circle, constantly coming round to the absurdities of its -starting point. Yet Herbert Spencer's book has profited us. It has -made us feel more deeply than ever the utter impotence of the greatest -man to explain anything in nature, without recognizing God and -creation. - - -THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. May, 1866. - -The first volume of the new series of this periodical is completed in -the present number, and, we suppose, is a fair specimen of the way in -which we may expect to see its programme carried out. On the whole, -our expectations are quite well satisfied, particularly with the -present number. The first article, "The Unitarian Movement," is an -_exposé_ of the view taken by the conductors of the influence which -the Unitarian movement is expected to exert upon the future destiny of -Christendom and the civilized world. The Unitarian movement is -supposed to represent the generally diffused and accepted theology of -the mass of thinking persons in the Protestant world, especially of -those who give tone to literature, and are most active in promoting -science, art, culture, civilization, and process in general. The -Catholic Church is a sect, because separated from the scientific and -progressive movement. The Unitarian denomination is a useful little -institution in a small way, but is not expected to absorb other bodies -into itself. Rather it and they are expected to coalesce into a more -universal form of organization, which will be the New Christendom or -Church of the Future. - -The principal difficulty we find in the ingenious theories of our -Unitarian friends is, that they assume a great deal, and prove but -little. They assume to be in advance of all the world in intelligence, -science, liberality, etc., and quietly ignore the whole massive, -colossal fabric of Catholic theology. The truth is, the Unitarian -idea, so far as it is an idea, and in the way in which any -considerable class of Unitarians represent it, is not, and cannot -become, the dominant idea of that portion of the scientific or -civilized world which has disowned allegiance to the supreme authority -of divine revelation. Nor can it be shown that the Catholic idea will -not win again the control partially lost over the intellectual realm. -Either the human race has a purely natural destiny, or a supernatural -one. If the former, a Trinitarian or Unitarian Church, a Past, -Present, or Future Church, is not necessary. The State and Society are -the highest and all-sufficient organization of the race. If the -latter, there must be a divinely instituted organization, possessing -continuity of life and fixedness of laws, from the origin of the race. -Our friends must admit more or give up more. They are on a road now -which will infallibly bring them face to face with the Catholic -Church. We look with hope to see some of the boldest and most -consistent thinkers of the Unitarians come through into the Catholic -Church by this road, and interpret the genuine rationalism of -Christian doctrine to their own people much better than we can do it. -Dr. Brownson has really demonstrated the whole problem from their own -axioms and definitions, if they would but attend to him. But the good -Doctor, unfortunately for them, has travelled over the road in -seven-league boots, so fast and so far, that it will take at least -twenty-five years for his ancient compeers to come up with him. - -In the review of "Tischendorff's Plea for the Genuineness of the -Gospels," Dr. Hedge has given us an essay marked with his sound and -solid scholarship. It is a valuable contribution to sacred literature, -and we would gladly see volumes of the same sort from his pen. - -The sketch of that singular and gifted person, Francis Newman, the -brother of Dr. Newman, has great interest. It tells us something we -are very glad to know, and could not easily have found out without the -help of the writer. These are always the most interesting and valuable -articles in reviews. The author cannot help giving a few passing cuts -at Dr. Newman. Dr. Newman seems to annoy a great number of people very -much. They seem vexed that he should be a Catholic, and yet extort -from even the unwilling so much homage to his genius. The -"Independent" calls him renegade and apostate, and Bishop Coxe's very -inharmonious organ, misnamed the "Gospel Messenger," calls him -"detected thief," with similar epithets. The "Church Journal" tries to -make believe that his letter to Dr. Pusey is a "wail of despair." Our -Unitarian friend is too much of a gentleman to indulge in such boorish -{428} demeanor, but still he cannot suppress a well-bred sneer. "What -has Dr. Newman ever done for God's humanity? Has the oppression of the -English masses ever weighed upon his heart? Has he ever lifted up his -voice in behalf of our down-trodden little ones? Has he ever thought -of saving men from the great hell of ignorance and superstition, or -are these the safeguards of his precious faith? We have a right to -judge of that faith by its fairest fruit. _Ex pede Herculem_." - -Dr. Newman's conversion seems, in the eyes of Protestants, to have -such a tremendous moral weight, and to carry such a force of argument -in it for the truth of the Catholic Church, that they are obliged to -deny in some plausible way either his intellectual or moral greatness, -in order to escape from it. Does not the author of these sentences -know well, that if the Catholic Church and her clergy were taken away -from the masses and the poor, they would perish in ignorance and vice -while he and his companions were discussing their plans and estimates -for the church of the paulo-post future? Does he not know that Dr. -Newman and a multitude of other gifted men like him are preaching and -working every day among the poorest of the people, while Unitarian -clergymen are ministering to select and intelligent congregations? -Does he know what St. Peter Claver did for the negroes, and can he -point to any Protestant who has done the like? A little more of Dr. -Newman's own conscientiousness in speech would do no harm to some of -his critics. - -The article on "Bushnell on Vicarious Sacrifice" is ably and fairly -written, and all the writer's positive views are compatible with -Catholic doctrine. He commits the great _faux pas_, however, of -ignoring all the post-reformation theology of the Catholic Church, and -speaking as if theological science were confined to Protestants. He -appears also to be unaware that Catholic theologians commonly teach, -after St. Augustine, that God was not bound by his justice to exact -condign satisfaction as the condition of pardoning sin, but was free -to pardon absolutely. It was more glorious both for God and man that -this pardon should be accorded as the fruit of the noblest and most -perfect act of merit possible, rather than given gratuitously. - -"An American in the Cathedrals of Europe" is an article full of the -genuine and pure sentiment with which Mr. Alger's writings abound, and -without a word to mar the pleasure a Catholic would take in reading -it. - -The notices of Dr. Hall and of the University of Michigan have each -their interest and value, and the literary criticisms are, as usual, -in good taste. - - -THE APOSTLESHIP OF PRAYER. -By the Rev. H. Ramière, of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the -latest French edition and revised by a Father of the Society. 12mo, -pp. 393. John Murphy & Co., Baltimore. 1866. - -A most excellent and thorough treatise on prayer. The spirit and -intention of the rev. author are best gained from a perusal of the -introduction, which warms one's heart and gives a new and stronger -impulse to every hope and desire which the Christian reader may have -for the greater glory of God. We cannot, however, entirely agree with -the gloomy and discouraging view which is taken of the success of -Christianity in the world. Christianity is not, nor has it ever been, -a failure; and it is something to which we cannot subscribe when the -author attributes "apparent barrenness" to the incarnation, and -"comparative uselessness" to the precious blood of our Lord Jesus -Christ. Neither do we think it suffices to answer the infidel, "Who -hath aided the Spirit of the Lord, or who hath been his counsellor and -taught him?" when he points us to the great portion of the world yet -unchristianized. And if prayer be good, both individual and -associated; if it be absolutely necessary, as it is in the Christian -economy; if it be, as it were, the soul which gives life to every work -of the Christian; still we do not imagine that of all the means of -grace this alone deserves our earnest thought or demands our undivided -attention. - -We are not called upon, in any sense, to apologize for Christianity. -It is not worthy of us as men of strong faith to treat of religion as -though it were a subject that needed to be excused in the face of the -unbeliever, or which humbly supplicates the notice of the philosopher -and the statesman. The truly great minds which have not professed -Christianity have sought rather {429} to excuse the world for not -submitting to the force of its arguments and to the charms of its -beauty. Christianity is no failure, if there be anything which -deserves the name of success. What other institutions can compare with -it for actual and permanent success? The propagation of the faith, its -preservation, and its enormous diffusion, may well put all past, -present, and future works of man to the blush. What else is it now, -but _the_ great FACT of the world's history and of the world's present -advanced and civilized state? We are not a petty, insignificant sect -of thinkers, nor a despicable school of philosophers, seeking a -momentary acknowledgment from the great unchristian world. On the -contrary, Christianity rules the world; and all that is great and -noble in humanity, all that has sanctified the past, sustains the -present, and inspires hope for the future; all that is free, -civilized, and enlightened in society, depends now for its life, as it -has received its seed, from the divine power and light of the -Christian faith. Truly, we must pray, and that "without ceasing," for -those who are not of the fold of Christ, and for the coming of the -kingdom of God upon earth; and any one who peruses the work before us -will feel the depth of this obligation; and if he has any real, -practical desire for the salvation and sanctification of man, will not -fail to be stimulated to constant and earnest prayer. But have we -reflected, as well as we might, that before men will pray to God they -must first believe in him? The man of enlightened faith prays -naturally; the ignorant and the superstitious are noted for their want -of confidence in prayer. Prayer is the union of the soul with God, and -the better God is known, the better is the heart of man prepared for -the influences of the Holy Spirit. "Whosoever shall call upon the name -of the Lord shall be saved. But how shall they call on him in whom -they have not believed? Or how shall they believe him of whom they -have not heard? And how shall they hear without a preacher?" We may -urge our faithful Christians to pray for the conversion of the world, -and we may mourn that they do not pray for this end more than they do; -but whatsoever arms God has placed at our disposal for conquering the -world unto himself, we, like good soldiers of Jesus Christ, must use -them with alacrity, with zeal, and, above all, with that spirit of -sacrifice which our holy faith alone has the power to inspire. Whilst -we need not neglect the apostolic manner of preaching the word of God, -we should also lay to heart the oft-repeated and wise admonition of -the Holy Father to make diligent use of the providential means of the -press, to diffuse the knowledge of the Christian faith, and promulgate -the saving principles of strict Christian morality, and thus prevent -defection from the congregation of the just, and enlighten them that -sit in the darkness and in the shadow of death. The people need more -light, more instruction. The masses among non-Catholics are very -ignorant of religion. They are living upon only the poor remnants of -Catholic faith and tradition which have been left to them by the -ruthless hand of the despoiler. None have felt this more than the -clergy and enlightened laity of our own country, where religion is -thrown upon its own merits for support and progress, and where the -hold upon the ancient Christian tradition is so slight; and it is a -happy augury for the conversion of the American people that these -sentiments are beginning to have a practical and encouraging result. -We must make the truth known, for it is that which enlightens man. And -Christianity is truth. There is no form of truth so broad, so -exalting, so truly progressive, so noble and so tree. Men will accept -it when you make it known to them--accept it with joy, and a reverent -enthusiasm. The tone of our remarks must not be misunderstood as -attributing to the spirit of the work before us any want of -appreciation of the great needs of which we have spoken, or that we -think the rev. author displays a want of confidence in the power of -Christian truth. On the contrary, we have seldom met with a book so -urgent in earnestness and so fall of faith. We can only say, in -conclusion, God send the church many more such zealous souls as the -Père Ramière, now that the harvest is so full and the laborers are so -few. - -{430} - - -REPORT OF THE TRIAL OF DR. W. H. STOKES, PHYSICIAN, AND MARY -BLENKINSOP, SISTER SUPERIOR, OF MOUNT HOPE INSTITUTION, BEFORE THE -CIRCUIT COURT FOR BALTIMORE COUNTY. -Reported by Eugene L. Didier. 8vo pamphlet, pp. 202. Baltimore: Kelly -& Piet. 1866. - -The famous Mount Hope case, which was brought to trial in February -last, ended in a verdict for the defendants, and we have here a full -report of it. We trust the projectors of this magnificent _fiasco_ are -abundantly pleased with the fruits of their endeavors, although they -seem to have forgotten that, failing to sustain their indictment, the -odium they sought to fix upon others would be sure to recoil upon -themselves. Hence we think that popular judgment will incline to the -belief that the only conspiracy in the case (if there be any) was upon -the part of the prosecution. The fact that an attempt was made to -deprive the defendants of a plea secured to them by positive law would -rather favor this opinion. We should be happy to believe that -sectarian prejudice had nothing to do in founding this accusation; but -the animus which prompted it will soon be apparent to any one who will -take the trouble to read the charge. The estimable and pious ladies, -whose life of sacrifice in the interests of religion and humanity has -compelled the admiration of the world, are deemed unfit to undertake -their office of charity because they are women! because they are -religious and governed by a foreign priest! This tells the whole -story, and simply means that ladies of the Catholic religion, who -choose to unite in a religious order for the purpose of relieving -human suffering, are unworthy of public sympathy or confidence. We -strongly doubt if all the testimony sought to be introduced on the -trial, could it have been admitted, would have materially changed the -result. To say nothing of the equivocal character of that evidence, as -coming from persons but recently inmates of the institution, and whose -perfect competency to testify is far from certain, we know the -proneness of those living under the government and direction of others -to deem themselves the objects of harsh treatment and neglect. There -is not an establishment of such persons in the country, not even a -common boarding-school, against which similar charges are not -constantly made. The well-known character of these admirable sisters -and their unwearied efforts to do good--for the most part far removed -from human recognition or applause--afford a strong presumption that -the management of their asylum will stand the test of rigorous -scrutiny. - -A case not wholly unlike the present, got up in a similar spirit, in -Boston, some years since, under the Know-Nothing regime, is doubtless -still fresh in public recollection. Affairs directed to the same end -as this of Mount Hope are got up from time to time, but they serve -only to arouse feelings which had much better lie dormant where they -cannot be eradicated, and invoke a spirit entirely opposed to the -plainest dictates of Christian charity. - -The report of the trial appears to be very complete, and we commend it -to those who are at all acquainted with the circumstances of the case, -or have felt any interest in its result. - - -CHRISTIAN MISSIONS: -Their Agents and Their Results. By T. W. M. Marshall. 2 volumes. New -York: Sadliers, No. 31 Barclay street. Reprint from an English -edition. - -It is somewhat late to notice this valuable work; but, as the -publishers have recently sent us a copy, we take the occasion to -recommend it to all who are desirous of knowing what has been -accomplished both by Catholic and Protestant missionaries. - -Mr. Marshall's work has attained a high reputation abroad, and has -been translated into several European languages. It is very thorough, -and its statements are backed up by a vast array of citations, chiefly -from Protestant writers. Catholic missions form a beautiful and -attractive page of ecclesiastical history. Their great success and -abundant fruits are demonstrated beyond a cavil by the author, as they -have been many times before. The majority of Catholics are too -indifferent to the great work of missions, and ought to take a deeper -interest in them than they do. - -The very signal failure of Protestant missions as a whole is also -proved, by Mr. Marshall, in such a way that their advocates cannot -rebut his evidence. Nevertheless, we think there is an unnecessary -amount of satire levelled at the missionaries themselves, and too dark -a shade given to the picture of their labors. Many of them are {431} -certainly men who, if they were Catholic missionaries, would honor -their calling, and who undertook their hopeless task from high and -worthy motives. They have accomplished but little, yet their labors -have not been altogether without results. The same may be said of the -Russian missions. The particular facts stated by Mr. Marshall -concerning the low state of a large part of the Russian clergy, the -violent means used for enforcing conformity to the Russian Church, and -the imperfect instruction given to the ostensible converts, are -indubitable. Yet we believe there are other facts also to be taken -into the account, which tell on the other side, and are necessary to a -perfectly correct view of the true state of the case. A perfectly just -balancing of all the accounts would prove most conclusively that the -Catholic Church alone is adequate to the task of successfully -propagating Christianity. Mr. Marshall has gone very far toward -success in his effort to make this balance, and has written with the -most perfect honesty of purpose. Some of his deductions may be open to -criticism, and his array of facts and testimonies may admit of further -completion; but the general result which he has reached cannot be -substantially set aside or altered. One particular portion of his work -is just now especially valuable, to wit, the estimate he has furnished -from Protestant writers of the vast superiority of Oriental -_Catholics_ over Oriental _Schismatics_ in the Levant. - -We recommend this learned and excellent work to all intelligent -readers as the best and most complete of its kind which has yet -appeared. - - -THE STORY OF KENNETT. -By Bayard Taylor. 12mo., pp. 418. New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1866. - -This is an American story as truly as the Waverley novels are Scotch. -It has done for Pennsylvania and the Quaker traditions what Hawthorne -has for Massachusetts and Puritan life and tradition, and Cooper for -Western New York and the fading reminiscences of Indian and frontier -life. The book is redolent with the sweet aroma of pastoral life, and -that healthy temper and character which are the certain fruit of -honest, independent, and successful frugality and toil. - -We are grateful to the masters of poetry and romance who will seize -and perpetuate the fleeting memories of our beautiful and noble past, -and save for our children those traditions of danger, daring, labor, -love, and self-sacrifice which colored with mystery and beauty the -dreams and aspirations of our childhood. Mr. Taylor is a man of whom -we are proud. His experience as a traveller renders his writings more -distinctively American, while they are entirely free from any -narrowness or provincialism. He deserves the success which follows his -literary labors. The book is handsomely got up, as such a book ought -to be. - - - -AGNES. A Novel. By Mrs. Oliphant. New York: Harper & Brothers. - -This is an artistic, highly-finished story, intensely truthful to -nature, yet sufficiently idealized to give the mind the enjoyment of -appreciating a work of art. The authoress makes some very fine points. -The contemplation of the "Visitation" in the Pitti gallery by the -lonely young wife is a beautiful touch of nature, such as only a woman -could have made. - - -INSTRUCTION AND CATECHISM FOR CONFESSION. -To be used by children preparing to receive the Sacrament of Penance. -32mo., pp. 24. New York. D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1866. - -We are sure that this little book will prove as useful in every -respect as the rev. author could desire. There has been an undoubted -want of some such aid to the ordinary catechism, and every pastor -under whose notice it may come will not fail to welcome it and avail -himself of it. We like it because it is short, to the point, and -written in good plain English. - - -GOOD THOUGHTS FOR PRIEST AND PEOPLE. Translated from the German. By -Rev. Theodore Noethen. 12mo. Albany. Nos. 1 and 2. - -These are the kind of books which we earnestly desire to see among the -good Catholic books which every family ought to have and read. The -clergy will also find these "Good Thoughts" admirably adapted to their -wants, as furnishing suggestive matter for {432} sermons and parochial -instructions. Its price, however, will, we fear, defeat its usefulness -in part by confining it to a comparatively limited circulation. - - -MAY CAROLS AND HYMNS AND POEMS. -By Aubrey de Vere. 1 vol., 32mo., pp. 232. New York: Lawrence Kehoe. -1866. - -Of the two parts comprised in this welcome little volume, the longest, -and, to our taste, by all odds the best, is that originally published -in London under the title of "May Carols." It is a serial poem, -devoted partly to the praises of the Blessed Virgin, and in a -subordinate degree to the thoughts of natural beauty suggested by the -most joyous and poetical month of the young year. If it reminds us -frequently of "In Memoriam," the resemblance cannot be charged as a -plagiarism, and at most is only superficial. There is a Tennysonian -curtness of phrase, a pregnant significance and neatness of expression -in many of the lines, which are equally rare and refreshing in -devotional poetry. Charmingly delicate in execution, and profoundly -religious in sentiment, Mr. De Vere's "Carols" are a valuable addition -to Catholic literature, and will add no little renown to the author's -reputation as a poet. The "Hymns and Sacred Poems" have a value of -their own for the thoughts which they contain, though we cannot accord -them the same praise which we cheerfully render to the first and -larger portion of Mr. Kehoe's tastefully printed little volume. - - -IN MEMORIAM OF RT. REV. JOHN B. FITZPATRICK. -Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1866. - -A neatly executed pamphlet, containing an account of the funeral -obsequies of the late distinguished and beloved bishop of Boston, and -three funeral discourses: one by Archbishop McCloskey at the -interment, another by Bishop De Goesbriand at the Month's Mind, and a -third by the well-known and eloquent Father Haskins of Boston, -delivered in one of the parish churches. The friends of the deceased -prelate will find in it a valuable and pleasing memento of the -departed. - - -THE HISTORY OF IRELAND, FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD -TO THE ENGLISH INVASION. -By the Rev. Geoffrey Keating, D.D. Translated from the original -Gaelic, and copiously annotated by John O'Mahony, with a map showing -the location of the ancient clans, and a Topographical Appendix. 8vo., -pp. 746. New York: James B. Kirker. 1866. - -This is a new edition of a translation of Dr. Keating's History of -Ireland, published in this city a few years ago. The original work as -it came from the pen of Dr. Keating has met with both praise and -censure from Irish scholars. Some critics have thought the learned -author placed too much faith in the legends of the ancient Irish. The -work, even if a portion of it must be classified as "doubtful," is a -valuable record of the deeds of Ireland's chiefs when she was a -nation. The notes of the translator are voluminous and critical, and -help to throw much light upon passages which, to the ordinary reader, -are obscure. - -We regret that the publisher has seen fit to leave out the "map -showing the location of the ancient clans" of Ireland, which appeared -in the first edition published by Mr. Haverty. From the wording of the -title-page, one would expect to find it in its proper place. But it is -not there. - - -MAXWELL DREWITT. -A Novel. By F. G. Trafford. Harper & Brothers. - -This is an Irish tale, exceedingly well written, and just and manly in -its tone and sentiment. - - -L. Kehoe announces the early publication of "CHRISTINE, AND OTHER -POEMS," by George H. Miles, Esq. The volume will be brought out in a -superior style of binding and typography, worthy of the high merit of -the poetry. - - - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From JAMES O'KANE, New York. Betsey Jane Ward, (better half to -Artemus) her Book of Goaks with a hull Akkownt of the Coartship and -Maridge to A 4 Said Artemus, and Mister Ward's Cutting-up with the -Mormon fare Secks with Pikturs drawed by Mrs. B. Jane Ward. 12mo, -pp. 312. - [Verbatim;--Transcriber.] - - -FROM THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY. -Doctor Kemp. The Story of a life with a Blemish. 8vo, pamphlet. - - -From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York. Nos. 13, -14, 15, 16, and 17 of D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes. - - -From the office of the AVE MARIA, Notre Dame, Ind. Specimen sheet of -the Golden Wreath for the month of May, composed of daily -considerations on the Triple Crown of our Blessed Lady's joys, -sorrows, and glories. With Hymns set to Music for May devotions. - --------- - -{433} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -VOL. III, NO. 16-JULY, 1866. - - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THE NEAREST PLACE TO HEAVEN. - - -There are some places in this world nearer to heaven than others. I -know of a place which I think is the nearest. Whether you may think so -I do not know, but I would like you to see it and judge for yourself. -Please to go to France, then to Paris; then take a walk a little -distance outside of the Barrière de Vaugirard, and you will come to a -small village called Issy. When you have walked about five minutes -along its narrow and straggling street, which is the continuation of -the Rue de Vaurigard, you win see on your left a high, ugly stone -wall, and if I did not ask you to pull the jangling bell at the -porter's lodge and enter, you might pass by and think there was -nothing worthy of your notice about the place. You say you have not -time to stop now, that you have an appointment to dine at the Hôtel -des Princes, in Paris, but that some other time you will be most -happy, etc. Wait a moment, perhaps I may be able show you something -quite as good as a dinner, even at the Hôtel des Princes. Ring the -bell. The sturdy oaken door seems to open itself with a click. That is -the way with French doors; but it is the porter's doing. When he hears -the bell, he pulls at a rope hanging in his lodge, which communicates -with the lock of the door. You are free to enter. Go in. But you -cannot pass beyond the porter's lodge without giving an account of -your self. You cannot get into this heavenly place without passing -through the porter's review, anymore than you can get into the real -heaven without passing the scrutiny of St. Peter. I hope you are able -to satisfy the "Eh; b'en, M'sieu'?" of good old père Hanicq, who is -porter here. He is a _père_, you understand, by the title of affection -and respect, and not by virtue of ordination. You may not think it -worth your while to be over humble and deferential in your deportment -towards porters as a general rule; but I think you may be so now; for, -if I do not mistake, you are speaking to a venerable old man who will -die in the odor of sanctity. Père Hanicq is not paid for his services, -{434} troublesome and arduous as you would very soon find his to be if -you were porter even here. He is porter for the love of God. You see -he does not stop making the rosary, which is yet unfinished in his -hand, while he talks to you. He does not recompense himself by that -business either, as shoemaker porters, tailor porters, and the like -eke out their scanty salaries; but it enables him to find some -well-earned sous to give away to others poorer than himself. You say -this lodge is not a very comfortable place, with its cold brick floor. -It is not. Neither is that narrow roost up the step-ladder a very -luxurious bed. Right again, it is not. But the Père Hanicq is not over -particular about these things. Besides, he is not worse off in this -respect than the hundred other people who live in this place nearest -to heaven. Indeed, most of them have a much narrower and drearier -apartment than his. Now that you have said a pleasant word to the good -old soul, (for he dearly loves a kindly salutation, and it is the only -imperfection I think he has,) you may pass the inner door, and you -observe that you are in a square courtyard, a three-story irregularly -shaped building occupying two sides of it; stables and outhouses a -third, and the street wall the fourth. Before you go further, I would -advise you to look into one of those tumble-down looking outhouses. It -looks something like a rag and bottle shop. It is a shop, and the -Almoner of the poor keeps it. Here the residents of these buildings -may find bargains in old odds and ends of second-hand, and it may be -seventy times seventh-hand furniture, either left or cast off by -former occupants. Here the Almoner,--that voluble and sweet tempered -young man in a long black cassock,--disposes of these articles of -trade, enhancing their value by all the superlatives he can remember, -for the benefit of certain old crones and hobbling cripples, whom -perhaps you saw on the right of the courtyard receiving soup and other -food from another young man in a long black cassock, who is the -Almoner's assistant. You don't know it, perhaps, but I can tell you -that the Almoner's assistant, as he ladles out the soup and divides -the bread and meat, is mentally going down on his knees and kissing -the ragged and worn-out clothes of these old bodies whom he helps, for -the sake of Him whom they represent, and who will one day say to him: -"Because you did it unto the least of these my brethren, you did it -unto me." - -Now you may go into the house, after you have been struck with the -fact how completely that high stone wall shuts out the noise of the -street. You say, however, that you hear a band playing. Yes; that -comes from an "Angel Guardian" house over the way, like Father -Haskins's house in Roxbury, Massachusetts (there ought to be angels, -you know, not far off from the nearest place to heaven), where the -"gamins," as the Parisians call them,--the "mudlarks" or "dock rats," -as we call them,--are taken care of, fed, clothed, instructed, and -taught an honest trade, also for the love of Him who will one day say -to the Père Bervanger and to Father Haskins what I have before said -about the Almoner's assistant. - -Well, here is the house. This is the first story, half underground on -one side, and consequently a little damp and dingy. Here to the right -is the Prayer Hall. This has a wooden floor, (a rare exception,) -wooden seats fixed to the wainscoting, and here and there a few -benches made of plain oak slabs, which look as if they had lately come -out of one of our backwoods saw-mills. A large crucifix hangs on the -wall, and a table is near the door, at which the one who reads prayers -kneels. The ninety-nine others kneel down anywhere on the bare floor, -without choosing the softest spot, if there be any such. Those -portraits hanging around the walls represent the superiors of a -community of men who are entrusted {435} with the guardianship of this -place nearest to heaven. The most of those faces, as you see, are not -very handsome, as the world reckons handsome, but I assure you they -make up for that by the beauty of their souls. The morning prayers are -said here at half-past five the year round, followed by a half hour's -meditation, and the evening prayers at half-past eight. The hundred -residents come here too just before dinner, to read a chapter of the -New Testament on their knees, devoutly kissing the Word of God before -and after reading it; and then each one silently reviews the last -twenty-four hours, and enters into account with himself to see how -much he has advanced in that particular Christian virtue of which his -soul stands the most in need. It is a good preparation for dinner, and -I would advise you to try it, even if you cannot do it on your knees. -It is a perfect toilette for the soul. Here also you will find the -afore-mentioned hundred people at half-past six o'clock, just before -supper, listening to a short reading on some spiritual subject, -followed by a sort of conference given by the Superior, or head of the -house, so full of unction and sweet counsel that it fairly lifts the -heart above all earthly things, and seems to hallow the very place -where it is spoken. - -Turn now to the left. That door in the corner opens into a chapel -dedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. Here the Père Hanicq and the few -servants of the house hear mass every morning, and begin the day with -the best thought I know of, the thought of God. Keeping still to the -left you pass into the Recreation Hall; and if this be recreation day, -you will see congregated here the liveliest and happiest set of faces -that it has ever been your good fortune to meet in this world. -Billiards, backgammon, chess, chequers, and other games more simple -and amusing in their character, are here; and I can tell you that they -are like a group of merry children playing and amusing themselves -before their heavenly Father. You might pass the recreation days here -for many a year before you would hear an angry word, or a cutting -retort, or witness a jealous frown or a sad countenance. Notice that -smiling old gentleman with a bald head capped by the black calotte. -That is the Père T----. He is very fond of a game of billiards, and I -know he loves to be on the winning side; the principal reason of -which, however, you may not divine, but I know: it gives him a chance -to pass his cue to some one who has been beaten, and obliged to -retire. And many learn by that good old father's example to do the -same kind and charitable act; and, take it all in all, I am inclined -to think this room is not much further off from heaven than many other -places about this dear old house. - -Of course everybody is talking here, except the chess-players, and at -such a rate, that it is quite a din; but hark! a bell rings: all is -instantly silent, the games are stopped, the very half-finished -sentence is clipped in two, and each one departs to some assigned -duty. They are taught that the bell which regulates their daily -exercises is the voice of God, and that when he calls there is nothing -else worthy of attention. I have no doubt they are right: have you? - -There is one other place to visit on this ground floor, the Refectory. -A long stone-floored hall with two rows of tables on either side, and -one at the upper end where sits the head of the house, a high -old-fashioned pulpit on one side, the large crucifix on the wall, and -that is the Refectory. It looks dark and cold, and so it is; dark, -because the windows are small and high; and cold, because there is no -stove or other heating apparatus--a want which may also be felt in -the other rooms you have visited; and as the windows are left open for -air some time before these rooms are occupied, it must be confessed -there is a rarity and keenness about the {436} atmosphere, and a -degree of temperature about the cold stones in mid-winter, which are -not pleasant to delicately nourished constitutions. No conversation -ever takes place in the refectory except on recreation days, or on the -occasion of a visit from the Archbishop of Paris. At all other times -there is reading going on from the pulpit, either from the Holy -Scripture or some religions book, which enables the listeners to free -their minds from too engrossing an attention to the more sensual -business of eating and drinking: not that their plain and frugal table -ever presents very strong temptations to gourmandize! - -As you are American, and accustomed to your hot coffee or strong -English black tea, with toast, eggs, and beefsteak for breakfast, I -fear the meal which these hundred young men are making off a little -cold _vin ordinaire_, well tempered with colder water, and dry bread, -during the short space of twelve minutes, (except during Lent and on -other fast days, when they do not go to the refectory at all before -twelve o'clock,) will appear exceedingly frugal, not to say hasty. You -observe, doubtless, that short as is the time allotted to breakfast, -nearly every one is reading in a book while he is eating. Do you wish -to know the reason? I will tell you. It is not to pass away time, but -to make use of every moment of time that passes. None in the world are -more alive to the shortness and the value of time than the hundred -young men before you. Every moment of the day has its own allotted -duty; and when there is an extra moment, like this one at breakfast, -when two things can be done at once, they do not fail to make use of -it. They take turns with each other in the duty of waiting on the -tables, except on Good Friday, when the venerable Superior, and no -less venerable fathers, who are the teachers of these young men, don -the apron, and serve out the food proper in quantity and quality for -that day. - -Now that you have seen the first story, you may "mount," as the French -say, to the second. If you have not been here before, I warn you to -obtain a guide, or amidst the odd stairways and rambling corridors you -may lose your way. This is the chapel for the daily Mass. It is both -plain and clean, and you will possibly notice nothing particular in it -save the painted beams of the ceiling, the only specimen of such -ornament, I think, in the whole house. It is there a long time, for -this is a very ancient building, having once been the country-seat of -Queen Margaret of Anjou; and this little chapel may have been one of -her royal reception-rooms for all you or I know. - -Hither, as I have said, come the young Levites to assist at the daily -sacrifice. I believe I have not told you before that this is a house -of retreat from the world of prayer and of study for youthful -aspirants to the priesthood of the Holy Church. I do not know what -impression it makes upon you, but the sight of that kneeling crowd of -young men in their cassocks and winged surplices, absorbed in prayer -before the altar at the early dawn of day, when the ray of the rising -sun is just tinging the tops of the trees with a golden light, and the -open windows of the little chapel admit the sound of warbled music of -birds, and the sweet perfumes from the garden just below, enamelled -with flowers, is to me a scene higher than earth often reveals to us -of heaven's peace and rapt devotion in God. Mass is over now, and you -may go, leaving only those to pray another half hour who have this -morning received the Holy Communion. - -All these rooms which you see here and there, to the right and to the -left, are the cells of the Seminarians, about eight by fifteen feet in -size, and large enough for their purposes, though certainly not equal -to your cosy study at home in America, or to the grand _salon_ you -have engaged at the Hôtel des Princes. As you are a visitor, perhaps -you may go in and look at one. There is {437} no visiting each other's -rooms among the young men themselves at any time, save for charity's -sake when one is ill. An iron bedstead, with a straw bed, a table, a -chair, a crucifix, a vexing old clothes-press, whose drawers won't -open except by herculean efforts, and when open have an equally -stubborn fashion of refusing to be closed; a broom, a few books, -paper, pen and ink, a pious picture or statue, and you have the full -inventory of any of these rooms. As they need no more, they have no -more: a rule of life that might make many a one of us far happier than -we are, tortured by the care of a thousand and one things which -consume our time, worry the mind, and are not of the slightest -possible utility to ourselves, and the cause, it may be, of others' -envy and discomfort. I am aware that, as you pass along the corridors, -you think it is vacation time, or that every one is absent just now -from their rooms, all is so silent. But wait a moment. Ah! the bell -again. Presto! Every door flies open, and the corridor is alive with -numbers of the young men going off to a class or to prayers. Now that -they are gone, suppose you peep into one of the rooms again; that is, -if some newcomer, not yet having learned the rule to the contrary, has -left the key in his door. Ah! he was just writing as the bell rang; -the pen is yet wet with ink. Pardon! I do not intend that you shall -read what he has written, but you may see that he has actually left -his paper not only with an unfinished sentence, but even at a half -formed letter. That is obedience, my friend, to the voice of God, -which I have already told you is recognized in the first stroke of -that bell. I suppose you may read the inscription he has placed at the -foot of his crucifix, since it is in plain sight. "I sat down under -the shadow of my Well-Beloved, whom I desired, and his fruit was sweet -to my palate." (Cant, ii. 3.) Yes, you are right. It is a good motto -for one who has sacrificed every worldly enjoyment for the sake of -that higher and purer joy, the love of Jesus crucified. You are -noticing, I perceive, that everything looks very neat and clean, that -the bed is nicely made, and what there is, is in order. They have tidy -housekeepers, you say, here. So they have, and a large number of them, -too,--one to each room--the Seminarian himself. - -I think you may "mount" another stairway now--when you find it--to the -third story. I just wish you to step into that door on the right. It -is the Chapel of St. Joseph; and if you happen to enter here after -night prayers you will see a few of the young men kneeling before the -altar, over which is a charming little painting representing the -Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph holding the Child Jesus by the hand. -They come to pay a short visit in spirit to the Holy Family before -retiring to rest. "Beautiful thought!" I believe you. I see your eyes -are a little dimmed by tears. What is the matter? "Oh! nothing; only I -was thinking that by coming up a few more steps in this house, one has -mounted a good many steps nearer heaven." Not ready to go Oh! I -understand, you wish to pay a little visit yourself to the Holy -Family. Good. Now, along this corridor, around this corner, down that -stairway which seems to lead nowhere,--take care of your -head!--through those doors, and you are in a much larger chapel. All -finished in polished oak, as you see, with a bright waxed floor. The -seminarians sit in those stalls which run along the whole length of -either side of the chapel. Here, on Sundays and festivals, they come -to celebrate the divine offices of the Church. I wish you could hear -them responding to each other in the solemn Gregorian chant. Listen; -they are singing, and only to and for the praise of God, for no -strangers are admitted, so there is no chance for the applause of men. -Possibly you may be sharp-eyed enough to note those mantling cheeks -and detect the thrill of emotion in their voices as the swelling -chorus fills the whole building with melody. Truly, {438} I wonder not -that you are moved, for the song of praise rises amid the clouds of -grateful incense from chaste lips, and from pure hearts given in the -flower and spring-time of life to God alone. I can tell you, that -whether their voices are singing the mournful cadence of the Kyrie, -the exultant sentences of the Gloria, the imposing chant of the Credo, -the awe-struck exclamations of the Sanctus, or the plaintive refrain -of the Agnus Dei; or whether they respond in cheerful notes to the -salutations of the sacrificing priest at the Altar, one other song -their hearts are always singing here: "Laetatus sum in his quae dicta -sunt mihi, in domum Domini ibimus"--I was glad when they said unto me, -we will go into the house of the Lord. A heavenly joy is filling their -ardent souls, moved by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and is reflected -from their countenances as the sunlight sparkles on the ripples of a -quiet, shaded lake, when its waters are gently stirred by a passing -zephyr wafted from the wings of God's unseen angel of the winds. - -Now you may go out into the garden. A charming esplanade directly -behind the house you have visited. Well-kept gravelled walks stretch -here and there through a glittering parterre of flowers of every hue -and perfume. A pretty fountain sends its sparkling drops into the air -in the centre of a basin stocked with gold-fish, which are very fond -of being fed with bread-crumbs from the hand of saintly old Father -C----. You do not know the Père C---- you say. Then you may envy me. I -know him. Shall I tell you what he said to me one day? - -"Tenez, mon cher, on doit prier le, Bon Dieu toujours selon le premier -mot de l'office de None, 'Mirabilia,' et non pas selon le premier mot -de Tierce, 'Legem pone.'" God bless his dear old white head! it makes -my heart leap in my bosom to think of him. Where were you? Oh! yes, -beside the fountain. On each side of the garden is an avenue of trees -and in one corner a little maze, hiding a pretty statue of the Blessed -Virgin at whose feet that Almoner of the poor has placed a little -charity-box, thinking doubtless, and not without reason, that here, -hidden by the trees and close shrubbery, some one, you for instance, -might like to do something with a holy secrecy which shall one day -find its reward from the Heavenly Father of the poor, openly. So I -will just turn my head while you put in a donation fitting for an -American who has a suite of rooms at the Hôtel des Princes. I know you -are loth to leave this pretty spot. I have had equal difficulty in -dragging you away from the other places to which I directed your -steps; but you have not seen all. Come along. Cross the garden. Here, -behind the large chapel is a curious grotto all inlaid with shells, -floor, walls and roof. This is the place where Bossuet, Fénelon and -Mr. Tronson held some conferences about a theological subject which -need not take up your time now. Turn up that winding walk to the left, -and you see a little shrine dedicated to Our Lady, to which the young -men go to celebrate the month of May; and it is a quiet little nook -where one may drop in a moment and forget the world. The world is not -worth remembering all the tune, you know. As you pass to the middle of -the garden again you notice a long archway, built under a high wall. -Before you enter it please first notice that fine terra-cotta statue -of the Virgin and Child near it, and take off your hat in passing, as -all do here. This archway passes under a road, which is screened from -view by high walls on either side, which also prevent the grounds you -are in from being seen from the road. I have often thought about that -high-walled road running through the middle of this place nearest to -heaven. How many of us pass along our way of life, stony, toilsome, -dry and dusty, like this road, and are often nearer heaven and -heavenly company than we think; and how many others there are we know -and love, whose road runs close beside, {439} if not at times directly -through the Paradise of the Church of God on earth, and know it not. -Oh! if they did but once suspect it, how quickly would they leap over -the wall! - -Now you are through the archway. Directly before you is a magnificent -avenue of trees, all trimmed and clipped as it pleases this methodical -people, and here is a fine place for a walk in recreation. The -seminarians recreate themselves, as they do all other acts, as a duty -and by rule. One hour and a quarter after dinner, ten minutes at -half-past four, and an hour and a half after supper appears to -suffice, although I am afraid it is rather a short allowance. Silence -is the rule during the other twenty-one hours out of the twenty-four, -and broken only by duty or necessity. How do you like it? Be assured -it is profitable to those who are desirous of living near to God. -Recollect what Thomas à Kempis says in his "Imitation of Christ:" "In -silentio et quiete proficit anima devota"--In silence and quiet the -devout soul makes great progress. You observe also that the reverend -teachers of these young men are taking recreation with them. Yes; and -in this as in every other duty of this life of prayer and of study -they subject themselves to the same rule that they impose on others. -Example, example, my friend, is the master teacher, and succeeds where -words cannot. They have learned beforehand in their own school the -lessons of chastity, obedience, poverty, patience, meekness, humility -and charity, of silence, and every other Christian mortification of -our wayward senses which they are called upon to teach here. They have -a novitiate adjoining this house, called the "Solitude," and their -motto is inscribed over the little portal in the stone wall which -separates the two enclosures. This is it, "O beata Solitude! O sola -Beatitudo!" There is a short sentence, my friend, which will serve as a -subject of meditation for you, for a longer time than you imagine. -Look at the Père M----, the reverend superior. What gentleness of soul -beams from that kindly countenance! It makes one think of St. Philip -Neri. Ah! and there is the Père P----, with a face like St. Vincent of -Paul, and a body like nobody's but his own, all deformed as it is by -rheumatism. I don't ask you to kiss the hem of his cassock for -reverence sake, for that might wound his humility, and he might -moreover knock you down with his crooked elbow, but if you could see -what place the angels are getting ready for him up in heaven, I think -you would wish to do so. And all the others, old or young--bowed with -age or strong of arm and firm in step--you will find but little -difference in them. They are all cast in about the same mould, of a -shape which only a life, and a purpose of life such as theirs could -form. You would like to know what that young man is about, would you, -running from one knot of talkers and walkers to another, saluting -them, and saying something to each? Listen; he is repeating the -password of the house. The password? Even so. And is it secret? Yes, -and a secret too. It is the secret of a holy life, the holy life to be -led here, and not to be forgotten, where it is the most likely to be, -in the dissipation of recreation. Lay it up to heart, for it will do -you good. "Messieurs, Sursum corda!" - -This building on your right as you come out of the archway is a -ball-court. If you will step into the "cuisine," as a sort of wire -cage is called, in which you can see without being in the way, and the -irregular roof of which serves admirably to cause the ball to come -down crooked, and "hard to take," you may see some good ball-playing; -and if you know anything about the game, I am sure all will offer at -once to vacate their places and give up the pleasure of playing to -please you. Somehow, these seminarians are always seeking to please -some one else. Fraternal charity, which prefers the happiness of -others to its own, is cultivated here to such a degree, that I tell -you again you will not find a place {440} nearer heaven; where charity -is made perfect and consummated in God. - -Turn down now to the left for a few steps, and look to the right. -Another beautiful avenue. The trees branching from the ground rise up -and mingle together on all sides so as to form a complete arch. A -building at the end. Yes; that is the place of all places in this -lovely enclosure the most venerated by all who come to pass a part of -their lives in dear old Issy. It is the chapel of Lorette. Walk up the -avenue and examine it. It has a façade, as you see, of strict -architectural taste. I know that you, being an American, would very -soon scrape the weather-beaten stones, paint up the wood-work, and put -a new and more elegant window in front, if you were in charge. Perhaps -it might improve it, perhaps not. Standing as it does alone, out there -in the midst of extensive grounds, it makes you think of the Holy -House of Loretto in Italy, of which you know something, I suppose, and -of which, indeed, the little chapel inside is an exact copy, and hence -has obtained its name. Let me say a word about it before you go in, -for no one is expected to break the religious silence which the young -levites here are taught should reign about the tabernacle where -reposes the sacred and hidden presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy -Eucharist. It is this chapel, especially dedicated to his own dear and -blessed mother, that they have chosen for his dwelling-place among -them, as her home at Nazareth was also his. It is what you might -expect. The Mother and the Son go together. A childlike and tender -devotion to her whom he chose for the human source of his incarnate -life, through which we are elevated and born anew unto God, cannot be -separated from the profound act of adoration which humanity, nay, all -creation, must pay to him who is her Son, the first-born of all -creatures. His mysterious incarnate presence is with us always in the -Holy Eucharist, and will be, as he promised, unto the consummation of -the world; and the priest, by the power of his own divine word, is its -human source. You remember the saying of St. Augustine: "O venerable -dignity of the priest, in whose hands, as in the womb of the Virgin, -the Son of God is incarnate every day!" - -Enter. On the wall to your left, just inside the outer door you see -this inscription: - - "Ilic Verbum caro factam est, et habitavit in nobis." [Footnote 69] - - [Footnote 69: "Here the Word was made flesh, - and dwelt amongst us."] - -On the wall directly opposite, this: - - Sta venerabundus, - Qui allunde ut stares veneris, - Lauretanam Deiparae domum admiraturus. - Angusta tota est, - Toto tamen Christiano orbe angusto, - FACTUS EST HOMO. - Abbreviatum igitur aeterni patris verbum - Hocce in angulo cum angelis adora; - Silet hic et loquaci silentio: - Beatae quippe virginis matris sinus. - Cathedra docentis est. - Audi verbum absconditum, et quid sibi velit attende. - Venerare domum filii hominis, - Scholam Christi, - Cunabula Verbi. [Footnote 70] - - [Footnote 70: "Stand in awe, ye who have come hither from afar to - admire the Lorettan house of the Mother of God. The whole is but - narrow and strait: however, the whole Christian world is but narrow - in which the God made man suffered straitness. Wherefore, adore with - the angels the straitened word of the Eternal Father. He is silent - here, but with an eloquent silence. For the bosom of the Blessed - Virgin Mother is the seat of Wisdom. Hear the Hidden Word, and - listen attentively to what he wills of thee. Venerate the house of - the Son of Man, the school of Christ, the cradle of the Word."] - -The door on the right leads into the sacristy, where the priest puts -on his vestments. On the panel of this door you read: - - "Sanctificamini omnes ministri altaris. - Munda sint omnia." [Footnote 71] - - [Footnote 71: "Be ye holy, all ye ministers of the altar. Let all - things be pure and clean."] - -On the wall over the door is this inscription around a heart: - - "Quid volo nisi ut ardeat?--S. Luc. xii 49." [Footnote 72] - - [Footnote 72: "What will I but that it burn?"] - -Opposite the sacristy door is the door of the chapel, but I wish you -to read the other inscriptions on these walls before you enter there. -There are two more in this entry-way: - - "Ilic Maria, Patris Sponsa, de Spiritu Sancto - concepit." [Footnote 73] - - [Footnote 73: "Here Mary, the spouse of the Father, conceived of the - Holy Ghost." ] - -{441} - - "Sile; - Huc enim, dum omnia - silerent, - Omnipotens sermo - de regalibus - sedibus advenit; - Vel aeternum aeterni - Patris Verbum - Siluit; - Vel otioso Deum adorat silentio." [Footnote 74] - - [Footnote 74: "Keep silence: for hither, while all things were in - silence, the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven from his royal - throne. Here the Eternal Word of the Eternal Father became silent, - and adores God in tranquil silence."] - -In an adjoining room are several others, among which I think the -following are worthy of your notice: - - "Signum magnum apparuit in terra. - Amabile commercium, admirabile mysterium, - JESUS VIVENS IN MARIA. - VENITE, VIDETE, ADORATE. - VENITE - Ad templum Domini, ad incarnationis verbi - cubiculum, - Ad sanctuarium ad quo habitat Dominus. - Et de quo, ut sponsus, procedit de thalamo suo. - VIDETE - Ancillam, Patris sponsam, Virginem Dei matrem, - Adae fillam, Spiritus Sancti sacellum, - Mariam totius Trinitatis domiciliam, - Angelo nuntiante effectam. - ADORATE - Jesum habitantem in Matre, - Ut imperatorem in regno, ut pontificem in templo, - Ut sponsum in thalamo. - Ilic requies, hic gloria, hic summa laus conditoris: - Hic habitabo quoniam elegi eam." [Footnote 75] - - [Footnote 75: "A great sign appeared on the earth, a lovely union, a - wondrous mystery, Jesus living in Mary. Come, see, adore. Come to - the temple of the Lord, to the cradle of the incarnate Word, to the - sanctuary in which the Lord dwelleth. From which he goeth forth as a - spouse from his bridal chamber. See, by the annunciation of the - angel, a handmaiden made spouse of the Father, a virgin the Mother - of God, a daughter of Adam the shrine of the Holy Ghost, Mary, the - resting-place of the whole Trinity. Adore Jesus dwelling in his - mother, as an emperor on his throne, as a priest in the temple, as a - spouse in his chamber. Here is the rest, here the glory, here the - supreme praise of the Creator. Here will I dwell, because I have - chosen her."] - - "Omnes - Famelici, accedite - ad escas: - Domus haec abundat - Punibus." [Footnote 76] - - [Footnote 76: "O all ye of the family of God, draw near to the - banquet. This house is full of bread."] - - - "Hic - Sapientia - Miscuit Vinum, - Posuit mensam, - Paravit omnia. - Qui bibunt, - Non sitlent amplius; - Qui edunt, - Nunquam esurient; - Qui epulantur, - Vivent in aeternum. - Bibite ergo et inebriamini, - Comedite et saturabimini; - Effundite cum gaudio animas vestras - In voce confessionis et epulationis - Sonus est epulantis." [Footnote 77] - - [Footnote 77: "Here the divine wisdom mingleth her wine, spreadeth - her table, and maketh all things ready. They who drink shall not - thirst any more. They who eat shall never hunger. They who feast - shall live for ever. Drink, therefore, and be inebriated. Eat and be - filled. Pour forth your souls with joy in the songs of thanksgiving - and rejoicing. There is a sound as of one feasting."] - - - "Omnes - Sitentes, venite - ad aquas; - Locus iste scaturit - Fontibus." [Footnote 78] - - [Footnote 78: "All ye who thirst, come ye to the waters. This place - gushes with fountains."] - - - "Hic - Fons fontium, - Et acervus tritici, - CHRISTUS, - Unde sumunt angeli, - Replentur sancti. - Satiantur universi. - Ilic - Ager fertilis - Et congregatio aquarum, - MARIA, - Unde, velut de quodam - Divinitatis oceano. - Omnium emanant - Flumina gratiarum." [Footnote 79] - - [Footnote 79: "Here is the fount of fountains, and heap of wheat, - Christ; of which the angels partake, the saints are replenished, and - the whole universe is satiated. Here is the fruitful field and - meeting of the waters, Mary; whence, as from a kind of ocean of - divinity, flow out the streams of all graces." ] - - - "Si - Tu es Christri bonus odor, - Accede; - Caminus Mariae - Altare thymiamatum est, - Caminus charitatis, - Cujus ostium - Hostes non excipit, - Sed hostias amoris. - Huc vota, huc corda, viatores. - Huc pectora." [Footnote 80] - - [Footnote 80: "If thou art the good odor of Christ, draw near. This - chamber of Mary is the altar of incense, the home of charity, whose - door receiveth not enemies, but the victims of love. Hither, ye - wayfarers, bring your vows, your hearts, and your affections."] - -Before you look at the real chapel for which this building was -erected, just step out of that door opposite to the one by which you -entered. A little cemetery. Here repose, in simple, humble graves, the -bodies of the deceased superiors and directors of the congregation of -St. Sulpice, in whom and whose seminary you have shown so much -interest during this visit under the guidance of your humble servant. -Here, in this little cemetery, beneath the shadow of the sacred chapel -they have loved so well, in the very home, as it were, where so many -holy souls have lived, and learned the lessons of perfection, and -where, God grant, many more such may yet live and learn the same, they -have laid themselves down to rest from their {442} labors, peacefully -resigning themselves to the common fate; yet privileged in this, that -their dust mingles with earth hallowed by the footsteps of saints. I -should like to write an inscription for the door of that cemetery. It -is this, "Et mors, et vita vestra absconditae sunt cum Christo in -Deo," for never in the history of Christianity, do I think, have men -realized like them, in their lives and in their death, so fully those -words of St. Paul. - -Return now to the entry and pass within those gilded doors. This is -the chapel. The walls are frescoed, as you see, and in imitation of -the walls, now defaced, of the original chapel at Loretto. There is a -pretty marble altar and tabernacle where reposes the Holy of Holies; -and above the altar is a grating filling up the entire width of the -chapel, on which are attached a large number of silver and gilt -hearts, little remembrances left by the departing seminarians at their -beloved shrine of Jesus and Mary. Behind the grate you can discern the -statue made many hundred years ago, and sent to this chapel as a gift -from the Holy House at Loretto in 1855. I know that your American -taste will not be gratified by the appearance of either the statue or -its decorations; but--America is not all the world. Keep that in mind, -and it may save you a good deal of interior discomfort, whether you -journey in other lands, or never stir from home. - -Now I leave you, for I know you are tired of sight-seeing and want a -moment of' repose--and, may I not also add, a little time to pray -here? The seminarians are coming in to make their daily visit, for it -is a quarter to five o'clock. Oh! sweetest moments of the Issian's -day! Here he comes and kneels at the feet of Jesus and Mary, and -drinks in those silent lessons which reveal truths to the heart that -no man can teach. Here the soul is ravished away for a while from -earth and all its carking cares, anxieties, temptations, and -afflictions, and reposes peacefully in the loving embrace of its God. -"Here," indeed, "is the home of charity, whose door receiveth not -enemies, but the victims of love. Hither you may bring your vows, your -hearts, and your affections." Remain you, then, and pray awhile with -them; for of a truth you are with the congregation of the just, and -not far off from heaven. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -A MAY BREEZE. - - - As fragrant blooms by blushing orchard shed, - When spring's advancing season ripens fast, - Oh! such the blossoms which the heart has fed - With all the dewy sweetness of the past. - - But like those winds whose stormy passage sweeps - The wailing trees, yet leaves fair fruit behind, - Life's changing scenes, which man still hourly weeps. - Pledge fruit, than blooms more constant and more kind. - ------- - -{443} - - -From the Lamp. - - -UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS. - - -CHAPTER II. - -WHICH IS ELUCIDATORY AND RETROSPECTIVE. - -Before resuming the thread of my narrative I must needs go back a -little, and see in what relation the different people who are to play -the principal parts in this true history stand to one another. - -I have said that Hugh Atherton and I had been friends from the time we -were boys at school, he being some five years my junior. He and Lister -Wilmot were nephews, on their mother's side, of old Gilbert Thorneley, -and, as every one supposed, his nearest relatives. They were both -orphans; both brought up and educated by their uncle, and both were -given to understand that they would equally inherit his immense -fortune at his death. But Thorneley had made his money by the sweat of -his brow,--beginning by sweeping his master's office, and ending by -being the possessor of some million of money,--and he did not choose, -as he said, to leave it to two idle dogs. He had worked, and so should -they: they might choose their own profession or business, and he would -do all that was requisite to forward them in life; but work in one way -or another they should. Hugh, guided very much by my advice, went to -college, and then read for the bar. His career at Oxford had not been -a brilliant one, but he had passed his "great go" very creditably, and -taken his bachelor's degree with fair honor to himself. Then he came -to London, took chambers in the Temple, and set himself down to read -with steady earnestness of purpose; after a while he was called to the -bar and his first brief was held for a client of mine. It was a -righteous cause, and he gained it by his straightforward grappling -with the evidence, his simple yet manly eloquence. At the time when -the events happened which are now recorded, and cast one great lasting -shadow over his life and mine, he was in very fair practice. But one -thing I ever noticed about him, and it was that he was almost -invariably retained for the defense. I don't think he could have -conducted a case for prosecution; I don't think he could have stood up -and pleaded for the conviction of any poor wretched miserable criminal -shivering at the bar, brought thither by what crushing amount of -degradation, want, or luring temptation to sin God only knew,--God -only, in His infinite mercy, would remember. Do you recollect that -portrait in one of Mr. Dickens's works of the barrister, who was -always retained at the Old Bailey by great criminals, and who never -refused to defend them, guilty or not guilty--that man, with the -unpoetical name of Jaggers, who used to wash his hands after coming -from the court or dismissing a client? Well, that man always reminded -me of Hugh Atherton; and when I read the book, I did homage to my -friend in his person. You don't see at first what Mr. Dickens is -driving at, nor the whole of his conception in the character of -Jaggers; but after a while it bursts upon you what a raft he must have -been for the poor drowning wretches going to their trial to catch at. - -With a fund of good common-sense, a dear head, and sound judgment, -Atherton possessed what gave such a charm to him and won so many -hearts,--the boyish lightheartedness which clung to him; with his -genial manner, his kindly words and deeds. He had his faults--he was -passionate and hot-headed, obstinate in his likes and dislikes; but he -{444} had what few young men of his age could boast, a freedom from -vice, a guilelessness of soul, which in the midst of all the -corruption, the temptations, and snares of London life, carried him -through unscathed. I never knew but one other who was like him in that -respect,--though indeed I have heard that such have been, but are now -gone to their grave,--who, with the brave undaunted heart of a -thoroughly English youth, carried within him the mark of innocence, -and wore it stamped upon his open brow. He is thousands of miles away -now, and these lines may never reach him; but those who love him and -long for his return will recognize the son and brother whose worth, -perchance, we never fully knew until the parting came. - -Of Lister Wilmot I had seen comparatively but very little. He was a -weak puny lad, unfit for roughing it in a public school, and had -therefore received his education from private tutors and governors. -Through his uncle's interest he obtained a civil appointment in one of -the government-offices, and though fond of dress and amusements, I -never heard much harm of him, beyond an inclination to extravagance, -which I imagined old Thorneley knew well how to keep in check. Yet, I -don't know how it was, I never liked Wilmot. Hugh was fond of him, and -very anxious that he and I should be friends; certainly it was not -Wilmot's fault that a greater amount of cordiality did not exist -between us. He was very agreeable, very civil, very amiable, very -attentive to me; but I could not bear him. I often took myself -severely to task for this unreasonable antipathy; and I decided it -could only be because he was such a contrast to Hugh in everything -that I did not take to him. Not that I pitched their relative -goodness, and drew conclusions against him; as I said before, I knew -no harm of him, but simply I did not like him. A story went about that -his mother (Thorneley's sister) had made a very unhappy marriage, and -died soon after her son's birth. What had become of his father no one -ever seemed to know; and if Wilmot did, he never named him. - -About a year before the story opens Hugh Atherton was engaged to be -married. Let me relate all this very clearly, very calmly; it is -needful I should; and while I write, let me think only, as before -heaven I have ever tried to think, of the interests of two beings who -always were and always will be dearest to me on earth. - -A client of mine left me at his death the joint guardianship with his -wife of an only daughter. She was heiress to a considerable fortune; -blest with a mother who was none of the wisest of guides for a young -girl who was beautiful, high-spirited, and gifted with no ordinary -intellect. I fulfilled my dead friend's trust with all the care, -vigilance, and tenderness in my power. I watched Ada Leslie grow up -into girlhood, and from girlhood into womanhood,--for I was a young -man in years when that charge was committed to me, though old in -character, and old and grim in looks,--I saw her beauty of face and -form unfold, her winning gracefulness become more graceful and more -winsome; I marked the powers of her mind and intellect develop, and -all the noble qualities of her heart reveal themselves in a thousand -ways. I watched her with the solicitude of a father, with the -affection of a brother; I never thought of myself in any other light -with regard to her; but her confidence in me became very precious, her -companionship very sweet. - -One day I took Hugh Atherton with me to Mrs. Leslie's, and in that -first visit I foresaw how all would end; it was but the precursor of -many more visits, and after a while they both told me how things stood -between them. There was no difficulty. Money, in the mother's eye, was -all that was needed to make a good match, and Hugh was well enough off -now, and likely to be a rich man in the future; money was all that -Gilbert Thorneley required for his nephew's future bride, and Ada -Leslie's fortune was ample, even to his sordid mind. I knew _she_ -could have {445} no worthier man for husband than Hugh Atherton. I -knew--ah, who should know better?--that _he_ could find no woman -worthier of his tenderest love and honor than my ward; and so I bade -God to bless them and sanctify their union. If for a while my life was -somewhat more lonely than it had seemed before; if a few years were -added to thought and feeling, and I began then more solemnly to -realize what a gray old bachelor I should appear to Hugh's little -children when they climbed about my knee,--well, it was but a -foolishness that was quickly buried down deep in my heart and would -never more rise to the surface. And Hugh's full tide of happiness and -_her_ deep but tender joy soon kindled bright again in the chambers of -my soul a light that for a time had been very dim; and I learnt the -best lesson life can teach us, and which in more ways than one is -intimated to us by the words, "It is more blessed to give than to -receive." They would have been married before this, but Ada's father -bad specified his wish that she should not marry until she was -twenty-one, unless her guardians judged it otherwise expedient, and -she was desirous of abiding by that decision. She would be of age the -third of this coming December, and after Christmas the wedding was to -take place. - -I noticed there was something peculiar in their manner of mentioning -to me the day they had fixed on for their marriage. It was the day -before I started on this last trip to my favorite Swiss mountains; we -had all gone down to Kew by water, and we were strolling about the -gardens enjoying the cool of the evening air after a day of unusual -sultriness. Mrs. Leslie, Wilmot, and I, were walking together, whilst -the other two went away by themselves. We had not spoken very much--at -least I had not, for many thoughts were busy within me. Presently Ada -came back alone, and putting her arm in mine she drew me aside into a -little shady walk where the trees met overhead and the air was laden -with the perfume of the lime-blossom. In the last summer of my life, -at eventide I shall see that narrow pathway with its leafy covering, -and smell those fragrant trees; I shall hear the nightingale's note as -it sang to me (so I thought) the refrain of a simple ballad I had -often heard my mother sing in early childhood. - - "Loyal je serai durant la vie." - -"Dear friend," said Ada, looking up into my face with her soft, kind, -brown eyes, so truthful and sincere, "Hugh and I have been speaking of -the future;" and the bright warm color came into her cheek, and the -long golden lashes fell as she spoke. - -"Yes, Ada, that is right. What says Hugh?" - -"He says we had better settle when it is to be. You know I am of age -in December, and he thinks of after Christmas; and do you know he -wants it to be on the day but one after the Epiphany? because he -says--that funny old Hugh!--that it is _your_ birthday; or if it -isn't, that it ought to be; and insists on it. However, he has set his -mind on it. He wanted to come and ask you, for I said I would not have -it fixed until you had been asked. And then I thought I would rather -come myself." - -The kind eyes were looking at me again, just a little anxiously, I -thought. For a moment there seemed to be a choking sensation in my -throat. I turned my head away, and the evening bird sang out once -more, clear and silvery in the calm still air, - - "Loyal je serai durant la vie." - -"Listen, Ada; do you hear what the nightingale is singing? She is -bidding me say 'God bless you both!' Let it be when Hugh thinks best. -Go and tell him so." - -She took my hand and pressed it to her lips; there was a warm tear on -it when she let it go. I turned aside and walked away for a little -while by myself. Then I went back to them, and we left the gardens. - -{446} - -Hugh and I walked home together that night; and as we parted at his -door he told me all was settled between him and Ada, very gently, very -softly, as if he were breaking some news to me. There was no need. I -bade him God speed with my cheeriest voice, and told him the heartfelt -truth--that to no other man would I have trusted her with such -perfect trust. - -I had happy letters from them both whilst I was abroad. Hugh had taken -a very pretty house some ten miles from town; workmen were busily -engaged in alterations, fittings-up, and decorations, whilst he and -Ada were full of the furniture and all those numerous etceteras which -help to make the home such a one as should be prepared to receive a -fair young bride. Mr. Thorneley had behaved very liberally to his -nephew, and given him _carte blanche_ in the matter of the -expenditure; if his nature were capable of loving any human being, I -think he was fond of Hugh Atherton, and I am quite sure that Hugh, in -his generous oversight of all that must have jarred upon and shocked -his mind, was sincerely and gratefully attached to his uncle, who, he -often said to me, had acted a father's part by him. Thus, amidst much -sunshine and little shade, all was hastening on toward the -consummation of their union, and as the new year tided round it was to -find them man and wife. - -And now I must relate a circumstance which happened about a fortnight -before I started for the Continent. I had been dining at the house of -my married sister, who lived at Highgate. She was one of those ladies -who are very fond of collecting about them the heterogeneous society -of all the nondescripts, hangers-on, and adventurers who are only too -willing to frequent the houses of those gifted with a taste for such -companionship. With good-nature verging, I often told her, on absolute -idiotcy, she could not be made to see how eccentricity of manner, -person, or conversation was often but the veil thrown over a character -too stained or doubtful to be revealed in its proper light. It is true -that in many cases her hospitality was rewarded; equally true that in -the majority it was abused; and my brother-in-law, good man, suffered -severely for it in the matter of his pocket. - -To return: amongst the various guests I met at dinner that evening was -one man who strangely riveted my attention, aided by the feeling so -well known to most people, that I had somewhere or other seen him -before, but in other guise, and when a much younger man. His manner -was quiet and reserved, but scarcely gentlemanlike; and I noticed that -in many of the little _convenances_ of society he was quite at a loss. -I judged him to be about fifty or fifty-five years of age, his hair -was grey, and he wore a thick beard and moustache; at first I took him -for a foreigner until I heard him speak, and then I perceived the -broad Irish accent betraying his nationality in a most unmistakable -manner. - -"Who's your Irish friend, Elinor?" I asked of my sister when I got her -quietly in the drawing-room after dinner. - -"Which one do you mean, John? There's the O'Callaghan of Callaghan, -who sat by me at dinner; and there's Mr. Burke, who writes those -spirited patriotic articles in the _Emerald-Green Gazette;_ and -there's Phelim O'Mara, the author of _Gems_---" - -"I know them all, my dear." - -"Then who can you mean, for there isn't another Irishman here? These -three wouldn't have been asked together--for they are all of different -politics, and I have been on thorns all the evening lest they should -get into a discussion--but I couldn't well avoid it; for you know--" - -Again I was obliged to use a brother's delightful privilege and be -rude, for Elinor, though an excellent woman and a pattern wife, was -discursive in conversation, and I saw her husband trying to catch her -eye for some purpose; so I said: - -{447} - -"Yes, I know all about it--there's Henry looking for you. The man I -mean sat opposite to me; grey beard--there he is, standing by -Montague." - -"Oh! _he?_ he is my last treasure-trove: he's not Irish, my dear; he's -half French and half English. An author, but very rich; has travelled -all over the world. Here," beckoning to him, "Mr. de Vos, allow me to -introduce you to my brother, Mr. Kavanagh." - -O Elinor, you good blind soul, your Frenchman was no more French and -no more English than the man in the moon, though certainly I am not -acquainted with the nationality of that gentleman. I saw it in two -minutes. We talked commonplaces for a little, till some one came up -and asked me if it were true that Atherton was engaged to my ward, -Miss Leslie. I answered in the affirmative. - -"You know Mr. Atherton very well then, I conclude," said De Vos. - -"I have known him from a boy; no one knows him better than I." - -"How very interesting!" he said; and I could not make out whether his -tone was earnest or satirical, for his face betrayed nothing. "I have -heard of Mr. Atherton from a friend of mine in Paris." - -"Ah! that little enthusiastic Gireaud, I dare say," replied I; for I -knew all Hugh's friends, and he was the only one I could think of as -being in Paris. - -"Yes, from Gireaud;" and he was turning away. - -"How is he?" I asked, meaning Gireaud; "have you seen him lately?" - -"No, not lately--that is, three or four months back." - -This was strange; it was only a month since the Frenchman had left -England, only three months since we had first made his acquaintance, -and he had been in England all the time. I felt suspicious; I often -did towards my sister's friends, by reason of divers small sums -borrowed in past times by them from me, and kept _in memoriam_ I -suppose. I thought I would pursue the inquiry. - -"Did you know M. Gireaud when he was in England?" - -"No abroad--in Paris;" and he changed color and shifted uneasily on -his feet. - -"Did he succeed in tracing out the evidence in that celebrated cause -he was conducting?" I continued pertinaciously. - -"I really don't know; excuse me--how very warm this room is! I will -go into the balcony and see if it is possible to get a little air;" -and he turned on his heel and left me. - -"So so," thought I, "you wanted to fasten yourself upon me with the -dodge of knowing my friends, did you? It won't do, my fine fellow;" -and I determined to give my brother-in-law a hint that his wife's -"last treasure-trove" would need watching. But I found no opportunity; -and when I inquired for Mr. de Vos later in the evening, I heard he -had gone away, feeling very unwell. Said I to myself, "He'll be worse -when he meets me again." I little recked the words then, or what they -might import. - -It was a beautiful August night when our party broke up; and resisting -my sister's wish that I should sleep there, I determined to enjoy a -moonlight walk home, smoke a cigar, and think over a difficult case I -had just then in hand. My nearest way into town from Elinor's house -was down Swain's Lane and round by the cemetery; it was a lonely, -ghostly kind of walk, not tempting on a dark winter's night; but with -a brilliant harvest-moon overhead, a stout stick, and myself standing -six feet without shoes, I feared neither man nor ghost. The tombstones -looked white and ghastly enough in the bright moonlight, and the trees -cast their heavy shadows across my path, whilst their tops were -stirred by a gentle soughing breeze. I had passed the cemetery, and -was rapidly nearing the end of the lane, which turns into the -high-road by the Duke of St. Alban's public-house, of omnibus -notoriety, when I fancied I heard the sound of voices pitched high, as -if {448} in some angry dispute. I took out my watch; it was just upon -twelve o'clock. Drunken revellers, I thought, turned out of the inn. -Swain's Lane winds about until you are close upon the road, and then -there is a straight piece with fields upon either side. I looked ahead -as I came to this latter bit, but there was no one to be seen, -although the voices sounded closer and closer. I was walking on the -turf beside the road, so that my footsteps falling upon the soft grass -were inaudible. I passed a gate leading into a field, and then I -became aware that the voices were close to me on the other side of the -hedge. Not caring to be seen lest I should get drawn into some drunken -row, I stooped my head and shoulders, inconveniently high just then, -and was in the act of passing swiftly on when a name arrested me. "I -tell you Hugh Atherton never _shall_ marry that girl!" - -"And I tell you he _will_! You let every chance slip by you, you poor -spiritless fool. He'll marry her, and come in for the best share, if -not the whole of Gil Thorneley's money." - -There was no mistaking the brogue of my Irish Anglo-French -acquaintance of this evening--my sister's "last treasure-trove, the -talented author, the rich man." But the other voice, whose was it? It -sounded strange at first; then light began to dawn upon me. I knew -it--yes, surely I knew it. Ha, by Jove! Lister Wilmot!--it must be -Lister Wilmot's. - -They were speaking again, quite unconscious of their auditor on the -other side of the hedge. - -"You are the biggest fool, and a scoundrel too, coming here, dogging -my footsteps, and following me about just to bring ruin upon me with -your confounded interference; going _there_ too, and meeting the very -man you ought to avoid, that lawyer fellow, Kavanagh; why, he'll scent -you out in less than no time." (Much obliged to you, Mr. Wilmot, -thought I, for your involuntary tribute to my shrewdness: it has been -deserved this time at any rate.) "You must leave London at -once--to-morrow, do you hear?--or I'll whisper a certain affair -about, which may make this quarter of the world unpleasant to you." - -"I'll not stir without that fifty pounds. You blow upon me, and I'll -blow upon you in a quarter you wouldn't care to have those small bits -of paper shown that I've got in my pocket-book here." - -The remark seemed to have been untimely. - -"Scoundrel!" shouted the other voice I believed to be Wilmot's, and I -heard them close together and struggle. - -At the same moment I leaped the gate, determined to make sure of their -identity; but with singular ill-luck I caught my foot against the -topmost bar, and fell with no small force my whole length on the other -side. The noise and sight of me disturbed the combatants, and before I -could rise or recover myself, they had separated, and fled in opposite -directions across the field. Pursuit was a vain thought. I had twisted -my ankle in the fall, and for a few moments the pain was unbearable; -when I could put my foot to the ground both fugitives were out of -sight. There was nothing left for me but to hobble back, gain the -road, and seize upon the first empty cab returning to London to convey -me to my chambers. - -I mentioned the adventure to Atherton on the following morning, and my -conviction that Lister Wilmot was one of the two men. - -"It is impossible," replied Hugh; "Lister was with me last evening -till eleven o'clock, and then he went home to bed." - -"Did you see him home?" I asked. - -"Yes, and went in with him; saw him undressed, and ready to get into -bed. He was not well, poor fellow. One of his bad colds seemed to be -threatening him, and he was very out of spirits. I am afraid he's -exceeding his allowance, and getting into debt. He asked me to lend, -him twenty pounds for a month." - -{449} - -"Which of course you didn't do?" - -"Which of course I did, and told him he was heartily welcome to it; -but I wished he'd draw in his expenses, for I was certain if Uncle -Gilbert heard of his being in difficulty, there would be no end to -pay. I'll get him to make a clean breast of it some day soon to me, -and see what I can do to help him and set him right." - -So like Hugh, with his generous impulses ever ready to do a kindness. - -"Well, but it is very odd. I could have sworn it was Lister in the -field; as for the other fellow, why there is not the smallest shadow -of a doubt about him. If I hadn't recognized his brogue, why, the -words of his companion pointed him out as the De Vos of the -dinner-party. Do you know such a man, Hugh?" and I gave a graphic -description of him. - -Hugh shook his head. - -"Don't know such a bird as that, Jack. Can't think who it can be, nor -what they both meant. The 'girl,' indeed! Did they mean Ada, forsooth? -I'd like to punch their skulls for daring to name her. I say, let's go -to Lister's at once and ask him if he knows a man answering to the -name De Vos." - -We drove to Wilmot's lodgings in the Albany--he affected -aristocratic-bachelor neighborhoods--and found him over a late -breakfast, looking very pale and haggard. Hugh attacked him in his -straightforward blunt manner. - -"What did you go up to Highgate for, last night. Lister, when I -thought you were going to bed?" - -Wilmot's fork fell on the floor and he stooped to pick it up before -answering. Then he looked up with an air of the greatest astonishment. - -"Go up to Highgate last night! I! Are you mad, Hugh?" - -"I heard your voice last night in a field close by the Highgate Road, -or I never was more mistaken in my life," I said. - -He turned his face to me: there was the most unaffected surprise and -bewilderment written on it as he stared at me. - -"Are you out of your senses too?" he asked at last with a loud laugh. -"Why, Hugh saw me into bed almost. You must have been wandering, or -Mr. Craven's" (my brother-in-law) "wines were too potent for your -sober brain." - -I was completely at a nonplus. "Do you know that Mr. de Vos is in -England?" I said, resolved to try another "dodge." - -"Who is Mr. de Vos?" was the answer, given in the most unconcerned -tone. - -Hugh broke in: "Tell him all about it, John." - -I did so, relating word for word what I had heard, with my eye fixed -upon his face. He never flinched once, and there was not the smallest -embarrassment in his look or manner. - -"You were of course entirely mistaken," he said; "I never left my room -last night after Hugh went away. Of this Mr. de Vos I know -nothing--not even by name." - -There was nothing for it but to be satisfied, and yet somehow I was -not. I suppose my old dislike of Wilmot got the better of me and made -me distrustful. Then such dear--such precious interests had been -called in question--were perhaps in danger; and I could not rid myself -of the great anxiety which oppressed me. - -The next move was after De Vos. He had utterly and totally disappeared -by the time I had obtained his address from my sister and hunted out -the wretched doubtful sort of lodgings he had inhabited near Leicester -Square. So the affair died a natural death, and I left England for the -Continent. Could I but have foreseen what my return would bring forth! - - -{450} - -CHAPTER III. - -THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING. - -It was all true--dreadfully, awfully true--and no hideous dream. -Gilbert Thorneley was dead--poisoned, murdered; and Hugh Atherton was -in the hands of justice, suspected, if not actually accused, of the -murder. When I came back, sick and giddy, to consciousness, there was -old Hardy bending over me with a face blanched almost as white as my -own must have been, and Jones the detective standing by, the deepest -concern written on his countenance. Do you know what it is, that -"coming to," as women express it, after a sudden mental blow has -prostrated you and hurled you into the dark oblivion of insensibility? -I daresay you do. You know what the return to life is; what the -realization of the stunning evil which has befallen you. But God help -you if you remember that your last words when conscious criminated the -friend you would willingly die to save. God help you if you know you -must be forced into admitting what you had rather cut out your tongue -than utter, and which in your inadvertence or brainless stupidity you -let pass your lips. I say again, heaven help you, for it is one of the -bitterest moments of your life. - -As the physical indisposition wore off, and the whole situation of -affairs became clearer to my scattered senses, the remembrance of what -I had done was maddening. - -"Oh, blind fool," I cried, "not to see, not to know what I was doing! -Jones and Hardy, I call you both to witness most solemnly that I -believe as firmly, as entirely in Mr. Atherton's innocence as I do in -an eternal life to come. I charge you both, that, whatever testimony -you may be forced to give, whatever miserable words have been wrung -from me--I charge you both, by all you hold most sacred, to give -evidence likewise that I believe him innocent." - -"We will, sir," said the two men gravely. - -Then a desperate idea seized me, and I motioned Hardy to leave the -room. - -"Jones," I said, when the clerk was gone, "you are a poor man, I know, -and have many children to provide for. Get me off attending the -inquest, and I will write you a cheque on the spot for any sum in -reason you like to name." - -"Bless your heart, sir, it an't in my power. Inspector Jackson has -been in Wimpole street investigating it all; and I know your name's -booked as one of the principal witnesses. You'll have your summons -this evening for to-morrow, as safe as I'm here." - -"Where is Mr. Atherton?" I asked. - -"Inspector Jackson took him to Marylebone street, sir. He'll go before -the magistrate at two o'clock. They won't get his committal, though, I -expect until after the inquest; there is not sufficient evidence; but -we're getting it as fast as we can." - -"Yes," I said in the bitterness of my heart; "and if I had known your -errand _here_, I'd have flung you down the stairs before you should -have had access to my rooms." - -"You can't be sorrier than I am, Mr. Kavanagh. I believe, like you, -that he's an innocent man: but everything looks against him at -present. The housekeeper's evidence is enough to hang him." - -"The housekeeper! What, Mrs. Haag?" - -"Yes, sir, that's her name, I believe. She's only half English, or -married a foreigner, or something of the sort. But I think she must be -foreign, for she has a mighty broad accent. Yes, indeed, sir; and if I -may make bold to say it,--I don't know what your friendship for Mr. -Atherton may lead you to do,--but it's of no use your not saying where -you saw him last night, for _she_ saw him go in and come out of _that -shop_, and she heard him address you, sir, by name." - -A light flashed across me. That was _the woman_ I had met in Vere -Street. I didn't know the housekeeper by sight, but I had often heard -both Atherton and Wilmot speak of her. Wilmot!--another light. - -{451} - -"Did you know that Mr. Thorneley's other nephew was with him last -night? He met Mr. Atherton in Wimpole Street." - -"Yes, sir, and left nearly an hour before Mr. Atherton went away." - -"Still, why is he not suspected as much as the other?" - -"_He_ had not been traced in and out of a chemist's shop; _he_ had no -dispute with his uncle; _he_ was not heard to make use of _threatening -words_. I can't tell you more, sir; and I must be going. I have done -what need be done here. Mr. Kavanagh, believe me I am acting only in -my official capacity; and I'd rather, sir, have been at the bottom of -the sea than engaged in this affair. But I mustn't forget the message, -sir." - -"What message?" - -"From Mr. Atherton. He wanted to write or to send for you to come; but -they wouldn't let him. You see, sir, we know you are an important -witness against him, and Jackson--he's a sharp one--wouldn't have him -communicating with you. Poor gentleman! he was stunned-like at first -when he was told. Then when he saw me, 'Jones,' said he, 'you go to -Mr. Kavanagh; tell him what has happened. Tell him I'm an innocent -man, so help me God! I wouldn't have hurt a gray hair of the old man's -head. But I was angry with him, I confess.' Then we warned him not to -say anything which might criminate himself, so he only bent his head -reverently, and said again, 'My God, Thou knowest I am innocent.' Then -he turned to me suddenly and caught my arm. 'Tell Mr. Kavanagh to go -at once to Mrs. Leslie's, and see that the news doesn't come upon them -too suddenly. Tell him I _trust to him_.' Those were his words, sir, -two or three times,--'Tell him I trust to him.'" - -O Hugh! my poor Hugh; you might trust me then; you might have trusted -me always. But you didn't. A world of damning doubt and evidence rose -up between us, and it seemed to point at me as your worst enemy, and -never more again would you place confidence in me; never more would -the perfect trust of friendship draw us together, and make our -interests one. - -Ay, and that too had been one of the despairing thoughts which rushed -across my mind as the truth of what had happened forced itself upon -me. Ada! What if such news were carried suddenly, inconsiderately to -her ears? What if such an awful, unlooked-for blow fell, crushing the -bright hopes and darkening the radiant happiness of her young life? I -tell all this in a bewildered way now; I was far more bewildered then. -I was mad. There was the remembrance of the last evening,--my -interview with Thorneley, the strange secret still ringing in my ears, -the chance meeting with Hugh, and what was to come of it; and the -present tidings,--the old man dead, Hugh arrested and accused of -murdering him; and I in my blindness had helped to corroborate the -worst testimony against him. All this was rushing through my brain; -and then, above all, the thought of Ada Leslie--and the last thought -roused me to action. - -"Go back, Jones, to Mr. Atherton; tell him I am going off immediately -to Mrs. Leslie's, and that he may trust to me in _that_. And stay, has -he got legal assistance?" - -"No, sir; I fancy he thought you'd see to all that. He didn't seem to -think how it might be with your having to give evidence." - -"You'd better go to Smith and Walker's, and see one of the partners. -They must watch proceedings for him to-day." - -"They can't, sir; they are to watch on the part of the Crown." - -"On the part of the Crown!--whose management is that?" - -"I believe they offered and wished it. They feel bound to discover the -murderer of their late client; they couldn't act _for_ the man accused -of murdering him." - -"True--too true. I'll send Hardy to Mr. Merrivale; he is a great -friend {452} of his--I can trust him. Tell Mr. Atherton what I say, -and what has been done." - -"Very good, sir;" and Jones withdrew. - -It took me less than an hour to reach Hyde-Park Gardens, where Mrs. -Leslie and my ward dwelt; and on the road I resolved as well as I -could how to break the news. Pray Heaven only to give her strength to -bear it! I was shown into the dining-room, for I had asked to see Miss -Leslie alone. There were the sounds of music up-stairs, and I heard -Ada's clear thrilling voice singing one of the beautiful German songs -I knew, and that _he_ loved so well. Presently her light step was on -the threshold, and she burst gaily into the room. - -"Oh, Hugh, how late you are!" and then she stopped suddenly, seeing it -was I--only I. But she came forward in a moment with a kind eager -welcome, a welcome back to England, laughing and blushing at her -mistake. "I heard the street-door open, and ran down at once; for Hugh -said he would come early to take me out this morning, and I thought it -was he. Oh, but I am so glad to see you, dear Mr. Kavanagh. But how -dreadfully ill you are looking--what is the matter?" - -Perhaps she saw my own misery, and the unutterable pity and tenderness -for her which filled my heart, written in my face; but a change passed -over her countenance. - -"What is the matter?" she repeated in a breathless sort of manner. - -"Hugh sends his love," I said; hardly knowing, indeed, what words were -passing my lips, or that I was really "breaking it" to her;--"his dear -love; he is quite well, but something prevents him from coming to you -to-day." - -"To-day!" She repeated the same word after me, still in a breathless -way; and her large eyes were fixed on me as in mute agonized appeal -against what was coming. - -"Something very important--very painful--has happened to detain him. -Mr. Thorneley died very suddenly last night." - -I stopped, and turned away. Heaven help me! I could not go on, with -those eyes upon me. There was one deep-drawn sigh of relief. - -"Is that _all!_" - -Was it not better to tell the truth to her at once? After all, he was -innocent. I acknowledged that with all the loyalty of my soul--so -would she; and that thought would bear her up. Yes, it would be best -to tell her. I took her hand, and led her to a chair. - -"Ada, it is not all; can you bear the rest?" Her white trembling lips -moved as if assenting, but I could not hear the words. "Thorneley died -very suddenly--was found dead. It is thought he has been poisoned. I -don't know the particulars--I have only just heard of it. Hugh was -with him late last night; it is necessary he should be examined to-day -by a magistrate." - -Again I paused, praying that the truth might dawn upon her--that I -might not have to stab her with the terrible revelation. -But--dreading, fearing, as I could see she was--no shadow of the -reality seemed to cross her mind. - -"Where is Hugh now?" at last she asked with startling suddenness. - -"O Ada, my poor child! try to bear it. Hugh is as innocent as you are -of this fearful crime; but he has been arrested." - -The words were said--she knew all now. To my dying day I shall never -forget the awful change which passed over her face. She did not faint -or scream, but she sat there motionless, rigid, white as a marble -statue. I took her hand; it was icy cold, and lay passive in mine. - -"Ada, for God's sake speak to me! Shall I call your mother to you?" - -Her stillness was frightful. There was some water on the sideboard, -and I poured out some and brought it to her, almost forcing the glass -between her set teeth. At last she swallowed {453} some, and then -heavy sighs seemed to relieve both heart and brain. - -"I must go to him," she said at last in a hoarse whisper. - -"You cannot, Ada,--at least not today; they would not suffer it. -Besides, my dearest child, he has need of all his firmness and -presence of mind, and the sight of you would only unnerve him. Let him -hear how bravely you are bearing it; let him think of you as believing -that our Father who is in heaven will defend the innocent." - -"I do, I do," she said, the hot tears slowly welling from her eyes, -and falling in burning drops upon my hand--and upon my heart. They -were blessed tears of relief. "But you too will do your utmost for -him. You are his dearest friend, and he would have full confidence in -whatever you did. Go to him at once!--why do you stay here?" she -continued more vehemently; "why are _you_ not with him, helping and -defending him?" - -Could I tell her the truth now? Could I undeceive her and say I have -done as much and perhaps more to condemn him than any one--that I -should have to bear witness against him? Could I tell her this, with -her eyes looking into mine in such unutterable anguish, with her -little hand placed in mine so confidingly, and with the thought of him -before me? I could not. I said all should be done for him that was in -the power of mortal man to do, and I promised to send messengers -constantly to keep her fully informed during the day of all that -passed; Before going I asked her if I should tell her mother; but she -refused--she would rather do it herself. - -"Tell him," were her last words, "that my heart is with him, and my -love--oh I my dearest love!" - -"Write it, Ada," I said, "it is better he should have that message -direct from you." - -So I left her, bearing her little note to him, poor fellow. How -precious it would be, that tiny missive, coming from her loving hand -and faithful heart. - -It was just upon one o'clock when I arrived at my chambers, and at two -Atherton was to be taken before the magistrate. There was no fresh -news; so I decided upon going at once to Merrivale's office, and -seeing him if possible before he went to the police-court. I met him -on the stairs returning to his office. - -"I have just been with poor Atherton," he said; and he looked very -grave. "Come in here; I was going to send for you. By the bye, have -you been to the Leslies? he is most anxious about that. I don't think -he'll be calm enough to think for himself until he knows all is right -in that quarter." - -"I have a note from Miss Leslie for him," - -"All right. Give it to me; I'll enclose it, and send it at once." - -Merrivale despatched the messenger, and then locked his room door. -"The case is dead against him," he said as he sat down, "and he knows -it now, poor fellow,--he knows it." - -"He is innocent," I said; "I could swear he is innocent!" - -"Yes, so I think, and so do others; but the evidence against him is -frightfully strong. That woman, Mrs. Haag, will make a most -criminating statement of what occurred last night." - -"I don't know the particulars,--tell me what they are?" - -"_You_ ought to be able to throw considerable light upon it," said -Merrivale, unheeding my question. "You were with poor old Thorneley -last night, it seems. Just tell me all that passed. In fact, I ought -to know _every thing_. I hear too that you are to be summoned as -witness against Atherton. How is that?" - -I then related to him how I had gone to Wimpole street at Mr. -Thorneley's request about a matter of business; the hour I had left -him; my meeting with Hugh; his wish to come home with me, and my -refusal; the meeting also with the woman, and the conclusions which I -had drawn from it. - -{454} - -"What was the nature of the business with Mr. Thorneley?" - -I replied that my word of honor was passed to keep it secret. - -"Had it any bearing upon the unhappy catastrophe, either directly or -indirectly?" - -"No; none that I could see." - -"Would it affect Atherton or his prospects?" - -I could not answer further, I replied; but in no way could it touch -him either for good or evil in the present unfortunate affair. -Merrivale was fairly at a nonplus. - -"Now," said Mr. Merrivale, "I will tell you what passed after you went -away, as I learnt it from Atherton; and whatever further light you can -throw upon the mystery, which is my business now to sift to the -bottom, well, I think, Kavanagh, you are bound, by all the ties of -your long friendship with that poor fellow now under arrest, to speak -out openly to me." - -I felt Merrivale's sharp searching eyes upon me; but the time to speak -had not come, and I could in no way serve Hugh by breaking silence--at -least I did not see that I could. After a short pause, Merrivale -continued: - -"Atherton tells me that when he reached his uncle's house, he found -his cousin, Lister Wilmot, had just arrived; and they both went to -Thorneley's room together, Wilmot said to him on the way, 'I must get -some money to-night out of the governor, if possible, for I'm -dreadfully hard-up. I've had to dodge three duns to-day; and there'll -be a writ out against me to-morrow as sure as I'm alive, if he doesn't -fork out handsomely.' Atherton asked him what he called handsomely, -with a view, I imagine, to helping him himself if he could; but Wilmot -mentioned a sum so large that there could be no further thought of his -doing so. They found the old man unusually preoccupied and taciturn. -Nevertheless, in spite of unfavorable circumstances, Wilmot broached -the subject of his difficulties to him, and abruptly asked for 500_l_. -Thorneley was furious; and it seems, curiously enough, that he turned -his fury upon Atherton; accused him of leading Wilmot astray, of -teaching him to be extravagant; of making a tool of him for purposes -of his own; in short, making the most unheard-of accusations against -poor Atherton, and throwing the entire blame on him. Atherton says he -felt convinced that some one must have been carrying false stories to -his uncle, or in some way poisoning his mind against himself; but -knowing how broken in health he was, he tried at first to soothe him, -and quietly contradict his assertions, and Wilmot _indorsed all he -said_, distinctly stating that his cousin was entirely free from all -blame in the matter, and that it was his own extravagance which had -brought him into difficulties; and much more to the same effect. And -now comes the terrible part. Thorneley only waxed wrother and more -wroth; swore at Atherton, and told him he might pay his cousin's debts -for him; and if he couldn't out of his own money, he might get his -future wife's guardian to advance him some of hers; and that if Wilmot -had looked half-sharp he might have married the girl himself. As it -was, he dared say she would marry Kavanagh in the end. You may suppose -this vexed Atherton not a little; his blood was up, and he spoke out -hot and angrily to his uncle, telling him amongst other things that he -would _bitterly repent on the morrow what he had said last night_. He -tells me he distinctly remembers the words he used. In the heat of the -dispute--he thinks it must have been just at the moment he said -this--the housekeeper came in with the tray. It seems that Thorneley -always took bitter-ale the last thing at night, with hard biscuits. -Almost directly after he had spoken Atherton repented having got angry -with the old man, remembering what his temperament was; and as a sort -of propitiatory action, went and fetched him his glass of ale from the -table. Gilbert Thorneley took it from Atherton's hand, and--drank it. -_There was poison in that glass of ale!_" - -{455} - -I sat confronting Merrivale, dazed, sickened, dumbfounded. _Now_ I -knew the full weight of the evidence I should be forced to give. Now I -knew, when everything was revealed, the cry that would go up from -Hugh's heart against me. But I never swerved from my allegiance to -him; I never thought him guilty--no, not for the brief shadow of an -instant. - -After a while Merrivale continued, "Whoever put in that fatal drug, -and whatever it was, the effects must have taken place subsequent to -Atherton's leaving Wimpole Street. He says that Wilmot went away very -shortly after his uncle drank the ale, receiving a very cold -good-night from the latter; and that after in vain trying to reason -with Mr. Thorneley, and bring him into good-humor again, he also left -him,--the old man utterly refusing to shake hands or to part friends. -The poor fellow seems to feel that bitterly; he is terribly cut up at -remembering that the last intercourse with his uncle should have been -unfriendly. No; I could venture my oath he is innocent; his sorrow at -Thorneley's death _cannot_ by put on. However, the end of it all is, -that Mr. Thorneley went to bed last night directly after Atherton went -away; and this morning when the servant went into his room as usual at -half-past six, to call him, and see whether he wanted anything before -getting up--he kept to his old early hours as much as possible, I -fancy--the man found him dead in his bed. The housekeeper was roused, -and they sent off directly for a doctor. When he came, he declared his -suspicion that he had died from the effects of poison, and demanded -what he had taken last. He had touched nothing since the bitter-ale; -the glass had not been washed, and traces of strychnine were found in -the few drops left in the tumbler. Smith and Walker have called in Dr. -Robinson since then; and he with this doctor who first saw the corpse -are making a _post-mortem_ examination now. The contents of the -stomach, to make sure of everything, are to be sent to Professor T---- -for analysis. When the inspectors arrived from Scotland Yard, the -housekeeper immediately volunteered her evidence of what I have -related to you. Putting all these facts together," continued -Merrivale, looking over his notes, "coupled with the evidence you will -be forced to give of where you met him, I apprehend the whole case to -be dead against poor Atherton. Yes, the entire thing will turn upon -that visit to the chemist in Vere street; if we can dispose of that -satisfactorily, I shan't despair. At present it is the most -criminating to my mind, and will just damn him with the jury at the -inquest." - -"What account does he give himself of going to the chemist's?" - -"Simple enough, to any one who knows him as you and I do, and who -would believe a man who never yet lied,--who is, I think, incapable of -a lie to save his own life. He says he went in to purchase some -camphor; he has been taking it lately for headaches; the bottle was -found in his coat-pocket; but there was also found a small empty paper -labelled 'Strychnine,' _with the Vere-street chemist's name upon it_. -Of that paper he most solemnly denies all knowledge, and I believe -him; but how will the jury dispose of such circumstantial evidence?" - -"No expense must be spared in defending him, Merrivale," I said; "draw -on me to the last farthing for whatever is wanted." - -"None shall be spared. I have written to Sir Richard Mayne, whom I -know very well, asking for a certain detective officer whoso -experience I can rely on from past dealings; and if the dastardly -wretch lives who has done this deed, and thrown the brunt of it on -Atherton, he or she shall be hunted down and brought to justice. I -must be off now. The proceedings to-day will be but nominal. I will -come round by your office on my way back. What we have to do at -present is to gain time. For this we must {456} prepare all the -contrary evidence in our power against to-morrow. By the way, see -Wilmot as soon as you can, and bring him back with you." - -I returned home; wrote a few words, as comforting and encouraging as I -could, to Ada, and despatched a messenger with the note; then I went -to the Albany and asked for Lister Wilmot. He was out; had been -summoned to the police-court to be present at the inquiry. I left my -card, with a pencilled injunction to come on to me the moment he -returned; and then, impelled by a horrible fascination, I took my way -toward Marylebone street, longing, yet dreading, to see and hear--my -heart aching for a sight of the manly form and noble face of him to -whom my soul had cleaved as to a brother. - -There was a dense crowd outside the gates of the courtyard and round -the private door through which the magistrates enter, when I arrived -there. With my hat slouched over my brows, I made my way through with -difficulty to the door of the court where the proceedings were going -on,--the noise and din of the crowd buzzing about me, and scraps of -talk which goes on in such places and among such people as collect -there, reaching me in broken snatches. - -"Who'd ha' thought he'd a done it? such a nice-looking chap as er is." - -"Yer see, it's the money as he wanted. The old man was mortal rich; -they say the Bank of England couldn't 'old 'is money. Yes, the gowld -did it." - -"Pisen! Ah, he'd be glad of pisen hisself now. What's that feller -sayin'? Oh, that's the lawyer wot's defending him. He'll have tough -work, he will." - -"Remanded!--that's the way; why can't they commit him at once? Givin' -folks all the trouble to come twice afore they knows what to do with -un." - -"'Ere he comes. Now, six-footer, who pisened the old man?" - -And then came groans and hisses as the mob were made to open and -divide themselves, whilst policemen cleared the way for the -prisoner--yes, it had come to that--the prisoner!--to pass to the van -waiting for him. I looked up as he advanced,--we were almost of the -same height, he and I; taller perhaps by some inches than the majority -around, who were mostly women,--and our eyes met. O God! shall I ever -forget the look he gave me? Pale and calm and firm, he passed on--his -noble brow erect, his clear eyes shining with the light of conscious -innocence; with the whole expression of his countenance -subdued--hallowed, I might say--with the sorrow and trouble which had -befallen him. On he came, heedless of the hisses and jeers of the -fallen degraded herd who pressed round; heedless of the jibes and -groans uttered by the companions of those for whom, more then likely, -his genial voice had been raised in defence, in pleading against the -justice they deserved, but which he had never merited. On he came, -unmindful of everything that was going on about him, as if his spirit -were faraway, communing with that unseen Presence that was never -absent from his mind. I lifted my hat and stood bareheaded as he -passed into that dark dismal van that was polluted with the breath, -contaminated by the touch, of men whose hands were dyed by the -blackest crimes. - -When it had driven off I turned away and hailed a passing cab. Just as -I was stepping into it I was arrested by the sound of a voice near me. - -"He's safe to be condemned, as shure as yer name's Mike." - -It was an Irish voice. I bounded back. Disappearing rapidly, threading -in and out of the now-dispersing crowd, were the high square -shoulders, the gray locks and beard, the swaggering air of Mr. de Vos, -the "treasure-trove," the hero of Swain's Lane. He was gone before I -was fully aware of his identity. - -{457} - -CHAPTER IV. - - -A GLIMMER OF LIGHT. - - -A popular writer of the day says there is this to be observed in the -physiology of every murder, "that before the coroner's inquest the -sole object of public curiosity is the murdered man; while immediately -after that judicial investigation the tide of feeling turns; the dead -man is hurried and forgotten, and the suspected murderer becomes the -hero of men's morbid imaginations." If this be true--as it is--in the -generality of cases, there are also exceptions in which just the -contrary takes place. So was it now. Amidst the hue and cry which -arose against Hugh Atherton, the suspected murderer of his uncle, -Gilbert Thorneley, the murdered man, was almost forgotten. The -announcement in the morning papers of the inquest to be held that same -day following the discovery of the murder was hailed but as an -acceleration of the justice which was to hunt him down to a felon's -death. Three executions had taken place during that summer in London, -and they had but whetted the public appetite. Like a wild beast that -had tasted blood, it ravened and hungered for more; it _could not_ -sicken at the sight of a human creature, a fellow-man, strung up like -a dog, strangled like an animal; it _could not_ shudder to behold the -quivering limbs, the covered face, the convulsed form, as it swung -from the gibbet. They had become used to the sight, familiar with the -whole scene in its awful solemnity; but they were far from satiated; -and eagerly did the public voice clamor for another victim on whom to -gloat their inhuman eyes. Ah! that is a fearful responsibility which -England has taken upon herself in these public executions--in baring -to such a gaze as that which is fastened upon the small black-draped -platform outside the walls of Newgate the solemn, awful spectacle of a -creature going to meet his Creator, of an immortal soul passing into -the dread presence of its God! Much has been said for, much against, -those exhibitions of public justice; I doubt if a true view will ever -be arrived at until the question has been considered as one vitally -affecting England as a _Christian_ nation. - -Hugh Atherton was a suspected man, and the press did its work well -that morning in trying to criminate him. Already in those brief -four-and-twenty hours his name--the name of one incapable of hurting -the tiniest insect that lay across his path--had become a byword and a -reproach in the mouths, not of many, but of multitudes, throughout the -length and breadth of the land. - -Gilbert Thorneley had been a rich man--a notedly rich man--a -millionaire; and we may not touch the rich with impunity. He had not -been a good man nor a useful man, nor philanthropic; none had loved -him, not a few had hated him, many had disliked and dreaded him; but -he was rich--he had wealth untold, and it did wonders for him in the -eyes of the world after his death. Yet withal he was forgotten, -comparatively speaking, whilst the interest of the public was riveted -upon his supposed-to-be-criminal nephew. The scanty evidence elicited -at the police-court was twisted and turned against him by ingenious -compilers of leading-articles, and only one journal ventured to raise -a dissenting voice in his favor. It was a paper that had vindicated -many a man before; that had done for accused persons what perhaps -their poverty would not permit them to do for themselves,--in -ventilating facts and clearing up evidence with the care and eloquence -of a paid counsel. It was a paper hated by many in authority, by big -wigs and potentates, and was to many country magistrates a perfect -nightmare; nevertheless its influence told largely upon the public -mind and led to the rooting out of many an evil. - -{458} - -The inquest on Gilbert Thorneley was appointed for two o'clock, and I -was cited to appear as one of the witnesses. I had gone late the -evening before to Hyde-Park Gardens with all the tidings that could be -gathered, and left poor Ada more calm and composed than could almost -have been hoped for. Still, what her fearful grief and anxiety was, -heaven only knew; for her only thought seemed to be that Hugh should -hear she was keeping up bravely for his sake. After the inquest, I -promised to try and obtain that she should see him: But I went away, -haunted by her poor pale face, her heavy sleepless eyes, her look of -suppressed anguish; haunted by an overwhelming dread of the morrow; -haunted by the vision of a future laden with sorrow and suffering for -us all. And at last the morning dawned of the day which would bring -forth such important results, and affect the fate of Hugh Atherton so -very gravely. I went early to Merrivale's office, and found him full -of business and very anxious. Lister Wilmot had never appeared; and -repeated messengers sent to the Albany only brought back word that he -had not been home since he went to the police-court the preceding day. -He had neither dined nor slept at home. - -Smith and Walker were savage and taciturn, refusing all information, -although their clerk let out that Wilmot had been there several times; -and Merrivale's hopes were all centred in the detective he was -employing, but who had not been seen since he had received his -instructions. - -The hours wore round, and at twelve o'clock I was to be at the -Leslies'. As I left Mr. Merrivale's office in Lincoln's-Inn Square, a -man bowed to me in passing. It was Jones the detective. A sudden -thought struck me, and I turned back after him. - -"Jones," I said, "do you happen to know a Mr. de Vos, who lodged some -two months ago at No. 13 Charles street, Leicester Square?" - -"No, sir; not by that name. What is he like?" - -I described him; but he shook his head. - -"I don't recognize him, sir; but, if you'll allow me, I'll make a note -of it. Have you any particular reason for wishing to hear about him?" - -"Yes; and I should be glad to know _anything_ you can gather -concerning the man." - -"I'll be on the look-out, sir." And Jones touched his hat and went -off. - -The old butler came to the door in Hyde-Park Gardens, and in answer to -my inquiries informed me that Miss Leslie was "very middling indeed, -and that Mr. Wilmot had just been there." - -"Mr. Wilmot!" - -"Yes, sir; he wished partiklar to see Miss Ada--which he did, sir, and -her ma too: very nice gentleman he seems, and terrible cut up about -his poor uncle and his cousin. A shocking thing, sir, for you to have -to witness _against_ Mr. Atherton." - -Against Mr. Atherton! Then it had reached here--this news, these -tidings--that I was to help to condemn the man I loved best on earth! -What was known in the servants'-hall had no doubt been discussed in -the drawing-room, and Ada must now fully be aware of what I had found -no courage to tell her yesterday. How had she received the -intelligence? what was she thinking of it--of me? Reflecting thus, I -followed Kings into the library, and found Mrs. Leslie alone. Now that -lady and I never got on as amicably as we might have done; joint -guardians seldom do, especially when they are of opposite genders; and -this I say with no sort of reflection upon the fairer sex, simply -mentioning it as a fact which, during a long legal course of -experience, has come before me. _I_ considered Mrs. Leslie frivolous, -weak, and extravagant, very unlike her child, very far from fit to be -instrusted with the sole guidance of a mind such as Ada's. But I kept -my own counsel {459} on the subject, and tried by action rather than -words to counteract and shield Ada from evils arising from her -mother's foolish conduct. She thought _me_ very uncompromising, very -particular and rigid in my notions, often perhaps very crusty and -disagreeable, nor spared she any pains to conceal her thought. That I -did not mind; for Ada trusted me implicitly in all things, and it was -all I cared for. This morning there was a stiffness and less of -cordiality than ever in Mrs. Leslie's manner of receiving me. - -"How is Ada?" I asked. - -"She passed a very restless night, poor dear, very restless; and is -fit for nothing this morning. Indeed, I am almost in the same state -myself, I have been so terribly upset by this affair, and my nerves -are very delicate. Most trying too! I have had to put off our _réunion -musicale_ for next Thursday, and the Denison's dinner-party for -to-morrow. I can't think how Hugh came to do it--for of course he -_must_ have done it, though Ada won't hear a word against him." - -"He did _not_ do it, Mrs. Leslie! Ada is right, as she always is." - -"Ah! well, so Lister Wilmot tried to make me believe; but then he says -everything is against poor Hugh, and that even you feel obliged to -give evidence against him. I must say, John Kavanagh, that I think it -very strange of you to have volunteered to give evidence. Wilmot was -explaining it all to us, and said you couldn't help yourself; for the -first words you had said to the policeman when he came to you -criminated your friend." - -A glimmer of light was beginning to dawn in my mind; but its ray was -very faint and dim as yet; and after all it might only prove a -will-o'-the-wisp. Still I would not lose it if possible. - -"Wilmot told you that, did he? Does Ada know?" - -"Yes; she was here when he came. He told us everything that had passed -all that had been said by his uncle the last evening he saw him alive. -He mentioned a great deal which had been kept back--purposely I -suppose, and for some motive we don't understand now, but which will -come out by and by, no doubt," said Mrs. Leslie with a burst of spite -in her voice. - -"Would you have the goodness to send word to Ada that I am here?" I -said very stiffly. - -"Oh! I forgot. She desired her kindest regards when you called, but -she could not see you this morning. She will write." - -I looked at her, and something convinced me she was telling a lie. I -got up very quietly and rang the bell. - -"Let Miss Leslie know I am here, Kings." - -"Yes, sir." - -Then Mrs. Leslie's anger broke forth. How dared I presume so far-- -take such a liberty in her house! I forgot myself; I was no gentleman, -but a meddling, interfering man, disappointed and soured because I had -not secured Ada and her fortune for myself. _She had seen it all -along_. So she raved on--so I let her rave; and when she ceased I -answered her: - -"If I have taken a liberty in giving an order under your roof and to -your servant, I beg your pardon. But this is no time to stop at -trifles or considerations of mere etiquette involving no real breach -of good breeding. So long as your daughter is a minor I shall hold -myself responsible for the trust her dead father confided to me -conjointly with yourself; and, so help me God, I will perform the -sacred duty to its utmost limits and regardless of human respect! -There is foul play going on around us, and some influence--I know not -yet whose--is at work to undermine the happiness of us all. There is -bitter need that no fatal misunderstanding should arise between my -ward and myself; that no subtle representations of interested persons -should shake the reliance upon my integrity and honor, which hitherto -Ada has placed in her father's friend. A life more precious to her -than her own, and {460} dear to me as a brother's, is at stake; and I -foresee, though dimly and darkly, that it imports far more than -perhaps we dream of now to keep everything clear between us in our -several relations with each other. At any rate I will allow no foolish -fancies, no weak pride, to stand between your daughter and myself, her -legal guardian and _sole trustee_." - -I spoke very sternly, and purposely laid a stress upon my last words, -knowing the woman with whom I was dealing, and the full weight they -would have with her. Nor was I mistaken. She burst into a feeble -querulous fit of crying; and the servant returning at that moment with -a message from Ada asking me to go up-stairs, I left Mrs. Leslie to -her reflections. - -My ward was in her little morning-room. She was writing at the table, -and the room was partially darkened, as if she could not bear the full -sunlight of that bright autumn day. There were birds and flowers and -music around her; but the birds had hushed their song, the flowers -drooped their heads, as if missing the careful hand that tended them; -and the music that generally greeted one there was silent. Oh! when -would she sing again? I felt something about my feet as I advanced -towards her, and heard a piteous whine I looked down; it was a little -rough shaggy terrier,--Hugh's dog. Poor Dandie! He recognized me, and -looked for one with whom he was so accustomed to see me. - -"I sent for him," said Ada, lifting her weary wan face as I stood -beside her. "I fancied he would be happier here--less lonely; but he -is not--he wants _him_." - -The dog seemed to understand her; for he came and, putting his -forepaws upon her knee, laid his head upon them, and looking toward me -whined again. She laid her cheek down upon his rough head and caressed -him. - -"Not yet, Dandie,--not yet. We must be patient, doggie, and he will -come to us again." - -It was a few moments before I could speak; but time was hastening on -apace. Whilst I stood by the fire thinking how best to begin the -subject I had at heart, Ada came and laid her hand on my arm. - -"I have been wishing for you; I thought you would never come." - -Then her mother had told a lie; but I said nothing. - -"Lister Wilmot has been here this morning, talking a good deal." She -stopped and hesitated. - -To help her, I said, "Yes; so your mother tells me." - -She looked at me inquiringly. "Has she told all that passed--all that -he said?" - -"She told me a great deal; but I would rather hear everything from -_you_. My child, don't hesitate to confide in me. You don't know how -it may help to clear matters up, which seem to be so fearfully -complicated now." - -I think she understood me, for she sighed wearily, and I heard her -murmur to herself, "Poor mamma!" - -"Lister was very kind this morning, and was in dreadful trouble about ---_him_. He said he had thought of me more than any one, and would -have come yesterday, but had so much to arrange and see to." - -And then Ada went on to relate what passed, a great deal of which I -had gathered from Mrs. Leslie. - -"There is one thing," she concluded, "which I did not and would not -believe. He says you have volunteered to give evidence against _him_," -(it seemed as if she could not bring herself to mention Hugh by name;) -"but I said it could not be,--that there must have been a mistake. -What is the worst of all is, that since Lister was here, mamma -persists in saying _he_ is guilty; somehow, though his words defended, -his tone and manner implied he thought his cousin guilty." - -"Ada, it is true I shall have to give evidence which may help to -criminate Hugh; but it is more than equally false that I ever -volunteered to bear {461} witness against him. You were right; _never -believe it_." - -Then I told her how it was, and how I had shrunk from letting her know -it before. - -"And now, my child, I must go. You know the inquest is to take place -this afternoon, and I have to be there; but first I must return to -Merrivale's, and settle many things with him." - -"You will come back to me afterward." - -"Surely; as soon as it is over." - -"Do you think _he_ will be present?" - -"I trust not, oh! I trust not! But perhaps he will wish to watch the -proceedings himself, as well as Merrivale. God be with you, Ada, and -good-bye!" - -I was on the threshold of the door when she called me back. - -"I am very foolish, guardian, not to have said it before; but I could -not--and yet I ought and must." - -Her hand was resting on a well-worn morocco case. I knew it well--it -was Hugh's likeness, and a faint color tinged her white cheeks; but -she mastered the shy feeling, whatever it was, and looked clearly and -earnestly at me. - -"Something was said by Lister Wilmot of what had dropped from poor Mr. -Thorneley the last night of his life about you and me. I don't know -why he should have repeated it; but as it is, I wanted to ask you not -to mind it; at least, not to notice what may be said by others--by my -mother. I only fear lest anything of the kind being said should come -between us, and destroy our confidence in one another, because we -understand each other so well--you and I and Hugh,"--how lingeringly -she spoke his name!--"and we have no secrets between us that all -three may not share. And I have feared lest this worse than -foolishness, dragged out publicly, should change anything in our -intercourse, or prevent you from acting, as hitherto, a parent's part -toward a fatherless girl." - -"_Nothing_, Ada, can change me toward you; and when people think of -you and then of me, they will not heed the childish babble that may go -about." - -"Thanks, guardian." - -"Worse than foolishness!"--I said the words over to myself many times -as I drove back to Lincoln's Inn; and in the hazy distant future I saw -a weary wayworn pilgrim slowly toiling along life's lonely road, who, -looking back to this past year come and gone, would still repeat, -"Worse than foolishness!" - -I found Merrivale in deep conference with a mean-looking little man -with a short stubbly head of hair that bristled up like a -scrubbing-brush, and of a melancholy cast of countenance, as if -accustomed to view life darkly, through the medium of duns and -such-like evils to which man is heir. His eyes were the only redeeming -point about him, and they really were two of the sharpest, most -intelligent orbs I ever saw in my life. They lighted upon me the -moment I entered the room, and seemed to take in my whole exterior and -interior person with a knowingness that was perfectly alarming. - -"This is the gentleman, I suppose, sir, who was with the defunct party -the night of the murder," said a wonderfully soft voice. - -"Yes; Mr. Kavanagh.--This is Inspector Keene, the very clever officer -I mentioned to you, Kavanagh." - -I acknowledged Mr. Keene's salute with becoming deference. - -"Have you any news?" I asked. - -"Well, sir," with a quick cautious glance at Merrivale, "I have and I -have not. Before I say anything further, I should be glad to ask the -gentleman a few questions, Mr. Merrivale, if agreeable." - -"By all means," I answered. - -He put me through a sharp cross-questioning on every point with which -the reader is acquainted, making rapid notes of all my answers and -remarks. Then he sat silently scraping his chin and gnawing his nails -for some minutes. At last he looked up suddenly. - -"The funeral, I understand, is fixed {462} for next Tuesday, and after -that is over _the Will is to be read_. Perhaps that may throw some -light on the subject." - -I could not for the life of me repress a start, and Inspector Keene -made a mental note of it, I knew. - -"Good-day, gentlemen. I will call on you, Mr. Merrivale, to-morrow. _I -think I am on the scent_." - -"Come," said Merrivale, "we must be off, or we shall be late." - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -[ ORIGINAL. ] - - -OUR MOTHER'S CALL. - - - Come home, O weary wanderers, from error's tangled maze, - My mother-heart yearns sore for you in all your troubled ways. - I've rest, and food, and shelter, for all the earth can hold-- - Then hasten, weary wanderers, home to the single fold. - - I am the Master's gamer, which ever yieldeth more, - The more the needy millions receiving from my store; - No number's can exhaust me; no beggar at my gate - For rest and food and shelter, shall ever have to wait. - - If in mine inner chamber the Master seems to sleep, - While fearful storm and peril are out upon the deep. - My lightest tone will call him to rescue of his own - For his dear children's haven I am, _and I alone_. - - Almighty wisdom made me the home upon the rock-- - The Saviour's fold of safety to all his ransomed flock. - My door is ever open, and they who enter in. - Find rest from all their wanderings, and cleansing from their sin. - - One thing, and but one only, the Master doth demand. - That they who seek shall find him as he himself hath planned; - Beneath my lowly portal shall bow each haughty head, - And to my narrow pathway return each wandering tread. - - _I cannot lift the lintel, nor widen out the posts, - For every stone was fashioned by him, the Lord of hosts_. - _My Master_, and thy Master if thou wilt hear his voice - And in his pleasant pastures for evermore rejoice. - - Can human handcraft ever compete in skill with him, - Whose throne is in the heavens amid the cherubim? - Then cease your idle toiling another home to raise; - He on my fair proportions toiled all his mortal days. - -{463} - - When out of depths of darkness he called the glorious sun - In all its dazzling splendor, _he spoke_ and it was done; - His sweat and blood were both poured out that he might fashion me - His sun to souls in darkness till time no more shall be. - - Hold it no light offending that you can turn aside, - And scorn in wilful blindness the Saviour's spotless bride. - He who hath full dominion unchecked o'er all the earth, - Made me the mighty mother of the blest second-birth. - - Come, weigh ye well the value of his three and thirty years, - And number o'er the treasure of all his prayers and tears. - And count ye out the life-drops that flowed from his cleft side. - And learn the wondrous bounty with which he dowered his bride. - - Rich-dowered for your salvation, ye dearly bought of earth! - By his dying, and my living, oh! weigh salvation's worth, - And in the single shelter his mighty love hath given. - Learn the dear will that maketh the blessedness of heaven. - -GENEVIEVE SALES. - -EASTERTIDE, 1866. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -USE AND ABUSE OF READING. [Footnote 81] - - [Footnote 81: "Appel aux Consciences Chrétiennes contre les abus et - les dangers de la lecture."' P. Toulemont. Etudes Religieuses, - Historiques et Literaires. Tome 8, N. S.] - -We have been much interested in the grave and earnest essay on the -abuses and dangers of reading, by P. Toulemont, in that excellent -periodical, the "Etudes," so ably conducted by fathers of the Society -of Jesus, and we would translate and present it to the readers of the -Catholic World in its integrity, if some portions of it were not -better adapted to France than to the United States; yet much which we -shall advance in this article is inspired by it, and we shall make -free use of its ideas, facts, authorities, and arguments. - -This is a reading age, and ours is to a great extent a reading -country. The public mind, taste, and morals are with us chiefly formed -by books, pamphlets, periodicals, and journals. The American people -sustain more journals or newspaper than all the world beside, and -probably devour more light literature, or fiction, or trashy novels -than any other nation. Reading of some sort is all but universal, and -the press is by far the most efficient government of the country. The -government itself practically is little else with us than public -sentiment, and public sentiment is both formed and echoed by the -press. Indeed, the press is not merely "a fourth estate," as it has -been called, but an estate which has well-nigh usurped the functions -of all the others, and taken the sole direction of the intellectual -and moral destinies of the civilized world. - -The press, taken in its largest sense, is, after speech--which it -repeats, extends and perpetuates--the most powerful influence, whether -for good or for evil, that man wields or can wield; and however great -the evils which flow from its perversion, it could not be annihilated -or its freedom suppressed without the loss of a still greater good, -{464} that is, restrained by the public authorities. In this country -we have established the _régime_ of liberty, and that _régime_, with -its attendant good and evil, must be accepted in its principle, and in -all its logical consequences. If a free press becomes a fearful -instrument for evil in the hands of the heedless or ill-disposed, it -is no less an instrument for good in the hands of the enlightened, -honest, and capable. The free press in the modern world is needed to -defend the right, to advance the true, to maintain order, morality, -intelligence, civilization, and cannot be given up for the sake of -escaping the evils which flow from its abuse. - -Yet these evils are neither few nor light, and are such as tend to -enlarge and perpetuate themselves. Not the least of the evils of -journalism, for instance, is the necessity it is under in order to -live, to get readers, and to get readers it must echo public opinion -or party feeling, defend causes that need no defence, and flatter -passions already too strong. Instead of correcting public sentiment -and laboring to form a sound public opinion or a correct moral -judgment, its conductors are constantly tempted to feel the public -pulse to discover what is for the moment popular, and then to echo it, -and to denounce all who dissent from it or fall not down and worship -it; forgetting if what is popular is erroneous or unjust, it is wrong -to echo it, and if true and just, it needs no special defence, for it -is already in the ascendant; and forgetting, also, that it is the -unpopular truth, the unpopular cause, the cause of the wronged and -oppressed, the poor and friendless, too feeble to make its own voice -heard, and which has no one to speak for it, that needs the support of -the journal. When John the Baptist sent two of his disciples to our -Lord to ask him, "Art thou he that is to come, or are we to look for -another?" our Lord said: "Go and tell John . . . that the blind see, -the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead rise -again, the poor have the gospel preached to them." Here was the -evidence of his messiahship. "They that are whole need not a -physician, but they that are sick." - -This is not all: needing to be always on the popular side, the press -not only plants itself on the lowest general average of intelligence -and virtue, but it tends constantly to lower that general average, and -hence becomes low and debasing in its influence. It grows ever more -and more corrupt and corrupting, till the public mind becomes so -vitiated and weakened that it will neither relish nor profit by the -sounder works needed as remedies. - -In the moral and intellectual sciences we write introductions where we -once wrote treatises, because the publisher knows that the -introductions will sell, while the elaborate treatise will only -encumber his shelves, or go to the pastry-cook or the paper-maker. Not -only do the journals flatter popular passions, appeal to vitiated -tastes, or a low standard of morals, but books do the same, and often -in a far greater degree. The great mass of books written and published -in the more enlightened and advanced modern nations are immoral and -hostile not only to the soul hereafter, but to all the serious -interests of this life. A few years since the French government -appointed a commission to investigate the subject of colportage in -France and the commission reported after a conscientious examination -that of nine millions of works colported eight millions were more or -less immoral. Of the novels which circulate in the English-speaking -world, original or translated, one not immoral and possible to be read -without tainting the imagination or the heart is the rare exception. -Under pretence of _realism_ nature is oftener exhibited in her -unseemly than in her seemly moods, and the imagination of the young is -compelled to dwell on the grossest vices and corruptions of a moribund -society. Chastity of {465} thought, innocence of heart, purity of -imagination, cannot be preserved by a diligent reader even of the -better class of the light literature of the day. This literature so -vitiates the taste, so corrupts the imagination, and so sullies the -heart, that its readers can see no merit and find no relish in works -not highly spiced with vice, crime, or disorderly passion. The -literary stomach has been so weakened by vile stimulants that it -cannot bear a sound or a wholesome literature, and such works as a -Christian would write, and a Christian read, would find scarcely a -market, or readers sufficiently numerous to pay for its publication. - -It is boasted that popular literature describes nature as it is, or -society as it is, and is therefore true, and truth is never immoral. -Truth truthfully told, and truthfully received, is indeed never -immoral, but even truth may be so told as to have the effect of a lie. -But these highly spiced novels--which one can hardly read without -feeling when he has finished them as if he had been spending a night -in dissipation or debauchery, and with which our English-speaking -world is inundated--are neither true to nature nor to society. They -give certain features of society, but really paint neither high life -nor low life, nor yet middle life as it is. They rarely give a real -touch of nature, and seldom come near enough to truth to caricature -it. They give us sometimes the sentiment, sometimes the affection of -love with a touch of truth--but, after all, only truth's surface or a -distant and distorted view of it. They paint better the vices of -nature, man's abuse or perversion of nature, than the virtues. Their -virtuous characters are usually insipid or unnatural; nature has -depths their plummets sound not, and heights to which they rise not. -There they forget that in the actual providence of God nature never -exists and operates alone, but either through demoniacal influence -descends below, or through divine grace rises above itself. They -either make nature viler than she is or nobler than she is. They never -hit the just medium, and the views of nature, society, and life the -young reader gets from them, are exaggerated, distorted, or totally -false. The constant reading of them renders the heart and soul morbid, -the mind weak and sickly, the affections capricious and fickle, the -whole man ill at ease, sighing for what he has not, and incapable of -being contented with any possible lot or state of life, or with any -real person or thing. - -Beside books which the conscience of a pagan would pronounce immoral, -and which cannot be touched without defilement, there are others that -by their false and heretical doctrines tend to undermine faith and to -sap those moral convictions without which society cannot subsist, and -religion is an empty name or idle form. The country is flooded with a -literature which not only denies this or that Christian mystery, this -or that Catholic dogma, that not only rejects supernatural revelation, -but even natural reason itself. The tendency of what is regarded as -the advanced thought of the age is not only to eliminate Christian -faith from the intellect, Christian morality from the heart, Christian -love from the soul, but Christian civilization from society. The most -popular literature of the day recognizes no God, no Satan, no heaven, -no hell, and either preaches the worship of the soul, or of humanity. -Christian charity is resolved into the watery sentiment of -philanthropy, and the Catholic veneration of the Blessed Virgin -lapses, outside of the church, into an idolatrous worship of -femininity. The idea of duty is discarded, and we are gravely told -there is no merit in doing a thing because it is our duty; the merit -is only in doing it from love, and love, which, in the Christian -sense, is the fulfilling of the law, is defined to be a sentiment -without any relation to the understanding or the conscience. Not only -the authority of the church is rejected in the name of humanity {466} -by the graver part of popular literature, but the authority of the -state, the sacredness of law, the inviolability of marriage, and the -duty of obedience of children to their parents, are discarded as -remnants of social despotism now passing away. The tendency is in the -name of humanity to eliminate the church, the state, and the family, -and to make man a bigger word than God. In view of the anti-religious, -anti-moral, and anti-social doctrines which in some form or in some -guise or other permeate the greater part of what is looked upon as the -living literature of the age, and which seem to fetch an echo from the -heart of humanity, well might Pope Gregory XVI., of immortal memory, -in the grief of his paternal heart exclaim, "We are struck with horror -in seeing with what monstrous doctrines, or rather with what prodigies -of error we are inundated by this deluge of books, pamphlets, and -writings of every sort whose lamentable irruption has covered the -earth with maledictions!" - -"There doubtless are men," as Père Toulemont says, "who have very -little to fear from the most perfidious artifices of impiety, as, -prepared by a strong and masculine intellectual discipline, they are -able to easily detect the most subtle sophisms. No subtlety, no _tour -de metier_, if I may so speak, can escape them. At the first glance of -the eye they seize the false shade, the confusion of ideas or of -words; they redress at once the illusive perspective created by the -mirage of a lying style. The fascinations of error excite in them only -a smile of pity or of contempt. - -"Yes, there are such men, but they are rare. Take even men of solid -character, with more than ordinary instruction, and deeply attached to -their faith, think you, that even they will be able always to rise -from the reading of this literature perfectly unaffected? I appeal to -the experience of more than one reader, if it is not true after having -run over certain pages written with perfidious art, that we find -ourselves troubled with an indescribable uneasiness, an incipient -vertigo or bewilderment? We need then, as it were, to give a shake to -the soul, to force it to throw off the impression it has received, and -if we neglect to assist it more or less vigorously, it soon deepens -and assumes alarming proportions. No doubt, unless in exceptional -circumstances, strong convictions are not sapped to their foundation -by a single blow, but one needs no long experience to be aware that -this sad result is likely to follow in the long run, and much more -rapidly than is commonly believed, even with persons who belong to the -aristocracy of intelligence. - -"This will be still more the case if we descend to a lower social -stratum, to the middle classes who embody the great majority of -Christian readers. With these mental culture is very defective, and -sometimes we find in them an ignorance of the most elementary Catholic -instruction that is really astounding. What, at any rate, is -undeniable, is that their faith is not truly enlightened either in -relation to its object or its grounds. It ordinarily rests on -sentiment far more than on reason. They have not taken the trouble to -render to themselves an account of the arguments which sustain it; -much less still are they able to solve the difficulties which -unbelievers suggest against it. Add to this general absence of serious -intellectual instruction, the absence not less general of force and -independence of character, and the position becomes frightful. In our -days it must be confessed the energy of the moral temperament is -singularly enfeebled, and never perhaps was the assertion of the -prophet, _omne caput languidum_, the whole head is sick, more true -than now. Robust and masculine habits seem to have given place to a -sort of sybaritism of soul, which renders the soul adverse to all -personal effort, or individual labor. See, for example, that multitude -which devours so greedily the first books that come to hand. Takes it -any care to control the things which pass before its eyes, or to {467} -render to itself any account of them by serious reflection? Not at -all. The attention it gives to what it reads is very nearly null, or, -at best, it is engrossed far more with the form, the style, or the -term of the phrase, than with the substance, or ground of the ideas -expressed. The mind is rendered, so to say, wholly passive, ready to -receive without reflection any impression or submit to any influence." - -The great body of the faithful in no country can read the immoral, -heretical, infidel, humanitarian, and socialistic literature of the -age without more or less injury to their moral and spiritual life, or -without some lesion even to their faith itself; although it be not -wholly subverted. Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled? It is -precisely the devouring of this literature as its daily intellectual -food, or as its literary pabulum, that produces that sybaritism of -soul, that feebleness of character, that aversion to all manly effort -or individual exertion without which robust and masculine virtue is -impossible. - -There is certainly much strong faith in the Catholic population of the -United States, perhaps more in proportion to their numbers than in any -of the old Catholic nations of Europe; but this strong faith is found -chiefly amongst those who have read very little of the enervating -literature of the day. In the younger class in whom a taste for -reading has been cultivated, and who are great consumers of "yellow -covered literature," and the men who read only the secula and partisan -journals, we witness the same weakness of moral and religious -character, and the same feeble grasp of the great truths of the gospel -complained of by Père Toulemont. To a great extent the reading of -non-Catholic literature, non-Catholic books, periodicals, novels and -journals, neutralizes in our sons and daughters the influence of -Catholic schools, academies, and colleges, and often effaces the good -impression received in them. - -The prevalence of such a literature, so erroneous in doctrine, so -false in principle, and so debasing in tendency, must be deplored by -Catholics, not only as injurious to morals, and too often fatal to the -life of the soul, but as ruinous to modern civilization, which is -founded on the great principles of the Catholic religion, and has been -in great part created by the Catholic Church, chiefly by her supreme -pontiffs, and her bishops and clergy, regular and secular. The -tendency of modern literature, especially of journalism, a very modern -creation, is to reduce our civilization far below that of ancient -gentilism, and it seems hard that we who under God have civilized the -barbarians once should have to begin our work anew, and go through the -labor of civilizing them again. Our non-Catholic countrymen cannot -lose Christian civilization without our being compelled to suffer with -them. They drag us, as they sink down, after them. This country is our -home and is to be the home of our children and our children's -children, and we more than any other class of American citizens are -interested in its future. It is not, then, solely the injury we as -Catholics may receive from an irreligious and immoral literature that -moves us; but also the injury it does to those who are not as yet -within the pale of the church, but between whom and us there is a real -solidarity as men and citizens, and who cannot suffer without our -suffering, and civilization itself suffering, with them. - -As men, as citizens, as Christians, and as Catholics, it becomes to us -a most grave question--What can be done to guard against the dangers -which threaten religion and civilization from an irreligious and -immoral literature? This question is, no doubt, primarily a question -for the pastors of the church, but it is, in submission to them, also -a question for the Catholic laity, for they have their part, and an -important part, in the work necessary to be done. There can be no -doubt that bad books and irreligious journals are dangerous -companions, and the {468} most dangerous of all companions, for their -evil influence is more genial and more lasting. Plato and most of the -pagan philosophers and legislators required the magistrates to -intervene and suppress all books judged to be immoral and dangerous -either to the individual or to society, and in all modern civilized -states the law professes either to prevent or to punish their -publication. Even John Milton, in his "Areopagitica," or plea for -unlicensed printing, says he denies not to magistrates the right to -take note how books demean themselves, and if they offend to punish -them as any other class of offenders. English and American law leaves -every one free to publish what he pleases, but holds the author and -publisher responsible for the abuse they may make of the liberty of -the press. In all European states there was formerly, and in some -continental states there is still, a preventive censorship, more or -less rigid, and more or less effective. Formerly the civil law -enforced the censures pronounced by the church, but there is hardly a -state in which this is the case now. - -Whatever our views of the civil freedom of the press may be, -ecclesiastical censorship, or censorship addressed to the conscience -by the spiritual authority, is still possible, and both proper and -necessary. The act of writing and publishing a book or pamphlet, or -editing and publishing a periodical or journal, is an act of which the -law of God takes account as much as any other act a man can perform, -and is therefore as fully within the jurisdiction of the spiritual -authority. So also is the act of reading, and the spiritual director -has the same right to look after what books his penitent reads, as -after what company he keeps. The whole subject of writing, editing, -publishing, and reading books, pamphlets, tractates, periodicals, and -journals, comes within the scope of the spiritual authority, and is -rightly subjected to ecclesiastical discipline. In point of fact, it -is so treated in principle by heterodox communions, as well as by the -church. The Presbyterians are even more rigid in their discipline as -to writing and reading than Catholics are, though they may not always -avow it. The Methodists claim the right for their conferences to -prescribe to Methodist communicants what books they ought not to read, -and seldom will you find a strict Methodist or Presbyterian reading a -Catholic book. It is much the same with all Protestants who belong to -what they call the church as distinguished from the congregation--a -distinction which does not obtain among Catholics, for with us all -baptized persons, not excommunicated, belong to the church. There is -no reason why the church should not direct me in my reading as well as -in my associations, or discipline me for writing or publishing a lie -in a book or a newspaper as well as for telling a lie orally to my -neighbor or swearing to a falsehood in a court of justice. - -But when the church, as with us, is not backed in her censures by the -civil law, when her canons and decrees have no civil effect, the -ecclesiastical authority becomes practically only an appeal to the -Catholic conscience, and while her censures indicate the law of -conscience in regard to the matters censured, they depend on our -conscience alone for their effectiveness. Hence our remedy, in the -last analysis, as Père Toulemont implies, is in the appeal to -Christian consciences against the dangerous literature of the day; and -happily Catholics have a Christian conscience,--though sometimes in -now and then one it may be a little drowsy--that can be appealed to -with effect, for they have faith, do believe in the reality of the -invisible and the eternal, and know that it profiteth a man nothing to -gain the whole world and lose his own soil. The church declares by -divine constitution and assistance the law of God which governs -conscience, and when properly instructed by her, the Catholic has not -only a conscience, but an enlightened {469} conscience, and knows what -is right and what is wrong, what is useful and what is dangerous -reading, and can always act intelligently as well as conscientiously. - -Père Toulemont shows in his essay that it is not reading or literature -that the church discourages or condemns, but the abuse of literature -and its employment for purposes contrary to the law of God, or the -reading of vile, debasing, and corrupting books, periodicals, and -journals which can only taint the imagination, sully the purity of the -heart, weaken or disturb faith, and stunt the growth of the Christian -virtues. The conscience of every Christian tells him that to read -immoral books, to familiarize himself with a low, vile, corrupt and -corrupting literature, whatever may be the beauty of its form, the -seductions of its style, or the charms of its dictation, is morally -and religiously wrong. - -Père Toulemont shows by numerous references to their bulls and briefs -that the supreme pontiff have never from the earliest ages ceased to -warn the faithful against the writings of heretics and infidels, or to -prohibit the reading, writing, publishing, buying, selling, or even -keeping impure, immodest, or immoral books or publications of any sort -or form, as the civil law even with us prohibits obscene pictures and -spectacles. It was to guard the faithful against improper and -dangerous reading that St. Pius the Fifth established at Rome the -congregation of the Index; and that publications by whomsoever written -judged by the congregation to be unsafe, likely to corrupt faith or -morals, are still placed on the Index. Nothing is more evident than -that the church, while encouraging in all ages and countries -literature, science, and art, has never allowed her children the -indiscriminate reading of all manner of books, pamphlets, tractates, -and journals. There are writings the reading of which she prohibits as -the careful mother would prevent her innocent, thoughtless child from -swallowing poison. Her discipline in this respect is accepted and felt -to be wise and just by every man and woman in whom conscience is not -extinct or fast asleep. Even the pagan world felt its necessity as -does the modern Protestant world. The natural reason of every man -accepts the principle of this discipline, and asserts that there are -sorts of reading which no man, learned or unlearned, should permit -himself. The Christian conscience once awakened recoils with -instinctive horror from immoral books and publications, and no one who -really loves our Lord Jesus Christ can take pleasure in reading books, -periodicals, or journals that tend to weaken Christian faith and -corrupt Christian morals, any more than the pious son can take -pleasure in hearing his own father or mother traduced or calumniated; -and what such publications are, the Catholic, if his own instincts -fail to inform him, can always learn from the pastors of his church. - -The first steps toward remedying the evils of the prevailing immoral -literature must be in an earnest appeal to all sincere Christians to -set their faces resolutely against all reading, whatever its form, -that tends to sap the great principles of revealed truths, to destroy -faith in the great mysteries of the Gospel, to subvert morality, to -substitute sentiment for reason, or feeling for rational conviction, -to ruin the family and the state, and thus undermine the foundations -of civilized society. This, if done, would erect the Christian -conscience into a real censorship of the press, and operate as a -corrective of its licentiousness, without in the least infringing on -its freedom. It would diminish the supply of bad literature by -lessening the demand. This would be much, and would create a Christian -literary public opinion, if I may so speak, which would become each -day stronger, more general, more effective, and which writers, -editors, publishers, and booksellers, would find themselves obliged to -respect, as politicians find themselves obliged to treat {470} the -Catholic religion with respect, whenever they wish to secure the votes -of Catholic citizens. Fidelity to conscience in those who have not yet -lost the faith, and in whom the spiritual life is not yet wholly -extinct, will go far toward remedying the evil, for the movement begun -will gather volume and momentum as it goes on. - -The next step is for Catholics to regard it as a matter of conscience -to demand and sustain a pure and high-toned literature, or ample, -savory, and wholesome literary diet, for the public. Reading, in -modern civilized communities, has become in some sort a necessary of -life, a necessity, not a luxury, and when we take into consideration -the number of youth of both sexes which we send forth yearly from our -colleges, academies, private, parochial, conventual, and public -schools, we cannot fail to perceive that it is, and must be a growing -necessity in our Catholic community; and we may set this down as -certain, that when wholesome food is not to be had, people will feed -on unwholesome food, and die of that which they have taken to sustain -life. But if people, through indifference or negligence take no heed -whether the food be wholesome or unwholesome, or through a depraved -appetite prefer the unwholesome because more highly spiced, very -little wholesome food will be offered in the market. Many complaints -are heard from time to time of our Catholic press, because it does not -give us journals of a higher order, more really Catholic in principle, -of higher moral tone, and greater intellectual and literary merit. -Even supposing the facts to be as these complaints assume, the -complaints themselves are unjust. The editors and publishers of -Catholic journals edit and publish them as a lawful business, and very -naturally seek the widest circulation possible. To secure that, they -necessarily appeal to the broadest, and therefore the lowest average -of intelligence and virtue of the public they address. They who depend -on public sentiment or public opinion must study to conform to it, not -to redress or reform it. The journals of every country represent the -lowest average intelligence and virtue of the public for which they -are designed. The first condition of their existence is that they be -popular with their own public, party, sect, or denomination. -Complaints are also frequently heard of our Catholic publishers and -booksellers, for not supplying a general literature, scientific and -philosophical works, such as general readers, who though good -Catholics, are not particularly ascetic, and wish to have now and then -other than purely spiritual reading, and also such as scholars and -scientific men seek, in which the erudition and science proper are not -marred by theories and hypotheses, speculations and conjectures which -serve only to disturb faith and stunt the growth of the spiritual -life. But these complaints are also unjust. The publishers issue the -best books that the market will take up. There is no demand for other -or better books than they publish; and such books as are really -needed, aside from bibles, prayer-books, and books for spiritual -reading, they can publish only at their own expense. They are governed -by the same law that governs editors and publishers of newspapers or -journals, and naturally seek the broadest, and therefore in most -respects the lowest average, and issue works which tend constantly to -lower the standard instead of elevating it. The evil tendency, like -rumor, _crescit eundo_. - -There is no redress but in the appeal to Christian consciences, since -the public now fills the place of patrons which was formerly filled by -princes and nobles, bishops and monastic or religious houses. The -matter cannot be left to regulate itself, for the public taste has not -been cultivated and formed to support the sort of reading demanded, -and will not do it from taste and inclination, or at all except from a -sense of duty. The great majority of the people of France are -Catholics, yet a few years ago there {471} were Parisian journals -hostile to Catholics, that circulated each from 40,000 to 60,000 -copies daily, while the daily circulation of all the Catholic journals -and periodicals in all France did not exceed 25,000. It should be as -much a matter of conscience with Catholics to open a market for a -sound and healthy literature as to refrain from encouraging and -reading immoral and dangerous publications. We gain heaven not merely -by refraining from evil, but by doing good. The servant that wrapped -his talent in a clean napkin and hid it in the earth was condemned not -because he had lost or abused his talent, but because he had not used -it and put it out to usury. The church attaches indulgences to doing -good works, not to abstaining from bad works. - -The taste of the age runs less to books than to reviews, magazines, -and especially to newspapers or the daily journals. People are too -busy, in too great a hurry, for works of long breath. Folios and -octavos frighten them, and they can hardly abide a duodecimo. Their -staple reading is the telegraphic despatches in the daily press. Long -elaborate articles in reviews are commended or censured by many more -persons than read them, and many more read than understand them, for -people nowadays think very little except about their business, their -pleasures, or the management of their party. Still the review or -magazine is the best compromise that can be made between the elaborate -treatise and the clever leader of the journal. It is the best literary -medium now within reach of the Catholic public, and can meet better -than any other form of publication our present literary wants, and -more effectively stimulate thought, cultivate the understanding and -the taste, and enable us to take our proper place in the literature -and science of the country. But here again conscience must be appealed -to, the principle of duty must come in. Few men can write and publish -at their own expense a magazine of high character, of pure literary -taste, sound morals, and sound theology, able in literary and -scientific merit, in genius, instruction, and amusement, to compete -successfully with the best magazines going, and there is at this -moment no public formed to hand large enough to sustain such -periodical, and even the men to write it have in some sort to be -created, or at least to be drawn out. It must be for a time supported -by men who do not want it as a luxury or to meet their own literary -tastes, but who appreciate its merits, are aware of the service it may -render in creating a taste for wholesome instead of unwholesome -reading. That is, it most be sustained by persons who, in purchasing -it, act not so much from inclination as from a sense of duty, which is -always a nobler, and in the long run, a stronger motive of action, -than devotion to interest or pleasure; for it is in harmony with all -that is true and good, and has on it the blessing of heaven. It is -precisely because Catholics can act from a sense of duty that we can -overcome the evil that is ruining society. - -No doubt we are here pleading, to a certain extent, our own cause, but -we only ask others to act on the principle on which we ourselves are -acting. THE CATHOLIC WORLD is not published as a private speculation, -nor with the expectation of personal gain. Our cause is what we hold -to be here and now the Catholic cause, and it is from a sense of duty -that we devote ourselves to it. We are deeply conscious of the need -for us Catholics in the United States of a purer and more wholesome -literature than any which is accessible to the great majority, and -than any which can be produced outside of the Catholic community, or -by other than Catholics. We need it for ourselves as Catholics, we -need it for our country as a means of arresting the downward tendency -of popular literature, and of influencing for good those who are our -countrymen, though unhappily not within our communion. There is -nothing personal to us in the cause {472} we serve, and it is no more -_ours_ than it is that of every Catholic who has the ability to serve -it. If we plead for our magazine, it is only as it is identified with -the Catholic cause in our country, and we can be as disinterested in -so soliciting support for it as if it was in other hands, and we -solicit support for it no farther than it appeals to the Catholic -conscience. We have seen the danger to the country, and the -destruction to souls threatened by the popular literature of the day, -and we are doing what we can in our unpretending way to commence a -reaction against it, and give to our American public a taste for -something better than they now feed on. We cannot prevent our -Catholic youth who have a taste for reading from reading the vile and -debasing popular literature of the day, unless we give them something -as attractive and more wholesome in its place, and this cannot be done -without the hearty and conscientious cooperation of the Catholic -community with us. - -Catholics are not a feeble and helpless colony in the United States. -We are a numerous body, the largest religious denomination in the -country. There are but two cities in the world that have a larger -Catholic population than this very city of New York, and there are -several Catholic nations holding a very respectable rank in the -Catholic world, that have not so large, and upon the whole so wealthy -a Catholic population as the United States. We are numerous enough, -and have means enough to found and sustain all the institutions, -religious, charitable, educational, literary, scientific, and artistic -needed by a Catholic nation, and there is no Catholic nation where -Catholic activity finds fewer "lets and hindrances" from the civil -government. We are free, and we have in proportion to our numbers our -full share of influence in public affairs, municipal, state, and -national; no part of the population partakes more largely of the -general prosperity of the country, and no part has suffered less from -the late lamentable civil war. We have our Church organized under a -regular hierarchy, with priests rapidly increasing in numbers, -churches springing up all over the land, and Catholic emigrants from -the old world pouring in by thousands and hundreds of thousands. We -are numerous enough and strong enough in all religious, literary, and -scientific matters, to suffice for ourselves. There is no reason in -the world, but our own spiritual indolence and the torpidity of our -consciences, why we should continue to feed on the unwholesome -literary garbage provided for us by the humanitarianism and pruriency -of the age. We are able to have a general literature of our own, the -production of genuine Catholic taste and genius, if we will it, and at -present are better able than the Catholics of any other nation; for -our means are ample, and the government and civil institutions place -no obstacles in our way, which can be said of Catholics nowhere else. - -Our Catholic community is large enough, and contains readers enough, -to sustain as many periodicals as are needed, and to absorb large -editions enough of literary and scientific works of the highest -character to make it an object with the trade to publish them, as well -as with authors to write them. Works of imagination, what is called -light literature, if conceived in a true spirit, if they tend to give -nature a normal development, and to amuse without corrupting the -reader, ought to find with us a large public to welcome and profit by -them. What the people of any Catholic nation can do to provide for the -intellectual and aesthetic wants of a Catholic people, we Catholics in -the United States can do. If we are disposed to set ourselves -earnestly about it with the feeling that it is a matter of conscience. - -And we must do it, if we mean to preserve our youth to the church, and -have them grow up with a robust faith, and strong and masculine -virtues, to keep them clear from the humanitarian sentimentality which -marks the {473} age and the country. Universal education, whether a -good or an evil, is the passion of modern society, and must be -accepted. Indeed, we are doing our best to educate all our children, -and the great mass of them are destined to grow up readers, and will -have reading of some sort. Education will prove no blessing to them, -however carefully or religiously trained while at school, if as soon -as they leave the school, they seek their mental nutriment in the -poisonous literature now so rife. No base companions or vicious -company could do so much to corrupt as the sensation novels, the -humanitarian, rationalistic, and immoral books, magazines, and -journals, which, as thick as the frogs of Egypt, now infest the -country. Our children and youth leave school at the most critical age, -and a single popular novel, or a single sophistical essay, may undo -the work of years of pious training in our colleges and conventual -schools. Parents have more to apprehend for their children when they -have finished their school terms than ever before, and it is precisely -when they have left school, when they come home and go out into -society, that the greatest dangers and temptations assail them. From -their leaving school to their settlement in life is the period for -which they most need ample intellectual and moral provision in -literature, and it is precisely for this period that little or no such -provision is made. - -Hence the urgency of the appeal to Catholic consciences first to avoid -as much as possible the pernicious literature of the age, and second -to create and provide to the utmost of our ability, good and wholesome -literature for the mass of our people, such a literature as only they -who live in the communion with the saints, drink in the lessons of -divine wisdom, and feast their souls on celestial beauty, can -produce--a secular literature indeed, but a literature that embodies -all that is pure, free, beautiful and charming in nature, and is -informed with the spirit of Catholic love and truth--a robust and -manly literature, that cherishes all God's works, loves all things, -gentle and pure, noble and elevated, strong and enduring, and is not -ashamed to draw inspiration from the cross of Christ. It will require -much labor, many painful sacrifices to work our way up from the depths -to which we have descended, and our progress will be slow and for a -long time hardly perceptible, but Catholic faith, Catholic love, -Catholic conscience, has once succeeded when things were more -desperate, transformed the world, and can do so again. Nothing is -impossible to it. It is your faith that overcomes the world. Leo X. -said when the press was first made known, "The art of printing was -invented for the glory of God, for the propagation of our holy faith, -and the advancement of knowledge." [Footnote 82] - - [Footnote 82: Decree of Leo X. Session 10 of the Council of - Latern.] - ------- - -{474} - - -Translated from the French. - -EUGÉNIE DE GUÉRIN'S LETTERS FROM PARIS. - - -In the following paper we propose to fill as far as possible the -hiatus which occurs between the seventh and eighth books of Mlle. de -Guérin's journal, giving such details from her letters as will satisfy -the curiosity that many of her readers must have felt concerning the -visit she made to Paris at the time of her brother's wedding. - -In a letter to M. Paul Juemper, dated March 15, 1838, Guérin describes -his fiancée, with more accuracy perhaps than ardor, and yet there can -be no doubt that the marriage was one of love and congeniality. In the -latter part of his life Maurice appears to have concealed his deepest -emotions as successfully as he had revealed them in earlier years. - -"I find myself on my return better in health, and full of hope for the -future. What does that mean? What novelty is this? Nothing but the -most common event in the world, one which takes place every day in -every country--namely marriage, here, in Paris, to a child who was -born for me, eighteen years ago, six thousand leagues from Paris, in -Batavia! She is named Caroline de Gervain, has great blue eyes that -light up her delicate face, a very slender figure, a foot of oriental -minuteness--in short (without any lover-like vanity), an exquisite and -refined _ensemble_, that will suit you very well. Her fortune is in -Indian trade: not large now, but with every prospect of development. -The contracts are drawn up and everything is in order; we are only -awaiting the arrival of some documents from Calcutta, indispensable to -the celebration of a marriage, to tie the last knot. If you leave in -May, you will be here in time to stand by the death-bed of my -bachelorhood, and to see me cross the Rubicon." - -Mlle. de Gervain lived with her aunt, Mlle. Martin-Laforêt, in a -_pavillion_ in the Rue Cherche-Midi, and it is from this charming -Indian house that Eugénie's first Parisian letter is dated. - - - - TO M. DE GUÉRIN. - - Paris, Oct. 8, 1838. - - Oh! how I slept in the little pink bed beside Caroline! I wished to - write to you, dear papa, before going to bed, but they would not let - me, and they said too that the mail would not go out before this - morning, so that you would get the letter no sooner. I should have - written to you at each relay if it had been possible, for I said to - myself: "Now papa and Euphrasie, Mimi and Eran, are thinking of the - traveller." How I thought of you all! you followed me the whole way. - At last I am here, out of the way of dust, diligences and the - annoyances of travelling, and welcomed and cosseted enough to - compensate a thousand times over for the four long days of fatigue. - I should like to tell you everything, but there are so many, many - things;--how I left you, and bowled away towards Paris, and met them - all and fell into a dozen arms. Why weren't you on the Place Notre - Dame des Victoires when, just as I was driving off in a carriage - with Charles, I saw Maurice and Caro and Aunt running and calling - me, and kissing me, one through one window and another through the - other? Oh! it was so nice! - - No one ever entered Paris more pleasantly. We went as fast as we - could to Rue du Cherche-Midi, talking, laughing and questioning. - "How is papa? and his leg? is he as well as he was last year?" - Maurice, poor fellow, cried as he looked at me, and talked of you - all, Mimi, Eran, everybody, they all love you and ask after you. - When I came down stairs, I distributed your letters, and then came - breakfast, which was very welcome to me. Half through breakfast, - Auguste entered, a little surprised that I had arrived so early, and - full of kind inquiries for you all . . . - -{475} - - I thought I should reach Paris ground to powder, and here I am as - fresh as if I had just stepped out of a bandbox. The dust was - suffocating during the thirty leagues of that tiresome Sologne, and - the rumbling was like thunder on the paved road from Orleans to - Paris. It was impossible to sleep that night, but during the others - I took naps, and even slept several hours--but oh! the difference of - sleeping in a rose-colored bed, and in a diligence, tossed and - jerked about! It was dreadful in the Sologne, where we went at a - snail's pace, but fortunately it did not rain--then the passengers - have to get out sometimes and push the wheels. - - After breakfast I went to mass at St. Sulpice, and then to the - Tuileries when the king was absent. It was very grand and regal; the - throne is superb, and with "my mind's eye" I saw Louis XIV. and - Napoleon. There were a great many visitors, English people, and some - brothers from the Christian schools. A friend of Maurice's had got - us entrance tickets for yesterday, and as I don't often have a - chance to see palaces, I was glad to get the opportunity. - - Good-by, dear papa; to-day I say only two words of greeting. Maurice - embraces you all as he embraced me yesterday. This is for Mimi and - Eran. I send much love to Euphrasie from myself and from Maurice, - who is delighted to know she is at Le Cayla. All sorts of kind - messages to the parsonage and above all to the gimblette - maker,--they were very welcome and every one liked them. They asked - me if Augustine had grown tall and if she was mischievous, and I - said yes and no;--yes for the height, you understand,--she is all - virtue since her first communion. - - M. Angler came to bid me welcome, and we are already acquainted; he - looks good and is good. M. d'A. is coming this evening. I must leave - you, dear papa. Keep well,--take care of yourself; and don't be - uneasy you your traveller, who has but one trial, that she cannot - see you, and knows you are two hundred leagues away. Two hundred - leagues! but my thoughts ran every instant to Le Cayla. We are in - such a quiet place that I think myself in the country, and I slept - without waking once until six o'clock. Tell Jeanne-Marie and Miou - that everyone asks after them. My compliments to the whole household - and to all who are interested in me. - -But this charming picture had its _wrong side_, only revealed by -Eugénie to Mlle. Louise de Bayne, and to the cousin with whom she -lived during part of her stay at Paris, Professor Auguste Raynaud. -There was a worm at the heart of the bud, and she knew too well that -it must wither without blooming. At the very meeting in the Place -Notre Dame des Victoires, which she described so gaily in the letter -to Le Cayla, the sight of Maurice's pallor aroused her anxiety, an -anxiety that increased daily and marred the pleasure to which she had -looked forward for months with ardent longing. "At the time of his -marriage," says M. Barbey d'Aurevilly, an intimate friend of both -brother and sister, "Maurice was already attacked with the disease of -which he died a short time after. He already felt its first -sufferings, its first illusions and early symptoms, which made his -style of beauty more than ever touching; for among imaginary heads he -had that beauty which we may attribute to the last of the -Abencerrages. Now what others did not see in the joy and excitement of -that day, she saw, with those sad, prophetic eyes that see everything -when they love!" - - "I want for nothing, my friend," she wrote to Louise de Bayne; "they - love me and treat me most cordially at my future sister-in-law's, - and here my kind cousin and his wife vie with each other in friendly - attention. My sister-in-law gets my dresses, gives me a pink bed, - and a jewel of an oratory next my room, where one would pray for - mere pleasure. Oh! there is enough to make me happy, and yet I am - beginning to weary of it, and to say that happiness is nowhere. - Write to me; tell me what you are doing in the mountains. I am - waiting impatiently for news from Le Cayla. I long to hear about - them all, and to see them in thought. Write to Marie sometime, it - will please her, and papa too, who loves you, you know, but do not - speak of Maurice's health, for I say nothing to them on the subject, - thinking it useless to alarm them when the trouble may pass off." - -{476} - -This was the one uneasiness that disturbed her enjoyment in Paris, -"the drop of wormwood with which God wets the lips of his elect, that -they be robust in virtue and suffering," as d'Aurevilly said. - - - TO MME. DE MAISTRE. - Oct. 23. - - I have seen many churches, new and old, and I prefer the old. Notre - Dame, Saint Eustache, Saint Roch, and others whose names I forget, - please me more than the Madeline with its pagan form, without belfry - or confessionals, expressive of an unbelieving age; and Notre Dame - de Lorette, pretty as a boudoir. I like churches that make one think - of God, with _vaulted roofs leading to contemplation_, where one - neither sees nor hears people. I am perfectly contented in - l'Abbaye-aux-Bois, a simple little church that reminds me of the one - at Andillac. I go there because it is in our parish, and then, too, - I've found an excellent priest there, gentle, devout, and - enlightened, a disciple of M. Dupanloup. I should have liked to go - to him, but they told me that he lived at a distance, and I must - have everything within my reach, for I am still like a bird just let - out of a cage, hardly daring to stir; I should have lost myself a - hundred times in one quarter if I had not always had a companion. - However, I have scoured Paris thoroughly in every direction; first - mounting the towers of Notre Dame, whence the eye reaches over the - immense city and takes in its general plan, after which they took me - to the Invalides, the Louvre, and the Bois de Boulogne. The dome of - the Invalides, Notre Dame, and the picture galleries, struck me - most. You ask for my impressions of Paris--it is all admirable, but - nothing astonishes me. At every step the eye and mind are arrested, - but in the country, too, I paused over flowers, grass, and wonderful - little creatures. Every place has its wonders--here those of man, - there those of God, which are very beautiful, and will not pass - away. Kings may see their palaces decay, but the ants will always - have their dwelling places. Having made these reflections I will - leave you, and work on a dress. . . . - - - TO MLLE. LOUISE DE BAYNE. - All Saints' Day, 1838. - - . . . . I do not send you news. I ought to write to you of what goes - on within and around me, that you might know my life, and it would be - charming to write so, but time flies like a bird and carries me off - on its wings. In the morning: church, breakfast, a little work; in - the afternoon: a walk or drive, dinner at five o'clock, - conversation, music--the day is gone, and nine and ten o'clock come - to make us wonder where it went. We go to bed at ten, just like good - country folk. In that and many other things I follow my usual - habits, and live in Paris as if I were not there. Good by, the bell - is ringing. - - Seven o'clock. Here I am, pen in hand, sitting by the fire, with the - piano sounding, people reading, Pitt (our Criquet) asleep, and - memories of you mingling with all these things in this Paris - _salon_. . . . It is not apropos, but I take my recollections of - things as they come, and I must not fail to tell you what pleasure - you gave me at the Spanish museum of painting where I met you. It - was you, Louise: a head full of life, oval face, arch expression, - and your eyes looking at me, your cheeks that I longed to kiss. I - was so charmed with the likeness that I passed by again to see my - dear Spanish maiden. Certainly there must be something Spanish about - you, for I see you in St. Theresa, and in this noble and beautiful - unknown. - - The museum amused, or rather interested me extremely, for one does - not get amusement from beautiful things, or among wonderful works - with ascetic faces such as compose this museum of painting. And what - shall I tell you of the mummies, the thousand fantastic and - grotesque Egyptian gods--cats and crocodiles--a paradise of idolatry - that no one would care to enter? I looked long at some cloth four or - five thousand years old, and at a piece of muslin and a little skein - of thread, all framed under glass--how many ages have they been in - existence? I should never end if I were learned and could describe - these curiosities and antiquities by the thousand--Etruscan vases, - exquisite in form and color, that look as if they were made - yesterday. The ancients certainly possessed the secret of eternal - works. - - This is my life, seeing and admiring, and then entering into myself, - or going in search of those I love to tell them all that I see and - feel. If I could I would write to you forever, which means very - often, and what should I not scribble? what do I not scribble? Know - that I am writing in the midst of musicians, under Maurice's eye as - he sits laughing over my journal, and adds for its embellishment the - expression of his homage to the ladies of Rayssac. It was he who - noticed that picture first and pointed it out to me. He knows what - gives me pleasure and leads me to it. - -{477} - - We always go out together when the weather is good, sometimes to the - Tuileries, sometimes to the Luxembourg; but I like the Tuileries - best with its pretty things-sculpture, flowers, children playing - about, swans in a basin, and looking down on it all the royal - château illuminated by the setting sun. I begin to know my way about - a little in the streets and gardens, and I look upon it as a great - triumph to be able to go to l'Abbaye-aux-Bois alone, which is a - great convenience, for I can go to week-day mass without troubling - any one, which was a restraint upon me. One can go about here as - safely as in Albi or Gaillac. They had frightened me about the - dangers of Paris, when there are really none except for imprudent or - crazy people. No one speaks to any person going about his own - business. In the evening it is different. I would not go out alone - then for the world, especially on the boulevards, where they say the - devil leads the dance. We pass through sometimes returning from Mme. - Raynaud's, and nothing has ever struck me except the illumination of - gas in the cafés, running along the streets like a thread of fire. I - annoyed a Parisian by saying that the glow-worms in our hedges were - quite as effective. "Mademoiselle, what an insult to Paris!" It made - us laugh, as one does laugh sometimes at nothing. Now I am going to - the concert; I want to know what music is, and tell you my - impressions. - ------- - - TO M. DE GUÉRIN. - PARIS, NOV. 6, 1838. - - Never was a day more charming, for it began with Grembert's arrival, - and it ends with a letter to you, my dear papa. . . The wedding day - is fixed for the 15th. Last Sunday the bans were published for the - last time at l'Abbaye-aux-Bois. . . - - You ask if I have everything I need, and if I am satisfied in every - respect with my Parisian life. Yes, dear papa, in every sense, and - especially for this reason, that I admire the care and assistance - that Providence bestows upon us in all places. I have never been - struck so forcibly with the abundant aids to piety anywhere as in - Paris; every day there are sermons in one place or another, - associations and benedictions. If the devil reigns in Paris, perhaps - God is served there better than in other places. Good and evil find - here their utmost expression; it is Babylon and Jerusalem in one. In - the midst of all this, I lead my customary life, and find in my - Abbey everything I need. M. Legrand is a friend of l'Abbé de - Rivières, holy and zealous like him, and full of kindness. He - provides me with books and with kind and gentle advice; it will not - be his fault if I don't improve very much. One can save one's soul - anywhere. . . - - Our quarter of Cherche Midi is charming. M. d'Aurevilly calls it - _Trouve Bonheur_, an appropriate name so far Maurice is concerned. - He will be happy, as happy as he can be--at least everything looks - hopeful. He could not be allied to better souls. Caroline is an - angel; her pure, tender soul is full of piety. You will be pleased - with her, and with Maurice too, who only does things slowly, as his - fashion is; but there is much to thank God for in such conduct, - which is very rare among young Parisians. M. Buquet speaks very - highly of him; he will bless the marriage, much to our - gratification. The great day, which is to open a new life to our - Maurice, engrosses us in a thousand ways. He is the most peaceful - person concerned, and regards his future and all these affairs with - admirable _sang-froid_. M. Buquet says the fellowship is worth - nothing to him, and that he will find something else for him; so you - see he is established in the good nest Providence has provided for - him, without troubling yon. - - Have I told you everything, and made you see thoughts, words, and - actions, just as you like? Eran is reading the paper and warming - himself. Everybody sends you kisses, and Caro her filial affection. - Yon would do well not to go to Rayseac when it is cold or rainy. - Advice given, and bulletin finished, I throw my arms around your - neck, and pass on to Mimi. - ----- - - You dear Mimi, I thank you more than I can express for your night - letter, written in defiance of sleep. Poor Mimi, plagued and busy, - while I play the princess in Paris! This thought comes to me often - in the day, disturbing my repose a little, my _gentle quietude_. I - say to myself that our time is differently employed, but I help you - in my heart. We are as well as possible here and at Auguste's. Don't - let Euphrasie leave you, I beg and beseech; you would be too lonely - without her gaiety and kindness. I put both my arms around her to - keep her. M. le Curé is very good to come and amuse papa: it is an - act of friendly charity that I shall not forget Remember me to him - and to Mariette. Also to Augustine, Jeanne-Marie, the shepherd, - Paul, and Gilles, and thank them all for their compliments. Good-by, - with a kiss from Maurice, Caro and myself. - ----- - - TO THE SAME. - Nov. 7, 1838 - - I shall write to you every day until I receive letters from home, - that you may see that I do not forget you, dear inhabitants of Le - Cayla. The whirlwind of Paris will not blow me away yet awhile. That - remark of papa's made me laugh, and showed me that he does not know - me yet. I am very sure that you, Mimi, had no such idea. I have told - you that I lead the same life here as at Le Cayla, and with this - {478} advantage, that there is nothing to worry me, for I have a - church within reach, and entire liberty. We are all busy with - spiritual matters now--our ladies with theirs and I with mine. - Maurice is consigned to Sunday, M. Buquet's only free day. All is - going on well in this respect, and Caroline is so edifying that she - seems to be following in Mimi's footsteps. In this too I admire the - workings of Providence in using this marriage as an occasion of - salvation. - - It is beautiful to-day, one of those fine days so rare in Paris, - where the sky is almost always pale and cloudless. This struck me at - first, but now I am used to it as to other things that I see. I am - used to carriages, and am no more afraid of there running over me - than of Gilles' cart. We shall go in the sunshine to see Mme. - Lamarlière Auguste, and I don't know whom besides, for there is no - end to visits when one is once in train. In going to see our cousin - at M. Laville's, Erembert and Maurice met M. Lastic, who is living - in Paris. It is astonishing how many acquaintances one meets in the - great world where one thinks one's self unknown. - - Indians visit here, Indians without end. A friend of Maurice's, H. - Le Fèvre came to spend the evening; a nice little young man, who - looks very gentle and refined. He asked me when I was going to see - my good friend De Maistre; he is a friend of M. Adrien's, who is at - present wandering amid the snows of Norway, so that he can not come - to the wedding. We shall muster pretty strong, though only the - _indispensable_ will be there. - - . . . 13th. We have just come from the Pantheon, a church passed - over from God to the Devil, from St. Genevieve to the heroes of - July, and to Voltaire and Rousseau. It is an admirable work of art, - however; the interior, the dome, and the crypts, gloomy, secluded, - buried beneath vaults and only lighted here and there with lamps, - are quite effective. The imagination would easily take fright in - this darkness of death, or of glory if you choose, for all the dead - are illustrious there, as in the Elysium of which Voltaire and - Rousseau are the gods. In the depths of the crypt stands the statue - of Voltaire, smiling apparently at the glory of his tomb, which is - decorated with magnificent emblems. That of Rousseau is more - severe--a sarcophagus, from which a hand is thrust forth, bearing a - torch, "that illumines and ever shall illumine the world," according - to our guide, who was a cicerone as brilliant as the lantern he - carried. The summit of the dome is at a prodigious elevation, twice - the height of the steeple of Ste. Cécile. Paris is seen beautifully - from there, but the picture needed sunlight and there was none. - Good-by; to-morrow at this time Maurice will be married at the - Mayoralty, and day after tomorrow in church. - - 16th. Yesterday was the grand and solemn day, the beautiful day for - Maurice, Caro and all of us. We only needed you, papa, and Mimi, to - complete our happiness, as we all said with sincere regret. You - would have been delighted to see this family festival, the most - beautiful I ever witnessed. Everything went smoothly, the weather - was soft and pleasant, and God seemed to smile on the marriage, so - suitably it was conducted, and in such a Christian manner. How - pretty Caro was in her bridal dress, and wreath of orange flowers - under her veil à la Bengali! and Maurice looked well too. H. Angler - was so charmed that he wanted to paint them in church, kneeling on - their crimson Prie-Dieu. The church displayed all its grandeur, and - the organ playing during mass was very good. M. Buquet blessed the - marriage, and said mass, assisted by M. Legrand. Many of the _beau - monde_ were present, and a dozen carriages stood before the church - doors. Soeur d'Yversen was to be there. M. Laurichais, confessor to - our ladies, in short all the friends and relations united their - prayers and good wishes during the ceremony. I send M. Buquet's - discourse, which every one thought perfect. Why can't I add to it - his kindly voice, and the look of joy and emotion with which he - spoke to Maurice, whom he loves sincerely. - - You will like to know, papa, how everything passed off on the - memorable day, and I like very much to describe it, for it seems as - if you would be able to share our pleasure, and see your children in - church, at dinner and at the evening party. The dinner was charming, - like every thing else, each course served elegantly; fish, meats, - dessert and wines. The turkey, dressed with our truffles was king of - the feast. We drank freely and merrily of Madeira and Constance, and - it all seemed like the marriage of Cana. I sat between Auguste and - M. d'Aurevilly, very charming neighbors, and we talked and laughed - very pleasantly, though Auguste scolded me for having no poetry, - which he felt disposed to read, and we had never thought of writing; - there's something bettor for Caro, which comes from the heart and - will be unfailingly hers every day. How modest she was in church, - and how pretty she looked in the evening! She was quite the queen of - the occasion. A dozen ladies came, all very elegant, and I don't - know how many men, friends of Maurice's. They were very gracious, - and asked me to dance; yes--_dance!