diff options
Diffstat (limited to '43032.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 43032.txt | 59638 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 59638 deletions
diff --git a/43032.txt b/43032.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0992802..0000000 --- a/43032.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,59638 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World; Vol. IV.; October, -1866, to March, 1867., 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; Vol. IV.; October, 1866, to March, 1867. - A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science - -Author: E. Rameur - -Release Date: June 25, 2013 [EBook #43032] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, OCT 1866-MARCH 1867 *** - - - - -Produced by Don Kostuch - - - - - -[Transcriber's notes] - - Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly - braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred - in the original book. - -[End transcriber's note.] - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -_A Monthly Magazine_ - -of - -GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. - - - -VOL. IV. - -OCTOBER, 1866, TO MARCH, 1867. - - - -NEW YORK: - -LAWRENCE KEHOE, PUBLISHER. - -145 Nassau Street. - -1867. - - -CONTENTS - - Aerolites, 536. - Andorra, The Republic of, 561. - - Books, Rise and Progress of, 104. - Books and Hymns, Mediaeval, 804. - - Cervantes y Saavedra, Miguel de, 14. - Connecticut, Divorce Legislation in, 101. - Cowardice and Courage, 160. - Count Julian and His Family, Legend of, 211. - Celtic Anthology and Poetic Remains, 389. - Charity and Philanthropy, 434. - Christmas with the Baron, 446. - Conversion, The Philosophy of, 459. - Christ is Born, 496. - Christmas Story, Little Sunbeam's, 515. - Christmas Day, The Little Birds on, 584. - Christmas Eve, What Came of a Laugh on, 542. - Christmas, Catholic, 565. - Catholic Church, How my Aunt Pilcher found the, 667. - Christine, 681. - Catholic Ceremonial, The, 721. - - De Vere, Aubrey, 73. - Divorce Legislation in Connecticut, 101. - Doubt, Victims of, 550. - - European Events, Recent, 217. - - French Unity, Founders of, 197. - French Watering-Place, A Month at a, 405. - Flowers, Sea-Side, 621. - Fra Angelico, A Portrait of, 671. - - Godfrey Family, The, 30, 174, 320, 473, 598, 750. - Holy Land, The, 500. - Heart of Man, What Most Rejoices the, 559. - - Lake Dwellings, 398. - Labor, The Source of, 593. - Limerick, The First Siege of, 708. - - Miscellany, 138, 281, 424, 570, 853. - Montpensier, Mademoiselle de, 360. - Monarchy, The Church and, 627. - Mediaeval Books and Hymns, 804. - - Nationalities, Development of, 245. - - Old Owl, The, 264. - Origen at Caesarea, 772. - - Problems of the Age, 1, 145, 289, 519, 652. - Paris, The Musee Retrospectif in, 275. - Painting, Missal, 303. - Proselytism, Protestant, in Eastern Lands, 342. - Pope and the Revolution, The, 577. - Parisian Attic, Genius in, 685. - - Robert; or, The Influence of a Good Mother, 641, 824. - Rossetti, Christina G., 889. - Ritualism, What I Heard About, in a City Car, 850. - - Saint Catharine at Florence, 129, - Science, Physical and Christian Revelation, 253, 372. - Syracuse and AEtna, 701. - Swetchine, Madame, 736. - - The Age, Problems of, 1, 145, 289, 519, 652. - The Church, Independence of, 51, - The Thatched House, The Mystery of, 65. - Traveler's Tales, 111. - Tombstone, The Tale of a, 792. - - Unconvicted; or, Old Thorneley's Heirs, 87, 223. - - Woman, 417. - ------- - -POETRY - - A Summer Sorrow, 103. - Anniversary, 128. - Autumn, 341. - Ave Maria Sine Labe Concepts, 415. - - Barabas and I, 535. - Bartimeus, On the Cure of, 771. - - Christmas Song, A, 433. - Christmas Bells, 471. - Charity, Christian, 518. - Christmas Tree, My, 533. - Christmas Dream, A, 549. - - Delia, 359. - Dying Year, The, 499. - Deliverance, 541. - Deo Opt. Max., 640. - - Epigram, 457. - - Home at Last, 263. - Herodias, Request of the Daughter of, 626. - - I Am the Way, 680. - "Inconsolabile," 838. - - Lucifer Matutinus, 110. - Light, 803. - - My Soldier, 100. - My Fears, 210. - My Two Mites, 423. - - Our Lord, Apparition of, to His Disciples, 514. - One Moment, 651. - - Pea-Blossom, 404. - Poem, 597. - Pardon, 620. - - "Quare Tristis es Anima Mea et Quare Conturbas Me?" 397. - - Resurrection, The, 72. - - Silent Grief, 29. - Song, 159. - Saint Lucy, 172. - Summer Days are Gone, 227. - Sonnet, 274. - St. Peter's Denial, On, 499. - - The Fairest Fair, 818. - The Virgin's Cradle Hymn, 388. - The Christmas Tree, 458. - The Cry, 748. - The Answer, 749. - The Test, 846. - The Barren Fig-Tree and the Cross, 852. - - Work-Box, My Aunt's, 666. - ------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS - - Allie's See of St. Peter, 139. - Alphonso, 144. - - Church History, Darras, 575. - Curious Questions, 428. - - England, History of, for the Young, 144. - - First Principles, 288. - Frederick the Great and His Court, 575. - - Holt, Felix, 141. - Harkness' Latin Book, 143. - - International Law, Wheaton's Elements of, 282. - King Rene's Daughter, 859. - - Jesus, Sufferings of, 576. - Jesus Crucified. The School of, 858. - - Laurentia, a Tale of Japan, 287. - Letters, Beethoven's, 574. - Lydia, 719. - - Mormon Prophet and his Harem, The, 144. - Moral Evil, Origin of, 432. - Men, Light and Life of, 576. - Mouthful of Bread, History of a, 720. - McAuley, Catherine, Life of, 854. - Manual, The French, 858. - - Philip Earnescliffe, 143. - Pastoral Letter of Second Plenary Council, 425. - Poems, Alice Carey's, 572. - Poems, Buchanan's, 574. - Paulists, Sermons of the, 718. - Pictorial Histories, Goodrich's, 720. - Physiology of Man, The, 859. - - Rise and Fall, The, 431. - - See of St. Peter, Allie's, 139. - Six Months at White House, Carpenter's, 142, - Sunday-school Class-Book, Improved Catholic, 143. - Saint Cecilia, Life of, 286. - Spanish Papers, Irving's, 286. - Shakespeare, Authorship of the Works of, 429. - Scientific Subjects, Herschel's Lectures on, 430. - Saint Vincent de Paul, Life of, 576. - Severne, Robert, 857. - - The Sham Squire, 288. - The Conditioned, Philosophy of, 432. - Town, Out of, 860. - - Vignettes, Miss Parke's, 287. - - Woman's Work, Essays on, 142. - Women, Higher Education of, 575. - Welte, Alte und Neue, 576. - ----- - -{1} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. IV., NO. 19.--OCTOBER, 1866. - - -ORIGINAL. - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -VII. - -THE DOGMA OF CREATION--THE PRINCIPLE, ARCHETYPE, -AND END OF THE CREATIVE ACT. - - -The next article of the creed is, "Creatorem coeli et terrae:" Creator -of heaven and earth. - -The mystery of the Trinity exhausts the idea of the activity of God -within his own interior being, or _ad intra_. The dogma of creation -expresses the idea of the activity of God without his own interior -being, or _ad extra_. It is an explication of the primitive idea of -reason which presents simultaneously to intelligence the absolute and -the contingent in their necessary relation of the dependence of the -contingent upon the absolute. Being an explication of the rational -idea, it is rationally demonstrable, and does not, therefore, belong -to the super-intelligible part of the revelation, or that which is -believed simply on the veracity of God. That portion of the dogma of -creation which is super-intelligible, or revealed truth in the highest -sense, relates to the supernatural end to which the creation is -determined by the decree of God. Nevertheless, although the idea of -creation, once proposed, is demonstrable on purely rational -principles, it is fairly and fully proposed to reason under an -adequate and explicit conception adequately expressed, only by divine -revelation. Wherever this adequate formula of revelation has been -lost, the conception has been lost with it, and not even the highest -philosophy has restored it. Plato's conception of the formation of the -universe went no higher than the impression of divine ideas upon -matter eternally self existent. In all philosophy which is not -regulated by the principles of revelation, the ideas of necessary -being and contingent existence and of the relation between them are -more or less confused, and the dogma of creation is corrupted. - -The pure, theistic conception gives at once the pure conception of -creation. - -Not that the idea of creation can be immediately perceived in the idea -of God, which has been shown to be impossible; but that it can be -perceived in the idea of God by the medium of the knowledge of finite -existences given to the intellect together with the knowledge of -infinite being, in the {2} primitive intuition. When the idea of -infinite being is fully explicated and demonstrated in the perfect -conception of God, the existence of real entities which are not God, -and therefore not included in necessary being, being known, the -relation of these things extrinsic to the being of God, to the being -of God itself, becomes evident in the idea of God. It is evident that -they have no necessary self-existence either out of the divine being -or in the divine being, and therefore have been brought out of -nonentity into entity by the act of God. - -This creative act of God is that by which he reduces possibility to -actuality. It is evident that this possibility of creation, or -creability of finite existences extrinsic to the divine essence, is -necessary and eternal. For God could not think of doing that which he -does not think as possible, and his thoughts are eternal. The thought -or idea of creation is therefore eternal in the divine mind. It is a -divine and eternal archetype or ideal, which the externised, concrete -reality copies and represents. The divine essence is the complete and -adequate object of the divine contemplation. - -It is, therefore, in his own essence that God must have beheld the -eternal possibility of creation and the ground or reason of -creability. It is the divine essence itself, therefore, which contains -the archetype or ideal of a possible creation. As an archetype, it -must contain that which is equivalent to finite essences, capable of -being brought into concrete, actual existence by the divine power, and -multiplied to an indefinite extent God's eternal knowledge of the -possibility of creation is, therefore, his knowledge of his own -essence, as an archetype of existences which he is capable of enduing -with reality extrinsic to the reality of his own being, by his -omnipotent power. The eternal possibility of creation, therefore, -exists necessarily in the being and omnipotence of God. It is the -imitability of the divine essence as archetype by finite essences, -which are its real and extrinsic similitudes, and which are -extrinsecated by an act of the divine will. The ideal or archetype of -creation is evidently as necessary, as eternal, as unchangeable, as -God himself. God cannot create except according to this archetype, and -in creating must necessarily copy himself, to give extrinsic existence -to something which is a concrete expression of the divine ideal in his -own intelligence. This ideal which creation copies being, therefore, -eternal in the divine intelligence, and the interior activity of the -divine intelligence, or its interior ideal life, being inexplicable -except in the relation of the three persons in God, creation is -likewise inexplicable, except in relation to the distinct persons of -the Trinity. - -The Son, or Word, proceeds from the contemplation of his own divine -essence by the Father, who thus reproduces the perfect and coequal -image of himself. In this act of contemplation, the knowledge of the -archetype of creation, or of the creability of essences resembling the -divine essence, is necessarily included. The expressed ideal or -archetype of all possible existences is therefore in the Word, as the -personal image of the Father, and he contains in himself, in an -eminent and equivalent manner, infinite similitudes or images capable -of being reduced to act, and made to reflect himself in a countless -variety of ways. The Son thus communicates with the Father in creative -omnipotence. The spiration of the Holy Spirit, from the Father and the -Son, consummating the act of contemplation by which the Son is -generated in love, and thus completing the interior, intelligent, or -spiritual life of God within himself, is perfectly correlated to the -eternal generation of the Son. The complete essence of God is -communicated by the Father and the Son to the Holy Spirit, and with it -creative omnipotence as necessarily included in it. The object of -volition in God is identical with the object of intelligence. The -essence of God as being the archetype of a possible creation, {3} that -is, the ideal of creation, or the idea which creation copies, being -included in the term of the divine intelligence, or in the Word, is -also included in the term of the divine love, or the Holy Spirit. The -ideal of creation is therefore included in the object of the eternal, -intelligent, living contemplation in which the three persons of the -blessed Trinity are united. The power of illimitable creation -according to the divine archetype is a necessary and eternal predicate -of his divine being, which he contemplates with complacency. The idea -of creation is therefore as eternal as God; it is coeval with him, and -the object of the ineffable communications of the divine persons with -each other from eternity. God has always been pleased with this idea, -as the artist delights himself in the ideal of beauty, to which he -feels himself capable of giving outward form and expression in -sculpture, painting, or architecture. - -The decree of God to reduce this possibility of creation to act, or -the creative purpose, is likewise eternal; since all divine acts are -in eternity, and there is no process of deliberation or progress from -equilibrium to determination possible in the unchangeable God. God is -_actus purissimus_, most pure act, and there is in him nothing -potential or reducible to act which is not in act from eternity; since -in him there is no past or future, and no succession, but _tota, simul -ac perfecta possessio vitae interminabilss_, a complete, simultaneous, -and perfect possession of interminable life. - -The necessity of his own self-existent being does not determine him to -the creative act, but merely to the exercise of supreme omnipotence in -choosing freely between the contemplation of creation in its ideal -archetype alone, and of creation in its ideal archetype determined to -outward actual expression. The inward life of God is necessary, and -the interior act of beatific contemplation is of the essence of the -divine being. Nothing beyond this, or outside of the interior essence -of God, can be necessary, and the creation cannot therefore be -necessary, or it would be included in the idea of God, and be -identical with the essence of God. God does not create, therefore, by -necessity of nature, but by voluntary choice. It is the only exercise -of voluntary choice possible to him. It is a choice, however, which -though free is determined from eternity. He might have eternally -chosen the contrary, that is, to leave the possible creation -unactualized in its ideal archetype. He did eternally choose, however, -to create. - -The learned expositor of St. Thomas, F. Billuart, says that the -purpose to create is communicated by the Father to the Word, -concomitantly with the intelligence of the divine essence by which he -is generated. [Footnote 1] Creation is no afterthought, no capricious -or sportive play of omnipotence, like the _jeu d'esprit_ which a poet -throws off from a sudden impulse of fancy. The creative purpose has -been the theme of the mysterious communications of the three persons -of the blessed Trinity, from all eternity. In God, purpose and act, -consultation and decree, are one. The decree of creation and the -creative act are identical. The creative act, therefore, _a parte -Dei_, is eternal. It is an illusion of the imagination to conceive of -time as having existed before creation. "In the beginning, God created -the heavens and the earth." That beginning was the first moment of -time, which St. Thomas says God created when he created the universe. -Time is a mere relation of finite entities to each other and to -infinite being, arising from their limitation. The procession of -created existences is necessarily in time, and could not have begun -_ab aeterno_ without a series actually infinite, which is impossible. -Nevertheless, the first instant of created time had no created time -behind it, and no series of instants behind it, intervening between it -and eternity, but touched immediately on eternity. - - [Footnote 1: Tract. De Trin. Diss. V. Art III. ] - -{4} - -The procession of created existences from God is a finite similitude -of the procession of the Son and Holy Spirit from the Father. Creation -is an expression of that archetype in finite form which is expressed -in the infinite image of the Word. He is "the splendor of the glory, -and the express image of the substance" [Footnote 2] of the Father; -and creation is a reflection of this splendor, a reduplication in -miniature of this image. It is an act of the same infinite -intelligence by which the infinite Word is generated. For although -finite itself, it is the similitude of an infinite archetype which -only infinite intelligence can possess within itself. It is also an -act of the same infinite love whose spiration is the Holy Spirit. The -sanctity of the divine nature consists in the perfect conformity of -intelligence and volition. Volition is love, a complacency in good. -Love must therefore concur with intelligence in every divine act, that -it may be holy. The Holy Spirit, or impersonated love, must concur -with the Father and the Son, as principle and medium, to consummate or -bring to its final end the creative act. Creation is therefore -essentially an act of love; proceeding from intelligence and ordained -for beatitude; proceeding from God as first cause, and returning to -him as final cause. [Footnote 3] - - [Footnote 2: Heb. i. 3.] - - [Footnote 3: Final cause is the same as ultimate end. It is the - cause or reason of the determination of God to create.] - -The final cause of creation must be God, just as necessarily as its -first cause must be God. The creative decree being eternal, all that -constitutes its perfection, including its end and consummation, must -be eternal, and must therefore be in God. He is the principle and -consummation of his own act _ad intra_, and of his act _ad extra_, -which imitates it perfectly. God creates, because he freely chooses to -please himself by conferring the good of existence through the -creative act on subjects distinct from himself. The adequate object of -this volition of God is himself as the author of created good, or the -term of the relation which created existences have to him as their -creator. The possession of good by the creature is inseparable in the -volition of God from the complacency which he has in the exercise of -the power of bestowing good by creation. Although he is necessarily -his own final end in creating, yet this does not prevent creation from -being an act of pure and free love, but on the contrary makes it to be -so; because it is as infinite love that God is the end of his creative -act. A charitable man, who confers good upon another, is moved by a -principle of love in himself, which causes him to take delight in the -happiness of his fellow-creatures. This movement originates in -himself, and returns back to himself, being consummated in the pure -happiness which the exercise of love produces. Yet the possession of -good by another is the real object which elicits the act of love, and -it is therefore pure, disinterested charity. Love makes the good as -given, and the good as received, one identical object, and unites the -giver and receiver in one good. Selfishness is inordinate self-love, -or a love of others merely so far as they serve as instruments of our -own pleasure and advantage, and not as themselves subjects of -happiness. But the just love of self and of others is identical in -principle, proceeding from the _amor entis_, or love of being. The -benignant father, prelate, or sovereign, the generous benefactor of -his fellow-men, is not less disinterested in his acts on account of -the pure happiness which comes back to himself, filling his heart with -the purest happiness of which it is capable. Thus in God; his -complacency in his creative act, or sovereign pleasure in creating, is -the purest and most perfect love to the creature. That which he -delights in as creator is the bestowal of existence, which -participates in the infinite good of his own being. - -{5} - -The mode and degree in which existences participate in this infinite -good which God distributes from the plenitude of his own being, -specificates and determines their relation to him as final cause, and -constitutes the ultimate term to which their creation is directed. -This ultimate term or final end of creation as a whole, includes the -ends for which each part taken singly is intended, and the common end -to which these minor and less principal ends are all subordinated in -the universal creative design. The end of a particular portion of the -creation, taken singly, is attained, when it makes the final and -complete explication of that similitude to the divine perfections -which constitutes it in its own particular grade of existence. The end -of the universe of existences is attained, when they collectively -reach the maximum of excellence which God proposed to himself in -creating. That is, when the similitude of the perfections of God is -expressed in the universe in that variety of distinct grades, and -raised to that altitude in the series of possible states of existence, -which God prefixed in the beginning as the ultimate term of the -creative act. Whatever the maximum of created good may be, whatever -may be the predetermined limits of the universe of existence, whatever -may be the highest point of elevation to which it is destined, it is -evident that the accomplishment of the creative act brings the -creation back to God as final cause. It has its final end in God, -wherever that finality may have been fixed by the eternal will of God. -This is very plain and obvious. But it leads into one of the most -abstruse and, at the same time, one of the most unavoidable questions -of philosophy, that which relates to the end of creation -metaphysically final. What is the end of creation, or the relation of -the universe of created existences to the final cause, which is -metaphysically final? How far ought the actual end of created -existences to coincide, or does it really coincide with the end -metaphysically final? - - - -VIII. - -THE END OF CREATION METAPHYSICALLY FINAL--THE ASCENDING SERIES OF -GRADES IN EXISTENCE--THE SUMMIT OF THIS SERIES IS A NATURE -HYPOSTATICALLY UNITED TO THE DIVINE NATURE OF THE WORD--THE -INCARNATION, THE CREATIVE ACT CARRIED TO THE APEX OF POSSIBILITY--THE -SUPERNATURAL END TO WHICH THE UNIVERSE IS DESTINED COMPLETED IN THE -INCARNATION. - -By the end of creation metaphysically final, is meant a relation of -the universe to God as final cause which is final in the divine idea, -or the one which God beholds in his own infinite intelligence as the -ultimatum to which his omnipotence can carry the creative act. It is a -relation which brings the creature to the closest union and similitude -to the creator in the good of being which the nature of the infinite -and of the finite will admit. - -We have already established the doctrine that God is by nature free to -create or not to create, and eternally determines himself to creation -by his own sovereign will to confer the pure boon of existence. We -have also established, that since God determines himself from eternity -to create, he necessarily creates in accordance with his own nature or -essence, in accordance with the eternal archetype and idea reflected -in the person of the Word; and for his own glory, or for an end in -himself to which the creature is related, and which he must attain if -he accomplishes his destiny. But we must inquire further, whether in -determining himself to create according to the archetype contained in -his own essence, he necessarily carries out this idea to the most -perfect and complete actualization in the real universe? That is, does -he necessarily create for an end metaphysically final, and carry the -creative act to its apex, or the summit of possibility? Or is there -any degree of existence or {6} grade of resemblance and relation to -God as archetype which must be supposed in order to conceive of an end -accomplished by creation which is worthy of the divine wisdom and -goodness? Or, on the contrary, is it just as free to God to determine -any limit, however low, as the term of creation, as it is to abstain -from creating? For instance, can we suppose it consistent with the -divine wisdom to create only a grain of sand? On the one hand, it may -be said that creation being a free act, the creation of a grain of -sand does not take away the liberty of the divine will to abstain from -creating anything else. On the other hand, God, as being in his very -essence the infinite wisdom, must have an adequate end in view, even -in creating a grain of sand. It may be said that the creation of a -grain of sand is truly an infinite act, and that a grain of sand -represents the omnipotence of God as truly as the universe itself. -Yet, it is difficult to see any reason why Almighty God should make -such a representation merely for his own contemplation. For the same -reason, it is equally difficult to suppose any adequate motive for the -creation of a merely material universe, however extensive. The wisdom -and power of God are manifested, but manifested to himself alone. The -very end of such a manifestation appears to be to manifest the -attributes of God to intelligent minds capable of apprehending it. -Suppose the material universe filled with sentient creatures, and, -although its end is thus partially fulfilled, by the enjoyment which -they are capable of receiving from it, its adaptation to the -manifestation of the divine attributes to intelligence is still -apparently without an object. The sentient creation itself manifests -the wisdom and goodness of God in such a way that it seems to require -an intelligent nature to apprehend it, in order that God may be -glorified in his works, and that the love which is the essential -consummating principle of the creative act may be reflected back from -the creation to the creator, and thus furnish an adequate term of the -divine complacency. This complacency of God in himself as creator, as -we have seen, is complacency in the communication of good, or pure, -disinterested love delighting in the distribution of its own infinite -plenitude. The material creation can only be the recipient of this -love _in transitu_ or as the instrument and means of conveying it to a -subject capable of apprehending it. The sentient creation can only be -the recipient of it as its most imperfect term, and as an end most -inadequate to the means employed. The wisdom and goodness of God in -the creative act cannot therefore be made intelligible to us, except -as we consider it as including the creation of intelligent natures, -capable of sharing in the intelligent life of God. As soon as the mind -makes this point, it is able to perceive an adequate motive for the -creation, for it apprehends a good in the finite order resembling the -infinite good which is necessary and uncreated. It is approaching to a -finality, for it apprehends that the rational nature is that nature in -which the finality must be situated, or in which the ultimate relation -of the universe to the final cause must exist. In other words, it -apprehends that God has created a _universe_, including all generic -grades of existence explicated into a vast extent and variety of -subordinate genera and species multiplied in a countless number of -individuals, all subordinate to a common order, and culminating in -intelligent life. It apprehends the correspondence of the actual -creation to its ideal archetype, or the realization in act of the -highest possible nature which omnipotence can create after the -resemblance of his own essence impersonated in the Word, and of every -inferior nature necessary to the constitution of a _universe_, or a -world of composite order and harmony comprising all the essential -forms of existence whose infinite equivalent is in the divine idea. - -{7} - -It is evidently befitting the wisdom and grandeur of Almighty God, -that the created universe should represent to created intelligence an -adequate and universal similitude of his being and perfections; that -its vast extent and variety, the multiplicity of distinct existences -which it contains, its complicated relations and harmonies, the -sublimity and beauty of its forms, the superabundance of its sentient -life and enjoyment, the excellence and perfection of its intelligent -creatures, should be adapted to overwhelm the mind with admiration of -the might and majesty, the wisdom and glory, the goodness and love of -the Creator; that, as far as possible, the procession of the divine -persons within the essence of God should be copied in the procession -of created existences; that the ineffable object of the divine -contemplation, or the Word going forth from the infinite intelligence -of the Father and returning to him in the Holy Spirit, should be -represented in created similitudes by the communication of being, -life, and intelligence, in every possible grade, and the completion of -these in the most sublime manner of union to God of which finite -nature is capable. This consummation of the creative act is worthy of -the wisdom of God; for it is the most perfect act of the divine -intelligence _ad extra_, or extrinsic to the _actus purissimus_ by -which the Word is generated in the unity of his eternal being, which -is possible. It is worthy of the goodness of God; for it is the most -perfect act of love _ad extra_, or extrinsic to the _actus purissimus_ -of the spiration of the Holy Spirit, consummating the interior life of -God in eternal, self-sufficing beatitude, which omnipotence can -produce. - -Let us now analyse the composite order of the universe, and examine -its component parts singly, in reference to the final end to which -this order is determined. We will then proceed to examine more closely -the mode by which the end of the universe is attained in the rational -nature, and the relation of this rational nature to the end -metaphysically final. - -Theologians distinguish in the divine nature _esse, vivere_, and -_intelligere_, or being, life, and intelligence, as constituting the -archetype of the inanimate, animated, and rational orders of creation -respectively. - -The inanimate order, composed of the aggregate of material substances, -imitates the divine _esse_, considered as concrete and real imply; -prescinding the idea of vital movement. It imitates the divine being -in the lowest and most imperfect manner. The good that is in it can -only be apprehended and made to contribute to the happiness of -conscious existence when a higher order of existence is created. God -loves it only as an artist loves an aqueduct, a building, or a statue, -as the medium of contributing to the well-being or pleasure of his -creatures. Its hidden essence is impervious to our intelligence. The -utmost that we can distinctly conceive of its nature is that it is a -_vis activa_, an active force, producing sensible effects or -phenomena. This appears to be the opinion which is more common and -gaining ground both among physical and metaphysical philosophers. -[Footnote 4] By active force is meant a simple, indivisible substance, -which exists in perpetual activity. It is material substance, because -its activity is blind, unconscious, and wholly mechanical, producing -by physical necessity sensible effects, such as extension, resistance, -etc. Though not manifest to intelligence in its hidden nature and -operation, it is apprehensible by the intelligence through the effects -which it operates, as something intelligible. Its sensible {8} -phenomena are not illusions, or mere subjective forms of the -sensibility, but are objectively real. Nevertheless, our conception of -them must be corrected and sublimated by pure reason, in order to -correspond to the reality or substance which stands under them. Our -imaginary conceptions [Footnote 5] represent only the complex of -phenomena presented to the senses. They represent matter as composite, -because it is only through composition, or the interaction of distinct -material substances upon each other, that the effects and phenomena -are produced which the senses present to the imagination. The -substance, or active force which stands under them, is concluded by a -judgment of the reason. Reason cannot arrest itself at the composite -as something ultimate. The common, crude conception of extended bulk -as the ultimate material reality, is like the child's conception of -the surface of the earth as the floor of the universe having nothing -below it, and of the sky as its roof; or like the Indian conception of -an elephant supporting the world, who stands himself on the back of a -tortoise, who is on the absolute mud lying at the bottom of all -things. It is the essential operation of reason to penetrate to the -_altissima causa_, or deepest cause of things, and not to stop at -anything as its term which implies something else as the reason or -principle of its existence. It cannot therefore stop at anything short -of the _altissima causa_, in the order of material second causes, any -more than it can stop short of the cause of all causes, or the -absolute first cause. That which is ultimate in the composite must be -simple and indivisible in itself, and divided from everything else, or -it cannot be an original and primary component. For, however far the -analysis of a composite may be carried, it may be carried further, -unless it has been analysed to its simple constituent parts which are -not themselves composite, and therefore simple. It is of no avail to -take refuge in the notion of the infinite divisibility of matter. For, -apart from the absurdity of the infinite series contained in this -notion, one of these infinitesimal entities could certainly be divided -from all others by the power of God and made intelligible to the human -understanding. And the very question under discussion is, What is the -intelligible essence of this ultimate entity? - - [Footnote 4: The philosophical works of Leibnitz may be consulted - for a thorough exposition of this doctrine. Also the Philosophical - Manuals of F. Rothenflue, S.J., and the Abbe Branchereau of the - Society of St. Sulpice. The philosophical articles of Dr. Brownson - in his Review contain some incidental arguments of great value on - the same topic. P. Dalgairns of the London Oratory, also treats, - with the ability and clearness which characterize all his writings, - of this subject, at considerable length, in his work on the Holy - Communion.] - - [Footnote 5: By "imaginary conceptions" is not meant fanciful, - unreal conceptions, but conceptions of the imaginative as and - intellectual facility which reflects the real.] - -Another proof that material substance is something intelligible and -not something sensible, is, that it has a relation to spiritual -substance, and therefore something cognate to spirit in its essence. -The Abbe Branchereau defines relation: "Proprietatem qua duo aut plura -entia ita se habeat ad invicem, ut unius conceptus conceptum alterius -includat aut supponat." "A property by which two or more entities are -so constituted in reference to one another, that the conception of one -includes or suppose the conception of the other." [Footnote 6] - - [Footnote 6: Praelect. Philos. De Relat. Entis. Num. 108, 8.] - -The conception of spirit must contain the equivalent of the conception -of matter, and the conception of matter must contain something the -equivalent of which is contained in spirit. Else, they must be related -as total opposites, which leads to the absurd conclusion that in the -essence of God, which is the equivalent of all finite essences, total -opposites and contradictions are contained. The same is affirmed by F. -Billuart after the scholastic principles of the Thomists. "Supremum -autem naturae inferioris attingitur a natura superiori." "The summit -of the inferior nature is touched by the superior nature." [Footnote -7] Everything copies the essence of God and exists by its -participation in his being. There is no reason therefore for any other -distinction in creatures except the distinction of gradation in a -series, or the distinction of a more or less intense grade of -participation in being. God cannot create anything totally {9} -dissimilar to himself, because the sole archetype imitable in the -creative act, whose similitude is externised in creation, is himself. -All things therefore being similar to his essence are similar to the -essence of one another, each to each, each grade in the ascending -series containing the equivalent of all below it. - - [Footnote 7: De Augelis. Diss. II. Art. I.] - -The material creation represents the real being of God, as -distinguishable in thought from his life and intelligence, in an -express and distinct manner. The being of God is the archetype of the -material creation, and contains a reason why the material order was -necessary to perfect the universe. All geometrical principles are -intuitively seen by the reason to be eternal truths. As eternal and -necessary they are included in the object of the divine contemplation. -The complete and adequate object of the divine contemplation is the -divine essence. It is therefore in his own essence that God sees these -necessary geometrical truths, not as we see them, but as identical -with the truth of his own being in some way above our human -understanding. These eternal geometrical principles are the principles -which lie at the basis of the structure of the material universe, -which therefore represents something in the divine essence not -immediately and distinctly represented by the spiritual world. - -Without pretending to define precisely what the material universe -represents as equivalently and eminently contained in the divine -essence, we are only uttering a truism when we affirm that what man in -his present state principally apprehends through it, is the idea of -the immensity of the divine being. The material universe, which has a -_quasi_ infinitude to our feeble and limited imagination, is an image -of God as possessing boundless infinitude, and including an -immeasurable ocean of perfections. It is only when the mind becomes so -overwhelmed with the magnitude of the creation as to forget its -relation to the creator, that its judgment is erroneous. And the error -of judgment does not consist in appreciating the material universe too -highly, but in appreciating it too little, that is, in not -appreciating its highest relation to the spiritual order, with which -it is cognate in its essence. The physical, visible world is not to be -despised. It is no illusion, no temporary phase of reality, no -perishable substance, but real, indestructible, and of endless -duration. Its essence and its relation to the final cause are -incomprehensible. Its essence is, however, so far intelligible that we -can understand it to be a real entity, bearing a similitude to the -divine nature, endued with active force as a physical second cause, -through which wonderful phenomena are produced in which the divine -perfections are manifested. Its end is also intelligible as -subordinated to the higher grades of existence and to the grand -composite order of the universe. - -The next grade of existence is that which represents the _vivere_ of -the divine essence, or presents an animated and living similitude of -the life of God. The distinct type of this grade is in the animal -world, but it is connected with the inanimate creation by an -intermediate link, namely, that which is constituted by the world of -vegetative life. This world of vegetative life represents the -principle of life in an inchoate form, and ministers to the higher -life of sentient existences, by furnishing them with the sustenance -and food of their physical life, and contributing to their enjoyment -by the beauty of its forms. - -Thus far, the creation is merely good as means to an end, or as the -substratum of that order of existence which is capable of apprehending -and enjoying good. In the sentient creation, existence becomes a good -in itself, or a good capable of terminating the divine will. The -countless multitudes of sentient creatures are created that they may -enjoy life, and attain their particular end in this enjoyment. -Nevertheless this {10} particular end is a minor and less principal -end in reference to the general end of the created universe. To this -more general end the sentient order contributes, by increasing the -beauty and perfection of the whole, and ministering to the happiness -of the higher, intelligent order. - -This third and highest grade of existence represents the divine -_intelligere_. It includes all rational natures, or intelligent -spirits, created after the similitude of that in the divine essence -which is the highest archetype imitable in finite existences. -According to the regular series of gradation, man comes next in order -above the animal world, and should be first considered. There is a -particular reason, however, which will appear hereafter, for -considering the angels first. - -The angels represent most perfectly the order of pure intelligence as -distinct from the irrational creation. By their nature they are at the -summit of existence, and participate in the most immediate and -elevated mode which can be connatural to any created essence, in the -divine perfections. The perfection of the universe requires that it -should contain a grade of existence imitating that which is highest in -the essence of God so far as it is an archetype of a possible -creation. There is nothing conceivable in the divine essence higher -than its intelligence or pure spirituality. The divine life is -consummated in the most pure act of intelligent spirit, which is the -procession of the Word and Holy Spirit from the Father. This divine -procession within the divine essence being the archetype of the -procession of created existences without it, the latter ought to -imitate the former by producing that which represents the intelligent -act of God as closely as possible. This intelligent act of God being -consummated in love, or complacency in that infinite good which is the -object of intelligence, creation, which imitates and represents it, -ought to contain existences which are the recipients of love and are -capable of its exercise in the highest possible manner which can be -essential to a created nature. The creative act would therefore be -most imperfect and incomplete if it stopped short with the material or -even the sentient creation. Supposing that God determines to carry out -his creative act by creating a universe or a world in which the -potential is actualized in a universal manner by representing the -_esse, vivere_, and _intelligere_ of the divine essence in every -generic mode, this universe must evidently contain intelligent -spirits. Intelligent spirit alone can apprehend the image of God in -creation, apprehend itself as made in the image of God, apprehend the -infinite attributes of God by the intuition of reason, and become -fully conscious of the good of existence, capable of enjoying it, and -of returning to the creator an act of love, worship, and -glorification, for his great boon of goodness conferred in creation. -Creation is an overflow of the plenitude of good in the divine being -proceeding from the complacency of God in the communication of this -good. This communication can be made in a manner which appears to our -reason in any way adequate to terminate the divine complacency, only -by the communication of intelligence. - -The type of intelligent nature is most perfectly actualized in the -angels, whose essence and operation are purely spiritual, so far as -created, finite nature and operation can be purely spiritual. Whatever -is intelligible or conceivable of finite, intellectual activity as -connatural, or intrinsically included in the essence of created -spirit, is to be attributed to them. - -The notion of any composition of nature in the angels, or hypostatic -union of their pure, spiritual substance with another material -substance distinct from it, is wholly gratuitous. It destroys the -distinctive type of the angelic nature and the specific difference -between it and human nature. It has no foundation in reason except the -baseless supposition that a distinct {11} corporeal organization is -necessary to the exercise of created intelligence. Nor has it any -solid support from tradition or extrinsic authority. - -Some of the fathers are cited as maintaining it. Their language is, -however, for the most part explained by the best theologians as -indicating not the union of the angelic spirit to a distinct subtle -corporeity, but the existence of something analogous to matter in the -angelic spirit itself. The angels are called corporeal existences, -because their essence is extrinsic to the divine essence, and -extrinsecation attains its extreme limit in matter; also because their -potentiality is not completely reduced to act, and their operation is -limited by time and space. This appears to be also the notion -advocated by Leibnitz, and the exposition of the nature of material -substance given above, in accordance with his philosophy, removes all -difficulty from the subject. - -The conception of the angelic essence as completely free from all -composition with a distinct material substance, is also at least more -evidently in harmony with the decree _Firmiter_ of the Fourth Council -of Lateran, than any other. "Firmiter credimus et simpliciter -confitemur, quod unus est solus verus Deus aeternus. . . . . qui sua -omnipotenti virtute simul ab initio temporis, utramque de nihilo -condidit creaturam, spiritualem et corporalem, angelicam videlicet et -mundanam; ac deinde humanam quasi communem ex spiritu et corpore -constitutam." - -"We firmly believe and confess with simplicity, that there is one only -true eternal God . . . . who by his own almighty power simultaneously -from the beginning of time made out of nothing both parts of the -creation, the spiritual and the corporeal, that is, the angelical and -the mundane: and afterwards the human creature, as it were of a nature -in common with both, constituted from spirit and body." - -Nevertheless, by the principle of the Thomist philosophy above cited, -that the lowest point of any nature touches the highest of the nature -beneath it, there may be something even in the spiritual operation of -the angels cognate to material operation, and coming within the sphere -of the sensible. We will venture to give a little sample of scholastic -theology on this head from Billuart. - -"It may be said with reason that the angels operate two things in the -celestial empyrean. The first is the illumination by which the -intrinsic splendor of the empyrean is perfected, according to St. -Thomas and various testimonies of Holy Scripture in which certain -places are said to have been sensibly illuminated by the angels. For -although an angel cannot immediately produce alterative qualities, as -heat or cold, he can produce light, because light is a celestial -quality and the highest of corporeal qualities, and the summit of the -inferior nature is touched by the superior nature. - -"In the second place, the angels operate on the empyrean heaven, so -that it may more perfectly and efficaciously communicate a suitable -perpetuity and stability to all inferior things. For as the supreme -angels who are permanently stationed there have an influence over the -intermediate and lowest angels who are sent forth, although they -themselves are not sent forth, so the empyrean heaven, although it is -itself motionless, communicates to those things which are in motion -the requisite stability and permanence in their being. And that this -may be done more efficaciously and permanently the angels aid by their -operation in it. For, the whole universe is one in unity of order; and -this unity of order consists in that by a certain arrangement -corporeal things are regulated by those which are spiritual, and -inferior bodies by the superior; therefore, as this order demands that -the empyrean spheres influence the inferior ones, it demands also that -the angels influence the empyrean sphere." [Footnote 8] - - [Footnote 8: De Angelis. Diss. IL Art. I.] - -{12} - -Whatever may be thought of this as philosophy, it is certainly -brilliantly poetical, as is the whole treatise of the learned -Dominican from which it is extracted. The physical theory of the -universe maintained by the scholastics was a magnificent conception, -although it has been supplanted by a sounder scientific hypothesis. -There appears to be no reason, however, for rejecting the notion of -angelic influence over the movement of the universe. The modern -hypothesis of a central point of revolution for the universe being -substituted for the ancient one of the empyrean, the entire scholastic -theory of the influence of the angels upon the exterior order of the -universe may remain untouched in its intrinsic probability. - -The consideration of man has been reserved, because, although he is -inferior to the angels in intelligence, he sums up in himself the -three grades of existence, and therefore the consideration of the -three as distinct ought to precede the consideration of their -composition in the complex human nature. The human nature includes in -itself the material, vegetative, animal, and intelligent natures, -which represent respectively the divine _esse, vivere_, and -_intelligere_. For this reason man is called a microcosm or universe -in miniature. In certain special perfections of the material, -sentient, and intelligent natures, he is inferior to each; but the -combination of all gives him a peculiar excellence and completeness, -and qualifies him to stand in the most immediate relation to the final -cause of the universe, or to the consummation of its end. - -What this end is, we must now more closely examine. It is plain at -first sight that this end must be attained by creation through its -intelligent portion, or through the angelic and human natures. As God -is final cause as well as first cause; of necessity, these intelligent -natures in themselves, and all inferior natures through them, must, in -some way, terminate on God as their ultimate end. God is final cause -as the supreme good participated in and attained to by the creation, -through the overflow of the plenitude of the divine being. The divine -complacency in this voluntary overflow of the fount of being and good -was the ultimate and determining motive to the creative act. The good -of being thus given is a similitude of the divine _esse, vivere,_ and -_intelligere_. As it is real, or existence in act, it must copy, as -far as its grade of existence permits, the most pure act of God in the -blessed Trinity. That is, the creature must reflect from its own -essence an image of the divine essence, or a created similitude of the -uncreated Word, in which its existence is completed and its act -consummated. In the material world this is a mere dead image, like the -representation of a living form made by a statue or picture. In the -sentient world, so far as we can understand this most inscrutable and -baffling of all parts of the creation, there is an apprehension by the -sensitive soul of a kind of shadow of the intelligible object in -sensible forms, and the imperfect resemblance of the life and felicity -of an intelligent nature which corresponds to this imperfect -apprehension. In the intelligent creature, its spiritual essence, by -virtue of the rationality in which it is created, and is its -constitutive principle, reflects an image of the divine Word in the -contemplation of which its intelligent life is completed. So far as -intelligent nature is merely potential, it is potential to this act of -intelligent life; and when its potentiality is reduced to act, so as -to produce the nearest similitude to the divine intelligence in act, -which God has determined to create, intelligent nature, and in it all -nature, has attained its finality. Intelligent nature has attained the -highest good attainable; and, the different intelligent species and -individuals existing together in due order and harmony in the -participation of the common good, with all inferior grades of -existence subordinated to them, the universe has unity and is -determined to a common final end. - -{13} - -Thus, creation returns back to the principle from which it proceeded -by the consummation of the creative act. As the Father is united to -the Word in the Holy Spirit, or in love and complacency, so the -creation is united to God by the possession of good and the -complacency of God in this good. It is actualized in the intelligent -nature capable of knowing and loving God, and therefore having a -similitude to the Son or Word. When it is ascertained what the highest -union to the Father, or that approaching nearest to the union of the -Son to him of which created nature is capable, is, it will be -ascertained what is the end metaphysically final to which created -nature can attain, if God wills to bring it to the summit of -possibility. When it is ascertained what this summit of possibility -is, it is ascertained what the end of creation is which is -metaphysically final; and when it is ascertained how far toward this -summit God has actually determined to elevate his creation, it is -ascertained what is the end of creation actually final, and how far it -coincides with the end metaphysically final. - -This knowledge cannot be deduced from any first principle given to -reason. It is communicated by revelation, and by this revelation we -learn that God has determined to bring the creation to the end -metaphysically final in the incarnation of the Word. - -The revelation of the mystery of the Incarnation is concomitant with -the revelation of the mystery of the Trinity; therefore, in the creed, -the same terms which propose the dogma that the Word is of God and is -God, propose the dogma that the Word is incarnate in human nature. The -name given to the Second Person in the Trinity, in the creed, Jesus -Christ, is the name which he assumed with his human nature. "Et in -unum Dominum nostrum, Jesum Christum Filium Dei unigenitum, Deum de -Deo, Lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, -consubstantialem Patri, per quern omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos -homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de coelis, et incarnatus -est etiam pro nobis de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus -est." - -"And in one Jesus Christ our Lord, the only begotten Son of God, God -of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten not made, -consubstantial with the Father, by whom all things were made. Who, for -us men, and for our salvation, descended from heaven, and was -incarnate also for us by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, and was -made man." - -The mystery of the incarnation presents to us the idea, that the Word -has assumed human nature, not by assuming all the individuals of the -race, but by assuming humanity individuated in one perfect soul and -body into a union with his divine nature, in which it terminates upon -his divine person as the final complement of its existence, without -any confusion of its distinct essence with the divine essence to which -it is united. By this union, the Word is a theandric person, or one -divine person in two natures, divine and human, really distinct from -each other in essence and existence, but with one common principle of -imputability to which their attributes and operation are to be -ascribed. This is the union, called in theological language -hypostatic, of the creature to the Creator, which is metaphysically -final, or final to the divine intelligence and power; beyond which -there is no idea in God of a possible act _ad extra_, and which is -next in order to the procession of the divine persons _ad intra_. -Through this hypostatic union, created nature participates with the -uncreated nature impersonated in the Son in the relation to the Father -as principle, and the Holy Spirit as consummation, of intelligence and -love; that is, in the divine life and beatitude. The incarnation -having been in the view and purpose of Almighty God from eternity, -{14} as the ultimatum of his wisdom and omnipotence, is the apex of -the creative act, or the terminus at which the creative act reaches -the summit of possibility. In it the creation returns to God as final -cause, from whom it proceeds as first cause, in a mode which is -metaphysically final. It is therefore certain that God, in his -eternal, creative purpose, determined the universe to an end -metaphysically final; and that this end is attained in the -incarnation, or the union of created with uncreated nature in the -person of the Word. - --------- - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - - -MIGUEL DE CERVANTES Y SAAVEDRA. - - -Notwithstanding the value of the precious metals extracted from the -American mines, the Spanish exchequer had not been in a satisfactory -condition for a long time. War had scourged the kingdom since the -conquest by the Moors. Ferdinand and Isabella had indeed dislodged -them and their unlucky King Boabdil from their little paradise in -Granada and Andalucia, about a century before the poor Don made his -first sally; but it was at a dread sacrifice of money and men's lives. -Charles V. was engaged in ruinous wars during the greater part of his -reign, and Philip II., his successor (unwillingly indeed), was put to -trouble and expense while uniting with other Christian powers to -prevent the ferocious sultan from bringing all Europe under the -Mussulman yoke. The victory of Lepanto, gained by his half-brother, -Don John, somewhat crippled the Sublime Porte and the terrible -renegade Uchali, but did not prevent the Algerine and other African -pirates from doing infinite mischief to all the Christian states -bordering the Mediterranean. Ceaselessly they intercepted their -merchant vessels, made booty of the freight and slaves of the crew, -and obliged all in the rank of merchants or gentlemen to find heavy -ransoms. Now what should have prevented Spain and France and the -Italian kingdoms from collecting a large fleet and army at any one -time, and battering down the strongholds of these ruthless plunderers, -and effectually putting it out of their power to annoy their Christian -neighbors? Philip was often urged to co-operate in such a good work, -but he preferred to expend time and money, and his subjects' blood and -property, on other projects. - -An extract from the work mentioned below, [Footnote 9] in reference -to the state of Spain toward the latter years of Philip II., is well -worth transcribing. The author is speaking of Cervantes in prison, -some time between 1598 and 1603: - - [Footnote 9: Michel de Cervantes, sa Vie, son Temps, son OEuvre - Politique et Litteraire. Par Emile Chasles. Paris: Didier et Cie.] - - "He distinctly perceived, through the splendor and apparent unity of - the Spanish monarchy, a muttering and stormy confusion, a thousand - strange and opposed groupings;--politicians who in fact were mere - favorites, austere gentlemen mixed with _galant_ writers,--grave - inquisitors condemning errant Bohemians, applying a barbarous law to - barbarous hordes, and cauterizing but not curing wounds. Through - this assemblage of contrasts he could see a wide separation between - the social classes. Two distinct groups existed united by any common - idea or sympathy, extra-social world of Gitanos (gipsies), rogues, - and mystics, whose lives were independent, and that of the alcaids - and corregidors. - -{15} - - "Between these two camps hovered a mixed population so frequently - treated of in Spanish letters,--the alguazil, the sacristan, the - deserter, the refugee, a hybrid people attached to the law or the - church, but affiliated to the _hampa_ (illegal bond of union) by - character, by nature, by origin, or by interest. - - "In a country where poverty was every day increasing, necessity - threw thousands every day on a career of adventure. It depopulated - Spain in exiling to the Indies her best soldiers. It flung away - innumerable renegades to the coast of Africa. It decimated that - nobility erewhile so valiant, so full of pride and patriotism. - Impoverished gentlemen soon formed a large class of honorable - paupers. They endured, with a stoicism purely Spanish, the - exigencies of honor and poverty, along with the necessity of living - and dying useless to their country." - -Let pity be awarded to the poor gentlemen who took his promenade -toothpick in hand, to impress on his world that he had dined. -Cervantes had no need to go beyond his family recollections for -materials for this sketch: - - "Behold the hidalgo coming out of his house with unquiet eye. His - suspicious humor inclines him to believe that every one knows his - shoes are pieced, that perspiration has left marks on his hat, that - his cloak is threadbare, and that his stomach is empty. He has taken - a draught of water within closed doors, and just come forth - displaying his hypocritical toothpick,--dolorous and deceptive - exhibition, which has grown into a fashion." - -Political principles and social institutions -prevalent during the long wars between -the Christians and the Moors were -still in vigor at the end of the sixteenth -century, when the circumstances -of the country had undergone a thorough -change. - - "During the the centuries when Spain was struggling against the - Arabs, the she condition of the nationality was the purity of blood - and the Christian faith. The Old Christian (Christiano Viejo), the - irreproachable Castilian alone, could be intrusted with the defense - of the soil or the government of the country. And now when the enemy - was expelled the usage remained. The alcaid (magistrate) did not - know the law, perhaps he could not read, but 'he had,' as he said, - 'four inches of the fat of an Old Christian on his ribs, and that - was sufficient.'" - -In the interlude of the Election of the Alcaids of Daganzo, Cervantes -specifies the personal gifts sufficient to qualify for the post. An -elector proposing Juan Verrouil, thus dwells on his good qualities: - - "At all events Juan Verrouil possesses the most delicate - discernment. The other day, taking a cup of wine with me, he - observed that it smacked of wood, of leather, and of iron. Well, - when we got to the bottom of the pitcher, what did we discover but a - key fastened by a strap of leather to a piece of wood! - - "_Secretary_.--Wonderful ability, rare genius. Such a man might rule - Alanis, Cazalla, ay even Esquivias." - -Francis de Humillos is considered fit for the magistracy because of -his nearness in soling a shoe. Michael Jarret is voted worthy, as he -shoots an arrow like any eagle. Peter the Frog knows every word of the -ballad of the "Dog of Alva" without missing one, but Humillos stands -the examination with rather more credit than the rest; he knows the -four prayers, and says them four or five times per week. - -The number of wandering gipsies and brigands and thieves of all -description was out of all rational proportion with the honest and -respectable population. These were united under the hampa, and it was -a matter of extreme difficulty to obtain information against any -delinquent from a brother of the order. - -Little is said about the mercantile or manufacturing classes in books -connected with the time of Cervantes. Enough is told of the pride, and -luxury, and generally perverted tastes of the great, and hints are -given of the kind and considerate demeanor of the nobility residing on -their estates to their dependents. - -{16} - -DON QUIXOTE'S PREDECESSORS. - -Spain is not the only country which for a time has set an extravagant -estimate on some books or class of books. Even in our own days and in -those of the last generation, have not literary furors prevailed for -picturesque banditti, and feudal castles, and caverns, and awful -noises in vast and dimly lighted bedchambers, for poetry beckoning its -victims to despair and suicide, for novels stamped with the silver -fork of high life, and lastly, for those which enlarge on the -physiology of forbidden fruit? M. Chasles will pleasantly explain the -literary _penchants_ of the peninsula two hundred and sixty odd years -since: - - "We have seen the France of the seventeenth century enthusiastic for - the Astrea and the Clelia, [Footnote 10] and the England of the - eighteenth assume shield and spear for Clarissa Harlowe, [Footnote - 11] but in 1598 and in Spain, the extraordinary popularity of the - Amadises resembled a brain fever at which no one dared laugh. One - day a certain nobleman coming home found his wife in tears. 'What is - the matter? What bad news have you heard?' 'My dear, Amadis is - dead.' They could not suffer the writers to put their heroes to - death. The infant Don Alonzo personally interceded with the author - of the Portuguese Amadis to rewrite the chapter in which the Signora - Briolana was sacrificed. These creatures of the imagination assumed - a personal reality among the people of that era in the mind of every - one. Every one was convinced that Arthur of Britain would one day - return among men. Julian of Castile, who wrote in 1587, affirmed - (could we believe him) that when Philip II. espoused Mary of - England, he was obliged to reserve the claims of King Arthur, and - engage to yield him the throne when he returned. Chivalric fictions - became an article of faith. A certain gentleman, Simon de Silveyra, - swore one day on the Holy Gospel that he held the history of Amadis - de Gaul [Footnote 12] for true and certain." - - [Footnote 10: For information concerning these slow romances and - their contemporaries, and the great Honore d'Urfy. see University - Magazine for February, 1844.] - - [Footnote 11: A school of simple and warm-hearted working-class folk - nightly assembled at a forge in Windsor to hear the perilous trials - of Pamela read out to them. They watched with unflagging interest - her progress through her ticklish trials, and showed their joy in - her final triumph by running in a body to the church and ringing the - bells.] - - [Footnote 12: This first and best of the chivalric romances was - composed by Vasco de Lobeira of Oporto, who died in 1406. It was - written between 1342 and 1367, and first printed between 1492 and - 1500. There is some uncertainty concerning the given dates.] - -Such were a few characteristics of Spanish life when Cervantes thought -of writing his Don Quixote. In his numerous works he had it in purpose -to improve the state of things in his native country, and to correct -this or that abuse, but he obtained no striking success till the -publication of this his greatest work. Alas! while it established his -character as master in literature, it excited enmities and troubles in -abundance. - - -YOUTH OF CERVANTES. - -Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra was born in 1547 at Alcala de Henares. -His parents, both of gentle birth, were Rodrigo de Cervantes and -Leonor de Cortinas. Their other children born before Michael were -Rodrigo, Andrea, and Luisa. His family belonged to the class of -impoverished gentlefolk, poor but intensely proud of their descent -from one of those hardy mountaineers the Saavedras, who, five -centuries before, so heroically defended the northern portion of Spain -against the Moors. While the hereditary possessions were growing less -and less, the heads of the family would endeavor to compensate for -present privations, by relating to their children the noble deeds and -the great estates of their ancestors. - -Cervantes' paternal roof was probably surrounded by some of the -paternal fields, and it is likely that the domestic economy was -similar to that described in the first chapter of Don Quixote, where -translators have still left us at a loss as to the Saturday's fare, -_duelos y quebrantos_ (griefs and groans), some, guessing it to be -eggs and bacon; others, a dish of lentils; others, brains fried in -oil; others, the giblets of fowl. - -Alcala de Henares [Footnote 13] was worthy to be the birthplace of -Spain's best writer. The archbishops of Toledo owned a palace there, -and there the great Cardinal Ximenes, an ex-student of its {17} -college, returned when somewhat under a cloud, and prepared his -world-famous polyglot Bible in Hebrew, Syriac, Greek, and Latin. From -the date when the great scholar and statesman made the town his -permanent residence it aimed to become, and did eventually become, the -intellectual Metropolis of the native country of Cervantes. It -possessed a University, nineteen colleges, thirty-eight churches, and -works of art in profusion. - - [Footnote 13: "From the Arabic At-Cala-d'el-Nahr, the chateau by the - river."] - -Whether debarred by poverty or negligence, the last an unlikely -supposition, Cervantes did not graduate in the University of Alcala or -in any other, a circumstance that occasioned him much fortification in -his manhood and advanced age. Emile Chasles thus expresses himself on -this subject: - - "The graduated took their revenge. When Cervantes acquired celebrity - they recollected that he had taken no degree. When he thought an - employ they applied to him by way of iron brand the epithet, - _Ingenio Lego_, 'He is not of ours,' said they; 'he is not a - cleric.' The day when he attracted the attention of all Europe their - anger was excessive towards the writer who possessed talent without - permission, and genius without a diploma. Cervantes gaily replied, - that he admired their pedantic learning, their books bristling with - quotations, the complements they paid each other in Greek, their - erudition, their marginal notes, their doctors' degrees, but that he - himself was naturally lazy, and did not care to search in authors - for what he was able to say without them; and finally, that when - there is a dull or foolish thing to be expressed, it will do in - Spanish as well in Latin." - -He was smarting under the contempt of the learned asses of his day -when writing the preface to his Don Quixote: - - "Alas, the story of Don Quixote is as bare has a rush! Ah, if the - author could do as others,--cite at the head of the book a litany - of authorities in alphabetic order, commencing with Aristotle and - ending with Xenophon or Zoilus! But the poor Cervantes can find - nothing of all this. There he sits, paper before him, the pen behind - his ear, his elbow on the table, his cheek in his hand, and himself - all unable to discover pertinent sentences or ingenious trifles to - adorn his subject. Happily a humorous and intelligent friend enters - and brings relief. 'Quote,' said he, 'and continue to quote; the - first sentence that comes to hand will answer. "Pallida mors aequo - pede" is as good as another. Horace will come in well anywhere, and - you can even make use of the Holy Scriptures. The giant Golias or - Goliath was a Philistine, whom David the shepherd slew with a stone - from a sling in the valley of Terebinthus, as is related in the Book - of Kings in the chapter where it is to be found.'" - - -THE FIRST PLAYS AT WHICH HE ASSISTED. - -The earliest instructors of our brave romancer and poet were the -excellent clergyman Juan Lopez de Hoyos, who took pride and pleasure -in expanding the intellects of clear-headed pupils, and the talented -strolling actor, Lope de Rueda, who at a time (middle of sixteenth -century) when neither Alcala nor even Madrid could boast a suitably -appointed theatre, went from town to town, and amused the inhabitants -from his rudely contrived stage. This consisted of a platform of loose -planks supported by trestles, and a curtain as respectable as could be -afforded, doing duty as permanent scene, and affording a hiding-place -behind it to the actors when not performing, and to the few musicians -who occasionally chanted some romantic ballad. - -Rueda had been in his youth a gold-beater at Seville, whence, finding -in himself a strong vocation for the mimetic art, he made his escape, -carrying some of the popular satiric stories in his head, and moulding -them into farces. His troupe consisted of three or four male actors, -one or two occasionally presenting female characters, and these were -found sufficient to present a simple story in action, the manager -himself being an actor of rare ability. These open air performances -took a very strong hold on Cervantes' imagination. An outline is given -of one of these acted fables, the precursors of the voluminous -repertory furnished some years later by Lope de Vega. - -Rueda himself, presenting an old laborer, tired and wet, and carrying -a fagot, appears before his door, and calls on his wife, who should -have his supper ready. His daughter (represented by {18} a beardless -youth) acquaints him that she is helping a neighbor at her skeins of -silk. She is called, and a fierce scolding match ensues, he demanding -his supper and vaunting the severity of his labor, she vilifying the -fagot he has brought home. By-and-by the discourse falls on a little -plantation of olive trees which he has just put down, and the Signora -Agueda de Toruegano forgets her anger in the anticipation of the large -profits to accrue from her seedlings: - - "_Wife_.--Do you know, my dear, what I've been just thinking? In six - or seven years our little plantation will produce four or five - faneques (about fifteen barrels) of olives, and putting down a plant - now and again, we shall have a noble field all in full bearing in - twenty-five or thirty years. - - "_Husband_.--Nothing more likely; it will be a wonder in the - neighborhood. - - "_Wife_.--I'll gather the fruit, you'll take them to market on the - ass, and Menciguela (the daughter) will sell them; but mind what I - tell you, girl! you must not sell them a maravedi less than two - reals of Castile the celemin (bushel). - - "_Husband_.--Two reals of Castile! O conscience! a real and a half - [Footnote 14] will be a fair price. - - [Footnote 14: This has been substituted for fifteen deniers, - about three farthings, the amount in M. Chasles' version.] - - "_Wife--Ah_, hold your tongue! They are the very best kind--olives - of Cordova. - - "_Husband_.--Even so, a real and a half is quite enough. - - "_Wife_.--Ah, don't bother my head! Daughter, you have heard me; two - reals of Castile, no less. - - "_Husband_.--Come here, child. What will you ask--the bushel? - - "_Daughter_.--Whatever you please, father. - - "_Husband_.--Just a real and a half. - - "_Daughter_.--Yes, father. - - "_Mother_.--Yes, father! Come here to me. How will you sell them the - bushel? - - "_Daughter_.--Whatever you say, mother. - - "_Father_.--I promise you, my lass, two hundred stripes of the - stirrup leathers, if you don't mind my directions. Now what'll be - the price? - - "_Daughter_.--Whatever you like, father. - - "_Mother_.--How! Ah, here's for your 'whatever you like.' (_She - beats her_.) Take that, and maybe it'll teach you to disobey me. - - "_Father_.--Let the child alone. - - "_Daughter_.--Ah, mother, mother, don't kill me! (_Cries out; a - neighbor enters_.) - - "_Neighbor_.--What's this, what's this? Why do you beat the little - girl? - - "_Wife_.--Ah, sir, it's this wasteall that wants to give away all we - have for nothing. He'll put us out of house and home. Olives as - large as walnuts! - - "_Husband_.--I swear by the bones of my ancestors that they are no - bigger than grains of millet. - - "_Wife_.--I say they are. - - "_Husband_.--I say they're not. - - "_Neighbor_.--Will you please, ma'am, to go inside? I undertake to - make all right (_She enters the house_.) Now, my friend, explain - this matter. Let us see your olives. If you have twenty faneques, I - will purchase all. - - "_Father_.--You don't exactly comprehend. The fact is--do you - see?--and to tell the honest truth, the olives are not just in the - house, though they are ours. - - "_Neighbor_.--No matter. Sure it's easy to get them brought here. - I'll buy them at a fair price. - - "_Daughter_.--My mother says she must get two reals [Footnote 15] - the bushel. - - [Footnote 15: The Spaniards keep their accounts in piastres, - reals, and marvedis, the first-named being worth about 8s. 6d. of - our money. Thirty-four marvedis make a real, eight reals a - piastre. The real mentioned in the text was probably a piece of - eight or piastre.] - - "_Neighbor_.--That's rather dear. - - "_Father_.--Now isn't it, sir? - - "_Daughter_.--My father only asks a real and a half. - - "_Neighbor_.--Let us see a sample. - - "_Husband_.--Ah, don't ask to talk about it farther. I have to-day - put down a small plot of olives. My wife says that within seven or - eight years we'll be able to gather four or five faneques of fruit - from them. She is to collect them, I to take them on the ass to - market, and our daughter to sell them, and she must not take less - than two reals. She says yes, I say no, and that's the whole of it. - - "_Neighbor_.--A nice a fair, by my faith! The olives are hardly - planted, and yet your daughter has been made to cry and roar about - them. - - "_Daughter_.--Very true indeed, sir, what you say. - - "_Father_.--Don't cry any more, Menciguela. Neighbor, this little - body is worth her weight in gold. Go, lay the table, child. You must - have an apron out of the very first money I get for the olives. - - "_Neighbor_.--Good-by, my friend; go in and be agreeable with your - wife. - - "_Father_.--Good-by, sir. (_He and his daughter go in_.) - - "_Neighbor, alone_.--It must be owned that some things happen here - below beyond belief. Ouf! quarrel about olives before they're in - existence!" - -{19} - -The reader will easily recognize the "Maid with the milking pail" at -the bottom of this illustration. Before the production of any of the -regular pieces of De Vega, or Calderon, or Alarcon, or Tirso de -Molina, the easily pleased folk of country or town were thoroughly -satisfied with Rueda's repertory. When the talented stroller died in -1567, he was honored with a costly funeral, and solemnly interred in -the cathedral of Cordova. Strange contrast between his posthumous -fortune and that of Moliere! - -The impression made on Cervantes by the performances on Rueda's -platform was strong and lasting. He ever retained a high respect for -the talent of observation, the native genius and the good sense of -Lope de Rueda. - -In the preface to his own plays, Cervantes left an inventory of the -theatrical properties of the strolling establishments in his youth: - - "All the materials of representation were contained in a sack. They - were made up of four jackets of sheepskin, laced with gilt leather, - four beards, as many wigs, four shepherd's crooks. The comedies - consisted of eclogues or colloquies between two or three shepherds - and one shepherdess. They prolonged the entertainments by means of - interludes, such as that of the _Negress_, the _Ruffian_, the - _Fool_, or that of the _Biscayan_,--four personages played by Lope - as well as many others, and all with the greatest perfection and the - happiest natural ability that can be imagined." - -One evening in the old age of Cervantes, the company around him were -discussing the living actors and the present condition of the theatre. -Among other things they treated of the infancy of the Spanish stage, -and the artist who first essayed to make it something better than a -platform for tumbling. Cervantes at once brought forward the claims of -his early master: - - "I remember having seen play the great comedian Lope de Rueda, a man - distinguished for his intelligence and his style of acting. He - excelled in pastoral poetry. In that department no one then or since - has shown himself his superior. Though then a child, and unable to - appreciate the merit of his verses, nevertheless when I occasionally - repeat some couplets that have remained in my memory, I find that my - impression of his ability is correct." - - - -HIS FIRST STEP IN LIFE. - -The young admirer of Lope de Rueda exhibited in his temperament and -appearance more of the soldier than the poet. With his high forehead, -his arched eyebrows, his hair flung behind, his firm-set mouth, he -seemed to present little of the imaginative dreamer. However, there -was that in the delicate contours of the countenance, in the searching -look, in the fire of the large dark eyes, which betrayed the ironical -powers of the observant man of genius. No doubt he had the literary -instincts somewhat developed by the practical lessons of Rueda, but -military aspirations had the ascendant for the time. Though his -brother Rodrigo had departed for the war in Flanders, and it seemed as -if he was destined to remain at home with his family, fate and -inclination were against this arrangement. However, the first step he -took in life was not in the direction of the battle-field. An Italian -cardinal took him to Rome in quality of secretary. The brave Don John, -half-brother of Philip II., was appointed general of the league arming -against the Grand Turk at the same time, and the young and ardent -Miguel eagerly took arms under him, and was present at the memorable -naval engagement of Lepanto. Philip did not enter with much good-will -into this strife, and prevented any advantages that might result from -the glorious victory by shortly withdrawing his brother from the -command of the allied forces of Christendom. The enthusiastic young -soldier received three wounds as well as a broken arm in the fight. -This was in the year 1571, and until 1575 we find Cervantes attending -Don John in his contentions with the Mohammedan powers on the coast of -Africa, in which the chivalric commander was hampered by the ill-will -of his brother, Philip II. He went into the Low Countries much against -his will, and after several victories met a premature death there in -1578, when only thirty-two years old. - -{20} - -CAPTIVE IN ALGIERS. - -Cervantes received from his great-souled commander written -testimonials of his valiant conduct and moral worth, and sailed for -Spain from Naples in the year 1578. On the voyage the vessel was -attacked by three Turkish galliots; those who fell not in the -engagement were made prisoners, and our hero became the slave of a -lame renegade called the "Cripple," in Arabic, Dali Mami. - -The Algerians, rigid Mussulmans as they were, killed as few Christians -in these attacks as they could. Slaves and ransoms were the cherished -objects of their quests, and as soon as could be after the landing in -Algiers, the classification was made of "gentles and commons." The -captors were cunning in their generation, and this was the process -adapted for the enhancement of their live property. - -The captive's owner proceeded with wonderful skill to raise the value -of his goods. While the slave declared his poverty, and lowered his -station in order to lower the terms of his ransom, the master affected -to treat his victim with the greatest respect. He gave him almost -enough of nourishment, and professed he was ruining himself for the -other's advantage through pure deference and good-will; and slipped in -a word as to his hopes of being repaid for his outlay. The prisoner -might undervalue himself as much as he chose, "he was merely a private -soldier." Ah, his master knew better; the man of the ranks was a -general, the man before the mast a _caballero_, the simple priest an -archbishop. - - "As for me,' said the captive Dr. Sosa, 'who am but a poor clerk, - the need me bishop by their own proper authority, and _in - plenitudine potestatis_. Afterward they appointed me the private and - confidential secretary of the Pope. They assured me that I had been - for eight days closeted with His holiness in a chamber, where we - discussed in the most profound secrecy the entire affairs of - Christendom. Then they created me cardinal, afterwards governor of - Castel Nuovo at Naples; and at this present moment I am confessor to - Her Majesty the Queen of Spain.' In vain Dr. Sosa renounced these - honors. They produced witnesses, both Christian and Turks, who swore - to having seen him officiating as cardinal governor." - -The letters of of Don John of Austria having been found on Cervantes, -the poor soldier of Lepanto became at once a great lord, from whom a -large ransom might be expected. They began with genuflexions, and -frequently ended with the scourge, not in his case, however. Many poor -wretches, to save themselves from the horrible treatment they endured, -or expected to endure, became Mohammedans, on which they immediately -obtained their liberty, were set on horseback, with fifty Janissaries -on foot, serving as cortege, the king defraying the expense of the -ceremony, bestowing wives on the hopeful converts, and offering them -places among his Janissaries. - -Cervantes became the centre, round which the hopes of many poor -captives were grouped. He made several attempts at evasion, and, -strange to say, was not in any instance punished by his otherwise -cruel master. - -Several Christians enjoying the benefit of safe conduct were free to -come and go among these Algerines, and the Redemptorist Fathers -enjoyed thorough freedom, as through them the ransoms were chiefly -effected. A Spanish gentleman being set at liberty, carried a letter -from our hero home to his family, and in consequence the brave old -hidalgo, his father, mortgaged his little estate, took the dowries of -his two daughters, and forwarded all to his son for the liberation of -himself and his brother, who was also in captivity. When he presented -himself to Dali Mami with his sum in his hands the renegade cripple -only laughed at him. He and Rodrigo were men of too much importance to -be ransomed for so trifling a sum. - -{21} - -The cruel viceroy of Algiers having spent his allotted time in charge -of that nest of vultures, was replaced by a governor still more cruel, -under whom Cervantes made a desperate effort to escape, and carry off -forty or fifty fellow-captives with him. He paid his brother's ransom, -and he, when set at liberty, managed to send a vessel near the spot -where Miguel had his companions in safety in a grotto of a certain -garden. Through some mismanagement the descent failed, and the -hiding-place was revealed by the treachery of a trusted individual. -All were brought before the new Viceroy Hassan, and Cervantes avowed -himself the chief and only plotter among them. Hassan used flattery, -promises, and threats to induce the intrepid Spaniard to criminate a -certain brother Redemptorist as privy to the plot, in order that he -might come at a much coveted sum of money which he knew to be in his -possession. All was in vain. Cervantes was not to be turned from the -path of loyalty, and when every one expected sentence of death to be -pronounced on him at the moment, Hassan became suddenly cool, and -merely ordered him to be removed. - -The bagnio of Hassan was a sufficiently wretched place, but while our -hero sojourned there, he made it as cheerful as he could by composing -poetical pieces and reciting them, and getting up a Spanish comedy. -There were forty priests in it at the time, and these performed their -clerical duties as if at liberty. They celebrated mass, administered -holy communion, and preached every Sunday. When Christmas approached, -he arranged a mystery, such as he had seen performed in his native -Alcala under the direction of the ingenious Lope de Rueda. All were -prepared,--the shepherds' dresses, the crib, the stable, etc.; the -guardian admitting outsiders at a small charge, and a shepherd -reciting the opening verses of the entertainment, when a Moor entered -in hot haste, and shouted out to all to look to their safety, as the -Janissaries were rushing through the streets, and killing the -Christians. Some clouds on the northern horizon had been taken for the -Christian fleet under Don John, and the terrible guards determined to -put it out of the Christian captives' power to aid the attack. The -massacre ceased on the clearing away of the vapors. - -About that time, Philip II. was collecting a large naval force in the -Mediterranean for the ostensible purpose of storming Algiers, though -in reality his intent was merely to seize on the kingdom of Portugal. -Its romantic sovereign, Don Sebastian, the hero of one of Miss -Porter's romances, had just been slain in Morocco, and his successor -Henry, whose days were numbered, was unable to cross his projects. The -report of Philip's meditated descent inspired Cervantes with a project -of a general rising of the slaves. He even addressed to the sombre -king, through his secretary Mateo Vasquez, a remonstrance and -encouragement, of which we present a few extracts: - - "High and powerful lord, let the wrath of thy soul be enkindled. - Here the garrison is numerous, but without strength, without - ramparts, without shelter. Every Christian is on the alert; every - Mussulman is watching for the appearance of the fleet as the signal - for flight. Twenty thousand Christians are in this prison, the key - of which is in your hands. We all, with clasped hands, on bended - knees, and with stifled sobs, and under severe tortures, beseech - thee, puissant lord, to turn your pitying looks towards us, your - born subjects, who lie groaning here. Let the work courageously - begun by your much loved father be achieved by your hand." - -Hassan employed the slaves in building fortifications for his -garrison, but he kept Cervantes strictly guarded. "When my disabled -Spaniard," said he, "is under guard, I am sure of the city, the -prisoners, and the port." But though well watched, the restless -captive made three other attempts at escape, for each of which he was -to receive, but did not, two thousand bastinadoes. In the fourth -attempt, two merchants who were compromised, and feared he might -betray them under the torture, offered to pay his ransom, and thus -secure his departure, but he did not accept the terms. He braved the -examination, and would {22} not reveal the names of any accomplices -except four who were already out of danger. Strange to say, even this -time he escaped without punishment. A renegade, Maltrapillo, high in -Hassan's confidence, and who seems to have entertained great esteem -for the fearless and generous character of Cervantes, probably saved -his back sundry stripes on these different occasions. On this subject -we quote some lines from M. Chasles: - - "Either through the interference of Maltrapillo or the influence - exercised by the noble character of Cervantes on all around him, - this time again he was spared by Hassan. How was he enabled to many - times to escape his master's rage? In following his fortunes - through these years of trial, I am struck by the mysterious - influence of his noble character on the events and the persons by - whom he was surrounded. In the mixed of a diverse population - incessantly changing, among a crowd of soldiers and captive - doctors, he occupied an exceptional station. Brothers of Mercy, - Christian merchants, renegades, all recognize in him a moral - superiority. 'Every one,' says the eye-witness Pedrosa, 'admired - his courage and his disposition.'" - -The acts of kindness done by the renegades to the captives were not -small nor few. Nearly all of them had conformed through the immediate -prospect of promotion, or fear of punishment, and there was scarcely a -conscientious Mussulman among every hundred of them. In general they -were anxious to obtain from the captives about to be ransomed -certificates of their own good offices towards them. These were -intended to be available for some possible future contingencies. - -The poor sorrowful father continued to make unavailing efforts for his -ransom. He even disturbed the court officials with representations of -his son's services and sufferings; but "circumlocution" was a word -understood even in Madrid and in the days of Philip II. The afflicted -and impoverished gentleman died in dragging his suit through the lazy -and unpatriotic officials, and if ever a death resulted from -heartbreak his was one. Still his mother, his brother Rodrigo and his -sister Andrea exerted themselves, and dispatched to Algiers 300 -crowns. A strong representations at the court insured in addition the -amount of a cargo then consigned to Algiers, which produced only 60 -ducats, say L30. These sums were not sufficient, and the heart sick -captive would have been carried by Hassan to Constantinople, his -viceroyalty having expired, only for the deficiency being made up by -the Brothers of Mercy, Christian merchants, etc., who were "tightly -targed" for that purpose by the good-hearted and zealous brother -superior, Gil. This providential redemption occurred in 1580. - -Before he quitted his abode of little ease he had the forethought to -demand a public scrutiny of his conduct by the Christian authorities. -Witnesses in great number came forward to testify to his worth. The -following facts were irrevocably established. He had rescued one man -from slavery only for the treachery of Blanco. The pure morality of -his life was attested by a gentleman of high standing. Others proved -his many acts of charity to the unfortunate and to children, all done -as secretly as possible. He had contrived the escape of five captives. -A gentleman, Don Diego (James) de Benavides, furnished this testimony: - - "On coming here from Constantinople, I asked if there were in the - city any gentlemen by birth, I was told there was one in - particular--a man of honor, noble, virtuous, well-born, the friend - of caballeroes, to wit, Michael de Cervantes. I paid him a visit. He - shared with me his chamber, his clothes, his money. In him I have - found a father and a mother." - -The declarations of Brother Gil and of Rev. Dr. Sosa solemnly -confirmed the facts brought forward by numerous captives. Sosa wrote -his declaration while still in irons, and avowed with a mixture of -dignity and feeling that his principles would have prevented him from -allowing himself such {23} intimacy with Cervantes, had he not -considered him in the light of an earnest Christian, liable to -martyrdom at any moment. - -A scrutiny was also made in Spain at the request of the elder -Cervantes, in 1578, and both the justifying documents, signed by -notaries, are still in existence. - - "Ah!" says Haedo (himself an eye-witness of the sufferings of the - Christians in that vulture's nest), "it had been a fortunate thing - for the Christians if Michael Cervantes had not been betrayed by his - own companions. He kept up the courage and hopes of the captives at - the risk of his own life, which he imperilled four times. He was - threatened with death by impaling, by hanging, and by burning alive; - and dared all to restore his fellow-sufferers to liberty. If his - courage, his ability, his plans, had been seconded by fortune, - Algiers at this day would belong to us, for he aimed at nothing - less." - -Cervantes did not put his own adventures in writing. The captive in -Don Quixote said with reference to them, "I might indeed tell you some -strange things done by a soldier named Saavedra. They would interest -and surprise you, but to return to my own story." The disinterested -hero had more at heart the downfall of Islamism than his own -glorification. - - -HIS RESTITUTION TO HIS NATIVE LAND. - -Cervantes touched his native land again with no very brilliant -prospect before him. His father was dead; his mother could barely -support herself, his brother was with the army, and his friends -dispersed. Still the first step on his beloved Spain gave him great -joy, afterwards expressed through the mouth of the captive in Don -Quixote: - - "We went down on our knees and kissed our native soil, and then with - eyes bathed in tears of sweet emotion we gave thanks to God. The - sight of our Spanish land made us forget all our troubles and - sufferings. It seemed as if they had been endured by others than - ourselves, so sweet it is to recover lost liberty." - -At the time of his arrival king and court were at Badajos, watching -the progress of the annexation of Portugal. He joined the army, and -during the years 1581, '2, '3, shared in the battles between Philip -and the Prior Antonio de Ocrato, the latter being assisted by the -French and English. In one of these fights the Spanish admiral ordered -the brave Strozzi, wounded and a prisoner, to be flung into the sea. -At the engagement of the Azores, Rodrigo Cervantes and another captain -flung themselves into the sea, and were the first to scale the -fortifications, thus giving their soldiers a noble example. - - -MARRIAGE AND SUBSEQUENT TROUBLES. - -He lived in Lisbon a short time and composed his Galatea there. Next -year he returned to Madrid, and married the lady Dona Catalina de -Palacios y Salazar y Vomediano. She was of a noble family, but her -dowry consisted of a few acres of land. In the marriage contract, -signed in presence of Master Alonzo de Aguilera, and still in -existence, mention is made of half a dozen fowl forming part of the -fortune brought by her to the soldier and poet. The marriage was -celebrated 12th December, 1584, at the bride's residence, Esquivias, a -little town in the neighborhood of the capital. - -He now betook himself seriously to literature, published the Galatea, -and began to write for the theater. At first he was very successful, -but on a sudden Lope de Vega came on the scene, and exhibited such -dramatic aptitude and genius and mental fertility, that managers and -actors and audience had no ears for any other aspirant to dramatic -reputation, and poor Cervantes found his prospect of fame and -independence all at once clouded. The pride of the Spanish hidalgo and -"Old Christian" [Footnote 16] had been much {24} modified by his life -in the army and bagnio, and his good common sense told him that it was -his duty to seek to support his family by some civil occupation rather -than indulge his family pride, and suffer them and himself to starve. - - [Footnote 16: One unsuspected of having Moorish or Jewish blood in - his veins.] - -But oh, Apollo and his nine blue stockings! what was the occupation -dropped over our soldier-poet's head, and doing all in its power to -extinguish his imaginative and poetic faculties? Nothing more nor less -than the anti-romantic duties of a commissary. Well, well, Spain was -no more prosaic than other countries, and Cervantes had brothers in -his mechanical occupations. Charles Lamb's days were spent in adding -up columns of "long tots." Burns gauged whiskey casks and kept an eye -on private stills; Shakespeare adjusted the contentions of actors, and -saw that their exits and entrances did not occur at the wrong sides; -perhaps the life of the mill-slave Plautus furnished as much happiness -as any of the others. The mill-stones got an occasional rest, and he -was in enjoyment for the time, when reading comic scenes from his -tablets or scrolls, and listening to the outbursts of laughter that -came from the open throats of his sister and brother drudges. - -The Invincible Armada, while preparing to make a hearty meal on -England, had need meantime of provender while crossing the rough -Biscayan sea, and four commissaries were appointed to collect -provisions for that great monster, and for the behoof of the Indian -fleets. Cervantes was one of the four, Seville appointed his -headquarters, and his time most unpoetically employed collecting -imposts in kind from all tax-paying folk. - -The regular clergy (houses of friars and monks) were at the time at -deadly feud with his Most Catholic Majesty, Philip II., and refused to -pay him tribute. They founded their refusal on a papal bull; and on -the other aide, the alcaids produced the royal warrant. Between the -contending powers the author of Galatea found himself sufficiently -embarrassed. - -For some years Cervantes endured a troubled and wretched existence in -such employment as the above, in purchasing corn for the use of the -galleys, and in making trips to Morocco on public business. He -solicited the government for an office in the Indies, and was on the -point of obtaining it when some influence now unknown frustrated his -hopes. He describes his condition and that of many other footballs of -fortune in the Jealous Estremaduran: - - "In the great city of Seville he found opportunities of spending the - little he had left. Finding himself destitute of money, and not - better provided with friends, he tried the means adopted by all the - idle hangers-on in that city, namely, a passage to the Indies, the - refuge of the outcasts of Europe, the sanctuary of bankrupts, the - inviolable asylum of homicides, paradise of gamblers who are there - sure to gain, resort of women of loose lives, where the many have a - prospect, and the few a subsistence." - -Our poet not being born with an instinct for regular accounts and -being charged to collect arrears of tax in Granada to the amount of -two millions of maravedis, say L1,500, found his task difficult among -people who were slow in committing to memory the rights of the crown. -His greatest mistake was the intrusting of a considerable sum to a -merchant named Simon Freire de Luna in order to be deposited in the -treasury at Madrid. Simon became bankrupt, and Cervantes was cast into -prison for the deficiency in his accounts. He was soon set at liberty, -but the different appearances he was obliged to make before the courts -of Seville, Madrid, and Valladolid were sufficient to turn his hair -grey before its time. The judges reproached him for his deficit, the -people gave him no praise. The alcaids of Argamasilla in La Mancha -gave him particularly bad treatment. Perhaps he recollected it when -writing his romance. - -{25} - -Subjected to the interrogatories of the royal councillors, judges, and -even alcaids, a servant to all merely for means to live, and always -moving about, poor Cervantes appears at last to have given way. From -1594, when sent to collect arrears in Granada, to 1598, little can be -gathered concerning him, but from this last date till 1603 nothing -whatever is known of his fortunes. The probability is that he spent -part of the time in a prison of Andalucia or La Mancha, and there -meditated on the vanity of human expectations, and wrote the first -part of Don Quixote. - - -HIS LITERARY LIFE. - -Wherever he spent this interval his brain had not been idle--he had -passed in review the defects of the Spanish government and of the -Spanish character. He had been unable to rouse the king to crush the -power of the Algerine pirates, either by the memorials he had -consigned to his friend the secretary, or by the vigorous pictures he -had presented on the stage (after his return from captivity) of the -cruelties inflicted by them on their unhappy captives. He had failed -in his great and cherished object, but there remained one reformation -yet to be made, namely, of taste among those Spaniards, ladies and -gentlemen, to whom reading was a pleasure, and who could afford to -purchase books. To substitute a relish for healthier studies was a -darling object of our much worried poet for years. It was cherished in -prisons, and the first part of his great work written, or nearly so, -at the time when we find him again mixing with society in Valladolid, -where Philip II. held his court. This was in the year 1603. The -following extract concerning his residence and his mode of life in -that city, is taken from the work of M. Chasles: - - "There is at Valladolid a poor looking house, narrow and low, hemmed - in among the taverns of a suburb, and near the deep and empty bed of - a torrent called Esgueva. There Cervantes came to live in 1603, in - the fifty-seventh year of his age. With an emotion which I cannot - express I hare visited this dwelling, which stands outside the city, - and which remains unmarked by stone or inscription. A well-used - staircase conducts to the two modest chambers used by Cervantes. - One, in which he slept, no doubt, is a square room with a low - ceiling supported by beams. The other, a sort of ill-lighted kitchen - looking on to the neighboring roofs, still holds his _cantarelo_ or - stone with three round hollows to hold water jars. Here lived with - him his wife, Dona Catalina, his daughter Isabelle, now twenty years - old, his sister Dona Andrea, his niece Constanza, and a relation - named Dona Magdalena. A housekeeper increased the family. Where did - all sleep? However that was arranged, they all did their work - together. The ladies earned money by embroidering the court-dresses. - Valladolid, adopted for abode by the new king and by the Duke of - Lerma, was then incumbered, as was Versailles afterwards, with - gentlemen, with the grandees, and with generals. Our impoverished - family was supported by this affluence. The Marquis of Villafranca, - returning from Algiers to the court, got his gala-suit made by the - family of the soldier-poet, with whom he had erewhile been - acquainted. Cervantes was occupied either with keeping the books of - people in business, or regulating the accounts of some people of - quality, or striving to bring his long lawsuit with the government - lo a close. - - "In the evening, while the needles of the women flew through the - stuffs, he held the pen, and on the corner of the table he put his - thoughts in writing. There it was he composed the prologue of that - work which had been a labor of love in the composition, and in which - he employed all the force of his genius. In bringing it with him to - Valladolid, he experienced alternations of hope and fear, being - fully sensible that it was his masterpiece. 'Idle reader,' said he - in the first page, 'you may credit my word, for I have no need to - take oath, that I wish this book, child of my brain, were the most - beautiful, the most brilliant, and the most witty that any one could - imagine.' He had published nothing since the Galatea, which had - appeared twenty years before and was an amiable apology for the - taste of the times. The book about to be printed was a flagrant - attack on the same literature." - -Those who despise the old books of chivalry, and have probably never -opened one, are too ready to undervalue Cervantes' apprehension about -bringing out his book, and the service it eventually rendered to -society and literature. We recommend an indifferent individual of this -way of thinking to peruse about the eighth of the contents of one of -the condemned {26} volumes of Don Quixote's library, and work himself -into the conviction that the body of the Spanish readers of 1603, -ladies and gentlemen, not only admired such compositions more than -living readers admire the most popular writings of our times, but in -many instances believed the contents to be true. - -Let us hope that there is some mistake about the non-accommodation -afforded to the seven individuals of Cervantes' family, six of whom -were of gentle blood. It is easy to imagine what delightful evenings -they would have enjoyed if tolerably comfortable with regard to -furniture and space, the soldier-poet reading out some passages from -the Don, or the Exemplary Novels, or one of his plays, and the -well-bred women plying their needles, listening with interest, and -occasionally breaking out into silvery laughs at the comic misfortunes -of the knight, or the naive pieces of roguery of the squire. - -We can readily imagine the desolation of Cervantes' spirit during the -troubled years of his official wanderings, his superiors urging him to -grind the faces of his countrymen and fellow-subjects, and these -entertaining most unfriendly feelings toward himself. The ladies of -his family--where were they during this nomadic life of his, and how -were they situated? Separation from their society and anxiety about -their privations must have added much to the present suffering, and -forebodings of things still worse, the companions of his lonely hours. - -A pleasant interruption to the monotony and privations of the family -life must have been the appearance of the first part of the Don in -1604, and the popularity it soon attained. - - -HIS LABORERS AND THEIR REQUITAL. - -Some who merely neglected the author till found by fame, were soon -ready to do him disservice by passing censure on the execution of the -great work, and even searching for subjects of blame in his past -career. Lope de Vega, as we have seen, had put it out of his power to -turn his dramatic talents to account. Further, he did not act in a -kind manner towards him in private, though outwardly friendly. But -Lope's friends and admirers so deeply resented an honest and judicious -criticism on the works of the prolific dramatist by Cervantes, that -they ceased not during the remaining dozen years of his life to do him -every unfriendly act in their power. One was so full of malice and so -unprincipled, that towards the end of Cervantes' life he wrote a -second part of the Adventures of Don Quixote, distinguished by -coarseness, dullness, and inability to make the personages of the -first part of the story act and speak in character. The impudent and -talentless writer called himself Don Avellaneda of some town in La -Mancha, but one of De Vega's admirers was supposed to be the real -culprit. Suspicions fell on several, but the greater number centered -in Pere Luis de Aliaga, a favorite of the Duke of Lerma, and the -confessor of Philip III. He was call, meagre, and dark-complexioned, -and had got the sobriquet of _Sancho Panza_, by antithesis. - - - -The wretched attack, for it was no better, was published in 1614, two -years before the death of Cervantes, Though suffering from illness, -and overshadowed by the expectation of approaching death, the -appearance of the impudent and worthless production acted on him as -the bugle on the nerves of the old battle-steed. In the order of -Providence good is extracted from mere human evil, and to the false -Avellaneda the world is indirectly indebted for the second part of Don -Quixote, the wedding of Gamacho, the wise though unsuccessful -government of Barataria by Sancho, the disenchantment of Dulcinea, and -all the delightful adventures and conferences that had place at the -ducal chateau, province unknown. - -{27} - -But between the publishing of the first part of Don Quixote in 1605, -and the second in 1614, how had the great heart and head been -occupied? Probably with little pleasure to himself. On his return from -the wars of Portugal in 1584, he had the pleasure and profit of seeing -several of his plays acted, some expressly written to direct public -spirit towards a crusade on the Algerines. [Footnote 17] Of these he -thus speaks in the prologue to his dramatic works, published 1613: - - [Footnote 17: Between the days of Lope de Rueda and those of - Cervantes' debut, Naharra of Toledo had made considerable - improvement in the mechanics of the art. The sack was rejected, - and chests and trunks held the properties. The musicians came from - behind their blanket, and faced their customers. He rejected the - beards except in the case of disguisements, and invented or - adopted thunder, lightning, clouds, challenges, and fights. He - himself was a capital personator of cowardly bullies.] - - "In all the playhouses of Madrid were acted some plays of my - composing, such as the Humors of Algiers, the Destruction of - Numantia, and the Naval Battle, wherein I took the liberty of - reducing plays to three acts which before consisted of five. I - showed, or, to speak better, I was the first that represented the - imaginations and secret thoughts of the soul, exhibiting moral - characters to public view to the entire satisfaction of the - audience. I composed at that time thirty plays at least, all of - which were acted without anybody's interrupting the players by - flinging cucumbers or any other trash at them. They ran their race - without any hissing, cat-calling, or any other disorder. But - happening to be taken up with other things, I laid aside - play-writing, and then came on that prodigy of nature, that - marvellous man, the great Lope de Vega, who raised himself to be - supreme monarch of the stage. He subdued all the players, and made - them obedient to his will. He filled the world with theatrical - pieces, finely and happily devised, and full of good sense, and so - numerous that they take up above ten thousand sheets of paper all of - his own writing, and, which is a most wonderful thing to relate, he - saw them all acted or at least had the satisfaction to hear they - were all acted." - -Good-hearted, generous Cervantes, who could so dwell on that success -in a rival which condemned himself to the wretched life of an inland -revenue officer, to the hatred of non-payers of tax, to prosecutions, -and to the discomforts of an Andalucian or Manchegan dungeon, and -separation from his niece, sister, daughter, and wife, whom, in -absence of data to the contrary, we take to be amiable and -affectionate women. - -When the court returned to Madrid he and his family followed it, but -we find no employment given by him to the printing presses of that -city from 1604 to 1613, when he got published the collection of plays -and interludes before mentioned. In the same year he published his -twelve Exemplary Novels, [Footnote 18] dedicating them to his patron, -Don Pedro Fernandez de Castro, count of Lemos. This nobleman, in -conjunction with Archbishop Sandoval, and the actor, Pedro de Morales, -had succeeded (let us hope) in cheering the poet's latter years. In -the preface he gives a portrait of himself in his sixty-sixth year, -distinguished by his own charming style, always redolent of -resignation, good-will, and good-nature. He pretends that a friend was -to have got his portrait engraved to serve as frontispiece, but, owing -to his negligence, he himself is obliged to supply one in pen and ink: - - [Footnote 18: The Lady Cornelia, Rinconete and Cortadillo, Doctor - Glass-case, the Deceitful Marriage, the Dialogue of the Dogs - Scipio and Berganza, the Little Gipsy Girl, the Generous Lover, - the Spanish-English Lady, the Force of Blood, the Jealous - Estremaduran, the Illustrious Scullery-Maid, and the Two Damsels.] - - "My friend might have written under the portrait--This person whom - you see here, with an oval visage, chestnut hair, smooth open - forehead, lively eyes, a hooked but well-proportioned nose, a - silvery beard that, twenty years ago, was golden, large moustaches, - a small mouth, teeth not much to speak of, for he has but six, all - in bad condition and worse placed, no two of them corresponding to - each other; a figure between the two extremes, neither tall nor - short, a vivid complexion, rather fair than dark, somewhat stooped - in the shoulders, and not very light-footed: this I say is the - author of Galatea, Don Quixote de la Mancha, . . . commonly called - Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. He was for many years a soldier, and - for five years and a half in captivity, where he learned to have - patience in adversity. He lost his left hand by a musket-shot in the - battle of Lepanto, and ugly as this wound may appear, he regards it - as beautiful, having received it {28} on the most memorable and - sublime occasion which passed times have ever scene, or future times - can hope to equal, fighting under the victorious banners of the son - of that thunderbolt of war, Charles V. of blessed memory. Should the - friend of whom I complain have no more to say of me than this, I - would myself have composed a couple of dozen of eulogiums, and - communicated them to him in secret," etc. - - -THE CLOSING SCENE. - -Cervantes' Voyage to Parnassus, in which he complains to Apollo for -not being furnished even with a stool in that poets' elysium, was -published in 1614, the second part of Don Quixote in 1615, and that -was the last book whose proofs he had the pleasure to correct. He was -employed on his Troubles of Persiles and Sigismunda, [Footnote 19] -and wrote its preface, and the dedication to his patron the Count of -Lemos, while suffering under his final complaint, the dropsy, and -having only a few day to live. From the preface to the Persiles he -appears to have received extreme unction before the last word of it -was written. From the forgiving, and patient, and tranquil spirit of -his writing, even when annoyed by much unkindness and injustice on the -part of the Madrid coteries, from the spirit of religion and morality -that pervades his writings, and the care he appears to have taken to -meet his summons as a sincere Christian, we may reasonably hope that -his sorrows and troubles for time and eternity ended on 23d April, -1616 the day on which a kindred spirit breathed his last at -Stratford-on-Avon. - - [Footnote 19: It was published by his widow, Dona Catalina, la 1617.] - -And indeed in our meditations on the characteristics of the author and -man in Cervantes, we have always mentally associated him with -Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott. We find in all the same versatility -of genius, the same grasp and breadth of intellect, the same gifts of -genial humor and the same largeness of sympathy. The life of Cervantes -will be always an interesting and edifying study in connexion with the -literature and the great events of his time. We find him -conscientiously doing his duty in every phase of his diversified -existence, and effecting all the good in his power. When he feels the -need of filling a very disagreeable office in order to afford -necessary support to his family, he bends the stubborn pride of the -hidalgo to his irksome duties--and it is not easy for us to realize -the rigidity of that quality which he inherited by birth, and which -became a second nature in every gentleman of his nation. In advanced -years he still vigorously exerts his faculties, and endures privations -and disappointments in a resigned and patient spirit; and when -complaints are wrung from him they are neither bitter nor ill-natured. -Even his harmless vanity has something amiable and cordial about it. -When he has just reached his sixtieth year he effects a salutary -revolution in the corrupt literary taste of his countrymen and -countrywomen, and save a few coarse expressions separable from the -literature of his day, a deathbed examination would have found few -passages in his numerous writings which it would be desirous to find -omitted. He closed an anxious and industrious life by a Christian -death. - - - -NOTE. - -Towards the end of Cervantes' life he belonged to the third order of -Trinitarian monks, and was buried in their church with his face -uncovered. These brothers having quitted their convent in 1633, the -site of the interment could not be discovered when a search was -afterwards made. The house he occupied in Madrid being pulled down -about twenty years since, his bust has been placed in a niche in front -of the new building. - ------- - -{29} - - -SILENT GRIEF. - - - You bid me raise my voice, - And pray - For tears; but yet this choice - Resteth not with me. Too much grief - Taketh the tears and words that give relief - Away: - Though I weep not, silent and apart, - Weeps and prays my heart - - You like not this dead, calm, - Cold face. - So still, unmoved, I am. - You think that dark despair begins - To brood upon me for my many sins' - Disgrace: - Not so; within, silent and apart, - Hopes and trusts my heart. - - Down underneath the waves - Concealed - Lie in unfathomed graves - A thousand wrecks, storm never yet-- - That did the upper surface madly fret-- - Revealed. - Wreck'd loves lie deep; tears, with all their art, - Ne'er could show my heart. - - Complaint I utter not. - I know - That He who cast my lot, - In silence also bore His cross. - Nor counted lack of words or tears a loss - In woe. - Alone with Him, silent and apart, - Weeps and prays my heart. - --------- - -{30} - -Original. - -THE GODFREY FAMILY; -OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY. - - -CHAPTER I. - - -MR. GODFREY AND HIS FAMILY. - -About the time the events of the era 1792 were creating a panic -throughout the European world, an English gentleman sat at breakfast -with his wife and children in a noble mansion on the south eastern -coast of his native island. The newspaper was unfolded with more than -usual interest, for the Honorable Mr. Godfrey's sister had married a -French nobleman, and the daily accounts from France struck every day -new terror to the heart of this gentleman. Until now, he had been what -is termed a liberal in his politics, and, alas! an unbeliever in his -religion, and had prided himself on bringing up his family free from -all bigotry and superstition; he had kept up correspondence with men -of science all over the world, and fondly hoped that the reign of -intellect "would emancipate the world from evil." His children had -been brought up under all these influences, and thus far with success -to his scheme. Accustomed from infancy to refinement, elegance, -domestic happiness, and intellectual culture, these young people felt -that in their case goodness and happiness were synonymous. All that -was beautiful they loved, for they had cultivated tastes; all that was -noble in sentiment they admired, for their father prided himself, and -taught them to pride themselves, on their noble ancestry, whose deeds -of daring and renown he was never weary of recounting. Fame, honor, -and glory were their idols. Brought up among such genial influences as -foster agreeable manners and bring out the most lovable of earth's -dispositions, together with an intellectual expression of beauty, and -a poetic appreciation of nature's charms, it was little wonder that -they mistook strong impulses for principle, thought themselves firm in -integrity of purpose, and were disposed fearlessly to launch their -vessel on the ocean of life, secure that intelligence and high aims -would guard them for ever against shipwreck. But now a change seemed -pending. The fear engendered by the French Revolution had somewhat -revolutionized Mr. Godfrey's mind, he was becoming more cautious in -his theories, and more morose in his temper than he had ever been -before. His wife hesitated ere she asked: "Any news of the countess -to-day?" - -"No; though affairs are getting more desperate every hour. Would she -and the count were safe in England." - -"But, in that case, their estates, would be confiscated, would they -not?" - -Mr. Godfrey rose uneasily and paced the room. "What is the world -coming to?" he said. - -A loud ring at the outer gate prevented reply; it was early for -visitors at the front entrance. They paused, and listened; soon a -servant announced "M. de Villeneuve." - -"M. de Villeneuve! why, what can bring him here? Where have you shown -him to?" - -"He is in the library, sir." - -Mr. Godfrey hastened to receive his visitor. "I thought you were in -America," he said, after the first greetings were over. - -"I went back to France to finish arranging some affairs for my father; -{31} and well for me that they were settled before these scenes of -blood had crazed the populace, or we should have lost everything." - -"And now------" - -"Now, everything of ours has been favorably disposed of, and my father -and his family are settled in America without loss of property; my -father is delighted at the prospects of the new world, where every man -is to be EQUAL before the laws; you know he is an enthusiast." - -"Yes, but it is an untried experiment yet, and France is presenting a -very fearful spectacle at this moment in endeavoring to follow in the -track." - -"It is of that I came to speak to you. You have relations there?" - -"My sister--do you know anything about her?" - -"I and some other friends brought her and her husband's daughter -across the Channel last night." - -"Last night! across the Channel! And her husband----" - -"Has perished by the guillotine!" - -"Great God!" Mr. Godfrey hid his face in his hands. "My poor sister! -how did she bear it? where is she? how did you come?" - -"We came over in an open fishing boat--the Countess de Meglior, -Euphrasie, the priest of the old chateau, and myself; it was all we -could do to escape detection. I, of course, passed unnoticed, as an -American citizen; but the Countess of Euphrasie and M. Bertolot had to -disguise themselves and to suffer many hardships. The countess now -lies ill in the little inn at New Haven; she sent me on to tell you of -her situation." - -"My poor sister! My poor sister! Has she lost all?" - -"Nearly so. The estate is confiscated, and save a little money and a -few jewels she was able to save nothing; indeed she was too much -terrified to think. Mademoiselle de Meglior had been sent for on the -first alarm from the south of France, where she had been educated; she -arrived in time to throw herself into her father's arms as the -officers were taking him from his house; and in less than a week he -was no more. Secret intimation was sent to the countess that she and -her daughter were both denounced, and they fled, as I have told you." - -To hasten to his sister's aid was, of course, the first thing to be -thought of. It was some days before the countess was sufficiently -recovered to be able to be removed to her brother's house; and even -after removal she was for a long time confined to her room. - -Euphrasie, her step-daughter, tended her most assiduously, but the -poor lady could scarcely be comforted. To have, lost everything at -once--husband, estate, wealth, power, and position, and to be reduced -to depend upon a brother's bounty--it was not wonderful that she -should feel her situation acutely. She had lived exclusively for this -world's honors; every duty of domestic life had given place to her -love of the court and its pleasures. Euphrasie, brought up at the -convent and under the guardianship of her paternal grandmother, was -almost as much a stranger to her as the nieces to whom she was now -newly introduced. - -. . . . . . - -It was a long time ere the Countess de Meglior rallied sufficiently to -appear in the drawing-room of the mansion, and meantime her -step-daughter, Euphrasie, was simply her slave. Madame never -considered her welfare, or seemed to think she was in any way -concerned in the misfortune that bad overtaken them; yet never, -perhaps, was a child more fondly attached to a father than had been -our heroine. Although since the death of her own mother she had for -the most part resided away from him, yet her father's frequent visits -to his ancestral chateau, and the still more frequent correspondence -with his mother and daughter, had kept up a warm interest. At the -death of her grandmother she had received her education at a -neighboring convent, for her step-mother {32} declined taking charge -of her. She was summoned home at last in consequence of the troubles -of the times; arrived in time to be torn by force from the arms of her -father, into which she had thrown herself; passed days of agonizing -suspense, which were terminated only by hearing of his death. - -Paris was no longer safe; advertised of her own proscription, Madame -de Meglior, almost in a state of frenzy, excepted the kind offices of -M. de Villeneuve, and, with the old family chaplain, had fled the -country, taking with her Euphrasie, with whom she so suddenly became -aware she was connected, though a stranger alike to her character and -disposition. - -Euphrasie, though overwhelmed by the blow, was constrained to hide her -own emotions, the better to console one who seemed so inconsolable as -the countess, her step-mother. Truly, the poor girl did feel she was -as a stranger in a strange land. Until the storm broke forth which -drove the nuns from the convent, and let infidelity and irreligion -like "the dogs of war" loose over the fated kingdom, Euphrasie had -dwelt in happy ignorance of all grosser evil, and with light and merry -heart, chastened by earnest piety, pursued her innocent way; but -suddenly awakened by such horrors to the knowledge of crime, vice, and -their concomitant miseries, she shrank from entering into a world -which contrasted with the abode she had left, seemed to her -over-excited imagination filled with mysterious terrors, and fraught -with indescribable dangers. - -She met, then, the advances of her entertainers with constraint; kept -the young people absolutely at a distance, and would more willingly -shut herself up in the apartment of her peevish, unloving stet-mother, -to whom she manifested the affection and paid the respect of a -daughter, than join with Adelaide or Annie either in study or -amusement. - -Adelaide, the eldest daughter of Mr. Godfrey's family, was within two -months of her eighteenth year--Eugene, the only son and heir, was then -sixteen--while her sister Annie was but a year younger; and the merry, -laughing Hester had scarcely counted thirteen years. With the -compassionate eagerness of youth they crowded round Euphrasie, whom -they persisted in saluting as "cousin," and were not a little -chagrined to find their advances met in so chilling a manner; they -spared no pains to distract her from her moodiness, or hauteur, or -ill-temper, or whatever it might be, that made her so different from -themselves. Yet moodiness it scarcely could be, for the young French -girl was cheerful in society, so far as the expression of her -countenance went; and when surprised in solitude, a calm serenity sat -on her youthful brow, and she bore the ill-temper of the countess with -wonderful sweetness; her mother's impatience, indeed, seemed but to -increase her patience, and the harshness she underwent served but to -make her more gentle. She was a mystery to her animated young friends, -who, loving a life of excitement and intellectual progress, could not -understand how Euphrasie could exist in so stupid and monotonous a -course. - -Yet was the young French girl far from being deficient in those -branches of accomplishments which are especially feminine. She played -and sang with taste and feeling, but I the airs were generally of a -solemn character. She loved, also, to exercise her pencil, but it was -to delineate the head of the thorn-crowned Saviour, of the penitent -Magdalene, or of, "Mary, highly favored among women." Earthly subjects -and earthly thoughts had no attraction for her, yet there were moments -when, as if unconsciously, she gave utterance to fancies which -startled her young companions. She would walk with them by the -sounding shore, and while they were busy gathering and classifying -shells and sea-weed and geological specimens, she, too, would seem to -study' and listen and learn a lesson, but a far {33} different lesson -from the one they sought. The young ladies Godfrey were scientific, -though in a playful way; there was aim, object, utility, in short, in -all their seekings. "Knowledge is power," was the axiom of the family; -and the members of it might fairly challenge the world for the -consistency with which they sought to carry that axiom into practice. -But Euphrasie would wonder and ponder, and philosophize unconsciously. -She did not decompose the fragments of the mighty rocks with acids as -her young friends did; she did not classify and dissect the lovely -flower; but she stood in mute wonderment at the base of the rocks, and -heard their disquisitions on its strata having been once liquid and -gradually consolidating, and said: "What a wondrous history! what a -sight for the angels to behold the atomic attraction forming the -worlds grand order! A true theory of geology would be like a chapter -of the _life of God_--a true revelation of his spirit to man." - -"Yes," said Adelaide; "science will yet and if superstition from the -earth." - -"Superstition!" said Euphrasie. "Yes! if superstition means false -views of God's relation to the human soul. True science is mystic, and -must reveal God interiorly; but true science can scarcely be attained -by guesses or dissection. You destroy a beauteous flower by pulling it -to pieces, but I do not see how its separate petals and crushed leaves -can speak so plainly to the soul as the living plant on the stem, or -how your anatomy is a revelation." - -"Nay, we discern the uses of the different parts thereby, and admire -the structure, seeing how each organ fulfils its office duly, in -minuteness as in grandeur." - -"But your long words," said Euphrasie; "do they too reveal God? To me -they hide him in a cloud of dust. I feel the order, I love the beauty, -I am elevated by the grandeur of creation, because nature is a -metaphor in which God hides himself and reveals himself at once, but I -distrust a mere human key. How can we be sure of systems, unless we -spend a life in verification? Did not Pythagoras teach astronomy in -the Copernican fashion? and yet the world did not receive the teaching -till centuries after. The world receives the theory of Copernicus now -on trust; would it be wise to spend a life in verifying it?" - -"Have you any other key?" asked Annie. - -"There is a key to the lesson which nature teaches," said Euphrasie, -in a low tone; "but not so much as to its formation as to its being a -manifestation of God. We must not speak of these things; they are too -high for us." - -"Nay," said Eugene; "they are the very things to speak about, -especially if, as you say, they lead to higher things; my idea of -science is utility. The old Magian astrologers, the Chaldean sages and -Eastern sophists, studied cloudy myths and wrapped up their theories -in a veil of obscurity; but the modern idea is usefulness; an -abridgment of man's toil, and promotion of his comfort. Do you reject -all human research?" - -"I reject nothing that God has given," said Euphrasie; "but truth is -one, error is many. The science first to be taught, is how to discover -truth--the next, how to apply it. You say the ancients applied -science to other purposes than we; if they applied it to learn the -qualities of their own souls, and we apply it to the comfort of our -bodies merely, which is the highest object?" - -"What, then, would you do?" said Adelaide, a little impatiently; "shut -up our books, and sit and dream on the sea-shore on matters beyond all -practical use?" - -Euphrasie answered very gently, as she rose to walk to the seaside, "I -am not a teacher, _ma cher cousine_, but I think mind has its laws as -well as matter, and as on the government of our minds so much depends, -even in {34} our researches after material knowledge, it is likely -that the science of mind is more important than that of matter, and -necessary for the truth-seeker to study first. But I am getting quite -out of my depth; let us go and throw pebbles into the sea." - -. . . . . . - -Mrs. Godfrey was a kind-hearted and very reasonable woman, in the way -in which she understood reasoning. She was bent on rousing her young -inmate to energy and action. She was but a _girl_, she said--a girl of -seventeen could not have been so spoiled by the insipidities of a -convent as to be beyond reclaiming for the tangible world surrounding -her; or was it that her thoughts were with the dead, and that the deep -sorrow she had undergone had penetrated to the depths of her being? -Whatever the cause, Mrs. Godfrey was dissatisfied with the result, and -her motherly warmth of heart yearned to comfort the young orphan in -her desolation. She let a few weeks pass away in hopes of witnessing a -change, but when none came, or seemed likely to come, she thought it -her duty to remonstrate with Euphrasie, the more so as the countess -being now recovered sufficiently to join the family circle, Euphrasie -had no plausible excuse for passing hours together in the solitude of -her own chamber. - -"It is not good for you, my dear, to be so much alone," said Mrs. -Godfrey to her, as one day she intruded on the young girl's privacy. -"Rouse your energies to some good purpose, and employ your mind in -some definite pursuit; it is very injurious, I assure you, to let your -faculties lie dormant so long." - -Euphrasie laid aside the embroidery on which she had been employed, -and answered meekly, "What shall I do to please you, my dear madam?" - -"Why, exercise your mental faculties--study." - -"I am most willing to do so, madam; but what shall I begin?" - -"Why, languages if you will; but you know enough of these, perhaps; -your own language and that of this country may content you. Or will -you study German and Italian?" - -"I will, if you wish it, though I confess I have no great inclination. -It seems to me as if to learn different names for the same thing were -not very profitable; and unless I had occasion to visit the countries -in which these languages are spoken, I think it would be time thrown -away." - -"How time thrown away? Could you not read the literature of the -languages? That will expand your mind." - -"Literature? Do you mean poetry and fiction--such as your daughters -read? I do not care for them. I want to study truth." - -"Truth? Yes, but fiction may be covert truth. Tales show us mankind as -they are. Literature has a refining tendency, and gives us elegance of -taste." - -"I should defer to your opinion, madam," replied Euphrasie, with a -resigned air; "and when you wish, I will begin." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Godfrey, "but not as a punishment; it is as a source -of attraction, of interest, that I wish you to cultivate literary -tastes." - -"I cannot feel interest, madam, in that which will unfit me for my -duty." - -"Unfit you for your duty! what do you mean?" - -"Pray, madam, pardon me; I, of course, defer to you." - -"I want no deference, child, save what your reason gives. Explain your -meaning." - -"I only mean, dear madam, that too much refinement and elegance might -make us forget our inherent weakness; teach us to set too high a value -on exterior accomplishments, and to forget the tendency to sin ever -abiding within us." - -"The girl is raving! Now, Euphrasie, do you honestly believe in the -corruption of your heart?" - -{35} - -"I know I am prone to evil in many ways, and that I must keep a -constant watch over all my dispositions. I suppose I do not know the -extent of evil in my own heart--that were a rare grace, vouchsafed to -few--but I see nothing in myself to lead me to suppose that I am -naturally better than the men who murdered my father." - -"Do you feel disposed to murder, then?" - -"No; but the very indignation I often feel at their crimes teaches me -not to trust myself. Did we give way to our passions, and had we -power, who can tell what we should do? Nero showed good dispositions -when he began his reign. Alfred the Great was a licentious youth till -Almighty God chastened him by adversity, and humbled him through life -by inflicting him with an incurable disease, which kept him ever -mindful of his former delinquencies." - -"Do yon think that disease was a good to Alfred?" - -"Decidedly; it helped to keep him mindful of the ever-present Deity -whom his former life had offended, and probably prevented his -relapsing into sin." - -"You foolish child! his disease was probably occasioned by the -hardships he had undergone during his campaign; it was the natural -consequence to damp and wet and bad living. You must study science, -Euphrasie; that will rid you of all these foolish notions." - -"I will study what you please, madam," replied Euphrasie. - -But Mrs. Godfrey's endeavors to make her young _protege_ comprehend -results as _inevitable_ signally failed, to her own great -astonishment. The girl pursued easily and willingly the course of -study marked out for her; was somewhat amused by chemical and other -experiments, but could never be brought to declare them necessary -results in the absolute sense. "The action of the same spirit that -established these relationships" said she "might at will disturb them; -even as the chemical relationship between two substances is disturbed -by the presence of a third substance more potent in its affinities." - -"What, then, is a natural law?" demanded Mrs. Godfrey. - -"A natural law," replied Euphrasie, "is the ordinary mode in which -Divine Providence causes one portion of insentient matter to act on -another portion of insentient matter." - -Her instructor would object to this. "Nay, but there are natural laws -affecting mind also." - -"Doubtless," said Euphrasie, "there are ordinary modes of acting upon -mind, both by the action of matter and by the action of other minds; -but as the special object of this life is to reunite, to re-bind man -to his Creator, supernatural means are ever at work to effect this -object, and of these we can predicate nothing certain." - -"Supernatural nonsense, child--who put this precious style of -reasoning into your head?" - -"Does not religion mean re-binding, madam? Was not man severed from -God by disobedience? Was not the whole spirit of religion, both before -and since our Lord's advent, founded on the fact that the mercy of God -wished to provide a remedy for that fatal act of Adam and Eve? And has -not insentient nature ever been made to depart from her ordinary -rules, when such departure could forward the cause for which Christ -died?" - -Mrs. Godfrey was silenced. She did not wish to avow her scepticism and -infidelity, but in secret she rejoiced that her own children were free -from such a bar to improvement. - -The arrival of a box of books as a present to Euphrasie from M. de -Villeneuve, who, in a note addressed to the countess, asked her -permission "to be allowed to present to the daughter of his departed -friend a few works which, he believed, would suit her taste, and which -she would be scarcely likely to find in Mr. Godfrey's library, -valuable as that library was in many respects," came to help the -enemy's {36} cause in Mrs. Godfrey's view of the case, for among the -works were selections from St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, from Bede, St. -Thomas Aquinas, and others of the fathers of the church. "I did not -know you read Latin, cousin," said the girls in surprise. "Nor do I, -except church Latin," said Euphrasie. "I learnt church Latin on -purpose to study these books, which my father had promised me as soon -as I could read them. M. de Villeneuve must have heard of this promise -from M. Bertolot. It was very kind in him to send them to me." - -"I wonder you did not say 'it was a special providence'," bantered -Annie; but Eugene looked at her beseechingly and reprovingly, so she -said no more. - -In spite of the new attraction, Euphrasie continued to study the -course appointed by Mrs. Godfrey, but in learning thus there was so -evidently a want of appreciation of the importance of the -study--science seemed to her so very little higher than a game of ball -with a little child--that her instructors were fairly discomfited, and -inclined to turn her over to the musty old fathers she had the bad -taste to prefer to their intelligent elucidations. - -The young people, too, were annoyed, for they could not attribute to -stupidity the indifference she manifested, and that indifference -seemed felt as a tacit reproach of their own eagerness. - -"She is not only not stupid,"' said Adelaide, the oldest of the girls; -"she is absolutely clever; she intuitively comprehends what it takes -me hours to make out. I began to explain algebra to her, and before a -month was up, she knew more of it than I did myself; and when I spoke -to her of this new discovery of locomotive power, which has taken us -so long fully to comprehend, she gave me what she calls the course of -the ordinary sequences of matter, in proof that the invention must -succeed, if this course of sequences be properly applied; and that -then we may travel without horses as fast as we can reasonably wish; -'but,' she added, 'it will be worth no one's while to perfect such an -invention, for, travel as fast as we may, we cannot run away from -ourselves by any material means.'" - -"She is a monomaniac," said Mr. Godfrey; "sensible on all points but -one." - -"Unless," urged Eugene, "it be true, as she once said, that there is -higher science than the science of matter, and that that science is -the necessary one for us to study." - -"_Et tu, Brute_," shouted the father indignantly. "Now, children, let -us have no such trash in my own family. Pity your young friend, and -withhold your censure. Remember, she was brought up in superstition -and ignorance. It cannot be expected that her mind should awaken at -once to the beauty of the physical law. But for yourselves, after the -pains that have been taken to keep your minds unfettered by the -trammels of superstition, it were a disgrace indeed to see you yield -to any such worn-out fancies. The close of the eighteenth century must -witness higher thoughts." - -"The close of the eighteenth century has witnessed terrific doings -over the water," said Eugene. - -"Yes, and see there the effects of superstition," answered his father. -"Had those poor wretches been taught an enlightened philosophy instead -of an abject superstition, the reaction would not have produced such -awful results." - -"Do you then believe, father, that when Euphrasie throws off her -religion, she will become such as these men are?" - -"No; Euphrasie is better educated already, even from her intercourse -with us; besides, she is refined and elegant." - -"But so they say is Robespierre. A Frenchman, and one not friendly to -him, said to me the other day that his house is the very picture of -simple elegance. Besides, the Roman emperors were excessive in their -luxurious magnificence at the very time they {37} were murdering by -wholesale. Nero sang to his lyre the Siege of Troy while Rome was -burning. What if it were true that he set the city on fire merely to -revel in the luxury of a new sensation, and to realize the emotion he -deemed he ought to feel at such a catastrophe?" - -"Why, Eugene," said Hester, laughing, "you, too, are growing -metaphysical. What will come next?" - -"Why, next we will inquire how far metaphysics are true when they -teach that mental sensation and moral power are distinct from each -other, and that a man may be consequently imaginatively great--capable -of every grand mental sensation--and be morally weak; nay, the very -slave of his lowest propensities. We have many examples of this." - -"So says Euphrasie; and therefore she insists that what we call mental -culture is at best but of secondary value, well enough as an assistant -agent, but not to be considered as a principal means in attaining the -ultimatum of life." - -"Euphrasie is a simpleton," said Mr. Godfrey. - -Eugene rose to quit the room. He was considering within himself -whether Euphrasie were not in the right. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE EARTHLY UTOPIA, AND THE LOST EMPIRE. - -In a little country town where society is scarce, it often happens -that people associate together whose rank is dissimilar, for the mere -sake of relieving ennui of solitude. Thus in Estcourt a half-pay -captain, his wife, the clergyman and his family, the lawyer, the -doctor, and their incumbrances, were occasionally admitted as visitors -to Estcourt Hall, as Mr. Godfrey's residence was called; and here, -though somewhat restrained by being found in such aristocratic -society, opinions were sometimes broached which plainly manifested -that "the spirit of the time" was working even in that remote -district. - -St. Simon, Fourrier, Owen, had not then developed the social system -which is now endeavoring to sap the foundations of all that antiquity -held in solemn reverence; but the principles of socialism to which -these men afterwards gave a "shape" were even then fermenting in the -minds of many. Disturbed spirits were questioning the rights of landed -proprietors, while the sudden introduction of machinery was raising a -faction among the displaced artisans. Ominous signs were visible on -the political horizon, and perhaps an English "reign of terror," that -would have vied in horror with that of France, would have been -inaugurated, had not the threatened invasion of the island by Napoleon -united all classes anew to repel the foreign foe. - -Certain it is that, early in the nineteenth century, it was found -necessary to have government agents in many a petty country town in -England to watch the progress of disaffection, and five or six -shopkeepers could hardly assemble together without the fact being -recorded, and inquiries set on foot respecting the purport of their -meeting. Rebellious spirits were mysteriously _pressed_ to man the -royal navy, and the magistrates not only connived at such kidnapping, -but frequently designated the individuals whom it was desirable to -remove. - -This process, comparatively easy when it concerned apprentices, -journeymen, or those belonging to the laboring population, could not -be brought to bear upon obnoxious members of the gentry with equal -facility. Now, Alfred Brookbank was one of these. His father was -rector of Estcourt, and, independently of his living, was proprietor -of a pretty landed estate, the whole of which by right of -primogeniture was to fall to the eldest eon, a careless, unprincipled -prodigal, who had already involved his family in pecuniary -embarrassment {38} by his reckless expenditure, and brought disgrace -on his father's cloth by his loose morality. - -His brother Alfred was the reverse of this--astute, aspiring, -ambitious, he was smitten with the prevailing mania, and at times -talked loudly of the folly and injustice of sacrificing the interests -of a whole family to one selfish fool. The girls, too, whose fortunes -had been injured by the elder brother's extravagance, lent no -unwilling ear to the doctrine of equal participation of property. - -Alfred Brookbank was gifted with an eloquent tongue, an insinuating -manner, and a gentlemanly deportment. His figure was good, and his -features, without being handsome, were agreeable from their animated -expression. He was a general favorite; and being prudent enough to -avoid the expression of his opinions before the elder branches of the -family, it was seldom that he was suspected of spreading sedition and -disaffection among the young. - -Of Mr. Godfrey's three daughters, the second one, Annie, was, at this -period of our tale, by far the most susceptible of these novel ideas. -She professed that she would follow truth wherever it should lead her, -even though it involved the relinquishment of her own superior rank in -society. Mr. Godfrey only laughed at such protestations from a girl of -seventeen, well knowing they would not stand the test of experience; -but however harmless might be her sallies, he had not calculated on -one result of freedom of opinion; Annie began to take pleasure in -Alfred Brookbank's attentions, and to feel flattered when he -expatiated to her on the beauty of such a system of co-operative -industry as would banish vice and misery from the globe and renew the -golden era. - -"Is it to be wondered at," said Alfred, "that revolutions take place -in blood, when property is so unequally divided? nay, when oftentimes -the property is in the possession of the fool, while the wise man has -to get his living by hard labor? Look at the _rationale_ of the thing! -One man holds wealth, as it is called, and on the strength of it he -must compel fifty men to work for him, while be fives at his ease--the -roasted pigeons flying into his mouth, crying, 'come eat me!'" - -"But some one must work," argued Annie. - -"You mean to say," replied Alfred, "that food most be raised and -clothing furnished. True. But how many are employed in really useful -labor, compared with those whose occupations might be dispensed with -without loss to society, and those who are mere appendages of -wealth--mere creatures of idleness--men who, by forestalling their -master's wants, make _him_ dependent on themselves; who, by -surrounding him with luxuries, effeminate him; and who, by pandering -to his pleasures, surfeit him, at the same time that by doing these -things they degrade themselves; for why should one man be a mere -appendage to another?" - -"But if all must work," said Annie, "all cannot work in the same way. -We most have hewers of wood and drawers of water, as well as poets and -philosophers. A community needs a head, as well as hands and feet. -Suppose you were elected head of a community, you would need servants -to do the manual labor?" - -"True, but I would not badge them for it," answered Alfred, glancing -at the liveried servants, who were then bringing in refreshments. "All -men must work for the common weal; therefore, all labor is honorable; -and no man need lord it over another, as if himself were made of -porcelain, and the other of earthenware. An American philosopher has -lately calculated that in order to supply the world with necessaries, -if each grown individual were to work four hours a day, the whole -population of the world might be far better provided for than it is -now." - -"And what would they do with their spare time?" asked Annie. - -{39} - -"What but improve their minds, and employ their energies in loftier -labors--what but grow out of the drudge into the man! Oh! we have yet -to learn the wonders that are to be achieved by a well-regulated -community. Men are scarcely men yet. Half of them are slaves to the -mere bread-winning to support their bodies, and the other half are -seeking phantoms--they are trying to find pleasure in lording it over -their fellows, or they are driven to excess by the mere necessity of -passing away time. It is an unfair position to place a man in, to set -him above that reciprocal dependence which binds man to man as equals. -It is a practical injustice to individuals to sever them thus from -their kind, and prevent their feeling their brotherhood." Alfred -continued, warming with his subject: - - "There are, deep seated in the human heart, - A thousand thrilling, yearning sympathies-- - A thousand ties that bind us to our kind-- - A thousand pleasures only there enjoyed - In cheering intercourse with fellow-man. - 'Tis thus the voice of nature speaks aloud, - Proclaims from pole to pole the heav'n-born truth: - 'Ye are the children of one only God. - Learn to acknowledge your fraternity.' - -I think you have not seen my poem on Human Brotherhood, Miss Annie?" - -"I have not, but to judge from the specimen you have just quoted, I -should like very much to read it. These truths seem so evident now, it -is wonderful they have not been discovered before." - -"They have been discovered, though not acted on. The fact is that -men's minds have been so trammelled with superstition, they have been -afraid to tread out of the beaten track. They have been afraid to -reason, I scarce know why, even on their own grounds. Yet matters are -mending in this respect. I was present the other day when an indignant -orator thus addressed his audience: - -Shall he, the Author of life and light, who has given to man, as the -reward of the use of reason, the power of traversing the trackless -deep, and of drawing down the lightning innocuous from the -skies--shall he deny to his creature the privilege of using his own -gift on themes that more immediately concern man's happiness? Oh no! -believe it not! Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, -and cometh down from the Father of light, with whom is no -variableness, neither shadow of turning.' The audience he was -addressing shouted applause; so you see the people's cause is -progressing, and even Scripture is called in to aid this desirable -change." - -"I wish Euphrasie could hear you speak," said Annie; "she might begin -to believe that there is some good in human learning, and that it can -promote true happiness. I must introduce you to her more particular -acquaintance." - -"No; if she is a votary of ignorance, pray don't. I dislike silly -unideaed girls--they are the pest of society." - -"But Euphrasie is neither; she is only original and opinionated. Ideas -seem to grow with her indigenously; for no one can tell how she gets -them; but they are very crude, and directly contrary to the spirit of -progression. I wish you would convert her." - -"I doubt it would be difficult, and, to say the truth, I do not wish -to attempt it. She is not my taste at all. I prefer animation, zeal, -sympathy. She looks like a marble statue of Contemplation; well enough -in its way, but possessing no interest for me, who am all for -practical life." - -"Euphrasie is a great thinker, and thought aids practice. You had -better enlist her on your side; for there is no saying how much she -might assist you, if once she could be brought to see how happy a -paradise you have planned for the human race." - -But Alfred was by no means anxious for this. He evidently felt that -Euphrasie would not listen to him. Perhaps he feared that she would -set Annie against himself, and mar his own schemes in her regard; {40} -for different as was their rank in life, and improbable as it was that -Mr. Godfrey should condescend to ally himself with aught save the high -aristocracy, this young man intended, if possible, to secure an -interest in Annie's affections. Not that he loved her; his self-love -was so absorbing that it was almost impossible for him to love any one -save himself; but he thought such an alliance would forward his -ambitious projects, and enable him to begin life under favorable -auspices. - -Annie had no idea whatever beyond the amusement of the passing hour, -and was more intent just now on making a convert of the young refugee -than in paying regard to the homage tendered her by Alfred. Euphrasie -was a difficult subject to deal with; but there are some minds to whom -difficulty is an incentive. - -She was one day sitting in the library with Eugene, intent in -depicting on canvas the glories of the "Golden Era." Euphrasie -entered, and sat down to some work. Annie called to her: - -"Now, my dear Euphrasie, come to me. You are a judge of painting; tell -me what you think of my picture." - -Euphrasie drew near. "It is very pretty," she said, "but what does it -represent? Those peasants resting under the fig-trees, those -vine-dressers plucking the beautiful grapes, have very graceful -figures, and most happy and intelligent faces; but what do they belong -to?" - -"To the new Utopia," said Annie, "where all are intelligent and -beautiful, and where discord enters not." - -Euphrasie looked dreamily in Annie's face, and said doubtingly: -"Heaven? This is no picture of heaven." - -"No; it is an earthly paradise, _ma chere amie_. One need not die in -order to enjoy it," laughingly rejoined Annie. - -"Oh! a fancy piece," said Euphrasie; "well, it is very pretty, but I -am no judge of fiction;" and she sat down. - -"Fiction or not, I cannot let you off so," said Annie; "do you not -think it would be very pleasant to dwell with a goodly number of -intelligent people, each taking his own share of work, and aiding in -making life happy--all good, all instructed and accomplished?" - -"Pleasant? Yes, very pleasant I have lived with such," said Euphrasie; -"but their happiness was of a very different kind to that which is -delineated here." - -"You have lived with such! Where, in the name of wonder?" asked Annie. - -"In France," said Euphrasie. - -"And what sort of happiness was theirs?" asked Eugene, now thoroughly -roused. - -"I cannot tell you--that is, I could not make you understand. Excuse -me," said Euphrasie, evidently sorry she had said so much. - -"And why not? why could we not understand?" asked brother and sister, -both in a breath. - -"Because your principles are so different." - -"Nay, then, explain the principles, _ma chere_. You have excited our -curiosity; you must gratify it now." - -"Nay, I know not how. The principles belong to the interior life, and -on that I cannot speak." - -"Why not? are you sworn to secrecy?" asked Annie. Eugene looked his -request for information, but spoke not. - -"Not so," said Euphrasie; "but, in the first place, I am no teacher; -and, in the second, there are some subjects which can only be -approached with reverence, and I am afraid--" she hesitated. - -"You are right, mademoiselle," said Eugene; "we have too little -reverence." - -Euphrasie looked distressed. But Annie broke in with--"But we can be -reverent, and we will be reverent when the case demands it. Tell us -your principles, dear Euphrasie." - -{41} - -The young girl, with evident reluctance, said: - -"My friends held that the soul had been originally endowed with power -over the mental faculties, as also over the senses and the appetites -of the body, and all inferior nature; and that that empire had been -lost through man's fault. They believe that no lasting, no high -enjoyment can be procured until that empire has been regained." - -"What kind of empire do you mean?" said Annie. - -"As thus," replied Euphrasie. "We _will_ our foot to tread here or -there, and it obeys us. We _will_ our hands to grasp or to work, and -it is done. But when we _will_ our feelings to be calm, or our -appetites to keep within certain limits, they do not always obey. We -resolve, and find that our resolutions fail. We determine, and do not -act. When children, nay, when grown people, are taxed with doing -wrong, they reply, 'I could not help it.' This is a confession of -failure in self-government, or, as might be said, a proof of empire -lost." - -"That is, supposing it admitted such empire once existed. But do you -seriously think that perfect self-government may be acquired, or, as -you say, regained?" - -"At least a near approach to it may, if the proper means are used." - -"And those means?" - -"Are too serious for me to mention; besides, they are paradoxical in -appearance; for, though impossible to mere humanity, they are -nevertheless possible. But you must carry your inquiry to a better -teacher than I am;" and Euphrasie rose to depart. - -"No; we have no other teacher near us, and I shall not let you go -until you have told me what I want to know;" and Annie laid her hand -somewhat forcibly on the young stranger's arm, and compelled her to -reseat herself. - -"Well, then," faltered out the poor girl, "when the soul was in -possession of its pristine empire, it had also the power of communion -with high spiritual intelligences--nay, with the highest--even with -the creative intelligence. The same fault that lost man the high -empire over all inferior natures, and over his own appetites and -passions, by disturbing the equilibrium which primarily existed in the -higher part of his soul, also severed the bond of that high spiritual -communion; and that bond must be reunited ere the empire be restored -to him. Man of himself cannot reunite that severed bond, nor can he be -happy without such reunion; because the higher part of man's soul was -created for such high spiritual communion, and can no more be content -without it than could our inferior senses without the gratification -they require. But what he cannot do will be done for him, if he -prepare himself duly. He must build the altar of sacrifice, lay on the -wood, prepare the victim. Fire from heaven will then descend for his -enlightenment, for his purification, and more than he had lost may be -regained." - -"You speak oracularly, _ma belle amie_, but I want something more -tangible yet. Tell me some of the practical rules observed by your -friends; may be I shall better understand your sybilline wisdom then." - -Euphrasie shook her head. "They are too minute," she said. "You might -even think them childish." But Annie had not yet relaxed her grasp, -and appeared determined to be satisfied; so Euphrasie continued: -"Nevertheless, if you will promise to let me go immediately after, I -will give you one of their rules of action." - -"One, only one?" - -"One will be enough at a time. When you have solved one rule, it will -be the time to ask for more." - -"Solved one rule? What do you mean by that?" - -"There is a body and a soul to every religious rule--the letter and -the spirit. Observance must be yielded to both. I can only give you -the body. God only can teach you to understand the spirit of it." - -{42} - -"Well; proceed with your enigma." - -"You promise to let me go, whether you understand it or not." - -"Yes, provided the rule is practical," said Annie. - -"Well, then," said Euphrasie, "one reason that my friends were so -happy together--that though there were fifty of them, there was no -quarrelling, no ill will, no envy--was, that they constantly -endeavored, each one of them, to choose for herself the poorest -things; in her diet, the poorest fare; in her clothes, the coarsest -habit; in her employment, the most humbling functions." - -"Impossible!" said Annie. "Stay, cousin!" But Euphrasie had already -made her escape, and her reluctance to dwell on these subjects in that -presence was so evident that Annie did not choose to pursue her, and -she was left to conjecture whether the young French girl had been -playing on her credulity or not. The mere fact that fifty ladies had -been guided practically by such a principle as that given, was clearly -beyond her belief. Not so, however, did Eugene decide. His interest in -their young and mysterious inmate was ever on the increase. Each word -she uttered was gathered up as food for thought. The ideas were new to -him, and, not only so, they were contrary to those in which he had -been educated, and he had but a faint glimmering of their meaning. Yet -they worked strangely within him, and fain would he have sought -explanation from that pale sybil, but that for to-day she had -forbidden it. - -When Annie also had left the apartment, he walked up and down in deep -thought repeating to himself: - -"Man has lost the empire over himself and over inferior nature." - -"Man has lost the power of high spiritual communion." - -"_But these may be regained._" - -"If this be true, any privation or sacrifice may be undergone for -their repossession; too small the price, whatever the cost. But then, -how can contentment with the meanest things, or filling the humblest -offices, assist this conclusion? And this is but one rule; are the -others of a like fashion?" The young man was fairly mystified; that -the oracle had emitted truth, he doubted not; but a clue to the -meaning of that truth was wanting, and where should he find that clue? - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE "MARIAGE DE CONVENANCE." - -There was a visible excitement in the house; even Mr. Godfrey, ever so -solemn, and latterly so inclined to severity, put on a cheerful -appearance; people outside the family were _guessing_ at the cause. -For a long time, guessing was the only thing they could do; even -Madame de Meglior was not in the secret until one morning she received -a letter from M. de Villeneuve, which appeared to contain some news, -for she said to Mr. Godfrey, who happened to be the only one present: -"Brother, can this be true?" - -"Can what be true, my good sister?" was the question returned. - -"That the Duke of Durimond is coming here to marry Adelaide?" - -"Why should it not be true?" - -"Why, the duke is an old man!" - -"Not at all; he was quite young when he made proposals for Adelaide; -surely you remember them." - -"Remember them! Do you mean the agreement you made at the -dinner-table, when Adelaide was two years old." - -"The agreement was made before, between his father and me; it was -ratified, then, by himself; he had just come of age." - -"And that is sixteen years ago. Will you give Adelaide to a man of -seven-and-thirty?' - -"Why not, if she makes no objection?" - -"Has she ever seen him?" - -{43} - -"Yes, she saw him in town last winter; 'twas there he renewed his -offer; but, in fact, we have always corresponded. The duke is fond of -the arts; 'twas he sent those fine pictures you admire so much." - -"He can't know whether he likes Adelaide or not, and she never struck -me as being in love all this time." - -"Pshaw! The duke has proposed; Adelaide is satisfied. The marriage was -agreed upon years ago; what would you have? I thought you' knew the -world by this time." - -This was taking madame by her foible, so she said no more. Mrs. -Godfrey was simply quiescent: she was not accustomed to oppose her -husband's will, and, incredible as it may seem, the young girl herself -offered no objection to the marriage announced to her. To deck her -brow with a coronet had charms enough for the deeply fostered pride of -that young heart to induce her to forego the prospect of love, -sympathy, and domestic happiness; she simply coveted rank and power. -The duke had immense revenues; he offered ample settlements: what -mattered it that he was thirty-seven, and she but sweet eighteen? -Marriages occurred every day in which the disparity was more glaring. -What mattered it that she had scarcely seen the noble duke; that she -knew little of his private life, or of his tastes and feelings? He was -a nobleman of high birth; he paid her courtly compliments, presented -her with a magnificent casket of jewels; pleaded his long absence on -the Continent in excuse for his apparent want of attention to herself; -and urged his long friendship and unbroken correspondence with her -father as a plea for hurrying on his happiness; and thus, almost -unwooed, the fair Adelaide was won. Poor girl, the chief idea in her -head was that she should like to be a duchess; and thus both she and -her father contrived to overlook the fact that but little allusion had -been made to the proposed alliance in the sixteen years' -correspondence on art and science that had been maintained between the -gentlemen. The matter had been settled years ago. There was little -occasion for the world to interfere, if the parties concerned were -satisfied. The father's scientific friend was necessarily a fitting -husband for the daughter. And so the preparations went forward. The -house was filled for a time with dress-makers and bandboxes, and when -these were dismissed, there came guests to witness the bridal. Among -these was the Comte de Villeneuve, whom we have already introduced to -our readers; a friend of both families was the comte, and had been a -friend too of the late Comte de Meglior. This made him welcome also to -Madame de Meglior and Euphrasie; indeed he treated the latter with -distinguished attention, and she seemed more at her ease with him than -with any person at the Hall. M. de Villeneuve was thirty-five years of -age, but good-looking and animated, and Madame de Meglior was in some -slight degree uneasy at first at the evident friendship he evinced for -Euphrasie, for she did not approve of disproportionate marriages, and -she thought Adelaide's example a bad one. Gradually, however, she -became so absorbed in the duties imposed upon her by Mrs. Godfrey of -directing the embellishments, that she forgot to look after the object -of her solicitude in the subject which suited her better. Living as -she had been wont to do in the gay circles of Parisian exclusives, she -was regarded as a very oracle of fashion and elegance, and -consequently she willingly took the lead in planning the arrangements -for the bridal day. - -The young people were in a puzzle, Annie especially. It was the first -act of unblushing worldliness she had ever witnessed. She felt as if -she did not know the world she lived in. She looked at her mother; -there was no joy on her face; she looked at Adelaide; already the -young girl had {44} assumed her rank; the calm hauteur, the majestic -politeness, with which she received her guests, astonished every one. -Adelaide was born to command, every one felt it; none more so than -Annie, who had been so fondly attached to that sister from whom she -felt already severed. - -"O Euphrasie!" she said to her cousin, as they were walking together -in the grounds that surrounded the house, "you must be my sister when -Adelaide is gone; it will be so dreary to have no one of my own age to -love and talk to; will you not try to love me?" - -"I love you already, dear; you must not talk in that way--how can I do -other than love you?" - -"I was afraid you thought me a reprobate whom it was a sin to love." -This was said half playfully, but the tears started to Euphrasie's -eyes. - -"You a reprobate! a sin to love you who have been so kind to the poor -orphan girl! O Annie! have I really been so ungrateful as to give you -this idea?" - -"No, dear, no! not so; but I seriously thought you deemed all human -nature utterly depraved, and did not wish to form strong attachments -with those not of your creed." - -"If human nature were utterly depraved, how could it hear the voice of -God in the soul? and if you here were utterly depraved, would you have -opened your house and your heart to the wandering outcast?" - -"Then you do not think religion essential to goodness? How is that, -then?" - -"Man was made in the image of God, my dear Annie, and even his natural -qualities bear witness to this, unless, indeed, he become utterly -depraved." - -"You do not, then, exclude us from your heaven," said Annie, embracing -her. "I am so glad; you will be my friend and sister, Euphrasie." - -Euphrasie warmly returned the embrace, and said: "I have no heaven to -exclude you from, dear Annie, but if you wish for eternal bliss, you -must offer your natural qualities to him who alone can stamp eternity -upon them." - -"And how shall I do that, dear?" - -"Pray to God, and he will teach you." - -"I would rather have your teaching just now; tell me, if you believe -human nature to be good, what is meant by 'original sin,' as it -affects us. I know the story of Adam and Eve, but not what it means." - -"Adam was created with certain natural qualities, even as the inferior -animals were, adapted to the part he was to perform as lord of earth; -these qualities were good, nay, in Adam perfect. They are transmitted -to us, shorn of their brightness by the fall, but still they are good, -though imperfect now. Natures differ in individuals, but some have -very high qualities, very lofty aspirations. Have you not noticed -this?" - -"Well, I used to think so, but--" - -"But what?" - -"No matter what; tell me, what are we to do with our high qualities -more than cultivate them, and act upon them?" - -"Bring them under supernatural action, that they may be purified, -refined, and stamped with the seal of immortal truth." - -"Is this your religion?" - -"I know no other." - -The approach of M. de Villeneuve, who was gathering flowers for Hester -to make into bouquets, prevented further conversation. The merry girl -was making garlands, and flung them round Euphrasie and Annie as they -approached. "Now sit down here," she said, "and I will crown you both -as victims to the sacrifice. M. de Villeneuve shall be the priest. -What deity will you offer these victims to, monsieur? They are ready -bound." - -{45} - -"That is a serious question; we must take time to consider, and -luckily here comes Eugene to solve the question for us. What divinity -rules here, young man? your sister wants to offer up these two victims -to the genius of the place." - -"Indeed, it were difficult to say; ours is a pantheistic worship just -now, and we will defer the rite until we know what star is in the -ascendant. What beautiful ceremonies those old worshippers used to -have! We might raise an altar to Flora, I think, just to use to -advantage Hester's flowers." - -"Mademoiselle Euphrasie would find a use for your flowers, without -going to a heathen goddess," said M. de Villeneuve. "All beauty -symbolizes good with her, and all nature reveals some truth." - -"What a splendid idea, monsieur!" said Annie. "How did you know that -it was Euphrasie's? did she tell you so?" - -"Not in words, but I know her of old; to her there was a spirit in -every flower, a mystic word in every form. Matter was the expression -of mind, its language in a certain sense; and she was ever inquiring -its meaning." - -"You are laughing at me, monsieur," said Euphrasie; "but those were -pleasant days at the old chateau, when you used to scold me because I -would not reason, but only enjoy." - -"Nay," said Annie, "by monsieur's account you did reason, and very -beautifully too. Some people want hard words and long-drawn deductions -for apprehension of what to others is inspiration. I like the -inspiration best." - -"It is the easiest, at any rate," said Eugene. - -"To those to whom it comes," said the Frenchman; "the materialism of -our day stifles inspiration; men see only in rocks and stones a -moneyed value. Niagara is valued less than a mill-turning stream. -Inspiration is no longer believed in." - -. . . . . . - -The wedding-day approached, and all were busy trying to make a show of -gladness, which, however, they but imperfectly succeeded in effecting; -but what was wanting in hilarity was more than compensated for in -dignity and magnificence. M. de Villeneuve acted as groomsman, Annie -and Hester as bridesmaids, Euphrasie excused herself on account of her -mourning habit, which she declined to remove; she was not visible -during the whole day and one or two subsequent ones. And now the hour -was come which was to place a coronet on that fair brow; but could the -courtly bridegroom have seen how little he entered into the thoughts -of his young bride, perchance he had been but half pleased, even -though she was as stately and as fair as his great pride demanded. But -love, esteem, or mutual respect entered into the thoughts of neither -during the time that the Bishop of Chichester was marrying them by -special license, in the drawing-room at Estcourt Hall. - -This same arrangement was a great disappointment to the townspeople. -They had been desirous of witnessing the ceremony, and were not -well-pleased that the duke had not honored the church with his -presence. The duke, however, liked not to be gazed at, and the -sight-seers had no opportunity of gratifying their curiosity till the -bridal party left the house. - -The public entrance was besieged by expectant congratulators, who -waited to shower bouquets over the blooming bride. But here again they -were doomed to disappointment; for, to avoid this publicity, which was -distasteful to them, the bridal party walked through that portion of -the splendid grounds which had been specially decorated for the -occasion, and entered their carriages at the opposite side of the -park. They were, however, obliged to pass through part of the town, -and shouts of "they come--they come!" resounded as the carriages made -their appearance. The road lay down a deep hollow, on the turn leading -to which stood a small inn. The road was so steep that the drivers -necessarily checked the horses, in order to pass safely down the -declivity. At the cry raised of "they come {46}--they come!" a woman -elegantly dressed ran out of the inn, and gazed wildly at the -carriages. At that moment the duke put his head out of the window to -see what occasioned the delay, caught the eye of the woman, turned -pale, and hastily bade the coachman drive on. - -The woman shrieked, rather than said, "Tis he! O my God!" and fell to -the ground in a fainting fit. - -The bystanders raised her--the carriage passed; but the spirit of the -crowd seemed changed, they scarcely knew why; they crowded round the -woman; they questioned her; and each seemed eager to afford her help. -But, as soon as her strength permitted, she withdrew without -gratifying their evident curiosity, merely apologizing for her passing -weakness, and deliberately saying she would recover best when alone. -The style, the manner, the elegance of the stranger interested them -all, and with difficulty did they persuade themselves to abandon their -inquiries. The groups which had collected to congratulate the bride -were now occupied in discussing the appearance of the stranger, and -many surmises were hazarded as to her connection with the newly wedded -pair. - -Meantime that lady ordered a post-chaise to be got ready, and, ere -half recovered, entered it, to the great discomfiture of the gaping -crowd, whom she thus left to their conjectures. - -The landlord was now besieged with questions, but he could tell -nothing of importance. The lady came the previous evening; gave her -name as Mrs. Ellwood; made many inquiries concerning the family at -Estcourt Hall, and had the duke's person described to her; seemed -restless, agitated; went out, and hovered round Mr. Godfrey's -residence till nightfall; then returned and locked herself immediately -in her bed-chamber. In the morning she rose late, ate little or -nothing, but sat watching and listening intently, till she issued -forth to enact the scene described. The townspeople shook their heads, -and wished Miss Godfrey, now the Duchess of Durimond, might not be the -worse for it. Adelaide had been very popular among them, and the -public festivities on the occasion of her wedding were not so mirthful -as, but for this incident, they would you have been. - -The inmates of the hall, however, were as yet in happy ignorance of -the ominous conjectures raised respecting the fate of the fairest and -cleverest daughter of their house. The incident we have related came -to their knowledge as an accidental circumstance, altogether -unconnected with the wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey were well pleased -at their daughter's accession to rank and power, and the merry Hester -laughed delightedly at the anticipation of shortly visiting the -ancient castle of which her sister was now mistress, promising herself -much interest and delight in rambling amid the ancient chambers, which -had been the scene of famed historic deeds. Annie was pondering -whether her sister's rank could consist with the newfangled ideas of -liberty and equality that the times were teaching. She was wondering -whether high rank were a fetter or a privilege--a relic of man's -ignorance or a help to man's advancement, Eugene hoped that the "old -man" would use his sister well. He had not been pleased with his new -brother-in-law; he was too courtly, too stately for friendliness, and -altogether the whole affair had looked too much like bartering youth, -beauty, and intelligence for rank and wealth. He had entertained high -ideas of woman's purity, of woman's devotedness, of woman's -disinterestedness, and what was he to think? His beautiful, his -gifted, his cultivated sister had sold herself for a ducal coronet! -Was it true, then, as Shelley sings, "that all things are venal, and -that even a woman's heart may be put up in an auction mart?" - -Soon after the wedding, the young man sought but did not obtain -permission to go abroad. In default of this he went to Cambridge, and -said to himself he intended to find out TRUTH. - -{47} - -The society of an English University is very various. Almost any -disposition may suit itself there. The boisterous, the idle, the -reckless, the gay, the meditative, and the sober, with the refined and -the sentimental, alike are there, and it is of no small importance to -a young man to be well introduced on the outset. Mr. Godfrey, himself -a Cambridge man, could not fail to procure every advantage for his -son, and that son felt himself entitled to stand proudly on his -father's position, not only as a country gentleman, but as a -scientific man, for, as we have already hinted, the Honorable Mr. -Godfrey was an exception to the ordinary stamp of the English country -gentlemen of that day. He cared more for his library than he did for -his hounds and horses, and though he himself was far from being a -profound searcher into nature's secrets, he was a great patron of -science and of scientific men. Eugene had then little to fear from -friendlessness; he was well cared for, and his friends were sober, -well-conducted men. - -But accompanying him to college was one whose society he would not -willingly have sought. - -Frederic Morley, son of the lawyer at Estcourt, had early given -evidence of a studious disposition, and his father wished to bring him -up to the church, as, by means of Mr. Godfrey's patronage, he hoped to -push him into some church preferment. The young man, however, was in -fact a sentimentalist, a transcendentalist, too refined, too -sensitive, for this world of stern reality. Petted at home as a poet, -he held himself superior to common influences, prided himself on -having a fine mind, on possessing elegant and cultivated tastes, and -affected disgust at the coarse, homespun ideas of ordinary people. He -wrote pathetic tales of unrealities; touching verses of despairing -affection, with which it was his delight to draw forth tears of -sympathy from young lady audiences. - -A more uninteresting companion Eugene Godfrey could scarcely have met; -yet as his disposition was naturally kind and urbane, and as Morley -was without friends or acquaintances in the university, he continued -his friendship to him, and endeavored to direct his attention to -earnest themes and loftier subjects. This, however, was unwelcome to -so clever a person as Morley believed himself to be. He wanted no -direction even from the cleverest. All he sought for was appreciation, -sympathy. He could think for himself, and guide himself. The study of -Aristotle's Ethics was in his case soon supplanted by Paine's Age of -Reason and Volney's Ruins of Empires. The coarseness of the former -author he termed "wit" and the sophistry of the latter passed with him -for "wisdom." Eugene felt sorry for these freaks, for in indulging -them Frederic Morley was throwing away his livelihood; he endeavored -to reason with him, and then he became vexed that he had so few -efficient arguments to bring forward, and none but interested motives -to present. Was he to tell Frederic to be a hypocrite, and to study -theology for a "living?" He felt rather than knew the foolish boy was -pursuing a phantom, and was urged forward by very selfish motives, yet -he could not explain his own ideas, vague, mysterious, and undefined -as they were. - - "There is a fire - And motion in the soul, which will not dwell - In its own narrow being; but aspire - Beyond the fitting medium of desire, - And but once kindled, quenchless evermore." - -This Eugene felt, but why he felt it, or how to satisfy it, he knew -not. The words of Euphrasie, "that perhaps there is a science of mind, -more worth than all the science of matter," recurred continually, for -in that science must lie the solution of every difficulty that beset -him. How could he learn this science? how investigate this truth, if -truth it were? And he wandered hour after hour on the banks of the -Cam, in profound meditation burying himself in the thickets near to -avoid observation. - -{48} - -"O truth!" exclaimed he aloud one day, in the intense excitement of -his feelings--"O truth! if ever thou deignest to visit mortals, reveal -thyself to me; teach me the way, and by all that is holy or dear to -me, I swear to follow thee!" - -He was leaning against a tree; the drops stood on his forehead, caused -by the depth of his emotion, and suddenly the answer came: "PRAY, -child of aspirations, bow in prayer." - -Eugene started; looked around; no form was visible, but again the -words were repeated: "Pray, seeker for truth, pray! it will come to -thee." - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MAGNETIC INFLUENCES. - -"Behold he prayeth." - -"Pray, pray!" repeated Eugene; "what is prayer? Is it to hold -communion with a higher being? To be raised above the mists of this -murky earth? If so, how glad I should be to pray!" and involuntarily -he exclaimed: "O mighty Being, who rulest all, if indeed thou wiliest -to communicate with man, instruct me how to approach thee; my mind is -dark and sad. Oh! teach me truth." Eugene Godfrey was sincere; he -wished for truth; but educated in scornful intellectual supremacy, -educated to tolerate religion as a means of keeping in order the lower -classes, it was difficult for him to comprehend how "faith" could -exist otherwise than as a beautiful poetic fancy, to be classed with -the imagery of the Iliad or the Odyssey. - -The real, the sentient, had been his study, and till the horrors of -the French Revolution turned his mind to consider how man could -influence man by higher motives than merely getting "good things for -one's self," he had been satisfied to leave these themes unthought of. -But now they were forced upon him. Events unprecedented in the annals -of the world bade him lay aside physical science and tun to study -mental and moral influences. He had heard enough in the little town to -which he belonged to feel sure that the multitude must be cared for, -most be looked to. He saw his father uneasy at every commotion, lest -the English aristocracy should likewise be sent on their travels. He -saw Alfred Brookbank hating his own brother, because that brother -stood between him and a property; and his sister--his fearless -sister, accomplished, beautiful, the very epitome of a refined -lady--he dared not think of her! Oh! for a motive to raise these -groveling aims! Oh! for purity, heroism, good. But for the vision of -Euphrasie, all would have been darkness then. Such were Eugene's -thoughts as he bent his steps to his chambers and sat down in his easy -chair to indulge in this absorbing reverie. - -How long he sat he scarcely knew, but at length he became conscious -that he was not alone. He had forgotten to "sport his oak" (as closing -the outer door was called by the students) in token that he wished to -be alone, and Frederic Morley had entered, and, perceiving him so -engrossed, had quietly seated himself without speaking, till Eugene -gave signs of life. - -"Ah, Morley, is that you? how long have you been there?" - -"I scarcely know, Mr. Eugene; I have been watching your absent -thoughts. You were so still, I might have supposed you magnetized, but -I suppose the great wizard would not take so great a liberty with -you." - -"What wizard?" asked Eugene. - -"Have you not heard, then? There is a man here who can throw a person -into a trance, and make him reveal all kinds of secrets," answered -Frederic. - -"Pshaw!" said Eugene. - -"Nay," answered Frederic, "I will tell you what I saw. I was at Mrs. -Moreton's yesterday evening, singing duets with Isabel, and young -Moreton came in with a tall, dark-haired, mustachioed, whiskered -fellow, with eyes {49} like lighted coals, they were so large and -piercing. Where Moreton picked him up, I could not find out, but he -was evidently fascinated with him. He introduced him laughingly to his -mother as a great wizard, and they interrupted the music to hear him -talk. He was grandiloquent enough, told tales of spirits and -influences that haunt me still; but more than this, he insisted that -mind can influence mind irrespective of matter; that the old tales of -magic were true, and the deeds wrought by men of wondrous power, who -had found the key to nature's nighty secrets--only nature with him -does not mean inert matter as we mean by it, but matter and -intelligences who act upon matter. The universe, he says, is peopled -by wondrous forms, and these forms can be communicated with by a -privileged soul. Oh, he is a mighty man!" and Frederic shuddered. - -"And you have no more sense than to believe such a cock-and-bull story -as that? Fie, Morley, I am ashamed of you!" - -"But let me tell you what I saw with my own eyes. He first threw -Isabel into a trance, from which neither Mrs. Morley, nor her brother, -nor i could awaken her. Then when Mrs. Morley grew frightened, he -assured her there was no danger, that she was only bewitched by his -art, and that he would make her talk as he pleased. Then he put her -brother's hand in hers, and bade him think of the walk he had taken -that afternoon, of the people he had met and spoken to; he did so, and -the wizard bade the girl speak, and she recounted the events of the -walk from his leaving college to his meeting with the wizard, and -their entering the room in which we were--all, as her brother -declared, correctly. The wizard then disenchanted her, and she slowly -roused herself, pale and listless, but quite unconscious of what had -passed." - -"I have heard of animal magnetism before, quietly responded Eugene. - -"Have you? But do you know its power? It is absolutely frightful. He -lifted my arm before I knew what he was about, passed his hand two or -three times above and below it, and there it remained fixed -horizontally from the shoulder, without my having power to move it up -or down. Young Moreton tried to put it down for me, but he could not; -and there I stood fixed till it pleased the wizard to unloose the -spell he had cast around me." - -"Yours was not an agreeable position, truly," said Eugene, "but he did -not hurt you; you are safe and sound now." - -"Yes, but the most wonderful is yet to come. Little Helen Moreton came -into the room to bid her mamma good-night. Seeing the stranger, she -was shy, and went to the window-curtains to hide. Mrs. Moreton called -her, but she looked out for a minute, seemed to take a greater dislike -to the stranger than before, and hid again. Mrs. Moreton was annoyed, -and the wizard said: 'Do you want her, madam? If so, I will bring her -to you.' But Mrs. Moreton replied, 'Oh no! if you go near her she will -shriek and cry; she is so shy.' 'Nay,' said the man, 'I will stand -here, and here she shall come without a shriek, and lie down at my -feet.' What he did we could not find out, for he seemed perfectly -still. The window-curtain unfolded, and apparently against her will -the child came forward. She caught at a chair, as if determined to -resist the influence, but that seemed to urge her forward; she let it -go, and then grasped the table with both hands, as if determined to -resist. She pouted, she frowned, she strove to keep her place, but -keep it she could not. Step by step she came and laid herself quietly -down at the wizard's feet. Mrs. Moreton almost shrieked, but the child -lay as if she dared not leave until the magician gave permission." - -"Well, and what do you infer from all this?" asked Eugene. - -{50} - -"I hardly know; I am terrified; what if it is true, as this man says, -that weak minds must obey the strong; that resistance is useless? I -should not like to become the slave of a spirit such as his." - -"You believe him to be a wicked man?" - -"I do, yet I know not why; I should not like to meet him when -unprotected." - -"Why, Morley, you astonish me; I could not conceive you so weak. These -fears are unworthy a noble mind." - -"But what are we to do if such theories be true?" - -"They are not true--at least not in the way you state them. There are -protecting, counteracting influences for the weakest. I cannot explain -all this to-night; but all history, all experience go to prove that -the 'race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong' ---that bad power is often overcome by weak means. I will repeat to you -a piece of advice I received myself to-day, and which I intend to -take. It is one you must often have received, for your father intends -you for the church. Pray, Morley, to the highest of all intelligences, -to the greatest of all powers. The strongest will then be invoked to -your aid." - -"_Pray?_ Are you serious, Mr. Eugene?" - -"I am serious; why doubt it?" - -"An advice so contrary to the spirit of the age! why, it is the last -to be expected." - -"Perhaps so; but listen: That mind is not matter, your experience -proves, as does that of most people. What mind is, perhaps we do not -know; but that mind acts upon mind, irrespective of space and -obstacles, we feel. Listen! you know my family; a family less -superstitious scarcely exists. We are too much wedded to cause and -effect lightly to believe. My grandfather was as little credulous as -my father. Now hear what happened to him. He had a brother to whom he -was fondly attached, and by whom he was as fondly loved. Their -correspondence was constant. That brother went to India, as an -officer. One night about twelve o'clock, as my grandfather was going -to sleep, having sat up later than usual, the curtains at the foot of -the bed were with drawn, and his brother, pale, but in full -regimentals, appeared and said, 'Good-by, Frank.' My grandfather -related the circumstance at breakfast next morning, and noted it down -in writing, being confident that he was not asleep. After due time the -Indian mail arrived, giving an account of the brother's death on the -field of battle at the exact hour and day specified. Ere his spirit -winged its flight, we know not whither, it had communicated with the -being it loved best on earth." - -Frederic turned pale. "What do you infer from this?" he asked. - -"Simply this," returned Eugene; "that 'there are more things in heaven -and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,' and this -influence of mind on mind is one of them. If the Supreme Ruler have -made a law that man, to be assisted by him, must pray to him, must put -himself in communication with him, who are we that we should refuse -the means? If you fear the evil spirit in a man, try if there be no -good spirit capable of protecting you. The universal testimony of -mankind is in favor of supernatural agencies. We should ponder well -ere we throw from us such aid." - -Frederic smiled, and rose to take his leave. Advice so different from -what he had expected was scarcely likely to be well received. He had -no answer ready, so he left the narrow-minded religionist to his own -crude fancies. - -And Eugene closed the oaken door, and returned, and for the first time -of his life knelt down to beseech light from the Author of -light--light to guide him through these wearisome shoals of doubt and -darkness--light to show him something more than how to render matter -subservient to animal comfort--light to enlighten the {51} inward -feeling. Good and evil, what are they? Mind and matter--which is the -true reality? What are we to live for--the animal life, or the -spiritual? And is the purely spiritual distinct from the purely -intellectual as well as from the animal? Is there a soul, the -functions of which are different, distinct, from those of the body, -and to the knowledge of which mere intellect cannot arrive? What is -nature? What is revelation? How do they act upon each other? What is -the office, what the aim of each? Revolving these themes, it was deep -in the night ere the young man sought his couch. - - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -INDEPENDENCE OF THE CHURCH. - - -Our age is more sentimental than intellectual, more philanthropic than -Christian, more material than spiritual. It may and no doubt does -cherish and seek to realize, with such wisdom as it has, many humane -and just sentiments, but it retains less Christian thought than it -pretends, and has hardly any conception of catholic principles. It -studies chiefly phenomena, physical or psychical, and as these are all -individual, particular, manifold, variable, and transitory, it fails -to recognize any reality that is universal, invariable, and permanent, -superior to the vicissitudes of time and place, always and everywhere -one and the same. It is so intent on the sensible that it denies or -forgets the spiritual, and so engrossed with the creature that it -loses sight of the creator. - -Indeed, there are not wanting men in this nineteenth century who deny -that there is any creator at all, or that anything has been made, and -maintain that all has been produced by self-development or growth. -These men, who pass for the great scientific lights of the age, tell -us that all things are in a continual process of self-formation, which -they call by the general name of progress; and so taken up are they -with their doctrine of progress, that they gravely assert that God -himself, if God there be, is progressive, perfectible, ever proceeding -from the imperfect towards the perfect, and seeking by unremitting -action to perfect, fill out, or complete his own being. They seem not -to be aware that if the perfect does not already really exist, or is -wanting, there is and can be no progress; for progress is motion -towards the perfect, and, if the perfect does not exist there can be -no motion towards it, and in the nature of the case the motion can be -only towards nothing, and therefore, as St. Thomas has well -demonstrated, in proving the impossibility of progress without end, no -motion at all. Nor do they seem any more to be aware that the -imperfect, the incomplete, is not and cannot be self-active, or -capable of acting in and from itself alone, and therefore has not the -power in itself alone to develop and complete itself, or perfect its -own being. Creatures may be and are progressive, because they live, -and move, and have their being in their Creator, and are aided and -sustained by him whose being is eternally complete who is in himself -infinitely perfect. They forget also the important fact {52} that -where there is nothing universal, there can be nothing particular, -that where there is nothing invariable there can be nothing variable, -that where there is nothing permanent there can be nothing transitory, -and that where there is no real being there can be no phenomena, any -more than there can be creation without a creator, action without an -actor, appearance without anything that appears, or a sign that -signifies nothing. - -Now the age, regarded in its dominant tendency, neglects or denies -this universal, invariable, persistent, real, or spiritual order, and -its highest and most catholic principles are mere classifications or -generalizations of visible phenomena, and therefore abstractions, -without reality, without life or efficiency. It understands not that -throughout the universe the visible is symbolical of the invisible, -and that to the prepared mind there is an invisible but living reality -signified by the observable phenomena of nature, as in the Christian -economy an invisible grace is signified by the visible sacramental -sign. All nature is in some sense sacramental, but the age takes it -only as an empty sign signifying nothing. Hence the embarrassment of -the Christian theologian in addressing it; the symbols he uses and -must use have for it no meaning. He deals and must deal with an order -of thought of which it has little or no conception. He is as one -speaking to a man who has no hearing, or exhibiting colors to a man -who has no sight, He speaks of the transcendental to those who -recognize nothing above the sensible--of the spiritual to men who are -of the earth earthy, and have lost the faculty of rising above the -material, and piercing beyond the visible. The age has fallen, even -intellectually, far below the Christian order of thought, and is -apparently unable to rise even in conception to the great catholic -principles in accordance with which the universe is created, -sustained, and governed. - -Nobody in his senses denies that man is progressive, or that modern -society has made marvellous progress in the material order, in the -application of science to the productive arts. I am no _laudator -temporis acti_; I understand and appreciate the advantages of the -present, and do not doubt that steam navigation railroads, and -lightning telegraphs, which bid defiance to the winds and waves, and -as it were annihilate space and time, will one day be made to subserve -higher than mere material interests; but I cannot shut my eyes to the -fact that in many and very important respects, the modern world has -deteriorated instead of improving, and been more successful in losing -than in gaining. The modern nations commonly regarded, at least by -themselves, as the more advanced nations, have fallen in moral and -religious thought below the ancient Greeks and Romans. They may have -more sound dogmas, but they have less conception of principles, of the -invisible or spiritual order, excepting always the followers of -Leucippus, Democritus, and Epicurus, whose absurd materialism is -revived with hardly any disguise by the most approved thinkers of our -own age. The Gentiles generally held catholic principles, but -misapprehended and misapplied them, and thus fell into gross idolatry -and degrading and besotting superstition; but the moderns while -retaining many Catholic dogmas have lost the meaning of the word -principle. The Catholic can detect, no doubt, phases of truth in all -the doctrines of those outside the church, but the Christianity they -profess has no universal, immutable, and imperishable principle, and -degenerates in practice into a blind and fierce fanaticism, a watery -sentimentality, a baseless humanitarianism, or a collection of -unrelated and unmeaning dogmas, which are retained only because they -are never examined, and which can impart no light to the -understanding, infuse no life into the hearty and impose no restraint -on the appetites and passions. - -{53} - -Having fallen below the conception of a order above the visible and -phenomenal, and sunk to complete Sadduceeism, which believes in -neither angel nor spirit, the age makes war on the church because she -asserts such order, and remains fast anchored in it; because she is -immovable and invariable, or as her enemies say, stationary, -unprogressive, and therefore hostile to progress. She has, it is said, -the insolence to attempt to teach and govern men and nations, instead -of gracefully submitting to their views and wishes, and bestowing her -blessing on their exertions for the liberty and progress of society. -The age denies her to be the church of God, because she fails to prove -herself to be the church of man, holding simply from a human -authorities. It denies her divine origin, constitution, and authority, -because she is stable, cannot be carried away by every wind of -doctrine, does not yield to every popular impulse, and from time to -time resists individuals, civil rulers, the people even, and opposes -their favorite theories, plans, and measures, whenever she finds them -at war with her mission and her law. It applauds her, indeed, to the -echo, when she appears to be on the side of what happens to be -popular, but condemns her without mercy when she opposes popular -error, popular folly, popular injustice, and asserts the unpopular -truth, defends the unpopular cause, or uses her power and influence in -behalf of neglected justice, and please with her divine eloquence for -the poor, the wronged, the downtrodden. Yet this is precisely what she -should do, if the church of God, and what it would be contrary to her -nature and office on that supposition not to do. - -The age concedes nothing to the unseen and eternal. In its view -religion itself is human, and ought to be subject to man, and -determinable by society, dictated by the people, who in the modern -mind usurp the place of God. It should not govern, but be governed, -and governed from below, not from above; or rather, in its subversion -of old ideas, it holds that being governed from below is being -governed from above. It forgets that religion, objectively considered, -is, if anything, the revelation and assertion of the divine order, or -the universal and eternal law of God, the introduction and maintenance -in the practical affairs of men and nations of the divine element, -without which there would and could be nothing in human society -invariable, permanent, or stable--persistent, independent, supreme, or -authoritative. The church is simply the divine constitution and organ -of religion in society, and must, like religion itself, be universal, -invariable, independent, supreme, and authoritative for all men and -nations. Man does not originate the church. She does not depend on -man, or hold from him either individually or collectively; for she is -instituted to govern him, to administer for him the universal and -eternal law, and to direct and assist him in conducting himself in the -way of his duty, to his supreme good, which she could not do if she -held from and depended on him. - -The point here insisted on, and which is so far removed from the -thought of this age, is, that this order transcending the phenomenal -and the whole material or sensible universe, and which in the strictly -philosophical language of Scripture is called "the Law of the Lord," -is eminently real, not imaginary, not factitious, not an abstraction, -not a classification or generalization of particulars, nor something -that depends for its reality on human belief or disbelief. Religion -which asserts this divine order, this transcendental order, is -objectively "the Law of the Lord," which, proceeding from the eternal -reason and will of God, is the principle and reason of things. The -church, as the divinely constituted organ of that law, is not an -arbitrary institution, is not an accident, is not an afterthought, is -not a superinduction upon the original plan of the Creator, but enters -integrally into that plan, and is therefore founded in the {54} -principle, the reason, and the constitution of things, and is that in -reference to which all things are created, sustained, and governed, -and hence our Lord is called "the Lamb slain from the foundation of -the world." - -But this our age does not conceive. For it the divine, the invariable, -the universal, and the eternal are simply abstractions or -generalizations, not real being. Its only conception of immensity, is -space unlimited--of eternity, is time without end--of the infinite, -the undefined, and of the universal, totality or sum total. -_Catholic_, in its understanding, means accepting or ranking together -as equally respectable the doctrines, opinions, views, and sentiments -of all sects and denominations. Christian, Jewish, Mahometan, and -Pagan. He, in the sense of modern philosophers, has a catholic -disposition who respects all convictions, and has no decided -conviction of his own. Catholicity is held to be something made up by -the addition of particulars. The age does not understand that there is -no catholicity without unity, and therefore that catholicity is not -predicable of the material order, since nothing material or visible is -or can be strictly one and universal. The church is catholic, not -because as a visible body she is universal and includes all men and -nations in her communion; she was as strictly catholic when her -visible communion was restricted to the Blessed Virgin and the -Apostles as she is now, or would be if all the members of the race -were recipients of her sacraments. She is catholic because she is the -organ of the whole spiritual order, truth, or reality, and that order -in its own intrinsic nature is one and universal. All truth is -catholic, because all truth is one and invariable; all the dogmas of -the church are catholic, because universal principles, always and -everywhere true. The law of the Lord is catholic, because universally, -always and every where law, equally law for all men and nations in -every age of the world, on earth and is heaven, in time and eternity. -The church is catholic, because she holds under this law, and because -God promulgates and administers it through her, because he lives and -reigns in her, and hence she is called his kingdom, the kingdom of God -on earth, a kingdom fulfilled and completed in heaven. It is this -order of ideas that the age loses sight of and is so generally -disposed to deny. Yet without it there were no visible order, and -nothing would or could exist. - -The principal, reason, nature, or constitution of things is in this -order, and men must conform to it or live no true, no real life. They -who recede from it advance towards nothing, and, as far as possible, -become nothing. The church is independent, superior to all human -control, and persistent, unaltered, and unalterable through all the -vicissitudes of time and place, because the order in which she is -founded is independent and persistent. She cannot be moved or harmed, -because she rests on the principle, truth, and constitution of things, -and is founded neither on the individual man, the state, nor the -people, but on God himself, the Rock of Ages, against which anything -created must rage and beat in vain. "On this rock will I build my -church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." The -church is therefore, by her own divine constitution, by the very -principle and law of her existence, indefectible. No weapon forged -against her shall prosper. The wicked may conspire for her -destruction, but in vain, because they conspire to destroy reality, -and all reality is always invincible and indestructible. They cannot -efface or overthrow her, because she is founded in the truth and -reality of things, or what is the same thing, in the unalterable -reason and will of God, in whom all creatures have their -principle--live, move, and have their being. - -{55} - -They who oppose the church in the name of humanity or human progress, -cannot succeed, because she is indivisible, and they would utterly -defeat themselves if they could. They would deprive the human race of -the law of God, which makes wise the simple and strengthens the weak, -and deprive men and nations of the truth and reality of things, the -very principle of all life, and of the very means and conditions of -all progress. Man no doubt is progressive, but not in and by himself -alone. Archimedes demanded a _pou sto_, a whereon to rest his fulcrum -outside the earth, in order to move it, and there is no conceivable -way by which a man can raise himself by a lever supported on himself. -How is it that our philosophers fail to see the universal application -of the laws which they themselves assert? All progress is by -assimilation, by accretion, as that hierophant of progress, Pierre -Leroux, has amply demonstrated, and if there is no reality outside of -man or above him, what is there for him to assimilate, and how is he -to become more than at any given time he already is? Swift ridiculed -the philosophers of Laputa, who labored to extract sunbeams from -cucumbers, but even more ridiculous are they who pretend that -something may be assimilated from nothing, or that a thing can in and -of itself make itself more than it is. Where there is nothing above -man with which he does or may commune, there is for him no possibility -of progress, and men and nations can never advance beyond what they -are. This is so in the nature of things, and it is only what is -implied in the maxim, _Ex nihilo nihil fit_. - -An institution, no matter by what sacred name called, founded by -savages, embodying only what they are, and worked by them, would have -no power to elevate them above their savage state, and could only -serve to perpetuate their savagery. The age speaks of the applications -of science to the productive arts, of the marvels of the steam-engine, -steamboats, the locomotive, and the magnetic telegraph, and boasts -that it renders mind omnipotent over matter. Vain boast, poor -philosophy. We have in those things gained no triumph over matter, no -control over the forces of nature, which are as independent of our -reason and will as ever they were, as the first steamboat explosion -will suffice to convince the most skeptical. We have subjected none of -the forces of nature; we have only learned in some few instances to -construct our machinery so as to be propelled by them, as did the -first man who built a mill, constructed a boat, or spread his sails to -catch the breeze. We alter not, we control not by our machinery the -forces of nature, and all the advantage we have obtained is in -conforming to them, and in suffering them, according to their own -laws, or laws which we have not imposed on them, to operate for us. -The principle is universal, catholic, and as true in the moral or -spiritual as in the mechanical or physical world. - -Man does not create, generate, or control the great moral and -spiritual forces on which he depends to propel his moral and spiritual -machinery. They exist and operate independently alike of his reason -and his will, and the advantages he derives from them are obtained by -his placing himself within the sphere of their influence, or, to be -strictly correct, by interposing voluntarily no obstacle to their -inflowing, for they are always present and operative unless resisted. -Withdraw him from their influence, or induce him obstinately to resist -them, which he may do, for he is a free moral agent, and he can make -no more progress than a sailing ship at sea in a dead calm. These -forces are divine, are embodied in the church as her living and -constitutive force--are in one sense the church herself, and hence men -and nations separated from her communion and influence are thrown back -on nature alone, and necessarily cease to be progressive. We may war -against this as much as we please, but we cannot alter it, for the -principle on which it rests is a universal and indestructible law. - -{56} - -Individuals and nations separated by schism or heresy from the visible -communion of the church do not become at once absolutely and in all -respects unprogressive, for they are carried on for a time by the -momentum she baa given them, and besides, they are not, as she -continues to exist, absolutely beyond or outside of the sphere of her -influence, though indirect and reflected. But from the moment of the -separation their progress begins to slacken, their spiritual life -becomes sickly and attenuated, and gradually they lose all that they -had received from the church, and lapse into helpless and unassisted -nature. This, which is demonstrable _a priori_, is proved by the -experience of those nations that separated from the church in the -sixteenth century. These nations at first retained a large portion of -their old Catholic culture, and many of the habits acquired under the -discipline and training of the church. But they have been gradually -losing them ever since, and the more advanced portions of them have -got pretty clear of them, and thrown off, as they express it, the last -rag of Popery. Indeed this is their boast. - -In throwing off the authority of the church, they came in religious -matters under the authority of the state, or the temporal sovereign or -ruler--a purely human authority, without competency in spirituals--and -thus lost at once their entire religious freedom, or liberty of -conscience. In Catholic nations the civil authority has always, or -almost always, been prone to encroach on the authority of the church, -and to attempt to control her external discipline or ecclesiastical -administration; but, in the nations that were carried away by the -so-called reformation, the civil authority assumed in every instance -complete control over the national church, and prescribed its -constitution, its creed, its liturgy, and its discipline. This for -them completely humanized religion, and made it a department of state. -It is true these nations professed to recognize the Bible as -containing a divine revelation, and to be governed by it; and this -would have been something, even much, had they not remitted its -interpretation to the civil magistrate, the king, the parliament, the -public judgment of the people, or the private judgment of the -individual, which made its meeting, as practically received, vary from -nation to nation, and even from individual to individual. - -This sacrificed, in principle, the sovereignty of God and the entire -spiritual order, departed to a fearful distance from the truth and -reality of things, and if it retained some of the precepts of the -Christian law, it retained them as precepts not of the law of God but -as precepts of the law of man, enjoined, explained, and applied by a -purely human authority. In process of time, the authority of the state -in religious matters was found to be usurped, tyrannical, and -oppressive, and the thinking part of the separated nations asserted -the right of private judgment, or of each believer to interpret the -Holy Scriptures for himself. Having gone thus far, they went still -farther, and assert for everyone the right to judge for himself not -only of the meaning, but of the inspiration, authenticity, and -authority of the Scriptures, though the civil government in none of -these nations, except the United States, not in existence at the time -of the separation, has disavowed its authority in spirituals. -Practically, the doctrine that each individual judges for himself is -now generally adopted. - -The authority of the Scriptures has followed the authority of the -church, and is practically, when not theoretically, rejected. It was -perhaps asserted by the reformers at first for the purpose of -presenting some authority not precisely human, which no Catholic would -deny, as offset against that of the church, rather than from any deep -reverence for it, or profound conviction of it" reality. But, be this -as it may, it counts for little now. The authors of Essays and -Reviews, and the Anglican bishop of Natal, take hardly less liberty -with the {57} Scriptures than Luther and Calvin did with the church. -The more advanced thinkers, if thinkers they are, of the age go -further still, and maintain not only that a man may be a very -religious man, and a true follower of Jesus Christ, without accepting -either the authority of the church or that of the Bible, but without -even believing either in the existence of God or the immortality of -the soul. Schleiermacher, the great Berlin preacher, went thus far in -his Discourses on Religion, addressed to the Cultivated among its -Despisers; and equally far, if not farther, in the same direction, go -the rising school or sect called Positivists. Religion is reduced to a -spontaneous development--perhaps I should say, to a secretion of human -nature, implying no reality above or distinguishable from human nature -itself. - -It is not pretended that all persons in these nations have as yet -reached this result; but as there is a certain logic in error as well -as in truth, all are tending and must tend to it. What is called -progress of religious ideas or religious enlightenment is not held to -consist in any accession to our stock of known truth, in penetrating -farther into the world of reality, and attaining a firmer grasp of its -principles, nor in a better understanding of our moral relations and -the duties growing out of them, but in simply casting off or getting -rid of so-called Popery--of everything that has been retained in the -nations, and the sects into which they divide and subdivide, furnished -by the Catholic Church in which the reformers had been reared, and in -reducing men and nations to the nakedness and feebleness of nature. -The more advanced portion are already seen sporting _in puris -naturalibus_, heedless alike of shame and winter's cold. The others -are following more or less rapidly in the same direction; for there is -no halting-place between Catholicity and naked naturalism, and men -must either ascend to the one or descend to the other. But those who -choose to descend can find no resting-place even in naturalism, for -nature, severed from Catholicity, is severed from its principle, is -severed from God, from the reality and truth of things, and is -therefore unreal, nothing, Hence the descent is endless. Falsehood has -no bottom, is unreal, purely negative, and can furnish no standing. -Men can stand only on the true, the real, and that is Catholicity, the -order represented in society by the church. Those who forsake the -church, Catholicity, God, forsake therefore the real order, have -nothing to stand on, and in the nature of the case can only drop into -what the Scripture calls "the bottomless pit." - -We hear much of the ignorance, superstition, and even of idolatry of -Catholics, nothing of which is true; but this much is certain, that -those who abandon the church, and succeed in humanizing religion, -making it hold from man and subject to his control, do as really -worship gods of their fashioning as did the old worshippers of gods -made of wood and stone, because their religion is really only what -they make it, and fall into as gross an idolatry and into as besotted -and besotting a superstition as can be found among any heathen people, -ancient or modern. - -It is easy therefore to understand why the church sets her face so -resolutely against modern reformers, liberals, revolutionists, in a -word, the whole so-called movement party, professing to labor for the -diffusion of intelligence and the promotion of science, liberty, and -human progress. It is not science, liberty, or progress that she -opposes, but false theories substituted for science, and the wrong and -destructive means and methods of promoting liberty and progress -adopted and insisted on by liberals and revolutionists. There is only -one right way of effecting the progress they profess to have at heart, -and that is by conforming to truth and reality, for falsehood is -impotent, and nothing can be gained by it. She opposes the movement -party, not as a movement party, not as a party of light, liberty, {58} -and progress, but as a party moving in the wrong direction, putting -forth unscientific theories, theories which amuse the imagination -without enlightening the understanding, which if they dazzle it is -only to blind with their false glitter, which embraced as truth -to-day, must be rejected as falsehood to-morrow, and which in fact -tend only to destroy liberty, and render all real progress impossible. -As the party, collectively or individually, neither is nor pretends to -be infallible, the church, at the worst, is as likely to be right as -they are, and the considerations presented prove that she is right, -and that they are wrong. There is no science but in knowing the truth, -that which really is or exists, and there is no real progress, -individual or social, with nature alone, because nature alone has no -existence, and can exist and become more than it is only by the -gracious, the supernatural assistance of God, in whom all things live, -move, and have their being. - -A great clamor has been raised by the whole movement party throughout -the world against the encyclical of the Holy Father, dated at Rome, -December 8, 1864, and even some Catholics, not fully aware of the -sense and reach of the opinions censured, were at first partially -disturbed by it; but the Holy Father has given in it only a proof of -his pastoral vigilance, the fidelity of the church to her divine -mission, and the continuous presence in her and supernatural -assistance of the Holy Ghost. The errors condemned are all aimed at -the reality and invariability, universality and persistency, of truth, -the reality of things, the supremacy of the spiritual order, and the -independence and authority of the divine law, at real science, and the -means and conditions of both liberty and progress. In it we see the -great value of the independence of the church,--of a church holding -from God instead of holding from man. If the church had been human or -under human control she would never have condemned those errors, -because nearly all of them are popular, and hailed as truth by the -age. Man condemns only what man dislikes, and the popular judgment -condemns only what is unpopular. It is only the divine that judges -according to truth, and without being influenced by the spirit of the -age, or by what is popular or unpopular. If the church had been human, -she would have been carried away by those errors, and proved herself -the enemy instead of the friend, the protector, and the benefactor of -society. - -These remarks on the divine character and independence of the church -are not inappropriate to the present times, and may serve to calm, -comfort, and console Catholics amidst the national convulsions and -changes which, without the reflections they suggest, might deeply -afflict the Catholic heart. The successes of Italy and Prussia in the -recent unjustifiable war against Austria, and the humiliation of the -Austrian empire, the last of the great powers on which the church -could rely for the protection of her material interests, have -apparently given over the temporal government of this world to her -enemies. There is at this moment not a single great power in the world -that is officially Catholic, or that officially recognizes the -Catholic Church as the church of God. The majority of Frenchmen are or -profess to be Catholics, but the French state professes no religion, -and if it pays a salary to the Catholic clergy, Protestant ministers, -and Jewish rabbis, it is not as ministers of religion, but as servants -of the state. The Russian state is schismatic, and officially -anti-papal; the British state, as a state, is Protestant, and -officially hostile to the church; Italy follows France; and Prussia, -which at the moment means Germany, is officially Protestant and -anti-Catholic; and so are Holland, Sweden, Denmark, and Norway. -Belgium and our own great Republic profess officially no religion, but -give freedom and protection to all religions not held to be _contra -bonos mores_. Spain and Portugal, no longer great powers, and {59} -most of the Central and South American states, officially profess the -Catholic faith, but they count for next to nothing in the array of -nations. Hellas and the Principalities, like Russia, are schismatic, -and the rest of the world, including the greater part of Asia and all -of Africa, is Mahometan or pagan, and of course hostile to the church. - -I have not enumerated Austria, for what is to be her fate no one can -now say; but as a portion of her population belong to the Greek -schismatic church, and a larger portion still are Protestants, the -most that can be expected of her is that she will, in regard to -religion, assume the attitude of France and Italy. There is then -really no power on which the church can now rely for the support of -her external and material interests. I will not say that the triumph -of Prussia is the triumph of Protestantism, for that would not be -true; but it is, at least for the moment, the success of the party -that denounced the papal encyclical, and would seem to be a complete -victory, perhaps a final victory, over that system of mixed civil and -ecclesiastical government which grew up on the downfall of the Roman -empire and the conversion of the barbarian nations that seated -themselves on its ruins. It is the total and final destruction of the -Christian empire founded, with the aid of the Pope and bishops, by -Charlemagne and his nobles, and not unlikely will end in the complete -severance of all official union of church and state--alike the -official union between the state and the heretical and schismatic -churches, and between the state and the Catholic Church; so that -throughout the civilized world the people will be politically free to -be of any religion they choose, and the state of no religion. - -This result is already reached in nearly all the nations hitherto -called Catholic nations, but not in the officially Protestant and -schismatic nations; and for a long time to come the anti-Catholic or -anti-papal religions, schismatical, heretical, Mahometan, and pagan -religions, will be retained as official or state religions, with more -or less of civil tolerance for Catholics. For the moment, the -anti-papal party appears to be victorious, and no doubt believes that -it is all over with the Catholic Church. That party had persuaded -itself that the church, as a ruling body, was of imperial origin--that -the papal power had been created by the edicts of Roman emperors, -and that it depends entirely on the civil authority for its -continuance. Hence they concluded that, if the church could be -deprived of all civil support, it must fall. They said, the church -depends on the papacy, and the papacy depends on the empire; hence, -detach the empire--that is, the civil power--from the papacy, and the -whole fabric tumbles at once into complete ruin. It is not improbable -that, to confound them, to bring to naught the wisdom of the wise, and -to take the crafty in their own craftiness, Providence has suffered -them to succeed. He has permitted them to detach the empire, that they -may see their error. - -The successful party have reckoned without their host. They have -reasoned from false premises, and come necessarily to false -conclusions. The church is, undoubtedly, essentially papal as well as -episcopal, and the destruction of the papacy would certainly be her -destruction as the visible church; but it is false to assume that the -papacy was created by imperial edicts and depends on the empire, for -it is an indisputable historical fact that it existed prior to any -imperial edict in its favor, and while the empire was as yet -officially pagan, and hostile to the church. Hence it does not follow -that detaching the empire from the papacy will prove its destruction. -The church was as papal in its constitution when the whole force of -the empire was turned against it, when it sought refuge in the -catacombs, as it is now, or was in the time of Gregory VII. or -Innocent III., and is as papal in this country, where it has no civil -{60} support or recognition, as in Spain, or the Papal States -themselves. The very principal, idea, and nature of the church, as we -have set them forth in asserting the independence and supremacy of the -spiritual order, of which she is the organ, contradict in the moat -positive manner the dependency of the papacy on the empire. - -The church as a visible body has, no doubt, temporal relations, and -therefore temporal interests susceptible of being affected by the -changes which take place in states and empires, and it is not -impossible, nor improbable, that the recent changes in Europe may more -or less deeply affect those interests. The papacy has itself so -judged, and has resisted them with all the means placed at its -disposal. These changes, if carried out, if completed, will affect in -a very serious manner the relations of the papacy with temporal -sovereigns, or, to use the consecrated term, with the empire, and many -of its regulations and provisions for the administration of -ecclesiastical affairs will certainly need to be changed or modified, -and much inconvenience during the transition to the new state of -things will no doubt be experienced. All changes from an old -established order, though in themselves changes for the better, are -for a time attended with many inconveniences. The Israelite's escaping -from Egyptian bondage had to suffer weariness, hunger, and thirst in -the wilderness before reaching the promised land. But whatever -temporal changes or inconveniences of this sort the church in her -external relations may have to endure, they are accidental, and by no -means involve her destruction, or impair her power or integrity as the -church of God, or divinely instituted organ of the spiritual order. - -There is no question that the party that regards itself as having -triumphed in the success of Italy and Prussia is bitterly hostile not -only to what it calls the papal politics, but to the Catholic Church -herself, and will not be satisfied with simply detaching the empire -from her support, but will insist on its using all its power and -influence against her. That party, indeed, demands religious liberty, -but religious liberty, in its sense of the term, is full freedom for -all religions except the Catholic, the only true, religion. Error, -they hold, is harmless when reason is free, but truth they -instinctively feel is dangerous to their views and wishes, and must -for their safety be bound hand and foot. But suppose the worst; -suppose the civil power becomes actively hostile to the church, -prohibits by law the profession and practice of the Catholic religion, -punishes Catholics with fines and imprisonment, fire and sword, the -dungeon and the stake, the church will be no worse off than she was -under the pagan emperors, hardly worse off than she was under even the -Arians. The empire under the Jew and the Gentile exerted its utmost -fury against her, and exerted it in vain. It found her irrepressible. -The more she was opposed and persecuted, the more she flourished, and -the blood of the martyrs fattened the soil for a rich growth of -Catholics. Individuals and nations may be, as they have been, detached -from her communion, and many souls for whom Christ died perish -everlastingly, which is a fearful loss to them, and society may suffer -the gains acquired to civilization during eighteen centuries to be -lost, and moral and intellectual darkness gather anew for a time over -the land, once enlightened by the Sun of righteousness, for God -governs men as free moral agents, not as machines or slaves; but the -church will survive her persecutors, and reconquer the empire for God -and his Christ. Is she not founded on the Rock of Ages, and is it not -said by him who is truth itself, that the gates of hell shall not -prevail against her? - -It would be impossible to subject the church to a severer ordeal than -she has time and again passed through, and it is not likely that her -children will be exposed to greater trials than {61} those to which -they were subjected in the fifth and sixth centuries by the subversion -of the Roman empire by the pagan and Arian barbarians, or to suffer -heavier calamities than were inflicted on them by the so-called -reformation in the sixteenth century. The Protestants of today cannot -be fiercer, more intolerant or fanatical than they were in the age of -Luther and Calvin; and the infidels of to-day cannot be more envenomed -against the church, or more bloodthirsty and brutal, than were the -infidels in the French revolution; and all these the church has -survived. - -The well-being of society, its orderly, peaceful, and continuous -progress, requires, as the Holy See has constantly maintained, the -co-operation and harmonious action of the church and the empire or -republic, but the church has seldom found the empire ready and willing -to co-operate with her, and the record of the struggles between her -and it fills more than a brief chapter in ecclesiastical and civil -history. In point of fact, the church has usually found herself -embarrassed and oppressed by officially Catholic states, and most of -the popular prejudices that still exist against her owe their origin -neither to her doctrines nor to her practices, but to the action of -secular governments officially Catholic. In the last century, her -bitterest enemies were the sovereigns of officially Catholic states; -the most generous friends of the Holy See were states officially -heretical or schismatic, as Russia, Great Britain, Sweden, and -Prussia. Austria is humiliated and suffering now for being in the way -of the anti-papal aggression, and every generous-hearted man -sympathizes with her noble-minded and well-disposed if not able -emperor, and it is no time to speak of her past shortcomings; but this -much may be said, she has seldom been a generous supporter of the Holy -See, and sometimes has been its oppressor. - -Governments, like individuals, seldom profit by any experience but -their own; yet experience has proved, over and over again, that -governments the most powerful cannot, however determined on doing so, -extirpate Catholicity by force from their dominions. Pagan Rome, once -the haughty mistress of the world, tried it, made the profession of -the Christian faith punishable with death, and death in the most -frightful and excruciating forms, but failed. England, with all her -power, with all her Protestant zeal, aided by her intense national -prejudices, though she emulated the cruelties of the Caesars and even -surpassed the Caesars in her craft and treachery, has never been able -to extinguish the Catholic faith and love of the Irish people, the -great majority of whom have never ceased to adhere to the Catholic -religion. The church thrives under persecution, for to suffer for -Christ's sake is a signal honor, and martyrdom is a crown of glory. -The government can reach no farther than to the bodies and goods of -Catholics, and he who counts it an honor to suffer, a crown to die, -for his faith, fears nothing that can be done to those, and is -mightier than king or kaiser, parliament or congress. The Christians, -as Lactantius well says, conquered the world not by slaying but by -being slain. Woe to him who slays the Catholic for his religion, but -immortal honor and glory to him who is slain! Men are so constituted -that they rarely love that which costs them nothing, no sacrifice. It -is having suffered for our native land that hallows it in our -affections, and the more we suffer for the church, the more and the -more tenderly do we love her. St. Hilary accuses the Arian Constantius -of being a worse enemy to the church then Nero, Decius, or Diocletian, -for he seduced her prelates by favors, instead of enabling them to -acquire glory in openly dying for the faith. - -The civil power can never uproot Catholicity by slaying Catholics, or -robbing the church of her temporalities. Impoverish the church as you -will, you cannot make her poorer than she was {62} in our Lord -himself, who had not where to lay his head, nor than she was in the -twelve apostles when they went forth from that "upper room" in -Jerusalem to conquer the world. She has never depended upon the goods -of this world as the means of accomplishing her mission, and her -possessions have often been an embarrassment, and exposed her to the -envy, cupidity, and rapacity of secular princes. If deprived by the -revolution of the temporalities of her churches, and left destitute, -so to apeak, of house or home, she can still offer up "the clean -oblation," as she has often done, in private houses, barns, groves, -catacombs, caverns in the earth, or clefts in the rocks. - -The church has frequently been deprived of her temporal possessions -and of all temporal power, but the poor have suffered by it more than -she. She is really stronger in France today than she was in the age of -Louis XIV., and French society is, upon the whole, less corrupt than -in the time of Francis I. Religion revives in Spain in proportion as -the church losers her wealth. There are no countries where the church -has been poorer than in Ireland and the United Slates, and none where -her prosperity has been greater. Let matters, then, take the worst -turn possible, Catholics have little to fear, the church nothing to -apprehend, except the injury her enemies are sure to do themselves, -which cannot fail to afflict her loving heart. - -Yet, whatever may be the extent of the changes effected or going on in -the states and empires of Europe, I apprehend no severe or prolonged -persecution of Catholics. The church in this world is and always will -be the church militant, because she is not of this world, and acts on -principles not only above but opposed to those on which kings and -kaisers and the men of this world act. She therefore necessarily comes -in conflict with them, and could render them no service if she did -not. Conflicts there will be, annoyances and vexations must be -expected; but in all the European states as well as our own, if we -except Sweden and Denmark, there is too large a Catholic population to -be either massacred, exiled, or deprived of the rights of person and -property common to all citizens or subjects. The British government -has been forced to concede Catholic emancipation, and all appearances -indicate that she will be forced ere long to place Catholics in all -respects on a footing of perfect equality with Protestants before the -state. Prussia, should she, as is possible, absorb all Germany, will -have nearly as many Catholic as Protestant subjects, and though she -may insist on remaining officially Protestant and anti-Catholic, she -will find it necessary to her own peace and security to allow her -Catholic subjects to enjoy liberty of religion and equal civil rights. -The mass of the Italian people are Catholic, and will remain -Catholics; and these are not times when even absolute, much less -constitutional, sovereigns can afford to is the it's and convictions -of any considerable portion of their people. - -The anti-papal party may prove strong enough to deprive the Holy -Father of his temporal sovereignty and make Rome the capital of the -new kingdom of Italy; that is undoubtedly laid down in the programme, -and is only a natural, a logical result of Napoleon's campaign of 1859 -against Austria and Napoleon holds that the logic of events must be -submitted to. He said in 1859 that there were two questions to be -settled, the Italian question and the Roman question. As the former -has been settled by expelling the Austrians from Italy, so the latter -is likely to be settled by the deprivation of the Pope as temporal -sovereign--the plan of settlement being evidently to secure to the -anti-papal party all it demands. Austria humiliated cannot interpose -in behalf of the temporal sovereignty, and is reported to have -abandoned it; Napoleon will not do it, unless compelled, for he has -been the determined but politic enemy of that sovereignty ever {63} -since, with his elder brother, he engaged in a conspiracy, in 1831, to -destroy the papal government; and Russia, Great Britain, and Prussia, -all anti-Catholic states, will abandon the papal throne to the logic -of events. Under the providence of God, it depends on the Italian -people whether the Holy Father shall retain his temporal sovereignty -or not, and what they will do nobody can say. They are capable of -doing anything hostile to the Pope one moment, and next falling on -their knees before him, and, with tears in their eyes, begging his -absolution. - -But beyond the rights of the Supreme Pontiff as sovereign of the Roman -state, I cannot apprehend any serious attacks on the papacy; or after -the first fury has passed, even on ecclesiastical property. Much -hostility for a time will be displayed, no doubt, against the monastic -orders, and where they have any property remaining in their -possession. It, not unlikely, will be confiscated, and the right of -the church to be a proprietor legally denied or not recognized, yet -property dedicated to religious uses still will be passably secure -under the general law protecting citizens and their rights of -property, to make gifts _inter vivos_, and testamenary bequests. The -law will gradually become throughout Europe what it is with us. The -civil law in the United States knows nothing of the canons of the -Church establishing religious orders, or of the vows taken by the -religious; it takes no cognizance of the church herself, it recognizes -in her no proprietary rights, and gives her no standing in the courts, -and yet nowhere is ecclesiastical property better protected or more -secure, and nowhere are religious orders more free in person or more -secure in property. This proceeds from the right of property secured -to the citizens, and the right of the church, and of religious orders, -not as proprietors, but, if I may so speak, as recipiendaries, or -their right to receive enjoy eleemosynary gifts, grants, and bequests -in whatever form made, which the courts protect according to the will -of the donors or testators. There may be great inconveniences -resulting from the inevitable changes taking place, great wrong is -pretty sure to be done. The church has a valid right to be a -proprietor, and it is a great crime and a great sin to rob her of any -of her possessions; but she can carry on, and in most countries long -has carried on, her mission without the law recognizing any -proprietary rights. - -Present appearances indicate that the church throughout the world will -be thrown back, as she was in the beginning, on her internal resources -as a spiritual kingdom; that she will cease to be the official church -any nation--at least for a time, if not for ever; and that she will -not henceforth govern or protect her children as civil life -communities, states, or empires through their civil rulers, but simply -as Catholics, individual members of her communion, through her own -spiritual ministry, her bishops and prelates alone, without any -official relation with the state. She can then exercise her full -spiritual authority over her own members, as the independent kingdom -of God on earth, free from all entangling alliances with the shifting -policies of nations. - -It is not assumed that the changes recent events have produced, or are -producing, were desirable, are not evil, or are not brought about by -evil passions, and from motives which every lover of truth and right -does and must condemn; all that is argued is, that the church can -survive them, and with less detriment to her material interests than -her enemies have contemplated. Nothing that has taken place is -defended, or defensible; but who can say that God in his gracious -providence will not overrule all to the glory of his church and the -good of them that love him? Who knows but he has given the victory to -his enemies for the very purpose of confounding them, and showing them -how vain are all their strivings against him and the order he has -established? That is very victory, seemingly so {64} adverse and so -afflicting to the Catholic heart, may prove to be the means of -emancipating the church from her thraldom to the secular powers -officially Catholic, but really anti-Catholic in spirit, and of -preparing the way for her to labor more effectually than ever for the -advancement of truth, the progress of civilization, and the salvation -of souls! It is the prerogative of God to overrule evil for good, and -the church, though immovable in her foundation, inflexible in her -principles, and unchanging in her doctrines, has a wonderful capacity -of adapting herself to all stages of civilization, and to all the -changes in states and empires that may take place; she is confined -within no national boundaries, and wedded to no particular form of -civil government--she can subsist and carry on her work under Russian -autocracy or American democracy, with the untutored savage and the -most highly cultivated European, and is equally at her ease with the -high and the low, the learned and the unlearned, the rich and the -poor, the bond and the free. The events which, to all human judgment, -seem adverse often turn out to be altogether in our favor. "All those -things are against me," said the patriarch Jacob, when required to -send his son Benjamin down to Egypt, and yet the event proved that -they were all for him. When the Jews with wicked hands took our Lord -and slew him, crucified him between two thieves, they, no doubt, -thought that they had succeeded, and that it was all over with him and -his work; but what they did was a means to the end he sought, for it -was only in dying that he could accomplish the work he came to do. - -The detachment of the empire from the church, which has been effected -for purposes hostile to her, and with the hope of causing her -destruction, perhaps will prove to her enemies that she does not rest -on the state, that the state is far more in need of her than she of -it, and show in a clear and unmistakable light her independence of all -civil support, her inexhaustible internal resources, her supernatural -energy and divine persistence. The empire detached from her and -abandoning her to herself, or turning its force against her, will -cease to incumber her with its official help, will no longer stand as -an opaque substance between her and the people, intercepting her -light, and preventing them from beholding her in her spiritual beauty -and splendor. The change will allay much political hostility, remove -most of the political prejudices against her, and permit the hearts of -the people to turn once more towards her as their true mother and best -friend. It may in fact tend to revive faith, and prepare the nations -to reunite under her divine banner. Be this as it may, every Catholic -knows that she is in herself independent of all the revolutions of -states and empires, of all the changes of this world, and feels sure -that she is imperishable, and that in some way the victories of her -enemies will turn out to be their defeat, and the occasion of new -triumphs for her. - - - -{65} - -From The Month - -THE MYSTERY OF THE THATCHED HOUSE. - - -It was a clean, bright, wholesome, thoroughly lovable house. The first -time I saw it, I fell in love with it, and wanted to live in it at -once. It fascinated me. When I crossed its threshold, I felt as if I -had opened a book whose perusal promised enchantment. I felt a -passionate longing to have been born here, to have been expected by -the brown old watchful walls for years before it had been my turn to -exist in the world. I felt despoiled of my rights; because there was -here a hoard of wealth which I might not touch, placed just beyond the -reach of my hand. I was tantilized; because the secrets of a sweetly -odorous past hung about the shady corners, and the sunny -window-frames, and the grotesque hearth-places; and their breath was -no more to me than the scent of dried rose-leaves. - -It was my fault that we bought the Thatched House. We wanted a country -home; and, hearing that this was for sale, we drove many miles one -showery April morning to view the place, and judge if it might suit -our need. Aunt Featherstone objected to it from the first, and often -boasted of her own sagacity in doing so, after the Thatched House had -proved itself an incubus--a dreadful Old Man of the Mountains, not to -be shaken from our necks. I once was bold enough to tell her that -temper, and not sagacity, was the cause of her dislike that April -morning. We drove in an open phaeton, and Aunt Featherstone got some -drops of rain on her new silk dress. Consequently she was out of humor -with everything, and vehemently pronounced her veto upon the purchase -of the Thatched House. - -I was a spoiled girl, however; and I thought it hard that I might not -have my own way in this matter as in everything else. As we drove -along a lonely road, across a wild, open country, I had worshipped the -broken, gold-edged rain-clouds, and the hills, with their waving lines -of light and their soft trailing shadows. I had caught the shower in -my face, and laughed; and dried my limp curls with my -pocket-handkerchief. I was disposed to love everything I saw, and -clapped my hands when we stopped before the sad-looking old gates, -with their mossy brick pillars, and their iron arms folded across, as -if mournfully forbidding inquiry into some long hushed-up and -forgotten mystery. When we swept along the silent avenue my heart -leaped up in greeting to the grand old trees, that rose towering -freshly at every curve, spreading their masses of green foliage right -and left, and flinging showers of diamond drops to the ground whenever -the breeze lifted the tresses of a drowsy bough, or a bird poised its -slender weight upon a twig, and then shot off sudden into the blue. - -Aunt Featherstone exclaimed against the house the very moment we came -in sight of it. It was not the sort of thing we wanted at all, she -said. It had not got a modern porch, and it was all nooks and angles -on the outside. The lower windows were too long and narrow, and the -upper ones too small, and pointing up above the eaves in that -old-fashioned, inconvenient manner. To crown its {66} absurdities, the -roof was thatched. No, no, Aunt Featherstone said, it was necessary -for such old houses to exist for the sake of pictures and romances; -but as for people of common sense going to live in them, that was out -of the question. - -I left her still outside with her eyeglass levelled at the chimneys, -and darted into the house to explore. An old woman preceded me with a -jingling bunch of keys, unlocking all the doors, throwing open the -shutters and letting the long levels of sunshine fall over the -uncarpeted floors. It was all delicious, I thought; the long -dining-room with its tall windows opening like doors upon the broad -gravel, the circular drawing-room with its stained-glass roofing, the -double flights of winding stairs, the roomy passages, the numerous -chambers of all shapes and sizes opening one out of another, and -chasing each other from end to end of the house; and above all, the -charming old rustic balcony, running round the waist of the building -like a belt, and carrying one, almost quick as a bird could fly, from -one of those dear old pointed windows under the eaves down amongst the -flower-beds below. - -I said to myself in my own wilful way, "This Thatched House must be my -home!" and then I set about coaxing Aunt Featherstone into my way of -thinking. It was not at all against her will that she completed the -purchase at last. Afterwards, however, she liked to think it was so. - -In May it was all settled. The house was filled with painters and -paper-hangers, and all through the long summer months they kept on -making a mess within the walls, and forbidding us to enter and enjoy -the place in the full glorious luxuriance of its summer beauty. At -last, on driving there one bright evening, I found to my joy that the -workmen had decamped, leaving the Thatched House clean and fresh and -gay, ready for the reception of us, and our good's and chattels. I -sprang in through one of the open dining-room windows, and began -waltzing round the floor from sheer delight. Pausing at last for -breath, I saw that the old woman who took care of the place, she who -had on my first visit opened the shutters for me and jingled her keys, -had entered the room while I danced, and was standing watching me from -the doorway with a queer expression on her wrinkled face. - -"Ah, ha! Nelly," I cried triumphantly, "what do you think of the old -house now?" - -Nelly shook her gray head, and shot me a weird look out of her small -black eyes. Then she folded her arms slowly, and gazed all round the -room musingly, while she said: - -"Ay, Miss Lucy! wealth can do a deal, but there's things it can't do. -All that the band of man may do to make this place wholesome to live -in has been done. Dance and see now, pretty lady--now, while you have -the heart and courage. The day'll come when you'd as soon think of -sleepin' all night on a tombstone as of standin' on this floor alone -after sunset." - -"Good gracious, Nelly!" I cried, "what do you mean? Is it possible -that there is anything--have you heard or seen--" - -"I have heard and seen plenty," was Nelly's curt reply. - -Just then, a van arriving with the first instalment of our household -goods, the old woman vanished; and not another word could I wring that -evening from her puckered lips. Her words haunted me, and I went home -with my mirth considerably sobered; and dreamed all night of wandering -up and down that long dining-room in the dark, and seeing dimly -horrible faces grinning at me from the walls. This was only the first -shadow of the trouble that came upon us in the Thatched House. - -It came by degrees in nods and whispers, and stories told in lowered -tones by the fireside at night. The servants got possession of a -rumor, and the rumor reached me. I shuddered in silence, and contrived -for the {67} first few months to keep it a jealous secret from my -unsuspecting aunt. For the house was ours, and Aunt Featherstone was -timorous; and the rumor, very horrible, was this--the Thatched House -was haunted. - -Haunted, it was said, by a footstep, which every night, at a certain -hour, went down the principal corridor, distinctly audible as it -passed the doors, descended the staircase, traversed the hall, and -ceased suddenly at the dining-room door. It was a heavy, unshod foot, -and walked rather slowly. All the servants could describe it minutely, -though none could avow that they had positively heard it. New editions -of this story were constantly coming out, and found immediate -circulation. To each of these was added some fresh harrowing sequel, -illustrative of the manners and customs of a certain shadowy -inhabitant, who was said to have occupied the Thatched House all -through the dark days of its past emptiness and desolation, and who -resented fiercely the unwelcome advent of us flesh-and-blood -intruders. The tradition of this lonely shade was as follows: The -builder and first owner of the Thatched House was an elderly man, -wealthy, wicked, and feared. He had married a gentle young wife, whose -heart had been broken before she consented to give him her hand. He -was cruel to her, using her harshly, and leaving her solitary in the -lonely house for long winter weeks and months together, till she went -mad with brooding over her sorrows, and died a maniac. Goaded with -remorse, he had shut up the house and fled the country. Since then -different people had fancied the beautiful, romantic old dwelling, and -made an attempt to live in it; but they said that the sorrowful lady -would not yield up her right to any new-comer. It had been her habit, -when alive, to steal down stairs at night, when she could not sleep -for weeping, and to walk up and down the dining-room, wringing her -hands, till the morning dawned; and now, though her coffin was nailed, -and her grave green, and though her tears ought to have been long -since blown from her eyes like rain on the wind, still the unhappy -spirit would not quit the scene of her former wretchedness, but paced -the passage, and trod the stairs, and traversed the hall night after -night, as of old. At the dining-room door the step was said to pause; -and up and down the dreary chamber a wailing ghost was believed to -flit, wringing her hands, till the morning dawned. - -It was not till the summer had departed that I learned this story. - -As long as the sun shone, and the roses bloomed, and the nightingales -sang about the windows till midnight, I tried hard to shut my ears to -the memory of old Nelly's hint, and took good care not to mention it -to my aunt. If the servants looked mysterious, I would not see them; -if they whispered together, it was nothing to me. There was so short a -time for the stars to shine between the slow darkening of the blue sky -at night and the early quickening of flowers and birds and rosy beams -at dawn, that there was literally no space for the accommodation of -ghosts. So long as the summer lasted, the Thatched House was a -dwelling of sunshine and sweet odors and bright fancies for me. It was -different, however, when a wintry sky closed in around us, when -solitary leaves dangled upon shivering boughs, and when the winds -began to shudder at the windows all through the long dark nights. Then -I took fear to my heart, and wished that I had never seen the Thatched -House. - -Then it was that my ears became gradually open to the dreadful murmurs -that were rife in the house; then it was that I learned the story of -the weeping lady, and of her footstep on the stairs. Of course I would -not believe, though the thumping of my heart, if I chanced to cross a -landing, even by twilight, belied the courage of which I boasted. I -forbade the servants to hint at such folly as the existence of ghosts, -and warned them {68} at their peril not to let a whisper of the kind -disturb my aunt. On the latter point I believe they did their best to -obey me. - -Aunt Featherstone was a dear old, cross, good-natured, crotchety, -kind-hearted lady, who was always needing to be coaxed. She considered -herself an exceedingly strong-minded person, whereas she was in -reality one of the most nervous women I have ever known. I verily -believe that, if she had known that story of the footstep, she would -have made up her mind to hear it distinctly every night, and would -have been found some morning stone-dead in her bed with fear. -Therefore, as long as it was possible, I kept the dreadful secret from -her ears. This was in reality, however, a much shorter space of time -than I had imagined it to be. - -About the middle of November Aunt Featherstone noticed that I was -beginning to look very pale, to lose my appetite, and to start and -tremble at the most commonplace sounds. The truth was that the long -nights of terror which passed over my head, in my pretty sleeping-room -off the ghost's corridor, were wearing out my health and spirits, and -threatening to throw me into a fever; and yet neither sight nor sound -of the supernatural had ever disturbed my rest--none worth recording, -that is; for of course, in my paroxysms of wakeful fear, I fancied a -thousand horrible revelations. Night after night I lay in agony, with -my ears distended for the sound of the footstep. Morning after morning -I awakened, weary and jaded, after a short, unsatisfying sleep, and -resolved that I would confess to my aunt, and implore her to fly from -the place at once. But, when seated at the breakfast-table, my heart -invariably failed me. I accounted, by the mention of a headache, for -my pale cheeks, and kept my secret. - -Some weeks passed, and then I in my turn began to observe that Aunt -Featherstone had grown exceedingly dull in spirits. "Can any one have -told her the secret of the House?" was the question I quickly asked -myself. But the servants denied having broken their promise; and I had -reason to think that there had been of late much less gossip on the -subject than formerly. I was afraid to risk questioning the dear old -lady, and so I could only hope and surmise. But I was dull, and Aunt -Featherstone was dull, and the Thatched House was dreary. Things went -on in this way for some time, and at last a dreadful night arrived. I -had been for a long walk during the day; and had gone to bed rather -earlier than usual, and fallen asleep quickly. For about two hours I -slept, and then I was roused suddenly by a slight sound, like the -creaking of a board, just outside my door. With the instinct of fear I -started up, and listened intently. A watery moon was shining into my -room, revealing the pretty blue-and-white furniture, the pale -statuette and the various little dainty ornaments with which I had -been pleased to surround myself in this my chosen sanctuary. I sat up -shuddering and listened. I pressed my hands tightly over my heart, to -try and keep its throbbing from killing me; for distinctly, in the -merciless stillness of the winter night, I heard the tread of a -stealthy footstep on the passage outside my room. Along the corridor -it crept, down the staircase it went, and was lost in the hall below. - -I shall never forget the anguish of fear in which I passed the -remainder of that wretched night. While cowering into my pillow, I -made up my mind to leave the Thatched House as soon as the morning -broke, and never to enter it again. I had heard people whose hair had -grown gray a single night, of grief or terror. When I glanced in the -looking-glass at dawn, I almost expected to see a white head upon my -own shoulders. - -During the next day I, as usual, failed of courage to speak to my -aunt. I desired one of the maids to sleep on the couch in my room, -keeping this {69} arrangement a secret. The following night I felt -some little comfort from the presence of a second person near me; but -the girl soon fell asleep. Lying awake in fearful expectation, I was -visited by a repetition of the previous night's horror. I heard the -footstep a second time. - -I suffered secretly in this way for about a week. I had become so pale -and nervous, that I was only like a shadow of my former self. Time -hung wretchedly upon my hands. I only prized the day inasmuch as it -was a respite from the night; the appearance of twilight coming on at -evening, invariably threw me into an ague-fit of shivering. I trembled -at a shadow; I screamed at a sudden noise. My aunt groaned over me, -and sent for the doctor. - -I said to him, "Doctor, I am only a little moped. I have got a bright -idea for curing myself. You must prescribe me a schoolfellow." - -Hereupon Aunt Featherstone began to ride off on her old hobby about -the loneliness, the unhealthiness and total objectionableness of the -Thatched House, bewailing her own weakness in having allowed herself -to be forced into buying it. She never mentioned the word "haunted," -though I afterward knew that at the very time, and for some weeks -previously, she had been in full possession of the story of the -nightly footstep. The doctor recommended me a complete change of -scene; but instead of taking advantage of this, I asked for a -companion at the Thatched House. - -The prescription I had begged for was written in the shape of a note -to Ada Rivers, imploring her to come to me at once. "Do come now," I -wrote; "I have a mystery for you to explore. I will tell you about it -when we meet." Having said so much, I knew that I should not be -disappointed. - -Ada Rivers was a tall, robust girl, with the whitest teeth, the purest -complexion, and the clearest laugh I have ever met with in the world. -To be near her made one fed healthier both in body and mind. She was -one of those lively, fearless people who love to meet a morbid horror -face to face, and put it to rout. When I wrote to her, "Do come, for I -am sick," I was pretty sure she would obey the summons; but when I -added, "I have a mystery for you to explore," I was convinced of her -compliance beyond the possibility of a doubt. - -It wanted just one fortnight of Christmas Day when Ada arrived at the -Thatched House. For some little time beforehand, I had busied myself -so pleasantly in making preparations, that I had almost forgotten the -weeping lady, and had not heard the footstep for two nights. And when, -on the first evening of her arrival, Ada stepped into the haunted -dining-room in her trim flowing robe of crimson cashmere, with her -dark hair bound closely round her comely head, and her bright eyes -clear with that frank unwavering light of theirs, I felt as if her -wholesome presence had banished dread at once, and that ghosts could -surely never harbor in the same house with her free step and genial -laugh. - -"What is the matter with you?" said Ada, putting her hands on my -shoulders, and looking in my face. "You look like a changeling, you -little white thing! When shall I get leave to explore your mystery?" - -"To-night," I whispered, and, looking round me quickly, shuddered. We -were standing on the hearth before the blazing fire, on the very spot -where that awful footstep would pass and repass through the long, -dark, unhappy hours after our lights had been extinguished, and our -heads, laid upon our pillows. - -Ada laughed at me and called me a little goose; but I could see that -she was wild with curiosity, and eager for bedtime to arrive. I had -arranged that we should both occupy my room, in order that, if there -was anything to be heard, Ada might hear it. "And now what is all this -that I have to learn?" said she, after our door had been fastened for -the night, and we sat looking at one another with our dressing-gowns -upon our shoulders. - -{70} - -As I had expected, a long ringing laugh greeted the recital of my -doleful tale. "My dear Lucy!" cried Ada, "my poor sick little moped -Lucy, you surely don't mean to say that you believe in such vulgar -things as ghosts?" - -"But I cannot help it," I said. "I have heard the footstep no less -than seven times, and the proof of it is that I am ill. If you were to -sleep alone in this room every night for a month, you would get sick -too." - -"Not a bit of it!" said Ada, stoutly; and she sprang up and walked -about the chamber, "To think of getting discontented with this pretty -room, this exquisite little nest! No, I engage to sleep here every -night for a month--alone, if you please--and at the end of that time, -I shall not only be still in perfect health, my unromantic self, but I -promise to have cured you, you little, absurd, imaginative thing! And -now let us get to bed without another word on the subject. 'Talking it -over,' in cases of this kind, always does a vast amount of mischief." - -Ada always meant what she said. In half an hour we were both in bed, -without a further word being spoken on the matter. So strengthened and -reassured was I by her strong, happy presence that, wearied out by the -excitement of the day, I was quickly fast asleep. It was early next -morning when I wakened again, and the red, frosty sun was rising above -the trees. When I opened my eyes, the first object they met was Ada, -sitting in the window, with her forehead against the pane, and her -hands locked in her lap. She was very pale, and her brows were knit in -perplexed thought. I had never seen her look so strangely before. - -A swift thought struck me. I started up, and cried, "O Ada! forgive me -for going to sleep so soon. _I know you have heard it_." - -She unknit her brows, rose from her seat, and came and sat down on the -bed beside me. "I cannot deny it." she said gravely; "_I have heard -it._ Now tell me, Lucy, does your aunt know anything of all this?" - -"I am not sure," I said; "I cannot be, because I am afraid to ask her. -rather think that she has heard some of the stories, and is anxiously -trying to hide them from me, little thinking of what I have suffered -here. She has been very dull lately, and repines constantly about the -purchase of the house." - -"Well," said Ada, "we must tell her nothing till we have sifted this -matter to the bottom." - -"Why, what are you going to do?" I asked, beginning to tremble. - -"Nothing very dreadful, little coward!" she said, laughing; "only to -follow the ghost if it passes our door to-night; I want to see what -stuff it is made of. If it be a genuine spirit, it is time the -Thatched House were vacated for its more complete accommodation. If it -be flesh and blood, it is time the trick were found out." - -I gazed at Ada with feelings of mingled reverence and admiration. It -was in vain that I tried to dissuade her from her wild purpose. She -bade me hold my tongue, get up and dress and think no more about -ghosts till bedtime. I tried to be obedient; and all that day we kept -strict silence on the dreadful subject, while our tongues and hands -and (seemingly) our heads were kept busily occupied in helping to -carry out Aunt Featherstone's thousand-and-one pleasant arrangements -for the coming Christmas festivities. - -During the morning, it happened that I often caught Ada with her eyes -fixed keenly on Aunt Featherstone's face, especially when once or -twice the dear old lady sighed profoundly, and the shadow of an -unaccountable cloud settled down upon her troubled brows. Ada pondered -deeply in the interval of our conversation, though her merry comment -and apt suggestion were always ready as usual when occasion seemed to -call for them. {71} I noticed also that she made excuses to explore -rooms and passages, and found means to observe and exchange words with -the servants. Ada's bright eyes were unusually wide open that day. For -me, I hung about her like a mute, and dreaded the coming of the night. - -Bedtime arrived too quickly; and when we were shut in together in our -room, I implored Ada earnestly to give up the wild idea she had spoken -of in the morning, and to lock fast the door, and let us try to go to -sleep. Such praying, however, was useless. Ada had resolved upon a -certain thing to do, and this being the case, Ada was the girl to do -it. - -We said our prayers, we set the door ajar, we extinguished our light, -and we went to bed. An hour we lay awake, and heard nothing to alarm -us. Another silent hour went past, and still the sleeping house was -undisturbed. I had begun to hope that the night was going to pass by -without accident, and had just commenced to doze a little and to -wander into a confused dream, when a sudden squeezing of my hand, -which lay in Ada's, startled me quickly into consciousness. - -I opened my eyes; Ada was sitting erect in the bed, with her face set -forward, listening, and her eyes fastened on the door. Half smothered -with fear, I raised myself upon my elbow and listened too. Yes, O -horror! there it was--the soft, heavy, unshod footstep going down the -corridor outside the door. It paused at the top of the staircase, and -began slowly descending to the bottom. "Ada!" I whispered, with a -gasp. Her hand was damp with fear, and my face was drenched in a cold -dew. "In God's name!" she sighed, with a long-drawn breath; and then -she crept softly from the bed, threw on her dressing-gown, and went -swiftly away out of the already open door. - -What I suffered in the next few minutes I could never describe, if I -spent the remainder of my life in endeavoring to do so. I remember an -interval of stupid horror; while leaning on my elbow in the bed, I -gazed with a fearful, fascinated stare at the half-open door beside -me. Then, through the silence of the night there came a cry. - -It seemed to come struggling up through the flooring from the -dining-room underneath. It sounded wild, suppressed, smothered, and -was quickly hushed away into stillness again; but a horrible -stillness, broken by fitful, confused murmurs. Unable to endure the -suspense any longer, I sprang out of bed, rushed down the stairs, and -found myself standing in the gray darkness of the winter's night, with -rattling teeth, at the door of the haunted dining-room. - -"Ada! Ada!" I sobbed out, in my shivering terror, and thrust my hand -against the heavy panel. The door opened with me, I staggered in, and -saw----a stout white figure sitting bolt upright in an arm-chair, and -Ada standing quivering in convulsions of laughter by its side. I fell -forward on the floor; but before I fainted quite, I heard a merry -voice ringing through the darkness, - -"O Lucy! your Aunt Featherstone is the ghost!" - -When I recovered my senses, I was lying in bed, with Ada and my aunt -both watching by my side. The poor dear old lady had so brooded over -the ghost-stories of the house, and so unselfishly denied herself the -relief of talking them over with me, that, pressing heavily on her -thoughts, they had unsettled her mind in sleep. Constantly ruminating -on the terror of that ghostly walk, she had unconsciously risen night -after night, and most cleverly accomplished it herself. Comparing -dates, I found that she had learned the story of the spirit only a few -days before the night on which I had first been terrified by the -footstep. - -The news of Aunt Featherstone's escapade flew quickly through the -house. It caused so many laughs, that the genuine ghosts soon fell -into ill repute. The legend of the weeping lady's rambles became -divested of its dignity, and grew therefore to be quite harmless. Ada -and I laughed over our adventure every night during the rest of her -stay, and entered upon our Christmas festivities with right goodwill. -I have never forgotten to be grateful to Ada for that good service -which she rendered me; and as for Aunt Featherstone, I must own that -she never again said one word in disparagement of the Thatched House. - ------- - -{72} - -From the German. - -THE RESURRECTION. - - - Rise? Yes, with the myriads of the just, - After short sleep, my dust! - Life of immortal fire - Thine from the Almighty Sire! - Alleluia! - - Sown, to upspring, O joy! in richer bloom, - The Lord of harvest's tomb - Gives forth his sheaves within---- - Us, even us, who died in him! - Alleluia! - - O victory! O dayspring's kindling ray! - God's everlasting day! - In the grave's solemn night. - Slumbering, soon shall thy light - Wake me to sight. - - As if of visionary dream the end---- - With Jesus to ascend - Through joy's celestial door---- - Pilgrims of earth no more---- - Our sorrows o'er. - - My Saviour, to the Holiest leading on; - That we may at the throne, - In sanctuary free. - Worship eternally! - Alleluia! - -F. W. P. - ------- - -{73} - -Original - -AUBREY DE VERE. [Footnote 20] - - [Footnote 20: - Search after Proserpine, and other - Poems. London, 1843. - - Poems. by Aubrey de Vere. London, 1855. - - The Sisters, Inisfail, and other Poems. London, 1861 - - May Carols. New York: Lawrence Kehoe, 1866.] - - -Out of the greater breadth and catholicity, so to speak, of our -present literary taste, it results that one class of poets is arising -among as which has been very rare before our day: those in whom the -soul is the predominant force--men who care nothing for popularity, -and barely enough for recognition by their peers to make them publish -at all--men by nature high-strung and shy, yet tranquil, balanced, and -strong; who write, in short, from the spiritual side of things. These -could not, in ordinary times, hope for a wide, general favor, and they -sailed the nautiluses of literature; dropping from the surface of -themselves, equally native to the cooler, deeper waters below. But so -strong have been the gales of awakening love of reading, that even -these stranger ships, not bound for the ports of popularity, find wind -enough to waft them wherever refinement and scholarship care to deal -in their rare and choice cargoes. - -An extreme of this class is Aubrey de Vere. Naturally not a poet of -the people, and still further isolated by holding and eloquently -celebrating a faith which incurs certain ostracism from the literature -of sectarian bigotry, he is almost unknown in America. Fresh from his -works, we are almost at a loss to understand how, in a country not -only of so many Catholic leaders, but where there is so much -pretension to literary taste, he can be such a stranger. All the usual -and more accessible sources are so barren of his biography that we -cannot trust ourselves to attempt any sketch of his life. From -materials so meagre and of such indifferent authenticity, nothing -satisfactory--nothing vivified--can be gathered; and biography that -fails in personality is a body without a soul. So we content ourselves -with the poet as we see him in his works. - -In attempting an analysis of the qualities displayed in these volumes, -we find, to begin with, none of the inequalities of those writers who -begin quite young, and whose works go comet-like through after years, -the youthful nebulosity tailing off from the maturer nucleus, in a -long string of promising but not much performing versicles. There is -none of the crudeness of journey work, but everywhere thought and -gravity. The latter quality indeed is conspicuous. De Vere can be too -sarcastic for us to deny him wit, but humor seems to be unknown to -him. There is not the ghost of a joke in all his pages. We call this -remarkable, because he treats of so very many things. In Thomson's -Seasons (even waiving Thomson's nationality) or Paradise Lost--in any -one poem--we may not expect humor; but in a miscellany, where every -side of a man's mind usually displays itself, it seems odd not to find -a trace of sense of the ludicrous. Certainly there is variety enough -for it. The range of subjects is perhaps not very great, but the -individual poems exhibit almost every shade of style, beginning on the -hither side of quaintness and bringing up on the boundaries of the -colloquial. {74} An artificial style like that of the Idyls of the -King, or the Emersonian dialect ("_virtute ac vitiis sapientia -crescat_"), our author never attempts; his thoughts, as a rule, seem -to choose their own channel. He is willing enough to spend pains in -making a thought clear, but such grave, antique costuming of ideas he -takes no time for. The manner is always kept well in subordination to -the matter of what he has to say. - -There is a strange versatility in these books in unconsciously -adopting peculiarities of other writers. The author himself, in his -notes, acknowledged this, or rather detects himself after the fact, in -a few instances; but though acute so far, he does not see half. More -honest and unconscious imitation there never was, and just as the -impression of the archetype rarely rose to a fact of consciousness, so -the consequent resemblance seldom amounts to a traceable parallelism. -There is no reproduction of passages, but of characteristics. A shade, -a turn of phrase, a suggestion, a _soupcon_, as we read, recalls at -once some great writer. The sonnets are full of subtle odors and -flavors of Shakespeare, evanescent, intangible, and charming. There -are also what the French would call "coincidences of style" with -Coleridge, and often, especially in the May Carols, with Tennyson. -Both are easily accounted for; the one by kindred tendencies to -philosophy, the other by the strong likeness in plan to In Memoriam. -But perhaps the most singular of all occurs in the very forcible poem -called The Bard Etheil, which bears a curious resemblance to the poet -of all poets the very opposite of De Vere--Robert Browning. There is -nothing at all like this poem in all our author's works. It stands as -saliently alone as a meteoric boulder in a meadow. The subject is an -Irish bard, a relic of the bardic days, but a zealous convert to a -Christianity of his own, tinged with a wild, ineradicable barbarism, -whose outcroppings make the interest of the character. There is all -Browning's sharp outline sketching, all his power of handling -contradictions of character, yet none of the topsy-turvy words and -sentences without which the Great Inversionist would not be -himself;--in short, it is Browning with the constitutional gnarl in -the grain left out. - -Another--a closer parallelism than usual--we find in The Year of -Sorrow: - - "The weaver wove till all was dark. - And long ere morning bent and bowed - Above his work with fingers stark. - And made, nor knew he made, a shroud." - -The terrible parallel passage in the Song of the Shirt is too familiar -to need more than an allusion. - -Yet through all these coincidences runs an abundant individuality that -proves De Vere to be anything but a wilful or even permissive -plagiarist. He is, in simple truth, a great reader, with a mind in -such true tune with all things high and refined, that it responds as -the accordant string of some delicate instrument echoes a musical -note. There needs no better test than this, that mere imitators -invariably copy faults, while Mr. De Vere always reproduces -excellences. - -In point of language, our author inherits an Irishman's full measure -of vocabulary. Through a most varied series of metres, his verse is -full of ease, fluency, and grace. In rhythm he rises to the rank of an -artist. He has passed the first degree--that baccalaureateship of -verse-making whose diploma is perfect smoothness and melody; where Tom -Moore took a double first, and beyond which so few ever attain. He is -one of the _maestri_, like Tennyson and Swinburne, who know the uses -of a discord, and can handle diminished sevenths. His lines are full -of subtle shadings, and curious subfelicities of diction, that not -every one feels, and few save the devotee to metre (such as we own -ourselves to be) pause to analyze and admire. His taste, too, is -fastidiously unerring; there is never a swerve beyond the cobweb -boundaries of the line of beauty. {75} Sometimes he misses the exact -word he wants, but he never halts for want of a good one. The only -deficiency arises from his temperament. Where spirit demands to be -heard in sound as felt in sense, he uniformly fails. He cannot often -make his lines bound and ring like Moore's. In the face of the fiery -episodes of Irish history which he deals with in Inisfail, he is too -often like one of his own bards on a modern battle-field. - -So much for the mere style; the man himself remains. Pre-eminently he -is a philosopher--too much of one to be a great poet. Not that any man -can be a poet at all without being also a philosopher. Only his -philosophy should be to his poetry as a woman's brain to her heart--a -suggesting, subordinate element--the "refused" wing of his progress. -With him it is just the reverse. Philosophy is the primary fact of his -inner life, out of which blossom incidentally his poetry and his -patriotism, but whose legitimate and beautiful fruit is his religion. -The consequence is, everything is too much a development of high -principle, instead of an impulse of deep feeling. He is too _right_, -too reasonable, too well-considered. He has not enough _abandon_. This -one, but final and fatal fault to the highest poetical success, -ramifies curiously through everything he writes. The first result is -occasionally too much abstractness. There are fetters of thought -poetry cannot be graceful in. Her vocation is to lead us among the -fostered flowers and whispering groves of the beautiful land, not to -go botanizing far up the cold heights, among the snow-growths, whose -classification is caviare to the general. There let science climb with -her _savans_. On rare occasions, indeed, the poet may tellingly deal -with the naked truths of nature, but it demands the inspiration of a -Lysimachus and the glorious contours of a Phryne. Tennyson, in his In -Memoriam, has touched with the rarest felicity on the most pregnant -problems of natural divinity, without even rippling the smoothness of -his verse; De Vere has done the same, with excellent success, in his -May Carols; but he tries too often not to fail oftener than we could -wish. It must be owned an honorable failure; not of strength, but of -grace. His lines lift the weight they grapple with, but he does not -interest us in the labor. At the risk of trespassing on time-honored -critical demesnes, we differ with that tacit _consensus doctorum_ -which suffers sonnets, and some other things, to be as abstract as the -author pleases. - -Another effect of this over-philosophic temperament, while equally -hurtful to his popularity, greatly endears him to the few. It is the -pure and elevated tone of all he writes. In this quality he is -eminent. He is a mountaineer on the steeps of Parnassus, whose game by -instinct never flies to the plains. He lifts ordinary subjects into a -seeming of unreality. Things seem to lose outline and glide away from -the grasp; as clouds that have form enough when seen from the earth, -are shapeless vapor to the aeronaut among them. So, again, the -interest fails in comparison with a lower grade of thought. People -will buy very indifferent sketches, but care very little for the most -accurate bird's-eye view. There is a singular charm in this unlabored, -if not unconscious loftiness; but the mass of readers weary, as they -do of a lecture on astronomy, from over-tension of unused faculties. -What is the difference to a reader whether an author passes beyond his -reach by going apart into abstruseness or soaring away into idealism? - -We have shown before how the versification suffers. Everywhere reason -clogs the wings of rhyme. Our author is for ever putting his Pegasus -in harness to the car of some truth or other. A warm human -sympathizer, a deep and poetical worshipper, a burning and noble -protestant against the woes and wrongs of Ireland, with scholarship, -reading, talent, every auspicious omen, he has never fulfilled, and -may never fulfil, the promise that is in him. {76} His reason is for -ever making clear to his better angels of fancy and feeling the exact -boundaries of just thought, which they may not overstep. It robs his -philanthropy of human tenderness, his religion of ardor, his -patriotism of enthusiasm. His is the calm, trained strength of perfect -mental soundness; the fiery contractile thrills, that make of the -impassioned man a giant for one grand effort, he seems to do battle -with and slay before they can grow into acts. What a combination of -qualities goes to the making of a great poet! - -The poems now before us range themselves mainly into three grand -classes--sonnets, religions poems, and lyrics, etc., on Ireland. There -are some noteworthy exceptions, however--as, for example, the -excellent poems on Shelley and Coleridge, whom he thoroughly -appreciates, the widely known stanzas called The AEolian Harp, and the -splendid lines on Delphi--one of his very best efforts. But our -purpose lies rather with the poet, as revealed through his works, than -with the poems themselves. So we must leave a wide, unnoted margin of -miscellaneous pieces, where any reader whom we may succeed in -interesting in the beauties of our author may range unprejudiced by -our expressions of opinion, and confine ourselves to our true -subject--the poet himself, viewed successively in the three great -pathways he has opened for himself. We only pause to advise our reader -that we make no pretensions to gathering the harvest, but leave golden -swathes behind instead of ordinary gleaning. - -Sonnets seem to require a peculiar talent. Almost all our best men -have written them, and almost all badly, while the small newspaper and -periodical craft strand on them daily. Only our deepest and most -refined thinkers have written really good ones, and to succeed in them -at all, is to join a very limited coterie, where Shakespeare and -Milton have but few compeers. When, then, we say that De Vere is the -author of some of the best we have in our literature, we justify high -expectation. - -He is one of the most voluminous of sonnet writers. There are in the -books between one hundred and fifty and two hundred. It seems to be -his favorite outlet for those briefer, choicer reflections that lose -their charm by being amplified for the vulgar comprehension, - - ". . . . As orient essences, diffuse - On all the liberal airs of low Cashmere, - Waft their rich faintness far to stolid hinds, - To whom the rose is but a thorny weed;" - -but which, after all, are the trifles that make up the inner life of a -soul, and for whose waste, as our author himself says, - - "Nature, trifled with, not loved, - Will be at last avenged." - -It may well be imagined that this is a path peculiarly adapted to our -author's contemplative yet versatile mind. He is singularly fitted for -this style of composition, which does not demand the least particle of -that kind of spirit and impulsive animation in which he is wanting; -and accordingly he has written a number of sonnets which will, we -think, compare with the very best for eloquence and just thought. -Walter Savage Landor--_non sordidus auctor_--deliberately pronounced -the one on Sunrise the finest in the language. - -Two others, by which he is probably best known to American readers, -appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, one written March, 1860, the other, -June 12, 1861, addressed to Charles Eliot Norton, the editor of the -North American Review. Both relate to the national struggle, and -indicate a somewhat lively interest in our affairs, but otherwise are -not remarkable. Much better than these we find the following. It is a -good sample besides of the author's general style: - - "Silence and sleep, and midnight's softest gloom, - Consoling friends of fast declining years, - Benign assuagers of unfruitful tears, - Soft-footed heralds of the wished-four tomb! - Go to your master, Death--the monarch whom - Ye serve, whose majesty your grace endears. - And in the awful hollows of his ears - Murmur, oh! ever murmur: 'Come, O come!' - Virginal rights have I observed full long, - And all observance worthy of a bride. - Then wherefore, Death, dost thou to me is wrong, - So long estranged to linger from my side? - Am I not thine? Oh! breathe upon my eyes - A gentle answer, Death, from thine elysian skies!" - -{77} - -It is no easy thing to be publicly and yet gracefully sad. Do not we -mentally associate an idea of weakness or effeminacy with melancholic -writings? Yet here is--we feel it at once--the true sadness we all -respect: the unaffected weariness which does not cry out its grief, -but sighs because it suffers and is strong. - -It is not often that De Vere leaves the lofty pinnacles of thought or -the pleasant hills of fancy for sterner fields, but here for once he -swoops from his eyrie into the following scathing lines. They are the -last of five very spirited sonnets on Colonization, each of which is -worth quoting, did but our space permit: - - "England, magnanimous art thou in name; - Magnanimous in nature once thou wert; - But that which ofttimes lags behind desert, - And crowns the dead, as oft survives it--fame. - Can she whose hand a merchant's pen makes tame, - Or sneer of nameless scribe--can she whose heart - In camp or senate still is at the mart, - A nation's toils, a nation's honors claim? - Thy shield of old torn Poland twice and thrice - Invoked; thy help as vainly Ireland asks, - Pointing with stark, lean linger from the West-- - Of western cliffs plague-stricken, from the West-- - Gray-haired though young. When heat is sucked from ice, - Then shall a Firm discharge a national task." - -This speaks for itself. It sums up the faults of the English nation -better in a dozen lines than a congress of vaporers about British -tyranny or essayists on _perfide Albion_ could do in a month of -mouthings. There is not a weak line or phrase in it, or one that is -not auxiliary to the general effect intended. This, in short, is what -we call masterly. - -There are a score of other sonnets that we would wish to quote in -illustration of the refined thought and elegant delicacy of diction -which characterize them all; but we are constrained to content -ourselves with one also noticed by Landor for its singular felicity -and beauty. It is from his first book, page 268: - - "Flowers I would bring. If flowers could make thee fairer. - And make, if the muse were dear to thee; - (For loving these would make thee love the bearer.) - But sweetest songs forget their melody, - And loveliest flowers would but conceal the wearer: - A rose I marked, and might have plucked; but she - Blushed as she bent, imploring me to spare her, - Nor spoil her beauty by such rivalry. - Alas! and with what gifts shall I pursue thee. - What offerings bring, what treasures lay before thee; - When earth with all her floral train doth woo thee, - And all old poets and old books adore thee; - And love to thee is naught; from passionate mood - Secured by joy's complacent plenitude?" - -This poem is remarkable to us as containing one of the few -recognitions we have ever seen of that beauty which rises above the -province of passion, and strikes a dim awe into admiration. They are -not many who can feel it, and few, indeed, who have expressed it. The -same thought occurs in another passage referred to by Landor: - - "Men loved; but hope they deemed to be - A sweet impossibility." - -But we have a further reason for preferring this to several equally -fine. It is to note what may be another of De Vere's unconscious -adaptations. The well-known scholar, Henry of Huntington, addressed to -Queen Adelicia of Louvaine some lines which hinge upon the very same -turn of thought. The real excellence of the verses emboldens us to -subjoin a few of them, that the reader may observe the resemblance: - - "Anglorum regina, tuos, Adeliza, decores - Ipsa rcferre parans Musa stupore riget. - Quid diadema tibi, pulcherrima? quid tibi gemma? - Pallet gemma tibi, nec diadema nitet. - Ornamenta cave; nec quicquam luminis inde - Accipis; illa nitent lumine clara tuo . . . ." - -We are not sure but the mediaeval poet, having no further idea beyond -mere laudation, has rather the better of the complimenting. But then -praise to a queen would be flattery to a subject. - -Without trying the rather dubious policy of attempting to prove our -taste, we think that upon these sonnets alone we could rest De Vere's -claim to be a first-class sonnet writer. If it were not a received -impossibility, we should be tempted to call him the equal in this -respect of Shakespeare. Of course we admit the impossibility. - -{78} - -Leaving the sonnets, we come to a far more interesting portion of the -works before us--the religious poems. As a Christian, our author is -indeed admirable. He evinces not only a deep, strong, real, and -realizing faith, but much fruitful thought over the mental details, so -to speak, and a wonderful comprehension of the theory, theology, and -mysteries of the church. - -More properly than religious poems, we should speak of poems on -religion; for the man's whole life is a religious poem. Scarcely a -scrap is not full of his deep Catholicity. Of verses specially and -professedly devotional, these volumes contain few, besides the May -Carols, save some Poems on Sacred Subjects, which we find below the -author's average. Some of them carry abstractness to the verge of -vagary. What color of pretence, for instance, has a man for printing -(if he _must_ write it), and deliberately inviting the public to read, -a copy of verses on the Unity of Abstract Truth? We internally know we -are not Wordsworths, but it is very unpleasant to have it made so -plain. In shrewd anticipation of any mental queries, we utterly -decline saying whether we have read the lines or not. We cannot -determine which would be the more to our credit. - -But we pass by unnumbered beauties to reach our author's best and most -memorable work--May Carols. This is noble alike in design, tone, and -execution. The plan is simple--to produce a series of poems in honor -of the Blessed Virgin, graduating poetical expositions of her -relations to faith according to the progress of her month of May. It -is just the topic for him, and the result is the most beautiful -development of the entire subject that can be imagined. We have no -words for the subtlety and success with which the individualities of -Mary and Jesus are wrought out. The man who, without seeking -adventitious aid by startling and shocking the habits of Christian -thought and Christian reverence, can so draw a portrait of the -Saviour, has in this alone deserved the thanks of the ages as a -standard-bearer on the march of the hosts of God. These great -delineations form the first and main function of the whole work. We -cannot set forth his purpose more lucidly than in his own words, as we -find them in the preface: - - "The wisdom of the church, which consecrates the fleeting seasons of - time to the interests of eternity, has dedicated the month of May - (the birth-day festival, as it were, of creation) to her who was - ever destined in the divine counsels to become the Mother of her - Creator. It belongs to her, of course, as she is the representative - of the incarnation, and its practical exponent to a world but too - apt to forget what it professes to hold. The following poems, - written in her honor, are an attempt to set forth, though but in - mere outline, each of them some of the great ideas or essential - principles embodied in that all-embracing mystery. On a topic so - comprehensive, converse statements, at one time illustrating highest - excellence compatible with mere creaturely existence, at another, - the infinite distance between the chief of earthly creatures and the - Creator, may seem, at first sight, and to some eyes, contradictory, - although in reality mutually correlative. On an attentive perusal, - however, that harmony which exists among the many portions of a - single mastering truth can hardly fail to appear, and with it the - scope and aim of this poem." - -This certainly is aiming high. Not only does the poet include in his -plan the moral delineation of her whom the church holds the highest -type of created humanity; he scales the heavens themselves. But our -author is impious Enceladus crushed beneath his own presumption, but a -Jacob wrestling with the angel of the Lord, and rising to the infinite -sky in beatific visions. Perhaps we best realize the boldness of the -enterprise when we think for how many centuries the praise of the -Mother and Son has exhausted thought and imagination of the greatest -souls. He is a daring gleaner who follows the fathers of the church -over their chosen fields. Yet the May {79} Carols are a sheaf from the -same golden foison where Augustine and Aquinas and Chrysostom led the -reapers. How fruitful must be the soil! - -We have never seen anything to compare with the picture of the Holy -Child here presented, unless it be the picture of the Holy Mother. We -cannot, in our allotted space, render all the admirable gradations and -delicate shadings, but must cull with difficult choice one or two -only. One of the first is the - - - MATER CHRISTI - - Daily beneath his mother's eyes - Her lamb maturity his lowliness: - 'Twas hers the lovely sacrifice - With fillet and with flower to dress. - - Beside his little cross he knelt, - With human-heavenly lips he prayed; - _His will with in her will she felt, - And yet his will her will obeyed_. . . . - - He willed to lack; he willed to bear; - He willed by suffering to be schooled; - He willed the chains of flesh to wear; - Yet from her arms the world he ruled. - - _As tapers 'mid the noontide glow - With merged yet separate radiance burn_, - With human taste and touch, even so, - The things he knew he willed to learn. - - He sat beside the lowly door: - His _homeless_ eyes appeared to trace - In evening skies remembered lore, - And shadows of his Father's face. - - One only knew him. She alone - Who nightly to his cradle crept. - And _lying like the moonbeam prone - Worshipped her Maker as he slept_. - -Whoever can read that without admiring it, is a clod: whoever can read -it without having his whole idea of Christ's childhood intensely -vivified and expanded, must be a St. John or an angel. How beautiful, -and, when we look at it, how bold is the epithet "homeless!" How -exactly it embodies the longing of his spirit out of its human prison -toward the freedom of the heavens! Yet how daringly true to imagine -the omnipresent Deity homeless! Again, how acutely the last scene -characterizes the tender timidity of Mary's mother-love, and how -natural and intensely human the conscious, sweet self-deception which -brought her to worship when only the humanity slept, and she seemed -separated from her Son and alone with her Creator! But the simile of -the taper is perhaps the best touch of all, as being the masterly -expression of one of the most subtle and difficult conceptions of the -human mind. It must divide the honors of comparison with the -concluding lines of the - - - MATER SALVATORIS. - - O heart with his in just accord! - O soul his echo, tone for tone! - O spirit that heard, and kept his word! - O countenance moulded like his own! - - Behold, she seemed on earth to dwell; - But, hid in light, alone she sat - Beneath the throne ineffable, - Chanting her clear magnificat. - - Fed from the boundless heart of God, - The Joy within her rose more high. - And all her being overflowed, - Until the awful hour was nigh. - - Then, then there crept her spirit o'er - The shadow of that pain world-wide, - Whereof her Son the substance bore;-- - Him offering, half in him she died. - - _Standing like that strange moon, whereon - The mask of earth lies dim and dead, - An orb of glory, shadow-strewn, - Yet girdled with a luminous thread_. - -For originality, and perfect expression of an idea by an image, we -know of nothing better in all our range of poetry than those two -similes. That last is especially wonderful for its reconditeness. Who -would ever think of an annular eclipse of the moon as an illustration -of religion? And yet how marvellously well it does illustrate! The -first verse of the poem is very poor and strained in its rhythm, and -the second not much better in its mysticism, which is rather adapted -to the enthusiasm of the middle ages; but the end counterbalances all. - -Having thus digressed to the Blessed Virgin, we go on to note in how -many lights these poems display her. The idea of her they present is, -to an ordinary idea, as the flashing, many-faceted jewel to the rough -gem of the mines. Here, for example, the whole poetry of motherhood is -pressed into her service in a few dense lines: - -{80} - - O Mother-Maid! to none save thee - Belongs in full a parent's name: - So faithful thy virginity, - Thy motherhood so pure from blame! - - All other parents, what are they? - Thy types. In them thou stood'st rehearsed, - (As they in bird, and bud, and spray). - Thine Antitype? The Eternal First! - - Prime Parent He: and next Him thou! - Overshadowed by the Father's Might, - Thy 'Fiat' was thy bridal vow; - Thine offspring He, the "Light of Light." - - Her Son Thou wert: her Son Thou art, - O Christ! Her substance fed Thy growth:-- - She shaped Thee in her virgin heart, - Thy Mother and Thy Father both! - -Let us pass on from this, without breaking the continuity, to - -CONSERVABAT IN CORDE. - - As every change of April sky - Is imaged in a placid brook, - Her meditative memory - Mirrored His every deed and look. - - As suns through summer ether rolled - Mature each growth the spring has wrought, - _So Love's strong day-star turned to gold - Her harvests of quiescent thought_. - - _Her soul was as a vase, and shone - Translucent to an inner ray; - Her Maker's finger wrote thereon - A mystic Bible new each day_. - - Deep Heart! In all His sevenfold might - The Paraclete with thee abode; - And, sacramented there in light, - Bore witness of the things of God. - -The last verse has a flaw rare in these volumes--a mixture of -metaphors. In the first two lines, "heart" is strongly personified, -and clearly represents Mary herself. In the third with no intimation -whatever, and without a break in the construction of the sentence, the -same heart is become a place, and is indicated by "there." We cannot -imagine how the author, with his susceptible taste, read it over in -the proof-sheets without feeling the jar of the phrases. - -So much for the loving side of Mary's character. In depicting her -suffering, the poet has even excelled this. The first broad stroke of -his picture is - -MATER DOLOROSA - - She stood: she sank not. Slowly fell - Adown the Cross the atoning blood. - In agony ineffable - She offered still His own to God. - - No pang of His her bosom spared; - She felt in Him its several power. - But she in heart His Priesthood shared: - She offered Sacrifice that hour. . . . - -Beautifully our author hag named the succeeding poem also Mater -Dolorosa. The one is the agony of loss, the other the bitterness of -bereavement: - - From her He passed: yet still with her - The endless thought of Him found rest; - A sad but sacred branch of myrrh - _For ever folded in her breast_. - - A Boreal winter void of light-- - So seemed her widowed days forlorn: -_She slept; but in her breast all night - Her heart lay waking till the morn_. - - Sad flowers on Calvary that grew;-- - Sad fruits that ripened from the Cross;-- - These were the only joys she knew: - Yet all but these she counted loss. - - Love strong as Death! She lived through thee - That mystic life whose every breath - _From Life's low harp-string amorously - Draws out the sweetened name of Death_. - - Love stronger far than Death or Life! - Thy martyrdom was o'er at last - Her eyelids drooped; and without strife - To Him she loved her spirit passed. - -For once we can leave the of a poem to the unaided italics with a good -grace. To expound the exquisiteness of these lines would be like -botanically dissecting a lily. But there is a deeper underlying -excellence that may perhaps not suggest itself so irresistibly--the -marvellous intuitive delicacy of the whole conception embodied by this -poem. Only a truly profound religious feeling could thus happily have -characterized the effect of such a sorrow on such a nature. A mere -pietist would have painted a sanctified apathy; a merely smart writer -would have imbued her with an eagerness for the end of earthly -trouble; a man of talent would have made her resigned to death; the -man of genius makes her resigned _to life_. Here is the effortless -exactness of true poet. - -Two more views, and we can turn from this picture of the Blessed -Virgin of the May Carols--one, her human and inferior relation to God; -and the other, her human and superior relation to ourselves. To the -first point, perhaps the most explicit of the poems is the following, -which, also, is a good example of the author s peculiar, sudden manner -of turning his broad philosophy into the channel of some forcible -application: - -{81} - - Not all thy purity, although - The whitest moon that ever lit - The peaks of Lebanonian snow - Shone dusk and dim compared with it;-- - - Not that great love of thine, whose beams - Transcended in their virtuous heat - Those suns which melt the ice-bound streams, - And make earth's pulses newly beat:-- - - It was not these that from the sky - Drew down to thee the Eternal Word: - He looked on thy humility; - He knew thee, "Handmaid of thy Lord." - - Let no one claim with thee a part; - Let no one, Mary, name thy name, - While, aping God, upon his heart - Pride sits, a demon robed in flame. - - Proud Vices, die! Where Sin has place - Be Sin's familiar self-disgust. - Proud Virtues, doubly die; that Grace - At last may burgeon from your dust. - -But the poem which of all most truly, tenderly, and perfectly develops -the whole beautiful spiritual dependence of the true Catholic upon the -Mother of his God, is the Mater Divinae Gratis, already published in -The Catholic World for May, p. 216. - -The beauty of this piece has already attracted wide attention. The -wonder is that any Catholic could have passed it by. It is a -theological treatise in itself. Could all the repositories of divinity -furnish a more complete reputation of those cold and narrow organisms -(we hesitate to call them hearts) whose breasts would seem to have -room for just so much piety, of a prescribed quality and regulation -pattern, and who insist that every one we love is a unit in the -divisor which assigns to each his portion of that known and limited -store, our affection? These people sincerely cannot see how one can -love Mary too without loving God less. It is as if a tree could not -strike another root without sapping its trunk. Perish this narrowness! -How long before these strait-laced souls--the moral progeny of that -unhappiest of men, Calvin--will learn to love God as well as believe -in him? - -There is something very difficult of analysis about the power of these -poems. They have none of that dramatic force which consists in -skilfully selecting and emphasizing the striking sonnets of the -situation. De Vere's strength does not seem to tend toward the outward -personality, but rather lies in the direction of the soul and its -sensations. When we lay down the May Carols, we do not conceive a whit -the more clearly how the Virgin Mary looked; there is no impression to -overlie and mar our memories of the great painters' pictures of her. -But we cannot read aright without bearing away an expanded -comprehension and near, real, vivid insight into her love, her pain, -her humility, her deserving, her glory. We so enter in spirit into the -scenes of her life as absolutely to lose sight of the surroundings. -This kind of power may not be the most broadly effective, but we must -admit that it reaches our admiration through our best faculties. Its -secret lies in the fact that the author's own ideas both of Christ and -his Mother are so complete and exalted. At what advantage, for -example, he stands over the author of Ecce Homo, who, it seems, would -have us believe Christ in his childhood to have been a Hebrew boy, -much like other Hebrew boys, till ill-explained causes metamorphosed a -Galilean peasant youth into the most transcendent genius of history! -With this cold casuistic theory compare De Vere's picture of the -mother lying worshipping by the moonlit cradle of her Son and God. He -accepts in their entirety the received ideas of the church, neither -varying nor wishing to vary one jot or tittle of the law, but lovingly -investing it with all the developments of thought and all the -decorations of fancy. No Catholic can help being struck by the -singular doctrinal accuracy which pervades without perturbing the -whole of this work. The result is a portraiture of the incarnation and -the Blessed Virgin, such as an author who could set all the ruggedness -of Calvary before our eyes, and make every waving olive-leaf in -Gethsemane musically mournful in our souls, could not hope to rival by -all the efforts of graphic genius. - -{82} - -But scarcely less remarkable is the success in the other grand aim of -the May Carols--what he himself calls "an attempt at a Christian -rendering of external nature." His attempt has brought forth a series -of purely descriptive pieces, interspersed at intervals, intended to -present the symbolism which the aspect of May's successive phases -might offer to the imagination of faith. To cultivate Christianity in -the shifting soil of fancy is of itself a bold endeavor; but when the -method proposed is by picturing the delicate and evanescent shades of -spring's advance, the difficulty can be realized. - -How far the author succeeds in this most subtle undertaking of educing -the symbolism of May, we must leave to country criticism for final -adjudication. We have our opinion; we can discover many sweet emblems; -but we cannot analyze or reason out our thoughts satisfactorily. We -recognize portraits in the May-gallery, but are not familiar enough -with nature's costumes to judge of the historical order. We can exult -with the earth in the gladness of the season; we are permeated in a -measure, as are all, with the influences of the bluer skies, the -softer breezes, the more confident advance of the flowers. But when it -comes to reading the succession of the changing clouds, harmonizing -the melody of the gales, deciphering the hieroglyphics that spring's -myriad fingers write in verdure on the woods and meadows, we feel that -ours is but a city acquaintance with May. We have rested too well -content with the beauty to think of its moral suggestiveness or -significance. - -But this we do know, that the author has struck such a vein of -descriptive felicity that, according to Dr. Holmes's witty logic, he -can afford to write no more description till he dies. There are -touches of this here and there in other places, but nothing to promise -such little gems of landscape as stud the May Carols. There is an -accession of naturalness and a flow of happy phrases as soon as he -reaches one of these themes, that is like swimming out of fresh water -into salt. Take for instance, this: - - When April's sudden sunset cold - Through boughs half-clothed with watery sheen - Bursts on the high, new-cowslipped wold, - And bathes a world half gold half green, - - _Then shakes the illuminated air_ - With din of birds; the vales far down - Grow phosphorescent here and there; - Forth flash the turrets of the town; - - Along the sky thin vapors scud; - _Bright zephyrs curl the choral main;_ - The wild ebullience of the blood - Rings joy-bells in the heart and brain: - - Yet in that music discords mix; - The unbalanced lights like meteors play; - And, tired of splendors that perplex, - The dazzled spirit sighs for May. - - -It is a great disadvantage to these beautiful little poems to be thus -taken from their frames, thereby losing their emblematic and retaining -only their intrinsic beauty. But even so, there are two more which we -fearlessly present on the merit of their own unaided charms. Here is -the first: - - Brow-bound with myrtle and with gold, - Spring, sacred now from blasts and blights, - Lifts in a firm, untrembling hold - Her chalice of fulfilled delights. - - Confirmed around her queenly lip - The smile late wavering, on she moves; - And seems through deepening tides to step - Of steadier joys and larger loves. - - The stony Ash itself _relents, - Into the blue embrace of May - Sinking, like old impenitents - Heart-touched at last;_ and, far away, - - _The long wave yearns along the coast_ - With sob suppressed, like that which thrills - (While o'er the altar mounts the Host) - Some chapel on the Irish hills. - -We scarcely know which to admire most, the precise, clear-cut elegance -of the opening personification, the beauty of the third verse, or the -melody (how the first line matches the sense!) and admirable -comparison in the last one. Only, if the poet had ever waded among the -waves of bloom of our western prairies, he would have found a better -expression than the awkward one of "deepening tides," which is out of -character with the rest. - -{83} - -But the last one we give is the finest. We had put it in the first -rank ourselves before finding that it had also struck the fine ear of -Mr. Landor. It is a Claude Lorraine done into verse: - - Pleasant the swarm about the bough; - The meadow-whisper round the woods; - And for their coolness pleasant now - The murmur of the falling floods. - - Pleasant beneath the thorn to lie, - And let a summer fancy loose; - To hear the cuckoo's double cry; - To make the noon-tide sloth's excuse. - - Panting, but pleased, the cattle stand - Knee-deep in water-weed and sedge, - And scarcely crop the greener band - Of osiers round the river's edge. - - But hark! Far off the south wind sweeps - The golden-foliaged groves among, - Renewed or lulled, with rests and leaps-- - Ah! how it makes the spirit long - - To drop its earthly weight, and drift - Like yon white cloud, on pinions free, - Beyond that mountain's purple rift, - And o'er that scintillating sea! - -We do not think we can say anything that will add to this. - -There are two very noticeable faults of detail in the May Carols. One -is the great occasional looseness of rhyme. We are no lover even of -the so-called rhymes to the eye--words ending, but not pronounced -alike--but when there is no similarity of sound at all, we -emphatically demur. Here are some, taken at random, of the numberless -false rhymes which disfigure these poems: "Hills--swells;" -"height--infinite;" "best--least" (these last two in one short piece -of sixteen lines); "buds--multitudes;" "repose--coos;" "flower--more;" -"pierce--universe," etc. Now such as these are utterly indefensible. -The different sounds of the same vowel are as different among -themselves as from any other sounds, and there is no sense in taking -advantage of the accident that they are represented by the same letter -to cheat the ear and plead the poverty of the alphabet. In a man who -labored for words, we could condone a roughness here and there; but in -a writer of De Vere's fluency there is no excuse for such gross -carelessness. - -We observe also at intervals a kind of baldness of expression--a -ruggedness and disregard of beauty in uttering ideas--that is -unpleasant. We think, with a learned friend who first drew our -attention to it, that this comes of the authors anxiety and -determination to be clear. The lines seem like men trained down to -fighting-weight--all strength and no contour. No doubt the high and -difficult ideas to be rendered (for it is never seen in the -descriptive interludes) constitute ample cause for this fault; but -yet, in noticing the whole, we are constrained to note it as a -blemish. - -It remains to speak of the author's poems on Ireland. Here it is -evident that he feels warmly as the chief organizer himself; and yet -nothing can be further from to-day's Fenianism than the tone of his -writings. Irish they are to the core--as animated as the best in -proclaiming the wrongs of Ireland and the misrule of the invaders--but -from the same premises somehow he seems to draw a different -conclusion. This is to our author one of those near and dear subjects -which are elements in a man's inner life: he has published another -volume [Footnote 21] upon it, and a large portion of his poems turn -on it. Most of the best among his single poems--The Irish Celt to the -Irish Norman, the Ode to Ireland, the beautiful Year of Sorrow, and -others--are either too long or too close-woven for quotation. Another -able one is The Sisters, which is full of beautiful thoughts, -independent of the Irish bearing. - - [Footnote 21: English Misrule and Irish Misdeeds. London, 1848.] - -But the most prominent and elaborate of these poems is Inisfail, or -Ireland in the Olden Time--a chronological series of odes, songs, and -all manner of remarks in rhyme, illustrative of Ireland's history and -the feeling of her people, through the various epochs of her national -and denationalized life. There is more historical research, more -talent, and more time buried to waste in this poem, than would make -ten ordinary shallow reputations. The author shows a thorough and a -_vitalized_ knowledge of Irish history, and he penetrates well and -nobly the {84} succession of popular sentiment; nay, he has done a -more difficult thing still--he has caught much of the spirit of bardic -verse. Only our very decided and deliberate opinion is, that the -spirit of bardic verse is extremely like the gorilla--very hard to -catch, and not particularly beautiful when caught. We have read, we -are fairly sure, the better part of the English-Irish poetry that has -attained any note--that class of which Clarence Mangan stands at the -head, and are very much grieved and dissatisfied with it. Wherever the -Gaelic ode-form is adopted, or the Gaelic symbolism--the Roisin Dhu, -Silk of the Kine, etc.