_ _M. le Curé_ had better take - holy water and exorcise me. I danced with my groomsman, Charles; it - was _de rigueur_, and I could not decline without being conspicuous, - and playing {479} the not very amusing part of wall-flower. Auguste - performed his paternal duties admirably. He begs me to say a word of - commendation for him, and I might well say a hundred in praise of - his friendship and devotion to us. - -The friend referred to in the following letter, and with whom Mlle. de -Guérin left Paris early in the December of 1838, was the _Marie_ to -whom she wrote the two delightful letters, introduced into the sixth -and seventh books of her journal. Mme. la Baronne Henriette Marie de -Maistre was the sister of M. Adrien de Sainte Marie, a friend of -Guérin's, and her intimacy with Eugénie had its first foundation in -ceremonious notes written about Maurice when he was ill with a fever -at Le Cayla in 1837. Mme. de Maistre soon became endeared to Eugénie -by her fascinating powers of attraction, and also by her mental and -physical sufferings, for sufferers belonged to the "dove of Le Cayla" -by natural right. - - - TO MLLE. LOUISE DE BAYNE. - Paris, Dec. 1, 1838. - - M. de Frigeville is the most gracious, amiable, and obliging of men. - At length I found out his address, and sent my parcel with a little - note, which he answered at once, and followed in person the next - day. The good man had taken infinite pains to find me and ended by - applying to the police--a last resource that amused us a good deal. - We cannot profit by the acquaintance even now, or by his offers of - politeness "for anything in his power," as he expressed himself to - our ladies, for I was out when he came,--the fates are against me. - Mlle. Laforêt thought him very agreeable and exquisitely courteous. - I send this little notice of him for you, dear friend, and make use - of the chance to write to you up to the last moment. - - I am going to the country, to another Rayssac, for Les Coynes is - among the mountains;--shall I find another Louise there? She is a - little like you, I think; but, my friend, you will always be my - friend. I will write to you from there if you like. Whom and what - shall I see? Everything looks very attractive, and yet I go forward - with timidity to meet these unknown and known. Pity my wandering - life, dragged from place to place;--no, do not pity me, for it is - the will of heaven, and all we have to do is to follow the hand that - leads us without reasoning: that alone sustains and consoles us, - teaching us to turn all things to account for heaven. I am less - attracted to the world than ever; there is more calmness and - happiness within Sister Clementine's door than in any place in the - world. I went to see her yesterday, but she was to be in retreat - until Monday, much to my regret, for I love to see and listen to - these good religious, these souls set apart from the world. . . I - should like to send you something charming and worthy of Paris, but - charming things are rare everywhere; so rare that I have none to - spare today. However, I did see the outside of Versailles;--the king - was expected, so they shut the gates on us. Did I tell you of this, - and of our _royal_ wrath? perhaps I did in my last letter. - - I should have described the concert to you this morning, if Maurice, - who was to have been my escort, had not been taken ill just as we - were going;--pain instead of pleasure, no uncommon change in life. - His little wife, quite crimson with emotion, began to nurse him and - make much of him, and all grew calm under her gentle influence. I - hope Maurice will be happy with her,--I do not know any woman like - her in disposition, heart, or face. She is a foreigner, and I study - her, that I may adapt myself to her, and enter into her feelings if - she cannot into mine. There must be mutual concessions of taste and - ideas among us all, to ensure affection and family peace:--that you - see everywhere, but we shall have no difficulty with one so amiable - and generous. There is not a day when I do not receive proofs of - affection from my charming foreign sister. They always speak of her - to us as the Indian. Mme. Lamarlière thought her very - charming;--pretty and well dressed. Today a bulletin of the visit - and her _toilette_ is at Gaillac, and I am sure that it is all over - town by this time that the Indian wore a dress of _soie antique_, a - black satin shawl, trimmed with blond and lined with blue, a lace - collar, and a black velvet hat with ostrich plume, "overwhelming - heaven and earth," as Mme. Lamarlière says - - Good-by, my dear. I kiss you and say love me, think of me, believe - me, write to me, talk of me. Love to you all. - - One word more; I like to talk to you best because we seem to - understand each other. I will say good-by soon, for two o'clock is - striking and I have an appointment in my chapel at - l'Abbaye-aux-Bois, for I wish to put my conscience in order before - going away. I do not know to whom I shall have recourse in the - country, so far from any church. Fortunately, we {480} are to spend - Christmas at Nevers, and I shall try to grow calm, for I am not so - today. I tell you this because you are alone with Pulchérié, whom - nothing surprises. Pray in the chapel at Rayssac for your poor - friend, the Parisian, who will repay you as well as she can. - Good-by, good-by; till when? . . . - - TO MLLE. DE BAYNE. - CHRISTMAS EVE, NEVERS, 1888. - - I have only time to date my letter, dear friend, for the bells are - calling me to midnight mass. I listen to their clashing peals, and - think of the pretty little tinkle of the Andillac bell. Who would - have said last year that I should be so far away? but so God leads - us to things unforeseen. I'm going to the cathedral to pray for all - whom I love, and so for you. - - - Two days since those lines--two days of festival, prayer, offices, - and letters written and received, without preventing me from being - with you, my dearest. Our hearts can always be together before God, - and we cannot meet in a better way or in any other way for a long - time. I shall not be at Le Cayla before the fine weather comes, and - we can have flowers and sunshine to show our Indian; far enough we - are from that season, as I see by the white earth and pallid sky, - all snowy and cold. - - How you would love my friend, dear Louise! She is so good, so - charming and attractive, and of such a high order of mind, that I - keep congratulating myself upon possessing her friendship and - affection. . . - - Her father takes the best of care of me, and even comes to my room - to see if I have a good fire when I say my prayers. He is afraid - this cold climate may hurt me, and said laughing one very cold day, - "The southern flower will be frozen." Good, holy man! I love him - very much, and he makes me think of your father in his mode of - thought and culture. He has read everything, and he writes too; some - selections from his works, that he was kind enough to read to me, - might have been written by a Benedictine. He knows Carmelites, - Trappists, charitable orders, every one in short who is learned or - religious. Charles the Tenth loved him and saw him often; if he had - only listened to him! - - Travellers from Goritz come here, among others a M. de Ch----, who - comes and goes for the exiles, from St. Petersburg to Vienna and - sometimes to Spain, from one court to another. He charms us with - stories of his adventures, and I never saw a man more agreeable, - handsome, witty or cultivated. He is a learned geologist, and - collects specimens, goes down into volcanoes and domesticates - himself among ruins. - - He lived a week in Sallust's room at Pompeii, drove about the - streets in his carriage, entered the theatre, made excavations under - the very eyes of the Duchess of Berry, and saw a thief whom the lava - had caught while he was stealing a purse, at which we laughed, and - remarked that iniquity is sooner or later discovered. I have seen - his cabinets of natural history, mineralogy, and antiques, and also - the borders of Cicero's dining-hall exquisitely painted with a - delicacy inimitable or unimitated. To all these gifts, M. Ch---- - unites those of a good Christian; he turns all his studies and - discoveries to advantage for the faith, and proves that science and - faith, geology and Genesis, are of one accord. If you think me very - learned, remember that I've seen Paris, and that Paris sharpens - one's wits; however, most of this I have acquired in the - neighborhood of Les Coques. - - - TO MLLE. MARIE DE GUÉRIN. - NEVERS JANUARY 12. - - We return to Paris early in January, and shall be introduced to the - grandeurs of the world. Hitherto I have known only amiable, pretty - simplicity; now come baronesses, duchesses, princesses, and as many - clever people as I choose. It will amuse me like a picture-gallery, - for the heart finds no place among such scenes, far less the soul. - God and the world do not agree. Ah me! how little they think of - heaven amid all this rush and sparkle! So says my friend, who knows - the world and is detached from it. - - M. d'Aurevilly, in his unpublished reminiscences of Mlle. de Guérin, - gives a graphic description of her as she appeared in the Parisian - world, where no doubt she was subjected to a close scrutiny as the - sister of the elegant and gifted Maurice de Guérin. - - "We can affirm," he says, "that never did creature of worldly - attractions appear to us so sweet and lovely as this charming fawn, - reared like St. Genevieve among _pastours_. . . . - - "Drawn from her country home, brought in state like a princess into - the intimidating light of lustres, she came without embarrassment or - awkwardness, with a chaste, patrician self-possession, that showed - in spite of fortune's wrongs for what class in society she was born. - Without ever having been there, she was _Faubourg Saint Germain_, - Byron tells us in his {481} memoir that he witnessed the - introduction of Miss Edgeworth into London society, and that she - made him think of Jeanie Deans. But the country girl of La Cayla was - the descendant of the fairest falcon-bearers who appear in the - mediaeval chronicles, gloved with buckskin, corseleted with ermine, - and wearing a train. . . . This was what we admired, this was what - impressed the world, astonished at her who did not wonder at them. - If, in speaking of such a woman, I dared to use an expression - debased to theatrical uses in our times, I should say that she had a - great success wherever she went. Women whispered together about her - genius for expression and the feeling revealed in her letters; but - no one offered her the prying importunities so coarsely mistaken - sometimes for homage. They did not call her interesting or amusing, - as the world says, patting a proud cheek with its awkward, familiar - hand. They respected her. The world treated her as a woman of the - world, for that is what it holds in highest esteem; but she knew - that she was not so. She knew that there was a second meaning in the - world's language that escaped her, as she said once _with her - accent_ in a letter, but what observer would have guessed it in - seeing her? Excepting now and then a charming swallow-glance, - piercing the tapestry and seeking the wall at Le Cayla covered with - honeysuckle and wall-wort, who would have doubted that this tranquil - maiden was a woman of the world, capable of pleasing it, and of - ruling it too, had she thought it worth her while? - -Mlle. de Guérin had one of those imaginations that are easy to live -with. She did not offend common people, those sensitive, coarse souls -to whom the least distinction causes terrible pain, and who push their -way everywhere, even in the country. They handled with their rough -touch this divine opal with its vaporous shades, as indifferently as -the mock ivory counters on their card-tables. Though she did not -resemble a sphinx, this lovely maiden with her lingering smile, there -was perhaps in her placid regularity the immovability of the sphinx, -and immobility suits all things. It lends a mystery to nature, and -takes from human beings the puppet-like gesticulation that ever mars -the lofty _Sidera Vultum_. - - - -And now we will return to Eugénie's letters, dated once more from -Paris, where she was staying with the Baroness de Maistre, and seeing -the world in a more brilliant light than in her visits to the Rue -Cherche-Midi, and at the house of "Auguste and Félicité;" but it never -dazzled her eyes, no matter how brightly it shone and glittered. - - - TO M. DE GUÉRIN. - Paris, Jan. 20, 1839. - - You have had a line from me almost every day, dear papa, but I will - write more at length to-day. - - The good General called here as soon as he heard of my return from - Nevers; but to tell the truth his visits are not entirely for me, - for he finds Caroline so pleasing, that I think our Indian has her - full share of the kind old gentleman's friendship. One day he came - when she was dressing a doll in Indian fashion, for the little De - Maistres, and he was so delighted that he insisted on working - himself, and wished to stay till the end of the toilette, which was - unluckily interrupted by visitors. The Marquis left us, but Caro - wrote to him the next day that the Indian lady was ready, and would - be charmed to be presented to him, so the good man came, passed the - afternoon with us, and offered to take us today to M. Aquado's - museum of painting. We shall go, for it is said to be very - beautiful, and afterward we are to see the interior of the Palais - Royal. There is nothing we may not expect of the good Marquis, and - we owe a great deal of pleasure to Palchérie, who has already - received my acknowledgments. I send a package to Rayssac with this - one. - - We have no want of friends in Paris, dear papa. How can I say enough - of the perfect family I have just left, who are untiring in their - friendships and kindness! I am engaged, to go to-morrow, Saturday, - to a large and elegant party at M. de Neuville's, [Footnote 83] but - I shall give up my place to Eran, who will go with Mme. de Maistre. - There will be a sort of reunion of beauties of every - country--English, German, {482} Spanish, and the lovely ambassadress - from the United States. - - [Footnote 83: Ex-Minister to Charles X.] - - 'Twill be a pretty sight for anyone who likes society, but I refuse - as often as possible. However, I cannot help going to M. de - Neuville's, for he has been so gracious to Erembert. I have seen the - Baroness de Vaux, Henry Vth's Joan of Arc, who, in 1830, asked an - officer of the Royal Guard to rout Philip, herself and her sword at - their head. She is a man-woman in figure and energy. Now she is - devoted to God, visiting prisons and exhorting those who are - condemned to death. With all this she has a charming simplicity. I - am to make other acquaintances, whom I shall describe to you. All - this does not prevent my thinking of Le Cayla very, very often, and - longing impatiently for the month of May,--I shall go with Erembert - at the beginning of Lent if I can. Mmes. de Maistre and de St. Marie - beg to be remembered to you. "They think Caro charming, as - fascinating as possible," said Henriette, and indeed she was radiant - the evening they saw her. She is prettier than before her marriage, - and she is an excellent little wife, as devoted to Maurice as he is - to her. They are happy, and Maurice is most exemplary; a hundred - times better than last year, as he says himself. His confidence in - me is unchanged and we talk very intimately;--he longs to see you, - and thinks very often of Mimi;--we shall all be glad to meet at Le - Cayla. Saturday I shall think of you, Mimi, at St. Thomas Aquinas', - where we are to hear l'Abbé Dupanloup, [Footnote 84] who is also - to give the Lenten instructions. There is no lack of teaching in - Paris, but the well taught are very rare;--the more one sees of the - world, the more glaring appears the ignorance of essential things. - Soeur d'Yversen comes now and then to see us; she has mentioned to - me Mme. L----, who would like to know us, but we know, so many - people already, that I've lost all desire for new acquaintances. Our - whole time slips away in dressing and receiving or making visits, so - that one can hardly read or work at all. The Lastics have been here, - Mme. Resaudière, the Barrys, an English family who like Maurice very - much, and an infinity of other people whom I do not know even by - name. Then the De Maistres and the acquaintances they make for - me;--you see I have more than I need. - - [Footnote 84: Now Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans.] - - Oh! how I shall rest at Le Cayla. I shall feel the contrast so much, - passing from the whirlwind of Paris to the calm of the fields, from - the rolling of carriages to the little rumble of carts, from Paris - noises to the cackling of our hens;--it all seems to me very - charming without thinking of you and Mimi;--how I long to kiss you! - They treat me very well here, and I am spoiled by everybody. My - health is good, so don't be anxious about me. How does Winter treat - you in the new parlor? Better no doubt than it did in the hall. "Is - Wolff banished from the parquet?" Maurice asks. Passing from parlor - to kitchen, tell me how all our people are. I'm sorry about the - partridge. - - May 9th.--We heard M. de Ravignan Sunday at Notre Dame. It is - curious to see this assemblage of men, a sea of people overflowing - the immense cathedral to listen to one voice--but such a voice! From - time to time some stricken soul, some young man in doubt or - conviction, seeks the orator as a confessor. Then too they rush to - see plays, and Mlle. Rachel draws at least as great a crowd to the - theatre as M. de R. does to the cathedral. I'm not surprised at the - enthusiasm of the Castrais about this young marvel. She is ugly, - though, at least so I am told by those who have seen her off the - stage. Alas! the profanity of my words in Lent! - - TO H. DE GUÉRIN. - - Paris; March and April, 1839. - This bit of a letter, will tell you, dear papa, that I am with my - poor invalid friend, waiting for M. Dupanloup, and that catching - sight of an ink-stand, I am going on with my writing at the expense - of the sacristy. But I will put a sous in the box for my ink, and my - paper too, as I mean to steal a sheet to go with these; if we are - left alone long enough. Now and then a peaceable abbé or sacristan - passes through, glancing at us, and looking rather astonished at my - office improvised in the sacristy. But M. D.'s name protects us, and - we need only mention him to get a safe-conduct. . . . - - Never was there such a holy week--continual agitation and running - about. Andillac is better than Paris for recollection; but God is - everywhere and in all things, if we know how to find Him. Poor dear - papa, I have prayed well for you in these beautiful monuments of - Notre Dame, St. Roch, and others that we have visited. I thought of - yon in the simple little chapel of Andillac. I suppose they used the - new chapel for the tomb, or Paradise, as they call it here. - - Was there ever such a piece of scribbling as this letter--begun, - left, begun again, in so many places? Now I am at Maurice's, after - sitting five hours for my portrait, which M. Angier kindly insists - on painting for you, and for your sake, I have submitted. Dear papa, - my painted self will go with Eran, who has had his likeness taken - too, and, happier than I am. {483} is to see you and kiss you, and - talk to you of Paris, and many, many other things. - - My absence is to be prolonged more than I supposed, but how could I - refuse these good friends a request they had such a right to ask? - They will be grateful to you, I assure you. - - I shall bring you the little book of poetry that you care for so - much;--it is now in the hands of Count Xavier, which will be its - greatest glory, I have been presented to this celebrated and - charming man, who was very kind and gracious; he loves his cousin, - and under her patronage I could not but be well received. We found - him alone in his room, reading the office of Holy Week;--he must be - religious, being a worthy brother of his Brother Joseph. Thus he is - consoled for his great griefs, for the death of his three children - at eighteen or twenty years of age. - - The same evening, they took me to the great Valentino concert of - eighty musicians. I had been there once before. There is much more - to be seen here, but one might spend a thousand years in Paris, and - leave many things unseen. I value more the knowledge of persons than - of things. - - I am uneasy about your health, however well Mimi may take care of - you; be very careful of yourself. - - Good-by, dear papa, good-by, dear Mimi. - I have no time to write to you. Maurice sends to papa M. de Luzerne's - _reflections_ upon the Gospels. Good-by to all. - - I send a waistcoat to Pierril and an apron to Jeanie; to you and all - everything that can reach your hearts. Thank M. Angler for his - kindness, when you write to Maurice. My portrait must be finished at - Le Cayla, for I found it impossible to have a sitting to-day. I do - not want to leave you, and yet good-by. I will write to you from - Nevers. Erembert will be much pleased to see you again; I see - already the happy day of arrival. - - April 2d, in the evening. - -And here we must leave Eugénie. Eight days later she resumed the -journal at Nevers and wrote that wonderful eighth book, so -pathetically expressive of the pain of waiting--fit prelude of the -coming tragedy. - ------- - -From Once a Week. - - -DAY-DREAMS - - - Call them not vain and false day-dreams we see - With spirit-vision of our quicker youth; - Thoughts wiser in the world's esteem may be - Less near the truth. - - When against some hard creed of life we raise - Our single cry for what more pure we deem, - 'Tis oft the working out in later days - Of some old dream! - - Dream of a world more pure than that we find - Sad is the wak'ning, but not dull despair, - While we can feel that we may leave behind - One bright ray there. - - Let us work up then to our young ideal, - Nor weep the present nor regret the past, - Till the soul, struggling 'twixt earth's false and real, - Reach heaven at last. - ------- - -{484} - - -From The Dublin Review. - -THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS OF ALEXANDRIA--ORIGEN. - - -The scholar next comes to the more strictly ethical part of Origen's -teaching. The preliminary dialectics had cleared the ground, and to a -certain extent replanted it; physics made the process more easy, -pleasant, and complete; but the great end of a philosophic life was -ethics, that is, the making a man good. The making of a man good and -virtuous seems now-a-days a simple matter, as far as theory is -concerned, and so perhaps it is, if only theory and principles be -considered; though morality is an extensive science, and one that is -not mastered in an hour or a day. But in Origen's day a science of -Christian ethics did not exist. The teaching of the Scripture and the -voice of the pastors was sufficient, doubtless, for the guidance of -the faithful; but science is a different thing. Such a science is -shadowed out to us by the scholar in the record we are noticing. St. -Thomas, the great finisher of scientific Christian ethics, embraces -all virtues under two great classes, viz., the theological and the -cardinal. The whole science of morality treats only of the seven -virtues included under these two divisions. The master's teaching -comprehended, of course, faith, and hope, and charity; indeed, it -would be more correct to say that these three virtues were his whole -ultimate object; but the scholar says little of them in particular -just because of this very reason, and also because they were bound up -in that _piety_ which he mentions so often. But it is a most -interesting fact that the virtues, and the only virtues, mentioned in -the summary of Origen's moral teaching given by St. Gregory, are -precisely the four cardinal virtues, prudence, justice, fortitude, and -temperance. The classification dates, of course, from the Stoics, but -the circumstance that the framework laid down by a father in the -beginning of the third century was used and completed by another -father in the thirteenth, gives the early father an undoubted claim to -be considered the founder of Christian ethics. And here we lay our -hands on one of the earliest instances of heathen philosophy being -made to hew wood and carry water for Christian theology. The division -of virtues was a good one; all the schools pretended to teach it; but -the distinctive boast and triumph of the Christian teacher was that he -taught _true_ prudence, true justice, fortitude, and temperance, "not -such," says the scholar, "as the other philosophers teach, and -especially the moderns, who are strong and great in words; he not only -talked about the virtues, but exhorted us to practise them; and he -exhorted us by what he did far more than by what he said." And here -the scholar takes the opportunity of recording his opinion about "the -other" philosophers, now that he has had a course of Origen's -training. He first apologizes to them for hurting their feelings. He -says that, personally, he has no ill-will against them, but he plainly -tells them that things have come to such a pass, through their -conduct, that the very name of philosophy is laughed at. And he goes -on to develop what appeared to him the very essence of their faults, -viz., too much talk, and nothing but talk. Their teaching is like a -widely-extended morass; once set foot in it, and you can neither get -out nor go on, but stick fast till you perish. Or it is like a thick -forest; the traveller who once finds himself {485} in it has no chance -of ever getting back to the open fields and the light of day, but -gropes about backward and forward, first trying one path, then -another, and finding they all lead farther in, until at last, wearied -and desperate, he sits down and dwells in the forest, resolving that -the forest shall be his world, since all the world seems to be a -forest. This is, perhaps, one of the most graphic pictures ever given -of the state of mind, so artificial, so unsatisfied, and yet so -self-sufficient, brought about by a specious heathen philosophy, and -the effect of enlightened reason destitute of revelation. The scholar -cannot heighten the strength of his description by going on to compare -it, in the third place, to a labyrinth, but the comparison brings out -two striking features well worthy of notice. The first is, the -innocent and guileless look of the whole concern from the outside; -"the traveller sees the open door, and in he goes, suspecting -nothing." Once in, he sees a great deal to admire, (and this is the -second point in the labyrinth-simile;) he sees the very perfection of -art and arrangement, doors after doors, rooms within rooms, passages -leading most ingeniously and conveniently into other passages; he sees -all this art, admires the architect, and--thinks of going out. But -there is no going out for him; he is fast. All the artifice and -ingenuity he has been admiring have been expended for the express -purpose of keeping in for ever those foolish people who have been so -unwary as to come in at the open door. "For there is no labyrinth so -hard to thread," sums up the scholar, "no wood so deep and thick, no -bog so false and hopeless, as the language of some of these -philosophers." In this language we recognize another of of the -characteristic feelings of the day--the feeling of profound disgust -for the highest teachings of heathenism from the moment the soul -catches a ray of the light of the Gospel In Origen's school the -confines of the receding darkness skirted the advancing kingdom of -light, and those that sat in the darkness to-day saw it leaving them -to-morrow, and far behind them the morrow after that; and all the time -the great master had to be peering anxiously into the darkness to see -what souls were nearest the light, and to hold out his hand to win -them too into the company of those that were already sitting at his -feet. In such days as those, sharp comparisons between heathen wisdom -and the light of Christ must have been part of the atmosphere in which -the catechumens of the great school lived and breathed; there was a -reality and interest in them such as can never be again. And yet the -master was no bigot in his dealings with the Greek philosophies. "He -was the first and the only one," says his scholar, "that made me study -the philosophy of Greece." The scholar was to reject nothing, to -despise nothing, but make himself thoroughly acquainted with the whole -range of Greek philosophy and poetry; there was only one class of -writers he was to have nothing to do with, and those were the atheists -who denied God and God's providence; their books could only sully a -mind that was striving after piety. But his pupils were to attach -themselves to no school or party, as did the mob of those who -pretended to study philosophy. Under his guidance they were to take -what was true and good, and leave what was false and bad. He walked -beside them and in front of them through the labyrinth; he had studied -its windings and knew its turns; in his company, and with their eyes -on his "lofty and safe" teaching, his scholars need fear no danger. - -This brief analysis of part of St. Gregory's remarkable oration will -serve to give us some idea of Origen's method of treating his more -learned and cultivated converts, of whom we know he had a very great -many. It will also have admitted us, in some sort, into the interior -of his school, {486} and let as hear the question in debate and the -matters that were of greatest interest in that most influential centre -of Christian teaching. It does not, of course, deal directly with -theology, or with those great controversies which Origen, in a manner, -rendered possible for his pupils and successors of the next century. -The scholar, indeed, does go on now to speak of his theological -teachings; but he describes rather his manner than his matter, and -rather the salient points of characteristic gifts than the details of -his dogmatic system. As this is precisely our own object in these -notes, we need only say that St. Gregory, in the concluding pages of -his farewell discourse, sufficiently proves that the great end and -object of all philosophic teaching and intellectual discipline in the -school of his master was faith and practical piety. To teach his -hearers the great first cause was his most careful and earnest task. -His instructions about God were so full of knowledge and so carefully -prepared that the scholar is at a loss how to describe them. His -explanations of the prophets, and of Holy Scripture generally, were so -wonderful that he seemed to be the friend and interpreter of the Word. -The soul that thirsted for knowledge went away from him refreshed, and -the hard of heart and the unbelieving could not listen to him without -both understanding, and believing, and making submission to God. "It -was no otherwise than by the communication of the Holy Ghost that he -spoke thus," says his disciple, "for the prophets and the interpreters -of the prophets have necessarily the same help from above, and none -can understand a prophet unless by the same spirit wherein the prophet -spoke. This greatest of gifts and this splendid destiny he seemed to -have received from God, that he should be the interpreter of God's -words to men, that he should understand the things of God, as though -he heard them from God's own mouth, and that through him men should be -brought to listen and obey." Two little indications of what we may -call the spirit of Origen are to be found in this address of his -pupil. The first is the great value he sets upon purity as the only -means of arriving at the knowledge and communion of God. We know what -a watchword this "union with God" was among the popular philosophers -of the day. To attain to it was the end of all the Neo-Platonic -asceticism. It was Origen's great end as well; but he taught that -purity alone and the subjugation of the passions by the grace of God -will avail to lead the soul thither, and that no amount of external -refinement or abstinence from gross sin will suffice to make the soul -pure in the sight of God. The second is, his devotion to the person of -the Son, the ever-blessed Word of God. The whole oration of the -scholar takes the form of a thanksgiving to "the Master and Saviour of -our souls, the firstborn Word, the maker and ruler of all things." He -never misses an opportunity all through it of bursting into eloquent -love to that "Prince of the universe;" he cannot praise his master -without first praising him, or ascribe anything to the powers of the -earthly teacher without referring it first of all to the heavenly -Giver. He had learned this from Origen, the predecessor, unconsciously -certainly, but in will and in spirit, of another Alexandrian, the -great Athanasius. And here again error was bringing out the truth, for -unless the Gnostics and the Neo-Platonists had been at that very time -theorizing about their demiurge and their emanations, we should -probably have missed the tender devotion and repeated homage to the -eternal Word which we find in the words of Origen and his disciple. - -Theodore, or Gregory, as he had been named in baptism, had to thank -his master and to praise him, and he had, Moreover, to say how sorry -he was to leave him. He concludes his speech with the expression of -his regrets. He is afraid that all the grand teaching he has received -has been to {487} a great extent thrown away upon him. He is not yet -prudent, he is not just, he is not temperate, he has no fortitude, -alas, for his own native imbecility! But one gift the master has given -him he has made him love all these virtues with a love that knows no -bounds; and he has made him love, over and above them all, that virtue -which is alike their beginning and their consummation--the blessed -virtue of piety, the service and love of God. And now, in leaving him, -he seems to be leaving a garden full of useful trees and pleasant -fruits, full of green grass and cheering sunshine. And he thereupon -compares himself, at considerable length, to our first parents -banished from Paradise. "I am leaving the face of God and going back -to the earth from whence I came; and I shall eat earth all my days, -and till earth--an earth that will produce me nothing but thorn and -briers now that it is deprived of its good and excellent tending." He -goes on to liken himself to the prodigal son; and yet he finds himself -worse than he, for he is going away without receiving the "due portion -of substance," and leaving behind everything he loves and cares for. -Again, he seems to be one of that band of Jewish captives that hang up -their harps on the willows and wept beside the rivers of Babylon. "I -am going out from my Jerusalem," he says, "my holy city, where day and -night the holy law is being announced, where are hymns and canticles -and mystic speech; where a light brighter than the sun shines upon us -as we discuss the mysteries of God, and where our fancy brings back in -the night visions of what has occupied us in the day; I am leaving -this holy city, wherein God seems to breathe everywhere, and going -into a land of exile: there will be no singing for me; even the -mournful flute will not be my solace when my harp is hung on the -willows; but I shall be working by river-sides and making bricks; the -hymns I remember I shall not be allowed to sing; nay, it may be that -my very memory will play me false, and my hard work will make me -forget them." The youthful heart, that has left a cloistered retreat -of learning and piety, where masters have been loved, studies enjoyed, -and God tenderly served, will test these words by itself, and read in -their eloquent painting another proof that nature is the same to-day -as yesterday. Gregory the wonder-worker was truly a scholar to be -proud of, but the master's pride must have been obliterated in his -emotion when he listened to such a description of his school as this. - -But the scholar, after all, will leave with a good heart. "There is -the Word, the sleepless guardian of all men." He puts his trust in -him, and in the good seed that his master has sown; perhaps he may -come back again and see him yet once more, when the seed shall have -sprung up and produced such fruits as can be expected from a nature -which is barren and evil, but which he prays God may never become -worse by his own fault. "And do thou, O my beloved master ([Greek -text]), arise and send us forth with thy prayer; thou hast been our -saviour by thy holy teachings whilst we were with thee; save us still -by thy prayers when we depart. Give us back, master, give us up into -the hands of him that sent us to thee, God; thank him for what has -befallen us; pray him that in the future he may ever be with us to -direct us, that he may keep his laws before our eyes and set in our -heart that best of teachers his divine fear. Away from thee, we shall -not obey him as freely as we obeyed him here. Keep praying that we may -find consolation in him for our loss of thee, that he may send us his -angel to go with us; and ask him to bring us back to thee once more; -no other consolation could be half so great." And so they depart, the -two brothers, never again to see their master more. They both became -great bishops, Gregory the greatest; we find Origen writing to him, -soon after his departure, a letter full of affection and good counsel; -and who can tell how much the teaching of the catechist of Alexandria -had to do with that wonderful life and never-dying reputation that -distinguish Gregory Thaumaturgus among all the saints of the church? - -{488} - -Origen presided at Alexandria for twenty years--that is to say, from -211 to 231. In the latter year he left it for ever. During this period -he had been temporarily absent more than once. The governor of the -Roman Arabia, or Arabia Petraea, had sent a special messenger to the -prefect of Alexandria and the patriarch, to beg that the catechist -might pay him a visit. What he wanted him for is not recorded; but -Petra, the capital of the Roman province, was not so far from the -great road between Alexandria and Palestine as to be out of the way of -Greek thought and civilization, and its interesting remains of art, -belonging to this very period, which startled modern travellers only a -short time past, prove that it was itself no inconsiderable centre of -intellectual cultivation. We may, therefore, conjecture that his -errand was philosophical, or, in other words, religious. - -The second time that Origen was absent from Alexandria was for a -somewhat longer space. The emperor Caracalla, after murdering his -brother and indulging in indiscriminate slaughter, in all parts of the -world from Rome to Syria, had at last arrived, with his troubled -conscience and his well-bribed legions, at Alexandria. The -Alexandrians, it is well known, had an irresistible tendency to give -nicknames. Caracalla's career was open to a few epithets, and the -unfortunate "men of Macedon" made merry on some salient points in the -character of the emperor and his mother. They had better have held -their tongues, or plucked them out; for in a fury of vengeance he let -loose his bloodthirsty bands on the city. How many were slain in that -awful visitation no one ever knew; the dead were thrown into trenches, -and hastily covered up, uncounted and unrecorded. The spectre-haunted -emperor took special vengeance on the institutions and professors of -learning. It would seem that he destroyed a great part of the -buildings of the Museum, and put to death or banished the teachers. As -for the students, he had the whole youth of the city driven together -into the gymnasium, and ordered them to be formed into a "Macedonian -phalanx" for his army--a grim retort, in kind, for their pleasantries -at his expense. Origen fled before this storm. Had he remained, he was -far too well known now to have been safe for an hour. Doubtless -obedience made him conceal himself and escape. He took refuge in -Caesarea of Palestine, where the bishop, St. Theoctistus, received him -with the utmost honor; and, though he was yet only a layman, made him -preach in the church, which he had never done at Alexandria. When the -tempest in Egypt had gone by, Demetrius wrote for him to come back. He -returned, and resumed the duties of his post. - -After this he took either one or two other journeys. He was sent into -Greece, and visited Athens, with letters from his bishop, to refute -heresy and confirm the Christian religion. He also stayed awhile at -the great central see of Antioch. - -On his journey to Greece, he had been ordained priest at Caesarea, by -his friend St. Theoctistus. When he returned to Alexandria, about the -year 231, Demetrius, the patriarch, was pleased to be exceedingly -indignant at his ordination. We cannot go into the controversy here; -we need only say that a synod of bishops, summoned by the patriarch, -decreed that he must leave Alexandria, but retain his priesthood; -which seems to show that they thought he had better leave for the sake -of peace, though they could not recognize any canonical fault; for if -they had, they would have suspended or degraded him. Demetrius, -indeed, assembled another synod some time later, and did degrade and -excommunicate him. But by this time Origen had left Alexandria, never -to return {489} and was quietly living at Caesarea. We dare not -pronounce sentence in a cause that has occupied so many learned pens; -but we dare confidently say this, that it is impossible to prove -Origen to have been knowingly in the wrong. We must now follow him to -Caesarea. - -If some Levantine merchantman, manned by swarthy Greeks or Syrians, in -trying to make Beyrout, should be driven by a north wind some fifty -miles further along the coast to the southwest, she might possibly -find herself, at break of day, in sight of a strange-looking harbor. -There would be a wide semi-circular sweep of buildings, or what had -once been buildings; there would be a southern promontory, crowned -with a tower in ruins; there would be the vestiges of a splendid pier; -and there would be rows of granite pillars lying as if a hurricane had -come off the land, and blown them bodily into the sea. An Arab or two, -in their white cotton clothes, would be grimly looking about them, on -some prostrate columns; and a stray jackal, caught by the rising sun, -would be scampering into some hole in the ruins. Our merchantman would -have come upon all that is left of Caesarea of Palestine. If she did -not immediately make all sail to Jaffa, or back to Beyrout, it would -not be because the place does not look ghostly and dismal enough. And -yet it was once the greatest port on that Mediterranean coast, and far -more important than either Jaffa, Acre, Sidon, or even Beyrout now. It -owed its celebrity to Herod the Great. Twelve years of labor, and the -expenditure of vast sums of money, made the ancient Turris Stratonis -worthy to be rechristened Caesarea, in honor of Caesar Augustus. Its -great pier, constructed of granite blocks of incredible size, afforded -at once dwelling-places and hostelries for the sailors and a splendid -columned promenade for the wealthy citizens. The half-circle of -buildings, all of polished granite, that embraced the sea and the -harbor, and terminated in a rocky promontory on either side, shone far -out to sea, and showed conspicuous in the midst the great temple of -Caesar, crowned with statues of Augustus and of the Roman city. An -agora, a praetorium, a circus looking out to sea, and a rock-hewn -theatre, were included in Herod's magnificent plans, and fittingly -adorned a city that was to become in a few years the capital of -Palestine. We see its importance even as early as the days immediately -after Pentecost. It was here that the Gentiles were called to the -faith, in the person of Cornelius the centurion, a commander of the -legionaries stationed at Caesarea. His house, three hundred years -later, was turned into a chapel by St. Paulo, and must therefore have -been recognizable at the time of which we write. It was here that -Herod Agrippa I. planned the apprehension of St. Peter and the -execution of St. James the Greater; and it was in the theatre here -that the beams of the sun shone upon his glittering apparel, and the -people saluted him as a god, only to see him smitten by the hand of -the true God, and carried to his palace in the agonies of mortal pain. -St. Paul was here several times, and last of all when he was brought -from Jerusalem by the fifty horsemen and the two hundred spearmen. -Here he was examined before Felix, and before Festus, in the presence -of King Agrippa, when he made his celebrated speech; and it was from -the harbor of Caesarea that he sailed for Rome to be heard before -Caesar. For many centuries, even into the times of the crusaders, it -continued to be a capital and haven of great importance. Between 195 -and 198, it was the scene of one of the earliest councils of the -Eastern Church, and, as the see of Eusebius, the founder of church -history, and the site of a celebrated library, it must always be -interesting in ecclesiastical annals. But perhaps it would require -nothing more to make {490} it a place of note in our eyes than the -fact that when Origen was driven from Alexandria, in 231, he -transferred to Caesarea not the Alexandrian school, it is true, but -the teacher whose presence and spirit had contributed so much to make -it immortal. - -Caesarea, indeed, was at that time a literary centre only second to -Alexandria or Antioch. It was in direct communication with Jerusalem -by an excellent military road, and with Alexandria by a road that was -longer, indeed, but in no way inferior. It was not far from Berytus -both by land and sea. Like Capharnaum and Ptolemais, but in a yet -higher degree, it was one of Herod the Great's model cities, in which -he had embodied his scheme of _Grecianizing_ his country by the -influence of splendid Greek art and overpowering Greek intellect. It -was also the metropolis of Palestine. St. Alexander, bishop of -Jerusalem, Origen's fellow-student, was the intimate friend of -Theoctistus, bishop of Caesarea; and it is clear that bishops, or -their messengers, from the cities all along the coast, as for as -Antioch, and even the distant Cappadocia and Pontus, were not -unfrequent visitors to this great rallying-point of the church and the -empire. - -When Origen, therefore, left Alexandria and took up his abode in a -city that was in a manner the diminished counterpart of one he had -abandoned, he did not find himself in a strange land. St. Theoctistus -received him with delight. It was not long before he journeyed the -short distance to Jerusalem, to renew his acquaintance with St. -Alexander; and these two bishops were only too glad to put on his -shoulders all the charges that he would accept. "They referred to -him," says Eusebius, "on every occasion as their master; they -committed to him alone the charge of interpreting and teaching Holy -Scripture and everything connected with preaching the Word of God in -the church." From the way in which the historian joins the two bishops -together, it would appear that Caesarea was a common school for the -two dioceses, and a sort of ecclesiastical seminary whither the -clerics from Jerusalem came, as to a centre where learning and learned -men would abound more than in ruined and fallen AElia. It is certain, -however, that Origen, in a short time, was teaching and writing as -fast as at Alexandria. His name soon began to draw scholars. -Firmilian, bishop of so distant a see as Caesarea of Cappadocia, one -of the most stirring minds of his age, who had controversies on his -hands all round the sea-coast to Carthage in one direction, and Rome -in the other, was a friend of Theoctistus. It is possible that he knew -Origen also, perhaps from having seen him at Alexandria, but more -probably from having met him when Origen travelled into Greece. At any -rate, he conceived an enthusiastic liking for him. Nothing would serve -him but to make Origen travel to his own far-off province to teach and -stimulate pastors and people; and, not long afterward, we find himself -in Judaea, that is, at Caesarea, on a visit to Origen, with whom he is -stated to have remained "some time," for the sake of "bettering -himself" in divinity. And, as Eusebius sums up, "not only those who -lived in the same part of the world, but very many others from distant -lands, left their country and came flocking to listen to him." We need -not mention here again the names Gregory and Athenodorus. - -The position now occupied by Origen at Caesarea was, therefore, one of -the highest importance. He was no longer a private teacher, or even an -authorized master teaching in private; he was no less than the -substitute for the bishop himself. In the Eastern Church, indeed, the -custom by which no one but the Bishop ever preached in the church was -not so strictly observed as it was in the West; but if a {491} -presbyter did received the commission of preaching, it was always with -the understanding that what he said was said on behalf of the pontiff, -whose presence in his chair was a guarantee for its orthodoxy. When -Origen, therefore, on the Lord's day, after the reading of the holy -Gospel, stood forward from his place in the presbytery, and began to -explain either the Gospel text itself or some passage in the Old -Testament which also had formed part of the liturgical service, it was -well understood that he was speaking with authority. And this is the -first light in which we should view his homilies. - -It would be saying little to say that Origen's homilies and -commentaries (for we need not distinguish them here) marked an era in -the exposition of Scripture. They not only were the first of their -kind, but they may be said to have created the art, and not only to -have created it, but, in certain aspects, to have finished it and to -have become like Aristotle in some of his treatises, at once the model -and the quarry for future generations. It may be true, as of course it -is, that he was not absolutely the first to write expositions of -Scripture. The splendid eloquence of Theophilus of Antioch had already -been heard on the four Gospels, and his spirit of interpretation seems -to have had much more affinity for Origen's own spirit than for that -of the school of his own Antioch two centuries later. Melito had -written on the Apocalypse, but his direct labors on Scripture were -only an insignificant part of his voluminous works, if, indeed, they -were not all rather apologetic and hortatory than explanatory. The -Mosaic account of the creation had occupied a few fathers with its -defence against Gnostic and infidel. But we know from Origen's own -words that he had read and used "his predecessors," as he calls them. -And yet we may truly say that he is the first of commentators, not -only because no one before him had dared to undertake the whole -Scripture, but on account of his novel and regular method. He is -turned by one great authority, Sixtus Senensis, "almost self-taught," -so little of what he says can he have gleaned from others. But in -estimating how much Origen owed to those before him, we should lose a -valuable hint towards understanding him if we forgot Clement of -Alexandria and the great body of tradition, oral and written, of which -the Alexandrian school was the headquarters. We know that the -Alexandrian Jew, Philo, two hundred years before Clement's time, had -written wonderful lucubrations on the mystical sense of Holy -Scripture. The Alexandrian catechetical teachers, catching and using -the spirit of the place, had always been Alexandrian in their -Scriptural teachings. Clement himself had commented on the whole of -the Scriptures in his book called the "Hypotyposes." Origen entered -into inheritance. We see the spirit of the time and place in those -questionings with which, in his early years, he used to puzzle his -father. The unrivalled industry that made him collect versions of the -sacred text from Syria, Asia, and even the shores of Greece, must have -scrupulously sought out and exhausted every source of information and -every extant document relating to Scripture exposition that was at -hand for him in his own city. So that Origen, though in one sense the -founder of a school, was really the culmination of a series of learned -men, and, by the influence of his name, made common to the universal -church that knowledge and method which before had been confined to the -pupils that had listened to the Catechisms. - -Although, however, we may guess, we cannot be certain how -progressively or gradually a methodical and scientific exegesis had -been growing up at Alexandria; and we come upon the commentaries of -Origen with all the freshness of a discovery. Before him we have been -accustomed to writings like those of the apostolic fathers: we have -been reading apologies of the most wonderful eloquence, whose Greek -shames the rhetoricians, {492} or whose Latin has all the spirit, -earnestness, and tenderness of new language, but in which Holy -Scripture is at the most only summarized and held up to view. Or, -again, we have been listening to a venerable priest crushing the -heretics with the word of God, or to a philosopher confuting the Jews -out of their own mouth. Or, once more, we have heard the pagan -intellect of the world convinced that truth was nowhere to be found -but in Jesus, that the writings of the prophets were better than those -of the philosophers, and that the morality of the New Testament cast -far into the shade the sayings of Socrates. Splendid ideas, striking -applications, telling proofs, grand views, all these the early fathers -found in holy Scripture, and all these they used in the exhortations, -apologies, or refutations that were called for by the several -necessities of their times. But sustained, regular commentary, as -such, they have none, or, what is the same to us now, none has come -down. The explanation of words, the classification of meanings, the -distinction of senses, the answering of difficulties and the solution -of objections--all this, done, not for an odd portion of the text here -and there, but regularly through the whole Bible, is what -distinguishes the labors of Origen from those of all who have gone -before him, and makes them so important for all who shall come after -him. In making acquaintance with him we feel that we have come across -a master, with breadth of view enough to handle masses of materials in -a scientific way, and with learning enough never to be in want of -materials for his science. We see in his Scripture commentaries the -pressure of three forces of unequal strength, but each of them of -marked presence, the tradition of the church, the teachings of the -great school, and the needs of his own times. To understand him we -must understand this pressure under which he wrote. The first two -forces may be passed over as requiring no explanation. We must dwell a -little on the latter, for unless we vividly realize the necessities -under which the Christian teacher in his time lay, of meeting certain -enemies and withstanding certain views, we shall be led to join in the -cry of those who exclaim against Origen's Scripture exposition as -partly useless and partly dangerous. - -These necessities arose from two phenomena that appeared almost with -the birth of Christianity, and which, with a somewhat wide -generalization, we may call the Ebionite and the Gnostic. No one can -have looked into early church history without being struck by the -difficulty the church seems to have had to free herself from the -trammels of Judaism. We need not allude to St. Paul, and his Epistles -to the Galatians and to the Romans, and his various contentions with -friend and foe for the freedom of the Gospel. The Epistle to the -Hebrews, with its thoroughness of dogmatic exposition and its grand -style, was also addressed to the Judaizants. Nay, if Ebion himself -ever had an existence, it is more than probable that he was teaching -at Jerusalem about the very time at which the Epistle seems to have -been written and sent, if sent, to the Christian Jews of that city. It -is certain, however, that Alexandria was one of the very earliest of -the churches which shook itself free, in a marked manner, from the -traditions of the law. The cosmopolitan spirit of the great city was a -powerful natural auxiliary in a development which was substantially -brought about by the Holy Ghost and the pastors of the patriarchal -see. The Hebrew element hardly ever had such a footing at Alexandria -as it had at Antioch. We can see in the writing of Justin Martyr, -(_circa_ 160,) whose wide experience of all the churches makes his -testimony especially valuable, a. picture of Christianity, young and -exuberant, with its face joyously set to its destined career, and with -the swathing-bands of the synagogue lying neglected behind it. Justin -had an {493} Alexandrian training, and among his many-sided gifts -shone pre-eminent that intellectual culture which was the most -effectual of the human weapons that beat off the spirit of Judaism. -And in Clement himself there is no trace of any narrow formalism, but, -on the contrary, a grand, world-embracing charity, that can recognize -the work of the Divine Logos in all the manifold varieties of human -wisdom and human beauty. So that long before the time that Origen -succeeded his master, the Alexandrian church was free from all -suspicion of clinging to what St. Paul calls the "yoke of bondage;" -and knew no distinction of Jew or Greek. But the party that had -troubled the Apostle, and spread itself through the churches almost as -soon as the churches were founded, was by no means extinct, even at -Alexandria. Since the destruction of Jerusalem, the Jews had become -scattered all over the empire. The great towns, such as Antioch, -Caesarea, and Alexandria, each contained a strong Jewish community. At -Alexandria they were numerous enough to have a quarter to themselves. -Now, it is not too much to say that many so-called Jews and Christians -in such a city were neither Jews nor Christians, but Ebionites; that -is, they acknowledged the divine mission of Christ, which destroyed -their genuine Judaism, but denied his divinity, which was still more -fatal to their Christianity. The consequences of such a state of -things to the interpretation of Scripture are manifest. The law was -still good and binding. Jerusalem was still the holy city, the chosen -of God, and the spiritual and temporal capital of the world. St. Paul -was denounced as one who admitted heathen innovations and destroyed -the word of God. Everything in holy Scripture, that is, in the Old -Testament and in the scanty excerpts from the New, which they -admitted, was to be understood in a rigorously literal sense; and the -"Clementines," once falsely attributed to St. Clement of Rome, but now -considered to belong to the second century, and to be the work of an -Ebionite, are the only writings of the period in which the allegorical -sense is totally and peremptorily denied. Ebionism was not very -consistent with itself, and the Ebionites of St. Jerome's time would -hardly have saluted their sterner brethren of the apostolic age; but -the name may always be truly taken to typify those whose views led -them to hold to the "carnal letter" of the Old Testament. They carried -the old Jewish exclusiveness into Christianity. They considered the -historical parts of the Scripture to have been written merely because -their own history was so important in God's sight that he thought it -right to preserve its minutest record. The prophecies were only meant -to glorify, to warn, or to terrify themselves, and had no message for -the Gentiles. Even the parables and figures that occurred in the -imagery of the inspired writer were dragged down to the most absurd -and literal significations. The adherents of Ebionism were neither few -nor silent in the time of Origen. - -But if the Ebionite party in Alexandria, and in the Church generally, -was strong and stirring, there was a party not less important, -perhaps, who, in their zeal for the freedom of Christianity against -the bonds of Judaism, were in danger of going quite as far wrong in a -different direction. It is always the case in a reaction, that the -returning force finds it difficult to stop at its due mark. So it had -been with the reaction against the Ebionites, and especially at -Alexandria. There was a body of advanced Christians who did not -content themselves with not observing the law, but went on to -depreciate it. It was not enough for them to see the Old Testament -fulfilled by Jesus Christ, but they must needs show that it never had -much claim to be even a preparation and a type. It was full of -frivolous details, useless records, and absurd narrations. {494} Who -cared for the _minutiae_ about Pharaoh's butler, Joseph's coat, or -Tobias's dog? Of what importance to the world were the marchings and -counter-marchings, the stupid obstinacy and the unsavory morality of a -few thousand Hebrews? Who was interested to hear how their prophets -scolded them, or their enemies destroyed them, or their kings -tyrannized over them? How could it edify Christians to know the number -and color of the skins of the tabernacles or the names of the masons -and blacksmiths that built the Temple, or the fact that the Jewish -people considerably varied their carnal piety by intervals of still -more carnal crime and idolatry? The state of things represented by the -Old Testament had passed away, and they were of no interest save as -ancient history; and therefore, it was absurd to treasure up the -Pentateuch and the Prophets as if they were anything more, and not -rather much less, than the rhapsodies of Homer and the travels of -Herodotus. In fact--and to this conclusion a considerable party came -before long--the Old Testament was certainly not divine at all; at any -rate, it was not the work of the Father of the Lord Jesus, but of some -other principle. And here the Gnostic interest was at hand with an -opportune idea. Who _could_ have written the Old Testament but the -Demiurge? That primary offshoot of the Divinity, just, but not good, -(this was their distinction,) can never have been more worthily -employed than in concocting a series of writings in which there was -some skill, some justice, and very little goodness. The Demiurge was -certainly a handy suggestion, and the consigning of the Old Testament -to his workmanship made all commentary thereon compressive into a very -brief space. Away with it all, for a farrago of nonsense, lies, and -nuisances! - -Of course, neither of these parties, when extremely developed, could -lay any claim to Christianity. But the world of that day had in it -Ebionites and Gnostics of every degree and every changing hue of -error. They were not unrepresented in the very bosom of the Church. -Pious Christians might be found who, strong in filial feeling to their -Jewish great-grandfathers, would see in the records of the old -covenant nothing but a most interesting family history, with -delightfully long pedigrees and a great deal of strong language about -the glory and dignity of the descendants of Israel. On the other hand, -equally pious Christians, and among them a great majority, perhaps, of -the Gentile converts, would consider it an extravagant compliment to -read in the house of God the sayings and doings of such a very -unworthy set of people as the Hebrews. And the remarkable fact would -be, that both these sets of worthy Christians would begin with the -same fundamental error, though arriving at precisely opposite -conclusions. That the Old Testament had a literal meaning, _and no -other_ was the starting-point of both Ebionite and Gnostic The former -concluded, "therefore let us honor it, for we are a divine race;" the -latter, "therefore let us reject it, for what are the Jews to us?" - -It would not require many sentences to prove, if our object in these -notes were proof of any sort, that Origen's leading idea in his -Scripture exposition is to look for the mystical sense. His very name -is a synonym for allegory, and he is perhaps as often blamed for it as -praised. But even blame, when outspoken and honest, is better than -feeble excuse; and and unfortunately not a few of the great -Alexandrian's critics have undertaken to excuse him for having such a -leaning to allegory. The Neo-Platonists, they say, dealt largely in -myths, and allegorized everything; somebody allegorized Homer just -about that time. Now Origen was a Platonist. We might answer, that -Origen was above all a Christian, and knew but very little of Plato -till he was thirty years old; and that the Greek allegories {495} were -invented by a more decorous generation for the purpose of veiling the -grossness of the popular mythology; whereas the Christian allegory, as -introduced by St Paul, or indeed by our Blessed Saviour, was a -spiritual and mysterious application of real facts. Others, again, -offer the excuse that Philo had allegorized very much, and Origen -admired Philo. This is saying that allegory was very usual at -Alexandria, as we have said ourselves when speaking of St. Clement. -But it is not saying why allegory was kept up so warmly in the school -of the Catechisms, or what was the radical cause that made its being -kept up there a necessity for the well-being of the Church. This we -have endeavored to state in the foregoing remarks. - -When Origen, then, announces his grand principle of Scripture -commentary, in the fourth book of the De Principiis, we may be excused -if we see in it the statement of an important canon, whereby to -understand much that he has written. He says, "Wherefore, to those who -are convinced that the sacred books are not the utterances of man, but -were written and made over to us by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, -by the will of God the Father of all through Jesus Christ, we will -endeavor to point out how they are to read them, keeping the rules of -the divine and apostolic Church of Jesus Christ." This is the key-note -of all his exposition, and derives its significance from the state of -opinions among those for whom he wrote; and a dispassionate -application of it to such passages as seem questionable or gratuitous -in his writings, will explain many a difficulty, and show how clearly -he apprehended the work he had to do. If the Old Testament be really -the word of the Holy Ghost, as, he says, all true Christians believe, -then nothing in it can be trivial, nothing useless, nothing false. -This he insists upon over and over again. And, descending more to -particulars, he states these three celebrated rules of interpretation, -which may be called, with their development, his contribution to -Scripture exposition. They are so plainly aimed at Ebionites and -Gnostics, that we need merely to state them to show the connection. - -His first rule regards the old Law. The Law, he says, being abrogated -by Jesus Christ, the precepts and ordinances that are purely legal are -no longer to be taken and acted up to literally, but only in their -mystical sense. This seems rudimentary and evident nowadays; but at -that period it greatly needed to be clearly stated and enforced. - -His second rule is about the history and prophecy relating to Jew or -Gentile that is found in the Old Testament. The Ebionite who kissed -the Pentateuch, and the Gnostic who tore it up, were both foolish -because both ignorant. These historic and prophetic details were -undoubtedly true in their letter; but their chief use to the Christian -Church, and the main object the Holy Spirit had in giving them to us, -was the mystical meaning that lies hidden under the letter. Thus the -earthly Pharaoh, the earthly Jerusalem, Babylon, or Egypt, are chiefly -of importance to the Church from the fact that they are the allegories -of heavenly truths. - -Origen's third canon of scriptural exposition is this: "Whatever in -holy Scripture seems trivial, useless, or false," (the Gnostics could -not or would not see that parabolic narratives are most unjustly -called false,) "is by no means to be rejected, but its presence in the -divine record is to be explained by the fact that the divine Author -had a deeper and more important meaning in it than appears from the -letter. Such portions, therefore, must be taken and applied in a -spiritual and mystical sense, in which sense chiefly they were -dictated by Almighty God." - -These three rules look simple now; they were all-important and not so -simple then. It was by means of them, {496} and in the spirit which -they indicate, that the great catechist led his hearers by the hand -through the flowery paths of God's word, and in his own easy, simple, -earnest style, so different from that of the rhetoricians, showed them -the true use of the Old Testament. We hope it is not a fanciful idea, -but it has struck us that, the difference of circumstances considered, -there are few writers so like each other in their handling of holy -Scripture as Origen and St. John of the Cross. Both treat of deep -truths, and in a phraseology that sounds uncommon--the one because his -hearers were intellectual Greeks, the other because he is professedly -treating of the very highest points of the spiritual life. Both use -holy Scripture in a fashion that is absolutely startling to those who -are accustomed to rationalistic Protestantism, or to what may be -called the domestic wife-and-children interpretation of the -Evangelicals. Both bring forward, in the most unhesitating manner, the -mystic sense of the inspired words to prove or illustrate their point, -and both mix up with their more abstruse disquisitions a large amount -of practical matter in the very plainest words. From communion with -both of them we rise full of a new sense of the presence and nearness -of the Spirit of God, and of reverence for the minutest details of his -Word. Finally, both the Greek father and the Spanish mystic interpret -the ceremonial prescriptions, the history, the allusions to physical -nature, and the incidents of domestic life that occur in the Old -Testament, as if all these, however important in their letter, had a -far deeper and more interesting signification addressed to the -spiritual sense of the spiritual Christian. - -To illustrate Origen's principles of Scripture interpretation by -extracts from his works would exceed our present limits, however -interesting and satisfactory the task might be. Neither have we space -to notice his celebrated division of the meaning of the text into -literal, mystical, and moral, a division he was the first to insist -upon formally. To answer the objections of critics against both his -principles and his alleged practice would also be a distinct task of -great length. We must content ourselves with having briefly sketched -and indicated his spirit. There are grave theological controversies -too, as is well known, connected with his name; and on these we have -had no thought of entering. The purpose of this and the preceding -articles has not been dogmatical, but rather biographical. We have -attempted to set forth on the one hand the personal character of this -great man; on the other, the external circumstances by which that -character was influenced, and through which it exercised influence on -others. - ------- - -{497} - - -Translated from the Spanish. - -PERICO THE SAD; OR, THE FAMILY OF ALVAREDA. - - -CHAPTER I. - -Following the curve formed by the ancient walls of Seville, encircling -it as with a girdle of stone, leaving on the right the river and Las -Delicias, we reach the gate of San Fernando. From this gate, in a -direct line across the plain, as far as the ridge of Buena Vista, -extends a road which passes the rill upon a bridge of stone, and -ascends the steep side of the hill. To the right of the road are seen -the ruins of a chapel. At a bird's-eye view this road looks like an -arm which Seville extends toward the ruins as if to call attention to -them; for though small, and without a vestige of artistic merit, they -form a religious and historic souvenir. They are an inheritance from -the great king, Fernando III., whose memory is so popular that he is -admired as a hero, venerated as a saint, and beloved as a king: thus -realizing, in one grand historic figure the ideal of the Spanish -people. - -Having gained the summit, the road descends upon the opposite side -into a a little valley, through which runs a narrow stream, which has -washed its channel so clean that you will see in it only shining -pebbles and golden sand. - -Fording this stream, the road touches on its right at a cheerful and -hospitable little inn, and salutes on its left a Moorish castle seated -so haughtily upon the height that it seems as though the ground had -risen solely to form a pedestal for it. This castle was given by Don -Pedro de Castilla to Doña Maria de Padilla, whose name it retains. The -estate and castle of Doña Maria passed in time, as a pious donation, -to the Cathedral of Seville, the chapter of which has, in our days, -sold it to a private gentleman. The associations passed for nothing, -since a little while afterward, the withered, old, and furrowed Doña -Maria appeared clothed in the whitest of lime, and adorned with -brilliants of crystal. - -Let us follow the road which advances, opening its way through the -palmettos and evergreens of some pasture-lands, until it enters the -village of Dos-Hermanas, [Footnote 85] situated in the midst of a -sandy plain, two leagues from Seville. - - [Footnote 85: Dos-Hermanas, two sisters. ] - -One sees here neither river, nor lake, nor umbrageous trees, nor rural -houses with green blinds, nor arbors covered with twining plants, nor -peacocks and Guinea fowls picking the green turf, nor grand avenues of -trees in straight lines, like slaves holding parasols, to provide a -constant shade for those who walk beneath. All these are wanting here. -Sad it is to confess it! All is common, rude, and inelegant, but -instead, one meets good and contented faces, which prove how little -those things are needed to make happiness. One sees, beside, flowers -in the yards of the houses, and at their doors gay and healthy -children, even more numerous than the flowers, and finds that sweet -peace of the country, made up of silence and solitude, an atmosphere -of Eden and the sky of paradise. - -The village consists of houses of a single story, arranged in long, -straight, though not parallel streets, which open upon the large, -sandy market-place, spread out like a yellow carpet before a fine -church, which lifts its lofty tower, surmounted by a cross, like a -soldier elevating his standard. - -{498} - -Behind the church we shall find the oasis of this desert. Supported by -the rear wall of the edifice is a gate, opening into a wide and vast -court, which leads to the chapel of Saint Anna, the patroness of the -place. Built against the side of the chapel is the small and humble -dwelling of the custodian, who is both singer and sacristan of the -church. In this enclosure we shall see century-old cypresses, thick -foliaged and sombre; the lilac, of stem so slight and rapid growth, -lavishing leaves, flowers, and perfumes upon the wind, as if conscious -that its life is short; the orange, that grand seigneur, that favorite -son of the soil of Andalusia, to whom it yields a life so sweet and -long. We shall see the vine, which, like a child, needs the help of -man to thrive and rise, and which spreads its broad leaves as if to -caress the trellis that supports it. For it is certain that even -plants have their individual characters from which we receive -different impressions. We can hardly see a cypress without sadness, a -lilac without tenderness, an orange-tree without admiration. Does not -the lavender suggest the thought of a neat and peaceful interior; and -the rosemary, perfume of holy night, does it not awaken the wholesome -and sacred thoughts of that season? - -To the right and left of the place extend those interminable olive -plantations, which form the principal branch of the agriculture of -Andalusia. The trees being planted well apart from each other give a -cheerful air to these groves, but the ground underneath, kept so level -and free from other vegetation by the plough, renders them wearisomely -monotonous. At certain distances we encounter the groups of buildings -which belong to the estates. These are constructed without taste or -symmetry, and we may go all round them without finding the front. -There is nothing imposing about these great masses, or structures, -except the towers of their windmills, which rise above the olives as -if to count them. The most of these estates belong to the aristocracy -of Seville, but they are generally deserted because the ladies do not -like to live in the country, and are therefore as desolate and as -empty as barns, so that in these out-of-the-way places, the silence is -only broken by the crowing of the cock, while he vigilantly guards his -seraglio, or by the braying of some superannuated ass, that, turned -out by the overseer to take his ease, tires of his solitude. - -At the close of a beautiful day in January, in the year 1810, might -have been heard the fresh voice of a youth of some twenty years, who, -with his musket upon his shoulder, was walking with a firm but light -step along one of the footpaths which are traced through the olive -groves. His figure was straight, tall, and slight. His person, his -air, his walk, had the ease, the grace, and the elegance which art -endeavors to create, and which nature herself lavishes upon the -Andalusians with generous hand. His head, covered with black curls, a -model of the beautiful Spanish type, he carried erect and proudly. His -large eyes were black and vivid; his look frank and full of -intelligence. His well-formed upper lip, shortened with an expression -of cheerful humor, showed his white and brilliant teeth. His whole -person breathed a superabundance of life, health, and strength. A -silver button fastened the snowy shirt at his brown throat. He wore a -short jacket of gray cloth, short trowsers, tied at the knee with -cords and tassels of silk, and a yellow silk girdle passed several -times around his waist. Leather shoes and gaiters of the same, finely -stitched, encased his well-formed feet and legs. A wide-brimmed -Portuguese hat, adorned with a velvet band and silk tassels, and -jauntily inclined toward the left side, completed the elegant -Andalusian dress. - -This youth, noted for his active disposition, and for his impulsive -and daring character, was employed by the superintendent of one of the -estates to act as guard during the olive gathering. He sang as he went -along: - -{499} - - "The way is short, my step is light, - I loiter not, nor do I weary; - The path seems downward--easy trod, - When up the hill I climb to Mary. - - "But long the road, and oh! how steep! - My lingering footsteps slow and weary; - The mountains seem before me piled - When down the hill I come from Mary." - -Arriving at the paling which enclosed the plantation the guard sprang -over it without stopping to look for the gate, and found himself in a -road face to face with another youth a little older than himself, who -was also going toward the village. He was dressed in the same manner, -but he was neither so tall nor so erect as the former. - -His eyes were gray, and not so vivid, and his glance was more -tranquil, his mouth was graver and his smile sweeter. Instead of a gun -he carried a spade upon his shoulder. An ass preceded him without -being driven, and he was followed by an enormous dog, with short thick -hair of a whitish yellow color, of the fine race of shepherd-dogs of -Estremadura. - -"Halloo! Is this you, Perico? God bless you!" exclaimed the elegant -guard. - -"And you, too, Ventura, are you coming to take a rest?" - -"No," answered Ventura, "I come for supplies, and besides, it is eight -days--" - -"Since you saw my sister, Elvira," interrupted Perico with his sweet -smile. "Very good, my friend, you are killing two birds with one -stone." - -"You keep still, Perico, and I will. He whose house has a glass roof -shouldn't throw stones at his neighbor's," answered the guard. - -"You are happy, Ventura," proceeded Perico with a sigh, "for you can -marry when you like, without opposition from any one." - -"And what!" exclaimed Ventura, "who or what can oppose your getting -married?" - -"The will of my mother," replied Perico. - -"What are you saying?" asked Ventura, "and why? What fault can she -find with Rita, who is young, good-looking, and comes of a good stock, -since she is own cousin to you?" - -"That is precisely the reason my mother alleges for not being in favor -of it." - -"An old woman's scruples! Does she wish to change the custom of the -church, which permits it?" - -"My mother's scruples," replied Perico, "are not religious ones. She -says that the union of such near relations is against nature, that the -same blood in both repels itself, and distaste is the result; that -sooner or later evils, misfortunes and weariness follow and overtake -them, and she gives a hundred examples to prove it." - -"Don't mind her," said Ventura; "let her prophesy and sing evil like -an owl. Mothers have always something against their sons' marrying." - -"No," answered Perico gravely, "no; without my mother's consent I will -never marry." - -They walked along some instants in silence when Ventura said: - -"The truth is, I am like the captain who embarked the passengers and -remained on shore himself, or like the preacher who used to say, 'Do -as I tell you and not as I do;' for, in fact, does not the will of my -father hold me, tied down like a lion with a woollen rope? Do you -think, Perico, that if it were not for my father, I would not now be -in Utrera, where the regiment of volunteers is enlisting to go and -fight the infamous traitors who steal across our frontier in the guise -of friends, to make themselves masters of the country and put a -foreign yoke upon our necks?" - -"I am of the same mind," said Perico, "but how can I leave my mother -and sister who have only me to look to? But remember, if my mother -sets herself against my marrying, I'm not going to live so, and I -shall go with the other young men." - -"And you will do right," said Ventura with energy. "As for me, the day -they least expect it, though they call me, I shall not answer, and you -may be sure, Perico, that on that day there will be a few less -Frenchmen on the soil of Spain." - -{500} - -"And Elvira?" questioned Perico. - -"She will do like others, wait for me--or weep for me." - - -CHAPTER II. - -The house of the family of Perico was spacious and neatly whitewashed, -both without and within. On each side of the door, built against the -wall, was a bench of mason work. In the entry hung a lantern before an -image of our Lord which was fixed upon the inner door, according to -the Catholic custom, which requires that a religious thought shall -precede everything, and puts all things under some holy patronage. In -the midst of the spacious court-yard an enormous orange-tree rose -luxuriantly upon its smooth and robust trunk. Its base was shielded by -a wooden frame. For numberless generations this beautiful tree had -been a source of enjoyment to this family. The deceased Juan Alvareda, -the father of Perico, claimed upon tradition, that its existence dated -as far back as the expulsion of the Moors, when, according to his -assertion, an Alvareda, a soldier of the royal saint, Fernando, had -planted it, and when the parish priest, who was his wife's brother, -would jest him upon the antiquity, and uninterrupted succession of his -lineage, or make light of it, he always answered, without being -disturbed or vacillating for an instant in his conviction, that all -the lineages of the world were ancient, and that, though the direct -line or succession of the rich might often be extinguished, such a -thing never happened with the poor. - -The women of the family made of the leaves of the orange-tree tonics -for the stomach and soothing preparations for the nerves. The young -girls adorned themselves with its flowers and made confections of -them. The children regaled their palate and refreshed their blood with -its fruit. The birds had their quarters-general among its leaves, and -sung to it a thousand cheerful songs, while its possessors, who had -grown up under its shelter, watered it unweariedly in summer-time and -in winter cut away its withered twigs, as one pulls the gray hairs -from the head of the father he would never see grow old. - -On opposite sides of the entry were two suites of rooms, or, according -to the expression of the province, _partidos_, both alike; consisting, -each, of a parlor having two small windows with gratings looking -toward the street, and two bedrooms forming an angle with the parlor, -and receiving light from the yard. At the end of the yard was a door -which opened into a large enclosure in which were the kitchen, -wash-house, and stables, and which paraded in its centre a large -fig-tree of so little pretension and self-esteem that it yielded -itself without complaint to the nightly roost of the hens, never -having bent its boughs under the inconvenient weight, even to play -them a trick by way of carnival. - -The master of the house had been dead three years. When he felt his -end approaching, he called his son to him and said: "In your care I -leave your mother and sister; be guided by the one and watch over the -other. Live always in the holy fear of God, and think often of death, -so that you may see his approach without either surprise or fear. -Remember my end, that you may not dread your own. All the Alvaredas -have been honest men; in your veins flows the same Spanish blood and -in your heart exist the same Catholic principles that made them such. -Be like them, and you will live happily and die in peace!" - -Anna, his widow, was a woman distinguished among her class, and she -would have been so in a more elevated one. Carefully brought up by her -brother the priest, her understanding was cultivated, her character -grave, her manners dignified, and her virtue instinctive. These -merits, united with {501} her easy circumstances, gave her a real -superiority over those who surrounded her, which she accepted without -misusing. Her son Perico, submissive, modest, and industrious, had -been her consolation, his love for his cousin Rita being the only -disquietude he had ever caused her. - -Her daughter Elvira, who was three years younger than Perico, was a -malva in gentleness, a violet in modesty and a lily in purity. -Ill-health in childhood had given to her features, which closely -resembled those of her brother, a delicacy, and an expression of calm -resignation, which lent to her a singular attraction. From her infancy -she had clung to Ventura, the proud and handsome son of Uncle Pedro, -who had been the friend and gossip of the late Alvareda. - -The wife of Pedro died in giving birth to a daughter, who from her -infancy had been confided to the care of her mother's sister, a -religious of Alcala. Separated thus from his daughter, Pedro had -concentrated all his affection upon his son, and with pride and -satisfaction had seen him become the handsomest, the bravest, and the -most gallant, of all the youths of the place. - -Directly in front of the house of the Alvaredas stood the small -cottage of Maria, the mother of Rita. Maria was the widow of Anna's -brother, who had been superintendent of the neighboring _hacienda_ of -Quintos. - -This woman was so good, so without gall, so candid and simple, that -she had never possessed enough force and energy to subdue the decided, -haughty, and imperious character which her daughter had manifested -from her childhood, and these evil dispositions had therefore -developed themselves without restraint. She was violent-tempered, -fickle, and cold-hearted. Her face, extraordinarily beautiful, -seductively expressive, piquant, lively, smiling, and mischievous, -formed a perfect contrast to that of her cousin Elvira. - -The one might have been compared to a fresh rose armed with its -thorns; the other to one of those roses of passion, which lift above -their pale leaves a crown of thorns in token of endurance, while they -hide in the depths of their calix the sweetest honey. - -In the delineation and classification of the members which composed -this family and those connected with them, we must not omit Melampo, -the dog we have already seen, lazily following Perico on his return -home. We must give him his place, for not all dogs are equal, even in -the eye of the law. Melampo was a grave and honorable dog, without -pretension, even to being a Hercules or an Alcides among his race, -notwithstanding his enormous strength. He seldom barked, and never -without good cause. He was sober and in nothing gluttonous. He never -caressed his masters, but never, upon any pretext, separated himself -from them. He had never, in all his life, bitten any person, and he -despised above all things the attacks of those curs that with stupid -hostility barked at his heels. But Melampo had killed six foxes and -three wolves; and one day had thrown himself upon a bull which was -pursuing his master, and obliged him to stop by seizing him by the -ear, as one might treat a bad child. With such certificates of -service, Melampo slept in the sun upon his laurels. - - - -CHAPTER III. - -When the two youths arrived, they found Elvira and Rita leaning each -against a side of the doorway, wrapped in their mantles of yellow -cloth, bordered with black velvet ribbon, such as were worn then by -the women of the country in place of the large shawls which they use -nowadays. They covered the lower part of the face, allowing only the -forehead and eyes to be seen. Having wished them good evening, Perico -said to his sister: - -{502} - -"Elvira, I warn you that this bird wants to fly; fasten the cage well -. . . He is beside himself to go and fight these _gabachos_ [Footnote -86] who are trying to pass through here like Pedro through his house." - - [Footnote 86: _Gabachos_, a term of contempt for Frenchmen.] - -"For they say," added Ventura, "that they are approaching Seville; and -must we stand looking on with our arms crossed, without so much as -saying this mouth is my own?" - -"Ah goodness!" exclaimed Elvira, "I hope in God that this may not -happen! Do not even speak of it! O my protectress Saint Anna! I offer -thee what I prize so much, my hair, which I will tie up in a tress -with an azure ribbon and hang upon thy altar, if thou wilt save us -from this." - -"And I," said Rita, "will offer the Saint two pots of pinks to adorn -her chapel, if it falls out so that you take yourselves off in haste -and do not come back soon." - -"Don't say that, even in jest," exclaimed Elvira, distressed. - -"Never mind, let her say it; the Saint is sure to prefer the beautiful -tress of your hair to her pinks," observed Ventura. - -At this moment the good widow, Maria, approached. She was older than -her sister-in-law, and although hardly sixty years old, was so small -and thin that she appeared much older. - -"Children," she cried, "the night is falling, what are you doing out -here, freezing yourselves?" - -"How freezing ourselves?" answered Ventura, unbuttoning his collar, -"I'm too warm, the cold is in your bones, Aunt Maria." - -"Do not play with your health, my son, nor trust in your youth, for -Death does not look at the record of baptism. This north wind cuts -like a knife, and you are more likely to get a consumption by waiting -here than an inheritance from the Indies." - -So saying she passed into the house, all following her, except -Ventura, who went to discharge his commissions. - -They found Anna seated before the brasier, the point of reunion round -which families gather m winter. The great copper frying-pan shone like -gold upon its low wooden bench. The floor of the spacious room was -covered with mattings of straw and hemp, around it were arranged rude -wooden chairs, high-backed and low-seated, a low pine table upon which -burned a large metal lamp, and a leathern arm-chair, like those seen -in the barbers' shops of the region, completed the simple furniture of -the room. In the alcove were seen a very high bed, over which was -spread a white counterpane with well starched ruffles; a very large -cedar chest, with supports underneath to preserve it from the dampness -of the floor; a small table of the same wood, upon which, in its case -of mahogany and glass, was a beautiful image of "Our Lady of Sorrows," -some pious offerings, and the "Mystic Garland; or, Lives of the -Saints," by Father Baltasar Bosch Centellas. - -As soon as they were all reunited, including Pedro, the neighbor and -friend of Anna, the latter began to recite the rosary. When the -prayers were finished Anna took up her distaff to spin, Elvira applied -herself to her knitting, and Pedro, who occupied the great chair, -employed himself in the preparation of a cigarette; Perico in roasting -chestnuts and acorns, which, when they were done, he gave to Rita, who -ate them. - -"Did you ever!" said Perico, "how the rain holds off! The earth has -turned to stone and the sky to brass. Last year at this time it had -rained so much that the ground could not be seen for the grass that -covered it." - -"It is true," said Uncle Pedro, "and now the flocks are perishing with -hunger, notwithstanding that last year their table was so well -spread." - -"It appears to me," added Elvira, in her sweet voice, "that it is -going to rain soon. The river wore its black frown to-day, and the old -people say that these frowns are sleeping tempests, which, when the -winds awaken them, drench the world.'" - -{503} - -"Of course it is going to rain," said Rita; "I saw to-night the star -of the waters which the storm brings for a lantern." - -"It is a-going to rain," confirmed Maria, aroused from her dose by the -abrupt and clear voice of her daughter; "my rheumatic pains announce -it to me. Indeed, wind and rain are the fruits of the season, and they -are needed. But I am sorry for the poor herdsmen who pass such nights -in the inn of the stars." - -"Don't trouble yourself about them, Maria," said the jovial Uncle -Pedro, who had always a saying, a proverb, a story, or a something, to -bring in support of whatever he asserted. "In this world habit is -everything, and that which seems disagreeable to one, another finds -quite to his liking; custom makes all level as the sea, and gilds all -like the sun. There was once a shepherd that got married to a girl as -lovely as a rose, and as chance would have it, on the very night of -the wedding there arose such a tempest as if all the imps from beneath -had been abroad with thunder and lightning, hurricane and flood. It -was too much for the shepherd; he abandoned his bride and rushed to -the window exclaiming as he dashed it open, 'O blessed night I why am -I not out to enjoy thee!'" - -"The bride might well be jealous of such a rival," said Rita, bursting -into a loud laugh. - -The clock struck nine, they recited the "animas," and soon afterward -separated. - -When the mother and her children were left alone Elvira spread a clean -cloth upon the table and placed upon it a dish of salad. Anna and her -daughter began to sup, but Perico remained seated with his head -inclined over the brasier, absently stirring with the shovel the few -coals which still glowed among the ashes. - -"Are you not going to eat your supper, Perico?" said his sister, -extending toward him the fine white bread which she herself had -kneaded. - -"I am not hungry," he answered, without lifting his head. - -"Are you sick, my son?" asked Anna. - -"No, mother," he replied. - -The supper was finished in silence, and when Elvira had gone out, -carrying the plates, Perico abruptly said to his mother: - -"Mother, I am going to Utrera tomorrow to enlist with the loyal -Spanish who are preparing to defend the country." - -Anna was thunderstruck. Accustomed to the docile obedience of her son, -who had never failed to keep his word, she said to him: - -"To the war? That is to say that you are going to abandon us. But it -cannot be! You must not do it! You ought not to leave your mother and -sister, and I will not give my consent." - -"Mother," said the young man, exasperated, "it is seen that you always -have something to oppose to my desires; you have subjected my will, -and now you wish to fetter my arm; but mother," he proceeded, growing -excited, and impelled by the two greatest motives which can rule a -man--patriotism in all its purity, and love in all its ardor, "mother, -I am twenty-two years old, and I have besides strength enough and will -enough, to break away if you force me to it." - -Anna, as much astonished as terrified, clapped her cold and trembling -hands in agony, exclaiming: - -"What! is there no alternative between a marriage which will make you -wretched and the war which will cost you your life?" - -"None, mother," said Perico, drawn out of his natural character, and -hardened by the dread that he should yield in the contest now fairly -entered upon. "Either I remain to marry, or I go to fulfil the duty of -every young Spaniard." - -"Marry, then," said the mother in a grave voice. "Between two -misfortunes I choose the least bitter; but remember, Perico, what your -mother tells you to-day; Rita is vain and light {504} an indifferent -Christian, and an ungrateful daughter. A bad daughter makes a bad -wife--your blood and hers will repel each other. You will remember -what your mother now says, but it will be too late." - -Saying these words, the noble woman rose and went into her room to -hide from her son the tears that choked her voice. - -Perico, who regarded his mother with as much tenderness as veneration, -made a movement as if to retain her. He would have spoken, but his -timidity and the excitement of his mind confused his faculties. He -found no words, and after a moment of indecision rose suddenly, passed -his hand across his damp forehead, and went out. - -During this time Rita, who waited in vain at the grating of her window -for Perico, was impatient and uneasy. - -"I won't put up with this!" she said at last, spitefully, closing the -wooden shutter. "You may come now, but upon my life, you shall wait -longer than I have." At this instant a stone rolled against the foot -of the wall, This was the signal agreed upon between her and Perico to -announce his arrival. - -"Now you may roll all the stones of Dos-Hermanas and I shall not open -the shutter," said Rita to herself. "Perhaps you think you have me at -your will and pleasure, like your old donkey, but this will never do, -my son." - -Another stone came rolling, and bounded back from the wall with more -violence than Perico was accustomed to use. - -"Ho!" said Rita, "he appears to be in a hurry; it is well to let him -know that waiting has not the flavor of caramels; I'm only sorry it -doesn't rain pitchforks." But, after a moment of reflection, she -added, "If we quarrel, the one to bathe in rose water will be my -hypocrite of an aunt; afterward Uncle Pedro's daughter, Saint Marcela, -that the old fox keeps shut up in the convent, like a sardine in -pickle, will be brought out to dance, so that she may trap his godson -Perico on the first opportunity. But they shall not see themselves in -that glass, for to frustrate their plans--" - -And suddenly opening the window, she finished the sentence: - -"I am here." Addressing herself to Perico, she continued with -asperity, "Look here, are you determined to throw down the wall? Why -did you wake me? When I am kept waiting I fall asleep, and when I am -asleep I do not thank anyone for disturbing me; so go back by the way -you came, or by another, it's all the same to me." And she made a -motion as if to shut the blind. - -"Rita, Rita!" exclaimed Perico, "I have spoken to my mother." - -"You!" said Rita, opening again the half-shut blind. "You don't say -it! Why, this is another miracle like that of Balaam's ass! and what -answer did this '_mater_' not '_amabilis_' give you?" - -"She says, yes, that I may marry," answered Perico delightedly. - -"Says yes!" mocked Rita. "Saint Quilindon help me! How often a key can -turn! But it belongs to the wise to change their minds. Go along with -you! To-morrow I will come over and condole with her. Perico, what if, -following the good example of your mother, as mine exhorts me to, I -also should change my mind and now say no?" - -"Rita, Rita!" cried Perico, beside himself with joy, "you are going to -be my wife." - -"That remains to be seen," she responded; "the idea is not like a -silver dollar, which, the oftener you turn it, the prettier it looks." - -With these and other absurdities Rita blotted entirely from the mind -of Perico, the solemn impression his mother's words had left there. - - - -{505} - -CHAPTER IV. - -On the following morning Anna was sitting alone, sad and depressed, -when Uncle Pedro entered. "Neighbor," he said, "here I am, because I -have come." - -"May it be for good, neighbor?" - -"But I have come because I have something to talk to you about." - -"Talk on, neighbor, and the more the better." - -"You must know, then, that my wind-mill of a Ventura has taken it into -his head to go and get his hide pierced by those French savages, -confound them!" - -"Gently, gently, neighbor; kill an enemy in fair fight, but do not -curse him. Perico also was thinking of the same thing. It is bitter, -old friend, it is cruel for us, but it is natural." - -"I do not say the contrary, my friend. _Bad luck to the traitors!_ -but, in short, he is my only son, and I would not lose him; no, not -for all Spain. I have found but one means to keep him at home and am -come to tell you what that is." - -As he spoke, Pedro was seating himself comfortably in the great -leathern arm-chair, gathering up the ends of his cloak, approaching -his feet to the fire, and settling himself at his ease generally. - -"Neighbor," he said, at last, with that profusion of synonymous -phrases in which great talkers indulge, "I abhor preambles, which only -serve to waste the breath. Things ought to be arranged with few words, -and those to the point. One side or the other, and this is mine, that -which can be said in five minutes, why waste an hour talking about it? -that which can be done to-day, why leave it until tomorrow? Of all -roads the shortest is the best, but to come to the point, for I -neither like circumlocution nor--" - -"Really," said Anna, interrupting him, "you give occasion to suppose -the contrary. _Do_ come to the point, for you have kept me in suspense -ever since you entered." - -"Patience, patience! I can't fire myself off like a musket; by talking -folks come to an understanding. What is there to hurry us? Good -gracious! neighbor, if you are not all fire and tow, and as sudden as -a flash. I was saying, Mrs. Gunpowder, that I had found only one -method of keeping this skyrocket of mine from going off; and that is -to take a step which sooner or later I should have taken; in a word, -and to end the matter, I have come to ask of you your Elvira for my -Ventura, hoping the son I offer you may be as much to your liking as -the daughter I ask you for is to mine." - -Anna did not attempt to hide the satisfaction she felt at the prospect -of a union so suitable and equal in every respect, a union that had -been foreseen by the parents, and was as much desired by them as by -their children. Therefore, like the sensible people they were, they -began at once to discuss the conditions of the contract. - -"Neighbor," said Anna, "you know what we have as well as I do. The -only question is how to divide it. This house has always gone to the -oldest son; the vineyard belongs to Perico by right, because he has -improved it, and has newly planted the greater part of it; my cows I -give to him, because he has me to support while I live. The ass he -needs." - -"Would you tell me, companion of my sins," interrupted Pedro, "what -remains to Elvira? for according to these dispositions, it appears to -me she is coming from your hands as our mother Eve, may she rest in -peace, came from those of the Creator." - -"Elvira will have the olive-yard," answered Anna. - -"That _is_ the patrimony of a princess," exclaimed Uncle Pedro. "Go -along! an olive-yard the size of a pocket handkerchief, which hardly -yields oil enough for the lamp of the blessed sacrament." - -"Twenty years ago it yielded _more than_ a hundred _arrobos_," -[Footnote 87] observed Anna. - - [Footnote 87: _Arroba_ of liquids, 32 pints; of solids, 29 pounds of - 16 ounces to the pound.] - -"Neighbor," said Pedro, "that which was and is not, is the same as if -it had never been; twenty years ago the girls were dying for me." - -{506} - -"Forty years ago, you mean," Anna remarked. - -"How very exact you are, neighbor," pursued Pedro. "Let us come to the -point. Trees are as scarce in that yard as hairs on the head of Saint -Peter, and those which remain are so dry that they look like church -candlesticks." - -"It is plain, my friend, that you have not seen them in a long time. -Since Perico has known that the oliveyard was to be his sister's, the -trees have been taken care of like rose-bushes in pots; each tree -would shade a parade ground. Elvira will have, besides, the fields -that skirt and that are watered by the brook which runs through them." - -"And that are so parched and thirsty, you will take notice, because -the brook is one half the year dry and the other half without water," -added Pedro. "Let us understand each other. I like bread, bread, and -wine, wine; neither bran in the one nor water in the other. Those -fields, neighbor, are poor and unproductive; of no use, except for the -asses to wallow in. But, since no one overhears us, did you not sell -last year two fat hogs, each weighing fifteen _arrobas_, at a shilling -a pound--calculate it, a hundred bushels of barley at fifteen -shillings a bushel, a hundred skins of wine, and fifty of vinegar? Now -this cat which you must have, shut up in a chest, without room to -breathe, what better occasion could there be to give it the air? When -his majesty, Charles V., came to Jerez (so the story goes) they -offered him a rich wine. But such a wine! rather better than that of -your grace's vineyard, and his majesty appears to have been a judge, -for he praised the wine greatly. 'Sir,' said the Alcalde, so puffed up -that his skin could scarce contain him, for you must know that the -people of Jerez are more vain of their wine than I am of my son, -'permit me to inform your majesty that we have a wine even better than -that.' 'Yes?' said the king; 'keep it then for a better occasion;' and -this, neighbor, is the letter I write to you; it is for you to make -the application." - -"Which is," said Anna, "that all this money, and somewhat more, I have -saved and put together for the daughter of my heart." - -"That's what I call talking," exclaimed Pedro. "Upon my word, -neighbor, you are worth a Peru. As for my Ventura, all I have is his, -since Marcela wishes to take the veil, and you may be sure that he is -not shirtless. He will have my house." - -"A mere crib," said Anna. - -"My asses." - -"They are old" - -"My goats." - -"That do not make up to you in milk, cheeses, and kids, what they cost -you in fines, they are so vicious." - -"And my orchard," continued Pedro, without replying to the raillery -with which Anna revenged herself for his jests. - -In such discussion they arranged the preliminaries of the contract, -remaining afterward, as they were before, the best friends in the -world. - -When Pedro had gone, Anna put on her woollen mantle, and repressing -her grief, and hiding the extreme repugnance she felt, went to the -house of her sister-in-law. - -Maria, who professed for Anna, who was very kind to her, as much love -as gratitude, and as much respect as veneration, received her with -loquacious pleasure. - -"It does one's eyes good to see you in this house," she exclaimed, as -Anna entered. "What good thought has brought you, sister?" - -And she hastened to place a chair for her guest. - -Anna sat down, and made known the object of her visit. - -The proposition so filled the poor woman with joy, that she could not -find words to express herself. - -"O my sister!" she exclaimed in broken sentences, "what good fortune! -Perico! son of my heart! It is to Saint Antonio that I owe this good -{507} fortune! And you, Anna, are you satisfied? Look here, sister: -Rita, although forward, is really a good-hearted girl. She is wilful, -but that is my fault. If I had brought her up as well as you have -Elvira, she would be different. She is giddy, but you will see (with -years and married life) how steady she will become. All these things -are the effects of my spoiling and of her youth. Rita! Rita!" she -cried, "come, make haste: here is your aunt--what do I say? your -mother, she wishes to become, by marrying you to Perico." - -Rita entered with the self-possession of a banker, and the composure -of a diplomatist. - -"What do you say, daughter?" cried the delighted mother. - -"That I knew it," replied Rita. - -"Go along," said the mother in an undertone, "if you are not as calm -as if you were used to it, and cooler than a fresh lettuce." - -"And what would you have me do--dance a fandango, because I am going -to be married?" answered Rita, raising her voice. - -Anna rose and went out. Maria, extremely mortified by her daughter's -rudeness, went with her sister-in-law as far as the street, lavishing -upon her a thousand expressions of endearment and gratitude. - - -CHAPTER V. - -Preparations were being made for the weddings. That of Elvira and -Ventura was to take place before that of Rita and Perico, as the -former had not to wait for a dispensation from Rome. - -Pedro wished his daughter Marcela to assist at her brother's marriage, -before commencing her novitiate, and determined to go to Alcalá to -bring her. Maria had a debt to collect there, and needing all her -funds for the expected event, took advantage of her old friend's going -to make the trip in company. - -The ancient pair, mounted upon their respective asses, set out on -their journey, crossing themselves, and Maria, the Christian soul, -making a prayer to the holy archangel, Saint Raphael, patron of all -travellers, from Tobias down to herself. - -Maria, comfortably seated upon the the cushions of her saddle, dressed -in a wide chintz skirt, which was plaited at the waist, a jacket of -black woollen cloth, of which the closely fitting sleeves were -fastened at the wrist by a row of silver buttons, and round her neck, -a white muslin kerchief, pinned down at the back to keep it from -touching her hair, looked like a burlesque, anticipated, upon the mode -which was to rule among the fashionables thirty years later. A little -shawl covered her head, the ends being tied under her chin. - -Pedro wore, with some slight difference, the dress we have already -described in speaking of his son. The cloth was coarser, the bolt -black, as became a widower, his clothes all fitted more loosely, and -his hat had a broader brim, and was without ornament. - -"It is a day of flowers!" said Maria, "the fields are smiling, and the -sun seems as if he were telling them to be gay." - -"Yes," said Pedro, "the yellow-haired appears to have washed his face, -and sharpened his rays, for they prick like pins." - -He took out a little rabbit-skin bag, in which was tobacco, and began -to make a cigarette. - -"Maria," said he, when he had finished it, "my opinion is, that, you -will come back from Alcalá with your hands as empty as they go. But, -Christian woman, who the deuce tempted you to lend money to that -vagabond? You knew that he had not so much as a place whereon to fall -dead, and nothing in expectation but alternate rations of hunger and -necessity." - -"But," said Maria, "to whom shall we lend if not to the poor? the rich -have no need to borrow." - -{508} - -"And don't you know, big innocent, that 'he who lends to a friend, -loses both the money and the friend!' But you, Maria, are always so -credulous, and I tell you now that this man will pay you in three -instalments: 'badly, late, and never.'" - -"You always think the worst, Pedro." - -"That is the reason why I always hit the mark; think ill, and you will -think the truth," said the crafty Pedro. - -Presently he commenced droning a ballad, of which the interminable -text is as follows: - - In my house I heard at night, - Sounds that roused me in affright; - Quick unsheathed my rapier bright, - Stole upstairs with footsteps light. - - Searched the dwelling all around, - From the rooftree to the ground, - Listening for the faintest sound-- - Nothing heard I, nothing found. - - And my story, being new, - I'll repeat it o'er to you. - In my house, etc., etc. - -Maria said nothing, nor did she think much more. Rocked by the quiet -pace of her animal, she yielded herself to the indolence which the -balmy spring day induced, and went along sleeping. - -Half the road being passed, they came to a small inn. When they -arrived some soldiers were lounging upon the brick seats which were -fixed on each side of the door under the projecting roof. As soon as -they perceived the approach of our venerable couple, they began to -attack them with facetious sayings, burlesque provocations, and -railleries, such as are usual among the country folk, and especially -among the soldiers. - -"Uncle," said one, "where are you going with that ancient relic?" - -"Aunty," cried another "is the church where you were christened still -standing?" - -"Aunt," said another, "does your grace retain any recollection of the -day you were married?" - -"Uncle," asked the fourth, "are you going with this maiden to Alcalá -to have the bans published?" - -"No," answered Pedro, lazily dismounting, "I shall wait for that until -I am of age, and the girl has her growth." - -"Aunt," continued the soldiers, "shall we help you down from that gay -colt?" - -"It is the best thing you can do, my sons," responded the good woman. - -The soldiers approached, and with kindly attention assisted her to -alight. - -Pedro found some acquaintances in the tavern who immediately asked him -to drink with them. He did not wait to be urged, and having drank said -to them: - -"It is my turn now, and since I have accepted your treat, you, my -friends, and these gentlemen, whom I know only to serve, will do me -the favor to drink a small glass of _anisete_ to my health." - -"Uncle Pedro," said a young muleteer of Dos-Hermanas, "tell us a -story; and I in the mean while will take care to keep your glass -filled so that your throat don't get dry." - -"Ah me!" exclaimed Aunt Maria, who after having drank her little glass -of _anisette_ [Footnote 88] had seated herself upon some bags of -wheat, "have mercy on us, for if Pedro lets loose his boneless member, -we shall not get back to our place to-night, at least, not without the -miracle of Joshua." - - [Footnote 88: Liquor distilled from anise-seed.] - -"There is no danger, Maria," answered Pedro, "but you will sit on -those sacks till the corn sprouts." - -"Is it true, Uncle Pedro, what my mother says," asked the muleteer, -"that in old times, when you were young, you were a lover of Maria's?" - -"It is indeed, and I feel honored in saying it," answered Uncle Pedro. - -"What a story!" exclaimed Aunt Maria, "it is a lie as big as a house. -Go along with you, Pedro, for a boaster. I never had a lover in my -life except my husband, 'may he rest in peace.'" - -"O Mrs. Maria, Mrs. Maria!" said Pedro, "how very poor is your grace's -memory! for you know the song-- - -{509} - - "Though you take from him the sceptre, - Robes of state, and signet rings, - Still remains unto the monarch - This--that he was once a king." - -"It is true," Maria answered, "that he made love to me one day at my -cousin's wedding, and that he came one night to my window; but he got -such a fright there that he left me planted, and ran away as if fear -had lent wings to his feet; and I believe he never stopped until he -ran his nose against the end of the world." - -"How is that?" exclaimed the audience, laughing heartily; "is that the -way you show your heels when you are frightened, Uncle Pedro?" - -"I neither boast of my courage," replied the latter composedly, "nor -do I wish to gain the palm from _Francisco Esteban_." - -"That is being more afraid than ashamed," said Aunt Maria, who was -becoming impatient. - -"You see, sirs," said Uncle Pedro, slyly winking, "that she has not -yet forgiven me, which proves, does it not, that she was fond of me? -But I should like to know," he proceeded, "which of you is the _Cid -Campeador_ that would like to have to do with beings of the other -world; with supernatural things?" - -"There was nothing more supernatural than your fears," interrupted -Maria, "and they had no more cause than the rolling of a stone from -the roof, by some cat that was keeping vigil." - -"Tell us about it. Uncle Pedro, tell us how it happened," cried the -audience. - -"You must know then, sirs," began Uncle Pedro, "that the window Maria -indicated to me, was at the back of the house. The house was in a -lonesome place on the outskirts of the town; near by was a picture of -purgatory, with a lamp burning before it. As I looked at the light, -something which happened there a short time before came into mind. A -milkman used to pass by the picture every night as he went out of -town, carrying the empty skins which he brought in at sunrise every -morning, filled with milk. When he came to this place, he did not -scruple to lower the consecrated lamp to light his cigarette. One -night, it was the eve of All Souls, when he had taken the lamp down, -as was his custom, it went out, and he could not light his cigarette. -He found it strange, for the wind slept, and the night was clear. But, -what was his astonishment when a moment after, turning to look back, -he saw the lamp lighted, and burning more brightly than ever. -Recognizing in this a solemn warning from God--touched, and repenting -of the profanation he had done--he made a vow to punish himself by -never smoking another cigarette in his life; and, sirs," added Pedro, -in a grave voice, "he has kept it." - -Pedro paused, and for a moment all remained silent. - -"This is an occasion," presently said Maria, "to apply the saying, -that when a whole company is silent at once, an angel has passed by, -and the breath of his wings has touched them with awe." - -"Come, Uncle Pedro," said the muleteers, "let us hear the rest of the -story." - -"Well, sirs," proceeded Pedro, in his former jocose tone, "you must -know that the lamp inspired me with great respect, mingled with not a -little fear. Is it well, I said to myself, to come here and trifle -under the very beards of the blessed souls that in suffering are -expiating their sins? And I assure you, that light which was an -offering to the Lord--which appeared to watch and to record--and -seemed to be looking at me and rebuking me, was an object to impose -respect. Sometimes it was sad and weeping like the _De Profundis_, at -others immovable like the eye of the dead fixed upon me, and then the -flame rose, and bent, and flickered, like a threatening finger of fire -admonishing me. - -{510} - -"One night, when its regards appeared more threatening than ever -before, a stone, thrown by an invisible hand, struck me on the head -with such force that it left me stupefied; and when I started to run, -though I was, as you might say, in open field, it happened with me as -with that 'negro of evil fortune' who, where there were three doors to -go out at, could not find one; and so, running as fast as I could, -instead of coming to my house, I came to a quarry and fell in." - -"I have always heard of that negro of evil fortune," said one of the -listeners, "but could never find out how he came to be called so. Can -you tell me?" - -"I should think so!" answered Uncle Pedro. - -"There was once a very rich negro who lived in front of the house of a -fine young woman, with whom he fell in love. The young woman, vexed by -the soft attentions and endearments of the fellow, laid the matter -before her husband, who told her to make an appointment with the negro -for that evening. She did so, and he came, bringing a world of -presents. She received him in a drawing-room that had three doors. -There she had a grand supper prepared for him. But they were hardly -seated at the table when the light was put out, and the husband came -in with a cowhide, with which he began to lash the negro's shoulders. -The latter was so confounded that he could not find a door to escape -through, and kept exclaiming as he danced under the blows: - - "Poor little negro, what evil fortune! - Where there are three doors, he cannot find one.' - -"At last, he chanced upon one, and rushed out like the wind. But the -husband was after him, and gave him a push that sent him from the top -of the stairs to the bottom. A servant hearing the noise he made, ran -to ask the cause. 'What would it be,' answered the black, 'but that I -went up on my tiptoes and came down on my ribs?' - - "Que he subido de puntillas. - The bajado de costillas." - -"Uncle Pedro," asked the muleteer, laughing, "was that the cause of -your remaining estranged?" - -"No," said Pedro, "eight days afterwards, I armed myself with courage -and returned to the grating, but Maria would not open the window." - -"Aunt Maria did not want you to be stoned to death like Saint -Stephen," said the muleteer. - -"It was not that, boy; the truth is, that Miguel Ortiz, who had just -completed his term, returned to the place, and it suited Maria to -forsake one and take up with another who----" - -"Was not afraid," interrupted Maria, "to talk, with good intentions, -to a girl in the neighborhood of a _consecrated object_; for, do you -suppose that all those souls were spinsters?" - -"I think so, Maria, because the married pass their purgatory in this -world--the men, because their wives torment them, and the women, -through what their children cause them to suffer. Well, sirs, I took -the matter so to heart that I could not stay in Dos-Hermanas when the -wedding was celebrated, and I went to Alcalá." - -"Where he remembered me so well, that he came back married to -another." - -"It is true, for I have always thought it best 'when one king is dead, -to set up another.'" - -"Ah Pedro! everlasting talker," said Maria getting up, "let us go." - -"Yes, let us go; for the sun is as hot as if he were flying away from -the clouds, and I think it will rain." - -"God forbid!" exclaimed Maria, "give us the sun and wasps though they -sting!" - -"Why should it rain, since we are in March?" put in the muleteer. - -"And don't you know, Jose" replied Uncle Pedro, "that January promised -a lamb to March, but when March arrived the lambs were so fat and fine -that January would not fulfil the promise? Then March was vexed and -said to him, - - 'With three days left me of my own. - And three friend April will me loan, - I'll pat your sheep in such a state, - You'll wish you'd paid me when too late.' - -{511} - -"And so let us be off. Good-by, gentlemen." - -"What a hurry you are in, Aunt Maria!" said the muleteer. "Are you -afraid you shall take root?" - -"No, but these asses of ours do not go like yours, Jose." - -"That is so," said Pedro as he assisted Maria to mount; "with us, all -is old--the horsewoman, her squire, and the steeds. My ass is so -judicious that she cannot make up her mind upon which foot to limp, -and therefore limps on all four; and that of Maria so old, that, if -she could speak, she would say 'thee and thou' to us all. Well, -gentlemen, your commands." - -"Health and dimes to you, Uncle Pedro." - -Our travellers took the road again, and when they reached Alcalá, -separated to attend to their respective affairs. - -An hour afterward they rejoined each other. Pedro came accompanied by -his daughter, who threw herself upon Maria's neck with that tender -sentimentality of young girls whose hearts have not been bruised, -wounded, or chilled, by contact with the world. - -"You have collected your money?" questioned Pedro, as though he -doubted it. - -"They offered me half now," answered Maria, "or the whole after -harvest; and, as I am in want of my dimes, I preferred the former." - -"Not Solomon, Maria! not even Solomon! could have acted more wisely; -for, 'blessed is he that possesses,' and 'one bird in the hand is -worth a hundred on the wing.'" - -Pedro took his daughter up behind him, and they set out--Maria taking -care of her money; Marcela of the flowers, spices, cakes, and -sweetmeats she had bought as gifts; and Pedro looking after them both. - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -The arrival of Marcela caused great joy to all except Rita, who -neither wished nor tried to hide the ill-humor she felt in the -presence of one who had been destined by both families to be the wife -of Perico. - -This hostile disposition, and the cold reserve which Rita imposed upon -Perico in his intercourse with Marcela, were the first frosts which -had ever fallen upon the springtime of that pure spirit. - -Marcela was far from suspecting the base and bitter sentiments of -Rita, and besides, she would not have understood them; for, though a -young woman, she had the soul of a child. Having lived in the convent -from her birth, she had created for herself a sweet existence, which -could not be enlarged by the interests and passions of life, except at -the cost of innocence and happiness. She loved her good religious, her -garden, her gentle and peaceful duties. She was attached to her -devotions, to her church, and to her blessed images. She wished to be -a nun, not from spiritual exaltation, but because she liked the life; -not from misanthropy, but with joy of heart; not because she was -without convenient place or position in the world, which many believe -to be a motive for taking the veil, but because her position, her -place, she found--and preferred it--in the convent. - -This is what many do not, or pretend not to comprehend. Everything can -be understood in this world; all vices; all irregularities; all the -most atrocious inclinations; even the propensity of the Anthropophagi; -but that the desire for a tranquil and retired life, without care for -the present, or thought for the future, can exist, is denied, is -incomprehensible. - -In the world everything is believed in--the masculine woman, the -morality of stealing, the philanthropy of the guillotine, in the -inhabitants of the moon, and other humbugs, as the English say; or -_canards_, as our neighbors have it; or _bubbles_ and _fables_, as we -call them. The satirical sceptic, called the world, has a throat {512} -down which all these can pass, for there is nothing so credulous as -incredulity, nor so superstitious as irreligion. But it does not -believe in the instincts of purity, in modest desires, in humble -hearts, and in religious sentiments. No indeed; the existence of these -is all humbug, a _bubble_ which it cannot receive. This monster has -not a throat wide enough for these. - -Marcela, accompanied by Anna and Elvira, made her first visit to the -church, and to the chapel of Saint Anna, into which the good wife of -the sacristan hastened to lead them. - -The chapel is deep and narrow; at the extremity is an altar and the -effigy of the saint. In a crystal urn, inserted into the altar, is -seen a wooden cross and a small bell. The effigy of Saint Anna is very -ancient; its lower part widens in the form of a bell, upon its breast -it bears an image of the Blessed Virgin, which in the same manner -bears that of the child Jesus. The remote origin stamped upon this -effigy, uniting antiquity of idea with age of material, gives, as it -were, wings to the devotion it inspires with which to rise and free -itself from all present surroundings. On the wall, at the right hand, -hang two large pictures. In one is seen an angel, appearing to two -girls, and in the other the same girls, in a wild and solitary place, -with a man who is digging a hole in the earth. - -On the left hand an iron railing surrounds the entrance to a cave, the -descent into which is by a narrow stairway. - -Marcela and her companions having performed their devotions, seated -themselves in some low chairs which the sacristan's wife placed for -them under the arbor in the court-yard, and Marcela asked the obliging -and kindly woman to explain to them the two pictures which they had -seen in the chapel. The good creature, who loved to tell the story, -began it very far back, and related it in the following words. - - -POPULAR TRADITION OF DOS-HERMANAS. - -"In times the memory of which is almost lost, a wicked king, Don -Rodrigo, ruled in Spain. It was then customary for the nobles of the -realm to send their daughters to court, and therefore the noble count, -Don Julian, sent his fair daughter Florinda, known as _La Cava_. When -the king saw her he was inflamed with passion, but she being virtuous, -the king obtained by violence that which he could not by consent. When -the beautiful Florinda saw herself dishonored, she wrote to the -Count--with blood and tears she wrote it, in these words: - -"'Father, your honor and mine are blemished; more to your renown would -it have been, and better for me, if you had killed me, instead of -bringing me here. Come and avenge me.' - -"When the Count, Don Julian, read the letter, he fell down in a swoon, -and when he came to himself he swore, upon the cross of his sword, to -take a vengeance the like of which had never been heard of, and one -proportioned to the offence. - -"With this intention, he treated with the Moors and gave up to them -Tarifa and Algeciras, and like a swollen river which breaks its -embankments they inundated Andalusia. They reached Seville, known in -those times as _Hispalis_, and this place, then called _Oripo_. The -Christians, before they fled, buried deep in the earth the venerated -image of their patroness Saint Anna. And there it remained five -hundred years, until the good king Fernando, having made himself -master of the surrounding country, invested Seville. Here, however, -the Moors made such a stubborn resistance that the spirit of the -monarch began to fail him. Then, in the tower of _Herveras_, now -fallen to ruin, Our Blessed Mother appeared to him in a dream, -animating his valor, and promising him victory. The good king returned -to his camp at Alcalá with renewed courage. He summoned all the -artificers that could {513} be found, and commanded them to make an -image, as nearly as possible in the likeness of his vision, but to his -great chagrin no one succeeded. - -"There then presented themselves, two beautiful youths, dressed like -pilgrims, offering to make an image in every particular like the form -the good king had seen in his vision. They were conducted to a -workshop in which they found prepared for them everything necessary -for their work. The following day, when the king, stimulated by his -impatience, went in to see how the work was progressing, the pilgrims -had disappeared. The materials were lying on the floor untouched, and -upon an altar was an image of our Lady, just as she had appeared to -him in his sleep. The king, recognizing the intervention of the -angels, knelt weeping before the image he had wished for so much, and -which, by the hands of angels, their Queen herself had sent him. - -"Afterward, when the pious chief had reduced Seville, he caused this -image to be placed in a triumphal car drawn by six white horses, his -majesty walking behind with naked feet, and deposited in the cathedral -of Seville, where it is still venerated, and where it will continue to -be venerated until the end of time, under the invocation of our Lady -of Kings. In her chapel, at her feet, lies the body of the sainted -monarch--relics, of the possessions of which all Spain may well envy -Seville. - -"Soon after the appearance of the vision, the king with great -confidence in the help of God prepared to make another attack. He -posted himself upon the neighboring heights of Buena Vista: the two -wings of his brave army extending on both sides, like two arms ready -to do his will. But the troops were so weary, and so faint from heat -and thirst, that they had neither strength nor spirit left. In this -strait, the good king built up an altar of arms, upon which he placed -an image of the Blessed Virgin which he always carried with him, -calling upon her in these words, 'Aid me! aid me! Holy Mother, for if -by thy help I set up the cross to-day in Seville, I promise to build -thee a chapel in this very spot, in which thou shalt be venerated, and -I will deposit in it the standards under which the city shall be -gained.' As he prayed, a beautiful spring began to flow at the foot of -the ridge, sending forth in different directions seven streams. It -flows still, and bears the name of The King's Fountain. - -"Men and horses refreshed themselves, and recovered strength and -courage. Seville was won, and the Moorish King Aixa came bearing the -keys of the city upon a golden salver, and presented them to the pious -conqueror. They are kept with other precious relics in the treasury of -the cathedral. - -"In those times," proceeded the narrator, "there lived in the province -of Leon two devout sisters, named Elvia and Estefania, to whom an -angel appeared and told them to set out for the purpose of finding an -image of Our Lady which the Christians had hidden under the earth. The -father of the devout maidens, Gomez Mazereno, who was as pious as they -were, wished to go with them. But on setting out they were in great -trouble, not knowing what direction to take. Then they heard the sound -of a bell in the air. They saw no bell, but followed the ringing until -they came to this place, where it seemed to go down into the ground at -their feet. This was then an uncultivated waste of matted thorns and -briers, and was called 'The Invincible Thicket,' because the Moors, -who had all these lands under cultivation could never cut it down; -for, unseen by them, an angel guarded it with a drawn sword in his -hand. They began zealously to dig, and digging came to a large flat -stone, which being lifted, they discovered the entrance to a cave--the -same that you saw in the chapel. In it they found the image of the -saint, a cross, the {514} small bell, which, like the star of the -eastern kings had led them here, and a lamp still burning--the very -lamp that lights the saint now, for it hangs in the chapel before her -altar! For more than a thousand years it has burned in veneration of -our patroness. They took up her image and raised this chapel in her -name. Houses were built and clustered together round it, until this -village, which takes the name of Dos-Hermanas from its founders, was -formed under its shelter. See," continued the good woman, rising and -reentering the chapel, "see here the image which nothing has been able -to injure; neither the dampness of the earth, nor dust of the air, nor -the canker of time. In these two pictures are the portraits of the -devout sisters." A great quantity of offerings were seen hanging on -both sides of altar. Of these seven little silver legs, tied together -and suspended by a rose-colored ribbon, attracted Marcela's attention. - -"What is the meaning of that offering?" she asked of the sacristan's -wife. - -"Marcos, the blacksmith, brought them here. It happened, one day, that -the poor fellow was seized with such violent pains in his legs, that -it seemed as though he could neither live nor die. - -"His wife having administered to him without effect all the remedies -that were ordered, took him, stretched upon a cart, to Seville. But -neither could the doctors there do anything to relieve him. One day, -after the unfortunate man had spent all he possessed in remedies, made -desperate by his suffering, and by the cries of his children for the -bread which he had not to give them, he lifted his broken heart to -God, claiming as his intercessor our blessed patroness Saint Anna, -praying with fervor to be made well until such time as his children -should no longer need him; adding: When my children are grown up I -will die without murmuring. And if, until then, I regain my health, I -promise, Blessed Saint, to hang, every year, a little silver leg upon -thy altar, in attestation of the miracle.' The next day Marcos came on -foot to give thanks to God. Years passed. The sons of Marcos had grown -up and were earning their living. There remained with him only a young -daughter. She had a lover who asked her of her father. The wedding was -gay, only Marcos seemed to be in deep thought On the following day he -took his bed, from which he never rose. What he asked had been -granted. His task was done." - -"And these ears of grain?" said Marcela, seeing a bunch of wheat tied -with a blue ribbon. - -"They were brought by Petrola, the wife of Gomez. These poor people -had only the daily wages of the father for the support of eight -children. They had begged the use of a small field to sow with wheat, -and in it were sown also their hopes. With what pleasure they watched -it, and with what satisfaction! for it repaid their care, growing so -luxuriantly that it looked as if they sprinkled it every morning with -blessed water. One day a neighbor came from the field and told the -poor woman that the locust was in her wheat. The locust! One of the -plagues of Egypt! It was as if a bolt from heaven had struck her. -Leaving her house and her little ones, she rushed out wildly, with her -arms extended and not knowing what she did. 'Saint Anna,' she cried, -'my children's bread! my children's bread!' She reached the field and -saw in one corner the track of the locust. This insect destroys the -blades from the foot without leaving a sign. But between its track and -the rest of the field an invisible wall had been raised to protect the -wheat of the pious mother who invoked the saint, and the locust had -disappeared. You can imagine the delight and gratitude of the good -woman, who was so poor that she testified it by the gift of these few -blades of the precious grain." - -{515} - -Anna, Elvira, and Marcela listened with softened and fervent hearts, -and eyes moistened with tears. With the same emotions the relation has -been transmitted to paper. God grant that it may be read in like -spirit! - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -May smiled. Golden with sunlight, noisy with the song of its birds and -the murmur of its insects; odorous with its flowers, laughing, and -happy to be the month, of all others, dedicated to Mary. - -The wedding day of Ventura and Elvira had arrived, and the sun, like a -friend that hastened to be the first to give them joy, rose radiant. -They were ready to set out for the church. Anna pressed to her heart -the child of her love, the gentle Elvira, so humble and thoughtful in -her gladness that she stood with drooping head and eyes cast down, as -if oppressed and dazzled by so much joy. Uncle Pedro, who had never -been so glad in all his life, exceeded even himself in jokes, hints, -and facetious sayings. Maria, transported with her own delight, and -that of others, shed tears continually--tears, like the rain drops, -which sometimes fall from a clear sky when the sun is bright. - -As his rays shine through those drops, so shone Maria's smile through -her tears. - -"Dear sister," said Marcela to Elvira, "next to mine, my sweet Jesus, -your bridegroom is the best and most perfect. See my Ventura, how well -he appears; if he had only a spray of lilies in his hand, he would -look like Saint Joseph in 'The Espousals.'" - -And she had reason to praise her brother, for Ventura, neatly and -richly dressed, more animated and gallant than ever, hurrying the -others to set out, was the type a sculptor would have chosen for a -statue of Achilles. - -Perico forgot even Rita. His large, soft brown eyes were fixed upon -his sister with a look of deep and inexplicable tenderness. Rita only -was indifferent and petulant. - -They were leaving the house when a strange sound reached their ears. A -sound which seemed to be made up of the bellowing of the enraged bull, -the lamentations of the wounded bird, and the growl of the lion -surprised in his sleep. - -It was the cry of alarm and rage of the flocks of fugitives that were -arriving, and the exclamations of astonishment and indignation of the -people of the village that were preparing to imitate them. - -The French had entered Seville with giant strides, and were hurrying -on in their devastating march toward Cadiz. - -Perico having foreseen this event, had prepared a place of refuge for -his family, in a solitary farm-house, far apart from any public way, -and had horses standing in the stables ready against surprise. - -While the men rushed into the yard to prepare the animals, the women, -wild with fear, gathered and tied together the clothes and whatever -else they could carry with them in the panniers. - -"What a sad omen!" said Elvira to Ventura; "the day which should join -us together separates us." - -"Nothing can separate us, Elvira," answered Ventura; "I defy the whole -world to do it. Go without fear. We are going to prepare ourselves, -and shall overtake you on the road." - -Ventura saw them depart under the protection of Perico, and watched -them until they were out of sight. - -But now was heard at the entrance of the village the fatal sound of -drums, which announced the arrival of the terrible phalanx that threw -itself upon that poor unarmed people, taken by surprise, and treated -without mercy. - -{516} - -It came in the name of an iniquitous usurpation of which the -precedents belong to barbarous times, as the resistance it met with -belongs to the days of heroism--a resistance against which it dashed -and was broken, fighting without glory and yielding without shame. - -"Follow me, father," said Ventura. "Sister, come; we must fly!" - -"It is too late," replied Pedro, "they are already here. Ventura, hide -your sister; when night comes we will escape, but now hide -yourselves." - -"And you, father?" said Ventura, hesitating between necessity and the -repugnance he felt to being obliged to hide himself. - -"I," answered Pedro, "remain here. What can they do to a poor old man -like me? Go, I tell you! Hide yourselves! Marcela, what are you doing -there, poor child, as cold and fixed as a statue? Ventura, what are -you thinking of that you do not move? Do you wish to be lost? Do you -wish to lose your sister? Ventura! dear son, do you wish to kill me?" - -His father's cry of anguish roused Ventura from the stupor into which -he had been thrown by fear, uncertainty, and rage. - -"It is necessary," he murmured, with clenched hands, and set teeth. -"Father, father! to hide myself like a woman! while I live I shall -never get over the shame of it!" and taking a ladder, he lifted it to -an opening in the ceiling, which formed the entrance to a sort of loft -or garret, where they kept seeds, and worn-out and useless household -articles, helped his sister to mount, went up himself, and drew the -ladder after him. - -It was time, for there was a knocking at the door. Pedro opened it, -and a French soldier entered. - -"Prepare me," he said in his jargon, "food and drink: give me your -money, unless you want me to take it, and call your daughters, if you -do not wish me to look them up." - -The blood of the honorable and haughty Spaniard rose to his face, but -he answered with moderation, - -"I have nothing that you ask me for." - -"Which means that you have nothing, you thief? Do you know whom you -are talking to, and that I am hungry and thirsty?" - -Pedro, who had expected to pass the whole of this long wished-for day -of his son's marriage in Anna's house, and had therefore nothing -prepared, approached the door which communicated with the interior of -the house, and pointing to the extinguished hearth, repeated, "As I -have already told you, there is nothing to eat in the house, except -bread." - -"You lie!" shouted the Frenchman in a rage; "it is because you do not -mean to give it to me." - -Pedro fixed his eyes upon the grenadier, and in them burned, for an -instant all the indignation, all the rage, all the resentment he -harbored in his soul; but a second thought, at which he shuddered, -caused him to lower them, and say in a conciliating tone: - -"Satisfy yourself that I have told you the truth." - -On hearing this continued refusal, the soldier, already exasperated by -the glance Pedro had cast at him, approached the old man and said; -"You dare to face me; you refuse to comply with your obligation to -supply me. Ha! and worse than all, you insult me with your tranquil -contempt. Upon my life, I will make you as pliant as a glove!" and -raising his hand, there resounded through the house, dry and distinct, -a blow on the face. - -Like an eagle darting upon its prey, Ventura dropped down, threw -himself upon the Frenchman, forced the sword from his hand, and ran it -through his body. The soldier fell heavily, a lifeless bulk. - -"Boy, boy, what have you done?" exclaimed the old man, forgetting the -affront in the peril of his son. - -"My duty, father." - -"You are lost!" - -"And you are avenged." - -"Go, save yourself! do not lose an instant." - -{517} - -"First, let me take away this debtor, whose account is settled. If -they find him here, you will have to suffer, father." - -"Never mind, never mind," exclaimed the father, "save yourself, that -is the first thing to be thought of." - -Without listening to his father. Ventura took the corpse upon his -shoulder, threw it into the well, turned to the old man, who followed -him in an agony of distress, asked for his blessing, sprang with one -bound, upon the wall which surrounded the yard, and to the ground on -the other side. The poor father, mounted upon the trunk of a fig-tree, -holding on by its branches, with bursting heart, and straining eyes, -and breath suspended, saw his son, the idol of his soul, pass with the -lightness of a deer, the space which separated the village from an -olive plantation, and disappear among the trees. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -SAPPHICS. - -SUGGESTED BY "THE QUIP" OF GEORGE HERBERT - - - Stratus in terram meditans jacebam; - Saeculum molle et petulans procaxqae, - Asseclas tristem stimulabat acri - Laedere lusu. - - Pulchra, quam tinxit Cytherea, rosa, - "Cujus, quaeso," inquit, "manus, infaceta - Carpere inaudax?" Tibi linquo causam, - Victor Iesu! - - Tinnitans argentum: "Melos istud audi: - Musicae nostine modes suaves?" - Inquit et fugit. Tibi linquo causam, - Victor Iesu! - - Gloria tunc tollens caput et coruscans, - Sericis filis crepitans, me figit - Oculis limis. Tibi linquo causam, - Victor Iesu! - - Gestiit scomma sceleratis aptum, - Callida lingua acuisse Ira; - Conticescat jam. Tibi linquo causam, - Victor Iesu! - - Attamen cum Tu, die constituto, - Eligisti quos Tibi vindicassis, - Audiam o, dextro lateri statatus, - "Euge fidelis" - - -Sti. Lodoiel, in Ascensione Domini, 1866. - -R. A. B. - ------- - -{518} - -[ ORIGINAL.] - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -IV. - -THE REVELATION OF GOD IN THE CREED -DEMONSTRATED IN THE CONSTITUTIVE -IDEA OF REASON. - - -As soon as we open the eye of reason we become spectators of the -creation. The word creation in this proposition is to be understood -not in a loose and popular sense, but in a strict and scientific one. -We intend to say, not merely that we behold certain existing objects, -but that we behold them in their relation to their first and supreme -cause. We are witnesses of the creative act by which the Creator and -his work are simultaneously disclosed to the mind. This is the -original constitutive principle of reason, its primal light preceding -all knowledge and thought, and being their condition. It is the idea -which contains in itself, radically and in principle, all possible -development of thought and knowledge, according to the law of growth -connatural to the human intelligence. It includes--God with all his -attributes: the work of God or the created universe; and the relation -between the two, that is, the relation of God to the universe as first -cause in the order of creation, and final cause in the order of the -ultimate end and destination of things. The different portions of this -idea are inseparable from each other. That is, our reason cannot -affirm God separately from the affirmation of the creative act, or -affirm the creative act separately from the affirmation of God. The -being of God is disclosed to us only by the creation, and the creation -is intelligible to us only in the light given by the idea of God. -[Footnote 89] God reveals himself to our reason as creator, and by -means of the creative act. This is the limit of our natural light, and -beyond it we cannot see anything by a natural mode, either in God, or -in the universe. - - [Footnote 89: A careful attention to the succeeding argument will - show that by the idea of God given to intuition, is not meant the - evolved idea, but the idea capable of evolution, or the idea of - infinite, necessary being, which is shown to be the Idea of God by - demonstration.] - -The idea of God must not be confounded with that distinct and explicit -conception which a philosopher or well-instructed Christian possesses. -If the human mind possessed this knowledge by an original intuition, -every human being would have it, without instruction, from the very -first moment of the complete use of reason, and could never lose it. -The idea of God is the affirmation of himself as pure, eternal, -necessary being, the original and first principle of all existence, -which he makes to the reason in creating it, and which constitutes the -rational light and life of the soul. This constitutive, ideal -principle of the soul's intelligence exists at first in a kind of -embryonic state. The soul is more in a state of potentiality to -intelligence, than intelligence in act. The idea of God is obscurely -enwrapped and enfolded in the substance of the soul, imperfectly -evolved in its most primitive acts of rational consciousness, and -implicitly contained but not actually explicated in every thought that -it thinks, even the most simple and rudimental. The intelligence must -be educated, in order to bring out this obscure and implicit idea of -God into a distinct conception in the reflective consciousness. This -education begins with the action of the material, sensible world on -the soul through the body, and specifically through the brain. The -human soul was not created to exist and act under the simple -conditions of pure spirit; but as is incorporated in a material body. -The body is not a temporary habitation, like the envelope of a larva, -but an integral part of man. The {519} intelligence is awakened to -activity through the senses, and all its perceptions of the -intelligible are through the medium of the sensible. The sensible -world is a grand system of outward and visible signs representing the -spiritual and intelligible world. Language is the science and art of -subsidiary signs, the equivalents of the phenomena of the sensible -world and of all that we apprehend through them; and forming the -medium for communicating thought among men. For this reason, all -language so far as it represents the conceptions of men concerning the -spiritual word is metaphorical; and even the word _spirit_ is a figure -taken from the sensible world. - -When the obscure idea is completely evolved, and the soul educated, -through these outward and sensible media, the reflective consciousness -attains to the distinct conception of God. This education may be -imperfect, and the reflective consciousness may have but an incomplete -conception expressed in language by an inadequate formula; but the -idea is indestructible, and the mental conception of it can never be -totally corrupted. This would be equivalent to the cessation of all -thought, the annihilation of all conception of being and truth, and -the extinction of all rational life in the soul. It is a mere negation -of thought, which cannot be thought at all, and a mere non-entity. -There is no such thing as absolute scepticism. Partial scepticism is -possible. Revelation may be denied as to its complete conception, but -the idea expressed in revelation cannot be utterly denied. The being -of God may be denied, as to its complete conception, but not -completely as to the idea itself. No sceptic or atheist can make any -statement of his doubt or disbelief, which does not contain an -affirmation of that ultimate idea under the conception of real and -necessary being and truth. Much less can he enunciate any scientific -formulas respecting philosophy, history, or any positive object, -without doing so. Vast numbers of men are ignorant of the true and -formed conception of God, but every one of them affirms the idea in -every distinct thought which he thinks; and every human language, -however rude, embodies and perpetuates it under forms and conceptions -which are remotely derived from the original and infallible speech of -the primitive revelation. Although the mass of mankind cannot evolve -the idea of God into a distinct conception, and even gentile -philosophy failed to enunciate this conception in an adequate form, -yet when this conception is clearly and perfectly enunciated by pure -theistic and Christian philosophy, reason is able to recognize it as -the expression of its own primitive and ultimate idea. It perceives -that the object which it has always beheld by an obscure intuition, is -God, as proposed in the first article of the Christian formula. The -Christian church, in instructing the uninstructed or partially -instructed mind in pure theism, interprets to it, and explicates for -it, its own obscure intuition. Thus it is able to see the truth of the -being of God; not as a new, hitherto unknown idea, received on pure -authority, or by a long deduction from more ultimate truths, or as the -result of a number of probabilities; but as a truth which constitutes -the ultimate ground of its own rational existence, and is only -unfolded and disclosed to it in its own consciousness by the word and -teaching of the instructor, who gives distinct voice to its own -inarticulate or defectively uttered affirmation of God. So it is, that -God affirms himself to the reason originally by the creative act which -is first apprehended by the reason through the medium of the sensible, -and interpreted by the sensible signs of language to the uninstructed. -Thus we know God by creation, and the creation comes into the most -immediate contact with us on its sensible side. - -It has been said above, that we cannot separate the creative act from -God in the primitive idea of reason. It is not meant by this that -reason has {520} an intuition of God as necessarily a creator. What is -meant is, that the idea of God present to an intelligent mind distinct -from God, presupposes the creative act affirming to it an object -distinct from itself, and itself as distinct from the object. When the -subject is conscious of this truth, "God affirms himself to me," there -are two terms in the formula, "God," and "Me;" involving the third -uniting term of the creative act. The perception of other existences -is simultaneous with the perception of himself, but logically prior to -it; and his first rational act apprehends the existence of contingent, -created substances, as well as the being of the absolute, uncreated -essence. The elements of God and creation are in the most ultimate and -primitive act of reason, and therefore in its constitutive idea. The -creation is the idea of finite essences in God externized by the Word -who speaks them into existence. By the same Word, the intelligent, -rational portion of creation is enlightened with the knowledge of this -idea. It beholds God, as he expresses this idea in the creative act, -and in no otherwise. It cannot see immediately, the necessity of his -being, or, so to speak, the cause why God is and must be, but only the -affirmation of this necessity in the creative act. But this -affirmation is necessarily in conformity with the truth. It presents -being as absolute, and creation as contingent, and therefore not -necessary. False conceptions may not discriminate accurately between -the two terms, being and existence; but when these false conceptions -are corrected, and the idea brought fully into light, the very terms -in which it is expressed clearly indicate God as alone necessary, -creation as contingent, and the creative act as proceeding from the -free will of the Creator. - -God, and creation, are thus simultaneously affirmed in the creative -act constituting the soul; although God is affirmed as first and -creation second, in the logical order: God as cause and creation as -effect; and although creation may be first distinctly perceived and -reflected on, as being more connatural to the reflecting subject -himself, and more directly in contact with his senses and reflecting -faculties. The knowledge of God is limited to that which he expresses -by the similitude of himself exhibited in the creation. Our positive -conceptions of God in the reflective order are therefore derived from -the imitations, or representations of the divine attributes in the -world of created existences. An infinite, and, to natural powers, -impassable abyss, separates us from the immediate intuition of the -Divine Essence. The highest contemplative cannot cross this chasm; and -the ultimatum of mystic theology is no more than the confession that -the essence of God is unseen and invisible to any merely human -intuition, unknown and unknowable by the natural power of any finite -intelligence. We know _ut Deus sit, sed non quid sit Deus--that _God -is, but not _what_ he is. We know that God is, by the affirmation of -his being to reason. [Footnote 90] We form conceptions that enable -our reflective faculties to grasp this affirmation, by means of the -created objects in which he manifests his attributes, and through -which, as through signs and symbols, images and pictures, he -represents his perfections. - - [Footnote 90: That is, after we have demonstrated that which is - involved in the idea of being.] - -This is the doctrine of St. Paul, the great father of Christian -theology. - - "Quis enim hominum, scit quae sunt hominis, nisi spiritus hominis - qui in ipso est? Ita, et quae Dei sunt, nemo cognovit, nisi Spiritus - Dei." - -"For what man knoweth the things of a man, but the spirit of man which -is in him? So the things also that are of God, no one knoweth but the -Spirit of God." - -We understand this to mean, that God alone has naturally the immediate -intuition of his own essence and of the interior life and activity of -his own being within himself. - -{521} - -"Quod notum est Dei manifestum est in illis, Deus enim illis -manifestavit. Invisibilia enim ipsius, a creatura mundi, per ea quae -facta sunt intellecta, conspiciuntar; sempiterna quoqne ejus virtus et -divinitas." "That which is known of God is manifest in them. For God -hath manifested it to them. For the invisible things of him, from the -creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the -things that are made; his eternal power also and divinity." - -That is, God affirms himself distinctly to the reason by the creative -act, and simultaneously with the showing which he makes of his works. - -"Videmus nunc per speculum in enigmate." - -"We see now through a glass in an obscure manner, or more literally, -in a riddle, parable, or allegory." [Footnote 91] - - [Footnote 91: 1 Cor. ii. 11; Rom. i. 19, 20; 1 Cor. xiii. 12.] - -That is, we understand the attributes and interior relations of God as -these are made intelligible to our minds by analogies derived from -created things, in which, as in a mirror, the image of God is -reflected. The original and obscure idea of God given to reason in its -constitution--but given only on that side of it which faces creation, -including therefore in itself creation and its relation to the -creator--may be represented in various forms. It must be distinctly -borne in mind that our natural intuition is not an intuition of the -substance or essence of the divine being, or an intuition of God by -that uncreated light in which he sees himself and his works. God -presents himself to the natural reason as Idea, or the first principle -of intelligence and the intelligible, by the intelligibility which he -gives to the creation. He does not disclose himself in his personality -to the intellectual vision, but affirms himself to reason by a divine -judgment. Our natural knowledge of God is therefore exclusively in the -ideal order. The intuition from which this knowledge is derived may be -called the intuition of the infinite, the eternal, the absolute the -necessary, the true, the beautiful, the good, the first cause, the -ultimate reason of things, etc. Real and necessary being, considered -as the ground of the contingent and as facing the created intellect, -adequately embraces and represents all. This intuition enters into all -thought and is inseparable from the activity of the intelligent mind. -The intellect always does and must apprehend, the real, which is -identical with the ideal, in its thought; and when this reality or -verity which it apprehends is reflected on, it always yields up two -elements, the necessary and the contingent, the infinite and the -finite, the absolute and the conditioned. In apprehending God, we -necessarily apprehend that the soul which apprehends and the creation -by which it apprehends him, must exists. In apprehending creation, we -apprehend that God must be in order that the creation may have -existence. If we could suppose reason to begin with the idea of God, -pure and simple, we could not show how it could arrive at any idea of -the creature. Neither could we, beginning with the exclusive idea of -the conditioned, deduce the idea of the absolute and necessary. We can -never arrive by discursive reasoning, by reflection, by logic, by -deduction or induction, at any truth, not included in the principles -or intuitions with which we start. Demonstration discovers no new -truth, but only discloses what is contained in the intuitions of -reason. It explicates, but does not create. All that we know therefore -about being and existences is contained implicitly in our original -intuition. - -Real being is the immediate object apprehended by reason, as St. -Thomas teaches, after Aristotle. "Ens namque est objectum intellectus -primum, cum nihil sciri possit, nisi ipsum quod est ens in actu, ut -dicitur in 9 Met. Unde nec oppositum ejus intelligere potest -intellectus, non ens." "For being is the primary object of the -intellect, since nothing can be known but that which is being in act, -as it is said in the 9 Met. Wherefore the intellect cannot {522} -apprehend its opposite or not being." [Footnote 92] This appears to -be plain. Either the intelligible which the intelligence apprehends is -real or unreal, actual being or not being, entity or nonentity, -something or nothing. If the intelligence apprehends the unreal, not -being, not entity, no thing; it is not intelligence, it does not -apprehend. These very terms are unstatable except as negations of a -positive idea. I must have the idea of the real, or of being in act, -before I can deny it. I must have the idea of my own existence before -I can deny I existed a century ago. If I deny or question my present -existence, I must affirm it first, before I deny it, by making myself -the subject of a certain predicate, non-existence, or dubious -existence. - - [Footnote 92: Opus. cxiii. c. 1.] - -There is only one door of escape open, which is the affirmation of an -intuition of possible being. But what is the intuition of the possible -without the intuition of the actual? How can I affirm that being is -possible, unless I have an intuition of a cause or reason situated in -the very idea of being which makes it possible, and if possible -necessary and actual? The very notion of absolute being which is -possible only, that is, reducible to act but not reduced to act, is -absurd. For it is not reducible to act except by a prior cause which -is then itself actual, necessary being, and ultimate cause. -Potentiality or possibility belongs only to the contingent, and is -mere creability [sic] or reducibility to act through an efficient -cause. Wherefore we cannot apprehend possible existence except in the -apprehension of an ultimate, creative cause. All that is intelligible -is either necessary being, or contingent existence having its cause in -necessary being. The abstract or logical world is only a shadow or -reflection of the real in our own minds, and instead of preceding and -conditioning intuition, it is its product. - -The real object apprehended by reason has various aspects, but they -are aspects of the same object. The intuition of one aspect of being -is called the intuition of truth or of the true, including truth both -in the absolute and the contingent order. Truth, in regard to finite -things, is the correspondence of a conception to an objective reality. -This finite reality cannot be apprehended as true without a -simultaneous apprehension of necessary and eternal truth as its ground -and reason. The mathematical truths, for instance, in their -application to existing things, express the relations of finite -numbers and quantities. They are, however, apprehended as necessarily -and eternally true in an order of being independent of time, space, -and all contingent existences; which order of being is absolute: the -type of all existing things, the ultimate ground of truth, the -intelligible _in se_. - -The intuition of the beautiful, which is "the splendor of the true," -is the intuition of a certain type and the conformity of existing -things to it, causing a peculiar complacency in the intellect. This -complacency is grounded on a judgment of the eternal fitness and -harmony of things, that is, of an absolute and necessary reason of -their order in eternal truth, that is, in absolute being. - -The intuition of the good is an intuition of being considered as the -necessary object of volition, and of existences as having in their -essence a ground of desirableness or an aptitude to terminate an act -of the will. Hence good and being are convertible terms. The absolute -good is absolute being, and created good is a created existence -conformed to the type of the good which is necessary and eternal. - -The intuition of the infinite reduces itself in like manner to the -intuition of absolute being accompanied by the intuition of the finite -or relative with which it is compared. The absolute is being in its -plenitude, the intelligible as comprehended by intelligence in its -ultimate act, neither admitting of any increase. The finite is that -which can be thought as capable of increase, but, increased -indefinitely, never reaches {523} the infinite. The term infinite, as -Fénélon well observes, though negative in form--expressing the denial -of limitation--is the expression of a positive idea. Herbert Spencer -proves the same in a luminous and cogent manner, even from the -admissions of philosophers of the sceptical school of Kant. [Footnote -93] The intuition of the infinite gives us that which is not referable -to an idea of a higher order, but is itself that idea to which all -others are referred as the ultimate of thought and being. This -intuition of the infinite always presents itself behind every -conception, and makes itself the first element of every thought. - - [Footnote 93: First Principles of a New System of Philosophy.] - -This is clearly seen in the conceptions, commonly called the ideas, of -space and time. The intuition of the infinite will never permit us to -fix any definite, unpassable limits to these conceptions, but forces -us to endeavor perpetually to grasp infinity and eternity under an -adequate mental representation, which we cannot do. We must, however, -if we are faithful to reason, recognize behind these conceptions of -space that cannot be bounded and time that cannot be terminated either -by beginning or end, the idea of being infinite as regards both, the -reason of the possibility of finite things bearing to each other the -relations of co-existence and successive duration. - -The same intuition is at the root of the conception of the -impossibility of limiting the divisibility of mathematical quantity. -Whichever way we turn, the idea of the infinite presents itself. We -can never reach the boundary of multiplicability, nor can we reach the -boundary of divisibility, which is only another form of -multiplicability. The conception of ideal space and number is rooted -in the idea of the infinite power of God to create existences which -have mathematical relations to each other. The positive multiplication -or division of lines and numbers must always have a limit, but the -radical possibility must always remain infinite, because it is -included in the idea of God, which transcends all categories of -space, time or limitation. - -The intuition of cause is in the same order of thought. Necessary -being and contingent existence cannot be apprehended in the same idea, -without the connecting link of the principle of causation. It has been -fully proved by Hume and Kant, that we cannot certainly conclude the -principle of causation from any induction of particular facts. We -always assume it, before we begin to make the induction. It is an _a -priori_ judgment that everything which exists must have a cause, and -that all finite causes, receive their causality from a first cause or -_causa causarum_. For every finite cause has a beginning, which comes -from a prior cause, and an infinite series of finite causes being -absurd, the idea of causation necessarily includes first cause, and is -incapable of being thought or stated without it. Existence is not -intelligible in itself, but in its cause, absolute being. Absolute -being, though intelligible in itself, is not intelligible to human -reason, except by the causative act terminated in existences, and -making them intelligible. That is, being and existence, in the -relation of cause and effect, are presented, and affirmed to reason, -as the one complex object of its original intuition, and its -constitutive idea. - -This is the point of co-incidence of the _a priori_ and _a posteriori_ -arguments, demonstrating the Christian theistic conception. They -analyze the synthetic judgment of reason, and show its contents. The -argument, _a priori_ analyzes it on the side of being, showing what is -contained in being, or _ens_. The argument _a posteriori_ analyzes it -on the side of existence, _existentia_. But either argument implicitly -contains the other. It is impossible to reason on either the first or -last term of the synthetic judgment, without taking in the middle term -of causation, which implies the third term, existence, if you begin -{524} with being, and the first term, being, if you begin with -existence. The theistic conception is God Creator. The theologian who -begins to prove the proposition, God creates the world, cannot deduce -creation by showing what is contained in the pure and simple idea of -necessary, self-existing being. The idea of God includes the creative -power, but not the creative act, which is free, and cannot be deduced -from the primitive intuition, unless God affirms it to the reason in -that intuition; and even the creative power, or the possibility of -creation, cannot be deduced by human reason from the idea of necessary -being. Thus, the argument _a priori_ really does not conclude the -effect, that is, creation, by demonstrating it from the nature of the -cause alone, but assumes it as known from the beginning. - -In like manner, the theologian, who argues from the creation up to the -creator, or from effect to cause, assumes that the creation is really -created, and the effect of a cause exterior to itself; otherwise, the -term existence could never conduct him to the term being. - -We cannot demonstrate beyond what is given us in intuition, for all -demonstration is a simple unfolding of the intuitive idea. The idea -presents to us the creative act. If we reflect the causative or -creative principle, whatever we logically explicate from it is -indubitably true, because in conformity with the idea of first cause. -If we reflect the terminus of the causative act, or creation, whatever -we logically explicate from it respecting the nature of eminent cause -is indubitably true, for the same reason. In both cases we reason -validly, and demonstrate all that is demonstrable in the case. In the -first instance, we demonstrate what is really contained in the idea of -necessary being, and bring this idea--under the form of a distinct -conception--face to face with the reflective reason. In the second -instance, we demonstrate the order of the universe, and the -manifestation in it of divine power, wisdom and goodness. We -demonstrate that the theistic conception, or the conception of God and -his attributes, contained in Christian Theology, is that which we know -intuitively in the light of the primitive idea, logically explicated -and represented by analogy in language. What we do not demonstrate, is -the objective reality of the idea; for this is indemonstrable, as -being the first principle of all demonstration. The idea is -intelligible in itself, and illuminates the reason with intelligence. -The office of logic and reasoning is to inspect and scrutinize the -idea, to represent in reflection that which is intelligible. By this -process the idea of necessary being evolves itself, necessarily, into -the complete theistic conception of God, as is shown most amply in the -treatises of theologians and religious writers. [Footnote 94] We will -endeavor to sum up their results in as brief and universal a synopsis -as possible. - - [Footnote 94: It will be seen, therefore, that the arguments _a - priori_ and _a posteriori_ demonstrating the Christian doctrine of - God, as stated by the great Catholic Theologians, have not been - impugned, but, on the contrary, vindicated from the - misrepresentation of a more modern and less profound school of - philosophers.] - -Beginning at this point, real necessary being is in itself the -intelligible; we lay down first that which is most radical and -ultimate in the conception of the living, personal God and Creator; -namely, absolute, infinite _intelligence_. - -The absolute intelligible being must be absolute intelligent being. -The intelligible is only intelligible to intelligence. What is the -idea, or ideal truth or being, without an intelligent subject? What is -infinite idea, or infinite object of thought, without infinite -intelligent subject? That which is intelligible in itself necessarily, -absolutely, and infinitely, must necessarily be the terminating object -of intelligence equal to itself, that is infinite. This intelligence -cannot be created, for then it would be finite. It must be included in -absolute being. {525} Being includes in itself all that is. It -therefore includes intelligence. It contains in itself all that is -necessary to its own perfection. Its perfection as intelligible -requires its perfection as intelligent. Absolute being is therefore -infinitely intelligible and intelligent in its own nature and idea. It -is the intelligible being which is intelligent being, and only -intelligent spirit, which is in its very essence intelligence, can be -necessarily and infinitely intelligible; for only self-existent -infinite spirit has the absolute infinite activity necessary to -irradiate the light of the intelligible. The light of the intelligible -irradiates our created intelligence by an act which constitutes it -rational spirit. This act must be the act of supreme, absolute, -infinite intelligence. Whatever is in the creature, must be infinite -in the creator. The world of finite, intelligent spirits can only -proceed from an infinite, intelligent spirit, as first and eminent -cause. The sensible and physical world also is apprehended by our -reason as intelligible, and is intelligible, only in intelligent -cause; which throws open the vast and magnificent field of -demonstration from the order and harmony of nature. The intelligible -in the order of the finite, is a reflection of the intelligible in the -order of the infinite. The intelligible in the order of the infinite, -is the adequate object of infinite intelligence. The intelligible _in -se_ is identical with being in its plenitude; and being in plenitude -is necessarily infinite, intelligent spirit. [Footnote 95] - - [Footnote 95: Because, if we conceive of any essence that it is not - spiritual, we can conceive of one that is more perfect, namely, that - which has these two attributes; and if we conceive of one that is - finite in intelligence, we can conceive of one that is superior, or - has greater plenitude of being, until we reach the infinite. The - very conception of being in plenitude is being that excludes the - conception of the possibility of that which is greater than itself.] - -From this point the way is clear and easy to verify all that -theologians teach respecting the essential attributes of God. We have -merely to explicate the idea of intelligent spirit possessing being in -its plenitude. All that has being--that is, every kind of good and -perfection that the mind can apprehend in the divine essence by means -of creatures--must be attributed to God in the absolute and infinite -sense. We cannot grasp plenitude of being fully under one aspect or -form. We are obliged to discriminate and distinguish qualities or -attributes of being in God. But this is not by the way of addition or -composition of these attributes with the idea of the simple essence of -God. It is by the way of identification. Thus, being is identified -with the intelligible and with intelligence. All the attributes of God -are identified with each other and with his being. - -This is what is meant by saying that God is most simple being, _ens -simplicissimum_. The pure and simple idea of being contains in itself -every possible predicate: hence we can predicate nothing of it that -can add to it, or combine with it, to make a composite idea greater -than the idea of being in its simplicity. It comes to the same, when -we say that God is most pure act, _actus purissimus_, which merely -ascribes to him actual being in eternity to the utmost limit of -possibility, or to the ultimate comprehensibility of the idea of being -by the infinite intelligence of God. - -In the first place, then, we demonstrate the unity of God. There can -be but one infinite being. For the intelligible being of God is the -adequate object of his intelligence. Therefore there is no other -infinite, intelligible object of infinite intelligence. - -God is absolutely good. For his own being is the adequate object of -his volition, and the definition of good is adequate object of -volition, so that being is identical with good. - -God is all-powerful. For there is no intelligible idea of power, which -transcends the knowledge God has of his own being as including the -ability to create. - -God is infinitely holy. For the intellect and the will of God -terminate upon the same object, that is, upon his {526} own being, and -consequently agree with each other; and the very notion of the -sanctity of God is the perfect harmony of his intellect and will in -infinite good. - -God is immutable. For any change or progression implies a movement -toward the absolute plenitude of being, and is inconsistent with the -necessary and eternal possession of this plenitude. - -God is infinite and eternal; above all categories of limitation, -succession, time or space; for this is only to say that he is most -simple being, and most pure act. - -God is absolute truth and beauty, for these are identical with being. - -He is infinite love, for he is the infinite object of his own -intelligence comprehended as the term of his own volition. - -For the same reason, he is infinite beatitude, since beatitude simply -expresses the repose and complacency of intelligence and will in their -adequate object and is identical with love. - -God is an ocean of boundless, unfathomable good and perfection, to -whom everything must be attributed that can increase our mental -conception of his infinite being. We can go on indefinitely, -explicating this conception, and every proposition we can make which -contains the statement of anything positive and intelligible, is -self-evident; requiring no separate proof, but merely verification as -truly identifying something with the idea of being. "We shall say much -and yet shall want words; but the sum of our words is, HE IS ALL." -[Footnote 96] Nevertheless, our reason is not brought face to face -with God by any direct intuition or vision of his intimate, personal -essence. Every word, every conception, every thought expressing the -most complete and vivid act of the reflective consciousness on the -idea of God is derived from the creation, and gives only a speculative -and enigmatical representation of the being of God itself, as mirrored -in the perfections of created, contingent existences. Though we see -all things by its light, the sun itself, the original source of -intelligible light, is not within our rational horizon. The creation -is illuminated by it with the light of intelligibility, and by this -light we become spectators of the creative act of God. - - [Footnote 96: Ecclus. xiiii. 99.] - -The creative act is not a transient effort of power, but a durable, -continuous, ever-present act, by which God is always creating the -universe. The creation has its being not in itself but in God. All -that we witness therefore and come in contact with, is but the -radiation of light, life, truth, beauty, happiness; physical, mental, -and spiritual existence; from God, the source of being. We see the -architecture which proceeds from his mighty designs; we behold the -infinitely varied and ever shifting pictures and sculptures in which -he embodies his infinite idea of his own beauty. We hear the harmonies -that echo his eternal blessedness; the colossal machinery of worlds -plays regularly and resistlessly by the force which he communicates -around us; his signs, emblems, and hieroglyphics are impressed on our -senses; the perpetual affirmation of his being is always making itself -heard in the depth of our reason. The perpetual influx of creative -force from him is every instant giving life and existence to our body. -We breathe in it, and see by it, and move through its energy. It is -every instant creating our soul. When our soul first came out of -nothing into existence, it was created by a whisper of the divine -word, which simultaneously gave it existence and the faculty of -apprehending that whisper, by which it was made. God whispered in the -soul the affirmation of his own being as the author of all existence. -This whisper is perpetual, like the creative act. It constitutes our -rational life and activity. By its virtue we think and are conscious. -It concurs with every intellectual act. When the soul is stillest and -its contemplation of truth the most profound, then it is most -distinctly heard; but it cannot be drowned by any {527} tumult or -clamor. "In God we live, and move, and have our being." We float in -the divine idea as in an ocean. It meets us everywhere we turn. We -cannot soar above it, dive beneath it, or sail in sight of its coasts. -It is our rational element, in which our rational existence was -created, in which it was made to live, and we recognize it in the same -act in which we recognize our own existence. It is necessary to the -original act of self-consciousness, and enters into the indestructible -essence of the soul, as immortal spirit. - -The Creed, therefore, when it proposes its first article to a child -who is capable of a complete rational act, only brings him face to -face with himself, or with the idea of his own reason. It gives him a -distinct image or reflection of that idea, a sign of it, a verbal -expression for it, a formula by which his reflective faculty can work -it out into a distinct conception. As soon as it is fairly -apprehended, he perceives its truth with a rational certitude which -reposes in the intimate depths of his own consciousness. It is true -that he cannot arrange and express his conceptions, or distinctly -analyze for himself the operations of his own mind, in the manner -given above. This can only be done by one who is instructed in -theology. But although he is no theologian or philosopher, he has -nevertheless the substance of philosophy or _sapientia_, and of -theology, in his intellect; deeper, broader and more sublime than all -the measurements and signs of metaphysicians can express. We have -taken the child as creditive subject in this exposition, in order to -exhibit the ultimate rational basis of faith in its simplest act, and, -so to speak, to show its _genesis_. But we do not profess to stop with -this simple act which initiates the reason in its childhood into the -order of rational intelligence and faith; rather we take it as only -the terminus of starting in the prosecution of a thorough -investigation of the complete development which the intelligent faith -unfolds in the adult and instructed reason of a Christian fully -educated in theological science. Hence we have given the conception -God in its scientific form, but as the scientific form of that which -is certainly and indubitably apprehended in its essential substance by -every mind capable of making an explicit and complete act of rational -faith in God as the creator of the world. In the language of -Wordsworth, "The child is father of the man." A complete rational act -in a child has in it the germ of all science. He is as certain that -two and two make four, as is the consummate mathematician. A complete -act of faith in a child is as infallible as the faith of a theologian, -and has in it the germ of all theology. He is able to say "Credo in -Deum" with a perfect rational certitude; and this conclusion is the -goal toward which the whole preceding argument has been tending. - -But here we are met with a difficulty. The principle of faith cannot -itself fall under the dominion of faith, or be classed with the -_credenda_, which we believed on the veracity of God. How then can -_Credo_ govern _Deum_. The necessity for an intelligible basis for -faith has been established, and this basis located in the idea of God -evolved into a conception demonstrable to reason from its own -constitutive principles. It would therefore seem that instead of -saying "I believe in God," we ought to say "I know that God is, and is -the infinite truth in himself, therefore I believe," etc. only on you. - -This formula does really express a process of thought contained in the -act of faith, and implied in the signification of _Credo_. _Credo_ -includes in itself _intelligo_. Divine faith presupposes, and -incorporates into itself, human intelligence and human faith, on that -side of them which is an inchoate capacity for receiving its divine, -elevating influence. Hence the propriety of using the word _Credo_, -leaving _intelligo_ understood but not expressed. The symbol of faith -is not intended to express any object of our knowledge, {528} except -as united to the object of faith. For this reason it does not -discriminate in the proposition of the verity of the being of God, -that which is the direct object of intelligence, but presents it under -one term with those propositions concerning God which are only the -indirect object of intelligence through the medium of divine -revelation. When we say _Credo in Deum_, if we consider in _Deum_ only -that which is demonstrable by reason concerning God, the full sense of -_Credo_ is suspended, until the revelation of the superintellible -[sic] s introduced in the succeeding articles. The term _Deum_ -terminates _Credo_, only inasmuch as it is qualified by the succeeding -terms; that is, inasmuch as we profess our belief in God as the -revealer of the truths contained in the subsequent articles. - -The foregoing statement applies to the use of the word _Credo_ in -relation with _Deum_ in the first article of the Creed, taking _Credo_ -in its strictest and most exclusive sense of belief in revealed truths -which are above the sphere of natural reason. In addition to this, it -can be shown that there is a secondary and subordinate reason on -account of which the mental apprehension of that which is naturally -intelligible in God is included under the term faith, taken in a wider -and more extensive sense. - -This intelligible order of truth, or natural theology, was actually -communicated to mankind in the beginning, together with the primitive -revelation. We are, therefore, instructed in it, by the way of faith. -The conception of God, and the words which communicate to us that -conception, and enable us to grasp it, come to us through tradition, -and are received by the mind before its faculties are fully developed. -We believe first, and understand afterward; and the greater part of -men never actually attain to the full understanding of that which is -in itself intelligible, but hold it confusedly, accepting with -implicit trust in authority, many truths which the wise possess as -science. Moreover, the term faith is often used to denote belief in -any reality which lies in an order superior to nature and removed from -the sphere of the sensible, although that reality may be demonstrable -from rational principles. In a certain sense we may say that this -region of truth is a common domain of faith and reason. But we have -now approached that boundary line where the proper and peculiar empire -of faith begins, and like Dante, left by his human guide on the coasts -of the celestial world, we must endeavor under heavenly protection to -ascend to this higher sphere of thought. - ------- - -From Once a Week. - -THE KING AND THE BISHOP. - - Before Roskilde's sacred fane, - (The first the land has known.) - Attended by his courtier train, - And decked, as on his throne, - In costly raiment, glittering gay - Beneath the noon-day sun; - All fresh and fair, as though the day - Had seen no slaughter done-- - -{529} - - As though the all-beholding eye - Of that Omniscient Deity, - Whom, turning from the downward way - His heathen fathers trod, - He guided by a purer ray, - Hath chosen for his God-- - Had seen no darker, dreader sight, - Twixt yester morn and yester night, - - Beheld by his approving eye, - Who, now, would draw his altar nigh; - Ay, fresh and fair as to his soul - No taint of blood did cling, - As though in heart and conscience whole, - Stands Swend, the warrior-king. - - On his, as on a maiden's cheek, - (Though bearded and a knight,) - The royal hues of Denmark speak [Footnote 97]-- - The crimson and the white; - But mark ye how the angry hue - Keeps deepening, as he stands, - And mark ye, too, the courtly crew, - With lifted eyes and hands! - - [Footnote 97: The Danish king, Swend, soon after his entrance into - the Christian church, slew some of his "jaris" without a trial, - and, on presenting himself, after the commission of this crime, at - the portal of the newly-built cathedral of Roskilde, in Zealand, - found it barred by the pastoral staff of the English missionary - and bishop who had converted him. After receiving the rebuke given - in the poem, and forbidding his attendants to molest the bishop, - he returned whence he came, and shortly after, made his - reappearance in the garb of a penitent, when he was received by - the prelate, and, after a certain time of penance, absolved; after - which they became fast friends.] - - Across the portal, low and wide, - A slender bar from side to side. - The bishop's staff is seen; - And holding it, with reverent hands - And head erect, the prelate stands, - A man of stately mien. - - "Go back!" he cries, and fronts the king. - Whilst clear and bold his accents ring - Throughout the sacred fane-- - And Echo seems their sound to bring - Triumphant back again-- - "Go back, nor dare, with impious tread, - Into the presence pure and dread. - Thy guilty soul to bring, - Impenitent--O thou, who art - A murderer, though a king!" - A murmur, deepening to a roar, - 'Mid those who were clust'ring round the door: - A few disjointed but eager words-- - A sudden glimmer of naked swords; - And the bishop raised his longing eyes, - In speechless praise, to the distant skies; - -{530} - - For he thought his labor would soon be o'er. - And his bark at rest, on the peaceful shore; - And he pictured the crown, the martyrs wear, - Floating slowly down, on the voiceless air; - Till he almost fancied he felt its weight - On his brows--as he stood, and blessed his fate. - - With a calm, sweet smile on his face, he bowed - His reverend head to the raging crowd-- - (Oh! the sight was fair to see!) - And "Strike!" he cried, whilst they held their breath. - To hear his words; "For I fear not death - For him who has died for me!" - - King Swend looked up, with an angry glare, - At the dauntless prelate, who braved him there, - Though he deemed his hour near; - And he saw, with one glance of his eagle eye. - That that beaming smile and that bearing high - Were never the mask of fear! - - Right against might had won the day;-- - And he bade them sheathe their swords; then turned, - Whilst an angry spot on his cheek still burned, - From the house of God away. - - Ere the hour had winged its flight, once more, - Behold! there stood, at the temple door, - A suppliant form, with its head bowed down. - And ashes were there, for the kingly crown; - And the costly robes, which had made erewhile - So gallant a show in the sunbeams' smile. - Had been cast aside, ere its glow was spent, - For the sackcloth worn by the penitent! - - The bishop came down the crowded nave; - His smile was bright, though his face was grave, - He paused at the portal, and raised his eyes. - Yet another time to those sapphire skies, - But he thought not now, that the look he cast - To that radiant heaven would be his last; - And he thanked his Master again--but not - For the martyrdom that should bless his lot; - For the close to the day of life, whose sun - Was to set in blood, on his rest was won: - Far other than this was his theme of praise, - As he murmured: "O thou, in thy works and ways - As wonderful now as when Israel went - Through the sea, which is Pharaoh's monument: - Though I pictured death in the flashing steel, - And I looked for the glory it should reveal, - Yet oh! if it be, as it seems to be, - Thy will, that I stay to glorify thee, - To add to thy jewels, one by one; - Then, Father in heaven, that will be done!" - -{531} - - Then on the monarch's humbled brow - The kiss of peace he pressed. - And led him, as a brother, now, - A little from the rest-- - "Here, as is meet, thy penance do, - And as thy penitence is true, - So God will make it light! - Then mayst thou work with me, that thus - The light that he hath given us - May rise on Denmark's night!" - -M. T. F. - ------- - -Translated from Le Correspondant - -THE YOUTH OF SAINT PAUL. - - -By L'ABBE LOUIS BAUNARD. - - -At the time when Jesus Christ came into this world, the Jews were -scattered over the whole surface of the earth. From the narrow valley -in which their religious law had confined them for the designs of God, -these people of little territory had overflowed into all the provinces -of the Roman empire. Captivity had been the beginning of their -dispersion. Numerous Israelitish colonists, who had formerly settled -in the land of their exile, were still existing in Babylon, in Media, -even in Persia; others had pushed their way further on to the extreme -east, even as far as China. Finally, under the reign of Augustus, they -are found everywhere. [Footnote 98] - - [Footnote 98: V. Remond "Histoire de la Propagation du Judaisme," - Leipzig, 1789 Grost, "De Migrationibus Hebr. extra patriam," 1817. - Jost, "Histoire des Israélites depuis les Machabées," etc.] - -It was the solemn hour in which, according to the parable of the -gospel, the Father had gone forth to sow the seed. The field, "that is -the world," was filled with it already, and the time was not far -distant when the Lord, "seeing the countries ripe for the harvest," -would send out his journeymen to reap, and gather the wheat into his -barns. - -One of these families "_of the dispersion_," as they were styled, -inhabited the city of Tarsus in Cilicia. Of this once famous city -nothing now remains but a few ruins, and the modern Tarsous falls -vastly short of that high rank which the ancient Tarsus held among the -cities of the East. Even at present, however, it is called the capital -city of Caramania. Situated on a small eminence covered over with -laurels and myrtles, at a distance of about ten miles from the -Mediterranean sea, it is washed by the rapid and cold waters of the -Kara-sou, and its population during winter amounts to more than thirty -thousand souls. In summer it is almost a desert. Chased away by the -burning heats which prevail at this season from the sea-coast, men, -women and children abandon their homes and emigrate to the surrounding -heights, where they fix their camp under lofty cedars, which afford -them shelter, shade, and coolness. [Footnote 99] - - [Footnote 99: P. Belon, "Voyages"--cité dans Malte-Brun.] - -{532} - -It were difficult to draw, from what it is at present, an exact -picture of the ancient Tarsus. Instead of the sad, disconsolate look -of a Turkish city, there was then in it the movement, the ardor, the -splendor of the Greek city, proud of her politeness and her -recollections. According to Strabo, Tarsus was a colony of Argos. As a -proof of the high state of its culture, the Greeks related that the -companions of Triptolemus, perambulating the earth in search of Io, -stopped at that place, charmed by its richness and beauty. Others -traced its origin further back, to the old kings of Assyria. At one of -the gates of Tarsus there had been seen for a long time the tomb of -Sardanapalus with the following inscription under his statue: "I, -Sardanapalus, have built Tarsus in one day. Passenger, eat, drink, and -give thyself a good time; the rest is nothing." [Footnote 100] -History, however, has written there other remembrances. It was not far -from Tarsus that the intrepid Alexander had nearly perished in the icy -waters of the Cydnus. It was there upon the sea, at the entrance of -the river, that the memorable interview and the fatal alliance of -Antony and Cleopatra had just taken place in the midst of voluptuous -feasts. The wise providence that provides reparations for all our -pollutions, had chosen the city of a Sardanapalus and of an Antony to -be the cradle of St. Paul. - - [Footnote 100: Strabo, liv, xvi.] - -For the rest, Tarsus was a city perfectly well built and of remarkable -beauty. From the fertile hill on which she rested, she could -contemplate the direction toward the north and west of an undulating -line, which traced rather than hid the horizon. This was the outline -of the first ascending grades, of the mountains of Cilicia. At a short -distance from the city the waters of numerous living springs met -together and formed a rapid river, deeply enchased, which soon reached -and refreshed that portion of her which the historians call the -Gymnasium, and we would name the "Quarter of the schools." Further on -there was a harbor of peculiar and distinctly marked outline. -Philostratus has described in a striking and picturesque manner the -different habitudes of the men of traffic and of the literary class, -representing "the former as slaves to avarice, the latter to -voluptuousness. All their talk," says he, "consisted in reviling, -taunting, and railing at each other with sharp-biting words: whence -one might have easily seen that it was only in their dress they -pretended to imitate the Athenians, but not in prudence and -praiseworthy habits. They did nothing else all day but walk up and -down on the banks of the river Cydnus, which runs across this city, as -if they were so many aquatic birds, passing their time in frolicsome -levities, inebriated, so to speak, with the pleasing delectation of -those sweet-flowing waters." [Footnote 101] - - [Footnote 101: Philostrate, "De la Vie d'Apollonius Thyanéan - traduction de Blaise de Vigenère," liv. iv. ch. ix. p. 103,104. - Paris, 1611.] - -Such, then, was the city in which a vast multitude of young men, -elegant, voluptuous and witty, crowded and pressed each other like a -swarm of bees, for Tarsus was the most brilliant intellectual focus of -that time and country. The following is the description of it, given -by Strabo: "She carries to such a height the culture of arts and -sciences, that she surpasses even Athens and Alexandria. The -difference between Tarsus and these two cities is, that in the former -the learned are almost all indigenous. Few strangers come hither; and -even those who belong to the country do not sojourn here long. As soon -as they have completed the course of their studies in the liberal -arts, they emigrate to some other place, and very few of them return -to Tarsus afterward." - -The best masters regarded it as an honor to teach in the schools of -this city of arts. There were in it such grammarians as Artemidorus -and Diodorus; such brilliant poets and professors {533} of eloquence -as Plutiades and Diogenes; such philosophers of the sect of the stoics -as the two Athenodori; of whom the first had been Cato's friend in -life, and his companion in death, and the second had been the -instructor of Augustus, who, in token of gratitude, appointed him -governor of Tarsus. For, it was the fate of this learned city to be -under the administration of men of letters, and of philosophers. She -had been ruled by the poet Boethus, the favorite of Antony. Nestor, -the Platonic philosopher, had also governed her. It is easily seen, -however, that such men are better prepared for speculations in -science, than for the administration of public affairs, so that, in -their hands, Tarsus felt more than once those intestine commotions, of -which cities of schools have never ceased to be the theatre. - -It was in this city, and under these circumstances, almost upon the -frontiers of Europe and Asia, in the very heart of a great -civilization, that St. Paul was born, about the twenty-eighth year of -Augustus' reign, two years before the birth of Christ. [Footnote 102] -He himself informs us that he was a _Jew_ of the tribe of Juda, -[Footnote 103] born in the _Greek_ city of Tarsus, and a _Roman_ -citizen: so that by parentage, by education, and by privilege, he -belonged to the three great nations who bore rule over the realm of -thought and of action. The grave historian [Footnote 104] who -exhausts the catalogue of the illustrious men of Tarsus, never -suspected what man--very differently illustrious--had just appeared -there, and of what a revolution he was to become the zealous defender -as well as the martyr. - - [Footnote 102: This would be so, if St. Paul lived to the age of - sixty-eight years, as is stated in a Homily of St. John Chrysostom, - vol. vi. of his complete works.] - - [Footnote 103: Benjamin. See Rom. xi 1.--Ep. C. W.] - - [Footnote 104: Strabo, liv. xiv] - -The Jewish origin of the Doctor of Nations was, as is easily -understood, of vast importance for fulfilment of the designs of God. -The religion of Jesus Christ proceeds from Judaism, continues and -perfects it. It was, therefore, well worthy of the wisdom of God that -his apostles should belong to the one as well as to the other -covenant, and that he should thus extend his hand to all ages, as he -was to extend it to all men. - -This purity of origin was so considerable a privilege, that it is by -it one may account to one's self for the rage and fury with which the -Ebionite Jews in the first age of our era labored to deprive him of -it. Adhering to the last rubbish of the law of Moses, and, for this -reason, irreconcilable enemies to the great apostle of the Gentiles, -these sectarians maliciously invented the following fable, according -to the relation of St. Epiphanius. [Footnote 105] "They say that he -was a Greek, that his father was a Greek as well as his mother. Having -come to Jerusalem in his youth, he had sojourned there for a certain -time. Having there known the daughter of the high priest, he had -desired to have her for his wife; and to this end he had become a -Jewish proselyte. As he could not, however, obtain the young maiden -even at that price, he had conceived a burning resentment, and -commenced to write against the circumcision, the sabbath, and the -law." It seems to me that St. Epiphanius confers too great an honor -upon this romance, by merely exposing and refuting it. - - [Footnote 105: "Adv. Haeret" liv. ii. t. i. p. 140, No. xvi.] - -I know on what foundation St. Jerome affirms, on the contrary, that -St. Paul was a Jew not only by descent, but also by the place of his -birth. According to him, St. Paul's parents dwelt in the small town of -Girchala in Juda, when the Roman invasion compelled them to seek for -themselves a home somewhere else. Therefore they took their son, yet -an infant, with them, and fled to Tarsus, where they remained, waiting -for better days. [Footnote 106] - - [Footnote 106: "De Viris Illustrib. Catalog. Script. Eccles." t. i. - p.849] - -The declaration of St. Paul himself, however, allows no doubt to be -{534} entertained as to his origin. Born in Tarsus, he was circumcised -there on the eighth day after his birth, and received the name of -Saul, which he exchanged afterward for that of Paul, probably at the -time when Sergius Paulus had been converted by him to the Christian -faith. - -His parents failed not to instruct him in the law; for, how distant -soever from their mother country might have been the place in which -they lived, the Jews did not cease to render to the God of their -fathers worship, more or less pure, but faithful. Like all other great -cities of the Roman empire, Tarsus had her synagogue where the Law was -read, and where the religious interests of the Israelitic people were -discussed. It was there that prayers were solemnly made with the face -turned toward the holy city: for there was no temple anywhere but in -Jerusalem, whither numerous and pious caravans from all the countries -of Asia went every year to celebrate in Sion the great festivals of -the Passover and Pentecost, to pay there the double devotion, and -present their victims. The bond of union was thus fastened more firmly -than ever between the colonies and the metropolis, in which great -things were soon expected to take place. Jerusalem was not only the -country of memorials, but to Jewish hearts she was also the land of -hope, and every eye was turned toward the mountain whence salvation -was to come. - -Saul grew up in Tarsus. We must not seek in the youth of Saul for -those signs which reveal in advance a great man. In individuals of -this sort, devoted to the work of God, all greatness is from him, the -instrument disappearing in the hand of the divine artificer. Whatever -illusion iconography may have impressed us with upon the point, Saul -did not carry, either in stature of body or in beauty of features, the -reflection of his great soul, and at first sight the world saw in him -only an insignificant person, as he himself testifies, "_aspectus -corporis infirmus_," Beside, he was a man of low condition, exercising -a trade, and earning his daily bread by the sweat of his face. The -rabbinical maxims said that, "not to teach one's son to work, was the -same thing as to teach him to steal." Saul was, therefore, a workman, -and everything leads us to believe that he, who was to carry light to -nations, passed, like his master, the whole of his obscure youth in -hard work. He made tents for the military camps and for travellers. -This was an extensive industry in the East; and a great trade in these -textures was carried on in Tarsus with the caravans starting from the -ports of Cilicia and journeying though Armenia, Persia, the whole of -Asia Major, and beyond. [Footnote 107] - - [Footnote 107: These conjectures and regard to St. Paul's birth and - parentage are not founded on any solid basis, but on the contrary - appear to be quite improbable. The author's citation from the - Rabbinical maxims overturns the argument which he derives from the - fact that St. Paul practised a handicraft. All Jews, whatever their - birth or wealth, learned a trade. St. Paul's knowledge of the - tent-maker's trade, therefore, does not prove that he was of low - birth, or belonged to the class of artisans. On the contrary, his - possession of the privileges of Roman citizenship, which he must - have inherited, and which could only have been conferred on account - of some great service rendered to the state by one of his ancestors, - together with his thorough education, go to show that he belonged to - one of the most eminent Jewish families of Tarsus.--Ed. C.W.] - -Manual occupation, however, did not absorb the whole time, nor the -whole soul of the young Israelite; since the tradition of the fathers -points to him as frequenting the schools of Tarsus, and joining that -studious swarm of young civilians who crowded there to attend the -lectures delivered by the professors of science and literature. -[Footnote 108] His Epistles retain some traces of these his first -studies. In these he quotes now and then words of the ancient poets, -Menander, Aratus, Epimenides. He expressed himself with equal facility -in the three great languages of the civilized world, the Hebrew, the -Greek, and the Latin; and it is manifest that he knew the secrets of -the art of eloquence, for which he {535} retained in later times only -a magnanimous contempt. He was also initiated in philosophy, under the -teachers whom I have named already. Besides Stoicism, whose patrons -and success in Tarsus I have mentioned, Platonism flourished there -under the protection of Nestor, a man of great distinction, who had -been the preceptor of that illustrious youth Marullus, who was sung by -Virgil, and bewailed by Augustus. Is it not, at this period, that a -young man of Tyana, himself destined to acquire a strange celebrity, -came to Tarsus in his fourteenth year, and passionately embraced there -the precepts of Pythagorean doctrine? The uncertainties of the -history, which was written by Philostratus afterward, do not permit us -to say anything definite upon this point; but one cannot help thinking -that it is from the same place, and at the same time, that those two -extremes of the power of good and of the power of evil have set -out--Apollonius of Tyana, and Saint Paul. - - [Footnote 108: Sancte Hieronymi, t. vi. 322.--"Comm. Epist. ad - Galat."] - -Finally, not far from there the oriental doctrines drove to their -several beliefs respectively the multitudes of Asia, and invaded also -the Greek cities of Asia Minor and the Islands. Thus Parsism on the -one hand, and Hellenism on the other, met in Tarsus with Judaism. By -its position, as well as by its commerce, the birthplace of St. Paul -was the point of confluence of the two currents of ideas, which shared -the world between themselves. From this centre the future apostle was -able to embrace in one view all those different sorts of minds which -he was to embrace in his zeal afterwards. - -Such were his beginnings. In them Saul plays an insignificant part; -but God a great one; God does not act openly as yet; he prepares. But -what preparation! What a concurrence of circumstances manifestly -providential! What greatness even in this obscurity! The seal of -predestination is visibly impressed upon that soul appointed to -regenerate the world by the faith. The place, the time, the means, -everything seems disposed, consecrated in advance, as it were, for a -great scene. God incarnate was to fill it, but he had chosen Saul of -Tarsus to be in it the actor most worthy of him. - -II. - -The second education of Saul took place in Jerusalem. He was yet young -when his parents, yielding to that instinct which recalled the Jews to -their native country, sent him, or, perhaps, went and took him with -themselves, to the holy city, in order to fix their residence there. - -There occur in history some solemn epochs; but that in which Saul -arrived at Jerusalem possesses a consecration which cannot belong to -any but to itself alone: it was what St. Paul called, afterward, "the -fulness of the times." The seventy weeks determined by Daniel, entered -then into the last phasis of their accomplishment. The sceptre had -been taken away from Judah, and, at a few steps from the temple, a -centurion, with the vine-stock in his hand, quietly walked around the -residence of a Roman proconsul. People were waiting to see from what -point the star of Jacob was to appear. It had risen already, and the -young workman of Tarsus, while going to Jerusalem, might have met on -his way with a workman like himself, who, sitting at the foot of some -unknown hill, preached in parables to the people of his own country -and of his condition. This was in fact taking place under the second -Herod. Saul was then twenty-nine years old, and the Word made flesh -dwelt among us full of grace and truth. - -Did Saul have the happiness to see his divine Master during his mortal -life? Grave historians formally affirm it, [Footnote 109] and some -passages in the Epistles allow us to believe it. Others think {536} -that what they refer to is only the vision on the road to Damascus. - - [Footnote 109: Alzog, "Histoire Universelle de l'Eglise," t. i. p. 157.] - -But, whatever may be the difference of opinions upon this point, it -appears impossible that the fame of Jesus' teaching and miracles did -not reach the ears of Saul, while living in Judea: it is even probable -that Saul might have endeavored to see him. "We have known the Christ -according to the flesh," he himself wrote to the Corinthians. -[Footnote 110] This last testimony leaves yet some doubt as to the -interpretation; but, when one reflects on the repeated utterance of -these expressions, as well as upon the coincidence of dates and names, -one cannot help starting at the thought, that on some unknown hour the -God and the apostle must have met, and that Jesus, piercing into the -future, bestowed on the youth that deep and tender look which he gave -the young man spoken of in the Gospel; and that the Pharisee, who was -to become a vessel of election, then condemned himself to the regret -of having that day neglected and mistaken the blessed God, of whom he -was afterward to say in that language invented by love, "_Mihi vivere -Christus est_," "For me to live, is Christ." - - [Footnote 110: 1 Cor. ix. 1 and 2 Cor. v. 16] - -When Saul entered Jerusalem for the first time, the pious Israelite -must doubtless have been astonished and saddened at the same time. -Herod the Ascalonite had rendered her, according to Pliny's testimony, -the most magnificent city of the East; but by the profane character of -her embellishments, she had lost much of her holy originality. The -prince courtier had erected near by a circus and a theatre, where -festivals in honor of Augustus were celebrated every fifth year. He -had repaired and transformed the temple, but also profaned it; and -over the principal gate of the holy place one saw the glitter of the -golden eagle of Rome and of Jupiter, a double insult to religion and -liberty. Jerusalem was likely to become a Roman city; her part was on -the point of being played out; her priesthood was expiring, she began -to cast off its insignia, and one saw the line gradually disappear -which separated her from the cities of paganism. - -Beside, Saul found her torn in pieces by religious sects which had in -these latter times fastened to the body of Judaism, as parasitical -plants stick to the trunk of an old tree. Religious opinion was -divided between the Pharisees and the Sadducees. I speak not of the -Herodians, for in the order of ideas flatteries are not taken into -account, for this reason--because to flatter is not to dogmatize. -Sadduceeism, a sort of Jewish Protestantism, rejected all tradition; -would admit of nothing but the text of the Pentateuch; denied an -after-life because it was not found formally enough inculcated by -Moses, and consequently endeavored to make this present one as -comfortable as possible. It was Epicureanism under the mask of -religion. Pharisaism, on the contrary, was the double reaction both in -religion and nationality. In order to enhance the law, it multiplied -practices and rites; in order to save the dogma, it burdened it with -an oral tradition, to serve as a commentary, an interpreter, and a -supplement to the law. Under the name of Mishna, this tradition -proceeded, according to her account, from secret instructions of Moses -himself, and composed a kind of sacred science, of which the doctors -only possessed the key. - -The sect of the Pharisees was, on the other hand, the great political -as well as doctrinal power of the nation. The people venerated them, -the inces [sic] treated them with regard, and Josephus informs us that -Alexander Jannacus, being at the point of death, spoke of them to his -wife in the following manner: "Allow the Pharisees a greater liberty -than usual; for they," he told her, "would, for the favor conferred on -them, reconcile the nation to her interest; that they had a powerful -influence over the Jews, and were in {537} a capacity to prejudice -those they hated and serve those they loved." [Footnote 111] - - [Footnote 111: "Antiq.," liv. xili. eh, xv. p. 565.] - -The Young Saul enrolled himself with the Pharisees: among them, -however, he chose his school. Being sensible of the fact that foreign -ideas were insinuating themselves into the bosom of Judaism, some -choice minds were at this epoch in search of I know not what -compromise between Moses's doctrine and philosophy, in which -compromise the two elements might be fused together, and thus form a -religion at the same time rational and mystic. This fusion is one of -the signs by which this period is distinguished. Uneasy and attentive, -every mind was laboring under the want of a universality and unity of -belief, whose painful child-birth, twenty times miscarried, was yet -submitted to without relaxation. One hundred and fifty years before -the epoch we are now in, Aristobulus had attempted this eclecticism, -and Philo was soon after to reduce it to system in Alexandria and give -it a widely spread popularity in Egypt. Another man, however, took -upon himself the business of planting it in the very heart of -Palestine. - -This man was the famous rabbi Gamaliel, the beloved teacher of Saint -Paul. It must be admitted that no man could be better qualified to -render it acceptable than he was, on account of his position and -character. He was the grandson of Doctor Hillel, whose science as well -as his consideration and holiness he had inherited. He was the oracle -of his time, and "on his death," the Talmud says, "the light of the -law was extinguished in Israel." The Talmudists add that he had been -vested with the title of _Nasi_, or chief of the council, and the -Gospel agrees with the Jewish authors, recognizing in him a just man, -wise, moderate, impartial, an enemy to violence, and ruling the -different parties by a moral greatness, which secured to him the -confidence of all and the unanimity of their regards. He was the first -who caused the text of the Bible to be read in Greek at Jerusalem. -This innovation was of itself an immense progress, as it removed that -barrier which Pharisaism had raised between the _Hellenist_ and the -_Judaizing_ Jews. He dreamed not, however, of transforming Moses into -a Socrates. He gave up nothing of pure Judaism. But, having a thorough -knowledge of the Greek, Oriental and Egyptian philosophies, he held -them all in check; he took out of each of them what could be -reconciled with the law of God, enriched with it the inheritance of -tradition, and boldly applying to ideas that generous and -accommodating toleration which he made use of in social life, he -allowed them entrance into the Synagogue. [Footnote 112] - - [Footnote 112: Niemeyer, "Characteristik der Bibel," p. 638.] - -Gamaliel, it seems, kept in Jerusalem what certain authors call an -academy. It was frequented, for men of such a character possess a -great power of attraction. Young Israelites brought to his feet, and -placed at his disposal, for the service of his and their ideas, the -intemperate zeal and warm convictions of their age--Christian -tradition acquaints us with the names of some of them; among others, -of Stephen and Barnabas, whom we shall soon see disciples of a greater -master. [Footnote 113] But the most ardent of them all was, without -contradiction, the young Saul of Tarsus. Proud, fiery, enthusiastic, -he seems to have been passionately fond of the Pharisaism of Gamaliel, -but mixing with the zeal a violent asperity which, certainly, he had -not from his master. No man could be more attached, than he was, to -the ancient traditions; it is himself who says so, adding that his -proficiency in the interpretation of the law placed him at the head of -the men of his time. [Footnote 114] - - [Footnote 113: Cornel. a Lapide, in Act. v. 34.] - - [Footnote 140: See Epist. to the Galatians, i. 14.] - -These Jewish as well as these Greek studies were not lost time in the -education of the apostle. They {538} made Saul sensible of the -pressing need of a revealer which the world was then laboring under; -and they caused those groanings to reach his ears from all parts, -which he himself called the groaning of creation in childbed of her -redeemer. They did also reveal to him, seeing the inability of sects -for it, that redemption could not be the work of man, and they left in -his mind that haughty contempt of human wisdom, which would be -despair, if God had not come to reveal a better one possessing the -promises both of this world and of the next. - -Now, whilst young Saul and the Jewish rabbins were agitating these -questions in the dust of schools and synagogue, our Lord Jesus Christ -was giving the solution of them in his own life and by his death. His -death was even more fruitful than his life, and when the Pharisees -believed they had put an end to his doctrine, as they had to his life, -it was a great surprise to them to see twelve fishermen, wholly -unknown the day before, suddenly appear, preaching that the Son of God -had risen from the dead, that they had seen him gloriously ascending -into heaven, and that, in order to give testimony of it to the world, -they were ready and would be happy to die. Their miracles, their -doctrine, the conversions which they wrought by multitudes, their -baptism conferred on thousands of disciples, the enthusiasm of some, -the perplexity of others, the hatred of many, stirred up the -politicians and the magistrates. The great council met under these -circumstances. It seems that there was held in it a decisive -deliberation, in which the destinies of Christianity were solemnly -discussed. The question was to know, whether the new religion should -be drowned in blood, or whether it should be allowed the liberty and -time of dying by a natural death. It did not occur to any one's -thought that it could live; and much less that it could be true: and -it is remarkable that not a word was said on the doctrinal question, -the most important of all! Thus some of them advised to put those men -to death, others feared lest violence should excite a sedition, and -there was division of counsel in the assembly, when Gamaliel rose up -in it. Silence followed, the Scripture relates, because he was the -sage of the nation. He made no speech. He cited only the names of some -seditious men very well known in the city, the false prophet Theodas, -and Judas of Galilee, who, after a little noise, had left no trace -behind them. Hence he concluded that the new religion would have the -same fortune if it was from man, and that if it was, on the contrary, -the work of God, it would prove invincible against all human efforts. -His advice appeared for a moment to prevail, on account of its wisdom; -and the apostles, confiding in the future, readily accepted the -challenge. - -God had other designs in regard to his church, and it was not peace -but war that he had come to bring with him. Wisdom had decided; -passion executed. After reciting the advice of Gamaliel, the Scripture -adds that, before being dismissed, the Apostles were scourged, and -that "they went from the presence of the council rejoicing that they -were accounted worthy to suffer reproach for the name of Jesus." The -signal had thus been given, and a pure victim was about to open the -era of the martyrs. - -We have thus far related only the human history of St. Paul. We now -begin to enter into his supernatural and divine history. - -Saul had put himself at the head of those who persecuted the -Christians. Hence it is that the Scripture represents him to us as -laying everything waste, like a rapacious wolf, spreading -consternation amidst the flock. His very name was terror to the newly -born church; above all the others, however, one Christian roused his -jealous rancor. - -It was a young man whose name I have already mentioned, and who is -believed to have been of the same {539} country with Saul, and his -relative. [Footnote 115] He was called Stephanos, which we have -modified into Stephen. - - [Footnote 115: Corn. a Lapide, in Act. Apost. vi. 18.] - -Stephen, as everything indicates, was a Greek, and of the number of -those who were then called Hellenistic Jews. In all probability, he -belonged to that synagogue of Cilicians of which Saul, his friend and -countryman, must likewise have been a member. Some of the ancients -have even believed that he also belonged to the school of Gamaliel; -and this is confirmed by the old tradition, which makes the remains of -the great rabbin and those of the first martyr rest in the same grave. -[Footnote 116] All these relations between Stephen and Saul, who -persecuted him, are worthy of being taken into account. They throw a -great light over those events, and define with precision the -circumstances of which they give the key. - - [Footnote 116: "Inventio Corporis S. Stephani, Visio S. Luciani," - viii. te ix.] - -The same tradition has taken a pleasure in surrounding the young -neophyte with every gift and accomplishment that could make him a most -precious victim. The memory which the fathers have preserved of -Stephen is that of a youth of rare beauty, in the flower of his age, -endowed with wonderful eloquence, and with a candor of soul yet more -charming. - -"He was a virgin," St. Augustine says of him, "and this purity of -heart reflecting upon his features imparted to his face an angelic -expression." St. John Damascene speaks in the same strain of that -excellent nature which "made the light of grace shine with more -brilliant lustre." Such souls are very near to Christianity. Stephen -had become a Christian. St. Epiphanius affirms that he was such during -the life of Jesus Christ, and that he was one of the seventy-two -disciples. [Footnote 117] St. Augustine doubts of it. [Footnote 118] - - [Footnote 117: "Haer." 21.] - - [Footnote 118: Sermo xciv. "De Diversis."] - -What we are informed of in the Book of the Acts concerning this point -is, that moved by "a murmuring of the Greeks against the Hebrews for -that their widows were neglected in the daily ministration," the -apostles caused seven men of that nation to be chosen, whom they -"appointed over that business." The first named (and perhaps the most -preëminent) among them was Stephen, characterized by the inspired -historian as "a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost." - -This conversion raised storms in the bosom of the synagogue; and as -St. Paul, according to his own account, occupied a preëminent rank -among the young men of that time, it was easy for him no doubt to -breathe his own burning flame into them. - -Besides, everything announced a violent crisis, and the whole city -experienced that agitation and anxiety which, in troubled times, -precede and portend a near commotion and a desperate struggle. As the -disciples had not yet been outlawed, as they did not even have any -peculiar name which distinguished them from the rest of the people, -and their religious belief enjoyed as yet its freedom, they joined -everywhere the Jewish assemblies, instilled there their doctrine, -taught even in the temple, where they went to pray like the rest. But -a deep-rooted dissension, pregnant with tempests, was growing in the -heart of every synagogue. These were most numerous at Jerusalem, as it -is said that well-nigh five hundred different ones were there in -existence, each people possessing their own, about in the same manner -as now in the city of Rome every Catholic nation possesses her proper -church, for her own use, and in her own name. The synagogue of the -Cilicians, is expressly mentioned in the holy Scripture and signalized -as one of the most disturbed, and most opposed to the new sect. -[Footnote 119] Interpreters are of opinion that it was there Saul and -the deacon Stephen met together in the midst of other Asiatic Jews, -their countrymen, {540} hot-headed and subtle, as are all of that -country. [Footnote 120] They were of the same age, according to -computations made for the purpose, and of equal learning; but -Stephen's eloquence had no rival! It was, the Acts say, something at -once sweet and powerful, that attracted by its grace, and bore away -the soul by its force. One felt in it a higher spirit, it is said, and -it was in vain that disputants from all the synagogues arose against -Christ and his faith; none could resist that word, "full of wisdom and -of the Holy Ghost." Some Greek copies add that he "reprehended the -Jews with such an assurance that it was impossible not to see the -truths which he announced." - - [Footnote 119: Act. vi. 9] - - [Footnote 120: Dom Calmet, "Comm. sur les Actes," vi. 9.] - -His words gave displeasure on account of this freedom; as they could -not refute him they soon resolved to calumniate him, waiting for a -pretext to get rid of him. Witnesses were found; they are found -everywhere. Stephen had preached that a more perfect worship was about -to take the place of the worship of Moses, that the glory and the -reign of the temple were soon to have an end, and that a better -Jerusalem of larger destinies, was on the point of being built. It was -but too easy to turn these words from their spiritual meaning, and -convert them into threats against the city and the people. A purely -moral and peaceful revolution was a thing, on the other hand, so -entirely novel in the history of the world, that one would have -naturally persisted in confounding it with a political and civil -revolution. It was this gross and voluntary mistake that had furnished -the text to the pretended lawsuit against our Lord Jesus Christ; it -was equally the foundation of that which his disciples have been -subjected to. To these accusations they took care to add that Stephen -intended to change the ancient traditions, which thing in the eyes of -the Pharisees was decisive. - -The young deacon was therefore brought before the high-priest, that -same Caiaphas by whom Jesus had suffered. When the accusers had been -heard, the pontiff requested Stephen to answer them: "Are these things -so?" - -He rose up, and as soon as he could be seen, the book of the Acts -observes, all the eyes in the assembly were fixed on him. Did he have -already a glimpse of the martyr's crown, and did this vision -transfigure him in advance? I know not, but it is said that his face -appeared to their eyes as the face of on angel. "It was," says St. -Hilary of Aries, "the flame of his heart overspreading itself upon his -forehead; the candor of his soul was reflected on his features in a -perfect beauty; and the Holy Ghost residing in Stephen's heart threw -upon his face a jet of supernatural light." - -The speech of Stephen was simple, but peremptory. To those who charged -him with breaking off from the religion of his fathers, he opposed at -the very beginning a long profession of faith from the books of Moses. -But the question relating to the temple, whose fall he had foretold, -was more serious. He viewed it firmly. He did not retract himself; but -presently rising from the region of facts to that of superior -principles which facts obey, he began to demonstrate that a material -temple is nowise necessary to the honor of God. As a proof of this he -pointed back to the times in which the patriarchs made their prayers -on the top of the high places; when the Lord manifested his presence -in a flame of fire in a bush; and when the Hebrew people carried -through the desert the tabernacle, which was the sanctuary and the -altar at the same time. When he had come to the time of the first -temple he concluded, and his discourse suddenly assumed the character -of a vivid and eloquent exaltation. Elevating himself from the -imperfection of a national worship to the ideal of a universal and -spiritual one, which would {541} have its sanctuary chiefly within -man's soul, he said: "Yet the Most High dwelleth not in houses made by -hands, as the prophet saith: 'Heaven is my throne, and the earth my -footstool; what house will you build me, saith the Lord, or what is -the place of my resting? Hath not my hand made all these things?" - -Such a harangue was a manifesto. He did not abolish every temple, nor -every worship, as some people are pleased to insinuate; but he erased -at a single stroke the exclusive privilege of the temple of Jerusalem, -he extended it's boundaries, and for the old Jewish monopoly -substituted the catholicity of a new church, as large as the world. - -The Jews understood him too well. They were already trembling with -rage against him, when, from the accused becoming the accuser, Stephen -charged them with the murder of the prophets, and principally with -that of the God, our Saviour, whom they had crucified. "You have -received the law by the disposition of angels," he said to them, "and -have not kept it." On hearing these words, their rage, incapable of -longer restraint, burst out; "they were cut to the heart, and they -gnashed with their teeth at him," as the Acts relate. Stephen felt -that his last hour was at hand. - -The Holy Ghost filled him as it were with a holy rapture. He looked -steadfastly to heaven, where the glory of God began to shine on him, -and there, in the midst of that glory, recognizing and saluting Jesus -Christ, who extended his hand to him, "Behold," he exclaimed, "I see -the heavens opened, the Son of Man standing on the right hand of God." -These words sealed his doom. On hearing him, the Jews, shaking with -horror, "cried out with a loud voice, stopped their ears, and with one -accord ran violently upon him," as wild beasts do on their prey. - -No judgment was passed on him. A text in the book of Deuteronomy -allowed any one to be put to death, who enticed the people into -idolatry. This summary justice sometimes tolerated by the Roman -pro-consul, was termed the _judgment of zeal_. To apply this -_judgment_ to the young deacon, was found more convenient than to go -through the formalities of a regular sentence; and they seized him to -put him to death. By a last relic of Pharisaism, however, they took -care to observe the practices of the law, even in such an arbitrary -and cruel deed. To the end, therefore, that the holy city should not -be stained with blood, the innocent victim was "cast forth without" -the walls of Jerusalem. - -They went out by the northern gate along that side which leads to -country of Kedar. At the west of the valley crossed by the Kedron, on -a desolate places and at the right of the distant mountains of Galaad, -the crowd stopped. The witnesses began by raising their hands over the -head of Stephen, which was the rite of devoting a victim to death; -then stones innumerable, as thick as hail, fell upon him. The -atrocious deed went on with unrelenting fury, and the body of the -heroic martyr was now noting but a wound; but he held his eyes -immovably fixed on that celestial vision, and as life was gradually -receding from his breast, he was ever "invoking and saying, Lord -Jesus, receive my spirit!" - -The Acts of the Apostles conclude this narrative, with giving us the -name of the person who was the most noted accomplice in this murder: -"_Saulus autem erat consentiens neci ejus_." - -St. Luke, the disciple of St. Paul, says nothing further concerning -his master in this business. But St. Paul came afterward, who, humbly -giving a public testimony of his cruel error, denounced himself as the -instigator of that iniquity. "When the blood of Stephen was shed," he -said one day to the Jews, "I was the first, and over the others," -_Super ad stabam_. [Footnote 121] It is the sense of the Greek text. -Had {542} he for such a thing a mandate of the Sanhedrim, as we shall -soon see him vested with full powers against the brethren of Damascus? -Everything would make one believe so. The fathers and commentators -say, it was for this reason that he kept the garments of those men of -blood: and they, in fact, show us those murderers as going the one -after the other, deferentially to lay their garments at the feet of -Saul, as an homage, so to speak, paid to him, from whom they had the -power and the command to strike. - - [Footnote 121: Act. xxii. 20.] - -Stephen saw him, and revenged himself in his way--the divine way. At -the point of death, covered with blood, he lowered his eyes to the -earth for the last time, and sadly resting them on his persecutors, -perhaps he saw through their impious crowd one of them apart, more -furious than the rest. He was moved to compassion for his soul; and -then it was that "falling on his knees, he cried with a loud voice," -not of anger, but of grace, and said: "Lord, lay not this sin to their -charge." He rose no more, and so saying, Stephen "fell asleep in the -Lord." - -He could sleep in peace, indeed, for he had just made a magnificent -conquest. "If Stephen had not prayed," St. Augustine says, "the church -had not won St Paul; the martyr fell, the Apostle rose." [Footnote -122] These substitutions are the most mysterious secrets of -Providence. By an admirable law of a bond _in solido_, of fraternity -and of love, God has willed that we, like himself, can, at the price -of a little blood, or even of some tears, pay the ransom of souls, and -secure to them a future for which they are indebted to us. He has -permitted that the life and the death of Christians, like those of -their Master, should be a redemption, completing the great redemption -of Calvary, according to the saying of St. Paul himself. Coloss. i. 24 - - [Footnote 122: St. Aug. Sermo 1. "De Sanctis."] - -It was meant that this should be the first apostleship of all, and the -most fruitful. In the midst of scaffolds, ever full of victims, and -the catacombs which incessantly recruited new children of God, -Tertullian proclaimed that "the blood of the martyrs was a seed of -Christians." He gave thus form to a beautiful law, which the blood of -Stephen, after the blood of God himself, had before inaugurated. The -soul of Saul, therefore, was that day a conquered soul. It is in vain -that on the road to Damascus he struggles and "kicks against the -goad:" he is under the yoke of God; he carries a mark of blood on him -which points him out, and which saves him; and Jesus, whenever he -will, has only to show himself to throw him down and make him obey. -This is admirable. Moses had written in the book of Leviticus, "The -priest shall command him that is to be purified to offer for himself -two living sparrows which it is lawful to eat, . . . . and he shall -command one of the sparrows to be immolated, . . . . but the other -that is alive he shall dip . . . . in the blood of the sparrow that is -immolated; . . . . and he shall let go the living sparrow, that it may -fly into the field." (Levit xiv. 4-7.) It was according to this rite -that the transaction was accomplished. Stephen had been the chosen -victim; and when Saul had covered himself with his redeeming blood, -that blood set him free: he had no more to do but to spread his wings, -and to start on his flight. - ------- - -{543} - - -From Chambers's Journal - -THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE. - - -Our oldest poet, and almost our best, unites in one sweet song the -cuckoo and the nightingale--the former to be chidden, and spoken of -despitefully; the latter to be made the theme of fervent praise, as -the singer and harbinger of love. Taken altogether, the cuckoo, in -fact, is far from being an attractive bird. Somehow, it has in all -countries been regarded as a symbol of matrimonial infidelity, -probably because it introduces itself into and defiles the nests of -other, birds. Shakespeare, who loved to make eternal the fancies and -prejudices of mankind, exclaims: - - "Cuckoo! cuckoo! O word of fear! - Unpleasing to a married ear!" - -Loved or hated, however, it is a creature about which we know less -than any other winged animal. It comes and goes in mystery, no one -being able to decide what is its original country, how far it extends -its travels, to what peculiarity in its structure or constitution it -owes its restless propensity, or why, almost as soon as born, it -becomes a sort of feathered Cain, murdering its foster-brethren, and, -according to some, devouring the very dam that fed it. Wide, indeed, -are its wanderings. It is heard on the banks of the Niger and the -Senegal in the heart of Africa; it is familiar to the dwellers on the -Obi and the Irtish; it flies screaming forth its harsh dissyllables -over the Baltic surge; it repeats them untiringly in the perfumed air -of Andalusia and Granada, among the ruins of the Alhambra and the -Generaliffe; it startles the woodman in the forests of France; it -amuses the school-boy in the green vales of Kent, of Gloucestershire, -and of Devonshire. - -Our associations with the cuckoo are, in some cases, pleasant; it -comes to us with the first of those peregrinating birds that usher in -the summer; its cry is redolent of sunshine, of the scent of -primroses, of lindens, of oaks, and elms, of solitary pathways, of the -lilied banks of streams. Occasionally, we know not why, it flies early -in the morning over the skirts of great cities, as if to invite their -inmates to shake off drowsiness, and look forth upon the loveliness of -the young day. Not many weeks ago, we heard it in London, just as the -clouds were parting in the east to make way for the first beams of -dawn. Many summers back, we heard the self-same notes echoing among -the pinnacles of the Alps, before the morning-star had faded from -behind the Jungfrau. The cuckoo is a sort of familiar chronicler, that -gathers up the events of our lives, and brings them to our memory by -his well-known voice. As he shouts over our heads, we call to mind the -many summers the sweet scents of which we have inhaled, the rambles we -have taken in the woods, our idolatry of nature, our innocent -pleasures. - -The cuckoo and the nightingale constitute the opposite poles of the -ornithological world; one the representative of eternal monotony, the -other of infinite variety. Among men, there are cuckoos and -nightingales--individuals whose ideas are few, who think invariably -after the same pattern, who repeat day after day the formulas of the -nursery and the school-room, who, from their swaddling-bands to their -shrouds, never break away from the social catechism dinned into them -at the outset; while there are others who seem, at least in their -range of thought, to know no limit but that of creation, to generate -fresh swarms of ideas every moment, now to hover among the nebulas on -the extreme verge of the {544} universe, and now to nestle in the -chalice of the violet, where even Ariel could scarcely find room for -the tip of his pinion. Naturalists may be fanciful, like poets; and if -this liberty be ever allowable, it is surely so when they speak of the -nightingale. The organization of this winged miracle, whose whole -weight does not exceed an ounce, may in truth be looked upon as one of -the most remarkable in the whole scale of animal life. The roar of the -gorilla can, it is said, be heard a full mile. But the gorilla is a -colossus, equalling in stature one of the sons of Anak; while -Philomela, not exceeding in bulk the forejoint of the monster's thumb, -is able at night, when all the woods are still, to cause the liquid -melody of her notes to be heard at an equal distance. Consider the -organ, measure the length of country, and the ecstacy of the listening -ear, and you will perhaps acknowledge that there are few phenomena -familiar to our experience more astonishing than this. We have stood -at midnight on a mountain in the south of France, and at a distance -quite as great, we think, as that mentioned above, have heard the -notes of the songstress of darkness borne up to us, on the breeze from -the depths of an unwooded valley. Faintly and gently they came through -the hushed air, but there could be no mistake about their identity; no -other mortal mixture of earth's mould than her throat could have given -forth such sounds, crisp, clear, long-drawn, melancholy, as if she -were still lamenting the sad hap that overtook her amid die solitudes -of Hellas. The French, down even to the peasants, love the -nightingale; and wild country girls, who in their whole lives never -read a page of poetry, will sit out half the night on a hillside to -listen to their favorite bird. A priest once invited us to pass a week -with him in his village _presbytère_, and in enumerating the -inducements, mentioned first that there were nightingales in the -neighborhood. His home was in the valley of Mortagne, in the Bocages -of Normandy, where these birds are in fact as plentiful as sparrows. - -In Italy, especially in Tuscany and the Venetian states, the -nightingale trills her notes with more than ordinary beauty. The great -Roman naturalist who perished amid the lava-floods of Vesuvius, often, -we may be sure, enjoyed her song from his nephew's garden in this part -of the peninsula. No description of the wonders she achieves can -approach the one he has left us for truth or eloquence, and it was -written in all likelihood by the light of some antique lamp between -the prolonged gushes of her music. Unhappily, it is true, as he says, -that the nightingale's song can only be heard in perfection during -fifteen out of the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. The -female bird is then sitting in her nest, imparting vital heat to the -musicians of future years; and her lover, fully impressed with the -importance of her duty, intoxicates her with his voice, to dispel the -tedium of confinement. In spite of natural history, however, poetry -transfers to the mute female the singing powers of her lord: - - "Nightly she sings from yon, pomegranate-tree." - -Pliny, too, after stating the fact, that it is the male that sings, -immediately avails himself of the aid supplied by metonymy, and -changes the sex of the musician. Let us take his description, as -honest Philemon Holland supplies it in the language of Elizabeth's -time: "Is it not a wonder," he says, "that so loud and clear a voice -should come from so little a body? Is it not as strange that she -should hold her breath so long, and continue with it as she doth? -Moreover, she alone in her song keepeth time and measure truly; she -riseth and falleth in her note just with the rules of music and -perfect harmonic: for one while in one entire breath she draweth out -her tune at length treatable; another while she quavereth, and goeth -away as fast in her running points; sometimes she maketh stops and -short cuts in her notes, another time she gathereth in {545} her -breath and singeth descant between the plain song; she fetcheth her -breath again, and then you shall have her in her catches and -divisions; anon, all on a sudden, before a man would think it, she -drowneth her voice, that one can scarce hear her; now and then she -seemeth to record to herself; and then she breaketh out to sing -voluntarie. In some she varieth and altereth her voice to all keys; -one while full of her larges, longs, briefs, semibriefs, and minims; -another while in her crotchets, quavers, semiquavers, and double -semiquavers, for at one time you shall hear her voice full and loud, -another time as low; and anon shrill and on high: thick and short when -she list; drawn out at leisure again when she is disposed; and then -(if she be so pleased) she riseth and mounteth up aloft, as it were -with a wind-organ. Thus she altereth from one to another, and singeth -all parts, the treble, the meane, and the base. To conclude; there is -not a pipe or instrument again in the world (devised with all the art -and cunning of man so exquisitely as possibly might be) that can -afford more music than this pretty bird doth out of that little throat -of hers." - -We have persons here in England who earn their livelihood by catching -nightingales. It is the same in most other countries. Near Cairo, -there is, or used to be, a pretty grove of mingled mimosas, palms, and -sycamores, where the netters of nightingales station themselves at -night, in the proper season, to take the bird when in full song. -According to their report, which there is no reason to discredit, the -male bird becomes so intoxicated by the scented air, by love, and by -his own music, that the cap-net, fixed at at the summit of a long -reed, may be raised and closed about him before he is sensible of his -danger. From the free woods he is then transferred to a cage, where in -nine cases out of ten, he dies of nostalgia. Nor is this all. The -female bird, accustomed not only to be cheered by his song, but -likewise fed by his industry, pines and perishes with all her brood. -The wren, the swallow, the titlark intermit the business of -incubation, and leave their nests for a minute or a minute and a half -to help themselves while they are sitting, or to assist the male in -feeding the young after the eggs are hatched: but the female -nightingale used, like an eastern sultana, to be provided for entirely -by her lord, feels her utter helplessness when she is deserted, and -leaning her little head and neck over the edge of the nest, with her -eyes fixed in the direction in which he used to come, dies in that -attitude of expectancy. The reason is, that the instinct of pairing, -which is strong in many other birds, reaches its culminating point in -the nightingale--the same males and females keeping together for years -without ever seeking other mates. - -The cuckoo, as we have said, offers the most striking contrast in the -development of its instincts. It does not pair at all, and as there -are more males than females, we may often see two or three of the -former sex following one of the latter, and fighting for her favors. -As the parents care not for one another, neither do they care for -their young. It was long supposed that the cuckoo laid only one egg in -the season; but this has been found to be an error, for though they -leave no more than one egg in one nest--we mean generally--they have -been observed to make deposits in various nests, and then fly away to -a distant part of the country, or even to other lands. In the female -cuckoo, therefore, the maternal instinct is entirely wanting, which, -though it acts in obedience to an imperious law of nature, makes it a -hateful bird. As soon as it quits the shell, it begins to exhibit its -odious qualities. When the cuckoo's egg is placed in the nest of the -hedge-sparrow, for example, the deluded mother perceives no difference -between the alien production and her own. She sits, therefore, on what -she finds, and having no idea of numbers, of course never thinks of -counting the eggs. {546} When hatching-time arrives, however, she is -made the witness of an extraordinary scene. The villainous young -cuckoo, which often escapes from the shell a whole day before the -others, immediately begins to clear the nest by pitching out the -unhatched eggs; or if the young ones have made their appearance, forth -they are thrown in like manner. Nature has fabricated the little -monster with a view to this ungrateful proceeding, for in its back -there is a hollow depression, in which egg or chick may be placed -while he is rising to shunt it over the battlements. The process is -extremely curious: the young assassin, putting shoulder and elbow to -the work, keeps continually thrusting against his victim till he gets -it on his back; he then rises, and placing his back aslant, tumbles it -out into empty space. This done, and finding that he has all the -dwelling to himself, he subsides quietly into his place, and waits -with ever-open bill for the dole which the foolish sparrow wears -itself almost to death in providing for the faithless wretch. When the -nest happens to be situated in a high hedge, you may often see the -young sparrows spiked alive on the thorns, or the eggs still -palpitating with living birds lying unbroken on the soft grass below. -This inspires naturalists with no pity; they observe that neither the -eggs nor the young birds are thrown away, since various reptiles that -feed on such substances make a comfortable meal of what is thus placed -within their reach. - -As the cuckoo does nothing in life but eat, scream, and lay eggs for -other birds to hatch, it needs no education, and receives none. On the -other hand, the nightingale, having to perform the highest functions -allotted to the class _aves_, requires much training and discipline, -study and preparation. The young nightingale does not sing by mere -instinct. If taken from the nest soon after it is hatched, and brought -up among inferior creatures, it is incapable of performing its lofty -mission, and deals in vulgar twittering like them; just as a baby, if -removed from the society of speech-gifted mortals, and entrusted to -the care of dumb persons, will lack that divine quality of expressing -ideas which distinguishes man from the brute. The nightingale needs -and receives a classical education. When the grass is dewy--when the -leaves are green and fresh--when the soft breath of the morning steals -over the woods like incense, the old bird takes forth the young ones, -before it is quite light, and placing them on some bough, with strict -injunctions to listen, goes a little way off, and begins his song. In -this he commences with the easier notes, and is careful to keep the -whole in a comparatively narrow compass. He then pauses to watch the -result of his first instructions. After a brief delay, during which -they are turning over the notes in their minds, the young ones take up -the lay one by one, and go through it, as our neighbors say, _tant -bien que mal_. The teacher watches their efforts with attention; -applauds them when right; chides them when they have done amiss; and -goes on day by day reïterating his lessons till he considers his -pupils quite equal to the high duties they have to perform. Mankind, -of course, imagine that those duties consist in soothing their ears, -and driving away melancholy. But _apropos_ of the performances of -another bird, our philosophic poet inquires: - - "Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings?" - -And replies: - - "Joy tunes his voice, joy animates his wings." - -So with the nightingale-- - - "Loves of his own and raptures swell the note." - -Some one speaking of our own species, says: - - "We think, we toil, we war, we rove. - And all we ask is--woman's love." - -It is to win the love of Philomela that the male nightingale studies, -watches, and pours forth his soul in song. He had much rather that men -did not listen; he is a shy, solitary, and timid bird, and takes his -love away into {547} the forests, where, undisturbed by the sounds of -vulgar life, he ravishes her ears with music. It is a question much -discussed by poets and naturalists, whether the nightingale's song be -joyous or melancholy. It probably derives its character from the frame -of mind in which the listener happens to be--to the joyous it is -mirthful, to the sorrowful it is sad--but in its real nature it is -what Milton suggests-- - - "She all night long her amorous descant sung." - -Still it must be owned that they who discover melancholy in her long, -low, meltingly sweet notes, seem to approach nearer the truth than -they who describe her as a merry bird. It is superstition, perhaps, -that attributes to her the strange philosophy which makes anguish the -well-spring of pleasure. When desirous, it is said, of reaching the -sublimest heights of song, she leans her breast against a thorn, in -order that the sense of pain may tone down her impetuous rapture into -sympathy with human sorrow. - -Another strange notion is, that the nightingale fixes her eyes-- - - "Her bright, bright eyes; her eyes both bright and full"-- - -on some particular star, from which she never withdraws them till her -song is concluded, unless she be alarmed by the approach of some -footstep, or other sound indicative of danger. We remember once, in -Kent, going forth to spend a night in the fields to enjoy the strange -delight imparted by the nightingale's notes. We placed ourselves on a -little eminence overlooking a valley, covered at intervals by -scattered woods. It was the dead watch and middle of the night; -silence the most absolute brooded over the earth. We stood still in -high expectation. Presently, one lordly nightingale flung forth at no -great distance from the summit of a lofty tree his music on the night. -The lay was not protracted, but a rich, short, defiant burst of -melody; he then, like the Roman orator, paused for a reply. The reply -came, not close at hand, but, as it seemed, from some copse or thicket -far down in the valley. If one might presume to judge on the spur of -the moment, the second songster did really outdo the first. The notes -came forth bubbling, gushing, quivering, palpitating, as it were, with -soul, for nothing material ever resembled it. He went over a broad -area of song, with a sort of wilderness of melody; his notes followed -each other so rapidly, high, low, linked, broken--now sweeping away -like a torrent, now sinking till it sounded like the scarcely audible -murmur of a distant bee. He then stopped abruptly, confident that he -had given his rival something to reflect upon. We now waited to hear -that rival's answer, but he appeared to consider himself defeated, and -remained silent. Another champion now stepped forward, and took up the -challenge. He must surely have been the prince of his race. From a -tree on the slope of a height, not far to the right of our position, -he gave us a new specimen of the poetry of his race. The former two, -evidently younger and more inexperienced, had been in a hurry. He took -up his parable at leisure, beginning with a few light flourishes by -way of preface, after which he plunged into his epic, seeming to carry -on the subject from the epoch of Deucalion and Pyrrha, down to that -moment, displaying all the resources of art, and presenting us with -every form into which music could be moulded. What he might have -achieved at last, or to what pitch he might have raised our ecstasy, -must remain a mystery, for before he had concluded his song, a -thundering railway train, belching forth fire and smoke as it -advanced, seemed to be on the very point of annihilating the -songsters; so they all took to flight, or at least remained -obstinately silent. We waited hour after hour, now pacing in one -direction, now in another; stopping short, pausing in our talk, -listening till the streaky dawn, climbing slowly up the eastern hills, -revealed to us the inutility of further hope. - -{548} - -The first time we heard the nightingale was from the deck of a vessel -in the Avon, near Lee Woods. It was a starlight night; we were leaning -on the bulwarks, speculating on the reception we were to meet with in -England--in which we had that day arrived for the first time. As we -were chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, from an indenture in -the woods, called, as we have since learned, Nightingale Valley, there -burst forth at once a flood of sound, the strangest, the sweetest, the -most intoxicating we had ever heard--it must be, it was the voice of -the nightingale--- - - To the land of my fathers that welcomed me back. - -Years not a few have rolled by since then, but we remember as -distinctly as if it were yesternight the pleasure of that exquisite -surprise. We heard the nightingale in England before the cuckoo--a -circumstance which, according to Chaucer, should portend good-luck; -and so it did--good-luck and happy days. - -Perhaps much of the pleasure tasted in such cases is derived from the -time of year--for both the cuckoo and the nightingale belong to the -spring--when the air is full of balm, when the foliage is thick, when -the grass is green and young--and when, especially in the morning, -delicate odors ascend from the earth, which produce a wonderful effect -upon the animal spirits. Through these scents, the cry of one bird and -the song of the other invariably come to us: the one flitting at early -dawn over the summits of woods, the other in loneliest covert hid, -making night lovely, and smoothing the raven down of darkness till it -smiles. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -HYMN. - - Spirit of God, thyself the Lord, - Out of the depths I call on thee. - Above, I view thy gleaming sword. - Around, thy works of love I see. - - Spirit of God, that hovering high - Didst watch the primal waters roll, - Brood o'er my heart, and verify - The turbid chaos of my soul! - - Spirit of God, oh! bid me fear, - That blessed fear thy love can calm; - Transfix me with thy shining spear - And heal me with thy holy balm! - - Spirit of God, oh! fill my breast, - And sear me with the sign of heaven. - The glorious brand of sin confessed, - The glorious seal of sin forgiven. - -F.A.R. - ------- - -{549} - - -From the Irish Industrial Magazine - -THE INDUSTRIAL ARTS OF OUR ANCESTORS. - -BY M. HAVERTY, ESQ. - - -That the early inhabitants of Ireland possessed sundry kinds of -manufacture is a point that can scarcely be disputed; for, besides -frequent passages in ancient and authentic historical documents -referring to the matter, we have satisfactory evidence in those -specimens of the manufactured articles themselves which have been -preserved to the present day, and which bear testimony to the skill -and industry that produced them. - -A visit to the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy must convince us of -the excellent workmanship of the ancient Irish bronze swords, and -other weapons, and of certain ancient gold ornaments--both bronze and -gold articles belonging to a date anterior to the introduction of -Christianity into Ireland. From the early Christian ages we have -received many of the old ecclesiastical ornaments that have been -preserved; and some of them exhibit that peculiar and exquisite kind -of interlaced ornamentation which began at a remote period to be known -as _opus Hibernicum_, or the Irish style. - -We know that the ancient Irish were skilled in the manufacture of -their musical instruments, as well as in the use of them; and in the -preparation of parchment, as well as in the almost unrivalled beauty -of penmanship of which that parchment has preserved so many specimens. -Then we must return to much more ancient times for the manufacture of -gold and silver goblets, and, above all, for those beautiful fibulae, -or brooches, which have afforded models for some of the most graceful -and costly articles of female decoration at the present day. We may -very naturally conclude that these charming fibular were not employed -to hold together mantles of the coarsest possible manufacture, or, -rather, that there was some proportion between the texture of the -cloth and the beautiful workmanship of the brooch which clasped it -round the person of the wearer; and, in a word, we are justified in -presuming that some manufactures, besides those of which specimens -were durable enough to have been preserved to the present day, existed -in the country. - -The incessant warfare of the Danish period, and of the centuries -following the Anglo-Norman invasion, must have been destructive to the -industrial arts; yet we meet occasionally with some external evidence -of their existence even then. Some eighty years ago, the Earl of -Charlemont lighted on a curious passage relating to the subject in an -Italian poem of the fourteenth century. From this and other -authorities he was able to show, in a paper published in the first -volume of the "Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy," that Ireland -produced a fine woollen fabric called serge, which enjoyed an European -reputation at the very time the Flemish weavers were brought over by -Edward III. to establish the woollen manufacture in England, and -consequently before it could have been introduced here from the latter -country. The investigation of such scattered facts as these would be -interesting, and no doubt would flatter national vanity. It may, -perhaps, occupy us on some future occasion; but for the present we -shall confine our inquiry to a somewhat more modern epoch, and more -tangible evidences. - -Strangely enough, the first writer we have had on the natural history -and industrial resources of Ireland happens {550} to have been a -Dutchman. Dr. Gerard Boate--a resident of London, though by birth, it -appears, a Hollander--obtained the post of state physician in Ireland -from the Commonwealth, in 1649 and having purchased, as an adventurer, -a few years earlier, some of the forfeited lands in Leinster and -Ulster, applied himself to the subject of his book, with a view -originally to the improvement of his own property. His information, -however, was obtained, not from personal experience, but from Irish -gentlemen whom he had met in London, such as Sir William and Sir -Richard Parsons; and from his brother, Dr. Arnold Boate, who had -practiced as a physician in Dublin for many years; but he himself, -unfortunately, died a few months after his arrival in Ireland to enter -on the duties of his office, before he was able to carry out more than -half the original design of his work, which, though written in 1645, -was not published until some years after his death. He collected his -information and wrote while the great civil war was still raging, and -when all his feelings and interests must have been strongly enlisted -against the native race, so that we are not to be surprised at the -acerbity of some of his expressions about them. Our concern is, not -with his feelings or opinions, but with the facts which he relates, -and the descriptions and statistics which he supplies. - -On the state of metallurgy in Ireland in his time, Dr. Boate gives us -some very curious information. He denies any knowledge of the subject -on the part of the native Irish, and asserts that all the mines in -Ireland were discovered by the "New English." "The Old English in -Ireland," he says, "that is, those who are come in from the time of -the first conquest until the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign, -have been so plagued with wars from time to time--one while intestine -among themselves, and another while with the Irish--that they could -scarce ever find the opportunity of seeking for mines. . . . . . And -the Irish themselves, as being one of the most barbarous nations of -the whole earth, have at all times been so far from seeking out any, -that even in these last years, and since the English have begun to -discover some, none of them all, great or small, at any time hath -applied himself to that business, or in the least manner furthered it; -so that all the mines which to this day are found out in Ireland, have -been discovered (at least, as far to make any use of them) by the New -English, that is, such as are come in during and since the reign of -Queen Elizabeth." (_Thom's Collection of Tracts and Treatises_, vol. -i. 102.) - -He adds, that several iron mines had been discovered in various parts -of the kingdom, and also some of lead and silver, during the forty -years' peace, from the death of Elizabeth to the outbreak of the great -rebellion--the longest peace, he remarks, that Ireland ever enjoyed, -either before or after the coming of the English. The great extent to -which smelting was carried on during a portion of that time may be -concluded from the almost incredible destruction of the Irish woods, -to make charcoal for the purpose. This Dr. Boate describes in a -preceding chapter; "As long as the land was in the full possession of -the Irish themselves," he says, and we know the fact from many other -sources, "all Ireland was very full of woods on every side;" but the -English cleared away a great deal of these, both to destroy the -lurking places of their foes, and to convert the land into tillage and -pasture. Besides the woods cleared for these purposes, a vast amount -of timber was felled, as Boate tells us, for merchandise, and to make -charcoal for the iron works. The timber comprised under the former -head does not appear to have been for building, but simply for pipe -staves and the like, of which, he says, great quantities were exported -even in former times; "and," he adds, "during the last peace a mighty -trade was driven in them, and whole shiploads sent into foreign -countries yearly;" while, "as for the charcoal," he {551} continues, -"it is incredible what quantity thereof is consumed by one iron work -in a year . . . so that it was necessary from time to time to fell an -infinite number of trees, all the loppings and windfalls being not -sufficient for it in the least manner." The result of all this was, -that even in Boate's time, that is, over 200 years ago, the greater -part of Ireland was left totally bare of woods; the inhabitants could -obtain no wood for building, or even for firing; and in some parts one -might travel whole days without seeing any trees, except a few about -gentlemen's houses. For a distance of over three score miles from -north to south, in the counties of Louth and Dublin, "one doth not -come near any woods worth speaking of; and in some parts thereof you -shall not see so much as one tree in many miles. For the great woods -which the maps do represent unto us upon the mountains, between -Dundalk and Nurie, are quite vanished, there being nothing left of -them these many years since but one only tree, standing close by the -highway, at the very top of one of the mountains, so far as it may be -seen a great way off, and therefore serveth travellers for a mark." - -At that period iron mines were worked extensively near Tallow, on the -borders of Cork and Waterford, by the famous Earl of Cork; in the -county of Clare, some six miles from Limerick; at a place called -Desert, in the King's County, by Sergeant-Major Pigott; at Mountrath -and Mountmellick, in the Queen's County; on the shores of Lough Allen, -both on the Roscommon and Leitrim sides--the mountains of -Slieve-an-ieran, or the Iron Mountain, in the latter county, having -obtained its name, in the remotest ages, from the presence of that -metal; on the shores of Lough Erne, in Fermanagh; in Cavan; at Lissan, -on the borders of Tyrone and Londonderry, where the works were carried -on by Sir Thomas Staples, the owner of the soil; at the foot of Slieve -Gallen, in the county of Derry; and in several other places. Iron -smelting works and foundries were erected, not only in the vicinity of -the mines, but in other places on the coast, and elsewhere, where the -convenience of water carriage and the supplies of charcoal afforded -inducements. To some of these works on the sea-coast, the ore was -brought even from England; but the principal iron works appear to have -been those belonging to the Earl of Cork, in Munster; to Sir Charles -Coote, at Mountrath, and in Roscommon and Leitrim; to the Earl of -Londonderry, in his own county; to Lord Chancellor Loftus, ancestor of -the Marquis of Ely, at Mountmellick; to Sir John Dunbar, in Fermanagh; -Sir Leonard Blennerhassett, on Lough Erne; and a company of London -merchants in Clare. We are not told whether these last were the -representatives of the London Mining Company, to which Queen Elizabeth -granted the royalties of the precious metals that might be discovered -within the English Pale. Mr. Christopher Wandsworth, who had been -Master of the Rolls for Ireland, and acted as Lord Deputy under the -Earl of Strafford, erected a foundry in the county of Carlow, where -ordnance were cast, and also a kind of small round furnaces, pots, and -other articles made. - -It was estimated that the owners of the iron works--we do not here -refer to the mines--made a profit of forty per cent in the year; and -Boate was assured, by persons who were particularly well informed on -the subject, that the Earl of Cork cleared £100,000 by his iron works. -Sir Charles Coote--"that zealous and famous warriour in this present -warre against the Irish rebells," in the first year of which war he -fell--appears to have been quite as famous as an iron-master as he was -as a warrior, and his iron-works at Mountrath were a model at that -time. A ton of the ore called rock mine cost him, at the furnace head, -5s. 6d.; and a ton of white mine, or ore dug from a mountain, 7s. The -two ores were mixed in the {552} proportion of one of rock mine to two -of white mine, and three tons of the mixed ore yielded one ton of good -bar iron, which was conveyed in rude, small boats called cots, on the -River Nore to Waterford, and thence shipped to London, where it was -sold for £16, and sometimes for £17, or even £17 10s.; the whole cost -of the iron to Sir Charles Coote, including that of digging it out of -the mine and every expense until it reached the London market, Custom -House duty included, being between £10 and £11 per ton. In most places -the cost of the ore at the furnace varied from 5s. to 6s. per ton; and -when the ore was particularly rich, 2-1/2 tons produced one ton of -good iron; but Boate tells us that few of the iron smelters carried on -their work as profitably as Sir Charles Coote. - -In Boate's time, only three lead and silver mines appear to have been -known in Ireland. One of these was in the county of Antrim, and was -very rich, yielding 1 lb. of silver to 30 lbs. of lead; another was -situated in Cony Island, at Sligo; and the third, the only one which -was worked, was the famous silver mines of the barony of Upper Ormond, -in Tipperary, about twelve miles from Limerick. This mine had been -discovered about forty years before, and was at first supposed to be -merely a lead mine; some of the first lead it produced being used by -the Earl of Thomond to roof his house at Bunratty. It was worked in -the shape of open pits, several fathoms deep, but still sloping so -gradually, that the ore was carried to the surface in wheelbarrows. -Each ton of ore at this mine yielded 3 lbs. of pure silver; but our -authority does not inform us how much lead. The silver was sold in -Dublin for 5s. 2d. per oz., and the lead for £11 per ton, though it is -stated to have brought £12 in Limerick; and the royalty, or king's -share, was a sixth part of the silver, and a tenth of the lead. The -rest was the property of those who farmed the mine, and who cleared an -estimated profit of £2000 per annum. The works at this mine, and in -general all the smelting works which we have mentioned throughout the -country, were of course destroyed in the civil war. - -So much for the practical metallurgy of Ireland, as it existed two -hundred years ago. Of the knowledge of the original inhabitants on the -subject, Sir William Wilde ("Catalogue of Antiquities," etc., vol. i. -p. 351) says--and his opinion is the result of all the investigation -that is practicable in the matter--"When, and how, the Irish people -discovered metals and their uses, together with the art of smelting -and casting, has not been determined by archaeologists;" but a few -remarkable and suggestive facts on the subject may be mentioned. -Manuscripts, themselves five or six hundred years old, and purporting -to give information handed down from the most remote antiquity, make -frequent mention of the knowledge and use of metals among the ancient -Irish. Thus the old annalists say, that "gold was first smelted in -Ireland in Fotharta-Airthir-Liffe," a woody district in Wicklow, east -of the River Liffey, supposed to coincide with the present well-known -auriferous tract in that county. Indeed, it is most probable that gold -was the first metal known to the Irish, as well as to all people in -early stages of civilization, as, besides its glittering quality, it -is almost the only metal found in a native state upon the surface, and -consequently obtainable without the art of smelting. Dr. Boate writes: -"I believe many will think it very unlikely that there should be any -gold mines in Ireland; but a credible person hath given me to -understand, that one of his acquaintances had several times assured -him that out of a certain rivulet, in the county of Nether-Tirone, -called Miola, he had gathered about one dram of pure gold." We also -know from the celts, and other articles in these metals which have -been preserved, that the ancient Irish possessed {553} copper, which -they were able to convert into brass and bronze; and also that they -had silver, tin, lead, and iron. The Irish version of Nennius -mentions, as the first wonder of Ireland, that Lough Lein--the Lake of -Killarney--is surrounded by four circles, viz., "a circle of tin, and -a circle of lead, and a circle of iron, and a circle of copper"--an -indication not only that these metals were known to the people, but -that some rude idea had been formed of the mineralogy of the district. - - - -THEIR AGRICULTURE. - -Grain, in one shape or other, formed a main ingredient in the food of -the Irish from the earliest historic period; and we may, consequently, -include Agriculture among the earliest of their industrial arts. We -are not aware of any time at which they were exclusively a -flesh-eating people; and we find it clearly stated, with reference to -periods not altogether very remote, that the native Irish subsisted to -a great extent on the milk and butter of their large herds of cattle, -seldom killing the animals for their flesh. On the other hand, we know -that vast numbers of cattle were slain and consumed in the constant -petty wars of the country; and that the lawless dwellers in the -_cranogues_, or lake habitations--whatever period they belong to--were -decidedly carnivorous, as the immense accumulations of the bones and -horns of cattle found in their insulated haunts testify. But the fact -we contend for is, that the ancient Irish were a granivorous quite as -much as a carnivorous race, if not more so; and some ethnologists have -concluded, from an examination of very ancient Irish crania, that the -teeth were chiefly employed in masticating grain in a hard state. - -It is a curious and well-known fact that in many parts of Ireland -traces of tillage are visible on the now barren sides or summits of -hills, in places which have been long since abandoned to savage -nature, and in a soil which would appear never to have been -susceptible of cultivation. Some such elevated spots, now covered with -grass, are known to have been cultivated some years since, when the -rural population was much denser than at present; but we are referring -to other places where we find well-marked ridges and furrows on -hillsides, four or five hundred feet above the sea level, or even -more; and which are now covered with heath, and so denuded, by ages of -atmospheric action on the steep slopes, as to retain only the least -quantity of vegetable surface, wholly inadequate at present to nourish -any kind of grain. - -When, and by whom, were these wild spots cultivated? The country -people have lost all tradition on the subject, and substitute their -own conjectures. - -It is not probable that the population of Ireland was ever so dense as -to have necessitated such extreme efforts to eke out the arable land; -or that the people were ever so crowded as to have been compelled, as -it were, like the Chinese, to Terrace the hill-sides to grow food. Mr. -Thom has collected, in his admirable "Statistics of Ireland," all the -authentic accounts of Irish census returns. Taking these in their -inverse order, we find that the 8,175,124 of 1841 was only 6,801,827 -in 1821; 5,937,856 in 1814; 4,088,226 in 1792; 2,544,276 in 1767; -2,309,106 in 1726; 1,034,102 in 1695; and 1,300,000 in 1672. These -latter early returns were merely the estimates of the hearth-money -collectors, and are generally deemed to be unreliable. Newenham, in -his Enquiry, expresses his disbelief in them, and shows from the -statements of Arthur Young, and from official returns, that they were -clearly under the truth. Yet the returns recently found by Mr. -Hardinge, of the Landed Estates Record Office, among the papers of Sir -William Petty, in the library of the Marquis of Lansdowne, would -reduce the population to a {554} much lower figure still at an epoch -only a little earlier than the date last enumerated above. Mr. -Hardinge shows that the Petty returns must have been made in 1658 or -1659; and, supplying a proportional computation for some omitted -counties and baronies, he finds that the total population of Ireland -at that date was only _half a million!_ It is true that this was -immediately after the close of the long and desolating civil war which -commenced in 1641; and at a time when, as Mr. Hardinge observes, one -province had been so utterly depopulated as to leave its lands vacant -for the transplanted remnants of the people of two other provinces; -yet, even under all the circumstances, the number is incredibly small. - -Going further back, we may conclude that the population could not have -been considerable during the constant civil wars which wasted the -entire country throughout the long reign of Elizabeth; nor was there -any time from the Anglo-Norman invasion to that period in which the -circumstances of the country were favorable to the social or numerical -development of the population; while in earlier times matters can -hardly be said to have been a whit better. There is no period of -ancient Irish history in which the native annalists do not record -almost an annual recurrence of internecine wars in all the -provinces--wars equally inveterate and sanguinary, whether the country -was infested by foreign foes, or not (_vide_ the Four Masters -_passim_)--while, on the other hand, we know that the population of a -country never multiplies excessively except in long intervals of -peace. It may be urged that the remains of the innumerable _raths_ and -_cahirs_, or _caishels_, which cover the land, and of the abbeys and -small churches which dot the country, indicate periods of very dense -population: but this is a mistaken notion; for at the time when the -raths were inhabited, it can scarcely be said there were any towns in -Ireland; and even when the monasteries were built, the population was -almost wholly rural, and scattered; while a great many of the very -small religious edifices through the country were only the isolated -oratories of hermits. - -The poet, Spenser, writing about A.D. 1596, would seem to give us the -best clue to the time in which those mountain wildernesses we have -been referring to were subjected to a kind of cultivation. In his -"View of the State of Ireland," he makes _Irenaeus_ relate how the -most part of the Irish fled from the power of Henry II. "into deserts -and mountains, leaving the wyde countrey to the conquerour, who in -their stead eftsoones placed English men, who possessed all their -lands, and did quite shut out the Irish, or the most part of them:" -and how "they [the Irish] continued in that lowlinesse untill the time -that the division betweene the two houses of Lancaster and York arose -for the crowne of England; at which time all the great English lords -and gentlemen, which had great possessions in Ireland, repaired over -hither into England. . . . . . Then the Irish whom before they had -banished into the mountains, where they only lived on white meates, as -it is recorded, seeing now their lands so dispeopled and weakened, -came downe into all the plaines adjoyning, and thence expelling those -few English that remained, repossessed them againe, since which they -have remained in them," etc. - -It is most probable, then, that it was during that early period of -refuge in the mountains that the wild tracts we have alluded to were -cultivated by the Irish; and it is worth remarking that when, in -Spenser's own time, the English recovered a portion of the plain at -the foot of Slieve Bloom, in the O'Moore's country, of which the Irish -had been for several years in quiet possession, they were surprised at -the high state of cultivation in which they found it. - -{555} - -The ancient Irish ploughed with oxen, as appears from many -unquestionable authorities--among others, from a reference to the -subject in the volume of "Brehon Laws" recently published by -Government, page 123; but in subsequent times they were brought so -low, that in some places, and among the poorest sort, the barbarous -practice prevailed of yoking the plough to a horse's tail! It is a -mistake to suppose, on the one hand, that this was a mere groundless -calumny on the people; or, on the other, that it was anything like a -general national custom. The preamble to the Act of the Irish -Parliament (10 and 11 Charles I., chap. 15) passed in 1635, to -prohibit the practice, says: "Whereas in many places of this kingdome -there hath been a long time used a barbarous custome of ploughing. . . . -and working horses, mares, etc, by the taile, whereby (besides the -cruelty used to the beasts) the breed of horses is much impaired in -this kingdome, to the great prejudice thereof; and whereas also divers -have and yet do use the like barbarous custom of pulling off the wool -yearly from living sheep, instead of clipping or shearing of them, be -it therefore enacted," etc., etc. - -That this Act, as well as the subsequent Act, chap. 15, "to prevent -the unprofitable custom of burning of corne in the straw," instead of -threshing out the grain, was regarded as a popular grievance, appears -from the fact, that the repeal of these Acts was made one of the -points of negotiation with the Marquis of Ormond during the Civil War; -but they remained on the Statute Book until repealed, as obsolete, in -1828, by 9 Geo. IV. c. 53. - -Boate, writing about Ireland, more than two hundred years ago, labors -to show that the soil and climate are better suited for grazing than -for tillage. "Although Ireland," he quaintly observes, "almost in -every part bringeth good corn plentifully, nevertheless hath it a more -naturall aptness for grass, the which in most places it produceth very -good and plentiful! of itself, or with little help; the which also -hath been well observed by Giraldus, who of this matter writeth--'This -iland is fruitfuller in grass and pastures than in corn and graines." -And farther on he continues: "The abundance and greatness of pastures -in Ireland doth appear by the numberless number of all sorts of -cattell, especially kine and sheep, wherewith this country in time of -peace doth swarm on all sides." He remarks, that, although the Irish -kine, sheep, and horses were of a small size, that did not arise from -the nature of the grass, as was fully demonstrated by the fact that -the breed of large cattle brought out of England did not deteriorate -in point of size or excellence. - -Sir William Petty states that the cattle and other grazing stock of -Ireland were worth above £4,000,000 in 1641, at the outbreak of the -civil war; and that in 1652 the whole was not worth £500,000. - -John Lord Sheffield, in "Observations on the Manufactures, etc., of -Ireland," Dublin, 1785, writes that Ireland, "which had so abounded in -cattle and provisions, was, after Cromwell's settlement of it, obliged -to import provisions from Wales. However, it was sufficiently -recovered soon after the Restoration to alarm the grazing counties of -England; and in the year 1666 the importation of live cattle, sheep, -swine, etc, from Ireland was prohibited. . . . . Ireland turned to -sheep, to the dairy, and fattening of cattle, and to tillage; and she -shortly exported much beef and butter, and has since supplanted -England in those beneficial branches of trade. She was forced to seek -a foreign market; and England had no more than one fourth of her -trade, although before that time she had almost the whole of it." - -{556} - -Arthur Young, whose "Agricultural Tours in Ireland in 1775, etc.," did -so much for the improvement of this country, always advocated tillage -in preference to grazing. Referring to the former, he says: "The -products upon the whole [of Ireland] are much inferior to those of -England though not more so than I should have expected; not from -inferiority of soil, but from the extreme inferiority of management. . . . -Tillage in Ireland is very little understood. In the greatest corn -counties, such as Louth, Kildare, Carlow, and Kilkenny, where are to -be seen many very fine crops of wheat, all is under the old system, -exploded by good farmers in England, of sowing wheat upon a fallow and -succeeding it with as many crops of spring corn as the soil will bear. -. . . But keeping cattle of every sort is a business so much more -adapted to the laziness of the farmer, that it is no wonder the -tillage is so bad. It is everywhere left to the cotters, or to the -very poorest of the farmers, who are all utterly unable to make those -exertions upon which alone a vigorous culture of the earth can be -founded; and were it not for potatoes, which necessarily prepare for -corn, there would not be half of what we see at present. While it is -in such hands, no wonder tillage is reckoned be unprofitable. Profit -in all undertakings depends on capital; and is it any wonder that the -profit should be small when the capital is nothing at all! Every man -that has one gets into cattle, which will give him an idle lazy -superintendence instead of an active attentive one." - -How much of this is just as applicable to the state of things in our -own times, as it was eighty or ninety years ago! Young would appear to -be describing accurately the state of agriculture in Ireland just -before the last destructive famine; but happily he would find at the -present moment a considerable improvement. One change, however, which -he would find would not be much to his taste. He would see even the -humblest tenant farmer, as well as the large land occupier, placing -almost his whole confidence in pasturage, and compelled to abandon -tillage by the uncertainty of the seasons, the low price of grain, and -the increasing price of labor. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -CLAIMS. - - - Nay,--claim it not, the lightest joy that throws - Its transient blushes o'er the beaming earth - Or the sweet hope in any living thing - As thine by birth. - - No precious sympathy, no thoughtful care, - No touch of tenderness, however near; - But watch the blossoming of life's delight - With sacred fear. - - Have joy in life, and gladden to the sense - Of dear companionship, in thought, in sight; - But oh! as gifts of heaven's abounding love, - Not thine by right. - ----- - -{557} - -From The Month. - -SEALSKINS AND COPPERSKINS. - -Captain Hall, unconvinced by the evidence published by Captain -M'Clintock in 1859, undertook his expedition in search of the -surviving members of Sir John Franklin's crew, (if such there were;) -or in the hope of clearing up all doubt about the history of their -end, in the event of their having perished. He was baffled in his -attempt to reach the region in which he hoped to find traces of the -objects of his search, by the wreck of the boat which he had -constructed for the enterprise; and his ship being beset with ice in a -winter which set in earlier than usual, he spent more than two -years--the interval between May, 1860, and September, 1862--among the -Esquimaux on the western coast of Davis's Strait, in order to acquire -their language and familiarize himself with their habits and mode of -life. He is at present once more in the arctic regions, having -returned thither in order to prosecute his enterprise. He is now -accompanied by two intelligent Esquimaux, whom he took back with him -to America; and who, having now learnt English, will serve him as -interpreters as well as a means of introduction to the various -settlements of Esquimaux whom he may have occasion to visit in his -travels. The results of his present expedition will probably be more -interesting than those of his first. If we test the success of his -first voyage by the discoveries to which it led, these were confined -to correcting the charts of a portion of the western coast of Davis's -Strait, and to proving that the waters hitherto laid down as -"Frobisher's _Strait_" are in fact not a strait, but a bay. As a -voyage of discovery, its importance falls far short of that undertaken -for the same object in 1857 by Captain M'Clintock. Captain Hall, -however, was enabled, by comparing the various traditions among the -Esquimaux, to arrive at the spot where Frobisher, in the reign of -Queen Elizabeth, attempted to found a settlement on "Kodlunarn" [that -is, "White man's"] Island, (the Countess Warwick's Island, of English -maps,) where he found coal, brick, iron implements, timber, and -buildings still remaining. This success in tracing out, by means of -information supplied by the natives, the relics of an expedition -undertaken more than three centuries ago, makes him confident of -obtaining a like success in unravelling the mystery in which the fate -of Sir John Franklin and his companions is still wrapped, by a similar -residence among the Esquimaux of Boothia and King William's Island, -which were the last known points in their wanderings. This is the -region he is now attempting to reach for the second time. But the real -value of his present volume is the accurate and faithful record it -gives of the author's impressions, received from day to day during a -residence within the arctic zone, and the details it gives of the -habits and character of the Esquimaux. - -The origin of this people is, we believe, unknown. Another arctic -traveller has suggested that they are "the missing link between a -Saxon and a seal." They are rapidly decreasing in numbers; yet, if -measured by the territory which they inhabit, they form one of the -most widely-spread races on the face of the earth. Mr. Max Müller -might help us to arrive at the ethnological family to which they -belong, were he to study the specimens of their language with which -Captain Hall supplies us. Judging from the physiognomy of two of them, -whom the author has photographed for his frontispiece, we should say -that {558} they certainly do not belong, as M. Bérard and, we believe, -Baron Humboldt have supposed, to those Mongol races, which, under the -names of "Laps" and "Finns," inhabit the same latitudes of the -European continent. They seem rather to approach the type of some of -the tribes of the North American Indians; and the resemblance of their -habits of life and traditions points to the same conclusion. They are -small of stature, five feet two inches being rather a high standard -for the men, but of great strength and activity, and they have a -marvellous power of enduring fatigue, cold, and hunger. - -The name "Esquimaux," by which we designate them, is a French form of -on Indian word, _Aish-ke-um-oog_ (pronounced Es-ke-moag)--meaning in -the Cree language, "He eats raw flesh;" and in fact they are the only -race of North-American savages who live habitually and entirely on raw -flesh. In their own language they are called _Innuit_ that is, _the_ -people par _excellence_. Formerly they had chiefs, and a sort of -feudal system among them; but this has disappeared, and they have now -no political organization whatever, and no authority among them, -except that of the husband over his wives and children. - -Their theology--so far as we can arrive at it--teaches that there is -one Supreme Being, whom they call "Anguta," who created the material -universe; and a secondary divinity, (the daughter of Anguta,) called -"Sidne," through whose agency he created all living things, animal and -vegetable. The Innuits believe in a heaven and a hell, and the -eternity of future rewards and punishments. Success and happiness, and -benevolence shown to others, they consider the surest marks of -predestination to eternal happiness in the next world; and they hold -it to be as certain that whoever is killed by accident or commits -suicide goes straight to heaven, as that the crime of murder will in -all cases be punished eternally in hell. They seem hardly to secure -the attribute of omnipotence to their "Supreme Being;" for, in their -account of the creation of the world, they affirm that his first -attempt to create a man was a decided failure--that is to say, he -produced a _white_ man. A second attempt, however, was crowned with -entire success, in the production of an Esquimaux on Innuit--the -faultless prototype of the human race. A tradition of a deluge, or -"extraordinary high tide," which covered the whole earth, exists among -the Esquimaux; and they have certain customs which they observe with -religious reverence, although they can give no other reason or -explanation of them except immemorial tradition. "The first Innuits -did so," is always their answer when questioned on the subject. Thus, -when a reindeer, or any other animal, is killed on land, a portion of -the flesh is always buried on the exact spot where it fell--possibly -the idea of sacrifice was connected with this practice; and when a -polar bear is killed, its bladder must be inflated and exposed in a -conspicuous place for three days. And many such practices, equally -unintelligible, are scrupulously adhered to; and any departure from -them is supposed to bring misfortune upon the offending party. - -Though the Esquimaux own neither government nor control of any kind, -they yet yield a superstitious obedience to a character called the -"Angeko," whose influence they rarely venture to contravene. The -Angeko is at once physician and magician. In cases of sickness the -Esquimaux never take medicine; but the Angeko is called, and if his -enchantments fail to cure, the sick person is carried away from the -tents, and left to die. The Angeko is also called upon to avert evils -of all kinds; to secure success for hunting or fishing expeditions, or -any such undertaking; to obtain the disappearance of ice, and the -public good on various occasions; and in all cases the efficacy of his -ministrations is believed to be proportioned to the guerdon which he -receives. Captain Hall {559} mentions only two instances, as having -occurred in his experience, of resistance being made by Esquimaux to -the wishes of the Angeko; and in both cases the parties demurred to a -demand that they should give up their wives to him. Though more -commonly they have but one wife, owing to the difficulty of supporting -a number of women, polygamy is allowed and practised by the Esquimaux. -Their marriage is without ceremony of any kind, nor is the bond -indissoluble. Exchange of wives is of frequent occurrence; and if a -man becomes, from sickness or other cause, unable to support them, his -wives will leave him, and attach themselves to some more vigorous -husband. For the rest, the Esquimaux are intelligent, honest, and -extremely generous to one another. When provisions are scarce, if a -seal or walrus is killed by one of the camp, he invites the whole -settlement to feast upon it, though he may be in want of food for -himself and his family on the morrow in consequence of doing so. They -are very improvident, and rarely store their food, but trust to the -fortunes of the chase to supply their wants, and are generally during -the winter in a constant state of oscillation between famine and -abundance. The Esquimaux inhabit the extreme limits of the globe -habitable by man, and they have certain peculiarities in their life -consequent on the circumstances of their climate and country; but in -other respects they resemble the rest of the nomad and savage races -which people the extreme north of America. In summer the Esquimaux -live in tents called _tupics_, made of skins like those used by the -Indian tribes, and these are easily moved from place to place. As -winter sets in, they choose a spot where provisions are likely to be -plentiful, and there they erect _igloogs_, or huts constructed of -blocks of ice, and vaulted in the roof. If they are obliged to change -their quarters during the winter, either permanently or temporarily, -they build fresh _igloos_ of snow cut into blocks, which soon freeze, -and in the space of an hour or two they are thus able to provide -themselves with new premises. The only animals domesticated by the -Esquimaux are their fine and very intelligent dogs. They serve them as -guards, as guides, as beasts of burden and draught, as companions, and -assist them in the pursuit of every kind of wild animal. The women -have the care of all household affairs, and do the tailor's and -shoemaker's work, and prepare the skins for all articles of clothing -and bedding--no unimportant department in such a climate as theirs: -the men have nothing to think of but to supply provisions by hunting -and fishing. Sporting, which in civilized society is a mere recreation -and amusement, is the profession and serious employment, as well as -the delight, of the savage. And we find in the rational as well as in -the irrational animal, when in its wild state, the highest development -of those instincts and sensible powers with which God has endowed it -for its maintenance and self-preservation, and which it loses, in -proportion as it ceases to need them, in civilized society or in the -domesticated state. - -The arctic regions, though ill-adapted for the abode of man, teem with -animal life. The seal, the walrus, and the whale supply the ordinary -needs of the Esquimaux. In the mouth of their rivers they find an -abundance of salmon; various kinds of ducks and other aquatic birds -inhabit their coasts in multitudes; reindeer and partridges are -plentiful on the hills; while the most highly prized as well as the -most formidable game is the great polar bear, whose flesh affords the -most dainty feast, and whose skin the warmest clothing, to these -children of the North. - -Captain Hall lived, for months at a time, alone with the Esquimaux. He -acquired some proficiency in their language and shared their life in -all respects. He became popular with them, and even gained some -influence over them. He experienced some {560} difficulty in his first -attempt to eat raw flesh, (some whale's blubber, which was served up -for dinner;) but on a second trial, when urged by hunger, he made a -hearty meal on the blood of a seal which had just been killed, which -he found to be delicious. After this, cooking was entirely dispensed -with. Those who have visited new and "unsettled" countries will be -able to testify how easily man passes into a savage state, and how -pleasant the transition is to his inferior nature. There is a charm in -the freedom, in the total emancipation from the artificial restraints, -the feverish collisions, and daily anxieties of civilized society -which is one of the most secret, but also one of the most powerful -agents in advancing the colonization of the world. Captain Hall's -enthusiasm, which begins to mount at the sight of icebergs, whales, -and the novelty and grandeur of arctic scenery, reaches its climax -when he finds himself in an unexplored region, the solitary guest of -this wild and eccentric people, and depending, like them, for his -daily sustenance on the resources of nature alone. - -The Esquimaux are sociable and cheerful, and, in Greenland and the -neighboring islands, hospitable to strangers; but those of their race -who inhabit the continent of America have a character for ferocity, -and are the most unapproachable to Europeans of all the savage tribes -of America. Even Captain Hall himself expresses uneasiness from time -to time lest he should become an object of suspicion to them, or give -them a motive for revenge. They are one of the few peoples of the -extreme north with whom the Hudson's Bay Company have hitherto failed -to establish relations of commerce. Many travellers and traders have -been murdered by them on entering their territory, and the missioners -of North-America regard them as likely to be the last in the order of -their conversion to Christianity. Skilful boatmen and pilots, -perfectly familiar with their coasts, with great intelligence in -observing natural phenomena, and knowing by experience every probable -variation of their inhospitable climate, as well as the mode of -providing against it, they formed invaluable assistants to an -expedition for the scientific survey of a region as yet imperfectly -known to the geographer. Their sporting propensities were the chief -hindrance to their services in the cause of science. No sooner were -ducks, or seals, or reindeer in view, than all the objects of the -expedition were entirely forgotten till the hunt was over. No motive -is strong enough to restrain an Esquimaux from the chase so long as -game is afoot: - - "Canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto." - -Seals are captured by the Esquimaux in various ways. Some are taken in -nets. At other times they are seen in great numbers on the ice, lying -at the brink of open water, into which they plunge on the first alarm, -and much skill is then required in approaching them. In doing this, -the Esquimaux imitate the tactics of the polar bear. The bear or the -savage, as the case may be, throws himself flat upon the ice and -imitates the slow jerking action of a seal in crawling toward his -game. The seal sees his enemy approaching, but supposes him to be -another seal; but if he shows any signs of uneasiness, the hunter -stops perfectly still and "talks" to him--that is, he imitates the -plaintive grunts in which seals converse with one another. Reassured -by such persuasive language, the seal goes to sleep. Presently he -starts up again, when the same process is repeated. Finally, when -within range, the man fires, or the bear springs upon his victim. But -the Esquimaux confess that the bear far surpasses them in this art, -and that if they could only "talk" as well as "Ninoo," (that is, -"Bruin,)" they should never be in want of seal's flesh. When the -winter sets in, and the ice becomes thick, the seal cuts a passage -{561} through the ice with his sharp claws with which its flippers are -armed, and makes an aperture in the surface large enough to admit its -nose to the outer air for the purpose of respiration. This aperture is -soon covered with snow. When the snow becomes deep enough, and the -seal is about to give birth to its young, it widens the aperture, -passes through the ice, and constructs a dome-shaped chamber under the -snow, which becomes the nursery of the young seals. This is called a -seal's _igloo_, from its resemblance to the huts built by the -Esquimaux. It requires a dog with a very fine nose to mark the -bathing-place or igloo of a seal by the taint of the animal beneath -the snow; but when once it has been discovered, the Esquimaux is -pretty sure of his prey. If an igloo has been formed, and the seal has -young ones, the hunter leaps "with a run" upon the top of the dome, -crushes it in, and, before the seals can recover from their -astonishment, he plunges his seal-hooks into them, from which there is -no escape. If there be no igloo, but a mere breathing-hole, he clears -away the snow with his spear and marks the exact spot where the seal's -nose will protrude at his next visit, an aperture only a few inches in -diameter; then with a seal-spear strongly barbed in his hand, and -attached to his belt by twenty yards of the thongs of deer's hide, he -seats himself over the hole and awaits the seal's "blow." The seal may -blow in a few minutes, or in a few hours, or not for two or three -days; but there the Esquimaux remains, without food, and whatever the -weather may be, till he hears a low snorting sound; then, quick as -lightning, and with unerring aim, he plunges the spear into the seal, -opens the aperture in the ice with his axe till it will allow the body -of the seal to pass, and draws it forth upon the ice. The mode of -spearing the walrus is more perilous. The walrus are generally found -among broken ice, or ice so thin that they can break it. If the ice is -thin, they will often attack the hunter by breaking the ice under his -feet. In order to do this, the walrus looks steadily at the man taking -aim at him, and then dives; the Esquimaux, aware of his intention, -runs to a short distance to shift his position, and when the walrus -rises, crashing through the ice on which he was standing only a moment -before, he comes forward again and darts his harpoon into it. -Ordinarily the Esquimaux selects a hole in the ice where he expects -the walrus to "vent," and places himself so as to command it, with his -harpoon in one hand, a few coils of a long rope of hide, attached to -the harpoon, in the other, the remainder of the rope being wound round -his neck, with a sharp spike fastened at the extreme end of it. As -soon as the walrus rises to the surface, he darts the harpoon into its -body, throws the coils of rope from his neck, and fixes the spike into -the ice. A moment's hesitation, or a blunder, may involve serious -consequences. If he does not instantly detach the rope from his neck, -he is dragged under the ice. If he fails to drive the spike firmly -into the ice before the walrus has run out the length of the line, he -loses his harpoon and his rope. - -But the sport which rouses the whole spirit of an Esquimaux community -begins when a polar bear comes in view. "Ninoo" is the monarch of -these arctic deserts, as the lion is of those of the South. The person -who first shouts on seeing "Ninoo," whether man, woman, or child, is -awarded with the skin, whoever may succeed in killing him. Dogs are -immediately put upon his track, and, on coming up with him, are taught -not to close with him, but to hang upon his haunches and bring him to -bay. The men follow as best they can, and with the best arms that the -occasion supplies. The sagacity and ferocity of this beast make an -attack upon him perilous, even with fire-arms; but great nerve, -strength, and skill are required, when armed {562} only with a harpoon -or a spear, to meet him hand to hand in his battle for life, - - "Or to his den, by snow-tracks, mark the way, - And drag the struggling savage into day." - -The polar bear it amphibious, and often takes to the sea. Then if -boats can be procured, it becomes a trial of speed between rowing and -swimming, and an exciting race of many miles often takes place. In the -open sea "Ninoo" has a poor chance of escape, unless he gets a great -start of his pursuers; but the arctic coasts are generally studded -with islands, and, when he can do so, he makes first for one island, -then for another, crossing them, and taking to the water again on the -opposite side, while the votes have to make the entire circuit of -each. The sagacity of these animals is marvellous, and proverbial -among the Esquimaux, who study their habits in order to get hints for -their own guidance. When seals are in the water, the bear will swim -quietly among them, his great white head assuming the appearance of a -block of floating ice or snow, and when close to them he will dive and -seize the seals under the water. When the walrus are basking on the -rocks, "Ninoo" will climb the cliffs above them and loosen large -masses of rock, and then, calculating the curve to a nicety, launch -them upon his prey beneath. When a she-bear is attended by her cubs, -the Esquimaux will never attack the cubs until the mother has been -despatched; such is their fear of the vengeance with which, in the -event of her escaping, she follows up the slaughter of her offspring -by day and night with terrible pertinacity and fury. - -The Esquimaux stalk the reindeer much as we do the red deer in the -Highlands of Scotland; but the snow which lies in arctic regions -during the greater part of the year enables them to follow the same -herd of deer by their tracks for several days together. - -Such, then, are the life, the habits, the pursuits of the Esquimaux. -Pagan in religion, the stand in need of that phase which alone is able -to save their race, now perishing from the face of the earth. Their -life is a constant struggle with the climate in which they live and -the famine with which they are perpetually threatened. A hardy race of -hunters, they exhibit many natural virtues, considerable intelligence, -and a strong nationality. The true faith, if they embraced it, while -it secured their eternal interests, would at the same time be to them, -as it has been to so many savage races, the principal of a great -social regeneration. At present they are wasting away as a race, and -will soon become extinct. Polygamy has always been found to cause the -decrease and decay of a population; and any human society, however -simple, will fall to pieces when it is not animated by ideas of order -and justice. - -The Esquimaux occupy the extremities of human habitation in North -America; and if we pass from their territory to the south, we enter -upon that vast realm called "British America"--a region sufficient in -extent and resources, if developed by civilization, to constitute an -empire in itself. Of this vast territory the two Canadas alone, on the -north bank of the St. Lawrence River and the chain of mighty lakes -from which it flows, have been colonized by European settlers. The -remainder is inhabited by the nomad tribes of Indians and the wild -animals upon which they subsist, the British government being there -unrepresented except by the occasional forts and stations established -by the Hudson's Bay Company as centres for the traffic in furs, which -the Indians supply in the greatest abundance and variety. - -The French, who were among the first to profit by the discovery of -Columbus and to settle as colonists in the new hemisphere, have in -their conquests always planted the cross of Christ side by side with -the banner of France. Though they have failed to retain the dominion -of those colonies {563} which they founded, yet, to their glory be it -said, their missioners have not only kept alive that sacred flame of -faith which they kindled in their former possessions, but have spread -it from one end of the American continent to the other, beyond the -limits within which lucre leads the trader, and even among the remote -tribes who as yet reject all ordinary intercourse with the white man. -Monseigneur Faraud, now Bishop of Anemour and Vicar-Apostolic of -Mackenzie, has published his experiences during eighteen years of -missionary labor as a priest among the savages of the extreme north of -America, [Footnote 123] with the view of giving information to future -missioners in the same regions, and inspiring others to undertake the -conversion of this portion of the heathen world. The proceeds of the -sale of his book will be devoted to founding establishments for works -of corporal and spiritual mercy among the tribes of Indians in his -diocese. The narrative of his apostolic life is highly interesting. -Born of an old legitimist family in the south of France, some of whose -members had fallen victims to the Reign of Terror in 1793, and -carefully educated under the eye of a pious mother, he offered himself -to the service of God in the priesthood. Being of a vigorous -constitution and of an enterprising spirit, he was drawn to the work -of the foreign missions, and at the age of twenty-six he started for -North America. Landing at New York, he passed through Montreal to St. -Boniface, a settlement on the Red River, a few miles above the point -where it discharges its waters into the great Lake Winnipeg. Here he -fixed his abode for seven months, studying the language, and acquiring -the habits and mode of life of the natives. At the end of this time -the Indians of the settlement started on their annual expedition at -the end of the summer to the prairies of the west to hunt the -buffalo--an important affair, on which depends their supply of -buffalo-hides and beef for the winter. - - [Footnote 123: "Dix-huit Ans chez les Sauvages. Voyages et Missions - de Mgr. Faraud dans le Nord de l'Amérique Britannique. Regis Ruffet - et Cie. Paris, 1866."] - -For this expedition, which was organized with military precision and -most picturesque effect, one hundred and twenty skilful hunters were -selected, armed with guns and long _couteaux de chasse_, and mounted -on their best horses. A long train of bullock-carts followed in the -rear, with boys and women as drivers, carrying the tents and -provisions for encampment, and destined to bring home the game. The -priest accompanied them, saying mass for them every morning in a tent -set apart as the chapel, and night-prayers before retiring to rest in -the evening. - -In this way they journeyed for a week, making about thirty miles in -the day, and camping for the night in their tents. Let the reader, in -order to conceive an American "prairie," imagine a level and boundless -plain, reaching in every direction to the horizon, fertile and covered -with luxuriant herbage, and unbroken except by swelling undulations -and here and there occasional clumps of trees sprinkled like islets on -the ocean, or oases on the desert. After marching for a week across -the prairie, they came upon the tracks of a herd of buffaloes. The -Indians are taught from childhood, when they encounter a track, to -discern at once to what animal it belongs, how long it is since it -passed that way, and to follow it by the eye, as a hound does by -scent. For two days they marched in the track of the buffaloes, and -the second night the hunters brought a supply of fresh beef into -camp--they had killed some old bulls. These old bulls are found -single, or in parties of two or three, and always indicate the -proximity of a herd. Accordingly, on the following morning the herd -was discovered in the distance on the prairie, like a swarm of flies -on a green carpet. The hunters now galloped to the front, and called a -council of war behind some undulating ground about a mile and a half -{564} from the buffaloes, who, in number about three thousand, were -grazing lazily on the plain. All was now animation. It would be -difficult to say whether the keener interest was shown by the men or -the horses, who now, with dilated eyes and nostrils, ears pricked, and -nervous action, pawed the ground, impatient as greyhounds in the slips -and eager for the fray. The plan of action was soon agreed upon--a few -words were spoken in a low tone by the chief, and the horsemen -vanished with the rapidity of the wind. In about a quarter of an hour -they reappeared, having formed a circle round the buffaloes, whom they -now approached at a hand-gallop, concentrating their descent upon the -herd from every point of the compass. The effect of this strategy was -that, though they were soon discovered, time was gained. Whichever way -the herd pointed, they were encountered by an approaching horseman, -and they were thus thrown into confusion, until, massing themselves -into a disordered mob, they charged, breaking away through the line of -cavalry. Then began the race and the slaughter. A good horse, even -with a man on his back, has always the speed of a buffalo; but the -skill of a hunter is shown (besides minding his horse lest he gets -entangled in the herd and trampled to death, and keeping his presence -of mind during the delirium of the chase,) in selecting the youngest -and fattest beasts of the herd, in loading his piece with the greatest -rapidity--the Indians have no breech-loaders--and taking accurate aim -while riding at the top of his speed. In the space of a mile a skilful -buffalo-hunter will fire seven, eight, nine shots in this manner, and -at each discharge a buffalo will bite the dust. On the present -occasion the pursuit continued for about a mile and a half, and above -eight hundred buffaloes were safely bagged. When the chase was over, -there was a plentiful supply of fresh beef, the hides were carefully -stowed on the carts, the carcasses cut up, the meat dried and highly -spiced and made into pies, in which form it will keep for many months, -and forms a provision for the winter. The buffalo (which in natural -history would be called a bison) is the principal source of food and -clothing to the Indians who live within reach of the great western -prairies. But the forests also abound with elk, moose, and reindeer, -as well as the smaller species of deer, and smaller game of other -kinds, and the multitudes of animals of prey of all sizes which supply -the markets of Europe with furs. The abundance of fish in the lakes -and rivers is prodigious. The largest fish in these waters is the -sturgeon. This fish lies generally near the surface of the water: the -Indian paddles his canoe over the likely spots, and when he sees a -fish darts his harpoon into it, which is made fast by a cord to the -head of the canoe; the fish tows the canoe rapidly through the water -till he is exhausted, and is then despatched. Besides many other -inferior kinds of fish, they have the pike, which runs to a great size -in the lakes, and two kinds of trout--the smaller of these is the same -as that found in the rivers of England; the larger is often taken of -more than eighty pounds in weight. The Indians take these with spears, -nets, and baskets; but a trout weighing eighty pounds would afford -considerable sport to one of our trout-fishers of Stockbridge or -Driffield, if taken with an orthodox rod and line. - -A fortnight was devoted to the chase; and between two and three -thousand buffaloes having been killed, and the carts fully laden, the -party returned to St. Bonifice. The settlement of St. Bonifice was -founded by Lord Selkirk, who sent out a number of his Scotch -dependents as colonists, and induced some Canadian families to join -them. It was originally intended as a model Protestant colony; but the -demoralization and vice which broke out in the new settlement brought -it to the verge of temporal ruin. Lord Selkirk then called Catholics -to his aid, {565} and three priests were sent there. Religion took the -place of fanaticism, and ever since this epoch the colony has never -ceased to flourish and increase, and has become the centre of numerous -settlements in the neighborhood of friendly Indians converted to the -faith. This is one of many instances which might be quoted in which -the noxious weed of heresy has failed to transplant itself beyond the -soil which gave it birth. St. Boniface has been the residence of a -bishop since 1818, and is now the resting-place and point of departure -for all missioners bound for the northern deserts of America. It was -here that Mgr. Faraud spent eighteen months studying the languages of -the northern tribes of Indians. Lord Bacon says that "he that goeth -into a strange laud without knowledge of the language goeth to learn -and not to travel." This, which is true of the traveller, is much more -true of the missioner, as Mgr. Faraud soon found by experience. He -made several essays at intercourse with neighboring tribes, like a -young soldier burning with zeal and the desire to flesh his sword in -missionary work. But the reception he met with was most mortifying, -being generally told "not to think of teaching men as long as he spoke -like a child." He applied himself with renewed energy to acquire the -native language. - -The dialects of most of the tribes of the extreme north of America -(with the exception of the Esquimaux) are modifications of two parent -languages, the Montaignais and the Cree. By acquiring these Mgr. -Faraud was able to make himself understood by almost any of these -tribes after a short residence among them. Eighteen months spent at -St. Boniface served as a novitiate for his missionary work, at the end -of which time he received orders to start, early in the following -month, for Isle de la Crosse, a fort on the Beaver river, about 350 -leagues to the N.W. of St. Boniface. On his way thither he was the -guest of the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, at Norway House, -where he was most hospitably entertained. Mgr. Faraud bears witness to -the liberal and enlightened spirit in which the authorities of the -Hudson's Bay Company, as well as the government officials in Canada, -render every aid and encouragement in their power to the Catholic -missioners; and he quotes a speech made to him by Sir Edmund Head -(then Governor of Canada) showing the high estimation, and even favor, -in which the Catholic missioners are held by them. Whatever permanence -and stability our missions possess in these vast deserts is owing to -the protection and kind assistance rendered to them by the British -authorities; while, on the other hand, it would be hardly possible for -this powerful company of traders to maintain their present friendly -relations with Indian tribes, upon which their trade depends, without -the aid of the Catholic missioners. - -After five months spent at Isle de la Crosse, and three years after -his departure from Europe, Mgr. Faraud left for Atthabaska, one of the -most northerly establishments of the Hudson's Bay Company, whither the -various tribes of Indians, spread over an immense circuit 400 leagues -in diameter, come twice in the year, early in spring and late in the -autumn, to barter their furs, the produce of their winter and summer -hunting. This was his final destinatibn and field of apostolical -labor, it is often said that it is the happiness of the Red Indian to -be totally ignorant of money; and this, in a certain sense is true. -But money has no necessary connection with the precious metals or -bank-notes; and any medium of circulation which by common agreement -can be made to represent a determined value becomes money, in fact, if -not in name. Thus the market value of a beaver's skin in British -America varies little, and is nearly equivalent to an American dollar. -The Hudson's Bay Company have adopted this as the unit of their -currency, and the value of other furs {566} is reckoned in relation to -this standard. The following are some of the prices given to the -Indians for the furs ordinarily offered by them for sale: - - The skin of a black bear values from six to ten beavers; the skin of - a black fox, about six beavers; the skin of a silver fox, about five - beavers; the skin of an otter, from two to three beavers; the skin of - a pecari, from one to four beavers; the skin of a martin, from one - to four beavers; the skin of a red or white fox, about one beaver, - and so forth. - -Twice in the year the steamers and canoes of the company, laden with -merchandise, work their way up the lakes and rivers to these stations, -where the Indians assemble to meet them, and receive an equivalent for -their furs in arms, ammunition, articles for clothing, hardware, and -trinkets. - -Two of our countrymen, Viscount Milton, and Dr. Cheadle, have lately -published an account of their travels in British America, of which we -give a notice in another part of this number. [Footnote 124] The -description they give of the privations they endured and the -difficulties they had to overcome in merely traversing the country as -travellers, furnished as they were with all the resources which wealth -could command, while it reflects credit on their British pluck and -perseverance in attaining the object they had in view, gives us some -idea of the obstacles which present themselves to a missioner in these -regions, who has to take up his abode wherever his duty may call him, -and without any means of maintaining life beyond those which these -districts supply. The object of these gentlemen was to explore a line -of communication between Canada and British Columbia, with a view to -suggesting an overland route through British territory connecting the -Pacific with the Atlantic--a most important project in a political -point of view, upon which the success of the rising colony of Columbia -appears eventually to depend. The territory administered by the -Hudson's Bay Company, reaching as it does from the Atlantic to the -Pacific, from the coasts of Labrador on the N.E., to Vancouver's -Island on the S.W., contains an area nearly equal to that of the whole -of Europe. - - [Footnote 124: "The North-West Passage by Land." By Viscount Milton, - M.P., and W. B. Cheadle, M.D. London. 1865.] - -Mgr. Faraud remained fifteen years at Atthabaska. He found it a -solitary station-house, in the midst of deserts inhabited by -idolatrous savages; it is now a flourishing mission, with a vast -Christian population advancing in civilization, the capital of the -district to which it gives its name, and a centre of operation from -which missioners may act upon the whole north of British America, over -which he now has episcopal jurisdiction. Such results, as may be -supposed, have not been attained without labor and suffering. In the -commencement the mission was beset with difficulties and -discouragements. His first step was to build himself a house with logs -of wood, an act which was accepted by the savages as a pledge that he -intended to remain with them. A savage whom he converted and baptized -soon after his arrival, acted as his servant and hunted for him; while -with nets and lines he procured a supply of fish for himself when his -servant was unsuccessful in the chase. In this manner he for some time -maintained a life alternately resembling that of Robinson Crusoe and -St. Paul. He soon made a few conversions in his neighborhood, and in -the second year, with the aid of his catechumens, built a wooden -chapel, ninety feet long by thirty broad. He was now able, when the -tribes assembled in the spring and autumn, to converse with them, and -preach to them. They invited him to visit them in their own countries, -often many hundreds of miles distant; and these visits involved long -and perilous journeys, in which he several times nearly perished. In -the fourth year he began building a large church, surmounted by a -steeple, from which he swung a {567} large bell, which he procured -from Europe through the agents of the company. It was regarded as a -supernatural phenomenon by the savages when "the sound of the -church-going bell" was heard for the first time to boom over their -primeval forests. As soon as a savage became his catechumen, he taught -him to read, at the same time that he instructed him in religion. The -soil was gradually cultivated, crops were reared, and cows and sheep -introduced. In the tenth year a second priest was sent to his aid, who -was able to carry on his work for him at home while he was absent on -distant missions. - -There are thirteen distinct tribes inhabiting British America, and -Mgr. Faraud devotes a chapter to the distinctive characteristics of -each. But a general idea of these savages may be easily arrived at. -Most of us are familiar with the lively descriptions of the red man in -the attractive novels of Mr. Fenimore Cooper; and, though the stories -are fiction, these portraits of the Indians are drawn to the life. We -have most of us been struck by their taciturnity, their profound -dissimulation, the perseverance with which they follow up their plans -of revenge, the pride which prevents them from betraying the least -curiosity, the stoical courage with which they brave their enemies in -the midst of the most horrible sufferings, their caution, their -cruelty, the extraordinary keenness and subtlety of their senses. The -Indian savage is profoundly selfish; gratitude and sympathy for others -do not seem to enter into the composition of his nature. The same -stubborn fortitude with which he endures suffering seems to render him -indifferent to it in others. Intellectually he is slow in his power of -conception and process of reasoning, but is endowed with a marvellous -power of memory and reflection. He has a great fluency of speech, -which often rises to real eloquence; and there is a gravity and -maturity in his actions which is the fruit of meditation and thought. -Cases of apostasy in religion are very rare among the Indians. A -savage visited Mgr. Faraud soon after his arrival at Atthabaska. He -had come from the shores of the Arctic Ocean, where his tribe dwelt, a -distance of above six hundred miles, and asked some questions on -religious subjects. After listening to the priest's instruction on a -few fundamental truths, "I shall come to you again," he said, "when -you can talk like a man; at present you talk like a child." Three -years afterward he kept his promise; and immediately on arriving he -presented himself to the priest, and placed himself under instruction. -On leaving after the first instruction, he assembled a number of -heathen savages, at a short distance in the forest, and preached to -them for several hours. This continued for many weeks. In the morning -he came for instruction; in the afternoon he preached the truths he -had learned in the morning to his countrymen. Mgr. Faraud had the -curiosity to assist unseen at one of these sermons, and was surprised -to hear his own instruction repeated with wonderful accuracy and in -most eloquent language. In this way a great number of conversions were -made; and the instructions given to one were faithfully communicated -to the rest by this zealous savage. The name of this savage was -Dénégonusyè. When the time arrived for his tribe to return to their -own country, the priest proposed that he should receive baptism. "No," -he said; "I have done nothing as yet for Almighty God. In a year you -shall see me here again, and prepared for baptism." Punctual to his -promise, he returned the following spring. In the mean time he had -converted the greater portion of his tribe; he had taught them to -recite the prayers the priest had taught him; and he brought the -confessions of all the people who had died in the mean time among his -own people, which he had received on their death-beds, and which his -wonderful memory enabled him now to repeat word for word to the {568} -priest, baking him to give them absolution. Dénégonusyè was now told -to prepare for baptism; but he again insisted on preliminaries. First, -that he was to take the name of Peter, and wait to receive his baptism -on St. Peter's day--"Because," he said, "St. Peter holds the keys of -heaven, and is more likely to open to one who bears his name and is -baptized on his feast;" secondly, that he was to be allowed to fast -before his baptism forty days and nights, as our Blessed Lord did. On -the vigil of St. Peter's day he was so weak that he walked with -difficulty to the church; but on the feast, before daybreak, he -knocked loudly at the priests door and demanded baptism. He was told -to wait till the mass was finished. When mass was over, the priest was -about to preach to the people; but Dénégonusyè stood up and cried out, -"It is St. Peter's day; baptize me." The priest calmed the murmurs -which arose from the congregation at this interruption, and the eyes -of all were suddenly drawn to the figure of this wild neophyte of the -woods standing before the altar to receive the waters of regeneration. -A ray of light seemed to play round his head and rest upon him, as -though the Holy Ghost were impatient to take up his abode in this new -temple. - -Cases are not unfrequent of "half-caste" Indians reared in the woods -as savages claiming baptism from the priest as their "birthright." -They have never met a priest before, nor ever seen their Catholic -parent. They are not Christians, and do not know even the most -elementary doctrines of the church. Yet they have this strange faith -(as they say "by inheritance") through some mysterious transmission of -which God alone knows the secret. One of these "half-castes" met Mgr. -Faraud one day as he was travelling through the forest, and asked him -to baptize him. "I have the faith of my father," he said, "and demand -my birthright." Then, inviting him to his house, he added: "My wife -also desires baptism." The priest accompanied him to his -hunting-lodge, and was presented to his wife, a young savage lady of -some twenty years. She was a veritable Amazon, a perfect model of -symmetry of form and feminine grace; there was a savage majesty in her -gestures and gait; she was a mighty huntress, tamed the wildest -steeds, and was famed far and near for her prowess with the bow and -spear. She welcomed the stranger with courtesy, and immediately -presented him with a basket full of the tongues of elks which had been -the spoil of her bow in the chase of the previous day. But as soon as -she learned the errand on which he had come, her manner changed to -profound reverence, and, throwing herself on her knees with hands -clasped in the attitude of prayer, she asked him for a crucifix, "to -help me in my prayers," she said. The Indians do not pray. Her husband -did not know one article of the creed. Who taught her to pray?--to -venerate a priest?--to adore the mystery of the cross?--to desire -baptism, and yearn for admission to the unity of God's church? - -The three principal difficulties in the missioner's work among the -Indians are to "stamp out" (to use a recently-invented phrase) the -influence of their native magicians, and the practices of polygamy and -cannibalism--though several of the tribes are free from the last-named -vice. The magician, as we might expect, is always plotting to -counteract his advances and to revenge them when successful. When a -man has been possessed of half-a-dozen wives, and perhaps as yet -barely realized to himself the Christian idea of marriage, it is a -considerable sacrifice to part with all but one, and sometimes -perplexing to decide which he will retain and which he will part with. -Then the ladies themselves have generally a good deal to say upon this -question, and combinations arise in consequence, which are often very -serious and oftener still very ludicrous. - -At Fort Resolution, on the great Slave Lake, the missioner met with a -{569} warm reception from the neighboring tribes of Indians; and as -the greater part of them embraced Christianity, he set himself to work -in instructing them. He explained to them that Christian marriage was -a free act, and could never be valid where it was compulsory, and that -in this respect the wife was as independent as the husband. This was -quite a new doctrine to the savages, with whom it was an inveterate -custom to obtain their wives either by force or by purchasing them -from their parents. The doctrine, however, was eagerly received by the -women, who felt themselves raised by it to equal rights with their -husbands. The men were then instructed that the Christian religion did -not permit polygamy, and that as many of them as had more than one -wife must make up their minds which of them they would retain, and -then part with the rest. It would be difficult to explain the reason -why marriage, which is a serious and solemn contract, and which in -mystical signification ranks first among the sacraments, is the -subject of jests, and provokes laughter in all parts of the world. The -savages were no exception to this rule; and while they set themselves -to obey the commands of the church, they made their doing so the -occasion of much merriment. The following morning a crowd of them -waited upon the priest, each of whom brought the wife with whom he -intended to be indissolubly united. After an exhortation, which dwelt -upon the divine institution, sacramental nature, and mutual -obligations of matrimony, each couple was called up to the priest -after their names had been written down in the register. The first -couple who presented themselves were "Toqueiyazi" and "Ethikkan." -"Toqueiyaza," said the priest, "will you take Ethikkan to be your -lawful wife?" "Yes," was the answer. "Ethikkan, will you take -Toqueiyazi to be your lawful husband?" "No," said the bride, "on no -account." Then turning to the bridegroom, who shared the general -astonishment of all present, she continued, "You took me away by -force; you came to our tent and tore me away from my aged father; you -dragged me into the forests, and there I became your slave as well as -your wife, because I believed that you had a right to make yourself my -master: but now the priest himself has declared that God has given the -same liberty to the woman as to the man. I choose to enjoy that -liberty, and I will not marry you." Great was the sensation produced -by this startling announcement. A revolution had taken place. The men -beheld the social order which had hitherto obtained in their tribe -suddenly overthrown. The women trembled for the consequences which -this daring act might bring upon them. For a moment the issue was -doubtful; but the women, who always get the last word in a discussion, -in this case got the first also; they cried out that Ethikkan was a -courageous woman, who had boldly carried out the principles of the -Christian religion regardless of human respect; and what she had done -was in fact so clearly in accordance with what the priest had taught, -that the men at length acquiesced, and the "rights of woman" were -thenceforward recognized and established on the banks of the great -Slave Lake. - -In one of his winter journeys through the snow, attended by a party of -Indians and sledge drawn by dogs, Mgr. Faraud was arrested by a low -moaning sound which proceeded from a little girl lying under a hollow -tree covered with icicles. Her hands and feet were already -frostbitten, but she was still sufficiently conscious to tell him that -her parents had left her there to die. It is a common practice with -the savages to make away with any member of the family who is likely -to become a burden to them. The priest put the child on the sledge, -carried her home, and, with proper treatment, care, and food, she -recovered. She was instructed and baptized, receiving the name of -Mary. This child became the priest's consolation and joy, {570} a -visible angel in his house, gay and happy, and a source of happiness -and edification to others. She was one of those chosen souls on whom -God showers his choicest favors, and whom he calls to a close -familiarity with himself. But after a time the priest was obliged to -leave on a distant mission, having been called to spend the winter -with a tribe who wished to embrace Christianity, and whose territory -lay at a distance of several hundreds of miles. What was to be done -with Mary? To accompany him was impossible--to remain behind was to -starve. There was at that time, among his savage catechnmens, an old -man and his wife whose baptism he had deferred till the following -spring. This seemed to be the only solution of the difficulty. They -had no children of their own; they would take charge of Mary, and -bring her safe back to "the man of prayer" in the spring. Bitter was -the parting between little Mary and the priest; but there was the hope -of an early meeting in the following spring. The spring came, and the -priest returned; but the old savages and Mary came not. For weeks the -priest expected them, and then started to seek their dwelling, about -fifty miles distant from his own. He found their house empty, and the -man could nowhere be discovered. But in searching for him through the -forest, he descried an old woman gathering fuel. It was his wife. -Where was Mary? The old woman made evasive replies until the sternness -of the priest's manner terrified her into confession. "The winter had -been severe"--"they had run short of provisions"--"and--and--" in -short, _they had eaten her_. - -But if the difficulties, disappointments, and sufferings of the -missioner in these American deserts are great, requiring in him great -virtue and an apostolic spirit, his consolations are great also. The -grace of God is always given in proportion to his servants' need; and -in this virgin soil, where spurious forms of Christianity are as yet -unknown, the effects it produces are at time astounding. The missioner -is alternately tempted to elation and despair. He must know, to use -the words of the Apostle, "how to be brought low, and how to abound." -Monseigneur Faraud has now returned to his diocese to reap the harvest -of the good seed which he has sown, and to carry a Christian -civilization to the savages of the extreme north of America. He has -left his volume behind him to invite our prayers for his success, and -to remind those generous souls who are inspired to undertake the work -of evangelizing the heathen, that in his portion of the Lord's field -"the harvest is great and the laborers few." - ------- - -MISCELLANY. - - -_The Zoological Position of the Dodo_.--At a meeting of the -Zoological Society on the 9th of January last, Professor Owen read a -paper on the osteology of the Dodo, the great extinct bird of the -Mauritius. Our readers will remember that this bird has given rise to -a good deal of discussion from time to time as to its true affinities. -When Professor Owen was Curator of the Royal College of Surgeons' -Museum, he classed the Dodo along with the Raptorial birds. This -arrangement led to the production of the huge volume of Messrs. -Strickland and Melville, in which it was very ably demonstrated that -the bird belongs to the _Columbae_ or pigeon group. It is highly -creditable therefore to Professor Owen that upon a careful examination -of the specimens of the dodo's bones which have lately come under his -observation, he has consented to the view long ago expressed by Dr. -Melville. {571} The materials upon which Professor Owen's paper was -based consisted of about one hundred different bones belonging to -various parts of the skeleton, which had been recently discovered by -Mr. George Clark, of Mahéberg, Mauritius, in an alluvial deposit in -that island. After an exhaustive examination of these remains, which -embraced nearly every part of the skeleton, Professor Owen came to the -conclusion that previous authorities had been correct in referring the -dodo to the Columbine order, the variations presented, though -considerable, being mainly such as might be referable to the -adaptation of the dodo to a terrestrial life, and different food and -habits.--_Popular Science Review_. - - - -_Native Borax_.--A lake about two miles in circumference, from which -borax is obtained in extremely pure condition and in very large -quantity, has recently been discovered in California. The borax -hitherto in use has been procured by combining boracic acid, procured -from Tuscany, with soda. It is used in large quantities in England, -the potteries of Staffordshire alone consuming more than 1100 tons -annually. - - - -_Fall of the Temperature of Metals_.--At the last meeting of the -Chemical Society of Paris, Dr. Phipson called attention to the sudden -fall of temperature which occurs when certain metals are mixed -together at the ordinary temperature of the atmosphere. The most -extraordinary descent of temperature occurs when 207 parts of lead, -118 of tin, 284 of bismuth, and l,617 of mercury are alloyed together. -The external temperature being at +170° centigrade at the time of the -mixture, the thermometer instantly falls to--10° below zero. Even when -these proportions are not taken with absolute rigor, the cold produced -is such that the moisture of the atmosphere is immediately condensed -on the sides of the vessel in which the metallic mixture is made. The -presence of lead in the alloy does not appear to be so indispensable -as that of bismuth. Dr. Phipson explains this fact by assuming that -the cold is produced by the liquefaction at the ordinary temperature -of the air of such dense metals as bismuth, etc., in their contact -with the mercury. - - - -_Greek and Egyptian Inscriptions_.--The discovery of a stone bearing a -Greek inscription with equivalent Egyptian hieroglyphics, by Messrs. -Lepsius, Reinisch, Rösler, and Weidenbach, four German explorers, at -Sane, the former Tanis, the chief scene of the grand architectural -undertakings of Rameses the Second, is an important event for students -of Egyptology. The Greek inscription consists of seventy-six lines, in -the most perfect preservation, dating from the time of Ptolemy -Energetes I. (238 B.C.) The stone is twenty-two centimetres high, and -seventy-eight centimetres wide, and is completely covered by the -inscriptions. The finders devoted two days to copying the -inscriptions, taking three photographs of the stone, and securing -impressions of the hieroglyphics. Egyptologists are therefore -anxiously looking forward to the production of these facsimiles and -photographs. - ------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - - -MISCELLANEA: comprising Reviews, Lectures, and Essays, on Historical, -Theological, and Miscellaneous Subjects, By M. J. Spalding, D.D., -Archbishop of Baltimore. Fourth edition. 2 vols. 8vo. Pp. 807. -Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1866. - -This work has attained a well deserved popularity in the Catholic -community; and we hail with pleasure this new and enlarged edition of -it. Dr. Spalding has obtained the first place amongst the few of our -popular writers; and by his contributions to Catholic literature will -leave after him evidences of a "good fight" for the truth and faith of -Christ. The Miscellanea is a book for the times, such as the Church -always needs, and of which in later years we have sadly felt the want. -The prolific Anti-catholic press has deluged the country with {572} -publications of all sizes and of every character, unfair in their -statements of our doctrine and practice, and but too often marked by -bitter invective and wilful misrepresentation. The prejudices thus -engendered and deepened must be quickly and pointedly met before the -poison has had time to spread. We must not be content with a passive -confidence in the inherent strength of truth. In the long run truth -will prevail, we know; but there is no reason why truth should not -also prevail in the short run. Our American style of making a mental -meal is not very far different from that of our physical meal. We read -as fast as we eat, and are not over dainty. It is perfectly marvellous -what hashes of literary refuse your anti-church, anti-papal, and -liberal (sic) caterer has the impudence to set before a people -hungering after righteousness and truth: and it is equally marvellous -that these same people so hastily gulp down the newly spiced dish, -without evincing any suspicion of their having once or twice before -seen and rejected the same well-picked bones and unsavory morsels. - -Experience proves the necessity of providing for the American mind -good solid food, cooked _a la hâte_, and served with few -accompaniments. They are not partial to long introductory soups, and -totally disregard all side-dish references and quotations. Comparisons -aside, we need quick and popular answers to these popular and hasty -accusations. The difficulty we experience is in the fact that the -books, pamphlets, and tracts which disseminate error, contain such a -mass of illogical reasoning, and are based upon so many contradictory -principles, that to answer them all fully and logically would require -as many octavos as they possess pages. To give a fair, unsophistical, -and popular response to the questions of the day, as presented to us -in the forms we have mentioned, requires no little critical skill, and -real literary genius. In the perusal of the work before us we have had -frequent occasion to admire these characteristics of the distinguished -author. His trenchant blows decapitate at once a host of hydra-headed -errors, and he displays a happy faculty of marking and dealing with -those particular points which would be noticeable ones for the reader -of the productions which come under the judgment of his pen. We have -cause to congratulate ourselves that we have in him a popular writer -for the American people. An American himself, he understands his -countrymen, appreciates their merits, and is not blind to their -failings. It is true we find in these pages many qualifications of the -motives of Protestant antagonists and of Protestant movements -generally which we wish might be read only by those to whom they -apply; still the intelligent reader will not fail to observe that they -were called forth by the temper of the times in which these different -essays were written. The author himself observes in his preface to -this edition: "As some of them were written as far back as twenty -years, it is but natural to suppose that they occasionally exhibit -more spirit and heat in argument, than the cooler temper and riper -taste of advancing years would fully approve." And he very justly -adds: "While I am free to make this acknowledgment, justice to my own -convictions and feelings requires me to state, that in regard to the -facts alleged, I have nothing to retract, or even, materially to -modify, and that in the tone and temper I do not even now believe that -I set down aught in malice, or with any other than the good intent of -correcting error and establishing truth, without assuming the -aggressive except for the sake of what I believed to be the legitimate -defence of the Church of God." - -What the learned writer here hints at, we feel to be his own profound -convictions at the present day, and the wisdom of which the aspect of -controversy as it is now successfully being carried on here and in -Europe, also proves, that it is better to convince and to teach, than -to silence. We are not, however, altogether averse to sharp reproof or -good-natured ridicule where it is well deserved. Fools are to be -answered, says the Holy Scripture, according to their folly; and fools -not unfrequently attack the truth and do a deal of mischief. When a -writer or public orator presumes to talk nonsense, or appeals to the -vulgar prejudices or the fears of the ignorant, it becomes necessary -to exhibit both his character and motives. Calm and unimpassioned -argument is thrown away upon him, and is looked upon by the unthinking -masses as a confession of weakness. Few instances, if any, can be -shown where a Catholic polemic writer has treated an honorable {573} -antagonist with discourtesy: and we venture to say that the scathing -criticisms which are to be found in the work before us were richly -merited, and on the whole will be so judged by the dispassionate -reader. - -This edition contains upward of one hundred and sixty pages of new -matter, of equal interest with that of the fore-going editions. - -We give it our humble and earnest commendation, heartily wishing that -it may be widely circulated and read; confidently assured as we are -that it will do good, and advance the cause of truth. - - - -CHRISTIANITY, Its Influence on Civilization, and its Relation to -Nature's Religion: the "Harmonial" or Universal Philosophy. A Lecture. -By Caleb S. Weeks. New York: W. White & Co. 1866. - -What a pity Mr. Caleb S. Weeks was not born earlier! The whole world -has been running for nineteen centuries after the "Nazarene," and his -"religious system," when it might have been running after Mister -Weeks, and his shallow spiritualistic humanitarian philosophy! Who -knows? Reading effusions of this kind, we are reminded of Beppolo's -Fanfarone: - - "What is't that boils within me? - Is't the throes of nascent genius; or the strength - Of high immortal thoughts to find vent; - Or, is it wind?" - ------- - -REPORT OF THE HOLY CHILDHOOD IN -U. S. ANNALS OF THE HOLY CHILDHOOD, etc. 1866. - -We are in receipt of the above in French and in English, together with -various circulars and pictures illustrating and recommending the -extensive and admirable work of charity, called "The Holy Childhood" -It was founded by the Bishop of Nancy in France, the Rt. Rev. -Forbin-Janson: and its object is principally to rescue the abandoned -children of the Chinese, baptize them, and educate them as Christians. -Chinese parents have irresponsible control over the life and death of -their children, and hence the crime of infanticide is very common -amongst them, and that in its most revolting forms, the heartless -parents drowning them, leaving them to die by exposure, and even to be -eaten alive by dogs and swine. The poor will sell their young children -for a paltry sum, apparently without much regret. It was impossible -that Catholic charity should forever pass by unnoticed such a -plague-spot upon humanity. Wherever humanity suffers, she knows how to -inspire devoted souls with an ardent desire for the alleviation of its -misery. Founded only since 1843, the association of the Holy Childhood -has rescued and baptized three millions of these children. The report -for this year gives the number of those under education at -twenty-three thousand four hundred and sixteen. Such a noble work, so -truly Catholic in its spirit, needs no commendation of ours. We are -sure that all Catholic children, who are the ones particularly invited -to be members of it, and to contribute to its support, will vie with -each other in their prayers and offerings for its success. Catholic -charity effects great things with little means. The entire annual -expenditures of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith, with -which we hope our readers are well acquainted, did not amount, a few -years since, to more than eight thousand dollars. The Society of the -Holy Childhood asks for a contribution of only one cent a month from -each of its members, and requires each one to say daily a Hail Mary -and an invocation to the child Jesus, to have pity upon all poor pagan -children. - -We have been much interested in looking over the number of the annals -sent us, but we are sorry to see certain Religious Orders singled out -by name as not yet having made this enterprise a part of their work. -Those holy and devoted men need no stimulation of this kind to do all -that comes within their sphere for God's greater glory, and the -salvation of mankind: and one does not like one's name called out as a -delinquent by him who solicits, but has not yet obtained our name for -his subscription-list It is, to say the least, injudicious; but we -hope that the well-known zeal and ardent charity of the Directors of -this pious work will be sufficient apology for the incautious remark. - -{574} - -A BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY. -Compiled and arranged by the Rev. Charles Hole, B.A., Trinity College, -Cambridge; with additions and corrections by William A. Wheeler, M.A., -assistant editor of Webster's Dictionary, author of "A Dictionary of -Noted Names of Fiction," etc. 12mo, pp. 453. New-York: Hurd & -Houghton. 1866. - -We have here a most convenient little volume for reference, and one -that is also pretty accurate and complete. It merely gives the name of -the person, his country, profession, date of birth and death. The -American editor has done his work well, as well as it is possible, -humanly speaking, to compile such a work; but he certainly should have -added the name of Dr. J.V. Huntington to the Appendix, which contains -the names of those omitted by Mr. Hole, He has placed names there that -are not half so well known to men of letters as that of the late -lamented Dr. Huntington. We make special mention of his name, as the -American editor of this useful little book is the author of "A -Dictionary of Noted Names of Fiction," and must have read of the -author of "Alban," "The Forest," "Rosemary," "Pretty Plate," "Blonde -and Brunette," etc., etc. There may be other omissions, but this -author being one of the most prominent of our deceased American -Catholic writers, there can be no good excuse for the exclusion of his -name. - - - -DEVOTION TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY IN NORTH AMERICA. -By the Rev. Xavier Donald Macleod. With a Memoir of the author by the -Most Rev. John B. Purcell, D.D., Archbishop of Cincinnati. 8vo, pp. -467. Virtue & Yorston, New-York. - -Few Americans are well acquainted with the religious history of their -own country. It is to be regretted, for in the religious history of -any nation we find a revelation of life no less interesting, and far -more important than the detail of its political fortunes. Indeed, we -believe that history written so as to exclude the mention of religion -and its influence upon the social character, civilization, and the -national peculiarities of a people, would be as incomplete as it would -be unintelligible. Americans are educated to believe that this -country, with the exception of Mexico, has been a Protestant country -from the start; that its religious activity has been purely -Protestant; that Catholicity has been chiefly hitherto a work confined -to the spiritual ministrations of foreign priests to a foreign -immigrant population; and he is surprised to learn that the only -missionary work done on this continent worthy of record on the page of -its history is wholly Catholic. And we venture to affirm that the only -picture of the religion of America, either of its early or its later -days, which will be looked upon by future generations with pleasure -and pride, will be that which the Catholic Church presents in the -apostolic labors of her missionaries, through which the savage Indian -becomes the docile Christian; the rude, uneducated masses, whether -white or black, are guided, instructed, and saved; the truth and grace -of the holy faith is preached in hardship, toil, privation, -persecution, and death. It is true that the book before as treats of -religion in America with only the devotion toward our Blessed Lady as -its particular theme, but it necessarily offers us a view of the -progress of the Catholic religion in every part of the continent. It -is written in a most charming style, replete with graphic -descriptions, and marked throughout by that tone of enthusiastic -loyalty to the faith so characteristic of the gifted and lamented -author. There is no portion of the work we have read with greater -interest than that which concerns the conversion and religious life of -the Indians. There has been no truer type of the Catholic missionary -than is displayed by those devoted priests, who came to this country -burning with the desire to win its savage aborigines to the faith of -Christ. Let us give a little extract: - - "For thirty years now has Father Sebastian Rasle dwelt in the - forest, teaching to its wild, red children the love of God and Mary. - He is burned by sun and tanned by wind until he is almost as red as - his parishioners. The languages of the Abenaki and Huron, the - Algonquin and Illinois, are more familiar to him than the tongue in - which his mother taught him the Ave Maria. The huts of Norridgewock - contain his people; the river Kennebec flows swiftly past his - dwelling to the sea. There he has built a church--handsome, he - thinks and says; perhaps it would not much excite our luxurious - imagination. At any rate, the altar is handsome; and he has gathered - a store of copes and chasubles, albs and embroidered stoles for the - dignity of the holy service. He has trained, also, as many as forty - Indian boys in the ceremonies, and, in their crimson cassocks and - white surplices, they aid the sacred pomp. Besides the church, there - are two chapels, one on the road which leads to the forest, {575} - where the braves are wont to make a short retreat before they start - to trap and hunt; the other on the path to the cultivated lands, - where prayers are offered when they go to plant or gather in the - harvest. The one is dedicated to the guardian angel of the tribe, - the other to our most holy mother, Mary Immaculate. To adorn this - latter is the especial emulation of the women. Whatever they have of - jewels, of silk stuff from the settlements, or delicate embroidery - of porcupine-quill, or richly tinted moose-hair, is found here; and - from amidst their offerings rises, white and fair, the statue of the - Virgin; and her sweet face looks down benignantly upon her swarthy - children, kneeling before her to recite their rosaries. One - beautiful inanimate ministrant to God's worship they have in - abundance--light from wax candles. The wax is not precisely _opus - apium_, but it is a nearer approach to it than you find in richer - and less excusable places. It is wax from the berry of the laurels, - which cover the hills of Maine. And to the chapel every night and - morning come all the Indian Christians. At morning they make their - prayer in common, and assist at mass, chanting, in their own - dialect, hymns written for that purpose by their pastor. Then they - go to their employment for the day; he to his continuous, orderly, - and ceaseless labor. The morning is given up to visitors, who come - to their good father with their sorrows and disquietudes; to ask his - relief against some little injustice of their fellows; his advice on - their marriage or other projects. He consoles this one, instructs - that, reestablishes peace in disunited families, calms troubled - consciences, administers gentle rebuke, or gives encouragement to - the timid. The afternoon belongs to the sick, who are visited in - their own cabins. If there be a council, the black-robe must come to - invoke the Holy Spirit on their deliberations; if a feast, he must - be present to bless the viands and to check all approaches to - disorder. And always in the afternoon, old and young, warrior and - gray-haired squaw, Christian and catechumen, assemble for the - catechism. When the sun declines westward, and the shadows creep - over the village, they seek the chapel for the public prayer, and to - sing a hymn to St. Mary. Then each to his own home; but before - bed-time, neighbors gather again, in the house of one of them, and - in antiphonal choirs they _sing_ their beads, and with another hymn - they separate for sleep." - -The work does not need any commendation at our hands; it will -assuredly become popular wherever it is introduced, whether it be into -the libraries of colleges or literary associations, or into the family -circle. - - -LIFE AND CAMPAIGNS OF LIEUT.-GENERAL U. S. GRANT, -from his Boyhood to the Surrender of General Lee; including an -accurate account of Sherman's great march from Chattanooga to -Washington, and the final official Reports of Sheridan, Meade, -Sherman, and Grant; with portraits on steel of Stanton, Grant and his -Generals, and other illustrations. By Rev. P.G. Headley, author of -Life of Napoleon, Life of Josephine, etc., etc. 8vo, pp. 720. New -York: Derby & Miller Publishing Co. 1866. - -The title of this work is sufficiently ambitious to justify the -expectation that it is really a valuable contribution to our national -historical literature. Such is, however, not the case. The only -valuable portions of the book are the reports of different commanding -generals, which are appended. The style is of the inflated, -mock-heroic order, of which we have had a surfeit, especially since -the commencement of the late war. The descriptions of battles remind -us of a certain class of cheap battle pictures, in which smoke, -artillery horses, and men are arranged and rearranged to suit any -desired emergency. One is left in doubt in reading the account of the -famous charge on the left at Fort Donelson, whether C. F. Smith or -Morgan L. Smith was the officer in command. Morgan L. Smith was a -brave and valuable officer, but the decisive charge in question was -led by C. F. Smith, and was one of the most remarkable and brilliant -military exploits of the war. We cannot pretend to wade through all -the crudities, platitudes, and mistakes of this bulky volume, -manufactured to order, not written. There is one glaring blunder or -intentional perversion, in the desire to please every body, which all -cannot pass over. The relief of Major-General McClernand in front of -Vicksburg is made to appear to be a reluctant act on the part of -General Grant. Mr. Headley represents General Grant as complying with -an urgent military necessity, at the cost of _his friend_. This is all -sheer nonsense. There was and could be no friendship between Grant and -McClernand. One might as well expect fellowship between light and -darkness. There was a military necessity to remove McClernand, for -every day that he commanded a corps imperilled the safety of the whole -army. Sherman and McPherson united in demanding his removal, {576} and -General Grant chose the right moment to relieve him--when he had -demonstrated his incapacity, or worse, to the mind of every soldier on -the field, and ruined forever the false popularity he had acquired as -a politician of the lowest grade. Mr. Headley makes an unsuccessful -effort to glaze over General Wallace's unaccountable delay in coming -up to the field of' Shiloh. In fact, he deals in indiscriminate praise -for an obvious reason, and like all such people is certain to get very -little himself from his critics. The book no doubt sells, and will -probably stimulate a desire to read the authentic histories which will -in due season appear, and of which Wm. Swinton's History of the Army -of the Potomac (not without its faults) is a specimen. We expect a -first-class scientific History of the War. Major-General Schofield is -the man to write it, when the proper time arrives. - - -POETRY, LYRICAL, NARRATIVE, AND SATIRICAL, OF THE CIVIL WAR. -Selected and edited by Richard Grant White. 12mo, pp. 384. American -News Co. - -Mr. White's preface to this volume of selected poetry is the best -criticism which the book could have, and is an exhaustive and elegant -essay. It is a remarkably complete collection of the pieces which have -appeared from time to time in the progress of the war. The value of -such a work is in its completeness less than in the merits of the -compositions selected. We should be glad to see another edition, -containing some which have been overlooked or omitted. The value of -such a collection increases with time, and it will be eagerly sought -for and highly prized when the hateful, painful, and commonplace -features of the struggle have softened into the elements of pleasing -reminiscence and romance, and become the incentives to heroism and -patriotism to unborn children. - - -A TEXT BOOK ON PHYSIOLOGY. -For the use of Schools and Colleges, being an Abridgement of the -author's larger work on Human Physiology. By John William Draper, -M.D., LL.D., author of A Treatise on Human Physiology, and A History -of the Intellectual Development of Europe, etc. 12mo, pp. 376. Harper -& Brothers, 1866. - - -A TEXT BOOK ON CHEMISTRY. -For the use of Schools and Colleges. By Henry Draper, M.D., Professor -Adjunct of Chemistry and Natural History in the University of New -York. 12mo, pp. 507. Harper & Brothers. 1866. - -The Drapers, father and sons, present the rare example in this -materialistic age and most materialistic city, of a whole family -devoted to literary and scientific pursuits, and working in that -harmony which the sincere and loyal pursuit of science is sure to -produce. Although we have had occasion to differ with Professor Draper -in his philosophical and some of his political deductions, we admire -his intellect and attainments, and in the purely scientific order -consider him entitled to the highest consideration and respect. He is -a close student and an original observer, and we believe him ardently -and faithfully devoted to the ascertainment of exact scientific truth. - -His sons are men of great promise, and have already done more in their -short lives in the respective departments of natural science than many -of twice their age. - -Catholicity courts scientific investigation and verification in every -department of inquiry, and delights to honor all men who devote their -lives to these self-denying labors. There is, so to speak, a sanctity -of science. Science inevitably tends toward religion, and is the most -powerful safeguard of society and civilization next to religion. - -The two manuals whose titles are given above are excellent of their -kind, and we cordially recommend them to our schools and colleges. - - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From D. Appleton & Co., New-York. The Annual Cyclopaedia and Register -of Important Events of the Year 1865. 8vo, pp. 850. - - -From Hurd & Houghton, New-York. Revolution and Reconstruction. Two -Lectures delivered in the Law School of Harvard College, in January, -1865, and January, 1866, by Joel Parker. 8vo, pamphlet, pp. 89. -Shakespeare's Delineations of Insanity, Imbecility, and Suicide. By A. -O. Kellogg, M.D., Assistant Physician State Lunatic Asylum, Utica, -N.Y. 12mo. pp. 204. Pictures of Country Life. By Alice Cary. 18mo, pp. -859. - - -From D. & J. Sadlier & Co., New-York. Parts 18. 19, and 20 of -D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes; and Vol II. of Catholic Anecdotes. - - - -From P. O'Shea, New-York. Nos. 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32. and 33 of -Darras's History of the Catholic Church. - - -From A. D. F. Randolph, New-York. The Lady of La Garaye. By the Hon. -Mrs. Norton, 12mo, pp. 115. - - - -From J. J. O'Connor & Co., Newark, N.J. Jesus and Mary. A Catholic -hymn-book. Selected from various sources, and arranged for the use of -the children of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Newark, N.J. 12mo, pp. 76, -paper. - ------- - -{577} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. III., NO. 17.--AUGUST, 1866. - - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -V. - -THE REVELATION OF THE SUPERNATURAL ORDER, -AND ITS RELATION TO THE PRIMITIVE IDEA OF REASON. - -Our reason in apprehending the intelligible is advertised at the same -time of the existence of the super-intelligible. It is necessary to -explain here the sense in which this latter term is used. It is -evident that it can be used only in a relative and not in an absolute -sense. That which is absolutely without the domain of the intelligible -is absolutely unintelligible and therefore a non-entity. The -super-intelligible must therefore be something which is intelligible -to God, but above the range either of all created reason, or of human -reason in its present condition. It will suffice for the present to -consider it under the latter category. - -Our reason undoubtedly apprehends in its intelligible object the -existence of something which is above the range of human intelligence -in its present state. The intimate nature of material and spiritual -substances is incomprehensible. Much more, the intimate nature or -essence of the infinite divine being. All science begins from and -conducts to the incomprehensible. Any one who wishes to satisfy -himself of this may peruse the first few chapters of Mr. Herbert -Spencer's "Principles of Philosophy." That portion of the first -article of the creed which reason can demonstrate; namely, the being -of God, the Creator of the world, in which is included also the -immortality of the soul, and the principle of moral obligation; -advertises therefore, of an infinite sphere of truth which is above -our comprehension. The natural suggests the supernatural, in which it -has its first and final cause, its origin and ultimate end. The -knowledge of the natural, therefore, gives us a kind of negative -knowledge of the super-natural, by advertising us of its own -incompleteness, and of the want of any principle of self-origination -or metaphysical finality in itself. A system of pure naturalism which -represents the idea of reason under a form which satisfies completely -the intelligence without introducing the supernatural, is impossible. -What is nature, and what do we mean by the natural? Nature is simply -the aggregate of finite entities, and the natural is {578} what may be -predicated of these entities. A system of pure naturalism would -therefore give a complete account of this aggregate of finite -entities, without going beyond the entities themselves, that is, -without transcending the limits of space, time, the finite and the -contingent. Such a system is not only incapable of rational -demonstration, but utterly unthinkable. For, when the mind has gone to -its utmost length in denying or excluding every positive affirmation -of anything except nature, there remains always the abyss of the -unknown from which nature came and to which it tends, even though the -unknown may be declared to be unknowable. Those who deny the -super-intelligible and the supernatural, therefore, are mere sceptics, -and cannot construct a philosophy. Those who affirm a First Cause, in -which second causes and their effects are intelligible, affirm the -supernatural. For the first and absolute Cause cannot be included -under the same generic term with the second causes and finite forces -of nature. The more perfectly and clearly they evolve the full -theistic conception of pure reason, the more distinctly do they affirm -the supernatural, because the idea of God as the infinite, -intelligible object of his own infinite intelligence is -proportionately explicated and apprehended. It is explicated and -apprehended by means of analogies derived from finite objects, but -these analogies suggest that there is an infinite something behind -them which they represent. By these analogies we learn in a measure -the meaning of the affirmation _Ut Deus sit_. We do not learn _Quid -sit Deus_, but still we cannot help asking the question, What is God, -what is his essence? We know that he is the adequate object of his own -intelligence and will, and therefore we cannot help asking the -question what is that object, what does God see and love in himself, -in what does his most pure and infinite act consist, what is his -beatitude? Our reason is advertised of an infinite truth, reality, or -being, which it cannot comprehend, that is, of the super-intelligible. -Those who base their philosophy on pure theism, or a modified -rationalistic Christianity, are therefore entirely mistaken when they -profess to be anti-supernaturalists, and to draw a distinctly marked -line between themselves and the supernaturalists. The distinction is -only between more or less consistent supernaturalists. Those who are -at the remotest point from the Catholic idea, see that those who are a -little nearer have no tenable standing-point, and these see it of -those who are nearer than they are, and so on, until we come to the -Anglicans and the Orientals. But the extremists themselves have no -better standing-point than the intermediaries, and in their theistic -conception have admitted a principle from which they can be driven by -irresistible and invincible logic to the Catholic Church. For the -present, we merely aim to show that they are compelled to admit the -supernatural when they affirm God as the first and final cause of the -world. In affirming this, they affirm that nature has its origin and -final reason in the supernatural, or in an infinite object above -itself, which human reason cannot comprehend. That is, they affirm -super-intelligible and super-natural relations, of man and the -universe. These relations must be regulated and adjusted by some law. -This law is either the simple continuity of the original creative act -which explicates itself through con-creative second causes in time and -space, or it is this, and in addition to this, an immediate act of the -Creator completing his original, creative act by subsequent acts of an -equal or superior order, which concur with the first towards the final -cause of the creation. Whoever takes the first horn of this dilemma is -a pure naturalist in the only sense of the word which is intelligible. -That is, while he is a supernaturalist, in maintaining that nature has -its first and final cause in the supernatural, or in {579} God; he is -a naturalist in maintaining that man has no other tendency to his -final cause except that given in the creative act that is essential to -nature, and no other mode prescribed for returning to his final cause -than the explication of this natural tendency, according to natural -law. Consequently, reason is sufficient, without revelation; the will, -without grace; humanity, without the incarnation; society, or the race -organized under law, without the church. It is precisely in the method -of treating this thesis of naturalism that the divarication takes -place between the great schools of Catholic theology and between the -various systems of philosophy, whether orthodox or heterodox, which -profess to base themselves on the Christian idea, or to ally -themselves with it. It is not easy to find the clue which will lead us -safely through this labyrinth and preserve us from deviating either to -the right hand or to the left, by denying too much on the one hand to -the naturalists, or conceding too much to them on the other. -Nevertheless it is necessary to search for it, or to give up all -effort to discuss the question before us, and to prove from principles -furnished by nature and reason the necessity of accepting a -supernatural revelation. - -The true thesis of pure naturalism or rationalism is, that God in -educating the human race for the destiny in view of which he created -it, merely explicates that which is contained in nature by virtue of -the original creative act, without any subsequent interference of the -divine, creative power. He develops nature by natural laws alone, in -one invariable mode. The physical universe evolves by a rigid sequence -the force of all the second causes which it contains. The rational -world is governed by the same law, and so also is the moral and -spiritual world. The intellectual and spiritual education of the human -race develops nothing except natural reason, and the natural, -spiritual capacity of the soul. Reason extends its conquests by a -continual progress in the super-intelligible realm, reducing it to the -intelligible, and eternally approaching to the comprehension of the -infinite and absolute truth. The spiritual capacity advances -constantly in the supernatural realm, reducing it to the natural, and -eternally approaching the infinite and absolute good or being. All -nature, all creation, is on the march, and its momentum is the -impulsive force given it by the creative impact that launched it into -existence and activity. - -Planting themselves on this thesis, its advocates profess to have _à -priori_ principle by which they prove the all-sufficiency of nature -for the fulfilment of its own destiny, and reject as an unnecessary or -even inconceivable intrusion, the affirmation of another divine -creative act, giving a new impact to nature, superadding a new force -to natural law, subordinating the physical universe to a higher end, -implanting a superior principle of intelligence and will in the human -soul, and giving to the race a destination above that to which it -tends by its own proper momentum. They refuse to entertain the -question of a supernatural order, or an order which educates the race -according to a law superior to that of the evolution of the mere -forces of nature; and in consequence of this refusal, they logically -refuse to entertain the question of a supernatural revelation -disclosing this order, and of a supernatural religion in which the -doctrines, laws, institutions, forces and instruments of this order -are organized, for the purpose of drawing the human race into itself. -This is the last fortress into which heterodox philosophy has fled. -The open plains are no longer tenable. The only conflict of magnitude -now raging in Christendom is between the champions of the Catholic -faith and the tenants of this stronghold. It is a great advantage for -the cause of truth that it is so. The controversy is simplified, the -issues are clearly marked, the opportunity is favorable for an {580} -unimpeded and decisive collision between the forces of faith and -unbelief, and the triumph of faith will open the way for Christianity -to gain a new and mighty sway over the mind, the heart, and the life -of the civilized world. This stronghold is no more tenable than any of -the others which have been successively occupied and abandoned. Its -tenants have gained only a momentary advantage by retreating to it. -They escape certain of the inconsistencies of other parties and evade -the Catholic arguments levelled against these inconsistencies. But -they can be driven by the irresistible force of reason from their -position, and made to draw the Catholic conclusion from their own -premises. - -We do not say this in a boastful spirit, or as vaunting our own -ability to effect a logical demolition of rationalism. Rather, we -desire to express our confidence that the reason of its advocates -themselves will drive them out of it, and that the common judgment of -an age more enlightened than the present will demolish it. It is our -opinion, formed after hearing the language used by a great number of -men of all parties, and reading a still greater number of their -published utterances, that the most enlightened intelligence of this -age in Protestant Christendom has reached two conclusions; the first -is, that the Catholic Church is the true and genuine church of -Christianity; and the second, that it is necessary to have a positive -religion which will embody the same idea that produced Christianity. -The combination and evolution of these two intellectual convictions -promise to result in a return to Catholicism. And there are to be seen -even already in the writings of those who have given up the positive -Christianity of orthodox Protestantism, indications of the workings of -a philosophy which tends to bring them round to the positive -supernatural faith of the Catholic church. It is by these grand, -intellectual currents moving the general mind of an age, that -individual minds are chiefly influenced, more than by the thoughts of -other individual minds. Individual thinkers can scarcely do more than -to detect the subtle element which the common intellectual atmosphere -holds in solution, to interpret to other thinkers their own thoughts, -or give them a direction which will help them to discover for -themselves some truth more integral and universal than they now -possess. Therefore, while confiding in the power of the integral and -universal truth embodied in the Catholic creed to bear down all -opposition and vanquish every philosophy which rises up agamst it, we -do not arrogate the ability to grasp and wield this power, and to -exhibit the Catholic idea in its full evidence as the integrating, -all-embracing form of universal truth. It is proposed in an honorable -and conciliatory spirit to those who love truth and are able to -investigate it for themselves. Many things must necessarily be -affirmed or suggested in a brief, unpretending series of essays, which -admit of and require minute and elaborate proof, such as can only be -given in an extensive work, but merely sketched here after the manner -of an outline engraving which leaves out the filling up belonging to a -finished picture. - -To return from this digression. We have begun the task of indicating -how that naturalism or pure rationalism which affirms the theistic -conception logically demonstrable by pure reason, can only integrate -itself and expand itself to a universal Theodicy or doctrine of God, -in a supernatural revelation. - -If the opposite theory of pure naturalism were true, it ought to -verify itself in the actual history of the human race, and in the -actual process of its education. The idea of the supernatural ought to -be entirely absent from the consciousness of the race. For, on the -supposition of that theory, it has no place in the human mind--and no -business in the world. If unassisted nature and reason suffice for -{581} themselves they ought to do their work alone, and do it so -thoroughly that there would be no room for any pretended supernatural -revelation to creep in. The history of mankind ought to be a -continuous, regular evolution of reason and nature, like the movements -of the planets; the human race ought to have been conscious of this -law from the beginning, and never to have dreamed of the supernatural, -never to have desired it. - -Philosophy ought to have been, from the first, master of the -situation, and to have domineered over the whole domain of thought. - -The reverse of this is the fact. The history of the human race, and -the whole world of human thought, is filled with the idea of the -supernatural. The philosophy of naturalism is either a modification -and re-combination of principles learned from revelation, or a protest -against revelation and an attempt to dethrone it from its sway. It has -no pretence of being original and universal, but always pre-supposes -revelation as having prior possession, and dating from time -immemorial. Now human nature and human reason are certainly competent -to fulfil whatever task God has assigned them. They act according to -fixed laws, and tend infallibly to the end for which they were -created. The judgments of human reason and of the human race are valid -in their proper sphere. And therefore the judgment of mankind that its -law of evolution is in the line of the supernatural is a valid -judgment. Revelation has the claim of prescription and of universal -tradition. Naturalism must set aside this claim and establish a -positive claim for itself based on demonstration, before it has any -right even to a hearing. It can do neither. It cannot bring any -conclusive argument against revelation, nor can it establish itself on -any basis of demonstration which does not pre-suppose the instruction -of reason by revelation. - -It cannot conclusively object to revelation. The very principle of -law, that is, of the invariable nexus between cause and effect, which -is the ultimate axiom of naturalism, is based on the perpetual -concurrence of the first cause with all secondary causes, that is, the -perpetuity of the creative act by which God perpetually creates the -creature. There is no reason why this creative act should explicate -all its effects at once or merely conserve the existences it has -produced, and not explicate successively in space and time the effects -of its creative energy. The hypothesis that the creative power can -never act directly in nature except at its origin, and must afterwards -merely act through the medium of previously created causes in a direct -line, is the sheerest assumption. Some of the most eminent men in -modern physical science maintain the theory of successive creations. -There may be the same direct intervention of creative power in the -moral and spiritual world. Miracles, revelations, supernatural -interventions for the regeneration and elevation of the human race, -are not improbable on any _à priori_ principle. The artifice by which -the entire tradition of the human race is set aside, and a demand made -to prove the supernatural _de novo_, is unwarrantable and unfair. The -supernatural has the title of prescription, and the burden of proof -lies only upon the particular systems, to show that they are genuine -manifestations of it, and not its counterfeits. The existence of a -reality which may be counterfeited is a fair postulate of reason, -until the contrary is demonstrated, and something positive of a prior -and more universal order is logically established from the first -principles of reason. We are not to be put off with assurances like a -fraudulent debtor's promises of payment, that our doubts and -uncertainties, will be satisfied after two thousand or two hundred -thousand years. Exclude the supernatural, and natural reason will -have, and can have nothing in the future, beyond the universal data -and principles which we have now and have had from the beginning, with -which to solve its problems. The {582} connection between mind and -matter, the origin and destination of the soul, the future life, the -state of other orders of intelligent beings, the condition of other -worlds, will be as abstruse and incapable of satisfactory settlement -then as now. If we are to gain any certain knowledge concerning them, -it must be in a supernatural way. And what conclusive reason is there -for deciding that we may not? Who can prove that some of that infinite -truth which surrounds us may not break through the veil, that some of -the intelligent spirits of other spheres may not be sent to enlighten -and instruct us? [Footnote 125] - - [Footnote 125: That is, who can prove it from reason alone, without - the evidence of Revelation itself that it is already completed?] - -One of the ablest advocates of naturalism, Mr. William R. Alger, has -admitted that it is possible, and oven maintains that it has already -taken place. In his erudite work on the "History of the Doctrine of a -Future Life," he maintains the opinion that Jesus Christ is a most -perfect and exalted being, who was sent into this world by God to -teach mankind, who wrought miracles and really raised his body to life -in attestation of his doctrine, although he supposes that he laid it -aside again when he left the earth. He distinctly asserts the -infallibility of Christ as a teacher, and of the doctrine which he -actually taught with his own lips. Here is a most distinct and -explicit concession of the principle of supernatural revelation. To -those who heard him he was a supernatural and infallible teacher. In -so far as his doctrine is really apprehended it is for all generations -a supernatural and infallible truth. It has regenerated mankind, and -Mr. Alger believes it is destined, when better understood, to carry -the work of regeneration to a higher point in the future. It is true, -he does not acknowledge that the apostles were infallible in -apprehending and teaching the doctrine of Christ. But he must admit, -that in so far as they have apprehended and perpetuated it, and in so -far as he himself and others of his school now apprehend it more -perfectly than they did, they apprehend supernatural truth and -appropriate a supernatural power. Besides, once admitting that Christ -was an infallible teacher, it is impossible to show why he could not -do what so many philosophers have done, communicate his doctrine in -clear and intelligible terms, so that the substance of it would be -correctly understood and perpetuated. Miss Frances Cobbe, admitted to -be the best expositor of the doctrine of the celebrated Theodore -Parker, in her "Broken Lights," and other similar writers, give to the -doctrine and institutions of Christ a power that is superhuman and -that denotes the action of a superhuman intelligence. Those who -prognosticate a new church, a new religion, a realization of ideal -humanity on earth, cannot integrate their hypothesis in anything -except the supernatural, and must suppose either a new outburst of -supernatural life from the germ which Christ planted on the earth, or -the advent of another superhuman Redeemer. - -Dr. Brownson while yet only a transcendental philosopher on his road -to the Church, exhibited this thought with great power and beauty, in -a little book entitled "New Views." The dream of a new redemption of -mankind in the order of temporal perfection and felicity was never -presented with greater argumentative ability or portrayed in more -charming colors, at least in the English language; and never was any -thing made more clear than the necessity of superhuman powers for the -actual fulfilment of this bewitching dream. [Footnote 126] - - [Footnote 126: That is, bewitching to those who do not believe in - something for more sublime, the restoration of all things in Christ, - foretold in the Scriptures.] - -Whether we look backward or forward, we confront the idea of the -supernatural. This is enough to prove its reality. There are no -universal pseudo-ideas, deceits, or illusions. That which is universal -is true. We have {583} therefore only to inspect the idea of the -supernatural, to examine and explicate its contents, to interrogate -the universal belief and tradition of mankind, to study the history of -the race, and unfold the wisdom of the ancients, and the result will -be truth. We shall obtain true and just conceptions of the original, -universal, eternal idea, in which all particular forms of science, -belief, law, and human evolution in all directions, coalesce and -integrate themselves as in a complete whole including all the -relations of the universe to God, as First and Final Cause. - -We must now go back to the point where we left off, after establishing -as the first principle of all science and faith the pure theistic -doctrine respecting the first and final cause, or the origin and end -of all things in necessary being, that is, God. We have to show the -position of this doctrine in the conception of supernatural -revelation, and its connection with the other doctrines which express -the supernatural relation of the human race and the universe to God. - -The conception of the supernatural in its most simple and universal -form, is the conception of somewhat distinct from and superior to the -complete aggregate of created forces or second causes. In this sense, -it is identical with the conception of first and final cause. It may -be proper here to explain the term Final Cause, which is not in common -use among English writers. It expresses the ultimate motive or reason -for which the universe was created, the end to which all things are -tending. When we say that God is necessarily the final cause, as well -as the first cause, of all existing things, we mean that he could have -had no motive or end in creating, extrinsic to his own being. All that -proceeds from him as first cause must return to him as final cause. -From this it appears that the conception of nature in any theistic -system implies the supernatural; because it implies a cause and end -for nature above itself. The supernatural can only be denied by the -atheist, who maintains that there is nothing superior to what the -Theist calls second causes, or by the Pantheist, who either identifies -God with nature, or nature with God. A Theist cannot form any -conception of pure nature or a purely natural order, except as -included in a supernatural plan; because his natural order originates -in a cause and tends toward an end above and beyond itself, and is not -therefore its own adequate reason. As we have already seen, reason, by -virtue of its original intuition of the infinite, is advertised of -something infinitely beyond all finite comprehension. By apprehending -its own limitation, and the finite, relative, contingent existence of -all things which are, it is advertised of an infinite unknown, and -thus has a negative knowledge of the supernatural. By the light of the -creative act in itself and in the universe, it apprehends the being of -God as reflected in his works and made intelligible by the similitude -of created existences to the Creator. It apprehends that there is an -infinite being, whose created similitude is in itself and all things; -a primal uncreated light, the cause of the reflected light in which -nature is intelligible. Therefore it apprehends the supernatural. But -it does not directly and immediately perceive what this infinite being -or uncreated light is, and cannot do so. That is, by explicating its -own primitive idea, and bringing it more and clearly into the -reflective consciousness, and by learning more and more of the -universe of created existences, it may go on indefinitely, -apprehending God by the reflected light of similitudes, "_per -speculum, in aenigmate;_" but it must progress always in the same -line: it has no tendency toward an immediate vision of God as he is -intelligible in his own essence and by uncreated light. Therefore, it -has only a negative and not a positive apprehension of the -supernatural. God dwells in a light inaccessible to created {584} -intelligence, as such. There is an infinite abyss between him and all -finite reason, which cannot be crossed by any movement of reason, -however accelerated or prolonged. Therefore, although there is no -science or philosophy possible which does not proceed from the -affirmation of the supernatural, that is, of the infinite first and -final cause of nature, yet it is not properly called supernatural -science so long as it is confined to the limits of that knowledge of -causes above nature which is gained only through nature. Its domain is -restricted to that intelligibility which God has given to second -causes and created existences, and which only reflects himself -indirectly. Therefore, theologians usually call it natural knowledge, -and in its highest form natural theology, as being limited within the -bounds above described. They call that the natural order in which the -mind is limited to the explication of that capacity of apprehending -God, or of that intuitive idea of God, which constitutes it rational, -and is therefore limited to a relation to God corresponding to the -mode of apprehending him. The term supernatural is restricted to an -order in which God reveals to the human mind the possibility of -apprehending him by the uncreated light in which he is intelligible to -himself, and coming into a relation to him corresponding therewith; -giving at the same time an elevation to the power of intelligence and -volition which enables it to realize that possibility. This elevation -includes the disclosure of truths not discoverable otherwise, as well -as the faculty of apprehending them in such a vivid manner that they -can have an efficacious action on the will, and give it a supernatural -direction. - -In this sense, rationalists have no conception of the supernatural. -None have it, except Catholics, or those who have retained it from -Catholic tradition. When we ascribe to rationalists a recognition of -the supernatural, we merely intend to say that they recognize in part -that immediate interference of God to instruct mankind and lead it to -its destiny which is really and ultimately, although not in their -apprehension, directed to the elevation of man to a sphere above that -which is naturally possible. Therefore they cannot object to -revelation on the ground of its being an interference with the course -of nature or not in harmony with it, and cannot make an _à priori_ -principle by virtue of which they can prejudge and condemn the -contents of revelation. But we do not mean to say that they possess -the conception of that which constitutes the supernaturalness of the -revelation, in the scientific sense of the term as used by Catholic -theologians. Even orthodox Protestants possess it very confusedly. And -here lies the source of most of the misconceptions of several abstruse -Catholic dogmas. - -It is in the restricted sense that we shall use the term supernatural -hereafter, unless we make it plain that we use it in the general -signification. - -We are now prepared to state in a few words the relation of the -conception of God which is intelligible to reason, to the revealed -truths concerning his interior relations which are received by faith -on the authority of his divine veracity. How does the mind pass -through the knowledge of God to belief in God; through "_Cognosco -Deum_" to "_Credo in Deum_"? [Footnote 127] - - [Footnote 127: "I know God." "I believe in God."] - -We have already said that "_Cognosco_" is included in "_Credo_." The -creed begins by setting before the mind that which is self-evident and -demonstrable concerning God, in which is included his veracity. It -then discloses certain truths concerning God which are not -self-evident or demonstrable from their own intrinsic reason, but -which are proposed as credible, on the authority of God. The word -"_Credo_" expresses this. "I believe in God," means not merely, "I -affirm the being of God," but also, "I believe certain truths -regarding God (whose being is made known to me by the light of reason) -on the authority of his Word." {585} These truths must have in them a -certain obscurity impervious to the intellectual vision; otherwise, -they would take their place among evident and known truths, and would -no longer be believed on the simple motive of the veracity of God -revealing them. That is, they are mysteries, intelligible so far as to -enable the mind to apprehend what are the propositions to which it is -required to assent, but super-intelligible as to their intrinsic -reason and ground in the necessary and eternal truth, or the being of -God. - -In the Creed these mysteries, foreshadowed by the word "Credo," and by -the word "Deum," considered in its relation to "Credo," which -indicates a revelation of mysterious truths concerning the Divine -Being to follow in order after the affirmation of the being and unity -of God; begin to be formally expressed by the word "Patrem." In this -word there is implicitly contained the interior, personal relation of -the Father to the Son and Holy Ghost in the blessed Trinity, and his -exterior relation to man as the author of the supernatural order of -grace, or the order in which man is affiliated to him in the Son, -through the operation of the Holy Spirit. These relations of the three -persons of the blessed Trinity to each other, and to man, include the -entire substance of that which is strictly and properly the -supernatural revelation of the Creed, and the direct object of faith. -Before proceeding, however, to the consideration of the mysteries of -faith in their order, it is necessary to inquire more closely into the -process by which the intellect is brought to face its supernatural -object, and made capable of eliciting an act of faith. - -The chief difficulty in the case is to find the connection between the -last act of reason and the first act of faith, the medium of transit -from the natural to the supernatural. The Catholic doctrine teaches -that the act of faith is above the natural power of the human mind. It -is strictly supernatural, and possible only by the aid of supernatural -grace. Yet it is a rational act, for the virtue of faith is seated in -the intellect as its subject, according to the teaching of St. Thomas. -It is justifiable and explicable on rational grounds, and even -required by right reason. The truths of revelation are not only -objectively certain, but the intellect has a subjective certitude of -them which is absolute, and excludes all suspicion or fear of the -contrary. Now, then, unless we adopt the hypothesis that we have lost -our natural capacity for discerning divine truth, by the fall, and are -merely restored by divine grace to the natural use of reason, there -are several very perplexing questions on this point which press for an -answer. Rejecting this hypothesis of the total corruption of reason, -which will hereafter be proved to be false and absurd, how can faith -give the mind absolute certitude of the truth of its object, when that -truth is neither self-evident nor demonstrable to reason from its own -self-evident principles? Given, that the intellect has this certitude, -how is it that we cannot attain to it by the natural operation of -reason? Once more, what is the evidence of the fact of revelation to -ordinary minds? Is it a demonstration founded on the arguments for -credibility? If so, how are they capable of comprehending them, and -what are they to do before they have gone through with the process of -examination? If not, how have they a rational and certain ground for -the judgment that God has really revealed the truths of Christianity? -Suppose now the fact of revelation established, and that the mind -apprehends that God requires its assent to certain truths on the -virtue of his own veracity. The veracity of God being apprehended as -one logical premiss, and the revelation of certain truths as another, -can reason draw the certain conclusion that the truth of these -propositions is necessarily contained in the veracity of God or not? -If it can, why is not the mind capable of giving them the firm, -unwavering {586} assent of faith by its own natural power, without -the aid of grace? If not, how is it that the assent of the intellect -to the truth of revealed propositions does not always necessarily -contain in it a metaphysical doubt or a judgment that the contrary is -more or less probable, or at least possible? If it is said that the -will, inclined by the grace of God, determines to adhere positively to -the proposed revelation as true, what is meant by this? Does the will -merely determine to act practically as if these proposed truths were -evident, in spite of the lesser probability of the contrary? Then the -assent of the intellect is merely a judgment that revelation is -probably true, and that it is safest to follow it, which does not -satisfy the demand of faith. For faith excludes all fear or suspicion -that the articles of faith may possibly be false. Does the will force -the intellect to judge that those propositions are certain which it -apprehends only as probable? How is this possible? The will is a blind -faculty, which is directed by the intellect, "Nil volitum nisi prius -cognitum." [Footnote 128] There is no act of will without a previous -act of knowledge. The will can not lawfully determine the intellect to -give any stronger assent to a proposition than the evidence warrants. -[Footnote 129] In a word, it is difficult to show how the intellect -has an absolute certitude of the object of faith, without representing -the object of faith as coincident with the object of knowledge, or the -intuitive idea of reason, and thus naturally apprehensible. It is also -difficult to show that faith is not coincident with knowledge, and -thus to bring out the conception of its supernaturalness, without -destroying the connection between faith and reason, subverting its -rational basis, and representing the grace of faith as either -restoring a destroyed faculty or adding a new one to the soul, whose -object is completely invisible and unintelligible to the human -understanding before it is elevated to the supernatural state. The -difficulty lies, however, merely in a defective statement, or a -defective apprehension of the statement of the Catholic doctrine, and -not in the doctrine itself. In order to make this plain, it will be -necessary to make one or two preliminary remarks concerning certitude -and probability. - - [Footnote 128: Nothing is willed unless previously known.] - - [Footnote 129: This is the statement of an objection, not a - proposition affirmed by the author.] - -There is first, a metaphysical certitude excluding all possibility to -the contrary. Such is the certitude of mathematical truths. Such also -is the certitude of self-evident and demonstrable truths of every -kind. The sphere of this kind of certitude is diminished or extended -accordingly as the mind has before it a greater or lesser number of -truths of this order. Some of these truths present themselves to every -mind so immediately and irresistibly that it cannot help regarding -them just as they are, and thus seeing their truth. For instance, that -two and two make four. Others require the mind to be in a certain -state of aptitude for seeing them as they are, and to make an effort -to bring them before it. There are some truths self-evident or -demonstrably certain to some minds which are not so to others; yet -these truths have all an intrinsic, metaphysical certitude which -reason as such is capable of apprehending, and the failure of reason -to apprehend them is due in individual cases merely to the defective -operation of reason in the particular subject. The operation of reason -can never be altogether deficient while it acts at all, for it acts -only while contemplating its object or primitive idea. But its -operation can be partially defective, inasmuch as the primitive idea -or objective truth may be imperfectly brought into the reflective -consciousness. And thus the intellect in individuals may fail to -apprehend truths which can be demonstrated with metaphysical -certitude, and which the intellect infallibly judges to be absolutely -certain in {587} those individuals who are capable of making a right -judgment. In this operation of apprehending metaphysical truths there -is no criterion taken from experience, or from the concurrent assent -of all men, but the truth shines with its own intrinsic light, and -reason judges by its inherent infallibility. - -Next to metaphysical certitude comes moral demonstration, resulting -from an accumulation of probabilities so great that no probability -which can prudently be allowed any weight is left to the other side, -but merely a metaphysical possibility. For instance, the Copernican -theory. - -Then comes moral certainty in a wider sense; where there is probable -evidence on one side without any prudent reason to the contrary, but -not such a complete knowledge of all the facts as to warrant the -positive judgment that there is really no probability on the other -side. This kind of certainty warrants a prudent, positive judgment, -and furnishes a safe practical motive for action; but it varies -indefinitely according as the data on which the judgment is based are -more or less complete, and the importance of the case is greater or -less. - -Then come the grades of probability, where there are reasons balancing -each other on both sides, which the mind must weigh and estimate. - -To apply these principles to the question in hand. - -First, we affirm that the being and attributes of God are apprehended -with a metaphysical certitude. Second, that the motives of credibility -proving the Christian revelation are apprehended, when that Revelation -is sufficiently proposed, with a varying degree of probability, -according to varying circumstances in which the mind may be placed, -but capable of being increased to the highest kind of moral -demonstration. Third, that the logical conclusion which reason can -draw from these two premises, although hypothetically necessary and a -perfect demonstration--that is, a necessary deduction from the -veracity of God, on the supposition that he has really made the -revelation--is really not above the order of probability, on account -of the second premiss. It is not above the order of probability, -although, as we have already argued, it is capable of being brought to -a moral demonstration by such an accumulation of proofs within that -order, that reason is bound to judge that the opposite is altogether -destitute of probability. - -From this it appears, both how far reason with its own principles can -go in denying, and how far it can go in assenting to revealed truth. -We see, first, how it is, that the truth of revelation does not compel -the assent of all minds by an overwhelming and irresistible evidence. -The first premiss, which affirms the being of God, although undeniable -and indubitable in its ultimate idea, may be in its distinct -conception, so far denied or doubted by those whose reason is -perverted by their own fault, or their misfortune, as to destroy all -basis for a revelation. The second premiss, much more, may be -partially or completely swept away, by plausible explanations of its -component probabilities in detail. And thus, revelation may be denied. -The influence of the will on the judgment which is made by the mind on -the revealed truth is explicable in this relation, and must be taken -into the account. It is certain that the moral dispositions by which -voluntary acts are biased, bias also the judgment. The -self-determining power of the will which decides positively which of -its different inclinations to follow, controls the judgment as well as -the volition. This is an indirect control, which is exerted, not by -imperiously commanding the judgment in a capricious manner to make a -blind, irrational decision, but by turning it toward the consideration -of that side toward which the volition or choice is inclined. This -influence and control of volition over judgment increases as we -descend in the order of truth from primary and self-evident -principles, and diminishes as we {588} approach to them. In the case -of truth which is morally or metaphysically demonstrable, its control -is exerted by turning the intellect partially away from the -consideration of the truth and hindering it from giving it that -attention which is necessary, in order to its apprehension. In the -case of divine revelation, various passions, prejudices, interests, or -at least intellectual impediments to a right operation of reason, act -powerfully upon a multitude of minds in such a way, that the mirror of -the soul is too much obscured to receive the image of truth. - -But, supposing that reason and will both operate with all the -rectitude possible to them, without supernatural grace; how far can -the mind proceed in assenting to divine revelation? As far as a moral -demonstration can take it. It can assent to divine truth, and act upon -it, so far as this truth is adapted to the perfecting of the intellect -and will in the natural order. But it lacks capacity to apprehend the -supernatural verities proposed to it, as these are related to its -supernatural destiny. - -The revelation contains an unknown quantity. The will cannot be moved -toward an object which the intellect does not apprehend. Therefore, a -supernatural grace must enlighten the intellect and elevate the will, -in order that the revealed truth may come in contact with the soul. -This supernatural grace gives a certain con-naturality to the soul -with the revealed object of faith, by virtue of which it apprehends -that God speaks to it in a whisper, distinct from his whisper to -reason, and catches the meaning of what he says in this whisper. It is -this supernatural light, illuminating the probable evidence -apprehended by the natural understanding, which makes the assent in -the act of faith absolute, and gives the mind absolute certitude. It -is, however, the certitude of God revealing, and not the certitude of -science concerning the intrinsic reason of that which he reveals. This -remains always inevident and obscure in itself, and the decisive -motive of assent is always the veracity of God. It is not, however, -altogether inevident and obscure, for if it were, the terms in which -it is conveyed would be unintelligible. It is so far inevident, that -the intellect cannot apprehend its certainty, aside from the -declaration of God. But it is partially and obscurely evident, by its -analogy with the known truth of the rational order. It is so far -evident that it can be demonstrated from rational principles that it -does not contradict the truths of reason. Further, that no other -hypothesis can explain and account for that which is known concerning -the universe. And, finally, that so far as the analogy between the -natural and the supernatural is apprehensible, there is a positive -harmony and agreement between them. This is all that we intend to -affirm, when we speak of demonstrating Christianity from the same -principles from which scientific truths are demonstrated. - -Let us now revert once more to Jesus Christ and the pagan philosopher. -The pagan first perceives strong, probable reasons, which increase by -degrees to a moral demonstration, for believing that Christ is the Son -of God, and his doctrine the revelation of God. The supernatural grace -which Christ imparts to him, enables him to apprehend this with a -permanent and infallible certitude as a fixed principle both of -judgment and volition. He accepts as absolutely true all the mysteries -which Christ teaches him, on the faith of his divine mission and the -divine veracity. We may now suppose that Christ goes on to instruct -him in the harmony of these divine verities with all scientific -truths, so far, that he apprehends all the analogies which human -reason is capable of discerning between the two. He will then have -attained the _ultimatum_ possible for human reason elevated and -enlightened by faith, in this present state. Science and faith will be -coincident in his mind, as far as they can be. That is, faith will be -coincident {589} with science until it rises above its sphere of -vision, and will then lose itself in an indirect and obscure -apprehension of the mysteries, in the veracity of God. - -In the case of the child brought up in the Catholic Church, the -Church, which is the medium of Christ, instructs the child through its -various agents. The child's reason apprehends, through the same -probable evidence by which it learns other facts and truths, that the -truth presented to him comes through the church, and through Christ, -from God, who is immediately apprehended in his primitive idea. The -light of faith which precedes in him the development of reason, -illuminates his mind from the beginning to apprehend with infallible -certitude that divine truth which is proposed to him through the -medium of probable evidence. This faith is a fixed principle of -conscience, proceeding from an illuminated intellect, inclining him to -submit his mind unreservedly to the instruction of the Catholic Church -on the faith of the divine veracity. It rests there unwaveringly, -without ever admitting a doubt to the contrary or postponing a certain -judgment until the evidence of revelation and the proofs of the divine -commission of the church have been critically examined. It may rest -there during life, and does so, with the greater number, to a greater -or lesser degree; or, it may afterward proceed to investigate to the -utmost limits the _rationale_ of the divine revelation, not in order -to establish faith on a surer basis, but in order to apprehend more -distinctly what it believes, and to advance in theological science. - -Some one may say: "You admit that it is impossible to attain to a -perfect certitude of supernatural truth without supernatural light; -why, then, do you attempt to convince unbelievers that the Catholic -doctrine is the absolute truth by rational arguments?" To this we -reply, that we do not endeavor to lead them to faith, by mere -argument; but to the "preamble of faith." We aim at removing -difficulties and impediments which hinder those from attending to the -rational evidence of the faith; at removing its apparent -incredibility. We rely on the grace of the Holy Spirit alone to make -the effort successful, and to lead those who are worthy of grace -beyond the preamble of faith to faith itself. This grace is in every -human mind to which faith is proposed, in its initial stage; it is -increased in proportion to the sincerity with which truth is sought -for; and is given in fulness to all who do not voluntarily turn their -minds away from it. If we did not believe this, we would lay down our -pen at once. [Footnote 130] - - [Footnote 130: The doctrine taught by Cardinal de Lugo and Dr. - Newman, in regard to which some dissent was expressed in a former - number, seems to the author, on mature reflection, to be, after all, - identical with the one here maintained.] - ------- - -{590} - - -From Once A Week. - -A DAY AT ABBEVILLE. - -BY BESSIE RAYNOR PARKES. - - -Twenty years ago, we posted into Abbeville by night, and were -deposited in an old-fashioned inn, with a large walled garden. In the -morning we posted further on across country to Rouen. Since then, many -a lime has the Chemin de Fer du Nord borne us flying past the ancient -city oft visited by English kings and English men-at-arms; not, -perhaps, deigning to stop to take in water; for Abbeville, once upon -the highway of nations, now lies just, as it were, a shade to one -side; just a shade--the distance between the station and the ramparts. -Yet this is enough to cause the _maître d'hôtel_ to shake his head and -say in a melancholy accent, "_Abbeville est presque détruite._" - -On asking for the Hôtel de l'Europe, I was told that the Hôtel Tête de -Boeuf was "all the same." Which, however, was far from being the case, -as neither the building nor the master was what we had known twenty -years ago. _Query_ as to the degree of affinity required by the French -intellect to produce the degree of identity? In fact, the Hôtel de -l'Europe no longer existed. The house was possessed by a body of -religious, the sisters of St. Joseph, and their large school for young -ladies. The Tête de Boeuf had been a small château; two still -picturesque brick turrets bearing witness of its ancient state. - -In the morning I walked over almost the length and breadth of -Abbeville, surprised to find it so large and, apparently, flourishing; -and yet, in spite of tall chimneys upon the circumference, full of the -quaintest old houses in the centre. Some of them have richly carved -beams running along the edge of the overhanging stories. Such may -still be seen in a few English towns; I remember them at Booking, in -Essex. The glory of the place is its great church, or rather the nave, -for this is all that ever got completed of the original design of the -time of Louis XII., the king who married our Princess Mary, sister of -Henry VIII. The choir has been patched on, and is about half the -height of the nave. The latter is a glorious upshoot of traceried -stone, with two towers; perhaps all the more impressive from having -been thus arrested in the very act of creation. It is like a forest -tree which has only attained half its development; and one feels as if -it ought to go on growing, pushing out fresh buttresses and arches, -till its fair proportions stood complete. There is an excellent stone -staircase up one of the towers, and from the top a wide view of the -town and the fields of Picardy, even to the sharp cliff marking where -the sea-line must be. The windings of the Somme may be traced for many -miles. I was told that the tide used to swell almost up to the town, -and that several little streams, once falling into the river, were -dried up. Even now, as there are several branches, one is here and -there reminded of Bruges, by the little old-fashioned bridges, -crossing a canal in the middle of a street. A broad girdle of water -seemed to me to surround great part of the town; but I could obtain no -map and no guide-book, though I anxiously inquired at the best shop. -Only a history of Abbeville was dug out of the museum at the Hôtel de -Ville, which building had a strong but plain tower reported of the -eleventh century. {591} The Abbevillois care little apparently for -their antiquities, though they are many and curious. - -This ground, though somewhat bare and barren in appearance, has been -thickly occupied by humanity from the earliest ages of history. Keltic -barrows have been found here in abundance, and though many of them -have been destroyed in the interests of agriculture, enough remain to -delight the antiquary by their flint hatchets and arrows, their urns, -and their burnt bones. One such barrow, near Noyelles-sur-Mer, when -opened, was found to contain a large number of human heads, disposed -in a sort of cone. In 1787, one was opened at Crécy, and in it were -found two sarcophagi of burnt clay, in each of which was an entire -skeleton. Each had been buried in its clothes, and one bore on its -finger a copper ring; its dress being fastened likewise by a brooch or -hook of the same metal. Endless indeed is the list of primitive -instruments in flint, in copper, in iron, in bronze, found hereabouts; -likewise vases full of burnt bones, not only of our own race, but of -various animals--mice, water-rats, and "such small deer;" and in the -near neighborhood, of boars, oxen, and sheep. Succeeding to these wild -people and wild animals came the Romans. Before they pounced down upon -us, before they crossed over to Porta Lymanis, and drew those straight -lines of causeway over England which make the Roman Itinerary look -something like Bradshaw's railway map, (only straighter,) they settled -themselves firmly in the north of France; notably, they staid so long -near St. Valery, (at the mouth of the river which runs through -Abbeville,) that they buried there their dead in great numbers, -whereof the place of sepulchre is at this day yet to be seen. Their -own nice neat road also had they, cutting clean through the Graulic -forests. It came from Lyons to Boulogne, passing through Amiens and -Abbeville, and was in continuation of one which led from Rome into -Gaul! And wherever this people of conquerors travelled, thither they -carried their religious ceremonies and their domestic arts, so that we -find still all sorts of medals, vases of red, grey, or black clay, -little statuettes, _ex votos_, and sometimes larger groups of -sculpture, such as one in bronze representing the combat of Hercules -and Antaeus. Carthaginian medals have also been turned up here, -brought from the far shores of the Mediterranean; and those of -Claudius, Trajan, Caracalla, and Constantine. This long catalogue is -useless, save to mark the rich floods of human life which have -successively visited the banks of the Somme. - -In the first year of the fifth century the barbarians made their way -up to the Somme, fighting the Romans inch by inch. Attila burst upon -this neighborhood, and fixed his claws therein; the tide of Rome rolls -back upon the south, and new dynasties begin, and with them comes in -Christianity; not, however, without much difficulty. The faith appears -to have gradually spread from Amiens, where St. Finius preached as -early as 301; but even 179 years later, St. Germain, the Scotchman, -was martyred, and St. Honoré, the eighth bishop of Amiens, labored -daily, for thirty-six years, in conjunction with Irish missionaries, -to infuse Christianity into the minds of people equally indisposed, -whether by Frankish paganism or Roman culture, to accept the doctrines -of the Cross. Indeed, the learned historian of this part of the -country, M. Louandre, believes that even Rome itself had never been -able to destroy the old Keltic religion. He says that, as late as the -seventh century, the antique trees, woods, and fountains were still -honored by public adoration in this part of France; and St. Rignier -hung up relics to the trees to purify them, just as in Rome itself the -old pagan temples were exorcised. And after a time the old gods of all -sorts were known either as idols or demons; no particular distinctions -being drawn among them; they lie as _débris_ beneath the religious -soil of this part of Picardy, just as the bones of those who adored -them are confounded in one common dust. - -{592} - -Late in the seventh century appears St. Rignier, a great saint in -these parts. He was converted and baptized by the Irish missionaries, -and thereupon became a most austere Christian indeed; only, says his -legend, eating twice a week--Sundays and Thursdays. King Dagobert -invited the saint to a repast, which the holy man accepted, and -preached the Gospel the whole time they sat at table--a day and a -night! - -We must now take a great leap to the days of Charlemagne, because in -his days the Abbey of St. Rignier, near to Abbeville, was very famous -indeed, both as monastery and school, and contained a noble library of -256 volumes; the greater part whereof were Christian, but certain -others were pagan classics; let us, for instance, be grateful for the -Eclogues of Virgil and the Rhetoric of Cicero. Of this library but one -volume remains; I have seen it, and with astonishment. It is a copy of -the Gospels, written in letters of gold upon purple parchment. It was -given by Charlemagne to the Count-Abbot, Saint Augilbert. This one -precious fragment of the great library is in the museum of Abbeville. -The school was, indeed, an ecclesiastical Eton and Oxford. The sons of -kings, dukes, and counts came here to learn the "letters," of which -Charlemagne made such great account. - -Now the town of Abbeville first gets historic mention in the century -succeeding Charlemagne. It is called Abbatis Villa, and belonged to -this great monastery of St. Rignier; wherefore I have introduced both -the good saint and his foundation. It grew, as almost all the towns of -the middle ages did grow, from a religious root--a tap-root, striking -deep in the soil. Of course, having thus begun to grow, its history -has made interesting chapters a great deal too long to be copied or -even noted here; it will not be amiss, however, to look for its points -of occasional contact with England. Firstly, then, it was from St. -Valery, the seaport of the Somme, that William the Conqueror set out -for England. Then, in 1259, our Henry III. met St. Louis at Abbeville, -and Henry did homage for his French possessions. Then, in 1272, our -great King Edward I. married Eleanor, heiress of Ponthieu--she who -sucked the poison from her husband's wound; and the burgesses of -Abbeville, misliking the transfer, quarreled violently with the king's -bailiff, and killed some of the underlings. Eleanor's son, Edward II., -married Isabel, the - - "She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs. - That tearest the bowels of thy mangled mate." - -This unamiable specimen of her sex lived at Abbeville in 1312; but -during her reign and residence, and that of her son Edward III., the -inhabitants of Abbeville ceased not to kick indignantly. The King of -France, her brother, struck into the contest "_pour comforter la main -de Madame d'Angleterre_." The legal documents arising from these -quarrels partially remain to us. So they go on, quarreling and -sometimes fighting, until the great day of Crécy, when Edward III., -the late king's nephew, tried to get the throne. The oft-told tale we -need not tell again. In 1393, France being in worse extremities, we -find Charles VI. at Abbeville, and Froissart there at the same time. -Perhaps, in respect of battles and quarrels, those few notices are -sufficient; I only wished to indicate that Abbeville was on the -borderland between the English and the French, and came in for an -ample share of fighting. Two royal ceremonials enlivened it in the -course of centuries, whereof particular mention is made in the -history. Louis XII. here met and married Mary of England, in 1514: -"_La Reine Blanche_," as she was afterward called, from her white -widow's weeds. In the Hôtel de Cluny at Paris is still shown the -apartments she occupied. Louis was old, and Mary young, when they -married; but the French historian recounts her exceeding complaisance -and politeness to the king, and his great delight therein. - -{593} - -In 1657, young Louis XIV. came here with his mother, and lodged at the -Hôtel d'Oignon. Monsieur D'Oignon, the noble owner, had everything in -such beautiful and ceremonious order for their reception, that he -became a proverb at Abbeville--"As complete and well arranged as M. -d'Oignon." A sort of _rich_ Richard. - -The antiquarian who goes to Abbeville and dips into the history (by M. -Louandre) at the Museum, will find plenty of interesting matter about -the manners and customs of the Abbevillois, rendered all the more -striking by so many of the old houses being yet just where they were, -and as they were. But few impressions of the book seem to have been -printed off, for it is no longer sold, though the obliging librarian -did say he knew where a few copies remained at a high price. This for -the benefit of any long-pursed antiquary, curious in local histories. -It is such a book as can only be written by a devoted son of the soil -digging away on the spot. - -In the Revolution, Abbeville fortunately escaped any great horrors; -but the trials of the middle ages afford plenty; especially one of a -certain student, condemned for sacrilege. Now, it is a peaceful, -well-governed town, busy in making iron pots and cans, and other -wrought articles from raw materials brought by the railway. It proves -to be only in respect of the hotel interest that _Abbeville est -presque détruite_. - - ------- - - -Translated from the French - -"GOD BLESS YOU!" - -BY JEROME DUMOULIN. - - -"Thank you, master Jerome!" my reader replies; "yes, to be sure, may -God bless me! But I have not sneezed, that I know of, for a quarter of -an hour, at least; and _apropos de quoi_ do you say that? or rather, -why and wherefore do they always say so to people who sneeze? I -suspect that you want to talk about it, and, in fact, I should not be -displeased to hear you discuss for a little while this odd custom; so -begin, master Jerome." - -Very well, dear reader, such is my idea, and I think you will not find -uninteresting the little history of it which I intend to give; and I -assure you beforehand, that if I fail to convince you, you must be -very difficult. - -Settle it first in your mind, that in whatever you may have heard -heretofore upon this subject, there was not one word of truth. Among -the most probable histories of this kind is that of a pestilence, -which in the time of Pope Saint Gregory, ravaged Italy, the peculiar -characteristic of which was to cause the sick person to die suddenly -by sneezing. When the patient sneezed, which was for him, the passage -from life to death, the assistants gave him this fraternal -benediction, saying to him, "God bless you!" which was the equivalent -or translation of _Requiescat in pace_. This account, I repeat, would -be much more acceptable, if it were not contradicted by a positive -fact, namely, that the use of the expression is many centuries -anterior to Pope Saint Gregory; anterior even to the Christian era, -and borrowed, of course, from the pagans, as I am about to prove from -authentic testimony. - -{594} - -But in the first place, let us remark that in the highest antiquity -sneezing was a circumstance in regard to which they drew auguries, -especially if a person sneezed many times consecutively. Xenophon -relates that one of his corporals having sneezed, he drew from it a -good augury by a process of reasoning which I did not quite -understand, but which his troops, apparently, found sufficiently -conclusive. Going back again some eight centuries, we find in the -"Odyssey" an adventure of the same kind, but more droll. In the -eighteenth book of this poem, the divine Homer relates that one day -Telemachus began to sneeze in such a manner as to shake the whole -house. That put madam Penelope in good humor, who calling her faithful -Eumacus the swineherd: "Do you hear, old fellow," she said; "he is -well cared for! and what an augury of happiness the gods have given -us. Jupiter has spoken by the nose of my dear Telemachus, and he -announces to us that we are about to be freed from these scamps of -gallants who bore me with their pursuits, and who beside put to sack -our poor civil list; for every hour our cattle, goats, and little -pigs, which you love like so many children, are sacrificed to the -voracity of these rascals. Now, my good fellow, I have an idea: go you -to the door of the palace, where for some days I have seen that beggar -that you know. Take him from me these pantaloons and this shirt, which -I am sure he needs very much; and promise him beside a magnificent -frock-coat, which he will have only if he shall answer in a -satisfactory manner the questions which I shall propose." In fact the -good queen suspected that the ragged peasant might be the wise Ulysses -in disguise. But let us proceed with our subject. - -In the second chapter of his twenty-eighth book, the elder Pliny -expresses himself thus: _Cur sternumentis salutamus? Quod etiam -Tiberium Caesarem in vehiculo exegisse tradunt, et aliqui nomine -quoque consalutare religiosius putant._ Thus the custom was already -established among the Romans of wishing health and good fortune to -persons who sneezed, and the last word but one of the phrase indicates -that this wish had a religious character. In many authors health is -wished to persons who sneeze; _salvere jubentur_, is the consecrated -expression, which corresponds to "God guard you;" and according to the -passage cited above, it appears that when Tiberius, driving in his -chariot, sneezed, then, and only then, the populace were obliged to -cry. _Long live the emperor!_ a formula which included the impetration -of life and health by the protection of the gods. This custom existed -then at the time of Pliny, and going back still further among the -Romans, let us see what we find. Here then is a story extracted from -the "Veterum Auctorum Fragmenta,"' and inserted by Father Strada in -his "Prolusiones Academicae." I give a free translation, it is true, -but I will guarantee the perfect exactitude of the substance, and of -the formulas. - -One day when Cicero was present at a performance at the Roman opera, -the illustrious orator began to sneeze loudly. Immediately all rose, -senators and plebeians, and each one taking off his hat, they cried to -him from all parts of the house: "God bless you! _Omnes -assurrexere--salvere jubentes_." Upon which three young men, named -severally Fannius, Fabalus, and Lemniscus, leaning upon their elbows -in one of the boxes, began the interchange of a succession of absurd -remarks, and finally started the question of the origin of this -custom. Each gave his own opinion, and the three agreed at once that -the usage dated back as far as Prometheus. It was then, at Rome, a -common tradition of very ancient date, as we see, according to some, -even as ancient as the epoch of the tower of Babel. {595} But if they -were agreed as to the groundwork, they embellished their canvas in -very different fashions. The stories related by Fannius, and by -Fabalus I will spare you for the sake of brevity and for other -reasons; contenting myself only with the version of Lemniscus, which -will suffice for our object. - -Following then, this respectable authority: The son of Japetus -moulded, as every one knows, with pipe-clay, a statue which he -proposed to animate with celestial fire, and his work finished, he put -it into a stove in order that it should dry sufficiently; but the heat -was very great, and acted so well, or so ill, that independently of -other damages, the nose of the work became cracked and shrunken in a -manner very unfortunate for a nose which had the slightest -self-consciousness. When the artist returned to the stove and saw this -stunted nose, he began to swear like a pagan as he was; but perceiving -that the flat-nose gained nothing thereby, he took the wiser part of -re-manipulating the organ, adding thereto fresh clay, and in order to -facilitate the work of restoration, he conceived the idea of inserting -a match in one of the nostrils of his manikin. But the mucous -membrane, already provided with sensibility and life, was irritated at -the contact of the sulphuric acid, and the consequence was such a -tremendous sneezing that all the teeth, not yet quite solid in the -jaw, sprang out into the face of the operator. Dismayed by this deluge -of meteors, and expecting to see his little man get out of order from -top to bottom "Ah!" cried Prometheus, "may Jupiter protect -you!"--_Tibi Jupiter adsit!_ "And from this you see two things," -continued Lemniscus: "First, why they always say to people who sneeze, -'May Jupiter assist you!' and also, why this morning, in a similar -case, I said nothing at all to this old mummy Crispinus, since from -time immemorial his last tooth has taken flight. He might sneeze like -an old cat without the slightest danger to his jaw." - -Here terminates the colloquy of our young men. I am far from intending -to guarantee the contents, either as to the conduct and exploits of -Prometheus, or the misfortunes of his little man, since I have not -under my eye the authentic records; but what follows incontestably -from this recital, is, that at the time of Cicero, the usage of which -we speak was already very ancient, since they traced it back to one of -the most ancient heroes of fable. But moreover, and this it is which -renders this passage particularly precious, we find in it the precise -form of salutation which other passages contain in the generic -phrase--_salvere jubent_. This formula consists in these three words: -_Tibi Jupiter adsit!_ I do not intend to say that this wish and this -deprecatory formula were only used in the special case of which we -speak. Undoubtedly, in a thousand other circumstances, persons -addressed each other as a mark of good will. _Deus tibi faveat! Dii -adsint! Tibi adsit Jupiter!_ etc, etc.; but in the special case of -sneezing, the phrase was obligatory among persons of gentle breeding. - -Now, reader, attention! and will you enter into a Roman school, in the -time of Camillus or Coriolanus? There we shall find in the midst of -about fifty pupils, an honest preceptor bearing the name of Stolo, or -Volumnus, or Pomponius, perhaps. Very well, let it be Pomponius. Now -on a certain day the good man began to sneeze, but magisterially, and -in double time, following the form still used among the moderns, that -is to say, he emitted this nasal interjection----_ad----sit_! which -you have observed and practised a thousand times. Upon which one of -the young rogues, remarking the homophony of the thing with one of the -three words of the deprecatory formula which he had heard in -numberless cases, added, in a mocking tone--_tibi Jupiter!_and -instantly all the crowd repeated in chorus after him, _ad--sit--tibi -Jupiter_. - -Here you have, dear reader, the solution of the enigma. But let us -observe the sequel. What did master {596} Pomponius under the fire of -this gay frolic? Somewhat astonished at first, he immediately -recovered himself, and took the thing in good part; and being -something of a wag himself, that style of benediction suited his -humor. I see him now running his glance along the restless troops, -raising the right hand, then the fore-finger, which he carries to his -nose, then calming their terrors by these soothing words: - - Fear not, my little friends: - You often have committed - Offenses much more grave. - Ah well! how often and whenever - I shall happen to make--_ad---sit!_ - Cry you all: _Jupiter adsit!_ - -You will not suppose that the little boys failed in this duty. From -the school of Pomponius it passed through all the line of the -university establishments, and improving upon it, the children saluted -with--_Jupiter ad----sit_!----first the heads of their classes, then -fathers, mothers, and all respectable persons. The elders failed not -to imitate the little ones: it permeated the whole of society. Then -came Christianity, which changed _Jupiter_ into _God_; and the -formula, _Jupiter protect you!_ was naturally transformed into _God -bless you!_ - -Thus it is verified that this formula is of Roman origin; and if -anything is simple, natural, and manifest, it is its derivation from -the physiological phenomena with which it is connected, and of which -it represents phonetically the energetic expression. If any of my -readers can find a better explanation of it, I beg him to address me -his memorandum by telegraph. - -I owe you now the quotation from the "Anthology," which I promised -above. Among the Greek epigrams of all epochs, of which this -collection is composed, there is one which relates precisely to the -custom of which we speak. The _Zeu Soson_ of this epigram is the -translation of the _Jupiter adsit_ of the Latins. I say the -translation and not the original. For this is not one of those -fragments which may be of an epoch anterior to that in which we have -placed, and in which we have a right to place master Pomponius and his -little adventure. In extending their empire over the countries of the -Greek tongue, the Romans imported there a great number of their -customs and social habits: the _Jupiter adsit_ must have been of this -number, and therefore we find it under Greek pens. I dare not venture -here upon the Greek text of the "Anthology," which would perhaps -frighten our fair readers, and I give only the Latin translation in -two couplets: - - Dic cur Sulpicius nequeat sibi mungere nasum? - Causa est quod naso sit minor ipsa manus. - Cur sibi sternutans, non clamat, Jupiter adsit? - Non nasum audit qui distat ab aure nimis. - -Very well! I yet have scruples in regard to my Latin, which may not be -understood by some of the ladies and especially by the bachelors of -the bifurcation. Therefore, to put it into good French verse, I have -had recourse to the politeness of our friend Pomponius, and the -excellent man has willingly given the following translation of the -second distich, which alone relates to the circumstance: - - On demande pourquoi notre voisin Sulpice - Eternue, et jamais ne dit: Dien _me_ bénisse! - Serait-ce, par hasard, qu'll n'entend pas tres-blen? - Du tout, l'oreille est bonne et fonctionne à merveille; - Mais son grand nez s'en va--si loin de son oreille, - Que quand il fait--_ad--sit!_ celle-ce n'entend rien. - - You demand why our neighbor Sulpice - Sneezes and never says, God bless _me_! - It is, perhaps, because he does not hear well: - Not at all, his ear is good, and acts to a marvel; - But his great nose goes away--so far from his ear, - That when he makes--_ad--sit!_ this last hears nothing. - -This epigram, undoubtedly, is not much more than two thousand years -old; and why may it not have been written by Pomponius the ancient? -For the Pomponius of our day, to him also, "how often and whenever," -he shall sneeze--and without that even, God bless him! - ------- - -{597}{598} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THEREIN. - -A SONG. - - - I know a valley fair and green, - Wherein, wherein, - A dear and winding brook is seen, - Therein; - The village street stands in its pride - With a row of elms on either side, - Therein; - They shade the village green. - - In the village street there is an inn. - Wherein, wherein, - The landlord sits in bottle-green, - Therein. - His face is like a glowing coal, - And his paunch is like a swelling bowl; - Therein - Is a store of good ale, therein. - - The inn has a cosy fireside. - Wherein, wherein, - Two huge andirons stand astride, - Therein. - When the air is raw of a winter's night, - The fire on the hearth shines bright - Therein. - 'Tis sweet to be therein. - - The landlord sits in his old arm-chair - Therein, therein; - And the blaze shines through his yellow hair - Therein. - There cometh lawyer Bickerstith, - And the village doctor, and the smith. - Therein - Full many a tale they spin. - - They talk of fiery Sheridan's raid - Therein, therein; - And hapless Baker's ambuscade - Therein; - The grip with which Grant throttled Lee, - And Sherman's famous march to the sea. - Therein - Great fights are fought over therein. - - The landlord has a daughter fair - Therein, therein. - In ringlets falls her glossy hair - Therein. - When they speak in her ear she tosses her head; - When they look in her eye she hangs the lid, - Therein. - She does not care a pin. - - I know the maiden's heart full well. - Therein, therein, - Pure thoughts and holy wishes dwell - Therein. - I see her at church on bended knee; - And well I know she prays for me - Therein. - Sure, that can be no sin. - - Our parish church has a holy priest, - Therein, therein. - When he sings the mass, he faces the east. - Therein. - On Sunday next he will face the west, - When my Nannie and I go up abreast, - Therein, - And carry our wedding-ring. - - And when we die, as die we must; - Therein, therein, - The priest will pray o'er the breathless dust, - Therein; - And our graves will be planted side by side. - But the hearts that loved shall not abide - Therein, - But love in Heaven again. - -C.W. - ------- - -{599} - - -From The Lamp. - -UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS. - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE VERDICT AT THE INQUEST - -From the time that suspicions as to the manner of Gilbert Thorneley's -death had been communicated to Scotland Yard, the house in Wimpole -street was taken possession of by the police, and all egress or -ingress not subject to the knowledge and approval of the officer in -charge was prohibited. Merrivale had been allowed on the previous day -to see the body of poor old Thorneley, but with much difficulty, as -the police had strict orders not to allow any strangers access to the -chamber of death. He told me this on our way to the inquest. - -"By the by," he said, "did you know that Wilmot is acting as sole -executor of his uncle, and has taken upon himself the responsibility -of ordering everything about the funeral? I asked Atherton about it -yesterday evening, and he says Wilmot came to him and asked what was -to be done, as Smith and Walker had said that he and Atherton, as only -relatives of the deceased, were the proper persons to open the will, -and see who were left his executors. Atherton, with his usual -thoughtlessness for his own interests, bade him act as he considered -right in everything, and was too much overwhelmed with his own sorrow -to think of anything else. Wilmot then went to Smith's and opened the -will, which was deposited there, and finds he is left sole executor; -and, mind you, I fancy he's sole heir likewise, for he's as coxy as -ever he can be. Mark my words, Kavanagh, there'll be a hitch about -that will as sure as I'm alive." - -I felt that Merrivale spoke with a purpose; but I answered him coolly: -"I think so too; and Wilmot will find himself in the wrong box." - -"If I thought it was any use," continued he, "I would ask you once -more to confide to me the nature of the business which took you to -Thorneley's on Tuesday evening." - -"It will transpire in due time, Merrivale. I pass you my word it is -utterly useless knowledge now; nor does it in any way affect Hugh -Atherton's present position. God knows that nothing should keep me -silent if I thought that silence would injure in the smallest degree -one so dear to me--Will he be present to day?" I asked in a little -while. - -"Yes; he seemed very anxious to watch the proceedings; and on the -whole I thought it better he should. I never saw such a man," said -Merrivale, with a burst of enthusiasm very unlike his usual dry, cold -manner; "he thinks of every one but himself. He is principally anxious -to be there that he may detect any flaw in the evidence, or find any -clue that may lead to the discovery of the real murderer of his uncle, -apparently without any thought of saving himself, as if that were a -secondary consideration. He seems to think more of the old man's death -and take it to heart than of anything which has happened to himself; -except when he speaks of Miss Leslie, and then he breaks down -entirely. I have prepared him for having to hear your evidence, and I -likewise mentioned that his uncle had sent for you the night of his -death; and that you considered yourself bound in honor not to mention -yet what transpired at the interview, but you had assured me it would -throw no light upon our present darkness." - -{600} - -"Darkness, indeed! O my poor Hugh!" - -"He expressed great surprise, and said; 'Well, this will be the first -and only secret affecting either of us which John has ever kept from -me. Wilmot hinted that some one had been at work who was not friendly -to me; but I told him I didn't believe I had an enemy: and I don't and -won't believe it now.' Then I asked him if he wouldn't like to see -you, and I think in his heart he would; but he seemed to hesitate, and -at last said: 'No, it is best not, best for us both--at least until -after this,'--meaning the inquest--'is over.'" - -The first secret! No, not the first, Hugh, not the first; but the -other could never have divided us, could never have raised one shadow -between us, I had buried it deep down in its lonely grave, and laid -its ghost by the might of my strong love for you, my friend and -brother! - -The house in Wimpole street looked gloomy enough, with its close-shut -blinds and the two policemen keeping guard on either side the door, -suggestive of death--of murder! There was a small crowd collected -round; not such a crowd as had assembled before the police-station, -but something like. Street-children, errand-boys, stray costermongers -with their barrows, passing tradesmen with their carts or baskets, and -women--slatterns from neighboring alleys and back-streets, Irish -women from the Marylebone courts and slums; and each arrival caused -fresh agitation and excitement amidst that crowd of upturned eager -faces gathered there, _waiting for the verdict_. - -"That's him," cried a voice as our cab drove up to the door--"that's -Corrinder Javies!"' "No, it an't, bless yer innercence! the corrinder -wears a scarlet gownd and a gold-laced 'at." "Tell ye he don't; he -wears a black un, and ers got it in his bag." "Yah!--the lawyer, the -nevy's lawyer!" followed by a yell of imprecations. The nearest -_gamin_ on the door-step had heard Merrivale give his name to the -policemen and demand admission, and had handed it down to his fellows. -So, with the sounds of the brutal mob ringing in our ears, we passed -the threshold of the murdered man's house. A cold shudder seized me as -I stood in the hall, and I seemed to feel as if the spirit of the dead -were hovering about in disquiet, and unable to rest. A superintendent -of the police received us in the hall, and we asked him if we could go -up to see the body. After some demur he went up-stairs with us, and -unlocked the chamber of death. There in his shell lay all that -remained of Gilbert Thorneley, he whose name and fame had been -world-wide. Fame, for what? For amassing wealth; for grinding down the -poor; for toiling, slaving, wearing himself out in the busy march of -life, with no thought but for that life which perishes heaping up -riches which must be relinquished on the grave's brink; which could -bring him no comfort nor solace in the valley of the shadow; which -perchance, in the inscrutable designs of providence, had been used as -an instrument of retribution against him. I looked at his worn -face--seamed with the lines of care, furrowed with the struggles that -had brought so little reward--and remembered that last evening when I -had seen and spoken with him--of the secret he had confided to me, of -what he had so darkly hinted at; and I fancied I could read in his -unplacid face that death had visited him in all its intensity of -bitterness, that the bodily suffering had been nothing compared to the -ocean of remorse which had swept over his soul. He rested from his -weary labors, and the fruits of them had not followed him. God alone -knew the complete history of his life; God only could supply what had -been wanting from the treasures of his mercy; God only could tell -whether that last flood of remorseful anguish had been the sorrow that -could be accepted for the sake of One who had died for him. - -{601} - -Whilst we yet stood gazing on the corpse, word was brought us that the -coroner had arrived, and was going to open proceedings. The -superintendent once more turned the key upon the dead; and we -descended to the first-floor. - -"I must divide you, gentlemen, now," said he. "You, sir," to -Merrivale, "will please to come with me to the inquest-room; and you, -Mr. Kavanagh, must wait in this back drawing-room until we send for -you. I thought you'd prefer being alone, to going along with the other -witnesses." - -"Yes," I said; "I should much prefer it." - -I avail myself of the newspaper-reports, together with Mr. Merrivale's -notes, for an account of the inquest; and I have also used his -observations made on the personal appearance, manner, etc, of the -witnesses and others who took part in it. For myself, I remained in -that dark dingy back-room until my turn came to give evidence. - -I heard the dull tramp of the jury-men as they went up-stairs and -entered the room overhead to view the body, and their hushed murmurs -as they came down. I heard the hum of voices in the front -drawing-room, where the witnesses were assembled, and the distinct -orders issued at intervals by the police. I remember standing at the -window looking into the dismal back-garden, noting mechanically the -various small sights in the back-gardens opposite. I remember staring -for a quarter of an hour at two cats fighting on the wall--a black and -a tabby; and listening to their dismal squalls. If they had been two -tigers tearing each other to pieces on that back garden-wall in the -midst of this eminently civilized city, I don't think it would have -made more impression on my brain than did those two specimens of the -feline race. And last, I remember walking, as in a dream, into the -dining-room, where sat the coroner at the head of the long table, and -ranged on either side of him the twelve jury-men. I remember seeing a -man whom I recognized as one of the deceased's solicitors, Mr. Walker, -occupying a chair at a small side-table with his clerk, and on the -opposite side of the room at another table sat Merrivale: while just -behind him, guarded--ay, _guarded_--by a policeman, sat Hugh Atherton; -and that as I came and took a chair placed for me at the other end of -the long table, he raised his eyes and looked full upon me, and that I -knew then the deadly influence which had been at work--for it was no -longer the friendly, trustful look of old; I knew--yes, I knew that -our warm friendship had died the death, that a traitor's hand had -helped to slay it. I knew, and knowing it the pain was so intense, so -like a knife entering my heart, that unconsciously I raised my hand as -though to ward off the agony that had come upon me, and a cry escaped -my lips--"Hugh, Hugh!" And then I heard the coroner addressing me in -the calm business tones of a man accustomed to do his terrible work. - -The first witness called was Mr. Evans, surgeon. He said: - -"I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons, and live at 138 -Wimpole street. I was summoned to Mr. Thorneley's house about seven -o'clock on the morning of the 24th; and was taken up into deceased's -room. He was in bed, lying on his back, the eyes partially open, and -the forehead and mouth contracted, as though great pain had preceded -death. He had apparently been dead some hours. There was a stiffness, -however, about the body, and an unusual rigidity of the limbs, which -excited my suspicion. The feet were likewise arched. The housekeeper -and the man-servant were in the room with the deceased at the time I -arrived. I asked what he had taken last before going to bed. The -housekeeper replied he had taken his bitter {602} ale as usual about -nine o'clock. I asked to see the bottle out of which he had taken the -ale. The housekeeper bade the man go down to his master's study and -fetch up the tray. On it were a pint-bottle of Bass's bitter ale, a -tumbler, and a plate of hard biscuit. There were a few drops at the -bottom of the glass. I smelt and tasted them; there was no peculiar -smell, but the taste was unusually bitter. It suggested to me that -strychnine might have been introduced. In the bottle about half a -tumblerful of ale was left. I took possession of it for the purpose of -analysis, with the tumbler still containing a few drops. I said to the -housekeeper: 'Information must be sent at once to the police.' This -was done. I remained until the superintendent arrived, and then -proceeded to my house with the ale-bottle and glass. I immediately -subjected the contents of both to the usual process. In the few drops -contained in the glass I discovered the appearance of strychnine. The -contents of the bottle were perfectly free." (Sensation.) "I then went -back to Mr. Thorneley's house, and reported the results to the -police-officer, who communicated with Scotland Yard, the deceased's -relative Mr. Wilmot, and his lawyers. I demanded that the family -medical man should be summoned. On his arrival we made a _post-mortem_ -examination, and removed the stomach with its contents, sealed and -despatched them to Professor T---- for analysis. We both refused a -death-certificate until the results of that analysis had been -ascertained. We agreed ourselves in suspecting death had originated -through poison, and that the poison had been strychnine. There was no -appearance of any disease in either heart, lungs, or brain, which -should cause sudden death. All three organs were in a perfectly -healthy state." - -Dr. Robinson, physician, and the usual medical attendant of deceased, -corroborated the above evidence in every particular. - -Professor T---- next deposed that he received the stomach of deceased -with its contents from Dr. Robinson and Mr. Evans. That he had -analyzed the latter, and had detected and separated strychnine in very -minute quantities; on further test, positive proof of the existence of -the poison was afforded by the colors produced. Upon introducing some -of the suspected matter into the body of a frog, death had been -produced from tetanic convulsions; thus demonstrating the existence of -strychnine. His opinion was that deceased had died from the effects of -strychnine administered in bitter ale; that the quantity administered -had been about one grain, not more--it might be less. - -Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, was then examined. She was a woman past -fifty in appearance; her face was remarkable; so perfectly immobile -and passionless in its expression. Her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes -were of a pale sandy color; and her drooping eyelids had that peculiar -motion in them which novelists call "shivering." She gave her answers -in clear low tones; but seldom raising her eyes to the interrogator; -they were of a cold bluish-gray, with a dangerous scintillating light -in them. Her manners and appearance were those of a woman above her -station in life; her language quite grammatical, though tinctured by a -slightly foreign idiom and accent; her deportment perfectly -self-possessed. She deposed that the deceased had appeared in the same -health as usual up to the evening previous to his death, when on -taking in his bitter ale and biscuits she observed that he looked very -much flushed and agitated, and his voice had sounded loud and angry as -she came up the stairs. He and Mr. Atherton seemed to be having a -dispute; and as she came into the room she distinctly heard Mr. -Atherton say to her master, "You will bitterly repent to-morrow what -you have said to-night." She could swear to the words, for they made -an {603} impression upon her. Had not heard Mr. Wilmot speak whilst in -the study. The ale had been brought up from the cellar by Barker, who -uncorked it down-stairs, as usual, in presence of the other servants. -Barker had accompanied her to the study-door, and opened it for her. -Always took in the ale when her master was alone, or when only the -young gentlemen (Wilmot and Atherton) were there; and waited to -receive his orders for the next day. Deceased always took bitter ale -at nine o'clock, with hard biscuits. - -Mr. Merrivale: "Did you not pour some ale out into the tumbler before -taking it up-stairs?" - -"I did not." - -"Would you swear you did not?" - -"Certainly I would swear it." - -Evidence continued: To her knowledge he had taken nothing since the -ale. The young gentlemen never took bitter ale: Mr. Atherton didn't -like it, and Mr. Wilmot could not drink it. Only one tumbler had been -brought up. The tray had remained in the study just as Mr. Thorneley -had left it, and had not been touched until the following morning, -when the doctor asked to have the bottle and glass brought to him. -Barker, the man-servant, had fetched the tray from the study. No one -had entered the study from the time Mr. Thorneley had gone to bed, -until Barker had gone there for the tray the next morning. She had -locked the door on the outside as she went up to bed, but had not gone -into the room. On the morning of the 24th she was roused by a violent -knocking at her door, and by Barker saying, in a very agitated manner, -"For God's sake get up directly, Mrs. Haag, and come to master; for I -fear he's dead!" Had hurried on a few clothes, and gone instantly to -Mr. Thorneley's room. The deceased was in bed, the eyes partially -open, and the mouth contracted, as if in an agony of pain. She had -touched his hand and found it quite cold. Then they both had stooped -to listen if he breathed; but he did not. Barker said: "I fear it's -all up with him; he must have had a fit and died in the night. What's -to be done, Mrs. Haag?" Replied, "Send at once for a doctor." The -other servants now came crowding in, and one of them ran off -immediately for the nearest surgeon. He arrived in less than half an -hour. No one had touched the body until the arrival of the doctor; -they had all feared lest they might do harm by touching it. Had lived -in the service of deceased nearly thirty years; he had been a severe -but just master to her. Was a Belgian by birth; but had lived nearly -all her life in England. Was a widow; had no children living, nor any -relations alive that she knew of. Examined as to what had transpired -before taking the ale to the study, Mrs. Haag deposed that Mr. John -Kavanagh had called on Mr. Thorneley at seven o'clock, and been -closeted with him for an hour; that a short time before he went away -the study-bell rang, which was answered by Barker, who came down into -the servants'-hall and told Thomas the coachman to go up with him to -his master's room. When they came down, they said they had been -signing their names as witnesses to some paper, which both of them had -supposed was a will; but that neither their master nor Mr. Kavanagh -had told them so. She had put on her things whilst they were upstairs, -and just after they returned she went out--Questioned as to her -errand, said she went to buy some ribbon she wanted at a shop in -Oxford street; that returning home by Vere street she saw Mr. Atherton -coming out of the chemist's shop at the corner of Oxford street, and -heard him speak to Mr. Kavanagh. Heard the words "Kavanagh," -"Atherton," and saw them shake hands. Could swear to their -identity.--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale, solicitor for the prisoner, -as to how it had come about that she had been witness to the meeting -between the two gentlemen at {604} the corner of Vere street and -Oxford street, and yet was met only in the middle of Vere street--a -very short street--at least five minutes afterwards by Mr. Kavanagh, -denied meeting Mr. Kavanagh at all in Vere street; had passed the two -gentlemen at the corner, and gone straight home. Had worn no veil that -evening.--Examination resumed by the coroner: Had not seen her master -since taking the ale into the study; had gone to the door after the -gentlemen had left, but found it locked, and received for answer, he -was busy, and did not require anything. Mr. Wilmot had left some time -previous to Mr. Atherton; she had seen neither to speak to them that -evening. This was the pith of the housekeeper's evidence. - -John Barker was the next witness called, who corroborated everything -deposed by Mrs. Haag. Asked by a juryman if it was he who signed the -paper on the evening before Mr. Thorneley's death, replied it was. Was -he aware of the nature of the document? No; but both he and Thomas the -coachman, who had likewise signed, fancied it must be a will. Had -lived nearly twenty years with his master, and often witnessed -business papers, but never asked what they were.--Questioned by Mr. -Merrivale as to whether he had noticed any conversation which passed -between Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Atherton in the hall the night before the -deceased died, replied he had caught one or two words.--Told by the -coroner to repeat them. After seeming to recollect himself for a -moment or two, said he had heard Mr. Wilmot say he must get some money -out of the governor; to which Mr. Atherton had replied in rather a low -voice; but he had heard the words, "won't live long," and "to be -worried," and "our affairs."--Asked by the prisoner if the sentence -had not been, "He is getting very old, and won't live long; he ought -not to be worried with our affairs"? Replied he could not say; it -might have been so; but what he had repeated was the whole of what he -had distinctly heard. He wished to say that he believed Mr. Atherton -to be innocent; for he was very fond of poor master, and his uncle -always seemed more partial to him than to any one else--much more -than to Mr. Wilmot. - -Thomas Spriggs the coachman, the cook, and the housemaid, were then -examined respectively, and their evidence corroborated every statement -made before; only one fresh feature presented itself. The cook -volunteered to state that she had been awoke, in the middle of the -night on which her master died, by some noise, and had fancied she -heard stealthy footsteps on the stairs.--Questioned upon this, said -that she meant the stairs leading from the third story where the -women-servants slept, to the second story.. - -Were they front or back-stairs? - -Front-stairs; the back-stairs only reached the second floor. That the -housekeeper occupied one room to herself, she and the housemaid -another, and the third was empty. She had not dared to get out of bed, -believing it was the ghost. - -What ghost? - -Oh! the house was haunted; all the servants know it and believed it, -except the housekeeper, who had laughed at her shameful, and called -her a superstitious woman. But then they had never been what she might -call comfortable nor friendly together; for Mrs. 'Aag 'eld herself -'igh and 'orty with all the company in the 'all. Couldn't say at what -hour she had been awoke; had drawed the clothes over her 'ed, and said -her prayers, and supposed she had fell asleep again, being that way -inclined by natur'. - -Mr. Merrivale: "Have you and the housekeeper ever fallen out, cook?" - -Witness: "Well, no, sir. I can't say as we ever 'ave; and I've nothing -to bring against her except as she was 'igh and close, which isn't -agreeable, sir, when the position of parties is {605} ekally -respectable, which mine is, sir, 'aving come of a greengrocer's family -as kep' their own wehicle and drove theirselves; and whose mother -could afford to be washed out, and never sat down to tea on Sunday -without s'rimps or 'winkles or something to give a relish." - -Coroner: "That is enough, cook.--Bring in the next witness." - -Mr. Lister Wilmot, who appeared much agitated, next deposed: "I went -to visit my deceased uncle on the evening of Tuesday last, and whilst -taking off my outer coat in the hall, my cousin, Mr. Atherton, -arrived. We went into my uncle's study together. Very little -conversation passed between us. I mentioned my intention of asking my -uncle for some money that evening, which I needed, having some -pressing bills to pay. My cousin replied something to the effect that -he, my uncle, would probably not live long, and we ought not to worry -him with our affairs. I think he simply said it with a view to -stopping me from making the application: he thinks I am extravagant. -He asked me how much I wanted. I said, £500. He said: 'That is a large -sum, Lister; we shall never get the governor to come down as handsome -as that.'" - -Mr. Merrivale: "Did Mr. Atherton say, 'we shall,' or 'you will'?" - -Witness (hesitating:) "I am not quite clear, but I think he said 'we -shall.' It was simply a kindly way of speaking. We found my uncle more -than usually taciturn and abstracted; but I was so hard pressed I was -obliged to brave him, and ask him for money. To my astonishment, -instead of venting his anger on me, he turned it all upon my cousin -Hugh, and accused him of leading me into extravagance." - -Coroner: "Was this so?" - -"It was not. Hugh and I are the best of friends; but our pursuits and -tastes are totally opposite. I said so to my uncle, and tried to -appease him in vain. At last he worked himself into such a rage that -he seemed quite reckless of what he said; and hinted that Hugh might -pay my debts for me, and if he couldn't do so out of his own pocket, -he might get Kavanagh to advance me some out of his future wife's -dividends; that I might have got the girl for myself if I had chosen; -but as it was, he dared say Kavanagh would marry her in the long-run, -for it was easy to see how the wind lay in that quarter." - -Mr. Merrivale: "Can you swear to those words?" - -"I can. My cousin got very angry at this, and said: 'You have no right -to make such remarks or draw any such conclusions; they are false. You -will repent of this to-morrow.' I can swear to those words. Just then -Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, brought in my uncle's ale and biscuits, as -usual. Barker opened the door for her: I remember that fact. There was -only one tumbler with the bottle brought up. Neither myself nor my -cousin ever touch that beverage. When Mrs. Haag had left the room, -Hugh got up and went to the table where the tray had been placed, and -brought a glass of ale to my uncle with a plate of hard biscuits." - -Coroner: "Did you see the prisoner pour out the ale? Where was he -standing with regard to yourself?" - -"He had his back toward us; I was sitting by the fire opposite my -uncle; the table was in the middle of the room. To get the ale Hugh -must turn his back to us." - -"How long was he at the table?" - -Witness, (after a moment's thought:) "A minute or more; but I could -not speak positively." - -"Sufficient time to have put anything in the ale?" - -Witness, (much agitated:) "Am I obliged to answer this?" - -"You are not obliged; but an unfavorable interpretation might be put -upon your silence." - -Witness (in a very low voice:) "There _was_ time." - -{606} - -Mr. Merrivale: "Did you not observe that some ale was poured out in -the tumbler when it was brought up?" - -"I did not observe it; it might have been so, but I could not say for -certain either way." - -Mr. Merrivale to the coroner: "My client desires me to state -distinctly that a small quantity, about a quarter of a glassful, was -already poured out when he went to the tray. He supposes it was done -to save the overflow from the bottle." - -Coroner: "I will note it." - -Evidence continued: "My uncle drank half the ale at a draught, shook -his bead, and said: 'It is very bitter, to-night.' We neither made any -remark upon it. He likewise took a biscuit and ate it. Soon afterward -I rose to go. He would not say good-night to me. Hugh came to the door -with me--the study-door--and whispered, 'I'll try to appease him and -make it all right for you.' I went straight down-stairs and out of the -house. I remember seeing my cousin's coat hanging in the hall; it was -a brown-tweed waterproof one; but I did not touch it. The coachman -came the following morning with the sad news to my chambers." - -Mr. Merrivale: "Are you acting as sole executor, Mr. Wilmot?" - -"I am; my cousin is aware of it." - -Mr. Walker: "It is illegal to ask for any depositions about the -deceased's will here." - -Coroner: "I am the best judge of that, Mr. Walker. Anything which -throws light upon what we have to find out must be received as -evidence." - -Mr. Merrivale: "Were you aware what the contents of your late uncle's -will were before you opened it at Messrs. Smith and Walker's?" - -"I was not; but both Hugh Atherton and myself were led to anticipate -what the tenor of it would be." - -"Have the results fulfilled your anticipations?" - -"I don't consider myself warranted in answering such a question." - -Coroner: "Have you any thing else to state, Mr. Wilmot?" - -"Nothing, except that I believe in my cousin's innocence." - -Mr. John Kavanagh was then called, and, after the usual preliminaries, -stated that on his return from a tour in Switzerland on the afternoon -of Tuesday, the 23d, he found a note from Mr. Thorneley, which he now -produced. (Note read by the coroner and passed on to the jurymen.) -That upon receipt of it he had gone to Mr. Thorneley's at the hour -appointed, and had been shown at once into that gentleman's study. Had -found him very much altered for the worse and aged since last he had -seen him, some months since. He looked as if some heavy trouble were -upon him, weighing him down. He had transacted the business required, -which occupied, he should say, an hour, and had then left him as calm -and as well as when he (witness) first entered the room. He had chosen -to walk home, and, stopping to light a segar at the corner of Vere -street, had met Mr. Atherton _coming out of the chemist's shop_. Mr. -Atherton had offered to accompany him home, but he (Witness) had -refused, and they had parted, Mr Atherton stating his intention of -coming to see him on the morrow. That the moment after, he had -repented his refusal and hurried back to ask him to return; but being -near-sighted and the night dark, had not been able to distinguish his -figure, and had given up the pursuit. Returning down Vere street, -about half-way he had met a female walking very fast, but who in -passing had almost stopped, and stared very hard at him. She had on a -thick veil, so he could not see her face, nor did he recognize her -figure. The circumstance had passed from his mind until detective -Jones had told him that Mr. Thorneley's housekeeper had been in Vere -street that evening, and seen his meeting with Mr. Atherton, and then -it had struck him it might have been she.--(Here Mr. Merrivale was -seen to confer very earnestly with the {607} prisoner, and afterward -to pass a slip of paper to the coroner, who after reading it bowed, as -if in assent, and then beckoned to a policeman, who left the room.) He -had gone straight home to his chambers, and being tired went early to -bed, and did not wake till very late the following morning, when his -clerk had told him the news of Mr. Thorneley's death, and detective -Jones had called upon him shortly afterward. - -By the coroner: "What was the nature of the business which you -transacted with deceased?" - -"I am bound over very solemnly not to mention it until a certain -time." - -"Was it a will you called the two servants to witness?" - -"I am not at liberty to answer. I pass my word as a gentleman and a -man of honor that in no way do I consider this to affect my friend Mr. -Atherton's present position; and that when it does I shall consider -myself free to speak." - -Mr Walker: "We shall compel you, Mr. Kavanagh, to speak in another -place than this. The breach of etiquette you have committed will not -be passed over by us as the family and confidential legal advisers of -the deceased gentleman." - -"We shall both act as we think right, Mr. Walker." - -The prisoner here in a very hollow voice said "For God's sake, and for -the sake of one who is dear to us both, I entreat you, John Kavanagh, -to reveal any thing that may help to clear an innocent man from this -frightful imputation." - -"I will, Hugh, so help me God! But it would avail you nothing to speak -now." - -Coroner: "Have you anything further to state?" - -"Nothing, save my most solemn religious conviction that Mr. Atherton -is innocent, and that he is the victim of the foulest plot." - -Mr. Walker here appealed to the coroner, and said he objected to such -insinuations being made there; that Mr. Kavanagh had done his best to -criminate the prisoner, and that he was now trying to cast the blame -upon others. - -Mr. Kavanagh was about to make some violent answer, when the coroner -called to order. - -Mr. Merrivale: "Will you have the goodness, Mr. Kavanagh, to look -toward the end of the room, and see if you identify any one there?" - -Mr. Kavanagh: "My God! _It is she!_" - -Coroner: "Who?" - -"The woman I met in Vere street that night." - -Standing opposite to the witness, with the light full upon her, was a -female figure, closely veiled. - -"I never met you, Mr. Kavanagh!" it was the woman who spoke, loudly, -vehemently. - -Coroner to witness: "I see you are using your eyeglass now; were you -using it when you say you met this person in Vere street?" - -"I was." - -"Could you swear that the figure standing before you now and the woman -you met are one and the same?" - -"I would swear that _the appearance_ of that woman standing before me -now and that of the figure I met is one and the same--the same height, -the same carriage, the same veiled face." - -"I never met you, Mr. Kavanagh!" repeated the woman, with a passionate -gesture. - -Coroner: "Mrs. Haag, you can retire." (It was the housekeeper.) - -Mr. Walker: "I don't see how this affects the case." - -Mr. Merrivale: "Probably not, sir; but you will see by and by. I am -much obliged to you, Mr. Coroner." - -Mr. Kavanagh is replaced by Inspector Jackson, detective officer, who -deposed that from information received at Scotland Yard on the morning -of the 24th instant, he had been desired by his superintendent to -proceed to 100 Wimpole street, the residence {608} of the deceased -gentleman, and examine into the case, accompanied by detective Jones. -From information received from the housekeeper and other servants, and -after a conference with the surgeon called in, his suspicions had -fallen upon Mr. Atherton. He had left a policeman in charge from the -nearest station-house, and gone with Jones direct to Mr. Atherton's -chambers in the Temple. On breaking the nature of his visit to that -gentleman, together with the news of Mr. Thorneley's death, he had -been terribly overcome, and exclaimed that he was an innocent man, God -was his witness; that he would not have hurt a hair of the old man's -head; but certainly he _had_ been angry with him the night before. -Cautioned not to say anything which might criminate himself, Mr. -Atherton had again said, in very solemn tones: "My God, thou knowest I -am innocent!" Witness had searched Mr. Atherton's room and clothes; in -the pocket of his coat had found a small empty paper labelled -STRYCHNINE--POISON; with the name of "Davis, chemist, 20 Vere street, -corner of Oxford street."--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale as to which -coat-pocket the packet was found in, replied the overcoat which Mr. -Atherton wore on the previous evening. - -By a juryman: "How do you know it was the identical coat worn that -evening?" - -"The man-servant, John Barker, swears to it; he took it from Mr. -Atherton when he came to Mr. Thorneley's house, and hung it up in the -hall to dry." - -The prisoner: "Yes, I did wear that coat; but I know nothing of the -paper found in it." - -By the coroner: "Have you been in communication with the chemist in -Vere street?" - -Witness: "I have, sir; he remembers--" - -Mr. Merrivale: "I object to this evidence coming from the mouth of Mr. -Inspector. The chemist is here and should be examined himself." - -Mr. Walker, one of the solicitors of deceased "I think that the -evidence should be received from both the inspector and the chemist." - -Mr. Merrivale: "I still object." - -The coroner: "On what ground, Mr. Merrivale?" - -Mr. Merrivale: "On the ground that the inspector having a preconceived -notion when he communicated with the chemist, the latter may have been -misled by his questions. I should at least wish that Davis should be -examined first, and his evidence received direct." - -The coroner: "Very well. Is there anything else, Mr. Inspector?" - -"Nothing else, except that Mr. Atherton denied all knowledge at once -of the paper found." - -By Mr. Merrivale: "Did you not find also a bottle of camphorated -spirits?" - -"I did; but on the table. It was a fresh bottle, unopened, and bore -the same label, from Mr. Davis's." (Witness dismissed.) - -Mr. Merrivale here demanded to have the man Barker recalled, which was -done. - -Mr. Merrivale: "Can you swear to the overcoat which Mr. Atherton wore -the last evening he came to Wimpole street?" - -"Certainly, sir. It was a brown tweed waterproof, with deep pockets. I -know it well." - -"Is that the coat?" (Coat produced.) - -"It is, sir." - -"Can you swear to it?" - -"I can, sir." - -"How long was it between the time Mr. Wilmot went away and the time -Mr. Atherton left the house?" - -"About half an hour or three quarters, I should say." - -"Did you let him out?" - -"No, sir." - -"Nor Mr. Atherton?' - -"No, sir." - -"Did you hear or know of any one being in the hall for any length of -time whilst Mr. Atherton was with his uncle?" - -{609} - -"No one could have been in the hall, sir, we servants were all at -supper." - -"Was the housekeeper with you?" - -"No, sir; she has her supper in her own sitting-room always." - -"Then how are you sure that she did not go into the hall?" - -"I should have heard her door open and her footsteps pass along the -passage. The servants' hall door was open that I might hear master's -bell." - -"You feel certain of this?" - -"I do, sir." - -"I have no more to ask this witness, Mr. Coroner." - -Thomas Davis, chemist, was then called. He deposed that on the evening -of the 23d he perfectly well remembered a gentleman coming into his -shop and buying a small bottle of spirits of camphor. Could not swear -to him, but thinks it may have been the prisoner. It was a tall -gentleman. (Upon being shown the bottle of camphor, immediately -identified it as the one sold. The paper found in Mr. Atherton's -pocket was now produced, and he likewise identified it as coming from -his shop.) The paper and label were the same as he used.--Questioned -as to whether he recollected selling any strychnine either on or -before the 23d, replied he could not remember selling any; but that he -had found a memorandum in his day-book of one grain sold on the 23d. -(Sensation.) Was quite sure it had been sold, or the entry would not -have been made; always made those entries himself. His assistant -reported to him of anything sold during his absence from the shop, and -he then entered it in his day-book as a ready-money transaction. His -assistant might have sold the strychnine on that day; but he had -questioned him and found he did not remember any particulars. Could -swear that he himself remembered nothing about it.--by Mr. Merrivale: -Was generally absent from the shop an hour at dinner-time--from one to -two--and from five to half-past for tea; again at night from nine to -half-past. Closed at ten. - -Mr. Merrivale here asked that Mr. Wilmot and Mrs. Haag might severally -be brought in; to which Mr. Walker objected. The objection was -overruled by the coroner, and Mr. Wilmot was summoned. - -Mr. Merrivale: "Do you remember having seen this gentleman before, Mr. -Davis?" - -"I do not, sir." - -"Nor remember his coming into your shop?" - -"No, sir." - -The housekeeper was then called, with the same results. - -Examination of witness continued: His assistant was a remarkably -steady and able young man, intrusted with making up very important -prescriptions; his word could be relied on; had been with him for five -years. He himself was a licensed member of Apothecaries' Hall. - -The last witness summoned was James Ball, assistant to Mr. Davis, the -chemist. In reply to the coroner, he never remembered having sold any -strychnine on the 23d, though he might have done so; in which case he -would report it to Mr. Davis, who would have entered it in the -day-book. Was in the habit of mentioning each item as soon after it -was sold as opportunity permitted. Could not identify either Mr. -Wilmot or Mrs. Haag as having seen them in the shop.--By Mr. Walker: -Remembered the prisoner coming into the shop on the evening of the -23d; they did not often see such a tall gentleman. His employer, Mr. -Davis, had served him with the camphor. - -By Mr. Merrivale: "Do you mean to say that a customer whom you did not -serve, buying camphor, made an impression on your mind, and yet you -have no recollection of any one coming to your shop and asking for -such a remarkable and _dangerous_ thing as strychnine?" - -After a moment's consideration: - -{610} - -"I remember that gentleman," (pointing to the prisoner,) "because I -wondered what his height might be, and what a jolly thing it must be -to be so tall, especially with such a high counter to serve over." -(Laughter. James Ball was considerably below the middle height) "I -don't recollect anything at all about the strychnine." - -By the coroner: "It is a question probably of life or death, James -Ball, to that gentleman, Mr. Atherton; and I conjure you to strive to -the utmost of your power to call to mind any circumstance concerning -the sale of that poison which may throw some light upon the subject -Take your time now to consider, for I see you _can_ recollect things." - -After some moments of dead silence, James Ball replied, "I remember -nothing further than what I have already stated." - -This closed the evidence, and coroner, summing up, addressed the jury. -He commented upon the awfulness of the crime which had been committed; -on the fearful increase of the use of poisons of every kind for the -purpose of taking away human life. He said in this case the principal -facts they had to deal with were, that it was proved on evidence that -poison had been administered to deceased in the bitter ale, which he -had taken before going to bed. That the poison was pronounced to be -strychnine, which it was well known would probably not take effect -until an hour or so after it had been imbibed. That the glass of -bitter ale in which the strychnine had been detected was poured out -and given to deceased by his nephew, Mr. Hugh Atherton, in presence of -his other nephew, Mr. Wilmot. That it had been proved by medical -evidence that in the ale remaining in the bottle no strychnine had -been detected. All suspicions therefore were confined to the ale which -had been _poured out_. That Mr. Atherton had been heard to use angry, -if not threatening, language to the deceased, (he repeated the words,) -and had been seen by two witnesses coming out of the chemist's shop -kept by the identical man whose name was on the paper labelled -Strychnine, and found in the prisoner's pocket. The prisoner's legal -adviser had stated that a portion of the ale was already poured out in -the tumbler, when he (the prisoner) approached the table for the -purpose of helping his uncle; but no evidence had been adduced of the -fact. Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, had stated to the contrary. Still -the prisoner was entitled to the benefit of the doubt. There had been -positive evidence that the deceased had died from the effects of -poison; it rested with the jury to decide whether the other evidence -was sufficiently conclusive to warrant their finding a verdict against -the prisoner as having administered the poison. - -After a consultation of some quarter of an hour, the jury returned a -verdict of _Wilful Murder against Mr. Hugh Atherton_. - -Merrivale brought me the news in that dull back-room where I waited, -heaven only knows with what crushing, heart-sick anxiety, and we left -the house--that doomed house of death, of woe and desolation to the -living. - -The crowd outside had thickened and densified; but their cries and -clamors were meaningless sounds for me. As we stood on the pavement -whilst Merrivale hailed a cab, I felt something thrust into my hand--a -piece of paper. I looked round and saw a man disappearing amongst the -throng, who presently turned and held up his hand to me. He was in -plain clothes and somewhat disguised; but I recognized Jones the -detective. When in the cab I unfolded the paper, and read, hastily -scrawled in pencil: - - "Meet me, sir, please, on the Surrey end of London Bridge to-night - at nine o'clock." - "A. Jones." - -{611} - - -CHAPTER VI. - -IN BLUE-ANCHOR LANE. - -Nine o'clock was striking, as I hurried along the footway of London -Bridge, hustled and jostled by the many passengers who seem to be -forever treading their weary road of business, care, or pleasure--for -even pleasure brings its toil; nine o'clock resounding loud and clear -in the night-air from the dome of St. Paul's, and echoed from the -neighboring church-steeples. It sounds romantic enough to please the -most enthusiastic devourers of pre-Radcliffe novels, or to capture the -imagination of the most ardent votaries of fiction. But it was far -otherwise to me on the night of that Thursday which had seen Hugh -Atherton branded with the name of murderer. It was far otherwise to -me--weighed down with the crushing knowledge that the companion of my -youth, the friend of my later years, although an innocent man, was -being gradually hurried on to a felon's death; and that I--_I_ who -loved him so well--had helped to his destruction, though Heaven could -witness how unwillingly and unconsciously. No; there was no romance -for me that night as I dragged my weary steps over the bridge, with -the sight of him before my eyes, and the sound of heart-bursting grief -from the lips of that poor stricken girl, his betrothed bride, ringing -in my ears; for I had been to tell her the results of this day's work. -Oh! why had I not yielded to his wish the evening I met Hugh Atherton -in that fatal street, and taken him home with me? Why had I not more -earnestly followed up the impulse--nay, dare I not call it -inspiration?--to return after him and bid him come back with me? Ah -me! my selfishness, my blindness--could any remorse ever atone for -them and the terrible evil they had brought about? My God, thou -knowest how my heart cried out to thee then in bitterness and sorrow: -"Smite me with thy righteous judgments; but spare him--spare her!" - -And now what new scene in this drama of life was I going to see -unfolded? I could not tell; I knew nothing; I could only pray that if -Providence pointed out to me any track by which I might penetrate the -awful mystery that hung round us, I might pursue it with all fidelity, -with utter forgetfulness of self. I had gone with Merrivale after we -left Wimpole street to the House of Detention where Atherton was -lodged, and desired him to ask that I should see Hugh; but he had come -out looking puzzled and perplexed, and said: "I can't make it out; -Atherton refuses to see you, and gives no reason except that it is -'best not.'" No help was there, then, but to trust to time and -unwearied exertion to remove the cloud between us. - -I found Jones waiting for me at the other end of the bridge, and -anxiously on the look-out. - -"I am right glad to see you, sir; I was fearful you mightn't come, -seeing that I gave you no reason for doing so." - -"I trusted you sufficiently, Jones, to belive you wouldn't have -brought me on a useless errand at such a time of awful anxiety." - -"Bless you, sir, I wouldn't--not for a thousand pounds; and I've had -that offered to me in my day by parties as wished to get rid of me or -shut me up. No, indeed, sir; I'd not add to your trouble if so be I -could not lighten it. But we have no time to lose, and we have a -goodish bit before us. You asked me this morning whether I knew any -thing of a Mr. de Vos. I did not then, but I do now; and a strange -chance threw me across him. If, sir, you will trust yourself entirely -to me to-night, I think I can be of use to you. But you must confide -in me, and allow me to take the lead in everything. And first, will -you let me ask you one or two questions?" - -I told him he might ask anything he pleased; if I could not answer, I -would tell him so; that I would trust him implicitly. - -{612} - -"Then, sir, will you condescend to honor me by coming home first for a -few minutes? My missus expects us. She's in a terrible way about Mr. -Atherton: she never forgets past kindness." - -We turned off the bridge, straight down Wellington street, High street -Borough, and then into King street, where Jones stopped before a -respectable-looking private house, and knocked. The door was opened by -his wife--with whom, under other circumstances, I had been acquainted -before--and we entered their neat little front-parlor. Evidently we -were expected, for supper was laid--homely, but substantial, and -temptingly clean. - -"You must excuse us, sir," said Jones; "but I fancied it was likely -you had taken little enough to-day, and I told Jane to have something -ready for us. Please to eat, Mr. Kavanagh; we have a short journey -before us, and I want you to have all your wits and energies about -you." - -I was faint and sick, true enough; for I had touched nothing save a -biscuit and a glass of wine since the morning; but my stomach seemed -to loathe food; and though I drew to the table, not wishing to offend -the good people, I felt as if to swallow a morsel would choke me. -Jones cut up the cold ham and chicken in approved style, whilst his -wife busied herself with slicing off thin rounds of bread and butter; -but I toyed with my knife and fork, and could not eat. Not so Jones; -he took down incredible quantities of all that was before him with the -zest of a man who knows he is going to achieve luck's victory. -Presently he threw down his tools, and looked hard at me. - -"This'll never do, sir; you _must_ eat." - -I shook my head and smiled. - -"Jane," said he to his wife, "bring out Black Peter; no one ever -needed him more than Mr. Kavanagh." - -Mrs. Jones opened a cupboard and brought forth a tapery-necked bottle, -out of which her husband very carefully poured some liquid into a -wineglass, and then as carefully corked it up again. - -"Drink this, sir; I've never known it to fail yet." - -I lifted the glass to my lips. "Why, it's the primest Curaçoa!" I -cried. - -"That it may be, sir, for all I know. A poor German, to whom I once -rendered a service, sent me two bottles, and I've found it the best -cordial I ever tasted. I call it Black Peter--his name was Peter, and -he was uncommonly black, to be sure--but I never heard its right name -before. Drink it off, sir, and you'll feel a world better presently." - -I did, and the effects were as Jones prognosticated. The cold, sick -shivering left me, and I was able in a little while to take some food. - -"Now, Jane," said the good man to his wife, when he saw I was getting -on all right, "shut up your ears; Mr. Kavanagh and I are going to talk -business." - -Mrs. Jones laughed, picked up some needle-work, and sat down to a -small table by the fire. - -"My wife's a true woman, sir, in every thing but her tongue; she -_don't_ talk: I'll back her against Sir Richard himself for keeping -dark on a secret case. Now, sir, will you please to tell me, if you -can, why you are anxious to find out about this Mr. de Vos?" - -I related to him about my meeting De Vos at my sister's, what I had -heard and witnessed in Swain's Lane, the impressions made upon me -then, and how I had caught sight of the man outside the police-court -on the preceding day. Jones listened very attentively, and made notes -of it all. - -"Exactly," said he, when I ended by saying that Mr. Wilmot had denied -all knowledge of De Vos and the rendezvous in Swain's Lane. "Just what -I expected. Of course he would." - -"What! Do you think he did know, and that it was Wilmot's voice I -heard?" - -{613} - -"I think nothing, sir" said be, with a curious smile; "but I guess a -good deal. We have a terribly-tangled skein to unravel; but I think in -following up this man we have got the right end of it. I must now tell -you how I stumbled upon him to-day. I heard from inspector Keene that -he was engaged by Mr. Merrivale to see into this murder of old Mr. -Thorneley; and knowing how partial I was to Mr. Atherton--good reason -too--he asked me if I'd like to help him, and if so, he'd speak about -me to Sir Richard Mayne. I said I would, above all things, for I'd had -a hand in taking him, though I believed he was innocent; and now I'd -give much to help him back to his liberty again. To cut short with the -story, it was settled I should hang about the house to-day during the -inquest in disguise, to pick up any stray information that might be -let drop; for there's a deal more known, sir, about rich folks and -their households by such people as those who were crowded round the -house today than ever you'd think for; and we gather much of our most -valuable information by mixing in these crowds unknown, and listening -to the casual gossip that goes on in them. So I made myself up into a -decent old guy, and took my way to Wimpole street. Whilst waiting to -cross Oxford street two men came up behind me, and I heard a few words -drop which made me turn round to look at them. Sure enough, one -answered most perfectly your description of this Mr. De Vos. I thought -to myself, 'Here's game worth following;' and I did follow, and heard -them make an appointment for to-night on this side the water. Now, -sir, do you see why I asked you to meet me?' - -"I do. We must be present at the meeting." - -"Just so, sir; and we have no time to lose, for the hour mentioned was -soon after ten o'clock. If you'll take nothing else we will go. We -must go made up; and you'll trust entirely to me." - -"You mean disguised?" - -"I do, sir; if you'll come up-stairs, I'll give you what is -necessary." - -Up-stairs we went, and Jones produced from a chest of drawers a rough -common seaman's jacket, a pair of duck trowsers, a woollen comforter, -a tarpaulin hat, and a false black beard, in which he rigged me out; -and then proceeded to make similar change in his own attire, with the -exception of a wig of shaggy red hair and a pair of whiskers to match. - -"Leave your watch, sir, and any little articles of jewelry you may -have about you, in my wife's charge; keep your hat well slouched over -your face and your hands in your pockets, give a swing and swagger to -your walk, and you'll do." - -"Why, where upon earth are we going, Jones?" - -"To Blue-Anchor Lane, sir, if you know where that very fashionable -quarter lies." - -I did not know exactly where it was, saying from police-reports, which -named it as one of the lowest parts of that low district lying between -Bermondsey and Rotherhithe. I had been somewhere near it once, having -occasion to call on one of the clergy belonging to the Catholic Church -in Parker's Row; but that was quite an aristocratic part, for a -wonder, compared with Blue-Anchor Lane. Yes, Parker's Row I had -visited; and, thanks to my having grown and "gentlefolked" to the -height of six feet odd, I had managed to pull the bell and get -admitted to the convent behind the church, where dwell the good -Sisters of Mercy, walled-in all tight and trim. But down Blue-Anchor -Lane I had never penetrated; and I asked Jones if it were not -considered a favorite haunt for characters of the worst description. - -"It is so, sir; and we must be careful and cautious to-night in all we -do." I noticed that he put his staff and alarum in his pocket, and -furnished me with similar implements. "In case of necessity, sir," he -said, {614} laughing, "you must act as special constable with me. I -wouldn't take you into the smallest danger; but, you see, I don't know -but what your presence is of absolute necessity, and that you may be -able to gather a clue in this case quicker than I should. Not that I -yield in quickness at twigging most things to any man," said Detective -Jones, with a bit of professional pride quite pardonable; "but you -must identify the man for certain yourself, sir, before I can act in -the matter with anything like satisfaction." - -It was just upon ten o'clock when we left King street, and proceeded -to London Bridge; whence we took the train to Spa Road. It takes, as -every one knows, but a few minutes in the transit; and leaving that -dark, dismal, break-neck hole of a station, we turned to the left up -Spa Road, down Jamaica Row, and so into Blue-Anchor Lane. It is -needless to describe what that place is at night; it is needless to -picture in words all the degrading vice that walks forth unmasked in -some of the streets of this capital, which ranks so high amidst the -great cities o the world. Is our exterior morality to be so far -behind, so infinitely below, that of tribes and nations on whom we -stoop to trample? Can such things be, and we not waken from our -lethargic sleep, remembering what our account will one day be? Can our -rulers so calmly eat and drink, take their pleasure, hunt their game, -pursue their gentlemanlike sports, knowing, as assuredly they do too -well, that thousands of their people are living lives more degraded, -more brutal, more shamelessly inhuman, more full of sin, ignorance, -and every kind of squalor and misery, than the wildest savages we have -set our soldiers to hunt out of the lands in which God placed them? - -"What can the man be doing in such a place as this?" I whispered to -Jones, as he stopped before the door of a small low-looking house of -entertainment, half coffee-shop and half public-house, that rejoiced -in the name of "Noah's Ark." - -"That's just what we've got to find out, sir. Somehow it strikes me -he's better acquainted with such haunts as these than you and I are -with Regent street or Piccadilly. If I haven't seen his face before, -and that not ten yards from the Old Bailey, I'm blest if I was ever -more mistaken in my life. But hush! here he is." - -And swaggering along, with his hat stuck on one side, and murmuring a -verse of "Rory O'Moore," came Mr. de Vos, my sister Elinor's -"treasure-trove," evidently somewhat airy in the upper regions, and -elated by good cheer. Jones had taken out a short clay pipe, and -whilst seemingly intent on filling it I saw he was watching De Vos -with a keen observant glance. The latter gentleman was far from being -intoxicated; he was merely what is called "elevated," and quite wide -awake enough to be wary of anything going on around him. I saw him -start perceptibly as his eye fell upon me, though my slouched hat and -high collar must have gone a good way toward concealing my features. - -"Fine night, mate," said Jones in a bluff, loud voice, lighting and -pulling vigorously at his pipe. - -"Deed and it is so," answered De Vos, halting just opposite to us, and -once more turning his scrutiny upon me. "Are you game for a dhrop of -whiskey?" addressing himself especially to me. - -I was about to answer in feigned tones, when Jones took the word out -of my mouth, and replied: "No use asking him--he's too love-sick just -now to care for drink; he's parted with his sweetheart, and is off for -the West-Indies by five in the morning from the Docks." - -Something now seemed to attract De Vos's attention to Jones, for he -became suddenly very grave. - -"I've not seen you here before," said he, peering into the detective's -face. - -{615} - -"May be you have, may be you haven't. I don't need to ask any man's -leave to drink a pint at 'Noah's Ark,' and watch a game of skittles." - -This, as Jones told me afterward, was quite a random shot; however, it -took effect. - -"I believe you," said De Vos with all the boastfulness of his nature. -"You'll not see a betther bowler through the country entirely than -meself. I'll back the odds against any man this side the Channel, and -bedad to it. I dare say now it's here on Monday last you were to see -me play?" - -"Ay, ay, mate," sang out Jones; "right enough." - -"Ah! thin it was small shiners I went in for then; but I'll lay a -couple of fivers now against a brad, and play you fair to-morrow -against any of them in there," with a back-handed wave to the house, -whence unmistakable sounds of noisy mirth were proceeding. "Is it -done?" - -"I'll consider your offer--shiver my timbers but I will!" said Jones, -with a burst of Jack-tar-ism--"and let you know in the morning." - -"Just as you please; you pays your money and you takes your choice;" -and nodding to Jones, who responded to the salute in approved style, -De Vos passed into the tap-room of the "Ark." - -"Is it he?" hurriedly whispered Jones when he was out of hearing. - -"Yes, without doubt," answered I, in the same tones. - -"Then follow me, sir; and keep silent unless I speak to you;" and we -likewise entered through the swing-doors of the gayly-lighted bar. - -A glance sufficed to show us that the man we sought was not there; but -Jones was far from being disconcerted; indeed he seemed most -thoroughly up to the mark in the task before him, and threw himself -into the part he had assigned himself with all the genius and facility -of a Billington or Toole. Three or four men with physiognomies that -would not have disgraced the hangman's rope were drinking, smoking, -and exchanging low _badinage_ with a flashy-looking young woman, who -stood behind the bar-counter. Woman, did I say? Angels pity her! There -was little of womanly nature left in the fierce glitter of her eyes, -in the hard lines of premature age which dissipation and sin and woe -had left carved upon her forehead and around her mouth. Little enough -of this though, no doubt, thought Detective Jones, intent upon his own -purposes, as he quickly made up to her, and asked with all the -swaggering audacity of a "jolly tar," for two stiff glasses of the -primest pine-apple rum-and-water. - -Jones extracted a long clay pipe from the lot standing before us in a -broken glass, and passed it to me, and handed his pouch of tobacco, -with an expressive glance that told me I was to smoke. Whilst filling -the pipe and lighting it, the woman returned with the rum-and-water, -which she placed ungraciously before us with a bang and clatter that -caused the liquid to spill out of the glasses. - -"Look here, miss," said Jones in his most insinuating tones; "I'll -forgive you for upsetting the grog, and give you five bob to buy a -blue ribbon for your pretty hair, if you'll manage to get me and my -mate a snug comer inside there," pointing to a door on the left, -whence issued voices; "for we've a bit of money business to settle -to-night, and he's off first thing in the morning for the Indies." - -The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then holding out her -hand for the promised tip, she beckoned us to pass inside the bar, and -led the way to the door. Before she opened it she said in a low voice: - -"I am doing as much as my place is worth; but I want the money; take -the table in the corner at the top here; keep yourselves quiet, and -don't take no notice of nobody, least of all of him who'll be next -you." - -{616} - -She now opened the door, and I saw Jones slip some more money into her -hand, which she received with a short grunt and a nod, and then closed -the door upon us. - -The room was divided like that of an ordinary coffee-shop into box -compartments; the one in the right-hand corner by the door was empty, -and we entered it, carrying our glasses and pipes with us. We seated -ourselves at the end of the two benches opposite each other, and then -glanced round. In the box _vis-à-vis_ were two rough-looking fellows, -whom I took to be real followers of our pretended calling--the sea. -They returned our gaze suspiciously enough, and we could hear one -whisper to the other, "Who's them coves?" and the answer "Dunno; none -of _us_." But the next moment my attention was diverted to the voices -in the box next to ours. - -"Did you see _her_?" It was De Vos who spoke, I felt sure. - -"Not I, my God! not I," answered a deep hoarse voice. "It's ten years -since she and I met, and I'd go to my grave sooner than we should meet -again. Mind you, the day when her cold cruel eyes rest on me will be a -fatal day for me. Faugh! I've passed through as much bloodshed as it's -ever given one man to encounter in his life, and never flinched; but I -tell you, Sullivan, the thought of meeting her face to face seems to -freeze the life-blood of my heart." - -"Do you think she had a hand in this, O'Brian?" - -"Who can tell? She did not pause once; what should stop her again?" - -"The fear of you." - -"She sees no reason to fear. She believes I'm still over _there_, -where she sent me." - -"And the young fellow, _my_ man, does he know anything?" - -"Again how can I tell? But I should say not. How could _she_ enlighten -_him_?" - -"Then he is--" - -"Their son." - -A pause succeeded. Meanwhile Jones had engaged in a sort of dumb-show -with me to throw the men opposite off the scent, by passing papers and -money backwards and forwards, and apparently making calculations with -his pencil; in reality I saw he was taking notes. Presently De Vos -spoke again. - -"Well, let's drink to the heir, old boy; and so long as I can make him -play the piper, why thin it's myself that will, and bedad to him." - -His Irishisms, be it observed, were intermittent. - -"Long life to the heir!" cried the two voices simultaneously; and -there was a clash of glasses. - -"What's the time of day by your ticker?" asked De Vos a few moments -afterward. - -"Just upon eleven. The lad was to be here by then, wasn't he?" - -"Yes, by eleven. I'd like to know what he wants with me now." - -Jones here took up his cap, buttoned his coat, quietly opened the -door, and went out; I following him, of course. He threw a -good-humored nod to the woman, who still stood behind the bar, and I -did the same; but he never spoke until we were some yards from "Noah's -ark." - -"You may be thankful, sir," he then said in a low voice, "to have got -out safely and unmolested. That's the worst haunt of some of the worst -characters in London; and they're banded together so as to shut out -every one as don't belong to them. There's been a Providence, sir, in -it all," raising his cap, "depend upon it. Now we must see if we can -stop this lad whom they are expecting. We'll talk the matter over -afterward." - -Just then a boy came up running at full speed. - -"Halt!" cried Jones, laying his hand on the lad's shoulder. "What -makes you so late?" - -"What's the odds to you? Let me go," replied the boy, with a mixture -of impudence and cunning in his face. "I'm not not bound for you." - -"You're bound for 'Noah's Ark,' though." - -{617} - -"Are you Mr. Sullivan?" - -"Of course I am." - -"Oh! then here's the letter, and you're to see if it's all right." - -"All right," said Detective Jones, opening the note and glancing at -its contents; "tell the gentleman I'll be there. Here's for you, young -Codlings," dropping a half-crown into the boy's hand. - -"Five shillings, and not a stiver less, is my fare." - -"Here you are then, you small imp of iniquity;" and another coin of -similar value found its way into the ragamuffin's pocket. - -He cut a caper, turned head over heels, and was gone. - -And now Jones tore on breathlessly till we were safe out of -Blue-Anchor Lane and had reached Paradise Row, where a policeman was -standing at the corner. Jones took him aside for a minute, and then -rejoined me. - -"We'll hail the first cab, sir, in Spa Road, and drive to your home, -if you've no objection." - -This we did; and as soon as we had started he took a small -candle-lantern from his pocket, lit it, and then handed me the note to -read which he had taken from the boy. It contained but few words; no -names used, no address, no signature, and simply desired the person -addressed to meet the writer the following day at the usual place and -hour. What clue was there in that to the dark mystery we were bent on -solving? Only this, and I put it into words: - -"Great heavens! it is Lister Wilmot's handwriting!" - - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THE MARTYR. - - - Serene above the world he stands, - Uplift to heaven on wings of prayer: - Across his breast his folded hands - Recall the cross he loved to bear. - - Upon his upturned brow the light - Flows like the smile of God: he sees - A flash of wings that daze his sight, - He hears seraphic melodies. - - In vain the cruel crowd may roar, - In vain the cruel flames may hiss: - Like seas that lash a distant shore, - They faintly pierce his sphering bliss. - - He hears them, and he does not hear-- - His fleshly bonds are loosened all-- - No earthly sound can claim the ear - That listens for his Father's call. - - It comes--and swift the spirit spurns, - His quivering lips and soars away; - The blind crowd roars, the blind fire burns, - While God receives their fancied prey. - -D. A. C. - ------- - -{618} - - -From The Month. - -ECCE HOMO. [Footnote 131] - - [Footnote 131: "Ecce homo." A Survey of the Life and Work of Jesus - Christ. Macmillan. 1866.] - - [The London _Reader_ says the following article is from the pen of - the Very Rev. Dr. Newman.--Ed. C.W.] - -The word "remarkable" has been so hacked of late in theological -criticism--nearly as much so as "earnest" and "thoughtful"--that we do -not like to make use of it on the present occasion without an apology. -In truth, it presents itself as a very convenient epithet, whenever we -do not like to commit ourselves to any definite judgment on a subject -before us, and prefer to spread over it a broad neutral tint to -painting it distinctly white, red, or black. A man, or his work, or -his deed, is "remarkable" when he produces an effect; be he effective -for good or for evil, for truth or for falsehood--a point which, as -far as that expression goes, we leave it for others or for the future -to determine. Accordingly it is just the word to use in the instance -of a volume in which what is trite and what is novel, what is striking -and what is startling, what is sound and what is untrustworthy, what -is deep and what is shallow, are so mixed up together, or at least so -vaguely suggested, or so perplexingly confessed, which has so much of -occasional force, of circumambient glitter, of pretence and of -seriousness, as to make it impossible either with a good conscience to -praise it, or without harshness and unfairness to condemn. Such a book -is at least likely to be effective, whatever else it is or is not; and -if it is effective, it may be safely called remarkable, and therefore -we apply the epithet "remarkable" to this "Ecce Homo." - -It is remarkable, then, on account of the sensation which it has made -in religious circles. In the course of a few months it has reached a -third edition, though it is a fair-sized octavo and not an over-cheap -one. And it has received the praise of critics and reviewers of very -distinct shades of opinion. Such a reception must be owing either to -the book itself or to the circumstances of the day in which it has -appeared, or to both of these causes together. Or, as seems to be the -case, the needs of the day have become a call for some such work; and -the work, on its appearance, has been thankfully welcomed, on account -of its professed object, by those whose needs called for it. The -author includes himself in the number of these; and, while providing -for his own wants, he has ministered to theirs. This is what we -especially mean by calling his book "remarkable." - -Disputants may maintain, if they please, that religious doubt is our -natural, our normal state; that to cherish doubts is our duty that to -complain of them is impatience; that to dread them is cowardice; that -to overcome them is inveracity; that it is even a happy state, a state -of calm philosophic enjoyment, to be conscious of them--but after all, -necessary or not, such a state is not natural, and not happy, if the -voice of mankind is to decide the question. English minds, in -particular, have too much of a religious temper in them, as a natural -gift, to acquiesce for any long time in positive, active doubt. For -doubt and devotion are incompatible with each other; every doubt, be -it greater or less, stronger or weaker, involuntary as well as -voluntary, acts upon {619} devotion, so far forth, as water sprinkled, -or dashed, or poured out upon a flame, Real and proper doubt kills -faith, and devotion with it; and even involuntary or half-deliberate -doubt, though it does not actually kill faith, goes far to kill -devotion; and religion without devotion is little better than a -burden, and soon becomes a superstition. Since, then, this is a day of -objection and of doubt about the intellectual basis of revealed truth, -it follows that there is a great deal of secret discomfort and -distress in the religions portion of the community, the result of that -general curiosity in speculation and inquiry which has been the growth -among us of the last twenty or thirty years. - -The people of this country, being Protestants, appeal to Scripture, -when a religious question arises, as their ultimate informant and -decisive authority in all such matters; but who is to decide for them -the previous question, that Scripture is really such an authority? -When, then, as at this time, its divine authority is the very point to -be determined, that is, the character and extent of its inspiration -and its component parts, then they find themselves at sea, without -possessing any power over the direction of their course. Doubting -about the authority of Scripture, they doubt about its substantial -truth; doubting about its truth, they have doubts concerning the -objects which it sets before their faith, about the historical -accuracy and objective reality of the picture which it presents to us -of our Lord. We are not speaking of wilful doubting but of those -painful misgivings, greater or less, to which we have already alluded. -Religious Protestants, when they think calmly on the subject, can -hardly conceal from themselves that they have a house without logical -foundations, which contrives indeed for the present to stand, but -which may go any day--and where are they then? - -Of course Catholics will tell them to receive the canon of Scripture -on the authority of the church, in the spirit of St. Augustine's -well-known words: "I should not believe the gospel, were I not moved -by the authority of the Catholic Church." But who, they ask, is to be -voucher in turn for the church and St. Augustine? is it not as -difficult to prove the authority of the church and her doctors as the -authority of the Scriptures? We Catholics answer, and with reason, in -the negative; but, since they cannot be brought to agree with us here, -what argumentative ground is open to them? Thus they seem drifting, -slowly perhaps, but surely, in the direction of scepticism. - -It is under these circumstances that they are invited, in the volume -before us, to betake themselves to the contemplation of our Lord's -character, as it is recorded by the evangelists, as carrying with it -its own evidence, dispensing with extrinsic proof, and claiming -authoritatively by itself the faith and devotion of all to whom it is -presented. Such an argument, of course, is as old as Christianity -itself; the young man in the Gospel calls our Lord "Good Master," and -St. Peter introduces him to the first Gentile converts as one who -"went about doing good;" and in these last times we can refer to the -testimony even of unbelievers in behalf of an argument as simple as it -is constraining. "Si la vie et la mort de Socrate sont d'un sage," -says Rousseau, "la vie et la mort de Jésus sont d'un Dieu." And he -clenches the argument by observing, that, were the picture a mere -conception of the sacred writers, "l'inventeur en serait plus étonnant -que le héros." Its especial force lies in its directness; it comes to -the point at once, and concentrates in itself evidence, doctrine, and -devotion. In theological language, it is the _motivum credibilitatis_, -the _objectum materiale_ and the _formale_, all in one; it unites -human reason and supernatural faith in one complex act; and it comes -home to all men, educated and ignorant, young and old. And it is the -point to which, after all {620} and in fact, all religious minds tend, -and in which they ultimately rest, even if they do not start from it. -Without an intimate apprehension of the personal character of our -Saviour, what professes to be faith is little more than an act of -ratiocination. If faith is to live, it must love; it must lovingly -live in the author of faith as a true and living being, _in Deo vivo -et vero_; according to the saying of the Samaritans to their -towns-woman: "We now believe, not for thy saying, for we ourselves -have heard him." Many doctrines may be held implicitly; but to see him -as if intuitively is the very promise and gift of him who is the -object of the intuition. We are constrained to believe when it is he -that speaks to us about himself. - -Such undeniably is the characteristic of divine faith viewed in -itself; but here we are concerned, not simply with faith, but with its -logical antecedents; and the question returns on which we have already -touched, as a difficulty with Protestants--how can our Lord's life, as -recorded in the Gospels, be a logical ground of faith, unless we set -out with assuming the truth of those Gospels; that is, without -assuming as proved the original matter of doubt? And Protestant -apologists, it may be urged--Paley for instance--show their sense of -this difficulty when they place the argument drawn from our Lord's -character only among the auxiliary evidences of Christianity. Now the -following answer may fairly be made to this objection; nor need we -grudge Protestants the use of it, for, as will appear in the sequel, -it proves too much for their purpose, as being an argument for the -divinity not only of Christ's mission, but of that of his church also. -However, we say this by the way. - -It may be maintained then, that, making as large an allowance as the -most sceptical mind, when pressed to state its demands in full, would -desire, we are at least safe in asserting that the books of the New -Testament, taken as a whole, existed about the middle of the second -century, and were then received by Christians, or were in the way of -being received, and nothing else but them was received, as the -authoritative record of the origin and rise of their religion. In that -first age they were the only account of the mode in which Christianity -was introduced to the world. Internal as well as external evidence -sanctions us in so speaking. Four Gospels, the book of the acts of the -Apostles, various Apostolic writings, made up then, as now, our sacred -books. Whether there was a book more or less, say even an important -book, does not affect the general character of the religion as those -books set it forth. Omit one or other of the Gospels, and three or -four Epistles, and the outline and nature of its objects and its -teaching remain what they were before the omission. The moral -peculiarities, if particular, of its Founder are, on the whole, -identical, whether we learn them from St. Matthew, St. John, St. -Peter, or St. Paul. He is not in one book a Socrates, in another a -Zeno, and in a third an Epicurus. Much less is the religion changed or -obscured by the loss of particular chapters or verses, or even by -inaccuracy in fact, or by error in opinion, (supposing _per -impossible_ such a charge could be made good,) in particular portions -of a book. For argument's sake, suppose that the three first Gospels -are an accidental collection of traditions or legends, for which no -one is responsible, and in which Christians put faith because there -was nothing else to put faith in. This is the limit to which extreme -scepticism can proceed, and we are willing to commence our argument by -granting it. Still, starting at this disadvantage, we should be -prepared to argue, that if, in spite of this, and after all, there be -shadowed out in these anonymous and fortuitous documents a teacher -_sui generis_, distinct, consistent, and original, then does that -picture, thus accidentally resulting, for the very reason {621} of its -accidental composition, only become more marvellous; then he is an -historical fact and again a supernatural or divine fact--historical -from the consistency of the representation, and because the time -cannot be assigned when it was not received as a reality; and -supernatural, in proportion as the qualities, with which he is -invested in those writings, are incompatible with what it is -reasonable or possible to ascribe to human nature viewed simply in -itself. Let these writings be as open to criticism, whether as to -their origin or their text, as sceptics can maintain; nevertheless the -representation in question is there, and forces upon the mind a -conviction that it records a fact, and a superhuman fact, just as the -reflection of an object in a stream remains in its definite form, -however rapid the current, and however many the ripples, and is a sure -warrant to us of the presence of the object on the bank, though that -object be out of sight. - -Such, we conceive, though stated in our own words, is the argument -drawn out in the pages before us, or rather such is the ground on -which the argument is raised; and the interest which it has excited -lies, not in its novelty, but in the particular mode in which it is -brought before the reader, in the originality and preciseness of -certain strokes by which is traced out for us the outline of the -divine teacher. These strokes are not always correct; they are -sometimes gratuitous, sometimes derogatory to their object; but they -are always determinate; and, being such, they present an old argument -before us with a certain freshness, which, because it is old, is -necessary for its being effective. - -We do not wonder at all, then, at the sensation which the volume is -said to have caused at Oxford, and among the Anglicans of the Oxford -school, after the wearisome doubt and disquiet of the last ten years; -for it has opened the prospect of a successful issue of inquiries in -an all-important province of thought, where there seemed to be no -thoroughfare. Distinct as are the liberal and catholicising parties in -the Anglican Church, both in their principles and their policy, it -must not be supposed that they are as distinct in the members that -compose them. No line of demarcation can be drawn between the one -collection of men and the other, in fact; for no two minds are -altogether alike, and, individually, Anglicans have each his own shade -of opinion, and belong partly to this school, partly to that. Or, -rather, there is a large body of men who are neither the one nor the -other; they cannot be called an intermediate party, for they have no -discriminating watch-words; they range from those who are almost -Catholic to those who are almost liberals. They are not liberals, -because they do not glory in a state of doubt; they cannot profess to -be "Anglo-Catholics," because they are not prepared to give an eternal -assent to all that is put forth by the church as truth of revelation. -These are the men who, if they could, would unite old ideas with new; -who cannot give up tradition, yet are loth to shut the door to -progress; who look for a more exact adjustment of faith with reason -than has hitherto been attained; who love the conclusions of Catholic -theology better than the proofs, and the methods of modern thought -better than its results; and who, in the present wide unsettlement of -religious opinion, believe indeed, or wish to believe, scripture and -orthodox doctrine, taken as a whole, and cannot get themselves to avow -any deliberate dissent from any part of either, but still, not knowing -how to defend their belief with logical exactness, or at least feeling -that there are large unsatisfied objections lying against parts of it, -or having misgivings lest there should be such, acquiesce in what is -called a practical belief, that is, believe in revealed truths, only -because belief in them is the safest course, because they are -probable, and because belief in {622} consequence is a duty, not as if -they felt absolutely certain, though they will not allow themselves to -be actually in doubt. Such is about the description to be given of -them as a class, though, as we have said, they so materially differ -from each other, that no general account of them can be applied -strictly to any individual in their body. - -Now, it is to this large class which we have been describing that such -a work as that before us, in spite of the serious errors which they -will not be slow to recognize in it, comes as a friend in need. They -do not stumble at the author's inconsistencies or shortcomings; they -are arrested by his professed purpose, and are profoundly moved by his -successful hits (as they may be called) toward fulfilling it. Remarks -on the gospel history, such as Paley's they feel to be casual and -superficial; such as Rousseau's, to be vague and declamatory: they -wish to justify with their intellect all that they believe with their -heart; they cannot separate their ideas of religion from its revealed -object; but they have an aching dissatisfaction within them, that they -apprehend him so dimly, when they would fain (as it were) see and -touch him as well as hear. When, then, they have logical grounds -presented to them for holding that the recorded picture of our Lord is -its own evidence, that it carries with it its own reality and -authority, that his "revelatio" is "revelata" in the very act of being -a "revelatio," it is as if he himself said to them, as he once said to -his disciples, "It is I, be not afraid;" and the clouds at once clear -off, and the waters subside, and the land is gained for which they are -looking out. - -The author before us, then, has the merit of promising what, if he -could fulfil it, would entitle him to the gratitude of thousands. We -do not say, we are very far from thinking, that he has actually -accomplished so high an enterprise, though he seems to be ambitious -enough to hope that he has not come far short of it. He somewhere -calls his book a treatise; he would have done better to call it an -essay; nor need he have been ashamed of a word which Locke has used in -his work on the Human Understanding. Before concluding, we shall take -occasion to express our serious sense, how very much his execution -falls below his purpose; but certainly it is a great purpose which he -sets before him, and for that he is to be praised. And there is at -least this singular merit in his performance, as he has given it to -the public, that he is clear-sighted and fair enough to view our -Lord's work in its true light, as including in it the establishment of -a visible kingdom or church. In proportion, then, as we shall -presently find it our duty to pass some severe remarks upon his -volume, as it comes before us, so do we feel bound, before doing so, -to give some specimens of it in that point of view in which we -consider it really to subserve the cause of revealed truth. And in the -sketch which we are now about to give of the first steps of his -investigation, we must not be understood to make him responsible for -the language in which we shall exhibit them to our readers, and which -will unavoidably involve our own corrections of his ailment, and our -own coloring. - -Among a people, then, accustomed by the most sacred traditions of -their religion to a belief in the appearance, from time to time, of -divine messengers for their instruction and reformation, and to the -expectation of one such messenger to come, the last and greatest of -all, who should also be their king and deliverer as well as their -teacher, suddenly is found, after a long break in the succession and a -period of national degradation, a prophet of the old stamp, in one of -the deserts of the country---John, the son of Zachary. He announces -the promised kingdom as close at hand, calls his countrymen to -repentance, and institutes a rite symbolical of it. The people seem -disposed to take him for the destined Saviour; but he points out to -them a {623} private person in the crowd which is flocking about him; -and henceforth the interest which his own preaching has excited -centres in that other. Thus our Lord is introduced to the notice of -his countrymen. - -Thus brought before the world, he opens his mission. What is the first -impression it makes upon us? Admiration of its singular simplicity -both as to object and work. Such of course ought to be its character, -if it was to be the fulfilment of the ancient, long-expected promise; -and such it was, as our Lord proclaimed it. Other men, who do a work, -do not set about it as their object; they make several failures; they -are led on to it by circumstances; they miscalculate their powers; or -they are drifted from the first in a direction different from that -which they had chosen; they do most where they are expected to do -least. But our Lord said and did. "He formed one plan and executed -it," (p. 18). Next, what was that plan? Let us consider the force of -the words in which, as the Baptist before him, he introduced his -ministry; "The kingdom of God is at hand." What was meant by the -kingdom of God? "The conception was no new one, but familiar to every -Jew," (p. 19.) At the first formation of the nation and state of the -Israelites the Almighty had been their king; when a line of earthly -kings was introduced, then God spoke by the prophets. The existence of -the theocracy was the very constitution and boast of Israel, as -limited monarchy, liberty, and equality are the boast respectively of -certain modern nations. Moreover, the gospel proclamation ran, -"Poenitentiam agite; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand;" here again -was another and recognized token of a theophany; for the mission of a -prophet, as we have said above, was commonly a call to reformation and -expiation of sin. A divine mission, then, such as our Lord's, was a -falling back upon the original covenant between God and his people; -but next, while it was an event of old and familiar occurrence, it -ever had carried with it in its past instances something new, in -connection with the circumstances under which it took place. The -prophets were accustomed to give interpretations, or to introduce -modifications of the letter of the law, to add to its conditions and -to enlarge its application. It was to be expected, then, that now, -when the new prophet, to whom the Baptist pointed, opened his -commission, he too, in like manner, would be found to be engaged in a -restoration, but in a restoration which should also be a religious -advance; and that the more if he really was the special, final prophet -of the theocracy, to whom all former prophets had looked forward, and -in whom their long and august line was to be summed up and perfected. -In proportion as his work was to be more signal, so would his new -revelations be wider and more wonderful. - -Did our Lord fulfil these expectations? Yes, there was this -peculiarity in his mission, that he came not only as one of the -prophets in the kingdom of God, but as the king himself of that -kingdom. Thus his mission involves the most exact return to the -original polity of Israel, which the appointment of Saul had -disarranged, while it recognizes also the line of prophets, and -infuses a new spirit into the law. Throughout his ministry our Lord -claimed and received the title of king, which no prophet ever had done -before. On his birth, the wise men came to worship "the king of the -Jews;" "thou art the Son of God, thou art the king of Israel," cried -Nathanael after his baptism; and on his cross the charge recorded -against him was that he professed to be "king of the Jews." "During -his whole public life," says the author, "he is distinguished from the -other prominent characters of Jewish history by his unbounded personal -pretensions. He calls himself habitually king and master. He claims -expressly the character of that divine Messiah for which the ancient -prophets had directed the nation to look," (page 25.) - -{624} - -He is, then, a King, as well as a Prophet; but is he as one of the old -heroic kings, David or Solomon? Had such been his pretension, he had -not, in his own words, "discerned the signs of the times." It would -have been a false step in him, into which other would-be champions of -Israel, before and after him, actually fell, and in consequence -failed. But here this young Prophet is from the first distinct, -decided, and original. His contemporaries, indeed, the wisest, the -most experienced, were wedded to the notion of a revival of the -barbaric kingdom. "Their heads were full of the languid dreams of -commentators, the impracticable pedantries of men who live in the -past," (p. 27.) But he gave to the old prophetic promises an -interpretation which they could undeniably bear, but which they did -not immediately suggest; which we can maintain to be true, while we -can deny them to be imperative. He had his own prompt, definite -conception of the restored theocracy; it was his own, and not -another's; it was suited to the new age; it was triumphantly carried -out in the event. - -In what, then, did he consider his royalty to consist? First, what was -it not? It did not consist in the ordinary functions of royalty; it -did not prevent his payment of tribute to Caesar; it did not make him -a judge in questions of criminal or of civil law, in a question of -adultery, or in the adjudication of an inheritance; nor did it give -him the command of armies. Then perhaps, after all, it was but a -figurative royalty, as when the Eridanus is called "fluviorum rex," or -Aristotle "the prince of philosophers." No; it was not a figurative -royalty either. To call one's self a king, without being one, is -playing with edged tools--as in the story of the innkeeper's son, who -was put to death for calling himself "heir to the crown." Christ -certainly knew what he was saying. "He had provoked the accusation of -rebellion against the Roman government: he must have known that the -language he used would be interpreted so. Was there then nothing -substantial in the royalty he claimed? Did he die for a metaphor?" (p. -28.) He meant what he said, and therefore his kingdom was literal and -real; it was visible; but what were its visible prerogatives, if they -were not those in which earthly royalty commonly consists? In truth he -passed by the lesser powers of royalty, to claim the higher. He -claimed certain divine and transcendent functions of the original -theocracy, which had been in abeyance since that theocracy had been -infringed, which even to David had not been delegated, which had never -been exercised except by the Almighty. God had created, first the -people, next the state, which he deigned to govern. "The origin of -other nations is lost in antiquity," (p. 33;) but "this people," runs -the sacred word, "have I formed for myself." And "He who first called -the nation did for it the second work of a king: he gave it a law," -(p. 34) Now it is very striking to observe that these two -incommunicable attributes of divine royalty, as exemplified in the -history of the Israelites, are the very two which our Lord assumed. He -was the maker and the lawgiver of his subjects. He said in the -commencement of his ministry, "_Follow_ me;" and he added, "and I will -make you"--you in turn--"fishers of men." And the next we read of him -is, that his disciples came to him on the Mount, and he opened his -mouth and _taught_ them. And so again, at the end of it, "Go ye, make -_disciples_ of all nations, _teaching_ them." "Thus the very words for -which the [Jewish] nation chiefly hymned their Jehovah, he undertook -in his name to do. He undertook to be the father of an everlasting -state, and the legislator of a world-wide society," (p. 36;) that is, -showing himself, according to the prophetic announcement, to be -"_Admirabilis, consiliarius, pater futuri saeculi, princeps pacis_." - -{625} - -To these two claims he adds a third: first, he chooses the subjects of -his kingdom; next, he gives them a law; but thirdly, he judges -them--judges them in a far truer and fuller sense than in the old -kingdom even the Almighty judged his people. The God of Israel -ordained national rewards and punishments for national obedience or -transgression; he did not judge his subjects one by one; but our Lord -takes upon himself the supreme and final judgment of every one of his -subjects, not to speak of the whole human race (though, from the -nature of the case, this function cannot belong to his visible -kingdom.) "He considered, in short, heaven and hell to be in his -hand," (p, 40.) - -We shall mention one further function of the new King and his new -kingdom: its benefits are even bound up with the maintenance of this -law of political unity. "To organize a society, and to bind the -members of it together by the closest ties, were the business of his -life. For this reason it was that he called men away from their home, -imposed upon some a wandering life, upon others the sacrifice of their -property, and endeavored by all means to divorce them from their -former connections, in order that they might find a new home in the -church. For this reason he instituted a solemn initiation, and for -this reason he refused absolutely to any one a dispensation from it. -For this reason, too . . . he established a common feast, which was -through all ages to remind Christians of their indissoluble union," -(p. 92.) But _cui bono_ is a visible kingdom, when the great end of -our Lord's ministry is moral advancement and preparation for a future -state? It is easy to understand, for instance, how a sermon may -benefit, or personal example, or religious friends, or household -piety. We can learn to imitate a saint or a martyr, we can cherish a -lesson, we can study a treatise, we can obey a rule; but what is the -definite advantage to a preacher or a moralist of an external -organization, of a visible kingdom? Yet Christ says, "Seek ye _first_ -the kingdom of God," as well as "his justice." Socrates wished to -improve men, but he laid no stress on their acting in concert in order -to secure that improvement; on the contrary, the Christian law is -political, as certainly as it is moral. Why is this? It arises out of -the intimate relation between him and his subjects, which, in bringing -them all to him as their common Father, necessarily brings them to -each other. Our Lord says, "Where two or three are gathered together -in my name, I am in the midst of them." Fellowship between his -followers is made a distinct object and duty, because it is a means, -according to the provisions of his system, by which in some special -way they are brought near to him. This is declared, still more -strikingly than in the text we have just quoted, in the parable of the -vine and its branches, and in that (if it is to be called a parable) -of the Bread of Life. The Almighty King of Israel was ever, indeed, -invisibly present in the glory above the Ark, but he did not manifest -himself there or anywhere else as a present cause of spiritual -strength to his people; but the new king is not only ever present, but -to every one of his subjects individually is he a first element and -perennial source of life. He is not only the head of his kingdom, but -also its animating principle and its centre of power. The author whom -we are reviewing does not quite reach the great doctrine here -suggested, but he goes near it in the following passage: "Some men -have appeared who have been as 'levers to uplift the earth and roll it -in another course." Homer by creating literature, Socrates by creating -science, Caesar by carrying civilization inland from the shores of the -Mediterranean, Newton by starting science upon a career of steady -progress, may be said to have attained this eminence. {626} But these -men gave a single impact like that which is conceived to have first -set the planets in motion. Christ claims to be a perpetual attractive -power, like the sun, which determines their orbit. They contributed to -men some discovery, and passed away; Christ's discovery is himself. To -humanity struggling with its passions and its destiny he says, cling -to me--cling ever closer to me. If we believe St. John, he -represented himself as the light of the world, as the shepherd of the -souls of men, as the way to immortality, as the vine or life-tree of -humanity,' (p. 177.) He ends this beautiful passage, of which we have -already quoted as much as our limits allow, by saying that "He -instructed his followers to hope for life from feeding on his body and -blood." - -_O si sic omnia!_ Is it not hard, that, after following with pleasure -a train of thought so calculated to warm all Christian hearts, and to -create in them both admiration and sympathy for the writer, we must -end our notice of him in a different tone, and express as much dissent -from him and as serious blame of him as we have hitherto been showing -satisfaction with his object, his intention, and the general outline -of his argument? But so it is. In what remains to be said we are -obliged to speak of his work in terms so sharp that they may seem to -be out of keeping with what has gone before. With whatever abruptness -in our composition, we must suddenly shift the scene, and manifest our -disapprobation of portions of his book as plainly as we have shown an -interest in it. We have praised it in various points of view. It has -stirred the hearts of many; it has recognized a need, and gone in the -right direction for supplying it. It serves as a token and a hopeful -token, of what is going on in the minds of numbers of men external to -the church. It is substantially a good book, and, we trust, will work -for good. Especially, as we have seen, is it interesting to the -Catholic as acknowledging the visible church as our Lord's own -creation, as the direct fruit of his teaching, and the destined -instrument of his purposes. We do not know how to speak in an -unfriendly tone of an author who has done so much as this; but at the -same time, when we come to examine his argument in its details, and -study his chapters one by one, we find, in spite of, and mixed up with -what is true and original, and even putting aside his patent -theological errors, so much bad logic, so much of rash and gratuitous -assumption, so much of half-digested thought, that we are obliged to -conclude that it would have been much wiser in him if, instead of -publishing what he seems to confess, or rather to proclaim, to be the -jottings of his first researches upon sacred territory, he had waited -till he had carefully traversed and surveyed and mapped the whole of -it. We now proceed to give a few instances of the faults of which we -complain. - -His opening remarks will serve in illustration. In p. 41 he says, "We -have not rested upon _single_ passages, nor drawn from the _fourth -gospel_." This, we suppose, must be his reason for ignoring the -passage in Luke ii. 49, "Did you not know that I must be about my -father's business?" for he directly contradicts it, by gratuitously -imagining that our Lord came for St. John's baptism with the same -intention as the penitents around him; and that, in spite of his own -words, which we suppose are to be taken as another "single passage," -"So it becometh us to fulfil all justice," (Matt. iii. 15.) It must be -on this principle of ignoring single passages such as these, even -though they admit of combination, that he goes on to say of our Lord, -that "in the agitation of mind caused by his baptism, and by the -Baptist's designation of him as the future prophet, he retired into -the wilderness," and there "he matured the plan of action which we see -him executing from the moment of his return into society," (p. 9;) and -that not till then was he "conscious of miraculous power," {627} (p. -12.) This neglect of the sacred text, we repeat must be allowed him, -we suppose, under color of his acting out his rule of abstaining from -single passages and from the fourth gospel. Let us allow it; but at -least he ought to adduce passages, single or many, for what he -actually does assert. He must not be allowed arbitrarily to add to the -history, as well as cautiously to take from it. Where, then, we ask, -did he learn that our Lord's baptism caused him "agitation of mind," -that he "matured his plan of action in the wilderness," and that he -then first was "conscious of miraculous power"? But again: it seems he -is not to refer to "single passages or the fourth gospel;" yet, -wonderful to say, he actually does open his formal discussion of the -sacred history by referring to a passage from that very gospel--nay, -to a particular text, which is only not a "single" text, because it is -half a text, and half a text, such that, had he taken the whole of it, -he would have been obliged to admit that the part which he puts aside -just runs counter to his interpretation of the part, which he insists -on. The words are these, as they stand in the Protestant version: -"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." Now, -it is impossible to deny that "which taketh away," etc., fixes and -limits the sense of "the Lamb of God;" but our author notices the -latter half of the sentence, only in order to put aside the light it -throws upon the former half; and instead of the Baptist's own -interpretation of the title which he gives to our Lord, he substitutes -another, radically different, which he selects for himself out of one -of the psalms. He explains "the lamb" by the well-known image, which -represents the Almighty as a shepherd and his earthly servants as -sheep--innocent, safe, and happy under his protection. "The Baptist's -opinion of Christ's character, then," he says, "is summed up for us in -the title he gives him--the Lamb of God, taking away the sins of the -world. There _seems_ to be, in the last part of this description, an -allusion to the usages of the Jewish sacrificial system; and, in order -to explain it fully, it would be necessary to anticipate much which -will come more conveniently later in this treatise. _But_ when we -remember that the Baptist's mind was _doubtless_ full of imagery drawn -from the Old Testament, and that the conception of a lamb of God makes -the subject of one of the most striking of the psalms, _we shall -perceive what he meant to convey, by this phrase,_" (pp. 5, 6.) This -is like saying, "Isaiah declares, 'mine eyes have seen the king, the -lord of hosts;' _but_, considering that doubtless the prophet was well -acquainted with the first and second books of Samuel, and that Saul, -David, and Solomon are the three great kings there represented, we -shall easily perceive that by 'seeing the king,' he meant to say that -he saw Uzziah, king of Judah, in the last year of whose reign he had -the vision. As to the phrase 'the lord of hosts,' which seems to refer -to the Almighty, we will consider its meaning by and by:"--but, in -truth, it is difficult to invent a paralogism, in its gratuitous -inconsecutiveness parallel to his own. - -We must own, that, with every wish to be fair to this author, we never -recovered from the perplexity of mind which this passage, in the very -threshold of his book, inflicted on us. It needed not the various -passages which follow it in the work, constructed on the same -argumentative model, to prove to us that he was not only an -_incognito_, but an enigma. "Ergo" is the symbol of the logician--what -science does a writer profess, whose symbols, profusely scattered -through his pages, are "probably," "it must be," "doubtless," "on the -hypothesis," "we may suppose," and "it is natural to think," and that -at the very time that he pointedly discards the comments of school -theologians? Is it possible that he can mean us to set aside the -glosses of all who went {628} before in his own favor, and to exchange -our old lamps for his new ones? Men have been at fault, when trying to -determine whether he was an orthodox believer on his road to -liberalism, or a liberal on his road to orthodoxy: this doubtless may -be to some a perplexity; but our own difficulty is, whether he comes -to us as an investigator or a prophet, as one unequal or superior to -the art of reasoning. Undoubtedly, he is an able man; but what can he -possibly mean by startling us with such eccentricities of -argumentation as are familiar with him? Addison somewhere bids his -readers bear in mind, that if he is ever especially dull, he always -has a special reason for being so; and it is difficult to reconcile -one's imagination to the supposition that this anonymous writer, with -so much deep thought as he certainly evidences, has not some recondite -reason for seeming so inconsequent, and does not move by some deep -subterraneous processes of argument, which, if once brought to light, -would clear him of the imputation of castle-building. - -There is always a danger of misconceiving an author who has no -antecedents by which we may measure him. Taking his work as it lies, -we can but wish that he had kept his imagination under control; and -that he had more of the hard head of a lawyer and the patience of a -philosopher. He writes like a man who cannot keep from telling the -world his first thoughts, especially if they are clever or graceful; -he has come for the first time upon a strange world, and his remarks -upon it are too obvious to be called original, and too crude to -deserve the name of freshness. What can be more paradoxical than to -interpret our Lord's words to Nicodemus, "Unless a man be born again," -and of the necessity of external religion, as a lesson to him to -profess his faith openly and not to visit him in secret? (p. 86.) What -can be more pretentious, not to say gaudy and even tawdry, than his -paraphrase of St. John's passage about the woman taken in adultery? -"In his burning embarrassment and confusion," he says, "he stooped -down so as to hide his face. . . . They had a glimpse perhaps of the -glowing blush upon his face, etc." (p. 104.) - -We should be very sorry to use a severe word concerning an honest -inquirer after truth, as we believe this anonymous writer to be; and -we will confess that Catholics, kindly as they may wish to feel toward -him, are scarcely even able, from their very position, to give his -work the enthusiastic reception which it has received from some other -critics. The reason is plain; those alone can speak of it from a full -heart, who feel a need, and recognize in it a supply of that need. We -are not in the number of such; for they who have found have no need to -seek. Far be it from us to use language savoring of the leaven of the -Pharisees. We are not assuming a high place, because we thus speak, or -boasting of our security. Catholics are both deeper and shallower than -Protestants; but in neither case have they any call for a treatise -such as this "Ecce Homo." If they live to the world and the flesh, -then the faith which they profess, though it is true and distinct, is -dead; and their certainty about religious truth, however firm and -unclouded, is but shallow in its character, and flippant in its -manifestations. And in proportion, as they are worldly and sensual -will they be flippant and shallow. But their faith is as indelible as -the pigment which colors the skin, even though it is skin-deep. This -class of Catholics is not likely to take interest in a pictorial "Ecce -Homo." On the other hand, where the heart is alive with divine love, -faith is as deep as it is vigorous and joyous; and, as far as -Catholics are in this condition, they will feel no drawing toward a -work which is after all but an arbitrary and unsatisfactory dissection -of the object of their devotion. That individuals in their body maybe -{629} harassed with doubts, particularly in a day like this, we are -not denying; but, viewed as a body, Catholics from their religious -condition, are either too deep or too shallow to suffer from those -elementary difficulties, or that distress of mind, in which serious -Protestants are so often involved. - -We confess, then, as Catholics, to some unavoidable absence of cordial -feeling in following the remarks of this author, though not to any -want of real sympathy; and we seem to be justified in our -indisposition by his manifest want of sympathy with us. If we feel -distant toward him, his own language about Catholicity, and (what may -be called) old Christianity, seems to show that that distance is one -of fact, one of mental position, not any fault in ourselves. Is it not -undeniable, that the very life of personal religion among Catholics -lies in a knowledge of the Gospels? It is the character and conduct of -our Lord, his words, his deeds, his sufferings, his work, which are -the very food of our devotion and rule of our life. "Behold the Man," -which this author feels to be an object novel enough to write a book -about, has been the contemplation of Catholics from that first age -when St. Paul said, "The life that I now live in the flesh, I live in -the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and delivered himself for -me." As the Psalms have ever been the manual of our prayer, so have -the Gospels been the subject-matter of our meditation. In these latter -times especially, since St. Ignatius, they have been divided into -portions, and arranged in a scientific order, not unlike that which -the Psalms have received in the Breviary. To contemplate our Lord in -his person and his history is with us the exercise of every retreat, -and the devotion of every morning. All this is certainly simple matter -of fact; but the writer we are reviewing lives and thinks at so great -distance from us as not to be cognizant of what is so patent and so -notorious a truth. He seems to imagine that the faith of a Catholic is -the mere profession of a formula. He deems it important to disclaim in -the outset of his work all reference to the theology of the church. He -eschews with much preciseness, as something almost profane, the -dogmatism of former ages. He wishes "to trace" our Lord's "biography -from point to point, and accept those conclusions--not which church -doctors or even Apostles have sealed with their authority--but which -the facts themselves, critically weighed, appear to warrant." -(Preface.) Now, what Catholics, what church doctors, as well as -Apostles, have ever lived on, is not any number of theological canons -or decrees, but we repeat, the Christ himself, as he is represented in -concrete existence in the Gospels. Theological determinations about -our Lord are far more of the nature of landmarks or buoys to guide a -discursive mind in its reasonings, than to assist a devotional mind in -its worship. Common-sense, for instance, tell us what is meant by the -words, "My Lord and my God;" and a religious man, upon his knees, -requires no commentator; but against irreligious speculators, Arius or -Nestorius, a denunciation has been passed in ecumenical council, when -"science falsely so-called" encroached upon devotion. Has not this -been insisted on by all dogmatic Christians over and over again? Is it -not a representation as absolutely true as it is trite? We had fancied -that Protestants generally allowed the touching beauty of Catholic -hymns and meditations; and after all is there not that in all Catholic -churches which goes beyond any written devotion, whatever its force or -its pathos? Do we not believe in a presence in the sacred tabernacle, -not as a form of words, or as a notion, but as an object as real as we -are real? And if in that presence we need neither profession of faith -nor even manual of devotion, what appetite can we have for the -teaching of a writer who not only exalts his first thoughts about our -{630} Lord into professional lectures, but implies that the Catholic -Church has never known how to point him out to her children? - -It may be objected, that we are making too much of so chance a slight -as his allusion in his preface to "church doctors" involves, -especially as he mentions apostles in connection with them; but it -would be affectation not to recognize in other places of his book an -undercurrent of antagonism to us, of which the passage already quoted -is but a first indication. Of course he has quite as much right as -another to take up an anti-catholic position, if he will; but we -understand him to be putting forth an investigation, not a polemical -argument and if, instead of keeping his eyes directed to his own -proper subject, he looks to the right or left to hit at those who view -it differently from himself, he is damaging the ethical force of a -composition which claims to be, and mainly is, a serious and manly -search after religious truth. Why cannot he let us alone? Of course he -cannot avoid seeing that the lines of his own investigation diverge -from those drawn by others, but he will have enough to do in defending -himself, without making others the object of his attack. He is -virtually opposing Voltaire, Strauss, Renan, Calvin, Wesley, Chalmers, -Erskine, and a host of other writers, but he does not denounce them; -why then does he single out, misrepresent, and anathematize a main -principle of orthodoxy? It is as if he could not keep his hand off us, -when we crossed his path. We are alluding to the following magisterial -passage: - - "If he (our Lord) meant anything by his constant denunciation of - hypocrites, there is nothing which he would have visited with - sterner censure than that _short cut to belief_ which many persons - take, when, overwhelmed with the difficulties which beset their - minds, and afraid of damnation, they _suddenly_ resolve to strive no - longer, but, giving their minds a holiday, to rest content with - _saying_ that they believe, and acting as if they did. A melancholy - end of Christianity indeed! Can there be such a disfranchised pauper - class among the citizens of the New Jerusalem?" (p. 79.) - -He adds shortly afterward: - - "Assuredly, those who represent Christ as presenting to man an - abstruse theology, and saying to them peremptorily, 'believe or be - damned,' have the coarsest conception of the Saviour of the world," - (p. 80.) - -Thus he delivers himself; "Believe or be damned is so detestable a -doctrine, that if any man denies it is detestable, I pronounce him to -be a hypocrite; to be without any true knowledge of the Saviour of the -world; to be the object of his sternest censure; and to have no part -or place in the holy city, the New Jerusalem, the eternal heaven -above." Pretty well for a virtuous hater of dogmatism! We hope we -shall show less dictatorial arrogance than his, in the answer which we -intend to make to him. - -Whether there are persons such as he describes, Catholic or -Protestants, converts to Catholicism or not--men who profess a faith -which they do not believe, under the notion that they shall be -eternally damned if they do not profess it without believing--we -really do not know--we never met with such; but since facts do not -concern us here so much as principles, let us, for argument's sake, -grant that there are. Our author believes they are not only "many," -but enough to form a "class;" and he considers that they act in this -preposterous manner under the sanction, and in accordance with the -teaching, of the religious bodies to which they belong. Especially -there is a marked allusion in his words to the Athanasian creed and -the Catholic Church. Now we answer him thus: - -Part of his charge against the teachers of dogma is, that they impose -on men as a duty, instead of believing, to "act as if they did" -believe; now in fact this is the very {631} kind of profession which, -if it is all that a candidate has to offer, absolutely shuts him out -from admission into Catholic communion. We suppose, that by belief of -a thing, this writer understands an inward conviction of its truth; -this being supposed, we plainly say that no priest is at liberty to -receive a man into the church, who has not a real internal belief, and -cannot say from his heart, that the things taught by the church are -true. On the other hand, as we have said above, it is the very -characteristic of the profession of faith made by numbers of educated -Protestants, and it is the utmost extent to which they are able to go -in believing, to hold, not that Christian doctrine is certainly true, -but that it has such a semblance of truth, it has such considerable -marks of probability upon it, that it is their duty to accept and to -act upon it as if it were true beyond all question or doubt: and they -justify themselves, and with much reason, by the authority of Bishop -Butler. Undoubtedly, a religious man will be led to go as far as this, -if he cannot go further; but unless he can go farther, he is no -catechumen of the Catholic Church. We wish all men to believe that her -creed is true; but till they do so believe, we do not wish, we have no -permission, to make them her members. Such a faith as this author -speaks of to condemn--(our books call it "_practical_ certainty")-- -does not rise to the level of the _sine quâ non_, which is the -condition prescribed for becoming a Catholic. Unless a convert so -believes that he can sincerely say, "after all, in spite of all -difficulties, objections, obscurities, mysteries, the creed of the -Church undoubtedly comes from God, and is true, because he is the -truth," such a man, though he be outwardly received into her fold, -will receive no grace from the sacraments, no sanctification in -baptism, no pardon in penance, no life in communion. We are more -consistently dogmatic than this author imagines; we do not enforce a -principle by halves; if our doctrine is true, it must be received as -such; if a man cannot so receive it, he must wait till he can. It -would be better, indeed, if he now believed; but, since he does not as -yet, to wait is the best he can do under the circumstances. If we said -anything else than this, certainly we should be, as the author thinks -we are, encouraging hypocrisy. Nor let him turn round on us and say -that by thus proceeding we are laying a burden on souls, and blocking -up the entrance into that fold which was intended for all men, by -imposing hard conditions on candidates for admission; for we have -already implied a great principle, which is an answer to this -objection, which the gospels exhibit and sanction, but which he -absolutely ignores. - -Let us avail ourselves of his quotation. The Baptist said, "Behold the -Lamb of God." Again he says, "This is the Son of God." "Two of his -disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus." They believed -John to be "a man sent from God" to teach them, and therefore they -believed his word to be true. We suppose it was not hypocrisy in them -to believe in his word; rather they would have been guilty of gross -inconsistency or hypocrisy, had they professed to believe that he was -a divine messenger and yet had refused to take his word concerning the -Stranger whom he pointed out to their veneration. It would have been -"saying that they believed," and _not_ "acting as if they did;" which -at least is not better than saying and acting. Now, was not the -announcement which John made to them "a short cut to belief"? and what -the harm of it? They believed that our Lord was the promised prophet, -without making direct inquiry about him, without a new inquiry, on the -ground of a previous inquiry into the claims of John himself to be -accounted a messenger from God. They had already accepted it as truth -that John was a prophet; but again, what a prophet said must be true; -{632} else he would not be a prophet; now, John said that our Lord was -the Lamb of God; this, then, certainly was a sacred truth. - -Now it might happen, that they knew exactly and for certain what the -Baptist meant in calling our Lord "a Iamb;" in that case they would -believe him to be that which they knew the figurative word meant, as -used by the Baptist. But, as our author reminds us, the word has -different senses; and, though the Baptist explained his own sense of -it on the first occasion of using it, by adding, "that taketh away the -sin of the world," yet when he spoke to the two disciples he did not -thus explain it. Now let us suppose that they went off, taking the -word each in his own sense, the one understanding by it a sacrificial -lamb, the other a lamb of the fold; and let us suppose that, as they -were on the way to our Lord's home, they discovered this difference in -their several interpretations, and disputed with each other which was -the right interpretation. It is clear that they would agree so far as -this, namely, that, in saying that the proposition was true, they -meant that it was true in that sense in which the Baptist spoke it; -moreover, if it be worth noticing, they did after all even agree, in -some vague way, about the meaning of the word, understanding that it -denoted some high character, or office, or ministry. Any how, it was -absolutely true, they would say, that our Lord was a lamb, whatever it -meant; the word conveyed a great and momentous fact, and if they did -not know what that fact was, the Baptist did, and they would accept it -in its one right sense, as soon as he or our Lord told them what it -was. - -Again, as to that other title which the Baptist gave our Lord, "the -Son of God," it admitted of half a dozen senses. Wisdom was "the only -begotten;" the angels were the sons of God; Adam was a son of God; the -descendants of Seth were sons of God; Solomon was a son of God; and so -is "the just man." In which of these senses, or in what sense, was our -Lord the Son of God? St. Peter knew, but there were those who did not -know--the centurion who attended the crucifixion did not know, and -yet he confessed that our Lord was the Son of God. He knew that our -Lord had been condemned by the Jews for calling himself the Son of -God, and therefore he cried out, on seeing the miracles which attended -his death, "indeed this _was_ the Son of God." His words evidently -imply: "I do not know precisely what he meant by so calling himself; -but what he said he was, that he is; whatever he meant, I believe him; -I believe that his word about himself is true, though I cannot prove -it to be so, though I do not even understand it; I believe his word, -for I believe _him_." - -Now to return to the passage which has led to these remarks. Our -author says that certain persons are hypocrites, because they "take a -short cut to belief, suddenly resolving to strive no longer, but to -rest content with saying they believe." Does he mean by "a short cut," -believing on the word of another? As far as our experience goes of -religious changes in individuals, he can mean nothing else; yet how -_can_ he mean this with the gospels before him? He cannot mean it, -because the very staple of the sacred narrative is a call on all men -to believe what is not proved to them, merely on the warrant of divine -messengers; because the very form of our Lord's teaching is to -substitute authority for inquiry; because the very principle of his -grave earnestness, the very key to his regenerative mission, is the -intimate connection of faith with salvation. Faith is not simply trust -in his legislation, as this writer says; it is definitely trust in his -word, whether that word be about heavenly things or earthly; whether -it is spoken by his own mouth, or through his ministers. The angel who -announced the Baptist's birth said, "Thou shalt be dumb because thou -believest not my words." The {633} Baptist's mother said of Mary, -"Blessed is she that believed." The Baptist himself said, "He that -believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; and he that believeth not -the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him." Our -Lord, in turn, said to Nicodemus, "We speak that we do know, and ye -receive not our witness; he that believeth not is condemned already, -because he hath not believed in the name of the only-begotten Son of -God." To the Jews, "He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that -sent me, shall not come into condemnation." To the Capharnaites, "he -that believeth on me hath everlasting life." To St Thomas, "Blessed -are they that have not seen and yet have believed." And to the -apostles, "Preach the gospel to every creature; he that believeth not -shall be damned." How is it possible to deny that our Lord, both in -the text and in the context of these and other passages, made faith in -a message, on the warrant of the messenger, to be a condition of -salvation; and enforced it by the great grant of power which he -emphatically conferred on his representatives? "Whosoever shall not -receive you," he says, "nor hear your words, when ye depart, shake off -the dust of your feet." "It is not ye that speak, but the spirit of -your Father." "He that heareth you, heareth me; he that despiseth you, -despiseth me; and he that despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me." -"I pray for them that shall believe on me through their word." "Whose -sins ye remit they are remitted unto them; and whose sins ye retain, -they are retained." "Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound -in heaven." "I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven; -and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and -whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." These -characteristic and critical announcements have no place in this -author's gospel; and let it be understood, that we are not asking why -he does not determine the exact doctrines contained in them--for that -is a question which he has reserved (if we understand him) for a -future volume--but why he does not recognize the principle they -involve--for that is a matter which falls within his present subject. - -It is not well to exhibit some sides of Christianity, and not others; -this we think is the main fault of the author we have been reviewing. -It does not pay to be ecclectic in so serious a matter of fact. He -does not overlook, he boldly confesses that a visible organized church -was a main part of our Lord's plan for the regeneration of mankind. -"As with Socrates," he says, "argument is every thing, and personal -authority nothing; so with Christ personal authority is all in all and -argument altogether unemployed," (p. 94.) Our Lord rested his -teaching, not on the concurrence and testimony of his hearers, but on -his own authority. He imposed upon them the declarations of a divine -voice. Why does this author stop short in the delineation of -principles which he has so admirably begun? Why does he denounce -"short cuts," as a mental disfranchisement, when no cut can be shorter -than to "believe and be saved"? Why does he denounce religious fear as -hypocritical, when it is written, "He that believeth not shall be -damned"? Why does he call it dishonest in a man to sacrifice his own -judgment to the word of God, when, unless he did so, he would be -avowing that the Creator knew less than the creature? Let him -recollect that no two thinkers, philosophers, writers, ever did, ever -will, agree in all things with each other. No system of opinions, ever -given to the world, approved itself in all its parts to the reason of -any one individual by whom it was mastered. No revelation is -conceivable, but involves, almost in its very idea, as being something -new, a collision with the human intellect, and demands, accordingly, -if it is to be accepted, a sacrifice of private judgment. {634} If a -revelation be necessary, then also in consequence is that sacrifice -necessary. One man will have to make a sacrifice in one respect, -another in another, all men in some. We say, then, to men of the day, -take Christianity, or leave it; do not practise upon it; to do so is -as unphilosophical as it is dangerous. Do not attempt to halve a -spiritual unit. You are apt to call it a dishonesty in us to refuse to -follow out our reasonings, when faith stands in the way; is there no -intellectual dishonesty in your own conduct? First, your very -accusation of us is dishonest; for you keep in the back-ground the -circumstance, of which you are well aware, that such a refusal on our -part is the necessary consequence of our accepting an authoritative -revelation; and next you profess to accept that revelation yourselves, -while you dishonestly pick and choose, and take as much or as little -of it as you please. You either accept Christianity or you do not: if -you do, do not garble and patch it; if you do not, suffer others to -submit to it as a whole. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -HOLY SATURDAY. - - - Through that Jewish Sabbath day, - Through our Holy Saturday, - Thus he lay: - In his linen winding-sheet, - Wrapped in myrrh and spices sweet, - Angels at his head and feet; - Angels, duteous alway, - Watched the wondrous beauteous clay - As he lay. - Through that Jewish Sabbath day, - Through our Holy Saturday. - - Thus he lay - And our mother Church this day - Doth with solemn Office keep - That strange day's mysterious sleep; - Her "Exultet" breaks the sadness - With triumphant strains of gladness; - Paschal hope presaging morn, - As in east just streaks the dawn; - Darkest night ere brightest day; - Such is Holy Saturday. - ------- - -{635} - - -Translated from the Études Religieuses, -Historiques et Littéraires. - -EAST-INDIAN WEDDINGS. - -LETTER FROM FATHER GUCHEN OF THE MADURA MISSION. - - -A very days ago I blessed a marriage in which great pomp was -displayed, and I will describe the festival to you, that you may have -an idea of what takes place on such occasions, for the same ceremonial -is always scrupulously observed. Indeed, every action of an Indian's -life from the cradle to the grave is irrevocably ordered by custom. - -The solemnity I am speaking of now is called here, "a grand marriage." -My Christians are generally too poor to have to do with any but -"little marriages," which are performed very quietly, though with some -attendant circumstances that perhaps deserve a slight notice. - -A remarkable peculiarity, and one that belongs to both kinds of -marriage, is that the bride and bridegroom do not know each other, do -not even see or speak to each other, until it is too late to draw -back. This is the decision of custom, and has its good and bad side, -like many other things in this world. "Why have you come here?" I -asked the other day of a little girl hardly twelve years old, who was -led into church. "My father said I was to be married, so I came," she -replied. A few hours later arrived the young man, pale, exhausted, and -writhing in the grasp of pangs unutterable. Begging me to serve him -first in the quality of physician, he told me his story: "I had just -done dinner and was going out to my palm-trees, when my father told me -to go to the church, and be married; so I took my bath of oil -immediately, which interfered with my digestion and caused my -illness." - -The bath of oil is a necessary preliminary on these occasions. That -over, the bridegroom arrays himself in his finest garments. Two -cloths, about one foot three inches wide, and four or five times as -long, ornamented with a fringe, compose his costume; one covers his -loins and the other is wrapped around him; a red kerchief is rolled -about his head, and three pendants, nearly two inches long, and wide -in proportion, adorn each ear. If he is too poor to own these jewels, -he borrows them of his neighbors, and thus apparelled, goes to the -church and presents himself before the sonami, (missionary.) - -The maiden also lavishes oil or butter upon her toilette, but on the -wedding day, she is so completely swathed in the ten or eleven yards -of cloth that form her raiment, that neither her jewels nor her face -can be distinguished. Not only is she invisible, but she is supposed -to see nothing herself, and when she wishes to change her place, the -person who accompanies her, often a poor old woman hardly able to -stand leads her by clasping her round the waist. I have sometimes -beheld the singular spectacle of a score of little girls from twelve -to fifteen years of age, muffled in cloth and crouched against the -wall of the church, repeating their prayers to satiety as they waited -for me to come and hear them recite. - -They pass their examination; both bride and bridegroom know -faultlessly the pater, ave, credo, the commandments of God and the -church, the act of contrition, the confiteor, etc.; they {636} recite -the seven chapters, that is to say the little catechism, quite well; I -hear their confessions, and the next morning at mass I bless their -union, following in every respect the rubrics of the church, so that -there is nothing especial to notice excepting that the married pair -have no wedding-ring. In its place they have a golden jewel, rather -clumsy in form, through which passes a cord intended to be fastened -round the bride's neck. This jewel is called _tali_. It is the sign of -matrimonial union, and every married woman wears one; when her husband -dies, the relations assemble, and remove the _tali_ from the widow's -neck by breaking the cord. - -But pardon me for carrying you without transition from a wedding to a -funeral--let us leave the graveyard and return to the church. Having -blessed the _tali_, applying to it the prayer indicated in the ritual -for the blessing of the ring, I return it to the young man who -presents it to the maiden; she receives it on her out-stretched hands, -and her companion, or if the latter is too old, any other woman -present, fastens it about her neck. Mass is celebrated; the bride and -bridegroom receive communion and the benediction, and then withdraw. -The bride remains hooded through the whole of the festive day; on the -next day after she shows her face, and the husband can for the first -time behold her features: a young man of my acquaintance learned -twenty-four hours after marriage, that his wife had but one eye. - -I forgot to mention another custom, which is quite generally observed, -and seems to me charming. The bridegroom buys a _nuptial cloth_, which -is blessed by the priest at the same time with the _tali_, and in this -the bride arrays herself, when the marriage ceremonial is ended. She -wears this cloth during the days of festivity, but the husband gives -her no other garments, and the parents continue to furnish their -daughter's wardrobe until she brings her first child into the world. - -But it is time I arrived at the ceremonies of the _grand marriage_ -that I blessed on the eleventh of this month. - -The young man belonged to Anacarei, and the maiden to Santancoulam, a -little town where we have a Christian settlement. As she had been -baptized only two years before, she still numbered many pagans among -her circle, a fact which made me willingly accede to the desire of her -parents that the marriage should be celebrated in the presence of her -family. - -Even before dawn, two bands of musicians, making their instruments -resound in noble emulation of each other, announced to the whole town -that on that day there was to be a grand festival in the Catholic -Church. On their side, with one accord, the Christians devoted -themselves to the preparation of the church and altar; the only outlay -in decoration was upon flowers, but of those there were enough to load -a coach. At last all was ready, and wearing the alb and stole, I went -forward to receive the consent of the betrothed, who were accompanied -by their relations and friends. They joined their right hands, and I -pronounced over them the sacramental words, after which the _tali_ was -blessed and given first to the bridegroom and by turn to the bride, -but without being fastened about her neck, as that ceremony was to -take place afterward at home. I began mass. In the lectern, two -chanters were shaking the walls of the church with a clamor most -delightful to Indian ears, for singing is valued here in proportion to -the volume of voice brought to bear upon it. Indeed never before at -Santancoulam had anything so admirable been heard. - -After mass the husband and wife withdrew in different directions, and -the whole day was spent in festive preparations. In the house of the -young girl a great tent was built of the branches and leaves of trees, -draped with cloth of various colors. In the middle of this tent, which -is called the _Pandel_, upon a mound a {637} foot and a half in -height, and about eight square feet in extent, arose an elegantly -decorated pavilion supported on four little columns. It was truly an -exhibition of painted cloth and parti-colored paper of every hue and -every shade, surpassing the rainbow in brilliancy. There, upon this -mound and under this pavillion, the bridegroom was to give the _tali_ -to his bride. - -In the mean time a palanquin had been constructed elsewhere, even more -elegant and magnificent than the pavilion of the _Pandel_. At ten -o'clock in the evening, by the light of thirty or forty blazing -torches, the bridegroom entered the palanquin, and, borne upon the -shoulders of four men, made the tour of the town, a band of music -opening the way and summoning the curious who hastened at the call. -After promenading the principal streets with slow steps for two or -three hours, they turned toward the bride's home. The young man -ascended the mound and seated himself, upon the ground, you -understand, for among Indians there are neither chairs nor lounges. -But do not be afraid that he soiled his fine clothes--a litter of -straw covered the whole surface of the mound. In this country they -know no better way of making an apartment presentable, and all Indian -_parquets_ are polished after this fashion. The bride came in her -turn, her father leading her by the hand. When he had seated her face -to face with the young man who had been his son-in-law for twenty-four -hours, he declared in a loud, clear voice that he had given his -daughter in marriage to so and so, living in such and such a place, -that he announced it to her relations and friends, begging them to -give their consent. The assistants standing about the mound extended -their hands in succession, and touched the _tali_ with the tips of the -fingers in token of approval. The catechist intoned the litany of the -Blessed Virgin, to which the Christians made the responses, then he -gave the _tali_ to the husband, who held it near his wife's neck, and -the bride's sister-in-law, standing behind her, took the cord and tied -it. The ceremonies and festivities were ended for that night, and -every one withdrew to take a little repose. - -The next evening there was a grand wedding collation, after which the -festival, properly speaking, the grand festival, began. The newly -married pair seated themselves in the palanquin, facing each other, -but separated by a little curtain. The bride, freed from her veil now, -held the curtain with both hands, trying to conceal her face with it. -By the light of torches even more numerous than the night before, and -to the sound of music quite as vociferous, they went to the church, -where all the candles were lighted. The chanters and myself intoned -the litany of the Blessed Virgin and the _salve regina_; the catechist -recited a few prayers. I gave the benediction to the assembly with a -crucifix, having no statue of the Blessed Virgin, and the ceremony -closed with a _tamoul_ chant. The husband and wife re-entered the -palanquin, and then began in the streets a veritable triumphal march -called here _patana-pravesam_ (entrance into the town,) which ended -only when the day began. - -What lends to this march a character of beauty and originality is the -_calliel_, a dance accompanied by songs and the clashing of little -staves, and performed before the palanquin for the whole length of the -march. Do not imagine anything resembling a French ball; here dancing, -so called, is a disgrace, and is only permitted to the Bayadères -engaged in the service of the pagodas. The _calliel_ is quite another -thing. Fancy a dozen well-formed, robust young people, with turbaned -heads, and loins girt with a long strip of cloth draped like a scarf, -some of them wearing rings of bells upon their arms and legs, and all -carrying in each hand a little staff about a foot long, with which -they strike the staves of the dancers, whom they meet face to face. On -leaving the church, our young dancers begged me to {638} witness their -gambols in the presence of the bride and bridegroom, who were looking -down upon the assembly from their high palanquin. The clashing cadence -of the staves, the monotonous but purely harmonious chant of the -dancers, their free, elastic bounds and graceful twirls, the passing -and repassing of this troop, who spring forward and draw back, falling -and rising as they drop on their knees and rear themselves up again, -this whirlwind where all is ordered, timed, and measured---all -presents a spectacle that enchants Hindoos and may well delight a -Frenchman. - -Meanwhile the big drum, tambourine, tam-tam, clarionet, bagpipe, etc, -etc., announced with joyous din that the crowd must turn their steps -elsewhere, and show to others all this paraphernalia of rejoicing. The -palanquin was borne toward the streets. From time to time the march -was suspended, the music ceased, and the young dancers resumed and -continued for nearly an hour their agile feats of strength. - -So the night passed, and the first rays of the sun announced that it -was time to end it all. The husband and wife descended from the -palanquin to hear mass, and then entered upon real life; the wedding -was over. In the evening a car drawn by two magnificent oxen, -transported the bride, accompanied by several relatives, to the -village of her husband, who escorted the family, mounted upon a pretty -white horse. - -AMACAREI, Sept 29th, 1865. - ------- - -From the Dublin Review - - -ROME THE CIVILIZER OF NATIONS. - - -1. _Le Parfum de Rome_. Par Louis Veuillot. 3me edition. Paris: Gaume -Frères. 1862. - -2. _Rome et la Civilisation_. Par EUGENE MAHON DE MONAGHAN. Paris: -Charles Douniol. 1863. - -The useful little work which stands at the head of this article, by M. -Mahon de Monaghan, (whose name would, perhaps, be more correctly -printed M. MacMahon de Monaghan,) may be regarded as a supplement to -the more important volume of the Abbé Balmez. "The study of church -history in its relations with civilization," _he_ told us, "is still -incomplete;" and the writer before us seems to have taken this as a -hint, and to have conceived the laudable plan of pursuing further some -of the Spanish divine's arguments, and strengthening them by new -illustrations gathered from history. "Le Parfum de Rome" is a work of -another description, but bearing on the same subject. It consists of -many discursive reflections on Rome, as the residence of the Vicar of -Christ, and is full of point, brilliancy, and humor. - -When a Catholic, who has enjoyed the advantage of a good education, -and is accustomed to habits of reflection, arrives for the first time -in Rome, he is usually overwhelmed by the multitude of objects offered -to his attention, and requires time to select, arrange, and analyze -them. The light is too vivid, the colors are too varied, the perfume -is too strong. Two thousand years, richly laden with historic events, -crowd his memory; the united {639} glories of the past and the present -kindle his imagination; the sublime mysteries of religion, -marvellously localized, exercise his faith; long galleries thronged -with the rarest productions of art court his gaze, and a presence -peculiar to the spot, which he feeds, but cannot yet define, completes -his pleading bewilderment in heart and brain. By degrees the tumult of -thought subsides, and order begins to rise out of chaotic beauty. The -traveller is resolved to render his sensations precise, and he asks -himself emphatically, "Whence springs the resistless charm of Rome? -Wherein does the true glory of Rome consist? What _is_ this nameless -presence that mantles all things with divinity? Where does the -Shekinah reside?" - -Then more and more clearly, the voice of Rome herself is heard in -reply: "This is the home of the vicar of Christ, the throne of the -fisherman, the seat of that long line of pontiffs who, like a chain of -gold, bind our erring globe to Emmanuel's footstool. This garden is -fertilized by the blood of Peter and Paul, and of thirty Popes: hence -all its amazing produce; hence its exquisite fragrance and perennial -bloom. These are the head-quarters of the commander-in-chief of the -church militant; and Christ himself is present here in the person of -his viceroy, promulgating a law above all human laws, inflexible, -uniform, merciful, and strict. _He_ diffuses this grateful perfume; -_he_ colors every object with rainbow tints; _he_ sheds this dazzling -light which causes Rome to shine like a gem with a myriad facets. The -Lord loveth the gates of Rome more than of old he loved the gates of -Zion; he lives in the solemn utterances of his high priest, and speaks -by him as of old he spoke by the Urim and Thummim that sparkled on -Aaron's breast. Here he so multiplies sacraments, that all you see -becomes sacramental; and here you find, in the father of the faithful, -the most perfect representation of your Incarnate God, and the most -certain pledge of his resurrection." - -If the peculiar presence of Christ thus hallows Christian Rome, it -cannot be matter of surprise that she also should be an enigma to the -world, and have a twofold character; that she should be one thing to -the eye and another to the mind; one thing to Gibbon and Goethe, -[Footnote 132] and another thing altogether to Chateaubriand and -Schlegel; that she should have her seasons of gloom and jubilee, of -persecution and triumph; should require in each to be interpreted by -faith; and that every page of her history should share in this double -aspect. Thus Rome resembles Christ; and in this resemblance lies her -glory and her strength. Other glories she has which do not directly -come from him. She had them of old before he came; the inroad of -barbaric hordes, age after age, could not trample them out, and they -endure abundantly to this day. These the world understands; these she -extols with ceaseless praises, and sends her children from every clime -in troops to do homage at their ancient shrines. The worldling, -enamoured of these, exclaims: - - "O Rome! my country! city of the soul! - The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, - Lone mother of dead empires." [Footnote 133] - - [Footnote 132: Parfum de Rome, p. 7] - - [Footnote 133: Childe Harold, canto iv.] - -But the orphan who turns to her as Byron did, remains an orphan. Rome -is no mother to him, and he finds no father in the patriarch who rules -there. To the devout Catholic she is the mother of arts and sciences -as truly as the Pope is the father of the Christian family. She is, -and has been for eighteen hundred years, the centre of true -civilization, because she is the central depository of the faith. From -her, as from a fountain, the streams of salvation have flowed through -all lands, and, having the promise both of this life and that which is -to come, they have indirectly produced a large amount of material -well-being, and also an infinity of {640} artistic and scientific -results. Rome civilizes as Christ civilized, by sowing the seeds of -civilization. She does not aim directly at material well-being; she -does not any more than he teach astronomy or dynamics; she propounds -no system of induction; she invents neither printing-press, -steam-engines, nor telegraphs; but she so raises man above the brute, -curbs his passions, improves his understanding, instils into him -principles of duty, and a sense of responsibility, so hallows his -ambition and kindles his desire for the good of his kind and the -progress of humanity, that under her influence he acquires insensibly -an aptitude even for the successful pursuit of physical science, such -as no other teacher could impart. He looks abroad into the spacious -field of nature, and finds in every star and in every drop of dew an -unfathomable depth of creative design. His heart quickens the energies -of his brain, and he says, smiling, "My Father made them all; he made -them that I may, to the best of my feeble powers, investigate and -classify them, and that he may be glorified in science as in -religion." He rises to higher studies than those of physical science; -he looks within, and analyzes his complex nature. He sees that human -minds in the aggregate are capable of indefinite development as time -goes on, and he concludes that, as the works of nature can be -investigated to the glory of the Creator, so may the mind of man be -developed to the glory of its Redeemer--be trained in philosophy, and -exercised also in the application of science to the wants and usages -of social life. Thus, to his apprehension, the links are clear which -connect Rome--the centre of civilization--with matters which appear -at first sight absolutely distinct from religion, with sewing-machines -and electric cables, with Huyghens's undulatory theory of light, and -Guthrie's researches into the relative sizes of drops and of bubbles. - -But here, perhaps, we shall be met by an objection. "Science," it will -be said, "surely not merely _appears_, but _is_ independent of -religion, as the experience of ancient and modern times will show. -Still more is independent of Papal Rome, which has always been on the -alert to check its progress, condemned Bishop Virgil for teaching the -existence of the antipodes, and Galileo for maintaining the -heliocentric system. Egypt under the Ptolemies, Etruria and Mexico, -Aristotle, Lord Bacon, and Sir Isaac Newton, alike scatter your -assertion to the winds; and if any doubt on the subject could linger -in the mind of any one, the late encyclical would the sufficient to -disabuse him of his fond delusion." - -To this we reply: We will not allow that even in ancient times -attainments in physical science were made irrespectively of religion. -Without religion, man lives in a savage state akin to brutes. Natural -religion, on which revealed religion is founded, exalts him in a -degree, and qualifies him for intellectual pursuits. Yet, even with -its assistance, so corrupt is his nature, that philosophy and science -can obtain no permanent command over his passions, and his highest -degrees of refinement are always succeeded by periods of degradation, -and no steady advance is made. As natural religion placed the heathen -in a condition somewhat favorable to the pursuit of science, so -revealed religion, or, in other words, Roman Catholicism, did the like -more completely, in consequence of its divine origin and perfect -adaptation to the needs of mankind. It brought society step by step -out of a state of semi-barbarism, and overcame the resistance offered -to its social improvements by the Roman people and Emperors, by Huns -and Vandals, by Islamism, Iconoclasts, and Feudalism. It covered -Europe with seats of learning, and kindled the student's lamp in the -monastic recesses of deep valleys and vast forests. It created a body -of theological science, and of philosophical in connection with it, -{641} which the more profound even of infidel thinkers admit to have -been among the most marvellous products of the human mind; and this -scientific system--over and above its higher purposes--was the very -best intellectual training possible under the circumstances of the -period. Then, as time went on, religion accepted gratefully and -employed in its own service the art of printing, and prepared the -human mind for those most energetic thoughts and often misdirected -efforts which have been made, from the fifteenth century downward, for -the discovery of physical truth. It is therefore manifest to all whose -thoughts reach below the surface of things, that the services which -Lord Bacon rendered to philosophy and Newton to Science, were -indirectly due to the Catholic Church. - -Rome, the central civilizer of society, exerts an influence far beyond -her visible domain. The earth is hers, and the fulness thereof. -Whatsoever things are true and holy in faith and morals among her -truants, whatever portions of her divine creed they carry away with -them to build up their sects, whatever books or texts of the mutilated -scriptures they retain, whatever graces shine forth in them, and in -part redeem their delinquency, are all to be ascribed to her as the -primary channel of communication between earth and heaven, and all -belong to her as their chartered proprietress, although they have been -wrested from her hands. "There is nothing right, useful, pleasing -(jucundum) in human society, which the Roman pontiffs have not brought -into it, or have not refined and fostered (expoliverint et foverint) -when introduced." [Footnote 134] Heresy is always blended with truth, -and the truth is always Rome's, while the heresy is theirs who have -corrupted it. Whatever is good and true in Protestantism is of Rome; -and as Protestants would have no Bible but for the councils which -settled its canon, and the despised monks who transcribed it age after -age, so Protestant churches would never have been founded if the great -old church had not overspread Europe. Nay, the _Novum Organon_ and -_Principia_ would in all probability never have seen the light. -Christianity, on the whole, keeps science alive; and but for the -popes, Christianity would soon vanish from the face of the earth. As -far as Bacon and Newton are indebted to Christianity for their -philosophy, just in so far are they indebted to Rome as its -fountain-head. Whatever stress is to be laid on the fact of their -being Christians, glorifies Rome indirectly as the source of -civilization. It is her very greatness and her perfect system of -doctrine which brings her into collision with every form of spiritual -rebellion; but those who fly off from her authority are still her -children, _in so far_ as they continue members at all of the family of -God. The prodigal son, amid all his degradation and wanderings, is -yearned over by his father, and belongs to his father's house in a -certain sense. - - [Footnote 134: Pope Pius IX. Letter to M. Mahon de Monaghan.] - -As to Rome being the enemy of physical science, it is not difficult to -see the causes which have led to so extreme a misconception. She has -ever protested, and that most energetically, against the prevalent -tendency to give physics a supremacy over theology, where the two seem -to clash; and she has also steadfastly resisted the pretension so -constantly made by physical science to thrust into a corner some -higher branches of human philosophy. Her conduct in the latter case -has been simply in accordance with what is now a growing conviction in -the philosophical world; while in the former case she has done nothing -more than uphold as infallibly certain the doctrinal deposit committed -to her charge. But with these most reasonable qualifications, she has -ever been active in stimulating the keenest physical researches. Well -may the present pope say that "it is _impudently_ bruited abroad that -the Catholic {642} religion and the Roman pontificate are adverse to -civilization and progress, and therefore to the happiness which may -thence be expected." [Footnote 135] To harp upon Virgil and Galileo, -proves how few and slender are the arguments which our accusers can -adduce in support of their charge. If we defer to facts, and regard -the entire history of Christendom, we can certainly name ten persons -distinguished for physical discoveries in our own communion, for every -one whom Protestantism can boast. In no Catholic country is such -science discouraged, but its professors are, on the contrary, -everywhere rewarded and honored. Nowhere among us has any recent -science, such as geology, been prohibited, or even combated, except by -individuals. Its conclusions, when really established, have been -admitted by all learned Catholics notwithstanding they appeared at -first sight to run counter to the words of inspiration. Cardinal -Wiseman's "Lectures on Science and Revealed Religion" abundantly -illustrate what is here stated; and his whole life was a refutation of -the calumny with which his creed is so often assailed. New arts, which -are each the visible expression of a corresponding science, have been -welcomed abroad as readily as in England; and Belgium could be -traversed by steam long before the Great Western line between London -and Bristol was completed. If it so happened that the greatest English -astronomer, naturalist, or mathematician, were a Catholic, his -co-religionists would be the most forward of all Englishmen to extol -his genius. His scientific pursuits would never make him an object of -suspicion with us, provided his loyalty to the church were complete; -nor would his zeal be damped by any ecclesiastical authority, so, long -as his conclusions involved nothing adverse to religion. The Catholic, -it is true, can never make the claims of science paramount to those of -faith, but the restraint thus imposed on him is of the most salutary -kind, and will be no real check on his liberty of thought; for science -and revelation, though it may for a while be difficult to harmonize -some of their statements, must ever be found to agree strictly on -closer examination. - - [Footnote 135: Pius IX. Letter to M. Mahon de Monaghan.] - -It would be easy to mark the successive stages in European -civilization by the pontificates of popes remarkable for their energy -of character and the brightness of their abilities. The average length -of the reigns of the first thirty-seven was rather less than ten -years; and during this time they had to struggle for something -infinitely more important than art and science. They were penetrated -with a deep sense of their sublime mission, and neither old age, -infirmities, nor persecution, paralyzed their labors. "They employed -their revenues in maintaining the poor, the sick, the infirm, the -widows, orphans, and prisoners, in burying the martyrs, in erecting -and embellishing oratories, in comforting and redeeming confessors and -captives, and in sending aid of every description to the suffering -churches of other provinces." [Footnote 136] Thus, in the wise order -of providence, papal civilization began in the moral world before it -extended to the intellectual. Yet in the middle of the fourth century, -the pope and his coadjutors in different quarters of the globe, -presented a striking spectacle, when considered merely in their -intellectual aspect. St. Damasus, the thirty-eighth pope, occupied the -see of St. Peter. While he zealously promoted ecclesiastical -discipline, he won for himself general admiration by his virtues and -his writings. His taste for letters carried him beyond the sphere of -theological labor; he composed verses, and wrote several heroic poems. -[Footnote 137] He was the light of Rome, while St. Augustine, the -brightest star that ever adorned the Catholic episcopate, shone at -Hippo. St. Ambrose, at the same time, was the glory of Milan; St. -Gregory taught at Nyssa; St. Gregory Nazianzen {643} wrote in -Constantinople; St. Martin evangelized the Gauls; St. Basil composed -his "Moralia" and his Treatise on the study of ancient Greek authors -at Caesarea; St. Hilary and St. Paulinus bore witness to the truth in -Poitiers and Trèves; St. Jerome unfolded the sacred stores of his -learning in Thrace, Bithynia, Cappadocia, and Pontus; St. Cyril wrote -beside his Saviour's tomb; and St. Patrick converted Ireland from the -darkness of Druidic paganism. - - [Footnote 136: J. Chantrel, "La Royauté Pontifieale," p. 74] - - [Footnote 137: St. Jerome, "De Illustr. Eccles. Script."] - -Every faithful prelate at that period--nay, every true Christian; -however humble his condition--stood out more prominently from the mass -of society than we can now imagine. Christianity has produced among us -a certain general level of morality. But it was not so then. The -masses were still heathen, and Christians were often in a very small -minority. Their principles and conduct, therefore, were so distinct -from those around them, that each attracted attention, and exerted -more influence than he was aware of. Each Roman Catholic--for we -joyfully accept a designation which is erroneously supposed to limit -our claims--each Roman Catholic was then a light shining in a dark -place, and, in his measure, an apostle of civilization. He promoted -science, even though he had never heard its name, for he diminished -that amount of moral depravity, on the ruins of which alone science -can build her gorgeous fanes. He was member of a church, which, -wherever it was established, protested by its institutions against the -excessive indulgence of carnal affections. A celibate priesthood, -societies of monks and nuns, hermits, and vows of chastity observed by -persons living in the world, like St. Cecilia and St. Scholastica, and -expiring in the arms of wife or husband without ever having done -violence to the pure intentions which marked their bridal--these -things formed a spectacle so extraordinary to the heathen, who had -been accustomed to make sensual indulgence a feature in their -religious solemnities, that it could not but excite inquiry, and issue -in affixing a fresh stamp of divinity on the faith of Christ. What -would have become of society by this time if the elements of -decomposition which then existed had been allowed to work unchecked by -the laws of Christian marriage, the prohibition of divorce, and lastly -by monasticism--monasticism not forced on any one as a duty, but -freely chosen as a privilege--a higher and purer state, best suited -for communion with God and activity in his service! - -In the fifth century, the efforts which had been made by Popes -Innocent, Boniface, Celestine, and Sixtus III. for the conversion of -the barbarians who overran the fairest portions of Europe, were -continued with extraordinary perseverance by the great St. Leo. He -formed the most conspicuous figure in his age. No element of greatness -was wanting to his character, and the complicated miseries of the -times only threw into stronger relief the energy of his mind and will. -His reign, from first to last, is a chapter in the history of -civilization. Attila, crossing the Jura mountains with his numerous -hordes, fell upon Italy. Valentinian III. fled before him, and Leo -alone had weight and courage equal to the task of interceding with the -resistless devastator. On the 11th of June, 452, he set forth to meet -him, and found him on the banks of the Mincio. Rome was saved, and -with it religion and the hopes of society. Three years after, Genseric -with his Vandals stood before its gates; and though Leo could not this -time altogether stay the destroyer, he saved the lives of the -citizens, and Rome itself from being burnt. If she had not been -possessed of a hidden and supernatural life, far transcending that -idea of a civilizing agent which it so abundantly includes, she would -already have been razed to the ground, as she was afterward by the -Ostrogoths under Totila, and from neither devastation would she ever -have been {644} able to revive. At this moment she would be numbered -with Nineveh and Sidon, the foxes would bark upon the Aventine as when -Belisarius rode through the deserted Forum, and shepherds would fold -their flocks upon the hills where St. Peter's and St. John Lateran now -dazzle the eye with splendor. [Footnote 138] - - [Footnote 138: Monsignor Manning, "The Eternity of Rome."