--we cannot help wishing it absent. Whatever has -pleased us in poems of this sort would have pleased as well or better -in another guise; whatever has fatigued or offended, has generally -done so on account of its Gaelic form. From weary experience, we have -reached the firm conclusion that the Gaelic style is peculiarly -adapted to the Erse tongue, and we earnestly hope that future -twangings of the harp that hung in Tara's halls may be either in the -aforesaid dialect, or else, like Moore's Irish Melodies (and does any -one wish for anything more nobly Irish?), consonant in style with the -spirit of the language they are written in. The best talent devoted to -grafting Gaelic blossoms on English stems has only served to show them -essentially uncongenial. Every attempt of this kind reads like a -translation from Erse into English, and, like all translations, hints -in every turn of the superiority of the original. And, speaking -disinterestedly (we are, as it happens, neither Gael nor Sassenach), -we scarcely think any translator likely to swim in waters where -Clarence Mangan barely floated. - -Thus we admire much of Inisfail for the wonderful adaptiveness which -revivifies for us the dead feelings of dead generations, while at the -same time we cannot thoroughly like nor enjoy it. There is great -artistic taste throughout, but the poetical merit, as indeed might be -expected, Appears to us to be greatest in the delineations from the -fourteenth to the seventeenth century--neither too far nor too near in -point of time. The outlawry times elicit some fine lines: in fact, -violation of law seems always to bring our author out at his best. Of -the earlier poems, perhaps the best are The Malison and The Faithful -Norman. These are of the first, or pure Irish period. The next, or -Irish-Norman epoch, is full of the best and the worst of our author's -verse. Of The Bard Ethell we have spoken before. The Bier that -Conquered is a striking poem, as are also the quaint, rambling, -suggestive lines called The Wedding of the Clans. Amid several long, -fierce, and highly Gaelic exultations over battles, chiefs, and things -in general, we find a noble poem. The Bishop of Ross, which we really -regret we cannot quote here. Just before it, however, is one of the -best which we may have space for: - - -KING CHARLES'S "GRACES." - -A.D. 1626 - - "Thus babble the strong ones, 'The chain is slackened! - Ye can turn half round on your sides to sleep! - With the thunderbolt still your isle is blackened, - But it hurls no bolt upon tower or steep. - We are slaves in name! Old laws proscribed you; - But the king is kindly, the Queen is fair. - They are knaves or fools who would goad or bribe you - A legal freedom to claim. Beware!' - -II. - - "We answer and thus: Our country's honor - To us is dear as our country's life! - That stigma the bad law casts upon her - Is the brand on the fame of a blameless wife - Once more we answer: From honor never - Can safety long time be found apart; - The bondsman that vows not his bond to sever, - Is a slave by right, and a slave in heart!" - -There is the true ring about this--strength and spirit both. Close by -it is another--the only one of the odes we like--The Suppression of -the Faith in Ulster, which is of the same calibre. - -The last book (there are three) is full of beauty as the style grows -modern. But we have cited so much that is beautiful, that we prefer -quoting one of the few but forcible instances where our most Christian -poet gives vent to his very considerable powers of sarcasm: - -{85} - -GOOD-HEARTED. - - "The young lord betrayed an orphan maid-- - The young lord soft-natured and easy: - The man was 'good-hearted,' the neighbors said; - Flung meat to his dogs; to the poor flung bread. - His father stood laughing when Drogheda bled; - He hated a conscience queasy! - -II. - - "A widow met him, dark trees o'erhead, - Her child and the man just parted-- - When home she walked her knife it was red; - Swiftly she walked, and muttered, and said, - 'The blood rushed fast from a fount full-fed! - Ay, the young lord was right "good-hearted!"' - -III. - - "When morning wan its first beam shed. - It fell on a corpse yet wanner; - The great-hearted dogs the young lord had fed - Watched, one at the feet and one at the head-- - But their months with a blood-pool hard by were red; - They loved--in the young lord's manner." - -There is something about the fierce bitterness here that strongly -reminds one of Tennyson's poem of The Sisters, with its weird line-- - - "Oh! the Earl was fair to see!" - -From several of very nearly the same purport, we select the following, -influenced to choose it, as we own, by the wonderful flow of its -measure, as well as its truly Irish beauty. There is a kind of -peculiar richness of diction that no other nation on earth ever -attains. Every reader of Tom Moore will know what we mean, and -recognize a kindred spirit in - - - SEMPER RADEM - - "The moon, freshly risen from the bosom of ocean, - Hangs o'er it suspended, all mournful yet bright; - And a yellow sea-circle with yearning emotion - Swells up as to meet it, _and clings to its light_. - The orb, unabiding, grows whiter, mounts higher; - _The pathos of darkness descends on the brine_-- - O Erin! the North drew its light from thy pyre; - Thy light woke the nations; the embers were thine. - -II. - - "'Tis sunrise! The mountains flash forth, and, new-reddened, - The billows grow lustrous so lately forlorn; - From the orient with vapors long darkened and deadened. - _The trumpets of Godhead are pealing the morn:_ - He rises, the sun, in his might reascending; - _Like an altar beneath him lies blazing the sea!_ - O Erin! who proved thee returns to thee, blending - The future and past in one garland for thee!" - - -But what we regard as really the finest poem in Inisfail is an -apparent, perhaps a real, exception to our rule above stated, that -whatever of this poetry pleases us would please as well if divested of -its Gaelic form. The charm of this lies in its being so essentially -Irish in conception. It is just such an original, bold, wild -inspiration as no other body than an Irish clan could without -incongruity be made to feel. There is more intense _Irishness_ (what -other word will express it?) in it than in all the poems--ay, and half -the poets--of this century. We give it with the author's own -explanation prefixed: - - - THE PHANTOM FUNERAL. - - "James Fitz-Garret, son of the great Earl of Desmond, had been sent - to England, when a child, as a hostage, and was for seventeen years - kept a prisoner in the Tower, and educated in the Queen's religion. - James Fitz-Thomas, the 'Sugane Earl,' having meantime assumed the - title and prerogatives of Earl of Desmond, the Queen sent her - captive to Ireland, attended by persons devoted to her, and provided - with a _conditional_ patent for his restoration .... As the young - earl walked to church, it was with difficulty that a guard of - English soldiers could keep a path open for him. From street and - window and housetop every voice urged him to fidelity to his - ancestral faith. The youth, who did not even understand the language - in which he was adjured, went on to the Queen's church, as it was - called; and with loud cries his clan rushed away and abandoned his - standard for ever. Shortly afterward he returned to England, where, - within a few months, he died. - - Strew the bed and strew the bier - (Who rests upon it was never man) - With all that a little child holds dear, - With violets blue and violets wan. - - Strew the bed and strew the bier - With the berries that redden thy shores, Corann; - His lip was the berry, his skin was clear - As the waxen blossom--he ne'er was man. - - Far off he sleeps, yet we mourn him here; - Their tale was a falsehood; he ne'er was man! - 'Tis a phantom funeral! Strew the bier - With white lilies brushed by the floating swan. - - They lie who say that the false queen caught him - A child asleep on the mountains wide; - A captive reared him, a strange faith taught him;-- - 'Twas for no strange faith that his father died! - - They lie who say that the child returned - A man unmanned to his towers of pride; - That his people with curses the false Earl spurned: - Woe, woe, Kilmallock! they lie, and lied! - - The clan was wroth at an ill report. - But now the thunder-cloud melts in tears. - The child that was motherless played. "'Twas sport." - A child must sport in his childish years! - - Ululah! Ululah! Low, sing low! - The women of Desmond loved well that child! - Our lamb was lost in the winter snow; - Long years we sought him in wood and wild. - - How many a babe of Fitzgerald's blood - In hut was fostered though born in hall! - The old stock burgeoned the fair new bud, - The old land welcomed them, each and all! - -{86} - - Glynn weeps to-day by the Shannon's tide, - And Shanid and she that frowns o'er Deal; - There is woe by the Laune and the Carra's side, - And where the knight dwells by the woody Feale. - - In Dingle and Beara they chant his dirge: - Far off he faded--our child--sing low! - We have made him a bed by the ocean's surge, - We have made him a bier on the mountain's brow. - - The clan was bereft! the old walls they left; - With cries they rushed to the mountains drear. - But now great sorrow their heart has cleft;-- - See, one by one they are drawing near! - - Ululah! Ululah! Low, sing low! - The flakes fall fast on the little bier;-- - The yew-branch and eagle-plume over them throw! - The last of the Desmond chiefs lies here." - - -We close, far from completing our sketch of the poet. We have not -exhausted the volumes before us, and they do not exhaust their author. -De Vere has written several other books, mostly of early date--from -1843 to 1850--which one must read to know him entirely. But we are -very sure that those who will read the books from which we have drawn -our illustrations will read all. There are few authors who grow so -upon the reader. Somehow the force and beauty of the thoughts do not -impress at first. We think the rationale of the process is that we -mostly begin by reading three parts of sound to one of sense. After -the melody comes the harmony; gradually, on after-reading, the glitter -of the words ceases to dazzle, and then, if ever, we commune mind to -mind with the author. This is as rare with modern readers as a hand-to -hand bayonet fight in modern battles. Now Aubrey de Vere writes a -great deal of thought so very quietly, that we miss the cackling which -even talent nowadays is apt to indulge in on laying any supposed -golden eggs of wisdom. Hence we have some singular opinions about him. -One finds him cold and impassible; another votes him a sort of -gentlemanly Fenian visionary, while a third devotes a column of one of -our best hypercritical periodicals to viewing him as a mere love-poet. -These are all windfall opinions, which had been better ripening on the -tree. The grace, the rhythm, and, above all, the stern ascendency of -truthful exactness over inaccurate felicities of expression, strike -one constantly more and more. We have ourselves passed through these -phases of opinion, besides several others; but every day fortifies our -final conviction. It is, that Aubrey de Vere is one of those true -poets whom the few love well; who will always have admirers, never -popularity; and who must wait for his full fame until that distant but -coming day when blind, deep movements of unity shall thrill the sects -of Christendom, and bigotry no longer veil from the gifted and -appreciative the merits of the first Catholic poet of to-day. - --------- - -{87} - -From The Lamp. - -UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS. - - -CHAPTER X. - -UNCONVICTED! - - -Up to the time when James Ball entered the witness-box, the whole case -had been dead against the prisoner. Even the grave doubts which the -cross-examination raised about the housekeeper's veracity had passed -unsubstantiated by any further evidence or proof; and the cook's story -of the footstep on the stairs died out of all reckoning in the modicum -of balance left in favor of the accused man when Davis, the chemist, -had closed his evidence. But when his luckless assistant got down, -after making such astounding admissions, we breathed again, and hopes -that had been trampled under foot rose once more with renewed -buoyancy. The rigid face of Serjeant Donaldson relaxed into anxious -gravity, and the frank, genial countenance of Mr. Forster--Hugh -Atherton's contemporary, and at whose side he had fought many a legal -battle--shook off its cloud as he sat down and conferred with his -senior colleague; whilst I heard a deep sigh of relief burst from -Merrivale as he uttered, "Thank God, we have got over _that_ rock!" - -Then Donaldson rose. I think I hear and see him still, that -grey-headed serjeant, with his rugged Scotch features lighted up by -all the earnestness of his will, all the acute intelligence of his -mind, as he turned to the jury, and in a voice tremulous with emotion, -though it failed not to set forth the firmness of his purpose, and the -honest conviction of his soul, opened his defence of Hugh Atherton. - -"Though standing at this bar," said Serjeant Donaldson, "with a heavy -cloud of accusation overshadowing his hitherto stainless name, though -branded by public opinion with the foul epithet of murderer, I can -still call Mr. Atherton 'my friend' without a flush of shame; I can -yet take him by the hand and feel proud to hail him brother by -profession, companion in the same vocation. If," said the Serjeant, -raising his voice and looking boldly around him, "the last witness had -never been placed before you and made the remarkable revelation which -you have all heard, I would still indorse what I have just said, and -assert to you, my lords and gentlemen of the jury, my deep and -heartfelt conviction of the innocence of the prisoner. But I have -other and better grounds upon which to plead before you to-day--the -only grounds upon which you can legally and conscientiously find a -verdict." - -He then proceeded to review the evidence, pulling it to pieces, and -cutting right and left into every deposition, showing up the flaws, -attacking _sans menagement_ the character and veracity of the -witnesses, dealing blows with no gentle hand on every side, and -evidently lashing "his learned friend the Solicitor-General" into a -state of suppressed fury; the whole drift and gist of his argument -going to prove that, unless the fact of the prisoner's visit to the -chemist's shop in Vero street did, to the minds of the jury, involve -as a necessary consequence his purchasing the paper of strychnine, -that also being satisfactorily established by conclusive {88} -evidence, no verdict against the prisoner could be found. On the other -hand, the last witness has positively declared that the strychnine had -been purchased under false pretences by a female, and that on the -following day hush-money had been sent to and received by James Ball -not to identify that woman who bought the poison. Further, he should -presently call a witness who would corroborate all that had been -disclosed by James Ball--one whom he, Ball, had evidently considered -as effectually silenced; one who, though but a boy, had given a very -steady, consistent, and lucid account of what had transpired on the -evening of the 23d and on the following day. After commenting further -upon this, and touching pointedly upon the curious coincidence of my -rencontre with the woman in Vere street and the visit of the woman to -the chemist's shop, he wound up his address: "There has been question -today, gentlemen, of one whose name should never have been dragged -before your notice, but who, in her agonized wish of doing her feeble -part in clearing _him_, her betrothed husband, from the foul charge -laid on him, has besought us, who are engaged in his defence, not to -spare her, not to deprive her of taking her share in the testimony we -shall bring forward in his favor. Gentlemen, this noble-minded girl. -Miss Ada Leslie, will tell you in what terms the prisoner at the bar -used to speak of his deceased uncle--the only guardian and father whom -he ever remembers--in that intimate communion which exists between a -man and the woman whom he is going to make part of himself. I need add -no more. Providence has shaken from under your feet the only ground -upon which you could condemn Mr. Atherton; Providence has, to my mind, -pointed out the road along which further inquiries into this most -heinous and wicked murder can be pursued. The same almighty and just -God will enlighten your understandings and bring your minds to a -righteous conclusion upon the case before you. But, gentlemen, -although as I said at first starting, we have better grounds than -those of private conviction upon which to urge the prisoner's -innocence--viz., those of proof and evidence--still I cannot but think -you all feel with me that, as you look at him standing there, as you -remember the tones of his voice, so familiar to us in this court, -urging upon us the arguments of a powerful mind, thoroughly healthy in -its moral tone, and the pleadings dictated by a heart whose impulses -were intrinsically generous and humane, whose guileless soul--and I -crave his pardon for uttering these words in his presence--shone out -of his honest eyes, and whose blameless life was openly known to all -and clear as the noonday--I think, if the evidence had been other than -it was, or than that which you are going to hear will be, you would -still be ready to exclaim, 'That man _cannot_ be guilty of the crime -imputed to him; _who_ is innocent if _he_ is proved guilty?" - -I had no idea that Ada would be in court, far less give evidence; and -I concluded she had not mentioned it to me lest I should object or be -distresses on her account. The sensation was tremendous in court when -she entered the witness-box, accompanied by her mother. The latter's -agitation whether affected or real, seemed very great, and the -frequent application of her handkerchief to her eyes betrayed she was -crying. How Ada had got her there at all was a wonder; how she -remained silent _when_ there, was a greater marvel. Can I ever forget -her as she stood there, that tall slender girl, with her pale -colorless face of calm and high resolve, the dark shadows beneath -those eyes that looked as if now they never slept, but with the -steadfast light of deep, devoted affection shining in them as they -fell upon Hugh; her whole figure quivering with emotion, and her -clasped hands leaning upon the table before her? One look at Hugh, and -then she returned to the Lord Chief-Justice. I saw the {89} -undisguised rush of sympathy and of interest flash across his -countenance as his gaze met hers; and he leaned towards her with the -courteous attention of the innate gentleman that he was. - -"My lord," she began, in tones that at first were scarcely audible, -though peculiarly sweet, but which rose and deepened as she went on, -"I have come here because there is something I wish to say to you, -although I know you think _he_ is innocent; but still I had best say -it. For many months past I have known every thought of his heart; -there has been no secret kept back from me. My lord, he loved that -poor murdered man very tenderly, even as he would have loved his -father had he lived, and he never spoke of him but with kindness and -affection. It was only on the very day it happened that he was talking -with me of the future. We were to have been man and wife--oh, I trust -in God we shall still be!--and that day he, my Hugh, said how he was -looking forward to the time when we should have a home of our own, and -he could win his uncle away sometimes from his solitary life, and make -him come to us. Do you think," she said, turning with passionate -suddenness to the jury,--"do you think he could say that to _me_ and -an hour afterwards kill the old man? do you think that of him who -never bore an unkindly thought even to a dumb animal?" - -And then her womanly timidity seemed to come back, or physical -excitement overpower her; and when Mr. Frost, a young and rather -conceited-looking man, rose with a view doubtless to cross-question -her, the Solicitor-General waved him back, for she had sunk on the -chair placed for her. - -Then I heard, and hearing it my heart seemed like to break, a heavy -groan burst from the prisoner's lips--the first sign of deep emotion -that had escaped him during those long weary hours of suffering and -suspense; and I law him stretch out his arms toward her with a wild -movement of unutterable love. Thank God, she neither saw nor heard! -Merrivale hastened to her, and with her mother led her out of the -court. - -Jacob Mullins was then called by Serjeant Donaldson. - -He said: "I am sixteen years of age, and have lived two years with Mr. -Davis, chemist in Vere street, as errand-boy. I take the medicines -home when made up, and make myself generally useful in the shop. I -never serve over the counter. I clean the pestles, mortars, and all -vessels used, but I never serve out medicines. I quite well remember -the evening of the 23d. I was sitting at the far end of the shop -behind the counter, polishing a brass mortar. I could see who came -into the shop, because where I sat was opposite the flap of the -counter, and I looked through each time any one came in. I wasn't very -busy that evening. I remember a tall gentleman coming in and asking -for some spirits of camphor. Master served him; Mr. Ball was in the -shop. I suppose it was about eight o'clock or thereabouts. I never -take much count of time, except when I have to hurry. He didn't buy -anything else. I am quite sure of it; I could swear it. I was -listening all the time. He was a very tall gentleman. I think it was -the prisoner at the bar; he was like him, but he had his hat on." - -Baron Watson: "Let the prisoner put on a hat." - -Witness: "Yes, that is the gentleman. I could swear it is the same." - -Serjeant Donaldson: "What happened next?" - -Witness: "A few minutes after the gentleman went out, a lady came in. -I did not see her face. She had on a thick veil. She asked for a grain -of strychnine. My master was out of the shop. Mr. Ball said to her, -'That's poison; I daren't give it you.' 'Oh,' says she, 'it's all -right. It's for my husband to try on a dog. He's a doctor.' 'A -doctor!' says Mr. Ball; 'where does he live?' {90} -'Just round the corner--Mr. Grainger, at the top of Vere street 'All -right,' says, Mr. Ball; and goes to the drawer where the poisons are -kept, and unlocks it, and I see him weigh it out and put it up.' 'How -much?' say a she; 'A shilling,' says he; 'and I shall come round -presently and see if it's all right.' 'Very well,' says she; 'come now -if you like.' 'No, by-and-by,' says Mr. Ball, 'when the master's -back.' On that she went out. I couldn't swear to her, nor to what she -wore. I never notices ladies' togs. She had a veil on--that's all I -know. I went home soon after nine that evening. Mr. Ball sleeps in the -house. The next day we heard that old Mr. Thorneley of Wimpole street -had been poisoned by strychnine; and then, that the poison had been -bought at our shop. Everybody was talking of it who came in. I went up -to Mr. Ball when we were alone in the shop at dinner-time, and says I, -'It's along of that strychnine that was bought last night here. I -guess, as the murder's been done.' 'Hold your confounded tongue.' says -he, 'or we shall get into a precious mess.' He jaws awful at me -sometimes, and I'm afraid of him; so I said no more and kept aloof -from him, for he looked terrible black all the afternoon. At five -o'clock the postman brought in a letter for Mr. Ball. He was in the -parlor having his tea. I called out there was a letter for him, and he -came into the shop. I saw him open the letter and take out a banknote. -'My eyes!' says I, 'you're in luck to-day, Mr. Ball.' He was reading -the letter. With that, he turned on me as fierce and red as a -turkey-cock. 'You young viper,' says he, 'if you go blabbing about my -affairs I'll get you discharged as sure as I am standing here!' I -thought he'd have killed me. Why haven't I told this before? Because -nobody's asked, and because I have been frightened of him. He's given -me money several times lately, and mother's been ill, and--" (Here the -witness broke down and began to cry.) It was no use the gentleman (the -Solicitor-General, who was cross-questioning him) trying to bully -him. He'd told the truth; it was true as gospel. He'd take his oath -any day. He could and did swear to it all. Nobody had given him a -farthing except Mr. Ball. He'd only told this to a gentleman a few -days back who had spoken to him and then served a paper on him to -appear to-day. The gentleman had told him afterwards he was a -detective officer. - -This was the pith of what Jacob Mullins deposed. In vain did the -Solicitor-General try to badger and browbeat him; he stuck like a -limpet to the same story. Confronted with James Ball, only the same -results produced. Serjeant Donaldson, at Merrivale's whispered -instigation, tried to bring out of them both a clearer identification -of the person who had bought the strychnine, but in vain. Only -Mullins, in reply to a query as to whether she spoke like a foreigner, -said he couldn't just exactly tell, but she seem to talk rather funny. -Confronted at the prisoner's request with Mrs. Haag, became confused, -and said he didn't think it was the lady; it might be and it mightn't; -was sure he never could point her out for certain. But although the -person who did buy the strychnine had not been identified, the fact -that Hugh Atherton did not buy it was satisfactorily proved, and that -was matter for the deepest thankfulness. - -The two detective officers Keene and Jones were next examined. To what -is already known the following was added: Ten years ago a man of the -name of Bradley had been convicted at the Old Bailey of burglary at -Mr. Thorneley's house in the City, and sentenced to fourteen years' -penal servitude. Inspector Keene had been employed in the case, and -had been helped principally by anonymous letters, giving information -which had led to the detection of the burglar. Bradley on being -captured had hinted that he knew to whom he was indebted for {91} his -apprehension. Thinking to ferret out some accomplice, Inspector Keene -had shown him one of the anonymous communications received, and he had -immediately identified the handwriting as his wife's. He then confided -to Inspector Keene that she was a foreigner, a Belgian by birth; that -he had married her at Plymouth, and separated from her two years -after; that she was in domestic service--but where and in what -capacity he would not divulge. Either fear of or affection for her -seemed to be greatly influencing his mind. This same Bradley had made -his escape from the penal settlement in Australia during the spring of -the present year, and had been seen and recognized by Detective Jones -in a small public-house in Blue-Anchor Lane, known as one of the worst -haunts of bad characters in the metropolis. But unable with safety to -take him into custody on the night in question, the police had lost -sight of him since, up to the present time. Putting two and two -together, Inspector Keene had last week travelled down to Plymouth, -searched the parochial registers, found and obtained the certified -copy of marriage between Robert Bradley and Maria Haag which Serjeant -Donaldson had handed in to their lordships. Further, Detective Jones -stated, as a corroboration of what I had already related in my -evidence, that this Bradley, or O'Brian, as he now called himself, was -in close communication with a man of the name of De Vos, _alias_ -Sullivan, who again was in communication with Mr. Lister Wilmot; this -same De Vos, or Sullivan, having formerly been in prison for -embezzlement, and was now under suspicion of uttering false coin. The -full relation of the conversation between De Vos and O'Brian on the -night of our visit to "Noah's Ark" was not without its effect upon -judges and jury. - -Both the Chief-Justice and Baron Watson put repeated questions to -Jones; and the Solicitor-General quite surpassed himself in his -endeavors to browbeat both him and Inspector Keene. All to no purpose. -Nor could that learned gentleman in his final address, after the case -for the defence was closed, at that supreme moment which English law -gives to the prosecutor to the crushing of all hopes raised by the -evidence and appeal of the prisoner--not then could he remove the -impression made on all minds that a mystery hitherto unpenetrated lay -beneath the last evidence adduced. - -The Lord Chief-Justice summed up. He said that, to convict a man of -murder by poison, evidence must be adduced to prove that the poison -was administered by the person accused; that the points of the case -before them were these: The murdered gentleman, Mr. Thorneley, had on -the evening of the 23d of October last received a visit from his two -nephews, Mr. Lister Wilmot, and Mr. Philip Hugh Atherton, the prisoner -at the bar; that a dispute had occurred between the three, relative to -advancing money by the deceased to Mr. Wilmot; that the brunt of Mr. -Thorneley's anger had fallen, strange to say, and from some unknown -cause, upon the prisoner; that the prisoner had retaliated, and used -words of threatening import, implying that the deceased would repent -on the morrow what he had said that night; that at nine o'clock the -housekeeper brought in the usual refreshment of which Mr. Thorneley -partook at that hour--bitter ale and hard biscuits. The prisoner at -the bar went to the table, poured out the ale into a glass, and handed -it to his uncle. Soon after the nephews, one after the other, took -leave of him and went away. Mr. Thorneley retired to rest that night -about ten o'clock, without having any further communication with his -household. In the morning he was found dead in his bed. On medical -evidence he is proved to have been poisoned by strychnine, and -strychnine is found in the few drops of bitter ale left in the tumbler -out of which the deceased had drunk on the {92} previous evening. In -the ale remaining in the bottle no strychnine is found. Now here -arises a question and a doubt. Was there, or was there not, any ale -poured out in the glass before it was brought up into Mr. Thorneley's -study? The prisoner in his statement before the magistrates, and -before the coroner, distinctly says there was; the housekeeper swears -there was not. Is the housekeeper's evidence to be relied on? Much had -been adduced that day which tended to show that at least it was -doubtful. The Chief-Justice commented at length upon the evidence of -the two detectives, and then said: - -"The suspicions, however, of the police were directed to Mr. Hugh -Atherton; and the evidence had shown that he was met coming out of a -chemist's shop in Vere street on the evening of the murder, and before -visiting his uncle; that upon being taken into custody the next day, -an empty paper, labelled Strychnine, and bearing the name of Davis, -chemist, Vere street, was found in the pocket of the overcoat which he -had worn on his visit to Wimpole street. On the other hand, both James -Ball, the chemist's assistant, and Jacob Mullins, the errand-boy, had -sworn that the grain of strychnine entered as sold on the 23d was -purchased by a female on false pretenses. Both likewise swore that the -prisoner did not purchase any strychnine, but only the bottle of -camphorated spirits found on his table. Then, again, James Ball had -owned to receiving a letter containing hush-money, and a caution not -to identify the person who had bought the poison. How, then, did the -paper labelled 'strychnine' get into the prisoner's pocket? He -declares he knows nothing of it; and on that point there is no further -evidence. There was another mystery also which in his, the judge's, -mind bore very direct influence upon the case in question; and that -was the assertion of Mr. John Kavanagh that he had made and executed a -will for the deceased gentleman on the night of his death, leaving the -bulk of his property to a hitherto unknown and unrecognized son, which -son and heir had been found under peculiar and difficult -circumstances--a living confirmation of the truth of Mr. Kavanagh's -statement. The question of this will was not for the present jury to -consider; but simply they were to bear in mind the circumstances under -which it was made, the disclosures attendant, and, above all, the fact -that whereas this last will, conferring a handsome income on the -prisoner at the bar, remained a buried secret from everybody, the -prisoner included, save the lawyer who made it under solemn promise of -silence, the other will, bequeathing a mere nominal sum to the -prisoner, and cutting off with a shilling the rightful heir, namely, -Mr. Thorneley's son, was lodged with the deceased's family lawyers, -produced, read, and acted upon by them and the sole residuary legatee, -Mr. Wilmot. This was to be considered vis-a-vis with the motive by -which the prisoner at the bar was implied to have been influenced to -the commission of the crime charged against him." The Chief-Justice -concluded, after many more comments, by saying that, although every -one must have been touched by the appearance and words of the first -witness heard in the defence, yet that, as far as evidence went, they -must not be allowed to weigh with any value. The one great question, -deduced from all that had gone before, which the jury had to consider -was, whether the prisoner at the bar had or had not purchased the -strychnine in question, had or had not introduced it into the glass of -bitter ale handed by him to the deceased, Mr. Thorneley. And he prayed -the God of light, and truth, and justice to enlighten their minds and -guide them to a right conclusion. - -I have but faintly portrayed the clear, lucid manner in which that -able judge summed up the evidence, or the deep feeling expressed in -every tone of his voice. Cautious and prudent {93} to a degree as he -had been in his language, it yet gleamed out from time to time, like a -ray of sunshine, that in his own mind he considered Atherton _not_ -guilty. The jury after five minutes' deliberation asked to retire. - -Do you know what that suspense is,--that hanging on each minute which -might bring the issues of life or death? Can you thank what it was to -stand there for that hour and a quarter, seventy-five minutes, -forty-five hundred seconds, when every minute seemed an hour, and -every second a minute; with the dead silence reigning in the court, -broken only by casual sounds now and then, that were hushed almost -instantly, to so great a pitch had the interest and suspense of the -whole crowd collected there risen; your eyes fixed upon that fatal -door through which you knew the decision would be borne, with your -heart throbbing in dull, heavy thumps against your breast, and your -breath almost bushed and dying on your lips? So we stood that evening, -the dense November fog stealing into the court, and the gas-lamps -flaring garish and yellow in the thick atmosphere, waiting for the -verdict. Twice over was a message sent in from the jury-room to the -judges, demanding further explanation or elucidation on some point or -other. And still we waited. At last the door opened, and they filed -back one by one into their box, and took their seats in solemn -silence, and were instantly harangued by the clerk of the court, and -called upon to declare whether Philip Hugh Atherton was guilty or -innocent of wilful murder. Amidst a dead hush, a stillness that was -thrilling in its intensity, the foreman stood up and pronounced the -verdict, "NOT GUILTY." I saw the prisoner raise his hands for one -moment, and then his head drooped on his breast, and he leaned heavily -against the railing in front of him. I saw Merrivale rise hastily, -and, turning round, lay his hand upon Hugh's shoulder, and his counsel -eagerly stretching out their bands towards him in fervent -congratulation; and then was heard the Chief-Justice's voice -addressing the foreman of the jury: - -"The peculiarities and complexity of the case make it needful that we -should ask upon what grounds you have given in your verdict." - -Foreman: "We find the prisoner not guilty, my lord, on the ground that -it is proved he did not buy the strychnine, and that the evidence of -the housekeeper is unreliable evidence. But we think that until the -mystery of the murder is cleared up, suspicion must still attach -itself to Mr. Atherton." - -The Chief-Justice to the prisoner: "It is usual to say whether we, -before whom a case has been tried, agree in the verdict of the jury. -Both myself and my brother Watson do most fully in this instance. We -agree that upon the evidence brought forward to-day you could not by -the criminal law be convicted; but we also agree in the remark made by -the foreman that a degree of suspicion and doubt will rest upon you so -long as the real perpetrator of this horrible crime is not -forthcoming. As having known you under happier circumstances, I -sincerely trust and pray for your sake that time may bring to light -this hidden deed of darkness." - -The judges rose and left the court. Then arose from all parts a savage -yell of disappointment. Once before I told how thirsty the public were -for another sight of the hangman and his victim; and now to snatch -their prey from under their very eyes, with the stain of crime upon -him, with a shadow of the gallows hanging over him, was more than they -could bear. Amidst groans and hisses, amidst a deluge of the foulest -epithets, he passed out of the court--UNCONVICTED. Unconvicted, but -not unsuspected; uncondemned, but not unblemished. With the taint of -murder clinging to him, with his fair good name tarnished by the -withering breath of imputed crime, and his innocent life robbed of its -{94} noblest beauty in the eyes of his fellow-men, Philip Hugh -Atherton left that criminal court and became once more a free, and yet -a marked man beneath his native sky. His whole position opened out -clear before me in that one brief second which succeeded the closing -the trial--all its future suffering and sorrow. Oh! if he would but -now realize that at least one friend was true to him, that one heart -warmed to him with the same affection as ever, who would devote -himself to clearing away every cloud that dimmed his future! And -dashing away the blinding tears that would force themselves into my -eyes, I made my difficult way through the crowd and gained the outer -court. A carriage stood opposite the private door, and a double line -of policemen guarded a passage to it. I hurried forward. Hugh Atherton -and Lister Wilmot passed quickly out, the carriage-door shut, and they -drove off. - -"Atherton and Wilmot!" I was saying the names aloud to myself, when I -heard a mocking laugh. Standing beside me, and looking up into my -face, was Mrs. Haag. - -"Have you been drinking again, Mr. Kavanagh?" she said in her peculiar -hard tones, and was gone in a moment. But she left what she little -dreamed of leaving behind her--the indelible impression on my mind of -her strong resemblance to Lister Wilmot. - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -FOUND! - -Yes, most undoubtedly, most undeniably, a strong likeness did exist -between Lister Wilmot, old Thorneley's nephew, and Maria Haag, -Thorneley's housekeeper,--a likeness that, as I walked home from the -Old Bailey and recalled the various points in their features and -expressions, grew yet more striking to my mental vision. The -housekeeper was fair, with sandy hair; so was Lister Wilmot. The -housekeeper's eyes were of that peculiar blue-grey, cold, passionless -in their expression; so were Wilmot's. Mrs. Haag's features were cast -in a perfectly Flemish mould, unmarked, broad, flat; Wilmot's were -better defined, especially the nose, and yet they were of the same -stamp, allowing for that difference. But the peculiar resemblance lay -in a character of the tightly-drawn lips, in the dark, evil, -scintillating light that gleamed from time to time in both his and her -eyes; the expression so often alluded to in these pages, full of -danger, of defiance; a glance that sent your blood shivering back to -your heart; a look that told, as playing as words could speak, of -unscrupulousness and utter relentlessness in the pursuit of any -selfish purpose. And as this forced itself with distinct clearness -upon my mind, I remembered the question put to me in Merrivale's -office on the day of the funeral by Inspector Keene,--"Did you ever -see a likeness to any one in Mr. Wilmot?" and my answer, "No, not that -I know of. We have often said he was like none of his relative -living." But how to account for this likeness established so suddenly? -I tried to recollect all I had ever heard about Wilmot. Thorneley had -acknowledged and treated him in all respects as his nephew; he was -thus named in the will made by Smith and Walker, and Hugh Atherton had -told me Lister was the son of Gilbert Thorneley's, his own aunt; that -the marriage had been an unhappy one; that she died soon after her -son's birth; and that of Mr. Wilmot, his uncle-in-law, he knew -nothing. How had this strange and striking likeness arisen? Had he -been privately married to Mrs. Haag? Surely not; and then I remembered -what had come out in court to-day about her connection with Bradley, -alias O'Brian. Old Gilbert Thorneley certainly was no fool; he would -have been too wide awake to be tricked into a marriage with a woman of -whose antecedents {95} he had not made himself perfectly sure. The -conjecture of Haag being his wife was dismissed almost as soon as it -was entertained. Fairly at a nonplus, and yet feeling that much might -come out of this new conviction, I resolved to send for Inspector -Keene as soon as possible, and impart to him all the crowd of thoughts -and speculations and ideas to which the impression received this -evening had given birth. Meanwhile it is necessary I should relate -events as they happened after the trial. - -Discharged and yet disgraced, Hugh Atherton left the court that day -with his future blasted, with a blot on his shield and a stain upon -his name. The jury could not convict him, but public opinion hooted -him down, and the press wrote him down. His character was not simply -"blown upon" by the insidious soft breath of undertoned scandal, but -caught up and shivered to pieces in a whirlwind of shame and ignominy. -Friends shunned him, acquaintances cut him; society in general tabooed -him, and "this taboo is social death." Society set its ban upon him; -but Lister Wilmot stuck to him. Stuck to him tight and fast--after -this manner: He went about from one person to another, from this house -to that, and talked of "his poor cousin Atherton, his unfortunate -relative, his much-injured friend." He would ask So-and-so to dinner, -and then when the invitation was accepted, he would add, "You won't -mind meeting my cousin, poor Atherton; he is very anxious to do away -with that unfortunate impression made at the trial; I do assure you -that he is innocent." - -The consequences are evident. You may damn a man with faint praise; -you may doubly damn a man by overstrong patronage. And this was done -to perfection by Wilmot. He--a young, agreeable, and not bad-looking -man--was a far different person in the eyes of the world from rough -old Gilbert Thorneley; and when he stepped into the enormous wealth of -his uncle--when, in spite of the existence of the son and heir, no -will was forthcoming, no legal grounds could be found on which to -dispute his possession, the world made her best bow to him, and -society knelt at his feet, offered up her worship and swung her -censers before him. And I had to stand aside and see it all--stand -aside with the bitter smart of broken friendship, of rejected -affection, rankling in my breast. That fatal evening, oh that fatal -evening! One word, and he had turned with me, friends for evermore; -one word, and all the anguish and misery, the blight and the sorrow, -of the past weeks had been saved! - -Hugh and I never met after his trial but once. It was on the 3d of -December, the day on which Ada Leslie attained her majority, that I -saw him for the last and only time. I went to Hyde Park Gardens early -in the morning, to offer her my congratulations for her birthday, to -relinquish my guardianship, and to settle many matters which were -necessary on her coming of age. - -I need not say that it cost me something to give up the sweet -relationship of guardian and ward; that it was like bidding a farewell -to almost the only brightness that had been cast across my path in -life. There was much business to settle that day, and perforce I was -obliged to detain Ada for a long time in the dining-room. Just before -I rose to leave, Hugh came in. He greeted Ada, and then turning to me -simply bowed. My blood was up; now or never should he explain the -meaning of his past conduct; now or never should the cloud which had -intervened between us be cleared away; now or never should the -misunderstanding be removed. - -"Atherton," I said, "I have a right to demand the cause of this change -in you; I have a right to know what or who it is that is murdering our -friendship. No, Ada, do not go away. Be my interpreter with him. _You_ -know how much cause he has had to doubt me." - -{96} - -I saw his face working as if powerful emotions were contending for -mastery in him; but he answered in very cold, measured tones: "If I -have been mistaken, if the heavy load of trouble I have had to go -through has warped my judgment, I trust I may be forgiven; but I see -no reason at present to wish that our former intimacy should be -renewed." - -"But why? in heaven's name, why?" - -He looked towards Ada, who was standing near him, and then at me. - -"If your own heart, Kavanagh, does not supply the reason, I have -nothing more to say." And then, as if a sudden impulse had come over -him, he stretched out his hand to me, and as I grasped it he said in a -voice that shook with agitation: "It is best for us both, John; we can -only forgive and forget." - -"Hugh!" said Ada, laying her hand upon his arm, "do be friends with -him. I cannot imagine what has made you think so ill of your best and -truest friend." - -But for reply he shook his head and quickly left the room. I took my -leave of Ada and went away. And thus we parted--Hugh and I, after more -than twenty years passed almost entirely together in the most intimate -communion of friendship--a friendship that I for one had never thought -could have been broken save by death, and which even then would have -risen strengthened, purified, and perfect beyond the grave. - -Weeks passed on after this last meeting. I was very much occupied with -business that had been accumulating during the past three months, and -I was thankful to plunge into it, and drown in the overpress of work -bitter thoughts that rose but too constantly for my peace. I seldom if -ever went to Hyde Park Gardens. How could I after Hugh Atherton's -steady refusal of any explanation? for I knew I should constantly meet -him there, and it would prove only a source of pain to us all. Poor -young Thorneley remained under my care; Marrivale had then told by -Hugh he should not interfere in any way, excepting to make over the -5000_l_. left him by his uncle to the idiot. Further, I learnt that he -had withdrawn his name from the barrister's roll; but nothing more as -to his future movements transpired. The housekeeper had suddenly -disappeared, and with her had likewise disappeared Inspector Keene. -Jones told me he believe he had gone, on his own responsibility, "to -keep an eye on her." So December went by, Christmas had gone, and the -new year had set in. "I shall hear of their marriage soon," I thought -to myself. "Surely they will let me know _that_." And it was now the -end of January, when one day, as I was deep over some papers, the door -of my private office opened, and a young clerk who was replacing -Hardy, laid up with a fit of gout, looked in. "A lady, sir, wants to -see you." - -"What is her name? I'm very busy. If it's nothing particular, ask her -to call to-morrow." - -"She says it's most particular, and she won't give her name. She's -very young, and I think she's crying." - -"Then show her in." - -And in a moment Ada Leslie stood before me. - -"Ada! my dear child, what is it?" - -She was trembling violently. - -"Gone!" she said in her heart-broken accents. - -"Gone!" I repeated. "Who?" - -"Hugh, Gone to Australia. Look here!" and she thrust a crumpled letter -into my hand. It was indeed a farewell from him--a farewell written -with all the passionate tenderness of his love for her, but admitting -not the shadow of a hope that he would falter in his determination. It -was more than he could bear, he said, the disgrace that had been -heaped upon him; more than he could stand, to meet the cold averted -looks, the sneers, the innuendos which fell so thickly on his path. -Nor would he condemn her to share his lot; the shame that had come -{97} on him should never be reflected on her. He bade her farewell -with many a vow and many a prayer. She had been his first love, she -would be his last; and to know she was happy would be all he would -ever care to hear from the land he was leaving, even if that happiness -were shared with another. Much more he said, and I read it on to the -end. - -"How could he! Oh, how could he!" she cried, wringing her hands, when -I had finished and laid down the letter. "Did he not know my whole -heart and soul were bound up in him? Did he not know that he was my -very life? And he has gone from me, left me." - -I could not answer for a minute. I was thinking deeply. - -"Ads" I said at last, "this is not entirely his own doing. It is -Lister Wilmot's." - -"No, no!" she said, moaning and rocking herself backwards and -forwards; "you are mistaken. He is in great distress about it. This -letter was inclosed to him last night; he knew nothing of it." - -"Ada, I feel convinced that he did and that he does know. Child, let -me speak to you once more as your guardian and your dead fathers -friend. Take your mind back to that morning before the inquest, and to -a conversation which passed between us then. You remember that Wilmot -had been at your house before me, and repeated something which poor -old Thorneley said the evening of his death--something about you and -me. You called it then, Ada, 'worse than foolishness;' so I will call -it now. Do you remember?' - -"I do," she said faintly, the color rising to her cheeks. - -"That has been dragged out several times since, privately and -publicly--always by Wilmot himself or at his instigation. Has Hugh -never spoken about it with you?" - -"Yes," she answered in the same low tones. "He spoke of it once, very -lately. I was trying to persuade him to be friends with you. It was -the only time he ever said an unkind word to me; but he was angry -then." A sob broke from her at the remembrance. - -"I don't wish to distress you; but just think if those thoughts and -feelings were put into his mind and harped upon, traded with by one -professing himself to be so staunch a friend just now,--can we wonder -at the results?" - -She looked at me as if she hardly understood. - -"I mean," I said, speaking as calmly as I could, "that he was led to -believe it true. He thought I was attached to you, and desirous of -winning you from him." - -She was silent for some moments. - -"What am I to do?" she said at last. - -And I too was silent. One thing presented itself to my mind, if only I -had the heart to speak it out, if only the courage. Suddenly she -looked up with a happy light in her eyes and almost a smile on her -lips. She leaned forward with breathless earnestness. I felt -instinctively she had thought on the same thing, and that she had -resolved to act upon it. - -"I can go after him. That is the right thing for me to do, is it not, -guardian?" - -For a moment my heart stood still. I knew she would go. - -"Can you bear the voyage, Ada?" - -"I could bear anything,--all for his sake." - -And I felt that her answer was but a faint shadowing of the great -truth that filled her heart. - -"Then go," I said; "and may God's blessing go with you!" - -I rose, turned my face towards the window, and looked out into the -desolate square with its leafless trees, its snow-covered walks; -looked out into the dull blank future, into the cheerlessness of -coming years. - -There and then it was settled she should follow Atherton to Australia -by the overland route, and thus reach Melbourne before his ship could -arrive. I asked her if she would not find great difficulty in -persuading her mother to {98} accompany her, and without whom she -could not go; but she told me she thought not; Mrs. Leslie would -rather enjoy the excitement of travelling. We talked long and -earnestly that morning, and I expressed to her my strong convictions -that the day would come before long when we should see Atherton -cleared from the remotest suspicion of his uncle's murder. All the -sweet old confidence of former days seemed to have come back, and she -opened her heart fully and freely to me. I learnt from her very much -of Wilmot's late conduct, of which I mentally made notes; it was all, -though she little thought it then, valuable information to guide me on -to the one thing I had set my heart on doing, viz., sifting the -mystery of Thorneley's murder and the discovery of the lost will. -Before she left me I had exacted a promise that of her intended -journey nothing should be said to Wilmot; and finally we fixed on the -4th of February for her to start. - -The days flew by with more than usual fleetness, so it seemed to me; -and the 1st of February found Ada and her mother with every -preparation completed for their long journey. Up to that moment the -promise made to me had been rigidly kept, and Lister Wilmot was still -in ignorance of their intended movements. His absence from town for a -fortnight rendered this a comparatively easy task, and he was not -expected to return until after the 6th. On the evening of the 1st I -received a note from Miss Leslie. - -"I have been greatly taken by surprise and much distressed," she -wrote; "this morning's post brought me an offer of marriage from -Lister Wilmot. He speaks of Hugh's heartless desertion and his own -_long_ attachment. Either he is mad or deliberately insults me. I -entreat you to act as if you still were, and what I shall always -consider you, my guardian, and answer it for me. A horrible fear of -him possesses me, and all I pray is that he may know nothing of this -journey until we are well on our road." - -"This then," said I to myself, as I sat down to do Ada's bidding, "is -the reason why Hugh was got so suddenly and secretly. The secret is -out at last, Master Wilmot; but you have overshot your mark. This time -you have not a trusting friend, not a confiding girl, to deal with; -but with me, a man of law; and I'll be even with you yet. I've a heavy -grudge to wipe out against you, and you shall smart with a bitter -smart." - -But before all it was necessary to be prudent, and I answered his -letter to Ada with temperate words and calm politeness in her name. -_At present_, I wrote, she had commissioned me to say she could not -entertain the subject of his letter. In a month's time she would be -glad to see him. Only let him fall into that trap, and she would be -safely on her road to Hugh. - -How anxiously I waited for a reply, I need hardly say. It came at last -to Ada (I had told her what and why I had thus written). He would wait -a month, a year, ten years, if only at last she could learn to love -him. The bait had taken; and we breathed again. - -The 4th of February came, and they started. I had engaged an -experienced and trusty courier to travel with them, and they took an -old confidential servant to act as maid. I accompanied them to Dover, -and saw them on board the packet. Before it started Ada took me aside. - -"John." - -For the first time and the last she called me by my Christian name. - -"Yes, Ada." - -"Will you keep this for my sake, in case we never meet again? and -remember, oh remember, that I shall always cherish you as the dearest -friend I ever had!" - -She took my hand and slipped on my finger a twisted circlet of gold, -in which one single stone was set, engraven with the word "Semper." It -lies there now, it will lie there when I am in my grave. - -"I will keep it for ever and ever, Ada." - -{99} - -One kiss I took from her uplifted tearful face--that too the first and -last; and praying God to bless and guard her, left her. Until far out -at sea, till the last faint speck of the departing vessel had -disappeared beyond the horizon, till daylight had verged into the grey -of approaching night, and shore and sea and sky were all blended in -the thickening gloom, I watched from the desolate pier-head, with the -winter wind whistling around me, and the dashing spray, the roaring -waves, beneath. O Ada, fare you well! I have looked for the last time -on your fair loved face, for the last time gazed into your tender -eyes, for the last time pressed your kindly hand! Is it "worse than -foolishness" now to kiss this little ring, and hold it to my heart to -still the dull pain there? See now, as I write these lines my eyes -grow dim looking back to the hour when I turned away from that distant -view. Not on earth, Ada, shall we meet again, but in the better land, -"the land beyond the sea." - -. . . . . - -Two months had passed away since they had all gone,--Hugh, Mrs. -Leslie, Ada. By this time they had reached that distant land for which -they were bound; and I sat one evening in April by my solitary hearth, -with my books and pipe by my side, and little Dandie, Hugh's dog, -lying at my feet. I had begged hard of Ada to leave him with me. Both -my clerks had long since gone home, and office hours were past, when a -sharp double knock came at the outer door. I went and opened it. A man -rushed in, took the door forcibly from me, closed it, and then seizing -my hand wrung it till my arm ached. It was Inspector Keene. - -"_Found it!_" he cried, flourishing his hat in the air. "Hurrah! found -it." - -I thought he had been drinking; and lugging hold of him by the collar -of his coat, I drew him into my room, and sat him down in a chair. - -"What the deuce is all this about? What have you found? Can't you -speak?" I cried, giving him a shake; for he had only flourished his -hat again in reply to my first question, and cried "Hurrah!" - -"Excuse me, Mr. Kavanagh, but I'm beside myself to-night." - -"So it seems," I answered drily. "What have you been drinking for?" - -He was sobered in a moment. - -"I've touched nothing but a cup of coffee since this morning, sir." - -"Then what is the matter with you? What have you found?" - -"Mr. Kavanagh, I've found the _will!_" - -"Nonsense! Where?" - -"In the house in Wimpole street. Do you recognize this, sir?" he said, -drawing a document from his breast-pocket, crumpled and dirtied. - -"Merciful heavens! it is the will I drew up!" - -"You could swear to it, sir?" - -"Yes, ten thousand times yes!" I had it unfolded and laid before me. -There was the firm, bold signature of old Gilbert Thorneley; and below -the crooked, ill-formed writing of John Barker, footman, and Thomas -Spriggs, coachman. In the corner the date, and my own name which I had -signed. - -"In the name of heaven, where and how did you find this, Keene?" - -"In the housekeeper's bedroom in Wimpole street, concealed under a -loose plank in the floor. You know, sir, I have had my thoughts and -suspicions for long; I have watched and waited. To-day my time came. -The house is being done up. The plumber who has the doing of it is a -friend of mine. One workman more or less made no difference: I have -done odder things before than use the white-washing brush. I have been -in that house for the last three days, and to-day I whitewashed the -ceiling in Mrs. Haag's bedroom." - -"I understand. And searched it besides?" - -{100} - -"Just so, sir. She had done it cleverly; but I'm her match in cunning. -I found the plank that had been disturbed, and I found the will under -it and here I am." - -A text came to my mind,--"Be sure your sin will find you out;" and I -repeated it half aloud. - -The inspector heard me. "Yes, sir, yes," he said gravely. "And there's -another and a worse crime than stealing her master's will that I'm -fearful she's guilty of." - -"You mean the murder?" - -"I do." - - - -TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT. - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -MY SOLDIER. - - "Dear heart," he said, "I love you so, - I dare not offer you my love - Till passion purified in woe - Shall worthier offering haply prove. - - "Then let us part. Mere absence is - To love like mine enough of pain, - As presence is enough of bliss; - So welcome loss that leads to gain. - - "Yes, let us part. The bugles call, - For God and you I draw the sword: - Your tears will bless me if I fall, - And if I live your kiss reward." - - He said, and parted. Long I staid - To watch while tears would let me see, - And longer, when he vanished, prayed - That God might bring him back to me. - - Ah me! it was a selfish prayer - To rob him of the nobler part; - And God hath judged more wisely. Bear - His judgment humbly, bleeding heart! - - Alas! I know not if I sin; - In vain I wrestle with my woe. - In vain I strive from grief to win - That loftier love he sought to know. - - Mine is a woman's love alone-- - A woman's heart that wildly cries, - "Oh! give me--give me back my own, - Or lay me where my soldier lies!" - - -D. A. C. - ------- - -{101} - -ORIGINAL. - - -DIVORCE LEGISLATION IN CONNECTICUT. [Footnote 22] - - [Footnote 22: Divorce legislation in Connecticut. By Rev. H. Loomis, - Jr., North Manchester, Conn. article in the new England, for July, - 1865.] - - -The deadly and destructive epidemic of divorce legislation has crept -through our social system with such stealthy and noiseless advances, -and the Catholic community is so completely free from its contagion, -that we were startled at the facts displayed in the able article which -has suggested our present comments. Connecticut, it appears, stands -pre-eminent among the states for the facility and frequency of -divorce. Mr. Loomis says "that the name of Connecticut has become a -name of reproach among her sister states, with a shameful notoriety -surpassed by only one state in the Union." Nevertheless, many, if not -most of the other states, are entitled to a fair share in the same -reproach, having admitted the same false and ruinous principle into -their legislation. We confine our remarks therefore to Connecticut, -merely because it is a sample of the state of things generally -existing, and because we are furnished with the authentic statements -which are our necessary data by the principal periodical published in -that state. - -These statements are, briefly, that divorces are granted by the -Superior Courts, under the statutes of the Legislature, _a vinculo -matrimonii_, leaving both parties free to marry again, for the -following causes: 1. Adultery; 2. Desertion; 3. Habitual Intemperance; -4. Intolerable Cruelty; 5. Imprisonment for Life; 6. Infamous Crime; -7. "_Any such misconduct as permanently destroys the happiness of the -petitioner and defeats the purposes of the marriage relation._" -Moreover, that within the last fifteen years 4,000 divorces have been -granted, of one for every twenty families. To this we add the further -statement that, more than one-fifth of the population being Catholics, -who never ask for these divorces, the proportion is increased to one -married couple out of every sixteen Protestant families. - -These are the demonstrated facts in the case. And, in addition, we -have the testimony of Mr. Loomis, published with the sanction of the -editor of the New Englander, that the courts despatch these divorce -cases with the most shameful levity and haste, in many cases without -any due notice having been given to the respondent, and without any -close examination of witnesses. - -Mr. Loomis says: - - "It need hardly be matter of surprise, in these circumstances, if a - citizen of the state of Connecticut, entitled to the protection of - the law in his most sacred rights, should chance to return from a - temporary absence on business in another state, and find that in the - meanwhile he had been robbed of wife and children, and of all which, - for him, constituted home, on evidence which would not be sufficient - before any jury in the state to take from a man property to the - amount of five dollars, or even the possession of a pig; and to - find, moreover, that both wife and children have, by the authority - of law, been placed beyond his own control, perhaps in the hands of - one who has conspired and paid for his ruin. The case supposed is - not wholly imaginary. There is no reason, so far as the - administration of the law is concerned, why it should not be - frequent! In many cases the absence of the respondent is assured by - pecuniary inducements, and in a yet larger number it must be - confessed there is no opposition, because there is a common desire - to be free from a burdensome restraint. - -"It is doubtless true that, in the main, our courts have held -themselves bound at least by the letter of the law, though their -decisions are often hurried and based upon {102} wholly unsifted -evidence. And yet lax as are even the terms of the present law, it is -difficult to conceive how some of the decrees of divorce which have -been granted during the past five years can be brought within the -language of the so-called 'omnibus clause.' What shall we say of such -cases as these, for instance, in which, in the western part of the -state, a man and woman came into court with the confession that they -had entered into the bonds of matrimony at the mature age of -threescore and ten, but that now, after three weeks' experience, -having become convinced of their folly, they desired relief from the -court; or in which, after having failed to prove legal desertion, the -counsel simply stated his ability to prove that the husband, from whom -divorce was sought had called his wife by an opprobrious epithet, too -vile and vulgar to be repeated; or in which the soul plea made was -that the parties themselves had agreed through their counsel that a -divorce should be had. And yet in each one of these cases, we are -credibly informed, a decree of divorce was actually granted. Would not -all this tend to show that the administration of no long can be wholly -trusted to a court which is private in its proceedings, unwatched in -its purity, unguarded in its power, with no barriers against abuse, -and in which suits are practically contested only when property or -reputation are sufficiently at stake to induce, in one case in eleven, -a defence?" - -Comment on our part seems hardly necessary. This page in the history -of one state which has its counterparts in those of many others, is -too black to need or admit of any deepening tints. As Mr. Loomis well -remarks, such a complete subversion of the essential nature of the -marriage contract by legislation endangers the very institution of -marriage itself, and tends to reduce it to legalized concubinage. An -ostensible marriage contract, in which both or one of the parties -intends to contract for a union which may be dissolved whenever there -is ground for complaint or dissatisfaction, is not a marriage. So far, -therefore, as the idea on which this infamous legislation is based -becomes common, so as to underlie the matrimonial contracts which are -entered into, those contracts are invalidated, and the institution of -Christian marriage is abrogated. This is sapping the foundations not -only of the Christian moral law, but of our civil institutions and -social organization. The extent to which this cancer has already -spread reveals a moral condition truly alarming. It indicates much -more than the discontent of certain married persons with each other, -which is only a symptom of moral depravation lying deeper and more -widely spread in the community. - -We are glad to see that some influential clergymen and laymen in -Connecticut are endeavoring to stem and turn back this tide of moral -evil, and to effect a reform in the divorce laws. What have they been -thinking of during these past years, while this destructive work has -been going on? Why have they not preached against these infamous laws, -written against them, agitated against them--in a word, shown the zeal -and energy in a matter which concerns so nearly the public and private -well-being, the very existence of the community in which they live, -which they have displayed concerning the reformation and improvement -of mankind at large? It is useless to ask the question now, for the -mischief is done. The only thing they can do in reparation for their -supine neglect, is to work and agitate now for a correction of public -sentiment which will produce a reformation in public law. They will -have all the influence of the Catholic clergy on their side, and the -support of the whole mass of Catholic voters in any political measure -which may be necessary for restoring a sounder system of legislation. - -The Catholic law, which denies all power to any tribunal, secular or -ecclesiastical, to grant a divorce _a vinculo matrimonii_ for any -cause whatever, in the case of marriages validly contracted and -consummated according to the institution of Christ, is manifestly the -most perfect protection possible to the inviolability of marriage. -Those who reject the authority of the church have no certain and -indubitable basis on which to rest the doctrine that marriage is -indissoluble. The author of the article we are noticing does not deny -the right of the civil power to {103} dissolve the bond of matrimony -in certain cases of grievous criminality. The civil power is -consequently the judge of both the law and the fact, and the clergy -cannot pretend to exercise any judgment whatever. They are left, -therefore, to exert what influence they can on public sentiment, in -view of the demoralizing and destructive effects of divorces upon -society. If there is enough left of sound moral sentiment in the -community to compel legislators to restrict the concession of divorces -within the ancient limits, a great good can be effected in checking -this gigantic evil. This is all that the Protestant clergy can -accomplish, and their only means of doing it. They cannot impose their -interpretation of Scripture or their ecclesiastical laws upon the -state. Nor can we expect legislatures or judicial courts to take the -New Testament as their code of laws, to interpret its meaning, or -embody its principles in statutes and decisions. On Protestant -principles, the doctrines of Christianity can be applied to -legislation only as they are absorbed by public opinion, which sways -the minds of those who make and execute the laws. Therefore there is -no remedy in this case except the one we have indicated, namely, to -form a public opinion on the deleterious effects of the divorce laws -upon society, and, as far as this motive is still available, their -contrariety to the spirit of Christianity. If a word of advice from a -Catholic source can be received, we counsel the Protestant clergy of -Connecticut to lose no time before putting all their energies at work -to save their state from the moral desolation which threatens it; and -the respectable lawyers to do something to wipe out the stigma which -attaches to their profession on account of these infamous divorce -laws. - ------- - -From St. James' Magazine. - -A SUMMER SORROW. - - - She began to droop when the chestnut buds - Shone like lamps on the pale blue sky; - She faded while cowslip and hawthorn blew, - And the blythe month, May, went by. - - I carried her into the sun-bright fields, - Where the children were making hay; - And she watch'd their sport as an angel might-- - Then I knew she must pass away. - - With the first white roses I decked her room, - I laid them upon her bed; - Alas! while roses still keep their bloom, - My own sweet flower lies dead! - - I felt that the parting hour was near. - When I heard her whisper low-- - "Take me once more, my father dear, - To see my roses grow. - -{104} - - "Take me once more to the sunny pool - Where the dear white lilies sail, - And below their leaves, through the crystal depth, - The buds lurk mildly pale. - - "Take me once more to the waterfall, - That seems blithe as a child at play; - Where the ivy creeps on the mossy wall, - And the fern-leaves kiss the spray." - - So I bore her along through the summer air, - And she looked with a dreamy eye - At the brook, the pool, and the lilies fair. - And she bade them all good bye. - - Next day my darling's voice was gone; - But her yearning spirit-eyes - Told how she longed for a nameless boon, - And love made my guessing wise, - - Again I bore her beneath the trees, - Where their soil green shadows lay; - But a darker shadow stole o'er my child, - And at sunset she passed away! - - --------- - -From The Irish Industrial Magazine. - -THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF BOOKS. - - -The manufacture of books has grown from obscure and insignificant -beginnings, in a commercial point of view, to what it has become in -our day--an industrial resource of great importance--and as such -inviting our attention to see and examine its growth. The importance -of literature, as the great agent for educating the intellect for good -or for evil, is obvious to the most unreflecting; but it is not so -generally thought of, in the subordinate or trade aspect, as giving -employment to many hands and heads, that might not easily have found -the means of subsistence elsewhere. - -Let us begin the study with the brain that lays the eggs--golden or -leaden, addled or prolific, as the case may be; thence to the -publisher, whose province it is to bring them out; onward to the press -in all its departments, that feathers the offspring for flight; pass -out thence into the paper mill; and end with the poor rag-collector of -delicate scraps, for "wearisome sonneteers" and well-woven and worn -reviews. When you have ranked your items, and summed them, the total -will be found something few imagine. Then we may search a little -closer; and, as we pass through the busy department, it may strike us -that this peculiar work requires a peculiar class, that might not have -been by constitution of mind or body so well fitted for other -employments as they are just suited to this. First the author: if we -praise his head, he will not be offended if we say little of his hand; -indeed, his handwriting is not always of the best. The publisher might -{105} succeed in cheese and pickles; but for the _publishing trade_ a -corresponding intelligence is required, he must be a man of tact and -discernment in intellectual tastes and demands; then compositors, -readers, _et hoc genus omne_, should be men of mind; and the neat and -dexterous female can find work for her hands to do,--type-setting, -stitching, etc. And thus, while they are ministering to the spread of -civilization, civilization repays them by finding a place for them, -where they may gain support and comfort in this working world. - -Books, like the air which surrounds us, are everywhere, from the -palace to the humblest cottage; wherever civilization exists, and -people assemble, books are to be seen. But, though all know what books -are, all do not know their origin and development, and by what process -they have arrived at their present perfection. We therefore venture to -present a sketch of their beginning and advancement, and the means by -which they have become such a powerful agency to forward thought and -accumulate stores of knowledge ever increasing. - -Without affectation of any erudite speculative knowledge respecting -the origin and progress of language from the first articulate sounds -of the human voice to words, symbolic signs, hieroglyphic characters, -letters, alphabets, inscriptions, writings, and diversities of -tongues, we shall in business-like manner commence with the elementary -raw materials of writing and book-making in the order of their use. -Stone, wood, metal, in which letters were cut with a Sharp instrument, -were the earliest materials. The art of forming letters on lead was -known when the Book of Job was written, as appears from the memorable -sentence "Oh, that my words were now written that they were printed in -a book, that they were graven with a pen and lead in the rocks for -ever!" Sheets of lead were used to grave upon; and inscriptions cut in -rocks or smooth stones in Arabia, where Lot is supposed to have lived, -have been discovered. But even more primitive materials were the barks -and leaves [Footnote 23] of trees prepared for the purpose. -Shepherds, it is said, wrote their simple songs by means of an awl, or -some similar instrument, on straps of leather twisted round their -crooks. Even in the days of Mahomet, shoulder-blades of mutton, -according to Gibbon's account, were used by the disciples of Mahomet -for recording his supposed inspirations. The introduction of _papyrus_ -from Egypt into Greece produced great results, in increasing the -diffusion of writings, and making books known by many for the first -time. Previously, the Greeks had used the materials which we have -enumerated. Vellum was brought into use about two centuries later; but -not commonly, on account of its brittleness. Its introduction is -attributable to a curious incident, remarkably illustrative of the -fact that the protectionist system was acted upon at a remote age, -when political economy was not understood, and the good effects of -free trade were unappreciated. Ptolemy Philadelphus (B.C. 246, to whom -the Septuagint version of the Hebrew Testament is due) had prohibited -the exportation of papyrus from Egypt, to prevent Eumenes, king of -Pergnmos, from obtaining that material, in hopes of preventing him -from multiplying MSS.; for Eumenes like Ptolemy, was a patron of -learning, and formed libraries. This unworthy jealousy on the part of -Ptolemy was deservedly defeated by Eumenes, who ascertained that -parchment would be a good substitute for papyrus. This far less -abundant material was, however, used before; but Eumenes so improved -the process of its preparation, that he may be almost termed the -inventor of parchment. Vellum--the prepared skin of a calf--probably -was brought into use at the same time; the deep yellow which both -materials had was subsequently removed by some process {106} adopted -at Rome, which made it white. The introduction of parchment led to the -present form of books and it became the general material for writing -upon not long afterward, though vellum was employed in all state deeds -until the eighth century. - - [Footnote 23: The terms library and folio are derived from _liber_, - the _inner bark_; and _folium_, a leaf.] - -Cotton paper was introduced into Europe from China about the ninth -century, and superseded parchment. Documents in cotton, of that -period, including diplomas of Italian princes, have been preserved in -foreign museums. - -The first manufactory of cotton paper was established in Spain in the -twelfth century, also almost contemporaneously in France and Germany; -but, its durability being questioned, all state and official documents -for preservation were written, or at least engrossed, on parchment or -vellum. Paper made from linen rags is supposed to have originated in -Spain, and to have been introduced into England in the fourteenth -century. It has been considered a pre-eminently good material, with -which none of the various substances used from the earliest times to -the present can victoriously compete. - -Dr. Fuller, a noted and quaint writer of the seventeenth century, -affected to detect national characteristics from the qualities of the -paper produced in the respective countries; e.g., Venetian paper he -compared to a courtier of Venice--elegant in style, light, and -delicate. French paper corresponds with the light-heartedness and -delicacy of the Frenchman. Dutch paper, thick and coarse, sucking up -ink like a sponge, is in this respect, he says, a perfect image of the -Dutch race, which tries to absorb everything it touches. Durability -distinguished English paper, a quality essentially English. - -In 1749 the Irish Parliment granted a sum of money to a Mr. Jay, for -having introduced the first paper factory into Ireland, which probably -had the distinction of anticipating England in this respect. Be this -as it may, the first eminent establishment of the kind was not in -operation in England until 1770, when a paper-mill was erected at -Maidstone, by John Whatman, who had acquired much knowledge in the art -by working at Continental factories. - -In the British Museum is a book, dated 1772, which contains more than -sixty specimens of paper, made of different substances. The paper -called foolscap, so common in our use, derives its appellation from -the historical circumstances following: When Charles I. of England -found difficulties in raising revenue, he granted monopolies, among -which was one for making paper, the water-mark of which was the royal -arms. When Cromwell succeeded to power, he substituted, with cruel -mockery, a fool's cap and bells for the royal arms. Though this mark -was removed at the Restoration, all paper of the size of the -"Parliamentary Journal" still bears the name of foolscap. - -When books first appeared is quite uncertain; for, though the Books of -Moses and the Book of Job are the most ancient of existing books, it -seems from a reference Moses has made to them that there were earlier -ones. Among profane writers Homer is the most ancient; he lived at the -period when King Solomon reigned so gloriously. Four hundred years -afterward the scattered leaves of Homer were collected and reduced to -the order in which we have them; and two hundred years still later -they were revised and accented, so as to have become perfect models of -the purest Greek--the noblest language in the world. And, Greek words -being so remarkably expressive of the meaning of the things or ideas -which they are used to signify, they are now used in arts and sciences -as descriptive of the subjects or things referred to; and very often -in a ludicrously pedantic manner, especially among inventors of patent -medicines and mechanical instruments. But it is not within the range -of our subjects, or knowledge {107} even, to touch upon languages and -literature, authorship and authors, and the gradual development and -progress of literary composition, but simply the subject of books, as -before intimated, as they have been presented to us, in their -material development from age to age. - -In a number of the Cornhill Magazine there has appeared an article, -"Publishers before the Art of Printing," which presents a very -interesting account of bookmaking in Italy during the Augustan age. -The brothers Sosii, celebrated by Horace, issued vast supplies of -manuscript books; fashionable literature was eagerly bought from Roman -booksellers; and, to supply the demand for them, slaves were educated -in great numbers to read aloud to indolent ladies and gentlemen as -they reclined on couches. The copying of MSS. was done principally by -slave scriveners, of whom a great staff was maintained, and, by their -penmanship, books and newspapers could be multiplied quickly. From the -dictation of one reader to several writers a large edition, -comparatively with the number of the reading public, could be soon -produced; in some private families readers and transcribers were -employed in this way. The demand for school-books was also great. As -slave labor was very cheap, bookmaking was then correspondingly -inexpensive, yet authors of high reputation were well paid by -publishers. They received much larger sums than were given long after -the invention of printing. Martial received for his epigrams a vast -remuneration--Milton, for his Paradise Lost, only 24_l_. - -The number of what may be called books published by the fathers of the -church in the first centuries of the Christian era was great. Origen -wrote 6,000; many of these were more properly tracts; but his polyglot -version of the Bible (most of which has perished), and his great work -against Celsus, were laborious works indeed. Of the writings of the -fathers generally (apart from the Evangelists) but few have descended -to us. The Koran (partly compiled from the Bible) was composed by the -imposter Mahomet, in the seventh century. At that epoch there were few -books even in Europe, the most enlightened portion of our world, and -this literary darkness prevailed three hundred years longer. - -A curious episode in the history of early bookmaking occurred in the -sixth century, Cornelius Agrippa has related, in his Vanity of -Science, that a contrivance had been invented, by which the several -parts of speech in any language could be combined by a system of -circles worked in an ingenious manner. The component parts--nouns, -verbs, etc.--come together so as to form complete sentences--a very -convenient contrivance for writers who are deficient in what we -consider essentials--intellect, learning, and invention. Sir Walter -Scott, in his Life of Swift, says that the dean was indebted for his -entertaining and witty satire on pretending philosophers, as displayed -in his Flying Island of Laputa, to the above historical fact. The -machine of the Professor of Lagado, in Gulliver's Travels, for -imparting knowledge and composing books on all subjects without -assistance from genius or knowledge, was designed to ridicule the art -invented by Raymond Tully, the individual referred to by Cornelius -Agrippa. Various improvements on this mechanical mode of composition -were tried, but of course with utter failure. - -During long periods of barbarism, entire libraries of rolls and books -were destroyed by ruthless and ignorant soldiery, as in Caesar's time, -when the library of 700,000 volumes which had been amassed by Ptolemy -was burnt by Caesar's troops. The great library collected at -Constantinople by Constantine and his successors was burnt in the -eighth century. - -{108} - -The number of books written and collected by King Alfred was -extensive, when we take into account the extent of ignorance that -prevailed in England during the ninth century--an amount which may be -estimated from the fact that there was much difficulty in providing a -tutor competent to instruct the royal youth when twelve years old. Yet -he, like his celebrated contemporary, Charlemagne, became eminent for -encouraging literature, and for his high repute in erudition and -book-writing, when Anglo-Saxon literature was despicably low. The -extreme paucity of books in England in the eleventh century may be -inferred from a mandate of Archbishop Lanfranc to librarians of -English monasteries, ordering them to deliver one book at the -commencement of Lent to the monks in turn, and that any monk who -neglected to read it should perform penance. Anciently every great -church and monastery had its little library; and, as education was -almost entirely limited to ecclesiastics during the middle ages, few -books and transcribers were required. - -The survey of the lands of England him Doomsday Book, in two volumes, -was commenced by command of William the Conqueror, in the year 1080, -and completed in six years. The book obtained its name either from a -room in the Royal Treasury called _Domus Dei_, in Winchester, or from -Saxon words signifying doom or judgment, no appeal from its record -being permitted. The first volume is a folio, the second a quarto, and -both are written in abbreviated Latin; the writing being on vellum, -strongly bound, studded, and inclosed in a leather cover. A copy of -_Magna Charta_, the great charter of British liberty, granted and -confirmed by preceding monarchs, but re-enacted after a struggle -between the Barons and that wicked man, King John, in the thirteenth -century, is preserved in Lincoln Cathedral. There were twenty-five -original sealed copies of it written on vellum; one copy was sent to -each English diocese, and to a few special places besides. About -twenty-five barons were present when this important document was drawn -up, none of room signed it; it was only attested by the Great Seal of -England. His majesty could not write; and it may be assumed that his -twenty-five nobles were equally illiterate. If any of them were -penmen, it was very courtier-like on their part to decline doing what -their king was incompetent to do. - -Whether Italian or Irish manuscripts were the earliest in which -ornamental letters were employed, is an undecided question. The finest -specimen of the illuminated is the Book of Kells, of the fifth or -sixth century. This beautiful antique is preserved in the library of -the King's College, and is thought to surpass in minuteness of finish -and splendor of decoration the famous Durham Book, or Gospels of -Lindisfarne, which, though probably executed in the north of England, -is classed among Anglo-Hibernian books, because Irish literature was -more advanced than English in the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries. -If this beautiful art of illuminating originated in the East, it -reached its perfection in the west of Europe. In the British Museum -there is a copy of the Gospels executed at Aix-la-Chapelle in the -eighth century, known as the Golden Gospels, the entire text being in -gold, on white vellum. - -We are now to touch upon the variety and forms of books or booklings ---if we may invent a name--after the art of printing was discovered, -about the middle of the fifteenth century--a subject too familiar to -occupy any space here for details as to invention or progress. - -Chaucer expressed in rhyme the inconvenience of being obliged to -correct every copy of his works after the scrivener's hands; he did -not anticipate the invention of types in a century afterwards, and the -employment of readers or correctors of the press. - -{109} - -Almanacs shall have the precedents, not so much from their high rank -in literary importance, but from their antiquity and pioneer character -in the march of uninspired literature. The Arabians, who studied -astronomy and astrology, noted the signs of the seasons, and regulated -their field occupations by the direction of their almanac makers, who -were their wise men; they would neither sow nor reap, nor trim their -beards and nails, without consulting their almanacs; they introduced -their rules of practice into Europe. A German named Mueller constructed -an almanac in its present form, suited to general writers. An English -writer who called himself Poor Robin, published long ago an almanac -remarkable for coarseness and eccentricity. The following are -specimens of his style (they recently appeared in a public journal); -we present but a few: - - "Julius Caesar did the Britons came; - Conquering will you him into England came; - Brave Montrose was basely murdered; - The Rev. Dr. Stewart lost his head; - The plague raged very sore at London; - London burnt, whereby many were undone; - The crown on Anna's head was placed; - She expired, and George's head it graced." - -So much for historical records. There a calendar among his monthly -observations: - - "January--The gardens now doing healed no posies, - And men in cloaks muffle their noses." - - "March--A toast we plunged in March beer, - Being sugared well, and drunk up clear, - Revives the spirit, the heart doth cheer; - And, had for three pence, is not dear." - -This old Robin shamefully pecks at the fair sex. In his notes on April -he says: - - "Then let young people have a care, - Nor run their heads in marriage snare; - A woman's tongue is like the ocean. - It ebbs and flows in constant motion; - But yet herein a difference grows-- - Her tongue ne'er ebbs, but always flows." - -No booklings have multiplied more almanacs: we have now clerical, -medical, naval, military, aye, horticultural, down to children's -almanacs; and amongst these almanacs there is one entitled _Almanac -des Voleurs_. Magazines swarm, ranging from the highest class of -religious, literary, and social-scientific, not forgetting -_industrial_, subjects, to the most commonplace and trifling matters. -The Gentleman's Magazine is stated to have been the first of the class -published in England. Of reviews we have a long array, distinguished -by every shade of uniform and badge, and from them a vast amount of -useful and pleasurable information is obtainable. This class of books -first appeared in the middle of the last century; one entitled the -Monthly Review was the first published. - -The first newspaper was published in the time of Queen Elizabeth--The -English Mercury, of which the earliest number is in the British -Museum, and bears the date 1588. In the reign of Queen Anne there was -but one daily paper, which made a slow and tedious course of -circulation; whereas in these days newspapers are everywhere, and the -leading ones convey intelligence of the whole world's transactions, -and issue admirable essays, affording information on every subject, -and this within a marvellously short space of time. - -Books are so common, that it becomes necessary to be careful in the -selection of them. Tares and wheat will spring up together; the earth -produces noxious weeds with the most excellent fruit. If, then, we do -not reject the tainted and imperfect grains, a diseased crop is the -result. It cannot be expected in this age of inquiry and the rapid -progress of learning, that all books should be of an improving -character, but the good greatly overbalance the evil. "This -advantage," said Gregory the Great (writing so early as the end of the -sixth century), "we owe to a multiplicity of books; one book falls in -the way of one man, and another best suits the level or the -apprehension of another; it is of service that the same subject should -be handled by several persons after different methods, though all on -the same principle." A superfluity of good books is beneficial; I -would {110} illustrate this proposition thus: The Nile as it flows -fertilizes a vast tract of land; but if it were not for the streams -and rivulets that are artificially constructed to diverge from it, in -order to draw from the main supply of water some portion of the -alimentary matter it contains, other tracts would not be fertilized: -so the great folios in their wide expanse of text and margin have -their important use, while the streams and rills which issue from the -parent flood are illustrative of quartos, octavos, duodecimos, 24mos, -and 48mos, that refresh and enrich minds innumerable. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - -LUCIFER MATUTINUS. - - From a heart of infinite longing the youth - Looks out on the world; - "Where, spirit of candor--where, spirit of truth, - Are thy banners unfurled? - - "O chivalrous chastity! lovely as morn. - The dew on thy helmet, I hail thee afar; - Like Lucifer, beautiful angel of dawn, - I wear thy deep azure, I follow thy star. - - "Not mammon, not lucre; though white as sea-gulls - The broad sails I watch studding ocean's blue deep, - To droop their gay pennons where dreamily lulls - The tropical breeze, and the lotus-flower sleeps. - - "But glory! but honor! the joy of a name - Not written on sand; which for ages will stir - All hearts that are noble, or kindle the flame - Of devotion consuming the rapt worshipper." - - Thus from heart of infinite longing the youth. - Looking out on the world, - Cries ever, "Woo wisdom, woo beauty, woo truth:"-- - The sordid world, jaded with care, answers: "Ruth - Waits on thy wild dreamings, O turbulent youth!" - And with laughter uncouth - Mocks life's fairest banners in brightness unfurled. - - O heart of the ostrich! above its own graves - Of innocent hopes the world every day raves, - And moans, with a pitiful droon of despair, - O'er candor and honor, once blooming so fair; - Yet treads, with a wanton, unpitying scorn. - To earth every sweet aspiration of morn, - True mark of a soul to infinity born; - Or leaves, to the chance of the desert, the good - Which God, at creating, charged angels to brood, - And martyrs have guarded with rivers of blood. - ------- - -{111} - -Original - -TRAVELLERS' TALES. - - -The world has been so thoroughly explored now, at feast in all but its -most savage and inhospitable recesses, that it seems not unnatural to -suppose that travelers abroad find it hard to get listeners to their -tails of sight-seeing and adventure; and that wanderers into foreign -lands should no longer deem it a part of their duty, as soon as their -peregrinations are over, to come home and write a book about them. We -can't expect any more Marco Polo or Mendez Pintos, unless some -adventurous spirits have a mind to travel beyond the regions of the -Albert and Victoria Nyanzas, and risk their lives among the dirty -tribes of Central Africa, whom even Mr. and Mrs. Baker were unable to -reach; and with all its little differences of manners and customs, -there is after all so much sameness in the untamed negro life that we -doubt whether anybody will think such a journey worth his trouble. Now -that the source of Nile has been found and the costly and useless -problem of the north-west passage has been solved, there really seems -to be nothing very new or startling which can be added to geographical -science. But for all that there is, and undoubtedly their long will -be, a certain fascination in every well-told narrative of life in a -distant country, even though the main features of the story were -familiar to us before. We know that a second Columbus can never come -home to us from across the ocean sees, with news of unsuspected -continents; that old ocean has loosed all the bonds which once shut us -in, and disclosed long ago all the new worlds which he wants -concealed; but we like to travel again and again over the lands we -have already passed, to take a few repeated peeps at the inner life of -distant peoples, even though their domestic interiors were long ago -laid open to our inquisitive eyes. Now and then, moreover, it does -happen that a traveller has something new to tell us, or at least -something which has not been told often enough to be familiar to all -the world. For example, in the spirited Sketches of Russian Life -[Footnote 24] which we have lately received from an anonymous hand in -England, there is, if nothing very new or surprising, at least a -liveliness and an air of novelty which are almost as good. The writer -is an Englishman who spent fifteen years in Russia, engaged in -business pursuits of various kinds, which brought him into contact -with persons of all ranks and conditions, and led him long journeys -back and forth across the empire--now in the lumbering diligence, now -in the luxurious railway train, and many a time and for long distances -in rude sledges across trackless wastes and through fearful snows. In -some parts of Russia there are seasons when the mere act of travelling -is a perilous adventure. In March, 1860, our author, in company with a -Russian gentleman, made a dangerous journey of two hundred miles in an -open sledge, through a snow-storm of memorable severity. They had been -struggling for some miles through drifts and hidden pits, when the -driver alarmed them with the cry of "Volka! volka!"--"Wolves! wolves!" -Six gaunt-looking animals {112} sat staring at them in the road, about -one hundred yards in advance of them. The horses huddled themselves -together, trembling in every limb, and refused to move. The Russian, -who is known in the book only by the name of Fat-Sides, seized a -handful of hay from the bottom of the vehicle, rolled it into a ball, -and handed it to our author, saying "Match." The Englishman understood -the direction, and as soon as the horses, by dint of awful lashing and -shouting, were forced near the motionless wolves, he set fire to the -ball and threw it among the pack. Instantly the animals separated and -skulked away with their tails dragging, but only to meet again behind -the sledge, and after a short pause to set out in full pursuit. The -tired horses were whipped to their utmost speed, but in forcing their -way through a drift they had to come to a walk, and the wolves were -soon beside them. The first of the pack fell dead with a ball through -his brain from the Englishman's revolver, and another shot broke the -leg of a second. At that critical instant the pistol fell into the -sledge as, with a sudden jolt the horses floundered up to their -bellies in in deep drift: then they came to a dead stop, and there was -a wolf at each side of the sledge, trying to get in. The Englishman -fortunately had a heavy blackthorn bludgeon, and raising it high he -brought it down with the desperate force of a man in mortal extremity, -crash through the skull of the animal on his side of the vehicle; -while Fat-Sides coolly stuffed the sleeve of his sheepskin coat down -the mouth of the savage beast on the other, and with his disengaged -hand cut its throat with a large bear knife. The pistol was now -recovered just in time to kill a fifth wolf which had fastened upon -neck of one of the horses. The sixth, together with the one that had -been shot in the leg, ran away. - - [Footnote 24: Sketches of Russian Life before and during the - Emancipation of the Serfs. Edited by Henry Morley, Professor of - English Literature in University College, London. 16mo, pp. 298. - London: Chapman and Hall. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott and Co.] - -After a day's detention at Jaroslav, where some irritating business -about passports had to be transacted, our travellers resumed their -journey in a "kibitka," or diligence-sledge--a rather more comfortable -conveyance than the one they had left, because it had a canvas cover. -There were no more encounters with wolves, but perils enough awaited -them in the snow. The first day three of their horses died, and in -sixteen hours, with three separate teams, they accomplished only -twenty-seven miles. All along the road they passed wrecks of sledges, -horses struggling in the drifts and men digging them out, and vehicles -overturned and abandoned until spring. Opposite a hut in which they -found shelter one night a cottage had been entirely buried, and the -family were not rescued until after four days. They were none the -worse for their long imprisonment; but the diggers had come upon a -sledge with its horse, driver, and two women frozen to death and -buried in the drift. Three months after this, when the snows -disappeared from two hundred to three hundred corpses were found, all -of whom had met their death in this fearful storm upon the Moscow road -alone. - -The wretchedness of the inns added a great deal to the sufferings of -our travellers. A Russian hotel in the interior is the most filthy of -all filthy places. As the floors are never washed, the mud and filth -accumulate to an inch and a half in thickness; the walls are black and -fetid; horrible large brown beetles, called _tarakans_, crawl in -myriads over everything, invading even the dishes out of which the -traveller eats and drinks; and the dirty deal tables are further -defiled with a dirty linen cloth. The public rooms are constantly -filled with the offensive odor of the native tobacco. The waiters are -all men, dressed in print trowsers and shirts; the trousers stuffed -into long boots, and the shirts hanging outside the trowsers; the -particolored band or scarf round the waist completing the costume. -Their hair, like that of all the peasants, is worn long, cut straight -round the neck, and parted in front like a woman's, while the beard is -{113} neither cut nor trimmed. We are not surprised that our author -preferred to lodge with the horses and cows in the stable. - -The distance from Jaroslav to Moscow out is about 160 miles, and the -journey occupied seven days and the better part of seven nights. - -Our author made another journey, accompanied by his wife and six -children, and an amusing English "handy man", called Harry, who was -for ever knocking somebody down and getting the party into all sorts -of scrapes with the police. They started from Moscow, and rode about -500 miles into the interior. Their equipment consisted of two vehicles -called tarantasses, each drawn by three horses. The baggage, and a -good store of bread, tea, sugar, sardines, brandy, and wine, were -stowed away in the bottom of the wagons, and over them were spread -straw, feather beds, rugs, and other contrivances for breaking the -severity of the jolting. The passengers reclined on the top. Many time -they had no bed but the tarantass, and no food but what they had -brought with them. Harry found plenty of employment for his fists, as -well as for his ingenuity in bridge building and other useful arts. -Once he detected a waiter, in the end where they stopped at Tula, -stealing a bottle of castor-oil from the medicine chest. It was only -fit punishment to make the thief swallow a large dose; but when the -effects of the drug began to show themselves, the man declared himself -poisoned, and was carried to the hospital, while the travelers and -their effects were placed under the charge of the police. - - "We were prisoners for nearly 2 hours, when a doctor from the - hospital, fortunately for us, a jolly Russ, came with a captain of - police. While the captain of the police tackled Harry, who, ignorant - of the language, answered 'da, da' (yes, yes) to everything. I - explained to the doctor of what had really happened. The worthy - doctor having gotten hold of the oil bottle cried, - - "'Bravo! Poison! The most excellent medicine in pharmacy. Look here, - captain. The pig' (meaning the waiter) 'was taken ill with cholera, - cramps, spasms, vomiting here--mind you, here in this room--before - madame and mademoiselle. They run to the next room, so does my - friend here, a great English my-lord. What could they do? But, sir, - the case was desperate. This gentleman' (pointing to Harry) 'is a - great doctor, accompanying my-lord and his family; there was no time - to send for me. What does he do? He opens his great - medicine-box--look, there it is--and gives the dying moushick a - great dose of apernicocus celantacus heprecaincos masta, the best - remedy in the world for cholera. I tell you, "Yea Boch!" there now, - that's the truth.' - - "'But,' said the captain, 'the moushick, doctor, how is he?' - - "'Ah! the pig!' (and here he spat on the ground in contempt), 'I - left the beast quite well and sleeping. I will answer for him. Come, - captain, let us go. Poison! That is a good joke! Come, captain. Safe - journey. Good-bye!' - - "The police captain was satisfied, however reluctantly. With two - bottles of something better than castor-oil, and a fee, which the - doctor might or might not divide with the captain, I paid the cost - of Harry's thoughlessness." - -Having reached their destination, and purposing to remain in that part -of the country for some time, our English friends obtained a house, -and went to housekeeping. The torment they suffered from thievish and -idle servants is pitiful to read. The lower-class of Russians seem to -have no more idea of working without an occasional application of the -stick than a sluggish horse; and an honest servant is the rarest thing -in the empire. Our author began housekeeping with four--a key-keeper -(housekeeper), cook, room-girl (housemaid), and footman. The dishes -were put upon the table dirty, just as they had been taken away after -the previous meal, because it was nobody's business to wash them; so a -dish-washer was added to the retinue. At the end of a week it was -found that nobody had time to scrub the floors; so scrubbers had to be -hired. Then another was wanted to wash clothes (though nobody could be -found who knew what it meant to get up linen, and the authors wife had -to do it herself); another to clean boots; a man to cut and fetch -wood; and another man to {114} split it and keep up the fires. Thus in -one week the establishment increased to thirteen souls. Their wages, -it is true, were small, but their pilferings were great. One day the -master and mistress resolved to examine the servants' boxes. In the -first one opened they found a canvas bag filled with lump-sugar, -parcels him and of tea and coffee, needles, pins, buttons, hooks and -eyes, tape, laces, soap, candles, children's toy", sealing-wax, pens, -note paper, and a keep of small articles, all of which had been -stolen. Every box had been opened in turn, and not one contained less -than the first, and many of them contained more. - -Dishonesty, as may be supposed, is not confined to the lower classes, -but infects all ranks. The traders are the greatest cheats in the -world; we were going to say the greatest except the government -officials; but these are not exactly cheats, because their extortion -is open and unblushing. When our author once told a Russian baron that -English magistrates were incorruptible, the assertion caused an -incredulous laugh, and a remark from the baron that he could buy any -country magistrate in Russia for 50 kopecks (about 35 cents). -Certainly our friend often found it convenient to prove their -venality, especially when Harry of the strong arm had been giving his -fists a little more exercise than was strictly according to law. Trade -is a system of lying and cheating. The commonest purchase can rarely -be made without a tedious and vociferous process of bargaining, very -much such as goes on when a veteran jockey sells an old horse at a -country fair. Our author had occasion to buy a pair of boots and a -portmanteau at Tula. After over an hour's wrangling the price was -reduced from 48 roubles to 16, and the letter some afterward proved to -be about twice as much an the articles were worth. "How shameful of -you," said the buyer to the seller when the transaction was concluded, -"to ask three times more then you would take, and then to tell so many -lies!" "Oh!" he replied, "words do not rob your pocket. I am no thief. -It is all fair bargaining." The larger operations of commerce, if not -so noisy, are at least no more honest then the retail dealing. It has -been remarked that profitably to understand trading in Russia would -require a course of many years training at university teaching the -principles and practice of chicanery, bribery, smuggling, and lying. A -rich trader of St. Petersburg gave our author of good deal of -information about the way business is carried on. Contracts with the -government, especially, are managed in a very curious fashion. Some -one is appointed by the state to draw up plans and specifications of -the work to be done, and to fix and "upset price." The contract is -then offered at auction, and the lowest bidder under this upset price -takes it. As there is a tacit understanding that the successful -competitor shall pay the official who fixes the upset price a -commission of 10 per cent on the gross amount of the contract, it -follows, as a matter of course, that this price is always ridiculously -high. - -Smuggling is carried on very extensively, not as commonplace rascals -do it, across the frontier, but through the custom-house itself. "Just -look," said the merchant, "at this piano-forte--a first-rate 'grand' -from Broadwood. Had that instrument come through the 'Tamoshny' a as a -'forte-piano,' it would have cost me 100 rubles, that is 15 pounds of -your money. But, sir, I shipped it as a threshing machine--my children -have certainly made it one--and it cost me no duty at all; machinery, -you know, is the only thing duty-free. I paid my expediter his little -commission, and he managed to convince the examining official, by what -means I do not stop to inquire, that a threshing machine it was, and -as such it passed." Not only is the temptation to dishonesty so -strong, but honesty, on the other hand, is fraught with great danger. -{115} A tradesmen, who was beginning business in St. Petersburg, -imported a quantity of plain glass-ware, the duty on which was two -roubles and twenty-five kopecks per pood. He meant to pay the duty in -an honest, straightforward way; but this did not suit the custom-house -officials, who wanted their little commission. They discovered by some -singular optical delusion that the plain glass was all colored and -gilded, the duty being thus raised to ten roubles per pood. Nor was -this all, for the unfortunate tradesman was moreover fined fifty per -cent for a false declaration, and his dear loss by the importation was -about $500. This and a few similar transactions with the custom-house, -in which he stood out for the payment of just dues and no corruption, -ruined him. There is no redress for such outrages in Russia. - -We have no space to go into details of the condition of the serfs, -which our author represents as miserable in the extreme. The stewards -on many of the estates are German adventurers of the worst -description, who cheat their employers, oppress the serfs, and do all -that man can do to ruin the country. Many of the lower class do not -thoroughly understand the czar's ukase of emancipation, and even those -who do understand what great things it does for them, show little or -no gratitude. That is a virtue of slow growth in a Russian bosom. Some -of the wisest land-owners anticipated the time set by the decree for -the abolition of serfdom, and immediately began to work their estates -with paid labor. The result was perfectly satisfactory. In a few -districts, however, the publication of the emancipation ukase was -followed by tumults and disorders, and now and then the peasants took -a bloody vengeance on their oppressors. Our author witnessed one scene -between a villanous steward and his emancipated serfs, which came near -being tragical. The steward was roused from his slumbers one morning -by a big strong mooshick, or peasant, who acted as his coachman. -Entering the room rather unceremoniously, the man bawled out, in a -peremptory voice: - - "'Come, master, get up quick! You're wanted in the great hall.' - - "The steward started at the unusual summons, and stared at the - fellow in blank astonishment, unable to understand what he meant. - - "'Come, I tell you; rise--you're wanted.' - - "'Dog!' roared the steward, almost powerless with rage--'what do you - mean by this insolence? Get out!' - - "'No,' said the man, 'I won't get out. You get up. They are all - waiting.' - - "'Pig! I'll make you pay for this. Let me get hold of you, you - villain!' and he jumped out of bed; but as he did so he perceived - three of his other men-servants at the threshold ready to support - the coachman. - - "'Oh! this is a conspiracy; but I'll soon settle you. Evan, you - devil, where are you? Come here.' - - "Evan thus called--he was a lacquey--appeared at the door with a - broad grin on his face. - - "'Did you call, master?' - - "'Yes, villain; don't you see? I am going to be murdered by these - pigs. Go instantly for the policemen.' - - "'No, no, baron; I have gone too often for the stan's men. We can do - without them this morning.' - - "'Come, come, master,' again struck in the tall coachman, 'don't you - waste our time and keep the company waiting. Put on your halat; never - mind the rest of your clothes; you won't need them for a little. You - won't come--nay, but you must.' And he laid hold of him by the neck. - 'Come along!' and so they dragged their victim into the great dining - hall. - - "There, sitting round the room on chairs and lolling on the sofas, - were all the souls belonging to his domestic establishment, about - thirty in all. Pillows were spread on the floor in the middle of the - room; to these the steward was dragged, and forcibly stretched on - them face down, with two men at his feet and two at his head. - - "The coachman, who had been pretty frequently chastised in former - times, was ring-leader. He sat down on a large easy-chair, the seat - of honor, and ordered a pipe and coffee. This was brought him by one - of the female servants. When the long cherry-tree tube began to - draw, in imitation of his master's manner he puffed out the smoke, - put on a fierce look, stretched out his legs, and said, 'Now then, - go on. Give the pig forty blows! creapka (hard)!' - - "In an instant the halat was torn up, and two lacqueys, standing at - either side, armed with birch-rods, slowly and deliberately - commenced the flagellation. The coachman told {116} off the blows as - he smoked in dignity, 'one, two, three,' and so on to forty. - - "'Now, then,' said coachee, 'stop. Brothers and sisters, have we - done right?' - - "'Right!' they all said. - - "'Is there one here whom he has not beaten?' - - "'Are you satisfied?' - - "'Then go all of you home, and leave this house. Not one must - remain. Release the prisoner.' - - "Up jumped their tyrant, little the worse bodily for the beating he - had got, but he was livid with rage. His face turned green and - purple, he gnashed his teeth, and spat on his rebellious slaves. - Speech seemed gone, and they all laughed in his face. - - "'Master,' said the coachman, walking leisurely towards the door, - 'we have not hurt you, but have given you a small taste of your own - treatment of us for many years; how do you like it? We are free now, - or will be soon, and will not be beaten any more. Good-bye; don't - forget the stick. And listen. It you whimper a breath against any of - us for this morning's work, your life is not worth a kopeck two - hours after.' Each made a respectful bow as he or she went out, and - the tyrant was left alone in the deserted house." - -This, however, was not the end. In a short time the peasantry from a -long distance began to collect in the courtyard. A mill belonging to -the state stopped work, and its thousand hands joined the gathering -crowd. The steward appeared among them, and in a terrible rage ordered -them to work, They simply shrugged their shoulders and made him no -answer. He struck one of them with his open hand, and the peasant in -return spat in the steward's face. - - "The Russian spit of contempt, the most unpardonable of Russian - insults, is unlike any other kind of spitting. The Yankee squirt is - a scientific affair; Englishmen who smoke short black pipes in bars, - on rails, and elsewhere, expectorate in an uncleanly, clumsy way. - But with an intense look of detestation, as he says 'Ah pig!' the - Russian, with the suddenness and good aim of a pistol shot, plunges - a ball of spittle right into the face or on the clothes of his - adversary, making a sound like the stroke of a marble where it hits. - It is a weapon always ready, I have frequently seen a duel - maintained with it for a considerable time at short range. - - "Matt, having thus shown his contempt, coolly leaned himself up - against the gate, but the steward, insulted as he had never been - before in this characteristic manner, before so many of his cringing - slaves, lost any remains of reason his rage might have left him. He - used hands and feet on the crowd of passive and hitherto quiet - surfs, and seeing the old starost--Matt's father--coming up the - road, he ran and colored the old man, dragged him to show where his - son stood, and roared out his orders to take the devil into the - stan's yard for punishment. - - "'Old devil!' he said, 'you are at the bottom of all this rebellion, - you and your son. You shall flog _him_; and then I shall make him - flog _you_. Go, pig, and take him away!' - - "The old man, for the first time in his life, openly disobeyed his - tyrant's orders. He folded his arms across his sheepskin coat, gave - the usual shrug, spat contemptuously on the ground, and said, 'No, - steward, that is your work. Now, I will not.' - - "'Dog! Devil! do you refuse to obey your master? I will, if it is my - work, drag you to punishment myself.' - - "With that he sees the starost by his luxuriant white beard, and - began pulling him towards the next house, which, I have said, was - the magistrate's and the police station. The old man resisted with - all his might, and in the struggle he fell leaving a large mass of - grey or rather white hair in steward's hands. The steward, finding - he could not pull the starost by main force, lifted his foot, shod - with heavy leather goloshes, and struck the old man twice on the - head. The blood immediately ran down. Up to this moment the crowd of - peasants, which had increased enormously, had been quiet spectators - of the scene; but the site of the old man's blood gave the finishing - touch to their patience. Without a word the crowd began slowly to - move and concentrate itself around the steward and his fallen - official. There might then have been five or six hundred people, and - the numbers were increasing every moment, as the men came in from - the stopped works. A rush took place, and the centre space was - filled up with the mass. The bleeding starost was passed to the - outside. The steward was surrounded, and many hands were laid on - him. I do not believe there had been any premeditated designed to - hurt the steward, cordially as they all hated him. Had he applied - the listen given him that morning, and apprehended the changed - feelings and circumstances of the serfs, he might have been passed - from among them without further injury. But his passions were - ungovernable, and he was slow to believe in the possibility of any - resistance on the part of the poor slaves he had so long driven. The - crowd swayed heavily from one side to another, tugging and pulling - the poor steward about; and now he was in peril of his life. My - window was wide open {117} He made a mute appeal to me for help. I - signed to him to try the window. By some extraordinary effort he - broke loose, and major rush and a spring to catch the sill. He - succeeded so far, and two pair of strong arms were trying to drag - the fat body through into the room; but we were too late, or rather - he was too heavy for us. The crowd tore him down, and held him fast. - Then a voice was heard, clear and decided as that of an officer - giving the word of command--'to the water!' The voice was - Mattvie's. A leader and an object had been wanted, and here there - were both. Instantly the order was obeyed. The crowd, dragging the - steward, left the front of my house and took the direction of the - lake. - - "We hurried through the court-yard down to the end of the - cotton-mail, and came out on the banks of the lake, just as the - raging crowd of serfs were tying a mat with a large stone in it to - the stewards neck. - - "Around the margin of the lake the ice was to some extent broken, - and their evident intention was to throw him in. We ran to meet - them, and if possible prevent the horrid act of retribution. But we - were too late; they had selected the part of the bank nearest the - road, as it was higher than the rest; and just as we came painting - up, we saw the body of the steward swaying in the hands of a dozen - of the man, and heard the fatal words given out by Matt: '_Ras, dwa, - tree_' (One, two, three); then a cry of despair, above the yelling - of the crowd; than a plunge in the water; no, two plunges. The - ragoshkie, or bark mat, containing the heavy stone which was to keep - the steward down, had not been a good one; for as the body passed - through the air, the stone fell from the mat, splashing a second or - two before, and a little beyond the spot where he came down. He - disappeared under the water for a moment or two, then made desperate - efforts to scrambled to his feet, in which he succeeded, standing up - to his shoulders in the shallow water, and with the mat bag, - drenched and limp, hanging from his neck. There he stood within - twenty feet of the bank, facing a thousand yelling enemies. Outside - was plenty of firm ice; but between him and them there might be - thirty feet of deep clear water, the bed of the lake dipping many - feet immediately beyond where he stood. He seemed to comprehend his - position, and was evidently making up his mind to contend with the - deep water rather than with the turned worms upon the bank. He had - raised one arm, either for entreaty or defiance, and had taken off - few steps toward the ice, when one of the many stones thrown at him - struck the uplifted arm and it fell powerless to his side. Another, - but a softer missile, struck him on the head. He fell down under the - water, and again recovered his feet; but the stones were now--like - hail about him. The serfs were as boys pelting a toad or frog--and - their victim in the water did look like a great overgrown toad. - - "Saunderson and I had made several attempts to be heard, or to - divert the attention of the people; but it was spending idle breath: - 'Go away; it is not your business,' some of the men said; others, - more savage, asked how we would like the same treatment." - -The contrivance is by which the unfortunate was rescued from his -perilous situation was so theatrical that we can hardly help -suspecting that the incidents of this story have been arranged with a -sharp eye to effect. The man's fate seemed certain when our author -espied a sleigh approaching at a considerable distance. No doubt it -contained young Count Pomerin, the owner of the estate. If a little -delay could be obtained, the steward might be saved. At this juncture -are friend Harry interfered. "I'll try," he exclaimed; "blow me if I -don't. The buffer's bad lot, but I sha'n't see him killed;" and with -that he jumped into the water, and was by the steward's side in a -moment. The noise and stoning ceased, for Harry was a prime favorite; -but the mob was not to be baulked of its vengeance, and after a -vigorous exchange of expostulations, in the course of which Harry made -several remarks that were more forcible than polite, the chivalrous -Englishman was pulled out of the water, kicking stoutly, and the -pelting was about to be renewed. - -Just at this moment the sleigh, drawn by three magnificent greys, -dashed into the centre of the crowd. Three gentlemen occupied it. Two -were in official costume. The third, a tall, well-built man, rose, and -threw off Is rich black fox-skin cloak, and the mob beheld, dressed -in the uniform of a general, not the young count, but his father, who -had been exiled years before, and was thought to be dead. He had now -come hack, with an imperial pardon, prepared to resume the management -of his estates. The steward was extricated from the water, and -immediately called upon to {118} settle his accounts. The old count -had visited the estate before in disguise, and knew how it had been -mismanaged. He had witnessed and all ready to Convict the steward of -peculation, and the result was that the wretched man was compelled to -refund on the spot $750,000 of stolen wealth, and then allowed -twenty-four hours to leave the place. - -The next scene in this pretty little drama was between the count and -his serfs. He called them all together, and told them they were free -from that moment. He did not intend to wait for the period of -emancipation fixed by the ukase. Moreover, he gave to each male -peasant three acres of land, free of price--parting thus with -one-sixth of his estate. The whole assembled multitude then went down -on their knees, and cried, "Thanks, thanks, good count, the -illustrious master--God bless you!" And here, according to all -dramatic rules, unless there was somebody to be married, the thing -ought to have ended. But behold, ten grey-bearded peasants, who -evidently had no idea of propriety, stepped forward and wanted to know -what they were to do with their cows? Three acres would be enough for -garden and green fields, but it would not give them pasture. Would -not his excellency add to his gift? and so might God bless him! Well, -the count allotted them pasture for ten years; and then the ten -grey-beards advanced again, with the cry a Russian always raises when -you give him anything--"prebavit" (add to it). Pasture was very good, -but how were they to get firewood? "If it please your high-born -excellency, add to your gift firewood. Prebavit!" So his high born -excellency added firewood; and the incorrigible peasant stepped up -again. "Prebavit! How were they to get fish? Would it please his high -born excellency to let them fish in the lakes?" There were the usual -thanks and the prostrations when this was granted; and then "prebavit" -again; they wanted something else; but they did not get it, and the -meeting broke up. A little while afterward our author revisited the -estate, and found that it had undergone a marvellous change. The -village was no longer a collection of mud huts, but a thriving town. -The people were not like the same beings; and there was decided -evidence of the rise of a middle class--a class once unknown in such -places. - -Our author gives us an obscure glimpse of a curious religious sect in -Russia called the _starrie verra_, or "old faith," of whose -peculiarities be knows little, and of whoso history be confesses that -he know a nothing at all. It's members deem the present Russian Church -an awful departure from the primitive faith and practice; deny the -emperor's claim to be the head of the church; believe to any extent in -witches; fast, scourge themselves; meet in secret, generally at night -(for they are rigorously proscribed); hate the established religion of -the realm has much as the old Scotch Puritans hated prelacy; and, if -they had their wish, would probably advance the Czar to the dignity of -martyrdom. It is said that many distinguished personages privately -adhere to them, and submit to dreadful midnight penances, by way of -compounding for the sin of outward subserviency to the modern heresy. -People of the old faith are distinguished by a grim gravity and -opposition to all dancing or light amusement. Our author had a -woman-servant of this sect, who was remarkable for never stealing -anything, and for continually smashing crockery which she supposed to -have been defiled. There was a community of the old faith near his -residence? An old wooden building like a Druid temple, set in the side -of a hill among trees and rocks, was pointed out to him as the place -of their midnight conventicles. It was said to be presided over by a -priestess who never left the temple by night or by day. A roving -fanatic, whom the writer sometimes encountered in the village, -collecting {119} peasants around him and shouting like a -street-ranter, was looked up to by the sectaries as a prophet; though -he was certainly not a very reputable one, being often helplessly -drunk, and not very decently clad. He wore no covering for head or -feet, even in the severest frost. He carried a long pole, and danced -some holy dance, to words of high prophetic omen. Our author was -rather surprised to find that, thanks to his crockery-smashing cook, -he himself was commonly reputed a priest of the _starrie verra_; the -big volumes of the illustrated London News in which he used to read -were supposed to be illuminated Lives of the Saints, and the little -plays and dramatic scenes which his children used to perform on winter -evenings were looked upon with holy awe as religious rites of dreadful -power and significance. He bore his honors without complaining, and -even when the cook, on the night of a party, broke all his best -Wedgwood dinner-set, brought from England at a huge expense, he -endured the loss with Christian patience: it was so delightful to have -a Russian servant who would not steal. - - -From Russian servants to Italian brigands the transition is perfectly -natural. Both are rogues of the same class, only external -circumstances have made a difference in their modes of doing business. -An English gentleman named Moens has recently obtained a more intimate -acquaintance with the robber bands of Southern Italy than any of our -readers need hope to make, and has given us the result of his -observations in a very curious and interesting volume. [Footnote 25] -Mr. and Mrs. Moens, and the Rev. J. C. Murray Aynsley and his wife, -had been visiting the ruins of Paestum, on the Gulf of Salerno, on the -15th of May, 1865, when their carriage was stopped on the way home by -a band of about twenty or thirty brigands. - - [Footnote 25: English travelers and Italian Brigands. the Narrative - of Capture and Captivity. By W. J. C. Moens. With a Map and several - illustrations. 12mo. pp. 355. New York: Harper & Brothers.] - -The ladies were not molested, but the gentlemen were hurried off -across the fields, and through woods and thickets, until nearly -daylight the next morning, when they were allowed to lie down to sleep -for a short time on the bare earth. As soon as they felt themselves in -a place of security the band halted, and their captain, a fine-looking -fellow, named Manzo, got out paper and pen and proceeded to business. -The two Englishmen were to be well treated, provided they made no -attempt to escape, and on the payment of a ransom were to be released -without injury. The sum demanded for the two was at first 100,000 -ducats, or about $85,000, but this was afterward reduced one-half. It -was now agreed that one of the two captives should be allowed to go -for the money, and lots were drawn to determine upon whom this -agreeable duty should fall. Good fortune inclined to the side of Mr. -Aynsley, and the reverend gentleman set off under the care of two -guides. He was hardly out of sight when the band was attacked by a -party of soldiers, and for a short time there was a sharp skirmishing -fire, in the course of which Mr. Moens came very near being killed by -his would-be rescuers. He was forced to keep up with the bandits, -however, and the whole party finally got away from the troops. -Whatever plans he may have had of flight he now saw were futile. The -brigands ran down the mountain like goats, while he had to carefully -pick his way at every step. The robbers had eyes like cats: darkness -and light, night and daytime, made but little difference to them. -Their sense of hearing was so acute that the slightest rustle of -leaves, the faintest sound, never escaped their notice. Men working in -the fields, or mowing the grass, they could distinguish at a distance -of miles, and they knew generally who they were, and to what village -they belonged. - -After four days of dreadful fatigue, during which the captive and his -captors all suffered severely from hunger, {120} since the closeness -of the pursuit prevented them from getting their usual supplies from -the peasants, our party joined the main body of the band. - - "On emerging from the trees we saw the captain and about twenty-five - of his men reclining on the grass in a lovely glade, surrounded by - large beach-trees, whose luxuriant branches swept the lawn. Several - sheep and goats were tethered near, cropping the grass. The men, - with their guns in their hands, their picturesque costumes and - reclining postures, the lovely light and checkered shade of the - trees, made a picture for Salvator Rosa. But I do not believe that - Salvator Rosa, or any other man, ever paid a second visit to the - brigands, however great his love of the picturesque might be, for no - one would willingly endure brigand live after one experience of it, - or place himself a second time in such a perilous situation. - - "The band all arose, and looked very pleased at seeing me, for we - had been separated from them since the fight on the 17th, and they - were in great fear that I might have escaped, or have been rescued - by the troops. I stepped forward and shook hands with the captain, - for I considered it my best policy to appear cheerful and friendly - with the chief of my captors. He met me cordially in a ready way, - and asked me how I was. I said I was very tired and hungry, so he - immediately sent one of his men off, who returned in a few minutes - with a round loaf of bread, and another loaf with the inside cut - out, and packed full of cold mutton cut into small pieces and - cooked. I asked for salt, and was told it was salted. When cooked - the meat tasted delicious to me, though it was awfully tough, for I - and had not had meat since luncheon on Monday, in the temples of - Paestum, four days before. I ate a quantity, and then asked for - water, which was brought to me in a large leathern flask with a horn - around the top, and a hole on one side serving to admit air, as the - water was required for drinking. I had observed a large lump of snow - suspended by a stick through its center, between two forked sticks; - the water dripping from it was collected in flasks, and then drunk. - There were two or three of these flasks. The captain asked me if I - was satisfied. I answered 'Yes.' - - "I was then told that there were two more companions for me. I was - taken through a gap in the trees to the rest of the band, about - seventeen in number. Here by found those who were destined to be my - companions for the next three weeks. A young man about twenty-eight, - with a black beard of a month's growth, dressed just like Manzo's - band, who was introduced to me has Don Cice alias, Don Francesco - Visconti, and one Tomasino, his cousin, a boy of fourteen years old. - I shook hands with them, and condoled them on our common fate, which - Don Francesco described as fearful. I was told to sit down on one - side, which I did and looked around me. - - "The spot seemed perfect for concealment. We were at the top of a - high mountain, entirely surrounded by high trees, excepting two - small gaps serving for entrances, opposite to each other. The - surface of the ground was quite level. About twenty yards away, on - the side opposite to where I entered, there was a quantity of snow, - from which they cut the large pieces for drinking purposes. I saw - five or six men bringing a fresh block, which they had just cut, and - slung on a pole. It was now a little before mid-day, and they were - preparing a cauldron full of _pasta_ (a kind of macaroni), which was - ready by twelve o'clock. Some was offered to me, which I accepted. - One brigand proposed putting the _pasta_ into a hollow loaf, but - another brigand brought forward a deep earthenwere dish of a round - shape. I thought milk would be an improvement, so I asked for some. - Two men went to the goats and brought some in the few minutes. The - _pasta_ was very clean and well cooked. What with the meat and - bread, and this _pasta_, I made an excellent dinner, and felt much - better. The _pasta_ was all devoured in a few minutes by the band, - who collected round the _caldaja_, and dipped in spoons and fingers. - I had now leisure to examine the men; they were a fine, healthy set - of fellows. - - "Here the two divisions of the band were united, thirty men under - the command of Gaetano Manzo, and twelve under Pepino Cerino. The - latter had the two prisoners, who had been taken on the 16th of - April near the valley of the Giffoni, at five o'clock in the - afternoon, as they were returning from arranging some affairs - connected with the death of a relative. - - "The smaller band had for women with them, attired like the men, - with their hair cut short--at first I took them for boys; and all - these displayed a greater love of jewelry then the members of men's - Manzo's band. They were decked out to do me honor, and one of them - wore no less than twenty-four gold rings, of various sizes and - stones, on her hands at the same moment; others twenty, sixteen, - ten, according to their wealth. To have but one gold chain attached - to a watch was considered paltry and mean. Cerino and Manzo had - bunches as thick as and arm suspended across the breasts of their - waistcoats, with gorgeous brooches at each fastening. These were - sewed on for security; little bunches of charms were also attached - in conspicuous positions. I will now describe the uniforms of the - two bands. Manzo's band had long jackets of strong brown cloth, the - color of withered leaves, with large pockets of a circular shape on - the two sides, and others in the breast outside; and a slit on each - side gave entrance to a large pocket {121} that could hold anything - in the back of the garment. I have seen a pair of trowsers, two - shirts, three or four pounds of bread, a bit of dirty bacon, cheese, - etc., pulled out one after the other when searching for some article - that was missing. The waistcoats buttoned at the side, but had gilt - buttons down the center for show and ornament; the larger ones were - stamped with dogs' heads, birds, etc. There were two large circular - pockets at the lower part of the waistcoats, in which were kept - spare cartridges, balls, gunpowder, knives, etc.; and in the two - smaller ones higher up, the watch in one side and percussion caps in - the other. This garment was of dark blue cloth, like the trowsers, - which were cut in the ordinary way. - - "The uniform of Cerino's band was very similar, only that the jacket - and trowsers were alike of dark blue cloth and the waistcoat of - bright green, with small round silver buttons placed close together. - When the jackets were new they all had attached to the collars, by - buttons, _capuces_, or hoods, which are drawn over the head at night - or when the weather is very cold, but most of them had been lost in - the woods. A belt about three inches deep, divided by two - partitions, to hold about fifty cartridges, completed the dress, - which, when new, was very neat-looking and serviceable. Some of the - cartridges were murderous missiles. Tin was soldered round a ball so - as to hold the powder, which was kept in by a plug of tow. When used - the tow was taken out, and, after the powder was poured down the - barrel, the case was reversed, and, a lot of slugs being added, was - rammed down with the tow on top. These must be very destructive at - close quarters, but they generally blaze at the soldiers, and _vice - versa_, at such a distance, that little harm is done from the - uncertain aim taken. Most of them have revolvers, kept either in the - belts or the left-hand pocket of their jackets; they were secured by - a silk cord round their necks, and fastened to a ring in the butt of - the pistol. Some few had stilettoes, only used for human victims. - Many wore ostrich feathers with turned-up wide-awakes, which gave - the wearers a theatrical and absurd appearance. Gay silk - handkerchiefs around their necks and collars on their cotton shirts - made them look quite dandies when these were clean, which was but - seldom. - - "At last, tired of watching the band, I lay down and fell asleep. I - slept for some hours, during which a poor sheep was dragged into the - enclosure, killed, cut up, cooked in the pot, and eaten. I must have - slept until near sunset, for when I awoke another sheep was being - brought forward and I watched the process of killing and cutting up - the poor beast. The sheep was taken in hand by two men, Generoso and - Antonio generally acting as the butchers of the band. One doubled - the fore legs of the sheep across the head; the other held the head - back, inserting a knife into the throat and cutting the windpipe and - jugular vein. It was then thrown down and left to expire. When dead, - a slit was made in one of the hind legs near the feet, and an iron - ramrod taken and past down the leg to the body of the animal; it was - then withdrawn and the mouth of one of the men placed to the slit in - the leg, and the animal was inflated as much as possible and then - skinned. When the skin was separated from the legs and sides, the - carcass was taken and suspended on a peg on a tree, through the - tendon of the hind leg; the skin was then drawn off the back - (sometimes the head was the end, but this rarely). The skin was now - spread out on the ground to receive the meet, etc., when cut off the - body; the inside was taken out, the entrails being drawn out - carefully and cleaned; these were wound around the inside fat by two - or three who were fond of this luxury--Sentonio, and Andrea the - executioner, generally performing this operation. These delicacies, - as they were considered, being made about four inches long and about - one inch in diameter, are fried in fat or roasted on spits. It was - some time before I would bring myself to eat these, but curiosity - first, and hunger afterward, often caused me to eat my share, for I - soon learned it was unwise to refuse anything. - - "While these two men were preparing the inside, the other two were - cutting up the carcass. The breast was first cut off, and then the - shoulders; the sheep was then cut in half with the axe, and then the - bones were laid on a stump and cut through, so that it all could be - cut in small pieces. One man would hold the meat, while another - would take hold of a piece with his left hand and cut with his - right. As it was cut up, the pieces would be put into a large cotton - handkerchief, which was spread out on the ground; the liver and - lungs were cut up in the same way; the fat was then put in the - _caldaja_, and, when this was melted, the kidneys and heart (if the - latter had not been appropriated by some one) were put in, cooked, - and eaten, every one helping himself by dipping his fingers in the - pot. The pieces of liver were considered the prizes. All the rest of - the sheep was then put in the pot at once, and after a short time - the pot was taken off the fire and jerked, so as to bring the under - pieces to the top. - - "They liked the meat well cooked; and when once pronounced done, it - was divided into as many equal portions as there were numbers - present; the captives being treated as 'companions'--the term they - always used in speaking of one another. I soon found that the sooner - I picked up my share the better. If there was no doubt about there - being plenty for all, the food was never divided. Then they dived - with their hands, {122} whoever ate fastest coming off best. I could - only eat slowly, having to cut all the meat into shreds, as it was - so tough; so I always took as much as they would let me, and retired - to my lair, like a dog with his bone. If I finished this before all - was gone, I returned for more, it being always necessary to secure - as much as possible, as one was never sure when more food would be - forthcoming, and it is contrary to brigand etiquette to pocket food - when eaten thus. When it was divided, I might of course do as I - liked with my share, but even then it was prudent not to allow them - to know that I had reserved a stock in my pocket, or I was sure to - come off short on the next division taking place. The skin was now - taken and stretched out to dry, and then used to sleep on." - - -There were five women with the band, all dressed just like the men, -except that they wore corsets. Their hair was cut short, and two of -them carried guns, the others being armed with revolvers. They had no -share in the ransom-money, and were often beaten and otherwise ill -treated by their lords. Doniella, the partner of Pepino Cerino, one of -the subordinate chiefs, was a strapping young woman about nineteen -years old, with a very good figure and handsome features, a pretty -smile, and splendid teeth. She and her husband were prodigious -gluttons, and Pepino was eventually deposed from his rank on account -of his lawless appetite. Carmina, the companion of Giuseppe, was a -good-natured creature, who was often kind and generous to the English -prisoner. Antonina, the wife of a whole-souled rascal named Generoso -di Salerno, had a thin, melancholy face, with magnificent great -lotus-eyes. She was cheerful and generous, and did a great for Mr. -Moens in the way of mending his clothes and sharing her food with him -during the many periods when victuals were scarce. Maria and Concetta -were both ugly and sulky, hardly ever spoke, and never gave away -anything. - -It was a terrible life these brigands led, very different from the -free and picturesque career with which poetry and romance love to -identify them. Hunted by the soldiers and fleeced by their friends the -peasants; suffering the extremes of hunger, thirst and fatigue; -passing long days and nights of apprehension among the perpetual snows -of the mountain summits, where they often durst not light a fire to -warm their benumbed limbs or cook their stolen sheep or goat, for fear -lest the flame should betray them, and where they would scarcely -snatch a few moments for repose, that they might be ready for instant -flight; dreading even to take off their clothes to wash themselves, -because the pursuit might be upon them at any moment; paying absurd -prices for all that they obtained from the country people; wasting in -gambling the sums they received for ransoms; and haunted every hour by -the Nemesis of past crimes and vain longings for a lawful and quiet -life--the most wretched captive in his dungeon seems almost happy in -comparison with them. Mr. Moens passed about a hundred days in their -company. The ransom, finally reduced to 30,000 ducats, was not raised -without some delay, in a country where he had few acquaintances, and -even after it was raised the getting it safely to the band was a work -of time and difficulty, for the government punishes all intercourse -with the brigands with great severity. The robbers meanwhile became -impatient. Our author was forced to accustom himself to kicks, cuffs, -starvation, and every species of ill-usage, and there was serious talk -of cutting off his ears and sending them to his wife as a gentle -incentive to haste. The money came at last, however, and he parted -from the gang on very friendly terms, receiving from them before he -left enough money to enable him to travel to Naples "like a -gentleman," besides several interesting keepsakes, such as a number of -rings, and a knife which had been the instrument of one or two -murders. - - - -There is a sort of relief in turning from these two narratives of -rascality to the next hook on our list, though in literary merit it is -very far inferior to {123} them. It is the narrative of a lady's -travels in Spain. There is not much novelty in the subject, and only a -very moderate degree of skill in the execution; but it is something to -get into decent company. Mrs. William Pitt Byrne [Footnote 26] -travelled from the Pyreneean frontier of Spain, through Valladolid, -Segovia, Madrid, Toledo, and Cordova, to Seville. Her book, with all -its faults, supplies some lively pictures of modern Spanish life, and -the reader who has patience to hunt for them will also find in her -pages some valuable bits of information about the condition and -prospects of the kingdom. She has a great deal to say about the -discomforts of travelling in Spain, and the horrors of the hotels and -inns, which are scarcely less abominable than those of Russia. However -useful these particulars may be to persons meditating a trip through -the Peninsula, they can scarcely be thought very important to the -public generally; and we shall therefore content ourselves with -extracting from Mrs. Byrne's two handsome volumes an account of a -bull-fight at Madrid, which, notwithstanding her sex, she was induced -by a sense of public duty to witness. We pass over the description of -the arena and the spectators, and the preliminary procession of the -actors in the bloody spectacle, and come at once to the moment when -the bull is let into the ring: - - [Footnote 26: Cosas de Espana: Illustrative of Spain and the - Spaniards as they are. By Mrs. Wm. Pitt Byrne, Author of Flemish - Interiors, etc. 2 vols. 8vo. pp. 279, 322. London and New York: - Alexander Strahan.] - - "No sooner was egress offered him than he rushed headlong into the - circus, dashing madly round as if he sought an escape; baffled in - this, and scared by the fanfare of the trumpets, the glare of the - sun on the yellow sand, and the vociferous shouts of the people, he - suddenly stopped, raised his head, and stared wildly round. The - blood was already streaming from his neck where the _devisa_, - [Footnote 27] in this case a sky-blue ribbon, had been fixed. - Meantime the _lidiadores_, fifteen in number, were scattered about - the arena, each with a brightly tinted cloak of different colors - twisted about his arm, the _picadores_ being drawn up in a defensive - attitude, one behind the other, as far as possible from the centre - of the circus. The horses, we observed, were blindfolded, _pour - cause_. Some precautions were taken for the safety of the _toreros_; - thus there were, here and there, slits in the barriers, [Footnote - 28] through which an expert fellow could glide, in extreme cases, - and there is a step all round, from which the more readily to vault - over the paling. For the protection of the public, a tight rope was - strained all round the circus, fixed to iron stays, to arrest the - progress of the bull, if, in his fury, he should attempt to scamper - upwards among the spectators. This frequently occurs, to the great - delight of those who are far enough off not to be damaged, and who - seem to forget that the next time it may be their turn. Frightful - indeed are the accidents, both among actors and spectators, which - sometimes happen during these games; and, as they are generally of - some unexpected kind, one never knows whether some awful casualty - may not be on the point of occurring; it is always on the cards. - - [Footnote 27: The _devisa_ differs in color, and indicates the - _ganaderia_ whence the bull has come.] - - [Footnote 28: At Seville the _lidiadores_, at least those who are - on foot, have an additional chance of safety in the wooden screens - placed all around at intervals, about fifteen inches in front of - the fenced ring, behind which they can glide, without fear of - being followed by the bull.] - - "The bull now discovered his adversaries, and seemed instinctively - to recognize their treacherous intentions. The people became - impatient for an attack, and the trumpets blew; the _capeadores_ - hovered about, dazzling, perplexing, attacking and repelling the - bewildered brute, according to the different colors of their cloaks, - and always gracefully and ingeniously eluding his vengeance. At - length one, emboldened by success, continued his provocations beyond - the bounds of discretion; the bull abandoned the others, and - selecting his persevering tormentor, defied him to single combat. - Scattering about the sand with his hoofs, he ploughed the ground - with his muzzle, and, putting himself in a butting attitude, he - pointed the back of his head and the tips of his horns with a - menacing determination towards the object of his just vengeance. The - agile _torero_, however, knew his bull; he never lost presence of - mind for a moment, but twisting about the _capa_ till it became - inflated, he flung it before the beast's face, and, under cover of - its folds, fled nimbly to the barrier. The bull, furiously enraged, - tossed the crimson silk, tearing it with his horns, and then, - discovering how he had been duped, made for his foe with redoubled - rage; but the _capeador_ had just gained the time he needed to vault - over into the fenced ring just as the bull came up with him. His eye - was dilated, and seemed to glare with fire; he had pursued his foe - with such fury that the impetus given to his course served him - instead of address, and, never losing sight of his man, he followed - him, tumbling rather than leaping over the barrier into the narrow - passage, {124} within one short section of which man and beast were - now shut up together. - - "The approving roars from the amphitheatre were deafening; it was - difficult not to be carried away by the general enthusiasm; it was a - moment of intense excitement; the life of a fellow-being seemed to - hang on a thread, and a moment more must decide his doom. It was a - struggle between brute force and intelligent activity:--the man got - the better of it. In that instant he made another desperate bound, - and leaped over into the next division. The people, true to its - character-- - - 'Sequitur fortunam, ut semper, et odit Damnatos,' - -and who but now had thundered a unanimous '_Bravo toro!_' changed its -cry, and it was the _lidiador_ they hailed. But he was not saved yet; -the next move--quick as thought--was on the part of the bull, who, -making a second and almost supernatural bound, was seen coming up -behind him a third time, when the active fellow, by a happy -inspiration, leaped back into the arena, and his brethren in arms, -rushing to the rescue, threw open the communications to give his -provoked and angry foe free course, till, one of the barriers being -opened, he spontaneously returned into the circus, when it was neatly -closed, and the combatant was saved for _this_ time. Still panting -from the desperate chase, the disappointed brute now turned upon the -first _picador_, but received a check from the point of his lance; a -broad stream flowed from the widening gash, crimsoning the sand, and, -as might be expected, the wounded beast turned again with greater fury -on his assailant, who by this time had driven his spurs into his -horse, and by a bound had cleared the spot, so that the creature's -horns struck violently, and with a fearful crash, into the wooden -wall, and the bull, who as yet had gained no advantage, baffled and -stung, coursed once more desperately round the ring. - - "The men seemed to be taking breath; but the spectators had no - intention of being satisfied with this tame dallying, and they - vociferously signified their disapprobation. The trumpet sounded - once more, and the _picador_ advanced a second time to the bleeding - hero of the sport, and provoked him with his '_vara_,' at the same - time siding up to the fence, so that, in case his horse should fall, - he might secure an escape: the sagacious beast, albeit blindfolded, - seemed to have an instinctive presentiment of the fate that awaited - him; he trembled for a moment in every limb, as the bull, with a - thundering roar, rent the air; but, obedient to the spur and to his - master's voice, he recovered his pace, and advanced to meet the - inevitable attack. The bull, lowering his head, rushed at the - _picador_, and, with all the force of his weight, plunged his horns - deep into the poor beast's right flank, turning him completely round - as on a pivot, and lifting his hind quarters several times from the - ground, the horse kicking violently. It was a ghastly group. The - _picador_ kept his seat unmoved while the whole assemblage yelled - it's savage delight. The attention of the bull, as soon as the lance - had forced him to withdraw his horns, was called off by the - _chulos_, who dazzled him with the evolutions of a yellow cloak, and - the gored steed, now released, but frightfully torn, tottered on, a - hideous spectacle, endeavoring with his fast-failing strength, to - bear his rider out of danger. Arrived near the middle of the arena, - however, his broken steps were arrested; his hour was come, and, - making one last but futile effort, he fell with his rider heavily to - the ground. When a _picador_ falls, and with his horse upon him, it - is no easy matter for him to rise; and no sooner had the wretched - steed succumbed, than the bull, dashing at the struggling and - powerless man, 'in one red ruin blent,' attacked horse and man once - more with all the vigor of his horns. The _picador_ was utterly - helpless; imbedded in his deep saddle and ponderous stirrups, his - lower limbs cased in iron, he had not the shadow of a chance of - extricating himself. His lance he had dropped, and all he could do, - and all he did, was to urge his dying horse with violent and - desperate blows to rise and release him. The cruelly-used beast, - willing and intelligent to the last, mangled as he was, and almost - swimming in the crimson pool beneath him, made a supreme effort to - rise; it was in vain, and all he could now do was to serve as a - shield by receiving the attack of the enraged bull, instead of his - master. Still the position was eminently critical; the struggles of - the dying horse under the horns of the infuriated full complicated - the position, and the next moment might decide the helpless man's - fate. He looked around, dismayed, when another _picador_ advanced, - and, driving his lance into the bull's shoulder, aroused him to the - consciousness of a new foe. The _toreros_ and _chulos_ took - advantage of the diversion to bear the bruised and wounded _picador_ - off the field, and the expiring horse--not deemed worth of thought, - because, pecuniarily speaking, he was valueless--was left there, not - only to struggle in the agonies of a cruel death, but to form a butt - for the frantic bull every time he passed in the fight. - - "Meantime, as if to carry their barbarity to the lowest depth, two - or three _chulos_, watching their opportunity, advanced to the - moribund horse, and beating him violently with clubs and sticks, - tried to force him to rise, but in vain; his feet, once so swift, - were destined never to support him again, and, after several - attempts to comply, he dropped his head heavily, and with an almost - human expression of powerlessness and despair. His savage tormentors - were not satisfied even now, and as if determined the noble beast - should not even die in peace, forestalled the {125} few moments he - had yet to breathe, by dragging off, with frightful violence, the - heavy accoutrements with which he was incumbered; and, having - possessed themselves of these articles, departed without having even - had the grace to put an end to his miserable existence, the bull - being engaged in a deadly combat with the second _picador_ on the - other side of the circus. The second _picador_, indeed, came off - better than the first. _His_ horse, after the first goring, and when - just about to fall, was recalled by a sharp spur-stroke in his - already lacerated sides; he started off at a convulsive gala, and - for his rider nearly round the ring, a miserable spectacle. His - entrails were dragging along till, his feet getting entangled in - them, his master, with surprising skill, contrived to dismount - before he fell, and abandoned the dying and defenseless creature to - the fury of the bull, who again gored and tossed him violently, - escaped scot-free. - - "But the term of the persecuted _toro's_ own existence was - shortening, and the people, fearing lest his end should arrive for - they had had all the enjoyment that could possibly be extracted from - his struggles, called loudly for the _banderillas_. The trumpets - blew gets approving blast, and to bold _banderilleros_ presented - themselves, after the bull had been provoked by the _chulos_ into - the right position and attitude for these new tormentors to commence - their attack. The _banderillero_ was an accomplished _torero_, who - understood his business, and he took in at a glance the bull he had - to deal with. His is a perilous office, but he executed it with - intelligence, skill, and grace; he hovered about and around his - bewildered victim, turning and twisting his _banderillas_ with - provoking perseverance, and gliding aside with surprising muscular - accuracy every time the poor bull tried to parry a feint; at last he - succeeded in planting his gaudy instruments of torture into the - exact spot in which a clever _artiste_ is bound to spike them, - unless he can face the execrations of an assemblage of fastidious - and disappointed _connoisseurs_. As it was, they testified their - appreciation of the barbarous feat by the thunder of applause as the - nimble _torero_ eluded the pursuit of his foe by swift retreat. The - bespangled and befringed _banderillas_ drooped over with their own - weight, and slapped violently on either side of the poor wretches - neck, as with the sudden start and hideous roar at the unlooked-for - aggravation, he bounded furiously across the sand, tearing up the - ground with his horns and hoofs, and tossing everything in his way, - in his frantic efforts to rid himself of the new torment; the blood, - which had quite coagulated into a gory texture, hanging like a broad - crimson sheet from either side of his neck, completely concealed his - hide, now started in a fresh stream from the new wound, and his - parched tongue hung from his mouth, eloquently appealing in its mute - helplessness for one small drop of water. Strange to say, the - pitiful sight touched no responsive chord in the hearts of that - countless mass of humanity; on the contrary, like the beast of prey - who has once licked up blood, this insatiate crowd seemed to gloat - over the scene that had well-nigh sickened us; so far from being - moved to compassion, regret, or sympathy, they urged on the - remaining _banderilleros_, eager in their turn to show their skill, - and after the usual flourishes, two more pair of fiery _banderillas_ - were adding their piercing points to the smarting shoulders of the - luckless bull, 'butchered to make a _Spanish_ holiday.' What must - the Roman circus have been, if this was so unendurable?--and yet - tender, gentle, loving womankind assisted--ay, and applauded at the - ghastly human sacrifice. - - "It was a relief when the trumpet blew its fatal blast, and the - _espada_ came forward, bowed to the president, threw off his cap, - and displayed his crimson flag. It was Cuchares--the great Cuchares - himself: the theatre rang with applause. The Toledo steel, bright as - a mirror, flashed in his practised hand, dexterously he felt his - ground; he eyed the bull, and in a moment--a critical moment for - him--perceived by tests his experience suggested to him the nature - of the animal he had to deal with, and the mode in which he must be - treated . . . and . . . despatched. All the other _toreros_ had - retired, and he stood alone, as an executioner, face to face with - his foredoomed victim. It was a supreme moment, and the attention of - the amphitheatre seemed breathlessly concentrated into a single - point. - - "There is a wonderful power of fascination in perfection of any - kind, and, notwithstanding the nature of the act in which it was to - be displayed, we felt ourselves insensibly drawn under its - influence. - - "The _matador_ began his operations by dallying with the bull: - possessing all the qualifications of a first-rate _espada_, the - confidence he had in the accuracy of his eye and the steadiness of - his hand was apparent in every gesture; the group formed a singular - _tableau_, and the attitudes supplied a series of excitements. Every - head was stretched forward with an eagerness which offered each - individual character without disguise, to be read like the page of a - book. The interest was intensified by a sudden and unexpected plunge - on the part of the bull; it was vigorous, but it was his last; the - poor beast was received with masterly self-possession on the point - of the sword, which entered deep, deep into the shoulder, just above - the blade, and with a fearful groan, the huge and bloody form fell, - an inert mass, to the ground. - - "The crimson tide of life burst like an unstemmed torrent from his - wide nostrils and gaping mouth, and with a quiver which seemed to - communicate itself to the whole {126} amphitheatre, he was still for - ever. The air was rent with shouts of men, screams of women, cries - of approbation and roars of applause, which were still at their - height, when one of the barriers suddenly opened, and the mules, - with their harness glittering, and their _grelots_ tinkling, trotted - gaily in; a rope was fastened with great dexterity around the neck - of the still palpitating carcase, which was then dragged off with - incredible rapidity, leaving a purple furrow in the sand: the dead - bodies of the luckless horses, one of which still lingered on, were - mercilessly disposed of in a similar manner; the _chulos_ came in, - some raked over the large deep stains beneath where the dead had - lain, and cleverly masked the tracks they had left, and others - sprinkled fresh sand over the spots. All traces of the deadly - contest were obliterated, and in the few moments the arena, bright - and sunny as ever, was prepared for a new _corrida_; the _toreros_ - appeared again, as smart and dapper as the first, their costumes as - fresh, their silk stockings as spotless; not a splash of blood had - touched them, and their limbs appeared to retain their original - pliability to the last. One _corrida_ is so like another, the - routine is so precisely the same--never, apparently, having varied - since the first bull-fight that was ever exhibited in the crudest - times, and--unless there be an accident--the detail is so slightly - varied, that it would be needless to add to the notes we have - already recorded, especially as it is not an entertainment we would - willingly linger over, even in recollection. We felt we ought to see - it once; we saw, were utterly disgusted, and hope never to witness - the horrid exposition a second time." - - - -We have another book on Spain, just published in London, and much -better written than Mrs. Byrne's, though it does not contain a quarter -so much information as that lady's desultory journal. It is by Mr. -Henry Blackburn, [Footnote 29] who made a trip through the kingdom, -in 1864, with a party of ladies and gentlemen. - - [Footnote 29: Travelling in Spain in the Present Day. Henry - Blackburn. 8vo. pp.248. London: Sampson, Low, Son & Marston.] - -He too went to see a bull-fight at Madrid, and he really seemed to -have enjoyed it, his chief regret, when he thinks of the performance, -being that the odds were too great _against the bull!_ If the beast -had only been allowed a fair chance, he would have liked it a great -deal better. He attended another bull-fight at Seville, and did not -like it at all. The great attraction on this occasion was a female -bill-fighter, who was advertised as the "intrepid senorita" She -entered the arena in a kind of Bloomer costume, with a cap and a red -spangled tunic, made her bow to the president, and then lo! to the -English gentlemen's unspeakable disappointment, a great tub was -brought, and she was lifted into it. It reached her arm-pits and there -she stood, waving her darts, or _banderillas_. At a given signal the -bull was let in, his horns having been previously cut short and padded -at the ends. "As the animal could only toss or do any mischief by -lowering its head to the ground, the risk did not seem great, or the -performance promising." The bull evidently considered the whole thing -a humbug, for at first he would have nothing to do with the tub, and -kept walking round and round the ring. At last indignation got the -better of him, and turning suddenly upon the ignominious utensil, he -sent it rolling half way across the arena, with the intrepid senorita -curled up inside. This seemed very much like baiting a hedgehog; but -when the bull caught up the tub on his horns and ran bellowing with it -round the ring, the sport began to look serious. There was a general -rush of _banderilleros_ and _chulos_ to the rescue. The performer was -extricated and smuggled shamefully out of the amphitheatre, and the -bull was driven buck to his cage. The next act Mr. Blackburn -characterizes by the appropriate name of "skittles." Nine grotesquely -dressed negroes stood up in a row, and a frisky young bull was let in -to bowl them over. They understood their duty, and went down flat at -the first charge. Then they sat on chairs, and were knocked over -again. This was great fun, and appeared to afford unlimited -satisfaction to the bull, the ninepins, the audience, and everybody -except Mr. Blackburn. The performance was repeated several times. -After that came a burlesque of the _picadores_. Five ragged beggars, -with a grim smile on their dirty faces, rode {127} forward on donkeys, -without saddle or bridle. The gates were opened, and the bull charged -them at once. They rode so close together that they resisted the first -shock, and the bull retired. He had broken a leg of one of the -donkeys, but they tied it up with a handkerchief, and continued -marching slowly round, still keeping close together. A few more -charges, and down they all went. The men ran for their lives and -leaped the barriers, and the donkeys were thrown up in the air. So, -with many variations and interludes, the sport went on for three -hours; and at last, when night came, two or three young bulls were let -into the ring, and then _all the people!_ "We left them there," says -our author, "rolling and tumbling over one another in the darkness, -shouting and screaming, fighting and cursing--sending up sounds that -might indeed make angels weep." - -The Spaniard does not always figure in Mr. Blackburn's book as the -high-bred gentleman we are wont to imagine him. Take, for example, -this picture of a senor travelling: "For some mysterious reason, no -sooner does a Spaniard find himself in a railway carriage than his -native courtesy and high breeding seem to desert him; he is not the -man you meet on the Prado, or who is ready to divide his dinner with -you on the mountain-side. He is generally, as far as our experience -goes, a fat, selfish-looking bundle of cloaks and rugs, taking up more -than his share of the seat, not moving to make way for you, and seldom -offering any assistance or civility. He is not very clean, and smokes -incessantly during the whole twenty-four hours that you may have to -sit next to him; occasionally toppling over in a half-sleep, with his -head upon your shoulder and his lighted cigar hanging from his mouth. -He insists upon keeping the windows tightly closed, and unless your -party is a large one you have to give way to the majority and submit -to be half suffocated." Nor is it much better at the hotels: "A lady -cannot, in the year 1866, sit down to a _table d'hote_ in Madrid -without the chance of having smoke puffed across the table in her face -all dinner-time; her next neighbor (if a Spaniard) will think nothing -of reaching in front of her for what he requires, and greedily -securing the best of everything for himself. That is an educated -gentleman opposite, but he has peculiar views about the uses of knives -and forks; next to him are two ladies (of some position, we may -assume; they have come to Madrid to be presented at the levee -to-morrow), but their manners at table are simply atrocious. In his -own house, it must be admitted, the Spaniard behaves better; but it is -only among the few that one encounters the same degree of refinement -and good manners that commonly prevail in England and America. The -Spanish gentry read little and are very ignorant; and, as a rule, -ignorance and refinement are hardly ever found together." - -As a specimen of one of the lower classes take this extract: "Our beds -are made by a dirty, good-natured little man, who sits upon them and -smokes at intervals during the process. Our fellow-travellers, who -have been much in Spain and have been staying here some time, say that -he is one of the best and most obliging servants they have met with. -He attends to all the families on our _etage_, and earns 18s. or 20s. -a day! Every one has to fee him, or he will not work. We found him -active enough until the end of the week, when our 'tip' of 60 or 70 -reals, equal to about 2s. a day, was indignantly returned, as -insufficient and degrading. The latter was the grievance: his pride -was hurt, and we never got on well afterward. He had a knack of -leaving behind him the damp, smouldering ends of his cigarettes; and -on one occasion, on being suddenly called out of the room, quietly -deposited the morsel on the edge of one of our plates on the breakfast -table." - -{128} - -The great feature of Spanish life seems to be its laziness. Crowds of -idlers, wrapped in their picturesque cloaks, stand about the plazas -from morning till night, doing noting, rarely speaking, and scarcely -seeming to have energy enough to light a cigarette. Sometimes they -scratch their fusees on the coat of a passer-by, in a contemplative, -patronizing fashion, that takes a stranger rather aback. A young -Madrileno is content to lounge his life away in this manner; and if he -has an income sufficient to provide him with the bare means of -subsistence, with his indispensable _cigarito_ and his ticket for the -bull-fight, he will do no work. In the morning he lounges on the -Puerta del Sol; in the afternoon he lounges (if he can't ride) on the -Prado; in the evening he lounges in the cafe or the theatre. This is -all he cares for, and about all he is fit for. The middle class--the -shop-keepers--have as little energy as their betters. "We went into a -confectioner s one day," says Mr. Blackburn, "to purchase some -chocolate, and were deliberately told that, if we liked to get it down -from a high shelf, we could have it; no assistance was offered, and we -had to go empty away." Could we accept Mr. Blackburn's sketch, or Mrs. -Byrne's either, as a true picture of Spanish society, we might indeed -despair of the ultimate regeneration of the kingdom. But the author of -Travelling in Spain at the Present Day has the candor to admit that he -is only a superficial observer, and with the following honest and -commendable passages from his concluding chapter, we take leave of him -and our readers together: - - "Spain is not a country to travel in, and there is no nation which - is more unfairly estimated by foreigners who pay it only a flying - visit. We have no opportunity of appreciating the Spaniards' good - points, nor do we become at all aware of their latent fund of humor, - their good-heartedness, and their true _bonhomie_. We jostle with - them in crowds, we rub roughly against them in travelling, our - patience is sorely tried, and we are apt, as Miss Eyre did, to - denounce them as worse than 'barbarians. But we should bear in mind - that Spaniards differ from other nations conspicuously in this--that - they become sooner '_crystallized_;' and crystals, we all no well, - are never seen to advantage when in contact with foreign bodies. In - short Spaniards are not as other men; and Spain is a dear delightful - land of contraries, where nothing ever happens as you expect it, and - where 'coming objects _never_ cast their shadow before!'" - - - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - -ANNIVERSARY. - - The brooding July noon, the still, deep heats - Upon the full-leaved woods and flowering maize, - The first wheat harvest, and the torrid blaze - Which on the sweating reapers fiercely beats - And drives each songster to its own retreats,-- - Much less the stately lily of the field, - Gorgeous in scarlet, whose large anthers yield - The honey-bee meet prison for its sweets, - A flame amid the meadow-land's rich green-- - With the revolving year is never seen - But o'er the sunny landscape creeps a shade - Of solemn recollection. Lilies! lean - Your brilliant coronals where once was laid - A boy's brow grand in death, and "Rest in peace" be said. - ------- - -{129} - -From The Month. - -ST. CATHARINE AT FLORENCE. - - -The history of every race, every institution, every community, and -even every family, has facts, phenomena, and characteristics of its -own, which are the necessary results of the operation of certain -elements or influences that belong to the subject of the history, or -bear upon it with a peculiar force. It is the province of the -philosophical historian to seize upon these characteristic features in -each ease, and to give them their due prominence; and an intimate -acquaintance with them and a due estimate of them are essentially -necessary to any one who understands the work of such a historian. To -be deficient in this point is enough to ruin the attempt. Thus, we -might have a rationalistic writer on church history free from every -prejudice, and endowed with literary powers of the highest -kind--candid, impartial, industrious, judicious, full of generous -sympathies, and large-minded and clear-sighted enough to take rank by -the side of Thucydides or Tacitus--and yet he would fail even -ludicrously as a Christian historian, because he did not recognize the -ever living supernatural agency which the fortunes of the church are -ordinarily guided--the force of prayer, the power of sanctity, the -softening and restraining influences of faith, charity, and -conscience, even on men or masses of men but imperfectly masters of -their own passions, and by no means unstained by vice. - -It is our object in these papers to give prominence to some of what -may be conceded to be the more characteristic features of Christian -history, which may nevertheless be left in the shade by those to whom -it is little more than the history of Greece or Rome. Thus, a -philosophical historian might see in the return of the Holy See from -its long sojourn at Avignon a stroke of profound policy, by which it's -emancipation from the straitening influences of nationalism was -cheaply purchased, even at the cost of the great scandals which -followed, and which a calculating politician might have foreseen. But -to such a writer the manner in which the step was brought about would -seem to be a riddle; for nothing is clearer than that it was -consciously no stroke of policy at all. The wisest heads and the most -powerful influences at the pontifical court were united against it; it -was the work of an irresistible impulse on the conscience of a gentle -and peace-loving Pope, the subject of a secret vow, a design conceived -under the personal influence of one saintly woman--of princely race -indeed, and reverend age, and large experience--but carried out under -that of another in whom these last qualities were wanting; young, -poor, the daughter of an artisan, yet who was able to succeed in her -mission when success seemed hopeless, and to become the instrument of -strengthening the successor of St. Peter in an emergency that might -have taxed the courage of the great apostle himself. - -Catholic art has sometimes represented St. Catharine of Siena as -taking a part in the triumphal procession with which Gregory XI. -entered Rome, and so terminated the long exile of the Holy See at -Avignon. These representations, although true in idea, are false as to -the historical fact; for St. Catharine never entered Rome in the -lifetime of Gregory. After having seen him embark from Genoa on his -{130} voyage toward the Holy City, she betook herself, with her -company of disciples, to her own home at Siena, where she seems to -have remained, with occasional excursions into the neighboring -country, for nearly a year. She then reappears in public, having been -sent once more by the Pope to Florence, in the hope that her presence -there might strengthen the hands of the better party in the Republic, -and bring it round again to peace with the church. In the interval she -resumed her usual occupations, exerting herself in every possible way -for the good of souls. Her letters at this time show great anxiety for -the peace, which had not yet been obtained in Italy; for the crusade, -which was always in her heart; and, perhaps more than all, for the -most difficult, yet most necessary of the objects that were so dear to -her--the reform of the clergy, and especially of the prelacy. It -would be a thankless task to inquire into the many causes which had -foster worldliness among churchmen at that time, and so prepared all -the elements for the great scandal that was so soon to follow in the -"schism" of the West. The best interests of the church had, in -reality, more deadly enemies than Barnabo Visconti or the "Eight -Saints" at Florence, in men who wore the robes of priests and even the -mitre of bishops. - -There is every reason to suppose that the corruption was not widely -spread; but it had infected many in high station and authority, and -even a few bad and ambitious prelates can at any time do incalculable -mischief. The illuminated eye of Catharine had become familiar with -the evil that was thus gnawing at the very heart of the church, -manifesting its presence already by the pride, ambition, and luxury of -ecclesiastics, and ready, when the moment came to give it full play, -to break out into excesses still more deplorable than these. She saw -passion and vice enough to produce the worst of the evils by which the -providence of God permits the church to be afflicted, if only the -provocation came that would fan into full blaze the fire that was -already kindled. The B. Raymond tells us that, so far back as the -beginning of the troubles in the Pontifical States, when the news came -of the revolt of Perugia, he went to her in the deepest affliction to -tell her what had happened. She grieved with him over the loss of -souls and the scandal given in the church; but, seeing him almost -overwhelmed with sorrow, she bade him not begin his mourning so soon. -"You have far too much to weep for: what you see now is as milk and -honey to that which is to follow." - -"How can any evil be greater than this," he replied, "when we see -Christians cast away all devotion and respect to Holy Church, show no -fear of her censures, and by their actions publicly deny their -validity? Nothing remains for them now to do but to renounce entirely -the faith of Christ." - -"Father," said Catharine, "all this the laity do: soon you will see -how much worse that is which the clergy will do." - -Then she told him that there would be rebellion among them also, when -the Pope began to reform their bad manners, and that the consequences -would be a widespread scandal in the church; "not exactly a heresy, -but which would divide it and afflict it much in the same way as if it -were." This prophecy was made about two years before the time of which -we are now speaking. It is no wonder that, with this clear view of the -existing elements of evil before her, Catharine should have urged upon -Gregory XI. the apparently impossible project of a reform of the -clergy. It was apparently impossible, partly from the circumstances of -the time, partly from the character of the pontiff himself. The -troubles of Italy still continued: all attempts at pacification -failed, and the fortune of the war was by no means favorable to the -cause of the church, Moreover, at Rome, the _banderesi_ or bannerets, -who had for some {131} time had possession of the chief power in the -city, had laid, indeed, their rods of office at the feet of Gregory at -his entrance, but they still exercised their authority without regard -to his orders for his wishes, and he found himself, therefore, not -even master in his own capital. This was not the time to undertake -that most difficult of all tasks, which was yet imperatively required -for the welfare of the church. Nor was Gregory, with his feeble -health, with the hand of death already upon him, and with his gentle -and patient disposition, fitted rather for suffering than for action, -the natural instrument for a work that called for sternness severity. -Nevertheless, Catharine urged it upon him with a firmness that shows -fact once the influence she had required, and her burning sense of the -necessity of the measure. In one of the three letters to him that -belong to this time, she tells him that the supreme truth demands this -of him: that he should punish the multitude of iniquities committed by -those who feed themselves in the garden of the Holy Church: "Beasts -ought not to feed themselves on the food of men. Since this authority -has been given to you, and you have accepted it, you ought to use your -power: if you will not use it, it were better to renounce it, for the -honor of God and the salvation of souls." She insists also upon the -necessity of granting peace to the revolting cities on any terms that -were consistent with the honor of God and the rights of the church. -"If I were in your place, I should fear that the judgment of God might -fall on me; and therefore I pray you most tenderly, on the part of -Jesus Christ crucified, that you obey the will of God--though I know -that you have no other desire than to do his will; so that that hard -rebuke may never be made to you, 'Woe to thee, for that thou hast not -used the time and the power that were committed to thee'" (Lett. -xiii.) These were strong words. Catharine sent Father Raymond about -the same time to Rome with a number of practical proposals for the -good of the church. It appears from a letter to Raymond himself that -Gregory XI. was displeased with her, either for her great liberty of -speech, or, as is more probable, for the ill-success that seemed to -have followed the step that he had taken at her advice. Nothing can be -more beautiful or more touching than her humble apology for -herself--she is ready to believe that all the calamities of the church -were occasioned by her own sins. - -Gregory had in fact continually occupied himself with endeavors for -peace with Florence and the other confederated cities; but there had -been the usual insincerity on the other side, and besides, the -barbarities committed by the Breton troops at Cesena had produced -their natural effect of alienating still more his revolted subjects. -Negotiations had been recommenced even before the departure of the -Pope from Avignon, at least so far that the Florentines had been -desired to send ambassadors to meet him at Rome. He did not arrive -there by the time appointed, and wrote again from Corneto to fix a -later time. The negotiation failed, as we have said, not from any lack -of a desire for peace on the part of Gregory, but on account of the -bad faith of the rulers of Florence, who really wished the war to -continue. Their cause seemed to gain strength with time; for Visconti -now took their side, regardless of the treaty that had been made with -him, and the English company under Sir John Hawkwood entered their -service. A gleam of hope came when one of the revolted leaders, the -Lord of Viterbo, made his peace with the church. Gregory immediately -despatched two envoys to Florence, but their efforts were in vain; and -in the autumn of 1377 the Eight, who still held the supreme power, -ventured on a step which gave still greater scandal than any of their -former excesses, and seemed to widen still further the breach between -the Republic and the Holy See. - -{132} - -Florence had now been for nearly a year and a half under an interdict, -The churches were closed--the sacred offices could not be performed, -nor the sacraments administered, except in private. This weighed -heavily on the mass of the population. There were probably but few, -besides the Eight and their immediate followers, who regarded it with -indifference. The Italian character is in many respects unintelligible -to those who have not studied it in Italy itself. We can hardly -understand how nine-tenths of the population of a city or a duchy can -submit quietly to be governed by a handful of usurpers, who proclaim -themselves the representatives of the people--the great majority of -whom have abstained from the nominal voting that had conferred that -character upon them--and let things take their course under the -tyranny of their new masters, though that course lead to financial -ruin, burdensome taxation, and the spoliation of the best institutions -of the country, as well as to open persecution of religion and -deliberate attacks on morality. An Anglo-Saxon population would either -have brought public opinion and general feeling to bear irresistibly -upon the magistrates, or would have taken the matter into its own -hands, and sent the "Eight Saints" floating down the Arno if they had -not conformed their policy to the all but universal desire for peace. -But the Florentines waited and suffered, showing their attachment to -the church and to the services from which they were debarred in many -touching ways, some of which have been specially recorded by the -historians of the time. It was forbidden, for instance, that the -divine office--at which, at that time, it was the custom of the laity -to assist--should be sung publicly in the churches; but pious persons -could not be forbidden from practising such devotions as might occur -to them in place of the regular services; and we find that in -consequence they organized themselves into confraternities, and went -about in processions singing hymns in praise of God. Many of these -seem to have been composed by followers or disciples of St. Catharine. -There was a movement of popular devotion to make up for the solemn -ecclesiastical worship which was suspended. No doubt it was a symptom -of an irrepressible feeling in the public mind which frightened the -"Eight Saints." At length the feast-day of St. Reparata -approached--Oct. 8th. She was the titular saint of the cathedral, -[Footnote 30] and her feast was usually celebrated with splendor and -popular devotion. Were the people to be shut out of the church again -on the day of their patron saint? The Eight had, as we have seen, just -concluded their league with the lord of Milan, and strengthen their -arms by the accession of Hawkwood, and their envoys had have returned -from Rome without terms of peace. They determined to brave the Pope -still further, and to plunge the city into still more flagrant -rebellion against his authority, by ordering the violation of the -interdict. They would indulge the religious wishes of the people, -making them, at the same time, partners in a gross insults to -religion. They would force the clergy themselves to the alternative of -taking part against the church, or of suffering civil penalties and -persecution if they refused to do so. - - [Footnote 30: the Duomo of Florence, as it is signified by its - name--S. Maria del Flore--is dedicated in honor of our Blessed Lady; - but it was originally called after St. Reparata, an early martyr in - Palestine, in gratitude for the deliverance of the city from a horde - of Huns that besieged it in the fifth century; which deliverance - took place on the date of the saint--Oct. 8th. The feast was kept as - one of the first class, with an octave. The epithet "del Flore," - added to our Lady's name in the present title, signifies Florence - itself, the emblem of the city being a lily.] - -St. Catharine, in one of her letters about this time, blames certain -members of the clergy, and some of the mendicant friars, as having -either counselled this outrage, or as having been induced by worldly -motives to justify and defend it in pulpit. In a numerous clergy, -connected by countless ties with every party and {133} every class, it -is far more surprising that so few should ordinarily be found to help -on tyranny and persecution such as that of the Eight, then that some -should be weak enough to yield to its threats or its bribes. But the -scandal was very great, and it would seem that the great body of the -clergy, notwithstanding heavy fines levied on those who did not obey -the order of the government, stood firm. The bishop--a Ricasoli--had -already left the city rather than expose himself to the danger of -coercion. But there was the greatest danger for the better party both -among the people and among the ecclesiastics; and the state of things -called for the most vigorous exertions on the part of Pope to provide -a remedy before matters screw still worse. It may seem very strange to -the ideas of our century to say that the remedy adopted by Gregory was -the most fitting that could have been found, and the same of which the -Florentines had bethought themselves when they had wished to make -their own peace at Avignon. It had failed indeed, then, on account of -their bad faith; but it had produced another great result for which -Providence had destined it. The odious government that had plagued the -Florentine republic into so many excesses was to be overthrown by the -better and sounder part among the citizens themselves, who still might -have been too timid to exert themselves on the side of peace and order -if they had not had a saint among them to encourage and direct them. -We should all think ourselves foolish if we were to deny that such -results are the natural and lawful consequence of the exertion of -personal influence: it is only that we cannot bring ourselves to -conceive that the personal influence of great and recognized sanctity -may be more powerful than any other. - -Father Raymond, the friend and biographer of St. Catharine, tells us -that he was then in Rome, governing the great convent of the Minerva. -He had had some conversation, before leaving Siena, with Niccolo -Soderini, a noble Florentine, who had told him that the great majority -of the citizens wished for peace with the Holy See, and that it might -easily be brought about if some of the present magistrates were -deprived of their offices. He even pointed out the way in which it -might be done. One morning the Pope sent for Father Raymond, and told -him he had received letters suggesting that peace might be made if -Catharine were sent to Florence to use her influence there; and he -bade him, accordingly, prepare a paper stating with what powers it -would be expedient to invest her. The bulls were at once drawn up, and -Catharine received orders to go to Florence as legate of the Holy See. -She was joyfully received, and at once set to work to confer with the -most influential persons in the state. The first fruit of her -exhortations was, that the interdict was again observed, and the first -great scandal thus removed. The next step was a more difficult one. -How were the obnoxious magistrates to be removed without a revolution? -The friends of peace were obliged to have recourse to a curious -institution, belonging to that long-established party organization -which had been the fruit of the division of the Italian cities, and of -each city, more or less, within itself, into the hostile factions of -Guelphs and Ghibellines. Florence had always been Guelphs, and it -appears that certain elected leaders of the dominant party had -obtained a recognized right, in order to maintain the government of -the city on their own side, to object to persons of the opposite -party, and remove them from any post that they might chance to hold. A -power like this was of course liable to great abuse: it has reappeared -now and then in history in some of the worst times, and been the -instrument of the greatest injustice and wrong. In Florence it seems -to have been exercised with more moderation than in many modern -instances; still it had sometimes been used {134} unscrupulously, and -made the means of satisfying private malice and personal revenge or -ambition. It was therefore very unpopular, and seems to have been -practically disused at the time of which we speak. Catharine, however, -thought that it might now be put in use with advantage, to take the -reins of government out of the hands of the Eight, and break down -their pernicious influence; and it is certain that a fairer use of -such a power could never have been made. The plan seems to have been -suggested by her friend Niccolo Soderini, whom we lately mentioned. It -was urged on the Guelph officials by Catherine; and one of the Eight -was accordingly "admonished," as the phrase was, that he was not to -occupy himself with public affairs for the future. He was a man of -much influence, but he does not seem to have resisted the admonition. - -Unfortunately, the leaders of the Guelph party were willing to make -peace with the Holy See, but their dominant idea was to restore -themselves to power and ruin their enemies. They began to "admonish"' -on all sides, and to use the name and authority of Catharine as -vouchers for the purity of their motives and the wisdom of their -policy. It is said that in the space of eight months they either -removed as many as ninety citizens from posts of authority, or -prevented them from acquiring them. It may easily be imagined that -this could not be done without exciting furious passions; a storm soon -began to gather, which did not wait long to burst. Catharine protested -and entreated, and, to some extent, checked the evil. She had already -prevailed on the government to entertain seriously the project of -peace. It was agreed that a congress should assemble at Sarzano for -the settlement of the troubles that agitated Italy. The Pope sent a -cardinal and the Bishop of Narbonne as his representatives; France, -Naples, Florence, Genoa, and Venice were to send others; and Barnabo -Visconti was to be present in person to arbitrate between the Pope and -Florence. A strange position for that inveterate plotter against the -church; but one which shows, at all events, that Gregory XI. was -willing to do a great deal for the sake of peace. Everything seemed to -promise well; but while the congress was deliberating, Gregory died, -and nothing could therefore be concluded. His death took place in -March, 1378. Catharine was still at Florence, and seems to have had -good hopes of bringing matters to a favorable issue, notwithstanding -the failure of the congress. The new "gonfaloniere" seems to have been -elected on the first of May. He bore a name afterward destined to -become connected with the later splendors of his country--Salvestro -dei Medici--and he was a man of firmness and standing sufficient to -enable him to defy and check the extravagances of the Guelph -officials. It was agreed between them that there should be no more -"admonitions," except in the case of persons really tainted with -Ghibelline principles; and that in no case should the "admonition" be -valid after the third time. He was, moreover, bent on carrying out the -peace with the Pope, and, as it seems at the entreaty of St. -Catharine, sent fresh ambassadors to Urban VI., who had now succeeded -Gregory on the pontifical throne. - -These fair prospects were soon clouded over by the mischievous -obstinacy of the Guelph party. The time came on, very soon after the -installment of the new "gonfaloniere," for the selection of new -"chiefs," into whose hands would pass the obnoxious power of -"admonishing." The new men did not consider themselves bound by the -promises made by their predecessors; they were not friends of -Catherine, as some of the others had been, and they began to use their -power in the former reckless manner. They especially threw down the -gauntlet to Salvestro and to the other magistrates, by their exclusion -of two men of distinction, which showed their determination {135} to -carry things to extremities. Here, again, we meet with the historic -name of Ricasoli. One of that family was among the captains of the -Guelphs, and is said to have forced this exclusion on his less willing -colleagues. The strain became at length too great, and Salvestro -himself sanctioned a popular outbreak against the Guelph officials; a -movement over which he soon lost all control, and which led in a few -months to a still more terrible outbreak, known as the affair of the -Ciompi. The fury of the people, led by the Ammoniti--those who had -been excluded from office by the exercise of the power lately -mentioned--and unchecked by any attempt on the part of the legitimate -authorities to restraint it, was irresistible. Many lives were -sacrificed; the leaders of the Guelphs saved themselves by flight, -leaving their houses to be sacked and burnt. Niccolo Soderini and -other friends of Catharine were among the fugitives, though they had -not taken part in the excesses that provoked the rising. As the tumult -gathered strength, and the people became blinder in their fury, -ominous voices were heard calling for the death of Catherine herself. -Her name had been freely used by the Guelph officials, though she had -protested publicly against their violent acts, and had entreated them -repeatedly to be guided by justice and prudence. The scene that -followed, a kind of turning-point in her life, shall be told in the -words of her simple biographer. When the rumor of the intended attack -on Catherine spread, "the people of the house in which she dwelt with -her companions bade them depart, for they did not wish to have the -house burnt down on their account. She meanwhile, conscious of her own -innocence, and willingly suffering anything for the cause of the Holy -Church, did not lose a jot of her wonted constancy, but smiling and -encouraging her followers to emulate her Spouse, she went out to a -certain place where there was a garden, and first gave them a short -exhortation, and then set herself to pray. At last, while she was thus -praying in the garden, after the example of Christ, those satellites -of the devil came to the place, a tumultuous mob armed with swords and -staves, crying out, 'Where is this cursed woman? Where is she?' -Catharine, when she heard this, as if she had been called to to a -delightful banquet, made herself ready at once for the martyrdom which -for a long time she had desired, and placing herself in the way of one -who had his sword drawn, and was crying louder than the rest, 'Where -is Catharine?' she cast herself with a joyous countenance on her -knees, and said, 'I am Catharine; do therefore with me all that which -our Lord permits you to do; but I command you, on the part of Almighty -God, not to hurt any of my companions.' When she said these words, the -wretch was so terrified and deprived of all strength, that he did not -dare either to strike her or to remain in in her presence. Though he -had so boldly and eagerly sought for her, when he found her he drove -her away, saying, 'Depart from me.' But Catharine, wishing for -martyrdom, answered, 'I am well here, and where should I go? I am -ready to suffer for Christ and for his church, because this it is that -I have long desired and sought with all my prayers. Ought I to fly now -that I have found what I have longed for? I offer myself a living -victim to my dearest Spouse. If thou art destined to be my sacrificer, -do at once whatever thou wiliest, for I will never fly from this spot; -only do no harm to any of mine.' What more? God did not permit the man -to carry his cruelty any further against her, but he went away in -confusion with all his companions." And then Fr. Raymond goes on to -tell us how, when all her spiritual children gathered round her full -of joy at her escape, she alone was overwhelmed with sorrow, and -lamented that she had lost through her sins the crown of martyrdom. - -{136} - -She was reserved for further labors, and for a martyrdom of another -kind in the same cause; and she had soon the consolation of seeing -that her mission to Florence had not been fruitless. The death of -Gregory XI. dispersed the congress of Sarzona; but the Florentines -remained, amid all their intestine troubles, firm in their resolution -to make peace with the Holy See. Before the outbreak of which we have -just spoken, they had arranged terms with Catharine, and ambassadors -had been chosen to go to Rome to treat with the new Pope. Catharine, -who had known Urban VI. when she was at Avignon, now wrote to him -earnestly entreating him to accept the terms; she was afraid lest the -scenes of violence and bloodshed that had lately taken place might -make him less inclined to peace. Her entreaties were successful. The -terms of peace were honorable to the Holy See. Everything was to -return to the state in which it had been before the war; the -Florentines were to pay 150,000 florins--a very moderate indemnity for -the mischief they had caused in the Papal States; and two legates were -to be sent to absolve the city from the censures it had incurred. -Catherine, full of joy, returned to Siena. She had refused to leave -the Florentine territory after the outbreak in which her life was -threatened, saying that she was there by order of the Pope; but she -had withdrawn for a while to the monastery of Vallombrosa. - -The peace with Florence was of immense importance to the church at -that moment. The great storm which Catharine had predicted was already -gathering; she herself was to be called on for still greater exertions -in the cause of the papacy, and within a year and a half to be in a -true sense the victim of the struggle. After leaving Florence, she -spent a few months in repose at Siena, during which she dictated to -her disciples her only formal work, known by the name of the Dialogue. -It has always been a great treasure of spiritual doctrine, though -never so widely popular as the collection of her marvellous Letters. -It is in the course of these few months that an author as fitted as -any other to decide the question of time places a remarkable anecdote -of the saint, to which we have already alluded, and which shall form -the subject of the conclusion of this paper. [Footnote 31] - - [Footnote 31: M. Cartier, who had paid great attention to the - chronology of the life of St. Catherine, is our authority for - placing the execution of Niccolo Tuldo at this time. As our - acquaintance with the facts comes entirely from one of St. - Catherine's own letters, which, like the rest, is without date, and - which contains no internal notes by which to fix its time, it must - be more or less than matter of conjecture. Fr. Capecclatro puts it - much earlier--indeed, as it would seem, at a date when the letter, - which is addressed to Fr. Raymond, who did not become her confessor - until 1373, could not have been written. M. Cartier quotes the - Venice copy of the Process of Canonization to support the date he - assigns, in having access to which he has been more fortunate than - the Bollandists themselves.] - -As is so frequently the case in times of political instability, the -various governments that so rapidly succeeded one another in the rule -of the small Italian republics, seem to have been in the habit of -attempting to secure themselves in power by measures of the most -extravagant severity against any one who might seem to be disaffected -to them. We have already seen the issue of the odious powers of -"admonishing" possessed by the Guelph party in Florence; and at the -very time of which we are speaking, that republic was suffering under -a fresh tyranny of the lowest orders of her populace, who proscribed -and excluded from all civil authority anyone more worthy of power than -themselves. In Siena also the democratic party, so to call it, held -sway; the chief power was in the hands of a set of magistrates called -"Riformatori," who governed by fear, and by the exercise of the most -jealous watchfulness over the rest of the citizens, particularly the -nobles. We are told by the historians of Siena that it was made a -capital crime to strike, however lightly, one of these officials, and -that a certain citizen was severely punished because he had given a -banquet to which none of them had been invited. In such a state of -things, the anecdote of St. Catharine of which we are {137} speaking -finds a very natural place. A stranger in the town, a young noble of -Perugia, by name Niccolo Tuldo, had allowed himself to speak -disrespectfully and slightingly of the government. His words were -carried to the magistrates; he was seized, tried, and condemned to -death. We do not know what sort of life he had led before; but he was -young, careless, and had never, at all events, been to communion in -his life. He was not a subject of Siena, yet he found himself of a -sudden doomed to be legally murdered for a few light words. No wonder -that his spirit revolted against the injustice, and that he was -tempted to spend his last few hours of life in a fury of indignation -and despair. Here was a case for Catharine--a soul to be won to -penance, peace, and resignation, with the burning sense of flagrant -injustice fresh upon it, from which it could not hope to escape. Word -was brought to her, and she hastened to the prison. No one had been -able to induce the poor youth to think of preparing for death; he -turned away at once, either from comfort or from exhortation. - -Catharine went to the prison, and he soon fell under the spell of that -heavenly fascination which is rarely imparted save to souls of the -highest sanctity. She won him to peace, and forgiveness of the injury -he had received. She led him to make his confession with care and -contrition, and to resign his will entirely into the hands of God. He -made her promise that she would be with him at the place of execution, -or, as it is still called in Italy, the place of justice. In the -morning she went to him early, led him to mass and communion, which he -had never before received, and found him afterward in a state of -perfect resignation, only with some fear left lest his courage might -fail him at the last moment. He turned to her as his support, bowed -his head on her breast, and implored her not to leave him, and then -all would be well. She bade him be of good courage, he would soon be -admitted to the marriage-feast in heaven, the blood of his Redeemer -would wash him, and the name of Jesus, which he was to keep always in -his heart, would strengthen him--she herself would await him at the -place of justice. All his fears and sadness gave place to a transport -of joy; he said he should now go with courage and delight, looking -forward to meeting her at that holy place. "See," says she, in her -letter to Fr. Raymond, "how great a light had been given to him, that -he spoke of the place of justice as a holy spot!" She went there -before the time, and set herself to pray for him; in her ardor, she -laid her head on the block, and begged Our Lady earnestly to obtain -for him a great peace and light of conscience, and for her the grace -to see him gain the happy end for which God had made him. Then she had -an assurance that her prayer was granted, and so great a joy spread -over her soul that she could take no notice of the crowd of people -gathering round to witness the execution. The young Perugian came at -last, gentle as a lamb, welcoming the sight of her with smiles, and -begging her to bless him. She made the sign of the cross over him. -"Sweet brother, go to the heavenly nuptials; soon wilt thou be in the -life that never ends!" He laid himself down, and she prepared his neck -for the stake, leaning down last of all, and reminding him of the -precious blood of the Lamb that had been shed for him. He murmured her -name, and called on Jesus. The blow was given, and his head fell into -her bands. - -Catharine tells her confessor, in the letter from which our account is -drawn, that she had the greatest reward granted to her that charity -such as hers could receive. At the moment of execution, she raised her -heart to heaven in one intense act of prayer; and then she became -conscious that she was allowed to see how the soul that had just fled -was received in the other world. The Incarnate Son, who had {138} died -to save it, took it into the arms of his love, and placed it in the -wound of his side. "It was shown to me," she says, "by the Very Truth -of Truths, that out of mercy and grace alone he so received it and for -nothing else." She saw it blessed by each person of the Divine -Trinity. The Son of God, moreover, gave it a share of that crucified -love with which he had borne his own painful and shameful death, out -of obedience to his Father, for the salvation of mankind. And then, -that all might be complete, the blessed soul itself seemed to turn and -look upon her. "It made a gesture," she says, "sweet enough to win a -thousand parts: what wonder? for it already tasted the divine -sweetness. It turned as the bride turns when she has come to the door -of the home of her bridegroom; looks round on the friends that have -accompanied her to her new home, and bows her head to them, as a sign -that she thanks them for their kindness." - --------- - -MISCELLANY. - - -_The Population of Balloons_.--A very curious apparatus for the above -purpose has been devised by Mr. Butler, one of the members of the -Aeronautical Society, which has been lately established. It consists -of a pair of wings, to operate from the car of the balloon, and whose -downward blow is calculated to strike with a force exceeding forty -pounds, a power equivalent to an ascensive force of one thousand cubic -feet of carburetted hydrogen. The action required is somewhat similar -to that of rowing, and would be exactly so if at the end of the stroke -the oars sprang backward out of the hands of the rower; but, in this -case, the body is stretched forward as if toward the stern of the -boat, to grasp the handle and repeat the process, during which an -action equivalent to "feathering" is obtained. It is anticipated that -these wings, acting from a pendulous fulcrum, will produce, in -addition to the object for which they are designed, two effects, which -may possibly be hereafter modified, but which will be unpleasant -accompaniments to a balloon ascent, namely, the oscillation of the car -and a succession of jerks upward, first communicated to the car from -below, and repeated immediately by an answering jerk from the -balloon.--_London Popular Science Review_. - - - -_The Poisonous Principle of Mushrooms._--This, which is called -amanitine, has been separated and experimented on by M. Letellier, who -has quite lately presented a paper recording his investigations to the -French Academy of Medicine. He experimented with the alkaloid upon -animals, and found the same results as those stated by Bernard and -others to follow the action of narceine. He thinks amanitine might be -used in cases where opium is indicated; and states that the best -antidotes in cases of poisoning by this principle are the preparations -of tannin. The general treatment in such cases consists in the -administration of the oily purgatives. - - - -_The Conditions of Irish Vegetation_.--The inquiries of Dr. David -Moore have shown that whilst Ireland is better suited than any other -European country to the growth of green crops, it is unsuited to the -growth of corn and fruit-trees. This is attributable to the following -circumstances; the extreme humidity of the climate, and the slight -differences between the winter and summer temperatures--a difference -that in Dublin amounts to only seventeen and a half degrees, and on -the west coast is only forty-four degrees. The mean temperature of -Ireland is as high as though the island were fifteen degrees nearer -the equator. - - -_Libraries of Italy_.--There are 210 public libraries in Italy, -containing in the aggregate 4,149.281 volumes, according to the _Revue -de l'Instruction Publique_. Besides these, there are the libraries of -the two Chambers, that of the {139} Council of State, and many large -private collections, easily accessible. Then there are 110 provincial -libraries, and the collections belonging to 71 scientific bodies. In -the year 1863, 988,510 volumes were called for by readers, of which -183,528 related to mathematics and the natural sciences; 122,496 to -literature, history, and the linguistics; 70,537 to philosophy and -morals; 54,491 to theology; 193,972 to jurisprudence; 261,869 to the -fine arts; 101,797 to other subjects. - - - -_The Poisonous Effects of Alcohol_--Supporters of teetotalism will be -pleased to peruse an essay on this subject by M. G. Pennetier, of -Rouen. The memoir we refer to is a "doctor's" thesis, and it treats -especially of the condition known as alcoholism. The following are -some of the author's conclusions: (1) Alcoholism is a special -affection, like lead-poisoning; (2) the prolonged presence of alcohol -in the stomach produces inflammation of the walls of this organ and -other injurious lesions; (3) the gastritis produced by alcohol may be -either acute or chronic, and may be complicated by ulcer, or general -or partial hypertrophy, or contraction of the opening of the stomach, -or purulent sub-mucous infiltration; (4) in certain cases of alcoholic -gastritis, the tabular glands of the stomach become inflamed, and pour -the pus, which they secrete, into the stomach or into the cellular -tissue of this organ.--_Popular Science Review._ - - - -_The Influence of Light on the Twining Organs of Plants._--At a -meeting of the French Academy, held on Oct 26th, a valuable paper on -this subject was read by M. Duchartre. The memoir deals with the -questions already discussed by Mr. Darwin, and in it the French -botanist records his own experiments and those of other observers, and -concludes that there are two groups of twining plants: 1. Such plants -as _Dioscorea Batatas_ and _Mandevillea suaveolens_, which have the -power of attaching themselves to surrounding objects only under the -influence of light 2. Species such as _Ipomoea purpurea_ and -_Phaseolus_, which exhibit this power equally well in light and -darkness. - - - -_Chronicles of Yorkshire_.--To the series of works published under the -direction of the Master of the Rolls, the first volume of the -interesting chronicles of an ancient Yorkshire religious house, the -Cistercian Abbey of Meaux, near Beverley, has been added. Its title -runs thus: "Chronica Monasterii de Melsa, a Fundatione usque ad Annum -1396, Auctore Thoma de Burton, Abbate, accedit continuatio ad Annum -1406, a Monacho quodam Ipsius Domus. Edited from the autographs of the -author, by Edward A. Bond, Assistant-Keeper of Manuscripts and Egerton -Librarian in the British Museum." The abbey was founded in 1150, by -William le Gros, Earl of Albemarle, and its first abbot and builder -was Adam, a monk of Fountains Abbey. Thomas of Burton, who was abbot -in 1396, brings the history down to that year. This first volume ends -with the year 1247.--_Reader_. - --------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -The See of St. Peter, the Rock of The Church, The Source or -Jurisdiction, And The Centre or Unity. By Thomas William Allies, M.A., -etc. With a Letter to Dr. Pusey. 1 vol. 18mo, pp. 324. Republished by -Lawrence Kehoe, 145 Nassau Street, New-York. 1866. - - - -We cannot sufficiently praise and recommend this little work, by far -the best on its topic for the ordinary reader, as well as really -valuable to the theologian. It was written before the author had been -received into the church, and immediately translated into Italian by -the order of the Holy Father. Mr. Allies was a noted writer of the -Anglican Church, and one of its beneficed clergymen. He held out long, -before he became, by the grace of God, a Catholic; and made strenuous -and able efforts to clear the Church of England from the charge of -schism. In becoming a Catholic he sacrificed a valuable benefice, with -the prospect before him of being obliged to struggle for a living, -and, we believe, was for a time in very straitened circumstances. - -{140} - -In this book, the argument for the Papal Supremacy from Scripture and -Tradition is presented in a clear and cogent manner, with solid -learning, admirable reasoning, and in a lucid and charming style, -rendering it perfectly intelligible to any reader of ordinary -education. It is impossible for any sophistry or cavilling to escape -from the irresistible force of Mr. Allies's reasoning. It is a moral -demonstration of the perpetual existence and divine institution of the -papacy in the Christian church. - -An attempt has been made to detract from its force by representing -that the author himself had in a previous work drawn a different -conclusion from the same premises. This objection would have force in -relation to a matter of metaphysical demonstration; but has none at -all in the present case, which is one of moral demonstration arising -from the cumulative force of a great number of separate probabilities. -The former conclusion which the author drew was not one totally -opposite to his later one, but merely a partial, defective conclusion -in the same line. - -In his first book be admitted the primacy of the Roman See, but not in -its full extent, or complete application to the state of bodies not in -her communion. Preconceived prejudices, and an imperfect grasp of the -logical and theological bearings of the question, hindered him from -comprehending fully the nature of the primacy, whose existence he -admitted. His second book is, therefore, a legitimate development from -the principles of the first, although this very development has led -him to quite opposite conclusions respecting certain important facts. - -The policy of the enemies of the Roman See is, to accumulate all -possible instances of resistance to her authority, disputes to regard -to its exercise, ambiguous expressions concerning its nature and -origin, intricate questions of law, special pleadings of every kind, -gathered from the first eight centuries of Christianity. In this way -they file a bill of exceptions against the supremacy of the Holy See. -These disconnected, accidental shreds are patched together into a -theory, that the supremacy of the Holy See has been established by a -gradual usurpation. Starting on this _a priori_ assumption, the -advocates of the claims of Rome are required to prove categorically -from the monuments of the first, second, third, and other early -centuries the full and complete doctrine of the supremacy, with all -its consequences, as now held and taught by theologians. Whatever is -clearer, stronger, more minutely explicated at a later period than at -an earlier, is made out to be a proof of this preconceived usurpation. -In this way, these shallow and sophistical writers endeavor to -bewilder, and confute the minds of their readers amid a maze of -documents, so that they may give up the hope of a clear and plain -solution, and stay where they are, because they are there. A book of -this kind has just been translated and republished in this country, -from the French of M. Guettee, a priest who had left the Catholic -Church for the Russian schism, under the auspices of the American Mark -of Ephesus, Bishop Coxe. From a cursory examination of the French -original, we judge it to be as specious and plausible a resume of the -materials furnished by Jansenists and Orientals--whose skirts the -Anglicans are making violent efforts to seize hold of just now--as -any that has appeared. Wherefore we trust that it may be soon and -effectually refuted. - -It is plain to every fair mind and honest heart, that this method of -argument is, in the first place, false and unsound, and, in the second -place, unsuited for the mass of readers. Greeks and Anglicans use it -against the papacy, intending to hold on to the trunk of their -headless Catholicism. It can be applied, however, just as well to -ecumenical councils, and all of the rest of the hierarchical system. -So, also, to the Liturgy, to the canon of Scripture, then to dogma, -and finally to the doctrines of natural religion. The real order of -both natural and supernatural truth is one in which positive, -indestructible, eternal principles are implanted as germs, which -explicate successively their living power. With all their sophistry, -the enemies of Rome can never banish from Scripture and tradition the -evidence of the perpetual existence and living force of the primacy of -St. Peter. - -{141} - -They cannot form a theory which can take in, account for, and totalise -all the documents of fathers, councils, history, in the integrity of a -complete Catholic idea. They deny, explain away, object, question. -They have a separate special pleading for each and every single proof -or document. But there still remains the cumulative force of such a -vast number of probable evidences, all of which coalesce and integrate -themselves in the doctrine of the supremacy. The true way is to -interpret and complete the earlier tradition, by that which is later. -This is done by our adversaries in regard to the canon, to sacraments, -to episcopacy, to the authority of councils. It ought to be the same -in regard to the papacy. The grand fact of one Catholic Church, -centred in Rome as the See of Peter, stares us in the face. If we can -trace it regularly back, without a palpable break of continuity, to -its principle and source in the institution of Christ, that is enough. -Those who set up another Catholicity are bound to exhibit to the world -something more palpable, more universal, more plainly marked by the -characteristics of truth, which can be legible to all mankind. They -must solve the problem of all the ages, explain all history, assert a -mastery over the whole domain of the earth, and prove that their -doctrine and church can fill all things like an ocean; or, they must -step aside out of the way of the two gigantic combatants, who are now -stripping for the fight, Rome and Lawless Reason. - -Besides, it is absurd to think that any except scholars can be -expected to wade through a discussion like that of a dry law-book, or -abstruse treatise on politics, examining the history and decisions of -councils, and all kinds of official documents. The essential signs and -marks of the truth and the church must be plain, obvious, level to the -common capacity. If the Roman Church be the true church, she must be -able to show it by plain signs, which will put all doubt at rest, -where the heart is sincere. So of the Anglicans, so of the Russians. - -Therefore it is that Mr. Allies's book is especially valuable. It -brings out the clear, unmistakable evidence of the supremacy given to -St. Peter and his successors by Jesus Christ. It shows the great sign -of Catholicity to be communion with the Holy Roman Church, the See of -Peter. We recommend it to all, but especially to converts or those who -are studying, and who wish to instruct themselves fully on this -fundamental topic of Catholic doctrine. There cannot be a topic which -it is more, important to study at the present time. The cause of the -papacy is the cause of revelation and of sound reason, of law and of -true liberty, the cause of Christ, the cause of God. Whoever defends -it successfully is a benefactor to the human race. - - - -Felix Holt, The Radical. A Novel. By George Eliot, author of Adam -Bede, The Mill on the Floss, Silas Marner, Scenes of Clerical Life, -Romola, etc. 8vo. pp. 184. New-York: Harper and Brothers. 1866. - - - -Whatever may be thought of the philosophy of this book, there can be -no question that, considered simply as a work of art, it is one of the -most admirable productions of the day. There are passages in it which -deserve to be classed among the gems of English literature, and -characters which will live as long as English fiction itself. With -Felix Holt, the hero, we are less satisfied than with any of the other -personages in the story. Full of generous impulses, and burning with -half-formed noble thoughts, he is, after all, when you look at him in -cold blood, only an impracticable visionary, who wastes his energy in -vain striving after some dimly-seen good, which neither he, nor the -reader, nor, we are persuaded, the author herself, fully understands -and at the end he drops quietly into a grumbling sort of happy life, -no nearer the goal of his indefinite aspirations than he was at the -beginning, and having succeeded no further in his schemes for the -elevation of the people than persisting in his refusal to brush his -own hair, or wear a waistcoat. It is very true that such is generally -the end of reformers of his character; the fundamental defect of the -book is that the author seems unconscious of the hollowness of Felix's -philosophy, and we are not quite sure that she is even conscious of -his ultimate failure. - -Mrs. Holt, the hero's mother, is an exquisitely humorous conception, -who deserves a place by the side of Dickens's Mrs. Nickleby. She never -presents her austere "false front," or shows the "bleak north-easterly -expression" in her eye, without arousing a smile; and her {142} -rambling, inconsequential, dolorous conversation is a spring of -never-failing merriment. There is a plenty of humor too in several of -the minor characters, and there is delicate and unaffected pathos in -the fanatical and somewhat wearisome little preacher, Mr. Lyon, and -the proud, suffering Mrs. Transome, whoso youthful sin pursues her -like an avenging fury, and whose whole sad life, "like a spoiled -pleasure-day," has been such an utter, pitiful disappointment. But the -charm of the book is in the heroine, Esther Lyon. Never, we believe, -has the conception of refined physical beauty been so perfectly -conveyed by words as in the delineation of this exquisite character. -We are told nothing of Esther's features; we get no inventory of her -charms, no description of her person: a few words suffice for all that -the author has to tell us of her appearance; but she floats through -the book a vision of unsurpassed loveliness. She never enters a room -but we are conscious of the tread of dainty little feet, the fine -arching of a graceful neck, the gloss of beautiful hair, the soft play -of taper fingers, and a delicate scent like the breath of the -violet-laden south. The art with which this exquisite effect is kept -up all through the book, without repetition, and without the slightest -approach toward sensuality, is so perfect that we are tempted to call -it a stroke of genius. And the character of Esther is as fascinating -as her beauty. The author has thrown her whole heart into the -description of the ripening and development of this girl, and the -casting aside of the little foibles of her fine-ladyism under the -influence of Felix. The scenes between these two strongly contrasted -characters are scenes to be read again and again with never increasing -delight. - -The pictures of English provincial life; the petty talk of ignorant -farmers and shopkeepers; the election scenes, the canvassing, the -nominations, the tavern discussions, the speeches, and the riot at the -polls, are all admirable, and their naturalness is almost startling. -There is no exaggeration in any part of the book, and not even in the -richest of the humorous scenes is there a single improbable passage. - - - -Essays on Woman's Work. By Bessie Rayner Parkes. Second Edition. 16mo. -pp. 240. London: Alexander Strahan, 1866. - - -The serious questions discussed in this little book have happily a -less pressing significance in this country than in England; but even -here the problem of how to find suitable employment for destitute -educated women is often one of no slight importance, and as years pass -on, it will more and more frequently present itself for solution. Miss -Parkes approaches the subject not with the visionary notions of a -social "reformer," but in a spirit of practical and experienced -benevolence, which entitles her remarks to great weight. She points -out how the tendency of modern mechanical improvements is to banish -from domestic life a large and consistently increasing class of women, -and she pleads with eloquence and eagerness for a better provision -toward their moral and intellectual improvement than is made at -present. She treats of the various pursuits to which educated women -now resort for a livelihood--teaching, literature art, business, and -so on, and of others for which they are well fitted and which society -ought to lay open to them. She gives a very interesting account of -certain excellent associations founded in England for the assistance -of working women, with some of which Enterprises Miss Parkes herself -has been prominently connected. We advise our friends to read her -well-written essays, that they may understand something of the -terrible suffering which prevails largely abroad, and to some extent -also at home, among a class of poor who have very strong claims upon -our commiseration, but seldom or never appeal in person two our -beneficence. The evils which she describes, and for which she -indicates alleviations, if not remedies, are constantly growing with -the growth of population, and we ought to be prepared to meet them. - - - -Six months at the White House with Abraham Lincoln. The Story of a -Picture. By F. B. Carpenter, 16mo, pp. 359. New York: Hurd and -Houghton. 1866 - - -Mr. Carpenter is a young New York artist, who, in 1863, conceived the -purpose of painting a historical picture commemorative of the -proclamation of emancipation {143} by President Lincoln. Through the -intervention of influential friends, he obtained not only the -President's consent to sit for a portrait, but permission to establish -his studio in the White House during the progress of the work; or, as -Mr. Lincoln expressed it, in his homely way, "We will turn you in -loose here, Mr. C--, and try to give you a good chance to work out -your idea." During the six months that he spent at the picture, Mr. -Carpenter was virtually a member of the President's family. He saw Mr. -Lincoln in his most familiar and unguarded moments; he won a great -deal of his confidence and regard; and he has now set down in this -little book his impressions of the President's personal character, and -a great store of anecdotes and incidents, many of which have not -before been published. For the work he has done and the manner in -which he has done it we have only words of praise. He has given us the -best picture of Mr. Lincoln's character as a man that has ever been -drawn, and he has done it with care, modesty, and good taste. We -believe that no man, however far he may have stood apart from Mr. -Lincoln on political questions, can read this admirable little book -without feeling a deep respect for our late President's -straightforward, honest, manly intellect, and faithfulness to -principles, and without loving him for his tenderness of heart, and -his many sterling virtues. Mr. Carpenter writes in a tone of ardent -admiration, but not of extravagant eulogy. He has the pains-taking -fidelity of a Boswell, but without Boswell's pettiness or sycophancy. -He has written a book which will not only be perused with eagerness by -the reader of the present hour, but will achieve a permanent and -honorable place in biographical literature. - - - -An Introductory Latin Book, intended as an Elementary Drill-Book on -the Inflections and Principles of the Language, and as an Introduction -to the Author's Grammar, Reader, and Latin Composition. By Albert -Harkness, Professor in Brown University. 12mo, pp. 162.1 New York: D. -Appleton and Co. 1866. - -The Latin books which Professor Harkness has published for more -advanced pupils have enjoyed a flattering popularity, and in schools -which have adopted them the present volume will prove very acceptable -for preparatory classes. It is intended, however, to be complete in -itself, and comprises an outline of Latin grammar, exercises for -double translation, suggestions to the learner, notes, and -English-Latin and Latin-English vocabularies. Unnecessary matters seem -to have been carefully excluded, and the work has an appearance of -great clearness and compactness. - - - -Philip Earnscliffe; or, The Morals of Mayfair. A Novel. By Mrs. -Edwards, author of Archie Lovell, Miss Forrester, The Ordeal for -Wives, etc., etc. 8vo, pp. 173. New-York: The American News Company. - - - -This is a clever, unartistical, readable, repulsive, and utterly -unprofitable story, vulgar in tone and vicious in sentiment. Both hero -and heroine are perfectly impossible and inconsistent characters, and -nobody will be the better for reading anything about them. - - - - - -The Catholic Teacher's Improved Sunday-School Class Book. Lawrence -Kehoe, New York. - -This little book should be in the hand of every Catholic Sunday-school -teacher. It provides for the registry of the scholars names, age, -residence, attendance, lessons, conduct, and everything necessary for -the good order and welfare of the school or class. It is more -comprehensive, and more easily kept, than anything yet published. - -It also has a column in which to record the number of the book taken -by the scholar from the Sunday-school library. A library is necessary -to the complete success of every Sunday-school. From the catalogues of -our Catholic publishers a list of about four hundred books can be -selected, tolerably well adapted for this purpose. This, however, is -about one-third as many as an ordinary Sunday-school requires. We must -also confess it is not pleasant to be obliged to pay for these about -twice as much as Protestant Sunday-schools do for books published in -the same style. But it may be replied that they have societies -possessing a large capital, whose aim is to publish their {144} books -as cheap as possible, in order to spread them far and wide. True. And -why cannot the 5,000,000 Catholics in the United States, with 4,000 -churches, and 2,500 priests, support a Publication Society, with -capital enough to publish Sunday-school requisites as cheap as they! -This Class Book is printed on good paper, and is not only more -complete than any other, but is furnished much cheaper. - - - -A History of England or the Young. A new edition revised. 12mo, pp. -373. Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham. 1866. - -This is an American reprint of an English book, and England is spoken -of throughout it as "our country"--an expression which will be very -apt to lead to misconceptions in the juvenile mind. The unknown -compiler seems to have spared no pains to make the book -unexceptionable in a religious point of view, for use in Catholic -schools; but we cannot commend it for clearness, and we think it might -be advantageously weeded of various anecdotes and trivial details, and -of a great deal of turgid rhetoric. There is need of a good English -history for our schools, but we do not believe this publication is -destined to supply it. So far as our examination has gone, it is full -of errors. The account of the American Revolution is absurd--the very -cause of it being egregiously misstated. The story of the Crimean war -is not much better told, and the history of the Sepoy mutiny in India -is very careless and inaccurate. - - - -The Mormon Prophet and His Harem; or, An Authentic History of Brigham -Young, his numerous Wives and Children. By Mrs. C. V. Waite. 12mo, pp. -280. New York: Hurd and Houghton. 1866. - -As Mrs. Waite resided for two years in the midst of the society which -she has undertaken to describe, and has also received a great deal of -information from persons long in the service of Brigham Young, her -account of the Mormon system and its arch-priest may reasonably be -assumed as authentic. To anybody who wants to read the disgusting -record of human imbecility and wickedness which disfigures the history -of Western civilization, Mrs. Waite's volume will, no doubt, be found -sufficiently full and interesting. - - - -Mr. Winkfield. A Novel. 8vo. pp. 160 New-York: The American News -Company. 1866. - -The unknown author of this book, which we can hardly call a story, as -apparently endeavored to satirize life and society in New-York. His -success has not been equal to his expectations. - - - -Alfonso; or, The Triumph of Religion. A Catholic Tale, P. F. -Cunningham, Philadelphia. - -This is a very interesting and instructive tale, designed to show "the -lamentable effects in your religious system of education will -infallibly produce." We hope the talented authoress will give us other -stories for our young people equally good. We think, however, she -crowds her hero along too fast. The charm of the story would be -increased by a more natural and easy concurrence of events. - - - -BOOKS RECEIVED - - - -From Hurd & Houghton, New York. Spanish Papers and other Miscellanies, -hitherto unpublished or uncollected. By Washington Irving. 2 vols. -12mo, pp. 487 and 466. - - - -P. Donahoe, Boston. Redmond, Count O'Hanlon, The Irish Rapparee, and -Barney Brady's Goose. By William Carleton. 1 vol. 18mo. - - -Andrew J. Graham, New York. Standard Phonographic Visitor Edited and -published by Andrew J. Graham. - - - -We have also received the Seventh Annual Report of the Trustees of the -Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art; and the -Twenty-fifth Annual Report of the Mercantile Library Association of -the City of New York for 1866. - - - -J. J. O'Connor & Co., Newark, N.J., have in press and will soon -published the work entitled "Curious Questions," by the Rev. Dr. -Brann. - --------- - -{145} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -VOL. IV., NO. 20.--NOVEMBER, 1866. - - -ORIGINAL. - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - -IX. - -A FURTHER EXPLANATION OF THE SUPERNATURAL ORDER. - - -It has been already remarked, that the Incarnation is a more profound -and inscrutable mystery than even the Trinity. The reason is that the -trinity is a necessary truth, included in the very idea of God as most -simple being and most pure act. The incarnation is not a truth -necessary in itself, but only necessary on the supposition that it has -been decreed by God. The trinity of persons proceeds from a necessity -of nature in God, the incarnation from an act of free will. But the -acts of the divine free will are more mysterious and inexplicable than -those which proceed from necessity of nature. - -Without revelation the incarnation would be inconceivable, and even -when it is disclosed by revelation, the analogies by which it can be -illustrated are faint and imperfect. The union between soul and body -in animal nature and between the animal and spiritual nature in man -furnish the only analogies of anything like a hypostatic union in the -natural world. But these analogies do not illustrate the dark point in -the mystery, to wit: the union of two _intelligent_ natures in one -_subsistence_, or one common personal principle of imputability to -which the acts of both are referrible. We have but little difficulty -in apprehending that acts proceeding from two distinct natures in man, -the animal and the spiritual, should be referred to one principle of -imputability or one personality. These acts are so very distinct and -different from each other, that they evidently have no tendency to -become blended or confused, by the absorption of one nature into the -other. But if we should try to conceive of a hypostatic union between -the angelic and human natures in one person, it would be impossible to -avoid imagining that one intelligent nature would be absorbed in the -other. If there is but one principle of imputability, how can there be -two distinct intelligent voluntary operations? Our opinion is, that a -union of this kind between two finite natures is impossible. The {146} -possibility of assuming a distinct intelligent nature must then belong -to a divine person only, and be included in the infinitude of the -divine essence. The difficulty of understanding it lies then in the -incomprehensibility of the divine essence. We apprehend nothing in the -divine essence distinctly, except that which is apprehensible through -the analogy which created essences bear to it. Evidently that in the -divine essence which renders it totally dissimilar from all created -essences cannot be represented by a similitude in created essences. -And as the divine essence subsisting in the second person renders it -capable of assuming human nature by an attribute which renders it -totally dissimilar from all finite personality, there can be no -analogy to it in finite things. In order to understand this it is -necessary to recall to mind a principle laid down by St. Thomas, that -we cannot affirm anything, whether being, intelligence, will, -personality, or whatever other term of thought we may propose, of God -and a creature, _univocally_, that is, in the same identical sense. -The essence of God differs as really from the spiritual essence of -angels and human souls as it does from the essence of animal souls and -of matter. We apprehend what the intelligence and the will of God are -only through the analogy of human intelligence and will, in a most -imperfect and inadequate manner. In themselves they are -incomprehensible to the human understanding. In the very essence of -God as incomprehensible, or super-intelligible, is situated that -capacity of being the personality of created intelligent nature which -constitutes the mystery of the hypostatic union. The only analogy -therefore in created things which is appreciable by the human mind, is -an analogy derived from the union of natures whose difference is -intelligible to us, as the spiritual and animal. This analogy enables -us to understand that the divine and human natures, not being -intelligent natures in a univocal sense, but being dissimilar not only -in degree of intelligence but in the very essence of intelligence, are -capable of union in one personality. There is no analogy, however, -which enables us to understand what this difference is, because it -would be a contradiction in terms to suppose in the creature any -analogy to that which is above all analogies and is peculiar to the -divine nature as divine. The utmost that reason can do is to -apprehend, when the mystery of the incarnation is proposed by -revelation, that the incomprehensibility of the divine essence renders -it impossible to judge that it cannot be hypostatically united to a -created intelligent nature, and that it increases our conception of -its infinitude or plenitude of being to suppose that a divine person -can terminate a created nature as well as the nature which is -self-existing. All that reason can do then is to demonstrate, after -the mystery of the incarnation is proposed, that the impossibility of -the incarnation cannot be demonstrated on the principles of reason, -and that it is therefore credible on the authority of revelation; and, -by the illumination of faith, to apprehend a certain degree of -probability or verisimilitude in the mystery itself. - -Once established, however, as a dogma or fundamental principle in -theology, its reason and fitness in reference to the final cause of -the universe, the harmony of all other facts and doctrines with it, -and the grandeur which it gives to the divine economy, can be -conclusively and abundantly proved by rational arguments. - -We know that it must be fitting and worthy of the divine majesty to -decree the incarnation, because he has done it. But we can also see -that it is so, and why. We can see that it befits Almighty God to -exhaust his own omnipotence in producing a work which is the -masterpiece of his intelligence and the equivalent of the archetype -contained in his Word. To show his royal magnificence in bestowing the -greatest {147} possible boon on created nature. To pour forth his love -in such a manner as to astound the intelligence of his rational -creatures, by communicating all that is contained in filiation and the -procession of the Spirit, so far as that is in itself possible. To -glorify and deify the creature, by raising it as nearly as possible to -an equality with himself in knowledge and beatitude. - -The reason for selecting the human rather than the angelic nature for -the hypostatic union is obvious from all that has preceded. Human -nature is a microcosm, in which all grades of existence are summed up -and represented. In taking human nature the Word assumes all created -nature, from the lowest to the highest. For, although the angelic -nature is superior to the human, it is only superior to it in certain -respects, and not as a rational essence. Moreover, this superiority is -part only temporary, enduring while the human nature is in the process -of explication; and as to the rest, the inferiority of the human -nature is counterbalanced by the supernatural elevation given to it in -the hypostatic union, which raises the natural, human operation of the -soul of our Lord Jesus Christ far above that of the angelic nature. -Although, therefore, in the series of grades in the natural order of -existence, the angelic nature is above the human, it is subordinated -to it in the supernatural order, or the order of the incarnation, and -in relation to the final cause. For it is through the human nature -united to the divine nature in the person of the Word that the angelic -nature completes its return to God and union with him. - -The elevation of created nature to the hypostatic union with God in -the person of the Word introduces an entirely new principle of life -into the intelligent universe. Hitherto, we have considered in the -creative act a regular gradation in the nature of created existences, -from the lowest to the highest. Each grade is determined to a certain -participation in being superior in intensity to that of the one below -it and to a mode of activity corresponding to its essence. There can -be no grade of existence in its essence superior to the rational or -intelligent nature, which is created in the similitude of that which -is highest in the divine essence. No doubt, the specific and minor -grades included under the universal generic grade of rationality might -be indefinitely multiplied. As the angels differ from man, and the -various orders of the angelic hierarchy differ from each other, so God -might continue to create _ad infinitum_ new individuals or new -species, each differing from all others, and all arranged in an -ascending series, in which each grade should be superior in certain -particulars to all below it. It is evidently possible that a created -intelligence should be made to progress from the lowest stage of -development continuously and for ever. Let us fix our thought upon the -most distant and advanced limit in this progression which we are able -to conceive. It is evident that God might have created an intelligent -spirit in the beginning at that point, as the starting-point of his -progression, and might have created at the same time other intelligent -spirits at various distances from this point in a descending series. -Suppose now that this is the case, and that the lowest in the scale -progresses until he reaches the starting-point of the most advanced. -The one who began at this advanced point will have progressed -meanwhile to another point equally distant, and will preserve his -relative superiority. But even at this point, God might have created -him at first, with another series of intervening grades at all the -intermediate points which he has passed over in his progressive -movement. We may carry on this process as long as we please, without -ever coming to a limit at which we are obliged to stop. For the -creation being of necessity limited, and the creative power of God -unlimited, it is impossible to equalize the two terms, or to conceive -of a creation which is equal to God as creator. Nevertheless, {148} -all possible grades of rationality are like and equal to each other as -respects the essential propriety of rationality, and never rise to a -grade which is essentially higher than that of rational nature. The -only difference possible is a difference in the mode in which the -active force of the intellect is exercised, and in the number of -objects to which it is applicable, or some other specific quality of -the same kind. Whatever may be the increase which rational nature can -be supposed to receive, it is only the evolution of the essential -principle which constitutes it rational, and is therefore common to -all species and individuals of the rational order. Although, -therefore, God cannot create a spirit so perfect that it cannot be -conceived to be more perfect in certain particulars, yet it is -nevertheless true that God cannot create anything which is generically -more perfect than spirit or intelligent substance. From this it -follows as a necessary consequence, that God cannot create a nature -which by its essential principles demands its last complement of being -in a divine person, or naturally exists in a hypostatic union with the -divine nature. For rational nature, which is the highest created -genus, and the nearest possible to the nature of God,--"Ipsius enim -et genus sumus," [Footnote 32]--developed to all eternity, would -never rise above itself, or elicit an act which would cause it to -terminate upon a divine person, and bring it into a hypostatic union -with God. - - [Footnote 32: "For we are also his offspring." Acts xvii. 28.] - -Produce a line, parallel to an infinite straight line, to infinity, -and it will never meet it or come any nearer to it. The very essence -of created spirit requires that it should be determined to a mode of -apprehending God an image reflected in the creation. The activity of -the created intelligence must proceed for ever in this line, and has -no tendency to coincide with the act of the divine intelligence in -which God contemplates immediately his own essence. Increase as much -as you will the perfection of the created image, it remains always -infinitely distant from the uncreated, personal image of himself which -the Father contemplates in the Word, and loves in the Holy Spirit, -within the circle of the blessed Trinity. It has been proved in a -previous number that infinite intelligence is identical with the -infinite intelligible in God. If a being could be created which by its -essence should be intelligent by the immediate vision of the divine -essence, it would be intelligent _in se_, and therefore possess within -its own essence its immediate, intelligible object, which, by the -terms of the supposition, is the divine essence. It would possess in -itself sanctity, immutability, and beatitude. It would be, in other -words, beatified precisely because existing, that is, incapable of -existing in any defective state, and therefore incapable of error, -sin, or suffering. And as, by the terms, it is what it is, by its -essence, its essence and existence are identical; it is essentially -most pure act, essentially existing, therefore self-existent, -necessary being, or identical with God. It is therefore impossible for -God to create a rational nature which is constituted rational by the -immediate intuition of the divine essence. For by the very terms it -would be a creature and God at the same time. It would be one of the -persons in the unity of the divine nature, and yet have a nature -totally distinct. In the natural order, then, it is impossible that a -created nature should either at its beginning, or in the progress of -its evolution, demand as its due and necessary complement of being a -divine personality. Personality is the last complement of rational -nature. Divine nature demands divine personality. Finite nature -demands finite personality. It is evident, therefore, that there -cannot be a finite nature, however exalted, which cannot come to its -complete evolution within its own essence, or which can explicate out -of the contents of its being an act which necessarily terminates upon -a divine person, so as to bring it into a hypostatic union with the -divine nature. - -{149} - -Let us go back a little in the scale of being, in order to develop -this principal more fully. Lifeless matter is capable of indefinite -increase in its own order, but this increase has no tendency to -elevate it to the grade of vegetative life. A new and different -principle of organization must be introduced in order to construct -from its simple elements a vegetative form, as, for instance, a -flower. So, also, the explication of vegetative life has no tendency -to generate a sentient principle. The plant may go on producing -foliage, flowering, germinating, and reproducing its species for ever, -but its vital activity can never produce a sentient soul, or proceed -to that degree of perfection that it requires a sentient soul as its -last complement or the form of its organic life. Suppose a plant or -flower to receive a sentient soul; this soul must be immediately -created by God, and it would be the principle or form of a new life, -which, in relation to the natural, vegetative life of the flower, -would be _super_-natural, elevating it to an order of life above that -which constitutes it a flower. - -A sentient creature, as a dog or a bird, has no tendency to explicate -from the constitutive principle of its animal soul intelligence, or to -attain a state of existence in which an intelligent personality is due -to it as its last complement. If the animal soul could have an -intelligent personality, it must be by hypostatic union with an -intelligent nature distinct from itself, which would then become the -_suppositum_, or principal of imputability to the animal nature. The -animal would then be elevated to a state which would be -_super_-natural, relatively to the animal nature, or entirely above -the plane of it's natural development. - -In like manner, the rational nature has no tendency or power to rise -above itself, or to do more than explicate that principle which -constitutes it rational. If it is elevated to a higher order, it must -be by a direct act of omnipotence, an immediate intervention of the -creator, producing in it an act which could never be produced by the -explication of its rationality, even though it should progress to all -eternity. This act is supernatural in the absolute sense. That is, it -lies in an order above created nature as a totality, and above all -nature which might be created; _supra omnem naturam creatam atque -creabilem_. - -It is beyond the power even of divine omnipotence to create a rational -nature which, by its intrinsic, constitutive principle of -intelligence, is affiliated to the Father through the Holy Spirit. -Such a nature would be equal to the Word, and another Word, and -therefore equal to the Father, or, in other words, would be a divine -nature although created; which is absurd. The Father can have but one -Son, eternally begotten, not made; and the only possible way in which -a created nature can be elevated to a strictly filial relation to the -Father, is by a hypostatic union with the divine nature of the Son in -one person, so that there is a communication of properties between the -two natures, and but one principle of imputability to which all the -divine and human attributes and acts can be referred. This union can -be effected only by a direct intervention of God, or by the Word -assuming to himself a created nature. For rational nature finds its -last complement of personality, its _subsistentia_, or principle of -imputability, within its own limits, which it never tends to -transcend, even by infinite progression. The human nature individuated -in the person of Jesus Christ, by its own intrinsic principles was -capable of being completed in a finite personality, like every other -individual human nature. The fact that the place of the human -personality is supplied by a divine person, and the human nature thus -completed only in the divine, is due to the direct, divine act of the -Word, and is therefore supernatural. In this supernatural relation it -becomes the recipient, so to speak, of the divine vital current, and -participates in the {150} act in which the divine life is consummated, -which is the procession of the Son and Holy Spirit from the Father. -This act consists radically and essentially in the immediate -contemplation of the divine essence. Created intelligence, therefore, -elevated to the hypostatic union, contemplates the essence of God -directly, without any intervening medium, by the immediate intuition -or beatific vision of God. - -Thus, in the incarnation, the creation returns back to God and is -united to him in the most perfect manner, by participating in the good -of being in a way sublime above all human conception, exhausting even -the infinite idea of God. Created intelligence is beatified, -glorified, and deified. In Jesus Christ, man, in whose essence is -included the equivalent of all creation, and God meet in the unity of -one person. The nature of God becomes the nature of man in the second -person, who is truly man; and the nature of man becomes the nature of -God in the same person, who is truly God. Creation, therefore, attains -its final end and returns to God as final cause in the incarnation; -which is the most perfect work of God, the crown of the acts of his -omnipotence, the summit of the creative act, the completion of all -grades of existence, and the full realization of the divine archetype. - -In Jesus Christ, the creative act is carried to the apex of -possibility. In his human nature, therefore, he is the most -pre-eminent of all creatures, and surpasses them all, not only singly -but collectively. He has the primogeniture, and the dominion over all -things, the entire universe of existences being subordinated to him. -Nevertheless, his perfection is not completed merely by that which he -possesses within the limits of his individual humanity. He is the -summit of creation, the head of the intelligent universe, the link -nearest to God in the chain of created existences. The universe, -therefore, by virtue of the principle of order and unity which -pervades it, ought to communicate with him through a supernatural -order, so that the gradation in the works of God may be regular and -perfect. The chasm between rational nature in its natural state and -the same nature raised to the hypostatic union is too great, and -demands to be filled up by some intermediate grades. Having taken -created nature, which is by its very constitution adapted to -fellowship between individuals of the same kind; and, specifically, -human nature, which is constituted in relations of race and family, -the Son of God ought, in all congruity, to have brethren and -companions capable of sharing with him in beatitude and glory. Being -specifically human and of one blood with all mankind, it is fitting -that he should elevate his own race to a share in his glory. Being -generically of the same intellectual nature with the angels, it is -also fitting that he should elevate them to the same glory. This can -only be done by granting them a participation in that supernatural -order of intelligence and life which he possesses by virtue of the -hypostatic union; that is, a participation in the immediate, beatific -vision of the divine essence. - -This supernatural order is denominated the order of regeneration and -grace. It is cognate with the order of the hypostatic union, but not -identical with it. The personality of the divine Word is communicated -only to the individual human nature of Jesus Christ, who is not only -the first-born but the only-begotten Son of God. God is incarnate in -Christ alone. The union of his created substance with the divine -substance, without any permixture or confusion, in one person, is -something inscrutable to reason. The knowledge, sanctity, beatitude, -and glory of his human nature are effects of this union, but are not -it. These effects, which are due to the humanity of Christ as being -the nature of a divine person, and are its rightful and necessary -prerogatives, are communicable, as a matter of grace, to other -individuals, personally distinct from Christ. {151} That is to say, -sanctity, beatitude, and glory do not require as the necessary -condition of their community ability the communication of a divine -personality, but are compatible with the existence of an indefinite -number of distinct, finite personalities. All those rational -creatures, however, who are the subjects of this communicated grace, -are thereby assimilated to the Son of God, and made partakers of an -adopted sonship. This adoptive sonship is an inchoate and imperfect -state of co-filiation with the Son of God, which is completed and made -perfect in the hypostatic union. The order of grace, therefore, though -capable of subsisting without the incarnation, and not depending on it -as a physical cause, can only subsist as an imperfect order, and -cannot have in itself a metaphysical finality. The incarnation being -absent, the universe does not attain an end metaphysically final, or -actualise the perfection of the ideal archetype. The highest mode of -the communication of the good of being, the most perfect reproduction -of the operation of God _ad intra_, in his operation _ad extra_, which -the Father contemplates in the Word as possible, remains unfulfilled. -Those who hold, therefore, that the incarnation was not included in -the original creative decree of God must maintain that in that decree -God did not contemplate an end in creating metaphysically final. They -are obliged to suppose another decree logically subsequent to the -first, by virtue of which the universe is brought to an metaphysically -final in order to repair the partial failure of the angelic nature and -the total failure of human nature to attain the inferior, prefixed end -of the first decree. Nevertheless, decrees of God are eternal, God -always had in view, even on this hypothesis, the incarnation as the -completion of his creative act; and only took the be occasion which -the failure of his first plan through sin presented to introduce one -more perfect. Billuart, therefore, as the interpreter of the Thomist -school, maintains that God revealed the incarnation to Adam before his -fall, though not the connection which the fulfilment of the divine -purpose had with his sin as its _conditio sine qua non_. If this -latter view is adopted, it cannot be held that the angelic and human -natures were created and endowed with supernatural grace in the -express view of the incarnation, or that the angels hold, and that man -originally held, the title to glorification from Jesus Christ as their -head, and the meritorious cause of original grace. Nevertheless, as -the incarnation introduces a new and higher order into the universe, -elevating it to an end metaphysically final of which it previously -fell short, all angels and all creatures of every grade are -subordinated to Jesus Christ, who is the head of the creation, -reuniting all things to the Father in his person. - -This explanation is made in deference to the common opinion, although -the author does not hold this opinion, and in order that those who do -hold it may not feel themselves bound to reject the whole argument -respecting the relation of the creative act to the incarnation. - -It is in regard to the doctrine of original grace, or the elevation of -the rational nature to that supernatural order whose apex is the -hypostatic union, that Catholic theology comes into an irreconcilable -conflict with Pelagianism, Calvinism, and Jansenism. These three -systems agree in denying the doctrine of original grace. They maintain -that rational nature contains in its own constituent principles the -germ of development into the state which is the _ultimatum_ of the -creature, and the end for which God created it, and was bound to -create it, if he created at all. They differ, however, fundamentally -as to the principles actually constitutive of rational nature. The -Pelagian takes human nature in its present condition as his type. The -advocates of the other two systems take an ideal human nature, which -has become essentially {152} corrupted by the fall, as their type. -Therefore, the Pelagian says that human nature, as it now is, has in -itself the principle of perfectibility by the explication and -development of its essence. But the Calvinist and Jansenist say that -human nature as it was first created, or as it is restored by grace to -its primal condition, has the principle of perfectibility; but as it -now is in those who have not been restored by grace, is entirely -destitute of it. The conception which these opponents of Catholic -doctrine have of the entity of that highest ideal state to which -rational nature is determined, varies as the ratio of their distance -from the Catholic idea. Those who are nearest to it retain the -conception of the beatific union with God, which fades away in those -who recede farther, until it becomes changed into a mere conception of -an idealised earthly felicity. - -The Catholic doctrine takes as its point of departure the postulate, -that rational nature of itself is incapable of attaining or even -initiating a movement towards that final end, which has been actually -prefixed to it as its terminus. It needs, therefore, from the -beginning, a superadded gift or grace, to place it in the plane of its -destiny, which is supernatural, or above all that is possible to mere -nature, explicated to any conceivable limit. At this point, however, -two great schools of theology diverge from each other, each one of -which is further subdivided as they proceed. - -The radical conception of one school is, that nature is in itself an -incomplete thing, constituted in the order of its genesis in a merely -inchoate capacity for receiving regeneration in the supernatural -order. Remaining in the order of genesis, it is in a state of merely -inchoate, undeveloped, inexplicable existence, and therefore incapable -of attaining its destination. There is, therefore, no end for which -God could create rational existence, except a supernatural end. The -natural demands the supernatural, the order of genesis demands the -order of regeneration, and the wisdom and goodness of God require him -to bestow on all rational creatures the grace cognate to the beatific -vision and enabling them to attain it. - -The radical conception of the other school is, that rational nature, -_per se_ requires only the explication and perfection of its own -constituent principles, and may be left to attain its finality in the -purely natural order. The elevation of angels and men to the plane of -a supernatural destiny was, therefore, a purely gratuitous concession -of the supreme goodness of God, in view, as some would add, of the -merit of the incarnate Word. - -These different theories are entangled and interlaced with each other, -and with many different and intricate questions related to them, in -such a way as to make a thicket through which it is not easy to find a -sure path. It is necessary, however, to try, or else to avoid the -subject altogether. - -The obscurity of the whole question is situated in the relation of -created intelligence to its object which constitutes it in the -intelligent or rational order. It is evident that a created substance -is constituted an intelligent principle by receiving potentiality to -the act connoted by this relation of the subject to its object, and is -explicated by the reduction of this potentiality into act. The end of -intelligent spirit is to attain to its intelligent object, by the act -of intelligence. In the foresight of this, the exposition of the -relation between intelligence and the intelligible has been placed -first in this discussion. - -It is agreed among all Catholic theologians: 1. That created -intelligence can, by the explication of its own constitutive -principles, attain to the knowledge of God as _causa altissima;_ or, -that God is, _per se_, the ultimate object of reason. 