--_Lamp_, - Nov. 1863.] - -Happily great popes never fail. All are great in their power and -influence, and almost all have been good, while from time to time -Providence raises up some one also who makes an impression on his age, -and is acknowledged by friends and foes alike to be gifted with those -qualities which entitle him to the epithet "great." Pelagus I. -supplied the Romans with provisions during a long siege, and after the -example of St. Leo, obtained from Totila some mitigation of his -barbarous severities; John III. and Benedict I. ministered largely to -the Italians who were dying of want, and driven from their homes by -the remorseless Lombards; and writers the most adverse to the -papacy--Gibbon, Daunou, [Footnote 139] Sismondi--testify to the -disinterested benevolence of these and other pontiffs during the -church's struggle with northern devastators. Just a century and a half -had elapsed since Leo the Great's elevation, when St. Gregory ascended -the papal throne amid the people's acclamation. He was at the same -time doctor, legislator, and statesman; and the plain facts of his -pontificate might be so related as to appear a panegyric rather than a -sober history. In the midst of personal weakness and suffering, the -strength of his soul and intellect were felt in every quarter of -Christendom and while he composed his "Pastoral" and his "Dialogues," -or negotiated with the Lombards in behalf of his afflicted country, -news reached him frequently of the success of his missions amongst -distant and barbarous people. [Footnote 140] To one of these we owe -the conversion of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers; and the results it -produced extort from Macaulay the admission that the spiritual -supremacy assumed by the pope effected more good than harm, and that -the Roman Church, by uniting all men in a bond of brotherhood, and -teaching all their responsibility before God, deserves to be spoken of -with respect by philosophers and philanthropists. [Footnote 141] - - [Footnote 139: "Essai Historique," t. i.] - - [Footnote 140: See Chantrel, "Hist. Populaire des Papes," t. v.] - - [Footnote 141: "Hist. of England," chap. i.] - -Sabinian, Boniface III. and IV., John IV. and VII., Theodore, Martin, -Eugene, and Benedict II., trod firmly in the steps of St. Gregory, and -encouraged the clergy everywhere in repairing the evils wrought by the -barbarians, and in re-establishing law and order. [Footnote 142] The -bishops became the natural chiefs of society, and the administration -of justice was often placed in their hands by common consent. Their -counsel was taken by untutored kings, and they gradually impressed -them with a sense of the distinction between temporal and spiritual -power, and of the right of the latter to control the undue exercise of -the former. They raised by turns all the great questions that interest -mankind, and established the independence of the intellectual world. -[Footnote 143] Such is the impartial testimony of writers unhappily -prejudiced against the institution they applaud. - - [Footnote 142: Gibbon, "Decline and Fall," chap. ixv.] - - [Footnote 143: Guizot, "Hist. de la Civilisation en Europe." "Hist. - de la Civilisation en France." t. ii.] - -In their protracted conflict with Islamism, the Roman pontiffs were -the champions of social improvement. It needs only to survey the -opposite coasts of the Mediterranean, in order to gain some idea of -the paralyzing influence which the creed of Mohammed would have -exerted over human progress, if it had not been vigorously resisted. -Its prevailing dogma being fatalism, and its main precept sensuality, -it has, after a lapse of twelve centuries, failed to ameliorate the -condition of the tribes who profess it. If, in any respects, they -enjoy advantages unknown to their forefathers, these are due, not to -Mohammedanism, but to that {645} very anti-Saracenic movement which -the popes headed, and which, under different conditions, they carry -forward to this day. Permanent degradation was all that Islamism could -promise. The Arabs alone kindled for a while the lamp of learning, but -even their subtlety and genius did not suffice to keep its flame -alive. Everywhere, and with all the forces at their command, the popes -repelled its encroachments. More than once they girded on the sword, -and led their warriors to the charge against the Moslem host. During a -hundred and seventy years--from 1096 to 1270--they roused and united -the nations again and again in the common cause. Other statesmen were -unable to form extensive combinations, but _they_ were often -successful where diplomacy failed. In eight successive crusades, the -flower of Europe's chivalry was marshalled on the Syrian plains, and -if Catholic arms failed in retaining possession of the city of -Jerusalem and the sepulchre of Christ, they at all events saved the -cause of European civilization, and ultimately drove back the intruder -from the vineyards of Spain and the gates of Vienna, and sank their -proud galleys in the waves of Lepanto. When the zeal of crusaders died -away, the Roman pontiffs ever tried to rekindle it, constantly rebuked -the princes who made terms with the false prophet, and exhorted them -to expel the conquered Saracens from their soil. Such was the policy -of Clement IV., under whom, in 1268, the last crusade was set on foot. -[Footnote 144] Two centuries later, Calixtus III. was animated with -the same sentiments. He was appalled, as his predecessor had been, at -the progress the Turks made in Europe after the capture of -Constantinople, and made a strenuous appeal to the Catholic kingdoms -against the Mussulman invasions. At an advanced age he preserved in -his soul the fire of youth, sent preachers in every direction to rouse -the slumbering zeal of the faithful, and himself equipped an army of -60,000 men, which he sent under the command of Campestran, his legate, -to the help of the noble Hunyad in Hungary. Pius II. succeeded him in -1458. He was at once theologian, orator, diplomatist, canonist, -historian, geographer, and poet. He struggled hard to organize a -crusade against the Ottomans, formed a league to this end with Mathias -Corvin, king of Hungary, pressed the king of France, the duke of -Burgundy, and the republic of Venice into the cause, and placed -himself at the head of the expedition. He was on the point of -embarking at Ancona, and in sight of the Venetian galleys, waiting to -transport him to the foreign shore, when fever surprised him, and he -died. "No doubt," he said, "war is unsuitable to the weakness of old -men, and the character of pontiffs, but when religion is ready to -succumb, what can detain us? We shall be followed by our cardinals and -a large number of bishops. We shall march with our standard unfolded, -and with the relics of saints, with Jesus Christ himself in the holy -Eucharist." The spectacle would certainly have been grand, if Pius II. -had thus appeared before the walls of Constantinople; but Providence -had not willed it so. - - [Footnote 144: See his letter to the King of Arragon. Fleury, "Hist, - Eccles." An. 1266.] - -These are but a few of the great names which lent weight to the appeal -in behalf of the harassed pilgrims in Palestine, the outraged tomb of -the Redeemer, and the Christian lands overran by Saracens and Turkish -hordes. To whatever causes the worldly-wise historian may attribute -the overthrow of the Ottoman power in Europe, the Catholic will -ascribe it without hesitation to the untiring activity of the popes. -Divided as the petty kingdoms and principalities of the west were by -mutual jealousy and ceaseless warfare, they would never have been able -to oppose a compact front to the advances of Islamism, if they had not -been persuaded by popes and prelates, by Peter the hermit, St. -Bernard, and {646} Foulque, to lay aside their miserable disputes, and -unite against the common enemy. Thus, by the crusades, immediate -benefit accrued to European society, and the character of the church -as a ruler and leader was never borne in upon the minds of men with -greater force than when Adhémar, the apostolic legate, put himself at -the head of the Crusade under Urban II., "wore by turns the prelate's -mitre and the knight's casque," and proved the model, the consoler, -and the stay of the sacred expedition. [Footnote 145] The presence of -bishops and priests among the soldiery impressed on the Crusades a -religious stamp favorable to the enthusiasm and piety of the -combatants, and corrective of the evils which never fail to follow the -camp. [Footnote 146] Nations learned their Christian brotherhood, -which former ages had taught them to forget; minds were enlarged by -travel, and prejudices were dispelled; civilizing arts were acquired -even from the infidel, and brought back to western towns and villages -as the most precious spoil. As Rome had, at an earlier period, -resisted the superstition and rapacity of Leo the Isaurian, [Footnote -147] and rescued Christian art from the hands of the image-breakers, -so now she opened the way to commerce with the east and rewarded the -zeal of Catholic populations with the costly bales and rich produce of -Arabia and Syria. - - [Footnote 145: Michaad et Poujouiat, "Hist. des Croisades."] - - [Footnote 146: See Heeren, "Essai sur l'Influence des Croisades."] - - [Footnote 147: "Parfum de Rome," t. i. p. 124.] - -Having turned the feudal system to good account in its conflict with -Mohammedanism, the Church, with Rome for its centre, rejoiced to find -that system, at the close of the struggle, considerably weakened. It -had grown to maturity in a barbarous age, and was but a milder form of -that slavery which had so deeply disgraced the institutions of Pagan -Rome. [Footnote 148] It perpetuated the distinctions of caste, and -the privilege enjoyed by one family of oppressing others. It was -selfishness exalted by pride--the right of the strong over the weak. -It exacted forced tribute, and held in its own violent hands the -moral, mental, and material well-being of its subjects. It required -blind and absolute submission, and often refused to dispense justice -even at this price. Immobility was its ruling principle, and there was -nothing on which it frowned more darkly than amelioration and -progress. In all these particulars it was at variance with the -religion of Christ, and for this reason Rome never ceased to combat -its manifold abuses. - - [Footnote 148: See "Rome under Paganism," etc., vol. 1. pp. 50-53.] - -At the close of the Crusades the nobles began to learn their proper -place. Petty fiefs and small republics disappeared, and one strong and -regal executive swallowed up a multitude of inferior and vexatious -masteries. The barons became the support of the throne whose authority -they had so long weakened, and ceased to oppress the people as they -had done for ages. Cities multiplied, and rose to opulence; municipal -governments flourished, acquired and conferred privileges, and -afforded to the industrious abundant scope for wholesome emulation, -and laudable ambition. All the arts of life were brought into -exercise, and a new and middling class of society was called into -being. The merchants, the tradesmen, and the gentry obtained their -recognized footing in the community, and numberless corporations, -guilds, and militia testified to the growing importance of the burgess -as distinguished from the noble and the villain. [Footnote 149] - - [Footnote 149: See Mably, "Observations sur l'Histoire de France," - iii. 7.] - -Well-ordered governments on a large scale involved of necessity the -cultivation of the soil. Myriads of acres which, before the Crusades, -had been barren or baneful, now smiled with waving corn, or bore rich -harvests of luscious grapes. The want of bulky transports to convey -large cargoes of men and munitions to the East had caused great -alteration and improvement in the construction of ships. {647} -Navigation and commerce gained fresh vigor; maritime laws and customs -came to be recognized, and were reduced, about the middle of the -thirteenth century, into a manual called _Consolato del mar_, -[Footnote 150] Venice, Genoa, Pisa, and Marseilles rose to wealth and -splendor; sugar and silks were manufactured; stuffs were woven and -dyed; metals were wrought; architecture was diversified and improved, -medicine learned many a precious rule and remedy from Arab leeches; -geography corrected long-standing blunders; and poetry found a new -world in which to expatiate. None of these results were unforeseen by -the prescience of Rome. She knew that it was her mission to renew the -face of the earth; nor, in pursuing her unwavering policy in reference -to Islamism, did she ever forget that it was given her from the first -to suck the breasts of the Gentiles, and to assimilate to her own -system all that is rich and rare in nature, wonderful in science, -beauteous in art, wise in literature, and noble in man. The Roman -Church had ever been the friend and patron of those slaves whom Cato -and Cicero, with all their philosophy, so heartily despised. -[Footnote 151] She did not indeed affirm that slavery was impossible -under the Christian law, but she discouraged it. "At length," says -Voltaire, whose testimony on such a point none will suspect, "Pope -Alexander III., in 1167, declared in the name of the Council that all -Christians should be (_devaient étre_) exempt from slavery. This law -alone ought to render his memory dear to all people, as his efforts to -maintain the liberty of Italy should make his name precious to the -Italians." [Footnote 152] Lord Macaulay has spoken frankly of the -advantage to which the Catholic Church shows in some countries as -contrasted with our forms of Christianity, and says it is notorious -that the antipathy between the European and African races is less -strong at Rio Janeiro than at Washington. [Footnote 153] On the -authority of Sir Thomas Smith, one of Elizabeth's most able -counsellors, he assures us that the Catholic priests up to that time -had used their most strenuous exertions to abolish serfdom. Confessors -never failed to adjure the dying noble who owned serfs to free his -brethren for whom Christ died. Thus the bondsman became loosened from -the glebe which gave him birth; many during the Crusades left their -plough in the furrow, and their cattle at the trough, and escaped from -service they had long detested; and many knights and lords who -returned from the Holy Land emancipated their serfs of their own -accord. Free hirelings took the place of hereditary bondsmen; and the -peasant's life assumed a pleasant and civilized aspect. In proportion -as Rome's genuine influence prevails in any country over clergy and -people, the traces of the fall diminish, and those of paradise are -restored. - - [Footnote 150: E. M. de Monaghan, p. 219. ] - - [Footnote 151: Cic. Orat de Harusp, Resp. xii. ] - - [Footnote 152: Sur les Moeurs, ch. 83. ] - - [Footnote 153: Hist. of England, chap. i.] - -The Roman pontiff have often been accused of interfering in the -private affairs of princes. But the charge is unjust. It is part of -their mission to repress all moral disorders, and especially to punish -the licentiousness of sovereigns whose bad example promotes immorality -among their subjects. Their jurisdiction is fully admitted; their -right of granting or refusing a divorce no Catholic prince disputes -any more than their right of inflicting penances in case of adultery -or incest. To deny them, therefore, the opportunity of investigating -the very cases on which they must ultimately decide, would be -manifestly inconsistent and absurd. When Lothaire II. of Lorraine -drove away from his court the virtuous Teustberghe, and accused her of -disgraceful crimes, who can blame Nicholas I. for having espoused the -cause of this persecuted queen, and excommunicated in council her -unjust lord? Did the popes "interfere" in such matters otherwise than -in the interests of humanity; and if they had {648} consulted their -own ease and comfort, would they not have abstained from such -interference altogether? Let the world call it papal aggression, -usurpation, political scheming, or what other hard name it will, the -true Christian will see in it nothing but disinterested devotion to -the voice of conscience and the good of society. God himself seems to -have declared in favor of Pope Nicholas in the affair alluded to; for -when Louis le Germanique took up arms to avenge his brother, and -marched on Rome, the pontiff met his armies with fasting and litanies, -and with no other standard than the crucifix given by the Empress -Helena containing a fragment of the true cross. The victorious king -was overcome by these demonstrations, and, imploring the pope's -pardon, submitted to all his conditions. [Footnote 154] We hesitate -not to affirm that the "interference" of the popes in temporal affairs -has more than once saved Europe from Islamism, even as at the present -time they are saving her from total infidelity. Whether successful or -unsuccessful, they struggled with equal constancy and valor against -that formidable power. About the year 876 Mussulman hordes infested -the country around Rome to such an extent that at last scarcely a -hamlet or drove of oxen remained to suffer by the widespread disaster. -Three hundred Saracen galleys menaced the mouth of the Tiber, and John -VIII., deserted and betrayed by neighboring dukes, implored by letter -the aid of Charles the Bald and the Emperor Charles of Germany. Yet he -failed, and that not so much through the strength of the Mohammedans -as through the base conduct of princes called Christian, who cast him -into prison, and then drove him to find refuge in France. Often have -the popes been obliged to follow the example of John VIII., and look -forth from their retirement in foreign lands on the tempest they have -braved and escaped. His 320 letters show how much temporal affairs -occupied his attention, because God willed that his spiritual -authority should show forth its civilizing tendency in temporal -intervention. His conflict with Islamism, which seemed unproductive at -the time, bore fruit in after ages. - - [Footnote 154: Milman's Hist. of Latin Christianity. ] - -The differences which arose and lasted so long between the popes and -the emperors of Germany are constantly misrepresented by writers -adverse to the Church. Their origin lay in the attachment of the Roman -pontiffs to principles which they can never abandon. The investiture -quarrel was a long struggle of spiritual authority against imperial -aggression, and the apparent compromise in which it issued left the -divine prerogatives of the Holy See intact. Simony was one great -plague of the middle ages, and but for the popes the princes of Europe -would have filled the Lord's temple with impious traffic. But for the -popes, too, many of them would have been unchecked in their proud -dreams of universal empire, which, if realized, would have been as -injurious to the liberties of mankind as to the free action of the -church. Frederick II., who was born in Italy, and lived to spend long -years in its delicious climate, without once visiting his German -domains, desired to establish in her the throne of the Caesars. This -was the secret of all his disputes with the pope, and this ambitious -project every successor of St. Peter felt bound to resist. But amid -all these struggles, from Gregory VII. to Calistus II., the life of -the church was a continual child-bearing, and while the popes battled -with crowned princes, they labored also for the souls of the poor. If -you would find the inexhaustible mine of that salt which keeps the -whole world from corruption, you must seek it in the hill where Paul -was buried, and Peter expired on his inverted cross. Proceeding thus -by regular stages in the work of improvement, the Roman Church had the -satisfaction of seeing every formula of enfranchisement signed by -prince or baron in the name of religion. It was {649} always with some -Christian idea, some hope of future recompense, some recognition of -the equality of all men in the sight of God, that the strong -voluntarily loosened the bonds of the weak. Absurd and barbarous -legislation was gradually reformed under the same influence; and -trials by single combat, oaths without evidence, and passing through -fire or cold water as a test of innocence, were supplanted by more -rational processes. M. Gnizot has pointed out the great superiority of -the laws of the Visigoths over those of other barbarous people around -them; and he ascribes this difference to their having been drawn up -under the direction of the Councils of Toledo. They laid great stress -on the examination of written documents in all trials, accepted mere -affirmation on oath only as a last resource, and distinguished between -the different degrees of guilt in homicide, with or without -premeditation, provoked or unprovoked, and the like. If M. Guizot's -observation is well founded in the case of an Arian code, how much -more weight would it have, if made in reference to laws framed under -Catholic influence. Civilization and theology went hand in hand. Every -question was considered in its theological bearing. The habits, the -feelings, and the language of men continually bespoke religious ideas. -Barbaric wisdom was guided by the Star of the East to Bethlehem, and -matured in the school of Christ. The public penances imposed by the -church became the form to which penal inflictions were moulded by the -law; the repentance of the culprit, and the fear of offending inspired -in bystanders, being the twofold object kept in view. The progress -made by the nations under such tutelage has been allowed by many -Protestant historians, and it would be easy to cite the testimony of -Robertson, Sismondi, Leibnitz, Coquerel, Ancillon, [Footnote 155] and -De Muller, [Footnote 156] to the truth of our statements. Duels in -the middle ages, and even down to the time of Louis XIV., raged like -an epidemic, produced deadly feuds between families, abolished all -just decision of disputes, and gave the advantage to the more agile -and skilful of the combatants. From 1589 to 1607 no less than 4000 -French gentleman lost their lives in duels. [Footnote 157] The genius -of Sully and Richelieu was unequal to the task of crushing this -two-fold crime of suicide and murder. But the church had never ceased -to denounce it, and, in the Council of Trent especially, launched all -her thunders against it. [Footnote 158] At length temporal princes -were guided by her voice in this matter. Charles V. forbade it in his -vast dominions; in Portugal it was punished with confiscation and -banishment to Africa; and in Sweden it was visited with death. - - [Footnote 155: Tableau des Révolutions.] - - [Footnote 156: Hist. Universelle.] - - [Footnote 157: Bell on Feudalism.] - - [Footnote 158: Sess. xxv. c. 19.] - -The pitiless character of human legislation was exhibited for ages in -the practice of refusing those who were condemned to death the -privilege of confession; and it was not till the reign of Philip the -Bold, in 1397, that this cruel restriction was removed. The church had -always protested against it, and her remonstrances at last prevailed. -Chivalry itself owed something to her inspiration. Mingled as it was -with rudeness and violence, it had also many noble elements, which -religion encouraged. It was a step toward higher civilization, because -it vindicated the dignity of womankind; true gallantry sprang from -honest purposes and virtuous conduct, and if Sir Galahad said-- - - "My good blade carves the casques of men, - My tough lance thrusteth sure," - -he added-- - - "My strength is as the strength of ten, - _Because my heart is pure_." - -Sir James Stephen, in a paper on St. Gregory VII., [Footnote 159] has -avowed his conviction that the centralization of the ecclesiastical -power did more than counterbalance the isolating tendency of feudal -oligarchies. But for the {650} intervention of the papacy, he says, -the vassal of the west, and the serf of eastern Europe would, perhaps -to this day be in the same state of social debasement, and military -autocrats would occupy the place of paternal and constitutional -governments. Feudal despotism strove to debase men into wild beasts or -beasts of burden, while "the despotism of Hildebrand," whether -consistent or no, sought to guide the human race by moral impulses to -sanctity more than human. If the popes had abandoned the work assigned -them by Providence, they would have plunged the church and world into -hopeless bondage. St. Gregory VII. found the papacy dependent on the -empire, and he supported it by alliances with Italian princes. He -found the chair of the apostles filled, when vacant, by the clergy and -the people of Rome, and he provided for less stormy elections by -making the pope eligible by a college of his own nomination. He found -the Holy See in subjection to Henry, and he rescued it from his hands. -He found the secular clergy subservient to lay influence, and he -rendered them free and active auxiliaries of his own authority. He -found the highest dignitaries of the church the slaves of temporal -sovereigns, and he delivered them from this yoke, and bound them to -the tiara. He found ecclesiastical functions and benefices the spoil -and traffic of princes, and he brought them back to the control of the -sovereign pontiff; He is justly celebrated as the reformer of the -profane and licentious abuses of his time, and we owe him the praise -also of having left the impress of his giant character on the history -of the ages that followed. Such are the candid admissions of a -professor in the University of Cambridge. The highest eulogies of Rome -are often to be found in the writings of aliens. - - [Footnote 159: Edinburgh Review, 1845.] - -Up to the time of the Reformation the Roman church was manifestly in -the forefront of civilization. After that terrible revolution she was -still really so, but not always manifestly. Her position was the same, -but that of society had changed. It no longer accepted her laws; it -cavilled at her authority, ort openly spurned it. People forgot their -debt of gratitude to the power which had always interfered in behalf -of the oppressed, and princes jibed at the restraints which the papacy -imposed on their absolute rule. The printing-press was wrested from -the church's hands, and made the chief engine for propagating -misbelief. A new and spurious civilization was set up, and was so -blended with real and amazing progress in many of the sciences and the -arts of life, that when the popes opposed what was corrupt in it and -of evil tendency, they often appeared adverse to what was genuine. Of -this their enemies took every advantage, and constantly represented -them as the mortal foes of the liberty, enlightenment, and progress of -mankind. Pontiff after pontiff protested against this wilful -misrepresentation, which has lasted three hundred years, and continues -in full force to this day. Seldom has it been put forward more -speciously than in reference to the recent Encyclical of Pius IX. We -shall endeavor to show its utter falsity in the remainder of this -article. - -Thrown back in her efforts to evangelize Europe, the church turned -with more ardor than ever toward the other hemisphere. Already Alvarez -di Cordova had planted the cross in Congo. Idolatry vanished before it -almost entirely in the African territory recently discovered, and upon -its ruins rose the city of San Salvador. The ills inflicted on the -Americans by the first Spanish settlers were repaired by the -Benedictine Bernard di Buil, and other missionaries who trod in his -steps. The Dominicans set their faces sternly against reducing the -Indians to the rank of slaves, and Father Monterino, in the church of -St. Domingo, inveighed against it in the presence of the governor, -with all {651} the fervor of popular eloquence. [Footnote 160] The -life of Bartholomew de Las Casas was one long struggle against the -cupidity and cruelty of Spanish masters and in favor of Indian -freedom. The labors and successes of St. Francis Xavier are too well -known to require recapitulation in this place; it is more to the -purpose to remark that the missionaries of Rome, from Mexico and the -Philippine islands, to Goa, Cochin-China, and Japan, everywhere -exposed to adverse climate, hardship, and martyrdom, carried with them -the two-fold elements of civilization--religion and the arts of life. -The Jesuit who started for China was provided with telescope and -compass. He appeared at the court of Pekin with the urbanity of one -fresh from the presence of Louis XIV., and surrounded with the -insignia of science. He unrolled his maps, turned his globes, chalked -out his spheres, and taught the astonished mandarins the course of the -stars and the name of him who guides them in their orbits. [Footnote -161] Buffon, [Footnote 162] Robertson, and Macaulay have alike -extolled the missionary zeal of the Jesuit fathers, and have ascribed -to them, not merely the regeneration of the inward man, but the -cultivation of barren lands, the building of cities, new high roads of -commerce, new products, new riches and comforts for the whole human -race. - - [Footnote 160: Robertson, Hist. of America.] - - [Footnote 161: Génie du Christianisme.] - - [Footnote 162: Hist. Naturelle de l'Homme.] - -In teaching barbarous nations the arts of life and the elements of -scientific knowledge, the missionaries acted in perfect accordance -with the spirit of the papacy and the example of the religious orders. -Each of these had its appointed sphere, and each civilized mankind in -its own way. The templars, the knights of St. John, the Teutonic -knights, and half a dozen other now forgotten military orders, -defended civilization with the sword; the Chartreux, the Benedictines, -the Bernardines, in quiet and shady retreats, preserved from decay the -precious stores of heathen antiquity, compiled the history of their -several epochs, and gave themselves, under many disadvantages, to the -study of natural philosophy; the Redemptorists, the Trinitarians, and -the Brothers of Mercy devoted themselves to the redemption of captives -and the emancipation of slaves. Voltaire cannot pass them over without -a burst of admiration, when touching on their benevolent career during -six centuries. [Footnote 163] Some orders made preaching and private -instruction their special work, and among these were the Dominicans, -the Franciscans, the Carmelites, and the Augustines. The pulpit is the -lever that raises the moral world; and it civilizes city, village, and -hamlet the more effectually because its work is constant and -systematic. It explains, Sunday after Sunday, and festival after -festival, the sublimest and deepest of all sciences, while it guides -society, with persuasive might, in the path of moral improvement. With -all that social science has devised for the comfort and welfare of -mankind, nothing that it has ever invented is so essentially -civilizing, so dignified and lovely, so unpretending and strong, as -the self-denying labors of brothers and sisters of charity, -sacrificing youth, beauty, prospects, tastes, and indulgence, on the -altar of religion, and passing their days among the lepers and the -plague-stricken, the ignorant, the degraded, the squalid and the -infirm. - - [Footnote 163: Sur les Moeurs, ch. cxx.] - -And of these orders, none, be it observed, has railed against -knowledge. By no rule, in any one of them, has ignorance been made a -virtue and science a sin. All have admired the beauty of -knowledge--the fire on her brow--her forward countenance--her -boundless domain. All have wished well to her cause, and have -maintained only that she should know her place; that she is the -second, not the first; that she is not wisdom, but {652} wisdom's -handmaid; that she is of earth, and wisdom is of heaven; she is of the -world for the church, and wisdom is of the church for the world. -Severed from religion, they regarded her as some wild Pallas from the -brain of demons; but science guided by a higher hand, and moving side -by side with revelation, like the younger child, they believed to be -the most beautiful spectacle the mind could contemplate. - -To repeat these things in the ears of well read Catholics, is to -iterate a thrice-told tale. But there are others who need often to be -reminded of facts of history which our adversaries are apt to ignore. -Besides the vast body of priests and religious orders, whose office -was to disseminate thought and piety through the world, the papacy -constantly sought new vehicles by which to promote science. The -greater part of the universities of Europe owe their existence to this -agency. Oxford, Cambridge, Glasgow, Naples, Padua, Vienna, Upsal, -Lisbon, Salamanca, Toulouse, Montpellier, Orleans, Nantes, Poictiers, -and a multitude beside, were made centres of human knowledge under the -patronage of the popes, and Clement V., Gregory IX., Engenius IV., -Nicholas V., and Pius II., were among the most illustrious of their -founders. - -The writings of Leonardo da Vinci were not published till a century -after his death, and some of them at a still later period. They are -more like revelations of physical truths vouchsafed to a single mind, -than the fabric of its reasoning on any established basis. He laid -down the principle of Bacon, that experiment and observation must be -our chief guides in the investigation of nature. Venturi has given a -most interesting list of the truths in mechanism apprehended by the -genius of this light of the fifteenth century. [Footnote 164] He was -possessed in the highest degree of the spirit of physical inquiry, and -in this department of learning was truly a seer. - - [Footnote 164: Estai sur lea Ouvrages Physico-Mathématiques de - Léonard de Vinci. Paris. 1797. Hallam's Literary History, vol. i. - pp. 222-5.] - -Let the reader transport himself in idea to the beautiful borders of -the Henares, and there, in the opening of the sixteenth century, look -down on the rising University of Alcalá. Let him admire and wonder at -the varied energy of its founder--Ximenes, the prelate, the hermit, -the warrior, and the statesman. There, in his sixty-fourth year, he -laid the corner-stone of the principal college, and was often seen -with the rule in hand, taking the measurement of the buildings, and -encouraging the industry of the workmen. The diligence with which he -framed the system of instruction to be pursued, the activity of mind -he promoted among the students, the liberal foundations he made for -indigent scholars and the regulation of professors' salaries, did not -withdraw him from the affairs of state, or the publication of his -famous Bible, the Complutensian Polyglot. When Francis I., visited -Alcalá, twenty years after the university was opened, 7000 students -came forth to receive him, and by the middle of the seventeenth -century the revenue bequeathed by Ximenes had increased to 42,000 -ducats, and the colleges had multiplied from ten to thirty-five. -[Footnote 165] Most of the chairs were appropriated to secular -studies, and Alcalá stands forward as a brilliant refutation of the -calumnies against Catholic prelates as the patrons of ignorance. - - [Footnote 165: Quintanilla: Archetype. Prescott's Ferdinand and - Isabella, ii. 826.] - -The same country and epoch which produced Ximenes gave birth also to -Columbus. It was neither accident nor religion, but nautical science -and the intuitive vision of another hemisphere, that piloted him -across the Atlantic to the West-India shores. Amerigo Vespucci -followed in his wake, emulous of like discoveries. He published a -journal of his earlier voyages at Vicenza in 1507, and gave his name -{653} to the continent of the western world. Thus, while two great -navigators, each of them Catholics, explored new lands on the surface -of our globe, Copernicus at the same time, and Galileo not many years -after, presaged the motion of the planets round the sun, and the -twofold rotation of the earth. To Galileo, indeed, far more is due. To -him we owe the larger part of experimental philosophy. He first -propounded the laws of gravity, the invention of the pendulum, the -hydrostatic scales, the sector, a thermometer, and the telescope. With -the last he made numberless observations which changed the face of -astronomy. Among these, that of the satellites of Jupiter was one of -the most remarkable. He came, it is true, into a certain collision -with the church, but it is remarkable, that all the provocation given -by Galileo never reduced authority to the unjustifiable step of -impeding the fullest scientific investigation of his theory. Nay, -those astronomers who taught on the Copernican _hypothesis_ were more -favored at Rome than their opponents. It was at Galileo's request that -Urban appointed Castelli to be his own mathematician, and the letter -in which the pontiff recommended Galileo to the notice of the Grand -Duke of Tuscany, after his condemnation, abounds with expressions of -sincere friendship. As to the dungeon and the torture, they are simply -fabulous. During the process Galileo was permitted to lodge at the -Tuscan embassy instead of in the prison of the holy office--a favor -not accorded even to princes. His sentence of imprisonment was no -sooner passed, than the Pope commuted it into detention in the Villa -Medici, and, after he had resided there some days, he was allowed to -install himself in the palace of his friend, Ascanio Piccolomini, -archbishop of Sienna. Subsequently he retired to his own house and the -bosom of his family; for, as Nicolini's correspondence with him -testifies, "his holiness treated Galileo with unexpected and, perhaps, -excessive gentleness, granting all the petitions presented in his -behalf." [Footnote 166] These facts are surely sufficient to prove -that physical science received all due honor at this period in Rome. -In due time--long after Galileo's death--his theory was scientifically -established; and not very long afterward the Congregational decree was -suspended by Benedict XIV. Galileo's famous dialogue was published -entire at Padua in 1744 with the usual approbations; and in 1818 Pius -VII. repealed the decrees in question in full consistory. What could -the church do more? It was her duty to guard the Scriptures from -irreverence and unbelief, and to prohibit the advocacy of theories -absolutely unproved which seemed to oppose them. To her physical -science is dear, but revealed truth is infinitely dearer. Already she -had opposed astrology as a remnant of paganism, and had studied the -motions of the moon and planets to fix Easter and reform the Julian -calendar. Already Gregory XIII. had brought the calendar which bears -his name into use; and the works of Aristotle, translated into Arabic -and Latin, had become the model of theological methods of disputation -and treatise. St. Thomas Aquinas had written commentaries on them, and -on Plato; and thus, as well as by his essay on aqueducts and that on -hydraulic machines, had proved how inseparable is the alliance between -sound theology and true science. "The sceptre of science," says Joseph -de Maistre, "belongs to Europe only because she is Christian. She has -reached this high degree of civilization and knowledge because she -began with theology, because the universities were at first schools of -theology, and because all the sciences, grafted upon this divine -subject, have shown forth the divine sap by immense vegetation." -[Footnote 167] - - [Footnote 166: British Review. 1861. Martyrdom of Galileo.] - - [Footnote 167: Soirées de St. Pétersbourg, - Xme entretien. ] - -{654} - -Voltaire has observed that "the sovereign pontiffs have always been -remarkable among princes attached to letters," and the remark is -equally true as regards science and art. Silvester II. was so learned -that the common people attributed his vast erudition to magic. He -collected all the monuments of antiquity he could find in Germany and -Italy, and delivered them into the hands of copyists in the -monasteries. St. Gregory VII. conceived the design of rebuilding St. -Peter's, and gathered around him all the first architects of his day. -Gregory IX. interfered in behalf of the University of Paris, and, as -Guillaume de Nangis says, "prevented science and learning, those -treasures of salvation, from quitting the kingdom of France." Nicolas -V. was a great restorer of letters, and Macaulay speaks of him as one -whom every friend of science should name with respect. Sixtus IV. -conferred the title of Count Palatine on the printer Jenson, to -encourage the noble art, then in its infancy. Pius III. enriched -Sienna with a magnificent library, and engaged Raphael and -Pinturicchio to adorn it with frescoes. Paul V. endowed Rome with the -most beautiful productions of sculpture and painting, with splendid -fountains and enduring monuments. Urban VIII. loved all the arts, -succeeded in Latin poetry, and filled his court with men of learning. -Under his pontificate "the Romans," as Voltaire says, "enjoyed -profound peace, and shared all the charms and glory which talent sheds -on society." Benedict XIV. cultivated letters, composed poems, and -patronized science. The infidel himself just mentioned paid him -homage, and professed profound veneration for him, when sending him a -copy of his "Mahomet." [Footnote 168] Every pope in his turn has been -a Maecenas. Not one in the august line has lost sight of the interests -of society and the prerogatives of mind. The useful and the beautiful -were always present to their thoughts; and even in those few instances -where they failed in good personally, they encouraged in their -official capacity whatsoever things are true, lovely, and of good -fame. - - [Footnote 168: Letter to Pope Benedict XIV.] - -Many names dear to science and religion occur to us in illustration of -these remarks--names of men who, in the two last and in the present -century, have devoted their lives to secular learning without losing -their allegiance to the Catholic faith, or confounding it with other -sciences which lie within human control for their extension and -modification. Of these honorable names we will mention a few only by -way of example, feeling sure that our readers' memory will supply them -with many others. Cassini, among the astronomers, enjoyed so high a -reputation at Bologna that the Senate and the pope employed him in -several scientific and political missions. Colbert invited him to -Paris, where he became a member of the Academy of Sciences, and died -at a good old age in 1712, crowned with the glory of several important -discoveries, among which were those of the satellites of Saturn and -the rotation of Mars and Venus. His son James followed in his -footsteps, and bequeathed his name to fame. André Ampère, again, a -sincere Catholic, was one of the most illustrious disciples of -electro-magnetism. He developed the memorable discovery of Oersted, -ranged over the entire field of knowledge, and acquired a lasting -reputation by his "theory of electro-dynamic phenomena drawn from -experience." When between thirteen and fourteen years of age, he read -through the twenty folio volumes of D'Alembert and Diderot's -Encyclopaedia, digested its contents wonderfully for a boy and could -long afterwards repeat extracts from it. But his reading was not -confined to such books. A biography of Descartes, indeed, by Thomas, -inspired him with his earliest enthusiasm for mathematics and natural -philosophy; but his first communion also left an indelible stamp on -his memory and character. The love of religion then, once {655} and -for ever, took possession of his soul, and fired him through life, -like the electric currents into which he made such profound research. -When his days, which were fall of trouble, came to a close at -Marseilles in 1837, he told the chaplain of the college that he had -discharged all his Christian duties before setting out on his journey; -and when a friend began reading to him some sentences from "The -Imitation of Christ," he said, "I know the book by heart." These were -his last words. - -By the lives and labors of such men the church's mission on earth is -effectually seconded. They inspire the thinking portion of society -with confidence in religion, and though, from their constant -engagement in secular pursuits, they frequently err in some minor -point, and cling to some crotchet which ecclesiastical authority -cannot sanction, yet in consideration of their loyal intentions and -exemplary practices, the clergy everywhere regard them as able and -honorable coadjutors. True civilization, (observe the epithet,) far -from being adverse, must ever be favorable to the salvation of souls. -Many writers still living, or who have recently passed away, have -united happily Catholicism with science. Santarem, in his long exile, -gave his mind to the history of geography and the discoveries of his -Portuguese fellow-countrymen on the western coast of Africa. Caesar -Cantù, in his historical works, uniformly defended the cause of the -popedom in Italy, and persisted in holding it forward as his country's -hope. M. Capefigue, among his numerous works on French history, has -included the life of St. Vincent of Paul; and Cardinal Mai has -rendered incalculable service to the study of Greek MSS. But for his -diligence and sagacity, the palimpsests of the Vatican would never -have yielded up their all-but obliterated treasures. Saint-Hilaire, -eminent alike as a zoologist and natural philosopher, who demonstrated -so clearly the organic structure in the different species of animals -was destined in his youth for holy orders; but although he preferred a -scientific career, he retained his affection for the clergy, and saved -several of them, at the risk of his own life, during the massacres of -September, in 1792. Blainville, another great naturalist, and Cuvier's -successor in the chair of comparative anatomy, was deeply religious. -He felt the importance of rescuing physical science from the hands of -infidelity, by which it is so often perverted into an argument against -revelation. Epicurus is said to have maintained that our knowledge of -Deity is exactly commensurate with our knowledge of the works of -nature, and to have allowed no other measure of our theology out [sic] -physics. Lucretius devoted the whole of his beautiful but atheistic -poem, "De Rerum Naturâ" to the task of proving that the soul is -mortal, that religion is a cheat, and that natural causes sufficiently -account for all the phenomena of the universe. In our day the -disciples of Epicurus and Lucretius are legion, but they are not -always so plain spoken as their masters. Happily they are everywhere -opposed by men who recall physics to their true place, and make them a -corollary of revealed truth--the science of the Creator, as -Catholicism may be termed the science of the Divine Redeemer and -Ruler. But useful as such laborers in the field of secular learning -are, the truth cannot be too often repeated, that the vivifying -principle of civilization lies in the cross and the ministry of -reconciliation, of which the Pope is the head. No man whose knees have -never bent on Calvary is truly civilized. If his passions chance to be -tamed, his reason is rampant, or his conscience is asleep. He has no -clear perception of things divine, and his views of things earthly and -human are erroneous and confused. Oh! that philosophers would learn -that the glory of their intellect consists in its dutiful -subordination to the church! Then would she shine forth more -conspicuously in the sight of all men as the {656} civilizer of -nations. Then, and then only, should we be able to encourage without -reserve or misgiving the speculations of science and the enterprises -of art, and should join with loud voices and full hearts in the ardent -aspirations of the poet: - - Fly, happy happy sails, and bear the Press; - _Fly, happy with the mission of the Cross;_ - Knit land to land, and blowing havenward - With silks, and fruits, and spices, clear of toll, - Enrich the markets of _the golden year_. - -That which delays the golden year, and prevents the knitting of land -to land in the bonds of religious brotherhood, is the want of unity -among nations called Christian. The terrible disruptions effected -under Photins, Luther, and Henry VIII., have rendered the conversion -of the world for the present morally impossible. But if the East and -West were again united under their lawful lord and pope; if Protestant -sects were deprived of regal support, reäbsorbed into the Catholic -body, or so reduced in numerical importance as to be all but inactive -and voiceless; if the vaunted utility of association were duly -exemplified; if European populations were emulous of spiritual -conquests in distant countries; if under the guidance and control of a -common idea each of them launched its missionary ships on the waters -in quick succession; if each town and university sent its quota of -zeal and learning to the glorious work; if missionaries in large -numbers went forth cheered with the apostolic benediction, and on -whatever shore they might converge found other laborers in fields -already white for the harvest, speaking with many tongues of one Lord, -one faith, one baptism--then would the heathen no longer be stupefied -by the feeble front and incongruous claims of those who now call them -to repentance, nor would infidels scoff and jeer at a religion which -has been made the very symbol of disunion; unbelieving nations, -astonished at the strict coincidence of testimony borne by preachers -arriving from every quarter of the globe, would distrust their -prophets, desert their idols, and seek admission into the one -ubiquitous fold. Then, also, the moral and intellectual energies of -European prelates would be no longer engrossed by resisting aggression -and weeding out disaffection nearer home, but would have leisure to -organize missions on a large scale, and to fortify them with every -auxiliary modern art and science can supply. The honor and glory of -civilization would then be given to her to whom it belongs of right; -and the nations, at length disabused of popular fallacies, would -perceive that Protestantism and spurious liberty really hinder the -progress they are supposed to promote. - ------- -{657}{658}{659} - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THE CURSE OF SACRILEGE. - -[In the suburbs of the ancient and curious city of Angers in France is -a beautiful chateau, situated in the midst of extensive and fertile -grounds. The chapel contains some very remarkable pieces of statuary, -now nearly eight hundred years old. The place was formerly a convent -of monks, and wrested from them during the great revolution. The -family into whose possession it came, has ever since been afflicted -with the sudden death and insanity of its members. The death of the -last male heir, a youth of great promise, which occurred but a few -years ago, is described in the following verses.] - - - A youth of twenty summers - Sat at his mother's knee; - Ne'er saw you a youth more noble, - Nor fairer dame than she. - - Half-reclining he swept the lute-strings, - Murmuring an olden rhyme; - While the clock in the castle tower - Rang out a morning chime: - - "In the bright and happy spring-time - Ring the bells merrily; - When the dead leaves fall in autumn, - Then toll the bell for me." - - The face of the lady-mother, - Writhed as with sudden pain: - "Oh! sing not, my son, so sadly, - Choose thou a happier strain." - - Sang the youth, "When the summer sunshine - Falls o'er the lake and lea, - And the corn is springing upward, - Then you'll remember me." - - The matron smiled on the singer: - "My dear and my only one - When I shall not remember, - The light will forget the sun." - - Yet her eyes smiled not, but were standing, - Brimful of glimmering tears, - Tell-tales of secret anguish, - Dead hopes and living fears. - - For he was the heir, and the only - Child of the house of La Barre; - A name that was known for its sorrows, - By all, both near and far. - - Lay in a charming valley - Its rich and fair domain; - But a curse seemed to hang around it, - Worse than the curse of Cain. - - For this was a holy convent - Of monks in olden time; - From God men had dared to wrest it, - Nor recked the awful crime. - - The mild men of God were driven - Houseless and homeless afar: - And he who rifled their cloister, - Became the Lord of La Barre. - - But a curse came down on his household, - That time did not abate: - And ne'er did the mourning hatchment - Pass from the castle gate - - The Lord of La Barre fell suddenly - Dead in his banquet-hall; - And madness seized his first-born, - Bearing the funeral pall. - - Calamity sudden and fearful. - Haunted the sacred place. - Striking the lords and their children, - And blighting their hapless race. - - One is thrown from his saddle, - Dashing his brains on the ground; - One in his bridal chamber. - Dead by his bride is found; - - One is caught by the mill-wheel. - And cruelly torn in twain; - One is lost in the forest, - Ne'er to return again. - - Death-traps for wolves, the herdsmen - Set in the woods with care; - The wolves devour the master, - Caught in the fatal snare. - - Killed by the forkèd lightnings; - Drowned in the flowing Loire; - Crushed by some falling timbers; - Conquered and slain in war. - - Idiots and still-born children, - Come as the first-born heirs. - Those are seized with madness, - Whom death a few years spares. - - Thus did they all inherit - A curse with the rich domain, - Who dared on the holy convent - To lay their hands profane. - - The autumn winds are blowing - Across the lake and lea, - As the youth of twenty summers - Sings at his mother's knee. - - He ceased, and from him casting - His lute upon the floor, - Listened, as sounds from the court-yard - Came through the open door. - - Hearing the dogs' loud barking, - As their keeper his bugle wound; - "To-day I go a hunting," - Said he, "with hawk and hound." - - The rustling of dead leaves only - Heard the Lady of La Barre, - And thought of her lordly husband - Drowned in the flowing Loire. - - The autumn winds were moaning - Among the yellow trees, - "Stay, Ernest," said she sadly, - "My soul is ill at ease. - - "Shadows of dire mischances - Fall on my widowed heart; - I could not live if danger - Thy life from mine should part." - - "Fear not," said he, while laughing - He kissed her sad fair face; - "I hear the hounds' loud baying - All eager for the chase. - - "Over the hill by the river - I'll bring the quarry down, - And homeward pluck the roses - To weave for thee a crown." - - "The rose-crown, my child, will wither, - 'Tis but a passing toy; - But thou art the crown of thy mother-- - Her only life and joy. - - "Follow the hunt to-morrow-- - With me, love, stay to-day; - For dark and sad forebodings - My anxious heart affray." - - The autumn winds are blowing, - The dead leaves downward fall, - The lawn and flowers covering - Like a funeral pall. - - But he heedeth not the warning, - And hies with haste away. - The lady seeks the chapel, - With heavy heart, to pray. - - "May God and his blessed Mother - Spare me my only one. - Yet teach me and strengthen me ever - To say, Thy will be done!" - - Well may the lady tremble, - Hearing the wind again; - The dead leaves are falling in showers - Like to a summer rain. - - Hark! a sound from the court-yard - Blanches the lady's cheek-- - The huntsmen call not surely - In such a fearful shriek! - - Say, "Thy will be done," O lady! - As thou e'en now hast said, - For the last of thy race is lying - Stark in the court-yard, dead. - ------- - -{660} - -Translated from the Spanish - - -PERICO THE SAD; OR, -THE ALVAREDA FAMILY. - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -Autumn had shortened the days, and winter was knocking at the door -with fingers of ice. It was the hour when laborers return to their -homes, and the sun casts a last cold glance upon the earth he is -abandoning. - -Perico came slowly, preceded by his ass, and followed by Melampo, who -rivalled his ancient friend and companion in gravity. The latter still -remembered with horror the entry of the French, though six years had -passed since; for the flight of her masters caused her the wildest -gallop she had taken in her whole life. She had not yet recovered from -the fatigue. - -When they entered their street, two little children, brother and -sister, ran to meet Perico, but at the moment they reached him, the -deep and solemn sound of a bell called to prayer. Perico stood still -and uncovered his head. The ass and the dog, that from long habit knew -the sound, stopped also, and the little ones remained immovable. When -their father had concluded the prayers of the mystery of the -annunciation, the children drew near and said-- - -"Your hand, father." - -"May God make you good!" answered Perico, blessing his children. - -The boy, who was impatient to be mounted on the ass, asked his father -why people must be still when the bell rung for prayer. - -"Don't you remember," said his sister Angela, "what Aunt Elvira tells -us, that when it strikes this hour dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, -our guardian angels stand still, and if we go on then, we shall be -alone--without them?" - -"That is true, sister," answered the boy, giving, with all his little -might, a blow to the ass upon which his father had placed him, a blow -of which, fortunately, the patient creature took not the least notice. - -Six years had passed since the occurrence of the sorrowful events we -have related. To make the remembrance of them still more sorrowful, -the unhappy Marcela, who witnessed from her hiding-place the insult to -her {661} father, the terrible vengeance taken by her brother, and the -flight of the latter, had gone mad. - -No tidings of Ventura had ever been received, and all believed that he -was dead. Notwithstanding, in their tenderness for Elvira and their -friendship for Pedro, the others spoke to them in the words of a hope -which did not exist in their own hearts. - -Time, the great dissolvent, in which joys and griefs alike are -lost--as in water disappear both the sugar and the salt--had made -those memories, if not less bitter, at least more endurable. Only from -Pedro's lips, instead of his lively songs and habitual jokes, was -often heard, "My poor son! my poor daughter!" - -Elvira, alone, was excepted from this influence of time. She was -wasting in silence, like those light clouds in the sky, which, instead -of falling to the earth in noisy torrents, rise softly and gradually -until they are lost from sight. She never complained, nor did the name -of Ventura, of him upon whom she had looked as the companion the -church would give her, pass her lips. - -"A worm is gnawing at her heart," said Anna to her son; "the rest do -not see it, but it is not hidden from me." - -"But, mother," he answered, "where do you see it? She complains -perhaps?" - -"No, my son, no: but, Perico, a mother hears the voice of the dumb -daughter," replied Anna with sadness. - -Rita and Perico were happy, because Perico, with his loving heart, his -sweet temper, and his conciliatory character, made the happiness of -both. A year after their marriage, Rita had given birth to twins. On -that occasion, she was at death's door, and owed her life to the -tender care of her husband and his family. She remained for a long -time feeble and ailing, but at the moment in which we take up the -thread of our story, she was entirely restored, and the roses of youth -and health bloomed more brightly than ever upon her countenance. - -When they were reunited that evening, Maria exclaimed: "Blessed -mother, what a fearful storm we had last night! I was so frightened -that my very bed shook with me! I recalled all my sins and confessed -them to God. I prayed so much that I think I must have awakened all -the saints: and I prayed loud, for I have always heard say that the -lightning loses its power from where the voice of praying reaches. To -the Moors! To the Moors! I said to the tempest, go to the Moors, that -they may be converted and tremble at the wrath of God! Not until -day-break, when I saw the rainbow, was I consoled: for it is the sign -God gives to man that he will not punish the world with another flood. -Why do men not fear when they see these warnings of God!" - -"And why would you have them tremble, mother, for a thing which is -natural," said Rita. - -"Natural!" retorted Maria. "Perhaps you will also tell me that -pestilence and war are natural! Do you know what the lightning is? For -I heard a farmer say that it is a fragment of the air set on fire by -the wrath of God. And where does not the air enter? And where is the -place the wrath of God does not reach? And the thunder--the thunder, -said a certain preacher, is the voice of God in his magnificence; and -that God is to be feared above all when it thunders." - -"The rain has been welcome, Mamma Maria, for the ground is thirsty," -said Perico. - -"The ground is always thirsty," observed Rita, "as thirsty as a sot." - -"Father," said Angela, "hear what I sung to-day when I saw the pewets -running to the pools," and the little girl began to sing: - - "Open your windows, God of Christians! - Let the rain come down, - See the Blessed Virgin comes riding - From the inn of the little town; - Riding a horse of snowy whiteness. - Over the fields so brown, - Lighting all the fields with the brightness - Of the glory which shines around. - Blessing the fields, the fields of the king: - Ring from the big church, let all the bells ring!" - -{662} - -Angel, not wishing to let his sister, who was the brighter of the two, -gain the palm--instantly said: "And I, father, sung: - - 'Rain, my God, - I ask it from my heart. - Have pity on me, - For I am little, and I ask for bread.'" - -"Enough, enough," cried Rita, "you are as noisy as two cicadas, and -more tiresome than frogs." - -"May we play a game, mother?" said the boy. - -"Play with the cat's tail," responded Rita. - -"Mamma Maria," said the girl, "I will say the catechism to you, if you -will tell us a story. Now hear me: 'The enemies of the soul are three, -the devil, the world, and the flesh.'" - -"I like that enemy," said the boy. - -"Hush, little one; it don't mean the flesh in the stew." - -"What then?" asked the boy. - -"Learn the words now," answered his grandmother, "and when you know -more, apply what you have learned. For the present, I will tell you -that your flesh, that is to say, your appetite, tempts you to be so -gluttonous, and that gluttony is a mortal sin." - -"They are seven," said the girl quickly, and recited them. - -"I, Mamma Maria," said Angel, "know the Three Persons, the Father who -is God, the Son who is God, and the Holy Ghost, who is a dove." - -"How stupid you are!" exclaimed his mother. - -"Daughter," remarked Maria, "no one is born instructed. Child," she -continued, "the Dove is a symbol, the Holy Spirit is God, the same as -the Father and the Son." - -Each child pulling at its grandmother as it spoke: - -"I know the commandments of God," said one. - -"And I, those of the church," said the other. - -"I the sacraments." - -"And I the gifts of the Holy Spirit." - -"I--" - -"Enough, and too much," exclaimed Rita; "you are going to say the -whole catechism; or perhaps this is an infant school! What a pleasant -diversion!" - -"Is it possible," said Maria, grieved, for she had been in her glory -listening to the children, "is it possible, Rita, that you do not love -to hear the word of God, and that it does not delight you in the -mouths of your children? I remember how I cried for joy, the first -time you said the whole of Our Father." - -"That is so," said Rita; "you are capable of crying at a fandango." - -The poor mother did not answer; but, turning to the children, said: "I -am so pleased with you because you know the catechism so well, that I -am going to tell you the prettiest story I know." - -The children seated themselves on a low bench in front of their -grandmother, who began her story thus: - -"When the angel warned the holy patriarch Joseph to flee into Egypt, -the saint got his little ass and set the mother and child upon it. -Then they started on their journey through woods and briery fields. -Once, when they were in the thickest part of a forest, the lady was -afraid because the way was so dark and lonesome. By and by they came -to a cave. Out of it ran a band of robbers and surrounded the holy -family. When the mother and child were going to get down from the ass, -the captain of the band, whose name was Demas, looked at the child; as -he looked, his heart smote him, and he turned to his companions and -said: 'Whoever touches as much as a thread of this lady's garment will -have me to do with,' and then he said to the holy pair: 'The night is -coming on stormy; follow me, and I will shelter you.' They went with -the robber, and he gave them to eat and drink, and the holy pair -accepted what he offered them, for God himself receives the worship of -all the bad as well as {663} the good. And for this reason, children, -never cease to pray, even though you should be in mortal sin; for this -robber, when at last he was taken and condemned to die, found -repentance and pardon on the cross itself, which served him for -expiation, as it served our Lord for sacrifice. He was converted and -was the first of all to enter into glory, as Christ promised him when -he was dying for him." Meantime, the wind howled without in prolonged -gusts. The doors shook, moved by an invisible hand. The old -orange-tree murmured in the court, as if remonstrating with the wind -for disturbing its calm. - -"Listen," said Perico, "the very nettles will be swept from the -ground." - -"And how it rains!" added Pedro. "The clouds are torn to bits. The -river is going to overflow the fields." - -"Did you see how the clouds ran this afternoon?" said Angela to her -brother. "They looked like greyhounds." - -"Yes," answered the boy, "and where were they going?" - -"To the sea for water." - -"Is there so much water in the sea?" - -"Yes indeed, and more than there is in Uncle Pedro's pond." - -"The voice of the wind seems to me like the voice of the evil spirit, -that comes leading fear by the hand," said Maria. - -"You are always frightened, mother," remarked Rita. "I don't know when -your spirit will rest. Look here, lazy-bones," she proceeded, giving a -push to the boy who had reclined against her, "lean upon what you have -eaten." - -The child, being half asleep, lost his balance. Elvira gave a cry, and -Perico, springing forward, caught him in his arms. Anna dropped her -distaff, but took it up again without a word. - -"If you ever lose your son," said Pedro, indignant, "you will not weep -for him as I do for mine. You have that advantage over me." - -"She is so quick, so hasty," said Maria, always ready to excuse and -slow to blame, "that she keeps me in hot water." - -"So, then, Mamma Maria," Perico hastened to say, "yon are afraid of -everything--and witches?" - -"No; oh! no, my son! The church forbids the belief in witches and -enchanters. I fear those things which God permits to punish men, and, -above all, when they are supernatural." - -"Are there any such things? Have you seen any?" asked Rita. - -"If there are any? And do you doubt that there are extraordinary -things?" - -"Not at all. One of them is the day you do not preach me a sermon. But -the supernatural I don't believe in. I am like Saint Thomas." - -"And you glory in it! It is a wonder you do not say also that you are -like Saint Peter in that in which he failed!" - -"But, madam, have you seen anything of the kind, or is it only because -you can swallow everything, like a shark?" - -"It is the same, to all intents, as if I had seen it." - -"Aunt, what was it?" asked Elvira. - -"My child," said the good old woman, turning toward her niece, "in the -first place, that which happened to the Countess of Villaoran. Her -ladyship herself told it to me when we were superintending her estate -of Quintos. This lady had the pious custom of having a mass said for -condemned criminals at the very hour they were being executed. When -the infamous Villico was in those parts, committing so much iniquity, -she allowed herself to say that if he should be taken, she would not -send to have a mass said for him, as she had for others. And when he -was executed, she kept her word. - -"Not long alter, one night when she was sleeping quietly, she was -awakened by a pitiful voice near the head of her bed, calling her by -name. She sat up in bed terrified, but saw {664} nothing, though the -lamp was burning on the table. Presently she heard the same voice, -even more pitiful than at first, calling her from the yard, and before -she had fairly recovered from her surprise, she heard it a third time, -and from a great distance, calling her name. She cried out so loudly -that those who were in the house ran to her room, and found her pale -and terrified. But no one else had heard the voice. - -"On the following day, hardly were the candles lighted in the churches -when a mass was being offered for the poor felon, and the countess, on -her knees before the altar was praying with fervor and penitence, for -the clemency of God, which is not like that of men, excludes none. And -now Rita, what do you think?" - -"I think she dreamed it." - -"Goodness, goodness! what incredulity," said Uncle Pedro. "Rita will -be like that Tucero, who, the preachers say, separated from the -church." - -"Ave Maria! Do not say that, Pedro," exclaimed Maria, "even in -exaggeration! Mercy! you may well say, what perverseness, for she -talks so just to be contrary." - -A noise in the direction of the door which opened into the back-yard, -caused Maria's lips to close suddenly. - -"What is that?" she said. - -"Nothing, Mamma Maria," answered Perico, laughing; "what would it be? -The wind which goes about to-night moving everything." - -"Mother," said Angela, "hold me in your lap, as father does Angel, for -I am afraid." - -"This is too much," exclaimed Rita, who was in bad humor. "Go along -and sit on the lap of earth, and don't come back till you bring -grandchildren." - -"I should like to know," said Pedro, "if those who laugh at that which -others fear have never felt dread." - -"Perico! Perico!" cried Maria, in terror, "there is a noise in the -yard." - -"Mamma Maria, you are excited and frightened. Don't you hear that it -is the water in the gutter?" - -"I, for my part," said Pedro, in a low voice, as if to himself, "ever -since there was a stain of blood in my house--" - -"Pedro! Pedro! are we always to go back to that? Why will you make -yourself wretched? Of what use is it to return to the past, for which -there is no remedy?" said Anna. - -"The truth is, Anna, what I suffer at times overwhelms me, and I must -give it vent. Often at night, when I am alone in my house, it falls -upon me. Anna, believe me, many a night, when all is still and sleep -flies from me, I see him; yes, I see him--the grenadier my son slew. I -see him just as I saw him alive, in his grey capote and fur cap, rise -out of the well and come into the room where he was killed, to look -for the stains of his own blood. I sec him before my eyes, tall, -motionless, terrible." - -At this moment the door opened, and a figure, tall, motionless, -terrible, with a grey capote and a grenadier's cap stood upon the -threshold. - -All remained for an instant confounded and fixed in their places. - -"God protect us!" exclaimed Maria. Angel clung to his father's breast, -Angela to the skirts of her grandmother. - -"Ventura!" murmured Elvira, as her eyes closed and her head fell upon -her mother's bosom. - -The woman for whom there had been no forgetfulness, had recognized -him. - -Pedro rose impetuously and would have fallen, the poor old man not -having strength to sustain himself; but Ventura, who had thrown off -his cap and capote, sprung forward and caught him in his arms. The -scene which followed, a scene of confusion, of broken words, of -exclamations of surprise and delight, of tears and fervent thanks to -heaven, is more easily comprehended than described. - -When Ventura had freed himself from the embrace of his father, who was -long in undoing his arms from {665} the neck of the son whom he could -hardly persuade himself he held in them, he fixed his eyes upon -Elvira. She was still supported by her mother, who held to her -nostrils a handkerchief wet with vinegar. But she was no longer the -Elvira he had left at his departure. Pale, attenuated, changed, she -appeared as if bidding farewell to life. Ventura's brilliant eyes -became softened and saddened with an expression of deep feeling, and, -with the frank sincerity of a countryman, he said to her: - -"Have you been sick, Elvira? You do not look like yourself." - -"Now she will be better," exclaimed Pedro, in whom joy had awakened -some of the old festive teasing humor. "Your absence, Ventura, and not -hearing from you, nothing less, has brought her to this. Why, in -heaven's name, did you not send us a letter, to tell us where you -were?" - -"Why, our sergeant wrote at least six for me," replied Ventura, "and -besides, I have been in France, I have been a prisoner. All that is -long to tell--But how well you look, Rita," he said, regarding the -latter, who, from the moment he entered, had not taken her eyes from -the gallant youth, whom the moustache, the uniform, and the military -bearing became so well. "Bless me! but you have become a fine woman! -The good care Perico takes of you--and you Perico, always digging? Are -these your children? How handsome they are! God bless them! Hey! come -here, I am not a Frenchman nor a bluebeard." - -Ventura sat down to caress the children. Maria, coming behind him at -this moment, caught his head in her hands, and covered his face with -tears and kisses--Ventura in the mean while saying, "Maria, how much -you have prayed for me! I suppose you have made a hundred novenas, and -more than a thousand promises." - -"Yes, my son, and to-morrow I shall sell my best hen, to have said in -Saint Anna's chapel the thanksgiving mass I have promised." - -"Aunt Anna is the one who has nothing to say," observed Ventura. "Are -you not glad to see me, madam?" - -"Yes my son, yes; I was minding my Elvira. God knows," she continued, -observing the pallid countenance of her child, "how glad I am of your -return, and what thanks I give him for it, if it is for the best." - -"And why not," exclaimed Pedro, "for the best? for all except my kids -and your fowls, which are going to give up the ghost within a month, -the time it will take to publish the bans." - -"Don't be so hasty," answered Anna, smiling, "a wedding, neighbor, is -not a fritter to be turned, tossed, and fried in a moment." - -"Well, 'every owl to his own olive,'" said Pedro after a while. "Good -people, there is a wicket in the street that is tired of being -solitary." - -"To-night, Uncle Pedro," said Rita, laughing, "the horrors will go to -the bottom of the well with the Frenchman, never to return." - -"Amen, amen. I hope so," responded the good old man. - - -CHAPTER IX. - -The next evening, Ventura brought with him to their reunion a small -black water-dog, called Tambor. Never before had a strange dog been -permitted at one of those meetings, so that he had hardly entered, -wagging his tail, well washed, well combed, and with all the -confidence of an exquisite, when Melampo, who held these graces to be -of very little consequence, and an idler in lowest estimation, flew at -him with might and main, and with a single blow of his paw flattened -the creature; but without the remotest ambition to affect in this -action, either the attitude or the air of the lion of Waterloo. - -"In the first place," said Perico, "will you tell me, Ventura, how you -managed to appear here yesterday, as if you had leaked through the -roof, without any one's opening the door to you?" - -{666} - -"Well, it is difficult to guess," answered Ventura. "When I arrived I -went to the house, and Aunty Curra, to whom my father gives a home for -taking care of him, opened the door, and to get here sooner, and take -you all by surprise, I jumped over the wall of the yard, as I used to -when I was a boy." - -"I was sure last night," observed Maria, "that I heard the door of the -enclosure, and some one walking in the yard." - -"Now,"' said Perico, "tell us what has happened to you. Have you been -wounded?' - -"He has been wounded," cried Uncle Pedro. "Look at his breast, and you -win see a hole, which is the scar left by a ball that he received -there, and that did not lay him dead, thanks to this button which -deadened its force. See how it is flattened and hollowed out like the -pan of a fire-lock. Look at his arm; look at the wound--" - -"And what matter, father," interrupted Ventura, "since they are cured -now?" - -"When I ran," he continued, "I took my course down river, reached -Sanlácar, and embarked for Cadiz. There I enlisted in the regiment of -guards commanded by the Duke del Infantado. I struck up a friendship -with a young man of noble family, who was serving as a private, and we -loved each other like brothers. We soon embarked for Tarifa, for the -purpose of approaching the French in the rear, while the English -attacked them in front. The result was the battle of Barrosa, from -which the French fled to Jerez, and we took possession of their camp. - -"In the midst of the fight, I said to my friend, 'Come, let us take -from that Frenchman the eagle he carries so proudly, it is continually -vexing my eyes, come;' and without recommending ourselves to God, we -threw ourselves upon the bearer, killed him, and took the ugly bird; -but as we turned we found ourselves surrounded by Frenchmen, friends -of the eagle. 'Comrades,' said we, 'it's of no use; as for the bird, -he is caged and shall not go out even if Pepe Botellas [Footnote -169] or Napoleon himself, the big thief, should come for him.' - - [Footnote 169: Pepe Botellas, Bottle Joe; Joseph Napoleon was so - called by the people, because, they said, he used to get drunk.] - -"We set it up against a wild olive, and placed ourselves before it, -and now, we said, Come and get him--and they came, for those demons, -the worse the cause the more impetuous they are. They killed my poor -friend, and had nearly killed me, for they were many. What I felt at -the thought of losing the bird! but it was the will of heaven that it -should never sing the _mambrui_ [Footnote 170] in French, for our -men came and drove them back. They conducted me with my trophy before -the colonel, who said that I had behaved well, and should receive the -cross of San Fernando, for having captured the eagle. 'I did not -capture it, my colonel,' I answered, 'it was my friend, the young -noble, who is killed. And I fainted. When came to, I found myself in -the hospital and without the cross." - - [Footnote 170: Mambrui, a humorous military song, popular among the - Spanish soldiers.] - -"That was your own fault," said Rita. "Why did you tell the colonel it -was not you?" - -Ventura looked at her as if he could not comprehend what she was -saying. - -"You did your duty," said Pedro. - -A tear ran down Elvira's cheek. - -"I was hardly convalescent when we embarked for Huelra, and I found -myself in the battle of Albuera against the division of Marshal Soult. -I was soon after taken prisoner; made my escape, and joined the army -of Granada, commanded by the Duke del Paryne, in which I remained, -pursuing the enemy beyond the Pyrenees. Then I returned to Madrid, -where I have been waiting until now for my dismissal." - -{667} - -"Goodness! Ventura," said Maria, in astonishment, "you have been -further than the storks fly!" - -"I--no," answered Ventura, "but I know one, and he indeed, he had been -with General La Romana, far in the north, where the ground is covered -with snow so deep that people are sometimes buried under it." - -"Maria Santissima! said Maria, shuddering. - -"But they are good people, they do not carry knives." - -"God bless them!" exclaimed Maria. - -"In that land there is no oil, and they eat black bread." - -"A poor country for me," observed Anna, "for I must always eat the -best bread, if I eat nothing else." - -"What kind of _gazpachos_ [Footnote 171] can they make with black -bread, and without oil?" asked Maria, quite horrified. - - [Footnote 171: Gazpacho. Dish made of bread, oil, onions, vinegar, - salt and red-pepper mixed together in water.] - -"They do not eat gazpacho," replied Ventura. - -"Then what do they eat?" - -"They eat potatoes and milk,", he answered. - -"Much good may it do them, and benefit their stomachs." - -"The worst is, Aunt Maria, that in all that land there are neither -monks nor nuns." - -"What are you telling me, my son?" - -"What you hear. There are very few churches, and those look like -hospitals that have been plundered, for they are without chapels, -without altars, without images, and without the blessed sacrament." - -"Mercy, mercy!" exclaimed all, except Maria, who remained as if turned -to stone with surprise. But presently crossing her hands, she -exclaimed, with satisfied fervor. - -"Ah my sunshine! Ah my white bread! My church! My blessed Mother! My -country, my faith, and my God in his sacrament! Happy a thousand -times, I, who have been born, and through divine mercy, shall die -here! Thank God, my son, that yon did not go to that country, a land -of heretics! How dreadful!" - -"And is heresy catching, mother, like the itch?" asked Rita -ironically. - -"I do not say that, God forbid," answered the good Maria; "but--" - -"Everything is catching, except beauty," said Pedro, "and one is -better off in his own country. I will bet my hands that those who have -been there, will bring us nothing good." - -"What do not the poor soldiers have to pass through!" sighed Elvira. - -"That must be the reason why I have always been so fond of them," -added Maria. "That, and because they defend the faith of Christ. And -therefore, I am also very devoted to San Fernando, that pious and -valiant leader. I have him framed in my parlor, and around him on the -wall, I have stuck little paper soldiers, thinking it would be -pleasing to the saint, who all his life saw himself surrounded by -soldiers. When Rita was about twelve years old, I went to Sevilla, and -she gave me a shilling to buy her a little comb. I passed by the shop -of an old man who had a lot of little paper soldiers exposed for sale. -What a guard for my saint, I thought; but my quarters were all spent. -I had nothing left but Rita's shilling. The price of the set was a -shilling. Go along, said I to myself, it is better that Rita should do -without the bauble than my saint without his guard; and I bought them. -I told Rita, and it was the truth, that my money did not hold out. The -next day when I was taking them out to stick them up around the -picture of the king, Rita came into the room. 'So then,' she said, -'you had money enough to buy these dirty soldiers, and not enough for -my little comb,' and she snatched them from my hands to throw them out -of the window. 'Child,' I screamed, 'you are throwing my heart into -the street with the soldiers!' And seeing that she paid me no -attention, I caught up the broom and beat her. The only time I ever -beat her in my life." - -{668} - -"It would have been better for you," said Pedro, "if you had left the -marks of your fingers upon her sometimes." - -"Who can please you, Uncle Pedro?" said Rita. "My mother erred in not -chastising her child, and I err in not spoiling mine." - -"Daughter!" replied Pedro, "neither Hei! till they run away, nor Whoa! -till they stop short." - -"But since you like soldiers so much, mother," proceeded Rita, "why -did you take such trouble to prevent my cousin Miguel from becoming -one?" - -"I love soldiers because they suffer and pass through so much, and for -the same reason, I wished to save my nephew." - -"How I laughed then!" continued Rita, directing her conversation to -Ventura. "Her grace burned lights to all the saints while the lots -were being drawn. As she had not candlesticks, she stuck empty shells -to the walls with cement; put wicks in them; filled them with oil, and -began to pray. While she was praying, in came Miguel's mother, and -told her that he had been drafted. My mother, on hearing that, put out -the lights, as if to say to the saints, 'Stay in the dark now, I need -you no longer!'" - -"How you talk, Rita," answered the good Maria. "I trust that God does -not so judge our hearts. I resigned myself, my daughter. I resigned -myself, because he had made known his pleasure, and when God will not, -the saints cannot." - - - -CHAPTER X. - -The joy of Elvira was as brief as it had been keen. What can escape -the eyes of one who loves? Is it not known that there are things, -which, like the wind of Guadarrama, though scarce a breath, yet kill. -Before either Rita or Ventura had acknowledged even to their own -consciousness, the mutual attraction which they exercised upon each -other, Elvira was offering to God, for the second time, the pangs of -her lost love. This time, however, without a remote hope. The prudent -and patient girl looked upon a rupture as the sure forerunner of some -catastrophe, and, like a martyr, endured without daring to repulse -them, the evidences of an affection as pale and feeble as she was -herself; an affection that was vanishing before the vivid flame of a -new love, which already sparkled, active, brilliant, and beautiful -like the object that inspired it. While the visits at the grating -became every night colder and less' prolonged, there was no occasion -that did not, by gesture, look, or word, bring into contact those two -beings, who, like moths, took pleasure in approaching the flame, drawn -by an instinctive impulse, which they obeyed, but did not pause to -define; of which no one warned them, because among the people, a -married woman unfaithful to her duties, or a lover neglectful of his, -is an anomaly; and one which, in the family whose history we are -relating, would have been looked upon as incredible to the point of -impossibility. But Rita acknowledged no rein, and the life of a -soldier had been a school of evil habits to Ventura. One day Perico, -on setting out for the field, found Elvira in the yard, and said to -her: - -"Here is money, sister, to buy yourself colored dresses. You have -fulfilled your promise to wear the habit of our Lady of Sorrows till -Ventura came back, and now I wish to see your face, your -dress--everything about you gay." - -Elvira answered, with difficulty repressing her tears: - -"Keep your money, brother, every day I feel myself worse. It is better -for me to think of making my peace with God, than of buying wedding -clothes, or of changing the colors which are to wrap me in the -coffin." - -{669} - -"Do not say that, sister!" exclaimed Perico. "You break my heart! It -has become a habit with you to be melancholy. When you and Ventura are -as happy as Rita and I, when you have two little ones like these of -ours, to occupy you, your apprehensions will fly away. Come," he -added, catching the children, "come and play with your aunt." - -Elvira's eyes followed her brother. Her heart was torn with grief; -grief all the more agonized and profound for being repressed. She -considered that a complaint from her would be like an indiscreet cry -of alarm at an inevitable misfortune. - -"Aunt," said Angel, "nothing can keep Melampo when father goes." - -"He does what he ought, like the good dog he is," answered Elvira. - -"And why is he called Melampo?" the child continued, with that zeal -for asking questions which older people ridicule, instead of -respecting and encouraging. - -"He is called so," answered Elvira, "because Melampo is the name of -one of the dogs that went to Bethlehem with the shepherds to see the -child Jesus. There were three of them, Melampo, Cubilon, and Tobina, -and the dogs that bear these names never go mad." - -"Aunt," said Angela, running after a little bird, "I can't catch this -swallow." - -"That is not a swallow. Swallows do not come till spring, and these -you must never catch nor molest." - -"Why not, aunt?" - -"Because they are friends to man, they confide in him and make their -nests under his eaves. They are the birds that pulled the thorns out -of the Saviour's crown when he hung upon the cross." - -At this moment Angel fell and began to cry. Rita rushed impetuously -out of her room and snatched him up, exclaiming: - -"What has he done to himself? what is the matter with mother's glory?" -Wiping his face, which was dirty, with her apron, she continued: - -"What is the matter? Sweet little face, covered with mud. Bless his -pretty eyes and his mouth, and his poor little hands!" - -And covering him with kisses, passionate caresses, she took him and -his sister into her mother's house. Returning presently she went into -the back-yard to wash. - -It has already been said that this yard was next to that of uncle -Pedro, separated from it by a low wall. - -Rita according to the popular custom began to sing. - -Among the people of Andalucia, one can hardly be found whose memory is -not a treasury of couplets; and these are so varied that it would be -difficult to suggest an idea, for the expression of which a suitable -verse would not immediately be found. - -A fine voice, well modulated and dear, answered Rita from the -adjoining yard; in this manner a musical colloquy was carried on, -concluded by the male voice in this couplet, which indicated the wings -that the preceding one had given to his desires: - - "With no loss of time, - To succeed I intend; - Without sigh to the air, - Or complaint to the wind." - -In the mean time Elvira sat sewing beside her mother. Her sweet and -placid countenance betrayed none of the pain and anguish of her heart. -Nevertheless, Anna looked at her with the penetrating eyes of a -mother, and thought, "Will the hopes fail which I placed in Ventura's -return? Does our Lord want her for himself?" - -At this moment the children rushed in, wild with delight. - -"Mamma Anna! Aunt Elvira!" they shouted. "Uncle Pedro says the ass had -a little colt last night. She is in the stable with it, and we did not -know it here. Come and see it! come and see it!" - -And one pulling at the grandmother and the other at the aunt, they -went, to the yard and threw the door wide open. - -{670} - -What a two-edged dagger for the heart of Anna, the honorable woman, -the loving mother! Ventura was there with Rita! - -Quick as lightning Ventura stepped upon the wheel of a cart which -stood close to the wall, and with one spring disappeared. - -Rita, enraged, continued her washing, and with unparalleled effrontery -began to sing: - - "No mother-in-law plagued Eve; - No sister-in-law worried Adam; - Nor caused their souls to grieve, - For in Eden they never had them." - -The children had run on to the stable without stopping. Anna led her -daughter, almost fainting, into the house, and there upon the bosom of -her mother, from whom the cause of her grief was no longer a secret, -Elvira burst into sobs. - -"And you knew it," said her mother; "silent martyr to prudence. Weep, -yes, weep, for tears are like the blood which flows from wounds, and -renders them less mortal. I knew what she was and warned him. I knew -that reprobation must follow the union of kindred blood, and I told -him so. He would not listen. It would have been better to let him go -to the war. But the heart errs as well as the understanding." - -In the mean time the impudent woman went on singing: - - "Mothers-in-law, and sisters-in-law, - See a cargo passing go; - What a famous load 'twould be. - For Satan's regions down below." - - -CHAPTER XI. - -After a night of sleepless anguish, Anna rose, apparently more -tranquil; drawing some slight hope from the determination she had -taken to speak with Rita; show her the precipice toward which she was -running blindly, and persuade her to recede. - -Anna had a dignity that would have impressed any one in whom the noble -quality of respect had not been suffocated by pride--the worst enemy -of man because the most daring; no other like it elevates itself in -the presence of virtue; no other is so obstinate and so lordly; no -other so hides perversity under forms of goodness; no other so -falsifies ideas and qualifies and condemns as servile that sentiment -of respect which entered into the world with the first benediction of -God. Pride sometimes wishes to elevate itself into dignity, but -without success, for dignity never seeks to set itself up at the cost -of another, but leaves and maintains everything in its own place; its -attitude being even more noble when it honors than when it is honored. -Dignity owes its place neither to riches nor knowledge, and least of -all is it indebted to pride. It is the simple reflection of an -elevated soul which feels its strength. It is natural, like the flush -of health; not put on like the color of those who paint. But there are -beings who place themselves above everything else, and rest with -portentous composure upon a fake and insecure base, parading an -intrepidity and an arrogance which they do not assume who rest on the -firm rock of infallible justice and eternal truth. Rita, treading a -crooked path with fearless step and serene countenance, was one of -these beings. - -The good sense of the villager, who felt profoundly what we have -expressed, and understood perfectly the character of both women, -defined it better in their concise laconism when, in speaking of Anna, -they said, "Aunt Anna teaches without talking;" and of Rita, "She -fears neither God nor the devil." - -Rita was sewing when Anna entered. The latter deliberately drew the -bolt of the door and sat down facing her daughter-in-law. - -"You already know, Rita," she said calmly, "That I was never pleased -with your marriage." - -"And have you come to receive my thanks?" - -Without noticing the question Anna continued: - -"I had penetrated your character." - -"It was not necessary to be a seer to do that," replied Rita, "I am -perfectly open and frank. I say what I think." - -{671} - -"The evil is not in saying what you think, but in thinking what you -say." - -"It is plain that it would be better for me to play the dead fox, or -still water, like some who appear flakes of snow, but are in reality -grains of salt." - -This was a fling at Elvira which Anna fully understood, but of which -she took no notice, and proceeded. - -"Notwithstanding, I was deceived. I had not entirely fathomed you." - -"Go on," said Rita, "there is a squall to-day." - -"I never thought that what has come to pass would happen." - -"Now it escapes and rains pitchforks," said Rita. - -"Since," proceeded Anna, "you do not fear to deceive my son--" - -"Ho, is that the matter?" said Rita coolly. - -"And kill my poor daughter--" - -"That will do," interrupted Rita, "there is where the shoe pinches; -because Ventura does not want to marry a spectre, that to go out has -to ask permission of the gravedigger, I must answer for it. And for no -other reason than because he is gay and likes better to jest with one -who is cheerful like me than to drink herb-tea with her, can I help -it?" - -Anna allowed Rita to conclude, her countenance showing no alteration -except a mortal paleness. - -"Rita," she said, when the latter had finished, "a woman cannot be -false to her marriage vows with impunity." - -"What are you saying!" exclaimed Rita, springing to her feet and -throwing away her work, her cheeks and eyes on fire. "What have you -said, madam? I fake to my marriage vows? To that which your eyes did -not see you have brought in your hand! I false! I! You have always -borne me ill-will, like a mother-in-law in fact, and a bad -mother-in-law, but I never knew before that the saint-eaters bore -_such_ testimony." - -"I do not say that you are so," replied Anna, in the same grave and -moderate tone which she had observed from the beginning, "but that you -are in the way, that you are going to be false if God does not prevent -it by opening your eyes." - -"Now, as formerly, and always a prophetess, Jonah in person, and" (she -added between her teeth) "may the whale swallow you also." - -"Yes, Rita, yes," said Anna, "and I have come--" - -"To threaten me?" asked Rita, with an air of bold defiance. - -"No, Rita, no, my daughter; I have come to beg of you in the name of -God, for the love of my son, for the sake of your children, and for -your own sake, to consider what you are doing, to examine your heart -while there is yet time." - -"Did Perico send you?" - -"No, my dear son suspects nothing, God forbid that we should awaken a -sleeping lion." - -"Well, then, why do you put yourself into so wide a garment? Go along! -The one who is being hanged does not feel it but the witness feels it! -Perico, madam, is not and never has been jealous; neither does he -suspect the fingers of his guests, or go in quest of trouble. He is no -dirty hypocrite, crying to heaven because people joke, and he does not -bully because somebody draws a few buckets of water for his wife when -she is washing. Do you think that I shall lose my soul for that?" - -"Rita, Rita, do not trifle with men." - -"Nor you with women. Good heavens! it would seem that I am -scandalizing the town." - -"Consider, Rita," continued Anna with increased severity, "that with -men an affront is often the cause of bloodshed." - -"You would bathe in rose-water," responded Rita "if matters seemed to -be running a little toward the fulfilment of those predictions of -yours about _kindred blood not harmonizing_, and others of the same -kind, by which you wished to prevent your son from marrying; and you -were disappointed; {672} and you will be now if you attempt, as I see -you are attempting, to make trouble between us. I know what I am -doing; Perico is a lover of quiet, and knows the wife he has. Leave us -in peace, and we will live so, if you do not heat your son's skull by -your meddling; you take care of the wedding finery of your daughter, -the flower of the family." - -At this string of taunts and insults, the prudent long-suffering of -that respectable matron, wavered for an instant; but the angel of -patience that God sends to women from the moment they become mothers, -to help them bear their crosses, vanquished, and Anna went out, -looking at Rita with a sad smile, in which there was as much or more -compassion than contempt. - -The worthy woman remained in a state of depression and anguish, on -account of the failure of the step she had taken, and determined to -open her heart to Pedro, in order to have him send his son away. -Finally there was a guard wanting at the estate on which Ventura had -served, and he was called to fill the place. This absence, though -interrupted by frequent visits to the village, gave some respite to -the afflicted Anna, who said to herself, "a day of life is life." - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -In the mean time the happy Christmas holidays arrived. They had -arranged for the children a beautiful birth-place, which occupied the -whole front of the parlor, covering it with aromatic pistachio, -rosemary, lavender, and other odorous plants and leaves. Perico -brought these things from the field with all the pleasure of a lover -bringing flowers to his bride. - -On Christmas day, Perico heard mass early, and went to take a walk to -his wheat-field, having been told that there were goats in the -neighborhood. - -He returned home about ten o'clock, and found the children alone. - -"How glad we are, father, that you have come," they shouted, running -joyfully toward him. "They have all gone and left us." - -"Where then are Mamma Anna, and Aunt Elvira?" - -"They went to high mass." - -"Who staid with you?" - -"Mother." - -"And where is she?" - -"How do we know? We were in the parlor with her grace, dancing before -the birth-place. Ventura came in, and mother told us to go somewhere -else with the music, for it made her head ache, and when we were going -out Ventura told her, I heard it, father, that she did right to put -the door between, for the little angels of God were the devil's little -witnesses. Is it true, father, are we the devil's little witnesses?" - -To whom has it not happened, at some time in his life, in great or in -less important circumstances, that a single word has been the key to -open and explain; the torch to illuminate the present and the past; to -bring out of oblivion and light up a train of circumstances and -incidents which had transpired unperceived, but which now unite, to -form an opinion, to fix a conviction or to root a belief? Such was the -effect upon Perico of the words, which the decree of expiation seemed -to have put into the mouth of innocence. - -Late, but terrible, the truth presented itself to the eyes which good -faith had kept closed, and doubt took possession of the heart so -healthy and so shielded by honor that a suspicion had never entered -it. - -"Father, father!" cried the children, seeing him tremble and turn -pale. Perico did not hear them. - -"Mamma Anna," they exclaimed, as the latter entered, "hurry, father is -sick!" - -{673} - -As he heard his mother enter, Perico turned his perplexed eyes toward -her, and seemed to read again in her severe countenance the terrible -sentence she had once pronounced upon a future from which her loving -foresight would have preserved him: "A bad daughter will be a bad -wife." Overwhelmed, he rushed out of the house, muttering a pretext -for his flight which no one understood. - -Anna put her head out of the window, and felt relieved as she saw that -he went toward the fields. - -"Could any one have told him that goats have broken into the wheat?" - -"It is very likely, mother; he suspected it yesterday," answered -Elvira. But dinner-time came, and Perico did not appear. - -It was strange, on Christmas day; but to country people, who have no -fixed hours, it was not alarming. - -In the evening Maria arrived at the usual time. - -"Did Ventura not come to the village to-day?" asked Anna. - -"Yes," answered Pedro, "but there is an entertainment, and his friends -carried him off. He has always been so fond of dancing that he would -at any time leave his dinner, for a fandango." - -"And Rita," said Elvira, "was she not at your house. Aunt Maria?" - -"She came there, my daughter, but wanted to go with a neighbor to the -entertainment. I told her she had better stay at home, but as she -never minds me--" - -"And you told her right, Maria," added Pedro, "an honest woman's place -is in the house." - -They were oppressed and silent when Perico abruptly entered. - -The light was so deadened by the lamp-shade that they did not perceive -the complete transformation of his face. Dark lines, which appeared -the effect of long days of sickness, encircled his burning eyes, and -his lips were red and parched like those of a person in a fever. He -threw a rapid glance around, and abruptly asked, "Where is Rita?" - -All remained silent; at length Maria said timidly, - -"My son, she went for a little while to the feast with a neighbor--she -must be here soon--she took it into her head--and as it was Christmas -day--" - -Without answering a word, Perico turned suddenly, and left the room. -His mother rose quickly and followed, but did not overtake him. - -"I tell you, Maria," said Pedro, "that Perico ought to beat her well. -I would not say a word to stop him." - -"Don't talk so, Pedro," answered Maria, "Perico is not the one to -strike a woman. My poor little girl! we shall see. What harm is there -in giving two or three hops? Old folks, Pedro, should not forget that -they have been young." - -At this moment Anna entered, trembling. - -"Pedro," she said, "go to the feast!" - -"I?" answered Pedro; "you are cool! I am out of all patience with that -same feast. If Perico warms his wife's ribs, he will be well employed; -she shall not dry her tears upon my pocket-handkerchief." - -"Pedro, go to the feast!" said Anna again, but this time with such an -accent of distress, that Pedro turned his head and sat staring at her. - -Anna caught him by the arm, obliged him to rise, drew him aside, and -spoke a few rapid words to him in a low voice. - -The old man as he listened gave a half-suppressed cry, clasped his -hands across his forehead, caught up his hat and hastily left the -house. - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -Ventura and Rita were dancing at the feast, animated by that which -mounts to heads wanting in age or wanting in sense; by that which -blinds the eyes of reason, silences prudence, and puts respect to -flight; that is to say, wine; a love entirely material, a voluptuous -dance, executed without restraint, amid foolish drunken applauses. - -{674} - -In truth they were a comely pair. Rita moved her charming head, -adorned with flowers, and tossed her person to and fro with that -inimitable grace of her province, which is at will modest or free. Her -black eyes shone like polished jet, and her fingers agitated the -castanets in defiant provocation. She had in Ventura a partner well -suited to her. Never was the fandango danced with more grace and -sprightliness. - -The excited singers improvised (according to custom) couplets in -praise of the brilliant pair: - - "Throw roses, red roses, - The belle of the ball, - For her beauty and grace - She merits them all - And to-night in the feast, - By public acclaim. - To her and Ventura - Is given the palm." - -During the last changes when the clappings and cheers were redoubled, -Perico arrived and stopped upon the threshold. - -Occupied as all were with the dance, no one noticed his arrival, and -Ventura conducting Rita to a room where there were refreshments passed -close beside him as he stood in shadow, without being aware of his -presence. As they passed he heard words between them which confirmed -the whole extent of his misfortune; all the infamy of the wife he -loved so fondly, of the mother of his children; all the treachery of a -friend and brother. - -The blow was so terrible that the unhappy man remained for a moment -stunned; but recovering himself, he followed them. - -Rita stood before a small mirror arranging the flowers that adorned -her head. - -"Withered," said Ventura, "why do you put on roses? Is it not known -that they always die of envy on the head of a handsome woman?" - -"Look here, Ventura," said one of his friends, "you appear to like the -forbidden fruit better than any other." - -"I," responded Ventura, "like good fruit though it be forbidden." - -"That is an indignity," said a friend of Perico's. - -One of those present took the speaker by the arm, and said to him, as -he drew him aside. - -"Hush, man! don't you see that he is drunk? Who gave you a candle for -this funeral? What is it to you if Perico, who is the one interested, -consents?" - -"Who dares to say that Perico Alvareda consents to an indignity?" said -the latter presenting himself in the middle of the room, as pale as if -risen from a bier. - -At the sound of her husband's voice, Rita slid like a serpent among -the bystanders and disappeared. - -"He comes in good time to look after his wife," said some hair-brained -youths, who formed a sort of retinue to the brilliant dancer and -valiant young soldier, bursting into a laugh. - -"Sirs," said Perico, crossing his arms upon his breast with a look of -suppressed rage, "have I a monkey show in my face?" - -"That or something else which provokes laughter," answered Ventura, at -which all laughed. - -"It is lucky for you," retorted Perico, in a choked voice, "that I am -not armed." - -"Shut your mouth!" exclaimed Ventura, with a rude laugh. "How bold the -_pet lamb_ is getting! Leave off bravado, pious youth; don't be -picking quarrels, but go home and wipe your children's noses." - -At these words Perico precipitated himself upon Ventura. The latter -recoiled before the sudden shock, but immediately recovered himself, -and with the strength and agility which were natural to him, seized -Perico by the middle, threw him to the ground, and put his knee upon -his breast. - -Fortunately Perico did not carry a knife, and Ventura did not draw -his; but instead the latter clenched both hands upon Perico's throat, -repeating furiously: - -{675} - -"You! You! that I can tear to pieces with three fingers; do you lay -your hands upon me? You! a killer of locusts, a coward, a chicken, -brought up under your mother's wing. You to me! to me!" - -At this instant Pedro entered. - -"Ventura!" he shouted, "Ventura! What are you doing? what are you -doing, madman?" - -At the sight of his father, Ventura loosed his grasp upon Perico and -stood up. - -"You are drunk," continued Pedro, beside himself with indignation and -grief. "You are drunk, and with evil wine. [Footnote 172] Go home," -he added pushing Ventura by the shoulder, "go home, and go on before -me." - - [Footnote 172: "Drunk with evil wine," said when the drunken person - is ill-tempered.] - -Ventura obeyed without answering, for with Pedro's words, it was not -alone the voice of his father that reached his ears, it was the voice -of reason, of conscience, of his own heart. His noble instincts were -awakened, and he blushed for the affair which had just taken place, -and for the cause which had occasioned it. Therefore he lowered his -head as in the presence of all he respected, and went out, followed by -his father. - -In the mean while they had raised Perico, who was gradually recovering -from the vertigo caused by the pressure of Ventura's fingers. - -He passed his hand across his forehead, cast upon those who surrounded -him the glance of a wounded and manacled lion, and left the room, -saying in a hollow voice, - -"He has destroyed us both." - -As Ventura had gone, accompanied by his father, those present allowed -Perico to leave without opposition. - -"This is not the end," said one, shaking his head. - -"That is clear," said another. "First deceived, and afterward beaten; -who is the saint that could bear it?" - -Perico went home muttering in disjointed and broken -sentences--"Chicken!" "Coward!" "Something in my face which provokes -laughter!" "And he tells me so, he!" "Pet lamb!" "No one cast a doubt -upon my honor until you spat upon it and trampled it under your feet! -Oh! we shall see!" He entered his room and seized his gun. - -"Father!" called the little voice of Angela from the next apartment, -"father, we are alone." - -"You will be yet more alone," murmured Perico, without answering her. - -The children's voices kept on calling "Father, father!" - -"You have no father!" shouted Perico, and went out into the court. He -placed his gun against the trunk of the orange-tree, in order to take -out ammunition to load it, but, as if the ancient protector of the -family repulsed the weapon, it slid and fell to the ground. The leaves -of the tree murmured mournfully. Were they moved by some dismal -presentiment? - -Perico was leaving the court when he found himself face to face with -his mother, who, made watchful by her inquietude, had heard her son -enter. - -"Where are you going, Perico?" she asked. - -"To the field. I have told you already that there were goats around." - -"Did you go to the feast?" - -"Yes." - -"And Rita?" - -"Was not there. Mamma Maria dotes." - -Anna breathed more freely; still, the unusual roughness of her son's -tone and the asperity of his replies surprised the already alarmed -mother. - -"Don't go now to the field, my child," she said in a supplicating -voice. - -"Not go to the field, and why?" - -"Because I feel in my heart that you ought not, and you know that my -heart is true." - -"_Yes, I know it_!" he answered, with such acerbity and bitterness -that Anna began to fear that although he might not have found Rita at -the feast, he had, nevertheless, his suspicions. - -"Well, then, since you know it, do not go," she said. - -{676} - -"Madam," answered Perico, "women sometimes exasperate men by trying to -govern them. They say that I have been brought up _under your wing_. I -intend now to fly alone," and he went toward the gate. - -"Is this my son?" cried the poor mother. "Something is the matter with -him! Something is wrong!" - -As Perico opened the gate, his faithful companion, the good Melampo, -came to his side. - -"Go back!" said Perico, giving him a kick. - -The poor animal, little used to ill treatment, fell back astonished, -but immediately, and with that absence of resentment which makes the -dog a model of abnegation in his affection, as well as of fidelity, -darted to the gate in order to follow his master. It was already shut. -Then he began to howl mournfully, as if to prove the truth of the -instinct of these animals when they announce a catastrophe by their -lamentations. - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -On the following day, when sleep had dispelled from Ventura's brain -the remaining fumes that confused his reason, he rose as deeply -ashamed as he was sincerely penitent. He, therefore, listened to the -just and sensible charges which his father made against his -proceedings, past and present, without contradicting them. - -"All you say is true, father," he answered, "and I can only tell you -that I did not know what I was doing, but I feel it enough now! The -wine, the cursed wine! I will ask Perico's pardon before all the -village. I owe it more to myself than even to him I have offended." - -"You promise, then, to ask his pardon?" - -"A hundred times, father." - -"You will marry Elvira?" - -"With all my heart." - -"And treat her well?" - -"By this cross," said Ventura making the sign with his fingers. - -"You and she will go to Alcalá?" - -"Yes, sir, if it were to Peñon." [Footnote 173] - - [Footnote 173: Gibraltar, in other words, to the end of the world.] - -Pedro looked at him a moment with deep emotion, and said: - -"Well, then, God bless you, my son." - -Both went to Anna's in search of Perico, but he had gone out, Anna -told them. At sight of them, but still more on noticing the joy and -satisfaction which shone in Pedro's face, Anna's vague but distressing -fears were tranquillized, and, more than all, Ventura's manner filled -her with hope, for she saw that he approached Elvira and talked to her -with interest and tenderness, while Pedro said, with a mysterious air -and winking toward Ventura, "That young fellow is in a hurry to be -married. You mustn't take so long to prepare the wedding things, -neighbor; young people are not so sluggish as we old ones." - -They soon left, Ventura for the hacienda at which he was employed; -Pedro, who was going to his wheat-field, accompanied him, their road -being the same. The wheat was very fine, not full of weeds. - -"The weeds are awake," said Ventura. - -"Give them time," replied Pedro, "and they will vanquish the wheat, -because they are the legitimate offspring of the soil. The wheat is -its foster child. But, with the favor of God, wheat will not be -lacking in the house for us and for more that may come." - -They separated and Ventura disappeared in the olive-grove. Pedro -remained looking after him. - -"Not even a king," he said to himself, "has a son like mine. Nor is -there his equal in all Spain. If he is noble in person, he is more -noble in soul." - -Ventura had advanced but few steps into the grove when he saw Perico -at a little distance, coming from behind a tree with his gun. - -{677} - -"I have something in my face, thanks to you," he shouted, "that -provokes laughter. I have also something in my hand that stops -laughter. I am a coward and a killer of locusts, but I know how to rid -myself of the reproach you have put upon me." - -"Perico, what are you doing?" cried Ventura, running toward him to -arrest the action. But the shot had been sent on its dreadful errand, -and Ventura fell mortally wounded. Pedro heard the report and started. - -"What is that?" he exclaimed, "but what would it be?" he added upon -reflection. "Ventura has perhaps shot a partridge. It sounded near. I -will go and see." - -He hurriedly follows the path his son has taken, sees a form lying -upon the ground; approaches it--God of earth and heaven! It is a -wounded man! and that man is his son! The poor old man falls down -beside him. - -"Father," Ventura says, "I have some strength left; calm yourself and -help me get to the hacienda; it is not far and let them send for a -confessor, for I wish to die like a Christian." - -The God of pity gives strength to the poor old man. He raises his son, -who, leaning upon his shoulder walks a few steps, repressing the -groans which anguish wrings from his breast. - -At the hacienda, they hear a pitiful voice calling for succor; all run -out and see, coming along the path, the unfortunate father supporting -upon his shoulder his dying son. They meet and surround them. - -"A priest! a priest!" moans the exhausted voice of Ventura. - -A suitable person, mounted on the fleetest horse, leaves for the -village. - -"The surgeon, bring the surgeon!" calls the father. - -"And the magistrate!" adds the superintendent. - -In this manner passes an hour of agony and dread. - -But now they hear the swift approach of horses' feet, and the -messenger comes accompanied by the priest. The aid which arrives first -is that of religion. - -The priest enters, carrying in his bosom the sacred host. All -prostrate themselves. The wretched father finds relief in tears. - -They leave the priest with the dying man, and through the house, -broken only by the sobs of Pedro, reigns a solemn silence. - -The minister of God comes out of the room. A sweet calm has spread -itself over the face of the reconciled. The surgeon enters, probes the -wound, and turns silently with a sad movement of his head toward those -who are standing by. Pedro awaiting, with hands convulsively clasped, -the sentence of the man of science, falls to the floor, and they carry -him away. - -"Sir magistrate," the surgeon says, "he is not capable of making a -declaration, he is dying." - -These words rouse Ventura. With that energy which is natural to him, -he opens his eyes and says distinctly: "Ask, for I can still answer." - -The scribe prepares his materials and the magistrate asks: - -"What has been the cause of your death?" - -"I myself," distinctly replied Ventura. - -"Who shot you?" - -"One whom I have forgiven." - -"You then forgive your murderer?" - -"Before God and man." - -These were his last words. - -The priest presses his hand and says, "Let us recite the creed." All -kneel, and the guardian angel embraces as a sister, even before -hearing the divine sentence, the parting soul of him who died -forgiving his murderer. - -{678} - -CHAPTER XV. - -The women were together in Anna's parlor, and although not one of -them, except Rita, knew of the events of the night before, they sat in -oppressive silence, for even Maria was wanting in her accustomed -loquacity. - -"I don't know why," she said at last, "nor what is the matter with me, -but my heart to-day feels as though it could not stay in its place." - -"It is the same with me," said Elvira, "I cannot breathe freely. I -feel as if a stone lay on my heart. Perhaps it is the air. Is it going -to rain, Aunt Maria?" - -"My poor child," thought Anna, "the remedy comes too late. Earth is -calling her body and heaven her soul." - -"Well, I feel just as usual," said Rita, who was in reality the one -that could hardly sit still for uneasiness. - -Angela had made her a rag baby, which she was rocking in a hollow tile -by way of cradle, and the painful silence which followed these few -words was only broken by the gentle voice of the little girl as she -sung, in the sweet and monotonous nursery melody to which some mothers -lend such simple enchantment, and such infinite tenderness, these -words: - - "I hold thee in my arms, - And never cease to think. - What would become of thee, my angel, - If I should be taken from thee. - The little angels of heaven--" - -The childish song was interrupted by a heavy solemn stroke of the -church bell. Its vibration died away in the air slowly and gradually, -as if mounting to other regions. - -"_His Majesty!_" said all, rising to their feet. - -Anna prayed aloud for the one who was about to receive the last -sacraments. - -"For whom can it be?" said Maria. "I do not know of any one that is -dangerously sick in the place." - -Rita looked out of the window and asked of a woman that was passing, -who was the sick person? - -"I do not know," she answered, "but it is some one out of the -village." - -Another woman cried as she approached, "Mercy! it is a murder, for the -magistrate and the surgeon have followed the priest as fast as they -could!" - -"God help him!" they all exclaimed, with that profound and terrible -emotion which is excited by those awful words, a murder! - -"And who can it be?" asked Rita. - -"No one knows," answered the woman. - -Then the bell tolled for the passing soul; solemn stroke; stroke of -awe; voice of the church, which announces to men that a brother is -striving in weariness, anguish, and dismay, and is going to appear -before the dread tribunal--momentous voice, by which the church says -to the restless multitude, deep in frivolous interests which it deems -important, and in fleeting passions which it dreams will be eternal: -Stand still a moment in respect for death, in consideration of your -fellow-being who is about to disappear from the earth, as you will -disappear tomorrow. - -They remained plunged in silence, but nevertheless deeply moved, as -happens sometimes with the sea, when its surface is calm, but its -bosom heaves with those deep interior waves which sailors call a -ground-swell. - -And not they alone. The whole village was in consternation, for death -by the hand of violence always appalls, since the curse which God -pronounced upon Cain continues, and will continue, in undiminished -solemnity throughout all generations. - -"How long the time is!" said Maria, at length. "It seems as if the day -stood still." - -"And as if the sun were nailed in the sky," added Elvira. "Suspense is -so painful. Perhaps robbers have done it." - -"It may have been unintentional," answered Maria. - -"Mamma Anna, who has killed a man, and what made him do it?" asked the -little Angela. - -"Who can tell," replied Anna, "what is the cause, or whose the daring -hand that has anticipated that of God in extinguishing a torch which -he lighted." - -{679} - -At that instant they heard a distant rumor. People moved by curiosity -are running through the street, and confused exclamations of -astonishment and pity reach their ears. - -"What is it?" asked Rita, approaching the window. - -"They are bringing the dead man this way," was the answer. - -Elvira felt herself irresistibly impelled to look out. - -"Come away, Elvira," said her mother, "you know that you cannot bear -the sight of a corpse." - -Elvira did not hear her, for the crowd, that drawn by curiosity, -sympathy, or friendship, had surrounded the body and its attendants, -was coming near. Anna and Maria, also placed themselves at the -grating. The corpse approached, lying across a horse and covered with -a sheet. An old man follows it, supported by two persons. His head is -bowed upon his breast. They look at him--merciful God! it is Pedro! -and they utter a simultaneous cry. - -Pedro hears it, lifts his head and sees Rita. Despair and indignation -give him strength. He frees himself violently from the arms that -sustain him, and precipitates himself toward the horse, exclaiming: -"Look at your work, heartless woman! Perico killed him." Saying this, -he lifts the sheet and exposes the body of Ventura, pale, bloody, and -with a deep wound in the breast. - ------- - -From the Dublin University Magazine. - -IRISH FOLK BOOKS OF THE LAST CENTURY. - - -In the eighteenth century Ireland did not possess the boon of -Commissioners to prepare useful and interesting school books. However, -as the mass of the peasantry wished to give their children the only -education they could command, namely, that afforded by the hedge -schools, and as young and old liked reading stories and popular -histories, or at least hearing them read, some Dublin, Cork, and -Limerick printers assumed the duties neglected by senators, and -published "Primers," "Reading-made-easie's," "Child's-new-play-thing," -and the widely diffused "Universal Spelling Book" of the magisterial -Daniel Fenning, for mere educational purposes. These were "adorned -with cuts," but the transition from stage to stage was too abrupt, and -the concluding portions of the early books were as difficult as that -of the "Universal Spelling Book" itself, which the author, in order to -render it less practically useful, had encumbered with a dry and -difficult grammar placed in the centre of the volume. - -Two Dublin publishers, Pat. Wogan, of Merchants' quay, and William -Jones, 75 Thomas street, were the educational and miscellaneous -Alduses of the day, and considered themselves as lights burning in a -dark place for the literary guidance of their countrymen and -countrywomen, of the shop-keeping, farmer, and peasant classes. In the -frontispiece of some editions of the spelling-book grew the tree of -knowledge, laden with fruit, each marked with some letter, and ardent -climbers plucking away. Beneath was placed this inscription: - - "The tree of knowledge here you see. - The fruit of which is A, B, C. - But if you neglect it like idle drones, - You'll not be respected by William Jones." - -{680} - -That portion of the work containing "spells" and explanations was -thoroughly studied by the pupils. The long class was arranged in line -in the evening, every one contributed a brass pin, and the boy or girl -found best in the lesson, and most successful at the hard "spells" -given him or her by the others, and most adroit in defeating them at -the same exercise, got all the pins except two, the portion of the -second in rank, (_the queen_,) and one, the perquisite of the third, -(_the prince_.) - -Every neighborhood was searched carefully for any stray copies of -Entick's or Sheridan's small square dictionaries, (pronounced -_Dixhenry's_ by the eager students,) for hard spells and difficult -explanations to aid them in their evening tournaments. - -The grave Mr. Fenning was censuruble for admitting into some editions -the following jest (probably imported from Joe Miller) among his -edifying fables and narratives: - - "A gay young fellow once asked a parson for a guinea, but was - stiffly refused. 'Then,' said he, give me at least a crown.' 'I - will not give thee a farthing,' answered the clergyman. 'Well, - father,' said the rake, 'let me have your blessing at all events.' - 'Oh I yes: kneel down, my son, and receive it with humility.' 'Nay,' - said the other, 'I will not accept it, for were it worth a farthing - you would not have offered it.'" - -We cannot, however, quit the school-books without mention of the -really valuable treatise on arithmetic, composed by Elias Vorster, a -Dutchman naturalized in Cork, and subsequently improved by John Gough, -of Meath street, one of the society of Friends. "Book-keeping by -Double Entry," written by Dowling and Jackson, was so judiciously -arranged that it is still looked on as a standard work. - -The same followers _longo intervallo_ of Stephens and Elzevir -published, besides prayer and other devout books, a series of stories -and histories, and literary treatises such as they were, printed with -worn type, on bad grey paper, cheaply bound in sheep-skin, and sold by -the peddlers through the country at a _tester_ (6-1/2d.) each. Of -history, voyages, etc., the peddler's basket was provided with "Hugh -Reilly's History of Ireland," "Adventures of Sir Francis Drake," "The -Battle of Aughrim," and "Siege of Londonderry," (the two latter being -dramas,) "Life and Adventures of James Freney the Robber," "The Irish -Rogues and Rapparees," "The Trojan Wars," and "Troy's Destruction," -"The Life of Baron Trenck," and "The Nine Worthies--Three Jews, Three -Heathens, and Three Christians." - -The fictional department embraced, chiefly in an abridged state, "The -Arabian Nights," "The History of Don Quixote," "Gulliver's Travels," -"Esop's Fables," "Adventures of Robinson Crusoe," "Robin Hood's -Garland," "The Seven Champions of Christendom," "The History of -Valentine and Orson," "The Seven Wise Masters and Mistresses of Rome," -"Royal Fairy Tales," etc., etc. - -In the department of the Belles Lettres may be classed, "Lord -Chesterfield's Letters to his Son," "The Academy of Compliments," "The -Fashionable Letter Writer," "Hocus Pocus, or the Whole Art of -Legerdemain," "Joe Miller's Jest Book," etc. - -The list would not be complete without mention of the books of -ballads. These were sold in sheets, each forming 8 pages, 18mo, and -adorned with cuts, never germain to the ballads they illustrated. Some -of these sheets contained only one production, the "Yarmouth Tragedy," -or some early English ballad sadly disfigured. One related how a -"servant-man" was accused by an envious liveried brother, of being a -confirmed card-player. On being examined he obtained a complete -victory over the informer, convincing his master that what he, the -master, called cards, was to him a prayer-book, a catechism, a -calendar, and what not. The different numbers reminded him of the six -days of the creation, the seven churches of Asia, the ten -commandments, the twelve Apostles, etc. The {681} king recalled to him -the duty he owed that supreme magistrate, the ace of hearts, the love -due to God and our neighbor. "How, is it," said the master, "that you -have always passed over the knave in your reckoning?" "Ah! I wished to -speak no ill of that crooked disciple that went to backbite me to your -honor." The reader anticipates the victory of the ingenious rogue. - -The purchasers of these sheets sewed them as well as they could in a -book form, but they were so thumbed and abused, that it is at this -date nearly impossible to procure one of those repertories of song -printed toward the close of the last or the beginning of the present -century. - -Of all these works that we delight in most at present, (it was not so -when we were young,) is the unmatched "Academy of Compliments," which -was the favorite of boys and girls just beginning to think of -marriage, or its charming preliminary, courtship. Very feelingly did -the writer in his preface insist on the necessity of eloquence. "Even -quick and attractive wit," as he thoughtfully observed, "is often -foiled for want of words, and makes a man or woman seem a _statute_ or -one dumb." He candidly acknowledges that several treatises like his -have been published, "but he assures the _courteous reader_ that none -have arrived to the perfection of this, for good language and -diversion." - -This is the receipt for accosting a lady, and entering into -conversation; with her: - - "I believe Nature brought you forth to be a scourge to lovers, for - she hath been so prodigal of her favor toward you, that it renders - you as admirable as you are amiable." - -Another form: - - "Your presence is so dear to me, your conversation so _honest_, and - your humour so pleasing, that I could desire to be with you - perpetually." - -The author directs a slight departure from this form, in case the -gentleman has never seen the lady before, and yet has fallen -passionately in love with her. - - "If you accuse me of temerity, you must lay your own beauty in - fault, with which I am so taken, that my heart is ravished from me, - and wholly subjected to you." - -Decent people would scarcely thank us for troubling them with many of -the "witty questions and answers for the improvement of conversation." -A few must be quoted, however, with discreet selection. - - "Q. What said the tiler to the man when he fell through the rafters - of his house? - - "A. Well done, faith; I like such an assistant as thou art, who can - go through his work so quickly. - - "Q. What said the tailor's boy to the gentleman who, on his - presenting his bill, said tartly, he was not running away? - - "A. If you are not, sir, I am sorry to say my master is. - - "Q. Why is a soldier said to be of such great antiquity? - - "A. Because he keeps up the old fashions when the first bed was upon - the bare ground." - - -THE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM. - -It may appear strange that "The Battle of Aughrim," written by an -adherent to the Hanoverian succession, should so long have continued a -popular volume among the Roman Catholic peasantry. This has, perhaps, -been due to the respectful style in which the author treated the -officers of Irish extraction. All his contempt and dislike were -levelled at St. Ruth, the French General, and his masters, English -James and French Louis. Though the style of the rhymed play is turgid -enough, there are in it occasional passages of considerable vigor and -beauty, and a brisk movement in the conduct of the piece; and -sentimental youth have an opportunity of shedding a tear over the ill -starred love of _Godfrey_ and _Jemima_. It was scarcely fair of the -author to represent St. Ruth as a stabber in cold blood, but hear the -moving periods he makes Sarsfield utter: - - "O heavens! can nature bear the shocking sound - Of death or slavery on our native ground. - Why was I nurtured of a noble race, - And taught to stare destruction in the face? - Why was I not laid out a useless _scrub_, - And formed for some poor hungry peasant's cub. - To hedge and ditch, and with unwearied toil - To cultivate for grain a fertile soil, - To watch my flocks, and range my pastures through, - With all my locks wet with the morning dew, - Rather than being great, give up my fame, - And lose the ground I never can regain?" - -{682} - -Those Irishmen, who, like ourselves, have read and enjoyed this drama -in early boyhood, before the birth of the critical faculty, will find -it out of their power to divest themselves of early impressions when -endeavoring to form a just estimate of its merits. We vainly strive to -forget the image of a comely and intelligent country housewife, -spiritedly reciting the interview of the Irish and English officers -after the day was decided, and bravely holding out the tongs at the -point where Sarsfield presents his weapon. Talmash, Mackay, and Sir -Charles Godfrey confront the Irish chiefs, Dorrington, O'Neil, and -Sarsfield, and Talmash courteously addresses them. - - "Take quarters, gentlemen, and yield on sight. - Or otherwise prepare to stand the fight. - Yet pray, take pity on yourselves and yield. - For blood enough has stained the sanguine field. - 'Tis Britain's glory, you yourselves can tell, - To use the vanquished hospitably well. - - _Sarsfield--_ Urge not a thought, proud victor, if you dare. - So far beneath the dignity of war. - I am a peer, and Sarsfield is my name. - And where this sword can reach I dare maintain. - Life I contemn, and death I recommend; - He breathes not vital air who'd make me bend - My neck to bondage, so, proud foe, decline - The length of this, (_extending his sword_,) because the spot is mine. - - _Talmash_.--If you are Sarsfield, as you bravely show, - You're that brave hero whom I longed to know, - And wished to thank you on the reeking plain - For that great feat of blowing up our train. - Then mark, my lord, for what I here contend; - 'Tis Britain's holy church I now defend. - Great William's right, and Mary's crown, these three. - - _Sarsfield_.--Why, then fall on--Louis and James for me. (_They fight_.) - -Sarsfield's declaration ends the animated discussion rather lamely; -but what poet has maintained a uniform grandeur or dignity? The writer -was a certain Robert Ashton. The play when printed was dedicated, -circa 1756, to Lord Carteret, and if peasant tradition can be trusted, -it was only acted once. The Jacobite and Hanoverian gentlemen in the -pit drew their swords on one another, probably at the scene just -quoted, and bloodshed ensued. This is not confirmed by the written -annals of the time. - -"The Siege of Londonderry" was, and still is bound up with "The Battle -of Aughrim," but there is nothing whatever in it to recommend it to -the sympathies of the populace. There is nothing but mismanagement and -bad feeling on the part of the native officers from beginning to end; -and if fear or disloyalty shows itself in one of the besieged, his -very wife cudgels him for it. - -There is something very naïve and old-fashioned in the observation -inserted at the end of the list of the _dramatis personae:_ - -"Cartel agreed upon--No exchange of prisoners, but hang and quarter on -both sides." - - -DON BELLIANIS OF GREECE; OR THE HONOR OF CHIVALRY. - -The re-perusal of portions of this early favorite of ours has not been -attended with much pleasure or edification. There is a sad want of -style, accompanied by a complete disregard of syntax, orthography, and -punctuation. The objects to be attained are so many and so useless, -one adventure branches off into so many others, and there arc so many -knights and giants to be overcome, and emperors so carelessly leave -their empresses in the dark woods exposed to so many dangers, while -they go themselves to achieve some new and futile exploit that the -narrative has scarcely more continuity and consistence than a dream. - -The author had ten times as many separate sets of adventures to -conduct simultaneously as ever had the estimable G. P. R. James. So he -was frequently obliged to suspend one series, and take up another, a -mode of composition which all novelists who read this article, are -advised to eschew. Leaving Don Bellianis investing the emperor of -Trebizond, who stoutly disputed the possession of the fair -Florisbella's hand with him, he proceeds to tell what happened at the -joustings of Antioch in consequence of the happy union of Don Brianel -and the peerless Aurora. Thither came {683} Peter, the knight of the -Keys, from Ireland. He was son to the king of Monster, and, being -anxious to seek foreign adventures, embarked at _Carlingford_, and -performed prodigies of valor in Britain and France, and then sailed -for Constantinople. Being within sight of that city, a storm forced -his ship away and drove it to Sardinia, where Peter won the heart of -the fair princess, Magdalena, by his success in the tournament, and -his beauty of features when he removed his helmet after the exercise. -The princess has a claim upon our indulgence, for as the text has it, -"he looked like Mars and Venus together." The knights of those happy -times being as distinguished for modesty as courage, the princess ran -no risk in desiring an interview with the peerless Peter, and they -vowed constancy to each other till death. - -A neighboring king demanding the hand of the lady for his son, the -lovers decamp, and find themselves on a strange island in a day or -two. Peter having given the princess a red purse containing some -jewels, she happened to let it fall by her, and it was at once picked -up by a vulture, on the supposition of its being a piece of raw meat. -Flying with it to a tree overhanging the river, and finding his -mistake, he dropped it into the water, and there it lay on the sandy -bottom in sight of the lovers. - -The knight, arming himself with a long bough, and getting into the -boat, would have fished up the purse, only for the circumstance of -being unprovided with oars. The tide having turned, he was carried out -to sea, and by the time he had got rid of his armor he was nearly out -of sight of the poor princess, now left shrieking behind, who was -conveyed away after a day and a night's suffering, in a ship bound for -Ireland, where she took refuge in a nunnery, and in time became its -superioress. This was near the palace of her lover's parents, and to -match this strange coincidence by another equally strange, their cook, -one day preparing a codfish for dinner, discovered within it the -identical purse of jewels carried away by their son, and lost in the -manner described in the distant Mediterranean. They gave him up then -for lost, but he was merely searching through the world for his -mistress, jousting at Antioch, killing a stray giant here or there, -and rescuing from the stake at Windsor an innocent countess accused of -a _faux pas_--all these merely to keep his hand in practice. Don -Clarineo with whom he had fraternized at Antioch is also engaged on -the same quest, and comes to Ireland in the course of his rambles. In -that early time Owen Roe O'Neill was chief king, MacGuire, father of -Peter, was king of Munster as before stated, Owen Con O'Neill and Owen -MacO'Brien ruled two of the other provinces, but the territory claimed -by each is not pointed out. The compiler was probably not well up in -the old chronicles; he would else have given O'Brien the territory of -Munster, and settled MacGuire somewhere near Loch Erin. - -Be that as it may, the reigning king of Ulster refusing his fair -daughter to the prince of Connaught, was minded to bestow her on the -terrible giant Fluerston, whose inhospitable abode was in the -mountains of Carlingford. The father of the rejected prince determined -to resist this "family compact," sent out knights and squires to -impress every knight errant they met into his service. Being rather -more earnest than polite on meeting with Don Clarineo, he slew about a -score of them, and after he succeeded in learning their business with -him he was inclined to slay another score for their stupidity in not -being more explicit at the beginning, whereas he would have devoted -ten lives if he had them to the cause of prince _versus_ giant. - -Having easily massacred the Carlingford ogre, he began to bestir -himself in his quest for the lost princess, and so quitted the -Connaught court which according to our author was held at that era in -Dublin, and his {684} loyalty was suitably rewarded in discovering his -own true love. - -It was originally written in Spanish, and part translated into French -by Claude de Beuil, and published by Du Bray, Paris, 1625 in an 8vo. - - -THE NEW HISTORY OF THE TROJAN WARRIORS AND TROY'S DESTRUCTION. - -The compiler of this _Burton_ did not share in Homer's excusable -prejudices in favor of his countrymen; he was a Trojan to the -backbone. This might be excused in compliment to the noble and -patriotic Hector, but he disturbs commonly received notions of family -relationship among the ancients, a thing not to be pardoned. - -After proposing the true histories of Hercules, Theseus, the -destruction of Ilion, and other equally authentic facts, he proceeds -to relate-- - - "How Brute, King of the Trojans, arrived in Britain, and conquered - Albion and his giants, building a new Troy where London now stands, - in memory of which the effigies of two giants in Guildhall were set - up, with many other remarkable and very famous passages, to revive - antiquity out of the dust, and give those that shall peruse this - elaborate work, a true knowledge of what passed in ancient times, so - that they may be able readily to discourse of things that had been - obliterated from the memories of most people, and gain a certainty - of the famous deeds of the renowned worthies or the world." - -Our truthful historian then relates with many corrections of the -legendary accounts of the lying Greeks, the histories of Hercules, -Theseus, Orpheus, Jason, and the other Ante-Trojan heroes; and either -through mere whim, or better information, tells us that Proserpine at -the time she was snatched away to hell, was the bride of the enamored -Orpheus, and the wicked King Pluto putting armor on his equally wicked -followers--the giant Cerberus and others--and festal garments over -the armor, carried her away despite the resistance of the bridal -party. Orpheus obtained her, as mentioned by the fabulists, but -looking back, Cerberus, who was close behind arrested her progress, -and the unfortunate husband returned to upper air half-dead. Thereupon -Theseus and Pirithous tried the adventure, but the giant Cerberus slew -the last named, and would have slain Theseus, but Hercules closely -following, gave the giant such a knock of his club as left him lying -in a swoon for some hours. Advancing to the throne of the black -tyrant, he administered another crushing blow on his helm, and leaving -him for dead, conducted the trembling but delighted Proserpine to her -mother and husband in the pleasant vales of Sicily, and "if they -didn't live happy that we may!" As for the traitor Cerberus, he was -presented to Hippodamia, the disconsolate widow of the murdered -Pirithous, who found a melancholy satisfaction in putting him to death -after first subjecting him to well-deserved tortures. - -In the rest of the history of Hercules our compiler does not think it -necessary to depart from the statements of the early writers. He gives -him indeed as second wife, _Joel_, daughter of King Pricus, neither of -whose names we recollect. - -Our authority being keenly alive to the injustice done by Homer to the -Trojans, corrects his statements on sundry occasions. Well disposed as -we are to rectify prejudices, he has not convinced us that the knights -on both sides, mounted, armed in plate, and setting their strong -spears in rest, charged each other in full career in the manner of -Cranstoun and William of Deloraine. These are his words: - - "Hector and Achilles advanced in the front of either army, and ran - at each other with great fury with their spears, giving such a shock - as made the earth to tremble, with which Achilles was thrown from - his horse; whereupon the noble Hector scorning to kill a dismounted - man, passed on, making lanes through the enemy's troops, and paving - his way with dead bodies, so that in a fearful manner they fled - before him. - -{685} - - "By this time Achilles being remounted by his Myrmidons, a second - time encountered the victorious Hector, who notwithstanding his - utmost efforts, again bore him to the earth, and went on making a - dreadful havoc as before." - -It is probable that this account of the death of Hector will prove -the least digestible of his emendations to the admirers of the early -Greek poets. The version here given appears to depend on the sole -authority of our compiler, and we do not feel here at liberty to -interpose in the literary quarrel sure to arise on the publication of -this article: - - "Hector, having taken prisoner Menesteus, Duke of Athens, who had on - a curious silver armor, he was conveying him out of the battle when - thinking himself secure, and being overheated with action, he threw - his shield behind him, and left his bosom bare. - - "Achilles, spying this opportunity, ran with all his might his spear - at the breast of the hero, which piercing his armor, entered his - undaunted heart, and he fell down dead to the earth. And this not - satisfying the ungenerous Greek, he fastened his dead body to the - tail of his horse, and dragged him three times round the city of - Troy in revenge for the many foils and disgraces he had received of - him." - -The rest of the narrative corresponds tolerably with the old accounts, -but we have not heart to accompany the author through the burning of -Troy, the adventures of Eneas, and those of Brutus in his descent on -Britain, and his victory over Albion, Gog, and Magog. Besides, the -death of the "Guardian Dog of Troy" has disturbed our equanimity, for -we acknowledge as great an esteem for Hector and as strong a dislike -to the ruthless Achilles, as was ever entertained by the compiler of -the "New History of the Trojan Wars." - -The prejudices of the romancers of the middle and later ages in favor -of the Trojans were probably due to the history of the war supposed to -have been written by Dares, a Phrygian priest mentioned by Homer. It -is in Greek, and the work of some ingenious person of comparatively -recent times. It was translated by Postel into French, and published -in Paris 1553. The first edition in Greek came out at Milan in 1477. -Another spurious book on the same subject in Latin, was attributed to -Dictys, a follower of Idomeneus, King of Crete. The first edition of -it was printed at Mayence, but without date. - - -THE IRISH ROGUES AND RAPPAREES. - -The literary caterers for our peasantry, young and old, hare been -blamed for submitting to their inspection the lives of celebrated -highwaymen, tories, and "rapparees." Without undertaking their defence -we cannot help pointing out a volume appropriated to gentry of the -same class in the _Family Library_ issued by John Murray, whom no one -could for a moment suspect of seeking to corrupt the morals of -families or individuals. We find in Burns' and Lambert's cheap popular -books, another given up to these minions without an apprehension of -demoralization ensuing among the poor or the young who may happen to -read it. So it is probable that J. Cosgrave contemplated no harm to -his generation by publishing his "Irish Rogues and Rapparees." It were -to be wished that the motto selected for his work had either some -attic salt or common-sense to recommend it: - - "Behold here's truth in every page expressed; - O'Darby's all a sham in fiction dressed, - Save what from hence his treacherous master stole, - To serve a knavish turn, and act the fool." - -The reader will please not confound the terms "tory" and "rapparee." -The tories, though that generic for Irish robbers is as old as -Elizabeth, are yet most familiarly known as legacies left us by the -Cromwellian wars, and chiefly consisted of those rascals who, -pretending to assist the parliamentary cause, plundered the mere Irish -farmers, and every one of both sides who had anything worth taking. -They were a detestable fraternity. The rapparees were the Irish -outlaws in the Jacobite and Williamite wars, including many a -scoundrel no doubt, but many also who, while they supported themselves -in outlawry, at the expense of those who in their eyes were -disaffected to the rightful king, yet kept their hands unstained by -{686} vulgar theft or needless bloodshed. Many who at first kept to -the hills and the bogs as mere outlaws, and exacted voluntary and -involuntary black mail for mere support, according as the assessed -folk were Jacobites or Williamites, gradually acquired a taste for the -excitement and license of their exceptional life, and became _bona -fide_ plunderers, preferring (all other things being equal) to wasting -the _Sassenach_ rather than the _Gael_, and that was all. - -Such a gentleman-outlaw was Redmond Count O'Hanlon, who flourished -after the conclusion of the Cromwellian wars. Redmond was worthy of a -place beside Robin Hood and Rob Roy, and has been made the hero of two -stories, one by William Carleton and the other by W. Bernard M'Cabe. - -We now proceed to quote a few of the exploits of those troublesome -individuals of high and low degree, who disturbed their country in the -end of seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth century and -furnished amusement to the peasantry and their children, during the -golden days of the peddlers. - -The great Captain Power of the South travelled northward to meet and -try the skill of Redmond, and they had a shrewd encounter with -broadswords for nearly half an hour, neither gaining a decided -advantage. They swore to befriend each other in all future needs, and, -in consequence, Redmond rescued his brother from the soldiers when -they were conducting him to execution. - -Power coming into Leinster, lodged at the house of a small farmer, -whom he observed to be very dejected all the evening. On inquiry he -found that his landlord and the sheriff were expected to make a -seizure next day for rent and arrears amounting to £60. After some -further discourse, Power offered to lend him the sum on his note of -hand, and the offer was gratefully accepted. Next day the farmer, -after much parleying, acknowledged that he had £60 given him to keep, -and that he would produce it rather than have his little property -distrained, and trust to God's goodness to be enabled to put it -together again. The landlord, after sufficiently abusing him, gave him -a receipt in full, and, parting company with the sheriff's posse, -returned home. In a lonely part of the way, he was set on by Power and -robbed of the £60 and his watch and other valuables. In a day or two -the robber called on the farmer, said he was going away, and the -promissory note would be of no use to him. So he took it out and tore -it in pieces. - -How the unreflecting hearts of the fireside group glow over such -quasi-generous deeds of robbers, and how little they think on the -selfish and abandoned and iniquitous portions of the lives of their -favorites! "Bah! they took from the rich that could afford it, and -gave to the poor that wanted it. Dickens a bit o' me 'ud betray -Redmond O'Hanlon or Captain Power if I got a stocken' o' goold by it." - -Strong John MacPherson is admitted among the Irish worthies by Mr. J. -Cosgrave, though he was more probably a Highlandman. There was much of -the milk of human kindness about strong John. If a horseman would not -lend, (John merely requested a loan,) he never used the ugly words -"stand and deliver," he pulled him off his horse and gave him a -squeeze. If that failed, he carried him away from the highway, giving -the horse his liberty, and rifled him in some quiet nook. Being set on -one night by a crowd in an inn kitchen, he threw the hostess over his -shoulder, and no better shield could be. Making his escape, he laid -her on the ground, set his foot apparently on her body--it was only on -her gown, however--and extorted twenty pieces from her friends before -he released her. - -Strong John was in no instance guilty of murder. He never even struck -but in self-defence, and always betook himself to defence by a woman -when practicable. He met the usual destiny of his tribe about 1678. - -{687} - -Will Peters, born among the romantic scenery of the Slieve Bloom -mountains, might have lived and died a respectable man, or at least -have acquired the fame of a highwayman, had it not been for two -trifling impediments. His father was a receiver of stolen cattle, -which, being commonly kept in a neighboring field, whose owner -remained out of sight, the crime could not be brought home to him. The -other mischance consisted in his staying at school only till he had -mastered "Reynard the Fox." It was the opinion of Mr. J. Cosgrave that -if he had got through "Don Bellianis," the "Seven Champions," and -"Troy's Destruction," he would have arrived at the honors of the -high-road. After a few mistakes in his cattle-stealing apprenticeship, -he became acquainted with the renowned "Charley of the Horse," and -thus made use of him. He was placed in durance for stealing a sorrel -horse with a bald face and one white foot, and committed to Carlow -jail, the horse being intrusted to the care of the jailer. Peters' -_pere_, on hearing of the ugly mistake, revealed the family sorrow to -the great Cahir, and he being fully informed of the marks, color, -etc., of the beast, sent a trusty squire of his to the assize town a -few days before the trial, mounted on a mare with the same marks as -those above noted. The jailer's man took the horse down to the -Barrow's edge every morning to drink, and the agent, making his -acquaintance, invited him to take a glass at a neighboring "shebeen" -the morning before the trial. While they were refreshing themselves, -the squire's double mounted on the mare approached where the horse was -tied outside, substituted his own beast, and rode off on the other. -The refreshed man, on coming out, observed nothing changed, and rode -the new-comer home to the stable. - -The trial coming on, the prosecutor swore home to his property, but -Mr. William Peters said he was as innocent of the theft as the lord -lieutenant. "My lord," said he, "ax him, if you plase, what did I -steal from him." The answer came out that was expected, "a sorrel -horse, such and such marks." "It wasn't a sorrel mare you lost?" "No." -"My lord, will you plase to send for the baste, and if it's a horse, -let me be swung, as high as Gildheroy." The animal was sent for, the -whole court burst into a roar, and Will Peters demanded compensation, -but did not get it. - -Being taken up again he was executed, as far as hanging for fifteen -minutes could effect it. However, being at once taken away by his -people, he was resuscitated. Once more he was seized and conveyed to -Kilmainham, whence he escaped rather than be transported. - -Being at last secured in Kilkenny for running away with a roll of -tobacco from a poor huckster-woman, he was once more placed on the -drop and hung. - -Such were the unedifying subjects presented to the consideration of -the young in Mr. J. Cosgrave's collection. He certainly had no evil in -his mind when composing it, but its moral effect was at best -questionable. It would be a book very ill suited for rustic fire-side -reading in our day. The same may be said of the "Wars of Troy," though -no indication of evil intention is apparent. We subjoin the names of -those books that still continue in print. Why they should still find -buyers seems strange, when such care is expended in supplying useful, -pleasant, and harmless reading for the lower classes. However, any -evil inherent in them is slight compared to that of _some_ of the -London halfpenny and penny journals. The following still form portions -of the peddler's stock: "The Academy of Compliments," "The Arabian -Nights," "The Battle of Aughrim," "Esop," "Gulliver," "O'Reilly's -Ireland," "Hocus Pocus," "Irish Rogues," "James Freney," "Robin Hood's -Garland," "Seven Champions," "Tales of the Fairies," "The Trojan -Wars," "Valentine and Orson," and the "Seven Wise Masters and -Mistresses of Rome," some of them absolutely harmless. - -{688} - -In the whole collection, there was not one volume racy of the Irish -soil, or calculated to excite love of the country, or interest in its -ancient history, or literature, or legends. The eighteenth century was -certainly a dreary one in many respects. Formality, affectation, and -cynicism prevailed in the manners and literature of the upper classes, -and the lower classes were left to their own devices for mental -improvement. It says something for the sense of modesty inherent in -the Celtic character, that there were so few books of a gross or evil -character among their popular literature. - ------- - -Translated from the French. - - - -ASSES, DOGS, CATS, ETC - -I. - -I am not a member of the society for the prevention of cruelty to -animals, but I deserve to be; for no one has praised the worthy -efforts of these gentlemen more than I have; and no one sees with -greater satisfaction, how justice sometimes gets hold of those brutal -drivers who wreak their uncontrolled anger upon their poor steeds, -guilty only of not being able to help themselves. And if, even, in -place of their being condemned to pay a paltry fine, they were paid -back in kind for the undeserved blows which these afflicted animals -receive from their hands, I for one would make not the slightest -objection. - -It would be contrary to the progress and civilization of the -nineteenth century, I agree, but it would not be contrary to justice, -civilized or uncivilized. - -However, who knows how things may turn out? Considering the miseries -and sufferings of those uncomplaining creatures when they are -unfortunate enough to get under the lash of the unfeeling boors who -ought to be in their place, it would not surprise me over much, if it -should turn out that-- - -That--what? - -Wait a moment, I'll tell you. One day, as I happened to be out walking -along a certain road, I noticed an ass tied to a post, around which, -within the full length of his rope, there was not a single blade of -grass to crop. The poor fellow was slabsided, and his skin scraped, -and half tanned by the frequent application of bark on the living -wood; evidently getting few caresses of a softer kind, but enjoying in -the most complete sense of the word, "the right to work." Naturally, I -stopped a moment to bid him good-day and ask after his ass-ship's -health, after which I plucked a fine thistle growing within -tantalizing reach of his rope, and gave it to him. He gobbled it down -with great gusto. - -"How do you like that, my old chap?" said I to him, mechanically. - -"First rate," said he, "hand us another." - -I jumped back in astonishment. - -"What! you can talk, can you, my Bucephalus, and in English too? That -is something new." - -"Not so new as you think, my dear sir, for I will let you into a -little bit of a secret. Ass as I am, and as you see me to be, I was a -man in my time and a butcher by trade. I had an ass that I treated -most scurvily, just as they do me now; giving him his bellyful of -blows and kicks, but of very little {689} else. Poor Jack--that was -his name--kept Lent all the year round, it being in the interest of -my customers, as I often said to myself, to quiet the qualms of -conscience when I gave him but half what he could eat. Let him stuff -himself said I, and he will get fat and lazy, the meat will come late -to the cook, the cook will be late with the dinner, and the hungry -family will lose their temper, and I shall lose their custom, while -good doses of the oil of strap will help his digestion wonderfully, -and keep him lively. However, this last end was not attained, for the -poor ass kicked the traces--professional term, you understand--and -went to the bone-boilers before his time. When it came to my turn to -tie up--again professional--and go off the cart, my soul was -condemned to go into an ass's body to suffer for a certain time the -punishment of retaliation. Drubbing for drubbing, kicks of hobnailed -shoes for kicks of peg boots, I got what I gave, and good measure too, -I assure yon. Do you see that half starved, thin-flanked old horse -over there? Well, he is a companion in misery to me. In his time he -was a hack-driver, and many a time in his fits of anger and -drunkenness, he made an anvil of the backbone or the jaws of his -horses. Only in those times, now and then, you understand, but those -times happened often enough, say once an hour or so, every day. As to -hay and oats, he tried to teach them, but without success, to go -without those articles of luxury. When his turn came to pay up old -debts, his soul was condemned to go into that sorry old carcass, in -which he passes many a miserable quarter of an hour. He is a -ragpicker's property now. How do you like that specimen of 'the -noblest conquest that man has ever made'? As to me, Sawney, at your -service, I think the end of my punishment is not far off. It was given -me to understand that when a benevolent gentleman would offer me a -thistle for friendship's sake, it would end, and it is to you I owe -this act of kindness, my dear Mr. Miller." - -"Good again, you are a wiser ass than I took you for. How do you know -my name, master Sawney?" - -"This way, sir. The other day I chanced to be tied to a post, near a -hedge, on the other side of which, in a meadow, some folks were having -a little picnic on the grass. After a while a tall lady in spectacles -took out some papers and began to read for the company. She seemed to -be reading, from what I could make out, in some magazine or other. I -soon understood that the subject was asses, and then of course I -cocked up my ears to their full height. It was true, it was about us, -abused and misunderstood beasts that we are. The articles read by the -tall lady were so full of kindness, and contained such flattering -remarks upon our species, that it almost brought the tears to my eyes. -The name signed to those articles was Jeremiah Miller. Oh! said I to -myself, that is a man whom one could call a man. There is one at least -who understands us and loves us; I promise myself that if I ever have -the good fortune to meet him I will give him--in lieu of anything -better--my blessing. You see that when you spoke to me just now so -kindly, I said to myself, I wonder if this be not Mr. Jeremiah Miller, -and then I called you by that name, and I see that I have just hit -it." - -"But"--my reader will say "of course you don't tell this story for a -true one! You would never have the face to ask us to believe that this -brayer actually spoke to you?" - -And, pray, why not? But, after all it is possible I fell asleep on a -mossy bank, in a meadow, near where an ass was tied, and that I -dreamed what I have told you. But dreams with the eyes shut are not -always so very unlike the dreams we sometimes have when our eyes are -open. As for myself, whenever I see a poor beast of burden brutally -maltreated by another beast, who strikes and kicks as if he {690} -meant murder, I allow my fancy to be tickled with a vision of this -latter brute obliged to creep into the skin of a horse or ass, and -take his turn at being unjustly whipped, without having any attention -paid to his bray or his neigh of expostulation or defence. You see -that I am in every respect worthy of figuring among the members of the -society for the prevention, etc., etc., but-- - - - -II. - -But--I hold to the great principles of '76, and first of all to that -of equality. If we must have a law for the protection of domestic -animals against the men who torment _them_, I would like to see a law -devised to protect men against the animals who are a pest to poor -humanity, for the shoe sometimes gets on the other foot. - -For example; look at that pack of dogs of all sizes, of all tastes, (I -mean human,) and in every stage of canine civilization, which their -masters permit to run at large in the streets of our city, even in the -worst of the dog days, without counting the free and independent dogs -who know no master but themselves. You have a friend who is a diligent -reader of the chapter of accidents in the daily papers. He tells you -about this or that dog who was seen running mad, that he had bitten -two or three persons, one of whom has since died of hydrophobia, and -adds with a peculiar relish that "the dangerous animal is still at -large!" These gentlemen--I mean the owners of the dogs--are -provokingly careless and indifferent about the muck which their dogs -are running in the midst of a population biteable to any extent. You -are kindly informed that if you happen to get bitten by some -suspicious-looking cur--and what cur is not of a suspicious character -in these days--it will be necessary to squeeze the wound, wash it, -then cauterize it with a red hot iron, or cut it out, and then, etc., -etc. These are most excellent recipes, I have no doubt, but I think I -know of a better, which would be to prevent the bites altogether. - -But, you say, there is the proclamation of his Honor, the Mayor, and -there is the police, etc., etc. Dogs at large are to be muzzled or -held by a chain. Oh! yes; very fine, indeed, when they are. The -proclamation is very good, but since the dog owners pay so little heed -to it, it is not surprising that the dogs themselves pay no more -respect to it than they do to the proclamations of patent medicines -pasted on the lamp-posts or fences. As to the country places outside -of the city, whither we of the heated streets and close shops fly to -get a breath of fresh air, and a moment of repose--there you will see -fat men and thin ladies who never dream, either asleep or awake, of -muzzling their favorite bull-dogs, lap-dogs, pointers, setters, tan -terriers or greyhounds. Muzzle _their_ dogs! that would make the poor -dogs, and their owners too, very uncomfortable. A pretty piece of -impudence indeed for a village constable to presume to carry out the -law against the dog, errant in delicto, which is the property of a Mr. -or a Mrs. or a Miss who is a "somebody," as if they were nobodies. Mr. -Constable knows better than that, and so does Mr. Puffer, the -magistrate. - -Besides, there is a learned doctor of the society for the prevention, -etc., who deplores with astonishment mingled with grief, etc., etc., -that any one should be so inhumane as to gag "man's companion and -friend" for the sake of the prevention of a few despicable cases of -hydrophobia. He has never been bitten by a mad dog, and don't expect -to be. He does not see why anybody else need expect to be. - -Then there are our nurses and the children, whose daily promenade is -embittered by the sight and often the attacks of some Snarleyow. "It -was as good as a play," says Snarleyow's master; "Snarley nearly -frightened them to death, I thought I should die of laughter to see -them {691} scamper. It was great fun for Snarley." Very well, -gentlemen, there is also something which is great fun for me too, and -that is to kick Snarley whenever he presumes to be too "playful" with -me or my particular friends the children. - -Protect your "friends of man" if you will, gentlemen, but don't let -them interfere with my friends, or--- - - - -III. - -Permit me here to make a digression, which is not altogether one; - -Man is defined, a reasonable animal. - -Now the question arises whether woman is included in this definition. -Don't get angry, ladies--the horrid men, you know, are so curious! - - -IV. - -From the friend of man let us pass to the subject of the friend of -woman. And here I find myself face to face with a celebrated document -which produced such a deep, or rather such a lively impression upon -the public, a few weeks since. Who is there in the whole five parts of -the world that has not heard of the noted "cat trial"? That learned -decision and sentence given by Squire Pouter, justice of the peace in -Dullville, is yet ringing in my ears, by which were avenged, as far as -a fine from five cents to a dollar could avenge, a litter of fifteen -cats illegally drowned. Illegally!--that at least was the opinion of -the wise magistrate, who rendered his judgment at great length, and -after his well known comprehensive style, citing his authors, -complimenting the one, and refuting the others, bringing under -contribution the code of Justinian, the English common law, the state -statutes, and the discussions of the Legislature at Albany. In short, -our modern Solon decided as follows: The cat, in its nature, is both a -domestic and wild animal. As a wild animal, it is true, it is lawful -game for the hunter; but, as a domestic animal, it has a right to -live, and is under the august protection of the law. Now, since the -wild part of its nature revolts against captivity, it has a right to -come and go according to its instinctive desire for daily exercise, -and housekeepers are not bound in conscience to make a raid upon them -in their tender feline infancy under pretence that some day or other -they will make a raid upon their pantry. Raids of prevention in the -times of peace are unheard of in the history of the republic. -Therefore they are condemned (the raiders, in the present case, not -the cats) to pay such and such fines, for the benefit of the fifteen -victims, or their heirs or assigns. Yes, indeed, this splendid -judgment made a good deal of noise, and well it might. I, who am -speaking to you reside in my own house, and have no evil intentions -toward any one, but--there are three cats who come each evening from -as many points of the compass for the purpose of making strategic -attacks upon my eatables. Infinite are the precautions that I am -forced to take to save my daily bread from the enemy. I must keep up -an incessant fight, and a running fire, not to speak of the difficulty -I experience in vain attempts to sleep with one eye open and my ear, -which is not on the pillow, on the alert. I will not speak of their -defiant caterwauling and spiteful spitting when they find my -barricades impassable; it is too painful a subject for me to dwell -upon. - -Who are the victims of oppression, most eminent and sage magistrate? -Is civilized man positively to be given over in the name of the -society for the prevention, etc., as a victim to the instincts and -caprices of cats? Not at all, not at all, O illustrious Pouter! I will -see you and the cats--well--some distance, if not further, first. -Bring on your grimalkins, for my soul burns to avenge the rights of -man! - -{692} - -It is not all. Here, for example, next door, lives Miss Lambkin; age -unknown. She, by some unexplained perversion of taste, is keeping -something in her house which is either an old sheep or a middle-aged -goat. This cud-chewer, who lapses into ennui despite the charms of its -mistress, bleats incessantly three times a minute, several thousands -of times in the twenty-four hours. Is such an eternal see-saw of sound -bearable? Is not my life a burden to me? Is not my liberty to think, -to play my violin, to take my usual nap after dinner abridged by the -liberty of Miss Lambkin's detestable foster child? And if I happen to -be sick, or suffering from the tooth-ache or the headache, or -melancholy, or perchance am sentimental, this beast, I suppose, must -not be thwarted in its monotonous sing-song. _Mister_ Pouter, is there -liberty for wolves? for most assuredly I shall soon play the part of -one! - -I have not finished yet. Since the first of May a family has come to -live in the house on the other side of mine. With father, mother and -furniture comes a tall, wasp-waisted damsel who now passes hours, yes, -hours banging upon an aged piano. It is her method of bleating, and it -is full as amusing as the other, if not a little less. Will the -president of the society for the prevention, etc., inform us if there -is any protection for aged pianos? A society for the _protection_ of -men and pianos would find in me one of its most eloquent orators, -diffuse writers, and active members. I would have all wandering Jews -of unmuzzled dogs executed on the spot, knocked on the head or -drowned, at choice. These at least have not the fifty cents in their -pockets to pay for a living release. - -As to the cats, I intend to memorialize the supreme court to declare -the decision of our immortal justice of the peace non-constitutional. -I wish it to be "legal" to kill, drown, or otherwise destroy any cat -or cats found on strange premises, understood, of course that they are -to be buried at the killer's expense, and the government not to be -made liable to pay handsomely for public obsequies with military -procession. - -Bleating goats, or sheep, or parrots, _et tutti quanti_, to be invited -to keep still, and not to speak until spoken to. - -Lastly, as to the piano-bangers, I acknowledge the case is a little -delicate, and any remedy whatsoever has its difficulties. I am not -malicious, and am inclined to the side of resignation and toleration. -For after all, you know, they are ladies, and when you say that, it is -enough. Without association you cannot accomplish anything nowadays; -and where in the world could be found a sufficient number of men to -form a society for their protection against _them_. After that, I do -not see that it is necessary I should say anything further. - - --------- - - -From the Dublin University Magazine - -CAROL FROM CANCIONERO. - -"Vista ciegs, luz occura"--_Cancionero General_. Valencia, 1511. - - - Lightsome darkness, seeing blindness. - Life in death, and grief in gladness, - Cruelty in guise of kindness, - Doubtful laughter, joyful sadness, - Honeyed gall, embittered sweetness, - Peace whose warfare never endeth, - Love, the type of incompleteness, - Proffers joy, but sorrow sendeth. - ------- - -{693} - - -Translated from the French - - -THE PEARL NECKLACE. - - -There lived at Cordova, many years ago, an old Jew who had three -passions: he loved science, he loved gold, he loved his only child, -who bore the sweet name of Rachel. He loved science, not for its own -sake, not because it was the means of the acquisition of truth, but -for himself, that is to say, through pride. - -He loved gold, a little perhaps because it was gold, very much because -it gave him the means of providing luxuries for his darling child, -greatly also because without it he could not have made the costly -experiments necessary in the pursuit of science. - -He loved his daughter alone, with the pure and disinterested, but -passionate tenderness of paternal love. In a word he was a savant, a -father, a Jew. - -His name was Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah, and he practised medicine. He wrought -such wonderful cures that very soon his fame spread throughout Spain, -and from all parts of the kingdom the people came in crowds to consult -him. He received his patients in the afternoon. In the morning he -slept, it was said; but how his nights were passed none knew, and many -were the speculations concerning it. This only was known, that they -were passed in a secret chamber, of which he alone possessed the key, -and it had been observed that this mysterious apartment was sometimes -illuminated with many-colored flames, blue, or red, or green, while a -dense smoke issued from the chimney. - -The police of the kingdom at length resolved to penetrate the mystery, -which seemed to them very suspicions. _Everything_ is suspicious to -the police of _all_ countries. - -One evening, Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah saw two dark, grave men watching his -house. He listened and heard these words of sinister import: - -"To-morrow, at dawn, we will know whether this wretch is a -money-coiner or a magician." - -The conscience of the poor old Jew did not reproach him, for his life -was pure and innocent; but he had had great experience of the world, -and held as on axiom that innocence is worth absolutely nothing in a -court of justice. He went still further, he considered it an -aggravating circumstance. He often quoted the old Arabian proverb: "If -I were accused of having stolen and pocketed the grand mosque at -Mecca, I would immediately run off as fast as I could." He said that -justice was a game of cards--and he was no player. - -What misanthropic ideas! How different would his conclusions have been -had he lived nowadays! However, as he had not the happiness of living -in that Eden of justice, France of 1866, he put the philosophy of the -proverb into practice, and left Cordova that very night, taking with -him all his treasures. The next morning at dawn the two dark, grave -men, found an uninhabited, dismantled dwelling; which made them still -more dark and grave. - - - -II. - -Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah, disguised as a merchant and mounted on a strong -mule, passed rapidly through Spain. On either side of his saddle, and -securely fastened to it was a long wicker {694} basket, in the shape -of a cradle. Ben-Ha-Zelah looked from time to time at these baskets -with satisfaction, mingled with sadness, and then urged on his mule, -casting many a backward glance, to be quite sure he was not pursued. -In one of the baskets were his treasures and his books; in the other -slept peacefully the young daughter of the fugitive. Having reached a -small seaport town, the old Jew took passage in a vessel which was -about to sail for Egypt. - -Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah had often heard of the caliph Achmet Reschid, who -was celebrated throughout the East for his love of science, and the -high consideration in which he held scientific men. As for impostors, -charlatans and empirics, he held them in sovereign contempt and took -real pleasure in impaling them. - -This good prince reigned in Cairo. Thither Ben-Ha-Zelah bent his -steps; for he believed himself, and with reason, to be a true savant. - -The profound and extensive acquirements of the old Jew, together with -his astonishing skill in everything appertaining to the healing art, -soon made him as famous in Cairo as he had been in Cordova, and he was -at once made court physician. - -The caliph Achmet Reschid was never weary of admiring the almost -universal knowledge of the old man, and often invited him to the -palace to converse with him for hours upon the secrets and marvels of -nature. Suddenly a terrible plague broke out in the city, and -threatened to decimate the population. Ben-Ha-Zelah compounded a -wonderful lotion, which cured six times in seven. He contended that in -nothing could evil be conquered in a greater proportion than this; -that a seventh was a minimum of disorder, of sorrow, of vice, in the -imperfect organization of this world, and that when the proportion of -evil in the human body, in the soul, in society, in nature, had been -reduced to a seventh, all the progress possible in this world had been -made. - -However that may be, he was summoned one night in great haste to the -palace; the wife and son of the caliph were stricken down by the -pestilence. Ben-Ha-Zelah applied the miraculous lotion and the son was -restored to health--but the wife died. - -The caliph Achmet Reschid was overcome with gratitude for so signal a -service and throwing himself into the arms of the old physician, -exclaimed: "Venerable old man I to thee I owe the life of my son and -my happiness! As a proof of my gratitude, I appoint thee Grand -Vizier!" - -The old Jew prostrated himself on the ground before his generous -benefactor. - -"Yes," continued the caliph, who had a truly noble heart; "yes, I need -a friend in whom I can confide, as I have, one after another, beheaded -all those whom I had in a moment of impulse honored with that title." - -"Thanks, mighty caliph!" humbly replied Ben-Ha-Zelah. "How shall I -find fitting words to thank my gracious prince for such unmerited -condescension! Surely never did kindness like this rejoice the earth!" - -"Thou sayest well and truly, child of Jacob," answered the puissant -caliph. - -Time, far from diminishing the love of the caliph for Ben-Ha-Zelah, -only increased it. The jealousy of the courtiers had always succeeded -in poisoning the mind of the caliph against any one on whom he had -conferred the dignity of Grand Vizier; but the prudence of the old Jew -baffled all their schemes, and Achmet Reschid had learned how to guard -against calumniators. At the first word breathed against the new -favorite that benevolent prince and faithful friend ordered the rash -slanderer to be beheaded, and very soon the courtiers vied with each -other in their praises of the Grand Vizier. The good caliph, seeing -the harmony of feeling among his people with regard to the new -favorite, congratulated himself on his firmness. - -{695} - -"I knew very well," said he, "that the whole court would at last do -him justice. I talk of him with every one and no man says aught -against him." - - - -III. - -As for Ben-Ha-Zelah, he seemed to be perfectly indifferent to the -immense power which his favor with the caliph gave him in the state. -In vain did the courtiers try to entangle him in the intrigues of the -court. In vain did the noblemen of the kingdom, in hopes of gaining -his protection, lay costly gifts at his feet. He gently refused them -all. Devoid of ambition, and prudent to excess, the old Jew withdrew -as much as possible from public affairs. He even begged the caliph to -excuse his attendance at the palace, except at certain hours of the -day, that he might devote himself more uninterruptedly to scientific -pursuits. The love of the caliph grow day by day, and the courtiers as -well as the common people, seeing the humility and disinterestedness -of the Grand Vizier, acknowledged him to be indeed a sage. - -At court, as everywhere else, he was clad in a coarse brown robe, and -was in no way distinguishable from the crowd, had not the intellectual -expression of his face, and the strange brilliancy of his eyes, -revealed at a glance a superior mind. He might often be seen in the -streets of Cairo, carrying in his own hands the metals, stones or -medicinal plants, which he bought in the bazaars, or gathered in his -solitary rambles. Wherever he went he heard his own praise; but never -did he in any way betray that it was agreeable to him. - -"No one is so poor and humble," said the common people to each other, -"as the Grand Vizier of our high and mighty caliph." - -The truth was, however, that with the exception of Achmet Reschid, no -one in Cairo possessed such vast riches as the "poor" Vizier; but -after the manner of the Jews he carefully concealed them, and lived in -a very modest mansion situated outside the walls of the city. This -humble dwelling was completely hidden by the palm and cedar trees -which surrounded it, and for still greater security was enclosed by a -high wall. - -In this quiet and mysterious retreat, where he admitted no guests, he -had centered all that made his life; there dwelt his child, the young -Rachel, just budding into womanhood. - -When, after passing weary hours in the unmeaning ceremonial of the -court, he reached his garden gate, and stealthily opened it, his -usually impassive face was suddenly illumined as with a sunbeam. It -was as if he had passed from death unto life. - -His daughter, clad like a queen of the east, ran to meet him, and -embraced him so tenderly that it seemed as if a portion of her young -life was breathed into the worn and exhausted frame of the aged -father. Ben-Ha-Zelah forgot his sorrows and his cares, and seemed to -revive as with the breath of spring. "I gave thee life, my daughter; -thou dost restore it to me!" murmured the old man. - -Rachel was just entering her sixteenth year. Her hair was of the -beautiful golden color which people love. Her eyes, her voice, her -smile, her bearing, carried with them an irresistible charm. She -looked, it was a ray of light; she spoke, it was a strain of music; -she smiled, it was the opening of a gate of Paradise. Her heart was -pure and innocent as was that of the Rachel of old, whom Jacob loved. -Can we wonder that the heart of her father was bound up in her? Who -indeed, could help loving a being so pure and bright? - - - -IV. - -Ben-Ha-Zelah was old, but his was a vigorous old age--and the young -daughter and aged father, as they walked under the grand old trees of -the garden, made a beautiful picture. The long white head, piercing -eyes, {696} eagle nose, and broad brow of the old man, formed a -striking contrast to his humble dress, and when no longer under -constraint, it revealed a mysterious and profound satisfaction in his -own personality and intelligence. There was so much _pride_ that there -was no place for _vanity_ in his soul. - -What cared he for the admiration or contempt of others, the vain -clamors of the multitude, whom he considered infinitely his inferiors? -When he said to himself, "I am Ben-Ha-Zelah," the rest of the world no -longer existed for him. - -His pride was like that of Lucifer: it was not relative but absolute; -he contemplated himself with a terrible satisfaction. Thence his -disdain for all the miserable trifles which gratify the self-love of -inferior men. The pride of _seeming_ comes when the pride of _being_ -is not absolute. - -Whence then came the gigantic pride of the old Jew? - -Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah was the most learned man of his time. - -He had carried his investigations far beyond those of the most -scientific men of the age; he was well versed in physics, mechanics, -dynamics, arithmetic, music, astronomy, medicine, surgery, and botany; -but the science he most loved, was that which, at first known under -the name of alchemy, was destined to become the greatest science of -modern times--chemistry. - -He passed night after night shut up in his laboratory, as he had -formerly done at Cordova, seeking to penetrate one after the other all -the mysteries of nature. There, bending over his glowing furnaces, -surrounded with retorts and crucibles of strange shapes, filled with -metals in a state of fusion, by all sorts of instruments and alembics, -old Ben-Ha-Zelah interrogated matter and demanded the mystery of its -essence; he pursued it from form to form, he tore it with red-hot -pincers; he melted it in the glowing fires of his furnaces; he made it -solid only to reduce it again to a liquid state, decomposing it a -hundred times in a hundred different ways. He tortured it, as does the -lawyer the prisoner at the bar, that he may wring from him his most -hidden secrets. - -Matter, thus pursued by the indefatigable alchemist, had revealed more -than one of its mysterious laws, which he had made useful in the -practice of his profession, so that he was considered in Cairo little -less than a demi-god. However, in his labors he sought not the good of -his fellow-men, but the barren satisfaction of the passion which was -consuming him, _the pride of knowledge_; he sought to penetrate the -secrets of the most high God. The promise of the tempter to our first -parents; _Eritis sicut dei, scientes_, "You shall be as gods, knowing -good and evil," had penetrated his soul; and he desired to plant in -his garden that fatal tree to which the first-born of our race -stretched out their guilty hands. Like his ancestor Jacob, he wrestled -with Jehovah. - -One can readily understand that the old man, absorbed in this gigantic -struggle, was dead to all vanity, so far as men were concerned. He had -reached such dizzy heights that he had almost lost sight of them. To -him they were like the brute beasts which crossed his path; he -believed them to be of an inferior nature to him, who had been gifted -with such vast genius--such indefatigable industry. His high thoughts -were not for such miserable pigmies. - -Sometimes seating himself in dreamy mood in his garden, at the foot of -a grand old cedar, his favorite seat, and taking in his hand a pebble, -a blade of grass or a flower he was plunged in profound meditation. - -What makes this "a body" thought he. This "body" is brown, heavy, -hard, square, or has many other properties which come under my notice. -But it is evident that neither the color, weight, cohesion, nor form -constitute its _essence_. They are its manner of beings--not its -being. If I modify it, destroy it even, it will still {697} be the -same body, and I shall, after all, have only attacked its manner of -being; the essence which heretofore has always escaped me--_the soul -of the body_, if I may say so--will have suffered no change. It is as -if I were suddenly to become hunchback, lame, idiotic--I would still -be the same man. I must discover the substance _quod sub stat_; in the -first place, what causes this to be; in the second place, what -constitutes it a body; and finally, what makes it this particular body -which I hold in my hand and not another. - -The problem was formidable; it was the mystery of the omnipotence of -the God who created the world, and nevertheless this unknown -Prometheus shrank not from the task, and flattered himself he could -wring from created matter the secrets of its Creator. - -In his experiments' Ben-Ha-Zelah had started with the axiom that all -bodies were formed from certain elements which were invariable, but -combined in different ways. Moreover, his researches had proved to him -that many elements, formerly believed to be primary, were composed of -different elements into which they might again be readily resolved. So -that seeing their number decrease as his investigations became more -abstruse and his analyses more delicate, he had arrived at the -conclusion that there existed an original and absolute substance of -which all bodies, even those apparently the most different, were only -variations. - -He affirmed the identity of the base under the infinite variety of the -forms. This primary substance which he considered as coëternal with -God, was, he thought, that on which Jehovah breathed in the beginning, -and in his Satanic pride he believed two things--first that the -Almighty had combined the atoms of matter in so wondrously complex a -manner only to conceal from man the secret of its creation--and -secondly, that the Rabbi-Ben-Ha-Zelah would be able to baffle the -precautions of the Almighty, and by analysis after analysis, at length -succeed in finding the simple primary substance from which all things -were originally formed. - -Such were the thoughts which continually filled his mind--such the -gigantic plan he had conceived. Again and again he said to himself -that by taking from a body one after the other its contingent -qualities, as one takes the bark from a nut, he would succeed at -length in penetrating its most hidden depths, to that _matter essence_ -from which was made, as he believed, all that existed in the universe. - -He had inscribed on the door of his laboratory _Materia, mater_. And -as soon as he should be able to imprison in his alembics this primary -matter he could at will, disposing it after certain forms, make in -turn bronze, stone, wood, or gold. Nay more, he hoped to surprise with -the same blow the mystery of life--and then, thought he in his impious -pride, I shall be a creator, like unto Him before whom every knee -bends in adoration. I shall be God! _Eritis sicut dei_. - -The old man, lost in the vain search for the absolute basis of matter, -little suspected that the final word of all science is; "The essence -of matter is immaterial." - -However, he devoted himself most zealously to the great work he had -undertaken, and passed night after night in the recesses of his -laboratory which would have reminded one of the entrance to the -infernal regions but for the sweet presence of the young and lovely -Rachel, who glided in and out, bringing order out of confusion, and in -the evening beguiled the long hours by singing to her father snatches -of the old Hebrew songs of which such touching and beautiful fragments -have come down to us. - - - -{698} - -V. - -One night, Ben-Ha-Zelah, regardless of fatigue, was still bending over -his glowing furnaces. For more than a week he had allowed himself no -sleep, nor had he permitted his eyes to wander from the vast crucible -which had been heated to white beat for six consecutive months. He had -discovered phenomena hitherto unknown. His bony hands clutched -convulsively the handle of the bellows, and his eager, care-worn face -was illuminated with a two-fold radiance, that from the purple light -of the furnace and from the interior flame which consumed his soul. He -was motionless from intensity of emotion. At last then he was about to -attain the aim and desire of his whole life! - -The primary substance, the absolute essence of matter, he was about to -seize it--to be its lord. The old man still watched; a whitish vapor -rose slowly from the crucible; matter decomposed in this crucible -seemed to be a prey to a fearful travail--to struggle in an internal -conflict. - -The old man raised his tall form to its full height and at that moment -appeared like a second Lucifer. He shouted in triumph, "I have -created!" - -Then rushing to the casement he gazed upward to the starry heavens, -not in prayer, but in defiance. - -"I have created!" he repeated, "I have created! I have conquered! I am -the equal of God!" - -A noise, slight in reality, but to the excited senses of Ben-Ha-Zelah, -louder than the crash of thunder, was heard behind him. He turned with -agitated countenance. The crucible, unwatched during his delirium of -pride, had fallen, and was shivered to atoms. All was lost; the -creation of him who aspired to an equality with the Most High was but -a heap of ashes. - -Ben-Ha-Zelah was stunned by this unlooked-for calamity. He fell back -fainting, as if, while he rashly sought to penetrate the mystery of -life, pale death, entering his dwelling had touched him with her -sombre wing. - - - -VI. - -When consciousness returned, the fire of the furnace, which had been -fed with so much care for six weary months, was extinguished. Through -the open casement he saw myriads of stars blazing in the firmament. -The majestic silence of the night hovered over the unchanged -immensity. - -The old man was seized with an indefinable terror. He understood that -he was punished for his pride, and he had a presentiment that the -sudden failure of the labor and research of so many years was but the -beginning of his punishment. It seemed to him that in the midst of the -thick darkness the living God had looked into the depths of his guilty -soul and had stretched out his all-powerful hand to smite him. -Suddenly, as by a revelation, there came to him a knowledge of the -point where God was about to strike him. - -"My child! my child!" cried he, in a voice broken by terror and -remorse. - -He ran to the chamber of his daughter. - -The old man opened the door gently, taking, in spite of his terror, a -thousand paternal precautions not to awaken the sleeper. The trembling -light of a small alabaster lamp cast its faint rays about the -apartment. Gently he drew back the curtains of the bed and gazed -fondly upon his child. - -Rachel slept profoundly, her breathing was as peaceful as innocence. -Ben-Ha-Zelah looked upon the sweet, calm face with a transport of -delight. The tranquillity of this peaceful sleep of childhood was -communicated to him, and for a moment stilled the agitation of his -soul. - -He leaned fondly over the sleeping form; listened joyfully to the calm -breathing of his darling child, to the regular beating of her heart; -then stooping, imprinted a kiss of fatherly love on the beautiful -brow. - -Rachel remained immovable, and her sleep was unbroken. "It is strange -she has not awakened," said the old man to himself looking at her -again. "Sleep is so like death." - -{699} - -As he allowed this thought to take form a vague terror took possession -of him. - -"Bah! she sleeps! I hear her breathing," said he aloud. - -The secret indefinable fear which he could not banish, and for which -he could not account, still remained; he could no longer contain -himself. - -"Rachel!"' cried he in a loud voice. The young girl slept on. - -"Rachel! my child!" he cried again, at the same time shaking her -gently by the arm. - -Still the calm sleep was unbroken; and the peaceful breathing which at -first had delighted the fond father now seemed like a fatal spell. - -"Rachel! Rachel!" - -He took her in his arms; he placed her on a couch; he tried to make -her walk; and in vain essayed with his trembling fingers to open the -sealed eyelids. - -The young girl slept on; her respiration as calm, and the rhythm of -her heart still preserved its frightful monotone. All the efforts of -the despairing father were vain. Day dawned, night came, the next day, -and weeks and months, and Rachel awoke not. - - - -VII. - -The distracted father, remembering that he was a physician, sought in -medical science a remedy for this strange malady. He tried every known -medicine, he essayed new ones; but nothing could break the fearful -sleep. He no longer went to the palace of the caliph, but his days and -nights were passed in his laboratory as they had formerly been at -Cordova; his researches, however, were no longer to feed his pride. -Sorrow concentrated his mighty genius on one thought--to discover a -remedy for his idolized child. Bitterly did be expiate the old -anxieties of his pride by the torturing perplexities of this new -sorrow. - -More than six months passed thus. A last and desperate remedy to which -he had recourse, had, like all the others failed; Ben-Ha-Zelah on a -night like that on which this weight of sorrow had come upon him, was -in his laboratory bending as ever over his retorts. He had made every -research, every experiment that genius, quickened by affection, could -suggest, and had failed in all. Rachel still slept. Then the -broken-hearted old man, convinced of his own impotence, let fall his -arms at his sides and burst into tears. - -At that moment he heard a voice which seemed to come at once from the -depths of immensity, and from the inmost recesses of his own heart. - -"All thy efforts are vain," said the voice. "Thou wilt cure thy child, -only by passing about her neck, a pearl necklace, not the pearls which -bountiful nature gives, and God makes, but pearls which thou thyself -hast fashioned. Thou thoughtest thyself the equal of God, the equal of -Him who created the world; and he punishes thee, by condemning thee to -create only a few pearls, and he is willing to lend thee all the -riches and treasures of his beautiful world. Go and seek! And when -thou hast made enough of these pearls to fill the box beside thee, -make a necklace of them. Put it on the neck of thy child, and she will -awake." - -It was not an illusion. The old man had seen no one, but the box was -there beside him. It was a little box, of a wood unknown to him, which -exhaled a delicious odor. On the lid inscribed in letters of gold, was -a Hebrew word, meaning "Treasure of God." - -Ben-Ha-Zelah, re-kindled the fires of his furnaces and again applied -himself to explore the arcana of alchemy. He took from his coffers all -the pearls he possessed, and after having analyzed them, tried in vain -to form them again; but the secret of omnipotence which he attempted -to grasp, fled from him. He decomposed precious stones and succeeded -only in making a gross calcareous substance. Again and again he -flattered himself, he had penetrated the mystery of the Creator; but -all his hopes ended in nothingness. {700} Nature, which he had once -attempted to conquer to satisfy his pride as a savant, he now wooed in -vain to still the passionate yearnings of his fatherly heart. - -One day he said to himself: "My knowledge is very little; and with the -very little I know, I shall never succeed in solving this problem, and -nevertheless it is possible!" - -The voice which spoke to me is a voice which does not deceive. - -Then an inspiration came to him which lighted with a pale ray of hope, -the sorrowful face long unused to happiness. The idea occurred to him, -that if he should go and study the shells of the Persian gulf where -pearls are formed, he might succeed in winning from nature the mystery -which he had so much interest in learning. - -He set out the next morning on his long and wearisome journey, leaving -his child to the faithful care of the old Jewish slave who had been so -many years in his service, and in whom he reposed the most perfect -confidence. She had been the nurse of Rachel, and loved her almost -with a mother's love. He spent two months in studying the pearl oyster -of the Persian gulf; but there, as in his laboratory, all his efforts -were vain. - -Providence, thought he, (he no longer said "nature,") Providence has -secrets which will never be known to mortals! - -Convinced of the utter folly of his painful researches--anxious, -moreover, to see his poor child again. He sadly turned his face -homeward. - - - -VIII. - -As he slowly and sadly pursued his way toward Egypt, he saw on the -second day of his journey across the desert, a group in the distance, -apparently just in his route; continuing to advance, he saw a dead -camel covered with blood, beside him the dead body of a knight, -pierced with sabre-strokes; on the road-side a woman, apparently -dying, holding in her arms a young infant. - -Ben-Ha-Zelah, moved with compassion, approached and accosted the -woman. She told him that in crossing the desert with her husband and -child, they had been attacked by brigands, who had killed her husband, -left her mortally wounded, and had rifled them of all their treasures; -even their water-bottles--more precious than all in the desert. - -"I am dying," said she, "but my bitterest sorrow is in leaving my poor -little babe, who must perish thus alone in the desert." - -The poor mother for one moment thought of asking the kind old man to -take her child, but she saw that one of his water-bottles had been -broken by some accident, and that he had hardly enough water to cross -the desert. - -Ben-Ha-Zelah had had the same thought, but he calculated the quantity -of water remaining to him, and and to himself that it was impossible. - -The woman was dying. - -There, in the presence of the mother's despair, with the wail of the -infant so soon to be an orphan, in his ears, he thought of his own -child. - -"Woman," said he, "I will take your babe, and will care for him as for -my own. I will save his life, even at the cost of my own." - -The mother died, invoking blessings on his head. - -Ben-Ha-Zelah resumed his journey across the desert, placing before him -on the saddle, the infant, who at first wept, then laughed in -infantile glee, then amused himself by teasing the patient nurse, -pulling his beard, or tangling the reins of the camel. The old man who -had become as gentle as a mother, sought every means which affection -could suggest to amuse the helpless little creature, so strangely -given to his charge--sometimes with the gold tassels of his bridle, -sometimes with his bright fire-arms, sometimes by rattling in his ears -the gold sequins in his purse. Again he would sing to him a lullaby, -long-forgotten. {701} The child was pleased with each new amusement -devised by the old savant, but it was only for a few moments, and was -again looking about for something he had not yet seen. - -How much we all resemble children! - -Poor old Ben-Ha-Zelah knew not what to do to satisfy this restless -craving for amusement. Suddenly he thought of the beautiful little -box, which the child had not seen, and drew it out from the folds of -his robe. - -The child eagerly grasped this new plaything and turned it about in -every possible way. - -To the amazement of the old Jew, there was a slight sound, as of some -small object rolling about in the box. - -The child shouted with delight. The old man was breathless and -trembling. He grasped the box convulsively from the hands of the -infant, who held it out to him, smiling. He opened it. His blood froze -in his veins, with an emotion not of terror but of joy and hope. - -He beheld in the box a pearl, pure and more beautiful than any he had -ever seen. - -Speechless with emotion he could only raise his eyes to heaven in a -wordless prayer of gratitude. - -Then he heard a voice which seemed to fill the immensity of the -desert, and nevertheless, was as low and sweet as the loving murmur of -a fond mother. - -"O Ben-Ha-Zelah! every tear which thou shalt dry, is a pearl which -thou dost create." - -Ben-Ha-Zelah looked about him. All around him was the desert. Before -him, in his arms, the little babe, suddenly grown calm, and smiling in -his face. - -A few more days and his journey through the desert was ended. But many -were the privations he endured that the helpless little infant, now so -dear to him, might not want. - -Ben-Ha-Zelah was rich, and now he was good. His goodness made use of -his riches to dry the tears of misfortune--there are as many, alas! in -this world of suffering, as there are dewdrops on a summers morning-- -and very soon his box was quite full. - -When he again saw his child, the mysterious sleep was unbroken. She -came not to welcome him, but he put the pearl necklace about her -beautiful throat, and she awoke, smiling. - -"Oh! what a lovely necklace, papa," she cried. - -"It is the first I have ever given thee, my darling," said the happy -father, "but I hope it may not be the last. My pearl-casket is now -empty, but I trust in God that I may fill it many times before I die." - ------- - -{702} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - - -THE GIPSIES. [Footnote 174] - - [Footnote 174: "A History of the Gipsies: with Specimens of the - Gipsy Language." By Walter Simson. Edited, with preface, - introduction, and notes, and a disquisition on the past, present, - and future of Glpsydom. By James Simson. 12mo, pp. 575. New York: M. - Doolady. London: Sampson Low, Son, & Marston. 1866.] - - -About the beginning of the 15th century there appeared in Germany a -strange mysterious people, such as had never been seen in Europe -before; - - A vagrant crew, far straggled through the glade, - With trifles busied, or in slumbers laid. - -No man knew who they were or whence they came. Their swarthy -complexions, long black hair, sharp eyes, high cheek-bones, narrow -mouths and fine white teeth, were marks of an eastern origin. They -spoke a language which had never been heard in Europe before, and -followed a strange way of life, which savored more of the rude nomadic -habits of primitive Asia, than the comparatively civilized customs of -the country into which they had come. They travelled about in bands or -tribes, each under the command of a leader, slept at night in tents or -abandoned out-houses, and occupied themselves by day in a simple sort -of smith work, basket-weaving, tinkering, fortune-telling, juggling, -and stealing. Vagabonds as they were, filthy in their habits, and -addicted to the eating of carrion and other disgusting things, they -were fond of wearing gay dresses, whenever they could beg, buy, or -steal them, and many of the women, with their lithe and agile figures, -were not without a certain dark sort of beauty which found many -admirers. - -Whether they knew anything about their own origin or not, is doubtful; -but if they did, they kept it so carefully' secret, that the knowledge -has been completely lost. At all events they made their first -appearance in France in 1427, with a great lie in their months, and a -forged confirmation of it in their pockets. They called themselves -Christian pilgrims from Lower Egypt, who had been expelled by the -Saracens. They had unfortunately committed a few sins on the way, and -having confessed to Pope Martin V., his holiness had enjoined upon -them as a penance to traverse the world for seven years without -sleeping in beds. In support of this story they exhibited documents -purporting to be issued by the holy see, but they had probably -manufactured these testimonials themselves. However, the world was not -very wise in those days, and the mysterious strangers were accepted -for what they professed to be; and for some years the wandering -penitents pursued a brilliant career of theft and imposture, while -their leaders galloped over the continent with the high-sounding -titles of dukes, counts, and lords of Little Egypt. When they first -came to Paris they had among them a duke, a count, and ten lords. The -authorities would not let them enter the city, but assigned them -quarters at La Chapelle near St. Denis, where they were consulted on -occult matters by great numbers of the citizens. But our Egyptian -pilgrims were soon found to be such incorrigible rascals that the -bishop of Paris caused them to be removed, and excommunicated those -who had consulted them. Similar treatment was shown them in other -parts of Europe. For a time their forged credentials had enabled them -to obtain passports and letters of {703} security from various -European potentates; but the wanderers everywhere made themselves -nuisances, and were banished under threats of the severest -punishments. Fortunately for them, however, these edicts were not -published simultaneously all over Europe, so that they were not -exactly driven into the ocean, but only exiled from one part of the -continent to another. In Germany they were called _Zigeuner_, or -wanderers; in Holland, _Haydens_, or heathens, in Spain, _Gitanos_; in -Italy, _Zingari_; in France, Bohemians, because they entered that -country from Bohemia. The name of gipsy, by which they were known in -England and Scotland, is evidently a corruption of their self-chosen -appellation Egyptians. - -More than four hundred years have passed since these swarthy penitents -made their seven years' pilgrimage of cheating and pilfering through -Europe, and they are still a people as distinct from all other races -in their essential characteristics as they were on the day they first -humbugged our ancestors. The general improvement of society all over -the world has compelled them to abandon many of their vagabond ways. -They have no longer that complete organization in tribes and companies -which they used to preserve; they no longer claim the privilege of -governing themselves in all things by their own laws, and their earls -and captains no longer exercise the authority of life and death over -their subjects. A large gipsy encampment is a rare sight nowadays, and -even the gipsy features, owing to frequent intermarriages between the -tribes and the European race, are in a fair way of being obliterated. -But there are still many thousands of gipsies roaming about Europe in -small companies; they still preserve their ancient customs in secret; -and under all the restraints of civilization, even the most orderly of -them cherish their old vagabond propensities. The Gipsy physiognomy is -quite as marked as the Jewish, and the gipsy race is far more -distinctly separated from the rest of the world than are the children -of Abraham. Their speech, which is not, as some people suppose, a mere -farago of slang or thieves' latin, but a genuine language, has been -handed down from mother to child, and is still a living tongue--a fact -which is not a little remarkable, because the language has no -literature, and can only be perpetrated by tradition. The gipsies have -no written characters. And yet it would be hard to find a gipsy who -cannot speak the language, though few of them are willing to -acknowledge it. - -The problem of the origin of this strange people has exercised learned -brains ever since the civilized world became civilized enough to -perceive that there was a mystery about their presence in the midst of -Christendom. It seems to be pretty well agreed that they came into -Europe from Hindostan; but why they came, and why they called -themselves Egyptians are matters of dispute. Grellman in Germany, and -Hoyland and Borrow in England have hitherto been the most esteemed -authorities on the subject of gipsies; but we have now a new work, by -Walter and James Simson, which promises to shove the older books -aside. It is a rather outlandish production, but on that very account -perhaps more appropriate to its subject, Mr. Walter having spent some -seventeen years poking about gipsy encampments, peeping into their -huts, studying their cookery, scraping up odds and ends of their -language, learning how they picked pockets, told fortunes, robbed -hen-roosts, stole horses, married their wives and divorced them, -fought with each other, protected their friends, and pursued their -enemies with unrelenting vengeance; having gathered up a great store -of interesting anecdotes and historical notes, and got to know, in -fine, more about the gipsies of Scotland than any other man, probably, -who ever lived--having done all this, Mr. Walter Simson died one day -and left an ill-digested manuscript {704} book on his pet subject, -which Mr. James Simson took up, annotated, enlarged, and published. -Mr. Walter's book, if it was not a model of literary neatness, was -unpretentious, entertaining, and full of valuable information. Mr. -James, however, must needs add to it, first an advertisement, then a -preface, then an introduction, and lastly a long-drawn disquisition, -all of which are tiresome to the last degree, and not worth a tenth of -the space they fill. Besides, Mr. James Simson has a bad temper, and -it is not pleasant to read his arguments, even when he argues against -an imaginary adversary. He has a theory of his own about the origin of -the gipsies, to which we do not purpose to commit ourselves; but it is -curious enough to be stated, so that our readers may judge of it for -themselves. - -An intelligent gipsy once told Mr. Simson that his race sprang from a -body of men-a cross between the Arabs and Egyptians--who left Egypt in -the train of the Jews. Now we read in Exodus xii. 38, that "a mixed -multitude went up also with them," [_i.e._, with the Jews out of -Egypt;] and from the fact stated in Numbers xi. 4, that "the mixed -multitude that was among them fell a lusting" for flesh, it would -appear that these refugees had not amalgamated with the Jews, but only -journeyed in company with them. Since this multitude were not children -of the promise, and had no call from God to go out from among the -Egyptians and journey to a land of peace and plenty, their condition -in Egypt must have been a hard one, or they would not have entered -upon a long and painful wandering to escape from it. No doubt, says -Mr. Simson, they were slaves, like the Jews; probably descendants of -the Hyksos, or "Shepherd Kings," who possessed the land before its -conquest by the Pharaohs; perhaps descendents of these Hyksos by -Egyptian women. God had promised Canaan, however, only to the -Israelites; the "mixed multitudes" could have no share in the -inheritance; so they probably separated from the Jews in the -wilderness, and wandered eastward into Hindostan. Coming into that -country from a long servitude, they would naturally have been timid of -mixing with the native inhabitants, disposed to cling together for -mutual protection, loose in their notions of right and wrong and the -laws of property. Every man's hand would have been against them, and -they would have been no man's friend. The lawless and migratory habits -engendered by their isolation would soon have become fixed and -hereditary; and so, to hasten to a conclusion, the mixed multitude of -Egyptians would have grown to be, in the course of a few hundreds of -generations, more or less, a race of horse-thieves and -fortune-tellers. - -This theory accounts for the fact that the gipsies call themselves -Egyptians, while their language and many other peculiarities are -strongly redolent of Hindostan. It is true that no Egyptian words have -been detected in their speech, while its resemblance to Hindostance -dialects is very strong; but then just think what an unconscionably -long time it is since they came away from Egypt, and how easy it would -have been for them, in the absence of an alphabet and a literature, to -forget the language of captivity and acquire that of freedom. - -Why they came out of Hindostan into Europe, or why they waited to come -until the fifteenth century, is purely matter of conjecture. But that -Hindostan was their last abiding place before their appearance in -Germany, about 1417, there is, for various reasons which we need not -here enumerate, no reasonable doubt. - -Of their history and character in continental Europe, Mr. Simson tells -us but little, and that little is not new. We pass at once therefore -to the portion of his book which is devoted to the Scottish gipsies; -and when we have read that, we shall have a pretty clear idea of the -peculiarities of the race all over the world. - -{705} - -It is not certain when they first appeared in Great Britain; but they -were in Scotland at least as early as 1506 in which year they so far -imposed upon King James IV., that his majesty addressed a letter of -commendation to the King of Denmark, in favor of "Anthonius Gawino, -Earl of Little Egypt, and the other afflicted and lamentable tribe of -his retinue," who, having been "pilgriming" by command of the pope, -over the Christian world, were now anxious to cross the ocean into -Denmark. "But," concluded the Scottish monarch, with beautiful -simplicity, "we believe that the fates, manners, and race of the -wandering Egyptians are better known to thee than to us, because Egypt -is nearer thy kingdom." We see from this that the vagabonds still kept -up the fiction of a penitential pilgrimage, though it must have seemed -a long seven years' wandering which, beginning about 1417, was not -finished in 1506. In 1540 a still more remarkable document appears on -record, being nothing less than a sort of league or treaty between -James V. and his "loved John Faw, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt," -whereby the officers of the realm were commanded to assist the said -John Faw "in execution of justice upon his company and folk, conform -to the laws of Egypt, and in punishing of all them that rebel against -him." But this state of things did not last long. James, as we all -know, liked to go a masquerading now and then, in the character of -"the Gaberlunzie Man," [Footnote 175] or "the Guid Man of -Ballangiegh," and on one occasion, while in this dignified disguise, -he fell in with a gang of gipsies carousing in a cave, near Wemyss, in -Fifeshire. His majesty heartily joined in the revels; but before long -a scuffle ensued, in the course of which one of the men "came crack -over the royal head with a bottle." Nor was this indignity enough, for -suspecting that the "guid man" was a spy, the trampers treated him -with the utmost harshness, and when they resumed their march compelled -him to go along with them, loaded with their budgets and wallets, and -leading an ass. The king passed several days in this disgusting -captivity, but at length found an opportunity to send a boy with a -written message to some of his nobles at Falkland. He was then -rescued. Two of the gipsies he caused to be hanged at once; a third, -who had treated him with some kindness, he let go free; and he caused -an edict to be published banishing the whole race from the kingdom -under penalty of death. James died the next year, however, and the -edict was never enforced; nor were subsequent laws, of equal severity, -able either to got the gipsies out of the country or to check their -wandering and thievish propensities. A great many of the race attached -themselves, nominally as clansmen, to chieftains and noblemen, who -were willing and able to afford them protection. But a great many were -nevertheless hanged merely for being "by habit and repute Egyptians." -So they got to look upon themselves as a persecuted race. They learned -to deny their origin, to keep their language a secret, and to resent -with all the savage fierceness of their fiery natures, the slightest -attempt on the part of the "gorgios," (as they called the Europeans -among whom they had cast their lot) to pry into the hidden mysteries -of gipsy life. - - [Footnote 175: i.e. "Ragged begger."] - -In this country we know little about gipsies except what we have -learned from novels, and from those curious books by Mr. Borrow, on -the gipsies of Spain, in which tact and fiction are so strangely -blended that it is difficult to tell them apart. The gipsy, to the -average American mind, is a dark-featured woman in a red skirt, and -with a shawl drawn over her head; who tells fortunes and steals little -babies; who lives in a tent and cooks her meals in the open air, with -the aid of an iron pot suspended from two crossed sticks. And the -picture is not very far from the truth after all; for all the actions -it paints, the gipsies have many a time performed. {706} -Child-stealing, however, they are not so much given to as we commonly -suppose; for they have too many children of their own to indulge in -such a costly luxury; nor do many of them profess palmistry, although -the few who do lay claim to a knowledge of the mysterious art drive a -thriving business in it. We purpose to collect from Mr. Simson's book -on account of the Scottish gipsies as he found them; but we ought to -warn our readers that the author wrote many years ago, and that the -progress of society in Scotland has made great changes in the -condition of the tribe. If wandering gipsies, however, are not so -numerous as they were, and if they do not practice their peculiar arts -and customs so openly as they formerly did, they are very far from -being extinct; and, according to Mr. James Simson, have merely carried -unsuspected, into the bosom of orderly and respectable society, the -vagabond propensities, itching palms, savagery, wickedness, appetite -for loathsome carcasses--nay, even that dark unwritten language, -spoken by none but a gipsy of the true blood--which characterized them -in the days of Meg Merrilies or the Gaberlunzie man. - -The Scottish gipsies almost always traversed the country in bands of -twenty, thirty, or more, though so many were seldom seen together on -the road. While travelling they broke up into parties of twos and -threes, having according to all appearance no connection with each -other, and at night they used to meet in some spot previously agreed -upon. It was not their general custom to sleep in tents. They -preferred for their lodgings deserted kilns, or barns or out-houses. -The usual way was for one of the women to precede them, if possible -with a child in her arms, and coax from some tender-hearted farmer -permission to shelter herself for the night in one of the farm -buildings. When the family awoke in the morning they were pretty sure -to find the one miserable vagrant surrounded by a gang of sturdy -trampers, and some twenty or thirty asses tethered on the green. For -twenty-four hours after their arrival they expected to receive food -gratis from the family on whose land they halted. After that, no -matter how long they remained, they provided for themselves. The -farmers generally found it for their interest to treat the gipsies -kindly, for these curious people never robbed their entertainers. A -farmer's wife whom Mr. Simson knew, on granting the customary -privilege of lodging to one of the tribe, added by way of caution: -"But ye must not steal anything from me then." "We'll no play any -tricks on you, mistress," was the reply; "but others will pay for -that." The men of the band seldom or never set foot within the door of -the farmhouse, but kept aloof from observation. They employed -themselves in repairing broken china, and utensils of copper, brass, -and pewter; and making horn spoons, wool-cards, smoothing-irons, and -sole-clouts for ploughs, which the women then disposed of. A good deal -of their time was passed in athletic exercises. They were famous -leapers and cudgel players, and despite their instinct of retirement -they could rarely resist a temptation "to throw the hammer," cast the -putting-stone, or beat the farm laborers at quoits, golf, and other -games. They were musicians, too, and their skill with the violin and -the bagpipes often assured them a night's lodging or a hearty welcome -at fairs, weddings, and other country merry-makings. Working in horn -was their favorite and most ancient occupation, and such was the care -they bestowed upon it that one tribe could always distinguish the -handiwork of another. Their devotion to the art of tinkering obtained -for them the name of Tinklers, by which they are generally known in -Scotland. They were also great horse-dealers, or, what in their case -meant very nearly the same thing, horse-thieves. They were not -scrupulous as to how they obtained {707} the animals, but they were -rare hands at selling them to advantage, though when a customer -trusted to their honor many of them would serve him with strict -honesty. - -The women concerned themselves in domestic cares and in helping the -men to sell the articles they had made. It was the women who managed -all their intercourse with the farmers and other country people, and -who did most of the begging. In this art they displayed an aptitude -which partook of the character of genius. They never closed a bargain -without demanding a present of victuals and drink, which they called -"boontith"; and as they were ready enough to take by foul means what -they could not get by fair, the closest-fisted housewife in Scotland -seldom resisted their importunities very long. The fortune-telling, of -course, fell to the women. - -But petty larceny, after all, was their principal means of support. -They were expert pickpockets and daring riflers of hen-roosts. The -bolder spirits rose to the dignity of highwaymen, coiners, and cattle -thieves. The children were trained from infancy to thievish pursuits, -and almost every gipsy encampment was a school of practice like that -kept by Fagin the Jew, to which poor little Oliver Twist was -introduced by the Artful Dodger. When legitimate business was dull, -they picked each other's pockets in a friendly way, just for the sake -of keeping their hands in. Sometimes a pair of breeches was hung aloft -by a string, and the children were required to abstract money from the -pockets without moving the garments. If the young rascal succeeded, he -was praised and rewarded; if he failed, he was beaten. Having passed -through this stage of his probation, the neophyte was admitted to a -higher degree. A purse was laid down in an exposed part of the -encampment, in plain view of all the gang, and while the older members -were busied in their daily pursuits, the children exercised all their -ingenuity and patience to carry off the purse without being perceived. -The instructor in this training-school was generally a woman. By the -time he was ten years old, the gipsy boy was thought fit to be let -loose upon the community, and became a member of an organized band of -thieves. The captains, whose dignity was usually hereditary, dressed -well, carried themselves gallantly, and could not be taken for what -they really were, especially as they never showed themselves in the -company of their men. The inferior thieves travelled to fairs, singly, -or at most two together, and as fast as they collected their booty -repaired with it to the headquarters of their chief. This latter -personage always had some ostensible business--such as that of a -horse dealer--and it was easy for the gang to communicate with him -under cover of a bargain, without arousing suspicion! For ripping -pockets open they had a short steel blade attached to a piece of -leather, like a sail-maker's palm, and concealed under their sleeves; -or the women wore upon their forefingers large rings containing sharp -steel instruments which were made to dart forth by the pressure of a -spring, when the hand was closed. Of the dexterity of these -light-fingered gentry Mr. Simson tells the following story: - - "A principal male gipsy, of a very respectable appearance, whose - name it is unnecessary to mention, happened, on a market day, to be - drinking in a public house, with several farmers with whom he was - well acquainted. The party observed from the window a countryman - purchase something at a stand in the market, and, after paying for - it, thrust his purse into his watch-pocket, in the band of his - breeches. One of the company remarked that it would be a very - difficult matter to rob the cautious man of his purse, without being - detected. The gipsy immediately offered to bet two bottles of wine - that he would rob the man of his purse, in the open and public - market, without being perceived by him. The bet was taken, and the - gipsy proceeded about the difficult and delicate business. Going up - to the unsuspecting man, he requested as a particular favor, if he - would ease the stock about his neck, which buckled behind--an - article of dress at that time in {708} fashion. The countryman most - readily agreed to oblige the stranger gentleman--as he supposed him - to be. The gipsy, now stooping down, to allow his stock to be - adjusted, placed his head against the countryman's, stomach, and, - pressing it forward a little, he reached down one hand, under the - pretense of adjusting his shoe, while the other was employed in - extracting the farmer's purse. The purse was immediately brought - into the company, and the cautious, unsuspecting countryman did not - know of his loss, till he was sent for, and had his property - returned to him." - -At one time the gipsies had all Scotland divided into districts, each -of which was assigned to a particular tribe, and wo to the Tinkler who -attempted to plunder within the limits of any other territory than his -own! The chieftains issued tokens to the members of their respective -hordes when they scattered themselves over the face of the country, -and these tokens protected the bearers within their proper districts. -A safe-guard from the Baillie family, who held a royal rank among the -gipsies, was good all over Scotland. - -Besides their common Scottish Christian and surnames, they had names -in their own language, as well as various pseudonyms which they -assumed from time to time in different parts of the country. When they -were travelling they used to take new names every morning, and retain -them till money was received in one way or another by every member of -the company, or at least until noon-tide; for they considered it -unlucky to set out out on a journey under their own names. - -They appear never to have at a loss for "the best of eating and -drinking," and might sometimes be seen seated at their dinner on the -sward, and passing about their wine, for all the world like gentlemen. -Sir Walter Scott's father was once forced to accept the hospitality of -a party of gipsies carousing on a moor, and found them supplied with -"all the varieties of game, poultry, pigs, and so forth." That rich -and savory decoction known to the modern cuisine as _potage à la Meg -Merrilies de Derncleugh_, is a soup of gipsy invention, composed of -many kinds of game and poultry boiled together. Their style of cookery -seems rather barbarous, but we must admit that it is admirably adapted -to the wants of a rude and barbarous people, among whom ovens, spits, -pots, and stew-pans are unknown and often unattainable luxuries. To -cook a fowl, they wind a strong rope of straw tightly around the body -of the bird, just as it has been killed, with its feathers on and its -entrails untouched. It is then covered with hot peat ashes, and a slow -fire is kept up around it till it is sufficiently done. When taken -out, the half-burnt straw and feathers peel off like a shell, and -those who have tasted the food thus prepared, say it is very -palatable. One advantage the method certainly has: it affords a safe -way of cooking a stolen fowl unperceived. Meat is roasted in a similar -manner. The flesh is covered with a wrapping of rags, and then encased -in well-wrought clay. Being now covered with hot ashes or turned -before a fire, it stews in its own juices, which, being saved from -escape by the clay, combine with the rags, Mr. Simson says, to form a -thick sauce or gravy. A gipsy has a keen zest for this juicy dish; but -we doubt whether most people would devour it with a very good -appetite. Their favorite viand of all, however, can certainly not be -relished outside of the tribe. This is a kind of mutton called -_braxy_, being nothing less than the flesh of a sheep which has died -of a certain disease. It has a _sharp_ flavor which tickles their -palates amazingly. So fond of it are they, that Mr. Simson attributes -the great number of gipsies in Tweed-dale partly to the abundance of -sheep in that district, and the consequent plenty of braxy. "The flesh -of a beast which God kills," say the gipsies, "must be better than -that of one which man kills." Nevertheless they are not loath, on -occasion, to take the killing into their own hands, by stuffing wool -down a sheep's throat, so that {709} it may die as if by disease; and -then they beg the carcass from the owner. - -As far as can be ascertained, the gipsies have no religious sentiments -whatever, so that an old proverb runs: "The gipsy church was built of -lard and the dogs ate it." They have a word in their language for -devil, but none for God. Of late years it has been common for them to -have their children baptized, and sometimes they attend the service -which seems to be most in repute in the place where they happen to be; -but this is only because they do not want to be known as gipsies. They -marry very young, seldom remaining single beyond the age of twenty. -Their courtship used to be performed somewhat after the Tartar -fashion, the most approved way of getting a wife being to steal one; -not that the girl was unwilling, but they seemed to have a natural -propensity to carry their dishonest practices into all the relations -of life. One Matthew Baillie, a celebrated chieftain of the tribe in -the latter part of the 18th century used to say that the toughest -battle he ever fought (and he fought many) was when he stole his bride -from her mother. The ceremonies of marriage are very curious, and -also, we must add, very disgusting. The marital relation seems to have -been on the whole pretty well respected, though there is an old -reprobate named George Drummond, mentioned in Mr. Simson's book, who -used to travel about the country with a number of wives in his -company, and chastise them with a cudgel, so that the blood followed -every blow. Sometimes, after he had knocked them senseless to the -ground, he would call out to them, "What the deevil are ye fighting -at--can ye no' 'gree? I'm sure there's no sae mony o' ye!" Divorces, -however were very common, and were attended with great parade and many -curious ceremonies. The act of separation took place over the body of -a horse sacrificed for the occasion. The rites were performed if -possible at noon, "when the sun was at his height." A priest for the -nonce was chosen by lot, and the horse, which must be without blemish -and in no manner of way lame, was then led forth. - - "The priest, with a long pole or staff in his hand, [Footnote 176] - walks round and round the animal several times; repeating the names - of all the persons in whose possession it has been, and extolling - and expatiating on the rare qualities of so useful an animal. It is - now let loose, and driven from their presence to do whatever it - pleases. The horse, perfect and free, is put into the room of the - woman who is to be divorced; and by its different movements is the - degree of her guilt ascertained. Some of the gipsies now set off in - pursuit of it, and endeavor to catch it. If it is wild and - intractable, kicks, leaps dykes and ditches, scampers about and will - not allow itself to be easily taken hold of, the crimes and guilt of - the woman are looked upon as numerous and heinous. If the horse is - tame and docile, when it is pursued, and suffers itself to be taken - without much trouble, and without exhibiting many capers, the guilt - of the woman is not considered so deep and aggravated; and it is - then sacrificed in her stead. But if it is extremely wild and - vicious, and cannot be taken without infinite trouble, her crimes - are considered exceedingly wicked and atrocious; and my informant - said instances occurred in which both horse and woman were - sacrificed at the same time; the death of the horse, alone, being - then considered insufficient to atone for her excessive guilt. The - individuals who catch the course bring it before the priest. They - repeat to him all the faults and tricks it had committed; laying the - whole of the crimes of which the woman is supposed to have been - guilty to its charge; and upbraiding and scolding the dumb creature, - in an angry manner, for its conduct. They bring, as it were, an - accusation against it, and plead for its condemnation. When this - part of the trial is finished, the priest takes a large knife and - thrusts it into the heart of the horse; and its blood is allowed to - flow upon the ground till life is extinct. The dead animal is now - stretched out upon the ground. The husband then takes his stand on - one side of it, and the wife on the other; and, holding each other - by the hand, repeat certain appropriate sentences in the gipsy - language. They then quit hold of each other, and walk three times - round the body of the horse, contrariwise, passing and crossing each - other, at certain points, as they proceed in opposite directions. At - certain parts of the animal, {710} (the _corners_ of the horse, was - the gipsy's expression,) such as the hind and fore feet, the - shoulders and haunches, the head and tail, the parties halt, and - face each other; and again repeat sentences, in their own speech, at - each time they halt. The two last stops they make, in their circuit - round the sacrifice, are at the head and tail. At the head, they - again face each other, and speak; and lastly, at the tail, they - again confront each other, utter some more gipsy expressions, shake - hands, and finally part, the one going north, the other south, never - again to be united in this life. [Footnote 177] Immediately after - the separation takes place, the woman receives a token, which is - made of cast-iron, about an inch and a half square, with a mark upon - it resembling the Roman character, T. After the marriage has been - dissolved, and the woman dismissed from the sacrifice, the heart of - the horse is taken out and roasted with fire, then sprinkled with - vinegar, or brandy, and eaten by the husband and his friends then - present; the female not being allowed to join in this part of the - ceremony. The body of the horse, skin and every thing about it, - except the heart, is buried on the spot; and years after the - ceremony has taken place, the husband and his friends visit the - grave of the animal to see whether it has been disturbed. At these - visits, they walk round about the grave, with much grief and - mourning. - - [Footnote 176: It appears all the gipsies, male as well as female, - who perform ceremonies for their tribe, carry long staffs. In the - Institutes of Menu, page 23, it is written: "The staff of a priest - must be of such a length as to reach his hair; that of a soldier to - reach his forehead; and that of a merchant to reach the nose."] - - [Footnote 177: That I might distinctly understand the gipsy, when he - described the manner of crossing and wheeling round the corners of - the horse, a common sitting-chair was placed on its side between us, - which represented the animal lying on the ground.] - - "The husband may take another wife whenever he pleases, but the - female is never permitted to marry again. [Footnote 178] The token, - or rather bill of divorce, which she receives, must never be from - about her person. If she loses it, or attempts to pass herself off - as a woman never before married, she becomes liable to the - punishment of death. In the event of her breaking this law, a - council of the chiefs is held upon her conduct, and her fate is - decided by a majority of the members; and if she is to suffer death, - her sentence must be confirmed by the king, or principal leader. The - culprit is then tied to a stake, with an iron chain, and there - cudgelled to death. The executioners do not extinguish life at one - beating, but leave the unhappy woman for a little while, and return - to her, and at last complete their work by despatching her on the - spot. - - [Footnote 178: Bright, on the Spanish gipsies, says: "Widows never - marry again, and are distinguished by mourning-veils, and black - shoes made like those of a man; no slight mortification, in a - country where the females are so remarkable for the beauty of their - feet." It is most likely that _divorced female gipsies_ are - confounded here with _widows_.--Ed.] - - "I have been informed of an instance of a gipsy falling out with his - wife, and, in the heat of his passion, shooting his own horse dead - on the spot with his pistol, and forthwith performing the ceremony - of divorce over the animal, without allowing himself a moments's - time for reflection on the subject. Some of the country-people - observed the transaction, and were horrified at so extraordinary a - proceeding. It was considered by them as merely a mad frolic of an - enraged Tinkler. It took place many years ago, in a wild, - sequestered spot between Galloway and Ayrshire." - -The burial ceremonies of the tribes are not very fully described; but -we are told that the funeral is, or used to be, preceded by a wake, -during which furious feasting and carousing went on for several days. -In England, at one time, the gipsies burned their dead, and they still -keep as close as they can to that ancient practice, by burning the -clothes and some of the other effects of the deceased. It is the -custom of some of them to bury the corpse with a paper cap on its -head, and paper around its feet. All the rest of the body is bare -except that upon the breast, opposite the heart, is placed a cockade -of red and blue ribbons. - - - -The country people stood in dreadful awe of the savage hordes, and in -many places the magistrates themselves were afraid to punish them. -Their honors did not disdain now and then to share a convivial bowl -with the wandering Tinklers, and the man who sat to-day with his legs -under the provost's mahogany, may have slept last night in a deserted -lime-kiln, and dined yesterday off a "sharp"-flavored joint of -"braxy." As we have said already, the farmers knew it was safer to be -the friend of the gipsy than his enemy, for he was equally generous to -those he liked, and vindictive toward those he hated. Mr. Simson tells -many an anecdote of favors shown by the tribe to their neighbors and -favorites. A widow who had often given shelter to a chief named -Charlie Graham, was in great distress for want of money to pay her -rent. Charlie lent her the amount required, then stole it back again -from the agent to whom it had been pad, and gave {711} the widow a -full discharge for the sum she had borrowed of him. This same Graham -was hanged at last, and when asked before his execution if he had ever -performed any good action to recommend him to the Mercy of God, -replied that he remembered none but the incident we have just -narrated. A dissolute old rogue of a gipsy, named Jamie Robertson, had -been often befriended by a decent man named Robert or Robin Gray. One -day a countryman passed him on the road, and as he trudged along was -singing "Auld Robin Gray," which unfortunately Jamie had never heard -before. The only Robin Gray he knew of was his kind-hearted friend, -and he made no doubt the song was intended as an insult. When the -unconscious stranger came to the words "Auld Robin Gray was a kind man -to me," the gipsy started to his feet with a volley of oaths, felled -the poor man to the ground, and nearly killed him with repeated blows. -"Auld Robin Gray was a kind man to him, indeed," exclaimed Jamie in -his wrath; "but it was not for him to make a song on Robin for that!" -The gipsy chieftains often gave safeguards to their particular -friends, which never failed to protect them from robbery or violence -at the hands of any of the gang. These passports were generally -knives, tobacco-boxes, or rings bearing some peculiar mark. To those -who had ever injured them or their people, and to vagrants of another -race who were found poaching on their allotted district, they were -savagely vindictive. A man named Thomson, who had offended them by -encroaching on one of their supposed privileges--that of gathering -rags through the country, was roasted to death on his own fire. - -"But the most terrible instances of gipsy ferocity were witnessed in -their frequent battles among themselves--battles by the way, in which -the women bore their full share of wounds and glory. It was in an -engagement of this sort in the shire of Angus, where the Tinklers -fought with Highland dirks, that the celebrated gipsy Lizzie Brown met -with the mishap which spoiled her once comely face, and obtained for -her the sobriquet of "Snippy." When her nose was struck off by the -sweep of a dirk, she clapped her hand to the wound, as if little had -befallen her, and cried out in the heat of the scuffle to those -nearest her: "But in the middle of the meantime, where is my nose?" In -the spring of the year 1772 or 1773 an awful battle was fought between -two tribes at the bridge of Hawick: - - "On the one side, in this battle, was the celebrated Alexander - Kennedy, a handsome and athletic man, and head of his tribe. Next to - him, in consideration, was little Wull Ruthven, Kennedy's - father-in-law. This man was known all over the country by the - extraordinary title of the Earl of Hell, [Footnote 179] and, - although he was above five feet ten inches in height, he got the - appellation of Little Wull to distinguish him from Muckle William - Ruthven, who was a man of uncommon stature and personal strength. - [Footnote 180] The earl's son was also in the fray. These were the - chief men in Kennedy's band. Jean Ruthven, Kennedy's wife, was also - present, with a great number of inferior members of the clan, males - as well as females, of all ages, down to mere children. The opposite - band consisted of old Rob Tait, the chieftain of his horde, Jacob - Tait, young Rob Tait, and three of old Rob Tait's sons-in-law. These - individuals, with Jean Gordon, old Tait's wife, and a numerous train - of youths of both sexes and various ages, composed the adherents of - old Robert Tait. These adverse tribes were all closely connected - with one another by the ties of blood. The Kennedys and Ruthvens - were from the ancient burgh of Lochmaben. - - [Footnote 179: This seems a favorite title among the Tinklers. One - of the name of Young, bears it at the present time. But the gipsies - are not singular in these terrible titles. In the late Burmese war, - we find his Burmese majesty creating one of his generals "King of - Hell, Prince of Darkness."--See _Constable's Miscellany_.] - - [Footnote 180: A friend, in writing me, says: "I still think I see - him (Muckie Wall) bruising the charred peat over the flame of his - furnace, with hands equal to two pair of hands of the modern day, - while his withered and hairy shackle-bones were more like the - postern joints of a sorrel cart-horse than anything else."] - -{712} - - "The whole of the gipsies in the field, females as well as males, - were armed with bludgeons, excepting some of the Taits, who carried - cutlasses and pieces of iron hoops notched and serrated on either - side, like a saw, and fixed to the end of sticks. The boldest of the - tribe were in front of their respective bands, with their children - and the other members of their clan in the rear, forming a long - train behind them. In this order both parties boldly advanced, with - their weapons uplifted above their heads. Both sides fought with - extraordinary fury and obstinacy. Sometimes the one band gave way, - and sometimes the other; but both, again and again, returned to the - combat with fresh ardor. Not a word was spoken during the struggle; - nothing was heard but the rattling of the cudgels and the strokes of - the cutlasses. After a long and doubtful contest, Jean Ruthven, big - with child at the time, at last received, among many other blows, a - dreadful wound with a cutlass. She was cut to the bone above and - below the breast, particularly on one side. It was said the slashes - were so large and deep that one of her breasts was nearly severed - from her body, and that the motions of her lungs, while she - breathed, were observed through the aperture between her ribs. But, - notwithstanding her dreadful condition, she would neither quit the - field nor yield, but continued to assist her husband as long as she - was able. Her father, the Earl of Hell, was also shockingly wounded; - the flesh being literally cut from the bone of one of his legs, and, - in the words of my informant, 'hanging down over his ankles, like - beefsteaks.' The earl left the field to get his wounds dressed, but, - observing his daughter, Kennedy's wife, so dangerously wounded, he - lost heart, and, with others of his party, fled, leaving Kennedy - alone to defend himself against the whole of the clan of Tait. - - "Having now all the Taits, young and old, male and female, to - contend with, Kennedy, like an experienced warrior, took advantage - of the local situation of the place. Posting himself on the narrow - bridge of Hawick, he defended himself in the defile, with his - bludgeon, against the whole of his infuriated enemies. His handsome - person, his undaunted bravery, his extraordinary dexterity in - handling his weapon, and his desperate situation, (for it was - evident to all that the Taits thirsted for his blood and were - determined to dispatch him on the spot,) excited a general and - lively interest in his favor among the inhabitants of the town who - were present and had witnessed the conflict with amazement and - horror. In one dash to the front, and with one powerful sweep of his - cudgel, he disarmed two of the Taits, and, cutting a third to the - skull, felled him to the ground. He sometimes daringly advanced upon - his assailants and drove the whole band before him pell-mell. When - he broke one cudgel on his enemies, by his powerful arm, the town's - people were ready to hand him another. Still the vindictive Taits - rallied and renewed the charge with unabated vigor, and every one - present expected that Kennedy would fall a sacrifice to their - desperate fury. A party of messengers and constables at last arrived - to his relief, when the Taits were all apprehended and imprisoned, - but as none of the gipsies were actually slain in the fray, they - were soon set at liberty. [Footnote 181] - - [Footnote 181: This gipsy battle is alluded to by Sir Walter Scott, - in a postscript to a letter to Captain Adam Ferguson, 16th April, - 1819. - - "By the by, old Kennedy, the tinker, swam for his life at Jedburgh, - and was only, by the sophisticated and timed evidence of a seceding - doctor, who differed from all his brethren, saved from a - well-deserved gibbet. He goes to botanize for fourteen years. Pray - tell this to the Duke, (of Buccleuch,) for he was an old soldier of - the duke and the duke's old soldier. Six of his brethren were, I am - told, in the court, and kith and kin without end. I am sorry so many - of the clan are left. The cause of the quarrel with the murdered man - was an old feud between two gipsy clans, the Kennedys and Irvings, - which, about forty years since gave rise to a desperate quarrel and - battle at Hawick-green, in which the grandfather of both Kennedy and - the man whom he murdered were engaged."--_Lockhart's Life of Sir - Walter Scott._ Alexander Kennedy was tried for murdering Irving at - Yarrows-ford. - - This gipsy fray at Hawick is known among the English gipsies as "the - Battle of the Bridge."--Ed. ] - - "In this battle, it was said that every gipsy, except Alexander - Kennedy, the brave chief, was severely wounded, and that the ground - on which they fought was wet with blood. Jean Gordon, however, stole - unobserved from her band, and, taking a circuitous road, came behind - Kennedy and struck him on the head with her cudgel. What astonished - the inhabitants of Hawick the most of all, was the fierce and - stubborn disposition of the gipsy females. It was remarked that, - when they were knocked down senseless to the ground they rose again, - with redoubled vigor and energy, to the combat. This unconquerable - obstinacy and courage of their females is held in high estimation by - the tribe. I once heard a gipsy sing a song which celebrated one of - their battles, and in it the brave and determined manner in which - the girls bore the blows of the cudgel over their heads was - particularly applauded. - - "The battle at Hawick was not decisive to either party. The hostile - bands a short time afterward came in contact in Ettrick Forest, at a - place on the water of Teema called Deephope. They did not, however, - engage here, but the females on both sides, at some distance from - one another, with a stream between them, scolded and cursed, and, - clapping their hands, urged the males again to fight. The men, - however, more cautious, only observed a sullen and gloomy silence at - this meeting. Probably both parties, from experience, were unwilling - to renew the fight, being aware of the consequences which would - follow should they again close in battle. The two clans then - separated, each taking different roads, but both keeping possession - of the disputed district. In the course of a few days, they again - met in Eskdale moor, when a second desperate conflict ensued. The - Taits were here completely routed and driven {713} from the - district, in which they had attempted to travel by force. - - "The country people were horrified at the sight of the wounded - Tinklers after these sanguinary engagements. Several of them, lame - and exhausted in consequence of the severity of their numerous - wounds, were, by the assistance of their tribe, carried through the - country on the backs of asses, so much were they cut up in their - persons. Some of them, it was said, were slain outright, and never - more heard of. Jean Ruthven, however, who was so dreadfully slashed, - recovered from her wounds, to the surprise of all who had seen her - mangled body, which was sewed in different parts by her clan." - -The Ruthvens mentioned in this extract belonged to a distinguished -family among the gipsies. Their male head, in those days, was a man -over six feet in height, who lived to the age of one hundred and -fifteen. In his youth he wore a white wig, a ruffled shirt, a blue -Scottish bonnet, scarlet breeches and waistcoat, a fine long blue -coat, white stockings, and silver shoe-buckles. The male gipsies at -that time were often very handsomely dressed, and so too were the -women. A favorite color with them was green. Mary Yorkston, or -Yowston, the wife of the same Matthew Baillie, whose rough manner of -courting we mentioned just now, went under the appellation of "my -lady," and "the duchess," and bore the title of queen among her tribe. -Her appearance on the road, when she was pretty well advanced in life, -is thus described: She was full six feet in height, of a stout figure, -with harsh, strongly-marked features, and altogether very imposing in -her manner. She wore a large black beaver hat tied down over her ears -with a handkerchief; a short dark blue cloak, of Spanish cut; -petticoats of dark blue camlet, barely reaching to her calves; dark -blue worsted stockings, flowered and ornamented at the ankles with -scarlet thread; and silver shoe-buckles. Sometimes instead of this -garb she wore a green gown trimmed with red ribbons. All her garments -were of excellent, substantial quality, and there was never a rag or -rent to be seen about her person. Her outer petticoat was folded up -round her haunches for a lap, with a large pocket dangling at each -side; and below her cloak she carried, between her shoulders, a small -pack containing her valuables. She bore a largo clasp-knife, with a -long, broad blade, like a dagger, and in her hand was a pole or -pike-staff that reached a foot above her head. The male branches of -the royal gipsy family of the Baillies, a hundred years ago, used to -traverse Scotland on the best horses to be found in the country, -booted and spurred, and clad in the finest scarlet and green, with -ruffles at their wrists and breasts. They wore cocked hats on their -heads, pistols at their belts, and broad-swords by their sides; and at -their horses' heels followed greyhounds and other dogs of the chase. -They assumed the manners and characters of gentlemen with wonderful -art and propriety. The women attended fairs in the attire of ladies, -sitting their ponies with all the grace and dignity of high-bred -women. Two chieftains of inferior degree to the Baillies were -Alexander McDonald and James Jamieson, brothers-in-law, remarkable for -their fine personal appearance and almost incredible bodily strength. -They were often attired in the most elegant and fashionable manner, -and McDonald frequently changed his dress three or four times in one -market-day. Now he would appear in the best of tartan, as a Highland -gentleman in full costume. Again he might be seen on horseback, with -boots, spurs, and ruffles, like a body of no little importance. And -not infrequently he wandered through the fair in his own proper garb, -as a travelling Tinkler. He had a piebald horse which he had trained -to help him in his depredations. At a certain signal it would crouch -to the ground like, a hare, and so conceal itself and its rider in a -ditch or a hollow, or behind a hedge. There was a gallant gipsy in the -seventeenth century named John Faa, {714} who, if tradition is to be -trusted, won the heart of a fair countess of Cassilis, so that she -absconded with him. Many years later there was an extensive mercantile -house at Dunbar, the heads of which, named Fall, were descendants of -this same gay deceiver. One of the Misses Fall married Sir John -Anstruther, of Elie, baronet, but her prejudiced Scottish neighbors -could not forget that she carried Tinkler blood in her veins, and poor -"Jenny Faa," as they persisted in calling her, was exposed to many an -insult. Sir John was once a candidate for election to Parliament, and -whenever Lady Jenny entered the burghs during the canvass, the streets -resounded with the old song of "Johnny Faa, the gipsy laddie," which -recounts how-- - - "The gipsies came to my Lord Cassilis' yett, - And oh! but they sang bonnie; - They sang sae sweet, and sae complete. - That down came our fair ladie." - -It was not all a romance of love, and fine dresses, and free ranging -up and down the realm, this life of the gipsies. Magistrates were -found pretty often, not only to punish their repeated crimes of -robbery and murder, but even to put in force the old savage law -against "such as were by habit and repute Egyptians"--namely, that -"their ears be nailed to the tron or other tree, and cut off." It is -an odd fact that in this act were denounced not only gipsies, but -"_such as make themselves fools_," strolling bards, and "vagabond -scholars of the universities of St. Andrew's, Glasgow, and Aberdeen, -not licensed by the rector and dean of faculty to ask alms." There was -an old John Young, an uncle of the Charlie Graham before mentioned, -who had seven sons, and when asked where they were, he used to say -"They are all hanged." It was a pretty family record, but a just one. -Peter, one of the seven, was captain of a band of thieves whose -exploits were long remembered in the north of Scotland. He was several -times taken and sentenced to the gallows, but managed to escape. Once -being recaptured at a distance from the jail out of which he had -broken, the authorities were about to hang him on the spot, when some -one in the crowd cried out, "Peter, deny you are the man;" whereupon -he insisted that his name was John Anderson. Strange as it may appear, -he managed to get off by this device, as there was no one present who -could or would identify him. - -Alexander Brown, a dashing fellow, but a dreadful rascal, and one of -the principal members of Charlie Graham's band, after repeated -escapes, was hanged at last at Edinburgh, together with his -brother-in-law, Wilson. Martha Brown, the mother of one of the -prisoners, and mother-in-law of the other, was apprehended in the act -of stealing a pair of sheets, while attending their execution. When -Charlie Graham was hanged, it was reported that the surgeons meant to -disinter his body and dissect it. To prevent this his wife or -sweetheart filled the coffin with hot lime, and then sat on the grave, -in a state of beastly intoxication, until the corpse was destroyed. - -The last part of the volume before us, namely, the editor's -disquisition, we approach in fear and trembling. Old Mr. Walter Simson -seems to have been a good sort of a gentleman, for whom we cannot help -feeling a kindness, even though he did not write quite as well as -Addison; but this Mr. James Simson, editor, is a terrible fellow. He -assures us that all creation is full of unsuspected gipsies, who have -crept into every circle of society, insidiously intruded themselves -into the most respectable trades and professions; and contaminated the -best blood in Christendom. No matter where we live now, or where our -ancestors came from; it is quite possible--we are not sure that Mr. -James does not consider it almost as good as certain--that we may all -of us have some of that dark blood in our veins. Our -great-grandfathers may have been {715} hanged for horse-stealing, and -our grand-mothers, horrible thought! May have eaten "braxy." - -England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, France, Spain, Germany, and -Italy, all have contributed their quotas to the gipsy population of -the world, and even America itself is infested with descendants of the -vagabond tinklers of the last century. It is only about a fortnight -since the newspapers told us of the arrival of a band of wandering -"Egyptians" at Liverpool, on their way to the United States, fugitives -from the advancing civilization of Scotland, to the new settlements -and free woods and plains of the great west. Now and then, though not -very often, gipsy encampments of the old orthodox kind are seen in -this country, and there have been tented gipsies near Baltimore, says -Mr. Simson, for the last seventy years. He adds that a colony of them -has existed in New England for a hundred years, and "has always been -looked upon with a singular feeling of distrust and mystery by the -inhabitants, who are the descendants of the early emigrants, and who -did not suspect their origin till lately. . . . They follow pretty -much the employments and mode of life of the same class in Europe; the -most striking feature being that the bulk of them leave the homestead -for a length of time, scatter in different directions, and reunite -periodically at their quarters, which are left in charge of some of -the feeble members of the band." Pennsylvania and Maryland contain a -great many Hungarian and German gipsies, who leave their farms to the -care of hired hands during the summer, and proceed South with their -tents. - - "In the State of Pennsylvania, there is a settlement of them, on the - J---- river, a little way above H----, where they have sawmills. - About the Alleghany mountains, there are many of the tribe, - following somewhat the original ways of the race. In the United - States generally there are many gipsy peddlers, British as well as - continental. There are a good many gipsies in New York, English, - Irish, and continental, some of whom keep tin, crockery, and basket - stores; but these are all mixed gipsies, and many of them of fair - complexion. The tin-ware which they make is generally of a plain, - coarse kind; so much so, that a gipsy tin store is easily known. - They frequently exhibit their tin-ware and baskets on the streets, - and carry them about the city. Almost all, if not all, of those - itinerant cutlers and tinklers, to be met with in New-York, and - other American cities are gipsies, principally German, Hungarian, - and French. There are a good many gipsy musicians in America. - 'What!' said I to an English gipsy, 'those organ-grinders!' 'Nothing - so low as that Gipsies don't _grind_ their music, sir; they _make_ - it.' But I found in his house, when occupied by other gipsies, a - _hurdy-gurdy_ and tambourine; so that gipsies sometimes _grind_ - music, as well as _make_ it. I know of a Hungarian gipsy who is a - leader of a negro musical band, in the city of New-York; his brother - drives one of the avenue cars. There are a number of gipsy musicians - in Baltimore, who play at parties, and on other occasions. Some of - the fortune-telling gipsy women about New-York will make as much as - forty dollars a week in that line of business. They generally live a - little way out of the city, into which they ride in the morning to - their places of business. I know of one, who resides in New-Jersey, - opposite New-York, and who has a place in the city, to which ladies, - that is, females of the highest classes, address their cards, for - her to call upon them." - -We forbear quoting more about the American gipsies: the information -becomes fearfully suggestive, and it is all the more terrifying -because these people never acknowledge their descent, and however -sharply we may suspect them, we have no way of bringing the offence -home to them. The friend who shakes our hand today may be the grandson -of a vagabond who camped on our grandfather's farm, stole our -grandmother's eggs and poultry, and picked our great-uncle's pocket. -The ancestor of that beautiful girl we danced with at the last ball -may have had his ears nailed to the tree and then cut off, and the -gentleman who asks us to dinner to-morrow, may purpose entertaining us -with "sharps"-flavored mutton and a savory stew of beef juice and old -rags. - ------- - -{716} - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -THIRTY YEARS OF ARMY LIFE ON THE BORDER. -Comprising descriptions of the Indian Nomads of the Plains; -explorations of new territory; a trip across the Rocky Mountains in -the winter; descriptions of the habits of different animals found in -the West, and the methods of hunting them; with incidents in the life -of different frontier men, etc., etc. By Colonel R. B. Marcy, U.S.A., -author of "The Prairie Traveller." With numerous illustrations. -New-York: Harper & Brothers. 1866. - -Colonel Marcy, as appears from the title of his book, has passed the -greater portion of his life among the trappers and Indians of the -frontier. His descriptions are consequently authentic, and his lively, -picturesque style makes them also extremely interesting and agreeable. -When we add to this the pleasant accompaniment of fine typographical -execution and numerous spirited illustrations, we have said enough to -recommend the book to the lovers of information combined with -entertainment, and will leave the following specimen to speak for the -whole work. - -THE COLORADO CAÑON. - -I refer to that portion of the Colorado, extending from near the -confluence of Grand and Green rivers, which is known as the "Big Cañon -of the Colorado." This cañon is without doubt one of the most -stupendous freaks of nature that can be found upon the face of the -earth. It appears that by some great paroxysmal, convulsive throe in -the mysterious economy of the wise laws of nature, an elevated chain -of mountains has been reft asunder, as if to admit a passage for the -river along the level of the grade at the base. The walls of this -majestic defile, so far as they have been seen, are nearly -perpendicular; and although we have no exact data upon which to base a -positive calculation of their altitude, yet our information is amply -sufficient to warrant the assertion that it far exceeds anything of -the kind elsewhere known. - -The first published account of this remarkable defile was contained in -the works of Castenada, giving a description of the expedition of Don -Francisco Vasquez de Coronado in search of the "seven cities of -Cibola"--in 1540-1. - -He went from the city of Mexico to Sonora, and from thence penetrated -to Cibola; and while there despatched an auxiliary expedition, under -the command of Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas, to explore a river which -emptied into the Gulf of California, called "_Rio del Tison,_" and -which, of course, was the _Rio Colorado_. - -On reaching the vicinity of the river, he found a race of natives, of -very great stature, who lived in subterranean tenements covered with -straw or grass. He says, when these Indians travelled in very cold -weather, they carried in their hands a firebrand, with which they kept -themselves warm. - -Captain Sitgreaves, who in 1862 met the Mohave Indians on the Colorado -river, says "they are over six feet tall;" and Mr. R. H. Kern, a very -intelligent and reliable gentleman, who was attached to the same -expedition, and visited the lower part of the great cañon of the -Colorado, says: "The same manners and customs (as those described by -Castenada) are peculiar to all the different tribes inhabiting the -valley of the Colorado, even to the use of the brand for warming the -body. These Indians, as a mass, are the largest and best-formed men I -ever saw, their average height being an inch over six feet." - -The Spanish explorer says he travelled for several days along the -crest of the lofty bluff bordering the cañon, which he estimated to be -three leagues high, and he found no place where he could pass down to -the water from the summits. He once made the attempt at a place where -but few obstacles seemed to interfere with the descent, and started -three of his most active men. They were gone the greater part of the -day, and on their return informed him that they had only succeeded in -reaching a rock about one third the distance down. This rock, he says, -appeared from the top of the cañon about six feet high, but they -informed him that it was as high as the spire of the cathedral at -Seville in Spain. - -The river itself looked from the summit of the cañon, to be something -like a fathom in width, but the Indians assured him it was half a -league wide. - -Antoine Lereux, one of the most reliable and best informed guides in -New Mexico, told me in 1858, that he had once been at a point of this -cañon where he estimated the walls to be _three miles high_. - -{717} - -Mr. Kern says, in speaking of the Colorado: "No other river in North -America passes through a cañon equal in depth to the one alluded to. -The description (Castenada's) is made out with rare truth and force. -We had a view of it from the San Francisco mountain, N. M., and -judging from our own elevation, and the character of the intervening -country, I have no doubt the walls are at least fire thousand feet in -height." - -The mountaineers in Utah told me that a party of trappers many years -since built a large row-boat, and made the attempt to descend the -river through the defile of the cañon, but were never heard from -afterward. They probably dashed their boat in pieces, and were lost by -being precipitated over sunken rocks or elevated falls. - -In 185- Lieutenant Ives of the United States Engineers, was ordered to -penetrate the cañon with a steamer of light draught. He ascended the -river from the gulf as high as a little above the mouth of the gorge, -but there encountered rapids and other obstacles of so serious a -character that he was forced to turn back and abandon the enterprise, -and no other efforts have since been made under government auspices to -explore it. - -A thorough examination of this cañon might, in my opinion, be made by -taking small row-boats and ascending the river from the debouche of -the gorge at a low stage of water. In this way there would be no -danger of being carried over dangerous rapids or falls, and the boats -could be carried round difficult passages. Such an exploration could -not, in my judgment, prove otherwise than intensely interesting, as -the scenery here must surpass in grandeur any other in the universe. - -Wherever we find rivers flowing through similar formations elsewhere, -as at the "_dalles_" of the Columbia and Wisconsin rivers, and in the -great cañons of Red and Canadian rivers, although the escarpments at -those places have nothing like the altitude of those upon the -Colorado, yet the long continued erosive action of the water upon the -rock, has produced the most novel and interesting combinations of -beautiful pictures. Imagine, then, what must be the effect of a large -stream like the Colorado, traversing for two hundred miles a defile -with the perpendicular walls towering five thousand feet above the bed -of the river. It is impossible that it should not contribute largely -toward the formation of scenery surpassing in sublimity and -picturesque character any other in the world. Our landscape painters -would here find rare subjects for their study, and I venture to hope -that the day is not far distant when some of the most enterprising of -them may be induced to penetrate this new field of art in our only -remaining unexplored territory. I am confident they would be -abundantly rewarded for their trouble and exposure, and would find -subjects for the exercise of genius, the sublimity of which the most -vivid imaginations of the old masters never dreamed of. - -A consideration, however, of vastly greater financial and national -importance than those alluded to above, which might and probably would -result from a thorough exploration of this part of the river, is the -development of its mineral wealth. - -In 1849 I met in Santa Fé that enterprising pioneer, Mr. F. X. Aubrey, -who had just returned from California, and en route had crossed the -Colorado near the outlet of the _Big Cañon_, where he met some -Indians, with whom, as he informed me, he exchanged leaden for golden -rifle-balls, and these Indians did not appear to have the slightest -appreciation of the relative value of the two metals. - -That gold and silver abound in that region is fully established, as -those metals have been found in many localities both east and west of -the Colorado. Is it not therefore probable that the walls of this -gigantic crevice will exhibit many rich deposits? Companies are formed -almost daily, and large amounts of money and labor expended in sinking -shafts of one, two, and three hundred feet with the confident -expectation of finding mineral deposits; but here nature has opened -and exposed to view a continuous shaft two hundred miles in length, -and five thousand feet in depth. In the one case we have a small shaft -blasted out at great expense by manual labor, showing a surface of -about thirty-six hundred feet, while here nature gratuitously exhibits -ten thousand millions of feet, extending into the very bowels of the -earth. - -Is it, then, at all without the scope of rational conjecture to -predict that such an immense development of the interior strata of the -earth--such a huge gulch, if I may be allowed the expression, -extending so great a distance through the heart of a country as rich -as this in the precious metals, may yet prove to be the _El Dorado_ -which the early Spanish explorers so long and so fruitlessly sought -for; and who knows but that the government might here find a source of -revenue sufficient to liquidate our national debt? - -Regarding the exploration of this river as highly important in a -national aspect, I in 1858 submitted a paper upon the subject to the -War Department, setting forth my views somewhat in detail, and -offering my services to perform the work; but there was then no -appropriation which could be applied to that object, and the Secretary -of War for this reason declined ordering it. - -CHRISTINE; A TROUBADOUR'S SONG, -and other Poems. By George H. Miles. New York: Lawrence Kehoe. 1866. - -Mr. Miles's poem, "Christine," has {718} been already before our -readers, in the pages of the Catholic World, and we are sure that its -appearance in book form will be welcomed by all who have perused its -beautiful verses. - -It is the work of an artist, and as such, one likes to have it, as it -were, completely under view, and not scattered in fragments amidst -other productions which intrude upon our vision, and interrupt its -continuity. - -Mr. Miles has given us a poem of no ordinary merit. Powerfully -dramatic, it not only paints the scenes of the story in strong, vivid -colors, but brings the actors into a living reality as they pass -before us. Few writers of our day possess much dramatic power, and -this accounts for their short-lived fame. He who would write for fame -must give us pictures of real life, and not pure reflective sentiment. - -Poetry and its more subtle-tongued sister, music, are as much nobler -and worthier of immortality than are painting or sculpture, as the -reality is superior to the image. Poetry and music are the true -clothed in the beautiful, whilst painting and sculpture can only give -us beautiful yet lifeless images of the true. The Psalms of David -remain, but the Temple of Solomon and all its glory is departed. -Poetry, the purest form of language, is also the best expression of -divine, living and eternal truth, in so far as humanity can express -it. Being the expression of absolute truth, poetry and music are the -truly immortal arts which will live in heaven. No one ever yet -imagined that the blessed, in presence of the Unveiled Truth, will -express their beatitude in painted or sculptured images; but the -revealed vision of the inspired poet, who drew his inspiration at the -Source of truth, upon whose bosom he leaned, telling us of the saints, -"harping upon their harps of gold," and "singing the song of the -Lamb," finds a responsive assent in all our minds. Caught up into the -embrace of the infinitely true, and the infinitely beautiful, they -must necessarily give expression to that upon which the soul lives, -and with which it is wholly enlightened. - -There, too, they must possess a _quasi_ creative power of expression -of the true, (in so far as they are thus endowed by virtue of their -union with God, who is pure act, through the Word made Flesh,) just as -we possess it here in germ by the dramatic form, which actualizes to -us the otherwise abstract truth expressed. Hence the superiority of -the dramatic, in which of course we include the descriptive, over the -sentimental. Mr. Miles possesses this genius in no mean degree, as he -has already shown in his "Mahomet." The poem before us abounds in -dramatic passages of rare beauty. Let our readers turn to the third -song, and read the flight of Christine. They will find it to be a -description unsurpassed in the English language. The death of -"faithful Kaliph," and the knight's tender plaint over his "gallant -grey," forgetful of even his rescued spouse, introduced to us in the -flush of victory over the demon foe, just when our stronger passions -are wrought up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, is one of those -sudden and thrilling transitions from the sublime to the pathetic -which may crown Mr. Miles as a master of the poet's pen. - -"Raphael Sanzio" dying, the first of the additional poems, possesses -much of the merit we have signalized, but its versification and -wording are too harsh for the subject. It is not the death of him whom -we have known as Raphael. It reads as though told by one who was -forced to admire, yet did not love, the great artist. There is a -charming little poem, entitled, "Said the Rose," which is worth all -the minor poems put together, if poetry can be valued against poetry. -We may say, at least, that it alone is worth many times the price of -the whole volume; and our readers, who may have already enjoyed the -perusal of "Christine" in our pages, will not fail to thank us for -this hint to purchase the complete volume. - -Mr. Kehoe, the publisher, is giving us some creditable books, as the -"Life and Sermons of Father Baker," the "May Carols of Aubrey de -Vere," and "The Works of Archbishop Hughes," bear testimony. The -present one is got up in a superior manner, both in type, paper, and -binding, and is a worthy dress for author's work. - - -HISTORY OF ENGLAND, FROM THE FALL OF -WOLSEY TO THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH. -By James Anthony Froude, M.A., late Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford. -Vols. V. and VI. 8vo, pp. 474, 495. New York: Charles Scribner & Co. - -Mr. Froude's thorough-going Protestantism is by this time too familiar -to our {719} readers for them to expect a very lively satisfaction in -reading the story of the reigns of Edward VI. and Mary which he has -given in these volumes. We have neither the space nor the inclination -to follow him in his review of those melancholy times. We prefer to -accord a hearty recognition to the undoubted merits of his work; his -graphic and picturesque style; his artistic eye for effect; his -excellent judgment in the examination of old-time witnesses; and the -rare self-control which in the midst of his abundance of hitherto -unused material has saved him from encumbering his pages and -overloading his narrative with facts and illustrations of only minor -interest. He gives us sometimes little bits of truth where we had -least reason to look for them. Cordially as he detests Mary the queen, -he is tenderer than most historians of his ultra sort to Mary the -woman. "From the passions which in general tempt sovereigns into -crime," he says, "she was entirely free; to the time of her accession -she had lived a blameless, and in many respects a noble life; and few -men or women have lived less capable of doing knowingly a wrong thing. -Philip's conduct, which could not extinguish her passion for him, and -the collapse of the inflated imaginations which had surrounded her -supposed pregnancy, it can hardly be doubted, affected her sanity. -Those forlorn hours when she would sit on the ground with her knees -drawn to her face; those restless days and nights when, like a ghost, -she would wander about the palace galleries, rousing herself only to -write tear-blotted letters to her husband; those bursts of fury over -the libels dropped in her way; or the marchings in procession behind -the Host in the London streets[!]--these are all symptoms of -hysterical derangement, and leave little room, as we think of her, for -other feeling than pity." The persecution, for which her reign is -remembered was partly the result, Mr. Froude thinks, of "the too -natural tendency of an oppressed party to abuse suddenly recovered -power." Moreover, "the rebellions and massacres, the political -scandals, the universal suffering throughout the country during -Edward's minority, had created a general bitterness in all classes -against the Reformers; the Catholics could appeal with justice to the -apparent consequences of heretical opinions; and when the Reforming -preachers themselves denounced so loudly the irreligion which had -attended their success, there was little wonder that the world took -them at their word, and was ready to permit the use of strong -suppressive measures to keep down the unruly tendencies of -uncontrolled fanatics." - -Mr. Froude's history will be completed in two more volumes. - - -A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH: -from the Commencement of the Christian Era until the Present Time. By -M. l'Abbé J. E. Darras. Vol. III. P. O'Shea, New-York. - -The period comprised by the third volume of this admirable history -extends from the pontificate of Sylvester II. A.D. 1000 to that of -Julius II. a.d. 1513. To our mind the terrible struggle which the -church sustained during those four eventful centuries is more -wonderful than her deadly strife in the days of Roman persecution and -martyrdom. The church is a divine-human institution; and inasmuch as -it is human, it must suffer from human infirmity, but the Spirit of -God abideth for ever in it, preserving the truth amidst heresies, the -purity of the Christian law amidst moral degradation, and at last -crowning. His spouse with new glories for her patiently borne -sufferings. - -On every page of the church's history, and on none more clearly than -that which records her life from the eleventh to the sixteenth -century, is that promise written, "And the gates of hell shall not -prevail against it." We again add our cordial commendation of the work -of M. Darras, and hope its publication will prove to the enterprising -publisher as successful as it is opportune. - - - -THE AMERICAN ANNUAL CYCLOPAEDIA AND REGISTER OF CURRENT EVENTS OF THE -YEAR 1866. Vol. V. New-York: D. Appleton. 1867. - -This is a valuable compendium of information respecting the current -events of the year. It is particularly complete as regards American -politics and the literature of the English language. On other topics -it is more general and superficial, especially so in its history of -the progress of science. For instance, there is no record whatever of -the history of geology during the year. The great defect of the -Cyclopaedia, as a whole, is an unnecessary minuteness in regard to -{720} persons and things of our own time and country which have no -real and permanent interest, and a corresponding lack of minuteness in -regard to matters of other times and countries which are really -important. It would be a good idea for the publishers to invite all -the scholars in the country to send in a list of titles of articles -whose absence they have noticed in consulting the work for -information, and from these to prepare a supplementary volume. In -regard to all questions relating to the Catholic Church, the -Cyclopaedia is remarkable throughout for its fairness and -impartiality--a merit which is to be ascribed in great measure to its -learned and genial editor, Mr. Ripley. - - -AUNT HONOR'S KEEPSAKE. -A Chapter from Life. By Mrs. J. Sadlier. - -TEN STORIES FROM THE FRENCH OF BALLEYDIER. -Translated by Mrs. J. Sadlier. - -THE EXILE OF TADMOR, AND OTHER TALES. -Translated by Mrs. J. Sadlier. - -TALES AND STORIES. -Translated from the French of Viscount Walsh. By Mrs. J. Sadlier. - -VALERIA, OR THE FIRST CHRISTIANS, AND OTHER STORIES. -Translated from the French of Balleydier and Madame Bowdon. By Mrs. J. -Sadlier. - -THE BLIGHTED FLOWER, AND OTHER TALES. -Translated from the French of Balleydier. By Mrs. J. Sadlier. - -STORIES ON THE BEATITUDES. -By Agnes M. Stewart, authoress of "Stories on the Virtues," etc. -New-York: D.J. Sadlier & Co. 1866. - ----- - -A FATHER'S TALES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. -First Series. By the author of "Confessors of Connaught." - -RALPH BERRIEN, AND OTHER TALES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. -Second Series. By the author of "Grace Morton," "Philip Hartly," etc. - -CHARLES AND FREDERICK, OR A MOTHER'S -PRAYER, AND ROSE BLANCH, OR TWELFTH -NIGHT IN BRITTANY. - -THE BEAUFORTS. A STORY OF THE ALLEGHENIES. -By Cora Berkley. - -SILVER GRANGE. A CATHOLIC TALE, AND -PHILLIPINE, A TALE OF THE MIDDLE AGES. -Compiled by the author of "Grace Morton." - -HELENA BUTLER. -A story of the Rosary and the Shrine of the "Star of the Sea." -Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham. - -These volumes are a valuable addition to our list of books for -Catholic children. - - -"Aunt Honor's Keepsake," by Mrs. J. Sadlier, presents a vivid picture -of the wrongs and outrages suffered by Catholic children and parents -from the agents of the so-called "Juvenile Reformatories." We also -have a translation of several instructive tales from the French by the -same talented writer. Agnes Stewart gives us a number of well-written -stories on the beatitudes. We heartily commend this effort to provide -suitable reading for Catholic children. It is a pressing want. Their -active minds eagerly demand something to read. If we do not provide -safe and proper reading for them, they will find that which is not so. - -We have also an addition of six new volumes to the "Young Catholic -Library," published by P. F. Cunningham, Philadelphia. The subjects -are well chosen and most of the stories beautifully written. We -notice, however, at times, a straining after high-sounding -expressions--an absence of that simplicity so necessary in such tales -for children. There is also a tendency in writers for children to -sprinkle in so much of the romantic and unreal as to make their story -a kind of "novelette." Such reading creates in the mind of the young a -feverish desire for romance, which can only be satisfied in after -years by the novel. - -There is enough in the realities of life to startle and fix the -attention of any child if properly presented. We trust a larger number -of books suitable for children may be provided by those writers who -have the time and talent requisite for the work. We know of no way in -which they can more usefully employ their pen. - -The style in which these volumes are issued makes them suitable for -gift-books and is creditable to the publishers. We would also like to -see some in plain, durable bindings, better suited for the hard usage -they receive in a Sunday-school or parish library. - - -BOOKS RECEIVED - -From D. & J. Sadlier &Co., New York. "The Bit O'Writin'," and Other -Tales. "Mayor of Wind-Gap and Canvassing," by the O'Hara Family. 12mo, -pp. 406 and 414 (The above are two new volumes of Banim's works.) -Parts 21, 22, 23, and 24 of d'Artaud's Lives of the Popes. - -From P. Donohue. Boston. -Annual Report of the Association for the Protection of Destitute Roman -Catholic Children in Boston, from January 1, 1865, to January 1, 1866. -Pamphlet. - -From P. F. Cunningham, Philadelphia. -Alphonso; or, the Triumph of Religion. A Catholic Tale. 12mo, pp. 878. - -From Robert H. Johnston & Co., -New-York. The Valley of Wyoming: The Romance of its Poetry. Also -specimens of Indian Eloquence. Compiled by a native of the valley. -12mo, pp. 153. - ------- - -{721} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD - -VOL, III., NO. 18.--SEPTEMBER, 1866. - - -[ORIGINAL.] - - -THE DOCTRINE OF THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH CONCERNING -THE NECESSITY OF EPISCOPAL ORDINATION. -[Footnote 182] - - [Footnote 182: "A Vindication of the Doctrine of the Church of - England, or the Validity of the Orders of the Scotch and Foreign - Non-Episcopal Churches." By W. Goode, M.A., F.S.A., Rector of All - Hallows the Great and Less. London. 1852. - - "Does the Episcopal Church teach the Exclusive Validity of Episcopal - Orders?" By William Goode, M. A. New York. 185- - - "Vox Ecclesiae; or, The Doctrine of the Protestant Episcopal Church - on Episcopacy," etc. Philadelphia. 1866.] - -Within the past few years, certain circles of the Protestant Episcopal -Church have been thrown into no small commotion by a controversy which -has arisen between the two great parties, into which she is divided, -over the question, Whether or not it is her doctrine that episcopal -ordination is necessary to constitute a valid ministry? The contest -seems to have been opened by the Rev. William Goode, rector of All -Hallows, London, who in the year 1852 published a treatise maintaining -the negative of the proposition; "Is it the doctrine of the Church of -England that episcopal ordination is a _sine qua non_ to constitute a -valid ministry?" In support of his position, he adduced those articles -and other formularies of his church, which relate to this subject; the -testimony of those divines who drew up these standards, as -interpreting the same, together with the sense in which they were -received by their successors in the clerical office for the ensuing -hundred years; and the conduct of the church toward the Continental -Protestant societies and in the ordering of her own hierarchy for the -same period of time. So successful was this author in his argument, -and so triumphant was his vindication of this peculiar principle of -the Low Church party, that his work was at once hailed by them, in -England and in America, as the "End of Controversy" upon this point; -was adopted by their publication societies as an "unanswerable defence -of the validity of non-episcopal orders," and was claimed by one of -their leading journals to be effectual in "banishing and driving away -the last doubt, which hung upon some minds, from the boldness and -continuity of assertion that the Episcopal Church disallowed the -validity of other than episcopal orders." - -{722} - -How completely "banished and driven away" from some minds that last -doubt was, events of a startling character soon made manifest. - - "Certain clergymen of the diocese of New York adopted a course - destined to change the settled practice of the church, if not to - change its whole character. They turned their backs upon all - existing laws and all previous usage in connection with such - matters, and openly admitted to their pulpits ministers who had not - had episcopal ordination. . . . . Of course, an innovation so - startling and so daring occasioned much excitement. The Bishop of - the diocese issued a pastoral letter, in which, in the kindest - language and most reasonable spirit, he pointed out to those - gentlemen the unlawfulness of their course. And _there_, if they had - been lovers of order and of peace, the whole matter might have - rested. But, however gentle the reproof or remonstrance, it was - still an exercise of authority, and that was hard to bear. Therefore - the reverend gentlemen rushed into print at once, and strove to give - to the whole matter the air of simple controversy, on equal terms, - between the Bishop and themselves. They represented him as the - advocate of a narrow partisan policy, and not as their - ecclesiastical superior to whom they had solemnly promised - obedience, and whose duty compelled him to give them a reproof. - Their 'letters,' 'reviews,' and 'replies to the pastoral' have been - sent everywhere throughout the country, and have served to show that - some Episcopalians pay but little respect 'to those who are over - them in the Lord;' that they are not much disposed to 'submit to - their judgment,' and 'to follow with a glad mind and will their - godly admonitions.'" (Vox Ecclesiae, vi.) - -Such was the state of affairs, when a reply to "Goode on Orders" -issued from the Philadelphia press, professing to demolish its -conclusions and to clear the doctrine of the Episcopal Church, on the -point in question, from all ambiguity. This was the work of an elegant -and judicious but anonymous writer, who, though disclaiming all -tendencies to Puseyism, is, nevertheless, manifestly a High Churchman -of strong and well-founded principles, and who has received on account -of this reply, the highest commendations from many of the bishops and -clergy of his church. His book is entitled "Vox Ecclesiae." The -proposition he seeks to demonstrate is, "That the answer of the -Episcopal Church to the question, 'What is the true and scriptural -mode of church government, and what constitutes a true and proper -organization?' would be, 'That episcopal government and ordination by -bishops are the only modes of government or ordination recognized by -that church as scriptural or proper.'" In support of this, he also, -like his antagonist, relies upon the doctrinal and devotional -standards of the church; her laws and principles as set forth in her -canons and other official acts; those works which by her special -endorsement have been raised to a semi official authority; and, -lastly, the opinions of her eminent divines. The conclusion, which -this exhaustive argument claims to have established, is that the -church of England never recognized the validity of Presbyterian -orders, _as such_, but, on the contrary, has ever held the doctrine of -episcopacy by divine right and apostolical succession; a conclusion -diametrically opposite to that of the first writer, whose book has, by -this one, in the language of the American Churchman, been "So -effectually answered that we believe it will ask no more questions for -all time to come." This work in its time has received the highest -encomiums from the Right Rev. Bishops Hopkins, Kemper, Atkinson, Coxe, -Williams, Clark, and Randall, the Rev. Drs. Coit, Adams, Morton, -Mason, Wilson, Meade, and other leaders of that party of the Episcopal -Church, whose views it professes to embody, is already catalogued by -them "among the best standard works of the church," and has been -gratuitously circulated in its general seminary at New York, as a -thorough antidote to the dangerous heresy of Mr. Goode. - -From these two works, it might fairly be presumed, that we may, at -last, gain a tolerably correct idea of the doctrine of the episcopal -Church concerning the necessity of episcopal ordination. "Goode on -Orders" is the "unanswerable" organ of one great party of that church. -"Vox Ecclesiae" is the equally unanswerable organ of the other. And in -these two great parties, and in the {723} undefinable middle ground -between them, may be ranked at least ninety-nine one handredths of the -laity and nearly all the clergy of that large and influential -religious body. - -To us Catholics it certainly, at first sight, seems a little singular, -that in a church which bases upon an unbroken episcopal succession its -whole claim to external unity with the primitive Catholic Church, -there should be any doubt whether or not that church herself believes -and teaches that such an unbroken succession is essential to the -existence of a visible church; that in a denomination, which, for -ages, has claimed superiority to other Protestant sects on almost the -sole ground of her episcopally ordained ministry, there should be any -controversy as to her doctrine on the necessity of such a ministry. -But it is only one of those anomalies which meet us everywhere outside -the Ark of Peter; which are the inevitable results of deviation, -however slight, from the true source of apostolic unity. The ocean is -as deep beneath the Ship of Christ as it is miles away. He that goes -down under her very shadow is as effectually drowned as he that -perishes beneath a sky whose horizon is unbroken by a single sail. It -is as well among those who are most near us as among those who are -most removed that we must look for the old marks of error, and this -boldness of assertion and internal doubt is one of them. Before we -close, it may be given us to show that this doubt is indeed well -grounded and that this inconsistency is more consistent with the -actual _status_ of the Episcopal Church than many, even of her -enemies, would dream. - -Upon that fundamental principle which underlies the whole fabric of an -organized Christian society, namely, the necessity of some -authoritative ordination, there seems to be no question in the -Episcopal Church. That man cannot originate a church; that Christ did -originate one; that, conveying his power of mission and orders to his -apostles, he left it to them to convey to their successors; that by -them and by their successors it ever has been so conveyed; and that, -at this day, no man has any right or power to fulfil the office of a -minister of Christ unless he has received authority through this -source; are tenets common to all Christians who recognize a visible -church and believe in and maintain a regular ministry. However they -may differ as to the channel through which this power has descended: -whether, like the Presbyterians, denying the existence of a third -order in the ministry, they claim that priests and bishops are the -same, and thus that presbyters are the appointed agents of Christ in -perpetuating the line of Christian teachers, or whether, like -denominations far more radical, they confer on individual preachers, -of whatever grade, the right to raise others at their pleasure to the -same dignities and power--this principle is still maintained. It is, -therefore, but natural, that while Mr. Goode and his Low Church -followers scout the title "Apostolical Succession" as "monstrous" and -"heretical," their whole ailment should presuppose the existence of -the very state of facts, to which, in its most general construction, -that title is applied, and should admit the necessity of such a -"succession," through some channel, as the basis of all external, -collective Christian life. That the High Church party also abide in -this doctrine every page of "Vox Ecclesiae" makes manifest, and from -what one thus necessarily implies and the other expressly declares, we -feel safe in concluding that "succession in the mission and authority -of the apostles" is held and taught by the Episcopal Church as -necessary to the existence of a valid ministry. - -We may even go a step farther. If "tactual succession" signifies -merely that some visible or audible commission must pass from the -minister ordaining to the man ordained, without supposing any -particular act or word to be necessary to such "tactual succession," -we may regard this also as {724} being a point upon which -Episcopalians raise no issue. The High Churchman may know no other -"tactual" ordination than "the laying on of hands." Mr. Goode and his -party might perhaps scruple to adopt such an interpretation, for, -though scriptural and primitive, it is not of the essence of the -ministerial commission. But that "succession," perpetuated by means of -some actual commission, visibly or audibly moving from the ordainer to -the ordained, is necessary, neither of these adversaries will deny. - -Here, however, all acknowledged unity of doctrine ceases. "What is the -appointed channel of this ministerial authority?" "Is it confined to -one rank of the ministry, or possessed by two?" "Is _episcopal_ -succession necessary to the validity of holy orders?" are questions on -which their disagreement appears, to them, irreconcilable. The organs -of both parties here speak with no uncertain sound. Each denounces the -teachings of the other with unsparing acerbity. Mr. Goode -characterizes the doctrines of his opponents as "at variance with the -spirit of Christian charity" and "the facts of God's providence," as -"having no foundation in Holy Scripture, and leading to consequences -so dreadful that it is simply monstrous in any one to teach them." The -"voice of the church" with equal plainness of speech replies, "He who -looks upon Episcopacy as a thing of expediency, who talks of parity -between bishop and presbyter, and who denounces 'Apostolical -succession' as a _monstrous_ theory, has no place among them. HE IS -NOT A LOW CHURCHMAN? he is not an Episcopalian in any proper sense at -all." (p. 487.) - -The formal statement of the Low Church doctrine, as explained by Mr. -Goode, may thus be made: That the highest order of ministers, -appointed by Christ or enjoying any direct scriptural authority, is -that of presbyters or elders, in which order inheres, _ex ordine_, the -powers of government and ordination; that the apostles, selecting from -among the presbytery certain men called bishops, appointed them to -exercise these powers; that, consequently, government by bishops and -episcopal ordination rest upon apostolic precedent, and are sanctioned -by the constant observance of fifteen hundred years; that this -appointment, however, in no wise conferred upon such bishop any power -of order which he had not before, or deprived the remaining presbyters -of those equal powers which they possessed already: and, therefore, -that ordination by presbyters alone, although not regular or in -accordance with established precedent, is truly valid, and confers -upon the person so ordained all the rights and authority of a minister -of Christ. This doctrine is essential Presbyterianism. On the -questions of historical fact--whether the apostles did appoint bishops -and confine to them the office of ordaining others, and whether such -practice was adhered to unvaryingly from their day till that of -Calvin; as, also, on the relative weight and importance of such a -precedent, if it does historically exist--they certainly disagree. But -on the main question their decision is identical: that ordination is a -power of the presbyter by divine institution and of the presbyter -only, and that the episcopate, wherever it exists, possesses these -powers solely by virtue of the presbyterate which it includes. - -The doctrine of the High Church party, on the other hand, is thus laid -down in "Vox Ecclesiae:" That Christ instituted, either by his own act -or that of his apostles, three several orders of ministers in his -church, and to the first of these, called bishops, and to them alone, -intrusted the power and authority of ordaining pastors for his flock; -that this episcopate is, therefore, of divine commandment, and cannot -be neglected or abolished without sin, neither can any ordination be -valid or confer authority to preach the word or minister the -sacraments unless performed by bishops; that, consequently, -presbyterian orders, being bestowed {725} by men who have no power or -commission to ordain, are, _ipso facto_, void: EXCEPT in cases of real -necessity, where, if episcopal ordination cannot be obtained, -presbyters may validly ordain. This doctrine is, in the main, that -which we have always supposed the great majority of Episcopalians -help. As we have never seen the "exception" so fully stated in any -authoritative work as it is in this, we give it in the author's own -language, as it occurs in several portions of his book. Thus on page -62-- - -"'_Necessitas non habet legem_' was a Roman proverb, the propriety and -force of which must be acknowledged by all. In reference to our -present subject, one of the most eminent of the defenders of our -church uses almost the very words, viz. '_Nisi coegerit dura -necessitas cui nulla lex est posita_.' (Hadrian Saravia's reply to -Beza.) The principle then is fully admitted. Necessity excuseth every -defect or irregularity which it _really_ occasions." On page 313, an -extract from the same Saravia is given, as follows: "Although I am of -opinion that ordinations of ministers of the church properly belong to -bishops, yet NECESSITY causes that, when they are wanting and CANNOT -BE HAD, _orthodox presbyters can, in case of necessity_, ordain a -presbyter;" and the author says of it, "We take this as Mr. Goode -gives it." It is the strongest sentence in the whole passage, and yet -it contains no more than what nine tenths of all Episcopal writers -gladly allow, viz., (to use the words of Archbishop Parker,) "Extreme -necessity in itself implieth dispensation with all laws." Again, on -page 70, after noticing certain objections to this plea of necessity, -put forward by individual writers in the church, he continues; "There -is great force in these objections: nevertheless we think it far -better to grant all that the foreign churches claimed in the way of -necessity, inasmuch as the English Church certainly did so at the -time." A still more definite statement of the same "exception" occurs -on pages 82 and 83: "As regards the question before us, the High -Churchman and the Low Churchman unite in considering episcopacy a -divine institution, and a properly derived authority a _sine qua non_ -to lawful ministering in the church. They also agree in believing that -real necessity in this, as in every other matter, abrogates law and -makes valid whatever is performed under it." We have no wish to -multiply quotations, but on this important point we desire to fall -into no error and to be guilty of no misrepresentation. We have -preferred to give the "voice of the church" in its own words, rather -than in ours, and have no hesitation in repeating the definition we -have already given, as setting forth the High Church doctrine, -strictly according to its acknowledged organ: "Episcopacy is a divine -institution, and necessary, where it can be had. Where it cannot be -had, presbyters may validly ordain." - -The doctrine of the Episcopal Church, as a church, if, as a church, -she has any doctrine on the subject, must lie within these -definitions. Mr. Goode must be wholly right, and the "Vox Ecclesiae" -wholly wrong, or _vice versa_, or else both must have the truth, -mingled in each case with more or less of falsehood and confusion. If -we can reconcile the two, or if the teaching of either has that in it -which disproves itself, we may at last define the real position of -their church upon the question which involves her life. - -And here we must premise, that the words "order," "Office," etc., -which seem to be the gist of much of this controversy, are names, not -things. They mean, in the mouth, or on the pen, of any Individual, -just what that individual means by them, no less, no more. They have -never been defined authoritatively by Scripture or by any other -tribunal to which these parties own allegiance. When Mr. Goode uses -them, they may imply one thing. In the pages of "Vox Ecclesiae," they -may signify another. The whole contest, therefore, so far as {726} it -relates to the number of "orders," or whether that of the bishop is a -different "order," or only a different "office," from that of the -presbyter, is, in our view, one of names and titles only. The real -question stands thus: "Has a bishop, by divine institution, a power -which the presbyter has not, or is the same power resident in both, -and ordinarily made latent in the one, and operative in the other, by -virtue of ecclesiastical law and usage?" The answer to this question -will show how far the High and Low Church party really differ from -each other, and what is the variance, if any, between the "Vox -Ecclesiae" and Mr. Goode. - -It seems to us that the "EXCEPTION," which, equally with the rule, is -admitted by the High Church doctrine to be fundamental law, answers -this question once for all. For if, in any supposable emergency, -presbyters may validly ordain, and if persons so by them ordained have -power to preach the word and minister the sacraments, then either (1.) -Necessity confers a power to ordain upon those who have it not, or -else (2.) The power to ordain is resident alike in presbyters and -bishops, and the restrictions on its exercise by presbyters are, by -that necessity, removed. If the second of these positions truly -represent the High Church theory, then, between them and Mr. Goode's -adherents, there is no essential difference, and their war, with all -its bitterness and pertinacity, is one of human words and human facts, -and not of Christian doctrine. If, to avoid this fate, the first -alternative be the one adopted, the following difficulties must be met -and answered. - -1. It overthrows the entire doctrine of "succession." This fundamental -law of organic, collective, Christian life presupposes the existence -of an unbroken chain of ministers, transmitting their authority, -through generation after generation, from Christ's day to our own. It -presupposes that every man, who has himself possessed and transmitted -this authority, has received it in his turn from some other man who -possessed it and transmitted it to him, and so on back to Christ -himself. Christ thus becomes the sole source, and man the sole -channel, of ecclesiastical authority, and the right or power of any -individual to exercise the functions of the ministerial office depends -on his reception of authority therefor from this only source and -through this only channel. - -But if necessity can also confer authority, or rather, to put the case -in words more expressive of its real character, if, whenever the -appointed channel cannot be had and necessity of ministers exists, God -will himself from heaven confer the authority in need, the value of -this "succession" amounts to nothing. Orders, wherever necessary, will -be had as well without it as with it, and they who have it can never -with any certainty deny the validity of orders which have it not. -Christ still may be the sole source, but man is not the only, nay, nor -the most perfect and available, channel of this authority. There is -another, surer, nearer, more direct, conveying, only to proper -persons, the gifts of God, and free from all the doubts and dangers -which result from a residence of heavenly "treasure in earthen -vessels," and the necessity which demands it is the sole condition of -its use. The High Church party, if they adopt this position, must, -therefore, become more radical than any Christian church upon the -globe. They out-Herod even their great Herod, Mr. Goode, and are more -dangerous to the cause of "apostolic order" and ecclesiastical -authority than any Low Churchmen or Separatist that ever lived. - -2. It elevates human necessity above divine law. The law, by which -holy orders exist, and by which their transmission from man to man is -regulated, is unquestionably divine. "Vox Ecclesiae" goes so far as to -claim that their transmission, from bishop to bishop only, is of -divine precept, but, waiving that, it is acknowledged by all parties, -with whom we have to do at {727} present, that whatever be the human -channel, it is of Christ's appointment, and rests upon divine -authority. It is thus a _divine_ law which "necessity abrogates," a -positive institution and command of God which is to be disregarded and -disobeyed, and that because "necessity" demands it. - -But this necessity is a merely human one. Orders confers on the -ordained only the power to preach and to administer the sacraments, -and it is only that those things may be done, that God's law is -despised and set aside. Yet, though the eternal salvation of the human -soul may ordinarily depend upon the preaching of the word and on the -sacraments, still nothing is _absolutely_ necessary to eternal life -that may not take place between the soul and God, independently of -bishop, priest, or church. It is thus no necessity of _God's_ -creation, no necessity inevitably involving the eternal destinies of -man, that substitutes itself for the admitted law of God, but a mere -earthly need, a need based upon human views and customs and opinions, -which never received endorsement from on high, and finds no sanction -for its existence in Holy Writ. There is no irregularity which such a -position would not justify, no departure from God's ordinances which -it could consistently condemn. It would come with fearful self-rebuke -from that portion of the Episcopal Church, who for three hundred years -have practically ignored their brother Protestants, because they -judged of their own necessities and set aside the institutions of God -in order that those necessities might be supplied. - -3. It legitimates every form of error and schism. For, if "necessity -_confers_ orders," the sole question in every case is, whether the -necessity existed. If there was such necessity in Germany and -Switzerland in the sixteenth century, then Lutheran and Calvinistic -orders were as valid as Episcopal, and if that necessity continues, -they are valid still. If there was such necessity in Scotland, after -the abolition of the prelacy, and that necessity continues, the orders -of the kirk are valid at this day. If there was such necessity when -John Wesley ordained Dr. Coke, and that necessity continues, Methodist -orders are as valid as his Grace of Canterbury's are. There is no -stopping-place for these deductions. If "necessity confers orders," -not even the channel of _presbyters_ is necessary. No human instrument -at all stands between God and the recipient of his extraordinary -favor. In every case where the necessity exists, there God confers the -power of orders, and there is no sect so wild and heretical, no -ministry so dangerous and erratic, that may not claim validity upon -this ground, and that must not, on these principles, when necessity is -proven, be adjudged legitimate. - -But of this necessity who shall be the judge? Shall God, who, of -course, knows all the circumstances of mankind and estimates them at -their proper value? But then, to us his judgment is useless without -expression, and his expression is _revelation_. Are those who allow -the force of this plea of necessity prepared to admit all who claim -it, for the sake of Christian charity, or will they demand a -revelation from God to satisfy them that the "necessity" was _real_? -Yet, if God be the only Judge, they must admit all or reject all until -he speaks from heaven, and in the latter case, the "EXCEPTION" might -as well have been left unmade. Or shall the church judge? And if so, -what church? The church, from which Luther, and Calvin, and Cranmer, -and Parker separated? She had her bishops ready to ordain all proper -men, and if her judgment had been taken, there would have been no -occasion for men to plead necessity. The church, from which came forth -the Puritans and Methodists? She also had her bishops, and in her view -no necessity could ever have existed. So with every church. None that -are founded in Episcopacy could ever {728} admit a necessity without -supplying it in the appointed way. And none that reject Episcopacy -would care to inquire whether or not there was any such necessity. The -church could, therefore, be no judge. She is, in every issue of this -sort, a party, not an umpire; but, were she competent to judge, -wherein is her decree less valid, when from Rome she excommunicates -the Church of England, than when from London or New York she denies -ministerial authority to Presbyterians and Universalists? Or is it the -individual? There can be no doubt in this answer. It must be. No man -can judge of a necessity except he who is placed in it. A little -colony of Christians, cast away on some Pacific island, must decide -for themselves, whether they will ordain a pastor for their flock or -utterly dispense with Christian teaching. A man, whose creed differs -from that of the church in which he lives, and yet who feels an inward -call to preach the Gospel, as he understands it, must be the sole -judge of the necessity of call, upon the one hand, which commands him -to preach, and of conscience, on the other, which forbids him to -subscribe the creed which is the unrelenting condition of his -ordination by authority. Extend it to societies and communities of -men, and the rule is the same. These societies become themselves the -judges, whether or not, in their case, necessity exists, and no other -can judge for them. The law is universal. If necessity be a -justification, it must be necessity as judged of by the parties in -necessity, and not as judged of by God, unknown to men, or by a church -which either will supply the need or treat the whole matter as of -little moment. There thus becomes no limit to necessities. They are -moral as well as physical. They grow out of duties and -responsibilities, as well as out of distances and years. Obedience to -the voice of conscience is an indispensable condition of salvation, -and no necessity is greater or more potent than the necessity of that -obedience. When the Rev. Gardiner Spring was moved, as he believed it, -by the Holy Ghost, to do the work of a minister in the church of God, -there was not a regularly ordained bishop in the world who would have -ordained him, while holding the doctrines he professed. In his case, -without a violation of his conscience and the loss of his soul, -bishops "COULD NOT BE HAD," and presbyters must have validly ordained. -When Charles Spurgeon, rejoicing in the new-found light of the Gospel, -burned to tell other men the good that God had done to him, the moral -necessity was the same, a necessity which compelled him to disobey -what he believed to be a command of God, or to receive orders from -non-Episcopal hands. Is there any need of multiplying instances? Where -is the imaginable limit to which validity must be acknowledged and -beyond which it must cease? The High Churchman who starts with the -admission, that in case of "necessity," God confers the power of -order, can never stop till he has bowed the knee before every Baal -which claims the name of Christian and opened the gifts of God to -every man who demands priestly recognition at his hands. - -There are other objections to this theory, equally insuperable with -those already suggested. It can hardly be necessary, however, to -mention them. No candid mind, after seeing the real bearing of this -position on the whole question of a visible church, can hesitate a -moment to reject it. There remains only the other alternative, namely, -that necessity renders operation in presbyters a power possessed by, -but latent in, them, by removing the restrictions which, in ordinary -circumstances, apostolic precedent and ecclesiastical usage have -imposed; and as this is essentially the position advocated by Mr. -Goode, and as the difference between these parties is thus reduced, in -every case, to a question of historic or contemporaneous fact, which -no one but the individuals who plead it can adequately settle, we -conclude that {729} the sole contest as to doctrine is one of words -and definitions, and that on all material points of theory and faith -they perfectly agree. We thus feel justified in the conclusion that -the Episcopal Church of the present age has a doctrine concerning the -necessity of episcopal ordination, and that her doctrine is no less, -no more, than this: "The power of order is resident in bishops and -presbyters both, _ex ordine_, and is operative, under ordinary -circumstances, in bishops only, though in cases of necessity, -presbyters may exercise that power and validly ordain." - -This doctrine is logical, coherent, and conservative. No divine -institution is thereby set aside for a mere human necessity. No -destructive principle antagonistic to the doctrine of "succession" is -thereby introduced; no gate is thereby opened for a multitudinous -throng of orthodox and heretics, ordained and unordained, to bring -disorder and confusion into the Church of God. However fatal to the -high pretensions of the Episcopal Church in generations past, and to -any claim of exclusive apostolicity at present, this doctrine is, -nevertheless, most consistent with her actual _status_ in the -religious world. Thoroughly Protestant in doctrine and in worship, all -her affinities and tendencies are toward the Presbyterian and other -non-Episcopal denominations of the age. No church on earth, whose -episcopal succession can be traced to any apostolic source, has ever -recognized hers as beyond question, or admitted her claim to be a -portion of the Catholic Church of Christ. Her very episcopate itself -is, practically, as the recent events in New York have shown, a rank -of honor and of office not of power. Her alleged superiority, for her -bishops' sakes, can never bring her one step nearer to the Catholic -Church, while she retains her heresies or remains in schism; and, on -the other hand, her alienation from her protesting sisters must -increase with every generation while this allegation is maintained. -Far better, far more accordant with her actual position, is her -doctrine as thus evolved by Mr. Goode and "Vox Ecclesiae," and while -its enunciation cannot change her in our estimation, it will doubtless -draw nearer to her, in the bonds of love and brotherhood, all those by -whom she is surrounded and to whose fraternity she naturally belongs. -It is only a matter of regret that the barrier now destroyed was not -broken down long ago, and that the good influences, which the -Episcopal Church is so well calculated to exert, have not been working -on the masses of our non-Catholic brethren in America during all the -past eighty years. - -Nothing now remains but to retrieve that past. Let it be understood -that the Episcopal Church does not deny the validity of presbyterian -orders, but that at most she holds them irregular, and only that when -not given in necessity; that men of other denominations have clergymen -and sacraments equally beneficial with her own. Let her throw open her -doors to all religious bodies who thus preserve the "succession," and -unite with them in prevailing on those to receive it who have it not, -and make common cause with all such in stemming the tide of infidelity -and "liberalism" which is deluging our land. Then may her self-adopted -mission, however faulty in its origin, however riskful in its -progress, fulfil at least one portion of the work of Christ's Church -in the world, and, if she cannot feed men with the bread of truth, she -may preserve them from the more fearful poisons. - -In conclusion, we desire to correct an error into which the author of -"Vox Ecclesiae" has fallen, concerning the view of this same question -taken by Catholics. On page 57, he says: - - "The exaggerated or Romish theory is, that the possession of the - Apostolical Constitution and a properly transmitted succession is - enough to constitute a true and perfect church. Thus succession is - held to be everything," etc. - -{730} - -In one sense of these words, namely, that to _be_ the actual -organization founded by Christ and constituted, as he left it, in the -hands of the apostles, is to be a true and perfect church; they are -the faith of Catholics. But this is not the sense in which the author -uses them. The idea he thus expresses is, that we regard an external -succession in the line of apostolic orders as sufficient to make a man -a priest or bishop, as the case may be, and that such a succession -constitutes a church. This is a very prevalent, but very thoughtless, -error. It is true that we believe apostolic orders, in the apostolic -line, to be so absolutely necessary that no man, under any -circumstances, can perform any I without them. But we do _not_ -believe, that the possession of such orders by any organization makes -it a true church. Cranmer was lawfully ordained as priest and bishop -of the Catholic Church, and, whether as a schismatic under Henry, or a -heretic under Edward, his orders went with him and rendered every act -in pursuance of them valid. The bishops he consecrated were bishops, -the priests he ordained were priests, and if Archbishop Parker were in -fact consecrated by Barlow and Hodgkins, and either of them were -consecrated by Cranmer, and if the English succession be otherwise -unbroken, then every priest of that succession is a true priest, and -every bishop a true bishop. Their acts are valid acts, whatever their -doctrine or their schism. - -But this does not make the Church of England "a true and perfect -church." If the fact of her full apostolical succession were -established to-day, beyond the shadow of a doubt, and we would it -could be, her position would differ nothing, in our view, from that of -the Arian and Donatist churches of the fourth century, or of the Greek -Church for the past nine hundred years, churches whose orders were all -valid, whose doctrines were more or less at variance with Catholic -truth, whose sacraments conferred grace, but who were cut off from the -body of Christ's Church by their state of schism. - -The Catholic test of Catholicity is short and simple, "Ubi Petrus, ibi -Ecclesiae," said Ambrose of Milan, (Comm. in Ps. xl.,) and wherever -Peter is, Peter, who, "like an immovable rock, holds together the -structure and mass of the whole Christian fabric," (Ambrosii serm. -xlvii.,) and "who, down to the present time and forever, in his -successors lives and judges," (Care Eph. A.D. 431, serm. Phil.,) -wherever Peter is, there, and there only, do we see the church. -Catholics, collectively and individually, say with St. Jerome, -"Whoever is united with the See of Peter is mine," and, throughout the -world, whatever church, society or man is joined by the bonds of -visible communion with the Roman See, is in and of the body of the -Catholic Church, they and none others. No union with that See is -possible to those who do not profess, at least implicitly, the entire -Catholic doctrine, and submit to the legitimate discipline of the -church. No validity of orders without true doctrine, no truth of -doctrine and validity of orders without union with the Apostolic See, -can remedy the evil. To all outside that unity, however similar to us -in one point or another, we must repeat the words which St. Optatus of -Mela wrote to the African Donatists about A.D. 384: - -"You know that the Episcopal See was first established for Peter at -the city of Rome, in which See Peter, the head of all the apostles, -sat, and with which one See unity must be maintained by all; that the -apostles might not each defend before you his own see, but that he -should be both a schismatic and a sinner who should set up any other -against that one See." (Adr. Donat. ii.) Would that, of all who know -the truth of that which Optatus has written, and whom a thousand -hindrances are keeping from that rock of unity, we might say, as St. -Cyprian wrote of Antonianus, in the first ages, to the Holy Pope -Cornelius, (ad auton,) "He is in communion with you, that is, with the -Catholic Church." - ------- - -{731} - - -From All the Year Round. - -STATISTICS OF VIRTUE. - - -Small presents, it has been shrewdly said, prevent the flame of -friendship from dying out. A Stilton cheese, a bouquet of forced -flowers, a maiden copy of a "just-published" book, a _pâte de foie -gras_, a basket of fruit that _will_ keep a day or two, a salmon in -spring, or a fresh-killed hare in autumn--any thing that answers, as -a feed of corn or a bait of hay, to one's own private -hobby-horse--very rarely indeed gives offence. - -Be the influence such offerings exert ever so small, it is attractive -rather than repulsive in its tendency. They are silken fibres which -draw people together, almost without their knowing it; and although -the strength of any single one may be slight, by multiplication they -acquire appreciable power. Even if they come from evidently interested -motives, they are a tribute which flatters the receiver's self-esteem, -for they are an unmistakable proof that he is worth being courted. -They are a mutual tie which bind friendly connections into a firmer -bundle of sticks than they were before. The giver even likes the -person given to all the better for having bestowed gifts upon him. -There may exist no thought or intention to lay him under an -obligation; but there always must, and properly may, arise the hope of -increasing his good-will and attachment. It is clear that, when it is -desirable that kindly relations should exist between persons, any -honorable means of promoting such relations are not only expedient but -laudable. One stone of an arch may fit its fellow-stones perfectly, -but a little cement does their union no harm. - -As there is a reciprocal social attraction between individuals of -respectability and worth, so also there ought to be a gravitation of -every individual toward certain excellences of character and conduct. -And here likewise small inducements, trifling bribes, minor -temptations, help to increase the force of the tendency. Virtue is, -and ought to be its own reward; still, an additional bonus of -extraneous recompense cannot but help the moral progress of mankind. -It sounds like a truism to say that a _motive_ is useful as a mover to -the performance of any act or course of action. The fact is implied by -the meaning of the word itself. If good deeds can be rendered more -frequent by increasing the motives to their practice, the world in -general will be all the better and the happier for that increase. - -The problem in ethics to be solved, is, simply, _how_ men and women -may be most easily led to behave like very good boys and girls. We -urge children to do their best by rewards of merit. Why should not the -minds of adults be stimulated by similar persuasive forces? Nor can -worldly motives, if pulling in the same direction as moral and -religious motives, be productive of anything but good. And we want -motives to excite the good to become still more persistently and -exemplarily good, all the more that terror of punishment is -unfortunately insufficient to make the bad abstain from deeds of -wickedness. - -{732} - -With this view a philanthropic Frenchman, M. de Montyon, founded in -1819 annual prizes for acts of benevolence and devotedness, which, -beside addressing our higher feelings, appeal to two strong passions, -interest and vanity. And why should integrity pass unrewarded? Why -should bright conduct be hid under a bushel? In a darksome night, how -far the little candle throws his beams! So _ought_ to shine a good -deed in a naughty world. Most undoubtedly, to do good by stealth is -highly praiseworthy; but there is no reason why the blush which arises -on finding it fame should necessarily be a painful blush. Far better -that it should be a glow of pleasure. - -More than forty years have now elapsed since these prizes for virtue -were instituted, during which period more than seven hundred persons -have received the reward of their exemplary conduct. The French -Academy which distributes the prizes, has decided (doing violence to -the modesty of the recipients ) to publish their good deeds to the -world. After the announcement of their awards, a livret or list in the -form of a pamphlet is issued, recounting each specific case with the -same simplicity with which it was performed. These lists are spread -throughout all France and further, in the belief that the more widely -meritorious actions are known, the greater chance there is of their -being imitated. - -The awards made by the French Academy up to the present day to -virtuous actions give an average of about eighteen per annum. These -eighteen annual "crowns" have been competed for by more than seventy -memorials coming from every point of France, mostly without the -knowledge of the persons interested. In short, since the foundation of -the prizes, the Academy has had to read several thousand memorials. - -To Monsieur V. P. Demay (Secretary and Chef des Bureaux of the Mairie -of the 18th Arrondissement of Paris) the idea occurred of collecting -the whole of these livrets into a volume, so as to furnish an -analytical summary of the distribution of the prizes throughout the -empire, and of appending to it flowers of philanthropic eloquence -culled from the speeches made at the Academic meetings. The result is -a book entitled "Les Fastes de la Vertu Pauvre en France," "Annals of -the Virtuous Poor in France." - -No one, before M. Demay, thought of undertaking the Statistics of -Virtue. The subject has not found a place on any scientific programme, -French or international; whether through forgetfulness or not, the -fact remains indisputable. And be it remarked that the seven hundred -and thirty-two laureats to whom rewards have been decreed, represent -only a fraction of the number of highly deserving persons. In all -their reports ever since 1820, the French Academy has declared that it -had only the embarrassment of choosing between the candidates while -awarding the prizes, so equally meritorious were their acts. -Therefore, to the seven hundred and thirty-two nominees ought to be -added the two thousand four hundred and forty competitors whose cases -were considered during that period, making altogether a total of three -thousand one hundred and seventy-two instances of conduct worthy of -imitation which had been brought to light by the agency of the prizes. - -The book, not more amusing than other statistics, is nevertheless -highly suggestive. Serious thought is the consequence of opening its -pages. It is a touching book, and goes to the heart. After reading it, -many will feel prompted to go and do likewise by some effort of -generosity or self-denial. In any case, it cannot be other than a -moralizing work to bring to light so many instances of devotion, and -to set them forth as public examples. - -In some of his speculations our author, perhaps, may be considered as -just a little too sanguine. Certainly, if there are tribunals for the -infliction of punishment, there is no reason why tribunals should not -exist for the conferring of recompenses. How far they are likely to -become general, is a question for consideration. Also, it is {733} -true that newspapers give the fullest details of horrid crimes, while -they are brief in their usual mention of meritorious actions. But -before M. Demay, somebody said, "Men's evil manners live in brass, -their virtues we write in water;" and it is to be feared he is -somewhat too bright-visioned a seer, when he hopes that, through -Napoleon the Third's and Baron Haussmaun's educational measures, -coupled with the influence of the Montyon prizes, "at no very distant -day, the words penitentiary, prison, etc., will exist only in the -state of souvenirs--painful as regards the past, but consolatory for -the future." - -To give the details of such a multitude of virtuous acts is simply -impossible. M. Demay can only rapidly group those which present the -most striking features, and which have appeared still more -extraordinary--for that is the proper word--than the others, -conferring on their honored actors surnames recognized throughout -whole districts. It is the Table of Honor of Virtuous Poverty, crowned -by the verdict of popular opinion. Among these latter are (the -parentheses contain the name of their department): the Mussets, -husband and wife, salt manufacturers, at Château Salins, (Meurthe,) -surnamed the Second Providence of the Poor; Suzanne Géral, wife of the -keeper of the lockup house, at Florae, (Loèzre) surnamed the Prison -Angel; David Lacroix, fisherman, at Dieppe, (Seine-Inférieure,) -surnamed the _Sauveur_, instead of the _Sauveteur_ the rescuer, after -having pulled one hundred and seventeen people out of fire and water ---he has the cross of the Legion of Honor; Marie Philippe; Widow -Gambon, vine-dresser, at Nanterre, (Seine.) surnamed la Mére de bon -Secours, or Goody Helpful; Madame Langier, at Orgon, -(Bouche-du-Rhône,) surnamed la Quéteuse, the Collector of Alms. - -In the spring of 1839 almost the whole canton of Ax (Ariège) was -visited by the yellow fever, which raged for ten months, and carried -off a sixth of the population. It, was especially malignant at Prades. -Terror was at its height; those whom the scourge had spared were -prevented by their fears from assisting their sick neighbors, menaced -with almost certain death. Nevertheless, a young girl, Madeleine Fort, -who had been brought up in the practice of good works, exerted herself -to the utmost in all directions. During the course of those ten -disastrous months she visited, consoled, and nursed more than five -hundred unfortunates; and if she could not save them from the grave, -she followed them, alone, to their final resting-place. Two Sisters of -Charity were sent to help her; one was soon carried off, and the -second fell ill. The caré died, and was replaced by another. The -latter, finding himself smitten, sent for Madeleine. One of the flock -had to tend the pastor. Those disastrous days have long since -disappeared; but if the traveller, halting at Prades, asks for -Madeleine Fort's dwelling, he will be answered, "Ah! you mean our -Sister of Charity?" - -Suzanne Bichon is only a servant. Her master and mistress were -completely ruined by the negro insurrection in St. Domingo; but the -worthy woman would not desert them--she worked for them all, and took -care of the children. On being offered a better place, that is, a more -lucrative engagement, she refused it with the words, "You will easily -find another person, but can my master and mistress get another -servant?" The Academy gave their recompense for fifteen years of this -devoted service. Her mistress wanted to go and take a place herself; -she would not hear of it, making them believe that she had means at -her command, and expectations. But all her means lay in her capacity -for work, while her expectations were--Providence. It is not to be -wondered at that she was known as Good Suzette. - -{734} - -Such attachments as these on the part of servants are a delightful -contrast to what we commonly see in the course of our household -experience. They can hardly be looked for under the combined regime of -register-offices, a month's wages or a month's warning, no followers, -Sundays out, and crinoline. - -We look for virtue amongst the clergy. The devotion, self-denial, and -resignation often witnessed amongst them are matters of notoriety. -Nevertheless, it is right that one of its members should find a place -on a list like the present. In 1834, the Abbé Bertran was appointed -cure of Peyriac, (Aude.) He was obliged, so to speak, to conquer the -country of which he was soon to be the benefactor. For two years he -had to struggle with the obstinate resistance which his parishioners -opposed to him. His evangelical gentleness succeeded in vanquishing -every obstacle; henceforth he was master of the ground, and could -march onward with a firm step. At once he consecrated his patrimony to -the restoration of the church and the presbyter. He bought a field, -turned architect, and soon there arose a vast building which united -the two extremes of life--old age and infancy. He then opened -simultaneously a girls' school, an infant school, and a foundling -hospital. He sought out the orphans belonging to the canton, and -supplied a home to old people of either sex. To effect these objects -the good pastor expended seventy thousand francs, (nearly three -thousand pounds,) the whole of his property: he left himself without a -sou. But he had sown his seed in good ground, and it promised to -produce a hundred-fold. Rich in his poverty, his place is marked -beside Vincent de Paul and Charles Borromeo. - -Goodness may even indulge in its caprices and still remain good. -Marguerite Monnier, surnamed _la Mayon_, (a popular term of affection -in Lorraine,) seems to have selected a curious specialty for the -indulgence of her charitable propensities. It is requisite to be -infirm or idiotic to be entitled to receive her benevolent attentions. -When quite a child, she selects as her friend a poor blind beggar, -whom she visits every day in her wretched hovel. She makes her bed, -lights her fire, and cooks her food. While going to school, she -remarks a poor old woman scarcely able to drag herself along, but, -nevertheless, crawling to the neighboring wood to pick up a few dry -sticks. She follows her thither, helps her to gather them, and brings -back the load on her own shoulders. Grown to womanhood, and married, -Marguerite successively gives hospitality to an idiot, a crazy person, -a cretin, several paralytic patients, orphans, strangers without -resources, and even drunkards, (one would wish to see in their falling -an infirmity merely.) Every creature unable to take care of itself -finds in her a ready protector. Such are her lodgers, her clients, her -customers! Ever cheerful, she amuses them by discourse suited to their -comprehension. All around her is in continued jubilation, and -Marguerite herself seems to be more entertained than any body else. It -may be said, perhaps, that a person must be born with a natural -disposition for this kind of devotedness. Granted; but his claim to -public gratitude is not a whit the less for that. - -Catherine Vernet, of Saint-Germain, (Puy-de-dôme,) is a simple -lace-maker, who, after devoting herself to her family, has for thirty -years devoted herself to those who have no one to take care of them. -Her savings having amounted to a sufficient sum for the purchase of a -small house, she converted it into a sort of hospital with eight beds -always occupied. Situated amongst the mountains of Anvergne, this -hospital is a certain refuge for _perdus_, travellers who have lost -their way. It is an imitation of the Saint Bernard; and if it has not -attained its celebrity, it emanates from the same source, charity. - -{735} - -In looking through the lists and comparing the several departments of -France, it would be hard to say that one department is better than -another; because their population, and other important influential -circumstances, vary immensely between themselves. But what strikes one -immediately, is the great preponderance of good women--rewarded as -such--over good men. Thus, to dip into the list at hazard, we -have--Meuse, one man, five women; Seine, thirty-one men, ninety-eight -women; Loire, two men, six women; Côte-d'Or, three men, eleven women; -and so on. The nature of the acts rewarded--also taken by chance--are -these: reconciliations of families in _vendetta_, (Corsica;) -maintenance of deserted children; rescues from fire and water; -faithfulness to master and mistress for sixteen years; adoption of -seven orphans for fifteen years; maintenance of master and mistress -fallen into poverty; devotion to the aged; nursing the sick poor; -killing a mad dog who inflicted fourteen bites. When "inexhaustible -charity" and "succor to the indigent" are mentioned, one would like to -know whether they consisted in mere alms-giving. Probably not; because -by "charity" Montyon understood, not the momentary impulse which -causes us to help a suffering fellow-creature, and then dies away, but -the constant, durable affection which regards him as another self, and -whose device is "Privation, Sacrifice." - -In the period, then, between 1819 and 1864 seven hundred and -seventy-six persons received Montyon rewards, two hundred and eleven -of whom were men, and five hundred and sixty-five women. In M. Demay's -opinion, the disproportion ought to surprise nobody; for if man is -gifted with virile courage, which is capable of being suddenly -inflamed, and is liable to be similarly extinguished, woman only is -endowed with the boundless, incessant, silent devotion which is found -in the mother, the wife, the daughter, the sister. This dear -companion, given by God to man, is conscious of the noble mission -allotted her to fulfil on earth. We behold the results in her acts, -and in what daily occurs in families. Abnegation, with her, is a -natural instinct. "She may prove weak, no doubt; she may even go -astray: but, be assured, she always retains the divine spark of -charity, which only awaits an opportunity to burst forth into a -brilliant flame. Let us abstain, therefore, from casting a stone at -temporary error; let us pardon, and forget. Our charity will lead her -back to duty more efficaciously than all the moral stigmas we could -possibly inflict." - -The years more fruitful in acts of devotion appear to have been 1851, -1852, and 1857, in which twenty-seven and twenty-eight prizes were -awarded. Their cause is, that previously the Academy received -memorials from the authorities only. But after making an appeal to -witnesses of every class and grade, virtue, if the expression maybe -allowed, overflowed in all directions. Lives of heroism and charity, -hidden in the secrets of the heart, were suddenly brought to the light -of day, to the great surprise of their heroes and heroines. During the -same period there were distributed, in money, three hundred and -sixty-four thousand francs, (sixteen thousand pounds;) in medals, four -hundred and eighteen thousand five hundred and fifty francs, (sixteen -thousand seven hundred and forty-two pounds;) total, seven hundred and -eighty-two thousand five hundred and fifty francs, (thirty-two -thousand seven hundred and forty-two pounds.) The Montyon prizes are -worth having, and not an insult to the persons to whom they are -offered. The sums of money given range as high as one, two, three, and -even four thousand francs; the medals vary in value from five and six -hundred to a thousand francs: but even a five hundred franc or -twenty-pound medal is a respectable token of approbation and esteem. -In some few cases, both money and a medal are bestowed. - -{736} - -It may be said that the persons to whom these prizes are given would -have done the same deeds without any reward. True; and therein lies -their merit. And ought _money_ to be given to recompense virtuous -acts? Yes, most decidedly; because it will confer on its recipients -their greatest possible recompense--the power of doing still more -good. Money gifts are not to be depreciated so long as there are -orphans to sustain, sick poor to nurse, and infirm old age to keep -from starvation. - -Finally, is charity the growth of one period of life rather than of -another? On inspecting the lists, we find children, six, twelve, -thirteen years of age, and close to them octogenarians, one -nonagenarian, one centenarian! If noble courage does not want for -fulness of years, it would appear not to take its leave on their -arrival. - ------- - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THE CHRISTIAN CROWN. - -BY JOHN SAVAGE. - -I. - - Ten centuries and one had trod - Jerusalem, since when, - In mortal form, the Son of God - Died for the sons of men. - - -II. - - And they who in the Martyr found - Their Saviour, wailed and wept, - That gorgeous horrors should abound - Where Christ the Blessèd slept. - - -III. - - From clam'rous towns, and forests' hush. - As cascades from the gloom - Of caves, crusaders eastward rush - To win the holy tomb. - - -IV. - - Their corselets, steel and silver bright, - 'Neath swaying plumes displayed, - Now dance, like streams, in lines of light. - Now loiter on in shade. - - -{737} - - -V. - - Their crosses glow in every form - Inspiring vale and mart, - As through earth's arteries they swarm, - Like blood back to the heart. - - -VI. - - Tis mid-day of midsummer's heat; - Faith crowns the live and dead: - Jerusalem is at their feet. - Brave Godfrey at their head. - - -VII. - - Within the walls, the ramparts ring - As proudly they proclaim - Great Godfrey de Bouillon as king! - A king in more than name. - - -VIII. - - The ruby-budding crown to bind - About his head, they stood: - Another crown is in his mind; - For rubies, blobs of blood. - - -IX. - - "No. no!" and back the bauble flings, - "No gold this brow adorns - Where willed He, Christ, the King of kings, - To wear a crown of thorns." - - -X. - - Let not the glorious truth depart - Brave Godfrey handed down: - A king whose crown is in his heart, - Needs wear no other crown. - - ------- - -{738} - - -From The Lamp - -UNCONVICTED; -OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS. - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE READING OF THE WILL. - - -Nearing the brink of a discovery, yet dreading to approach the edge, -lest a false step should precipitate you into a chaos of darkness; -holding the end of an intricate web in your hand, yet not daring to -follow the lead, lest you should lose yourself in its mazes--so I -felt on the morning succeeding my visit with Detective Jones to -Blue-Anchor Lane; so, likewise, had that astute officer and faithful -friend expressed himself when we had parted the night before. - -"You see, sir," he said, "the whole of what we have gathered this -evening may only mean that Mr. Wilmot has got mixed up with this De -Vos or Sullivan in some-gambling transaction, who, hearing that he's -left sole heir to poor Thorneley's fortune, means to hold whatever -knowledge he possesses as a threat over him to extort money. Then, as -to what passed at 'Noah's Ark,' why, it may mean a good deal, and it -may just mean nothing, as not referring to the parties we know of. I -don't wish to raise your hopes, sir; and until I've consulted with -Inspector Keene and seen what he's ferreted out, I wouldn't like to -say that we'd gained as much as I thought we should from our move -tonight." - -On my table I found a broad black-bordered letter. It was a formal -invitation on the part of Lister Wilmot, as sole executor, to attend -old Thorneley's funeral on the following Tuesday. - -The intervening days were dark, and blank with the blankness of -despair. Vigilant, energetic, and penetrating as was that secret, -silent search of the detectives, no real clue was found to the mystery -of the murdered man's death; no light thrown upon the black page in -the history of that fatal Tuesday evening, save what our own miserable -suspicions or fallacious hopes suggested. De Vos had entirely -disappeared from the scene, leaving no truce of his whereabouts. -Wilmot's public movements, though closely watched by the lynx-eyed -functionaries of the law, were perfectly satisfactory: and the -housekeeper remained closeted in her own room, intent, apparently, -upon making up her mourning garments for her late master, and fairly -baffling Inspector Keene in his insidious attempts to elicit a word -further, or at variance to what she stated at the inquest, by her -cool, collected, and straightforward replies to his 'cute -cross-questioning. And yet, in concluding the short interviews between -Mr. Inspector and Merrivale, at which I was generally present, after a -silent scrape at his chin, and a hungry crop at his nails, he would -still repeat with a certain little air of quiet confidence, "Good-day, -gentlemen. I think I am on the scent." - -Meanwhile the verdict at the inquest had gone forth and done its work; -and Hugh Atherton was fully committed for trial next sessions at the -Old Bailey. These were to take place early in November, and the -thought of how terribly short a time was left till then filled us with -a fearful, heart-sickening dread lest all, upon which hung the issues -of life or death, could not be accomplished in so little space. True -that a respite {739} might be asked, and the trial postponed until the -following sessions; but upon what plea could the request be preferred? -Some evidence not yet forthcoming. What evidence could we hope for? -upon what future revelation could we rely? At present there was -nothing, absolutely nothing, but our vague conjectures, our blind -belief in the acuteness of the police officers whom we were employing. - -And Ada Leslie, what of her? Every day, and twice a day, I went to -Hyde-Park Gardens, sometimes with Merrivale, sometimes alone, -repeating every detail, every minute particular, every circumstance, -and going though everything with her said or done by each one -concerned. It seemed to be her only comfort and support, after that -better and higher consolation promised to the weary and heavy-laden, -and which both she and Hugh knew well how to seek. - -"Tell me all," she would say--"the good and bad. I can bear it better -if I know nothing is kept back. To deceive me would be no real -kindness; and who has a better right to know everything than I, who am -part of himself? We shall be man and wife soon, in the sight of God -and the world, and then nothing can separate us in other men's minds: -but till then I am truly and faithfully one with him; and what touches -him touches me, only infinitely more because it is for him. Don't you -know what the idyl says about the fame and shame being mine equally if -his? But better and holier words still have been spoken, and I say -them often to myself now when I think of the time which is coming: -'They two shall be one flesh.'" - -Strangely enough, though fully conscious of Atherton's danger, of the -awful position in which he stood, she never seemed to take count for -one instant that the simple plea of innocence on his part, and the -belief of it on ours, would not weigh one feather's weight in the -heavy balance of evidence against him. - -Since my encounter with Mrs. Leslie, that lady and I had been cold and -distant, conversing the least possible within our power, and avoiding -one another by mutual consent. But one thing I noted, that come when I -would, early or late, with news or without, alone or accompanied by -Merrivale, whose visits seemed a great comfort to Ada, Lister Wilmot -was certain to have forestalled me, and given in his version, either -personally or by letter, of whatever had happened. And I found the -effect of this was, that Mrs. Leslie was speaking of Hugh as guilty, -though "poor Lister still persists in trying to think him innocent;" -and was publishing about wherever she could that I had _volunteered_ -to give evidence against him. Ada took a different view of Wilmot's -conduct. - -"I think, guardian, that Lister is almost mad," she said one day. "He -talks quite wildly sometimes to me. We never thought he had a very -clear head; and now he seems to be so incoherent and contradictory in -all he says, and this confuses mamma, and makes her get wrong notions -about it all. But he is so kind and good to me now. Once I thought he -didn't like me; but he is quite changed now." - -On the Saturday she was allowed to see Hugh, now lodged in Newgate -Prison. She went with Wilmot and her mother; but she saw him alone, -with only the warder present. Contrary to my expectations, she was -calmer and happier, if one can use such a word, knowing all the -anguish of the heart, than before. They had mutually strengthened and -comforted each other. She repeated to me a great deal of what passed -when I saw her in the evening; but she never said one word of what had -passed about myself; she never brought me any message; and when I -asked her if Hugh had expressed a wish to see me, she only replied, -"No, he thinks it is best not--at least at present." The same reply -came through {740} Merrivale, who seemed puzzled by it; the same -through Lister Wilmot, who was offensively regretful for me. I could -not bear it, and I gave utterance to the pent-up feeling which raged -within me. I told him that none of his meddling was needed between -myself and Hugh Atherton, and I hinted that the _rôle_ he had taken -upon himself to play now would before many days were over be changed -in a very unpleasant manner. A covert sneer curled his thin lips, and -there was an evil light in his eyes, as he replied that he was not -afraid of any plot that might be hatched against him, and he could -make excuses for my excited feelings "As to myself," he concluded, "_I -am prepared for everything_." - -Tuesday, the day appointed for the burial of Gilbert Thorneley, at -last arrived; and those invited to attend assembled for the time in -Wimpole street to pay their tribute of homage to the man who had swept -his master's office in his youth, and died worth more than a million -of money in the Funds. They flocked thither at the bid of his nephew -and reported heir; his comrades on 'change, his compeers in wealth, -his fellow-citizens; those men who had passed through the same -evolutions of barter and exchange, of tare and tret, of selling out -and buying in, of all that busy tumult of money-making in which the -dead man lying in his silver-plated coffin upstairs, and covered by -the handsome velvet pall, had borne his share even to the fullest. For -Wilmot had given orders for the funeral to be conducted on a scale -befitting the magnificence of the fortune which his uncle left behind -him; and the management of the affair had been placed in the hands of -an undertaker whose reputation for conducting people to their grave -with every mournful splendor of state and style was irreproachable. -But amid those funeral plumes, those heavy trappings, those sombre -mantles, those long hat-bands new and scarfs of richest silk, there -was no eye wet with sorrow, no brow shadowed by regret, no heart that -was heavier for the loss of the one going to his grave. It was a -funeral without a mourner. On Lister Wilmot's face was the -half-concealed triumph and elation, under an affected grief too -evidently put on for the dullest man to believe in; and the only one -who would have mourned, nay who did mourn, for the murdered man, lay -in his cell within the walls of Newgate, stigmatized with the brand of -wilful murder of him. So the gloomy pageant set out with its -hearse-and-four, its dozen mourning-coaches, its string of private -carriages belonging to the rich men invited there that day. So we went -to Kensal Green and laid Gilbert Thorneley in the new vault prepared -for him, lonely and alone--"dust to dust, ashes to ashes"--until the -resurrection. - -When the last solemn words had been read over the open grave and the -earth thrown with hollow sound upon the coffin, we turned to depart. A -greater portion of the large assembly dispersed in their carriages on -their various ways, and a few were asked to return to Wimpole street -and be present at the reading of the will. Whether bidden or not, I -had a reason for being there likewise, and had made up my mind what to -do; but to my surprise Mr. Walker came up as we were leaving the -cemetery, and invited me in Wilmot's name to go back with them. - -In the dining room where the inquest had been held we gathered once -again--some dozen of Thorneley's oldest acquaintances, the two -doctors, the rector of the parish with his three curates, myself, the -housekeeper, and the other servants of the dead man's household. The -guests grouped themselves in different knots round the room, talking -and gossiping together on the money market, the state of the country, -of trade, of politics, of I know not what, but mostly of the past and -future concerning the house in which we were assembled, of {741} the -murdered and the supposed murderer, whilst we waited for Lister Wilmot -and his two lawyers. The servants placed themselves in a row near the -door, the housekeeper somewhat apart behind the rest, as if shrinking -from notice. Very striking she looked in her deep mourning, gown, -fitting with perfect exactitude, her light hair streaked here and -there with silver threads braided beneath a close tulle-cap, very pale -very self-possessed, but with that dangerous look in the cold blue -eyes and peculiar motion of the eyelids which Merrivale had described -as "a scintillating light and a shivering." - -In less than a quarter of an hour the three came in--Thorneley's -executor and two lawyers; Smith, the senior partner--one of those -pompous old men who are met up and down the world, embodying, only in -a wrong sense, the conception of a late spiritual writer of "a man of -one idea," that idea being self--carrying in his hand a large -parchment folded in familiar form and indorsed in the orthodox -caligraphy of a law-office. The hum of conversation ceased as they -entered and advanced to the top of the room, where a small table was -placed, upon which the lawyer deposited the document. I glanced round -the room. All eyes were turned upon the three, who were now seating -themselves at the table in question, with the eager curiosity of men -going to hear news. The expression of triumph upon Lister Wilmot's -face had deepened yet more visibly; but underneath I fancied I -perceived a lurking anxiety, and especially when his eye fell with a -quick, sharp glance upon myself, and then as quickly looked away. The -two lawyers appeared very full of their own importance, and were very -obsequious to their new client. Lastly I looked at the housekeeper. -Two hectic spots now burned upon her singularly pale cheeks, and her -lips were tightly compressed; her hands, delicate and white for a -woman in her position, wandered restlessly over each other. Perhaps it -was but very natural agitation, for those who had served so long and -faithfully were no doubt expecting to be remembered in the will of -their late master. - -"Are you ready, Mr. Wilmot?" asked Smith, wiping his gold spectacles -and adjusting them on his nose. - -Wilmot bowed assent; and the lawyer unfolding the parchment, read in -loud, high, nasal tones, "The last will and testament of the late -Gilbert Thorneley, squire, of 100 Wimpole street, in the parish of St. -Mary-le-bone, London, and of the Grange, Warnside, Lincolnshire." - -A dead silence reigned throughout the room; as the saying is, you -might have heard a pin drop. One thing only was audible to my ear, -sitting a few feet distant, and that was the heavy pant of the -housekeeper's breathing. Smith read on. - -The said Gilbert Thorneley bequeathed to his nephew, Hugh Atherton, -the sum of £5000, free of legacy-duty; to his housekeeper an annuity -of £100 per annum for life; to his butler and coachman annuities of -£50 per annum for life, all free of legacy-duty, and £20 to the other -servants for mourning, with a twelvemonth's wages; to his nephew, -Lister Wilmot, the whole of his landed property, all moneys vested in -the Funds, all personal property, furniture, carriages, horses, and -plate, as sole residuary legatee. - -This was the gist and pith of Gilbert Thorneley's will, which further -bore date of the 19th of August in the present year, and was witnessed -by William Walker, of the firm of Smith and Walker, and Abel -Griffiths, Smith and Walker's clerk. By it Lister Wilmot came into an -annual income of something like £100,000; by it Hugh Atherton was cut -off with a mere nominal sum from the joint inheritance which his uncle -had from his boyhood upward in the most unequivocal manner and words -taught him to expect. A murmur of surprise ran through the company -assembled. {742} The equal position of the two nephews with regard to -their uncle had been too publicly known for the present declaration -not to excite the most unbounded astonishment. So certain did it seem -that the cousins would be co-heirs of Thorneley 'a enormous wealth, -that whispers had gone about pretty freely of that being the motive -which induced Hugh Atherton to commit the crime imputed to him--the -desire of entering into possession of the old man's money. I gathered -the thought in each person's mind by the broken words which fell from -them. "Then _why_ did he do it?" I heard one of the curates whisper to -the other, and I knew that they thought and spoke of Hugh, believing -him to be guilty. - -I waited for a few minutes after Mr. Smith had finished his pompous -delivery of this document, purporting to be the last will and -testament of the late Gilbert Thorneley, and then I rose from the -remote comer where I had placed myself and confronted the two lawyers. - -"Gentlemen," I said, "I take leave to dispute that will which has just -been read." - -A thunderbolt falling in the midst of us could not have had a more -astounding effect than those few words. - -"Dispute the will!" shouted old Smith, purple in the face. - -"Dispute the will!" echoed Walker. - -"Dispute the will!" reverberated all round. - -"God bless my soul, sir!" continued Smith, rising from his chair and -literally shaking with excitement, "what do you mean by that? Dispute -this will!" striking the open parchment with his closed hand; "upon -what grounds, Mr. Kavanagh--upon what grounds and by what authority -do you dare to dispute it, made by _us_, witnessed by _us_, and which -_we_ know to be the genuine and latest testament of our late client? -What do you mean by it?" - -"I dispute that will on the ground of there existing another and a -later will of Mr. Thorneley; and I dispute it on the part of those in -whose favor it is made. Gentlemen, I have a statement to make, to the -truth of which I am prepared to affix my oath." - -Involuntarily I glanced at Lister Wilmot. He was deadly pale; but he -returned my gaze very steadily, and I noticed the same evil light in -his eye as I had once before seen. Smith drew himself up and settled -his thick bull-throat in his white choker, whilst his junior partner -ran his hand through his hair, and seemed to prepare himself for -whatever was coming with a sort of "Do your worst--I don't care for -you" air. - -"I hold in my hand," I continued, "a memorandum from my journal, and -dated October 23, 185--, last Tuesday, gentlemen; and I beg your -particular attention to the extract I am going to read to -you--'Received a note from Mr. Gilbert Thorneley, of 100 Wimpole -street, requesting me to call on him this evening. Went at seven -o'clock; made and executed _a will_ for the same, under solemn promise -not to reveal the transaction until after his funeral had taken place. -In case of my death, to leave a memorandum of the same addressed to -Mr. Hugh Atherton. Saw the will signed by Mr. Thorneley and witnessed -by his footman and coachman. Made memorandum of same for H. A., as -desired. Put it with private papers, addressed to H. A.' That will, -gentlemen, being of later date, will, if forthcoming, upset the will -just read, and which is dated two months back." - -There was a profound silence for some moments, broken only by the two -servants. Barker the footman and Thomas the coachman, who both -murmured in low but distinct tones, "Right enough, sir; we did put our -names to that there dockiment." - -{743} - -"I don't quite understand your 'statement,' Mr. Kavanagh," said Smith -at last, with an air which plainly said, "And I consider myself -insulted by your making it." - -"It is quite plain and straightforward, Mr. Smith, though, of course, -you are taken by surprise. Allow me to hand you this copy of the -memorandum I have read to you, and to which I have signed my name." - -"But _where_ is that will, sir? Statements and memoranda go for -nothing, if you can't produce your proofs; and the will itself is the -only proof." - -"Where it is," I replied, "is best known to Mr. Wilmot, or yourselves, -or to both. I never saw it after leaving Mr. Thorneley's study on the -evening of the 23d." - -The two lawyers turned simultaneously to Wilmot. - -"Did you know anything of this transaction, sir?" asked Walker. - -"Only so far as came out at the inquest yesterday. Where is the will? -I ask. Let Mr. Kavanagh produce it." - -There was a world of defiance in his glittering eyes as he rose and -faced me. - -"Yes," he cried again, with a hard, ringing voice, "let Mr. John -Kavanagh produce it." - -"Gently, Mr. Wilmot," said Walker in an insinuating voice. "Allow us -to deal with this matter; it is really only proper that we should." - -"Only proper that we should," echoed old Smith in his peculiar nasal -twang. - -But Lister Wilmot waved them both imperiously aside; and advancing a -step forward, he said with an evident effort to control himself: - -"I don't see, Kavanagh, what you can gain by bringing forward this -absurd statement. Of course we all imagined that the mysterious -business upon which you saw my deceased uncle the last evening of his -life was in some way connected with making his will; and Mr. Smith, -Mr. Walker, and myself searched through his papers with the utmost -care, and with this idea in our minds; but no will, no codicil, no -letter, nor memorandum of later date than the one just read could -anywhere be found. Knowing what an eccentric character he was, we came -to the conclusion that, if any will posterior to this were made, he -had destroyed it immediately afterward.--Is this not so?" he turned to -the two lawyers. - -"It is so," answered Walker, for self and partner. "We made the -minutest investigation, and were all three together when the seals -were removed which had been placed on everything by the police in -charge of the house. Nothing could have been tampered with." - -I was fairly baffled, and stood considering what was the next best -thing to do, when an old gray-headed man stepped forward and said -that, if he might suggest, it would be satisfactory to hear in what -particulars the deed I had drawn up differed from the one just made -known. - -"Yes," said Wilmot, with something like a sneer; "let us hear what -were the contents of this will which you say you drew up." - -"Wilmot," I answered, "the one whom that will, to my mind, most -affected, for reasons which will presently be obvious to all who -listen to me now, was the only one who loved the old man in life whose -remains we have just followed to the grave--the only one who, I know, -mourns his death with all the sincerity of his true and noble heart. -In his presence I would never publicly have dragged forward a history -which is full of sin, of sorrow, of remorse. But he lies in a felon's -cell, charged, through a dark mysterious combination of events, and I -firmly believe a deeply-laid scheme to work his ruin, with a felon's -crime. In his interest therefore, first of all, I must speak. There is -also that of another concerned, who comes before most of those present -as a complete stranger; whether to _all_ I know not.--Gentlemen, I, -like you, believed until this day week that Gilbert Thorneley died -childless and a bachelor. {744} Five-and twenty years ago he married a -young and beautiful girl, an orphan, but possessed of an immense -fortune. He married her for her money. It was a joyless marriage, -without love, without happiness. One son was born to them, and shortly -after _the young wife died_. The boy grew up an idiot, hated, loathed -by his father, who sent him far away from his sight, and who for more -than fifteen years before he died never saw his child's face. Remorse -at last seems to have surged up in his heart, and he took a resolution -to make what reparation he could for his past neglect. This is all -which the deceased, Mr. Thorneley, confided to me in plain words; at -the rest I can only darkly guess; but that much more might have been -told which never passed his lips, that some terrible secret of the -past remains still unrevealed, I am bound to say I feel convinced from -the manner in which that little was revealed to me. Gentlemen, the -will which I executed last Tuesday evening, and saw witnessed by the -two servants now present, after bequeathing £10,000 a year to his -nephew, Hugh Atherton, left the whole and entire of Gilbert -Thorneley's property, landed, personal, and in the funds, to his idiot -son, Francis Gilbert Thorneley, now living; and constituted Hugh -Atherton as sole guardian of his cousin. With the exception of the -same small legacies to the domestics of his household, no other -bequest whatever was made; no other name mentioned. This will was -executed as a tardy reparation for some wrong done to his dead wife." - -There was the sound of a dull, heavy fall, and a cry from one of the -women in the room. Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, had fainted away. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -INSPECTOR KEENE SEES DAYLIGHT AT LAST. - -"And pray, may I ask who was left executor in this wonderful will, -since that item seems to have been omitted from an otherwise -well-concocted story?" said Mr. Walker, as soon as the housekeeper had -been carried out of the room, and order restored. - -"Mr. Atherton and myself were named executors." - -"For which little business," he continued with unutterable irony, "you -were doubtless to receive some _small_ compensation?" - -"You are mistaken," I replied quietly; "my name is not otherwise -mentioned than as being appointed to act with Hugh Atherton. No legacy -was left to me, and I did not even receive the usual fee for drawing -up the will. I mention this to remove any false impression which my -previous statement may have given." - -"Most disinterested conduct on your part, I am sure, Mr. Kavanagh," -was the reply in the same sarcastic tones. "It was, however, probably -understood that the securing £10,000 a year to your friend would not -pass unrewarded by him." - -I was losing my temper under the man's repeated insults, and an angry -reply had risen to my lips, when Wilmot interposed. He had entirely -regained his usual self-possession, and more than his usual -confidence. Evidently, he had resolved to change his tactics, and -treat me civilly. - -"We don't wish to dispute your word, Kavanagh, but you must own there -is some excuse for our unbelief. Here are all three of us--Smith, -Walker, and myself--ready to take oath that no other will save the -document just read was or is to be found amongst my late uncle's -papers; not so much as a hint of such a thing existing. And here are -you, without a shadow of proof in your hand, stating that a will, -posterior to this one lying here, was made by you on the evening -previous to my uncle's death. The natural inference drawn is, that -that will must now exist; we know it does not exist, or we must have -found it, unless my uncle _destroyed it_ immediately {745} after it -was made, namely, before he went to bed this day week. Do I put the -case clearly and fairly, gentlemen?" he continued, turning to the -assembled company. - -The same old gentleman who had spoken before now again advanced. "I -have known Gilbert Thorneley," he said, "more than thirty years; but -that he was ever married, or had a child living, is as great news to -me as to any here present who had known him but as a recent -acquaintance. Still, if what Mr. Kavanagh says be true--and no offence -to him--that son of whom he speaks must be living now, and must be -found. You, Mr. Wilmot, have asked, as proof of this strange statement -being true, where is the will? I now ask likewise, as proof of its -genuineness, where is the _heir_? Where is the son of my old friend? -Where is Francis Gilbert Thorneley?" - -I was fearfully staggered by the question. Never before had it -occurred to me that there would be a difficulty in finding the poor -idiot when the time came for him to enter upon his inheritance. No -doubt, no passing misgiving, had crossed my mind but that, along with -the will I had drawn up, papers would be left and found, giving -all-sufficient information of his whereabouts. For the first time the -thought flashed across me that perhaps, after all, I had not acted -wisely in maintaining the silence which had been exacted from me by -solemn promise. And that solemn promise! What had been old Thorneley's -motive in exacting it? Why should he wish such inevitable risks to be -run, as he, a shrewd man of the world, would know must be run, of that -final will being suppressed by the parties interested in the other one -lodged at his lawyers'? Of what, of whom, had he been afraid? Was the -secret and mystery of the will in any way connected with the secret -and mystery of the murder? As these questions crowded themselves upon -me during the brief moment which succeeded the last speaker's queries, -I looked round unconsciously on the eager, curious faces turned upon -us, the actors in this scene; and suddenly my eye lighted upon a -little man dressed in a dapper black suit, with a profusion of curly -brown hair, and long beard, standing behind a group near the door. His -eyes were fixed on mine--sharp, intelligent, piercing, black -eyes--with an expression in them which plainly bespoke a desire of -attracting my attention; eyes that were familiar to me, whilst the -rest of the man's face and appearance was that of a stranger. Then one -hand was lifted to his lips, and I saw him give a voracious bite at -his nails. In a moment light broke upon darkness, and I knew him in -spite of flowing wig and beard, in spite of funeral black and -well-fitting clothes, to be Inspector Keene. I suppose he saw a gleam -of intelligence pass over my countenance, for he began a series of -evolutions on his closely-cropped fingers, and I, luckily, could spell -the words: "Close this; see Merrivale." I seized the idea, and turning -to Wilmot and his lawyers, I said, "This matter is too serious to be -dealt with otherwise than in legal form and place. Mr. Merrivale or -myself will communicate with Messrs. Smith and Walker. There is -nothing further to be said at present;" and I left the room, -exchanging another glance with the inspector, who I knew would quickly -follow me. - -Nor was I mistaken. I drove to Merrivale's, and whilst in full tide of -relating what had transpired in Wimpole street, the little man -arrived, still in mourning trim, but minus his wig and beard; and I am -bound to confess that, despite the seriousness of the moment, I was -almost overpowered by the ludicrous change which the doffing of those -appendages had wrought in him--he looked so like a broom that had had -its bristles cut short off. - -"You are a clever fellow, Keene," said Merrivale; "how upon earth did -you contrive to pass muster amongst those city swells?" - -{746} - -The inspector bowed to the compliment, but seemed no way abashed. "I -showed the inside of your purse, Mr. Merrivale, There was no -difficulty in sight of _that_. Please go on, Mr. Kavanagh, and I'll -wait." - -I concluded in as few words as possible, anxiously desiring to hear -what Keene had to say; and immediately that I had finished, Merrivale -turned toward him: - -"What do you think of it all, in heaven's name?" - -Mr. Inspector scraped his chin, and waited some moments before -replying, his bright keen eyes glancing alternately from one to -another of us. "If I were to tell you, sirs, all I _think_, you'd be -tired of hearing me, for I've been thinking as hard as my brains could -go for the last week past. If you'd have made a friend, Mr. Kavanagh, -of Mr. Merrivale or your humble servant in the matter you just now -revealed, it might have helped me not a trifle--not a trifle. However, -I believe you did it for the best; and after all I think we'll be even -with them yet. But it is as confoundedly black a business as it ever -fell to my lot to deal with; and I've had businesses, gentlemen, as -black as--well, as old Harry himself. You see there's three points to -follow up; and if we can tackle _one_ securely, why, I consider we -shall tackle all, for I believe they hang together. First," checking -it off on his thumb, "there's the murder; and the point there is to -find _who_ really bought that grain of strychnine which the chemist -has booked. It rests between master and man to reveal; and I incline -to the latter, and have my eye on him. Never tell me," said the -detective, warming with his subject, "that neither of them don't know; -I tell you one of them _does_ know, and my name's not Keene if I don't -have it out of them yet. That's one point, an't it, Mr. Merrivale?" -Merrivale assented. "Then the second," checking number two off on his -stumpy fore-finger, "includes four parties, and their connection with -each other; the man De Vos or Sullivan, the man O'Brian, Mr. Lister -Wilmot, and the housekeeper." - -"The housekeeper, Mrs. Haag!" I exclaimed. - -"Yes, sir; Mrs. _Haag_, if that's her name." - -"You think it is not?" - -"I _know_ it isn't." - -"You know it?" - -"I do. When Jones showed me his notes, and repeated to me what you and -he had heard in Blue-Anchor Lane last Thursday night, I _smelt_ a rat, -Mr. Kavanagh, and I followed my nose, sir. When I said I was on the -scent, I meant it. From that hour I wrote down in my note-book, 'Mrs. -Haag, _alias_ Bradley--Bradley, _alias_ O'Brian; her husband, escaped -convict from New South Wales.' For Jones identified that man by a -description in the hands of all of us in the force. To have taken him -there and then would simply have been madness, and insured your both -being murdered in that villainous hole. But to follow out the -connection between the housekeeper and him, him and Sullivan, Sullivan -and Mr. Wilmot, is another point, an't it, Mr. Merrivale?" - -Again Merrivale assented, his usually impassible face now stirred with -the deepest, most anxious interest. - -"Is 'Sullivan' De Vos's right name?" he asked. - -"I believe it is, sir. He's thoroughly Irish; but O'Brian isn't, -though he's taken an Irish name. Sullivan's been known to the police -also in his time, and I fancy there's a little matter in the wind -which might introduce him again to us. They've both had their warning, -though, from some quarter, and are in safe hiding somewhere or other -as yet." - -"Have you more to tell us about O'Brian?" - -"Nothing more, sir, at present. There's some dark secret and mystery -hanging over him--a terrible story, I am afraid; but I can't speak for -certain just now.--Mr. Kavanagh," suddenly glancing up at me, "did you -never see a likeness to any one in Mr. Wilmot?" - -{747} - -"No, not that I know of. We have often said he was like none of his -relatives living, that was his uncle and cousin. Have you?" - -"It's fancy, sir, no doubt. His mother died when he was very young, -didn't she? and his father?" - -"Mrs. Wilmot died soon after his birth. His father I never heard of. -He was a _mauvais sujet_, I believe." - -"Ah! The inspector drew a long breath and relapsed into one of his -silent moods, during which the process of scraping and gnawing was -resumed with avidity. - -"And your third point?" said I, to arouse him. - -"My third point, gentlemen," waking up lively, and dabbing at his -middle finger, "which, considering Mr. Atherton's position at the -present moment, seems to be the least important or pressing, is, -nevertheless, the one I am for pursuing immediately,--to find this -heir of whom mention has been made, Mr. Thorneley's idiot son." - -"Surely there is no hurry about that!" we both exclaimed. - -"It would appear not, gentlemen, perhaps to you, but there does to me. -Supposing," said the detective, leaning forward, and speaking very -much more earnestly than he had hitherto done--"supposing that the -will you made, Mr. Kavanagh, was stolen, then secreted or destroyed on -the night of Mr. Thorneley's death, that being what I might call the -_dead_ evidence of the truth of what you stated publicly to-day, and -supposing the parties who suppressed that will knew of the whereabouts -of the heir, they would, I conclude, be equally anxious to suppress -the _living_ evidence also--_to get him out of the way_. Do you follow -me, gentlemen?" - -"Yes, yes," we both exclaimed, for we felt he had a purpose in -speaking; "you are right." - -"Then, sirs, we must prosecute a search for this poor idiot fellow. I -see my way at present very dimly and darkly; but something tells me -that on our road to find Mr. Francis Gilbert Thorneley we shall find -also other links in the broken chain we are trying to piece together." - -"How do you propose setting to work, Keene?" asked Merrivale. - -"Mr. Atherton, being situated as he is, cannot act; it is therefore -for Mr. Kavanagh to take it upon himself, being named executor. I have -ascertained that Mr. Thorneley never went near his place in -Lincolnshire. Why? Because his son lived there. Do you follow me, Mr. -Kavanagh?" - -"I do. You think I must visit the Grange immediately?" - -"Yes, sir." - -Light then at last seemed to be gleaming on our darkness; not only a -glimmer, but a full bright ray. There was consistency and connection -in all that the inspector had put before us, though only as yet, to a -great degree, in supposition. Merrivale, agreeing with me that he -would send us on no wild-goose chase, it was settled I should go down -by the five-o'clock express train. - -In less than an hour I was standing at King's Cross Terminus, and five -minutes past five I was whirling away from London at the rate of -thirty miles an hour. At Peterborough we stopped for half-an-hour to -change carriages, and I went into the waiting-room to get some -refreshment. It was very full, for numbers of passengers were -travelling by that train to be present at some local races, and for -some minutes I could not approach the counter. At last I contrived to -edge in next to a rather tall man, very much enveloped in wraps, -wearing a travelling-cap and blue spectacles. I asked for a cup of -coffee and a sandwich. Every one knows the degree of heat to which -railway coffee is brought; and waiting awhile for the sake of my -throat before drinking it, I suddenly bethought myself of setting my -watch by the clock in the room. I put up my glass to look for it; it -{748} was at the opposite end, and I turned my back upon my tall -neighbor whilst altering the watch. When I turned round he was gone. I -finished my coffee and paid for it. Bah! how mawkish a taste it had -left in my mouth; what stuff they sell in England for real Mocha! So I -thought as I stepped out on the platform and walked up and down, -awaiting the train and reading in a sort of dreamy, unconscious manner -the advertisements and placards covering the walls. Taylor Brothers, -Parkins and Gotto, Heal and Son, Mudie's Library, and all the rest, so -well known Ha! what is this? "MURDER: £100 Reward," for information -leading to the detection of the murderer of Mr. Gilbert Thorneley; and -beneath, another, "Reward of £50 offered for the apprehension of -Robert Bradley," _alias_ O'Brian, escaped convict, with a full -description of his personal appearance appended. "Inspector Keene's -work," thought I to myself. One solitary female figure stood before -me, reading the placard; a neat trim figure, clad in deep mourning -garments, motionless, mute, and absorbed as it were in the interest of -what she was perusing. What was it that made me start and shiver as my -eye fell upon that statue-like form? what was it that, amidst an -overpowering and unaccountable drowsiness creeping over me, seemed to -sting me into life and vigilance? The answer was plain before me: -staring at me with wildly-gleaming eyes, with a face startled out of -its habitual calmness and self-possession, with fear and rage and a -hundred passions at work in her countenance, was old Thorneley's -housekeeper. "Mrs. Haag!" I exclaimed; and almost as I spoke, a change -sudden and rapid as thought took place in her, and she regained the -cold passionless expression I had noticed that same afternoon. - -"The same, Mr. Kavanagh;" and, inclining her head, she was passing on. - -"Stay!" I said, catching her by the arm. "What are you doing here? -Where are you going?" - -"By what right do you ask me, sir?" was the reply in very calm and -perfectly respectful tones. - -"By what right!" I cried with headlong impetuosity. "By the best right -that any man could have--the right of asking, or saying, or doing -anything that may help me to detect the guilty and clear the innocent. -Woman, there is some deadly mystery hanging around yon, some guilty -secret in which you have played your part, and which, by the heavens -above us, I will unearth and bring to light! I will, I will!" - -What was the matter with me? My brain was dizzy; the lights, the -station, the faces around me, the woman I was addressing, seemed to be -going round and round, and I became conscious that my speech was -getting incoherent. - -"You have been drinking, Mr. Kavanagh," I heard a hard voice saying to -me, with a slight foreign accent. Then a bell rang, and I was hurried -forward by the crowd who were flocking on the platform; hurried on -toward a train that had come into the station whilst I had been -engaged with the housekeeper. I remember entering a carriage and -sinking down on a cushioned seat; then I lost all consciousness, until -I heard a voice shouting in my ear, "Your ticket, sir, please." - -I started up. - -"Where am I?" - -"Lincoln; ticket--quick, sir." - -I handed out my ticket. - -"This is for Stixwould, four stations back on the line. Two extra -shillings to pay." - -"Good heavens! I must have been asleep. How am I to get back?" - -"Don't know, sir; no train tonight." - -The money is paid, the door banged to, and we are shot into Lincoln -station at nine o'clock. There was no help for it now but to make my -way to the nearest hotel, and see what {749} means were to be had of -returning to Stixwould--the nearest station to the Grange, and that -was ten miles from it--or else pass the night here and take the -earliest train in the morning. I bade a porter take my bag, and show -me to some hotel; and I followed him, shivering in every limb, my head -aching as I had never felt it ache before--sick, giddy, and scarcely -able to draw one foot after another. Then I knew what had happened to -me; it flashed across me all in a moment. That man, disguised and in -spectacles, standing next to me at the refreshment-counter at -Peterborough, was De Vos, and he had dragged my coffee. I felt not a -doubt of it. - -In ten minutes we stopped at the Queen's Hotel, and after engaging a -room, I despatched a porter for the nearest doctor. To him I confided -the object of my journey, what I believed had occurred to me, and the -necessity there was for my taking such prompt remedies as should -enable me to recover my full strength, energies, and wits for the -morrow. Following his advice, after swallowing his medicine, I -relinquished all notion of proceeding that night on my journey, and -went to bed. The next morning I awoke quite fresh and well; but what -precious hours had been lost! hours sufficient to ruin all hope of my -journey bearing any fruits, of finding even a shadowy clue to the -tangled web that seemed closing in around us. And Hugh Atherton lay in -prison and Ada, my poor sorrowful darling, was breaking her heart -beneath the load of misery which had come upon her. By eight o'clock I -had started for Stixwould, and in half an hour alighted at that small -station. I was the only passenger for that place, and I had to wait -whilst the train moved off for the solitary porter to take my ticket. -Just as the bell had rung, a man passed out from some door and went up -to one of the carriages. "Could you oblige me with a fusee, sir?" I -heard him say. - -Some one leaned forward and handed out what was asked for; it was the -tall man in spectacles who had stood next to me at Peterborough -station. The train moved off just as I rushed forward, rushed almost -into the arms of the other man who had asked for the fusee. Wonders -would never cease! It was Inspector Keene. - -"Thank God, it is you!" - -"Yes, sir--myself. In a moment--I must telegraph up to town;" and he -ran into the office. - -"Now, sir," he said when he came out, "what has happened to bring you -here this morning from Lincoln?" - -I told him, and expressed my astonishment at seeing him. - -"We heard last night that Mrs. _Haag_ had left London and taken her -ticket for this place. I took the night mail to look after the lady -and warn you, sir. Now we had best post off directly for the Grange. -I've already ordered a fly and a pair of horses. We'll bribe the man, -and be there in something less than an hour and a half. - -"That man you spoke to in the train was De Vos," I said when we had -started. - -"I know it, sir. He was sent to watch you, I suspect; and treat you to -that little dose in your coffee." - -"And the housekeeper?" - -"Oh! she, I imagine, is safe ahead there at the Grange. At any rate, -she has not returned up the line; every station has been watched, and -they would have telegraphed to me." - -O the dreariness of that drive! Rain poured down from the leaden, -lowering sky and concentrated into a thick midst over the dismal -wolds. Patter, patter, slush, slush, as we drove along the wet miry -roads, the horses urged on to the utmost of their wretched, -broken-down speed; and the damp chill air penetrating the old rotten -vehicle and entering the very marrow of one's bones. So we arrived at -last before a low stone lodge that guarded some ponderous iron gates. -A gaunt ill-favored man came out at the sound of the wheels, and -stared at us in no friendly manner. - -{750} - -"Whar are ye from?" ho called out. - -"From Mr. Wilmot," answered the inspector. - -"Dunna b'lieve ye. Orders is for ne'run to go up to the house." - -Keene opened the door of the fly and sprang out. - -"Look here, my man," he said, producing his staff; "I'm a -police-officer from London, and I've come down here about the murder -of your master. Open the gate in the name of the law!" - -The man stared, pulled the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the gates -and threw them open. The inspector jumped up beside the driver and -bade him go on. - -A short avenue, lined on either side with magnificent trees, brought -us to the gate of extensive but ill-kept pleasure-grounds, and so to -the stone portico of the Grange. A peal of the bell brought an old -woman to the door, who peered out suspiciously, and demanded what we -wanted. - -"I am a detective-officer from London, and have a warrant for -searching this house;" and Keene putting the old hag aside, we passed -into the hall. - -"Ye mun show me yer warrant or I'll have ye put out agin in -double-quick time," she said, scowling at the inspector. For reply the -staff of office was again out of his pocket in a twinkling, and -flourished before her eyes. - -"You take yourself off and show us over the house instantly, or it -will be the worse for you." - -The woman cowered, and muttering to herself, led the way across the -spacious hall, and threw open a door on the left. The house apparently -was a low rambling building of ancient date, with panelled walls and -high casement-windows. We traversed several rooms, bare in furniture -and that struck one with a sense of utter cheerlessness and want of -comfort. This, then, was the desolate isolated house which Gilbert -Thorneley had owned and yet shunned so carefully during life; this was -the place where his idiot boy had probably dragged on the greater -number of his miserable years. But I need not dwell upon our search -through the house. - -High and low Inspector Keene ranged; looking into cupboards and dark -closets, sounding the panelled walls and poking at imaginary -trapdoors. With the exception of the old crone, who accompanied us, -and a great tabby cat lying before the kitchen-fire, no trace of -living soul was visible. - -"Where's young Mr. Thorneley?" said the inspector to her when our -visitation was made. - -"Never heard on him." - -"Who lives here?" - -"Only myself." - -"Where's the lady who came here yesterday evening?" - -A curious gleam shot from the old woman's eyes. - -"Dunno; no lady here." - -"I shall take you into custody, if you won't tell." - -"Then you mun do it--I'se nothing to say." - -Keene turned to me. - -"Our visit has been useless, sir. I used the threat, but I can't take -the woman on no charge; there is nothing left but to--" - -Hark! what sound was that which rang out upon our ears, which made our -hair stand on end, and our hearts stand still! Shriek upon shriek of -the most horrible, wild, unearthly laughter pealing from somewhere -overhead. The old woman made a dash forward to the staircase, and -called some name that was drowned in the echoes of that terrible -mirth. But in a second we had bounded past her and up the flight of -stairs, and there, at the far end of the corridor, gesticulating and -jabbering at us as we approached him with all the fearful, revolting -madness of idiocy, was the man in whose features was stamped the -perfect likeness of old Gilbert Thorneley. - -{751} - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE TRIAL. - -Inspector Keene's third point had been followed up and worked out: -Francis Gilbert Thorneley, the lost heir was found; and the living -evidence in favor of the will I had made was in our actual possession. -That it should be so seemed a merciful interposition of Providence; -for we had little doubt but that it had been intended I should, under -the influence of the stupefying drug administered by Do Vos, be -delayed on my journey, and so give time for him or the housekeeper, or -both, to visit the Grange and effect whatever purpose they had in -view. What had defeated them, or caused their failure, remained as yet -a mystery. Equally mysterious was the way in which both the -conspirators had managed to elude the vigilance of the police; and -bitter seemed the Inspector's disappointment when, on arriving in -London, he found no intelligence awaiting him of either man or woman. -We brought up the poor idiot with us; and I took him to my own -chambers, engaging a proper attendant to take charge of him, -recommended by the physician whom I called in to examine him. He -seemed to be perfectly harmless, and tractable as a child, but totally -bereft of sense or reason, amusing himself with toys, picture-books, -and other infantile diversions, by the hour. We tried to get some -coherent account of himself from him, but to no purpose; he knew his -name and the name of the old man and woman who had been his sole -guardians and companions, apparently for years. But beyond that, no -information could be elicited; and to all questions he would reply -with some sort of childish babble or jabber. This was the heir to old -Thorneley's immense wealth. - -There now remained the two other points marked by the Inspector to -follow up. Oh! how time was fast rushing on!