2. That there is -a mode of the relation of intelligence to its ultimate object, or to -God, a permanent state of the intuition of {153} God, by a created -spirit, called the intuitive, beatific vision of the divine essence, -which can be attained only by a supernatural elevation and -illumination of the intelligence. - -The point of difference among theologians relates to the identity or -difference of the relations just noted, Is that relation which -intelligence has _per se_ to God, as its ultimate object, the relation -which is completed by supernatural elevation, or not? If not, what is -the distinction between them? Establish their identity, and you have -established the theory which was mentioned in the first place above. -Establish their difference, and you have established the second -theory. - -If the first theory is established, rational creatures are _ipso -facto_ in a supernatural order. The natural order is merely the -inchoation of the supernatural, cannot be completed without it, and -cannot attain its end without a second immediate intervention of God, -equal to the act of creation, by which God brings back to himself, as -final cause, the creature which proceeded from him as first cause. -This second act is regeneration; and creation, therefore, implies and -demands regeneration. It follows from this, that reason is incapable -of being developed or explicated by the mere concurrence of God with -its principle of activity, or his concurrence with second causes -acting upon it, that is, by the continuance and consummation of the -creative, generative influx which originally gave it and other second -causes existence. A regenerative influx is necessary, in order to -bring its latent capacity into action, and make it capable of -contemplating its proper object, which is God, as seen by an intuitive -vision. - -One great advantage of this theory is supposed to be, that it leaves -the naturalists no ground to stand upon, by demonstrating the absolute -necessity of the supernatural, that is, of revelation, grace, the -church, etc. This presupposes that the theory can be demonstrated. If -it cannot be, the attempt to do too much recoils upon the one who -makes it, and injures his cause. Beside this, it may be said that the -proposed advantage can be as effectually secured by proving that the -natural order is actually subordinated in the scheme of divine -Providence, as it really exists, to a supernatural end, without -professing to prove that it must be so necessarily. - -The great positive argument in favor of this hypothesis is, that -rational nature necessarily seeks God as its ultimate object, and -therefore longs for that clear, intellectual vision of him called the -beatific. If this be true, the question is settled for ever. Those who -seek to establish its truth state it under various forms. One way of -stating it is, that reason seeks the universal, or the explanation of -all particular effects, in the _causa altissima_, This is the doctrine -of St. Thomas. God is the _causa altissima_, the universal principle, -and therefore reason seeks for God. - -Again, it is affirmed that there is a certain faculty of -super-intelligence, which apprehends the super-intelligible order of -being, not positively, but negatively, by apprehending the limitation -of everything intelligible. Intelligence is therefore sensible of a -want, a vacuum, an aimless, objectless yearning for something unknown -and unattainable; showing that God has created it for the purpose of -satisfying this want, and filling this void, by bringing intelligence -into relation to himself as its immediate object, in a supernatural -mode. - -In a more popular mode, this same idea is presented under a countless -variety of forms and expressions, in sermons, spiritual treatises, and -poems, as a dissatisfaction of the soul with every kind of good -attainable in this life, vague longing for an infinite and supreme -good, a plaintive cry of human nature for the beatitude of the -intuitive vision of God. "Irrequietum est cor nostrum donec requiescat -in te"--"Our heart is unrestful until it finds repose in thee," is the -language {154} of St. Augustine, which is echoed and reechoed on every -side. - -These considerations are not without great weight; nevertheless, they -do not appear to us sufficient to prove conclusively the hypothesis in -support of which they are adduced, or to over-balance other weighty -considerations on the opposite side. - -Reason seeks for the _causa altissima_, but it remains to be proved -that it seeks for any other knowledge of it but that which is -attainable by a mode connatural to the created spirit. - -Reason is conscious of its own limitation. But this does not prove -that it aspires to transcend this limitation. Beatified spirits are -conscious of their own limitation. Those who are in the lowest grade -are aware of numerous grades above them, and the highest are aware of -their inferiority to the exalted humanity of Jesus Christ, united to -the divine nature in his person. All together, including Jesus Christ -himself, as man, are aware of an infinite incomprehensibility in the -divine nature. In the words of the greatest of all mystic theologians, -St. John of the Cross: "They who know him most perfectly, perceived -most clearly that he is infinitely incomprehensible. To know God best, -is to know he is incomprehensible; for those who have the less clear -vision do not perceive so distinctly as the others how greatly he -transcends their vision." [Footnote 33] - - [Footnote 33: Spiritual Canticle, stanza vii. Oblate Ed. vol. ii. p. 44.] - -Beatified spirits do not feel any void within themselves, or any -unsatisfied longing for the comprehension of the super-intelligible. -Neither do they aspire even to those degrees of clearer vision which -are actually conceded to spirits of a higher order than their own. Why -then should a rational creature necessarily desire to transcend its -own proper and connatural mode of intelligence? The apprehension of -the super-intelligible shows that the intellect cannot be satisfied -with a limitation of itself to a mere knowledge of second causes and -the contingent--that it must think about God, and apprehend in some -way without infinite, eternal, necessary being and attributes of the -creator and first cause of all things. But it does not show that it -must apprehending God in the most perfect way possible, much less in -such a way that he does not remain always infinitely beyond its -comprehension. - -The dissatisfaction of the human heart may proceed in great measure -from the fact that God purposely disquiet's it by withholding from it -the good it naturally seeks, in order to compel it to seek for -supernatural good. Another cause of it is, that most persons have -committed so many sins themselves, and are so much involved in the -consequences of the sins of others, that they cannot possess the full -measure even of that natural enjoyment of which human nature is -capable. That the human heart in its misery and unhappiness turns -longingly toward the hope of a supreme beatitude in the contemplation -of God as he is revealed to the saints in heaven, may be owing to the -fact that God, who proposes this beatitude to men, stirs up a longing -for it in their souls by a supernatural grace. - -The question, therefore, reverts to this, as has been repeatedly said -already, What is the principle constitutive of the intelligent life -and activity of a created spirit? When this principle is evolved into -act, the created spirits fulfils its type, and realises its ideal -perfection in its own order. Now, according to the preliminary -doctrine we have laid down, this is an active power to apprehend the -image of God in the creation, or to contemplate a created image of God -which is a finite similitude of the infinite, uncreated image of God, -that is to say, the Word. Beatific contemplation is a contemplation of -this infinite, uncreated image without any intervening medium. Yet is -an intellectual operation of which God is both the object and the -medium. It is not therefore the operation which {155} perfects created -intelligence in its own proper order, but one which elevates it above -that order, giving it a participation in the divine intelligence -itself. Created intelligence is perfected in its own proper order by -its own natural operation; and although the intervention of God is -necessary in order to conduct it to that perfection, so that it is -strictly true that a supernatural force is necessary to the -initiation, explication, and consummation of the natural order of -intelligence, yet this does not elevate it to a supernatural mode and -state of activity in the strict and theological sense of the word. -Created intelligence is perfected by the contemplation of the Creator -through the creating, and has no tendency or aspiration to rise any -higher. True, it has an essential capacity to become the subject of a -divine operation elevating it to the immediate intuition of God, or it -never could be so elevated. This is the really strong argument in -favor of the hypothesis that God, if he creates at all, must create an -intelligent order determined to the beatific union. It is equally -strong in favor of the hypothesis, that he must complete his creative -act in the incarnation, because created nature is essentially capable -of the hypostatic union. For what purpose is this capacity? Does it -not indicate a demand for the order of regeneration, and the -completion of this order in the incarnation? It is not our purpose to -answer this question definitely, but to leave it open, as it has no -practical bearing upon the result we are desirous of obtaining. -Presupposing, however, that God determines to adopt the system of -absolute optimism in creating, and to bring the universe to an end -metaphysically final, as he actually has determined to do, this -question, as we have previously stated, must be answered in the -affirmative. There is no metaphysical finality short of the hypostatic -union of the created with the uncreated nature, which alone is the -adequate, objective externisation of the eternal idea in the mind of -God. The metaphysical, generic perfection of the universe demands the -incarnation, with its appropriate concomitants. But this demand is -satisfied by the elevation of one individual nature to the hypostatic -union, and the communication of the privileges due to this elevated -nature to one or more orders of intelligent creatures containing each -an adequate number of individuals. It does not require the elevation -of all intelligent orders or all individuals, but admits of a -selection from the entire number of created intelligences of a certain -privileged class. It is only on the supposition that God cannot give -an intelligent nature its due perfection and felicity without -conceding to it the beatific vision, that we are compelled to believe -that God cannot create intelligent spirits without giving them the -opportunity of attaining supernatural beatitude. And it is merely this -last supposition against which we have been contending. - -The view we have taken, that rational nature precisely as such is not -necessarily created merely in order to become the subject of elevating -grace, but may be determined to an end which does not require it to -transcend its natural condition, comports fully with the Catholic -dogma of sanctifying grace. The church teaches that affiliation to God -by grace is a pure boon or favor gratuitously conferred by God -according to his good pleasure and sovereign will. It is not due to -nature, or a necessary consequence of creation. The beginning, -progress, and consummation of this adoptive filiation is from the -grace of God, both in reference to angels and men. It was by grace -that the angels and Adam were placed in the way of attaining the -beatific vision, just as much as it is by grace that men are redeemed -and saved since the fall. If rational nature cannot be explicated and -brought to a term suitable for it, which satisfies all its exigencies, -without this grace, it is not easy to see how it can be called a grace -at all, since grace signifies gratuitous favor. Rather it would be -something due to nature, which the goodness of God bound {156} him to -confer when he had created it. It would be the mere complement of -creation, and an essential part of the continuity of the creative act -as much as the act of conservation, by virtue of which the soul is -constituted immortal. In this case, it would be very difficult to -reconcile the doctrine of original sin, and the doom of those who die -in it before the use of reason, with the justice and goodness of God. -It would be difficult also to explain the whole series of doctrinal -decisions which have emanated from the Holy See, and have been -accepted by the universal church, in relation to the Jansenist errors, -all of which easily harmonise with the view we have taken. - -Moreover, the plain dogmatic teaching of the church, that man, as he -is now born, is "saltem negative aversatus a Deo," "at least -negatively averted from God," and absolutely incapable of even the -first movement of the will to turn back to him without prevenient -grace, cannot be explained on the theory we are opposing without -resorting to the notion of a positive depravation of human nature by -the fall, a notion completely irreconcilable with rational principles. -If rational nature as such is borne by a certain impetus toward God as -possessed in the beatific vision, it will spring toward him of itself -and by its own intrinsic principles, as soon as he is extrinsically -revealed to it, without grace. To say that it does so, is precisely -the error of the Semipelagians which is condemned by the church. It is -certain that it does not; and therefore we must explain its inability -to do so, either with the Calvinists and Jansenists by maintaining -that its intrinsic principles are totally perverted and depraved, or -by maintaining that rational nature, as such, is determined by its -intrinsic impetus to an inferior mode of apprehending and loving God -as its last end, which is below the plane of the supernatural. - -This view accords fully with the teachings of the great mystic -writers, who are the most profound of all philosophers and -theologians. They all teach most distinctly, that when God leads a -soul into a state of supernatural contemplation it has an almost -unconquerable repugnance and reluctance to follow him, and is thrown -into an obscure night, in which it undergoes untold struggles and -sufferings before it can become fit for even that dim and imperfect -light of contemplation which it is capable of receiving in this life. -Why is it that the human soul turns toward the supernatural good only -when excited, illuminated, and attracted by the grace of God, and even -then with so much difficulty? Why does it so easily and of preference -turn oh wait from it, unless it is, that it naturally seeks to attain -its object by a mode more connatural to its own intrinsic and -constitutive principles? - -The conclusion we draw is, that rational nature of itself is capable -of attaining its proper perfection and felicity, without being -elevated above its own order, by the mere explication of its -rationality, and aspires no higher, but even prefers to remain where -it is. The fact that it is in a state which in comparison with the -state of elevation is merely inchoate existence, and is _in potentia_ -to a state not realised _in actu_, does not show that its felicity or -the good order of the universe requires it to be elevated any higher, -unless it is elected as a subject of elevating grace. [Footnote 34] - - [Footnote 34: This does not mean that any human being is at liberty - to choose to decline proffered grace. The human race _en masse_ is - elected to grace, and at least all those to whom the faith is - proposed have the proffer of grace, with a precept to accept it. - Moreover, God has not provided any order except the supernatural for - mankind in which the race can attain its proper perfection and - felicity.] - -God alone is _actus purissimus_ without any admixture of potentiality. -The finite is always inchoate and potential, because finite. Its very -nature implies what is called metaphysical evil, or a limitation of -the possession of good in act. Every finite nature except that of the -incarnate Word is limited, not only in respect to the infinite, but -also in respect to some other finite nature superior to itself. It's -proper perfection consists in the possession of good, with that -limitation {157} which the will of God has prefixed to it as its term. -The perfection and order of the universe, as a whole, are constituted -by the subordination and harmony of all its parts in reference to the -predetermined end. The individual felicity of a rational creature and -his due relation to the final cause of the universe, do not require -his being elevated to the utmost summit of existence of which he is -capable, unless God has predetermined him to that place. The mere -inert capacity of receiving an augmentation or elevation of his -intellectual and voluntary operation does not give him any tendency to -exceed his actual limit, unless that inert capacity begins to be -actualized, or unless the principle of a new development is implanted -and vitalized. The inert capacity of being united to the divine nature -by the hypostatic union, is actualised only in Christ. If, therefore, -rational nature could not attain its proper end and completion without -the utmost actualization of its passive capacity, Christ alone would -attain his final end. We most certainly admit, however, that the -blessed in heaven all attain their final end and a perfect beatitude, -each one in his own degree. We are not to understand, therefore, that -the relation of the creation to God as final cause consists solely and -purely in the return of the creature to God in the most sublime manner -possible, and that everything which exists is created solely as a -means to that end. If this were so, the hypostatic union of the human -to the divine nature in the person of Jesus Christ would be the sole -terminus of the creative act, the only end proposed by God in -creating. Nothing else could or would have been created, except as a -means to that end. The rest of creation, however, cannot contribute to -that end. The union of the human nature to the divine in Christ and -its filiation to God, by which it is beatified, glorified, and -deified, is completely fulfilled within itself; and the rest of -creation adds nothing to it. If God had no other end in view, in the -reproduction of the immanent act within himself by a communication of -himself _ad extra_, except the hypostatic union, he would have created -only one perfect nature for that purpose. The beatification and -glorification of the adopted brethren of Christ must be therefore -included in the end of creation. - -This is not all, however, that is included in it. The supernatural -order includes in itself a natural order which is not absorbed into -it, but which has its own distinct existence. _Gratia supponit -naturam_, grace supposes nature, but does not supersede or extinguish -it. The inferior intellectual operations of our Lord are not -superseded by his beatific contemplation, nor do they contribute to -its clearness of intuition. The operation of his animal soul--that is, -of the principle within his rational soul which contains in an eminent -mode all the perfection that is in a soul purely animal, and adapts -his rational soul to be the form of a body--continues also, together -with the activity of the senses and of the active bodily life. This -operation does not conduce to the perfection of the act of beatific -contemplation, which does not require the mediation of the senses. The -same is true of the inferior, natural operations of all beatified -angels and men. If supernatural beatitude were the exclusive end of -the creation, there would be no reason why these inferior operations -should continue, any more than the exercise of faith, hope, patience, -fortitude, or works of merit, which, being exclusively ordained as -means for attaining beatitude, cease when the end is gained. The -beatific act would swallow up the entire activity of the beatified, -and all inferior life would cease. For the same reason, all corporeal -and material organization would be swept out of the way as a useless -scaffolding, and only beatified spirits, exclusively occupied in the -immediate contemplation of God, would continue to exist for ever. - -{158} - -This is not so, however. The body is to rise again and live for ever. -The universe is to remain for ever, with all its various grades of -existence, including even the lowest, or those which are purely -material. There is therefore a natural order coexisting with the -supernatural in a subordinate relation to it--a minor and less -principal part, but still an integral part of the divine, creative -plan. There is a _cognitio matutina_ and a _cognitio vespertina_, a -matutinal and vesperal knowledge, in the blessed; the one being the -immediate intuition of the trinity in unity, the other the mediate -intuition of the idea or infinite archetype of creation in God, -through his creative act. There is a natural intellectual life in the -angels, and a natural intellectual and physical life in man, in the -beatific state. The natural order is preserved and perfected in the -supernatural order, with all its beauty and felicity--with its -science, virtue, love, friendship, and society. The material world is -everlasting, together with the spiritual. All orders together make up -the universe; and it is the whole complex of diverse and multitudinous -existences which completely expresses the divine idea and fulfils the -divine purpose of the creator. The metaphysical finality or apex of -the creative act is in the incarnate Word, but the relation to the -final cause exists in everything, and is fulfilled in the universe as -a totality, which embraces in one harmonious plan all things that have -been created, and culminates in Jesus Christ, through the hypostatic -union of the divine and human natures in his person. - -In this universe there may be an order of intelligent existences, -touching at its lowest point the highest point of irrational -existence, and at its highest point the lowest in the grade of the -beatified spirits. That inferior order of knowledge and felicity may -exist distinctly and separately which exists conjointly with -supernatural beatitude in the kingdom of heaven. The perfection of the -universe requires that there should be a beatified, glorified order at -its summit. It may even the maintained that this consummation of -created nature in the highest possible end is the only one which the -divine wisdom could propose in creating. Yet this does not exclude the -possibility of an inferior order of intelligence, upon which the grace -elevating it to a supernatural state is not conferred. - -We are prepared, therefore, to proceed to the consideration of the -nature and conditions of that grace, as a cure, gratuitous gift of -God, conferred upon angels and upon the human race through his free -and sovereign goodness. From the point of view to which the previous -reasoning has conducted us, the angels and mankind appear to us, not -as mere species of rational creatures conducted by their creator along -the path of rational development by natural law, but as the elect -heirs of an entirely gratuitous inheritance of glory--candidates for a -destiny entirely supernatural. The relation which they sustain to God -in this supernatural scheme of grace will therefore be our topic next -in order. - --------- - -{159} - -Original - -SONG. - - - What magician pulls the string - That uncurtains pretty Spring? - And the swallow with his wing - Against the sky 1 - Who brings the branch its green, - And the honey-bee a queen? - "Is it I?" - Said April, "I?" - "Yes, 'tis I." - - What aerial artist limns - Rock and cloud, with brush that dims - Titian's oils and Hogarth's whims - In shape and dye? - What Florimel embowers - Lawn and lake with arching flowers? - "Is it I?" - Said bright July, "I?" - "Yes, 'tis I." - - What good genii drop the grains - Of brown sugar in the canes? - Who fills up the apple's veins - With sweetened dew? - Who hangs the painted air - With the grape and golden pear? - Is it you, - October? You? - Yes, 'tis you. - - Who careering sweeps the plain, - Scoffing at the violet's pain. - Echoing back and back again - His wild halloo? - Who makes the Yule-fire foam - Round the happy hearth of home? - Is it you, - December? You? - Aye, 'tis you. - -T. W. K. - --------- - -{160} - - -From The Dublin University Magazine, - -COWARDICE AND COURAGE. - - -Shakespeare, the universal teacher, who knew every phase of the heart, -and touched every chord of feeling, has declared aphoristically, -speaking as Julius Caesar: - - "Cowards die many times before their deaths; - The valiant only taste of death but once. - Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. - It seems to me most strange that men should fear; - Seeing that death, a necessary end, - Will come when it will come." - -Notwithstanding this, fear is one of the strongest impulses of our -nature--fear of discovery, shame, or punishment when we have done -wrong: fear of pain, danger, or death. Dr. Johnson said in -conversation: "Fear is one of the passions of humanity of which it is -impossible to divest it. You all remember that the Emperor Charles V., -when he read upon the tomb of a Spanish nobleman, 'Here lies one who -never knew fear,' wittily observed, 'Then he never snuffed a candle -with his fingers.'" In opposition to this we may quote an anecdote -told of Lord Howe, when in command of the Channel Fleet. One night he -was suddenly awakened by an officer, who, in great trepidation, told -him the ship was on fire close to the powder-room; the admiral coolly -replied: "If it is so, sir, we shall very soon know it." Some minutes -afterwards the lieutenant returned, and told his lordship he had no -occasion to be afraid, for the fire was extinguished. "Afraid!" -replied Lord Howe, hastily; "what do you mean by that, sir? I never -was afraid in my life." - -No emotions of the human frame are more opposite than cowardice and -courage, each taken in its simple sense, yet both spring from the same -sources--physical temperament early training. We do not make our own -nervous system, which is often grievously tampered with or perverted -by silly, ill-conditioned nurses, servants, and teachers, who -frightened children with tales of bugbears, monsters and hobgoblins, -until they scream if left in the dark for a moment, and dare not sleep -in a room by themselves. Pillory or flogging at the cart's tail would -be too mild a punishment for those moral Thugs, who strangle wholesome -feelings in the first dawn of their existence, and supply their place -with baneful impressions, which, strongly implanted in early youth, -grow and strengthen to a period of life when reason on to subdue them, -but frequently fails to do so. Viewed in this light, constitutional -timidity is a misfortune rather than a crime, however contemptible it -may be considered; while mere animal insensibility to danger, which -readily calls for admiration, has no claim to rank as a virtue. We -speak not here of the moral courage which may be engrafted on a nature -originally pusillanimous, by pride, education or a sense of duty and -station. Henry IV., of France, and Frederick the Great, of Prussia, -are illustrious examples of this victory of over matter. Both were -instinctively afraid of danger, and both are recorded as evincing -perfect self-possession and displaying prodigies of valor in many a -hotly-contested field. Henry's flesh quivered the first time he found -himself in action, although his heart was firm. "Villanous nature, I -will make thee ashamed of thyself!" he exclaimed, as he spurred his -horse through a {161} breach before which the bravest veterans paused; -and ever afterward the white plume was recognized as the rallying -point of battle. Frederick turned from the field of Molwitz, and left -his marshals to win the day without him; but it was his first and only -moment of wavering through a life of hard campaigns. - -Some natures are so constant that no surprise can shake them. An -instance occurs in the career of Crillon, called by distinction, "The -Brave," in an Army where all were valiant. He was stationed with a -small detachment in a lone house. Some young officers, in the dead of -night, raised a cry that the enemy were upon them, a company by loud -shouts and the firing of musketry. Crillon started from his bed, -seized his sword, and rushed down-stairs in his shirt, calling on all -to follow him and die at their posts like men. A burst of laughter -behind arrested his steps, and he at once penetrated the joke. He -re-ascendant, and seizing one of the perpetrators roughly by the arm, -explained: "Young man, it is well for you that your trick failed. Had -you thrown me off my guard, you would have been the first I should -have sacrificed to my lost honor. Take warning, and deal in no such -folly for the future." - -Charles XII. was gifted from infancy with iron nerves. "What is that -noise?" he asked, as the balls whistling past him when landing in -Denmark--a mere stripling, under a heavy fire. "The sound of the shot -the fire at your majesty," replied Marshal Renschild. "Good!" said the -king; "henceforth that shall be my music." And so he made it, with -little intermission, until the last and fatal bullet, whether fired by -traitor or foe, which entered his brain, and finished his wild career -at Fredericshall, eighteen years later. - -Murat and Lannes were the admitted paladins of the Imperial army; yet -both once came to a stand-still before the battery which vomited forth -fire and death. "Rascals!" muttered Napoleon, bitterly; "have I made -you too rich?" Stung by the taunt, they rushed on, and the victory was -gained. No epidemic is so contagious as a panic. When once caught, it -expands with the velocity of an ignited train. A celebrated case -occurred in Henry the Eighth's time, at the Battle of the Spurs, in -1513, so called because the defeated force fled with such haste that -it was impossible for the best mounted cavaliers to overtake them. -Thus the killed and wounded made but a poor figure. Then came Falkirk, -in 1746, of which Horace Walpole said: "The fighting lay in a small -compass, the greater part of both armies running away." Then the -memorable "Races of Castlebar," of which the less that is said the -better; then the _sauve qui peut_ of Waterloo; and though last, far -from least, the pell-mell rout of Bull's Run, which inaugurated the -late American war. Livy records, and Sir William Napier quotes the -anecdote, that after a drawn battle a god, calling out in the night, -declared that the Etruscans had lost one man more than the Romans! -whereupon a panic fell on the former, and they abandoned the field to -their adversaries, who gathered all the fruits of a real victory. - -There are some who think they can face danger and death until the -moment of trial arrives, and then their nerves give way. In the -biographies of John Graham, Viscount of Dundee, we find it related -that, during the civil wars of that period, a friend of his, a loyal -and devoted partisan of the house of Stuart, like himself, committed -his favorite son to his charge. "I give him to the king's cause," said -the father; "take care that he does not dishonor his name and race. I -depend on you to look after him." In the first action, the unlucky -youth exhibited undoubted symptoms of cowardice. Dundee took him aside -and said "The service in which we are engaged is desperate, {162} and -requires desperate resolution on the part of all concerned in it. You -have mistaken your trade. Go home, before worse happens." The youth -shed bitter tears, said it was a momentary weakness, implored for -another trial, and promised to behave better the next time. Dundee -relented. The next trial soon came, with the same result. Dundee rode -up to the recreant, pistol in hand, and exclaiming, "Your father's son -shall never die by the hands of the hangman," shot him dead upon the -spot. - -Experienced military authorities have delivered their opinion that of -one hundred rank and file, taken indiscriminately--Alexanders at -six-pence per diem, as Voltaire sneeringly designates them--one third -are determined daredevils, who will face any danger, and flinch from -nothing; the next division are waverers, equally disposed to stand or -run, and likely to be led either way by example; while the residue are -rank cowards. Dr. Johnson took a more unfavorable view. At a dinner at -General Paoli's, in 1778, when fears of an invasion were circulated, -Mr. John Spottiswoode, the solicitor, observed that Mr. Fraser, an -engineer, who had recently visited Dunkirk, said the French had the -same fears of us. "It is thus," remarked Dr. Johnson, "that mutual -cowardice keeps us in peace. Were one half mankind brave, and one half -cowards, the brave would be always beating the cowards. Were all -brave, they would lead a very uneasy life; all would be continually -fighting; but being all cowards, we go on tolerably well." - -It is difficult to invest with interest a quality so universally held -in contempt as cowardice; yet Sir Walter Scott has succeeded in -obtaining sympathy for _Conachar_, or _Eachin M'Ian_. the young -Highland chieftain, in the Fair Maid of Perth. He evidently conceived -the character _con amore_, and has elaborated it with skill and care. - -Montaigne observes of fear that it is a surprisal of the heart upon -the apprehension of approaching evil; and if it reaches the degree of -terror, and the evil seems impendent, the hair is raised on end, and -the whole body put into horror and trembling. After this, if the -passion continues, the spirits are thrown into confusion, so that they -cannot execute their offices; the usual successors of reason fail, -judgment is blinded, the powers of voluntary motion become weak, and -the heart is insufficient to maintain the circulation of the blood, -which, stopping and stagnating in the ventricles, causes painting and -swooning, and sometimes sudden death. The quaint old essayist then -illustrates by examples. He tells of a jester who had contrived to -give his master, a petty prince of Italy, a hearty ducking and a -fright to boot, to cure him of an ague. The treatment succeeded; but -the autocrat, by way of retaliation, had his audacious physician tried -for treason, and condemned to lose his had. The criminal was brought -forth, the priest received his confession, and the luckless buffoon -knelt to prepare for the blow. Instead of wielding his axe, the -executioner, as he had been instructed, threw a pitcher of water on -the bare neck of the criminal. Here the jest was to have ended; but -the shock was too great for poor Gonella, who was found dead on the -block. - -Montaigne also says, that fear manifests its utmost power and effect -when it throws men into a valiant despair, having before deprived them -of all sense both of duty and honor. In the first great battle of the -Romans against Hannibal, under the Consul Sempronius, a body of twenty -thousand men that had taken flight, seeing no other escape for their -cowardice, threw themselves headlong upon the great mass of their -pursuing enemies, with wonderful force and fury they charged, and cut -a passage through, with a prodigious slaughter of the Carthaginians; -thus purchasing an ignominious retreat at the same price which might -have won for them glorious victory. - -{163} - -But if fear is a destructive, it also sometimes acts in an opposite -sense. Dr. Thomas Bartoline tells us in his history of anatomy, that -fear has been known to cure epilepsy, gout, and ague. He relates that -a woman of condition, who was affected with the tertian ague, was so -terrified by the explosion of a bomb, which was fired off during her -fit, that she fainted away and was thought to be dead. "Having then -sent for me to see her," he adds, "and finding her pulse still pretty -strong, I prescribed for her some slight cordials, and she soon -recovered from her state of weakness without any appearance of fever, -which had afterward no return." - -Bartoline says again that a young lady who had a quartan ague for -several months successively, was invited by some of her acquaintance -to take an excursion on the water, with a view to dissipate the -melancholy ideas occasioned by her illness; but they had scarcely got -into the boat when it began to sink, and all were terribly shocked -with the dread of perishing. After escaping this danger, the patient -found that the terror had cured her ailment, and she had no return of -the ague. - -A third instance recorded by Bartoline is even more extraordinary than -the two we have already named. A man forty-two years of age, of a hot -and moist constitution, subject to a colic, but the fits not violent, -was seized one evening, about sunset, with an internal cold, though -the weather on that day was unusually warm. Different medicines were -administered to him, but without success. He died within eighteen or -nineteen hours, without the least agitation or any of the convulsions -that frequently accompany the parting agony, so that he seemed to -subside into a placid sleep. His friends requested Dr. Bartoline to -open his body, and it was found that he had died of a mortification of -the punereus. He was a very fat subject, and what was surprising in to -huge and corpulent a body, his bones were as small as those of a young -girl, and his muscles extremely weak, thin, and membraneous rather -than fleshy. While the doctor was making these observations on the -dissected corpse, a brother of the deceased, who had been absent for -sixteen years, and was of the same size, constitution, and habit of -body, entered the room suddenly and unexpectedly. He looked on the -remains of his relative, heard the detail of the circumstances of his -death, the cause of which he saw confirmed with his own eyes, and -reasoned for some time calmly and sensibly on the mournful event. All -at once he became stupefied, speechless, and fell into a fainting fit, -from which neither balsams nor stimulants, nor any of the remedies -resorted to in such cases, could recover him. The opening of a vein -was suggested, but this advice was not followed. All present appeared -as if paralyzed with horror. The patient seemed to be without pulse or -respiration, his limbs began to stiffen, and he was pronounced to be -on the point of expiring. A sudden idea struck Bartoline, for which he -says he could not account, but he said aloud, "Let us recompose the -dead body and sew it up; in the meantime the other will be quite dead, -and I will dissect him also." The words were scarcely uttered when the -gentleman supposed to be _in articulo mortis_ started up from the sofa -on which he had been laid, roared out with the lungs of a bull, -snatched up his cloak, took to his heels, as if nothing had happened -to him, and lived for many years after in an excellent slate of -health. - -Fear has been known to turn the hair in a single night from black to -grey or white. This happened, amongst others, to Ludovico Sforza. The -same is asserted of Queen Marie Antoinette, although not so suddenly, -and, as some say, from grief, not fear. The Emperor Louis, of Bavaria, -anno 1256, suspected his wife, Mary of Brabant, without just cause, -condemned her, unheard, for adultery, and caused her chief -lady-in-waiting, who was also {164} innocent, to be cast headlong from -a tower, as a confederate in his dishonor. Soon after this horrible -cruelty he was visited by a fearful vision one night, and rose in the -morning with his dark locks as white as snow. - -A young Spaniard of noble family, Don Diego Osorio, being in love with -a lady of the court, prevailed on her to grant him an interview by -night in the royal gardens. The barking of a little dog betrayed them. -The gallant was seized by the guard and conveyed to prison. It was a -capital crime to be found in that place without special permission, -and therefore he was condemned to die. The reading of the sentence so -unmanned him that the next morning he stood in presence of his jailer -with a furrowed visage and grey hair. The fact being reported to King -Ferdinand as a prodigy, he was moved to compassion, and pardoned the -culprit, saying, he had been sufficiently punished in exchanging the -bloom of youth for the hoary aspect of age. The same happened to the -father of Martin Delrio, who, lying sick in bed, heard the physicians -say he would certainly die. He recovered, but the fright gave him a -grey head in a few hours, and this instance of the terror he had -suffered never afterward left him. - -Robert Boyle, in his Philosophical Examples, relates the following -incident of the same class: "Being about four or six years since," he -says, "in the county of Cork, there was an Irish captain, a man of -middle age and stature, who came with some of his followers to -surrender himself to the Lord Broghill, who then commanded the English -forces in those parts, upon a public offer of pardon to the Irish that -would lay down their arms. He was casually met with in a suspicious -place by a party of the English, and intercepted, the Lord Broghill -being then absent. He was so apprehensive of being put to death before -the return of the commander-in-chief, that his anxiety of mind quickly -altered the color of his hair in a peculiar manner. It was not -uniformly changed, but here and there certain peculiar tufts and -locks, whose bases might be about an inch in diameter were suddenly -turned white alone; the rest of his hair, whereof the Irish used to -wear good store, retained its natural reddish color." - -A sudden shock operates on the memory as well as on the hair. In -Pliny's Natural History we read of one who, being struck violently and -unexpectedly by a stone, forgot his letters, and could never write -again; another, he says, through a fall from the roof of a very high -house, lost his remembrance of his own mother, his nearest kinsfolks, -friends, and neighbors; and a third, in a fit of sickness, ceased to -recognize his own servants. Messala Corvinus, the great orator, being -startled suddenly, forgot his own name, and was unable to remember it -for a considerable time. The same thing happened to Sidney Smith, not -from fear, but from absence of mind. He called on a friend, who was -not at home, and he happened to have no card to leave. "What name, -sir?" said the servant. "That's exactly what I can't tell you," was -the reply. - -Augustus Caesar was not a valiant man, in the popular acceptation of -the word. He shrank in his tent from the onset at Philippi, skulked in -the hold of the admiral's galley during the sea-fight with Sextus -Pompey in the Straits of Messina, and was a safe spectator on shore at -Actium. Antony, and even his own friend and lieutenant, Agrippa, -taunted him with his want of courage. He was so terrified at thunder -and lightning that he always carried with him the skin of a sea-calf -as an antidote. If he suspected the approach of a tempest, he ran to -some underground vault until the symptoms passed over. Yet Suetonius -says he once, under necessity, showed a bold front to a danger he -could not avoid. He was walking abroad with Diomedes, his steward, -when a wild boar, which had broken loose, rushed directly toward them. -{165} Thus steward in his terror, ran behind the emperor and -interposed him as a shield betwixt the assailant and himself. Augustus -stood his ground, because flight was barred, and the boar turned tail. -But knowing that fear, not malice, had prompted the conduct of his -servant, he had the magnanimity to confine his resentment to a -perpetual just. Caligula, who affected to contemn the gods, was -equally terrified with Augustus at the least indication of thunder and -lightning. He covered his head, and if the explosions chanced to be -loud and near, leaped from his couch and hid himself under it. - -History mentions several sovereigns who loved war, but had no taste -for personal participation in its perils. Charles the Fifth, and his -son, Philip the second, are amongst the number, The leading -characteristic of the latter was cruelty, a disposition generally -associated with cowardice. Diocletian, after he became emperor, fought -more by his lieutenants than in person. Lactantius said of him that he -was timid and spiritless in all situations of danger. _Erat in omni -tumultu meticulosus et animi dejectus_. [Footnote 35] - - [Footnote 35: Lactant. De Mortibus Persecutorum, c. ix.] - -A commander should be self-collected in a battle, calm under a shower -of darts or the whistling of artillery; but to prove his courage, he -is not called upon to charge windmills with the chivalric madness of -Don Quixote, or to slay eight hundred enemies with his own hand, as -recorded of Aurelian and Richard Coeur de Lion. Charles of Sweden and -Attila loved fighting for fighting's sake; for the _certaminis -gaudia_, as Cassiodorus writes; "the rapture of the strife," as Lord -Byron translates the passage. Yet a brave general is not obliged to be -a vulture snuffing blood like the truculent king of the Huns. He can -maintain his reputation for personal courage without jumping alone -into the midst of an army of foes, as Alexander did from the walls of -Oxydrace; or resisting a host of many thousands with three hundred -men, as Charles XII. did at Bender; or of placing his foot first on -the scaling ladder in emulation of the extreme daring of the Constable -Bourbon, under extreme circumstances, at the storming of Rome. Charles -the First lacked _moral_ courage, but he was no craven physically. His -bravery in the field, and calm dignity on the scaffold, went far in -atonement of his political weaknesses and shortcomings. - -The mind naturally revolts from sudden or violent death. Yet it has -its recommendations. It is never painful. The important consideration -is lest it should be unprepared for. We mourn the loss of a friend or -relative who is killed in battle more than we do that of one who dies -in the course of nature, or of an incidental fever. We lament a -soldier's death because it seems untimely. A sufferer who languishes -of disease, ends his life with more pain but with less credit. He -leaves no example to be quoted, no honor to be cherished as an -heirloom by his descendants. We affect to be greatly shocked at the -misfortunes or death of a friend or acquaintance, but there is -something pharisaical in this exuberance of sympathy, only we are -unwilling to confess the truth openly. - -Foote, who was a scoffer, and in all respects an irreligious man, -said, when very ill, that he was not afraid to die. David Hume, an -_esprit fort_ of a more pretentious character, declared that it gave -him no more uneasiness to think he should not be after this life, than -that he had not been before he began to exist. An ingenious sophistry, -like his essay on miracles. We do not believe that any one ever really -persuaded himself that he was not a responsible being, and not -answerable for his deeds done in the flesh. Sir Henry Halford, in his -essays, expresses his surprise that of the great number of patients he -had attended, so few appeared reluctant to die. "We may suppose," he -adds, "that this willingness to submit to the common and irresistible -doom, arises from an {166} impatience of suffering, or from that -passive indifference which is sometimes the result of debility and -extreme bodily pain." - -Themistocles was quite as unwilling to die, although he assigned a -better reason for his love of life. Finding his mental and physical -powers beginning to decay, in such a manner as to indicate his -approaching end, he grieved that he must now depart, when, as he said, -he was only beginning to grow wise. As an instance of superstitious -terror, Plutarch tells us that Amestis, the wife of the great Xerxes, -buried twelve persons alive, offering them as a sacrifice to Pluto for -the prolongation of her own days. Mecaenas, the great patron of -learning, and favorite of Augustus, had such a horror of death, that -he had often in his mouth, "all things are to be endured so long as -life is continued." The Emperor Domitian, from innate timidity, caused -the walls of the galleries wherein he took daily recreation to be -garnished with the stone called phangites, the brightness of which -reflected all that was passing behind him. Theophrastus, the -philosopher, who lived to be one hundred and seven years of age, was -so attached to life that he complained of the partiality of nature in -granting longevity to the crow and the stag beyond that accorded to -man. Plutarch, in his life of Pericles, names a skilful engineer -called Artemon, who was withal so timorous that he was frightened at -his own shadow, and seldom stirred out of his house for fear some -accident should betide him. Two of his servants always held a brazen -target over his head lest anything might fall upon it; and if -necessity compelled him to go abroad, he never walked, but was carried -in a litter which hung within an inch or two of the ground. - -We read, in a more recent author, of a certain Rhodius, who, being -sentenced to perpetual imprisonment in a dungeon, by a tyrant, for -indulging in unseasonable liberty of speech, was treated in all -respects like a caged beast, with great torture and ignominy. His food -was scanty and loathsome; his hands were amputated, his face gashed -and disfigured with wounds. In this miserable plight, some of his -friends suggested to him to put an end to his sufferings by voluntary -starvation. "No," he replied; "while life remains all things are to be -hoped for." He clung to mere existence when death would have been a -relief. How are we to reconcile or account for these strange -contradictions? The sum of all appears to be that human nature is a -complex mystery, beyond the powers of man to fathom with the limited -faculties attached to his transitory condition. - -Let us turn now to a more attractive quality, courage and, manly -daring as exhibited in life and and death, particularly in the "last -scene of all." _Finis coranat opus_--the end crowns the work. When -Epaminondas asked whether Chabrias, Iphicrates or himself deserved the -highest place in the esteem of their fellow-beings, he replied, "You -must see us die before that question can be answered." His own exit at -Mantinea, in the moment of a glorious victory, was singularly -brilliant, and his parting sentiments illustrated the purity of his -life. The situation finds an exact parallel in the fall of Gustavus -Adolphus, under the same circumstances, at Lutzen. The name of the -patriot who seals with blood his devotion to his cause, on a winning -field, is encircled with and imperishable halo of glory, the thought -of which would stir the pulse of an anchorite. Claverhouse, in Old -Mortality, describes the feeling with true military enthusiasm. "It is -not," he says, "the expiring pang that is worth thinking of in an -event that must happen one day, and may befall us at any moment--it is -the memory which the soldier leaves behind him, like the long train of -light that follows the sunken sun; that is all which is worth caring -for, which distinguishes the death of the brave or the ignoble. When I -think of death, as a chance of {167} almost hourly occurrence in the -course before me, it is in the hope of pressing one day some -well-fought and hard-won field of battle, and expiring with the shout -of victory in my ear; _that_ would be worth dying for, and more, it -would be worth having lived for." And so fell the real Claverhouse on -the field of Killiecrankie, and with him vanished the passing gleam of -sunshine in the fortunes of the master he served so loyally and well. -Had he lived to improve his victory, he would have been in Edinburgh -in two or three days, and it is difficult to say what turn the pages -of coming history might then have taken. As soon as it was known that -he was killed, his army of Highland clans dispersed, and never -collected again. They were held together by his single name, and had -no faith in any other leader. - -A heathen poet, Antiphanes, who lived a century earlier than Socrates -or his pupil Plato, and five hundred years before the Christian -revelation, has a remarkable passage to this effect, of which the -following verbal translation is given by Addison in the Spectator: -"Grieve not above measure for deceased friends. They are not dead, but -have only finished that journey we are all necessitated to take. We -ourselves must go to that great place of reception in which they are -all of them assembled, and in this general rendezvous of mankind live -together in another state of being." - -Men of the most opposite characters have jested on the point of death. -Sir Thomas More, a Christian philosopher, said to the executioner, -"Good friend, let me put my beard out of the way, for that has -committed no offence against the king." - -The following instance, recorded by the Abbe Vertot, in his history of -the revolutions of Portugal, may claim comparison, for intrepidity and -greatness of soul, with anything that we read of in Greek or Roman -lore. When Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, invaded the territories of -Muley Moloch, Emperor of Morocco to de-throne him and set his crown on -the head of his nephew, Moloch was wearing away with a distemper which -he himself knew and felt to be incurable. However, he prepared for the -reception of the formidable foreign enemy. He was so utterly exhausted -by his malady, that he scarcely expected to outlive the day when the -decisive battle was fought at Alcazar. But knowing the fatal -consequences that would happen to his children and people in case he -should die before he put an end to that war, he gave directions to his -principal officers that if he died during the engagement they should -conceal his death from the army, and should ride up to the litter in -which his corpse was carried, under pretence of receiving orders from -him as usual. Before the action began he was carried through all the -ranks of his host, with the curtains of the litter drawn up, as they -stood in battle array, and encouraged them to fight valiantly in -defence of their religion and country. Finding the action at one -period of the day turning against him, and seeing that the decisive -moment had arrived, he, though verging on his last agonies, threw -himself out of his litter. The enthusiasm of his spirit for the moment -conquered the feebleness of his body; he was lifted upon a horse, -rallied his troops, and led them to a renewed charge, which ended in a -complete victory on the side of the Moors. The King of Portugal was -killed. At least, he disappeared mysteriously, and never was seen -again; his body, like that of James the Fourth at Flodden, was not -clearly identified, and more than one pretender from time to time came -forward to personate him; his entire army was dispersed, slain, or -rendered captive. Muley Moloch lived to witness the effect of his -charge, when nature gave way; his officers replaced him in his litter; -he was unable to speak, but laying his finger on his lips to enjoin -secrecy on all who stood around him, died a few moments afterwards in -that posture. - -{168} - -Fortitude and valor are, after all, more derived from constitution and -example than from any inherent power of the mind. When Sylla beheld -his army on the point of defeat by Archelaus, the general of -Mithridates, he alighted from his horse, snatched a standard from the -bearer, and rushing with it into the midst of the enemy, cried out, -"Here, comrades, I intend to die; but for you, when asked where you -left your general, remember it was at Orchomenus." The soldiers, moved -by his speech and example, returned to their ranks, renewed the fight, -and converted an imminent overthrow into a decisive victory. At -Marathon, Cynegirus, an Athenian, having pursued the Persians to their -ships, grasped a boat in which some of them were putting off from the -shore, with his right hand, holding it until his hand was cut off; he -then seized it with the left, which was also immediately severed. -After that, he retained it with his teeth, nor did he relinquish that -last hold until his fleeting breath failed, and thereby disappointed -the resolute intention of his mind. - -The exploits of Mutius Seaevola, who thrust his hand into the fire to -frighten Porsenna, and of Horatius Cocles, who defended a bridge -singly against an army, are familiar to every school-boy. The latter, -in the glowing verses of Macaulay, is a favorite subject of selection -at school speech-days, and for public readings or recitations. -According to the same authority, Plutarch, the heroism of Seaevola had -been anticipated by Agesilaus, the brother of Themistocles. When -Xerxes arrived with his countless hosts at Cape Artemisium, the bold -Athenian, disguised as a Persian, came into the camp of the -barbarians, and slew one of the captains of the royal guard, supposing -he had been the king himself. He was immediately brought before -Xerxes, who was then offering sacrifices upon the altar of the Sun. -Agesilaus thrust his hand into the flame, and endured the torture -without sigh or groan. Xerxes ordered them to loose him. "All we -Athenians," said Agesilaus, "are of the same determination. If thou -wilt not believe it, I will also suffer my left hand to be consumed by -the fire." The king, awed and impressed with respect for such -undaunted constancy, commanded him to be carefully kept and well -treated. Did one story suggest the other, or are both real or -fabulous? - -Valerius Maximus relates the following anecdote: "After the ancient -custom of the Macedonians, certain noble youths waited on Alexander -the Great when he sacrificed to the gods. One of these, holding a -censer in his hand, stood before the king. It chanced that a live coal -fell upon his arm, and so burnt it that the smell of the charred flesh -affected the bystanders; yet the sufferer suppressed the pain, in -silence, and held his arm immovable, lest by shaking the censer he -should interrupt the sacrifice, or by his groaning disturb the king. -Alexander, that he might still further try his fortitude, purposely -continued and protracted the sacrifice; yet the noble-hearted boy -persisted in his resolute intention." To this rare instance of -fortitude he adds another. "Anaxarchus, a philosopher of Abdera, was -remarkable for freedom of speech, which no personal consideration -restrained. He was a friend of Alexander, and when the great conqueror -was wounded, said bluntly, 'Behold the blood of a man and not of a -god.' But Alexander was too noble to be offended at such a home truth. -It was otherwise with Nicocreon, tyrant of Cyprus, to whose court -Anaxarchus betook himself on the death of Alexander. When the sage -openly reproached him with his cruelties, Nicocreon seized and -threatened to pound him in a stone mortar with iron hammers. 'Pound -the body of Anaxarchus at thy pleasure,' exclaimed he; 'his soul thou -canst not pound.' The tyrant, in a paroxysm of rage, ordered his -tongue to be cut from his mouth. {169} 'Effeminate wretch,' cried the -undaunted monitor, 'neither shall that part of my body be at thy -disposal.' So saying, he bit off his own tongue, and spat it in the -face of his persecutor." - -Bacon, in his History of Life and Death, mentions a certain tradition -of a man, who being under the executioner's hands for high treason, -after his heart was plucked from his body, was yet heard to murmur -several words of prayer. He also instances another strange example in -the case of the Burgundian who murdered the Prince of Orange. When the -first part of his sentence, which only related to cutting off his -curls of hair, was carried out, he absolutely shed shed tears; yet, -when scourged with rods of iron, and his flesh torn with red-hot -pincers, he uttered neither sigh nor grown. Before his sense of -feeling became extinct under reiterated tortures, a part of the -scaffold fell on the head of a spectator. The criminal was observed to -laugh at the accident. - -It is recorded of Caius Marius, seven times Roman consul, and conquer -of the Cimbri and Teutones, that a short time before his death, in his -seventieth year, a swelling in the leg location the necessity of its -being cut off. To this he submitted without a distortion of the face -or any visible sign of suffering. The surgeon told him the other leg -was as badly affected and peremptorily demanded the same remedy, if he -wished his life to be prolonged. "No," said Marius, "the pain is -greater than the advantage." Something very similar occurred at the -death of General Moreau on the field of Dresden, in 1813. A cannon -ball, as he was in conversation with the Emperor of Russia, shattered -his right knee, passed through the body of the horse, and left his -other leg suspended by a few ligaments. He sat up and coolly smoked a -cigar while undergoing the amputation of the left. On being told that -he must also lose the right, he shrugged his shoulders, and said to -the surgeons, "On with your work, if it must be so; but if I had known -at the beginning, I would have kept my legs and spared your trouble." -He survived only a few hours. - -In 1571 Marc Antonio Bragandino, a noble Venetian, who was governor of -Famagusta, in the island of Cyprus, defended that city with -indomitable perseverance during a long siege, which cost Mustapha, the -general of the Turkish army, many thousands of his bravest soldiers. -The promised aid from Venice not arriving in time, Bragandino was -compelled to surrender on honorable conditions, which Mustapha -violated with consummate treachery. He caused the principal officers -to be beheaded in sight of their commander, who was reserved for a -more inhuman punishment. Three times the scimetar was drawn across his -throat, that he might endure the pain of more than one death, yet the -illustrious victim quailed not nor wavered in his intrepid demeanor. -His nose and ears were then cut off, and loaded with chains he was -compelled to carry earth in a hod to those who were repairing the -fortifications. With this heavy burden he was forced to bend and kiss -the ground every time he passed before Mustapha. Still his courage -supported him, and he kept dignified silence. Finally he was lashed to -the yard-arm of one of the Turkish galleys, and flayed alive. He -endured all with unshaken firmness, and to the last reproached the -infidels with their perfidy and inhumanity. His skin was carried in -parade along the coasts of Syria and Egypt, and deposited in the -arsenal of Constantinople, whence it was obtained by the children of -the illustrious hero, and preserved as the most glorious relic in -their family. - -We find it written in Baker's Chronicle that King William Rufus, being -reconciled to his brother Robert, assisted him to recover Fort St. -Michael, in Normandy, forcibly held by Prince Henry, afterwards Henry -the First. During the siege, William one day {170} happening to be -riding carelessly along the shore, was set upon by three knights, who -assaulted him so fiercely that they drew him from his saddle, and the -saddle from his horse. But catching up his saddle, and drawing his -sword, he defended himself until rescue came. Being afterwards blamed -for his obstinacy in risking his life for a trifling part of his -equipment, "It would have angered me to the very heart," he replied, -"that the knaves should have bragged they had won the saddle from me." -The same authority tells us that "Malcolm, king of the Scots, a -contemporary of William Rufus, was a most valiant prince, as appears -by an act of his of an extraordinary strain. Hearing of a conspiracy -and plot to murder him, by one whose name is not recorded, he -dissembled all knowledge of it, till being abroad one day hunting in -company with the concealed traitor, he took him apart in a wood, and -being alone, 'Here now,' said he, 'is fit time and place to do that -manfully which you intended to do treacherously; draw your weapon, and -if you now kill me, none being present, you can incur no danger.' By -this speech of the king's the fellow was so daunted, that presently he -fell down at his feet and humbly implored forgiveness; which being -granted, he proved himself ever after a loyal and faithful servant. -This same Malcolm, son of the Duncan who was murdered by Macbeth, was -himself killed at the siege of Alnwick Castle, in 1093. A young -English knight rode into the Scottish camp, armed only with a slight -spear, whereon hung the keys of the castle, and approaching near the -king, lowered his lance, as if presenting the keys in token of -surrender. Suddenly he made a home thrust at the monarch's eye, which -ran into his brain, and he fell dead on the instant, the bold -Englishman saving himself by the swiftness of his horse. From this act -of desperate valor came the surname of Piercy, or Percy, ever since -borne with so much honor by the noble house of Northumberland." - -A Dutch seaman being condemned to death, his punishment was changed, -and he was ordered to be left on the island of St. Helena, at that -time uninhabited. The horrors of solitude, without the hope of escape, -determined him to attempt one of the strangest actions ever recorded. -There had been interred that day in the same island an officer of the -ship. The seaman took the body out of the coffin, and having made a -kind of or of the upper board, ventured to see in it. There was -fortunately for him a dead calm, and as he glided along, early the -next morning he came near the ship lying immovable within two leagues -of the island. When his former companions saw so strange a float upon -the waters, they imagined it was a spectral delusion, but when they -discovered the reality, were not a little startled at the resolution -of the man who durst hazard himself on the sea in three boards -slightly nailed together. He had little hope of being received by -those who had so lately sentenced him to death. Accordingly it was put -to the question whether he should be saved or not. After some debates -and much difference of opinion, mercy prevailed. He was taken on -board, and came afterwards to Holland, where he lived in the town of -Hoorn, and related to many how miraculously God had delivered him. - -Raleigh's History of the World abounds in anecdotes of undaunted -action. Amongst many others, the following is not the least -remarkable: "Henry, Earl of Alsatia, surname Iron, because of his -strength, obtained great favor with Edward the Third by reason of his -valor, and of course became a mark of envy for the courtiers. One day, -in the absence of the king, they counselled the queen that forasmuch -as the earl was unduly preferred before all the English peers and -knights, she would make trial whether he was so highly descended as he -gave out, by causing a lion to be let loose on him unawares, affirming -that if Henry were truly noble the lion would {171} refuse to assail -him. They obtained leave to the effect that they desired. The earl was -accustomed to rise before day, and to walk in the lower court of the -castle in which he resided, to enjoy the fresh air of the morning. A -lion was brought in during the night, in his cage, the door of which -was afterward raised by a mechanical contrivance, so that he had -liberty of escape. The earl came down in his night gown, with girdle -and sword, when he encountered the lion, bristling his hair and -roaring in the middle of the court. Not in the least astonished or -thrown off his guard he called out with a stout voice, 'Stand, you -dog!' Whereupon the lion crouched at his feet, to the great amazement -of the courtiers, who peeped from their hiding-places to see the issue -of the trick they had planned. The earl grasped the lion by the mane, -shut him up in his cage, and left his night-cap upon his back, and so -came forth, without even looking behind him. 'Now,' said he to them -that skulked behind the casements, 'let him amongst you that standeth -most upon his pedigree go and fetch My night-cap.' But they, one and -all, ashamed and terrified, withdrew themselves in silence." - -But the most brilliant deeds and daring of warriors on the -battle-field, stimulated by all the excitements of pride, ambition, -and man's applause, in the estimate of true heroism fall far below the -glory of the patient, unpretending martyr, who dies for his faith at -the stake, amidst the blaspheming yells of his persecutors. - -How impressive is the character drawn by Modestus, deputy of the -Emperor Valens, of St. Basil the Great, as he is justly called, whom -he sought to draw, with other eminent bishops, into the heresy of -Arius. He attempted it at first with caresses and all the sugared -phrases that might be expected from one who had words at command. -Disappointed in this course, he tried threats of exile, torture, and -death. Finding all equally fruitless, he returned to his lord with -this character of Basil--"Firmior est quam ut verbis, praestantior -quam ut minis, fortior quam ut blanditiis vinci possit." He is so -resolute and determined, that neither words, threats, nor allurements -have any power to alter him. - -A sense of duty, in its high moral definition, ranks far beyond the -mere courage of the soldier, the selfish love of fame, the thirst of -glory, or the desire of personal pre-eminence. The late Duke of -Wellington was duty personified. The following illustrative anecdote -has never, we believe, been in print, and came to the present relater -through a source which vouches its authenticity. The duke was also -reticent, and not given to communicate his arrangements more openly to -his officers than was required for their exact comprehension and the -fulfilment of their instructions. It is generally supposed that Lord -Hill was second in command at Waterloo, and that he would have assumed -the direction of affairs had the great duke been killed or wounded -during the battle. This is a mistake. Lord Uxbridge, afterwards -Marquis of Anglesea, was senior in rank, by the date of his -lieutenant-general's commission, to Lord Hill, and on him the command -would have devolved in the possible and not improbable contingency -alluded to. The duke communicated with him most frankly and cordially -on all professional points, but from family incidents there was not -that perfect unreserve and friendly intercourse in private which -otherwise might have been. On the evening of the 17th of June, Lord -Uxbridge said to Sir Hussey Vivian, his old friend and brother officer -of the 7th Hussars, "I am very unpleasantly situated. There will be a -great battle to-morrow. The duke, as we all know, exposes himself -without reserve, and will, in all probability, do so more than ever on -this occasion. If an unlucky shot should strike him, and I find myself -suddenly in command, I have not the most distant idea of what his -intentions are. I would give the world to know, as they {172} must be -profoundly calculated, and far beyond any I could hit upon for myself -in a sudden crisis. We are not personally intimate enough to allow me -to ask or hint the question. What shall I do?" "Consult Alava," -replied Vivian. "He is evidently more in the duke's confidence than -any one else, and will perhaps undertake to speak to him." Lord -Uxbridge followed the suggestion, rode over to head-quarters, and -finding General Alava, stated the object of his visit. "I agree with -you," said the Spaniard; "the question is serious; but honored as I am -by the duke's confidence, _I_ dare not propose it to him. I think, -however, that _you_ can and ought to do so. If you like, I will tell -him you are here." Lord Uxbridge, not without reluctance, consented, -and being introduced to the duke's apartments, with some hesitation -stated, as delicately as he could, the matter which disturbed him. The -duke listened until Lord Uxbridge ceased to speak; his features -indicated no emotion; and when he replied, it was without impatience, -surprise, or any alteration of his usual manner. After a short pause -he said, "Who do you expect will attack to-morrow, I or Bonaparte?" -"Bonaparte, I suppose," answered Lord Uxbridge. "Well, then," rejoined -the duke, "he has not told me his plans; how then can I tell you mine, -which must depend on his?" Lord Uxbridge said no more; he had nothing -more to say. The duke seeing that he looked a little blank, laid his -hand gently on his shoulder: "But one thing, Uxbridge," he observed, -"is quite certain; come what may, _you and I will both do our duty_." -And so, with a cordial pressure of the hand, they parted. - - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -SAINT LUCY. - - - The giving of my eyes - In loving sacrifice - Was my appointed way; - No soft decline from the meridian day - Through dusky twilight slowly into dark, - But blackness, bloody, swift, and stark - From hands unkind. - And I was blind. - - Thus reads the story, writ on sacred scroll, - Of Lucy, virgin martyr: that sharp dole - Won heaven's eternal brightness for her soul;-- - The blotting out of sunshine, the recoil - From utter blackness, the heart's gasp and spasm - Before the unseen void, the imagined chasm - Of untried darkness, was the martyr toil - Whose moment's agony surpasses years-- - The love, long years of patience and of tears - Allotted unto others. "All for all;" - Not doling out with a reluctant hand, - But in one holocaustal offering grand, - Will, senses, mind, responding to heaven's call. - -{173} - - "Bought at whatever price, heaven is not dear," - Sounds like an echoed chorus full of cheer - From crypts of mangled martyrs, and charred bones, - And blood-stained phials of the catacombs: - And that young Roman girl's adoring eyes, - One moment darkened, opened in surprise - Upon the face of God. The cruel, taunt - Of judges obdurate, the accuser's vaunt, - The mob's wild shout of triumph deep and hoarse, - Might still be heard around the bloody corse - When her sweet soul, in peace, at God's own word - Had tasted its exceeding great reward; - To "see as she was seen," to know as known; - The beatific vision all her own. - - Upon the sacred canon's sacred page. - Invoked by vested priest from age to age, - Stand five fair names of virgins, martyrs all, - As if with some peculiar glory crowned - That thus their names should crystallize; "their sound - Is gone through all the earth," and great and small - Upon those five wise virgins sweetly call - With reverent wish: Saint Lucy! Agatha! - Agnes! Cecilia! Anastasia! - And chanted litany chose names enfold - In reliquary more precious than mute gold. - - With what a tender awe I heard that name-- - A household name, familiar, dear, and kind. - Of gentlest euphony--such honor claim! - Thenceforth that name I speak with lifted mind, - More loved in friend, because revered in saint; - And daily as to heaven I make complaint - Of mortal ills, and sickness, sorrows, woes, - This one petition doth all others close: - Saint Lucy, virgin martyr, by thine eyes - Which thou didst give to God in sacrifice, - His mercy and his solace now implore - For darkened eyes and sightless, never more - To gaze on aught created: by that meed - Of choicest graces in that hour of need, - Sweetness of patience and a joyful mind, - And faithful, gentle hands to guide the blind! - But more than this, Saint Lucy; thou didst gain, - By loss of thy young eyes with loving pain. - The vision given to angels; then obtain - The lifting up of blinded orbs to where - God sitteth in his beauty, the All-fair; - Saint Lucy, virgin martyr, aid our prayer! - ------- - -{174} - - -THE GODFREY FAMILY; -OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY. - - - -CHAPTER V. - -IS MERE MATERIAL PROGRESS A REAL BENEFIT, OR A PROGRESS IN THE RIGHT -DIRECTION? - -I have already stated that Eugene Godfrey was well introduced on his -entrance at Cambridge. Scientific professors found pleasure in -bringing forward the son of so eminent a patron of literature and -science. But they were disappointed at finding little response in -Eugene's mind to the boastful glory of scientific improvement. "Cui -Bono?" was ever in his heart, and sometimes on his lips, when any new -inventions were proposed to him. - -"Supposing we should be able to light our streets and our houses with -this wonderful combination of gases," he would say, "will the light -within be the greater? Supposing we travel without horses at the speed -of thirty miles an hour, can we travel nearer to truth? Improvement! -Is it an improvement to multiply bodily wants, or (beyond supplying -means of actual existence) is it rational to spend so much time in -rendering the body comfortable? Is multiplying luxury a good?" - -"It employs hands," would be the reply, "and thus diffuses wealth." - -"If that is the only object, riches could be easily scattered without -compelling those who own them to become effeminate triflers." - -"But simply to give away wealth without exacting an equivalent, would -encourage idleness," argued the professor. - -"And so to benefit our neighbor's morals we yield our own," said -Eugene. "Well, that is new philanthropy, and I am less inclined to -assent to it than ever I was. To keep untrammelled, we must, methinks, -reduce the number of our physical wants instead of increasing them. -Surely there are other modes of benefiting mankind than those which -enervate. The education of the hero is frugal, hardy, temperate almost -to scantiness. Fancy Sesostris or Cyrus lolling at ease in a -spring-patented carriage, propped up luxuriously with velvet cushions! -or think of a hero dressed out in gewgaws! Our minds lose the heroic -element altogether in the picture." - -"A good loss," replied the professor! "methinks these warriors make a -great show, but what good do they effect: They destroy the arts of -peace and live on the excitement of vain glory. That excitement over, -they are as weak as other mortals. Hercules playing the distaff at -Queen Omphale's court is a fitting type of a so-called hero's rest." - -"Not of all," replied Eugene; "conquerors have been lawgivers, and -good ones too. The passion of glory may not be a good in itself, but -it is better than sensuality. You would not compare Cyrus with -Heliogabalus." - -"Not for himself, perhaps, not for his own private dignity; but for -the good he did in the world at large. I think the preference -questionable. Even allowing that the cruelty of Heliogabalus destroyed -whole multitudes, it had not the devastating effect on whole districts -which war ever produces; conquest lays waste large fields, destroys -produce, and brings famine and played in its wake." - -{175} - -"I am not arguing in favor of war for its own sake, I am only saying -that constant attention to mere bodily comfort must cause the race to -degenerate. He who would rise individually in the scale of existence -must repress bodily appetites, not encourage them; and this, if true -of the individual, must be true of society also: consequently the -introduction of luxury on a system, most eventually prove itself to be -an evil. - -"Pshaw!" said the professor, "these theories are well enough in the -closet, but in action they are good for nothing. Why, you destroy -incentive to mental activity, when you debar man from applying it to -useful purposes." - -"Useful, meaning increase of luxury?" asked Eugene. - -"Well," somewhat petulantly rejoined the professor, "is not the -definition of luxury a good? The rich may please themselves, but the -poor need more comfort than they enjoy; among them diffusion of luxury -must be a good." - -"Does that diffusion take place among the poor, as a matter of fact-- -at least among the masses? Is not the contrary rather the case? Are -they not rather the ones to _suffer_ from the first fruits of -improvement. Look at the Manchester riots for the good you do;--awhile -ago there was in that town a contented population, sufficiently -provided with food, clothing, shelter, fire, and other real -necessaries; suddenly one of your clever men invents a machine which -makes the rich people's dresses at half the cost, and throws one-third -of the hands out of employ. What good have you done? There is in that -community as much food as before, as much clothing, as much of every -necessary of life! Yet two or three thousand families are suddenly -deprived of the means of subsistence, and driven by despair to break -the peace and disturb the public security, while you are boasting of -the good of physical science. Methinks moral science wants studying -too." - -"Oh, these things will right themselves, will find their own level; -other employment will soon absorb the now displaced hands, and all -will be peace again." - -"I doubt it: the selfish principle engenders the selfish practice. -Teach the laboring class by example to cater only for their private -gratification, whether that gratification be in vanity, -self-aggrandizement, or luxury; teach them to place all their -happiness in physical good, and then show yourself reckless of their -requirements by an indiscreet introduction of machinery, and an -English edition of the Reign of Terror may ensue." - -"But what can be done? You would not stop these new inventions, nor -set a limit to improvement?" - -"I would seek a higher principle of action altogether; and before -setting up new insentient machinery, would provide that the highest -_sentient_ machinery, _Man_, should receive due consideration. It is a -manifest injustice, when the interests of the producers of wealth are -rashly sacrificed to increase the luxury of the consumers." - -"And what is this new principle, most compassionate sir?'* asked the -professor. - -"I do not know, it is precisely that which troubles me. Men are not -the mere money-machines you would turn them to--of that I am well -assured; but what they are and what their destiny is, I have yet to -learn." - -The professor laughed, rose and took his leave. - -Eugene remained plunged in a profound reverie, from which he was -aroused by the visit of a stranger, who announced himself as the M. -Bertolot introduced to our readers in a previous chapter. - -He said that although personally a stranger, yet hearing of Eugene's -residence at Cambridge, he had taken the liberty of calling to inquire -after the welfare of his former friends. - -Eugene welcomed him, and assured him that the countess was in good -health and spirits. - -"And her amiable daughter?" inquired the old man. - -{176} - -"Is also well, I hope and believe," said Eugene; "but she leads so -secluded a life, even in our large family, that it is difficult for -those about her to speak with any degree of certainty concerning her." - -"Indeed! She is probably scarcely recovered from the shock of her -father's terrible death." - -"Perhaps not; but I do not think _that_ is the sole cause of her -seclusion: she is essentially contemplative, and the things of this -world interest her but little. What her ideas are, I do not know, for -she seldom speaks of them, but I think they would be worth the -knowing." - -"Probably so," replied M. Bertolot "She is a pure soul, beautiful and -good; of whom we may almost affirm that she scarcely knows what sin -is."' - -Eugene looked at the speaker in surprise. "What sin is! What is sin!" -thought he. "Is it aught beside the consequence of error? and how can -we escape error if we cannot light on truth?" His puzzled look was -perhaps his best reply. - -"You do not credit me," said M. Bertolot; "you think, and justly, that -all men are sinners; yes, indeed, all, all are so, I spoke but by -comparison: it is rare to find so pure, so simple a soul as is that of -Mademosielle de Meglior; though not sinless, as none can be, she is a -consistent aspirant alter heavenly lore, ever keeping her heart fixed -on the only true source of light and life: at least she was so when I -knew her."' - -"She is tranquil and contemplative," said Eugene, "and when she does -speak, often startles us with the originality of her sentiments; but -when you spoke of her as not knowing sin, it was the expression that -astonished me. People in polite life do not often speak of themselves, -or of their friends, as sinners." - -"No!" said M. Bertolot; "excuse me then, the expression came as -naturally to my lips as to my thoughts. I intended no offense." - -"Nor did you give any: on the contrary, I should be glad to know from -you the principle of Euphrasie's mode of action, if without violating -confidence, you can tell me what it is. She is actuated by motives not -comprehended by those with whom she lives." - -"I can give you no other explanation than that I suppose her actuated -by the purest principles of religion. As a child she gave promise of -this: all her thoughts and ideas tended upward. Does she continue so?" - -"I never heard her speak of religion," replied Eugene; "she sometimes -speaks very sublimely, though very laconically, of truth being the one -thing to be cared for." - -"Ah!" said M. Bertolot, "is it thus she veils herself? But with her -truth, and the worship of the author of truth, must go together. I -know Euphrasie from childhood. I know how she struggled with her -naturally vehement spirit, until, even as a child, she obtained the -mastery. I remember, too, the explanations she sought for most -earnestly, of why our evil tendencies remain to molest us when we -become members of Christ. All that the child learned _once_ she -pondered over, and oftentimes surprised her teachers with her -comments." - -"I doubt it not: her remarks are ever original. I have often felt -quite anxious to know the basis of her actions." - -"Nay, have you not said already, that it was the love of truth? Her -every thought tends that way, and she early discovered how liable the -practical recognition of metaphysical truth is to be impeded by human -passion. Hence, from childhood upwards, she has been accustomed to -watch over herself, and to check the indulgence of any emotion that -would form a 'blind' between herself, and the object of her adoration. -She is young yet, but I venture to say she will pass by the age of -passion unscathed.* - -"Do you mean that she will love?" asked Eugene. - -{177} - -"Nay, that I cannot exactly affirm," replied M. Bertolot; "but I think -she will never be governed by any passion--be it love, pride, fame, -or ambition. I think she has laid the true foundation in obtaining the -mastery over her feelings; and though she is naturally affectionate, I -am not sure that she would be happy now, if bound by human ties. She -has accustomed herself to live an abstracted life; she would scarcely -be at home in domestic duties." - -"Nay, I hope such is not the case!" exclaimed Eugene, more warmly than -he intended, for his latent feelings toward Euphrasie ever and anon -betrayed themselves; and while he scarcely confessed it to himself, -interest in her style of thought colored the course of his own ideas. - -M. Bertolot dexterously turned the conversation by reverting to a -former subject. "It were well for mankind," said he, "did they -consider how much passion and prejudice warp the mind, even in the -consideration of abstract truths. Few, very few, keep their own -intellects open for the reception of any such foreign ideas as would -contravene their previous conceptions. Fewer still, give their -neighbors credit for such power to look at facts impartially. This is -an attestation that passion reigns rather than justice. Methinks the -old system of Pythagoras, subjecting youth to moral training as a -necessary preliminary for bringing the intellectual faculties into -harmonious play, were not a bad precedent for this unruly age." - -"It would scarcely go down now," urged Eugene. - -"Indeed no!"' said M. Bertolot. "The master says it would seem but a -ridiculous phrase in this all-disputing age. All faculties, whether of -mind or body or soul, seem now confounded. Positiveness usurps the -place of reason, and the mere child is allowed to question, instead of -being compelled at once to obey. If the world goes on with this -principle in action twenty years longer, we shall have little men and -women in plenty, but no children left, and then woe to the generation -that succeeds: a generation untrained and undisciplined by wholesome -restraint, with intellects prematurely developed without the adjunct -of self-government, which only moral training can impart. What a world -it will make! Methinks its inevitable tendency is to undue animal -preponderance. It is frightful to think of!" - -"I was just making the same remark to Professor K----," said Eugene; -"but though I see the evil, I cannot discern the remedy." - -"It is indeed difficult to compass the remedy," said M. Bertolot, "the -departure has been so wide. Men have ceased to distinguish between the -result of mere human intelligence and that of a loftier lore, and they -now use the intellect as the slave of the only good recognizable in -their system, _i. e._ of bodily ease or pleasure. Practically men -ignore the soul and its high destiny. Hence the disorder of the times. -Animalism is essentially selfish, and animalism is the tendency of -modern times--refined, veiled, adorned, with much of intellectual -allurement I admit, but nevertheless animalism thorough and entire." - -"I have thought of this before," said Eugene, "but my ideas are as yet -vague and undefined. I want data to go upon some firm ground on which -to plant my feet. The guesses of philosophers content me not." - -"Nor should they, my young friend, since, as you say, they are but -guesses, without a sure foundation. But have you heard of nothing -beyond philosophy? Has it never occurred to you that the creative -intelligence has revealed himself to the creature of his formation, -and that through that revelation we are informed of that which it -interests us to know--of our own soul, of the object of our creation, -and of the final destiny of man?" - -"I have heard of religion certainly," said Eugene, "but I cannot say I -ever studied it or practised it." - -{178} - -"No? Then no wonder you are dissatisfied. Your mind is evidently -seeking for truth. Nothing but the great truth can satisfy it. Study -dispassionately the evidences of the truth of the great Mosaic -history. Contemplate the grand position of our first father, Adam, -receiving instruction from God himself concerning the mighty mysteries -of creation, not only of matter and of material forms, but of bright -intelligences created to glorify and adorn the court of heaven, and -who fell from their sublime position. Study man first, fresh in -perfection from the hand of God, living as the _friend of God_, -communing with his Maker in the garden of Eden. Appointed by him to -rule o'er all inferior nature, the entitled Lord of the Creation, the -master of animal existences, and superior in his own person to much of -material influence. Think what it must have been to walk with God, and -have divine knowledge infused into his soul, as also all such material -science as would befit the founder of a mighty race to transmit to his -offspring, over whom he was to reign as prince, father, priest, and -teacher; and then consider what it must have been to find suddenly -that source of knowledge dried up, the door of communication closed, -power weakened, intuitions dimmed, and labor imposed as the price -alike of happiness, knowledge, and of that supernatural communication -which had been man's best and highest privilege: the solution of these -problems will give you the key to many difficulties which perplex -you." - -"There are modern theories which agree not with these premises," said -Eugene. "These trace man from the savage upward." - -"Yes,' said M. Bertolot, "_the mutum et turpe pecus_ [Footnote 36] of -Horace has found, if not admirers, yet professed believers in this -age. - - [Footnote 36: Dumb and filthy herd.] - -A theory contrary to analogy, to evidence alike of history and -tradition, has been assumed, and wondrously has found asserters too. -All mere animals are observed to be born complete--their instincts, -their organization serve but the individual; and though accident may -train an individual to feats beyond his fellows, yet there is no -appearance of new organs being formed to be transmitted to its race. -Now, these modern progressionists, who go back to the time - - 'When wild in woods the Noble Savage ran,' - -deprive man of his soul, assimilate him to the brutes to make him -perform what brute nature never did perform, namely, _create_ faculty. -Men have lives to laugh at the doctrine of the transmigration of -souls, but methinks the doctrine of the progression to bodily beauty -from monkeys without tails; of barbarians to civilized man without -aid, is to the full as absurd; to say nothing of that comprehensive -power of contemplation which enabled Newton to demonstrate the order -of the universe, it would be very difficult to understand how -abstract ideas could be latent in the soul of a monkey waiting -development. Besides, by the theory of progression, during the time of -which we have record, say six thousand years, men should be steadily -on the _improve_--both as to arts, science, moral government, legal -government, _self_-government, and bodily development; but we do not -find it so. The ruins of Babylon, of Thebes, and of other great cities -built soon after the flood, attest architectural skill among the -ancients such as is hardly aimed at no. Callisthenes found -astronomical tables reaching as far back as within a few years of the -deluge, in the Temple of Belus, when he accompanied Alexander the -Great on his expedition to the East. And many arts have been lost -altogether that were well known to the ancients. The half-barbarian -Copt erecting his hut amid the fallen pillars and statuary of ancient -Thebes, the Mameluke riding recklessly and savagely amid the pyramids, -that still remain to puzzle the assertor of progression even with the -mere mechanical difficulties of the machinery used for {179} raising -such immense stones to such a height and in such a plain, so distant -from any known quarries. These are hut poor indications of the race -advancing, though individual nations, worked on by a regenerative -influence, may appear to make, nay do make, great improvements in all -respects." - -"Do you, then, think that man's tendency is to degenerate?" asked -Eugene. - -"Not necessarily, by any means," replied M. Bertolot; "but in -proportion as he departs from the centre of unity, from the truths -once imprinted on the soul of Adam, thence to be transmitted for human -guidance, it will, I think, be found so." - -"But," said Eugene, "is Adam's religion yours? Surely he was not a -Christian." - -"If not in name and with the same outward rites, yet in reality he -must have been," replied the mentor. "There is but one truth, and the -difference between his creed and ours was that he looked for a -Redeemer to come. We believe in him as having come." - -"But was Adam's religion that of the Jews, then?" asked Eugene. - -"In creed and in spirit, yes. In form and observance it differed, -because the Jews had typical forms specially given to them, alike to -commemorate their deliverance from Egypt, and to typify their delivery -through Christ from sin. They were living amid idolatrous nations, and -the safeguard of a special ceremonial was needful to them." - -"And save in the fulfilment of their expectation, is the Jewish creed -Christian?" asked Eugene. - -"As far as it goes it is; the Christian revelation is a fuller -development of the old tradition, a clearer exposition of God; it -destroys nothing of the past revelation, it fulfils and expands. The -Jews were the preservers of the great tradition, transmitted through -the patriarchs to Noah, and by him, through his sons, to the race it -large. The tradition became corrupted by the majority; yet it is found -in some form or other mixed up in all mythologies; and what deserves -remark is, that the further back we trace mythology the purer it -becomes. The early records of all nations tell us of purity, -discipline, and sacrifice to secure purity of morals, and teach of -justice after death, of good and evil spirits, and of the interference -of the deity to check man in his career of evil. Men seem at first not -so much to have denied the true God, as to have associated other gods -with him, and to have changed their worship from seeking such -spiritual union as would render them 'sons of God,' to adoration of -the creator and upholder of physical power, physical grandeur, and -physical beauty. Atheism, and the lowering of man's nature to that of -a mere mortal animal, is an invention of modern times, and has for the -most part only been held by men satiated, as it were, by a spurious -civilization." - -"I am but little versed in the Bible," said Eugene, "but I have heard -learned men assert that all the education, so to speak, of the Jewish -nation was of a worldly character; and that though there are passages -of Scripture containing allusions to the immortality of the soul, yet -that doctrine was nowhere definitely asserted, but that, on the -contrary, all the rewards and punishments promised, or threatened, -were of a temporal nature." - -"And yet no one disputes that the Jews did, and do believe the soul to -be immortal, as also that they believed, and still believe, in the -traditions concerning the fallen angels, the fall of man, the promised -redemption, and many others. These doctrines, promulgated to all the -world, were kept intact by Abraham and his descendants; and it is a -very general belief that they were renewed in their purity in the soul -of Moses, during that long communion vouchsafed him on Mount Sinai. -The material law for exterior conduct he wrote down; but the spiritual -themes which formed the staple of the expositions given by the rulers -and doctors of the synagogue {180} and which were only figured by the -material types, were probably deemed by the holy lawgiver too sacred -to dilate upon in writing. If, after that forty days' sublimation, his -spirit was so triumphant that he was fain to veil the glory of his -face, we must needs suppose that not the mere written law, or setting -forth the ritual of their worship, occupied his whole attention, but -that his spirit expanded beneath the graces vouchsafed to him, and -that he was, in a sense, made partaker of those spiritual truths which -lie concealed from more materialized minds." - -"These facts deserve attention, at any rate," said Eugene; "can you -refer me to authorities within my reach?" - -"Indeed, I know not what your resources are, and my own books I have -lost. My memory, too, serves me but treacherously on controversial -subjects; but I think if you will turn to Grotius de Verit. Christ, -you will find him quoting Philo Judaeus in proof of the similarity of -the Christian doctrine with the Jewish." - -Eugene handed the book to his friend, who read the passage, of which -the following is the translation: - - "We have still to answer two accusations with which the doctrines - and worship of Christians are attacked by the Jews. The first is, - that they say we worship many gods. But this is nothing more than a - declaration thrown in hatred at a foreign faith. For what more is - asserted by the Christians, than by Philo Judaeus, who frequently - represents three in God, and who calls the reason, or word of God, - the name of God, the framer of the world, neither uncreate, as is - the Father of all, nor so born as are men (whom both Philo and - Moses, the son of Nehemanni, calls the angel, the deputy for ruling - this world); or what more than the cabalists assert, who - distinguished in God three lights, and indeed by somewhat the same - names as the Christians do, namely, of the Father, of the Son or - Word, and of the Holy Spirit. And I may also assume that which is - confessed by all the Jews, that that spirit which moved the - prophets, is not created, and yet is distinct from him who sent," - etc., etc. - -"But," said the old man, starting up and closing the book, "I am -forgetting myself; I came not here to deliver a lecture on theology, -but to inquire after my former friends. Excuse an old man's garrulity. -Adieu!" - -"Not yet," said Eugene; "your conversation interests me much; do not -go yet." - -"Yes, for to-night I leave you; if you permit me, however, I will -return on another day. Meantime, I would suggest to you one important -reflection. When Almighty God had created all things, and pronounced -them good; when he had formed man from the slime of the Earth, and -rendered him the most perfect of animals, man was not yet quite -complete; and the completion, what was it? No angel had command to -fulfil that wondrous office, nor was it by word that that mysterious -power was called into being: but God breathed, and man became a living -soul. The soul of man is, then, the in-breathing of the divinity ---immortal in its essence, God-like in its affinities. Quench not its -trembling impulses, when it bids you look upward in love and -confidence; but pray--ever pray--fervently, confidently, -perseveringly." This he added with a half-smile, which revealed to -Eugene who had been his former monitor. He then abruptly quitted the -room. - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -MODERN PAGANISM - -The Duke of Durimond and his fair bride prolonged their tour among the -lakes and mountains of the "land o' cakes" until autumn begun to show -the fallen leaf. Hester was not a little disappointed at this--she was -impatiently expecting a summons to {181} meet her sister at the dacal -mansion, and she thought the period unnecessarily delayed. - -At length the wished-for invitation came, and father, mother, sisters, -brother, aunt, and Euphrasie were called upon to welcome the young -duchess to one of the costliest and most elaborately finished palaces -in England. Hester shouted in glee as the carriage entered the -mile-long avenue of stately trees that formed the approach to the -ducal dwelling. The bevy of liveried servants that awaited their -approach at the hall-door, the quiet, respectful bearing of the -gentlemen servants out of livery who waited within to escort them to -the suite of rooms prepared for their reception--all this was -charming! delightful! only a look from her parents presented the merry -girl from dancing round the house in ecstasy. The entrance-hall itself -was sufficient to send her into raptures. The beautiful marble of the -floor, the large fires burning on each side, the triple row of -balconies, raised one above another, on the three sides within the -hall, betokening the communication of the upper stories with the rest -of the house by some unseen means, and displaying the full height of -the edifice, crowned as it was by a beautifully carved cupola, into -which sufficient skylight was artificially admitted to display to -advantage the figures of the rosy Aurora accompanied by her nymphs, -scattering flowers on her way as she opened the gates of morning, -which subject was skilfully portrayed on the ceiling. They passed -through this, the outer hall, to another, which contained the -magnificent staircase leading to the apartments opening on the -balconies described. To Hester's joy the entrance to their suite of -rooms opened on the first of these, and she could look up to the -painted ceiling and down to the marble floor, and gaze, unrebuked, on -the colossal figures of bronze which appeared to uphold the balconies. - -How happy Adelaide must be, mistress of so gorgeous a palace! And -Adelaide was there at the door of the apartments to greet her mother -and her mother's friends. What was there in her manner to damp at once -the ardor of Hester's enthusiasm? Grace, kindness, and dignity were -there! and yet Hester was not satisfied; a chill came o'er her -unawares as she returned her sister's kiss. She mastered herself, -however, sufficiently to express her admiration of the splendid hall. - -"Oh, that is nothing," said the young duchess, with a faint smile. -"His grace will introduce you to his hall of sculpture and to the -picture gallery by and by, and then you will be really pleased. I -believe royalty itself cannot boost such master-pieces as Durimond -Castle." - -"So I have heard," said Mrs. Godfrey; "but where is the duke, my -dear?" - -"He was unexpectedly occupied when you arrived, mamma, but doubtless -he will be here to welcome you immediately." - -There was a constraint and melancholy about Adelaide's manner that -struck the whole party, and their pleasure was more than a little -damped as they entered the magnificent apartments prepared for them. - -"Here," said the hostess, "you can be as private as in your own house -when you wish it; and when you desire society you will generally find -some one either in the library, or in the conservatory or -drawing-room." - -"Have you many guests?" asked the Countess de Meglior. - -"Your friend, the Comte de Villeneuve, came with us from town; he is -not here to-day, though I think the duke expects him to-morrow. He is -absent on some business; there is a strange gentleman closeted with -the duke just now, for whom apartments are ordered; he is a foreigner, -I think; the duke seems to have business with him. He will be our only -visitor today." - -{182} - -Just then the bell rang to warn the guests it was the dressing hour. -Valets and ladies' maids were in attendance, and though only to join a -family party, state-dresses were in requisition. - -Adelaide retired to make her preparations, and the visitors, amid the -luxurious surroundings, felt oppressed with a sadness for which they -could scarcely account, and which they cared not to express, even to -one another. - -The duke met them in the drawing-room before dinner, and his gay -manner in some degree dispelled the gloom that had crept over the -party. He inquired kindly after Eugene. - -"Eugene, from some cause or other," said Mrs. Godfrey, "keeps away -from home altogether. He spent his long vacation at the lakes, and has -again returned to Cambridge. He has taken a studious fit, I suppose, -and must be allowed to gratify if ." - -"And does he not, then, intend to honor us with his company?" inquired -the duke. - -"Oh, he will run down for a day or two ere long, I dare say. He must -see Adelaide, of course; but when, he does not exactly say." - -Adelaide did not appear displeased to hear this. She turned to her -husband and asked what he had done with his visitor. - -"He would not stay, he had an appointment to keep, so we must make up -for all deficiencies ourselves." - -The dinner passed away stiffly enough, and as the season was too late -for a walk afterward, the gentlemen, following the then national -custom, passed a considerable time over the bottle, discussing the -politics of the day. It was late in the evening ere they joined the -ladies. They found them in a large conservatory, which was illuminated -in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey's arrival; and in this flowery -retreat sundry self-acting musical instruments were hidden, which, -from time to time, sent forth, as it were unbidden, melodious sounds -and tuneful harmonies, which, vibrating amid the flowering shrubs -that formed an artificial spring within the glass enclosure, -contrasted pleasingly with the "fall of the leaf" that made all nature -desolate without. - -"Art conquers nature here," said Mr. Godfrey, as he entered the -enchanted scene. "We might fancy ourselves in a fairy palace now. What -says my Hester to this?" - -"Oh! this is beautiful, indeed! Music, moonlight, love, and flowers -are it 'A glorious combination,'" said Hester, pointing to the moon, -which shone brightly through the windows; but her voice had lost its -usual animation as she made the quotation, for a feeling passed over -her heart, as if one ingredient, and that precisely the most important -one, was wanting; she could not be satisfied that "love" presided in -this abode of beauty and of grace. - -The next morning the state rooms of the house were inspected. The duke -was the great patron of the fine arts, and taste shone forth in every -part of the stately edifice that was exposed to view. - -The picture gallery and the hall of sculpture were celebrated far and -wide, particularly the latter. Nor were the figures promiscuously -arranged that decorated this scene of art; on the contrary, much care -had been expended to form one harmonious whole. On the dome which -formed the ceiling was painted ancient Saturn devouring his offspring -as they rose into being, and beneath this centre-piece were painted -the war of the Titans against Satan on the one side, and the war of -the giants against Jupiter on the other. Thus far the ceiling. In the -midst of the marble floor stood the mighty Jupiter, armed with his -thunderbolts, majestic in strength and grand in intellectual -sensualism. Beside him, grouped symmetrically and appropriately, were -the legion of subordinate divinities--Venus, attended by the graces; -Apollo, radiant in beauty; Hercules strangling the serpents while he -was yet in the cradle; the Muses in various attitudes, with -appropriate symbols of office. Scarcely a god, goddess, or demigod -{183} could be named who was not here represented. Types of -beauty--sensual, intellectual, and physical; types of grandeur and of -tenor; types of mystery, beneath the veiled figure of the Egyptian -deity, Isis; types of knowledge and of artistic skill were there. All -that man bows before and worships when the sense of the supernatural -is shut, and he learns of _self_ to deify his own passions, was here, -other delineated on the walls or chiselled out in the sculptural -forms. It was ft Pantheon dedicated to all the gods of human sense, -refined by beauty and grace, and polished by artistic merit of the -highest order. Unbounded and unfeigned was the applause elicited from -the party: hardly could they satisfied themselves with gazing on these -perfect forms: even the lack of drapery seemed scarcely a drawback. -Euphrasie, indeed, retired, but she was so strange habitually that her -absence was hardly commented upon; and but for the smile that went -round the circle as she left the hall, might have been deemed -unobserved. - -"The true gods of the earth are these yet." said Mr. Godfrey, when the -door had closed behind the young French girl, "and the race has sadly -degenerated since their worship was abandoned." - -The young duchess and her sisters looked up in mute wonder at the -speaker, but the duke cried, "Hear, hear!" and the elder ladies tried -to look wise and responsive. - -Mr. Godfrey continued: "That is god to a man which his mind worships -and reveres, and which to the extent of his power he strives to -imitate. Julian, the Roman emperor, understood this well. He felt -(what time has proved true) that the human frame must degenerate when -its proportionate and due development ceases to be the primary object -of the legislator. He saw that when, instead of these glorious -physical powers, there is substituted a pale, emaciated figure nailed -to a cross for the glorification of an ideal good, that all nature's -teachings must become confused, and a fake romance lead to decay the -powers that heretofore were so beautiful in their proportions." - -"Surely, papa, you do not believe in paganism," said Hester, -wonderingly. - -"Yes and no, Hester. In the fables of the personal divinity of -Jupiter, Venus, and Minerva--No! In paganism as the expression of a -grand idea, well suited to man's capabilities, and to his nature--Yes! -You must not confound the hidden meaning of the myth with the outward -expression. The uninstructed multitude will always look to the -outward, and believe the fables as facts, whatever religion they -profess, and often times they penetrate no further; but the learned -look through the myth to the meaning, and the meaning of the pagan -myth is,--Cultivate physical strength, in union with intellectual -power, worship beauty, study and contrast nature. Destroy infirmity: -it is the most humane way, and the most just way. Do not perpetuate -disease. Let all ill-constituted children die. Let the -conquered--_i.e._, the weaker--serve; it belongs to the strong to -rule. To develop the physical frame duly, Lycurgus caused even the -young women to wrestle publicly, without drapery of any kind. Our more -fastidious tastes cramp the form of our women, and distort the figure; -and, worse than this, our perverted theology distorts their intellect, -and makes it afraid even to look at the human form. Again, I say, -Julian was right. The Christianity he forsook has caused not only the -degeneration of human power, but has substituted false ideas of good. -The real has given place to the ideal, and a sickly, romantic, -sentimentalized race has taken the place of the hardy heroes of -antiquity." - -And Mr. Godfrey bowed profoundly to the deities before him. - -{184} - -The duke laughed and clapped his hands. "Well said, Mr. Godfrey, well -said. I hardly knew till now, how great a benefactor I was to the -human race when I collected these statues. Hitherto I have thrown open -my house but once a week for the public benefit. Henceforth I will -direct my steward to allow instructions oftener in this temple of the -true gods of the earth. By the by, I believe there is a very good -chance of restoring this gone-by worship, if, as you say, it consists -in the exaltation of physical power. Science, in its diffusion, is -fixing men's minds on material agencies, very much to the exclusion of -superstitious ideality. We have only to throw in a vein of the love of -beauty, and much will be effected toward bringing back men's minds to -the natural worship, here so beautifully symbolized." - -"I believe so," said Mr. Godfrey; "but, meantime, how much evil has -been effected by letting in upon the race so many delicate -constitutions! How shall we restore the hardy races that peopled the -earth, when these mighty types of glory ruled the populations?" - -"Indeed, it is difficult to say. Men have accustomed themselves to a -false estimate of mere vitality, as if life without enjoyment were -worth the having. We shall, I fear, find it difficult to persuade -English mothers to destroy their diseased and crippled children for -the good of the public, or to train their daughters in the gymnasium." - -"Would you seriously wish it, my lord duke?" asked his wife. - -"I hardly know. We are all trammelled more or less with the feelings -our mothers instilled into us. I think Lycurgus a great man, and -perfectly reasonable. Had I been born a Spartan, I think I should have -thanked the gods for it, but now--" - -"Now," interrupted Mrs. Godfrey, "you are more nearly a Sybarite. I -know of no one whom a crumpled rose-leaf disturbs more easily than -yourself." - -"Nay, Mrs. Godfrey, the _argumentum ad hominem_ is hardly fair; but, -after all, I suppose we must admit that character is geographical and -chronological, besides being modified by individual circumstance. I -think freely, but I am scarcely free to change my character; so in -legislating I must legislate on public grounds for others. It does not -follow that I can keep the law I deem it fitting to make. - -"But if you cannot keep it, how can others?" demanded Annie. - -"Well asked, my fair sister--asked not only by you, but by others -also, and therefore is it that we must practically legislate not as we -think best, abstractedly, but as nearly best as can be carried out. -So, as the people are not yet ripe for ancient Spartan laws, we must -be content yet a while to diffuse the principle that physical -development, physical beauty, and physical power are the legitimate -objects of human worship. When we have accustomed the people to adopt -these views, the rest may chance to follow. Meantime, I see De -Villeneuve coming up the avenue: excuse me for an instant;" and -somewhat to the surprise of the party, the duke bolted through the -open door that led on to the grounds to meet his friend, who -dismounted when he saw him coming. In deep conference they slowly -approached the house. There was a cloud on the duke's brow, but he -shook it off as he entered and gayly introduced his friend. - -"I am afraid De Villeneuve hardly admires these divinities, Mrs. -Godfrey; let us adjourn to the drawing-room." - -"Nay, defend yourself, M. de Villeneuve; you will not plead guilty to -not loving art?" said the lady addressed. - -"No, indeed, dear madam, his grace is only avenging himself for my -criticisms. I suggested to him the other day that he might get up -another temple of modern art as a supplement to this, and he felt -piqued, I suppose; yet I have found him many times standing rapt -before a Madonna." - -{185} - -"The gentlemen decided this morning that these were the true gods of -the earth, and that Madonnas and Crucifixions were false, unreal -types, and to be discouraged." - -"Not possible!" - -"Nay, it is true, they were voting a return to paganism." - -"But you, ladies," said M. de Villeneuve, "you, ladies, were not of -that mind, surely?" - -"I don't know," said Hester, mischievously, "papa was very eloquent In -lauding ancient institutions." - -"But," said the comte, turning very earnestly to her, "he did not tell -you how woman was treated in the olden time, before Mary's _fiat_ -repaired the fault of Eve. Women, intelligent, beautiful women, owe -everything to that divine Mother; and if they cast off their religion -it is because the misery is hid from them which the sex was subject to -formerly." - -"There is no necessity just now of making it more clear," said Mr. -Godfrey drily. - -"No," said the comte; "and yet when I see the tendency of the age, I -often feel that it would be safer did our ladies know the truth. Eve's -fault should at least bring knowledge when knowledge is necessary to -truth. Woman could not help but be fervently religious, did she know -from what an abyss of degradation Christianity has raised her." - -Mr. Godfrey turned impatiently to the window. "It is splendid weather -for riding," said he; "suppose we order the horses." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -MARRIAGE OR NO MARRIAGE. - - -But why was Adelaide so sad? Why was the young duchess apparently most -constrained when with her husband? Why, on the contrary, was he, as -usual, gay, cheerful, and animated? These were questions for a -mother's heart to ask, and yet, uneasy as she was, Mrs. Godfrey asked -them not. She dared not seek the confidence of her daughter, lest -aught should be betrayed which it were better she should not know. She -knew that the confidence of a married woman is sacred even from a -mother, in all that appertains to her husband; and what other secrets -could Adelaide have? - -Several days passed, and no clue to the enigma was discovered. Parties -of pleasure were formed, the grounds were traversed, the library -ransacked--literary, scientific, nay political excitement created for -the amusement and entertainment of the guests; but no familiar, -confidential chit-chat gave occasion to the disclosure of the secret -which it was evident was weighing on Adelaide's mind. - -One morning, however, Mr. Godfrey shut himself up in the library, in -order to search through some volumes for a passage he desired, and his -daughter entered, turning the key in the door as she did so. Mr. -Godfrey looked up. Adelaide was pale and trembling. He took her hand -and led her to a sofa. In a few moments she partly recovered; yet it -was in a faltering voice that she asked: - -"Father, is a marriage with a Roman Catholic valid?" - -"Valid? Yes, I suppose so; why not, my dear?" - -Adelaide became still more pale, but did not answer. - -Mr. Godfrey was alarmed. "How does this concern you, my child?" he -asked. - -"Why--why--the duke is then married to another lady," faltered she. - -"Impossible!" said the father. "Impossible! he would not--dare not do -such a deed. You have been imposed upon, Adelaide. Tell me the story, -and the authority for it." - -"Did you hear of a woman fainting, almost under the carriage-wheels, -on the morning of my marriage, father?" - -"I did; what of it, my child!" - -{186} - -"That woman believes herself to be his wife! She followed us, and -confronted the duke in Scotland in a narrow glen. She watched day and -night to speak to him; her watching was noticed, pointed out to me, -and one day as he was returning home I saw her start up from under a -hedge and stand before him. He evidently sought to avoid her, but she -would not be avoided; she held him by the skirts of his coat till he -consented to speak with her. Unperceived by both I stole near them; I -heard her claim him as her husband; I listened in vain for his denial; -I heard him urge her to go home; I heard him say that he would satisfy -her another time--that it should be all right if she would only -quietly depart; and I heard, too, her indignant refusal to depart -until he had told her his true name, and where he was to be found. 'To -me,' she said, 'you have called yourself Colonel Ellwood, and my boy -has borne that name!'" - -"'Let him bear it still,' replied the duke. - -"'But is it the right one? is it yours!' she shrieked. - -"'I am the Duke of Durimond,' answered he. She fell fainting at his -feet. Unthinkingly, I pressed forward to succor her, thus revealing -that I had overheard the conversation. The duke started, and said, -'This is no scene for your grace; if you will send an attendant from -the house yonder to wait on this poor stranger, it will be kind of -you.' I did as requested, but the agitation of my feelings caused an -illness which detained us a long time in Scotland. I did not like to -inform you of my illness then. The duke would have been kind, but I -liked not to see him near me. Once or twice he tried to explain to me -that the whole was a mistake, but I asked him not to mention it. When -we came to London he again tried explanation, but I told him all -explanation must be to you. He endeavored in vain to shake my -resolution, and at length brought me here and sent for you. A lawyer -was with him in London several times, and a Catholic priest was -closeted with him the day he arrived. I suspect this unhappy business -was the cause of their visits, but I have asked nothing. We have held -little communication with each other since that unfortunate -recognition in Scotland." - -"My poor child!" said the father "and was this your honeymoon?" - -Adelaide laid her head on her father's shoulder, and wept. - -"But why do you think the woman is a Roman Catholic, Adelaid?" - -"He told me so one day, and therefore, he says, the marriage is not -valid." - -"Perhaps it is so, Adelaide." - -"But if it is so, she believes herself his wife, and she is pure, -good, innocent; it is written in her face." - -"My poor child?" again ejaculated the father. - -How long they sat sorrowing silence they heeded not. Each felt that -whichever hypothesis were true, married or not married, there was -bitterness enough. At length the sound of voices in the hall warned -Adelaide to seek her own apartment. Mr. Godfrey went immediately to -the duke. - -"My daughter has been with me this morning, your grace," said he, in -solemn, deliberate tones. - -"Ah yes! Well--Mr. Godfrey--well--your daughter is not quite well, I -fear." - -"She is seriously unhappy, I am sorry to inform you, my lord duke." - -"Unhappy!--ah!--well, well; she has taken a youthful in discretion of -mine somewhat too sorely to heart; but you, Mr. Godfrey, know that -those little affairs are common enough to men of the world." - -"My daughter speaks of a previous marriage, your grace." - -"Pshaw! some few words she heard have been made to signify too much. -Adelaide is my wife, my duchess. Let her be satisfied on that point." - -"It is just on that point she is not satisfied--it is just on that -point that I now require to be satisfied." - -{187} - -"How can I satisfy you save by denying any other marriage?" - -"Has no ceremony ever passed between your grace and another woman who -claims to be your wife?" - -"No legal ceremony, upon my honor as a nobleman." - -"No legal ceremony; some kind of ceremony has taken place, then?" said -Mr. Godfrey. - -"If not a _legal_ one, then none which concerns you. Be content, Mr. -Godfrey, daughter is indisputably a duchess." - -"I am not content, my lord duke; I must see this other claimant to the -ducal coronet," said Mr. Godfrey, rising. - -"By heaven, you shall not!" answered the duke, rising as suddenly; -"you shall not--indeed you shall not. No, my poor Ellen, no: injured -you have been, but at least I will save you from insult." - -"Methinks your grace's words are strange ones to the father of your -ride," said Mr. Godfrey. "Is the peace of your mistress to be -preferred to that of your wife?" - -"Let us understand each other, Mr. Godfrey," said the duke; "and to do -that, I must caution you not to say one word in disrespect of the -person you falsely term my mistress. Listen: Fifteen years ago I met a -being, lovely, tender, innocent; before one personating a Romish -priest I called her wife; she knew not, until now, the title was not -legal; for fifteen years I have, as a simple gentleman, sought her -society when weary of ambition and of the selfishness of the world; -for fifteen years have I, at such intervals as I could steal away from -grandeur and false honors, found repose and happiness in the society -of that gentle, that unworldly being. Children have been born to me -and died, all save one, a noble boy--one whom I would gladly train to -deeds of glory, were it that--O Ellen, Ellen!" - -"And with such feelings as these, my lord, you dared to lead my -daughter to the altar?" indignantly demanded Mr. Godfrey. - -"Yes, and why not?" replied the duke. "Your daughter suffered no -injury. You sought for her not _love_, but a coronet, and that she has -now. Let her enjoy it. I acted not the hypocrite. I promised what I -gave--power, rank, grandeur, and respect; these she has: what cause -is there for complaint?" - -"But why, if a peerless beauty were already yours, why seek another -bride, my lord? Why not have made the lady of your love your duchess?" - -"Because--because--I knew not her value at first. At first it was her -beauty that attracted me; then her virtue kept me true to her, and I -loved her unworldliness, her want of ambition. To have made her a -duchess would have spoiled my dream of being loved for myself alone. -Besides, Ellen is a Catholic, a sincere one, and never would she -consent that a child of hers should be brought up in the paganism of -these times." - -"But why, I must yet inquire, why, with these feelings, did your grace -marry at all?" - -"Why? did I not want a duchess in my halls? a pagan heir to my -Pantheon, sir? To whom were these gorgeous collections of heathen -idols, these entailed estates, these titles, honors, to descend? -Ellen's son could not inherit all, even were he legitimate. His -Catholic feeling would turn aside in disgust from much, and English -law would exclude him from office or dignity in the nation. Had I -lived anywhere but in England, perchance my child had risen to compete -with the highest." - -"He and his mother still hold, evidently, the highest place in your -affections. And is my daughter for ever to play second part in your -heart, and this incomparable miracle of goodness the first?" - -"Your daughter, sir, is to reign supreme, the imperial queen of the -Parnassian deities. Juno-like, she treads her path o'er high Olympus; -all bow to her, and Jupiter himself shall treat her with reverence, -save when she {188} intrudes upon his private moments. She has -bargained for wealth, and power, and pomp, and influence; she has -them: let her be content. Love was out of the 'bargain;' it is useless -now to contend for it, as if it were her due. But for my Ellen, you -misjudge her, if you think that, with the knowledge she now has, she -would ever admit me to her presence again. I do not even know how I -can induce her to accept a maintenance from me--from me, who would -have died to save her, yet who have caused her such bitter pangs! Oh! -I could stab myself from sheer remorse!" - -And the dark shade that passed over the features, now convulsed with -mental agony, showed that the words were not ones of mere expression. - -Mr. Godfrey paused, yet was his anger not subdued; he had not deemed -that the duke had so much of human feeling in his composition. Worldly -and courtly as he seemed, who could suspect go strong an undercurrent -of deep and passionate emotion? - -That this should be there, and not felt for his wife! Mr. Godfrey did -feel this an injury; though, as the duke said, love had not been in -the bargain. - -The long pause was at length broken by Mr. Godfrey's saying: "Your -grace must excuse me, but, for my daughter's sake, I must insist on -obtaining evidence that this marriage, which you admit _did_ take -place, was not legal. If I may not approach the lady myself, who can -procure me the evidence I demand?'" - -"I know not--unless--stay; I would willingly make one more attempt to -secure Ellen's acceptance of a provision for her child. Hitherto she -has rejected all mediation: not only the lawyer, but De Villeneuve, -and a bishop of her own church, have solicited her in vain to listen -to such an idea; a lady--a Catholic might be more successful. You have -in your family one seemingly as pure and good as Ellen's self--one -holding the same holy faith; if she will consent to undertake the -mission, I will confide to her the secret of Ellen's residence. De -Villeneuve will escort her, but I doubt if she will gain admittance; -none have yet succeeded who went from me." - -"You mean Euphrasie, I presume?" - -"I do; if you can trust to her report, I shall gladly make her my -ambassadress to treat respecting the future provision to be made for -mother and child." - -"I will see her on the subject." - -"Tis well; good morning, Mr. Godfrey." - -How little do we know of the inward feelings even of those with whom -we fancy ourselves intimate! Here was the cold, heartless man of -pleasure, so-called by the world, so thought of by his father-in-law, -a prey, when left to himself, to the most violent emotions of grief -for the loss of Ellen. Had it been possible at that moment to redeem -her affections by the sacrifice of earthly grandeur, there is but -little doubt that the sacrifice would have been made, for the loss of -that sweet solace had never been contemplated as a necessary -accomplishment to this marriage. For fifteen years he had kept his -incognito in her society as Colonel Ellwood, and as Colonel Ellwood he -meant to visit her still, and to indemnify himself in her sweet -society for the heartlessness and cheerlessness of the ducal mansion. - -This dream was at an end; he's incognito had been discovered, and at -once all intercourse was over. The gay and courtly duke felt as if all -interest in life had suddenly vanished from the earth. His outward -demeanor appeared, indeed, unchanged, at least to superficial -observers, but those who looked beneath the surface could detect a -latent disdain for all things; and if the same pursuits still seemed -to engage his attention, it was from habit, or from want of -occupation, not from any relish for the pursuit itself. {189} Little -did the world suspect that his gay and polished manner covered a -broken heart, and that the munificent owner of countless rangers, the -haughty scion of a long line of ancestors, was pining away beneath the -blight which had destroyed is happiness, and was eventually to destroy -his life. But we must not anticipate, rather let us return to our -theme. - -Euphrasie heard with surprise and pain of the position of her young -friend Adelaide, but was most unwilling to undertake the negotiation -proposed; it was only at M. de Villeneuve's reiterated assurance that -it was a great work of charity which she demanded of her, that she at -length consented. - -On their arrival at the village, some hours' journey distant from -London, and further yet from the duke's residence, M. de Villeneuve -requested Euphrasie to proceed from the hotel alone to Ellswood -cottage, as his presence would be suspicious, and probably prevent her -gaining admittance. A dark-haired, bright-eyed boy was playing in the -garden before the cottage; he came to the gate on seeing a stranger -approach, and as he held the gate in his hand, he said, before -Euphrasie addressed him: - -"Mamma is very ill, no one can see her today." - -"I am very sorry to hear that. Has she been ill long?" - -"Yes, ever since she took a long, long journey, and came back so -tired. She went to find papa, and did not find him," and the child's -voice dropped to a whisper: "I think papa is dead, but I must not tell -her so." - -"Why do you think so, my dear?" - -"Because he would never stay away so long if he were alive; he never -did before: and when he did stay away he used to leave mamma lots of -money; now she has no money at all, and she is going away from here." - -"Where is she going to?" - -"I do not know; but she says she must work, and that I must work now -for my living; so I know she must be very poor." - -"I want to see your mamma. They say she is very kind. Tell her I am a -stranger--a French girl; that I seek kindness from her." - -"Are you poor, too?" asked the little boy. - -"Yes, very poor, indeed," replied Euphrasie. - -"Then I will ask mamma if you may come in; mamma loves the poor." - -When the boy returned he was accompanied by an elderly woman, bearing -the appearance of an upper servant. She addressed Euphrasie -respectfully: "Mrs. Ellwood can see no one to-day, miss; can you send -in your business by me?" - -"Not very well, my business is personal; shall I be able to see her -tomorrow?" - -"It is impossible to say, but you can call and see; to-morrow you may -be able to find some one who will see you in her stead; she sees no -one herself, but she expects a friend to-night who manages her -business for her." - -With this answer she was obliged to be content: she returned to the -hotel where M. de Villeneuve awaited her. "This is a bad business," he -said; "I have been here twice before with no better result, she will -not see strangers." - -"You have not seen her, then?" - -"No! I have only heard of her, she is almost adored here for her deeds -of kindness and charity. I never knew of a case which excited my -interest so much; it was on her account, not on the duke's, that I -assented to pay this place so many visits. God only can console her!" - -* * * * * * - -There was a sound of carriages in the night, a very unusual thing in -that secluded village; and in the morning early, again there was the -sound of wheels. M. de Villeneuve strolled to the end of the street; -he shook his head on his return. "We are altogether too late," he -said; "the people {190} say that she is gone; and many are weeping, -for she was dearly loved." - -"Shall we not go to the house?" asked Euphrasie. - -"There is no harm in making the inquiry, but she is not there." - -It was even so: Mrs. Ellwood had departed, fearing that if she -remained there she should be constantly subject to intrusion. In the -parlor into which they were shown, Euphrasie found one whom she was -little prepared to see: it was M. Bertolot. A general grasping of -hands and affectionate recognition took place; and then the old priest -inquired their business. "The bishop sent me here," he said, "because -he could not come himself, and because the poor lady entreated the -utmost secrecy; but what brought you here?" - -M. de Villeneuve took up the word: "We came from the duke; his grace -thought our young friend here might find admittance, though we were -all refused." - -"His grace need not dream of any such thing; the wrong he has done is -not such as embassies or money can rectify. The lady is a -true-hearted, noble woman, a sincere Catholic; the message that she -has left for him is simply that 'she forgives him, and will pray for -his conversion; but if ever he loved her, she entreats that he will -never more pursue her or send to her.'" - -"But how is she to be supported?" - -"She trusts in God, who is a husband to the widow, and a father to the -fatherless. The duke's money she will not touch; it is no use to press -the matter, she has a woman's instincts, and that is often better than -a man's reasoning." - -"You are severe, father, but this is a case to make you so; may we not -know where she is gone to?" - -"No! you may not even know you saw me here; say only you saw her -agent, who gave you her message, and would not tell you her residence. -Never let the duke or the Godfrey family know that the bishop sent me -here." - -"You may depend on us, father. But is this all that we are to say to -the duchess? You know the question has been raised respecting the -validity of the marriage." - -"The bishop examined that himself; he would have been glad to prove it -a true one, but the scamp who married them was a disguised young -spendthrift, who did not know how to keep out of a debtor s jail in -any other way than by taking that wicked fee; if Mr. Godfrey is uneasy -on that point, he can apply to the bishop, there is his address." - -When M. de Villeneuve and Euphrasie returned to Durimond Castle with -the result of this mission, they found Adelaide far less placable than -the more deeply injured Ellen had expressed herself by her message. -She assented indeed to do the honors of the castle, to _reign_ -supreme, but she insisted on a virtual separation as the price of her -continuing to wear the title of the Duchess of Durimond. - -The duke was in no humor to contend with her; perhaps even he was as -well pleased to have it so. He was careful to surround her with all -imaginable tokens of deference and respect, and told Mr. Godfrey he -would see what time would do to soften his haughty Juno. Soon after he -accepted the office of ambassador to a foreign court, and thus left -his wife at liberty to queen it o'er her vassals at her pleasure. - -Meantime we lay before our readers the sad history which occasioned -all this commotion. - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -ELLEN'S HISTORY. - -Ellen D'Aubrey was the daughter of an Irish officer, who her mother -(Ellen Carpenter) had married against the wishes of her family. Our -heroine was their only child. {191} Soon after her birth the mother, -Mrs. D'Aubrey, fell into delicate health, and years of pain and -suffering ensued, after which she died, leaving Ellen, then ten years -old, to condole her husband for her loss. This, however, was not so -easy, for Captain D'Aubrey had truly loved his refined and gentle -wife, and the illness she had borne with so much sweetness and -patience had the more endeared her to him; besides which, during that -sickness he had learned many important lessons. Up to that time his -wife, though amiable and affectionate, had thought but little on -serious subjects, and he, though nominally a Catholic, had neglected -his religion. But when sorrow came, and the wife and mother became -aware that though she might linger on a while, she could not regain -health, and must leave behind her those so dear to her, then an -anxiety for future reunion took possession of her. She began to -question her husband of religion, and he, recalling for her solace the -lessons of his youth, became himself impressed with their importance. -Catholic truth and Catholic consolation were poured into the soul of -the departing wife, and having procured her every necessary aid, the -captain imparted himself a great consolation by promising to watch -over the education of their darling child, and endeavor to bring her -up in the faithful performance of her duties as a Catholic Christian, -without endangering her faith by permitting her to frequent schools or -society hostile to her religion. - -The noble-hearted captain had scarcely closed the eyes of the being he -held so dear, than he began to consider how he might best fulfil his -promise. He sold his commission, and living on a small annuity which -he possessed, applied himself to develop in his child the powers that -lay enfolded in her soul; but above all, he sought to cherish and to -strengthen religious principle. Well did the little Ellen repay his -care. At that time, in England, there were few exterior aids to -religion. Catholic chapels were few and far apart. One priest attended -many missions, and these but stealthily; but so much the more -sedulously did the captain endeavor to infuse the spirit of religion -into the soul of his child, and to animate her with patience, -meekness, humility, and universal charity. Loving and beloved, she -grew up beneath her father's eye like a beautiful flower, -reciprocating his tenderness, and increasing daily in beauty and -accomplishments. Suddenly a dark cloud lowered above that happy home. -Captain D'Aubrey was seized with a fever, and in three days expired, -leaving Ellen, at the age of sixteen, an orphan, almost penniless, -cast upon the world's cold charity. - -Strangers made out her connexions, for Ellen was stupefied by the -blow. Strangers wrote to Mrs. Carpenter, her maternal grandmother, and -before Ellen well knew what she was about she was travelling south -with an old lady, who endeavored in vain to rouse her from her sorrow. - -When the captain's affairs were arranged, but little was found -remaining. His annuity ceased at his death. It had just sufficed for -their maintenance; and as the sale of the furniture amounted to very -little, the poor girl was utterly dependent. - -Such was the account given by Mrs. Carpenter to Mrs. Barford, her -married daughter, with whom, being herself a widow, she then resided. -Mrs. Barford had married a man whose character was the very reverse of -that of Ellen's father. He was a thorough business-like, money-making -instrument, having no higher idea than to be continually extending his -business, no higher ambition than to be mayor of the city in which he -resided. Already he was a great man in his own estimation, and he -intended that his family should become of importance also. This couple -received Ellen but coldly, though she hardly knew or felt it, for she -was as yet absorbed in grief. Mrs. Carpenter intended to be kind, and -insisted on Ellen's grief being respected. {192} A week or two passed, -then it was proposed one Sunday to Ellen to go with the family to -church. She excused herself. Another week passed--and the same -proposal was repeated. On this she was closely questioned as to the -reason why; and when Mr. Barford came at length to understand that -Ellen was a Catholic, his anger knew no bounds. A Catholic in his own -house! _He_ feed popery! _He_ foster rebellion! _He_ countenance -powder-plots! The thing was impossible! the girl must leave the -house--she would corrupt the children, contaminate the servants, -compromise his respectability, pervert the neighborhood; in short, -breed every kind of disorder and endanger his position. Go she must. -In vain his wife pleaded that the poor girl had nowhere to go to; she -was obliged to summon Mrs. Carpenter to her aid. As the old lady had -plenty of money, Mr. Barford held her habitually in respect, -especially as she could will it as she pleased; therefore, when she -insisted that where she was her grand-daughter should find a home, the -great man yielded, and among themselves they arranged a plan which was -to counteract the evil influence they dreaded. Mrs. Carpenter -undertook to watch Ellen closely, and by degrees to win her from her -papistry: and as there was no papist church in the locality, the -neighbors need not even know what her religion was. - -As for powder-plots, the good old lady argued that a girl of sixteen, -without friends, money, or resources, could not effect much against -the government, so she was not uneasy on that score. Silenced, but not -convinced, Mr. Barford, who dared not disoblige his wife's mother, -said no more on the subject to her, but he determined to keep a sharp -lookout, and nip in the bud any incipient conspiracy. But under these -influences, the poor girl's happiness was sadly compromised. Her -grandmother undertook to enlighten her as to the character of these -papists, to show her what a terrible set these unfortunate, benighted -idolaters are, and so to bring her round to the Protestant -establishment. Most horrible tales of conspiracies, plots, martyrdoms, -inquisitorial victimizing, and every species of villanous scheming for -the overthrow of pure religion, were recounted to her. These failing -to make impression, the sin of idolatry was brought home to herself, -and on Fridays the crime of not eating meat was by no means accounted -a small one. A regular series of petty persecutions were commenced, -the children of the family were taught to distrust her; she was not -allowed to make acquaintances in the neighborhood, nor to stir out, -save at her grandmother's side. - -The old lady meant well in the part she took in this; she was not -aware of the greater portion of the annoyance Ellen underwent, and she -thought time only was wanted to enable her to throw off the prejudices -of her education. She really liked Ellen for her refinement and -gentleness, and kept her as much as she could about her. She made her -read to her, and wait upon her; and though the books were not to -Ellen's taste, yet this was by far the most tolerable portion of her -existence. But even of this small alleviation, Mrs. Barford grew -jealous; she was greatly afraid that her mother would leave too great -a portion of her wealth to the poor orphan girl, and her harshness -increased in proportion as Mrs. Carpenter's partiality manifested -itself. She did not hesitate to impute the most unworthy motives to -Ellen for paying such kind and respectful attentions to her -grandmother, for Ellen's conduct contrasted too painfully with that of -the unruly children of the household; and when by her reproaches Mrs. -Barford drew tears from the poor girl's eyes, she would bid her "go -and warm herself into her grandmother's favor, by her Jesuitical -caresses and her crocodile tears." {193} Poor girl! it was no wonder -that she became pale and thin and miserable; but instead of being -induced to give up her religion, she clung to it the more, the more -she stood in need of consolation. And thus a year, a long and dreary -year, had passed away. At length a partial respite came. Mrs. -Carpenter was taken sick; Ellen waited on her most assiduously; but -although she could scarcely be spared as a nurse, on account of the -comfort her presence seemed to afford the sick, yet Mrs. Barford's -jealousy, and her husband's ill-treatment, considerably increased. -Measures were often spoken of between this amiable pair, and plans -devised to effect an estrangement between Ellen and her grandmother. -The old lady partially recover, and then Mrs. Barford grew eloquent on -the wonderful effects of a change of air. By dint of manoeuvering, she -at length made the poor sick woman consent to dispense with Ellen's -attendance at the watering-place to which they were bound. Mrs. -Barford went herself to take care of her mother, and her children -accompanied her. - -* * * * * * Ellen was now virtually alone, for Mr. Barford was engaged -in his business, and not wish to be troubled with her company, even at -his meals. What a relief! Ellen heard the carriage drive from the door -with a feeling of release from bitter thraldom. How long it might last -she knew not, but certainly for some weeks. She read her own books ---her father's books--so long concealed at the bottom of her chest. -She opened the piano, and sang the hymns of the church. She took out -her sketch-book, and reviewed the seems she had visited with her -father. - -At once her spirits rose, her eyes sparkled, her animation returned, -and at the close of the day she retired to rest, for the first time in -that house, with a light and joyous spirit. The next morning she was -up with the lark. She opened her window to inhale the balmy air, and a -gush of joy came over her as she felt that she was secure from -annoyance at least for a time. A hasty breakfast was soon despatched, -and the fragrant, breeze driving in at the window, attracted her -attention to the flowery meadows. Her spirits were too keen to permit -her to sit still, and as the bright sunshine poured in upon her, she -asked herself why she should not enjoy it out of doors; she had been -imprisoned so long, and now there was no one to rebuke or find fault -with what she did. She could not withstand the temptation. "I will go -and sketch the ruins of the abbey," she said, "and meditate on the -times the good old monks were there." Sketch-book in hand she sallied -forth. The streets of the city were soon traversed, and the avenues -leading to the ruins more slowly paced. The morning was one of most -glorious beauty. The birds sang in the new-leafing groves, the busy -bees hummed, and the dew-drops clinging to the tips of the -fresh-springing grass, presented a most dazzling appearance as, waving -in the sunshine, they reflected hues of every color, and freshened -with new life the whole creation. Ellen's spirits were at their -height; yet with somewhat of a solemn step she approached the hallowed -solitudes. None was there save herself--at least she perceived none. -Long she wandered within the precincts trodden by holy feet of old, -and at length sat down on a fallen tree to begin her sketch. - -The ruin had formerly been surrounded by a moat; even now one side of -this remained, and communicated with the river. By the side of this, -our heroine took her seat on the fallen tree. How long she sat she -knew not. It was a great delight to her once more to handle the pencil -so long laid aside. She worked as if inspired, and the main features -were at length described with taste and accuracy. In her eagerness she -had untied her bonnet, (which was a close one, covering her face, -after the fashion of those days,) and pushed it slightly back, {194} -thus displaying her animated features, unconscious the while that a -stranger was gazing at her, and that for upward of an hour he had been -tracing her features in his gratified imagination. - -At length she rose to depart, but as she was putting up her sketch, -her bonnet fell from her head, and would have rolled into the river -had not the stranger caught it, as it reached the brink, and -gracefully restored it to her. He was older than herself and wore an -officer's uniform. Could there be any harm in thanking him, and in -unfolding, at his request, the sketch which had occasioned the -accident? Ellen thought not of harm. She was unversed in the world's -ways, and had experienced more of its annoyances than its dangers. -Insensibly a conversation was entered into. It was prolonged until the -shadows proclaimed that the sun was verging to the west. The stranger -was evidently pleased and surprised at Ellen's keen sense of natural -and artistic beauty, and at the simple yet poetic manner in which she -clothed her ideas. The themes dilated on touched exactly his favorite -hobby, and it was evidently a gratification to him to find one fresh -in feeling, endowed with genius and beauty, who could appreciate his -feelings and sympathize with his artistic tastes. - -Reluctantly he parted with his companion, and on the morrow he seemed -intuitively to know where he should find her, to renew the enjoyment -of the previous day. Another day came, and another, until at length it -became a matter of course that the two should meet. And still it was -only poetry, or music, or painting, that occupied them. Why, then, did -Ellen half surmise that the meeting was wrong? One day she did keep -away, and thought she would try to do so always, but the hours hung -heavily on her hands, and her resolution failed; so the walks -continued. - -At length the period for her aunt's return arrived, and not only must -she expect to be virtually imprisoned as before, but the dread of what -her aunt would say when she heard (as surely from some kind, gossiping -neighbor she would hear) of her daily interviews with a strange -gentleman, broke upon her. Why had she not thought of this before? Why -had she yielded to the temptation? All too late those questions now, -and those only who know what it is to live amid insult and neglect can -appreciate her feelings or estimate the temptations to which she was -exposed. - -The stranger, who called himself Colonel Ellwood, had travelled much; -he spoke to her of Italy, of Spain, of France; he had brought her a -rosary which the Pope had blessed, and had described to her in glowing -terms many of the ceremonies which he has witnessed. Why should she -distrust him? With tears in her eyes she told him that in two days her -aunt was expected home, and that these interviews must cease. -"Indeed," she added, "I am afraid my aunt will half-kill me when she -finds they have ever taken place." - -"Then why not forestall her return by your own departure?" - -"And to what quarter of the world should I go?' asked Ellen. - -"If, sweet lady, you would trust yourself with me," said Colonel -Ellwood. - -Ellen started and shrank back, but the colonel followed her, saying: -"Nay, do me not the injustice to suppose that I would wrong you; the -impression you have made upon me is for life; your happiness, your -honor, are as dear to me as my own soul. It is marriage I offer you--a -_bona fide_ marriage, though a private one. My circumstances at this -moment are peculiar. But fly with me, and a Catholic priest shall -bless our union; I swear it on my honor." - -Ellen hesitated, but her very hesitation encouraged hope. The day -passed. Another came. Again Colonel Ellwood urged flight. Again the -fear beset her lest her aunt should hear of these clandestine -meetings. Love, too, for the stranger, who, although {195} unknown, -was evidently refined, cultivated, and well versed in all human -learning, grew rapidly since he had declared his love. To lose him was -to lose everything; for who save he had shown kindness to the poor, -friendless orphan girl? The time passed:--the day was at hand--a -restless day--sleepless night--haunted by the sound of carriage wheels -bringing back her tyrant to her home. Ellen's resolution gave way: two -hours before her aunt's arrival she quitted that dwelling of strife -for ever. - -Colonel Ellwood appeared to keep his promise. One in the dress of a -Catholic priest united them in marriage, and to Ellen's fancy that -there was someone of informality in the ceremony, came the ready reply -that it was necessitated by the anomalous position of a Catholic -priest in England. [Footnote 37] - - [Footnote 37: This was before the Catholic emancipation bill had - passed.] - -She knew little or nothing of the law, and for some time afterward she -resided on the Continent with her husband. Here no doubt harassed her; -love for him excluded doubt, and that love at times nearly reached the -height of adoration. On the other hand, the happiness of geniality, -combined with the high mental culture which her husband loved to -promote, added so intellectual, nay so ethereal an expression to her -naturally handsome features, that his love and reverence increased as -time wore on, and he dared not tell the being who thus fondly loved -him for himself alone, how foully he had deceived her. In his eyes she -was an angel of light; and far from offering impediments to her -fulfilling her religious duties, he delighted in her constancy; though -there were times when a cloud came over him, and he felt as if he were -but he demon of darkness by her side, destined to become the destroyer -of her happiness. At such moments, Ellen, who was in mute amazement at -the paroxysms which assailed him would strive by every endearing art -to charm away his melancholy, and by so doing sometimes nearly drove -him to frenzy; and alarmed her for his sanity, without decreasing her -affection. But these fitful moments passed away. Continental troubles -drove them back to England, and here Colonel Ellwood's difficulty in -keeping his incognito increased. Sometimes he took an abode for her in -the North of Scotland, sometimes in the mountains of Wales; his -restlessness and anxiety distressed and puzzled her, he was not the -same man in England he had seemed on the Continent. He was often -absent, too, for weeks, nay for months together; but this he accounted -for so plausibly on the score of army duties and the like, that Ellen -tried to be satisfied, especially as he carried on a constant -correspondence with her, and always sent her regular and plentiful -remittances. But one circumstance puzzled her even in this--it was -that she had to address all her answers to him under cover to his -lawyer. This person, who knew nothing of Ellen, believed it was a sort -of affair common among the nobility, young and old, and performed the -business part of the transaction faithfully as regarded transmitting -money and letters, while he gave himself no further trouble about the -matter. - -The time of discovery arrived but too soon. Ellen's child had been -ill, and she had taken him to the seacoast to restore his health. It -was the first time that she had ever left the residence appointed for -her by her husband without his sanction and permission, and it was the -urgency of the case that prompted her to deviate from this settled -plan. She thought to be gone only a few days, and his last letter had -bidden her not to expect him for a month or two, as pressing business -was to be imperatively attended to; so there was little chance of his -being displeased at the proceeding, indeed he had never been really -displeased with her. She went, then, and on the beach she was -recognized by a lady she did not remember, but {196} who chanced to -have a better memory than Ellen. The lady appeared to be somewhat of a -morose and malignant disposition, and entered into conversation -apparently to gratify some ill-natured feeling. Ellen was annoyed and -would have avoided her, but the other evidently had an object in view. -At last she blurted out: - -"So the Duke of Durimond is to be married soon, I hear." - -"I do not know," said Ellen, "I have no acquaintance among the great." - -"No acquaintance with the Duke of Durimond, madam? Why, surely I saw -you at----Hotel in Inverness-shire with him three years ago." - -"In Inverness-shire I was with my husband, but I saw no duke there." - -"Your husband, ma'am! the gentleman was called Colonel Ellwood, was he -not? Well, then, madam, the world believes Colonel Ellwood and the -Duke of Durimond to be the same person. But, to be sure, you ought to -know best. I can only say I was told so, often, in Inverness-shire, -and now the duke is gone to marry Miss Godfrey of Estcourt Hall; is -that a secret also to you?" - -The woman evidently gloated in the pain she inflicted, and stood -gazing at the victim. Ellen replied not--she was thunderstruck. Then -she deemed it impossible. She turned back to the house, gave up the -lodgings, and returned to her former home. There, making necessary -arrangements, she left her child in the care of trustworthy servants, -and ordering a post-chaise, was driven, as fast as horses could carry -her, to the house of the London lawyer, travelling night and day till -she reached her destination. - -The lawyer, Mr. Reynolds, would not reply to her questions. He begged -the lady to go home, saying that Colonel Ellwood would soon be with -her, and that he would be the best person to explain all mysteries. -He, Mr. Reynolds, really was not in a position to satisfy her. - -What an answer to an anxious heart! mystery upon mystery! Why, since -they came to England, did these long absences take place? Why did she -not know his address? Why--a long list of whys that sorely oppressed -her heart. What was she to do now? Being thus far, she thought at -least she would go down to Estcourt Hall and try to catch a glimpse of -the Duke of Durimond; she would know then if the report that -identified him with her husband was based on truth. - -She turned suddenly on the lawyer: "Where is the Duke of Durimond at -this instant?" Her manner, so unlike her usual calm demeanor, startled -Mr. Reynolds, and put him off his guard. - -"I believe, madam, the duke is at the mansion of the Hon. Mr. Godfrey, -at Estcourt." - -"What is he doing there?" - -"The world reports him as about to be married." - -Ellen turned in a resolute manner to the door--the lawyer followed -her. "Be persuaded, ma'am, go home in peace; all will be right in -time, believe me." - -Ellen got into the post-chaise, and ordered the driver to proceed to -Sussex without delay. That night she was at Estcourt. The next day, as -we have seen, she approached the carriage, recognized the duke to be -Colonel Ellwood, followed him in his bridal tour, spoke with him, and -then returned, as best she might, to her now dreary home. - -The duke sent to her--she received not his messages; he wrote--she -returned his letters unopened; he called on a Roman Catholic prelate -to confess the transaction, and beg of him to take care that Ellen was -suitably provided for; but the bishop, after seeing Ellen and becoming -interested in the story, would not receive any money from the duke on -Ellen's account. He said she refused it, and he could but acquiesce in -her decision. The duke was utterly perplexed. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - --------- - -{197} - - -Translated from La Correspondant - -THE FOUNDERS OF FRENCH UNITY. [Footnote 38] - -BY THE COUNT DE CHAMPAGNY. - - [Footnote 38: Historical Studies. By the Count L. de Carne.] - -Our readers are certainly not ignorant of the name or the book of M. -de Carne. The work which he published in 1848, on the eve of the -revolution of February, attracted the interest as well as the -suffrages of all serious times, and the mass of those who read may -know and appreciate it. - -The idea of this book is well known. M. de Carne has been struck with -what constitutes the peculiar genius of the French nation, its unity. -He has wished to ascertain and trace the origin of that unity; and has -found it summed up in a few proper names, and has condensed in the -history of a small number of statesmen that of the nation. - -Nothing could be more proper. We are the republican of any nation that -God has made, and we are so because the French nation is more strictly -one than any other, and more than any other needs a chief. Abandoned -ourselves, and obliged, willingly or unwillingly, to take each a -personal part in the common action, we are worth very little; but we -are admirable when we are commanded. I do not know if Shakespeare is -right when he calls France the Soldier of God, but what appears to me -certain is that we are much better soldiers than citizens. In France -the citizen is a stupid lout who, three-fourths of the time, lets -himself be led, and miserably led, either by a journal or a spouting -chief of a club; he abdicates himself and consents to be led blindly -by the passions of others. He cries "Harrah for Revolution!" when he -thinks he is only crying "Hurrah for Reform!" and makes a revolution -without intending it, and makes it to the profit of his enemies. The -soldier, on the contrary, finds in obedience the element of his -spontaneity, of his intelligence, I had almost said, of his liberty. -He was but a peasant, very dull and lubberly when he was free; put -upon him the coat of passive obedience, and he acquires abilities -which seem to belong only to liberty. He is prompt, he is sagacious, -he is intelligent; faithful to his commander when his commander guides -him, full of activity and spontaneity, if by chance the commander -fails him. Why is this? Why is the English citizen so intelligent in -commercial and political life, so hampered under the red coat? Why is -the French peasant so stupid when he is taken from his plough, so much -at his ease when in uniform? To this I know no answer, unless it be, -that God has so made us. In France, the soldier is more himself when -under discipline than the citizen in his liberty. It is not, then, -surprising that the history of a people, I will not say so royalist, -but so monarchical in the etymological sense of the word, should be -summed up in the proper names of a few men. - -The Abbe Suger, St. Louis, Du Guesclin, Joan of Arc, Louis XI., Henry -IV., Richelieu, Mazarin: such are the personages whom M. de Carne has -selected, and who he shows have gradually effected the development of -French unity. It is in the succession of these names that we can -follow with him that development. - -{198} - -However, it is not necessary to believe, and M. de Carne does not -pretend it, that these men made French unity. It has been made by -itself. France was really one in fact before being made so by the -government and laws. From the tenth century, when all Gaul was -parcelled out, when the large provinces all belonged to masters -independent in fact, save for the nominal law of vassalage, hardly -acknowledged, this divided nation felt herself already one, felt -herself already a nation. She has been one ever since, in reacting -against the yoke of the Austrasian dynasty of the Carlovingians, she -commenced to reject from her midst the Germanic race, language, and -institutions. She had her language--we find it distinctly in the oath -of 843; she had her capital--that little mud city which began to pass -the arm of the Seine and to spread itself from the island over on the -right bank, was already the centre of French life. She had her -dynasty--that kinglet possessor of a narrow domain, which he disputed -with great feudatories more powerful than he, was already and for all -the king of France. She was already herself advancing to the time when -the grandson of Robert the Strong would make himself obeyed from the -Rhine to the Pyrenees, the _langue d' Oyl_ would become the common -tongue of Christendom, and all the fiefs from Flanders to the -Mediterranean would hold from the great tower of the Louvre. - -Thus it seems to me that one of the most important facts in our -history, though little remarked, is the first armed manifestation of -France under Louis the Fat. At the time the Emperor Henry V. -penetrated into Champagne with a German army, the king, who, according -to his own expression, had grown old at the siege of Montlhery, in a -few weeks found himself at the head of three hundred thousand men, -united as a thick cloud of grasshoppers, who cover the banks of the -rivers, the mountains, and plains. A few weeks more, and the great -vassals, the Count of Flanders, the Duke of Aquitaine, the Count of -Brittany, brought him new reinforcements, and his army, raised to four -hundred thousand men, was double that of the emperor, which was itself -enormous for the middle ages. The political bond, however, which -united those different countries which are to-day called France, was -very feeble. These vassals, present at the camp of Louis the Fat, -rendered him scarcely a ceremonial homage. What bond could unite so -many different populations for the defence of a territory which, at -that epoch, had scarcely a name, if it was not community of origin and -a common aversion to the Germanic domination? The French nation was -then one, even at that epoch, when the king was king of only five of -our present departments at most. She made herself one by herself and -her blood, before being made so by kings and laws. - -In all we have been ourselves, and more ourselves than we think. We -are neither Franks nor Visigoths; we are Gallo-Romans. We are Gauls -civilized by Rome, and baptized by the church. The influence of the -Frank domination has been more superficial than was believed in the -last century; the name remains to us, but what else remains? In the -language, which is the great symbol of nationality, the Germanic -element, whether in words or in forms of speech, has evidently been -only secondary; and it has left no traces in the national character. -In institutions the Germanic element dominated for a time, for the -simple reason that it possessed the political power; but it was the -labor of the middle ages, and we can say their glory, to efface it. - -In fact, the struggle against feudalism and feudal institutions was, -to speak truly, a national struggle. There were traces of German -domination during four centuries which it was necessary to efface. The -day when France demanded of the house of Robert the Strong a chief, -king or not, but a chief to oppose to the Rhenish sovereignty of the -Carlovingians, that day she commenced, without knowing it, the -struggle against the institutions which grew out of the Germanic {199} -conquest. That struggle was continued under St. Louis, the epoch of -the great radiation of French power, when the Mediterranean was almost -our domain; when we established colonies even on the coasts of Africa; -when our missionaries penetrated even to Thibet; when the sons of -Genghis Khan were in diplomatic relations with us, and when even in -Italy they spoke by preference our language as "the most delightful" -and the most generally understood of any in the world. - -In this work the church came to our aid. The great struggle of the -papacy was also against the pride of the Germanic supremacy. It was -against the feudalism planted in the church, against feudatory bishops -who bore armor, and carried the falcon on their wrist, who held their -dioceses as fiefs, and received their investiture from the German -suzerain, and against the kings their patrons, that St. Gregory VII. -wielded the papal power. It was against the institutions of Germanic -barbarism, against the feudal aristocracy, against tests by fire and -water, against private wars and judicial combats, that the church, and -especially the papacy, never ceased to struggle. There was, then, -during a whole century a perfect accord between the kings of France -and the pontiffs of Rome, between the independence of the commons and -the franchises of the religious orders, between the authority of the -legists and that of the councils. - -And for these institutions introduced by the Germanic conquests, and -which we in accord with the church combated, what have we in accord -with the church substituted? The institutions proper to our race, -proper to our traditions as a civilized people, proper to our manners -as Christians. For feudalism the idea of direct power such as Rome had -taught, and such as Charlemagne comprehended and attempted to revive; -in other words, for suzerainty sovereignty; for the jurisdiction of -lords was substituted in spirituals that of ecclesiastical judges, in -temporals that of royal justices; consequently, for feudal law the -canon law of Christian, and the civil law of imperial Rome. For the -right of private battle we substituted the possession of arms remitted -to the sovereign alone, as in Rome and in all civilized countries. For -duels and judicial trials by fire and water we substituted trials by -witness, according to the Roman law and the law of the church and of -all civilized nations. In a word, we effaced the traces of Germanic -paganism and barbarism, to become in our laws once more what we were -by blood, Gallo-Romans; what we were by our faith, Christians; what we -still are by our reminiscences, civilized men. Such was the work of -our race from Robert the Strong to St. Louis, of the popes from -Gregory VII. to Gregory IX., of our commons from the first communal -revolt to the enfranchisement of the serfs under Louis le Hutin, of -the church from the day when she proclaimed the truce of God, and -constituted to sustain it a sort of universal _Landwehr_, to that in -which she canonized, in the person of St. Louis, the type, not of the -feudal chief, but of the Christian king. Only from this union of all -forces in reference to a single end, essentially national, legitimate, -and Christian, there was one unhappy exception, that of the nobility, -the heir, whether by blood or position, of the Germanic traditions, -investitures, and institutions, and who became a sort of common enemy. -They were found, in spite of their patriotism, standing apart from the -nation, and unpopular in spite of the many ties which bound them to -the people. The church, royalty, even the legists had their place in -the popular affection, but the nobility had none. They were suspected -by the government and abandoned by it to the suspicions of the people. -Hence they were so much the further removed from the political -tendency of the nation as they were nearer to its political action, -and all the less disposed to co-operate in the work of national -elaboration as they were more open to the seductions of foreign {200} -politics. Hence they could make the war of the Annagnacs in the -fourteenth century, the war of the Public Good in the fifteenth, the -religious wars of the sixteenth, and of the Fronde in the seventeenth; -but it was never theirs to exercise that popular, regular, pacific -action, the action of patronage and defence, exercised by the -aristocracy of England. They had only the choice, on the one hand, of -a selfish, unpopular revolt against the king--a revolt resting on the -enemies of France for its support, or on the other, of service to the -crown, a service which they gloriously and courageously rendered -indeed, but which was a service of perfect obedience, in which there -was nothing to be gained for their order, in which indeed they could -reap glory, but not power. Never has there been a real aristocracy in -France--there has been only an obedient or an insubordinate feudal -nobility. - -Thus may be given in brief the sum of the first part of M. de Carne s -book; and this first part foretells what is to follow. The position of -royalty, the nobles, and the commons respectively, was during four -centuries developed only on bases furnished by the middle ages. The -development effected in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries M. de -Carne has personified in Suger, abbot of St. Denis, and St. Louis--an -able and intelligent choice. Suger and St. Louis were two rare -statesmen in an epoch when statesmanship hardly existed. Suger, formed -by the rigid and wise discipline of the church, a full-grown man in -the midst of the childish caprices and inconsequences of his age, a -real statesman, although the minister of a king who was no statesman -at all, was certainly one of the greatest and most intelligent agents -in the national work, of which those even who were its instruments -rarely had the slightest conception. St. Louis rose still further -above his age. He pertained not more to the middle ages by his faith -than by his statesmanship he pertains to our own times. No king ever -labored harder to evolve from its feudal envelope the civil and -political life of France; no king ever studied more diligently to -place royalty on the footing of modern sovereignties, and to fashion -it, as M. de Carne well observes, after the Biblical royalty, rather -than after feudal suzerainty. - -M. de Carne is very right, then, in seeking in these two rare men a -serious and matured political plan; but he would have found it -difficult to discover traces of such a plan in others, and perhaps -even the habits of his own mind render him less fitted to judge other -heroes of the middle ages. In the very pages he has written, I see, -indeed, Suger; I see, indeed St. Louis; but I do not see enough of the -middle age itself, of that age of youth with its contradictions and -it's inconsistencies; and M. de Carne it seems to me to be too wise, -too sensible, too logical, and too much of a modern statesman, to -paint it in its true light. - -I express here, I confess, a personal impression, not a judgment, and -perhaps a profounder study of the monuments of the middle ages would -give me a different impression. But I own that when I seek the the -middle ages in modern writings, I receive an impression quite -different from that which I receive when I attempt to study them in -their own monuments. With the moderns, not only with M. de Carne, but -with writers who are antiquaries rather than statesman, I find -presented as characteristic of the middle ages profound political use, -or at least a certain power of foresight and calculation in those who -govern; but if I open the smallest chronicle, I discover nothing of -the sort. These kings and these statesmen become only warriors, rude -captains, capable of any devotion--capable also of any violence and -even of any falsehood, rather than of any wise or consistent policy -seriously and steadily pursued. Whether it is merely the result of the -oldness of the language, and the simplicity, so often apparent, which -a still unformed idiom gives to thought, I {201} must say this age has -on me the effect of an age of infancy. - -It's tongue stammers, and its diction resembles the _patois_ of our -provinces and the songs of our nurses. In art it had, not without a -simplicity sometimes admirable, that awkwardness and that stiffness -which mark the first toddling walk of children. Its public life was -mingled with puerile ceremonies, with a fantastic symbolism, sometimes -even indecent. Its faith asked for no reason, as asks the mature man; -but felt, saw, understood as does the adolescent; it carried into it -sometimes a puerile superstition which impaired it, sometimes an -admirable simplicity which excludes the wisdom of the doctors, though -not the devotedness of martyrs. It instituted the Feast of Fools and -of Asses. Yet it made the Crusades. It embraced Christian morality -without hesitation and without an objection; it embraced it, forgot to -practise it; while professing good, it practised evil with the -facility of contradiction surpassing even the ordinary powers of human -nature; it was a good Catholic, but scrupled not to pillage the -churches. Its submission it refused in principle to nobody--to the -pope, the king, or the suzerain; and yet never did the papacy receive -more frequent insults, never had royalty such trouble to make itself -obeyed, never were quarrels between superior and inferior so frequent, -as in the middle ages--those ages of submission and of -insubordination, in which the rules of the hierarchy were better -established and less observed than in any other. This contradiction, -this inconsistency, this easy acceptance of the law while it is -asserted only in theory, and this easy forgetfulness of it when it -comes to practice, this subordination of the mind, and this revolt of -the heart, is it not plainly that of boyhood? Boy seldom refuses to -accept the moral truth that is taught him; he does not reject in -theory even the obedience which is exacted of him; but, at a given -moment, it costs him nothing to contradict that truth in practice, and -to fail in that obedience; he denies never the law; he unceasingly -breaks it. - -It is true, that when we rise to a certain general point of view, -nothing appears better regulated than the mediaeval society. -Regularity, far from being defective, was in excess. A manifold -foresight multiplied the laws. The church and the state, feudality and -the commons, sovereignty and suzerainty, had each their codes, -complicated and provident as those of a society in which right and -interest are complicated and run athwart each other. Decretals, bulls, -decisions of councils, feudal assizes, royal charters and commercial -charters, laws and regulations of all kinds, embarrass us by their -number much more than they sadden us by their absence. And the -definitive result of the whole is a grand and admirable effort of -Christian wisdom to establish in this world the reign of justice and -peace. No right is denied, no interest is sacrificed, no power is -without its limit, no liberty without its defense. Relations of the -king to the subject, of the suzerain to the vassal, of the master to -the serf, all are regulated there on the basis, so often forgotten, of -reciprocal rights and duties. Never, perhaps, have the conciliation of -order and liberty, hierarchy and the equality, the powers of the chief -and the rights of the inferior, been conceived in so happy a manner. - -I said _conceived_, not effected; for if we come to the fact, the rule -fails to be translated into reality, or, rather, is so often broken -that it may be said not even to exist; all relations become violent; -master and serf, suzerain and vassal, king and subject, whose mutual -relations were so well settled in law, are in a continual struggle -against one another. That magnificent edifice presented us in theory, -with the pope and the emperor at its summit, and in which the lowest -serf holds his place, is in reality as unsubstantial as the fairy -castles seen in our dreams. - -{202} - -When I speak thus of the middle ages, I speak only of the lay society; -I do not speak of the cloister and the church. They judge very -improperly the middle ages who identify society in them with the -church. The church was then, as now, not of her age. She struggled -against it, and was more or less sullied on the points on which she -came more directly in contact with the world--that is, in the secular -clergy, and even the episcopacy, and more completely herself only when -the cloister, the distance of places, and the diversity of origin -removed her farthest from the feudal society--that is to say, in the -religious orders and the papacy. I regard as a veritable chimera that -dream, sometimes entertained, of a Europe gentle and submissive, -obedient to the least word of the papacy, and conducted peaceably by -the staff of St. Peter--in the ways of ignorance and barbarism, say -unbelieving historians--in the ways of happiness and salvation, say -Catholic writers. Both delight in this dream; the former because they -would ruin the church by throwing upon her the responsibility of the -crimes and vices of the middle ages; the latter because they would -restore those ages by identifying them with the church. But I ask them -to tell me at what time, during what year, what day, or what hour only -this general submission existed? I ask them to tell me if there was a -single day, a single minute which did not bring to the church her -combat, not merely against kings and feudal lords, but against -nations, and not only on one point of Europe, but on a thousand?--if -once only this temporal jurisdiction of the papacy over the world was -exercised otherwise than at the point of the sword--the sword of -steel, as well as the sword of speech? - -This middle age, this docile child, this innocent lamb, which allows -itself to be led gently and blindly by the shepherd's crook, I find -nowhere; I see indeed a child, but a hard and rebellious child, who -seldom bends, rarely except to threats, and who, however humbly he may -and, finds it no fault to straighten himself immediately after. Alas! -the infancy of a people is not the infancy of men. The infant man has -his physical weakness, which permits him to be controlled, and in -restraining protects him. The infant people, for its misfortune, has -all the passions and all the material forces of the full-grown man, -and by the side of this formidable infant, the papacy to me appears -different in everything, different by its supernatural life, which -lifts it above the human condition, by the maturity of its -intelligence, which elevates it above this youthful world, by the -traditions of the Italian civilization which raises it above this -world, still sunk in barbarism. It is divine in the midst of men, -adult in the midst of children, Italian in the midst of these Teutons, -Roman in the midst of these barbarians, civilian in the midst of these -soldiers. - -And by this, it seems to me, is justified, even if not otherwise, the -political part played by the papacy in the middle ages. When it is -demanded by what right it pretended to the temporal government of -Europe, I answer unhesitatingly, by - - "The right that a spirit vast and firm in its designs - Has over the gross spirits of vulgar men;" - -or, at least, the right which maturity has naturally over youth, -science over ignorance, reason over unreason. The mature man, whom -chance has placed in the midst of indocile and imprudent children, has -over them by his age and reason alone a part, at least, of the rights -of a father and a teacher. Only, with the father or teacher physical -force supports this right, while to the papacy it was wanting, and -could be supplied only by the sanctity of its character, the authority -of it's words, and the intrepidity of its government. - -{203} - -This will be for ever its glory. The glory of the church is far less -in having reigned than in having fought. That temporal dominion of the -Holy See was never in the state of a peaceable, regular, acknowledged -sovereignty. It was only a form of the unrelenting warfare which the -church sustained against evil,--one of the phases of her never-ending -combat, one of the arms of her ceaseless struggle. The church has -fought either without auxiliaries, or with auxiliaries always ready to -abandon her; she herself wields not the sword of the flesh, and is -never sure that those who do handle it in her name will not turn it -against her; sometimes saved by kings and menaced by the people, -sometimes aided by the people and crushed by kings, she has fought her -fight without having, in reality, any other human power than that of -her dangers, the sufferings, the exile, the captivity, the -humiliations, the death of her pontiffs. She has never completely -triumphed, but she has never fainted. She has never completely teamed -the lion she combated, but she has been able to soften him. She has -never been a peaceful and happy mother in the midst of submissive -children, a pacific queen in the midst of devoted subjects; she has -been rather an unwearied combatant, according to his word who said, "I -am calm to bring the world not peace, but a sword." - -But the moment must come when the child becomes a man. The struggle -then changes front. The man is not better than the child; properly -speaking, he is not wiser or more reasonable: he has simply more order -in his life, and more logical sequence in his conduct. A sort of human -respect induces him to study to maintain greater harmony between his -principles and his actions; when he has a good theory, he tries -oftener than the child to have a good practice; and oftener when his -conduct is bad, he concocts a bad theory to justify it. To use a -well-known word, he practices his good maxims or he _maxims_ his bad -practices, as the grace of God in him and his conscience are stronger -or weaker. This accord with himself, which is the characteristic, at -least the pretension, of the mature man, makes alike his greatness and -his littleness. The church, when society is matured, has to combat -doctrines rather than passions, ideas rather than vices. The middle -ages were, then, the infancy of Christian nations; should we say the -sixteenth century--the age of passion, of effervescence, of revolt, of -lapses--was the age of youth? Is the present age the age of maturity -or of decrepitude? This, five hundred years hence, our descendants may -be able to determine. - -It still remains to know whether the childhood of a people, like the -childhood of individuals, ought not to be regretted rather than -disdained, and whether it does not charm us more by the memory of its -joys than it humiliates us by the memory of its weaknesses. If the -childhood of the individual is not capable of crimes, it is not any -more capable of great deeds; the childhood of a people, on the -contrary, although it may have its gentle and simple side, has also -its heroic and sublime side. It was so with the child-people who -passed the Red Sea, or fought under the walls of Troy. They are -child-men for whom the Pentateuch was written, and who inspired the -Iliad. They are child-men, our ancestors, who reconquered the tomb of -Christ, who carried faith even to the depths of China, and who with -Joan of Arc chased the English from France. They were not souls free -from all blemish, nor hands never sullied; very often the brutality of -their manners repels us, and we are borne, in seeing them, like the -tender souls in those iron ages, to seek refuge in the shadow of the -cloister, in order to find there, at least, peace, delicacy of heart, -dignity of intelligence, and serenity of soul. But they were really of -those to whom much is forgiven, for they loved much. Among their -contradictions they had this grand and noble contradiction--that of -having committed great faults, and yet preserving the love of God; of -being soiled with vice, and yet not abandoned to it; of having removed -far from the Lord, {204} but having never despaired of his mercy; of -being very hard and very cruel, and yet preserving a loving fibre in -their hearts, and tears in their eyes. After all, if these men were -children, they were the children of whom it is said, "Of such is the -kingdom of heaven." If the middle ages had vices, they had also faith: -the world in ripening has lost the faith, and retained the vices. - -Here is what, as it seems to me, may be said of the middle ages, after -what M. de Carne has said, and by the side of what he has said. It may -not be without some advantage to place this very different view by the -side of the political view, which he has so well developed. I repeat -it, that considering only the two types of Suger and St. Louis, he -comprehends them, for they come within his sphere; he has, perhaps, -not so well comprehended the medium in which they lived, or perhaps he -partially forgets it. - -We must now follow France and Europe in that more manly, or senile, -epoch of their life, which M. de Carne after having given us sketches -of Du Guesclin and Joan of Arc, personifies in Louis XI., Henry IV., -Cardinal Richelieu, and Mazarin. These are already times which touch -very closely our own. The work of Henry IV., of Richelieu, Mazarin, -and Louis XIV., has crumbled almost under our own eyes, and in many -respects their spirit is still living in our midst. The proof is in -the fact that it is still the object of attack, Richelieu especially. -Louis XIV. is discussed with all the vehemence of a contemporary -controversy. This indeed is not the case with M. de Carne. There is -not, perhaps, in his book an appreciation more calm, more dignified, -more grave than that of the policy of the great cardinal. - -He has justified this policy. He shows with an evidence that seems to -me incontestable, that, setting aside the severity of certain acts, -setting aside the last months of a premature old age, when weariness -of power began to obscure his lofty intellect, Richelieu could have -done hardly otherwise than he did. The nobility, it must be said, a -little in all times, and very much for a century, had yielded to a -deplorable spirit of faction. Whether it dreamed, like the Calvinistic -gentlemen of the sixteenth century, of a resurrection of feudalism; -whether in its eyes, as in those of the Duke of Rohan, was zoning the -plan of an aristocratic republic; or whether, as more frequently -happens, all its ambitions were individual, and that the alliances it -formed were only the coalitions of dissatisfied pretensions, always is -it certain that it was in an eminent degree incapable of a serious and -well-defined policy. It could not even be national, and for fourscore -years there was not a chief of the party who did not seek his support -in England or in Spain, and who did not treat in the beginning of his -revolt with foreigners, as he counted at its close on treating with -his king. The commonalty, though more national, had not a whit more -case for the necessary conditions of regular political action. The -parliament incontestably formed the head all the Third Estate: it was -the most dignified post, the highest placed, the gravest, and the most -capable of affairs; and yet the parliaments interfered in politics -only with the littlenesses and caprice of children, the conceit of -youngsters, or the timidity of old men; by turns submissive and -rebellious, idolaters of absolute power, and rebels to every -government; rash and timid, rebelling and begging pardon. - -The cardinal has been almost always reproached for having established -royalty without a basis; but this basis, where was he to find it? Was -it ever in his power to create it? Could he found a political -aristocracy, respecting the laws, and protecting the people, where -there was only a turbulent, unpopular, and unstatesmanlike nobility? -Could he erect on French soil a House of Commons, animated at once -with the spirit of legal obedience and of constitutional resistance, -{205} at a time when it did not exist even in England, and where there -were only citizens ready to revolt, as was proved in the time of the -League, and ready to submit, and even to worship power, as was proved -under Henry IV., but wholly incapable of resisting without rebelling? -At least, it will not be said that at all hazards, and without taking -any account of these facts, the cardinal should have inaugurated in -France something like the charter of 1814, or that of 1830, which -would be very much like reproaching Hannibal for not using gunpowder, -and Christopher Columbus for not using steam! - -Richelieu felt that all force, that every principle of peace, -grandeur, and unity, was at the time in royalty. Royalty was in the -sphere of things possible, or imaginary, the only regular, and even -the only popular power. Outside of it there were only resistances, or -rather attacks, more or less inconsequent and factious. The liberties -of the middle ages, such as they had then, could appear only as -turbulent and irregular liberties, incompatible with that order and -that regularity which were a necessity for the genius of the cardinal -and his age. Richelieu rendered absolute that power which alone could -be a protection, well the others would be only sources of danger. In -doing this he abolished no liberties, for there were then no liberties -in the modern sense of the word. He had little else than privileges to -suppress, and absolute monarchy conferred more privileges then it -destroyed. We had only insubordinations to quell, and misdeeds to -punish. That, in this struggle, his untempered severity amounted even -to cruelty, sometimes odius, and almost always useless, M. de Carne -does not deny, and I concede it even to a greater extent, perhaps, -than he would approve; but what had been the triumph of the party, or -rather of the contradictory parties? What monarchy--national, -constitutional, and legal--could have resulted from the victory of -those great lords, leagued together, and constantly intriguing against -the government ever since the death of Henry IV.; sometimes open -rebels, sometimes submissive; ever uniting, or separating, allying -themselves at the the exigency of the moment; enemies to their friends -of yesterday, faithful to-day with the factious of the morrow, -Protestants with Catholics, Catholics with Huguenots, Frenchmen with -Spain! What a magnificent bill of rights the Duchess de Chevereuse -would have drawn up for Louis XIII. to sign! - -Richelieu did the only thing which in his time was possible, and that -is the justification of the political order which he founded. But his -work was not complete, and was not completed, I dare add, solely -because it was sanguinary. The blood shed, as M. de Carne well says, -was not so abundant as is commonly believed; twenty-six men in all -perished on the scaffold. How many politicians have the reputation of -great benignity, who have put to death a much larger number! But on -more than one occasion Richelieu's proceedings were odious, his -cruelty refined, his vengeance useless. It belonged to a man of quite -another nature to finish the work which he, with less violence, might -have accomplished. The cardinal, when he died, left feudal opposition -humbled, but living area The blood of Montmorency had implanted still -more hate than fear. All the uneasy and restless forces, which, with -no purpose, or only that of personal satisfaction, agitated France for -nearly a century, crushed by the hand of the cardinal, drew themselves -up anew when he was no longer there, and made themselves immediately -felt and feared, under the reign of a child, the regency of a Spanish -woman, and the ministry of an Italian. The work, then, was not -complete, and the last germ of that aristocratic faction had not been -extinguished on the scaffold of Cinq-Mars. - -{206} - -M. de Carne, who overrates Richelieu, greatly underrates Mazarin. -Certainly, the man had less grandeur, and was more sullied; there were -defects in his genius, and undeniably dark shades in his character; -his morality was certainly of a low order, but his intellectual power -was something marvellous. I am astonished to see that foreigner, that -adventurer, that man who was never popular, that minister with greedy -and grasping instincts, triumphing over enemies which the great -cardinal had not been able to subdue, surviving the spirit of faction -that had survived Richelieu,--to see him accomplish the work which -Richelieu had not been able to accomplish by violence; and -accomplishing it without having to reproach himself with erecting a -single scaffold. This Italian, so furiously decried, who on -re-entering Paris, after his victory, had not a word of anger to -utter, nor a vengeance to inflict on any one; who re-established in -their seats the magistrates of Parliament who had set a price on his -head; who, vilified to satiety by the men of letters, tranquilly, and -without ostentation, restored to them their pensions; who granted to -the grandees of the kingdom--who were his enemies--nearly all they had -asked, except their independence; this man, in all this, may indeed -have been more able than generous, but I much like that kind of -ability, and regard it as worth imitating. And what is curious, is -that, from that minister, so many times dishonored, from that peace in -which the factious were so well treated, from that struggle in which -royalty was often so hard pressed, and in which it was so often forced -to give way, royalty itself came forth stronger, more absolute, more -venerated, more adored, than it was left by the lofty struggle -maintained by Cardinal Richelieu, and in which his victories were -ratified by the hangman. - -It is in this way that monarchy was established in France; and, be it -said in passing, without recurring to the necessity and legitimacy of -this work, it has produced, in spite of its many imperfections and -excesses, the most normal epoch in our history since that of St. -Louis. This epoch had only brief duration, and it is sometimes, said, -that what is called the ancient _regime_, was only a period of -transition. I grant it. In this passing world, what century is there -that is not a century of transition? When is it that the nations can -stop, pitch their tents, and say, "It is good to be here?" I remember -still all in my youth, the defunct Saint-Simonian school, which, -perhaps, is not so defunct as is supposed, divided the history of the -world into critical periods and _organic_ periods; but as for its -organic periods, they could not tell where to find them. It is the -same with us all. I see, indeed, in history, times of passage, but not -the time of sojourn; and I know not any century in which it might not -be said with as much truth has in our own, "We are in the moment of -transition." But if ever there was really an organic epoch, it was -that of which we speak. If any age could really pass for a normal age, -not indeed for the perfection of its virtue, but for the plenitude of -its principle, it would certainly be the age of Louis XIV. That was -essentially, in good and in evil, in greatness and littleness, in its -good deeds and in its evil deeds, in its legitimate honor and in its -idolatrous apotheosis, the age of royalty. - -On many sides, certainly, this age is open to attack: yet neither men -nor human institutions are to be judged after an absolute type. The -greatest must miserably fail, if so judged. All judgments of human -things our relative. When we place a life, in age, a rule, any -institution whatever, by the side of the ideal type which are -imagination forms to itself, nothing is to be said; that life is -stained, that period is wretched, that _regime_ is odious, that -institution is detestable; but if we compare it with that which has -been before, after, or contemporary with it, or even that which would -have been humanly possible to put in its place {207} Our judgment is -more indulgent, because less absolute. It is our glory, but also our -error, to bear in ourselves a certain passion for the beautiful and -the good, which can find no satisfaction in this world; to form to -ourselves in everything, an ideal type superior to all human power to -realize; to have in us the measure of heaven, which we very clear that -Louis XIV. was only a poor knight, Bossuet only a common-place writer. -Homer a street-singer, Raphael a dauber by the side of the king, the -orator, the poet, the painter, of which we dream in our imagination. - -That _regime_, inaugurated by Richelieu, confirmed by Mazarin, and -glorified by Louis XIV., had, doubtless, its baseness as every other, -but not more than others. It had its cruelties, and they were often -inexcusable; it had a greater and more fundamental wrong still, that -of pushing power to excess, and exaggerating its rights, as well as -deifying the person of the sovereign. Human powers have all a limit, -however absolute they may claim to be; and whether collected in a -single hand, or dispersed among many--whether they are vested in the -people, in an assembly, or in one man alone, the sphere of their -action is no greater. Power has its limit in right, and this limit -cannot be passed without guilt; it has its limit in fact, and against -that it cannot dash its head without breaking it. - -This was its fault, and it was cruelly expiated. We say, however, that -the monarchy of Louis XIV. perished less by his fault than by that of -his successor. Louis XV. inherited a royalty in its plenitude, -surrounded by the profound respect of the nation. Louis XlV. had died -unpopular, but he left the throne popular. The public calamities were -charged to the man, not to the monarchy. I know not in all history a -king more beloved, more venerated, more adored as king and -independently of his personal qualities, than was Louis XV. A child at -first, then a young man, without other personal merit than that of -leaving Cardinal de Fleury to govern, Louis XV., during twenty years, -gathered in peace the fruits of royalty. More humane than Louis XIV.; -as selfish indeed, but selfish in another manner; not taking like him -his royalty in earnest, and instead of accepting it as a dignity -almost divine, regarding it as a private estate he had a right to -enjoy without being under the slightest obligation to look after its -management, Louis XV. took pleasure in squandering the treasures of -popular respect and affection which his predecessor had bequeathed -him. France persisted in respecting his royalty as long as she could. -Neither the scandals of the Regency, less public than they have become -for posterity, nor the succession of court influences, not yet sunk to -the baseness of the later years, though beginning to approach it; nor -the indolence and the corruption of that prince who hardly ever opened -a letter on business, hardly ever spoke in council, and hardly ever -went to the army; nor that egotism of the man crudely paraded in the -place of the egotism of the king professed by Louis XIV. as a -religion--nothing of all this disgusted the country, so marvellously -had France been imbued with the love and worship of royalty by -Richelieu, Mazarin, and Louis XIV.! - -The corruption of ideas was slowly effected. The eighteenth century -did not begin in 1700 nor in 1715, it was only beginning in 1750. The -first irreligious book which gave much scandal was that of Toussaint -in 1748. Up to that time Voltaire had restricted himself to some timid -allusions against priests mingled with many flatteries of the court; -the Pucelle was written but not published. Twenty-eight years after -the death of Louis XIV., at the time of the illness of Metz, was still -seen a thing unique perhaps--a whole country, not only the nobility -and the court, but the citizens, the people, all those who were most -disinterested in regard to royal favors, were seen {208} praying with -a tenderness truly filial that God would leave to them a king who had -reigned for twenty-eight years without having done anything, and -wresting from Providence, so to speak, by the force of supplications, -a life steeped in debauchery. This great and sincere testimonial of -monarchical enthusiasm, which remained so deeply rooted in the memory -of our fathers, was given, I say not to the worst, but certainly to -the least meritorious of all our monarchs. - -It is necessary, then, to render to our country this justice, that, if -it came at length to despise power, it was because in spite of itself -it was driven to it by power itself. It needed that this so solemn -mark of filial devotion should be returned by continued indolence and -corruption. It needed more than thirty years of the cynical workings -of this royalty to erase from the heart in which it was so deeply -rooted, the taste and the worship of royalty. They who, in seeking the -semi-metaphysical, semi-political causes for the fall of the monarchy -of Louis XIV., think they find the principle of its ruin in the manner -of its constitution, may, in certain respects, be right, but they -should tell us how it could have been constituted differently. -However, they seem to me to count for too little the abuses so -flagrant and so prolonged, which were made of it. - -Neither am I among those who accuse the France of the old _regime_ of -servility. Its love for royalty may have been excessive, but it was, -at least, sincere; and if sincere it was not servile. We may be guilty -of idolatry towards those we love, but we can be guilty of servility -only towards those we love not. Royalty, I admit, was regarded as a -demi-god, but they who really worship the false god do it in good -faith. Our fathers were, perhaps, fanatics, but they were not slaves. -The great English lords who, in the eighteenth century, traversed -France in a post chaise, in order to attend the court at Versailles, -and to pass several weeks in Parts, doubtless judged the country to be -inhabited only by the cowardly slaves of an Asiatic despot;--they -found no House of Commons, no speaker nor usher with the black rod. In -the same way, Sterne, seeing at a play a man who annoyed his neighbors -and whom the guard ordered to leave, was confounded by the arbitrary -proceeding, and could not comprehend that the citizen did not maintain -by his fists the right to disturb the performance. It was a country -judged on the surface by the habits of mind of another country during -About the same time, another Englishman, [Footnote 39] who did not -journey in a post-chaise, who went on foot from village to village, -playing the flute for the peasantry, holding disputations in the -monasteries, and thus paying his reckoning, judged France a little -differently. He came very near, God forgive him, envying it, and -preferring it to his own country! He met here not miserable slaves, -but happy men, satisfied with themselves, and satisfied with all the -world. The current money in this country, according to him, was not -silver; was not the material favors of the government; was not, or, at -least, was not only, pension and place; it was a vain money, no doubt, -like all human riches, but a money, at least, more delicate and more -noble. "Society here finds its life in HONOR. Praise gained by merit, -or obtained by an imaginary worth, is the money which passes current -from hand to hand, and by a noble commerce passes from the court to -the camp and the cottage." France, which for the others was the -country of servitude, was for him the country of honor. - - [Footnote 39: We need hardly tell our readers the person referred to - here was an Irishman--Oliver Goldsmith. (Ed. C.W.)] - -In reality it is hardly for us to be ashamed of the servitude of -forefathers. It is true, more mature than they, we no longer either -worship or respect authority; but we count it no fault to beg its -favors. We crowd around the altar, though we no longer believe in the -god. Every revolution has shown us the ante-chambers {209} invaded in -turn by a cloud of conquerors, revolutionists, or conservatives, -monarchists or republicans, all men have profound conviction, of a -well-tried self-respect, a liberalism true as steel, and an -independence as firm as iron, but who nevertheless came to beg their -bit from the budget Since we came into the world, four times, at -least, have we seeing this hideous quarry to which (we must render all -justice to our equalitarians) all classes, high or low, rich or for, -lettered or unlettered, have flocked with a harmony truly democratic. -We now no longer conceive of a public service which is not paid for, a -state function which is not an income, a position which has not its -money value. Have we the right, in good faith, to be ashamed of the -times when they said not _places_ but _charges_, because the public -service was considered not a position but duty? Have we the right to -attack even that court and that finance of aforetime, stained, I -grant, with cupidity and adulation, but not otherwise than in all -times, and are still the classes that approach power? Have we the -right, above all, to attack the whole of that society much less greedy -of the favors of power, much more independent of it than we are -ourselves, that bourgeoisie who loved so much its king from whom it -had nothing to expect, except the suppression of a fourth of its -revenue? Those magistrates who gave their last penny for the right to -rise at five o'clock in the morning, and pass the forenoon in the -audience, well to-day the lowest deputy finds himself poorly paid by -two thousand francs for rising at ten o'clock? That provincial -nobility, poor, obscure, disdained, who had all the charges of -aristocracy without its benefits, and who esteemed themselves but too -happy when, after twenty years of service in order, where they left -their patrimony at first, then an arm, a leg, their brothers and -cousins, they obtained from the bounty of the king their discharge, -and permission to retire to their homes with the cross of St. Louis, -and the brevet of Brigadier-General; crippled, impoverished, but -endeavoring, if possible, to "preserve a fortune sufficient to enable -their children to replace them"? We, citizens and freemen, do we even -for much money, what those servile beings did for a little honor? - -I have passed here a little beyond the work of M. de Carne, who stops -with Mazarin. He will pardon me, even thank me, for not permitting -myself to go farther still, and to broach the hackneyed subject of -1789. I have elsewhere had occasion to set forth my views on that -subject, by the side of M. de Carne's, happy to agree with him in many -respects, though more severe, perhaps, in my judgment of that -revolutionary movement than he is. The tendency of minds toward -reforms might have been legitimate, but the way taken to effect them -was false, and in my eyes infected with evil from the first. In fact, -the groundwork of French unity, which M. de Carne represents for us -with so much love, what has been its use, if, after the labor of so -many centuries, it could be attained only by a national convulsion, -the most violent, perhaps, which has figured in history? Civil -equality, unity of territory, reform in legislation, were they not -already sufficiently prepared by St. Louis, Charles VII., Louis XI., -Richelieu, and Louis XIV., and was it necessary that they should be -purchased by the revolt of the _jeu de paume_, by the blood of -Versailles, and by the crimes of the reign of Terror? Were our -countrymen not criminal, at that epoch, in repulsing a past in which -they might, on the contrary, have found a firmer support for the -reforms needed? - -Be that as it may, I cannot but thank M. de Carne, in the name of all -those who still read, for the work which he achieved in 1848, and for -the return which he has just made to his former studies. Whoever we -may be, and whatever may be the present, it is not necessary that it -should absorb us. As the spectacle of the present age serves to -explain past ages, so should a return to the past cool and calm in our -minds {210} the agitation of the present. Of this freedom from -contemporaneous reflection, M. de Carne has given us a noble example. -On two or three points, at most, the statesman of our times is a -little too perceptible. I much doubt, for instance, if in the -sixteenth century, the Balafre could have founded in France a dynasty -and a citizen royalty like that of Louis Philippe. Still it might have -been had the Balafre been a cadet of the Capetian family, and if the -dynasty of the Valois had been for forty years shaken by two -revolutions. What strikes me, on the contrary, in the history of the -League, and what appears to me one of the greatest proofs of the -spirit of nationality and of loyalty which then reigned in the -commonalty, is the repugnance which they always manifested to -accepting a foreign dynasty, the timid and reluctant manner with which -the proposition was made, and the unpopularity with which it was -received. At the time of the League, the nation wished two things -which then seemed irreconcilable--Catholic royalty and French loyalty; -it wished, so to speak, an impossibility, but it willed it with -decision and perseverance, and that impossibility it obtained. - -But, save these slight traces of the man of the present, M. de Carne -has been able, with rare facility, to identify himself with past ages; -he has known how to take from erudition what was necessary to -enlighten his political point of view, without suffering it absorb -him. He has been perfectly able in surveying all these different -subjects to identify himself by turns with each of them. Without -neglecting details and without losing himself in them, without -disdaining to speak to the imagination, and without suffering himself -to be carried away by the fascinations of the picturesque, without -abandoning himself to political theories, and without dispoiling -history of them, he has in turn as fully known his Abbot Suger, his -St. Louis, is Du Guesclin, and each one of his heroes, as if he had -never studied else. He makes himself master of each one of these -subjects in brief time, but with a sagacity worth more than time, and -with a quick perception of the dominant idea which often escapes the -simple erudite. He has not me what is called a philosophical history, -a task become facile and commonplace, and he has not made what is -still more easy, purely contemporary politics _a propos_ of the past; -he has not made a history, if by history we understand the detailed -recital of events; but he has known how to keep constantly at his -disposition the philosophical view which illuminates history, the -political sense which helps to judge it, and the knowledge of facts -which is its foundation. He has not made a history, but he has made a -luminous summary, and given us a necessary complement of all the -theories of French history. - - ----------- - -MY TEARS. - - Ah me! how many precious tears for naught I've wept; - And thus my soul did cheat. - Would I, like Magdalene, had treasured them, and kept - Their wealth for Jesus' feet. - ------- - -{211} - -LEGEND OF COUNT JULIAN AND HIS FAMILY. - -BY WASHINGTON IRVING. - - -Many and various are the accounts given in ancient chronicles of the -fortunes of Count Julian and his family, and many are the traditions -on the subject extant among the populace of Spain, and perpetuated in -those countless ballads sung by peasants and muleteers, which spread a -singular charm over the whole of this romantic land. - -He who has travelled in Spain in the true way in which the country -ought to be travelled--sojourning in its remote provinces, rambling -among the rugged defiles and secluded valleys of its mountains, and -making himself familiar with the people in their out-of-the-way -hamlets and rarely visited neighborhoods--will remember many a group -of travellers and muleteers, gathered of an evening around the door or -the spacious hearth of a mountain venta, wrapped in their brown -cloaks, and listening with grave and profound attention to the long -historic ballad of some rustic troubadour, either recited with the -true _ore rotundo_ and modulated cadences of Spanish elocution, or -chanted to the tinkling of a guitar. In this way he may have heard the -doleful end of Count Julian and his family recounted in traditionary -rhymes, that have been handed down from generation to generation. The -particulars, however, of the following wild legend are chiefly -gathered from the writings of the pseudo Moor Basis; how far they may -be safely taken as historic facts it is impossible now to ascertain; -we must content ourselves, therefore, with their answering to the -exactions of poetic justice. - -As yet everything had prospered with Count Julian. He had gratified -his vengeance; he had been successful in his treason, and had acquired -countless riches from the ruin of his country. But it is not outward -success that constitutes prosperity. The tree flourishes with fruit -and foliage while blasted and withering at the heart. Wherever he -went, Count Julian read hatred in every eye. The Christians cursed him -as the cause of all their woe; the Moslems despised and distrusted him -as a traitor. Men whispered together as he approached, and then turned -away in scorn; and mothers snatched away their children with horror if -he offered to caress them. He withered under the execration of his -fellow-men, and last, and worst of all, he began to loathe himself. He -tried in vain to persuade himself that he had but taken a justifiable -vengeance; he felt that no personal wrong can justify the crime of -treason to one's country. - -For a time he sought in luxurious indulgence to soothe or forget the -miseries of the mind. He assembled round him every pleasure and -gratification that boundless wealth could purchase, but all in vain. -He had no relish for the dainties of his board; music had no charm -wherewith to lull his soul, and remorse drove slumber from his pillow. -He sent to Ceuta for his wife Frandina, his daughter Florinda, and his -youthful son Alarbot; hoping in the bosom of his family to find that -sympathy and kindness which he could no longer meet with in the world. -Their presence, however, brought him no alleviation. Florinda, the -daughter of his heart, for whose sake he had undertaken this {212} -signal vengeance, was sinking a victim to its effects. Wherever she -went, she found herself a byword of shame and reproach. The outrage -she had suffered was imputed to her as wantonness, and her calamity -was magnified into a crime. The Christians never mentioned her name -without a curse, and the Moslems, the gainers by her misfortune, spake -of her only by the appellation of Cava, the vilest epithet they could -apply to woman. - -But the opprobrium of the world was nothing to the upbraiding of her -own heart. She chained herself with all the miseries of these -disastrous wars--the deaths of so many gallant cavaliers, the conquest -and perdition of her country. The anguish of her mind preyed upon the -beauty of her person. Her eye, once soft and tender in its expression, -became wild and haggard; her cheek lost its bloom and became hollow -and pallid, and at times there was desperation in her words. When her -father sought to embrace her she withdrew with shuddering from his -arms, for she thought of his treason and the ruin it had brought upon -Spain. Her wretchedness increased after her return to her native -country, until it rose to a degree of frenzy. One day when she was -walking with her parents in the garden of their palace, she entered a -tower, and, having barred the door, ascended to the battlements. From -thence she called to them in piercing accents, expressive of her -insupportable anguish and desperate determination. "Let this city," -said she, "be henceforth called Malacca, in memorial of the most -wretched of women, who therein put an end to her days." So saying, she -threw herself headlong from the tower, and was dashed to pieces. The -city, adds the ancient chronicler, received the name thus given it, -though afterward softened to Malaga, which it still retains in memory -of the tragical end of Florinda. - -The Countess Frandina abandoned this scene of woe, and returned to -Ceuta, accompanied by her infant son. She took with her the remains of -her unfortunate daughter, and gave them honorable sepulture in a -mausoleum of the chapel belonging to the citadel. Count Julian -departed for Carthagena, where he remained plunged in horror at this -doleful event. - -About this time the cruel Suleiman, having destroyed the the family of -Muza, had sent an Arab general, named Alahor, to succeed Abdalasis, as -emir or governor of Spain. The new emir was of a cruel and suspicious -nature, and commenced his sway with a stern severity that soon made -those under his command look back with regret to the easy rule of -Abdalasis. He regarded with an eye of distrust the renegade Christians -who had aided in the conquest, and who bore arms in the service of the -Moslems; but his deepest suspicions fell upon Count Julian. "He has -been a traitor to his own countryman," said he; "how can we be sure -that he will not prove traitor to us?" - -A sudden insurrection of the Christians who had taken refuge in the -Asturian mountains, quickened his suspicions, and inspired him with -fears of some dangerous conspiracy against his power. In the height of -his anxiety, he bethought him of an Arabian sage named Yuza, who had -accompanied him from Africa. This son of science was withered in form, -and looked as if he had outlived the usual term of mortal life. In the -course of his studies and travels in the East, he had collected the -knowledge and experience of ages; being skilled in astrology, and, it -is said, in necromancy, and possessing the marvellous gift of prophecy -or divination. To this expounder of mysteries Alahor applied to learn -whether any secret treason menaced his safety. - -The astrologer listened with deep attention and overwhelming brow to -all the surmises and suspicions of the emir, then shut himself up to -consult his books and commune with those supernatural intelligences -subservient {213} to his wisdom. At an appointed hour the emir sought -him in his cell. It was filled with the smoke of perfumes; squares and -circles and various diagrams were described upon the floor, and the -astrologer was boring over a scroll of parchment, covered with -cabalistic characters. He received Alahor with a gloomy and sinister -aspect; pretending to have discovered fearful portents in the heavens, -and to have had strange dreams and mystic visions. - -"O emir," said he, "be on your guard! treason is around you and in -your path; your life is in peril. Beware of Count Julian and his -family." - -"Enough," said the emir. "They show all die! Parents and children--all -shall die!" - -He forthwith sent a summons to Count Julian to attend him in Cordova. -The messenger found him plunged in affliction for the recent death of -his daughter. The count excused himself, on account of this -misfortune, from obeying the commands of the emir in person, but sent -several of his adherents. His hesitation, and the circumstance of his -having sent his family across the straits to Africa, were construed by -the jealous mind of the emir into proofs of guilt. He no longer -doubted his being concerned in the recent insurrections, and that he -had sent his family away, preparatory to an attempt, by force of arms, -to subvert the Moslem domination. In is fury he put to death Siseburto -and Evan, the nephews of Bishop Oppas and sons of the former king, -Witiza, suspecting them of taking part in the treason. Thus did they -expiate their treachery to their country in the fatal Battle of -Guadalete. - -Alahor next hastened to Carthagena to seize upon Count Julian. So -rapid were his movements that the count had barely time to escape with -fifteen cavaliers, with whom he took refuge in the strong castle of -Marcuello, among the mountains of Aragon. The emir, enraged to be -disappointed of his prey, embarked at Carthagena and crossed the -straits to Ceuta, to make captives of the Countess Frandina and her -son. - -The old chronicle from which we take this part of our legend, presents -a gloomy picture of the countess in the stern fortress to which she -had fled for refuge--a picture heightened by supernatural horrors. -These latter the sagacious reader will admit or reject according to -the measure of his faith and judgment; always remembering that in dark -and eventful times, like those in question, involving the destinies of -nations, the downfall of kingdoms, and the crimes of rulers and mighty -men, the hand of fate is sometimes strangely visible, and confounds -the wisdom of the worldly wise, by intimations and portents above the -ordinary course of things. With this proviso, we make no scruple to -follow the venerable chronicler in his narration. - -Now so it happened that the Countess Frandina was seated late at night -in her chamber in the citadel of Ceuta, which stands on a lofty rock, -overlooking the sea. She was revolving in gloomy thought the late -disasters of her family, when she heard a mournful noise like that of -the sea-breeze moaning about the castle walls. Raising her eyes, she -beheld her brother, the Bishop Oppas, at the entrance of the chamber. -She advanced to embrace him, but he forbade her with a motion of his -hand, and she observed that he was ghastly pale, and that his eyes -glared as with lambent flames. - -"Touch me not, sister," said he, with a mournful voice, "lest thou be -consumed by the fire which rages within me. Guard well thy son, for -blood-hounds are upon his track. His innocence might have secured him -the protection of heaven, but our crimes have involved him in our -common ruin." He ceased to speak and was no longer to be seen. His -coming and going were alike without noise, and the door of the chamber -remained fast bolted. - -{214} - -On the following morning a messenger arrived with tidings that the -Bishop Oppas had been made prisoner in battle by the insurgent -Christians of the Asturias, and had died in fetters in a tower of the -mountains. The same messenger brought word that the Emir Alahor had -put to death several of the friends of Count Julian; had obliged him -to fly for his life to a castle in Aragon, and was embarking with a -formidable force for Ceuta. - -The Countess Frandina, as has already been shown, was of courageous -heart, and danger made her desperate. There were fifty Moorish solders -in the garrison; she feared that they would prove treacherous, and -take part with their countrymen. Summoning her officers, therefore, -she informed them of their danger, and commanded them to put those -Moors to death. The guards sallied forth to obey her orders. -Thirty-five of the Moors were in the great square, unsuspicious of any -danger, when they were severally singled out by their executioners, -and, at a concerted signal, killed on the spot. The remaining fifteen -took refuge in a tower. They saw the armada of the emir at a distance, -and hoped to be able to hold out until its arrival. The soldiers of -the countess saw it also, and made extraordinary efforts to destroy -these internal enemies before they should be attacked from without. -They made repeated attempts to storm the tower, but were as often -repulsed with severe loss. They then undermined it, supporting its -foundations by stanchions of wood. To these they set fire and withdrew -to a distance, keeping up a constant shower of missiles to prevent the -Moors from sallying forth to extinguish the flames. The stanchions -were rapidly consumed, and when they gave way the tower fell to the -ground. Some of the Moors were crushed among the ruins; others were -flung to a distance and dashed among the rocks; those who survived -were instantly put to the sword. - -The fleet of the emir arrived at Centa about the hour of Vespers. He -landed, but found the gates closed against him. The countess herself -spoke to him from a tower, and set [illegible] at defiance. The emir -immediately laid siege to the city. He consulted the astrologer Yuxa, -who told him that for seven days his star would have the ascendant -over that of the youth Alarbot, but after that time the youth would be -safe from his power, and would effect his ruin. - -Alahor immediately ordered the city to be assailed on every side, and -at length carried it by storm. The countess took refuge with her -forces in the citadel, and made desperate defense; but the walls were -sapped and mined, and she saw that all resistance would soon be -unavailing. Her only thoughts now were to conceal her child. "Surely," -said she, "they will not think of seeking him among the dead." She led -him therefore into the dark and dismal chapel. "Thou art not afraid to -be alone in this darkness, my child?" said she. - -"No, mother," replied the boy; "darkness gives silence and sleep." She -conducted him to the Florinda. "Fearest thou the dead. my child?" "No, -mother; the dead can do no harm, and what should I fear from my -sister?" - -The countess opened the sepulcher. "Listen, my son," said she. "There -are fierce and cruel people who have come hither to murder thee. Stay -here in company with thy sister, and be quiet as thou dost value thy -life!" The boy, who was of a courageous nature, did as he was bidden, -and remained there all that day, and all the night, and the next day -until the third hour. - -In the mean time the walls of the citadel were sapped, the troops of -the emir poured in at the breach, and a great part of the garrison was -put to the sword. The countess was taken prisoner and brought before -the emir. She appeared in his presence with a haughty demeanor, as if -she had been a queen receiving homage; but when {215} he demanded her -son, she faltered and turned pale, and replied, "My son is with the -dead." - -"Countess," said the emir, "I am not to be deceived; tell me where you -have concealed the boy, or tortures shall wring from you the secret." - -"Emir," replied the countess, "may the greatest torments be my -portion, both here and hereafter, if what I speak be not the truth. My -darling child lies buried with the dead." - -The emir was confounded by the solemnity of her words; but the -withered astrologer Yuza, who stood by his side regarding the countess -from beneath his bushed eyebrows, perceived trouble in her countenance -and equivocation in her words. "Leave this matter to me," whispered he -to Alahor; "I will produce the child." - -He ordered strict search to be made by the soldiery, and he obliged -the countess to be always present. When they came to the chapel, her -cheek turned pale and her lip quivered. "This," said the subtile -astrologer, "is the place of concealment!" - -The search throughout the chapel, however, was equally vain, and the -soldiers were about to depart, when Yuza remarked a slight gleam of -joy in the eye of the countess. "We are leaving our prey behind," -thought he; "the countess is exulting." - -He now called to mind the words of her asseveration, that her child -was with the dead. Turning suddenly to the soldiers he ordered them to -search the sepulchres, "If you find him not," said he, "drag forth the -bones of that wanton Cava, that they may be burnt, and the ashes -scattered to the winds." - -The soldiers searched among the tombs and found that of Florinda -partly open. Within lay the boy in the sound sleep of childhood, and -one of the soldiers took him gently in his arms to bear him to the -emir. - -When the countess beheld that her child was discovered, she rushed -into the presence of Alahor, and forgetting all her pride, threw -herself upon her knees before him. - -"Mercy! mercy!" cried she in piercing accents, "mercy on my son--my -only child! O Emir! listen to a mother's prayer and my lips shall kiss -thy feet. As thou art merciful to him so may the most high God have -mercy upon thee, and heap blessings on thy head." - -"Bear that frantic woman hence," said the emir, "but guard her well." - -The countess was dragged away by the soldiery, without regard to her -struggles and her cries, and confined in a dungeon of the citadel. - -The child was now brought to the emir. He had been awakened by the -tumult, but gazed fearlessly on the stern countenances of the -soldiers. Had the heart of the emir been capable of pity, it would -have been touched by the tender youth and innocent beauty of the -child; but his heart was as the nether millstone, and he was bent upon -the destruction of the whole family of Julian. Calling to him the -astrologer, he gave the child into his charge with a secret command. -The withered son of the desert took the boy by the hand and led him up -the winding staircase of a tower. When they reached the summit, Yuza -placed him on the battlements. - -"Cling not to me, my child," said he; "there is no danger." "Father, I -fear not," said the undaunted boy; "yet it is a wondrous height." - -The child looked around with delighted eyes. The breeze blew his -curling locks from about his face, and his cheek glowed at the -boundless prospect; for the tower was reared upon that lofty -promontory on which Hercules founded one of his pillars. The surges of -the sea were heard far below, beating upon the rocks, the sea-gull -screamed and wheeled about the foundations of the tower, and the sails -of lofty caraccas were as mere specks on the bosom of the deep. - -"Dost thou know yonder land beyond the blue water?" said Yuza. - -{216} - -"It is Spain," replied the boy; "it is the land of my father and my -mother." - -"Then stretch forth thy hands and bless it, my child," said the -astrologer. - -The boy let go his hold of the wall; and, as he stretched forth his -hands, the aged son of Ishmael, exerting all the strength of his -withered limbs, suddenly pushed him over the battlements. He fell -headlong from the top of that tall tower, and not a bone in his tender -frame but was crushed upon the rocks beneath. - -Alahor came to the foot of the winding stairs. - -"Is the boy safe?" cried he. - -"He is safe," replied Yuza; "come and behold the truth with thine own -eyes." - -The emir ascended the tower and looked over the battlements, and -beheld the body of the child, a shapeless mass, on the rocks far -below, and the sea-gulls hovering about it; and he gave orders that it -should be thrown into the sea, which was done. - -On the following morning the countess was led forth from her dungeon -into the public square. She knew of the death of her child, and that -her own death was at hand, but she neither wept nor supplicated. Her -hair was dishevelled, her eyes were haggard with watching, and her -cheek was as the monumental stone; but there were the remains of -commanding beauty in her countenance, and the majesty of her presence -awed even the rabble into respect. - -A multitude of Christian prisoners were then brought forth, and Alahor -cried out: "Behold the wife of Count Julian! behold one of that -traitorous family which has brought ruin upon yourselves and upon your -country!" And he ordered that they should stone her to death. But the -Christians drew back with horror from the deed, and said, "In the hand -of God is vengeance; let not her blood be upon our heads." Upon this -the emir swore with horrid imprecations that whoever of the captives -refused should himself be stoned to death. So the cruel order was -executed, and the Countess Frandina perished by the hands of her -countrymen. Having thus accomplished his barbarous errand, the emir -embarked for Spain, and ordered the citadel of Ceuta to be set on -fire, and crossed the straits at night by the light of its towering -flames. - -The death of Count Julian, which took place not long after, closed the -tragic story of his family. How he died remains involved in doubt. -Some assert that the cruel Alahor pursued him to his retreat among the -mountains, and, having taken him prisoner, beheaded him; others that -the Moors confined him in a dungeon, and put an end to his life with -lingering torments; while others affirm that the tower of the castle -of Marcuello, near Huesca, in Aragon, in which he took refuge, fell on -him and crushed him to pieces. All agree that his later end was -miserable in the extreme and his death violent. The curse of heaven, -which had thus pursued him to the grave, was extended to the very -place which had given him shelter; for we are told that the castle is -no longer inhabited on account all the strange and horrible noises -that are heard in it; and that visions of armed men are seen above it -in the air: which are supposed to be the troubled spirits of the -apostate Christians who favored the cause of the traitor. - -In after-times a stone sepulcher was shown, outside of the chapel of -the castle, as the tomb of Count Julian; but the traveller and the -pilgrim avoided it, or bestowed upon it a malediction; and the name of -Julian has remained a byword and a scorn in the land for the warning -of all generations. Such ever be the lot of him who betrays his -country! - -Here end the legends of the conquest of Spain. - ------- - -{217} - -ORIGINAL. - -RECENT EUROPEAN EVENTS. - - -When it is said that the church is independent of time and its events, -and can subsist and operate under all forms of government, and in all -stages of civilization, it is not meant that she is indifferent to the -revolution of states and empires, or cares not how the state is -constituted, or the government administered. Subsisting and operating -society, though not holding from it, she cannot be indifferent to its -constitution, either for her sake or its own. It may be constituted -more for less in accordance with eternal justice, or absolute and -unchanging right, and therefore more or less favorable to her catholic -mission, which is to introduce and sustain the reign of truth and -right in the state and the administration as well as in the individual -reason and will. - -Far less does the independence of the church, or her non-dependence on -the political order and its variations, imply that politics, as is but -too often assumed, are independent of the moral law of God, and -therefore that statesman, civil magistrates, and rulers are under no -obligation to consult in their acts what is right, just, or -conformable to the law of the Lord, but only what seems to them -expedient, or for their own interest. All sound politics are based on -principles derived from theology, the great catholic or universal and -invariable principles which govern man's relation to his Maker and to -his neighbor, and of which, while the state is indeed in the temporal -order the administrator, the church is the divinely instituted -guardian and teacher. No Christian, no man who believes in God, can -assert political independence of the divine or spiritual order, for -that would be simply political atheism; and if men sometimes do assert -it without meaning to deny the existence and authority of God in the -spiritual order, it is because men can be and sometimes are illogical, -and inconsistent with themselves. Kings, kaisers, magistrates, are as -much bound to obey God, to be just, to do right, as are private -individuals, and in their official no less than in their private acts. - -The first question to be asked in relation to any political measure -is. Is it morally right? The second, Are the means chosen for carrying -it out just? If not, it must not be adopted. But, and this is -important, it is the prerogative of God to overrule the evil men do, -and to make it result in good. "Ye meant it for evil, but God meant it -for good." Hence when things are done and cannot be recalled, though -not before, we may lawfully accept them, and labor to turn them to the -best possible account, without acquitting or approving them, or the -motives and conduct of the men who have been in the hands of -Providence the instruments of doing them. Hence there are two points -of view from which political events may be considered: the moral--the -motives and conduct of those who have brought them about; and the -political--or the bearing of the events themselves, regarded as facts -accomplished and irrevocable, on the future welfare of society. - -If we judge the recent territorial changes in Italy and Germany from -the moral point of view, we cannot acquit them. The means by which the -unity of Italy has been effected under the house of Savoy, and those -by which {218} that of Germany has been placed in the way of being -effected under the house of Hohenzollern, it seems to me are wholly -indefensible. The war of France and Sardinia against Austria in 1859, -the annexation to Sardinia of the Duchies, and the AEmilian provinces -subject to the Holy See, the absorption by force of arms of the -kingdom of the Two Sicilies, and the still more recent war of Italy -and Prussia against the same power, resulting in the mutilation and -humiliation of the Austrian empire, and possibly in depriving the pope -the remainder of his domain, are, I must hold in every sense -unjustifiable. They have been done in violation of international law, -public right, and are an outrage upon every man's innate sense of -justice, excusable only on that most detestable of all maxims--the end -sanctifies the means. - -But regarded from the political point of view, as facts accomplished -and irrevocable, perhaps they are not indefensible, nay, not unlikely -under divine Providence to prove of lasting benefit to European -society. I cannot defend the _coup d'etat_ of Napoleon, December 2, -1851, but I believe that the elevation of Louis Napoleon to the French -throne has turned out for the benefit of France and of Europe. I -condemned the means adopted to effect both Italian and German unity, -but I am not prepared to say that each, in view of the undeniable -tendency of modern politics, was not in itself desirable and demanded -by the solid and permanent interests of European society. Taken as -facts accomplished, as points of departure for the future, they may -have, perhaps already have had, an important bearing in putting an end -to the uneasiness under which all European society has labored since -the treaties of Vienna in 1815, and the socialistic and revolutionary -movements which have, ever since the attempted reconstruction of -Europe after the fall of Napoleon, kept it in continual turmoil, and -rendered all government except by sheer force impracticable. - -The tendency of European society for four or five centuries has been, -on the one hand, toward civil and political equality, and on the -other, toward Roman imperialism. European society has revolted against -mediaeval feudalism, alike against the feudal aristocracy and the -feudal monarchy, and sought to revive the political system of imperial -Rome, to place all citizens on the footing of an equality before the -law, with exclusive privileges for none, and to base monarchy on the -sovereign will of the nation. It would be incorrect to say, as many -both at home and abroad have said, that European society has been or -is tending to pure and simple democracy, for such has not been, and is -not by any means the fact; but it has been and is tending to the -abolition of all political distinctions and privileges founded on -birth or property, and to render all persons without reference to -caste or class eligible to all the offices of state, and to make all -offices charges or trusts, instead of private property or estates. -Under feudalism all the great offices of the state and many of the -charges at court were hereditary, and could be claimed, held, and -exercised as rights, unless forfeited by treason or misprision of -treason against the liege lord. It was so in France down to the -revolution of 1789, and is still so in England in relation to several -charges at court, and to the House of Peers. The feudal crown is an -estate, and transmissible in principle, and usually in fact, as any -other estate. - -Since the fifteenth century this feudal system has been attacked, -throughout the greater part of Europe, with more or less success. It -received heavy blows from Louis XI. in France, Ferdinand and Isabella -in Spain, Henry VII. in England, and Maximilian I. in Germany. The -tendency in this direction was resisted by the Protestant princes in -Germany, leagued against the emperor, the Huguenot nobles and the -Fronde in France, and by the whig nobility in England, because while -it {219} strengthened the people as against the crown, it equally -strengthened the crown against the nobility. The British reformers -to-day, under the lead of John Bright, are following out this European -tendency, and if successful, will abolish the House of Peers, -establish civil and political equality, but at the same time will -increase the power of the crown, and establish Roman imperialism, -which the Stuarts failed to do, because they sought to retain and -strengthen the feudal monarchy while they crushed the feudal -aristocracy. - -But for the king or emperor to represent the nation and govern by its -sovereign authority, it is necessary that the nation should become a -state, or body politic, which it was not under feudalism. Europe under -feudalism was divided among independent and subordinate chiefs, but -not into sovereign independent nations. There were estates but no -states, and the same proprietor might hold, and often did hold, -estates in different nations, and in nations even remote from one -another, and neither power nor obedience depended on national -boundaries or national territory. There was loyalty to the chief, but -none to the nation, or to the king or emperor as representing the -national majesty or sovereignty. Hence the tendency to Roman -imperialism became also a tendency to nationality. Both king and -people conspired together to bring into national unity, and under the -imperial authority of the crown, all the fiefs, whoever the suzerain -or liege lord, and all the small principalities that by territorial -position, tradition, language, the common origin, or institutions of -the inhabitants, belonged really to one and the same nation. - -The first of the continental powers to effect this national unity was -France, consisting of the former Gallic provinces of the Roman empire, -except a portion of the Gallia Germana now held by Belgium, Holland, -and the Germanic governments on the left bank of the Rhine. The -natural boundaries of France are those of the ancient Keltica of the -Greeks, extending from the Alps to the Atlantic ocean, and from the -Mediterranean sea to the English channel and the Rhine. France has not -yet recovered and united the whole of her national territory, and -probably will never be perfectly contented till she has done it. But -after centuries of struggle, from Philip Augustus to Louis XIV., she -effected internally national unity which gave her immense advantages -over Italy and Germany, which remained divided, and which at times has -given her even the hegemony of Europe. - -The defeat of the first Napoleon, the restoration of the Bourbons, and -the treaties of Vienna in 1815, arrested, and were designed to arrest, -this tendency of modern European society under all its aspects, and -hence satisfied nobody. They prevented the free development and play -of the tendency to national unity and independence, re-established -aristocracy, and restrained the tendency to equality, and reasserted -monarchy as an estate held by the grace of God and inviolable and -indefeasible, instead of the representative monarchy, which holds from -the nation, and is responsible to it. Those treaties grouped people -together without any regard to their territorial relations, natural -affinities, traditions, or interests, without the slightest reference -to the welfare of the different populations, and with sole reference -to the interests of sovereigns, and the need felt of restricting or -guarding against the power of France. A blinder, a less philosophical, -or a more ignorant set of statesmen than those who framed these -treaties, it is difficult to conceive. The poor men took no note of -the changes which had been produced during four or five hundred years -of social elaboration, and supposed that they were still in full -mediaeval feudalism, when people and territory could be transferred -from one suzerain or one liege lord to another, without offending any -political principle or any sentiment of {220} nationality. Of all -legislators in the world, reactionists suddenly victorious, and not -yet wholly recovered from their fright, are the worst, for they act -from passion, not reason or judgment. - -From the moment these treaties were published a social and political -agitation began in nearly all the states of Europe. Conspiracies were -everywhere, and the revolutionary spirit threatened every state and -empire, and no government could stand save as upheld by armed force. -Bold attempts at revolution were early made in Naples and Spain, which -were defeated only by foreign intervention. Hardly a state was strong -enough in the affections of its people to maintain order without the -repressive weight of the Holy Alliance, invented by Madame Krudener, -and effected by the Emperor Alexander and Prince Metternich. Austria -dominated in the Italian peninsula, France in the Spanish, and Russia -in Poland and Germany; Great Britain used all her power and influence -to prevent the emancipation of the Christian populations of the East, -and to uphold the tottering empire of the Turks. The Holy Father was -at once protected and oppressed by the allied powers, especially by -Austria; the people everywhere became alienated from both church and -state, and serious-minded men, not easily alarmed, trembled with fear -that European society might be on the eve of a return to barbarism and -oriental despotism. - -Matters grew worse and worse till there came the explosions of 1830, -driving out of France the elder branch of the Bourbons, detaching -Belgium from Holland, and causing the final extinction of the old and -once powerful kingdom of Poland, followed by revolutions more or less -successful in Spain and Portugal. Force soon triumphed for the moment, -but still Europe, to use the figure so hackneyed at the time, was a -smouldering volcano, till the fearful eruptions of 1848 struck -well-nigh aghast the whole civilized world, and conservatives thought -that the day for social order and regular authority had passed away, -never to return. Anarchy seemed fixed in France, the imperial family -in Austria fled to Innspruck, and the Hungarians in revolt, forming a -league with the rebellions citizens of Vienna and the Italian -revolution, brought the empire almost to its last gasp; the king of -Prussia was imprisoned in his palace by the mob, and nearly every -petty German prince was obliged to compromise with the revolutionists. -All Italy was in commotion; the Holy Father was forced to seek refuge -at Gaeta, and the infamous Mazzinian republic, with the filibuster -Garibaldi as its general and hero, was installed in the Eternal City. -Such had been the result of the repressive policy of the Holy -Alliance, when Louis Napoleon was elected president of the French -republic. - -It is true, in 1849 the revolution was suppressed, and power -reinstated in its rights in Rome, Naples, Tuscany, the Austrian -dominions, Prussia, and the several German states; but everybody felt -that it was only for a moment, for none of the causes of uneasiness or -dissatisfaction were removed. The whole of Europe was covered over -with secret societies, working in the dark, beyond the reach of the -most powerful and sharp-sighted governments, and there was danger -every day of a new outbreak, perhaps still more violent, and equally -impotent to settle European society on a solid and permanent -foundation, because the revolution was, save on its destructive side, -as little in accord with its tendencies and aspirations as the Holy -Alliance itself. - -The cause of all this uneasiness, of this universal agitation, was not -in the tyranny, despotism, or opposition of the governments, or in -their disregard of the welfare of the people more hostility to them; -for never in the whole history of Europe were the governments of -France, Italy, Germany, and {221} Austria less despotic, less -arbitrary, less respectful of the rights of person and property, less -oppressive, indeed more intelligent, or more disposed to consult the -welfare of the people--the French, Prussian, and Austrian systems of -universal popular education proves it--than during the period from -1815 to 1848; and never in so brief a period has so much been done for -the relief and elevation of the poorer and more numerous classes. The -only acts of government that were or could be complained of were acts -of repression, preventative or punitive, rendered necessary by the -chronic conspiracy, and perfectly justifiable, if the government would -protect itself, or preserve its own existence, and which, in fact, -were not more arbitrary or oppressive than the acts performed in this -country during the late rebellion, by both the general government and -the confederate government, or than those practiced for centuries by -the British government in Ireland. Nor was it owing entirely or -chiefly to the native perversity of the human heart, to the impatience -of restraint and subordination of the people, who were said to demand -unbounded license, and determined to submit to no regular authority. -Individuals may love licence and hate authority, but the people love -order, and are naturally disposed to obedience, and are usually far -more ready to submit to even grievous wrongs then to make an effort to -right them. - -The cause in France was not that the Bourbons of either branch were -bad or unwise rulers, but that they retained too many feudal -traditions, claimant the throne as a personal estate, and, moreover, -were forced upon the nation by foreign bayonets, not restored by the -free, independent will of the nation itself. Their government, however -able, enlightened, and even advantageous to France, was not national; -and while submitting to it, the new France that had grown up since -1789 could not feel herself an independent nation. It is probable that -there is less freedom for Frenchmen in thought and speech under the -present regime than there was under the Restoration or even the King -of the Barricades and his parliament; but it is national, accepted by -the free will of the nation, and, moreover, obliterates all traces of -the old feudal distinctions and privileges of caste or class, and -establishes, under the emperor, democratic equality. Individuals may -be disaffected, some regretting lost privileges and distinctions, and -others wishing the democracy without the emperor; but upon the whole -the great body of the people are contented with it, and any attempt at -a new revolution would prove a miserable failure. The secret societies -may still exist, but they are not sustained by popular sympathy, and -are now comparatively powerless. The socialistic theories and -movements, Saint Simonism, Fourierism, Cabetism, and the like, fall -into disrepute, not because suppressed by the police, but because -there is no longer that general dissatisfaction with the social order -that exists which originated them, and because the empire is in -harmony with the tendencies of modern European society. - -In Italy the cause was neither hatred of authority nor hostility to -the church or her supreme pontiff, but the craving of the people, or -the influential and controlling part of them, for national unity and -independence. In feudal times, when France was parcelled out among -feudatories, many of whom were more powerful than the king, their -nominal suzerain; when Spain was held in great part by the Moors, and -the rest of her territory was divided into three or four mutually -independent kingdoms; when England was subject to the great vassals of -the crown, rather than to the crown itself; when Germany was divided -into some three hundred principalities and free cities, loosely united -only under an elective emperor, with little effective power, and often -a cause of division rather than a bond of union between them; {222} -and when the pope, the most Italian of all the Italian sovereigns, was -suzerain of a large part of Italy, and of nearly all Europe, except -France, Germany, and the Eastern empire, the division of the peninsula -into some half a dozen or more mutually independent republics, -principalities, or kingdoms, did not deprive Italy of the rank of a -great power in Europe, or prevent her from exercising often even a -controlling influence in European politics, and therefore was not felt -to be an evil. But when France, Spain, Austria, and Great Britain -became great centralized states, and when in Switzerland, Holland, the -British Isles, Scandinavia, and North Germany the rise of -Protestantism had weakened the political influence of the pope, these -divisions reduced Italy, which had been the foster-mother of modern -civilization, and the leader of the modern nations in the arts of war -and peace, in commerce and industry, in national and international -law, in literature, science, architecture, music, painting, and -sculpture, to a mere geographical expression, or to complete political -nullity, and could not but offend the just pride of the nation. The -treaties of 1815 had, besides, given over the fairest portion of the -territory of the peninsula to Austria, and enabled her, by her weight -as a great power, to dominate over the rest. The grand duke of Tuscany -was an Austrian archduke, the king of the Two Sicilies, and even the -pope as temporal prince, were little less, in fact, than vassals of -the house of Hapsburg-Lorraine. - -Italy felt that she was not herself, and that she could be herself and -belong to herself, own herself, as our slaves used to say before they -were emancipated, only by expelling Austria and her agents from -Italian territory, and uniting the whole peninsula in a single state, -unitarian or federative, under a single supreme national government. -For this Italian patriotism everywhere sighed, agitated, conspired, -rebelled, struggled, was arrested, shot, hung, imprisoned, exiled, and -filled the world with its complaints, the story of its wrongs and -sufferings. It was not that Italy was badly governed, but that she was -not governed by herself, was governed by foreigners, or at least by -governors who would not, or could not, secure her national unity and -independence, without which she could not become the great European -power that she aspired to be, and felt herself capable of being. The -Fenians do not agitate and arm against England so much because her -government in Ireland is now--whenever it may have been formerly-- -tyrannical and oppressive, as because it is not national, is not -Irish, and offends the Irish sense of nationality, far stronger now -than in the time of Strongbow or that of the confederate chieftains. -Through the armed intervention of Napoleon III. in 1859, and the -recent alliance with Prussia against Austria, Italy has no got what -she agitated for, national unity and independence, though at the -expense of great injustice to the dispossessed sovereigns, and is free -to become a great European power, if she has it in her, and her -chronic conspiracy is ended. She has obtained all that she was -conspiring for, and is satisfied: she has gained possession of -herself, and is free herself to be all that she is capable of being. - -The Germans, also, were uneasy, discontented, and conspiring for the -same reason. The Bund was a mockery, formed in the interest of the -sovereigns, without regard to the people or the national sentiment, -and in practice has tended far more to divide and weaken, than to -unite and strength the German nation, both on the side of France and -on that of Russia. Germany, in consequence of the changes effected in -other nations, was, like Italy, reduced to a geographical expression. -Austria in the south was a great power, Prussia counted for something -in the north, but Germany was a political nullity. The Germans aspired -to national unity, and attempted {223} to obtain it in 1848 by the -reconstruction, with many wise modifications, of the old Germanic -empire, suppressed by Napoleon I. in 1806, but were defeated by the -mutual jealousies of Prussia and Austria, the withdrawal of the -Austrian delegates from the Diet, and the refusal of the King of -Prussia to accept the imperial crown offered him by the Diet, after -the withdrawal of Austria. What failed to be legally and peaceably -effected 1848 and 1849, has been virtually effected by Prussia in this -year of grace, 1866, after a fortnight's sharp and fierce war, not -because of her greatly overrated needle-gun, but because Prussia is -more thoroughly German than Austria, and better represents the -national sentiment. - -The success of Prussia must be regards, I think, not only as breaking -up the old confederation, and expelling Austria from Germany, but as -really defecting German unity, or the union of all Germany in a single -state. The states north of the Main, not as yet formally annexed to -Prussia, and those so of that line, as yet free to form a southern -confederation, will soon, perhaps, with the seven or eight millions of -Germans still under Austrian rule, in all likelihood be absorbed by -her, and formed into a single military state with her, and transform -her from Prussia into Germany. It is most likely only a question of -time, as it is only a logical sequence of what has already been -effected. Austria ceases to be a German power, and must seek -indemnification by developing, as Hungary rather than as Austria, -eastward, and gradually absorbing Roumania, Herzegovina, Bosnia, -Servia, and Bulgaria, and placing herself as an impassable barrier to -the advance of Russia southward in Europe. This she may do, if wise -enough to give up Germany, and to avail herself of the vast resources -she still possesses; for in this she would probably be aided by Great -Britain, France, and Italy--all deeply interested in preventing Russia -from planting herself in Constantinople, and gaining the empire of the -world. Turkey must fall, must die, and European equilibrium requires a -new and powerful Eastern state, if the whole of Europe is not to -become Cossack. - -The independence and unity of Italy, and the union of Germany in a -single state, had become political necessities, and both must be -effected as the means of putting an end to what European writers call -"the Revolution," and giving internal peace to European society. No -doubt they have not been thus far effected without great violence to -vested rights; but necessity knows no law, or is itself law, and -nations never have been and never can be arrested in their purposes by -vested rights, however sacred religion and morality teach us to hold -them. National and popular passions can be controlled by no -considerations of right or wrong. They sweep onward and away whatever -would stay their progress. If the possessors of vested rights opposed -to national union, independence, or development, consent to part with -them at a just ransom, the nation is ready to indemnify them -liberally; but if they will not consent, it will take them all the -same, and without scruple. - -I say not that this is right; I pretend not to justify it; I only -state what all experience proves that nations do and will continue to -do in spite of religion and morality. Ahab was willing to pay a round -price for Naboth's vineyard, but when Naboth refused to sell it at any -price, Ahab took it for nothing. But these political changes, regarded -as accomplished and irrevocable facts, and setting aside the means -adopted to effect them, and the vested rights violated in obtaining -them, are not morally wrong, and are in no sense threatening to the -future peace and progress of European society, but seem to be the only -practicable means that were left of preventing it from lapsing into -certain barbarism. They seem to me to have been needed to render the -{224} European governments henceforth able to sustain themselves by -the affections and good sense of the people, without being obliged to -keep themselves armed to the teeth against them. International wars -will, no doubt, continue as long as the world stands, but wars of the -people against authority, or of subjects against their rulers, may now -cease for a long time to come, at least in the greater part of Europe. -The feudal system is everywhere either swept away, or so weakened as -to be no longer able to make a serious struggle for existence; and -save Ireland, Poland, and the Christian populations of the East, the -European nations are formed, and are in possession of their national -unity and independence. The people have reached what for ages they -have been tending to, and are in possession of what, in substance, -they have so long been agitating for. The new political order is -fairly inaugurated, and the people have obtained their legitimate -satisfaction. Whether they will be wiser or better, happier or more -really prosperous, under the new order than they were under the old, -we must leave to time to prove. Old men, like the writer of this, who -have lived too long and seen too much to regard every change as a -progress, may be permitted to retain their doubts. But changes which -in themselves are not for the better, are relatively so when rendered -necessary by other and previous changes. - -The English and American press very generally assert that the Emperor -of the French is much vexed at the turn things have taken in Germany, -that he is disappointed in his expectations, and defeated in his -European policy. I do not think so. The French policy since the time -of Francis I. has been, indeed, to prevent the concentration and -growth of any great power on the frontiers of France; as the papal -policy ever since the popes were temporal sovereigns, according to -Tosti in his Life and Times of Boniface VIII., has been to prevent the -establishment of any great power in the immediate neighborhood of -Rome. That this French policy and this papal are defeated by the turn -things have taken is no doubt true, but what evidence is there that -this is a defeat of Napoleon's policy, or is anything else than that -he both expected and intended? When he entered on his Italian campaign -against Austria in 1859, he showed clearly that he did not intend to -sustain the Papal policy, for his purpose was the unity no less than -the independence of Italy. He showed, also, no less clearly, that -while he retained traditional French policy of humbling the house of -Hapsburg, he did not intend in other respects to sustain that policy; -for he must have foreseen, as the writer of this, in another place, -told him at the time, that the unity of Italy would involve as its -logical and necessary sequence the the unity of Germany. We can -suppose him disappointed only by supposing he entertained a policy -which he appears to have deliberately made up his mind to abandon, or -not to adopt. - -After the Italian campaign, and perhaps before, the unity of Germany -was a foregone conclusion, and if effected it must be either under -Austria or under Prussia. Napoleon had only to choose which it should -be. And it was manifestly for the interest of France that it should be -under Prussia, an almost exclusively German power, rather than under -Austria, whose non-Germanic population was three times greater than -her Germanic population. If the unity of Germany had been effected -under Austria with her non-Germanic provinces, Germany would have -constituted in central Europe a power of nearly seventy millions of -people, absolutely incompatible with the European equilibrium; but if -effected under Prussia, it would constitute a state of only about -forty millions, not a power so large as to be dangerous to France or -to the peace of Europe. France has nothing to fear from a Prussian -Germany, for she is amply able to cope with her, and the first war -between the two powers would restore to France her natural {225} -boundaries, by giving her all the territory on the left bank of the -Rhine, and thus make her commensurate with the ancient Keltica. - -France is too strong in her unity, compactness, and extent, as well as -in the high spirit and military genius of her people, to think of -precautions against Germany. The power for her to guard against is -Russia, embracing a rapidly increasing population of upward of seventy -millions, and possessing one-seventh of the territory of the globe. -She has no other power to fear, since Austria is separated from -Germany. Prussia, capable of becoming a great maritime power, and -embracing all Germany, not only rescues the smaller German states from -Russian influence and intrigue, but becomes an efficient ally of -France, in the west, against Russia, and far more efficient and -trustworthy an ally than Great Britain, because a continental power, -and more exposed to danger from the common enemy. While Prussia -becomes a powerful ally in the west, Austria, by being detached from -Germany, and too weak to stand without alliances, becomes a French -ally in the east; and the more ready to be so, because the majority of -her future population is and must be of the Slavic race. - -Napoleon's policy, it seems to me, has been first, to drive Austria -out of Italy and detach her from Germany, for the security of France; -and then to organize pan-Germanism against pan-Slavism in the West, -and an Austrian, or rather, Slavic or Hungarian Empire, embracing the -Magyars and Roumans, against pan-Slavism in the East. With these two -great powers, having as against Russia a common interest with France, -the Emperor of the French, the ally and protector of the Latin -nations, will be able to settle the terrible Eastern question without -suffering Russia to receive an undue accession of territory or power, -and also without the scandal of sustaining, in order to please Great -Britain and save her Indian possessions, the rotten empire of the -Turks, and preventing the Christian nations it holds, through the aid -of the western Christian powers, in subjection, from working out their -freedom and independence, rising to national dignity and influence. - -Such, briefly stated, has been, I think, substantially the policy of -Napoleon, since he became Emperor of the French; and the recent events -in Italy and Germany so strikingly accord with it, that one cannot -help believing that they have been dictated by it. It seems designed -to give measurable satisfaction to the principal nationalities of -Europe, as it secures undisputed preponderance to no one, and -humiliates no one over much. It may, therefore, be said to be a policy -of peace. It is a policy, if carried out in all its parts, that would -enable France, Prussia, Italy, Austria, to isolate Russia, and at need -Great Britain, from Europe; but it robs neither of any of its -territory or inherent strength, and is hostile to neither, unless one -or the other would encroach on the rights of others. - -Will this policy be carried out and consolidated I know not. It is -substantially in accordance with the tendencies of modern European -society; the most difficult parts of it have already been effected, -and we have seen no movement on the part of either Russia or Great -Britain to assist Austria to prevent it. Napoleon had succeeded in -isolating Austria from Europe, and almost from Germany, before he -commenced his Italian campaign in 1859. Should Napoleon die suddenly, -should Russia or Great Britain interpose to prevent Austria from -expanding eastward before she has recovered from her losses in being -expelled from Italy and Germany, and should France, Germany, and Italy -refuse to act as her allies, or should she herself look to the -recovery of what she has lost, rather than to the development of what -she retains or has in prospect, the policy might fail; but these are -all improbable contingencies, except the first; yet even Napoleon's -death would not seriously {226} affect the unity and independence of -Italy, or the unity of Germany, as much as the South Germans dislike -the Prussians. This age worships strength and success. - -The most doubtful part of this Napoleonic policy is the part assigned -to Austria in the future; and the part the most offensive to the -Catholic heart, is that which strips the Holy Father of his temporal -dominions, annexes them to the kingdom of Italy, and leaves him to the -tender mercy of his despoilers. The Holy Father, sustained by the -general voice of the episcopacy, has said the maintenance of the -temporal sovereignty is _necessary_ to the interests of religion; but -he said this when there was still hope that it might be retained, and -he, of course, did not mean that it is _absolutely_ necessary at all -times and under all circumstances; because that would have made the -principal depend on the accessory, and the spiritual on the temporal. -Moreover, religion had existed and flourished several centuries before -the popes were temporal sovereigns, and what has been may be again. -Circumstances have changed since the Holy Father said this, and it is -not certain that, as it is not a Catholic dogma, he would insist on it -now. - -Of course the change is to be deeply deplored, especially for those -who have effected it; but is there any possibility, humanly speaking, -of re-establishing the Holy Father in his temporal rights? I confess I -can see none. It is a great loss, but perhaps some arrangement may be -entered into with the new Italian power, which, after all, will enable -the Holy Father still to reside at Rome, and exercise independently -his functions as the spiritual chief of Christendom. Italy has more -need of the pope then the pope has of Italy, and Victor Emmanuel, at -worst, cannot be worse than were the Pagan and Arian Caesars. No -Catholic can ever despair of the church. At present the temporal, to -all human ken, seems to have triumphed over the spiritual, and -politics to have carried it over religion. Yet the triumph cannot be -lasting, and in some way the victory won will prove to have been a -defeat. God will never forsake his church, his beloved, his bride, his -beautiful one, and the Lord will not suffer Peter to sink when he -walks upon the waters. Peter's bark may be violently tossed on the -waves, but the very independence of the church prevents us from -fearing that it will be submerged. In what way the future of the -papacy will be provided for, it is not for us to determine or to -suggest. We cheerfully confide in the wisdom of the Holy Father, -assisted as he will be by the Holy Ghost. - --------- - -{227} - - -From The Sixpenny Magazine. - -THE SUMMER DAYS ARE GONE. - - The flowers that made the summer air - So fragrant with their rich perfume, - Alas! are gone, their leaves so fair - Lie faded in their autumn tomb. - - The branches now are almost bare, - Where summer song-birds made their homes; - Where trees are green, where flowers are fair, - Once more the happy birds have flown. - - To distant lands o'er sunny seas - The songsters bright have taken wing. - To warble on that warmer breeze - The notes they sang to us in spring. - - Her autumn robe of red and brown - Once more the gliding year puts on, - And yonder sun looks colder down - Since the bright summer days are gone. - - The stars, the glory of the night, - Look on us still with silvery eye-- - Shine on us still as clear and bright. - But not from out the summer sky. - - The chilly breezes of the north - Tell us it is no longer spring, - And winter's hand is reaching forth - To wither every verdant thing. - - So even like the birds the flowers. - When dearest things of life have flown. - Then in the heart's deserted bowers - The naked branches stand alone. - - Oh, then, alas! no breath of spring - Can breathe the living verdure on. - No sun will shine, no birds will sing-- - For ever is the summer gone. - - But when the heart beats high and warm. - And kindred hearts its throbbing share. - It heeds not winter's clouds nor storm, - But summer tarries always there. - --------- - -{228} - -From The Lamp. - -UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS. - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE BEGINNING OF THE END. - - -The tidings that Old Thorneley's missing will was found fell like a -thunderbolt upon Wilmot and his lawyers, Smith and Walker; and their -genuine astonishment was a matter of equal surprise to me. In my own -mind I had felt convinced that Lister Wilmot had had a hand in the -suppression of that will; and if I hardly dared in my heart to believe -him guilty of, although suspecting him at least of complicity in, the -death of his uncle, I never doubted but that he knew of the existence -of this last testament, and knowing it, had destroyed it. In my own -mind I had, during many hours of solitary reflection, of the most -scrutinizing study of every fact and circumstance connected with all -these past events, arrived at a conclusion that some unknown link -united Maria Haag and Lister Wilmot together, and that the double -mystery of the murder and the lost will lay buried secret in their -hearts. But there was no mistaking the undisguised and overwhelming -amazement with which he received the communication of Merrivale and -myself. We made it in person to him before Smith and Walker; and I can -only say that his manner of receiving it exonerated him at once in my -eyes from suspicion of his having had anything to do with the theft or -concealment of that will. - -Of course on either side legal proceedings were commenced: Merrivale -on the part of Hugh Atherton undertaking to prove the genuineness of -the recovered document; Smith and Walker for Lister Wilmot endeavoring -to repudiate it. In less than a week they were all "hard at it." -Meanwhile, the will, as stolen property found by the police, was -lodged with them; meanwhile, Inspector Keene had once more -disappeared, and this time we all knew that the purport of his absence -was the apprehension of Mrs. Haag; meanwhile, the heir to all this -mine of disputed wealth played with his childish toys, laughed his -crazy laugh, and jabbered his idiot nonsense, without the ray of -intelligence crossing his for witless brain; meanwhile, Hugh Atherton -roamed far over the broad treacherous ocean--an exile and a wanderer, -the victim of a cruel and shameless plot--ignorant of the brave -loving heart that was following him so near, all of the tender eyes, -the faithful hand, that would bid him welcome on that foreign shore. - -Unwilling as I was to leave London just then, where my presence was at -any moment necessary, the affairs of one of my best and oldest clients -summoned me to Liverpool for a couple of days, and I took a -return-ticket thither from the Saturday to the Monday after that last -memorable visit from Inspector Keene. Who shall ever dare to doubt the -special Providence ordering and overruling every event, every -circumstance of our lives, however trivial and unimportant they may -seen at the moment of their occurrence? That journey of mine, which -outwardly had not the smallest bearing or reference to the story I am -telling, was in reality the beginning of the end. - -Travelling by an early training, I arrived in Liverpool about three -o'clock. After engaging a bed at a hotel near the station, and -refreshing my inner man, I set off immediately on the business {229} -which had brought me thither. This lay asked some of the great -shipping offices in Tower Buildings, close to the docks. Coming out of -one, I noticed a man following me. Suddenly my arm was touched, and -looking round I saw Inspector Keene. - -"God bless me! Who'd have thought of seeing you here?" - -"And who'd have thought of seeing you, sir? I don't suppose you ever -expected it would be so, Mr. Kavanagh, but you and I have hunted the -fox together, and now you and I will be in at the death." - -"You mean to say you have traced the housekeeper?" - -"That's just precisely what I do mean, sir." - -"Where is she?" - -"Not a stone's throw from here." - -"And you have her in charge?" - -"Not yet, sir, not yet. I have but just obtained a warrant for her -apprehension from the sitting magistrate, and I am on my way now to -announce the agreeable tidings to her." - -"Had you trouble in tracking her?" - -"An awful deal, sir. She was all but gone; her passage taken to -America, and the vessel is to sail to-night. The news of my finding -the will must have reached led her in Lincolnshire, for I've followed -her across the country here; and then I lost sight of her, and only -found her trail this morning. But she's safe now; the house is watched -on all sides. Strange enough, sir," said the inspector, lowering his -voice, "there's been another after her too." - -"Another man?" - -"Yes, sir. I've caught sight of him from time to time, dodging and -watching and following her as cute and as silently as any of _us_; and -if his name isn't Bradley, well, mine isn't Keene, and I'm not one of -her majesty's detective officers." - -"Shall I go with you, Keene?" - -"Do, sir; it may be like a satisfaction to you to see the end of it." - -We turned into a by-street, narrow, ill-paved, and dark, where the -houses were high and overhanging, and fashioned like those in little -obscure foreign towns, that nearly meet overhead. Before the door of -one a policeman stood, apparently engaged only in his ordinary duty of -looking up and down the street; but from a glance of intelligence that -passed between them I knew he was on special service--the special -service being to watch that identical house. The door opened by a -simple latch, and the inspector's hand was on it, when the policeman -stepped back, and whispered to him. Keene paused for a moment, and -then turned to me. "_He_ is in there;" and I knew he meant the man who -was likewise following Mrs. Haag--the man Bradley. - -"Follow us," said the detective to the officer on duty; and opening -the door, we passed down a narrow dark passage and proceeded up the -stairs, quietly, stealthily. We had gained the first landing, and -Inspector Keene's foot was on the stair to ascend the second flight, -when a loud, piercing cry broke upon the stillness--the cry of agony. -In a moment we had cleared the stairs and stood before a door on the -left. Keene turned the handle. _It was fastened from inside_. - -He shook it with a strength I had not thought he possessed, and -demanded admission. There was no answer. Again it rattled on its -hinges, and I thought it would be too weak to resist my strength. -"Give way, Keene!" I cried; "I can break it in;" and retreating to the -further end of the landing, I ran and brought my whole weight to bear -against it. Useless! _Another weight_ was strengthening it on the -inside. And then a shriek yet more piercing, more agonized than before -rang through the house, and footsteps were heard from below and above -of people hurrying to the spot. We once more strained at the door. O -God! would it never give way? I turned to the policeman. "You ought to -be powerful; let us both run together." I felt a giant's strength -within me; and as our feet crashed against the wood it bunt open, -{230} and we were precipitated into the room, almost falling over the -body of Mrs. Haag, prostrate on the ground, weltering in a great pool -of blood. A large clasp-knife lay beside her, red up to the very hilt; -and by the window, with his arms folded, stood a man of large, heavy -build, with dark gipsy features and lowering brow--a man who in the -prime of youth might have been of comely form and handsome -countenance, but who now, with the wear of more than fifty years' -familiarity with crime and evil, bore more indelibly printed in his -face the felon and the convict than ever the mark branded, but hidden, -upon his shoulder could betray. With one glance at the miserable woman -lying on the floor, the inspector sprang toward the man, who stood -motionless, and staring at the body of his victim, and laying his hand -on his arm he said, "Robert Bradley, I arrest you for this attempt to -murder your wife, and for unlawful escape from penal servitude." No -expression crossed the man's face--only the same dull, stony gaze. - -"Do you hear?" said Keene, giving him a little shake; "and say nothing -to criminate yourself now." There was no answer. "Policemen, do your -duty:" and two advanced from the crowd now gathered in the room and on -the stairs. They slipped the handcuffs on his unresisting hands, and -then proceeded to lead him away. Meanwhile I had knelt down beside the -unfortunate woman, and was feeling her heart and pulse. She still -lived. "Send for a surgeon instantly," I cried; and a dozen of the -lookers-on instantly scampered off to do my bidding. Then, with one -cry of anguish, the prisoner burst from his captors and flung himself -down beside the woman he had murdered. He raised his manacled hands, -and tried to draw her head toward him and pillow it on his breast. - -"O Molly, Molly, I've killed thee; I've killed thee!" There was a -faint moan. "She's my wife, gentlemen; before God, she's my wife. I -wanted her to come away with me and let us hide together, for we've -both done bad enough; but she wouldn't--she bade me begone: she spoke -so harshly, she looked so cruelly with her cold eyes--and I was mad, -mad--and I struck her. Molly, Molly!" - -With difficulty he was torn away, dragged out of the room and borne -off by the police; then we lifted the almost lifeless body of his wife -and laid her on the bed. How far she had been injured I knew not as -yet; but something within seemed to tell me she had received her -death-wound. I said as much to Inspector Keene when the room was -cleared a little from the crowd, and he, I, and one or to women, who -said they lived in the house, only remained. In less then a quarter of -an hour two surgeons were on the spot, and we left them with the woman -to make the necessary examination. - -"This is indeed being 'in at the death,'" I said to the inspector as -we stood outside. - -"Yes, sir; yes. And I have been a consummate fool not to have foreseen -what would happen." I saw he was looking unusually pale and agitated. - -"How could you help it?" I asked. - -"I ought to have given orders not to have allowed _him_ to go into the -house. I made over-sure of all being right." - -"Depend upon it, Keene," I replied, "neither you nor any one else -could have warded off what was _to be_. Another and a mightier hand -than any human one has been in this. We may not question God's -providence." - -The inspector was silent. He could not get over it. - -"If the worst comes to the worst," I said, "we must be ready to have -her confession taken down. Surely she will speak at the last." - -"Not if I judge her rightly, sir; she will make no sign now." - -"Nay, I trust she will. If what we guess at is true, it is too -terrible to think she will die with that upon her soul." - -{231} - -"She is a Catholic, sir, I believe; she'll tell her priest, but what -use is that to us?" - -"If she does _that_, there will be no fear." - -Keene shook his head despairingly. "I never made such a mull in my -life before." - -Just then one of the surgeons came out. We both eagerly turned to him -with the same question: "Will she die?" - -"Who can tell? While there is life there is hope. The wounds are very -dangerous ones. There is little chance for her; still there _is_ a -chance. I am going now for instruments and dressings to my house close -by. She ought to be in the hospital, but we dare not remove her. The -sole hope is in staunching the bleeding; it has stopped for the -moment, but the least motion will cause it to break out afresh. Who -knows anything of her? who is responsible in the matter? We have heard -no particulars as yet." - -Keene explained in a few words all that was necessary. - -"Can you tell me where to find the nearest Catholic priest?" I asked -him as he went away. - -"In the next street to this there is a small chapel. I know the priest -attached, and excellent man, though he is a papist. Pardon me; perhaps -you are the Catholic?" - -For the hot blood had rushed to my brow involuntarily, not for the -man's words, but at the grave thoughts which passed through my -mind--the hope, the fear of what those ministrations I was going to -seek would do for the wretched woman lying in that room. - -"I am a Catholic," I said briefly; "but say anything you like, I don't -mind. I'll come out with you, and you'll show me the way to find this -priest." - -I found and brought him--Father Maurice. He was a man who had grown -old and grey in the care of souls, who had stood by many a death-bed, -had been called to witness the penitence of many a dying sinner; never -had his services been more needed than now. On our road I briefly -related to him the circumstances, and all I knew of the poor creature -to whose side he was hastening. - -When we arrived, they told us she had been conscious for a few -moments, but was now again insensible; that during that lucid interval -she had murmured a name which sounded like Wilmot. "Send for Mr. -Wilmot," the doctor had understood her to say. Keene and I looked at -each other. - -"Telegraph for him," I said. - -"Would he come, sir, do you think?" - -"Telegraph in Mrs. Haag's name. Simply say, 'Danger; come -immediately.' That may bring him. He will get it in time to catch the -night-mail." - -Keene departed. - -The room opposite the one where the injured woman lay was vacant, and -I took possession of it, knowing that the inspector would station -himself on the spot. Presently the two surgeons came in, and conferred -together for some minutes in low tones. Then they turned to me and to -the priest, who waited there likewise. - -"We have probed and dressed the wounds, but she lies perfectly -unconscious at present; two nursing sisters from the hospital have -been sent for to take charge of her, and it will be necessary for one -of us to remain here during the night. There is just a hope and no -more. What we have most to fear is internal haemorrhage. She may -probably linger out the night, or even a day or two, in the event of -no favorable change taking place. But her state is most critical." - -"I shall go home and make arrangements for remaining here during the -evening and night, if it is necessary," said Father Maurice in his -quiet, determined way. - -I expressed my thanks. - -"There is no need," he said; "if all is well in the end, I shall have -my reward." - -{232} - -When Inspector Keene returned he told me he had dated the telegram -from my hotel, and that it would be best for me to return there by and -by, and await the arrival of the night train. It was then between six -and seven o'clock. - -How that long evening passed I know not. There we sat, we three -men--Inspector Keene, Father Maurice, and I--saying very little to one -another, and the prevailing silence only broken by the low whispering -sounds of the priest as he said his office, and the hushed footsteps -of the surgeon, who remained coming in and out from time to time. - -Oh! would she ever wake from that terrible unconsciousness? would no -power of mind, no strength of body, no grace of soul ever be given her -to unlock all the dark secrets of her heart, to clear the innocent and -proclaim the guilty? Must she go down to her grave without one act of -sorrow, unshrived, uncleansed, without a moment in which to make -reparation for the terrible past, for all that world of shame and -suffering that had fallen so crushingly upon guiltless heads? - -It was just upon ten o'clock, and I was preparing to leave for my -hotel, when Mr. Lovell, the surgeon, came in and beckoned to Father -Maurice. They left the room together, and soon the surgeon and the two -nurses came in. The former stooped down and whispered to me, "She -asked to have a priest sent for, and I told her one was here. It -seemed a relief to her. She has not been conscious more than five -minutes." - -The inspector looked across at me with an inquiring glance. I think he -had grown suspicious of me, and feared I was conniving at some -concealment about her confession. - -"As soon as my _prisoner_" (laying a stress on the word ) "comes to -her senses, sir, I ought to be told. There's something to be got out -of her before she gives us the slip, and I'll have no interference in -the matter." The inspector spoke roughly. I took him aside. - -"Keene, if you ever want to get at the bottom of what lies on that -wretched woman's soul, believe me we have taken the best means to -attain that object in allowing her to see Father Maurice." - -"But _he_ won't tell what she's said, bless you; I've seen them -imprisoned for it. Not a word, Mr. Kavanagh, not a syllable, sir, -shall _we_ here?" - -"Very likely not from him. But _he_ will make _her_ tell." - -The inspector stared at me with a cynical smile on his lips. - -I continued: "Do you think _I_ have no interest in wishing to probe -that woman's soul, in longing--ay, with a longing you cannot -understand--to know who committed that black crime which has robbed me -of my dearest friend? Man, what is there at stake with you in -comparison with _him_ who has been driven from his fatherland and his -home? What is _your_ little professional vanity to compare with what -_he_ has lost--name, fame, position--everything most dear to him save -one?" - -"God bless you, sir, and you're right!" said the little man, wringing -my hand; "and you'll please to excuse me. For hang me but I think I'm -jealous of those priests. They seem to ferret out in one talk what it -costs us detectives days and nights to hunt for, and puts us on our -wits' ends. And one ain't a bit the wiser for it after all; they _do_ -keep it snug, to be sure. I'd give much to know their dodge." - -"Ah, inspector, it's a 'dodge' neither you nor I possess. But leave -this in God's hands. If there is anything that ought to be made known -publicly, it _will_ be known." - -In a quarter of an hour Mr. Lovell went into the sick-room, and soon -after Father Maurice came back to us. It was curious to see the -suspicious glance which Keene cast upon him. - -"I have warned her of her state," said the priest. "She seems to wish -to make a statement to some proper person; Mr. Lovell advises that she -should be allowed some rest now. Of course you will judge of what is -best to be done, having the poor woman under your charge;" and he -looked across at the inspector. - -{233} - -Keene colored up and shuffled his feet. "Of course it's as you and the -other gentlemen think proper, sir," he said; then plucking up his -courage, "There's a deal she's got to tell which _ought_ to be known -in _proper_ quarters, though I know that gents in your profession -ain't fond of letting on what they hear. But I'm responsible in this -instance to government, sir; and I hope you'll remember it." - -"Just so," said the priest coolly, but with an amused smile; "and it -is in the presence of lawful authority, or proper witnesses, that she -must make her statement, or, as you would call it, confession." - -Inspector Keene was shut up. "Never heard tell of such a thing in all -my life," I heard him mutter to himself; "this one can't be a Roman." - -I waited for another report from the surgeon before leaving; and when -he came in he said she had rallied a good deal, and that he thought no -further change for worse would take place during the night; so I left, -desiring that I should be sent for if anything did occur. The mail was -due at half-past three in the morning, and there was all the -probability of Wilmot travelling by it if the telegram had reached him -in time. I determined to sit up and meet the train at the station. - -At a little after three I was on the platform, pacing up and down in -the chilly air of the early morning; the stars shone through the -glazed roofing, and the moonlight mingled cold and pale with the -flaring gas. Save a drowsy official here and there, I was alone--alone -waiting for mine enemy. And yet but little of enmity stirred my heart -in that still hour--only pity, deep unutterable pity. I had never -liked Lister Wilmot much, even in old times; and of late--well, what -need to think of it, though his sins had been great? But somehow the -remembrance of past days stole over me--days when he and Hugh and I -had been young; of pleasant hours passed together in social -intercourse, of merry-meetings, and all the joyousness of young men's -lives. Yes, even with the thought of Hugh Atherton before me, I felt -softened toward the wretched man for whom I waited then. Shame, -disgrace, and ignominy were awaiting him, and I was to lead him to it. -After all he was a fellow-man, though he had disgraced his manhood. At -last, with a whistle and a shriek, the train rushed into the station. -I ran my eye along the line of first-class carriages, and presently -saw a slight figure with fair hair alight on the platform. In a moment -I stood before Lister Wilmot, and I never can forget the unearthly -color which overspread his face as his eye fell on me. Had he been -armed, my life had not been worth much in that moment. - -"_You_ here!" he hissed between his teeth. - -"Yes, Mr. Wilmot; I am here to meet you." - -"Then you sent that telegram, curse you!" - -"No, not I, but Inspector Keene. Some one is dying, and has need of -you." Perhaps my solemn face revealed something to him of the truth, -for a change passed over his countenance. - - - -"Who is it?" he asked with white, quivering lips. - -"Mrs. Haag." - -He threw up his arms wildly above his head. "Dying! O my God!" Then, -turning to me, "How was it?" he asked. - -I hesitated for a moment in pity. "She met with an accident," I said -at last, not daring to tell him more at once. - -"Where is she?" - -It never seemed to occur to him that it was strange I should be there; -the one piece of news I had imparted had stunned him with its shock. - -{234} - -"I will take you to her," I answered, and putting my arm in his, led -him off to a cab in waiting. He never spoke all the while we drove to -the house in Cross street, where the housekeeper lay, and when we got -down suffered me to lead him up-stairs like a child. Inspector Keene -met us at the door. - -"I'm thankful you've come, sir; Mr. Lovell sent off a message to the -hotel half an hour ago. The priest is with her." - -"How is she?" uttered Wilmot in hollow tones. - -Keene answered: "There's been a change; I don't know more. She has -asked again for you," turning to Wilmot. - -Mr. Lovell came in. - -"Is this the gentleman, Mr. Wilmot?" he asked. - -"Yes," I replied. - -"Then whatever she wants to say had better be said now." - -Inspector Keene touched me on the arm. - -"You must take it down in writing, sir; here's pen, ink, and paper. -You, Mr. Lovell, and I must sign it." - -"Yes, yes. I will" - -And we entered the room. - -The housekeeper's face was turned from us when we came in. One hand -lay outside on the coverlet--that white, well-formed hand, that looked -more like a lady's than a servant's. - -At the foot of the bed stood Father Maurice, and a nurse was bending -over the prostrate form and wiping the moisture from the brow. She -must have heard us enter, for she looked round, pale, ghastly, in the -wretched light of the fire and candles. The surgeon went first, then -Inspector Keene, then I and Wilmot. She marked each one as we -approached the bed, eagerly, wistfully. At first Wilmot shrank behind -me, and my tall frame hid him from view. Her lips moved. - -"Where is he?" I heard her murmur. "Where is Lister Wilmot?" - -The surgeon approached her with a glass. - -"You must drink this; it will give you strength to speak." - -He lifted her head, and she swallowed it; then turned her face once -more toward us. - -"Lister, are you there?" - -He stood forward, but did not go near her. - -"I am here." - -She gave a low moaning cry. - -Father Maurice went to her. - -"Say what you have to say now, my poor sister, and make your peace -with God." - -"Raise me up a little," she said to the surgeon; and they lifted her a -little on the pillow. Then in low broken tones, with many a pause for -strength and breath, with the dews of death standing upon her pallid -brow, with the vision of life and judgment to come nearing her moment -by moment in the presence of us all, Maria Haag made the confession of -her life. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE HOUSEKEEPER'S CONFESSION. - -"They tell me I am a dying woman; and though I feel as I never felt -before, I can hardly realize it. I never thought to bring myself to -save the words I am going to say, to tell the story I am going to -tell. All my life long I have been a wicked woman. I don't ask your -pity--I do not want it; and if you now feel pitiful, seeing me lie -here, when you have heard all, you will turn from me with loathing and -spurn the miserable creature before you. No, I never thought it would -come to this--that I should wish to tell out the sins of my life. But -I have listened to words this night that I have not heard since the -days of my childhood, from the lips of that good man, and they have -done what nothing else could do. I could fancy myself a child once -more, kneeling at my mother's knee and saying the 'Our Father;' -lisping the prayers I have never dared to teach _my child_. My child! -O God, {235} will he not curse his mother, knowing what she is, and -what she has made him? My child, who will rise up in judgment against -me at the last day, because in loving him I have worked his ruin! -Better he had died, my fair-haired boy, nestling his baby head against -my breast, cooing his baby cry in my ear, than live to be what I have -made him. Better far we both had perished--mother and son--and been -buried in one grave; the angels would not have veiled their faces then -as they veil them now. Life and strength are ebbing fast, fast from -me; and if I want to say all that I have to say--all the crushing load -of guilty knowledge that lies upon my soul--I must hasten on. Lift me -up a little more--it is hard to get breath--and turn my face from the -light, sister. I can bear it better when it is dark. I go back to the -beginning. One is standing there who has a right to know all I have to -tell." - -"I am a Belgian by birth, a native of Antwerp. My father was clerk in -the custom-house there, and I was his only child. He and my mother -lavished their love and their all upon me, and I received a very good -education. At seventeen I met Robert Bradley; he was mate on board an -English merchant-vessel. My parents looked down on him, but he loved -me, and soon my heart was bent on him. We ran away together and were -married at Plymouth. I never saw father nor mother nor my native place -again. They died soon after; I broke their hearts. A year after our -marriage my baby was born: it was the first joy unmixed with pain I -had known since I left Antwerp when the boy was placed in my arms; it -was the last I was ever to have. Six months after his birth Robert got -into trouble; trouble that brought him in danger of the law. His -employers dismissed him, and we were fated to quit Plymouth, where I -had lived since our marriage whilst he was at sea. The little savings -Robert had put by were soon gone, like his character, and we had to -tramp, tramp, till we came to London. There he got temporary -employment on the river; but he was changed. He was no longer like the -Robert of old days, the man I had loved and for whom I had forsaken -everything. Poverty pinched us very sorely; but if he had been what he -was when I first knew him I would have minded nothing. But he degraded -me, and I felt he would degrade my child. It was all I cared for -now--my little boy; let him remember that. Oh! let him remember it, -that he was all I loved and cared for! For more than a year we -struggled on through misery untold. Robert drank terribly, and this -vice brought out the coarseness of his nature, the low habits he had -contracted amongst his seafaring associates. At last, when it came to -seeing my boy wanting bread, I could bear it no longer; and one day I -left the wretched hole where we lived, and with the child in my arms -walked away from London. Miles away I wandered beyond the Surrey -hills, with a little money in my pocket and my best and only gown on -my back, lying down to rest in the sweet hay-fields or by the -woodside, for it was summer-time, till at last one early morning I -reached a little village, and sought rest and shelter at a small -farmhouse. I found both, and I likewise found friends--or rather my -child did. He was fair and winning with his baby beauty, and the -mistress of the house took to him, having just lost hers. I stopped -some months, helping her in all her household duties, for I was very -thrifty and handy, and I earned my own bread and the boy's. But his -future troubled me. I wanted money to educate him, to set him forward -in life; and I determined to go into regular service. When my friends -heard of this they offered to take charge of my little one, whom they -loved as if he had been their own. So it happened that when I came -across an advertisement for a married woman to take charge of a city -merchant's house in London and act as housekeeper to him, I answered -it. I referred to the people I lived {236} with and to the clergyman -of the parish, and finally was engaged by Mr. Gilbert Thorneley. -Perhaps the low wages I asked induced him to take me; perhaps having -seen me, his keen shrewdness detected there was a story that was mine, -and so could trade upon it and grind me down. Anyhow I entered his -service in the spring of 1832. Of my husband up to that time I had -heard nothing. I assumed my maiden name, and carefully concealed every -clue to finding either myself or my child. The kind people who had -taken charge of the boy were named Wilmot. He was christened Robert; -but they gave him the name their dead child had borne, and he went by -the name of '_Lister Wilmot_.' I made no objection; it helped to -conceal him from his father." - -There was the movement of a violent shiver in the form that stood next -to me, and a low muttered sound; I did not catch the words, but the -dying woman must have heard something, for she paused and half turned -her head, as if listening. Then after a moment she continued her -narration: - -"I have no need to describe to you Gilbert Thorneley's character. What -right have I now, with death so close to me, to malign the dead! And -yet I must tell, because it is part of the burden I am laying down, -all the hatred, the contempt I felt for him as I got to know his -meanness, his low cunning, his niggardly ways. The clerks he kept on -miserable salaries, the workmen he employed and ground down to the -uttermost farthing, all knew and told me of the heaps of wealth that -were flowing into his coffers; how sum upon sum accumulated in his -hands; and how his name was a byword and a proverb for a rich and -prosperous man. And one hundredth part of that wealth had bought me -the only joy I ever craved now--union with my child, and security for -his future! I brooded over this in long lonely hours, brooded until I -grew mad, until Satan entered into me, and I turned my face from God. -Just at this time my master was away from home for many weeks. I did -not know where he went, or on what business; but on his return he made -two announcements to me: first, that he had bought a house and estate -in Lincolnshire; and secondly, that he was going to be married. I -replied I supposed he would now no longer want my services. To my -surprise and dismay, he answered me by saying he should require me to -go down to his new house and act there as housekeeper. He added he had -discovered all about me, where my child was, and the whole story of my -husband; that I was now in his power; if I would serve him faithfully -I should never want for money, and that my boy should be forwarded in -life. If I refused, he would make everything known, and put Robert on -my track. I consented to remain in his service, and to do all that he -required. - -"I went down shortly into Lincolnshire to the Grange; and there he -brought home his young bride. By this time I had got to know many of -his secrets. I had sold myself to him and he paid me; handsomely -enough for him, considering the miser that he was. His wife was not -happy--how could she be? She was kept shut up in that dismal Grange -from month to month, without a soul to speak to save him or me. He did -not want _her_, he wanted her fortune. That has been told before. To -spy upon her, to watch her, was my office down in those dreary fens; -to walk with her, to attend her in her drives, never to lose sight of -her except when with him. If she had liked me, if she had shown any -kindness to me, I would have been her friend, and shielded her from -the tyrant whom she called husband. But she treated me with -haughtiness--undisguised contempt; me, who had her in my power. I -have hot blood and passions in me, cold and phlegmatic as I seem; and -she roused the passion of hatred within me. During my residence in -Lincolnshire, my husband traced me out through an accidental -circumstance. We had one interview. {237} He entreated me to return to -him; but I would not. He threatened to keep and eye on me, to watch -me. I dared him to it. Afterward I found that I had been foolish to -brave him. A year after her marriage Mrs. Thorneley bore her first -child; but before that an event occurred which influenced and sealed -her fate. I detected her in two stolen interviews with a cousin of -hers, an officer in the army. My master believed that when her aunt -died she had no living relative left. I bear witness now that nothing -passed at those interviews that all the world might not have heard; -but I used my knowledge of them with Mr. Thorneley. I have said before -he wanted her money and not her, and this cousin turning up frightened -him. He accused her of all that was most shameful, egged on by me. I -was the richer for it. I had now a goodly sum put by for my boy. Then -the heir was born; a weakly, puling child. You know what he grew up to -be--an idiot. Mrs. Thorneley was very ill; I knew her husband did not -wish for her recovery. I did not suspect he absolutely wished her -death. At last she died--suddenly. Only he and I were in the room, _I_ -was that '_other person_' spoken of by him to Mr. Kavanagh. She died -by prussic acid administered to her by him; and _I_ discovered it. -Henceforth _he_ was in _my_ power, not I in his. I kept silence, and -the matter was hushed up with money. - -"The baby was left to be nursed at the Grange; and my master and I -returned to town. Once more I settled down to my old duties in the -city house, bearing in my breast the knowledge of my master's fearful -secret. All sense of right and wrong, all conscience, was deadened -within me; the secret was mine--mine to turn into gold and riches for -my child. I went down to visit him at the farm in Surrey; and as I -pressed him in my arms I whispered to him of what he should be--a -grand, rich gentleman. - -"Two years after this time my masters widowed sister, Mrs. Atherton, -died; and he adopted her only child, Hugh. I saw that this would prove -either an aid or an obstacle to my plans. Very little, I found, was -known about Mr. Thorneley's family; he had come to London as a lad, -from a distant part of England. One evening I sought him, and opened -my scheme to him. I had him in my power, terribly, irremediably; and -he consented to it. I was to bring my boy away from Surrey, and he -would adopt and bring him up as the child of another sister, with his -nephew, Hugh Atherton. He was to retain the name of Lister Wilmot. - -"Excepting during occasional hasty visits to the Grange, Mr. Thorneley -never saw his son and heir. The child had been born an idiot; that he -would ever be otherwise was hopeless. - -"I went down to the little farm and brought away my boy--my little -Robert. For two years he had never seen me, and had forgotten his -mother. I brought him away from his friends, from all the pure, simple -influence that surrounded him there, from the innocent joys of country -life, from the wholesome atmosphere of honest toil and labor--brought -him up to dwell in the abode of one whose hands were dyed with crime, -brought him within the baleful influence of his mother's teaching. Too -late now--too late; but as I see it all at this moment, it had been -better to beg, better to die, than have brought him within the shadow -of that man's gold. - -"Once more my husband burst upon me. He was jealous, he said, jealous -of my master, and he insisted upon knowing where his child was. With -false promises I got rid of him. It was late in the evening when he -came and went. He had a companion with him--an ill-looking Irishman, -named Sullivan. That night the house was broken into. Being roused, I -surprised one of the burglars retreating; he was the image of my -husband, and yet it was not he, I felt convinced. But it gave me an -idea. If I could swear to him and he were taken, he would be -transported, and I should be free from {238} him, at least for a time. -I helped Inspector Keene to detect him by means of anonymous letters, -and then swore to his identity. He was condemned and sentenced to -twenty years' penal servitude. I have not much more to tell, up to -last October. - -"The two boys grew up together into young men--one the real, the other -the pretended nephew of Mr. Thorneley--and as his joint heirs. Of his -own son nothing was seen, nothing heard; he might have been dead, but -that I knew he was not. If Lister Wilmot had only succeeded to -one-half of Gilbert Thorneley's fortune his future would have been -amply, brilliantly provided for. I coveted more for my son; he coveted -more for himself. In those days he never knew I was his mother; but I -had tended him when a child, and he used to confide in me. It was the -only sweetness I ever tasted amidst the cup of bitterness I had -prepared myself. He was proud and ambitious; I dared not tell him who -he was. So he grew up in ignorance of our relative positions--he, the -reputed nephew and joint heir of the richest man in England; I, his -mother, that man's housekeeper and servant. He confided in me; and -shortly after Mr. Hugh Atherton's engagement to Miss Leslie, I wormed -from him that he too loved her. This and some money difficulties he -got into at that time were harassing him sorely. I could not see my -boy suffer and not try to help him--I could not see him thwarted in -his love; and one day I went to his chambers and told him I possessed -a secret of his uncle's, and would use it in his favor. He then said -how jealous he was of his cousin, how fearful he felt lest Atherton, -being Thorneley's favorite nephew, should at last be left sole heir. -That evening I once more sought my master; and using all the power I -had over him, extorted from him an oath that, with the exception of a -nominal sum left to Mr. Atherton, a will in favor of my son as his -sole heir should be made on the morrow. This was done. That will was -read on the day of the funeral. After making it my master never seemed -well or at ease; and day by day, hour by hour, I watched him in fear -and dread lest he should revoke it. We were both hurried on -mysteriously to our fate. - -"On the 23d of October last Mr. Thorneley received a visit from Mr. -John Kavanagh in Wimpole street. I misdoubted the object of the -interview; watched, listened, and overheard in great part what took -place. The sending for the two men servants, and their saying on -returning to the kitchen that they had been signing their names to -something which looked like a will, confirmed my suspicious. Then the -devil once more entered into my soul. What! after all my toil, my -watching, my sufferings; after having bartered my salvation for this -mess of pottage, should my boy be cast adrift upon the world when the -old man died, and not inherit a penny of the money he had been taught -to consider rightfully as his own? Never. Perish rather and die. Die! -The word haunted my brain and rang in my years--die! Who should die -but he, the old miser? Then a terrible resolve got possession of me, -and I dressed myself and went out. The history of that evening is -known to you all. _I_ was the woman who met Mr. Kavanagh Vere street; -_I_ was the women who entered the chemist's shop and the poison; _I_ -was the woman who sent the money to James Ball and bade him not -identify me. I saw the meeting between Mr. Atherton, whom I hated, and -Mr. Kavanagh, whom I hated also, because he was his friend. I heard -the whole of their conversation and then the future opened out to me, -lighted by the flames of hell. I went home; and scarcely had I arrived -when first Lister came, and then Hugh Atherton. I heard them talking -together; I heard my son say he trouble about money, and that he was -going to ask for some. That was well. I had poisoned the old man's -mind, and told him days before that Atherton was leading Lister into -extravagance; that {239} only my son had gained Miss Leslie's -affections, he should never have come upon Mr. Thorneley's for a son. -He was irritated against his nephew; this evening was the crisis. What -I have related explains his words to Mr. Atherton. - -"At nine o'clock I took up his usual refreshment. Ale _was_ poured out -in a glass, and into the ale poured out I emptied the paper of -strychnine bought at the chemist's. Strangely enough, I did it -unobserved by Barker. He little thought there was need to watch me. -Strangely, too, Mr. Atherton never noticed that I spoke to Lister as I -left the study. I said to him in a low voice: 'Don't give your uncle -his ale to-night; let him get it himself'.' The results were what I -foresaw. Lister never stirred, and Mr. Atherton handed the glass to -his uncle. I put the paper in the pocket of Mr. Atherton's overcoat as -I passed through the hall on my way down. - -"In the night I went into the dead man's room, took his keys, sought -and found the will in the escritoire in his study. Mine were the -footsteps heard on the stairs by the cook. I took the will and -concealed it up in my bedroom, effectually as I thought; but it seems -not. This is the history of that night of the 23d of October last; -this is the mystery of Gilbert Thorneley's death. He was murdered by -_me_." - -The feeble voice ceased, and the weary head sank lower upon the hello. -We thought the end had come, and both priest and surgeon hastened to -the dying woman's side. But it was not so; her task was not yet done. -After an interval of many minutes she rallied again. Whilst she had -spoken Wilmot gave no sign, save that one shuddering movement. I had -rapidly taken down her confession in shorthand, standing just as we -had entered, grouped at a little distance from the bed; and when she -was silent I looked round at her son beside me. There he stood with -his arms folded, motionless and rigid, his eyes fixed on the ground, -his lips drawn tightly together, set and firm, and a dark heavy frown -upon his brow. His face was deadly pale. "God move his heart," I -inwardly prayed as I looked at him; for it was like gazing on a block -of granite. Presently I heard Father Maurice say to her, "Are you able -to speak without pain? You have said all that is necessary." - -"No, no!" she replied, "not all;" and turned her face, on which the -shadow of death was gathering fast, toward us once more. How long she -had been unburdening her soul we had taken no count, and the grey dawn -was stealing in at the window as she spoke again. It was opposite the -bed. - -"Will you undraw that curtain, sister?" she said; "I should like to -look once more upon the sky before I die. It is very long since I -dared to lift my face to it without dread; there seemed to be an eye -looking down upon me with such terrible anger. It is gone now, the -great fear. Can this be peace that is stealing over me? Peace for such -as I?" - -Father Maurice stooped down and spoke to her in a low tone, and I saw -her hands fold together and her lips move. In a few moments she spoke -once more. Her mind was wandering. "Robert! where is my boy?" and she -started forward. "It is growing dark; why doesn't he come? Lister!" - -Oh! the anguished longing of that cry, as if the mother's heart went -out and broke with yearning! Would he, _could_ he resist that appeal? -"Mother!" I saw a wild movement beside me, and a figure rushed forward -and flung himself on his knees by the bed. I saw him encircle the -dying woman in his arms and press his lips passionately to hers. She -laid her hands round his neck and smoothed his face, just as if he had -been a child. "Robert, my little Robert!" The intervening years had -passed away to her mind; the memory of crime and sin {240} was taken -from her, and only the consciousness of her child's presence was with -her. "Forgiveness!" we heard her murmur; and she drew her son's head -yet closer to her breast. Then there was a dead stillness. Once more -the surgeon approached and touched Lister Wilmot on the shoulder. He -raised his head a little, and the arms that clung round his neck fell -powerless on the coverlet. - -"She has fainted," said Mr. Lovell. Lister knelt on whilst -restoratives were being applied, with his face buried in his hands. -After a while consciousness came back; her eyes opened, and lighted up -with a gleam of ineffable joy as they fell upon her son's bent head. -She passed her hand caressingly over his hair, and then let it rest -upon his shoulder. - -"This is more than I deserved," she said; and her voice was fainter -than when last she had spoken. "I ought not to have such happiness as -this. Are you there, Mr. Kavanagh?" - -"Yes, I am here;" and I went up to the bedside. - -"I have done grievous wrong to your friend Mr. Atherton. Can you, can -he forgive me?" - -I told her yes, freely from my heart, and I knew I might say so from -_him_. She moved her hand restlessly over Wilmot's hair, and a -momentary look of trouble crossed her face. - -I asked her if she had anything else to say to me; not to fear. That I -prayed the Almighty Father to forgive her, even as I forgave any -trouble she had caused me. - -"My son, my poor boy! What will be done to him? He is innocent of the -crimes I have revealed--innocent of the murder, innocent about the -will." - -Then a broken, hollow voice answered, "No, mother--not entirely. I -suspected there was something wrong, but the temptation to profit by -it was too strong." - -She looked more troubled; and I thought she glanced at me piteously, -imploringly. - -"Do not let that disturb you. You may trust Atherton. Nothing will be -done against your son. Die in peace." - -"Robert, don't kill me! I have not got him here. He is safe. Little -Robert, little baby! kiss me, kiss poor mother. It is very dark. I -cannot see him;" and the poor hands wandered over the coverlet. We -drew near, and the low solemn tones of the priest were heard saying -the prayers for the dying. The red streaks of early morning shed their -faint glow on the dying woman's face; her lips moved, and Wilmot -passing his arm beneath her head, raised her a little on his shoulder; -she stole her arm up round his neck, and we heard the words, "Forgive! -Mercy!" There was a long struggling sigh, a gasp for breath; the -blue-grey eyes opened once more and looked toward the eastern sky, -then closed in death. - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -EXEUNT OMNES. - -This story which I have then telling, acted now long years ago, was -wearing to an end. The unfortunate housekeeper's confession cleared up -almost entirely what had mystified and baffled our inquiries for so -many months; and, standing beside his mothers bier--the mother who -had loved him all too well for her peace--Lister Wilmot, in the depth -of his humiliation and the grief which the tide of natural affection, -so recently aroused within him, had wakened, added what little was -wanting to throw complete light upon the dark mystery of the past. - -On the day before the remains of his unhappy parent were consigned to -the grave, as he took his last farewell of the corpse, he told me his -own story, his temptation and his fall. Alas! for him the sins of his -parents had returned with double vengeance upon his head; the evil in -them had reproduced itself in him. Deluded with the belief that {241} -he was the heir to immense wealth, he had given full swing to his -besetting vice--gambling. The billiard-table, the gaming-house, and -that curse to young man, secret betting clubs and societies, had been -his familiar though unknown resort. There, too, he had met with and -fallen into the meshes of a creature but too familiar to the -frequenters of such places--a man (if such can claim pretence to -manhood) mature in years, even to gray hair; one of those who gain the -substance which supports their infamous lives by sponging upon the -young, by in tangling in their web young men destined to be the pride -and hope of high-born families with stainless lineage; or the scions -of noble houses; or the youth of houses not less noble, though perhaps -more in the sense of present deeds than departed worth; or sadder and -more shameful still, the young man who is the only son of his mother, -and she a widow, her sole stay and support. Into such hands did Wilmot -fall when he met the man Sullivan or De Vos. Through him he became -mixed up in some disgraceful gaming affair; and De Vos used it to get -him more thoroughly into his power, and upon the strength of it to -extort money from him. Then came his real but misplaced attachment to -Ada Leslie, and consequent jealousy of Hugh Atherton. An affection -requited might have been his salvation; unreturned and hopeless, it -became his moral ruin. Deeper and deeper he plunged into vice, faster -and faster he gambled. None save those who haunted the same scenes as -himself knew how far he was involved, how far lost; none even -suspected a tithe of it, save one. But the mother's eye, the mother's -heart could not be deceived. She whom he had been taught to look upon -only as his uncle's housekeeper, who had nursed and tended and petted -him as a child--she saw the care and trouble of his mind; she sought -and won his confidence to a great extent. He told her he was -overwhelmed with debt and difficulty, and she urged him to apply to -Mr. Thorneley for a sufficient sum to free him at least from danger. -That application was to be made on the very evening of the murder. She -hinted to him darkly that she had the means of forcing Thorneley to -give what he required, and that she would risk everything and hesitate -at nothing for his (Wilmot's) sake. The first suspicion which entered -his mind that she had indeed not scrupled even at the worst, was on -the morning after Old Thorneley was found dead. This had strengthened -more and more; but the temptation of his opening prospects, of the -princely fortune which he found he alone was inheriting, dazzled, -blinded him, and stupefied his conscience. A yet greater inducement to -evil lay in the alluring thought that if the murder of Old Thorneley -were saddled upon Hugh Atherton, and his disgrace, his banishment, if -not his death secured, there might be a chance of winning in time Ada -Leslie's affections for himself. To this end he had labored, -ostensibly endeavoring to establish belief in Hugh's innocence, and -acting as his best friend, but in reality undermining Mrs. Leslie's -faith in him by the most subtle diplomacy, and shaking, by the most -specious representations, Hugh's trust in and friendship for me. With -Ada alone he had met entire defeat. Steadfast and unwavering had been -her solemn, unqualified declaration that her affianced husband was -guiltless; steady and unwavering likewise--God bless her for it!--had -been her childlike trust in her old guardian. And this maddened him. - -Then came Hugh's acquittal, accompanied by public censure and public -disgrace. Here was a loophole through which a ray of hope gleamed upon -Wilmot's dark soul. Atherton writhed beneath the shame that had fallen -upon him with all the anguish of a keenly sensitive nature; and Wilmot -played his game with this. He lost no opportunity of making Hugh feel -his position; constantly, though skillfully, {242} he brought before -him the shadow that was over him, and would artfully represent to him -the magnanimity of Miss Leslie's conduct in wishing to share his -blighted name and fortune. Hugh's first proposition of emigrating he -had opposed outwardly, working in the dark to bring about its -realization; and when Hugh was actually gone, he felt at last that the -field was clear for him. Wilmot described his rage at finding that I -had outwitted him as ungovernable, his desire for revenge burning and -deadly. Then came the discovery of the will. Of its existence he had -in truth been ignorant; and though suspecting some complicity in the -matter on the part of Mrs Haag, once possessed of Old Thorneley's -money, he had buried his suspicions in his own breast. Three days -after the will was found by Inspector Keene, he received a letter from -the housekeeper. In it she told him of their relationship in brief -words, with no further explanation; she said that the discovery of the -missing document involved her in serious trouble, and that she was -hastening to Liverpool to catch the first vessel for America. Then he -felt for the first time that his heyday was over, that the worst might -shortly come; and he too began hasty preparations for leaving England -secretly. In the midst of these came the telegram from Liverpool, and -the subsequent tragic events. - -This was the epitome of what Lister Wilmot (I keep his assumed name) -told me the day before his mother's funeral. I said to him, "You have -not explained one thing. Why, when I went down to the Grange, did you -send De Vos to follow me and drug the coffee?" - -"I did not," he said. "I knew absolutely nothing of it." And at such a -moment I felt he was speaking the truth. He continued: "I have not -seen De Vos for months; and I believe he has left the country." - -I found afterward that another person was to clear up this remaining -item of the mystery. - -Of Wilmot I have little more to tell. In the abyss of his humiliation -and degradation the message of divine mercy reached his soul; in the -depths of his heart, chastened and and purified, he listened and -responded to its whisper. So far as Hugh Atherton was concerned he -went scatheless; and through the generosity of the man whom he had so -deeply injured, he was enabled eventually to emigrate to the same land -whither his unfortunate mother was flying for refuge when she met her -death. But before that he had a duty to perform, a stern, hard duty of -pain; and he set his face to the work resolutely, unshrinkingly. - -In the Liverpool prison late Robert Bradley the elder, biding his -trial for the murder of his wife; and from his lips we were to learn -yet more to complete the history of the past. Once, and once only, the -father and son met. In the bitterness of his trouble and his newly -wakened penitence, Lister had turned and clung to the one who had -ministered to his dying mother, and in Father Maurice, after God, he -found his best friend. At his request the old priest went with him to -that single interview with his father. - -"I never meant to kill your mother, Robert," the convict said to his -son. "Heaven is my witness, I never had a thought of harm to her when -I went after her in Cross street. I loved her, ay, I loved her, little -as you may think it now. I loved her though she left me, though she -hid my boy away, though she brought him up not know his father; though -she branded me with a crime I never committed, and got me sent to -prison and chains, and a life in comparison with which death will be -sweet; though she spurned me and defied me, I loved her with all the -might of my heart, all the passionateness with which I loved her when -she came to me a fair young bride. Away in that penal settlement, -amongst that hideous gang, beneath that burning sky, I had longed and -thirsted more for one look at her face, for one touch of her hand, -then {243} ever longed for a drop of water to slake my parching thirst -or cool the fever of my lips. They tell me she has revealed the story -of our lives--all is misery and shame. I have heard a few particulars. -In one thing I believe I have wronged her; I thought her guilty of -Mrs. Thornely's death; I thought she wished to usurp her place. I used -the threat of what I suspected to induce her to make out with me; but -she spurned me from her; she told me she would die on the gallows -rather than live with me again; and then the madness seized me; I -struck her--once--twice--and killed her." - -Of all that passed in that single meeting between the two Robert -Bradleys little was heard; it was not meet that much should be known. -They met solemnly, in bitterness, in shame, with agony in either -heart, with a world of anguish, of feelings surging over their souls -to which they dared not give utterance. They parted solemnly, but in -peace: the son who had never you known his father until now--and then -in what a terrible manner! the father who had never looked on his -child since the time when he had taken him on his knee and listened to -his infant prattle. Parted, never more to meet on this side the grave. - -I saw the convict once or twice before his trial came on, and I found -from him that he had known Sullivan of De Vos all his life. That he -was on his wife's track when she went down to the Grange, and De Vos -was with him. That the latter, seeing I was bound thither likewise, -and having reason to fear me both for his own and Bradley's sake, had -given me the stupefying dose in my coffee at Peterborough Station, -trusting to the results which did really happen. That it was his -appearance which must have alarmed his wife and caused her to -relinquish her visit to the Grange. Further than that he could give me -no information. Strangely enough, the bad companion of the father had -proved the bad companion of the son, though in totally different ways. -There is nothing more to tell of Robert Bradley. He was tried, -condemned, and sentenced to death; but the sentence was commuted to -transportation for life by the exertions of his son. Father Maurice -had the satisfaction of receiving from his lips the assurance before -he left the Liverpool Docks bound for his final journey, that he -accepted his sentence as the only expiation he could make for his long -career of sin. - -And what of those who were once so near and dear to me--dear still, -though far away, Hugh Atherton and Ada, now for many years his wife-- -what of them! We never met again; humanly speaking, we never more -shall meet upon this earth. There is a writer--to my mind the essayist -_par excellence_ of this age, with power to touch the finest chords -and sound the most hidden depths in the heart of man--who says that he -knows no word of equal pathos to the little word "gone." And it is the -word which expresses the long blank, the great vacuum of all these -latter years since they went away--since they have been among the -"gone." And how is it, you will ask, my readers, that still they -should be far away when all the storms and clouds which had shadowed -their horizon passed away, and the sunshine and fair blue sky once -again greeted them? Well, it was in this wise: - -Tidings of all that took place in Liverpool were instantly forwarded -to Hugh Atherton at Melbourne, and we thought we should welcome them -all back to England ere long; but he did not come--he never will come -now. He wrote that the thought of returning to England was -insupportable to both himself and Ada; that they would remain where -they were, and where he had received the greatest happiness of his -life--his true and tender wife. They settled in Australia, some miles -from Melbourne, doing much for the new colony in the way of -usefulness; and Hugh devoted {244} himself to the interests of his -adopted country. His name is well known there, and it is coupled with -everything that is good and great. I hear sometimes from them, most -often from Ada. Her mother died a few years ago, and she has lost two -children. They have three living, two boys and a girl; the youngest -boy is called John after me. She would have it so. No, the old -friendship between me and Hugh has never been rekindled into the same -warmth; we are friends, but not the friends of yore. I do not blame -him; he was blind, blind; and so we drifted away from one another, or -rather he from me. It was just one of those clouds which come between -human hearts because they are human; and then we see through a glass -darkly whilst earth clings so closely about us. By and by all will be -clear. He thought I should have confided his uncle's secret to him or -Merrivale under the circumstances. Perhaps I ought. If I was mistaken, -if I kept my solemn promise to the dead too rigidly, God pardon me; I -did it for the best. But we may make mistakes in our shortsightedness, -in our finite views, in our imperfect comprehension of events over -which we have no control, and in which we have very little hand. If he -outlives me, he will perhaps know this; and the knowledge of it, the -memory of our ancient friendship will bring back the tenderness of his -heart for me; he will feel, I pray not too sadly, that he also was -mistaken when he withdrew the trust and confidence that never before -heaven had for one moment been betrayed. - -Some years ago I buried Gilbert Thorneley's idiot son; he lived with -me up to the time of his death, harmless, but irrational to the last. -It was a satisfaction to his guardian that with me he would receive -every kindness and attention; and the poor fellow died in my arms, -repeating in his indistinct and childish manner the words I had taught -him to address to his Father in heaven--he who had never known a -father's love on earth. - -I am alone in my old study, and I turn to write the last page of my -story. - -The stillness of evening is creeping on afast, and the fire burns low; -before it lies old Dandie--he is blind now and stiff with age. Neither -he nor I can ramble out far into the country lanes, or across -Hempstead Heath, as once we used. Years have come and gone, and the -little golden circlet on my finger has grown thin and worn, but it -will last my days. Shadows of the past are around me, and voices of -the past are busily whispering in my ear. What is this that has fallen -upon my hand? O Ada! is this "worse than foolishness," the tears -should rush to your old guardian's eyes when he thinks of you, and -writes your name for the last time? Nay, that has passed--past with -the bygone years that have rolled on into eternity. A little longer, -and the dark strait that divides us from our beloved shall "narrowed -to the thread-like mere;" a little longer spent in hope and patience, -and then the hand will come. Not now, Hugh--not now, Ada: I shall see -you by and by. - - --------- - -{245} - -Original. - -DEVELOPMENT OF NATIONALITIES. - - -Each age through which civilized humanity has passed, has its special -characteristic. If, as most people admit, the nineteenth century has -inaugurated a new era in the history of mankind, the characteristic of -that era will be found in the rapid strides which the various races -are making toward the attainment of a national existence. This -development of nationalities is not, however, peculiar to our time; on -the contrary, through its entire course modern history presents the -same scene--a scene varied indeed and often interrupted, but -preserving its unity to such an extent as to justify us in discerning -therein a law of Providence. The constant yearning of each individual -after happiness is used by philosophers as a proof that he is destined -to one day attain it, and we are not quite sure that the noble -aspirations of the great popular heart do not indicate on the part of -the great Ruler a design to one day furnish it with a realization of -its hopes. The individual attains his end in the future world--the -people in the present. Those who respect but Little the popular -feeling call it mercurial. They are right. Dash some mercury on the -ground, and observe how the particles you have separated float wildly -on the surface as though seeking to be reunited. Do you see how -naturally they coalesce when brought in contact? There is an affinity -most perfect between these particles, and so there is between peoples -of the same race. Both were originally separated by violence, and the -process of reunion is in both quite natural. Modern history presents -no picture more vivid than that of the disintegrated peoples of the -earth slowly but uniformly tending toward a reunion of their separated -portions. Just now the figures seem more distinct--they stand out in -such bold relief that prejudice herself perceives them. A gigantic -war, commenced and finished almost with the same cannon's roar, has -knocked out the keystone of a governmental fabric once admired for -symmetry, and rulers see that in their structures they must imitate -those architects who seek for stones that fit well one with another. -People say that Beelzebub once gave a commission to a painter, for the -portrait of his good dame Jezebel, and that when the poor artist -despaired of picturing a countenance fit for the queen of hell, the -fiend turned to a collection of handsome women, and taking a nose from -one, an eye from another, mouth from another and complexion from -another, he manufactured so foul a visage, so dire an expression, as -to cause the votary of art to die outright. Various fishes make a very -good chowder, and various meats, well condimented, produce an -excellent _olla podrida_; but history shows that the various races -into which it has pleased God to divide mankind, cannot be -indiscriminately conglomerated without entailing upon the entire body -chronic revolution, with all its attendant evils. If you can so merge -the individual into the country as the United States have done with -their cosmopolitan population, no difficulty will be experienced; but -if you take various peoples and fit them together as you would a -mosaic, the contact will prove prejudicial to their several interests, -and powers {246} which would have otherwise developed for the good of -the body corporate, will either lie dormant or exercise a detrimental -effect upon the neighboring victims of short-sighted policy. Something -more than interest is felt in noticing the way in which the peoples -now enjoying national existence have attained so desirable an end; we -are enabled to thereby judge, with something like accuracy, of the map -those who will come after us must give of the world. So long as man is -man, just so long will it be in one sense true, that history repeats -herself; but we do not believe in that system of Vico which would make -of her a mere whirligig--introducing now and then something new to -certain portions of mankind in rotation, but nothing new to the world -in general. Such a system might satisfy that conservative of whom some -one has said that had he been present at the creation, he would have -begged the Almighty not to destroy chaos; but our prejudices are -against it, and though in avowing some prejudice we are pleading -guilty to the possession of a bad thing, we think that in this case -history will turn our fault into a virtue. We do not contend that -modern times present a picture of national development according to -the system of races so uniform as to contain no deviation whatever, -but history does show us that such deviations have been more than -counterbalanced by subsequent changes. The general rotundity of the -earth cannot be denied, because of the inequalities of its surface. -The American Republic furnisher us with no conflict of races on -account of the fact already alluded to. The various peoples of Asia -and Africa scarcely afford us a theatre for observation if we take our -stand upon modern history, since for all practical purposes they are -yet living in the days of Antiochus. Europe shows us a field worthy of -research, for there were thrown together the mongrel hordes of Asia -and the North, and with their advent and to the music of their -clashing weapons a new scene unfolded itself to the gaze of man. With -the fall of the Western empire commence all reflections upon modern -history, for then dawned our era by the release from the unnatural -thraldom of the Roman Caesars of the innumerable peoples of the earth. -To notice the manner in which these tribes grouped themselves into -national and integral existence is our present purpose. In the early -summer of 1866, had we been asked to classify the peoples of Europe, -we would have spoken as follows: The nations of Europe worthy of -consideration, and which are now regarded as united or "unified," are -France, England, Spain, Sweden and Norway, and Russia proper. The -nations as yet disintegral are Germany and Italy. The disnationalized -peoples are those of Ireland, Poland, Hungary and her dependencies, -Venice, Roumania, and Servia. Europe may hence be regarded as composed -of, 1st, nations which are _in se_ one and undivided and leading -therefore a national existence; 2d, peoples not under are you foreign -to themselves, but still not one with others of the same stock; 3d, -peoples governed by foreign nations. Of this latter class the most -prominent evil is furnished by the heterogeneous Austrian empire, to -compose which a draft is made on Hungary and the Hungarico-Sclavic -dependencies, on Germany, on Poland, and on Italy. The late war has -changed the situation somewhat, but the classification may remain -unchanged. - -The first class of nations became integral by the grouping to gather -of peoples of common origin; and the steadiness with which they -pursued their destiny and the easy manner in which they consummated -it, cause us to believe that the others will yet attain a like end. Up -to the time of Alfred, England was composed of seven kingdoms. The old -Briton stock had been hidden in the mountains of Wales, and the -Anglo-Saxon race, which held undisputed sway over the land, became -one. France, now {247} the most unified of all nations, was for -centuries the meet distracted. In A.D. 613, she was composed of four -kingdoms: Neustria, Austria, Bourgogne, and Aquitaine. After the -conquest of Neustria, Austrasia conquers Aquitaine in 760. The Romans -found a new power in the north, but the people bear ill the yoke. The -French kings give them the aid of their arms, and after various losses -and successes Charles VII., in 1450, unites the regions definitively. -The powerful duchy of Burgundy, which, for five hundred years, impeded -the unity of France, was at length united to the crown in 1470. Spain, -once composed of Leon, Castile, Aragon, and Navarre, was not unified -until 1516. Scandinavia (Sweden and Norway) was, before the tenth -century, composed of twelve states. It was then reduced to two, Sweden -and Gothia, while in the thirteenth century these two were united. In -1397, the "union of Calmar" added Norway, and to-day the probabilities -are not very small for the annexation of the remaining Scandinavian -power, Denmark. Especial attention is merited by Russia proper, by -which term we mean the nation so called exclusive of her foreign -conquests, Finland, Lapland, Poland and her dependencies, Caucasus, -and Georgia. The groundwork or foundation of this people in blood, -language, and customs, is Sclavic. The proper name of the nation is -Muscovy. When, in the middle of the fifteenth century, Ivan lV. shook -off the Tartaro-Mongol yoke, the Muscovites commenced that headlong -career of annexation and amalgamation which in four centuries has -united more than twenty once independent Sclavic peoples, and has -formed what is now denominated the Russian nation. Although not -directly coinciding with him, we must here allude to the prediction of -the first Napoleon that in a century Europe would be either Republican -or Cossack. We half suspect that he leaned toward the first horn of -his dilemma, and we do not think he imagined that his second should -include a physical sway of Russia over Western Europe. If, however, -the lance of the Cossack seemed to him to weigh heavily in the balance -of power, history sufficiently justified him to prevent our regarding -his remark as absurd. When he saw that either by force or persuasion -the Sclavic peoples were being slowly but surely united, he might -naturally regard as probable the incorporation of the remaining -Sclaves of Poland, Bessarabia, Roumania, and Servia. Thirty years -after he so talked, Bessarabia went the way of her sisters, and -Roumania and Servia are year by year nearing St. Petersburg. We do not -think, however, that history will warrant the application of -Napoleon's theory to Poland and her dependencies, although they are -Sclavic. When history shows us the innumerable tribes of Europe, left -free by the fall of the Western empire, little by little grouping -themselves by races and situation, so that in a few centuries are -formed the nations now integral, she informs us that if such groupings -were sometimes violent, they were still conquests _sui generis_. They -were not _national_ but _political_. The great Baron de Jomini, in his -_Precis de l'Art de la Guerre_, insists most strongly upon the -importance of a general understanding whether the war he is about to -undertake be a national or a political war. We think the principle is -just as important for the historian. A national war is one of a people -against another; a political war, of a dynasty against another, either -to revenge an insult or to extend its own domain. The effects of a -national war are terrible, and the prejudices engendered are not -easily eradicated; those of a political war are light, while there are -entailed but few prejudices since the people have had no voice in the -matter. In a political war the people are not conquered--they merely -change masters, and often instead of receiving any injury {248} -experience a great benefit. Thus, when Ivan of Moscow conquers -Novgorod, the Sclaves of Novgorod are not conquered--a dynasty falls -and not a people. Such a conquest leaves behind it no heart-burnings -in the masses, while, on the contrary, if the people united were -hitherto not only disintegrated but also disnationalized, it is a -consummation by all devoutly wished. Poland, however, belongs to -another category, owing to the religious antipathy existing between -her and Russia. So great has this hatred of late years become, that -the war for the incorporation of the unfortunate kingdom is at last -national, not political--a war of peoples and not of kings. Such a war -cannot be terminated by annexation--nothing can end it but an -annihilation of the popular spirit. Let us bear in mind, then, that if -modern history shows us a gradual development of nationalities and of -unity in national government, there are certain principles according -to which changes are wrought. But how is it with the two nations of -Europe as yet disintegral? Have they hitherto tended toward unity? An -impartial and conscientious study of their history convinces us that -they have been uniformly nearing the goal which more fortunate nations -have already reached. - -In the eighth century Italy was, the Roman States alone excepted, -entirely in the hands of the barbarian. From A.D. 1050, however, the -two Sicilies commenced to enjoy a half-autonomous existence, there -being but a personal union by means of a common sovereign between them -and the countries whose rulers successively wore the Sicilian crown. -In 1734 the kingdom became independent, and thus in this part of the -peninsula was made the first step to unity, namely, independence of -foreign rule. Parma became independent of the foreigner while under -the sovereignty of the Farnesi in 1545. Tuscany became independent in -828, and with the exception of eighty years, during which the German -emperors usurped the investiture of the duchy, remained so. The small -republics need no allusion. Venice was independent from 697 to 1797. -The Milanais was always more or less subject to the empire. Savoy and -Piedmont were ever independent. Italy was slow in becoming free from -foreign domination, but not so slow in the concentration of her -strength. The innumerable states and principalities of which she was -once composed gradually amalgamated, until in 1859 there were but -seven; two hundred years ago there were twelve really independent of -each other, and many more virtually so. We do not intend to touch upon -the question of Italian unity in its bearings upon the independence of -the Holy See. God will work out the problem long before any -disputation of the point could come to a conclusion. This, however we -feel, that if Providence has guided the peoples of Europe in the way -of national development, it is for the good of man and in aid of true -progress; and if in the case of Italy no compromise can be effected -without injury to Holy Church, the future of Italy will prove that she -has not attained the end of other countries; but history will show -that until now she has tended to it. When studying the facts of -history, one should not allow his feelings to blind his perception of -the scenes that pass before him, for his insincerity would prevent his -being a successful defender of any cause however good. - -A few reflections upon German history as bearing upon the theory of -national developments cannot but interest us, both on account of the -late war, and on account of the apparent objection accruing to our -position from the fact of Germany's seeming to be an example of a -great nationality slowly disintegrating herself. - -The history of Germany may be divided into three periods: 1st, under -the "Holy Roman Empire" until the rise of Prussia; 2d, under the same -from the rise of Prussia until 1806; {249} 3d, under the Confederation -until the present day. In the first period there were an immense -number of principalities, rivals not only of each other, but but also -of him who held the imperial sceptre. The emperor depended so much -upon his foreign vassals for his influence that he could scarcely be -regarded as a German sovereign governing German states. Suddenly -Prussia arose from nothing, and with majestic strides overran nearly -all the north; then for the first time the Germans beheld a power of -respectable strength, essentially German. When a nation is divided -into many parts, its first step toward unity is the acquisition of a -centre toward which all may tend. We pass by the origin of Prussia -since we are dealing with facts and not principles at present. We know -it is the fashion with a certain school to excite sympathy for Austria -by alluding to Albert of Brandenburg; but as we are of those who -believe that a man's own sins are scarcely less discreditable to him -than those of his ancestors, and have our memory fresh with -recollections of the long unbroken chain of outrages which the House -of Austria, when powerful, heaped upon the Church of God, we ask to be -excused if we allow no false sentimentality to intrude upon us. The -rise of Prussia and the interest manifested in her by the unitarian -party, forced the emperor and the secondary princes to be more German, -less foreign, in their policy. This second period, therefore, had -elements of unity which were wanting in the first. The third period, -however, gave something more. In 1806 Napoleon I. bade Francis II. -abdicate his title of Emperor of the Romans, and assume that of -Emperor of Austria, and then disappeared even the name of that which -for two hundred years had been a shadow. Then came the federal union -of all the German, and only the German provinces--a confederation in -which the interests of Germany might be consulted without prejudice -from foreign connections--a union full of faults, we confess, and in -many respects a sham, but yet an advance toward national unity. - -We know of no records by means of which we can ascertain the exact -number of independent states with which Germany was accursed under the -feudal system, but we know that after Prussia had swallowed up many -there were before 1815 nearly a hundred. Before the late war there -were thirty-seven. How many there are now the telegraph has not -informed us, but we imagine the number has become small by degrees and -beautifully less. - -Since 1815 the march toward German unity has been more steady and more -uniform than at any other period. The pressure exercised upon Austria -by Prussia, upon the secondary princes by their people, has forced -them to seek German rather than foreign alliances, to study German -more than dynastic or local interests. The Zollverein, the Reform -associations, the hue and cry openly made about unity, the very -entrance of Austria into the Holstein war, and latterly the alliance -between the liberals and a statesman whose principles they have -uniformly opposed, all indicate the popular effervescence, and excite -a suspicion that ere long Germany will be united. All the machinery of -which governments can avail themselves is used by Austria and the -secondary princes to ward off the danger which menaces them. - -The friends of the system of which Austria is the last important -standard bearer, give us a bit of news which, if true, would be -interesting, since it would be the first time we could conscientiously -receive it, that the cause of the Kaiser is the cause of the church; -that to his banner are nailed her colors. The jackal follows the lion -to pick up his leavings, but his eating them does not make him a lion. -The fact of the matter is, that the history of the church gives so -painful a picture of her struggles with kings and princes, that it is -to us a matter of complete indifference whether the {250} victory be -won by the impersonation of military autocracy, or by the sickly -anomaly now catching at straws for an extension of life--unless, -however, the victory of the former were to vindicate the principle -that the peoples of the earth have rights to claim, and were to result -in the end in the collapse of its winner, and the leaving thereby of a -powerful nation in the hands of popular government. If this latter -consummation is reached, we shall be ready to do what we can to attach -the children of the church to a particular government, for we believe -that then the church will have in Europe more than ever a fair show, -so to speak, at humanity. The church is for the people, and for them -alone--when she approaches a king, she approaches him as a man--and -she need fear but little from those for whose interest she lives. The -popular heart quickly conceives an affection, and is seldom mistaken -in its impulses. - -We have alluded to an opinion held by some that Germany is an example -of a great nationality disintegrated after centuries of integral -existence. If history deals with words and not with facts, if empty -titles and enthusiastic notions are criterions of national condition, -then that opinion is correct; but if the calling the Emperor of China -the Child of the Sun gives him no solar affinity, we must hold the -contrary one. The ancient so-called unity of Germany was not only an -empty word, but the very title Emperor of Germany had no foundation in -law. When the imperial crown was transferred from the French -Carlovingians to the House of Saxony, its mode or conditions of tenure -were not changed by the Holy See. Just as Charlemagne, though Emperor -of the Romans, was not Emperor of France, but as before King of the -Franks, so Conrad of Franconia, Otho of Saxony, and their successors -were emperors of the Romans, and mere feudal superiors of the other -German princes. If, in the lapse of time, the holder of the sceptre of -the "Holy Roman Empire" (which alone was the legal title from which -imperial rights derived) came to be called Emperor of Germany, the -title did not originate in law, but in the common parlance of the -Italians, French, and English, who recognized in the emperor a foreign -Prince, and who--at least the two latter--being naturally repugnant to -the universal monarchy system, constantly insisted upon the emperor's -primacy being as to them purely honorary. So much for the title. As -for the Holy Roman empire itself, nothing to prove the ancient unity -of Germany can be deduced from it. The public law of the middle ages -was based upon the principle, then the foundation of all economy, of -sacerdotal supremacy and princely subjection--a blessed thing for -humanity at that time by-the-by, which thus found some protection from -the tyrants who then ruled the earth. European government became -hierarchical; at the head stood the pope, then came the emperor, then -kings, etc. Now, according to the titles of courtesy in use at the -time, it might be supposed that France and England were subordinate to -the emperor, yet their constant history proves them to have been -independent of his sceptre. If, then, this so-called resurrection of -the western empire was purely nominal, was it merely honorific? Was -there no authority attached to it? If there were none, especially as -to Germany itself, of a part of which the emperor was a hereditary -prince, we would conclude at once that as Europe could not then be -called one, so could not Germany. Our proposition, however, is not so -self-evident. - -There was an authority resident in the imperial sceptre over the -princes of Germany, but for all matters all practical importance it -was, with the exception of a few privileges, the same as that enjoyed -over Italy, Hungary, Bohemia, etc, viz., that of right of investiture. -If, however, from this fact of imperial suzerainty any argument can be -gathered for the ancient unity of Germany, we must say that at the -present time Egypt, Roumania, and Servia are {251} one with Turkey, -Liberia one with the United States. If before the late war Germany was -not integral, it was not so under the ancient system. Then it had an -emperor, in our days it had a federal diet--the emperors' decisions -were generally laughed at, while the decisions of the diet were -respected when allowed to decide. Nor, while speaking so disparagingly -of the imperial power, do we allude to the time when the imperial -dignity had become a mere puppet show--to the period between the rise -of Prussia and the annihilation of the title. We need not confine -ourselves to the time when the great Frederick could laugh at his -"good brother, the sacristy-sweep," trying to rival his power; the -same want of efficacious influence was ever felt from the day when -Conrad accepted the diadem--one only period excepted, that of Charles -V., and even he was wanting in force, and was obliged to succumb to -his powerful "vassals." The history of no country, either in Europe or -in Asia, can afford an example of such persevering strife for -ascendancy as that which the princes of Germany presented, either -among themselves--the emperor a spectator--or united in factions -against him and his factions. The imperial dignity was in some things -great, and over some periods of its existence there is a halo of -glory, but only in its external relations. The Hohenstaufen emperors -were by inheritance both internally and externally powerful princes; -their principality of Suabia and their immense possessions of the -Palatinate furnished them such a number of personal vassals that they -did much toward making the imperial sceptre respected, while there -kingdom of Sicily and lordship of Milan caused them to be feared -without. But then it was not the emperor who was feared, but the -Prince of Suabia, the Count Palatine, the King of Sicily, and lord -suzerain of Milan and Tuscany; just as under the Habsburgs and the -Lorraines it was not the emperor but the Archduke of Austria, King of -Hungary, of Lombardy, of Naples, of Illyrium, who, by means of his -personal and hereditary states in foreign lands, commanded that -respect from his German rivals which a purely German emperor never -extorted. The unity of Germany under the Holy Roman Empire was -therefore not of fact. It was an idea--quite poetical certainly, but -still an idea. - -When we consider the obstacles which had to be surmounted by those -peoples who have already attained a national existence, we must fain -believe that those who are yet panting for it will not be long -disappointed. Roumania and Servia have been for centuries dreaming of -independence, but we must remember that only at a recent period did -civilization commence to act upon their peasantry. Even now many of -the boyards seem to be removed scarcely a generation from their Dacian -ancestry. All the Sclavic peoples of Eastern Europe have much to -acquire before they can be called fully civilized. The tyranny, -however, to which they owe most of their backwardness has of late -years very much diminished, and already they commence to ask -themselves the question which has so long preoccupied other minds, Are -the people created for the ruler, or is a ruler established for the -people? When men commence to think seriously on such subjects, action -is not far off. Bucharest and Jassy have been the scene of tumults -which have made many a European conservative cry out that nothing but -an iron rule will benefit the Roumanian--that Roumanian nationality -will prove a seminary of trouble for Europe. We believe in lending a -helping hand to a degraded people that they may in time raise -themselves to the level of their fellows--we would deem ourselves -worse than their tyrants if we regarded the passions which tyranny has -engendered as an excuse for that tyranny's perpetuation. - -{252} - -A bright day seems to have dawned for Hungary--at least so think the -Austrian wing of the Hungarian patriots. For these gentlemen the -ungermanization of Austria means that Pesth is to be the capital of a -new heterogenous empire. They should remember those long years during -which they mourned the short-sighted policy which drowned Hungarian -nationality for the benefit of Germany, and reap from them a knowledge -of other sins they will commit if they repress those nationalities -which are as sacred as their own. Heaven cannot bless those who claim -liberty for themselves and deny it to others. - -And in the midst of this conflict of the peoples of the earth for real -or imaginary rights, how fares the church of God? Excellently well, -for no change man will here below experience can ever unman him. So -long as there are people on the earth, so long will there be souls to -save, and the church will be ever on hand to do the work. But there is -more to be said. Of those people who are now so strenuously laboring -in the cause of liberty, a large proportion are outside of the church. -Many of them are working from a pure love of justice, as God has given -them the light to see it, and if they are true to their natural -convictions the supernatural will yet be engrafted upon them. It -cannot be denied, however, that there are many who throw their weight -into the scale of liberty as for they think Catholicity is in the -other scale, and that they will hence contribute to weakening the hold -the church has upon man. Would they could live to see the day when -liberty shall have triumphed--were it only to realize the true mission -of that church they now so bitterly hate! From the day the church -entered upon her glorious career she has been constantly contending -with the potentates of the earth. Her first struggle was with brute -force, and she triumphed. Her second contest was more terrible, for -the means brought against her were more insidious. Under the pretext -of honoring her, the gods of the earth encircled her limbs with golden -chains. How pretty they seemed, and how complacently some of her -members regarded them! How anxiously some yearn after them yet! But -they were torn away, and--great providence of God!--by those who -thought to thus ruin her. Her enemies say she yearns for that society -now disappeared. Has she forgotten how much those struggles cost her? -Gentlemen of the liberal world, you are mistaken if you think the -church fears the success of your designs. You are another illustration -of the truth of the saying, that God uses even the passions of men to -further his ends. When you will have succeeded in obliterating all -artificial distinctions of caste and privilege, and will have actuated -your vaunted ideas of liberty and equality, the church will confront -you, and thrusting you aside, will render real what with you would -always be an idea--fraternity. Those who now applaud you will lift -from the church their eyes of suspicion and jealousy, and will realize -how greatly you were mistaken when you called her retrograde and -tyrannical. - --------- - -{253} - -PHYSICAL SCIENCE AND CHRISTIAN REVELATION - - - -BY REV. JAMES A. STOTHERT. - - -If the philosophers of the nineteenth century are proud of its -scientific character, it is not without reason; if they congratulate -themselves on having penetrated further into the secrets of nature -than their predecessors, the impartial judgment of future times will -confirm the opinion. It is no ordinary age that has, in the first half -of its course, produced men of the first eminence in every branch of -science, and contributed discoveries, remarkable alike for their -intrinsic value, and their influence on the welfare of mankind. The -progress of the physical sciences, since the year 1800, has been rapid -and unprecedented; some of them have assumed a character and position -entirely new, in consequence of the number and brilliancy of the -discoveries, and the importance of the principles unfolded in relation -to them. Another era in the history of chemistry opened with Dalton's -atomic theory, aided by the amazing industry of Berzelius, in its -practical application; the labors of Davy, in reducing the number of -simple elements by means of voltaic electricity, and Faraday's patient -and even-advancing discoveries in the wide field of electro-magnetism, -have developed chemical science to an extent, and in a direction, -which a former generation would have deemed fabulous. During the same -period, geology has been rescued from neglect, and from serious -charges of unsound tendencies, and been placed in deserved rank among -the sciences by the eminent labors Smith and Buckland, of Sedgwick and -Delabeche, of Lyell and Murchison, and Miller. Thee stamp of the age -has been put on the science of optics by the discovery of the -polarization of light by Malus; by the subsequent extension and -perfection of that discovery by Brewster and Arago; and, more -remarkably still, by the profound investigations and independent -research of Young and Fresnel, on the subject of the wave theory of -light. Zoology, especially in its bearing on geology and the history -of the earth, has been carried to astonishing perfection, by the -intuitive genius and sagacity of Cuvier and Agassiz and Owen and -Forbes. In the history of astronomy, the queen of the sciences, the -nineteenth century must be ever memorable as that in which was first -established the appreciable parallax of some among the stars commonly -called fixed; at once spanning the hitherto illimitable abyss which -separates the solar system from those distant luminaries, and opening -up to human intelligence clear and better defined views of the -vastness of the universe. The names of Bessel, Struve, and Argelander, -of Airy and Lord Rosse, and the two Herschels, are associated with -observations and discoveries, for which future ages will look back to -our time with admiration and gratitude. The more recent observations -of Herschel on Multiple Stars may be assumed to have established, the -existence of the great law of gravitation in regions of space, so -remote from our sight, that the diameter of the earth's orbit, if -searched for at that distance, through telescopes equal to our most -powerful, would be invisible. The circumstances attending the -discovery of the most distant planet, Neptune, are perhaps the most -extraordinary proof of the high intellectual {254} culture of our -time. Another planet, Uranus, its next neighbor, had been long -observed to be subject to perturbations, for which no known cause -could altogether account. By an elaborate and wholly independent -calculation of these disturbances, and a comparison of them with what -would have resulted from all the known causes of irregularity, two -mathematicians, Leverrier in France, and Adams in England, were -enabled, nearly at the same time, and quite unknown to each other, to -say where the disturbing cause must be, and what must be the -conditions of its action. They communicated with practical -astronomers, and told them where they ought to find a new planet; -telescopes were directed to the spot, accurate star-maps were -consulted, and there it was, the newly discovered planet Neptune, -wandering through space, in an orbit of nearly three thousand millions -of miles' semi-diameter. Other discoveries had been the result of good -fortune, or the reward of patient accuracy and untiring perseverance; -here discovery was anticipated, and directed by the conclusions of -purely mathematical reasoning. - -The nineteenth century, little more than half elapsed, can also point -with satisfaction to numerous observatories in both hemispheres, -where, in nightly vigils and daily calculations, the accumulating -observations and details are amassed and arranged, which for years to -come are to guide the mariner through the pathless seas, and to -furnish materials for future generalization in regard to the laws of -the physical universe; where untiring account is kept of those occult -and variable magnetic influences which permeate the surface of our -globe and the atmosphere around it, to which the distinguished -Humboldt first urged attention, and in the investigation of which the -names of Kater and Sabine are conspicuous. In chemical laboratories at -home, and on the continent, the progress of investigation into the -internal constitution of matter is so extensive and so fruitful in -results, that as we were lately informed by an eminent chemist, it is -hardly possible even for a professional man to keep up to the mark of -weekly discovery. The triumphs of steam-power in connexion with -machinery; the perfection attained my modern engineering, and the -multiplication of its resources; the wonderful results produced by the -combination and division of labor, illustrated by the completion of -vast works, and the supply of materials for our world-wide commerce; -and, not least of all, the application of the electric current to the -transmission of messages, originally suggested by a Scotsman, in the -year 1753, [Footnote 40] and perfected by Wheatstone and others, the -influence of which, in flashing intelligence from one side of the -world to the other, is not improbably destined to act more powerfully -than that of steam and railway communication, on the future history of -mankind; all these valuable in enduring evidences of the scientific -preeminence of our age, are no inconsiderable or unreasonable cause of -elation and self-congratulation among contemporary philosophers. There -never was a time when juster views on the subject of physical science -were more generally diffused among the community at large; when a -readier ear could be gained for any new and well-supported claims of -science; when the public mind thirsted more eagerly for fresh draughts -from the fountain of knowledge; or when more competent persons were -engaged in providing means for satisfying this universal thirst. -Scientific societies are numerous and active; mechanics' institutes, -philosophical associations, athenaeums and other reunions alternating -kindred nature, are organized and flourishing in every large town in -the country, for the purpose of conveying a little rill of this -coveted knowledge to the tradesmen and artisans in the short intervals -of their daily toil. The very credulity with which some {255} -unscientific and preposterous theories of motion have been lately -accepted and believed by multitudes of educated persons, and which -Faraday has the merit of first boldly denouncing, is another proof of -the desire of something new in physics, which animates large masses of -thinking men, and which is often much more developed than their power -of distinguishing what is true from what is false, or empirical, in -the philosophy of nature. - - [Footnote 40: See Scots Magazine, February, 1753.] - -The contemplation of this picture of the nineteenth century suggests a -question of some moment: What is the relation of this scientific -development to revelation? What influence is it likely to have on the -conclusions of faith? A simple mind, or a simple age, receives these -implicitly: will the influence of science on either dispose, or -indispose it, to similar confidence? Are modern discoveries likely to -throw a reasonable doubt on the province of revelation; or are they -more likely to reflect light upon it, and establish its landmarks? - -This is a question of the last moment. The age is bent on acquiring -knowledge; it is justly elated by its progress in search of this -precious gift; and, all the while, its dependence on the great truths -of revelation is not less than that of a simple age. Faith, if ever -necessary, is not less so now, than when all the brilliant discoveries -of our era lay in the folds of the future time. They will not, with -all their brilliancy, direct and save one human soul, or illuminate -the obscure region which lies beyond the grave. If science must -dissolve the charm of belief, alas! for the elation of our age at its -own high attainments; better had it been for it that the ancient -ignorance of physical laws had never then dissipated, than that its -dispersion should have been so dearly purchased. - -Of course, by revelation, the author must be understood to mean the -whole will of God, revealed to the world, and taught by the Catholic -Church; as well that part of it which Protestants reject, as the -mutilated part of it which the greater number of them are agreed in -accepting; all the doctrines peculiarly and distinctively belonging to -Catholicity, together with others which it holds and teaches in common -with all calling themselves Christian. What relation, then, we ask, -has the modern advance of science to this undivided sum of revealed -truth? Is it one of hostility or of harmony, of illustration and -confirmation, or of antagonism? Is physical science the handmaid, or -the enemy of faith? - -(1.) Now, a very great number of persons, understanding revelation in -the sense in which we have defined it, would answer this question by -saying that science is the enemy of revealed truth, as maintained by -the Catholic Church; that the more generally scientific and accurate -ideas of the laws and constitution of the physical universe are -diffused, the more difficult must grow the belief of sensible men, -claimed by the Catholic Church for apparently impossible exceptions to -those laws. We can even imagine some good Catholics, little versed in -scientific pursuits, of the same opinion, and therefore jealous of -this general craving of the people for secular knowledge. Among the -Protestants of this country it is currently believed that the Catholic -Church is as keenly and doggedly opposed to science as science is to -her; that her unchanging policy has always been to keep her children -in ignorance, so as the more easily to subdue their intelligence to -her bidding. - -(2.) An answer of a different kind we should expect to receive from a -numerous class of friends, and from a few opponents; namely, that the -relation of science to revelation is one of indifference, as they -belong to spheres of knowledge totally distinct and independent. A few -remarks on each of these answers will best introduce the author's own -attempt at a solution of the question. - -{256} - -As to the first: well informed and candid inquirers into the truth of -things are beginning slowly to perceive that the Catholic Church has -been misrepresented, as invariably the enemy of science; especially in -the critical and much agitated controversy of the geocentric and -heliocentric theories of the planetary motions, which has been chosen -as the weakest point of attack. Two writers of the highest eminence in -science, with no religious bias whatever toward Catholicity, have -given remarkable testimony on this subject. Sir David Brewster in his -Life of Galileo has adopted a tone of fairness to the Catholic Church, -unhappily rare in Protestant treatment of such topics in general. We -do not think he has done full justice to Galileo's Roman judges; but, -at least, he has given the Roman pontiffs some credit for their -patronage of men of science. We recommend the whole life to the notice -of our readers, and shall cite the following passage from it. After -mentioning the pension granted to Galileo by Pope Urban VIlI., in -1624, Sir David adds: "The pension thus given by Urban was not the -remuneration which sovereigns sometimes award to the services of their -subjects. Galileo was a foreigner at Rome. The sovereign of the papal -state owed him no obligation; and hence we must regard the pension of -Galileo as a donation from the Roman pontiff to science itself, and as -a declaration to the Christian world that religion was not jealous of -philosophy, and that the church of Rome was willing to respect and -foster even the genius of its enemies." [Footnote 41] - - [Footnote 41: Martyrs of Science, ed. 1846, p. 68.] - -The other writer whom we shall cite is a no less celebrated authority -in science than the present astronomer royal, who, while condemning -the treatment which Galileo received at the hands of the Roman -Inquisition, is free to admit that Rome did not always oppose science; -and even this qualified admission, from so eminent a person, is worth -a good deal to our purpose. His remark is this: "This great step in -the explanation of the planetary motions was made by Copernicus, an -ecclesiastic in the Romish Church, a canon of Thorn, a city of -Prussia. The work in which he published it is dedicated to the pope. -At that time it would appear that there was no disinclination in the -Romish Church to receive new astronomical theories. But in no long -time after, when Galileo, a philosopher of Florence, taught the same -theory, he was brought to trial by the Romish Church, then in full -power, and was compelled to renounce the theory. How these two -different courses of the Romish Church are to be reconciled, I do not -know. But the fact is so." [Footnote 42] - - [Footnote 42: Airy's Lectures on Astronomy, p. 85.] - -We are not concerned at present with Galileo's unhappy story, farther -than to remark, that there is as usual much to be said on the side of -his Roman judges, which is perhaps nowhere so well said as in the -pages of the Dublin Review, No. IX., July 1838. The views there -advanced have never been called in question; we may therefore assume -that they are substantially unassailable. As to the general question -of the assistance which the Catholic Church has lent, directly or -indirectly, to science, we should like to know what other church, or -body of ecclesiastics, has done anything in this field compared with -the labors and the successes of the Society of Jesus alone. The names -of Clavius and Kircher, of Boscovich, De Vico, and Pianciani, may -stand for a memorial of the prosperous union of science and Catholic -revelation. [Footnote 43] - - [Footnote 43: F. Christopher Clavius, S. J., an eminent German - mathematician and astronomer, was employed by Gregory XIII. in the - reformation of the calendar. His Gregorian Calendar, published in - 1581, tardily adopted in Protestant countries, and now regulates our - system of leap-years. His collected mathematical and scientific works - amount to five volumes folio. He was killed in 1612, page 75. - - F. Athanasius Kircher, S. J., also a native of Germany, was a - diligent cultivator of science. His works, in twenty-two folio and - eleven quarto volumes, embrace learned and original treatises on - many recondite branches of physical science; on Magnetism, Optics, - Acoustics, Geography, etc., etc. He filled the chair of Mathematics - in the Jesuit Roman college, and laid the foundation of its - extensive and valuable museum. He died in Rome, in 1680, at the age - of 79. - - F. Roger Joseph Boscovich, S.J., a native of Ragusa, filled the - chair of Astronomy in the Jesuit Roman College for thirty years, and - was highly distinguished for the depth, originality, and variety of - his aquirements in Natural Philosophy. He published several valuable - treatises on the philosophy of Newton, on optics, etc. He is best - known out of Italy for his ingenious theory of the molecular - constitution of matter: a theory which the increasing knowledge of - more modern philosophy has only confirmed. After the suppression of - his order in 1778, he was welcomed to Paris, and taught philosophy - there for a time; he returned to Italy, he died at Milan, in 1787, - page 73. - - F. De Vico, S.J., was also an eminent astronomer in the Jesuit Roman - College. His discovery of several comets introduced him to the circle - of men of science. When the Jesuits were driven from Rome in 1848, - he was received with open arms in the United States; but, unhappily - for science, he died in London a very few years ago, while procuring - instruments for his observatory in the far West. He was highly - esteemed and beloved by his pupils, of whom there are many in this - country. - - F. Pianciani, S.J., for many years taught chemistry in the Jesuit - Roman College. He is admired for the simplicity of his manners no - less than for the valuable contributions he has made to the nature - of chemical science. Besides all larger and smaller treatise on it, - he has published a work on the cosmogony of Moses; and we believe, - is still preparing other treatises for the press.] - -{257} - -As to the second solution of our question--that science and -revelation are indifferent, because entirely dissimilar to each other -in nature and objects; it appears to us that analogy points quite the -other way. For, (1.) they both have a common origin in the will of -God; and it is not unreasonable to expect that they shall exhibit some -traces of common principles. And this, especially, if we direct our -attention to the difficulties which lie in the way of our acceptance -of the conclusions proposed to us by either; if they are actually -found to resemble each other in many of these, their relation can no -longer be considered one of indifference. Nay, on the principles on -which Dr. Joseph Butler constructed his immortal work, if revealed -truth proceeds from the author of nature, we may expect to find the -same difficulties in it as we find in nature. And, conversely, it is -no objection to the divine origin of revealed truth, that its -reception implies difficulties as great as the acceptance of the facts -and laws of nature presupposes us to have overcome. And, (2.) we may -argue from the mutual analogy of other sciences to one another; how -dissimilar soever they appear to a superficial observer to be, there -is a community of principles, and of general laws, which binds them -together, and connects them with their common origin in the divine -mind. This idea is, as many of our readers are aware, beautifully -developed by Mrs. Somerville in her charming work on the Connexion of -the Physical Sciences. - -From these preliminary remarks, the author's own solution of the -question of hostility, or indifference, between science and revelation -may be gathered; namely, that though in their nature, objects, and -details widely separated, yet they are linked together by a thousand -delicate ties, unperceived by a careless observer, but well repaying -elaborate study. Science is the true handmaid of Revelation, doing -service to the superior nature, but exhibiting tokens of a commission -to do so, imparted to her by the divine creator of both. The author -has devoted some attention to this interesting subject; and at some -future time, if granted health and leisure, he hopes to state and -illustrate his views more at large, and in a more permanent form; -meanwhile he proposes briefly to sketch some of the conclusions and -trains of thought suggested to him by these studies; confining his -remarks entirely to those portions of revealed truth which are the -exclusive property of the Catholic Church, and which are generally -known in the Protestant world as popish doctrines, such as the Blessed -Eucharist; the question of Miracles in general; and all that is -supernatural and imperceptible to the senses in Catholic belief. - -I. A preliminary difficulty lying in the way of belief in the -supernatural character of revealed religion, is the flat contradiction -which it apparently gives to the evidence of the senses, the manifest -discrepancy between what is alleged and proposed to our belief, and -what is seen with our eyes, and appreciated by other sensuous organs. -{258} Modern science, however, is as inexorable in her demands on -human credence, in defiance of the senses, as was ever revelation on -the assent of faith. The senses have their empire much restricted by -the canons of our philosophers. For, (1.) it is fully established that -each organ of sense is susceptible of one class of impressions only, -which it passes on to the sensorium, or seat of thought. Thus the -organ of vision admits and communicates impressions of light alone; -that of hearing, impressions of sound, or of the wave of air set in -motion by the cause producing sound, and no others. The organs of -taste and smell, in like manner, have their own classes of -susceptibilities, which, again, are not the same as those belonging to -the nerves of touch. For every other class of impressions than its -own, each organ of sense is absolutely inert and useless. The eye can -take no cognisance of sound, nor the ear of light: if the eye can feel -a touch, it is because certain parts of its structure are furnished -with branches of the nerves of touch; and so of the rest. Electricity -alone seems to have the remarkable power of exciting in all the organs -of sense, sensations proper to the nature of each; in the eye, for -example, a flash of light; distinct sounds; a phosphoric odor, a -peculiar taste, and a pricking feeling, in the same person at the same -time. [Footnote 44] - - [Footnote 44: Sommerville's Connexion, etc., Sec. xxix. p. 339. - Carpenter's Manual of Physiology, Sec. 932.] - -Again, (2.) sensations arising from those impressions are so -exceedingly complex, that we attribute many more of them to each -separate sense than really belong to it. By habit we have become so -much accustomed to associate several of those impressions together, as -to be unable, without difficulty, to analyze them, and to separate the -simple results of the sensuous impression from the more complicated -judgments which experience and reason add to it, and by which they -interpret it. The eye, for example, receives and conveys impressions -purely and solely of light, and its absence, including those of color, -which belong to light. Form, extension, sense of distance, etc., are -no part of the simple impression made upon the eye, and through it -upon the mind, further than they influence the condition of the light, -as by bounding it, shading it, etc. These belong exclusively to the -sense of touch, combined with experience, so as to be suggested, -without actual contact, by certain conditions of light. An -inexperienced eye, looking for the first time at a plain surface, as a -disc, or at a cube, or a ball, would see only the color, and the edges -where that changed. It could not enable the mind to judge how far the -object was distant; nor why the light and shade were differently -disposed in each; why the light reflected from the disc was uniform, -and bounded by a circle, while that from the ball was softly shaded, -though bounded by a circular line similar to the disc; nor why the -light coming from the cube was divided and bounded by straight lines -and sharp angles. To judge of these peculiarities, and their meaning, -touch must come to the aid of sight; and afterward memory will recall -the conclusions of former experience; and comparison will enable the -reasoning mind to form a judgment regarding the shape, size, and -distance of the object. In a similar manner, the organs of hearing -convey impressions of sound alone; distance, direction, exciting -cause, are quite out of the province of its information. Sight and -touch, and experience and judgment, all enter into the complex -information, now communicated to a practiced observer. This fact is -strikingly exemplified in musical sounds. A skillful musician will -tell you the notes and chords composing a series of such sounds, in -which an uninformed and unpractised ear will be able to detect nothing -but concord or this court. Thus Mozart, at two hearings, was able to -note down the score of Allegri's _Miserere_. Thus, too, there are many -substances which we of {259} by taste, as it is supposed, but which -are in reality operative on the sense of smell. For instance, if the -nose is held while eating cinnamon, we shall perceive no difference -between its flavor and that of a pine shaving. [Footnote 45] The same -fact is observed with regards to many aromatic substances: if held in -the mouth, or rubbed between the tongue and the palate, the nostrils -being all the while dosed, their taste is hardly, if at all, -recognized; but it is immediately perceived on reopening the nasal -passages. Thus, too, the wine-taster closes his mouth, and sends the -aroma of the wine through his nostrils. Other substances, again, there -are, neither aromatic nor volatile, taste very strongly irritates the -mucous membrane both of nose and tongue, as mustard does, for example, -just as it would the skin, if applied long enough externally. Such a -sensation, therefore, as the taste of mustard, evidently belongs to -the organs of touch, differing in degree of sensitivity only. Hence we -are taught that the substances properly the objects of the sense of -taste, are those only which produce sensations purely and exclusively -gustative, perceived neither through the nose nor through the nerves -of touch, but acting on the tongue and palate only. Salt, sugar, -quinine, tannin, and citric acid, types of the saline, saccharine, -bitter, astringent, and sour, are said to possess sapid properties. -[Footnote 46] From these simple considerations it appears undoubted -that the province of each separate organ of sensation, and its -resultant impressions on the mind, are much limited, when compared -with the wider empire attributed to them by popular language and -opinion. Reason is ever correcting and enlarging the simple -impression, adding the conclusions of experience and judgment and -comparison to the primary suggestions of the sensation; making -allowances for what is faulty or imperfect; measuring circumstances, -and comparing all the conditions of the impression with each other, -before even an approximately true result can be arrived at. - - [Footnote 45: Herschel's Discourse on the Study of Natural - Philosophy, Sec. 72.] - - [Footnote 46: Carpenter's Manual of Physiology, Sec. 945.] - -Further (3.) there is much in nature of which the senses totally fail -in giving us any information whatever. "None of the senses," says Sir -J. Herschel, "gives us direct information for the exact comparison of -quantity. Number, indeed, that is to say, integer number, is an object -of sense, because we can count; but we can neither weigh, nor measure, -nor form any precise estimate of fractional parts by the unassisted -senses. Scarcely any man could tell the difference between twenty -pounds, and the same weight increased or diminished by a few ounces; -still less could he judge of the proportion between an ounce of gold -and a hundred grains of cotton by balancing them in his hands." -[Footnote 47] Nay, even in their own proper and peculiar province, the -senses are singularly deficient in certain kinds of information, -especially when comparison is involved. "The eye," says the same high -authority, "is no judge of the proportion of different degrees of -illumination, even when seen side by side; and if an interval elapses, -and circumstances change, nothing can be more vague than its judgment. -When we gaze with admiration at the gorgeous spectacle of the golden -clouds at sunset, which seem drenched in light, and glowing like -flames of real fire, it is hardly by an effort we can persuade -ourselves to regard them as the very same objects which at noonday -pass unnoticed as mere white clouds basking in the sun, only -participating, from their great horizontal distance, in the ruddy tint -which luminaries acquire by shining through a great extent of the -vapor of the atmosphere, and thereby even losing something of their -light. So it is with our estimates of time, velocity, and all other -matters of quantity; they are absolutely vague and inadequate to form -a foundation for any exact conclusion." [Footnote 48] - - [Footnote 47: Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy,Sec. 117.] - - [Footnote 48: Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy,Sec. 117.] - -{260} - -Again (4.) there is a large class of phenomena whose causes, and even -whose existence, are far too remote or too minute to be revealed to us -by our senses. What are telescopes and microscopes, but the means -which science ingeniously devises to supply this innate and -irreparable deficiency of our organs of sense? Satirists of the middle -age, and its scholatic philosophers, have said that they would dispute -as to the number of spirits that could dance on the point of a needle. -Modern science shows us, in the infusoria, animals of perfect -formation, endowed with functions suited to their condition, many -thousands of which could pass at once through the eye of the finest -needle; a million of which would not amount in bulk to a grain of -sand. No less wonderful is the world of minute existence, revealed by -the microscope, in a drop of stagnant water. It is a world within -itself, an epitome of the earth, and its successive geological races. -A variety of microscopic creatures make their appearance, and die; in -a few days, a new set succeeds; these disappear in their turn, and -their place is occupied by a third race, of a different kind from -either of the former--the remains of all of them lying at the bottom -of the glass. [Footnote 49] "If for a moment," says Humboldt, "we -could yield to the power of fancy, and imagine the acuteness of our -visual organ to be made equal to the extreme bounds of telescopic -vision, and bring together that which is now divided by long periods -of time, the apparent rest which reigns in space would suddenly -disappear. We should see the countless hosts of fixed stars moving in -thronged groups, in different directions; nebulas wandering through -space, and becoming condensed and dissolved like clouds, the veil of -the milky way separated and broken up in many parts, and motion ruling -supreme in every portion of the vault of heaven, even as on the -earth's surface, where we see it unfolded in the germ, the leaf, and -the blossom, the organisms of the vegetable world. The celebrated -Spanish botanist, Cavanilles, was the first who entertained the idea -of 'seeing the grass.' He directed the horizontal micrometer threads -of a powerful magnifying glass at one time to the apex of the shoot of -a bambusa, and at another, on the rapidly growing stem of an American -aloe, precisely as the astronomer places his cross of network against -a culminating star." [Footnote 50] Without speculating so deeply in -what is distant and hidden, the very atmosphere in which we live and -breathe is imperceptible to every one of our senses, except, indeed, -when viewed through its whole depth, to that of sight in the blue -color of the sky, or indirectly to that of touch, by the resistance -which it offers to the hand, or the face, in passing rapidly through -it, or when it is set in motion by the wind. We perceive its effects, -indeed, in the modifications which the phenomena of light and sound -undergo, in consequence of its action upon them; in the barometric -column, and in a thousand other physical and chemical agencies which -attest the presence of the atmosphere, and the important functions -which it performs in our terrestrial economy. But as far as sight or -hearing, taste or smell, are affected by it, directly, it has -absolutely no existence. - - [Footnote 49: Somerville's Physical Geography; II., xxxii. 348, - note.] - - [Footnote 50: Cosmos, I. 189, 40.] - -Modern science, indeed, coming to the aid of the senses, can enable -them to attain the results of an almost inconceivable acuteness. Thus -while quantity and comparison are inappreciable, or nearly so, by the -unaided organs of sense, balances have been constructed with a -sensibility so exquisite, as to turn with the thousandth part of a -grain, and yet pretend to no extraordinary degree of merit. -[Footnote 51] - - [Footnote 51: Herschel's Discourse on the Study of Natural - Philosophy, Sec. 338.] - -{261} - -By the aid of an instrument called a spherometer, which substitutes -the sense of touch for that of sight, an inch may be divided into -twenty thousand parts; and the lever of contact, an instrument in use -among the German opticians, enables them to appreciate quantities of -space even yet smaller. [Footnote 52] Instruments have been devised -capable of measuring intervals of time equal to the 1/1000 part of a -second. By the revolution of a toothed wheel, striking against a piece -of card, human ear is enabled to appreciate a sound which lasts only -1/24000 of a second, and thus to measure that extremely minute -interval of time. [Footnote 53] Wheatstone, in the course of his -experiments on the velocity of the electric fluid, constructed an -apparatus which enables the eye to perceive an interval equal to less -than 1/1000000 of a second of time. The exact value of this almost -infinitesimal interval was ascertained and measured by the known -effect of a sound of high high pitch upon the ear. [Footnote 54] It -is unnecessary to multiply such examples; but so many we have adduced, -for the purpose of demonstrating the extent of the world of physical -observation which lies forever concealed from the natural organs of -sense. We owe this knowledge of their incapacity for more than a very -limited range of observation to the inventions of science, applied to -remedy and supplement this very incapacity. Thus science tells tales -against the human senses, of which a less inventive and informed age -could never have even dreamed. - - [Footnote 52: Herschel's Discourse on the Study of Natural - Philosophy, Sec. 338.] - - [Footnote 53 Somerville's Connexion, etc., Sec. xvi. p. 147.] - - [Footnote 54: Ib., Sec. xxviii. p. 325.] - -Once more, (5.) the senses are not only restricted in their sphere of -action, and incapable of penetrating beyond a certain limit into the -mysteries of physical nature, but even within their own proper -province of observation their indications are constantly false and -erroneous; so that if we were implicitly to receive and adopt these -indications, without due correction, our notions of the constitution -of nature would be singularly wide of the truth. As they appear to the -naked eye, the sun and moon seem nearly of the same size; flat discs, -about as large as the crown of a hat. Uncorrected sense teaches us no -more; it furnishes no means of measuring either their absolute or -their relative distance. But from other sources, we learn that one is -about four hundred times further off than the other; that the mass of -the one would fill a space bounded by double the orbit of the other; -and that the centre of the sun is nearly half a million of miles -nearer our eye than his limb, or the bounding line of his disc, a -space equal to more than twice the distance of the moon from the -earth. The limits prescribed to himself, forbid the author to enlarge -on this interesting portion of his subject, which, however, he regrets -the less, that any one anxious to follow it out, will find an -excellent paper on "Popular Fallacies," in Lardner's Museum of Science -and Art, January 1854; a new scientific and popular serial, which has -started under the best auspices, and deserves to be widely circulated. - -Did space permit, we might illustrate the fallacious teaching of the -senses regarding the phenomena of nature, by the corrections made -necessary in every scientific observation, as to the position of -distant objects, in consequence of the refraction or bending of the -rays of light in their passage through the air, which has the effect -of making distant objects in space seem higher than they really are; -of the correction necessary for the aberration of light, depending on -the time taken to transmit it from a distant object in space; together -with others which enter into the daily experience of the observers of -nature. Other circumstances also materially influence the impressions -conveyed through the organs of sense. Thus a person going into an -ordinarily lighted apartment from the dark night, will be painfully -affected by the brightness of the light {262} for a few moments; while -another, entering the same room from a brightly illuminated chamber, -will hardly be able for a moment or two to see anything. [Footnote 55] -If we plunge our hands one into ice-cold water, and the other into -water as hot as it can be borne, and after letting them stay a while, -suddenly transfer them both to a vessel full of water at blood heat, -the one will feel it hot, and the other cold. If we cross the two -first fingers of our hand, and place a pea in the fork between them, -moving and rolling it about on a table, we shall be fully persuaded, -especially if we close our eyes, that we have two peas. [Footnote 56] -The other senses are similarly affected by circumstances, so as to -convey erroneous impressions. Mrs. Somerville sums up the evidence on -this head in one word, when she remarks that, "a consciousness of the -fallacy of our senses is one of the most important consequences of the -study of nature. This study teaches us that no object is seen by us in -its true place." [Footnote 57] And elsewhere she adds, "A high degree -of scientific knowledge has been necessary to dispel the errors of the -senses ." [Footnote 58] Herschel has the following remark in his -Outlines of Astronomy: [Footnote 59] "No geometrical figure, or -curve, is seen by the eye as it is conceived by the mind to exist in -reality. The laws of perspective interfere and alter the apparent -directions, and foreshorten the dimensions of its several parts. If -the spectator be unfavorably situated, as, for instance, nearly in the -plane of the figure, they may do so to such an extent as to make a -considerable effort of imagination necessary to pass from the sensible -to the real form." - - [Footnote 55: Carpenter's Manual of Physiology, Sec. 93.] - - [Footnote 56: Herschel's Discourse, Sec. 72.] - - [Footnote 57: Collection of Physical Sciences, Sec. xxv. p. 264.] - - [Footnote 58: Ib., Sec. iv. p. 37.] - - [Footnote 59: Chap. i. Sec.78.] - -There is one form of illusion to which the senses are liable, so -remarkable and irremediable as to deserve a moment's notice; we mean -their erroneous testimony regarding motion. We have the authority of -Sir. J. Herschel for saying, that "there is no peculiar sensation -which advertises us that we are in motion. The rough inequalities in -the road are felt as we are carried over them, by the successive -elevation and falling of the carriage; but we have no sense of -progress if we are prevented from seeing surrounding objects. The -smoother the road, and the faster the speed, the less able are we to -feel our motion forward. Every one must have felt this in night -travelling by the railway, or in a tunnel. In a balloon, with a steady -breeze, which merely propels, without gyration or oscillation, the -motion is described as a sensation of perfect rest. The same is -observed on shipboard, in still water or a calm. Everything goes on as -if on land." [Footnote 60] To complete the illusion, nothing is more -common than apparently to transfer our own motion to the stationary -objects around us. This is peculiarly observable at railway stations, -when a train first gently moves off. If another training is standing -near, and parallel to our own, it is impossible to tell which is -moving, our own, or the other in an opposite direction, without -calling in the age of a third object, to correct the doubtful or -erroneous impression, by the direction in which it seems relatively to -change its place; or by examining the wheels of the other training. In -the same way, many persons, while witnessing a panorama, are painfully -affected by the shifting of the scenes, which conveys to them an -impression as if the room were going round, and the picture remaining -stationary. It was this illusion of the senses, as to motion, that -perpetuated to a very late date the capital error regarding the -supposed circulation of the sun and planets round the on moving; the -dispelling of which, by Galileo and subsequent observers, was the -greatest triumph ever achieved my philosophy over the empire of the -senses. - - [Footnote 60: Outline of Astronomy, Sec. 15, 16.] - -{263} - -The simple matter of fact is this, that our senses were given us for a -certain definite and practical end, not for the acquisition of -universal knowledge. We use them thankfully within their own domain, -but we should err by inferring that their indications are the measure -of the true, or of the whole constitution of things: their teaching -falls far short of what exists in the universe of material nature; -into the world of spiritual existence and operation they have no -mission to enter. Catholic doctrine, therefore, is in no worse -position, as regards the contradictions of the senses to the results, -than is the great mass of scientific knowledge; to deny the one is as -unphilosophical as to deny the other, merely because the organs of -sense fail to appreciate it, or afford indications directly contrary -to it. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - - -HOME AT LAST. - - They gathered 'round the dying stranger's bed, - They heard his words, yet knew not what he said-- - "Oh! take me home!" - - With earnest looks they pressed his feverish hand, - And sorely grieved they could not understand-- - "Oh! take me home!" - - The busy host forgot his clamoring guests. - Wistful to answer this of all requests-- - "Oh! take me home!" - - The good-wife scanned the stranger's pallid face, - And wept. But to his meaning found no trace; - "Oh! take me home!" - - The hostess' fair-haired daughter stood apart, - "What can he mean?" she asked her beating heart; - "Oh! take me home!" - - "Whence had he come? His name?" None knew. And yet - He speaks in tones I never can forget-- - "Oh! take me home!" - - With timid step she softly neared the bed, - And took his hand. The stranger raised his head, - And deeply sighed. - - Weeping, she sang a simple, childish rhyme. - He smiled and said: "Jetzt bin ich endlich heim!" [Footnote 61] - And then he died. - - [Footnote 61: I am home at last.] - - ----------- - -{264} - - - -Translated from the Etudes Religieuses, Historiques et Litteraires. - - -THE OLD OWL. - - -When I was living in my native village, about twenty years ago, I made -the acquaintance of an old owl who lived in one of my forests. One of -my forests I say, and with good reason; for I was the only being who -could appreciate them, although a few landed proprietors in the town -were wont to make clearings therein, on the plea of having bought them -and paid down certain moneys in the presence of our notary public. -Therefore in my forest dwelt my owl, who was a personage of mature -years, and had first attracted me by the singular similarity of his -tastes and opinions with mine. Our first meeting took place under -rather peculiar circumstances. One evening, after belaboring my brains -over some enigmatical Persian verses for hours, I left the house, -still conning over an enigmatical hemistich; and strolling on until I -gained the edge of the forest, plunged in without noticing whither I -went. I might have wandered about all night, lost in the mazes of this -mysterious satire, had not the sweet odors of a cherry tree in full -blossom attracted my attention, penetrating through the olfactory -nerves to the inmost recesses of my brain; even to the bump of -pedantry itself. This brought me to myself; and astounded to see how -far I had wandered at that late hour, I turned to go home at once; but -the tangled path and deepening shadows threw me into confusion, and at -the end of a quarter of an hour I found myself completely lost. "Never -mind," said I, yielding gracefully to circumstances, "this is just -what I meant to do;" so on I plunged, through brake and thicket, until -I reached the confines of the forest, where an ancient ruined castle -frowned down upon the valley, with my little village sleeping at its -feet. I sat down by one of the towers to rest, but had hardly drawn -one long breath, when there came a flapping of wings about my head, -and raising my eyes I beheld--_monstrum horrendum_--an owl. He flew to -the left of me, fanning my cheek with his heavy grey wings. -Superstitious as an ancient, I turned instinctively that he might be -on my right and, so dreadful seemed the omen; but hardly had I yielded -to this involuntary impulse, when good breeding warned me that the -self-love of the work hermit might be wounded;--for an owl has -feelings as well as other people. But I was mistaken, he replied to -the insult only with a disdainful laugh; and perching himself on the -top of the tower, glared at me out of his red eyes with an expression -of profound pity. - -The laugh irritated me; so I said, wishing to recover his respect if -possible, (and here in parentheses be it said that this narrative is -addressed, not to those who maintain that animals cannot speak, but to -sympathetic beings who enjoy the singing of birds in the woods, and -understand their mysterious language; who know what various emotions -their songs express; who listen, in short, with reverence to the -accents of nature and respond to them;--to such of these we tell this -authentic tale, begging the vulgar herd to withdraw from the -audience.) - -Then I said to the owl, "Pray pardon my silly rudeness; I merely -obeyed an instinctive feeling, without the least intention of annoying -you; on the contrary, it would really grieve me if you doubted the -high esteem in which I hold you." - -{265} - -"Where's the good of excuses?" said he, shaking his head; "if you -really wish to serve me, take yourself off and leave me in peace." - -"I cannot go," said I, "until you pardon my offense." - -"And if I did pardon you", rejoined he, "what use would it be? But -I'll do no such thing. I cannot forgive you for being a man, or for -being here. Begone! you are a miscreant like the rest of your kind." - -"You are a miscreant yourself!" retorted I, "and very unjust and -distrustful to boot. I never injured the smallest creature--I have -been the unfailing defender of birds' nests against children and -fowlers. I have incurred the contempt of mankind by my -knight-errantry. At least I ought to be treated with common civility -by those whom I have loved and protected." - -"Oh, well! well! well!" said he, "don't say any more about it. You are -young, and seem to be well-meaning enough. I will trust you and rue -the indiscretion at my leisure." - -"You must have been unfortunate," I remarked respectively, "to have -grown so distrustful." - -"What's that to you?" he answered shortly; "my wretched story will do -you no good if you are destined to remain innocent; and if you are to -become like other men, it will not touch you." - -"Nay," said I, thinking to tickle his vanity by a neatly turned -complement, "it would teach me wisdom and prudence. What less could I -learn from the favorite of Minerva and the protector of Athens?" But -my Timon's wisdom was proof against assault, and he replied: - -"You think probably to flatter me, but I never knew the goddess you -mention. She was, I am told, is exceedingly turbulent person, -continually whirling and setting up her heroes by the years. And what -were the Athenians but a set of frivolous, shattering magpies, -incapable of forming a sound idea, or of putting it in execution if -they had." - -"You seem to have a great contempt for mankind," said I, rather -abashed at the failure of my little complement. "What has shaken your -faith in us, if I might venture to ask?" - -"That is a long story," answered he; "but I will tell it to you one of -these days if you and death can wait so long." - -"Why not now? Everything is at rest; even the squirrels are sound -asleep, coiled up in the beech boughs, unmindful of you and me." - -"No, no," said he snappishly, "I'm too tired to think now. Besides, I -don't know you, nor what you would be at with your teasing questions. -Go away and let me alone." - -Fearing to vex him further and rouse his suspicions, I bade him -goodbye and retreated, promising to return the following night. The -next evening, just after sunset, I turned my steps toward the forest, -and heard as I drew near the tower my poor hermit shooting out into -the darkness his dismal cry houloulou! houloulou! which was answered -by a dreary echo. - -"Poor old soul!" said I to myself, "it is frightful even to hear him, -his cries are so full of hatred, menace, and irony. Either he is -wicked or--" but I was standing at the foot of the tower and the voice -of the solitary called out: "Oh! is that you? It never occurred to me -that you would be so punctual. I must confess that your exactness -charms me." - -And from that hour the anchorite and I were bound together by the -strongest friendship. He told me that from the first he had felt drawn -to me by a singular sympathy, but had vigorously resisted the -attraction for fear of fresh disappointment. His words shocked me by -their harshness, but our disputes were always friendly and his rebukes -were administered with a fatherly tenderness which touched me -extremely. - -{266} - -"But," said I one evening, "what would become of society if we adopted -your maxims? The noblest friendship, the most heroic devotion, would -be but deceitful snares. We should see in our companions only knavery, -hypocrisy, and treachery beneath a fair outside. And at this moment -you are not in harmony with your theories, for you are confiding in me -without dreaming that while I speak to you I may be planning your ruin -and destruction." - -He smiled, and I believed him convinced; but a moment after the -doleful theme was resumed, and he was preaching his lamentable -doctrines as if I had not interrupted him. - -"You are sincere and perhaps even virtuous now," he said. "But that is -no more than your duty, so you deserve no credit. I am so old in -experience that sometimes my wisdom seems to have been bought with -every drop of blood in my veins, and with every hope of happiness. -Now, this is the fruit of my experience, which I will give you, and -you can digest it at your leisure. Have no friends--live by -yourself--never marry--live in a village rather than in a city, and in -a forest rather than in either. You laugh, but let me tell you that it -is no laughing matter, as you will find when you know the world as -well as I do; and you will know it one of these days, when experience -has come too soon and death too late for your prayers." - -So spake the misanthrope, and I replied: "We must take men as they are -and life as we find it; remembering that other people's faults are -sooner seen than our own, and that they have as much reason to shun us -as we have to despise them. God made us to live with our -fellow-creatures, and if each person followed out your dismal precepts -the world would become a vast solitude--a living tomb to engulf -humanity." - -"Alas! young man!" was his mournful reply, and it was only by dint of -entreaty that I at last discovered the grounds of his grief and -disappointment. One beautiful evening lie told me his story. The -forest was radiant with a sunset glow; and the little birds were -hopping about and building their nests in the branches of the trees, -twittering and singing in the fulness of their joy. - -"I was born," said he, "in the very place where I live to-day, for the -one illusion, the supreme consolation that I have left, is a love of -my native land. I was hatched in that crumbling old tower yonder -covered with moss and ivy. My two brothers came into the world with -me, and it was a dream of ours that we would go through life together, -always sacrificing private interest to mutual happiness: promises -suited to infancy and destined to be forgotten before youth had fled. - -"We were the pride of our parents' hearts, and as we grew from day to -day our mother gloried in our size and beauty--our father in the -fancied promise we gave of strength and virtue. One day, when we had -grown old enough to take a little care of ourselves, our parents -addressed these words to us: 'In another month, little ones, you will -need our help no longer, and will enter boldly upon life. Now listen -to our directions: if we should die before you are old enough to take -care of yourselves, go to our neighbor, the old owl, who lives in the -oak that was struck by lightning last year, and who comes to see you -sometimes. He will be father and mother in one to you, if a parent's -place can be supplied. And another piece of advice: never let a silly -curiosity prompt you to leave this wood and go in search of new -places. Beyond this forest you would find treachery, misfortune, and -death. Now mind and remember our words when we are taken from you, and -never forget the father and mother who have love you so dearly.' - -{267} - -"All this made us cry so bitterly that we could hardly speak. The -words had a dreadful sound, though we did not know what they meant. -'What was it all about?' thought we; and yet with a sense of dread and -ill omen, we promised with tears to follow their device. We pledged -ourselves to everything, and thought our fidelity unimpeachable--for -childhood has such unbounded faith in itself. Our parents rejoiced in -our docility, and for several days our happy life continued unclouded. - -"One evening they went out as usual to get food for us after saying -goodbye very tenderly. For a long time we awaited their return in -vain, and fell asleep at last worn out with watching and listening. -When we awoke they had not come back, and we asked each other in -terror if this could be the eternal separation they had spoken of. The -ruins rang with our cries, and the mocking echo sounded to our excited -fancy like the laugh of some mysterious enemy. Then hunger came to add -bodily misery to our sufferings; and I made up my mind that I, as the -eldest, was bound to sacrifice myself to save my little brothers. -Telling them to keep up their courage and wait for me patiently, I -threw myself boldly out of the nest and flew off in search of the old -friend of my mother and father. By help of all sorts of landmarks, I -succeeded at last in finding the shattered oak, but he, alas! was not -there; and trembling with fatigue I perched myself on a bough to wait -in dumb resignation for whatever might come next. A few hours had -taught me life's bitterest lesson, and I felt a century older than the -day before. At length, hungry and tired, and crazy with grief, I made -my way back to my brothers, who were waiting to tell me good news. Our -old friend, our only protector now, was with them. From his hermitage -he had seen his two poor friends pursued by an eagle and torn with his -cruel claws. Then he had remembered us and flown to our nest, bringing -food for us all. So my strength was restored, and I awoke once more to -the full vigor of life and suffering. When the first anguish of grief -passed away, it was only to leave room for fresh trial and -disappointment. One day--it was in the beginning of June--I heard the -birds singing in the foliage, I saw on every side living beings -enjoying life in the great forest, and the thought came to me for the -first time that I too might mingle in the festival of nature. I flew -out of the nest and perched quietly on an oak that stood at the edge -of the glade where all the little birds had met together for a -concert. They were listening to a linnet; every one was attending in -silence to her joyous notes, and all, even to the nightingale, were -filled with admiration for the pretty songstress. And I too admired -her. I too was penetrated with love for all these little birds who -looked so kind and good. 'How sweet it would be to live among them!' -thought I, and I determined to give up solitude and come with my -brothers to live among them, to be their friend and admirer. Love -seemed so sweet! Admiration of others so ennobling! - -"Such were the thoughts in which I was luxuriating while the linnet's -song lasted. When she ended, I was still rapt in attention and cried -out: 'Oh! how beautiful, how exquisite that is!' Hardly were the words -uttered when they discovered me. In an instant I was surrounded, -hustled, assailed, insulted in a thousand discordant voices. - -"'An owl! an owl! Gracious, how ugly he is! What a queer sort of a -_dilettante_! Just look at his solemn face and his great beak! and his -great round eyes! and is feathers! He's too hideous--what a fright! -There's a _connoisseur_ for you! Ugh! the brute! - -"'Let's peck him,' said the gentle nightingale. - -"'Yes, yes, hurrah! let's peck him well!' assented the thrush. - -"And then they all crowded round me--nightingales, woodpeckers, -linnets, thrushes, blackbirds, tomtits, even to the turtle doves and -wood pigeons themselves. I felt the strokes of twenty beaks fall upon -me. It was like a quarry. 'Alas!' thought I, 'can such cruelty be -allied to such genius?' And I struggled wildly, stupefied, panting, -powerless amid the furious rattle. At last I succeeded in disengaging -myself {268} and flew away in desperation to hide from my persecutors. -Now at last I knew what evil was, and I asked myself, with odd -simplicity, you will say, if it was not the contrary of good. It was -true, then, as I had heard so often, that there were wicked beings in -the world! Could it be true? And while such thoughts whirled -confusedly through my unlucky brain, I flew to confess my defeat to my -old friend. - -"'Oh, well!' said he, 'I don't blame you; you yielded to an impulse of -youthful confidence and learned a valuable lesson. Do you suppose that -I don't see as well as you that spring is fair and this forest -beautiful, and the linnet's song enchanting, and that everything bids -us be happy? I know it all very well, and yet I stay all alone in my -hole while everything outside is singing and rejoicing. You would not -believe my words, perhaps you will believe your own experience. You -thought there was no wickedness in the world, only innocence and -virtue? Well, your ignorance came from a kind heart, and, after all -you are happier in being good than your enemies in being victorious.' - -"'But--just heaven! why did nature make these wretches so beautiful? -or rather, why did she make such beautiful creatures so wicked? Why is -not the perverseness of their hearts to be read on their faces?' - -"'Ah, my son, that is a vexed question that many persons have agitated -before now, and that no one has succeeded in solving. Why has nature -made the good ridiculous and the wicked handsome? The best way is to -resign ourselves to what we cannot understand.' - -"'And then,' said I, 'they said I was ugly enough to scare anybody. -But that cannot be true, for I look like my brothers, and my -brothers--" - -"'No, my son,' answered the hermit, smiling sadly, 'no, you are not -ugly; nothing on earth is ugly excepting cruelty and vice. The -beautiful goldfinch, with his ash-colored throat and yellow wings, was -ugly to-day, and the linnet too, and all the pretty little birds who -tormented you so. Yes, they are hideously ugly; their hearts are black -as night, lovely though the plumage may be that covers them. - -"'Then am I condemned to close my heart to love forever? Must I live -alone because there is wickedness around us?' - -"'Alone, always alone,' he answered, 'otherwise you will have neither -rest nor happiness. But don't fancy that you have any cause for -lamentation or complaint on that account. See life, once for all, as -it really exist, and accept reality instead of pursuing phantoms. -Would you have every one resemble you? is every creature by to be the -hero of some dream of yours? Ah! I see that you are not cured even -now.' - -"He was right; I was not cured, if you choose to say so. Of course I -had to confess that the small birds were wicked, that they were as -cruel as they were pretty, and that I must distrust and avoid them. -But I sought all kinds of plausible explanations of this incongruity. -I said that they had received from nature genius instead of virtue, -and that I had no more right to complain of their cruelty than they -had to ridicule my ugliness (for ugly I certainly must be) or my harsh -voice. - -"And having persuaded myself of the truth of this, I flew away and hid -myself in the gloomiest part of the forest, weeping over my loneliness -and in deceived hopes. And now my eyes were opened to another -delusion. To the society of my two brothers I had looked for -consolation in every trouble, but before long they declared that one -hole was too narrow to satisfy their desires, and that they must seek -their fortune elsewhere. In vain did I use and elder brother's right -in dissuading them from this mad design. In vain I reminded them of -the fate of our parents who had perished in spite of every possible -precaution, and showed them how much more they would be exposed in -thus throwing themselves in the way of danger. Nothing influenced -them--not even the memory of our vows of {269} mutual fidelity, not -even any entreaties that they would not leave me alone in this dreary -solitude. One--the youngest and handsomest, my especial favorite--was -possessed by some crazy longing for travel and foreign adventure. He -dreamed of some land of promise where all would be good and happy; and -on the faith of these dreams he left us one day, bidding good-by to -his country, his cradle, and his only friends, to go in search of the -Utopia he longed to find. I never saw him again. Did he find the -object of his desires? Did he die on the journey? I know not; but one -thing we may be sure of--that fate cheated him of his wild and -ambitious hopes. - -"My other brother left me to follow a scatter-brained young -screech-owl who had entangled him in her fascinations. He established -himself with her in a neighboring wood, but parted from me with a -thousand protestations of eternal friendship and devotion. - -"And thus I found myself in that enviable solitude which my sage -friend had recommended to me--left to myself and my own sad thoughts. -I only went out toward evening to look for food, and then returned to -my gloomy hole and left it no more. But isolation, instead of making -me courageous, only disgusted me more and more with the life I was -leading. From the depths of my retreat, I used to watch with envy the -gaiety and animation of other birds. Not that I dreamed of joining in -their mirth, for my own experience of their society had taught me to -keep at a safe distance; but the sight of their enjoyment led me to -believe that I might find companionship quite as agreeable without -leaving my own circle. I mingled more and more among the other owls of -the forest; I visited them in their own homes, and counted the hours I -spent with them and their families as so much gained against grief and -dullness. My most intimate friendship was with a highly respectable -family who lived not far from my castle, and especially with a young -owl, the fourth child of venerable parents who had known and valued my -unhappy father. Her sweetness and innocence made her very lovely in my -eyes. What was it to me that her beak was too hooked, her eyes too -hollow, and her head angular! beauty is the form of the ideal, not a -material regularity. While autumn lasted I visited her every day at -the hole of her aged parents, and before long we were bound together -by ties of indestructible love. In the midst of our happiness winter -separated us. What is winter? Why should this spoil-sport intrude on -our fairest days? And yet, after all, nature has a right to be cruel -and mischievous, since all her children are so! For several months I -was parted from her whom I loved; but as soon as spring returned she -became my companion, and I brought her home to my bower, which was to -serve me now as a nest and as the cradle of my children. There we -spent blissful days, the happiest perhaps of my life. Soon the nest -was full; two newly hatched little ones raised their bald heads, and -filled the air with infantile cries. With what solicitude we watched -over them! what care and anxiety we felt for these darling little -creatures! At last we had the happiness of seeing them open their eyes -and look up at us with that knowing air of intelligence so enchanting -to young parents. I thought that happiness was restored to me, and -that fate was tired of persecuting me. 'What matters now,' said I, -'the cruelty of the world and its unjust disdain? Do I need any other -happiness than this? - -"It seemed as if we could see the children grow from day to day, and -their good health, noble mien, and cheerful disposition were fast -filling our cup of happiness to overflowing. One day their mother went -out in search of food, leaving me to watch the nest, for they were as -yet too young to be trusted alone. Hour after hour passed on, and yet -she did not return. I became very uneasy as I remembered my parents' -fate, and at last, telling the children to be very {270} quiet and -prudent, I sallied forth in search of her. Soon she appeared, flying -toward me at the utmost speed of her rushing wings. 'At last I have -come,' she cried, 'let us be grateful for my escape! A falcon has been -chasing me for two hours past, and I only eluded his pursuit by hiding -in the hollow of a tree. We must get back to the children as quick as -possible.' And we hastened back to the nest. As we approached the -tower, we heard--oh, horror!--sharp cries of pain, and recognized in -those screams the voices of our little ones; on we plunged, distracted -with fear; and saw the falcon--it was he--rising up into the air -clutching in his horrid claws one of our children, the little -creature's blood dropping down about us, while he struggled and cried, -'Mother!--Father!'--and then all was still, and the falcon sailed away -out of sight. - -"You think that was enough, but not so. When we reached the nest and -looked for the other one, there we found his poor little body -stretched on the wall, torn open with a frightful wound. What shall I -tell you? Wild with grief, we wandered for days about the forest, -insensible to rain or wind, to hunger or thirst, even to the mocking -sneers of the birds who hunted us, pecking at us and tearing out our -feathers. What did we care for that or anything else? - -"At last my companion said: 'If you have no objection, let us leave -forever this hateful wood, which has brought us such misery and -bitterness. Let us give up this odious world and find some other -home.' 'But where would you have us go?' I asked. 'If we have not -found peace in this retreat, why should we find it anywhere else? We -could not be more completely hidden in any other place than we have -been here, and yet here we have been discovered. I don't feel like -beginning a new life nobody knows where.' 'Let us go among human -beings,' answered she. 'There, at least we shall find goodness, -generosity, and greatness. Just think how admirable their towns and -villages are! To be sure I can only judge them by hearsay, but I have -every reason to suppose that we should meet with a cordial reception. -The very day the falcon chased me I took refuge in a hollow oak, and I -listened to the talk of two men who were sitting at the foot of the -tree. You never heard anything so beautiful as their words! Anybody -could see that they were the kings of the animal creation. They were -complaining of the mice that make such havoc among their bins and -granaries. Let us go and deliver them from these pests.' 'You have -convinced me,' I replied. 'Yes, we will go to mankind an serve them -faithfully. How they will respect us and reward our services.' And so -after taking a sad farewell of our old friend and adviser, who saw us -depart with many forebodings of evil, we winged our way through the -forest. Toward evening we reached its outskirts and saw before us a -village. We had reached our new country. - -"We chose one of the largest barns in this village for our home, and -at once opened a desperate warfare against the rats and mice who were -attracted thither in large numbers by the provisions. This novel mode -of life brought us so much occupation and distraction, that we had no -time to dwell upon our grief. Our courage rose once more, and we used -to say to each other: 'What sublime beings men are! How grand are all -their actions! They are born ignorant and they know everything! They -are born feeble and they conquer nature!' These perfections formed the -subject of our morning talks when the night's work was over, their -hospitality and goodness, our faithful devotion to them, and the -gratitude it could not fail to win. - -{271} - -"Little by little we became familiarized with our position and enjoyed -it. The more we studied human nature the more we admired it's -clemency, justice, and rectitude. One evening we ventured cautiously -out of our retreat, and looked about the village. Before each window -hung cages filled with solitary prisoners. There I recognized the -cruel nightingale, the linnet who had caused me so much anguish, and -many other birds who had been in the habit of tormenting us in the -forest. We returned home enchanted with our expedition. 'Here at last -we have found justice,' cried I. 'In this happy land the wicked are -punished for their cruelty and prevented from doing further mischief; -while the good are left free and happy. Why, there was not an owl to -be seen among the prisoners! We have reason to be grateful that at -last we have reached a haven of rest and tranquility.' - -"We at once decided that I should go in search of our old friend, and -induce him to share our happiness. 'Poor soul!' we said, 'at last the -destiny which he has so long sought is within his reach. Now, at last, -he will see that our hopes of final happiness were not mere dreams.' - -"A few nights after I set out on a visit to our friend in his obscure -retreat. We parted full of joy in thinking of the good old solitary, -whose last days we were to make so peaceful. I flew at full speed, and -reached the wood without fatigue. Full of hope, and picturing the -pleasant surprise my coming would arouse in him, I entered his -dwelling quite suddenly, exclaiming, 'Here I am, father; I have come -to take you away from this place, and show you that happiness which -you have always treated as a chimera.' 'Is it you, my son?' he said -with joyful astonishment, but in a weak, choked voice; and I saw that -a great change had come over him. A shutter ran through me. 'Oh, yes, -it is I,' replied I cheerfully. 'We have not forgotten you, and we -shall not be able to enjoy our happiness unless you are there to share -it with us. Come, I will tell you the rest on the way. But what ails -you that you do not move?' 'Nothing, my son; it will soon be ended. -Before this day closes I shall be cured.' 'Cured!--why, are you ill? -you who were so strong and hearty!' 'The illness from which I am -suffering has always afflicted me,' he said, 'but the time of cure has -come; the physician is at hand.' 'The physician! what physician?' -'Death,' he answered in a hollow voice. 'Death!' cried I, 'what do you -mean? would you leave us? we cannot live without you. Oh, come away! -come with me! have you no pity on me?' 'Pity! yes, child, I pity you -for your youth, and because you do not stand where I stand now. It is -you who have no pity in holding me back from my repose. Let me rest, -my son, in the eternal peace of nature.' - -"His head dropped forward heavily. He was dead. Dead at the moment -when I offered him the accomplishment of hopes long since abandoned. - -"I flew away horror stricken, as if an enemy were tracking me to -destruction; but what I fled from was planted in my heart never to be -uprooted. The night fell--one of those dreary autumn evenings when -cloud and mist contend for mastery. With a heart oppressed with grief, -I returned to the scenes I had passed through so gayly a few hours -before. What had I left? Parents, brothers, children, friends, all -dead--my opinion alone remained to sustain and comfort me; to be -consoled and supported. - -"Absorbed in these gloomy ideas, I reached the confines of the -village. Afar off I recognized the hospitable roof that had given us -shelter, and my heart beat with joy in spite of my affliction. But who -were that troop of children gathered before the barn door? What did -these cries of joy, and stamping of feet, and clasping of hands -portend, and the smiling old folks looking on and encouraging their -sports? Of course it must be some pure and virtuous amusement since -children joined in it, so I flew on with a sense of kindly interest. -As the distance lessened, I thought I saw--I {272} knew I saw a bird -banging with outstretched wings on the born-door--nailed there, -bleeding, dead. Oh! heaven's justice! my companion murdered! dead! -butchered! And that before the eyes of nature, under the light of -heaven! And no protesting voice raised from the bosom of the earth! I -hung about there, staring at the horrid sight with my heart turned to -stone within me. As night deepened the children dispersed, and then I -fell upon that inanimate form like a wild beast, and fastened upon the -nails with beak and claws to tear their prey from them. My furious -struggles only served to lacerate me till I bled; and all the time the -dead thing looked at me; its cold, fixed glassy eyes glared at me with -a cruel irony that scared me from the place. Yet night and day I -wandered about the barn, and night and day watched that dreadful -object, until at the end of two weeks madness relieved me of reason -and self-consciousness. Then I went away with a heart bubbling over -with hatred of humanity. Oh, that I could have clutched the human race -in one single body within these claws, to tear out its eyes, devour -its heart, and fling the carrion to be the sport of winds and -tempests! - -"The thread of my life was broken. What more had I to do with the -earth, that wicked stepmother who gives us light only to make its -glare insufferable. With frantic speed I rushed through the valley, -and paused only when fatigue and hunger forced me to rest. I stopped -on the margin of a little stream shaded by bushy alders, while the -turf along its edge was strewn with wheat. I drew near to eat, but -hardly had I touched the earth when I felt myself caught and held -fast, 'Well,' thought I, 'man would be unworthy of his name if he did -not use all his splendid gifts for the destruction of others. At least -I will thank him for ridding me of life.' And then I fell into a -gloomy stupor, and became indifferent to everything around me, while -in my memory there arose visions of childhood--of the old nest in the -tower of my parents, and the pretty little brothers whom I had vowed -never to part from; and as my heart swelled with the woeful regrets -these images brought up to me, I suddenly caught sight of the fowler -running toward me in all haste, and at the same instant I beheld my -brother--my brother whom I had never seen since our childhood. A -transport of joy came over me; now I was safe, and he it was who would -release me. We would fly away somewhere together and begin life over -again. Divine hope! it restored strength and courage to me. 'Brother, -brother!' I cried anxiously, 'here I am--come this way. Don't you see -me?' He turned his eyes toward me. 'Why, is that you? Caught in a -trap, aren't you? I really wish I had time to stop and help you, but I -am in full chase after a young owl who has given me considerable -encouragement. You had better get out of that snare pretty quick, for -the keepers coming. Good-by till we meet again.' - -"And now anything, everything seemed possible, explicable, credible. -All my other miseries faded away in view of this lie against -friendship, this insult to humanity, this blasphemy against pity. - -"But after all is said and done, the instinct of life is of all -feelings the most irresistible. A moment before I had loathed -existence; now, when I saw the fowler draw near, I struggled wildly -with beak and claws and wings to save myself. In the presence of death -the sun looked bright to me once more, and life again seemed good. A -few more desperate springs and struggles and I was free--flying -whither? to my native forest, where I had first known misery and -disappointment, now my only companions. There all would be unchanged, -I thought, except myself. I only should be hopeless, I alone gloomy -and silent amid the undying joys of serene nature. But--ah me! when I -reached the old place disappointment was lying in wait for {273} me -there too. The dear old nest was gone; the wall had crumbled away and -was strewing the mountain-side. The kindly ivy that sheltered us once -was crawling on the earth; the beeches had decayed and scrub bushes -choked up the place where they had stood. Everything in me and in -nature was dead, and so nothing was left but to bid good b to memory -and joy--aye, and to trouble too, for the matter of that. - -"This was my last deception. From that day to this I have stagnated -here, learning, hoping, fearing nothing' Joy and sorrow are so far -away in the past that they seem never to have belonged to me. And this -is peace." - -There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of my oppressed -breathing. At last the owl said, with a weary sigh: - -"You wished to know my story. There it is, and you are welcome to the -lessons it may give you. In the mean time I can only say that I pity -you--pity your innocence, your candor, and your destiny." - -And I replied, "You are right. I know life now, and its promises shall -never delude me." - -He smiled and repeated, "I pity you." - -This history impressed me profoundly. I rehearsed the miserable -details, and saw in his life my own. I was the credulous being who had -trusted implicitly to life. The wretch who had sown kindness among his -fellow men and reaped contempt, was again myself. Was I then to -clamber the rocky path to the end only to see hope receding in the -distance? Society became to me every day more unbearable; I avoided my -companions with horror, and their railleries, which up to that time I -had borne with indifference, seemed like so many poisoned arrows aimed -at my heart. Intercourse with my old friend only increased my contempt -for men and existence; yet in tins mute revolt against nature and -humanity, I selected him as the sole confidant of my woes, and -invariably left him with a heart more bitter and oppressed than -before. - -One day, toward sunset, I was wandering through the great arches of -the forest, going as usual toward the retreat of my bosom friend. A -serious silence was creeping slowly down from the tree-tops. The birds -were still, the winds asleep; no sound or sign of life to be anywhere -discerned, except the crushing of dried leaves beneath my tread. And -as I went dreaming on amidst this solitude, I heard in spirit the -melody of Nature dropping through the tender evening air, and I tried -to give it words in this little song: - - When Spring with loft maternal hand - Spreads all the earth with green, - And 'gainst the sun's too ardent gaze - Weaves many a leafy screen, - - Build your neats, bright-plumed minstrels, - Forgetting not to praise - The bounty that so lavishly - Sheds gladness on your ways. - - Think not, in missing old-time friends, - Some favorite bower or hedge, - That Nature has misused her power, - Or broken a sacred pledge: - - This is Spring's immortality; - Youth must replace decay. - Grieve not that your turn too must come: - Less brief than bright your day! - - Build your nests then, my chanters sweet: - Bloom flower, vine, and tree: - Let no discordant wail disturb - Spring's song of rapturous glee. - -I reached the hermit's cell. He was not there as usual, crouched on -the edge of his nest; and I called to him, thinking he had fallen -asleep or wandered off, as he sometimes did, into a thicker gloom to -meditate. No answer. I stood on tiptoe and looked uneasily into his -retreat. There I saw in the confusing obscurity a greyish, motionless -mass. I laid my hand upon it, and what was my horror to find my -friend, my owl! I turned in upon him the last beams of the sun, hoping -to rouse him. Alas! the light did not penetrate his eyeballs; the rays -did not warm his frigid form. I lifted him up; the head dropped -lifelessly, the wings were rigid, the shrivelled claws were cramped -and clenched with the death struggle. He was dead! he suffered no -longer. - -{274} - -I replaced him in his hole and stopped up its mouth with stones and -turf, sweeping a great branch of ivy across this improvised tomb. When -the wall crumbles, soft verdure will shield those poor remains. Oh! my -dear, tired owl! I could only give thee a tomb; sleep well and -peacefully therein! And so I turned away, thinking of my old friend -and of his reverses, precepts, sufferings, and misanthropy. - -"Such is the term of existence," said I "so end our joys and our -pains." But higher and higher in my soul swelled the song of the -forest, until I cried, "This is the voice of God, and he cannot lie:" -and entering into myself I understood at last the merciful and -providential law that governs nature, attaching to each suffering a -consolation, to each pang a hope. To what was my contempt of life -leading me? To the gradual debasement of my being, to a forgetfulness -of the duties that God imposes on his creatures. Man is made for -struggle, and he who deserts the field is a coward. If his strength -fails, can he not draw fresh force from prayer? Does our Heavenly -Father ever forget his weary children? Yes, life is a hard, rough -road, but it leads straight to a goal where the sanctified soul shall -find reward and rest. My poor owl might well feel sour and -exasperated, since death meant to him only the peace of nothingness; -but man has other destinies, and rebellion is for him unjustifiable -revolt. What matter passing trials to him who is to possess eternity? -Should we not blush at our cowardice when we remember that the -infinite God is our consoler? - -And all these grave thoughts anent a poor bird of whom nothing is -left but a bunch of feathers! Well! there are days when a slight -emotion makes the human heart spill over, like a full vase overflowed -by one drop too much. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - -SONNET. - - - And thou wouldst live for ever, poet soul - In love of human kind! What must thou do? - Look o'er the past, scan well whose worth is true-- - Not those mere forms that with the ages roll-- - And say what readst of them on Time's bright scroll:-- - "Names faint or fading, save a fadeless few, - Like rare Etruscan colors, ever new." - Yet tell me, seer, how shine the favored whole:-- - "Some glitter as the icy mountain peak - Remote, whence flow a thousand generous streams: - Some glow as morn or even, or blushing cheek - Of one beloved, or angels known in dreams; - These touch upon the universal--speak-- - Lo! Nature, Love, Religion, are the themes." - ------- - -{275} - -From The Month. - -THE MUSEE RETROSPECTIF IN PARIS. - - -It is probable that there has never been an Exhibition so singular in -its contrasted contents, so rich in market value, prepared so abruptly -for submission to public inspection, as that which, during the latter -half of the year 1865, was to be seen in the Palais de l'Industrie in -Paris, under the name of "_Musee Retrospectif_" In a general way, its -character may be comprehended in England by a reference to the -Kensington Museum Exhibition of 1862, from which its conception was -drawn, and which it outstripped. Like that Exhibition, it came into -existence in especial connection with an institute the primary object -of which is to promote the cultivation of art in connection with -manufactures. This was formed in Paris three years ago, under the -title of "_L'Union Centrale des Beaux Arts appliques a l'Industrie_;" -and under circumstances not a little curious, and not a little -gratifying to those who have led on the great movement of improvement -in art for the last quarter of a century in England. They will find -that it has come to pass that the best leading spirits among our great -rivals have felt and admitted, with no little alarm, the success of -that movement, and the formidable competition with which it has -threatened their previous preeminence. The simplest and most sincere -evidence of this appears in the published Report of M. Prosper Merimee -in reference to the London Exhibition of 1862, and the adoption of its -sentiments by the conductors of that admirable periodical, _La Gazette -des Beaux Arts_. In that Report M. Merimee, who was official reporter -for the French section of the International Jury, thus expresses -himself: - - "Since the Universal Exhibition in 1851, and even since that of - 1855, immense progress has taken place in Europe; and although we in - France have not remained stationary, we cannot conceal from - ourselves that our lead has become less sensible, and is ever - tending to its termination. It is our duty to remind our - manufacturers that, however successful they may have been on this - occasion, they may possibly sustain a defeat, and that at no very - distant date, if from the present moment they fail to address all - their energies to the maintenance of a preeminence which can only be - secured by an incessant aim at perfection. English industrial - produce more especially, so markedly behindhand in point of art - previous to the Exhibition of 1851, has made in the course of ten - years _prodigious advancement_; and if it should so continue its - onward movement, we might find ourselves unexpectedly surpassed." - -This startling avowal from an authority not to be contravened led, -among other consequences, to such reflections as the following: "The -contact of England and France, rendered so frequent by the Universal -Exhibitions of Paris and London," observes the _Gazette des Beaux -Arts_, "will not be without its use in reference to a regenerative -movement now in contemplation, to which we wish to draw the attention -of our--so contiguous to us in locality, so severed in habits--we -have learned how much can be done by a few men of resolute -purpose--citizens generously devoted to the public good, and -unrestricted in their freedom of action. This lesson was well -condensed in the words, often quoted, of a sovereign who has passed a -portion of his life in England, {276} and has brought from thence -certain English conclusions; namely, 'Individual initiative, urging on -its plans with indefatigable ardor, saves Government from monopolizing -the management of the vital energy of the nation. . . . Stimulate, -then, among individuals an energetic spontaneity for promoting all -purposes having in view the beautiful and the useful.'" - -The result of the very pregnant views thus unreservedly avowed has -been an effort in emulation of that much-commended individual vigor of -operation; and accordingly a small band of artistic and literary -Frenchmen, led on by a distinguished and very zealous architect, M. -Guichard, constituted themselves the nucleus of a society the great -aim and object of which is an incessant application of the most -effective means for fertilizing the wide domain of native art and -manufacture, so as to sustain it in its present rich power of -productiveness. They have assumed the name of _L' Union Centrale des -Beaux Arts appliques a l'Industrie_. They have instituted a museum for -the collection and exhibition of all manner of objects akin to their -undertaking, where lectures are to be systematically delivered to the -same end. - -In fine, they have developed so rapidly in their proceedings, that -they have designed, and we may say founded, a college wherein special -education and special distribution of honors are to be dispensed to -students of industrial art. Until a suitable structure for this has -been erected, within which the Society will establish its centre of -action, its headquarters are in that quaint and spacious square in the -Marais de St. Antoine Quartier of Paris, the Place Royale; noted for -its clever white marble equestrian statue of Louis XIII., and recently -deriving a melancholy interest from being the death scene of Rachel. - -In addition to these great projects for permanent organization, of -which the germs will be found at the Adelphi and South Kensington, -that special Exhibition of 1862 in the latter quarter, the success of -which was so extraordinary, and we may add the influence of that noble -display of mediaeval ecclesiastical art which which was to be seen at -Malines in 1864, were the occasions of suggestions which fell most -productively upon the zealous minds of our projectors. It was deemed -expedient in the councils of the Place Royale, that Paris too should -have its "Retrospective" exhibition. The French government, eschewing -all jealousy of this independent association, lent its help as soon as -application was made: and Marshal Vaillant placed at its disposal -abundant space for the proposed undertaking in the large saloons of -the Palais de l'Industrie. - -It was not, however, without some apprehensions of success in their -experiment--without some nervous misgivings as to the realizing of -ways and means, and winning the loan of the treasures of antique vertu -from their possessors, that they entered upon their work. However, _en -avant_ was the word, and full success ensued. The undertaking had the -good fortune to win favor in four quarters of immense influence--the -Emperor, Prince Czartoriski, the Marquis of Hertford, and the Messrs. -Rothschild. When this became known, it acted as an "open sesame" to -the masters of lesser stores; and from that time streams of -undreamt-of and unhoped-for valuables came pouring in upon the -society, until at length an inconvenient overflow seemed imminent, and -it became necessary to select and decline. The ultimate result, -however, was, that the accommodation of twelve large saloons was -absolutely exhausted by the contributions; and it has been estimated -that the whole might realize on sale something like a million and a -half of pounds sterling. - -It was a patent defect of this Exhibition, that works of the same kind -were not classed together. This was in consequence, doubtless, of the -exactions of contributors. Each proprietor of a collection of -treasures, however various and unconnected their contents, required, -both for safety's sake and with {277} a pardonable vanity, that his -own galaxy should shine apart The spectator, therefore, was for a -while bewildered in discerning the various elements of this vast and -most miscellaneous collection. - -A small, neatly arranged selection of stone-weapons stood as a -foundation for the whole. From this we had to pass by a prodigious -bound--for the next element was excellence itself, the masterpieces of -Greece. The collection of these, if brought into one range and -receptacle, would have been sufficient to constitute a most valuable -Museum of statuettes, vases, and other objects--some of perfect -beauty. We cannot in a brief sketch like this attempt any detailed -description, which could but be tantalizingly imperfect. We may make a -statuette of Minerva, thus noted as No. 98 of the catalogue: "_Athene -Toromachos; reproduction du Xoanon, conserve dans le Temple -d'Erechthee. Bronze fondu en plein, du travail le plus archaique. Un -des plus vieux bronzes grecs connus_." With what pardonable veneration -might not the lover of the Greek marvels of art bend over this, "one -of the oldest Greek bronzes known"! - -Another violent leap of transition brought us from the schools of -Phidias and Praxiteles to the middle ages and the renaissance period. -Here, again, the contributions were profuse. In the former the ivories -were of much interest--diptych, poliptych, and single subject--in -which the deep sincerity of sentiment of their era struggled through -and gave sterling value to imperfect art. All these, as well as the -larger portion of other works of the same time, were connected with -sacred subjects. Although not equal, upon the whole, the Malines -collection, there was here abundant food for deep meditation and -admiration. Here, as there also, was a commemoration of the murder of -St. Thomas--a reliquary in the form of a rectangular box of silver, -gilt and embellished with niello, its cover pyramidal, topped with a -large garnet stone, surrounded by a setting of pearls. On either -larger side was pictured the slaying or the entombment of the martyr, -with inscriptions. Figures of angels completed the ornaments of this -choice work, which has been attributed, with some doubt, to a German -hand of the twelfth century. - -Numerous works in iron, of the twelfth century, many of great beauty ---others in brass, silver, and gold, together with specimens of enamel -and jewelry, of middle-age handling, were exhibited on this occasion. -Few, however, of the curiosities of this period drew more attention -than the manuscripts in simple scroll or illuminated. The greater -portion of these came from the collections of M. Ambroise Firmin Didot -or M. Le Carpentier. The Marquis de Ganay sent one article worth a -hundred others, viz., the Books of the Gospels which had belonged to -Charlemagne, and which, as tradition tells us, were wrung from the -abbey of St. Maurice d'Argaune in the civil wars of the fourteenth -century. On one side of its binding was a gold plate, impressed with -the figure of Christ Blessing--a work of the ninth century. It was -also adorned with a set of uncut precious stones, added in the twelfth -century. Near to this were the Gospels, written in the eleventh -century at the monastery of Ottenbeuren in Swabia, in characters of -gold and silver. A copy of Josephus, from Saint-Tron in the province -of Lemberg, Belgium, of the twelfth century, was also extremely fine. -An Italian manuscript of the fourteenth century was also there, -written on vellum, with ornamental capitals and miniatures--the -revelations of St. Bridget Among these precious works not the least -singular was a _Livre d'heures_ on vellum, having 330 pages, -illustrated and ornamented with as many different subjects. Of these, -fifty-six were taken from the Dance of Death. This was a work of the -fifteenth century, and, strange to say--whether in melancholy jest or -otherwise--had been presented by Louis XV. to his physician Dr. Mead. -The works of the renaissance and subsequent period, in this -collection, {278} were most numerous in what may be termed miniature -objects--light branches and lovely blossoms springing from the great -main trunks of painting and sculpture. For them chiefly, so full of -winning instructiveness, this _Musee Retrospectif_ would seem to have -been especially got up. They appeared in forms of gold, silver, and -much more cherished bronze, in ivory, and again the happier vehicle -wood, in crystal and in glass, in steel, in gems and miniatures, in -enamelled terra cotta, in furniture, in time-pieces, in tapestry, and -numberless other ways. - -The bronzes, scattered among the collections on every side, were -admirable. The miniature model of an equestrian statue--a condottiere -leader by Donatello--was universally felt to be a model in that most -difficult branch of art. It excited an absolute _furore_ amongst the -critics. In contrast to its graceful swing of boldness, there was a -_basso relievo_ from an unknown hand, representing the figure of -Charity--a draped female figure--clasping a child to her bosom -caressingly, while other fondlings of the like age cling round her -neck and her knees. Exquisite sweetness of expression is here found -united to perfection of form and masterly arrangement of elaborate -drapery. Yet the author is wholly unknown. Numerous statuettes -sustained the honor of this class. We pass them to note three -busts--full size--which could not fail to arrest the attention and -command the deep admiration of every amateur or artist who passed -through these saloons. The first was that of Beneviani, an Italian -noble of the fifteenth century; the second, of Jerome Beneviani, a -poet and philosopher of the sixteenth century; the third, of the great -Buonarotti. The rigid adherence to nature, full of sincere force of -expression, impressed on all three, compelled one to pause and ponder -and commune with character so deeply significant. Such busts leave -impressions not easily to be effaced, and are most instructive to the -sculptor. - -The great strength of this Exhibition lay, however, not so much in the -subjects to which we have alluded as in its singular profusion of -examples in the vast field of pottery and Limoge enamelling. It is -probable that never have so many and such various specimens of both -these branches of art been hitherto brought together. It is but just -to say, that by far the greater part of the voluminous array had -attached to it the names of Baron G. Rothschild and M. Alphonso -Rothschild. Every variety of pottery or porcelain having any claim to -reputation (with the exception of our own English works) seemed to -have here, in one quarter or another, its representative. - -Here were Moorish and Hispano-moresque vessels, comparatively rude in -design and tinting, from which the great susceptibility of Italian art -drew its first inspirations. Then came the majolica, in all its -progressive modifications; the varnished sculpture of Luca della -Robbia; the relievo of Palissy, of which we had here every contrasted -variety of subject, and all the different schools of Italy fully and -most interestingly illustrated. The value attached to some of the -rarer specimens might be thought fabulous were we not familiar with -the extravagances into which the long-pursed amateurs are led, in -their devotion to the singular, if not the unique. Thus there appeared -in the treasury of the Rothschilds a morsel--a small candlestick--of -the almost extinct _faience_ of Henry II., to which, it was affirmed, -the value of forty thousand francs was attached. If the whole thirty -or so subsisting specimens of this rarity were swept away, what, in -point of general grace of form, elegance of linear detail, or delicacy -of color, would be lost to the world? Something infinitesimally -inconsiderable. Around this precious relique there was a wondrous -profusion of Limoges enamels, belonging to various persons, and -exhibiting in every degree the beauties of that exquisite specialty of -{279} art applied either to portraiture or five historic or sacred -subject. These, indeed, deserve to be cherished with watchfulness and -affection. - -Among other contributions to this Exhibition were a large collection -of fine Chinese and Japanese curiosities, to which with great truth -the title _Retrospectif_ could be affixed. They combined admirably -great strength of construction with charming delicacy of -embellishment. - -In contrast to all these gentler productions of human genius came the -special contribution of the emperor, presenting art and ingenuity as -handmaidens to war--not as ministering to the amenities or luxuries of -peace. In other words, it gave, in review, a complete array of the -heaviest heavy armor of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries--some -thirty suits, standing cap-a-pie--illustrating the period when almost -the entire frame of the man militant was encased in metal plates; -when, consequently, to fall in battle was but too much after the -fashion of Lucifer--never to rise again, unless as a prisoner, or -unless assisted from mid melee by the smart hands of some sturdy -squire, and thus once more restored to the perpendicular on the back -of that singular hippogriff, a horse in armor. In this collection of -panoplies the variety of helmets was most striking--some singularly -extravagant in their steel contour, and all with as little -accommodation as possible for the functions of breathing or seeing. A -few offered most ludicrous mockeries of the human face divine, a nose -alone projecting in Roman ruggedness: truly an iron joke. Among the -rest, a German tournament-casque was conspicuous. It belonged to the -second half of the seventeenth century, was wholly of silver, and -richly ornamented both in carving and indenture. This gem of the -collection was, it appears, a present from the empress to the emperor. - -The armor of the central and most conspicuous group in the saloon had -the like honor. It presented a knight on horseback--man and horse in -full panoply, and an attendant man-at-arms. It seemed intended to -unite the aspect of lightness with genuine metallic strength. A -tradition is connected with it: that at a period when the progressive -development of the fatal use of fire-arms, of cannon, arque-buss, -petronel, and pistol, had gradually weakened faith in the utility of -the chivalric steel coat, Louis XIII. and his potent minister Cardinal -de Richelieu were both staunchly true to the olden creed of the olden -time, where - - "None of your ancient heroes - Ere heard of cannon-ball. - Or knew the force of powder, - To slay their foes withal;" - -and it was thought expedient by both that his majesty should have this -splendid model-suit made, in order to use influence of the most potent -kind against the new martial heterodoxy. The progress of time has -proved how vainly the recalcitrant effort was made. The great -explosive agent has prevailed--until at length, in our own time, the -management of the _bouches a feu_ is the beginning and end of all -scientific strategy; and even the cuirassier--the last of the -steel-clads--is surmised to be on his last legs. - -While thus on one side of this saloon these numerous examples of armor -were ranged--a terrible show--and the helmets occupied, in close -muster, an encircling shelf, the _arme blanche_ had its honors -sustained by a series of radiating groups attached to the walls, in -which blades of Italy, Germany, and France, with matchless Toledo -rapiers, showed their quality unsheathed. The thrilling simplicity of -the cold gleaming steel in these deadly implements was, in many -instances, strangely contrasted with the exquisite artistic -elaboration of ornament upon their hilts. This anomaly was completed -by the adoption, for this purpose, of subjects taken from Holy Writ, -and the most tender illustrations of religious charity, sculptured in -gold or silver, or tinted in the most delicate enamel. Thus we found -{280} upon one the for phases of the Prodigal Son's career admirably -composed in miniature _basso relievo_. One sword of this kind could -not fail to hold attention. It had been sent to Henry IV. by the pope -on his abjuration. On its pommel two metals were inserted--the one -having for its subject the Crucifixion, the other the Resurrection. On -other metals, combined with the hilt, were represented the -Annunciation, the Visitation, the Nativity, the Adoration of the Magi, -and the Circumcision. Finally the portrait of Henry himself was -introduced supported by Angels. - -Here also was the blade of a different man, and of a different import, -once grasped by the strong hand of Charles XII. Of Sweden, vigorous -for cut, or subtly tempered for trust [thrust?]. No mincing ornament -of delicate tracery embellished its hilt; but it was appropriately -wreathed with oak foliage in iron, and it bore an interlaced cipher of -C's, surmounted by the words, _Soli Deo gloria_. - -This weapon, - - "A better never did itself sustain - Upon a soldier's thigh," - -was worn by Charles at Bender, and was given by him to General -Mayenfelt. It was presented to the Emperor Louis Napoleon by the -present King of Sweden. - -Associated with these specimens of the _arme blanche_ were -well-preserved examples of the cross-bow and earlier invented -fire-arms, with their attendant accoutrements; the whole forming an -extremely rich set of illustrations of the centuries to which it more -especially referred. - -Take it for all in all, this room was pregnant with suggestion. No -extraordinary susceptibility of imagination was required for one -lingering over its relics to shadow forth fearful episodes without -number of tale or history connected with these crowded weapons of -slaughter. - -Independent of this splendid collection of arms, there were many -others among the miscellanea of the Exhibition. By far the finest -belong to the Marquis of Hertford, figuring conspicuously in the -chamber specially devoted to _chefs-d'-oeuvres_ contributed from that -nobleman's collection; and evidencing that it was not alone on -masterpieces of painting that it could depend for its well-merited -celebrity. The most prominent arms here were Circassian helmets and -sabres, all fresh in brilliant preservation, as if they had just come -from the anvil or workshop; the former more particularly remarkable -for their exquisite inlaid golden tracery, the latter for their -gorgeous richness of minute carving. These, with many other specimens -of Oriental ornament--creeses, poniards, or scimitars, here enclosed -in glass cases--almost compelled one to the conclusion that in the -East there is a more delicately inventive genius for ornamentation -than can be found in Europe. This we may again see exemplified in the -carpets of Persia, the shawls of Cashmere, and in the muslins of -Hindostan, gleaming with fire-fly splendor of metallic foliage. - -Having dwelt on the specialties of warlike equipment, the footsteps of -the visitor were led to the last of the saloons, and found it -dedicated, in almost monumental melancholy, to reminiscences of Polish -royalty. Members of the Czartoriski family, Prince Ladislaus, and the -Princess Iza, had furnished forth almost all the contents of the -cases, which lined three sides of the apartment. A very copious -miscellany of jewelry and ornaments in gold and silver--some singular -for their artistic beauty, and others for their quaint antiquity--was -here to be seen. Of special note amongst the former was a charming -morceau of jewelry, wherein the letter A, standing for Auguste, was -set in diamonds, and supported by two exquisite enamel infant figures, -attributed to the hand of Benvenuto Cellini. Also a chain which had -belonged to Maria Louisa Gonzaga, enameled and enriched with pearls -and precious stones. {281} For purity of taste this could impeach with -the best French works of its class of the sixteenth century. It was -not, however, with a critic's eye, but with painful historic musing, -that one contemplated these objects. Here was the ivory sceptre of -King Frederick Augustus; and here also a flagolet, in the like ivory, -that had been fingered and blown by the same sovereign. Here a great -silver goblet, with portraits inserted in its indentures of two kings, -Sobieski and Korybut. Here a fair cross of sapphire and a chain of -Anne de Jagellon; and here, not the glass slipper, but the -crimson-velvet shoe--thick, as if the Chinese model--of good Queen -Hedwige. Here was the most splendid of field-marshal's batons--as long -again as those of modern times--of ebony enriched with diamonds, and -bearing a kingly cipher. Here were a brace of pistols that once had -been clasped by the vigorous hand of Saxe; and here a watch and chain -recall to mind the poets tribute-- - - "And freedom shrieked when Kosciusko fell." - -These gems and all this orient pearl and gold once gave brilliancy to -scenes such as are long since passed away from the festivities of -Poland. These veteran sword-blades vainly remind us of the noble race -of warriors by whom the reckless Turk was swept back from the walls of -Vienna, and the possible conquest of Europe arrested. They all, -however, tell the old and ever-to-be-repeated tale. Like other -valuables of Royal Association, with which this _Musee Retrospectif_ -was in every quarter redundant--forgetting that pretty, ivory-piped -_cornemuse_ or bagpipe, knotted with its still unfaded green ribbons, -which once made music to the touch of Marie Antoinette--they express -with mute melancholy eloquence the stern old apothegm, _Sic transit -gloria mundi_. - - - --------- - -MISCELLANY. - -_The Colosseum and St. Peter's_--Now when I recall my impressions of -Rome, I find only two that efface or at least predominate over the -others: the Colosseum, the work of the Roman people, and St. Peter's, -the master-peace of Catholicism. The Colosseum is the gigantic work of -an almost superhuman people, who, in a ferocity of pride and pleasure, -erected only such buildings as contained an entire nation, rivaling -nature, if possible, in massiveness and duration. The Tiber would have -drained the mud of its banks, that the Colosseum might command it -forever. But St. Peter's is the work of a thought, of a religion, of -an entire humanity, at an epoch of the world. Not an edifice simply to -contain an ignoble people, but a temple admitting all of philosophy, -of prayer, of grandeur--every aspiration of man. The walls themselves -seem to rise and grow, not in proportion of a people, but a God. - -Michael Angelo alone has understood Catholicism, and in St. Peter's -has given it its most sublime and complete expression--an apotheosis -in stones, the monumental transfiguration of the religion of Christ. -The architects of gothic cathedrals were sublime barbarians--Michael -Angelo a philosopher in conception. Saint Peter's is itself -philosophical Christianity from which the divine architect chases -darkness and superstition, and bids enter the imperishable stream of -beauty, symmetry, and light. In its incomparable beauty--a temple that -might serve any worship, a temple deistical, if I may use the word -applied to stones--God himself reclothed in his splendor. Christianity -itself might perish, but St. Peter's would still remain the eternal, -universal, and rational temple of whatever religion succeeded -Christ's, provided that religion was worthy of God and humanity. The -most abstract Temple that ever human genius, inspired by divine ideas, -has constructed here below. {282} When one enters, one knows not if it -is ancient or modern. No detail offends the eye, no symbol distracts -the thought. Men of all religions enter with the same respect; -sufficient to know the idea of God alone pervades it, and none other -could occupy the place. - -Change the priest, take away the altar, detach the pictures, carry off -the statues--nothing is changed, it is always the house of God, or -rather, St. Peter's is to him alone the great symbol of that eternal -Christianity, which in influence and sanctity is but the germ of -successive developments of the religious thought of all men and every -age; and in proportion as God has illuminated it, so it opens to -reason, communicates with him in this light, enlarges and elevates -itself in proportion to the human mind, growing endlessly, gathering -all people in a unity of adoration more and more rational, and making -of each form of divinity an only God, of each age a single religion, -and of all people a single humanity. Michael Angelo is the Moses of -monumental Catholicism, and as such will one day be understood. He has -constructed the imperishable arch for the future--the pantheon of -divine reason. - -LAMARTINE. - - - -_Oriental Translation Committee_.--An attempt is being made to -resuscitate the operations of the Oriental Translation Committee. The -Oriental Translation Fund was established in 1828 by several Oriental -scholars and others interested in Eastern literature, "for the -translation and publication of such works on Eastern history, science, -and _belles lettres_ as our inaccessible to the European public in MS. -form and indigenous language." This scheme received at first very -considerable support, and the reigning sovereign has from its -commencement always been the patron of the undertaking. During a -period of thirty-two years the committee have published, or aided in -the publication of more than seventy translations. Of these many are -highly valuable, all are curious and interesting, and several of them -are of such a nature, that without the aid afforded by the Society -they could scarcely have been undertaken. The Sanskrit translations -include those of the Sankhya Karika, Rig Veda, and Vishnu Purana. -Among those from the Arabic, are found the travels of Ibn-Batuta, and -of the Patriarch Macarius, Al-Makkari's history of the Mohammedan -Dynasties in Spain, and the extensive Lexicon of Hajji Khalfa. There -are also on the list translations from the Persian, Syriac, Ethiopic, -Armenian, Chinese, and Japanese languages. For the last two or three -years no work has been issued from the press of the society, nor is -any one preparing for publication; but as there are signs in the -literary world of a renewed interest in Oriental learning, the -committee invite[s] the special co-operation of all those who are -anxious to bring the East and West into a still closer communion with -each other--_London Reader_. - - - --------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -ELEMENTS OF INTERNATIONAL LAW. -By Henry Wheaton, LL.D., Minister of the United States at the Court of -Prussia, corresponding member of the Academy of Moral and Political -Sciences in the Institute of France, honorary member of the Royal -Academy of Sciences at Berlin, etc. Eighth Edition, edited, with -notes, by Richard Henry Dana, Jr., LL.D. 1 vol. 8vo., pp. 749. Boston: -Little, Brown & Company. 1866. - -Whoever will examine Fulbecke's Pandects of the Law of Nations, -published at London in 1602, which the author styles the first, to his -knowledge, that hath been written on this subject, and compare it with -the first addition of Wheaton's International Law, published in 1836, -must be astonished at the great progress which has been made in this -most interesting science in a period of two centuries and a third. But -a glance at Dana's Wheaton will satisfy the most superficial Inquirer -that the last thirty years have still more fully develop the -principles of that code of law which professes to find the nations of -the civilized world. - -Mr. Dana has well and faithfully performed a duty, requiring for its -proper {283} and efficient discharge talents of the highest order. He -has produced a book which will be read with interest, not only by the -professional man, but by the general reader; for he treats on subjects -that the people of the United States are, at the present time, and -have been for the last five years, more nearly concerned with than -ever before in the history of their government. And as the work is -edited with signal ability, it is the more to be regretted that, in a -Treatise on International Law, Mr. Dana has deemed it proper to -incorporate his own political opinions on a question not of -International, but of American Constitutional Law. - -On pages 82 and 85, in a note on the United States as a supreme -government, the editors says: - -The United States "is a new state or government, acting directly upon -each individual, by its own officers and departments, in the execution -of its own laws. Within its sphere it acts as if there were no -separate states in existence. _It is also the final judge in a dispute -between itself and a state as to the limits of its sphere of action."_ - -"The civil war saw the final and complete establishment of that -construction of the Constitution which makes the United States a -_State_ in the scientific sense of the term, having direct authority -over each citizen, to be exercised by its own officers independently -of the states; and a right to the direct allegiance of each citizen, -from which no state action can absolve him; _with the right to -determine the limits of its own jurisdiction_; with no appeal from its -decision except through constitutional methods of altering the laws, -or the administration, by the ballot, or through public revolution." - -The editor entirely ignores the theory that the federal government is -one of delegated powers, as well as the 10th article of the amendments -to the Constitution, by which it is declared that "the powers not -_delegated_ to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited -by it to the states, are _reserved_ to the states respectively, or to -the people." If the federal government has this exclusive right to -determine the limits of its own jurisdiction, then has this provision -of the bill of rights become nullity. Besides, the argument is an -illogical one; if it be once admitted the powers of the federal -government are _delegated_ powers, it is difficult to maintain the -theory that either an individual, or a government acting by virtue of -delegated powers, is competent to decide, without appeal, on the -extent of the powers delegated. There is always this great question to -be solved, Have the people delegated such a power? If not, how can the -determination of the federal government, that the people have done so, -be construed to confer it? - -If Congress should, by statute, enact that the presidential term of -office should continue during the life of the incumbent, and the -executive should ratify the act, and the judiciary decide that it was -a constitutional exercise of the powers delegated, inasmuch as the -federal government has the exclusive right to determine the limits of -its own jurisdiction, would any sane man believe that this could give -efficacy to such a gross usurpation? - -But it is useless to follow out the argument; the mere statement of -the principal is its own reputation. - -Nor has the Civil War just ended established any such principle. -Slavery has been abolished as a result of the war, but this has been -done under the forms of the Constitution. The heresy of secession has -also been overthrown forever; this, however, has been accomplished, -not by virtue of any power in the federal government to determine the -extent of its own jurisdiction, but because the majority of the people -of the North have decided in favor of such a construction of the -Constitution, upon a point left undetermined at its formation, upon -which two great parties have ever since held opposite views, and which -could only be settled by the _ultima ratio regum_; there being no -other tribunal to which they could submit their differences. - -The civil war was not waged for the purpose of enlarging the powers of -the federal government, nor for the purpose of overthrowing or -interfering with the rights or established institutions of the states; -as was emphatically declared by both branches of Congress in 1861; and -its effect has been simply to maintain the authority of the -constitution, with all the powers which it confers, and all the -restrictions which it imposes, unabridged {284} and unaltered. No such -authority having been previously vested in the government, it cannot -be assumed as one of the results of the civil war. - -Putting aside, however, this only blemish upon a great work, we -desired to call particular attention to the masterly manner in which -Mr. Dana has treated the great topics of the day. - -His note on the Monroe doctrine will well repay perusal, as it is a -subject on which much apprehension exists in the public mind. This -enunciated of American policy, he shows to have consisted of two -points: 1. That inasmuch as the whole of the American continent is now -within the territorial limits of some one or other civilized power, it -is no longer open to colonization by European nations. 2. That the -United States will view, as an unfriendly act, any attempt on the part -of European powers to interfere for the purpose of controlling the -political affairs of any of the American States, or to extend to them -the operation of the European political system. The question is well -worth the study of the statesman, and it is ably treated in this work. - -Another question of more than common interest, especially to our -naturalized citizens, is the extent to which the government of the -United States will afford them protection in foreign lands. The -doctrine extracted by Mr. Dana from the cases of Martin Koszta, Simon -Tousig, and others, is, that the government will afford protection to -a domiciled resident of the United States whilst travelling in a -foreign country, under her passport, against any arrest or seizure by -the government of his native sovereign, in any event except that of a -voluntary return to his place of birth; but in such case he will not -be protected against military service owing by him to his native -sovereign at the time of his emigration. - -The case of the Trent, in which Messrs. Mason and Slidell, the rebel -commissioners to Great Britain and France, were removed from that -vessel, at sea, by the commander of an armed vessel of the United -States, and brought in as prisoners of war, is the subject of a -learned note by Mr. Dana. He considers this case to have settled but -one principle: "that a public ship, though of a nation at war, cannot -take persons out of a neutral vessel, at sea, whatever may be the -claim of her government on those persons." A doctrine always held by -the government of the United States, and one which they were glad to -see authoritatively established on a claim made by that of England. - -We have not space to point out in detail the many interesting -questions discussed in Mr. Dana's learned notes, such as those of -Intervention, Mediation Extradition, etc. But we cannot, injustice to -him, omit a reference to the question now agitating the public mind, -arising out of our reclamation on Great Britain for compensation for -the ravages of the Alabama and other Confederate privateers, fitted -out in the ports of that country. The question at issue is a somewhat -different one from what is generally supposed. Our own supreme court -has decided that it is no breach of neutrality, in the absence of any -treaty stipulation, or local statute, to build, arm, and equip a -vessel of war, and send her, under American colors, to the port of a -belligerent, with the _bona fide_ purpose of there offering her for -sale as a commercial enterprise; though she may be subject to capture -by the other belligerent, as contraband of war. Mr. Dana, after a -thorough examination of the authorities and of the diplomatic -correspondence between the two governments, thus sums up the points at -issue: - - The United States claims reparation from Great Britain for injuries - done to her commerce by cruisers under the rebel flag, for the - following reasons: - - 1. Because Great Britain made a precipitate and unwarranted - recognition of belligerency of the rebel power, and thereby - established in law, and to some extent brought about in fact, a - state of things which made possible and probable the illegal acts of - individuals complained of. - - 2. Because the measures taken by the British Government to prevent - the sailing of vessels from British ports, fitted and equipped - therein in violation of her neutrality, were tardy and feeble, as - well as ineffectual; whether this arose from mistakes of law in the - advisers of the crown, or bad faith, or incapacity in inferior - officials, or from the insufficiency of the Acts of Parliament, - being purely an internal question, with which the United States were - not bound to deal. - - 3. Because Great Britain did not seize and detain or disarm these - vessels, or refuse them asylum, or otherwise deal with them in such - manner has the law of {285} nations authorized her to do, after - their fraudulent escape from the original ports. - - 4. Because the British Government refused even to suggest amendments - of her Acts of Parliament in any respect whatever, or to introduce - the subject to Parliament when their inefficiency had been proved, - and the government had then requested so to do, not only by the - United States, on terms of reciprocity, but by citizens interested - in preserving neutrality. - - 5. Because the government had neglected or refused to prosecute - citizens of the so-called Confederate States who work openly - residing in England as agents for that power, and notoriously - engaged in fitting out vessels in violation of British neutrality, - though abundant evidence had been furnished to authorize - proceedings. - - 6. Because, by reason of this course of the British Government, the - rebels had been able to set forth and maintain an effective force of - steamers cruising against American commerce, having asylum and - making repairs and getting coal and supplies in British ports; - built, fitted out, armed, and manned in and from England, and never - even expecting, or pretending to visit a port of the confederacy, - when otherwise they would scarcely have had a single cruiser; the - result of which had been a most effective belligerent aid to the - rebellion, and the great advantage to England and detriment to the - United States of driving from the seas the greater part of the - American mercantile marine, heretofore the equal and rival of Great - Britain, and transferring the commerce of the world to the British - flag. - -The British Government replies: - - 1. That the recognition of belligerency was justifiable, and made - necessary at the time it was done, and dictated by a duty to the - United States as well as to Great Britain: and that the United - States gained by it the rights of blockade and search. - - 2. That the government acted in good faith and with reasonable - diligence in in enforcing its laws for the preservation of it's - neutrality; and that, if subordinate officials failed in capacity or - diligence in particular cases, their acts or failures being but a - part of the entire proceedings otherwise proper and effective, the - nation cannot be expected to hold itself responsible their remote - consequences, in the way of making compensation for acts done by - belligerents out of the jurisdiction. - - 3. That the government did seize and prosecute, in her colonial - ports, vessels which were charged with being fitted out at home in - violation of neutrality; and that she was not bound by the law of - nations to refuse asylum to, or seize or disarm or insist on the - disarmament of vessels afterward commissioned as public ships of war - of a belligerent visiting her ports, on the ground that they had been - originally, and before their commissioning as vessels of war, fitted - out in her jurisdiction in violation of her neutrality. - - 4. That the government was not satisfied that the Acts of Parliament - had proved inadequate to such an extent, and after so full trial, or - that any amendment would be likely to improve them so materially as - to justify the United States in charging the refusal to attempt - their amendment as a want of good faith. - - 5. That the government had judged in good faith, on the advise of - competent counsel, whether, in cases suggested, prosecutions against - individuals should be instituted. - - 6. That if vessels fitted out and dispatched from Great Britain ever - so clearly in violation of her neutral rights, had fraudently - escaped, without bad faith on the part of the government. Great - Britain was not responsible for acts of hostility done by such - vessels beyond her jurisdiction. Her duty was fulfilled if she - restored any prizes such vessels might bring within her - jurisdiction. - - 7. That it was inconsistent with the dignity and honor of the - government to submit to arbitration claims of another government, - the decision of which involved a question whether the advisers of - the crown had correctly interpreted the law, or the executive - officers of the crown had acted with diligence, good judgment, or - good faith. - -The points we have thus briefly noticed are but a few of the most -important ones which are fully discussed by Mr. Dana; for a proper -appreciation of his labors we must refer the reader to the book -itself, with the assurance that it will well repay the time devoted to -its perusal. It is no ephemeral production, but a good, solid, and -deeply interesting work, which will long preserve its place as a -landmark in the literature of the nineteenth century. - -{286} - -LIFE OF SAINT CECILIA, VIRGIN AND MARTYR. By the Reverend Prosper -Gueranger, Abbe de Solesmes. Translated from the French. 12mo, pp. -404. Philadelphia: P. F. Cunningham. 1866. - -This work from the pen of the learned Benedictine will, no doubt, be -warmly welcomed, both because of its authorship and its own intrinsic -merit. It will take its rank, however, rather among works of profound -hagiological research than as a contribution to popular biographies of -the saints. The history of the life and martyrdom of St. Cecilia -occupies but a very small portion of the volume. The rest is devoted -to the confirmatory testimonies to her life afforded by the liturgies -of the church, both Greek and Latin, the history of her relics and of -the Roman basilica erected in her honor, and the homage paid to her -throughout Christendom in literature and the arts. All this is of the -greatest interest and value, and no little thanks are due to the -eminent author for his labor and research. As a life of Saint Cecilia -it does not satisfy us. The style is crude and laborious, and lacking -in the elements of a finished biography. The author has collected -materials which would have come from the hand of a Wiseman or a Newman -a masterpiece of literary art, a living picture of the life and times -of one of the most illustrious saints of the church. But he does not -appear to know how to take advantage of the treasure which he has -gathered together with so much painstaking labor. Hence the scenes in -the life of Saint Cecilia furnished him by the quaint and charming -descriptions in the "Acts" of the saint--her espousals, the vision of -the angel seen by her husband, the martyrdom of the two brothers -Valerian and Tiburtius, her own interrogatory before the Roman -prefect, and sublime death--scenes replete with varied interest, and -affording matter for the most powerful dramatic description, and -presented to us in the tamest and rudest style. What, for instance, -can be more commonplace than the following: Valerian, in presence of -Cecilia and the angel, is assured by the heavenly visitor that in -return for his consent to the vow of virginity made by his saintly -spouse, any request he might make will be granted him. The young man, -overcome with gratitude, threw himself at the feet of the divine -messenger, and thus expressed his desires: "Nothing in life is more -precious to me than the affection of my brother; and now that I am -rescued from peril, it would be a bitter trial to leave this beloved -brother exposed to danger. _I will, therefore, reduce my requests to -one_: I beseech Christ to deliver my brother, Tiburtius, as he has -delivered me, and to perfect us both in the confession of his name." - -The translation we should judge to be a faithful one, and is, in the -main, correct English. We hardly see how it could be much improved -considering the formal unsympathetic style of the original; but we -wish that in certain descriptive passages the historical present had -been preserved throughout, or altogether avoided. We are surprised to -see the authors styled upon the title page as the _Reverend_ Prosper -per Gueranger, _abbe de Solesmes_. It is not common to attach the -title of Rev. to the name of authors and prelates of such note as Dom -Gueranger, and abbe de' for 'abbot of' is not in good taste. - -A fancy portrait accompanies the volume, representing Saint Cecilia -with a harp, which ill accords with the Antiphon quoted on the -title-page: "_Cantantibus organis, Cecilia Domino decantabat_," and -which is, moreover, so completely at variance with all representations -of her by both ancient and modern artists, and we would willingly -dispense with that; but the book is, for the reasons we have assigned, -of such value, that we thank the enterprising publisher for the -opportunity afforded the American public of perusing the work in -English. - - -SPANISH PAPERS AND OTHER MISCELLANIES, -hitherto unpublished or uncollected, by WASHINGTON IRVING. Arranged -and edited by PIERRE M. IRVING. 2 vols., 12mo. With a portrait after -Wilkie. New York: G. P. Putnam. Hurd and Houghton. 1866. - -In the first of these volumes we are presented with a choice selection -of papers by the illustrious author, consisting of several charming -Spanish legends, illustrative of the events of the conquest of Spain -by the Moors, the greater portion of which is newly published. The -second volume contains some early contributions to the Morning -Chronicle, when the author was but nineteen years of age. These were -his first essays in print, but they are none the less remarkable for -the fine humor they display, and for which he became so much admired -him after years. {287} The biographical sketches, which follow, of -Captain James Lawrence, Lieutenant Burrows, Commodore Perry, and -Captain David Porter possess no little historical value; and the -extended memoir of the child poet, Margaret Miller Davidson, the -younger sister of the well-known youthful authoress, Lucretia Maria -Davidson, is full of the most touching and romantic interest. A number -of reviews and miscellaneous papers close these volumes, which need no -further praise from us than to say that they are all marked with the -genius of Washington Irving. We have been so much charmed by the -perusal of the Spanish legends that we could not refrain from placing -one of them entire before our readers--the Legend of Count Julian and -his family. It will be found in the pages of the present number of THE -CATHOLIC WORLD. The form in which the publication is given is as -credible to the publishers, as it is worthy of the interesting -matter. - - - - -LAURENTIA: A Tale of Japan. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. (American -Reprint) Baltimore: Kelly and Piet, 174 Baltimore street. 1866. - -Lady Georgiana Fullerton consecrates her high intellectual gifts and -finished culture with a noble devotion to the sacred cause of the -Catholic religion. In her latest story of Laurentia, she has chosen -her theme from the comparatively unknown history of the Catholic -Church in Japan, and appears to have derived her materials chiefly -from the work of F. Charlevoix on that subject. - -F. Charlevoix's History of Christianity in Japan is one of the most -intensely interesting books we have ever read, and unfolds a page in -the annals of the church equalling the records of the first three -centuries in glory. The persistent misrepresentation and suppression -of truth, which the enemies of the Catholic religion make use of just -so far as the credulousness of the public will permit, have hitherto -kept the facts in regard to this topic under a veil of mist. This veil -is lifting, however, and is destined soon, we trust, to disappear -before the rays of truth. - -Lady Fullerton's story is well adapted to awaken attention to this -subject, if the general apathy and aversion to all Catholic literature -does not prevent its being read. Its incidents are mainly historical, -with just enough of embellishment and portraiture of imaginary -characters and incidents to make it life-like. It is written with that -ardor of feeling and in that glowing style, chastened by good taste, -which are characteristic of Lady Georgiana's productions. As a work of -art it is not equal to her master-piece, Constance Sherwood. The -events described are, however, so replete with the highest and most -absorbing interest, that one feels no inclination to advert to the -mere artistic merit of plot, style, or description. It combines the -fascination of a well-written sensation novel, with the utility of a -solid book of spiritual reading. We recommend it to all who read -anything at all except the daily papers, and advise all parents, -whether they read or do not read themselves, to give it to their -children. The latter, we are sure, will not find it hard to take. - - - -VIGNETTES, Biographical Sketches of Madame Swetchine, La Soeur -Rosalie, Madame Pape Carpentier, Madame Lamertine, etc. By Bessie -Rayner Parkes. London and New-York: Alexander Strahan. 1866. - -These sketches are all full of interest, some of them most touching -and beautiful. The life of La Soeur Rosalie cannot fail to win -admiration from every heart. The most wretched faubourg of Paris was -the scene of her labors; here with heart and hands, with every power -of soul and body, she labored year after year, never weary, but simply -and quietly performing a work which man has been proud to honor, a -work which God alone fully knows. We quote a short passage describing -the funeral of La Soeur Rosalie: - - "She was followed to the grave by a multitude such as could be - neither counted nor described: every rank, age, and profession was - there; great and small, rich and poor, learned men and laborers, the - most famous and the most obscure. Instead of going straight toward - the church, the body was borne through the streets where she had - been accustomed to visit, and women and children who could not walk - in the great profusion fell on their knees and prayed. A band of - soldiers surrounded the bier and rendered military honors to the one - who lay upon it, for she had been decorated with the Cross of the - Legion of Honor." - -{288} - -This lowly Sister of Charity felt not that her sphere was narrow, but -her love, her energy, and activity found everywhere opportunities; -they never failed her, she never failed them. This life of Sister -Rosalie alone would give interest to any volume of biographies; but -several others have almost an equal interest, particularly that of -Madame Swetchine, a noble Russian lady. She embraced the Catholic -faith, spent many years of her life in Paris, associating with the -noblest spirits of the day--Lacordaire, Chateaubriand, -Montalembert--by all of whom she was admired with a sort of tender -reverence. Though influencing for many years the highest circles of -Parisian society, her life was most simply, humbly, and devoutly -Christian. The sketch of one of our own countrywomen, Harriet K. Hunt -of Boston, who has done much toward enlightening the women of the -working classes by her lectures on physiology, is also pleasantly -given. We think our authoress has shown in this volume that women have -power to do a great work, and that this work can easily be found, and -easily done, if but the heart and soul are in it. The volume is -beautifully gotten up. - - -THE SHAM SQUIRE, AND THE INFORMERS OF 1798, with a View of their -Contemporaries. To which are added jottings about Ireland seventy -years ago. By William John Fitzpatrick, J.P., Biographer of Bishop -Doyle, etc., etc. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 379. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. - -In THE CATHOLIC WORLD for April last, page 122, will be found an -article entitled: "Ireland, and the Informers of 1798." That article -gave a synopsis of portions of "The Sham Squire," of which the copy -under notice is a reprint from the last Dublin edition. It is a -curious book, and contains many highly interesting incidents of the -rebellion of 1798; of the death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Emmet, and -other Irish patriots of that day. The facts disclosed show that -through bribery and the spy system, England succeeded in crushing out -all efforts for Ireland's independence, even better than her ministers -hoped. This system of bribery, however, is not peculiar to Ireland, as -many writers have asserted; but is the same in all countries, and in -all times. It has been used in this country by both sides in the late -or, with as much success as it ever was in Ireland. The only -difference being that the Irish patriots never had money to use for -such a purpose, while England had plenty, hence her success. The book -is well worth reading, and throws white on many disputed points of -Irish history, especially that portion of it relating to 1798. - - - -FIRST PRINCIPLES: A letter to a Protestant friend asking information -about the Catholic Church, by the Rev. G. H. Doane. New York: P. -O'Shea, Publisher, No. 27 Barclay Street. 1866. - -The title of this pamphlet speaks for itself. It is a plain statement -of the difference between Catholics and Protestants on the way pointed -out by Christ to find true Christianity. - - -LAWRENCE KEHOE, New York, will soon publish a new volume of Sermons by -the Paulist Fathers. It will contain several Sermons by the late -Father Baker. - - -MESSRS. JOHN MURPHY & CO. announce a new edition of "Good Thoughts for -Priest and People." By Rev. Father Noethen. - - -RECEIVED: - -From J. J. O'Connor and Co., Newark, N. J. Curious Questions. by Rev. -Henry A. Brann, D.D. 1 vol. 12mo. pp. 292. - - - -D. and J. Sadlier and Co., New York. Disappointed Ambition; or, -Married and Single. By Miss Agnes M. Stewart 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 248. - - -Wanted to purchase, at this Office, several copies of Branchereau's -"Praelectiones Philosophicale." Second Edition. - --------- - -{289} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. IV., NO. 21.--DECEMBER, 1866. - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - -THE STATE OF PROBATION--IT'S REASON -AND NATURE--THE TRIAL OF THE ANGELS. - -In our preceding number we have endeavored to show what is that order -of regeneration or supernatural grace, in which rational nature, and -through it all nature, attains the end of creation metaphysically -final. The position we have taken is, that the creation returns to God -as final cause through the hypostatic union of created nature with the -divine nature in the person of the incarnate Word, and the -participation in this union by angels and men who are elevated through -grace to the rank of sons of God. - -We have now another problem to deal with. The Catholic doctrine -teaches that angels and men are not brought to their destined end, in -view of which they were created, by an immediate, indefectible -operation of divine power alone; but by a concurrence of this divine -operation with the spontaneous, contingent, and defectible operation -of their own free-will. Moreover, that in consequence of the -contingent, defectible operation of the second cause which is -concurrent with the first cause, a multitude of angels and men finally -and irremediably fail to reach their destination. - -This statement of the relation of the rational creature to God as -final cause, involves a number of the most difficult and perplexing -questions. The reason for placing creatures in a state of probation by -which their eternal destiny is decided, the relation of divine -foreknowledge to contingent events, the conciliation of the efficacy -of grace with the liberty of the will, the nature of free-will itself, -the reason for permitting the existence of evil, predestination, and -similar vexed questions, start up at once to trouble and compound the -feeble human intellect. - -They are all summed up in the problem of probation. The creature is -placed in a state where he is to decide in a certain brief span of -time, by his own voluntary choice, his eternal destiny; this destiny -including the alternative of the attainment or the forfeiture of -supreme beatitude. What reason can be given for this? Why is the -rational creature defectible or liable to fail of reaching his -destination? Why does God place him in a state of probation, knowing -his defectibility? Why is it that some fail and others do not fail to -attain their destination? - -{290} - -A de-Christianised and de-Catholicised philosophy cannot get even a -plausible solution of this great problem, and the problems arising out -of it. It must either deny the problem, or throw out some ingenious -guesses which satisfy no one. It is wholly at fault, always has been, -and always will be. With those who deny the whole problem, by denying -the whole supernatural order, we have nothing to do at present; for we -cannot raise anew questions already discussed. We are concerned only -with those who would admit the moral order of the universe; and these -admit the existence of a period of probation, although some of them -may extend the limits of this probation indefinitely, and doubt or -deny some of its consequences. - -The very notion of probation springs from the notion of a free will, -permitted and even compelled to choose between good and evil. Now, why -is the created will permitted and even compelled to exercise this -prerogative which is too often the occasion of the greatest injury to -its possessor? - -A certain class of philosophers answer this question by asserting that -it could not possibly be otherwise. They exaggerate beyond all measure -this liberty of choice as something essential to all voluntary -operation. They have no conception of any moral goodness, virtue, or -sanctity, except that which is the product of this continual striving -to make a right choice between two rival objects of desire, the good -and evil. They even extend their notion so far as to include God; as -if he were in a kind of infinite state of moral probation, amenable to -a standard or law above himself, and only preserving his holiness by a -continual effort of will to choose among various possible -determinations that which is most perfectly conformed to this -standard. Of course, then, when he created intelligent spirits like -himself, he was obliged to leave them to their liberty of choice. They -could not become holy or happy in any other way. Indeed, according to -this system, they must remain in this state of moral probation for -ever. There is no conceivable way of determining them to good without -destroying the liberty of will which is essential to a rational -nature. The only immutability of will possible is that which arises -from a confirmed, long-continued habit of choice. Therefore God has -not absolutely determined the wills of his rational creatures to good, -because he could not. He has left them with the power and exposed to -the risks of wrong choices because he could not help it. - -This solution of the problem must be rejected as completely -unsatisfactory. God is good, and is blessed, by his nature. The human -nature of Christ is holy, impeccable, and beatified, by its hypostatic -union with the divine nature. The Blessed Virgin was impeccable from -the instant of her immaculate conception. The holy angels and just men -made perfect have finished their moral probation, and are in an -unchangeable state. The perfection of the intelligent nature, -therefore, so far from implying, excludes liberty of choice between -good an evil. If this be so, this liberty of choice is an -imperfection. Why, therefore, did God create rational existences with -this imperfection? Without doubt he could have given them -impeccability. He could have elevated them to a state of perfection -without requiring them to pass through any probation. He could have -placed all rational creatures at once in the state of beatitude, and -kept all sin an evil out of the universe. Why, then, is evil allowed -to enter? - -Moreover, _whence_ and _what_ is evil? How is it possible that there -should be any evil? Extrinsic to the being of God which is the -absolute good, nothing does or can exist, except that which God has -created after the similitude of his own being, and which, therefore, -participates according to its measure in his goodness. Besides, God -has created all things in view of an end. Being infinitely wise, he -{291} knows how to attain this end through his works, and being -infinitely powerful, he is able to do it. Being also infinitely good, -only good can terminate is volition. Therefore, if evil were possible, -he could not will to actualize it; and if, by an impossible -supposition, it could come into actual existence without him, he must -will to destroy it. The superficial theology and philosophy which -dates from the Reformation, is tied up here in a Gordian knot, which -no skill can unravel. It contains two dogmas which are absolute -contradictions: creation, and the substantive essence of evil. These -two can never coexist in harmony. One or the other must be modified or -given up. Either the dogma of creation must be so far given up as to -admit of some eternal self-existent _materia_ in which lies the -essential principle of evil, or the substantive existence of evil must -be denied. Those who deny or impair the first, have ceased to be -Theists in the strict and proper sense of the word, and are already -moving toward Pantheism. Those who deny the second, throw up with it -the conception of a moral order in the universe, of a state of -probation, strictly so called. There is no Theistic, Christian -philosophy of any depth or comprehensiveness on these topics, except -that which is included in the theology of St. Augustine, St. Thomas, -and other great Catholic writers. - -It is well known how completely the ancient philosophers were befogged -in regard to the nature and origin of evil. Plato taught that the -_materia_ out of which God formed the universe is eternal, and that, -from an inherent intractability in its essence, it is incapable able -of perfectly receiving the of the divine ideas. The constructor of the -universe was, therefore, hindered from realizing his ideal and fully -executing his design by the defectiveness of his material. He was like -an architect who has only soft, crumbling stone, or a sculptor with -veined marble. From this source, according to Plato, is all the evil -existing in the universe. - -The Persians, whose great master was Zoroaster, resorted to the theory -of two subordinate creators, both the offspring of the Supreme Being, -one Ormusd, being good, and the other Ahriman, being evil. All that is -good in the creation comes from the first, and all the evil from the -second of these great master-mechanics. Ahriman is destined, however, -to be eventually converted, with all his liege subjects, his botched -workmanship will be repaired, and the universe will come all right in -the end. This ingenious theory left out, however, one essential point; -namely, how Ahriman came to have an evil nature, since he was created -by the good God as well as Ormusd, and how he and his works could -become good, if they were essentially evil. - -Manes and the Manichaeans carried their dualism to a point of more -complete consistency, and more absolute absurdity. They taught the -existence of two eternal, self-existing principles, one good, the -other bad, who are engaged in perpetual warfare. Spiritual existences -proceed from the good principle, corporeal existences from the evil -one. Human souls, having been in some way allured into corporeal -forms, are polluted by them and involved in evil. It is necessary for -the soul to disengage itself from matter, and it will then be fit to -return to the supremely good being from whom it proceeded. - -Any system which teaches that evil has anything essential or -substantive, must give up the pure dogma of creation. For it is -inconsistent with that dogma to suppose that God can create anything -essentially evil, or that any creature can create anything, or that -any substance essentially good can become essentially evil by -corruption; since corruption produces no new substance, but modifies -substance already existing. - -{292} - -_Whence_, then, and _what_ is evil? What can there be as an -alternative of good before the intelligence and will of a rational -creature to form the material for a dilemma, and oblige him to -exercise a faculty of choice? Where is the substratum of a state of -probation? - -Metaphysical evil, or that evil which is included in the metaphysical -essence of all created things, is merely the limitation of their -possible good. Simple being, _ens simpliciter_, is alone the absolute -good in possibility and in act. Jesus Christ has said, "There is one -good, God." [Footnote 62] In actual existences, evil is merely a -recession from God. It is only relative, and negative, therefore, and -expresses the absence of that good which exists in some other -creature, or in God. In created existences, good is relative and -positive, and evil, or the absence of good, is relative and privative. -It is a mere deficiency, but nothing substantive, any more than -darkness, cold, or vacuity are substantive. - - [Footnote 62: St. Matt. xix. 17.] - -If we can suppose, therefore, a certain good proposed to a rational -creature as attainable by his free volition, with a power to the -contrary, we have the necessary conditions of a state of moral -probation. That is, the possibility is proved of a certain good being -made contingent on the voluntary choice of rational creatures; and -with it, the possibility of this good being forfeited by the -deficiency of this choice. This answers the question whence and what -is the possibility of evil as the concomitant risk annexed to a state -of probation. It is only necessary, therefore, to show that we can -make this supposition, by explaining how the will can be constituted -in an equilibrium between this proffered good and some other object, -with complete liberty to incline itself to either. - -That other object cannot be an essentially evil object, for there is -no such thing in existence. It must be, then, an inferior good. In the -state of probation the will is inclined to all kinds of good -indifferently, and capable of choosing any which the intellect judges -to be best or most desirable. It is capable of making a false choice, -because the intellect is capable of making a false judgment. -Intelligent spirit has self-dominion where it is not determined by -intrinsic necessity. It is lord over its own acts. It can determine -its own judgments and volitions. And this makes it a proper subject of -precept and moral obligation, capable of being placed in a state of -probation. - -It may appear very difficult to understand how this can be, but our -own consciousness and practical experience give us an intimate sense -of it's truth. Let us take, then, a familiar example in illustration. - -A child is capable of appreciating the good of delicious fruit, the -good of approbation and reward, the good of play and amusement, and -the good of knowledge. His parents allow him to eat peaches under -certain restrictions, and forbid him to eat them without their -permission. They allow him to play at certain times and under certain -conditions, and forbid him all other amusement and recitation. They -require him to devote a certain time to study, and to apply himself to -this study with diligence. It is plain that the will of the child is -in equilibrium toward all the various kinds of good in respect to -which he receives precepts from his parents, and is thus placed in a -state of probation, the issue of which is in great measure left to the -arbitration of his own free choice. He can determine himself to obey -his parents for the sake of their approbation and rewards, or to -disobey them for the sake of eating forbidden fruit. He can determine -himself to study for the sake of knowledge, or to neglect it for the -sake of play. When he determines himself to the inferior, sensible -good, he does so by a false judgment, that in the particular instance -the present sensible enjoyment is best for him for most desirable. Yet -he has power to the contrary, and both can and ought to make a right -judgment. He is determined to neither side by any {293} necessity, but -determines himself and destroys the equilibrium of his will by a free -choice, by virtue of his self-dominion. The necessity of exercising -this self-dominion proceeds from imperfection of nature. It is easily -conceivable that his nature, if it were rendered more perfect, would -determine him always to prefer the approbation of parents, and of his -own conscience, of the pleasure of eating fruit, and the pleasure of -knowledge to that of play. - -This illustrates our present point, and shows how the imperfection of -an intelligent creature, which makes him capable of false judgments in -regard to the eligibility of different objects of volition, renders -him a fit subject of probation. - -But why is he created in this imperfect state, and obliged to run the -risks of a difficult and dangerous probation? It is evident that God -might easily pour such a flood of light upon his intelligence that he -would be incapable of making a false judgment, and communicate to him -such a degree of felicity in the enjoyment of the true good, that his -will would be rapt away without effort beyond all possibility of -attraction from any inferior objects. He might communicate the -beatific vision simultaneously with the first act of reason, as the -does to those infants who are translated to heaven in their infancy. -Thus he might secure the eternal beatitude of all intelligent -creatures without placing any of them in probation. - -It is evident that God must have a reason for establishing a state of -probation, and that this reason must involve some great good to be -attained by it. This reason is, also, in part intelligible to us. So -far as we can understand it, it is, that God and the creature are more -glorified through the elevation of created nature to supernatural -beatitude, when the created nature concurs with God as First Cause, by -its own activity, as Second con-creative cause, in the highest manner -possible. It is the will of God that beatitude should be the prize of -merit, and merit implies liberty of choice. Supernatural beatitude is -a pure boon from God to the creature, not due to him as simply -existing. Therefore, God may bestow it on whom he pleases, and upon -any conditions he pleases to establish. As probation implies -imperfection, and the creature is created for his proper perfection, -when he attains it probation must cease. The period of probation must -therefore be limited. It must be also a real, _bona fide_ probation; -that is, the attainment of beatitude must really depend on the right -use of the term of probation. Consequently, when the term of probation -has expired, those who have failed in it must be left to the eternal -consequences of their own voluntary error. That species of virtue -which makes an intelligent creature capable of attaining supernatural -beatitude is itself supernatural, and therefore impossible without -divine grace. When this grace is lost, there is no natural power to -regain it. Sin is therefore in itself irreparable. It can be repaired -only by a second supernatural grace. If this grace is not conceded, -there is no second probation, but the sinner must remain perpetually -in that state to which his sin has reduced him. If this grace is -conceded, and the limits of probation are extended, those who fail -finally and pass out of the fixed period of probation must also remain -perpetually in that state to which they have reduced themselves by -their own free and voluntary election. - -Another great difficulty here presents itself, namely: it appears that -the fulfilment of the divine purpose is left to the contingencies of -second causes, and at the mercy of the arbitrary wills of creatures. -God appears to be like one who makes his plans in the dark, without -being able to know what their success will be, or to take efficacious -measures for securing their success. For how can he foresee future -events that are purely contingent on the free choice of created wills? -How can he predetermine an end, to be infallibly accomplished, when -this accomplishment is contingent on the free arbitration of the -creature? {294} The Catholic doctrine teaches that a multitude of -angels and men destined to supernatural beatitude finally fail of -their destination. Does not this failure partially thwart the divine -plan, mar his work, and deprive his universe of its perfection? -Although the divine plan has a partial success, through the -concurrence of a certain number of angels and men with the divine -will, is not this success even due to hap-hazard? Must we not suppose -that the divine plan ran the risk of a complete failure, so far as the -co-operation of free-will is concerned? - -It is evident that these suppositions are all incompatible with the -essential attributes of God. He must necessarily have a perfect -foreknowledge of all things that will ever come to pass. He must also -have supreme dominion over his entire creation, and be able to -accomplish all his purposes without any liability to be thwarted by -his own creatures. He must have decreed from eternity whatsoever he -does in time through his creative act. - -Therefore some, overwhelmed by the difficulties which encompass the -doctrine of the freedom of the created will, in its relation to the -divine, have adopted the part denying it altogether. The denial of -free-will, however, makes the state of probation, and the entire moral -order of the universe, with its retributions, completely illusory and -fantastic. It is a denial of a fact of universal human consciousness. -Whoever makes it ought to become a pantheist at once, and maintain -that all individual existences are mere emanations of the divine -substance. - -The Catholic doctrine distinctly proclaims both the divine -foreknowledge and decrees, and also the liberty of choice in the -created intelligent nature. A Catholic theologian, therefore, cannot -dispose of the difficulty in the case, by summarily denying either -side of the dogmatic truth. St. Thomas Aquinas, with those who follow -his school strictly, endeavors to resolve the difficulty by the -hypothesis of a physical premotion of the will, or an efficacious -grace, which has an infallible connection with a right choice, but yet -leaves the will to make this choice freely and with power to the -contrary. God has therefore predestined, by an infallible decree, all -those to whom he gives this efficacious grace, to the attainment of -beatitude. His foreknowledge is also explained as the knowledge of his -own determination through which all events, even contingent, are made -certain. - -This system has a certain hypothetical finish and completeness about -it, and it appears to vindicate the supreme dominion of God over all -contingent existences, second causes, and events taking place in time, -more effectually than any other. It fails, however, to reconcile with -the attributes of God the freedom of the created will and the state of -probation. For, according to this system, the will, although in -equilibrium, and intrinsically capable of motion to either side, -cannot put itself out of equilibrium by its own self-determining -power, but needs a previous, efficacious concurrence of the divine -will, in order to pass from the potentiality of choice to the act of -choice. All acts of the created will are, therefore, determined by the -will of God as efficient cause. If this is consistent with the liberty -which is necessary to the created will, that it may be second and -con-creative cause in concurrence with the first cause to the effect -of its own beatitude, God could infallibly determine all rational -creatures to beatitude without infringing on their liberty. The -creature could evolve into act all its causative activity, free-will -could receive its fullest scope, the principle of merit and reward -could be fully exemplified in the universe, without risking the -eternal destiny of a single individual, or permitting even the -smallest sin to be committed. It become very difficult, then, on this -hypothesis, to explain the permission of sin, and the eternal loss of -so many millions of rational creatures. The reason usually given, that -sin is an evil incidentally necessary to a system of probation, {295} -permitted on account of the greater good attained through the -probation of free-will, falls to the ground, and we have never yet -seen any other satisfactory reason substituted for it. - -It may be true that, without this hypothesis, the foreknowledge of God -and his supreme dominion over his creation are more incomprehensible. -This is no decisive argument, however, provided that these divine -attributes can be shown to be intelligible without thus said -hypothesis. - -First, in regard to the divine foreknowledge, it is argued that God -cannot foresee that which is purely dependent on the created will, -unless there is some cause or ground of certainty that there will -shall actually place the effect which is foreseen. This cause or -ground of certainty can only be the divine determination to concur -efficaciously with the will, that it may infallibly place the foreseen -act. - -To this it is replied, that God foresees all contingent, future -events, by a kind of knowledge called the super-comprehension of -cause. Knowing completely all causes, he knows all there effects in -them. This does not explain, however, his knowledge of the -self-determining acts of the will, since in these the same cause is in -equilibrium to opposite effects. It is better explained, we think, by -the theory of Suarez, that God sees all things in their objective -verity. He knows with certainty all that depends on the -self-determining action of free-will, because he directly beholds the -free-will determining itself. There is no succession in God. He -coexists from eternity and in eternity to all the successive periods -of created duration. What we call future is equally visible to God in -eternity with the past. There is no more difficulty, therefore, in his -knowing from all eternity all future contingent events, than there is -in our knowing anyone of these events in the time of its taking place, -or after it has happened. - -But, it is further argued, if God knows the acts of his creatures by -an immediate vision of them in their objective verity, he is perfected -by the creature, which is incompatible with his essence. God is the -adequate object of his own intelligence; therefore he knows all things -in himself. - -God is the adequate and sole object of his own intelligence in the act -of simple intelligence in which his essential being in the Three -Persons is constituted. Created existences are not included in this -act, and the knowledge of them is not perfective of the being of God. -God knows them in himself by the knowledge of vision, _scientia -visionis_, and sees them in himself as in a mirror. This perfection of -vision, by which God sees and knows all things which exist, is a -perfection proceeding from his infinite intelligence, not given to him -by the creature. The creature is its terminus, but the changes of the -terminus affect itself alone, and do not make the essential attribute -of God less immutable or infinite. The same objection might be made to -the statement, that created existences are the terminus of the divine -volition or love. The essential act of volition or love is completed -in the act of God _ad intra_, or his infinite love of himself. Yet God -loves the creature, delights in the love of the creature, wills the -beatitude of the creature. That he may do this, the existence of the -creature as the terminus of his volition is necessary as the _conditio -sine qua non_. It might be said, then, that the existence of the -creature, and his act in loving God, is perfective of God. It is not. -For it is altogether distinct from that which is the terminus of the -divine act of love, in which the perfection of the being of God is -constituted, viz.: from the essence of God itself. God has the -plenitude of love in himself, and it remains the same whether more or -fewer created existences are its recipients. So the infinite power of -vision in God is the same, whether more or fewer created existences or -acts of existing agents come within its scope. There is no objection, -therefore, to the theory {296} respecting the science of God, which -maintains that he knows all future contingents which depend entirely -on his divine decree in that decree, all that depend on second causes -determined of necessity to produce certain effects in his -supercomprehension of cause, and all that depend on free-will in his -foresight of the self-determination of free-will. The whole -incomprehensibility of this foreknowledge is reduced to an identity -with the essential incomprehensibility of God, as eternal and as -coexisting to all the successive periods of time. - -Secondly, as regards the divine supremacy over creation, and the -ability of the Sovereign Creative Spirit to bring the universe to an -end predetermined by himself. - -It is argued, that if we reject the Thomist hypothesis, we reduce -everything to the hap-hazard of capricious, eccentric, lawless -free-will, which makes it impossible to suppose any plan regularly and -infallibly carried out through the medium of second causes, in the -universe. - -This is not so. Free-will is not mere lawless caprice, directed by -mere accident. It is directed by intelligence, and acts according to -the law of motives. It must choose the good, and can never choose that -which is evil, _ratione mali_. Since, by a law of its probation, the -real chief good and the apparent chief good are presented before it in -such a way as to leave it in equilibrium toward both, without any -dominant or necessitating motive toward either, it makes the motive on -one side preponderant by its exercise of self-dominion. This is not by -chance or caprice. It is by the exercise of intellect, and through the -impulse of powerful motives. Its circle of variability is restricted, -and its determination is capable of being influenced by intellectual -and moral considerations. It is perfectly evident that a man, even -without the slightest power of exercising any determining influence on -the wills of other men, can nevertheless, without infringing on their -perfect liberty, reason them into a co-operation with himself in -carrying out a plan, or persuade them into it by proving its -advantages before them. Much more, then, is God able to bring a -sufficient number of angels and men to a voluntary co-operation with -himself to secure the success of his great design. It is in this way -that God manifests his infinite wisdom and divine art, by arranging -all things with such consummate and complex skill and harmony, and -directing all things from end to end by such a wise far-reaching -Providence, that he is able to bring out in the end the desired -result, through the concurrence of free, con-creative second causes. -It may be said that, since all angels were free to reject the -beatitude proffered to them, God, in creating them and giving them -this freedom, exposed his plan to the risk of being completely -thwarted by their unanimous refusal to comply with the terms of their -probation. The same might also be said of mankind. - -We must understand, however, that, although Almighty God does not -deliberate, change, modify, watch for results, make experiments, -profit by experience, devise new expedients, like a man of creative -genius, and although his creative art is one, simple, and from -eternity, yet it includes in itself in an eminent mode all these -operations of the finite intelligence. If by an impossible -supposition, God had delegated creative wisdom and powered to a -created spirit, such as Arians fancied the Logos, and others the -Demiurgus, to be; and this mighty intelligence had proceeded to -execute his task in the same manner, but on a grander scale, that men -execute great undertakings, and we should endeavor to describe the way -in which he accomplished his work, we should have a correct though -imperfect representation of the actual operation of Almighty God in -the execution of his works _ad extra_. The conceptions we are able to -form of the operation of God are all analogical. We cannot transcend -{297} these analogies. And although we know them to be imperfect and -inadequate, yet we know also that they have all the verisimilitude -necessary to give us true conceptions. In this way we understand that -God knew all the risks to which his plan was exposed, and made -provision for them. Wherever it was necessary, he protected his -designs from the risk of failure through the non-concurrencc of second -causes. For instance, having determined to create a heaven containing -a multitude of beatified spirits, and foreseeing that a certain number -of those who were destined to this high position would forfeit it by -sin, he took this into the account in determining the number to be -created, and the conditions of the trial through which they were to -pass. A profound theologian, who was of the strict Thomist school, the -late Bishop of Philadelphia, expressed to the author on one occasion -the opinion, that only the lower orders of angels were made liable to -sin. He thought that the higher orders received a grace incompatible -with sin, though not with merit, and that Lucifer was therefore the -chief, not of the Seraphim, but of the Archangels. On this -supposition, the risk of sin was confined within narrow limits, so far -as the angels were concerned. Whether this be a well-grounded -hypothesis or not, it is evident that these pure and exalted spirits, -possessing the highest natural intelligence, being impelled to good by -their nature, having received the gift of supernatural grace, and -having the prospect of a still greater glory before them, were very -likely, speaking after a human mode of thought, to make the requisite -act of concurrence with the divine will and thus secure their -confirmation in grace. In other words, there appears to be an _a -priori_ probability that at least a great number of them would do so. -We know that, in point of fact, a great number of them did, and, -according to the common opinion, much the largest portion of the whole -number who were tried. - -Now, this to us apparent probability was a certainty to God, as -clearly known before as after the fact. In view of this certainty he -created them and placed them in the state of probation. He foreknew, -also, how many would fail, and therefore, if his purposes required it, -could easily create such a multitude that the angels who fell would -not be missed from their ranks. Those who fell did indeed thwart the -benevolent designs of God, so far as their own particular persons were -concerned. But these designs were conditional, as respecting -individuals, and were made in full view of the actual event. God could -not be thwarted or disappointed in regard to his grand design, because -this did not depend on any particular individuals. - -So in regard to men. Jesus Christ as man, and the Blessed Virgin, on -whom the fulfilment of the divine plan absolutely depended, were -absolutely predestined, and rendered impeccable; Jesus Christ by -nature, and the Blessed Virgin by grace. If any other particular -individuals were placed in a position which required it, they too -received a grace which gave them immunity from any liability to fail -in their necessary concurrence with the divine will as second causes. -A vast multitude of human beings are elevated to beatitude without -running any of the risks of probation. Adam, it is true, was able to -thwart the first design of God in regard to the mode of bringing the -race to its destination. But he could not thwart God's ultimate -design, because he was able to accomplish it by another mode. -Particular men, in vast numbers, are able to thwart the designs of God -toward themselves. But they cannot thwart his designs toward the race. -For he is able to regulate and order times, events, and circumstances, -and to continue creating generation after generation, until, by moral -means alone, he has completed the number of his saints and peopled -heaven sufficiently to fulfil his purpose. Moreover, if necessary, he -can always {298} touch the springs of the will directly, and determine -it to any act which he has positively decreed must be performed. He -can also modify, restrict, alleviate, set aside, or shorten the risks -of probation, according to his own good pleasure, in regard to any or -all of men, with an infinite and infallible wisdom. - -But it is again argued, that according to this view, God is not the -absolute cause of all things, nor the absolute sovereign over all -things. The created will has an independent sovereignty of its own, -and God is dependent in certain things on his creatures, obliged to -modify his plans and to condition his decrees to suit their -determinations. - -This is not a conclusive argument. It is a maxim of philosophy, that -_causa causae est causa causati_; the cause of a cause is the cause of -that which is caused; _i.e._, caused by this second cause. God is the -creator of free-will, and his perpetual influx gives it always the -power of choosing and acting. Free-will is not, therefore, an -independent, but a delegated and dependent sovereign. God can deprive -it of the opportunity of choosing, or frustrate its determinations. It -is sovereign within a limited sphere, because God has chosen to create -it and give it sovereignty. - -If God is absolute sovereign, can he not concede to a creature the -power to do his own will within a certain sphere, if it [is] his -sovereign pleasure to do so? Can he not determine to do certain things -on the condition that the creature uses his free-will in a certain -way, if he pleases? He has pleased to do it. He has made his eternal -decrees with a full view of all that his creatures would do before -him. All the incidental and partial evil resulting from the misuse of -free-will in the universe he has foreseen, and determined to permit. -He has decided on his great plan, notwithstanding the incidental evil, -in view of a greater universal good. Not that sin and evil are -necessary means of the greatest good, or directly conduce to a greater -good than that which could exist in a universe without sin; but that -the concession of the liberty on a grand scale, the particular and -incidental misuse of which occasions sin and evil, is the necessary -means to that greater good. The greater good itself is the obedience, -homage, love, service, and fidelity given to God by a multitude of -creatures who have been left free to sin, and who have not sinned, or -not sinned irremediably and finally. - -We conclude, therefore, _pace tantorum virorum_ who have maintained -it, that the theory of the strict Thomists on this point is not -conclusively established. To our mind, the theory which is in -accordance with the philosophy of the great fathers before St. Thomas, -with that of the Scotists in the middle ages, and with that of the -most prevalent Catholic schools since the Jansenist controversy, is -the more probable one. According to this theory, in a system of strict -probation, a physical premotion, or a grace efficacious _in se_ and -_ab intrinseco_ is not metaphysically necessary in order that -free-will may actually concur with the divine will to secure the -permanence of the creature in a supernatural state. Nothing is -necessary beyond liberty of choice and the grace which gives power to -elicit supernatural acts. When the angels passed through their -probation, therefore, we cannot go behind the exercise of their -liberty in choosing or rejecting the proffered boon of celestial -glory, to seek a deeper cause, determining some to choose and not -determining others. They were free to choose; and being free, some -shows wisely and well, others foolishly and ill. So, also, with Adam. -He might have stood, but he did not. He had the power to choose, and -he chose wrongly. By the very same power he might have chosen rightly, -without any additional Grace, The _arbitrium mentis_, the exercise of -free self-dominion, is the only reason that {299} can be given. This -prerogative is indeed mysterious and inscrutable. We do not pretend to -have removed all difficulty of comprehending it. But it is -incomprehensible to us in our present state of imperfect intelligence, -because the soul itself is an inscrutable mystery. Its relation to the -divine will and operation is a mystery full of inexplicable -difficulties. But it is because of that ground mystery of mysteries, -the coexistence of God and the creation, which was the insoluble -enigma of all ancient philosophy. The great Aristotle saw the -difficulty so clearly which is involved in the relation of a -contingent world to the necessary being of God, that, unable to find -an ideal formula which could unite the two terms by a dialectic -relation, he denied all relation between them. He affirmed the -existence of God and of the world. But he affirmed also, that the -world exists independently of God, as self-existent, eternal, and -necessary. Moreover, that God has or can have no knowledge of the -world. For, he argued, God can have no knowledge of the world unless -the world is the object or terminus of the divine intelligence. But if -the world is the object of the divine intelligence, God is not perfect -as intelligence in himself alone, but is conditioned and perfected by -that which is inferior to his own being. Thus we see that the -objection to the divine foreknowledge of the contingent in its -objective verity which is found in scholastic theology, is one derived -from Aristotle, and that the extremely subtle and acute reasoning of -St. Thomas and the Thomists were directed toward a reconciliation of -the Aristotelian philosophy with the Catholic dogmas. The difficulty -lies in the creative act of God, which is a mystery not fully -comprehensible by human reason, and, therefore, not fully to be -explained by any hypothesis or theory of philosophy. The activity of -free-will as concurrent, con-creative cause with God approaches the -nearest of anything in creation to the creative act of God, and, -therefore, is the most mysterious and incomprehensible fact of -psychology. It is incomprehensible in itself, and it complicates still -further the incomprehensibility of the creative act of God. It is not -strange, therefore, that there should have been such a long and still -unsettled controversy in the Catholic schools respecting this topic, -since the church has hitherto abstained from deciding it. Still less -can we wonder that non-Catholic schools, having no fixed dogmas or -authoritative formulas of doctrine to check the spirit of private -speculation, go round and round continually, involving themselves more -hopelessly every day in entanglements from which they can never -extricate themselves. - -The explanation we have endeavored to set forth as the most probable -will, we think, commend itself to the minds of most of our readers as -the most intelligible and satisfactory which can be given. If a better -one can be furnished by some one more competent to the task, we shall -welcome it. Meanwhile, we leave what we have written to find what -acceptance it may. - -It will be seen at once, by those who are at all versed in these -matters, that, according to the theory we have proposed, the -predestination of those who attain eternal life as the term of a -period of probation is consequent on the foresight of their fidelity -and merit, at least as a general rule. It does not follow from this, -however, that we reject the doctrine of efficacious grace. As this -doctrine is immediately connected with the points we have been -examining, we will give it a brief consideration now, in order to -avoid returning to it hereafter. - -In the Thomist theology, efficacious grace means a grace distinct in -its own nature from sufficient grace. Sufficient grace gives the power -to elicit a supernatural act, efficacious grace gives the act itself. -It is therefore efficacious _in se_ and _ab intrinseco_. {300} This -notion of efficacious grace is derived from the philosophical notion -of the previous and efficacious concurrence of the will of God with -every act of free-will, in the exercise of the faculty of choice. -According to this philosophy, it is impossible for this faculty, as it -is for every second cause _in potentia_ to its proper act, to pass -from potentiality into act without a special movement from the first -cause. - -The contrary hypothesis, sustained by Molina, the great body of the -Jesuit theologians, Thomassinus, and the generality of modern Catholic -authors, is, that the grace which is auxiliary to the will in -eliciting free supernatural acts, is not efficacious _ab intrinseco_, -but is made efficacious by the concurrence of free-will. This implies -a different notion of divine concurrence from the one just stated, -according to which the influx of divine power into free, spontaneous, -active second causes gives merely an aid which is indeterminate, -leaving free-will to its own election among two or more terms upon -which it can direct this indeterminate aid. When an artilleryman -sights his gun, the divine power which supports and gives efficiency -to all natural laws and forces must propel the ball. But this divine -power stands ready at his disposal, and will propel the ball in -whatever direction, toward whatever point, he selects. So it is with -the choice of free-will. - -We have already indicated our adhesion to this latter hypothesis. It -is far more in accordance with the doctrine of the Fathers, Latin as -well as Greek, including St. Augustine himself, than the other. The -former one was wholly unknown to the Greek Fathers, and does not -appear in the Latin Fathers before the Pelagian controversy. Even -after this period it appears, in the writings of St. Augustine and -others of his school, in an entirely different form from that which -was given to it by St. Thomas. That is to say, it is applied to the -case of fallen man, who is supposed to need an efficacious grace on -account of the weakness of his will, and to receive it as a special -gift of mercy through Christ. The perseverance of those angels who -stood their trial successfully is attributed, not to a grace -efficacious _ab intrinseco_, which was withheld from the other angels, -but to a right use of the same grace which was equally conceded to -all, and abused by some. So, also, the fall of Adam is attributed -simply to his failure of concurrence with a grace which needed only -his concurrence in order to become efficacious, but was frustrated of -its effect by his abuse of his own free-will. Moreover, all that St. -Augustine says about efficacious grace in fallen man is reconcilable -with the doctrine of congruity and sometimes directly favors it, as is -proved by Antoine and others who have written in vindication of his -theology from Jansenist perversions. This doctrine of congruity has -been introduced in order to explain more satisfactorily the perfect -liberty of the will, without denying the existence of efficacious -grace differing _in actu primo_, or antecedently to the consent of the -will, from grace merely sufficient. Although the opinion that the -actual efficacy of divine grace is to the sought exclusively in the -consent of the will has not been condemned, it has nevertheless been -received with disfavor and generally rejected. It is commonly taught -that God confers, whenever he pleases, upon men, a grace which -infallibly secures their co-operation, and their final perseverance. -In our view, this doctrine can the sustained by ample and certain -proofs from Scripture and Tradition, and is the only one which can be -completely developed in consonance with the decisions of the church, -especially those of the Council of Trent respecting final -perseverance. [Footnote 63] - - [Footnote 63: Si quis _magnum illud usque in finem perseverantiae - donum_ se certo habiturum, absoluta et infallibili certitudine - dixerit, etc. A. S. - - If any one shall say that he will certainly have that _great gift of - perseverance to the end_, with an absolute and infallible certitude, - etc. - - Si quis dixerit, justificatum vel sine _speciali auxilio Dei,_ in - accepta justisia perseverare posse, vel cum eo non posse. A. S. - - If any one shall say that the justified man either can, without a - _special aid of God_, persevere in the justice he has received, or - can not persevere with it, let him be under the ban. De Justif. Can. - 16-22.] - -{301} - -The reason why certain graces are actually infallible in their effects -is to be found in their congruity he to the character, disposition, -and circumstances of the subject, and in their multitude. The -necessity for them is not a metaphysical but a moral necessity. The -fragility of our nature is such, that although a grace merely -sufficient makes us metaphysically capable of persevering without sin, -we are you sure to become wearied, and through fickleness, weakness of -purpose, changeableness, etc., to break down somewhere. Our own -consciousness and experience teach us that we need a divine and -protecting arm to encompass us continually and secure us against -ourselves, and they incline us to utter that prayer of the Divine -Liturgy: "Compelle, Domine, rebelles voluntates nostras:" "Compel, O -Lord, our rebellious wills." God, who knows human nature perfectly, -can, in a thousand ways, by ordering the circumstances of life, -shortening or prolonging it, regulating the influences which act on -the character, alluring or terrifying the heart, illuminating the -mind, impelling without coercing the will, and adapting his influences -with infinite wisdom to the special state of the soul, convert whom he -will, sanctify whom he will, give perseverance to whom he will, and -still gain his point with the free consent and concurrence of the -creature. "Non est volentis neque currentis, miserentis est Dei:" "It -is not of him who willeth or of him who runneth, but of God who -showeth mercy." The difficulty may still be raised, that God withholds -these graces of congruity and the gift of perseverance from those who -do not in the first instance accept the proffered Grace, or who do not -finally persevere. But this is removed by the doctrine so ably and -strenuously advocated by St. Alphonsus Liguori, that common grace is -sufficient to enable one to pray fervently and do ordinary good acts; -and that by prayer, with the use of other facile means, efficacious -graces and the gift of perseverance may be infallibly obtained from -God. - -We may now return to our theme of the state of probation originally -established by God for those who were made candidates for supernatural -glory. We have endeavored to clear our track of difficulties impeding -the clear view of the truth that God established this probation -through goodness and love, or with the simple view of communicating -the greatest good to the creature. - -The principle questions respecting probation having been already -discussed, there remains now but one, viz.: what was the precise and -specific nature of the trial to which rational nature was subjected. -This divides itself again into two, one respecting the trial of the -angels and the other respecting the trial of man. - -The angels, according to the doctrine of St. Thomas and theologians -generally, were created at the summit of intelligent being, incapable -of error or false judgment in their natural, intellectual operation, -and therefore impeccable in the natural order. Supernatural grace was -conferred upon them simultaneously with their creation, although, as -F. Billuart holds, they may have concurred actively to the reception -of this grace, by a spontaneous act preceding all deliberation. Grace -made them capable of eliciting supernatural acts, but did not -determine them to those acts without the free concurrence of their -will. Their intelligence must have been, therefore, left in a certain -obscurity as regards the supernatural object, in order that an error -of judgment should be possible, or even an act of deliberation -terminating in a free volition. What the precise object of -deliberation and choice was cannot be certainly and precisely -determined. It must in some way have presented the alternative of -either eliciting a supernatural act by the aid of the obscure -supernatural {302} light, or of falling back on the free, natural -operation of intelligence. God must have exacted some act of homage to -his sovereign will, disclosed some condition as the indispensable -prerequisite to obtaining the crown of supernatural glory, which the -natural intelligence of the angels could not see to be just and right -without the aid of a supernatural light. This light was given, clear -enough to enable the will, by a strong voluntary effort, to determine -itself to act by this light, in preference to its natural light; dim -enough to allow the will to turn from it voluntarily, and find in its -natural light a plausible reason for withholding its submission to the -supreme will. Certain passages of Scripture, and the common -traditional Catholic doctrine, indicate that the angels who fell, fell -through pride, and that Lucifer, in particular, their chief spirit, in -some way aspired to a resemblance with God. Some have thought that he -desired to become God. St. Thomas, however, says that this is -impossible, because his intelligence was too perfect to permit him to -conceive such a thought. He explains the sin of the angels to have -consisted in a refusal to accept supernatural glory as a pure boon -from God, and a wish to attain beatitude by the exertion of their own -natural powers. - -The most plausible supposition, in our view, is one that may be said -to be contained under the more generic statement just given. It is, -namely, that the angels were tried by the revelation of the -Incarnation. The union of the Second Person of the Trinity with human -nature, the elevation of human nature to divine glory and honor, the -obligation of doing homage to Jesus Christ, as King, and to the -Blessed Virgin, his mother, as Queen of Angels, was revealed, as the -crucial test of the absolute obedience of the celestial spirits. -According to their natural reason, and natural love of their own -nature and kind, it would appear to them a violation of order and -justice to pass them by, in order to assume an inferior nature partly -corporeal and animal, into a hypostatic union with the Godhead; -elevating this nature above their own, which was the highest in the -natural order. Supernatural light suggested to them that God, as -sovereign, had a right to bestow his supernatural gifts according to -his own will, and, as infinitely wise, must have a secret reason for -apparently inverting the order of nature in establishing the -supernatural order of the universe. Those who voluntarily submitted -themselves to the decree of God were rewarded by an illumination which -disclose to them the wisdom and goodness of the decree of the -Incarnation, and the glory which they themselves as well as the whole -universe would receive from it; and thus became incapable for ever of -erring in their judgment respecting the highest good, and consequently -of swerving from it through sin. Those who fell turned their minds -away from the supernatural light toward the consideration of their own -private good, and the glory of their own persons and their own order. -They revolted at the idea of being subordinated to human nature, and -desired that the angelic nature should be the subject of the -hypostatic union. Lucifer, in particular, as their chief, desired that -he himself might be assumed into union with the Word, exalted to the -throne of the universe, and deified. He and his associates demanded it -from God as a right due to their natural dignity, and thus rebelled -against his sovereign majesty, were cast out of the celestial sphere, -and forfeited for ever the crown of supernatural glory. Hence their -enmity to the Incarnate Word, to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to the -human race. Hence their efforts to establish their own supremacy over -man, and the continual conflict which the holy angels and the children -of God on earth must wage against them in the sacred warfare for the -triumph of Christ's kingdom upon earth. This brings us to the -consideration of human probation, a topic which must be reserved for a -future number. - ------- -{303} - - -From the Dublin University Magazine - - - -MISSAL-PAINTING. [Footnote 64] - - [Footnote 64: _Authorities_: Plinii Nat. Hist.; Cornel. Nepos; - Giraldus Cambrensis; Anglia Sacra; Brompton's Chron.; Humphreys' Art - of Illumination and illuminated Books of the Middle Ages; Sylvestre - Paleographic Universelle (Sir F. Madden's edition); Muratori Antiq. - Ital. Mediaevi; Lanzi Hist. of Painting; Baldinucci Notizie; - Froissart's Chronicles; Mrs. Jamieson's Life of Our Lord; Cotton. - MSS.--Claud. B iv.--Faustina, B vi.--Galba, A xviii.-Nero, C - iv.--Tiber. A ii., C vi.--Vesp. A i.; Harleian MSS. 2904, 5102, - 7026, 2900, 2846, 2884, 2853; Bib. Regia, 2 A xxii., 1 D i., 2 A - xviii., and 2 B vii.] - - -The review of monastic literature which we can present in the limited -space of a single paper must necessarily be a concise and condensed -one, a mere skeleton of the superstructure, not exhaustive but rather -suggestive of the sources where information may be found by others who -may care to investigate the merits or demerits of a subject about -which there have been such varying representations. A complete history -of monastic literature would occupy as many volumes as this essay will -pages, for it would not only necessitate a review of certain portions -of the literature of every civilized country in Europe, but to a great -extent at some periods of the whole of European literature. The -materials of history, the hymnology of the church, the elements of -science, art, and the very woof, as it were, of modern literature, -were all handed down to us by that great institution, whose fate as it -chanced in England we are endeavoring to delineate. We have hitherto -striven to make this investigation a fair and impartial one, based -upon facts not as represented by the biassed pens of Protestant -historians, but upon facts gleaned almost entirely from the works of -men who lived and died in the bosom of that church of which this -institution was the cherished offspring. Still more unreasonable is -the prejudice of many who refuse to award any meed of praise to the -literary labors of monasticism, who look upon the monk as a lazy, -sensual, selfish misanthrope, who have heard of the dark ages and are -therewith satisfied that they must have been totally -dark--intellectual obstinates who wilfully shut their eyes and -maintain there is no light. We may have doctrinal prejudices, -theological prejudices, social prejudices, against monasticism, but -these things ought not to prevent a reasoning man from paying his -homage to the genius which may be found in its works. Genius is -universal; it is not confined to any doctrine, for it is found in all -doctrines; it is not limited to any age, for it is common to all ages; -it does not flourish merely under enlightened and free governments, -for it has lived triumphant through the dull oppression of tyranny; -riches cannot create it nor poverty crush it out: it is born in the -hovel; it is nurtured on bleak mountains; it will flourish even under -the weary training of indigence and wasting toil: like air, light, and -beauty, it is the free, the unbought gift of God. - -We have already in a former chapter described the scriptorium, or room -adjoining the library, where books were copied and multiplied by monks -chosen for that work. We will only add to that description what we -glean from the rule of St. Victor--that no visitors were allowed to -go into the scriptorium except the abbot, the prior, the sub-prior, -and the precentor--that the abbot ordered what books were to be -transcribed, and that the writers were appointed by him. At all -periods it was a great ambition amongst the monks to be a {304} good -transcriber and decorator of manuscripts. Not only was it a matter of -distinction but a sure path to promotion; many who have worked well in -the scriptorium were rewarded for their services with abbacies and -bishoprics. In the thirteenth century a monk of the monastery of St. -Swithin, at Winchester, was recommended for the vacant abbacy of Hyde, -as being well versed in the glosses of the sacred text, a skilful -writer, a good artist, and clever at painting initial letters. - -In this scriptorium was cultivated and brought to perfection an art -which has been the admiration of all subsequent ages, but which -printing completely swept away, and failed to supply anything adequate -in its place--that art is called illumination. It has a career of its -own, and a value as a beautiful eloquent monument in the history of -the church, and under these two phases we shall proceed to investigate -this first part of the literary labor of monasticism. - -The art of illuminating manuscripts was not, as has been supposed, -originated by Christianity, though it was brought to perfection under -its sway. There are two periods in its history, the first goes far -back into the remote past, to the times of the Egyptian papyri, -sixteen centuries before Christ, and the second period commences with -the chrysography or writing in gold of the Greek manuscripts, between -the fifth and eighth centuries after Christ. The more ancient rolls of -Egyptian papyri are written in red, with a reed, decorated by rude -drawings similarly traced, representing mystical scenes of the -Egyptian mythology--some of these papyri, however, are of higher -finish, being elaborately painted, gilded, and extending to the length -of sixty feet. There is preserved in the museum of the Louvre a -specimen of the plain style of papyrus, ornamented with illustrations, -drawn in outline. It is said to be one of those rituals which are -often found enclosed in mummy coffins; it is about forty feet in -length, and is in a good state of preservation. There are directions -on it for the illuminator, such as were adopted also by the Christian -penmen. In the corner of the space left for illumination there was -inserted a small sketch of the subject to guide the artist. The French -recovered also a specimen of the superior kind of papyri at Thebes, in -1798. [Footnote 65] - - [Footnote 65: Published entire by the Imperial Government, in a work - called Description de l'Egypte, 1812.] - -It consists of a number of religious scenes, comprising many figures -of human beings and animals, drawn with a pen, and brilliantly -colored. It is about forty-four feet in length, though imperfect. It -is more than probable also that the Romans had some knowledge of the -art of illustrating manuscripts. The passage usually quoted in support -of this theory occurs in the Natural History of Pliny, [Footnote 66] -where we are told that Varro wrote the lives of 700 Romans, which he -illustrated with their portraits. - - [Footnote 66: Marcus Varro benignissimo invento, insertis, voluminum - suorum fecunditati non nominibus tantum septingentorum illustrium - sed et aliquo modo imaginibus non passus intercidere figuras aut - vetustatem aevi contra homines valere, inventor muneris etiam diis - invidiosi, quando immortalitatem non solum dedit verum etiam in - omnes terras misit ut presectes esse ubique et claudi - possent.--PLINII: Nat. Hist. lib. xxxv., c. 2.] - -But there is also an account of a similar work by Pomponius Atticus, -recorded by Cornelius Nepos, who tells us that Atticus wrote about the -actions of the great men of Rome, which descriptions he ornamented -with their portraits. [Footnote 67] - - [Footnote 67: Namque versibus qui honores rerumque gestarum - amplitudine ceteros Romane populi praestiterunt exposuit: ita ut sub - singulorum imaginibus facta magistratus qui eorum non amplius - quaternis quinisve versibus discripserit.--CORN. NEP.: Atticus.] - -It is impossible to fix the time when the art of Christian -illumination sprung up, but most probably it occurred when the ancient -fashion of rolled manuscripts gave way to something more like the -present book form; that is, instead of one long narrow sheet of some -forty or sixty feet, a number of square sheets placed upon each other, -and sewn together at the back. The ancient manuscripts were rolled -either {305} upon one or two rollers. The second roller was adopted -for the convenience of the reader, who might roll off his manuscript -as he read it from one to the other; thus one roller was placed at the -end of the MS. round which it was rolled first, then a second roller -was attached to the commencement of the MS., and upon this the reader -rolled it off as he read; it was the duty of the librarians to roll it -back again for the convenience of the next reader. As long as this -mode prevailed there could be no elaborate painting or gilding of -MSS., such as we are familiar with, and this is attested by the fact -that the MSS. of this rolled form which were dug up from Herculaneum -and Pompeii have no trace of decoration. But in the very earliest -specimens of the book form which came into vogue early in the second -century of the Christian era, there were decorations of various -degrees of richness. The Discorides in the Vienna Library, and the -celebrated Virgil of the Vatican, said to have been executed in the -fourth century, are among the earliest specimens of illuminated MSS. -Still the miniature prevailed in these, the decorations in the -Discorides being very simple, but absent altogether in the Virgil, -whilst the miniatures are large and clear. Decoration, however, was -prevalent in that early time, for St. Jerome, who lived in the fourth -century, complains of the abuse of this art of filling up books with -ornamented capital letters of an enormous size. It is there for in -this fourth century that we find a marked advance in the art of -illumination. The most valuable books were written in gold and silver -inks by scribes who were called chrysographi; the vellum was stained -with rose colored or purple dye, to throw up the gold and silver -letters. One of the most valued authorities on the text of the New -Testament is the version by Ulphilas, the Gothic bishop, who lived in -the early part of the fourth century. A copy of this in letters of -silver, with the initials in gold, was executed in the fifth century, -and is now preserved in the royal library at Upsal, under the -well-known title of the Codex Atgenteus. Some of the MSS. of this -period were written on a blue ground in silver, with the name of God -in gold. This magnificent form of copying was devoted principally to -the Gospels and Scriptures generally. To this succeeded as an -influence of Byzantine luxury the style of writing on a gilded ground -in letters of black. During these early periods miniatures formed the -principal features of the ornamentation, but toward the seventh -century, two centuries after the fall of Rome, a change came over the -style of art, and miniatures gradually gave way to more elaborate -decoration. In this age, too, the initial letter sprang up. In the -most ancient manuscripts it was not distinguished from the text, but -from the seventh to the eleventh century separate capital letters of a -large size were the characteristics of the volumes most decorated. It -is to this period that the origin of the various schools of -illumination may be traced. Rome had succumbed to barbarian violence, -and her arts, though decaying, still exerted an influence upon this -new style of painting, then in its infancy. That influence was -naturally stronger in Italy, and therefore the early illuminations of -the Italian school bear traces of the old Roman style. In France the -same influence was manifest, mixed up with national peculiarities, and -this school was consequently called the Franco-Roman. Miniatures now -were gradually displaced by intricate ornamentation, interlaced -fretwork, or twining branches of white or gold, on a background of -variegated colors. But far away in the distant west, in a country -which had never been under Roman domination, and was therefore free -from Roman influence, a style of art rose up of a purely original -character. Historical research has placed it beyond question that in -these remote times Ireland was far in advance of other nations in the -scale of civilization. Her fame had extended over Europe, her -monasteries were adorned {306} with men of great piety and learning, -who were the trainers of the leading spirits of the age. She was the -first to break through the dense darkness of the times, and as she -gave Christianity to Scotland, so she also imparted to the Saxons the -art of illumination. The very earliest mention we have in the history -of our country of an illuminator is of Dagaeus, abbot of Iniskeltra, -who lived in the early part of the sixth century, and died about 587. -Adamnanus, the Saxon abbot of Iona, retained Genereus, who had taught -illumination in the Irish monasteries, to impart that knowledge to the -Saxons; and in the eighth century another Irish monk, Ultan, is -mentioned as having a great reputation as an illuminator of MSS. Bede -also confirms this fact of Irish civilization, for he asserts that it -was the custom to send youths out of England into Ireland to study at -her monasteries. It was from Ireland, then, that the Anglo-Saxons -learned the art of illumination. [Footnote 68] Later in the tenth -century, a style, peculiar and original, was started, it is said by -Dunstan, who was a great illuminator, which consisted in a novel use -of the foliage, quite distinct from all other styles. It prevailed to -the end of the Saxon rule, and is known by the name of Opus Anglicum. -One of the finest specimens of the Anglo-Saxon school is extant in the -Cottonian library, in the shape of the Durham Book, or St. Cuthbert's -Gospels; it was the work of Eadfrith, bishop of Lindisfarne, in honor -of St. Cuthbert; its execution extended from the year 698 to 721; it -is peculiarly a Saxon piece of art, and belongs to that species known -as "tesselated" Giraldus Cambrensis, who wrote in the twelfth century, -speaks of having seen a similar MS. at Kildare, which was called The -Evangelisterium. [Footnote 69] - - [Footnote 68: Mr. Noel Humphreys, in is beautiful little work upon - the Art of Illumination and Missal Painting, has given, as a - specimen of this Anglo-Hibernian school, a page from the Gospels of - Maelbrigid Mac Durnan, the MS. of which is preserved in the Lambeth - MSS.] - - [Footnote 69: Inter universa Kyldariae miracula nil mihi - miraculosius occurrit quam liber (ut alunt) Angelo dictante - conscriptus. Continet hic liber quatuor Evangelistarum juxta - Hieronymum concordantiam: ubi quot paginae fere sunt tot figurae - diversae variisque coloribus distinctissimae. Hic majestatis vultum - videas divinitus impressum, hinc mysticas Evangelistarum formas: - nunc senas nunc quaternas nunc binas alas habentes. Hinc acquilam, - inde vitulum hinc hominis faciem inde leonis ailasque figuras pene - infinitas. . . . Haec equidem quanto frequentius et diligentius - intueor semper quasi novi obstupco semperque magis ac magis - admiranda conspicio.--GIRALD CAMB.: Topogr. Hibern., lib., ii., c. 88.] - -The finest specimen of English illumination of the tenth century is -the Duke of Devonshire's celebrated Benedictional, by St. AEthelwald, -bishop of Winchester, written and painted between 963 and 984. The -first page is a magnificent picture of a number of glorified -confessors; it was written by a monk, of whom we shall speak -hereafter. Up to the twelfth century decorations were the peculiar -characteristics of illumination, although some Saxon MSS. written -during those periods have pictures drawn in outline; but the great -point in all richly illuminated MSS. was the initial letter, and every -effort of art was exerted to make that as rich and magnificent as -possible. After that time we find these initial letters ornamented -also with drawings of the human form, animals, birds, etc, in addition -to the foliage which had hitherto predominated. The coloring of the -period was richer also, and these MSS. so decorated with pictures were -called "historiated," and led by degrees to the fine historical -illuminations of subsequent centuries. Gradually these initial letters -became larger and longer, until their tales reached nearly the whole -length of the page. They were then carried round the bottom, until out -of this progression of the initial letter arose what is called the -"Gothic bracket"--and ornamentation like a clasp which ran round three -sides of the page. During the fourteenth century miniatures were again -introduced, and were improving and becoming more finished up to the -middle of the sixteenth century. The Gothic bracket was also extended -gradually, until it at last embraced the whole page, and became {307} -one of the great features of of subsequent illumination--the "border." -In these borders all kinds of subjects were crowded--foliage, -flowers, birds, animals, and miniatures, and toward the end of the -fifteenth century a background was added, first in parts, and -ultimately entirely. A work which appeared in the thirteenth century -exerted, however, a great influence over the art of illumination, even -down to the time of its decline, three centuries later. It was a -series of meditations on the life of Christ, known as St. Bonaventura, -by John Fidenza, and the minute descriptions it gave of the various -scenes of which it treated formed a sort of ideal, the influence of -which may be traced in nearly all subsequent treatment of similar -subjects, and accounts for their general uniformity. During the -Byzantine period illuminating was confined to manuscripts of the -Scriptures, the works of the fathers, and books for the services in -the church. To these were then added volumes for private devotion, -such as Horae, or prayers four hours and holy days, sometimes called -Missals. Legends, history, and poetry followed, and in the fourteenth -century the works of Chaucer and the Chronicles of Froissart opened a -vast field to the illuminators for the delineation of battles, sieges, -religious ceremonies, public events, and scenes of domestic life. Some -copies of classical authors also were then illuminated, until by the -end of the fifteenth century nearly every kind of formal document was -illuminated, including charters, wills, indentures, patents of -nobility, statutes of foundations, and mortuary registers. But the -printing-press was looming in the distance, and the death-knell of -this beautiful art began to toll. Its fall, which was inevitable, was, -however, gradual. Men could not be weaned at once from these -illuminated books, and a sort of temporary alliance between the two -arts was effected. The earliest printed books were illuminated, spaces -which had been formerly left by the copyist were now reserved by the -printer, and the whole work when it left his hands was given over to -the artist; then the subjects were engraven on wood, and transferred -to the vellum by means of ink and the press; but the manuscript style -was still preserved, and the closest imitation of written volumes was -retained by the early printers, and with such dexterity that it is not -an easy thing to detect some of the earliest printed books from -manuscripts. Perhaps the last effort to illuminate a book by the -printer's art to the extent of the older MSS., was an edition of the -Liturgy, brought out in 1717 by John Short, entirely engraven on -copper plates. The pages were surrounded by borders, and embellished -with pictures and decorated initial letters. Even down to the early -part of the present century books were printed with ornamental initial -letters, and borders on the top and bottom of each page, both of which -may be seen occasionally in the present day, more especially in books -issued from presses which seek to revive the antique type and style. -In concluding this portion of our sketch, we may mention another -characteristic of early MS. writing which exists in some of our books -in present use. If we take up an edition of a Greek classic printed -some forty or fifty years ago, or even less, we shall find it almost -unintelligible, from the number of contractions used in the printing; -and if we go further back still, we shall find these contractions more -numerous. It arose in the eighth or ninth century; the scribes -introduced in the copying of Greek MSS. a system of contraction called -tacygraphy, by which two, three, or more letters were expressed by one -character, which was termed "nexus litterarum." The editors of the -early period of printing adopted them in their type, and they -continued in use down to the beginning of the present century. - -{308} - -As we have thus given a condensed review of the history and -development of that most beautiful art of illuminating MSS., we shall -proceed to describe the details of the work as it was carried on for -centuries in the various monasteries in Europe. The parchment was cut -into sheets of the required size, and prepared for the copyist in the -following manner--They were first rubbed over with the powdered bone -of the cuttle-fish, or with the ashes of a certain kind of bone or -wood burned and pulverized; a wheel with sharp teeth at equal -distances was then run down each side of the sheet, and lines ruled -across from point to point between which the matter was to be written; -it was then handed to the scribe, who began his work. In the ancient -manuscripts there is to be found no paging or table of contents. The -whole work was divided into packets of parchment sheets, each -containing about four leaves; these packets were sometimes marked with -a number temporarily on the first page, which was cut off when the -whole was bound. At the end of each section of leaves the scribe wrote -the word with which the next section should commence, a practice -continued by printers under the title of "catch-words." If a -manuscript contained several treatises on different subjects, a list -of contents was appended, the initial word of each tract, and the -number of sections. As soon as the copying was finished, the work of -illustration commenced. The outlines were traced with a pencil made of -silver, or brass with a silver point; then the metallic outlines were -gone over with a fine quill pen, dipped in a preparation of lampblack -and gum. There are many MSS. extant originally intended to be -illuminated, but from some unknown cause have come down to us in this -unfinished state of outline sketches. The next step was to wash in the -shades with ink and water of three degrees of strength; at this point -the gilding was done, in order that the burnishing might not interfere -with the colors. The raised or embossed gold grounds were done first -by laying the metal leaf on a thick smooth bed made of fine plaster, -carefully ground; they were then burnished, and if it were intended to -decorate these raised gold grounds with engravings or patterns cut in -the metal, that was done as the next stage. After this the large -masses of flat, painted gilding were added and the colors laid on with -the utmost care as to the tint. The last process, which was intrusted -only to superior hands, was that of diapering, pencilling, inserting -brilliant touches of gold and white, and in fact finishing the whole -work. These two forms of gold work, the embossed and the flat, are to -be found in perfection in MSS. of the thirteenth and fourteenth -centuries. They prepared their gold with great care. In the fourteenth -century the gold leaf was ground with honey carefully washed, and the -powder mixed with gum water. In a treatise written by Theophilus, -[Footnote 70] the pulverization of gold for painting forms a difficult -process; he directs that the pure gold should be filed into a cup, and -then washed with a pencil in the shell of a sea fish, after which it -is to be milled in a mortar made of copper and tin, with a long pestle -worked by a strap and wheel. - - [Footnote 70: THEOP.: De Diversis Artibus.] - -Then the gold filings are to be milled in water for two or three hours -and gradually poured off. The powder thus produced was to be tempered -with isinglass and laid on a ground of red lead, mixed with the white -of an egg; after this it was burnished with a bloodstone, a shining -horn tablet being placed under the gilded picture. The Anglo-Saxons -used to rub gold filings in a mortar with sharp vinegar, and then -dissolve them with salt and nitre. The principle colors used, -according to Theophilus, were vermilion orpiment, Greek green, -dragon's-blood, granetum carminium, saffron, folium, brunum, minium, -white and black. After they had ground their colors on a slab of -porphyry, they placed them in covered glass vessels under water, which -not only only preserved them from dust, but {309} kept them always -soft and ready for use. The old painters never touched their colors -with iron, but used as a palette-knife a thin blade of wood. They made -their own pencils and brushes, the pencils being made of minever -tails, set in quills, and the brushes of the bristles of the white -domestic pig, bound to a stick. When a manuscript had passed through -all these stages of copying and illuminating, it had to be bound, a -work also done in the scriptorium. The sacred MSS. at an early period -were bound between two wooden boards, covered with engraved plates of -gold and silver set off with crystals and rubies. But the usual -binding of volumes for the services for the church was in the skins of -deer, sheep, and calves, pieces of which were stretched over the -boards, and the leaves were sewn together by the same material cut -into strips. The ecclesiastics were forbidden to indulge in the -pleasure of the chase, although the love of that sport was a universal -passion, and it was with great difficulty they could be restrained -from joining in such diversions; but Charlemagne granted permission to -priests to hunt for the purpose of procuring deer-skins to bind books. -Grants were made to monasteries by other sovereigns of a certain -number of skins annually. The corners of the covers of large -service-books were protected by plates and bosses of metal; there was -a metal center with a large projected hemisphere on each side, and -across the book were too strong loops of leather for the purpose of -lifting it when closed. The service-books of the church were -necessarily very large, because they were placed on a high sloping -shelf, around which the choristers stood while the precentor, standing -behind them, turned over the leaves with a staff from above their -heads. Such are a few of the details of the art of illuminating -manuscripts, which flourished in the monasteries from the eighth to -the eighteenth centuries, when it died in Europe under Louis XIV. The -schools of this art, which sprung up from its cultivation, may be -enumerated by six denominations, as shown in the following table: - -GREEK or BYZANTINE, from the eighth to the tenth century: the -_Irish-Saxon, Anglo-Saxon, Franco-Saxon_, and the painting of _Russia_ -belong to this school. - -EARLY ROMAN, tenth to the fourteenth century, which includes also the -_Anglo-Norman_. - -ITALIAN, fourteenth to sixteenth century, including the _Spanish_ and -_Portuguese_. - -EARLY FRENCH, fourteenth to seventeenth century, under which may be -ranged the _later English_. - -FLEMISH, GERMAN, AND DUTCH, from the close of the fifteenth century. - -LATER FRENCH, during the seventeenth eighteenth centuries. - -We have already remarked that a genius for illumination and excellence -in copying were at one time sure recommendations for promotion. The -memory of men too who had spent their lives in this occupation were -tenderly cherished; and two incidents preserved in history attesting -the fact we shall mention. Baldinucci, in his History of Painting, -gives an account of two brethren in the Camaldulan Monastery, Degli -Angeli, at Florence, who were most indefatigable copyists. Dom Jacopo -Fiorentino made his appearance at the Monastery of Degli Angeli, in -the year 1340; he is described as a monk of holy manners who, when he -was not engaged in monastic duties, spent all his time in copying. He -acquired an extraordinary expertness and elegance in writing the -peculiar character used in the books of the choir. His talents were -appreciated, and Dom Jacopo was seldom idle. He wrote twenty massive -choral books for his own monastery, the largest ever seen in Italy, -and a great many others for Rome, Venice, and Murano. His fame spread -abroad, and after his death the brethren of the order preserved {310} -the right hand of this scribe, which had done so much good work, as a -lasting memorial of his name. Dom Silvestro, another monk living in -the monastery of Degli Angeli at the same time, excelled in miniature -painting, and to his lot fell the decoration of those very books, as -they issued from the facile pen of Dom Jacopo. His work was thoroughly -appreciated by the great artists of the best ages of Italy. Lorenzo -the Magnificent, and Leo X., his son, were pleased to accord their -admiration. When he died his right hand was also embalmed. Although -this work of copying and illuminating was carried on generally in the -scriptorium of the monastery, yet occasionally a monk had a room to -himself for the purpose, bearing the same name. Giraldus Cambrensis, -in his Life of St. David, tells us that the great bishop commenced -writing a copy of St. John's Gospel in gold and silver letters in his -own scriptorium at Menevia: - - "Scriptorium suum locumque laboris." [Footnote 71] - - [Footnote 71: Anglia Sacra, vol. ii., p.635.] - -Many of the names of great illuminators are lost in oblivion, but some -have been preserved. Of these, as our investigation is more -particularly into the monachism of our own country, we shall dwell -more largely upon those men who were born on British soil. We have -already adverted to the peculiarly advanced state of the Irish -monasteries in the very earliest times. There can be no doubt that -both as missionaries and educators they took the lead in those remote -periods. Muratori, the groat Italian historian of the middle ages, -mentions Ireland as surpassing other nations in the west in the career -of letters, [Footnote 72] and we have already quoted the testimony of -Bede. - - [Footnote 72: Muratori--Antiq. Ital. Medii AEvi, Dissert. 43.] - -We shall therefore commence our review of the English art of -illumination with the name of the Irish abbot already alluded to, as -the first upon record, _Dagaeus_, abbot of Iniskeltra, who died about -the year 587, and excelled not only in writing, but in binding and -decoration. The next in order is the monk _Genereus_, an Anglo-Saxon, -who had both studied and taught in the Irish schools; his services -were retained by Adamnanus to teach the Saxon monks in the monastery -of Iona; and the third, as we have before mentioned, is an Irish monk, -_Ultan_, who, at the end of the eighth century, was renowned as an -illuminator. The seed fell upon good soil, and bore abundant fruit, -for we next read of _Eadfrith_ and _Ethelwold_, both abbots of -Lindisfarne, and bishops of Durham, who, early in the eighth century, -wrote and illuminated the magnificent copy of the Gospels in golden -letters, to the honor of St. Cuthbert, which is now preserved in the -Cottonian Library at the British Museum, and known as the Durham Book. -There is good reason to suppose that _Dunstan_ excelled in -illumination. In a manuscript in the Bodleian Library, there is a -drawing purporting to be by his hand--a figure of Christ appearing to -the prelate, who is prostrate at his feet. _Godeman_, whom we have -also mentioned, was chaplain of Ethelwold, bishop of Durham, at whose -instigation he undertook the task of writing and illuminating the -celebrated Benedictional, which is preserved in the Duke of -Devonshire's library. In return for this work, Ethelwold made him -abbot of Thorney. He flourished about 970. _Ervenius_, a monk of St. -Edmonsbury Abbey, was renowned as illuminator, about ten years later. -In a life of Wulstan, Bishop of Winchester, written by William of -Malmesbury, we are told that Ervenius was his tutor, and that young -Wulstan was first attracted to letters by the beautiful illustrations -of a sacramentarium and Psalter, from which he was taught. "Thus," -says the biographer, "the youth Wulstan acquired, almost by miracle, -the chief heads of the most precious things, for while those lustrous -beauties entered in at the apertures of his eyes, he received the -{311} knowledge of sacred letters into his very part." [Footnote 73] - - [Footnote 73: Habebat tunc (Wulstan) magistrum Ervenium nomine, in - scribendo et quidlibet coloribus effingendo peritum. Is libros - scriptos Sacramentarium et Psalterium quorum principales literas - auro effigiaverit puero Wulstano delegandos curabit. Ille - preciosorum apicum captus miraculo dum pulchritudinem intentis - oculis rimatur et scientiam literatum internis haurit - medullis.--GULIEL. MALMS.: _De Vita Wulstan, in Ang. Sacra_, vol. - ii., p. 224.] - -A similar instance is recorded in the life of Alfred, who, when a -child, was drawn toward books by the charm of the illustrations. In -Brompton's Chronicle we are told that _Osmund_, the Bishop of -Salisbury, in the year 1076, did not disregard the labor of writing, -binding, and illuminating of books. [Footnote 74] - - [Footnote 74: Ipse episcopus libros scribere, illuminare et ligare, - non fastidiret.--Brompton Chron. ann. 1076.] - -Eadwinus, a monk of Canterbury, in the middle of the twelfth century, -has left a monument of his labors behind him, in the shape of an -elaborate psalter, preserved in Trinity College, Cambridge. At the end -of this psalter are two drawings, one of Christ Church and the -monastery at Canterbury, and the other a full-length portrait of -himself. In the same volume are many historical figures, with initial -letters in gold, silver, and vermilion. We include in our list -_Matthew Paris_, the historian, who, although he is supposed to have -been a Frenchman, yet passed his life in St. Alban's monastery, wrote -an English history, [Footnote 75] and may at least be taken as a -naturalized, if not a born Englishman. - - [Footnote 75: Or rather a continuation of one, the first part of it, - from 1066 to 1235, is attributed to Roger of Wendover, who was in - the same monastery. William of Rishanger continued it to the year - 1273, from the point where Matthew Paris leaves off (1259), but the - whole is frequently quoted as by Matthew Paris. The probabilities - are greater in favor of his being an Englishman than the contrary. - His works were admired by the early Reformers, for the bold and - vigorous manner in which he wrote upon ecclesiastical affairs.] - -He is reported to have had a good knowledge of painting, architecture, -and the mathematics. The history which is called Historia Major, up to -the year 1235, was in all probability the work of another. Matthew -Paris wrote the continuation, and copied the whole as it is now in the -British Museum, and illustrated it. The next English name rescued from -the oblivion of the past, is that of _Alan Strayler_, who was also a -monk of St. Alban's, about the year 1463. His work is contained in a -volume called the Golden Register of St. Alban's, extant in the -Cottonian library. [Footnote 76] - - [Footnote 76: Cotton MSS.--Nero, D vii.] - -It is a record of the benefactors of the monastery down to the year -1463. His own portrait is inserted as a benefactor, inasmuch as, -according to the text, "he had given to the adorning of the present -book very much labor, and had also remitted a debt of 3s. 4d. due to -him for colors." Beneath his portrait are two lines in Latin, to the -effect that-- - - "The painter, Alan Strayler, here is given. - Who dwells forever with the choir of heaven." - -There are many other portraits of royal and noble personages, holding -their respective donations. About thirty years afterward died an -eccentric recluse, _John Rous_, called the hermit of Guy's Cliff. He -was chantry-priest at a small chapel, founded by Guy, earl of Warwick, -at Guy's Cliff, and from the austere solitary life he led there, -acquired the appellation of the "hermit." He was an antiquary and an -historian. He wrote a life of Richard Beauchamp, fourteenth earl of -Warwick, and illustrated it with fifty-three large drawings, executed -with a pen, which style of sketching in those days was called -"tricking," or "drawing in trick." This MS. is still to be seen in the -Cottonian collections. [Footnote 77] - - [Footnote 77: Cotton MSS.