--time that was so -precious for life or death--and so little done as yet toward clearing -away all that mountain of condemning evidence which would infallibly, -in the eyes of any English jury, bring sentence of death upon the -suspected murderer. The question forever rang in my ears, "_Who_ -bought that grain of strychnine on the 23d of October?" Upon the -discovery and identification of that person both Merrivale and myself, -as also the counsel whom he had engaged for the defence, felt -everything would hang. But up to the present moment, except in our own -minds, not the shadow of a clue could be found. The 16th November, the -day appointed for the trial of Hugh Atherton, approached with terrible -nearness; and our confidence in all but God's mercy and justice was -ebbing fast away. After finding and bringing the lost heir to London, -I wrote to Atherton by Merrivale, detailing all that old Thorneley had -confided to me, the contents of the will, and my journey into -Lincolnshire. I wrote, entreating him to see me; to let no cloud come -between us, who had been such close friends from boyhood, at such a -moment; to turn a deaf ear to all influence that might suggest that I -was acting otherwise than I had always done toward him. I wrote all -the bitter sorrow of my heart at having been forced involuntarily to -give evidence that might be turned against him; all the self-reproach -I felt for not having yielded to his wish of returning home with me -that terrible evening. - -He answered me in cold distant words, that _under the circumstances_ -it was best we should not meet; that Merrivale would act for him in -all as he judged best; that he did not wish to be disturbed again -before his trial. I showed the letter to Merrivale, and he told me he -could not make it out, for that Hugh was quite unreserved with him on -all points save this, and {752} to every suggestion he had made to him -of seeing me, he had invariably given the same reply, and declined to -enter upon the subject. Then I had recourse to Ada Leslie; but she -only obtained the same result. - -"I told him, guardian," she said, "how true you were to him, how -earnest and indefatigable in doing all you could for him, how sure I -was that you loved him better than any thing on earth. But all the -answer I got was, 'No, Ada; not better than anything. Don't let us say -anything more on the subject.' What can he mean? for I am sure he -meant something particular." - -Was it hard to look in her face, meet her clear trusting eyes, and -answer back, "_You_ were right, Ada; he is laboring under some -delusion?" Were they false words I spoke, my own heart giving them the -lie? Thank God, no. I was true to her, true to him. - -The time between my journey into Lincolnshire and the day of the trial -seems, on looking back, to be one dead blank, inasmuch as, do what we -would, we were no nearer the solution of the mystery after those three -weeks of research and watchfulness than we were on the morning -succeeding the murder. There were the prolonged conferences of lawyers -with counsel, of counsel with prisoner, of both with the detectives; -and day by day I saw Merrivale's face growing more careworn, stern, -and anxious; I saw both Inspector Keene's and Jones's baffled looks; -and--worse, far worse than all--I saw Ada Leslie wasting away before -me, withering beneath the blighting sorrow that had fallen upon her -young life. Oh! the terrible anguish written upon that wan, worn face -that would be lifted up to mine each time I saw her, the unspeakably -painful eagerness of her tones as she would ask, "is there any news?" -and the touching calmness of her despairing look succeeding the answer -which blasted the hopes that kept cruelly rising in her breast only to -be crushed! - -So the morning of the 16th of November dawned upon us. For the defence -Merrivale had engaged two of the most acute lawyers and most eloquent -pleaders then practising at the English bar, Sergeant Donaldson and -Mr. Forster, Q.C. They were both personal friends of Hugh Atherton, -both equally convinced of his innocence. On the part of the Crown the -Solicitor-General, Sergeant Butler, and a Mr. Frost were retained--all -eminent men. The judges sitting were the Lord Chief-Justice and Baron -Watson. Although we arrived very early, the Court was crowded to -suffocation; and it was only by help of the police-officers and -authorities that we could find entrance, although engaged in the -principal case coming on. Special reporters of the press, for London -and the country, were eagerly clamoring for seats in the reporters' -bench; and even foreign journals had sent over their "own -correspondents," such a general stir and sensation had the murder of -Gilbert Thorneley made far and near. - -Two or three trivial cases of embezzlement and stealing came first -before the Common Sergeant, whilst preparations for the one great -trial were made, the witnesses collected, and the counsel on either -side holding their final conferences. At a quarter to eleven the -Chief-Justice, followed by his brother judge, entered amidst profound -silence and took his seat. They were both men who had grown old and -gray in the administration of justice, who had for years sat in -judgment upon the guilty and the not guilty--men whose ears were -familiar with the details of almost every misery and crime known to -human nature--men who had had their own griefs and trials; and on the -venerable face of the superior judge many a deep furrow had been left -to tell its tale, whether engraven by private sorrow, or sympathy for -the mass of woe and suffering which passed so constantly before his -eyes. I had the honor of being personally acquainted {753} with his -lordship. How well I remembered an evening, not so long ago, spent at -his house with Hugh Atherton; when he, that eminent judge, that -distinguished lawyer, had come up to me and talked of Hugh, of his -talents, his eloquence, his growing reputation! I remembered the sad, -wistful expression of his eye as it dwelt upon my friend, and the tone -of his voice, as he said with a deep sigh, "If my boy had lived, I -could have wished him to have been such a one as _he_." He remembered -it also, if I might judge from the sorrowful gravity of his -countenance. I was standing beside Merrivale beneath the prisoner's -dock, facing the judge's chair; and in a few moments there was a -rustle and stir throughout the court, and I saw the Chief-Justice pass -his hand before his eyes for a brief second. Then was heard the loud -harsh voice of the clerk of the court addressing some one before him: - - "Philip Hugh Atherton, you stand there charged with the wilful - murder of your uncle, Mr. Gilbert Thorneley. How say you, prisoner - at the bar--are you guilty or not guilty?" - -A voice, low, deep-toned, and thrilling in its distinctness, replied: -"Not guilty, my lord; not guilty, so help me, O my God!" and turning -round, once again my eyes met those of Hugh Atherton. - -A great change had been wrought in him during the last three weeks, he -had grown so thin and worn; and amongst the waving masses of his dark -hair I could trace many and many a silver thread. Twenty years could -not have aged him more than these twenty days passed in that felon's -cell, beneath the imputation of that savage crime. Who could look at -him and think him guilty; who could gaze upon his open, manly face, so -noble in its expression of mingled firmness and gentleness, in its -guileless innocence and conscious rectitude of purpose, and say, "That -man has committed murder"? My heart went out to him, as I looked on -his familiar face once more, with all the love and honor with which I -had ever cherished his friendship. - -A special jury were then sworn in. All passed unchallenged; and the -Solicitor-General rose to open the case for the prosecution, and began -by requesting that all the witnesses might be ordered to leave the -court. It is needless to say that I had been subpoenaed by the crown -to repeat the wretched evidence already given at the inquest; needless -also to say that, not being personally present during the whole trial, -I have drawn from the same sources as before for an account of it. - -We had been given to understand that no other witnesses than those -examined before the coroner would be called against the prisoner; why -should they want more? They had enough evidence to bring down -condemnation twice over. On the part of the defence I have before said -up to that morning nothing fresh had been discovered that could in any -way be used as a direct refutation of what had already been adduced, -and would be brought forward again on this day. - -After the examination of the medical men I was called into the -witness-box, and examined by the Solicitor-General. To my former -evidence I now added an account of what had passed between myself and -the murdered man on the evening of the 23d, the contents of the will, -my journey to the Grange, and the discovery of Thorneley's idiot son. -I likewise gave an account of my visit with Jones to Blue-Anchor lane. -I noticed that this was ill-received by the Crown counsel; but the -judges overruled the Solicitor-General's attempt to squash my -statements, and insisted upon my having a full hearing. At the end -Sergeant Donaldson rose to cross-question me. - -"Did Mr. Thorneley mention in whose favor his previous will had been -made?" - -"He did not. Simply that he intended the will drawn up then to cancel -all others." - -{754} - -"Can you remember the words in which he alluded to his wife and son?" - -"Perfectly; I wrote them in the memorandum addressed to Mr. Atherton, -and which Mr. Merrivale has communicated to you." - -The Chief-Justice: "Read the extract, brother Donaldson." - -Sergeant Donaldson read as follows: "'Five-and-twenty years ago I -married one much younger than myself, an orphan living with an aunt, -her only relative, and who died shortly after our marriage. My ruling -passion was speculation; and I married her, not for love, but for her -fortune, which was large; I coveted it for the indulgence of my -passion. She was not happy with me, and I took no pains to make her -happier. Few knew of our marriage. I kept her at the Grange till she -died. Only _I_ and _one other person_ were with her at her death. She -gave birth to one child, a boy. Ho grew up an idiot, and I hated him. -But I wish to make reparation to my dead wife in the person of her -son--not out of love to her memory, but to _defeat the plans of -others, and in expiation of me wrong done to her_. I have never loved -any one in my life but my twin-sister, Hugh Atherton's mother: and him -for her sake and his own.' And then, my lord, follow the instructions -for the will given to Mr. Kavanagh." To the witness: "Did Mr. -Thorneley give you any clue to the '_other person_' who was with him -at his wife's death?" - -"None at all." - -"When you met the prisoner in Vere street, did he say he was going to -visit his uncle then?" - -"No; on the contrary, he seemed anxious to come home with me. I should -imagine it was an after-thought." - -"Mr. Wilmot has stated that you _volunteered_ to give evidence against -the prisoner: is it so?" - -"No; it is most false. I was surprised by detective Jones into an -admission; and when I found that it would be used against Mr. -Atherton, I did all in my power to get off attending the inquest." - -Reëxamined by the Solicitor-General: "It was against your consent that -the prisoner was engaged to your ward Miss Leslie, was it not?" - -"Against my consent! Assuredly not. She bad my consent from the -beginning." - -"You may go, Mr. Kavanagh." - -The witness who succeeded me was the housekeeper. It was observed that -she did not maintain the same calmness as at the inquest; but her -evidence was perfectly consistent, given perhaps with more eagerness, -but differing and varying in no essential point from her previous -depositions. - -Questioned as to whether she had been aware of Mr. Thorneley's -marriage, replied she had not, having always been in charge of his -house in town, first in the city and afterward in Wimpole street. He -had often been from home for many weeks together, but she never knew -where he went. - -Cross-examined.--Could swear she had poured no ale out in the tumbler -before taking it into the study--Barker had been with her all the -time--nor yet in the room. - -Sergeant Donaldson: "Now, Mrs. Haag, attend to me. How long have you -been a widow?" - -"Fifteen years." - -"What was your husband?" - -"A commercial traveller. He was not successful, and I went into -service soon after I married." - -"Had you any children?" - -"One son. He died." - -"When?" - -"Years ago." - -"How many years ago?" - -"Twenty years ago." - -"Is Haag your married name?" - -"Yes." - -"Did you bear the name of Bradley?" - -"I never bore such a name. I am a Belgian; so was my husband." - -{755} - -A paper was here passed in to Sergeant Donaldson, and handed by him to -the judges. - -The Chief-Justice: "This is a certificate of marriage celebrated at -Plymouth between Maria Haag, spinster, and Robert Bradley, bachelor, -dated June, 1829, and witnessed in proper legal form." - -Witness: "I know nothing of it. My name is Haag by marriage. I am very -faint; let me go away." - -A chair and glass of water were brought to the witness. In a few -moments she had recovered and the cross-examination was renewed. - -"How came it that you were met in the middle of Vere street, when, by -your own showing, you must then have turned out of the street before -Mr. Kavanagh could have overtaken you?" - -"Mr. Kavanagh did not meet me. I have so said before. I went straight -home after passing him and Mr. Atherton at the chemist's shop. He is -mistaken." - -"What took you to Peterborough on the 30th of last month?" - -"I went to visit a friend at Spalding." - -"How was it, then, that you returned to London by the twelve o'clock -train the following day--I mean arrived in London at that hour?" - -Witness hesitated for some time, and at last looked up defiantly. - -"What right have you to ask me such a question?" - -Baron Watson: "You are bound to answer, Mrs. Haag." - -Witness confusedly: "I did not find my friend at home." - -Sergeant Donaldson: "Do you mean to say you took that journey with the -chance of finding your friend away?" - -"I did." - -To the Chief-Justice: "My lord, I am informed by Inspector Keene, of -the detective service, that Mrs. Haag never visited Spalding at all; -that she took a ticket for Stixwould, at which station she got out, -and from which station she returned the following day." - -Baron Watson: "I don't see what you are trying to prove, brother -Donaldson." - -"I am trying to prove, my lord, that Mrs. Haag is not a witness upon -whose veracity we can rely." - -The Chief-Justice: "You must be well aware, Mrs. Haag, that the -mystery of this second will, and discovery of your late master's son, -bear direct influence upon the charge of which the prisoner is -accused. I think it highly necessary that you should be able to give a -clear account of that journey of yours on the 30th of last month. For -your own sake, do you understand?" - -Witness violently: "Of what do you suspect me? I have related the -truth." - -Sergeant Donaldson: "Excuse me, my lord, I shall call two witnesses -presently who will throw some light upon this person's movements. I -have no further questions to put to her now." - -Barker the footman and the other servants were next examined, and -deposed as before, with no additions nor variations. - -Mr. Forster in cross-examination drew from the cook a yet more -confident declaration that she had heard footsteps on the front-stairs -leading from the third to the second floor on the night of the murder. -Also that the housekeeper had "gone on awful at her for saying so; but -she had stuck to her word and told Mrs. 'Aag as she wasn't a-going to -be badgered nor bullied out of her convictions for any 'ousekeeper; -and that afterwards Mrs. 'Aag had come to her quite soft and civil, -your lordships, and said, 'Here's a suverin, cook, not to mention what -you heerd; for if you says a word about them steps, why,' says she, -'you'll just go and put it into them lawyers' 'eads as some of us did -it,' says she. But a oath's a oath, my lordships; and a being close -and confined is what I could never abide or abear; and that's every -bit the truth, and here's her suverin back again, which I never -touched nor broke into." - -{756} - -Baron Watson: "On your oath, then, you declare you heard a footstep on -the front-stairs during the night of the 23d but you don't know at -what hour?" - -"As certain sure, my lord, as that you are a sittin' on your cheer." - -After eliciting a few more confirmatory details, the witness was -dismissed and Mr. Wilmot called. Nothing further was got out of him -than what he had stated before the coroner. Either he was most -thoroughly on his guard, or he really was, as he professed to be, -ignorant of his cousin Thorneley's existence up to the day of the -funeral; ignorant of the contents of his uncle's will, until it was -opened at Smith and Walker's; totally unacquainted with the man -Sullivan or De Vos; innocent of having written the note seized upon -the boy in Blue-Anchor Lane by detective Jones, all knowledge of or -complicity with which he absolutely and solemnly denied. - -Questioned as to his motive for saying that Miss Leslie had been -refused the consent of her guardian, Mr. Kavanagh, to her marriage, -replied he had been distinctly told so by Mrs. Leslie, who had -mentioned also that Mr. Kavanagh was attached to Miss Leslie himself, -and had tried to make her break off the engagement. - -Inspector Jackson and Thomas Davis, the chemist, next gave evidence. -The latter was cross-questioned by Sergeant Donaldson. Could not swear -he did not leave the shop on the evening of the 23d between the time -when he had sold the camphor and nine o'clock, his supper-hour; had -tried hard to recollect since attending at the inquest, and had spoken -to his wife and his assistant. The former thought he had; that she had -heard him go into the back-parlor whilst she was down in the kitchen; -the latter had said he had not left the shop until nine o'clock. Could -swear he had sold no strychnine himself that day. The entry was, -however, in his own handwriting. He had talked over the matter -repeatedly with James Ball, his assistant, but had gathered no light -on the subject. The latter had been in a very odd state of mind since -then. The murder seemed to have taken great effect upon him. He had -become very nervous, forgetful, and absent; and he (Davis) had been -obliged to admonish him several times of late, that if he went on so -badly he must seek another situation. - -James Ball replaced his master in the witness-box. He looked very -haggard and excited, and answered the questions put to him, in an -incoherent, unsatisfactory manner, very different from his conduct at -the inquest. Admonished by the Chief-justice that he was upon his oath -and giving evidence in a matter of life and death, had cried out -passionately that he wished he had been dead before that wretched -evening.--Ordered to explain what he meant, became confused, and said -he had felt ill ever since the inquest. - -Cross-questioned by Mr. Forester: "Does your master keep an -errand-boy?" - -"Yes." - -"Was he in the shop on the evening of the 23d?" - -"I don't remember." - -"Oh! you don't remember! Do you remember receiving a letter on the -afternoon of the 24th containing a Bank-of-England £10 note?" - -"I did not receive any letter." - -"But you received what is called an 'enclosure' of a £10 note, did you -not?" - -No answer. - -"Did you hear my question, sir? Did you or did you not receive it?--on -your oath, remember!" - -No answer. - -The Chief-Justice: "You must answer that gentleman, James Ball." - -Still no answer. - -The Chief-Justice: "Once more I repeat my learned brother's question. -Did you or did you not receive that £10 note on the 24th of October -last? If you do not answer, I shall commit you for contempt of court." - -{757} - -Witness, defiantly: "Well, if I did, what's that to any one here? I -suppose I can receive money from my own mother." - -Mr. Forster: "You know very well that it did not come from your -mother, but that it was _hush-money_ sent you by the person to whom -you sold the grain of strychnine on the evening of the 23d." The -Chief-Justice: "Is this so? Speak the truth, or it will be the worse -for you." - -Witness (in a very low voice): "It is." - -Mr. Forster: "Who was the person?" - -"I don't know--indeed I don't; but -it wasn't _he_," (pointing to the prisoner.) - -"Was it a man or a woman?" - -"A woman." - -"Was it the housekeeper?" - -"I don't know." - -The Chief-Justice: "Let Mrs. Haag be summoned into court." - -The housekeeper was brought in and confronted with the witness. She -was unveiled, and she looked Ball steadily in the face, the dangerous -dark light in her eyes. - -The Chief-Justice: "Is that the person?" - -"No; I can't identify her." (The witness spoke with more firmness and -assurance than he had done.) - -Mr. Forster, to Mrs. Haag: "Is this your handwriting?" (A letter is -passed to her.) - -"No; it is not" - -"On your oath?" - -"On my oath." - -"You can leave the court, Mrs. Haag." - -"Now, witness, relate what took place about that strychnine." - -"A lady came into the shop that evening, just before that gentleman -came in for the camphor, and asked for a grain of strychnine. I -refused to sell it. She said, 'It's for my husband; he's a doctor, and -wants to try the effect on a dog.' I said, 'Who is he?' She said, -'He's Mr. Grainger, round the corner, at the top of Vere Street.' I -knew Mr. Grainger lived there--a doctor. I thought it was all right, -and gave her one grain of strychnine. I said, 'I shall run round -presently and see if it's all right' She said, 'Very well; come now if -you like.' I made sure now more than ever that it was all right. She -paid me and left the shop. I told my master of selling it, along with -a lot of other medicines. In the morning I heard that Mr. Thorneley -had been poisoned by strychnine, and in the afternoon I received by -post a ten-pound note and that letter."--(Letter read by Mr. Forster: -"Say nothing, and identify no one. You shall receive this amount every -month.")--"I guessed then it was from the person who had bought the -strychnine, and that they had murdered old Thorneley. I am very poor, -and my family needed the money. That is all." - -Mr. Forster: "I have nothing further to ask." - -The Chief-Justice: "Remove the witness, and let him be detained in -custody for the present." - -The Solicitor-General: "This, my lord, closes the evidence for the -prosecution." - -Sergeant Donaldson then rose to address the jury for the defence. - - - - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -{758} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - - - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -VI. - - -THE TRINITY OF PERSONS INCLUDED IN THE ONE DIVINE ESSENCE. - -The full explication of the First Article of the Creed requires us to -anticipate two others, which are its complement and supply the two -terms expressing distinctly the relations of the Second and Third -Persons to the First Person or the Father, in the Trinity. "Credo in -Unum Deum Patrem," gives us the doctrine of the Divine Unity, and the -first term of the Trinity, viz., the person of the Father. "Et in Unum -Dominum Jesum Christum Filium Dei Unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante -omnia saecula; Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine; Deum Verum de Deo Vero; -Genitum non Factum, consubstantialem Patri, per quem omnia facta -sunt:" gives us the second term or the person of the Son. "Et in -Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et Vivificantem, qui ex Patre Filioque -procedit, quicum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificacur:" -gives us the third term or the person of the Holy Spirit. Both these -are necessary to the explanation of the term "Patrem." The proper -order is, therefore, to begin with the eternal, necessary relations of -the Three Persons to each other in the unity of the Divine Essence, -and then to proceed with the operations of each of the Three Persons -in the creation and consummation of the Universe. - -Our purpose is not to make a directly theological explanation of all -that is contained in this mystery, but only of so much of it as -relates to its credibility, and its position in regard to the sphere -of intelligible truth. With this mystery begins that which is properly -the objective matter of revelation, or the series of truths belonging -to a super-intelligible order, that is, above the reach of our natural -intelligence, proposed to our belief on the veracity of God. It is -usually considered the most abstruse, mysterious, and incomprehensible -of all the Christian dogmas, even by believers; though we may perhaps -find that the dogma of the Incarnation is really farther removed than -it from the grasp of our understanding. Be that as it may, the fact -that it relates to the very first principle and the primary truth of -all religion, and appears to confuse our apprehension of it, namely, -the Unity of God--causes us to reflect more distinctly upon its -incomprehensibility. Many persons, both nominal Christians and avowed -unbelievers, declare openly, that in their view it is an absurdity so -manifestly contrary to reason that it is absolutely unthinkable, and, -of course, utterly incredible. How then is the relation between this -mystery and the self-evident or demonstrable truths of reason adjusted -in the act of faith elicited by the believer? What answer can be made -to the rational objections of the unbeliever? If the doctrine be -really unthinkable, it is just as really incredible, and there can be -no act of faith terminated upon it as a revealed object. Of course, -then, no inquiry could be made as to its relation with our knowledge, -for that which is absurd and incapable of being intellectually -conceived and apprehended cannot have any relation to knowledge. It is -impossible for the human mind to believe at one and the same time that -a proposition is {759} directly contrary to reason, and also revealed -by God. No amount of extrinsic evidence will ever convince it. Human -reason cannot say beforehand what the truths of revelation are or -ought to be; but it can say in certain respects what they cannot be. -They cannot be contradictory to known truths and first principles of -reason and knowledge. Therefore, when they are presented in such a way -to the mind, or are by it apprehended in such a way, as to involve a -contradiction to these first truths and principles, they cannot be -received until they are differently presented or apprehended, so that -this apparent contradiction is removed. This is so constantly and -clearly asserted by the ablest Catholic writers, men above all -suspicion for soundness in the faith, that we will not waste time in -proving it to be sound Catholic doctrine. [Footnote 183] Of course -all rationalists, and most Protestants, hold it as an axiom already. -If there are some Protestants who hold the contrary, they are beyond -the reach of argument. - - [Footnote 183: See among others, Archbishop Manning on the Temporal - Mission of the Holy Ghost.] - -The Catholic believer in the Trinity apprehends the dogma in such a -way that it presents no contradiction to his intellect between itself -and the first principles of reason or the primary doctrine of the -unity of the divine nature. God, who is the Creator and the Light of -reason, as well as the author of revelation, is bound by his own -attributes of truth and justice, when he proposes a doctrine as -obligatory on faith, to propose it in such a way that the mind is able -to apprehend and accept it in a reasonable manner. This is done by the -instruction given by the Catholic Church, with which the supernatural -illumination of the Holy Spirit concurs. The Catholic believer is -therefore free from those crude misapprehensions and misconceptions -which create the difficulty in the unbelieving mind. He apprehends in -some degree, although it may be implicitly and confusedly, the real -sense and meaning of the mystery, as it is apprehensible by analogy -with truths of the natural order. What it is he apprehends, and what -are the analogies by which it can be made intelligible, will be -explained more fully hereafter. It is enough here to note the fact. -This apprehension makes the mystery to him thinkable, or capable of -being thought. That is, it causes the proposition of the mystery in -certain definite terms to convey a meaning to his mind, and not to be -a mere collocation of words without any sense to him. It makes him -apprehend what he is required to assent to, and puts before him an -object of thought upon which an intellectual act can be elicited. It -presents no contradiction to reason, and therefore there is no -obstacle to his giving the full assent of faith on the authority of -God. - -It is otherwise with one who has been brought up in Judaism, -Unitarianism, or mere Rationalism; or whose merely traditional and -imperfect apprehension of Christian dogmas has been so mixed up with -heretical perversions that his mature reason has rejected it as -absurd. There is an impediment in the way of his receiving the mystery -of the Trinity as proposed by the Catholic Church, and believing it -possible that God can have revealed it. He may conceive of the -doctrine of the Trinity as affirming that an object can be one and -three in the same identical sense, which destroys all mathematical -truth. Or he may conceive of it, as dividing the divine substance into -three parts, forming a unity of composition and not a unity of -simplicity. Or he may conceive of it as multiplying the divine -essence, or making three co-ordinate deities, who concur and -co-operate with each other by mutual agreement. These conceptions are -equally absurd with the first, although it requires more thought to -discern their absurdity. It is necessary then to remove the apparent -absurdity of the doctrine, before any evidence of its being a {760} -revealed truth is admissible. The first misconception is so extremely -crude, that it is easily removed by the simple explanation that unity -and trinity are predicated of God in distinct and not identical -senses. The second, which is hardly less crude is disposed of by -pointing out the explicit statements in which the simplicity and -indivisibility of the divine substance in all of the Three Persons is -invariably affirmed. The third is the only real difficulty, the only -one which can remain long in an educated and instructed mind. The -objection urged on theological or philosophical grounds by really -learned men against the dogma of the Trinity, is, that it implies -Tritheism. The simplest and most ordinary method of removing this -objection, is by presenting the explicit and positive affirmation of -the church that there is but one eternal principle of self-existent, -necessary being, one first cause, one infinite substance possessing -all perfections. This is sufficient to show that the church denies and -condemns Tritheism, and affirms the strict unity of God. But, the -Unitarian replies, you hold a doctrine incompatible with this -affirmation, viz., that there are three Divine Persons, really -distinct and equal. This is met by putting forward the terms in which -the church affirms that it is the one, eternal, and infinite essence -of God which is in each of the Three Persons. The Unitarian is then -obliged to demonstrate that this distinction of persons in the Godhead -is unthinkable, and that unity of nature cannot be thought in -connection with triplicity of person. This he cannot do. The relation -of personality to nature is too abstruse, especially when we are -reasoning about the infinite, which transcends all the analogies of -our finite self-consciousness, to admit of a demonstration proving -absolutely that unity of nature supposes unity of person, and _vice -versa_, as its necessary correlative. The church affirms the unity of -substance in the Godhead in the clearest manner, sweeping away all -ground for gross misconceptions of a divided or multiplied deity; but -affirms also trinity in the mode of subsistence, or the distinction of -Three Persons, in each one of whom the same divine substance subsists -completely. This affirmation is above the comprehension of reason, but -not contrary to reason. Even Unitarians, in some instances, find no -difficulty in accepting the statement of the doctrine of the trinity -made by our great theologians, when it is distinctly presented to -them; and in the beautiful Liturgical Book used in some Unitarian -congregations, the orthodox doxology, "Glory be to the Father, and to -the Son, and to the Holy Ghost," has been restored. - -The absurd misconception of what the church means by the word Trinity -being once removed, the evidence that her doctrine is revealed, or -that God affirms to us the eternal, necessary distinction of three -subsistences in his infinite being, becomes intelligible and credible. -Reason cannot affirm the intrinsic incompatibility of the proposition, -God reveals himself as subsisting in three persons, with the -proposition, there is one God; and therefore cannot reject conclusive -evidence that he does so reveal himself through the Catholic Church. -For aught reason can say, he may have so revealed himself. If -satisfactory evidence is presented that he has done so, reason is -obliged, in consistency with its principles, to examine and judge of -the evidence, and assent to the conclusion that the Trinity is a -revealed truth. This is enough for all practical purposes, and as much -as the majority of persons are capable of. But is this the _ultimatum_ -of reason? Is it not possible to go further in showing the conformity -of the revealed truth with rational truths? Several eminent -theologians have endeavored to take this further step, and to -construct a metaphysical argument for the doctrine of the Trinity. -Some of the great contemplatives of the church, who are really the -most profound and sublime of her {761} theologians and philosophers, -have also through divine illumination appeared to gain an insight into -the depths of this mystery. For instance, St. Ignatius and St. Francis -de Sales both affirm that the truth and the mutual harmony of all the -divine mysteries were made evident to their intelligence in -contemplation. In modern times, Bossuet, Lacordaire, and Dr. Brownson -have reasoned profoundly on the rational evidence of the Trinity, and -a Roman priest, the Abbate Mastrofini, has published a work entitled -"Metaphysica Sublimior," in which he proposes as his thesis, Given -divine revelation, to prove the truth of all its dogmas by reason. The -learned and excellent German priest Günther attempted the same thing, -but went too far, and fell into certain errors which were censured by -the Roman tribunals, and which he himself retracted. It is necessary -to tread cautiously and reverently, like Moses, for we are on holy -ground, and near the burning bush. We will endeavor to do so, and, -taking for our guide the decisions of the Church and the judgment of -her greatest and wisest men, to do our best to state briefly what has -been attempted in the way of eliciting an eminent act of reason on -this great mystery, without trenching on the domain of faith. - -First, then, it is certain that reason cannot discover the Trinity of -itself. It must be first proposed to it by revelation, before it can -apprehend its terms or gain anything to reason upon. Secondly, when -proposed, its intrinsic necessity or reason cannot be directly or -immediately apprehended. If it can be apprehended at all, it must be -mediately, or through analogies existing in the created universe. Are -there such analogies, that is, are there any reflections or -representations of this divine truth in the physical or intellectual -world from which reason can construct a theorem parallel in its own -order with this divine theorem? Creation is a copy of the divine idea. -It represents God as a mirror. Does it represent him, that is, so far -as the human intellect is capable of reading it, not merely as he is -one in essence, but also as he is three in persons? Assuming the -Trinity as an hypothesis, which is all we can do in arguing with an -unbeliever, can we point out analogies or representations in creation -of which the Trinity is the ultimate reason and the infinite original? -If we can, do these analogies simply accord and harmonize with the -hypothesis that God must subsist in three persons, or do they indicate -that this is the most adequate or the only conceivable hypothesis, or -that it is the necessary, self-evident truth, without which the -existence of these analogies would be unthinkable and impossible? Do -these analogies, as we are able to discover them, represent an -adequate image of the complete Catholic dogma of the Trinity, or only -an inadequate image of a portion of it? - -It is evident, in the first place, that some analogical representation -of the Trinity must be made in order to give the mind any apprehension -whatever of a real object of thought on which it can elicit an act of -faith. The terms in which the doctrine is stated, as for instance. -Father, Son, Holy Spirit, eternal generation, procession or spiration, -person, etc., are analogical terms, representing ideas which are -otherwise unspeakable, by images or symbols. It is impossible for the -mind to perceive that a proposed idea is simply not absurd, without -apprehending confusedly what the idea is, and possessing some positive -apprehension of its conformity to the logical, that is, the real -order. Every distinct act of belief in the Trinity, therefore, however -rudimental and imperfectly evolved into reflective cognition, contains -in it an apprehension of the analogy between it and creation. If we -proceed, therefore, to explicate this confused, inchoate conception, -we necessarily proceed by way of explicating the analogy spoken of, -because we must proceed by explaining the terms in which the doctrine -is stated, {762} which are analogical; and by pointing out what the -analogy is which the terms designate. What is meant by calling God -Father, Son, and Holy Spirit? Why is the relation of the Son to the -Father called filiation? Why is the relation of the Holy Spirit to -both called procession? The Niceno-Constantinopolitan and Athanasian -Creeds, all the other definitions of the church respecting the -Trinity, and all Catholic theology deduced from these definitions and -from Scripture and tradition by rational methods, are an explication -of the significance of these analogical terms. The only question which -can be raised then, is, in regard to the extent of the capacity of -human reason to discern the analogy between inward necessary relations -of the Godhead, and the outward manifestation of these relations in -the creation. The hypothesis of the Trinity assumes that this analogy -exists, and is to some extent apprehensible. We will now proceed to -indicate the process by which Catholic theologians show this analogy, -beginning with those terms of analogy which lie in the material order, -and ascending to those which lie in the order of spirit and -intelligence. - -First, then, it is argued, that the law of generation in the physical -world, by which like produces like, represents some divine and eternal -principle. Ascending from the lower manifestation of this law to man, -we find this physical relation of generation the basis of a higher -filiation in which the soul participates. Man generates the image of -himself, in his son, who is not merely his bodily offspring, but -similar and equal to himself in his rational nature. As St. Paul says, -the principal of this paternity must be in God, and must therefore be -in him essential and eternal. But this principle of eternal, essential -paternity, within the necessary being of God, is the very principle of -distinct personal relations. - -Again, the multiplicity of creation indicates that there is some -principle in the Divine Nature, corresponding in an eminent sense and -mode to this multiplicity. The relations of number are eternal truths, -and have some infinite transcendental type in God. If there were no -principle in the Divine Nature except pure, abstract unity, there -would be no original idea, from which God could proceed to create a -universe; which is necessarily multiplex and constituted in an -infinitude of distinct relations, yet all radically one, as proceeding -from one principle and tending to one end. Here is an analogy -indicating that unity and multiplicity imply and presuppose one the -other. - -These two arguments combine when we consider the law of generation and -the principle of multiplicity as constituting human society and -building up the human race. Society, love, mutual communion, -reciprocal relations, kind offices, diversity in equality, constitute -the happiness and well being of man; they are an image and a -participation of the divine beatitude. All the good of the creature, -all the perfections of derived, contingent existences, have an eminent -transcendental type in God. Love, friendship, society, represent -something in the divine nature. If there were no personal relations in -God, but a mere solitude of being existing in a unity and singularity -exclusive of all plurality and society, it would seem that, supposing -creation possible, the rational creature would copy his archetype, be -single of his kind, and find his happiness in absolute solitude. It is -otherwise, however, with the human race. The human individual is not -single and solitary. Human nature is one in respect of origin and -kind, derived from one principle which is communicated by generation -and exists in plurality of persons. Society is necessary to the -perpetuation, perfection, and happiness of the human race. This -society is constituted primarily in a three-fold relation between the -father, the mother, and {763} the child, which makes the family; and -the family repeated and multiplied makes the tribe, the nation, and -the race. Taking now the hypothesis of three persons in one nature as -constituting the Godhead, it is plain that we have a clearer idea of -that in God which is represented and imitated in human society, and -which is the archetype of the life, the happiness, the love, existing -in the communion of distinct persons in one common nature, than we can -have in the hypothesis of an absolute singularity of person in the -deity. That good which man enjoys by fellowship with his equal and his -like, is a participation in the supreme good that is in God. In that -supreme good, this participated good must exist in an eminent manner. -God must have in himself infinite, all-sufficing society, fellowship, -love. He must have it in his necessary and eternal being, for he -cannot be dependent on that which is contingent and created. Supposing -therefore that it is consistent with the unity of his nature to exist -in three distinct and equal persons, not only is the analogy of his -creation to himself more manifest, but the conception we can form of -the perfection of his being is more complete and intelligible. - -There is another analogy in the intellectual operation of the human -mind. The intellective faculty generates what may be called the -interior word, or image of the mind, the archetype of that which is -outwardly expressed in a philosophical theory, a poem, a picture, a -statue, or a work of architecture. Through this word, the great -creative mind lives and attains to the completion and happiness of -intellectual existence. It loves it as proceeding from and identical -with itself. Through it, it acts upon other minds, controls and -influences their thought and life; and thus the spirit proceeding from -the creative mind, through its generated word, is the completion of -its inward and outward operation. Thus, argue the theologians, the -Father contemplating the infinitude of his divine essence generates by -an infinite thought, the Word, or Son. Being infinite and uncreated, -his necessary act is infinite and uncreated, in all respects equal to -himself, and therefore the Word is equal to the Father; possesses the -plenitude of the divine essence, intelligence and personality. The -divine act of generation is not a purely intellectual cognition, but a -contemplation in which love is joined with knowledge. The Father -beholds the Son, and the Son looks back upon the Father, with infinite -love, which is the spiration of the divine life. This spiration or -spirit, proceeding from the Father and the Son, is the consummating, -completing term of their unity, and contains the divine being which is -in the Father and the Son in all its plenitude; constituting a third -person, equal to the first and second. The operation of a limited, -finite, created soul presents only a faint, imperfect analogy of the -Trinity, because it is itself limited, as being the operation of a -soul participating in being only to a limited extent. Individual -existences possess each one a limited portion of being. But in God, it -is not so. There is no division in his nature, because the eternal, -self-existing cause and principle of its unity is a simultaneous cause -of its absolute plenitude by which it exhausts all possible being. -This plenitude of being is in the eternal generation of the second -person, and the eternal spiration of the third person in the Godhead, -on account of the necessary perfection of the most pure act in which -the being of God consists; wherefore personality is predicable, as one -of the perfections of being, of each of the three terms of relation in -God. The word of human reason and its spirit, are not equal to itself, -or personal, because of the limited and imperfect nature of human -reason, and its operations. The Word or Son of the Eternal Father, and -the Holy Spirit, are equal to him and personal, because the Father is -God, and his act is infinite. - -{764} - -This prepares the way for a different method of presenting the -argument from analogy, based on the conception of God as _actus -purissimus_, or most pure act. This is clearly and succinctly stated -by Dr. Brownson as follows: - - "The one, or naked and empty unity, even in the Unitarian mind is - not the equivalent of God. When he says one, he still asks, one - what? The answer is, one God, which implies even with him something - more than unity. It implies unity and its real and necessary - contents as living or actual being. Unity is an abstract conception - formed by the mind operating on the intuition of the concrete, and - as abstract, has no existence out of the mind conceiving. Like all - abstractions, it is in itself dead, unreal, null. God is not an - abstraction, not a mere generalization, a creature, or a theorem of - the human mind, but one living and true God, existing from and in - himself, _ad se et se_. He is real being, being in its plenitude, - eternal, independent, self-living, and complete in himself. To live - is to act. To be eternally and infinitely living is to be eternally - and infinitely acting, is to be all act; and hence philosophers and - theologians term God, in scholastic language, most pure act, _actus - purissimus_. But act, all act demands, as its essential conditions, - principle, medium, and end. Unity, then, to be actual being, to be - eternally and purely act in itself, must have in itself the three - relations of principle, medium, and end, precisely the three - relations termed in Christian theology Father, Son, and Holy - Ghost--the Father as principle, the Son as medium, and the Holy - Ghost as end or consummation of the divine life. These three - interior relations are essential to the conception of unity as one - living and true God. Hence the radical conception of God as triune - is essential to the conception of God as one God, or real, - self-living, self-sufficing unity. There is nothing in this view of - the Trinity that asserts that one is three, or that three are one; - nor is there anything that breaks the divine unity, for the - triplicity asserted is not three Gods, or three divine beings, but a - threefold interior relation in the interior essence of the one God, by - virtue of which he is one actual, living God. The relations are in - the essence of the one God, and are so to speak the living contents - of his unity, without which he would be an empty, unreal - abstraction; one--nothing." [Footnote 184] - - [Footnote 184: Brownson's Review, July, 1863, pp. 266, 267.] - -There is still another way of stating the argument, founded on the -necessary relation between subject and object. In the rational order, -subject is that which apprehends and object that which is apprehended. -Intelligence is subject and the intelligible is object. The mere power -or capacity of intelligence, if it is conceived of in an abstract -manner as existing alone without relation to its object, must be -conceived of as not in actual exercise. Intelligence in act implies -something intelligible which terminates the act of intelligence. Even -supposing that the object of the intelligence is identical with the -subject, that is, that the rational mind contemplates itself as a -really existing substance, nevertheless there is a distinction between -the mind considered as the subject which contemplates, and the mind -considered as the object which is contemplated. The reason -contemplated must be projected before itself and regarded as an object -distinct from the contemplating reason in the act of contemplation. -The eye which sees objects external to itself, does not actually see -or bring its visual power into act until an object is presented before -it; and the individual does not become conscious that he can see or is -possessed of a visual faculty, except in the act of seeing an object. -The eye cannot see itself immediately by the mere fact that it is a -visual organ, but only sees itself as reflected in a mirror and made -objective to itself. God is the absolute intelligence and the absolute -intelligible, as has been proved in a previous chapter. He -contemplates and comprehends himself, and in this consists his active -being and life. Thus in the divine being there is the distinction of -subject and object. God considered as infinite intelligence is -subject, and considered as the infinite intelligible is his own -adequate object. The hypothesis of the Trinity presents to us God as -subject for intelligence in the person of the Father, as object, or -the intelligible, in the person of the Son. The Son is the image of -the Father, as the reflection of a man's form in the mirror is the -image of himself. The eternal generation of the Son is the {765} -eternal act of the Father contemplating his own being, and is -terminated upon the person of the Son as its object. As this act is -within the divine being, the image of the Father is not a merely -phenomenal, apparent, unsubstantial reflection of his being, but real, -living, and substantial. The Son is consubstantial with the Father. -The being of God is in the act of intelligence or contemplation, -whether we consider God as the subject or the object in this infinite -act, that is, as intelligent and contemplating, or as intelligible and -contemplated. The consummating principle of love, complacency, or -beatitude, which completes this act, vivifies it, and unites the -person of the Father with the person of the Son in one indivisible -being, is the Holy Spirit, equal to the Father and the Son, and -identical in being, because a necessary term of the most pure act in -which the divine life and being consists. All that is within the -circle of the necessary, essential being of God, as most pure, -intelligent, living act, is uncaused, self-existent, infinite, -eternal. By the hypothesis, we must conceive of God as subsisting in -the three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, in order to conceive -of him as _ens in actu_, or in the state of actual, living, concrete -being, and not as a mere abstraction or possibility existing in -thought only; as infinite intelligence, and the adequate object of his -own intelligence, self sufficing and infinitely blessed in himself. -Therefore the Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is -God. It is only by this triplicity of personal relations that the -unity of God as a living, concrete unity, or the unity of one, -absolute, perfect, infinite being, containing in himself the actual -plenitude of all that is conceivable or possible, can subsist or be -vividly apprehended. Therefore there cannot be, by the hypothesis, a -separate and distinct Godhead in each of the three persons, since -triplicity of person enters into the very essential idea of Godhead. -The hypothesis of the Trinity, therefore, absolutely compels the mind -to believe in the unity of God, and shuts out all possibility that -there should be more Gods than one, because it shuts out all -possibility of imagining any mode or form of necessary being which is -not included in the three personal relations of the one God. Unity and -plurality, singularity and society, capacity of knowing, loving, and -enjoying the true, the beautiful, and the good, and the adequate -object of this capacity, or the true, beautiful, and good _in se_, the -subject and the object of intelligent and spiritual life and activity, -intelligence and the intelligible, love and the loved, blessedness and -beatitude, subsist in him in actual being, which is infinite and -exhausts in its most pure act all that is in the uncreated, necessary, -self-existent principle of being and first cause. The adequate reason -and type of all contingent and created existences is demonstrated also -to be in the three personal relations of the one divine essence, in -such a way, that the hypothesis of the Trinity, as a theorem, -satisfactorily takes up, accounts for, and explains all discoverable -truths as well in regard to the universe as in regard to God. - -This last statement indicates the answer which we think is the most -correct one to the question proposed in the beginning of this chapter, -as to the full logical force of the rational argument for the Trinity. -That is, we regard it as a hypothesis which in the first place is -completely insusceptible of rational refutation. In the second place, -contains certain truths which are established by very strong probable -arguments and analogies. In the third place, suggests a conception of -God which harmonizes with all the truth we know, or can see to be -probable, and at the same time is more perfect and sublime than any -which can be made, excluding the hypothesis. We do not claim for it -the character of a strict demonstration. To certain minds it seems to -approach {766} very near a demonstration, probably because their -intellectual power of vision is unusually acute. To others it appears -nearly or quite unintelligible. Probably but few persons comparatively -can grasp it in such a way as to attain a true intellectual insight -into the relation between the doctrine of the Trinity and philosophy. -Yet all those who have thought much on the doctrine, and who find -their great difficulty in believing it to consist in a want of -apparent connection with other truths, ought to be able to appreciate -the philosophical argument by which the connection is shown. They must -have an aptitude for apprehending arguments of this nature, otherwise -they would not think on the subject so intently. All they can justly -expect is that the impediment in their minds against believing that -the doctrine is credible, or not incredible, supposing it revealed, -should be removed. This is done by the arguments of Catholic -theologians. If the doctrine be revealed, it is credible; that is, an -intelligent person can in perfect consistency with the dictates of -reason assent to the proposition that God has revealed it, and that it -is therefore credible on his veracity. The ground of the positive and -unwavering assent of the mind is in the veracity of God, and remains -there, no matter how far the reasoning process may be carried; for -without the revelation of God, the conception of the Trinity, -supposing it once obtained, would for ever remain a mere hypothesis, -though the most probable of all which could be conceived. - -As already explained, it is only by a supernatural grace that the mind -is elevated to a state in which it clearly and habitually contemplates -the object of faith as revealed by God. By divine faith, the intellect -believes without doubting the mystery of the three persons in one -divine nature, and incorporates this belief into its life, as a -vivifying truth and not a dead, inert, abstract speculation or -theorem. When it is thus believed, and taken as a certain truth, the -intellect, if it is capable of apprehending the argument from analogy, -may be able to see that the Trinity is really that truth which is the -archetype that has been copied in creation, and is indicated in the -analogies already pointed out. It may see that one cannot think -logically unless he is first instructed in the doctrine of the Trinity -and proceeds from it as a given truth or datum of reasoning. Thus, he -may by the light of faith attain an elevated kind of science, or -eminent act of reason, which really rests on indubitable principles. -Yet it will not be properly science or knowledge of the revealed -mysteries, since one of these indubitable principles on which all the -consequences depend, is revelation itself, which really constitutes -the mind in a certitude of that which on merely rational principles -remains always inevident. Probably this is what is meant by those who -maintain that the Trinity can be rationally demonstrated. Given, that -the Trinity is a revealed truth, it explains and harmonizes in the -sphere of reason what is otherwise inexplicable. It is the same with -other revealed truths, and to prove that it is so is the principal -object of this essay. Presented in this light, the Catholic dogma of -the Trinity vindicates its claim to be a necessary part of religious -belief; an essential dogma of Christianity, revealed and made -obligatory for an intelligible reason, and essential to the formation -of a complete and adequate theology and philosophy. It is no longer -regarded as a naked, speculative, isolated proposition; to which a -merely intellectual assent is required by a precept of authority, and -which has no living relation to other truths or to the practical, -spiritual life of the soul. It is shown to be a universal and -fundamental truth, the basis of all truth and of the entire real and -logical order of the universe. - -{767} - -This can be shown much more easily, and to the majority of minds more -intelligibly, in relation to the other truths of Christianity, than to -those truths which are more recondite and metaphysical. It is -necessary to an adequate explication of the creation, of the destiny -of rational existences, of the supernatural order, of the character -and mission of Christ, of the regeneration of man through him, and of -his final end or supreme and eternal beatitude and glorification in -the future life, as will be shown hereafter. Deprived of this dogma, -Christianity is baseless, unmeaning, and worthless; and is infallibly -disintegrated and reduced to nihilism, by the necessary laws of -thought. This is true also of theism, or natural theology. And this -suggests a powerful subsidiary argument in a different line of -reasoning, proving that the doctrine of the Trinity is necessary to -the perfection and perpetuity of the doctrine of the unity of God. - -The same universal tradition which has handed down the pure, theistic -conception, and has instructed mankind in the true, adequate knowledge -of God, has handed down the Trinity, and traces of it are even found -in heathen theosophy and the more profound heathen philosophy. -Wherever the doctrine of the Trinity has been preserved, there the -clear conception of the one God and his attributes has been preserved. -And where this doctrine has been corrupted or lost, the conception of -God as one living being of infinite perfection, the first and final -cause of all things, has passed away into polytheism or pantheism or -scepticism. Wherever God is apprehended as the supreme creator and -sovereign, the supreme object of worship, obedience, and love, in -intimate personal relations to man, he is apprehended in the personal -relations which subsist in himself, that is, in the Trinity. His -interior personal relations are the foundation of all external -personal relations to his creatures. This is even true of Unitarians, -so long as they retain the Christian ethical and spiritual temper -which connects them with the Christian world of thought and life, and -do not slide into some form of infidelity. They retain some imperfect -conception of the relations of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and in -proportion as they become more positive in religion, they revive and -renew this conception. The effort to make a system of living, -practical theistic religion is feeble and futile, and what little -consistency and force it has is derived from the conception of the -fatherhood of God borrowed from Christian theology; but imperfect -without the two additional terms which constitute the complete -conception of the Trinity. All this is a powerful argument for a -Theist or a Unitarian in favor of the divine origin and authority of -the Catholic dogma. The instruction which completes the inward -affirmation of God in the idea of reason, and is the complement of the -creative act constituting the soul rational, must be from the Creator. -He alone can complete his own work. It is contrary to all rational -conceptions of the wisdom of God to suppose that he has permitted that -the same instruction which teaches mankind to know, to worship, to -love, and to aspire after himself, should hand down in inseparable -connection with the eternal truth of the unity of his essence, the -doctrine of the threefold personal relations within this unity, if -this were an error diametrically its opposite, and not a truth equally -necessary and eternal. - ------- - -{768} - - -From The Month. - -CAIRO AND THE FRANCISCAN MISSIONS ON THE NILE. - - -On the 25th November, 186--, a small but crowded steamer was seen -ploughing its way through the waves at the entrance to the port of -Alexandria. Its living freight was of a motley description: there were -the usual proportion of Indian passengers--Indian officers returning -with their wives after sick-leave; engineer officers going out to lay -down the electric telegraph--one of whom, young in years but old in -knowledge, whose distinguished merit had already raised him to the -first place in his profession, was never again destined to see his -native shores. Then there were others seeking health, and about to -exchange the damp, foggy climate of England for the warm, dry, -invigorating air of Nubia and the Upper Nile. They had had a horrible -passage, in a small and badly-appointed steamer, of which all the -port-holes had to be closed on account of the gale, leaving the -wretched inhabitants of the cabins in a state of suffocation difficult -to describe. So that it was with intense joy that the jetty was at -last reached; and in the midst of a noise and confusion impossible to -describe, the passengers were landed on the dirty quay, and were -dragged rather than led into the carriages which were to convey them -to the hotel. It was the feast of St. Catharine, the patron saint of -Alexandria, to whom the great cathedral is dedicated; and in -consequence the town was more than usually gay. Towards evening a -beautiful procession was formed, and Benediction sung in the -cathedral, which is served by the Lazarist fathers. It was the best -day to arrive at Alexandria, and the prayers of the virgin saint and -martyr were earnestly invoked by some of the party for a blessing on -their voyage and a safe and happy return. - -To one who has been for a long time in the East, Alexandria appears a -motley collection of half European, half Arabian houses, and the -refuse of the populations of each; but on first landing, everything -appears new, beautiful, and strange. The long files of camels, the -veiled women, the variety of the dresses are all striking; but the one -thing which even the most hackneyed Nile traveller cannot fail to -admire is the vegetation. Enormous groves of date-palms and bananas, -with an underwood of poncettias, their scarlet leaves looking like red -flamingos amid the dark-green leaves, and ipomeas of every shade-- -lilac, yellow, and above all turquoise-blue--climbing over every -ruined wall, and exquisite in color as in form, delight an eye -accustomed to see such things carefully tended in hothouses only, or -paid for at the rate of five shillings a spray in Covent Garden. The -sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul have two very large -establishments here--one a hospital, to which is attached a large -dispensary, attended daily by hundreds of Arabs; the other a school -and orphanage of upwards of 1000 children. There are thirty-seven -sisters, and their work is bearing its fruit, not only among the -Christian but the native population. To our English travellers the -very sight of their white "cornettes" was an assurance of love and -kindness and welcome in this strange land; and it was with a glad and -thankful heart that they found themselves once more kneeling in their -chapel, and felt that no bond is like that of charity, uniting as in -one great family every nation upon earth. - -{769} - -After a couple of days' rest, our English party started by the -railroad for Cairo. This journey was not as commonplace as it sounds; -for at each station the train was besieged by Arabs, clamoring for -passages, between 300 and 400 at a time; so that it required all the -efforts of the guards and their dragoman to prevent their carriage -being taken from them by main force. The beauty of Cairo is the theme -of every writer on Egypt and the Nile; but it would be impossible to -exaggerate its extreme picturesqueness, the exquisite carving of its -mosques and gateways; the oriental character of its narrow streets and -bazaars and courts; the beauty of the costumes, and of the fretted -lattice casements overhanging the streets; the gorgeous interior -fittings of the mosques, one of which is entirely lined with oriental -alabaster; the magnificent fountains in the outer courts of each; the -graceful minarets--all seen in the clearness and beauty of this -perfectly cloudless sky, leave a picture in one's mind which no -subsequent travel can efface. Outside the town is a perfect "city of -the dead;" all the pashas and their families are interred there, and -people "live among the tombs," as described in the Gospels; while on -Fridays the Mohammedans have services there for their dead, "that they -may be loosed from their sins;" one of those curious fragments of -Christianity which are continually cropping out of this strange -Mohammedan worship. - -One of the most interesting expeditions made by our travellers was to -Heliopolis. They passed through a sandy plain full of cotton, -date-palms, and bananas, and by a succession of miserable native huts, -(which consist of mud walls, with a roof of Indian corn, and a hole -left in the wall for light,) until they came to an obelisk, and from -thence to a garden, in the centre of which is a sycamore tree, -carefully preserved, under which the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph are -said to have rested with the infant Saviour on their flight into -Egypt. It is close to a well of pure water, and surrounded with the -most beautiful roses and Egyptian jasmine. The Mohammedans have the -greatest veneration for the "Sitt Miriam," as they call the Blessed -Virgin. They proof her immaculate conception from the Koran, and keep -a fast of fifteen days before the Assumption; therefore no surprise -was felt at seeing the care with which this grand old tree is tended -and watered by them. - -Another expedition made by the travellers was to Old Cairo, where, -near the famous Nilometer, is the Coptic convent and chapel built over -the house of the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, where they are said to -have lived for two years with our Blessed Lord. There are some very -beautiful ancient marble columns and fine olive-wood carvings, inlaid -with ivory, in this church, and a staircase leads down to the Virgin's -House, which is now partly under water from the rise of the Nile. It -is curious how persistently all early tradition points to this spot as -the site of our Saviour's Egyptian sojourn, and it was with a feeling -of simple faith in its authenticity that one of the party knelt and -strove to realize this portion of the sacred infancy. - -There are three Catholic churches in Cairo, the cathedral being a fine -large building. The sisters of "the Good Shepherd" have also a large -convent near the cathedral, and an admirable day-school and orphanage. -Many dark-eyed young girls whom our travellers saw kneeling at -benediction there had been rescued by the kind Mother from worse than -Egyptian slavery. The condition of the "fellahs," or lower orders, in -Egypt, is appalling from its misery and degradation; and the good -sisters have very uphill work to humanize as well as christianize -these poor children. {770} Nothing can be more wretched than the -position of the women, especially throughout Egypt. If at all -good-looking, they are brought up for the harems; if not, they are -kept as "hewers of wood and drawers of water;" and the idea of their -having _souls_ seems as little believed by the Mohammedan as by the -Chinese, whose incredulity on the subject the Abbé Hue mentions so -amusingly in his missionary narrative. - -Before leaving Cairo the English ladies were invited to spend an -evening in the royal harem, and accordingly at eight o'clock found -themselves in a beautiful garden, with fountains, lit by a multitude -of variegated lamps, and conducted by black eunuchs through -trellis-covered walks to a large marble-paved hall, where about forty -Circassian slaves met them and escorted them to a saloon fitted up -with divans, at the end of which reclined the pasha's wives. One of -them was singularly beautiful, and exquisitely dressed, in pink velvet -and ermine, with priceless jewels. Another very fine figure was that -of the mother, a venerable old princess, looking exactly like a -Rembrandt just come out of its frame. Great respect was paid to her, -and when she came in, every one rose. The guests being seated, or -rather squatted, on the divan, each was supplied with long pipes, -coffee in exquisite jewelled cups, and sweetmeats, the one succeeding -the other, without intermission, the whole night. The Circassian -slaves, with folded hands and downcast eyes, stood before their -mistresses, to supply their wants. Some of them were very pretty, and -dressed with great richness and taste. Then began a concert of Turkish -instruments, which sounded unpleasing to English ears, followed by a -dance, which was graceful and pretty; but this again followed by a -play, in which half the female slaves were dressed up as men, and the -coarseness of which it is impossible to describe. The wife of the -foreign minister kindly acted as interpreter for the English ladies, -and through her means some kind of conversation was kept up. But the -ignorance of the ladies in the harem is unbelievable. They can neither -read nor write; their whole day is employed in dressing, bathing, -eating, drinking, and smoking. The soirée lasted till two in the -morning, when the royalty withdrew, and the English ladies returned -home, feeling the whole time as if they had been seeing a play acted -from a scene in the Arabian Nights, so difficult was it to realize -that such a way of existence was possible in the present century. - -The Sunday before they left, curiosity led them after mass to witness -the gorgeous ceremonial of the Coptic Church. The men sat on the -ground with bare feet, the women in galleries above the dome, behind -screens. The patriarch--who calls himself the successor of St. Mark, -and is the leader of a sect whose opinions are almost identical with -those condemned by the council of Chalcedon as the Eutychian -heresy--was gorgeously attired in a chasuble of green and gold, with a -silver crosier in one hand, (St. George and the dragon being carved on -the top,) and in the other a beautiful gold crucifix, richly jewelled, -wrapped in a gold-colored handkerchief, which every one stooped to -kiss, after the reading of the gospel and the creed, the people joined -with great fervor in the litanies; and then began the consecration of -the sacred species, which lasted a very long time. The holy eucharist -was given in a spoon to each communicant, the bread being dipped in -the wine, and the patriarch laying his hand on the forehead of each -person while he gave the blessing. At the same time, blessed bread -stamped with a cross, and with the name of Christ, was handed round to -the rest of the congregation, like the _pain bénit_ in village -churches in France. The Copts boast that there has never been the -slightest alteration in their religious rites since the fourth -century, and they are undoubtedly the only descendents of the ancient -Egyptians. - -{771} - -The following morning a portion of our travellers started by train for -Suez, across a waving, billowy-looking tract of interminable sand. -Except the "half-way house," (a miserable shed,) there is no human -habitation all the way, and nothing to be seen but long files of -camels slowly wending their way across the desert. After enjoying for -a few minutes the first sight of the Red Sea, the consul obligingly -lent them horses to ride to the Lesseps Canal, which was then -completed to within six miles of Suez. Upward of 5000 Arabs had been -pressed into the service by the pasha, and the poor creatures were -toiling under the burning sun, with no pay and wretched food, and, -when night came, sleeping under the banks. The mortality among them -was frightful; but it was in this way that the pasha paid for his -shares! Our travellers tasted the water, the first that had ever been -brought to Suez, except by camels, or, of late, by the _water-train_. -It is difficult to realize the fact of a town of this size being -entirely without fresh water until now, which accounts for the absence -of the least kind of vegetation. The next morning a steamer took our -party early to the wells of Moses, about nine miles up the gulf, where -they landed, being carried through the surf by the Chinese rowers. -Each of the wells is enclosed in a little fence, and belongs to a Suez -merchant. It is a wonderful spot, so green and so lovely in the midst -of such utter desolation. There are dates and banians, roses and -pomegranates, salads and other vegetables, all growing in the greatest -luxuriance. Long strings of camels filed across the sand on their way -to Mount Sinai, and the coloring of the mountains was exquisite. The -shore was covered with coral and shells. After spending an hour or two -there, and reading the Bible account of the spot, our travellers -returned to the ship, and went across the gulf to see the exact place -where the Israelites crossed the Red Sea when pursued by Pharaoh. The -view was beautiful, and the Hill of Barda stood out brightly with its -jagged points dear and purple against the glowing sky. The Catholics -have a small church at Suez, but are building a larger one, as their -mission is greatly on the increase. - -Our travellers returned that evening to Cairo and for the first time -slept on board their boats, or daha-biéh. The first sensation was of -discomfort at the smallness of the cabins; but soon they got used to -their floating homes, and the beauty of the weather enabled them to -live all day long on the awning-covered poop; so that they soon ceased -to feel cramped and uncomfortable. The following day, the wind being -contrary, Latifa Pasha, the head of the Admiralty, gave them a steamer -to tow them up to Gizeh, from whence they were to visit the Pyramids. -The excessive depth of each stone makes the ascent an arduous one for -women; but the view amply repays one for the exertion. On one side is -the interminable desert; on the other, the fertile "Land of Goshen." -Owing to the recent inundations, the party had continually to dismount -from their donkeys and be carried across the water on men's backs. The -next few days passed quickly, our travellers landing every morning to -walk and sketch, while the men were "tracking" along the shore, and -making acquaintance with all the people and places of interest as they -passed. At El-Atfeh was a remarkable dervish of the tribe they had -seen "dancing" in Cairo, who showed them his house, in the court of -which was the tomb of his predecessor, hung with ostrich-eggs, canoes -and other votive offerings, but hideously painted in bright green. At -Bibbeh there was a very fine Coptic church, with a picture of St. -George and the Dragon, who is the favorite saint throughout the East, -and venerated alike by Christian and Moslem. Again, on their way to -Minieh, they passed by a fine Coptic convent on the top of a {772} -cliff, and two of the monks swam to the boats to ask for alms and -offerings, which are never refused them. On the 20th December they -reached Sawada, which is a village somewhat inland, but containing a -large Coptic convent and church, served by six priests, and with a -congregation of upwards of 1000 Christians. It was also an important -burial-place, and there were multitudes of little domes looking like -children's sand-basins reversed, but each surmounted with a cross. One -of the ladies was sketching this picturesque village from a palm-grove -at the entrance of the principal gateway, when a venerable priest -approached her and made that sign which in the East is the freemasonry -of brotherhood--the sign of the Cross. The lady instantly responded, -and the old priest, joyfully clapping his hands, led her into the -church, showing her all its carious carvings and decorations, and -several very ancient MSS. There are some fine mountains at the back, -in which the gentlemen of the party discovered some wolves. The next -day brought them to Beni-Hassan. The caves, which are about three -miles from the shore, were originally used as tombs by the ancient -Egyptians, and are covered with paintings and hieroglyphics; but their -chief interest arises from their having been the great hiding-place of -the Christians during the persecutions, and also used as cells by St. -Anthony, St. Macarius, and other anchorites. A little farther on, near -Manfaloot, is the cave of St. John the Hermit, venerated to this hour -as such by the natives. On Christmas-day our travellers arrived at -Sioot, and found there a Catholic church served by the Franciscan -mission, which is under the special protection of the Emperor of -Austria, who has sent some very good pictures for the altars there. -The mass was reverently and well sang, and about 150 Catholics were -present. After mass, the Italian padre gave them coffee. He had been -educated at the "Propaganda," but had been twenty-four years in Egypt; -so that he had almost forgotten every language except Arabic. He said -that they had now obtained a union with the Copts, and a Coptic mass -followed the Latin one. The mission had been established at Sioot four -years before, by the intervention of Said Pasha, but had encountered -great opposition at first from the Moslems. Two bodies of Christian -saints with all the signs of martyrdom had been lately discovered in -the caves above the town; but the Mohammedans would not allow the -Christians to have them. The good old Franciscan had studied medicine, -and thus first made his way among the people. Now he seems to be -universally respected and beloved. - -Our party rode through the dirty bazaars of this so-called capital of -Upper Egypt, and ascended to the caves. But the "City of the Dead", a -little beyond the town, is mournfully beautiful and silent. It is -composed of streets of tombs, of white stone or marble, the only sign -of life being the jar of water left in front of each, to water the -aloes planted in picturesque vases at the gate of each tomb. A whole -poem might be written on the thoughts suggested by those silent -streets. It was this "City of the Dead" which is said to have -occasioned the valuable lesson given by St. Macarius to the young man -who had asked him "how he could best learn indifference to the world's -opinion?" He directed him to go to this place, and first upbraid and -then flatter the dead. The young man did as he was bid. When he came -back, the saint asked him "what answer they had made?" The young man -replied, "None at all." Then said St. Macarius: "Go and learn from -them neither to be moved by injuries or flatteries. If you thus die to -the world and to yourself, you will begin to live to Christ." - -{773} - -Here for the first time our travellers realized the horrors of an -Egyptian conscription. A number of villagers coming in to the Sunday's -market were at once seized, chained together, and thrown on the ground -like so much "dead stock" to be packed off on board a government -vessel, when the fall complement had been secured. The screams and -howls of their wives and daughters, throwing dirt on their heads and -tearing their hair, in token of despair, when their frantic efforts to -release them from the recruiting-sergeants were found ineffectual, -were most piteous to hear. The poor fellows rarely survive to return -to their homes; and their pay and food are so miserably small and -scanty, that to be made a soldier is looked upon as worse than death. -They maim themselves in every way to escape it--cutting off their -forefingers, putting out their eyes, and the like. Scarcely a man on -board the boats is not mutilated in this manner. In the evening, being -Christmas-day, all the boats were illuminated with Chinese lanterns -and avenues of palms; while the sailors made crosses and stars of -palm-leaves, to hang over the cabin-doors. A beautiful moon-light -night added to the effect of these decorations, as the party rowed -round the different _dahabièhs_, and the "Adeste fidelis" sounded -softly across the water. The following morning, after early mass, a -favorable wind carried them on to Ekhnim, where there is also a -Catholic Franciscan missionary and church. The priest was a -Neapolitan, and had begun his labors at Suez. His only companion was a -native Copt, who had been educated at the Propaganda. They had about -five hundred Catholics in their congregation, and a school of about -fifty children. The church was of the fifteenth century, and under the -protection of a Christian sheik, to whom our travellers were -introduced, and who courteously invited them into his house. The -courtyard of the Catholic church was crowded with native Christians -who had escaped from the conscription, and were safe under the roof of -the priest. The sheik conducted his guests to his house, the only good -one in Ekhnim, and furnished more or less in European style, as he had -been at Cairo, and attached to the household of the late viceroy. They -sat on the divan, with pipes and coffee, talking Italian with the -priest, when the sheik, as a great honor, allowed them to see his -wife, and afterward his daughter, a bride of thirteen, married to the -son of the Copt bishop. She was dressed in red, as a bride, with a red -veil and a profusion of gold ornaments and coins strung round her neck -and arms. The sheik and the whole population escorted our travellers -back to their boats with every demonstration of respect, and then the -principal chiefs with the priests were invited to come on board and -have coffee, which they accepted. The Franciscan father had been for -seven years at Castellamare, and felt the change terribly, but said -that the climate was good, and that the comfort of feeling he was -working for God strengthened his hands when he was inclined to -despond. He complained of the lamentable ignorance of the Coptic -priests, who knew nothing of the history of their interesting old -churches and convents, and only tell you "they were built before their -fathers were born!" The two large Coptic convents formerly existing in -the mountains above the town are deserted; but their church at Ekhnim -is the oldest now remaining in Egypt, and full of curious carving and -very ancient pillars. - -On New Year's day our travellers arrived at Denderah, and spent it in -the wonderful temple of Athor. The heat was very great, and it -required some courage to attempt to sketch. At five the following -morning the boats arrived at Keneh, and some of the party went on -shore to mass, that being also a Franciscan station. The church is -small, but very nicely kept; the place is, however, unhealthy, and the -good Franciscan father was very low at the mortality among his -comrades. He has lately started a school and has about twenty -children; but his life is a very desolate one, having {774} no -European to speak to, or any one to sympathize in his work. After mass -he took our travellers to see the making of the _goolehs_, or -water-bottles, which are so famous throughout Egypt, and are made -solely in this place, of the peculiar clay of the district, mixed with -the ashes of the halfeh grass. They are beautiful in form, and keep -the water deliciously cool. After a breakfast of coffee and excellent -dates at the sheik's house, the party reëmbarked, and arrived that -evening at Negaddi. Here again they found a Catholic mission. The -superior, Padre Samuele, had been laboring there for twenty-three -years. He was of the Lyons mission, and was the only one who had -survived the climate. Four of his brethren had died within the last -twelvemonth, and he had just dug a grave for the last. They had a -large and devout congregation, and a school of one hundred and fifty -children, and had been building a new church of very fine and good -proportions. But now the good father has to labor and live alone. He -said, however, that he had written to Europe for fresh workers, whom -he was anxiously expecting. Negaddi is remarkable for its turreted -pigeon-houses, painted white and red, which form an amusing contrast -to the miserable mudholes in which the inhabitants live. The following -evening found our travellers at Thebes. The town itself is a surprise -and disappointment. There are literally no shops, no bazaar, no houses -but the two or three belonging to the consuls, and built in the midst -of the temples. But the said temples are unrivalled for interest and -beauty. Karnac, either by daylight or moonlight, is a thing apart from -all others in the world for vastness of conception and magnificence of -design. "There were giants in those days." The same may be said of the -Tombs of the Kings, of the Vocal Memnon, of the Memnouium, of Medemet -Haboo, and the rest. The marvel is, what has become of the people who -created such things; who had brought civilization, arts, and -manufactures to such perfection that nothing modern can surpass them. -Is it not a lesson to our pride and our materialism, when we think of -them and of ourselves, and then see the degraded state of the modern -Egyptian, the utter extinction of the commonest art or even handicraft -among them, so that it is scarcely possible, even in Cairo, to get an -ordinary deal table made with a drawer in it? There is no Catholic -mission at Thebes, but a Coptic bishop, who received our travellers -very kindly, showed them his church, and gave them coffee on a terrace -overlooking the Nile. This evening was "twelfth-night," and the boats -were again illuminated and decorated with palms, the whole having a -beautiful effect reflected in the water. - -After spending a week at Thebes, Our travellers sailed on to Assouan, -visiting the temples of Esneh, Edfoo, and Komom-Boo on their way, and -coming into the region of crocodiles and pelicans, and of the Theban -or dom palm--less graceful than the date palm, but still beautiful, -and bearing a large, nut-like fruit in fine hanging clusters. Between -Edfoo and Thebes are shown some caves, in one of which St. Paul, the -first hermit, passed so many years of penitence and prayer. He was -discovered by St. Antony in his old age, when tempted to vain-glory, -God having revealed to him that there was a recluse more perfect than -himself, whom he was to go into the desert and seek. A beautiful -picture in the gallery at Madrid by Velasquez represents the meeting -of the two venerable saints, the dinner brought to them by the raven, -and the final interment of St. Paul by St. Antony in the cloak of St. -Athanasius, the lions assisting to dig the grave! - -Assouan is, as it were, the gate of the Cataracts, and is on the -borders of Nubia, the great desert of Syene being to the left of the -village. The Nubian caravans were tented on the shore, and tempting -the Europeans with daggers, knives, {775} ostrich-eggs, poisoned -arrows, rhinoceros hide shields, lances and monkeys. The climate was -delicious. There is no country in the world to be compared with Egypt -at this time of the year, because, in spite of the heat, there is a -lightness and exhilaration in the air which makes every one well and -hungry. To an artist the coloring is equally perfect. No one who has -not been there can imagine what the sunrises and sunsets are, -especially the after-glow at sunset. No artificial red, orange, or -purple can approach it. Then the gracefulness of the palms on the -banks, the rosy color of the mountains, the picturesque sakeels or -water-wheels, and the still prettier shadoof, with its mournful sound, -which seems as the wail of the patient slave who works it day and -night, and thereby produces the exquisite tender green vegetation on -the banks of the river, due to this artificial irrigation alone--all -are a continual feast to the eye of the painter. And if all this is -felt below Assouan, what can be said of Philae--beautiful Philae--that -"dream of loveliness," as a modern writer justly calls it? - -Our travellers, while waiting for the interminable arrangements with -the Reis of the Cataracts, took the road along the shore; and after -passing through a succession of curious and picturesque villages, -arrived at one called Mahatta, where they hired a little boat to take -them across to the beautiful island. Rocks of the most fantastic -shapes are piled up on both sides of the shore; but when once you have -emerged from these into the deep water, "Pharaoh's Bed" and the other -temples stand out against the sky in all their wonderful beauty. -Philae was the burial-place of Osiris, and "By him who sleeps in -Philae" was the common oath of the old Egyptians. The temples are too -well known by drawings to need description; but what is less often -mentioned by travellers is that the larger one, originally dedicated -to the sun, was used for a long time by the Christians as a church. -Consecration crosses are deeply engraved on every one of these grand -old pillars; and at one end is an altar, with a cross in the centre, -in white marble, and a piscina at the side, with a niche for the -sacred elements; and above this recess is a beautiful cross deeply cut -in the stone, together with the emblem of the vine. The cross is also -let into the principal gateways. There was an Italian inscription -commemorating the arrival of the first Roman mission sent by Gregory -XVI., and a tablet in French recording the arrival of the French army -there under Napoleon in 1799, signed by General Davoust. - -The gentlemen of the party decided to pitch their tents in the island -till the question of the passing of the Cataracts was decided; and -while this operation was going on, one of the ladies sat down to -sketch. She was quietly painting, luxuriating in the beauty and -silence around her, and watching the sun setting gloriously behind the -temple, when all of a sudden a deep bell boomed across the water and -was repeated half-a-dozen times. It was the "Angelus." Even the least -Catholic of the party was struck and impressed by this unexpected -sound, so unusual in a country where bells are unknown, and the only -call for prayer is from the minaret top. Instinctively they knelt, and -then arose the question "Where could the bell come from?" There was no -sign of habitation or human beings either on the island itself or on -the opposite shores, and the dragoman himself was equally at fault. At -last, on questioning the boatmen, they found that behind some hills a -short distance off was a convent--sort of "convalescent home" for the -sick monks of the Barri mission. The English lady decided at once to -go and see it, and on arriving at the long low stone building, found -that the Franciscan father, who was almost its solitary occupant, had -just returned from the White Nile, being one of a mission to the -blacks in the Barri country, a month's journey south of Khartoun. -{776} He had been at death's door from fever; and on leaving Khartoun -for Philae, an eighteen days' ride on camels, had been attacked by -dysentery, and left for dead in the burning desert by the caravan; -only a faithful black convert remained by his side, and he felt that -his last hour was come; when the arrival of poor Captain Speke, on his -way home from one of his last explorations, changed the state of -things. With true Christian charity our countryman at once ordered a -halt, and devoted himself to the nursing and doctoring of the dying -monk; so that in a few days he was so far recovered as to be able to -resume his journey, and arrived safely at Philae. He said he owed his -life, under God, entirely to the kindness of this Englishman; and his -only anxiety seemed to be to show his gratitude by doing everything he -could for those of his nation. He invited our travellers to take up -their abode in the convent, and gave them a most interesting account -of the missionary work of his order. They have chartered a small -vessel, which they have called the "Stella Matutina," and which plies -up and down the river, and enables them to visit their stations on -each bank. But they have every kind of hardship to encounter from the -treachery or stupidity or positive hostility of the different tribes, -from the intense heat, and above all, from the deadly malaria which -had carried off seventy of their brothers in three years. But there -are ever fresh soldiers of this noble army ready and eager to fill up -the ranks. - -The ladies rode home by the way of the desert, and reached their boats -in safety. The next morning, at five o'clock, the same road was -resumed by two of the party who were anxious to to reach the convent -in time for the early mass. They met nothing on their seven-miles' -ride but a hyaena, who was devouring a camel which they had left dying -the night before. The little convent chapel was very nice; and among -the vestments sent by the _oeuvre apostolique_ and worked by the -ladies of the Leopoldstadt mission, one of the party recognized a -court-dress which had been presented for the purpose by a Hungarian -friend of hers at Rome. It was strange to find it again in the depths -of Nubia. The mass was served by two little woolly-haired negro boys -from the good old father's school, whose attachment to him was like -that of a dog to its master. He was in some trouble as to finding -clothes for them. The Nubians dispense with every thing of the kind -except a fringed leathern girdle round the loins, decorated with -shells. The children have not even that. However, in the _dahabièh_ a -piece of rhododendron-patterned chintz was found, carefully sent from -England for the covering of the divans; and with that, certain -articles of dress were manufactured, gorgeous in coloring, and -therefore perfect in native eyes, however ludicrous and incongruous -they might appear to Europeans. The following day was fixed for one of -the boats to go up the cataracts, and the party started early for what -is called the "first gate," to see the operation. No one who has not -lived for some months with this "peuple criard," as Lamartine calls -them, can imagine the din and screaming of the Arabs as each dangerous -rapid is passed; the Reis all the time shouting and storming and -leaping from one stone to the other like one possessed. But the ascent -is child's play compared to the descent. So many accidents have -happened in the latter, and so many boats have been swamped, that the -captains now insist on the passengers landing on an island near, while -their boats rush down the rapids. It is a beautiful sight, the way -those apparently unwieldy vessels are steered, and clear the rocks as -it were with a bound, amidst the frantic yells and cheers of the whole -population. A number of men, for a trifling baksheesh, swam down the -current on logs; one with his little child before him; but an -Englishman, attempting {777} to do it a year or two ago, was caught in -the whirlpool and instantly drowned. After watching this exciting -operation, the party dined together at Philae in their tent, and then -rowed round and round the island by moonlight, which exceeded in -loveliness all they had hitherto seen; the vividness of the -reflections were beyond belief; and reading or writing was easy in the -brilliant light. - -Our traveller availed herself of the kind Father Michael Angelo's -proposal, and slept at the convent. He gave them some curious arms, -and hippopotamus-teeth from the White Nile, and some ostrich-eggs -arranged as drinking-vessels, with shells and leather strips: his sole -furniture in his native tent. The English, in return, gave him a -quantity of medicines, which he eagerly accepted for his mission, to -which he was hoping to return. After early mass the next day, he -escorted them to see the Island of Biggeh with its picturesque temple, -and then to the quarries of Syene, where an uncut obelisk of great -size still remains embedded in the sand. Some idea was entertained in -England of using it for Prince Albert's monument; but the difficulty -of carriage and the distance from the river would make its transfer -almost impossible. Far simpler would be the proposal of taking the -Luxor obelisk, already given to the English by Mehemet Ali, the sister -one to that successfully transported to Paris by the French. It is a -thousand pities to leave it where it is, and to miss the occasion of -adding so unique and valuable a monument to our art-treasures. - -This, the last day of our traveller's stay at Assouan, was spent in -making a few last purchases, visiting the old castle overlooking the -river, and exploring the island of Elephantine, which offers beautiful -sketching. But the inhabitants are even more importunate as beggars -than their confraternity at Thebes; and it required all the eloquence -of the good priest to prevent their appropriating the contents of the -traveller's paint-box. She purchased from them many strings of bright -beads, which constitute their sole idea of female dress. A curious -funeral took place in the evening, an empty boat being carried for the -dead man, who was buried with his arms and his spear; while a funeral -dirge was sung over him by his tribe. It was curious, as being -identical with the hieroglyphics of similar scenes in the tombs of the -kings. Many of the customs of these people are purely pagan; for -instance, when an Arab makes his coffee, he pours out the first three -cups on the ground as a libation to the sheik, who first invented the -beverage. The slave-trade, though nominally abolished by the viceroy, -is carried on vigorously at Assouan. The governor goes through the -form of confiscating the cargo and arresting the owners of the ship; -but, after a few days, a handsome baksheesh on the part of the -slave-owner and captain settles the matter; and their live cargo is -transported to Cairo, there to be disposed of in the harems or -elsewhere. - -To the Catholic traveller in this country nothing can be more -melancholy than the utterly degraded condition of the people, who are -really very little removed from the brute creation. Years of -ill-usage, hardship, and wrong have ground down the Fellah to the -abject condition of a slave; and the utter extinction of Christianity -among them seems to preclude all hope of their rising again. Yet Egypt -was once the home of saints. From Alexandria, the seat of all that was -most learned and refined, the see of St. Athanasius, and St. -Alexander, and St. Cyril, and St. John the Almoner, and a whole string -of holy patriarchs, bishops, and martyrs, up to the very desert of -Syene, peopled with anchorites, the whole land teemed with saints. And -now, the little handful of Franciscan fathers, scattered here and -there, sowing once more the good seed at the cost of their lives, is -all that remains to bear witness to the truth. - ------- - -{778} - - -[ORIGINAL.] - -THY WILL BE DONE - - -I. - - My soul a little kingdom is, - Where God's most holy will - Shall reign in undivided sway, - Potent and grand and still. - - I'll kneel before the crystal throne, - And kiss the golden rod; - O peace unspeakable, to bow - Before the will of God! - - What though my weary feet should fail. - My tongue refuse to praise, - God knows my soul will steadfastly - Still follow in his ways. - - -II. - - The time has come, my soul, the time has come - To prove the depth of thy oft-vaunted love; - A sullen gloom hangs round us like a fog, - And lowering clouds are drooping from above. - - Would it were light, or dark, not this grey gloom; - Would that the terror of some sudden crash - Might break this stifling, dumb monotony! - O for some deafening peal or blinding flash! - - Weary and old and sick, like ancient Job, - I crouch in haggard woe and scan the past, - Or drag the leaden moments at my heels, - Mocking wise fools who say that life runs fast. - -{779} - - Nothing to conquer now--no call for strength; - Naught to contend with--only to wait and bear, - And see my withering powers and blighted gifts-- - No room to act--nothing to do or dare: - Speak now, my soul, if thou hast aught to say - If thou seest light or any hope of day. - - -III. - - Fret not this holy stillness with thy cries-- - Patience, perturbed clay! - Lest thou should'st drown the voice of the All-wise - With clamorous dismay. - - Thinkest thou that clouds and mists are less God's work, - Than sun or moon or stars? - His will is good, whether it bind the free - Or sunder prison bars. - - His hand has measured out each feather's weight - Of this most grievous load; - He bore the cross we bear, his heart, like ours, - Once in life's furnace glowed. - - We shall in heaven sing a psalm of joy - For every earth-wrung moan; - One little hour more, the work well done. - And we are all God's own. - - --------- - -CONTRASTS - - - There is no sound of anguish in the air, - Bees hum, birds sing, the breeze is balmy-sweet - And from the blooming hawthorn overhead - A rosy shower droppeth at my feet. - - No matter! God be praised--some untried heart, - Sweet with the dewy freshness of life's dawn, - Is gathering a glad presage of success - From this bright, pitiless, resplendent morn. - - ------- - -{780} - - - -[From the Irish Industrial Magazine.] - -THE INDUSTRIAL ARTS OF OUR ANCESTORS. - - - -BY M. HAVERTY, ESQ. - - - -ARTS OF CONSTRUCTION. - -In considering the building arts, as practised by the inhabitants of -this country in past ages, we must necessarily divide the subject -according to epochs. The ethnologist would of course begin with his -favorite scientific classification of the Stone, the Bronze and the -Iron periods; but this division is, to say the least of it, a very -arbitrary, very indefinite, and very doubtful one. It leaves much too -wide a scope for imagination, and offers no satisfactory explanation -of social development; and the following obvious and natural order of -periods, in the present instance, will answer our purpose, namely: - -1. The Pre-Christian period, extending from some indefinite epoch of -the pre-historic ages, down to the establishment of Christianity in -Ireland, in the fifth century; 2. The early Christian period, -extending from the last-mentioned epoch to the commencement of the -Danish wars, in the beginning of the ninth century; 3. The period of -obscurity and barbarism into which this country was plunged by those -fierce and long-protracted wars, and from which it began to emerge in -the reign of Brian, and after the battle of Clontarf, in 1014; 4. The -period which followed that just mentioned, and which extends beyond -the Anglo-Norman invasion until the native Irish ceased to act as a -distinct people; and, [sic--no 5.] 6. The period which was inaugurated -by the aforesaid Anglo-Norman epoch, and descended to modern times, -embracing the ages, first of noble Gothic abbeys, and feudal keeps of -Norman barons, and walled towns; and then of the fortified bawns and -strong solitary towers of new proprietors, in the Tudor, Stuart, and -Williamite times. - -In the first of these periods there was no stone and mortar masonry -known in Ireland, nor was there any knowledge of the arch. Of -cyclopean masonry--masonry in which huge stones were frequently -employed, but never any cement--some stupendous and wonderful examples -belonging to this first period still remain; but there was no cemented -work. This we may take as absolutely certain, notwithstanding the -notions of some modern antiquaries about the supposed pre-Christian -origin of the round towers. This pagan theory of the round towers is a -pure creation of what we may call the conjectural school of Irish -antiquaries. The ancient Irish never dreamt of it. It was suggested at -a time when scarcely anything was known of the original native source -of Irish history; and it has seldom been advocated except by those who -are either still unacquainted with these sources of our history, or -else who are carried away by false ideas of early Irish civilization, -and visionary theories of ancient Irish fire-worship and Orientalism; -for all which there is not the slightest foundation in the actual -history of the country. It is right that this should be distinctly -understood: without entering into lengthened arguments on the subject, -which would be out of place here, it ought to be quite sufficient for -any rational person to know, that the character of all the remains of -undoubted pagan buildings in Ireland is utterly inconsistent with the -{781} supposition that the same people who built them also built the -round towers; and that such knowledge as we actually possess of the -manners and customs of the pagan Irish shows the absurdity of the -notion that the round towers were built by them. The passages of -ancient Irish writings which may be adduced to show that the round -towers were built by Christians are extremely numerous, while there is -not one single iota of evidence in the written monuments of Irish -history, either printed or MS., for their pagan origin--nothing, in -fact, but wild, unsupported conjecture and imagination. And such being -the case, and all the writings and researches of such distinguished -Irish historical scholars as Petrie, O'Donovan, and O'Curry, who have -passed away, and of Wilde and Todd, and Graves and Reeves, and -Ferguson, etc., tending to overturn the visionary theories of Irish -antiquities, of which the round tower phantasy has been the most -noted, it is time to abandon this last remnant of a false and exploded -system. - -What, then, are the remains which we have of the buildings or -structures of the ancient Irish belonging to the first, or pagan, -period? They are various, and exceedingly numerous. In the first -place, there are the _raths_, or earthen forts, with which the whole -face of the country is still absolutely dotted. These raths were the -dwelling-places of the Irish, not only indeed, in pagan times, but -much more recently. They were originally rather steep earthworks, -surrounded by a ditch, and topped by a strong paling or stockade; -sometimes there was a double or treble line of intrenchment, and -within the inner fence the family or families of the occupants dwelt -in timber or hurdle houses, of which, from the perishable nature of -the materials, no traces of course remain. The cattle, too, were -driven for safety within the inclosure, when it was known that an -enemy was abroad; and it is probable that the position of a great many -of the raths on a sloping surface was selected for purposes of -drainage, seeing that the cattle were so frequently to be inclosed. It -is also worthy of note, that these earthen forts were always -polygonal, generally octagonal, and we have never seen one of them -actually round; although it would have been much easier to describe -the plain circle than the regular polygonal figure adopted. - -When the inclosures were constructed of stone; they were called -_cahirs_ or _cashels_. It has been stated by antiquaries that the -stone forts were built by the early Irish colonists, called Firbolgs, -and the earthen forts by the subsequent colony of Tuath de Danaans; -but it is probable that each colony built their strongholds of the -materials which they found most convenient. In the rich plains of -Meath, where there are very few surface stones that could have been -employed for the purpose, we find none but earthen forts; and in the -Isles of Arran, where there is little indeed besides solid rock, the -Firbolgs necessarily constructed their famous duns of stone. These -vast Firbolg duns of Arran must have been impregnable in those days, -if defended by sufficient garrison; and their size and number in a -place so small and barren show that almost the whole remnant of the -race must have been compelled by hard necessity to seek shelter there -against their pressing foes. It would also appear that the abundant -supply of stone induced the occupants of those Arran forts to -substitute stone houses in their interior for the habitations of -timber and wattles used elsewhere; as we here find numerous remains of -the small beehive houses, called _cloghanes_, formed by the -overlapping of flat stones, laid horizontally, until they meet at top, -thus roofing in the house without an arch. Both cloghanes and forts -are built, of course, without cement; and no one could for a moment -imagine that the Round Tower, of which a portion still {782} remains -in the largest island, could possibly have been the work of the same -masons. - -The style of building is the same in the Duns of Aran; in Staig Fort, -in Kerry; in the Greenan of Aileach, in Donegal; and in general in any -of the primitive _cahirs_ or _cashels_, wherever they exist in -Ireland; nor is there any material difference between these and the -similar structures to be found in Wales--such as the Castell-Caeron -over Dolbenmaen, in Caernarvonshire. - -The same Irish word, Saor, (pronounced Seer,) originally signified -both a carpenter and a mason; and in an Irish poem, at least eight -hundred and fifty years old, we have a list of the ancient builders, -who erected the principal strongholds of pagan times in Ireland: such -as--"Casruba, the high-priced cashel-builder, who employed quick axes -to smoothen stones;" and "Rigriu and Garvon, son of Ugarv, the -cashel-builders of Aileach," and "Troiglethan, who sculptured images, -and was the rath-builder of the Hill of Tara;" while every one -familiar with the native Irish traditions has heard the name of -Grubban-Saor, to whose skill half the ancient castles of Ireland were, -without any reference to chronology, supposed to owe their strength. - -An Irish antiquary of the seventeenth century, who enjoyed the -friendship of Sir James Ware, writes as if he believed that the -ancient pagan Irish understood the use of cement, although, as he -confesses, no vestige of stone and mortar work by them remained in his -day. But his mode of arguing, as it will be perceived, is very -inconclusive. After enumerating several of the ancient raths and -cashels of Ireland, he writes: "We have evidence of their having been -built like the edifices of other kingdoms of the times in which they -were built; and why should they not? for there came no colony into -Erin but from the eastern world, as from Spain, etc.; and it would be -strange if such a deficiency of intellect should mark the parties who -came into Ireland, as that they should not have the sense to form -their residences and dwellings after the manner of the countries from -which they went forth, or through which they travelled." [See -Introduction to Dudley Mac Firbis's great "Book of Genealogies," -translated in "O'Curry's Lectures," pp. 222, etc.] It is quite certain -that the early colonizers of Ireland, to whom Mac Firbis thus alludes, -were a portion of that great Celtic wave of population which passed -from East to West over Europe, leaving the same earthern mounds and -cyclopean stone structures behind as monuments wherever they went; but -it is equally certain, that if these ancient colonies visited Assyria, -and Egypt, and Greece in their peregrinations, as Mac Firbis believed -they did, they did not carry with them Assyrian, or Egyptian, or -Grecian masonry or architecture into Ireland. The raths and cashels -which they constructed were exceedingly simple in their character, and -in very few indeed of the former is there the slightest grace of -stonework to be discovered. Caves were very often formed under the -raths; and Mac Firbis states that under the rath of Bally O Dowda, in -Tireragh, he himself had seen "nine smooth stone cellars," and that -its walls were still of the height of "a good cow-keep." Nor were the -contents of the ancient Irish dwellings less simple than the buildings -themselves; for we find by the Brehon Laws that "the Seven valuables -of the house of a chieftain were--a caldron, vat, goblet, mug, reins, -horse-bridle, and pin;" the first-mentioned articles indicating -clearly the usages of hospitality, which always formed the -predominating institution of the Irish. The same book of Brehon Laws -refers to "a house with four doors, and a stream through the centre, -to be provided for the sick"--such, apparently, being the ideas at -that time of what a hospital should be. - -{783} - -It is hard to say when the popular notion originated which attributes -the ancient raths and mounds to the Danes. It is quite dear that Mac -Firbis knew very well they were not Danish, though the idea must have -prevailed when he wrote, (A.D. 1650;) for his contemporary, Lord -Castlehaven, speaks of withdrawing his troops, during the civil war of -1645, within one of the "Danish forts," which were so numerous in the -country; and such was the fashion of attributing all our antiquities -to a people who had impressed the memory of the nation with such -terrible and indelible traditions of themselves, that even Archdeacon -Lynch, the author of "Cambrensis Eversus," supposes the Danes to have -been the builders of the round towers. Dr. Molyneux, who wrote toward -the close of the same century, treats us to a whole book about "the -Danish Forts and Mounds;" but we know perfectly well that the Danes of -Ireland resided only in the seaport towns and their vicinities, and -had no dwellings, and consequently no raths or mounds in the interior -of the country. - -Besides the earthen and stone forts, which, it must be remembered, -were inhabited in the early Christian as well as in the pagan times, -and down to a period which it is impossible now to define, we have -several remains of the early Irish habitations, called _cranogues_. -These were small stockaded and generally artificial islands, in the -smaller lakes, and were only accessible by means of boats, ancient -specimens of which, hewn out of a single tree, have been found in the -vicinity of the cranogues in recent times. Some of these cranogues are -known to have been occupied in comparatively modern times; and the -strong timber stakes by which they were generally surrounded are, in a -few instances, still found singularly fresh, and with indications of -having been connected by a strong framework. - -Of the state of the building arts in Ireland during the early -Christian period we are enabled to form a tolerably accurate idea, -both by the large number of remains still existing, and by the notices -on the subject which we find in historical documents. Many of the very -earliest Christian edifices devoted to religion in Ireland were built -of stone; but it is clear, nevertheless, that the national fashion was -to construct them of timber; and this fashion the Irish had in common -with the Britons, or, we should rather say, with the Celtic nations -generally. Strabo says the houses of the Gauls were constructed of -poles and wattle work; and we learn from Bede, that among the Britons -building with stone was regarded as a characteristic Roman practice. -We know that both in Ireland and Britain there was a national -prejudice in favor of the custom of employing timber to construct -their churches. The first three churches erected in Ireland--those, -namely, constructed by St. Palladius in his unsuccessful mission -immediately before St Patrick--were of oak. Long after this time, in -the sixth century, St. Columba lived in a wooden cell in the island of -Hy, as his biographer, St. Adamnan, relates; and the use of timber for -their religious edifices was much in favor with the Columbian monks -wherever they settled. So late as the year 1142, when St. Malachy was -building the church of the famous Cistercian Abbey of Mellifont, in -Louth, he received some opposition from one of the local magnates, -because he had undertaken to erect it in an expensive and solid manner -of stone; the argument of this person being, that "they were Scots, -not Frenchmen," and that a wooden oratory in the old Irish fashion -would have sufficed. - -It is a curious circumstance connected with this Abbey of Mellifont, -that it is the only Irish edifice of a date older than the -Anglo-Norman period in the ruins of which Dr. Petrie discovered any -bricks to have been used; and we know that it was erected by monks -whom St. Malachy had sent to study in the monastery of St. Bernard, in -France; whence the allusion to {784} Frenchmen made by the Irishman -who had objected to the style of the building. Still it is plain that -the ecclesiastical edifices of stone were very numerous in the country -at that very time; for a few years after St. Gelasius, the Archbishop -of Armagh, caused a limekiln of vast dimensions to be constructed, in -order, as the annalists say, to make lime for the repairs of the -churches of Armagh which had been allowed to fall into decay. - -The primitive wooden churches were, at least in some instances, -constructed of planed boards, and were thatched with reeds, the walls -being also frequently protected by a covering of reeds, for which, in -later times, a sheeting of lead was sometimes substituted. This use of -lead sheeting became very general in England; but we may presume that -it was employed in comparatively few cases in Ireland. Sometimes, -instead of boards or hewn timber, wattles were employed, and these -were plastered with mud, the wattles being formed of strong twigs -interlaced. We shall presently see that the use of wattles for -building purposes was in vogue in Ireland up to comparatively modern -times. It is stated in the life of St. Patrick, that when that apostle -visited Tyrawley, in the county of Sligo, finding that timber was not -abundant, he erected a church of mud--so ancient is the custom of -employing that material for building in Ireland--a material, however, -which never could be rendered as suitable for the purpose in our moist -climate, as it is found to be in some of the southern portions of -Europe. - -From the very introduction of Christianity, we repeat, stone and -mortar were frequently employed for the building of churches in -Ireland. A building of this description was always called in Irish -_Damhliag_, a word literally signifying "stone church." This term is -still preserved in the name of Duleek in the county of Meath, where -the old stone church so called, and which is supposed, on good -authority, to have been the very first such edifice erected in -Ireland, is still in good preservation; it was built by St. Kienan, a -disciple of St. Patrick, who died in 490; and its age is thus -established beyond any doubt. The stone building, or _Damhliag_, as -Dr. Petrie has remarked, is always latinized by the old Irish writers -_templum, ecclesia_, or _basilica_; while the wooden building is -simply called oratorium. - -The ancient Irish churches are almost invariably small, seldom -exceeding 80 feet in length, and not usually being more than 60 feet. -The great church or cathedral of Armagh was originally 140 feet long; -but this was almost a solitary exception. The smaller churches are -simple oblong quadrangles, while in the larger ones there is a second -and smaller quadrangle at the east end, which was the chancel or -sanctuary, and which is separated from the nave by a large -semicircular arch. The entrance door was always originally in the west -end, and square-headed, the top lintel being generally formed of a -single very large flat stone; but in every instance the square-headed -western doorway was in process of time built up, and another doorway, -in the pointed style, opened in the south wall, near its western -extremity. The windows are extremely small, and very few, generally -not more than three, two of which are in the sanctuary, and all being -in the south wall; they are frequently triangular-headed, formed by -two flat stones leaning against each other; and it is probable that in -many cases they were never glazed. The sides of the doorways and -windows are inclined, in the manner of the cyclopean buildings--a -style of architecture with which they have more than one point in -common; for enormous stones are frequently used, the single stone -being made to form both faces of the wall. Polygonal stones are -employed, without any attempt to build in courses; and even flat -stones are often placed at angles, when, with the aid of very little -skill, they might have {785} been placed horizontally; while another -singular feature often to be observed in the oldest Irish stone -churches is, that the side walls and ends are built up independently, -and not bound together at the corners by any interlapping stones. All -these peculiarities are to be found, in a very marked degree, in the -extremely curious specimens of seventh and eighth century buildings in -the South Islands of Arran; and, with the exception of some Christian -_cloghanes_, and some stone-roofed oratories like those near Dingle, -all these early Christian edifices have been built with lime cement. - -From the rudeness of the masonry in the buildings of the early -Christian period, a very curious argument has been adduced in favor of -the Pagan origin of the Round Towers. Some persons, in fact, do not -hesitate to argue that, as the Round Towers frequently exhibit a -better style of masonry than the ruined churches in their -neighborhood, they must have been erected by some _earlier_ race of -builders, thus adopting the very opposite to the correct and natural -conclusion which the premises would suggest. Such persons must have a -very misty idea of Irish history; they do not appear to be aware that -there is no country in Europe, except Greece and Rome, of which the -ancient history can boast of such a clear and consecutive series of -written and traditional annals as that of Ireland. This is the -acknowledged opinion of the most learned investigators. There is, -then, no room whatever for any such conjectural race or epoch as that -which the theory in question would suppose in Irish history; there is -no room for such wild hypotheses as may be framed, for instance, to -account for the remains of extinct civilized races in the interior of -North America. Any one who has the singularly distinct chain of -ancient Irish chronicles present to his mind must be aware of this -fact, and must know perfectly well that there was no mysterious -unknown race in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity who -could have built the round towers--even if it were probable that such -a race would have built these, and left no other fragment of stone and -mortar work in the land! As to the disparity sometimes to be observed -in the masonry of the towers and the ancient churches beside them, it -can be explained without any such absurd hypothesis. It is clear from -the mouldings of the windows, and other architectural details, and -even from the statements of our annalists, that some of the Round -Towers are not older than the eleventh or twelfth century, and -consequently their masonry might well be superior to that of churches -built some four or five hundred years before them. But, even when the -builders were contemporary, they were not such dull craftsmen as not -to have understood perfectly well that a more careful style of -workmanship was required in an edifice which they should carry to a -height of 120 or 130 feet than in one of which the walls would not -exceed 10 or 14 feet in elevation. In fact, a little consideration -must show any enlightened man that the theory to which we have -referred is utterly untenable. - -Mr. Parker, a high authority on questions of architectural antiquity, -has, in his valuable series of papers on the subject in the -"Gentleman's Magazine," thrown considerable light on Irish mediaeval -architecture. One point, of which he has been decidedly the first -observer, is, that all the details of an ancient building in Ireland -seldom or never belong to the period at which the building was, -according to record, erected. This is an extremely carious fact; and -there can be no doubt of Mr. Parker's accuracy on the point; but it -appears to us that he invariably finds his remark verified in castles -and abbeys of the Anglo-Norman period in Ireland. To what, then, is -the peculiarity to be attributed? Could the architects have been -Irish, and could they have adopted their principles from the study of -older edifices {786} in England? On this point we are not aware that -he comes to any conclusion; but, in describing the interesting details -of Cormac's Chapel, on the Rock of Cashel--one of the most valuable -remains of mediaeval architecture in the empire, and which was built -some fifty years before the Anglo-Norman invasion--he says, "It is -neither earlier nor later in style than buildings of the same date in -England; and with the exception of a few particulars, agrees in detail -with them." From this we may conclude, that before the arrival of the -Anglo-Normans the Irish architects were fully up to the contemporary -state of their art, though subsequently the Anglo-Irish fell into the -anachronisms which Mr. Parker so frequently points out. - -When Henry II. resolved on spending the Christmas of 1171 in Dublin, -there was no building in that old capital of the Ostmen sufficiently -spacious to accommodate his court; and a pavilion was accordingly -constructed for the purpose of plastered wattles, in the Irish -fashion, on a site at the south side of the present Dame street This -mode of constructing houses must have been very convenient in times -when the face of a country was liable every other year to be -devastated by war, and when it would have been folly to erect a -habitation intended to be permanent. The destruction of all the -dwellings in a territory at that time, was not quite so ruinous a -catastrophe as it might seem to us, especially as it was a very usual -thing to have the granaries under ground. - -The employment of wattles for one purpose or other, in the -construction of buildings, appears to have been very long retained in -Ireland; and they seem to have been constantly used by the masons as -centering in the building of arches, as may be seen from an -examination of any of the ruined abbeys or castles throughout the -country, where the impression of the interwoven twigs will always be -found in the mortar of the vaulted roofs and arches. Mr. Parker -appears to have been particularly struck by this circumstance, which, -however, is familiar to every Irish antiquary; but he tells us that he -has found the same thing in a few instances in England. - -A French gentleman, who travelled through Ireland in 1644, has left us -a curious account of the mode of constructing their habitations -employed at that time by the rural population. He writes: "The towns -are built in the English fashion, but the houses in the country are in -this manner: two stakes are fixed in the ground, across which is a -transverse pole, to support two rows of rafters on the two sides, -which are covered with leaves and straw. The cabins are of another -fashion. There are four walls the height of a man, supporting rafters, -over which they thatch with straw and leaves; they are without -chimneys, and make the fire in the middle of the hut, which greatly -incommodes those who are not fond of smoke." - -The writer goes on to describe the fortified domiciles of the gentry. -He says: "The castles or houses of the nobility consist of four walls -extremely high, thatched with straw; but, to tell the truth, they are -nothing but square towers without windows, or, at least, having such -small apertures as to give no more light than there is in a prison; -they have little furniture, and cover their room with rushes, of which -they make their beds in summer, and of straw in winter; they put the -rushes a foot deep on their floors, and on their windows, and many of -them ornament the ceilings with branches." (The Tour of M. De la -Boullaye le Gouz.) - -This description is applicable to those numerous, solitary, and gloomy -buildings called castles, the ruins of which are so conspicuous in -every part of the country, and a considerable number of which were -erected by the Undertakers, in the reign of James I.; while it must be -confessed that the mode of constructing the hovels of the peasantry, -as described in the preceding extract, has not undergone much -improvement, up to the present day, in many parts of Ireland. - ------- - -{787} - - -Translated from the Spanish. - -PERICO THE SAD; OR, THE ALVAREDA FAMILY. - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -A tempestuous night covered the sky with flying clouds, which were -rushing further on to discharge their torrents. Sometimes they -separated in their flight, and the moon appeared between them, mild -and tranquil, like a herald of concord and peace in the midst of the -strife. - -In the short intervals, during which this placid light illumined earth -and heaven, a pale and emaciated man might have been seen making his -way along a solitary road. The uncertainty of his manner, his -apprehensive eyes, and the agitation of his face, would have shown -clearly that he was a fugitive. - -A fugitive indeed! for he fled from inhabited places; fled from his -fellow-men; fled from human justice; fled from himself and from his -own conscience. This man was an assassin, and no one who had seen him -fleeing, as the clouds above were fleeing before the invisible force -which pursued them, would have recognized the honorable man, the -obedient son, the loving husband and devoted father of a few days -since, in this miserable being, now fallen under the irremissible -sentence of the law of expiation. - -Yes, this man was Perico, not seeking a peace now and for ever lost, -but fleeing from the present and in dread of the future. - -He had passed days of despair and nights of horror in the most -solitary places, sustaining himself on acorns and roots; shrinking -from the light of day, which accused, and from the eyes of men, that -condemned him. But no darkness could hide the images that were always -before him, no silence awe their clamors. His unhappy sister; his -disconsolate mother; the bereaved old man, his father's friend, -haunted his vision; the reprobation of his honorable race oppressed -his soul; and more appalling than all these, the solemn, mournful, and -warning note of the passing bell, which he had heard calling to Heaven -for mercy upon his victim, sounded continually in his ears. In vain -pride insinuated, through its most seductive organ, worldly honor, -that he had, and that not to vindicate himself would have been a -reproach; that the injuries were greater than the reprisal. - -A voice which the cries of passion had silenced, but which became more -distinct and more severe in proportion as they, like all that is -human, sank and failed--the eternal voice of conscience, said to him, -"O that thou hadst never done it!" - -There came, borne upon the wind, an extraordinary sound, now hoarser, -now failing and fainter, as the gusts were more or less powerful. What -could it be? Everything terrifies the guilty soul. Was it the roar of -the wind, the pipe of an organ, or a voice of lamentation? The nearer -Perico approached it, the more inexplicable it seemed. The road the -unhappy man was following led toward the point from whence the sound -proceeded. He reaches it, and his terror is at his height when, unable -to distinguish anything--for a black cloud has covered the moon--he -hears directly above his bead the portentous wail, so sad, so vague, -so awful! - -{788} - -At this moment the clouds are broken, and over all the moonlight -falls, clear and silvery, like a mantle of transparent snow. Every -object comes out of the mystery of shadows. He sees _reija_ asleep in -its valley like a white bird in its nest. He lifts his eyes to -discover the cause of the sound. O horror! Upon five posts he sees -five human heads! From these proceed the doleful lamentation, a -warning from the dead to the living. [Footnote 185] - - [Footnote 185: Various witnesses have testified to this frightful - phenomenon, which is naturally explained, the sound being caused by - the wind passing through the throat, month, and ears of heads placed - as located above.] - -Perico starts back aghast, and perceives, for the first time, that he -is not alone. A man is standing near one of the posts. He is tall and -vigorous, and his bearing is manly and erect. He is dressed richly -after the manner of contrabandists. His bronzed face is hard, bold, -and calm. He holds his hat in his hand, inclining uncovered before -these posts of ignominy a head which never was uncovered in human -respect; for it is that of an outlaw, of a man who has broken all ties -with society, and respects nothing in the world. But this man, -although impious, believes in God, and although criminal, is a -Christian, and is praying. - -When from an energetic and indomitable nature, emancipated from all -restrain, there issue a few drops of adoration, as water oozes from a -rock, what do you call it unbelievers? Is it superstitious fear? To -this man fear is a word without a meaning. Is it hypocrisy? Only the -heads of five dead men witness it. Is it moral weakness? He has -strength of soul unknown in society, where all lean upon something; he -stands alone. Is it a remembrance of infancy, a tribute to the mother -who taught him to pray? - -There exists no such memory for the abandoned orphan, who grew up -among the savage bulls he guarded. - -What is it then that bends his neck and detains him to pray in the -presence of the dead? - -After some moments the man concluded his prayer, replaced his hat, and -turning to Perico said, - -"Where are you going, sir?" - -Perico neither wished nor was able to answer. A vertigo had seized -him. - -"Where are you going, I say?" again asked the unknown. - -Perico remained silent. - -"Are you dumb?" proceeded the questioner, "or is it because you do not -choose to answer? If it is the last," he added, pointing to his gun, -"here is a mouth which obtains replies when mine fails." - -Perico's situation rendered him too desperate for reflection, and the -brand of cowardice which had been stamped upon his forehead, still -burned like a recent mark of the ignominious iron. He therefore -answered instantly, seizing his firelock. - -"And here is another that replies in the tone in which it is -questioned." - -The intentions of the unknown were not hostile, nor had he any idea of -carrying out his threat, though he did not lack the courage to do it. -Another so daring as he did not tread the soil of Andalucia. But the -arrogance of the poor worn youth pleased instead of offending him. - -"Comrade," he said, "I always like to take off my hat before drawing -my sword, but it suits me to know with whom I speak and whom I meet on -the road. You must have courage to be walking here; for they say that -Diego and his band are in this neighborhood, and you know, for all -Spain knows, who Diego is; where he puts his eye he puts his ball. The -leaves tremble upon the trees at sight of him, and the dead in their -graves at the sound of his name." - -All this was said without that Andalucian boastfulness, so grotesquely -exaggerated in these days, but with the naturalness of conviction, and -the serenity of one who states a simple truth. - -"What do I care for Diego and his band?" exclaimed Perico, not with -bravado, but with the most profound dejection. - -{789} - -As with failing voice he pronounced these words, he tottered and -leaned his head upon his gun. - -"What has taken you? What is the matter?" asked the stranger, noticing -his weakness. - -Perico did not reply, for so great was his exhaustion and such the -effect of his recent emotions that he fell down senseless. - -The unknown knelt down beside him and lifted his head. The moon shone -full upon that face, beautiful notwithstanding its mortal paleness, -and the traces of passion, anguish, and grief which marred it. - -"He is dead," said the stranger to himself, placing his rough hand -upon Perico's heart. The heart which, a few days before, was as pure -as the sky of May. "No," he continued, "he is not dead, but will die -here, like a dog, if he is not taken care of." - -And he looked at him again, for he felt awakening in his heart that -noble attraction which draws the strong toward the weak, the powerful -toward the helpless; for let skeptics say what they will, there is a -spark of divinity in the breast of every human creature. He rose to -his feet and whistled. - -He is answered by the sound of a brisk gallop, and a beautiful young -horse, with arched neck and rolling mane, comes up and stops before -his master, turning his fine head and brilliant eyes as if to offer -him the stirrup. - -The unknown raises the inanimate Perico in his robust arms, throws him -across the horse, springs up beside him, presses his knees gently to -the animal's flanks, and the noble creature darts away, gayly and -lightly, as if unconscious of the double weight. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -In a solitary hostel, standing like a beggar beside the highway, the -innkeeper and his wife were seated before their fire, in the dull -tranquillity of persons as accustomed to the alternations of noisy -life by day and complete isolation by night as the inhabitants of -marshy places are to their intermittent fevers. - -"May evil light on that hard-skulled sailor who took it into his head -that there must be a new world, and never stopped till he ran against -it," said the woman. "Had not the king already cities enough in this? -What good has it done? Taken our sons off there, and sent us the -epidemic. Do say, Andres, and don't sit sleeping there like a mole, if -it has been of any other use." - -"Yes, wife, yes," answered the innkeeper, half' opening his eyes, "the -silver comes from there." - -"Plague take the silver!" exclaimed the woman. - -"And the tobacco," added the husband, slowly and lazily, again closing -his eyes, - -"A curse upon the tobacco!" said the wife angrily. "Do you think, you -unfeeling father, that the silver or the tobacco are worth the lives -they cost and the tears? Son of my soul! God knows what will become of -him in that land where they kill men like chinches, and where -everything is venomous, even the air!" - -They heard at this moment a peculiar whistle. The innkeeper, springing -to his feet, caught up the light and ran toward the door, exclaiming, -"The captain!" - -As he presented himself on the threshold, the rays of the lamp fell -upon a man on horseback, with another man that looked like a corpse -lying across the horse in front of him. - -"Help me take this fellow down," said the rider, in the rough tone of -a man of few words. - -The innkeeper handed the lamp to his wife, who had approached, and -made haste to obey. - -"Mercy to us! A dead man!" said she. "For the love of the Blessed -Mother, sir, do not leave him in our house!" - -{790} - -"He is not dead," said the horseman, "he is sick; nurse him up--that -is what women ore good for. Here is money to pay for the cure." - -Saying this, he threw down a piece of gold, and disappeared, the -resounding and measured gallop of his horse dying away gradually in -the distance. - -"If this is not a cool proceeding!" grumbled Martha. "What will you -bet that he, with his own hands, has not put the man in this state? -and he takes himself off and leaves him on ours! 'You cure him!' as if -it were nothing to cure a man who is dead or dying! As if this inn -were an hospital! The bully thinks he has only to command, as if he -were the king!" - -"Hush!" exclaimed the innkeeper, alarmed, "_will_ you be still, -long-tongue! Talk that way of Diego! Women are the very devil! What is -the use of grumbling, since you know there is nothing for it but to do -as these people tell us! Besides, this is a work of charity, so let's -be about it." - -They prepared, as well as they could, a bed in a garret. - -"He has no sign of blow or wound," said Andres, as he was undressing -the patient; "so you see, wife, it is a sickness like any other." - -"Look, look, Andres!" exclaimed Martha; "he has the scapular of our -Lady of Carmel around his neck." - -And as if the sight or influence of the blessed object had awakened in -her all the gentle sentiments of Christian humility, or as if the -sacred precept, "Thy neighbor as thyself," uttered by the brotherhood -in united devotion, had resounded clearly, she began to exclaim: "You -were right, Andres, it is a work of charity to assist him, poor -fellow! How young he is, and how forsaken! His poor mother! Come, -come, Andres, what are you doing, standing there like a post? Go! -hurry! bring me some wine to rub his temples; and kill a hen, for I am -going to make him some broth." - -"So it is," soliloquized Andres, as he went out--"at first, wouldn't -have him in the house; now she will turn the house out of the windows -for him. That's the way with women. It is hard to understand them." - -On the following night, a man of evil face and repugnant aspect came -to the inn. This man had been in the penitentiary, and was nicknamed -the convict. - -"God be with you, sir," said the innkeeper, with more fear than -cordiality, "what might be your pleasure?" - -"A whim of the captain's, curse him! for haven't I come to ask after -the sick, like the porter of a convent?" - -"He is not doing very well," answered the innkeeper; "he is in a -raging fever, is out of his mind, and talks of a murder he has -done--of dead men's heads." - -"Ho! so then he is a man that can handle arms," said the convict. -"Let's have a look at him." - -They mounted to the garret, and the innkeeper continued: - -"All day long I have been in a cold sweat with fear. There have been -people in the house, and even soldiers--if they had heard him!" - -The convict, who had been examining the delicate and wasted form of -Perico, interrupted with a movement of disdain. - -"Well, if he makes too much noise for you, quarter him upon the king." -[Footnote 186] - - [Footnote 186: Put him into the street.] - -"No, indeed!" cried Martha, "poor unfortunate! I have a son in America -who may be at this very hour in the same condition, abandoned by every -one, and calling, as this one calls, for his mother. No, no, sir, we -shall not desert him. Neither Our Lady, whose scapular he wears, nor -I." - -"Buy him sweetmeats," said the convict, and went down. - -"What news?' he asked of the innkeeper. - -"They say that a reward is to be offered for Diego's head." - -{791} - -"What?" asked the convict again, with quick and unusual interest. The -innkeeper repeated what he had said. The convict considered a moment, -and then continued, - -"Where do they think we are?" - -"Near Despenaperros." - -"Are they after us?" - -"Yes, there is a cavalry company at Sevilla, one of infantry at -Cordoba, and another of the mountain soldiery at Utrera." - -"There will be some shoes worn out before they see our faces, and if -they do get to see them it will cost them dear." - -"Yes, yes," Andres replied; "we know that whoever puts himself in -Diego's way may as well look for his grave; but then--there may be so -many of them . . ." - -"Perhaps you would like to get a crack of my fist on your bugle?" said -the bandit. - -"Not at all," said Andres, retreating a step or two. - -"Put more ballast in your tongue then--and hurry up with the bread ---quick now!" - -Andres hastened to obey. The bandit was going away when he heard -Martha's voice calling after him. - -"It slipped my mind--you take this money," she said, handing him the -piece of gold. "Give it to the captain, and tell him that what I do -for this lad I do for charity, and not for interest." - -"I shall be sure to give him such a reason. He accepts 'No' neither -when he says give, nor when he says take; but to settle it between -you, I will keep the money;" and setting spurs to his horse, he -disappeared. - -"You have done a wise thing!" said the innkeeper impatiently. "Will -the money, you foolish good-for-nothing, be better in the hands of -that big thief than in ours? Women!--ill hap to them! Only the devil -understands them." - -"I understand myself and God understands me," said the good woman, -returning to the garret. - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -The care of the innkeeper's wife and the youth and robust constitution -of Perico vanquished the fever. At the end of a fortnight he was able -to rise. - -Perico evinced all his gratitude to Martha in a manner more heartfelt -than fluent. - -"You must not thank me" said the good woman, "for truly, the face I -put on when I saw you brought was not one of welcome; but I have taken -a liking to you because I see that you are a good son and a good -Christian." - -Perico hung his head in deep grief and humiliation. His physical -weakness had deadened in him the blind and furious impulse which had -exalted him, as such impulse does sometimes exalt gentle and timid -natures to a point past the limit which strong-minded and even violent -men respect. - -All that effervescence which caused such a surging of his passions, as -gas causes the juice of the grape to ferment, had ceased, as the foam -subsides upon the wine, leaving reflection, which, without diminishing -the greatness of his wrongs, condemned his method of redressing them. - -All the horror which the future inspired returned to Perico with -returning strength, and it was not lessened when Andres, taking the -occasion one day when his wife was about her work, said to him: - -"My friend, now that you are recovered you must seek your living -somewhere else, for--the more friendship, the more frankness, -sir--when you were out of your head you talked of a murder you had -committed. If it is true, and they find you here, we shall suffer for -it, and that will not be right; the just ought not to pay for sinners; -well-regulated charity, let Martha, who pretends to know better, say -what she will, begins at home. Nobody but that pumpkin-headed wife of -mine is capable of sustaining that Christian charity begins with one's -neighbor. As to me, I tell you the truth, I want nothing to do with -justice, for she has a heavy hand." - -{792} - -Perico did not reply, but went with tearful eyes to take leave of -Martha. The good soul felt his departure, for she had become fond of -him. The memory of her son had attached Martha to the unfortunate -young man, and the memory of his own mother had drawn Perico toward -the woman who acted toward him a mother's part. - -He took his gun, and was going out when he met the convict. - -"Which way?" said the robber. "Do you clear out in this fashion, -without so much as May God reward you! to the compassionate soul who -picked you up? This isn't the right thing, comrade. Besides, where can -you go hereabouts? Are you in a hurry to be put in the lock-up?" - -Perico remained silent; he neither thought nor reasoned--had no will -of his own. "Courage! and come along," proceeded the convict. "Here we -are taking more trouble to help you than you will take to let yourself -be helped." Perico followed him mechanically. - -"Look, Martha," said Andres, seeing Perico at a distance in company -with the robber, "look at your pet--and what a jewel he is, to be -sure! There he goes with the convict." - -"And what of it?" responded Martha. "I tell you, Andres, that he is a -good son and a good Christian." - -"An impostor and a vagabond, that has eaten up my hens--and you see -where he is going, and yet say that he is good! The devil only -understands women!" - -Perico and the convict, making their way through thickets and -difficult places, came at last to an elevation, upon which stood the -captain leaning on his gun, and guarding the slumbers of eight men, -who were lying around him on the slope. Near him grazed his beautiful -horse, which lifted its head from time to time to regard its master. - -"Here is this young man," said the convict as they drew near. - -Without changing his position, the captain slowly turned his eyes and -examined the new arrival from head to foot. His scrutiny finished, he -asked, - -"Are you a fugitive from justice?" - -Perico inclined his head, but did not answer. - -"There is no cause for fear," proceeded his questioner, and presently, -in brief phrases, added, - -"Men have fatal hours, and of these some are as red as blood and some -as black as darkness itself. One is enough to destroy a man, and turn -his heart to a stone which has neither pulse nor feeling, only weight. -He remains lost, for the past is past, and there is nothing to do but -bear it with pluck. Life is a fight, in which one must look before -him, like a brave man, and not behind, like a poltroon." - -"I cannot do it," exclaimed Perico vehemently. "If you knew--" - -The captain, with an imperative gesture, extended his arm to silence -him, and continued. - -"Here, each one carries his own secrets within himself, a sealed -packet, without awakening in the others either curiosity or interest. -If you have nowhere to go, stay with us; here we defend all we have -left, our life. Mine I do not guard because I value it, but to keep it -from the headsman." - -"But you rob?" said Perico. - -"We must do something," responded the bandit, returning, like a -tortoise, into his hard and impenetrable shell. - -Perico neither accepted nor refused the proposition, he remained -without volition, an inert body; chance disposed of his wretched -existence, as the winds dispose of the dry and heavy sands of the -desert. - - - -{793} - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -But while Perico, after the occurrences which we have related, was -dragging out a miserable existence among a band of criminals, what -became of the other individuals of this family? To what extremes had -they been carried by resentment, grief, despair, and revenge? - -Pedro, from the fatal day on which he lost his son, had shut himself -in his own house with his sorrow. The parish priest and some of his -friends went from time to time to keep him company--not to console -him, that was impossible, but to talk with him about his trouble, like -those who relieve vessels of the bitter water of the sea, not to right -them but to keep them from sinking. They had tried to persuade him to -renew his intercourse with the family of Perico, but without success. - -"No, no," he would answer on such occasions. "I have forgiven him -before God and men; but have to do with his people as though it had -not been, I cannot." - -"Pedro, Pedro, that is not forgiveness," said the priest. "It is the -letter but not the spirit of the law." - -"Father," replied the poor man, "God does not ask what is impossible." - -"No, but what he requires is possible." - -"Sir, you want me to be a saint, and I am not one; it is enough for me -to be a good Christian, and forgive. Have I molested them? Have I -sought justice? What more can I do?" - -"Pedro, returning good for evil, wise men walk in peace." - -"Mercy, mercy, father! why shave so close as to lay bare the brains? -God help and favor them; but each in his own house, and God with us -all." - -Maria had hidden herself with her daughter in the retirement of her -cottage, covering the despair and shame of the latter with the sacred -mantle of maternal love, her only refuge from the unanimous -disapproval and condemnation which she justly merited. The unfortunate -victims, Anna and Elvira, remained alone, but sustained in their -immense affliction by their religion and their conscience. Many months -passed in this way. At length two Capuchins came to the village to -hold a mission. These missions were instituted for the conversion of -the wicked, the awakening of the luke-warm, the encouragement of the -good, and the consolation of the sorrowful. - -The missionaries preached at night, and the church was filled with -people who came to hear the word of God, which teaches men to be pious -and humble. - -The good Maria succeeded in persuading her daughter to go to the -missions, and Rita, hard, bitter, and selfish, in her shame and -desperation, found in them repentance, with tears for the past, -penance and humiliation for the present, and for the future the divine -hand, which lifts the fallen one, who, bathed in tears, and prostrate -in ashes, implores its help. One night the subject of the sermon was -the forgiveness of injuries. Magnificent theme! Holy and sublime -beyond all others! The earnest preacher knew how to improve it, and -the believing people how to understand it. - -At the conclusion the good missionary knelt before the crucifix, and -with fervent zeal and ardent charity promised the Lord of mercy, in -the name of that multitude kneeling at his feet, that on the -succeeding night there should not be in the temple a single hard and -unreconciled heart. A burst of exclamations and tears confirmed the -promise of the devoted apostle. - -The day which followed was one of peace and love, according to the -spirit of the evangel. The most deeply-rooted enmities were ended; the -most irreconcilable foes embraced each other in the streets; the -angels in heaven had cause for rejoicing. - -Pedro went to see Anna. Terrible to the unhappy man was the entering -into that house. He approached Anna and embraced her in silence. The -afflicted mother shook, and tried in vain to overcome her emotion. But -when Pedro turned toward Elvira, as she stood wringing her thin hands, -worn to a shadow and bathed in tears--when {794} he pressed to his -paternal heart her whom he had looked upon and loved as a daughter, -all his grief broke forth in the cry: "Daughter! daughter! you and I -loved him!" - -Rita, also, went to Anna's to beg for that which Pedro went to carry. -When she found herself in the presence of the mother-in-law she had -outraged, she fell upon her knees. "I," she exclaimed, beating her -breast, "have been the cause of all! I have not come to ask a -forgiveness I do not deserve, but to beg of you to reprimand without -cursing me." When she turned to Elvira, it was not enough to remain on -her knees, she bent her face to the floor, moaning amidst her sobs. -"Since you are an angel, forgive!" - -Maria supported her prostrate child, and implored Anna with her looks -and tears. Anna and Elvira, without a word of reproach, raised and -embraced her who had done so much to injure them; striving all they -could from that day to reanimate her, for she was the most wretched of -the three, because the guilty one. - -All the people looked with charity upon the woman who had sincerely -and publicly repented, for although the society called cultivated -finds in religious demonstrations another cause for vituperation, -adding to the condemnation of faults which it never forgets the -reproach of hypocrisy upon those who turn to God, the people, more -generous and more just, honor the open evidence of penitence and -humiliation. Therefore, when they saw Rita abase herself and weep, -their indignation was exchanged for compassion, and the _epithet_ -"infamous!" for the pitiful words "poor child!" - -This was because the common people, though they know not what -philanthropy means, know well, because religion teaches them, what is -Christian charity. - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -To Perico, the life into which he found himself drawn by necessity, -and by the vigorous influence Diego exercised over him, was one of -misery; Diego also had been drawn into a life of crime by a terrible -misfortune; but having entered, he adopted it as a warrior does his -iron armor, without heeding either its hardness or its oppressive -weight. Perico followed his wicked companions while he detested them. -He was like the silver fish of some peaceful inland lake which, caught -by some fatal current, is carried away into the bitter and restless -waters of the sea, where it agonizes without the power to escape. At -times, when a crime was committed under his eyes, he wished in his -desperation to end his torments at once, by giving himself up to -justice; but shame, and want of energy to overcome it, held him back. -The others hated him, and surnamed him "The Sad," but he was sustained -by Diego's powerful protection. Diego felt attracted toward the man -whose life he had saved, and who was, he felt, good and honest. For -the rough and austere Diego was of a strong and noble nature that had -not yet descended to the lowest grade of evil, which is hatred of the -good. - -In one of their raids, when the band had approached Tas Yentas, near -Alocaz, a spy arrived in breathless haste from Utrera, telling them -that a company of mountain soldiery had just left the latter place in -the direction of Tas Yentas, informed of their whereabouts by some -travellers they had lately pillaged. - -They made haste to take refuge in an olive grove, but had hardly -entered it when they were surprised by a troop of cavalry. A deadly -contest then commenced, sustained by these men, who were fighting for -their lives with terrible bravery. - -{795} - -"Perico," said Diego, "now or never is the occasion to prove that you -do not eat your bread without earning it. This is a fair fight. At -them, if you are a man!" - -On hearing these words, Perico, confused, and like a drunken man, -threw himself in the way of the balls, firing upon the poor -soldiers--men who were sacrificing everything for the good of society, -which, in its egotism, does not even thank them; for it happens to -them as to the confessors and doctors, who are laughed at in health, -and anxiously called upon when there is any danger. One of the bandits -was killed, two of the soldiers wounded, and a ball of Perico's, fired -at a great distance, killed the commander of the troop. The -consternation which followed this catastrophe gave the robbers an -opportunity to escape. They fled beyond Utrera, passed through the -haciendas of La Chaparra and Jesus-Maria, and arrived exhausted at -nightfall in Valobrega. This valley, not far from Alcalá is surrounded -by ridges and olive slopes. In the most retired part of it, on the -margin of a brook, are still standing the ruins of a Moorish castle -called Marchenilla. Men and horses threw themselves upon the turf at -the base of these solitary ruins. They quenched their thirst in the -brook, and when night set, in lighted a fire, and all except Diego and -Perico lay down to sleep. - -"An evil day, Corso," said Diego, caressing his horse, which lowered -and then lifted his beautiful head as if to assent to his master's -words, and say to him, "What matter since I have saved you?" - -"I treat thee shamefully, my son," continued the chief, who loved his -horse the more fondly because he loved no other creature. The horse, -as if he had understood, neighed gaily, and, rising on his hind feet, -balanced himself, and then dropped down upon all four beside his -master, presenting his head to be caressed. - -"What will become of thee if l am taken?" said the robber, leaning his -head against the neck of the animal, which now stood motionless. - -"Truly," said Diego, seating himself by the fire in front of Perico, -"it is to you we owe our escape to-day with so little loss." - -"To me?" asked Perico surprised. - -"Yes," answered the captain; "the troop was commanded by a brave -officer, who knew the country, and did not mean child's play. The son -of the Countess of Villaoran. He would have given us work if you had -not killed him." - -"God have mercy on me!" exclaimed Perico, springing to his feet and -raising his clasped hands to heaven. "What are you saying? The son of -the countess was there, and I killed him?" - -"What shocks you?" replied Diego. - -"Perhaps you thought we were firing sugar-plums? Heavens!" he added -impatiently, "you exasperate me! One would take you for a travelling -player, with all your attitudes and extravagances. By all that's -sacred, the convict is right. You missed your vocation; instead of -choosing a life of freedom you should have turned friar. Come! keep -watch," he added, wrapping himself in his mantle, and lying down with -a stone under his head and his carbine between his knees. - -His words were lost upon Perico. The unhappy man tore his hair and -cursed himself in his despair. He had killed the son of the mistress -and benefactress of his uncles, his own companion of childhood. - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -How vividly, during that gloomy night did the tranquil scenes of his -lost domestic happiness present themselves to Perico! And for what had -he exchanged them? His present frightful existence. All around him was -motionless. He saw in the sad monotony of the night the changeless -monotony of his misery; in the fire {796} burning before him, his -consuming conscience; and in the cold and impenetrable obscurity -beyond, his dark and cheerless future. - -"Power of God!" he cried, "can I see and remember, and feel all this, -and yet live?" - -The red and wavering flame threw from time to time a glare of light -across the strange wild forms of the ruins, presently leaving them in -deep shadow, appearing to take refuge within, as a dying memory -flashes up and then buries itself in the oblivion of the past. He -heard his own breathing exaggerated by the silence, he saw horrible -shapes in the obscurity. Fingers threatened him--eyes glared at -him--reproachful voices accused him. And no, he was not mistaken, by -the clearer light of the flames, now blown by the wind, he saw, beyond -a remnant of wall, a pair of hard black eyes fixed upon him. Startled, -and doubtful between the imaginary and the real, Perico did not know -whether he ought to put himself under the protection of heaven, by -making the sign of the cross, or to call for earthly help by giving -the signal of alarm. - -Before he could act, there came from behind the stone ruin a ruin of -humanity; from behind the degradation of time, a wreck of human -degradation--an old, filthy, and disgusting gipsy woman. The tint of -the brown woollen skirts which covered her fleshless limbs blended -with that of the ruin; she wore about her neck a kerchief, and over -her faded locks a black cloth mantilla. - -Perico was struck motionless as a stone, or as if the repulsive face -had been that of the Medusa. - -"Don't be uneasy," said the vision, approaching, "there is nothing to -be afraid of. I have not come with bad motive, and you need not be on -the watch. I knew that you were here, and have caused it to be rumored -that you were making your way in the direction of the Sierra de Ronda, -and that people had seen you near Espera and Villa-Martin." - -"But why have you come here?" exclaimed Perico, instinctively alarmed -at the aspect of the woman. - -"To put you in the way of securing, at a stroke, a fortune that will -last you your lifetime," she replied. - -"That which you are likely to offer does not inspire much confidence," -said Perico. - -"Why should I wish to harm you?" said the gipsy; "and as to my looks, -a poor cloak may cover a hail companion. I bring a treasure to your -very hands; you have only to extend them." - -"A treasure," said Perico, in whom the word, instead of exciting -covetousness, only suggested the idea that the woman was mad, "a -treasure, and where is it?" - -The old wretch, who saw in the question only what she expected to -find, avidity and thirst for gold, approached Perico as if she feared -the breath of night might intercept her words, and the anathemas of -heaven dissolve them in the air, and whispered in his ear, "In the -church." - -Perico, utterly shocked, gave a step backward, but recovering himself, -rushed upon the woman like a tiger, and pushing her with all his -might, exclaimed, "Go!" - -"I will not go," she said, unintimidated; "I came to speak with the -captain and the convict, and I will speak with them." - -In his anguish lest she should do it, and to force her to go, Perico -drew a dagger and flashed its shining blade in the firelight. The -gipsy shrieked and the robbers woke. - -"What is this?" shouted Diego; "what has happened? Perico, are you -going to kill a woman?" - -"No, no, I do not want to kill her, only to drive her away." - -"And because," said the old woman, "I have come so far, through danger -and fatigue, to put you in a way to leave this slavish life you are -leading, like the Blond of Espera, who committed one robbery so great -that he had enough to go beyond the seas and pass the rest of his days -in comfort." - -{797} - -The robbers grouped themselves around her; the convict presenting her -with a fragment of the wall as a seat. - -"Do not listen! do not listen!" cried Perico, beside himself; "she -purposes a sacrilege!" - -"Sir," said the convict to Diego, "oblige that agonizing priest to -hold his tongue, he is like the dog in the manger. Let this good woman -speak, and we shall know what she has to say--a regiment of horse -couldn't silence that dismal screech-owl." - -Diego hesitated, but finally turned toward the hag, and Perico, -knowing then that hope was lost, for the bandit always followed his -first impulses, rushed away, running hither and thither among the -olives like a madman. - -The gipsy had calculated everything, and her measures were well taken. -The great advantages so exaggerated, the difficulties so easily -overcome, the well-arranged precautions, upon which she amplified so -largely, produced their effect. The temptation which offers flowers -with one hand and with the other hides the thorns, convinced some and -seduced others. - -All the plans were settled, and the hours and signals agreed upon, and -before the cocks, day's faithful sentinels, announced his coming, the -band was on its way to the solitary hacienda of "El Cuervo," and the -old witch crawling like a cunning and venomous snake to her den in the -wood of Alcalá, where in the depths of the earth she had conceived the -crime to which amidst darkness and ruins she had persuaded -evil-doers--the crime which was to be perpetrated in the temple of -God. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -Heavily passed the hours of the succeeding day to the idle guests of -El Cuervo. All Perico's representations and prayers had failed to -dissuade Diego from his impious design. Diego would never turn back; -and this stupid tenacity in pursuing a course which he knew to be -wrong, had cost him respect and honor, and was still to cost him -liberty and life. It had, moreover, at the instigation of the convict, -forced Perico, who had at last resolved to leave the band, to -accompany it on this atrocious expedition--that vile man suggesting to -Diego that there was no other means of preventing the _saint_ from -denouncing them. - -All mounted and at midnight reached the ruined castle of Alcalá. Diego -whistled three times. Directly after, the gipsy, holding a dark -lantern, emerged from one of the vaults which open at the base of the -castle. They dismounted and followed her. - -Perico would have escaped by flight from the evil pass in which he -found himself, but his companions surrounded him and dragged him with -them whither the woman led. She, after saluting the robbers in a -fawning voice, opened with a picklock the door of a rude court filled -with rubbish and timbers. From the court a postern leads into the -vestry, and through this the sacrilegious band entered the church, not -without dread and trembling even at the sound of their own footsteps. - -What a sublime and tremendous spectacle--a deserted temple in the dead -of night! Under its influence even the purest and most pious souls -sink in profound awe and devotion; and no amount of incredulity is -sufficient to sustain the heart of him who presumes to violate it. - -How immense appeared those shadowy naves! How far above them the -corbels, which, upheld by giants of stone, seemed almost lost in the -mysterious gloom of a sky without stars! There in a deep and lonesome -niche, stretched prostrate and mute, slept a cold effigy upon a -sepulchre. Its outlines were hardly discernible, but the very -obscurity seemed to lend them motion. - -{798} - -The high altar, still perfumed with the flowers and incense of the -morning, gleamed through the darkness. The altar, centre of faith, -throne of charity, refuge of hope, shelter of the defenceless, -exhaustless source of consolations, attracting all eyes, all steps, -all hearts. Before the tabernacle burned the lamp, solitary guardian -of the _sacrarium_--burned only to light it, for light is the -knowledge of God. - -Holy and mysterious lamp--continual holocaust--aflame, tranquil like -hope--silent, like reverence--ardent, like charity--and enduring like -eternal mercy. The gleams and reflections of this light caught and -relieved the prominent points of the carvings and mouldings of the -gilded altarpiece, giving them the look of eyes keeping religious -watch. There was nothing to distract the mind, the perfect fixedness, -the unbroken stillness, effected as it were a suspension of life, -which was not sleep--which was not death, but the peacefulness of the -one and the deep solemnity of the other. - -Such was the interior of the church of Alcalá when the spoilers -entered, lighted by the gipsy's lantern and dragging with them, by -main force, the unfortunate Perico. - -"Let him go, and lock that door," said Diego. - -"He will shout and betray us," said the others. - -"Let him go, I say," retorted the captain. "What can he do?" - -"He can shriek," answered Leon, who, assisted by the gipsy, was -stripping the high altar of the silver furniture which adorned it. - -"Guard him, then," said the captain. Two of the men approached Perico. - -"Off with your hats, for you are in God's house,"' he cried. - -"Gag him," commanded the captain, Resistance was useless. They -instantly stopped his mouth with a handkerchief. - -But notwithstanding the handkerchief, which suffocated him, when -Perico saw that Leon and the gipsy were breaking open the sacrarium he -made one desperate effort, and falling on his knees shouted, -"Sacrilege! Sacrilege!!!" Terrible was the voice that resounded in the -chapels, that echoed like thunder along the vaults, that awakened the -grand and sonorous instrument which on other occasions accompanies the -imposing _De profundis_ and the glorious _Te Deum_, and died away in -its metal tubes like a doleful wail. It caused a moment of cold terror -to those miserable wretches. Even Diego trembled! - -"Have mercy, Lord, have mercy!" moaned the unhappy Perico. - -"Make haste," said Diego, "the night is becoming clearer, and we may -be seen going out from here." - -In fact, the clouds were breaking away, and a ray of the moon falling -at this moment through a lofty skylight kissed the feet of an image of -our Blessed Lady. - -"Curse the moon!" exclaimed the gipsy; and frightened at seeing each -other by the clear and sudden illumination, they hastened the work of -spoliation. At last they left the church, and the gipsy, when she had -seen them ride away loaded with riches, turned and again hid herself -in the earth. - -Before the sun brightened the _Giralda_ the robbers reached the -outskirts of _Seville_ with their booty, They left their horses in an -olive grove in charge of the convict, and each entered the city by a -different gate, reuniting in an out-of-the-way place which the gipsy -had indicated, where a silver-smith, who was in the secret, received, -weighed, and paid for the valuables. But when they returned to the -place where they had left the convict with the horses, they found it -deserted. - -"That dog has sold us," said one. - -"For what?" said Diego, "when his part, which is likely to be worth -more than his treason, is here." - -"Perhaps he has seen people, and has gone to hide in El Cuervo," said -another. - -They set out in the direction of the hacienda, avoiding roads and -beaten paths, and keeping within the shelter of the trees; but neither -there did they find the convict. - -{799} - -"My poor Corso!" said Diego, and a bitter tear shone for a moment in -his eyes; but instantly recovering himself he said, "We are sold: but, -courage! and let us save ourselves. Down the river; to the frontier; -to Ayamonte; to Portugal. Some day I shall find him, and on that day -he will wish he had never been born!" - -They were leaving, when the gipsy presented herself to claim her share -of the money. All assailed her with questions respecting the -disappearance of the convict; but she knew nothing, and manifested -much uneasiness. - -"You are not safe here, and ought to get away as soon as may be," she -said. "The elder son of the Countess of Villaoran has sworn to avenge -his brother. He has got a troop from the captain-general, and is out -after you. I am afraid he has surprised the convict. As for me I am -going, the ground burns under my feet." - -"Oh! that it would burn you up!" exclaimed one. - -"Oh! that it would swallow you!" exclaimed another. - -The old hag silently disappeared among the olives, like a viper which -crawls away, leaving its venom in the bite it has inflicted. - -"A robbery in the house of God!" said the first. - -"The _sacrarium_ violated!" said the other. - -"Come, hold your tongues!" shouted Diego. "Make the best of what can't -be undone. Let's be off." - -But now they heard the tramp of horses, and Perico, who had been -stationed to watch, came hastily in and informed them that the convict -was coming. His arrival was greeted with shouts of joy. He said that -he had seen a troop of horsemen, and had hidden himself; that in order -to return he had been obliged to make large circuits. "But, now," he -added, "we have no time to lose, they are on our track. Here, captain, -is Corso, I have taken good care of him for you; I know how fond of -him you are." - -Diego joyfully caressed the noble creature vowing within himself never -again to be separated from him. - -They hastened their departure, when, suddenly, before them, behind -them, above their heads, resounded a formidable demand, "Surrender to -the king!" - -They were surrounded by a party of cavalry. Two pistols were pointed -at Diego's breast, and a man held the bridle of his horse. Diego cast -his eyes around him with no feigned composure! Knowing the ability of -the horse, which he had trained to this end, he drew his dagger with -the quickness of light, and cut the hands which held the reins, -pressed his knees strongly against the animal's sides, and, caressing -his neck, cried, "Hey! Corso, save your master!" - -The noble and intelligent creature made one effort, but fell back upon -his haunches powerless. He was hamstrung! - -Diego comprehended the blow, and knew the hand that had dealt it. -Frantic with rage, he sprang to the ground, but the traitor had -disappeared among the troop which crowded the pass. They took Diego, -who made no useless resistance. As they left the defile, the bandit -turned his head, and cast a last look upon the horse, that, always -immovable, followed him with his large liquid eyes. - -The soldiers disarmed the bandits, and tied their arms behind their -backs. "Which is the one?" asked the Count of Villaoran when he saw -them together--"which is the one that killed my brother?" - -The robbers were silent at a look from Diego, who, though a prisoner -and bound, still awed them. - -"Which was it?" asked the count again, in a voice choked with rage. - -"It was I," said Perico. - -The count turned toward the drooping youth, who had not before -attracted his notice; but when he fixed his eyes upon him a cry of -horror escaped his lips. - -{800} - -"You! Perico Alvareda! Iniquity without name! Perversity without -example! Poor Anna! wretched mother that bore you! Unfortunate little -ones! Unhappy Rita! Know, infamous man," continued the count with -vehemence, "that your wife has worked with incessant zeal and activity -to procure your pardon. She was always at the feet of the judges. -Ventura forgave you before he died. Pedro has forgiven you. My poor -brother was the zealous and tireless agent of your friends. He -obtained your pardon of the king. All were anxiously seeking you, and -he more than all the rest, and I--would to God I had never found you!" - -Diego, who saw the immense grief which the coldness and pallor of -death painted upon the changing countenance of Perico, and noticed -that he was tottering, said to the count: - -"Sir, do you see that you are killing him?" - -"I will not anticipate the executioner," answered the count, mounting -his horse. - -"Courage!" murmured Diego in the ear of the sinking Perico. "Look at -us. We are all going to die, and we are all serene." - -They entered Seville amidst the maledictions of the populace, -horrified by their recent crimes. But the indignation with which the -crowd saw the vile traitor who had sold his companions, walking among -them free, was beyond measure. - -This traitor was the convict, who by betraying the others had bought -his own pardon, and obtained the reward promised to the person who -should secure the arrest of the notorious robber Diego, who had so -long laughed at the efforts of his pursuers. - - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -The prison of Seville was at that time badly situated, in a narrow -street in the most central part of the city. It was an ill-looking -structure, scaly and mean; wanting in its style the dignity of legal -authority and the outward respect which humanity owes to misfortune, -even when it is criminal. A few steps from this centre of hardened -wickedness and beastly degradation the street ends in the grand -_plaza_ of _San Francisco_--an irregular oblong area, bounded by those -edifices which make it the most imposing plaza of the famed deanery of -_Andalucia_, On the right are the chapter-houses whose exquisite -architecture renders them in the eyes of both Sevillans and strangers -the finest ornaments of the city. On the left, forming a projecting -angle, stands the regular and severe edifice of the _Audiencia_, the -tribunal to which justice gives all power. Surmounting it, like a -signal of mercy, is its clock--ten minutes too slow; venerable -illegality, which gives ten minutes more of life to the criminal -before striking the cruel hour named for his execution. Thus all the -laws and customs of ancient Spain have the seal of charity. Ten -minutes, to him who is passing tranquilly along the road of life, are -nothing; but to him who is about to die, they are priceless. Upon the -threshold of death, ten minutes may decide his sentence for eternity. -Ten minutes may bring an unhoped-for but possible pardon. But even -though these considerations, spiritual and temporal, did not exist; -though this impressive souvenir of our forefathers were nothing more -than the grant of ten minutes of existence to him who is about to die, -it would still prove that, even to their most severe decrees, our -ancestors knew how to affix the seal of charity. As such it is -recognized by the people, who understand and appreciate it, for it is -one of the customs which they hold in highest reverence. O Spain! what -examples hast thou not given to the world of all that is good and -wise! thou that to-day art asking them of strangers! - -{801} - -On one side of the town-hall, forming a receding angle, is seen the -great convent of San Francisco with its imposing church. The other -fronts form arches that, like stone festoons, adorn the sides of the -plaza. At the end opposite the point first mentioned is an immense -marble fountain, of which the flow of waters is as changeless and -lasting as the material of the basin which receives it. - -One day the plaza of San Francisco and the streets leading to it were -covered with an unusual multitude. What drew them together? Why were -they there? To see a man die--but no, not die; to see a man kill his -brother! To die is solemn, not terrible, when the angel gently closes -the sufferer's weary eyes and gives his soul wings to rise to other -regions. But to see a man killed, by a human hand, in travail of -spirit, in agony of soul, in tortures of pain, is appalling. And yet -men go, and hasten, and crowd each other, to witness the consummation -of legal doom. But it is neither pleasure nor curiosity that attracts -the awe-struck multitude. It is that fatal desire of emotion which -takes possession of the contradictory human heart. This might have -been read in those faces, at once pale, anxious, and horrified. An -indistinct murmur ran through the dense multitude, in the midst of -which rose that pillar of shame and anguish; that usurper of the -mission of death; that foothold of the forsaken, which no one but the -priest treads voluntarily--the fearful scaffold, built at night, by -the melancholy light of lanterns, because the men who raise it are -ashamed to be seen by the light of God's sun and the eyes of their -fellowmen. The crowd shuddered at intervals at the mournful strokes of -the bell of San Francisco, pealing for a being who no longer existed -except to God, for the world had blotted him from the list of the -living. Its notes, now rising to God in supplication for a soul, now -descending to mortals in expressive admonition, forming part of the -overwhelming solemnity which was inhaled with the air and oppressed -the breast, seemed to say, Die, guilty ones die in expiatory sacrifice -for this sinful humanity. Only the pure and limpid fountain continued -its sweet and monotonous song, unconscious as childhood and innocence -of the terrors of the earth. O innocence, emanation of Paradise, still -respired in our corrupted atmosphere by children and those privileged -beings who have, like faith, a bandage upon their eyes, that they may -believe without seeing, and another upon their hearts, that they may -see and not comprehend; who have, like charity, their heart in their -hand, and, like hope, their eyes fixed on heaven, thou art always -surrounded by reverence, love, and admiration, which, as the daughter -of heaven, thou meritest. - -There are two classes of charity: one relieves material sufferings in -a material way, and with money--this is beautiful and liberal, but -easy, and a social obligation. The other is that which relieves moral -anguish, morally. This is sublime and divine. - -Of the latter class, one that has not been sufficiently praised by -society, which finds so many occasions for censure and so few for -eulogy, is the Brotherhood of Charity. And who compose this admirable -congregation? Those, perhaps, who waste so much paper and phraseology -in favor of humanity, philanthropy, and fraternity? No, not one of -them condescends to enter this corporation, which is formed -principally of the aristocracy of those places where it has been -established. The truth is, that between theory and practice, as -between saying and doing, there is a great space. - -In Seville, a short time after the events related in the last chapter, -several gentlemen of distinction were seen passing through the -streets, each holding out a small basket, as he repeated in a grave -voice, "For the unfortunates who are to be put to death." - -{802} - -Diego and his band were assembled in the chapel of the prison, -constantly attended by some of the brotherhood, who, leaving their -homes, their pleasures, and their occupations, came to take part in -this prolonged agony, consoling the last moments of these sinful men; -anticipating their wishes with more attention than those of kings are -anticipated, and pouring balsam into the wound inflicted by the sword -of justice. - -Two of the most zealous and devoted of the brotherhood, the Count of -Cantillana and the Marquis of Greffina, had been to the tribunal, -which is established and remains in session in the jail while the -condemned are being prepared and led to the scaffold, and during the -execution, to ask of it the bodies of those who were to suffer. The -following is the formula adopted by this noble and affecting Catholic -institution: - - "We come, in the name of Joseph and of Nicodemus, to ask leave to - take the body down from the place of punishment." The judge grants - the prayer, and they withdraw. - -Each prisoner was accompanied by his confessor--a blessed staff to -sustain the steps that are turned toward the scaffold. - -When Perico had finished his sacramental confession, he said to the -venerable religious who assisted him: "My name is not known; they call -me 'Perico the Sad;' but, since between earth and heaven nothing is -hidden, my family will, sooner or later, know my fate. Have the -charity, father, to fulfil my last desire, and be yourself the one to -carry the news to my mother. Tell her that I died repentant and -contrite, and not so criminal as I appear. An evil life is a ravine -into which one is drawn by the first crime. That crime which has -weighed and is weighing so heavily upon me, I committed because I -preferred a vain thing which men call honor, and which has sometimes -to be bought with blood, to the precepts of the gospel, which make a -virtue of forbearance and command us to forgive. O father! how -different appear the things of life on the threshold of the tomb! Tell -my poor sister, whose bridegroom I killed, that I commend her to -another and immortal One, who will never deceive her. Tell Pedro that -I know he has forgiven me, as did his son, and that I carry this -consolation to the grave, and my gratitude to God. Tell Rita that I -lived and died loving her, and that, if I had lived, I never would -have reminded her of the past, since she has repented of it. Ask my -mother-in-law, who is so good, to recommend me to God . . . . and my -poor children . . . my orphans . . . . Oh! if it were possible that -they might never know . . . . the fate of their father . . . . who . . . . -blesses them . . ." - -Here his bursting heart found vent in sobs. - -The priest who heard him, convinced of the innocence of his heart, -seeing how he had been surprised into crime by all that exasperates -and blinds the reason of a husband, a brother, and a brave man, and -forced into an evil life by circumstances, necessity, and his natural -want of firmness, felt as one who without means or power to save it -sees a fair vessel dashing to pieces at his feet. - -Rita's constant and energetic movements to discover the whereabouts of -Perico, whose pardon, with the assistance of charitable souls, she had -obtained from the king, brought her, with her mother, that day to -Seville. Attempting to pass the plaza of San Francisco they -encountered the great crowd which had gathered there, and, asking the -cause of the tumult, were shown the scaffold. They would have retired, -but could not for the press behind them. - -One of the condemned is approaching; all burst into exclamations of -pity--"Poor boy! This is the one they call 'Perico the Sad;' they say -that his wife, a good-for-nothing, was the ruin of him." - -Rita's heart beats violently--the criminal passes--she sees--she -recognizes him. A shriek, another such was never uttered, rends the -air--heard in all the market-place. - -{803} - - - -Perico stops: "Father," he says, "it is she! it is Rita!" - -"My son," replies the priest, "think only of God, in whose presence -you are going to appear, contrite, reconciled, and happy, carrying -with you your expiation." - -"Father, if I could only see her before I die?" - -"My son, think of the bitter punishment and of the glorious -illumination you are going to receive from man, who is the instrument -of God in your destiny." Perico wishes to turn "Forward!" orders the -sergeant. - -He mounts the scaffold and kneels to the spiritual father, who with a -calm face, but a heart sorely oppressed, blesses him. He kisses the -crucifix, that other scaffold, upon which the Man-God expiated the -sins of others, still turning his eyes toward the place from which the -voice sounded that pierced his heart; seats himself upon the bench; -the executioner, who stands behind him, places the garrote around his -neck; the priest intones the creed; the executioner turns the screw, -and a simultaneous cry, "Ave Maria purissima!" sounds in the plaza. -With this invocation to the Mother of God, humanity takes leave of the -condemned at the moment that he is separated from it by the hand of -the law. - -The executioner covers the face of the victim with a black cloth, and -the black shadow of the wings of death falls upon the hushed -multitude. - -Some compassionate persons carried Rita away senseless. Her situation -was terrible beyond expression. The convulsions which shook her left -her but few moments of consciousness, and in these moments she gave -way to her despair in a way so frightful that they were obliged to -hold her as if she had been mad. For some days it was impossible to -move her. At length her relatives brought a cart to take her away. -They laid her in it, upon a mattress, but not one of them would -accompany her for shame. Maria went alone with her child, sustaining -her head upon her lap. Rita's long black hair fell around her like a -veil, covering her from the glances of the indiscreet and curious. -"There goes," they said, as they saw her pass, "the wife of the -criminal, who by her indiscretion sent him to the scaffold." But the -oxen did not hasten their deliberate steps. It seemed as if they also -had a mission to fulfil, in prolonging the punishment of reprobation -to her who hid provoked it with so much audacity. Maria went like a -resigned martyr. Her gentle heart had been made as it were elastic, in -order to contain without bursting an immensity of suffering. From time -to time Rita shuddered and broke into lamentations, pressing -convulsively her mother's knees. The latter said nothing, for even she -found no words of consolation for such grief. - -They reached the village as night was coming on. The cart stopped -before their house, and Rita was lifted out. - -She sees a window wide open in her mother-in-law's house; through this -window an unusual light is shining. She breaks away from the arms that -sustain her and rushes to the grating. In the middle of the room which -she inhabited in happy times, stands a bier. Four wax candles throw -their solemn light upon the calm form of Elvira. She is as white as -her shroud; her hands are crossed, and through her right arm passes a -palm branch--emblem consecrated to virginity. Thus in simple grace, -and in the attitude of prayer, lies the pious village maiden. - -In the front part of that melancholy room were still seen the withered -plants which on a happier day had formed the mimic Bethlehem. At the -extremity of the room sits Anna, as pale and motionless as the corpse -itself. On one side of her is Pedro, and on the other the priest who -accompanied Perico to the scaffold. - -{804} - -Years after the events we have related, the Marquis of ---- went to -spend some days at one of the haciendas of Dos-Hermanas. One evening, -when he was returning from the estate of a relative, he noticed as he -passed near an olive-tree that the overseer and the guard who -accompanied him uncovered their heads. He glanced upward, and saw -nailed to the tree a red cross. "Has there been a murder in this quiet -place?" he asked. - -"Yes, sir," answered the guard, "here was killed the handsomest and -bravest youth that ever trod Dos-Hermanas." - -"And the murderer," added the overseer, "was the best and most -honorable young man of the place." - -"But how was that?" questioned the marquis. - -"Through wine and women, sir, the cause of all misfortunes," replied -the guard. - -And as they went along they told the story we have repeated, with all -its circumstances and details. - -"Do any of the family still live in the place?" asked the marquis, -extremely interested in the recital. - -"Uncle Pedro died that year; Perico's wife would have let herself die -of grief, but the priest that assisted her husband persuaded her to -try to live to fulfil the will of God and her husband, by taking care -of her children; but to stay here where every one knew and loved her -husband, she must have had a brazen face indeed; she went with her -mother to the _sierra_, where they had relatives. One who came from -there awhile since, and had seen her, says that she does not look like -the same person. The tears have worn furrows in her cheeks; she is as -thin as the scythe of death, and her health is destroyed. Poor aunt -Anna died only the day before yesterday. She looked like a shadow, and -walked bent as if she were seeking her grave as a bed of rest." - -They had now reached the village, and as they were passing a large -gloomy building, the overseer said, "This is her house." - -The marquis paused a moment, and then entered. An old woman, a -relation of the deceased, lived alone in the sad and empty house, over -which, at that instant, the moon cast a white shroud. - -"How these vines are dying!" said the marquis. - -"They were not so," answered the woman, "when that poor dear child -took care of them. They used to be covered with flowers that -flourished like daughters under the hand of a mother. But she closed -her eyes, never again to open them in this world, the day she heard of -her brother's fate." - -"Oh!" exclaimed the gentleman, "what a pity! this magnificent -orange-tree is dead." - -"Yes; it is older than the world, sir, and was used to a great deal of -petting and care. After poor Anna lost her children, neither she nor -any one else minded it, and it withered." - -"And this dog?" asked the marquis, seeing a dog, old and blind, lying -in one comer. - -"The poor Melampo, from the time he lost his master he grew melancholy -and blind. Anna, before she died, begged me to take care of him; it -was almost the only thing the dear soul spoke of; but there will be no -need; when they took away her corpse he began to howl, and since then -he will not eat." The marquis drew nearer. Melampo was dead. - ------- - -{805} - -From The Month. - -BURIED ALIVE. - - -"It may be asserted without hesitation, that no event is so terribly -well calculated to inspire the supremeness of bodily and mental -distress as is burial before death. The unendurable oppression of the -lungs; the stifling fumes of the damp earth; the clinging to the -death-garments; the rigid embrace of the narrow house; the blackness -of the absolute night; the silence like a sea that overwhelms; the -unseen but palpable presence of the conqueror worm--these things, with -thoughts of the air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who -would fly to save us, if but informed of our fate, and with -consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed; that our -hopeless portion is that of the really dead--these considerations, I -say, carry into the heart which still palpitates a degree of appalling -and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must -recoil." [Footnote 187] - - [Footnote 187: E.A. Poe's "Premature Burial."] - -I have chosen this sentence from a writer whose forte is the terrible -and mysterious for my introduction, because it sums up, in a few -expressive words, the thoughts which arise in our minds on hearing or -reading the words "Buried Alive." To avert so fearful a doom from a -fellow-creature would surely be worth any trouble; and yet it is to be -feared that the very horror which the thought inspires causes most of -us to turn aside from it, and to accept the comfortable doctrine that -such things are not done now, whatever may have formerly been the -case. Were this true, I should not feel justified in bringing before -the readers of the "Month" a ghastly subject, which could be -acceptable only to a morbid curiosity; but it is unfortunately but too -certain that persons are now and then buried alive, and that, -therefore, this fate may be possibly our own. The subject is one which -naturally excites more attention abroad; for in England the custom of -keeping deceased relatives above ground for many days after their -death, has long prevailed, and incurs the opposite danger of injuring -the health of the survivors who thus indulge their grief. We believe -no important work has ever been published in this country on the -subject; for Dr. Hawe's pamphlet is not up to the present standard of -medical information, and contains instances of very doubtful -authenticity. The tales of premature interment which can be collected -in conversation, or occasionally noticed in the public journals, are -not very numerous; few of them are circumstantial enough to have any -scientific interest; and some prove the supposed fact by the hair or -nails having grown, and the body having moved when in its coffin-- -things which are well known to happen now and then after death has -undoubtedly taken place, and being therefore no proofs at all. After -examination, I have, then, come to the conclusion that no estimate of -the frequency of premature interment can be obtained. Indeed, the only -statistics which we possess are from Germany, and they are not very -reassuring. In some of the largest towns of that country, mortuary -chambers (in which the dead are placed for some days before burial) -have long been established; and we learn from a report of one in -Berlin, that in the space of only thirty-months ten people, who had -been supposed dead, were there found to be alive, and thus saved from -true death {806} in its most horrible form. But in France and Italy, -especially during the summer months, the dead are buried so very early -that fears are frequently entertained. In France, indeed, the law -prescribes a delay of twenty-four hours after death before interment, -and also requires a certificate of death from an inspector, who in -large towns is usually a physician with no other employment (_le -médecin des morts_;) but so many instances of carelessness and of -incapacity on the part of the country inspectors have been noticed, -that the Chamber of Peers, during Louis Philippe's reign, and lately -the Senate of the Empire, have received many petitions praying for an -inquiry, and for further precautions. To these the answer has -generally been, that the existing law provides sufficient safeguards; -and in this the Senate only followed the prevailing opinion of men of -science in France. - -For, some years ago, Dr. Manni, a professor in the University of Rome, -offered a prize of 15,000 francs, to be given by the French Academy of -Sciences to the author of the best essay on the signs of death and the -means to be taken to prevent premature interment. The prize was -obtained in 1849 by M. Bouchut, an eminent physician in Paris, who, -after a very detailed examination of the question, came to these two -conclusions: first, that when the action of the heart could be no -longer heard by means of the stethoscope, death was certain; and -secondly, that not a single case of interment before death has ever -been clearly and satisfactorily made out: and the learned body, who -awarded the prize to him, entirely assented to these opinions. Since -that time, however, cases have been quoted, by some French doctors of -note, in which the action of the heart could not be detected, and yet -life was in the end restored. Their observations have been summed up -in a pamphlet by M. Jozat. This gave a fresh impulse to the subject; -and on the 27th of February last, M. de Courvol presented a petition -to the Senate of the same tenor as those mentioned above. This would -have received the same answer as they did, and the matter would have -been again shelved, if several of the senators present had not quoted -instances which had fallen under their own observation, and in which -death was escaped only by some happy accident. The most remarkable of -these was narrated by Cardinal Donnet, as having happened to -_himself_; and his story was copied into most English newspapers at -the time. It is, however, so much to the purpose of this paper, that I -make no apology for quoting it in his own words: - - "In 1826, a young priest was suddenly struck down, unconscious, in - the pulpit of a crowded cathedral where he was preaching. The - funeral knell was soon after tolled, and a physician declared him to - be certainly dead, and obtained leave for his burial next day. The - bishop of the cathedral where this event had occurred, had recited - the 'De Profundis' by the side of the bier; the coffin was being - already prepared. Night was approaching; and the young priest, who - heard all these preparations, suffered agonies. He was only - twenty-eight years old, and in perfect health. At last he - distinguished the voice of a friend of his childhood; this caused - him to make a superhuman effort, and produced the wonderful result - of enabling him to speak. The next day he was able to preach again." - -This remarkable account, coming almost from the grave, produced a very -great impression; and, as is not unusual in deliberative assemblies, -the Senate yielded to striking individual cases what it had before -refused to argument, forwarding the petition to the Minister of the -Interior, and so implying that it considered the existing law -insufficient. The plan which finds most favor in France is the -establishment of "mortuary houses," like those in Germany. Although -some of the highest authorities in {807} France are opposed to them, -there can be no doubt, if the statistics quoted above are to be -believed, that they would be the means of saving many lives, -especially in cases where (as in hotels and lodging-houses) the -funeral is now hurried as much as possible. The only precautions which -need be taken in England are of a simple kind, and will be more -evident after the description I shall now proceed to give of the two -diseased states which most nearly simulate death. - -In the first of these, called _catalepsy_, the patient lies immovable -and apparently unconscious; the limbs are rigid and cold; the eyes are -fixed, sometimes remaining open; and the jaw sometimes drops. But the -resemblance to death goes no farther; the face has not a corpse-like -expression; although the limbs are cold, the head continues to be -warm, or is even warmer than when in the usual state; the pupils are -never completely dilated, and are, sometimes at least, contracted by -exposure to light. The pulse and breathing, although slow and -irregular, can always be noticed; and the muscles are so far stiffened -as to keep the limbs, during the whole course of the attack, in the -position (however constrained and inconvenient) in which they chance -to be at the time of seizure, or may be placed in by bystanders during -the fit. This state of the muscular system is a decisive proof that -the case is one of catalepsy. - -Were this rare and curious disease the only cause of error, the -physician called upon to discern in a given case between life and -death would have a comparatively easy task; but there is a still rarer -condition, which gives rise to most of the lamentable mistakes that -are made; the state of _trance_ or _prolonged syncope_, is a far more -perfect counterfeit of death. The patient is motionless, and -apparently unconscious, although he is usually aware of all that is -passing around him; the pulsation of the heart and arteries, and the -breathing gradually diminish in force and frequency, until they become -at last quite imperceptible; the whole surface of the body grows cold; -and all this may last even for many days. How is one in such a -condition known not to be dead? In the first place, it is noticed that -this disease is rare in a previously healthy person; it has been -generally preceded by some cause producing great weakness, (especially -long-continued fevers, great loss of blood, severe mental affliction, -or bodily pain.) It almost invariably, too, occurs suddenly, without -any preparation, and of course without the signs which immediately -precede death. - -Sometimes mere inspection will convince the physician that the person -is still alive. Thus, the face, although fixed, may not have the look -of death; the mouth may be firmly closed, the eye not glazed, and the -pupil not entirely dilated. Supposing, however, that every one of -these signs of life is absent, and that the pulse and breathing are -imperceptible by the ordinary means of observation, careful -examination of the chest with a stethoscope will detect the -heart-sounds, if life be not quite extinct, in almost every case. I -dare not, in view of the cases cited by M. Jozat, say that absence of -the heart-sounds in this state _never_ occurs; but all medical men -will agree with me that it must be exceedingly rare. It also seems to -me probable that, in the cases on which M. Jozat relies, the movements -of the heart were so few and far between that the chest happened to be -ausculted only during the intervals; at any rate, it would of course -be advisable to make frequent and prolonged examinations before -deciding that no sound could be heard. The late Dr. Hope suggested -that the second sound of the heart might be detected, although the -first was quite inaudible; but this is merely theoretical. Again, -although the surface of the body be quite cold, it is probable that a -thermometer introduced far into the mouth would show that some -internal warmth {808} remained in every case of trance. At a variable -time after death the muscles lose their "irritability," (that is, -their power of contracting under galvanic stimulation;) and this -change is speedily followed by another--the stiffness which is noticed -all over the body. It is to be remembered that loss of muscular -irritability, and rigidity of the whole body, may both be noticed and -yet the person be alive; still, if these two symptoms are not present -at first, and only appear soon after supposed death, they will afford -strong presumption that the person is dead; which will be strengthened -if the skin be slightly burned, and yet no bleb forms in consequence. - -Every one, however, of the signs enumerated is open to exceptions; -although, of course, the concurrence of many, or of all, tending in -the same direction, will make death or life almost certain; but the -_only_ absolutely conclusive evidence of death is putrefaction, which -is sometimes much delayed by the previous emaciation of the deceased, -or by cold dry weather, but which sooner or later removes all doubt. -The first indications of decay are in the eyeball, which becomes -flaccid, and in the discoloration of the skin of the trunk; its later -ones are well known to every one. One M. Mangin (who contributed a -notice of this subject to the "Correspondant" for March 25th last, to -which I am indebted for several facts I have mentioned) supposes that -the buzzing, humming noise which is heard over all the body of a -living person would furnish a certain means of distinguishing real -from apparent death. He does not seem to be aware that M. Collongues, -the principal authority for what is called "dynamoscopy," has found -that this noise is absent in some cases of catalepsy and trance, for -which it is proposed as a test. Certain authorities, both in England -and France, have thought that microscopal examination of the blood -would be decisive; but unfortunately irregularity in shape and -indentation of the red disks (on which they would rely) occur -sometimes during life, and are only among the earliest signs of -putrefaction after death. - -These, as far as I know« are the only means which science has hitherto -suggested for distinguishing a living body from a corpse; and we have -seen that none of them, save putrefaction, are invariably certain. In -a doubtful case, therefore, time should always be allowed for this -change to take place, so that the body may be interred in perfect -security. If this is done under the direction of a medical attendant -of ordinary information, relatives and friends may be convinced that -no mistake is possible; and their plain duty is to urge this salutary -delay in the very few cases where it can possibly be required. - -It is particularly important to urge this delay, when necessary, in -the case of persons who have apparently died of some contagious -disease, and who might otherwise have been buried alive. It is indeed, -much to be feared that persons in the collapse stage of cholera have -been sometimes buried as dead; especially (Cardinal Donnet remarks) -when they are attacked in hotels or lodgings, where a death from such -a cause would be particularly prejudicial. - -M. Mangin mentions one such case of a medical student in Paris, who -apparently died of cholera in 1832, and for whose funeral all -preparations were made, when a friend applied moxas to the spine. He -recovered consciousness at once, and survived many years; and there is -something grimly amusing in reading that he told the narrator: "Je me -suis chauffé avec le bois de mon cercueil!" Those, again, who have -read Mr. Maguire's "Life of Father Mathew," will not soon forget his -graphic description of a similar case, in which Father Mathew rescued -a young man from the hospital dead-house during the same epidemic at -Cork, just as he was being wrapped in a tarred sheet and placed in his -coffin. - -{809} - -Poe, in the tale from which I have quoted above, gives an instance of -burial during typhus fever, probably in one of the long periods of -unconsciousness and immobility occasionally occurring in that disease. -The unfortunate man remained in the grave for two days, when his body -was disinterred by the "body-snatchers," for the purpose of enabling -his medical attendants to make a _post-mortem_ examination. A casual -application of the galvanic current revived him, and he was soon after -restored to his friends, alive and in good health. This is said by Poe -to have happened to a Mr. Edward Stapleton, a London solicitor, in -1831. I have been unable to obtain any verification of this marvel, -but give it for what it may be worth. - -It is very remarkable that the state of prolonged syncope, or trance, -can sometimes be produced by a mere effort of the will. One of the -best-described cases is given by St. Augustine. [Footnote 188] It is -that of a priest named Restitutus, who used frequently, in order to -satisfy the curiosity of friends, to make himself totally immovable, -and apparently unconscious, so that he did not feel any pricking, -pinching, or even burning; nor did he appear to breathe at all. He -used afterward to say that "he could hear during the attack what was -said very loud by bystanders, as if from afar." He brought on the -attack "ad imitatas quasi lamentantis cujuslibet voces;" a sentence -which is unfortunately of rather uncertain meaning. Another case is -recorded by Dr. Cheyne, a fashionable Bath physician of the last -century. A patient of his, one Colonel Townsend, in order to convince -Dr. Cheyne's incredulity, one day voluntarily induced this state of -death-like trance "by composing himself as if to sleep." He then -appeared perfectly dead; and neither Dr. Cheyne nor another physician. -Dr. Bayard, nor the apothecary in attendance, could detect any -pulsation at the heart or wrist, or any breathing whatever. They were -just about to give him up for dead, when, at the end of half an hour, -he gradually recovered. - - [Footnote 188: "De Civ. Dei," xiv. cap. 24. ] - -But these performances are quite thrown into the shade by those of -certain fakeers in India. Mr. Braid, in his very interesting -"Observations on Trance, or Human Hybernation," collected several of -these almost incredible tales from British officers, who spoke as -having been themselves eye-witnesses of them in India. In the most -wonderful of them Sir Claude Wade (formerly Resident at the court of -Runjeet Singh) says that he saw a fakeer buried in an underground -vault for six weeks: the body had been twice dug up by Runjeet Singh -during this period, and found in the same position as when first -buried. In another case, Lieutenant Boileau (in his "Narrative of a -Journey in Rajwarra in 1835") relates that he saw a man buried for ten -days in a grave lined with masonry and covered with large slabs of -stone; and the fakeer declared his readiness to be left in the tomb -for a twelvemonth. In all these cases it is said that the body, when -first disinterred, was like a corpse, and no pulse could be detected -at the heart or the wrist; but warmth to the head and friction of the -body soon revived the bold experimenter. Supposing that the watch -(which was carefully kept up during each of these curious interments) -was not eluded by some of the jugglery in which Indians excel, we have -here proofs that the state of trance cannot only be voluntarily -induced, but prolonged over a very long time. - -The rationale of such phenomena is not very difficult to comprehend. -St. Augustine was undoubtedly right when he explained the case that -fell under his own observation by the supposition that some persons -have a remarkable and unusual power of the will over the action of the -heart. Dr. Carpenter suggests that the state of syncope could be kept -up much longer {810} in a vault in a tropical climate, where the body -would not lose too much of its natural heat, than in more temperate -countries; and Mr. Braid compares this condition to the slowness of -respiration and circulation during winter in hybernating animals. But -whatever may be the explanation, I cannot at least be accused of -digression in ending this gloomy paper with an account of men who are -voluntarily buried alive. - ------- - -Translated from Le Correspondant. - -A CELTIC LEGEND.