--Julius, E iv. ] - -Rous spent his time in the study of history and genealogy, and wrote -and ornamented several manuscripts, one of which was a roll of the -earls of Warwick. This is the last Englishman who is recorded to have -attained to any excellence in the art of illumination. We must not -omit some of the most prominent of foreign artists who distinguished -themselves in this study, and in the thirteenth century _Orderico_, -canon of Sienna, is mentioned as being one of the most renowned. -Lanzi, in his History of Painting in Italy, [Footnote 78] gives a -description of one of here's MSS., which is preserved in the library -of the academy at Florence, decorated with initials, ornaments, and -figures of animals, painted by him in 1213. The names of two -celebrated illuminators are mentioned by Dante in his Divine Comedy. - - [Footnote 78: Lanzi--Hist. of Painting, book ii., Siennese School.] - -{312} - -_Oderigi d'Agubbio_, whom Dante wrote of, was born at Agubbio, near -Perugia, and died about the year 1300; he was the friend of Giotto and -Dante at Rome. He was introduced by Giotto to Benedict VIII., for whom -he illuminated many volumes. _Francis of Bologna_, the other mentioned -by the poet, was also in the employ of Benedict, and executed many -works for the Papal library. There is an account in Baldinucci of one -_Cybo_, who lived in the fourteenth century, and is better known as -the Monk of the Golden Islands, from his custom of retiring from his -monastery at Lerino every spring and autumn to an island in the -Mediterranean off the coast of France, for the wise purpose of the -contemplation of nature. "He would walk abroad," we are informed, "not -only to contemplate the beautiful prospects offered by the shores of -those islands, the mountains, villages, and the sea itself, but also -the birds, the flowers, the trees, the fruits, the rarer fishes of the -sea, and the little animals of the earth, all of which he would draw -and imitate in a wonderful manner." [Footnote 79] - - [Footnote 79: Baldinucci--Notizie de' Professore del Disegno.] - -Would that such an inspiration might steal over the minds of some of -our modern artists! In 1433, according to Lanzi, flourished one _Fra -Giovanni da Fiesola_, a Dominican friar, who attained to great fame as -an illuminator. Then from the monastery of Degli Angeli came again -another artist _Dom Bartolommeo_, abbot of St. Clement, who was a -painter from youth. Vasari speaks of books and beautiful illustrations -executed by him for the monks of Sante Flora and Lucilla in the Abbey -of Arezzo, and in a missal given to Sixtus IV. Two great French -illuminators come next up on the scene, one of whom, _Andrieu de -Beauneveu_, is mentioned in the Chronicles of Froissart. [Footnote -80] One of his works, called Le Petit Psautier, was valued at eighty -livres, about L120 of modern English money. Another of his works was -The Great Hours of the Duke de Berri, fac-similes of which will be -found in the works of Sylvestre and Noel Humphreys. [Footnote 81] He -died in the year 1416, leaving a volume of Hours behind him -unfinished, which was bought by the French government for 13,000 -francs. The other French artist was _Jean Foucquet_, a native of -Tours, who is spoken of as one of the glories of the fifteenth -century. His principal works were the illumination of a book called -L'Anciennrte des Juifs, and the Hours of Anne of Bretagne, two -specimens of which may be found in Mr. Noel Humphrey's excellent work -before alluded to. [Footnote 82] The greatest artist in the Italian -miniature was _Don Giulio Clovio_, whose advent closes the history of -the art in the fifteenth century. The incidents of his career may be -found in Vasari; they are eventful; he was driven into a monastery in -early life, when the Spaniards devastated Rome in 1527. He through up -the cowl some years after by the Pope's permission, and went into the -service of Cardinal Grimani, for whom he executed many of his best -works. An office of the Virgin occupied him nine years in painting; it -is still extant in the Musco Borbonico at Naples. He also illuminated -a copy of Grimani's Commentary on St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans: -this is now in the Soane Museum. In Sylvestre's Palaeography, -[Footnote 83] is a copy of one of Clovio's miniatures from the MS. of -Dante's Vision, now in the Vatican. - - [Footnote 80: Chroniques de Floissart, vol. iv., p. 71, Lyons.] - - [Footnote 81: Paleog. Univ., plate 195: Madden, ii. 544-7. - Illuminated Books of the Middle Ages, plate xxi.] - - [Footnote 82: Illuminated Books of the Middle Ages, plates xxxi. - and xxxii.] - - [Footnote 83: Sylvester--Paleog. Univ.. plate 162.] - -{313} - -Another splendid relique of this artist consists of a large miniature -of the crucifixion, executed for Gregory XIII.; it was brought from -the Vatican during the campaigns in Italy, in the time of the French -Revolution, by the Abbe Celotti. He was called the Michael Angelo of -painters, and died in 1578, at the advanced age of eighty. His last -days were spent in peace, as Vasari tells us "he does not study or do -anything, but seek the salvation of his soul by good works, and a life -spent wholly apart from mundane affairs." _Godefroy_ and _Dutillet_ -were two distinguished French illuminators of the sixteenth century, -and _Johan Banzel_ of Ulm, is the one with whom Vasari concludes his -anecdotes of painting. This list is scanty enough, and there can be no -doubt that hundreds of names have sunk in the oblivion of the times; -devotees to this beautiful art, and victims to the negligence with -which the art-historians of the times treated their labors; they -slumber in their unknown graves, but their works exist to the -admiration and speculation of modern times. We have given a very -cursory and rapid review of the rise and development of this most -beautiful art; the most beautiful thing that mediaeval Christianity -has bequeathed to us. We have endeavored also to give a few names of -such of our countrymen who excelled in its exercise, and it only -remains to say a few words upon its use, as a work of refined piety, -before we proceed to glean a few historical lessons as to the -doctrinal development of the church, to be drawn from these art -expressions of different periods, for there is nothing upon which a -nation or a community stamps the characteristics of its individuality -more clearly than upon its art. - -These illuminations have a great historical value, as evidences of the -life of the times. Were it not for them the past as a life would be -lost to us. We should be almost ignorant of the modes and manners of -existence of our ancestors. We might have descriptive representations -of the deeds they did, but their customs, their habits, their -amusements, and their interior existence would have been lost to us -forever. It is that which enables us to put as it were a soul into -history, to revive a past life in our minds, to resuscitate it, and -make it live again before us; all this, but for the preservation of -illuminated MSS., would have been irretrievably lost. It is from them -alone we can see the customs of the domestic life of our ancestors, -their habits at home, at table, in the field, in society, for those -pictures, though executed to represent a life of Eastern and Biblical -incident, have this peculiarity about them, that the paraphernalia of -the scenes are in keeping with the times of their execution; so that -unconsciously these monks, when decorating their psalters and their -missals, have handed down to us the very best illustration of the -written history of their times. [Footnote 84] - - [Footnote 84: I know of no better evidence of the value of these - MSS. than the excellent and valuable work compiled by Mr. Thomas - Wright, a great authority on Saxon antiquities, called The Domestic - Manners and Sentiments of the Middle Ages in England. The work is - compiled principally from these sources, the illustrations are - copied from ancient MSS., and it contains a repertoire of nearly all - that can be gleaned from them, forming a picture of the life of - Saxons, Normans, and early English, as it was sketched by - themselves--a most valuable work, both for the historian and general - reader.] - - -We have hitherto reviewed this labor as a work of art, but we must not -forget its higher and nobler motive. Art may be kindled by the fire of -ambition or the love of gain, but the motive which inspired the -monastic illuminator was a far higher one. Whatever we may think of -what we sometimes call the folly of spending years in illustrating a -gospel or a psalter, we must be driven to the conclusion that as these -monks were situated, it was a work of devotion. No other feeling could -prompt them to give their lives to such a labor, because it was labor -unrequited. In our times, or in fact in all times, men will accomplish -marvels for money, but these men were paid nothing for their labor, -not even the flattery of admiration. In the {314} early periods of the -art, it is true that in one or two cases an illuminator was made an -abbot or a bishop, but those cases were so exceptional that scarcely -half a dozen instances could be found in history of such honor being -conferred upon an obscure monastic artist. The works over which they -spent their long days and longer nights were sent into the church for -use; gems of art they were, but exhibited to no public admiration, to -no applauding critics; there they lay hidden in monastic libraries, in -church vestries, in convent chests, to moulder in obscurity for the -amusement and commercial speculation of an after age, when the life -they embellished had died out in the world, and it should become -impossible to ascertain the names of the men whose busy fingers were -plied with such magic skill. Nothing but devotion could have prompted -such labor as that, and how are we to say that in the eyes of the -Almighty the devotion which could spend years lovingly over the -embellishment of a gospel, to illustrate it with the choicest -productions of genius, and to offer up to it all that was beautiful -and good in thought, fancy, and execution--how are we to say that such -an offering may not have been, under the circumstances in which they -were placed, as acceptable in the eyes of God as the limited devotion -of modern life, with its mechanical modes, its periodical days of -worship, amid long intervals of sin? The devotion of modern times may -sometimes manifest itself in the erection of hospitals and churches, -but we are not always sure that such deeds are free from the taint of -ostentation of wealth or jealousy of hated heirs--to flaunt the one or -to balk the others; but the devotion which found vent in -missal-painting and copying the scriptures by hand in the dark ages -must have been pure; for we cannot, even by the most prejudiced -investigation, discover any sordid or ambitious motive for it. Where -there is no payment we may rest assured that labor is a labor of love. -The best proof of the fact is the difficulty to get people to -illuminate missals now. It was an exquisitely beautiful art, and ought -not to have died out so completely. Latterly however, in the church, -to the scandal of vigilant Protestants, there has been a sort of -attempt at a revival of mediaevalism; it has become the vogue to -appeal to the fathers to sing mediaeval hymns, and to decorate the -corners of prayer-books and the interiors of churches with mediaeval -art; but it has proved to be more a revival of mediaeval forms than -mediaeval devotions. It has also become fashionable to study -illumination--an elegant amusement for an idle hour--and many have -tried it as an art, but it has failed both as an art and a work; as an -art, even in these days of art excellence, it has failed, and as a -work, it has not been pursued with that avidity to bring success, -because the modern stimulant is wanting--it pays not; it is lifeless, -automaton-like, a dead body galvanized, missal-painting without -devotion. [Footnote 85] But in our admiration of the genius and piety -of these monastic artists we must not overlook one great fact, that -this art is not only a representation of the interior life of the -nation, a representation of its manners, customs, and modes of -existence, but it is also a reflection of the state of the church at -each successive period. Chroniclers may differ in their accounts, -historians may quarrel with each other, but the history which a church -rights in its art and literature, in it's sculpture, painting, and -poetry, is traced, as it were, by the events themselves, and graven by -the very fingers of time. - - [Footnote 85: It must be borne in mind that the author of this paper - is a Protestant, and we believe a minister of the Church of England. - --Ed. C. W.] - -We take up a manuscript supposed to be written about the year 900. -[Footnote 86] - - [Footnote 86: Cotton MSS.--Tiberius, A H. ] - -{315} - -It is an evangeliarum. It contains a picture of St. Matthew, with his -left hand resting upon a desk, and his right holding a pen. On the -next page is the word "Liber," the beginning of the gospel written on -a crimson ground in letters outlined in vermilion and gold; at page 72 -there is a picture of St. Mark; all the evangelists are delineated, -but no other figures. In a Psalter, [Footnote 87] written in the year -1000, the same simplicity prevails. It is written in capital letters, -with an interlinear Anglo-Saxon version. The title-page contains the -figure of Christ in the act of blessing, but the principal picture, -which occupies a whole page, is a representation of David in his -youth, playing on a lyre-shaped psalter, accompanied by six smaller -figures, below which are two others dancing. In another Psalter -[Footnote 88] of the same period there is a picture of the -crucifixion, with Mary, the mother of Jesus, on the one side, and St. -John the Baptist on the other. A Psalter of the year 1000, [Footnote -89] very fully illuminated, is a fine specimen of the purely Biblical -nature of the illustrations of that period. The calendar at the -beginning contains a representation of three persons at a table, and -two kneeling attendants. On page 7 is a youthful Christ, holding a -large scroll, upon which the word "vita" is written; also God the -Father, as creator of the world, in the Mosaic type; the figure is -hidden up to the face by a globe, and from the mouth issue two blue -lines, representing streams of water, over one of which a dove -hovers--one of the oldest specimens of this conception of the -Almighty. Another representation, on the next page, is the figure of -David tearing open the lion's jaws; then the temptation of our -Saviour--the devil is represented as having a beaked nose and claws. -On page 10 is the washing of the disciples' feet, with an angel -descending from heaven with a cloth. Page 14, Christ appearing to Mary -Magdalene. On page 18, the Last Judgment, in which Christ is most -prominent, holding in one hand a horn, and in the other a cross; below -him is the Book of Life open, and at his side are two large angels -blowing trumpets. Page 30 contains David playing on the psalter; and -on page 114 there is a large figure of Christ, holding in his left -hand the Book of Life, in his right a sceptre, with which he is -piercing the jaws of a lion beneath his feet, and a dragon at his side -is biting the lion (see Psalm xci. 13). - - [Footnote 87: Cotton MSS.--Vespasian, A i.] - - [Footnote 88: Harleian MSS., 2904.] - - [Footnote 89: Cotton MSS.--Tiberius, C vi.] - -One of the most interesting specimens of the opening of the eleventh -century (1006) is a manuscript called AElfric's heptateuch, in -Anglo-Saxon. [Footnote 90] Its principal subjects of illumination are -the fall of angels, the first person in the Trinity enthroned, -Lucifer, the days of creation, the creation of Adam, the fail, and the -expulsion from Paradise. But we wish to call attention to the close -resemblance of the Saxon of that period to our modern English. We -shall quote a passage from the Anglo-Saxon text, which might almost be -translated by the same words in modern English. The passage is Genesis -iv. 9, 10. The Saxon runs: "Tha cwoeth drihten to Caine, hwoer is Abel -thin brothor? Tha answarode he and ewoeth, ic nat. Segat thu sceolde -ic minne brothor healdon? Tha cwoeth drihten to Caine, hwoet dydest -thu? thines brothor blod clypath up to me of eorthan." Which may be -rendered in English by almost the same words, thus: "Then quoth the -Lord to Cain, where is Abel thy brother? Then answered he and quoth, I -know not Sayest thou should I hold my brother? Then quoth the Lord to -Cain, What didst thou? thy brother's blood crieth up to me off the -earth." - - [Footnote 90: Cotton MSS.--Claudius, B iv.] - -In the first half of the eleventh century, representations of the -Virgin are multiplied in the MSS. of the period, though not yet as the -predominant figure. In a Psalter of that date [Footnote 91] we have a -representation of David in prayer; then Christ enthroned, with angels -around him; below in a row are eleven heads; and below all, the Virgin -and twelve Apostles in full-length figures. - - [Footnote 91: Cotton MSS.--Galba, A xviii.] - -{316} - -In the representation of the ascension, Christ is the main figure -borne up by two angels, and below are two other angels and the Virgin -with her hands raised in prayer. In a picture Bible [Footnote 92] of -this period, she is again introduced. - - [Footnote 92: Cotton MSS.--Nero, C iv.] - -Page 8 contains a representation of the root of Jesse--below lies -Abraham, then David, and next the Virgin, above all is Christ; but at -page 20, we have the death of the Virgin, and the Virgin enthroned in -heaven. In the thirteenth century MSS., we find the Virgin taking the -most prominent position, and Christ represented as a child; saints, -too, creep into the illuminations, more especially Thomas a Becket, -whose murder appears to have been always diligently inserted by the -monks in their MSS., as we shall see. In a Psalter [Footnote 93] of -the year 1200, among many other pictures, is a burial of a saint in -his episcopal mitre; and the anointing of David is followed a few -pages after by the murder of Thomas a Becket. - - [Footnote 93: Harleian MSS., 5102] - -In Matthew Paris's History of the English nation (died 1259), there is -a picture of the Virgin enthroned as the queen of heaven, with Christ -as a little child; she is bending her crowned head, with her hair -flowing down, toward the child, pressing her cheek against his, while -with her right hand she gives him a fruit. In a Psalter [Footnote -94] of the same period we find the annunciation of the Virgin, the -visitation of the Virgin, and the Virgin crowned, with Christ again as -a little child. - - [Footnote 94: Biblia Regia, 2 A xxii] - -In a copy of the Vulgate [Footnote 95] the fourth page is full of -pictures; there is the Virgin, with Christ as a child, St. Peter on -one side, and St. Paul on the other; below is St. Martin, above the -crucifixion, with the Virgin and St. John; above that are two cherubim -and quite above all, in the position formerly accorded to Christ, is a -representation of the coronation of the Virgin. - - [Footnote 95: MSS. Regia, 1 D i.] - -In the fragment of a lectionary [Footnote 96] executed for Lord -Lovell by one John Siferwas, a Benedictine monk, there is on the -title-page a portrait of Lord Lovell looking at a book, upon the cover -of which is a picture of the coronation of the Virgin; on the inner -border of page 3, there is the Virgin as the queen of heaven, holding -the child with her robe in the left hand, and a sceptre in her right. - - [Footnote 96: Harleian MSS., 7026] - -After three or four more representations of her, we meet with the -presentation of the Virgin; in the centre is the Virgin crowned by the -first person of the Trinity, who is represented as having a long white -beard; another with the Virgin and child upon the moon, surrounded -with rays; on page 23, the Virgin surrounded by the pope, bishops, and -others, and on page 27, the birth of the Virgin. The office of the -Virgin was confirmed by Pope Urban II, at the Council of Clermont -There are several of these offices extant. In an office of the Virgin -and prayers [Footnote 97] of the date 1420, we find pictures of John -the Baptist, St. James of Compostello enthroned, St. Thomas Aquinas, -also enthroned, and St. Francis of Assisi receiving the stigmata or -wounds of Christ. - - [Footnote 97: Bib. Regia 2 A xviii.] - -On page 11, the Virgin and child seated on a bench with St. Anna; on -page 13 St. Catherine, page 15 St. Margaret, and page 21 the -annunciation. In another office of the Virgin, [Footnote 98] we find -the evangelists, the annunciation and visitation of the Virgin, the -murder of Thomas a Becket, St. Catherine, St. Margaret, the scourging -of Christ, adoration of kings, and in the most prominent picture the -coronation of the Virgin, in which she is represented as being -supported by an angel while the Almighty is pointing with his right -hand to a cherub who, accompanied by two angels is about to place the -crown on her head. - - [Footnote 98: Harleian MSS., 2900.] - -{317} - -At the conclusion there is a picture of the Virgin on a throne with -the child Christ. There are several offices of the Virgin in the -Harleian collection, [Footnote 99] but we shall only notice one more, -which bears date from 1490 to 1500. [Footnote 100] - - [Footnote 99: Harleian MSS., 2646, 2884, 2858, etc.] - - [Footnote 100: MSS. Addit., 17012.] - -On pages 20 and 21 are autographs of Henry VII. and Henry VIII., -which will justify the supposition that it belonged to both. Its -illustrations include, among other things, the murder of Thomas a -Becket, St. George and the Dragon, St. Christopher, the Virgin and -child, with St. Anna, St. Catherine, St. Barbara, and St. Margaret. -There is a religious poem, illustrated with miniatures, and bearing -date from 1420 to 1430, [Footnote 101] which elaborately delineates -the intercessorial attributed to the Virgin. - - [Footnote 101: Cotton MSS.--Faustina, B vi.] - -The picture in which this is set forth is a remarkable one. In the -lower part of it is a man dying on a bed, at the foot of which stands -death, in the usual form of a skeleton, making ready to pierce the -heart of the dying man with a spear, and there is a black demon, with -a hook reaching toward him; at the head of the bed is an angel -receiving his soul, which is represented as a naked infant; about is -the Virgin, with a crown upon her head, baring her bosom to Christ, -and imploring him, by the breasts which nourished him, to take pity -upon the soul of the dying man. They are both kneeling before the -Almighty, and Christ is represented in a red mantle as showing his -wounds, in token of granting his mother's request. The Almighty is -represented as seated upon a throne, robed in a blue mantle, and -having the usual long white beard; he is lifting his hand in -benediction. An idea was set on foot that the Virgin had fainted at -the crucifixion; and in some of these later manuscripts she is -represented in the act. In a Psalter [Footnote 102] Page 256, there -is a picture of the crucifixion, with the Virgin in the act of -fainting. - - [Footnote 102: MSS. Regia, 2 B vii.] - -Mrs. Jamieson in noticing this fact in her History of Our Lord as -exemplified in Art, has remarked that it was condemned by Catholic -writers themselves. Thomas Cajetani wrote of it as "indecens et -improbabile;" and other writers are quoted by Molanus, who inveighed -against it, and stigmatized it as a thing "temerarium, scandalosum et -periculosum." - -But it was at the period of the Reformation, and after then, that -these treasures of art suffered, and the natural iconoclasm of human -nature broke out. Men gazed around them upon gorgeous temples, -decorated with splendid paintings, stained glass windows, marvellous -sculpture, and to their zealous minds it was all idolatry; and they -tore down frescoes, destroyed paintings, overturned altars, broke up -statues, and burned sacred books to exterminate error if possible, not -by the powers of truthful preaching and godly lives, but by the -battle-axe and the bonfire; not by uprooting error itself, so much as -by beating down and destroying its mere evidences. - -It was in consequence of this iconoclasm that much of the art -productions of Christianity has been lost to us; nay, much of -literature and history also, for in the sack of a monastery little -discrimination was used, save as to precious metals. We frequently -read of valuable books and manuscripts being consigned to the flames, -but the cups, chalices, the contents of the coffers, invariably found -their way to the treasury. We must always remember this, that human -nature was not wholly confined to Roman Catholics, but that there was -a considerable amount of it among the Reformers. Still, in spite of -iconoclasm, in spite of misguided zeal, sufficient has escaped -destruction, and been preserved to our inspection, to convince us of -the beauty of those arts which sprang up in the wake of Christianity, -though they did ultimately become tainted with human error. And we may -see in all this {318} painting and sculpture, poetry and music, the -marvellous adaptability of Christianity as a regenerator and -stimulant, how it takes up what is good in the world--genius, skill, -love, devotion, and starts them into new channels, with increased -vigor and nobler aim. It took up philosophy, purged it of its errors, -and of philosophers made fathers; it took up science, and bid it labor -to alleviate human suffering, and assuage the physical condition of -humanity; it took up art, and not only embellished it, but gave it an -inexhaustible realm of subjects--a realm in which it has been laboring -ever since, and though improving advancing in each age, will never -exhaust its treasures; it has been, as it's Founder declared it should -be, the salt of the earth; it has rescued the world in moments of -darkness and danger, aroused it from apathy and indifference, purged -it, stimulated it, sent it on in the right way, and brought it back -again when it had peevishly wandered; and not the least evidence of -its purifying, elevating effects upon the fine arts is this, which we -have been endeavoring to describe in the rise and development of -missal painting, that beauty of cloistered: holiness. - --------- - -From The Month. - -THE FAIREST FAIR. - -(FROM ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS.) - - - - "My beloved is the mountains, - The solitary wooded valleys." - --_St. John of the Cross_. - - - I. - - Mountains, that upward to the clouds arise, - Odorous with thyme, whereon the wild bees linger, - Jewell'd with flowers of a thousand dyes. - Their petals tinted by no mortal finger; - How solemn in their gray-worn age they stand, - Hills piled on hills in silent majesty! - Lofty and strong, and beautiful and grand: - All this and more is my belov'd to me. - - - II. - - Come forth into the woods,--in yonder valley. - Where rippling waters murmur through the glade; - There, 'neath the rustling boughs of some green alley, - We'll watch the golden light and quivering shade: - Or couch'd on mossy banks we'll lie and listen - To song-birds pouring forth their vernal glee. - Wave on, ye woods; ye faery fountains, glisten: - But more, far more is my beloved to me. - -{319} - - III. - - Know ye the land where fragrant winds awaken - In spicy forests hidden from the eye: - Where richest perfumes from the boughs are shaken, - And flowers unnotic'd bloom and blush and die? - Sweet is th' eternal spring that there reposes - On wondrous isles that gem the sunny sea, - And sweet the gales that breathe o'er beds of roses: - But sweeter far is my belov'd to me. - - IV. - - The roaring torrents from the ice-cliffs leaping-- - I see them foaming down the mountain side, - Through the green dells and valleys onward sweeping, - They fill the hollows with their mighty tide: - Their voice is as the voice of many waters; - Onward they rush, exulting to be free; - But ah! their thunder fails, their music falters: - Far more than this is my belov'd to me. - - V. - - A gentler sound wakes in the hush of even. - The whisper of a light and cooling breeze; - It stirs when twilight shades are in the heaven,' - And bows the tufted foliage of the trees; - It fans my cheek; its music softly stealing - Speaks to my heart in loving mystery. - Ah, gentle breeze! full well thou art revealing - The joy that my beloved is to me. - - VI. - - Night comes at last, in mystic shadows folding - The nodding forest and the verdant lawn, - Till the day breaks, and Nature starts, beholding - The golden chariot of the coming dawn: - Then on each bough the feathered chanters, waking, - Pour forth their music over bush and tree. - Cease, cease your songs, ye birds; my heart-strings breaking - Lack words to say what Jesus is to me. - - VII. - - Yea, all the fairest forms that Nature scatters. - And all melodious sounds that greet the ear; - The murmuring music of the running waters. - The golden harvest-fields that crown the year, - The crimson morn, the calm and dewy even, - The tranquil moonlight on the slumbering' sea,-- - All are but shadows, forms of beauty given - To tell what my beloved is to me. - --------- - -{320} - - -THE GODFREY FAMILY; OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY. - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -RELIGION--PHILOSOPHY: WHICH IS THE TRUTH? - -But we must return to Cambridge. Eugene made inquiries respecting his -late visitor, M. Bertolot, and finding that he taught his own language -as a means of subsistence, he applied to him for instruction, not -indeed to learn the language, which he knew how to read already, but, -as he said, for practice in speaking and so forth. - -"I will come to you," said Eugene, "for lessons in your philosophy; -you shall give them to me in French. I will write them down, you will -correct the phraseology, and thus I shall improve in two departments -at once." - -"I will teach you French, if you desire it, my young friend," said M. -Bertolot, "and by conversation, or any other mode you may desire; but -to enter on moral or mental philosophy is quite another affair, and -might lead to results unexpected on your part. I am not quite prepared -to promise formal instructions on these subjects at this early stage -of our acquaintance; my views might shock your preconceived ideas." - -"Fear not for that," said Eugene, "my preconceived ideas, if ever they -were definite, are now confused; that mind acts upon mind, -irrespectively of matter, seems the only clear thought I have on the -subject. Further than this all is blank. The mesmeric agencies of -which we hear so much, and the appearances of spirits, in some -instances well attested, seem to prove mental rinses to be direct; but -what more do they prove? I have sometimes fancied that the nursery -tales may be true, and that it is possible that angels of light and -demons of darkness do exist, and that we are operated upon at times by -spiritual agencies not detected by our senses." - -"Some of the wisest of the earth, even among the pagans, have held -this opinion," replied M. Bertolot, "and, as I told you in our first -interview, the traditions of the fallen angels were handed down to the -Jews, and dealings with any one of them prohibited. Sorcery and -witchcraft were considered 'sins' in the Mosaic law, although the -generation of the present day scouts such ideas as beneath the dignity -of the human intellect, and ascribes every discovery in knowledge to -the progress of human intelligence alone." - -"Yet," said Eugene, "history might teach all students that the -best-laid schemes have often been overset by apparently inadequate -exterior causes. The pagan doctrine of the 'Fates,' which evidently -exercised a vast influence over men's minds, must have originated from -their perception of the fact, that human wisdom cannot absolutely -dispose events; preordination or the counteracting influence of -invisible agencies, has formed more or less an ingredient in every -rational belief, ancient as well as modern. But does it follow from -this that supernatural agencies are at work? may it not be a delusion -in principle as well as in form; for that the form was erroneous in -heathenism at least, I suppose we must acknowledge, since heathenism -is exploded now. - -{321} - -"I suspect," said M. Bertolot, "that instead of originating, as you -have supposed, from human observation of facts, that the doctrine of -the 'Fates' is but a corruption of the doctrine of divine providence -handed down by primitive tradition. When paganism is considered at -first sight, it seems strange to modern ideas, that we term it an -_invention_, or a growth, or material embodiment of our abstract -deduction from reasoning on observation. But what if it were none of -these things? What if it were simply a perversion of the primitive -traditions? A materializing, so to speak, of spiritual doctrine? It -has often been asserted that beneath the veil of all myths, positive -knowledge might be discovered by a thinking soul. If this be true, -as, to a certain extent, facts seem to warrant our acknowledgement, -then in the latent truths that are supposed to be hid beneath the -mystic words, we may faintly trace the ancient pristine traditions, -defaced first by the material shape they wear, but more, much more, by -their fixing the attention of the world on animalism and materialism, -as the true ends of existence." - -"I do not quite understand you," said Eugene. - -"I will explain by reference to Bible history," said M. Bertolot. -"Man's first sin of disobedience appears to have disturbed the -relationship of his soul previously held with superior intelligences, -nay, to have disordered his own organization, and to in the sway to -inferior appetites rather than to the superior part of the soul, which -primarily subjected these inferior appetites to its control. The -primal order united the soul to God, and necessarily then all his -faculties were equipoised and his passions held in subjection. That -union destroyed, the passions rose, fierce and uncontrollable; first -man having become a rebel, begot the second, who was a murderer -through envy of his brother's spiritual superiority. Since then -tradition says that only through violence done to the disordered -passions, by humility and patience and long toil, can the pristine -order be restored and the primal supremacy of soul regained. This is -the office of true spirituality. Paganism also treats of good -lost--and of well-being to be acquired through prayer to the immortal -gods; but the good it supposes lost, is that of bodily gratification, -or of power, or grandeur, and its gods are propitious only when they -avert the sufferings which should discipline the soul and prepare it -for the reception of the regenerative truth." - -"Something of this," said Eugene, "I have heard Euphrasie say; but she -would not explain her words, and they came to us like enigmas which we -could not solve." - -"The solution cannot be comprehended by all," said M. Bertolot; "a -preparation of mind is necessary ere we can solve the enigmas of -history; and melancholy, indeed, are the facts presented. Look at the -first events. Piety, which is another word for the endeavor to seek -reunion with God, was renewed in the race of Seth, and, through them -the pristine traditions were preserved. But soon these sons of God -looked on the daughters of men and saw that they were fair, and again -spirituality was overpowered, and the race lost itself in sensuality, -and was destroyed by the flood. To the eight who survived, of course, -the traditions were known, and Noah, priest, patriarch, king of the -new race, lived three hundred and fitly years after the flood, to bear -a long testimony to their truth. But the perversity of the human -inclination was too strong. Man's choice had been to know good and -evil; evil could only be known by separation from God, and it would -seem as if he were fated to have his choice gratified; it was -inevitable at any rate, if he must know evil. Accordingly we find that -even one hundred and thirty-three years before the death of Shem, who -had witnessed the deluge, and who lived five hundred years after it, -in order to perpetuate the memory of it in the minds of men, it was -necessary to set apart Abraham, by special provision, to keep intact -the spiritual {322} meaning of the traditions of true religion. -Already had the creature again taken the first place in human -affection, to the neglect of the Creator. Already impersonations of -human passion had arisen and mixed themselves with the traditions they -received from their fathers. These traditions they hid under the false -imagery that stole into their hearts; but perverted and debased though -they may be, they form the basis of whatever truth may be discoverable -under the garb of my theology, and the peopling the world with -invisibly acting spirits is one of these notions which the heathens -did not invent, but only perverted." - -"I think I see what you mean," said Eugene; "but tell me if your -philosophy has discovered why man himself is such an enigma, such a -compound of loftiness and meanness, so grand in idea and so poor in -execution? Why is truth so difficult, seeing that it is so necessary -to him?" - -"Man is a fallen being," mournfully responded the mentor. "The divine -spark once inbreathed, though dimmed and clouded, still prompts to -high hopes and high deeds; but severed from God, he can effect nothing -to satisfy himself. That reunion is in fact the sole aim and object of -existence. None other can satisfy the inward yearning. How that -reunion is to be accomplished revelation comes to tell us, for human -philosophy was at fault, and the first step I have already pointed out -is prayer." - -"There are many religions," said Eugene, "and how is the true one to -be known?" - -"Nay, that question is beyond philosophy, and philosophy was to be the -subject of our interviews. I will assist you in distinguishing the -functions of the mental faculties, but at the present stage of the -inquiry I will not forestall your conclusions. We have already seen -that the nature of man is compounded, and that his physical nature is -the inferior portion of that compound, his moral and spiritual nature -the highest. Intellect is the servant of one or the other, according -as to which is accorded the predominance, and it is because that -predominance is so often given to the inferior part of our being that -we must be so surely on our guard against an undue bias; not but that -even our spiritual and moral qualities need also to be watched, for -pride and egotism corrupt even these. In fact, man's life here is the -only that of an exile consequent his being born, severed from truth, -his true end of being, but the consequences of that severing causes -his life to be one struggle to replace his faculties in their pristine -equilibrium, and to accord to each its fitting office. As for -instance, when giving to the spiritual that precedence which is due to -it we must beware lest we employ it to any other purpose than the -worship of 'The True.' There is a spurious spirituality as well as a -spurious morality." - -"But why do you distinguish morality from spirituality? Will not one -term comprehend both?" - -"Scarcely, since morality means the relationship of man to man: -spirituality, his relationship to God. The law of God may and does -regulate man's morals in those persons who acknowledge that law; but -were man to live without God, as is too often the case, he must have -laws to regulate his intercourse with his kind; that is the spiritual -man necessarily acknowledge the moral law, but the moral man does not -necessarily acknowledge the spiritual law." - -"And what, then, is the sanction of the moral law?" asked Eugene. - -"Apart from the spiritual law, it must be regulated by reason," -returned his friend. - -"But," said Eugene, "reason differs in different minds; nat, in -different localities. Turkey sanctions what England condemns, and -ancient Sparta taught her children to practice what all Europe would -now punish them for doing." - -{323} - -"Probably; but that only proves that there is no absolute certainty -for man, when relying on his own unassisted light. Nevertheless, law -does exists, and must exist, to keep society together, and to protect -life and property. To be consistent, it should propose itself a -definite purpose, and frame its rules to meet that purpose. As persons -are not agreed on spiritual matters, and as life and property can be -protected without their so agreeing, modern lawgivers incline to leave -out of the question the higher law appertaining to the interior life, -and to legislate purely on materialistic principles; provided they do -not by legislation contravene that higher law or compromise its -principles in any degree, no mischief can come of such a course; but, -unfortunately, a neutral position is a difficult one to uphold. -Unconsciously, as it were, man infringes the conditions sooner or -later, and the anomaly of enforcing the worship of 'reason' at the -point of the bayonet is enacted again and again?" - -"And what part does reason take in religion?" asked Eugene. - -"A most important one," said his friend, "since reason is a direct -gift of God to man, and all natural gifts, when unperverted, have a -direct co-relation to a spiritual gift. Man's nature is not changed by -spiritual Grace, it is sanctified, purified, elevated, replaced in the -position of grace in which Adam was created, or rather in the -superadded grace of the redemption. Reason, consequently, must examine -the evidences concerning the truth of facts presented to her--must -demand by what authority they are assumed to be facts--must compare -them with other facts--examine, prove, judge. But remember, reason -does not create facts, and may not ignore them when proved, however -contrary in the ordinary course of our experience. The Eastern despot -caused the traveler to be strangled because he asserted that he had -seen water in a solid form. So, many a man strangles the evidence of a -fact, because he assumes the fact itself to be beyond belief." - -"Can you give me any rules respecting the exercise of reason?" asked -Eugene. - -"Beware, in the first place, of confounding it with actual experience. -Experience is, having personal evidence of fact, as true history is -having our neighbor's evidence of the same. But the facts must be -ascertained before we can reason upon them, otherwise we may draw -conclusions from false premises. But in sifting evidence regarding -facts, beware of rejecting any on the sole ground that they are not of -ordinary occurrence, or of a class within the personal experience of -yourself or your neighbor. Incredulity is as great a folly as -credulity: let each question rest on its individual merits, and -receive the investigation due to its importance. In the second place, -remember that the process of establishing a fact is essentially -different from reasoning on that fact when established. The latter is -common to all, but the evidence which establishes facts acts -differently on minds of different dispositions. Thirdly, a certain -series of facts already assumed to be established, often appears to -throw light upon and render probable, or even self-evident, another -series of facts which, without their precursors, would be of doubtful -authority. But that which it is most difficult to realize is, that -certain states of the mind render it easier to admit the probability -of certain facts than certain other states; so that ere we proceed to -the investigation of foreign ideas, we must, as far as in us lie, -examine ourselves as to the impartial state of our dispositions, -divest ourselves of any prepossessions founded on the lower principles -of our being." - -"As for example?" said Eugene. - -"As for example, my young friend, we take the proposition already -discussed this evening: 'Man is a fallen being!' This is either an -historical fact or a falsity. Now some men persist in rejecting all -agency that is not in accordance with the ordinary {324} consequences -observed to occur in the material portion of the creation, -consequently they deny the primary fact as matter of history, though -compelled by experience to admit that man often falls _de facto_. -This, they say, is in consequence of his non-observance of nature's -laws, the knowledge of which provided he acted on that knowledge would -remedy this weakness. The knowledge of physics is, then, to these -minds, a necessary and important ingredient in what to them -constitutes virtue, while physical ignorance must, by the same theory, -bring with it vice and misery." - -"The history of the creation given by Moses is to such persons a -sublime myth, conveying no other idea than that it presents a splendid -manifestation of beauty, power, and grandeur. The aim and object of -these men is necessarily materialism--the contentment of animal -existence; and while this is their aim, their mental vision cannot see -the doctrine of the fall of man from spiritual life. Convince these -men, however, of their own inherent spiritual affinities, which, -though now in abeyance, are ready to be called into operation if only -they will that they should be so called--let them experience the -yearning for higher life, which now lies dormant if not dead within -them, then will the cloudy myth become reality, and the falls _de -facto_ be viewed as the necessary result of the original fall from -spiritual unity. A new vigor will be infused into the frame, and a -desire to re-establish the pre-existing supernatural relationships -will become the absorbing interest. The rationalist will become a -Christian, not by force of human reasoning, but because a change has -taken place in his disposition, in his aspiration." - -"But does the reception or apprehension of truth, then, depend on -human disposition?" asked Eugene. "Should not truth be self-evident, -or be at least demonstrable to those whom it concerns?" - -"To pure natures doubtless it is so," said M. Bertolot, "but I need -not point out to you that facts of every-day occurrence show us that -man's nature is no longer pure, and therefore is it that he is blinded -by prejudice and five bent of his inclination. Few have been found -willing to lay aside the pride of rank, the demands of human comfort, -and the conceit of human learning, and come like little children to be -taught by the inspired angel of truth." - -"I, at least, would like to try," said Eugene. "Would that the angel -of truth were to be found!" - -"Pray! and you may find him yet!" replied M. Bertolot. - -"Prayer is your constant theme, I perceive," said Eugene, smiling. - -"It is man's most constant friend, and the powerful preserver of his -soul," replied M. Bertolot. "Man's soul is by its origin aspirative, -panting after reunion with God, even when ignorant of the cause of his -disquietude. The soul has faculties which need gratification, and can -be gratified only in God. These faculties are nourished by prayer, and -to prayer is annexed the promise of being heard; but then we must -accept and fulfil the conditions." - -"And what are those conditions?" asked Eugene. - -"The prayer must be humble," said his friend, "diffident of self, -confident in God; and it must be accompanied by a firm resolve to let -no private bias, no motive of interest, interfere with the -inspirations sent in answer. The influences exercised over us by the -exterior world, with all the empire of physical enjoyment, must be -ready to give way as soon as they interfere with the recognition of -the divinity speaking to our souls, as this interference is most -fatal; for the 'fall of man' in the first place, the rise of paganism -in the second, and in the third place the failure of the Jews in -recognizing the spiritual character of our Lord's kingdom, all arose -from this undue empire of self-love, of private interest, latent or -patent, in the human soul. And this empire must be subdued ere we can -hope to regain our position as 'sons of the eternal and essentially -spiritual God.'" - -{325} - -"And yet," said Eugene, "we are of flesh as well as of the spirit, and -the demands of the flesh are loud and manifold." - -"Yes, and to a certain extent they must be gratified, or life would -fail. Only, let the body be the servant and not the master of the -soul. Let the object of existence be reunion with God, not the mere -gratification of animalism. This aspiration, or this object--and, I -may say, this alone--forms the distinctive mark between paganism and -true religion. It is not the outer idol that injures the soul, but the -inward feeling that is directed to false worship; that accords to -beauty, glory physical power, and animal gratification, the inward -adoration due alone to God, the creator, redeemer, sanctifier. Have I -made myself understood?" - -"I think so," said Eugene; "and by this measure, the great mass of -population must be as essentially, pagan as they were in the days of -Mars, Jupiter, Bacchus, and Apollo." - -"I fear many will be found so," said M. Bertolot. "Men appear to be -more eager than ever they were for exterior improvements; they are -fast losing hold of the aspirations of the past; they have destroyed -old theories, and substituted new philosophies and new remedies for -evil that our sapping the very foundations of spiritual truth in men's -minds. Yet man cannot utterly stifle his inward yearnings, nor -annihilate his spiritual affinities. The soul who rejects the true -worship bows, although unconsciously, to inferior agencies, and animal -magnetism and spirit-rappings provide their poisoned food for the -sickly appetite, and exercise their baneful empire ever the craving -souls who reject the hallowing operations of religion. Meantime the -world is in a miserable state of trouble and confusion." - -"Yes," said Eugene, "but modern philosophy ascribes this state to -ignorance, and says a proper educational development would obviate -all. If so, what becomes of the fall of man?" - -"If so! rather a large if," said M. Bertolot. "The world is nearly six -thousand years old, and is it but now to begin to discover truth? and -is that beginning to be the laying aside of all received traditional -lore? Well! it is a new era, and everything will wear a new aspect -soon. It is as though it were in the councils of the Most High, that -every form of man's folly and self-seeking should have full -development. Good, if he learn at last that from God alone, by -supernatural means, comes true light to the soul. Good, if when all -other means have been tried and found to fail, he seek it there at -last. Good, if at length he recognizes the fact, that the soul's -proper sphere is divine, is supernatural; that it is a consequence as -legitimate for the purified soul to tower above, to command matter, as -it is for heat to melt ice. Good, if he become aware that from the -Eternal alone proceeds light and warmth and power and due action, and -that the human soul, the proper recipient of these graces, cannot -exercise its own proper vitality (so to speak) without these gifts -from God, which form at once its nutriment and its stimulus. Now, the -unbeliever uses not the means, consequently feels not the divinity -stir within him; and that positive inertia of his spiritual existence -is the great cause of his remaining an unbeliever. It is as though a -man were to refuse to believe that equal proportions of sulphuric acid -and of water, being mixed together at the temperature of fifty -degrees, the compound will immediately acquire a temperature as high -as boiling water, and not believing it possible, he refuses to test -it, and so remains unconvinced. Nevertheless, the rise of temperature -in this case is as certain a fact in chemistry as the fact in theology -is certain, of the rise in the soul, when it approaches God by the -means he himself has appointed." - -{326} - -"But," said Eugene, "if I understand you theologians aright, it is the -prayer of faith that pierces the clouds. How am I to attain this -faith?" - -"Begin with the graces which you have already: I mean that of a -sincere desire of truth, and that of the consciousness that you have -not truth in actual possession yet. These two facts of your mind are -gifts immensely great. Follow them closely and in simplicity, and -greater results will follow. They contain already the germs of faith, -and if you are true to their teachings you will be led to throw -yourself, in child-like abandonment, into the arms of God, and -contentedly follow where he leads. Your yearning for truth will then -be gratified." - -"And how am I to discover which historic facts are true? By divine -light also?" - -"Divine light will aid you even here. Yet in this case you must use -the best human means you can command. You must study the evidences, -examine the prophecies, and contemplate the manner in which these -prophecies have been fulfilled. You must endeavor to penetrate the -spiritual meaning of all the types, of all the allusions. You must -mark well the connection between the old law and the new law, and -distinguish the essential differences between what revelation from God -_is_, and that which is simply man's idea of what a revelation from -God should be. Study the developments of heathenism, modern as well as -ancient; you will find more similarity than at first appears on the -surface: and you will also easily trace therein, the divine truth, -borrowed from the first traditions, and from the developments of -revelation, which mingled with their perversions form the basis of -their system, a system which is built on a materialized version of a -spiritual teaching, which, parted from the centre of good, went astray -by following its own fancies, relying on its own unassisted judgment. -Finally, meditate sedulously the truths of the religion taught at the -foot of the cross. Do not wait till you believe ere you do this, but -learn what religion is as taught by Christian apostles; then, if you -reject Christianity, you will at least know what you reject, and if -you embrace it you will find many of your difficulties melt away, as -if the very atmosphere dissolved them. But through every process, -'pray.'" - -"I will," said Eugene, "certainly I will; until I have found the truth -it is but reasonable that I should submit to your guidance. Yes, for a -while I will study, meditate, pray, and endeavor to keep my mind -unbiassed." Mentally he added, "Yes, Euphrasie, I will endeavor for a -while to forget all that could bias me--even you." - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -SCENE IN THE CASTLE CHAPEL - -So absorbed, indeed, did Eugene continue to be in these pursuits, that -home influences and home affairs seemed to have passed from his mind -altogether. The long vacation he spent at the lakes, studying works -which certainly college authorities did not put into his hands, and -which his father would scarcely have sanctioned. On his return to -Cambridge he found M. Bertolot absent for a considerable time, so his -studies continued unaided in the theological direction. This enabled -him the better to elude the eyes of observation, and as his father's -so was one of the least likely to be affected by "superstition" of any -kind, his peculiar mode of passing his time passed unnoticed, only the -surprise seemed to be that in the classes he did attend he took so -very slight an interest; in fact, he passed for an indolent young man, -while in fact reading hard and meditating deeply on themes forbidden -by the University regulations. From these dreams of his own fashioning -he was one day unpleasantly awakened to a sense of his connection with -the outer world by a letter from Mr. Godfrey, detailing in a somewhat -bitter {327} spirit, the transactions we have related in a previous -chapter, and requesting him take an early opportunity of visiting -Adelaide. Mr. Godfrey stated that himself, Mrs. Godfrey, Annie, and -Hester were about to return home, but that Adelaide declined to return -with them; she wished neither to be pitied nor wondered at, when the -duke's absence should become publicly known. She felt equal to keeping -up the state becoming her rank, and had invited her aunt and Euphrasie -to domesticate themselves with her for some months to come, which -arrangement her friends deemed a very suitable one. - -Eugene was deeply moved, for family ties had ever been strongly felt -by him and to the transient disgust excited by his sister s conduct in -consenting to marry the duke, now succeeded warm sympathy for the -annoyance and mortification she endured. Indignation against the cause -of it was, however, useless. The duke was gone, and Eugene would have -felt some difficulty in reconciling a "call of honor" under the form -of a duel with the new philosophy upon which he was so intent: so it -was well for him to be out of the way of temptation. His agitation did -not, however, escape the observation of his friend, who being just -returned from his trip, happened to call on him on the same morning on -which he received Mr. Godfrey's letter. Briefly, and in strict -confidence, Eugene explained the cause. - -"Nay, take it quietly, my young friend," said M. Bertolot. "It is a -grievous misfortune, I grant, but let us leave the result in God's -hands; good may come of it yet." - -"I think I ought to go and see Adelaide." - -"Without doubt; and your aunt, too, will welcome you." - -"And will you not accompany me also? Your presence would be most -acceptable to Euphrasie and to her mother." - -"Why--if I thought I should not be intruding--" - -"I will ascertain that," said Eugene; and he wrote to his sister of -his proposed visit, and of his desire to bring a friend with him. - -The return of post brought a cordial invitation to both. Accordingly, -they set out for the castle together, and received a most flattering -welcome from the inmates. For many days all went happily--very -happily. Eugene's natural disposition was gay and joyous, and this -ever made him an agreeable companion. At all times every member of the -family had been fond of this representative of a gentle house; but at -this particular juncture his unaffected cheerfulness rendered him -especially acceptable to the duchess. - -Yet, when the first excitement was over, there were many things about -him which puzzled, even while they interested her. She began to feel -uncertain as to whether she understood him. That which seemed a joke, -_en passant_, on reflection appeared to contain some hidden meaning. -The castle itself was a continual theme with him. The number of its -large, unoccupied chambers, which he bade her find inhabitants for -among those whose dwellings were so scant of room that they could not -even observe the decencies of life: the vast grounds, almost untrodden -by human feet, among which he was always pretending to seek for -concealed hermitages; then the retinue of gentlemen and ladies who -were called servants, but whose principal occupation, Eugene insisted, -was to make work for others;--these were a never-failing source of -raillery. All these things, which flattered Adelaide's pride, seemed -to him but subjects of mere banter, and certainly did not excite that -reverence for the "state" in which she lived which she expected and -desired. Then there was M. Bertolot, a poor French teacher, nowise -elated by the condescension with which she, one of the greatest ladies -in the land, entertained him. Calm, self-possessed, he received her -attentions with as much {328} quiet dignity as if he were her equal. -Certainly he did not pay her homage; and as homage was precisely that -for which she had married, she could scarcely avoid feeling a little -aggrieved on the subject, or feeling as if she had been defrauded of -something that was her due; though her natural good sense forbade her -from showing her sensitiveness to her guests. - -The castle was very large--so large, in fact, that Adelaide had never -entered all the chambers. More than half of it had been dismantled, -and was generally kept locked. An old steward who kept the keys alone -knew all the intricacies of that part of the house, which he asserted -had, in ancient times, lodged a large body of retainers, and that it -could now, in case of necessity, accommodate whole regiments of -soldiers. - -One day, in a merry mood, Eugene proposed to his sister to escort her -through her own house on a tour of discovery. She assented. The house -was in the form of a quadrangle, enclosing a flower garden of -considerable size. In the midst was a reservoir, into which a -water-god, exquisitely sculptured in marble, was pouring a continual -jet of water. Marble pillars supported the upper story of the mansion, -forming beneath an arched and cloistered walk round three sides of the -garden. Already had Eugene spent hours here in meditation, for it was -ever cool, shady, and sequestered; and it being understood that here -the family alone were admitted, the servants consequently kept aloof. - -"Beautiful cloisters those would make," said Eugene. "When you -exchange your ducal coronet for a nun's veil, Adelaide, and your -jewelled chain for a rosary, you can come here and tell your beads. -Your convent is provided already." - -"What an absurd idea!" said the duchess. - -"Nay," said Eugene, "such things have been, and may be again." - -"Nonsense! this age is too wise for that" - -They passed on. Even Eugene was surprised at the extent of -accommodation in the furnished and inhabited part of the building. The -old duke had so divided the place that he and his duchess had had -their separate establishments under one roof, without being cognizant -even of each other's proceedings. For the last years of their lives -they had met only on state days and on state occasions. - -Adelaide now inhabited suite of rooms occupied by the former duchess. -Until to-day she had never entered those set apart for the duke. - -A shudder ran through her veins as as she traversed them, for -something seemed to whisper her, that here, to another duke would die -like the former--married, yet wifeless--and that the entailed -dwelling, with its vast grounds and cherished heirlooms, would pass -away from her altogether. - -Eugene saw his sister turned pale, and guessing something of what was -passing in her thoughts, led her hastily down a narrow staircase, on -the opposite side to which he had entered. He opened another door, -which brought them into a secluded shrubbery, which he had never -before observed. They walked a few yards, and then came to a low, -vaulted archway. They entered, for the key was in the lock; and though -the door turned somewhat heavily on its rusty hinges, they easily -pushed it open. Another door presented itself, and that, too, was -unlocked. Wondering, they entered. Stealthily, yet scarcely knowing -why they were so hushed, they moved forward, and found themselves in a -small, deserted chapel Stained glass was in the windows; the stone -altar yet remained; fluted pillars marked the aisles; a large cross -was wrought in one of the walls, in stone work; but the seats and -ornaments were gone. A damp, earthy smell pervaded the place. Adelaide -was chilled and drew back. - -"Nay, stay one moment," pleaded Eugene. "I will open the window. Let -us see what this place is." - -{329} - -They approached, but suddenly they perceived Euphrasie on her knees, -in a niche formed in the wall, while M. Bertolot, seated on a step -beside her, seemed in the very act of raising his and over her in -benediction. - -Adelaide started as if an adder had stung her. She suppressed a shriek -and hastily turned away. Eugene followed and reverently closed the -door. - -The duchess was too much annoyed to speak. She was moody for the rest -of the day, but made no remark on the subject which occupied her -thoughts. The day after, Eugene was reading near her, while Euphrasie -was seated by the window, employed in working embroidery, when the -duchess began, in a somewhat bitter tone: - -"Well, Eugene, in one thing you have disappointed me. You used to the -so fond of art; and your visits to the Pantheon have have been so very -few, and so very short, that I wonder what is the matter with you. -What objection can you have to what all the world terms -master-pieces?" - -"None at all--indeed none, my dear sister. Your statuary is -magnificent, unrivaled." This was said in a deprecating tone, for -Eugene earnestly wished to avoid discussion. "There can be no fault to -find with the Pantheon. It is I who am to blame. I am out of taste -just now. Jupiter and Mars have ceased to interest me. My taste for -paganism has had its day, I presume. We cannot always be wrapt up in -the same things." - -But the duchess was not satisfied with this answer. It rather -increased her annoyance, and she replied in the same bitter tone: - -"I marvel to hear you and Euphrasie condemn idolatry, while she is on -her knees before an image for hours together, and you see no idolatry -in that." - -"Mademoiselle de Meglior does not worship images that I am aware of," -said Eugene, somewhat startled at this burst, "though to keep her mind -concentrated on one idea, she may possibly make use of them." - -"And what is that but idolatry?" said his sister; "how many of the -pagans, think you, would mistake a statue of Minerva for Minerva -herself? Their statues were but types to recall ideas." - -"Yes, but the ideas themselves were false; Paganism was the worship of -physical power, the deification of materialism. True religion is the -direct converse of this. It is the elevation of the soul to -spirituality, the recognition of a spiritual God, who created man for -his own glory, endowed him with spiritual life, for the express -purpose of keeping him strictly united to himself. The centre of the -one system is self or concupiscence. The worship rendered is the -worship of fear, or for the promotion of self-gratification. The -centre of the other system is God, by whom all things are made, in -whom they still exist, and for whom they should exist in will, as well -as in act. One is paganism, the other is Christianity." - -"And what may you mean by concupiscence, most learned Theban?" asked -the duchess. - -"Concupiscence is such a love of self as prevents us from making God -the first object of our love," responded Eugene. - -"And you, in sober earnest, profess to think it possible to love God -more than yourself?" - -"I think men have done so," said Eugene, "though they have been but -few, when compared to the world's masses." - -"Men have loved their whims and fancies to an astonishing degree, I -know," said the duchess; "fanaticism has abounded on the earth, but -fanaticism is, after all, only a species of madness; I know not -whether it be curable or not." - -"Do you, then, think it a sort of madness to endeavor to find the true -and living God, and having found, to worship him? That, surely, is not -your grace's meaning?" There was a slight contempt in Eugene's tone as -he said this; his sister was nettled and answered coldly: - -{330} - -"Man's spirit is naturally superstitious, I think: that is the secret -of all this nonsense about worship. He is ignorant, and fears and -trembles. Enlighten him, and he will walk upright and rely on himself -alone." - -"And what is man, that he should rely on himself alone?" responded -Eugene; "a being weaker than the lower animals, needing even more -protection than they do to defend him from the inclemency of the -weather, and obliged to labor to provide food sufficient for himself, -while the food of calves and goats grows beneath their feet. When -young, man is powerless; when sick, powerless; when old, powerless; -nay, without aid he is usually powerless." - -"But man generic," said the duchess, "can aid this greatly. -Combinations might be formed which would remedy this individual -powerlessness. Such, they tell me, are in contemplation; and when -formed, superstition will be crushed under the chariot-wheels of -improvement in man's physical condition." - -"It might," said Eugene, "if any degree of mere animal enjoyment could -content man, but it cannot. Let man surround himself with luxury to -the highest possible degree, there will still be the feeling that a -higher life exists for him. Man's soul, the divine spark inbreathed by -God, can rest only in God. Glimpses of high destinies still float -around us, and in our unsatisfied longings--unsatisfied when most -provided for--we find the pledge that we were made for higher -things." - -"Mere Platonic crudities these, my dear brother," said the duchess, -with a smile. "Beware! you are on a dangerous path; themes like these -have misled many a noble mind. And look! Euphrasie is smiling an -assent to your mysticisms; she thinks you are already half-way on the -road to Catholicity." - -"No matter by what road we are led, provided we arrive at truth," -responded Eugene. "But you are mistaken in your conjecture; I have not -been studying Platonism but Christianity." - -"It may be Christianity is but a form of Platonism," said the duchess: -"at least many learned men have so asserted. What Christianity was -intended to be by its founder I can hardly make out; but it seems to -have borrowed largely from the mystics as it travelled through -philosophy." - -"Nay," said Eugene, "to me that appears a gratuitous assumption. That -to a superficial observer there may be some grounds of resemblance -between the ideas of spirituality, abstractly considered, entertained -by the mystics and by the Christians. I grant--as also that, to a -certain extent, man may be capable of deducing these abstract ideas -from observation of nature's workings. Nature is a manifestation of -the spirit of God, consequently there always must exist a certain -correlative teaching in nature corresponding to a higher spiritual -teaching, though man's blindness will not always perceive it; but this -is only an exterior relationship. The spirit of Christianity enfolds a -principle which natural philosophy does not touch." - -"A principle which is the mere creature of human imagination." said -the duchess; "nay, I might say it is the offspring of discontent. Man -is dissatisfied with his lot, and frames a heaven for the future. He -were more wisely employed in remedying the present evil." - -"If it were possible, you should say, sister. How many evils can man -avert? Do we not suffer, from natural predisposition, diseases of -various kinds? Do we not suffer in our affections from the misconduct -of others? And do not the majority suffer an enforced toil, which -absorbs their time, and leaves them neither energy nor leisure for -speculative thoughts? They must work or die. Now, philosophy would but -render a man discontented with this state of things--a state which -leaves the toil to one, and the enjoyment, supposititious perhaps, but -still {331} apparent enjoyment to another. Force can compel it--the -force of unsatisfied nature; but Christianity hallows it--sanctifies -it--by teaching how all apparent hardships may nourish virtue and -unite the soul to God." - -"Nay, I do not dispute that religion is necessary for the vulgar," -said Adelaide. - -"And are the vulgar to have the highest portion? Christianity is the -exaltation of the soul--paganism, the worship of the body. In that -case, I would rather cast in my lot with the vulgar." - -"If it were but true," said Adelaide. - -"Become poor, lofty lady, and you will feel its truth. Perchance -luxury is a kind of anodyne to a human being, so that he does not feel -his soul when under its influence. Become poor; toil, day after day, -for a scanty pittance, and you will find yourself asking if man is -only a laboring animal. Become poor, and the soul will speak to you of -power and aspiration, and ask why is this sense of loftiness unused. -It will ask you why every faculty has its legitimate sphere in which -to act, and the soul alone remain without a sphere. Perhaps we need -something of this experience before we can feel the stirrings of the -divinity within us--before we are prepared to comprehend the truths -of religion. Certain it is that the gospel was sent peculiarly to the -poor, and that the refined trifles which occupy the minds of the rich, -prevent their attending to the inward voice of the spirit." - -"Why, Eugene! you are qualified be a Methodist preacher. This is mere -rant and cant. Religion takes no such exalted standing in the minds of -the vulgar. The Methodist has some pet theory to save his soul, -without troubling himself about good works at all; and the Catholic -tells his beads and sets up his images in the very style of paganism. -They say that at Rome the adoration of the Virgin Mary has taken the -place of the worship of the goddess Venus--where is the gain there?" - -"The patroness of purity in exchange for the goddess of -lasciviousness! Nay, surely, sister, that exchange must be a blessed -one. What I have been trying to express all along is, that all that -makes us do homage to the animal nature--all that worships the merely -physical--is paganism; while all that represses carnality, promotes -purity, and leads us out of ourselves to unite us to God, is Christ's. -The union of the saints in Christ is not idolatry; it is but an -additional means of glorifying God by showing forth, in united prayer, -the triumph of Christianity over death itself." - -"Do hold your tongue, Eugene. Let us have no more of this. Sometimes -you are a Catholic, sometimes a Methodist; but in either character you -will be disowned as my father's son. The idea of your disgracing a -line of philosophers by such stale trumpery!" - -Eugene laughed; and as he saw no other way of closing the debate he -quitted the room, which Madame de Meglior was just then entering. But -the duchess, seriously annoyed, turned sharply round upon Euphrasie. - -"I suppose," said she, "you have been putting these foolish notions -into the boy's head. Beware, if you make a Catholic of him you will -destroy the peace of a whole family; but that, I suppose, is a -secondary consideration to making a convert." - -"Indeed, your grace--" replied Euphrasie. - -"Nay, do not deny it, whether by words or looks or acts, 'tis all the -same; there was no Catholicity in the family until you came into it, -and now I clearly see some means must be used to prevent its -spreading." - -"But," said Madame de Meglior, "in this instance you have forgotten -that Eugene is almost always at Cambridge; how does my daughter's -religion influence him there?" - -"I do not know, but you see it has; the boy was well brought up, was -rational and intelligent; and now to adopt these follies! He, the -representative of my father's house, too!" - -{332} - -Madame de Meglior was now vexed, but she ventured no reply; it was -impolitic to offend the duchess. She liked Durimond Castle better than -Estcourt Hall; secretly she hoped that Euphrasie had made an -impression on Eugene's heart. She would like to have seen them -married, and she well knew that Euphrasie would not marry one out of -the pale of the church. Religion was, to madame herself, nothing. She -was a no-thinker, not an unbeliever: she had lived nearly all her life -in France, among people who sometimes went to mass for form's sake, -and who called themselves Catholics, and she could not comprehend the -bitter feeling with which her countrymen regarded the Catholic Church. -She thought children should be taught religion; it made them dutiful, -and for her part she did not see that her husband's daughter was -inferior to her nieces. She, however, smothered her vexation, as she -said: - -"You think too much of these vagaries, my dear niece. This is the age -of tolerance; we must be lenient to youthful folly." - -"This is a serious folly, aunt," replied the duchess. "It would make a -commotion throughout the kingdom, were my father's heir to turn -Catholic." - -"Yet the wars of the Pretender are long since at an end. Europe -scarcely knows whether a representative of the Stuart line is living. -It is time these feuds should cease. I thought 'freedom of thought' -was the watchword of the Godfrey family." - -"What freedom of thought is there in Catholicity?" asked the duchess. - -"Nay, that I know not; but I think freedom of thought means that each -one may be of the religion he thinks best." - -"He must not be a Catholic," said the duchess; "at least, not -outwardly. He may think as he likes, of course; no one can hinder -that." - -"Is that the toleration of England, may it please your grace?" said -Madame de Meglior, banteringly. - -"It is. Why should he be allowed to destroy the political influence of -the family, to mar the marriage of my sister, to bring a slur on a -respectable name?" - -"I had not thought of that," answered madame; and for the first time -she pondered whether it was really an evil that Euphrasie should be a -Catholic. - -After this conversation, slight as it was, Euphrasie became more and -more resolved; till then, though scarcely to be called intimate, she -had been at least friendly with Eugene Godfrey. Now she avoided him -when she could do so without positive rudeness. The Countess de -Meglior, who began to watch her closely, could only perceive that her -passion for solitude was ever on the increase, but her obedience to -herself never faltered. Madame de Meglior, though but little given to -reflection, now discovered that this was a very convenient disposition -for her step-daughter to cherish; for, had she wished to be brought -forward in the great world of fashion, like other girls of her age, -madame's pride would have been wounded at not being able to do this in -the proper form for her, as the daughter of a French nobleman. She -felt glad, then, that, considering how matters stood, the girl had not -forgotten her convent education, and resolved for the present to let -her pray and meditate unmolested, feeling sure that, when their -estates were restored to them, Euphrasie would become like the rest of -the world among whom they moved. As for Eugene, she had penetration -enough to discover that Euphrasie's bashfulness rather tended to fan -his flame than to extinguish it. - -M. Bertolot, who was also watching the young people with much -interest, did his best, on the contrary, to induce Euphrasie to open -her mind to Eugene; but in this he experienced so much difficulty at -first, that he began to think he must abandon the design, when -accident came most unexpectedly to his aid. - -{333} - -The period drew near when their visit was to conclude, and on the day -previous to the one fixed for their departure, the duchess, who had -recovered her good humor, proposed a pleasant party to a ruined -monastery some few miles distant. There were many Young people of the -party, and they dispersed themselves in groups about the grounds. M. -Bertolot gave his arm to Euphrasie, and began to explore the ruins -after a methodical fashion. The walls were of great extends, many of -the rooms remained entire, and much of the plan could be trace; they -made out the site of the community room, the chapel, refectory, -bakehouse and so forth, and were descanting on the probable locality -of other apartments when Eugene joined them. "This must have been a -magnificent place," said he. - -"History says it was large and well endowed," said his friend. "What -say you Euphrasie," he continued, "shall we rebuild it for your -friends?" - -"It is too large," said Euphrasie. - -"Nay, we will suppose an indefinite number of nuns, and the enclosure -wall shall be placed wherever you direct." - -"Even then it would be too grand, too magnificent for the votaries of -St. Clare." - -"You will not accept it, then?" - -"No; unless I might build on another scale. Our holy foundress loved -to seem poor as well as to be poor." - -"And yet," said Eugene, "there are some magnificent convents in the -world." - -"Yes", said Euphrasie; "some orders have them exteriorly grand, but -St. Clare loved everything to be plain and poor, even the church." - -"And why?" asked Eugene, "surely a magnificent church is a great -adjunct to religion. St. Peter's at Rome is the glory of the world." - -Euphrasie looked as if about to reply, but she checked herself. - -M. Bertolot, however, observed the movement, and said, "Nay, tell as -your thoughts, Euphrasie." - -"I am not sure they are correct," she replied. - -"Leave us to judge of that. Speak them as they are." - -"If I should scandalize you," said Euphrasie. - -"Scandalize? Nonsense! Tell us your idea." - -"Well, then," said the young lady, "although splendid edifices have -often been erected by the piety of the faithful, and though in all -ages it has been accounted a good work to adorn the House of God, I -believe that our holy foundress, who was ever watchful over the -interior spirit, thought there might be danger of exciting vanity even -in that respect, and on that account desired poverty for her daughters -in every arrangement. Our own dear reverend mother often inculcated -upon us the remembrance of the words of God, 'I will not give my glory -to another,' and it seems as if there were a special temptation to man -to indulge vain-glory when undertaking any vast exterior work for -religion. The most splendid temple that the world ever saw, that of -Solomon, lasted barely four hundred years; its founder fell into -idolatry, and the worshippers were carried into captivity in -punishment for their sins. The second temple had been built scarcely -six hundred years when the frequenters of that temple, urged on by the -priests, crucified the Lord of Life. It seems dangerous for man, in -this his fallen state, to deal personally with magnificence of his own -creation; he is too easily puffed up to render it safe for his soul. -Therefore is the first beatitude for the poor in spirit, who desire no -grandeur." - -"Thus thinking, you disapprove of St. Peter's at Rome!" add M. -Bertolot. - -"Disapprove! nay, reverend father, you well know I should not dare to -disapprove of aught that the church has sanctioned. The church has -every kind of disposition to deal with, and {334} in her wisdom -follows St. Paul's advice, in becoming innocently all things to all -men, that she may gain some to Christ. I was merely referring to our -own dear community, who strive after the spirit of our great -foundress. Among these, I have seen some weep when the desecrations -have been described to them of heretics taking luncheon baskets within -the very walls of St. Peter's, and using the place as a lounging -apartment or gossiping room. Again, I have seen others to whom that -magnificent church of Rome would bring most saddening thoughts, to -whom it appeared as a monument of the great schism which rent the -seamless garb of Christ into nameless divisions; where not only the -shade of Luther haunts the fancy, but that of the monk Tetzel also, -who paltered with the doctrine he was sent to preach." - -M. Bertolot shook his head. "You view these matters too strictly," he -said; "all men are not like the good nuns, accustomed to practise -interior recollection so perfectly they can dispense in a measure with -exterior aids; to most souls, exterior appliances are useful and -necessary accessories to devotion. The mass of mankind must not be -judged of by likening them to the inmates of a convent; there is a -wider gulf between than you have any idea of." - -"Nay, I remember my father's death," said Euphrasie, mournfully; "but, -reverend father, was it not you who told me that, in those terrible -disturbances, the _riches_ of the church attracted the wolves to the -sheepfold, and that the _treasures_ of the religious houses occasioned -the thieves to enter and take possession?" - -"True! Too true! my child; yet will the piety of the worshipper ever -seek to adorn the house of God, and the richness of the shrine be an -indication of the fervor of that piety. It is alike the pleasure and -the duty of the votary thus to enrich the house of God." - -"But," interrupted Eugene; "Mademoiselle Euphrasie speaks of herself -as if belonging in a convent already. If not indiscrete, may I be -allowed to say that I presume we are not to take that supposition '_au -pied de la lettre?_'" - -Euphrasie blushed and looked at M. Bertolot, as if asking him to speak -for her; but he only said, in and kind of half-whisper: - -"Speak for yourself, my child; it is necessary to be explicit." - -"Then," said Euphrasie, "I believe you may receive the in fact -literally. I was brought up with the dear nuns, and have always -believed myself called to be one of them. I still cling to the hope of -seeing them again." - -"But in this country," said Eugene, "how can you be a nun?" - -"I do not know; but when it was certain our convent was to the broken -up, the superioress said to us: 'As the habit does not make the none, -so dear children, neither does the abode. For his own wise purposes -Divine Providence now separates us; but the spirit of prayer, the -spirit of recollection, of obedience, of meekness, of chastity and -poverty, you all can sedulously cherish still; and if it seems to you -that the circumstances are unfavorable, remember that God seeth not as -man seeth, and he knows best what will most contribute to his glory -and our sanctification. Remember, too, that, to a soul living in God, -exterior circumstances are has nothing; so, still, wherever you are, -be faithful to God and to St. Clare.'" - -"But you surely are not a vowed nun, mademoiselle?" - -"No, but my resolution is taken, and I feel that it will never -change." - -Eugene's brow clouded, and he felt a heaviness at the heart which -oppressed him greatly. Moodily he walked by their side until they -joined the rest of the party, but for the rest of the day he was as -silent as Euphrasie herself was wont to be. - -The duchess wondered what had come over him, but no remark was made on -the subject. The next day he and M. Bertolot returned to Cambridge. - -{335} - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -THE DUKE AND DUCHESS BEFORE THE WORLD. - - -The Godfrey family had returned home depressed and saddened. Over Mrs. -Godfrey's spirit, in particular, a shade seemed cast, which but -deepened as time passed on. She was a true mother, and worldly as were -her ideas, her affections were very deep. Attached to her husband, -attached to her children, she felt Adelaide's position even more than -Adelaide herself appeared to do, for the affections of the young bride -were by no means of so fervent a character as were those of her -mother, and her pride and haughtiness were incomparably greater. -Indeed, it were difficult to prove that the young duchess was a great -sufferer at the present time. She exercised despotic way over the -vassals (as she proudly termed them) of her lord's domains, was -generous, and in return was much beloved and gladly greeted with that -homage which was dearer to her than aught else. - -At the end of six months the duke returned. He resided chiefly in -town, but when in the country he occupied the suite of apartments -fitted up for the former duke. He presented his wife at court, stayed -with her, and assisted her in doing the honors during the festivities -of a London season; behaved to her in public with the most respectful -attention, listened to every suggestion, and gratified to the best of -his power every wish she expressed. Nothing, in fact, could be better -than his conduct to his wife before the world; and whatever that world -might conjecture, the polite and dignified behavior of both the -parties concerned gave it little to talk about. To Mr. Godfrey the -duke gave full authority in the settlement of all matters in which his -daughter was concerned; and as she appeared contented, who could have -a right to find fault? After remaining a few months at home, the duke -again departed on the business of the embassy, and this time he stayed -much longer abroad. But as Adelaide did not complain, the remarks made -were soon hushed into silence. - - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE PRINCIPLE OF SOCIAL EQUALITY PUT TO THE TEST. - - -Madame de Meglior continued to reside with her niece, and made herself -so agreeable, that the arrangement promised to become permanent. - -Euphrasie continued to exhibit the same impassive exterior; in -appearance she was but the slave of her mother's will. The duchess -regarded her as almost a nonentity, at least after the fears excited -by Eugene's religious tendencies had in some measure subsided. - -But Annie! "a change had come o'er the spirit of her dream." She, -always disposed to romance, was unguarded now. Formerly, Adelaide had -acted as a check upon Annie's fondness for equality, fraternity, -liberty. Now that that restraint was withdrawn, she imprudently -allowed Alfred Brookbank to treat her more and more as an equal. It is -doubtful whether, even if she had reflected, she would have foreseen -the consequences, for in her most republican moods, she never forgot -that she was a Miss Godfrey of Estcourt Hall; and though to amuse -herself and pass away the time, she was willing enough to discuss -equality and the "rights of man," she certainly expected to receive -full credit for the condescension in allowing to an inferior the -privilege of such "free discussion" with herself. Home was dull, her -sister gone, and her cousin gone too: her mother was always ailing -now, and her father, ever newly absorbed by some pet plan, kept his -darling Hester {336} constantly at his side. Annie was alone, and -somewhat desolate: Alfred Brookbank always on the look out for an -excuse to bear her company and amuse her. Annie was becoming -accustomed to his attentions, without attaching any more definite -meaning to them than she would to the attentions of any one of the -numerous dependents of her father's house, when, one day, he took -advantage of a private interview to make a formal profession of love. -This was indeed a surprise; for, though any one else might have -expected it, Annie had never once thought of such a probability. -Marriages in her family had always been conducted so differently. -Besides, she had never looked on Alfred as other than patronized. She -had not dreamt of such presumption, though she had allowed him freely -to broach in her presence his doctrine of the "inherent equality" of -such individuals as are of equal calibre of intellect, and of the -right of all mankind at large to freedom and equality. Her manner of -receiving this declaration was certainly not very flattering; for she -drew herself up in a somewhat haughty manner, and replied that the -proceeding was so unexpected, so uncalled for, that she did not know -how to answer it, for Mr. Alfred must be aware that the difference in -their social position rendered such a proposal unanswerable. - -"To one of ordinary mind, perhaps," said Alfred, somewhat chafed; "but -to one like yourself, endowed with an understanding above the petty -conventionalities--" - -"I am not above recognizing my duty to my family, Mr. Alfred, and you -must be aware that no one member of it would consent to this." - -"Nay, if you only allowed me to hope I had any interest in you, I am -sure Mr. Godfrey would not refuse your wishes." - -"I have no wish to trouble him on the subject," was the cold -rejoinder, somewhat haughtily expressed. - -"I may not hope then--" - -"You may hope nothing on this subject whatever. Let it be dropped now -and forever. If I can aid your prospects--" - -"You will patronize me. Thank you, Miss Annie, but patronage from you -would suit my temper badly. I had thought there was one being in the -world superior to the influences of prejudice, of conventional -distinctions; but you, too, deem me an inferior, because I boast not -of paltry wealth or of gentle descent. Inferior as you deem me, you -shall yet feel my power--yes, my power!" - -His language and his told were those of a madman, and his flashing -eyes gave him a frenzied appearance. Trembling with rage, the quondam -lover left the presence of his adored, meditating in bitterness the -most direful revenge. - -Had Annie put any faith in his professions of love to herself, she -would have been undeceived by this burst of rage. Love had not -animated him--that was apparent enough; his disappointment was but a -foiled ambition; yet after permitting upward of two years' attentions, -conscience told her he should have met with a less haughty rebuff. The -retrospect showed her she had encouraged him. She had then partly -drawn upon herself a merited rebuke. She could but acknowledge this, -and, humiliated, Annie would willingly have done her part in repairing -the evil she had occasioned by promoting his advancement in life but -this was beyond her power. The next news she heard was that Alfred -Brookbank had prevailed on his father to advance him a large sum of -money, and had set sail for America. - -Time passed on. Estcourt Hall became duller every day, and beyond the -arrival of a new family in the neighborhood there was nothing of -interest outside. This family consistent of a dowager Lady Conway, -her son and daughter. They had purchased "a place" near the sea for -the benefit of Lady Conway's health. Their own estates, or rather the -son's estates, were in a neighboring shire. They {337} were not -intellectual, but they were wealthy and of good family, and in time an -intimacy sprang up between them and the Godfreys, none knew how or -why, and in a few months after, to the surprise of every one, "The -Morning Post" announced that Sir Philip Conway, Bart., had led to the -altar Miss Annie Godfrey, second daughter of E. Godfrey, Esq., of -Estcourt Hall. - -The marriage was strictly private. Eugene left Cambridge for a day or -two to be present at it, but he soon returned to college. Of the -nature of his studies no one guessed. He did go in for honors, as his -father would have wished. Nevertheless his tutors made a good report -of him, and the secluded life he led made many suppose that he was -pursuing very deeply some pet hobby of his own. - -Indeed, this was partly true; for although at his first return to -Cambridge he was much dejected, he soon began to reflect that -Euphrasie was very young; that she not only was now completely -dependent, but that she was likely to continue so; and that the most -unlikely thing that could happen, was the gratification of her wish to -enter a convent. He trusted to time to teach her this, and a new hope -sprang up within him, and that, too, at the very moment that his -friend M. Bertolot, began to hope he had mastered his feelings for -Euphrasie, and become reconciled to the inevitable separation. - -Eugene spoke not of his love, but with renewed ardor he addressed -himself to study the most important relationships that can exist for -man. Guided by the counsels of M. Bertolot, he mastered the evidences -of Revelation and then assured himself that that revelation, _once -given_, was divinely protected: that that which was intended to shed -light on the human soul, darkened by sin, was not a dubious _ignis -fatuis_, subject to human vagaries, but an unerring guide and an -unfailing lamp. We will not follow him through his arguments now, as -we shall have occasion to make him speak for himself on a future -occasion. - -Time passed on. Annie had been married a year or more. Truth to say, -she was somewhat _ennuyee_ at present. Her husband resided chiefly on -his estate, and this was at some distance from Estcourt Hall. There -was little society in the neighborhood, and Sir Philip's tastes -corresponded very little with her own. - -The young baronet was perfectly well-intentioned, but neither refined -nor cultivated. The society of his farm-bailiff, the walk to the -fatting-stalls, the talk about the respective fattening qualities of -turnips and mangold-wurzels, the speculations on the relative value of -farm-yard manure, of guano, or of soot, and dissertations whether each -or all should be applied as top-dressing or should be worked into the -soil; such were his occupations, and sooth to say, he excelled in the -pursuits he had adopted. No beasts at Smithfield could show finer -points than Sir Philip's: no farm was in finer model order: his tanks, -his barns, his under-drainings, and his irrigations, together with his -prize cattle of every description, were the admiration of the -agricultural world. He was truly a "lord of the animal creation," and -he prided himself on being so. Of intellectual culture he had small -appreciation; but as he had great ideas of order, and deemed himself -master by right of "the masculine being the most worthy gender," -(which was the only idea he retained from his Latin grammar, that had -been vainly endeavored to be flogged into him at school,) he would ill -have brooked interference with his rights. To him, a wife was a -necessary appendage, nothing more; as to allowing a woman to dictate -to him, the thing was absurd. He was "a lord of creation," and though -he wished the world to pay due respect to Lady Conway, because she was -his wife, yet it is questionable whether he himself would have allowed -a woman a voice on any {338} subject beyond those connected with -domestic economy, and even here he reserved to himself the power of -veto. He loved his wife, certainly, because he thought it was a part -of his duty to do so; besides, he really had some sort of animal -affection for her. Annie was well-made, of good birth, well-educated; -to say the least, he was as proud of her as he had been of the animal -which had won him the first prize at the Smithfield cattle-show. It -was part of his system to have the best specimens of animal existence -domesticated on his estate, and Annie did not disgrace his other -stock. - -But Annie; poor Annie! She was alone in the world, though surrounded -by everything that could procure bodily ease or bodily enjoyment. She -had horses to ride, she had a carriage to ride in, she had gardens and -hot houses, plantations and shrubberies; but to her cultivated mind -where was the response? To the poetry that strove within her for -expression, where was the listener? - - "The thought that cannot speak Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and - bids it break!" - -But Annie's was not a spirit to be easily broken. Naturally -expressive, she would have sought interest even among the cottagers, -had not her husband's jealousy forbidden it. He was a _magnifico_, and -he liked not that his wife should be more popular than himself. He -wished to gain the name of being a liberal benefactor to his laborers -and cottagers, and would not share his reputation even with the being -to whom he had plighted his faith for life. Annie was thus thrown on -her own resources. Brought up intellectually, she found a resource in -books; and though at times cast down, she rallied again, for youth is -buoyant, elastic, hopeful, and a literary taste carries in itself a -wonderful power of compensation. But Annie was no dreamer, and the -ideas that suggested themselves demanded action, which as yet they -were denied: yet Annie read on, and thought on. The time for action -will one day surely come, she thought. - -"Lady Conway," said Sir Philip one day at the breakfast table, "do you -know any thing of a Mr. Alfred Brookbank?" - -Annie almost started; she certainly changed color, but Sir Philip was -not observing her; so she answered, "Yes--no--yes; that is, Sir -Philip, the family lived at Estcourt, and sometimes visited at the -Hall." - -"He has bought old Gordon's land, and is about to become our dear -neighbor." - -"Indeed! How did he get the money? He was poor when I knew him." - -"He has made very fortunate speculations in America; besides which he -succeeds to his father's property". - -"Is Dr. Brookbank dead?" - -"He is, and has left a considerable sum behind him; he economize -unknown to his family, it seems." - -"But even so, there is an Elder brother." - -"No, he died in America; of this there is certain news." - -"In America!" said Annie. "I did not know he was ever there". - -"No? Well, it seems he ran off with a neighbor's wife, took her to -America, got tired of her, left her, and went off to the woods. There -he lived some time, but one day was found at the foot of some rapids, -drowned." - -"But how did his family know this?" - -"Some stranger to that district identified the body and gave evidence -before the presiding magistrate, after which they searched the shanty -in which the man had lived, and found papers corroborative of his -being Walter Brookbank, and these papers, with sundry articles, they -sent home to his family, according to the address given by the -stranger, and they were found to have belonged to Walter." - -"Strange concurrence of events! Who was the stranger?" - -"He gave his name as William Jones." - -{339} - -"Jones! I suppose Smith, Brown, or White would have served his purpose -equally as well?" - -"Why do you suppose that Jones was not the man's name, my lady?" - -"I do not know, only it seems to me a most improbable tale." - -"Improbable! Why, the family believe it, at any rate." - -"And the second son is to be established in the neighborhood?" - -"Yes; he intends to occupy himself in superintending land. I have some -thoughts of employing him myself." - -"I thought you said he inherited considerable property." - -"Yes, but he has determined to let his mother enjoy the income arising -from the paternal estate, and has also promised to care for his -sisters' fortunes. Dr. Brookbank died intestate, it seems, but this -young man says that shall make no difference. He appears to be -actuated by very high principle". - -Annie did not answer. She was uneasy; especially at the idea of -Alfred's managing her husband's affairs. She feared some sinister -motive. Her husband noticed the discontented expression of her -countenance. - -"Do you not like Mr. Alfred Brookbank?" He asked. - -"Well, I hardly know," said Annie; "but at least I do not consider him -a man of business. He was not when I knew him; besides, he is young -for an agent; an older man might suit you better, Sir Philip." - -"I am not sure of that; old men are apt to be obstinate and to have -plans of their own; I choose to look into my affairs myself, and to -make my own arrangements; so that his inexperience signifies but -little, provided he is industrious, and that his American success -proves him to be." - -Annie knew not what objection to offer, and a dark foreboding came -over; was this in any way diminished when, some few weeks afterward, -Mr. Brookbank was announced, and Sir Philip, instead of receiving him -in his library according to his wont with gentlemen visitors, directed -him to be shown into the parlor, in which he and Lady Conway were -sitting. Annie would have escaped had it been practicable, but as her -departure would have attracted Sir Philip's observation, she thought -it more prudent to remain. - -Alfred entered, and his bearing was so respectful, so distant, that -Annie would have been reassured, had she not felt that at intervals, -when Sir Philip was not looking, Alfred fixed his eyes upon her with -the gaze of a basilisk; and once when she chanced to look at him she -thought the expression of his features perfectly demoniacal. What she -had to fear she knew not, but that she did fear something was certain. - -It was not only Alfred that had come to reside in the neighborhood; -his mother and two sisters accompanied him. The rectory of Estcourt -had passed to another, and there was no mansion on the paternal acres -suited for the refined tastes of the family, so they had come to -reside with Alfred in his newly purchased dwelling. A certain degree -of visiting between the families would have been necessary for old -acquaintance sake, but more soon became inevitable from the ascendency -which Alfred shortly obtained over the mind of Sir Philip. He -flattered himself into the baronet's good graces, and made himself so -agreeable that Sir Philip began to think it impossible to live without -him. Annie tried in vain to stem the torrent of intimacy, that -threatened almost to domesticate Alfred in her house. Sir Philip was -far too wise a man to be governed by his wife, so he listened to none -of her remonstrances; and at times there was a look of triumph, as -well as of hatred, in Alfred's features, that made her almost tremble -in his presence. Annie was naturally strong-minded, yet she could not -overcome this sensation, which was almost a martyrdom, particularly as -she suspected Alfred was aware of the torment she underwent. She wrote -to {340} her aunt, who was still at Durimond Castle, to request that -she and Euphrasie would come and spend some time with her, hoping to -gain courage in their society, and perhaps protection; but the answer -was unpropitious: - -"The Duke of Durimond had returned home seriously unwell, and at that -moment it would be improper and unkind to leave the duchess without -society." - -Annie must, then, endure life as best she could. Alfred found himself -visiting at Sir Philip's on terms of apparent equality, and often a -party was made up of such society as the neighborhood afforded, -expressly for the purpose of introducing the family so obnoxious to -Annie. Nay, she was in a manner compelled to take her turn in visiting -them, repugnant as it was to her feelings. - -On these occasions Annie behaved with condescension and politeness, -but with nothing more. She received Alfred with the most formal -courtesy; he returned her salute with one of apparently the most -profound respect. Few more words were interchanged than were -absolutely necessary. - -It was the current opinion that Lady Conway liked not the society of -her inferiors, and Sir Philip, participating in the idea, strove to -combat it, although he was no leveller in general; but in Alfred's -case he thought the prejudice she entertained ought to yield to such -superior merit. - -One evening a social party met at Sir Philip's. Singing and dancing -were going on; but Alfred was unusually dull, he could not be -prevailed upon to join in any amusement. The baronet, fancying his -wife's coldness might have had some influence in producing this -effect, said to her in the hearing of all the party: - -"My lady, was Mr. Brookbank so dull when he visited at Estcourt Hall? -Did he never sing to you there?" - -"Mr. Brookbank has a very fine voice," was the reply; "I have often -heard him sing beautiful melodies." - -"Nay, then, call upon him, in memory of 'Auld lang syne,' to sing for -you, my lady; no other has the power to arouse him to-night." - -Annie turned to Alfred and said in a dignified manner, "You here Sir -Philip's request, Mr. Brookbank; will you consider it mine?" - -Alfred started, looked at her, and bowed. He answered in a tone so low -that only she could hear its purport: - -"You have asked for a madman's song, my lady; what else can memory -produce?" - -Declining the offer of an accompaniment, he seated himself at the -piano, and drew forth notes so wild, so terrific, that the whole party -were electrified; then assuming the mien and gesture of one crazed in -his intellect, his loud and clear voice gave full force to the -following: - - Oh! bid me not recall the past, - Though calm appear my features now - Hid though from sight the fevered blast, - That caused the spirit's overthrow. - - 'Tis not in mortal power again - Youth's buoyant transport to recall; - 'Tis hushed--forever hushed--the strain - That could with Schilling the heart enthral. - - Visions of truth have passed me by, - Mocking the sense, with shapes unreal, - Filling each pulse with melody, - Thrilling the heart with joys ideal. - - And freedom, independence, love. - In dreams have risen to my sight-- - In dreams essayed my heart to prove. - They vanished at return of light. - - And earth is all unholy now. - Venal its joys!--its highest bliss - To lay that false ideal low-- - To crush the hope of happiness. - - Love gone! one wish doth yet remain-- - One thought the maddened brain to whet: - Joy vanished! Its fell rival--pain-- - Forbids the spirit to forget. - - Pain, pain triumphant, speaks of power - To seize the serpent's foulest sting. - Therewith to bid the tyrant cower. - Back to return the poisoned spring. - - Yes! I'll unveil those mocking forms, - Those shapes of grace, all seat from hell; - I will reveal the latent storms - That 'neath the placid surface dwell. - - Thus proudly I'll unveil deceit; - Thus fearfully I'll stifle pain-- - The mask torn off--made known the cheat-- - Ne'er shall the false one rest again! - - With trust destroyed, with pleasure gone, - Earth yields the soul no fitting mate; - But standing fearless and alone - The vengeful spirit lives--_to hate_. - -{341} - -The emphasis that was given to this wild song struck terror to the -hearts of the hearers, especially as the singer himself seemed frantic -with excitement When it was finished a pause ensued, as if all present -wanted to take breath; and Sir Philip found voice to say: - -"Why, where on earth, Brookbank, did you learn such a ditty as that? -You have absolutely frightened the young ladies; they think you half -mad, yourself." - -"It is the lay of a madman in good earnest," said Alfred, "he who -composed it was crazed by disappointed love; I sing it now and then as -a warning to young ladies not to be too cruel." - -He looked round the room for Annie as he spoke; but Annie was no -longer there; every line of that song had spoken volumes to her, in -telling her what a bitter enemy she had raised, and as the last word -vibrated on the singer's lips, she left the apartment. When she -returned she was very pale. She felt conscious that Alfred was -watching her every movement, and that feeling made her miserable. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ------- - -From Chambers's Journal. - -AUTUMN. - - - Autumn is dying, alas! Sweet Autumn is near to her death; - All through the night may be felt her languid scented breath - Coming and going in gasps long-drawn by the shivering trees, - Out on the misty moors, and down by the dew-drenched leas. - - Autumn is dying, alas! Her face grows pallid and gray; - The healthy flush of her prime is momently fading away; - And her sunken cheeks are streaked with a feverish hectic red, - As she gathers the falling leaves, and piles them about her bed. - - Autumn is dying, alas! Her bosom is rifled and bare; - Gone is the grain and the fruit, and the flowers out of her hair, - Whilst her faded garment of green is blown about in the lanes, - And her ancient lover, the Sun, looks coldly down on her pains. - - Autumn is dying, alas! She lies forlorn and alone; - The little chorusing birds have a broken, unhappy tone - As they fly in a crowd to the hedge when the evening mists arise, - To curtain the bed of death, and shadow the closing eyes. - - Autumn is dying, alas! But to-night the silent cloud, - Dropping great tears of rain, will come and make her a shroud, - Winding it this way and that, tenderly round and around, - Then catch her away in its arms from the damp, unwholesome ground. - - Autumn is dead, alas! Why alas? All her labor is done, - Perfected, finished, complete, 'neath the wind and the rain and the sun; - All the earth is enriched--the garners of men run o'er; - There is food for man and beast, and the stranger that begs at the door. - - Look to thy life, O man! Swiftly approaches the night; - Whatsoever thy hand finds to do, do it with all thy might. - Labor right on to the end: let thy works go forth abroad; - Then turn thy face to the sky, and enter the "joy of thy Lord." - - ------- - -{342} - - -From The Dublin Review. - - -PROTESTANT PROSELYTISM IN EASTERN LANDS [Footnote 103] - - [Footnote 103: - 1. The Gospel in Turkey, being "the Tenth and Eleventh Annual - Reports of the Turkish Missions-Aid Society." Published at the - Society's Office, 7 Adam Street, W.C.; at Nisbet's; and Hatchard's, - London. 1864-5 - - 2. The Lebanon: a History and a Diary. By David Urquhart. London; - Newby. 1860. - - 3. Journal of a Tour in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and Greece. By - James Laird Patterson. M.A. London: Dolman. 1852. - - 4. Prospectus of "the Syrian Protestant College." Issued by "The - Turkish Missions-Aid Society." London. 1865.] - - -There are few impartial and well-informed Protestants who will not -confess that their missions throughout the world have invariably -proved to be utter failures. No matter to what sect or denomination -they belong, or from what country or association their funds are -derived, Protestant missionaries, as preachers of that gospel about -which they speak so much, never have converted, and we believe never -will, convert the heathen save by units and driblets, hardly worthy of -mention. In India, in Turkey, in Africa, among the South-Sea -Islanders, and the Red Indians of America, the result of Protestant -missionary labor is the same wherever it has been tried. The people to -whom their missionaries are sent may, and often do, become more or -less civilized from intercourse with educated men, and often learn -from those who wish to teach them higher matters, some of the arts and -appliances of European life. Some few certainly embrace what their -preachers deem to be Christianity; and occasionally, but very seldom, -small communities of nominal Christians are formed by them. But to -bring whole regions of the inhabitants to the foot of the cross--to -convert whole nations to Christianity--to prove that their converts -have embraced a system in which a man must do what is right as well as -believe what is true--are triumphs which have hitherto been reserved -for the Catholic Church, and for her alone. - -But, even humanly speaking--and quite apart from all considerations of -the truth as existing only in the ark which our Lord himself -built--can we wonder at these results? Are there any who have -sojourned in, or even past through the lands where missionaries of -both religions work, and have not compared the Catholic priest with -the Protestant minister who has come out to preach the gospel in those -countries? Take, for instance, and up-country station in British -India. Is there a Protestant missionary in the place? If so, he is a -man with considerably more than the mere script and staff of apostolic -days in his possession. As wealth goes among Englishmen in the East, -he is perhaps not rich; but he is nevertheless quite at his ease, and -certainly wanting for nothing. He has his comfortable bungalow; his -wife and children are with him; the modest one-horse carriage is not -wanting for the evening drive of himself and family; nor is the -furniture of his house such as any man of moderate means need despise. -He has a regular income from the society he represents; and his -allowances are generally such as, with a little care, will allow of -his living in great comfort. And, finally, if he falls sick, too sick -to remain in the country, the means of taking him home again to -England or America are forthcoming at a moment's notice. He is -generally a good linguist; for having nothing else to do daring six -days of the week, he devotes much of his time to the study of the -vernacular. {343} He is respected by the European officers of the -station; for he is often the only person they ever see in the shape of -a clergyman. He is almost always an honest, upright man, with little -or no knowledge of the world, and, if possible, less of the natives to -whom he is sent to preach. This, however, does not matter; for, except -among his own personal servants, he makes no converts, and has but few -hearers. There is no positive harm in him, but as little active good. -He is a fair sample of a pious-minded Calvinist, but is certainly no -missionary, as Catholics understand the word. So far from having given -up anything to come out to India, both he, his wife, and -his--generally very numerous--offspring are much better off than if he -had remained in his native Lanarkshire or Pennsylvania. If he belongs -to the Church of England, he is very often a German by birth, and -appears to have "taken orders" in the establishment without having for -a moment abandoned his own peculiar theological views. Some few -Englishmen--literates, hardly ever University men--are to be found -here and there, as English Church missionaries; but these are and far -between, nor do their labors often show greater results than those of -their Presbyterian fellow-laborers. Even Dr. Littledale [Footnote -104] speaks of "_the pitiful history of Anglican missions to the -heathen_;" and he might with great truth have extended his verdict to -the missions of every other denomination of Protestantism. - - [Footnote 104: See The Missionary Aspect of Ritualism, in the Church - and the World. (London: Longmans.)] - -In contrast to the Protestant, take the European Catholic missionary -in the East, as apart from the native-born priest. He is invariably a -volunteer for the work, either a monk or a secular priest, who -aspiring to more severe labor in his Master's vineyard, has chosen the -hard and rugged path of a preacher of the gospel in pagan lands. As a -general rule, you will probably find him living in an humble room in -the native bazaar, and depending for his daily bread upon the charity -of his flock, or the contributions of any English Catholic officer or -civilian who may happen to be in the neighborhood. He is Catholic in -his nation as in his creed; for you may find him French, Belgian, -Italian, Spanish, Irish, or English. The present writer has met a -French nobleman and the son of a wealthy Yorkshire squire laboring and -preaching as Jesuit Missionaries to the natives of India and the poor -Irish soldiers who form so large a portion of every garrison in that -country. Is it, then, to be wondered at if, notwithstanding their -superior means and far greater worldly "respectability," the -Protestant missionaries do not succeed as ours do; or rather, that -whereas our missions are never without fruit, theirs seldom show forth -even a few sickly leaves? But the simple fact is, the missionary -spirit--or rather the spirit which leads a man, if he believes that -duty to God calls him to abandon family, wealth, comfort, health, nay, -life itself--never has, and never can be, understood by Protestants, -whether climbing the heights of ritualism, or sunk in the depths of -Socinianism. Catholics are often angry with Protestants, because the -latter are uncharitable respecting monks, priests, and nuns. Catholics -are wrong in being angry. Hardly any person who is not a Catholic can -understand the spirit which moves men and women to make such -sacrifices for the love of God, and counts the loss as so much gain. -The very idea of these acts is to him as color to one who has been -blind from his birth: he not only cannot understand it, but you cannot -explain it to him. This is a truth to which every convert will bear -testimony, after his eyes have been opened to the truths of God's one -and only Church, and which even few of those who have been Catholic -from their youth upward can realize. - -But notwithstanding "the pitiful history" of Protestant missions to -the heathen, the work of these gentlemen in that direction is not -deserving of {344} other sentiment than that of pity. If men will -labor in fields where they can bring forth no harvest, and if others -will pay them for doing no good, the affair is theirs, not ours. They -never can do harm to the Church in those regions, for they achieve -neither good nor evil to any one, further than by giving the natives -in places where there are no Catholic missionaries a very erroneous -idea as to what the duties of a Christian teacher ought to be. Not so, -however, in those countries where Protestantism has sent its -emissaries to undermine the faith which flourished among the -inhabitants centuries before the very name of Protestant was known or -heard of. To help such undertakings, "The Turkish Missions-Aid -Society" was established and is kept up, and it is to the two reports -of that society at the head of the list of works under notice, that we -would call the especial attention of Protestants, even more than -Catholics, throughout England. - -The "Laws and Regulations" of "The Turkish Missions-Aid Society" are -divided into nine clauses, and in the second of these we are told -that-- - - "The object of this society is not to originate a new mission, but - to aid existing evangelical missions in the Turkish empire, - especially the American." - -What these "evangelicals" missions are, and to whom the "American" -missionaries are sent, we shall see presently. As a matter of course, -the society is supported by the very cream of "evangelical" -Protestantism, having Lord Shaftesbury for its President, Lord Ebury -as Vice-President, and Mr. Kinnaird as Treasurer. The subscriptions -are very large indeed, and from the "statement" furnished by the -report for 1864-65, we find that no less a sum than L24,672 5_s_, has -been sent out to the East for "native agencies" alone, since the -commencement of the society, now about eleven years ago; this, of -course, being all in addition to the very heavy sums and comfortable -salaries furnished by the American society, called the Board of -Foreign Missions, by which these missions and missionaries are -maintained. - -It would appear that the "fields" occupied by these American missions -are five in number, and the present condition of them is thus -summarized in the eleventh, the latest, annual report, now before us: - - [Transcriber's note: The column titles are - abbreviated as follows: - MS.--Missionaries - NA.--Native assistance - SAOS.--Stations and Outstations - CH.--Churches - CM.--Church Members - SCH.--Schools - ASA.--Average Sabbath Attendance - SMF.--Scholars male and female] - -Fields MS. NA. SAOS. CH. CM. SCH. ASA. SMF. - -Western 45 73 45 19 512 37 1569 1615 -Turkey - -Central 19 54 27 14 998 26 3125 1717 -Turkey - -Eastern 21 74 50 14 403 51 2201 1889 -Turkey - -Syrian 24 37 22 8 200 25 650 548 - -Nestorian 16 81 36 0 529 0 3000 0 - -Total 125 320 120 55 2642 139 10545 5100 - - -These "missions" have been at work, some more, some less time; but a -fair average for the whole would be about twenty-five years. It will -be observed that in the five "fields" there are but 2,642 "church -members," or what, among Catholics, would be termed communicants. The -individuals who come under the head of "Average Sabbath Attendance," -can no more be termed Protestant then his grace the duke of Sutherland -can be called a Catholic because he was present at the funeral of -Cardinal Wiseman. But we will grant, for the sake of argument, that -the 2,642 "church members" are earnest, consistent Protestants. If so, -and taking into calculation only the funds furnished by the Turkish -Missions-Aid Society, as quoted above, these converts I'm not very -valuable, for they have only cost something less than ten pounds each. -But if to the L24,672 5_s_., we add all that the American Board of -Missions has paid in the same period as salaries for missionaries, for -"native assistants," for schoolmasters, rents, building of churches, -printing, books, and the passage-money of missionaries and their -families to and from the East, we shall find that there is not one of -these individuals whose conversion has not one way and another cost -around three thousand pounds. At this price {345} they ought to be -staunch anti-papists, for their religion has been a very high-priced -article. - -Let us turn for a moment to the second book on the list at the head of -this article. No one who has read a line of the well-known Mr. -Urquhart's many writings on political questions, will ever accuse him -of Catholic tendency on any subject. He is not a bigot, indeed; nor, -again, does he ever defendant the past history of Protestantism, for -he is too well read to uphold what every honest man, with the -knowledge of an ordinary school-boy, must condemn. In oriental -matters, moreover, Mr. Urquhart has his peculiar views; but as these -have nothing whatever to do with the questions of Protestant and -Catholic, missionary or non-missionary, we may fairly accept what he -says on the subject as the testimony of an impartial witness. Here, -then, is what he writes respecting the Catholic clergy and the -sectarian missionaries in Syria and Mount Lebanon: - - "The Roman Catholic regular and secular clergy are established here - as in any other Roman Catholic country; that is to say, they are - pastors of flocks, and not missionaries, The Protestants have no - flocks, and _they are sent with a view to creating them_. - TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS are yearly subscribed in the United - States for that object, and the missionaries come here having to - justify the salaries they receive."--_The Lebanon_, vol. ii. p. 78. - -The italics in the above quotation are our own, and we have thus -marked the words in order to draw attention to what every traveller in -the East, not that with the "pure gospel" media, has borne testimony. -But let us return once more to the "statement" of the five missionary -"fields" occupied by the Americans in the East. Mr. Urquhart would -never make an assertion like the above without chapter and verse for -what he says; and when the writes that TWENTY-FIVE THOUSANDS POUNDS -are yearly subscribed in the United States to support their -missionaries in the East, we may very safely consider the statement to -be true. We cannot, however, suppose that for this enormous sum the -missions in Syria only are meant, for then each one of the two hundred -"church members" with which that land is blessed would cost a small -fortune in himself. But at the same time it is impossible not to allow -that he must mean the American missionary establishments in the East -generally--the five "fields," of which a "statement" has been copied -above, and the total of whose "church members" amounts to 2,642. And -even with this calculation it will be seen that every Protestant -communicant costs the pretty little _annual_ sum of about L9 10_s_. -for his conversion, and subsequent religious instruction. We are given -to finding fault, and not unnaturally so, with the cost of the -Established Church in Ireland; but what is this when compared with the -price of the "Gospel in Turkey"? It is doubtful whether--apart, -perhaps, from some other Protestant missionary "field" of which we are -yet ignorant--the religious instruction of any people in the known -world costs as much. It is as if each ten individuals had a curate -entirely to themselves, and each hundred "church members" a very -well-paid private Anglican rector of their own. No wonder that we are -told the Syrian Protestant converts think highly of their new creed, -"the Gospel of Christ," as it is modestly called. In a country where -everything is more or less measured by a monetary standard, a convert -for whose spiritual well-being L9 10_s_. per annum is paid must -believe himself to be in a state of exaltation, considering that had -he remained in his own church, his Maronite, Greek, Greek Catholic, or -Armenian priest--having to say mass every day, to attend to some one -or two thousand parishioners probably scattered over a large -district--would consider himself very fortunate indeed if he had a -stipend of two thousand piastres a year, or about L20, of which more -than half would be paid in corn, oil, or fruits. {346} The fathers of -the Jesuit mission in Syria are allowed a thousand francs, L40, for -the travelling expenses, clothing, table, etc., of each priest when -engaged on missionary work away from the house of his community; how, -then, is it that the American missionaries cost so very much more? We -will take up our quotation from Mr. Urquhart again, at the point where -we left off: - - "They (the American missionaries) have town-house and country-house, - horses to ride and an establishment and a table which speaks well - for the taste of the citizens of the United States. These are - results obtained by exertion and combination, and which, affording - enjoyment in their possession, prompt to efforts for their - retention. The persons thus raised to affluence and consideration in - a fine and luxurious climate would have to sink back to hard - conditions of life, if not to want and destitution. This relapse - presents itself as the consequence of failing in the creating of - congregations, or at least of supplying to those who subscribe the - funds plausible grounds for expecting that the consummation was - near. Looking at the country, nothing can be more painful and more - hopeless than the contest: nowhere is an ear open. As to converting - the Turks, they might just as well try to convert the Archbishop of - Canterbury. - -* * * * * * - - "As to converting the Jews, it would be much better for the United - States to send missionaries to Monmouth-street. There remain, then, - but the Maronite, the Greek, the Greek Catholic, Armenian, and - Nestorian churches, that is to say Christians, to convert. From the - pre-existing animosities among the Christians, the missionaries - could not so much as open their mouths to any of the members of - these communities on the subject of religion, and therefore it is a - totally different course that they have adopted. They have offered - themselves as schoolmasters; not as persons depending for - remuneration on their claims to the confidence of parents, and on - their proficiency; but supplying instruction gratuitously, and - adding thereto remuneration to the scholars in various shapes. Their - admission in this form has been forced upon the people by the - Turkish government. The condition, however, has been appended to it, - that they should not attempt to interfere with the religious belief - of the pupils. This has been going on for years; the money - continuing to be supplied on the grounds that Protestant - congregations are being created, and the proceeds enjoyed by the - missionaries on their undertaking that they shall not create them. - - "The statistical under-current is, however, veiled or disguised from - the men (the missionaries) themselves. The one generation has, so to - say, succeeded the other. The new men come out occupied with their - zeal, not caring critically to examine the position in which they - stand, in entering at once on a contest already engaged. They are - filled with contempt for everything around them; and to religious - zeal, itself a sufficiently active impulse, is superadded the - necessity of furnishing reports for public meetings and periodicals - in America--reports which, failing to contain statements proselytes - secured, have at last to supply narratives of contests undertaken - and martyrdom endured."--_The Lebanon_, vol. ii. pp. 79, 80. - -Our author has, in the foregoing paragraph, certainly touch most of -the weak points of Protestant missionary working. Even a cursory -analysis of the reports before thus confirm every word of this -quotation from his book. Like every Protestant account of missionary -work, the Turkish Missions-Aid Society's Reports are interlarded with -scriptural quotations, having always the same significance--that the -time for seeing the results of the labor has not yet come, but soon -will be; or, as Mr. Urquhart puts it, they supply to those who -subscribe the funds, plausible grounds for expecting that the -consummation is near. - -Some years ago, a grand case of _quasi_ martyrdom was reported that -Exeter Hall, and must have been worth much money to the societies who -furnish missionary funds for the East, both in England and America. It -was the cause of many questions being asked, and much correspondence -being furnished, in both Houses of Parliament. Dispatches were -written, the Turkish Government threatened, and the life of Lord -Stratford de Redcliffe, who was then our representative at the Porte, -made a burden to him for a time with extra work. The story was that -some American Protestant missionaries, when "preaching the Gospel" on -Mount Lebanon, were stoned and otherwise ill-treated, being finally -turned out of the village in which they resided; some of them being -badly wounded. The tale was well told, but, like other histories of -the kind, was allowed to the forgotten {347} as soon as it had served -its purpose. Here is Mr. Urquhart's version of the affair, gathered as -it was in the country itself, is not unlikely to prove the true -version of the story: - - "The missionaries arriving at Eden (a village not far from the - celebrated cedars of Lebanon, the inhabitants consisting entirely of - Maronite Catholics) entered a house, and disposed themselves to - occupy it. The master of the house told them that he would not and - could not receive them. They persisted, threatening him in the name - of the Turkish authorities. A great commotion ensued, and the - people, with the fear of the Turkish authorities before their eyes, - devised a plan for dislodging the missionaries by unroofing the - house. A roof in the Lebanon is not composed of tiles and rafters; - to touch a roof is a very serious affair, not to be undertaken in - wantonness. The people had the satisfaction of seeing the - missionaries mount and depart without any act on their part which - would expose them to after-retribution."--_The Lebanon_, vol ii. p. - 82. - -I said before, Mr. Urquhart is one of the very last men who could be -accused of any leaning toward Catholicism, still less of any affection -toward the native Christian population of Syria and Lebanon. Of this -his volumes bear witness in every chapter. But in a dozen instances he -proves what we have so often heard asserted by travellers returned -from these regions, that the people do not want, and do not wish for, -the American missionaries, and would far rather be without them. Also -that wherever these Protestant apostles are located, their presence is -a continual source of trouble and annoyance, by causing quarrels among -the people, and that their sojourn in the land is most certainly not -conducive either to the glory of God on high, or of peace on earth to -men of good will. That their so-called mission has been a most -complete religious _fiasco_, is pretty well proved by the returns -which at page 308 we copy from these reports. If the reader will but -turn back to it, he will find that with twenty-four missionaries and -thirty-seven native assistants, the number of "church members" in the -Syrian "field" amounts to no more than two hundred, and this after the -Americans have worked as missionaries in this "field" for the last -quarter of a century or more. Surely no clearer proof than this is -wanting for endorsing what Mr. Urquhart has said above respecting the -way and the reason why these religious undertakings are puffed up, and -"plausible grounds" given for expecting that the consummation of -"gospel" triumph is at hand. - -There is, perhaps, no Christian population in the world more united as -a body, more attached to their clergy, more faithful in their holding -to the See of Peter, or more orthodox in every particle of their -faith, than the Maronites of Mount Lebanon. To illustrate, even in the -most superficial manner, the history and ritual of this singular -people would extend this paper far beyond our limits. Suffice it to -say that upward of ONE THOUSAND years before the discovery of America, -the holy sacrifice of the mass was offered up in their churches, and -matins, lauds, vespers, and complins sung every morning and evening in -their sanctuaries, just as at the present day. Their name is derived -from that of St. Maroun, a holy hermit, who, in the fourth century, -when the heresies of Eutyches and the errors of Monothelism were so -common throughout the East, preserved the inhabitants of Lebanon and -the adjacent parts from those influences. "The Maronites," says Mgr. -Patterson, in his work, which is the third on our list at the head of -this paper,-- - - "The Maronites maintain that they have never swerved from the - Catholic faith, and love to assert that their Patriarch is the only - one whose spiritual lineage from St. Peter, in the see of Antioch, - has been unbroken by the taint of heresy or schism." (P. 389.) - -Their secular clergy number about 1,200, and the regulars, inhabiting -sixty-seven monasteries, comprise some 1,400 monks, priests, and lay -brothers. They have besides fifteen convents, in which there are about -300 nuns. - -{348} - - "The blessings of education (continues the same author) are widely - diffused among the Maronites. Almost all are able to read and write; - and though few even of the clergy can be called learned, they are - all sufficiently instructed in the most necessary things, and - especially in the practical knowledge of their faith. Offences are - rare among them, crimes almost unknown. The number of the Maronites - of Lebanon appears to be about 250,000. In 1180, William of Tyre - estimated them at more than 40,000; in 1784 Volney placed them at - 115,000; and Perrier, in 1840, at 220,000. Elsewhere they are hardly - to be found; the largest number I know of is at Cyprus, where there - are about 1,500. A few also are found at Aleppo and Damascus, and - some at Cyprus. - -* * * * * - - "There are (among the Maronites of Lebanon) four principal colleges - for the education of the clergy. The most ancient is that of Ain - Warka, in which between thirty and forty pupils are educated. They - are taught Arabic (their vernacular), Syriac, which is the - liturgical language of this rite; logic, moral theology, Italian, - and Latin. Six exhibitions for the maintenance of as many scholars - at the College of Propaganda were attached to this college. At the - time of the first French occupation of Rome, the funds which - provided for them were seized, and have never been restored; but the - pupils still go to Rome, and many of them are to be met with in the - higher ranks of the Maronite clergy." (P. 388.) - -It is then to turn this people, and these priests, from the faith -which they have so long and so honestly held, and from the spiritual -paths in which they have walked for at least fifteen hundred years, -that respectable black-coated American gentlemen, whose experience of -life has been confined to Boston or New York, are sent over and -maintained by the funds furnished by the zealous evangelicals of -England and the United States. No wonder if those to whom they come -would rather be without them. With the people whom they are sent to -"convert" they have not a single idea in common. The very vernacular -of the country has to be studied and learnt by them (an undertaking of -at least two or three years, as Arabic is perhaps the most difficult -language in the world for an adult to acquire a proficiency in), -before they can preach or even converse with those whom they wish to -teach what they themselves deem, the truths of eternal life. Without -the most remote approach to a thing like a ritual, and without even -the barest liturgy to recommend them, they come among a people who -from very very infancy are perhaps more familiar with the meaning and -teaching of earnest ritualism than any nation on earth. Mr. Urquhart, -in the quotation we have given elsewhere, says of the American -missionaries, that "as to converting the Turks, they might just as -well try to convert the Archbishop of Canterbury;" might he not have -said the same as to the converting of the Maronites? From the 200 -"church members," which the returns of the Turkish Missions-Aid -Society state as the result of the "missionary" labor on the Syrian -"field" during the quarter of a century and more which the work has -been going on, if we deduct the personal servants of the twenty-four -missionaries, and of thirty-seven native assistants, how many will -then be left as real, true, and earnest converts from their own faith -to that which the American missionaries would teach them? "It has to -be observed," says Mr. Urquhart, "that the proselytism carried on is -not, as is supposed in Europe, against unbelievers, but between -Christians;" [Footnote 105] and surely here is proselytism of the -kind forced upon a people against their will, by the inhabitants of -another far-off country, who would do very much better if they spent -their yearly L25,000 among themselves, in "converting" the thousands -of worse than pagans to be seen daily in the streets of every great -town of England and America, and whose "faith" is from time to time -shown in their "works." - - [Footnote 105: The Lebanon, vol ii. p.79.] - -We have no desire to hold up to the ridicule they deserve the absurd -canting sentences and so-called scriptural ejaculations with which the -of the Turkish Missions-Aid Society is interlarded. All who have -perused similar documents must be well acquainted with the way in -which {349} verses from Holy Writ are made to serve _L. s. d._ by the -writer. Nor do we wish to make our readers laugh I reproduce some of -the "pious" anecdotes which are to be met with in these pages. Thus it -may, or may not, be true that at Nicomedia "a few years ago all was -darkness and bigotry;" but it can hardly be taken what the French -would call "_au serieux_" that two Armenian priests in this locality -were "awakened" by reading an Armeno-Turkish translation of The -Dairyman's Daughter, and that, since the conversion of these -gentlemen, a flourishing church, with a large congregation, has been -gathered together, and a home mission formed to carry the Gospel to -the towns and villages around. [Footnote 106] Also, from a personal -knowledge of the facts, we permit ourselves to doubt whether the -so-called "missionary" work in Constantinople has been, to say the -least of it, judiciously carried on; and whether, about two years ago, -the zeal without knowledge on the part of the missionaries did not -very nearly cause a rising of the whole Mahometan population, and a -general massacre of all the Christian population in that city. Nor--on -the testimony of Anglicans, Presbyterians, and other Protestants--can -we subscribe to the eulogium sung in praise of "the excellent Bishop -Gobat." We have far more serious matters to deal with as regards the -American missions in Syria and the East, and of which, if they are in -the least degree consistent, Protestants more than Catholics whom it -really does does not concern, would do well to take heed. - - [Footnote 106: See Tenth Annual Report of the Turkish Missions-Aid - Society. p. 10.] - -In the appendix to his "Tour," Mgr. Patterson has, with a fairness and -impartiality of judgment which cannot the too highly praised, -investigated the question as to what it is that the native Protestants -in the East really believe with the process of their so-called -"conversion" is complete. And it may not be out of place here to that -mention that the present writer, who has lately returned from a -residence of nearly ten years in those countries, entirely and to the -letter agrees with what this author has stated. Were it allowable to -mention names, he could also adduce the authority of many Englishmen -who have resided in Smyrna, Constantinople, Beyrout, Damascus, the -Lebanon, and other parts of the East, all of them Protestants, most of -them attending every Sunday the English ministrations of the American -missionaries, and some of them even communicants in their churches. -The evidence of these is varied in different points, but, as a whole, -certain pages of Dr. Patterson's appendix might serve as a precis of -the various opinions which these gentlemen have spoken, and which the -writer himself has formed during his prolonged residence in the East. -Be it, however, noted, that the objections here raised are not against -the American missionaries themselves, but against the result of their -labors, as well as against those of other Protestant missionaries-- -wherever throughout these lands their labors have produced any fruit -whatever in the shape of "converts." - - "Most true it is," says Mgr. Patterson, "that though large sums are - expended yearly by Protestants for their missions, the result is - nevertheless small indeed; but yet a great work is being done (I - sincerely think unintentionally) by those establishments. _The faith - of hundreds and thousands in their own religion is being shaken, - without any other faith being substituted for it_. [Footnote 107] - The missionaries' reports are full of expressions to the effect that - many persons come to them, declaring their readiness to hear what - they had to say, and their disbelief of their own national or common - faith; and yet the 'converts' registered by themselves may be told - in units, or at most by tens. Accordingly, I never came in contact - with 'liberals' in politics or religion, whether Jew, Christian, or - Gentile, who did not commence the conversation (on the supposition - that I was a Protestant) by declaring their disbelief of this or - that current dogma of their faith; and in all such cases I found I - was expected, at a _Protestant_ to applaud {350} and admire their - lamentable condition of mind. I repeat, most emphatically, that I - never saw a single person of this description who had one doctrine - to _affirm_. The work of the Protestant missions is simply - descriptive. In Turkey it is detaching Mohammedan subjects from - their allegiance to their spiritual and temporal head; in Greece it - is introducing the mind of youth to the conceit of private judgment; - in Egypt it does the same for the Copts; and in Mesopotamia for the - Nestorians. The missionaries report that, among the Jews, they - prefer to have to do with the rationalists rather than with the - Talmudists; and acting on that principle everywhere, they first make - a _tabula rasa_ of minds, on which they never afterward succeed in - inscribing the laws of sincere faith or consistent practice." (P. - 456.) - - [Footnote 107: The italics an our own, and we give them to mark the - pith of the whole question, with which nearly all Protestants, as - well as every Catholic we have met, that have inhabited Syria, - Palestine, or the Holy Land for any time, most fully concur.] - -Here, then, we have, in a few words, an account of what the teachings -of the Protestant missionaries in the East result in. They take away -the faith that is in these people, and give them nothing in return. -[Footnote 108] In other and plainer words, the end of all this -teaching, and preaching, and denouncing of "popish" doctrines, is -simple unbelief or infidelity, embellished with Scriptural verses and -the current cant of the evangelical school. Do the subscribers to the -Turkish Missions-Aid Society contemplate this as one of the results of -their liberal donations? Is _this_ what the society put forth so -boldly as the "Gospel in Turkey?" Is it for such a change that the -traditions mounting to within less than four hundred years of our -Lord's sojourn on earth, preserved as they are by a people living in -the land which he inhabited, are to be cast off? Surely, even from the -most enthusiastic of the evangelical school, these questions can have -but one answer. [Footnote 109] - - [Footnote 108: An English official who had resided upward of - twenty-five years in Syria, and who is a very earnest Protestant, - told the present writer exactly the same. "The American - missionaries," he said, "destroy the faith these native Christians - had, but give them no other in return. The consequence is, that they - invariably become more rationalists."] - - [Footnote 109: About four years ago, a party of English travelers - were journeying over Mount Lebanon. While halting at a roadside - "khan," they were accosted by a native who spoke English very well. - They asked him who he was, and where he had learnt their language. - He said he was, or had been, servant to one of the American - missionaries, naming the gentleman, and that he was "a good - Protestant." One of the ladies present put a few questions to him, - and among others, asked him what he now believed of the Virgin Mary? - "_That_ for the Virgin Mary," said the miscreant, spitting at the - same time, and using an Arabic gesture indicating the utmost - contempt. The lady--an Anglican, not a Catholic--of course dropped - the conversation, feeling too disgusted to continue it. Some days - afterward she related that anecdote to the wife of an American - missionary; but the latter was not at all shocked, merely making the - remark. "I guess the the man had got rid of his old superstitions." - Is this what they call evangelizing the native Christians?] - -And let not the subject be either misunderstood or blinked. Take any -dozen Englishmen really conversant with the ways of the country and -the ideas of the inhabitants; let them all the Protestants, and even -be of those who, finding no other Protestant ministration, attend the -chapels of the American missionaries. Of the twelve, certainly nine -will tell you that, although well-meaning and honest made in their -way, the preaching of the Protestant missionaries in the East holes -down but never builds up belief, and that in sober truth the native -Protestant "converts" are but so many free-thinkers--theoretical -Christians, but practical infidels. There is, with respect to this -part of our subject, one more extract from Mgr. Patterson's book, -[Footnote 110] which, although somewhat lengthy, we find so much to -the purpose, with respect to some of the questions of the day, that we -copy it entire:-- - - [Footnote 110: No one interested in the present spiritual state of - the East should be without this volume, and every traveller to - Palestine--Catholic or Protestant--should take it with him.] - - "The Protestant sects of the West (says our author) are represented - in the East by missions of several denominations; but since they all - represent but one principle, namely the denegation of spiritual - authority as the basis of belief, it is unnecessary to to - distinguish them here. At first sight it might appear that the - Episcopalians, or representatives of the Anglican establishment, - should command a distinct notice, since they have one point (that of - episcopal superintendence) in common with the Eastern sects; but - when is considered, not merely that the fact of their having real - bishops is denied by all sects of the East, [Footnote 111] as well - as by the Catholic Church, {351} but that they themselves entirely - repudiate any claims which might be founded on their supposed - possession of an apostolic commission and authority through the - episcopate; and when, moreover, it is remembered that a few persons - who think differently on these points are wholly unrepresented in - the East, it seems evident that the distinction would be unreal. - Further, the Protestant missions in the East are mainly supplied by - ministers in the communion of the Establishment in England, but - often not episcopally appointed or ordained, and in all cases a - perfect the equality is admitted between such as are so appointed - and those who are not. Hence the Anglo-Lutheran 'Episcopalians,' the - independents, the American Congregationalists, etc., act in unison, - and on one principle. They teach that the belief they advocate in - certain doctrines is to be acquired by each individual through a - perusal of certain writings, and must be held by him as the result - of convictions proceeding from his own investigation of those - writings, which they assert to be the inspired word of God. This - procedure they call 'the right of private judgment.' - - [Footnote 111: This, be it remembered, was written in 1852, ten - years before the recent attempt at union on the part of certain - Anglicans with the Greek Church. What Mgr. Patterson says is the - simple truth, and is confirmed by numerous conversations which the - present writer had, during a ten years' residence with several - patriarchs and numerous bishops, priests, and deacons of the - Greek, Armenian, Nestorian, Copt, and Jacobite sects. All these - clergy hate the very name of Rome, but they acknowledge she has - real bishops and a real priesthood; while one and all deny that - the Anglican Church as neither. The English Book of Common Prayer, - translated into Arabic, is very often met with throughout the - East, but it does not appear to have impressed the Oriental - Churches, whether in communion with the See of Peter or not, very - favorably respecting the Established Church of this country. The - Thirty-nine Articles they regard with especial horror, as showing - the church to be heretical at core. Nor have the members of the - Anglican Church and Anglican Bishop of Jerusalem done much to - remove this impression, but rather the contrary.] - - "But the very terms of the Protestant principle, thus represented, - involve, not merely a disregard of existing authorities, but also of - that which presents that system for the acceptance of Eastern - Christians. Those, however, who advocate its claims are not usually - to be bound by the laws of consistency in logic. Though they will - have every man to read the Sacred Scriptures (that is, _their_ - version of them) and to judge for himself, they have also a few - doctrines, built on them, as they suppose, to which they attach an - importance equal to that ascribed by Catholics to the dogmas of - faith. Of these, the chief is what they term 'justification by faith - only' the doctrine which teaches that man is accounted (but not - made) fit for eternal life in the divine presence, by a _subjective_ - act or sentiment of the mind, called by them 'faith.' This 'faith' - is not the 'faith' of theological writers, but a persuasion, or - enthusiastic feeling, on the part of the individual, that he is - saved from eternal death by sacrifice of the cross. Laying such - stress as this view does on a persuasion, or feeling of the mind, it - might be expected that other acts of the mind would be regarded by - those teachers as of cognate importance. With singular - inconsistency, however, they regard all such acts, whether of love, - hope, or fear, or the like, as not only unimportant or indifferent, - but even sinful in fact or tendency. The one operation of the soul - to which they attach salvation is that of persuasion that itself is - saved. To account for so arbitrary a distinction, they allege that - this persuasion is not a natural gift, but a divine grace--or, - rather, the divine grace; for in it are contained, and from it flow, - all those good results which Catholic writers call 'graces;' such as - humility, charity, hope, etc. This extraordinary and almost - inexplicable doctrine, they consider not only conveyed in Holy - Scripture, but the whole sum and substance of its teachings; and - they allege portions of the epistles of St. Paul, in which he - declares that man is not justified by works, done irrespectively of - the divine sacrifice of the cross, to prove that all works or acts - of the mind (saving always the one act of persuasion, which they - call 'faith') are valueless and ineffectual to work out salvation. - The teachers of this view among us are often pious persons, who act - morally from natural good feelings; but the Eastern mind is too - consistent and too voluptuous to imitate them. If it is possible, - they say, to attain salvation by means of a sentiment so pleasant, - we regard it as quite unnecessary to add to it supererogatory - performances disagreeable to our inclinations." (P. 453.) - -Here, in sober fact, and if we will only give things their right -names, is one of the chief reasons of such "conversions" as take place -in the East to Protestantism. An oriental mind is difficult to fathom -at once; but take any of the professed Protestants in Syria or other -parts of Turkey, clear away all the rubbish they have learnt to talk -in imitation of their new teachers--separate if you can (and it is -merely a matter of time and patience) all the prating about "the Lord -Jesus," and "the blessed Scriptures," the "teaching of the Spirit," -and suchlike spiritual mouthings, from what are the actual thoughts of -the individual and the real reasons for his change, and you will -invariably find at the bottom of his mind the all-prevailing idea, -that of what use are confession, penance, private prayer, fasting, -giving alms, and other good works, when salvation can be accomplished -by the far more easy and pleasant process of a mere sentiment of the -mind, which any man can train his understanding into believing when he -wishes to do so. And these, be it understood, are the best of the -converts. As Mgr. Patterson says of them:-- - -{352} - - "Such persons as I am alluding to have really embraced the principle - on which Protestantism rests. They have thrown off the authority of - their own belief, not to accept the formula of another, but to reject - all authority. They are like the German 'philosophic' Protestants, or - the French universitaries of the West--their conduct is often - irreproachable, but their belief is a blank, and their principles - distinctly Antinomian, even when they themselves do not put them in - practice. I maintain that to one class or other of these all the - proselytes made to Protestanism in the East belong. They are either - worthless persons, who are happy to substitute an easy-simulated - sentiment for whatever amount of discipline their communion imposed, - or they are 'philosophers,' sceptics, and infidels. The reports of - these allegations, and the existing state of religious and political - parties in the East, give scope for these results." (P. 453.) - -There are, however, two other reasons, which also act powerfully upon -such natives of the East as come under the influence of Protestant -missionary teaching, and of which when they have abandoned their own -creed, they take especial pride in the possession. The one is the -notion which they imbibe from certain misquotations of Holy Writ, as -well as from ill-judged (even looking at it from a Protestant point of -view) teaching on the part of their new pastors; namely, that every -man is "a priest unto God," and that once a Protestant and a -"church-member," they are as high in spiritual rank, and far superior -in "saving faith" to those whom they formerly regarded and respected -as their clergy. The idea is, of course, utterly false, and childish -in the extreme, to our views. But the native mind can only be judged -by its own standards of worth, and the fact remains as we have said. -That the Protestant missionaries would knowingly foster such notions -it would be uncharitable to believe; but that such is another result -of their teaching there can be no doubt whatever. The missionaries -themselves, however, see very little indeed of their congregations, -small as they are, save at prayer-meetings and preachings once or -twice in that week. It is a curious fact, but one which has struck -many even of those who have not yet found courage to knock and ask for -admittance into the Catholic Church, that in proportion has a sect, or -people, or nation, stray far from unity of the one true fold, so to -their pastors and teachers neglect and despise that visiting and -looking after their flocks, which forms with us such a prominent part -of every parish priest's or missionary's duty. The High-Church -Anglican Protestant clergymen--although still very far short of what -is done by our clergy--come next to the Catholic priest in this work; -and as we descend the scale of Protestantism, we find the practice -more and more rare, until I the Socinians such acts of supererogation -on the part of their preachers are never heard of. With Protestant -missionaries in the East the practice is exceedingly rare: perhaps it -is regarded as an infringement upon true religious liberty? - -The third reason which has often--very generally, if not -always--influence in making the native of Syria, Palestine, or other -Eastern lands embrace Protestantism, is that when he has done so, the -fact of his being a proselyte puts him indirectly under the -"protection" of the English or American consul, if such an official -there is--and there generally is one--within even a couple of days' -journey from the convert's place of abode. Not that the individual is -at once put on the rolls of the English or American subjects. Such was -some years ago the practice; but now for very shame's sake this has -been altered. But, as the English consuls-general, consuls, and -vice-consuls have a sort of standing order to "protect" all -Protestants against the tyranny or ill-usage of the local authorities; -and as every native Protestant has nearly always some grievance which -he makes out to be an injustice committed on him _because he is_ a -Protestant, so his complaint invariably finds its way to the English -consulate, and either the chief of the office or one of his native -dragomen deems it imperative upon him to interfere, if not officially, -at any rate officiously, with the pasha or other authority of the -place. {353} As a matter of course the complaint is listened to, -and--justice or not justice--the "protected" of the consul gets what -he calls justice, but which his opponent often deems the very reverse. -For, be it remarked, that, as a general rule in the East, "justice" -means obtaining what you want, not what is yours by law or equity. -Your complaint, and what in Europe we call justice, _may_ be on the -same side. If so, all the better; but if not, you will term your view -of the affair "justice" all the same; and, if you don't get what you -want, you are unjustly treated. This sort of administration is but too -often ruled by the consuls, and the "converts" know full well how to -make use of it. No one who has not lived in the Turkish dominions can -imagine the power which an European consul or vice-consul has in those -countries. Mr. Urquhart has done good service in exposing this evil, -which is, in point of fact, one of the chief reasons why the Ottoman -Empire has been gradually but surely verging toward ruin since the -foreign consular power became virtually far greater than that of the -local authority. Of this interference of one country in the affairs of -another, Mr. Urquhart says, it presents "a terrible prospect for the -human race; for it involves the extinction of each people, and the -absorption ultimately of the whole in some one government more -dexterous than the rest." All the chief governments of Europe have -been more or less guilty of this meddling with the executive of -Turkey, but notably England, France, and Russia, in whose hands every -local pasha is a plaything, to be tossed here and there at will. -England says--or, rather, each English consul says for her--that he -most interfere, else French influence would be too powerful in the -province or district. France returns the compliment, and declares that -England--that is, the English consul--is such a deep diplomat that, -unless she uses her influence, England would be paramount in the -place. Russia, on the other hand, declares that she must maintain her -_prestige_, else the Turks would say of their old enemy that she had -fallen in the scale of nations. This interference in the -administration of the Ottoman empire is thus described by Mr. -Urquhart: - - "In other countries it has been known as diplomatic representations - made in regard to principles; here (that is, in Turkey) it is - administrative. It bears upon the taxes, the customs, the limitation - of districts, the administrative functions, the parish business, the - selection and displacement of functionaries, the operations of the - courts of law--whatever is included under the word 'government' - belongs here to 'interference.' This operation is exercised with - authority, without control, without responsibility. The discussions - in reference thereto are carried on between the functionaries of a - foreign government; and as that foreign government can enter upon - the field only by an act of usurpation, its position is that of an - enemy. Every act is directed to subvert and to disturb; the object - of each individual is of necessity to supersede the legitimate - authority of the native functionary with whom he is in contact. - - "Thus it is that the administrative interference, which has in Syria - replaced the diplomatic, is carried on through consuls." (Vol ii. - pp. 349, 360.) - -Hitherto this work of "interference" has been carried on by our -English consuls in Syria in very much the same way as it has by their -Russian and French colleagues, no better, but no worse. At any rate, -in all matters of influencing religious affairs, directly or -indirectly, they have held perfectly aloof. But if we are to judge -from a document lately put forth by the Turkish Missions-Aid Society, -the title of which stands at the end of the list of books and -pamphlets that heads this paper, either an entire change has in this -respect come over our policy, or else several of our Anglo-Syrian -official must be acting in direct disobedience {354} of the wishes of -the Foreign office. We allude to an appeal for the building of "A -SYRIAN PROTESTANT COLLEGE," together with a prospectus of the same, -and a list of the "_Local Board of Managers_," among which, to their -shame be it said, appear the names of Mr. Geo. J. Eldridge, her -majesty's consul-general in Syria; Mr. W. H. Wrench, her majesty's -vice-consul at Beyrout; Mr. Noel Temple Moore, her majesty's consul at -Jerusalem; and Mr. E. T. Rogers, her majesty's consul at Damascus. -That there can be no real desire or want for such an institution in -the country, and that the very appeal for help to found it is about -the most outrageous piece of pious impudence that has ever been -published, even in the name of sectarian so-called religion, will -appear upon a further examination of this document. We will do the -American missionaries the justice of saying that no Englishman would, -or could, ever have had the _toupe_ to ask for money for such a -purpose; the whole document bears the unmistakable impress of "smart" -New-England. As we have shown before, from the "summary" of American -Missions Statement given elsewhere, copied from the report of the -Turkish Missions-Aid Society, the number of Protestant "church -members" on the Syrian field is two hundred; this, too, after nearly -thirty years of missionary "labor" in the country. And now these same -missionaries come forward and modestly tell us that "more than L20,000 -have already been secured and invested in the United States" for the -building of this proposed "institution," and that "it is proposed to -raise an equal amount in England, the income annually going to the -support of the College." The president of the proposed college, and -_ex-officio_ president of the board of managers, is an American -missionary, the Reverend Dr. Bliss, and among the members of the board -are the names of some thirteen or fourteen other missionaries of all -sorts. The trustees, who "are to have the general supervision of the -institution," reside in New York, where we should imagine they will be -able, from their proximity to the college in Syria, to supervise the -whole affairs exceedingly well. With these, or with such persons as -have parted with their money for such a pious folly, we have nothing -to do. But as regards the English officials, it is another matter and -Protestants, as well as Catholics must agree that men holding the -positions they do in a country where religious discord is the bane and -curse of the land, have no business to mix themselves up with an -undertaking which is purely and wholly got up for the purpose of -proselytism. Had the subscription been to build a Protestant chapel or -church, or to endow any such establishment for the use of the English -residents in Syria, it would have been a very different matter. To -lend their names to any such undertaking these gentlemen would you a -perfect right; but to give their official sanction to a scheme which -is but a renewed campaign on the religion of the country, and as -English government officers to say that they--and consequently the -government they represent--approved as consul-general and consuls of a -wholesale sectarian converting shop, is nothing less than a -prostitution of the name of this country in Syria. The "dodge" is a -good one; the American missionaries, notwithstanding their "tall" -pious talk in missionary newspapers, have actually done nothing toward -perverting the native Christians of Syria. Two hundred "church -members" in nearly thirty years is at the rate of seven converts a -year less than the third of a convert every twelve months for each the -twenty-four missionaries. This pay. Even American subscribing -"Christians" will, after a time, cease to contribute for what brings -forth so little fruit. Something must be done; and therefore they have -started the idea of this "Syrian Protestant college," having got the -promises of these {355} consular gentlemen to countenance it as they -have done. - -Did these proselytizing consuls, before they allowed their names to be -made use of in this prospectus, read the third paragraph of the -document, in which we are coolly told that "THE ENEMIES OF -CHRISTIANITY, PROFESSED INFIDELS AS WELL AS PAPISTS, FULLY ALIVE TO -THE ADVANTAGES TO BE GAINED FROM THE PRESENT STATE OF THE COUNTRY, ARE -ADOPTING BOLD AND ENERGETIC MEASURES TO FORESTALL PROTESTANTISM IN -BECOMING THE EDUCATORS OF THIS VAST POPULATION"? - -Or, if they _did_ read it, did it not strike them that there was an -insolence, as well as an amount of sickening cant and implied -falsehood, throughout these words which ought to have prevented them, -as _English gentlemen,_ to say nothing of their official character, -from countenancing such a concern? Have English consuls in Eastern -lands so far lost whatever teaching they may have had as to forget -that, taking all her majesty's subjects throughout the world, the -"Papists" are very nearly as numerous as the Protestants; and that to -class them "infidels," and call them "the enemies of Christianity," is -an insult--to say nothing of the loud vulgarity and the utter untruth -of the assertion, which there can be no excuse for any English -gentleman, far less any English official, to lend his name to? In -this, every person with the slightest pretension to the name of -gentleman or an educated man, no matter what may be his religious -persuasion, must agree with us. And to talk of "Syrian Protestantism," -with its two hundred "church members" amidst a population of half a -million native Christians, and three times that number of Moslems, -being "forestalled" in "becoming the educators of this vast -population," is much as if the Mormons in London were to complain that -the English Church was "forestalling" them in being the educators of -the capital of England. The Latter-day Saints of the metropolis bear a -much larger and not at all less respectable proportion to the rest of -the population of London, than the Protestant "converts" of Syria do -to the rest of their fellow-countrymen. - -Three excuses may be put forth in defence of these consular gentlemen -who have thus disgraced the country they serve. It may be -asserted--1st, That if French, Russian, and Austrian consuls give -official protection to Catholic and Greek religious establishments, it -is quite lawful for English authorities to do the same to Protestant -undertakings. 2dly, That "the Syrian Protestant college" is to be got -up for literature, the sciences, jurisprudence, and medicine, and not -for religious purposes. And, 3dly, That they have allowed their names -to be made use of without reading over the prospectus. Of these the -third and last excuse is the only one that will hold water for an -instant; and for their sakes we hope it may be true, poor and lame as -such a plea would be for official men. As regards the first of these -pleas, which we have put into the mouths of the defendants, it is -quite true that the French, Russian, and Austrian consuls have and do -afford official protection to Catholic and Greek religious -establishments, but the cases are by no means parallel. - -To quote again the words of Mr. Urquhart:--"The Roman Catholic regular -and secular clergy are established here (in Syria) as in any other -Roman Catholic countries; [Footnote 112] that is to say, they are -pastors of flocks, and not missionaries. The Protestants have no -flocks, and they are sent with a view of creating them." - - [Footnote 112: The same may be said of the Greek clergy, who have - many and very large congregations--in the country--in some parts - much more numerous than the Maronites or other Catholic churches.] - -We wonder what this writer would have said could he have seen a -"Syrian Protestant college" proposed as a means toward this -much-desired end, or could he have foreseen that four {356} English -consuls could ever have went their names--officially, too--to such a -combination of Little Bethel and "smart" American doings. Nor will it -suffice to say that this institution is not being got on foot for the -express purpose of proselytism, more or less direct. In paragraph -number eight we are told that-- - - "The college will be conducted on strictly protestant and - evangelical principles." - -What _that_ means, we all know; also-- - - "It will be open for students from any of the Oriental sects or - nationalities who will conform to its laws and regulations." - -That is to say, any student belonging to the Latin, [Footnote 113] -Maronite, Greek Schismatical, Greek Catholic, Armenian Catholic, -Armenian Schismatical, or other Eastern church, will be admitted to -this college, provided he attends "Protestant" and "evangelical" -preachings and prayers, and is humble-minded enough to hear the faith -of his fathers denounced every day as one line of "the enemies -Christianity," and "Papists" lovingly asked with "professed infidels." -And in the very next sentence we are further informed that-- - - [Footnote 113: In the East, European Catholics, and all others who - use the European or Roman Ritual, are called "Latins;" while the other - Oriental churches in communion with the See of Peter are - distinguished by their respective names--Maronites, Greek - Catholics, Armenian Catholics, Syrian Catholics, Chaldeans, and - others. The whole are termed "Catholics," and there is nothing of - which they are so proud as their intercourse with Rome and the - centre of unity. Of the various schismatical and heretical sects, - there is not one that assumes the name of "Catholic" except - certain of the "advanced" school English Established Church.] - - "It is hoped that a strong Christian influence will always centre in - and go forth from this institution; and that it will be instrumental - in raising up a body of men who will fill the ranks of a - well-trained and vigorous 'native ministry;' become the authors of a - native Christian literature; supply the educational wants of the - land; encourage its industrial interests; develop its resources; - occupy stations of authority, and in a large degree aid in carrying - the Gospel and its attendant blessings wherever the Arabic language - is spoken." - -With the help of one English consul-general, two English consuls, and -one English vice-consul, this may be in a certain measure be done: -yes, and _will_ be done; for consular influence in those lands is all -powerful. But without it, no: without this English state-help the -"Syrian Protestant college" will wither, and only bear fruit in such -proportion as have done the "Protectant churches" in Syria, with their -twenty-four missionaries, their thirty-seven native assistants, and -their two hundred communicants, after nearly thirty years labor in the -Syrian "field." - -After the extracts we have given from the prospectus, can there be any -doubt as to the proselytizing intentions of this -American-Syrian-Protestant-evangelical institution? or can there be -two opinions as to the propriety of English gentlemen and English -officials degrading themselves and their office by becoming connected -with such an undertaking? We observe, by the way, as a curious -coincidence in the prospectus, that the name of the New-York Treasurer -to the board of trustees of this proposed college is William E. Dodge; -and that the Rev. D. Stuart Dodge, of New York, has been appointed one -of the professors. Would it not have been better and more appropriate -if her majesty's consuls at Beyrout, Damascus, and Jerusalem had left -all this evangelical speculation to men of like name and calling? It -is true that when the prospectus was drawn out, and these English -officials allowed their name to be made use of, Lord Palmerston was -prime minister, and Lord Russell ruled over the foreign office. That -the Shaftesbury power with the first, and the well-known tendencies of -the author of the Durham letter, may have had some influence with -these individuals in their official character is possible, nay, -probable; but should gentlemen, English gentlemen, ever have allowed -their names to go forth as patrons and directors of this unholy -humbug? A private individual may lend his influence to whatever scheme -he likes to patronize; but a public servant and above all an English -public servant in Turkey--has no right whatever to be so liberal with -his patronage. - -{357} - -One word more ere we have done with the "Syrian Protestant college." - -At the head of the list of subscribers to this proposed institution is -L1,000 from "The late Syrian asylums' committee." If we are rightly -informed, that money was subscribed from the residue of a fund which -was instituted in 1860 to afford assistance to the sufferers from the -Syrian massacres. To this fund Catholics, Protestants, Greeks, and -Jews subscribed, with the express stipulation and understanding that -no part or portion of it was to be used for any religious purpose -whatever. The fact was, that the chief managers of the fund in Syria -were American missionaries, and subscribers to it were afraid that the -money would be used for proselytizing purposes. After a time the great -misery of the Syrian Christians came to an end, and no further relief -was required: but there still remained an unused balance of about -L1,200 of this fund in the banker's hands. If what is reported in -London be correct--and we have very good reason for believing it to be -so--who was it that gave authority for this L1,000 to be given as a -donation to the Syrian Protestant college? To question regards not -only the Catholics, Greeks, and Jews of London, Manchester, Liverpool, -and other towns in England that subscribed to this fund, but also -those belonging to a large--and we are thankful to say a very -large--class of our Protestant fellow-countrymen, who, however much -they may differ from us in matters of faith, are enemies to religion -being made a cloak for fraud, and are honest and honorable in their -dealings between man and man. If this L1,000 which heads the list of -subscriptions in the Syrian Protestant college was really given from -the money which in 1860-61 was gathered together as "the Syrian relief -fund," a gross and most infamous breach of trust has been committed, -and all men should beware how they in future contribute to anything in -which the American Oriental missionaries have any influence. - -But where have the projectors of this college learned geography? They -tell us that the establishment will be "LOCATED IN BEYROUT, the -seaport of Syria, a city rapidly growing in size and importance, and -OCCUPYING A CENTRAL POSITION IN RESPECT TO ALL THE ARABIC-SPEAKING -RACES." - -The capitals are our own, for we would note these words as bringing a -new light in geographical discovery. That Beyrout is by far the most -pleasant, nay the only pleasant, town in Syria to reside in--that -there is more society, and particularly what the promoters of this -undertaking would call more "Christian" society, we fully admit. That, -on account of its proximity to the sea, it is far more healthy than -most towns in Syria, and that from the number of its European and -native Christian inhabitants it is far safer to reside in, and much -more exempt from the chance of any Moslem outbreak taking place, -cannot be denied. But that it occupies "a central position in respect -to all the Arabic-speaking races," is simply, and very grossly untrue, -as a glance at any school-boy's atlas would show. It would be about as -correct to assert that Plymouth or Falmouth held "a central position -in respect to" the rest of England. If the promoters of "The Syrian -Protestant college" are so very anxious to diffuse the great blessings -of their faith and literature "wherever the Arabic language is -spoken," would not Damascus, Mosul, Aleppo, Antioch, or even Bagdad, -be more central than Beyrout? To reside in any of these places would -not be so pleasant, but it would be more missionary-like, and would -certainly save the money of the subscribers, Beyrout being by far the -most expensive town in all Syria to live in. - -But men of American sectarian preacher stamp never knew and never will -know what a missionary spirit is. It is foreign to their habits as -well as to their creed. When we hear of {358} American Protestant -missionaries going forth with barely a change of clothes; when we -learn that they abandon father, mother, family, house and home to -preach the Gospel; when we read of half a score of them undergoing -martyrdom, as did two Catholic bishops and eight priests in Corea, an -account of which was published in the Times of the 27th August -last--when, in fine, we hear of their taking lessons in their work -from the Jesuits, the Lazarists, the Capuchins, the Dominicans, or any -other of those religious orders which have shed such lustre upon the -church in all ages--it may then become a matter of discussion whether, -notwithstanding their gross errors in faith, they have not something -of the missionary spirit among them. At present we can only look upon -them as do all the Moslems, the native Christians, the Jews, and -nineteen-twentieths of the European population in the East, namely, -that they drive a very flourishing trade, and enjoy very comfortable -incomes: but that the work they are paid for doing has neither the -self-denial of man nor the blessing of God to make it prosper. -Protestant missions throughout the world have ever been, are, and ever -will be, most miserable failures. Dr. Littledale was, at any rate, -candid when he spoke of "the pitiful history of Anglican missions to -the heathen;" but he might with equal truth make mention of the -wretched results of Protestant missions throughout the world. That -unison of mawkish sentiment and Biblical phrases selected at random, -which commonly goes by the name of "cant," may certainly influence -weak-minded persons to subscribe to visionary schemes of a Protestant -conversion of Oriental Christians. But exposure must come sooner or -later, and with it the beginning of the end of subscriptions. Some -years ago the American missionaries gave up the "field" they occupied -at Jerusalem; would it not be as well if they conferred a similar boon -on the Syrian and Lebanon districts? The churches against which they -are chiefly engaged in preaching have their own bishops, their own -clergy, and their own missionary preachers from Europe. These latter -are not engaged in perverting men from another quarter, but--at the -request, and with the full concurrence of the native bishops and -clergy--they build up and repair the breaches in the sheep-fold, and -help in driving away the wolves that would enter. There may be--there -are--sheep that go astray from time to time, but considering all -things--and particularly now that the sectarian influence of English -consuls in Syria has been brought to bear on the "work"--these are few -indeed. The Maronites and other sects in communion with St. Peter's -successor, form part and parcel of God's one only true and holy -Catholic Church, against which, we have His word, the gates of hell -shall never prevail. [Footnote 114] - - [Footnote 114: The fact of four English consuls allowing their names - to go forth as patrons of a Protestant College, which is to be got - up for the perversion of native Christians, is so utterly at - variance with the general practice of our government, that we must - express our surprise it has been overlooked at the Foreign Office. - We cannot imagine Lord Stanley lending even a tacit sanction to such - an outrage of the feelings of the native Syrian Christians.] - -In his work upon "Mount Lebanon," from which we have already quoted, -Mr. Urquhart relates a conversation which he had with a certain -Maronite bishop, which seems so _apropos_ that we give it entire:-- - - "I wish you to know [said the bishop] that we are not attached to - France. France is to us on oppression from which we would be most - happy to escape; we have proved this by acts, but no account is - taken of them. How France came to be considered our protector is an - old story, into which it is needless to enter. The connection - awakened against us the hatred of the Turks and of the Greeks, and - to it may be attributed the past suffering of our people from both. - Here and in the other parts of Syria, in Egypt and in Cyprus, from - the middle of the last century to the close of the campaign of - Napoleon, we reckon that the blood of 40,000 Maronites has been shed - by the Turks or the Greeks. This is the debt we owe to French - protection. When, in 1840, the French government sent to us to - require us to support Ibrahim Pasha and Emir Beshir, we gave a flat - refusal. {359} M. ---- came to Saida, and sent a message to the - Patriarch (of the house of Habesh), who sent his own secretary to - give him the answer, which had been decided on by the bishops and - chiefs, which was, 'The Maronites have heard much of, but have never - seen, the fruit of the protection of France, and could not, in the - hope of it, expose themselves to the risks they were now required to - run.' Then the English government sent to us an agent (Mr. Wood), - accompanied by M. Stendel, on the part of the Austrian government, - proposing to us to accept the protection of Austria in lieu of that - of France. We declined to make any application for such protection; - _and we complained to Mr. Wood of the interference in our religion - of the Protestant missionaries which made us look with suspicion on - the intentions toward us of the English government. He assured us - that the English government was opposed to all missionary schemes, - and suggested that we should draw up a petition to the Turkish - government, requesting the missionaries to be prohibited from - entering the country, promising that the English ambassador would - obtain from the Porte an order to that effect. Satisfied with these - assurances, we aided in the expulsion of Mehemet Ali, although he - had every way favored the Maronites._ - - _"The promised order respecting the missionaries never came, England - set up a Protestant bishop (in Jerusalem), and obtained from the Porte - the formal recognition of the Protestants as a body."_(Vol. ii pp. - 261, 262.) - -The italics in this quotation are our own. They show pretty plainly -whether or not the missionaries are welcome to the natives of Syria. -But what will these same natives say now, when they see our -consuls-general and consuls coming forth as the official patrons and -promoters of Protestant missionary proselytism? If it be true--and we -have certainly always looked upon it as one of the rules of our -government--that the English government "_is opposed to all missionary -schemes,_" how is it that the consul-general in Syria, the consul at -Jerusalem, and the consul at Damascus, are allowed to take upon -themselves the office of "managers" or "local directors" of the -Protestant Syrian college? - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -DELIA. - - - - There is a darkness which is still not gloom, - And thou, poor child, whose young but sightless eyes - Catch no glad radiance from the summer skies-- - Worse, still, neglected in thy blindness, whom - Those nurtured like thee in the self-same womb - Have cast on strangers, strangers truly wise, - Since more than waif of gold such charge they prize-- - Hast found a joy what others find a doom. - Thou knowest the way unto the chapel door, - And, kneeling softly on its blessed floor. - Thou art no longer blind; the _Presence_ there - Reveals itself to thy adoring prayer; - Hours fly with thee that altar's Guest before, - Till, cowards, we envy what we would not share. - ------- - -{360} - -Original. - -MADEMOISELLE DE MONTPENSIER. - - -How shall we tell in a few words the story of one whose career -extended over sixty-six years? Our heroine's name calls up a picture -of the most brilliant period in French history. A thousand images -arise of pageantry, of genuine magnificence, of jewelled and gilded -wretchedness. Life seemed like a great magic lantern exhibited for her -private amusement; scene after scene passed before her eyes with a -pomp unknown in these days of tinsel splendor; but most welcome of -all, ever returning, never palling, was the slide that presented to -her view La Grande Mademoiselle, the contemplated bride of half the -sovereigns in Europe. - -Anne Marie Louise d'Orleans was born in the palace of the Louvre, May -29th, 1627. Fairies met her on the threshold of the world and endowed -her with all earthly goods--boundless wealth, a cheerful temper, keen -wit, excellent health, and a fair share of beauty. Was it a kindly or -a spiteful fairy who crowned these gifts with a vanity that nothing -could undermine or overthrow? This self-love afforded the only -unfailing enjoyment of her long life; but as it made her throw aside -as unworthy of her every scheme of happiness suited to her rank, and -carve out a destiny for herself in defiance of all authority, the -fairies must decide the question, not we. - -"The misfortunes of my house," she says, "began soon after my birth, -for it was followed by the death of my mother, which greatly -diminished the good fortune that the rank I hold would have led me to -expect. The great wealth which my mother left, and of which I am sole -heiress, might well, in the opinion of most people have consoled me -for losing her. But to me, who feel now of what advantage her -superintendence of my education would have been to me, and her credit -in my establishment, added to her tenderness, it seems impossible -sufficiently to regret her death." - -This passage from her "Memoires" exhibits several of Mademoiselle's -peculiarities: a certain blunt, abrupt mode of expressing her exact -meaning, an egotism that makes her lose or gain a test of the -importance of events, and a right-minded honesty which saved her from -the worst errors of her time. - -No unmarried daughter of France had ever enjoyed so magnificent an -establishment as was now accorded to the heiress of the house of -Montpensier. The Tuileries, where she lodged, being connected by a -gallery with the Louvre, the little motherless child was under the -supervision of Louis XIII. and Anne of Austria, as well as of Marie de -Medicis, who expended more tenderness upon this grand-daughter than -she had ever on her own children. Mademoiselle regarded her royal -grandmother with great partiality. She used to say when the Duchess of -Guise was quoted: "She is only a distant grandmother, she is not -queen." - -Marie de Medicis left France in disgrace in 1633, followed by -Monsieur, whose career was a series of petty intrigues, from which he -invariably emerged unscathed, leaving his accomplices to bear the -consequences of their folly. Very different was the spirit of his -daughter. At six years old she was taken to see the degradation of Duc -d'Elboeuf and Marquis de {361} la Vienville from the order. On being -told that their disgrace was owing to devotion to her father, she wept -bitterly, and wished to retire, saying that she could not with -propriety witness the ceremony. Ten years later Monsieur supped with -her, enlivened by the music of the twenty-four royal violins. She -writes: "He was as gay as if MM. de Cinq Mars and de Thou had not been -left behind on the road. I confess I could not look at him without -thinking of them, and amid my own joy the sight of his contentment -pained me." Is not a certain reverence due to this generous daughter -of a mean-spirited intriguer, and to one who, with untrammelled -liberty, remained virtuous in the court of Louis XIV.? That her -unspotted character was not the result of coldness, is proved by her -foolish devotion to Lauzun. If pride was her safeguard, at least some -human praise should be given to so high an estimate of royal -greatness. - -The king and queen were untiring in tender attentions to Mademoiselle. -She writes: "I was so accustomed to their caresses, that I called the -king _petit papa_, and the queen _petit mama_, really believing her to -be so, because I had never seen my own mother." After enumerating the -various little girls of quality who came to play with her, she adds: -"I was never so occupied with any game as to be inattentive if a -reconciliation with Monsieur was mentioned. Cardinal Richelieu, who -was prime minister and master of affairs, was determined to control -this matter; and with proposals so degrading to Monsieur that I could -not listen to them without despair. He said that to make Monsieur's -peace with the king, his engagement to Princess Marguerite de Lorraine -must be broken, that he might marry Mademoiselle de Combalet, the -cardinal's niece, now Madame d'Aiguillon. I could not help crying when -it was mentioned to me, and in my anger sang, in revenge, all the -songs I knew against the cardinal and his niece. It even redoubled my -friendship for Princess Marguerite, and made me talk of her -incessantly." - -Gaston d'Orleans returned to France October 8th, 1634, and his -daughter went to Limours to receive him. Wishing to test her filial -memory, for he had left her at the age of four or five years, he -appeared before her without the _cordon bleu_ which distinguished him -from the members of his suite. "Which of these gentlemen is Monsieur?" -she was asked, and without hesitation sprung to her father's arms; a -proof of fidelity which touched him deeply, that being of all -qualities the one most likely to excite his surprise. Nothing was -spared for her amusement, even to the gratification of her desire to -dance in a _ballet_. A band of little girls of high rank was composed, -with a selection of lords of corresponding stature. The magnificent -dresses and appointments satisfied even Mademoiselle's ambition. In -one figure birds were introduced in cages, and set free in the dancing -room. One unlucky songster became entangled in the dress trimmings of -Mademoiselle de Breze, Cardinal Richelieu's niece, who began to cry -and scream so vehemently as to introduce a new element of amusement -among the assembly. The accident recalls a similar one which occurred -at the time of this lady's marriage with the Duc d'Enghien, afterward -the great Conde. There was a ball afterward, where Mademoiselle de -Breze, who was very small, fell down while dancing a _courante_, -because, in order to make her look tall, they had put such high-heeled -shoes upon her feet that she could not walk. Clearly her sphere of -success was not destined to be the ball-room. Poor little soul! she -played doll for more than two years after her marriage, and was sent -to a Carmelite convent to learn to read and write during her husband's -absence in Roussillon with the king. - -Mademoiselle gives a graphic account of a journey which she took in -1637. The events recalled, with the {362} emotions they excited in her -at the time, show an acuteness of perception far beyond that of most -children of ten years old. Her sentiments are too virtuous not to -demand a brief notice. "Arrived at Champigny, I went first to the Holy -Chapel, as a place to which the memory of my predecessors, who had -built and founded it, seemed to summon me, that I might pray to God -for the repose of their souls." A little later we hear of her at the -Convent of Fontevrault. The abbess was a natural daughter of Henri -IV., and the nuns lavished every attention upon their guest, -delighting to honor her with the title of "Madame's niece." Their -devotion bored our princess greatly, and would have made her ill but -for a grain of amusement to be derived from the simplicity of the poor -ladies. But fortune, Mademoiselle's unfailing friend, soon relieved -her from this monotony. Two ladies-in-waiting, Beaumont and -Saint-Louis, instead of going into the church, explored the convent -court-yards. Terrible cries attracted their notice, and were found to -proceed from a poor maniac, confined in a dungeon, according to the -ill-judged practice of those days. After amusing themselves with her -extravagances, they went to find their little mistress, that she might -share the enjoyment. "I broke off a conversation with the abbess and -betook myself in all haste to the dungeon, which I did not leave until -supper-time. The table was wretched, and for fear of suffering the -same treatment the next day, I begged my aunt to let my officers -prepare my meals elsewhere. She made use of them after that day, so -that we fared better during the rest of our visit. Madame de -Fontevrault treated me the next day to a second maniac. As there was -not a third, ennui seized upon me, and I went away in spite of my -aunt's entreaties." And this was the child who, at five years old, -wept over the degradation of two of her father's followers. Through -life, her best impulses seem to have had root rather in a sense of her -own dignity than in compassion for others. - -More easily understood is her enjoyment of the royal hunts, during the -days of Louis XIII.'s attachment to the virtuous Madame de Hautefort. -"We were all dressed in colors, mounted upon hackneys richly -comparisoned, and each lady protected from the sun's rays by a hat -covered with plumes. The chase led past several handsome houses, where -grand collations were prepared for us, and on our return the king sat -in my coach between Madame de Hautefort and me. When in a good humor, -he entertained us very pleasantly with many topics. At such times he -allowed us to speak freely of Cardinal Richelieu, and proved himself -not displeased by joining in the conversation." - -His eminence was destined to fall more deeply than ever into disgrace -with Mademoiselle in 1638. The dauphin was born at the chateau of -Saint-Germain-en-Laye, September 5th of that year; and his cousin, -who, like any other little girl, enjoyed being in the royal nursery, -used to call him "her little husband." This amused the king -exceedingly, but Cardinal Richelieu viewed the matter more seriously. -Mademoiselle was sent home to Paris. On the way, she was taken to Ruel -to see the minister, and there received a grave reprimand for the -indiscretion of her language. "He said I was too old to use such -terms; that it was unbecoming in me to speak thus. He said so -seriously to me things that might have been addressed to a reasonable -person, that, without answering a word, I began to cry; to comfort me, -he gave me a collation. None the less did I go away very angry at his -words." - -If this rebuke had made a deeper impression upon Louise de Bourbon, -her biographer's task would be a more grateful one. The naivete with -which she reveals all her matrimonial castles in the air would be -incomprehensible if these schemes had not been purely ambitious; as -free {363} from sentiment as a military stratagem or a commercial -speculation. - -At fifteen Mademoiselle met with a great loss in the death of her -excellent _gouvernante_, the Marchioness of Saint-Georges. She speaks -of this trial with more tenderness and less egotism than one might -have anticipated. "I learned, on awaking in the morning, how ill she -was, and rose in haste that I might go to her and show by various -attentions my gratitude for her noble performance of her duties toward -me ever since I came into the world. I arrived while they were -applying every possible remedy to revive her, in which they succeeded -after repeated efforts. The viaticum and extreme unction were brought, -and she received them with every evidence of a truly Christian soul. -She responded with admirable devotion to each prayer: no subject of -surprise to those who knew bow piously she had lived. This over, she -called her children to her, that she might bless them, and asked -permission to give me, also, her benediction, saying that the honor -she had enjoyed of being with me from my birth made her venture to -take the liberty. I felt a tenderness for her corresponding to all -that she had shown toward me in the care of my education. I knelt -beside her bed, with eyes bathed in tears; I received her sad farewell -and kissed her. I was so touched by the thought of losing her, and by -the infinite number of good things she had said to me, that I did not -wish to leave the room until her death. She begged that I might be -taken away, and her children too; she was too much agitated by our -cries and tears, _and testified that I alone was the subject of any -regrets the was capable of feeling_. I had hardly returned to my own -room when the agony began, and she died in fifteen minutes." - -Mademoiselle retired to the Carmelite convent of Saint Denis, until -Monsieur should select another governess. She requested that the place -might be given either to Mademoiselle de Fieique or Mademoiselle de -Tillieres (both "persons of quality, merit, and virtue, and relations -of her own"), hoping earnestly that the choice might fall upon -Mademoiselle de Tillieres. Her wishes were thwarted, and the Countess -de Fiesque entered upon the task with Spartan firmness. An illness of -six months' duration vanished miraculously when the news of her -appointment was announced, we are told with sarcastic emphasis. - -Whether governess or pupil suffered most in this connection, it would -be hard to say. Mademoiselle de Fiesque had an aggravating system of -petty supervision, and Mademoiselle a fixed determination to elude it. -On one occasion when our princess had been shut up in her room by the -tyrant's orders, she managed to escape, stole the key of Mademoiselle -de Fiesque's private apartment, and locked her in. "She was hours in -uneasiness before a locksmith could be found; and her discomfort was -all the greater because I had shut up her grandson in another room, -and he screamed as if I had maltreated him." - -But we should soon tire of these reminiscences, did they not bring -upon the stage personages more important than Mademoiselle -herself--hard as it would have been for her to think so. - -In 1643 we find the _dramatis personae_ much changed and extended. -Louis XIII. has passed away, making so good an end, that we wonder at -the grace of God to see how noble a death may close an insignificant -career. Richelieu has been succeeded in Mademoiselle's ill graces by -Cardinal Mazarin. Louis XIV. is a precocious, ignorant child of nine -years old. The cabal of the _Importantes_ has arisen and declined, and -two seditions in Paris, founded upon slight provocation, have proved -the populace ripe for the Fronde. Henrietta Maria and her children are -refugees at the French court, and Mademoiselle, with her enormous -possessions, is considered an eligible match for the Prince of Wales. -As Charles Stuart in the character of an unsuccessful suitor is a -novel topic, no {364} apology is needed for introducing at some length -the history of his courtship. - -The court was at Fontainebleau when his royal highness arrived in -France; and their majesties went to meet him in the forest. His mother -presented him first to the king and then to the queen, who kissed him, -after which he bowed to the Princess of Conde, and to his cousin. "He -was only sixteen or seventeen years old; quite tall for his age, with -a fine head, black hair, brown complexion, and quite a good figure." -One unpardonable sin he had in Mademoiselle's eyes; that, not speaking -French in the least, he could not shine in society. Clever talk she -enjoyed keenly even in childhood, Monsieur's brilliant conversation -had fascinated her. - -The Prince of Wales worked diligently to produce an impression upon -his cousin's flinty heart, which (shall we confess it?) was wasting -itself away in an unrequited attachment for the imperial throne. Many -a suitable match did Mademoiselle reject, because the untimely death -of two empresses kept her in a fever of hope and expectation. In vain -was it represented that the emperor was old enough to be her father; -that she would be happier in England or Savoy. She replied -disinterestedly that "she wished the emperor, . . . that he was not a -young and gallant man; which proved that in good truth she thought -more of the establishment than of the person." In vain did Charles -Stuart follow her about bareheaded, ministering mutely to her love of -importance. In vain did he hold the flambeau this side and that, while -the Queen of England dressed her for Mademoiselle de Choisy's ball. -His _petite ore_, as they called the dainty appointments of a -gentleman's dress in those days, were red, black, and white, because -Mademoiselle's plume and the ribbons fastening her jewels were red, -black, and white. He made himself torchbearer again while she arranged -her dress before entering the ball-room; followed her every step, -lingered about her hotel until the door closed behind her: all in -vain, because at nineteen our heroine had the discretion to prefer a -middle-aged emperor, firmly seated on his throne, to an exiled prince -of seventeen. - -His gallantry was so openly exhibited as to excite much remark. It -lasted all winter, appearing in full force at a celebrated -entertainment given at the Palais Royal toward the close of the -season. Anne of Austria herself arrayed her niece upon this location, -and three whole days were devoted to preparing her costume. The dress -was covered with diamonds, and red, black, and white tufts; and she -wore all the crown jewels of France, with the few that still belonged -to the Queen of England. "Nothing could have been more magnificent -than my dress that day," she assures us; "and there were not wanting -those who asserted that my fine presence, fair complexion, and -dazzling blonde hair adorned me more than all the jewels that -glittered on my person."' Mademoiselle does not exaggerate her charms. -Though not strictly handsome, her noble bearing and charming coloring -produced all the effect of beauty. - -The dancing took place in a large theatre, illuminated with flambeaux, -and at one end stood a thrown upon a dais, which was the scene of -Mademoiselle's triumphs. "The king and the Prince of Wales did care to -occupy the throne; I remained there alone; and saw at my feet these -two princes and all the princesses of the court circle. I was not in -the least ill at ease in this position, and those who had flattered me -on entering the ballroom found matter the next day for fresh -adulation. Every one I had never appeared less constrained than when -seated on that throne;" and the imperial hopes being at their height, -she adds: "While I stood there with the prince at my feet, my heart as -well as my eyes regarded him _du haut en bas_. . . The thought of the -empire occupied my mind so exclusively, that {365} I looked upon the -Prince of Wales only as an object of pity." - -The conclusion of this romance belongs really to the interval between -the first and second Fronde, but we insert it here for the sake of -convenience, pleading guilty of the anachronism. In 1649 we find -Mademoiselle again persecuted to marry her cousin, then Charles II. -"L'Abbe de la Riviere said that I was right, but that it must be -remembered that there was no other match for me in Europe; that the -emperor and King of Spain were married; the King of Hungary was -betrothed to the Infanta of Spain; the archduke would never be -sovereign of the Low Countries; that I would not hear of any German or -Italian sovereign; that In France the king and Monsieur (d'Anjou) were -too young to marry; and that M. la Prince (Conde) had been married ten -years and _his wife was in good health_." - -A courier was sent to their majesties to announce the King of -England's arrival at Peronne, and the count went forward to meet him -at Compiegne. Mademoiselle had her hair curled for the occasion, and -was bantered by the regent gently upon the pains she had taken to -please her suitor. "Those who have had admirers themselves understand -such things," replied her royal highness tartly, referring to the -foibles of her majesty's youth. - -The royal personages met within a league of Compiegne and alighted -from the carriages. Charles saluted their majesties, and then -Mademoiselle. "I thought him much improved in appearance since he left -France. If his wit had seemed to correspond to his person, he might -perhaps have pleased me; but when the king questioned him in the -carriage concerning the dogs and horses of the Prince of Orange and -the hunting in that country he replied in French. The queen spoke to -him of his own affairs, and he made no reply; and being questioned -several times about grave matters which greatly concerned himself, he -declined answering on the plea of not being able to speak our -language. - - "I confess that from that moment I resolved not to consent to this - marriage, having conceived a very poor opinion of a king who at his - age could be so ignorant of his affairs. Not that I could not - recognize my own blood by the sign, for the Bourbons are beings - greatly devoted to trifles and not much to solid matters; perhaps - myself as well as the rest, being Bourbon on both sides of the - house. Soon after we arrived, dinner was served. He eat no ortolans, - and threw himself upon a huge piece of beef and a shoulder of - mutton, as if there had been nothing else on the table. His taste - did not seem to me very delicate, and I felt ashamed that he should - show so much less in this, than he had displayed in thinking of me. - After dinner the queen aroused herself and left me with him: he sat - there a quarter of an hour without uttering a syllable: I should - like to believe that his silence proceeded from respect rather than - from absence of passion. I confess frankly that in this interview I - wished he would show less (respect). Feeling rather bored, I called - M. de Comminges to be third party and make him speak; in which he - fortunately succeeded. M. de la Riviere said to me: 'He looked at - you all dinner time, and is still looking at you incessantly.' I - answered, 'He will look a long time without attracting me if he does - not speak.' He replied, 'Ah! you are concealing the charming things - he has said to you.' 'Not at all,' said I. 'Come near me when he is - devoting himself, and you will see how he sets about it.' The queen - arose; I approached him, and, to make him speak, I asked after - several persons of his suite whom I had seen; all which he answered, - but _point de douceurs_. The time came for him to go; we all went in - a carriage to escort him to the middle of the forest, where we - alighted, as we had done on his arrival. He took leave of the king - and came to me {366} with Germin (Lord Jermyn), saying: 'I believe - that M. Germin, who speaks better than I do, has explained to you my - wishes and intentions; I am your very obedient servant.' I replied - that I was his very obedient servant, Germin made me a great many - compliments, and then the king bowed and left me." - -After the battle of Worcester, Charles II. reappeared in Paris and -made a third trial for his cousin's hand. "I thought him very well -made and decidedly more pleasing than before his departure, though his -hair was short and his beard long, two things that change people very -much. He spoke French very well." All went smoothly for some time: -Mademoiselle received from her royal suitor all the douceurs for which -she had formerly listened in vain; and frequent assemblies at her -rooms made them very intimate. But her will was too vacillating to -allow of her coming to any definite decision, and Charles was at -length wearied into giving marked evidence of his displeasure. "The -first time I saw the queen after my interview with Germin, she -showered reproaches upon me. When her son entered (he had always been -accustomed to take a seat in my presence), they brought forward a -great chair in which he seated himself. I suppose he thought to make -me very angry, but I did not care in the least." Indeed, it would have -been an ingenious tormentor who had found a vulnerable spot in -Mademoiselles vanity. - -As Queen of England, Louise de Bourbon would have found room for the -legitimate exercise of her best faculties. As an unmarried princess of -immense wealth, she became the tool of men who did not scruple to use -her courage, magnanimity, and energy for their own ends, and requite -her generosity with neglect. Let us follow her adventures in the days -of the second Fronde, and see to what exertions a love of bustle and -notoriety could urge a princess accustomed to seek her own ease in all -things. - -The first Fronde took place in 1648, and was directed by the coadjutor -archbishop of Paris, Monsieur M. de Retz, who acted under the -influence of two motives: a desire to supplant Mazarin, and rule -France himself; and an enthusiasm for constitutional liberty. Our -space being limited, we will not pause to reconcile these two -aspirations. The court left Paris by night for St. Germain. -Mademoiselle accompanied the queen, and made herself useful as a -medium of communication with the populace of Paris, who loved her for -being a native of their city. She describe the royal destitution with -graphic frivolity, and is exceedingly merry over this siege, in which -the besiegers starved for want of the luxuries they had left behind -them in the beleaguered city. - -In the second Fronde, which broke out about two years later -(1650-1652), the position of affairs is altered. M. de Retz appears in -the character of mediator, and Mademoiselle casts her lot with the -rebels. The princes of the house of Conde seize the opportunity to -avenge insults offered to them by Mazarin, and Gaston d'Orleans joins -the Frondeurs--perhaps in order to avoid the trouble of leaving Paris. - -Skilful writers have left accounts so voluminous of those troubled -times, that they rise before us rather in a series of living pictures -than as historical records. That midnight conference in the oratory, -between fair, queenly Anne of Austria and the little dark, misshapen -coadjutor; Mazarin threatening Conde; and he, with curled lip and -reverential mockery, leaving the ministerial presence with the words, -"Farewell, Mars!"--the quelled populace, streaming hour after hour -through the king's bedchamber, while his mother's beautiful hand holds -back the velvet hangings, that each one may look upon the sleeping boy -and know that he has not fled from Paris--all is before us as if it -{367} happened yesterday. The chief actors with their talents and -foibles are better known to us than to their contemporaries; and the -French nation is today as it was then--ready to be won over by any -clever bit of scenic effects. - -Mademoiselle and Conde, who had hitherto been sworn foes, came to a -formal reconciliation in 1651, and being bound together by their -detestation of Mazarin, welcomed the outbreak of the second Fronde. -Anne of Austria declined the company of her niece on leaving Paris, -and she was thus left to the flattery of those who well understood the -right use of her folly and her strength. - -The golden moment of her career arrived. Orleans must be secured to -the Frondeurs, or Conde, coming from Guyenne, would find the line of -the Loire cut and the enemy master of the position. Monsieur was firm -upon two points: that he would not leave Paris himself, and that his -private troops should occupy the position best fitted to protect him -if the royal army should attack Paris. His daughter, who had been -longing for an opportunity to distinguish herself, offered to go to -Orleans in place of the duke, and on Monday, March 25th, 1652, left -Paris amid the benedictions of the people. A contemporary MS. journal -says: "About noon Mademoiselle's carriages assembled in the court of -the Orleans palace, ready for the campaign; she wore a gray habit -covered with gold, to go to Orleans. She left at three o'clock, -accompanied by the Duke de Rohan, Madame de Breante, Countess de -Fiesque, and Madame de Frontenac." Monsieur sneered at the project, -and said her chivalry would not be worth much without the common sense -of Mesdames de Fiesque and Frontenac--her _marechales de camp_, as -they were called between jest and earnest. - -Upon the plains of Beauce the young amazon appeared before the troops -on horseback, and was received with enthusiasm. "From that time," she -says, "I began to give my orders;" and a little later at Toury, where -she was joyfully welcomed by a crowd of officers: "they declared that -a council of war must be held in my presence. . . . That I must -accustom myself to listening to matters of business and war; for -henceforth nothing would be done except by my orders." - -Arrived before Orleans, Mademoiselle found closed gates and small -disposition to grant admittance. The unfortunate city government, -pressed on one side by Frondeurs and on the other by royalists, asked -only leave to remain neutral. The rebel army had been left at some -distance from Orleans for fear of alarming its inhabitants, and _M. le -gouverneur_, learning that the attacking party was a lady, sent out a -tribute of confectionery, "which seemed to me amusing," remarks -Mademoiselle. - -At last, tired of waiting upon the governors indecision, her royal -highness went out with her ladies for a walk, much against the -judgment of her advisers--or ministers, as she called them. The -rampart was edged with people, who cried, on seeing her, "Long live -the king and princes, and down with Mazarin!" And she answered, "Go to -the Hotel de Ville and make them open the gates;" with other -exhortations of the same kind, occasionally mingled with threats, "to -see if menaces would move them more than friendship." - -Now it so happened that before her departure from Paris, M. le Marquis -do Vilaine, a noted astrologer, had drawn the princess into Madame's -private room, and imparted to her the following prophecy: "All that -you shall undertake between Wednesday noon, March 27th, and Friday -will succeed; and you shall even at that time accomplish extraordinary -things." This prediction was in her pocket, and anxiously as she -disclaims all faith in it, we may believe that it encouraged her to -make efforts which gave no apparent promise of success. When, toward -evening, she stood outside the {368} Porte Brulee, did not M. de -Vilaine's horoscope rise in her estimation? The river was crossed and -the bank ascended by the aid of some chivalrous boatmen, an improvised -bridge of boats, and a little more scrambling than would seem -consistent with royal dignity. "I climbed like a cat, grasping at -brambles and thorns, and springing over hedges without hurting myself -in the least. * * Madame de Breante, who is the most cowardly creature -in the world, began to cry out at me, and at every one who followed my -steps; making great sport for me." Outside the gate, a group of -bargemen worked under Mademoiselle's inspiriting direction; inside -were citizens, urged on by the Count de Gramont, to tear down the -planks; while the guards looked on in armed neutrality. When the two -middle planks were torn off from the transverse iron bars, Gramont -signed to the princess to come forward. "As there was a great deal of -rubbish, a footman took me up and passed me through the hole, where no -sooner did my head appear than they began to beat the drums. I gave my -hand to the captain and said: 'You will be glad to be able to boast -that you let me in.' Cries of 'Long live the king and princess, and -down with Mazarin!' were redoubled. Two men took me and placed me in a -wooden chair. I don't know whether I sat in the chair or on the arms, -the rapture of my delight set me so completely beside myself. Every -one kissed my hands, and I was ready to die with laughter to find -myself in such a position." And so the city was taken, and -Mademoiselle earned the title of Maid of Orleans, all in an -afternoon's frolic. If she thought to retain command of Paris in a -fashion so amusing, the battle of Porte Saint Antoine must have -undeceived her. - -The heroine was received with rapture on her return to Paris. She was -assured by Conde that the wish of his heart was to see her queen of -France, and that no treaty should be concluded without especial -consideration for her. No one can be more uninteresting than her royal -highness when elated by success, we must confess; but an hour of trial -was approaching that should develop for the first and last time in her -life, truly grand and heroic qualities. Until the 2d of July, 1652, -Mademoiselle had given no signs of feminine feeling except by -exhibiting those foibles which are popularly supposed to be especially -characteristic of women. But on that day, as she hurried through the -streets of Paris, carrying hope to every one she met--consoling poor -Guitant, shot through the lungs, pausing to speak a word of comfort to -the wretched Rochefoucauld, and putting new heart into the great Conde -himself, we recognize sympathies worthy of a better development than -they ever received. During a pause in the battle M. le Prince came to -her in a pitiable condition, covered with dust and blood, his hair -tangled and his cuirass dented with blows. Giving is naked sword to an -equerry, he flung himself down upon a seat and burst into tears -"Forgive my emotion," he exclaimed; "you see a desperate man before -you. I have lost all my friends; Nemours, La Rochefoucauld and -Clinchamp are mortally wounded." - -Mademoiselle was able to assure him that these reports were greatly -exaggerated, and Conde, restored to himself, sprang upon a fresh horse -and galloped off to his post. The battle was at its height. Paris had -simultaneously attacked at the Porte Saint-Denis and the Faubourg -Saint-Antoine. Inquiring the whereabouts of Turenne, M. le Prince -rushed to the faubourg, knowing that where the marshal commanded there -must Paris be most in peril. Soon came the tidings that the barricade -of Piepus had been forced. At the head of a hundred musketeers he -threw himself upon the barricade, and drove the enemy back in its own -dust. Never had the conqueror been greater than on that useless, -terrible 2d of July. - -{369} - -The next meeting between Mademoiselle and Conde was full of triumph. -They parted, she to betake herself to the towers of the Bastile, he to -the belfry of Saint-Antoine. Toward Bagnolet in the valley the -princess saw the king's troops gathering for a fresh attack. Having -communicated with Conde through a page, she left the Bastile, giving -stringent orders that, in case of necessity, its cannon should be -turned upon the royal army; and returned to her post near the gate to -invigorate the soldiers with wine and brave words. - -There was indeed need for encouragement. Frondeurs were falling back -in dire extremity--royalists pressing forward, hopeful, and -strengthened with reinforcements. The hours of the Fronde seemed -numbered--when heights of the Bastile blazed forth a flash of light; -the cannon thundered out in quick succession--the royal army paused, -reeled, and retreated in amazement. Mademoiselle had saved the day, -and "killed her royal husband," as Mazarin expressed it. Henceforth -she was to be more than ever an object of distrust to the queen and -minister. But though this victory lent a dignity to the last days of -the Fronde, there was no principle of stability in the party. Weak -policy, quarrels, treachery on their side--opposed to them, Mazarin, -whose keen perception told him that temporary withdrawal from the -ministry would insured unlimited power in the future; and Turenne, -with double the forces of Conde,--nothing was fairly matched except -the courage of the two parties. - -The Fronde came to an abrupt end, and every one was left to make his -own terms. Mademoiselle had shown disinterestedness, courage, and -humanity worthy of a better cause. The fruits which she reaped were a -notice to leave Tuileries, and the refusal on her cowardly father's -part to protect one whom the king had condemned. There appear to have -been about eight years and a half enforced banishment from court, -which she spent on her numerous estates, amusing herself with writing -romances, portraits (then in vogue) and her Memoires, which she -continued until within a few years of her death. M. Sainte-Beuve tells -us that the style of her imagination belongs rather to the close of -Louis XIII.'s reign, and to the Hotel Rambouillet, than to the poorer -literary period of Louis XIV. - -And now, having given a faint delineation of Mademoiselle during her -prosperous and feted youth, and during the days of the Fronde, which -we are inclined to regard as the period at which she gave most -evidence of kinship with her grandfather, the great Henry; we pass on -to a time when fortune ceased to favor her, and the world began to -hustle her about, as roughly as it does common mortals. La Grande -Mademoiselle, who had hitherto looked upon human griefs and passions -as upon a brilliant theatrical spectacle, was destined at last to -leave the royal box, and figure on the stage herself for the diversion -of her fellow creatures. An amusing afterpiece this exhibition seemed -to her contemporaries; but to us, who have not suffered from her airs -of superiority, there is a certain pathos in this genuine devotion -lavished upon the wrong object at an age when such blindness is simply -absurd. That heart of adamant which had looked above kings and princes -to covet the imperial crown, fell prostrate in the dust before a -colonel of dragoons, a member of the royal household. Alas for pride -of race! - -Mademoiselle was forty-three years old when the conviction seized her -that it would be well to marry, that M. Lauzun was the most attractive -person in existence, and that for once it would be pleasant to receive -the love of some one worth loving. That M. Lauzun admired her seemed -evident, but how to give an opportunity for expression to one whose -sense of reverential duty always kept him at a distance? - -One day they had an interview in the embrasure of a window, the first -of many similar ones, in which she consulted him about her proposed -alliance {370} with Prince Charles of Lorraine. The tactics of our -modest suitor are worthy of all praise. "By his proud bearing he -seemed to me like the emperor of the world," writes Mademoiselle, -whose circumstantial account must be pressed into few words. "Why -should she marry," he reasoned, "since she had already everything that -could embellish life? The position of queen or empress was little more -exalted than her own, and would be encumbered with burthensome duties. -True, in France she could raise some one to her own rank, and unite -with him in untiring devotion to the king, who must ever be her first -object in life. It was easy to build a castle in the air, but how to -find a companion worthy to share it with her, when no such being -existed? A woman of forty-three had three resources: a convent, a life -of strict retirement apart from court and city, and finally marriage. -Marriage would insure liberty to enjoy the world at any age, but it -might be at the cost of her happiness." Hints only plunged him into -reverential silence. At last the secret was revealed by writing; then -comes incredulity met by protestations, and finally amazed conviction. -"What! would you marry your cousin's servant? for nothing in the world -would make me leave my post. I love the king too well, I am too much -attached to my position by inclination, to leave it even for the honor -you would confer upon me." And when she assured him that his devotion -to the king only endeared him the more to her (for loyalty appears to -have been the mainspring of their attachment), he answered: "I am not -a prince; a nobleman I am assuredly, but that will not suffice for -you;" and she replies, "I am content; you are all that would become -the greatest lord in the kingdom, and wealth and dignities are mine to -bestow upon you," etc., etc, etc. - -The story is well known. Louis XIV., after much hesitation, gave his -consent to the marriage. Mademoiselle was to confer great wealth upon -Lauzun, together with the sovereignty of Dombes, the duchy of -Montpensier, and the county d'Eu; always with the agreement that he -should not resign his post at court, but unite with her in exclusive -devotion to the king. - -The night before the wedding day Mademoiselle was summoned to his -majesty's presence, with directions to pass directly to his room -through the in _garde-robe_. '"This precaution not a good omen. Madame -de Nogent remained in the carriage. While I was in the _garde-robe_ -Rochefort entered and said, 'Wait a moment.' I saw saw that some one -was introduced into the king's room whom I was not intended to see. -Then he said 'Enter,' and the door was closed behind me. The king was -alone, and looked unhappy and agitated. He said, 'I am in despair at -what I have to tell you. I am told that the world says I have -sacrificed you in order to make Monsieur de Lauzun's fortune. This -will injure me in the eyes of foreign powers, and I ought not to allow -the affair to proceed. You have good reason to complain of me; beat me -if you like, for there is no degree of anger I will not submit to, or -do not deserve.' 'Ah!' I exclaimed, 'who do you mean, sire? it is too -cruel! but whatever you do to me, I will not fail in the respect due -to you. It is to strongly implanted in my heart, and has been too well -nourished by Monsieur de Lauzun, who would have given me these -feelings if I had not already been actuated by them, for no one can -love him without acquiring them,' I threw myself at his feet, saying: -'Sire, it would be kinder to kill me outright than to place me in this -position. When I told your majesty of the affair, if you had bade me -forgot it. I would have done so, but think how I shall appear in -breaking it off now that I have gone so far! What will become of me? -Where is Monsieur de Lauzun?' 'Do not be uneasy; nothing will happen -to him.' 'Ah! sire, I must fear everything {371} for him and for -myself, now that our enemies have prevailed over the kindness you felt -toward him.' - -"He threw himself on his knees when I knelt, and embraced me. We -remained thus three-quarters of an hour, his cheek pressed to mine; he -wept as bitterly as I did: 'Oh why did you give time for these -reflections? Why did you not hasten matters?' 'Alas! sire, who would -have doubted your majesty's word? You never failed any one before, and -you begin now with me and Monsieur de Lauzun. I shall die, and I shall -be glad to die. I never loved anything before in all my life, and I -love, and love passionately, the best and noblest man in your kingdom. -The joy and delight of my life was in elevating him. I had thought to -pass the rest of my days so happily with him, honoring and loving you -as much as I do him. You gave him to me, and now you take him away, -and it is like tearing out my heart. This shall not make me love you -less, but it makes my grief the more cruel that it comes to me from -him whom I love best in the world." - -Mademoiselle's suffering in this scene was heightened by the fact that -a suppressed cough outside the door revealed to her the presence of an -unseen witness. She rightly suspected it to be the Prince de Conde, -and reproached the king with just indignation for subjecting her to -such a humiliation. - -His majesty bore her reproaches very patiently, and dismissed her with -the assurance that further discussion would not alter his decision. -"He embraced me and led me to the door, where I found I don't know -whom. I went home as quickly as possible, and there _je criai des -hauts cris_." - -Lauzun, sure of his hold upon her royal highness, and fearing to lose -ground with the king, yielded with admirable resignation to the royal -decree. His favor at court seemed for awhile greater than ever; but -suddenly, for reasons never made public, he was disgraced and sent to -the Castle of Pignerol. Mademoiselle spent the ten years of his -imprisonment in faithful efforts to procure his release, and purchased -it finally by an immense donation to the Duke du Maine, a son of -Madame de Montespan. It was a success bitterly to be deplored. Any one -more odious than Lauzun after his release, it would be difficult to -imagine. Peevish, grasping, slovenly, and ungrateful, he hung about -Mademoiselle's establishment; using the power which a private marriage -had undoubtedly given him with an insolence that turned her love to -disgust. - -The spirit of a courtier alone remained to recall the Lauzun of former -days. When the princess announced to him the death of Marie Therese, -he cried: "'People deserve to be imprisoned who spread such -falsehoods; how dare they say such things of the queen?' . . . At last -they showed him the letters, and he had to agree that queens are -mortal like other people." - -In 1684 Mademoiselle and Lauzun parted in mutual displeasure. She -rejected his efforts at conciliation, and the last entry in her -Memoires is the following: "M. de Lauzun was living as usual in -obscurity, but exciting notice, and often concerning matters which -annoyed me. When I returned from Eu in 1688, my people were dressed in -new liveries. One day, when I was walking in the park of----" - -"Mademoiselle knew life late," says M. Sainte-Beuve; "but in the end -she know it well, and passed through every stage of experience. She -felt the slow suffering which wears out love in a heart, the contempt -and indignation that crush it, and reached at last that indifference -which finds no remedy or consolation except in God. It is a sad day -when we find that the being whom we have loved to adorn with every -perfection and load with every gift is _so poor a thing_. She had -years to meditate upon this bitter discovery. She died in March, 1693, -aged sixty-six years." - -{372} - -Lauzan, with characteristic insolence, appeared at the general in the -mourning of a widowed husband. The king sent the Duke of Saint-Aignan -to bid him withdraw. "At such a moment I cannot listen to the voice of -pride," was the reply; "I am absorbed by my grief, and could wish to -see the king more occupied with his own." He remained to the close of -the ceremony. - -The magnificent obsequies were interrupted by a more serious -disturbance. An urn, in which part of the remains were carelessly -embalmed, exploded with a tremendous noise, frightening all the -assistants. It was said that not even death could come to Mademoiselle -without some ludicrous circumstance. - -This princess began life with advantages such as fall to the lot of -few human beings. What did she leave behind her in the world? A -hospital and seminary under the charge of Sisters of Charity; a very -fair literary reputation, founded chiefly upon her Memoires, which, -though not elegant in style, are truthful, graphic, and clear; and a -character without spot or blemish, in an age when such characters were -rare. Her written confessions afford ample material for cutting -criticism, but it would be an unkindly task to turn her own artillery -upon herself. - ------- - -PHYSICAL SCIENCE AND CHRISTIAN REVELATION. - - - -BY REV. JAMES A. STOTHERT. - - -II. - -The advance of science has thrown some light on a subject of extreme -difficulty and abstruseness: the relation of the qualities or -accidents of matter to its substance. It is a subject of extreme -difficulty, into which it seems not permitted to man to penetrate -beyond the surface; but in regard to which much ignorance and -misapprehension have been dispelled by the observations and deductions -of modern philosophers. There are certain external marks or notes by -which we recognize certain material things, as their form, their -color, their hardness or softness, etc. One thing we call wood, -another iron, a third wax, and so on. These external notes or marks by -which we distinguish bodies are called their qualities, accidents, or -properties. Underneath them there is the substance of the material -thing, of which we have no means whatever of knowing anything. What it -is that constitutes the difference between wood and iron, in their -substance, must remain for ever a secret to our senses. We can -perceive that one is harder, heavier, colder, then the other; but -these observations go no further than the external qualities of the -two bodies; regarding their absolute substance, or internal -constitution, we have no possible means of forming a judgment. For all -that we know, it may be the same in all bodies, or it may be as -various as the simple elements of matter, now limited by chemists to -about sixty, or it may be much more various. It is one of the -mysteries of matter which will probably never be disclosed to the eye -of man in this life. - -Not only is the nature of material substance thus unknown to us, -except through the external qualities, or accidents, which represent -it; but we are informed by science that most of these qualities are -the result of circumstances wholly distinct from their subject. A -complete revolution in popular ideas has in part been achieved, in -regard {373} to the permanence and immutability of these qualities of -matter. Nothing seems more natural than to say that a red rose must be -always red, a violet always blue, or that the size, shape, etc., of -material bodies are inseparable from their existence. Yet Proteus -himself was not more various in his shapes, than are the violet and -the rose in the varieties of color of which they are so susceptible. -Color, in fact, has no existence at all in the material object which -we look at; it is a condition of the ray of light which enters our eye -after reflection from the object, or after passing through it. Some -objects absorb one or more parts of the three-fold visible ray of -white light, and transmit or reflect to our eye only what remains of -its constituent parts; some objects send the whole ray, undecomposed -to the eye, and we call them white; others absorb it altogether, and -they are said to be black. But all bodies, whatever their original -color, that is, whatever part of the white ray they send to the eye, -after absorbing the rest, may be made to appear of any color, by -viewing them under the influence of variously colored light; which -proves that their color exists not in themselves, but in the light -which falls upon them, and on which their substance acts in some -unknown way. - -Sir John Herschel's testimony on this subject is very explicit. -"Nothing at first can seem a more rational, obvious, and -incontrovertible conclusion, then that the color of an object is an -inherent quality, like its weight, hardness, etc.; and to see the -object, and to see it of its own color, when nothing intervenes -between our eyes and it, are one and the same thing. Yet this is only -a prejudice; and that it is so is shown by bringing forward the same -sense of vision which led to its adoption, as evidence on the other -side; for when the differently colored prismatic rays are thrown, in a -dark room, in succession upon any object, whatever be the color we are -in the habit of calling its own, it will appear of the particular hue -of the light which falls upon it: a yellow paper, for instance, will -appear scarlet when illuminated by red rays; yellow, when by yellow; -green, by green; and blue, by blue rays; its own (so called) proper -color not in the least mixing with what it so exhibits." [Footnote -115] In like manner, other qualities of matter have no absolute -existence, independent of circumstances. Twenty solid inches of sea -water, if subjected to a pressure equal to that at a distance of -twenty miles below the surface, would be reduced in volume to nineteen -inches. [Footnote 116] A globe, an inch in diameter, consisting of -air of the ordinary density at the earth's surface, if it could be -removed into space one radius of the earth, say 4,000 miles, would -expand into a sphere exceeding in radius the orbit of Saturn, as Sir -Isaac Newton has calculated. Hence the tail of a great comet, such as -that observed in 1843, and which extended from its nucleus 200 -millions of miles, [Footnote 117] may, for aught we know, consist -only of a very few pounds or even ounces of matter, expanded to a -degree of tenuity to our minds almost inconceivable. [Footnote 118] -The same agent, heat, modifies the extension and form of matter in -totally opposite ways; making clay contract and lose in volume, while -expanding water, and still more largely air. Extension, or form, -therefore, is subject to great modification by change of -circumstances; nor is weight less so. A pound weight of matter at the -earth's equator weighs heavier at the poles; or, which is the same -thing, a pendulum oscillates faster at the poles than at the equator. -If removed to the planet Mars or Mercury, a pound of matter would lose -half its weight; if to the surface of Jupiter, it would weigh nearly -three times heavier. - - [Footnote 115: Discourse, etc. Sec.71.] - - [Footnote 116: Somerville's Physical Geography, I., chap. xvi. p. - 318.] - - [Footnote 117: Hind's Comets, p. 22.] - - [Footnote 118: Herschel's Outlines of Astronomy, chap. xi. Sec.559, note.] - -{374} - -If there is one quality more than another characteristic of solid -rock, it is the immobility of its parts; as mobility is a distinctive -feature of water and vapor. Yet experiments in crystallization have -demonstrated the existence of mobility even in solid bodies, in an -unimaginable degree. Mrs. Somerville remarks, that "we are led, from -the mobility of fluids, to expect great changes in the relative -position of their molecules, which must be in perpetual motion, even -in the stillest water and the calmest air; but we are not prepared to -find motion to such an extent in the interior of solids. That their -particles are brought nearer by cold and pressure, or removed further -from one another by heat, might be expected; but it could not have -been anticipated that their relative positions could be so entirely -changed as to alter their mode of aggregation. It follows from the low -temperature at which these changes are effected, that there is -probably no position of inorganic matter that is not in a state of -relative motion." [Footnote 119] And elsewhere, in her Physical -Geography, the same high authority assures us that "nothing can be -more certain than that the minute particles of matter are constantly -in motion, from the action of heat, mutual attraction, and -electricity. Prismatic crystals of salts of zinc are changed in a few -seconds into crystals of a totally different form by the heat of the -sun; casts of shells are found in rocks, from which the animal matter -has been removed and its place supplied by mineral; and the -excavations made in rocks diminish sensibly in size in a short time if -the rock the soft, and in a longer time when it is hard; circumstances -which show an intestine motion of the particles, not only in their -relative positions, but in space, which there is every reason to -believe is owing to electricity; a power which, if not the sole agent, -must, at least, have cooperated essentially in the formation and -filling of mineral veins." [Footnote 120] - - [Footnote 119: Connection of Phys. Sciences, Sec. 14, p. 125.] - - [Footnote 120: Phys. Geog. I, ch. xv. pp. 288, 289.] - - - -In the language of the older treatise on science, glass is said to be -transparent: gold, coal, etc., opaque, that is, incapable of -transmitting light. But there is no substance known to modern -discovery which, if sufficiently attenuated, is not capable of being -seen through. Opacity, therefore, has no real existence as a quality -of matter; it depends only on condition and circumstances. Hardness or -softness in like manner, are easily separable from the substance of -matter. Clay in its natural state is soft, apply heat to it and it -becomes hard; wax is naturally hard, but becomes soft and ductile when -warmed. Thus our knowledge of the internal constitution of material -substance, through the medium of its external qualities, is in the -highest degree uncertain, variable, and often erroneous. For there is -not one of those external notes or Marx, which we call qualities, -which cannot be changed or modified in such a way as seriously to -derange the accuracy of our observations. Enough of accuracy has been -secured for the purposes of our daily life; but, like the senses, our -knowledge of the relation of quality to substance was never intended -to carry us through the boneless field of knowledge, or enable us to -pronounce with certainty regarding the nature, the difference, or the -identity of substance, merely from the indications given us by its -apparent qualities. These are truly accidents; things which do not -affect the essence of matter; but connected with it in an evanescent -way, liable to sudden change, and totally baffling our attempts to -establish any certain criterion of substance by means of our -observations on its qualities. - -Recent observations in chemistry have still further demonstrated the -impossibility of arriving at any knowledge of the internal structure -of matter from its appearances. The delicate tests invented by -chemists, in order to detect the difference between substances which -appear to every human sense the same, though they effect their purpose -with marvelous ingenuity, yet fail in indicating the ultimate reason -for their efficiency. - -{375} - -Thus syrup extracted from the sugar-cane, or from plants yielding -similar sugar, looks in every respect the same as that extracted from -the juice of the grape. The refinements of modern chemistry, however, -have pointed out several tests to distinguish one from the other. -[Footnote 121] And in a beam of polarized light there is provided a -test as subtle as any contributed by the aid of chemistry. In the -instance of cane sugar, the plane of polarization revolves to the -right; in grape sugar, it revolves to the left. Of this subtle agent, -Mrs. Somerville remarks, when stating this interesting fact, that '"it -surpasses the power even of chemical analysis in giving certain and -direct evidence of the similarity or difference existing in the -molecular constitution of bodies, as well as of the permanency of that -constitution, or of the fluctuations to which it may be liable." -[Footnote 122] The same delicate test of polarization enables us to -distinguish reflected light, such as the moon's, from the light which -issues from a self-luminous body, like Sirius. But in all these -instances, the ultimate rationale of its indications still remains -veiled in impenetrable darkness; and with it, any knowledge of the -internal substance of matter. - - [Footnote 121: Brande's Lectures on Organic Chemistry, p. 153.]was it - - [Footnote 122: Connexion of Physical Sciences, Sec. xxii, p. 214.] - -It is, however, in the mysterious facts to which chemists have given -the names of Isomorphism, Isomerism, and Allotropism, that we perceive -the most direct and remarkable contribution of modern scientific -research to the defence of Catholic revelation. Chemistry enables us -to penetrate further than any other science into the secret operations -of Nature; and strange insight has been thus obtained into the -identity of substance under two or more external appearances; and of -the existence of two or more substances of distinct character under -identical appearances. A few words will not be idly devoted to a -description of these terms, and of the results associated with them. - -Isomorphism expresses the phenomenon in crystallization established by -Gay Lussac and Mitscherlich, of different compounds assuming the same -crystalline form. The generally received law of this process had -hitherto been, that the same substances invariably crystallize in -forms belonging to one system, different substances, in forms -belonging to another. Cases had indeed been observed, before the -discovery of Isomorphism, in which the same element had been seen to -crystallize in two forms, belonging to different systems, not -geometrically connected. Sulphur, for instance, crystallizing from its -solution in the bisulphuret of carbon, assumes a geometrically -different crystalline form from sulphur when melted by heat, and -allowed to consolidate as it cools. But these and a few other similar -cases had been explained as depending on a different arrangement of -the particles, due most probably to a difference in the temperature -during the operation. They were not thought to interfere with the -general law of the same substance always assuming the same crystalline -form. The two eminent philosophers just mentioned ascertained beyond a -doubt that, in many instances, compound substances, in the process of -crystallizing, assume the same or a cognate form, though their -elements are totally different. Thus chloride of sodium (sea salt), -sulphate of alumina and potash (alum), and many other compound -substances equally dissimilar, crystallize in the form of the cube and -its congeners. Other crystalline forms also are found to be common to -many differently constituted compounds. "To these groups of analogous -elements," says Professor Gregory, from whose work, On Inorganic -Chemistry, we have abridged this account, "the name of Isomorphous -groups has been given, as there is every reason to believe that as -elements they possess the same form; and the phenomena of identical -form in compounds of different but analogous composition, have -received the name of Isomorphism. Two elements {376} are said to be -isomorphous, which either crystallize in the same form, or may be -substituted for each other in their compounds, equivalent for -equivalent (the other elements remaining unchanged), without affecting -the form of the compound. We can hardly doubt that not only the salt, -but the acids are really isomorphous, and would be found so if we -could obtain them all in crystals; and we have the same reason to -conclude that the elements of these acids are also isomorphous; that -arsenic and phosphorus, sulphur and selenium, for example, crystallize -in the same form." [Footnote 123] - - [Footnote 123: Inorganic Chemistry, Ed. 1853; pp. 38 _et seq_. ] - -The converse of this phenomenon is also included among the discoveries -of modern science; the same substance is sometimes observed to -crystallize in two different forms not geometrically allied; and the -occurrence of this new exception to the received law of -crystallization is called Dimorphism. - -Isomerism is the term employed to represent another exceptional class -of facts, observed by later chemists to interfere with the general -rule, that analogy or similarity of composition implies analogy in -form and external properties. Two or more compounds, formed of the -same element, in the same relative proportions, and having, therefore, -the same composition in 100 parts, are often found entirely distinct -and unlike in all their properties. Such bodies are called Isomeric. -"The discovery of Isomerism," says the same eminent chemist, "however -unexpected, is entirely consistent with the atomic theory, of which it -is merely a special case. Isomerism is of very frequent occurrence -among organic compounds, owing, no doubt, to their unusually large -atomic weights, since the numerous atoms of the elements afford much -scope for isomeric modifications; and, doubtless, this principle plays -an important part in the processes of organic life and growth, as well -as in decay." [Footnote 124] - - [Footnote 124: Ib. p. 43, 44.] - -More remarkable than all of these exceptions to hitherto established -laws is the discovery of the existence of simple elements under -totally dissimilar forms. Thus sulphur exists under three distinct and -incompatible forms, or modifications, called Allotropic. Carbon -likewise in three; the diamond, which is crystallized in octohedrons, -and is limpid and transparent; graphite, which is black, opaque, and -crystallized in prisms; and common charcoal, lamp-black, etc., which -is black and quite amorphous. Phosphorus has two allotropic forms: one -crystallized, white and transparent, and easily set on fire; the -other, deep reddish-brown, amorphous, and inflamed with much less -ease. Each of these elementary bodies thus assumes appearances as -dissimilar as if they were totally different bodies, possessed of a -physical character quite unlike each other. Well may Professor -Gregory, after this summary of the subject, add: "the occurrence of -such marked differences in the properties of elementary bodies is very -remarkable, and of great interest in reference to the molecular -constitution of matter; but the subject has not yet been fully -investigated." [Footnote 125] - - [Footnote 125: Inorg. Chemistry, pp. 44, 45.] - -The speculations of another very distinguished chemist, Professor -Faraday, in this field of recent observation, are worthy of place in -this collective testimony of modern science, to the imperfect -acquaintance with the ultimate constitution of material substance -attainable by any amount of study of its external properties or -appearances. "There was a time," says this eminent philosopher, "and -that not long ago, when it was held among the fundamental doctrines of -chemistry, that the same body always manifested the same chemical -qualities; excepting only such variations as might be due to the three -conditions of solid, liquid, and gas. This was held to be a canon of -chemical philosophy, as distinguished from alchemy; and a belief in -the possibility of transmutation was held to be impossible, because at -variance {377} with this fundamental tenet. But we are now conversant -with many examples to the contrary; and, strange to say, no less than -four of the non-metallic elements, namely, oxygen, sulphur, -phosphoros, and carbon, are subject to this modification. The train of -speculation which this contemplation awakens within us is -extraordinary. If the condition of allotropism were alone confined to -compound bodies, that is to say, to bodies made up of two or more -elements, we might easily frame a plausible hypothesis to account for -it; we might assume that some variation had taken place in the -arrangements of their particles. But when a simple body, such as -oxygen, is concerned, this kind of hypothesis is no longer open to us; -we have only one kind of particle to deal with; and the theory of -altered position is no longer applicable. In short, it does not seem -possible to imagine a rational hypothesis to explain the condition of -allotropism as regards simple bodies. We can only accept it as a fact, -not to be doubted, and add the discovery to that long list of truths -which start up in the field of every science, in opposition to our -most cherished theories and long received convictions." [Footnote -126] - - [Footnote 126: Lectures on Non-Metallic Elements, pp. 115, 116.] - -Those persons who have resisted the evidence of Catholic revelation on -the _prima facie_ ground that sound philosophy and a knowledge of the -physical phenomena of nature are directly opposed to some of its -doctrines, must begin, we should think, to feel their position a -little less impregnable than it seemed before such sentiments as these -were warranted by the actually established facts of modern science. -With such evidence of its recent fruits, we may be well satisfied to -watch with interest and congratulation the progress of philosophical -inquiry conducted in such a spirit; not so much for our own sakes, to -whom, indeed, no analogies afforded by any human science could add -anything in the way of confirmation to what we have been taught by -divine testimony, transmitted through the church of Christ to our -remote age; but for the sake of the erring and the doubting among the -intellectual minds of our fellow-countrymen; with the hope that their -attention might be arrested and turned in the direction plainly enough -indicated by such analogies. With one more extract, we must take leave -of Professor Faraday's highly interesting volume; only begging as many -of our readers as are interested in such pursuits to purchase it, and -study it for themselves. After pointing out the difference between -common and allotropic phosphorus, he continues: "We can scarcely -imagine to ourselves a more complete opposition of qualities than is -here presented in these two conditions of phosphorus; an opposition -not limited by merely physical manifestations of density or -crystallographic form, but recognizable through all the phases of -solution, thermal demeanor, and physiological effect The metamorphosis -has, in fact, been so complete, that we can only demonstrate the -allotropical substance _to be_ phosphorus, by reducing it to its -original state, and subjecting it to ordinary tests. If the forces -determining its constitution had been so balanced that the power of -reduction were denied to us, then the substance we now call -_allotropic phosphorus_ must necessarily, according to the strictest -propriety of logic, have been admitted to be not phosphorus, but some -other body. It is impossible, rationally, to deny that such permanent -incontrovertibility may not lie within the power of natural laws to -effect. That we are not aware of such an example, cannot be accepted -as a proof of its non-existence; and analogy, the guidance to which we -refer when direct testimony fails, is in favor of the affirmative." -[Footnote 127] From the great powers of analysis at the command of -this distinguished physicist, directed as much by the courage as by -the wisdom and the candid spirit of true philosophy, it is impossible -to say {378} what further insight into the constitution of matter may -not hereafter be obtained. Such an instance is surely of itself a full -justification of our sanguine hopes for the future of science in its -relation to what has been revealed by eternal and unchanging truth. - - [Footnote 127: Lectures, etc., pp.42, 43.] - -Rather by way of indication than of summary of the reflections -suggested by these inquiries, we would ask, how is it that the almost -illimitable extension of gross material elements should be accepted -without hesitation, while the possibility of the spiritual and -glorified body of the Lord existing, without division or -multiplication of itself, in every Catholic tabernacle, and also in -heaven, is regarded as so wildly impossible, and even monstrous a -conception, as to be scouted at the bare mention of it? When -philosophy expects us to believe that black, crumbling charcoal, and -the hard, shining diamond, are one and the same simple substance, why -should it be thought in the nature of things so incredible as at once -to preclude all further examination of the evidence on which it rests, -that the substance of the Child of Bethlehem, of the risen and -ascended Lord, and of the most holy eucharist, are one and the same. -We are far from saying that the mode of existence is the same in all -these instances; we only claim for revelation what is conceded to -science; that appearances should not be held, _in limine,_ conclusive -of the question, nor be allowed to outweigh or prejudice other -evidence; for in every province of the universe of knowledge things -are not what they seem. If what exists, or may exist, is to be limited -by what human organs of sense can perceive, the boundaries of -knowledge shrink into the narrowest compass: the eye and ear of an -infant are enthroned as the judges of the constitution of nature; -discovery and the progress of science are no more, or would never have -been; mankind would yet be sunk in the imbecility of its primitive -ignorance. - - - -III. - -Next to the fallacious testimony of the human senses, and the hidden -nature of material substance, the subtle influences at work in the -physical world seem very remarkably to indicate some curious analogies -between the constitution of matter in its finer forms, and the nature -of spiritual agencies. Recent analysis of the solar beam, for -instance, has revealed rays hitherto unknown, because invisible to the -acutest vision unaided by the appliances of science, and for long -concealed even from its piercing scrutiny, but yielding at last to the -refinements of modern investigation. These invisible rays have been -proved to exercise most important functions in nature; in the -germination and vegetation of plants, and other widely multiplied -physical processes. There are few who have not heard much of the -magnetic and electric currents which permeate every portion of the -surface of the globe and its surrounding atmosphere; but we imagine -that not so many are aware of the powerful influence which they -possess in the economy of our planet. "There is strong presumptive -evidence," says Mrs. Somerville, "of the influence of the electric and -magnetic currents on the formation and direction of the mountain -masses and mineral veins; but their slow persevering action on the -ultimate atoms of matter has been placed beyond a doubt by the -formation of rubies, and other gems, as well as various other mineral -substances by voltaic electricity." [Footnote 128] And, in another -place, in the same instructive work, she remarks, that "it would be -difficult to follow the rapid course of discovery through the -complicated mazes of magnetism and electricity; the action of the -electric current on the polarized sunbeam, one of the most beautiful -of modern discoveries, leading to relations hitherto unsuspected -between that power and the complex assemblage of visible and invisible -influences on solar light, by {379} one of which nature has recently -been made to paint her own likeness." [Footnote 129] These -influences, for all their subtlety, have a real, appreciable -existence, and fulfil a definite and beneficent end. A curious example -of the subserviency of the invisible magnetic current to the wants of -men is mentioned by Humboldt as having occurred to himself, in one of -his voyages off the west coast of South-America. Bad weather had -prevailed for several days, so as to shut out all view of land, or of -the sun and stars. The crew were in expectation of making a particular -port on that coast: on consulting his dip-needle, the scientific -passenger discovered that the ship had passed the latitude of its -destined port; the ship's course was altered, and much delay and, -probable, danger avoided. [Footnote 130] Nor are the agencies -destructive to human life less subtile or recondite. Various miasmata -of a pestilential character defy every refinement of chemical analysis -to detect the cause of their mischievous operation, or the difference -of their elementary constitution from that of pure and wholesome air. -The most universal, and, as far as our knowledge serves, the most -important of all physical influences, that of gravitation, is also the -subtlest and most occult; traversing the vast regions of space with -instantaneous speed, and pervading the remotest fields of the great -universe of matter; penetrating without sensible interval of time to -distances far beyond the utmost reach of human thought, with a force -which maintains the stars of heaven in their courses, and gives -stability to every known material system. - - [Footnote 128: Physical Geography, II., chap. xxii. pp. 92.] - - [Footnote 129: Physical Geography, II., xxxiii. pp. 400, 401.] - - [Footnote 130: Cosmos, I. 171; III. 139.] - -If these occult agencies in the material world are recognized as -fulfilling their mission, for all their secrecy and subtlety, or -rather, by means of these very characteristics, why is the possibility -of a hidden yet efficient agency in the spiritual world denounced as a -heresy against common sense and sound philosophy? The physical system -of things has its great laboratory of decomposition and reconstruction -kept in operation by these unseen influences; it is indebted to them -for the maintenance of its existence. Science rejoices to measure them -by their admirable results, to detect their operations in their -sensible effects. Why must the sacramental system revealed in the -spiritual world be with equal justice refused its claim to an agency -hardly more subtle? Philosophers admit the truth of observations in -these occult natural agencies, and have no doubt of their real -existence; why do they so contemptuously regard the result of our -observations in those which are secret and spiritual, when our -observations are as numerous, and their evidence as good? - - - -IV. - -The whole question of the relation of space and time becomes one of -vast interest and importance, in connection with a common objection -made to the possibility of our holding communication with the saints -and angels in heaven, as Catholics are taught to believe they may. -Across a space of such unknown vastness, it is alleged that the idea -of transmitting a wish or a prayer is contrary to every principle of -philosophy. Now, assuming, what indeed has never been proved, that the -heaven of the blessed is as remote from our daily path as some -maintain it to be, and without entering here into the abstract -question as to whether the idea of space or of time is the older and -simpler, some considerations are suggested by the study of modern -scientific principles, which may throw light on the objection just -staled, and may help us to ascertain its real worth. - -It is evident that time and space may be made a measure of each other. -The distance from one point in space to another may be expressed in so -many units of time, say a minute, an hour, or a day, required to -traverse the intervening distance at a given velocity. Hence, if -velocity of motion {380} from point to point be represented by the -simple formula of (Space/Time) we obtain two other formulas -representing; time and space, respectively, in terms of each other. - - Thus, if Velocity = Space/Time - - Then, Time = Space/Velocity - - and Space = Time X Velocity. [Footnote 131] - - - - [Footnote 131: For example, call Velocity 40 miles and hour, and - Time 10 hours; then Space = 40 X 10 = 400 miles; or call Space 400 - miles, Velocity being the same, then Time = 400/40 = 10 hours.] - -There is a little instrument much valued by philosophical observers, -but of no great intricacy in itself, which is at once an unerring -measure of space and time; we mean a common pendulum oscillating -seconds in a given level, say of London, at a given level, say of the -sea, other conditions, as of the thermometer, etc., being the same. -This instrument, beating seconds, is an invariable measure of length; -in the latitude of London, for example, at the level of the sea, with -thermometer at 62 deg. Fahr., it is invariably 39.1393 inches long. And, -conversely, provide such an instrument of the length just mentioned, -and set it a-going; its oscillations will exactly measure out one -second of time. Further, as a measure of length, it enables us to -ascertain the weight of a cubic inch of water, in parts of a pound -troy, whence the imperial standards of weight and capacity are -derived. Hence a pendulum is a constant representative of space, in -its length; and of time, in its oscillation. At any point on the -surface of the globe, a rod of a certain given length will invariably, -in similar circumstances, beat seconds; and a rod, beating seconds as -it swings, will invariably measure a certain fixed length, according -to the latitude. Why it does so, does not enter into our arguments -now; it is enough that the fact is ascertained, and is one of the very -commonest application to practise. Every good house-clock is evidence -of it In the same town, for instance, the seconds' pendulums of all -regularly-going clocks are of equal length to the minute fraction of -an inch; and all pendulums, of the same length exactly, keep the same -time exactly. In other words, space is made a measure of time, and -time is a measure of space. - -We said, just now, that space may be represented in terms of time, and -time in those of space, the rate of Velocity being given. London is -said to be ten hours from Edinburgh, when the transit is made at the -rate of forty miles an hour. "As long as it would take to go to -London," may be given as an expression equivalent to ten hours, at the -same rate of motion. But vary that rate, and the terms used instantly -represent very variable quantities. Ten hours from London, at the rate -of a pedestrian travelling his four miles an hour, represent an -insignificant distance of only forty miles; "as long as it would take -to go to London" now expresses a period of a hundred hours, or more -than four days. But take the wings of light, and instantly the -distance supposed, if expressed in terms of time, dwindles to a minute -portion of a second; even this is long, if you measure the space by -the flash transmitted along the electric wire. Leaving the -comparatively insignificant spaces on the surface of the globe for -those vaster distances which divide planet from planet and from the -sun, the time of 8 minutes 3.3 seconds, which the solar light takes to -travel from its source to our globe may be taken as an expression of -its distance from that luminary. Nay, there is a rate of velocity -surpassing all these, bridging over the vast span of Neptune's orbit, -for example, or the vaster diameter of a comet's path, in a unit of -time too minute for the subtlest human instruments or calculations to -appreciate. We mean the force or influence of gravitation, which, -ever since the first moment when the sun and the planets were created, -has been passing instantaneously from the centre of the solar system -to every part, {381} even the most distant, of his wide empire, and -back again from its furthest point to his centre. - -Now, it is evident that if you undertake to express the distance of -sun from planet in terms of the time, at this rate of velocity, it is -reduced to nothing. The sun is as effectually present, for instance, -in his all-important gravitating influence, at every instant of time, -in the planet Neptune, nearly three thousand millions of miles away, -as the hand of the schoolboy is present at the end of his sling, while -he whirls it round his head, and retains the stone in its place by the -string. Cut the string, and the stone flies off; suspend for an -instant the influence, or force, or attraction, or whatever you please -to call it, which binds Neptune to the sun, and he flies off in a path -more eccentric than any comet's. - -There are two ways of spanning distance: one by actual, bodily -transit; another by the transmission of an impulse or wave, propagated -and repeated along the space intervening, in some medium more or less -mobile or subtle. The planetary motions are good examples of the -actual translation of bodies through space: this earth of ours -sweeping along, in its orbit round the sun, at a rate of something -like nineteen miles in a second, or 68,000 miles in an hour, besides -its rotatory motion on its axis of 24,000 miles every day. The planet -Venus exceeds this velocity, travelling at the rate of 80,000 miles an -hour; while Mercury, in the same time, accomplishes 109,360 miles. -Even this inconceivable velocity is far surpassed by the comet of -1843, which, with a tail two millions of miles long, and a nucleus -apparently larger than our globe, swept round the sun, at its -perihelion, at the rate of 366 miles, or nearly the distance from -Edinburgh to London, in one second. [Footnote 132] - - [Footnote 132: Outline of Astronomy, Sec.590, 593.] - -Velocities of impulse exceed those of bodily translation; that is, -supposing we may class among examples of wave motion the transmission -of sound, light, electricity, and perhaps gravitation. Dr. Lardner -mentions his having, on one occasion, in company with Leverrier, -written a message by electric telegraph, at a distance of more than a -thousand miles, and at the rate of 19,500 words in an hour, or of 5.5 -words in a second. [Footnote 133] At a similar distance, and indeed -at a much greater, a steel bar may be made to vibrate fourteen -thousand miles in a second. [Footnote 134] Such a velocity evidently -far surpasses the power of human comprehension. Even in regard to the -less rapid transmission of light, the eminent astronomer Bessel -candidly confesses that "the distance which light traverses in a year -is not more appreciable to us, than the distance which it traverses in -ten years. Therefore, every endeavor must fail to convey to the mind -any idea of a magnitude exceeding what is accessible on the earth." -[Footnote 135] - - [Footnote 133: Museum of Science and Art, part viii. p. 116.] - - [Footnote 134: Ib., Part ix. p. 201.] - - [Footnote 135: Quoted, Cosmos, iii. 85.] - -Now, even supposing that we are acquainted with all the methods which -exist in nature for spanning vast distances, and if, as we have shown, -distance may be expressed in terms of the time taken to travel over -it, or transmit a communication across it, the thought forcibly -occurs. What is distance, if viewed apart from the means at disposal -for overpassing it? A friend in the next room is not nearer us than -another in the next continent, if in the same interval of time we can -communicate with either. To be sure, one of them we might see sooner -than the other, but sight is no necessary means of communicating; the -blind are forever debarred from it. Man can communicate with man, even -materially, without either sight or hearing; and far beyond the range -of either. - -But who shall be bold enough to say that other and subtler methods of -communication may not exist in the material universe? or that the -world of spirit has none more vivid than those subtle currents which -permeate the world of matter? To a generation or two ago, the means of -transmitting intelligence, which are now quite familiar to us, would -have seemed fabulous; a little further back in the history of Europe, -their discovery might have involved the penalty due to witchcraft. If -the passage of a material impulse across the wide orbit of Neptune -unites him intimately at every moment with the sun, is there any -distance that can be said absolutely to present an impassable gulf to -the intercourse of spirit with spirit? Or, can it be said that some -such means of communication do not, and cannot exist, because human -senses do not perceive them, nor human intelligence comprehend them? -Transmission by impulse surpasses in velocity every known instance of -actual, bodily translation: why must what we yet know of the former be -fixed as the limit of what is possible? Why may there not be some -means of communication surpassing in swiftness the flash of the -lightning, or the influence of gravitation, as far as it exceeds the -sweep of the comet or the slow progress of the pedestrian? Why must it -be pronounced an idle dream, that we may hold one end of a chain of -impulses vibrating from earth to heaven, lying along the future track -of our emancipated and purified spirits? - -And pursuing analogy one step further, it is no severe demand on the -imagination to conceive that the universal presence of God, which -embraces and interpenetrates the immensity of space, may be, to the -subtle and vivid impulses from spirit to spirit, what, in another -order of things, the elastic ether of the planetary and sidereal -spaces is to vibrations of material creation; that it may fulfil for -those similar functions of propagation and transmission. In him who is -everywhere, at every instant, and forever, intelligence may easily be -conceived to pass between the remotest points of space, with a speed -not slower than coexistence itself; for any him there is no passage or -motion either in time or space; he is the one indivisible Eternal, -here and now. - -V. - -We are forcibly struck, while referring to the discoveries of modern -science, with the very slender ground on which the mass even of -educated persons accept their most astonishing and improbable results. -How many persons of all those who talk, with much fluency and show of -knowledge on subjects of physical science, have tested, by their own -observation, the truth of one of the phenomena which they converse -about? How many persons, for instance, who tell us that light and heat -in the same ray have been separated, have actually proved it by -personal experiment, or even seen it proved by another? How many -persons are there at this moment in England and Scotland who have -verified by their own observation and calculation the size and figure -of the earth, or its distance from the sun and moon; not to mention -other more intricate problems in physics, of which they have no -personal knowledge whatever? The mass of mankind are content to -receive these things on sufficient testimony of men competent, or whom -they deem competent, to inform them on such subjects. Here, at least, -in the domain of science, there is no exaltation of private judgment, -no rebellion against scientific authority; and it is a wise and a just -arrangement that it should be so. There are not many men, in any age, -furnished with the intellectual outfit necessary for such -verifications; a lifetime would not be sufficient to enable one man to -accomplish them all. Sir John Herschel has the following admirable -remarks, which are very much to our present purpose. "What mere -assertion will make any one believe, that in one second of time, in -one beat of a pendulum of a clock, a ray of light travels over 192,000 -Miles, and would therefore perform the tour {383} of the world in -about the same time that it requires to wink with our eyelids, and in -much less than a Swift runner occupies in taking a single stride? What -mortal can be made to believe, without demonstration, that the sun is -almost a million times larger than the earth? and that, although so -remote from us that a cannon ball shot directly toward it would be -twenty years in reaching it, yet it affects the earth by its -attraction in an appreciable instant of time? But what are these to -the astonishing truths which modern optical inquiries have disclosed, -which teach us that every point of a medium through which a ray of -light passes is affected with a succession of periodical movements, -regularly occurring at equal intervals, no less than five hunted -millions of millions of times in a single second? That it is by such -movements, communicated to the nerves of our eyes, that we see; nay, -more, that it is the frequency of their recurrence which affects us -with the sense of the diversity of color. That, for instance, in -acquiring the sensation of redness, our eyes are affected four hundred -and eighty-two millions of millions of times; of yellowness, five -hundred and forty-two millions of millions of times; and of violet, -seven hundred and seven millions of millions of times in a second. -These are nevertheless, conclusions to which any one may most -certainly arrive, who will only be at the trouble of examining the -chain of reasoning by which they have been obtained." - -If Theology, or the science of God and his revealed will, is, as might -have been expected, not less, but more recondite than any other, as -its objects are vaster, more remote from human understanding, than -those of any other science; surely, on philosophical principles, it is -not unreasonable that authority should have its weight here, also, and -equal measure at least to be dealt to all. Yet the modern world is -agreed in ridiculing and denouncing the principle of authority in -religious matters, as the bane of human society; and in exalting -private judgment and opinion, as the Christian's only ultimate appeal -in the matter. Apply this principle of independence to any other -science, to any subject of human knowledge, or to any object of -intelligent inquiry; and a race of sciolists, pedants, and sceptics -would inevitably result. The authority of great names in science would -lose all its just honor; there would be no system, no progress in -observations; thousands of persons, incompetent to do more than deny -the conclusions of the learned and the able, would refuse their assent -to these, till the impossible time should arrive, when, by actual and -personal investigation, they should be pleased to pronounce judgment -on the accuracy of these conclusions; life would be consumed in -negation; mutual trust and deference to superior knowledge and -capacity would be annihilated. Whether in this incompatibility of -private judgment with its best interests, and even with its stability, -Revelation is very different from Science, we leave to the study of -our readers, and to their observation of the fine gradations of -independent judgment which conduct from Luther to Strauss; the former -of whom began by denying the pope, and the latter ended by impugning -the divinity of Jesus Christ. - - - -VI. - -The principle of authority and its correlative, subordination and -dependence, is represented, in a remarkable manner, in the -constitution of physical nature, especially in the province of -astronomy. It is a remark of Dr. Whewell in his Bridgewater Treatise, -[Footnote 136] "that the relations among the planets is uniformly, not -co-ordinate, but subordinate. Satellites are subject to the influence -of their primaries; primaries to that of the central sun; the central -sun itself to a higher and more distant centre; in a sublimer material -hierarchy, ascending in gradations of {384} immense numerical -magnitude; and thus while insuring the stability of the whole -planetary and stellar systems, ultimately, as every analogy teaches -us, making one grand centre of revolution and subordination, at a -point of space whose distance we cannot even imagine." - - [Footnote 136: Bohn's Edition, p. 175.] - -In his remarks on the Third Law of Kepler, namely, that the squares of -the times of planetary revolution round the sun are proportional to -the cubes of their mean distances from that central luminary, Sir J. -Herschel has the following pertinent observations, "Of all the laws to -which induction from pure observation has ever conducted man, this -third law, as it is called, of Kepler, may justly be regarded as the -most remarkable, and the most pregnant with important consequences. -When we contemplate the constituents of the planetary system, from the -point of view which this relation affords us, it is no longer mere -analogy which strikes us--no longer a general resemblance among them, -as individuals independent of each other, and circulating about the -sun, each according to its own peculiar nature, and connected with it -by its own peculiar tie. The resemblance is now perceived to be a true -_family_ likeness; they are bound up in one chain--interwoven in one -web of mutual relation and harmonious agreement--subjected to one -pervading influence, which extends from the centre to the furthest -limits of that great system; of which all of them, the earth included, -must henceforth be regarded as members." [Footnote 137 ] - - [Footnote 137: Outlines of Astronomy, chap. ix Sec.489.] - -The remarks of the same great philosopher on the systems of double -stars, in a later part of his work on astronomy, bear still more -directly on the view we are proposing. "It is not with the revolutions -of bodies of a planetary or cometary nature round a solar centre, that -we are now concerned; it is with that of sun round sun--each, perhaps, -at least in some binary systems, where the individuals are very -remote, and their period of revolution very long, accompanied with its -train of planets and their satellites, closely shrouded from our view -by it the splendor of their respective suns, and crowded into a space -bearing hardly a greater proportion to the in enormous interval which -separates them, than the distance of the satellites of our planets -from their primaries bear to their distances from the sun itself. A -less distinctly characterized subordination would be incompatible with -the stability of their systems, and with the planetary nature of their -orbits. Unless closely nestled under the wing of their immediate -superior, the sweep of another sun in its perihelion passage round -their own might carry them off, or whirl them into orbits utterly -incompatible with the conditions necessary for the existence of their -inhabitants. It must be confessed that we have a strangely wide and -novel field for speculative excursions, and one which it is not easy -to avoid luxuriating in." [Footnote 138] - - [Footnote 138: Outlines of Astronomy, chap. xvi. Sec. 847.] - - - -VII. - -The phenomena of nature or suggest an interesting view all of law in -general, which we shall in a few words faintly outline. It is -constantly urged as an objection to the doctrine of revelation -regarding the Blessed Eucharist, for example, that it is contrary -philosophy, inasmuch as it assumes and implies the suspension of a -universal law, which connects certain definite accidents or qualities -of matter invariably with their corresponding substance; for in the -Holy Eucharist the properties, qualities, or accidents of one -substance are attached to another. - -By a "_Law_" in physics no more can be understood than a deduction -from a sufficiently large series of observed facts, establishing, from -long and tearful and extensive observation, a uniformity of result in -the same given circumstances. Some laws are said to be "empirical," -which though derived from careful noting of invariably {385} recurring -phenomena, enunciate no principle, or rationale, but merely the -numerical result of observation. Thus Kepler's three laws of planetary -motion, and Bode's law of planetary distances from the sun, are -instances of law simply and confessedly empirical. Newton's law of -gravitation is said to furnish the principle which is involved in -Kepler's formula of details; because once Newton's law is admitted as -governing planetary motion, what Kepler observed of the movements of -the planets, can be deduced by calculation. It would be perhaps more -philosophical, in the present state of our knowledge, to regard even -the most apparently elementary and fundamental law as only empirical, -and the ultimate principle as lying deeper than any known law. In this -view, a law like that of Newton's demonstrating, would be said to lie -only one step nearer the ultimate principle than the earlier and more -empirical. Probably there is no ultimate principle nearer than the -divine volition. - -In fact, the law of gravitation is now regarded by philosophers as -something short of the ultimate solution of material attraction and -repulsion; they are groping their way, at this moment, to something -more universal than that law, as may be gathered from the following -observations of Sir J. Herschel: "No matter from what ultimate cause -the power which is called gravitation originates--be it a virtue -lodged in the sun, as its receptacle, or be it pressure from without, -or the resultant of many pressures or solicitations of unknown fluids, -magnetic or electric ethers, or impulses--still, when finally brought -under our contemplation, and summed up into a single resultant energy, -its direction is _from_ many points on all sides _toward_ the sun's -centre." [Footnote 139] - - [Footnote 139: Outlines of Astronomy, chap. ix. Sec.490.] - -Whence is this uncertainty about the probable nature of this force? -Because, universal as it has been thought, it fails in certain -circumstances, as in some electrical conditions, and within very small -distances; when the relation of material particles to one another is -one of repulsion, and not of attraction. Take another law, as it is -called, that fluids will always rise as high as their source, and no -higher. The phenomena of capillary attraction prove that this law does -not hold in all cases. The chemical law of atomic combination is -sometimes found signally to fail. Physical laws, therefore, like -these, are good only as far as they go; there are limits to their -application. - -Why may not this be true in regard to the law which is said to -militate against the doctrine of the blessed Eucharist? It may hold -good for a thousand instances, and may fail in the next, like other -physical laws; and that instance may be the very one of this revealed -doctrine. _Exceptio probat regulam_ is a sound rule in a certain -sense; it tells the other way, however, when the absolute -impossibility even of an exception is maintained in regard to any -physical law. - -But, in fact, we see that this law of relation between quality, or -accident, and substance, is very uncertain in its application to many -conditions of matter. Modern discovery has much diminished the number -of the properties, or qualities, of matter; and has proved that even -these are by no means constant in the same substance, nor always -variable in different substances; so that one substance often looks to -every sense, like another, wholly different; and "behaves," like it, -in a variety of ways; while the same substance has sometimes more than -one mode of appearance. There is, in fact, no law of uniformity -between material substance and its properties; if there is any law on -the subject, it is the other way; and the result of discovery seems -clearly to demonstrate that we know absolutely nothing of the nature -of substance. - - - -VIII. - -Closely connected with this view of law is the interesting subject is -{386} throughout nature, but especially in the motions and temporary -disturbances in the heavenly spaces, and which afford, in fact, the -best evidence of the stability of the vast system of creation. A -variation is observed in the ellipticity of the earth's orbit, for -instance, of which one evident proof is the acceleration of the moon's -motion round her primary; it might seem as if, at some vastly remote -period in future time, the total derangement of our planetary system -must ensue; but calculation has assured us that there is a point, far -short of that, at which there will occur a change; and in the lapse of -ages things will return to their original condition. Thus beyond an -exception to law there is still Law existing supreme, regulating the -conditions and the term of such exceptional existence. In a similar -manner, the law of storms, as it is called, establishes the dominion -of definite order even in the confusion and mad fury of the tropical -hurricane; so definite, and so completely under the control of -observed rule, that navigators are provided with certain instructions -for evading the overwhelming force of those terrible visitations. We -think of these cycles of apparent exception and departure from -established order, in the physical world, when we hear objections made -against this or that apparent anomaly in the spiritual and moral -government of God; till the principles and laws of one government are -proved wholly unlike those of the other, we imagine a secular -variation not impossible in the one as it actually exists in the -other; and we can endure even a temporary eclipse of the outward glory -of his church, the prevalence of her enemies against her, for a longer -or a shorter time; the exile of her chief pastor; the triumph of -iniquity in her glorious capital; convinced that erratic trains of -events like these are subject to law in the permission of him who -governs as he made the universe of matter and of mind, by an act of -his sovereign and omnipotent will. - - - -IX. - -From what has preceded, one or two general reflections occurred to an -intelligent mind, somewhat to this effect. It seems that the horizon -of science has never been long stationary, and is now opening wider -then at any former period. Every science has passed through many -strange phases of empiricism, before reaching the philosophical basis -on which it now rests. All of them are disclosing facts and analogies -undreamed of by our grandfathers. A very few years make a book on -chemistry or physiology old and out of date. We are posting on to -further knowledge; strange and unimagined relations between matter and -matter, and still stranger between matter and mind, are no doubt -awaiting the detection of future discoverers; our children, or their -children, will know more than we. A single sentence of Professor -Faraday's reflections on the subject of Allotropism, is sufficient to -open a wide view of the possible career of science. "The philosopher -ends," he says, "by asking himself the questions, In what does -chemical identity consists? In what will these wonderful developments -of allotropism end? Whether the so-called chemical elements may not -be, after all, mere allotropic conditions of purer universal essences? -Whether, to renew the speculations of the alchemists, the metals may -the only so many mutations of each other, by the power of science -naturally convertible? There was a time when this fundamental doctrine -of the alchemists was opposed to known analogies; _it is now no longer -opposed to them, but only some stages beyond their present -development._" [Footnote 140] - - [Footnote 140: Faraday's Lectures, pp. 105, 106.] - -Is it safe to trust to what are considered to be indications of -physical truth in a contest with moral evidence when the limits of -physical knowledge are so floating and ill defined? Is it safe to -erect barriers of supposed physical laws against the entrance of -conviction regarding the truths of {387} revelation, when recent -discovery has established so much that tells on the side of faith; -when it has overturned so many old philosophical objections to it; -when future discovery may, and seems likely to push the advantage of -revelation still further into the domain of matter; when its -indications have so many analogies to the doctrines of revealed truth? -We are sure, at least, that future discovery can take from us no -advantage which we at present derive from our knowledge of physical -laws; it cannot fail widely to extend that advantage, by enlarging our -acquaintance with the laws of nature. - - - -X. - -The natural termination of our reflections is the consideration of how -short a way we yet see into the constitution of Nature; how far we are -still from reaching the secrets of her vast operations. "After all, -what do we see?" asks Admiral Smyth, in his _Cycle of Celestial -Objects_. "Both that wonderful (stellar and nebular) universe, our -own, and all which optical assistance has revealed to us, may be only -the outlines of a cluster immensely more numerous. The millions of -suns we perceive cannot comprise the Creator's universe. There are no -bounds to infinitude; and the boldest views of the elder Herschel only -placed us as commanding a ken whose radius is some 35,000 times longer -than the distance of Sirius from us. Well might the dying Laplace -exclaim, 'That which we know, is little; that which we know not, is -immense.'" [Footnote 141] If, on the one hand, the discoveries of man -in every department of material knowledge prove him to be in genius -and intelligence only "a little lower than the angels," the boundless -expanse of undiscovered worlds of investigation in his own and distant -systems may well abate his enthusiasm, and make the greatest -philosopher acknowledge that we as yet know only in part. - - [Footnote 141: Vol. ii. Bedford Catalogue, p. 303.] - -If so, partial knowledge of the laws of divine government can never be -a safe or a philosophical guide to direct us in accepting or rejecting -whatever comes to us claiming to be from the author and sustainer of -that government, as revelation does. It can never be safe even as a -preliminary guide; as an ultimate rule to test the value of -revelation, it is totally disqualified. Till we know all, we can say -nothing of what is possible or impossible, probable or the reverse. We -can understand a person to whom the claims of revelation on his assent -were new and strange, hesitating to accept it at all, till its -credentials had been examined, and their evidence ascertained; but -once that process is concluded, and a revelation established, we -cannot understand a philosophical mind, in the elementary state of -human knowledge, proceeding to select from the sum of revealed truth -what seems to it intelligible, and accepting that, while rejecting -whatever it considers to be the reverse; and maintaining that, because -it cannot comprehend the mysterious things of revelation, therefore -they cannot be from God. The only course, at once safe and -philosophical, is to accept the whole of what is presented to us, -without questioning its coincidence, or otherwise, with our previous -views of what is likely or befitting; with our present notions of what -is intelligible. To our limited knowledge it may seem in its doctrines -unintelligible, imperfect, perhaps even contradictory: clouds of -doubts may seem to hover over it; storms of conflicting principles and -laws and assumptions, subversive, as we think, of the course of -nature, may now rage about its path. But ascend the mountain-top, and -the clouds are left far beneath; the roaring of the storm cannot be -heard so high. Descend a little way into the deep, and the agitation -of its surface ceases; silence and order and everlasting rest are -established there. So the deeper we penetrate into the knowledge of -God, as manifested in his material government, or the higher we ascend -in contemplating his modes {388} of action in nature, the nearer we -shall approach to the vision of that perfect harmony and nice -adjustment of every part of his vast creation, the full disclosure of -which will recreate our intelligence in the light of his eternal -beauty. It cannot be matter for wonder, then, that we rejoice at every -new step in science, at every discovery of the secret powers of -nature. We welcome the advance of physical science as a pioneer of the -ultimately victorious progress of revealed truth, which shall -demonstrate its intimate harmony with all that is known of the divine -operations in the constitution of nature. - -Meanwhile, we can afford to wait "till the day breaks and the shadows -flee away." The veil will one day be withdrawn, and we shall see, eye -to eye. Influences and agencies which it has not yet been given to man -even to imagine, will then be disclosed, around us and within us; as -when the eyes of the prophet's servant were opened, and he beheld his -master surrounded with chariots of fire and horses of fire. Things -will then be seen as they are, in the day of the manifestation of the -sons of God. We can afford to wait for that day. We feel within us, -already, much that we cannot account for, on natural principles; -strong presentiments, and instincts of the supernatural and eternal -order of things, are ever and ever crossing our path, stirring us with -strange and sudden and mysterious power; disposing us for the -revelations of the final day. A day of wonder; a day of benediction; -but not for those who have refused to believe because they could not -see, but for Christ's simple little ones, who were content to believe -before, or without seeing; for whom it was enough that the great -Creator had spoken to them by his Son, and since by his church; more -than enough, that, even here, they could recognize the subservience of -philosophy to faith; that they could perceive "in outward and visible -things the type and evidence of those within the veil." - ------- - -THE VIRGIN'S CRADLE HYMN. - - - -Copied from a print of the Blessed Virgin in a Catholic Village in -Germany. Translated into English by E. T. Coleridge. - - Dormi, Jesu! mater ridet - Quae tam dulcem somnam videt, - Dormi, Jesu! blandule! - Si non dormis, mater plorat, - Inter fila cantans orat, - Blande, veni, somnule. - - - Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling: - Mother sits beside thee smiling; - Sleep, my darling, tenderly! - If thou sleep not, mother mourneth, - Singing as her wheel she turneth; - Come, soft slumber, balmily! - --------- - -{389} - -Original. - -CELTIC ANTHOLOGY AND POETIC REMAINS. - - -There is no people, the annals of which may not be separated into -three distinct periods, namely: the period of heroes and epico-poetic -narration; the period of myth, fable, and apotheosis; and the period -of realistic and definitive history. Or, to range the whole in the -order of historical sequence, the three distinctive phases of -race-annals may be formulated as follows: - - 1. The period of myth and apotheosis--which, among the European - races especially, constitutes the beginning of history. - - 2. The period of heroes and poetic annals--which forms a kind of - transition period. - - 3. The period of realistic definitive history, untinted with - imaginative glories--the beginning of which indicates the point in - race-history at which literary civilization commences. - -To the analysis of the first we apply the term _mythology_; but for -the second it happens that there is no term--unless we may be -permitted so to deepen the sense of the word _anthology_ as to include -within its sweep of definition, not only poetic extracts, but poetic -material and the logical analysis of that material. For the purposes -of this paper, therefore, the word will be used in the sense -suggested, as including the poetic material of a people, and the -discussion of any anthological idiosyncrasies therein manifested. - -The use of the word being permitted--it happens that, however -intricate and various in details, the _essential_ data of anthology -are everywhere the same in classification, and everywhere susceptible -of the same logical analysis. Without here pausing to specify reasons, -which may be more conveniently specified hereafter--this division -into classes of _data_, needful because as yet no logicalization has -been here attempted, may be effected with tolerable precision by -recurring to the usual analysis of a people's poetic material. The -analysis of these _data_--anthological because imaginative and -poetic--may, therefore, be exhibited thus: - - 1. Mythology and semi-historical or moralistic fable. - - 2. Poetic annals and ancient waifs of ballad and song. - - 3. Household legends, fairy stories, and superstitions. - -In the region of mythology the data have been collected and collated -with considerable thoroughness, especially by German _savans_; in the -region of poetic annals, only the general details have been subjected -to analytic scrutiny; and in that of household lore and legend, saving -the collection of the Brothers Grimm, little has been effected in -comparison with the importance of the subject. Enough has been done, -however, to demonstrate, not only the applicability of the fore-made -classification, but also the singular analogical resemblance in minute -details which exists between the household legends of any one people -as compared with those of any other, and which, in analogy at least, -points to the original historical unity of the human race. - -Nor is the analogy which bespeaks this unity to be limited to the -general analysis of class. Amid the vagaries of mythology and -apotheosis, amid the epic-annals of heroes and demi-gods, and, in -short, amid the more minute imaginings and superstitions {390} of -every people may be traced curious and often startlingly singular -analogical resemblances. - -The Edda, weird, Northern and Gothic in the _ensemble_ of its -imaginings, reproduces, otherwise nomenclated, the mythology of the -Greek and of the Roman; the dim bat-winged Athor of mystical Egypt, -who presided under the shadows of the pyramids over the creation of -beauty, reappears, less mystically aureola'd, in the classical -_mythos_ of Venus; and the ghoul of the desert-inhabiting -Saracen--most Arabic of all Arabs--haunts the woodlands and -waste-places of Germany, as illusive and wine-dispensing Elle-maid; in -short, in all forms of superstition and in all moods of anthology -there is an essential unity--a unity having its root in the general -unity of the human imagination. For, the imagination, however through -the operation of local causes its dreams may be tipped with -rainbow-tints or imbued with shadowy sublimity--is one in the -ever-varying rhythm of its creations, and one in the vague palaces of -fantasy which it uprears. Valleys and palaces of ideal loveliness it -may evoke--visions to which Poe weds expression in the weird imagery -of his Haunted Palace: - - "And travellers in that happy valley, - Through two luminous windows, saw - Spirits moving musically - To a lute's well-tuned law;" - -Or, again, valleys and palaces of lunatic ghastliness and -superstition--visionary lunacies, which Poe graphically, though -somewhat metaphorically, depicts in his own modification of the above -rhythm-painting: - - "And travellers now within that valley. - Through the red-litten windows, see - Vast forms that move fantastically - To a discordant melody." - -But, whether the music be discordant or well-tuned, the humanity of -its note cannot be mistaken; and whether the creations of the human -intellect be palaces of loveliness or pagodas of ghastliness, they -still bear the unmistakable impress of man's toiling after the -ideal--of the vague, restless, and unsatisfied yearning for the lost -ideal of his being, to compass which he toils and struggles and -dreams. In this essential unity of human imagination is grounded the -essential unity of the _data_ of anthology, and hence its marvellous -and minute analogical resemblances. - -Anthology having never been reduced to definitive system, it happens -that no little of its critical material exists only in lumbering and -uncollated masses. Indeed, not a little of that which might have been -valuable as material has been permitted to rot in mildewed -manuscript--for need of appreciation of its real value on the part of -scholars--instead of having been (as it should have been) treasured -and preserved, as the pabulum of thought and science; and yet more -remains uncollected, and will so remain until a more valid -comprehension of its value shall have been impressed upon the minds of -spectacled professors who are usually the last to comprehend that in -the comprehension of which they ought to be first. But, -notwithstanding this apparent apathy and neglect on the part of the -learned, there are, still, certain problems of history which can only -be unriddled with this key--that of comparative anthology--as, for -instance, the exploits of Joan d'Arc; a hundred riddles of mental -philosophy there are, which can not be unravelled without it; and, in -every language, multitudes of words are based, as to their peculiar -shades of significance, upon anthological criticism. Thus the -_nightmare_ is the _demon which haunts the night_; the _Huguenots_ -were _imps of the woods_--from _Hugon_, the demon of the -woodlands;--and not not as a learned dean supposes the _people -eidgenossen_; and a _seer_ is simply a _see-er_, that is, one who has -the gift of the second sight. - -{391} - -A minute knowledge of anthology--we here use the term to denote that -blossoming of events and moral ideas into imaginative forms, which -constitutes most of that which we denominate the poetic material of a -people, is, therefore, in the highest degree necessary to the proper -comprehension of-- - - 1. Historical criticism. - 2. Comparative philology. - 3. Mental philosophy--especially in those moods of mind of which - modern civilization furnishes no examples. - -To take a familiar illustration. It has been over and over -demonstrated that, unless we deny the validity of the common -principles of historical evidence, to admit the existence of that -peculiar imaginative faculty denominated "second sight" is a -necessity. Nor is the faculty, if its existence be admitted, -necessarily to be accounted a preternatural gift--being simply the -logical result of the cultivation of certain impulses of human -intellect seldom, in the experiences of modern society, evoked into -activity; being, in fact, the logical deduction of that scenery which -surrounded the Highlanders of Scotland, and of that mood of mind which -was their prevailing habit. Civilization develops no sublimity of -mental strength, except in the region of reason. Moral sublimity is -not developed by communion with streets and avenues. Neither is -imaginative insight--that which, in ultimate deduction, is -inspiration--an inhabiter of palaces. Born of crags, of' mountains, -and of the lurid and ghastly grandeur of the tempest--the imaginative -insight is the lightning of the mind, and like the lightning at -midnight reveals that which to the moon and stars is wrapped in -darkness. To educe the principle: the imaginative forms (anthology) -into which primitive moral ideas, rude reasonings, and epic-events -blossom, are essentially modified by two ever-active causes, namely: -idiosyncrasies of race and scenic surroundings. And hence, in reducing -the fragmentary imaginings of a people to scientific system, we are -compelled to keep constantly in view the idea of answering to the -conditions of three problems: - - 1. Given the scenery of a country - and the idiosyncrasies of its people, and we may, in a general way, - indicate its anthology; or - - 2. Given the anthology and idiosyncrasies, and we may, with - tolerable accuracy, indicate the leading peculiarities of the - scenery; or - - 3. Given the scenery and anthology, and we may indicate, with - exactitude, the leading idiosyncrasies of the people. - -Having indicated, by way of preface, the general scope of anthology -and the value of its _data_, we shall devote the remaining portion of -this paper to the anthological relics of the Irish race, and -especially to its elfin and poetic phases. - -Fairies are (among the Irish peasantry) still believed to exist, and -to exercise no little influence over the affairs of mortals. They are -generally represented as pigmies, and are, so runs the superstition, -often seen dancing around solitary thorns, which are believed to be -among their most frequented haunts. Hence the veneration of the -peasantry for old solitary thorns--the peasantry believing that if -these thorns are cut down or maimed, the fairies are thereby provoked, -and will either maim the person who has cut the tree, cause his cattle -to sicken and die, or otherwise injure his property. Places supposed -to be haunted by fairies are termed gentle, as likewise are several -herbs, in gathering which a strange ritual is observed. If provoked by -any person, it is believed that the fairies will steal and carry away -that which is dearest to that person, as his wife, or especially any -members of his family in babyhood and before baptism. The castles in -which the fairies dwelt were generally believed to be movable at the -pleasure of the proprietor, invisible to human eyes, and usually built -in ancient forths or raths. Among the principal fairy kings were -Firwar, whose castle was at Knock Magha, and Macaneantan, {392} whose -fairy palace was at Sgraba. Whistling Hill (Knock-na-feadalea), in the -county of Down, is still visited by hundreds of the peasantry, who, -especially on the last night in October, which is observed with -singular ceremonials, aver that they can hear the music of the fairies -issuing from the hill. The following verses include the names of the -principal places fabled to be inhabited by fairy kings: - - "Around Knock-Grein, and Knock-na-Rae, - Bin Builvia, and Keis Korain, - To Bin Eakhlan and Lokh Da-ean, - And thence north-east to Sleive Guilin. - They trod the lofty hills of Mugarna. - Round Sleive Denard and Beal-at-an-draigh. - Down to Daudrin, Dundroma, and Dunardalay, - Right forward to Knock-na-Feadalea." - -Which was the route of procession on the night of the last of October, -when aerial spirits were supposed to be peculiarly active. The -following legend of Whistling Hill we extract from a collection of -these legends in the original Irish made by Rev. William Neilson, -D.D., and printed by Hogan, No. 15 Lower Ormond Quay, Dublin, in 1808: - - "There was au honest, pious man, who lived formerly near the river, - by the side of the hill (Whistling Hill); and the vestiges of his - house may yet be seen. His name was Thady Hughes; and he had neither - wife nor family--his mother, an aged woman, keeping his house. - - "Thady went out on a Hallow-eve night to pray, as he was in the - habit of doing, on the bank of the river; and looking up to observe - the stars, he saw a dusky cloud from the south moving toward him as - if impelled by a whirl-wind, and heard the sound of horses just as - if a troop of cavalry were tramping along the valley. Thady noticed - that they all came over the ford and round the mountain. - - "Remembering that he had often heard it said, 'if you cast the dust - under your feet against the cloud, if the fairies have any human - being with them they are compelled to release him,' Thady seized a - handful of the gravel which was under his feet and hurled it, in the - name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, against the whirlwind: - whereupon fell down a strange lady, weak, faint, and wearily - moaning. - - "Thady started, but, imagining that the voice of the strange lady's - moaning was human, went to the spot where she fell, spoke to her, - and took her in his arms and carried her to his mother, who gave her - food--the lady eating but little. - - "They asked her few questions that night, knowing that she came from - the fairy castles. Besides, she appeared to be sick and sorrowful, - and did not seem to be in any mood for talking. The next morning, - however, she related her story, having first enjoined secrecy, which - Thady and his mother promised. - - "The strange lady's name was Mary Rourke, and she had formerly lived - in the county of Galway, where she was married to a young man named - John Joyce, who lived hard by Knock Magha. One year after her - marriage with Joyce, King Firwar and his host carried her away to - the fairy castle of Knock Magha, leaving something in the form of a - dead woman in her place which bulk was duly waked and buried. - - "She had been in Knock Magha nearly a year and was daily entertained - with dances and songs, notwithstanding she was in sorrow at having - been parted from her husband. At length the host of the castle told - her that her husband had married another woman; that, therefore, she - ought to indulge in grief no longer; and that Firwar and his family - were about to visit the province of Ulster, and intended to take her - with them. They set out at dawn from Knock Magha forth, both Firwar - and host; and many a fairy castle they visited from dawn till fall - of night, traveling all mounted on beautiful winged horses. - - "After they lost Mary, the fairies did not halt; for they were to - feast that Hallow-eve in the fairy castle of Sgraba, with the fairy - king, Macaneantan." - -{393} - -The story adds that Thady Hughes married Mary Rourke, and that a -difficulty subsequently arose between Thady and John Joyce, who, -having heard of the escape of the strange lady from the fairies, went -to Thady's cottage and claimed her as his wife. The matter afterward -came before the bishop for adjudication, who adjudged that as Mary -had, to all appearances, died and been buried as the wife of John -Joyce, she was under no obligation to be his wife after her death. And -thus ends the legend. - -The general similarity of the fairies as depicted in this legend to -those of Germany as illustrated in Goethe's Erl King, is obvious, and -seems to argue either historical kin or identity of origin. In -Goethe's ballad a corpse is left in the arms of the father. The -version subjoined is an anonymous newspaper version, but is so far -superior to that of Mrs. Austin, that we quote it in preference: - - "Who rideth so late through the night wind lone? - Yet is a father with his son. - - "He foldeth him fast; he foldeth him warm; - He prayeth the angels to keep from him harm. - - "' My son, why hidest thy face so shy?' - "' Seest thou not, father, the Erl King nigh? - - "'The Erlen King with his train, I wist?' - "'My son, it is only the fog and mist.' - - "'Come, beautiful one, come away with me, - And merry plays will I play with thee! - - "'Ah! gay are the blossoms that blow by the shore, - And my mother hath many a plaything in store.' - - "'My father, my father, and dost thou not hear - What the Erlen King doth say in my ear?' - - "'Be still my darling, be still, my son, - Through the withered leaves the winds howl lone.' - - "'Come, beautiful one, come away with me, - My daughters are fair, they shall wait on thee! - - "'My daughters their nightly revellings keep, - They shall sing, they shall dance, they shall rock thee to sleep.' - - "' My father, my father, and seest thou not - The Erl King's daughters in yon wild spot?' - - "'My son, my son, I see, I wist, - It is the gray willow down there in the mist.' - - "'I woo thee; thy beauty delighteth my sense. - And, willing or not, shall I carry thee hence.' - - "'O father, the Erl King now puts forth his arm! - O father, the Erl King, he doeth me harm!' - - "The father rideth, he rideth fast - And faster rideth through the blast. - - "He spurreth wild, through the night wind lone, - And dead, in his arms, he holdeth his son." - -Of this topic--the folks-lore of the Irish peasantry--we shall here -take leave, merely hazarding the opinion that there is some remote -historical connection between the Irish traditions of the -idiosyncrasies and doings of elves and those of the Germanic races--a -connection probably dating from the Danish occupation of the country -about the seventh or eighth century. In the Irish poetic annals, which -antedate the Danish occupation by several hundred years, no traces of -elfin traditions can be detected; and the same is true of the Ossianic -ballads which McPherson has rather imperfectly collated, and between -which and the several Celtic manuscripts there is a singular -resemblance. - -The collation of McPherson, valuable in many respects, is amenable to -almost fatal criticism, in that the sublimity of the Gaelic -composition is marred by being twisted from the parallelism (which, in -the original, is analogous to the Hebraic) into the form of prose: the -parallelism being in English--as in Gaelic, Celtic, and Hebrew--the -most effective form into which sublimity can be wrought. And to -demonstrate the truth of this proposition we need only to put portions -of McPherson's prose version into the parallelistic form, and shall -adopt for this purpose Fingal's interview with the spirit of Loda, -than which, uniquely considered, a poem of more overwhelming sublimity -was never written or conceived. Subjoined is McPherson's version: - - "A blast came from the mountain: on its wings was the spirit of - Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky - spear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face: his voice is - like distant thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night, and raise - his voice on high. 'Son of night retire: call thy winds, and fly! - Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy arms? Shall I - fear thy gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda? Weak is thy shield of - clouds; feeble is that meteor thy sword! The blast rolls them - together; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my presence, son of - night! call thy winds and fly!' - -{394} - - "'Dost thou force me from my place?' replied the hollow voice. 'I - turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations, - and they vanish: my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad - on the winds; the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is - calm above the clouds; pleasant are the fields of my rest.' - - "'Dwell in thy pleasant fields,' says the king. 'Let Comhal's son be - forgotten. Have my steps ascended from my hills into thy peaceful - plains? Have I met thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of dismal - Loda? Why then dost thou frown on me? Why shake thine airy sphere? - Thou frownest in vain: I never fled from the mighty in war; and - shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven? No--he knows - the weakness of their arms.' - - "'Fly to thy land,' replied the form; 'take to the wind, and fly! - The blasts are in the hollow of my hand: the course of the storm is - mine. Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath!' - - "He lifted high his shadowy spear! he bent forward his dreadful - height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword, the blade of dark-brown - Luno. The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. - The form fell shapeless into air." - -Now, let us put this in the form of the parallelism--a form into which -the sententious sublimity of the composition naturally falls, and in -which nearly all these ancient Gaelic and Celtic epics occur in the -original: - - "A blast came from the mountain: - On its wings was the spirit of Loda. - He came to his place in terrors, - And shook his dusky spear. - His eyes appear like flame in his dusky face: - His voice is like distant thunder. - Fingal advanced his spear into the night, - And raised his voice on high. - Son of night, retire; - Call thy winds, and fly! - Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy arms? - Shall I fear thy gloomy form, spirit of Loda? - Weak is thy shield of clouds; - Feeble is that meteor, thy sword. - The blast rolls them together: - And thou thyself art lost. - Fly from my presence, son of night! - Call thy winds, and fly!' - 'Dost thou force me from my place?' replied the hollow voice. - 'I turn the battle in the field of the brave, - I look on the nations and they vanish: - In my nostrils is the blast of death. - I came abroad on the winds: - The tempests are before my face, - But my dwelling is calm above the clouds; - Pleasant are my fields of rest.' - 'Dwell in thy pleasant fields,' said the king. - 'Let Comhal's son be forgotten. - Have my stops ascended from my hills into thy peaceful plains? - Have I met thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of the dismal Loda? - Why dost thou frown on me? - Why shake thy dusky spear? - Thou frownest in vain; - I never fled from the mighty in war; - And shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven? - He knows the weakness of their arms.' - 'Fly to thy land,' replied the shadow; - 'Take to the wind, and fly! - The blasts are in the hollow of my hand - The course of the storm is mine. - Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, - Or feel my flaming wrath!' - He lifted high his shadowy spear: - He bent forward his dismal height - Fingal, advancing, drew his sword, the blade of the dark-brown Luno. - The gleaming path of steel winds through the gloomy ghost. - The form fell shapeless in air." - -For vague sublimity, for weird, dismal, ghastly, and phantasmagoric -grandeur of conception and effect, the imagery of the above episode of -Ossian has never been exceeded in the vast domain of fantasy-weaving; -and this effect is vastly heightened by the sententious step of the -sentences and the shadowy cadence of the parallelism--a cadence which -is the natural expression of sublimity, and to compass which in -ordinary blank verse it is impossible. Compare, for instance, the -following imagery of similar _ensemble_, from Milton's "Paradise -Lost": - - "O'er many a dark and dreary vale - They passed, and many a region dolorous; - O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp; - Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens and shades of death-- - A universe of death." - -Or the following rhythmical painting of more than Miltonic massiveness -and magnificence of imagination, from the "Orion" of R. H. Horne--a -poem of more idiosyncratic merit than most poems upon the classical -model. Orion thus describes the building of a palace for Hephaistos -(Vulcan): - - "So that great figures started from the roof, - And lofty coignes, or sat and downward gazed - On those who stood below and gazed above-- - I filled it; in the centre framed a hall; - Central In that a throne: and for the light - Forged mighty hammers that should rise and fall - On slanted rocks of granite and of flint. - Worked by a torrent, for whose passage down - A gape I hewed. And here the god could take, - Midst showery sparks and swathes of broad gold fire, - His lone repose, lulled by the sounds he loved: - Or, casting back the hammer-heads until they stopped - The water's ebb, enjoy, if so he willed, - Midnight tremendous, silence, and iron sleep." - -{395} - -Both of which, though in their manner unparalleled, are, in a less -degree, imbued with that which we may term POETIC ILLUMINATION; that -which constitutes the felicitous sublimity of Ossian; in short, that -for which only one simile, and that an impossible one--namely, -shooting of a sun athwart the heavens at midnight--be adduced. - -But--the seasons here specified being deemed insufficient--if further -reasons be necessary for the adoption of of the parallelistic form in -treating the ancient Gaelic and Celtic compositions, these necessary -reasons are fluent from the original form of those compositions, and -from the fact that the parallelism is the only poetic form adapted to -their style; which may be demonstrated by comparing the rhythmical -collocation of a single poem, the Songs of Deardra, a Celtic poem in -manuscript which will form the basis of the remainder of this paper, -with the collocation of the parallelistic English rendering. Adopting -phonographic equivalents for the Irish letters, the initial stanza of -Deardra's song improvised as a farewell to Scotland, runs as follows; - - "Ionmuin lioni an tio ud shoin, - Alba cona hionghantuio; - Nokha tliucfuinn aisde de, - Muna dtioefuinn re Noise." - -And the parallelistic rendering, line for line, as follows: - - "Dear to me that eastern shore; - Dear is Alban, land of delights. - Never would I have forsaken it, - Had I not come with Naesa." - -Thus the translation is rendered exact, conveying not only the matter -but, also, the manner of the original--without which last any -translation is and must be defective. The song is thus continued: - - "Dear are Dunfay and Dunfin, - And dear are the hills around them; - Dear is Inis-drayon, - In dear to me Dunsaivni. - - "Coilcuan, sweet Coilcuan! - Where Ainii and where Ardan came. - Happy passed my days with Naesa, - In the Western vales of Alban. - - "Glenlee, O Glenlee! - Amidst thy thickets have I slept, - And amidst thy thickets feasted, - With my love in Glenlee. - - "Glenmessan, O, Glenmessan! - Sweet were thy herbs and bright thy greens, - Lulled by the falling stream we slept, - On Inver's banks in Glenmessan. - - "Gleneikh, bright Gleneikh! - Where my dwelling first was fixed, - The woods smiled when the rising sun - Shoots yellow arrows on Gleneikh. - - "Glenarkhon, dear Glenarkhon! - Fair is the vale below high Dromkhon. - Sportive were my days with Naesa, - In the blooming vales of Glenarkhon. - - "Glendarua, O Glendarua! - To me were thy people dear. - The birds sang sweetly on the bending boughs - That shaded over Glendarua. - - "Dear to me is that spreading shore; - Dear the sandy-margined streams. - Never would I have forsaken them, - Had I not come with Naesa." - -The events celebrated in these manuscript songs, now mustily rusting -in the Dublin University collection, occurred during the first -century, A. C. Deardra was the daughter of Macdoil, the historian of -Ulla (Ulster); Concovar being at that time king. The plot may be -briefly described: - - 1. At the birth of Deardra it is foretold that she shall be the - cause of many calamities; but the king, unappalled by omens and - predictions, causes her to be taken from Macdoil and reared under - persons whom he appoints; proposing to make her queen of Ulla. - - 2. The beautiful Deardra conceives a passion for Naesa, one of the - sons of Usna; and, with the assistance of his brothers, Ainli and - Ardan, elopes with him to Alban, (Scotland,) in the western part of - which Naesa has large estates. - - 3. A messenger arrives from Concovar conveying the king's - solicitation that they return to Ulla, and bearing tokens of the - king's forgiveness to Naesa and Deardra. - - 4. Disregarding the forebodings of Deardra, the sons of Usna accept - the king's hospitality; and on the voyage Deardra sings the pathetic - farewell to Alban just quoted, as if foreboding the events which - follow. - - 5. As the vessel moors in the haven Deardra ceases to sing; but, - still foreboding ruin to Naesa, advises him to place himself under - the protection of Cuculiin, who has his residence at Dundalgan. - Naesa's confidence in the honor of Concovar, however, prevails; and - they proceed to Emana, the royal seat--Deardra foretelling their - fate both in conversation and in frequent prophetic song. - -{396} - - 6. They are received by Concovar with the semblance of kindness, and - placed in the castle of the Red Arm with guards to wait upon them; - while a body of mercenaries are sent to rescue Deardra and burn the - castle--the troops of Ulla having refused to imbrue their hands in - the blood of the heroes. - - 7. Naesa, Ainli, and Ardan effect their escape with Deardra; but, - being pursued, are overwhelmed by the king's mercenaries and slain. - Deardra sings the following lament, calling to mind every - circumstance which endeared her to Naesa, and reflecting with - self-tormenting ingenuity upon those transient interruptions which, - occasioning uneasiness at the moment, now serve to aggravate her - unavailing sorrow: - - "Farewell for ever, fair coasts of Alban; - Your bays and vales shall no more delight me. - There oft from hills with Usna's sons, - I viewed the hunt below. - - "The lords of Alban met in banquet. - There were the valiant sons of Usna: - And Naesa gave a secret kiss - To the fairest daughter of Dundron. - - "He sent her a bind from the hill, - And a fawn beside it running; - He left the hosts of Inverness, - And turned aside to her palace. - - "My soul was drunk with madness - When this they told me--told me - I set my boat upon the sea, - To sail away from Naesa. - - "Ainli and Ardan brave and faithful. - Valiantly pursued me, - And brought me bark again to land, - And back again to Naesa. - - "Then Naesa swore an oath to me; - And thrice he swore upon his arms. - That never would he cause me pain. - Until unto the grave they bore him. - - "The maid of Dundron swore an oath; - Thrice swore the maid of Dundron, - That long as Naesa dwelt on earth - No lover else should claim her. - - "Ah, did she hear this night. - That Naesa in his grave was laid, - High would be her voice of wailing, - But seven times fiercer shall be mine." - - 8. Standing by the grave of Naesa, Deardra concludes her - lamentations with the following funeral song and panegyric, which - having: sung, she springs into the grave and falls dead upon his - breast: - - "Long is the day to me: the sons of Usna are gone. - Their converse was sweet; - But as raindrops fall my tears. - They were as the lions on the hills of Emana. - - "To the damsels of Breaton were the dear. - As hawks from the mountain they darted on the foe. - The brave knelt before them, - And nobles did them honor. - - "Never did they yield in battle. - Ah! woe is me that they are gone. - Sons of the daughter of Caifa. - A host were ye in the wars of Cualna. - - "By careful Aifa were they reared. - The countries round paid them tribute. - Bursting like a flood in battle, - Fought the valiant youths of Sgatha - - "Uatha taught them in their youth. - The heroes were valiant in fight. - Renowed sons of Usna, - I weep, for ye have left me. - - "Dark-brown were their eyebrows; - Their eyes were fires beneath; - And their faces were as embers-- - As embers ruddy with flame. - - "Their legs as the down of the swan-- - Light and active were their limbs; - Soft and gentle were their hands, - And their arms were fair and manly. - - "King of Ulla, king of Ulla! - I left thy love for Naesa. - My days are few after him. - His funeral honors are song. - - "Not long shall I survive my love; - Think not so king of Ulla. - Naesa, Ainli, and Ardan, - I desire not life when you are gone. - - "Life hath no joy. - My days are already too many. - Delight of my soul, - A shower of tears shall fall upon your grave. - - "Ye men that dig their grave. - Dig it wide and dig it deep. - I will rest on the breast of my love - My sighs shall resound from his tomb. - - "Oft were their shields their pillow, - And oft they slept upon their spears: - Lay their strong swords beside them, - And their shields beneath their heads. - - "Their dogs and hawks,-- - Who will now attend them? - The hunters are no more on the hills; - The valiant youths of Connai Cairni. - - "My heart, it groans--it groans. - When I see the collars of their hounds. - Oft did I feed them. - But I weep when they are near. - - "We were alone in the waste. - We were alone in the woodlands; - But I knew no loneliness, - Till they dug thy grave. - - "My sight begins to fail. - When I view thy grave, my Naesa. - My soul hastes to depart: - And my voice of wailing to be hushed." - -Thus ends one of the most pathetically beautiful tales, founded upon -original history, which the epico-poetic annals of any people afford. -It is far superior to any single poem amid the Svethico-Gothic remains -rendered famous by the masterly translations of Longfellow. In fact, -to him who shall {397} happily combine the requisite anthological -learning with the requisite skill as a translator, no literary -Golconda, more prolific in the rubies and scintillant glories of -poesy, could be unlocked, except with the Aladdin-key of almost -angelic invention, than is afforded in the mouldering, mildewed, and -musty masses of manuscript, in queer Celtic letters, which have been -permitted to rot for ages in the library of Dublin University. Had -they been English, they would have been magazinistically vaunted as -masterpieces in the piquant pages of "Blackwood," or amid e dreary -sermonoids of the "Westminster." Being Celtic, they are, so being, -neglected. - -Albeit, there are to be Longfellows and Tennysons hereafter who shall -be cosmopolitan, and neither exclusively English, exclusively -American, nor exclusively Japanese; and men of learning there are to -be hereafter, who shall be citizens of the world (in a literary -sense), and not especially citizens of England, or of France, or of -America, who will seek for the beautiful in strange places beyond the -narrow limits of London, Paris, or New-York. - -Meantime, it has been the object of this paper to play the lamp to the -gem-seeking Aladdin--suggesting that something may be done, rather -than doing it. Hence what has been said and what might have been more -cleverly and elaborately said, has here been curtly said upon the -subject of Celtic anthology--using the term in a sense that suited the -purposes and scope of this paper. - ----------- - -ORIGINAL - - - "QUARE TRISTIS ES ANIMA MEA, - ET QUARE CONTURBAS ME?" - - - Why, O my soul! art thou, ofttimes, - So faint and sad? - Life shows to thee its brightest side; - Why not be glad? - - Is not the earth most beautiful, - What wouldst have more? - Filled is thy cup with life's best gifts - And running o'er. - - And all the grandeur and the grace - Of noble art-- - Do they not beautify thy life, - And cheer thy heart? - - And love, most heavenly gift of all-- - Is it not thine? - Yes, truly; yet I cannot say - Content is mine. - - I feel a sadness of the soul, - A weariness, - A constant longing of the heart; - What meaneth this? - -{398} - - I know that once, when journeying far, - I felt like this, - But then they only called my grief - A home-sickness. - - And so, with every gift of God, - With nought amiss, - My heart is longing, longing still; - What meaneth this? - - Why is it that my soul is sad, - What meaneth this? - It panteth after thee, O God! - Thou art its bliss. - ------- - -From the Reader. - -THE LAKE DWELLINGS. [Footnote 142] - - [Footnote 142: The Lake Dwellings of Switzerland and other Parts of - Europe. By Dr. Ferdinand Keller, President of the Antiquarian - Association of Zurich. Translated and arranged by John Edward Lee, - F.S.A., F.G.S. (London: Longmans.)] - - -Since 1854, when Dr. Keller published his first report on -pile-dwellings in Lake Zurich, he, and other Swiss archaeologists -stimulated by his example and guided by his counsel, have zealously -explored many other Swiss lakes, and have succeeded in discovering -more than two hundred similar settlements, and in collecting tens of -thousands of relics of the people who during many centuries occupied -them. Six reports on the "wonderful Pfahlbauten" have been published -by Dr. Keller; but, being written in German, they are less known than -the compilation in French by Fred. Troyon, who has absorbed Dr. -Keller's facts, and mingling them with fancies of his own, has given a -sensational character to his work. Excellent notices have, however, -appeared, written by Wylie, Lubbock, Lyell, and others, and -translations of some original memoirs have been printed in the -Smithsonian Reports. Stripped though the subject be, in some degree, -of novelty, the present translation of Dr. Keller's work is not the -less welcome; it is indeed right, that he who gave the first -exposition of these structures should tell the story of their -discovery, and picture forth the state of society which their remains -reveal. In this work we have a general description of the structure of -these dwellings; notices of the various settlements which have been -discovered, with an account of others on the Italian side of the Alps, -and of the Crannoges in Ireland and Scotland; chapters on the remains -of plants, by Dr. Heer, and of animals, by Professor Ruetimeter; and -ninety-nine plates and several woodcuts give graphic, but sometimes -rough drawings of the dwellings, and of the various objects found in -them. As a storehouse of facts, illustrating the character and -progress of an ancient people, this work is invaluable; it will aid -other archaeologists in their researches; and we think, too, that the -cautious and philosophical manner in which Dr. Keller reasons from his -facts will help to correct some hasty and fanciful speculations. - -{399} - -For the construction of pile-dwellings, Swiss lakes afford favorable -sites, as along the shores there is generally a considerable breadth -of shallow water. Some pleasant bay, protected by well-wooded hills, -abounding in game, was selected for such settlements; and at a little -distance from the land piles of various kinds of would, generally -entire stems with with their bark on, but sometimes split, and from -fifteen to thirty feet in links and three to nine inches in diameter, -were driven into the bottom all the late, the heads of the piles -rising from two to four feet above the water. At the Wangen settlement -there were 40,000 piles, but all may not have been driven down at the -same period. Across this substructure other stems of trees ten of -twelve feet long were laid, and fastened by wooden pegs; and above -them split boards were similarly fastened, for me a solid, even -platform, which was covered by a bed of mud or loam. The platform of a -few, which Dr. Keller calls _fascine dwellings_, was supported not on -piles, but on layers of sticks and small stems built up from the -bottom of the lake, being similar to some of the Scottish Crannoges. -The boards and planks had been imperfectly fitted together, for -numerous objects which had slipped through the chinks of the floor are -scattered over the lake bottom; but quantities of broken implements, -pottery, and animal and vegetable refuse, heaped together on -particular spots, show that spaces had been left in the platform, -through which rubbish had been thrown into the water, thus for me -heaps analogous to the kitchen-middings of Denmark. Huts were erected -on the platform, having a framework of piles and stakes, with waddle -or hurdlework of small branches woven between the upright piles, and -covered over with a thickness of from two to three inches of loam or -clay, evidence of which has been found in pieces of half-burnt day -retaining the impression of the wattle-work. As some pieces have a -curve, Troyon concluded that the huts were circular, and from nine to -twelve feet in diameter; but Dr. Keller shows that the curve had -probably been produced by the great heat to which the clay covering -was exposed before it fell into the water, while also pieces of -different curves are found promiscuously on the same spot with others -perfectly flat, no piece indeed exceeding twelve inches across. It is -now pretty certain that most, if not all the huts, were rectangular; -those at Robenhausen and Niederwyl were found to be twenty-seven feet -by twenty-two feet. They stood close to but apart from each other, and -were thatched with straw and reeds. From the almost universal -prevalence of clay weights for weaving, it may be inferred that every -one was furnished with a loom. A narrow platform or bridge resting on -piles, of which a few remains have been found, connected these -dwellings with the land. Room enough there was in and around these -huts for all the operations of daily life, as well as for the -manufacture of every implement used in household economy; and in -short, this was the place where every craft or art known to the -settlers was brought into play. Even domestic animals were stalled on -the platform, as at Robenhausen the remains of the litter of these -animals has been found. - -Such sites for dwellings are not unknown to history. Hippocrates -describes similar habitations on the stagnant, quiet-flowing river -Phasis in Armenia, and Herodotus others on Lake Prasias in Thrace. The -Crannoges in Ireland were inhabited as recently as 1645, but rather as -places of refuge; and at the present time there are analogous -structures in the Eastern Archipelago. Security against the attack of -enemies seems to have been the chief reason of selecting such peculiar -sites for dwellings, at a period when society was in a divided state, -{400} and when war of tribe against tribe was frequent. Similar -conditions were indicated by the numerous hill-forts of the ancient -Britons, and even by the pele towers of the border-land in mediaeval -times. From the great labor bestowed on the pile structures, and the -vast number of instruments of all kinds found in the "relic bed" of -the lakes, it is clear that they had not been temporary places of -refuge, but permanent habitations, which had been occupied during many -generations; and the relics, scattered abundantly beneath these -pile-dwellings, furnish important evidence relating to different eras -of civilization. - -In a considerable number of these dwellings--thirty at least--no trace -of metal has been discovered, the instruments having been made of -stone, bone, and wood; in a much larger number bronze, without a trace -of iron, has been found; and in a few, it is clear that iron has been -extensively used. The three ages of stone, bronze, and iron are here -established by better evidence than from any other groups of remains; -for the great number and variety of relics which these lake -habitations have yielded, give a broad basis for true inductive -reasoning on prehistoric conditions. Yet there is evidently no sudden -break in these periods, such as would prove that superior and -conquering races had introduced higher civilization. "It is very -certain that, at least in Switzerland," says Dr. Keller, "there was no -hard line of demarcation between the three periods, but that the new -materials were spread abroad like any other article of trade, and that -the more useful tools gradually superseded those of less value." We -have here, therefore, _continuity_ and _progress_; and it may be -reasonably inferred, that the advance in art from the use of stone to -that of bronze, and then to iron, was made by the same race who -originally took up their abode on these lakes; for during the long -time the pile habitations were occupied, extending over several -thousands of years, there was no essential change in the structure of -the dwellings or in the mode of life. Doubtless, when these -lake-dwellers first arrived in Switzerland, they had the germs of -civilization; they had domestic animals from the first, such as sheep, -though the flesh of wild animals was more used for food; they could -spin, weave, and make cordage from beast or vegetable fibre, rude -pottery they could make, some of which was even painted with graphite -and rubble; fishers they were, using nets and hooks made of bone; from -serpentine, flint, horns and bones they made their weapons and tools; -they had brought with them cereals, and cultivated the soil with very -inefficient instruments made of stag's horns and crooked branches of -trees, and raised wheat and and barley, which they ground by mills of -the primitive form, consisting of a round stone as a corn-crusher, and -a mealing-stone with a hollow in which the corn was bruised. The stone -weapons and implements are similar to those of Denmark; but several -show in an interesting manner how the stone celts or chisels, which -were small, from one to eight inches in length, were hafted. Some were -first inserted into a piece of stag's horn, and then set in a shaft or -club; others were inserted into clefts of branches and fastened by -cord and asphalt. During this early age, it was the most important of -all instruments, and was used for various purposes; fixed at the end -of a pole, it was a lance; set into wood, it was a war-club or -domestic axe; placed in horn, it was the poor man's knife; it served -to skin animals, to cut flesh and hides, and to make all instruments -of horn and wood. - -The evidences of commercial intercourse with other people are but -slight; but a bluish glass bead, in a stone age dwelling on the little -reedy or "moor-lake" of Wauwyl, may show some connection with the -Egyptians or Phoenicians; and knives, arrow-heads, and other -implements, made of flints, not found in Switzerland, but derived from -distant parts of France and Germany, {401} may indicate a barter trade -with the north and west. Possibly, too, Nephrite, of which the most -valuable celts were made, and which does not occur in Europe, but in -Egypt, China, and other parts of Asia, may point to intercourse with -the east, unless we suppose the Nephrite implements had been brought -from the east by the lake-dwellers, when they first settled in -Switzerland. - -Not a few of the stone-age dwellings had been burnt by accident or by -an enemy, and wore not rebuilt; but others had a continued existence -through both the stone and bronze periods; and hence we see -settlements in a transitional state, and trace a gradual advance in -civilization. At Meilen, where a vast number of stone relics have been -found, there appear one bronze armilla and one bronze celt; but at -Robenhausen we probably see the commencement of the metallurgic art, -for amid a profusion of stone relics belonging to three different -platforms, crucibles have been found, with lumps of melted bronze, and -one lump of pure unmelted copper. It may be that the lake-dwellers -became first acquainted with metal through traders; but, as Dr. Keller -remarks, "May we not venture to assume that the colonists, by their -intercourse with strangers who were acquainted with the nature of -metals, were incited to search their country for copper ore, and try -to melt and cast it? Copper ore is found on the south side of -Muertschenstock, on the Lake of Wallenstadt." The age which was dawning -blends itself with the age which was setting; for we find that the new -instruments of bronze were copies of the old forms in stone. Even the -bronze ornaments were but improved copies of analogous objects in own, -showing indeed the sameness of race in both periods, and the -similarity of their tastes and customs. The gradual introduction of -metal gave to the lake-dwellers new powers, which enabled them to -improve their condition; dwellings were now erected in deeper water; -larger piles were used, and better sharpened and squared, fastened -with cross beams, and strengthened by stones heaped up; pottery was -better made, more elegant in form, and sometimes painted black or red, -or ornamented with tin-foil plates. The bronze implements which had -been made by native artisans were of excellent workmanship and form, -especially the spear and javelin-heads, which prove great proficiency -in casting. The swords with short handles and curved knives and -armillae resemble those which have been found in Denmark; but we -observe none of the graceful leaf-shaped swords which occur in Britain -and Ireland. Varied, peculiar, and sometimes beautiful is the -ornamentation of the period, consisting of zigzag lines, points, -triangles, spiral and lozenge forms. - -A transitional state there was, too, between the bronze and the iron -periods. Morges settlement on Lake Geneva may be regarded of the -bronze age; for not only have one hundred and thirty bronze objects -been found there, but also moulds for casting bronze winged celts, -showing that such implements had been made on the spot; yet here there -occurs an iron poniard. But in the lake-dwelling of Marin, one of the -lost occupied, the number of iron objects is surprisingly great, -exhibiting to view weapons, agricultural and domestic implements, and -ornaments made of iron, which in the older dwellings had been made of -stone or bone or bronze. Of these iron relics the most remarkable are -the swords, of which fifty and more have been found at Marin, some -with and others without sheaths, all, with one exception, of iron, and -every one being peculiarly yet differently ornamented. These swords -are masterpieces of the smith's art, and were probably produced at -large manufactories, when there were division of labor and every -practical appliance, for some of them bear upon them makers' marks. -They are, however, the product of Celtic art, and correspond in form -and ornamentation with those of the later Celtic period of northern -nations; and {402} this view is confirmed by the discovery of similar -swords in the ditches of the fortress of Alesia, where a conflict had -taken place between the Romans and Helvetians when it was besieged by -Caesar. Less striking to the eye, however, is the connection between -the productions of the bronze and of the iron age; but our author -remarks: - - "There are, indeed, some forms of implements which remind us of the - previous age. But, on the whole, when the Marin objects were made, - iron had taken full possession of the field, and all the implements, - including ornaments, which could be made out of iron, a metal both - firmer and more pliable, were manufactured out of this material. But - the form of these specimens had in some measure undergone a change, - for the working of iron is a totally different matter from that of - bronze; and the hammer of the smith and the moulds of the founder - cannot produce the same forms. The remains of the settlements of - pure stone, bronze, and iron ages indicate, therefore, epochs of - civilization among the inhabitants, separated by long intervals, - while the end for which the lake-dwellings were erected--namely, the - security of person and property--and their construction remained the - same." - -Of the religion of the lake-dwellers there is no certain information; -but some relics made of stone and pottery, somewhat crescent-shaped, -found in bronze-age settlements, Dr. Keller thinks may be -representative of the crescent moon, and, therefore, probably objects -of worship. According to Pliny, the Druids gathered the mistletoe with -great solemnity on the sixth day of the moon; and hence it is inferred -that the moon images were sacred emblems, having power to avert and -cure diseases. This, however, is but a fancy, for it does not appear -from Caesar that the Celts worshipped the heavenly bodies. - -The fauna and flora of the lake-dwellings afford interesting -information to naturalists, and throw some light on the questions as -to the origin, the development, and distribution of species. During -the stone age, the _bos primigenius_ and _bos bison_ were abundant, -but they disappear after the introduction of metallic weapons; the -former is now only found on the marshes of the North Sea. A very large -ox, with great semilunar horns, bent forward from the frontal plane -(_bos trochoceros_), and which had been contemporaneous with the -mammoth and hippopotamus, appears to have been domesticated at Concise -and Chevreaux. It is now extinct; but the marsh cow (bos brachyceros), -which was most abundant in the stone age, has continued to exist to -the present time, and now occupies the mountainous parts of -Switzerland and its wild mountain valleys. In the earlier periods, -several races of swine ran wild, which were subsequently domesticated. -The fox was abundantly eaten; but the hare was not used for food, even -the traces of its existence are few; neither domestic false, nor rats, -nor mice appear. Wild animals predominate in the stone age, but they -gave way in subsequent period. to domestic animals. - -The seeds and other parts of plants lying in the lake mud, or buried -under several feet of peat, have been so well preserved, that their -characters can be determined. The small-grained six-rowed barley and -the small lake-dwelling wheat (_triticum vulgare antiquorum_) were, -from the earliest period, the most generally cultivated of farinaceous -seeds; and, notwithstanding the rudeness of the husbandry implements, -the quality of the produce was apparently equal to that of modern -times; the spelt (_triticum spelta_), now one of the most important -cereals of Switzerland, did not appear till the bronze age; while rye -was entirely unknown, thus showing a connection with the countries of -the Mediterranean, the lake colonists having the same cereals as the -Egyptians. Cakes of unleavened bread have been found, made of millet -and wheat, which had been baked on the hearthstone in the dwellings. -Barley seems to have been used boiled or parched; but as corn-crushers -and mealing-stones have been found in most of the settlements, grain -had been extensively used for food The latest settlement, dating -backward {403} not less than 2,000 years, and the older going some -3,000 years and more further backward still, it is interesting to -observe what change this long lapse of time produced on plants: - - "The dense, compact wheat and the close, six-rowed barley have - undergone no perceptible change, yet it must be confessed that most - of them agree with no recent forms sufficiently to allow of their - being classed together. The small Celtic beans, the peas, the small - lake-dwelling barley, the Egyptian and small lake-dwelling wheat, - and the two-rowed wheat, or _emmer_, form peculiar and apparently - extinct races; they are distinguished for the most part from the - modern cultivated kinds by smaller seeds. Man has, therefore, in - course of time produced sorts which give a more abundant yield, and - these have gradually supplanted the old varieties." - -With wild plants the case is different: - - "The flora of the lake-dwellings announces to us that all the plants - which come in contact with man become changed up to a certain point, - and man participates in the great transformations of nature, while - the wild plants, which surround us at the present day, still grow in - the same forms as they did three or four thousand years ago, and do - not exhibit the slightest change." - -The final abandonment of these lake-dwellings, about the beginning of -the Christian era, would result from an improved civilization and a -more united and orderly state of society; but how long before that -time they had been occupied has not yet been definitely determined; -our chronology is still relative rather than absolute. Peat has -accumulated over some settlements, but as its rate of growth varies -under different conditions, we are only told by it that the stone-age -dwellings lasted many centuries. At Robenhausen peat moor, there are -remains of three settlements of the stone age, one over the other; two -of which had been destroyed by fire, and the last had been abandoned, -probably on account of the increase of peat. Between the first and -second settlement there are three feet of peat and one foot of other -deposit, both containing relics; between the second and third -settlements the deposits are the same in character and sickness, and -over the last dwelling are two feet of peat and half-a-foot of mould; -so that during the stone age there had been a slow growth of eight -feet of peat, and the deposit of three and a half feet of other -matter. Other means have been used to obtain more definite results; -the most remarkable of which is that of Professor Morlot, who from an -examination of a cone of gravel and alluvium, connected with deposits -of the stone, bronze, Roman, and recent periods, and gradually built -up by the torrent of Teniere where it falls into Lake Geneva, -concludes that the age of bronze has an antiquity of from 3,000 to -4,000 years, and that of stone from 5,000 to 7,000 years--no very -startling estimate, when we remember the high antiquity which has been -assigned to the drift and cave men. - -Of the physical characters of the lake-dwellers, Dr. Keller gives us -little information; that they had small hands is probable from the -shortness of their sword-handles. Few human bones, and those chiefly -of children, have been found. No crania of the stone age have been -seen, but a few out of the bronze period, one of which from Meilen -differs little from the skulls of the existing Swiss. It is, -therefore, mainly from the relics found that we can form any guess as -to the origin and relationship of the lake-dwellers, and by those it -is shown that they belonged to the very people who at the same time -lived on the mainland. Dr. Keller concludes "that the builders of the -lake-dwellings were a branch of the Celtic population of Switzerland, -but that the earlier settlements belong to the pre-historic period, -and had already fallen into decay before the Celts took their place in -the history of Europe." - -The history of the lake-dwellers opens a hopeful prospect for those -races who are now in a degraded condition; for here they start with a -low degree of civilization, and yet there is a gradual rise upward to -that point where great skill was reached {404} in metallurgic and -other arts; but even this was only a step onward to that high -cultivation of intellect and morals among their descendants the Swiss -people. Why should not other races pass through the same stages, -especially when influenced by intercourse with modern civilized -nations? - --------- - -ORIGINAL - - -PEA-BLOSSOM. - - - I hear a faltering footstep - Crossing the matted floor, - And a little knock low down - On the panels of the door. - A small hand is uplifted - To raise the iron latch, - And entrance claimed in a silvery tone - No nightingale could match. - - Away with books and papers! - Enter, my fairy bright; - Sweep the dim cobwebs from my brain, - And let in air and light. - Close the dull portals of history, - Unclasp that magic door - That leads to the jewelled caverns - Of fiction and fairy lore: - The legend of Cinderella, - Of knights and maidens small. - Of princely frogs and pigmy dogs. - And my lady's golden ball. - - Good-night, my white-robed enchantress. - My blue-sashed, sunny-haired muse; - Perfection thou art, from that topmost curl - To the tips of thy dainty shoes. - Watch her well, angel-guardian! - Pray for her, crowned saint. - That when the time for the cross shall come, - Her spirit grow not faint; - That she may go to her last repose - With a heart unspotted by sin-- - That this face of lustrous purity - May mirror the soul within. - --------- - -{405} - - -ORIGINAL - - - -A MONTH AT A FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. - -BY AN OLD BACHELOR. - - -I always had a great veneration for the disciples of Esculapius, but -never so as when my considerate doctor decided that a sea voyage was -absolutely necessary for my my health. Being unblessed by those sweet -cares, a wife and children, I determined to show my obedience to his -commands, and at the same time to ratify my long-cherished plan of -visiting the old world. Be reassured, readers, I have no intention of -harrowing your gentle spirits by a description of sea-sickness, nor of -wearying you with my experiences at custom-house or railroad depot, -but desire to transport you at once to the good little watering place -of V----, which had been recommended to me as the very place for the -exorcising of that tyrant devil, dyspepsia. - -It was a lovely evening in July that I took a carriage from D----, for -the said watering-place, for railroads have not as yet invaded the -primitive simplicity of the village; hotels have, however, and much to -my satisfaction I found myself, after a charming hour's drive, seated -in a cozy room with an excellent dinner before me. My Hostess I soon -discovered to be quite a character; a raw-boned, fast-talking -Frenchwoman, with a suspicious darkness on her upper lip. When I had -finished my repast, this worthy dame informed me that it was the -custom of all good "Seigneurs" to repair to the beach after dinner; so -giving me my hat and cane, she showed me the way, and I in all -obedience departed. - -The moon was then full, and cast a deliciously deceptive light on all -around; even the wretched huts wherein the French peasantry -contentedly huddle, mellowed by its light, looked picturesque and -quaint. Looking around, I found that the village nestled between two -hills, and that I was at the moment in the principal street, which -cuts it in two, and from which smaller streets diverge in all -directions. Tempted by the quiet of the evening I turned from the main -road, and soon found myself in one of the prettiest winding lanes -imaginable; at that quiet hour, with the moonlight streaming through -the interlacing trees, I know of nothing more charming than a walk -along the winding paths which form a network around the village; what -in the day time might be simply pretty, borrowed from the lovely night -a charm and mystery that was irresistible; and so I wandered on, a -luxurious feeling, half melancholic, half pleasurable, soothing my -spirit, until I was abruptly reminded that all things sweet in this -life are short, by finding myself at the end of my pretty lane, and -once more landed in the village street. Here my landlady's admonition -was brought to my mind, by seeing several parties of red-hooded, -red-cloaked personages all going one way; these were evidently some of -the good bathers, and them I followed. In a few minutes I found myself -in quite a small crowd of strangers, who made the beach look like a -gaden of poppies. I, who had formed my ideas of watering-places from -Newport and Long Branch, looked in amazement at this beach, which is -nothing more or less than a break in the high white cliffs, which -stretch on either side at far at the eye can {406} reach; however, -though small, it seemed convenient, and I looked at the rippling water -in eager anticipation of the morrow's bath. Seating myself on the -stones, which form a poor substitute for the firm white sand of -Newport, I proceed as is my custom, to observe my companions, and from -their trifling actions to form an opinion of their different natures. -A number of groups attracted my attention, but as I merely discovered -that the ladies of the parties were industriously occupied in trying -to out-babble--talk it hardly was--each other, and that the men -carelessly reclined near them smoking, in utter despair of otherwise -making use of their mouths, I was beginning to think that there was -not much food for my observations, when my attention was suddenly -arrested by the familiar sound of a few English words. Turning around, -I saw at a few steps from me a party which I had not yet observed. The -centre figure of this new picture at once arrested my attention; -evidently this lady considered herself of great importance, for she -was laying down the law to the various persons around her, with a -volubility that a French woman only can attain. Her dress was an -extraordinary caricature of rural finery; it was a pity, I thought, -that the face under that peculiarly youthful, flower-ornamented hat, -should be that of a plain woman of fifty. Her court was principally -composed of various feeble imitations of herself, but my attention was -soon entirely occupied by two figures at the extreme verge of the -group, a young lady and a gentleman; the young lady seemed to be -giving an English lesson to her listless companion, who appeared -almost too indolent to turn around in admiration of the girl's -sprightliness; a second glance convinced me that I was near one of my -own countrywomen; the delicate profile, fragile form, and rather -nervous manner could belong to none but an American. My interest was -now excited to the highest pitch, for when an ocean rolls between a -man and his country, all that reminds him of that country has an -irresistible charm, especially when that something happens to be a -pretty girl. But my observations were cut short, for the whole party -arose a few minutes after, and left the beach. I soon followed, and -learned from my voluble landlady that I had been observing -fellow-boarders; that the strangely attired lady was the most -important personage of V---- that she patronized sea-bathing every -summer, and that she rejoiced in the name of Madame la Baronne d'Agri. -The handsome young monsieur with the beard, proved to be her nephew, -and the "Charmante Americaine" was with with her mother, an invalid -for whom sea air had been ordered. Then followed a long description of -the other members of the party, a Mr. and Mrs. Poirier and their -daughter, by young artist and several other personages, to which -description I fear I was but indifferently attentive. - -Next morning it rained--rain forming a part of nearly ever day's -programme, as I afterward discovered. Not yet having become hardened -to the fact, I was dolefully looking from the hotel door, vainly -endeavoring to discover a patch of blue sky, when I was joined by -Madame la Baronne's nephew. Remarks on the weather were followed by a -polite offer of a cigar, whose genial fragrance soon induced a more -interesting conversation. A few chance words brought out the fact that -my young companion was quite an amateur chemist, and as, in my college -days, chemistry had been a sort of passion with me, we were soon -launched in an animated discussion. I was much interested to hear what -rapid strides the French had recently taken in that and other positive -sciences. From chemistry we passed to politics, philosophy, and -finally religion. While listening to this young man's clear, strong -exposition of his sentiments on these various subjects, I found myself -wondering at this, to me, new, new phase of the French character, as -unlike the light, {407} frivolous, gay-hearted Frenchman of the novel -and stage, as possible. I must say it pleased me even less; the -down-right scepticism, the well-turned sophisms, the extreme -materialism, were easily traced to the teachings of Voltaire. I am -well pleased to think that this young man is the representative of but -a comparatively small class, but unfortunately that class is composed -of much of the brain of the country, and consequently carries with it -great influence. On all American questions M. Louis d'Agri (for so the -young man was called) showed a curious interest; of our great war his -opinion had been biassed by Southern influence--not unnaturally, since -his only American associates had been from that portion of our -country; these associates had also given him their ideas on the -subject of slavery, but a few facts, put in the simple, plain way -which seemed best to suit his turn of mind, convinced him, or seemed -to convince him, that, in that particular at least, his judgment was -in error. He asked many questions on the present state of affairs in -our country, of the possible future of the South, of the treatment of -Jefferson Davis, etc., etc., all of which I answered apparently to his -satisfaction. Indeed, not only in his case, but in many others, I have -noticed that there is a great curiosity felt about everything -American; to tell the truth, I think that the war brought to their -minds that a vast and important country really does exist on the other -side of the broad ocean, a fact of which before they were but dimly -conscious. Even now, the strange ignorance of our customs, people, and -especially our geography, even among the educated classes, would bring -forth the astonishment and indignation of any American fifth-form -school-boy. The French are singularly devoid of our go-ahead qualities -in everything; they travel but little, and being perfectly convinced -that France is the only country of any real importance on the globe, -trouble themselves but little about any other, especially should that -other be separated from them by an ocean. - -From American politics we turned to those of France, a subject which -brought out the young man's most bitter anathemas; dissatisfied with -the form of government, with the people, and especially with the -emperor, he expressed himself with much more freedom than any other -Frenchman I had yet conversed with. Most of them answer any objections -with a shrug of the shoulders, and a furtive glance about them; they -often praise the emperor for the good he has done their beloved Paris, -but with an air which says: "I like not the man, but admire his -sagacity." Very few Americans, however, could have expressed more -republican, more anti-aristocratic sentiments than M. d'Agri, who, as -I learned afterward, is the last direct representative of a decayed -but noble house. On all religious topics he proved to be an utter -sceptic, avowedly believing in nothing, and regarding as either knaves -or dupes all those who did not stoop to his own degrading materialism: -singular that a mind so clear should be so perverted. We had merely -broached the last subject, when the ladies of the party, enticed by -the sun which was beginning to brighten the sky, descended, and -proposed going down to bathe. M. d'Agri, advancing toward the young -lady I had observed the night before, said: - -"_Mees Fannee_, I have just been having an interesting conversation -with a countryman of yours." - -The young lady's face brightened, and with a frankness that is -certainly a charm peculiar to American girls, extended her hand, -saying in English: - -"Is it possible! Americans in a foreign land can scarcely be -strangers!" and so, from that moment, I was considered as one of the -party. Mrs. Hayne, the invalid mother, I found belonged to that rather -extensive class of ladies who, from having some slight {408} nervous -ailment, nurse and pet it till it grows to be a real malady, which -makes them fretful, wrinkled and miserable. As we walked to the beach -I was made the honored recipient of the good lady's woes, and being a -tolerable listener was immediately taken into her favor. - -We found the beach already lively with the indefatigable bathers, who -seize on all tolerably sunshiny days to search for health in the -luxurious water. Several groups of people, who either had bathed or -were going to bathe later, were seated on the stones, watching with -interest the extraordinary looking figures that emerged from the long -row of cabins. Notwithstanding my eagerness for a good swim, I stood -for nearly half an hour watching also; many of the ladies who went -into their cabins majestic in width of skirt and flowing drapery, -emerged from them reduced to a mere ghost of their former grandeur. To -all whom it may concern, I give it as my decided opinion, that -oil-silk caps and scant bathing dresses are generally not becoming, -and that a young man must be of a peculiarly susceptible disposition -to become enamored of these sea-nymphs. - -One thing let me observe, there is a regard for personal safety here -of which we are too devoid. I noticed in the water two black-clothed -individuals, whose only business seemed to be to exercise those ladies -and children who did not swim, so that they might not catch cold; to -give lessons to beginners in the noble art of swimming, and to have an -eye to the safety of the bathers generally. When the bath is over, the -well-cared-for person is well wrapped up and hurried to the cabin, -where a hot foot-bath is in readiness; to this latter arrangement I -give my most cordial approval. - -As I turned around, after these various observations, intending in my -turn to appropriate one of the cabins, I was met by Madame d'Agri, -who, in an eccentric bathing-dress, was tripping down to the water. -Stopping me, she overwhelmed me with voluble patronage, assuring me -that her nephew had spoken of me in the highest terms, and that all -his friends were hers; and finally pointing to the largest cabin on -the batch, over which the family arms floated ostentatiously, informed -me that in that cabin they often retired from the vulgar herd, and -invited me, whenever I felt annoyed by the plebeians around me, to -join them, that a chair would always be at my disposal. Bowing my -thanks, I beat a hasty retreat, out of breath for very sympathy. - -After my bath, which I enjoyed as only veteran swimmers can enjoy it, -I sallied forth to verify or destroy the impressions my moonlight -stroll of the night before had given me. To some extent, at least, -they were destroyed; in the moonlight the low, thatched huts ---cottages they could scarcely be called--looked picturesque; in the -broad daylight they looked simply squalid; dirt and discomfort reigned -supreme. In many of these huts there seemed to be but one, unfloored, -wretched-looking room, serving as kitchen, bedroom, and parlor, to a -swarming family of dirty children, with their dirtier parents. Yet I -an told that many of these peasants, who are content to live in these -hovels year after year, and subsist on crabs, periwinkles, and such -trash, are often comparatively well off, some of them being in actual -receipt of rents amounting to ten and fifteen thousand francs a year; -but as their fathers live so do they live, and the natural consequence -is that they are an ill-favored, withered-looking set. I looked in -vain for a fresh, blooming girl, there seemed to be no age between -twelve and fifty; even the children looked withered, and the old -people were fairly bent double; yet they lived on, contented enough, -because dreaming of no other possible life, and enjoying the bustle of -an occasional fete with a zest which our more phlegmatic people would -disdain. While making these {409} reflections, I again found myself in -one of those charming lanes which had so pleased me the night before. -These, at least, were unspoiled by the misery around; what a blessing -that man cannot degrade nature, however he may degrade himself! By my -side murmured and gurgled the prettiest little brook, dignified here -by the name of "petite riviere," which I ever saw; clear as crystal, -swift and cold, it lends beauty and freshness to the whole country -around. An American farmer would laugh at the tiny stream scarcely -more than a mile in length, but an artist would revel in its beauty. - -And so, what with bathing, walking, driving, and chatting, time passed -quietly but pleasantly at the little village of V----. Meanwhile I -grew more and more interested in watching my companions, especially -two of them; I often found myself, while seeming to listen to the -Baronne's endless tales of her house's past grandeur, or to poor Mrs. -Mayne's recital of her troubles, closely observing my young -countrywoman and M. Louis d'Agri. Knowing as I did his ideas on -serious subjects, and feeling, too, the influence which a mind like -his, strong, cool, and calculating, could scarcely fail to exercise -over a sensitive and impulsive nature like hers, I found myself -growing more and more uneasy. Evidently accustomed to that sort of -flirting and freedom which is entirely prohibited to French girls, -Miss Hayne delighted in taking her lazy cavalier unawares, and -obliging him, with the most innocent air possible, to give up his dear -comfort--now to fetch a chair, again to hold her worsteds while she -wallowed them; a sort of treatment to which the gentleman was -evidently unaccustomed, and which, perhaps for the very novelty of the -thing, seemed to create not an unpleasant sensation. But, on the other -hand, he was fond of bringing out all her girlish and unsophisticated -ideas, and quietly leveling at them his battery of cold-hearted -sophisms, in order to destroy them one by one; at first she would -battle bravely, but an impulsive girl, untrained to analyze her own -convictions, has but a poor chance against a clear-headed, determined -man, and I noticed, with pain, that after every such discussion she -would seem uneasy and depressed. Then her opponent would lazily settle -himself in his chair, and allow his rival, the young artist, whom I -have strangely slighted heretofore, to bring his gallantries into -play. This young man was a sort of _protege_ of Madame d'Agri's, and -an entirely different type of man from Madame's nephew; all the arts -and graces, compliments and "petits soins" which the latter despised, -M. Dubois employed with true French art. He had from the first been -struck by Miss Hayne's pretty face, which he sedulously introduced -into all his sketches, paying her, whenever he was permitted, most -unremitting attentions; but I noticed that, though the native coquetry -which seemed to be this girl's principal fault, induced her to -encourage him, a word, or even a look from M. Louis d'Agri, would draw -her away from him to the piano, or oftener to the chess-board, where -she invariably received severe lectures on her neglect of the rules of -that noble game. You may, in the mean time, wonder what became of the -other young girls of the party, for there were several; they looked at -_Mees Fannee_, and her freedom of speech and action, in ill-concealed -horror, and remained near their mothers, chattering fast enough among -themselves, but scarcely venturing to answer "yes" or "no," when -addressed by their elders, especially if those elders happened to be -of the other sex. Indeed, M. Louis informed me in confidence that his -young countrywomen, "s'ennuyent bien, et ma foi! elles ennuyent -joliment les autres" before marriage, but after--bah! and an -expressive wave of the hand finished the sentence. - -One morning as I was lounging about, thinking with a certain degree of -_ennui_ that doing nothing was, after all, the hardest sort of work, I -was met {410} by Madame d'Agri, who accosted me with one of her -sweetest smiles. - -"O Monsieur! I was just wondering where I should find you--so -delighted, really so charmed--you must go with us, indeed you must! -now, no excuse; positively I will accept none; this time you must -allow my will to be law." - -"Madame, I am your most obedient; but in what particular am I required -to show my duty?" - -"Mon Dieu! and have I not told you? what a giddy thing I am; indeed my -poor husband" (whom I am sure she talked to death) "always said I was -giddy! We are going to C----, where there is to be a fete, and on the -way we can see see a chateau or two, not much, you know, but pretty -well for these degenerate times. Yes, we are all going--that is, no, -not all, for poor Madame Hayne has the migraine: dear! dear! how that -poor woman suffers! So the charming _Mees Fannee_ has accepted me as -her chaperone--interesting girl, is she not? Well, as I was saying, -Madame Hayne has the migraine, and Madame Poirier has the toothache -and will not that her daughter go without her; so the party will be -reduced to Madame Duchemin and her daughter, _Mees Fannee_, my nephew, -M. Dubois--has he not a charming talent--and myself; and you really -must join us--plenty of room I assure you, plenty of room. We shall -go in one of those vehicles they call an 'Americaine'--I fancy it got -its name from the hospitality with which it holds so many people--so -like your delightful country!" - -After some little delay occasioned by the ladies, who, as might be -expected, all forgot something at the last woman's, we started. It was -a fresh, breezy morning, just such a one as to excite high spirits, -and make one appreciate every trifling incident. The road was -excellent, indeed it made me blush for some of our own ill-made, -ill-kept roads; but of this I said nothing, for every American feels -bound, when abroad, to represent all concerning his country "couleur -de rose." The scenery was charming; nothing perhaps striking and grand -and vast, like the scenery we are most accustomed to, but a pleasing -alternation of hill and dale, with well-cultivated fields, villages -nestling in groves of fine trees, and above all occasional glimpses of -the blue ocean, to delight the eye and to give one a genial and -pleasing sense of the beautiful, without calling forth rapturous, and -let me add, fatiguing expressions of admiration. When we reached the -first chateau we all agreed that we were tired of the "Americaine," -and that it was absolutely necessary for our happiness to wander about -for half so hour or so. - -"M. d'Agri!" exclaimed Miss Hayne "you once promised me a sketch; here -is my album, and yonder chateau is the very subject for a drawing; so, -sir, please, to sit down and obey my command." - -"Obedience was never my principal virtue, _Mees Fannee_, and I feel -particularly lazy this morning." - -But a little imperious gesture, accompanied by a half smile, had their -effect, and the young man, perhaps too indolent to make further -objections, took the proffered album, and seeking the softest -grass-plot, sat down. I noticed that the artist, of whose arm the -Baronne had taken possession, looked around angrily, as though this -time M. d'Agri were in reality trespassing on his ground; but that -gentleman, himself quite a clever draughtsman, proceeded with most -imperturbable _sang froid_. The view he chose was really pretty. The -chateau, a large, irregular edifice, stood at the end of a noble -avenue of horse-chestnuts, whose broad leaves made a dense shade; the -country immediately around was charming; a little stream somewhat -resembling that of V----, only larger, was seen in the distance, -wandering through shrubbery and trees, until lost behind a hill which -rose more abruptly than most of the hills in this part of Normandy. On -the other hand, fields of wheat and oats extended for some {411} -distance, ended by a dark belting of woods; not far from us stood one -of those large wayside crosses so often seen in Catholic countries, -near which a shepherd was tending a flock of sheet. - -When the sketch was finished Madame d'Agri came up, and admiring it -loudly, thanked _Mees Fannee_, with many caresses, for having made -that lazy nephew of hers exert himself, and during the rest of the -ride showered even more than her ordinary share of condescensions on -the young girl. This brought to my mind various other trifling -circumstances, and I said within myself: "French titles are often -accompanied by French poverty; this girl is rich, and Madame la -Baronne knows it. I will watch." - -It was late in the afternoon when we reached the village; leaving our -tired horses at the inn, we walked to the market place. Here, a number -of booths, gay with flags and ribbons, stood temptingly displaying -their wares; most of them were filled with second-rate, but highly -colored china, for which unlucky wretches were induced to try their -chance, through the agency of a particularly dirty pack of cards. -Gambling on a small scale, for pieces of dusty gingerbread, seemed to -be another favorite mode of parting with sous. On the other side, the -beating of drums and clanging of cymbals announced that in a certain -tent the unsophisticated mind could be rejoiced by extra-ordinary -theatrical representations for the moderate sum of three sous; dust, -noise, and bustle reigned supreme, and the peasant's in their holiday -clothes seemed to be at the very height of enjoyment. Altogether it -was a gay and picturesque scene, but I was content to view it at a -respectful distance. Not so Madame d'Agri; she patronized the -peasants, who looked at her eccentric costume in bewildered -admiration; chucked the children under the chin, scolded the parents, -and in short acted out the "grande dame" of the fete to her heart's -content. As night approached, a large building in the centre of the -place, used, I believe, as a sort of flour depot on market days, was -lighted by Chinese lanterns and flaring tallow candles; here the youth -of both sexes enjoyed a rollicking, laugh-abounding dance, to the -sound of a cracked fiddle. Madame was just insisting on forming a -quadrille of her own, to encourage the peasantry, who, by the way, -seemed but little in need of encouragement, when her nephew -represented to her that we should not get home till late as it was, -and that the moon would not serve after a certain hour. Reluctantly -she yielded, and we settled ourselves once more in our "Americaine," -tired but pleased. The conversation was soon monopolized by M. d'Agri -and Miss Fanny, who, whatever might be their fatigue, always seemed to -have some point of dispute. - -After this excursion my vigilance increased, and my observations were -not pleasing; two or three little circumstances brought out in M. -d'Agri's character an insensibility to the pains and sufferings of -others, and a certain cruelty of thought and action, which, -notwithstanding the interest his fine intellect excited in me, brought -a feeling of distrust, and at times of dislike. - -One rather misty day, on which but few bathers ventured into the -water, I, feeling a need of exercise, determined to enjoy my customary -swim. The cabin I happened to take stood next to the large one of -Madame d'Agri. When I returned, dripping and glowing from my bath, I -noticed that the lady was seated in it sewing, and that her nephew was -lounging by her, reading the paper. As I was luxuriating in the -delicious feeling which I believe sea-bathing alone can give, I was -startled by a few words which came distinctly to my ears; so far the -conversation had not risen above an occasional, monotonous hum, but -suddenly I found myself in the awkward position of a forced listener, -as the thin wooden partition proved but a slight {412} obstruction to -the heightened voices of the speakers. - -"My good aunt, let us not broach that subject again." - -"My good nephew, I must and will; the welfare of our noble house--" - -"Fiddlesticks!" (this is a mild translation.) "Listen rather to this -account of the transactions at Vienna. - -"Louis, you are mad. If you will not be moved by higher -considerations, think at least of your own comfort--that comfort that -you love so well. You are poor, too high born to work, what then is -left you but a wealthy marriage?" - -"There you have touched my only vulnerable point, my comfort; but -then, my dear aunt, what becomes of your aristocratic scruples? would -you have the noble blood of the d'Agris contaminated?--" - -"But, Louis, Americans are not like others; it is true they do say her -father made his money in commerce, but then, I read somewhere or other -that Americans consider themselves all as sovereigns; besides, we want -money, and if it is said that you married a foreigner, people will not -trouble themselves about the origin of her money-sacks, as they would -if she were the daughter of a French roturier. Come, my boy, be -reasonable; remember that you are the last representative--" - -"I remember, rather, that champagne is dear, and so are cigars: what -do you want of me?" - -"I want you to marry this rich girl; no hard task--you seem to like -her well enough--" - -"My good aunt, everything in life bores me. When I was a child, my -playthings bored me; later, school and college proved almost -intolerable bores; my rank bores me; Paris bores me, the country still -more so; society is an insufferable bore, but above all, French girls -bore me. Now, this _Mees Fannee_ is original or seems to me so; she -stirs me a little with her quickness, her coquetry, and her _outre_ -ideas. But remember that has not yet lasted long; a few weeks more, -and she too probably, will bore me--and then for a whole lifetime . . . -good aunt, that is a consideration to make a man tremble!" - -"Nonsense, Louis; yon will have to marry some time or other." - -"Yes, I suppose so; but French girls are brought up with a becoming -sense of the submission due from wives to husbands; now, this girl -would prove rebellious I know, and, however democratic I may be in my -theory of the government of nations, my theory of the government of -the 'menage' is that of despotism. Besides, I have a remnant of -humanity left in me, and would not condemn that bright young creature -to the misery of being my wife; no, no, let her marry some Quixotical -American, who will place her on a high pedestal and pass his life in -admiring her and letting her henpeck him." - -I could not help smiling at this resume of an American husband's -chivalric devotion. - -"Very well, you will pass your life as you have commenced it; you will -deny yourself all sorts of luxuries because they are expensive; that -Rembrandt you covet so, will remain unpurchased; you want to travel, -but you will stay at home, because travelling costs money; and finally -you will marry some girl as poor as yourself, or with a dot, which she -will spend, together with more than half your pittance, in buying -silks and satins to outshine Madame this or Madame that--" - -"Hold!" - -"On the other hand, you might, by marrying this charming _Mees_, -decorate your house with pictures and statutes, go everywhere, see -everything, and take your place among the enlightened patrons of art -and science; all this you reject because you are afraid this little -_Mees_ will prove stronger of will--" - -{413} - -"Stronger of will than I!" and M. Louis sprang from his chair; the -Baronne was no fool after all. "Diable! there are few women I could -not bend to my will. My aunt, I will try my luck with this little -_Mees_; win her, wed her, and conquer her, too?" - -"There spoke a d'Agri; but, my dear boy, you should pay her court more -assiduously, compliment her--" - -"Pshaw! I understand your charming sex better than you do yourself; if -flattery could have won her, I should long ago have been beaten by -that soft-headed, smooth-tongued artist. No, the surest way to win a -woman is to make her feel that you can master her, and that if you bow -before her, it is only because you choose to do so." - -"So you are not afraid of ultimate success; you think she loves you?" - -"No, but I think she is fascinated, mesmerized, what you will, by me, -which answers the same purpose; what I have to do is to hasten -matters, and that is what I mean to do. I think she has gone to the -'Source' for one of her eccentric, solitary rambles. An revoir, ma -bonne Tante!" and the young man sprang from the cabin with an energy -which I had never before noticed in him. Soon after, Madame gathered -up her work apparently, and I heard no more. My toilet finished I also -took my departure, and thoughtfully turned my steps toward the hotel. - -On my way I met Miss Fanny just returning from her walk; evidently M. -Louis had missed her. Ascertaining that she was not tired, I begged -her to accompany me to a particularly pretty spot on the hill, from -which the village was seen to advantage; on the way the conversation -was desultory, though I tried gradually to lead it to the subject I -meant soon to attack. Once seated under the trees, I changed my tone, -and looking at her earnestly, said: - -"Miss Fanny, will you pardon me if the interest I feel in you, as a -countrywoman, and as a guileless girl, leads me to speak plainly to -you? Remember that I am more than twice your age; come, have I -permission to make myself disagreeable?" - -"I do not understand you"--and she looked up startled; then, perhaps -reading a part of my thoughts in my face, she said with a blush, "Yes, -you may speak." - -I then, as gently as possible, told her what I had observed, and dwelt -on the young man's unsound religions principles, on his want of -sympathy for others, etc., and finally related the conversation I had -just heard, softening some parts, but giving a detailed account of -others. She bent her head, and seemed considerably moved. - -"And now, my child," I continued, "give me the satisfaction of feeling -that I have done right, that you are glad to know this, that your -heart is not as yet so engaged in this affair as to bring you any real -unhappiness; if I thought I had unwittingly wounded any deep and -honest sentiment of yours, if I thought you felt for this young man -that sort of love which hallows its object, and often purifies it from -evil, I could not easily forgive myself." - -"You need not fear, my good friend; I thank you for your interest in -me," and she extended her hand, smiling faintly through her tears. "I -have done wrong I know, but this is how it happened: at first, ennuyed -by the quietness of this place, which seemed so dull after Newport, I -commenced a sort of flirtation with this M. Louis d'Agri, merely -because I craved excitement." - -"Precisely; in other words you are an example of our as yet imperfect -system of education. In France young girls are kept in severe -restraint, from which they rebound after marriage, often causing much -misery; ours is the other extreme--there is an almost unlimited degree -of liberty among our young people, which is so far good that it -creates a feeling of chivalric honor among the men, and of -self-sustaining strength among the women; but at the same time this -freedom creates also a longing for excitement, a {414} fear of ennui, -which finds vent in an immense amount of flirting, generally innocent -enough, but which becomes a part of the character of almost every -young person, especially every young girl--is it not so?" - -"Perhaps it is; at all events the peculiar character of this young man -soon interested me; I felt piqued at his indolent, indifferent manner, -and continued the flirtation; gradually, as I came to know him better, -he acquired over me, I scarcely know how, a sort of influence from -which I could not rid myself; but never once did I mistake the feeling -which prompted me to crave his society, for love." - -"Then you do not think he could have succeeded in--" - -"I do not know; had I not been made aware of his base, mercenary -motives, he might have strengthened that influence so far as to blind -me to its nature, and make me think it love; but--" - -"But now you are warned." - -"But now I defy M. Louis d'Agri and his fascinations," and her eyes -flashed. - -"Still, do you not think that you would feel more comfortable away -from his society?" - -"I feel no fear, but shall be glad to leave this place. Fortunately, -mother was complaining this very morning of the cold sea-winds, and I -can easily persuade her that it is necessary to go further south. Is -your mind easy now? I see you have but little faith in my resolution." - -"Pardon me. I have, but I think that the Baronne would find means to -make a longer residence here disagreeable, did she perceive the change -which your manner must necessarily undergo." - -Our conversation lasted some little time longer, and ended by most -kindly expressed thanks, and hopes for some future meeting, which -hopes I most cordially reciprocated, for the girl's frank and simple -manner during the past conversation had much heightened my esteem of -her. - -That evening there arose a perfect storm of regrets, and expressions -of surprise at Mrs. Haynes suddenly expressed determination. "It was -not possible! Madame's health had improved so perceptibly," which -assertion the worthy lady repudiated with as much energy as though it -had been an insult. "We shall feel so deserted after she and _Mees -Fannee_ have gone," etc., etc. _Mees Fannee_ said nothing, but a -heightened color, and a quiet, determined manner new to her, seemed to -strike M. Louis forcibly; he darted a quick look at me, but whether he -really ever suspected my agency in the transaction or not, I never -knew. If he did, I believe that after the first feeling of anger had -passed, he felt grateful rather than not, for his better nature, I am -glad to think, really revolted at the idea of the contemplated -meanness. - -At eleven the next morning the old-fashioned diligence carried _Mees -Fannee_ and her mother away, leaving the hotel _triste_ indeed. A -little while after I saw Madame la Baronne and her nephew walking up -and down the little garden, the lady gesticulating violently, and the -young man quietly smoking a cigar, and answering his excited relative -with an occasional shrug of the shoulders. - -Soon after I also took my departure, for I found the interest of the -place strangely diminished, and the evenings at the "plage" stale, -flat, and unprofitable; so leaving the good French ladies and their -daughters discussing the coming winter's fashions with voluble -interest, the indefatigable Baronne eagerly looking out for another -heiress, and the nephew lazily indifferent to her success, I made my -adieux. Thus ended my month at a French watering-place. - ------- - -{415} - - -AVE MARIA SINE LABE CONCEPTA. - - -BY REV M. MULLIN. - - Hail, Mary, our Mother! Hail, Virgin the purest! - Hail, Mary, the Mother of mercy and love! - Hail, Star of the Ocean, serenest and surest - That ever shone brightly in heaven above! - 'Mid the shadows of death stretching down o'er the nations, - Thy children have always rejoiced in your fame. - Oh! proudly we witness in our generations - The last crowning halo that circles thy name. - - Tradition, which, joined with its sister evangel, - God placed upon guard at the door of his bride. - Tradition, which beams like the sword of the angel, - As flame-like, it "turneth on every side," - Tradition shoots up o'er the ages victorious-- - Its summit in heaven, its base upon earth-- - Like a pillar of fire, far-shining and glorious, - And shows thee all sinless and pure in thy birth. - - As fair as the rose 'mid Jerusalem's daughters. - As bright as the lily by Jordan's blue wave, - As white as the dove, and as clear as the waters - That flowed for the prophet and circled his grave; - As tall as the cedar on Lebanon's mountain, - As fruitful as vine-tree in Cades' domain. - As straight as the palm by Jerusalem's fountain. - As beauteous as rose-bush on Jericho plain; - - As sweet as the balm-tree diffusing its odor, - As sweet as the gold-harp of David the king, - As sweet as the honeycomb fresh from Mount Bodor, - As sweet as the face veiled by Gabriel's wing: - The silver-lined sky o'er the garden of Flora, - The rainbow that gilds the dark clouds within view, - The star that shines brightest, the dawning Aurora-- - More chaste than the moon, and more beautiful too. - - The glass without stain, and the radiance immortal, - The ever-sealed fount in the city of God, - The garden enclosed, on whose sanctified portal - None e'er but the King of the angels hath trod: - The sign that appeared in mid-Heaven--a maiden - With the moon 'neath her feet, and twelve stars on her head, - Sun-clothed, going up from the desert to Eden; - Such Mary, the Queen of the living and dead. - -{416} - - Oh! such are the words of the saints now in glory, - Whose voices are heard o'er the dark waste of time, - Like sentinels set through the centuries hoary, - Proclaiming her free from original crime; - Of the prophets and pontiffs, and doctors and sages, - Who once in this dark vale of misery trod, - Like lamps hanging out on the mist-covered ages - To light up the ways of the city of God. - - We see by their light with a swelling emotion - The bark of the church, as it onward doth ride, - Through tempest and gloom, where the Star of the Ocean - Doth brightly illumine its path o'er the tide; - Where clouds become thicker and hurricanes fleeter, - And threaten to shut out its radiance from view, - We see through the darkness the figure of Peter - As he points it out still b the sailors and crew. - - We hear the loud ring of the multitude's paean - By the nations in triumph exultantly sung, - From the cliffs of the north to the distant AEgean, - As Celestine silenced Nestorius' tongue: - In Ephesus' temple--the temple of Mary-- - The fathers hold council by Peter's command, - In Ephesus' streets, long expectant and weary, - The crowds stand with joybells and torches in hand. - - We see the grand figure of Cyril before us, - Where John, her adopted, before him had trod, - As pontiffs and people swell loud the glad chorus, - That Mary our Mother is Mother of God. - And oh! that we've witnessed the last shining lustre, - That Star of the Stars, in her diadem set, - The first in existence, last placed in the cluster. - To shine through a long line of centuries yet; - - There were journeys by land, there were ships on the ocean, - That bore Judah's princes to Sion's bright walls; - The people have heard with a thrilling emotion - The voice of the high priest, as on them it calls. - Oh! bless them, dear Mother, we pray with emotion. - And bless this green island, that looks up to thee; - For this, dearest Mother, is gem of the ocean, - And thou art immaculate Star of the Sea. - -December 8,1864. - ------- - -{417} - - -ORIGINAL. - -WOMAN. [Footnote 143] - - [Footnote 143: Essays on Woman's Work, by Bessie R. Parkes. The - higher Education of Woman, by Emily Davis. Woman's Work in the - Church, by J. M. Ludlow. London and New York: Alex. Strahan.] - -Among the social topics of the day, that of the present position and -future prospects of woman holds a prominent place. This is the less to -be wondered at, in that the course of civilization, the force of -public opinion, together with the effect of the progress of machinery -upon labor, have materially altered the duties which were once -esteemed peculiarly her own. - -We have three small books before plus, all from England, and all -bearing on this one topic. The first ("Essays on Woman's Work") -delineates very forcibly the fact, that the actual work of women, -independently of that performed within the domestic circle, is -(relatively to the employment of numbers) immense. Our authoress calls -it "the great revolution which has been so little noticed amidst the -noise of politics and the clash of war--the withdrawal of women from -the life of the household, and the suction of them by the hundreds of -thousands within the vortex of industrial life." Page 20 she says: "I -was told in Manchester, by one of the most eminent and thoughtful -women in England, that the outpouring of a mill in full work at the -hour of dinner was such a torrent of living humanity that a lady could -not walk against the stream. I was told the same thing at Bradford by -a female friend." (Page 22)--"It is clear then, since modern society -will have it so, women must work." But not women only; "young female -children are winding silk for twelve clear hours a day beneath a hot -African sun, in a charitably economical institution," (27) and -"mothers have left the hearth and the cradle, and the young girls and -the _little_ children themselves have run to offer their feeble arms; -whole villages are silent, while huge brick buildings swallow up -thousands of living humanity from dawn of day until twilight shades." -(33)--"There are to be seen the obvious results of the absence of -married women from their homes, in discomfort, etc., and in the -_utter_ want of domestic teaching and training during the most -important years of youth; besides the sure deterioration of health -consequent on long confinement." Well may Miss Parkes consider it "a -purely economical and selfish tendency, acting by competition alone -and casting aside unprofitable material. Women are more and more left -to provide for themselves, and society takes hardly any trouble to -enable them to do so, either by education or by opening the doors to -salaried employment. The great overplus of the female sex in England, -caused chiefly by the wholesale emigration of men to the colonies, -increases the difficulty tenfold." "In fact, the general freedom and -_laisser aller_ of English political and social life, while it serves -many admirable purposes in the general economy of the nation, allows -the weaker classes, those who are in any way unfitted for the race, to -go to the wall, while the others pass by. I believe the very _poor_ to -suffer far more in England than elsewhere; and I am sure there is no -country on earth where so many women are allowed to drift helplessly -about, picking up the scanty bread of insufficient earnings." "We are -at present in an extraordinary state of social disorganization." (Pp -37, 38.) - -This is but a dismal result of progress, of civilization; modern -society with all its boasting seems to have {418} achieved little for -happiness. After this witness for the uneducated class, Miss Parkes -proceeds to show the difficulties that encompass the educated strivers -after bread, and here difficulties seem to increase, from the danger -incurred by exposing young women to intercourse with a corrupted -social state; "it is better," says Miss Parkes, "to be starved in body -than made worse in the moral and spiritual life," and in this we can -but agree with her, as also in the conclusion that this fact renders -many an occupation ineligible which would otherwise be good in itself. -The lady's remarks on the changes of eighty years are interesting, as -her accounts of "educated destitution" are graphic and painful in -their truth. Her remarks are sensible, and her plans proposed are so -modest and unassuming they seem rather suggestions, "helps to -thought," than projects, and as such we cordially recommend them; for -though American society is not yet in the state depicted of the -superabundant populations of Europe, we cannot fail to recognize that -if the _same principles_ are exercised on this side of the Atlantic as -have been exercised on that, the same results will follow when -population becomes denser; it behooves us, then, to be wise in time, -and acknowledge some higher law than that provided by an inexorable -system of political economy, if we would be happy. Men and women are -not necessarily blind agents of capitalists, mere creators of a wealth -which they do not share in due proportion to their intelligence and -their industry. They are moral beings, if they would but know it, if -they would but exercise and cultivate their moral powers; beings -capable of controlling themselves, and, by enlightened industrial -arrangements, of providing for themselves and for their neighbors. The -tendencies of Miss Parkes are evidently to the formation of -joint-stock societies, making the laborer at once a worker and a -capitalist. This _might_ be so contrived as to form another style of -"guild" of auld lang syne, when Catholic workmen protected each other -from want. Christian love, and earnest thought, endeavoring, to form -associations for mutual interchange of kind offices, and for -encouraging each other in practices of piety and good will to men, are -essentially Catholic; it is only when based on a purely selfish -motive, and with purely earthly aims, that they lose their charm and -best security. We confess that for ourselves we do not expect to see -any great improvement in the condition of the worker, whether male or -female, in Europe or elsewhere, by combination or otherwise, while the -effort for improvement is unsustained by a recurrence to first -principles, and unbased on _positive_ religious forms and dogmas. As -long as the _world_ is unchristian it must remain _selfish_, and the -weakest will go to the wall, in every form of of civilization, whether -named co-operative or competitive. But once recognize that man's most -essential life resides in his _soul_, and that he is bound to provide -for the wants of that soul as his first object, "guilds" take form and -shape, and the _laborer_, rising in dignity, performing his labor as -an ordinance of God, "loving his neighbor as himself," establishes, or -may establish, associations, in which the weaker shall be protected, -and the poor recognized as the representatives of Christ. This we -shall see exemplified on another page in speaking of the "_Rosines_" -instituted by Rosa Governo, who had been a servant. - -Miss Davis's book on the Higher Education of Woman, is addressed more -especially to the middle classes, for whom she requires education has -a means of obtaining a livelihood. The discrepancies between the -education accorded to English girls and boys are greater than those -existing between American boys and girls; still there is much room for -improvement. Girls are too apt to be superficial, "to read too much, -and think too little;" and even here in free America, some may be -found who think they should lose {419} caste being useful, thorough, -and energetic. To such as these we particularly recommend Miss Davis's -book, for it sifts all such fallacies, and regards the question of -woman's place in the social order, primarily considering them as -"children of God, members of Christ, and heirs of the kingdom of -heaven; and, secondarily, as wives, mothers daughters, sisters" (p. -36). Miss Davis writes modestly, suggestively, not dogmatically; -feeling her way as it were at every step. Her descriptions are of -course English, but much that she says of the _necessity_ of suitable -employment for woman, not only for a maintenance but for _healthy -existence_ as a moral and intellectual being, is applicable to every -nation, and will afford useful hints to any one who has pondered -seriously on woman's present position and future prospects. - -We regret that we cannot speak so favorably of the tone of Mr. -Ludlow's book, valuable as is the information it affords as to what -the collective energy of women can effect when strong religious motive -is the prompter of their actions. The author gives a consecutive -account of the work of women in the church from the time all the -apostles to the present era, tracing their usefulness, their power of -varying their action according to the exigencies of the day in which -they lived; the devotedness of the ancient deaconesses the learning of -the nuns, when the world was the prey of the Goths and Vandals and -their successors; the intellectual activity that characterized the -communities while the outer world was sunk in barbarism; the books -they spent their lives in copying, and the works they themselves -composed. Then he gives an account of the active orders, or, perhaps, -rather associations, as of the Beguines-- - - "who, without renouncing the society of men or the business of life, - or vowing poverty, perpetual chastity; or absolute obedience, yet - lead, either at their own homes or in common dwellings, a life of - prayer, meditation, and labor. Matthew Paris mentions it as one of - the wonders of the age for the year 1250, that 'in Germany there - rose up an innumerable multitude of those continent women who wish - to be called Beguines, to that extent that Cologne was inhabited by - more than 1,000 of them.' Indeed, by the latter half of this - century, there seems to have been scarcely a town of any importance - without them in France, Belgium, Northern Germany, and Switzerland." - (P. 118.) - - "The first of these fellowships was composed of weavers of either - sex; and so diligent were they with their work, that their industry - had to be restricted, lest they should deprive the weavrers' guilds - of their bread. Wholly self-maintained at first, they rendered - moreover essential service in the performance of works of charity. - As soon as a Beguinage became at all firmly established, there were - almost invariably added to it hospitals or asylums for the - reception, maintenance, or relief of the aged, the poor, the sick. - To this purpose were devoted the greater part of the revenues of the - sisterhood, however acquired, another portion going to the - maintenance of the common chapel. The sisters moreover received - young girls to educate; went out to nurse and console the sick, to - attend death-beds, to wash and lay out the dead; were called in to - pacify family disputes." (P. 118.). - - "The Beguines had no community of goods, no common purse for - ordinary needs. Nevertheless, those among them who were wholly - destitute, or broken down with infirmities, were maintained at the - public expense, or out of the poor fund; mendicancy was never - allowed, unless in the extremely rare case of the establishment not - being able to relieve its poorest members." (P. 120.) - -This is refreshing testimony to woman's powers, and were a similar -_devoted principle_ now at work, many of the problems troubling -earnest, thoughtful female minds might be solved. "The striking -feature of her self-maintenance by labor" is a very valuable evidence, -for now that machinery is called in to _help_ the race, we cannot -believe that under its rightful application, Christian women could -effect _less_ at the present time than they did in ancient days. A -similar devotedness, a similar idea of the duty of living for God, a -similar appreciation of the divine institution of industry as a means -of sanctification, would produce equal or even superior effects, since -intelligence is more diffused now than formerly, and mechanical -assistance more within the reach of the many. {420} That which is -needed is simply the spirit of _godliness_, and to him that _asketh_ -this is _promised_. Shall we then longer look calmly on the evils that -beset the sex, when the means are at hand to remedy them, whenever we -sincerely wish for them? - -Mr. Ludlow proceeds to trace the educational fellowships, the -Ursulines, Angustinians, and others. He says that in the sixteenth -century female orders generally devoted themselves to education, even -when founded on the old Franciscan basis of manual labor. Then comes -the enumeration of the charitable sisterhoods, in all their varied -modes of assuaging human misery or diminishing temptation to sin; in -all their efforts for succoring the poor, the sick, the infirm, and -for recalling the lost sheep to the fold. The information contained in -the volume renders the book valuable in spite of Mr. Ludlow's -prejudices, broadly and oftentimes coarsely expressed. We dare not -repeat his blasphemies relative to the adoration of the blessed -eucharist, to the vow of chastity, or to other dogmas; they are -introduced, as he acknowledges, to free the author from the imputation -of Romanizing tendencies, to which the involuntary testimony he bears -to the _right action_ of the church has subjected him. We pity him, -that he did not see the force of his own evidence, that he was not led -to the truth, rather than to the vilifying it. We give but _one_ -instance of the manner he has adopted in order to prove himself no -Romanist; it will suffice to show the want of candor which reigns -throughout the book when the _Romish_ Church is touched upon. Having -described, _con amore_, the institution of the Beguines as "being -exempt from almost all the inconveniences of a _convent life_" (to -which he appears to entertain an insuperable objection), he attributes -at first their fall to the jealousy of the regular congregations. Yet -after a while, the innate force of truth compels him to confess that -the institution fell by its own fault. The free fellowships departed -from the _spirit_ of their foundation. "In place of the -self-supporting industry and active charity which at first -characterized them, there crept in the opposites of these--reliance -upon others' alms and indifference to good works! So complete was the -change that the very term Beghard, _prayer_, surviving in our -'beggar,' has come to designate clamorous pauperism" (pp. 136, 137) He -continues on another page: - - "But the Beguine sisterhoods of the north were too numerous, too - useful, too much in harmony with the spirit of their age and - country, too deeply rooted in the affections of the people, to - perish before the canons of the council or a papal bull. Nor, - indeed, it was soon seen, did Rome's safety require that they should - perish. The existence of free _brotherhoods_ was, indeed, - inconsistent with that of Romanism itself; for every community of - men, not bound by rule or vows, not subject to a clerical head, must - be of necessity an asylum of free thought, such as a monastic church - with an infallible head could not, without the greatest danger, - allow. Sisterhoods, on the other hand, although equally unbound by - vow or rule, might safely be tolerated; since, through the priestly - director or confessor, generally an essential part of the - organization of any Beguinage, they could be kept in dependence, - tempted on into monachism. And thus, parallel with the current of - censure against Beghardism and Beguinism as a system, there begins - to flow another current of toleration, and even, as the danger - diminishes, approval, for those 'faithful women who, having vowed - continence, or even without having vowed it, choose honestly to do - penance in their hospitals, and serve the Lord of virtues in spirit - of humility.'" - -The Beguines were finally absolved from censure by the Council of -Constance, 1414 (pp. 139, 140). The mind which does not see in this -account that one set of Beguines were suppressed on account of -disorder and that the others were retained from the desire of -promoting virtue, is singularly blinded by prejudice, notwithstanding -that he walks, as he says himself (p. 139), "in the brightness of -Luther's most blessed name." - -The Beguines, according to our author, were eventually merged into -{421} Tertiaries, or more regularly organized religious bodies, of -whom he gives so interesting an account that we can but wonder and -admire the more that the account comes, from such a source. There is, -however, in the author's mind, a notable ignorance of the "purity of -intention" enforced by the church as necessary to the sanctification -of good works, and this accounts for much misconception on his part. -He says that when Madame de Miramon, a young widow, began her -religious life in works of active charity, "her director exhorted her -to make a 'retreat' for a year, in order to devote herself to her own -perfection, without exercising her charity toward her neighbor." This -Mr. Ludlow styles "a trait characteristically Romish," in which we -must presume he is right, for if he represents the anti-Romish party, -we must say, judging by his book, there is little apprehension shown -by that party that "good good works," to be acceptable, to be -sanctifying to the agent, must be wrought in God, and therefore that a -year spent in the repression of self-seeking, in acts of humiliation -and self-abasement, might be and probably was necessary to insure that -the future acts of the pious lady should be performed in that "pure -intention" which would draw down upon them the fructifying blessing of -divine grace. We are fain to confess that this is, as "the gentleman -says, characteristically Romish;" and much we rejoice at so beautiful -a characteristic of our faith. - -We cannot follow Mr. Ludlow through all his accounts, which we regret -the more as he gives important evidence to the fact, that in every age -of the church pious women have been found to comprehend the needs of -the age in which they live, and to associate with the special purpose -of providing the assistance necessary. In a barbarous age, when -vandalism overturned human learning, "nunneries, like monasteries for -men, became schools or store houses of learning, sometimes even -centres of intellectual activity. At the beginning of the sixth -century, the nunnery founded by St. Cesarius at Arles contained two -hundred nuns, mostly employed in copying books. Their rule bound them -to learn 'human letters' for two hours a day, and to work in common, -either in transcribing or in female labor" (p. 106). The convents of -Tours, founded in the sixth century by Queen Radegund, and the Swabian -nunnery of Gaudesheim, in the latter half of the tenth century, the -glory of female monachism, were specially centres of intellectual -activity. In the latter dwelt the poetess Hrotsvitha, herself not the -first authoress of her convent, whose Latin plays seem to have -especial attraction for Mr. Ludlow, for his panegyric is couched in -these words, "Hrotsvitha, at least, was no hooded Pharisee" (pp. 119, -111). - -During the Crusades and European wars, the communities of the -Tertiarian hospitaller nuns, under various names, excite his -admiration, though he thinks "the worship of these nuns may not be the -highest and best, but it is surely genuine" (p. 142). Thanks even for -that admission, Mr. Ludlow. The Beguines, of whom we have already -spoken, and the educational nuns spring up at the hour of need, and -for the present day "the institute of 'Rosines' of Turin presents an -interesting feature." These latter have no vows, no seclusion. They -are a genuine working association of women, only with a strong -religious element infused in their work. They were founded by Rosa -Governo, who had been a servant. There Mrs. Jameson found (see -Communion of Labor) "nearly four hundred women, from fifteen years of -age upwards, gathered together in an assemblage of buildings, where -they carry on tailoring, embroidery, especially of military -accoutrements for the army, weaving, spinning, shirt-making, -lace-making, every trade, in short, in which female ingenuity is -available. They have a well-kept garden, a school for the poor -children of the neighborhood, an infirmary, including a ward for the -aged, a capital dispensary, with a small medical library. {422} They -are ruled by a superior, elected from among themselves; the work-rooms -are divided into classes and groups, each under a monitress. The rules -of admission and the interior regulations are strict; any inmate may -leave at once, but cannot be readmitted. Finally, they are entirely -self-supporting, and have a yearly income of between 70,000f. to -80,000f., that is, about from L2,800 to L3,200. No female organization -is more pregnant with hope than this" (p. 181). With this we conclude -our notice of Mr. Ludlow's book, although he has also accounts of some -few Protestant associations, imitated and modified from the foregoing. - -We cannot but rejoice at so much welcome testimony, from an outsider, -to the benefits flowing from the female religious institutions of the -church of Christ, and feel encouraged to believe that whatever may be -the necessities of the times, bands of holy women will rise up to -administer thereunto. - -It is refreshing, too, as an evidence that the gratitude which woman -owes to the church, she is willing to repay in self-devotedness to the -_wants_ of the members of that church. No woman who has ever reflected -for one brief hour on the emancipation from slavery that has been -wrought for her by the ministry of the church, can fail to recognize -that in the Church alone is her _real_ protection, her true safety. -The pagan woman--what was she? You may see her type in the Eastern -harem, the Hindoo suttee, the Indian burden-bearer. The few women of -antiquity who broke their chains did so at a fearful cost. The -Aspasias, the Diotemes, the Semiramises, the Zenobias, the -Cleopatras--alas! a cloud obscures their greatness; and even -heathenism condemns while it admires them. Respectable women were -_slaves_; if not nominally so, yet slaves in intellect, slaves by -inferior position, slaves through _ignorance_; slaves because their -_souls_ could find no scope for exertion. And now what are the -tendencies of the age? I fear we must confess that they are purely -materialistic, that they point rather to the reign of physical power -than that of moral force; and if so, what must woman expect save a -return in some shape, modified by existing machinery, to the old idea -of enslavement under another name? The laws of the church are already -annulled by society in respect of marriage. The power of easy divorce -exists in the Eastern states, and polygamy flourishes in Utah. These -are matters calculated to make Catholic women reflect ere they march -too readily with the tendencies of the age. The church, and the church -only, raised the standard of woman, and that incidentally, by -proclaiming that she had a _soul_ to save, and that the powers of the -soul were will, memory, and understanding. Christian men were obliged -to concede to her the exercise of these powers, by the same authority -through which they claimed the right to exercise them for themselves. -But now, the world is for the most part not Christian, and we must -look well to the principles that it puts forth; its associations or -co-operations, if founded on a merely selfish principle, must end in -disorder. It requires the strong religious element spoken of by Mrs. -Jameson as existing among the Rosines, and the "pure intention" which -induced Madame de Miramon to obey her director and make the year's -retreat he prescribed, in order that her future acts might be begun, -continued, and ended in God, to insure that a community life or -association shall produce good. That joint-stock companies may for a -while flourish and contribute to the wealth of the shareholders is -doubtless true; but if the wealth thus obtained is made merely to -contribute to material enjoyment, it will rather injure than profit -the possessor, whether that possessor be man or woman. Strong moral -power is produced by exercise, by endurance, renunciation, rather than -by gratification. {423} Strong intellectual power is produced by deep -thought, head study, unremitting exertion, as strong physical power is -produced by labor, continuous activity, hard fare, and unluxurious -habits. We must not lose sight of these facts when we seek to improve -the condition of either man or woman; and desirable as are -associations for mutual benefit, we must not forget that if they are -to be permanent, they most aim at something higher than improving in -temporalities. The union of the natural law with the supernatural law -should form the especial study of every thinking member of the church; -and to women's associations it seems a study peculiarly desirable, as -woman owes her present improved condition entirely to the effects -produced by that supernatural action on her previous condition. If we -might be allowed to suggest a subject of thought to such Catholic -women as see the evils depicted by Misses Parkes and Davis, and wish -to assist in their removal, it would be that they should meditate and -study the practical bearing of the ancient associations of the church -to mitigate the then existing evils, and having caught the spirit of -devotedness from the many examples therein presented, should proceed -to consider what form of devotedness is demanded by the present -needs--and in the spirit of the church assemble to promote the needful -work. - -That there is much to be done, all must confess; but in what way it is -to be done is not altogether so evident. Only tracing from all history -"that woman's work in the church" is to see the difficulties of the -times, to enter with warm sympathy into its distresses, and having -purified the human tenderness with which she is gifted by casting it -into the furnace of divine love, to direct that tenderness, -enlightened by intellectual culture and strengthened by acetic -practice, into the channels needing assistance. We can but feel -confident that Catholic women will now as heretofore ponder over the -position of their sex with regard to labor and intellectual culture, -and that to meet its requirements such institutions will be formed as -will push forward "progress" in the most approved system compatible -with the solemn duties of _Catholicity_: that is, uniting the human -privilege to the far higher and loftier privilege involved in being a -member of the church of Christ. - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -MY TWO MITES. - -"This poor widow hath cast in more than they all." - - - Widowed of the world, that once did me betroth. - Unto the treasury of God brought I, - In after days, - A heart and mind--my all--two mites in worth, - And cast them in. What wealth, if they should buy - Such priceless praise! - ------- - -{424} - - -MISCELLANY. - - - -_A most Important Discovery in Photography_.--That photographic -productions cannot be relied upon as permanent appears a fact only too -well established. The public have been convinced of it by seeing -folios of choice productions and scores of treasured portraits pass -gradually into "the sere and yellow leaf" of their age, and finally -disappear. A few years, more or less, generally works the change. -Photographers, too, have lost all faith in the absolute permanence of -their productions, and have long been looking for this desirable -quality in some ideal process for which their experimentalists were -industriously striving and working, and for which they were most -anxiously looking, rather than to any modification of the old silver -process, which they have now wrought up to such a pitch of perfection. -This fading has been pretty clearly shown to be, at least mainly, due -to the action of the hyposulphites. The print lasts a longer or -shorter time in proportion to the degrees in which the fixing -agent--hyposulphite of soda--has been removed from the paper; but the -slightest trace of it will assuredly bring about the destruction of -the photograph. The only chance of absolute permanence appears to be -in its complete elimination, although even then there are other -elements of evil which may be suspiciously regarded. We have hitherto -relied for this purpose upon the mechanical action of water, and some -able men have run counter to the general experience by affirming that -absolute permanence could be obtained by proper and sufficient -washing. Mr. Carey Lea, for instance, asserted, about a year since, -that he had tested properly-washed prints with a very delicate and -certain test for the hyposulphites without discovering their trace, -and in prints which he considered had been properly washed. This test -was that of placing a few drops of an alcoholic solution of iodine in -several ounces of water, and applying the same with a camel's-hair -brush to photographs on starch-sized paper. The presence of the -starch, if freed from the hyposulphite by sufficient washing, was -indicated by a violet or purple stain where the solution was applied; -but in prints not thus washed the presence of hyposulphite was -indicated by the absence of such stain, which could be at once removed -from the well-washed print by plunging it into a solution of -hyposulphite. On the other and, Mr. Dawson, of King's College, in a -recent number of The British Journal of Photography denies the power -of more washing to give permanence, "unless the prints have been -soaked for some time in hot water so as to remove _all_ the size--even -then, supposing the paper non-albumenized, the elimination of the -whole of the hyposulphite is problematical." He adds--"Some -photographers, we are aware, do treat their prints with a final wash -in hot water; but this, of course, although unquestionably conducive -to the permanence of the proof, does not remove the whole of the size -in which the hyposulphite is locked up; and if it did, the paper would -be as little cohesive as blotting-paper, and prints would lose much in -vigor and brilliancy. In the case of prints on albumen, or albumenized -paper, hot water, we may reasonably suppose, has no more powerful -effect in removing hyposulphite from albumen than cold water, if, -indeed it has so much; and it can only be by acting on the texture of -the paper itself, and removing the size therefrom, that it can -exercise a beneficial influence at all." To demonstrate the -truthfulness of his ideas on this subject, some prints which had been -washed in cold running water, and with the utmost care and attention, -for over twenty hours--and the final drippings from which, when -subjected to the tincture of iodine test, displayed no trace of the -hyposulphite--were experimented with, and still gave up to boiling -water, in which they were steeped, at least one-fortieth part of a -grain of the destructive element to the half sheet of paper, clearly -showing that the cold water had not really removed it all, although it -had eliminated all that it could reach or had influence over. Now -whether Mr. Dawson and his supporters or Mr. Lea and his supporters be -right, {425} whether photographs fade so universally because they are -rarely or never sufficiently washed after the process of fixing, or -because it is impossible to remove all trace of the hyposulphites from -the paper by washing, it is certain that they do fade, and few -dispute the final cause of such a fading. Therefore, a discovery which -destroys these mischievous agents altogether cannot but be regarded as -most important, and such a discovery is our pleasing duty to announce -as having been recently published by Dr. Angus Smith, F.R.S., in the -pages of The British Journal of Photography, from which we quote: -"Considering that the cause of the destruction of photographs, -apparently by the action of time only, was in reality caused by the -amount of hyposulphite remaining in the paper, D. Reissig, of -Darmstadt, contrived a mode of washing it out by centrifugal force. -For indicating the presence of sulphur assets, he used a small -galvanic arrangement with one cell, and decomposing the acid, had the -sulphur thrown on a piece of polished silver, which became readily -blackened in the solution. Dr. Theodore Reissig, my assistant, -examined several faded photographs for me by his brother's method, -which, however, appeared unnecessarily delicate, as it was found the -amount of sulphur was very large, and roughly, we thought, in -proportion to the amount of decay. I did not determine how much was -hyposulphite and how much sulphate. As I had been interesting myself -in bringing into use some of the remarkable properties of peroxide of -hydrogen in oxidizing metals and organic bodies in fluids, it seemed -to me that we might readily use it for oxidizing the hyposulphites. I -am supposing that the sulphate alone will not be injurious." Dr. Smith -then shows how this powerful, oxidizing agent may be used to convert -the mischievous hyposulphites into the innocuous sulphate, and Mr. -Dawson, in the same number of the journal, gives the following -experimental illustration: "Dissolve in a wineglass any quantity of -sulphate of soda, and add to the solution a few drops of tincture of -iodine. The solution will remain permanently discolored, showing that -sulphate of soda does not dissolve iodine. In another wine-glass, half -filled with plain water, drop sufficient tincture of iodine to strike -a permanent dark sherry color throughout the liquid; then add, drop by -drop, a weak solution of hyposulphite of soda till the color is -discharged, taking care to add as little excess of hyposulphite as -possible. So far this experiment shows that iodine is soluble in -hyposulphite of soda. Now, fill up the glass with an aqueous solution -of peroxide of hydrogen, and observe the effects. After a few minutes -the iodine is no longer held in solution, and the liquid will resume -the dark sherry color it had before adding the hyposulphite of soda." -Every chemist will readily explain this. To apply this new chemical -agent to this new use, take the print, after fixing and washing, and -soak it for a short time in a solution of the peroxide of hydrogen of -the strength of say one ounce of a ten-volume solution in forty ounces -of water.--_Popular Science Review_. - ----- - -ORIGINAL. - -NEW PUBLICATIONS - - - -PASTORAL LETTER OF THE SECOND PLENARY COUNCIL OF BALTIMORE. The -Archbishops and Bishops of the United States, in Plenary Council -Assembled, to the Clergy and Laity of their charge. Baltimore: John -Murphy & Co. 8vo pamphlet. For sale by L. Kehoe, New York. - - -This is the first official utterance of the Archbishops and Bishops of -the United States in Plenary Council assembled, to the clergy and -laity of their charge. As such it will be listened to with an -attention due to the importance of the subjects on which it speaks, -and to the character and motives of the august assembly from which it -proceeds. It is the warning voice of the shepherds of the people, -raised after long and matured deliberation to remind the flock of its -duties, pointing out the dangers which threaten, the quarters from -which they spring, and the means by which they are to be avoided. It -is the herald of that full legislation which in a few months will be -promulgated for the Catholics of the United States. The outlines of -that {426} legislation are traced with rapid pen in this document; the -details, which have been already filled in, will, after having -received the approval of Rome, be presented to the public stamped with -the seal of the Fisherman. The great object of this Pastoral Address -is to impress upon the minds and hearts of Catholics those cardinal -principles and duties of cheerful obedience to the divinely -constituted authority of the "bishops placed to rule the Church of -God;" in order that when the decrees of the Council are published, -all--bishops, priests, and the laity--may co-operate in heart and -hand in giving them practical effect. _All_ are members of the same -mystical body of Christ, the Church; and therefore _all_ should in -their respective positions and functions unite in harmonious action -for the well-being of the whole, according to the order established by -the divine head and founder. "For there are diversities of ministries, -but the same Lord; and diversities of operations, but the same God, -who worketh in all; and hath set the members every one of them in the -body as it hath pleased him" (Cor. xii. 1). - -Such being the object of the Pastoral Letter, it very naturally -commences (Sec. I.) with the "Authority of Plenary Councils;" and -(Sec. II.) with "Ecclesiastical Authority" in its general relations, -and with the correlative obedience thereto binding on the Christian -conscience. As human policy and human action have, even in secular -matters, their religious as well as their civil aspects, the -principles are laid down which mark out the boundary line between the -civil and ecclesiastical powers (Sec III.); a boundary line which -notwithstanding the experience and lessons of past centuries, is often -obliterated or lost sight of. After having, in brief and emphatic -language, called attention to these general truths relating to -authority and consequent obedience founded on the natural and divine -laws, the episcopal legislators devote several sections to the more -prominent questions and wants which affect the Catholic Church in the -United States. Sec. IV. calls attention to the afflicted condition of -the Pope and to the obligation incumbent on his spiritual subjects, -for whom he daily prays and works, of relieving him. Sec. V. to the -"Sacrament of Matrimony," that great and sacred link by which society -is in its nearest and dearest associations held together, but which is -so much exposed to be severed, if not wholly destroyed, in our days. -Sec VI. to the press, that giant engine for good or for evil, wielded, -alas! with such fatal efficacy against the faith and morals of the -"little ones and the weak ones" of the fold, and yet which, properly -directed might be made the instrument most powerful for truth and for -good. Sec. VII. deals with the "education" of youth, on which indeed -the future of society and religion depends. Sec. VIII. with the -subject of '"Catholic Protectories and Industrial Schools." Sec IX. -with the necessity of cultivating "vocations" in the ministry. Secs. -X. and XI. are addressed, respectively, to the "Laity" and the -"Clergy." Sec XII. points to the condition of the emancipated slaves, -and to the means to be used by the Church in ameliorating it. Sec -XIII. glances at those most favored spots in the bosom of the Church, -where the sun shines most brightly, and the fairest lilies spring to -be woven as a garland in her triumphant crown--to "Religious -Communities." The "conclusion" epitomizes the whole by saying: - - "We have taken advantage of the opportunity of the assembling of so - large a number of bishops from every part of our vast country, to - enact such decrees as will tend to promote uniformity of discipline - and practice among us, and to do away with such imperfect observance - of the rites and approved ceremonies of the church as may have been - made necessary by the circumstances of past times, but which no - length of prescription can ever consecrate, and thus to give the - services of our religion that beauty and dignity which belong to - them, and for which we should all be so zealous. - - "For the furtherance of these important objects, we have caused to - be drawn up a clear and compendious series of statements upon the - most essential points of faith and morals, with which we have - embodied the decrees of the seven Provincial Councils of Baltimore, - and of the first Plenary Council, together with the decrees enacted - by us in the present Council, which, when they have been examined - and approved of by the Holy See, will form a compendium of - ecclesiastical law for the guidance of our clergy in the exercise of - their holy ministry. - - "The result of our labors, when thus returned to us, will be - promulgated more fully in our Provincial Councils and Diocesan - Synods and we will then take advantage of the opportunity to bring - more fully under the notice of the clergy, and the people committed - to our pastoral charge, the details of what we have done, and the - exact nature of the means {427} by which we hope to give increased - efficiency to the whole practical system of the church in this - country. - - "We have also recommended to the Holy See the erection of several - additional episcopal sees and vicariates apostolic, which are made - necessary by our rapidly increasing Catholic population and the - great territorial extent of many of our present dioceses." - -It does not become us to review, but only two direct attention to this -most remarkable and important document. Abstracting from the authority -of those from whom it emanates, and viewed merely as the pronouncement -of so many men distinguished for learning, experience, and piety, it -will be read with respectful consideration by the educated portion of -our community, whether Catholic or Protestant. On the former, however, -it has a higher and holier claim--as the legislative exponent of those -appointed to keep garrison on the watch-towers of Israel, to give -timely warning of danger, from whatever part of the horizon it -approaches, to lead and guide them in their journey through this -earthly desert to the promised land of heaven. In some of the plenary -councils (for instance, of Africa about the time of St. Cyprian or of -St. Augustine, or of Asia before that of St. John Chrysostom) a -greater number of bishops were assembled. In plenary councils, too, -weightier matters may have come under consideration; as, for example, -doctrinal questions at the Council of Orange, not, however, to be -finally settled without the after-sanction all the Infallible Church. -But never, we may venture to say, has any provincial council in other -parts of the church been called to legislate for so vast a territory, -more on questions of discipline and practice affecting the present and -future prospects of a population so widespread and so varied in its -origin, its habits, and its pursuits. Some of the bishops traveled by -sea and land over thousands of miles, and were heard to facetiously -say that "as they had come so far it were a little thing to step -across and see the Pope at Rome." They were all, as we said, picked -men, "chosen among hundreds" of learned and pious priests; actuated -solely by the motive of doing the best their collective prudence -suggested for their people. Hence their opinions on questions with -which they were all practically acquainted in their respective -dioceses, merit to be heard by all classes with the deepest respect. -Doctrinal matters were not discussed at Baltimore; these are reserved -for the supreme authority of general councils and of the Holy See. But -practical remedies are suggested for social and moral evils in a -quiet, calm, and steady tone, which sounds upon the ears of Catholics -like the voice of the Holy Spirit, and wakens in the hearts of the -well-minded children of the church an echo such as we may imagine the -gentle voice of the divine Master to have awakened in those who -listened to his sermon on the mount. The council does not confine -itself to the enunciation of general principles, but enters into -minute, practical details on each subject. Had we space we would wish -to quote much; but we confine ourselves to what it says on the section -on the press: - - "We cheerfully acknowledge the services the Catholic press has - rendered to religion, as also the disinterestedness with which, in - most instances, it has been conducted, although yielding to - publishers and editors a very insufficient return for their labors. - We exhort the Catholic community to extend to these publications a - more liberal support, in order that they may be enabled to become - more worthy the great cause they advocate. - - "We remind them that the power of the press is one of the most - striking features of modern society; and that it is our duty to - avail ourselves of this mode of making known the truths of our - religion, and removing the misapprehensions which so generally - prevail in regard to them. - - "In connection with this matter we earnestly recommend to the - faithful of our charge the Catholic Publication Society, lately - established in the city of New York by a zealous and devoted - clergyman. Besides the issuing of short tracts, with which this - society has begun, and which may be so usefully employed to arrest - the attention of many whom neither inclination nor leisure will - allow to read larger works, this society contemplates the - publication of Catholic books, according as circumstances may permit - and the interests of religion appear to require. From the judgment - and good taste evinced in the composition and selection of such - tracts and books as have already been issued by this society, we are - encouraged to hope that it will be eminently effective in making - known the truths of our holy religion, and dispelling the prejudices - which are mainly owing to want of information on the part of so many - of our fellow-citizens. For this it is necessary that a generous - co-operation be given, both by clergy and laity, to the undertakings - which is second to none in importance among the {428} subsidiary - aids which the inventions of modern times supply to our ministry for - the diffusion of Catholic truth." - ----- - -CURIOUS QUESTIONS. By Rev. Henry A. Brann, D.D. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 272. -Newark, N. J.: J. J. O'Connor & Co., 59 and 61 New street. 1866. - -This attractive-looking, well-printed volume reflects great credit on -the enterprise and taste of the publishers, who, we hope, will be -rewarded and encouraged by an extensive sale. We may remark, by the -way, that some of our publishers would do well to imitate the Messrs. -O'Connor in their style of binding and lettering, which is neat and -tasteful but perfectly plain. The flashy style of late adopted in some -cases is in most wretched taste, especially when the book treats of -grave and serious topics; and it is especially displeasing to all -scholars. The only fault in the mechanical execution of the book -before us is, that the margin of the page is somewhat too large. - -The book itself treats of much more weighty and important topics than -the title would suggest. It is an analysis and resume of some of the -principal topics treated of in our philosophical text-books. The -author has studied attentively and with understanding, and has -presented us with an abstract of his studies, expressed in a clear, -terse, and methodical style. There are, nevertheless, occasional -infelicities of diction, which could easily be corrected, and which -are pardonable in a young and unpractised author. The use of the word -"conscience" for consciousness appears to us decidedly objectionable, -and likely to mislead the English reader not familiar with the Latin -word "conscientia," of which it is too verbal a translation. Such an -expression as "secundum quid beings" is awkward and quite unnecessary. -The same word sometimes recurs too frequently for euphony, and some -sentences are carelessly constructed or unfinished. These faults are, -however, comparatively slight and infrequent, and do not enter into -the texture of the style and diction itself, which is of good and -serviceable fabric. - -The author follows the school of Plato, St. Augustine, Gerdil, -Leibnitz, Gioberti, and the modern ontologists, taking the Abbe -Branchereau as his more immediate guide. The general principles and -drift of the system of philosophy contained in the prelections of the -last-named author we regard as sounds, and we are therefore well -pleased to see this system in part reproduced by one who has mastered -it, and has also illustrated it from his studies in other authors. -There is a certain confusion and incompleteness, however, in the -statements and explanations of M. Branchereau upon one or two -important points, and the same reappears in the work before us. One of -these points relates to the activity of the intellect in its intuition -of being. M. Branchereau does not speak distinctly upon the point, but -Dr. Brann expresses the opinion that the intellect is active, in -contradiction to Gioberti. If by this is meant that the intellect has -an active power to originate the intuition of infinite, eternal, -necessary being, we apprehend that consequences might be deduced from -this statement not in accordance with the Catholic doctrine. Another -point relates to the universals, or genera and species. On this point -the language both of M. Branchereau and of our author seems not to be -sufficiently precise and accurate to guard against the appearance of -maintaining the untenable proposition that genera and species are -contained in God. - -There is one more point of very great importance, where our author has -either misapprehended the doctrine of the great writers of whose -system he is the expositor, or has intentionally deviated from it, -and, as we think, without due consideration. He maintains (p. 255) -that material substance is radically spiritual and intelligent. -Leibnitz, who is followed by a great number of the ablest philosophers -of our day, taught that the ultimate components of matter are simple -and indivisible, and so far similar in essence to spiritual -substances. Branchereau has very ably sustained this doctrine in his -philosophy, and we regard this portion of his treatise as one of the -most valuable of his contributions to science. He draws the line, -however, in common with all other Catholic writers with whom we are -acquainted, sharply and distinctly between material and spiritual -substances, as, we think, sound philosophy requires. The theory of our -author opens the way to the Darwinian theory of the evolution of all -the {429} entities of the universe from identical ultimate elements. -We think he would have shown more judgment by abstaining from the -expression of an immature speculation of his own on such an extremely -difficult and abstruse question. A little less of positive assertion, -and a little more diffidence of manner, and deference toward others, -throughout the whole volume, would be more graceful in an author just -at the outset of his career; especially as he is treating of those -profound and momentous questions which task and often baffle the -mightiest and most veteran leaders in the intellectual warfare. - -Having finished the ungracious part of our critical task, we take -pleasure in giving our judgment, that the design of the author in the -work before us is one that is praiseworthy, and the manner of its -execution such as to make it really valuable to the class of readers -he has in view. It is worthy of their attentive perusal, and could not -fail to benefit them if they would read and consider it with care. It -is an exposition of principles and doctrines in philosophy far deeper, -sounder, and more satisfactory to the intellect than is usually found -in the English language; and makes accessible to those who are -unacquainted with our best Catholic authors a portion of that treasure -of thought which is locked up in them out of the reach of the majority -of even educated men. We should like to have this book read by our -students and literary men generally, and even by our professors of -metaphysics in the colleges of the United States. It presents the -outlines of a system far superior to that jejune psychologism of the -Scottish school which is usually talked, and ought to be welcome to -those who are in search of something more solid. It will also be -valuable to students of philosophy in our own colleges as a companion -to their text-books, as well as to English readers generally who have -taste and capacity for relishing on philosophical subjects. We wish it -success and a large circulation, and we trust the author will continue -his contributions to literature and science. - ----- - -THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE WORKS OF SHAKESPEARE By Nathaniel Holmes. 1 -vol. 12mo, pp. 601. New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1866. - - -Mr. Holmes attempts, in this finely printed volume from the Riverside -Press, to prove that the works of Shakespeare are not Shakespeare's, -but Francis Bacon's. His argument is: Shakespeare did not write them -because he could not; Francis Bacon, my lord Verulam, did write them -because he could. To which it may be replied: Shakespeare could write -them, because he did; Bacon did not, because he could not. That Bacon -could not, is evident from the character of the man and what we know -of his acknowledged writings; that Shakespeare did is the uniform -tradition from their first appearance down to the present, and must be -presumed until the contrary appears. - -Mr. Holmes has proved, what all competent judges have always held, -that the author of the works received as Shakespeare's must have had -more learning and greater scientific and linguistic attainments than -his biographers supposed Shakespeare to have had, but has not proved -that he must have had more than Shakespeare might have had. Few -persons capable of appreciating the wonderful productions attributed -to Shakespeare can doubt that he was up to the scientific lore of his -age; knew enough of Latin, Greek, French, Italian, and perhaps -Spanish, to read and understand works written in those languages; had -some general knowledge of medicine; was familiar with many of the -technicalities of English law; was a profound philosopher, with more -than an ordinary knowledge of Christian theology and morals. But who -can say that Shakespeare might not have had all the learning and -science here supposed? - -We in reality know next to nothing of the facts of Shakespeare's life. -We know the place and date of his birth and death, the age at which he -was withdrawn from the grammar-school, and of his marriage; we know -that he was in London about the age of thirty, where he chiefly -resided till within two or three years of his death, as an actor, -play-wright, manager, and a large stockholder in a London theatre. -These, and some few business transactions and his retirement, after -having accumulated a handsome property, to his native place, where his -family appear to have resided, constitute nearly all that we know of -William Shakespeare outside of his works; and in these facts there is -nothing that proves it impossible or even difficult, {430} with the -genius, ability, and quickness the author of Shakespeare's works must -have had, for him to acquire all the learning and science those works -indicate in their author. - -Ben Jonson says Shakespeare had "little Latin and less Greek," but -Jonson was a pedant, and his assertion meant simply no more than that -he was not profoundly or critically learned either as a Greek or Latin -scholar; and there is no necessity of supposing that he was. Latin and -Greek were taught in the grammar-schools of his time, and as it is -said he was fourteen when called home from school, it is no violent -supposition to suppose that he learned enough while at school to read -and understand Latin and Greek books, at least sufficiently for his -purposes as a poet. We know not how or where he spent the sixteen -years between leaving school, or the twelve years between his marriage -and his appearance in London, but he might, for aught we know, have -easily acquired during those years all the learning and knowledge of -modern languages indicated by his earliest plays. It could not take a -man of his genius and ability many weeks' study to master as much of -law and medicine as his works indicate; and as to his theology and -metaphysics, we must remember that he lived before Bacon, Hobbes, and -Locke had enfeebled theology and philosophy in the English mind, and -obliterated from the memory of Englishmen all traces of Catholic -tradition. Shakespeare, if not a Catholic himself, had been trained to -a greater or less extent in Catholic principles, and he rarely, if -ever, deviates in his philosophy, his theology, or theoretic morals -from Catholic tradition, still in his time retained to a great extent -in spite of Protestantism by the main body of the English people. - -Bearing in mind that Shakespeare wrote his plays for the stage, to be -acted, and that he used without scruple any materials from whatever -quarter gathered that he could lay his hands on, there is nothing -wonderful in their production, except the unrivalled genius of their -author. There are many self-educated men, even in our own country, who -in the learning and science acquired from the study of books equal -Shakespeare, but in that which comes from within no one self-educated -or university-educated has ever equalled him; and not unlikely the -fact that his genius had never been cramped by the pedantic rules of -the university, nor his time frittered away in learning minutiae that -never come into play in practical life, and which the student forgets -as soon as he goes forth into the world, was in his case are great -advantage--at least no disadvantage. - -But we cannot forgive the author for his sacrilegious attempt to -transfer of the glory of Shakespeare to Francis Bacon, a different and -altogether an inferior man. Shakespeare was infinitely superior to -Bacon. Even if Bacon had been great enough to write Shakespeare's -plays--of which there is no evidence--he was not philosopher enough -to do it. Shakespeare is always in accord with the best philosophical -tradition which comes down from the ancients through the fathers and -doctors of the church, as well as with the dictates of experience and -common sense; Bacon begins a rupture with tradition, and places -philosophy on the declivity to sensism and materialism, whose logical -terminus is universal nullity. Shakespeare's philosophy is Catholic, -Bacon's is Protestant, and has produced the same anarchy in science -that Protestantism has in religion and morals. There is nothing like -in the spirit and tone of the two men. Their _morale_ is quite -different; neither may have been blameless in life, but Shakespeare, -if he sinned, did so from high spirits, joviality, heedlessness; while -Bacon sinned, we we know, from sordidness, and left his name stamped -with the infamy that belongs to a judge that takes bribes. Bacon, -intentionally or not, has favored modern doubt and unbelief, while -Shakespeare crushes the incipient doubt of his age in Hamlet and in -several other of his place, and he could never have said with Bacon, -atheism is better, socially and politically, than superstition. But -enough. Mr. Holmes deserves no thanks for what he has done, and we do -not think that he has proved his theory is not a "crazy theory." - ----- - -FAMILIAR LECTURES ON SCIENTIFIC SUBJECTS. -By Sir John Herschel. London and New York: Alexander Strahan. - - -This volume contains, among others, essays on the Sun, Earthquakes and -Volcanoes, Comets, Celestial Measurement, Light, Force, and Atoms. The -author, although upward of seventy years of {431} age, still writes -with the enthusiasm, vigor and sprightliness of a young votary of -science, and of course with the profundity, range of thought, weight -of judgment, and vastness of learning belonging only to one who has -grown gray scientific studies. The topics he discusses are among the -most important and interesting in science. To their absorbing -intrinsic interest is added the charm of Sir John Herschel's method -and style of exposition. In literary merit and beauty of style this -series of lectures exceeds any of the productions of the professors of -physical science with which we are acquainted, and is equal to our -best English classics. There is a pleasant playfulness also about the -ancient astronomer, which must have made his lectures, as he delivered -them, most delightful to listen to. The religious and moral tone of -the lectures is elevated and wholesome. Without any set and formal -attempts at moralizing or preaching, the illustrious author naturally -and forcibly presents, on fitting occasions, the irresistible evidence -afforded by the stupendous order of the universe of the infinite -wisdom and goodness of God. Some few disparaging remarks about -Catholic superstition occur in his pages; but not so many as we -frequently meet with in similar works by English Protestants, who seem -to be incapable of abstaining for a very long time from their favorite -amusement--one which has as much popularity with the English public as -the national game of "Aunt Sally." - -Notwithstanding these little specimens of religious squibbery, which -can do no harm to any intelligent Catholic, whether child or adult, we -recommend this book most cordially to all our readers. It is a great -advantage and pleasure to those intelligent and educated readers who -have not had time or opportunity to study scientific text-books, to -have the grand results of science placed before them in an -intelligible and readable form. We cannot think of anything more -desirable for the interests of general education, than a complete -series of lectures, like those of the volume before us, on all the -principal topics of the several grand divisions of physical science. -The field of knowledge is now so vast, and includes so many distinct, -richly cultivated enclosures, that even students must confine -themselves to the thorough study of a few specialties. Yet, education -ought to include a general survey of the universal domain of -knowledge. Therefore, it becomes important to have generalizations, -compendiums, the condensed cream of science, prepared by the hands of -masters in the several branches of knowledge. We are grateful to Sir -John Herschel for devoting his old age to the task of making the -sublime discoveries of astronomical science intelligible to ordinary -readers. His charming volume should be in every library, and read by -every one who takes pleasure in solid knowledge communicated in the -clearest and most agreeable manner. - ------- - -THE RISE AND THE FALL; OR, THE ORIGIN OF MORAL EVIL. -In three parts. Part I. The Suggestion of Reason. II. The Disclosure -of Revelation. III. The Confirmation of Theology. New York: Hurd & -Houghton. 1866. - -A very thoughtful, sensible, calmly written book, pervaded by a high -tone of moral and religious sentiment. The modest, anonymous author -may be called an orthodox Protestant semi-rationalist. He takes -Scripture as furnishing certain revealed data on which the individual -reason must construct a rational theorem of religion. Revelation, as -apprehended by the individual reason, being a variable quantity, of -course dogmas are reduced to mere hypothesis more or less probable, -according to the force of the argument which sustains them. We have, -accordingly, about as ingenious and plausible an hypothesis of -original sin as any one can well make who does not begin with the true -conception as given him by the Catholic dogma. The author's hypothesis -is, that Adam, having been created in the intellectual, but not in the -moral order, was elevated to the moral order through his own act, -thereby contracting a liability to sin as incidental to moral liberty, -which he transmitted together with the moral nature to his posterity. -In this way sin entered into the world through Adam, not by an -imputation or infusion of his sin into his descendants, but as an -incidental consequence of the transfer of human nature into the sphere -of moral obligation. The transgression of Adam and Eve the author -considers not to have been a sin at all, but an act {432} without any -moral character, like that of a young child climbing to the roof of a -house; a bold experiment which the inexperience of infant man led him -to hazard without regard to the unknown consequences. - -We consider the effort to determine the questions discussed by the -author, from the data admitted by him, to be as impossible a task as -to calculate the distance of a fixed star which makes no parallax. The -oscillation of the ground, of the building, and of the instrument used -by the astronomer, and the apparent or proper motions of the stars, -may deceive him by an apparent parallax, from which he will make a -plausible but illusory calculation. The application suggests itself. -We have already discussed the same questions, from the data furnished -by revealed Catholic dogmas, and are now engaged in discussing them in -the series of articles entitled "Problems of the Age;" and it is, -therefore, superfluous to enter here into a new discussion of the same -topics. - -We are glad to see these questions discussed, and always read with -interest what is written by a candid, earnest, well-informed, and able -writer like the author of this book. With many of his views we -cordially agree, and recognize the justice, force, and beauty of many -of his observations. We like him particularly for his clear views of -the goodness and justice of God, the freedom of man, the negative -character of evil, the worth and excellence of moral virtue; and for -his denial of physical depravity, of a dark, inevitable doom preceding -all personal existence or accountability, and similar fatalistic -doctrines of the old Protestant theological systems. While, however, -the moderate rationalism of the author avails so far as to refute -certain systems or doctrines which are contrary to reason, and to -furnish certain fragmentary portions of a better system, it is not -sufficient to make a complete synthesis between reason and revelation. -Catholic philosophy alone is competent to achieve this mighty and, -indeed, superhuman task. - ----- - -THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE CONDITIONED, -comprising some remarks on Sir William Hamilton's Philosophy and on -Mr. J. S. Mill's Examination of that Philosophy. By H. L. Mansel, -B.D., Waynflete Professor of Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy in the -University of Oxford. London and New-York: Alexander Strahan. 1886 - - -The philosophy of Sir William Hamilton has been the subject of an -animated controversy for some time in England and Scotland. It has -been attacked from two opposite sides--some of the principal critics -upon it having been themselves pupils of the distinguished Scottish -baronet, whose system they have undertaken to combat. On the one side, -Mr. Calderwood has assailed it, as deficient in affirming the -principle of certitude respecting ideal truth, and on the other, Mr. -Mill, as affirming too dogmatically the same principle. These assaults -have called out other champions in defense of their great master, -among whom Mr. Mansel is one of the most conspicuous. Those who desire -to know what can be said in favor of the Hamilton system will find -this volume worthy of their perusal. The author brings learning, no -mean ability, and very good temper to his task. We are no admirers of -the system he undertakes to defendant, but still less of that of his -antagonist. The first we regard as inadequate to the need which exists -of a true Christian philosophy, the second as subverting the very -basis of all philosophy and all religion. In this controversy our -sympathy and respect are given to the Oxford professor, as one who is -striving to uphold the belief in God and the Christian revelation, -albeit with insufficient weapons. We find, also, very much that is -admirable in particular portions of his essay. - -It is needless to say anything in praise of Mr. Strahan's -publications, so far as the beauty of their mechanical execution is -concerned. The volume before us is a perfect specimen of British -typographical art, just such a book as delights the eye of the -literary amateur. - ----- - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - - -From the Author: "The Life of Simon Bolivar, Liberator of Colombia and -Peru, Father and Founder of Bolivia: carefully written from authentic -and unpublished documents." By Doctor Felipe Larrazabal. Vol. 1, 8vo., -pp. 410. - - -Anniversary Address and Poem, delivered before the society of the -Alumni of the Detroit High School, August 30th. 1886. Address by H. E. -Bust; Poem by Miss M. F. Buchanan. - - - -From the American News Company: "Utterly Wrecked." A Novel, by Henry -Morford; paper. - ----------- - -{433} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD - - -VOL. IV, NO. 22.--JANUARY, 1867. - - -ORIGINAL. - -A CHRISTMAS SONG. - - - A carol of joy, a carol of joy, - For the glorious Christmas time; - While the heavens rejoice and the earth is glad. - Let the merry bells sweetly chime. - Let us seek the crib where our Saviour lies-- - See, the shepherds are kneeling there; - Let us offer, with Mary and Joseph, - Our worship of love and prayer. - - A carol of praise, a carol of praise, - With the angels let us sing; - Let us welcome with notes of rapturous joy - Our Saviour, our God and King. - Oh! would we could offer him worthy gifts, - Oh! would that our hearts could love, - With some equal return, the Holy Child, - Who for us left his throne above! - - A carol of joy, a carol of joy, - Let the whole earth gladly shout; - She has waited long for this promised day. - Let the glorious song flow out. - A carol of praise, a carol of joy. - Let us sing for the Christmas time. - While the heavens rejoice and the earth is glad, - And the merry bells sweetly chime. - - ----- - -{434} - - -ORIGINAL. - -CHARITY AND PHILANTHROPY. - - -There is no denying that our age, in its dormant tendency, places -philanthropy above charity, and holds it higher praise to call a man -philanthropic than to call him charitable. In its eyes charity is to -philanthropy as a part to the whole, and consists, chiefly, in giving -the beggar a penny or sending him to the poor-house, and in treating -error and sin with even more consideration than truth and virtue. -Could anything better indicate the distance it has fallen below the -Christian thought, or its failure to grasp the principle of Christian -morals? - -Philanthropy, according to the etymology of the word, is simply the -love of man; charity, according to Christian theology, is the love of -God, and of man in God. Philanthropy is simply a natural human -sentiment; charity is a virtue, a supernatural virtue, not possible -without the assistance of grace--the highest virtue, the sum and -perfection of all the virtues, the fulfilment of the whole law, the -bond of perfectness which likens and unites us to God; for God is -charity, _Deus est caritas_. It does not exclude but includes the love -of man, our neighbor or our brother; "for if any man say, I love God -and hateth his brother, he is a liar. For if he loveth not his -brother, whom he seeth, how can he love God, whom he seeth not?" -Whoever loves God must necessarily love his brother, for his brother -is included in God, as the effect in the cause, and he who loveth not -his brother proves clearly thereby that he doth not love God. But -charity, though it includes philanthropy, is as much superior to it as -God is to man. - -The natural sentiments are all good in their origin and design, as -much so since as before the fall; and man would be worthless without -them; would be a monster, not a man. But in themselves they are blind. -Each one tends, when left to itself, to become exclusive and -excessive, and hence comes that internal disorder, anarchy, or war of -conflicting sentiments of which we are all more or less conscious, and -in which originate all life's tragedies. Even when developed, -restrained, and directed by the understanding, as they all need to be, -they are not even then moral virtues, meriting praise. Moral virtue is -a rational act, an act of free will, done for the sake of the end -prescribed by the law of God; but in the sentiments there is no free -will, except in restraining and directing them, and man acts in them -only as the sun shines, the rain falls, the winds blow, or the -lightnings flash. There may the beauty and goodness in them, as in the -objects of nature, but there is no virtue, because the spring of all -sentimental action is the indulgence or gratification of the sentiment -itself, not the will to do our duty, or to obey the law by which we -are morally bound. - -Indeed, what most offends this age--perhaps all ages--and for which -it has the greatest horror, is duty or obedience; for duty implies -that we are not our own, and, therefore, are not free to dispose of -ourselves as we please; and obedience implies a superior, a lord and -master, who has the right to order us. It, therefore, sets its wits to -work and racks its brains to invent a morality that excludes duty, and -exacts no such hateful same as obedience. It has found all that it is -far nobler to act from love than from duty, and to do a thing because -we are prompted to do it by our hearts, then because God, in his law, -commands it. {435} In other words, it is nobler, more moral, to act to -please ourselves, than it is to act to please God. This passes for -excellent philosophy, and you may hear it in conversation of many -young misses just from boarding-school, read it in most popular novels -and magazines, and be edified by it from the pulpit of more than one -professedly Christian denomination. - -This philosophy sets the so-called heart above the head, that is, it -distinguishes the heart from the understanding and will, and places -it, as so distinguished, above them. Hence we find the tendency is to -treat faith, considered as an intellectual act, and consequently the -Christian dogmas, with great indifference; and to say, if the heart is -right, it is no matter what one believes, and, it may be added, no -matter what one does. What one does is of little consequence, if one -only has fine sentiments, warm and gushing feelings. Jack Scapegrace -is hard drinking a gambler, a liar, a rake, and seldom goes near a -church; but for all that he is a right down good fellow--has a warm -heart. He gives liberally to the missionary society, and makes large -purchases at charity fairs. Hence a good heart, which at best means -only quick sensibilities, and which is perfectly compatible with the -grossest self-indulgence, and the most degrading and ruinous vices, -constitutes the sum and substance of religion and morality, atones for -the violation of every precept of the Decalogue, and supplies the -absence of faith and Christian virtue. - -All errors are half truths. Certainly, love is the fulfilling of the -law, and the heart is all that God requires. "My son, give me thy -heart." But the "heart" in the scriptural sense is reason, the -intellect, and the will; and the love that fulfils the law is not a -sentiment, but a free act of the rational soul, and, therefore, a love -which it is within our power to give or withhold. It is a free, -voluntary love, yielded by intelligence and will. In this sense, love -cannot be contrasted with duty; for it is duty, or its fulfilment, and -indistinguishable from it; the heart cannot be contrasted with the -head, in the scriptural or Christian sense of the word; for in that -sense it includes the head, and stands for the whole rational -soul--the mistress of her own acts. To act from the promptings of -one's own heart, in this sense, is all right, for it is to act from a -sense of duty, from reason and will, or intelligence and free -volition. In souls well constituted and trained, or long exercised in -the practice of virtue, no long process of reasoning or deliberation -ever takes place, and the decision and execution are simultaneous, and -apparently instantaneous, but the act is none the less an act of -deliberate reason or free will. - -Plato speaks of a love which is not an affection of the sensibility, -and which is one of the wings of the soul on which she soars to the -Empyreum; but I can understand no love that contrasts with duty, -except it be an affection of the sensitive nature, what the Scriptures -call "the flesh," which is averted by the fall from God, and, as the -Council of Trent defines, "inclines to sin"--"the carnal mind," which, -St. Paul tells us, is at enmity with God, is not subject to the law of -God, nor indeed can be. Christianity recognizes an antagonism between -the flesh and the spirit, between the law in our members and the Law -of the mind, but none between the love she approves and the duty she -enjoins, or between the heart which God demands and the head or the -understanding. Love by the Christian law is demanded as a duty, as -that which is due from us to God. We are required to love God with our -whole heart, mind, soul, and strength, and our neighbor as ourselves. -This is our duty, and therefore the love must be an act of free -will--a love which we are free to yield or to withhold, for our duty -can never exceed our liberty. The Christian loves duty, loves -self-denial and sacrifice, loves the law, and delights in it after -{436} the inner man; but in loving the law he acts freely from his own -reason and will, and he obeys it not for the sake of the delight he -takes in it, but because it is God's law; otherwise he would act to -please himself, not to please God, and his act would be simply an act -of self-indulgence. - -The age, in its efforts to construct a morality which excludes duty -and obedience, tends to resolve the love which Christianity demands -into an affection of the sensibility, and thence very logically -opposes love to duty, and holds it nobler to act from inclination than -from duty, to follow the law in our members than the law of the mind. -It may then substitute, with perfect consistency, the -transcendentalist maxim, Obey thyself, for the Christian maxim. Deny -thyself! - -But this is not all. The age, or what is usually called the age, not -only resolves virtue, which old-fashioned ethics held to be an act of -free will done in obedience to the Divine law, into a sentiment, or -interior affection, of the sensibility, but it goes further and -resolves God into man, and maintains that the real sense of the -mystery of the Incarnation, of the Word made flesh, is that man is the -only actual and living God, and that beyond humanity there is only -infinite possibility, which humanity in its infinite progress and -evolution and absorption of individual life is continually -actualizing, or filling up. So virtually teaches Hegel, -inconsiderately followed by Cousin, in teaching that _das reine Seyn_, -or simply possible being, arrives at self-consciousness first in man. -So teach the Saint Simonians, Enfantin, Bazard, Carnot, and Pierre -Leroux; and so hold the school or sect of the Positivists, followers -of Auguste Comte, who have actually instituted _un culte_ or service -in honor of humanity. The Positivists are too modest to claim to be -themselves each individually God, but they make no bones of calling -humanity, or the great collective man, God, and offering him, as such, -a suitable worship. This is taught and done in France, the most -lettered nation in Europe; and the principle that justifies it -pervades not a little of the popular literature of Great Britain, -Germany, and the United States. - -If man or humanity is God, of course the highest virtue is and must be -philanthropy, the love of all men in general, and of no one in -particular. Resolve now God into man, and philanthropy or the love of -man into an affection of the sensibility or sensitive nature, and you -have in a nutshell the theology, religion, and morality to which the -age tens, which the bulk of our popular literature favors, which our -sons and daughters inhale with the very atmosphere they breathe, and -which explains the effeminacy and sentimentalism of modern society. It -is but a logical sequence that the age, since women are ordinarily -narily more sentimental than men, places woman at the head of the -race, and holds woman--if young, beautiful amiable, sentimental, and -rich--to be the most perfect and adorable embodiment of the divinity. -The highest form of philanthropy is the love of woman. I would say, -philogyny, only that might be taken to imply that the highest virtue -is the love of one's wife, or wifehood, which is to old-fashioned, -unless by wife is meant the wife of one's neighbor. But, my dear young -lady, be not too vain of the homage you receive; it will be withheld -with the first appearance of the first wrinkle or the first gray hair. -It is better to be honored as a true woman than to be worshipped as a -goddess or even as an angel. - -The sentimental worship of humanity, or the reduction of the virtue of -charity to the sentiment of philanthropy, necessarily weaken and -debases the character; and whatever we may say under various aspects -and praise of our age, and however strong our confidence that God in -his providence will turn even its evil tendencies to good, we cannot -deny its moral weakness; and it is doubtful if {437} the debasement of -individual character was greater, even in the Lower Empire, or that -men were more dishonest or fraudulent, more sordid or venal. Other -ages have been marked, perhaps, by less refinement of manners, more -violent crimes, and great criminals, but few are found less capable -either of great virtues or great expiations. This need not surprise -us, for it is only the natural effect of substituting sentiment for -virtue, and sentimental for moral culture, which we are constantly -doing. - -Many, perhaps, will be disposed to deny that we have substituted -sentimental for moral culture, and it must be concluded that the -didactic lessons given in our schools throughout Christendom, for the -most part, remain very much as they have been ever since there was a -Christendom, and in general accord with pure Christian ethics. There -are few, if any, schools for children and youth, in which the -sentimental and humanitarian morality, or rather immorality, is -formally taught. But we should remember that the didactic lessons of -the school-room do very little toward forming the character of our -youth, and that the culture that really forms it is given by the home -circle, associations, the spirit and tone of the community in which -they are brought up. There is a subtle influence, what the Germans -call _der Welt-Geist_, which pervades the whole community, and affects -the faith, the morals, and character of all who grow up in that -community without any formal instruction or conscious effort of any -one. So far as formal lessons and words go, the culture of our -children and youth is, for the most part, Christian; but these lessons -and words receive a practical interpretation by _der Welt-Geist_, what -I call s spirit of the age, and should, "the prince of this world," -which deprives them of their Christian sense, takes from them all -meaning, or gives them an anti-Christian meaning. It is one of the -striking peculiarities of the age that it inculcates the baldest -infidelity, the grossest immorality in the language of Christian faith -and virtue. It is this fact which deceives so many, and that makes the -assertion of sentimental for moral culture appear to be a total -misstatement, or, at least, a gross exaggeration of the fact. - -It will, no doubt, also be said that a decided reaction in our popular -literature against sentimentalism has already commenced. The realism -of Dickens and the Trollopes is opposed to it, Bulwer Lytton, in his -late novels at least, is decidedly hostile to it, and Thackeray -unmercifully ridicules it. These and other popular writers have -undoubtedly reacted against one form of sentimentalism, the dark and -suicidal form placed in vogue by Goethe in his Sorrows of Werter, and -now nearly forgotten; but they have not ridiculed or reacted against -the form of sentimentalism which substitutes the sentiment of -philanthropy for the virtue of charity. They encourage -humanitarianism, and make the love of man for woman or woman for man -the great agent in developing, enlarging, and strengthening the -intellect, the spring of the purest and sublimest morality. The hero -of popular literature is now rarely an avowed unbeliever or open -scoffer, and in all well-bred novels the heroine says her prayers -night and morning, and the author decidedly patronizes Christianity, -and says many beautiful and even true things in its favor; but, after -all, his religion is based on humanity, is only a charming -sentimentalism, embraced for its loveliness, not as duty or the law -which it would be sin to neglect; or it is introduced as a foreign and -incongruous element, never as the soul or informing spirit of the -novel. - -The fact is undeniable, whether people are generally conscious of it -or not, and we see its malign influence not only on individual -character, but on domestic and social life. It has nearly broken up -and rendered impossible the Christian family in the easy and educated -classes. {438} Marriage is, it is said, where and only where there is -mutual love, and hence the marriage is in the mutual love, is lawful -between any parties who mutually love, unlawful between any who do -not. Love is an interior affection of the sensibility, a feeling, and -like all the feelings independent of reason and will. All popular -literature makes love fatal, something undergone, not given. We love -where we must; not where we would nor where we should, but where we -are fated to love. It needs not here to speak of infidelity to the -marriage vows, which this doctrine justifies to any extent, for those -vows are broken when broken from unreasoning passion or lust, not from -a theory which justifies it. I speak rather of the misery which it -carries into married life, the destruction of domestic peace and -happiness it causes. Trained in the sentimentalism of the age, and to -regard love as a feeling dependent on causes beyond our control, our -young people marry, expecting from marriage what it has not, and -cannot give. They expect the feeling which they call love, and which -gives a roseate hue to everything they look upon, will continue as -fresh, as vivid, and as charming after marriage as before it; but the -honeymoon is hardly over, and they begin to settle down in the regular -routine of life, before they discover their mistake, the roseate hue -has gone, their feelings have undergone a notable change, and they are -disappointed in each other, and feel that the happiness they counted -on is no longer to be expected. The stronger and more intense the -mutual feeling the greater the disappointment, and hence the common -saying: Love matches are seldom happy matches. Each party is -disappointed in the other, frets against the chain that binds them -together, and wishes it broken. - -This is only what might have been expected. Nothing is more variable -or transitory than our feelings, and nothing that depends on them can -be unchanging or lasting. When the feelings of the married couple -change toward each other, the marriage bond becomes a galling chain, -and is felt to be a serious evil, and divorce is desired and resorted -to as a remedy. It is usually no remedy at all, or a remedy worse even -than the disease; but it is the only remedy practicable where feeling -is substituted for rational affection. Hence, in nearly all modern -states, the legislature, in direct conflict with the Christian law, -which makes marriage a sacrament and indissoluble, permits divorce, -and in some states for causes as frivolous as incompatibility of -temper. It is easy to censure the legislature but it must follow and -express the morals, manners, sentiments, and demands of the people, -and when these are repugnant to the divine law, it cannot in its -enactments conform to that law; and if did, it's enactments would be -resisted as tyrannical and oppressive, or remained on the statute book -a dead letter, as did so much wise and just legislation inspired by -the church in the middle ages. The evil lies further back, in the -humanitarianism of the age, which reverses the real order, puts the -flesh in the place of the spirit, philanthropy in the place of -charity, and man in the place of God, and which promotes an excessive -culture of the sentiments, at the expense of rational conviction and -affection. There is no remedy but in returning to the order we have -reversed, to the higher culture of reason and free will, not possible -without faith in God and the Christian mysteries. - -But passing over the effects of sentimental morality on individual -character, the private virtues, and domestic happiness, we find it no -less hostile to social ameliorations and reforms in the state. The age -is philanthropic, and wages war with every form of vice, poverty, and -suffering, and is greatly shocked at the evils it finds past ages -tolerated without ever making an effort to remove them, hardly even to -mitigate them. {439} This is well as far as it goes; but in an age -when the sensitive nature is chiefly cultivated, when physical pain is -counted the chief evil, and sensible pleasures held to be the chief -good, practically, if not theoretically, many things will be regarded -as evils which, in a more robust and manly age, were unheeded, or not -counted as evils at all. Many things in our day need changing, simply -because other things having been changed, they have become anomalous -and are out of place. What in one state of society is simple poverty, -is really distress in another; and poverty, which in itself is no -evil, becomes a great evil in a community where wealth is regarded as -the supreme good, and the poor have wants, habits, and tastes which -only wealth an satisfy. The poorer classes of today in civilized -nations would suffer intensely if thrown back into the condition they -were in under the feudal regime, but it may be doubted if they do not -really suffer as much now as they did then. Perhaps such wants as they -then had were more readily met and supplied than are those which they -now have. In point of fact, Christian charity did infinitely more for -the poor and to solace suffering in all its forms, even in the feudal -ages, than philanthopy does now; and we find the greatest amount of -squalid wretchedness now precisely in those nations in which -philanthopy has been most successful in supplanting charity. - -Philanthropy effects nothing except in so far as it copies or imitates -Christian Charity, and its attempted imitations are rarely successful. -It has for years been very active and hard at work in imitation of -charity; but what has it effected? what suffering has it solaced? what -crime has it diminished? what vice has it corrected? what social evil -has it removed? It has tried its hand against licentiousness, and -licentiousness is more rife and shameless than ever. It has made -repeated onslaughts on the ruinous vice of intemperance, and yet -drunkenness increases instead of diminishing, and has become the -disgrace of the country-. It has professed great regard for the poor, -but does more to remove them out of sight than to relieve them. It -treats poverty as a vice or a crime, looks on it as a disgrace, a -thing to be fled from with all speed possible, and makes the poor feel -that wealth is virtue, honor, nobility, the greatest good, and thus -destroys their self respect, aggravates their discontent, and -indirectly provokes the crimes against property become so general and -so appalling. What a moral New York reads us in the fact that she -makes her commissioners of "Public Charities" also commissioners of -"Public Corrections!" Philanthropy rarely fails to aggravate the evil -she attempts to cure, or to cure one evil by introducing another and a -greater evil. Her remedies are usually worse than the disease. - -Owen, Fourier, Cabet, and other philanthropists have made serious -efforts to reorganize society so as to remove the inequalities or the -evils of the inequalities of wealth and social position; but have all -failed, because they needed, in order to succeed, the habits, -character, and virtues which, on their own theories, can be obtained -only from success. As a rule, philanthropy must succeed in order to be -able to succeed. - -Philanthropy--humanitarianism--has been shocked at slavery, and in -our country as well as in some others it formed associations for its -abolition. In the West India Islands, belonging to Great Britain, it -succeeded in abolishing it, to the ruin of the planters and very -little benefit to the slave. In this country, if slavery is abolished, -it has not been done by philanthropy, which served only to set the -North and the South by the ears, but by the military authority as a -war measure, necessary, or judged to be necessary, to save the Union -and to guard against future attempts to dissolve it. Philanthropy is -hard at work to make abolition a blessing to the freedmen. It talks, -sputters, {440} clamors, legislates, but it can effect nothing; and -unless Christian charity takes the matter in hand, it is very evident -that, however much emancipation may benefit the white race, it can -prove of little benefit to the emancipated, who will be emancipated in -name, but not in reality. - -The great difficulty with philanthropy is, that she acts from feeling -and not reason, and uses reason only as the slave or instrument of -feeling. Wherever she sees an evil she rushes headlong to its removal, -blind to the injury she may do to rights, principles, and institutions -essential to liberty and the very existence of society. Hence she -usually in going to her end tramples down more good by the way than -she can obtain in gaining it. She has no respect for vested rights, -regards no geographical lines, and laughs at the constitutions of -states, if they stand in her way. Liberty with us was more interested -in maintaining inviolate the constitution of the Union and the local -rights of the several states, than it was even in abolishing negro -slavery, and hence many wise and good men, who had no interest in -retaining slavery, and who detested it as an outrage upon humanity, -did not and could not act or sympathize with the abolitionists. They -yield in nothing to them in the earnest desire to abolish slavery, but -they would abolish it by legal and peaceful means--means that would -not weaken the hold of the constitution and civil law on conscience, -and destroy the safeguards of liberty. The abolitionists did not err -in being opposed to slavery, but in the principles on which they -sought its abolition. Adam did not sin in aspiring to be God; for -that, in a certain sense, he was destined, through the incarnation, -one day to become. His sin was in aspiring to be God without the -incarnation, in his own personal right and might, and in violation of -the divine command, or by other means than those prescribed by his -Creator and Lawgiver, the only possible means of attaining the end -sought. - -Philanthropy commits the same error whatever the good work she -attempts, and especially in all her attempts at political reforms. She -finds herself "cabined, cribbed, confined" by old political -institutions, and cries out, Down with them. She demands for the -people a liberty which she sees they have not and cannot have under -the existing political order, and so proceeds at once to conspire -against it, to revolutionize the state, deluges the land in blood, and -gets anarchy, the Reign of Terror, or military despotism for its -pains. Never were there more sincere or earnest philanthropists than -the authors of the old French Revolution. The violent revolutions -attempted in modern Europe in the name of humanity, have done more -harm to society by unsettling the bases of society and effacing in -men's minds and hearts the traditional respect for law and order, than -any good they could have done by sweeping away the social and -political abuses they warred against. The French are not politically -or individually freer to-day than they were under Louis Quatorze. - -There are, no doubt, times when an old political order, as in Rome -after Marius and Sulla, has become effete, and can no longer fulfil -the duties or discharge the offices of a government, in which a -revolution, like that effected under the lead of Julius an Augustus -Caesar, may be desirable and advantageous, for it establishes a -practicable and a real government in the place of a government that -can no longer discharge the functions of government, and is virtually -no government at all. The empire was a great advance on the republic, -which was incapable of being restored. But revolutions properly -so-called, undertaken for the subversion of an existing order and the -introduction of another held to be theoretically more perfect, have -never, so far as history records, been productive of good. No doubt -England is to-day in advance of what she was under the Stuarts, but -who dares say that she is in advance of {441} what she would have been -had she not expelled them, or that she has become greater under the -Whig nobility than she might have been under the Tory squirarchy? - -There has been, I readily concede, a real progress in modern society, -at least dating from the fifth century of our era; but, as I read -history, the progress has been interrupted or retarded by modern -socialistic or political revolutions, and has in no case been -accelerated by philanthropy as distinguished from Christian charity. -Moreover, in no state of Christendom has charity ever been wholly -wanting. Nations have cast off the authority of the church, and have -greatly suffered in consequence; but in none has divine charity been -totally wanting, and the influence of Christianity on civilization, -even in heretical and schismatic nations, is not to be counted as -nothing. I am far from believing that the nations that broke away from -the church are not better than they would have been if they had not -had the benefit of the habits formed under her teaching and -discipline. I know that _extra ecclesiam nulla sit salus_; but I know -also that the church is as a city set on a hill, and that rays from -the light within her may and do extend beyond her walls, and relieve -in some degree the darkness of those who are outside of them. How much -the church continues to influence nations once within her communion, -but now severed from it, nobody is competent to determine, nor can any -one but God himself say how many, in all these nations, though not -formally united to the body of the church, are yet not wholly severed -from her soul. The Russian Church retains the Orthodox faith and the -sacraments, and is officially under no sentence of excommunication -from the body of Christ, and only those who are individually and -voluntarily schismatic, are guilty of the sin of schism; and in other -communions, though undoubtedly heretical, there may be large numbers -of baptized persons who do really act on Christian principles, and -from purely Christian motives. All I mean to deny is, that society or -humanity ever gains anything from violent or sentimental revolutions. - -The impotence of philanthropy without charity, or pure humanism, is -demonstrable _a priori_, and should have been foreseen. It is opposed -to the nature of things, and implies the absurdity that nothing is -something, and that what is not can act. It is an attempt to found -religion, morals, society, and the state without God; when without God -there is and can be nothing, and consequently nothing for them to -stand on. It assumes that man is an independent being, and suffices -for himself; which, whether we mean by man the individual or humanity, -"the universal man," "the one man" of the Transcendentalists, or "the -grand collective Being" of the Positivists, we all feel and know to be -not the fact. Man in either sense is a creature, and depends -absolutely on the creative act of God for his existence; and let God -suspend that act, and he sinks into the nothing he was before he was -created. Therefore it is in God _mediante_ his creative act he lives -and moves and has his being. Hence it is, whether we know it or not, -that we assert the existence of God as our creator in every act we -perform, every thought we think, every resolution we take, every -sentiment we experience, and every breath we draw, for no human -operation--physical, intellectual, or moral--is possible without the -divine creative act and concurrence. - -Philanthropy, or the love of man, separated from charity, or the love -of God and of man in God, is therefore simply nothing, a mere -negation, for it supposes man separated from God is something, and -separated from God he is nothing. Hence St. Paul, in his first epistle -to the Corinthians, says: "If I speak with the tongues of men and of -angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a -tinkling cymbal. And if I have prophecy, and know all mysteries, and -have {442} all knowledge, and have all faith, so I could remove -mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And if I should -distribute all my goods to feed the poor, and should give my body to -be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." This is so -not by virtue of any arbitrary decree or appointment of the Almighty, -even if such decree or appointment is possible, but in the very, -nature of things, and God himself cannot make it otherwise. God is -free to create or not to create, and free to create such existences as -he pleases; but he cannot create an independent self-sufficing being, -for he cannot create anything between which and himself there should -not be the relation of creator and creature. The creature depends -wholly, in all respects whatever, on the creator, and without him is -and can be nothing. The creature depends absolutely on the creator in -relation to all his acts, thoughts, and affections, as well as for -mere existence itself. God could not, even if it were possible that he -would, dispense with charity and count the love of man as independent -of God, as something, because he is truth, and it is impossible for -him to lie, and lie he would were he to count such supposed love -something, for independent of him there is no man to love or to be -loved. Man can love or be loved only where he exists; and as he exists -in God, so only in God can we possibly love him, that is, we can love -our neighbor only in loving God. The humanitarian love or morality is, -therefore, a pure negation, simply nothing. - -Man is, indeed, a free moral agent, and he would not be capable of -virtue or a _moral_ action, if he were not; but he can act, -notwithstanding his moral freedom, only according to the conditions of -his existence. He exists and can exist only by virtue of a -supernatural principle, medium, and end. He exists only by the direct, -immediate creative act of God, and God in himself and in his direct -immediate acts, always and everywhere, is supernatural, above nature, -because its creator, and, as its creator, its proprietor. The maker -has a sovereign right to the thing made. The creature can no more be -its own end than its own principle or cause. Man cannot take himself -self as his own end, because he is not his own, but is his creator's, -and because independent of God who he is nothing. So God is both his -principle and end. But the end is not possible without a medium that -places it in relation with the principle, as theologians demonstrate -in their dissertations on the mystery of the ever blessed Trinity, and -as common sense itself teaches. As the principle and end are -supernatural, so the medium must be supernatural, for the medium must -be on the plane of the principle and end between which is the medium. -The medium, in the moral or spiritual order, the gospel teaches us, is -the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which infused by the Holy Ghost -into the soul elevates her to the plane of her supernatural destiny, -and strengthens her to gain or fulfil it. Hence, as says the apostle, -_Ex ipso, et per ipsum, et in ipso sunt omnia_--things are from him, -and by him, and to or in him. These are the essential conditions of -all life, alike in the natural or physical order, and in the moral or -spiritual. In all orders God is the principle, medium, and end of all -existence, of all action. - -In the moral or spiritual order, not in the natural or physical order, -man is a free agent, and acts from free will, as Pope sings: - - "God, binding nature fast in fate, - Leaves free the human will." - -Grace assisting, man can conform to the essential conditions of his -existence--conditions determined and unalterably fixed by his -relation to God as his creator--by the free act of his own will; and -by doing so he lives morally, or has moral life. He can also, by -virtue of his liberty or freedom, refuse to conform, or in theological -language, to obey God, but he cannot so refuse and live in the moral -order. This refusal is not a living act, it is simply {443} the -negation of moral life, and therefore is moral death, as the -Scriptures call it. He does not necessarily cease to exist in the -natural or physical order, for in that order he cannot sever himself -from God, even if he would; he may kill his body, but not the physical -life of the soul, immortal, except by the will of its creator. But he -can extinguish his moral life, or refuse to live a moral life, which -is moral or spiritual death; and death is not a positive existence, -but the negation of existence, and therefore, nothing. Hence life and -death in the moral order are set before us, and we are free to choose -which we will. To choose, grace assisting, life, and freely of our own -will to conform to the conditions of life, to God as our principle, -medium, and and, is precisely what is meant by Christian charity, a -virtue that fulfils all the conditions imposed by our relation to God -as his creatures, the whole law of our existence, and unites our will -with the will of God, and by so doing makes us morally or spiritually -one with God. He who refuses charity, or has it not, voluntarily -renounces God, separates himself morally, and so far as his own will -goes even physically, from God; and as severed from God he exists not -at all; and therefore says the apostle, "Without charity I am -nothing." He only declares what is real, what is true in the nature of -things, and which God himself cannot alter. - -Philanthropy is, therefore, necessarily impotent, for it tends to -death, not life; and as there is no action, physical or moral, that -does not tend to a real end, it is not action, but a negation of -action, and is therefore in itself nothing positive. All the -sentiments for this reason are negative, simple wants of the soul. The -soul may exert her powers to satisfy them, or to fill up the void in -her being, which they all indicate, but they are in themselves -nothing. They indicate not what the soul has, but what she wants or -needs to complete herself; and that can never the obtained from the -creature save in God, for the creature out of God, separated or turned -away from God, is nothing; it is something only in God. Any morality, -then, built on the sentiments is as unsubstantial as castles in the -air, and as unreal as "the baseless fabric of a vision." The -sentiments being wants, negative, with nothing positive in themselves, -are necessarily impotent. They are unsatisfied wants, and incapable of -attaining to anything that can satisfy them. They are a hungering and -thirsting of the soul for what it is not and has not. Here is the -explanation of the misery and wretchedness of a sentimental age, why -it is so ill-at-ease, so restless, so discontented in the midst of -material progress, and the accumulations of sensible goods. It -explains, too, why the damned, or those who fail in their destiny, -must suffer for ever. Death and hell are not positive existences or -positive creations of God, but are the want of spiritual life, are the -unsatisfied wants, the endless cravings of the soul for what can be -had only in God, and the lost have turned their backs on God. - -Charity is not negative, not a want, but a power; and it is easy, -therefore, to understand that while philanthropy is impotent it is -effective. Charity grasps, as do all the rational affections, her -object, and is effective because she is positive not negative, living -not dead; and living, because she conforms to the real conditions of -life, and participates, through his creative act, in the life of him -who is life himself. She is less pretentious and more modest in her -proceedings and promises than philanthropy, but makes up for it in the -richness and magnificence of the results she obtains. She works slowly -and with patience, for she works for eternity, not time--without pomp -or parade, in obscurity and silence, for she seeks the praise of God, -not the praise of men. To the onlooker she seems not to move, any more -than the sun in the heavens; but after a while we find that she has -moved, and has transformed the world. {444} Broad in her love and -expansive as the universe, and embracing all ages and nations in her -affections, she yet wastes not her strength in vague generalities, nor -in manifold projects of reform or progress of the race in general, -from which no one in particular has anything to expect; but takes men -in the concrete as she finds them, does the work nearest at hand and -most pressing to be done, and proceeding quietly from the individual -to the family, from the family to society and the state, she works out -the regeneration of all in working out the regeneration of each. She -works as God works, without straining or effort, for her power is -great and never fails. Power needs make no effort; it speaks and it is -done, commands and it stands fast. Let there be light, and there is -light. It is weakness that must strain and tug, as we see in the -feeble literature of the day, and philanthropy seems to the observer -to be always more in earnest and far harder at work than charity, and -attracts far more attention; but while she fills the world with her -hollow sounds, charity, unheeded and unheard, fills it with her deeds. - -History is at hand to confirm the conclusions of reason, though the -full history of charity has never been written, and the greater part -of her deeds are known only to him whose eye seeth all things, and -will be revealed, only at the last day. But something has been -recorded and is known. We in our day think we are doing much to -relieve the poor and oppressed, to console the suffering, and to bind -up the broken-hearted; but the best of us would be put to shame were -we to study what charity did during the decline and fall of the Roman -empire and the barbarous ages that immediately followed. We have -boasted, and perhaps justly, of the services rendered to humanity -during our late civil war by our Christian Commissions and Sanitary -Commissions; but what was done by them during four years is nothing in -comparison with what was done daily by Christian charity to relieve -suffering and distress far greater than were experienced by those even -who suffered most from the ravages of our civil war, and that not for -four years only, but for four centuries. I have here no room for -details, or even for the barest outline of what charity did during the -long agony of the old world and the birth of the new; but this much -must be said, that it was everywhere present and energetic, and seemed -everywhere to renew the miracle of the five loaves and two fishes; and -when that old world had passed away, it was found that a new world on -a far broader and more durable foundation had taken it's place. -Charity had to deal with poverty and want, with sickness and sorrow, -and she relieved them; with captives and prisoners of war, and she -ransomed them even with the plate from the altar; with barbarians -whose highest vision of heaven was to sit in the halls of Valhalla, -and quaff from human skulls the blood of their enemies--she tamed, -humanized, and civilized them, and made them the foremost nations of -the world; with slaves, for Europe was covered over with them--and -she mitigated their lot, lightened their oppression, secured for them -the moral rights of Christians, and finally broke their chains and -made them, not freedmen only, but freemen, Christian freemen, and -brothers of the noblest and proudest. - -What if it took centuries to abolish slavery? It did not take her -centuries to christen the slaves, to bring them spiritual freedom, and -provide for their souls. She did not wait till she had abolished the -slavery of the body before abolishing the far more grievous slavery of -the soul, teaching the slaves the truth that liberates, incorporating -them into the church of God, and making them free and equal citizens -of the commonwealth of Christ. With this spiritual freedom, of which -philanthropy knows nothing, but which is the basis of all real -freedom, and with ample provisions for the wants of the soul, {445} -the slave could wait in patience for the day of deliverance from -bodily servitude. That day might be long in coming, come it surely -would; and it did come, and peaceably, without civil war, social -convulsion, industrial or economical disturbance. But, unhappily, with -us only a feeble portion of the slaves were really Christianized, and -by their moral and spiritual training as free and equal members of the -church, which makes no distinction between the bond and the free, the -white and the black, fitted to take their position and play there are -parts as free and equal members of civil society Moreover, we have not -been able to emancipate them peaceably; we have done it only by a -terrible civil war, in the midst of the clash of arms, as a means of -saving the life of the nation, or of perpetuating the union of the -states; and the most difficult problem remains to be solved, which the -humanitarians flatter themselves will be solved without trouble by -political economy, or the general law of demand and supply; but which -they will find it will need more Christian Charity than the nation has -hitherto possessed to solve, without the gradual extinction in this -country of the negro race. The last thing to be relied on for -adjusting any social question, elevating any class to social or civil -equality, or making freedmen really freemen, is political economy, -which treats man not as a free moral agent, or as a social being, but -simply as a producing, distributing, and and consuming machine, placed -in the same category with the steam-plough, patent reaper, -spinning-jenny, and the power-loom. If the question, What shall be -done with our freedman? be left to politics, political economy, or -philanthropy, without the intervention of Christian charity, -emancipation will only have changed the form of their slavery, or -given them all the cares and burdens of freedom with none of its -blessings. - -It is the same in all human affairs. No measured of reform or -progress, individual or social, domestic or political, ever succeed or -succeed without an overbalance of evil, unless inspired and directed -by charity. They may and do succeed without perfect charity, but never -without the principle of charity. Philanthropy is man's method, and -leads to nothing; charity is God's method, and conducts to its end. -But we must not confound charity with weakness or effeminacy of -character, for that would be to confound it with sentimentalism. -Charity is not credulity or mental imbecility; it is always robust and -manly, the rational soul raised above itself by divine grace, and -endowed in the spiritual order with superhuman power. - -Charity loves peace, but follows after the things which make for -peace, and shrinks not from following after them, when need is, even -through war. Modern peace-societies are founded by philanthropy, not -by charity, and though they have been in existence for half a century, -and proudly boasted that there would be no more war, yet there have -been more wars and bloodshed during the last twenty years than during -any period of equal duration since modern history began. Charity -founds no anti-hangman societies for the abolition of capital -punishment in all cases whatsoever, or prisoners' friends societies to -convert our prisons into palaces; yet recoils from all cruelty or -undue severity, and seeks to prevent punishment by preventing crime. -She never forgets justice, nor sacrifices in her love for individuals -the protection of society or the safety of the state. Her great care -is to save the soul of the criminal, and to this end she visits the -most loathsome cells, takes her stand on the scaffold by the side of -the condemned, and will not give him up till she has made his peace -with God. She fills the soul with love for enemies and forgiveness of -injuries, but they are _my_ enemies she bids me love, and my personal -injuries she bids me forgive. I cannot forgive injuries, done to my -neighbor, to society, or to my country, for they are not mine; and she -herself bids me, when summoned by the proper authority, to shoulder my -musket and march to the battle-field to defend public right and -repress public wrong. Charity is never weak, sentimental, -lackadaisical, or cowardly. It is the principle of all true greatness -and manliness, and the most charitable are the strongest, bravest, the -most heroic, wherever duty calls them to act as well as to suffer. - ------- - -{446} - -From the London Society. - -CHRISTMAS WITH THE BARON. - - -A RATHER REMARKABLE FAIRY TALE. - - -Once upon a time--fairy tales always begin with once upon a time, you -know--once upon a time there lived in a fine old castle on the Rhine, -a certain Baron von Schrochslofsleschshoffinger. You won't find it an -easy name to pronounce; in fact, the baron never tried it himself but -once, and then he was laid up for two days' afterward; so in future -well merely call him "the baron," for shortness, particularly as he -was rather a dumpy man. After having heard his name, you won't be -surprised when I tell you that he was an exceedingly bad character. -For a German baron, he was considered enormously rich; a hundred and -fifty pounds a year wouldn't be thought much over here; but still it -will buy a good deal of sausage, which, with wine grown on the estate, -formed the chief sustenance of the baron and his family. Now, you'll -hardly believe that, notwithstanding he was the possessor of his -princely revenue, the baron was not satisfied, but oppressed and -ground down his unfortunate tenants to the very last penny he could -possible squeeze out of them. In all his exactions he was seconded and -encouraged by his steward, Klootz, an old rascal who took a malicious -pleasure in his master's cruelty, and who chuckled and rubbed his -hands with the greatest apparent enjoyment when any of the poor -landholders couldn't pay their rent, or afforded him any opportunity -for oppression. Not content with making the poor tenants pay double -value for the land they rented, the baron was in the habit of going -round every now and then to their houses, and ordering anything he -took a fancy to, from a fat pig to a pretty daughter, to be sent up to -the castle. The pretty daughter was made parlor-maid, but as she had -nothing a year, and to find herself, it wasn't what would be -considered by careful mothers an eligible situation The fat pig became -sausage, of course. Things went on from bad to worse, till at the time -of our story, between the alternate squeezings of the baron and his -steward, the poor tenants had very little left to squeeze out of them. -The fat pigs and the pretty daughters had nearly all found their way -up to the castle, and there was little else to take. The only help the -poor fellows had was the baron's only daughter, Lady Bertha, who -always had a kind words, and frequently something more substantial, -for them, when her father was not in the way. Now, I'm not going to -describe Bertha, for the simple reason that if I did, you would -imagine that she was the fairy I'm going to tell you about, and she -isn't. However, I don't mind giving yon a few outlines. In the first -place, she was exceedingly tiny--the nicest girls, the real lovable -little pets, always are tiny--and she had long silken black hair, and -a dear, dimpled little face, full of love and mischief. Now then, fill -out outline {447} with the details of the nicest and prettiest girl -you know, and you'll have a slight idea of her. On second thoughts, I -don't believe you will, for your portrait wouldn't be half good -enough; however, it'll be near enough for you. Well, the baron's -daughter, being all your fancy painted her, and a trifle more, was -naturally much distressed at the goings on of her unamiable parent, -and tried her best to make amends for her father's harshness. She -generally managed that a good many pounds of the sausage should find -their way back to the owners of the original pig; and when the baron -tried to squeeze the and of the pretty parlor-maid, which he -occasionally did after dinner, Bertha had only to say, in a tone of -mild remonstrance, "Pa!" and pa dropped the hand like a hot potato, -and stared very hard the other way, instantly. Bad as the disreputable -old baron was, he had a respect for the goodness and purity of his -child. Like the lion, tamed by the charm of Una's innocence, the rough -old rascal seemed to lose in her presence half his rudeness; and -though he used awful language to her sometimes (I dare say even Una's -lion reward occasionally) he was more tractable with her than with any -other living being. Her presence operated as a moral restraint upon -him, which possibly was the reason that he never stayed down stairs -after dinner, but always retired to a favorite turret, where he could -get comfortably tipsy, which, I regret to say, he had got so in the -way of doing every afternoon, that I believe he would have felt unwell -without. - -The hour of the baron's afternoon symposium was the time selected by -Bertha for her errands of charity. Once he was fairly settled down to -his second bottle, off went Bertha, with her maid beside her carrying -a basket to bestow a meal on some of the poor tenants, among whom she -was always received with blessings. At first these excursions had been -undertaken solely from charitable motives, and Bertha thought herself -plentifully repaid in the love and thanks of her grateful pensioners. -Of late, however, another cause had led her to take even stronger -interest in her walks, and occasionally to come in with brighter eyes -and a rosier cheek than the gratitude of the poor tenants had been -wont to produce. The fact is, some months before the time of our -story, Bertha had noticed in her walks a young artist, who seemed to -be fated to be invariably sketching points of interest in the road she -had to take. There was one particular tree, exactly in the path which -led from the castle gate, which he had sketched from at least four -points of view, and Bertha began to wonder what there could be so very -particular about it. At last, just as Carl von Sempach had begun to -consider where on earth he could sketch the tree from next, and to -ponder seriously upon the feasibility of climbing up into it, and -taking it from _that_ point of view, a trifling accident occurred, -which gave him the opportunity of making Bertha's acquaintance, which, -I don't mind stating confidentially, was the very thing he had been -waiting for. It so chanced, that on one particular afternoon the maid, -either through awkwardness, or possibly through looking more at the -handsome painter than the ground she was walking on, stumbled and -fell. Of course the basket fell too, and equally of course, Carl, as a -gentleman, couldn't do less than offer his assistance in picking up -the damsel and the dinner. - -The acquaintance thus commenced was not suffered to drop; and handsome -Carl and our good little Bertha were fairly over head and ears in -love, and had begun to have serious thoughts of a cottage in a wood, -et caetera, when their felicity was disturbed by their being -accidentally met, in one of their walks, by the baron. Of course the -baron, being himself so thorough an aristocrat, had higher views for -his daughter than marrying her to a "beggarly artist," and accordingly -he stamped and swore, and threatened Carl {448} with summary -punishment with all sorts of weapons, from heavy boots to -blunderbusses, if ever he ventured near the premises again. This was -unpleasant; but I fear it didn't _quite_ put a stop to the young -people's interviews, though it made them less frequent and more secret -than before. - -Now, I'm quite aware this wasn't at all proper, and that no properly -regulated young lady would ever have had meetings with a young man her -papa didn't approve of. But then it's just possible Bertha mightn't -have been a properly regulated young lady; I only know she was a dear -little pet, worth twenty model young ladies, and that she loved Carl -very dearly. And then consider what a dreadful old tyrant of a papa -she had! My dear girl, it's not the slightest use your looking so -provokingly correct; it's my deliberate belief that if you had been in -her shoes (they'd have been at least three sizes too small for you, -but that doesn't matter) you would have done precisely the same. - -Such was the state of things on Christmas Eve in the year----stay! -fairy tales never have a year to them; so on second thoughts I -wouldn't tell the date if I knew--but I don't. Such was the state of -things, however, on the particular 24th of December to which our story -refers--only, if anything, rather more so. The baron had got up in the -morning in an exceedingly bad temper; and those about him had felt its -effects all through the day. His two favorite wolf-hounds, Lutzow and -Teufel, had received so many kicks from the baron's heavy boots that -they hardly knew at which end their tails were; and even Klootz -himself scarcely dared to approach his master. In the middle of the -day two of the principal tenants came to say that they were unprepared -with their rent, and to beg for a little delay. The poor fellows -represented that their families were starving, and entreated for -mercy; but the baron was only too glad that he had at last found so -fair an excuse for venting his ill-humor. He loaded the unhappy -defaulters with every abusive epithet he could devise (and being -called names in German is no joke, I can tell you); and, lastly, he -swore by everything he could think of that if their rent was not paid -on the morrow, themselves and their families should be turned out of -doors to sleep on the snow, which was then many inches deep on the -ground. They still continued to beg for mercy, till the baron became -so exasperated that he determined to kick them out of the castle -himself. He pursued them for that purpose as far as the outer door, -when fresh fuel was added to his anger. Carl, who as I have hinted, -still managed, notwithstanding the paternal prohibition, to see fair -Bertha occasionally, and had come to wish her a merry Christmas, -chanced at this identical moment to be saying good-by at the door, -above which, in accordance with immemorial usage, a huge bush of -mistletoe was suspended. What they were doing under it at the moment -of the baron's appearance, I never knew exactly; but his wrath was -tremendous! I regret to say that his language was unparliamentary in -the extreme. He swore till he was mauve in the face; and if he had not -providentially been seized with a fit of coughing, and sat down in the -coal-scuttle--mistaking it for a three-legged stool--it is impossible -to say to what lengths his feelings might have carried him. Carl and -Bertha picked him up, rather black behind, but otherwise not much the -worse for his accident. In fact, the diversion of his thoughts seemed -to have done him good; for, having sworn a little more, and Carl -having left the castle, he appeared rather better. After having -endured so many and various emotions, it is hardly to be wondered at -that the baron required some consolation; so, after having changed his -tr--s-rs, he took himself off to his favorite turret, to allay by -copious potations the irritation of his mind. Bottle after bottle was -emptied, and pipe after pipe was {449} filled and smoked. The fine old -Burgundy was gradually getting into the baron's head; and altogether -he was beginning to feel more comfortable. The shades of the winter -afternoon had deepened into the evening twilight, made dimmer still by -the aromatic clouds that came, with dignified deliberation, from the -baron's lips, and curled in floated up to the carved ceiling of the -turret, where they spread themselves into a dim canopy, which every -successive cloud brought lower and lower. The fire, which had been -filed up mountain-high earlier in the afternoon, and had flamed and -roared to its heart's content ever since, had now got to that -state--the perfection of a fire to a lazy man--when it requires no -poking or attention of any kind, but just burns itself hollow, and -then tumbles in, and blazes jovially for a little time, and then -settles down to a genial glow, and gets hollow and tumbles in again. -The baron's fire was just in this delightful "da capo" condition, most -favorable of all to the enjoyment of the "dolce far niente." For the -little while it would glow and kindle quietly, making strange faces to -itself, and building fantastic castles in the depths of its red -recesses, and then the castles would come down with a crash, and the -faces disappear, with a bright flame spring up and lick lovingly the -sides of the old chimney; and the carved heads of improbable men and -impossible women, hewn so deftly round the panels of the old oak -wardrobe opposite, in which the baron's choicest vintages were -deposited, were lit up by the flickering light, and seemed to nod and -wink at the fire in return, with the familiarity of old acquaintances. - -Some such fancy as this was disporting itself in the baron's brain; -and he was gazing at the old oak carving accordingly, and emitting -huge volumes of smoke with reflective slowness, when a clatter among -the bottles on the table caused him to turn his head to ascertain the -cause. The baron was by no means a nervous man; however, the sight -that met his eyes when he turned round did take away his presence of -mind a little; and he was obliged to take four distinct puffs before -he had sufficiently regained his equilibrium to inquire, "Who -the--Pickwick--are you?" (The baron said "Dickens," but as that is a -naughty word we will substitute "Pickwick," which is equally -expressive, and not so wrong.) Let me see; where was I? Oh! yes. "Who -the Pickwick are you?" - -Now, before I allow the baron's visitor to answer the question, -perhaps I had better give a slight description of his personal -appearance. If this wasn't a true story, I should have liked to have -made him a model of manly beauty; but a regard for veracity compels me -to confess that he was not what would be generally considered -handsome; that is, not in figure, for his face was by no means -unpleasing. His body was in size and shape not very unlike a huge -plum-pudding, and was clothed in a bright-green tightly fitting -doublet, with red holly berries for buttons. His limbs were long and -slender in proportion to his stature, which was not more than three -feet or so. His head was encircled by a crown of holly and mistletoe. -The round red berries sparkled amid his hair, which was silver-white, -and shone out in cheerful harmony with his rosy jovial face. And that -face! it would have done one good to look at it. In spite of the -silver hair, and an occasional wrinkle beneath the merry laughing -eyes, it seemed brimming over with perpetual youth. The mouth, well -garnished with teeth, white and sound, which seemed as if they could -do ample justice to holiday cheer, was ever open with a beaming genial -smile, expanding now and then into hearty jovial laughter. Fun and -good-fellowship were in every feature. The owner of the face was, at -the moment when the baron first perceived him, comfortably seated upon -the top of the large tobacco-jar on the table, nursing his left leg. -The baron's {450} somewhat abrupt inquiry did not appear to irritate -him; on the contrary, he seemed rather amused than otherwise. - -"You don't ask prettily, old gentleman," he replied; "but I don't mind -telling you, for all that. I'm King Christmas." - -"Eh?" said the baron. - -"Ah!" said the goblin. Of course you've guessed he was a goblin. - -"And pray what's your business here?" said the baron. - -"Don't be crusty with a fellow," replied the goblin. "I merely looked -in to wish you the compliments of the season. Talking of crust, by the -way, what sort of a tap is it you're drinking?" So saying, he took up -a flask of the baron's very best and poured out about half a glass. -Having held the glass first to one side and then the other, winked at -it twice, sniffed it, and gone through the remainder of the pantomime -in which connoisseurs indulge, he drank it with great deliberation, -and smacked his lips scientifically. "Hum! Johannisberg! and not so -_very_ bad--for you. But I tell you what it is, baron, you'll have to -bring out better stuff than this when _I_ put my legs on your -mahogany." - -"Well, you are a cool fish," said the baron. "However, you're rather a -joke, so now you're here we may as well enjoy ourselves. Smoke?" - -"Not anything you're likely to offer me!" - -"Confound your impudence!" roared the baron, with a horribly -complicated oath. "That tobacco's as good as any in all Rhineland." - -"That's a nasty cough you've got, baron. Don't excite yourself, my -dear boy; I dare say you speak according to your lights. I don't mean -Vesuvians, you know, but your opportunities for knowing anything about -it. Try a weed out of my case, and I expect you'll alter your -opinion." - -The baron took the proffered case, and selected a cigar. Not a word -was spoken till it was half consumed, when the baron took it for the -first time from his lips, and said gently, with the air of a man -communicating an important discovery in the strictest confidence, "Das -ist gut!" - -"Thought you'd say so," said the visitor. "And now, as you like the -cigar, I should like you to try a thimbleful of what _I_ call wine. I -must warn you, though, that it is rather potent, and may produce -effects you are not accustomed to." - -"Bother that, if it's as good as the weed," said the baron; "I haven't -taken my usual quantity by four bottles yet." - -"Well, don't say I didn't warn you, that's all. I don't think you'll -find it unpleasant, though it is rather strong when you're not -accustomed to it." So saying, the goblin produced from some mysterious -pocket a black, big-bellied bottle, crusted apparently with the dust -of ages. It did strike the baron as peculiar, that the bottle, when -once produced, appeared nearly as big round as the goblin himself; but -he was not the sort of man to stick at trifles, and he pushed foreword -his glass to be filled just as composedly as if the potion had been -shipped by Sandeman, and paid duty in the most commonplace way. - -The glass was filled and emptied, but the baron uttered not his -opinion. Not in words, at least, but he pushed forward his glass to be -filled again in a manner that sufficiently bespoke his approval. - -"Aha, you smile!" said the goblin. And it was a positive fact; the -baron was smiling; a thing he hadn't been known to do in the memory of -the oldest inhabitant. "That's the stuff to make your hair curl, isn't -it?" - -"I believe you, my b-o-o-oy!" The baron brought out this earnest -expression of implicit confidence with true Paul Bedford unction. "It -warms one--_here!_" - -Knowing the character of the man, one would have expected him to put -his hand upon his stomach. But he didn't; he laid it upon his _heart_. - -{451} - -"The spell begins to operate, I see," said the goblin. "Have another -glass." - -The baron had another glass, and another after that. The smile on his -face expanded into an expression of such geniality that the whole -character of his countenance was changed, and his own mother wouldn't -have known him. I doubt myself--inasmuch as she died when he was -exactly a year and three months old--whether she would have recognized -him under any circumstances; but I merely wish to express that he was -changed almost beyond recognition. - -"Upon my word," said the baron, at length, "I feel so light I almost -think I could dance a hornpipe. I used to once, I know. Shall I try?" - -"Well, if you ask my advice," replied the goblin, "I should say, -decidedly, don't. 'Barkis is willing,' I dare say, but trousers are -weak, and you might split 'em." - -"Hang it all," said the baron, "so I might; I didn't think of that. -But still I feel as if I must do something juvenile!" - -"Ah! that's the effect of your change of nature," said the goblin. -"Never mind, I'll give you plenty to do presently." - -"Change of nature! what do you mean, you old conundrum?" said the -baron. - -"You're another," said the goblin, "But never mind. What I mean is -just this. What you are now feeling is the natural consequence of my -magic wine, which has changed you into a fairy. That's what's the -matter, sir." - -"A fairy! me!" exclaimed the baron. "Get out; I'm too fat." - -"Fat! oh! that's nothing. We shall put you in regular training, and -you'll soon be slim enough to creep into a lady's stocking. Not that -you'll be called upon to do anything of the sort; but I'm merely -giving you an idea of your future figure." - -"No, no," said the baron; "me thin! that's too ridiculous. Why, that's -worse than being a fairy. You don't mean it, though, do you? I do feel -rather peculiar." - -"I do, indeed," said the visitor. "You don't dislike it, do you?" - -"Well, no, I can't say I do, entirely. It's queer, though, I feel so -uncommon friendly. I feel as if I should like to shake hands, or pat -somebody on the back." - -"Ah!" said the goblin, "I know how it is. Rum feeling, when you're not -accustomed to it. But come; finish that glass, for we must be off. -We've got a precious deal to do before morning, I can tell you. Are -you ready?" - -"All right," said the baron. "I'm just in the humor to make a night of -it." - -"Come along, then," said the goblin. - -They proceeded for a short time in silence along the corridors of the -old castle. They carried no candle, but the baron noticed that -everything seemed perfectly light wherever they stood, but relapsed -into darkness as soon as they had passed by. The goblin spoke first. - -"I say, baron, you've been an uncommon old brute in your time, now -haven't you?" - -"H'm," said the baron, reflectively, "I don't know. Well, yes, I -rather think I have." - -"How jolly miserable you've been making those two young people, you -old sinner! You know who I mean." - -"Eh, what? You know that, too?" said the baron. - -"Know it; of course I do. Why, bless your heart, I know everything, my -dear boy. But you have made yourself an old pig in that quarter, -considerably. Ar'n't you blushing, you hard-hearted old monster?" - -"Don't know, I'm sure," said the baron, scratching his nose, as if -that was where he expected to feel it. "I believe I have treated them -badly, though, now I come to think of it." - -At this moment they reached the door of Bertha's chamber. The door -opened of itself at their approach. - -{452} - -"Come along" said the goblin, "you won't wake her. Now, old -flinty-heart, look there." - -The sight that met the baron's view was one that few fathers could -have beheld without affectionate emotion. Under ordinary -circumstances, however, the baron would not have felt at all -sentimental on the subject, but to-night something made him view -things in quite a different light to that he was accustomed to. I -shouldn't like to make affidavit of the fact, but it's my positive -impression that he sighed. - -Now, my dear reader--particularly if a gentleman--don't imagine I'm -going to indulge your impertinent curiosity with an elaborate -description of the sacred details of a lady's sleeping apartment. -_You're_ not a fairy, you know, and I don't see that it can possibly -matter to you whether fair Bertha's dainty little bottines were tidily -placed on the chair by her bedside, or thrown carelessly, as they had -been taken off, upon the hearth-rug, where her favorite spaniel -reposed, warming his nose in his sleep before the last smouldering -embers of the decaying fire; or whether her crinoline--but if she did -wear a crinoline, what can that possibly matter, sir, to you? All I -shall tell you is, that everything looked snug and comfortable; but -somehow, any place got that look when Bertha was in it. And now a word -about the jewel in the casket--pet Bertha herself. Really, I'm at a -loss to describe her. How do you look when your'e asleep?--Well, it -wasn't like _that_; not a bit! Fancy a sweet girl's face, the cheek -faintly flushed with a soft warm tint, like the blush in the heart of -the opening rose, and made brighter by the contrast of the snowy -pillow on which it rested; dark silken hair, curling and clustering -lovingly over the tiniest of tiny ears, and the softest, whitest neck -that ever mortal maiden was blessed with; long silken eyelashes, -fringing lids only less beautiful than the dear earnest eyes they -cover. Fancy all this, and fancy, too, if you can, the expression of -perfect goodness and parity that lift up the sweet features of the -slumbering maiden with a beauty almost angelic, and you will see what -the baron saw that night. Not quite all, however, for the baron's -vision paused not at the bedside before him, but had passed on from -the face of the sleeping maiden to another face as lovely, that of the -young wife, Bertha's mother, who had, years before, taken her angel -beauty to the angels. - -The goblin spoke to the baron's thought. "Wonderfully like, is she -not, baron?" The baron slowly inclined his head. - -"You made her very happy, didn't you?" The tone in which the goblin -spoke was harsh and mocking. "A faithful husband, tender and true! She -must have been a happy wife, eh, baron?" - -The baron's head had so upon his bosom. Old recollections were -thronging into his awakened memory. Solemn vows to love and cherish, -somewhat strangely kept. Memories of bitter words, and savage oaths, -showered at a quiet uncomplaining figure, without one word in reply. -And last, the memory of a fit of drunken passion, and a hasty blow -struck with a heavy hand; and then of three months fading away; and -last, of her last prayer--for her baby and him. - -"A good husband makes a good father, baron. No wonder you are somewhat -chary of rashly entrusting to a suitor the happiness of a sweet flower -like this. Poor child! it is hard, though, that she must think no more -of him she loves so dearly. See! she is weeping even in her dreams. -But you have good reasons, no doubt. Young Carl is wild, perhaps, or -drinks, or gambles, eh? What! none of these? Perhaps he is wayward and -uncertain, and you fear that the honied words of {453} courtship might -turn to bitter sayings in matrimony. They do, sometimes, eh, baron? By -all means guard her from such a fate as that. Poor tender flower! Or -who knows, worse than that, baron! Hard words break no bones, they -say, but angry men are quick, and a blow is soon struck, eh?" - -The goblin had drawn nearer and nearer, and laid his hand upon the -baron's arm, and the last words were literally hissed into his ear. -The baron's frame swayed to and under the violence of his emotions. At -last, with a cry of agony, he dashed his hands upon his forehead. The -veins were swollen up like thick cords, and his voice was almost -inarticulate in its unnatural hoarsness. - -"Torturer, release me! Let me go, let me go and do something to forget -the past; or I shall go mad and die!" - -He rushed out of the room and paced wildly down the corridor, the -goblin following him. At last, as they came near the outer door of the -castle, which opened of itself as they reached it, the spirit spoke: - -"This way, baron, this way; I told you there was work for us to do -before morning, you know." - -"Work!" exclaimed the baron, absently, passing his fingers through his -tangled hair; "oh! yes, work! the harder and the rougher the better; -anything to make me forget." - -The two stepped out into the courtyard, and the baron shivered, -though, as it seemed, unconsciously, at the breath of the frosty -midnight air, The snow lay deep on the ground, and the baron's heavy -boot sank into it with a crisp, crushing sound at every tread. He was -bareheaded, but seemed unconscious of the fact, and tramped on, as if -utterly indifferent to anything but his own thoughts. At last, as a -blast of the night wind, keener than ordinary, swept over him, he -seemed for the first time to feel the chill. His teeth chattered, and -he muttered, "Cold, very cold." - -"Ay, baron," said the goblin, "it is cold, even to us, who are healthy -and strong, and warmed with wine. Colder still, though, to those who -are hungry and half-naked, and have to sleep on the snow." - -"Sleep? snow?" said the baron. "Who sleeps on the snow? why, I -wouldn't let my dogs be out on such a night as this." - -"Your dogs, no!" said the goblin; "I spoke of meaner animals--your -wretched tenants. Did you not order yesterday, that Wilhelm and -Friedrich, if they did not pay their rent tomorrow, should be turned -out to sleep on the snow? a snug bed for the little ones, and a nice -white coverlet, eh? Ha! ha! twenty florins or so is no great matter, -is it? I'm afraid their chance is small, nevertheless. Come and see." - -The baron hung his head. A few minutes brought them to the first of -the poor dwellings, which they entered noiselessly. The fireless -grate, the carpetless floor, the broken window-panes, all gave -sufficient testimony to the want and misery of the occupants. In one -comer lay sleeping a man, a woman, and three children, and nestling to -each other for the warmth which their ragged coverlet could not -afford. In the man, the baron recognized his tenant, Wilhelm, one of -those who had been with him to beg for indulgence on the previous day. -The keen features, and bones almost starting through the pallid skin, -showed how heavily the hand of hunger had been laid upon all. The cold -night wind moaned and whistled through the many flaws in the -ill-glazed, ill-thatched tenement, and rustled over the sleepers, who -shivered even in their sleep. - -"Ha, baron," said the goblin, "death is breathing in their faces even -now, you see; it is hardly worth while to lay them to sleep in the -snow, is it? They would sleep a little sounder, that's all." - -{454} - -The baron shuddered, and then, hastily pulling the warm coat from his -own shoulders, he spread it over the sleepers. - -"Oho!" said the goblin, "bravely done, baron! By all means keep them -warm to-night, they'll enjoy the snow more to-morrow, you know." - -Strange to say, the baron, instead of feeling chilled when he had -removed his coat, felt a strange glow of warmth spread from the region -of the heart over his entire frame. The goblin's continual allusions -to his former intention, which he had by this time totally -relinquished, hurt him, and he said, rather pathetically, "Don't talk -of that again, good goblin, I'd rather sleep on the snow myself." - -"Eh! what?" said the goblin, "you don't mean to say you're sorry? Then -what do you say to making these poor people comfortable?" - -"With all my heart," said the baron, "if we had only anything to do it -with." - -"You leave that to me," said the goblin, "your brother fairies are not -far off, you may be sure." - -As he spoke he clapped his hands thrice, and before the third clap had -died away the poor cottage was swarming with tiny figures, whom the -baron rightly conjectured to be the fairies themselves. - -Now, you may not be aware (the baron wasn't until that night) that -there are among the fairies trades and professions, just as with -ordinary mortals. However, there they were, each with the -accompaniments of his or her particular business, and to it they went -manfully. A fairy glazier put in new panes to the shattered windows, -fairy carpenters replaced the doors upon their hinges, and fairy -painters, with inconceivable celerity, made cupboards and closets as -fresh as paint could make them; one fairy housemaid laid and lit a -roaring fire, while another dusted and rubbed chairs and tables to a -miraculous degree of brightness; a fairy butler uncorked bottles of -fairy wine, and a fairy cook laid out a repast of most tempting -appearance. The baron hearing a tapping above him, cast his eyes -upward and beheld a fairy slater rapidly repairing a hole in the roof; -and when he bent them down again, they fell on a fairy doctor mixing a -cordial for the sleepers. Nay, there was even a fairy parson who, not -having any present employment, contented himself with rubbing his -hands and looking pleasant, probably ably waiting till somebody might -want to be christened or married. Every trade, every profession or -occupation, appeared, without exception, to be represented; nay, we -big pardon, with one exception only, for the baron used to say, when -afterward relating his experiences to bachelor friends, "You may -believe me or not sir, there was every mortal business under the sun, -_but devil a bit of a lawyer_." - -The baron could not long remain inactive. He was rapidly seized with a -violent desire to do something to help, which manifested itself in -insane attempts to assist everybody at once. At last, after having -taken all the skin off his knuckles in attempting to hammer in nails -in aid of the carpenters, and then nearly tumbling over a fairy -housemaid, whose broom he was offering to carry, he gave it up as a -bad job, and stood aside with his friend the goblin. He was just about -to inquire how it was that the poor occupants of the house were not -awakened by so much din, when a fairy Sam Slick who had been examining -the cottager's old clock, with a view to a thorough repair, touched -some spring within it, and it made the usual purr preparatory to -striking. When lo and behold, at the very first stroke, cottage, -goblin, fairies, and all disappeared into utter darkness, and the -baron found himself in his turret-chamber, rubbing his toe, which he -had just hit with considerable force against the fender. As he was -only in his slippers the concussion was unpleasant, and the baron -rubbed his toe for a good while. {455} After he had finished with his -toe he rubbed his nose, and finally, with a countenance of deep -reflection, scratched the bump of something or other at the top of his -head. The old clock on the stairs was striking three, and the fire had -gone out. The baron reflected for a short time longer, and finally -decided that he had better go to bed which he did accordingly. - -The morning dawned upon the very ideal, as far as weather was -concerned, of a Christmas day. A bright winter sun shone out just -vividly enough to make everything look genial and pleasant, and yet -not with sufficient warmth to mar the pure unbroken surface of the -crisp white snow, which lay like a never-ending white lawn upon the -ground, and glittered in myriad silver flakes upon the leaves of the -sturdy evergreens. I'm afraid the baron had not had a very good night; -at any rate, I know that he was wide-awake at an hour long before his -usual time of rising. He lay first on one side, and then on the other, -and then, by way of variety, turned on his back, with his magenta nose -pointing perpendicularly toward the ceiling; but it was all of no use. -Do what he would, he couldn't get to sleep, and at last, not long -after daybreak, he tumbled out of bed, and proceeded to dress. Even -after he was out of bed his fidgetiness continued. It did not strike -him, until after he had got one boot on, that it would be a more -natural proceeding to put his stockings on first; after which he -caught himself in the act of trying trying to put his trousers on over -his head (which, I may mention for the information of lady readers, -who of course, cannot be expected to know anything about such matters, -is not the mode generally adopted). In a word, the baron's mind was -evidently preoccupied; his whole air was that of a man who felt a -strong impulse to do something or other, but could not quite make up -his mind to it. At last, however, the good impulse conquered, and this -wicked old baron, in the stillness of the calm bright Christmas -morning, went down upon his knees and prayed. Stiff were his knees and -slow his tongue, for neither had done such work for many a long day -past; but I have read in the Book of the joy of the angels over a -repenting sinner. There needs not much eloquence to pray the -publican's prayer, and who shall say but there was gladness in heaven -that Christmas morning? - -The baron's appearance down-stairs at such an early hour occasioned -quite a commotion. Nor were the domestics re-assured when the baron -ordered a bullock to be killed and jointed instantly, and all the -available provisions in the larder, including sausage, to be packed up -in baskets, with a good store of his own peculiar wine. One ancient -retainer was heard to declare, with much pathos, that he feared master -had gone "off his head." However, "off his head" or not, they knew the -baron must be obeyed, and in an exceedingly short space of time he -sallied forth, accompanied by three servants carrying the baskets, and -wondering what in the name of fortune their master would do next. He -stopped at the cottage of Wilhelm, which he had visited with the -goblin on the previous night. The labors of the fairies did not seem -to have produced much lasting benefit, for the appearance of -everything around was as wretched as could be. The poor family thought -that the baron had come himself to turn them out of house and home; -and the poor children huddled up timidly to their mother for -protection, while the father attempted some words of entreaty for -mercy. The pale, pinched features of the group, and their looks of -dread and wretchedness, were too much for the baron. "Eh! what! what -do you mean, confound you? Turn you out! Of course not: I've brought -you some breakfast. Here! Fritz--Carl; where are the knaves? Now then, -unpack, and don't be a week about it. Can't you see the people are -hungry, ye villains? Here, lend me the corkscrew." This last {456} -being a tool the baron was tolerably accustomed to, he had better -success than with those of the fairy carpenters; and it was not long -before the poor tenants were seated before a roaring fire, and doing -justice, with the appetite of starvation, to a substantial breakfast. -The baron felt a queer sensation in his throat at the sight of the -poor people's enjoyment, and had passed the back of his hand twice -across his eyes when he thought no one was looking; but his emotion -fairly rose to boiling point when the poor father, Wilhelm, with tears -in his eyes, and about a quarter of a pound of beef in his mouth, -sprang up from the table and flung himself at the baron's knees, -invoking blessings on him for his goodness. "Get up, you audacious -scoundrel!" roared the baron. "What the deuce do you mean by such -conduct, eh! confound you?" At this moment the door opened, and in -walked Mynheer Klootz, who had heard nothing of the baron's change of -intentions, and who, seeing Wilhelm at the baron's feet, and hearing -the latter speaking, as he thought, in an angry tone, at once jumped -to the conclusion that Wilhelm was entreating for longer indulgence. -He rushed at the unfortunate man, and collared him. "Not if _we_ know -it," exclaimed he; "you'll have the wolves for bedfellows to-night, I -reckon. Come along, my fine fellow." As he spoke he turned his back -toward the baron, with the intention of dragging his victim to the -door, the baron's little gray eyes twinkled, and his whole frame -quivered with suppressed emotion, which, after the lapse of a moment, -vented itself in a kick, and _such_ a kick! Not one of your Varsoviana -flourishes, but a kick that employed every muscle from hip to toe, and -drove the worthy steward up against the door, like a ball from a -catapult. Misfortunes never come singly, and so Mynheer Klootz found -with regard to the kick, for it was followed, without loss of time, by -several dozen others, as like it as possible, from the baron's heavy -boots. Wounded Lyons proverbially come badly off, and Fritz and Carl, -who had suffered from many an act of petty tyranny on the part of the -steward, thought they could not do better than follow their master's -example, which they did to such a good purpose, that when the -unfortunate Klootz did escape from the cottage at last, I don't -believe he could have had any _os sacrum_ left. - -After having executed this little act of poetical justice, the baron -and his servants visited the other cottages, in all of which they were -received with dread, and dismissed with blessings. Having completed -his tour of charity, the baron returned home to breakfast, feeling -more really contented then he had done for many a long year. He found -Bertha, who had not risen when he started, in a considerable state of -anxiety as to what he could possibly have been doing. In answer to her -inquiries he told her, with a roughness he was far from feeling, to -"mind her own business." The gentle eyes filled with tears at the -harshness of the reply; perceiving which, the baron was beyond measure -distressed, and chucked her under the chin in what was meant to be a -very conciliatory manner. "Eh! what, my pretty? tears? No, surely. -Bertha must forgive her old father. I didn't mean it, you know, my -pet; and yet, on second thoughts, yes I did, too." Bertha's face was -overcast again. "My little girl thinks she has no business anywhere, -eh! Is that it? Well, then, my pet, suppose you make it your business -to write a note to young Carl von Sempach, and say I'm afraid I was -rather rude to him yesterday, but if he'll look over it, and come and -take a snug family dinner and a slice of the pudding with us to-day--" -"Why, pa, you don't mean--yes, I do really believe you do--" The -baron's eyes were winking nineteen to the dozen. "Why, you dear, dear, -dear old pa!" And at the imminent risk of upsetting the breakfast -table, Bertha rushed at the baron, and flinging two soft white arms -about {457} his neck, kissed him--oh! how she _did_ kiss him! I -shouldn't have thought, myself, she could possibly have had any left -for Carl; but I dare say Bertha attended to his interests in that -respect somehow. - -* * * * * - -Well, Carl came to dinner, and the baron was, not very many years -after, promoted to the dignity of a grandpapa, and a very jolly old -grandpapa he made. Is that all you wanted to know? - -About Klootz? Well, Klootz got over the kicking, but he was dismissed -from in the baron's service; and on examination of his accounts, it -was discovered that he had been in the habit of robbing the baron of -nearly a third of his yearly income, which he had to refund; and with -the money he was thus compelled to disgorge, the baron built new -cottages for his tenants, and new-stocked their farms. Nor was he the -poorer in the end, for his tenants worked with the energy of -gratitude, and he was soon many times richer than when the goblin -visited him on that Christmas-eve. - -And was the goblin ever explained? Certainly not. How dare you have -the impertinence to suppose such a thing? An empty bottle, covered -with cobwebs, was found the next morning in the turret chamber, which -the baron at first imagined must be the bottle from which the goblin -produced his magic wine; but as it was found, on examination, to be -labelled "Old Jamaica Rum," of course that could not have had anything -to do with it. However it was, the baron never thoroughly enjoyed any -other wine after it; and as he did not thenceforth get drunk, on an -average, more than two nights a week, or swear more than eight oaths a -day, I think King Christmas may be considered to have thoroughly -reformed him. And he always maintained, to the day of his death, that -he was changed into a fairy, and became exceedingly angry if -contradicted. - -Who doesn't believe in fairies after this? I only hope King Christmas -may make a few more good fairies this year, to brighten the homes of -the poor with the light of Christmas charity. Truly we need not look -far for almsmen. Cold and hunger, disease and death, are around us at -all times; but at no time do they press more heavily on the poor than -at this jovial Christmas season. Shall we shut out, in our mirth and -jollity, the cry of the hungry poor? or shall we not rather remember, -in the midst of our happy family circles, round our well-filled -tables, and before our blazing fires, that our brothers are starving -out in the cold, and that the Christmas song of the angels was, -"Good-will to men?" - --------- - -Original. - -EPIGRAM. - -"Thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing." - - - Dear heart! and is it thus thou didst lament - His absence for a day? How different - Thy grief from mine! Absent from Him for years, - I sorrowed not: and only found my tears - In finding Him. Then, to my bitter cost, - I knew the priceless treasure I had lost! - ------- - -{458} - -Original. - -THE CHRISTMAS TREE. - - Christmas comes but once a year; - 'Tis come at last, O glorious day! - Let every cross that mortals bear - Be for the moment flung away. - - "Yes," says the cricket from his hole - Beside the flame-lit kitchen hearth, - "It is a time for every soul - To give himself to joy and mirth," - - "Christmas comes but once a year," - Returns the timid pantry mouse. - "The cat has told me not to fear; - To-night I'll scamper through the house." - - So, blow ye winds, and you, Jack Frost, - Come in the dark and do your worst; - How wild soe'er the night may be, - It shall not stir my Christmas Tree. - - Then let us dance and laugh and sing, - And form in all one happy ring; - The Yule log never burned so bright. - Hurrah! hurrah! 'tis Christmas night. - - It is a time to seek the poor, - And bid them welcome round our door; - The alms we give, to Christ are given. - And hung on Christmas Trees in heaven. - - The Christmas Tree is evergreen: - The hand of time may change the scene, - The child a gray-haired man may be, - But memory keeps the Christmas Tree. - -W.S., Jr. - ------- - -{459} - -ORIGINAL. - - -THE PHILOSOPHY OF CONVERSION. [Footnote 144] - - [Footnote 144: Trials of a Mind in its Progress to Catholicism, etc. - By L. Stillman Ives, LL.D. Boston. 1865. - - The Path which led a Protestant Lawyer to the Catholic Church. By - Peter H. Burnett. New York and Cincinnati: Benziger Brothers. 1866 - - The Convert; or, Leaves from my Experience. By O. A. Brownson. New - York. 1857. - - Apologia pro Vita Sua: being a Reply, etc. By John Henry Newman, - D.D. New York. 1865.] - - -It is a fact, to which the Catholic heart cannot recur without -emotions of the deepest gratitude, that Christ's holy church is ever -gathering some of the select out of the mad waves of heresy and schism -around us into the safety of her maternal bosom. It is a fact, too, -which every conscientious and thoughtful Protestant must view with -feelings of disquietude and insecurity, that men of unimpeachable -piety and learning are thus ever leaving the external wilderness where -they have walked with him, and seek and find true refuge in the -Catholic ark of God. - -The number of these converts it seems almost impossible to estimate. -There can be but little doubt, however, that it far exceeds the -reckonings of the denominations out of which they come, and equally -surpasses our own most sanguine calculations. Reliable statistics show -us that within the last fifty years no less than forty-one clergymen -of the American Episcopal Church alone have laid down the honors and -emoluments they there enjoyed, and have espoused poverty and -insignificance with the Catholic faith. [Footnote 145] Many of these -were men of eminence in their former sphere of action, and one, at -least, held the highest and most responsible position which his -co-religionists could bestow upon him. Some of them have risen since -their conversion to posts of ecclesiastical dignity and power. Others -have died and rest with God. All of them, with but few exceptions, -have remained faithful, and have endorsed, in life and in death, the -wisdom and sincerity of that step which brought them, after many -wanderings, into the apostolic fold. - - [Footnote 145: See Church Review, July, 1860, p. 254. There have - been several conversions from the Episcopal clergy since that date.] - -How far the clerical ranks of other sects of Protestants in the United -States have been invaded by God's converting grace, no data that we -can command are able to determine. Our personal recollections of their -various ministers, who at one time and another have laid down their -own will for the will of Christ, lead us to the belief that the number -from each will fall little short of that contributed by the -denomination to which we first referred. And as for laymen, they have -come to us from every known religious name and creed, and full as -often from no name and creed at all, until the throng has swelled from -hundreds into tens of thousands, and gone beyond the possibility of -our enumeration or discovery. [Footnote 146] - - [Footnote 146: Judging from the statistics of the past few years in - the dioceses of New York, the number of converts in the United - States must exceed 30,000.--Ed. C.W.] - -Moreover, this work is on the increase. Year by year, almost, the -church is doubling on herself in these triumphs of her toil. Where -individuals once tremblingly isolated themselves from old -associations, and cut the vital cord of earthly friendships and -familiarities by submitting to her guidance, now families and -communities fly together to her arms for safety; while those upon -whose personal decisions her labors and the grace of God seemed to -make no impression, have ceased to persecute and almost ceased to ban -those who have followed {460} her, and recognize conversion from -Protestantism to Catholicity as a change equally legitimate and -rational with conversion from idolatry to God. Nay, more: the very -brain of Protestant America itself is sloughing off the narrow coils -of illogical and degrading error which three hundred years of folly -and of falsehood had woven round it under the name of Christian -doctrine; and, in spite of its self-conceived antagonism between -"_Rome or Reason_," is drinking in long draughts of Catholic theology, -and pouring out broadcast over this great hemisphere the fundamental -tenets of the Roman faith as the indisputable truths of human reason -and divine philosophy. - -The tide of popular prejudice thus turning, and the way thus opened to -the American intellect by the instrumentality of those who claim to be -her adversaries, it is no arrogation of prophetic foresight to predict -that the progress of the church in this country must, in the future, -be rapid beyond all precedent, and that the age may not be far distant -when this vast "_Continent of Mary_" shall, with one heart and under -one name, obey the Holy Spouse of Mary's Son. - -When such realities are around us and such possibilities before us, -the study of those mental and moral changes in the individual by which -all has been done that is done, and by which also all that shall be -done must be accomplished, cannot be uninteresting or unprofitable. No -religious subject of so much practical importance to non-Catholics is, -probably, so little understood among them; and of none have more false -definitions been given or more inaccurate theories been entertained. -Even Catholics themselves have generally failed in their attempts to -realize the logical processes through which the Protestant mind must, -consciously or unconsciously, find its way before it can receive -Catholic truth with the dear, living faith of a Catholic heart. It is -to correct these errors and to scatter these difficulties, as well as -to justify seeming inconsistencies, and above all, to assist, if -possible, the wavering minds of some who long for a light which they -know not how or where to find, that we devote these pages to a -discussion of those changes in the human soul which make up the actual -conversion from Protestantism to the Catholic Church. - -The materials for this discussion are both abundant and satisfactory -The first of the four works upon our list is from the pen of Dr. Ives, -who was for more than twenty years the Protestant Episcopal bishop of -the Diocese of North-Carolina, and one of the acknowledged leaders of -the High church party in the United States. It is a concise and -luminous rehearsal of the reasons which led him to abandon his exalted -ecclesiastical station for that of a mere layman in the Catholic -church, and presents a vivid picture of the "trials" and perplexities -which extreme Tractarians must inevitably undergo, when the -incompatibility of their position with their principles is once fully -apprehended. The second is a voluminous and formal treatise on the -rules of evidence as applicable to revelation, and on those -fundamental axioms which underlie all legislation, human or divine. It -is, obviously, what the title-page professes, the work of a legal mind -which views the whole question of religion as open two, and able to -abide the most thorough tests of reason and philosophy, and brings the -great issues which it raises, in every case, to actual demonstration -for denial. The writer, now a Catholic, was formerly a member of the -so-called "_Disciples;_" a sect which lies on the outskirts of -Christianity, and from which to Catholicity the path must have been -almost as long and devious as that from infidelity itself. The author -of the third is Dr. Brownson, one of the most _positive_ of modern -men; whose range of doctrinal experience has reached from Deism to an -ultramontane Catholicism, and who in every phase of his religious -life, has {461} been a living power, dealing with realities, and -stripping all imaginations and delusions from the realities with which -he dealt. The last is Dr. Newman's, than whom no one knows better, -none can describe so well, that _Via Dolorosa_ which all converts -tread? To these, if we would, the works of Manning, Wilberforce, and -others might be added, each a reflection of the changes which the -inner lives of their writers underwent in the great struggle after -ultimate, unquestionable truth; while, beyond even these, the -inexhaustible volume of experience remains; a volume in which the dark -things of these books find an infallible interpreter, and on whose -hidden leaves the hand of God has written the same history of which -these human pages are the reflection and the shade. - -It is not an unreasonable hope, that, out of such materials, we may be -able to construct an accurate definition of that work of grace which, -in the convert's memory, has overshadowed and embraces all other gifts -of God. - -Before proceeding, however, with our examination of that change, by -which alone the word "_conversion_" can be properly defined, it will -be necessary to consider and refute those definitions of it which are -false. Conversion is a transformation in itself so simple, yet -involving so many and such vast collateral changes in the inner and -exterior man--it is at once so definite in its own nature, and yet as -widely and, in point of time, so intimately knit together with its -antecedents and its consequences, that a clear view of it apart from -these is almost impossible, until, by a process of negation, it is -separated from its surroundings, and stands out alone, defined as well -by what did is _not_ as by what it _is_. And this is, above all, -important, when we desire to present this subject to the -understandings of non-Catholics. The lines between their religious -bodies are so faintly drawn, and depend so much upon the social and -political circumstances by which the members of those bodies are -controlled, that conversion from one denomination to another is not -regarded as reaching to the very marrow of the spiritual being, or -compassing the salvation or destruction of the soul. Such changes are -often matters of taste or policy or friendship; sometimes of personal -pride and pique, and sometimes, but more rarely, of actual principle; -though even this principle never rests upon higher ground than -individual points of faith or systems of ecclesiastical organization. -It thus seems almost impossible that, left to their own definitions of -that to which we give the technical name "_conversion_," persons -outside the church could ever arrive at an appreciation of its extent -and power. And this is especially true in this country, where the -Catholic Church externally occupies the position of a sect among -sects; the most numerous, perhaps, certainly the most prosperous and -aggressive of them all, but in their view ranking as but one of many -forms of Christianity, and but one of many branches of Christ's -earthly fold. No care that we can take can be superfluous, no -precision we can use can be in vain when we attempt to define the -position of the church on any question which interests our age, or to -delineate the relations which she occupies to that great chaos of -religions in the midst of which she dwells. At the risk, therefore, of -consuming time unnecessarily for some, we feel it none the less our -duty to leave upon the minds of others no doubt upon this subject -which we can remove, and no obscurity around it which it is in our -power to thrust away. - -(1.) First, then, the adoption of the articles of the Catholic faith -into the individual's creed is not conversion. - -The idea of conversion entertained by nine-tenths of Protestants is -precisely that which we have here denied. It has hardly ever been our -lot to meet one, either in print or conversation, whose arguments and -reasonings with {462} us did not presuppose this definition to be -true. It is very natural, for the reasons before mentioned, that this -should be so. From Unitarian to Methodist, from Methodist to Anglican, -is but a journey from one set of doctrines to another. The same grand -underlying features of Christianity remain. The organic existence is -an accident arising from substantial doctrinal affinity. And, judging -by their own experience and observations, Protestants almost -invariably conclude that we became converts to Catholicity as a -logical result of our faith in individual Catholic doctrines; and that -a so-called Protestant, who holds any or all of these distinctive -dogmas, is not a Protestant in reality, and has no right or title to -the name. Of how much petty persecution this mistake has been the -cause, and how many parishes and pastors it has kept in perpetual -commotion during the past thirty years, hundreds of the unfortunate -victims can remember. - -Yet no definition of conversion could be more totally erroneous. -Belief in Catholic doctrines is often chronologically precedent to a -real conversion; but it is not always so. It certainly operates as a -powerful antagonist of prejudice, and determines the interest and -sympathies of the believer toward the church. Candor, humility, and -earnestness being equal, such a believer is far more likely to become -a Catholic than another who does not believe. But, for all that, such -faith does not result in conversion as its necessary, scarcely as its -probable, consequence. We have in our memory, just now, a clergyman -who has for years openly professed his firm belief in -transubstantiation, purgatory, and other equally extreme Catholic -articles of faith. He goes into our churches, and adores the holy -eucharist upon our altars. He venerates the Mother of our Lord, and -supplicates God's mercy on the faithful dead. In all these he is -perfectly sincere, and of the truth of what he believes, and of the -piety of what he does, he is as well convinced as any Protestant can -ever be. Still he is not a Catholic, and we are almost satisfied he -never will become one. Years have found him and left him as we find -him now, and other years will probably work no change upon him in the -nature of conversion. Nearly the same maybe said of Dr. Pusey. His -symbolism in many, if not in most, particulars is Catholic. His tastes -and sympathies are Catholic. Those who have been his nearest and -dearest friends are Catholics. If similarity of doctrine were all that -constitutes conversion, the venerable father of Tractarianism would -long ere this have found the rest we tremble now lest he should never -find. But his life rolls away, and years and honors multiply upon his -head; yet who can say that he is nearer than in the distant and more -hopeful days, when his, now our, "_beloved_" struggled and prayed with -him for the light of God? The reasons for this are perfectly apparent -to us, and will be reached and dealt with by-and-bye. At present it -suffices, by these statements and illustrations, to have made it clear -that belief in Catholic doctrine is not conversion to the Catholic -Church. No, not if a man can tell over on his fingers, one by one, the -definitions of the councils and the traditions of the fathers, and -pronounce a _credo_ over every one of them, is he necessarily a -Catholic, nor must he have passed through that vital transformation -without which there never has been and never can be a true conversion. - -(2.) Second: the adoption of our extreme ritualism in worship is not -conversion. - -There is but one denomination of Protestants among whom this false -definition is likely to obtain. That one is the Episcopal; and by -large numbers of its members (if we may judge their opinions from -their words), it is actually believed that a fondness for rites and -ceremonies is evidence of Catholicity. Some years ago the church of -the Holy Innocents, and the {463} Madison Street mission chapel of New -York, and the church of St. James the Less, Philadelphia, were, by -this class of persons, uniformly regarded and denounced as Romanizing; -as the church of St. Albans in this city and some others are to-day. -Candles and flowers upon the altar, crosses and paintings on the -walls, the bowed head at the name of Jesus, the cassock-skirted coat, -and other innumerable minutiae, are to these people indubitable -evidence of Popery, and have often served, as they do now, for a -sufficient cause of congregational disunion and parochial decline. It -would seem foolish, in a discussion like the present, to notice an -error so shallow and so reasonless as this, were it not for the -magnitude of its results, and were it not, also, that so many of these -very ritualists themselves imagine that, in mimicking Catholic forms -and ceremonies, they have secured in Anglicanism all that the Catholic -Church can give. - -But ritualism is not Catholicism: nor is Catholicism so vitally -connected with ritualism that it may not exist in the entire fulness -of its powers and graces independent of external magnificence and -show. St. Antony in his desert, St. Simeon Stylites on his pillar, -were as true Catholics as St. Ambrose in his basilica, or St. Leo on -his throne. Even the public worship of the church, when stripped to -its essentials, is almost devoid of any outward sign or sound that can -properly be characterized as ceremonial. And the same priest who -stands today before the gorgeous altar of a metropolitan cathedral -amid clouds of incense, will start to-morrow on a year's missionary -journey through the wilderness, with all the "_pomp and circumstance -of Romanism_" contained within the narrow limits of his carpet-bag. -Ritualism is a means used by the church to accomplish certain ends; -and so used, because the example of the divinely instituted Jewish -church, and her own ages of experience, have convinced her that by it -those ends can most surely be attained. But it is no more an essential -element of her being than royal robes are of the being of a king; and -the weak caricature of her stately ceremonial, in which some -Protestant experimentalists indulge, converts them into Catholics as -little as the tinsel crown and sceptre of the stage gives royal birth -and power to the actor in a play. - -(3.) Third: union with the visible body of the Catholic Church is not -conversion. - -This is the definition which most of those who are born Catholics -would give. Unconscious, as they happily are, of the religious state -of mind in which pure Protestantism rears its children, it is -difficult for them to imagine that a man can be, or can become, -nominally Catholic for any other reason than the simple one that binds -them to their faith; and this habitude of thought leads them -inevitably to confound the outward consequence of an internal change -with that internal change itself. - -They also are in error. External union with the church is the best -possible _prima facie_ evidence of conversion, but it alone is not -conversion. That men have came into the body of the Catholic Church -from motives of business, or of politics, or of family sympathy there -can be no doubt. But in these cases there was no real conversion. The -deep, radical changes which so thoroughly unmake and then remake the -spiritual man, never could have taken place in such souls as these. -Their outward act was perfect, their visible communion with us was all -we could demand; but in their inmost heart they were as much -Protestants as ever; and, when they went, acted on the same principles -as when they came. Such examples are not numerous, it is true; but -still they are sufficient to demonstrate that "_joining the church_" -is not conversion, and to deny the minor premise of those who argue -the church's incapacity to satisfy our nature from the fact that these -have tried her and found her wanting. {464} When one man can be cited -who, in his soul of souls, has undergone the work of grace which we -now pass on to consider, and who, in calmness and in piety, and not in -rashness _or in mortal sin_, has voluntarily apostatized, and who, in -life and in death, has adhered to his apostasy, and has died in the -confident and humble hope of heaven; then, and not till then, can such -an argument be worth our while to meet. - - - -The change we call "_conversion_" thus residing neither in the -transfer of ecclesiastical relations to the church, nor in the growth -of ritualism into the external conduct, nor yet even in the adoption -of Catholic doctrine as the individual's creed, must have its sphere -of action in regions deeper and more fundamental than we have yet -explored. The church of God looks with the eyes of God upon the souls -of men. "_Give me thine heart_," is her, is his demand, confident that -if this be given all else is also gained. The change she seeks in -those whom God would make her children is a change, not of opinion, -not of tastes, not of behavior, but of _heart and will_; a change -which reaches to the citadel of life, and thoroughly and permanently -converts the man. With nothing less than this can she be satisfied. On -nothing less than this can she securely build. - -And this change is conversion. - -Protestantism, so far forth as it is a religious system, is based upon -two principles, from which have been developed all its influence and -power, and to which may be traced the numerous and immeasurable evils -whereof for many ages it has been a fruitful source. The first of -these is: That the church, founded by our Lord, is an _invisible_ -church, to which every man who believes he is saved by Christ is _by -that sole belief_ united, whatever else his creed and religious -observance may be. The second is: That every man, by his own reason -working on the text of Scripture, is able to, and must determine for -himself what his religious faith and moral code shall be. The -inevitable consequence of the first principle is--that the doctrine -and moral law of one man, so long as they embrace the Saviourship of -Christ in any sense whatever, are matters in which his brother -Christian can have no concern. The inevitable consequence of the -second is--that the self-eliminated creed and rule of observance of -each Christian are as correct and reliable as those of any or even of -all others, and will be the only standard of his judgment at the bar -of God. - -This first principle and its logical deductions have resulted in -simple religious individualism. "_The communion of saints_," in that -sense in which St. Paul describes it, as a Christian society, whose -members mutually depend upon each other, think the same things, -believe the same things, speak the same things, preserving the unity -of the Spirit as well as the bond of peace, has been rendered -practically impossible; while for it has been substituted an ideal -"_Christian union_" which consists either in the abnegation of all -distinctive doctrines as mere human opinions, or in the toleration of -them all as different methods of expressing the same religious truth. -And even this "_union_" which might be possible if pride and self-will -were eradicated from the heart of man, has become so far from a -reality, that the very theories on which it is based have sected and -bisected the original divisions of Protestant Christianity, until from -five they have become five hundred, with every prospect of a similar -multisection to the end of time. - -This principle has done more. It has entered the bodies of the sects -themselves, and repelled member from member, minister from flock. It -has destroyed, in the collective sect, all sense of responsibility for -the faith and conduct of its members; and, in the members, all sense -of responsibility for their personal belief and morals to the sect at -large. It has overturned {465} every tribunal established for the -preservation of Christian discipline, and has abrogated "_church -authority_" as wholly incompatible with purity of conscience and -religious freedom. It has reduced the conditions of admission to the -ecclesiastical fellowship to "_the minimum of Christianity_" and has -abolished "_terms of communion_" and "_professions of faith_" as -utterly subversive of denominational integrity. [Footnote 147] In -this way it has made each man not only _de jure_, but _de facto_ a -spiritual autocrat, and has erected him into an isolated, independent -religious body, depriving the sect of all real organic life, and -degrading it from a church with head and members to a mere aggregation -of discordant particles. - - [Footnote 147: _Vide_ New Englander for July, 1866, pages 477 to 487 - et seq.] - -The individual, being thus debarred of all external aid, is thrown -upon his own resources for religious guidance. There is no living man -upon the earth from whom he can receive an an authoritative -enunciation of eternal truths. There is no set of men upon whose -teachings he can rely as more perfect for more ultimately certain than -his own. The common mouth of Christendom utters no voice that puts to -rest the questions of his soul. All stand, like him, upon one level -plain of human fallibility; a fallibility which no diffusion, however -universal, can ever make infallible. All, whether singly or -collectively interrogated, can answer his appeal for light only by -giving their own human judgments in exchange for his. - -And hence arises the necessity for that second principle on which, as -well as on the first, the foundations of Protestant Christianity were -laid; a principle which recognizes the intrinsic individualism that -the first produces, and perfects it by removing from man every hope -but one. That one hope is the Bible; a dead and speechless book; a -body whose spirit hides itself in the interminable labyrinth of -languishes long since unspoken; a star which gathers its reflected -rays through paraphrases and translations as chromatic as the -intellects that framed them or the pens that wrote them down. - -"_The Bible, and the Bible only_," has been the banner-cry of -Protestantism from the dawn of its existence. The first work of -Luther, after his apostasy, was the publication of such parts of the -New Testament as he considered best suited to his purposes; and the -great aim of his successors, in all countries and in all ages, has -been to flood the world with copies of the Scriptures, in such guise -and such proportions as should soonest and most surely undermine the -principles of church authority, and establish their version of the -Bible as the sole acknowledged teacher of the truth of God. From the -beginning, also, as a part of the same work, they have denied that God -has furnished to mankind other interpreters of his revelation than the -unaided intellect of man, and have declared the private judgment of -the individual to be his all-sufficient and his only guide to the true -meaning of the written law. It will not, therefore, nay, it cannot be -disputed, that every man to whom the name of Protestant belongs, -depends entirely for his knowledge of the truth which God commands him -to believe, and of the laws which God commands him to obey, upon what -he can learn, unled by note or comment, from that collective -translation of ancient books to which he gives the name "[Greek -text]," or "_The Bible_." - -Now, were it certain that the Bible contained the entire canon of holy -scripture, with every book and paragraph complete; were it certain -that that Scripture was in every syllable the utterance of God; were -it certain that no error in translation had modulated the clear voice -which spoke from heaven; were it certain that no pride of -self-opinion, no prejudice of early education, no ignorance of the -true meaning and construction of the language, were able to distort -the {466} spiritual vision; then might this principle, to some extent, -subserve the purposes which Protestants allege it to fulfil. But, -while no evidence, by them admissible, can determine beyond cavil the -completeness of their canon, while divine inspiration remains a fact -beyond the power of human testimony to establish; while that confusion -of tongues which the centuries of barbarian incursion wrought has -rendered more or less questionable all translations from ancient Greek -or Hebrew to a modern dialect; while human pride and prejudice have -lost none of their hold upon the heart of man; it is not in our nature -to believe that God has left us to such a guidance as this principle -asserts, and still holds us responsible for the truth of our opinions -and the purity of our conduct at the peril of our eternal damnation. -And thus each of these principles practically affirms and corroborates -the other, and both unite to overthrow all definite revealed religion, -and to prostrate at the feet of human reason the _dicta_ of the -everlasting God. - -The state of heart and will which these principles engender no -lengthened paragraphs are needed to describe. Previous to the age of -discretion, the Protestant child, in spite of these principles, is -compelled to recognize, in religion, an authority external to himself. -His parents, his masters, his catechisms are, in his sight, equally -with the Bible, the teachers of divine truth; and, by their aid and -influence, he arrives at maturity with certain more or less distinctly -formed notions of Christian doctrine, and with certain rules of life -grained into his character by the long course of years. At this period -he is emancipated, in theory, from all external direction, and placed -under the sole guidance of his reason and the Bible. That sacred book -he opens. It has no voice to him of its own. Its pages offer to him -the same words as to all men before him; but those words contain no -meaning independent of the meaning that he gives them. It places -before him the formal statement of all doctrine; but teaches him, as -absolutely and infallibly true, no one specific dogma which, whether -consistent with his present views or not, he must receive. That which -interprets, not that which is interpreted, is ever the real teacher; -and, in his case, his privates judgment, trained and biassed by the -prejudices and conclusions of a lifetime, utters the only voice and -defines the only doctrine which it is possible for him to hear or to -receive. The Scripture does not teach him new and otherwise -undiscoverable truth. It rather confirms and expresses the truth, -which is already accepted and declared. The oracle, whose utterance is -the indisputable law, speaks from the depths of his interior being. -The Bible is a mere "phrase-book," in which it finds the words and -symbols fitted to convey its thought. The divine authority dwells in -the _man_, not in the _volume_. He holds the sacred book before the -mirror of his reason. The image it presents, however imperfect or -deformed, becomes to him the truth of the Eternal Word. He casts the -pure wheat of God between the millstones of his human judgment and his -human loves. The grist they grind is all the bread he has whereon to -feed his soul. It is not difficult to see that, by the process of -investigation, every man must become the worshipper of a God who is as -truly his own handiwork as is the brazen idol of the Hindoo or the -living Buddha of Sha-Ssa. - -Some of the better class of Protestant minds have perceived this. A -few of the most fearless have declared it, and received, in -consequence, the name of "_infidels_" from their less logical and less -consistent brethren. "_Belief_," says Mr. Emerson, "consists in the -acceptance of the affirmations of the soul; unbelief in their denial." -The English language might be exhausted and no better definition given -of Protestant belief than this. When once the soul--that is, the -reason, {467} the affections, and the will--when once the _soul_ -affirms; when once those affirmations are _expressed in Scripture -phraseology_, no Protestant can venture to pronounce them ultimately -untrue without destroying the hold principle on which his own faith -has been built. That many have done so is only evidence that the grace -of God within them rebels against this degradation of a Gospel which -the Eternal Son died in order to inaugurate, and which his church has -battled earth and hell for fifty generations in order to preserve. - -The office which the heart and will perform in this religious work is -simply one of _choice_. The element of submission to divine authority -is only so far exercised as consists in the acceptance of Scripture -phrases as the vehicle of individual conclusions. To no extent is the -_formal, detailed idea_ indebted for existence to other than the -intellect, the affections, the will of the believer. He _chooses_ his -dogma for his precept according to the dictates of his reason; -receiving this, denying that, on the sole ground of their consistency -with preconceived ideas; and, anon, discarding old faiths and adopting -new as time and circumstances operate upon his heart and mind. And it -is nothing singular to see him wandering from Tractarianism down to -Unitarianism--from Calvinism to Universalism--and back again, -stopping perchance at Methodism or Congregationalism on the way; -clinging to his Bible all the while, triumphantly pointing to this -paragraph as proving that he is right at last, and as triumphantly -declaring the reverse when a few steps forward have landed him upon -the other side. All this and more--unless, indeed, his inner life -lays at the door of his professions the charge of conscious falsehood, -and underneath his soul is bent the arm of an authority whose very -existence his theory has totally denied. - -No truer definition, no better example of _heresy_ than such a -spectacle affords, has any age of Christianity presented. "[Greek -text]" meant "choice." The grand distinction between the heretic and -the Christian resides in this: that the one chooses doctrine to suit -himself, the other receives doctrine on the authority of God. That -Protestantism is choice--nay, that it logically _compels_ choice to -every individual in it, cannot admit a question. It is, therefore, -heresy; not, perhaps, in the most odious sense of the word, but still -in that strict etymological signification which is the best clue to -the appropriate application of the name. Like all other heretics, of -whatever sect, the Protestant relies upon himself. He is his own -Bible-maker, his own doctrine-monger, his own law-giver. Faith and -theology and moral law are only the result of his own private judgment -and divine command, moulded and digested into one confused and -contradicting mass of good and evil. - -It is to his deliverance from this spiritual state that the name -_conversion_ alone properly belongs. - -Catholicity, on the other hand, is also based upon two principles, -which are the logical postulates of its existence, and whose necessary -developments will account for the immeasurable contrast which its -severe and holy tranquillity presents to the seething and tumultuous -incoherency around it. The first of these is this: that the truths -with which alone revealed religion deals, are in their nature _above_ -human reason, and though never _contradicting_ it, cannot by it be -estimated, comprehended, or discerned, but rest upon the sole veracity -of a revealing God. The second is: that God has chosen and appointed, -as the medium of this unerring revelation, a visible, organized -society, founded by Jesus Christ, presided over by the Holy Ghost, -perpetuated through all ages by his own impregnable decree; and that -this society is the Catholic Church. The inevitable consequence of the -first principle is: that revealed truth, as such, is ultimately and -infallibly true, and whether or not consistent {468} with private -judgment, prejudice, and present conviction, must be received and -heartily believed. The inevitable consequence of the second is: that -whatever the church teaches as revealed truth, is so revealed, is -therefore ultimately true, and must be rested on implicitly as the -infallible utterance of God. - -The result of this first principle has been that the wonderful, and -often ludicrous, admixture of divine and human truth, which may be -found in the religion of many Protestants, is utterly impossible to -Catholics. With all the questions of natural religion, as -distinguished from revealed; with all the theorems of science and of -art; with the dark mysteries of nature and the still darker mysteries -of man; nay, even with those inferences from divine truth which make -up systems of theology, reason is competent to deal. It may pierce the -glittering nebulae of the Milky Way; it may fathom the recesses of the -ocean and cleave the crystal bowels of the world; it may climb the -dizzy heights of intellectual philosophy; it may conquer the vast -problems of political and social happiness. But here its journey ends. -When it stands beside that boundless sea which rolls between the -finite and the infinite, it finds no bark to bear it outward. Of all -that lies beyond, its eye, its ear, its touch remains insensible. It -can but sit down on the hither shore and wait for light--the light of -revelation. [Footnote 148] - - [Footnote 148: The able writer of this article certainly does not - intend to deny the competence of reason to judge of the evidence of - revelation, or to judge that any proposition evidently contradictory - to reason cannot be a revealed truth.