--HERVÉ. - - -TO THE MEMORY OF M. AUGUSTIN THIERRY. - - -BY H. DE LA VILLEMARQUÉ. - - -I was one day walking in the country with a book in my hand. It was in -a district of that land where La Fontaine has said, "fate sends men -when it wishes to make them mad." Fate had not, however, sent me there -in order to make me mad. I found, on the contrary, in the charming -scenes which on all sides presented themselves to my view, and in the -original population which surrounded me, a thousand reasons for not -sharing the sentiment of the morose narrator of fables. A peasant -accosted me in the familiar but at the same time respectful style -habitual to those of that country, and, pointing to my book with his -finger: - -"Is it the Lives of the Saints," he said to me, "'that you are reading -there?" - -A little surprised at this address, which, however, by no means -explained my reading, I remained silent, thinking of this opinion of -the Breton peasants, according to whom the "Lives of the Saints" is -the usual reading of all those who know how to read; and, as my -interlocutor repeated his question, - -"Well, yes," I replied, to humor his thought, "there is sometimes -mention made of the saints in this book." - -"And what one's life are you reading now?" he continued obstinately. - -I mentioned at random the name of some saint, and thought I had -quieted his curiosity, but I had not satisfied his faith. - -"What was he good for?" he asked. - -For an instant I stopped short; what reply to offer to a man who -judged the saints by their practical utility? I turned upon him: "And -your own patron," I replied, "what maladies does he care?" - -"Oh! a great number," he said; "those of men as well as those of -animals. Although during his life he was only a poor blind singer, he -has a beautiful place in paradise, I assure you. The day he entered -heaven the sky was all illuminated." And, accompanying it with -commentaries, he chanted for me the legend of the patron of his -parish. - -I knew it already by Latin and French publications; but I was well -pleased to collect it fresh from the living spring of popular -tradition. By the aid of this later source and of the written record, -I have reconstructed the account about to be read. It presents, if I -do not deceive myself, a somewhat interesting page in the history of -Christian civilization in Armorica, in the sixth century; so judged -the great historian, my teacher and my friend, to whom I dedicate it. -Moral truth shines through all the legend as a light shines through a -veil. [Footnote 189] - - [Footnote 189: The most ancient compilation of this legend, written - six hundred years after the death of Saint Hervé, which is placed on - the 22d June in the year 568, exists in the Imperial Library, in the - portfolio of the "Blanc-Manteaux." No 38, p. 851: the two more - modern are, one of P. Albert le Grand, who has taken for his model - Jacques de Voragine; the other by Dom Lobineau, who has fallen into - the contrary extreme.] - -{811} - -I. - -It was the custom of the Frank kings to have a large number of poets -and musicians at their court; they often had them come from foreign -countries, taking pleasure, mingled with a barbarous pride, in -listening to verses sung in their honor, of which they understood not -a word. Among them were seen Italians, Greeks, and even Britons, who, -uniting their discordant voices with the singers of the German race, -emulated each other in flattering the not critical ears of the -Merovingian princes. Welcomed to their palace, after having been -driven from his own country by the Lombards, the Italian Fortunatus -has preserved for us recollections of these singular concerts at -which, lyre in hand, he performed his part while "the Barbarian," he -says, "added the harp, the Greek the instrument of Homer, and the -Briton the Celtic rote." The rote had the same fate as the lyre; it -sought in Gaul an asylum from the invaders of the British Isle, of -whom it might be said with equal truth as by the Italian poet of the -conquerors of his country, that they did not know the difference -between the gabble of the goose and the song of the swan. The -Merovingian kings piqued themselves on having more taste. - -Among the Britons who took refuge with them, and who continued to play -in Gaul nearly the same part that they played in the dwellings of -their native chiefs, there was a young man, named Hyvarnion. This -name, which signifies just judgment, had been given him in his own -country on the following occasion: He was in a school where he was -only known as the _petit savant_, and had for his teacher one of the -sages of the British nation, both monk and poet, named Kadok, now -known in Armorica as Saint Cado. At the end of the fifth century this -successor of the last Latin rhetors of Albion, instructed the young -islanders in grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, poetry, and music, -mingling, as it appears, with the methods of instruction transmitted -by classic antiquity, the traditions of the ancient Druids. The master -disputed one day with his little scholar after the manner of the -Druids, the subject of debate being: What are the eighteen most -beautiful moral virtues? Kadok indicated eighteen, but he purposely -omitted the principal, wishing to leave to his pupil the pleasure of -finding them out for himself. - -"For my part," said the scholar, "I believe that he possesses the -eighteen virtues _par excellence_, who is strong in trials and in -tribulations; gentle in the midst of suffering; energetic in -execution; modest in glory and in prosperity; humble in conduct; -persistent in good resolutions; firm in toil and in difficulties; -eager for instruction; generous in words, in deeds, and in thoughts; -reconciler of quarrels; gracious in his manners and affable in his -house; on good terms with his neighbors; pure in body and in thought; -just in words and deeds; regular in his manners; but above all, -charitable to the poor and afflicted." - -"Thine the prize!" cried Kadok, "thou hast spoken better than I." - -"Not so," replied the _petit savant_, "not so; I wished to carry it -over thee, and thou hast given a proof of humility; thou art the -wiser, and thine the palm." [Footnote 190] - - [Footnote 190: "Myvyrian archaeology of Wales," iii. p. 45.] - -This just judgment brought good fortune to the young scholar. It -procured for him the fine name by which he was afterward designated, -and under which he is presented to us in the Armorican legends. - -{812} - -Once passed over to the continent, Hyvarnion became henceforth only a -vague remembrance in the minds of the islanders. His countrymen knew -very little of his history, and it may be believed that he would have -been wholly forgotten had not a Cambrian poet consecrated to him three -verses recalling the memorable sayings of the great men of his nation. - -"Hast thou heard," said he, "what sang the _petit savant_ seated at -table with the bards?" - -"The man with a pure heart has a joyous countenance." - -The table which is here mentioned is that of the Frank king -Childebert. Hyvarnion sat there for four years, probably from the year -513 to the year 517. In the midst of the debaucheries and the scandals -of that court he appeared calm and serene in conscience and in -countenance, and like the children in the furnace, he sang. His songs -and his verses rendered him agreeable to the king, says a hagiographer -who charitably claims that the bard "merited the esteem of the king -even more by his virtues than by his talents." Whatever might be the -esteem of the murderer of the sons of Chlodimer for the virtues of the -poet of his court, Childebert showed himself as generous to him as -were the island chiefs to their household minstrels. But not precious -stuffs, nor gold, nor mead, the three gifts most dear to a poet, could -retain in the court of Paris a young man in whose eyes purity of soul -and of body, regularity of manners, and justice were among the most -beautiful of virtues. - -Under pretext of returning to his own country, where a brilliant and -decisive victory of Arthur over the Saxons had restored security, he -asked permission of the king to leave him. He departed loaded with -presents, even carrying, we are assured, a letter to Kon-Mor, or great -chief, who governed Armorica in the name of Childebert, in which the -king ordered that a ship should be placed at the service of the -British bard. - -Hyvarnion had been three days at the court of the Frank officer, and -the ship, which was to conduct him to the British isle was ready to -sail, when three dreams, followed by a meeting which he had probably -made after his arrival in Armorica, prevented his embarkation. A young -girl of the country, as remarkable for her beauty as for her talent -for poetry and music, appeared to him in his sleep. Seated on the -border of a fountain she sang in a voice so sweet that it pierced his -heart. Somewhat troubled on awaking, he drove away the dangerous and -too charming recollection; but the following night, the same young -girl, more beautiful still, if possible, and singing even more sweetly -than before, appeared to him a second time. "Then," says an author, -"he seriously feared that it was some wile or snare of the spirit of -fornication," and the night coming, he prayed the Lord to deliver him -from this dream, if it came not from him. "If on the contrary, it is -thou who dost send it to me," said he, "let me know clearly what it is -thou wouldst that I should do." - -And he sought his bed. But behold! scarcely had he slept than he had a -third dream. He saw a young man surrounded with light, who entered his -room and thus spoke to him: "Fear not to take for your wife her whom -you have seen seated on the border of the fountain, and whom you will -see again. Like you, she is pure and chaste, and God will bless your -love." - -The Frank officer to whom the bard related his dream, wished, without -doubt, to be agreeable to one recommended by the king, and took upon -himself to realize the prophecy. He proposed a hunting party to the -young man, where, he said, he would meet a certain marvellous hare, -called the _silver hare_, but with the secret purpose of contriving a -meeting with the {813} young girl of his dream. His hope was not -deceived. As they entered the forest where lodged the pretended silver -hare, they heard a voice singing in the distance. The young man -trembled and reined up his horse. "I hear," said he, "I hear the voice -singing which I heard last night." - -Without replying to him the royal officer turned himself toward the -part of the forest whence the voice proceeded, and following a -footpath which wound along the side of a stream, they reached a -spring, near to which a young girl was occupied in gathering simples. - -"The young girl sat by the fountain," says a poet. "White was her -dress, and rosy her face. - -"So white her dress, so rosy her face, that she seemed an eglantine -flower blooming in the snow. - -"And she did naught but sing: 'Although I am, alas! but a poor iris on -the banks of the water, they call me its Little Queen. - -"The Lord Count said to the young girl as he approached her, 'I salute -you, _Little Queen of the Fountain_. How gaily thou dost sing, and how -fair thou art! - -"'How fair thou art, and how gaily thou dost sing. What flowers are -those you gather there?' - -"'I am not fair, I sing not gaily, and these are not flowers that I -gather; - -"'These are not flowers that I gather, but different kinds of salutary -plants; - -"'One is good for those who are sad; for the blind, the other is good; -and the third, if I can find it, is that which will cure death.' - -"'Little Queen, I pray thee, give me the first of these plants.' - -"'Save your grace, my Lord, I shall give it only to him whom I shall -marry.' - -"'Thou hast given it! Give it then,' cried the royal officer, 'Thou -hast given it to this young man, who has just come to ask thee in -marriage.'" - -And the _Little Queen of the Fountain_ gave to the bard, in pledge of -her faith, the plant which produces gaiety. [Footnote 191] - - [Footnote 191: The Breton text of the legend of Saint Hervé, in - verse appears in the fifth edition of the _Barsas[??] Breis, Chante - populaires de la Bretagne_.] - -If we may credit the legend, it was even in the same mind that -Rivanone, as she was called, went to the fountain; for she also had a -dream the preceding night, a dream altogether like the bard's. She -herself confessed it, and if she had not avowed it, we could divine -it, "Those who love, have they not dreams?" _An qui amant, ipsi sibi -somnia fingunt?_ Seeing in this a certain proof of the will of heaven, -the Frank count brought the brother of Rivanone, an Armorican chief, -in whose manor the young girl had lived since the death of her father -and mother, and having related to him all that had passed, he demanded -of him his sister in marriage for the favorite of the king. - -Thus was settled this well-assorted union, and the wedding was -celebrated at the court of the Frank count. - -Tradition has described it in a manner almost epic. The small as well -as the great, the poor as well as the rich, were guests at the feast; -churchmen and warriors, magistrates and common people, arrived there -from all sides. Neither wine, nor hydromel, drawn from casks, was -wanting to the guests. Two hundred hogs were immolated, and two -hundred fat bulls, two hundred heifers, and one hundred roebucks, two -hundred buffalos, one hundred black, one hundred white, and their -skins divided among the guests. A hundred robes of white wool were -given to the priests, one hundred collars of gold to the valiant -warriors, and blue mantles without number to the ladies. The poor had -also their part; there was for them a hundred new suits; they could -not receive less at the marriage of a poet who placed duty to them at -the head of the most beautiful virtues. But in order worthily to do -him honor for himself--in order properly to celebrate the union of the -Armorican muse {814} with the genius of the island bards--a hundred -musicians did not seem too many--a hundred musicians who from their -high seats played for fifteen days in the court of the count. In order -to complete this by an act destined to crown the glory of the young -couple, we are assured the king of the bards of the sixth century, the -last of the Druids, the famous Meri, finally celebrated the marriage. - -Be this as it may, in regard to an honor which another popular -tradition appears to claim with more reason for the heroes of another -legend of the same century, the wedding at last at an end, the bride, -accompanied by a numerous suite, was conducted with her husband to the -manor of her brother, and if the Armorican customs of our days already -existed at that epoch, the minstrels at the wedding played on their -way a tender and melancholy air, named the Air of the Evening before -the Festival, which always brought tears to the eyelids of the bride. - -"God console the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on her -wedding night." - -It is said that Rivanone shed several tears in the midst of her joy. -Had she not for ever bid adieu to the sweet and simple girlish beliefs -which had surrounded her? to her dear fountain, on the banks of which -her companions the fairies danced at night in white robes, with -flowers in their hair, in honor of the new moon? to those graceful -dances which she herself, perhaps, had led, and to her songs in the -wood? to her salutary plants less brilliant but more useful and more -durable than flowers? to the herb which causes the union of hearts and -produces joy, which, wet in the waters of the fountain by a virgin -hand, she had shaken upon the brow of the man whom she was to take for -her husband? to the golden herb which spreads light, and in opening -the eyes of the body and the mind, opens to the knowledge of things of -the future? finally, had she not renounced the search for the plant -called the _herb of death_, which would be better named the _herb of -life_, because those die not who once have found it? - -But no! "God console the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on -her wedding night!" The spring of the fountain will cease not to flow; -the charming apparitions will desert not its borders; there shall be -ever seen there gliding through the night a luminous shadow of which -the moon will be but an imperfect image--the shadow of that immaculate -Virgin whom the Druids seem to have prophesied when they raised an -altar to her under the name of the _Virgin Mother_, and the white -fairies of Armorica less white, less pure than she, bending before -their patroness, will sing _Ave Maria!_ - -No plant shall wither there, not the lemon-plant which produces joy, -for it is at the foot of the cross of Jesus Christ, that it will -spring henceforth; it is to Him it owes its virtue, and shall be -called the _herb of the cross;_ nor _sélago_ which gives light, for it -is from the aureole of the saints that it borrows its rays, and to -discover it, it is necessary to be a saint; nor, more than all, the -herb of life, for he has shown it, he has given it as a legacy to his -disciples, to whom he has said; "I am the life; whosoever believeth in -me shall not die." - -And no more than the living spring which nourishes the herbs by its -side shall be exhausted that which sustains the fruits of the Spirit; -the soul shall not be stifled, it shall be purified; and for a moment -bent under regrets, as a rose under the rain, the Druid muse shall be -transformed and awake a Christian. - -Rivanone so awoke; God had consoled the inconsolable heart, the heart -of the girl on her wedding-night. - - - -{815} - -II. - -God consoles in his own way; he blesses in the same. Three years after -their marriage, Rivanone and Hyvarnion rocked the cradle of a crying -infant whom they endeavored to put asleep with their songs. Now this -infant was blind; and in remembrance of their sorrow they had named -him _Huervé_ or _Hervé_, that is to say, _bitter_ or _bitterness_. - -But, if his mother did not try upon his eyes the better appreciated -virtue of the herb which should cure the blind; if she asked of her -Christian faith surer remedies to give light to her son, she found, at -least, at the foot of the cross, the herb which sweetens bitterness; -and her husband himself without doubt recollected that he had said in -his childhood that one of the most beautiful of virtues is strength in -trials and tribulations. - -Two years afterward this strength was even more necessary by the side -of the cradle of the blind; a single hand rocked that cradle, a single -voice sang there--the other voice sang in heaven. The father had -already found the true plant which gives life. - -With death, misery entered the house of the bard, misery all the more -cruel that it had known only prosperity. It is always in this way that -it comes to those who live by poesy. Happily Providence is a more -charitable neighbor than the ant in the fable. He did not fail the -widow of the poet who had been the friend of the poor and afflicted. -It was not from the palace of the Frank count, henceforth indifferent -to the fortunes of a family his master had forgotten, nor from the -manor of Rivanone's brother, which she charmed no more with her songs, -that assistance came. It came from that cradle, watered with tears, -where slept a poor orphan. It is always from a cradle that God sends -forth salvation. - -"One day the orphan said to his sick mother, clasping her in his -little arms: 'My own dear mother, if you love me, you will let me go -to church; - -"'For here am I full seven years old, and to church I have not yet -been.' - -"'Alas! my dear child, I cannot take you there, when I am ill on my -bed.' - -"'When I am ill of an illness which lasts so long that I shall be -forced to go and beg for alms.' - -"'You shall not go, my mother, to beg for alms; I will go for you, if -you will permit me. - -"'I will go with some one who will lead me, and in going I will sing. - -"'I will sing your beautiful canticles, and all hearts will listen!' - -"And he departed finally to seek bread for his mother who could not -walk. - -"Now, whatever it was, it must have been a hard heart that was not -moved on the way to church; - -"Seeing the little blind child of seven years without other guide than -his little white dog. - -"Hearing him sing, shivering, beaten by the wind and the rain, without -covering on his little feet, and his teeth chattering with cold." - -It was the festival of All Saints, as the legend tells us; the -festival of the Dead follows it, and is prolonged during the second -night of this month which the Bretons call the _Month of the Dead_. -Having feasted the blessed, every one goes to the cemetery to pray at -the tomb of his parents, to fill with holy water the hollow of their -gravestone, or, according to the locality, to make libations of milk. -It is said that on this night the souls from Purgatory fly through the -air as crowded as the grass on the meadow; that they whirl with the -leaves which the wind rolls over the fields, and that their voices -mingle with the sighs of nature in mourning. Then, toward midnight, -these confused voices become more and more distinct, and at each -cottage door is heard this melancholy canticle. - -"In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, -greeting to you, people of this house, we come to you to ask your -prayers. - -{816} - -"Good people, be not surprised that we have come to your door; it is -Jesus who has sent us to wake you if you sleep. - -"If there is yet pity in the world, in the name of God, aid us. - -"Brothers, relatives, friends, in the name of God, hear us; in the -name of God pray, pray; for the children pray not. Those whom we have -nourished have long since forgotten us; those whom we have loved have -left us destitute of pity." - -Bands of mendicant singers, poor souls in trouble, they also, -wanderers like those of the dead, go by woods and graves, to the sound -of funereal bells, lending their voices to the unhappy of the other -world. - -The blind orphan, who, from the bed of his sick mother, went to kneel -on the couch of his dead father, commenced in their company his -apprenticeship as a singer, and if it is believed, as is claimed, that -the _chant des ames_, such as it has come to us, was composed by a -blind singer, under the inspiration of his father, whom he would have -delivered from pain, the blind singer should be Hervé, and the -inspirer Hyvarnion. - -The impression which the sainted child produced on the men of his time -is better founded; it has left traces in the popular imagination which -have been translated into touching narratives: - -"The evening of All Souls, long before the night, the child returned -to his mother, after his circuit. - -"And he was very tired, so tired that he could not hold himself on his -feet--all the route was slippery with ice. - -"So tired that he fell on his mouth, and his mouth vomited blood, -blood with broken teeth." - -Now these broken teeth did not give birth to furious warriors, like -those of the dragon in the fable; they were changed into diamonds -which shone from far in the darkness. - -Such is the language of the tradition. Can we better paint the songs -drawn forth by the sorrow of the son of Hyvarnion, these songs of a -Christian muse which cleared away the shadows no less crowded than -those of the night of All Souls? - -But these shadows were not dissipated instantly; the resistance made -to Christianity by the remains of Armorican paganism is not less -clearly indicated in traditional recollections than by the action and -influence of the little Christian singer. - -As he passed the cross-roads of a village where the inhabitants have -to this day preserved the sobriquet of _paganiz_, that is to say, -heathens, he fell in the midst of a circle of young peasants, who, -interrupting their dance, ran after him, hooting at him, throwing dirt -upon him, and crying: "Where are you going, blind one, blind one! -Where are you going, blind brawler?" - -"I'm going out of this canton, because I must," replied Hervé, "but -cursed be the race that comes from you." And, indeed, the little -mockers, struck by the anathema, returned to the dance, and they must -dance, it is said, to the end of the world, without ever resting or -ever growing, becoming like those dwarfed imps whom the Armoricans -adored, and whose power the Breton peasants still fear. - -Nature herself, that great Celtic divinity, took the side of the imps -against Hervé, while the mother of the saint, in beholding him -preaching the gospel, could say with the church: "How beautiful are -the feet of those who come from the mountains!" "The granite earth on -which he walked, refused to carry him, tearing his naked feet, and no -one," says the complaint, "no one wiped the blood from his wounds, -only his white dog with his tongue, who washed the feet of the saint, -and warmed them with his breath." - -Then, as he had cursed the mocking spirits, the saint cursed also the -stony ground which would arrest his steps, and it was rendered harder -than iron; when, going, according to his promise, into a district -where the rocks were such, the legend assures us, that "iron {817} nor -steel could ever pierce them," that is to say, the inhabitants were -obstinate and incorrigible barbarians, he returned to the saint who -inspired and enlightened him. - -"My mother, for seven or eight years I have gone over this country, -and have gained nothing from these hard and cruel hearts. - -"I would be in some solitary place where I should hear only songs; -where every day, my mother, I should hear only the praises of God." - -"Thou wouldst be a cleric, my son, to be later a priest! God be -praised! How sweet it would be to me to hear you say mass!" - -"It is not, my mother, to be a priest; the priest's state is a great -responsibility, and it frightens my weak spirit; besides the charge of -my own soul I should have the charge of other souls; but I would like -far better to live my life in the depths of the forest with the monks, -and to be instructed how to serve God by those who serve him." - -Rivanone agreed to the wishes of her son; the forest which he chose -for his retirement was inhabited by one of her uncles. Hervé sought -him, while his mother asked an asylum for herself of some pious women -who lived in community in another solitary place, having no -intercourse with the world except with the sick and infirm to whom -they were a providence. - - - -III. - -An ancient Breton ballad represents a magician going over the fields -of Armorica at the dawn of day, accompanied by a black dog. I do not -know what Christian voice addresses him: "Where are you going this -morning with your black dog?" "I go to find the red egg, the red egg -of the sea-serpent, on the edge of the river in the crevice of the -rock." - -Vain search! This egg, a sacred symbol to the ancient priests of Gaul -and other heathen worship, had been crushed with the serpent of the -Druids; the day was about to appear and put to flight the magician, -darkness, and the black dog. When, on the contrary, Hervé put himself, -guided by his white dog, on the way to his uncle's hermitage, the last -shades of night had disappeared, the day had risen, and he was to find -in the Christian school more precious talismans than the egg of the -Druid serpent. - -"Saint Hervé went to the school the sun encircled his brow with a -circle of light, the doves sang along his road, and his white dog -yelped for joy. - -"Arrived at the door of the hermitage, the dog barked louder and -louder, so that the hermit, hearing it, came forth to receive his -niece's child. - -"May God bless the orphan who comes in good faith to my school, who -has sought me to be my clerk; my child, may blessings be on thy -head.'" [Footnote 192] - - [Footnote 192: Same Breton legend of Saint Hervé.] - -This great unde of Hervé was named Gurfoed; like many other hermits he -brought up the children of Armorica. Among the grammarians whom he -made them learn by heart, the ecclesiastical writers indicate -Martianus Capella, the author of the "Noces de Mercure et de la -Philologie," of whom they make a monk, and among the subjects of his -instruction they specially mention poetry and music. Music took a -sufficiently high place in the schools and in the tastes of that age, -as is proved by a synod assembled at Vannes in the middle of the sixth -century, which believed it necessary to call the attention of the -Armorican bishops to that point, and drew up an article on the -necessity of adopting, in the whole province, a uniform chant. -Besides, in introducing it into the Christian ceremonies, and giving -it place even in the choir of the temple, the church has shown the -esteem which she has for this art. Hervé perfected himself in it more -and more; he even became so clever in it, observe the hagiographies, -"that he took the prize from all his fellow-students." - -{818} - -After seven years of study passed at a distance from his mother, he -wished to see her and receive new force and new light from her -counsels. According to some, Gurfoed conducted him to her; according -to the popular legend, she came herself to seek her son. - -And she said on approaching him: - -"I behold a procession of monks advancing, and I hear the voice of my -son; though a thousand were singing, I should know the voice of Hervé; -I behold my son dressed in gray, with a cord of hair for his belt. God -be with you, my son, the clerk!" - -"God be with you, my beloved mother! God is good; the mother is -faithful to her son. Coming from so far to see me, although you could -not walk!" - -"And now that I have come, and I see you, my son, what have you to ask -of me?" - -"I have nothing to ask of you, my mother, but the permission to remain -here to pray to God day and night, that we may meet each other in -paradise." - -"We shall meet in paradise or its surroundings, with the help of God, -my son. When I go there you shall have warning; you shall hear the -song of the angels." - -"In fact," continues the French legend, "the evening of her decease -and the next day, all those that were near saw a brilliant ladder by -the side of her oratory, one end reaching to the skies, by which -angels ascended and descended singing the most melodious motets and -canticles." - -The pious woman-poet, who had given to the church such a saint as -Hervé, well deserved that God's angels should sing, making a festival -for her last hour. - -Hervé, guided by Gurfoed, arrived at the bedside of his dying mother, -in time, if not to see her, (he could never see her except in heaven,) -at least to receive her blessing, and to mingle his canticles with -those of the pious companions of Rivanone, truly angelic choirs. - - -IV. - -After the death of his mother, Hervé returned to the hermitage of his -uncle; but Gurfoed, wishing to live a still more retired life, -abandoned his dwelling, and buried himself in the forest. Aided by -some pious men, who, in order to work and pray under his direction, -had built their cabins by the side of his, the saint continued to hold -the school of his predecessor. This school prospered; and every -evening could be seen a crowd of children coming from it, who -assembled there in the morning from all the manors, as well as from -all the surrounding cottages; a crowd as noisy, says a poet, as a -swarm of bees issuing from the hollow of an oak. The master, being -blind, could not teach them their letters; but he taught them -canticles, maxims in verse, religious and moral aphorisms, without -omitting those precepts of pure civility, so necessary to coarse -natures; and while exercising their memory he cultivated their -understanding and their heart: he polished their rude manners; he -endeavored, finally, to make men of them while bending their restless -natures under the curb of his discipline. Lessons of wisdom were not -clothed in other form in those heroic times; poetry and music, -inseparable from each other, had always been considered by the -ancients as necessary to cultivation, not only on account of the -harmony which they produced, but for utility, instruction, and -civilization of the people. Hervé in taking them for the basis of his -instruction, followed, without doubt, the counsels of Aristotle. It is -said that Orpheus thus civilized people by his songs. Those of Hesiod -have come to us, and present us with valuable examples of that -didactic poetry, the first with all nations. But though we have left -us some poems of Saint Hervé, they are very few in number; the most -were composed rather in his {819} spirit and according to his rules -than by himself. They give him the honor of those aphorisms to which -his name is given, which, at least, have the strong imprint of the -instructive poetry of the monks; they turn upon three of the virtues -which the religions principally endeavored to inculcate in their -Ignorant pupils, idle and independent, as are all barbarians, namely, -the love of instruction, the love of work, and the love of discipline, -elements which are the strength of all civilized society. - -"It is better to instruct a little child than to amass riches for -him." - -Saint Cado, the teacher of Hervé's father, said the same thing in -other terms, "There is no wealth without study;" and he added, "There -is no wisdom without science, no independence without science, no -liberty, no beauty, no nobleness, no victory without science," and, -giving to science its true foundation, he thus terminated his eloquent -enumeration: - -"No science without God." - -The second axiom credited to Saint Hervé is this: "He who is idle in -his youth heaps poverty on the head of his old age." - -The Breton mariners have retained the third maxim of which Saint Hervé -passers as the author: "The words of Hervé are words of wisdom," they -say; "Who yields not to the rudder will yield to the rock." I have -also seen attributed to him a moral song, widely spread in Brittany, -in which, perhaps, there are several couplets of his, but in any case -modernized in language and style. - -"Come to me, my little children, come to me that you may hear a new -song, which I have composed expressly for you. Take the greatest pains -in order that you may retain it entire." - -"When you wake in your bed, offer your heart to the good God, make the -sign of the cross, and say, with faith, hope, and love: - -"'My God, I give you my heart, my body, and my soul. Grant that I may -be an honest man, or that I may die before the time.' - -"When you see a raven flying, remember that the devil is as black as -wicked; when you see a little white dove, remember that your angel is -as gentle as white. - -"Remember that God sees you like the sun in the midst of the sky; -remember that God can make you bloom as the sun makes bloom the wild -roses of the mountains. - -"At night, before going to bed, recite your prayers; do not fail, so -that a white angel will come from heaven to guard you until morning. - -"Behold, dear children, the true means of living as good Christians. -Put my song into practice and yon will lead a holy life." - -Such lessons, where were so effectively found some of the practices -which make a man strong, that is to say, Christians; where there was -so much freshness and grace; where the sun, and the flowers, the birds -and the angels, all the most smiling images were purposely united, -captivated and charmed the young barbarians. I am no longer surprised -if the legend assures us that Hervé tamed the savage beasts; if it -recounts that one day he forced a thief of a fox to bring back, -"without hurting her," his hen which he had carried off, and another -time a robber of a wolf who had eaten up his ass--others say his -dog--to serve and follow him like a spaniel. This new style of spaniel -was seen in a crowd of bas-reliefs held in leash by the saints, and as -elsewhere mothers threatened their children with the wolf, the Breton -Mothers frightened their brats with _Hervé's spaniel._ Orpheus is thus -represented followed by tamed tigers; and another bard, a half pagan, -whom we have seen before accompanied by his black dog, is painted, -running through the woods with a wolf which he calls _his dear -companion. Tu Lupe, care comes_. The poets of the primitive times were -supposed to be in a perpetual union with nature, {820} and to have -reconquered the power, lost since leaving the Garden of Eden, of -making all animals obedient to them. Hervé was considered to be -endowed with the same power; but poetry and music were not the only -form which the Christian gave to his charms. His true magic was -prayer. See how he chanted when he was exposed to the snares or the -ferocity of animals or of men: - -"O God! deign to preserve me from snares, from oppression, from evil, -from the fox, the wolf, and the devil." - -Not more than men and wild beasts, could nature resist the force of -his prayer. Somewhat troubled in his retreat, and above all in his -humility, by the too noisy veneration of the Armorican chiefs, who -sent their sons to him, he plunged into the forest, as had Gurfoed, -seeking the hermitage, and the counsels of his former teacher; but the -grass and fern had effaced the path which led there, and all Hervé's -researches had been in vain, when he came to an opening in the forest -where a moss-covered rock was raised up on four stones; the ruins of a -cabin where the badgers had made their nests, were seen near at hand; -briers, thickets of holly and thorns encumbered the ground. Before -these ruins the saint, struck with a secret presentiment, prostrated -himself, his arms in the form of a cross, and cried three times: "In -the name of God, rock, split; in the name of God, earth, open, if you -hide from me my light." His prayer was scarcely terminated when the -earth trembled, the rocks split, and through the opening came a soft -odor, which revealed to him the sepulchre of him whom he was seeking. - -Such is the popular narrative; but, if it is intended to show his -power over nature, it shows still more his humility. It is exhaled -from this legend, as perfumes from the tomb of him whom he sought as -his light. - -I remember a song in which a kind of Druidess gives the assurance that -she knows a song which can make even the earth tremble: after a -frightful display of magical science, she finishes by saying, that -with the help of her _light_, as she calls her master she is able to -turn the earth in the contrary way. Here it is the pagan pride which -vaunts itself; but a voice from heaven is heard, "If this world is -yours, the other belongs to God!" and the sorceress was confounded. -Hervé, on the contrary, who is humble, and who prays; Hervé, who -speaks, not in his own name, but in the name of God, is heard and -exalted. It is verifying the words of the Gospel: "And the humble -shall be exalted." - -As he advanced in age, the saint continued to realize this promise. We -have up to this moment seen him glorified under the tatters of a -vagabond singer, as well as under the poor robe of an instructor of -little barbarians; we are now to see him as an agriculturist, even -architect, but always all the strongest when he would wish to appear -weakest in the eyes of men, always the greatest when he would wish to -be the lowest. - -The counsels which Hervé had gone to ask of his old teacher, he -received from his bishop, a wise and holy man, who came from Britain -to the country of Léon. The bishop judged him worthy to be a priest, -and wished to confer upon him the ecclesiastical character; but the -hermit, who from childhood had considered himself unworthy of this -great responsibility, persisted in his humble sentiments, and he would -consent to be promoted only to the lowest orders, to those called -minor orders. It is easy to believe that his bishop induced him to -definitely fix his dwelling somewhere with his disciples, and to give -to the Armoricans the example of a sedentary life, of manual labor, -the cultivation of the earth, and building, all things which are at -the foundation of all society, and which the barbarians little liked; -for he went to work to seek a place where he could establish a small -colony. - -{821} - -V. - -About half a century before, another bard also blind, and his hair -whitened by age, journeyed in Armorica from canton to canton, seated -on a small horse from the mountains, which a child led by the bridle. -He sought, like Hervé, a field to cultivate and in which he could -build. Knowing what herbs were produced by good ground, and what herbs -by bad ground, he asked from time to time of his guide: - -"Seest thou the green clover?" - -And always the child replied: - -"I see only the fox-glove blossoms." For at that epoch, Armorica was a -wild country. - -"Well, then, we will go farther," replied the old man. - -And the little horse went on his way. At last the child cried out: - -"Father, I see the clover blooming." - -And he stopped. The old man dismounted, and seating himself on a -stone, in the sun, he sang the songs of labor in the fields, and of -their culture in different seasons. This agricultural bard was -invested with a venerated character by the ancient Bretons. They -regarded him as a pillar of social existence; but his heart, open to -the cultivation of nature, was closed to the love of humanity. With -one of his brethren he said willingly: "I do not plough the earth -without shedding blood on it." He thirsted for the blood of Christian -monks and priests, and he offered it with joy as sacrifice to the -earth. To the wisest lessons in agriculture he added the most -ferocious predictions, "The followers of Christ shall be tracked; they -shall be hunted like wild beasts, they shall die in bands and by -battalions on the mountain. The wheel of the mill grinds fine; the -blood of the monks will serve as water." - -Scarcely sixty years had rolled away, and these same monks whom the -bard cursed as usurpers of the Celtic harp and as stealers of the -children of the Bretons, advanced peaceably over the ruins of a -religion of which he was the last minister, ready to shed blood also, -but their own; ready to perform prodigies, but of intelligence and of -love. Their chief was not on horseback, he walked with bare feet, (he -went always unshod, says his historian,) and having journeyed for a -long time, he spoke thus to his disciples: - -"Know, my brothers, it wearies me to be always running and wandering -in this way; pray to God that he will reveal to us some place in which -we can live to serve him for the rest of our days." - -They all commenced to pray, and behold a voice was heard saying: "Go -even toward the east, and where I shall three times tell thee to rest, -there thou wilt dwell." They commenced then on the road to the east, -and when they had gone very far, having found a field filled with high -green wheat, they sat down in its shade. Now, as he was thus reposing, -a voice was heard which said three times: "Make your dwelling here." -Filled with gratitude, they knelt to thank God, and being thirsty with -the heat and the travel, the saint by his prayers obtained a fresh -fountain. - -But the possession of the land was not easy to obtain from the -avaricious proprietor, whom the French legend charitably calls "an -honest man." Hervé demanded of him, however, only a little corner in -which to erect a small monastery. - -"Bless my soul, bless my soul!" cried the owner, "but my wheat is -still all green, and so if you cut it now it will be lost." - -"No, no," said Saint Hervé, "it shall not be so, for as much wheat as -I cut now so much will I render to you ripe and in the sack at harvest -time." - -{822} - -To this he agreed, and commenced to cut down the wheat, which he tied -in bundles and sheafs and laid apart; and God so favored them, that at -the time of the harvest, these sheafs which had been cut all green, -not only became ripe, but had blossomed and so multiplied that where -there had been one there were now two. The owner of the field seeing -this, gave thanks to God, who had sent these holy men to him, and gave -the whole field to the saint. [Footnote 193] - - [Footnote 193: Albert le Grand.] - -Thus the toil and intelligence of the monks made the earth render -double the ordinary crops, and, conquered by such miracles, the -barbarians, who, moreover, did not lose anything, gave willingly all -that was asked of them. - -The good religious from whom I have borrowed the translation of the -preceding narrative even assures us that the proprietor went so far as -to promise Hervé to build him a beautiful church at his own expense. -This new miracle, however, was only half carried out; for we see -Hervé, once the land had been conceded to him, going to work with his -disciples to procure the wood necessary for the construction of his -church and convent. He made a collection for this end, not only in the -country of Léon, but even in the mountains of Aiez, and in Cornwall, -visiting the manors of the chiefs and the richest monasteries. - -Everywhere, it is said, he was well received, thanks to the benefits -that he spread along his passage, and all the nobles to whom he -applied caused as many oaks to be cut down for him in their forests, -as he desired. It is, however, probable, notwithstanding the -assertions of the legendaries, that he found many but little disposed -to aid in the building of a Christian church, and that all those whom -he visited did not show themselves very eager to cut down the trees, -so venerated in Armorica; for in the following century, a council held -at Nantes near the year 658, attests that no one dared break a branch -or offshoot of one. The legend itself allows us to see imperfectly -some stumbling-blocks which the holy architect found in his way; they -must have torn his feet as cruelly as those which we have seen him -punish by hardening them, in the days when he was a public singer. At -first there was a rude chief who passed near him with a great train of -men, dogs, and horses, without saluting him, even without looking at -him; again there was another who did not believe in his miracles, and -said so out loud at supper before a large company, and in the face of -the saint. At that same banquet, at the commencement of the repast, -while Hervé was singing with the harp to bless the table, a new kind -of adversary, the frogs, commenced also to sing, to defy him, to sing -_their vespers_, as a Breton poet explains it, provoking the laughter -of the guests. At another banquet, a cup-bearer who was a demon in -disguise, one of those who excited to intemperance, to gluttony, to -idleness and noise, to discord and quarrels, wishing to kill him, -served him, together with the other guests, a beverage the effect of -which was to make them cut each other's throats. - -This evil spirit followed the holy architect even to the midst of a -monastery, with the intention of deceiving him more surely. Taking the -form of a monk, he offered his services to help him in building his -church. - -"What is thy name?" Hervé asked of him. - -"I am a master carpenter, sir." - -"Thy name, I tell thee," returned the saint. - -"Sir, I am a mason, locksmith, able to work at any trade." - -"Thy name? For the third time, I command thee in the name of the -living God, to tell thy name." - -"Hu-Kan! Hu-Kan! Hu-Kan!" cried the demon; and he threw himself, head -foremost, from a rock into the sea. - -Thus did the Druid superstitions vanish before Hervé, having for a -moment resisted him, and sought to deceive him under different -disguises. - -{823} - -This Hu-Kan, that is to say, Hu the genius, is no other than the god -_Hu-Kadarn_ of the Cambrian traditions. The devil who incites to -idleness and debauchery is the Celtic divinity corresponding to the -Liber or Bacchus of the Romans. There is in these frogs who chanted -_their vespers_ a recollection of Armorican paganism. "The saint -silenced them as suddenly as if he had cut their throat" says a -hagiographer, adding, "he left voice but to one, who ever since has -continued to croak." - -Now, by a sort of prodigy of tradition, a popular song, entitled the -"Vespers of the Frogs," has come to us; it is the work of the pagan -poets of Armorica, represented in common recitatives under the -grotesque figure of these beastly croakers. It offers a summary of the -Druid doctrines of the fourth century; and it seemed so necessary to -the first Christian missionaries to destroy it, that they made a Latin -and Christian counterpart, as if they would raise the cross in the -face of the heathen pillars. One of these missionaries, Saint Gildas, -was so opposed to the pagan music of his time that he qualified its -croaking with the sweet and gentle music of the children of Christ; -and his disciple Taliésin, the great poet baptized in the sixth -century, hushed at a banquet, as Saint Hervé had done, the infamous -descendants of the priests of the god Bel, who wished to put him to -defiance. - -The sound of Christian music was to be heard from all the vaults of -the church, for the construction of which Saint Hervé had made so many -journeys. Twelve columns of polished wood were erected to hold the low -and arched framework; three large stones formed the altar; the spring -with which he had refreshed his disciples furnished the water -necessary to the sacrifice; the wheat sown by them, the bread for -consecration; and the wines of some richer monastery, more exposed to -the sun, the eucharistic wine; for it was an ancient and touching -custom that those who had vineyards gave wine to those who had not, -and in exchange, the owners of bees furnished wax to those who lacked -it. Hervé, according to his biographers, himself superintended the -workmen, or rather incited the laborers by his words, and sustained -them by his songs. Like another poet of antiquity, he built, with his -songs, not a city for men, but a house for God. - - - -VI. - -The fathers of an Armorican council of the fifth century terminated -their canons by these noble words: "May God, my brethren, preserve for -you your crown." A last flower seemed wanting to that of Hervé. He was -now to obtain it. The poor shoeless child, the poet of the wretched, -the school-teacher of little children, the wandering agriculturist, -the mendicant architect, was to become the equal--what do I say?--the -corrector of bishops and kings. - -At that time there reigned a Kon Mor in Brittany, who had rendered -himself abominable to the men of that country by his tyranny and -cruelties. Unable to endure him, they flocked in great numbers from -all parts of Armorica to their bishop, the blessed Samson; and as he -saw them at his door, silent and with lowered heads, he asked them: - -"What has happened to the country?" - -Then answered the more respectable among them: - -"The men of this land are in great desolation, sir." - -"And why so?" asked Samson. - -"We had a good chief of our own race, and born on our own land, who -governed us by legitimate authority; and now there has come over us a -foreign Kon Mor, a violent man, an enemy to justice, possessed of -great power; he holds us under the most odious oppression; he has -killed our national chief, and dishonored his widow, our queen. He -would hare killed their Sun, had not the poor child taken to flight -and sought refuge in France." - -{824} - -The bishop, moved with pity, promised the deputies that he would aid -them, and seeking a means to re-establish their rightful chief, he -resolved to begin by striking the usurper with the terrible arm of -excommunication. - -He therefore sent letters to all the Armorican bishops to unite with -him in devising some means of frightening the tyrant. The place of -reunion was a high mountain much venerated by the bards and the -people, named the Run-bre, and situated in the heart of the country -governed by the Kon Mor. Although only prelates should have been -present, Hervé was sent there, and even the venerable assembly were -not willing to enter into deliberation until he came, notwithstanding -the opposition of one member of the meeting, less humble and less -patient than the others. This _courtier bishop_, as the legend styles -him, finding that Hervé made them wait a long time, "Is it proper that -men like us," he exclaimed, "should remain here indefinitely on -account of a wretched blind monk?" At this moment, the saint arrived. -His bare feet, his miserable hermit's robe made of goat-skin, in the -midst of the men and horses richly apparelled, belonging to the -prelate of the court, drew perhaps a smile of proud disdain to the -lips of many. Hearing the impious words of which he was the object, -the saint was not irritated, but said gently to the bishop: "My -brother, why reproach me with my blindness? Could not God have made -you blind as well as me? Do you not know well that he makes us as he -pleases, and that we should thank him that he has given us such a -being as he has?" The other bishops, continues the legend, strongly -rebuked this one, and he was not long in feeling the heavy hand of -God; for he immediately fell to the ground, his face covered with -blood, and lost his sight; but the good saint, wishing to render good -for evil to this proud mocker, prayed to God for the unfortunate; and -then, rubbing his eyes with salt and water, restored him his sight; he -gave him understanding also; according to the remark of another -hagiographer, understanding, that light of the soul, obscured by -pride, more precious still and not less difficult to recover than the -light of the body. After this they proceeded to the ceremony of -excommunicating the great chief of the Armoricans. - -Standing on a rock, at the summit of the mountain, a lighted taper in -his hand, and surrounded by the nine bishops of Armorica, each one -holding a blessed taper, the saint pronounced, in the name of all, -according to the formula of the times, these terrible words against -the foreign tyrant: "We in virtue of the authority which we hold from -the Lord, in the name of God the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy -Ghost, do declare the great chief of the Armoricans excommunicated -from the threshold of the holy church of God, and separated from the -society of Christians; that, if he comes not quickly to repentance, we -crush him beneath the weight of an eternal malediction, and condemn -him by an irrevocable anathema. May he be exposed to the anger of the -sovereign Judge, may he be torn from the heritage of God and his -elect, that in this world he may be cut off from the communion of -Christians, and that in the other he may have no part in the kingdom -of God and his saints; but that, bound to the devil and his imps, he -may live devoted to the flames of vengeance, and that he may be the -prey, even in this world, to the tortures of hell. Cursed be he in his -own house, cursed in his fields, cursed in his stomach, cursed be all -things that he possesses, from his dog that howls at his appearance -even to his cock who insults him by his crowing. May he share the lot -of Dathan and Abiron whom hell swallowed alive; the lot of Ananias and -of Sapphira, {825} who lied to the Apostles of the Lord, and were -struck with instant death; the lot of Pilate and Judas, who were -traitors to God; may he have no other sepulchre than have the asses, -and may these tapers which we extinguish be the image of the darkness -to which his soul is condemned. Amen." [Footnote 194] - - [Footnote 194: This formula of excommunication of the sixth century - has been discovered and recently translated by M. Alfred Ramé, in an - article, the "Melanges d'Histoire et d'Archaeologie Bretonne," a - commendable publication.] - -The bishops repeated three times, Amen; and the president of the -synod, having extinguished under his foot the candle which he held in -his hand, all the prelates did the same. But this dying candle, the -image of the extinguished light of the great chief, was not so easily -relighted as that of the haughty prelate. Once the tyrant's head was -under the bare foot of the mendicant monk, tyranny was dishonored and -humanity avenged. - -Hervé does not appear to have long survived this great act of national -and religious justice, in which he performed the greatest part; he -saw, however, the result, and could hail the dawn of a noble reign -which would assure, without the effusion of blood, say the historians, -the death of the usurper. - -Another dawn was rising for the saint. - -It is related that being shut up in the church which he had built, -fasting and praying for three days, separated from his disciples and -his pupils, the heavens opened above his head, and with the heavens -his eyes were opened to contemplate the celestial court. Ravished to -ecstasy, he chanted a Breton canticle, which was later put into -writing, and has received its modern form from the last apostle of the -Armoricans, Michel Le Nobletz. - -"I see heaven opened, heaven my country; I would that I might fly -there as a little white dove! - -"The gates of Paradise are opened to receive me; the saints advance to -meet me. - -"I see, truly I see God the Father, and his blessed Son, and the Holy -Ghost. - -"How beautiful she is, the Holy Virgin, with the twelve stars which -form her crown. - -"Each with his harp in his hand, I see the angels and the archangels, -singing the praises of God. - -"And the virgins of all ages, and the saints of all conditions, and -the holy women, and the widows crowned by God! - -"I see radiant in glory and beauty, my father and my mother; I see my -brothers and my countrymen. - -"Choirs of little angels flying on their light wings, so rosy and so -fair, fly around their heads, as a harmonious swarm of bees, -honey-laden in a field of flowers. - -"O happiness without parallel! the more I contemplate you, the more I -long for you!" - -The heavens did not close again until the canticle was finished, as if -they had taken pleasure in the song of the predestined son of -Hyvarnion and Rivanone, who heard him with smiles and called him to -them. - - - -VII. - -Before the Revolution there was preserved in the treasury of the -Cathedral of Nantes a silver shrine, enriched with precious stones, a -present from an ancient Breton chief. In great judicial cases it was -carried in procession to the judges to receive the solemn vows which -they afterward made upon the book of the Evangelists. A king of France -and a duke of Brittany, after long wars, united under this shrine -their reconciled hands and swore to live in peace. - -At the same time there was seen, in the depths of lower Brittany, in -the sacristy of a little country church, an oaken cradle, with nothing -about it remarkable unless its age. The inhabitants of the parish, -however, venerated it as much as the silver shrine. The mendicant -singers, above all, have {826} for it an especial affection. They love -to touch it with their great musical instruments, their traveller's -goods, their rosaries, their staffs, all that they have which is most -precious. Kneeling before this cradle, they kiss it with respect, and -arriving sad, they depart joyous. - -Now, the silver shrine contained, wrapped in purple and silk, the -relics of Saint Hervé. The oaken cradle was the same in which he slept -to the songs of the bard and his poet-wife, whom God had given him for -father and mother. - -To-day the ducal reliquary is no longer in existence. The metal, -thrice consecrated by sanctity, justice, and royalty, was stolen and -melted down in that sadly memorable epoch when these three things, -trampled under foot, were valued less than a bit of silver. But the -wooden cradle of the humble patron of the singers of Brittany, that -poor worm-eaten cradle, so like his fate on earth, exists still, and -more than one mendicant having respectfully pressed his lips upon it, -as in other times, goes away singing with a clearer voice and a -comforted heart. - --------- - -From Once a Week. - - - -LOST FOR GOLD. - - - She stood by the hedge where the orchard slopes - Down to the river below; - The trees all white with their autumn hopes - Looked heaps of drifted snow; - - They gleamed like ghosts through the twilight pale. - The shadowy river ran black; - "It's weary waiting," she said, with a wail, - "For them that never come back. - - "The mountain waits there, barren and brown, - Till the yellow furze comes in spring - To crown his brows with a golden crown, - And girdle him like a king. - - The river waits till the summer lays - The white lily on his track; - But it's weary waiting nights and days - For him that never comes back. - - "Ah! the white lead kills in the heat of the fight. - When passions are hot and wild; - But the red gold kills by the fair fire-light - The love of father and child. - - "'Tie twenty years since I heard him say, - When the wild March morn was airy, - Through the drizzly dawn--'I m going away, - To make you a fortune, Mary.' - -{827} - - "Twenty springs, with their long grey days. - When the tide runs up the sand, - And the west wind catches the birds, and lays - Them shrieking far inland. - - "From the sea-wash'd reefs, and the stormy mull, - And the damp weed-tangled caves:-- - Will he ever come back, O wild sea-gull. - Across the green salt waves? - - "Twenty summers with blue flax bells, - And the young green corn on the lea, - That yellows by night in the moon, and swells - By day like a rippling sea. - - "Twenty autumns with reddening leaves, - In their glorious harvest light - Steeping a thousand golden sheaves, - And doubling them all at night. - - "Twenty winters, how long and drear! - With a patter of rain in the street. - And a sound in the last leaves, red and sere; - But never the sound of his feet. - - The ploughmen talk by furrow and ridge, - I hear them day by day; - The horsemen ride down by the narrow bridge, - But never one comes this way. - - And the voice that I long for is wanting ther, - And the face I would die to see, - Since he went away in the wild March air, - Ah! to make a fortune for me. - - "O father dear I but you never thought - Of the fortune you squandered and lost; - Of the duty that never was sold and bought. - And the love beyond all cost. - - "For the vile red dust you gave in thrall - The heart that was God's above; - How could you think that money was all, - When the world was won for love? - - "You sought me wealth in the stranger's land, - Whose veins are veins of gold; - And the fortune God gave was in mine hand, - When yours was in its hold. - - "If I might but look on your face," she says, - "And then let me have or lack; - But it's weary waiting nights and days - For him that never comes back." - ------- - -{828} - - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - -THE SOLUTION OF THE NILE PROBLEM. [Footnote 195] - - [Footnote 195: "The Albert N'Yanza, Great Basin of the Nile, and - Exploration of the Nile Sources." By Samuel White Baker, M.A., - F.R.G.S. London: Macmillan. & Co. 1865.] - - -For some time the complaint of those who have been everywhere, and -seen everything men of travel and of fashion ought to see, has been -that the world is "used-up" for the tourist. Where can he now go for a -fresh sensation? Asia and America remain no more untrodden fields than -Europe; and as for the isles of the farthest sea, rich and idle -"fugitives and vagabonds" have braved as many dangers among savage -tribes as the early missionaries, from impulse no nobler than -restlessness. Whither next shall they direct their strides? Iceland -stood in favor for a year or two; but the cooks are bad there, and the -inhabitants speak Latin. Japan has novelties, but bland Daimios are -not trustworthy. The sightseeker has no relish for being among a -people who, on very slight provocation, may perform upon him a process -akin to their own "happy despatch." In the exhaustion of interest in -mere horizontal locomotion, the Cain-like race we form part of try the -effect of ascension to the highest and hugest cloud-capped peaks; -but Matterhorn accidents have rather brought these -mountains-of-the-(full)-moon performances into disfavour. Pending the -discovery of some new wonder or feat, to occupy many vacant minds and -stir a few energetic ones, and during the crisis of a Continental war, -the migratory section amongst us must bear their misery as best they -can. It may console them to hope that the flying-machine will yet be -perfected, and air-sailing supersede Alpine climbing. Probably it -would be quite as exciting, and it would not tire the limbs. If there -be one geographical problem still left unsolved, it must be to find -the site of that cave of Adullam which has sorely puzzled numbers of -erudite Parliamentarians, one of whom was heard to make answer to a -query regarding its locality that he "never was a geographer." For the -purpose of stimulating the curiosity of the gentleman, and of guiding -him in his search among the lore of school-boy days, we may take from -a book well known a real, and not figurative, description of the Cave -in which shelter was lately found by some forty wayfarers uncertain as -to their route in a difficult country. "Leaving our horses," says an -Adullamite, who long preceded them, "in charge of wild------, and -taking one for a guide, we started for the cave, having a fearful -gorge below, gigantic cliffs above, and the path winding along a shelf -of the rock, narrow enough to make the nervous among us shudder. At -length, from a great rock hanging on the edge of this shelf, we sprang -by a long leap into a low window which opened into the perpendicular -face of the cliff. We were then within the hold of, ------ and creeping -half-doubled through a narrow crevice for a few rods, we stood beneath -the dark vault of the first grand chamber of this mysterious and -oppressive cavern. Our whole collection of lights did little more than -make the damp darkness visible. After groping about as long as we had -time to spare, we returned to the light of day, fully convinced that -with ------ and his lion-hearted followers inside, all the strength -of ------ under ------ could not have forced an entrance." Next to a -search for the celebrated cave, we can {829} imagine no geographical -extravagance equal to one for those Nile Sources that have been the -dream of ancients and moderns. The undertaking possessed an the -attraction of freshness. Your North-west passage is a mere track -through a waste, without the possibility of novelty. What its dangers -and privations, its few monotonous sights and events, were to -half-a-dozen navigators they would be to half-a-dozen more. But in -passing upward to the huge plateau in Central Africa where the Nile -Basin lies, itself again overtopped by the lofty range of the Blue -Mountains, down which giant cascades ceaselessly roll in unwitnessed -splendor, the traveller encounters perils enough, but relieved with a -human interest. The tribes he meets are many and unique in their -habits, strangely unlike each other, within short distances, and -having about them an extraordinary mixture of an incipient -civilization with some of the most depraved of the customs of savage -life. In the journey, too, there is endless variety. The expedition up -the river, with its hunting episodes, its difficulties with mutinous -servants and _seamen_, its devices to appease native cupidity and -circumvent native cunning, and its encounters with those vilest of the -pursuers of commerce, the slave-traders, forms one part of the -interest; and next come inland rides through tangled forest shades, -rude villages of cone-shaped huts, suspicious hordes of naked -barbarians, to whom every new face is that of a plunderer of slaves or -cattle, and "situations" in which it is impossible for the honest -traveller to escape sharp contests with a party of Turkish marauders, -for whose sins against the commandment he would otherwise be held -responsible by the relentless javelin-men of the desert. All this -offers adventure of a genuine description to him who has the love of -it in his disposition; and such a man is Mr. Samuel White Baker. His -impulses are irrepressible: nature made him a traveller. He is the -modern counterpart of those primitive personages, the Columbuses of -the times just succeeding the flood, whose purposeless wanderings into -far space from the spot where the Mesopotamian cradle of mankind was -rocked, peopled lands lying even beyond great seas; men whose feats -were such that the philosophers of five thousand years after can -hardly believe they performed them. If Mr. Baker had been a dweller in -Charran, he would have begged the patriarch Abraham to give him -camels, water-bags, and bushels of corn, and would have set off for -the eastern margin of the globe, and the shores of the loud-sounding -sea. Arrived there, he would have burned a tree hollow, and launched -boldly forth upon the deep, to go whithersoever fortune listed. - -All his life a traveller in the true sense, Mr. Baker last conceived -the idea of securing for "England" the glory of discovering the -sources of the Nile. This bit of patriotic sentiment undoubtedly added -to the zest of the undertaking, to which, as has been said, he was -impelled by instinct. He is a man of resolute will, and to think and -to do are with him simultaneous acts. His preparations were instantly -in progress, and from that moment his motto, come what might, -was--Forward. Part of this perseverance no doubt was due to the -encouragement of Mrs. Baker's presence. That lady is the model -explorer's wife, and we could wish for such a race of women if there -were any problems geographical left to be solved. She set out with Mr. -Baker from Cairo, determined to go through all dangers with him, and -well knowing their nature; and she successfully accomplished the task, -and has returned to share his renown. To a full share of it she is -really entitled; for Mrs. Baker was much more than a companion to her -husband on his wanderings. She assisted him materially, not only -tending him when sick, not only conciliating the natives by her -kindness, but contributing to remove difficulties by wise {830} -counsel, bearing all hardships uncomplainingly, and--rare -virtue!--submitting to her lord's authority when he was warranted in -deciding what was best to be done, or left undone. Mrs. Baker could -also somewhat play the Amazon when occasion required. If she did not -actually take the shield and falchion, and go to the front of the -fight, she spread out the arms, loaded and prepared the weapons, and -rendered brave and effective aid on an occasion when the Discoverer of -the Great Basin of the Nile was likely to have become, if he did not -succeed in intimidating his foes by the parade of his armory, a sweet -morsel for the palate of the Latookas. Mr. Baker speaks with manly -tenderness of his wife, and the picture drawn of her in his incidental -references, will gain for her hosts of friends among his readers. - -The narrative is quiet until he reaches Gondokoro. There, in March, -1863, he met Speke and Grant, who were descending the Nile, having -completed the East African expedition. When there the report reached -him on a certain morning that there were two white men approaching who -had come from the sea. These were the travellers from the Victoria -N'Yanza, the _other_, and smaller, source of the Nile. They had -undoubtedly solved the mystery. Still they had left something for -Baker to do, and candidly declared to him that they had not completed -the actual exploration of the Nile sources. In N. lat. 2° 17' they had -crossed the river which they had tracked from the Victoria Lake; but -it had there (at Karuma Falls) taken an extraordinary bend westward, -and when they met it again it was flowing from the W.S.W. There was -clearly another source, and Kamrasi, King of Unyoro, had informed them -that from the Victoria N'Yanza the Nile flowed westward for several -days' journey, and fell into another lake called the Luta N'Zige, from -which it almost immediately emerged again, and continued its course as -a navigable river to the north. Speke and Grant would have tracked out -this second source had not the tribes in the districts been at the -time at fend, and on such occasions they will not abide the face of a -stranger. Mr. Baker, guided by their hints, set out to complete what -they had begun. - -Gondokoro is a great slave-market--Mr. Baker says "a perfect hell," -"a colony of cut-throats." The Egyptian authorities wink at what goes -on, in consideration of liberal largesses. There were about six -hundred traders there when Mr. Baker visited it, drinking, -quarrelling, and beating their slaves. These ruffians made razzias on -the cattle of the natives, who are a cleanly and rather industrious -race of the picturesque type of savage. Their bodies are tattooed all -over, and an immense cock's feather, rising out of the single tuft of -hair left upon their shaven crowns, gives them rather an imposing -appearance. Their weapons of defence are poisoned arrows, with which -the traders at times make deadly acquaintance. Of course Mr. Baker had -unforeseen difficulties on setting out. What traveller ever started on -an expedition without meeting with his most irritating obstacles at -the threshold? Mr. Baker, however, was an old hand, and it took a good -deal to daunt him. His escort were as troublesome a set of vagabonds -as could have been collected together probably in Africa itself. He -had a mutiny to quell ere many days; and it is at this point we come -to see what sort of man is our explorer. He is a muscular Christian of -the stoutest type. Heavy fell his hand on skulls of sinning -niggers--it was the readiest implement, and down went the offender -under the blow so signally that his fellows saw and trembled. Mr. -Baker was a great "packer." His asses and camels carried a vast amount -of stuff, but so arranged and fitted that no breakdown occurred in the -most trying situations for man and beast. - -{831} - -The Latookas were the first race of savages Mr. Baker encountered. -They are about six feet high, and muscular and well-proportioned. They -have a pleasing cast of countenance, and are in manner very civil. -They are extremely clever blacksmiths, and shape their lances and -bucklers most skilfully. One of the most interesting passages of the -whole book is the author's account of this tribe: - - "Far from being the morose set of savages that I had hitherto seen, - they are excessively merry, and always ready for either a laugh or a - fight. The town of Tarrangotté contained about three thousand - houses, and was not only surrounded by iron-wood palisades, but - every house was individually fortified by a little stockaded - courtyard. The cattle were kept in large kraals in various parts of - the town, and were most carefully attended to, fires being lit every - night to protect them from flies, and high platforms in three tiers - were erected in many places, upon which sentinels watched both day - and night, to give the alarm in case of danger. The cattle are the - wealth of the country, and so rich are the Latookas in oxen, that - ten or twelve thousand head are housed in every large town. . . . - The houses of the Latookas are bell-shaped. The doorway is only two - feet and two inches high, and thus an entrance must be effected on - all-fours. The interior is remarkably clean, but dark, as the - architects have no idea of windows." - -Mr. Baker notices the fact that the circular form of hut is the only -style of architecture adopted among all the tribes of Central Africa, -and also among the Arabs of Upper Egypt; and that although there are -variations in the form of the roof, no tribe has ever yet dreamt of -constructing a window. The Latookas are obliged constantly to watch -for their enemy, a neighboring race of mule-riders, whose cavalry -attacks they can hardly withstand, although of war-like habits, and -accordingly-- - - "The town of Tarrangotté is arranged with several entrances in the - shape of low archways through the palisades: these are closed at - night by large branches of the hooked thorn of the bitter bush, (a - species of mimosa.) The main street is broad, but all others are - studiously arranged to admit only of one cow, single file, between - high stockades. Thus, in the event of an attack, these narrow - passages can be easily defended, and it would be impossible to drive - off their vast herds of cattle unless by the main street. The large - cattle kraals are accordingly arranged in various quarters in - connection with the great road, and the entrance of each kraal is a - small archway in the strong iron-wood fence, sufficiently wide to - admit one ox at a time. Suspended from the arch is a bell, formed of - the shell of the Dolape palm-nut, against which every animal must - strike either its horns or back on entrance. Every tinkle of the - bell announces the passage of an ox into the kraal, and they are - thus counted every evening when brought home from pasture." - -The toilet of the natives is of the simplest, except in one -particular. The Latooka savage is content that his whole body should -be naked, but expends the most elaborate care on his headdress. Every -tribe in this district has a distinct fashion of arranging it, but the -Latookas reduce it to a science. Mr. Baker describes the process and -the result: - - "European ladies would be startled at the fact, that to perfect the - _coiffure_ of a man requires a period of from eight to ten years! - However tedious the operation the result is extraordinary. The - Latookas wear most exquisite helmets, all of which are formed of - their own hair, and are, of course, fixtures. At first sight it - appears incredible; but a minute examination shows the wonderful - perseverance of years in producing what must be highly inconvenient. - The thick crisp wool is woven with fine twine, formed from the bark - of a tree, until it presents a thick network of felt. As the hair - grows through this matted substance it is subjected to the same - process, until, in the course of years, a compact substance is - formed, like a strong felt, about an inch and a half thick, that has - been trained into the shape of a helmet. A strong rim of about two - inches deep is formed by drawing it together with thread, and the - front part of the helmet is protected by a piece of polished copper, - while a piece of the same metal, shaped like the half of a bishop's - mitre, and about a foot in length, forms the crest. The framework of - the helmet being at length completed, it must be perfected by an - arrangement of beads, should the owner of the head be sufficiently - rich to indulge in the coveted distinction. The beads most in - fashion are the red and the blue porcelain, about the size of small - peas. These are sewn on the surface of the felt, and so beautifully - arranged in sections of blue and red, that the entire helmet appears - to be formed of beads, and the handsome crest of polished copper, - surmounted by ostrich plumes, gives a most dignified and martial - appearance to this elaborate head-dress." - -{832} - -With Commoro, chief of the Latookas, Mr. Baker had a religious -conversation. The savage was clever, even subtile. He does not appear, -however to have shaken the faith of the traveller. Probably had Mr. -Baker been a Bishop (Colenso) trained in the theology of the schools, -he might have been driven crazy by this mid-African counterpart of the -famous Zulu. The natives exhume the bones of their dead, and celebrate -a sort of dance round them; and Mr. Baker asked his Latookan friend-- - - "Have you no belief in a future existence after death? Is not some - idea expressed in the act of exhuming the bones after the flesh is - decayed?" - - _Commoro (loq.)_--"Existence after death! How can that be? Can a - dead man get out of his grave unless we dig him out?" - - "Do you think a man is like a beast that dies and is ended?" - - _Commoro._--"Certainly. An ox is stronger than a man, but he dies, - and his bones last longer; they are bigger. A man's bones break - quickly; he is weak." - - "Is not a man superior in sense to an ox? Has he not a mind to - direct his actions?" - - _Commoro._--"Some men are not so clever as an ox. Men must sow corn - to obtain food, but the ox and wild animals can procure it without - sowing." - - "Do you not know that there is a spirit within you more than flesh? - Do you not dream and wander in thought to distant places in your - sleep? Nevertheless, your body rests in one spot. How do you account - for this?" - - _Commoro_ (laughing.)--"Well, how do you account for it?" - -. . . - - "If you have no belief in a future state, why should a man be good? - Why should he not be bad, if he can prosper by wickedness?" - - _Commoro_.--"Most people are bad; if they are strong, they take from - the weak. The good people are all weak; they are good because they are - not strong enough to be bad." - -Extremes meet; there are sages of modern days whose much learning has -brought them up to the intellectual pitch of the savage's materialism. -They might, ingenious as they are, even take a lesson in sophistry -from the Latookan. When driven into a corner by the use of St. Paul's -metaphor, the astute Commoro answered: - - "Exactly so; that I understand. But the original grain does not rise - again; it rots, like the dead man, and is ended. The fruit produced - is not the same grain that was buried, but the _production_ of that - grain. So it is with man. I die, and decay, and am ended; but my - children grow up, like the fruit of the grain. Some men have no - children, and some grains perish without fruit; then all are ended." - -Nevertheless, the Latookans continue to dig out the bones of their -kindred, and to perform a rite around them which is manifestly a -tradition from the time when a belief in the immortality of the soul -existed among them. - -It was impossible for Mr. Baker to reach the Lake toward which he -pressed without appeasing Kamrasi, King of the Unyoros. But to do this -was not easy when his stock of presents was getting low, and his men -were so few and weak as to inspire no barbarian prince with the -slightest fear. Yet, though debilitated with fever, his quinine -exhausted, and Mrs. Baker stricken down in the disease, he pressed on -with an unquenchable zeal--one would almost write worthy of a better -cause. Finally, he was abundantly rewarded. Hurrying on in advance of -his escort he reached at last, ere the sun had risen on what proved -afterward a brilliant day, the summit of the hills that hem the great -valley occupied by the vast Nile Source. There it lay "a sea of -quicksilver" far beneath, stretching boundlessly off to the vast Blue -Mountains which, on the opposite side towered upward from its bosom, -and over whose breasts cascades could be discerned by the telescope -tumbling down in numerous torrents. Standing 1500 feet above the level -of the Lake, Mr. Baker shouted for joy that "England had won the -Sources of the Nile!" and called the gigantic reservoir the Albert -N'Yanza. The Victoria and Albert Lakes, then, are the {833} Nile -Sources. Clambering down the steep--his wife, just recovered from -fever, and intensely weak, leaning upon him--Mr. Baker reached the -shore at length of the great expanse of water, and rushing into it, -drank eagerly, with an enthusiasm almost reaching the ancient Egyptian -point of Nile-worship. - -Mr. Baker describes the Albert Lake as the grand reservoir, and the -Victoria as the Eastern source. - - "The Nile, cleared of its mystery, resolves itself into comparative - simplicity. The actual basin of the Nile is included between about - the 22° and 39° east longitude, and from 3° south to 18° north - latitude. The drainage of that vast area is monopolized by the - Egyptian river. . . The Albert N'Yanza is the great basin of the - Nile: the distinction between it and the Victoria N'Yanza is, that - the Victoria is a reservoir receiving the eastern affluents, and it - becomes the starting-point or the most elevated _source_ at the - point where the river issues from it at the Ripon Falls; the Albert - is a reservoir not only receiving the western and southern affluents - direct from the Blue Mountains, but it also receives the supply from - the Victoria and from the entire equatorial Nile basin. The Nile, as - it issues from the Albert N'Yanza is the entire Nile; prior to its - birth from the Albert Lake it is _not_ the entire Nile." - - ". . . Ptolemy had described the Nile sources as emanating from two - great lakes that received the snows of the mountains in Ethiopia. - There are many ancient maps existing upon which these lakes are - marked as positive. There can be little doubt that trade had been - carried on between the Arabs from the Red Sea and the coast opposite - Zanzitan in ancient times, and that the people engaged in such - enterprises had penetrated so far as to have gained a knowledge of - the existence of the two reservoirs." - -The interest of Mr. Baker's volumes of course culminates with his -account of the Great Lake. He embarked in a canoe of the country, and -with his party in another, navigated it for a long distance, -encountering storms and weathering them with a skill and courage which -show him as cool and experienced a traveller on _sea_ as on land. On -his return overland he was again in perils oft. But the same undying -spirit which supported him through a dozen fevers carried him through -every danger triumphantly. The English nation has reason to be proud -of such men, and of such women as Mrs. Baker still more. Devotion like -hers honors the sex. There is an end, however, of Nile voyaging with -the old object. If the Victoria and Albert Lakes are revisited it will -be in pursuit of other ends than mere geographical inquiry or -curiosity. Mr. Baker seems to think that missionaries may be the first -to follow in the track he has made, and it is a fact that next to -professional explorers (if even second to them) those influenced by -religious zeal have made the most daring expeditions into unknown -regions. Livingstone has done even more in another part of Africa than -Baker did on the great level, which, as he thinks, from its altitude, -escaped being submerged at any previous part of the world's history, -and may contain at this moment the descendants of a pre-Adamite race. -On the ethnology of the central Africans he can throw no light, and -his mere speculations are worthless, but he is doubtless right in -considering that commerce must precede religious propagandism among -those races, if anything is really to be done for their benefit. For -commerce there are large opportunities, if only the abominable -slave-trade, which makes fiends of the natives, were effectually -suppressed. Mr. Baker writes warmly on this point, and none knows -better the character and extent of the evil. A more interesting book -of travel was never written than his Albert N'Yanza: in every page -there is fresh and vivid interest. The author, who is admirable in -many things, is a model narrator, and there is no romance at all equal -in attraction to the simple and unvarnished, but full and picturesque, -account of his protracted and exciting travels. - - --------- - -{834} - - -Translated from the French. - -THREE WOMEN OF OUR TIME. - -EUGÉNIE DE GUÉRIN--CHARLOTTE BRONTË--RAHEL LEVIN. - -BY GABRIEL CERNY. - - -It is now quite a number of years since it became the fashion to study -women, and writers of note have called to life more than one who would -have preferred being left to oblivion under her cold tombstone. Is it -not enough to have lived once even if we have lived wisely? "No one -would accept an existence that was to last forever," said a -philosopher who had suffered from the injustice of mankind. - -It seems, for example, as if the heroines of the seventeenth century -must smile in pity to see the pettiest actions of their lives as well -as the deepest inspirations of their hearts given up for food to the -indiscreet curiosity and vivid imagination of the eminent philosopher -who had so lovingly resuscitated them. And the intellectual women who -came after them, are not they not often wounded by the judgments -passed upon them by the most inquisitive and fertile of critics? - -In two works entirely devoted to woman, a _fantaisiste_ who was once -an historian, has tried to explain the best means to insure happiness -to the fairer half of the human race, with a minuteness very tender in -intention but often quite repugnant to our taste. He states in detail -the hygienic care indispensable to creatures weak in body, feeble in -mind, and so helpless when left to themselves that in truth there are -but two conditions in the world suitable for them--to be courtesans if -they are beautiful, and maid-servants if they are destitute of -physical charms; nay, such is the arrogance of this literary _Céladon_ -that he would assign to the wife an inferior position and leave the -husband to superintend not only business affairs but household -matters. In short, when we read these books we seem to be attending a -session of the Naturalization Society, teaching the public to rear and -domesticate some valuable animal much to be distrusted. - -Not even the toilettes of the eighteenth century have failed to arouse -the interest of two authors of our day, who, displeased perhaps with -the slight success of their book, have now abandoned the range of -realities for the dreary delusions of a lawless realism. In a work as -long as it is tiresome, they have described with feminine lucidity the -various costumes of the ladies of the court of Louis XV., of the -Revolution, and the Empire. - -A book has now appeared which, according to its title, promises to -show us the "Intellect of Women of our own Time," but in reality -confines itself to giving three interesting biographies. The author -was already known to the public through a romance which reveals true -talent "Daniel Blady," the story of a musician, is written in the -German style, and shows an elevation of sentiment, a straightforward -honesty of principle, and above all a simplicity of devotion rarely to -be met with in the world. M. Camille Selden admires modest women, -incapable of personal ambition or vanity, who consecrate all the -tender and enlivening faculties of soul and reason to the service of a -husband, father, or brother, and such a woman he portrays in "Daniel -Blady." - -{835} - -In order to represent fairly the women of our day M. Selden has -selected three different characters; three names worn modestly, -usefully, and honorably; three contrasts of position, race, doctrine, -and education: a French Catholic, an English Protestant, a German -Jewess: Eugénie de Guérin, Charlotte Brontë, and Rachel Varnhagen von -Ense. They were all affectionate, devoted, and self-forgetful; two of -them married, and the French-woman alone had the happy privilege of -restoring to God a heart and soul that had belonged to no one. - -I. - -Eugénie de Guérin du Cayla was born and bred _en province_, although -of a truly noble family, of Venetian origin it is said. Her mode of -life was that of a woman of the middle class (_bourgeoise_) enjoying -that comparative ease which we see in the country; a large house -scantily furnished, a garden less cultivated than the fields, and -servants of little or no training, who seem to form a part of the -family. - -Mlle. de Guérin lost her mother early, and having two brothers and a -sister younger than herself, became burthened with the care of a -household and family. Her letters and journal show her to us as she -was at twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, not one of those -persons of morose and frigid virtue who are good for nothing but to -mend linen and take care of birds, but a woman of intelligent and -unembarrassed activity. She made fires, visited the poultry-yard, -prepared breakfast for the reapers, and when her work was done, betook -herself in all haste to a little retreat which she dignified with the -name of _study_, where she ran through some book or wrote a few -pages--always charming, always strong--of a sort of journal of the -actions of her life. Eugénie's especial favorite was her brother -Maurice, who was five years younger than herself, and it would be -impossible to speak of her without recalling the passionate maternal -tenderness with which from her earliest youth she regarded this -brother whom she had loved to rock and nurse in infancy. - -"I remember that you sometimes made me jealous," she wrote to him one -day, "it was because I was a little older than you, and I did not know -that tenderness and caresses, _the hearts milk_, are lavished on the -little ones." - -Devotion was the principle motive-power of Eugénie's actions; ardent -prayer and charity profoundly moved her; wind, snow, rain-storms, -nothing checked her when she knew that in some corner of the village -there were miseries to be relieved, tears to be wiped away. She felt -sympathy with all living creatures, even if they were inanimate like -trees and flowers; she sighed when the wind bowed them down; "she -pitied them, comparing them to unhappy human beings bending beneath -misfortune," and imitating the example of the great saint, Francis of -Assisi, she would gladly have conversed with lambs and turtle-doves. - -Mlle. de Guérin pitied the educated peasants who knew how to read and -yet could not pray. "Prayer to God," she said, "is the only fit manner -to celebrate any thing in this world." And again, "Nothing is easier -than to speak to the neglected ones of this world; they are not like -us, full of tumultuous or perverse thoughts that prevent them from -hearing." - -She loved religion with its festivals and splendors; and breathed in -God with the incense and flowers on the altar, nor could she ever have -understood an invisible, abstract God, a God simply the guardian of -morality as Protestants believe him to be. - -Most women become useful only through some being whom they love and to -whom they refer the actions of their lives; it is their noblest and -most natural instinct to efface and lose themselves in another's -glory. Having no husband or children, Mlle. de Guérin attached herself -to her brother Maurice, a delicate nature, a sad {836} and suffering -soul, destined to self-destruction, a lofty but unquiet spirit that -was never to find on earth the satisfaction and realization of his -hopes. "You are the one of all the family," he wrote to her, "whose -disposition is most in sympathy with my own, so far as I can judge by -the verses that you send me, in all of which there is a gentle -reverie, a tinge of melancholy, in short, which forms, I believe, the -basis of my character." Mlle. de Guérin's letters to her brother were -not only tender and consoling, but strong and healthy in their tone. -Indeed, he needed them, for terrible were his sufferings from the -ill-will and indifference of others. He wrote and tried to establish -himself as a critic; but some publishers rejected him and others -evaded his proposals with vague promises, until with despair he saw -every issue closed to him, and knew not what answer to make to his -father, who grew impatient at the constant failure of his -expectations. - -Though ignorant of the world, Mlle, de Guérin did not the less suspect -the dangers that Christian faith may encounter. One day, a voice that -seemed to come from heaven told her that Maurice no longer prayed; and -then we find her trembling and uneasy. "I have received your letter," -she says, "and I see you in it, but I do not recognize you; for you -only open your mind to me, and it is your heart, your soul, your -inmost being that I long to see. Return to prayer, your soul is full -of love and craves expansion; believe, hope, love, and all the rest -shall be added. If I could only see you a Christian! Oh! I would give -my life and everything else for that." . . . Like all persons who try -to dispense with the divine restraints of the precepts of the gospel, -poor Maurice struggled in a dreary world; his sensitive and poetic -soul saw God everywhere except in his own heart; he longed sometimes -to be a flower, or a bird, or verdure; his brain and imagination ran -away with him, and his soul poured itself forth without restraint, and -lost its way through wandering from the veritable Source of life. - -This passion for nature led him to write a work which shows genuine -power even if it be unproductive; a prose poem in which Christianity -is forgotten for the sake of fable and antiquity. But thanks to his -sister's prayers, Maurice was one of those who return to God. He -passed away without agitation or suffering, smiling on all, and -begging his sister Eugénie to read him some spiritual book. At the -bottom of his heart he had never ceased to love God, and he returned -to him as a little child returns to its mother. - -Eugénie did not give herself up to vain despair after Maurice's death. -Thinking perpetually of him whom she had loved so deeply, she busied -herself with the writings which he had left behind him, and prayed for -his soul, recommending him also to the prayers of her friends. She -still addressed herself to him, and oppressed with sadness unto death, -communed with his absent soul, imploring him to come to her. "Maurice, -my friend, what is heaven, that home of friends? Will you never give -me any sign of life? Shall I never hear you, as the dead are sometimes -said to make themselves heard? Oh! if it be possible, if there exist -any communication between this world and the other, return to me!" - -But one day she grew weary of this unanswered correspondence, and a -moral exhaustion took possession of her. "_Let us cast our hearts into -eternity_," she cried. These were her last words, and she died, glad -to see her life accomplished, confiding in the mercy of God, in his -goodness who reunites the soul which he has severed here below, but -never has forgotten in their bereavement. - - - -{837} - -II. - -Charlotte Brontë, (Currer Bell,) whom M. Camille Selden offers to us -as a type of energy and virtue, was the daughter of a country -clergyman. Sad was the childhood and sad the youth of the poor English -girl. Her mother was an invalid, her father a man of gloomy and almost -fierce disposition, their means were so limited as to border upon -poverty, and as if to complete the dreary picture, the scenery about -the parsonage was "austere and lugubrious to contemplate, like the sea -beneath an impending tempest." - -In England the clerical profession is totally unlike the holy mission -of a Catholic clergyman. The ecclesiastical life there is a career, -not a vocation. "Mr. Brontë never left home unarmed," a singular -method of preaching peace to the world and reconciliation among -brethren. He was a good father, no doubt--almost all Englishmen are -so. But he kept his family at a distance, and spoke to them seldom, -and then in a curt and supercilious manner. His morose spirit did not -relish the society of children, and if he became the preceptor of his -little family, it was rather in order to fulfil a duty and conform -himself to custom, than from a feeling of tenderness or even -solicitude for their future welfare. Thus the minister's children -lived amid influences which were cold and serious, but upright, and in -a certain sense strengthening. There are so many children in every -English family that parents of the middle class are obliged to treat -them less as subordinates than as auxiliaries. The children are less -familiar with their parents but more respectful than among us; life is -not so easy and gentle, education more masculine. - -Independence is the goal toward which all young English people tend, -and both girls and boys are early taught that labor alone can lead -them to it. In France we long impatiently for the time to shut up our -children in the high-walled barracks which we dignify with the name of -boarding-schools; for it is extremely necessary, we say, to be rid of -idle, noisy boys. Girls are generally educated at home, but either -through weakness or indifference, they are treated with far too much -indulgence. "Poor little things!" we say pathetically; "who can tell -what fate awaits them in married life?" for in this country we so far -forget Christian duty as to make marriage a necessity, an obligation, -a matter of business, instead of seeking therein, as the English do, a -basis of true happiness. - -Children, educated as they are in England, early acquire habits of -observation and reflection; sitting around the tea-table in the -evening, they listen to the conversation of their grandparents, and -are often questioned upon the most serious subjects. This is -Protestantism, you say. Not at all: it is the remains of the Christian -spirit anterior to the Reformation. This spirit is exhibited in habits -as in laws. If family life among us were truly catholic, we should -possess all this and in greater perfection. - -There is another practice in England which is often beneficial, and -which we do not dare to adopt openly in France. I mean the habit of -writing out one's impressions. This seems to be as natural in England -as thought; and mothers, young girls, and men consider it a duty to -keep an account of the good ideas that occur to them or of the -interesting facts they may observe. - -In France, on the contrary, true literary culture is closed to women, -and there is a general outcry whenever any woman takes the liberty of -publishing a work under her own name. It is thought quite natural that -a young girl, with a dress outrageously _decolletée_ and her head -covered with flowers, should appear upon a stage and sing a _bravura_; -but let her venture to write, and the world accuses her of want of -reserve. - -A Frenchman has such a horror of anything methodical and serious that -he prefers to educate his daughters without thought or reflection, at -hap-hazard and with no provision for {838} the future. Frenchwomen -understand everything without study, it is said; this may be true, and -the merit is not so great as to make it worth while to deny the -assertion. What a superficial method! what an incredible way to -acquire knowledge and judgment! - -Englishwomen on the contrary, devote themselves to a regular course of -instruction; they read a great deal, making extracts and critical -notes, and thus avoid idleness and _ennui_, those two terrible -diseases that affect womankind. Unfortunately abuses glide into their -reading, and novels or even newspapers hold a place there which they -ought not to occupy. This is a fruit of Protestantism, of free -inquiry, and if our faith were firm and practical, we should know how -to avoid the abuse and accept the useful side of this custom. - -But there is again a situation which Englishwomen meet with a better -grace than Frenchwomen--we mean the _misfortune_ of remaining -unmarried at twenty-eight or thirty years of age--of becoming _old -maids_. With us, as soon as a daughter comes into the world we begin -to think of amassing her dower; for it is the value of this dower -which is to secure a good or bad marriage for her. We persuade her -that it is almost a disgrace to remain unmarried, but by a tacit -agreement we conceal from her the fact that marriage, as the Church -instituted it, is the union of two souls equal in the sight of God, -and that in giving her hand to a man, she becomes half of himself and -flesh of his flesh. No, it is not a question of heart or of duty; she -marries a man whom she has known scarcely two months, and her family -triumphantly congratulate themselves on being freed from the -unpleasant possibility of harboring _an old maid_. To avoid this, some -marriages are a mere _sale_, a present shame, a future misery, and a -final sin. - -As in England daughters have no dower, and sons are valued much more -highly, young women are early prepared not to marry, and are neither -sadder nor more unfortunate on that account. Care of the little ones -in the family; that pleasant occupation belonging by right to maiden -aunts, (_tantes berceuses,_) study, attentive observation of men and -things, and the consciousness of intellectual worth, sustain the -Englishwomen until the moment, often distant, and never to arrive for -many a one, when a good, sincere, and intelligent man shall unite her -lot to his; but as she has self-respect and does not consider loss of -youth as loss of caste, she does not accept the suitor unless she -knows him well and is certain that he does not wish to take her or buy -her _pour faire une fin_. - -Charlotte, like Eugénie and like Rahel, of whom we shall speak in her -turn, was rather insignificant in appearance; her features were -irregular, her forehead prominent, and her eyes small but deep and -piercing in expression. She was educated with two of her sisters in a -boarding-school, where the regimen was hard and unhealthy, the uniform -coarse, and the food insufficient and ill cooked. Mr. Brontë turned a -deaf ear to his eldest daughter's complaints for a long time, and did -not decide to take his children home until one of them had already -sunk under the injudicious treatment. Charlotte was then placed with -Miss W----, with whom she lived eight years as pupil and second -teacher. And here M. Camille Selden gives us some excellent remarks -upon the difference existing between the French lay _pension_ with its -supplementary course, and the English boarding-school. - -"In the former, as in a well-disciplined army, every movement, every -manoeuvre must be executed in union, even the recess is subject to -rules. In the midst of her battalion of teachers and sub-mistresses, -the French directress, _en grande tenue_, resembles a brilliant -colonel marching proudly at the head of his squadron in a review." - -{839} - -"The object of education in England is at once simpler and gentler. It -is thought there to be the duty of a woman, as of a man, to develop -the judgment by study; that reflection and observation are equally -necessary to teach both sexes how to live wisely and think justly. -Therefore we never hear of courses of study where under the pretext of -maternal education, gentlemen in black coats give out _bribes_ for -history, geography--nay, even philosophy, to little girls who come -there apparently to study under maternal supervision, but in reality -to learn to receive company and dress tastefully; in one word, to -rehearse the worldly comedy which a little later they will be -condemned to enact." - -The author should have completed his picture by giving an exact -account of our houses of religious education; but I think he knows -little about them, and cares little to get information concerning -them, which accounts for certain wants in his book. - -Poor Charlotte Brontë was never young, partly because of her childish -sufferings, but chiefly because of her serious and inquiring nature, -which applied its powers to investigating and analyzing the sources of -everything. She did not indulge in the childish ideas of a school -girl, and being free from the dangerous enthusiasm that imagination -engenders, she understood the full extent of human misery without -exaggerating it, and if she was deprived of illusions at least she was -spared disappointment. And yet she suffered; her vigorous soul, her -fertile intellect imprisoned in this common-place situation, were -stifled as in a cage; and to complete her misery came religious -terrors, frightful visions of "failing grace and impossible -salvation," until her awe-struck heart recoiled in affright. - -Like all souls ardently loving goodness and thirsting from the true -love, she sighed after the bliss of heaven: "I would be willing," she -exclaimed, "I would be willing to exchange my eighteen years for gray -hairs--or even to stand on the verge of the grave, if by that means I -could be assured of the divine mercy;" but alas! in the practices of -that dry and personal religion in which each one answers to himself -for himself, and whence confidence is banished as a weakness, where -should she look for help? - -Meanwhile the circle of poverty was drawing closer and closer about -Charlotte and her sisters, and a thousand thoughts sprang up in the -brain of the courageous girl: "I wish to make money, no matter how--if -only the means be honest! nothing would discourage me," said she; "but -I should not care to be a cook--I should prefer being housemaid." In -the evening, when every one else was in bed, she used to meet her -sisters in the little parlor, and they would read to each other their -literary efforts in a low voice. They decided with one accord that -Charlotte must write to Southey and send him a book of her poems. The -poet saw no great merit in these effusions and tried to discourage -Charlotte, giving her at the same time excellent moral advice upon the -nothingness of celebrity and the dangers of ambition. - -She decided then to make a journey to Belgium in order to study -French, but she was almost immediately recalled home. The old aunt who -had kept house during her absence was dead, her father was becoming -blind, and her brother was subject to attacks of delirium in which he -threatened his father's life. It was amid these terrible calamities -that Miss Brontë wrote "Jane Eyre," the most powerful of her novels. - -The next plan was that she and her sisters should all write together -and get a volume printed at their own expense under the names of -Ellis, Acton, and Currer Bell. It may well be imagined that this -unfortunate book, sent out like a foundling into the literary world, -met with no success, for if the beginnings of any career are -precarious, the obstacles presented by literature are insurmountable -to any one {840} not possessed of immense energy. We know Charlotte -well enough to feel sure that she was not a woman to waste away in the -dejection of sterile discouragement; she began to write again, and -composed "The Professor." Alas! the poor little book travelled about -from publisher to publisher without finding rest anywhere; and such -was the naïveté of its author, that in her eagerness to send her -rejected book to each new bookseller, she forgot to remove the old -postage stamps from the package--not an encouraging recommendation to -any editor to accept the _leavings_ of his _confrères!_ - -It was at Manchester, during six weeks that she passed there with her -father, who was forced to undergo an operation for cataract, that Miss -Brontë finished "Jane Eyre." Messrs. Smith and Elder of London -accepted the manuscript without hesitation, and from that time the -obscure young girl was a celebrity whom every one longed to know and -to receive. - -Charlotte's literary success brought a ray of joy into Mr. Brontë's -melancholy household, but it was of short duration. Twice within two -months the inhabitants of Haworth saw the window-blinds of the -parsonage closed, and heard the bell toll a death-knell. Charlotte's -brother, prostrated by excesses, and consumed internally, died in the -course of fifteen minutes; but they were minutes of awful anguish; in -the grasp of the death-agony the dying man started to his feet, crying -out that he would die standing, and that his will should give way only -with his breath. Her elder sister, Emily, left home for the last time -when she followed his bier to the grave; and another sister, the -youngest and Charlotte's well-beloved, Anna Brontë, sustained herself -awhile by dint of care and tenderness, but her lungs were affected and -she soon began to languish; she too declined and died. - -Poor Charlotte now found herself alone with her father who had lost -five of his six children. She devoted herself to writing, as much to -distract her grief as to deceive the long hours of the day; and -henceforth her personality presented two distinct faces. She was a -conscientious Englishwoman, a clergyman's daughter attached to her -duties, and an authoress, ardent and active in defence of her -convictions, and not without a certain obstinacy. "Her success -continued, and she was obliged to submit to the exhibition to which -English enthusiasm and bad taste subject their favorites. Miss Brontë -had to go to dinner-parties, and to reunions of unlooked-for luxury -and splendor; but the distinction that flattered her most was being -placed by Thackeray in the seat of honor to hear the first lecture of -this celebrated author at Willis's Rooms." - -But solitude which had been the foundation and habit of her life, -rendered her unfit for the world. Miss Brontë had suffered too much to -preserve that serenity of temper and freedom of spirit necessary to -enable one to talk easily and agreeably, and often would she sit -silent amid a cross-fire of conversation all around her "I was forced -to explain," she said, "that I was silent because I could talk no -more." - -Charlotte Brontë had arrived at the age of thirty-eight years without -having had her heart touched with any emotion stronger than dutiful -affection for her family. But--and here prose intrudes itself a -little--her father had a vicar, and what could an English vicar do but -be married? He loved Charlotte, and moreover, she had become a good -match; but on one hand the fear of a refusal, and on the other the -dread of the embarrassment for a clergyman of sharing the existence of -a literary woman, prevented him from declaring his affections. At -last, however, he took courage, and I ask myself if this courage was -not rendered more attainable by Charlotte herself. At all events she -accepted his offer without hesitation; but her father, who was too -selfish to allow his daughter to occupy herself with any one but -himself, opposed the marriage, and the enamored vicar left Haworth. - -{841} - -The privation that Mr. Brontë experienced after his vicar's -departure--a privation that Miss Brontë's temperament must have made -him feel more sensibly--was such that he recalled the suitor, and the -marriage took place. It was a dreary ceremony: no relations, no -friends, so that the bride positively had no one to lead her to the -altar; for her father had refused to be present at the marriage for -fear of feeling agitated, faithful to the end to the dry and -egotistical line of conduct he had marked out for himself. - -The wife devoted herself bravely to seconding her husband in the -duties of his ministry. She visited the poor, had a Sunday-school, -improvised prayers and knew the Bible by heart. She was happy--but her -happiness was of short duration, for physical and moral sufferings had -exhausted her, and she died just as life had become harmonized -according to her wishes. - -A celebrated author, a strong and courageous woman, aspiring after a -Christian life, she gave all that a heart can give which is not -possessed of the true light; and M. Selden is right in saying at the -close: "Charlotte is better than her heroines." There are few authors -of whom one could say as much. - - - -III. - -From England _with its maintien compassé_, and cold religious tenets, -M. Camille Selden takes us to Germany, the land of sentiment and -intellectual research, and introduces us to a Jewess in Berlin, that -we may see what a German _salon_ was at the end of the eighteenth -century. - -Rahel Levin was only twenty years old when she lost her father, a -wealthy Israelite, gloomy and violent in his bearing at home, but -amiable and attractive in society. - -The young Rahel, endowed with great intelligence and unerring tact, -united to a truly kind heart, was valued and sought by every one as -soon as she appeared in society. She was exceedingly amiable, full of -an obliging good temper that made her anticipate wishes, divine -annoyances in order to relieve them, and forget herself in seeking to -make others happy. Rare too was her loyalty; not only was her soul -incapable of falsehood, but of any want of sincerity. Her husband who -had the good taste not to be jealous of his wife's superiority and -success, said of her "that she did not think to lose by showing -herself as God had made her, or gain by hiding anything." "Natural -candor, absolute purity of soul, and sincerity of heart are the only -things worthy of respect--the rest is only external regularity and -conventionality," she often said to those who lavished upon her -expressions of respect and admiration. - -Unhappily for Mlle. Levin, circumstances concurred in alienating her -from her family. Her mother and brothers, notwithstanding their ample -fortune, showed a rapacity worthy of their race, and most unlike -Rahel's broad and generous ideas; and her position would have been -pitiable, but for the illustrious friends who frequented her mother's -house. Among them the young girl forgot the petty meanness of her home -life; and inexhaustible in ideas, perceptive faculty, and wit, she -handled the gravest subjects with delicate skill, and almost as if she -were playing with them. Full of unfailing good temper, she could -discuss the most varied, the most opposite subjects, without dogmatism -or eccentricity. - -But this want of union with her family, which had deprived her of the -domestic happiness so indispensable to every affectionate woman had -rendered her paradoxical and even a little sceptical. See, for -example, what she wrote to her youngest sister, who had consulted her -about a proposal of marriage: "The want of durability in everything, -and the inevitable separation between an object and its {842} motive, -afford, you see, the final explanation of all that is human. You do -not wish to belong to humanity; very well, destroy yourself. I feel -quite differently: only transitory things, only what is human can -tranquillize and console me." How at variance is this bitterness with -the ardent hopefulness of the spiritual Eugénie de Guérin! and how -excellent a proof, if we needed any new one, that true happiness is -unattainable without that deep religious feeling which raises us above -all passing things! Charlotte Brontë had at least that Protestant -severity which stifles all tender quailing of the heart and soul, like -a miser trembling lest he should lose a farthing of the merits of his -sacrifice; but poor Rahel possessed only the intellectual resources of -the mind, and they can do little for us. - -Goethe, whose countrywoman she was so proud of being; Goethe, little -inclined to exaggerate the value of a woman's mind, took pleasure in -calling her a generous girl. "She has powerful emotions and a careless -way of expressing them," he said: "the better you know her, the more -you feel yourself attracted and gently enthralled." - -But it was a long time before she enthralled any one. At last one of -her friends, Varnhagen von Ense, a young man twenty-six years old, -offered her his hand. Let him describe to us the charm of his first -interview with Rahel. - - "From the first, I must say that she made me experience a very rare - happiness, that of contemplating for the first time a complete - being--complete in intelligence and heart, a perfect union of nature - and cultivation. Everywhere I saw harmony, equilibrium, views as - naïve as they were original, striking in their grandeur as in their - novelty, and always in accordance with her slightest actions. And - all was pervaded with a sentiment of the purest humanity, guided by - an energetic sense of duty, and heightened by a noble - self-forgetfulness in the presence, of the joys and griefs of - others." - -Rahel was then thirty-six years old, and this great disparity of age, -added to her want of beauty and fortune, must have inspired her with -doubts of the duration of a feeling, which perhaps her heart, -accustomed to independence, did not at first reciprocate. But in -Germany marriages are not made as they are in France; people do not -marry without knowing each other, or with a precipitation which might -lead one to suppose that on both sides there was something to conceal, -or that the intention was to make a good bargain of duty. According to -the fashion of their country the two friends were betrothed, and were -then forced to separate. - -"I am not afraid; I will wait for you; I know you will never forsake -me," wrote the indulgent Rahel eight years later, when a Frenchwoman -would have lost patience a thousand times over. - -In France, where dower, beauty, name, or position, rank before -affection, such a separation would certainly have proved fatal. Had he -no cause to fear that some one else might supplant him with Rahel? Was -she untroubled by dread of the cruel dangers that threaten and disturb -the affections? Might not her heart, naturally sceptical, and shaken -by contact with the world, distrust the effect of opinion upon so -young a man? "But true love has nothing to fear from worldly talk or -material considerations; a whiff of a passing breeze cannot destroy -strongly rooted affections, whose living germ lies sheltered in the -depths of the heart." Such love can wait, for it does not know how to -change. Such love was Rahel's; was it Varnhagen's? We shall see. - -{843} - -Rahel was not an author, and had no thought of publication; it was -only after her death that her husband sought some slight consolation -in publishing her letters. These letters which make three volumes, -were written in the course of forty years, and therefore they reveal -the different phases of development in the young girl, the independent -woman, and the matron. Through the generous feelings which she -expresses, with a soul sympathizing with all sorts of interests, there -pierces a certain delicate irony which seems to find pleasure in -following out to the end any singular or original idea: We feel -painfully that this woman has lost much, suffered deeply. In the life -of Rahel the Jewess, as in that of Charlotte the Protestant, we -discern the absence of our Saviour's cross; we see nowhere the gentle -vision of the Virgin Mother. - -In one of her letters, Mlle. Levin describes the impression which a -visit to a Catholic convent had made upon her mind. She had entered -into the services in the chapel like an artist: "I would gladly go -there again, if it were only to hear the music, and breathe in the -odor of the incense," said she. But the mortifications of the -religious seemed to her more eccentric than touching; she pitied them -for having to fulfil the functions of gardener and cook, to prepare -medicines and feel the pulse of their patients. "Without exception -their hands looked coarse," she said, "and their masculine tread -sounded like the tramp of a patrol." And yet later in life Rahel was -to perform, voluntarily, the same work as these nuns, and moreover she -had a true sentiment of piety, which sometimes rose to an expression -of faith. - -"In moments of suffering," she wrote, "how happy faith makes me feel! -I love to rest upon it as on a downy pillow." - -We read these words so full of simple piety, with a full heart, -thinking sadly how little assistance this woman would have needed to -become an ardent convert to the true religion. It is really surprising -that she should not have sought out Christianity. - -"Never try to suppress a generous impulse, or to crowd out a genuine -feeling," she wrote to a friend: "despair or discouragement are the -only fruits of dry reasoning; examine yourself carefully, and dread -above all things the decisions of wisdom unenlightened by the heart." - -Rahel and Varnhagen had agreed to meet again one day; but absence is -often fatal to the strongest ties, and more than once this one was on -the point of snapping. - -"A woman who has passed thirty," says our author, "may well fear lest -youth, proved by the parish register, should win the day against youth -of mind and soul." - -It would have been very hard to find a rival to a woman so gifted as -Rahel; but the first moment of enthusiasm over, Varnhagen began to -think that his betrothed had been very prompt in her acceptance of the -promises by which he had bound himself when a young and inexperienced -man; and perhaps his memory recalled certain confidences of -ill-matched pairs, who had assured him that generosity is a snare. - -"For nothing in the world, of course, would he have renounced this -affection of which he was proud; but he thought that she would accept -his fidelity without his name, and he presumed to offer his devotion -in lieu of the projected union." - -Rahel could not accept a compromise as humiliating to her heart as -dangerous to her reputation. She refused it, but--and this was less -dignified--she refused sadly and plainly to free Varnhagen from his -engagement. This was what she wrote: - -"Bitterness at least equals suffering, when you, the single, solitary -soul who knows me thoroughly, would turn away from me, or what is the -same thing, when you would be false to yourself, and forsake me: hard -words, my friend, but none the less true. I must be severe to the only -being who has given me a right to expect anything from him. In you -alone had I hoped, and I think I should insult you in saying that I -had ceased to hope." - -{844} - -To this bitter trial was added another one, which was very severe, -though merely connected with material matters, especially for a person -who was no longer young. Half abandoned, and half _exploitée_ by her -family, Rahel had become poor. Valiant and strong, she had long -succeeded in hiding from her friends the privations which she imposed -upon herself, in order to maintain her household properly. She had -just lost her mother, and one of her brothers, who died blessing her -for her devotion, and these afflictions must be added to the money -troubles, which increased every day. Alas! there was no consolation in -this distress, for Rahel could not say like the august daughter of a -great king, "I thank God for two things; first, for having made me a -Christian, and next, for having made me unhappy." - -Economy was not her chief virtue, and kindness, that luxury which she -could not live without, led her to deprive herself of the necessaries -of life, in order that her servants might want for nothing. "It is -mere selfishness," she said, laughing; "I prefer spoiling them to -spoiling myself." - -The misfortunes of war completed the ruin of her purse and her health. -She assisted her countrymen by collecting contributions, and when -money failed, she paid with personal exertions, fulfilling the -admirable precept, "When you have given everything, give yourself." -The vehemence of her feelings exhausted her strength, and her frail -health gave way beneath the excess of privation and fatigue. She fell -ill, and was forced to keep her bed for three months. - -Her resources were exhausted, and poverty approached with great -strides. She decided to ask one of her brothers, who was rich, to send -her a little money; but he not only refused, but took a cruel pleasure -in taunting the poor girl, with what he called her crazy liberality. - -For six months the war intercepted all communications, so that she -could receive no tidings of him whom she still called her betrothed. -But this anxiety was the last. On waking one morning Rahel saw a -letter which had just been brought in, and by a sudden inspiration, -worthy of one who had never despaired, she guessed what this note -contained: "a living hope, which never dies out in valiant souls, -cried out that at last she had grasped happiness;" and the hope proved -true: ten days later she married August Varnhagen, who having -recovered from his hesitation, fulfilled his vows with a good will. - -"You will never repent marrying me," she wrote to him, with naïveté, a -little while before her marriage; "Love me, or love me not, as God -wills; whatever happens I shall be yours for ever, you can rely on me: -I am constant, as you have been constant. Rahel shall never fail you." - -Her husband was afterward made Prussian minister, and Rahel as -ambassadress was once more surrounded as in the pleasantest days of -her youth. - -She was sixty-two years old when the disease attacked her of which she -died. Varnhagen never left her, or ceased trying to make her forget -her sufferings by reading the books to her which she loved best; and -Heinrich Heine, learning that she was ordered to apply fresh -rose-leaves to her inflamed eyes, sent her his first poems, lying at -the bottom of a basket of exquisite roses. - -Madame von Varnhagen had always loved the Bible, and, especially, -Jewess though she was, the New Testament. She was never tired of -listening to the history of the sufferings and death of our Lord Jesus -Christ. One day finding herself more feeble, she said, taking her -husband's hand and pressing it on her heart: "I feel better, my -friend. I have been thinking a long time of Jesus, and it seems as if -I had never felt as at this moment how truly He is my brother, and the -brother of all men. It has comforted me." . . . These were her last -words. - -{845} - -Do these women explain _the women of our times_? It is at least -disputable; but we must recognize in them three interesting -characters. We will not try to compare them; the differences between -them are self-evident; and certainly though Eugénie de Guérin, the -Frenchwoman and the Catholic, played in a worldly sense the most -obscure part, no person of elevated views can contest the fact that -hers was the most beautiful life of the three. - - - --------- - - -From The Lamp. - -HENRI PERREYVE. - - -The Church of France sustained a great loss when, in the flower of his -age, Henri Perreyve was cut off. Had his life been prolonged he would -doubtless have attained a high position in the diocese of Paris, and -done a very great work. A memorial of him--for it can hardly be called -a "Life"--has been recently given to the world by his friend and -confidant, Pére Gratry of the French Oratory; and thus the record of -this young priest is now made immortal by the eloquent pen of one of -the greatest spiritual writers in France. Henri Perreyve was born in -April, 1831, and died June, 1865. His was, therefore, but a brief -life--brief, but brilliant, like a short, bright summer-day. - -The comparison is not an inapt one. The life of this young man was, -compared to that of the minority of his fellow-creatures, a bright and -happy one. No great exterior sorrows met him during his earthly -career; and for the interior, there could not be much real suffering -for one who from his early childhood had given himself to God, and who -followed the standard of his Divine Master with a courage that could -not be dismayed, with an ardor which was never cooled. He was a son of -Christian parents, who early discerned his genius, and gave no -opposition to the workings of God's grace in him. He was educated at -the Lycée St. Louis; but he did not distinguish himself there. He was, -however, at the head of the catechism-class in St. Sulpice; for the -child's heart was given to God, and he could not devote himself -ardently to secular studies until he had learnt to consecrate even -them to the service of God. At twelve years old he made his first -communion. This act, which is the turning-point in the life of so -many, proved such to him. In after-years he thus described it: - - "May 29, 1859. - - "You know that I always date from my first communion the first call - from God to the ecclesiastical state. This thought gives me - happiness. I can recall now, as if it were yesterday, the blessed - moment when, having received our Lord at the holy table, I returned - to my place, and there kneeling on that red-velvet bench, which I - can see now, I promised our Lord, with a movement of sincere - affection to belong to him always, and to him only. I feel still the - kind of certainty I had from that moment of being accepted. I feel - the warmth of those first tears for the love of Jesus, which fell - from my childish eyes; and the ineffable shrinking of a soul, which - for the first time had spoken to God, had seen him and heard him. - Intimate and profound joy of the sacerdotal espousals!" - -As years passed on, he kept his faith with his Lord. Naturally seeking -his friends from among those like-minded with himself, he became soon -surrounded by and closely bound to some of the most remarkable and -{846} devoted men of the day. The Père Gratry was the guide of his -youth; and among those who followed his direction were a group of -young ardent men, burning to devote themselves to the cause of God and -his Church. Meeting a little later on with the Père Pététot, they -became the foundation-stones of the newly-revived French Oratory of -St. Philip Neri. Henri Perreyve was obliged, however, before long, by -the feebleness of his health, to withdraw from the congregation; but -he was ever linked to it by the ties of the closest affection. Père -Charles Perraud, one of the Oratorians, was throughout life his bosom -friend. They learnt together and prayed together, and were called -together to serve God in the priesthood. Charles Perraud was the first -to attain this dignity; and on the occasion of his saying his first -mass, Henri thus wrote to him. - - "Hyères, Dec. 16, 1857. - - "May the Lord be with thee! These are the sacramental words of the - deacon, the only ones I have the right of addressing to you, my dear - friend and brother, before the holy altar. I address them to you - with all the fulness of my heart, and with all the deep meaning that - befits these holy words. Yes, may the Lord be with you, dear - brother! - - "With you this morning at the altar of your first mass, to accept - your bridal promise, and reply to your perpetual vow by that - reciprocal love which passes all other love. With you during the - whole of this great day, to maintain the perfume of celestial - incense in your soul, and the odor of the sacrifice which has begun, - but which--thanks be to God!--has no ending. With you to-morrow, to - make you feel that joy in God has somewhat of eternity in it, and - that it differs from the joys of earth because we can taste it - constantly without ever exhausting it. With you when, soon after - your holy ecstasy of joy, you will feel that you must be a priest - for men; and you will go down from Mount Tabor to go to those who - suffer, to those who are ignorant, to those who are hungering and - thirsting for the true light and the true life. With you in your - sorrows to console you; with you in your joys to sanctify them; with - you in your desires to make them fruitful. - - "'_Memor sit omnis sacrificii tui, - et holocaustum tuum pingue fiat_.' - - "With you, my Charles, if you are alone in life, if our friendship - be taken from you, if you have to walk on leaning only on the arm of - a Divine Friend. - - "With you, young priest, with you growing old in the conflicts of - the priesthood, and in the service of God and men. With you on the - day of your death, which shall bring to your lips, by the hands of - another, that same Jesus who has so often been carried to others by - your trembling hands. - - "O my friend! I gather up all that my heart can contain of happy - desires, wishes, and hopes for you. I gather them all up in one - single wish: May the Lord be with thee always! - - "It will be the life of a holy priest on earth; one day it will be - heaven. - - "The Lord be with thee! - - "My Charles, bless me! I embrace yon tenderly, and feel myself with - you pressed against the Heart of the Divine Master, beloved for - ever. - - "Henri Perreyve." - -Henri Perreyve was advancing rapidly toward manhood when the -Providence of God threw him in the path of one who was to exercise a -powerful influence over his future. While Henri was a boy at school. -Father Lacordaire held the pulpit of Notre Dame; and it might truly be -said, "All Paris was moved." What those wonderful conferences did -toward undoing the fatal spiritual havoc wrought at the Revolution, -and in subsequent years, cannot be recorded in any mortal history. It -was given to men to see somewhat of the result of the labor; but the -seeds of eternal life are scattered broadcast by a preacher's hand, -and fall hither and thither unknown to any but God. - -Henri Perreyve, as a boy of thirteen, found his delight in listening -to the conferences. Six years passed by, and found him still the -attentive disciple at the feet of the great master of minds at that -period; but he was too diffident and retiring to seek a personal -acquaintance. One day, however, a friend insisted on introducing him. -Father Lacordaire was busy, and the interview lasted but a moment; but -Henri Perreyve resembled the ideal we may not unreasonably form of the -young man on whom our Lord looked and loved. Nature had been prodigal -of her gifts, and genius and innocence lent additional charm to his -exterior beauty. Lacordaire's keen eye had discerned the treasures -that could be developed in that ardent soul. - -{847} - -A few days after this hasty introduction, Henri was astonished by the -entrance of the great Dominican into his room. - -"I received you very ill the other day," he said; "I come to ask your -pardon, and talk with you." - -From that day began the closest friendship and intimacy between them. -They were literally like father and son; and at the death of -Lacordaire he bequeathed to his dear friend all that a poor monk had -to leave--his letters and papers. Henri Perreyve is said to have been -the being on earth best loved by Lacordaire. "You shall be," wrote the -latter to him, "forever in my heart as a son and as a friend." Henri, -by the pure devotion of his early youth to God, had deserved some -great gift, and it was given to him in the friendship of Lacordaire. -That the rest of his life was spent in an earnest endeavor to imitate -his friend, we can scarcely wonder at Had he lived, no doubt he would -have been a second Lacordaire; but the "sword wore out the sheath," -the frail body could not sustain the burning soul within. Lacordaire -died in the prime of life, Perreyve in the flower of his youth. - -A few more years from the time we are speaking of and he was made -priest. Work poured in on him. "The work of ten priests was offered to -him day by day." He refused a good deal; but what he reserved would -have been enough for three, and he had most feeble health. - -He was preacher at the Sorbonne, director of the Conferences of St. -Barbe, "sermons everywhere, special works on all sides, endless -correspondence, confessions, directions, reunions of young people, -incessant visits." - -Frequent illness attacked him, and obliged him to withdraw for a time -from his labors; but he returned to them with new zest. Of his -literary works the one most generally admired is the "Journée des -Malades." Here his genius was aided by that personal experience of -illness which enables a person so readily to enter into the feelings -of another. But many can know and feel the weariness and temptations -which beset a sick person, and be very incapable of putting it into -words, while M. Perreyve's "Journée des Malades" will comfort many a -heart. - -His "Rosa Ferrucci," an exquisitely written little biography, is -already to some extent known to our readers. He likewise published -"Méditations sur le Chemin de la Croix; Entretiens sur l'Eglise -Catholique;" and he edited with the greatest care, and wrote an -introduction for, the celebrated Letters from Father Lacordaire to -young people. He also wrote a "Station at the Sorbonne," and "Poland," -besides various little _brochures_. - -The chief work of the Abbé Perreyve was the guidance and influence -over young men and boys. - -The Conferences at St. Barbe were listened to by a most attentive -auditory of this class, and his power over his hearers was large and -increasing. - -"He possessed in a rare degree," says Père Gratry, "that sacred art of -speaking to men, of speaking to each one, and yet speaking to all. -Hence the universal success of his discourses." - -One of the great orators of the day, after hearing him preach at the -Sorbonne, exclaimed, "He who has not heard that, does not know how far -human eloquence can go." - -The Count de Montalembert was one day among the audience. He wrote -afterward: "I have been touched and delighted in a way I have not been -for twenty years; since the time when he of whom you are the worthy -successor enchanted my youth at Nôtre Dame." - -But as the Père Gratry justly observes, his success in colleges such -as the Lycée St. Louis and St. Barbe is still more remarkable than -that at the Sorbonne. One secret of it might be found in an -acknowledgment that he made to his friend. He had for these {848} -young people such a love, such a respect, such an idea of the -_possible future_ of each soul, such an esteem of the hidden treasures -in each heart, that he seemed to hold the key of their souls, and to -come before them as the friend of each. - -On one occasion he had to speak on the most delicate and difficult -topic it was possible a priest could have to deal with before such an -assembly. He told a story: he spoke of a death which he had witnessed, -and of the crime which had caused that death; a crime which is not -punished by human laws, but which works ruin and death on all sides. - -"And this man," said he, with that voice of his which thrilled to the -hearts of his hearers--"and this man is in society honorable and -refined; perhaps even not without religion. Gentlemen, is this the -honor that shall be yours, and is this the religion which you will -have?" - -Never can those who heard him that day forget it; they were moved to -the very depths of their souls, and tears flowed from the eyes of -those who are not easily made to weep. When he had concluded, many of -his auditors gathered around him said: "Thanks, sir; you have opened -our eyes for ever." - -The popularity of M. Perreyve survived even the severe trial of having -to address the boys of the preparatory school and the students of St. -Barbe at an hour on Sunday which would otherwise have been at their -own disposal. The sermon was to be given every fortnight, and the -audience the first time were in anything but an amiable mood. The next -day a petition was sent up by them that the sermons might be given -every week. - -Thus his life passed away; and the end hurried on all too rapidly for -those who loved him and hung upon his words. His lungs were again -affected, and he passed the last winter of his life m the south of -France. There he thought he had improved, and wrote flattering -accounts of himself; so that when he returned to Paris on Palm Sunday, -April the 9th, his family and friends were in consternation at his -altered looks. Doctors could not reassure them, and the complaint made -rapid progress. It was a terrible confirmation of his relatives' fears -when they found he was unconscious of his danger, and, like all those -in the same fatal disease, busy in making plans for the future. He -planned how he should resume his sermons at the Sorbonne, even while -he was too weak to bear the fasting necessary for his Easter -Communion; and it was with great difficulty, and leaning on the arm of -his friend the Abbé Bernard, that he communicated on May 1st in the -little chapel of our Lady of Sion, close to his home. He then went -into the country, where he rallied for a short time, and then grew -rapidly worse. The news of his change spread amongst those who loved -him because they knew him, and those who loved him because they knew -his worth in the Church. - -A "league" of prayers was organized for his recovery, and Henri began -to realize his state. He looked the prospect calmly in the face. Fame, -opportunities for doing good, the love and esteem of friends, were -instantly and willingly resigned. - -"I think of death, and accept it without regret or fear. I am grateful -for all these prayers for me; but I do not desire life. I cannot pray -with that intention." - -Then he thought of his sins, and his unworthiness, and of the Divine -Face he was about to behold; and he shrank back. He was reminded of -the mercy of God. "Truly," he said, "I who have so often preached to -others the mercy of God ought to trust in it myself." - -His greatest grief was the rarity of his communions. He consoled -himself by saying: "Missionaries are often obliged to pass a long time -without communion, and then one feels God _also_ by privation." - -{849} - -A love of solitude began to grow on him, for he was preparing himself -to be alone with God. When begged to try a new treatment, he -consented, saying, "I ask myself, as I often do, what would Père -Lacordaire have done in my place? It seems to me he would have thought -it an indication of Providence." - -He returned to Paris; and every effort of medical science was made to -arrest the malady, but all in vain. An alarming fainting fit on the -14th of June made his friends fear death was nearer to him than they -had imagined, and the Abbé Bernard thought it right to warn him. - -"You surprise me," he said quietly. "I thought myself very ill, but -not so near death; but it is so much the better; you must give me the -holy viaticum and extreme unction." - -The abbé went to fetch the blessed sacrament and holy oils from St. -Sulpice, the parish church of their childhood, of their first -communion, where they had prayed and wept together, where they had -asked many things from God, where they had together been consecrated -priests. There their whole Christian life had run by; and now one had -come to fetch for the other divine succor for his last hours. - -The invalid insisted on rising, and was dressed in his cassock to -receive the holy sacraments. Père Gratry and other friends were -present. "I can see him now," says the former, "as full of grace and -energy as ever, smiling as usual, and saying, 'I am in perfect peace, -dear father--in perfect peace.' I shall remember that sight all my -life, thank God; that noble bearing, that face pale as marble, those -large speaking eyes, his tender glance, and his last words, 'in -perfect peace.'" He made his profession of faith, begged pardon of all -whom he had offended or scandalized, thanked all for the kindness they -had shown him; and implored them "not to say, as was too often done, -'he is in heaven;' but to pray much for him after his death." Then he -said the "Te Deum" in thanksgiving for all the mercies of his life; -and at last he said to his friend, "You cannot think what interior joy -I feel since you told me I was going to die." - -The next day the Archbishop of Paris came to see him. He would be -dressed in his cassock to receive the visit, and would kneel for the -bishop's blessing. He then had a long private conversation with him. - -To this dying chamber came some of the most celebrated names in Paris: -Père Pététot, the Count do Montalembert, the Prince de Broglie, -Augustin Cochin, Mgr. Buguet, the Vicar-general, the curé of St. -Sulpice, General Zamoiski, and a hundred others. One of them said, "We -are a long way off from knowing now what he is. We shall know it one -day." "Dear friend," said he to Father Adolphe Perreud of the Oratory, -"we shall not cease to work _together_ for the cause of God and his -church. Before you leave me, give me your blessing." "On condition you -give me yours," said the Oratorian; and blessing each other, the -friends parted for ever on earth. His bodily sufferings were severe. -His bones were nearly through his skin, and his cough shook him to -pieces. He grew weaker and weaker, and at last the end came. "Give me -the crucifix, sister," said he to the nursing sister who attended on -him; "not mine, but yours, that has so often rested on dying lips. If -I die to-morrow, mother, it will be my first communion anniversary." -"Dear child," she answered, weeping, "we were both happy that day." -"Well," he answered, "we must be still happier to-morrow." - -The agony came on; he kissed the crucifix again and again, murmuring, -"Lord, have pity on me; Jesus, take me soon; Jesus, soon." Suddenly a -great terror seized him; his eyes were dilated with fear, gazing at -something invisible to all around; and he cried out, "I am afraid, I -am afraid." - -{850} - -The Abbé Bernard said, "You most not fear God; abandon yourself to his -mercy, and say, In thee, Lord, have I hoped; let me not be confounded -for ever." - -He looked at him and said, "It is not God whom I fear; oh! no. I fear -that they will prevent my dying." Then he grew calm. - -The abbé brought him the cross of Père Lacordaire, and said, "My God, -I love thee with all my heart in time and in eternity." - -"Oh! yes, with all my heart," he said, kissing the image of his Lord. -It was his last act and his last words. - -"Depart, O Christian soul!" prayed his friends Charles and Adolphe -Perreud. - -"I absolve thee from all thy sins," said the Abbé Bernard; and in a -few minutes the last struggle was over, and his soul was set free. - -Among his papers was found the following: - -"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I die in the faith of -the Catholic Church, to whose service since I was twelve years old I -have had the happiness of consecrating my life. - -"I tenderly bless my relations and friends; I implore all those who -remember me to pray for a long time for my soul, that God, turning -away from the sight of my sins, may deign to receive me into the place -of eternal rest and happiness. I bless once again all those who are -dear to me--my relations, my benefactors, my masters, my fathers and -brothers in the priesthood, my spiritual sons, the number of dear -young people who have loved me, all the souls to whom I have been -united on earth by the tie of the same faith and the same love in -Jesus Christ." - -The inscription on his tomb was chosen by himself: - -"Lord, when I have seen thy glory, I shall be satisfied with it." - -These words were as a key to his life. An insatiable, ardent desire -for God had possessed him, animated his actions; and at last the very -ardor of his longings wore out the feeble body that enclosed so grand -and beautiful a soul. - - --------- - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - -SONNET. - - Upon a rose-tree bending o'er a river - A bird from spring to summer gaily sang; - For love of its sweet friend, the rose, for ever - Its beating heart with happy music rang, - In sunshine warm and moonlight by the shore, - Whose waves afar its voice melodious bore, - Blent with its own. But when, alas! the sere - Grey autumn came, withering those blooms so dear, - Still full of love but full of sadness too, - Changed the sweet song as changed the rose's hue - Mourning each day some rich leaf disappear - Until the last had dropped into the stream, - Anguished by wintry breezes blowing keen. - Then, on the bough forlorn, mute as a dream. - Awhile the poor bird clung, and soon was seen no more. - - ----------- - -{851} - - -From Once a Week. - -CARDINAL TOSTI. - - - -BY BESSIE RAYNOR PARKER. - - -It was in the afternoon of Friday, the 23d of March, that Rome heard -of the death of the "learned and venerable Tosti." This aged cardinal, -long the director of the great establishment of San Michele, (which is -a hospital and school combined,) had attained to nearly ninety years. -Now he was dead, and laid out in state in his own room at San Michele, -whither we went about five o'clock, and, threading the vast corridors, -which run round a court blossoming with oranges and lemons, ascending -a long flight of stone stairs, got into upper regions filled with a -perceptible hum, soldier sentinels stationed by the opened doors, who -motioned us on from room to room till we came to the last of all. -These rooms were perfectly empty of all furniture, save a few -book-cases under glass; but the yellow satin walls of one, and the -delicately-tinted panels of another, showed that they had but lately -formed the private apartments of him who was gone. Three or four -temporary altars were erected in the empty space, adorned by tall -unlighted candles. A thrill crept over us as we neared that last open -door, a silent sentinel at either side; as we crossed the antechamber, -and came in a direct line with the aperture, we saw a figure, -splendidly attired, reposing on a great sloping couch of cloth of -gold. The face of this figure indicated extreme age; the brow was -surmounted by the bright scarlet berretta, which caught the light from -the setting sun. The shrunken frame was clothed in the soft purple of -its ecclesiastical rank. The hands were crossed and held a crucifix; -the feet were turned up in new and pointed shoes. There he lay, -Cardinal Tosti, who for five-and-twenty years was the handsomest of -all the Sacred Conclave, and towered above his brethren when they -walked in procession, drawing the admiration of beholders. - -There was no sound, as we knelt by the dead man's couch; through the -window could be seen the swift Tiber, swollen by the recent rains, and -on the other side of the river rose the green slopes of the -half-deserted Aventine, with its few solitary churches, Santa Sabina, -Santa Alessio, and its gracious crown of trees. Here had Tosti dwelt -for many a year, in rooms which looked to the golden west. Here he -occupied himself with his books, and with the school for industrial -and artistic pursuits which was due to his efforts at San Michele. I -have never seen anything so marvellously picturesque and impressive as -that dead man, lying on his couch of cloth of gold, the closing scene -of a long life, which stretched back far beyond the wars of the first -Napoleon, even to the period when Papal Rome received the royal -refugees of the French Revolution. - -Presently, a group of white-robed priests entered, and began reciting -the office for the dead. This was the signal for the gathering of a -little crowd of Romans. Brown-cowled monks, peasant women with their -children in arms, boys and girls with large wondering dark eyes. -Together they crowded to the door of the dead man's chamber, and knelt -upon the floor, so that above and {852} beyond their bowed heads could -be seen that pale splendor upon its shining couch. We left with -reluctant footsteps, feeling a fascination in the picture which it is -hard to describe. - -Late in the evening, an hour after the _Ave_, the corpse was to be -conveyed by torch-light to Santa Cecilia, the cardinal's titular -church; and at Santa Cecilia we found ourselves in the starry night. -The torches were just entering the church as we drove up; and for some -minutes the doors were inexorably shut, and we feared we had lost all -chance of an entrance. But we were presently admitted, and saw indeed -a striking scene! The small church of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, -famous as being built upon the site of the young martyr's dwelling, -was draped in black and gold from ceiling to pavement, and where the -altar-piece is generally to be seen was a great flat gold cross on a -black ground. The sanctuary was greatly enlarged for the morrow's -service, and hung with black; and in the nave, not very far from the -great portal, rose a large empty couch, exactly resembling that which -we had seen in the cardinal's private chamber. At its foot was a low -bier, whereon now lay the same white image of a man in its purple -robes, and a group of attendants crowded reverentially around it, -flashing torches in their hands, which formed a centre of light in the -dark church, reminding one of the famous Correggio; only, instead of -the new-born Babe, the illumination of humanity for all time to come, -was the aged dead, no longer capable of communicating the living light -of intelligence or of faith, but lying in a pale reflection under the -torches, and gathering into itself all the meaning of the whole scene. - -We perceived that something remarkable was about to take place, and -retired discreetly behind a pillar, that our accidental presence might -attract no notice. The truth was, that the cardinal was about to be -laid out for the great funeral service of the morrow; and by chance we -had gained admission at this purely private hour. The body was taken -on the little bier into the sacristy, and there we supposed that some -change was made in the raiment; when it was brought back the hands -were gloved, and instead of the scarlet berretta was a plain -skull-cap. Then, with difficulty and much consultation, but with -perfect reverence of intention, the straight image was lifted on to -the great couch; the assistant men being grouped on ladders, and an -eager voluble monsignore directing the whole. The ladders, the -torch-light, the mechanical difficulty of the operation, again -reminded me of one of those great depositions in which the actual -scene of the Cross is so vividly brought out by art. At length the -dead cardinal lay placidly upon his cloth of gold, and they fetched -his ring to put upon his hand, and his white mitre wherewith to clothe -his gray hairs. We left them performing the last careful offices, -making the strangest, the most gorgeous torch-light group in the -middle of that dark church that poet or artist could conceive. - -The next morning the Pope and the College of Cardinals came to -officiate at the funeral mass. The square court in front of Santa -Cecilia was filled with an eager crowd of Romans and _Forestieri_, -with the splendid costumes of the Papal Guard, with prancing horses -and old-fashioned chariots, gorgeous with gilding and color. They were -much such a company of equipages as may be seen in our Kensington -Museum, but so fresh and well-appointed in spite of the extreme -antiquity of their design, that one felt as if carried back to the -days of Whittington, Lord Mayor of London. Into Santa Cecilia itself -we could not penetrate, by reason of the crowd and the stern vigilance -of the soldiers, who, attired in the red-and-yellow costume designed -by Michael Angelo, kept a considerable space in the nave empty for the -moment when the Pope should walk from the altar to the bier. But {853} -through the open door we saw the lights upon the black-draped altar -and in front of that gorgeous couch, with its motionless occupant, his -white mitre being now the conspicuous point in the picture. And when -the Pope left the dim church and came out into the sunshine, the -brilliant rays fell upon his venerable white hair and scarlet cap, -while the weapons flashed and the crowd shouted, as he ascended his -wonderful chariot with the black horses, and drove away. - - --------- - -MISCELLANY. - - -_Microscopic Plants the Cause of Ague_.--Owing to the prevalence of -ague in the malarial district of Ohio and Mississippi, Dr. Salisbury -undertook a series of experiments in 1862, with a view to determine -the microscopic characters of the expectorations of his patients. He -commenced his experiments by examining the mucous secretions of those -patients who had been most submitted to the malaria, and in these he -detected a large amount of low forms of life, such as algae, fungi, -diatomaceae, and desmidiae. At first he imagined that the presence of -these organisms might be accidental, but repeated experiments -convinced him that some of them were invariably associated with ague. -The bodies which are constantly present in such cases he describes as -being "minute oblong cells, either single or aggregated, consisting of -a distinct nucleus, surrounded with a smooth cell-wall, with a highly -clear, apparently empty space between the outer cell-wall and the -nucleus." From these characters Dr. Salisbury concludes that the -bodies are not fungi, but belong properly to the algae, in all -probability being species of the genus _Palmella_. Whilst the -diatomaceae and other organisms were found to be generally present the -bodies just described were not found above the level at which the ague -was observed. In order to ascertain exactly their source, he suspended -plates of glass over the water in a certain marsh which was regarded -as unhealthy. In the water which condensed upon the under surface of -these plates, he found numerous palmella-like structures, and on -examining the mould of the bog, he found it full of similar organisms. -From repeated researches Dr. Salisbury concludes: (1.) Cryptogamic -spores are carried aloft above the surface at night, in the damp -exhalations which appear after sunset (2.) These bodies rise from -thirty to sixty feet, never above the summit of the damp -night-exhalations, and ague is similarly limited. (3.) The day-air of -ague districts is free from these bodies. - - -_Use of Lime in Extracting Sugar_.--Peligot long ago demonstrated -that owing to the insoluble nature of the compound formed of lime with -sugar, the former substance would be a most valuable agent in the -manufacture of the latter. Peligot's suggestion is now being carried -out on a large scale in MM. Schrötter and Wellman's sugar-factory at -Berlin. The molasses is mixed with the requisite quantity of hydrate -of lime and alcohol in a large vat, and intimately stirred for more -than half an hour. The lime compound of sugar which separates is then -strained off, pressed, and washed with spirit. All the alcohol used in -the process is afterward recovered by distillation. The mud-like -precipitate thus produced is mixed with water and decomposed with a -current of carbonic acid, which is effected in somewhat less than half -an hour. The carbonate of lime is removed by filtration, and the clear -liquid, containing the sugar, evaporated, decolorized with animal -charcoal, and crystallized in the usual manner. The sugar furnished by -this method has a very clear appearance, and is perfectly crystalline. -It contains, according to polarization analysis, sixty-six per cent of -sugar, twelve per cent of water, the remainder being uncrystallizable -organic matter and salts. The yield, of course, varies with the -richness and degree of concentration of the raw material; on an -average, thirty pounds of sugar were obtained from one hundred pounds -of molasses. - -{854} - -_Russian Coal Resources_.--Recent explorations and surveys appear to -show that the Russian coal resources are much vaster even than those -of the United States of America. In the Oural district coal has been -found in various places, both in the east and west sides of the -mountain-chain; its value being greatly enhanced by the fact that an -abundance of iron is found in the vicinity. There is an immense basin -in the district of which Moscow is the centre, which covers an area of -one hundred and twenty thousand square miles, which is therefore -nearly as large as the entire bituminous coal area of the United -States. The coal region of the Don is more than half as large as all -of our coal measures. Besides these sources, coal has lately been -discovered in the Caucasus, Crimea, Simbirsk, the Kherson, and in -Poland. - --------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - - -Medical Recollections Of The Army Of The Potomac. -By Jonathan Letterman, M.D., late Surgeon U.S.A., and Medical Director -of the Army of the Potomac. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 8vo, pp. 194. - -The preface to this volume announces the intention of its author: "It -is written in the hope that the labors of the medical officers of the -army may be known to an intelligent people, with whom to know is to -appreciate; and as an affectionate tribute to many, long my zealous -and efficient colleagues, who, in days of trial and danger which have -passed, let us hope never to return, evinced their devotion to their -country and the cause of humanity without hope of promotion or -expectation of reward." It is a sketch of the Medical Department of -the army of the Potomac under Dr. Letterman's administration, from -July, 1862, to January, 1864, and affords a concurrent view of the -military movements of that army during the period specified. - -Without infringing upon military details properly so called, an -excellent general idea is given of the battles fought, and the -strategic value of the great changes of position which were executed -with such remarkable promptitude and precision. - -Dr. Letterman confines himself strictly to the period of his own -administration, and the account of the alterations and improvements -introduced under his direction, and chiefly through his means, in the -working of the medical department. - -The system which he adopted became the system substantially of all the -armies of the United States, and with occasional modifications to suit -particular occasions has proved to be the best and most efficient as -well as manageable that could have been devised. To Dr. Letterman -belongs the great praise of having studiously and laboriously -perfected the principles and details of these changes, and succeeded -in securing their recognition and enforcement. - -The total inadequacy of the old system was painfully obvious to all -competent and thoughtful observers at the breaking out of the war. It -was especially so to those who were placed in responsible executive -positions at the front, while the authority in the rear remained bound -to its old ideas, and incapable of understanding the great issues -involved, and the expenditure of independent intelligence and -_matérial_ necessary to accomplish any adequate result. The immediate -consequence was an unnecessary waste of life, of national strength and -resources, and an amount of misery inflicted and suffering endured -which can never be computed and had best now be dismissed for ever. -These causes led early in the war to the appointment of a young, -vigorous, bold, and undeniably able man as Surgeon-General. He made a -complete reformation in the department, and shared the fate of -reformers. He was sacrificed as a victim to the genius of -indifference, neglect, parsimony, and cruelty, which had hitherto held -undisputed or but feebly disputed sway over the fallen on battlefields -and the sick of armies. {855} This is not the time or place to discuss -ex-Surgeon-General Hammond; but it is due to him at all hands, that he -has probably been the means of mitigating the horrors of war as -respects the sick and wounded, and promoting the sacred cause of -humanity in these particulars to a greater degree than any man who -ever lived. The magnitude of the reforms accomplished, the magnificent -scale on which preparation was made, and the courage to order the -necessary expenditures in the face of the time-honored but mean and -timid traditions of the Surgeon-General's office, and the habits of -thought and action engendered thereby in the bureaus of administration -and supply, cannot be appreciated until some learned and philosophical -physician shall write the medical history of the war from its humane -and social points of view. - -We are disposed to give Dr. Letterman all the merit which his book -would seem to claim, and a much higher degree of praise than his -well-known modesty would expect, but we cannot pass over in silence -the gigantic and unrequited labors of his predecessor, Colonel Chas. -S. Tripler, Surgeon U.S.A., the first Medical Director of the army of -the Potomac, which paved the way for the improved methods Dr. -Letterman had the honor of introducing. We are aware that many of the -most important were in contemplation, and if we mistake not, the -ambulance system originated with Dr. Tripler. The terrible experiences -of the Seven Days and the Chickahominy opened the eyes of the military -authorities to the tremendous necessities of the case, and made the -work of medical reform comparatively easy. There is no teacher like -suffering, for Generals as well as _mortals_. - -The military mind is to a great degree governed by the traditions of -the middle ages, when surgery was an ignoble because ignorant and -consequently cruel craft. The rights and privileges of rank have been -slowly and reluctantly conceded, and every effort has been made to -deprive the surgeon of the dignity which belongs to the combatant and -a participation in common toils and dangers. These prejudices have -given way rapidly during the late war, where the courage, skill, and -self-sacrificing charity of medical officers have been most -conspicuous. Many surgeons have proved their manhood in most trying -scenes, and have certainly stood fire as well as the line and staff. -The record of killed and wounded places them on a level with any staff -corps in these respects. - -Military prejudice in the regular army, and the ignorance, stupidity, -and arrogance of many volunteer officers, were an obstacle to the -medical department in the beginning. They gradually gave way under the -steady pressure of intelligence, courage, and determination, till in -the end ambulances became as much respected as battery wagons, and -every able and good officer the friend, supporter, and defender of the -medical department. - -Dr. Letterman has done an excellent service to his profession at large -by his book, which is another vindication of the claims of legitimate -medicine upon the respect, confidence, and gratitude of the public. - -The work is well written and handsomely issued. It is a great subject, -and capable of being developed to a much, higher degree in extent and -scope, which we hope Dr. Letterman will have time and opportunity to -do. - - - -THE NEW-ENGLANDER, July, 1866. - -This periodical emanates from the venerable and classic shades of Yale -University, and is edited by some of the younger professors, two of -whom are inheritors of the distinguished names of Dwight and Kingsley. -It is marked by the refined literary taste, polished style, and -amenity of spirit which are characteristic of the New Haven circle of -scientific and clerical gentlemen. There is very much in the general -tone of its principles and tendencies which gives us pleasure and -awakens our hope for the future. We may indicate particularly, as -illustrations of our meaning, the principle of the divine institution -and authority of government; the sympathy manifested with an ideal and -spiritual system of philosophy, and the decided opposition to the new -English school of anti-biblical rationalism. - -There are several notices of recent Catholic publications which are -written in a courteous style, contrasting very favorably with that -employed by most Protestant periodicals. Dr. Brownson's "American -Republic" receives a respectful and moderately appreciative notice. -The "Memoir and Sermons of F. Baker" is also honored with one which is -very {856} kind and sympathetic, expressing the "intense and mournful -interest" of the writer in the book, and still more in its author, for -which no doubt he will be duly grateful, although we know of no reason -why his friends should go into mourning for him during his lifetime. -The writer, after remarking that the arguments contained in the book -are chiefly addressed to Episcopalians, and therefore need not trouble -any other Protestants, throws out a couple of rejoinders to what he -supposes the author might say to these last, if he were disposed. One -of these remarks is an assertion that the Paulists and their brethren -of the Catholic clergy do not preach Christ. Does the writer really -know nothing of the Catholic system of practical religion except what -he has read in D'Aubigné and the "Schönberg-Cotta" romance? If not, we -recommend him to acquire more correct information from our best -writers. If he has it already, we cannot understand how he could make -such a statement. His winding-up apostrophe to the Paulists, "O -foolish Paulists, who hath bewitched you? you observe days and months -and times and years," is more witty than wise. The Paulists observe, -in common with other Catholics, sixty days in the year as obligatory, -and of these fifty-two are observed with much greater rigor than we -insist upon by the Congregationalists of New Haven. When the writer -gives us a good explanation of his doctrine of the Christian Sabbath -in harmony with St. Paul's teaching to the Galatians, we will -cheerfully undertake the vindication of the other eight holidays, and -will endeavor to convince him that it is just as reasonable to have -handsome altars, statues, pictures, and flowers, in churches, as it is -to have fine churches, marble pulpits, frescoed ceilings, well-dressed -clergymen, and handsome houses with pretty flower-gardens for these -clergymen. - -In our view, there is better work for the learned scholars of New -Haven to do than to indulge in light skirmishing with Catholics and -Episcopalians. They have all the treasures of science and learning at -command, with leisure and ability to use them. There are great -questions respecting the agreement between science and revelation, the -authenticity and credibility of the sacred books, the fundamental -doctrines of philosophy and religion, pressing on the attention of -every man who thinks and cares about God and his fellow-men. The -people around us are drifting rapidly into infidelity and sin. There -is no remedy for this but a reëstablishment of first principles; and -we would like to see our learned friends apply themselves to this -work. It may justly be expected from such an old and world-renowned -university as Yale College, that it should produce the most solid -works, not merely in classic lore and physical science, but in the -higher branches of metaphysics and theology. Dr. Dwight was a great -theologian, and is so styled by Döllinger. Drs. Taylor and Fitch were, -both, able and acute metaphysicians. Since their day, we are afraid -that our friends have fallen asleep in these departments. They set out -to reform Calvinism, to reconcile orthodox Protestantism with reason, -and to find a method of bringing the practical truths of Christianity -to bear on men universally. In spite of their able and zealous efforts -in this direction, religious belief and practice have been steadily on -the wane around them. As for morality, the article on "Divorce," which -we shall make the topic of a separate article hereafter, makes -disclosures which are indeed startling. We would like to have them -resume their work, therefore, once more, from the beginning, and go -back to the most ultimate principles. In what state was man originally -created? What is the relation of the race to Adam? What is original -sin? Whence the need of a Divine Redeemer and a revelation? What are -the means established by Jesus Christ for the regeneration and -salvation of mankind? What is the remedy for the present deplorable -condition of both Christendom and heathendom? Of course, the -discussion of these fundamental questions will involve a thorough -sifting of the Catholic doctrines. We are anxious to have it made, and -when the discussion is carried on upon fundamental grounds, a result -may be hoped for which cannot be gained by skirmishing around the -outposts. - -The clergy and people of New Haven, and of Connecticut generally, have -always been remarkable for their friendly behavior toward Catholics. -There has never been any disposition to persecute them, and, at -present, the relations between the Catholic and non-Catholic sections -of the population are just what they should be in a land of religious -freedom. A judge in New Haven has recently pronounced, in open court, -his decision that the Catholic religion is just {857} as much the -religion of the state as the Protestant; and the last Legislature has -passed the most just and favorable law regulating the tenure of church -property that exists in the United States. The conductors of the -"New-Englander" will surely join us in the wish that all the people of -the state may ere long become one in the belief and practice of the -pure and complete Christian faith as Christ revealed it. - - -A PLEA FOR THE QUEEN'S ENGLISH. -Stray Notes on Speaking and Spelling, by Henry Alvord, D.D., Dean of -Canterbury. Tenth thousand. Alexander Strahan.--THE DEAN'S ENGLISH. A -Criticism on the Dean of Canterbury's Essays on the Queen's English. -By G. Washington Moon, Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. -Fourth edition. Alexander Strahan. - -Among the critics of the English press there seems to be but one -opinion concerning the merits of the two combatants in this literary -joust; that the Dean is deservedly castigated, and that Mr. Moon is an -unapproachable paragon of literary effulgence. However, this is not to -be wondered at. These same critics, and the English press to which -they contribute, sadly need a champion, if we may believe his -reverence of Canterbury. Gross inaccuracies in syntax, unpardonable -faults in style, and frequently occurring examples of slip-shod -sentences would appear, from the "Plea for the Queen's English," to -be, on the whole, characteristic of the modern English press. - -We, transatlantic barbarians that we are, of course know nothing of -the English language, and have not the presumption, we hope, to think -that we can either speak or write one faultless sentence of the -language which we inherit as a means of intercommunion with our -fellows. It is our duty to feel "umble," and we do feel "umble." But, -while perusing these two books, we have had an 'umble and an 'arty -laugh in the depths of our 'umiliation. It may have been very sinful -in us, we know, but we could not help it. As the youthful culprit -replied, when caught laughing in church, we say, 'umbly of course, "We -didn't laugh, it laughed itself!" At the risk of not being believed by -those who have not yet read these, two books, we give the astounding -information that even an Englishman, an educated Englishman, a -dignitary of the English church, a poet, whose verses we republished -in America, (and, confound us, left out the u's,) not only speaks and -writes bad English, but also on his own showing, by the light of Mr. -Moon's volume, presumes to teach others to do the same. Yes, these -published lessons of the Very Rev. Dean, in speaking and spelling, are -so outrageously ungrammatical, and so faulty in style, that we should -not be surprised if the prediction of his antagonist would come true, -that henceforth people will speak of bad English as Dean's English. -Yet with all its faults it is a useful book; and we think that neither -Mr. Moon nor the newspaper critics have done the author justice. We do -not like "Dean's English," and it is humiliating, even to an American, -to discover that he has carelessly spoken or written it; but we like -the Dean's book better than we do Mr. Moon's. We like the schoolboy's -walk better than the schoolmarm's. Mr. Moon's style is faultlessly -prim and precise, and defies literary criticism; but we have felt, -more than once, a wish to take up some of his exact sentences and give -them a good shaking, so as to get a little of the stiffness out of -them. The Dean has written as most people speak; Mr. Moon writes as -nobody ever did or ever will speak. We should write correctly, it is -true, but there is a comparison (however paradoxical it may appear) -even in correctness. Mr. Moon aims to write "most correctly," and we -think that his style is far less pleasing than it would have been if -he had simply written correctly. There is such a thing as -"punctiliousness in all its stolidity, without any application of the -sound or effect of one's sentences." As is his style, so is his -criticism. Nothing escapes his eye; the want of a comma, a sentence a -trifle too elliptical, a careless tautology, (Mr. Moon would have us -say--a carelessly written tautological expression,) are blemishes at -which he turns away his face in rhetorical disgust. Nevertheless, we -say again, we like the Dean's book. It deserves to be studied by all -our young writers, who need to be warned against the use of many -popular phrases, and have their attention directed to common faults in -construction. It is a lively, chatty book, and keeps us in a good -humor from the first to the last page. - -{858} - -The sharp criticism of Mr. Mood is well worth reading. It furnishes us -with an index to the blunders of the Very Rev. Dean. So closely has he -examined these faults and calculated their guilt, that he actually -sums up for us, in one instance, the number of possible readings of -one unfortunate sentence. It contains only ten lines, and may be read -ten thousand two hundred and forty different ways, as Mr. Moon shows -us. Severely as he was attacked, and despite certain personal -innuendos, not by any means creditable to his adversary, the -good-natured Dean (we are sure of his good nature, from his book) -comes off victor, in our opinion, by inviting his enemy to dinner. -When a little time shall have healed the bruises of the literary -castigation he has received, he will doubtless re-write his book, and -give us under another form the profitable hints and helps which at -present need a more exact classification. - - -COSAS DE ESPAÑA. -Illustrative of Spain and the Spaniards as they are. By Mrs. Wm. Pitt -Byrne, author of "Flemish Interiors," etc. 2 vols. 12mo. Alexander -Strahan, London and New York. 1866. - -The publications of Mr. Strahan are well known for the taste and -elegance displayed in their exterior dress. The book before us merits -a full meed of praise in this respect; but it is one of the most -wretched pieces of English composition that has come under our notice. -It has a preface of forty pages, which prefaces nothing, being in fact -nothing more than a few statistics of railways, the army, the mineral -and other products of Spain, jumbled together, with no attempt at -order or classification. The first chapter, styled "introductory," is -jumble number two, on national character, entertainments, -manufactures, railways again, infanticide, education, authors and -authoresses, sobriety and smoking. - -In the second chapter we are surprised to find the authoress has not -yet left Dover. We thought we were in Spain long ago. It is not until -the middle of the third chapter that we are permitted to get to the -frontier, and by this time we confess we are tired of our gentle -guide, and decline going any further. When we are conversing with an -Englishman or an Englishwoman, we prefer the English language to that -affected jargon which consists in italicizing and translating into a -foreign language every emphatic word. It is scarcely an exaggeration -to say that there are three or four such italicized foreign words, -French, Spanish, Latin, or Greek, on each and every page of these two -volumes. Our readers may wish to see a specimen. "The first obstacle -that met us on this same bridge was a crowd of _ouvriers_ in blouses," -p. 26. "The cathedral rather disappointed us, _quoad_ its outward -aspect, and offers nothing _very_ remarkable within," p. 27. "There -are, it is true, some districts which present a very curious and -interesting picture _en_ bird's eye," p. 28. "One day it was a -_fiesta_, on which we made sure of admission, because the _entrée_ is -_libre_ on Sundays, and in all _else_, a _fiesta_ is synonymous with a -Sunday; and finally, at the last attempt we made, on the _right_ day, -hour, etc.," p. 41, vol. ii. "Boleros and Fandangos are national -dances, but they are among the _délassements_ of the _plebs_," p. 145, -vol. ii. Scattered here and there through these intolerable pages we -find numerous examples of wit unequalled in dreariness. Speaking of -Spanish authoresses the writer facetiously remarks, "One or two have -so far exceeded the ordinary limits of female capacity in Spain, as -even to dip the tip of their hose into the cerulean ink-bottle." Of -the domestic pottery she says: "There is what we may call a jar-ring -incongruity between the roughness of the material and the striking -elegance of the form." Aquatic gambolling at Biarritz, we are told, -"is not the only gambling to be seen there." A visit to the tomb of an -archbishop elicits the following: "It is an object of great -attraction, and renders the spot chosen by the archbishop an excellent -site for a tomb, as it cannot fail to keep the memory of him whose -bones it covers before all who frequent the church, and there can be -now little left _besides_ his bones. This is as it should be. '_De -mortuis nil nisi bonum_.'" - -Had the book been expurgated of the hundreds of foreign words, and of -all these dead-and-alive puns, which deface its pages, and the subject -matter been arranged with the slightest view to order, it would have -been quite readable, for the authoress is good-natured and -communicative, and has an eye for the beautiful and the picturesque, -as well as {859} intelligence to appreciate the moral and the useful; -but, as it is, we think the quotations we have made from it are quite -sufficient to prove the justice of our opinion concerning it. - - - -LETTERS OF EUGÉNIE DE GUÉRIN. -Edited by G. S. Trebutien. 12mo, pp. 453. London: Alexander Strahan; -New York: Lawrence Kehoe. 1866. - -Our readers have already been presented in our pages with several -articles and notices of Eugénie de Guérin's character and writings, -and they are doubtless sufficiently familiar with both to waive any -further reflections upon either in this place. The volume of letters -before us is, like her journal, a delicious literary repast, from -which we rise with mind and heart equally gladdened and refreshed. Our -space will not permit us to give but one or two short extracts. "23d -December, 1863. I write to you, dear Louise, to the sound of the -_Nadalet_, to the merry peal of bells, announcing the sweetest -festival of the year. It is, indeed, very beautiful this midnight -celebration, this memorial of the manger, the angels, the shepherds, -of Mary and the infant Jesus, of so many mysteries of love -accomplished in this marvellous night. I shall go to the midnight -mass, not in hope of a pie, coffee, and such a pleasant dish as your -nocturnal cavalier; nothing of the kind is to be found at Cahuzac, -where I only enjoy celestial pleasures, such as one experiences in -praying to the good God, hearing beautiful sermons, gentle lessons, -and, in a quiet corner of the church, giving oneself up to rapturous -emotion. Happy moments, when one no longer belongs to earth, when one -lets heart, soul, mind, wing their way to heaven!" - -The following to M. de la Morvonnais he must have received and read -with intense emotion: - - Cayla, 28th July, 1835. - - Did you imagine, Monsieur, that I should not write to you any more? - Oh! how mistaken you would have been! It was your journey to Paris, - and, after that, other obstacles, which prevented my speaking to you - earlier of Marie. But we will speak of her to-day; yes, let us speak - of her, always of her; let her be always betwixt us. It is for her - sake I write to you: first of all, because I love her and find it - sweet to recall her memory; and then, because it seems to me that - she is glad you should sometimes hear terms of expression that - _vividly recall_ her. I come, then, to remind you of that sacred - resemblance so sweet to myself when it strikes you. How I bless God - for having bestowed it upon me, and thus enabled me to do you some - good! This shall be my mission with regard to you, and with what - delight shall I fulfil it! - - Do not say that there is any merit or act of profound charity in - this acceptation. My heart goes out quite naturally toward those who - weep, and I am happy as an angel when I can console. You tell me - that your life will no longer have any bright side, that I can - elicit nothing from you but sadness. I know this; but can that - estrange me--I, who loved the Marie you weep? Ah! yes; let us weep - over her; lean on me the while, if you will. To me it is not painful - to receive tears: not that my heart is strong, as you believe, only - it is Christian, and finds at the foot of the cross enough to enable - it to support its own sorrows and those of others. Marie did the - same . . . . let us seek to imitate the saints. You will teach this - to your daughter beside the cross on that grave whither you often - lead her. Poor little one! how I should like to see her, to - accompany her in that pilgrimage to that tomb beside the sea, and - under the pines, to pray, to weep there, to take her on my knees and - speak to her of heaven and of her mother. This would be a joy to me: - you know that there are melancholy ones. - -We give only these little tastes of the charming volume, which will -find its way, after the "journal," into many a circle, to afford in -its perusal the most unqualified delight to all its readers. - - - -THE VALLEY OF WYOMING; the Romance of its History and its Poetry; also -Specimens of Indian Eloquence. -Compiled by a Native of the Valley. 12mo, pp. 153. New York: R. H. -Johnston & Co. 1866. - -"This little volume," says the author in his prefatory note, "has not -the slightest claim to be either a history or a study of romance." We -are sorry that it has not, for we cannot see that (apart from the -republication of Campbell's "Gertrude of Wyoming") it has the -slightest claim to be anything else. We thank the author, however, for -giving us the following amongst the specimens of Indian eloquence. It -is part of the reply of the celebrated chief Red Jacket to a -Protestant missionary, - -{860} - -"_Brother_, continue to listen. You say you are sent to instruct us -how to worship the Great Spirit agreeably to his mind, and that if we -do not take hold of the religion which you teach, we shall be unhappy -hereafter. How do we know this to be true? We understand that your -religion is written in a book. If it was intended for us as well as -you, why has not the Great Spirit given it to us: and not only to us, -but why did he not give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book, -with the means of rightly understanding it? . . . . _Brother_, you -say that there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. -If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much -about it? _Why not all agree, as you can all read the book?_" - -We should like to know what answer the missionary made, or could make, -to that argument. - - - -SHAKESPEARE'S DELINEATION OF INSANITY AND SUICIDE. -By A. O. Kellogg, M.D., Assistant Physician State Lunatic Asylum, -Utica, N. Y. 12mo, pp. 204. New-York: Hurd and Houghton. 1866. - -Dr. Kellogg's essays upon some of the characters in Shakespeare are -the evidence of an expert in support and illustration of the intuitive -apprehension and scientific fidelity of genius to truth. The -difference between the creations of genius and those of industry is, -to a certain degree, the difference between the limning of the sea and -the laborious skill of the engraver. The mind gives its unquestioning -and conscious assent to the psychological _delineations_ of -Shakespeare, but it is doubtful if Shakespeare ever made it a special -subject of study. He was undoubtedly a thorough reader of the ancient -classics, and a close and critical observer of the persons and events -of his own time, and that we believe to have been the substance of his -education, properly so called. - -The essay on Hamlet is the best, and we quite agree with Dr. Kellogg's -conclusion on this much disputed subject, that the dramatist meant to -describe a mind unsettled by distress, and gradually culminating in -complete madness. If we were allowed to draw a personal conclusion -from reading this book, we should say that Dr. Kellogg is admirably -adapted for that department of his noble profession which he has -chosen. - -The volume is well printed and beautifully bound. - - - -HOMES WITHOUT HANDS. -Being a Description of the Habitations of Animals, classed according -to their Principles of Construction. By Rev. J. G. Wood, M.A., F.L.S., -etc. With new designs by W. F. Keyle and E. Smith. 8vo, pp. 651. New -York: Harper and Brothers. 1866. - -This is a delightful book, full of scientific knowledge communicated -in the most pleasing and attractive style. It is admirably calculated -to awaken a love for natural science and original collection and -exploration. We consider this class of studies of the highest value, -especially on account of their reflex action on the mind and -character, and their powerful influence in the direction of morality -and religion. We would suggest this book as an admirable one for -prizes in our Catholic boarding-schools, and we wish natural science -were more prized and cultivated in them than it at present seems to -be. - -It is printed and bound in a very handsome manner. - - - -A PRACTICAL GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. -By T.E. Howard, A.M. Metropolitan Series. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & -Co. 1866. - -This is an excellent little manual for our schools, and we doubt not -that it will come into extensive use. - -It bears throughout the unmistakable signs of having come from the -hand of an experienced teacher, from whose pen books of this character -must come to possess any practical worth. The style in which it is -published is, to our thinking, and according to our experience, unfit -for a school-book. The copy sent us would be in tatters in the hand of -a school boy before he had studied one tenth of it. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World. 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