--Ed. Catholic World.] - -Reason is limited from above. Revelation is limited from below. In the -mysteries of God, in the supernatural, and in questions of _faith_, -her voice is law: and where it is law, it is absolute, unconditional, -indisputable. Free as the thought of God is man's thought everywhere -but there. There he must put his shoes from off his feet and listen -and obey. The ground he treads is holy. The voice he hears is that -which spoke of old out of the burning bush. He cannot gainsay God. - -And thus it is that, practically, Catholics are so free in all matters -except those pertaining to religion. The line is drawn so clearly and -so definitely between what _is_ and what _is not_ of faith, that not -in one mind in ten thousand is there ever the slightest doubt as to -what must be received and what may be disputed. The consolation given -by this simple maxim: "_If God has not revealed it, I need not believe -it; but if God has declared it, whether or not I understand it, it is -surely true_."--when once incorporated into the guiding principles of -the heart, as in the case of every true Catholic it entirely is, -repays the soul for those dark hours of Protestant doubting and -perplexity, by contrast with which it can alone be truly valued. - -The result of the second of these principles has been the perfect -unity of Catholics in doctrine and in morals. The voice of the church -is the voice of God. She is a living teacher. She does not hide her -truths in languages whose meaning sages only can unfold. She speaks to -every man _in his own vernacular_, and proposes to him not only the -_formularies_, but _the exact ideas_ which make up the Christian -faith. She is not confined to general statements, under whose vague -phraseology notions the most opposite may be concealed. She enters -into all the infinite details which every proposition of divine truth -embraces, and prints it in the same unvarying form upon the souls of -men. With the millions who are gone before she has thus labored. With -the millions who are yet alive she is thus laboring to-day. And all, -in their submission to her teaching, have found that perfect concord -of doctrine which the gospel promised to the faithful flock of Christ, -and testify to the eternal wisdom of that God who placed his church -upon the earth to set at naught the foolishness of man. - -{469} - -In a religion such as this there can be no room for _choice_. To the -church heresy is evermore a name of execration and of horror. The -heart and will of her disciples have but one exercise, and that is -submission. Unconditionally, unquestioningly, unprotestingly, they bow -before her voice and echo its decrees. Reason is quiescent. Where it -cannot comprehend, it passes by. Faith grasps the mystery and lays it -on the heart to be its law for ever. The soul has but one inquiry for -every dogma, for every precept: "_Teacher of God, what hast thou -spoken?_" The teacher answers and the soul obeys. - -Such is Catholicity. It is the antithesis of Protestantism. Whatever -similarity may exist in certain of their doctrines, in their ultimate, -essential natures they are simple opposites. The void between them is -as vast as that through which the First-born of the morning fell; the -dividing lines as sharp and as precipitate as the high cliffs which -bound the tides of Acheron. That "_via media_," along which the easy -traveller may walk secure, rejoicing in the sunlight of both earth and -heaven, is a fond, foolish dream. The church knows but two modes of -existence in reference to herself, submission and rebellion; and even -reason teaches that her judgment, on this point, is unimpeachable. - -Through all that weary journey which lies between these nether worlds -of spiritual being the convert's feet must tread. When God's grace -finds him, he is a Protestant--perhaps so pure and logical as to be -standing on the shores of rationalism and looking at his own soul as -his source of light--perhaps so inconsistent and so self-deceived as -to acknowledge an authority which his fundamental Protestantism -denies. But whether from the external Saharas of Christian scepticism, -or whether from beneath the shadow of the truth itself, the path he -follows leads him to one goal, the goal of unconditional submission. -Conversion may come to him through the successive adoption of Catholic -dogmas, through fondness for external rites and forms, through -personal friendship and familiarity, through any of those myriad ways -by which God leads the steps of his elect toward heaven; but, when it -comes, it is the same change for each, for every one--the abnegation -of all choice and self-affirmation, and the complete subjection of the -heart and will to the obedience of faith. Then, and then only, is the -work ended and conversion made complete. What the church teaches is, -from that hour, the faith of that Christian heart. What the church -commands is the law of that Christian will. Doubt and hesitation and -self-following are of the days gone by, and his devotion to the -church, as God's teacher, is only rivalled by his love for her as the -home of God's elect. The waters of the deluge roar and dash around his -mighty ark of safety, and men and women, as they clamber up the rugged -mountains of their own devices, laugh at him for his ignorance and -folly; but he abides in peace, when the dark waves have overtopped -them and engulfed them, and will live to offer sacrifice on Ararat -when the days of divine searching have passed by. - - - -The utter falsehood of those definitions of conversion which we have -denied, becomes apparent from this description of what conversion is. -There is no inherent impossibility that a pure Protestant, exercising -to the fullest extent the right of private judgment, should arrive at -doctrines identical with those which the church teaches, and should, -as a result of this identity, accept even her formularies as -expressive of his faith. The mystery of the Trinity, than which no -mystery is greater, is thus received by the majority of Protestants; -and there is nothing in the doctrines of Transubstantiation. -Purgatory, and the like, which is unreachable by the same process of -scriptural investigation, unaided by the conscious teachings of the -{470} church. There can be no doubt that men have, by this method, -approximated closely to Catholic doctrine, who yet were wholly -actuated by Protestant principles, and never dreamed of submitting -heart and will and reason to the dictation of any authority whatever. - -These men apparently hang over the church, ready to drop like ripe -fruit into her open bosom. Nevertheless, whatever of her symbolism -they may cherish, they cherish, not because it is _hers_, but because -it is _their own_. It is not truth which _she_ has taught them; _they_ -have discovered it themselves. It brings them no nearer to her in -heart. It does not subject their _will_ to hers. On the contrary; it -often begets in them an arrogance of her divine security, as if their -similarity to her constituted them her equals in the authority of God. -Such men are not with the church, whatever proximity they seem to -have. Their boast of Catholicity deceives many, and most frequently -themselves, but can delude none who realize to what humility her true -children must descend, and how unquestioningly, when God speaks, man -must hear. The prayers of the faithful are more needed for such souls -than for any others, that God would send them the disposition, as well -as the light of faith. - -Of the various corollaries which might be drawn from this -demonstration of the real nature of conversion, there is but one which -time and space allow us to notice. That one is this: That the whole -question between Catholics and Protestants is one of fact and not -primarily of doctrine; and can, like any other fact, be investigated -and proved by human evidence. On one side, it is asserted that faith -and morals are of comparative indifference to salvation, and that no -source of divine light exists on earth higher than that of scripture, -interpreted and judged by reason. On the other side, it is claimed -that whatever God has revealed must be received without question or -contradiction, and that the organized society known as the Catholic -Church is the mouthpiece and medium of that revelation. This covers -the whole point in issue. If, as a matter of fact, the first assertion -is correct, Protestants are secure in their acceptance or denial of -any or of all articles of specific Christian doctrine. If the second -is true, the teachings of the Catholic Church must be received -implicitly, under peril of disobedience to God. The question of the -truth of particular dogmas, or of the obligation of certain codes of -law, is entirely foreign to this issue. If the church is right, -transubstantiation, the immaculate conception, the seven sacraments, -are matters not to be _discussed_ or _proven_, but to be _believed_. -If she is wrong, they are simply of no consequence whatever. Any -investigation which escapes this only real point in controversy will -be in vain. Inquiry must begin here and end here, or else result in -making men either bad Catholics or stronger Protestants than ever. - -This "question of questions" is to be answered by logical -demonstration based on certain facts. As a historical work, the Bible -is a sufficient witness of the visible and audible facts which it -records; and the miracles of of Christ therein related establish his -personal divine commission and the entire reliability of the -declarations which he made. As historical works also, the writings of -his immediate disciples are a sufficient witness of their -understanding of his teachings, and of the actions which, in pursuance -of that understanding, they performed. If Christ stated that doctrines -and precepts are _not_ conditions of salvation, and placed in the -hands of man the book known as the Bible, with the assurance that he -could safely follow whatever interpretation thereof his human judgment -might give, and if, as so directed, his disciples did _not_ insist on -specific creeds and laws, and _did_ receive and circulate the Bible as -the only organ of revealed truth, then that fact can be ascertained. -If, on {471} the other hand, Christ revealed a certain system of -doctrine, and established certain laws of conduct; if he founded a -church and conferred on her the authority to teach and the right to be -obeyed; and if his followers recognized such an institution, and -uniformly submitted to its authority as divine, then this, as a fact, -can, in its turn, be proved. - -To a fair, candid, and complete investigation of this question, in the -light of history, the Catholic Church invites all Protestants -throughout the world; confident that, by the good help of God's grace, -this simple examination, properly conducted, would lead the many -hundred jarring sects of Christendom into a Catholic unity of spirit -and into the bond of a true gospel peace. - --------- - -From Once a Week. - - -CHRISTMAS BELL. - - In broken notes of sound, - The voice of distant bells - Falls fitfully around, - Borne o'er the rimy dells. - Anon in wailing tones - It breaks against the breeze, - Or in sad accents moans - Amidst the shivering trees. - In fragments o'er the glades - It falls, or floats aloft; - Then trumulously fades - In echoes low and soft. - But other, nearer chimes, - In laughing octaves run, - In memory of old times. - And what the days have done. - Then changing, clang and wail - Up in their prison high. - And sob and groan and rail - At their captivity. - - Ringing:--flinging wild notes everywhere! - Clanging:--hanging discord in the air! - Chiming:--rhyming words from brazen throat! - Pealing:--stealing o'er the meadows and the moat! - Dying:--sighing gently as a child! - Floating:--gloating o'er their tumult wild! - Swinging:--springing suddenly to life! - Surging:--urging nature into strife! - Laughing:--quaffing the sweet and eager air! - Groaning:--moaning in a weird note of despair! - -{472} - - Yes, how they sigh, - And seemed to die: - But like expiring ember, - At slightest breath - They leap from death, - And wrestle with December! - - Oh, 'tis strange - How they change, - In rhythmus and in measure, - Now tolling sad. - Now almost mad, - With throbbing pulse of pleasure. - - But not long thus,--the ringers soon - Will catch the proper metre, - Staccato first; then rippling tune - Grows every moment sweeter. - - Away, away, the music flies. - O'er mead and wold and river, - Arpeggio movement shakes the skies. - And makes the belfry quiver. - - Away, away, the cheerful sound - Flies with its Christmas greeting. - And laughs along the icy ground. - Where snow-drops pale are peeping. - - The crocus, hearing chimes of mirth. - Puts on her brightest yellow, - What cares she for the frosty earth. - When peals ring out so mellow? - - The blackbird, in a love-lorn mood, - Is pecking at red berries. - But hark! those joy-bells make her food - As sweet as summer cherries. - - In truth all nature hears the strains, - With heart of honest gladness; - They ring surcease of human pains, - And ring--a death to sadness. - - They ring of friendship, and the grasp - Of hands in manly greeting; - They ring the softer tender clasp - Of Love and Psyche meeting. - - They ring oblivion of the years - Whose sunset was in sorrow; - They drown in waves of sound, the fears - That cloud the dawn to-morrow. - -{473} - - They ring the affluent table spread. - They ring of that sweet maiden - Who comes, with modest silent tread, - With gifts for poor folk laden. - - They ring in tones more sweet than all - Of hopes the Cross has given, - And then their glad notes rise and fall. - Like Christmas bells in Heaven. - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -THE GODFREY FAMILY; OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY. - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -HESTER GODFREY IN SEARCH OF PERFECTION. - -"Papa,"' said Hester one morning, as she passed from the lawn into the -library, and threw her arms round her father's neck, "papa, I am -thoroughly resolved never to be married." - -"Time enough, my darling, to think of that; but why this sudden -resolved?" - -"Because married women are so unhappy. Adelaide and Annie were has -merry as crickets when they were single, and now how serious and -unhappy they appear." - -"Seriousness is not unhappiness. Age makes one sedate." - -"Nay, but I am sure they are miserable, and I tell you I will not -marry; so do not promise my hand to any one". And she put a very -lovely one into her father's hand as she spoke. - -"I will not, my dear Hetty; but you may live to alter your mind." - -"I shall not, and I will tell you why. I have considered this matter -very closely and I have discovered that a married woman is but a slave -to a man. She must have no will of her own, no purse of her own, and -though she has all the trouble and anxiety with the children, they are -his--not hers--as soon as they begin to reason. I love freedom, papa; -I will be no mere tool to any man. No art, no science, no refinement, -no practical improvement can flourish in slavery; and the reason women -have shown less aptitude for intellectual cultivation than men is, -that they are mere slaves--domestic drudges, for the most part--with -no higher interest than to procure food and clothing." - -"Where did my Hester pick up Mary Wolstonecroft's writings?" - -"Mary Wolstonecroft--who is she, papa?" - -"A lady who advocates woman's rights, my love. I thought you had been -reading her book." - -"There is no need if all she says is that which I feel, namely, that -all women are slaves. I learned this from simple observation. I wonder -all women do not feel it so." - -"Women are supposed to live in their affections; and those whom we -love we serve willingly." - -{474} - -"Yes, but you know that soon becomes a mere supposition, even if it be -not so at first. How snappish wives usually are! I notice it in the -cottagers, in the tradesfolks; everywhere, where manners are not -taught to enable one to _sham_ before company. And the husbands are -surly, unmanageable bears; there must be something wrong in marriage -to produce these effects so frequently." - -"And what remedy do you propose?" asked Mr. Godfrey, greatly amazed. - -"Nay, that I have not considered. I only know that something is wrong -now, and that I will not marry 'till it is set right." - -"Wait 'till you fall in love, my dear." - -"Fall in love, indeed! What a ridiculous thing to do! No, papa, I -intend no fall; that is just why I will not marry. I might admire and -respect a man as my equal; I might even venerate him as my superior, -if he were my superior in mind; but bind myself to him as a slave I -would not. No Grecian hero in all antiquity could inspire me with love -enough to commit a moral suicide." - -"The Grecian women claimed no equal rights," said Mr. Godfrey. - -"No; I marked that well, papa. History is a treatise on men--on their -deeds, their daring, their wisdom, their improvement or retrogression. -Now and then, as if by accident, a woman's deeds were recorded, but -very rarely. Why this has been, I cannot divine. Woman ought, could, -should, and must rebel. This is the age of freedom. Does freedom -concern only half of the human race?" - -"No; it concerned the horde of women who forced their way into the -royal apartments at Versailles. My Hester should have headed the -procession?" - -"Now, papa, that is not fair. You know well I do not wish to -countenance rude and vulgar proceedings. Only I do not see why woman -should not cultivate her intellectual and moral powers, and march -onward in the career of perfectibility as well as man." - -"What is that long word you used, Hester?" - -"Now, papa, how provoking you are! Have you not yourself taught me to -cultivate every faculty to perfection, as a duty? Have you not often -said that the world has yet to learn the results of an equipoised, -many-sided development? That hitherto too strong a bias has been -given, and that a one-sided training has made a one-sided character?" - -"I have said this. Hester, but what is this to the purpose?" - -"Why, perfectibility must mean the tendency toward perfection produced -by this equipoised, by this many-sided development; and woman must be -the chief operator in effecting this equipoised development, because -woman is the exclusive educator of the young of either sex; and it is -when young, when very young, that the germs are laid of ideas which -perish not. Physiologists say that though character is modified -afterward, the form is, for the most part, given ere the seventh year -has been attained." - -"It may be so, but what of that?" asked the father. - -"Why, I think, then, that woman's especial vocation is to the study of -this perfectibility: that is, how to procure a due development--how to -teach the race to aspire. It seems to me that, generally speaking, the -aims of the world are very grovelling and sensual. If we could once -fire the race with the desire of reaching the utmost perfection of -which there nature is capable, methinks a glorious work would be -begun, and after ages might be brought almost to doubt of the misery -that now exists, their own position would be so different." - -"It is a glorious project," said the father turning to the animated -girl, "but a difficult one; the world is large, and every one thinks -his own ideas the right ones." - -"I know it; but I know, too that that thought must not check an -inspiration. Individuals have changed the face of nations before now. -Had they suffered their enthusiasm to be checked by dwelling on how -little one {475} person can do, nothing would ever have been done. An -individual who feels an intense interest in any subject, and a full -conviction that such a subject is likely to benefit his co-patriots, -is bound to carry forward his views to the utmost of his power." - -"You may be right--nay, the principle is right; but what can my little -Hester do?" - -"She can study and think and experimentalize and observe and have the -benefit of her father's advice through all, if only he will give it -her, if only he will put it out of his head that every girl is born to -be married, and that a girl cannot think and act for herself, and -cherish ideas of philanthropy and work for the public good." - -"Lycurgus would not sanction this, my little Spartan girl." - -"Perhaps not, papa; but times have altered. Legislators used to seek -for a numerous population. Now, Dr. Malthus says the world is -over-peopled." - -"Why, Hester, I did not think these were subjects that you cared for -at all." - -"But I do care for them, papa--more, much more than you think; and -what I ask of you is to forget that I am a girl, and let me think and -study everything--political economy, social economy, natural -philosophy, ethics, and aesthetics. I want to know how each of these -bears upon the condition the race, to see what man might be. I want to -know why man is created--to what he tends." - -"Man is created to enjoy life, my child." - -"Then why are so many miserable? Why have we disease, plague, famine, -war, and bloodshed?" - -"'These are partly the result of man's ignorance." - -"And yet man has existed nearly six thousand years, and every kind of -experience and teaching has been his; and philosophers, sages, -religionists, lawgivers have been trying to instruct him, and he is -ignorant still." - -"You forget, Hester, that every individual that is born into the world -is born ignorant and helpless; and yet every individual must realize -instruction ere ignorance can be banished. Where you have an educated -people to work upon, you may propound improvements and be understood, -and then you will find instruments who will co-operate with you; but -now look at the population. Occupied in daily toil, as the price of -life, how can they comprehend high theories, or study experimental -philosophy. If they go into it at all, it must be to take upon trust a -few ideas, and they are as likely to take the wrong ideas as the right -ones, by that means." - -"And is there no remedy for this? Is all this toil necessary? It seems -to me as if a great deal of unnecessary work is always being -performed. Spartan frugality would disapprove of much of modern -luxury; and is not half the toil for luxury merely?" - -"Some of it is; but Spartan pride refused all toil, even for -necessaries. The laborers of the present day do the work of the helots -in Sparta. To work was beneath the dignity of a Spartan." - -"And we have no helots in England now," said Hester. - -"Would you wish to have?" asked Mr. Godfrey. - -"No! Why should one part of mankind be sacrificed to the happiness of -the other? I would have no men slaves, no women slaves. Let all be -free and equal. If there is work to be done, let all do a portion, and -let all have a portion of rest, or rather of leisure, for the -improvement of the mental faculties." - -"No man will work, unless compelled, at hard, daily labor. Those who -have property are not compelled. How will you compel them? For -instance, my neighbor, the blacksmith, has a wife and six children to -support. He works from twelve to fourteen hours daily. His wife keeps -no servant; she scrubs, washes, cooks, and attends to all herself. -Now, you {476} and I, being people of leisure, should do half their -work for them. Suppose you go and help the wife, and I go and help the -blacksmith half of every day; they might then study perfectibility the -other half." - -Hester laughed. "We might do worse than that," she said; "but that -would only be helping two individuals, whereas I wish to place society -on a right principle. I no longer wonder at the French revolution. Had -I to toil hard and to live hard, seeing all the while some few -privileged beings do nothing at all but revel in luxury, I should be a -revolutionist too; only I should not know how to set the matter right. -One thing is clear from all history, luxury is an injury to the -individual who uses it, and all states have been weakened when luxury -has become common; therefore, father, I will make myself hardy, that I -may not be corrupted in my own proper person." - -And true to her resolution, Hester, regardless of public opinion, -became simple in her habits. A hard bed, plain diet, an uncarpeted -room, with singular plainness of dress, distinguished this young -aspirant after perfectibility. Her mother would willingly have seen -her dress in a manner becoming her station; but Hester "did not choose -to make herself a peg on which to hang dressmakers' fancies. Clothes -were for two purposes," she said, "for warmth and decency; when these -two objects were attained it was enough." Her mother's remonstrances -availed nothing, and her father laughed: the eccentricities of the -spoiled child amused him, and daily he became more accustomed to -gratify every wish that she expressed. - -Hester was in earnest. She founded schools, she formed societies in -which adult laborers might receive instruction in the evenings; she -established libraries and promoted the scientific associations -afterward more fully developed under the name of "Mechanics' -Institutes." Hester visited the lowly that she might form an estimate -of their real position, observe their improveable points, and -cultivate these latter to good purpose; but the intricacies thickened -upon her. She heard complaints that the poor were improvident and -wasteful. - -"How can that be," said she, "when a man pays rent, and provides fuel, -clothing, and food for himself, his wife, and four children, out of -wages at twelve shillings a week? How much does our mere board cost? -twenty times that sum at least, and mamma is called economical. Oh! it -must be a miserable life they lead on such a poor pittance as that! -Papa, a man must have food; he gets it from the ground: he must have -shelter; a few trees chopped down will give him that: he must have -clothes; these also he can grow: why not place man on land where they -can get these, rather than let them half starve at home?" - -"It is being done in or colonies; but an emigrant's life, my Hester, -would scarcely assist your perfectible theories. Every moment is -employed in drudgery of some kind. A large proportion of the emigrants -die of hardship." - -Hester turned round impatiently, "Ever, ever an obstacle! Yet I will -not give up. There must be a way of improving mankind, and I will find -it yet." - -These discussions were frequently renewed, but with little better -success. On one occasion Eugene was present, and he said with a smile, -"So you, too, are seeking the philosopher's stone, sister? I doubt you -will not find it in exterior relationships or in material -circumstance; evil is in the world--evil to a larger amount than you -have any conception of, and no exterior arrangement will suffice to -banish it. Set man free, as you term it, from the restraint of -overlabor, without awakening the interior impulse to realize a higher -life, and the chances are that the ale-house or gin-shop will be his -school." - -"But will not education affect this awakening?" - -{477} - -"Education on a right basis would undoubtedly do much, but not -education on a selfish basis; not if the highest aim is to improve in -temporalities, not if virtue is proposed as the best policy to forward -earthly views. This would be merely teaching a system of selfish -calculation that would make man neither wiser nor better, and -consequently not happier." - -"And what other motive would you suggest, brother?" - -Eugene glanced at his father and hesitated. After a moment's pause, he -said: "Some philosophers, and among them the divine Plato, have -thought that within man dwelt an essence called a soul, and that its -culture furnished motives superior to all others in enlightening man. -There are other theories respecting the soul worth studying too, I -think. That which has influenced Europe during eighteen hundred years -has been the religion of Christ. Have you ever studied that, Hester?" - -"No! I thought it was a superstition akin to, though distinct from, -the ancient pagan mythology." - -"You will not find it so." rejoined her brother, "or rather you will -find it the opposite. Paganism is the worship of self, of sensuality, -of self-aggrandizement, and of physical power. Christianity is the -worship of spirituality; it triumphs over selfishness by divine love, -and elevates the soul by the same influence above the paltry views -emanating from an exclusive adhesion to man's lower nature." - -Mr. Godfrey's lowering brow betokened a rising storm. Eugene made his -escape, and Hester laid her hand on her father's shoulder, and said -coaxingly, "Did you not say I might study every influence, papa, that -has affected humanity? Why not study this of which Eugene speaks?" - -"Hester, there is a serpent in the East which has the power of fixing -his eye on the bird he marks for his prey, and his fascination is such -that by merely continuing to gaze he draws his victim straight into -his mouth." - -"What of this, father?" - -"It is so of superstition also; it strikes a chord in the human heart, -which, once awakened, becomes restless evermore. Let it but once -attract your notice, it fascinates, monopolizes every faculty, and the -strongest minds have fallen victims to its baneful power of -concentrating the attention. Let it alone, my child." - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE DEATH-BED OF THE DUKE OP DURIMOND. - - - -The illness of the Duke of Durimond became more and more serious. -Adelaide's friends offered to join her, but she said the duke's mind -required peculiar treatment, and that more company in the house might -annoy him. From the time of his leaving England the duke's associates -had observed a great alteration in his manners and habits. Whereas he -was formerly the gayest of the gay, he now shunned society. Soon after -his arrival at Vienna he had engaged an Italian servant of seemingly -unusual education and seriousness, and him he admitted into his -confidence; to him he entrusted the direction of his private affairs. -When he returned home, at those different intervals we have mentioned, -this servant accompanied him, and was treated by the duke less as a -humble dependent than as a valuable friend. The man held aloof from -the other inmates of the castle, and was waited on in his own -apartment by the duke's express order. Now, when the duke returned -home, he was accompanied not only by this Italian gentleman or -servant, whichever he might be, but by two other Italian valets, very -serious for their state in life, who waited on the duke and on his -friend to the exclusion of the English menials who had formerly access -to the ducal apartments. - -{478} - -The duke was a prisoner in his own room, rarely could he ever leave -his bed. Adelaide came at stated intervals to inquire after the state -of his health, and in all formality took her seat at his side. Madame -de Meglior often accompanied her, and to the surprise of both ladies a -request was urgently preferred that Euphrasie might be induced to pay -daily morning visits to the sick chamber, at a time when none were -usually admitted. - -The duchess looked her astonishment, but the duke took her hand with -more kindness and less of ceremony than usual, and said: - -"Nay, do not be surprised, your grace; I am a poor man, now about to -appear before my Maker. I need all the assistance I can get, and I -have faith in the prayers of Euphrasie. The hour named for her is the -hour of prayer: if you will come also, believe me you will be -welcome." - -"Prayer, what prayer?" - -"The most solemn prayer that can be offered, that which accompanies -the most holy sacrifice of the new law." - -As the duke spoke, M. Martigni, the man of business we have spoken of, -pulled aside a curtain which had been hung before an alcove opposite -to which the duke's bed had been placed, and there a beautiful little -marble altar, appropriately adorned, became visible. Adelaide gazed in -mute surprise. - -"What am I to infer from this, your grace?" - -"That at the last hour, I, a miserable sinner, dare to hope pardon -from an outraged God, because he sent his Son to die on the cross for -me! O Adelaide! the gods of this world, as your father so justly calls -them--the gods of this world, pride, lust, sensuality, love of power, -and ambition, but rise to reproach us when we draw near to our end. -Long, too long did I resist my sweet Ellen's lessons! I felt, indeed, -that something within me said we could not utterly die; but I was -leading a life for self--I could not see the truth; but at last, late, -too late I knew my duty. Adelaide, for two years past I have been -reconciled to the Catholic church!" - -"It is to attend Mass, then, I presume, that your grace desires -Euphrasie's company?" said Adelaide. - -"It is," replied the duke; "if any will accompany her, they will be -welcome." - -But this the duchess took especial care to prevent. She whispered to -Madame de Meglior, as they quitted the apartment: - -"The malady has touched his brain; say nothing of what has happened." - -This was the cause of Adelaide's reluctance to have more company in -the house. On this account she declined alike the visits of the duke's -relatives and of her own. She wish the matter to be kept a profound -secret from all; and though she permitted Euphrasie to comply with the -duke's request, it was on the express condition of her keeping the -fact unknown. But such precautions as these, though feasible for a -time, are useless in the end. The duke's disorder was of a painful, -lingering, and variable nature. Sometimes he would be confined to his -room, and even to his bed for weeks together, then he would rally a -little, go into the adjoining sitting-room, and once or twice even -took an airing in his carriage. No excuse could be framed, then, for -excluding relations so rigorously. Mr. Godfrey became annoyed at the -attempt, and at length, suspecting some latent motive, sent Eugene to -the castle to find out the secret, if there were one. - -Eugene, on his entrance, met and recognized Martigni, and by him was -introduced into the duke's apartment before Adelaide knew he was in -the house. He found the duke propped up by pillows and seated near the -window. He greeted the young man cordially, though with a half -reproach that he did not come before. - -"I have been very ill, Eugene" he said; "sometimes I hardly thought to -be alive till morning, and I wished to say a few words to your father -about my wife, but none of you came near me!" - -{479} - -Eugene looked, as his felt, surprised. "We were given to understand -that a visit from us would not be agreeable to your grace" he said; -"and being hurt at the intimation, especially as the exclusion lasted -so long, I came to-day to ascertain the cause." - -"I gave no such intimation, I wished for no such exclusion, rather the -contrary; but perhaps Adelaide--I think I divine the cause; you must -excuse your sister, Eugene. Perhaps she is more annoyed than she -showed to me. To me she is ever polite, but doubtless she is annoyed; -perhaps it is natural that she should be so," and the duke hesitated. - -"Annoyed! At what, may it please your grace? You cannot think that -'annoyed' is a term applicable to my sister's feeling at your -illness?" - -"No! no! not at my illness, no! But, Eugene, I have spent a long life -of vanity before the world, and ere I die I should like the world to -know what perhaps the duchess would fain conceal, that I repent of my -iniquities, that I thankfully before the chastising hand that has laid -me low, that I prize my sufferings as the greatest blessing, as a -token that God has not forsaken me, though for so many years I forsook -him. Eugene, I am a Catholic!" - -"God be thanked!" involuntarily escaped from the young man's lips, as -his hand was clasped in that of the duke, and tears started to his -eyes, "God be thanked!" - -The door opened and the duchess entered. At one glance she understood -all, and that her surmises of Eugene had also been correct. - -"The duke is better to-day," she coldly said. "We have had a long time -of anxiety, but perhaps even yet he may rally and be himself again." - -"I dare not flatter you, sister," answered Eugene. "His grace's looks -are not those of a convalescent." - -"No! no!" said the duke. "No health for me again. Suffering, perhaps, -for a long time yet, but no health; but I know not why my illness -should induce your grace to lead so lonely a life as you have lately -chosen. Let me beg of you to surround yourself with your family; -Eugene says they wait but your bidding." - -Adelaide colored. "I fear the disturbance will be too much for your -grace's repose." - -"Not at all, not at all; the house is large, many might be in it and I -not hear a sound. I should be gratified by knowing that you had -friends with you when I depart. Send for your friends, I beg of you. -Eugene, perhaps you will write to Mr. Godfrey in my behalf, to inform -him of my wishes?" - -"I will, your grace." - -And the family came; and still Adelaide tried to conceal from her -father a secret which was already known to Eugene. She scarcely hoped -to be able to do so long; but the annoyance to her was so excessive -that she could not bring herself to speak of it, and she hoped others -would decide, as she tried to decide in her own mind, that the duke's -intellect was affected. But then Eugene! he was smitten with the same -mania! She felt sure of that, though no words had ever passed on the -subject. - -* * * * * - -"Mr. Godfrey," said the duke, when at length there was an interview -between the two--"Mr. Godfrey, tell me what you wish me to do more for -your daughter. A handsome jointure is secured to her; the estates are -entailed; but tell me anything else I can do to promote her happiness, -and it shall be done." - -This was the spirit in which the invalid conversed, and in which he -executed all that was proposed to him for Adelaide. She had no cause -of complaint, and his manifest care of her softened that haughty heart -a little. Had he not been a Catholic she could have been grateful to -him; but she was the more irritated at this fact, that now she dared -not set up the plea of imbecility to account for it, for that {480} -plea would have invalidated the newly drawn up documents in her favor; -all her hope consisted in concealment. - -Eugene was often with the duke, who at length ventured to speak to him -on a subject which caused him great mental anguish. He had never been -able to trace Ellen, nor to transmit to her any pecuniary aid. He -suspected, indeed, that the Catholic bishop could have afforded him -information, but he was inflexible in refusing to do so. A -considerable sum of money had been set apart for Ellen's use, and a -fortune provided for the boy. "Perhaps," said the duke, "after my -death the bishop might enable you, Eugene, to trace the mother and -child, and induce them to accept the provision. Will you undertake the -commission?" - -"Most willingly," said Eugene. - -"When I am dead, let it be," said the duke. "Ellen will take nothing -from me living--when I am dead she will be more easily persuaded. I -know she must wish a high education for her son. She will not, I hope, -refuse assistance for that. But even if she does, I have settled his -money separately, that he may be sure of getting it. Tell Ellen, too, -that I died a Catholic; I know she has long prayed for this; and tell -her that I rejoice now that I have no child save hers, my only son. -Let strangers take the estate that had so nearly wrecked my soul. O -Eugene! none but Catholics can understand the benediction pronounced -by our Lord on poverty! The possession of power, of wealth, of glory, -fan our egotistical feelings, and lead us more and more astray. I -think I should not dare to trust myself with them again, had I still -power to use them. And I thank God I have not the power, lest the -temptation should again prove too strong for my virtue." - -The duke lingered on for months, long months. How tediously did those -months pass to the Godfrey family--to the duchess in particular--to -all, save Eugene. In the sick-chamber he passed most of his time. To -Adelaide's joy, her father had not yet discovered the fatal secret. He -was so busy, acting for the duke, transacting business, arranging -tenantry, etc.; and then he spent long hours in the glorious pagan -temple, the gods of which he had taken care to secure as Adelaide's -personal possession, and for the reception of which he was building a -large hall at the jointure-house, that when the castle they now -inhabited should pass to the heir-at-law, he might be able to take -possession of these trophies of art at once. - -Such was the friendship and delicacy of the man of the world! The -summer passed, the winter came, and a wintry change came over the -invalid. One evening he called his wife, his friends, his domestics, -every inmate of the house, into his presence, and, one by one, begged -their forgiveness for every uneasiness he had caused them, for every -bad example he had set them, and begged of them to pray for him as for -one who was about to appear before God, to give account of a mis-spent -life. To Adelaide, and to her father, mother, and sister, this -appeared like a well-acted scene; but the domestics, nay, even Madame -de Meglior retired in tears. - -Night came. An oppression was over the household. None cared to retire -to rest, and yet none dared again approach the duke's apartment. Mrs. -Godfrey sat in Adelaide's room that night while Hester was with Madame -de Meglior. Euphrasie was missing, but, as usual, was forgotten. Even -Mr. Godfrey partook in some measure of the excitement. He had asked -the physician that evening more anxiously than usual, how the patient -was; and though the response had been, "Somewhat better," he, with the -household, did not give it credence. - -He paced his chamber, lay down on a sofa, rose, and paced it again; -looked at his watch--one, two, three, four o'clock; how long the hours -were that night! He opened his door, walked out, and paused at the -door of his daughter's room. He heard speaking, {481} gently he -tapped, his wife opened the door to him; neither she nor the daughter -had been in bed. - -"Any news? whispered he. - -"No! All is quiet in the duke's chamber." - -"I will go and see," he said. - -He passed through the whole retinue of domestics in the galleries. Not -one had gone to bed, yet all were hushed; not one had ventured to make -inquiries at the sick-room door. - -Mr. Godfrey passed silently on, his foot-fall was scarcely heard. A -dull sound as of low continuous speaking came from the duke's -apartment. The door was not locked; he turned the handle gently and -went in without rapping. What a scene met his view! Candles were -lighted on the altar. Beside it, rapt in prayer, knelt Euphrasie. The -stranger, Martigni, robed in the sacred vestments, was in the act of -placing the Holy of Holies upon the tongue of the dying man, whom -Eugene was tenderly supporting in his arms. The sick man sank back on -the pillow as the priest left him, and the prayers continued; Mr. -Godfrey paused. A sensation of wondering anger stole over him, yet he -waited for the benediction of the priest. Eugene was on his knees by -the bedside. The ceremony over, Mr. Godfrey approached him, shook him, -and in a harsh whisper said: - -"Boy, what mummery is this?" - -Eugene rose. The sick man opened his eyes. A bright smile broke over -his features. "No mummery," he faintly said. - -Then again there was a pause, and a gasping for breath, and the eyes -closed. They opened again: "Jesus have mercy; Mary help," were the -last words he uttered, and he died. - -It was no time for explanation. Mr. Godfrey retired. On leaving the -chamber he became aware that imprudently the door he had left half -open had partially revealed to the domestics, now assembled without -the chamber, that something unusual was taking place within. To their -questions, Mr. Godfrey replied: "He is dead." And instantly the -chamber was filled with weeping mourners. Good, kind, and liberal had -been the master they had lost, and he was much beloved. To their -wonder they beheld the altar on which stood the unextinguished -candles. Before it knelt the priest, chaunting, in a very low voice, -the office for the dead, which was responded to by the Italian valets -kneeling beside the bed. Euphrasie had disappeared, but on the bed lay -the corpse, one hand grasping the crucifix. They stood rooted to the -spot at the strangeness of the scene. They had not yet satisfied their -wonder when the duchess entered. She cast one look on the bed; then -approaching the priest, said: - -"You will please to quit this chamber as soon as convenient, and -disencumber the room of these useless toys." - -Eugene sprang to her side. "Sister," said he, "in the name of Heaven, -do nothing rashly. Leave these things to me; to me give your orders; -on my honor they shall be obeyed." - -The duchess bethought herself one moment. "Clear the room of these, -then," she said, pointing to the wondering domestics. - -Eugene obeyed. - -"Now," said the duchess, "let there be an end of this foolery. In an -hour I will send those hither whose duty it is to tend the dead. By -that time let no vestige remain of this offensive foreign trumpery; -and let these strangers quit the house." - -The tone was too decided to be disputed; the commands were obeyed; and -so successfully did Mr. Godfrey assist his daughter in giving the lie -to the reports that were spread through the neighborhood, that it came -at last to be considered as an established fact that the whole scene -of the death-bed was got up by a concerted plan of the Italian valets, -who hoped in this way to convert their master at his dying hour, and -the duke himself being insensible made no opposition! Thus can the -"great ones" of the earth oft condescend to lie, though they would -{482} challenge a man to a duel who dared to question the nicety of -their honor. - -For many days the duke lay in state in his ancestral hall; from far -and near crowds came to gaze on the gorgeously fitted up apartment, -hung with emblazoned hatchments, encircled round with all the -trappings of woe. Eugene had quitted the house at the time of the -duke's decease, in company with the foreigners his sister had -commanded to depart. He reappeared on the day of the funeral, and -requested to speak with his mother. To his surprise he found her -haggard and worn, and traces of excessive weeping were on her -countenance. She greeted him kindly, made him sit down beside her, -took his hand in hers and held it, but wept instead of speaking. -Eugene was puzzled and alarmed, for all agitation was unusual with his -mother. They were alone together, yet the silence was not broken. -After awhile a servant came to say that the procession was forming for -the funeral, he supposing that Eugene came expressly to attend it. - -"Shall I go, mother?" said Eugene, but his mother held him fast, and -shook her head. - -"It would be better not," she said; "they might be bitter even on a -day like this. No, Eugene, do not see your father yet. Go home, I will -be there in a few days. We will talk matters over, and all will be -right again. Your father and Hester will remain a short time with -Adelaide. But you and I will go home. Do not stay here now, but meet -me tomorrow at the post-house ten miles from this. I will be there at -ten o'clock. I will stop the carriage for you to ride home with me." - -Eugene wonderingly assented; and as she seemed anxious to get him out -of the house, he left as soon as the vast cortege had disappeared. - -Crowds of nobility, crowds of gentry, crowds of tenantry accompanied -the corpse as it was borne to the family vault. A collation was -afterward spread for the guests; they partook of it, went home, and in -less than a month were eager in paying court to a new duke, and the -late one was to them as though he had never been. - - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE MOTHER AND SON. - -It was a strange and certainly not a very pleasant feeling to Eugene -to find himself thus secretly, as it were, in his mothers company. Her -agitation, however, had subsided. During the journey she was even -cheerful at times, and she made not the slightest allusion to the -subject which had disturbed her. On their arrival at home she busied -herself more than had ever been her wont in domestic and tenantry -affairs, and kept Eugene occupied in many ways. There was, he fancied, -a tenderness in her intercourse with him that he had rarely observed -before, though she had ever been to him a most loving mother. Some -weeks passed, and then a letter came which made Mrs. Godfrey turn pale -as she read it. Eugene, alarmed, rose and placed himself beside her. -"Is anything the matter, dearest mother?" he asked. - -"Yes, no, yes! that is, they are coming home." - -"And who are they who cause you this alarm?" - -"Your father and Hester." - -"My father! he has ever love you dearly! Mother, my dear mother, do -explain yourself!" - -The poor lady laid her head on Eugene's shoulder, and wept. Eugene -tried in vain to soothe her. At length he said, "May I see the letter, -mother?" - -"No, no; you will know its contents but too soon. Now, Eugene, answer -me: have I not loved you well? have I not been a good mother to you?" - -"The best of mothers," said Eugene, caressingly. - -{483} - -"Then you love me somewhat--you would do something for me!" - -"Anything in my power, dear mother. I would lay down my life for you." - -"It is not your life I want you to relinquish, foolish boy, but your -_fancies_. Your father has taken most serious offense at your -religious demonstrations, and swears he will disinherit you unless you -recant. Unfortunately, although some of the estate is entailed, much -of it is not, and you will lose a princely fortune if you deny his -wish." - -"What does he wish?" - -"That you renounce _in toto_, all Catholic friends and all Catholic -opinions." - -Eugene made no reply. - -"Eugene, my only son, my best hope, my greatest joy, did it depend on -me I would not shackle your freedom of action; Christianity, -Mohammedanism, or any other _ism_, might be at your option. Your -happiness is my desire, and whatever I might think of your creed, I -would not let it stand between me and my love for you. But yet is not -thus with your father. He will not suffer a Catholic in his house." - -She paused; still Eugene replied not. She went on: "Eugene, you would -not be the cause of my death! I feel you would not!"' and she threw -her arms about him. "Yet these divisions will surely kill me; I dare -not tell you how I have suffered during the last few weeks." - -"I have seen it, dear mother, and though I only partly guessed the -cause, I deeply sympathize with your unhappiness." - -"Then you will remedy it?" - -"I do not see how just yet. Thought must be free. I dare not bind -myself to think at another's pleasure." - -"But you need not declare your thoughts". - -"Nay, mother, I must be free: free to think, free to act according to -the dictates of my conscience. I learned this necessity from yourself, -dear mother; do not now belie your own teachings. You told me ever to -seek the truth, and to act upon it when found. I will not bind myself -to follow another course, were a kingdom to be the purchase of the -compromise." - -"Or your mother's love, Eugene?" - -"My mother will but love me better for practising the lessons that she -taught me. I know my mother's principles, and I do not fear the loss -of her love." - -"Flatterer! but were it even so, your father is serious, Eugene. He -will not see you again, unless you accede to his demand." - -"When is he coming home?" - -"On the day after tomorrow." - -"Then I depart to-morrow; I will not encounter him in his present -humor. Besides, I promised the late duke to execute a commission for -him; it is time I set about it." - -"And how will you live, rash boy?" - -"Will he not continue my allowance to me?" - -"I do not know, at least I do not want the question mooted just now. -To prevent the necessity of it, I had a deed drawn up the other day -which will supply you with necessaries till you return to reason." And -Mrs. Godfrey took from her bureau a very business-like document, which -proved to be a deed of gift of the principal part of the property -settled upon herself and her heirs. "Use this," she said, "until right -reason returns to you." - -"My mother!" - -"No words now; I did it to relieve my own mind, for I must consent to -your departure. We will hope for better times, for I see I cannot -change you at present." - -The property thus settled on our young hero was but a modest portion -for one educated as Eugene had been; yet to those numerous middle -people who struggle daily with economy it would have seemed a fortune. - -{484} - -Eugene departed with a gloom upon his feelings certainly, yet not with -hopelessness. He proceeded at once to call on the bishop, from whom he -hoped to obtain tidings of Ellen; but the bishop was gone to Rome, and -M. Bertolot with him, and they were not expected back till the spring. -It was dull work spending that winter alone, for to return to -Cambridge was not to be thought of. At last the spring advanced, and -the buoyancy of youth restored hope to his spirit; he resolved to take -a pedestrian tour through Wales while waiting the bishop's return. -Several months had passed since he left his home. His mother often -wrote to him, but no invitation to return came with her letters. -Young, and desirous of knowledge, his projected expedition would have -been acceptable to him but for this circumstance of domestic -estrangement. However, he wandered on, with what courage he might, and -found himself already on foot, with knapsack on his back, pursuing his -travels. The rage for making tours was not at that time what it has -since become. The scenes were comparatively untrodden and undescribed, -so that the pleasure and the charms of novelty at least were Eugene's. -He wandered on for some days, delighted with the picturesque scenery, -and gathering health and vigor from his primitive mode of travelling. - -One fine morning he rose particularly early, and had gone some miles, -when he began to feel the need of some refreshment. He had neglected -to inquire where this could be obtained, and began to wonder where he -was likely to obtain any breakfast. Feeling somewhat impatient at the -length of the road, he climbed a high bank on the right hand side, to -gain a view of the country, and gladly perceived that immediately -below lay a scattered village. It was the first of May, and children -were carrying garlands from house to house. The morning was lovely, -and every thing wore the aspect of happiness. Our traveller sprang -down the bank, and made his way over fences into the village. He -stopped at the first cottage he came to; it was the picture of -neatness; the honey-suckle and sweet-brier climbed over the porch, and -the little garden-plot in front was the very embodiment of beauty. All -the early flowers were grouped in beds, most elegantly arranged. A -dark-eyed boy stood in the porch, watching the garlands which the -children were displaying. He caught sight of Eugene standing at the -gate, and came forward. His open-heartedness was painted on his -countenance. - -"Can I serve you, sir?" said the boy. "You appear to be a stranger -here." - -"I am a stranger," replied Eugene, "that is, I am a traveller. Can you -tell me where I may find rest and a breakfast?" - -The boy opened the gate, and conducted Eugene into the porch, He then -went to call his mother. - -A middle-aged woman of superior manners came forward, and bade him -welcome: - -"You will find no inn, sir, nearer this than a mile or two; pray walk -is and partake of such fare as our cottage affords." - -Good tea, eggs, bread and butter were produced, and Eugene did them -ample justice; but during the meal and after it was over, he could not -help being struck with the air of both mother and son, and the -appearance of the place altogether. The walls were only whitewashed, -and the floor uncarpeted, but on the said walls hung paintings of a -high order, and in a small recess stood a beautiful marble statuette -of our Blessed Lady. The features of the boy, too, seemed those of a -face familiar to him. A thought glanced through his mind as he gazed -on the finely formed face. "Thank you warmly for your hospitality, -young sir," said he, taking the boy's hand and drawing him nearer to -him. "Now, please to tell me by what name I M to remember you?" - -{485} - -"My name is Henry Daubrey," said the boy. - -"Daubrey" thought Eugene; "can that the her maiden name? I almost -forgot. Ellwood was the name he gave her." He hesitated; then, turning -to the lady, remarked, in a somewhat embarrassed manner: "Judging by -these paintings, madam, I should imagine you, like myself, are almost -a stranger here. These are no country daubs." - -"Mamma did these herself," explained the boy. The lady signed to the -boy to be silent. "She had not lived there always;" she said. - -"Pardon my impertinence, madam," said Eugene, "but this young lad's -features so strikingly resemble those of a friend I have lately lost, -that I can but fancy he must be in some way related to him." - -"What was your friend's name?" - -"The Duke of Durimond." - -The lady turned alarmingly pale, as she faltered forth, "And is the -Duke of Durimond is dead?" - -"He died in my arms, about four months ago." - -There was a long pause, which no one seemed inclined to break. At -length Eugene resumed: "The duke's life, latterly, puzzled many. He -married, left his wife suddenly, went abroad, fell ill, for upward of -two years suffered greatly, even tortures occasionally, which tortures -he endured with the patience of a martyr, being even thankful for his -sufferings. He died in the sentiments of the most perfect contrition, -immediately after receiving the Holy Viaticum." - -"The Viaticum! Was the duke a Catholic?" - -"He came so latterly, though this is not made public; the family -carefully conceal it." - -A look of thanksgiving, with clasped hands, upraised, as it were, -involuntarily, confirmed Eugene's presentiment. After awhile he -continued: "When the duke was on his death-bed, he charged me to seek -out a lady, for whom he entertained a high esteem. I have a letter for -her in my knapsack. I will show it to you." - -The letter produced was directed, "To Ellen, from Colonel Ellwood on -his death-bed." The lady's hand closed on the lines. Eugene made no -resistance. The lady retired to an inner apartment. The boy followed -her. An hour elapsed; stifled sobs were heard, but the lady came not -back. At length the boy returned with an open note. It contained these -words: - -"You have guessed rightly: return in a few days; I cannot see you now. -When you return, ask for - - "ELLEN DAUBREY." - -"I will return on this day week, tell your mother so!" was the verbal -message Eugene delivered to the boy. - -"I will," said the boy; and Eugene departed. - -* * * * * - -Ellen's account of herself when Eugene did return, was, that she had -made a very comfortable subsistence by the sale of her paintings, -which she had disposed of to a London dealer, to whom she was -introduced by the Comte de Villeneuve, who had watched over her -interests with a zeal truly fraternal. She and her boy had dwelt -together in seclusion, he giving her what help he could in the garden -and in her domestic affairs, she, in return, instructing him to the -best of her power. - -"He loves learning, Mr. Eugene," she said, "and will soon be beyond my -teaching; besides, he wishes to become a priest, but how to get him -the necessary instruction in this most prejudiced country is a real -enigma." - -"The Abbe Martigni, who was the duke's private chaplain, and who is -cognizant of all the facts connected with his position, would, I doubt -not, take charge of his education, if you were willing," replied -Eugene; "but how would you be able to bear the separation necessary in -that case?" - -"I should fix my abode near, and find some occupation for myself," -said the mother. "God forbid my selfish affection should stand between -my child and his vocation." - -{486} - -Ellen might have said that her occupation was already found, for -wherever there was an act of kindness to do, there Ellen found work. -Had she admitted Eugene to the inner room of her own cottage, he might -have found an old paralytic woman, who, deserted by all her friends, -was taken care of by this good Samaritan and tended with the affection -of a daughter. The duke's legacy to her was now employed entirely in -acts of mercy and of charity, offered up for the repose of his soul. -Not one penny was appropriated to her own use, for she still lived on -the product of her pencil. On the return of the bishop the Abbe -Martigni was appointed to a mission, and Henry Daubrey resided with -him as his pupil, preparatory to his being sent to the seminary, -aiding his tutor in that semi-concealed fulfilment of his high duties -which was then the characteristic mode of English Catholicity, induced -by English semi-toleration of Catholic religious rites. The mother -lived close by, and it was not long ere her house was known as a house -of mercy, a refuge for the poor, a hospital for the sick, a haven of -spiritual consolation to any who needed the kind offices practised -beneath its roof. Penitents, lovingly attracted by her angelic -sweetness, often came, as it were, by stealth to inquire of her the -way to God, and by her were led back into the fold whence they had -strayed while inquirers, touched by her life of self-denial, found the -prejudices in which they had been brought up melt away, and many were -led to embrace the saving truths which bind the children of the church -together in the one fold of Christ, at the feet of one Lord, who gave -us one faith, one baptism. - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - - -FREEDOM OF CONSCIENCE AND LIBERTY OF ACTION. - - -When Eugene had fulfilled the commission of the late duke, and had -made the arrangement for Henry Daubrey with the Abbe Martigni, spoken -of in the last chapter, he bethought him of his own position. Whither -should he bend his own steps? As long as he had been busied in Ellen's -affairs, the excitement had in some measure kept him up, and prevented -his realizing what it is to be homeless, to have relatives who wish -your absence, loved ones to whom your presence causes annoyance, -positive annoyance. To be alone in this wide world of sin, without the -sanction of family ties; to be disowned, voted an encumbrance, or, -worse, an absolute incubus, crushing vitality and joyousness in the -home circle! what a feeling it produces! It requires a strong courage, -a courage that is the child of faith, that is sustained by grace, to -enable one to bear it bravely, working hard the while. Eugene did bear -it bravely, though he felted most acutely. He determined to seek M. -Bertolot, to take counsel respecting the future. His way lay past his -sister Adelaide's present residents. The duchess was now settled in -the jointure-house. Decidedly, had Eugene thought she was alone, or -with those who to him were strangers, he would have passed quietly on -his way; but Euphrasie, did not Euphrasie live with the duchess? At -least he supposed so; and though with an effort he conquered his -reluctance and announced himself at his sister's mansion. - -The duchess received him coldly, almost haughtily. Still the young man -waited, in the hope of seeing her for whom the visit was intended. A -long two hours passed in painful and constrained conversation. Still -neither Madame de Meglior nor her daughter appeared. - -Eugene rose to take his leave; then, as if by a sudden impulse, -exclaimed: "But, my aunt, Adelaide, and Mademoiselle de Meglior, I -most not go without paying my respects to them. Will you not let one -of your people tell them that I am here and wish to see them?" - -{487} - -"Neither the countess nor Mademoiselle Euphrasie are with me," replied -the duchess. - -"No! where are they, then? at Estcourt Hall?" - -"I think not; they left me at Durimond Castle, before I came here at -all. They went to Annie then; where they are now I do not know." - -"Have they, then, left Annie?" - -"Yes! Sir Philip took some exceptions Euphrasie's Jesuitical -principles, and the ladies disappeared one day." - -"Disappeared! where did they go to?" - -"No one knows; truth to say, brother this is a very disagreeable -subject; these quarrels about religion are terrible, and have brought -much unhappiness to all of us; the less we say about it the better." - -"But my aunt and Euphrasie?" - -"I have already told you I do not know anything about them, and I must -add, I do not wish to know." - -"Sister!" - -But Adelaide replied no more. Her stateliness and dignity, if they did -not awe Eugene, repelled him. He left the house in disgust. - -His next visit was to his sister Annie; but it would be more in order -were we to relate the occurrences which had taken place with regard to -Euphrasie and her mother since the duke's death. Immediately after -that event, the two ladies experienced a great change of demeanor -toward themselves in the persons of all by whom they were surrounded; -even the menials caught the infection, and behaved with supercilious -insolence toward the abetter of popery and the female Jesuit, as they -termed the emigrant ladies. Madame de Meglior, mindful of Annie's -former invitation, wrote to express her willingness to except it now, -if Annie still desired their company. The answer was most favorable, -and within a week of the duke's funeral Madame and Euphrasie had -quitted his haughty and to them now unfriendly widow. - -They had not been long at their new abode ere another source of -uneasiness arose. Alfred Brookbank had always vehemently disliked -Euphrasie, and observing the real pleasure that her company afforded -the now too often desolate Lady Conway, he resolved to do his utmost -to destroy that pleasure. The reason of the ladies' departure from the -protection of the duchess was not indeed guessed; so secret had all -transactions connected with the late duke's death been kept, the very -word Catholic was suppressed where possible; it was not supposed, nor -to be supposed, that they had been driven from so lofty a mansion. -Still, Alfred Brookbank knew the religion of Euphrasie, and he deemed -he could so use that knowledge as to spite Annie. - -Sir Philip had at first been pleased with the new-comers: their -history interested him, and native good feeling prompted him to show -them kindness and hospitality as his wife's relatives; but Alfred soon -worked on his horror of popery. Of all things, the worthy baronet -detested a Catholic the most, and Euphrasie was, suggested the lawyer, -a Jesuit in petticoats; an insinuating adventuress, one who would risk -the downfall of a noble house to make a convert, even of a cook-maid. - -Annie found great relief in the society of her guests. She sympathized -with her aunt, and entertained her fondly; Euphrasie she had always -liked, despite her taciturnity. She would gladly have induced them to -prolong their visit to an indefinite period, and was greatly -disappointed when she first became aware of Sir Philip's revulsion of -feeling in their regard. This revulsion, indeed, soon mastered him so -completely that he could scarcely bring himself to be civil to them in -his outward demeanor. - -Annie remonstrated that as her relatives, and as the relatives of the -Godfrey family, they were at least entitled to respect. - -{488} - -"A respect that will place them at liberty to proselytize all the -parish? No, no, my lady; private feeling must be sacrificed to public -duty;" and the baronet drew himself up in a very Brutus-like fashion. - -"But my aunt is not a Catholic that I am aware of," pleaded Annie; -"and as for Euphrasie, she scarcely speaks, so how can she convert any -one?" - -"'Twere hard to tell, yet we know these silent people are the very -ones to be dreaded. One thing I am determined on, she shall not remain -here." - -"But how can we turn them out of the house?" - -"That is your business, my lady; you invited them, now get rid of -them." - -The speech was a cruel one, for although Sir Philip did not know they -had already been ejected from the other part of the family, he knew -that Mr. Godfrey and Hester were so taken up just now in establishing -the duchess in her jointure-house and in removing thither the -divinities of the far-famed pagan temple, that they could think of -nothing else. Mrs. Godfrey was at home, but was said to be in delicate -health, and Eugene was absent; none seemed to know where or why. A -moment's reflection might have told Sir Philip that just then the -unfortunate emigrant ladies had no home save the one in which they now -found themselves; but he consulted only his own dogged temper, and -tormented his wife at every private interview to get rid of them. - -But Annie knew not how, and her obstinacy in not complying with his -commands enraged him; Sir Philip had a high idea of his marital -authority, though he knew not whence he derived it, nor, indeed, how -to enforce it. In this latter particular, however, he sought counsel -from his friend Brookbank, as he termed his lawyer, and this latter -was not slow in using every advantage he could obtain over Annie. - -"Prudence and patience. Sir Philip, will accomplish all things." said -the lawyer; "it would be unwise, as you perceive, to incur the odium -of turning those ladies out of doors, until the grounds of complaint -become ostnsible; wait awhile, they will become so. From my knowledge -of the amiable character of the lady, your wife, Sir Philip, I should -be perfectly surprised at this resistance to your legitimate -authority, did I not fear that my lady herself is somewhat infected -with the opinions of the young French refugee. You, Sir Philip, are -well aware, attachment to that baneful creed overcomes every other -sense of duty." - -"My lady Conway a Catholic!" ejaculated the now bewildered Sir Philip. - -"Nay, I say not that--I think not that; only a favorer of her cousin's -views. No open profession of Catholicity, only a secret inclination -thereunto." - -"They shall be separated this very day," thundered the baronet. - -"Pardon me. Sir Philip; I have the utmost confidence in your judgment; -your just antipathy to popish superstition fortifies my own. But if -you will allow me one word which appears to differ, but in fact agrees -with your opinion; may I be permitted to say, that it would be hardly -prudent just now to give any air of martyrdom to this business. Weak -women are flattered thereby. Your object is, of course, to detach Lady -Conway from every Catholic idea. Your strong good sense and powers of -reasoning will effect this, provided that you do not rouse the strong -obstinacy of female nature. Wait till the visit ends in a natural -manner, and then take measures to restore your lady wife to her -senses." - -Alfred knew well that in giving this advice he ran no risk of seeing -it acted upon. The character of the man he addressed was too -ungovernable for that; he had but roused into fiercer play the -half-dormant passion, the half-latent suspicion. Sir Philip appeared -{489} to acquiesce, but, as Alfred intended, all his faculties were -now aroused to put and unfavorable construction on his wife's actions -ions. His tone became more churlish, and even more authoritative then -was its wont. Politeness and forbearance were at an end. To his two -guests he scarcely behaved with decency. - -Annie was too deeply hurt to feel all the indignation that this course -would naturally have led her to manifest. She used all her endeavors -to shield from actual insult the bereaved emigrants, and to compensate -by her own assiduous attentions for the rudeness of her husband. She -even mastered herself so as calmly to remonstrate with him on the -subject, "Sir Philip," said she, "have you considered that the -revolution of France cannot, from the very nature of things, be -permanent; that these ladies are of the haute noblesse, and one day -their estates will be restored to them?" - -"I think not; nay, I hope not," said Sir Philip. "As the French people -have had the good sense to banish priests, I hope they will also have -wisdom enough to keep all Jesuits, male and female, at a distance. -Your cousin is a female Jesuist, depend upon it. It would not surprise -me to that she is in actual correspondence with the Pope, or -connected with a second Guy Fawkes for the blowing up of this -household. Get rid of her, my lady." - -"But how? Just now they can go neither to Estcourt Hall nor to -Adelaide. Where am I to send them to?" - -In a towering passion, and in a thundering voice, the baronet replied: -"I don't care a d--n where they go to; but I can't bear the sight of -them here." - -Annie's heart sank. The window was open, and as her husband spoke she -became aware that the ladies in question were seated in an alcove -near, partially screened from view by the green boughs of the shrubs -that surrounded it. They must have heard the conversation. At this -moment they rose, passed the window, bowing as they passed to Annie. -There was something of melancholy compassion in that salute; at least -Annie thought so. She longed to run after them, to throw herself into -her aunt's arms, and weep out the bitterness of her soul; but her -husband's eye was upon her, and he was watching her emotions with no -friendly feelings. She turned back into the library with him and -endeavored to master her oppression. The time passed drearily away as -she awaited their return from their walk; but in vain she waited, they -came not; one hour, two hours, three hours; dinner was served and they -came not. The meal was taken silently; each one was too much absorbed -in thought to speak. A long evening was gone through, and at length -when Sir Philip went out to speak to his farm bailiff, Annie wandered -in sadness on to the lawn. It was a fitful night, the clouds were -chasing each other through the atmosphere, here and there revealing a -star, now and then disclosing the moon. A feeling of desolation came -over her, her grief was too great for tears; but when she approached -the deep haw-haw that bounded the garden to the south, she felt as if -she could willingly lie down therein and die. "Was the water there -deep enough to destroy life? What is life? Is it something we hold in -common with cows, horses, dogs? That is easily destroyed! Is man only -an animal? If so, I at least had better die, for what happiness can I -expect with such a mate as I have? But animal life cannot be all! What -is it makes us so sure of this? O Euphrasie! where are you? You could -answer this; why are you so happy, why am I se wretched? If it is not -poverty that makes unhappiness, what does make it? What has Euphrasie -more than I have? She is a wanderer, homeless, penniless, yet I feel -satisfied she is to be envied even now." - -{490} - -Strange that in her vexation and utter mortification, Annie felt no -intense anxiety respecting the fate of her guests. She had a sort of -belief that Euphrasie bore a charmed life, and that under any -circumstances she was ever the happiest person in the circle in which -she might be placed. She thought her aunt privileged in having such a -companion. - -The deep night came, and Sir Philip, uneasy at Annie's prolonged -absence, went to seek her. She was still leaning over a rail close to -the water's edge. "What are you doing there?" he said, but his tone -was softer than usual, for his wife was trembling with emotion; and -her eyes were filled with tears. He took one hand in his, and passed -one arm round her waist, to support her and draw her from her -position. "Are you ill, Annie?" he asked. - -Instead of replying, Annie asked in a faltering voice: "What has -become of them?" - -"It matters not; it was a providence that made them hear they were not -welcome. It saved us both some uneasiness. They will be taken care of, -never fear. There is a sort of free-masonry among such people. Only -don't let me see my wife, Lady Conway, make herself miserable about a -couple of papists: it would be too absurd." - -Two days after, toward the evening, a stranger came, a poor Irishman, -with a cart; he brought a note to Annie. It was from Madame: she -thanked Annie cordially and affectionately for her good wishes and -kind attentions; pleaded that a sudden emergency had arisen which -prevented her profiting longer from them; excused her informal -leave-taking by the same necessity, and begged Annie would forward to -her whatever she had left behind. Annie fairly cried with vexation; -she questioned the man as to where the ladies were, but the man had -seen no ladies. A gentleman, whose name he had forgotten, had given -him the note and two keys, which he said would unlock two trunks, -which were to be packed and sent back. That was all he knew. The -gentleman would meet him at the same place, and receive the trunks -from him. But he was sure the gentlemen did not live there; he was -going further on. Annie could make out nothing more. She packed the -trunks herself, and enclosed a fifty pound Bank of England note, with -a deprecating letter in one of the boxes. It was all the money she had -at that moment in hand. - -A week elapsed, and a letter came by a private hand; the bearer -leaving the premises immediately on delivering it. The letter -contained no address, but it returned the fifty pound note, "with -thanks--it was not needed." Sir Philip was present when the letter was -opened; his eyes were fixed on Annie, and he sternly demanded, "From -whom?" There was no alternative native but to hand the letter to him -and he exclaimed in a fury, "And is it thus you would waste my -substance madam? To nourish vipers, Jesuits, beasts! I will take care -from henceforth your means of doing this shall be lessened," and he -stalked indignantly from the room, bearing the money and the letter -with him. This was a manifest injustice, as the money was Annie's -private property, by right of her marriage settlements; but when was -prejudice ever just? - -* * * * * - -It was several weeks after this that Eugene made his appearance to -inquire after the refugees. Annie would have greeted him warmly, but -Sir Philip's haughty and distant manner plainly told him he was not -welcome. Eugene waited till the baronet had quitted the apartment ere -he inquired for his aunt and her step-daughter. He heard the tale -relative to their withdrawal with undisguised indignation, and said: - -"And you do not know what has become of them?" - -"No!" - -"And you say my father does not know?" - -{491} - -"No!" - -"Will he let his own sister and the orphan daughter of his friend -suffer for want?" - -"They cannot be suffering, they refused the fifty pound note." - -"That says nothing; or rather it says they preferred suffering to -insult. O Annie! Annie! I had not dreamed you would lend yourself to -persecution like this." - -"Young man," said Sir Philip, who now entered the room, "I am master -in my own house; I have heard your conversation with Lady Conway in -regard to your _protege_. I will have no papists here, nor any -encouragement given to them; and the day that Lady Conway holds -communication again with papists, or with suspected papists, without -my sanction, that day she ceases to abide under one roof with me." - -Annie looked as if she wished that day were already come, but she said -nothing. Eugene was watching her and he whispered: "Wives must obey -their husbands, Annie, in all that is not sin. Adieu, I blame you no -longer; I see where the fault lies. Adieu once more." And Eugene -hastened from the house without trusting himself to reply to the -haughty speech of it's master. - -The whisper had been observed; a frown darkened Sir Philips brow, -"Your brother has forgotten the forms of good breeding," he said, "to -enter a gentleman's house and treat him with contempt. Is that what -the Catholic religion enjoins?" - -"The Catholic religion! What do I know of the Catholic religion? How -should that influence our actions?" - -"You do not favor Catholics in your heart, I suppose, my lady?" - -"Not as Catholics. My regard for Euphrasie had no reference to -religion at all." - -"A nice distinction, learnt of the Jesuits, I suppose." - -"I never saw a Jesuit that I am aware of," said Annie. - -And thus the pair parted, to meet again and jar, and live in jarring -discord every day. - -Had Annie been able to make Mr. Godfrey understand how unjustly she -was treated, she would have applied for a separation; but Mr. Godfrey -would not hear of such a thing. "He was glad, for his part," he said, -"that Sir Philip took so sensible a view of Catholic influence. It had -raised his son-in-law in his esteem, and if Annie showed any -disposition to break through the salutary regulations laid down for -her, it would be advisable rather to put her under restraint as a -lunatic, than to emancipate her from marital control. Sir Philip had -the legal power of locking her up in his own house; and if he did so -for such a cause as that, Mr. Godfrey would hold him justified." - -Mrs. Godfrey was in dismay. Her health visibly declined. A melancholy -seemed to overspread her intellect, and at times to overpower her. All -was changed at Estcourt Hall now. The once fond, indulgent husband, -seemed to take but little notice of the ailments of his faithful -partner. He dreaded her taking part with Eugene and Annie, if the -subject were introduced, and he avoided all intimate conversation. -Hester was too much wrapt up in her own ideas to watch her mother -closely. She saw that the servants attended to her, that there was no -fear of her suffering for want of care or nourishment; but unheedful -of the power of affection and of sympathy, she gave her little -personal attendance. Annie's case she thought a hard one, and once -ventured to remonstrate with her father on the subject; but Mr. -Godfrey justified his proceedings by painting to her the horrors of -popery in glowing colors. He demonstrated to her that all sincere -Catholics were fools, the wise ones hypocrites, of whom it might be -predicted as it was of the soothsayers by Cicero, that it was a wonder -how one priest could look another in the face without laughing -together at their success in gulling the public mind. "Now," {492} -said Mr. Godfrey, "the object of these priests and rulers being to -subjugate the human will, and to level the human reason to their -standard, in order that themselves may rule supreme, it becomes the -duty of every thinking mind to war with the system on principle. You, -my dear daughter," continued the fond father, for fond even to doting -was Mr. Godfrey of this one child, "you, my dear daughter, would -idolize the hero who fought and achieved his country's -freedom--external freedom merely; should you not unite with those who -would save the world from mental bondage of the most degrading order?" - -"Yes, if papistry be really this," said Hester; "but that it is -difficult to conceive it to be. But, grant that it is so, Annie does -not seem to be in any way implicated in it. She disclaims all -connection with it, and certainly she never used to manifest any -religious propensities whatever." - -"Even so, surely no harm can come of keeping her apart from papists -for awhile. If this is all she has to complain of, her grievances are -not great." - -"I think the real grievance, father, is the shackling her liberty, -denying her freedom of intercourse. Trampling on her freedom is no -light matter." - -"Hester, dear, listen: when two people are yoked together, and their -interests differ, one must give way; law and custom say this one must -be the wife. Now, if Sir Philip were thought to encourage Catholics, -his political interests would suffer; therefore he must not encourage -them; but if his wife encourage them, it would appear that the -encouragement had his sanction; therefore his wife must not encourage -them: and if reasonable means fail in teaching her this lesson, others -may be resorted to. A wife is a wife, after all." - -"I will never be a wife," said Hester. - -"As you please," said her father. "but Annie is one, and must -therefore submit. She has the less excuse for resistance, in that she -had her own choice. No one was more surprised than myself when Sir -Philip applied to me for her hand." - -Meantime the cause of all these disagreements was altogether -supposititious. Up to that time Annie had no acquaintance with the -first principles of religion. Probably but for this annoyance she -would ever have remained equally ignorant; but, driven from -friendship, shut out from sympathy, her attention was naturally fixed -on the subject; she began to meditate on Euphrasie's practices, to put -together the ideas she had allowed to escape her. A copy of the -Imitation of Christ had accidentally been left behind by Euphrasie; it -was found under the pillow on which she had slept. It was a book of -mystery to Annie, wonderfully enigmatical; yet this book and the New -Testament were her constant companions for months, and she learned to -cherish them as friends. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -EXPERIMENTS OF MORE KINDS THAN ONE. - - -"Papa," said Hester, "did I not hear you say those pretty farms in -Yorkshire are about to change tenants?" - -"You did, my dear." - -"Have you any tenants in view for them?" - -"No! Has any one applied to you for one, or all of them?" - -"I want to be the tenant myself." - -"You?" - -"Yes, indeed; there are good coals beneath the surface; the district -is well watered; I want to try these new steam engines on a large -scale. I will set up factories and form industrial associations, -governing them myself. I will establish them on the principle of -mutual assistance in forming and promoting a wide-spread intelligence: -my factories shall contain schools, reading-rooms, museums, -observatories, everything that can assist the onward progression of -the race." - -{493} - -"You will at least spend money, Hester?" - -"Not more than if I kept race horses for Ascot, or frequented -Crockford's, which you could well afford to let me do if I were a man. -Not more then I might cost you if I insisted on taking a house house -in town, and on becoming the belle of the season; this would the -neither extravagant nor wonderful; and if I wanted diamonds and -emeralds and sapphires and glittering toys, you would get them all for -me, I know you would, for when did you refuse your Hester anything, -dear father?" said Hester, throwing her white arms around her father's -neck. "But now I want none of of these babyish fancies, I want to do -good in my generation, and my father must help me. We do not spend -half our income in our present mode of living, and money is like -manure you know, it wants spreading. Think of the glory of aiding -'progress.' Think of reigning over a population emancipated from -ignorance by your efforts. Think of forming a nucleus whence freedom -and happiness shall spring, handing down your name as a benefactor -throughout all time; it is a project well fitted to my father s noble -mind." - -Mr. Godfrey gazed on his darling, and felt that he could refuse her -nothing; still he paused. "Supposing the necessary expenses incurred, -my Hester, your buildings erected, your villages formed, you have -forgotten one thing; your schemes might be suddenly interrupted, when -you least expected it: those farms are all entailed." - -"I forgot that," mused Hester. After awhile she said: "Could not some -arrangement be made with my brother on this subject?" - -"I do not know. Is he a likely one, think you, to consent to the -catting off the entail?" - -"He might be," said Hester; "he must be badly off now, though I -suppose my mother helps him. Offer him a handsome allowance for life, -from this time out, on condition that the entail be cut off: he might -be induced to accept it." - -"He would be a fool if he did," said Mr. Godfrey. - -"Nay, father, that is not so certain, if you take into consideration -his present position. He is likely to suffer poverty for many years. I -think I would accept the alternative were I in his place." - -Mr. Godfrey could deny nothing to Hester, so he replied: - -"Well, I will think of it." - -. . . . . - -But what had Eugene been doing all this time? Eugene, after his -interview with his sister, went straight to M. Bertolot to inquire -after his aunt and Euphrasie. He was not mistaken in supposing that he -knew where they were, but he would tell nothing more than that they -were in good health and spirits. "I have no authority," he said, "to -divulge their place of abode; in fact, I promised secrecy." - -"But how do they live? They have no means!" said Eugene. - -"How, but by their labor!" - -"Labor! my aunt labor?" - -"No, I was wrong in saying their labor; it is Euphrasie who does the -work. Euphrasie gives lessons in French, music, and drawing, and waits -on her mother. De Villeneuve has hopes of recovering their estates for -them. He is now in France negotiating with the emperor to that effect. -He took care of them when they left your sister's and procured -Euphrasie the situation she required, as both she and Madame refused -to live at his expense." - -"And did he offer to support them?" - -"Well, yes; it appears that he and Euphrasie's father were sworn -brothers in friendship, and de Villeneuve made a solemn promise to the -Comte de Meglior to watch over Euphrasie's well-being. This promise -keeps him in Europe to this day, for he had always a misgiving that -she would not be permanently happy among those not of her faith. We -are expecting de Villeneuve very shortly." - -{494} - -"And if he succeeds, my aunt will go back to France?" - -"Probably; but I am not so sanguine about their success as de -Villeneuve is. Madame is an English-woman, and that will not help her -cause with the emperor just now." - -"And meantime Euphrasie works for her daily bread?" - -"She does, and is happy in doing so. Euphrasie, my friend, is a -practical Catholic; one whose delight it is to _realize_, to make her -own, the life led by the holy family at Nazareth. I venture to say she -is far happier in sweeping her mother's room and in cooking her -mother's dinner than she would be in a glittering ball-room lit up -with its brilliant chandeliers." - -"And does she really descend to these menial offices?" asked Eugene, -in a sort of stupefied amazement. - -"Descend! Is it to descend when we aspire to imitate Jesus and Mary? -You are a Catholic, my young friend. You must not look at these things -with the eyes of the world: its false maxims are not the ones which -may guide your ideas. Labor, actual manual labor, was imposed on man -in penalty for sin; its acceptance is part of man's atonement for that -undervaluing of grace which led to the commission of that sin: which -still leads to the commission of daily sins. The avoidance of labor is -a child of pride, one which has occasioned multitudinous disorders -among mankind. But Jesus accepted labor--real, genuine labor: he -worked many years at his father's trade, and Mary kept no servant in -her house at Nazareth; she labored, for she felt that in lowly labor -there is a sanctifying influence, and it is this thought that makes -Euphrasie happy now." - -"But she is so unused to actual toil!" said Eugene. - -"Not so much as you may suppose," replied his friend. "The good nuns -taught her much that was useful, and even when she was at Estcourt -Hall and Durimond Castle she did much work that was unsuspected. The -produce of her needle clothed the poor, fed the hungry, and many times -defrayed the expense of a mission, when accident brought her in -contact with poor Catholics to whom such ministrations were acceptable -and profitable. All this was done so quietly that I suppose your -family knew nothing about it." - -"At least I never heard of it," said Eugene. - -Our hero was much depressed by this interview, not merely because he -could gain no clue to abode of his friends, but also because he was as -yet too new to the practice of Catholic principles to acquiesce -cheerfully in the idea of the refined, elegant, accomplished daughter -of a French nobleman toiling for her daily bread, and performing all -the menial services required in the household. - -It was with right good-will that he greeted the Comte de Villeneuve on -his return, in the hope through him of seeing something accomplished -that would alter these circumstances. But the comte's embassy had been -unsuccessful; all he had been able to effect was to leave the case -with such other friends as should introduce it at a more favorable -period. But he was not so reserved respecting his friends as M. -Bertolot had been. He deemed that Eugene's position in his own family -should plead exemption for him from the ban of exclusion, and -willingly mediated to obtain an interview view for him with Madame. -Euphrasie was not at home when he called; and Madame greeted him -cordially, though she could not refrain from blaming him for running -counter to his friends about religion. - -"What a fuss about a matter of opinion," she said. "But perhaps in -France, before the Revolution, a Protestant might have then as little -acceptable to the aristocracy. They say, too, that this new man, this -emperor, patronizes the Catholic religion also, so I shall not ask -Euphrasie to become a proselyte to English notions; her faith is that -of her country and of her kindred, and my brother ought to {495} have -understood this; but why you, Eugene, should wish to adopt the French -religion, I cannot divine." - -"Perhaps religion is neither exclusively French nor English, aunt. -There may be a faith necessary to every nation alike, if it be true -that every man has a soul to save." - -"Perhaps so; I do not meddle with these matters," replied the lady. "I -think everyone had better let everybody alone; it must be bad to -quarrel about religion; and as to saving the soul, we know so little -about it that it is quite presumptuous for one person to dictate to -another on that subject. I hope we shall all meet in heaven at last, -though we go there by different roads; for my part, I keep nobody -out." - -The entrance Euphrasie prevent its the necessity of a reply. -Euphrasie's greeting was that of one who appreciates high principal. -There were respect and kindness in her manner, but no familiarity, no -approach to intimacy. Eugene felt disappointed, though certainly there -was nothing of which he felt he had a right to complain. - -Eugene's visits to his aunt were now frequent, but never could he see -Euphrasie alone; whether from design or accident she avoided receiving -him, save in her mother's presence. Yet daily did his reverence for -her increase. To see the young French girl now, the supporter of the -household, the caterer for its wants, the tender minister to her -mother's manifold demands, none would have dreamed that heretofore -contemplation had absorbed her faculties, and that she was making to -duty the greatest sacrifice she could make in thus exchanging the -cherished practices of devotion for the active employments of life. -She was so cheerful, so almost gay, so unusually animated when the -state of her mother's spirits required it; a stranger might have -concluded that all her life she had been accustomed to this manner of -living. - -Suddenly Eugene received a missive which had traced him to many -places, requesting him to meet his father in London. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -ON ST. PETER'S DENIAL. - - -"And the Lord, turning, looked on Peter." - - - Lord! wilt thou that I also should deny - That I am thine? - Behold, my longing soul cries upward to the sky - For sight divine! - All through the silent night in livelong day-- - O grievous lot!-- - I seek to know thee more, and yet am forced to say - "I know thee not". - With Peter let these bitter tears confess - My treachery: - Yet, Lord, to know thee as thou art I need no less - A look from thee! - --------- - -{496} - - -Translated from the German of Hans Wachenhusen. - - -CHRIST IS BORN. - - - -"Really I take it unkindly of our pastor that he is continually -speaking ill of us thorns, in the church yonder," said the thorn-bush, -standing by a crumbling stable wall among the castle-ruins near the -village church. "It is very unfair in him. How can he know, for -instance, how the subject may affect me? On the bloody field of -Golgotha, nearly two thousand years ago, there stood my ancestor, a -buckthorn, of whose branches they wove our Saviour's crown. But the -pastor yonder little thinks that I come of that same buckthorn; -[Footnote 149] or that all its lineal descendants bear red blossoms -and weep tears of blood on Christmas night; or that we thorns are ever -renewed like Christ's teachings, being woven in with them?" - - [Footnote 149: Kreuzdorn--Cross-thorn, literally.] - -So spake the thorn-bush; and the wind blew through its branches, and -shook them until the snow dropped off. - -"Positively, this connection ought to be known!" sighed the -thorn-bush. - -But it was just then Christmas eve, and midnight was drawing near. -Therefore did the thorn-bush make these pious reflections, which -should have been cherished on other days too, if the lineage were -really so wonderful as it fancied. Meantime the church-bells were -ringing for the midnight mass, and the good priest passed by, going to -the service of God. - -"See, now, how indifferently he goes past me," said the thorn-bush. -"And no wonder, since he knows nothing of my connections! And all the -rest brush by me into the church; and if the Lord God could not see -the things that are hidden, yet would he know his faithful by the -footprints that lead from the houses to the church. But he knows them -all, for he guides their steps. I know, though, two in the village who -have not been to church to-day nor yet this whole year, for they are -right godless men: the gloomy lord of our castle, and Wild Stephen, -whom he turned out of his cottage yesterday because the rent was not -paid. Here lie the poor wife and her half-naked children now in this -ruined stable before which I stand guard. Really I must take a peep -and see how the poor woman and her sick child are getting on," said -the thorn-bush, and stretched up its bought to look in at the broken -window. - -But it was dark within, and the night-wind moaned through the damp -walls and the open window. "O God! the creature is so good and so -wretched. Here in this stable are tears and chattering teeth on this -day of Christmas gifts. Now, that is too grievous," sighed the -thorn-bush. - -And over the way the church-organ poured out its solemn tones. "Christ -is born," sang the people from the choir and benches. "Christ is -born," cried the watchman from the tower. And our thorn-bush was -right. In that old, deserted stable a poor woman knelt and prayed. Hot -tears ran down her cheeks, her hands were convulsively clasped, and -her eyes rested fixedly on the straw in the old stone manger; for in -that manger lay her youngest born, a half-year old child, sick, and -trembling with ague and cold. The moon shone through the -window-opening upon this group. Her rays fell sympathizingly on the -sick child, but they could not warm him; nor could the mother's breast -do it either, she was herself so icy cold. {497} And through the -chinks of the rotting roof, gaps were covered with snow, fell by -hundred thousands the little glittering snow-stars and played in the -moon-beams, but they gave no light or warmth either. - -"Saviour of the world, thou who wert born this night, who didst live -and die for us all, who didst lie to-day in a manger, like this poor -helpless creature, save, oh! save my sick child!" So prayed this poor -woman, and the baby stretched out his little cold hands to his mother -and wept. But her strengths was all gone. She let her weary head sink -on the icy edge of the stone manger; her eyes closed, and a heavy sigh -burst forth from her breast. Days and nights had she watched; days and -nights of bitter misery had she endured; but now she broke down, and -sleep took pity on her wretchedness. - -"Poor wife, where is thy husband? Poor baby, where is thy father?" -whispered the thorn-bush pityingly, looking in at the window. - -Yes, where was the husband, where was the father? Wild Stephen, for so -the villagers called him, had been turned out of his cottage with his -wife and children the evening before, as we have already said. He -sought a refuge among the neighbors, but they would have nothing to do -with him, for they were afraid of godless Stephen, who never had done -a good thing, so they said. And so he and his had come to this -deserted stable. Then he had rushed away breathless, in spite of the -entreaties of his wife, who dreaded some misfortune. Where, then, was -Wild Stephen? The bells ring out, the organ sounded, the people sang -pious songs in the church, and the good priest stood before the altar -and chanted: "Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace to men of -good-will." - -Up in the old castle, in a comfortless room, a man of dark, forbidding -aspect set near the long-extinguished fire. He was the lord of the -castle, a hard-hearted man, feared by every one within the limits of -his estate. The light before him on the table burnt low; his face -looked stiff and motionless, his eyes were closed. It seemed like -sleep, only he looked so very pale. Now, while in the out-buildings of -the court-yard servants hurried to and fro, a man was stealing up the -stairs and through the gloomy corridor. He softly opened the door of -the great room, crept lightly in, and up to the arm-chair where the -landlord slept. The stranger's eyes gleamed with passion, a sneering -smile disfigured his weather-beaten face. He cast one look stealthily -around the room. A knife glistened in one hand, the other grasped that -of the sleeping landlord. The blade quivered-- - -"Christ is born," saying the people in the church below. - -Wild Stephen shrank back, for the hand was icy cold. He had touched a -corpse. - -"Christ is born," cried the warder from the tower; for mass was over, -and the people were hastening home. - -Stephen's knife fell from his hand. He looked again at the dead man, -and it seemed as if the cold eyes were opening to blast him. Covering -his face with both hands, he fled from the room. No one had seen him -glide into the house; no one saw him now pause before the old stable -and looked in the window--no one but the thorn-bush. Ashy pale, -Stephen gazed into the stable. There he saw his wife kneeling, -motionless as the dead man in the castle yonder, but more lovely; and -gentle and pure as innocence, the child in the manger. Then Stephen, -rushed forward, not knowing whither, rushed through the open -church-door, and sank senseless on the steps of the altar. - -Now the pastor was just going home. He came to the thorn-bush and saw -two little boys sitting beneath it in the snow. They were shivering, -and hiding their little red hands in their rags. - -"Take them with thee," said the thorn-bush to the pastor. "They are -Wild Stephen's children; they dare not {498} go in-doors for fear -their father may beat them because they have come home empty-handed. -Take them with thee. I cannot warm them; I am so poor and naked." - -We know not whether it was the pastor's heart or the thorn-bush that -spoke; but he took the children home with him. - -"So, now have I one care the less!" said the thorn-bush to itself. -"Now they are beginning to light up the Christmas tree there--and -there--and again over yonder. What a pity that I'm not stationed under -the windows, for here in this dreary stable there will be nothing to -see." - -But the thorn-bush was wrong, for just then the interior of the stable -grew bright with a piercing light. Still knelt the poor woman with -closed eyes, but the sick child waked up and stretched out its little -arms laughing; for the roof opened, and down fluttered, surrounded by -a light cloud, two lovely angels, one of them bearing a little -Christmas tree gleaming with countless lights, the other bringing -costly gifts. And it grew warm in the stable, and the light threw such -a gleam into the street that the thorn-bush wondered within itself. - -"There is no hut so poor but Christ is there to-night," it said. - -The angels fluttered down, and while one offered the Christmas tree, -the other went to the sick child and laid his hand healingly upon its -breast. Then they flew upward again and vanished; but the light -remained in the stable. In the mean time Wild Stephen lay upon the -cold altar-steps. At last his consciousness returned, and he raised -his head from the stone. A wonderful vision had appeared to him in a -dream, for he had seen two beautiful spirits who, blessing him, walked -by his side: and now, on awaking, he saw them standing by him, and -felt each angel lay a little warm hand in his and lead him from the -church. - -It seemed to Stephen as if he still dreamed; as if it were in sleep -that the two little angels led him from the church to the stable where -he knew his poor wife and sorrowing children were. Willingly he let -himself be guided; but when they reached the wretched dwelling, and -everything within looked so warm and bright and pleasant; when he saw -the Christmas presents, he rubbed his eyes, and look down at the -angels who had brought him there and were still standing by his side. -Then Stephen recognized his two other boys, grandly and beautifully -dressed as he had never seen them before. - -Still it seemed like a vision. He raised both children in his arms; he -held them close and kissed them--no, it could not be a dream. - -"Christ is born," cried the watchmen from the tower. "Ay, born is he, -and within my own soul too!" exclaimed Stephen, and, still holding the -two children, sprang to his wife. He drew her toward him and held her -to his breast. "Jenny," he said, "wake up, Christ is indeed born!" - -And she lifted her eyes and looked around in amazement, saying: "What -has happened? Is it really thou, Stephen?--and all this light here! Is -my dream true? I saw two angels bringing a Christmas tree and -beautiful presents, and one of them went to the manger and laid his -hand healingly upon my baby's breast. Yes, yes, it is true, for he is -alive," she explained, taking the smiling child from the manger and -clasping it to her bosom. "Get is true, Stephen," she said, and laid -the baby in his arms. "Our Saviour is born, and he will not let my -child die." - -And while they were all looking at the Christmas presents the pastor -stepped from behind the tree, for he it was who had sent the gifts -through two good children of his parish; he it was who had seen Wild -Stephen sink down upon the altar-steps; he it was who had dressed the -little boys so beautifully, and led them to their father in the -church. - -{499} - -"Christ is born," said the pastor, "and it is his will that even the -poorest dwelling should not be without him to-day; but where he lodges -for the first time, Stephen, is in your heart; cherish him tenderly, -for you know that there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that -repenteth than over ninety-nine just persons." - -And all this time the thorn-bush was looking in at the window, its -branches rustled with joy, and, like the cross-thorn on Christmas -night, its boughs put forth violet-red eyes, and wept tears of blood -upon the snow. - -The next morning Stephen went to church with his wife and children. In -the meantime something must have passed between them and the pastor, -producing a change in material as well as spiritual matters; for they -were seen clad in modest and suitable attire, going to the Lord's -table with deepest devotion. The villagers passed by the thorn-bush in -their holiday dress, and when they saw the snow underneath it bedewed -as if with ruddy pearls, they cried: "See, now, the buckthorn has -borne red blossoms during the night!" - -"Yes," answered the cross-thorn, "for Christ is born indeed. These -thorns know it, for we crowned him in death; and you men should know -it also, for he was crucified for you." - ------- - -From Chambers' Journal. - -THE DYING YEAR. - - - Scant leaves upon the aspen - Shake golden in the sun; - Old Year, thy sins are many, - Thy sand is almost run. - The beech-tree, brazen-orange, - Burns like a sunset down; - Old Year, thy grave is ready; - Doff sceptre, robe, and crown. - - The elm, a yellow mountain, - Is shedding leaf by leaf; - The rains, in gusts of passion. - Pour forth their quenchless grief; - The winds, like banshees mourning. - Wail in the struggling wood; - Old Year, put off thy splendor. - And don thy funeral hood. - - Lay down thy golden glories; - The bare boughs bar the sky-- - Skeletons wild and warning. - Quaking to see thee die. - Thou hast lived thy life, remember; - Now lay thee down and rest; - The grass shall grow above thy head, - And the flower above thy breast. - ------- - -{500} - - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - -THE HOLY LAND. - - -There can be no doubt that the Mount Moriah where Abraham would have -sacrificed his son is the same spot as the Moriah upon which Solomon -built the temple. "Then Solomon began to build the house of the Lord -at Jerusalem in Mount Moriah" (2 Chron. iii. 1). [Footnote 150] It is -also probable that it is the same place as the Salem mentioned in -Genesis xiv. 18, of which Melchisedek was king; for in Psalm lxxvi. 2 -we read, "In Salem also is his tabernacle, and his dwelling-place in -Sion." Josephus calls Melchisedek King of Solyma, a name afterward -altered to Hierosolyma. But the first mention of the name Jerusalem -occurs in Joshua x. 1, where Adoni-zedec is spoken of as "King of -Jerusalem." There are to be gathered from sacred and secular annals -the records of twenty-one invasions of this ancient city by hostile -armies. The first attack was made upon her by the children of Judah, -shortly after the death of Joshua. They fought against Jerusalem, took -it, put it to the fire and sword (Judges i. 1-8); but they were unable -to expel the Jebusites, nor were the children of Benjamin any more -successful, but they both dwelt with the Jebusites in the city; the -Jebusites being probably driven from the lower part to Mount Sion, -where they remained until the time of David, who marched against -Jerusalem, drove them from Mount Sion, and called it the City of -David. - - [Footnote 150: Also confirmed by Josephus, Antiq i, 13-2.] - -The Ark of the Covenant was conveyed there, an altar built, and -Jerusalem became the imperial residence, the centre of the political -and religious history of the Israelites. Its glory was enhanced by the -labors of Solomon, but under his son Rehoboam ten tribes revolted, so -that Jerusalem became only the capital of Judah, with whom the tribe -of Benjamin alone remained faithful. During the reign of this king, -Shishak, the Egyptian monarch, invaded the holy city and ransacked the -temple. Then about a hundred years rolled by, when Amaziah was king of -Judah, and Joash of Israel; the latter marched against Jerusalem, -threw down the wall, and the temple was once more rifled of its -treasures. In the next century Manasseh the king was taken captive by -the Assyrians to Babylon but ultimately restored. In consequence of -the strange intermeddling of Josiah, a few years later, when -Pharao-necho, king of Egypt, was on his march, he was killed in -battle, and the latter directed his army toward Jerusalem, and placed -Eliakim on the throne by the name of Jehoiakim. The advance of this -Egyptian king is confirmed by Herodotus. [Footnote 151] - - [Footnote 151: Herodotus, Euterpe, 159. He also mentions a victory - gained by him at Magdola, then says that he took the city of Cadytis - [Greek text]. This city Cadytis is generally accepted as Jerusalem, - which was called "holy," "_Hakkodesh_." The shekel was marked - "Jerusalem _Kedusha_," a Syriac corruption of the Hebrew "Kodesh." - Then the word Jerusalem was omitted, and "Kedusha" only used, which, - being translated into Greek, became [Greek text] as quoted by - Herodotus.] - -Against Jehoiakim, however, came Nebuchadnezzar, who ravaged the city -more than once, and after a siege of two years, in the reign of -Zedekiah, burned it down, took all the sacred vessels to Babylon with -the two remaining tribes (the other ten were already in captivity); -and now that the temple was destroyed, the city in ruins, and {501} -the people all in bondage, it appeared as if the prediction of her -prophets had already been accomplished. But a time of rejoicing was -yet to come, and though the chosen people did writhe under Babylonish -tyranny, and did hitting their harps on the willows, there was still a -prophet of hope among them in the person of Daniel. This was the time -alluded to in that beautiful psalm composed after their return, in -allusion to an occasion when their persecutors had asked them -tauntingly to sing one of their national songs for their amusement, -the Hebrew words of which, if we may be allowed the expression, -glitter with tears: - - "By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down, - Yea, we wept when we remembered Zion. - We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. - For there, they that carried us away captive required of us a song; - And they that wasted us required of us mirth, - Saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. - How shall we sing the Lord's song - In a strange land? - If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, - Let my right hand forget her cunning; - If I do not remember thee, - Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, - If I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief Joy." - -In the time of Cyrus their deliverance came; they were released from -captivity, and there was a mighty "going up" to Jerusalem when the -temple was rebuilt and the sacred vessels which Nebuchadnezzar had -taken away were restored; money, too, was given them, and the works, -after being interrupted for a time by difficulties, were resumed under -Darius Hystaspes and completed. Some time afterward another large body -of Jews came up to the holy city with Ezra, and the capital was once -more active with busy life and once more became glorious. - -Alexander the Great marched against the Jews, but was prevented from -entering the city by the intercession of the high priest--a scene -which found its parallel in after-times, when the aged Leo went to the -camp of Attila, and by his entreaties diverted that semi-Christian -barbarian from Rome. After the death of Alexander, Ptolemy, king of -Egypt, surprised the Jews on their Sabbath day, when he knew they -would not fight; he made an easy conquest, and carried off thousands -of Jews into Egypt. - -For a hundred years of comparative peace this fated city remained -under the Ptolemies, when it fell into the hands of the Syrians. -Antiochus Epiphanes, their king, after his Egyptian campaigns, finding -his treasure-chest nearly empty, bethought him of sacking the temple -of Jerusalem, marched his army upon the city, pillaged it, slew about -forty thousand people, and sold as many more into slavery. He then -endeavored to exterminate the ceremonial; a pagan altar was set up and -sacrifice made to Jupiter. The Maccabaean revolution broke out, and -the city was ultimately recovered by the hero, Judas Maccabaeus, when -a new phase of priesthood was established, which we shall notice -elsewhere. Things went on thus until about the year 60 B.C., when -Pompey seized the city and massacred twelve thousand Jews in the -temple courts. Thus it fell into the hands of the Romans, against whom -it rebelled, and by whom ultimately, after the most terrible siege -recorded in history, it was taken and subjected to violations over -which the mind even now shudders; its temple was ransacked, violated, -and burned, its priests butchered, pagan rites were celebrated in its -holy place, its maidens were ravished, its palaces burned down, an -unrestrained carnage was carried on, Jews were crucified on crosses as -long as trees could be found to make them, and when the woods were -exhausted they were slain in cold blood. Nearly a million of Jews are -said to have fallen in this terrible conflict. For fifty years after -there is no mention of Jerusalem in history. They kept themselves -quiet, watching eagerly and stealthily for an opportunity of throwing -off the hated Roman yoke. About the year 131 A-D., Adrian, to prevent -any outbreak, ordered the city to be fortified. The Jews rebelled at -once, but were so completely crushed by the {502} year 135 that this -date has always been accepted as that of their final dispersion. The -holy city was then made a Roman colony, the Jews were forbidden to -enter into its walls under pain of immediate death, the very name was -altered to the pagan one of AElia Capitolina, a temple was erected on -Mount Moriah to Jupiter Capitolinus, and Jerusalem was henceforth -spoken of by this pagan name until the days of Constantine, when -pilgrimages were rife, and the Christians began to turn their steps -toward the city whose streets had been hallowed by the footsteps of -Christ. Helena, the emperor's mother, wandered there in penitence, -built a church on the site of the nativity, and agitated Christendom -to its foundations by the announcement of the discovery of the true -cross. Constantine then built a church on the site of the Holy -Sepulcher, and at last the Jews were admitted once a year into the -city of their glory to sing penitential psalms over their degradation. -The sorrows of the place were not yet ended, for in the year 614 the -Persians fell upon Jerusalem, and this time the Christians suffered, -ninety thousand of whom were killed. Then it was retaken by the -Romans, when the Emperor Heraclius marched in triumph through its -streets with the real cross on his shoulders. In 637, however, it fell -into the hands of Arabic Saracens, from whom the Turks took it in -1079. Then came that marvellous agitation of Europe, when she poured -out her millions of devotees to drive the Saracen from the holy land; -and in 1099 Godfrey de Bouillon was proclaimed King of Jerusalem by -the victorious Crusaders. The Christians held it for eighty-eight -years, when Saladin, the sultan of Egypt, wrested it from them in -1187, and they held it until the year 1517, when the Ottoman Turks -seizing upon Jerusalem, made the twenty-first and last invasion which -this devoted city has undergone, and in their hands it still remains. - -In the very earliest ages of Christianity people begin to bend their -steps toward Jerusalem and to write their travels. Some of these -variations are extant, and the earliest is called "Itinerarium a -Burdigala Hierusalem usque:" it was written by a Christian of -Bordeaux, who went to the Holy Land in the year 333, about two years -before the church of the Holy Sepulchre was consecrated by Constantine -and his mother Helena. It is to be gleaned also from the works of the -Greek fathers that pilgrimages to Jerusalem were becoming so frequent -as to lead to many abuses. St. Porphyry, after living as a recluse in -Egypt, went to the Holy Land, visited Jerusalem, and finally settled -in the country as Bishop of Gaza. Toward the end of the fourth century -(385), St. Eusebius of Cremona and St. Jerome went there and founded a -monastery at Bethlehem. St. Paula also visited it about the same time. -In the seventh century we have St. Antonius going there and telling us -he admired the beauty of the Jewish women who lived at Nazareth. In -the year 637, the taking of Jerusalem by the Saracens interrupted the -the flow of visitors, but Areulf, a French bishop, went there toward -the end of the century. In the early part of the eighth century the -Anglo Saxons began to go there. Willibald, a relative of Boniface, -paid a visit to Jerusalem in 724. Then the war with the Greeks -interposed, and we do not hear much about the Holy Land until the end -of the eighth century, when, through the friendship of Charlemagne -with Haroun al Raschid, the Christians were once more allowed to go to -the Holy Sepulcher. A monk, called Bernard Sapiens, went in 870, and -wrote anon account of it. Then the celebrated Gerbert, who was -afterward pope, under the title of Sylvester II., went to Jerusalem in -986, came back and wrote a work, in which he made the holy city mourn -her misfortunes and woes, her wasted temples and violated sacred -places; then he appealed to the whole Christian world to go and help -her. France {503} and Italy began to move. The Saracens heard of this -agitation, and interdicted the Christians in their dominions from -worshipping, turned their temples into stables, and threw down the -church of the Holy Sepulcher and others in the year 1008. At the -tidings of this devastation Europe was aroused, and in fact we may -fairly say that Gerbert's book of travel was the first spark that -fired the conflagration of the Crusades. The first narrative we have -of any pilgrim who followed the Crusades is by Saewulf, a Saxon, and a -very interesting narration he has left; he went in the year 1102, was -a monk of Malmesbury Monastery, and is mentioned by the renowned -William of that abbey in his Gesta Pontificum. There are accounts also -in the twelfth century by Benjamin of Tudela; in the fourteenth by Sir -John Mandeville; in the fifteenth by Bertrandon de la Brocquiere; and -in the sixteenth by Henry Maundrell. [Footnote 152] - - [Footnote 152: See Early Travels in Palestine, An interesting - collection of itineraries and ancient visits to the Holy Land, by - Mr. Thomas Wright.] - -Modern times have multiplied books on the Holy Land, but those -mentioned above are nearly all that are extent of early periods. In -our own day there is a tendency to revive the subject; we have had -many books lately, good, bad, and indifferent, upon Holy -Land--Wanderings in Bible Lands and Scenes, Horeb and Jerusalem, Sinai -and Palestine, Giant Cities of Bashan, Jerusalem as It Is, and many -others, of which we cannot stop to say more than that they are -generally interesting and readable. It would take a wretched writer, -indeed, to make a dull book upon the Holy Land; the subject itself and -the scenes enlist the attention at once. But the last pilgrim who has -returned from that sacred city and emptied his wallet for our -inspection has produced a book not only valuable as an interesting -account of travel, but useful as an excellent commentary upon the -incidents of the Bible and the life and work of our Lord. There have -been many reviews of this book as a book of travel, but it is in this -higher light more particularly that we wish to examine Mr. Hepworth -Dixon's two volumes on the Holy Land. From the very earliest times -down to the present, Jaffa or Joppa seems to be the portal of -Palestine to western travellers, who are, it appears, compelled to -make their _debut_ in Palestine in no very dignified manner. The -water-gate of Jaffa, Mr. Dixon tells us, faces the sea, and is "no -more than a slit or window in the wall about six feet square." Through -this narrow opening all importations from the west must be hoisted -from the canoes; "such articles as pashas, bitter beer, cotton cloth, -negroes, antiquaries, dervishes, spurious coins and stones, monks, -Muscovite bells, French clocks, English damsels and their hoops, -Circassian slaves, converted Jews, and Bashi Bazouks." Once safe -through this slit in the wall, the stranger is ushered into a town -whose scenes recall to his imagination the Arabian Nights of his -childhood, so little has the Holy Land changed; the dress of the -people and their customs being so little altered that Haroun, if he -were allowed to take another midnight trip with his vizier, would be -quite at home. Marvellous it is, too, that civilization has left -another peculiarity untouched in Palestine. Mr. Dixon tells us that -after "three months of Syrian travel you will learn to treat a -skeleton in the road with as much indifference as a gentleman in a -turban and a lady in a veil." Whatever dies in the plain lies -there--asses, camels, or men. The travelling baggage of an Arab -includes a winding-sheet, in which he may be rolled by his companion, -if he has one, and covered with sand; bodies are found, too, who, in -the last gasp, had striven to cover their faces with the loose sand. -There is no exaggeration in this statement--the Saxon Saewulf, who -went there in the year 1102, nearly eight centuries ago, draws the -same picture. He says: - -{504} - - "Went from Joppa to Jerusalem, two days' journey by a mountainous - road, very rough and dangerous on account of the Saracens, who lie in - wait for the Christians to rob and spoil them. Numbers of human - bodies lie by the wayside, torn to pieces by wild beasts, many of - whom have been cut off by Saracens; some, too, have perished from - heat, and thirst for want of water, and others from too much - drinking." - -Travelling in the Holy Land is not mere sport; there are a myriad of -dangers to be avoided and watched for, armed Bedaween are prowling -about, bands of horsemen scour across the plain like clouds over the -sky. - - "Horsemen!" cries Yakoub, reining in. "Hushing the still night, and - with hands on our revolvers, bending forward toward the dim fields - on our left hand, we can hear the footfall of horses crushing their - way through stubble and stones. In a moment while they sounded afar - off, they are among us; fine dark figures, on brisk little mares, - and poising above them their bamboo spears. A word or two of parley, - in which Ishmael has his share, and we are asking each other for the - news. . . . . Perhaps they consider us too strong to be robbed, for - a Bedaween rarely thinks it right to attack under an advantage of - five to one." - -At dawn of day they arrive at the spot where once stood Modin, the -birth place of the Maccabees, now a den of robbers, called Latrun. -This spot is a most interesting one, and Mr. Dixon rapidly sketches -the results of the events which were transacted here, showing how from -the Maccabaean revolt sprang the Great Separation, a new kind of -priesthood, and also, for which the influence of the captivity had -already prepared them, the ignoring of the written law of Moses, and -the introduction and veneration of the oral law or tradition of the -elders. The peculiar aspects of the Jews at the time of the Roman -domination and the advent of Christ, their hopes and opinions, may be -traced back to the drama which was played out on this spot. We -propose, then, to pause for a moment to sketch the history of that -period, as it is the keystone to the whole fabric of Jewish -degeneracy. - -About half a century before the birth of Christ the Jews had fallen -into the hands of the Romans, and in the writings of Tacitus we have a -description of them, an attempt at investigation into their history, -and a version of Roman opinion upon them, which is the more -interesting as it affords an admirable corroboration of what is -recorded in the Scriptures. Tacitus endeavors very ingeniously to make -them come originally from Crete, on account of their name, Idaeos or -Judaeos, from Mount Ida, in Crete. We must bear in mind that it is -scarcely probable that Tacitus could have read Genesis. Then he -mentions other theories which were in vogue as to the origin of this -strange people, who were beginning to be very troublesome to the -Romans. In the first theory we get a slight trace of the sacred -tradition; certain people, he say, declare that a great multitude in -the reign of Isis overflowed Egypt and discharged themselves into the -lands of Judea and the surrounding neighborhood, some call them a race -of AEthiops, others Assyrians; and we are told there were some even -who claimed for them a far more renowned descent from the [Greek text] -mentioned by Homer, whence they called their great city Hiero-Solyma. -These theories are very ingenious, but they only serve to prove that -the eye of the philosophical historian of the Romans had never rested -on the Jewish records. Still the character he gives of them is the one -they have universally borne in the world; he speaks also of "Moyses," -who gave them a distinct legislation; he mentions "circumcision" and -their abstinence from certain kinds of meet; he records their national -exclusiveness, their immovable obstinacy, their notion of one God, so -strange to the a pagan mind, and the temple, _without images_, equally -absurd. - -Though the Romans treated the Jews, as indeed they did all the people -they conquered, with great forbearance, still they had a sort of -secret dislike for them, and in the {505} and they served them as they -served no other race of people subject to their power. And this -feeling was reciprocated by the Jews, who now more than ever longed -for the advent of the great Deliverer, whom they also more than ever -felt must come in the shape of a warrior, with power and majesty to -sweep these Romans out of the country, and restore Jerusalem to her -former position of splendor and renown. There can be no question that -the political circumstances in which the Jews were placed at the time -of the coming of Christ helped to unfit them for his reception, by -fostering that idea of a great temporal sovereign which had been -implanted in their bosom. But this idea was of much older origin than -their troubles with the Romans. It is an interesting fact that the -Maccabaean revolution, which restored the priesthood, may be looked -upon as the event which first taught the Jews that fatal error. Before -that time they had a more spiritual conception of the Messiah, but the -events which followed in the wake of the heroism of Judas Maccabaeus -changed the whole character of their hopes. Let us review those -circumstances, for it is only by doing so we can properly understand -how the Jews came to be so persistent in their expectations of a great -omnipotent temporal sovereign. Antiochus Epiphanes, upon the death of -his brother, Seleucus Philopator, king of Syria, seized upon the -vacant throne, although Demetrius, the son of Seleucus, was alive at -Rome, where he had been sent as a hostage. In Daniel xi. 21, we glean -that he obtained the kingdom by flattery, which receives some support -from what Livy says about his extravagant rewards (Livy xli. c.20). He -had undertaken several campaigns against Egypt, and was on his return -from one of these, with wasted army and exhausted treasury, when it -occurred to him that if he could only plunder the temple of the Jews, -it would go far to recruit his finances. He turned his army at once -toward Jerusalem, marched upon it, and sacked it. An altar was raised -and sacrifice made to Jupiter in the holy place. Then he endeavored to -abolish the ceremonial, and to introduce pagan worship, when the Jews, -exasperated beyond endurance, were ripe all over the country for -revolt, but dared not rise. At this time, however, there dwelt in a -little village called Modin, not far from Emmaus, a family who were -called the Maccabees, for what reason it is now impossible to -ascertain; but this family, who had lived there in the peaceable -obscurity of village life, were destined to become heroic. It -consisted of an aged father, Mattathias, and five sons. Antiochus -Epiphanes had sent his officers to this village to erect an altar in -the Jewish place of worship for sacrifice to the gods, when Mattathias -boldly declared that he would resist it. The altar was set up, and one -miserable renegade Jew was advancing toward it to make the pagan -offering, when he was slain on the spot by Mattathias. The family then -fled to the wilderness, and concealed themselves; they were soon -joined by others; a band was formed, which gradually increased, until -it became numerous enough to attack towns. Then Mattathias died, and -his son, even more memorable in the history of patriotism, came -forward, and took the command of the gathering confederation, now a -disciplined army. Apollonius was sent against him, whom Judas met -boldly on the field of battle, and slew. The same success attended him -in his encounter with the Syrian general, Seron. Antiochus now saw the -necessity of vigorous measures to prevent the Jews from recovering -their independence; he went to Persia to recruit his treasures, while -Lysias, the regent, sent an army to Judea of 40,000 foot and 7,000 -cavalry, which was reinforced by auxiliaries from the provinces, and -even by Jews who were already becoming jealous of the fame of Judas. -The Jewish hero pointed out to his {506} followers the desperate odds -against which they would have to contend, and resolved upon employing -a stratagem. By a forced march he reached a portion of the enemy -encamped at Emmaus and surprised them, with complete success: several -portions of the army were put to flight, and a great booty secured. -Another and more numerous army was sent against him, but with no -success. At the head of 10,000 followers, fired by fanaticism, Judas -put to flight the army of Lysias, 60,000 strong, and marched on -Jerusalem to purify the temple and restore it to its glory. The -festival of Purification was then inaugurated. Day by day the -successes of Judas increased, when Antiochus Eupator, who had -succeeded Antiochus Epiphanes, invaded Judea, and only made peace with -Judas in consequence of dissensions at home. He was murdered by his -uncle, Demetrius, who seized the kingdom and confirmed the peace with -Judas, but took possession of the citadel of Jerusalem, placing his -general, Nicanor, there with troops. Suspicions were then entertained -that treachery was being plotted between Judas and this general; the -matter was pressed, when Nicanor cleared himself, and Judas was -obliged to flee. A battle took place, which he won, and another -victory followed at Beth-horon, in which Nicanor fell. Re-enforcements -strengthened the enemy, and Judas was compelled to retire to Laish -with 3,000 followers, where he was attacked at a disadvantage. Only -800 of his men remained faithful to him, but with these he boldly -encountered the avenging hosts of Demetrius, and found a hero's death -on the field. Though Judas was dead, yet the Maccabaean spirit was not -extinct. Simon and Jonathan, his brothers, rallied their companions, -and took the lead, fortifying themselves in a strong position in the -neighborhood of Tekoa. Jonathan bid fair to equal Judas; he avoided an -open engagement with the Syrians, but kept his position, and harassed -the enemy for the space of two years, when events brought about what -perhaps the slender forces of his army would have never accomplished. -A pretender to the throne of Syria sprang up in the person of -Alexander Balas, the reputed natural son of Antiochus Epiphanes, and a -party was soon found to promote his claim against Demetrius. By this -time Jonathan's little body of troops had been augmented by continued -re-enforcements, and his position was such that to the contending -parties in Syria it became clear that if either could win over this -obstinate Jew to his cause it would decide the matter. Demetrius took -the first step, by making him at once general of the forces in Judea -and governor of Jerusalem; but Jonathan was in no hurry, he suspected -the wily Demetrius, and having received overtures from Alexander -Balas, that if he would espouse his cause he would make him high -priest when he was on the throne of Syria, he yielded. These overtures -were accompanied by the present of a purple robe, and Jonathan, who, -doubtless, saw in the dissensions of his enemies the opportunity for -Jerusalem, accepted the proposition, joined Alexander, who slew -Demetrius in battle, and ascended the throne of Syria. True to his -engagement, he made Jonathan high priest, with the rank of prince, and -did all he could to ensure his fidelity. Jonathan afterward attended -the marriage of Alexander with a daughter of the King of Egypt, at -Ptolemais, where he received many marks of consideration from the -Syrian and Egyptian monarchs. He ultimately fell, however, a victim to -treachery, and was succeeded by his brother Simon, who confirmed the -Jews in their independence in return, for which, in 131 B.C., they -passed a decree, by which the dignity of high priest and prince of the -Jews was made hereditary in the family of Simon. Thus was founded the -long line of Asmonean priests, which remained unbroken down to about -thirty-four years before Christ. The Mosaic principle was set aside, -and {507} from this time the changes came over the Jews and their -institutions which are admirably sketched by Mr. Dixon in the two -chapters on the Great Separation and the Oral Law, which we recommend -to the careful perusal of any one who wishes to form a clear idea of -the origin of the state of Judaism at the time of our Lord. He thus -sums up in a sentence the results of the Maccabaean insurrection: - - "The main issues, then, as regards the faith and policy in Israel of - that glorious revolt of Modin, w the elevation of a fighting sect to - power; the general adoption of separative principles; the - substitution of an explanatory law for the Covenant; a change in the - divine succession of high priests, and a lawless union of the - spiritual and secular forces." - -The Idyls of Bethlehem form a most interesting chapter: the death of -Rachel, the idyl of Ruth, the episode of Saul, the house of Chimham, -the idyl of Jeremiah, and the birth of our Saviour, are all sketched -in a manner which tends to impress these well-known scenes upon the -mind indelibly. A chapter on Syrian Khans, which throws much light -upon the incident of the birth of Christ, we would like to extract did -not the exigencies of space forbid. The reader will find in the -chapters, The Inn of Bethlehem, The Province of Galilee, Herod the -Great, John the Baptist, and Jewish Parties, an admirable introduction -to those scenes of the life and wanderings of our blessed Lord which -are contained in the second part of the book, and to which we wish to -devote the remainder of this paper. - -When speaking of the early life of Jesus, Mr. Dixon takes up the -question of the obscurity of his origin, that favorite point with the -sceptics of all ages, from the "Is not this the carpenter's son?" of -the Jews, down to puerile objections of the German Strauss. He has -shown that it was the custom to teach the youth of all classes some -useful art; and the best born and greatest men in Jewish history had -been instructed in such trades as weaving, tent-making etc. Beside, -certain trades were held in honor. We cannot understand this if we -think of carpentering by the contemptuous estimate of modern life. -That contempt for hand-labor was unknown in the early ages of -Scripture history. Adam dressed the garden, Abel was a keeper of -sheep, Cain a tiller of the ground. Tubal Cain a smith; and so, among -the Jews, it was a reproach to any man if he had not been taught one -of the useful mechanical arts. It was dignified by the Almighty -himself, who, we are told-- - - "Called by name Bezaleel, . . . and he hath filled him with the - spirit of God in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in - all manner of workmanship, and to devise curious works, to work in - gold and in silver and in brass, and in the cutting of stones to set - them, and in carving of wood to make any manner of cunning work. And - he hath put it in his heart that he may teach." Exod. xxxv. 30-34. - -This reverence was cherished by the Jews; carpentering was always -looked upon as a noble occupation; the fact that the carpenter might -have to go into the temple to labor would have rescued that occupation -from contempt. This is a striking peculiarity of eastern life; and -elsewhere the objection of the sceptic to the humble origin of Jesus -has been well answered: - - "The princes of Turkey in Egypt are still instructed in the - mechanical arts, one being made a brazier, another a carpenter, a - third a good weaver, and so on. Said Pasha was a good mechanic, - Ishmael Pasha is not inferior to his brother. Much of the domestic - life of Israel has been lost to us, but still we know something of - the crafts in which many of the most famous rabbis and doctors had - been taught to excel. We know that Hillel practised a trade. St. - Paul was a tent-maker, Rabbi Ishmael was a needle-maker, Rabbi - Jonathan a cobbler. Rabbi Jose was a tanner. Rabbi Simon was a - weaver. Among the Talmudists there was a celebrated Rabbi Joseph who - was a carpenter. What then becomes of Strauss's inference that - Joseph must have been a man of low birth--not of the stock of - David--because he followed a mechanical trade?" [Footnote 153] - - [Footnote 153: Athenaeum, 27th Jan., 1866.] - -{508} - -We may conclude this point by adding that among the Jews the only -trades which could prevent a man from attaining to the dignity of high -priest were weavers, barbers, fullers, perfumers, cuppers, and -tanners. - -But to return to the life and work of Jesus. His fame was gradually -spreading, and he went about the small towns and hamlets: - - "Capernaum, Chorazin Magdala, Bethsaida, Dalmanutha Gerasa, - preaching in the synagogues, visiting the fishing-boats and - threshing-floors, healing the sick, and comforting the poor; gentle - in his aspect and in his life; wise as a sage and simple as a child; - winning people to his views by the charm of his manner and the - beauty of his sayings." - -His first aim was to win the Jews from the Oral Law, to convince them -of its emptiness; it is the key to the following scenes graphically -depicted by Mr. Dixon. Christ had gone to Jerusalem for the feast of -Purim, and was walking by the Pool of Bethesda in the sheet market, a -spot he had to pass daily. On the thanks of this pool were crowds of -sick, the halt, aged, and blind, a spectacle sure to attract the eye -of Jesus: - - "It was the Sabbath day. - - "In the temple hard by, these wretches could hear the groaning of - bulls under the mace, the bleating of lambs under the sacrificial - knife, the shouting of dealers as they sold doves and shekels. - Bakers were hurrying through with bread. The captain of the temple - was on duty with his guards. Priests were marching in procession, - and crowds of worshippers standing about the holy place. Tongues of - flame leaped faintly from the altars on which the priests were - sprinkling blood . . . but the wretches who lay around (the pool) on - their quilts and rugs, the blind, the leprous, and the aged poor, - drew no compassion from the busy priests. One man, the weakest of - the weak, had been helpless no less than thirty-eight years. Over - this man Jesus paused and said: - - "'Wilt thou be made whole?' - - "'Rabbi, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into - the pool; but while I am coming, another steppeth down before me." - -The Compassionate answered him: - - "'Rise, take up thy bed and walk.' - - "At once the life leaped quickly into the poor man's limbs. Rising - from the ground he folded up his quilt, taking it on his arm to go - away; but some of the Pharisees seeing him get up and roll his bed - into a coil, run toward him crying: 'It is the Sabbath day; it is - not lawful for thee two carry thy bed.' It was certainly an offense - against the Oral Law." - -The Jews had turned the blessing of the Sabbath into a curse. - - "From the moment of hearing the ram's horn, a sacred trumpet, called - the shofa, blown from the temple wall, announcing that the seventh - had commenced, he was not allowed to tight a fire or make a bed, to - boil him a pot; he could not pool his ass from a ditch, nor raise - and arms in defense of his life . . . A Jew could not quit his camp, - his village, or his city on the day of rest. He might not begin a - journey; if going along a road, he must rest from sundown till the - same event of the coming day. He might not carry a pencil, a - kerchief a shekel in his belt; if he required a handkerchief for - use, he had to tie it round his leg. If he offended against one of - these rules, he was held to deserve the doom awarded to the vilest - of sinners. Some rabbins held that a man ought not to change his - position, but that, whether he was standing or sitting when the - shofa sounded, _he should stand or sit immovable as a stone until - the Sabbath had passed away_." - -Jesus broke the Oral Law that he might bring his followers to a sense -of its degrading spirit, and announced the new truth that "_The -Sabbath is made for man; not and for the Sabbath_." After two very -interesting chapters upon Antipas Herod and Herodias, we have once -upon the Synagogue. Some writers have striven to claim the remotest -antiquity for this institution, but in all probability it might be -dated from the captivity. There would be a natural desire to meet -together away from the pagans, by whom they were surrounded, to pray -to their God, to sing their psalms, and to read the law. This gave -rise to the synagogue, which means no more then a "meeting together;" -but after the Maccabaean insurrection it became a popular institution, -and every little village had its synagogue. Now, as much of the work -of Christ was done in the synagogue, as he loved to go into them and -to take part {509} in their services, it is desirable that we should -have a clear notion of what a synagogue was: - - "A house of unhewn stones taken up from the hillside; squat and - square of the ancient Hebrew style, having a level roof, but neither - spire nor tower, neither dome nor minaret to enchant the eye; such - was the simple synagogue of the Jews in which Jesus taught. . . - Inside a Syrian synagogue is like one of our parish schools with - seats for the men, rough sofas of wood half covered with rushes and - straw; a higher seat stands in the centre like that of a mosque, for - the elders of the town, a desk for the reader of the day; at the - south end a closet, concealed by a hanging veil, in which the torah, - a written copy of the Pentateuch, is kept in the sacred ark. A - silver lamp is always kept burning, a candlestick with eight arms, a - pulpit, a reading-desk, are the chief articles of furniture in the - room. . . . . In olden times women were allowed to enter with the - men, though they were even then parted from father and son by a - wooden screen. . . . Before entering a synagogue a man is expected - to dip his hands into water. . . . Ten persons are necessary to form - a meeting; every town or city having a synagogue appointed ten men - called batlanim (men of leisure), who were bound to appear at the - hour of prayer. . . Higher in office was the chazzan, who took - charge of the house and scroll. . . The meturgeman was an - interpreter of the law, whose duty it was to stand near the reader - for the day, and translate the sacred verses, one by one, from the - Hebrew into the vulgar tongue. Above him were the elders. . . . When - the people came in they first bowed to the ark; the elders took - their places on the raised platform; the rich went up to high seats - near the ark; the poor sat on wooden sofas, matted with straw. . . . - A prayer was said, one of the Psalms of David sung. The chazzan - walked up to the veil, which he drew aside with reverence, lifted - the ark from its niche, took out the torah, carried the roll round - the benches, every one striving either to kiss or touch it with his - palm; the sheliach read the lesson for the day; at its close the - elder expounded the text in a sort of sermon, when the torah was - carried back, the prayers began. . . . Every hearer had in those - times a right to express his opinion of the sacred text, and of what - it meant." - -Our Lord availed himself of this right, which every Jew possessed, of -speaking in the synagogue upon the text which had been read; and Mr. -Dixon has worked up two scenes well known in the career of our Lord, -with all the surrounding incidents and scenery, so graphically and so -accurately that no one could read these descriptions without rising -from them with a clearer and more complete understanding of the simple -statement of the gospel. The gospels were not written as historical -sketches, but as vehicles for the vital truth they contain; -consequently anything that resuscitates the scene and reproduces the -incidents as they took place, with all their peculiar surroundings, -must be of great value in assisting us to comprehend more readily, and -to retain in our minds more vividly the events of our Lord's career. -We think this is more preeminently the characteristic aim and -achievement of this work than of the many others we have read upon the -subject, and we shall instance one, the scene in the synagogue of -Capernaum. The first alluded to was the declaration of Jesus in the -synagogue at Nazareth; but as many of the incidents are included in -this of Capernaum, we content ourselves with giving it somewhat in -detail, as an illustration of the peculiarity we have already -mentioned. Let the reader first peruse the simple statement in the -gospel of St. John, vi. ch., 25 v., to the end, and then the -following; or better still the whole of chapter xvii. in the second -volume of Mr. Dixon's work, called The Bread of Life, and he will rise -from it with a much more vivid conception of one of the most trying -scenes in our Lord's history. On the steps of the synagogue a motley -crowd had collected, eager, excited, and curious, for it was just -after the miraculous feeding of the 5,000, and they were full of it; -they had heard of it in all its stupendous power; it was the miracle -of all miracles most likely to overpower the Jewish mind; it recalled -to them the words of Jehovah: - - "At even ye shall eat flesh, and in the morning ye shall be filled - with bread, and ye shall know that I am the Lord your God." - -{510} - -And this man, this son of Joseph the carpenter, had fed 5,000 people -on fire barley loaves and two small fishes. They saw the little boat -on the beach in which Jesus had come; they had heard of his walking on -the water that very night; and now the crowd was increasing, for the -country was aroused, and people came flocking from all parts to see -this man who did such marvellous things. - - "Jesus sat in the synagogue in his usual place. The Jews poured in, - each man and woman making lonely reverence toward the ark. . . , The - service began with the prayer of sweet incense, after which the - congregation, the batlanim leading, sang Psalms of David; when these - were sung, the chazzan, going up to the ark, drew aside the veil and - took out the sacred roll, which he carried round the aisles to the - reader of the day, who raised it in his hands, so that all who were - present could see the sacred text. Then the whole congregation rose. - . . . Opening the scroll, the reader read out the section or chapter - for the day. . . . When the lesson was finished the chazzan took the - scroll from the reader and carried it back to its place behind the - veil. Then when the roll was restored to the ark, they sang other - psalms, after which the elder delivered the midrash, an exposition - of the text which had been read. The time now being come to question - and be question, all eyes turned on the Teacher who had fed the - 5,000 men. . . . Their questions were Sharp and loud: - - "'Rabbi, when camest thou hither?' - - "'Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye ask me not because ye saw the - miracles, but because ye ate of the loaves and were filled. Labor - not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth - unto everlasting life, which the Son of Man shall give unto you, for - him hath God the Father sealed." - - "Then they asked him: - - "'What must we do that we may work the works of God?' - - "To which he answered, with a second public declaration, that he was - Christ the Son of God: - - "'This is the word of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath - sent.' - - "'What sign showest thou that we may see and believe thee! What dost - thou work?' - - "Full of the great act which many witnesses declared that they had - seen in the desert beyond the lake, they wished to have it repeated - before their eyes; so they said to him: - - "'Our fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, as it is written, he - gave them bread from heaven to eat.' - - "Jesus took up their thought. - - "'Verily, verily, I say unto you, Moses gave you not the bread from - heaven, but my Father giveth you the true bread from heaven. For the - bread of God is that which cometh down from heaven and giveth life - unto the world.' - - "'Rabbi, evermore give us this bread.' - - "Jesus answered them: - - "' I am the bread of life. He that cometh to me shall not hunger, - and he that believeth in me shall never thirst. . . . . . For I am - come down from heaven not to do mine own will, but the will of him - that sent me, that of all which he hath given me I should lose - nothing, but should raise it up at the last day. '. . . - - "The elders, the batlanim, the chazzan gazed into each other's - faces, and began to murmur against him, just as the men of Nazareth - had murmured against him. - - "'Is not this Jesus the son of Joseph whose father and mother we - know? How is it, then, that he saith, I am come down from heaven?" - - "Jesus spoke to them again: - - "Murmur not among yourselves. No man can come to me except the - Father which sent me draw him; and I will raise him up the last. . . . - I am the bread of life. . . . . I am the living bread which came - down from heaven; if any man eat of this bread he shall live - forever; yea, and the bread that I will give you is my flesh, which - I will give for the life of the world.' - - "Strange doctrines for Jews to weigh. Then leapt hot words among - them, and some of those who had meant to believe in him drew back. - If he were the Christ, the Son of David, the King of Israel, why was - he not marching on Jerusalem, why not driving out the Romans, why - not assuming a kingly crown? 'How can this Man give us his flesh to - eat?' - - "The Lord spoke again, still more to their discontent and chagrin, - seeing that they wanted an earthly Christ: - - "'Except ye eat of the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, - ye have no life in you.' - - "This was too much for many, even for some who had been brought to - the door of belief. . . . . The service of the synagogue ended, the - elders came down from the platform, the chazzan put away the sacred - vessels, the congregation came out into the sun, angry in word and - mocking spirit. They wanted facts; he had given them truth. They - hungered for miraculous bread, for a new shower of manna; he had - offered them symbolically his flesh and blood. They had set their - hearts on finding a captain who would march against the Romans, who - would would cause Judas of Gamala to be forgotten, who would put the - glories of Herod the Great to shame. They had asked him for earth, - and he had answered them with heaven." - -{511} - -But the scene was drawing to a close; Jesus went on with his work -after this tumult in the synagogue, opposing himself to the senseless -rites of the Pharisees, defying the oral law, healing the sick, and -preaching to the people. Passing through the country from Galilee a -Syro-Phenecian woman who had heard of him, and perhaps seen him, ran -after him in the road, and besought him to heal her daughter who was a -lunatic. The disciples urged him to send her away, for his life would -not have been safe if he had another conflict with the Jews in that -quarter, and to heal this Gentile woman's child would be sure to bring -them on his track. Turning to the woman, Jesus told her he was sent -only to the lost sheep of Israel; but she persisted, crying, "Lord, -help me!" an evidence of faith which was quite sufficient, and Jesus -turned to her and said, "Great is thy faith, O woman, be it unto thee -as thou wilt." This was a fatal blow to the Jewish exclusiveness, a -Gentile had been called into the church, and the pride of the Jew -humbled forever. On the last Sabbath day which Jesus spent on earth, -he struck another blow at the ceremonial law, by taking his disciples -to dine at the house of one Simon a leper. He had reached Bethany, and -taken up his abode in the house of Martha and Mary, among the outcast -and the poor, for that last seven days now called in the church the -holy week. The scene was an impressive one. The city, as far as the -eye could reach, was one vast encampment, caravans were arriving from -every direction, bringing thousands of Jews to the feast, who, -selecting their ground, drove four stakes into the earth, drew long -reeds round them, and covered them with leaves, making a sort of -bower; others brought small tents with them; the whole city, Mount -Gibeon, the plain of Rephaim, the valley of Gihon, the hill of Olivet, -were all studded with tense, and crowded with busy people hastening to -finish their preparations before the shofa should sound at sunset, and -the Sabbath begin, when no man could work. In the temple, the priests, -the doctors, the money-changers, the bakers of shew-bread, were all at -work, and the last panorama in the life of Christ commenced. - -On the first day in Holy Week, now known as Palm _Sunday_, Jesus -entered Jerusalem on an ass's colt, a prominent figure in the -festivities, for the crowds rushed up see him, with their palms, and -marched with him singing psalms; they had come out from Jerusalem to -meet him, and they escorted him into the city. At night he returned to -Bethany. - -On the _Monday_ and _Tuesday_ he went early to the temple, mixing -among the people, restoring sight to the blind, and preaching to the -poor. As his life began with a series of temptations, so it was the -will of his Father that he should be persecuted with them at its -close--a lesson we may all do well to dwell upon. Up to the last days -of his life Jesus was subjected to temptations. On the Tuesday some -emissaries of the Sanhedrim came to the court where he was preaching -to question him, and gather evidence against him. They found him -amongst a crowd of Baptists, and demanded his authority for teaching. -Christ retorted by putting them to the dilemma of stating whether -John's baptism was of heaven or not; they were too much afraid of the -people to say it was of men, and if they said of heaven, Jesus would -have reproached them for their want of faith; they confessed their -ignorance. Then each party tried to entrap him. - -The _Pharisees_ brought him a woman taken in adultery. By the Mosaic -law this offence would have been punished with death. But the Roman -government would have executed any Jew who would venture to carry out -such a law, and therefore the question seemed to compel Jesus to speak -either against Moses or the Romans. He quietly turned to the -witnesses, and told the man who was {512} innocent among them to cast -the first stone at her. - -The _Herodians_ tempted him on a point of tribute. They had two taxes, -one to God and one to Caesar, both were disputed, and they consulted -him in order to involve him with God or Caesar; but he foiled them by -confirming both: - - "Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the - things that are God's." - -They began to be astonished. - -The _Sadducees_ tempted him with their dogma of the non-resurrection. -They told him sneeringly of a woman who had married seven husbands, -and they wanted to know whose she would be in the life to come. Jesus -replied calmly: - - "In the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, - but are as the angels in heaven." - -And the Sadducees with their philosophy, their learning, and their -unbelief, retired in confusion. - -On the _Wednesday_ he remained in Bethany in seclusion, while Judas -was arranging for his safe betrayal to Annas and the nobles. - -_Thursday_ Jesus sent Peter and John into Jerusalem to prepare the -Passover, and at sunset that day he and the twelve sat down to the -last supper; Judas left to see Annas, and after singing a hymn, the -other disciples rose from the table, passed through the sheep-gate -into the Cedron valley, and came to Gethsemane. Here Jesus withdrew, -and while his disciples were sleeping, he watched and prayed until the -betrayers came, and the kiss of Judas revealed him to them. The -Sanhedrim was summoned in the dead of the night, and when the members -arrived they found Annas examining witnesses, but with no avail, they -could not substantiate any charge against him that the Roman -government would allow them to punish with death. Annas told him to -speak for himself, but he would not. The high priest then said, "Art -thou the Christ?" he said, "I am." Then Annas asked him who were his -disciples, and Jesus replied: "I spake openly to the world, I taught -in the synagogue and in the temple, whither the Jews resort, in secret -I have said nothing; ask them which heard me, they know what I have -said." The officer of the temple smote him, and Annas ordered him to -be bound with cords, and when it was day they went in a body to the -palace of Caiaphas. Here Jesus was questioned again, and answered that -he was the Christ, the high priest rent his clothes, in sign that it -was blasphemy and worthy of death. The Sanhedrim pronounced him -guilty, and the officers carried him to the Praetorian gates and -delivered him a prisoner into the hands of Pilate's guards. The -vacillation of Pilate and the last scene in our Lord's career are -known to all. Mr. Dixon leaves them with the observation, "They form a -divine episode in the history of man, and must be left to the writers -who could not err." - -A good book is its own best eulogy, and we may safely leave this of -Mr. Dixon's to itself; but we cannot refrain from testifying our -appreciation of such a valuable addition to the records of eastern -travel. It is superfluous to say that it is excellently written, as it -emanates from the 10, not of a tyro, but of a master-craftsman, whose -style is too well known to need eulogy, a style graphic, pointed, and -impressive, the result of clear vision and accurate delineation, -strengthened by a sort of Frith-like power of grouping as witness the -description of the street life of Jaffa, which, as an exquisite piece -of word-painting, is perfect. - -The reader is led through the sacred scenes of the Holy Land by an -artist as well as a scholar, who as he journeys on revives the life of -the past; we see the patriarchal life, the tents, the flocks grazing -on the hills, the ready-writer with his and lingering and the city -gate. We here David's minstrelsy and the tramp of Maccabaean -soldierly; we peer into the depths of {513} one of those ancient wells -build by the patriarchs, and listen to the conversation of the -Samaritan woman with that wonderful stranger; we linger at the wayside -Khan, and see how natural is the tale of the gospel. As we near -Jerusalem the grander figures of the panorama pass over the scene, the -Herods in their luxury and pride, in their humiliation and their sins, -the grim towers of Macherus and the dark deed behind its walls when -the head of the messenger of God fell to please a wanton woman, and -terror was struck into the heart of the tyrant; the splendid -ceremonial service of the temple, with its altars, its sacrifices, and -its robed priests; the Sadducees luxuriating in their palaces, with -servants, carriages, gardens, living their voluptuous, godless lives; -the Pharisees with their demure aspect, broad and multiplied -phylacteries; the elements of Roman soldiery, the imperial eagles -hovering over the scene as the Jews past by scowling at the pagan -rulers of the holy city; and then that marvellous god-like figure -wandering about the streets followed by crowds of people, now entering -the temple courts to preach to them, and now stopping on his way to -heal some lame man or leper; his wanderings' along the wearying roads -of Galilee; his mingling with the people in the synagogues, the -popular gathering-place; his taking part in the service and reading -the Scriptures; his final coming up to the holy city, the betrayal, -this scenes of his trial, the frantic eagerness of the Jews, the -vacillation of Pilate, the terrible suspense and the ultimate triumph -of his foes, all these and many more incidents of biblical and gospel -history are revived and enacted, as it were, amid the very scenes and -in the very places where they once took place. We repeat again, that -this work is an excellent commentary and illustration of the gospel -narrative; and though pen of its author has been nobly wielded in the -controversial defence of that gospel, yet perhaps even greater good -may be done by this exhibition and illustration of the life and work -of Christ. To hold him up to the eyes of men is the best antidote to -scepticism; and whatever tends to do that, to plant the image of -Christ in the hearts of men, is a good work; the illustration of his -individuality, standing out as he did in his times, and as he does in -every time, distinct from all men and things. We take up the great -work of any age, its characteristic achievement, and we find the -impress of the age stamped indelibly upon it; it smacks of the time -and the scenes. Homer is pervaded with the valor of a mythic heroism, -bloodshed and victory. Dante is the very best reflection of -mediaevalism--its deep, superstitious piety, its weird dreams, and its -peculiar theology. Shakespeare, though he has written with spotless -purity, yet bears traces of the tolerated licentiousness of the -Elizabethan age. But Christ and his gospel stand out distinct, totally -distinct from the times and the life when they appeared. That gospel -could not have been produced by the age, for it was an antagonism to -it; the age was a degenerate one, a mixture of formal ceremony, and -licentious unbelief; paganism was waning; Rome becoming debased; the -ancient traditions of the Jews were lost in human inventions and -Rabbinical fantasies, when, rising up in the midst of all this -debasement, this corruption, these anomalies, came Christ and his -gospel, pure among rottenness, gentle in the midst of violence, holy -among flagrant infidelity and wanton vice, the Preacher and the -preaching both sent from somewhere, but manifestly not from the world, -not from oriental barbarism, not from western paganism, not from -Jewish corruption; it could then have come from no other place than -heaven, and had no other author than God. And when we reflect upon -what was compressed in that three years' labor, and compare it with -systems which have occupied men's lives to sketch out merely, and -taken {514} ages to perfect; when we see that this greatest system, -which has spread over the whole civilized world by the force of its -own truth, was in three short years laid down and consolidated, every -principle defined, every rule established, every law delineated, and -an impetus given to it by its great Master, which has always kept it -advancing in the world against every opposing force, and in spite of -every disadvantageous circumstance, all doubt about its individuality, -its superhuman character, and its divine origin, must vanish from the -mind. Therefore we think, in conclusion. that the best thing for -Christians still to do in this world is, to lift up Christ before the -eyes of men, no matter how, so that he be listed up boldly and -faithfully, be it by the voice, the pencil, or the pen (as in this -instance before us), or, better still by the more impressive -exhibition of Christ in a Christian life. If we wish to save men, let -us display him always and everywhere in the confidence that he will -fulfil his own divine promise--"I, if I be lifted up from the earth, -will draw all men unto me." - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - -ON THE APPARITION OF OUR LORD TO THE DISCIPLES AT EMMAUS. - - - "Whilst he was at table with them, - he took bread, and blessed, and brake, and gave to them. - And their eyes were opened, and they knew him." - - -DISCIPLE. - - "Lord! grant to thy servant this singular grace, - To gaze but for once on thy beautiful face." - -JESUS. - - "Most easily may'st thou this blessing secure: - Who gives unto mine, unto me gives instead. - Of thy loaf give a part to my suffering poor, - And thy Lord thou shalt see at the breaking of bread." - --------- - -{515} - -ORIGINAL. - - -LITTLE SUNBEAM'S CHRISTMAS STORY. - - -God bless you, kind gentlemen, for your merry Christmas, and thank you -kindly for these nice things; but you must not be angry if I say I'm -almost sorry it is Christmas day, for you see it makes me think about -last Christmas and the Christmas before. - -I am Mr. Willsup's little girl--Mr. Willsup that is dead, you know. I -suppose you think I ought to wear black; and so I would, but mother -says we are too poor, and we must only mourn in our hearts. I do mourn -in my heart, oh! so much, I can't tell you. I don't like to -acknowledge it, and it gives me an ugly pain and a dreadful sinking -about my heart when I think of it, but it was on a Christmas night -that we lost poor father, and I'm afraid he wasn't right, you -understand, at the time. - -There was a time when father was such a nice, good man, and when we -weren't poor, as we are now. We didn't always live up in this cold, -bare garret. We used to live in a fine, large house, all to ourselves; -and we had a nice garden in front, full of pretty flowers, and a long -back porch with a buying running over it; and we had a beautiful -parlor where we talked to the visitors only--not to sleep in and cook -in as we do here, when we have any fire; and I had the cosiest little -bedroom you ever saw, with a little altar in the corner, and on it a -statue of the Blessed Virgin, white as snow; and Chip, that's a -canary-bird, hung in his cage in the window when it was fine weather, -and cat sugar like a good fellow; and then we had silver forks and -spoons; and Zephyr, that's the horse, and Dash, our dog, and Pussy, -and oh! so many nice things, I never could tell you all in a long -time. But we haven't got any of them now, for we are poor, and -father's dead, and we must only mourn in our hearts. - -I hardly know how to tell you all about it, for though I am little -I've seen a good deal; so much bad and trouble that my mind goes quite -round and round sometimes thinking over it. If you ever saw poor -father after we got to be poor, that wouldn't tell you how he looked -as I recollect him. Oh! he was so much changed! I used to be so proud -of him, and delighted to go out to walk with him in the street or -across the fields; and I used to love him so much--not that I didn't -always love him just as much as ever, only I didn't get so much chance -to love him, you understand, when he got to stay away from home and -be--oh! my heart, how it aches! - -Father was a handsome-looking man once, and so smart. Everybody bowed -to him in the street. But he got rough and careless, I know, and it -made me feel sorry to see him go out without brushing his hat, or -asking me to do it for him, as he used to do. And then his face turned -to such a different look from old times. It got puffed up and red, and -his eyes that I remember were so bright and so deep, for I used to -climb up on his knee often, and look 'way down into them, and then he -would laugh and ask me if I could see his thoughts, and I almost -fancied I could sometimes, and give me a sweet kiss, and call me his -darling Susy; but when he changed, you know, his eyes seemed to be, -how shall I say it? so flat and soft, and he never seemed to be -looking anywhere in particular half the time. - -{516} - -You see it was business and appointments that changed him. When I -wished him to stay home and we would all enjoy ourselves--for we had -the pleasantest times together, father, mother, and me, and baby, -that's dead; and perhaps Dash and Pussy too sometimes, you know--then -he would be obliged to excuse himself on account of business and -appointments, which I fear were not always with the best of people, -for when he said he was going out mother would sigh _so_ deep and _so_ -long; and then when he came home late at night I often woke up and -heard mother coaxing him and soothing him, and I am sure frequently -crying and sobbing, and that would make me cry too, all alone by -myself; and so the time went on, till father began to take less and -less notice of either mother or of me. As for dear little baby, even -when she sickened and died, I don't think he seemed to understand it, -and he stood by the grave and looked at the little coffin being let -down as if he were dreaming. - -It was not long before father left off doing almost any business in -the daytime, and only went out at night. I noticed then that we began -to sell some of our nice furniture, and our silver forks and spoons. I -suppose, as we scarcely ever had any visitors now, we did not need -them; but the house began to look bare and desolate and strange, as if -it wasn't our house; and the servant quarrelled with mother and left -us, and we didn't get another, but mother did the work herself, and it -made her sick, for she wasn't used to it. Sam, our man, went away, -because after the horse and carriage was sold he had nothing to do. I -recollect hearing him say to mother: - -"I'd stand by you and Susy, miss, as I've always stood by you, and -it's not wages, but times is changed, and I know you ain't able to -have me." And then he pulled his hat down over his eyes so far that he -had to lift it up again before he could see his way out of the front -door; and then ran across the garden and down the street, as if he -were running away from somebody. I cried a good deal when mother told -me he was not going to come back, for I loved Sam very much, and I'm -not I ashamed of if either, though Pinkey Silver said I ought to be, -for he was just like a brother to me, and a better brother than Pinkey -Silver's brother ever was. - -Once, on a Christmas eve, I was going to hang up my stocking, as I had -always done, for good Santa Claus to put something in it, when mother -burst out into such a violent fit of crying that I was afraid she -would die. When she could speak to me she wanted me to let Santa Claus -go to some other children this year; but I determined to give him a -chance to leave me, say, a doll, if he happened to have one left over, -and so I slipped down-stairs in my night-gown, after mother had gone -to her room, and hung my stocking up in the old place. Just as I had -done it, father came staggering in. He was very bad, and fell over -several things. The noise brought mother down-stairs, and father -looking at me said so savagely that it sent all the blood to my heart: - -"What devilish nonsense is the girl about?" - -"Oh! don't blame the child," said mother, turning pale and getting -between him and me. "You know it is Christmas eve, John." - -Then he swore many awful oaths, and said he didn't care for Christmas, -and that he was not going to be taunted with his poverty by his own -children, and went stamping around the room in a furious passion. -Mother went up to him to coax him, and put her arms around his neck; -but he threw her off and knocked her down and, though you mayn't -believe it, he actually lifted up his foot and stamped upon her face. -That is why mother looks so bad now, with those great scars, but she -was very beautiful before that, as everybody knows. When mother fell, -Dash sprang up from the hearth where he lay curled up, and barked at -father. - -{517} - -"They've all turned against me," said he, "even the dog. But I'll -brain _you_", says he to Dash. - -When I saw mother trying to get up, with the blood all streaming down -her dress from her face and mouth, I got faint, and don't recollect -any more until I woke up, it must have been noon next day, with a -dreadful headache. I crept out of bed and went into the hall, and -there I heard people talking down in the parlor. It was mother, Mrs. -Thrifty, our next-door neighbor, and the doctor. The doctor and Mrs. -Thrifty were trying to persuade mother to do something, but she kept -saying, "Never! I couldn't--poor John!" and words like that. - -Such terrible things had taken place and put my mind so astray that I -quite forgot I shouldn't listen; but I soon remembered it, and went -away. I wondered where father was, and thought I would look in his -room to see if he was there. In the old times, before father changed, -I used to be let come in, bright and early, to his room, and climb up -on a chair and kiss him before he got up; and he used to call me his -"Little Sunbeam" that came creeping in to say it was day. There he was -now, lying on the bed without taking off his clothes or muddy boots, -in a deep, heavy sleep. I did so want to love him, but I was afraid to -wake him up to tell him so, he looked so frightful, gnashing his teeth -in his dreams. But I thought I might be "Little Sunbeam" once more, -even if he didn't know it, and I got a chair and climbed up and -reached my arm over round his neck and gave him a kiss. It did not -seem like father's face, but I suppose I had forgotten, it was so long -since I kissed him before. Poor father! I began to mourn in my heart -for him then, as mother says we must do now. I was afraid to stay -there, but before I went away I knelt down beside the bed and prayed -the Blessed Virgin to ask God to make him a good man again, and make -him give up drinking, and make mother well, and let me be his "Little -Sunbeam" as before. Then I slipped back to my room and dressed myself, -and mother came up-stairs with her face all bandaged up, and she told -me not to say anything to anybody about the last night. - -That Christmas day wasn't like any Christmas day I can ever recollect. -I didn't find any toys from Santa Claus in my stocking. We didn't go -to mass, nor to see the little Jesus in the Crib, nor to hear the -children sing around it. Nor we didn't have any plum pudding; and when -I went out on the back porch--oh! dear, how my heart does ache--there -lay poor old Dash, with his head split open, and quite dead. - -You see I had so many things happen that I don't recollect how things -turned out, except that mother and I left our house one day, because -we got poor, mother said, and then we came here, and she says we are -never to go back because our house is sold to strangers, to whom -father was in debt. Pinkey Silver told me that the man who keeps the -grog-shop where poor father was stabbed owns it now. And I must tell -you about that. - -It was the next Christmas day after the last one I told you about. We -had nothing to eat all day. Toward evening mother told me to go to -Mrs. Thrifty's and ask her to please lend us a loaf of bread. Mrs. -Thrifty was gone to a party, and so I had to wait until near nine -o'clock, when George Thrifty, that's Mrs. Thrifty's son, came in -laughing and singing: - - "Hie for merry Christmas! - Ho for merry Christmas! - Hurrah! for Christmas day!" - -As soon as I told him what I wanted he ran and got a loaf of bread and -a pie and some cakes, and gave it all to me; and then he put his hand -in his pocket and turned it inside out, but there wasn't anything in -it, and says he: - - "Oh! little one, I'm as sorry as if I'd lost my grandmother; but I - wish I hadn't spent all my Christmas, for I'd like to give you some - money." - -{518} - -I thanked him very much and came away. As I was coming home I passed -the grog-shop I spoke to you about. I heard loud, angry quarrelling -and scuffling going on, and father's voice was among the rest. I was -afraid to go away, for I did not like to leave father there to get -hurt, and thought I had better go in and persuade him to come home -with me. I had no sooner put my head in the door than the then who -keeps the store told me to "be off, that he didn't want any beggars -around his place." - -"I don't want to beg," said I, "I want father," and just as I said -that I saw a knife flash in the gaslight, and then--O my poor, -mourning heart!--poor father staggered and reeled toward me, and as -he saw me he cried out: - -"Why, is it you, Little Sunbeam! O my God!" and then he fell down -across the sill of the door, at my feet, dead. - -You see, dear, good gentlemen, you must not be angry if I'm almost -sorry it is Christmas. I know everybody ought to be happy when -Christmas comes; and I saw a good many little boys and girls to-day as -happy as I used to be, for I've been watching them through a little -peep hole I scratched on the frosty window-pane, and it didn't seem -real that they should be down there so happy, wishing each other -"Merry Christmas," and I up here all alone, mourning in my heart. But -you see what has done it all. - -Do you think, dear, good gentlemen, that there are any other "Little -Sunbeams" like me? Do you think there are any fathers that are -changing like mine? Oh! please do run and tell them quick to stop and -change back again, or they will get poor like mother and me, and have -to live up in a cold, bare garret, and Santa Claus won't come down the -chimney on Christmas eve, because their children won't have any -stockings to hang up, and they will feel so hungry and so cold in the -night. Oh! I could tell them, and mother could tell them, as she tells -me, that drink brings a black curse on a family, and that God is angry -when he hears the drunkard's children crying for bread. I don't like -to cry when I think of that, but I couldn't help it this morning -because it is Christmas day. - -It's all over now, I do so wish that mother was here to say thank ye -for all those nice things, but she won't be home till night, for she's -gone over to Mrs. Nabob's to work, where they are to have a great -party. But when she comes back I'll tell her all about it, and when we -say our prayers to-night we'll ask God to bless the good, kind -gentleman who thought about coming here to wish us a Merry Christmas. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -CHRISTIAN CHARITY. - -"As long as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it -unto Me." - - - There is a secret chamber in my breast - Of which my Jesus hath sole custody - But if my neighbor willeth there to rest, - Then Jesus kindly lendeth him the key. - ------- - -{519} - -ORIGINAL. - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. - - - -XI. - -THE ORIGINAL STATE OF THE FIRST PARENTS OF MANKIND--THE RELATION OF -ADAM TO HIS POSTERITY--THE FALL OF MAN--ORIGINAL SIN. - - -The grand theatre of probation is this earth, and its chief subject -the human race. The probation of the angels was completed almost -instantaneously, and their transit to an immutable state followed -almost immediately on their creation. The probation of the human race -is long and complicated, diversified and extensive; and by it the most -magnificent exhibition is made of the principle of merit. It has also -this peculiarity that mankind were created, not merely as individuals, -each with his distinct probation, but also as a race; and that the -whole race had a probation at its origin, in the person of its -progenitor. It is our present task to unfold the Catholic doctrine -concerning the nature and results of this original probation of the -collective human race in the first epoch of its creation. - -The Catholic doctrine teaches, in the first place, that the entire -human race, at present inhabiting the globe, is one; not merely in -being conformed to one archetype, but also in being descended by -generation from one common progenitor, that is, from Adam. - -That this is distinctly affirmed in the book of Genesis, which the -Catholic Church receives as a portion of the inspired Scripture, -according to the obvious and literal sense of the words, is not -questioned by any one. It is only necessary, therefore, to show that -this obvious and literal sense is proposed by the authority of the -Catholic Church as the true sense. That is, that it is an essential -portion of Catholic doctrine, that God created at first one pair of -human beings, Adam and Eve, from whom all mankind are descended. - -It seems evident enough that the archaic records, in which the history -of the creation of man is contained, were understood in this sense by -those who transmitted them from the beginning of human history, and -who first committed them to writing; and by Moses, who incorporated -them into the book of Genesis. This was the traditional sense -universally received among the Jews, as is manifest from all the -monuments of tradition. It is also the sense which is reaffirmed in -the other sacred and canonical books which follow those of Moses, -wherever they allude to the subject. For instance: "Who knoweth if the -spirit of the _children of Adam_ ascend upward." [Footnote 154] "Seth -and Sem obtained glory among men: _and above every soul, Adam in the -beginning_," [Footnote 155] - - [Footnote 154: Eccles. iii. 21.] - - [Footnote 155: Eccles. xlix. 19.] - -The similar traditions of heathen nations are well known. The Sacred -writers of the New Testament use the same explicit language. The -genealogy of Jesus in St. Luke's gospel closes thus: "Who was of -Henos, who was of Seth, _who was of Adam, who was of God_." St. Paul -affirms repeatedly and emphatically: "By _one man_ sin entered into -this world, and by sin death:" "by _the offence of one_ many have -died:" "the judgment indeed was _by one_ unto condemnation:" "by _one -man's offence_ death reigned through one:" "by the offence of _one_, -unto _all men_ to condemnation:" "for as _by the disobedience of one -man, many were made sinners;_ {520} so also, by the obedience of one, -many shall be made just." [Footnote 156] These passages are plainly -dogmatic, and teach the relation of all men to Adam, as an essential -portion of the dogma of original sin. The whole force of the parallel -between Adam and Christ depends, also, on the individual personality -of the former, and his relation to all mankind without exception, as -their head and representative. The same parallel reappears in another -epistle: "For by a man came death, and by a man the resurrection of -the dead. And as in Adam all die, so also in Christ all shall be made -alive." "_The first man Adam_ was made a living soul; the last Adam a -quickening spirit. But not first that which is spiritual, but that -which is animal; afterward that which is spiritual. The first man was -of the earth, earthly; the second man from heaven, heavenly. Such as -is the earthly, such also are the earthly; and such as is the -heavenly, such also are they that are heavenly. Therefore as we have -borne the image of the earthly, let us bear also the image of the -heavenly." [Footnote 157] - - [Footnote 156: St. Luke iii, 38. Rom. v. 12-19.] - - [Footnote 157: I Cor. xv. 21, 22, 35-49.] - -These passages all present the fact of the original creation of -mankind in one pair from whom all men are descended in an intimate and -essential relation with Christian doctrine, especially with the dogma -of original sin. It is, therefore, necessary to regard it as a -dogmatic fact, or a fact pertaining to the essence of the revealed -truth, which the sacred writers taught with infallibility under the -influence of divine inspiration. So it has been always regarded in the -church, and is now held by the unanimous consent of theologians. It is -also incorporated into the solemn definitions of faith. - -The canons of the second council of Milevis, and of the plenary -council of Carthage, A.D. 418, against the Pelagians, contain the -following definitions: - -_Can_. 1. Placuit, ut quicunqae dicit, _Adam primum hominem_ mortalem -factum, ita, ut sive peccaret, sive non peccaret, moreretur in -corpore, hoc est de corpore exiret, non peccati merito, sed -necessitate naturae, anathema sit. - -_Can_. 2. Item placuit, ut quicumque parvulos recentes ab uteris -matrum baptizandos negat, aut dicit in remissionem quidem peccatorum -eos baptizari, sed nihil ex Adam trahere originalis peccati, quod -regenerationis lavacro expietur, unde sit consequens, ut in eis forma -baptismatis in remissionem peccatorum non vera, sed falsa -intelligatur, anathema sit: quoniam non aliter intelligendum est quod -ait Apostolus: Per unum hominem peccatum intravit in mundum, et per -peccatum mors, et ita in omnes homines pertransiit, in quo omnes -peccaverunt: nisi quemadmodum ecclesia catholica ubique diffusa semper -intellexit. - -"_Can_. 1. It was decreed, that whoever says that _Adam, the first -man_, was made mortal, so that, whether he sinned or did not sin, he -should die in the body, that is, depart from the body, not by the -merit of sin, but by the necessity of nature, should be under the ban. - -"_Can_. 2. It was also decreed, that whosoever denies that new-born -infants are to be baptized, or says that they are to be indeed -baptized for the remission of since, but derive no original sin _from -Adam_, which can be expiated in the laver of regeneration whence it -follows that in them the form of baptism is understood to be not true, -but false, should be under the ban; since that is not otherwise to be -understood which the apostle says: 'By one man sin entered into the -world, and death by sin, and so it passed upon all men, in whom all -have sinned;' _except as the Catholic Church everywhere diffused has -always understood it_." - -These canons, although not in active by ecumenical councils, were -nevertheless approved by Popes Innocent I. and Zosimus, by them -promulgated to the universal church and ratified by {521} the consent -of the whole body of bishops; so that they are justly included among -the final and irreversible decisions of the Catholic Church. The -second of these canons was also reenacted by the Council of Trent, -which defined in the clearest terms the dogma of original sin as -derived from the sin of Adam, the head of the human race. - -1. Si quis non confitetur, _primum hominem Adam_, mandatum Dei in -paradiso fuisset transgressus, statim sanctitatem, etc., amisisse: A. -S. - -2. Si quis Adae prevaricationem sibi soli, non ejus propagini, asserit -nocuisse . . . . aut inquinatum illum per inobedientiae peccatum, -mortem et poenas corporis tantum in omne genus humanum transfudisse, -non autem et peccatum, quod est mors animae: A. S. cum contradicit -Apostolo dicenti: Per unum hominem peccatum intravit in mundum, etc. - -3. Si quis _hoc Adae peccatum, quod origine unum est_, et -propagatione, non imitatione, _transfusum omnibus_, inest cuique -proprium . . . . per aliud remedium asserit tolli, etc.: A. S. - -"1. If any one does not confess that _the first man Adam_, when he had -transgressed the commandment of God in Paradise, immediately lost -sanctity, etc., let him be under the ban. - -"2. If any one asserts that the prevarication of Adam injured himself -alone, and not his posterity . . . . or that he, being defiled by the -sin of disobedience, transmitted death and the pains of the body only -to the whole human race, but not also sin, which is the death of the -soul, let him be under the ban: since he contradicts the apostle, who -says: By one man sin entered into the world, etc. - -"3. If any one asserts that this sin of Adam, which in origin is one, -and being transferred into all by propagation, not by imitation, -exists in each one as his own . . . . is taken away by any other -remedy, etc, let him be under the ban." - -All these decrees affirm positively that the whole human race without -exception are involved in one common original sin, springing from one -transgression committed by the first man Adam, and transmitted from -him by generation. The dogma of original sin rests, therefore, on the -fact that all mankind are descended from one first man Adam, and is -subverted, if this fact is denied. An allegorical interpretation of -the sacred history of Genesis, according to which Adam and Eve are -taken to symbolize the progenitors of several distinct human species, -cannot be admitted as tenable, in accordance with the Catholic faith. -For, in this hypothesis, the different human races had each a distinct -probation, a separate destiny, a separate fall, and are therefore not -involved in one common original sin, but each one in the sin of its -own progenitor. This doctrine of original sin, namely, that a number -of Adams sinned, and that each one transmitted his sin to his own -progeny, so that every man is born in an original sin derived from -some one of the various primeval men, is essentially different from -the Catholic doctrine as clearly taught by Scripture and tradition, -and defined by the authority of the church. Moreover, the unity and -individuality of Adam, as the sole progenitor of the human race, is -distinctly affirmed in the decrees just cited, and in all the -subsequent decrees concerning the primitive state of man which have -emanated from the Holy See, and are received by the universal church. -We must consider, therefore, the doctrine of the unity of the human -race as pertaining to the faith. Perrone affirms this, in these words: -"Prop. II. Universum humanum genus ab Adam omnium protoparente -propagatium est. Haec propositio spectat ad fidem; huic enim innititur -dogma de propagatione peccati originalis." "The entire human race has -been propagated from Adam the first parent of all. This proposition -pertains to faith; for upon it rests the dogma of the propagation of -original sin." [Footnote 158] - - [Footnote 158: Perrone, Prael. Theil. De Him. Creat.] - -{522} - -Bishop Lynch, of Charleston, who is not only one of the most learned -of our theologians, but a man profoundly versed in the physical -sciences, in a very able and interesting lecture recently delivered in -New York, thus speaks on this matter: - -"Some nowadays, disregarding all that Holy Scripture teaches us -concerning the origin of man, or treating it as a myth and fable, -referring at most only to the Caucasian race, pretend that America had -her own special Adam and Eve, or, as they think more probable, quite a -number of them contemporaneously or successively in different -localities. - -"I shall not here undertake to discuss this last opinion, _ventured -certainly against the teachings of divine revelation_, and, as I -conceive, no less against the soundest principles of philosophy, of -comparative anatomy, of philology, and of natural history. I will -assume it as an established and accepted truth, that God made all -nations of one blood." [Footnote 159] - - [Footnote 159: Lecture by the Rt. Rev. P. N. Lynch, D.D., on America - before Columbus. Reported in the New York Tablet.] - -The only point we have been endeavoring to make, that the doctrine of -the unity of the race pertains to essential Catholic doctrine, is, we -think, fairly made. The scientific refutation of the contrary -hypothesis is a work most desirable, in our opinion, but one requiring -a degree of scientific knowledge which the author does not possess. It -is a work, also, which could be accomplished only by an extensive -treatise. The judgment of the distinguished author just cited may be -taken, however, as a summing up of the verdict of a great body of -scientific men, given on scientific grounds, in favor of the doctrine -of the unity of the race. The contrary doctrine is mere hypothesis, -which no man can possibly pretend to demonstrate. It cannot, -therefore, be brought out to oppose the revealed Catholic doctrine. -Hypothesis even when supported by a certain amount of scientific -probability, is not science. Real science is indubitably certain. -There cannot, therefore, ever arise a real contradiction between -science and revelation. Science will never contradict revelation, and -revelation does not contradict any part of science which is already -known or ever will become known. We are not, however, to hold our -belief in revealed truths in abeyance, until their perfect agreement -with scientific truths is demonstrated. Nor are we to tolerate mere -hypotheses and probable opinions in science when they are contrary to -truths known by revelation, because they cannot be demonstrated to be -false on purely scientific grounds. - -There are only two real difficulties to be encountered in the solution -of the scientific problem. One is, the difficulty of accounting for -the variations In type, language, etc., between different families of -the human race within the commonly received historic period. The other -is the difficulty of explaining certain discoveries in the historical -monuments of Egypt, and certain geological discoveries of the remains -of man or human works, in accordance with the same period. Yet has -been justly and acutely remarked by a recent British writer on this -subject, that the objections made under this second head, if they are -sufficient to establish the necessity of admitting a longer -chronology, destroy the objections under the first head. Given a -longer time for these changes, and the difficulty of supposing them to -be real variations from a unique type vanishes. The chronological -difficulties under the second head are of two classes. One class -relates to the history of well-known post-diluvian nations, whose -historical records have been discovered, indicating a longer period -than the one commonly reckoned between the age of Noah and that of -Moses. The other relates to tribes or individuals about whom nothing -is known historically, but to whom geological evidence assigns a -higher antiquity than that commonly allowed {523} to the epoch of the -creation of man. Now, these difficulties in no way tend to impugn the -doctrine of the unity of the race, but merely the chronology of the -history of the race from the ethics of the creation of the first man, -which has been commonly supposed to be established by the authority of -Scripture. If this last supposition may be classed among theological -opinions not pertaining to essential Catholic doctrine, and we may be -permitted, _salva fide et auctoritate Ecclesiae_, to admit a -chronology long enough to satisfy these claims of a higher antiquity -for man, all difficulty vanishes. One thing is certain, that if the -inspired books of Moses did originally contain an exact chronology of -human history from Adam to the Exodus of Israel, we cannot now -ascertain within fifteen hundred years what it was, since there is -that amount of variation between the Hebrew and Greek copies. The -weight of probability is decidedly in favor of the Septuagint, which -gives the longer chronology. Yet, it is impossible to explain how the -variation between the Septuagint and the Hebrew, and the variation of -the Samaritan version from both, arose. The great essential facts -pertaining to religious doctrine have been handed down by Scripture -and tradition in their unimpaired integrity. We are bound to believe -that the providence of God watched over their transmission, and -protected them from any designed or accidental alteration. Some -general principles and data of chronology are included in this -essential history, which is guaranteed by inspiration and the -authority of the church. Nevertheless, these chronological data are -manifestly so incomplete and imperfect, that a precise and accurate -chronological system cannot be deduced from them. So far as it is -possible to form a chronological system at all, it must be done by the -help of all the collateral evidence we can find, This evidence, so far -as we are aware, does not tend to establish, with a high degree of -probability, an epoch of creation more than a few thousand years -earlier than the common one of 4,000 years before Christ. This is -certainly true of the historical records of Egypt, the principal -source of new light on the ancient historical epochs. We are warranted -by the Septuagint in adding fifteen hundred years to the common -period. It is only, however, on critical and historical grounds that -the Septuagint has greater authority on this point than the Hebrew, -and not as having a higher sanction. For the Hebrew is the original -and authentic Scripture, and the authorized Latin Version follows it, -and not the Greek. If we can admit, then, a chronology longer by -fifteen hundred years than the one contained in the received text, on -historical grounds, why not one still longer, if sound historical -evidence demands it? Supposing that the Scripture originally did -contain a complete and infallible system of chronology, it is evident -that the key to it was lost many ages ago; and we can just as easily -suppose that the discrepancy between the Mosaic chronology as it now -stands and the chronology of the Egyptian records has arisen by the -same causes which produced the discrepancy of the Hebrew and Greek -texts, as we can assign causes why so great a discrepancy should arise -at all, and reconcile this with the reverence due to the sacred books. -[Footnote 160] This is a matter which needs to be more thoroughly -discussed than it has been, by theologians who are fully acquainted -with the subject, before we can lay down positively a principle upon -which to solve the difficulty. We reject, however, as unprovable and -untenable, all theories which throw the antiquity of man back to an -epoch of vast remoteness, and assign hundreds or {524} thousands of -centuries to a prehistoric period, of which no records remain. It is -on geological discoveries solely that this hypothesis is based. At -present it is only a conjecture, founded on the fact that human -remains have been found of a greater antiquity than those formerly -known, whence it is concluded that they may hereafter be discovered of -a greater antiquity still. We may safely wait for geology itself to -clear up the obscurity at present existing in regard to this matter, -and to set right, as science invariably does, the early and hasty -conjectures of its own votaries. Whichever way the matter may be -settled, the fossil remains of human skeletons or human works will be -assignable either to a period not too remote to be included in the -historic period, or to one so remote that it must be excluded from it. -In the first case, there is no difficulty. In the second, nothing is -established from which the falsity of our thesis can be demonstrated. -Our thesis is, that the present human race now inhabiting the earth is -descended from one man, Adam. When there is any very probable evidence -presented that another and distinct species, having a physical -organization like that of the human race, once existed on the earth, -from which it has become extinct, it will be time to examine that -theory. For the present we are concerned with Adam only and his race; -to which both our readers and ourselves have but too conclusive -evidence that we all belong. [Footnote 161] - - [Footnote 160: Archbishop Manning says: "No system of chronology is - laid down in the sacred books. There are at least three - chronologies, probable and admissible, apparently given by Holy - Scripture. It cannot be said, therefore, that there are - chronological faults in Holy Scripture, forasmuch as no ascertained - chronology is there declared."--Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost, - p. 171, American edition.] - - [Footnote 161: The Gentle Skeptic, by Rev. C.A. Walworth, now pastor - of St. Mary's Church Albany, treats of several topics, here noticed - in a cursory manner. This work is the result of several years close - and accurate study in theology and science. It has, therefore, the - solidity and elaborate finish of a work executed with care and - diligence by one who is both a strong thinker and a sound scholar. - In style it is a model of classic elegance and purity, and in every - respect it deserves a place among the best works of English Catholic - literature. The author has broke ground in a field of investigation - which it is imperative on Catholic scientific men to work up - thoroughly. The entire change which has taken place in the attitude - of science toward revealed religion within a few years, and the - doctrines of science themselves, makes the old works written on the - connection between religion and science to a great degree useless. - The subject needs to be taken up afresh, and handled in a manner - adequate to the present intellectual wants of the age.] - -We have now to consider what Catholic doctrine teaches of that state -in which the first parents of the human race were constituted at their -creation. Briefly, it is this: that this was a supernatural state of -sanctity and justice, in which were contained, or with which were -connected, the gift of integrity, or immunity from concupiscence, the -gift of science, and the gift of corporeal immortality. - -That man was created in sanctity and justice is affirmed as _de fide_ -by the decree of the Council of Trent, a part of which is cited above, -in which Adam is declared "to have lost immediately the _sanctity and -justice in which he had been constituted:_" "statim sanctitatem et -justitiam in quo constitutus fuerat amisisse." That he possessed -integrity is proved by the same decree, which declares that by the -fall he was "changed _as to his body and soul into something worse_:" -"secundum corpus et animam in deterius commutatum fuisse." That he -possessed science is proved by the declaration of the book of -Ecclesiasticus: "Disciplina intellectus replevit illos. Creavit illis -scientiam spiritus:" "He filled them with the knowledge of -understanding. He created in them the science of the spirit." -[Footnote 162] This is explained and corroborated by the traditional -teachings of all the fathers and great theologians of the church. His -immunity from death is proved by the decrees above cited and others -familiar to all. - - [Footnote 162: Ecclus. xvii. 5, 6.] - -It is shown to be the Catholic doctrine that these gifts were -supernatural, by the condemnation of the contrary doctrine by the Holy -See. The following theses of Baius, one of the precursors of -Jansenism, were condemned by Pius V. and Gregory XIII.: - -"21. Humanae naturae sublimatio et exaltatio in consortium divinae -naturae, debita fuit integritati primae conditionis, et non -supernaturalis; 26. Integritas primae creationis non fuit indebita -humanae naturae exaltatio, sed {525} naturalis ejus conditio; 55. Deus -non potuisset ab initio talem creare hominem qualis nunc nascitur; 78. -Immortalitas primi hominis non erat gratiae beneficium, sed naturalis -conditio; 79. Falsa est doctorum sententia primum hominem potuisse a -Deo creari et institui sine justitia natarali." Clement XI., in the -Bull _Unigenitus_, also condemned the following proposition, the 33rd -of Quesnel: "Gratia Adami est sequela creationis et erat debita -naturae sanae et integrae." - -"21. The elevation and exaltation of human an nature into the -fellowship of the divine nature was due to the integrity of its first -condition, and is therefore to be called natural and not supernatural; -26. The integrity of the primal creation was not an exaltation of -human nature which was not due to it, but its natural condition; 55. -God could not have created man from the beginning such as he is now -born; 78. The immortality of the first man was not a benefit of grace, -but his natural condition; 79. The opinion of doctors is false, that -the first man could have been created and instituted by God without -natural justice (righteousness.") 33d of Quesnel: "The grace of Adam -is a sequel of creation, and was due to sound and integral nature." - -It is plain from the decisions which have been quoted, and from the -consentient doctrine of all Catholic doctors, that the Catholic -doctrine is: that the state of original sanctity and integrity did not -flow from the intrinsic, essential principles of human nature, and was -not due to it, but was a free gift of grace superadded to nature, that -is, supernatural. We do not, however, censure the opinion held by some -sound Catholic writers, that congruity, order, or the fitness of -things, exacts that supernatural grace be always given to rational -nature. It is our own opinion, already clearly enough insinuated, -that, although the completion and perfection of the universe does -exact that a supernatural order should be constituted, it does not -exact the elevation of all rational species or individuals to this -order. This opinion appears to be more in accordance with the obvious -sense of the decrees just cited. It is also the opinion of St. Thomas, -and, after him, of the more prevalent school of theology. St. Thomas -thus expresses himself upon this point: "Poterat Deus, a principio -quando hominem condidit, etiam alium hominem ex limo terrae formare, -quem in conditione suae naturae relinqueret, ut scilicet mortalis et -passibilis esset et pugnam concupiscentiae ad rationem sentiens, in -quo nihil humanae naturae derogaretur, quia hoc ex principiis naturae -consequitur; non tamen iste defectus in eo rationem culpae et poenae -habuisset, quia non per voluntatem iste defectus causatus esset." "God -could have formed, from the beginning when he created man, also -another man from the dust of the earth, whom he might have left in the -condition of his own nature, that is, so that he would have been -mortal and passible, and would have felt the conflict of concupiscence -against reason, in which there would have been nothing derogatory to -human nature, because this follows from the principles of nature; -nevertheless this defect in him would not have had the quality of sin -and punishment, because this defect would not have been caused by the -will." [Footnote 163] - - [Footnote 163: 2 Sentent., Dist. 31, qu. 1, ant. 2 ad 8. ] - -The sanctifying grace conferred upon Adam is very clearly shown, -according to this view, to have been a pure and perfectly gratuitous -boon from God, to which human nature, as such, could have no claim -whatever, even of congruity. - -The nature of the probation of the father of mankind is now easily -explained. He received a gratuitous gift on conditions, and these -conditions were the matter of his probation. Our scope and limits do -not admit of a minute discussion of the particular circumstances of -the trial and fall of Adam in Paradise. The point to be considered is -the relation in which {526} Adam stood to all mankind his posterity in -his trial, transgession, and condemnation. The Catholic dogma of faith -on this head is clearly defined and unmistakable. The whole human race -was tried, fell, and was condemned, in the trial, fall, and -condemnation of Adam. It is needless to cite again the passages of -Holy Scripture and the decisions of the church which establish this -fundamental doctrine of Christianity. The only question to be -discussed is, What is the real sense and meaning of the doctrine? How -did all mankind sin in Adam, and by his transgression incur the -condemnation of death? What is the nature of that original sin in -which we are born? - -One theory is that the sin of Adam is arbitrarily imputed to his -posterity. As a punishment for this imputed sin, they are born -depraved, with an irresistible propensity to sin, and under the doom -of eternal misery. The statement of this theory is its best -refutation. Very few hold it now, and we may safely leave to -Protestant writers the task of demonstrating its absurdity. - -Another theory is, that all human wills were included in the will of -Adam, so that they all concurred with his will in the original -transgression. [Footnote 164] - - [Footnote 164: We refer the reader to the argument of Candace in - Mrs. Stowe's Minister's Wooing, for a humorous but unanswerable - reputation of the ancient Calvinistic doctrine of original sin.] - -We find some difficulty in comprehending this statement. Did we all -have a distinct existence, and enjoy a deliberative and decisive vote -when the important question of human destiny was decided? If so, the -unanimity of the judgment, and the total oblivion which has fallen -upon us all, respecting our share in it and our whole subsequent -existence, until a very recent period, are very remarkable phenomena -which we have never seen adequately accounted for. The only other -alternative is that of indistinct existence or virtual existence. That -is, that the power of generating souls was in Adam, and that all human -souls are actually derived from his soul by generation. Suppose they -are. A father who has lost an organ or a limb does not necessarily -transmit this defect to his posterity. Even if he does transmit some -defect which he has contracted by his own fault to his son, that son -is not to blame for it. If the principle of all souls was in Adam, -virtually, their personality, which is the principle of imputability, -commences only with there are distinct existence. Personality is -incommunicable. An individual soul cannot communicate with another in -the principle of identity, from which all imputability of acts, all -accountability, all possibility of moral relations, proceeds. This -notion of the derivation of souls, one from another, or from a common -soul-reservoir, is, however, one perfectly inconceivable, and contrary -to the plainest principles of philosophy. Substance is simple and -indivisible. Spirit, which is the most perfect substance, contains, -therefore, in its essence the most manifest contradiction to all -notion of composition, resolution, division, or separation of parts. -The substance of Adam's soul was completely in his own individual -intelligence and will. The notion of any other souls deriving their -substance from his soul is therefore wholly without out meeting. There -is no conceivable way in which spirit can produce spirit, except by -creation, and act to which created spirit is incompetent. - -There remains, therefore only the doctrine, which is that of Catholic -theology, that the human species is corporeally propagated by means of -generation, and was therefore, in this respect only, virtually in -Adam; but that each individual soul is immediately created by God, and -comes into the generic and specific relations of humanity through its -union in one integral personality with the body. How, then, can each -individual soul become involved in a original sin? Does God create it -sinful? This cannot be; and if it could it would not be the sin of -Adam, or the sin of the race, but its own personal sin. The soul as it -comes from the hand of God cannot be sinful in act. {527} The only -possible supposition remaining is, that the soul contracts sin from -contact or union with the body. Here the Calvinist, the Jensenist, or -any other who maintains that original sin consists in positive -deprivation of the soul's essence, or in habitual moral perversity, or -determination of the will to sin, is in a position where he cannot -move a step forward. How can _soul_ be corrupted by body? How has the -innocent soul deserved to be thrust into a body by which it must be -polluted? These questions will never receive an answer. Nor will any -credible or rational method of vindicating the doctrine that all men -are born totally and positively depraved, or with a nature in any -respect essentially evil, on account of Adam's sin, ever be -discovered. The doctrine is utterly incredible and unthinkable, and -will no doubt ere long have a place only in the history of past -errors. - -The way is now clear for the exposition of the Catholic doctrine -respecting the mutual relations of Adam and his posterity in the -original probation, trial, and fall of the human race immediately -after its creation. That probation of Adam, in which the human race -was included, must not be understood as including the entire personal -probation either of himself or of his descendants. His own probation -lasted during his lifetime, and so does that of each individual man. -Had he been faithful in that particular trial which is related in the -first chapter of Genesis, it is probable that, although the special -privileges whose perpetuation depended on it would certainly have then -secured to the race, he himself would have had a longer personal -trial. So also, if the progeny of Adam had been confirmed in the -perpetual possession of the privileges of the primeval state, each -individual of the human race would have had a probation of his own, -affecting his own personal destiny alone. Although each one of us -would have been conceived and born in the state of original grace and -integrity, as the Blessed Virgin was by a special privilege, as soon -as the actual exercise of reason became completely developed, a period -of probation would have commenced, in which we should have been liable -to fail, as we are now after receiving grace through baptism. - -The probation of the human race in Adam was, therefore, a special -probation, on which the possession in perpetuity of certain -supernatural privileges, freely and gratuitously conceded to the race, -was alone dependent. The merely personal consequences of the sin of -Adam and Eve affected themselves alone individually. That is, the -guilt of an actual transgression with the necessary personal -consequences following from it attached to them alone, and we have -nothing to do with it, any more than with any other sins committed by -our intermediate progenitors. The father of the human race did not -act, however, in a merely individual capacity in this transaction. He -was the federal head and representative of the race. A trust was -committed to him in behalf of all mankind, and this trust was the -great gift of original sanctity and justice, the high dignity of -supernatural affiliation to God, the glorious title to the kingdom of -heaven. By his sin he forfeited this gift in trust, both for himself -as an individual, and also for his descendants who were to have -inherited it from him. There is no ground for asking the question, why -it followed that Adam, having fallen, should transmit a fallen nature -by generation to his posterity. This question is only asked on the -supposition that fallen nature is a nature essentially changed and -depraved, whereas it is really a nature which has fallen from a -supernatural height back to its own proper condition. With all due -respect to the eminent writers who have attempted to answer this -question, we must be allowed to say that we cannot attach any definite -meaning to their answer. {528} Adam, they say, having a fallen nature, -could only transmit the nature which he had. All humanity was in him -when he sinned, and therefore humanity as generic having fallen into -sin, each individual who participates by conception in generic -humanity participates in its sin, or is conceived in original sin. -This language may be used and understood in a true sense; but in its -literal sense, and as it is very generally understood, it has no -meaning. It is derived from the extravagant and unintelligible realism -of William of Champeaux, and some other schoolmen, according to which -humanity as a genus has a real and positive entity, like the great -animal _in se_ of Plato, from whom all particular animals receive -their entity. These notions have long since become obsolete, and it is -useless to refute them. The The human genus or species was completely -in Adam, but it was not distinct from his individuality; rather it was -completely in his individuality constituting it in its own generic or -specific grade of existence, as the individuality of a man. Humanity -is also completely in every other human individual. This humanity, -constituting the specific essence of Adam, as a man, was identical -with his existence, for existence is only metaphysical essence reduced -to act. It could not be essentially changed without destroying his -human existence. Whatever is contained in _humanitas_ must have -remained in him after the fall, otherwise he would no longer have -remained a man, or indeed have continued to exist at all. It is only -this _humanitas_ or specific essence of human nature, that Adam had -any natural power to reproduce by generation. He could not have lost -the power of transmitting it by the fall, except by losing altogether -the power of reproducing his species. The immediate, physical effect -of generation is merely the production of the life-germ, from which -the body is developed under the formative action of a soul, created -immediately by God. The only depravation or corruption of nature, -therefore, which is physically possible, or which can be supposed to -follow by a necessary law from the corruption of nature in Adam, is a -corruption or degeneracy in in this life-germ, through which a -defective or degenerate body is produced. This opinion has then long -ago condemned by the church. It is, moreover, contrary to science. The -human animal is perfect as an animal, and although there is accidental -degeneracy in individuals, there is no generic or specific degeneracy -of the race from it's essential type. But supposing that a defective -body were the necessary consequence of Adam's sin, a defective soul -could not be. The parent does not concur to the creation of the soul -of his offspring, except as an cause. God creates the soul, and he -cannot create a human soul without creating it in conformity to the -metaphysical archetype of soul in his own idea, and therefore having -the essence on soul completely in itself. How, then, can the infusion -of this soul into a body which is physically degenerate make it -unworthy of that degree of the love of God and of that felicity, which -it is worthy of intrinsically, and apart from its union with the body? - -There is no law in nature by virtue of which Adam must or could -transmit anything essentially more than human nature before the fall, -or essentially less after the fall. The law by which he was entitled -to transmit privileges or gifts additional to nature on condition of -is fulfilling the terms of God's covenant with him was therefore a -positive law; why those human laws which enable man to transmit with -their blood property, titles of nobility, or the hereditary right to a -crown. These privileges may be forfeited, by the crime of an -individual in whom they are vested, for himself and for his posterity. -They may be forfeited for posterity, because they are not natural -rights. In the same manner, the supernatural gifts conferred on Adam -were forfeited for the human race by his sin, because they were {529} -not natural rights, or _debita naturae_, but gratuitous gifts to which -Adam's posterity had do hereditary right, except that derived from the -sovereign concession of God, and conceded only in a conditional -manner. This conditional right could only be perfected by the -obedience of Adam to the precept of the Almighty forbidding him to eat -of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. As he failed -to obey this precept, his posterity never acquired a perfect right to -the gifts of supernatural grace through him. By virtue, therefore, of -our descent from him, we possess nothing but human nature and those -things which naturally belong to it; we are born in the state in which -Adam would have been placed at the beginning if God had created him in -the state of pure nature. - -We do not stand, therefore, before God, by virtue of our conception -and birth from the first parents of mankind, in the attitude of -personal offenders or voluntary transgressors of his law. Our -essential relation to God as rational creatures is not broken. Our -nature is essentially good, and capable of attaining all the good -which can be evolved from its intrinsic principles; that is, all -natural knowledge, virtue, and felicity. That which is immediately -created by God must be essentially good. A spirit is essentially -intelligence and will, and therefore good in respect to both, or -capable of thinking the truth and willing the good. Moreover, it is a -certain philosophical truth that when God creates a spirit he must -create it in act, or that the activity of the spirit is coeval with -its existence. The first act or state of a spirit, as it precedes all -reflection, deliberation, or choice, and flows necessarily from the -creative act of God himself, is determined by him, and must therefore -be good. The acts which follow, either follow necessarily from the -first, or are the product of free deliberation. In the first case, -they are necessarily good; and in the second they may be good, -otherwise they would be necessarily evil, which is contrary to the -supposition that they are free. The human soul being in its essence -spirit, and incapable of being corrupted by the body, must therefore -be essentially good at the moment when it attains the full exercise of -reason and of the faculty of free choice. If so, it is capable of -apprehending by its intelligence and choosing by its will that which -is good, and cannot, therefore, come into the state of actual sin or -become a personal transgressor except by a free and deliberate purpose -to violate the eternal law, with full power to the contrary. It may -exercise this power to the contrary by a correct judgment, a right -volition, and thus attains the felicity which is the necessary -consequence of acting rationally and conscientiously. So far as this -is possible to mere unassisted nature, it may continue to put forth a -series of acts of this kind during the whole period of its earthly -existence. That is to say, it is capable of attaining all the good -which can be evolved from its intrinsic principles, or all natural -knowledge, virtue, and felicity. This is equivalent to saying, that it -can have a natural knowledge and love of God, as is affirmed by the -best theologians with the sanction of the church. For Pius V. has -condemned the following proposition, the 34th of Baius: "Distinctio -illa duplicis amoris, naturalis videlicet quo Deus amatur ut auctor -naturae, et gratuiti quo Deus amatur ut beatificator, vana est et -commentitia et ad illudendum sacris litteris et plurimis veterum -testimoniis excogitata." "The distinction of a twofold love, namely, -natural, by which God is loved as the author of nature, and -gratuitous, by which God is loved as the beatifier, is vain and -futile, and invented for the purpose of evading that which is taught -by the Holy Scriptures and by many testimonies of the ancient -writers." [Footnote 165] It would be easy to multiply proofs that the -doctrine of man's capability of moral virtue, from the intrinsic {530} -principles of here's nature, is the genuine Catholic doctrine. -[Footnote 166] This is not necessary, however, at present. - - [Footnote 165: Denziger's Enchirid., p. 305.] - - [Footnote 166: See Aspirations of Nature by Rev. I. T. Hecker, - passim.] - -We proceed to another point, namely, How it is that mankind can be -said to be born in original sin, when they are innocent of all -personal and actual sin at the time of birth? The state in which -Adam's posterity are born, and which is denominated the state of -original sin, considered subjectively, is a state of privation of -supernatural grace and integrity. If man had been created for a -natural destiny, this state of inhability to the supernatural would -not have been a state of sin. If he had been created in the state in -which he is now born, as a preparatory state to the state of grace, to -be endowed at a subsequent period with supernatural gifts, it would -not have been a state of sin. Entitively it would have been the same -state as that in which he is now born. It would not have been a state -of sin, because the state of sin receives its denomination from a -voluntary transgression which produces it. The particular notion of -sin is an aversion from God as the supreme good produced by the -voluntary election of an inferior good in his place. The posterity of -Adam are born in a state of habitual aversion from God as the supreme -good in the supernatural order, which is the consequence of the -original sin of Adam. Since they virtually possessed a right to be -born in the state of grace and integrity, which was forfeited by his -sin, the state of privation in which they are born, relatively to -their original ideal condition and to the transgression by which they -were degraded from it, is properly denominated a state of sin. This is -incurred by each individual soul through its connection with the body -which descends from our first parents by generation, because it is -this infusion into a human body which constitutes it a member of the -human race. As a member of the human race, and by virtue of his -descent from Adam, each individual man participates in all the generic -relations of the race. If Adam had not sinned, he would have received -by inheritance from from him a high dignity and great possessions, -transmitted to him through the blood; as the case is, he is born -disinherited. There is no injustice or unkindness in this; because the -rights which have been forfeited were not rights involved in the -concession of rational existence itself, but rights gratuitously -conceded on certain conditions, and because no personal blame is -imputed where none exists. The illustration so often employed by -theologians of a nobleman who has suffered attainder is perfectly apt -to the case. His posterity are born under an attainder, which in human -law corresponds to original sin under the divine law, and are thus -placed in a state of privation; relatively to that condition of -nobility which was formerly hereditary in the family; but which in -itself is an honest condition. In the eye of the law, their father's -crime makes them incapable of the privileges of nobility, but it does -not deprive them of the common rights of private subjects. - -So the children of Adam, on account of his sin, inherit a disability -to possess the nobility of the state of grace and to inherit the -kingdom of heaven. This disability is inherent in the person son of -each one, and therefore "_inest euique proprium_." It is a separation -from God incurred by the transgression of Adam, who represented the -human race in his trial, and therefore is truly and properly sin. It -is a privation of grace which is the supernatural life of the soul, -and is therefore properly called death, or "_mors animae_." The -"_reatus culpae_" is the obligation of being born in a state of -relative degradation, and the "_reatus poenae_" the obligation of -undergoing the conflicts, sufferings, and death which belong to the -state of despoiled nature, as well as submitting to the sentence of -exclusion from the kingdom of God. By it, human nature has been -changed into something worse as to soul and body, {531} "_in deterius -mulatur quoad corpus et animam_," because it is now deprived of -integrity, immortality, and sanctifying grace. Nevertheless this state -is essentially the same with that which would have been the state of -man if he had been created in the state of pure nature. Man in the -state of lapsed nature differs from man in the state of pure nature, -as Perrone says, only as _nudatus_ from _nudo_, one denuded from one -always nude. This is original sin, which consists formally, as St. -Thomas teaches, in the privation of sanctifying grace and the other -gratuitous gifts perfecting nature which depended on it. Mankind, -therefore, by the sin of Adam, have simply fallen back on the state of -pure nature, and are born with those attributes and qualities only -which are contained in human nature by virtue of its intrinsic -principles. To understand, therefore, the condition, capabilities, and -ultimate destiny of man, apart from the grace which comes through the -Redeemer, we have simply to inquire into the essence of these -intrinsic principles, and ascertain what man is, simply as man, where -he can do, and what is the end he can attain by his earthly life. - -Man, as to his rational nature, is in the lowest grade of rational -creatures. Except under very favorable circumstances, his intelligence -is very imperfectly developed, and so far as it is developed it is -chiefly employed in perfecting his merely exterior and social life. -Under the most favorable circumstances his progress is slow, his -capacity of contemplating purely intellectual and spiritual objects -weak and limited. As to his body, he is also frail and delicate, and -naturally liable to death. Moreover, there is in his constitution, as -a being composed of soul and body, a certain contrariety of natural -impulses, one set of impulses inclining him to rational good, the -other to sensible or animal good. Like the inferior animals, he is -capable of an improvement of his species up to a certain point which -cannot be fixed, and also liable to a degeneracy which brings, him -down to a state little above that of the brutes, and even to idiocy. -There are indications enough in his soul of a latent capacity for a -much higher and more exalted state, to make it certain that his -present condition is one of merely inchoate existence, and that he is -destined to a future life in which these latent capacities will be -developed in a more perfect corporeal organization. The great -difficulty of forming an ideal conception of the state in which he -would have been constituted, had he been left to his merely natural -development, consists in the fact that we have no human subject to -study except man as he actually is, that is, under a supernatural -providence from the beginning. The actual development of human nature -has taken place under the influence of supernatural grace, and we -cannot discriminate in human history the operation of natural causes -from those which are supernatural. There are three principal -hypotheses respecting the possible development of pure nature which -may be sustained with more or less plausibility. The first is, that -the human race, beginning in its perfection of type as a species, but -without any revelation of language, or any instruction in natural -theology, morals, or science, would have remained always in the same -state in which it was created, without any intellectual or moral -progress. According to this view, the present state of man on earth -would have been a mere stage of existence, which could have no -ulterior end, except the production of a species destined to begin its -higher life in a future state. The second hypothesis is, that the -human race, beginning from the same point of departure, might have -progressed slowly, through very long periods of time, to a high limit -of civilization, knowledge, virtue, and natural religion. The third -is, that a kind of natural revelation, including a positive system of -religion, morals, and science, would have been requisite; in a word, -that human society must have been placed {532} at first, by the -immediate intervention of the Creator, in the state of civilization, -and conducted in its course by a continuance of the same intervention. -We have little room, however, for anything beyond conjecture in this -matter. The only point we are anxious to establish is, that the state -in which we are now born is not one intrinsically evil; that it is not -one derogatory to human nature as such; that it is not one in which -God might not create man in consistency with his sanctity and -goodness. - -This point is established on sound theological and philosophical -principles; and from these principles it follows that all the -phenomena of man which are referrible to his original fall are the -natural consequence of his human constitution, and not evidences of a -positive, innate depravity. He is a weak, frail, inconstant creature, -easily led away by the senses and passions, liable to fall into many -errors and sins, but he is not an object of loathing and abhorrence to -his Creator, or an outcast from his love. He has in him all the -primary elements of natural virtue, the germ from which a noble -creature can be developed. Nevertheless, although his natural -condition is one which is not derogatory to himself or his Creator, it -seems to cry out for the supernatural. Its actual weakness and -imperfection, coupled with its latent capacities for a high -development, mark it as being, what it is, the most fitting subject -for the grace of God; and indicate that it was created chiefly to -exemplify in the most signal manner the supernatural love and bounty -of the Creator. It is only in the idea of the supernatural order that -we can find the adequate explication and solution of all the problems -relating to the destiny of man. For that order he was created by an -absolute, not a conditional decree of God. The fulfilment of that -decree was not risked on the issue of Adam's probation. According to -our view, the creation of man was only the inchoation of the -incarnation of the Eternal Word in human nature; and the decree of the -incarnation being absolute, the elevation of human nature was -necessary and must be efficaciously secured. The fall of man from -original grace could not therefore hinder it. After the sin of Adam, -the human race had still a supernatural destiny, and was under the -supernatural order of Providence. The divine decree to confer grace on -man was not abrogated, but only the form and mode under which the -grace was to be conferred were changed. Moreover, by this change, the -human race was, on the whole, a gainer, and came into a better and -more favorable position for attaining its destiny. There was a reason -both for the original constitution of man in the grace of Adam, and -also for the change of that constitution which followed upon Adam's -sin. By the original grant of grace, God showed to mankind his -magnificent liberality and good-will. He gave them also an ideal which -has remained imperishably in their memory of the state of perfection, -and left a sweet odor of paradise to cheer them along their rugged -road of labor and trial. By the withdrawal of that grace he brought -them under a dispensation of mercy, in which their condition is more -humble and painful, but safer and more advantageous for gaining the -highest merit. - -St. Francis de Sales says: "L'etat de la redemption vaut cent fois -plus que l'etat de la justice originalle." "The state of redemption is -a hundred times preferable to the state of original justice." -[Footnote 167] The church herself, in her sublime hymn _Exultet_, -breaks out into the exclamation: "O certe necessarium Adae peccatum; O -felix culpa! quae tantum et talem habere meruit Redemptorem!" "O -certainly necessary sin of Adam; O happy fault! which merited to know -such and so great a redeemer!" We reason to lament our lost paradise, -or to mourn over the fall of our first parents. Our new birth in -Christ is far better than that ancient inheritance forfeited in Eden. -The consideration of the mystery of redemption must be postponed, -however for a future number. - - [Footnote 167: This thought has been beautifully developed by Mr. - Simpson in some Essays on Original Sin, published in The Rambler] - ----------- - -{533} - -Original. - -MY CHRISTMAS TREE. - - - - The Christmas logs were blazing bright, the house was all aglow, - Five little stockings brimming full were hanging in a row; - The balls of golden, silver, red, upon the Christmas tree, - Like fire-flies glancing through the green, were shining merrily, - And gifts for May and Josey, and for Maggie, Kate, and Will, - From bending top to sturdy root, the swaying branches fill; - And I, my labors all complete, sat watching through the night, - For well I knew that busy feet, before the morning-light, - Would patter, patter down the stairs in merry Christmas glee, - And warm and bright as love could make, must their first welcome be. - The while I mused upon their joy, with eyes fixed on the door. - The fairest form I ere had seen glided the threshold o'er-- - A sweet and gentle maiden "waxen little past the child," - And close upon her steps a man of visage grave and mild. - As the fair maiden nearer drew, I saw her small hands prest - The loveliest new-born baby that e'er slept on mortal breast-- - Albeit, five fair little buds had blossomed on mine own, - Such winning grace of perfectness mine heart had never known. - Adown, in sudden rapture caught, I fell on bended knee. - For Jesus and Saint Mary and Saint Joseph were with me! - The Maiden Mother gently bent, and in my trembling hands - Laid little baby-Jesus, wrapt up in his swaddling bands. - "Give rest and food and shelter unto him who for your sake - Hath reft himself of all things," thus the Maiden Mother spake; - "Each Christmas eve we, journeying, as once in Bethlehem, - At every Christian door-step ask for shelter, as of them - Who in my mother's maiden home had room for all save him - Before whose throne of living light bow down the seraphim. - And oft times now, as on that night, rejected, we depart. - As though they were Judean inns, from many a Christian heart. - With warmth and light and merry feasts ye hail his natal-day, - But who have place for Jesus Christ who in the manger lay? - Mosttimes the doors are closely barred, the fire-light is grown dim, - And few who watch as now you watch, keep watch or ward for _him_." - - Her tones were tender, sweet, and low, but through the crust of years - They found the blessed, blessed fount of humble, contrite tears; - And as they overflowed mine eyes, and plashed upon his head, - The baby woke to life and warmth, who seemed so cold and dead; - And pointing where a little gift for "Christ's poor" lowly lay - Beneath the tree so richly bowed, he smiled, and passed away. - Ah! me, how little seemed the share that I had laid aside - To give to him who for our sake was born and crucified! - _He_ held back naught, the last red drop flowed out for you and me: - Oh! surely he should have the best on every Christmas tree. - - Genevieve Sales. - ----------- - -{534} - - -Translated from the German. - - -THE LITTLE BIRDS ON CHRISTMAS DAY. - - - -On holy Christmas morning there was a grand assemblage of little birds -behind the elder-tree yonder which stands between the court-yard and -the garden, flanked on one side by the barn and on the other by heaps -of grain that had found no shelter in the granary--so rich had been -the blessings of the Lord! - -The sparrow with his house and generation was very fully represented -in the meeting; and all who belonged to his family puffed out their -feathers and sat looking as if something vexatious had befallen them. - -The lark, sitting between the furrows in the field hard by, raised -himself up a little way now and again, warbling a short kyrie or -gloria as his thoughts came and went. - -Finches and goldhammers were there in great spirits, as usual; and the -blackbird perched now inside the court-wall, now on the outside; then -he flew down to the brook, ducked down and up again, flew up into the -tree with the other birds, and praised the cold-water-cure, which -makes one feel right fresh and joyful as nothing else can. - -Ravens and crows and the rest of the grab-alls, who are for ever -finding what no one has lost, crowded close together on the -grain-stacks in deep and loud discussion. - -But the sparrow began to bewail his fate thus: "I have been sadly -disturbed in my night's rest, for before daybreak all the bells in the -steeples began to ring as if for fire. I flew out into the darkness; -and all around the houses looked bright, as if they were on fire -within. Many tiny candles were lighted, and the trees on which they -burned were covered with all kinds of fruit, such as I never have seen -together on one tree. But we enjoy nothing of all this. Our trees are -bare enough, and have not even leaves to screen us from this winter's -cold. We shall starve to death or freeze, when once food becomes -scarcer and the cold more piercing." - -But the lark in the field scratched up a few worms which a mole had -tossed out with the earth; and the blackbird helped her to choose some -little worms, and that was their breakfast. - -The shepherd drove his flocks through the narrow path, while -thorn-bushes on each side, and the blackberry briers and wild-rose -bushes, who had heard the birds' complaint, stretched their branches -across the way, so that the little sheep left locks of wool upon them, -some more, some less, but never enough to do them any harm. But the -birds were behind them, and gathered up the wool and carried it to -their homes, in the knot-holes of trees or crevices of walls or -hollows of the earth, and there they grew warmer warmer. Then, as they -picked at the wool, red hips, which the cold had made sweet and soft, -peeped out, and they ate them with joyful hearts. - -Again rang out the bells from tower and steeple; the houses-door -opened, and the family came fourth; maid-servants first, then sons and -daughters, and, to close up the procession, the housewife and the -farmer. - -"Father," said the eldest son, "it will fare ill with our corn-stacks -in the field if, before going to church, we do not shoot in among the -feathered gentry yonder, who have torn the outer coverings already, -and will soon make their way in among the unthreshed grain. The -magpies willingly read where they have not sown. They cluster here -from the whole neighborhood. Gladly would I give them a few leaden -peas for food, and silence their chattering for ever." - -{535} - -"By no means," replied the farmer. "No shot shall be fired during this -blessed Christmas season--on the gracious birthday of him who -overthrew indeed the tables of the money-changers, and made a scourge -of cords to drive out both buyer and seller from his temple, but only -said to those who sold doves, 'Take them hence.' He did not blame the -poor little doves; and never, on this day, when dumb beasts gave up to -him their manger for the cradle because men found no room for him in -the inn, never shall any creature find death in my fields for the sake -of a few blades of grass or kernels of grain." - -But the farmer's wife had already turned back, and one of the lads -was, at her command, strewing a whole sheaf of grain before the -house-front. So generously did he scatter the food to the doves and -poultry, that there was enough and to spare for their neighbors on the -elder-tree, and magpie and raven had a fair share without being envied -by hens or disturbed by men. Thus in the court-yard was there also a -little of that "peace on earth" of which angels sang one Christmas -night upon the plains of Bethlehem. Nor did the farmer lack anything -in hay-loft or granary because the little birds of heaven had been fed -from his table that blessed Christmas morning. - -Remember this: on Christmas feed the poor birds before thy door, and -if thou seest neither lark nor blackbird, nor yet finches, -gold-hammers, nor tomtits, then think of those who have no feathers, -of poor human creatures. Forget not that the angel of the Lord said to -the shepherds: "You will find the child wrapped in swaddling-clothes, -and lying in a manger." Seek out the swaddling-clothes of poverty, and -if thou walkest by that light which rose over Bethlehem, then shalt -thou find in those swaddling-clothes and in works of mercy the little -child Jesus! - -Mark this: if thou wouldst be happy, then must thou make others happy! - -Remember: because Jesus came to the poor, therefore shouldst thou go -to the poor. - ----------- - -Original. - -BARABBAS AND I. - - - BABABBAS. - - "Strange that the Jews should set me free, - And let this Jesus die for me! - I have their brethren robbed and slain: - He brought their dead to life again." - - - I. - - "Strange, surely, that the ungrateful Jews - Should thee in place of Jesus choose: - Yet stranger far it is that he - Should choose to die to set _me_ free." - ------- - -{536} - - -From the Popular Science Review. - -AEROLITES. - - -BY TOWNSHEND M. HALL, F.G.S. - - -Meteoric stones, or aerolites, as they are generally called (from two -Greek words, _aer_ and _lithos_, signifying "air-stones"), may be -defined as solid masses consisting principally of pure iron, nickel, -and several other metals, sometimes containing also an admixture of -augite, olivine, and hornblende, which, from time to time, at -irregular intervals, have fallen upon the surface of the earth from -above. - -Other designations, such as "fire-balls and thunder-bolts," have been -popularly applied to these celestial masses, the former denoting their -usual fiery appearance, whilst the latter has reference to the extreme -suddenness of their descent. - -Shooting stars also, although they are not accompanied by the fall of -any solid matter upon the earth, are generally placed in the same -category, since they are supposed to be aerolites which pass -(comparatively speaking) very near our earth, and are visible from it -by night; at the same time their distance from us, varying as it does -from four to two hundred and forty miles and upward, is in most -instances too great to allow of their being drawn down by the -attractive power possessed by the earth. Like comets and eclipses, -these celestial phenomena in former times were universally regarded -with feelings of the greatest awe and superstition; and in Eastern -countries especially, where the fall of a meteoric stone was supposed -to be the immediate precursor of some important public event, or -national calamity, the precise date of each descent was carefully -recorded. In China, for example, such reports reach back to the year -644 before our era; and M. Biot has found in the astronomical section -of some of the most ancient annals of that empire sixteen falls of -aerolites recorded as having taken place between the years 644 B.C. -and 333 after Christ, whilst the Greek and Roman authors mention only -four such occurrences during the same period. Even now, in this age of -science and universal knowledge, aerolites can scarcely be regarded -without a certain degree of dread. Indeed, four or five cases have -occurred in which persons have been killed by them; in another -instance, several villages in India were set on fire by the fall of a -meteoric stone; and it was by no means a pleasant subject for -reflection that such a catastrophe might happen anywhere and at any -moment, especially when we remember that these stones, although not -quite incandescent, are always, more or less, in a heated state; and -sometimes so hot that even after the lapse of six hours they could not -be touched with impunity. - -The first fall of meteoric stones on record appears to have taken -place about the year 654: B.C., when, according to a passage in Livy, -a shower of stones fell on the Alban Hill, not far distant from Rome. -The next in chronological order is mentioned by several writers, such -as Diogenes of Apollonia, Plutarch, and Pliny, and described by them -as a great stone, the size of two millstones, and equal in weight to a -full wagon-load. It fell about the year 467 B.C., at AEgos Potamos, on -the Hellespont, and even up to the days of Pliny, four centuries after -its fall, it continued to be an object of curiosity and speculation. -{537} After the close of the first century we fail to obtain any -account or notice of this stone; but although it has been lost sight -of for upward of eighteen hundred years, the eminent Humboldt says, in -one of his works, that notwithstanding all previous failures to -rediscover it, he does not wholly relinquish the hope that even after -such a considerable lapse of time, this Thracian meteoric mass, which -it would be so difficult to destroy, may be found again, especially -since the region in which it fell has now become so easy to access to -European travellers. - -The next descent of any particular importance took place at Ensisheim -in Alsace, where an aerolite fell on November 7th, 1492, just at the -time when the Emperor Maximilian, then king of the Romans, happened to -be on the point of engaging with the French army. It was preserved as -a relic in the cathedral at Ensisheim, until the beginning of the -French revolution, when it was conveyed to the Public Library of -Colmar, and it is still preserved there among the treasures. - -In later years the shower of aerolites which fell in April, 1803, at -L'Aigle, in Normandy, may well rank as the most extraordinary descent -upon record. A large fire-ball had been observed a few moments -previously, in the neighborhood of Caen and Alencon, where the sky was -perfectly clear and cloudless. At L'Aigle no appearance of light was -visible, and the fire-ball assumed instead the form of a small black -cloud, consisting of vapor, which suddenly broke up with a violent -explosion, followed several times by a peculiar rattling noise. The -stones at the time of their descent were hot, but not red, and smoked -visibly. The number which were afterward collected within an -elliptical area measuring from six to seven miles in length by three -in breadth, has been variously estimated at from two to three -thousand. They ranged in weight from two drachms up to seventeen and -half pounds. The French government immediately deputed M. Biot, the -celebrated naturalist and philosopher, to proceed to the spot, for the -express purpose of collecting the authentic facts concerning a -phenomenon which, until that time, had almost universally been treated -as an instance of popular superstition and credulity. His conclusive -report was the means of putting an end to all scepticism on the -subject, and since that date the reality--not merely the -possibility--of such occurrences has no longer been contested. - -Leaving out, for the present, innumerable foreign instances which -might be quoted, we must now glance rapidly at a few of the most -noticeable examples of the fall of meteoric stones which have taken -place in England. The earliest which appears on record descended in -Devonshire, near Sir George Chudleigh's house at Stretchleigh, in the -parish of Ermington, about twelve miles from Plymouth. The -circumstance is thus related by Westcote, one of the quaint old -Devonshire historians: - - "In some part of this manor (Stretchleigh), there fell from above--I - cannot say from heaven--a stone of twenty-three pounds weight, with - a great and fearful noise in falling; first it was heard like unto - thunder, or rather to be thought the report of some great ordnance, - cannon, or culverin; and as it descended, so did the noise lessen, - at last when it came to the earth to the height of the report of a - peternel, or pistol. It was for matter like unto a stone singed, or - half-burned for lime, but being larger described by a richer wit, I - will forbear to enlarge on it." - -The "richer wit" here alluded to was in all probability the author of -a pamphlet published at the time, which further describes this -aerolite as having fallen on January 10th, 1623, in an orchard, near -some men who were planting trees. It was buried in the ground three -feet deep, and its dimensions were three and a half feet long, two and -a half wide, and one and a half thick. The pamphlet also states that -pieces broken from off it were in the possession of many of the -neighboring gentry. {538} We may here remark that no specimen of this -stone is at present known to be in existence, and that although living -in the county where it fell, we have hitherto failed in tracing any of -the fragments here referred to. A few years later, in August, 1628, -several meteoric stones, weighing from one to twenty-four pounds, fell -at Hatford, in Berkshire; and in the month of May, 1680, several are -said to have fallen in the neighborhood of London. - -The total number of aerolitic descents which up to this present time -have been observed to take place in Great Britain and Ireland is -twenty, of which four occurred in Scotland, and four in Ireland. The -largest and most noticeable of all these fell on December 13th, 1795, -near Wold Cottage, in the parish of Thwing, East Riding of Yorkshire. -Its descent was witnessed by two persons; and when the stone was dug -up, it was found to have penetrated through no less than eighteen -inches of soil and hard chalk. It originally weighed about fifty-six -pounds, but that portion of it preserved in the British Museum is -stated in the official catalogue to weigh forty-seven pounds nine -ounces and fifty-three grains--just double the weight of the -Devonshire aerolite. - -When we come to inquire into the various opinions which have been held -in different ages respecting the origin of aerolites, and the power -which causes their descent, we must go back to the times of the -ancient Greeks, and we find that those of their philosophers who had -directed their attention to the subject had four theories to account -for this singular phenomenon. Some thought that meteoric stones had a -telluric origin, and resulted from exhalations ascending from the -earth becoming condensed to such a degree as to render them solid. -This theory was in after years revived by Kepler the astronomer, who -excluded fire-balls and shooting stars from the domain of astronomy; -because, according to his views, they were simply "meteors arising -from the exhalations of the earth, and blending with the higher -ether." Others, like Aristotle, considered that they were masses of -metal raised either by hurricanes, or projected by some volcano beyond -the limits of the earth's attraction, so becoming inflamed and -converted, for a time, into starlike bodies. Thirdly, a solar origin; -this, however, was freely derided by Pliny and several others, among -whom we may mention Diogenes of Apollonia, already alluded to as one -of the chroniclers of the aerolite of AEgos Potamos. He thus argues: -"Stars that are invisible, and consequently have no name, move in -space together with those that are visible. . . . These invisible -stars frequently fall to the earth and are extinguished, as the stony -star which fell burning at AEgos Potamos." This last opinion, it will -be seen, coincides, as far as it goes, almost exactly with the most -modern views on the subject. - -As some of the Greeks derived the origin of meteorites from the sun -(probably from the fact of their sometimes falling during bright -sunshine), so we find, at the end of the seventeenth century, it was -believed by a great many that they fell from the moon. This conjecture -appears to have been first hazarded by an Italian philosopher, meeting -Paolo Maria Terzago, whose attention was specially directed to this -subject on the occasion of a meteoric stone falling at Milan in 1660, -and killing a Franciscan monk. Olbers, however, was the first to -treat this theory in a scientific manner, and soon after about fall of -an aerolite at Siena, in the year 1794, he began to examine the -question by the aid of the most abstruse mathematics, and after -several years' labor he succeeded in showing that, in order to reach -our earth, a stone would require to start from the moon at an initial -velocity 8,292 feet per second; then proceeding downward with -increasing speed, it would arrive on the earth with a {539} of 35,000 -feet per second. But frequent measurements have shown that the -_actual_ rate of aerolites averages 114,000 feet, or about twenty-one -miles and a half per second, they were approved by these curious and -most elaborate calculations to have come from a fire greater distance -than that of our satellite. It is but fair to add that the question of -initial velocity, on which the whole value value of this so-called -"ballistic problem" depends, was investigative by three other eminent -geometricians, Biot, Laplace, and Poisson, who during ten or twelve -years were independently engaged is calculation. Biot's estimate was -8,282 feet in the second; Laplace, 7,862; and Poisson, 7,585--results -all approximating very closely with those stated by Olbers. - -We have already observed, at the beginning of this paper, that -meteoric stones may fall at any moment, but observations, extending -over many years, have sometimes been brought forward to show that, as -far as locality is concerned, all countries are not equally liable to -these visitations. In other words, the large number of aerolites which -have been known to fall within a certain limited area has been -contrasted with the apparent rarity of such occurrences beyond these -limits. If it could be proved that the earth possessed more attractive -power in some places than in others, this circumstance might be -satisfactorily explained, but in default of any such evidence, the -advocates of this theory must rely solely upon statistics, which from -their very nature require to be taken with a certain amount of -reserve. Professor Shepard, in Silliman's American Journal, has -remarked that "fall of aerolites is confined principally to two zones; -the one belonging to America is bounded by 33 deg. and 44 deg. north latitude, -and is about 25 deg. in length. Its direction is more or less from -north-east to south-west, following the general line of the Atlantic -Coast. Of all known occurrences of this phenomenon during the last -fifty years, 92.8 per cent, have taken place within these limits, and -mostly in the neighborhood of the sea. The zone of the eastern -continent--with the exception that it extends ten degrees more to the -north--lies between the same degrees of latitude, and follows a -similar north-east direction, but is more than twice the length of the -American zone. Of all the observed falls of aerolites, 90.9 per cent, -have taken place within this area, and were also concentrated in that -half of the zone which extends along the Atlantic." - -On reference to a map, it will be seen that in the western continent -the so-called zone is simply confined to the United States--the most -densely inhabited portion of America. In like manner the eastern zone -leaves out the whole of desert Africa, Lapland, Finland, the chief -part of Russia, with an average of thirty-two inhabitants to each -square mile; Sweden and Norway, with only seventeen per mile; whilst -it embraces all the well-peopled districts of central Europe, most of -which, like England, are able to count between three and four hundred -persons to every mile of their territory. In fact, Professor Shepard's -statement may almost be resolved into a plain question of population, -for were an aerolite to fall in the midst of a desert, or in a thinly -peopled district, it is needless to point out how few the chances are -of its descent being ever noticed or recorded. That innumerable -aerolites do fall without attracting any attention, is clearly proved -by the number of discoveries continually taking place of metallic -masses which, from their locality and peculiar chemical composition, -could only be derived from some extra-terrestrial source. The great -size also of many of these masses entirely precludes the possibility -of their having been placed by human agency in the positions they have -been found to occupy--sometimes on the surface of the earth, but just -as frequently buried a few feet in the ground. - -{540} - -Thus the traveller Pallas found, in 1749, at Abakansk, in Siberia, the -mass of meteoric iron, weighing 1,680 lb., now in the Imperial Museum -at St. Petersburg. Another, lying on the plain of Tucuman, near -Otumpa, in South America, has been estimated, by measurement, to weigh -no less than 33,600 lb., or about fifteen tons; and one added last -year to the splendid collection of meteorites in the British Museum -weighs rather more than three and a half tons. It was found at -Cranboume, near Melbourne, and was purchased by a Mr. Bruce, with a -view to his presenting it to the British Museum, when, through some -misunderstanding, it was discovered that one half of it had been -already promised to the museum at Melbourne. In order, therefore, to -save it from any such mutilation, the trustees of our national museum -acquired and transferred to the authorities of the Melbourne -collection a smaller mass which had been sent in 1862 to the -International Exhibition. It weighed about 3,000 lb., and had been -found near Melbourne, in the immediate vicinity of the great -meteorite. The latter was then forwarded entire to London. In the -British Museum may also be seen a small fragment of an aerolite, -originally weighing 191 lb., which from time immemorial had been lying -at Elbogen, near Carlsbad, in Bohemia, and had always borne the -legendary appellation of "_der verwuenschte Burggraf_," or the -enchanted Burgrave. The remainder of this mass is preserved in the -Imperial collection at Vienna. In Great Britain only two meteoric -masses (not seen to fall) have hitherto been discovered; one was found -about forty years ago near Leadhills, in Scotland; the other in 1861, -at Newstead, in Roxburghshire. - -Several instances have at different times occurred in which stones -like aerolites have been found, and prized accordingly, until their -real nature was demonstrated by the aid of chemical analysis. One -valuable specimen, found a few years ago, was shown to have derived -its origin amongst the _scoriae_ of an iron foundry; another, picked -up in the Isle of Wight, turned out to be a nodule of iron pyrites, -similar in every respect to those which abound in the neighboring -chalk cliffs; and lastly, some aerolites of a peculiarly glassy -appearance were found shortly after, of which it may, perhaps, suffice -to say that the scene of this discovery was--Birmingham. - -When we come to examine the composition of meteoric stones, we find in -various specimens a great diversity in their chemical structure. Iron -is the metal most invariably present, usually accompanied by a -consider percentage of nickel and cobalt; also five other metals, -chromium, copper, molybdenum, manganese, and tin; but of all these -iron is that which largely preponderates, forming sometimes as much as -ninety-six parts in the hundred. Rare instances have, however, been -recorded where the proportion of iron has sunk so low as to form only -two percent, and the deficiency thus caused has been made up by a -larger admixture of some earthy mineral, such as augite, hornblende, -or olivine. Other ingredients, like carbon, sulphur, alumina, etc., -are also found to enter, in different proportions, into the -composition of aerolites; the total number all chemical elements -observed in them up to this present date the nineteen or twenty. It -has been well remarked by an able writer, that no _new_ substance has -hitherto come to us from without; and thus we find that all these -nineteen or twenty elements are precisely similar to those which are -distributed throughout the rocks and minerals of our earth; the -essential difference between the two classes of compounds--celestial -and terrestrial--being seen most clearly in the respective methods in -which the component parts are admixed. - -In the outward appearance aerolites there is one characteristic so -constant that, out of the many hundred examples that have been -recorded, one only (as far as we can ascertain) has {541} been wanting -in it. We refer to the black fused crust or rind with which the -surface of meteoric stones is covered. It usually extends not more -than a few tenths of an inch into the substance of the stone, and is -supposed to result from the extreme rapidity with which they descend -into the oxygen of our atmosphere, causing them to undergo a slight -and partial combustion, which, however, from the short time -necessarily occupied in their descent, has not sufficient time to -penetrate beyond the surface. On cutting and polishing the stones, if -the smooth face is treated with nitric acid, it will in many cases be -found to exhibit lines and angular markings, commonly known by the -name of "widmannsted figures." These are tracings of imperfect -crystals, while the broad intermediate spaces, preserving their -polish, point out those portions of the stone which contain a larger -proportion of nickel than the rest of the mass. We may here add that -the noise said at times to accompany the fall of aerolites, does not -appear to be a constant characteristic, nor does the cause or exact -nature of it seem able to be definitely specified. - -In conclusion, we cannot do better than advise those of our readers -who desire further information on this subject to take the earliest -opportunity--if they have not done so already--of paying a visit to -the magnificent collection of meteoric stones, contained in several -glass cases at the end of the mineral gallery at the British Museum. -The catalogue for the year 1856 gave a list of between 70 and 80 -specimens; in 1863 this number had increased to 216, mainly through -the energy of the curator, Mr. Maskelyne; and since that date there -have been several further additions. Chief among continental museums -may be mentioned the Imperial collection at Vienna, as possessing a -series of specimens remarkable alike for their size and importance. - --------- - -From Good Words. - - -DELIVERANCE. - - - As some poor captive bird, too weak to fly, - Still lingers in its open cage, so I - My slavery own. - For evil makes a prison-house within; - The gloom of sin, and sorrow born of sin. - Doth weigh me down. - Ah! Christ, and wilt not thou regard my sighs, - Long wakeful hours, and lonely miseries, - And hopes forlorn? - Let not my fainting soul be thus subdued. - Nor leave thy child in darkened solitude. - All night to mourn! - - He hears my prayer! the dreary night is done, - I feel the soft air and the blessed sun. - With heavenly beams. - He comes, my Lord! in raiment glistening white. - From pastures golden in the morning light - And crystal streams. - O let me come to thee!--from this dark place-- - And see my gentle Shepherd face to face, - And hear his voice. - So shall these bitter tears no longer flow, - And thou shalt teach my secret heart to know - Thy sacred joys! - --------- - -{542} - - -ORIGINAL. - - -WHAT CAME OF A LAUGH ON A CHRISTMAS EVE. - - -"Beg your pardon, sir," said I, as soon as I could compose myself -sufficiently to speak; "I couldn't help it." - -"Glad to hear it. Just what I want. I was debating with myself whether -it was sure for a laugh. I am looking for things that will make one -laugh; in short, buying up causes for laughter on a Christmas day. -There can be no doubt, you think, about this being funny?" - -"Not a bit of it," said I. - -"Well, I'll have one for every basket, then," said the old gentleman, -his eyes twinkling with delight, as he danced the toy up and down. It -was one of those jointed wooden monkeys that by means of a slide -performs the most comical evolutions around the top of a pole. - -"You see," continued he, "I cannot always trust my own judgment. -There's no credit in my laughing, bless your heart. I'd be a monster, -yes, a monster, my dear sir, if I didn't. I'm just like this monkey as -you see him now in this position, ready to go over the other side with -the slightest provocation. I have everything that heart can wish, sir, -to laugh at and be happy; but they, poor dears, they are so far on the -minus side of merriment, as well they may be, that it takes a little -something extra, you see, to get a good hearty squeal out of them." - -I became at once intensely interested in the "poor dears" alluded to. -The sight of the old gentleman was enough to make one do unheard-of -feats of heroism in favor of any person or thing of which he might -take the least notice. I ventured to suppose that they had lost -something or somebody lately, with the intention of offering my hand -or purse as the case might be. - -"Can't say that they have," he replied, rubbing his shiny bald head. -"Being generally on the minus side of everything, including laughter, -they haven't anything to lose which you or I might think worth -keeping, except their lives, and somehow I think they've got used to -losing even them pretty comfortably." - -I was perplexed, and muttered, "Curious sort of people, those." - -"But interesting, you'll allow?" said he. - -I replied that I had no doubt of it; and I meant it, for so charming -and open-hearted was this old gentlemen, that I was ready to subscribe -unhesitatingly to any asseveration he might be pleased to make; -"but--" I added, about to express my ignorance of the individuals in -question, when he interrupted me. - -"Why--but? My Minnie, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my -life" (expressing the titles of that person in the largest capitals), -"and I held an ante-Christmas council this morning, and it was -proposed by the president, that is myself, and seconded by the said -Darling of the World and Sunshine of my life, and carried by an -overwhelming majority, including Bob, who said he went in for anything -good, that buts were unparliamentary when Christmas was concerned; and -so we called the roll, twenty in all, and there being no buts, they -all stood unchallenged, making twenty baskets, and now as many monkeys -to go in them. What do you think of it! Capital, wasn't it?" - -I was certain it was, and was prepared to go any odds in its favor. - -"What's more," he added, "they are going privately." - -{543} - -Being committed beyond all explanation, I said I was glad to hear that -too, "if Miss Minnie approves." This last supposition I made with a -deprecating cough, not being quite sure of the relation which the old -gentleman bore to the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of his -life. - -"It was her own proposal," was his rejoinder, "and you can't imagine -what an immense relief it was to me too. It is more than I can stand -to get through with the "thank ye sir's," and the "much obliged's" and -the "long life to your honor's." I'm a baby, sir, in their presence, -and by the time the distribution is made I'm a spectacle of -unmitigated woe, as if I'd been to as many funerals as there are -baskets. I remember that as I was coming out from a widow and five -children, last Christmas, that rascal Bob saw me wiping my eyes, and -says he, 'Most of 'em dead, sir?' 'No, Bob,' says I, 'it's the smoke, -I suppose; they've a precious smoky chimney.' But when we got to the -next place--let me see--oh! yes, a man with a broken leg, the -scoundrel says to me, as he handed out the basket, 'Now, let us bury -another one, sir.' Not bad for, was it? I had such a good laugh on -each pair of stairs beforehand that I got through that one pretty -comfortably But it was a glorious proposal of my Minnie's, was it not, -that these should go privately? for we'll sit at home, and check them -off as they go in, for I've arranged that the messenger shall deliver -them by the watch, sir, and we'll imagine their surprise and their -happy faces, and the bringing out of the monkeys, and then we'll have -a roar and be jolly, and get rid of the thank ye's and all the rest of -it that chokes up a man's throat and turns him into a born baby." And -here the good-hearted old gentleman, in the fulness of his delight, -caused the monkey in his hand to perform a series of rapid gymnastics -over the top of his pole, beyond the powers of any monkey that ever -lived. He presented such a comical appearance in doing this that I -burst into another hearty laugh in which he as heartily joined. - -"It is irresistibly amusing," said I, meaning the monkey. - -"I knew it would be," he returned, his mind running upon the happy -scheme by which he might prevent his left hand knowing the deeds of -the right; "we will have twenty merry Christmas laughs all rolled into -one. There I'll be, as it were, on this side," here he took a position -on the floor opposite me, "and my Darling over there, as it were you," -a distinction I acknowledged by a profound bow, "and Bob standing -behind her chair, as that rocking-horse stands behind you; and then, -watch in hand, we'll check them off: Number One, Widow Bums, two small -children; Number Two, Susy Bell, orphan girl, works in a carpet -factory and supports her two orphan sisters; Number Three, old Granny -Mullen, with consumptive son and three grand-children, and so on; and -there we'll have them all right before us, and they knowing nothing -about it (there's the beauty of it, all due to that blessed Darling of -the World and Sunshine of my life), and out will come the joint of -meat, ready cooked, and the mince-pie, and the plum-pudding with a -dozen of silver quarter dollars in each one, and the shoes and the -stockings, and I don't know what else besides, packed away by my -Darling's own sweet little hands, and last of all the monkey with a -label around his neck, with an inscription, say, for instance, 'From -Nobody in particular, with best wishes for a Merry Christmas.' There -you have it," added he, waving the monkey triumphantly in the air, -"and won't it be grand?" - -"I'd give the world to see it," I exclaimed, quite carried away by the -old gentleman's enthusiastic manner. Just then the keeper of the -toy-shop handed me a package of marbles, tops, jewsharps, a pocket -spy-glass, and a few other things of a like nature calculated to make -glad the heart of {544} boys, which I had purchased for my little -nephew, Willie, in the country. - -"This for you, Mr. Holiday; but if you wish, I'll send it around to -the doctor's," said the toy-vender. - -"Lord bless my heart and soul!" exclaimed the old gentleman, seizing -me suddenly by both hands. "Not Alfred Holiday is it?" - -"That is my name," said I. - -"Nephew of Dr. Ben?" - -"Nephew of Dr. Ben," I repeated. - -"And how long have you been in the city?" - -"About a week," said I. "I came up to spend Christmas with Uncle Ben -and Aunt Mary." - -"And to take a look in at the Owl's Retreat, No. 9 Harmony place, of -course?" - -I intimated my ignorance of the Retreat in question, and of my not -having the pleasure, etc. - -"My house, man, my house," said he, shaking my hands up and down. "Dr. -Ben and I are old acquaintances; in fact, ever since my Minnie was--I -beg your pardon," added he, suddenly recollecting himself, and -producing a card from his vest pocket. "Name of Acres, Thomas Acres, -who, with the compliments of his daughter Minnie to the same effect, -_will_ be--_most_ happy--_to_ see--Mr. Alfred--_Holiday_--on -to-morrow _morning_--to _join_ in--_the_ grand--checking off--_of_ -the--twenty baskets--_and_ their--contents--including--monkeys--and -of course stay to dinner." - -If the old gentleman's cordial manner had any weight in deciding my -acceptance of the invitation, it must be confessed that the curiosity -to see the "Darling of the World and the Sunshine of his life" added -not a little to it. Promising to be on hand at No. 9 before eleven -o'clock, at which hour the checking off was to begin, I bade my -new-found friend good-morning and went home. - -But it was very provoking not to know more of the "Darling and -Sunshine" This is him him him him question. Standing in such a light -to such a father, she was, of course, a peerless being. Age--say, -twenty. Height--medium, I am five feet ten. 10 Blonde or -brunette--difficult to determine. Sunshine would seem to indicate -blonde, yet darling might be either. Good, amiable, witty, -accomplished--not a doubt of it. Beautiful name too, said I, as I -scribbled it in every style of the caligraphic art, thereby destroying -no small amount of my uncle's property in fine gilt-edged note paper. -Has she suitor already. Hoity-toity, Mr. Alfred Holiday, you are -castle-building on a small amount of material, it seems to me; and if -she have, what affair is that of yours? a question which that -imaginative young gentlemen finding himself unable to solve fell into -a fit of despondency, and went to bed in a despairing state of mind. - -Punctual to the appointed hour I walked into Harmony place, a quiet -unpretentious street, and open the gate of No. 9. There had been both -a rain and heavy frost in the night, and the trees and shrubs, clothed -in a complete armor of ice, sparkled and glittered in the bright -sunshine. Unfortunately, the ground shared in this universal covering, -and being under the impression that someone was looking from behind -the curtains, who might possibly be the Darling of the World and the -Sunshine of the life of Mr. Thomas Acres, I insanely endeavored to -walk upon the glassy pavement with careless ease, as if it were the -most ordinary ground in the world. I now advise my bitterest enemy to -try it. In an unguarded moment my feet slipped, and I came down in the -most unpleasant manner into a sitting posture upon the ground. I -thought I heard the sound of a clear ringing laugh following -immediately upon my ignominious fall. I hoped it was from No. 10 or -No. 8; yet my heart misgave me as Mr. Acres, with a half dozen -superfluous bows, divided between his daughter and myself, introduced -me, and a pair of dark, deep eyes, in which I thought I detected a -merry twinkle, quietly but warmly acknowledged my presence. - -{545} - -"Mr. Alfred Holiday, my child, our old friend, Doctor Holiday's -nephew; Mr. Holiday, my daughter Minnie, the Darling of the World and -the Sunshine of my life, as I have already told you, and the Dove of -this Owl's Retreat." - -I was "most happy," of course, and wished them both, with a bow to -Miss Minnie, a Merry Christmas. - -"We were getting afraid, Mr. Holiday, lest we should be obliged to -begin without you," said that bright-eyed and altogether beautiful -young lady, in a tone of voice which I afterward characterized in a -violently worded poem, written just before midnight, as 'rippling -diamonds' and 'dropping pearls.' - -"Afraid!--without _me_?" I exclaimed, placing a most unjustifiable -emphasis upon the personal pronoun. "I am highly flattered." - -"Not at all; my father tells me he feels deeply indebted to you in -assisting him in the choice of some toys designed for the children." - -"For--for--laughing," stammered I. "Do you think, Miss Acres, that one -might be indebted to another for a laugh?" I was thinking of my stupid -fall on the ice, and began to regret my having accredited to No. 8 or -10 those sounds of merriment which reached my ears. - -"If one gives good cause," she replied, with the quietest and most -provoking of smiles. The deep, dark eyes twinkled again, and Nos. 8 -and 10 stood acquitted. - -"Come, Mr. Holiday," said Mr. Acres, "let us take an inspection of the -forces. Wagon is loaded, strange man hired, with a watch in his -pocket, off he goes; whence he comes or whither he goes, nobody knows. -Ha! ha! Minnie, my dear, put me down one, your ancient Owl has struck -a poetic vein; no time to register it, however. Come along; while I am -immortalizing myself, twenty hungry families are waiting for a -Christmas dinner they don't expect to get, and their mouths watering -for plum-puddings and mince pies that they have not the most distant -expectation of"--and the good old soul led the way into the hall, and -thence into the court yard, at the entrance of which stood a large -covered furniture-cart, filled to over-flowing with the wonderful -twenty baskets destined to distribute happiness among as many poor and -suffering families, and make their hearts merry on Christmas day. Each -basket was labelled with its direction, number, and time of delivery. - -"Now, John," said Mr. Acres to the driver as he mounted to his place -on the cart, "remember, you are born deaf and dumb, can't hear a word -nor even say 'Merry Christmas,' until you come back here and report." - -"Lave me alone, sir," replied John with a broad grin, "the fun shan't -be spiled for me." - -"He enters into it, he enters into it, you see," said Mr. Acres, -addressing Minnie and myself. "What's the time, John, by yours?" - -"Near eleven, sir." - -"Time's up, then. - - "One, two, three, and off you go. - Twenty baskets piled in a row: - Ask me no questions, for I don't know. - -Positively, my darling, there's something inspiring in the air this -morning." - -John cracked his whip, and the cart moved out of the yard, turned down -the street, and was soon out of sight. Mr. Acres was a perfect picture -of happiness as he stood gazing at the departing vehicle, rubbing his -hands with delight, and his full, round face beaming with intense -satisfaction. As I glanced at Minnie I saw her eyes filled with tears -of love and pride as she watched the movements of her father. Turning -about suddenly he noticed her emotion, upon which he went up to her, -and placing a hand on her either cheek said with mock gravity: - -{546} - -"Miss Minnie Acres, the Darling of the World and the Sunshine of my -life, is hereby invited to attend the funeral of twenty baskets -without further notice. Ha! ha! you recollect Bob, you know; and no -time to lose either," he added, taking Minnie's hand in his right and -mine in his left, and turning toward the parlor; "so let us get at it, -my dears; excuse the liberty, Mr. Holiday, I'm in a glorious humor, -and it's Christmas day, and here we are, and here's the list, so sit -ye down; and Bob, Bob! you rascal, where are you?" - -The rascal thus vociferously called for responded immediately by -presenting at the door a form about four feet in height, of the rarest -obesity, clothed in a dark-gray suit, evidently denned for the first -time, and holding with both hands the stiffest and hardest of hats. -There was no motion of his lips visible, but a sound was heard as if -it proceeded from the inside of a cotton-bale, which was understood to -mean-- - -"Here I am, sir; respects, gentlemen and ladies, and a Merry -Christmas." - -"Pretty time of day for that" said Mr. Acres, "as if a body were just -out of bed, and hadn't heard Mass yet. Oh! I see," he continued, -glancing at Bob's new clothes, which I have no doubt were the delivery -of an order from T. Acres, Esq., made that very morning by Tibbits & -Son, fashionable tailors. "Well, Merry Christmas, Bob; but don't stand -bowing there all day"--which feat that individual seemed to be vainly -attempting to execute, but could not get through with to his entire -satisfaction--"come in, and stand there by Miss Minnie, and listen to -the checking off, and we'll see if it's all right as a trivet, as it -should be. Lord! I'd eat no dinner if there was one left out." - -The "checking off" commenced immediately, the time being up for the -delivery of the first basket. Nothing could exceed the delight of the -old gentleman as Minnie read from the list the names of the parties -who at that moment received the basket, their places of residence, and -a detailed account of the articles sent. Each basket contained a -sufficient supply for a hearty Christmas dinner for the family, -jellies, wines, and other delicacies for the sick, some articles of -clothing, and last of all the toy monkey. - -"They've all got one," said Mr. Acres, chuckling with glee as monkey -Number One was mentioned; "but we must do it regular and put them all -down, or I should be afraid we overlooked one, which isn't likely, -however, for they are all down at the bottom of each basket, and I -with them there myself." - -One by one the baskets were checked off, Mr. Acres with watch in hand -calling "time," and Minnie reading thereupon the names of the parties -and contents of the basket allotted to them. We very soon realized the -old gentleman's promise that we would have a roar, for as the -distribution went on the merriment increased, as all considered it -their bounden duty to laugh louder and longer at the mention of the -monkey of the basket then checked off than they did at the last one. -Even Bob, whose risible powers seemed to be rather limited, and which -were evidently under still greater restraint by reason of the -additional dignity which became the new outfit, succeeded in -increasing the hilarity of the occasion by the comical manner he -performed his appointed duty in the checking off, which consisted in -answering "right" when the number and names were announced, and -submitting any information obtained of the parties in question through -the intervention of a certain Mrs. McQuirey, whose "absence at the -present delightful reunion," explained Mr. Acres, "was owing to the -numerous duties with which that excellent lady had burdened herself." -These duties, I afterward learned, consistent in making a daily -morning visit to a number of sick poor people who Mr. Acres had taken -under his fostering care. Bob's information was remarkable for its -brevity of expression as well as for its peculiarly ventriloquistic -character, due to the extraordinary amount of adipose matter which -enveloped his organs of speech. {547} Of basket Number Five, for -instance, he said, "Bad--husband goes it every Saturday -night--children thin as broom handles." Or Number eight he reported: -"Measles--shanty--rags scare--allers hungry." Of Number Ten, -"Wus--man broken leg--wife no work--ain't fit neither if there was -millions." Of Number Twenty, the last, having by this time exhausted -his stock of adjectives, he summed up his report thus: "Extremely wust -o' the hall lot--widder--nine mortal bags o' hungry bones--and what -will you do with 'em?" - -"Do with them!" exclaimed Mr. Acres, "we'll have Mrs. McQuirey look -them up, Bob, eh? Minnie, dear, take a note of Number Twenty, that -basket is only a bite." - -The baskets being all checked off, Bob was ordered to produce -forthwith a bottle of wine and glasses. "Now that we've got through -with it comfortably," said Mr. Acres, "we'll drink all their healths, -and wish 'em a Merry Christmas," which was done, all standing. -"Hoping," continued that Prince of Charity, glass in hand, and -following toward the four points of the compass, as if the whole -twenty families were arranged about him in a circle, "that you may all -have many happy returns of the season, and never know a Christmas that -is not a merry one." - -Never was a toast drunk with purer enthusiasm or a heartier good-will. -Believing it to be the part of some one to cheer the sentiment, and -not seeing any of the parties present who might with great propriety -perform that duty, Bob took it upon himself to act their proxy, which -he accordingly did by waving his new hat in a circle and giving three -muffled "Hoo-rays" from the cotton bale. - -In a few minutes John the messenger returned. He was at once -introduced to the parlor, where he gave a glowing account of his -errand. - -"The shammin' deaf an' dumb was thryin' to me sowl above all. It wint -aginst me not to be able to say the top o' the mornin' to ye, or aven -God save all here on a Christmas dhay to the crathers, an' the Lord -forgive me for peepin' an' a listenin' whin they thought I was deaf as -a post, but it was in a good cause. It tuk the tears out o' me two -eyes, so it did, to hear thim wondherin and prayin 'and a blessin' -yez, and a cryin' for joy, and to see the childer dancin' the monkeys -like mad. Och! but it's a glory to be a rich man like yer honor. Me -mouth wathers whin I think o' the threasures ye're a hapin' up above." - -"Bob," interrupted Mr. Acres, shifting uneasily in his seat, "you had -better get out the crape hat-bands, for I see a funeral coming round -the corner." - -"A funeral is it?" said John. "May it be a thousand years afore it -shtops forninst yer honor's doors." - -"Thank ye, John; thank ye," said Mr. Acres, suddenly rising and going -to the window, where he stood apparently deeply interested in the view -of a blank wall and some smoky chimney-pots before him. - -"Whin _his_ day comes," continued John, loud enough to be overheard by -Mr. Acres, "what a croonin' and a philaluin' thim poor crathers will -be makin'. Sure, their tears will be droopin' like diamonds into his -grave." - -This was too much for Mr. Acres, who turned around, presenting a -picture of inconsolable grief. It was only after two or three violent -efforts to clear his throat of some unusually large obstacle which -appeared to have stuck there that he succeeded in saying: - -"Merry Christmas, John! Merry Christmas! You will find a plum-pudding, -John, waiting down-stairs," and immediately began another survey of -the blank wall and chimney-pots, making at the same time several -abortive attempts to whistle. - -{548} - -John took the hint, and bowed himself out of the room. A dead silence -ensued upon his departure, which no one appeared to find sufficient -reason to break. In vain did I rack my brains to find an appropriate -remark, but the words would not arrange themselves into a grammatical -sentence. As I chanced to lift my eyes to the full-orbed face of Bob, -standing bolt upright behind Minnie's chair, I became convinced at -once of the fact that I had been intently and impudently staring at -that Darling of the World for some time, whose beautiful downcast -face, half shaded by a profuse cluster of raven curls I thought might -engage the attention of any individual, say for an unlimited term of -years. Embarrassed by this discovery, I took up the basket list and -became at once deeply absorbed in its perusal. Unfortunately, the -paper appeared to be possessed of some diabolical fascination which -prevented my looking away from it or opening my mouth. How long this -state of things might have continued is difficult to say, had not Bob -broken the silence by a question, addressed, as it seemed, rather to -mankind in general then to any particular individual within hearing: - -"This ain't Christmas is it?" - -"Yes, it is, you rascal," replied Mr. Acres; who, being either -satisfied with his inspection of the blank wall and the chimney-pots, -or had concluded to defer their more minute examination to another -time, at that moment came forward to the table. "Go and order up lunch -directly, Minnie, my darling; Mr. Holiday will give us the pleasure of -his company, and also to dinner. Meanwhile, Mr. Holiday will be glad -to hear you sing, my dear, and I will go and have Number Twenty looked -after; that basket was only a bite, only a bite." - -Mr. Alfred Holiday immediately led Miss Minnie Acres to the piano, -where he listened with rapt attention to that young lady's singing of -Miss Hemans's "O lovely voices of the sky;" upon which Mr. Alfred -Holiday made the stupid remark that he had never heard any one of -those "voices of the sky" before that day. Afterward Miss Minnie Acres -and Mr. Alfred Holiday looked over a portfolio of prints together, -when that young gentleman discovered that all his fingers were thumbs, -and besought Miss Minnie Acres to hold one of the prints for him, -when, looking at her and at the same time pretending to examine the -picture with a critical eye, he declared he never saw anything so -beautiful in his life, which irrelevant observation caused Miss Minnie -Acres to say to Mr. Alfred Holiday, "Why! you're not looking at it!" -whereupon that gentlemen became speechless and blushed from the roots -of his hair to the depths of his best necktie. Of the events of the -rest of the day Mr. Alfred Holiday distinctly remembers the following -facts. Lunch being announced, Mr. Alfred Holiday took Miss Minnie -Acres to the table, acted in the most insane manner while there, and -lead Miss Minnie Acres back to the parlor; that he played backgammon -with Miss Minnie Acres, and doubtless left an impression on the mind -of that young lady that he was utterly ignorant of the game; that he -accompanied Miss Minnie Acres to Vespers, and returned with her; that -he took Miss Minnie Acres to dinner, during which a gentleman, who to -the best of his belief was Mr. Thomas Acres, told him several times -that he, Mr. Alfred Holiday, ate nothing, a fact of which that -gentleman was not aware; that after the cloth was removed Mr. Alfred -Holiday sat staring at an empty chair opposite him, for the possession -of which he could cheerfully have impoverished himself and gone upon -the wide, wide world; that certain musical sounds proceeded from the -direction of the parlor, Mr. Alfred Holiday asseverated in the -strongest terms to be "divine;" that upon his return to the parlor he -was only restrained by the presence of a third person from throwing -himself upon his knees and explaining: "Thou art the Darling of the -World and the Sunshine of my life," but which he nevertheless repeated -{549} in his mind an innumerable number of times; in a word, that Mr. -Alfred Holiday fell head over ears in love with Miss Minnie Acres, and -made of all, which up to the present writing he has religiously, that -if she would accept his hand and heart, which she did a few weeks -after, he would send her twenty baskets of provisions to as many poor -families every Christmas Eve, as a thank-offering, and a grateful -remembrance of the hour when he laughed, and thereby one the most -beautiful and most faithful wife that a man ever have. - ----------- - - -From The London Society. - -A CHRISTMAS DREAM. - - - A Pilgrim to the West returned, whose palm-branch, drenched in dew, - Shook off bright drops like childhood's tears when childhood's heart is new, - Stole up the hills at eventide, like mist in wintry weather, - Where locked in dream-like trance I lay, at rest among the heather. - - The red ferns, answering to his tread; sent up a savor sweet; - The yellow gorse, like Magian gold, glowed bright about his feet: - The waving brooms, the winter blooms, each happy voice in air, - Grew great with life and melody, as if a Christ stood there. - - Unlike to mortal man was he. His brow rose broad and high: - The peace of heaven was on his lip, the God-light in his eye; - And rayed with richer glory streamed, through night and darkness shed, - To crown that holy Pilgrim's brow, the one star overhead. - - Long gazing on that staff he bore, beholding how it grew - With sprouts of green, with buds between, and young leaves ever new. - The marvels of the Eastern land I bade him all unfold. - And thus to my impassioned ears the wondrous tale he told: - - "Each growth upon that sacred soil where one died not in vain, - Though crushed and shed, though seeming dead, in beauty lives again: - The branching bough the knife may cleave, the root the axe may sever, - But on the ground his presence lighted, nothing dies for ever. - - "Where once amid the lowly stalls fell soft the Virgin's tear, - The littered straw 'neath children's feet turns to green wheat in ear. - The corn he pluck'd on Sabbath days, though ne'er it feels the sun, - Though millions since have trod the field, bears fruit for every one. - - "The palms that on his way were strewn wave ever in the air; - From clouded earth to sun-bright heaven they form a leafy stair. - In Cana's bowers the love of man is touched by the divine; - And snows that fall on Galilee have still the taste of wine. - - "Where thy lost locks, poor Magdalen! around his feet were rolled, - Still springs in woman's worship-ways the gracious Mary-gold: - Men know when o'er that bowed down head they hear the angels weeping, - The purer spirit is not dead--not dead, but only sleeping. - -{550} - - "Aloft on blackened Calvary no more the shadows lower: - Where fell the piercing crown of thorns, there blooms a thorn in flower. - Bright on the prickled holy-tree and mistletoe' appear, - Reflecting rays of heavenly shine, the blod-drop and the tear. - - "The sounding rocks that knew his tread wake up each dead abyss, - Where echoes caught from higher worlds ring gloriously in this; - And, leaning where his voice once filled the temple where he taught, - The listener's eyes grew spirit-full--full with a heavenly thought." - - The Pilgrim ceased. My heart beat fast. I marked a change of hue; - As if those more than mortal eyes a soul from God looked through. - Then rising slow as angels rise, and soaring faint and far, - He passed my bound of vision, robed in glory, as a star. - - Strange herald voices filled the air: glad anthems swelled around: - The wakened winds rose eager-voiced, and lapsed in dreamy sound. - It seemed all birds that wintered far, drawn home by some blessed power, - Made music in the Christmas woods, mistaking of the hour. - - A new glad spirit raptured me! I woke to breathe the morn - With heart fresh-strung to charity--as though a Christ were born. - Then knew I how each earth-born thought, though tombed in clay it seem, - It bursts the sod, it soars to God, transfigured in a dream. - - ELEANORA L. HERVEY - --------- - -From the Month. - -VICTIMS OF DOUBT. - - -It is not the fashion at present to scoff at Christianity, or to make -an open profession of infidelity. Ponderous treatises to prove that -revealed religion is an impossibility, and coarse blasphemies against -holy things, are equally out of date. Yet to men of earnest -convictions, whether holding the whole or only some portions of -revealed truth, the moral atmosphere is not reassuring. The pious -Catholic, the Bible-loving Protestant, and the hybrid of the last -phase of Tractarianism, are alike distrustful of the smooth aspect of -controversy and the calm surface of the irreligious element. There is -something worse than bigotry or mischief, and that is skepticism. And, -if we may judge from what we hear and read, it is this to which most -schools of thought outside the Catholic Church are rapidly drifting, -if they have not already reached it, and into which restless and -disloyal Catholics are in danger of being precipitated. An answer made -to an old Oxford friend by one who was once with him in the van of the -Tractarian movement, but did not accompany him into the fold, "I agree -with you, that if there is a divine revelation, the Roman Catholic -Church is the ordained depository of it; but this is an uncertainty -which I cannot solve," would probably express the habitual state of -mind of a fearfully {551} large number of the more thoughtful of our -countrymen, and the occasional reflection of many more who do not -often give themselves time to think. And to the multitudes who are -plunging or gliding into doubts the Catholic system, which there -unhappy training has made it one of their first principles to despise -for detest, has not even presented itself as an alternative. - -The current literature of the day, which is mostly framed to suit the -taste of the market, and reacts again in developing that taste further -in the same direction, is pre-eminently, not blasphemous, or -anti-Catholic, or polemical, but sceptical. The following description -of the periodical press by the Abbe Louis Baunard, in his recent -publication, [Footnote 168] might seem to have been written for -London instead of Paris: - - [Footnote 168: Le Doute ses Victimes dans le Siecle present, par M. - l'Abbe Louis Baunard. Paris.] - -"With some rare exceptions, you will not find any rude scoffing, -violent expressions, unfashionable cynicism, harsh systems, or -exclusive intolerance. Yet is not controversy that is the business of -these writers, but criticism. They deal in expositions and -suppositions, but almost always without deciding anything. It is a -principle with them that there are only shades of difference between -the most contradictory propositions; and the reader becomes accustomed -to see these shades in such questions as those which relate to the -personality of God, the divinity of Jesus Christ, and the supernatural -generally. This does not hinder these men from calling themselves -Christians, in the vague sense of a loose Christianity, which allows -the names of ancient beliefs to remain, while it destroys their -substance. They do not assault the old religion in front, but silently -undermine the foundations on which it rests, and carry on ingenious -parallels by the side of revealed truth, till some conclusion emerges -which utterly subverts it, without having appeared to be intentionally -directed against it. There is one review, the most widely circulated -of all, in the same number of which an article dearly atheistical will -be found by the side of another article breathing the most correct -orthodoxy, and very much surprised to see itself in such company. Such -concessions to truth, which are made only now and then, serve to give -the publication that makes them a certain appearance of impartiality, -and thus to accredit error, and to lay one more snare for the reader." - -We may be inclined, on a cursory perusal of such periodicals as The -Saturday Review, to indulge gleefully in the laughter excited by the -ludicrous aspect in which some pompous prelate or fussy evangelical -preacher is presented; or to admire the acute and seemingly candid -dissection, at one time, of a Protestant scheme of evidences, at -another, of an infidel philosophy; or to rejoice in the substitution -of decorous calmness for rancor and raving in handling Catholic truth. -But when we study a series of such publications, and notice how -systematically all earnest convictions are made to show a weak or -ridiculous side, and all proofs of Christianity to appear defective, -and how, under a smooth surface of large-minded impartiality, there -beats a steady tide of attack upon all supernatural virtue and all -supernatural truth, our hearts must needs ache to think of the effects -of such teaching on multitudes of imperfectly grounded minds. In the -words of the author to whom we have referred: "Right and wrong, true -and false, yes and no, meet and jostle each other, and are mistaken -for each other in minds bewildered and off their guard, and mostly -incapable of discrimination: till at length, lost in these -cross-roads, tired of systems and of contradictions, and not knowing -in what direction to find light, all but the most energetic sit down -and rest in doubt, as in the best wisdom and the safest position." But -to sit down in doubt is either to abdicate the highest powers of a -reasonable being, or to admit an enemy that will use them as -instruments of torture. Except for {552} souls of little intellectual -activity, or wholly steeped in sense, this sitting down in doubt is -like sitting down in a train that is moving out of the station with -the steam up and no engine-driver, or in a boat that is drifting out -of harbor into a stormy sea. - -The Abbe Baunard has collected the experiences of some of these -reckless and storm-tossed wanderers into a painfully interesting -volume. He has selected from the chief sceptical philosophers and -poets of the present century those who, in private journals or -autobiographical sketches, have made the fullest disclosures of the -working of their own minds, and has let them speak for themselves. He -calls them "victims of doubt," and bids us listen with compassion to -their bitter lamentations over the wreck of the past, and their gloomy -anticipations of the future, and to the cries of pain and shame which -seem forced out of them, even amidst their proudest boasts of -independence and most resolute rejections of revealed truth. But, -although an expression here or there may be unguarded, he -distinguishes very clearly between pitying and excusing these victims. -He reminds us that compassion for the sufferings entailed by doubt -cannot absolve from the guilt of doubt. He protests against the claim -made by sceptics to be regarded as warriors in conflicts in which only -the noble engage, and as scarred with honorable wounds; and against -the notion that to have suffered much in a wrong cause is a guarantee -of sincerity and a title to salvation. He quotes with reprobation the -plea of M. Octave Feuillet: "Ah! despise as much as you choose what is -despicable. But when unbelief suffers, implores, and is respectful, do -you respect it. There are blasphemies, be assured, which are as good -as prayers, and unbelievers who are martyrs. Yes, I firmly believe -that the sufferings of doubt are holy, and that to think of God and to -be always thinking of him, even with despair, is to honor him and to -be pleasing to him." He would not admit the same plea in the more -plausible form and more touching language in which it is urged by Mr. -Froude: "You who look with cold eye on such a one, and lift them up to -heaven, and thank God you are not such as he, and call him hard names, -and think of him as of one who is forsaking a cross, and pursuing -unlawful indulgence, and deserving all good men's reproach! Ah! could -you see down below his heart's surface, could you count the tears -streaming down his cheek, as out through some church-door into the -street come pealing the old familiar notes, and the old psalms which -he cannot sing, the chanted creed which is no longer his creed, and -yet to part with which was worse agony than to lose his dearest -friend; ah! you would deal him lighter measure. What! is not his cup -bitter enough, but that all the good, whose kindness at least, whose -sympathy and sorrow, whose prayers he might have hoped for, that these -must turn away from him as from an offence, as from a thing for bid? ---that he must tread the wine-press alone, calling to God-fearing man -his friend; and this, too, with the sure knowledge that of coldness -least of all he is deserving, for God knows it is no pleasant task -which has been laid on him." The fallacies which are dextrously -interwoven in this passage, that sympathy precludes condemnation, that -intense suffering of any kind sanctities the sufferer, and that the -state of doubt is imposed as a burden and not wilfully incurred and -retained, are refuted out of the mouth of those who resort to them. We -see, indeed, in the records of these victims of doubt, various -circumstances leading to their fall; such as the heathenish state of -the colleges where some of them lost their faith, the antichristian -theories of science and philosophy magisterially propounded to them, -the personal influence of friends who were already committed to -skepticism, poisonous literature thrown in the way, and the excitement -of political revolutions; and, of course, in the case of {553} those -who had not received a Catholic education, the far greater palliation -of the absence of a coherent system of belief. But, at the same time, -we see no less plainly the working of wilful negligence and -presumption in their descent into the abyss, and of wilful pride and -obstinacy in refusing to seek the means of extrication from it. They -are victims of doubt as others are victims of a habit of opium-eating -or gambling; and if we sympathize with them more deeply than with -these latter, it is rather because their anguish is more intense and -more refined than because it is less the harvest of their own sowing. -By the side of those who fell, there were others of the same -sensibility of mind, placed in the same circumstances, exposed to the -same assaults, who stood firm by prayer and humility, and who found in -their faith a provision for all their mental wants, and a fountain of -peace under the heaviest trials. And by the side of those who, having -once made shipwreck of their faith, plunged more and more deeply into -despair of knowing anything with certainty, till they flung away the -life that their own doubts had made an intolerable burden, there were -others equally astray and equally burdened, who worked their way back -to life and peace by the same path of earnest and humble prayer. Some -of these contrasts are very effectively presented by our author, and -others will suggest themselves to his readers. - -The victims whose wanderings and sufferings are portrayed in this -volume are Theodore Jouffroy, Maine de Biran, Santa Rosa, Georges, -Farcy, and Edmund Scherer from among the philosophers of the century; -and Lord Byron, Friedrich Schiller, Heinrich von Kleist, and Leopardi -from among the poets; followed by a less detailed account of a group -of French sceptical poets, Alfred de Musset, Henri Heine, Murger, -Gerard de Nerval, and Hegesippe Moreau, whose writings are mostly too -gross for quotation, although enough is given to show that their -experience of the effects of doubt resembled that of the rest. All, -with the exception of M. Scherer, who is the editor of the French -paper Le Temps, have passed into a world where doubt is no longer -possible--two of them by their own hand, and two more by violent -deaths which they had gone to meet rather from weariness of life than -from enthusiasm for the cause for which they fought. - -There is only one of the whole number, Maine de Biran, whose death was -thoroughly satisfactory; and he, though certainly to be reckoned among -the victims of doubt, which clouded the best years of his life, and -from which he only very slowly worked his way to freedom, is -introduced rather in the way of contrast to the other philosophers and -especially to Jouffroy. The great difference in his case lay in two -things, that he paid more attention to the moral nature of man, and -did not so wholly subordinate the desire of the good to the search -after the true, and that he was on his guard against that pride of -intellect which we see so rampant in his fellow-philosophers. While -all the most celebrated men of Paris were paying court to him, and -although, even before he had published anything beyond some short -metaphysical treatises, M. Royer Collard cried, "He is the master of -us all," and M. Cousin pronounced him to be the greatest French -metaphysician since Malebranche, his own private reflection was: -"Pride will be the ruin of my life, as long as I do not seek from on -high a spirit to direct mine, or to take its place." Yet it was not -till his fifty-second year, after many years' vain pursuit of truth in -different systems of sensualistic and rationalistic philosophy, and of -happiness first in pleasure and then in study and retirement, that he -set himself resolutely to try surer means. "Not finding," he wrote in -May, 1818, "anything satisfactory either in myself or out of myself, -in the world of my ideas or in that of objects, I have been for some -{554} time past more determined to look for that fixed resting-place -which has become the need of my mind and of my heart, in the notion of -the Absolute, Infinite, and Unchangeable Being. The religious and -moral beliefs which reason does not create, but which are its -necessary basis and support, now present themselves to me as my only -refuge, and I can find no true knowledge anywhere than just there, -where before, with the philosophers, I found only dreams and chimeras. -My point of view has altered with my disposition and moral character." -From this time the progress upward was steady. We find notices in his -journal of earnest prayer, of daily meditation, of study of the -gospels and the Imitation of Christ. Four years of physical suffering -and outward trials deepened the work of conversion, and were passed -with Christian resignation. The last words that he wrote were words of -certainty and peace: "The Christian walks in the presence of God and -with God, by the Mediator whom he has taken as his guide for this life -and the next." The Ami de la Religion of July 24th, 1824, contained -the notice: "Maine de Biran fulfilled his Christian duties in an -edifying manner, and received the sacraments at the hands of his -pastor, the cure of St. Thomas d'Aqnin." - -Theodore de Jouffroy, if his life had not been suddenly cut short, -would probably have had the same happiness. After having devoted his -immense powers of mind to the study and dissemination of sceptical -philosophy from 1814 to 1839, when bad health forced him to resign the -professor's chair, he had begun to soften his tone, to speak -respectfully of revealed religion, and to look wistfully and hopefully -to it for the solution of the great problems which it had been the -business and the torture of his life to investigate by the unaided -light of his own intellect. He had conversed with Monseigneur Cart, -the bishop of Nimes, and had said to him, "I am not now one of those -who think that modern societies can do without Christianity; I would -not write in this sense to-day. You have a grand mission to fulfil, -monseigneur. Ah! continue to teach the gospel well." He took pleasure -in seeing his daughter preparing herself for her first communion; and -speaking about a work of Lamennais to the clergyman who was -instructing her, he said with a deep sigh, "Alas! M. le Cure, all -these systems lead to nothing; better--a thousand times better--one -good act of Christian faith." The cure left his room with good hopes -of his conversion, and in the belief that the faith of his childhood -had come to life again in his part. But before he could see him again, -and put these hopes to the test, Jouffroy expired suddenly and without -previous warning on the 1st of March, 1842. - -Two or three of the French poets had time to ask for a priest, or to -admit one when, in the hospitals to which their excesses had brought -them, a Sister of Charity proposed it. Leopardi, outwardly at least -sceptical and gloomy to the last, received a doubtful absolution from -a priest, who came when the dying man was insensible. [Footnote 169] -To all the rest even as much as this was wanting. - - [Footnote 169: We have used this expression, also aware of the - letter of Father Scarpa published first in the journal Scienza e - Fede, and afterward in the eighth addition of Father Curci's Fatti - ed Argomenti in risposta alle molte parole di V. Gioberti, in which - he gives an account of Leopardi's recourse to his ministry and - reconciliation by his means to the church in 1836; not, of course - because we agree with Gioberti that this simple and modest letter is - "a tissue of lies and deliberate inventions and a sheer romance from - beginning to end;" but because Leopardi's letters in the beginning - of 1837 and his continuance in the composition of his last poem the - Paralipomeni, the conclusion of which was dictated a few days before - his death, seems to suggest the melancholy alternative either of a - feigned conversion or of a relapse into skepticism. He told Father - Scarpa when he offered himself to be prepared for confession that he - had been banished from his Father's house; and that he was now - penitent, and was about to publish papers which would show his - alterated sentiments. It is amusing to notice that to the staid and - decorus Quarterly Review, as well as to Gioberti, this was to great - an opportunity to be lost of reviling the Jesuits. Accordingly, on - no other ground than that Father Scarpa repeated _as told him by - Leopardi_ what his letters contradict, and that he was not quite - correct in guessing at his age and described his appearance ten - years after his interview with him, the reviewer indorses Gioberti's - description, and calls the letter "an instance of audacity beyond - all common efforts in that kind." The habitual mendacity in - Leopardi's letters, and his offer, while an unbeliever, to be - ordained in order to hold a benefice which he intended _after saying - a few Masses_ to have served by another, make it unfortunately not - improbable that his conversion was only pretended.] - -{555} - -We have not space to go into the details of these melancholy -histories; but we must give a few extracts in illustration of the keen -regret with which these victims of doubt look back to the religious -convictions of their youth from the cheerlessness and misery of the -state to which they have reduced themselves, and of the involuntary -homage which, even while refusing to submit to the teaching of the -church, they are forced to pay to it. Here is Jouffroy's reminiscence -of the happy days of faith: "Born of pious parents and in a country -where the Catholic faith was still full of life at the beginning of -this century, I had been early wont to consider man's future and the -care of my own soul the chief business of life, and all my subsequent -education tended to confirm these serious dispositions. For a long -time, the beliefs of Christianity had fully answered to all the wants -and all the anxieties which such dispositions introduce into the soul. -To these questions, which to me were the only questions that ought to -occupy man, the religion of my fathers gave answers, and those answers -I believed, and, thanks to my belief, my present life was clear, and -beyond it I saw the future that was to follow it spread itself out -without a cloud. At ease as to the path that I had to pursue in this -world, at ease as to the goal to which it was to conduct me in the -other, understanding the phases of life and death in which they are -blended, understanding myself, understanding the designs of God for -me, and loving him for the goodness of his designs, I was happy with -the happiness that springs from a firm and ardent faith in a doctrine -which solves all the great questions that can interest man." His -faith, the liveliness of which had been somewhat shaken by an -indiscriminate perusal of modern literature during the latter part of -his classical studies at Dijon, gave way entirely before the lectures -of M. Cousin in the Ecole Normale at Paris, to which he was -transferred in 1814, and the combined influences of flattery and -ridicule with which his sceptical fellow-students there assailed him. -He describes the terrible struggle between "the eager curiosity which -could not withdraw itself from the consideration of objections which -were scattered like dust throughout the atmosphere that he breathed," -and on the other hand the influences "of his childhood with its poetic -impressions, his youth with its pious recollections, the majesty, -antiquity, and authority of the faith which he had been taught, and -the rising in revolt of the whole memory and imagination against the -incursion of unbelief which wounded them so deeply." His faith was -gone before he realized the loss: some time afterward he thus painted -the horrors of the discovery: "Never shall I forget that evening in -December when the veil that hid my unbelief from myself was rent. I -still hear my footsteps in the bare narrow apartment, in which I -continued walking long after the hour for sleep. I still see that moon -half-veiled by clouds which at intervals lit up the cold window-panes. -The hours of night glided by, and I took no note of them. I was -anxiously following my train of thought, which descended from one -stratum to another toward the depth of my consciousness, and -scattering, one after another, all the illusions which had hitherto -concealed it from me, made its outline every moment more visible. In -vain did I try to cling to these residues of belief as a shipwrecked -sailor to the fragments of his ship; in vain, alarmed at the unknown -void in which I was about to be suspended, I threw myself back for the -last time toward my childhood, my family, my country, all that was -dear and sacred to me: the irresistible current of my thought was too -strong. Parents, family, recollections, beliefs--it forced me to quit -all. The analysis was continued with more obstinacy and more severity -in proportion as it approached its term, {556} and it did not pause -till it had reached it. Then I was aware that in my inmost self there -was no longer anything left standing. It was an appalling moment, and -when, toward morning, I threw myself exhausted on my bed, I seemed to -see my former life, so smiling and so full, effaced, and another -gloomy and desolate life opening behind me in which I was henceforth -to live alone--alone with my fatal thought which had just banished me -thither, and which I was tempted to curse." - -A few years after this crisis in Jouffroy's life, the same sort of -catastrophe was experienced in a distant country by another highly -gifted soul, and wonderfully similar is the victim's description of -it. Leopardi, the rival, in the opinion of many of his countrymen, of -Tasso in poetry and of Galileo in philosophy, in whom a prodigious -industry was united in rare combination to a subtle intellect and a -refined imagination, who was reading Greek by himself at eight years -old, and before he was nineteen was versed in several oriental -languages, was engaged in literary correspondence with Niebuhr, -Boissonado, and Bunsen, and was the author of numerous translations -from the Classics, a valuable translation of Porphyry on Plotinus, and -an erudite historical essay in which there are citations from four -hundred ancient authors--had, like Jouffroy, prepared the way for his -fall by an overweening confidence in his own great intellectual -powers, and by a recklessly excessive devotion to study. To this was -added the chafing of disappointed ambition, and irritation against his -father for refusing to give him the means of leaving home. His ruin -was completed by the conversation of Pietro Giordani, an apostate -Benedictine monk, who soothed and condoled with him, flattered his -vanity by telling him that "if Dante was the morning star of Italy's -sky, Leopardi was the evening star," and succeeded in inoculating him -with his own scepticism, which in himself was mere shallow impiety, -but in the deeper mind of his pupil, led, if his writings can be -trusted, to as hopelessly complete a disbelief of God, the soul, and -immortality, as is possible for a human being to bring himself to -endure. In a letter of March 6th, 1820, to his friend and seducer, he -says: "My window being open one of these evenings, while I was gazing -on a pure sky and a beautiful moonlight, and listening to the distant -barking of dogs, I seemed to see images of former times before me, and -I felt a shock in my heart. I cried out, like a convict, baking pardon -of nature, whose voice I seemed to hear. At that instant, as I cast a -glance back on my former state, I stood, frozen with terror, unable to -imagine how it would be possible to support port life without fancies -and without affections, without imagination and without enthusiasm--in -a word, without anything of all that, a year ago, filled up my -existence and made me still happy, notwithstanding my trials. Now I am -withered up like to reed; no emotion finds an entrance any longer into -my poor soul, and even the eternal and supreme power of love is -annihilated in me at my present age." He was but twenty-two then; and -through the seventeen years that is shattered constitution lasted, he -was ever speaking of life as an agony and a burden, sometimes proudly -declaring that he would not bend under its weight, sometimes -passionately asking for sympathy and love, but always recurring to -this sad refrain: "The life of mortals, when youth has past, is never -tinged with any dawn. It is widowed to the end, and the grade is the -only end to our night." "I comprehend, I know only one thing. Let -others draw some profit from these vicissitudes and passing -existences; it may be so, but for me life is an evil." - -We have seen the account given by the French philosopher Jouffroy and -the Italian poet Leopardi of their feelings on waking up to the -knowledge that the faith of their childhood had passed away; let us -compare one more such experience that of the German {557} Von Kleist. -"For some time, my dear friend," he writes to the lady to whom he was -affianced, "I have been employed in studying the philosophy of Kant, -and I am bound to communicate to you a conclusion which I am sure will -not affect you as deeply and as painfully as it has myself. It is -this: we cannot be certain whether what we call truth is really the -truth or only an appearance. In this last case, the truth that we -sought after here below would be nothing at all after death; and it -would be useless to try to acquire a treasure which it would be -impossible to carry to the tomb. If this conclusion does not pierce -your heart, do not laugh at a wretch whom it has deeply wounded in all -that is most sacred to him. _My noble, my only aim has vanished, and I -have none_. Since this conviction entered my mind, I have not touched -my books. I have traversed my chamber, I have placed myself by an open -window, I have run along the street. My interior disturbance has let -me to visit smoking-rooms and cafes to get relief. I have been to the -theatre and the concert to dissipate my mind. I have even played the -fool. But in spite of all, in the midst of all this agitation, the one -thought that occupied my whole soul and filled it with anguish was -this: your aim, your noble and only aim has vanished." A few years of -the repetition of this sorrowful wailing, and then, after writing to -his sister, "You have done everything to save me that the power of a -sister could do, everything that the power of man could do; the fact -is, that nothing can help me here on earth," he escaped from doubt to -pass before the Judgment-seat by his own hand. - -We must give one more of the many recurring expressions of regret with -which the volume abounds. We are inclined to regard Santa Rosa with -even more profound compassion than the other victims, on account of -the warm and tender piety of his earlier youth, and the absence in him -of the arrogance and scorn that overflows in the others in the midst -of their sufferings. All who knew him agreed that it was hardly -possible to know him without loving him. Unfortunately, his struggles -in the cause of Italy threw him into close association with many who -had mistaken infidelity for liberty. Still more unfortunately, he -contracted a close intimacy with M. Cousin, and soon began to love him -more than truth and than God, and under the blighting influence of his -teaching his own faith disappeared. M. Cousin has published his -letters with frequent and large omissions, but there remains abundant -evidence that he was always regretting the past. The following passage -occurs after something omitted: "O my friend, how unfortunate we are -in being only poor philosophers, for whom the continuance of existence -after death is only a hope, an ardent desire, a fervent prayer! Would -that I had the virtues and the faith of my mother! To reason is to -doubt; to doubt is to suffer. Faith is a sort of miracle. When it is -strong and genuine, what happiness it gives! How often in my study I -raise my eyes to heaven, and beg God to reveal me to myself, but above -all, to grant me immortality!" Twice in his life--when in prison in -Paris with the expectation of being given up to the Piedmontese -police, which would have been to be sent to the scaffold, and again -when beginning a serious philosophical work--he returned to a better -mind. Whether time and grace to return once more were given him, -behind the Greek battery in the isle of Sphacteria, where he fell -fighting bravely, we cannot tell. - -Besides the implicit homage to the faith involved in such regrets of -the past as we have been witnessing, the writings of most of these -philosophers and poets contain many testimonies to their involuntary -acknowledgment of the claims of the revealed system which they had -abandoned. We will cite only one, from a discourse of Jouffroy on his -usual subject, the {558} problem of the destiny of man: "There is a -little book which children are made to learn, and on which they are -questioned in church. Read this little book, which is called the -Catechism; you will find in it an answer to all the questions that I -hare proposed--all without exception. Ask the Christian whence the -human race comes, he knows; whither it is going, he knows. Ask this -poor child, who has never in his life dreamed of it, to what end he -exists here below, and what he will become after death; he will give -you a sublime answer, which he will not comprehend, but which is not -the less admirable. Ask him how the world was produced, and for what -end; why God placed animals and plants in it; how the earth was -peopled, whether by one family or several; why men speak different -languages; why they suffer; why they contend; what will be the end of -it all--he knows. The origin of the world, the origin of the human -race, the question of races, the destiny of man in this life and in -the other, the relation of man to God, the duties of man to his -fellows, the rights of man over creation--he is acquainted with all; -and when he is grown up, he will be equally free from hesitation about -natural rights, political rights, and the right of nations; for all -this is the outcome and clear and spontaneous product of Christian -doctrine. This is what I call a great religion; I recognize it by this -sign of its not leaving unanswered any of the questions which interest -humanity." - -Edmond Scherer and Friedrich Schiller, as well as Lord Byron, differ -from the other instances in never having known the true faith; but -they show that the loss of a firm hold of those fragments of -Christianity that are retained outside of the fold leads to something -of the same result as the loss of the faith. The sketch of M. -Scherer's life is very interesting, for it shows the inevitable result -of Protestantism in a highly logical and reflective mind which refuses -the alternative of submission to the Catholic Church. His installation -in the chair of theology in the Evangelical Seminary of Geneva in 1844 -was hailed as a triumph by all the devout adherents to the reformed -religion, who looked to him as the invincible champion against the -socinianism prevailing all around. He set himself to the work of -proving the inspiration of Scripture without having recourse to the -authority of the Catholic Church, and the result, after passing -through various phases of sentimentalism and eclecticism, was to land -him in such conclusions as that "the Bible has so little of a monopoly -of inspiration, that there are writings not canonical the inspiration -of which is much more evident than in some of the biblical writings;" -and finally, that Protestantism and Catholicism, Christianity and -Judaism, are only conceptions more or less exact of a common object -and phases in a great movement of progressive spiritualization; that -morality itself is only relative; and that absolute certainty of any -kind is a dream. He may well say, as he has lately said: "Alas! blind -prisoners as we are, laboring at the overthrow the past, we are -engaged in a work which we do not understand. We yield to a power of -which it seems at times that we are the victims as well as the -instruments. The terrible logic whose formulas we wield crushes us -while we are crushing others with it." - -The moral of these and other such histories--the moral of Froude and -Francis Newman and Clough--is that as God never made his children for -perplexity and anguish, he never made them for doubt, and must have -provided a secure asylum from it, not in ignorance or thoughtlessness, -but in a system of divinely guaranteed authority. The lesson from the -Nemesis of doubt is the conclusion of Augustine Thierry: "I have need -of an infallible authority, I have need of rest for my soul. I open my -eyes, and I see one only authority, that of the Catholic Church. I -believe what the Catholic Church teaches; I receive her Credo." - ----------- - -{559} - -Translated from the German - - -WHAT MOST REJOICES THE HEART OF MAN? - - -It was two days before the holy Christmas of the old year, and a very -hard season when Martin (a farmer, to whom heaven had granted a rich -harvest, to reward him for the faithful tillage of his land) entered -the house. He had taken his grain to the market-town, and, thanks to -the brisk demand, had parted with it at an unusually high price. And -now, returning home with a full purse, he called his wife, and pouring -out the money before her on the table, said laughingly: "Look, Agnes, -that will give us a rare treat! what thinkest thou, mother? What most -rejoices the heart of man? I want something that shall make me right -joyful." - -"O Martin!" replied the wife, "it must be found, then. But this whole -day has my heart been very heavy; and even if I made something very -nice indeed, I don't think it would go to the right spot;" and when -Martin asked why, she continued: "Thou hadst not been gone long -yesterday morning when in came our neighbor's Clara, weeping and -mourning, and said her father was like to die, and would I for God's -sake come to their assistance and give him something nourishing. I -could understand, then, how matters still it, and taking with me just -whatever there was in the house, I ran down to the hut. O dear God! -what misery was there! The man lay on a little straw, so white and -feeble; the poor wife knelt beside him, crying and sobbing; and their -children hung round them, half naked, and living pictures of hunger, -and not a bit of bread in the whole house. And indeed, Martin, that is -not the only home where such want is! I don't know, but it seems as if -I ought not to enjoy one cheerful hour while so much wretchedness -surrounds us." - -While Martin let his wife speak out her thoughts, his eyes were -musingly bent before him. Then he rose, and grasping Agnes's hand, -exclaimed: "Now I know what to do, mother! A joyful heart will I have, -for doing good to others gladdens the heart more than wine and good -cheer. Let us see, then, what the dear God has given us." And now he -counted out from the money first the rent due to his landlord, then -enough to pay all that he owed, and lastily all that must go toward -preparing for the next year s crop. Still there remained a pretty -little sum, so he said: "Now, mother, count up the poor of our -village, and heat the oven, and bake for every grown person two big -loaves, and for every child a smaller one; and then send the bread -round, adding to each loaf a jug of wine and two florins. Then when -the people have a Merry Christmas, and can say grace without tears, -our hearts will be light, I am thinking, even if we set nothing on the -table besides our usual fare." - -Now when Agnes heard her husband speak thus, her heart grew very -happy, and she said yes to everything, and shook flour into the -bread-trough, and baked all day and all night. So on that day when the -church sings "Gloria in excelsis Deo!" there was not one in that whole -parish who had not enough to eat; and many a one who for a long time -had not tasted wine refreshed himself on that day, thanking with heart -and lips the farmer and his wife. These two had merely their usual -homely fare upon the table, but within their breasts were joyful -hearts and the consciousness of a good deed. - -{560} - -So far, so good; but something else happened afterward; for as, -according to the proverb, a pleasure never comes alone, so have good -works an especial power of multiplying themselves. And of that we are -now going to hear something. - -When it came to the landlord's ears that his farmer, who was no -capitalist, had made a Merry Christmas for himself in the love of the -holy Christ-child, he was well pleased, and thought to himself that he -too might try something of the same sort. Therefore he appointed a day -(the octave of the blessed Christmas, New-Year's day) when all the -poor in his parish should be invited to the castle. In the hall was a -long table covered with a fine white cloth for the poor people, and a -smaller one for himself and his family. At this small table he placed -Farmer Martin and his wife Agnes, and near the head too, which has no -small significance among knights and noblemen. But he said that he -honored such excellent people as his own friends and relations, -believing that the heart makes better nobility than a long pedigree. - -When now the table was filled with the sons and daughters of poverty, -grace was said by the chaplain, while all remained standing and joined -devotedly in his prayer. Then were bread-cakes set on the board, and -huge pieces if roast beef, and for each person a bumper of good old -wine; but if any one was ill and could not come to the feast, then was -his share despatched to his home, with a beautiful gold piece and a -friendly greeting from his gracious lord. So all the parish poor had a -second time plenty to eat and drink, and more than one enjoyed himself -better on that day than ever before in his life. - -When the people had had a good dinner, they thought the feast was at -an end, and wished to express their thanks courteously to the host, -but he begged them to wait a little quarter of an hour longer, for -something else was coming. Then four lottery vases were placed on the -table, one for the men, another for the women, a third for boys, and a -fourth for girls; and when all the guests had been arranged ranged -according to age and family, one after another put his hand into a -vase and drew forth a number, one fifteen, another twenty-one, a third -two, and so on until each person had a number. Then they looked at -their numbers and thought, What does this all mean? and they waited -full of expectation. - -Suddenly a side door opened, and the servants brought in a wooden -frame, on the four sides of which hung all sorts of garments, one side -for men, another for women, and then for boys and girls, as at a fair; -and everything was new and neat and strong, such as peasant-folks like -to wear, and a number was fastened on each piece. Some one called out, -"Now look for the numbers that you have in your hands." The men looked -shyly at each each other, as if to say, "Can he really mean it?" but -the women were more clever, and had soon found white and colored -skirts, aprons, stockings, neckerchiefs, and handkerchiefs to match -their numbers, and were helping their husbands and children in their -search. Before long not one single thread hung on the frame, and every -one possessed his appointed prize, and was rejoicing over it, for it -really seemed as if to each person had fallen the very thing he most -needed. Of course many were there who were in need of everything. - -When now the time for leave-taking came, and the happy people thanked -their gracious lord in their best manner, he shook hands with each one -like a good old friend or father, at the same moment slipping into the -palm of every man a thaler. Then were there fresh rejoicings and -renewed thanks, and the worthy folk would not soon have made an end of -it, if their benefactor had not quickly broken {561} a path through -the crowd who blessed him, and so eluded their acknowledgments. - -But then their hearts being full to overflowing, they longed to have -some outlet to their gratitude; so they seated farmer and his wife in -two chairs, placed them in a pretty wagon, to which they harnessed -themselves; and the worthy couple, in spite of expostulation, were -borne home in triumph. Such rejoicings had not been seen for many a -long day, and even now do the people of B---- talk of brave Martin and -his excellent wife Agnes; of the feast and the lottery and the dollars -of their kind and gracious lord in the castle yonder. - --------- - -From The Reader. - - -THE REPUBLIC OF ANDORRA. - - -The Val d'Andorra lies on the southern side of the central Pyrenees, -between two of the highest mountains, the Maladetta and the Moncal. It -is bounded on the north by the department of Ariege; on the south by -the district of Barrida, the territory of Urgel, and part of the -viscounty of Castelbo; on the east by the valley of Carol and part of -the Cerdana; on the west at by the viscounty of Castelbo, the valleys -of San Juan and Terrem, the Conca de Buch, and the communes of Os and -Tor. The principal mountain-passes into France are those of Valira, -Soldeu, Fontargente, Siguer, Anzat, Arbella, and Rat; those -communicating with Spain are Port Negre, Perefita, and Portella. Some -of these are only passable during part of the year. The greatest -length of the territory is about forty miles; the greatest breadth -about twenty-four miles. The country is mountainous, but includes some -excellent pasturage. The highest summits visible are Las Mineras, -Casamanya, Saturria, Montclar, San Julian, and Juglar. The principle -rivers are the Valira, the Ordino, and the Os, none of which are -navigable. At the greatest elevation the snow remains upward of six -months. In summer the rains are very frequent. The purity of both air -and water renders the climate very healthy, and the inhabitants are -remarkable for their longevity, many living to the age of one hundred. -Devonian beds lie unconformably on upper silurian, which latter forms -a valley of depression, having the town of Andorra in its synclinal -axis. There are many mines producing iron of the best quality; one of -lead, several of alum, quartz, slate, some quarries of jaspers, and -several kinds of marble. Besides the trees common to Europe, the flora -includes the cacao or chocolate. There are, likewise, many medicinal -roots and plants. Wheat, barley, rye, and hemp are cultivated; and -grapes, figs, dates, and olives are also seen. In the low parts of the -south tobacco is much grown. Indian corn is only occasionally to be -met with. The fauna include the bear, wild boar, wolf, boquetin -(_Capra Pyrenaica?_), chamois, mule, fox, blackcock, or _gallina de -monte_, squirrel, hare, partridge, pheasant, and several species of -eagles; there are also a great many blackbirds and nightingales. The -population of the whole republic has been estimated as low as 5,000, -and even higher than 15,000, but it probably does not exceed 10,000; -that of the capital has been reckoned as high as 2,800, but this -probably refers to the whole parish, {562} and is, even then, greatly -over-estimated. The name Andorra has been derived from the Arabic, but -it is, without doubt, considerably older than the time of the Moors. -It is probably from the Gaelic _an-dobhar, an-dour_, which will -variously translate, "the water," "the territory," "the border of a -country." In the Roman period the Val d'Andorra formed part of the -country of the Ceretani, who gave their name to the Cerdana; and, at -the time of the Goths, of the district called Marea de Espana. It was -the last tract of country of which Moors obtained possession in -Catalonia, and the first which they abandoned. There are traditions of -the republic even prior to the time of Charlemagne. Catalonia, being -invaded by the Moors, the Andorrans, in 778, asked aid of the emperor, -who thereupon crossed the Pyrenees, and having united his forces with -those of Catalonia, which consisted principally of the mountaineers of -Andorra, after a brilliant campaign drove the Moors to the left bank -of the Ebro. Having established a military organization for the -defence of the territory, Charlemagne recognized certain rights in -favor of the Andorrans; but, at the same time, gave to the see of -Urgel the tithes of the six parishes into which the valley of Andorra -was divided. The Moors having again invaded the territory, the emperor -despatched his son, Louis le Debonnaire, who drove out the Moors, and -ceded the sovereignty of the valley to Sisebertus, first bishop of -Urgel. The charter bears the date of 803, and the signature of -Ludovicus Pius, the name by which Louis has always been known to the -republic. Charles the Bold having illegally granted to the Counts of -Urgel the sovereignty over the lands of the republic, another dispute -arose between the bishop and the counts, and the independence of the -valley was again disturbed. Upon this the bishop asked assistance of -Raymond of Foix, and an alliance was entered into by which the -independence of the valley wad vested jointly in the house of Foix and -the see of Urgel, and Raymond forthwith expelled the Counts of Urgel -from Andorra. This took place in the twelfth century. The bishop -failing to surrender the moiety of the republican lands, Bernard of -Foix, in 1241, laid siege to the city of Urgel, and the Bishop was not -only compelled to yield to the demands of the count, but also, within -a certain time, to procurers of papal ratification of the investiture -of the house of Foix in the joint sovereignty of the republic. The -convention having been again violated by the see of Urgel, it was -finally settled, in 1278, that the right of suzerainte should be -possessed jointly by the Bishop of Urgel and the Counts of Foix. This -tree is the act of independence Of the republic, and is known to the -people of Andorra by the name of "Parialge." It stipulated that the -republic should pay annually a tribute of 960 francs to the Counts of -Foix, and half that amount to the see of Urgel, and that each should -have the privilege of nominating one of the two officers called -viguiers. The house of Foix being united, first with that of Bearn, -and then to that of Moncada and Castellvel Rosanes, was finally -absorbed in the house of Bourbon, and the joint protectorate became at -the end of the sixteenth century, merged in the government of France, -and the see of Urgel. On 25th March following a treaty was concluded -by which the republic should pay the annual tribute to the -receiver-general of the department of Ariege, in return for which it -was to receive some commercial privileges as to the free export of -certain goods. It was further stipulated that one of the viguiers of -the republic should be chosen from the department of Ariege, and that -three deputies of the Valley should nearly take an oath to the prefect -of the same department. Napoleon is said to have affixed his name to -the original charter of Charlemagne. {563} The privileges of the -Andorrans have been several times acknowledged by France and Spain. -Even the war with Spain did not injure the neutrality of the republic. -In 1794, a French column having penetrated into the centre of Andorra, -for the purpose of laying siege to the city of Urgel, the Andorrans -sent a deputation to assert the neutrality and independence of the -valley, and General Charlet gave immediate orders to withdraw. The -Andorrans have never taken part in the wars of their neighbors. The -rich pasturages between Hospitalet, in France, and Soldeu, in Andorra, -in former times attracted the cupidity of the people of Hospitalet, -who have several times endeavored to take forcible possession of them: -the Andorrans having appealed to the law, judgment was given in their -favor in 1835 by the Court Royal of Toulouse. There is no form of -sovereignty in Europe exactly similar to that of Andorra. The republic -is governed by a syndic, a council of twenty-four, together with two -viguiers or magistrates, and two judges. The French government and the -see or Urgel possess a co-ordinate right of confirmation over the -appointment of the syndic. The twenty-four members of the council -consist of the twelve consuls who represent the six parishes or -communes, and the twelve consuls who held office during the preceding -year. These latter are called councillors. One of the viguiers is -appointed by the French government, the other Bishop of Urgel. The -former is chosen for life, and is generally a magistrate of the -department of Ariege; the latter holds office for three years only, -and is chosen from among the subjects of the republic. He is not -required to be an educated man. The viguiers alone exercise the -criminal authority. Civil justice is rendered by two other judges, one -of whom is appointed by each viguier from a list of six members, drawn -up and presented by the syndic. In both criminal and civil cases the -judges are guided by equity, common sense, and custom only, and yet no -complaints are heard of. Parties to suits, both criminal and civil, -have the right of appearing by counsel, who is styled _rahonador_, or -speaker. The decision of the criminal courts is communicated to the -council, who reassemble to receive it. The sentence of the court, once -proclaimed by the council, is irrevocable, and is put in execution -within twenty-four hours. The criminal court is rarely convoked. There -are few crimes committed in the republic. One man was executed for -murder about six years since. The expenses of justice are paid partly -by the delinquents, partly by the council. The armed forces consist of -six companies, one for each parish, and scarcely amount to 600, but in -case of need all the inhabitants are soldiers. There is no enlistment; -one individual between the age of sixteen and sixty is chosen from -each family. There is no national flag, and no drums are used. The -service is unpaid. Public instruction is in the worst state. The -priest of each parish is obliged to provide a school in his own house, -but no one is compelled to send his children. Those who desire a -better education for their children send them either to France or -Catalonia. The only form of religion is the Roman Catholic. Political -refugees from Spain and France are always hospitably received. -Foreigners resident in the republic pay yearly five Catalan sous, and -enjoy all the privileges of the natives, except that of holding any -public office. If a foreigner marries an heiress, he is accounted a -citizen, but he must first obtain an authorization from the -council-general. The Andorrans are somewhat above the ordinary size of -Spaniards. In stature they are thin and wiry. In character they are -active, proud, industrious, independent, religious, faithful to their -ancient customs, and very jealous of their liberties. They are -inquisitive, great talkers, but suddenly dumb and ignorant when they -imagine their interest at stake. Those engaged in public affairs are -generally {564} hospitable, but most of the people are rather -suspicious of strangers. They speak the Catalan dialect, which is a -compound of Castilian and the ancient languages of the south of -France. They also use many modern French words, which they pronounce -after their own fashion. The people are poor, and glory in their -poverty, as they thereby preserve their independence. Should they grow -rich, they would be sure to be absorbed either by France or Spain. A -large portion of the wealth of the republic consists in its flocks of -sheep. Each landowner is possessed of a considerable flock. The price -of a sheep ranges from twelve to twenty francs. The fleeces suffice to -clothe the whole of the male population. The exports into Spain -consist of iron, in large quantities, sheep, mules, and other cattle; -cloths, blankets, cheese, butter, and excellent hams. Those into -France include untanned skins, sheep, mules, calves and wool. The -number of sheep and mules sent annually into Spain and France amounts -to 1,000. Considering the size of the republic, the imports from Spain -are considerable: they include some of the necessaries of life, as -corn and salt. The only imports from France are fish and compound -liquors. There is a good deal of contraband between the republic and -Spain and France. It consists principally in wines, vinegar, salt, and -a small quantity of silk. The contrabandistas between the valley and -Spain are generally Spaniards. There are no land conveyances, and the -transport of goods and merchandise is carried on with horses and -mules. There are no restrictions on commerce, and no stamps; and no -passports are required. The republic contains six parishes or -communes, namely, Andorra la Vieja, San Julia de Loria, Canillo, -Ordino, En Camp, and La Massana. There are also thirty-four villages -and hamlets, the chief of which are Escaldas, Santa Caloma, and -Soldeu. There are but few ancient remains in the republic. The -capital, Andorra la Vieja, or "The Old" is so called to distinguish it -from Andorra in Spain, Province Teruel. There is a good weekly market, -and considerable business is transacted in imported corn. It is a -miserable place, with houses built of the _debris_ of schist and -granite, and generally without stucco. During the civil wars it -suffered greatly from hostile attacks, and the suspension of commerce. -The palace, called Casa del Valle, is an ancient building, constructed -of rough pieces of granite. The _facade_ is heavy and massive, and has -only three windows, of unequal dimensions, with some louvers; in its -left angle is a turret pierced with loopholes, and surmounted with a -cross. Above the portal, which resembles a _porte cochere_, is the -inscription _Domus_ consilii, _sedes justitiae_, under which is and -escutcheon of white marble, with the arms of the republic. The -interior of the palace is in a state of complete ruin. On the ground -floor is the national prison and the stables, where the members of the -council have the privilege of putting up their horses during the -sessions. The kitchen is on a grand scale, with immense hearts and -cauldrons. A staircase, which savors of antiquity, leads to the -chamber on the first floor, where the council meets. It is a vast hall -of an imposing aspect. At one end is a chair for the syndic, who sits -as president of the assembly; along either wall are benches of oak for -the twenty-four councillors; and between the corridors is a picture of -Jesus Christ. In another part of the hall are preserved in the -archives of the government, which include the grant of Charlemagne and -his son. They are kept in an armory or cupboard in the wall, closed by -two wooden shutters, where they have remained intact since the -expulsion of the Moors. The cabinet has six different locks and keys, -which are kept by the executive officers of the six communes whose -documents have been separately deposited. This cabinet has no outer -door, and can only be opened in the presence of the six heads of the -departments, who are bound to be present at the deliberations {565} of -the council. There are five sessions of the council annually, but when -necessary, extraordinary sessions are also held. When the general -council is unable to assemble, the syndic general, or, in his absence, -the sub-syndic, represent it, and act in its name; sometimes, also, a -junta general is convoked, at which assist a consul, or a consul and a -councillor, for each parish. In the juntas, matters of minor interest -are discussed, and the consuls and councillors who take part in them -are entrusted with the powers of their colleagues. To the general -council pertains everything relating to police, and all disputes in -commercial matters. The chapel is dedicated to San Heremengol, -formerly Bishop of Urgel and Prince of Andorra, and will repay a -visit. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -CATHOLIC CHRISTMAS. - - -The evening of the last day of the church's advent arrives. She -gathers her ministers around her, and, singing hymns of glad -expectation, they remain in her temples, even until midnight. Let us -listen to the grand harmony! - -Divided into two vast bodies, they peal forth the verses of the royal -prophet in alternate chorus; and who could tire hearkening? Well does -Durendus say, that "the two choirs typify the angels and the spirits -of just men, while they cheerfully and mutually excite each other in -this holy exercise." We fancy ourselves among the choirs of heaven, as -St. Ignatius once was in spirit, when he learned the method of -alternate chanting. - -Oh! whose heart does not yearn toward the church in these her days of -longing! She has laid away from her all that is dazzling and joyous; -yet is she most charming. Anxious love, like a sun, burns over her, -altering her color; yet is she all beauty--bright and rich and -warm--her aspect teeming with purity and love and inspiration. "I am -black, but beautiful." (Cant. i. 4) - -It is midnight. Long since men ceased from their labors. The din of -traffic has been hushed for hours. Yet there is a sound through all -the world. From every city and town and village, from spire-crowned -hill and from holy valley, from numberless sweet nooks and by-ways, it -swells forth, the sound of a grand harmony, the voices of myriads -chanting. Now the tones speak of longing; now they tremble with -expectation; then there is a burst of rapture following the mellow -warbling of desire. It is the voice of the church longing for her -Beloved! She shall be gratified, for even now there is a knocking at -her temple gates. The chant is hushed, and a voice, gentle as the -lisping of a child, breathes the sweet entreaty, "Open to me, my -sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is full of dew and -my locks of the drops of the night." (Cant. v. 2.) Yes, lovely Babe, -gladly will the temple-doors open to thee; for many a long and weary -mile did thy mother journey with thee beneath her heart! - -Winter ruled the earth. Chill blew the breezes, and coldness was over -all nature. Shivering had the aged saint and Mary asked for shelter, -but the inns were filled, and none in Bethlehem would trouble to -receive them. Riches were not theirs, and all saw that the {566} -unknown mother's time was near; hence, fearing they might have to look -to the child, they shut her from their dwellings. The only place of -refuge her holy spouse could find for his charge was a cheerless -stable, hollowed from a rough, cold rock. The ox and the ass were -their only earthly companions; hay and straw formed the rude couch -upon which the mother brought forth her child at midnight. Jesus! -Saviour! she wraps thee scantily in swaddling-clothes, and lays thee -shivering in a manger. Well then may the dew and the drops of the -night hang heavy upon thy locks! - -But, though in Bethlehem these unknown travellers were outcasts, God -did not desert them. The glimmerings of adoring angels' wings fell -upon the mother's eyes to comfort her heart, for there were angels -near in numbers. They hovered over and within the hut, making it ring -with the most blessed hymn that mortal or angelic ears had ever heard: -"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good-will." - -Instantly upon this knocking the church rises to open to her Beloved, -and now begins her joy. Now she will celebrate his birthday, and her -heart leaps high in bidding him welcome. Her torches, her sanctuary -lamps, the countless candles on her altars, all are lighted with the -speed of love; their shining shows her spouse that she was so full of -expectation, so confident of his coming, that she has already cast -away her weeds of mourning and desire, and has arrayed her charms in -her most precious robes. Evergreens and tapestry are twining and -glowing all about her--in her niches, upon her piers, her arcades, her -parapets, her cloister-galleries, her massive stalls, her carved and -fretted ceilings. Her altars and her sanctuaries have festoons and -garlands, and crowns of sweetest design, and veils and hangings of -choicest embroidery. She peals her bells and sweeps her fingers over -her organ-keys, and tunes her many instruments, to fill her temples -with the rapturous canticle of the day, "Gloria in excelsis Deo." - -But let us circumscribe our views. As we may behold the joy of the -universal church in even her smallest division, let us see how, in the -good old Catholic times, the simplest villagers celebrated the first -day of the Incarnate Eternal! - -The few rich men among them have sent stores of flowers and fruits -from their conservatories to deck the green branches gathered in the -forest. Pious ladies have brought in the various ornaments, which they -have been preparing for weeks, as an offering for their new-born -Saviour. The happy pastor and many of his spiritual flock have been -busy in the church four days, disposing the decorations with untiring -ingenuity and taste. - -Now it is almost midnight. The skies are clear and studded with -twinkling stars. Ice is over all the streams, snow is over all the -streets and fields, and weighs down the trees. Stillness is upon the -the village, yet not the stillness of slumber. You can see that -something is transpiring which takes not place at other midnights; for -lights are glimmer through the cottage-windows, and, now and then, -cheerful forms are seen passing to and fro. They are all expecting, -and they shall not be delayed; for hark! suddenly a merry peal of -bells bursts over them; joyously it rings forth--now in soft, sweet -cadence, and now in swelling harmony. It pours along the streets and -fills the village dwellings. It echoes through the cloudless vault, -over the snowy fields and the glassy streams, reaching even the -scattered hamlets in the distance. Suddenly and joyously the music -bursts upon all: - - "Adeste fideles, laeti, triumphantes - Venite, venite in Bethlehem." - -And the cottage-doors are thrown open, and groups of merry children -sally forth gladly shouting, "Christmas, Christmas!" - -{567} - -Then the tapers are extinguished, and the villagers all hasten forth -with holy eagerness to see their Jesus cradled in the manger; and, as -they direct their steps toward the old church, they awaken the -midnight echoes with that sweet old carol: - - "Now the circling year have given - The joyful season, when from heaven - Life descended to the earth - In the Babe who took his birth - From our sweet Lady! - - "Behold him in the manger laid, - Owned by the cattle of the shed, - Who know their God meanest bands - Enswathed by the tender hands - Of our sweet Lady! - - "Now he smiles on Joseph blessed; - Now he seeks his mother's breast; - Now he sobs, and now he cries, - All beneath the guardian eyes - Of our sweet Lady! - - "Run, run, ye shepherds, haste and bring - Your simple homage to our King! - Ye heaven-called watchers, taste and see - Our God, meek-seated on the knee - Of our sweet Lady!" - -Thus they stream along from every cottage, along every pathway toward -the church, men, women, and little children, singing and chatting -happily. Far off in the moonlit distance you see small parties -hastening over the white plains from their scattered homes to mingle -in the festival. How beautifully do they remind us of those happy -shepherds who left their flocks near the "Tower of Ader," and went -over to Bethlehem, to see the word that had come to pass! - -The bells continue pealing out their music to the midnight, and the -church continues filling. Listen to the half-suppressed ejaculation of -joyous surprise as each new group enters the holy place and beholds -its charming decorations! Over every window's curve, and hanging down -by its sides, is a mighty wreath of evergreens. In front of every -hallowed niche lights are burning, and wreaths of foliage hang over -it. The pillars are all twined round and round, up to the very -ceiling, with ivy, holly, laurel, intermingled with those berries that -grow red in winter. But who shall describe the glories of the -sanctuary! The arch that rises over it flows with the fullest folds of -tapestry, white as snow, save where they are here and there -interwrought with flowers of rose-hued silk and thread of gold, and -intertwined with holly and laurel, and boughs of the orange-tree with -its golden clusters. On the altar-steps are vases filled with -evergreens, slender strings of ivy twisting around tall branches and -bending gracefully between them down even to the floor. The altar is -crowded with lighted candles, and along the intervals of the -candlesticks flow festoons of slender branches, leaves, and flowers. A -stole of flowers decorates the very crucifix; the tabernacle sparkles -in its richest veil. - -Oh! in olden times even a village church was grand beyond description; -for then men took a pride in their religion. They loved to see God's -Bride in bridal splendor; they loved to see the Queen in regal -vesture; they loved to see the Sister of the Church in heaven with -something like heavenly glory around her. The rich man gave of his -abundance, the poor man gave of his labor, ladies wrought -embroidery--all in holy unison strained every nerve to make her -temples beautiful. - -Now the church has filled with kneeling forms. The rich and the poor, -the lady and the servant, the laborers and they for whom they labor, -here kneel side by side, they are all equal here, for they are all -alike, are God's own children, the brethren of the Babe of Bethlehem. - -The steeple-bells have ceased to peal, for not a single thought must -now wander outside. Eyes and ears and heart and soul and every feeling -are intent upon the grand occurrences within. - -Presently blue clouds of sweet incense are seen floating toward the -sanctuary, and modestly there comes a youth swinging a silver censer; -a long procession of little acolytes, clad in snow-white surplices and -bearing lighted tapers, follow him slowly; a saintly looking priest, -in precious vestments, closes the holy array. His {568} youthful -attendants are chosen boys of blameless life and pleading aspect: and, -indeed, they look pure and innocent and cherub-like, as they dispose -themselves around the holy place, and kneel toward the altar. - -Then amid half-suppressed, repentant cries for "mercy on us," swelling -forth from the choir, the psalm is said--the psalm of preparation, of -praise, of hope, of humble confidence: the confession is made; prayers -for pardon, lights and gracious hearing are repeated. Then the priest -ascends "unto the altar of God," and whispers prayers, speaking -rapturously of the "Child that is born to us, the Son that is given to -us." But look at hie countenance as he returns slowly to the middle of -the altar; you can see that he is full of some grand event--his soul, -his heart, his feelings, all hold jubilee. One more entreaty for mercy -repeated again and again with passionate earnestness, and he raises -his eyes and his arms as though about to ascend in ecstasy, and, like -one inspired, he breaks forth in the angelic hymn, "Gloria in excelsis -Deo." It is the signal of jubilee. Suddenly there is a burst of many -little bells, shaken by the hands of the surpliced children, ringing -out their silver music until the hymn is ended by the priest; the -organ's richest and fullest chords are struck, swelling forth in -harmony like that which the rivers made in Paradise when they sang -their first hymn of praise to him who set them flowing, and the full -choir of trained voices burst forth: "Et in terra pax hominibus." - -Truly you think yourself at Bethlehem. It seems as though the Child -were just born--as though you heard the heavenly hosts singing their -grand anthem--saw the shepherds wondering and adoring--beheld the -Infant lying in the manger, a fair, radiant, smiling little Babe, with -an old saint beside it, leaning on his staff, and a comely virgin, in -a trance of motherly affection, kissing its bright forehead. So these -villagers seem to feel it all. A start of joy runs through the whole -assembly, a radiance lights up every feature; friends kiss each other, -fathers kiss their children, mothers kiss their little ones; a whisper -runs from soul to soul through all the church--"Pax hominibus." - -Then follow collect, the epistle, the gradual, a gospel, all full of -the grand event. And then the choir's jubilee begins again, as the -anointed one at the altar intones "Credo in unum Deum." Who shall tell -the stirless reverence of each prostrate form, as all bow yet lower at -the words that still the mystery of the night! Softly the organ -warbles in its mellowest keys; from the richest voice in all the choir -sweetly flow the words "Et Homo factus est." Every mind reflects, and -every heart is melted. - -Then comes the offertory; and all present, according to their various -means, make their offerings for those "who serve the altar," and for -the poor. While the priest raises in offering the paten with the Post -and the chalice with wine, the villagers also, kneeling, make an -offering of their homage to their new-born Redeemer; and mothers lift -their little ones to heaven in spirit, praying that they may advance -"in wisdom and age and grace with God and men," as did the Child of -Mary. Then follows the washing of the heads, with its appropriate -prayers; then, the secretas, the preface, the whispered prayers for -God's church, for friends and benefactors, for all the living -faithful. - -The moment of consecration draws nigh. Books are laid aside, hands are -clasped upon the breast, every head is bent. The sweet voices in the -choir have been hushed; the organ's silvery tones, murmuring more and -more softly, have at length died away, awe-stricken by the silence -that fills God's house. Yes! silence fills it, for silence now seems a -something--a breathless, pulseless, but mighty spirit feeling all -this temple, as the cloud of God's glory once filled the tabernacle. -You think you could almost {569} most hear a spirit move, you feel as -though you were among the angels when they waited breathless to behold -the effect of the sublime utterance, "Let there be light." Bending low -in reverend humility, the priest in a whisper of awe speaks the -almighty words, "This is my body," "This is the chalice of my blood;" -the light breathing of that whisper is heard even in the bosom of the -Eternal Father, the golden gates of Paradise are thrown open, and God -"bows the heavens and comes down." He is here, this church is now the -hut of Bethlehem, this altar is the manger; for the Child is born upon -it as really as the Virgin-mother there brought him forth. - -As when of old light was made, there was a music of the spheres, of -the sun and moon and all the stars and planets, singing their morning -hymn of gratitude, so is the stillness now also broken, so does the -choir, warbling in swelling glee, burst forth in grand climax, -"Hosanna in excelsis." And in the mean time priest and people united -utter to their new-born Saviour many rich and beautiful prayers for -the living, for the faithful departed, for themselves. - -The villagers are absorbed in prayer; it seems as though their fervor -kept redoubling, as though the flames of holy love burned higher and -higher every instant. Well they may, for the moment is approaching in -which each heart will be a manger in which Jesus will be laid, each -breast a tabernacle in which love itself shall dwell. Already there is -a move among them; with modest gait, with clasped hands and downcast -eyes, they advance to the sanctuary, the mystic bread is given to them -line after line, and, bearing their God with them, they all return in -reverence to give thanks, to petition for good things. Serenity is in -their eyes and on their features, joy is in their hearts, rapture in -their souls, peace among their feelings, and Jesus within their bosoms -harmonizing all. O truly happy Christmas! O the bliss that now is -theirs, the comfort of this moment! Well may the chanters hymn: "O -Jesus, God! Great God! Good Pastor! Sweet Lamb! O Jesus, _my_ Jesus! O -Bread! O Manna! O Power! what dost thou not grant to man!" - -Then praises and thanks are sung joyously by the priest, and his hand -is stretched in blessing from the altar. The Mass is over, and the -procession moves from the sanctuary, while the choir chants aloud, -"Praise the Lord all ye nations, praise him all ye people. Because his -mercy is confirmed upon us, and the truth of the Lord remaineth for -ever." (Ps. cxvi.) - -The chant dies away, and for awhile not a sound is heard through all -the sacred building. No one stirs as yet; all remain some time to -return thanks, to allow the impression of the festival to sink deep -into their souls. At length they rise, and bowing lowly toward the -altar, they go forth. At the church-door hands are shaken, kisses -given, warm embraces are exchanged, and joy and happiness and all the -blessings of the Child's nativity are wished and wished again. - -But follow them home from their midnight celebration. For a long time -the village slumbers not; lights glimmer through the cottage-windows, -and within groups are kneeling around a little home-made oratory, with -a little crib in the middle, and candles around it. This is of greater -importance than the gathering around the yule-fire or the decked tree. -Moreover, all did not go home when Mass was over. Go back to the -church, and behold those silent figures praying in every posture that -feeling can suggest. There, before that tabernacle, a mother prays the -divine Child for her own babe; a virgin prays for purity like to that -of the Virgin-mother; the child of misery seeks consolation from him -who was born in a stable; many repeat over and over again the canticle -of the angels, and all beg the blessings of him over whom the angels -sang it. At length these also are gone; the lights {570} are quenched -about the altar, all, save the silver lamp which is never -extinguished; all is still as was the stable when the shepherds had -adored and gone back to their flocks. - -But the festival of our Saviour's birth is not over yet. "As the day -comes round in music and in light;" you again see the villagers -wending their way to the church; and a third time, when the sun is in -the mid-arch of heaven. Each time is witnessed the same sublime -celebration that we beheld at midnight; for three births of Christ are -celebrated. His birth from the Father before lime began; his birth -from the immaculate Virgin as a wailing babe at Bethlehem; his mystic -birth, by faith and by the sacrament of love, in the heart of each -humble adorer. - -Such was Christmas in the happy olden times. Alas! that a blight -should ever have come upon it. Truly they have not done well to -despoil that village church of all its charming features. Well may the -church exclaim, weeping: "The keepers that go about the city found me; -they struck me, and wounded me: the keepers of the walls took my vail -from me." (Cant, v. 7.) Fondly do we trust she will soon again be -clothed in splendor. The pope that reigned when England fell away -grieved sadly for her fall. In his distress he put away the triple -crown; and even now his statue sits uncrowned, with downcast eyes, as -though his grief had hardened him to stone. But soon, we trust, he -will again lift up his eyes. Soon, we trust, will his successors -rejoiced to find the crown replaced, not by mortal, but by angel -hands. Shall we not hope and pray that our own dear land, also, will -form not the least brilliant jewel in that crown? One day this church -will again deck herself with the flowers she once wore, but which -rebellious hands toward to pieces, scattering the leaves around her. -Then shall we once again celebrate the good old Catholic Christmas -times, and celebrate them with the increased joy which is born of the -wanderer's returned. God granted it speedily! - ------- - - -MISCELLANY - - -_Spots on the Sun.--Science Review_.--We would draw the attention of -our scientific readers to a remarkable opinion and theory of Sir John -Herschel's with regard to the nature of those curious objects -discovered by Mr. Nasmyth on the surface of the sun, and generally -called, from their peculiar shape, "willow leaves." We believe Sir -John first propounded this theory in an article on the sun, published -in Good Words, but it does not seem to have been noticed by many -astronomers. However wild the hypothesis may appear, it has just -received a further sanction from its eminent author, by its -republication in his new book of Familiar Lectures, which we notice -elsewhere. Sir John says: "Nothing remains but to consider them (the -so-called willow leaves) as separate and independent sheets, flakes, -or scales, having some sort of solidity. And these flakes, be they -what they may, and whatever may be said about the dashing of meteoric -stones into the sun's atmosphere, etc., are evidently the immediate -sources of the solar light and heat by whatever mechanism for whatever -processes they may be enabled to develop, and, as it were, elaborate -these elements from the bosom of the non-luminous fluid in which they -appear to float. Looked at in this point of view, we cannot refuse to -regard them as organisms of some peculiar and amazing kind; and though -it would be too daring to speak of such organization as partaking of -the nature of life, yet we do know that vital action is competent to -develop both heat, light, and electricity." Strange and startling as -is such an explanation, yet scientific men will remember that when we -{571} knew as little about the cause of the black lines seen in the -spectrum of the sun as we now know about these appearances on the sun -itself, Sir John Herschel suggested, in 1833, that very explanation -which was the foundation of the memorable law announced by the German -philosopher, Kirchhoff, in 1859--a law now universally accepted as -affording a perfect solution to the long-standing puzzle of -Fraunhofer's lines. - - - -_Simple Net for the Capture of Oceanic Animals,--Science Review_.--In -a paper read before the Microscopical Society of London on the fauna -of mid-ocean, Major S. R. Owen gives the following directions for the -preparation of a simple form of net for the above purpose, and which -maybe rigged out at a few hours' notice. A grommet should be made for -the mouth, to which three cords may be attached to connect it with the -towing-line; that line should be a good stout piece of stuff and -capable of bearing a great strain. To the grommet should be attached, -first, a bag, the upper part of which may be made of a thin canvas, -the lower part of strong jean, ending in a piece of close calico or -linen; the bottom must be left open, and tied round with a tape when -used; this will be found convenient for taking out the contents, and -by leaving it open and towing it so for a short time it can be -thoroughly washed. Over the whole an outer covering of the strongest -sail-cloth should be put, the upper part, in like manner, attached to -the grommet, the lower part left open, and a portion for a foot or -eighteen inches of the seam left to be coarsely laced up with a piece -of cord, the same being done for the bottom itself. If necessary, a -third covering may be put between these of any strong but rather -porous material; but this in its turn should be left open at the -bottom, and only tied when required for use. Its length should be so -adjusted when tied that the inner lining of calico may rest against -it, and be relieved from the strain. The outer sail-cloth should, in -like manner, be laced up to receive and support the whole. - - - -_A New Magnesium Lamp_.--An ingenious form of magnesium lamp, the -invention of Mr. H. Larkin, and which was first exhibited at the Royal -Institution a couple of months since, was shown at the _soirees_ of -the British Association at Nottingham. Instead of the ordinary ribbon -or wire of the commoner forms of magnesium lamps, magnesium powder is -employed. Hence all machinery is dispensed with, the magnesium being -contained in a reservoir, from a hole in the bottom of which it falls -like sand from an hour-glass. The powder is allowed to fall upon the -flame of a small gas-jet, and by this it is inflamed, giving all its -usual illumination. In order that a sufficient quantity of powder may -be employed, and that the hole in the reservoir may be large enough to -allow of a regular flow, without waste of magnesium, the latter is -mixed with fine sand. The size of the aperture is regulated by a -stopcock. When it is desired to light the lamp, the gas is first -turned on, just sufficiently to produce a small jet at the mouth of -the tube, which small jet, being once kindled, may be allowed to burn -any convenient time, until the moment the magnesium light is required. -All that is then needed is to turn on the metallic powder, which -instantly descends and becomes ignited as it passes through the -burning gas. This action of turning on and off the metallic powder may -be repeated without putting out the gas, as often and as quickly as -desired; so that, in addition to the ordinary purpose to which lamps -are applied, an instant or an intermittent light of great brilliancy, -suitable for signals or for light-houses, may be very simply produced -with certainty of effect and without the smallest waste of metal. The -first evening an objection was made that the blue tone of the light -created a cold and somewhat ghastly effect. On the second occasion Mr. -Larkin remedied this by mixing with the magnesium a certain quantity -of nitrate of strontia.--_Journal of the Society of Arts_. - - - -_An Artificial Eye for restoring Sight_.--An apparatus of this kind, -whose efficiency we much doubt, has been described by M. Blanchet, in -a paper in which he details the operation for its insertion under the -title of Helio-prothesis. The operation consists in puncturing the eye -in the direction of the antero-posterior axis with a narrow bistoury, -and introducing a piece of apparatus to which M. Blanchet gives the -name of "phosphore." The operation in most instances produces little -pain, and when the globe of the eye has undergone degeneration there -is no pain at all, and the "phosphore" apparatus is {572} introduced -without difficulty. The description of this contrivance is this: "It -consists of a shell of enamel, and of a tube closed at both its ends -by glasses, whose form varies according to circumstances." M. Blanchet -thus describes the operation: "The patient's head being supported by -an assistant, the upper eyelid is raised by an elevator, and the lower -one is depressed. The operator then punctures the eye with a narrow -bistoury, adapting the width of his incision to the diameter of the -'phosphore' tube which he intends to insert. The translucent humor -having escaped, the 'phosphore' apparatus is applied, and almost -immediately, or after a short time, the patient is partially restored -to sight!" Before introducing the apparatus it is necessary to -calculate the antero-posterior diameter of the eye, and if the lens -has cataract it must be removed. Inasmuch as the range of vision -depends on the quantity of the humor left behind, M. Blanchet -recommends the employment of spectacles of various kinds.--_Popular -Science Review._ - - - -_Action of Different Colored Lights on the Retina_.--It is known to -physiologists that when a ray of light falls upon the retina, the -impression it produces remains for a definite period, according to -calculation about the _third of a second_. It is this fact which is -used to explain why a burning brand, when twirled rapidly round, gives -the appearance of a ring of light. But till quite recently it had not -been shown whether the different colors of light had the same degree -of persistence upon the retina. The subject has quite lately been -taken up by the Abbe Laborde, who shows that, just as the prism -separates the colors at different angles, so the retina absorbs the -callers, or the impressions produced thereby, in different times. In -conducting his experiment to prove this, the abbe receives the -sunlight through an aperture in a shutter into a darkened chamber. The -aperture is about three millimetres wide by six high. In the course of -the beam and in the middle the chamber there is placed a disk of -metal, the circumference of which is pierced by apertures -corresponding to the aperture in the shutter. This disk is caused to -revolve by clockwork. Behind the disc is placed a plate of ground -glass to receive this spot of light. The disk being then caused to -revolve rapidly, the spot appears at first white, but as the -revolution become more rapid the borders of the spot and the colors -which successively appear are in their order of succession as follows: -blue, green, red, white, green, blue.--_Comptes Rendus_. - - - -_The Origin of Diamonds._--a curious, and it seems to us very -improbable, theory of the origin of diamonds was put foreword by M. -Chancourtios in an essay published in the _Comptes Rendus_ for June -25th. The author tries to show in this that diamonds have been -produced by and incomplete oxidation of the carbides of hydrogen, in -pretty much the same fashion as the sulphur in the _Solfatara,_ -described by Professor Ansted in one of our late numbers, results from -an incomplete oxidation of sulphuretted hydrogen, all of whose -hydrogen is converted into water, while only a part of the sulphur is -changed into sulfurous acid. It is by a similar process that petroleum -has given rise to bitumen, and this again two graphite. "If, then" -says the author, "a mixture of hydrocarbon gases and vapor of water be -submitted to slow oxidation, diamonds may possibly be obtained." It is -even possible, he observes, that the tubes which convey common -coal-gas along the streets of Paris may contain such artificial -diamonds in abundance.--_Popular Science Review_. - ------- - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -Ballads, Lyrics, and Hymns. By Alice Carey, 8vo., pp. 333. New York: -Hurd Houghton. 1866. - -Literature knows no sex, but critics do, and in courtesy we must say -to Miss Carey, we think better of her than of her book; and while -judging what is before us purely on its aesthetic merits, we incline -to believe that the selections here compiled do not show her at her -best. This book might just possibly {573} have been good, only it is -not. It appears to consist of gatherings from the grist of a -respectable and old-established mill, whose brand is familiarly known -wherever mild magazines and sensation periodicals have penetrated. The -most prominent quality it demonstrates is the tireless industry--or -the well-oiled machinery--of the fair miller. The style throughout is -just of the kind to be the first in a "Poet's Corner;" best -characterized, perhaps, by the word "unexceptionable," as used by the -domestic critic, if one there be, of Frank Leslie or the Ledger. -Generally, there is nothing whenever to quarrel with--grammatically, -socially, theologically, or practically. We should not be in the least -surprised if Miss Carey's manuscripts even came in accurately -punctuated. The whole book is like the perfection of a gentleman's -toilet; every constituent part is so correctly "got up," that once out -of sight, we cannot recall a single thing beyond the impression of the -_tout ensemble_. - -There is considerable thinking, without any notable novelties in -thought. The fact is, no one who has not tried can appreciate the -difficulty of finding something salient to fasten an opinion on. The -main impression of the serious and heavy parts of the volume on our -mind was that the authoress loved God, meant to be religious and -tender-hearted, and thought the world cold and the sectarians -narrow-minded: laudable conclusions all, which we rather agree with on -the whole, but which do not show cause why they should exist in such -splendid binding. - -If this were all; if the book consisted utterly, as it does mainly, -of versified unremarkableness, all were well enough. It would sell all -the same, and descend in its due course to the limbo of respectable -mediocrity, which cannot be damned because it never had a chance to be -saved. But there are gleams amid the commonplace that make it, to our -mind, one of the saddest books we ever opened--said with the -unfulfilled promise of a busy yet wasted life. While there is not, we -believe, a single true poem in her book, we do think Miss Carey might -once have written poetry. There are traces of talent, like the -abrasions on the high Alpine ridges where avalanches or glaciers went -by them that are long since melted into the valley below, and gone to -join the sea. We do not think Miss Carey ever had a very great supply -of poetic power--never so much as Phoebe Carey, who has enough poetry -in her to equip any ten of the other lady contributors whose versicles -pay as well as hers; but what there was has been sapped and drained -off as fast as it accumulated, in a thousand paltry rillets of verse -that at most can only be silver threads in the passing sunshine. Had -she ever been suffered to let her thoughts and fancies gather and -mingle, perhaps she could have written well. She has not only -considerable command of language, but some character: there has always -been something respectable about Miss Carey that set her apart, -somehow, from the other newspaper writers of miscellaneous verses, and -to it she probably owes the present distinction of being the only one -whose productions are thought worth making a book from. But the woman -has never had a chance. As fast as an idea budded, it was contracted -for in advance and plucked long before ripeness, for the greedy -children that will have their green fruit. If a fancy strayed into her -brain, it was not hers to do with as she liked. It must be carved and -served up in as many different styles as possible; made into a long -poem for one paper and a short poem for another, and dashed into a -third as a flavoring ingredient for a string of hired rhymes. Now, is -there not a strange pathos in the idea of making a life-long business -of doing that ill which one might do well, and which is only worth -existence when well done; of dribbling and frittering away every finer -impulse; of chipping the heart's crystals up into glaziers' diamonds; -of subsisting on oneself, Prometheus and vulture in one? And how -infinitely sadder with the consciousness all the while that if one -could but get a respite, this same work, wrought in freedom, might win -all that hope asks? - -Consciously or unconsciously, this, we believe, is the discipline -through which Miss Carey has passed. We think so from the manner, and -from the places, in which we come upon the fragments of promise that -shine here and there. They are often repeated in other -lines--sometimes verbatim; they are not the substance but always the -sauce of the poem; they are never sustained or developed. Everything -goes to show that she has reached that fatal state of enervation when -the mind, from long desuetude, {574} and from never having a fair -chance to think out anything, he comes next to incapable of any -continued political thought at all. The exertion of developing a happy -idea into its best form is too much for the unused and enfeebled -imagination. - -So much for the conjectural inside view of these verses, the actual -outside view remains. Whether it be a sad fact or simply a fact, there -is nothing to read twice in the book. It is not poetry, but it is a -piece of very good judgment on the part of the publisher--just what -they want. And if we understand their motives, we shall earn their -good will by saying that this is a safe, trustworthy, and entirely -harmless work, innocuous to families and schools, superbly bound, -finished, and printed, and fit, beyond almost any work we know of, for -a present from very affectionate young men to very amiable young -ladies. - - - -BEETHOVEN'S LETTERS. (1790-1836.) From the collection of Dr. Ludwig -Nohl; also his Letters to the Archduke Rudolph, Cardinal-Archbishop of -Olmutz, from the collection of Dr. Ludwig Ritter von Kochel. -Translated by Lady Wallace; with a portrait and facsimile. 2 vols., -12mo. Hurd & Houghton. - -These letters of the illustrious _maestro_ are arranged under three -heads: Life's Joy a and Sorrows, Life's Mission, Life's Troubles and -Close. They are of quite a miscellaneous character, and refer to every -conceivable event of life, displaying much good humor and not a little -ill humor in their short, quick, impatient sentences. As a -letter-writer he is far inferior to Mozart, with whom the reader comes -at once into sympathy, and of whose letters very few indeed are -wanting in sentiments of universal interest. On the contrary, a very -large number of these letters of Beethoven will be read simply because -Beethoven wrote them, and will not bear a reperusal Yet they will, no -doubt, find a welcome place beside those of his great brother artist -on the table of every admirer of the grand music or these two grand -geniuses. His enthusiastic, and we may add, somewhat imaginative -editor and compiler, Dr. Nohl, is perhaps better qualified to form a -judgment upon the general tenor and worth of these letters than we -are, and we therefore quote the following from his preface to the -present work: "If not fettered by petty feelings, the reader will -quickly surmount the casual obstacles and stumbling-blocks which the -first perusal of these letters may seem to present, and quickly feel -himself transported at a single stride into a stream where a strange -roaring and rushing is heard, but above which loftier tones resound -with magic and exciting power. For a acute year life breathes in these -lines; and under-current runs through their apparently unconnected -import, uniting them as with and electric chain, and with firmer links -than any mere coherence of subjects could have effected. I experienced -this myself to the most remarkable degree when I first made the -attempt to arrange, in accordance with their period and substance, the -hundreds of individual pages bearing neither date nor address, and I -was soon convinced that a connected text (such as Mozart's letters -have, and ought to have) would be here entirely superfluous, as even -the best biographical commentary would be very dry work, interrupting -the electric current of the whole, and thus destroying its peculiar -effect." - -The volumes are published in scholarly style, and present a very -readable and attractive page. - - -LONDON POEMS. By Robert Buchanan 12 mo, pp. 272. Alexander Strahan, -London and New-York. - -The elegant dress of this volume, so characteristic of Mr. Strahan's -publications, is calculated to make one shy of saying anything -derogatory to its character; but we are held to say that we decidedly -object to Mr. Buchanan's poetry in any dress. The greater part of -these poems are to us positively repulsive. They are but little more -than rudely hand sketches of certain phases of low life in London, -immoral and irreligious in tone, and utterly wanting in that spiritual -expression which invests the true poet with the mantle of inspiration. -The poet may describe vice if he will, but let him not dare to excuse -it or throw a charm about it if he would not raised a storm of -indignation in the bosoms of the virtuous and the truthful. Poetry is -a divine art; the poet must discharge at once the high office of -teacher as well as psalmist, and every {575} line should bear the -impress of divine truth nobility, and purity. That which is false, -base, boorish, and obscene is none the less detestable for being put -in rhythm. - - - -FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS COURT. An historical novel. By L. -Muehlbach. Translated from the German by Mrs. Chapman Coleman and -daughters. 12mo. New-York: D. Appleton & Co. 1866. - -The rapidity with which the novels of Miss Muehlbach have risen into -popularity in this country is a pretty good indication of their merit. -They are free from the false sensationalism which furnishes the spice -of the lower school of modern fiction; and they treat of historical -subjects and characters with an honest intention to exhibit historical -truth, and not as a mere framework for the display of a trashy story. -Many of the scenes are drawn with a fidelity and an effectiveness -which show at the same time a close familiarity with the times and -persons with which the novel is concerned and a very considerable -literary skill; but the dialogues are not always well managed, the -diction being sometimes too trivial and sometimes too stilted. Despite -this minor defect, the book is full enough of interest: and our wonder -is, considering the great and long-established popularity of Miss -Muehlbach in Germany, that her writings were not translated into our -language long ago. It is a singular fact that the present work, and -some other historical novels from the same pen which D. Appleton & Co. -have now in press, were translated and first printed in the -Confederate States during the late rebellion. - - - -THE HIGHER EDUCATION OF WOMEN. -By Emily Davies. 16mo, pp. 191. London -and New-York: Alexander Strahan. 1866. - -This is a well-written plea for reform in the present system of female -education; not for a reform which would ignore the difference in the -character and duties of the two sexes, but one which would open to -women various callings for which nature has specially fitted them, but -which they are now shut out either by defective training or by the -prejudices of society. Miss Davies's little treatise is an appropriate -companion work for a volume of similar essays by Miss Parkes which we -noticed two or three months ago; and though both of them are more -applicable to the state of things in England than to the better -condition of women in our own country there is much in both which -deserves our serious consideration. - - - -A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, -from the commencement of the Christian Era until the present time. By -M. l'abbe J. E. Darras. Vol. IV. New-York: P. O'Shea. 1866. - -The fourth volume of this highly esteemed work completes the -publication of the original history of M. Darras. It comprises the -last, and to us for many reasons the most interesting period of the -history of the church; that which begins with the rise of -Protestantism down to the pontificate of Gregory XVI. To this volume -is added as an appendix a very concise and valuable historical sketch -of the origin and progress of the Church in the United States by the -Rev. Dr. C. I. White, of Washington City. We have already warmly -commended this work to our readers. It will take its place, of course, -in all our colleges and literary societies, and become as familiar to -our American as it is already to all French students; but we wish for -it also a wide distribution in the family circle. There is no reason -why such useful and entertaining works as this should not be kept at -hand and under the eye of our youth at home. A good knowledge of the -church's life, labors, trials, and victories is necessary to every -Catholic in our day, both for an intelligent appreciation of his faith -as well as to be able to combat the attacks that faith receives -through misrepresentation of the facts of history, and the unblushing -falsehoods concerning the Papacy, which are so foul a blot upon the -pages of history and controversy written by Protestant and infidel -enemies of the church. The present work is the best history of the -church we possess in the English language. It is such a one as we have -needed a long time, and we again thank the enterprising publisher for -the boon he has thus conferred upon the Catholic public. - -{576} - - -THE SUFFERINGS OF JESUS. -by Father Thomas of Jesus. Reprinted from the last London Edition. New -York: P O'Shea, 27 Barclay st. 1866. - - -This is a work composed by a great saint, and justly deserving of the -great reputation it has always enjoyed as one of the best of spiritual -books. It contains an inexhaustible mine of meditation, sufficient to -last a person during his whole life, and just as new and fresh after -the hundreds perusal as during the first. It is as a book for -meditation that it should be used, and for this purpose it cannot be -too highly recommended to religious communities or to devout persons -in the world who desire and need a guide and model for the practice of -meditation. - - -THE LIFE AND LIGHT OF MEN. -An essay. by John Young LL.D. Edin. Strahan. - - -Dr. Young was formerly a Presbyterian minister, but resigned his -position on account of his inability to believe the Presbyterian -doctrines, especially that of the vicarious atonement and imputed -righteousness of Christ. The present work is leveled against this -doctrine. The author has tolerably clear views of the Incarnation, and -some other Catholic doctrines. His learning appears to be -considerable, the tone of his mind very just and moderate, and his -intellectual and literary ability of no mean order. He is one instance -among a thousand others, of a noble, religious mind striving to rise -above the common Protestant orthodoxy without floating away into -rationalism. We recommend his book to our Calvinistic friends. What -the excellent author is yearning after is Catholic theology. This, and -this alone, would satisfy him, for it alone can satisfy any mind that -wishes to believe in the Christian revelation and at the same time the -rational. - - - -THE LIFE OF ST. VINCENT DEPAUL, AND ITS LESSONS. -A lecture. By Rev. T. S. Preston, R. Coddington. - -The publication of this lecture will gratify many who were not able -to be present at its delivery. The orator gives a short account of the -life and great labors of the apostle of charity, and then shows the -difference between charity as a Christian virtue and simple, natural -philanthropy, both in principle and their means and plans of action. -In works of benevolence, that which the Christian saint is careless -about and avoids to the utmost of his power, is considered by the -world as of vital necessity to secure success, the approval and -applause of men. This truth is well brought out in the lecture, and is -one which it is necessary to keep before our minds in this puffing -age. The proceeds of the sale of the lecture is accredited to the -benefit of the conference of St. Vincent de Paul, attached to St. -Ann's Church in the city. - - - - -ALTE UND NEUR WELT. Benziger Bros. New York. - -This is a Catholic monthly magazine in the German language, enriched -with copious illustrations. The type and paper are of very superior -quality, and the contents very various and, we should think, -well-chosen. The illustrations are by far the best which can be found -in any periodical published in America, and many of them equal to -those of the best European magazines. The work as a whole reflects the -greatest credit on its conductors, and deserves the most extensive -patronage from our numerous and intelligent German Catholic -population. We recommend it also to those who are studying the German -language, or interested in German literature. The illustrations alone -are worth the price of subscription, which is $4.00 a year. - - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From D. & J. Sadlier & Co. New York. The denouncement; or, the Last -Baron of Crana, and The Boyne Water. By the Brothers Banim. 2 vols. -12mo, pp. 448 and 559; Parts 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35 and 36 of -D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes. - - -From Ticknor & Fields, Boston. How New York is Governed. By James -Parton, reprinted from the North American Review. Pamphlet. - - -From P. O'Shea, New York. The Purgatorian Manual; or, a Selection of -Prayers and Devotions with appropriate reflections for the use of the -members of the Purgatorian Society in the Diocese of New York, and -adapted for general use. By Rev. Thomas S. Preston, pastor of St. -Ann's and Chancellor of the Diocese. Approved by the most Rev. John -McCloskey, D.D., archbishop of New York, pp. 452; The Imitation of -Christ in Two Books, translated by Richard Challoner, D.D. 48mo, pp. -308; Instructions on the Commandments of God, and Holy Sacraments. By -St. Alphonsus Liguori. 48mo, pp. 288. The Spiritual Combat; or, the -Christian Defended against the Enemy of his Salvation. 48mo, pp. 256; -Little Office of the Blessed Virgin, in Latin and English. 12mo, pp. -178. - - - -We have received an Oration delivered before the members of St. Mary's -Orphan Association of Nashville, Tenn., July 4th, 1866, by Rev. A. J. -Ryan, author of The Concord Banner, etc. - ------------- - -{577} - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD - - -VOL. IV., NO. 23--FEBRUARY, 1867. - - - -THE POPE AND THE REVOLUTION - - -BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D. - - - [This sermon is given to the world in consequence of its having been - made the subject in the public prints of various reports and - comments, which, though both friendly and fair to the author, as far - as he has seen them, nevertheless, from the necessity of the case, - have proceeded from information inexact in points of detail. - - It is now published from the copy written beforehand, and does not - differ from the copy, as delivered, except in such corrections of a - critical nature as are imperative when a composition, written - _currente calamo_, has to be prepared for the press. There is one - passage, however, which it has been found necessary to enlarge, with - a view of expressing more exactly the sentiment which it contained, - namely, the comparison made between Italian and English Catholics. - - The author submits the whole, as he does all his publications, to - the judgment of Holy Church.] - October 13, 1866. - - - The church shone brightly in her youthful days, - Ere the world on her smiled - So now, an outcast, she would pour her rays - Keen, free, and undefiled; - Yet would I not that arm of force were mine, - To thrust her from her awful ancient shrine. - - 'Twas duty bound each convert-king to rear - His mother from the dust; - And pious was it to enrich, nor fear - Christ for the rest to trust: - And who shall dare make common or unclean - What once has on the holy altar been? - - Dear Brothers! hence, while ye for ill prepare, - Triumph Is still your own; - Blest is a pilgrim church! yet shrink to share - The curse of throwing down. - So will we toll in our old place to stand, - Watching, not dreading, the despoiler's hand. - - _Vid_. Lyra Apostolica. - - - -SERMON. - -This day, the feast of the Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, has -been specially devoted by our ecclesiastical superiors to be a day of -prayer for the sovereign pontiff, our holy father, Pope Pius the -Ninth. - -His lordship, our bishop, has addressed a pastoral letter to his -clergy upon the subject, and at the end of it he says: "Than that -festival none can be more appropriate, as it is especially devoted to -celebrating the triumphs of the Holy See obtained by prayer. We -therefore propose and direct that on the festival of the Rosary, the -chief mass in each church and chapel of our diocese be celebrated with -as much solemnity as circumstances will allow of. And that after the -mass the psalm {578} _Miserere_ and the Litany of the Saints be sung -or recited. That the faithful be invited to offer one communion for -the Pope's intention. And that, where it can be done, one part at -least of the rosary be publicly said at some convenient time in the -church, for the same intention." - -Then he adds: "In the sermon at the mass of the festival, it is our -wish that the preacher should instruct the faithful on their -obligations to the Holy See, and on the duty especially incumbent on -us at this time of praying for the Pope." - -I. "Our obligations to the Holy See." What Catholic can doubt of our -obligations to the Holy See? especially what Catholic under the shadow -and teaching of St. Philip Neri can doubt those obligations, in both -senses of the word "obligation," the tie of duty and the tie of -gratitude? - -1. For first as to duty. Our duty to the Holy See, to the chair of St. -Peter, is to be measured by what the church teaches us concerning that -Holy See and of him who sits in it. Now St. Peter, who first occupied -it, was the Vicar of Christ. You know well, my brethren, our Lord and -Saviour Jesus Christ, who suffered on the cross for us, thereby bought -for us the kingdom of heaven. "When thou hadst overcome the sting of -death," says the hymn, "thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to those -who believe." He opens, and he shuts; he gives grace, he withdraws it; -he judges, he pardons, he condemns. Accordingly, he speaks of himself -in the Apocalypse as "him who is the holy and the true, him that hath -the key of David (the key, that is, of the chosen king of the chosen -people), him that openeth and no man shutteth, that shutteth and no -man openeth." And what our Lord, the supreme judge, is in heaven, that -was St. Peter on earth; he had the keys of the kingdom, according to -the text, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, -and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give to -thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt bind -upon earth, shall be bound also in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt -loose on earth, be loosed also in heaven." - -Next, let it be considered, the kingdom which our Lord set up with St. -Peter at its head was decreed in the counsels of God to last to the -and of all things, according to the words I have just quoted, "The -gates of hell show not prevail against it." And again, "Behold I am -with you all days, even to the consummation of the world." And in the -words of the prophet Isaias, speaking of that divinely established -church, then in the future, "This is my covenant with them, My spirit -that is in thee, and my words which I have put in thy month, shall not -depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of -the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for -ever." And the prophet Daniel says, "The God of heaven will set up a -kingdom that shall never be destroyed . . . and it shall break in -pieces and shall consume all those kingdoms (of the earth, which went -before it), and itself shall stand for ever." - -That kingdom our Lord set up when he came on earth, and especially -after his resurrection; for we are told by St. Luke that this was his -gracious employment, when he visited the apostles from time to time, -during the forty days which intervened between Easter day and the day -of his ascension. "He showed himself alive to the apostles," says the -evangelist, "after his passion by many proofs, for forty days -appearing to them and speaking of the kingdom of God." And -accordingly, when at length he had ascended on high, and had sent down -"the promise of his Father," the Holy Ghost, upon his apostles, they -forthwith entered upon their high duties, and brought that kingdom or -church into shape, and supplied it with members, and enlarged it, and -carried it into all lands. As to St. Peter, he acted as the head of -the church, according to the previous {579} words of Christ; and, -still according to his Lord's supreme will, he at length placed -himself in the see of Rome, where he was martyred. And what was then -done, in its substance cannot be undone. "God is not as a man that he -should lie, nor as the son of man, that he should change. Hath he said -then, and shall he not do? Hath he said then, and will he not fulfil?" -And, as St. Paul says, "The gifts and the calling of God are without -repentance." His church, then, in all necessary matters, is as -unchangeable as he. Its framework, its polity, its ranks, its offices, -its creed, its privileges, the promises made to it, its fortunes in -the world, are ever what they have been. - -Therefore, as it was in the world, but not _of_ the world, in the -apostles' times, so it is now; as it was "in honor and dishonor, in -evil report and good report, as chastised but not killed, as having -nothing and possessing all things," in the apostles' times, so it is -now; as then it taught the truth, so it does now; and as then it had -the sacraments of grace, so has it now; as then it had a hierarchy or -holy government of bishops, priests, and deacons, so has it now; and -as it had a head then, so must it have a head now. Who is that visible -head? who is the vicar of Christ? who has now the keys of the kingdom -of heaven, as St. Peter had then? Who is it who binds and looses on -earth, that our Lord may bind and loose in heaven? Who, I say, is the -successor to St. Peter, since a successor there must be, in his -sovereign authority over the church? It is he who sits in St. Peter's -chair; it is the Bishop of Rome. We all know _this_; it is part of our -_faith_; I am not proving it to you, my brethren. The visible headship -of the church, which was with St. Peter while he lived, has been -lodged ever since in his chair; the successors in his headship are the -successors in his chair, the continuous line of Bishops of Rome, or -Popes, as they are called, one after another, as years have rolled on, -one dying and another coming, down to this day, when we see Pius the -Ninth sustaining the weight of the glorious apostolate, and that for -twenty years past--a tremendous weight, a ministry involving momentous -duties, innumerable anxieties, and immense responsibilities, as it -ever has done. - -And now, though I might say much more about the prerogatives of the -Holy Father, the visible head of the church, I have said more than -enough for the purpose which has led to my speaking about him at all. -I have said that, like St. Peter, he is the vicar of his Lord. He can -judge, and he can acquit; he can pardon, and he can condemn; he can -command, and he can permit; he can forbid, and he can punish. He has a -supreme jurisdiction over the people of God. He can stop the ordinary -course of sacramental mercies; he can excommunicate from the ordinary -grace of redemption; and he can remove again the ban which he has -inflicted. It is the rule of Christ's providence, that what his vicar -does in severity or in mercy upon earth, he himself confirms in -heaven. And in saying all this I have said enough for my purpose, -because that purpose is to define our obligations to him. That is the -point on which our bishop has fixed our attention; "our obligations to -the Holy See;" and what need I say more to measure our own duty to it -and to him who sits in it, than to say that, in his administration of -Christ's kingdom, in his religious acts, we must never oppose his -will, or dispute his word, or criticise his policy, or shrink from his -side? There are kings of the earth who have despotic authority, which -their subjects obey indeed and disown in their hearts; but we must -never murmur at that absolute rule which the sovereign pontiff has -over us, because it is given to him by Christ, and, in obeying him, we -are obeying his Lord. We must never suffer ourselves to doubt, that, -in his government of the church, he is guided by an intelligence more -than human. His yoke is the yoke of Christ, _he_ has the -responsibility {580} of his own acts, not we; and to his Lord must he -render account, not to us. Even in secular matters it is ever safe to -be on his side, dangerous to be on the side of his enemies. Our duty -is, not indeed to mix up Christ's vicar with this or that party of -men, because he in his high station is above all parties, but to look -at his acts, and to follow him whither he goeth, and never to desert -him, however we may be tried, but to defend him at all hazards, and -against all comers, as a son would a father, and us a wife a husband, -knowing that his cause is the cause of God. And so, as regards his -successors, if we live to see them; it is our duty to give _them_ in -like manner our dutiful allegiance and our unfeigned service, and to -follow them also whithersoever they go, having that same confidence -that each in his turn and in his own day will do God's work and will, -which we felt in their predecessors, now taken away to their eternal -reward. - -2. And now let us consider our obligations to the sovereign pontiff in -the second sense, which is contained under the word "obligation." "In -the sermon in the mass," says the bishop, "it is our wish that the -preacher should instruct the faithful on their obligations to the Holy -See;" and certainly those obligations, that is, the claims of the Holy -See upon our gratitude, are very great. We in this country owe our -highest blessings to the see of St. Peter--to the succession of -bishops who have filled his apostolic chair. For first it was a Pope -who sent missionaries to this island in the beginning of the church, -when the island was yet in pagan darkness. Then again, when our -barbarous ancestors, the Saxons, crossed over from the continent and -overran the country, who but a Pope, St. Gregory the First, sent over -St. Augustine and his companions to convert them to Christianity? and -by God's grace they and their successors did the great work in the -course of a hundred years. From that time, twelve hundred years ago -our nation has ever been Christian. And then in the lawless times each -followed, and the break-up of the old world all over Europe, and the -formation of the new, it was the Popes, humanly speaking, who saved -the religion of Christ from being utterly lost and coming to an and, -and not in England only, but on the continent; that is, our Lord made -use of that succession of his vicars to fulfil his gracious promise, -that his religion should never fail. The Pope and the bishops of the -church, acting together in that miserable time, rescued from -destruction all that makes up our present happiness, spiritual and -temporal. Without them the world would have relapsed into -barbarism--but God willed otherwise; and especially the Roman -pontiffs, the successors of St. Peter, the centre of Catholic unity, -the vicars of Christ, which primarily related to the Almighty Redeemer -himself: "I have a lead help upon one that is mighty, and I have -exalted one chosen quote of the people. I have found David my servant, -with my holy oil have I anointed him. For my hand shall help him, and -my arm shall strengthen him. The enemy shall have no advantage over -him, nor the son of iniquity have power to hurt him. I will put to -flight his enemies before his face, and them that hate him I will put -to flight. And my truth and my mercy shall be with him, and in my name -shall his horn be exalted. He shall cry out to me, Thou art my Father, -my God, and the support of my salvation. And I will make him my -first-born, high above the kings of the earth. I will keep my mercy -for him for ever, and my coveted shall be faithful to him." - -And the Almighty did this in pity toward his people, and for the sake -of his religion, and by virtue of his promise, and for the merits of -the most precious blood of his own dearly beloved Son, Whom the Popes -represented. As Moses and Aaron, as Josue, as {581} Samuel, as David, -were the leaders of the Lord's host in the old time, and carried on -the chosen people of Israel from age to age, in spite of their enemies -round about, so have the Popes from the beginning of the gospel, and -especially in those middle ages when anarchy prevailed, been faithful -servants of their Lord, watching and fighting against sin and -injustice and unbelief and ignorance, and spreading abroad far and -wide the knowledge of Christian truth. - -Such they have been in every age, and such are the obligations which -mankind owes to them; and, if I am to pass on to speak of the present -pontiff, and of our own obligations to him, then I would have you -recollect, my brethren, that it is he who has taken the Catholics of -England out of their unformed state and made them a church. He it is -who has redressed a misfortune of nearly three hundred years' -standing. Twenty years ago we were a mere collection of individuals; -but Pope Pius has brought us together, has given us bishops, and -created out of us a body politic, which, please God, as time goes on, -will play an important part in Christendom, with a character, an -intellect, and a power of its own, with schools of its own, with a -definite influence in the counsels of the Holy Church Catholic, as -England had of old time. - -This has been his great act toward our country; and then specially, as -to his great act toward us here, toward me. One of his first acts -after he was Pope was, in his great condescension, to call me to -Rome; then, when I got there, he bade me send for my friends to be -with me; and he formed us into and oratory. And thus it came to pass -that, on my return to England, I was able to associate myself with -others who had not gone to Rome, till we were so many in number that -not only did we establish our own oratory here, whither the Pope had -specially sent us, but we found we could throw off from's a colony of -zealous and able priests into the metropolis, and establish there, -with the powers with which the Pope had furnished me, and the sanction -of the late cardinal, that oratory which has done and still does so -much good among the Catholics of London. - -Such is the Pope now happily reigning in the chair of St. Peter; such -are our personal obligations to him; such has he been toward England, -such toward us, toward you, my brethren. Such he is in his benefits, -and, great as are the claims of those benefits upon us, great equally -are the claims on us of his personal character and of his many -virtues. He is one whom to see is to love; one who overcomes even -strangers, even enemies, by his very look and voice; whose presence -subdues, whose memory haunts, even the sturdy resolute mind of the -English Protestant. Such is the Holy Father of Christendom, the worthy -successor of a long and glorious line. Such is he; and great as he is -in office, and in his beneficent acts and virtuous life, as great is -he in the severity of his trials, in the complication of his duties, -and in the gravity of his perils--perils which are at this moment -closing him in on every side; and therefore it is, on account of the -crisis of the long-protracted troubles of his pontificate which seems -near at hand, that our bishop has set apart this day for special -solemnities, the feast of the Holy Rosary, and has directed us to -"instruct the faithful on their _obligations_ to the Holy See," and -not only so, but also "on the duty especially incumbent on us at this -time of _praying_ for the Pope." - - -II. This, then, is the second point to which I have to direct your -attention, my brethren--the duty of praying for the Holy Father; but, -before doing so, I must tell you what the Pope's long-protracted -troubles are about, and what the crisis is which seems approaching, I -will do it in as few words as I can. - -More than a thousand years ago, nay, near upon fifteen hundred, began -that great struggle, which I spoke of {582} just now, between the old -and the new inhabitants of this part of the world. Whole populations -of barbarians overrun the whole face of the country, that is, of -England, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, and the re"t of Europe. They -were heathens, and they got the better of the Christians; and religion -seemed likely to fail together with that old Christian stock. But, as -I have said, the Pope and the bishops of the church took heart, and -set about converting the new-comers, as in a former age they had -converted those who now had come to misfortune; and, through God's -mercy, they succeeded. The Saxon English--Anglo-Saxons, as they are -called--are among those whom the Pope converted, as I said just now. -The new convert people, as you may suppose, were very grateful to the -Pope and bishops, and they showed their gratitude by giving them large -possessions, which were of great use, in the bad times that followed, -in maintaining the influence of Christianity in the world. Thus the -Catholic Church became rich and powerful. The bishops became princes, -and the Pope became a sovereign ruler, with a large extent of country -all his own. This state of things lasted for many hundred years; and -the Pope and bishops became richer and richer, more and more powerful, -until at length the Protestant revolt took place, three hundred years -ago, and ever since that time, in a temporal point of view, they have -become of less and less importance, and less and less prosperous. -Generation after generation the enemies of the church, on the other -hand, have become bolder and bolder, more powerful, and more -successful in their measures against the Catholic faith. By this time -the church has well-nigh lost all its wealth and all its power; its -bishops have been degraded from their high places in the world, and in -many countries have scarcely more, or not more, of weight or of -privilege than the ministers of the sects which have split off from -it. However, though the bishops lost, as time went on, their temporal -rank, the Pope did lose his; he has been an exception to the rule; -according to the providence of God, he has retained Rome, and the -territories around about Rome, far and wide, as his own possession -without let or hindrance. But now at length, by the operation of the -same causes which have destroyed the power of the bishops, the Holy -Father is in danger of losing his temporal possessions. For the last -hundred years he has had from time to time serious reverses, but he -recovered his ground. Six years ago he lost the greater part of his -dominions--, all but Rome and the country immediately about it,--and -now the worst of difficulties has occurred as regards the territories -which remain to him. His enemies have succeeded, as it would seem, in -persuading at least a large portion of his subjects to side with them. -This is a real and very trying difficulty. While his subjects are for -him, no one can have a word to say against his temporal rule; but who -can force a sovereign on people which deliberately rejects him? You -may attempt it for awhile, but at length the people, if they persist, -will get their way. - -They give out then, that the Pope's government is behind the age--that -once indeed it was as good as other governments, but that now other -governments have got better, and his has not--that he can either keep -order within his territory, nor defend it from attacks from -without--that his police and his finances are in a bad state--that -his people are discontented within--that he does not show them how to -become rich--that he keeps them from improving their minds--that he -treats them as children--that he opens no career for young and -energetic minds, but condemns them to inactivity and sloth--that he is -an old man--that he is an ecclesiastic--that, considering his great -spiritual duties, he has no time left him for temporal concerns--and -that a bad rebellious government is a scandal to religion. - -{583} - -I have stated their arguments as fairly as I can, but you must not for -an instant suppose, my brethren, that I admit either their principles -or their facts. It is a simple paradox to say that ecclesiastical and -temporal power cannot lawfully, religiously, and usefully be joined -together. Look at what are called the middle ages--that is, the period -which intervenes between the old Roman empire and the modern world; as -I have said, the Pope and the bishops saved religion and civil order -from destruction in those tempestuous times--and they did so _by -means_ of the secular power which they possessed. And next, going on -to the principles which the Pope's enemies lay down as so very -certain, who will grant to them, who has any pretension to be a -religious man, that progress in temporal possessions is the greatest -of goods, and that everything else, however sacred, must give way -before it? On the contrary, health, long life, security, liberty, -knowledge, are certainly great goods, but the possession of heaven is -a far greater good than all of them together. With all the progress in -worldly happiness which we possibly could make, we could not make -ourselves immortal--death must come; that will be a time when riches -and worldly knowledge will avail us nothing, and true faith and divine -love and a past life of obedience will be all in all to us. If we were -driven to choose between the two, it would be a hundred times better -to be Lazarus in this world than to be Dives in the next. - -However, the best answer to their arguments is contained in sacred -history, which supplies us with a very apposite and instructive lesson -on the subject, and to it I am now going to refer. - -Now observe, in the first place, no Catholic maintains that that rule -of the Pope as a king, in Rome and its provinces, which men are now -hoping to take from him, is, strictly speaking, what is called a -theocracy, that is, a divine government. His government, indeed, in -spiritual matters, in the Catholic Church throughout the world, might -be called a theocracy, because he is the vicar of Christ, and has the -assistance of the Holy Ghost; but not such is his kingly rule in his -own dominions. On the other hand, the rule exercised over the chosen -people, the Israelites, by Moses, Josue, Gideon, Eli, and Samuel, was -a theocracy: God was the king of the Israelites, not Moses and the -rest--_they_ were but vicars or vicegerents of the Eternal Lord who -brought the nation out of Egypt. Now, when men object that the Pope's -government of his own states is not what it should be, and that -therefore he ought to lose them, because, forsooth, a religious rule -should be perfect or not at all, I take them at their word, if they -are Christians, and refer them to the state of things among the -Israelites after the time of Moses, during the very centuries when -they had God for their king. Was that a period of peace, prosperity, -and contentment? Is it an argument against the divine perfections, -that it was not such a period? Why is it, then, to be the condemnation -of the Popes, who are but men, that their rule is but parallel in its -characteristics to that of the King of Israel, who was God? He indeed -has his own all-wise purposes for what he does; he knows the end from -the beginning; he could have made his government as perfect and as -prosperous as might have been expected from the words of Moses -concerning it, as perfect and prosperous as, from the words of the -prophets, our anticipations might have been about the earthly reign of -the Messias. But this he did not do, because from the first he made -that perfection and that prosperity dependent upon the free will, upon -the cooperation of his people. Their loyal obedience to him was the -condition, expressly declared by him, of his fulfilling his promises. -He proposed to work out his purposes through them, and, when they -refused their share {584} in the work, everything went wrong. Now they -did refuse from the first; so that from the very first, he says of -them emphatically, they were a "stiff-necked people." This was at the -beginning of their history; and close upon the end of it, St. Stephen, -inspired by the Holy Ghost, repeats the divine account of them: "You -stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always resist -the Holy Ghost; as your fathers did, so do you also." In consequence -of this obstinate disobedience, I say, God's promises were not -fulfilled to them. That long lapse of five or six hundred years, -during which God was their king, was in good part a time, not of -well-being, but of calamity. - -Now, turning to the history of the papal monarchy for the last -thousand years, the Roman people have not certainly the guilt of the -Israelites, because they were not opposing the direct rule of' God; -and I would not attribute to them now a liability to the same dreadful -crimes which stain the annals of their an ancestors; but still, after -all they have been a singularly stiff-necked people in time past, and -in consequence, there has been extreme confusion, I may say anarchy, -under the reign of the Popes; and the restless impatience of his rule -which exists in the Roman territory now is only what has shown itself -age after age in times past. The Roman people not seldom offered -bodily violence to their Popes, killed some Popes, wounded others, -drove others from the city. On one occasion they assaulted the Pope at -the very altar in St. Peter's, and he was obliged to take to flight in -his pontifical vestments. Another time they insulted the clergy of -Rome; at another, they attacked and robbed the pilgrims who brought -offerings from a distance to the shrine of St. Peter. Sometimes they -sided with the German emperors against the Pope; sometimes with other -enemies of his in Italy itself. As many as thirty-six Popes endured -this dreadful contest with their own subjects, till at last, in anger -and disgust with Rome and Italy, they took refuge in France, where -they remained for seventy years, during the reigns of eight of their -number. [Footnote 170] - - [Footnote 170: I take these facts as I find them in Gibbon's - History, the work which I have immediately at hand; but it would not - be difficult to collect a multitude of such instances from the - original historians of those times.] - -That I may not be supposed to rest what I have said on insufficient -authorities, I will quote the words of that great saint, St. Bernard, -about the roman people, seven hundred years ago. - -Writing to Pope Eugenius during the troubles of the day, he says: -"What shall I say of the people? why, that it _is_ the Roman people. I -could not more concisely or fully express what I think of your -subjects. What has been so notorious for ages as the wantonness and -haughtiness of the Romans? a race unaccustomed to peace, accustomed to -tumult; a race cruel and unmanageable up to this day, which knows not -to submit, unless when it is unable to make fight. . . . I know the -hardened heart of this people, but God is powerful even of these -stones to raise up children to Abraham. . . . When will you find for -me out of the whole of that populous city, who received you as Pope -without bribe or hope of bribe? And then especially are they wishing -to be masters, when they have professed to be servants. They promise -to be trustworthy, that they may have the opportunity of injuring -those who trust them. . . . They are wise for evil, but they are -ignorant for good. Odious to earth and heaven, they have assailed both -the one and the other; impious towards God, reckless toward things -sacred, factious among themselves, envious of their neighbors, inhuman -toward foreigners, . . . . they love none, and by none are loved. Too -impatient for submission, too helpless for rule; . . . importunate to -gain an end, restless till they gain it, ungrateful when they have -gained it. They have taught {585} their tongue to speak big words, -while their performances are scanty indeed." [Footnote 171] - - [Footnote 171: St. Bernard is led to say this to the Pope in - consequence of the troubles created in Rome by Arnald of Bresela. - "Ab obitu Caelestini hoc anno invalescere coepit istiusmodi - rebellio Romanorum adversus Pontficem, eodemque haeresis dicta - Politicorum, sive Arnaldistarum. Ea erant tempora infelicissime, - cum Romani ipsi, quorum fides in universo orbe jam a tempore - Apostolorum annunciata semper fuit, resilientes modo a Pontifice, - dominandi cupidine, ex filiis Petri et discipulis Christi, fiunt - soboles et alumni pestilentissimi Arnaldi de Brixia. Verum, cum tu - Romanos audis, ne putes omnes eadem insania percitos, nam - complures ex nobilium Romanorum familiis, iis relictis, pro - Pontifice rem ageoant, etc." Baron. Annal. in ann. 1144. 4.--_De - Consid_. iv. 2.] - - -Thus I begin, and now let us continue I parallel between the -Israelites and the Romans. - -I have said that, while the Israelites had God for their king, they -had a succession of great national disasters, arising indeed really -from their falling off from him; but this they would have been slow to -acknowledge. They fell into idolatry; then, in consequence, they fell -into the power of their enemies; then God in his mercy visited them, -and raised up for them a deliverer and ruler--a judge, as he was -called--who brought them to repentance, and then brought them out of -their troubles; however, when the judge died, they fell back into -idolatry, and then they fell under the power of their enemies again. -Thus for eight years they were in subjection to the king of -Mesopotamia; for eight years to the king of Moab; for twenty years to -the king of Canaan; for seven years to the Madianites; for eighteen -years to the Ammomites; and for forty years to the Philistines. -Afterward Eli, the high priest, became their judge, and then disorders -of another kind commenced. His sons, who were priests also, committed -grievous acts of impurity in the holy place, and in other ways caused -great scandal. In consequence a heavy judgment came upon the people; -they were beaten in battle by the Philistines, and the ark of God was -taken. Then Samuel was raised up, a holy prophet and a judge, and in -the time of his vigor all went well; but he became old, and then he -appointed his sons to take his place. They, however, were not like -him, and everything went wrong again. "His sons walked not in his -ways," says the sacred record, "but they turned aside after lucre, and -took bribes, and perverted judgment." This reduced the Israelites to -despair; they thought they never should have a good government while -things were as they were; and they came to the conclusion that they -had better not be governed by such men as Samuel, however holy he -might be, that public affairs ought to be put on an intelligible -footing, and be carried on upon system, which had never yet been done. -So they came to the conclusion that they had better have a king, like -the nations around them. They deliberately preferred the rule of man -to the rule of God. They did not like to repent and give up their -sins, as the true means of being prosperous; they thought it an easier -way to temporal prosperity to have a king like the nations than to -pray and live virtuously. And not only the common people, but even the -grave and venerable seniors of the nation took up this view of what -was expedient for them. "All the ancients of Israel, being assembled, -came to Samuel, . . . and they said to him . . . Make us a king to -judge us, as all nations have." Observe, my brethren, this is just -what the Roman people are saying now. They wish to throw off the -authority of the Pope, on the plea of the disorders which they -attribute to his government, and to join themselves to the rest of -Italy, and to have the King of Italy for their king. Some of them, -indeed, wish to be without any king at all; but, whether they wish to -have a king or no, at least they wish to get free from the Pope. - -Now let us continue the parallel. When the prophet Samuel heard this -request urged from such a quarter, and supported by the people -generally, he was much moved. "The word was displeasing in the eyes of -Samuel," says the inspired writer, "that they should say, Give us a -king. And Samuel prayed to the Lord." {586} Almighty God answered him -by saying, "They have not rejected thee, but me;" and he bade the -prophet warn the people, what the king they sought after would be to -them when at length they had him. Samuel accordingly put before them -explicitly what treatment they would receive from him. "He will take -your sons," he said, "and will put them in his chariots; and he will -make them his horseman, and his running footmen to go before his -chariots. He will take the tenth of your corn and the revenue of your -vineyards. Your flocks also he will take, and you shall be his -servants." Then the narrative proceeds, "But the people would not hear -the voice of Samuel, and they said, Nay, but there shall be a king -over us. And we also will be like all nations, and our king shall -judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles for us." - -Now here the parallel I am drawing is very exact. It is happier, I -think, for the bulk of a people to belong to a small state which makes -little noise in the world than to a large one. At least in this day we -find small states, such an Holland, Belgium, and Switzerland, have -special and singular temporal advantages. And the Roman people, too, -under the sway of the Popes, at least have had a very easy time of it; -but, alas that people is not sensible of this, or does not allow -itself to keep it in mind. The Romans have not had those civil -inconveniences which fall so heavy on the members of a first-class -power. The pontifical government has been very gentle with them; but, -if once they were joined to the kingdom of Italy, they would at length -find what it is to attain temporal greatness. The words of Samuel to -the Israelites would be fulfilled in them to the letter. Heavy taxes -would be laid on them; their children would be torn from them for the -army; and they would incur the other penalties of an ambition which -prefers to have a share in a political adventure to being at the head -of Catholic citizenship. We cannot have all things to our wish in this -world; we must take our choice between this advantage and that; -perhaps the Roman people would like both to secure this world and the -next, if they could; perhaps, in seeking both, they may lose both; and -perhaps, when they have lost more than they have gained, they may wish -their old sovereign back again, as they have done in other centuries -before this, and may regret that they have caused such grievous -disturbance for what at length they find out is little worth it. - -In truth, after all, the question which they have to determine is, as -i have intimated, not one of worldly prosperity and adversity, of -greatness or insignificance, of despotism or liberty, of position in -the world or in the church; but a question of spiritual life or death. -The sin of the Israelites was not that they desired good government, -but that they rejected God as their king. Their choosing to have "a -king like the nations" around them was, in matter of fact, the first -step in a series of acts which at length lead them to their rejection -of the Almighty as their God. When in spite of Samuel's remonstrances -they were obstinate, God let them have their way, and then in time -they became dissatisfied with their king for the very reasons which -the old prophet had set before them in vain. On Solomon's death, about -a hundred and twenty years after, the greater part of the nation broke -off from his son on the very plea of Solomon's tyranny, and chose a -new king, who at once established idolatry all through their country. - -Now, I grant, to reject the Holy Father of course is not the sin of -the Israelites, for they rejected Almighty God himself: yet I wish I -was not forced to believe that a hatred of the Catholic religion is in -fact at the bottom of that revolutionary spirit which at present seems -so powerful in Rome. Progress, in the mouth of some people--of a great -many people--means apostasy. Not that I wouldn't deny that {587} there -are sincere Catholics so dissatisfied with things as they were in -Italy, as they are in Rome, that they are brought to think that no -social change can be for the worse. Nor as if I pretended to be able -to answer all the objections of those who take a political and secular -view of the subject. But here I have nothing to do with secular -politics. In a sacred place I have only to view the matter -religiously. It would ill become me, in my station in the church and -my imperfect knowledge of the facts of the case, to speak four or -against statesmen and governments, lines of policy or public acts, as -if I were invested with any particular mission to give my judgment, or -had any access to sources of special information. I have not here to -determine what may be politically more wise, or what may be socially -more advantageous, or what in a civil point of view would work more -happily, or what in an intellectual would tell better; my duty is to -lead you, my brethren, to look at what is happening, as the sacred -writers would now view it and describe it were they on earth now to do -so, and to attempt this by means of the light thrown upon present -occurrences by what they actually have written, whether in the Old -Testament or the New. - -We must remove, I say, the veil off the face of events, as Scripture -enables us to do, and try to speak of them as Scripture interprets -them for us. Speaking then in the sanctuary, I say that theories and -schemes about government and administration, be a better or worse, and -the aims of mere statesmen and politicians, be they honest or be they -deceitful, these are not the determining causes of that series of -misfortunes under which the Holy See has so long been suffering. There -is something deeper at work than anything human. It is not any refusal -of the Pope to put his administration on a new footing, it is not any -craft or force of men high in public affairs, it is not any cowardice -or frenzy of the people, which is the sufficient explanation of the -present confusion. What it is our duty here to bear in mind is the -constant restless agency over the earth of that bad angel who was a -liar from the beginning, of whom Scripture speaks so much. The real -motive cause of the world's troubles is the abiding presence in it of -the apostate spirit, "The prince of the power of this air," as St. -Paul calls him, "The spirit that now worketh on the children of -unbelief." - -Things would go on well enough but for him. He it is who perverts to -evil what is in itself good and right, sowing cockle amid the wheat. -Advance in knowledge, in science, in education, in the arts of life, -in domestic economy, in municipal administration, in the conduct of -public affairs, is all good and from God, and might be conducted in a -religious way; but the evil spirit, jealous of good, makes use of it -for a bad end. And much more able is he to turn to his account the -designs and measures of worldly politicians. He it is who spreads -suspicions and dislikes between class and class, between sovereigns -and subjects, who makes men confuse together things good and bad, who -inspires bigotry, party spirit, obstinacy, resentment, arrogance, and -self-will, and hinders things from righting themselves, finding their -level, and running smooth. His one purpose is so to match and arrange -and combine and direct the opinions and the measures of Catholics and -unbelievers, of Romans and foreigners, of sovereigns and popular -leaders--all that is good, all that is bad, all that is violent or -lukewarm in the good, all that is morally great and intellectually -persuasive in the bad--as to inflict the widest possible damage, and -utter ruin, if that were possible, on the church of God. - -Doubtless in St. Paul's time, in the age of heathen persecution, the -persecutors had various good political arguments in behalf of their -cruelty. Mobs indeed, or local magistrates, might be purposely cruel -toward the Christians; but the great Roman government {588} at a -distance, the great rulers and wise lawyers of the day, acted from -views of large policy; they had reasons of state, as the Kings of the -earth have now; still our Lord and his apostles do not hesitate to -pass these by, and declare plainly that the persecution which they -sanctioned or commanded was the word, not of man, but of Satan. And -now in like manner we are not engaged in a mere conflict between -progress and reaction, modern ideas and new, philosophy and theology, -but in one scene of the never-ending conflict between the anointed -Mediator and the devil, the church and the world; and, in St. Paul's -words, "we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against -principalities and powers, against the world-rulers of this darkness, -against the spirits of wickedness in the high places." - -Such is the apostle's judgment; and how, after giving it, does he -proceed? "Therefore," he says, "take unto you the armor of God, that -you may be able to resist in the evil day and to stand in all things -perfect. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and -having on the breast-plate of justice, and your feet shod with the -preparation of the gospel of peace; in all things taking the shield of -faith, whereby you may be able to quench all the fiery darts of the -wicked. And take unto you the helmet of salvation and the sword of the -Spirit, which is the word of God." And then he concludes his -exhortation with words which most appositely bear upon the point -toward which all that I have been saying is directed--"praying at all -times with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, and watching -therein with all instance and supplication for all the saints, and for -me," that is, for the apostle himself, "that speech may be given me, -that I may open my mouth with confidence to make known the mystery of -the gospel." - -Here, then, we are brought at length to the consideration of the duty -of prayer for our living apostle and bishop of bishops, the Pope. I -shall attempt to state distinctly what is to be the _object_ of our -prayers for him, and secondly, what the _spirit_ in which we should -pray, and so I shall bring my remarks on this great subject to and -end. - -1. In order to ascertain the exact _object_ of our prayers at this -time, we must ascertain what is the _occasion_ of them. You know, my -brethren, and I have already observed, that the Holy Father has been -attacked in his temporal possessions again and again in these last -years, and we have all along been saying prayers daily in the mass in -his behalf. About six years ago the northern portion of his states -threw off his authority. Shortly after, a large foreign force, -uninvited, as it would scene, by his people at-large--robbers I will -call them--(this is not a political sentiment, but a historical -statement, for I never heard any one, whatever his politics, who -defendant their act in itself, but only on the plea of its supreme -expedience, of some state necessity, or some theory of patriotism)--a -force of sacrilegious robbers--broke into provinces nearer to Rome by -a sudden movement, and, without any right except that of the stronger, -got possession of them, and keeps them to this day. [Footnote 172] -{589} Past outrages, such as these, are never to be forgotten; but -still they are not the occasion, nor do they give the matter, of our -present prayers. What that occasion, what that subject is, we seem to -learn from his lordship's letter to his clergy, in which our prayers -are required. After speaking of the Pope's being "stripped of part of -his dominions," and "deprive of all the rest, with the exception of -the marshes and deserts that surround the Roman capital," he fastens -our attention on the fact, that "now at last is the Pope to be left -standing alone, and standing face to face with those unscrupulous -adversaries, whose boast and whose vow to all the world is not to -leave to him one single foot of Italian ground except beneath their -sovereign sway." I understand, then, that the exact object of our -prayers is, that the territory still is should not be violently taken -him, as have been as larger portions of his dominions of which I have -already spoken. - - [Footnote 172: The following telegram in The Times of September - 13th, 1860, containing Victor Emmanuel's formal justification for - his invasion and occupation of Umbria and the Marches in a time of - peace, is a document for after-times: - - TURIN, Sept. 11, evening. - - The king received to-day a deputation from the inhabitants of Umbria - and the Marches. - - His majesty granted the protection which the deputation solicited, - and orders to have been given to the Sardinian troops to enter those - provinces by the following proclamation: - - "Soldiers! You are about to enter the Marches and Umbria, in order - to establish civil order in the towns now desolated by this rule, - and to give to the people a liberty of expressing their own wishes. - You will not fight against the armies of any of the powers, but will - free those unhappy Italian provinces from the bands of foreign - adventurers which infest them. You do not go to revenge injuries - done to me and Italy, but to prevent the popular hatred from - unloosing itself against the oppressors of the country. - - "By your example you will teach the people forgiveness of offenses, - and Christian tolerance to the man compared the love of the Italian - fatherland to Islamism. - - "At peace with all the great powers, and holding myself aloof from - any provocation, I intend to read Central Italy of one continual - cause of trouble and discord. I intend to respect the seat of the - chief of the church, to whom I am ever ready to give, in accordance - with the allied and friendly powers, all the guarantees of - independence and security which his misguided advisors have made - hope to obtain for him from the fanaticism of the wicked sect which - conspires against my authority and against the liberties of the - nation. - - "Soldiers! I am accused of ambition. Yes; i have one ambition, and - it is to re-establish the principles of moral order in Italy, and - preserve Europe from the continual dangers of revolution and war." - - The next day The Times, in a leading article, thus commented on the - above: - - "Victor Emmanuel has in Garibaldi a most formidable competitor. . . . - [Piedmont] must therefore, at whatever cost or risk, make herself - once more mistress of the revolution. She must lead that she may not - be forced to follow. She must revolutionize the Papal States, in - order that she may put herself in a position to arrest dangerous - revolutionary movement against Venetia. . . . These motives are - amply sufficient to account for the decisive movement of Victor - Emmanuel. He lives in revolutionary times, when self-preservation - has superseded all other considerations, and it would be childish to - apply to his situation the maxims of international law which are - applicable to periods of tranquility. - - "These being the motives which have held Piedmont to draw the sword, - we have next to see what are the grounds on which she justifies the - step. These grounds are two--the extraordinary misrule and - oppression of the Papal government, and the presence of large bands - of foreign mercenaries, by which the country is oppressed and - terrorized. The object is said to be to give the people an - opportunity of expressing their own wishes and the re-establishment - of civil order. The king promises to respect the seat of the chief - of the church--Rome, we suppose, and it's immediate environs; but, - while holding out this assurance, the manifesto speaks of the Pope - and his advisers in terms of bitterness and acrimony unusual in the - present age, even in a declaration of war. He will teach the people - forgiveness of offenses, and Christian tolerance to the Pope and his - general. He denounces the misguided advisors of the pontiff, and the - fanaticism of the wicked sect which conspires against his authority - and the liberties of the nation. This is harsh language, and is not - inconsistently seconded by the advance into the States of the Church - of an army of 50,000 men." - - It was the old fable of the Wolf and the Lamb.] - - [End footnote 172] - -This too, I conceive, is what is meant by praying for the Holy See. -"The duty of every true child of Holy Church," says the bishop, "is to -offer continuous and humble prayer for the Father of Christendom, and -for the protection of the Holy See." By the Holy See we may understand -Rome, considered as the seat of pontifical government. We are to pray -for Rome, the see, or seat, or metropolis of St. Peter and his -successors. Further, we are to pray for Rome as the seat, not only of -his spiritual government, but of his temporal. We are to pray that he -may continue king of Rome; that his subjects may come to a better -mind; that instead of threatening and assailing him, or being too -cowardly to withstand those who do, they may defend and obey him; -that, instead of being the heartless tormentors of an old and -venerable man, they may pay a willing homage to the apostle of God; -that instead of needing to be kept down year after year by troops from -afar, as has been the case for so long a time, they may, "with a great -heart and a willing mind," form themselves into the glorious bodyguard -of a glorious master; that they may obliterate and expiate what is so -great a scandal to the world, so great an indignity to themselves, so -great a grief to their father and king, that foreigners are kinder to -him than his own flesh and blood; that now at least, though in the end -of days, they may reverse the past, and, after the ingratitude of -centuries, may unlearn the pattern of that rebellious people, who -began by rejecting their God and ended by crucifying their Redeemer. - -2. So much for the _object_ of our prayers; secondly, as to the -_spirit_ in which we should pray. As we ever say in prayer, "Thy will -be done," so {590} we must say now. We do not absolutely know God's -will in this matter; we know indeed it is his will that we should ask; -we are not absolutely sure that it is his will that he should grant. -The very fact of our praying shows that we are uncertain about the -event. We pray when we are uncertain, not when we are certain. If we -were quite sure what God intended to do, whether to continue the -temporal power of the Pope or to end it, we should not pray. It is -quite true indeed that the event may _depend upon our prayer_, but by -such prayer is meant perseverance in prayer and union of prayers; and -we never can be certain that this condition of numbers and of fervor -has been sufficiently secured. We shall indeed gain our prayer if we -pray enough; but, since it is ever uncertain what is enough, it is -ever uncertain what will be the event. There are Eastern -superstitions, in which it is taught that, by means of a certain -number of religious acts, by sacrifices, prayers, penances, a man of -necessity extorts from God what he wishes to gain, so that he may rise -to supernatural greatness even against the will of God. Far be from us -such blasphemous thoughts! We pray to God, we address the Blessed -Virgin and the holy apostles, and the other guardians of Rome, to -defend the holy city; but we know the event lies absolutely in the -hands of the All wise, whose ways are not as our ways, whose thoughts -are not as our thoughts, and, unless we had been furnished with a -special revelation on the matter, to be simply confident or to predict -would be presumption. Such is Christian prayer; it implies hope and -fear. We are not certain we shall gain our petition, we are not -certain we shall not gain it. Were we certain that we should not, we -should give ourselves to resignation, not to prayer; were we certain -we should, we should employ ourselves, not in prayer, but in praise -and thanksgiving. While we pray, then, in behalf of the Pope's -temporal power, we contemplate both sides of the alternative his -retaining it and his losing it; and we prepare ourselves both for -thanksgiving and resignation as the event may B. I conclude by -considering each of these issues of his present difficulty. - -(I.) First, as to the event of his retaining his temporal power. I -think this side of the alternative (humanly speaking) to be highly -probable. I should be very much surprised if in the event he did not -keep it. I think the Romans will not be able to do without him; it is -only a minority even now which is against him; the majority of his -subjects are not wicked, so much as cowardly and incapable. Even if -they renounced him now for awhile, they will change their minds and -wish for him again. They will find out that he is their real -greatness. Their city is a place of ruins, except so far as it is a -place shrines. It is the tomb and charnel-house of pagan impiety, -except so far as it is sanctified and quickened by the blood of -martyrs and the relics of saints. To inhabit it would be a penance, -were it not for the presence of religion. Babylon is gone, Memphis is -gone, Persepolis is gone; Rome would go, if the Pope went. Its very -life is the light of the sanctuary. It never could be a suitable -capital of a modern kingdom without a sweeping away of all that makes -it beautiful and venerable to the world at large. And then, when its -new rulers had made of it a trim and brilliant city, they would find -themselves on an healthy soil and a defenceless plain. But, in truth, -the tradition of ages and inveteracy of associations make such a vast -change in Rome impossible. All mankind are parties to the inviolable -union of the Pope and his city. His autonomy is a first principle in -European politics, whether among Catholics or Protestants; and where -can it be secured so well as in that city which has so long been the -seat of its exercise? Moreover, the desolateness of Rome is as -befitting to a kingdom which is not of this world as it is {591} -incompatible with a creation of modern political theories. It is the -religious centre of millions all over the earth, who care nothing for -the Romans who happen to live there, and much for the martyred -apostles who so long have lain buried there; and its claim to have an -integral place in the very idea of Catholicity is recognized not only -by Catholics, but by the whole world. - -It is cheering to begin our prayers with these signs of God's -providence in our favor. He expressly encourages us to pray, for -before we have begun our petition, he has begun to fulfil it. And at -the same time, by beginning the work of mercy without us, he seems to -remind us of that usual course of his providence, namely, that he -means to finish it with us. Let us fear to be the cause of a triumph -being lost to the church, because we would not pray for it. - -(2.) And now, lastly, to take the other side of the alternative. Let -us suppose that the Pope loses his temporal power, and returns to the -conation of St. Sylvester, St. Julius, St. Innocent, and other great -Popes of early times. Are we, therefore, to suppose that he and the -church will come to naught? God forbid! To say that the church can -fail, or the see of St. Peter can fail, is to deny the faithfulness of -Almighty God to his word. "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I -build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." -To say that the church cannot live except in a particular way, is to -make it "subject to elements of the earth." The church is not the -creature of times and places, of temporal politics or popular caprice. -Our Lord maintains her by means of this world, but these means are -necessary to her only while he gives them; when he takes them away, -they are no longer necessary. He works by means, but he is not bound -to means. He has a thousand ways of maintaining her; he can support -her life, not by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of -his mouth. If he takes away one defence, he will give another instead. -We know nothing of the future: our duty is to direct our course -according to our day; not to give up of our own act the means which -God has given us to maintain his church withal, but not to lament over -their loss, when he has taken them away. Temporal power has been the -means of the church's independence for a very long period; but, as her -bishops have lost it a long while, and are not the less bishops still, -so would it be as regards her head, if he also lost his. The eternal -God is her refuge, and as he has delivered her out of so many perils -hitherto, so will he deliver her still. The glorious chapters of her -past history are but anticipations of other glorious chapters still to -come. See how it has been with her from the very beginning down to -this day. First, the heathen populations persecuted her children for -three centuries, but she did not come to an end. Then a flood of -heresies was poured out upon her, but still she did not come to an -end. Then the savage tribes of the north and east came down upon her -and overran her territory, but she did not come to an end. Next, -darkness of mind, ignorance, torpor, stupidity, reckless corruption, -fell upon the holy place, still she did not come to an end. Then the -craft and violence of her own strong and haughty children did their -worst against her, but still she did not come to an end. Then came a -time when the riches of the world flowed in upon her, and the pride of -life, and the refinements and the luxuries of human reason; and lulled -her rulers into an unfaithful security, till they thought their high -position in the world would never be lost to them, and almost fancied -that it was good to enjoy themselves here below; but still she did not -come to an end. And then came the so-called reformation, and the rise -of Protestantism, and men said that the church had disappeared and -they could not find her place. Yet, now three centuries after that -even, _has_, {592} my brethren, the Holy Church come to an end? has -Protestantism weakened her powers, terrible enemy as it seemed to be -when it arose? has Protestantism, that bitter, energetic enemy of the -Holy See, harmed the Holy See? Why, there never has been a time, since -the first age of the church when there has been such a succession of -holy Popes, as since the reformation. Protestantism had been a great -infliction on such as have succumbed to it; but it has even wrought -benefits for those whom it has failed to seduce. By the mercy of God -it has been turned into a spiritual gain to the members of Holy -Church. - -Take again Italy, into which Protestantism has not entered, and -England, of which it has gained possession. Now I know well that, when -Catholics are good in Italy, they are very good; I would not deny that -they attain there to a height and a force of saintliness of which we -seem to have no specimens here. This, however, is the case of souls -whom neither the presence nor the absence of religious enemies would -affect for the better or the worse. Nor will I attempt the impossible -task of determining the amount of faith and obedience among Catholics -respectively in two countries so different from each other. But, -looking at Italian and English Catholics externally and in their -length and breadth, I may leave any Protestant to decide, in which of -the two there is at this moment a more demonstrative faith, a more -impressive religiousness, a more generous piety, a more steady -adherence to the cause of the Holy Father. The English are multiplying -religious buildings, decorating churches, endowing monasteries, -educating, preaching, and converting, and carrying off in the current -of their enthusiasm numbers even of those who are external to the -church; the Italian statesman, on the contrary, in all our bishop's -words, "imprison and exile the bishops and clergy, leave the flocks -without shepherds, confiscate the church's revenues, suppress the -monasteries and convents, incorporate ecclesiastics and religious in -the army, plunder the churches and monastic libraries, and exposed -religion herself, stripped in bleeding in every limb, the Catholic -religion in the person of her ministers, her sacraments, or most -devoted members, to be objects of profane and blasphemous ridiculed." -In so brave, intelligent, vigorous-minded a race as the Italians, and -in the nineteenth century not the sixteenth, and in the absence of any -formal protest of classes or places, the act of the rulers is the act -of the people. At the end of three centuries Protestant England -contains more Catholics who are loyal and energetic in word and deed -then Catholic Italy. So harmless has been the violence of the -reformation; it professed to eliminate from the church doctrinal -corruptions, and it has failed both in what it has done and in what it -has not done; it has bred infidels, to its confusion; and, to which -dismay, it has succeeded in purifying and strengthening catholic -communities. - -It is with these thoughts then that, my brethern, with these feelings -of solemn expectation, of joyful confidence, that we now come for our -God and pray him to have mercy on his chosen servant, his own vicar, -in this hour of trial. We come to him, like the prophet Daniel, in -humiliation for our own sins and the sins of our kings, our princes, -our fathers, and our people in all parts of the church; and therefore -we say the _Miserere_ and the Litany of the Saints, as in the time of -fast. And we come before him in the right and glad spirit of soldiers -who know they are under the leading of an invincible king, and wait -with beating hearts to see what he is about to do; and therefore it is -that we adorn our sanctuary, bringing out our hangings and multiplying -our lights, as on a day of festival. We know well we are on the -winning side, and that the prayers of the poor and the weak and -despised can do more, when offered in a true spirit, then all the -wisdom and all the resources of the world. This seventh of October is -the very {593} anniversary of that day on which the prayers of St. -Pius, and the Holy Rosary said by thousands of the faithful at his -bidding, broke forever the domination of the Turks in the great battle -of Lepanto. God will give us what we ask, or he will give us something -better. In this spirit let us proceed with the holy rites which we -have begun--in the presence of innumerable witnesses, of God the judge -of all, of Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, of his mother Mary -our immaculate protectress, of all the angels of holy church, of all -the blessed saints, of apostles and evangelists, martyrs and -confessors, holy preachers, holy recluses, holy virgins, of holy -innocents taken away before actual sin, and of all other holy souls -who have been purified by suffering, and have already reached their -heavenly home. - ----------- - -From Chambers's Journal. - - -THE SOURCE OF LABOR. - - -Science has taught us that the processes going on around us are but -changes, not annihilations and creations. With the eye of knowledge we -see the candle slowly turning into invisible gases, nor doubt for an -instant that the matter of which the candle was composed is still -existing, ready to reappear in other forms. But this fact is true not -only of matter itself, but also of all the influences that work on -matter. We wind up the spring of a clock, and, for a whole week, the -labor thus stored up is slowly expended in keeping the clock going. -Or, again, we spend five minutes of hard labor in raising the hammer -of a pile-driver, which, in its fall, exerts all that accumulated -labor in a single instant. In these instances, we easily see that we -store up labor. Now, if we pat a dozen sovereigns in a purse, and none -of them be lost, we can take a dozen sovereigns out again. So in -labor, if no labor be lost, as science asserts--for the inertia of -matter, its very deadness, so to speak, which renders it incapable of -spontaneously producing work, also prevents its destroying work when -involved in it--we should be able to obtain back without deduction -all our invested labor when we please. - -Imagine a mountain stream turning an overshot wheel. It thus falls -from a higher to a lower level. A certain amount of labor would be -required to raise the water from the lower level to the higher; just -this amount of labor the water gives out in its fall, and invests, as -it were, in the wheel. If, however, when arrived at the lower level, -the water were to demand of the wheel to be pumped up again, the -slightest trial would show that it would ask more than it could -obtain, though not more than it had given. The wheel, if questioned as -to the cause of its inability, must reply as others have done, that it -has shut up part of the labor in investments which it cannot realize. -The reason, as commonly stated, is, that friction has destroyed part -of the labor. The labor is not, however, destroyed. Science has shown -that heat and labor are connected; labor may be turned into heat, and -heat into labor. The labor absorbed by friction is but turned into -heat. If, however, we try to extract labor from the heat thus diffused -through the different parts of the water-wheel, and make it available, -we find ourselves quite at a loss. The heat gradually diffuses itself -through surrounding bodies, and, so far as we {594} are concerned, the -labor is wasted, though it still exist, like Cleopatra's pearl -dissolved in the cup of vinegar. - -If no labor is lost, so neither is any created. The labor we exert is -but the expenditure of labor stored up in our frames, just as the -labor invested in the wound-up spring keeps the clock going. Whence, -then, does all this labor originally come? We see the waste--how is -compensation made? The answer is simple and easy to give. All the -labor done under the sun is really done by it. The light and heat -which the sun supplies are turned into labor by the organizations -which exist upon the earth. These organizations may be roughly divided -into two classes--the collectors and the expenders of the sun's labor. -The first merely collect the sun's labor, so as to make it available -for the other class; while, just as the steam-engine is the medium by -which the steam gives motion, so this second class is the medium by -which the sun's heat is turned into actual labor. - -Still, the sun does not work only through organized labor: his mere -mechanical influence is very great. With the moon--the only second -post he deigns as to fill--he produces the tides by his attraction on -the sea. But for the friction of the earth and the sea, the tides, -once set in motion, would rise and fall without any further effort; -but the work done in overcoming the friction is, though due to the sun -and moon, not extracted from them, but by them from the earth. For it -would make a vast effort to cause the earth to cease rotating. All -this effort is, as it were, stored up in the revolving earth. as the -tidal waters, then, rub along the bed of the sea, or the waters on -which they rest and the adjacent coasts, this friction tends to make -the earth move faster or slower, according to the direction in which -the tidal flow is. The general effect is, however, that the friction -of the tides makes the earth revolve more slowly; in other words, that -part of the energy of rotation of the earth, so to speak, is consumed -in rubbing against the title waters. All the work, therefore, that the -tides do in undermining our cliffs and washing away our beaches, is -extracted by the sea and moon from the work stored up in the rotation -of the earth. The diminution of rotation, indeed, is so small as -scarcely to be perceived by the most refined observation, but the -reality of it is now generally recognized; and this process, too, will -apparently go on till the earth ceases to rotate on its axis, and -presents one face constantly to the sun. - -Thus we see that the destruction of the land by the sea, so -interesting in a geological point of view, is partly due to the sun's -action. Not only is he the source of the light and the heat we enjoy, -but he aids in forming the vast sedimentary beds that form so large a -part of the crust of the earth, mixing the ingredients of our fields -and moulding our globe. - -By heating the air, the sun produces winds, and some of the labor -costs expended is made use of by man in turning his windmills and -carrying his wares across the sea. But there is another expedient of -the sun's heat more immediately useful to man. By evaporating the sea -and other bodies of water, he loads the air with moisture, which, then -in contact with cold mountain-peaks or cold masses of air, loses its -heat, and, being condensed, falls as rain or snow. Thus the rivers are -replenished, which for a long time supplied the greater part of the -labor employed in manufacturers, though the invention of the -steam-engine is fast reducing relatively the value of this supply of -labor. - -But vast as the sun's power thus exerted is, and useful as it is to -man, is surpassed in importance by his his labor exerted through -organized beings. The above named agents have one defect; on the -whole, they are incapable of being stored up to any great degree; we -must employ them as nature gives them to us. Organized existence, -however, possesses the power of storing up labor to a very high -degree. {595} The means it adopts are not mechanical, but chemical. -The formation of chemical compounds is attended with the giving out of -heat, which, as we have said before, is equivalent to labor, and if of -sufficient intensity, can by us be made available as labor, as in the -steam-engine. Now we take iron ore, consisting of iron in combination -with other substances. By means of great heat the iron is set free in -the smelting-furnace. The iron, then, in its change of form has, as it -were, taken in all this heat. If, now, we take this iron, and keeping -it from the influence of the air, reduce it to a very fine powder, and -then suddenly expose it to the air, by the force of natural affinity -it will absorb the oxygen of the air, and in so doing give out the -heat before required to set it free from the oxygen; and if the iron -be in small enough portions, so that the process is sufficiently -rapid, we may see the iron grow red hot with the heat thus disengaged. - -Now, plants and trees, by the aid of the solar light and heat, remove -various substances, carbon especially, from what seem to be their more -natural combinations, and in other combinations store them up in their -structures. Take a young oak-tree with its first tender leaves; if -deprived of the sun's light and heat, its growth would be stayed, and -its life die out. But with the aid of the sun's rays, it absorbs -carbon from the gases in the air, each particle of carbon absorbed -being absorbed by the power of the sun, through the agency of the -plant; and with each particle of carbon stored up is also, as it were, -stored up the labor of the sun by which that particle was set free -from its former fetters. The sap of the plant thus enriched returns in -its course, and by some mysterious process is curdled into cells and -hardened into would. But the work by which all this was accomplished -lies hid in the wood, and not only is it there, but it is there in a -greatly condensed state. To form a little ring of wood round the tree, -not an eighth of an inch across it, took the sunshine of a long -summer, falling on the myriad leaves of the oak. - -Lemuel Gulliver, at Laputa, was astonished by seeing a philosopher -aiming at extracting sunbeams from cucumbers. Had he but rightly -considered the thing he would have wondered at any one's troubling to -make a science of it. The thing has always been done. From Adam and -Eve in the garden of Eden eating sweet fruits, through the -onion-eating builders of the pyramids, down to the flesh-eating -myriads of our land, this process has always been going on. The active -life of reasoning man, and his limitless powers of invention, need for -their full development a vast supply of labor. By means of the -vegetable kingdom, the sun's work is stored up in a number of organic -substances. Man takes these into his system, and in the vessels and -fibres of his body they resume their original combinations, and the -labor of the sun is given out as muscular action and animal heat. To -allow a larger supply of labor for man's intellect to work with, -Providence created the herbivorous races. Some of these further -condense the work of the sun involved in plants, by taking these -plants into their systems, and storing up the work in them in their -flesh and fat, which, after some preparation, are fit to be received -into the frame of man, there, as the simpler vegetable substances, to -supply heat and labor. Others, extracting work from the vegetable -kingdom, just as man does, and mostly from parts of the vegetable -kingdom that are not suited to the organs of man, are valuable to man -as sources of labor, since they have no power to invent modes of -employing this labor to their own advantage. Man might have been -gifted with a vaster frame, and so with greater power of labor in -himself, but such a plan had been destitute of elasticity; and while -the savage would have basked in the sun in a more extended idleness, -the civilized man had still lacked means to execute his plans. {596} -So that good providence which formed man devised a further means for -supplying his wants. Instead of placing him at once on a new-formed -planet, it first let the sun spend its labor for countless ages upon -our world. Age by age, much of this labor was stored up in vast -vegetable growths. Accumulated in the abysses of the sea, or sunk to a -great depth by the collapse of supporting strata, the formations of a -later age pressed and compacted this mass of organic matter. The beds -thus formed were purified by water, and even by heat, and at last -raised to within the reach of man by subterranean movements. From this -reservoir of labor man now draws rapidly, driving away the frost of -today with the sunshine of a million years ago, and thrashing this -year's harvest with the power that came to our earth before corn grew -upon it. - -Such are the processes by which the sun's power is collected and -stored up by the vegetable kingdom in a form sufficiently condensed to -be available for working the machinery of the bodies of men and -beasts, and also to assist man in vaster expenditures of labor. It is -most interesting to trace such processes, and not only interesting, -but also instructive, for it shows us in what direction we are to look -for our sources of labor, and will at once expose many common -delusions. One hears, perhaps, that something will be found to -supplant steam. Galvanism may be named; yet galvanism is generated by -certain decompositions--of metal, for instance--and this metal had -first to be prepared by the agency of coal, and in its decomposition -can give out no more labor than the coal before invested in it. It is -as if one should buy a steam-engine to pump up water to keep his -mill-wheel going. The source of all labor is the sun. We cannot -immediately make much use of his rays for the purposes of work; they -are not intense enough; they must be condensed. The vegetable world -alone at present seems capable of doing this; and its past results of -coal, peat, petroleum, etc., and present results of wood and food, are -ultimately all we have to look two. - -To say that man will ever be dependent upon the vegetable world for -all his work may be considered bold, but there is certainly great -reason to believe it. The sun's labor being supplied in such a diluted -form, each small quantity continually supplied must be packed in a -very small space. Now, man can only subject matter to influences in -the mass. The little particle of carbon that the plant frees each -instant is beyond his ken. The machinery he could make would not be -fine enough; it would be like trying to tie an artery with the biggest -cable on board the Great Eastern. Organized existence possesses -machinery fine enough to effect these small results, and to avail -itself of these little installments of labor. At present, this -machinery is beyond our comprehension, and possibly will ever remain -so. Nature prefers that her children should keep out of the kitchen, -and not pry into her pots and pans, but eat in thankfulness the meal -she provides. - -Some interesting results follow from what has been stated above. One -is, that we are consuming not only our present allowance of the sun's -labor, but also a great deal more, unless the formation of coal in our -age equals its consumption, which is not probable. Mother earth will -certainly, so far as we can see, some day be bankrupt. Such a -consummation is pointed to, however, in other quarters. The sun's -heat, unless miraculously replenished, must gradually be dissipated -through space. There are reasons for thinking that the planets must -ultimately fall into the sun. These things, however, possess to us no -practical physical interest. Such countless ages must elapse ere they -affect man's material condition upon the earth that we hardly can -gravely consider them as impending. The chief interest they excite is -moral. Like the man's hand that appeared to the revelling king, they -write, "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin" (weighed, measured, limited, -doomed) on our material world, and dimly point to some power that -stands, as it were, hidden from our view behind the screen of matter, -that shall make things new. - --------------- - -{597} - - -ORIGINAL. - - -POEM. - -BY E. HOWARD. - - - - While wandering by the mountains - And musing by the streams, - I asked myself if ever thus - My life would pass in dreams. - - I gathered the little pebbles - The waves threw on the sand: - The rippling waters seemed to say, - "There is a better land!" - - And while thus my steps were straying, - Above, in azure far, - I saw a beacon's streaming light-- - The glorious evening star! - - My soul, enraptured, then exclaimed: - "Hail, beauteous star of even! - Wilt thou, while speeding into dawn, - Bring me the will of heaven?" - - I watched it in its onward course, - Until its golden glow - Was lost behind the western clouds. - And left me wrapped in woe. - - I struggled hard to free my soul - From brooding thoughts of care. - Till morning broke, when, with the star, - These words fell on the air: - - "No more let earthly passion move. - Nor wearied hopes bemoan, - A life that has a God to love, - A heaven to call its own!" - - The star had kindled hope - And raised my soul in prayer; - The clouds that rolled between - Foretold a life of care. - - I bowed my head, and humbly knelt, - Submissive to his will. - Who, when the waves were troubled most, - Said, "Peace!" and all was still. - --------- - -{598} - -ORIGINAL. - - -THE GODFREY FAMILY; OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY. - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -A PROPOSAL: -AND MORE THAN ONE. - - -The summons to London was on the business of cutting off the entail to -the estates as proposed at the beginning of the last chapter. Mr. -Godfrey, whose love for Hester certainly approached to dotage, had -decided to gratify his darling's wishes; and to avoid future -confusion, had decided to allow her to come of age at eighteen, and to -enter on the enjoyment of the estates he destined for her, subject to -an annuity for himself. To give the matter a semblance of justice, he -proposed to pension off the rest of the family in the same manner, -thus settling their claims to the property during his life, as after -his death. What was wanting to this plan was Eugene's acceptance of a -present annuity in the stead of his inheritance at death. - -The proposal made to him was by no means a liberal one, considering -the wealth of the family and the expectations in which he had been -reared. - -"Three thousand pounds a year for life, now, instead of fifteen -thousand in reversion to descend to my posterity; the proposal is -preposterous," said Eugene, "especially as I was always given to -understand that I might look to receive a sum equal to that on my -coming of age, which I shall do in three weeks' time." - -"That promise was conditional, young man," said Mr. Godfrey, somewhat -sternly; "conditional at least by implication; could I have foreseen -that you would have disgraced my family, it would not have been made." - -"Disgraced!" ejaculated Eugene. - -"Brother," interposed Hester, anxious to avoid any expression of -excited feeling, "you have renounced the position my father ambitioned -for you; you cannot hold office under government; you cannot become a -member of Parliament; you cannot act as a magistrate; [Footnote 173] -or take any useful part in the work of society. Surely three thousand -pounds a year will supply all your personal wants." - - [Footnote 173: At the time of which we write the civil disabilities - for all dissenters from the English Establishment, and for all - Catholics, were still in force in England.] - -"You have assumed a great deal, my good sister; a great deal more than -you can prove, I think. If I understand this matter rightly, it these -yourself who are be to benefited by this arrangement. You want to -experimentalize, to found a new Utopia; surely I might do that at -least as well as a woman." - -"No, for you believe not in the principle. Money in your hands, just -now, would sink; you might build churches or convents, but forward the -progression of the race you would not. A bare-footed Carmelite ranks -higher in your estimation that a man raised by talent and industry to -a position surrounded by means of enjoyment. Now, my father objects -conscientiously, and his immediate ancestors would also object to -appropriate the both of his property to a phantasm. He offers you a -maintenance superior to the property your theory upholds. Be -consistent; try your own principle of renunciation, of poverty, if you -so like to term an annuity of three thousand a year. The allotment -which will be termed mine is in my eyes, and in in my father's, an -investment for the good of society, of which I am but a directress. -Give to the world that which the world claims, {599} take the portion -you have chosen in which the world has no share--spirituality. -Conscientiously my father has strained a point to offer you so much, -for he looks upon the promotion of your views as injurious to the -human race." - -There was a long pause, a long silence; then Eugene said, "I must take -time to consider; my signature would not be of any avail until I am of -age, and it wants three weeks to that time. In a month's time I will -give you an answer." - -Eugene, after a vain attempt to see his mother, returned to the town -in which Euphrasie resided. He was now determined to have the -interview he had so long vainly sought for. On that interview greatly -depended his future determination. - - - -He did not call on her at her mother's abode. He waylaid her as she -was returning home from giving her lessons; with a few earnest words -induced her to permit him to lead her into a secluded grove where -often he had mused on her perfections, and there, at length, he took -courage, and poured forth, as much by gesture as by words, his long -pent-up tale of love, so hidden out of reverence, a reverence which -now gave way to the anxiety of placing her in a more suitable position -than the one she at present occupied, although still falling short of -that which she was calculated to adorn. - -Euphrasie listened with profound attention; certainly not coldly. She -fully appreciated the young man's devotion, she fully believed his -tale. Even tears filled her eyes as he proceeded; but she was long in -answering. - -"May I take this silence for consent, dear Euphrasie?" said Eugene. - -Euphrasie shook her head. "No, indeed, you may not, my kind friend," -she said. "I am silent because I know not how to express my sense of -your worth, of your kindness, of your disinterestedness, in fitting -terms, and accompany my words with a refusal. What you propose can -never be. Another vocation is mine. Yet believe me that my gratitude, -my friendship, my esteem, are, and ever must remain, your own. I thank -you earnestly for the long forbearing and silent sympathy which I have -ever received from you." - -"Your tones are solemn, Euphrasie. You are not one to act a part, and -say no when you mean yes. You have seen this proposal possible, you -have weighed it; is it indiscreet to ask in confidence your reasons?" - -"Is not all explained by the words, another vocation is mine? May I -not recall to your memory the explanation I once gave at Durimond -Castle?" - -"But, Euphrasie, in this country, where Catholics are barely -tolerated, you can scarcely be a nun." - -"I think, indeed, that at present there seems little likelihood that I -shall be what the world calls a nun; but I am none the less certain -that I am called to serve God by following the three evangelical -counsels." - -"But as a married woman, Euphrasie, surely you could serve God also. -Marriage in the Catholic Church is exalted to the dignity of a -sacrament, and I would respect your self-imposed duties not only of -devotion but of charity also. I would share the cares you now bestow -on my aunt's comfort, and--" - -"I believe it, Eugene, but it cannot be. I dare not resist the voice -which forbids me to bind myself by human ties. We are Catholics, -Eugene; we know that a vocation is something real; that not to respond -to it is to endanger salvation, is to risk the abstraction of that -grace which is of all treasures the most valuable." - -Eugene replied not. There was a long pause. Euphrasie was agitated -beyond her wont, and was glad to avail herself of a seat fixed beneath -the shade of a tree. Eugene rested his forehead against the tree. -Suddenly he seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, but he spoke -not. The warm tears were pouring down his {600} cheeks. Oh! it is -agonizing to behold a strong man weep. No woman at least can see it -unmoved; still less Euphrasie, who beneath an impassive exterior bore -a feeling, tender heart. Scarcely less affected than himself she took -his hand in both of hers, and faltered out: "Eugene, my friend, my -brother, the day will come when you will rejoice at this hour's -decision, and make it the subject of your earnest thanksgiving. No -Catholic can have witnessed your noble struggle for truth, your -disinterestedness, your magnanimity, without feeling that for you, -too, God has a noble mission in store. As yet you are scarcely -conscious of what you would lose were you to fetter yourself by human -ties. Your studies as yet have occupied the intellect somewhat -exclusively. Controversy was necessary while you were assuring -yourself of the grounds of faith, of the reasonableness of the -creature's trusting to the solemn promise of the Creator, of the -unerring infallibility of the church founded by Christ, and sustained -by his holy spirit. Your learned research, conducted in simplicity of -spirit, has led you to the temple of truth. You have entered, but as -yet its most wondrous teachings are to be unfolded, to be -contemplated, to be realized in practice. Your soul is too noble to -content itself with the things of earth; your heart needs pure, -exalted realities to love, and those it will find only here." (She -took from her bosom a small ivory crucifix, which she placed in his -hand as she spoke). "Everlasting love speaks to you from this cross, -my beloved friend. Leave other studies for awhile to contemplate its -lessons in all its bearings, and a divine rapture will fill your -inmost soul; you will live in him only who is life and light and love, -and your heart will need to pour itself out for him, through him, in -him. Suffering for Christ will become blissful, and your whole being -will shape itself to one aim, his will, whom to serve is to find the -truest happiness on earth, as it is also the only happiness in heaven! -Oh! dared I speak to you, Eugene, of what it is to love God, and to -feel his love for us within our souls, you would not need consolation -then. But God himself will speak to you and instruct you in his -wondrous love, and you will be happy beyond your utmost imagination." - -Euphrasie spoke as one inspired; and it was so rarely that she made -any speech of considerable length, that the effect was greatly -increased. Again there was a long pause, Eugene gazed on the crucifix, -pressed it to his lips, then hit it in his bosom. At length he said: -"Euphrasie, I can but submit. I will do my best to follow the -beautiful course you have described for me. But ere I leave you, since -since leave you I must, may I ask one favor?" - -Euphrasie signified assent. - -"It is this, then: You have called me friend brother. May I hope, -then, for a brother's privilege, a friends affection? I will never -again asked for more, if you will promise me these. But let your -brother be of use to you, dear sister, confide to your friend your -plans, and give him the happiness of helping them forward. Let there -be no estrangement between us, Euphrasie." - -"There shall be none, I promise you, save such as prudence demands. -Your nobleness, your disinterestedness, claim my admiration, and I -promise you, my brother, to inform you when i need your proferred aid. -But you must forgive me if, for a while at least, I converse with you -only through the medium of our mutual friend. Let our excited feelings -have time to subside into a more reasonable frame ere we meet again, -Eugene. And now may the holy Angels have you in their keeping. Adieu." - -She was gone ere Eugene could reply. Hid among the foliage, he had not -the courage to follow her, and in spite of his resolves the remained -desolate. - -What now were to him the chances of heirship, the thoughts of -transmitting his name to a long posterity? {601} At the end of the -month Eugene signed the deed which deprived him for all time of a fair -estate. An additional motive for his doing this was found in the -reflection that he had no right to be depriving his mother of her -private property. He returned the deed of gift to her as soon as he -received the proposed annuity. There were no bells rung, according to -the custom from immemorial ages, when the heir of the Godfrey family -came of age; there was no feasting, no rejoicing among the tenantry. -All was silence and gloom, it was as if the very air were hung with a -funeral pall. Mrs. Godfrey seemed stricken to the heart. But when the -transactions became known which disinherited Eugene and appropriated -an unfair proportion of the estate to the youngest sister, all the -family were roused. Vexed as they were at Eugene's religious -demonstrations they were not prepared to give Hester so exclusive a -preference. Mrs. Godfrey, especially, felt the transaction as most -bitterly unjust. She yearned for Eugene's presence, and it was not -permitted her. Scarcely could she tolerate the sight of Hester in the -house. Her melancholy increased. Alas! poor mother! - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -Hester was now made rich. Her doting father settled on her not only -the Yorkshire farms, but also other revenues, that she might be -provided with capital to carry into execution her philanthropic plans. -Hester was endowed with many brilliant qualities. She was, as it were, -"born to reign." She perfectly understood her own dignity, perfectly -realized her own power of intellect, was well aware that both her -father and his man of business were her tools, and she managed -accordingly with intuitive prudence, not permitting Mr. Godfrey to -perceive how entirely he obeyed her bidding. Under these circumstances -she might fairly hope for success. Large iron factories on the one -hand, and large cotton factories on the other, were erected on a scale -calculated to employ many hundred hands, and to bring into extensive -operation the new steam-power that then absorbed scientific attention. -Mr. Godfrey was delighted, for it brought him into frequent contact -with the most scientific men of the day. The operations necessarily -attracted public attention, and Mr. Godfrey as director of the -scientific operations, with Hester as deviser of a new scheme for -rendering the "populations" happy and progressive, were continually -besieged by a concourse of visitors, eager to understand the new -"idea." - -Hester's arrangements were on a magnificent scale. She started on the -principle of mutual co-operation united to division of labor. Instead -of separate dwellings for her employes, she had large boarding-houses -built. These were provided with halls, refectories, baths, -lecture-rooms, reading-rooms, libraries, and, lastly, schools, which -in those days were rare for the laboring population. For since the -suppression of the monasteries and convents, the schools in which the -good religious had taught the children of England to love God and -their neighbor had been shut up, education had fallen to a fearfully -low standard in this sect-divided kingdom. - -Hester was a severe disciplinarian, with little compassion for the -weakness of human nature. She intended her people should become -intellectual; and when she shortened the hours of labor, expressly to -give time to cultivate the mind, when she hired lecturers and bought -books, she felt herself aggrieved that these were not responded to. -Her people were well fed at a common table; they were well sheltered -and accommodated; why should they not be intellectualized? How -discouraged she felt when she found she was speaking in an unknown -tongue to {602} the adults among her operatives. They hardly -considered short hours a benefit when they were compelled to sit and -listen to subjects in which they took no interest. "A glass of ale -and, a pipe of 'backy would do a poor body far more good than all this -preaching, and 'tain't to save our souls either." There were other -difficulties in this commonwealth; the young men and women were on -different sides of the building, and certain rules were laid down to -secure good conduct, but these rules were very difficult to enforce, -and the dismissals for disorder became frequent. The operatives began -to call the place a jail. Hester would not yield, but she turned more -strenuously to the children. Here she had better success, and she -spent days and weeks in providing for the better education of these -little ones. "The elder ones are already formed," she argued, "but we -will give these young ones better tastes, better habits, and they will -become intelligent and happy." - -M. de Villeneuve was a frequent visitor at these institutions, for the -character of Hester interested him greatly, and he was constantly -endeavoring to draw her attention to the motives that actuated her -people, and to the probabilities of their producing lasting results. - -"Tell me," said he, "how is a knowledge of the material law to produce -happiness? We know that a steel knife cuts flesh; will that knowledge -reconcile one to the loss of his arm when the sturgeon has cut it off -in the most masterly manner?" - -"No," said Hester, "but perhaps a knowledge of the material law might -have prevented the necessity of cutting off the arm at all. Much of -disease is caused by ignorance. To banish pain needs a wide -acquaintance with the whole range of laws which govern our being. To -know and practise one law and neglect another would but result in -pain." - -"You will require a life of scientific research. I see; and after all, -as we all begin with ignorance and helplessness, we must suffer some -pain during our apprenticeship. For instance, you cannot teach an -infant to cut its teeth painlessly." - -"But because we cannot do everything, shall we do nothing?" - -"That were a sweeping conclusion; it is not necessary to go so far as -that. But might it not be wise to examine the principle of actions -when we attempt to regulate for others on a new system? Your exterior -arrangements our splendid; your laws rigidly moral; but will you -ensure their being kept? What motive do you propose?" - -"I have expelled those who, after suitable remonstrance, would not -conform," said Hester. - -"A very effective proceeding, my kind hostess, but it is just possible -that eventually such a practice might create a desert. The motive -power of perseverance comes from within. The desire must be in the -heart, the understanding must approve, the will must accept, the deed -must co-operate, and until you have secured this motive power, your -arrangements rest on an insecure basis. You cannot force men to choose -good; you cannot make them studious by providing a library, or moral -by denouncing the penalties of immorality. You must subdue passions, -excite tastes. Can mere knowledge of physics do this?" - -"There is other knowledge besides mere physics--classical knowledge." - -"And will classical knowledge do it? Will reading Virgil and Horace -tend to evolve moral power?" - -"Why not? Knowledge is power!" - -"Then why are so many of the educated sickly, unhappy and immoral?" - -"Because they do not act upon their knowledge; they are idle and -dissipated and worthless. The frivolities of the young men 'de bon -ton' were always disgusting to me. But then they are not really -educated; they may have been to school, but they have learned nothing -useful, nothing of the material world." - -{603} - -"But" said M. de Villeneuve, "how does the knowledge of the material -world affect man's existence as a moral agent? The laws which regulate -materiality leave and impress of invariability upon them--a want of -power to change themselves, at any rate. They are obedient to a will -to which they appear insentient. This is true not only of inert, -stolid matter, not only of vegetable life, but of animals, even of -those wondrous developments of instinct which approach so near to -reason that they are scarcely distinguishable from it. The highest -mere animals are creatures of circumstance--circumstance ruled, -indeed, by appetite and instinct, but not by recognition of a higher -law, not by any consciousness of affinity to a higher state of -existence. Therefore, you can tame them by an appeal to their -appetites; you can rule them by providing for their animal natures; -you can subdue them if you bring to bear on them a force stronger than -their own. But, surely, we may assume that man is more than a mere -animal. He has inborn affinities to higher natures which force cannot -subdue, and which rise superior to animal temptations. These -affinities may be starved out, it is true, by not providing them with -their own fitting nutriment, which is not the food of the body. They -may be crushed or restrained in their development by overloading the -soul with extraneous objects; but in proportion as these powers are -starved out or crushed out, the man sinks, the animal rises. And the -_animal_ man is, I assure you, a very ferocious kind of beast, and -nonetheless so for having intelligence developed; rather is he -dangerous in proportion." - -"You would not, then, developed intelligence?" - -"On the contrary, I think it the highest and holiest task in which a -human being can be employed. I rejoice in all the plans that tend to -raise the race; I applaud your benevolence in forming these -establishments, although I feel that you are preparing for yourself a -disappointment." - -"But why?" - -"Because you have begun on the wrong principle. It is good that you -have begun at all to see the principle acknowledged that man is man, -and not a mere machine to win riches for the few; that principle -emanated from selfishness in the beginning, but selfishness will not -root out selfishness. I admire your idea principally because it proves -your own zeal, your own earnestness, your own capability of -sacrificing yourself for others; even the disappointment impending -will be fraught with good if it do not discourage you from seeking the -true principle, which I hope it will not do. Faith in man is easily -overset, because man can fall of himself, but of himself he cannot -rise." - -"You believe, then, as I do, that a new era is dawning on mankind, and -that the laborer must be protected and enlightened?" said Hester. - -"I do!" said M. de Villeneuve. - -"Yet you do not believe that my schools and arrangements will make him -happier?" - -"Will you forgive me if I say I do not?" - -"You are an enigma; I cannot make you out," said Hester. - -"How did man fall into the degraded state in which the masses are?" -said M. de Villeneuve. "We have proof of intelligence enough in the -founders of Babylon, of Nineveh, of Thebes, and of Egypt." - -"Some men must have known something, I think," said Hester, "but they -seem to have kept their knowledge very carefully to themselves, and -made slaves of those to whom they did not impart it. Knowledge was -very much an affair of class or rank. The populace was brutish, if -accounts are true, and kept in order by sheer force." - -"And when that force pressed too hardly, they fled and became the -founders of the savage life. Such is the probable course. And what -power, think you, elevated the mass, even to the extent in which we -see them now? for, debased as they may be, they are {604} far above -the races that did the same work in ancient times; nay, the laborers -of Europe are far above the slaves of Asia. What has caused the -difference?" - -"The march of intellect," said Hester proudly. - -"Supposing that granted for the sake of the argument, what caused 'the -march of intellect?' what gave the impetus to raise the 'toiler for -bread' in the scale of humanity?" - -Hester could not answer. The comte continued: - -"I believe it to be that very influence which 'the age' is seeking so -earnestly to destroy. Man's selfishness oppressed his fellows, -overpowered his faculties, laid them to sleep so effectually that the -rich and great were acknowledged by the crowd to be of another order, -of another scale of being, to be judged of by another standard, to be -weighed by another measure. The gospel came: to the poor it was -preached _par excellence_; it was a call of the Father to his -downtrodden children, an appeal to their hearts, their affections, a -loving invitation to them to come, as children of the most High God, -to claim their inheritance of lofty faculty, of high intuitions, of -exalted aspiration. The understanding enlightened through the heart -changed by slow degree's the face of nations; the slave disappeared -from the christianized lands, the leaven worked from the interior to -the exterior, life became protected, the rich and the poor, equal -before God, became equal before the law also; civilization of heart -produced civilization of manners among the masses. The greater -involved the lesser. Men's intellects were awakened, roused to action, -and then followed the old story over again; they forget how they had -obtained these gifts, and from whom, and they are applying them to -selfish purposes, to animal gratification. But liberty is the gift of -the gospel, liberty emanating from emancipation of the understanding -by means of the soul. If we would preserve the gift, we must observe -the conditions." - -"Do you really think 'liberty' a good?" asked Hester. - -"True liberty is one of the greatest of blessings," said the comte; -"but you will find it difficult to give 'true liberty' on earthly -grounds alone, it would so easily degenerate into license. Now the -repression of license by force is a restraint to which men unwillingly -submit, and easily engenders tyranny, so that, unless license is -restrained by the spiritual sense, liberty is in continual jeopardy; -it is difficult to believe it can be lasting." - -"And you think the spiritual sense necessary to liberty?" - -"I do; how else can lawlessness be restrained without force?" - -"Surely intellectual enlightenment ought to suffice. Common-sense even -tells us that some restraint is necessary, that the moral law must be -observed." - -"It may tell us so, but does it give the power to execute its -bidding?" - -"It should do so." - -"It should, and would, if man's being were in harmony. All laws, -physical, mental, and spiritual teach in different forms the same -truth; the material is a manifestation of the spiritual, of which the -intellect demonstrates the beauty and the necessity; but power to -develop the spiritual facility does not reside either in the intellect -or in matter, it belongs to a higher source, and without the will is -powerless. Therefore is it, I prophesy disappointment for you; for I -see no provision made to destroy selfishness, and promote a higher -life." - -"There is none needed," interposed Mr. Godfrey somewhat abruptly; "we -teach what we know. As for mysticism and matters we guess at but do -not know, we leave the people free. If they need religion let them -choose one, or make one for themselves." - -The asperity with which this was said closed the conversation for that -time. - -{605} - -Hester continued her plans, though less firm than before in the -conviction that the spread of intelligence would annihilate evil. She -watched the results with an anxiety intent on discovering the exact -truth. She tried more and more to enforce morality. She studied the -influences by which children are won to good behavior. She thought -love was the governing principle of the little folks, and that her -indulgence would excite love. Rewards were profusely given, and a -system of excitement acted upon. This produced certain effects in -calling forth intelligence, but the children became selfish and fond -of ease and dissipation in a manner she had not looked for. - -With her young people she had scarcely better success. There was no -religious restraint, and their morals soon betokened that some -restraint was called for. Then, again, Mr. Godfrey's opinions were -pretty well known, and itinerant lecturers held forth on the -unreasonableness of the marriage tie, on the necessity of easy -divorce, and other topics of like nature that placed Hester in great -perplexity. It was not a subject in which she as a woman could -properly interfere, and her father shrugged his shoulders, and passed -them by with the remark, "These are not matters that can be interfered -with, they are altogether conventional." - -What could Hester do? She was in great perplexity. - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THE TRIALS OF LADY CONWAY. - -Meantime we must return to Lady Conway. Time passed on and she became -the mother of a little girl, and after another interval of a little -boy also. At this latter event Sir Philip's joy was great. The bells -rang, bonfires blazed, every festive demonstration was called into -play to welcome the heir to the estate. All the father's affection -seemed showered upon him. The misunderstanding between himself and his -lady had never been thoroughly put to rights, for Alfred still -continued to keep awake in Sir Philip's mind the suspicions he had -aroused. Had Annie been of a meek and gentle temper, she might very -soon have convinced her husband how far she was as yet removed from -religion of any kind, although conscious of secret influences creeping -over her. But Annie thought herself aggrieved, and disdained -conciliatory measures; and by degrees, under the insidious influence -to which he was exposed, Sir Philip began to assume a high tone of -marital authority which gave his wife continual provocation and -rendered her situation almost unbearable. Daily he assumed more and -more the reins of domestic government, until at last it could scarcely -be said that the ordinary jurisdiction which a woman exercises over -her household belonged to Annie. She felt this keenly at first, but -the birth of her little girl came somewhat to reconcile her. She spent -much time in the nursery, and recreated herself with books. She tried -not to notice the arbitrary manner and haughty bearing of her husband, -for, high-spirited as she was, she thought it undignified to live in a -perpetual jangle. So, gradually, the married couple learned to live in -different ideal worlds, though they continued under one roof and to -society appeared as usual. But this did not suit Alfred Brookbank. His -hatred went deeper than this, and he set himself seriously about -attempting to destroy what little was left of domestic comfort. The -birth of the young heir soon furnished him with grounds. None were -more warm than he in offering his congratulations, and in making -continual inquiries after the well-being of this young scion of an -ancient race. Indeed, the interest he seemed to take in all that -affected Sir Philip's happiness was extreme. One would have said that -he lived but for the pleasure of serving him. Sir Philip, on the other -hand, became daily more wrapt up in this specious man, and daily -congratulated himself on having secured so invaluable a servant. - -{606} - -"Sir Philip," said Alfred one day, after meeting the infant in its -nurse's arms during a business walk over the grounds, "that is a -splendid boy! I need not ask a man of your wisdom if you have made -provision that he should be brought up a staunch and loyal upholder of -the Protestant interest." - -"Time enough yet, my worthy friend," responded the baronet, "the child -is not six months old." - -"But before six months more, Sir Philip, he will begin to receive -impressions, and early impressions are of immense importance. You -remember, doubtless, that when the treaty of marriage was on foot -between the ill-fated Charles I. and Henrietta of France, the question -was mooted respecting the education of the children, and it was -finally settled that for the first seven years they should remain -under the mother's influence, and afterward be brought up Protestant. -They result was that, in the long run, the early impressions -prevailed. Charles II. certainly received the Romish sacrament on his -death-bed, and his brother James sacrificed his crown to his papistry. -I imagine that the first impressions are almost indelible, and we -never know when first impressions are made." - -"But all my people are Protestants," said Sir Philip. - -"And has Lady Conway renounced her predilection for the papists?" -asked Alfred. Sir Phillip's brow lowered. - -"Forgive me if I go too far," continued Alfred deprecatingly. "The -inroads made by these people who came to seek English hospitality on -being driven from their own homes, are too alarming. Awhile ago it -would have been an insult to suspect a well-bred person of such folly; -but when we see such talented young men as Eugene Godfrey led away, it -puts us on our guard against future encroachments. I for one should be -sorry to see the heir apparent of Sir Philip Conway an upholder of -bigotry, or in image worshiper." - -"I would see them in his grave first," thundered out the baronet. "But -there is no fear; at least I see no immediate cause of apprehension. -But the matter shall be look to. My son shall be watched over, depend -upon it". - -Sir Philip's mother was still living, and with her a sister of his, -and old maid, who was a little too much of the puritanical school to -suit her brother's taste. But now he thought these ladies might assist -his views. He paid them a visit, and in strict confidence laid his -difficulty before them. He was not satisfied, he said of Lady Conway's -opinions. She went to the English Church occasionally, but he did not -consider her a member of it at heart. He wanted his children to be -interviewed from the first with strict Protestant ideas. The little -girl was now two years old, and though the little boy was but a few -months old, there was no telling how soon impressions might be made, -so he intended to have a nursery governess of the right sort at once. -This the ladies undertook to look out for, and when found to accompany -the treasure themselves to the household. Annie's annoyance was -excessive. Neither the dowager Lady Conway nor her daughter was -intellectual or high-minded, and now that they came to take the -management of the nursery out of her hands, and place a stranger there -whose office was to watch herself in her intercourse with her own -children, their presence became unendurable. Mrs. Bedford, the new -governess, was in herself a quiet, unobtrusive person, faithful to her -duties, and of gentle manners; but she had been selected on account of -her unmitigated horror of popery, and it had been whispered to her -that Lady Conway was not a little tainted with its delusion, and this -made her more constrained in manner and less deferential than she -would otherwise have been. - -{607} - -It was in vain that any pleaded that she was quite capable of -directing her own nursery, that this new inmate was equally -unnecessary as unwelcome to her. Sir Philip was immovable; and to -prove how intent he was on having his own way, he dismissed the nurse, -who had attended both children most skillfully, merely because she had -not shown herself sufficiently respectful to the new-comer. The -children cried after their old friend, and the little girl clung to -her dress, to beg her not to leave her. It was useless. No one is more -obstinate than a fool in power. That wife and children were unhappy -was nothing to Sir Philip now. His will was law, and to his rule of -iron all must submit. - -Some months after this they were sitting at table when the letters -were brought in. Among them came one directed to Annie. Sir Philip -opened it (it was now his custom to open his wife's letters), read it, -and handed it to her, with the words: - -"Dear me, I am very sorry, I suppose you must go immediately." The -letter was from Hester. It stated that Mrs. Godfrey (who had been for -years out of health) had latterly become much worse, that she was -constantly asking for any, and the physicians said she must be humored -in every wish, that her reason, if not her life, depended on it. Annie -was therefore requested to come without delay. - -"How soon can I have the carriage," inquired any of her liege Lord. - -"As soon as you can get ready, of course," answered Sir Philip. - -"And the children?" faltered Annie. - -"Mrs. Bedford will take care of the children, and I shall be at home; -make yourself easy about them." - -But Annie would have liked to take the children with her; they would -interest her mother at times, and in that large mansion could not be -in the way; but her heart seemed crushed, she dared not express her -thought, and she departed without remonstrance. - -She found her mother even more depressed then she anticipated. Mrs. -Godfrey had ever been tenderly attached to her children. Their -happiness had been her fondest care, and a melancholy settled upon her -as she found her hopes disappointed. The haughty Adelaide seemed quite -changed from the time when she was a joyous girl at home. Annie, -though still affectionate to herself, seemed pining away under some -secret unhappiness. But the darling of her heart--her son, whom she -loved with the whole force of her character, in whom were united alike -joy and pride--why was he banished from her sight? That Mrs. Godfrey -was sorry for her son's Catholicity there was no doubt; certainly she -was mortified at this unexpected result of her fine intellectual -training; but the love she bore this her only son far overpowered both -sorrow and vexation, and she bitterly felt his prolonged absence, and -had often endeavored to shake Mr. Godfrey's determination in this -regard. Some little passages had even occurred between herself and her -husband on the subject. "She could not understand," she said, "why a -person should be persecuted for his religion. When Mr. Godfrey told -his children to think for themselves, did he mean that they were to -think as he did, on pain of expulsion? Was not Eugene good, dutiful, -noble, and generous? Why was he treated like a criminal? Had he been a -_roue_, like so many young men of his standing, it would have been -called 'sowing his wild oats,' and every allowance would have been -made for him. Why could they not treat this vagary as intellectual -wild oats, and give him time to recover?" Mr. Godfrey tried to pacify -her, but in vain; illness succeeded. "She must see her son," she said. - -Mr. Godfrey was a little too resolute. He did not even give her -tidings of him when he summoned him to the lawyers. It was by sheer -accident that she discovered they had met; and when she discovered the -result of that meeting her indignation was terrible. She could not -bear to {608} have Hester in her sight. She would not accompany her -and Mr. Godfrey to Yorkshire. She stayed at home alone whole months. -Years past; Eugene went abroad, and in the disturbed state of the -continent his letters miscarried. It was long since she heard from -him. A paroxym ensued. Her mind became affected. Mr. Godfrey was sent -for. A gentleman experienced in diseases of the brain was invited to -reside in the house. But in vain. The malady increased, and her calls -for Eugene and for Annie became so frequent and so terrific that all -hope of keeping the matter a secret seemed at an end, and the doctor -insisted that the persons she called for should be sent for. Annie -came forthwith as we have seen, but Eugene's address was not known. - -On entering the room where her mother set in company with two strange -nurses, Annie was struck with the wildness of her manner: her hair was -disordered and hung loose over her shoulders; it was far whiter than -when Annie had seen it last, and her eyes were restlessly looking -round the room. She sprang up at her daughter's entrance, threw -herself on her neck, and burst into tears, "O Annie, Annie! are you -come at last? I have a strange illness upon me; I do not know how to -bear myself; but yon will not let them hurt me, you will take care of -me." - -Annie was not prepared for this greeting. She could only clasp her -mother's hands, caress her, make her sit down, and try to keep down -the swelling in her own throat. Suddenly Mrs. Godfrey broke from her, -and standing up laid her hand on Annie's shoulder, saying: "Where is -Eugene?" - -"I do not know, my dear mother." - -"Not know! Are you all leagued against me? What share in his -inheritance had you?" - -Annie looked as she felt, surprised. She had heard of the transaction -only when it was over, but she answered soothingly, not wishing to -bring forward exciting ideas. But Mrs. Godfrey was not to be Sue; all -night she raved of Eugene; when Hester approached, she sprang from the -bed and attempted to strike her; Mr. Godfrey dared not trust himself -within her hearing. "Thief, traitor, knave, rascal, villain", and -other opprobrious epithets were bestowed on him and his fondling. The -doctor was not to be shaken in his opinion that the only hope lay in -finding Eugene and bringing him to her bedside. But where? They had no -clue; his lawyer only knew he was gone abroad and would probably not -return for months. In the hope that some one might be more successful, -they at length resolve, to Mr. Godfrey's intense vexation, to have -inserted in the London and local papers a notice to the effect that -"We are sorry to announce the serious and dangerous illness of the -Hon. Mrs. Godfrey, at Estcourt Hall. Should this meet the eye of her -eldest son, now on his travels, his family request him to return -without delay." - -This advertisement luckily was pointed out to M. Bertolot very soon -after it appeared at Cambridge, and he hastened to forward it by a -courier to Eugene, who, traveling by post (those were not days of -railways), arrived at Estcourt Hall within three weeks after Annie had -taken up her residence there. The old butler who answered the ring at -the gate bowed a solemn but speechless welcome, and with a significant -gesture conducted him, not through the usual entrance-hall, but by a -side door, up-stairs, till he came to Annie's apartment, which -communicated with the sick-chamber. Here he wrapped, and on Annie's -appearance left the two together without a word. - -Eugene entered and sat down. "What is the matter?" He said. But Annie -answered not; her looks were those of one too wretched to weep. - -Eugene repeated his inquiry, and then she softly whispered: "O! -Eugene, she has gone out of her mind!" Eugene covered his face with -his hands. {609} It was a long time ere either could speak again. At -length Annie rose on tiptoe and opened the door communicating with the -invalid's apartments. His mother was lying quietly on the sofa, -muttering at intervals. Eugene approached and listened. He thought he -caught the sound of his own name. He went nearer and knelt beside her. -The sick woman knew it not, but her arm laid itself restlessly around -his neck, and as his hot tears fell on her cheek she kept repeating in -her sleep the words, "Eugene, my dear Eugene!" Singularly enough, when -she waked she evinced no surprise at finding him there. It was as -though she knew it intuitively, or had expected it. Perhaps it was the -prolongation of her dream. She did not greet him as a stranger, or -speak as if long months had passed since she saw him, for question him -as to his occupation or place of abode. She waked, but was as if still -dreaming of him. She found him there, where she had so long wished him -to be, quietly asked him to hand her a glass of water, took it from -him contentedly, returned the glass, kissed him as he bent over her, -and sank into along, tranquil sleep, from which she tranquilly and -apparently refreshed, but still taking Eugene's appearance as a matter -of course which called for no expression of surprise. - -The physician now insisted on this state of contentment being left -undisturbed. He had long wished Mr. Godfrey and Hester out of the -house on account of the excitement they produced in his patient; he -now insisted that they should not be seen, heard, board named in the -sick-room; "in fact," he said to them, "if it were convenient, it -would be better you should retire from the house until Mrs. Godfrey -can herself be moved. A paroxysm now might kill her. Spare her that, -and I hope she will recover. This illness appears to have been -occasioned by mental anguish and evidently her son only has the power -to soothe her." Hester was deeply moved; Mr. Godfrey was angry, but he -hid his vexation. "He would wait a day or two," he said; "if Mrs. -Godfrey continued to improve, he would take Hester to Yorkshire, where -their presence was greatly needed." - -He was, however, so much irritated that he would not see Eugene, in -spite of his entreaties conveyed by Annie. Meals were served up to him -and Hester in a separate room, and he now appeared only anxious to get -away. Hester was, however, almost heart-broken. She had not been -allowed to speak to Eugene; but the night before their departure, -after Mr. Godfrey had retired for the night, she sent a note to him -containing these words only: - -"Come to my room, I am very unhappy. -Let me see you ere I go. - "Your own sister, - "HESTER." - -"I thought you would not deny me, Eugene," she said, as the latter -entered her apartment; "you were ever kind and forgiving. Tell me, -first, have you any hopes of mother?" - -"Indeed I have, dear sister, the greatest hopes." - -"Do you call me 'dear sister'? You are not angry with me, then, -Eugene?" - -"Not much more angry than I was the day you took my horse away when I -wanted to go hunting; do you remember it, Hester?" - -"I do, but you would not speak to me then till mother reconciled us. -Dear mother! our childish quarrels always worried her. She was never -easy till she had set them right. Would we were children again, -Eugene, and our quarrels as easily adjusted." Hester was weeping as -she spoke. - -"We may be, Hester, as soon as we so will it. Why should we lose the -simplicity, love, and truth that make childhood sweet?" - -"Do you love me still, Eugene?" - -"I do; nay, I admire you too, though I think you are mistaken." - -"You are very good to say so. Now then, dear Eugene, I may tell you to -set our dear mother's mind at rest as soon at she can understand -reason. {610} You will tell her that, at least as for as I am -concerned, there shall be no injustice committed eventually. My father -gives me the control of his property now, which he has a right to do -if he so pleases; you have your allowance such as he promised you, -that is all right too; but tell my dear mother that, as far as it -depends on me, matters shall be made right at my father's death. It -would serve nothing, as you know, to moot the matter now, but I will -never rob you or any one. Tell my mother this, Eugene, and tell her to -restore to me her love." - -"I will, my darling Hester. Now make yourself easy. Be sure my mother -loves you still, that I love you, that we all love you. Be easy, my -sister, my sweet sister." But Hester was weeping bitterly; the thought -of not being allowed to see her mother, to help nurse her, was almost -more than she could bear, and she very sorrowfully acquiesced in the -arrangement. - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -PROGRESS AGAIN. - -The estates in Yorkshire were indeed in need of the master's eye. One -of the clerks had absconded with a considerable sum of money; and this -touched Mr. Godfrey nearly: while Hester was more affected by the -discovery that the insidious doctrines of 'free love' were making -terrible inroads on the morality of the young people. She was the more -affected as she felt a natural repugnance to approach the subject. She -found the people legislating for themselves, and systematizing divorce -in what they deemed a manner consonant to nature. She was not prepared -for this development, and drew back in disgust. "Is there, then, no -remedy for this?" she asked of her father. "None but to legalize it, I -believe," he replied. "You know nothing of these things, child, and -had better not meddle with them. Legalizing divorce must take place -sooner or later, from causes you do not understand; nay, I do not -think the matter will stop there. As people become enlightened, and -live more according to the laws of nature, polygamy must be legalized -too; [Footnote 174] it is the only way to prevent disorder. In -fact, but for the prejudice created by religion, it would have been -done long since in theory as it has ever been done in practice!" - - [Footnote 174: This plea is now used by intelligent men, - non-Mormonites, to justify the existence of legalized polygamy in an - American State. It is gravely asserted that only in Mormondom can - the moral laws be enforced; that the practice in other states is the - same without the sanction of the law, and that the absence of that - sanction creates the disorders and night brawls of our streets. - Order reigns in Utah!] - -"Are you serious?" - -"Perfectly so!" - -"Then there must be something wrong, absolutely wrong. I can never be -brought to believe polygamy necessary; that must enslave a woman, and -I must protest against it." - -"Protest as you will you will find nature too strong for your theory. -You have been so peculiarly brought up, Hester, by your poor mother, -that you know nothing, absolutely nothing, of the world's necessities, -and I begin to wish I had never let your eyes become unsealed. You are -a privileged one, and belonging to a privileged class; the majority of -the world are not so protected. But this is not a subject for you; -shut your eyes to these matters, and attended to the spread of -intelligence." - -But it is not easy to shut one's eyes when once they have been opened. -Hester was stupefied. This came as a climax to the sorrow already -arising from her mother's illness, from her remorse in having partly -occasioned it. The woman's heart within her was beginning to make -itself felt. The occupations of the Yorkshire estate grew trite and -dull, until she had found a remedy for this grievance, a principal to -propose, a power with which to act. Mr. Godfrey was also gloomy from -his pecuniary loss through the embezzlement of the clerk, and matters -were assuming a very unpleasant appearance. - -{611} - -M. de Villeneuve called to pay them a parting visit, the illness of -his father called him to America. - -"Shall you return to Europe?" said Mr. Godfrey. - -"Yes; as soon as I can get away, I must return to take care of my -ward; and if I can possibly find a location for her order, take her to -America with me." - -"Your ward? Her order?" - -"Did you not know that Euphrasie de Meglior is my ward, that her -father increased her to my care the night before he died? That which -has kept me in Europe so long as been the hope of assisting her to -regain her estates and to establish yourself. Fortunately for my peace -of mind, I have been able partially to succeed in both. A part, though -but a small part, of the estate has been rescued; and Madame de -Meglior is already returned to France. Euphrasie thinks herself still -more fortunate. Four of the ladies of the continent where she was -educated have found shelter in England. They have met, and by the age -of friends have wherewith to establish themselves. They have taken a -house at------, about ten miles from this, and have already commenced -community life, two Euphrasie's great content." - -"And Euphrasie did not return with her mother to France?" - -"No. She resigned her right to the estate during madame's life." - -"And what will she live on?" - -"The poor Clares support themselves by their work." - -Hester looked surprised, almost shocked. M. de Villeneuve continued: - -"During my absence I have deputed warm friends to look after them, -and, as I said, my object is finally to transplant them to America. -But I must not forget to inquire after Mrs. Godfrey, of whose health I -hear such sad accounts. I do not wonder to perceive you are dejected, -every one must sympathize in your anxiety. But tell me, how was it -that Mrs. Godfrey, so lofty-minded, so motherly a woman, so full of -magnetism, if I may be allowed the expression, could bring herself to -patronize this materialistic scheme of education? Her loving heart -must have felt intuitively that systems, exterior expressions which -lack the vital principle, cannot regenerate the earth." - -"I do not know that my mother ever did patronize my plans. She has -never been well enough to come to Yorkshire since they were started." - -"No! Then you missed the benefit of her fine intuitive reasonings, and -of the results of her experience. Believe me, Miss Hester, applauding -as I do, perforce, the zeal which animates you, I am constrained to -tell you, you must necessarily fail. You appeal but to the selfish -passions; you will be startled one day at the demoralization that will -be manifested." - -"I am beginning to feel this already," said Hester. "I want some power -that as yet I do not find." - -Mr. Godfrey rose impatiently and went to the window, scarcely out of -earshot, but far enough away to decline any share in the conversation. -He was always displeased when his "best policy" principle was called -in question, though just now his pocket was suffering from that cause. - -"You will find out soon the sanction you require," said M. de -Villeneuve. "Every real unperverted natural law is the material symbol -of a higher supernatural law, to which it is essentially related. It -is the disunion of these two laws in your mind that now perplexes you; -but you are too sincere in your search for truth not to perceive their -relative bearings at last." - -"Truth! what is truth?" said Hester. - -"Truth is the harmony of all things as they exist in God; as love is -their manifestation," said M. de Villeneuve. "The simplicity of ideas, -their order, beauty, harmony, find expression in the created world; -but the ideas themselves {612} are immaterial or spiritual, and have a -relative spiritual expression in the soul. You have taken one and left -the other, hence the failure. Missing the idea itself, you necessarily -fail in power, for spiritual power is needed to develop truly even the -material type. And, moreover, you cannot understand the type until you -possess the idea." - -"Something is wanted, that is certain," said Hester; "but if all -virtue is typified in some material existence, tell me where is the -type of purity?" - -"Where but in the virgin-mother," responded the comte. "In the mother -of him who died to obtain for man that power over sin which had -escaped him. The world lies the victim of its own self-will: it needs -a high ideal of purity and of sanctifying love, and this it finds in -Mary; it needs the power to work out this ideal, and this it finds in -Jesus. The progression of man is dearer to Mary than ever it can be to -you, for she is our mother, and the mother of our Redeemer; but -progression consists in sanctifying the individual, in destroying that -overweening empire of sense which overlies the spiritual faculty, and -which is fatal to woman in every sense, even in this world. Did you -never observe how the progression of ancient times ever riveted -woman's chains? From Egypt to Greece, from Greece to Rome, as luxury -increased the degradation of the majority of women followed. The -temples of the gods were filled with thousands of women enacting -scenes of horror under the name of worship. This affords a key to the -disorders that always accompanied ancient civilization, for woman is -the mother of the race, the peculiar impersonation of the affections, -and in her maternity the representative of that self-sacrificing -principle which forgets self in care for the welfare of her children. -Where woman is not cognizant of her true office, where her spiritual -affinities remain undeveloped, the race can get no further than -materialism, and that sensuous gratification which contains already -within itself the germ of decay, No For it is of earth, earthy. But -the divine instinct of religion, when proclaiming the 'grace to rise' -one for us by the cross on which the God-man died, raised Mary on the -altars of his church, for the special protection of all that is holy -and aspirative to in womanhood. And since that blessed time Christian -women have been respected as virgins and as mothers; as beings formed -to foster virtue and watch over the spiritual education of the of the -members of Christ's body. Mary acts wonderfully through her daughters. -Christian queens converted their husbands, and with them their -subjects throughout Europe; Christian matrons have given that tone to -society which now, even in this age of heresy, respect security in -theory, though it throws it off in practice. All that is pure, all -that is lovely, all that is harmonious and holy invests the shrine of -Mary, and from her influence proceeds the charm that represses vice, -converts the heart to goodness as its chief happiness, and gives power -to the individual to do those works of penance, of violence to self, -which win the kingdom of heaven; a kingdom which commences here, in -our own hearts, when we once enter into the harmonies of the religious -teachings of nature and of revelation." - -Hester started to her feet. "Is this the office of Mary?" she -exclaimed. - -M. de Villeneuve assented by a gesture. - -"True or not true," said Hester, "this explanation does not in the -least savor of ignorance and superstition it is beautiful poetry!" - -"And is not poetry the highest truth?" said the comte. - -"No," said Mr. Godfrey, coming forward with a frown on his -countenance. "No! I wonder you religious people can never keep within -your proper bounds. I, who have traveled in France, in Belgium, and in -Italy, and seen the painted dolls and gaudy dressed-up images, protest -against your giving a poetic or philosophic dress to this idolatry or -mariolatry. When I {613} take Hester abroad, she will see with me that -this worship is nothing but the rankest superstition." - -"But I thought you said there was always a meaning under every myth. -Pop, may not this be the meeting of 'Mary'"? - -"Mary is no myth," said the Comte de Villeneuve, "she is a real, holy, -pure, and loving woman, to be loved with a personal affection!" - -"Beware!" said Mr. Godfrey, "our family has suffered enough already -from these fantastic dreams. Eugene's Catholicity has driven his -mother crazy. If my Hester were to succumb, it would be even worse -with me. Let us make a truce with religion, I see it will produce no -other fruits than to set people buy the ears." - -"As you will. I am leaving for America, can I bear a greeting from you -to my father?" - -"Tell him to inspire his son with a little of his common sense. In a -twenty years' intercourse he never mentioned the word religion in my -family." - -"You must forgive me, Mr. Godfrey," said the comte rising. "I thought -to console your daughter; she is much changed since I saw her last." - -Hester was much changed, but never so much as now. She longed to thank -the comte, to unsay her father's rude words, but she dared not. She -dared not anger Mr. Godfrey. Nor was it necessary: her eyes had -kindled, her countenance had glowed, and the comte felt that his words -had not been thrown away, that Hester had received a revelation, and -he departed consoled. - -It was a new study that Hester now entered upon. Woman as she was in -the olden time: in Greece and Rome; in Egypt and Abyssinia; in Persia -and India. Woman as she is everywhere where Christianity is not known, -where the mothership of Mary is ignored. The facts presented to her -were appalling, and none the less so that Mr. Godfrey was so peevish -when addressed on this subject. He felt intuitively that the more -Hester knew of this, the more she would shrink from materialism; and -if she abandoned him, if she adopted Catholicity, he would have lost -his last hope. He began to tire of "perfectibility" and "progress," -the more that they seemed to detach his only joy from his side. - -Yet with an old man's obstinacy he would not yield. Hester continued -her system, but now it was to watch more closely its results, to -penetrate the secret workings of the heart. She wanted to speak of -higher motive than self, but she knew not how. She only knew, and -daily she knew it more, that some high controlling power was wanting -which could speak to the heart and regulate the inward spirit: "Was -that power God?" "And Mary, was she a real manifestation of the power -of God residing in a woman's frame?" - -Hester now wished this might be true. - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION. - -After a few weeks spent in the company of Eugene and Annie, Mrs. -Godfrey rallied somewhat, and the physicians prescribed change of air. -Her insanity had somewhat subsided, but she was now dull and stupid, -utterly unlike her former self, and her illness had affected her limbs -also so that she was obliged to be wheeled in a chaise-longue from one -place to another. - -The place chosen for their new abode was a lone house within half a -mile of the sea-coast, the road to which lay in a beautiful valley -between two hills of considerable elevation. On the highest of these -was a light-house, which gave warning of the perilous nature of the -coast, while the neat little white dwellings of the coast-guardsmen, -at the foot of the hill, betokened that this was a locality famed for -smuggling excursions. Mrs. Godfrey was often laid on a couch placed on -wheels, and drawn by hand to the beach on the sea-shore. The murmur -{614} of the waves seemed to soothe her; and though she spoke very -little, she seemed by slow degrees to be recovering her faculties, and -now and then listened to the subjects discussed by her children, -Eugene and Annie, who were seldom away from her, and who took work or -study to the seaside, that they might while away the long hours of -attendance. After a little time they observed that when the weather -was pleasant an old blind woman was often led from one of the cottages -to a pleasant seat beneath the cliff, and that the two or three -children who played near her seemed to regard her with equal reverence -and affection. - -The old woman knitted in the sunshine, now and then interrupting her -work to tell her beads or relate short stories to the young ones. In -the evening a tidy young woman, of most pleasing appearance, would -come to lead the blind woman home. This happened so often that the -faces became familiar, and Mrs. Godfrey began to watch for them as for -interesting objects, and at length she also began to wish to form -their acquaintance. One afternoon she had her chaise-longue wheeled up -to the side of the blind woman, and kindly inquired after her health. - -"I am well, madam. Thanks for your inquiry," was the reply. - -"And is this your daughter?" asked Annie, pointing to the young woman -who was just come to lead her home. - -"She is my son's wife, thanks be to God, and sure no daughter of my -own could be better to me, who am but a burden to them all." - -"Don't talk of burden, mother dear," said the young woman. "Sure, what -should we do without you? Don't you teach the children their prayers -and their catechism, and without you shouldn't we be almost like the -heathens in this land of--" She paused and colored. - -"Heresy," suggested Eugene, as if concluding the sentence for her. - -"No offence, sir, I hope," courtesied the woman. - -Eugene took up the old woman's beads which had fallen to the ground, -reverently touched the cross with his lips, and restored them to her. -"No offence at all," said he. "This is a land of heresy and of -infidelity, and it cheers us to find out now and then one who -continues faithful to the truth. Where do you live?" - -"In the white cottage yonder, sir." - -"And your husband belongs to the coast-guard?" - -"He does, sir." - -"And is he a Catholic also?" - -"Glory be to God, he is!" said the old woman. - -"But how do you manage? Can you ever go to mass?" - -"Not often, sir." - -"Is there any priest near here?" - -"None that I know of nearer than Arundel Castle. The Duke of Norfolk -has a private chaplain, they say." This was all that could be drawn -from the parties on that subject. They evidently feared to compromise -some one by speaking more plainly. - -After this day Mrs. Godfrey seemed attracted to the poor blind old -woman. She had always been benevolent, though she seldom took a strong -personal interest in the object of her bounty, and beyond relieving -physical want had little idea of doing good. Now a new idea had taken -possession of her, she appeared to feel reverence for the cheerful -sufferer, and treated her with a proportionate respect and sympathy. - -"Is your husband long dead," she asked. - -"May God rest his soul! He has been dead these ten years." - -"And how long have you been blind?" - -"Nearly as long, praise be to God! I took the fever immediately after, -and the disease fell into my eyes, and when I recovered I was blind." - -"Do you praise God, my good woman, for making you blind?" - -{615} - -"And why not, my lady? Sure 'tis he that knows best what is good for -us, and what is most for his own his honor and glory." - -"But how can his honor and glory be promoted by your being blind?" -asked Mrs. Godfrey, as a dim recollection of Euphrasie crossed her -mind. - -"Faith, then, and its little we know of such matters, and less that we -can tell. But we are sure that God created us himself, and wishes for -our love and service; and often when things go well with us we forget -him, and love ourselves and our friends so much that we neglect to -serve him; then he sends sorrow to recall us to himself, and for this -we should bless him." - -"But has not God commanded us to love our neighbor?" - -"Yes, my lady; but it must be with a holy love that we love our -neighbor, because he is the creature of God, the child of the same -Father. Many our kind from a dislike to feel pain or to witness pain, -but this is not the true worship required by God, who says we must -love him with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our strength. -This real love submits in all things to his holy will, because it -gives 'self' into his keeping." - -"But if you could see you might read of God, and learn to love him -better?" - -"I never could read, my lady," was the reply. - -"Then where did you get your knowledge?" asked Annie. - -"The priest taught me my catechism, my lady and every Sunday and -holiday he explained it, and for many a long year I never missed the -lesson. Then we often had instructions at Mass, and he taught us the -rosary and the way of the cross. Ah! it is not the good father's fault -if the children of his congregation do not know their religion." - -"And you never went to school?" - -"To none other than the school of poverty which our Lord founded and -blessed," said the old woman. "Oftentimes we had scarcely potatoes -enough to eat, though we little ones tried to work as well as the big -ones; but labor was worth very little at that time, and afterward my -father took sick and lay for a long time helpless. We had hard times -of it in my young days." - -"And did your mother take it very much to heart?" - -"No, not very much. She grieved when my father died, though she hoped -and believed he was happy, and would smile through her tears while she -told us so. But for the rest, we all knew that it was not fine clothes -or dainty food that would make us happy: we knew that we should have -as much of both as it was God's will to send us, and we tried not to -wish for more. When we were cold and hungry mother would gather us -round her, and talk of that solemn midnight at Bethlehem when, under -the clear frosty sky, the angels came to the shepherds, singing songs -of glory, because the Lord of heaven and earth lay poor and helpless -in the stable at Bethlehem. Then she would tell us of the long, dreary -flight into Egypt, when Mary and Joseph begged hospitality by the way, -because they loved poverty, for it made them more immediately -dependent upon God. Then she showed us the poverty of Nazareth, and of -the time of his ministry, who had not where to lay his head; and we -became not only reconciled to poverty, we tried to love it for his -sake, who became poor for our sakes. So you see, my lady, we could not -be unhappy even when sorrow was upon us." - -"Twas a sublime philosophy," said Annie. - -"Rather say a glorious religion, Annie!" said Eugene. "Well might the -boast of the gospel be that it was preached unto the poor." - -Conversations like these brought a new train of ideas to the minds of -both mother and daughter. Patience, meekness, and humility were -embodied before them, bringing with them such childlike confidence in -the providence of God that they could but feel such religion to be -indeed reality. - -{616} - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -CONTROVERSY ON IMPORTANT POINTS. - -"Brother," said Annie, "I begin to perceive that it is of necessity -that philosophy divides itself into two branches, the exoteric and -esoteric. The human mind evidently needs considerable preparation to -be able t comprehend the higher ideas that lie hidden under first -teachings. It is not so much the teachings that are separate as that -the mind must pass through a given process to arrive at the meaning. -Every form of matter seems a metaphor, involving a spiritual idea, and -many minds seem powerless to penetrate to this; they necessarily -remain content with the material explanation." - -"And yet you blame religion for presenting defined dogmas, practical -methods, and real precepts to her children, forgetting that this is -the necessary preparation to higher truth, and that every mind must -begin at the beginning?" - -"I blame only trivial and childish practices; I reject only untenable -doctrines." - -"As for example?" - -"The idea that a good God will plunge us into hell!" - -"Have you ever reflected on what God is, Annie?" - -"No! how should we know aught of such a being?" - -"Chiefly by revelation, but also somewhat by observation." - -"Give me your idea on the subject, Eugene." - -"God is light, power, and love. He created intelligent beings, that he -might impart to them a degree of these attributes, and in their degree -call upon them to participate in the joys they impart. The unvarying -law impressed on material agencies, whether endowed with vitality or -not, did not (in all reverence be it spoken) content the love of God; -the enforced obedience of the material world to the attractions acting -upon it, and the instincts animating the various races of the verified -matter, though beautiful, though glorious evidence of power, wisdom, -and benevolence, did not call forth a consciousness of creatureship, -could not render to the creator a free-will offering of warm, -outpouring, grateful love. This the Creator desired. It is his -pleasure to desire to be loved; and he created the human soul for the -satisfying of this desire; he rendered it free, and endowed it with -the faculty of loving, that it may freely offer the purest love to -himself." - -"Go on; how do you reconcile this with hell?" - -"God is pure, holy, incapable of defilement, change, or division. His -essential being penetrates all space, comes in contact, literally, -with all material and spiritual existence. Now, God created the human -soul like unto himself, with affinities to himself, and in proportion -as that likeness continues or is restored, light, love, and power -exist in that soul. The absence of these constitutes disease, which -will result in spiritual death. They are absent in the wicked, and the -divine rays entering that soul cause pain, even as the rays of the sun -cause pain when they enter the eye of the body after it has become -diseased." - -"But eternally?" - -"The soul preserves its identity and consciousness eternally, though -it undergoes spiritual death. If by an act of volition it has lost -light, love, and power, it has not lost immortality, and the divine -rays, penetrating this wreck of life, necessarily fill it with terror -and dismay when all affinity for purity and holiness are destroyed. -The spirit of love, culturing the spirit of hate, must produce pain, -discord, rage; and as the strife is now unequal and hate is impotent, -it creates despair also. We see this on a minor scale on earth. The -French revolution {617} brought prominently before us men whose -spiritual faculties seemed already dead--men given up to a reprobate -sense, who appeared utterly beyond conversion, and who were styled by -the vulgar incarnate demons; yet these are immortal beings who will -carry their dispositions beyond the grave. Should you like hereafter -to come in contact with such?" - -Annie shuddered. She thought of Alfred Brookbank, whose mere entrance -into the room had often caused her blood to curdle. - -Eugene continued: "Remember, sister, that evil means cutting ourselves -off voluntarily from God, and thereby subjecting ourselves to become -the prey of our own passions, of our own selfishness, which when once -loosed may lead to every kind of excess. Good, on the contrary, is -living in God, adoring his will, admiring his perfections, loving his -law. While on earth the choice of good and evil is before us; and what -repugnances to perfect action or to perfect dispositions we find -difficult to overcome in this our fallen state will be overcome for us -if we pray in a sincere, in a co-operative spirit, or rather we shall -receive power to overcome all evil and to accomplish all good if only -in simplicity of heart we turn to him who is faithful to fulfil all -promises; for he has said, 'Ask and you shell receive' all graces -necessary to form in you the true spiritual life. If we choose to -neglect this means appointed by God, we have no right to complain of -the result." - -"I will pray," whispered Annie. - -"I, too," said Mrs. Godfrey, who was for the most part a silent -listener in these discussions. "Strange it is, Eugene, that you should -be teaching the principles which I ought to have instilled into you -from youth upward." - -"Why, you were not a Catholic, mother!" said Eugene. - -"No! but I had many opportunities of becoming instructed, had I been -willing; but I was worldly; I cared for none of these things; I did -not think the time would come when I should consider sorrow and -sickness a blessing: without that fearful malady and these paralyzed -limbs I might have died in ignorance of all that it most concerns me -to know. I have lived without God; dare I hope, Eugene, he will accept -my tardy return to him now?" - -"The grace that is working in your heart to make you wish that return -is an evidence of his love for yon, dear mother; only continue to -respond to it, and all will be well." - -. . . . . - -"Brother," said Annie, on another occasion, "the accounts that we have -of the ancients soon after the deluge seem to denote that they were a -race of wondrous power. The mere history we have of the building of -the city of Babylon, its wondrous walls, its bricks so well cemented -by bitumen that they seemed imperishable; its six hundred and -seventy-six squares, so planned that they preserved the ventilation of -the city in perfect order; its provision for water; its hanging -gardens and palaces--to read of such cities as this and Nineveh and -many others, one imagines a fairy tale in hand instead of realities. -Then, I presume, the raising of those immense blocks of stone which go -to form the Pyramids would puzzle our modern engineers, as would many -things in that land of wonders, Egypt. Conceive a modern traveller -losing his way among the ruins of ancient temples that strew the site -where Thebes once stood, passing the night in the rude hut of a -Bedouin or Copt erected amid these ruins, and in the morning seated -upon a fallen pillar, making his meditation on 'Progression.' All -ancient, very ancient history, is instinct with power. What does this -mean?" - -"That probably the knowledge that Adam imparted to his descendants was -greater than that which we now possess, or the intellectual faculties -may have been stronger before passion and egotism again corrupted the -race." - -{618} - -"You think the earlier men really possessed higher intellectual -facilities than we have now?" - -"I think their works would warrant the assumption. Beside, it is -reasonable to suppose that Adam was created perfect according to his -nature, that it was endowed with the highest spiritual and -intellectual faculties, capable not only of understanding the material -creation in its laws of attraction, in the relationships of matter to -matter, but also of comprehending the type enfolded in each material -manifestation; the spiritual co-relationship existing between such -manifestation and the idea it represents. This spiritual faculty was -overborne by sin, impurity deluged the world, and a material deluge -destroyed the race. But to Noah, doubtless, the mental organization as -well as the spiritual power descended; hence immediately after the -deluge we see mighty works which betoken that high creative intellect -which inspire modern imitators with mute wonder." - -"Then you think sin was absolutely a destroying power?" - -"I do, even from the first. The intellectual faculties, when used as -the mere servant of the selfish passions, shrink and cannot receive -their full expansion, cannot perceive spiritual relationships, cannot -perceive man's moral relationships, each one to his fellow. Indulgence -of the passions, inordinately pursued, of itself cripples the -intellect and takes away the desire of intellectual culture; -selfishness, on the other hand, shuts up the fountains of knowledge, -in order to retain the material power that knowledge gives for selfish -purposes. Both these causes were in operation to cause that inequality -of fortune which finally wrought the 'castes' among mankind. The -knowing ones kept the knowledge transmitted from Noah downward in -their own exclusive possession, which the majority submitted to at -first in order more freely to indulge their passions, and afterward -because they could not help themselves, having (under the influence of -passion) fallen out of the intellectual sphere. Laws compelling by -force certain restraints became necessary, and soon labor was -performed by force also, and most of the laborers became slaves. These -laws, in their action, usually touched only the governed, that is, -those who had let the intellectual power slip from them. The governors -had, almost universally, power to trample on the common law when -applied to themselves; it was only when they came in contact with each -other, and intruded on each other's privileges, that they were called -to account. I speak not of the theory, but of the practice; there was -one law for the rich, another for the poor, throughout all ages. What -was called civilization, before the coming of Christ, did not touch -the poor, the enslaved; the down-trodden slaves had little chance of -justice or of mercy. What was meant by liberty applied only to the -freemen; the want of remembering this leads many two mistakes in -comparing the civilization of ancient and modern times. The gospel -preached to the poor taught them to repress the empire of the -passions, thus slowly but surely causing that rise of intellect in the -masses which has swept slavery from Europe, and from all countries -where the laborer has followed even imperfectly this first requisite, -the doing which has enabled him to cultivate his intellect -sufficiently to compete with those in possession of power. A people -enslaved my passion easily succumb to external force, as a virtuous -people, however poor, have an innate power of preserving external -freedom. The external depends on the internal. One is a manifestation -of the other; almost a consequence." - -"Then," said Annie, "if I have understood you aright, man was -originally in direct communication with his Creator. Sin not only -destroyed this communication, which was the source of all knowledge -and happiness, it impaired the faculties through which that -communication is held." - -"Yes," said Eugene. - -{619} - -"And as temporal happiness is but the reflex of spiritual happiness, -the necessary result of order in the spiritual relationship, it -follows that the spiritual order must be restored before the natural -order can yield the happiness it is calculated to produce. This, then, -is the redemption, penance, violence to flesh, and to self will, -before the restoration can take place; these being the necessary -medicine to heal the soul's diseases. Those who refuse the medicine -perish." - -"You surprise me, sister," said Eugene; "you are apt at -understanding." - -"You forget that long since the enigma was propounded to us. I am but -just getting my ideas into form. You will tell me if I have drawn -correct inferences. Man, by the fall, lost not only actual knowledge -and actual means of knowledge, but he lost empire over the animal -world, and, worse than all, over himself; he became a slave to his own -appetites and passions, and to his own self-will. From this state no -effort of his own could rescue him. The Redeemer came to offer him -means of rescue, to enable him to re-establish spiritual -communication, to bring man again into such actual relationship with -God that he shall look up to him, practically as well as -theoretically, as the highest metaphysical teacher; as the source of -real power and light to the understanding; the restorer of all things -to their pristine harmony. Is this so?" - -"It is." - -"And naturally this restoration must begin by the healing of the -disorders of the soul. The first impulses of grace create desire for -goodness, purity, and truth; but the old man is still within, and can -only be subdued by violence done to ourselves. 'The kingdom of heaven -suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.' This is why the -saints welcome mortification and suffering, looking on them as tools -with which to subdue themselves, with which they may be enabled to -offer themselves a living sacrifice to God. This is why what men call -'progress' is repugnant to sanctity--progress meaning increased -facilities for indulging the passions; facilities which, as we advance -in sanctity, we learn to dispense with more and more. This is what -Euphrasie meant when she puzzled us at her first coming." - -"Indeed, sister, I believe it is." - -"And her non-appreciation of human learning must have arisen from the -intense pleasure she felt in personal, absolute dependence upon God. -She did not want to know the material intermediate sequences; of all -things, she preferred feeling they came to her directly from her -Father's hand." - -"I presume this was the case." - -"Then, too, if I understood her aright, the soul, purified by prayer, -mortification, and good works, becomes by the grace of God detached -from the things of this world; it seeks its rest only in God, and then -it begins to regain some of the sublime spiritual privileges it had -lost. Even on earth it may hold communication with the glorified -spirits in heaven, while these glorified spirits themselves, blessed -with the beatific vision, drink in sensations of beauty, harmony, and -delight, such as exist only in God, and of which we cannot form the -slightest conception." - -Eugene could only press his sister's hand in silence. She continued: - -"It is this union of spiritual natures with our struggling existence, -this interest taken by the saints in glory in the members of the -church militant on earth, that you term the 'communion of saints,' is -it not, Eugene?" - -"Yes, Annie." - -"And men have dared to call the recognition of this divine union, of -this sacred bond of love, idolatry! It is the true conquest over -death! the earnest of our own loving immortality! How absurd to call -so beautiful a demonstration of the effect of divine charity -'idolatry'!" - -"As absurd," said Eugene, "as to believe that God, in providing means -to redeem men from the death of sin, should not watch over those -means, and preserve them intact from man's defilement." - -{620} - -"Yes," interposed Mrs. Godfrey, "it is wonderful that men who believe -in revelation should not see, _prima facie_, that the same miraculous -interposition which produced the revelation would, as if of necessity, -watch over and protect that revelation." Then suddenly becoming very -earnest, she said: "Eugene, I am drawing near my end, I feel it every -day more. You must bring me a priest, if, indeed, one so worthless as -I can become a member of the church of Christ. O my God! it scarcely -seems possible that a life of worldliness should be followed by an -eternity of bliss! But I will hope against my feelings of justice! The -blood of Jesus is powerful to save. O my God! accept it; it was shed -for me in pity and in mercy." - -"And for me, too," said Annie. "I must be a Catholic also." - -"But have you considered the cost, Annie? Your husband! your -children!" - -"I have weighed everything, and am resolved." - -"I think feet, O my God!" said the sick woman. "O eternal justice! I -offer thee my children's faith, my children's courage, in union with -the precious blood of thy Son, to atone for my own shortcomings. Oh! -bless these my children--give them grace to persevere!" - -There was a solemn pause. Than she added: "Annie, there is suffering -in store for you, but you will accept it. Eugene will be to a friend, -a protector, a guide. I made my will before this malady came on. I -dare not change it now, lest it should be disputed. I left to Eugene -all that I have to leave, but he will provide for you, if provision is -needed; and you, Annie, will confide in him when you need a friend." - -"I will, dear mother," faltered Annie. "Surely, we have always loved -each other." - -Eugene threw his arm around his sister's waist, and kneeling by his -mother's side, solemnly pledged himself self to watch over his sister -and care for her. - - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ----------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -PARDON. - - -"Many sins are forgiven her, because she hath loved much." - - - Love may, then, hope to quite refund - What sin hath ta'en away? - Poor heart! thou hast a debt beyond - Thy straitened means to pay. - - My sins in number far excel - The sands beside the sea. - Lord! if thou wilt, I pay thee well. - Then lend thy heart to me. - ----------- - -{621} - - - -From Chamber's Journal. - - -SEA-SIDE FLOWERS. - - -Visitors to the sea-shore love to wander along the beach in search of -the beauteous shells of scallop or cowry, left by the retiring tide, -and delight to trace their exquisite design and structure; or, -scrambling over the shiny rocks, covered with treacherous algae, will -appear into the little pools, fringed with crimson and purple weed, -inhabited by various anemones, gray shrimps, and darting fish, in -hopes of discovering some new treasure to capture, and carry off in -triumph for the aquarium at home; but how few care to examine the -modest beauty of the many sea-side flowers blooming on regarded at -their very feet; nay, their very existence often unknown, or looked -upon as common weeds, devoid of all beauty or interest. Many a lover -of wildflowers and country beauty will pause in the fields and lanes, -and even dusty roads that skirt the shore--especially if they be on -the southern coasts of England--where the brier and hawthorn hedges -are tangled with luscious honeysuckle, and the primroses cluster in -masses; where the wild hyacinth peeps from amidst the nettles, and the -speedwell opens its "angel's eyes" of loveliest azure; but as they -approached the sea-beach, the proverb of its sterility, - - "Barren as the sand on the sea-sure," - -is felt, and not is expected or looked four but the rich harvest of -the ocean's wondrous things cast on the shingle, or left in the pools -beyond. The immediate banks and links of the sea-side are usually -treeless, and, to non-observant eyes, dreary wastes; but not a spot on -this wide world is without its interest and beauty, and delightful it -is, when rambling along the sandy beach, listening to the music of the -waves on the pebbly shore, to find how many lovely blossoms are -scattered even here, ornamenting the rugged sides of the chalky cliff -or rock, weaving a flowery tapestry over the sloping links, and -binding together with interlaced roots the loose substance of many a -sand-bank. - -Unlike the country meadows, where the loveliest blossoms appear with -the earliest sunshine of the year, the fairest sea-side flowers are to -be gathered during the summer and autumn months; though even in -spring, the turf which enamels the links, down often to the water's -edge, will be found decked with an occasional early blossom, - - "As if the rainbows of the first fresh spring - Had blossomed where they fell." - -While, at all seasons of the year, here as elsewhere, - - "Daisies with their pinky lashes" - -raise their glad faces to the sun: - - "On waste and woodland, rock and plain. - Its bumble buds unheeded rise; - The rose has but a summer reign-- - The daisy never dies." - -The first gleam of spring sunshine is, however, reflected not only by -the silver daisy, but by that "sunflower of the spring," the golden -dandelion, which glitters as early as April on the sandy, grassy -slope, familiar to all, and common everywhere. The leaves of the -dandelion grow from the root; they are deeply cut and notched, and -from this have gained their name, which we English have corrupted from -the French _dent-de-lion_. The Scotch call the dandelion the hawkweed -gowan. The leaves are much eaten on the continent for salad, and a -medicine is extracted from the root. Every one is familiar {622} with -the downy ball that succeeds the flower: - - "The dandelion with globe of down, - The school-boy's clock in every town. - Which the truant puff's amain, - To conjure lost hours back again." - -When Linnaeus proposed the use of what he termed a floral clock, which -was to consist of plants which opened and closed their blossoms at -particular hours of the day, the dandelion was one of the flowers -selected, because its petals open at six; the hawkweed was another--it -opens at seven; the succory at eight, the celandine and marigold at -nine, and so on, the closing of the blossoms marking the corresponding -hours in the afternoon. Nor is this the effect of light on the plants, -because, when placed in a dark room, the flowers are found to open and -close their petals at the same times. - -In the month of May many sea-side blossoms appear; but in June they -burst forth in such wild profusion that we are at a loss to know which -to gather first: - - "For who would sing the flowers of Jane, - Though from gray morn to blazing noon. - From blazing noon to dewy eve. - The chaplet of his song he weave, - Would find his summer daylight fail, - And leave half told the pleasing tale." - -We must only attempt to pluck such as are most common, and most likely -to attract attention. - -Many a sea-side cliff is adorned with the handsome pale-yellow -clusters of the sea-cabbage, which flowers from May until the late -autumnal months, and is very ornamental, hanging in tufts from the -crevices of the chalky heights. It grows from one to two feet high, -has woody stems, and leaves a deep green, tinged with purple and -yellow. It is very common on the Dover cliffs, where it is gathered, -and sold to be boiled and eaten. From it spring our numerous varieties -of cabbage; and this reminds me how very greatly we are indebted to -our sea-side plants for many of our most valuable vegetables: the -fresh crisp celery, the dainty asparagus, the beet, and sea-kale, in -addition to the cabbage, are all derived from our salt-marshes, and, -under careful cultivation, have become what they are. - -The rest-harrow, which we gather in the cornfield, may also be found -adorning many a green patch on on the chalky cliff-side or sandy bank -near the sea. Its woody thorns are more abundant and stronger than -when when flourishing in richer soil. Its leaves are numerous and -small, its butterfly-shaped blossoms usually a purple-rose color, but -sometimes almost white. Near the sea-side, I have often found the -little see-pearl-wort, which requires close observation to detect it. -It grows upright, has tiny, delicate leaves, and flower-cups tinged -with a reddish-purple color. - -Very common in the sand is the sea-rocket, a smooth, glaucous plant, -with pretty lilac-pink flowers, which often mixes its blossoms with -the white petals of the scurvy-grass. - -But June flowers press upon us: here we have plentiful at Dover and -many other sea-side places the viper's bugloss, certainly one of the -handsomest wild-flowers, either of the neglected field or beach that -we have. It is a magnificent plant, sometimes attaining the height of -three feet, its rich purple blossoms, with their long bright-red -stamens, often extending half-way down the stems. It is peculiar for -the variety of tints it exhibits in its flowers, the buds being a rosy -red, but expanded blossom a rich purple, which gradually assumes a -deep blue. Sometimes it is found white. The stems and leaves are -covered with bristles and brownish warts, or tubercles. Its name is -taken from the resemblance the seeds bear to a viper's head, and its -spotted stem to the snake's skin; and in olden times the plant was -supposed to heal the bite of a viper. It flourishes best on a chalky -bill or sandy waste ground: - - "Here the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil," - -and rears its rich spike of closely sent flowers with a stately air. -Though its foliage is coarse, its blossom is very beautiful; not easy, -however, together, for bees are ever hovering around it; {623} - - "Flying solicitous from flower to flower, - Tasting each sweet that dwells - Within its scented valves"; - -and oft tearing their delicate wings among the thick, hairy prickles. -The common kidney-vetch flourishes luxuriantly by the sea-shore, -decking the heights with its handsome yellow flowers from May to -September. It crowds its blossoms into flower-cups, thickly covered -with down; and two such tufts or beads usually grow at the top of each -stem. It is as common a flower on the continent as with us, though it -varies in color--owing, Linnaeus tells us, to the nature of the soil. -The French call it _barbe de Jupiter_, Jupiter's beard. We also give -it the names of lady's-fingers and lambtoe. Clare tells us: - - "The yellow lambtoe I have often got, - Sweet creeping o'er the banks in sunny time." - -Daring June, the common pellitory of the wall spreads over many a -rocky spot, sometimes trailing its stems over the surface, and at -others rising erect, a foot high. Its leaves grow up the hairy stalk, -and are mixed with the small purple-red flowers that lie closely -against the stem. The white ox-eye, though loving best to bow in -beauty midst the waving grass of the meadow, may yet be found straying -near the coast; and very beautiful are its large solitary -flower-heads, with their rich golden centre and pure white ray. - -Several thistles are to be found flourishing by the sea-coast, -blooming from June to September. Perhaps the most familiar is the -common sow-thistle, growing on almost every waste place, and greatly -relished by rabbits, on account of the milky juices it contains. Its -leagues are deeply notched, the lobes turned backward, its flowers -yellow. The milk-thistle is easily recognized by its large leaves -veined with white, and deep purple flowers. It is a prickly plant, -often growing as high as four or five feet. Though common in England, -it is rare in Scotland, and, I have red, is only to be found on the -rocky cliffs near Dumbarton Castle, where tradition tells it was -planted by Mary, Queen of Scots. The star-thistle may occasionally be -found among the wild blossoms of the sea-side, growing on cliff-tops, -or green patches of the beach. It has hard woody spines, standing out -from the flower-cup only, and in this differs from the other thistles; -which are usually covered with sharp bristles, and seem defiantly to -announce: - - "I am sir Thistle, the surly, - The rough and the rude and the burly; - I doubt if you'll find - My touch quite to your mind, - Whether late be your visit or early." - -July comes laden with a host of fair blossoms of her own, as numerous -as those of June: - - "Bright gems of earth, In which perchance we see - What Eden was, what Paradise may be." - -Perhaps one of the most attractive, as well as one of the first in -beauty, and blooming down almost to the water's edge, is the -yellow-horned poppy, scattering its crumpled golden blossoms with -every passing breeze on the surrounding sea-weed. Its stems and leaves -are a delicate blue-green, wearing the bloom that is called glaucous, -from which its botanical name is taken. It is hairy, and its peculiar, -curved, horn-like pods are often half a foot long. It is a showy, -handsome plant, but smells badly, and is said to be poisonous. Quite -as pretty, and far less harmful, is the sea-convolvulus, trailing its -rose-colored bells with yellow rays, and dark-green succulent leaves, -in clusters on the sandy links, where it presents a succession of -delicate, short-lived flowers; and equally common but less showy, are -the green blossoms and thick wavy leaves of the sea-beet (_Beta -maritima_), which, when cultivated, we often recognize as a useful -vegetable. I have often gathered near the sea the hound's-tongue, -easily recognized by its dark purple-red blossoms, and strong smell of -mice. Its soft downy leaves are supposed to resemble in form the -tongue of a dog, and from this it derives its Greek and common name. -It is a tall plant, often growing two feet hi. Its foliage is a dull -green, its flowers a rich claret color. - -{624} - -On the sandy downs and in the rock-crevices down even to the shore, - - "Flourishing so gay and wildly free, - Upon the salt-marsh by the roaring sea," - -are the pink and white heads of the sea-pink, or well-known thrift, so -often used as a bordering in our flower-gardens, but here hanging in -little tufts from the rocks, thriving where little nourishment can be -afforded, and thus well meriting its name. Its leaves grow from the -root, and mostly resemble coarse grass. Its flowers form round heads -of lilac-pink blossoms, and crown downy stalks, some four inches high. -There, too, is - - "The sea-lavender, which lacks perfume," - -and is a species of everlasting, retaining its color and form long -after being gathered. Its spike of blue-lilac flowers is very -handsome. There are several species of sea-lavender; and in August we -have the delicate, lilac-blue blossoms and bluish-green foliage of the -upright-spiked sea-lavender, so often gathered to deck the winter -vase. It is smaller both in leaf and flower than the former species. - -Growing down, even amid the sand, we may now gather the compact head -of the tall eryngo, or sea-holly, which has blue blossoms, in shape -resembling the thistle's; and firm prickly leaves, beautifully veined, -and adorned with that pale sea-green bloom so common in our sea-side -plants. It grows about a foot high, and is stiff and rigid. - -One of the purest-tinted blue flowers that we have may be found -flourishing by the sea. It is the narrow-leaved pale flax, a sweet, -delicate, fragile blossom, that drops its petals as we gather it. It -is a tall plant, with a solitary flower on each stem, and small -alternate leaves, adorning each to the root. Its stem is tough and -fibrous, like all its species. The flax cultivated for commerce is a -pretty pale-blue bell, erect and fragile, dancing and trembling with -the faintest whisper of the passing breeze. Mrs. Howitt well describes -it: - - "Oh! the goodly flax-flower! - It groweth on the hill; - And be the breeze awake or asleep - It never standeth still! - It seemeth all astir with life, - As if it loved to thrive, - As if it had a merry heart - Within its stem alive." - -How pretty are the little sendworts now in blossom, especially the -sea-pimpernel, or sea-side sandwort, which blooms in shining, glossy -patches only a few inches high. Its clustering white flowers are -almost hidden by the sick, crowding, succulent leaves. There are ten -species of sandwort. Perhaps the commonest of all is the sea-spurry -sandwort, which hangs its little blossoms in trailing tufts from the -cliff-sides. - -In this month also we may gather the white-rayed flowers of the -sea-side feverfew, which often grows far down on the beach. Its -blossoms are the size of a daisy, its stems tick, its leaves stalky, -its growth low. And now also, decking the size of the banks, is the -perfoliate yellowwort with its bright yellow flowers, and pale -sea-green leaves, which grow in couplets, joining at the base, the -stalk passing through them. The plant grows about a foot high, is not -uncommon, and to be found in flourishing abundance on the Kentish -coast. - -Fringing the summit of the tall sea-cliffs, and clothing with its -clusters of yellowish-white flowers and fleshy sea-green leaves the -many crevices on the steep sides of the rocks, we may see the -samphire, so plentiful on the southern shores, and especially at -Dover, where it is gathered during May 4 pickle. That there is danger -to the gatherer we may infer from Shakespeare's mention in King Lear, -whence the scene is laid near Dover: - - "Half-way down - Hangs one that gathers samphire: dreadful trade!" - -{625} - -Several kinds of sea southern wood are now showing their green -flowers; the saltwort and funny-looking, jointed-branched, leafless -glasswort are to be gathered now, both so useful for the soda they -contain. - -There is a species of nightshade often to be found flourishing on our -see beaches, with blossoms shaped like the potato-flower, but white, -and followed by black berries, highly poisonous. - -These are also the dwarf-centaury and dwarf-tufted centaury, neither -growing beyond a few inches in height, both possessing light-green -stems and clusters of rose-colored blossoms. - -The buck's-horn plantain is common on the sea-shore. It derives its -name from the peculiar cutting of its leaves. - -Very common on the rocky bank is the wild mignonette. Though lacking -the sweet fragrance of the garden species, its pale greenish-yellow -spikes are very ornamental. The sea-side pea grows on the links and -banks of our beaches, but is uncommon. Its butterfly shaped blossoms -remind one of the sweet-pea of the garden: - - "Where swelling peas on leafy stalks are seen, - Mixed flowers of red and azure shine between." - -During the great famine of 1555, it is said that thousands of families -subsisted on the seeds contained in the pods of the sea-side pea. - -Near the beach, I have often gathered the knot-grass, so named from -the knottiness of its stem, and to be found flourishing everywhere: - - "By the lone quiet grave, - In the wild hedgerow, the knot-grass is seen, - Down in the rural lane, - Or on the verdant plain, - Everywhere humble, and everywhere green." - -Shakespeare has called it "the hindering knot-grass," on account of -the obstacles its trailing, tangled stems offer to the husbandman. -Milton speaks of it as - - "The knot grass, dew besprent." - -It is familiar to almost every eye, forming little green patches even -between stones of our streets, its tiny pale-pink blossoms growing so -closely to the stem as to be half hidden among the leaves. Its seeds -and young buds afford a store of food for birds; and it is said that -swine and sheep love to feed upon it. Milton tells us, - - "The chewing flocks - Had ta'en their supper of that savory herb, - The knot-grass." - -It bears little resemblance to a grass but this reminds me that among -our sea-side plants the grasses are perhaps the most interesting, as -well as useful and important, and are often of great service by their -spreading mass of tough underground stems offering a strong resistance -to the inroads of the sea. Several of the shores of England are so -protected; and the greater part of the coast of Holland, being -composed of dikes, owes its security to the powerful obstacles the -peculiar growth of these grasses affords. Thus we see - - "The commonest things may ofttimes be - Those of the greatest utility. - How many uses hath grass which groweth, - Wheresoever the wild wind bloweth." - -Useful as the sea-side grasses are, however, we have not space in this -short paper to take more than a passing glance at them, remarking that -the two most deserving of notice for their value in sea-resistance are -the sea-wheat grass and the sea-reed. - -I have often seen flourishing near the sea-coast the rich clusters of -the ragwort (_Senecio Jacoboea_), bright as the golden sunbeam, waving -its tall blossoms in the breeze, and emitting a strong smell of honey. -It opens its flowers first in July, but often, - - "Coming like an after-thought, - When other flowers are vainly sought," - -lingers on until Christmas; and when cold winds and wintry snows have -withered every other flower, this remains, - - "A token to the wintry earth that beauty liveth still". - -Very pretty is the yellow carpet spread on the dry bank by the yellow -bed-straw, with its mass of tiny blossoms and slender thready leaves -of brilliant green. Its flowers, like those of the ragwort just -mentioned, also smell sweetly of honey. In the Hebrides, a -reddish-brown dye is extracted from its roots. - -{626} - -In September, we see the tall, handsome golden-rod, not only in our -woods and hedgeways, but also on the sea-side cliff, somewhat stunted -in growth, but still beautiful with its crowded clusters of golden -blossoms, over which butterflies, moths, and bees hover incessantly, -in spite of its - - "Florets wrapped in silky down, - To guard it from the bee." - -In the days of Queen Elizabeth it was sold in the London markets by -herb-dealers. It was supposed to cure wounds. - -Then also the Michaelmas daisy, or sea-starwort, opens its pale lilac -petals, and continues to blossom until other flowers have nearly all -faded away: - - "And the solo Lawson which can glad the eye - Is yon pale starwort nodding to the wind." - -It often grows as high as three feet; its leaves are smooth, a sickly -green in color, and very succulent. At this time we shall also find -the marsh-mallow. It is a medicinal plant, containing a quantity of -starchy mucilage, which is formed into a paste, and taken as a cure -for coughs. Its flowers are a pretty rose-tint; its leaves soft, -downy, and very thick. It grows about two feet high, and is altogether -an attractive, handsome plant, the more more valued, - - "Because a fair flower that illumines the scene - When the tempest of winter is near; - 'Mid the frowns of adversity, cheerful of mien, - And gay, when all is dark and serene". - -Such are a few of the sea-side blossoms to be gathered on our coasts. -Let my reader, next summer, take a ramble along the beach, and hunt -for themselves, when they may discover a host of fresh beauties rising -on all sides, creeping over the loose sand, topping the rocky heights, -or decking the grassy slopes-- - - "As though some gentle angel, - Commissioned love to bear, - Had wandered o'er the greensward, - And left her footprints there." - -Let not the humblest, most neglected flower be discarded, for each -bears its own little mine of beauty, front with instruction, and the -promptings of pure and holy thoughts, that lead the mind from "nature -up to nature's God." - - "Nature never did betray - The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege - Through all the years of this our life to lead - From joy to joy; for she can so inform - The mind that is within us, so impress - With quietness and beauty, and so feed - With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, - Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, - Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all - The dreary intercourse of daily life, - Shall e're prevail against us, or disturb - Our cheerful face, that all that we behold - Is full of blessings." - ----------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -ON THE REQUEST OF THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. - - - "I will that forthwith thou give me - in a dish the head of John the Baptist." - - - Fie, silly child! Thou askest more - Than Herod doth engage to grant-- - As time hath truly shown. - That head, enshrouded in its gore, - Would be a price exorbitant - For all of Herod's throne. - ------- - -{627} - -ORIGINAL. - - -THE CHURCH AND MONARCHY. - - -Mr. Bancroft, the learned and philosophical historian of the United -states, in one of his volumes devoted to the history of the American -Revolution, makes the remark that "Catholics are in general inclined -to monarchy, and Protestants to republicanism." This is a very common -opinion with non-Catholic American writers, and a large portion of the -American people honestly fear that the rapid spread of catholicity in -this country is pregnant with danger to our republican institutions. -Dr. England, late bishop of Charleston, one of the most illustrious -Catholic prelates the country has ever had, maintained, on the -contrary, with great earnestness and force, that the church does not -favor monarchy, but does favor republicanism. What is the fact in the -case? The question is not doctrinal, but historical, and relates to -Catholics and Protestants, rather than and Protestantism. - -It should be observed before entering into any investigation of the -historical facts in the case, that in the Catholic mind theology is -superior to politics; and no intelligent Catholic ever consents or can -consent to have his religion tried by a political standard. The -church, the Catholic holds, represents what is supreme, eternal, -universal, and immutable in human affairs, and that political -principle or system which conflicts with her, is by that fact alone -condemned as false; for it conflicts with the eternal, universal, and -immutable principles of the divine government, or the truth and -constitution of things. Religion is for every one who believes in any -at all the supreme law, and in case of conflict between religion and -politics, politics, not religion, must give way. - -Well grounded in his faith, sure of his church, the Catholic has never -any dread of historical facts, and can always, so far as his religion -is concerned, enter upon historical investigations with perfect -freedom and impartiality of mind. He has no fear of consequences. Let -the historical fact turn out as it may, it can never warrant any -conclusions unfavorable to his religion. If the fact should place his -politics in conflict with his religion, he knows they are so far -untenable, and that he must modify or change them. The historian of -the United States is deeply penetrated with a sense of the -independence and supremacy of moral or spiritual truth, and with a -justice rare in non-Catholic writers, attributes much of the -corruption of French society in the last century to the subjection of -the church to the state. Most non-Catholic writers, however, consider -what is called Gallicanism as far more favorable to society than what -they call Ultramontanism; and in doing so, prove that they really, -consciously or unconsciously, assume the supremacy of the political -order, not of the religious. But in this they grossly err, and make -the greater yield to the less; for not only is religion in the nature -of things superior to politics, but one is always more certain of the -truth of his religion than he is or can be of the wisdom and soundness -of his politics. - -The church teaches the divine system of the universe, asserts and -maintains the great catholic principles from which proceeds all life, -whether religious or political, and without which there can be neither -church nor state; but it is well known that she prescribes no -particular constitution of the state or form of civil government, for -no {628} particular constitution or form is or can be catholic, or -adapted alike to the wants and interests of all nations. Whatever is -catholic in politics, that is, universally true and obligatory, is -included in theology; what is particular, special, temporary, or -variable, the church leaves to each political community to determine -and manage for itself according to its own wisdom and prudence. - -Every statesman worthy at all of the name knows that the same form of -government is not fitted alike to the wants and interests of all -nations, nor even of the same nation through all possible stages of -its existence; and hence there is and can be no catholic form of -government, and therefore the church, as catholic, can enjoin no -particular form as universally obligatory upon Catholics. Were she to -do so she would attempt to make the particular universal, and thus war -against the truth and the real constitution of things, and belie her -own catholicity. The principles of government, of all government, are -catholic, and lie in the moral or spiritual order, as do all real -principles. These the church teaches and insists on always and -everywhere with all her divine authority and energy; but their -practical application, saving the principles themselves, she leaves to -the wisdom and prudence of each political community. The principles -being universal, eternal, and unalterable, are within the province of -the Catholic theologian; the practical application of the principles, -which varies, and must vary, according to time and place, according to -the special wants and interests of each political community, are -within the province of the statesman. - -Such being the law in the case, it is evident that the church does and -can prescribe no particular form of civil government, and Catholics -are free to be monarchists, aristocrats, or democrats, according to -their own judgment as statesmen. They are as free to differ among -themselves as to forms of government as other men are, and do differ -more or less among themselves, without thereby ceasing to be sound -Catholics. Mr. Bancroft, however, does not even pretend that the -church requires her children to be monarchists, and he more then once -insinuates that her principles, as Bishop England maintains, tend to -republicanism, the contrary of what is done by most non-Catholic -writers. - -To determine what is the fact we must define our terms. _Monarchy_ and -_republic_ are terms often vaguely and loosely used. All governments -that have at their head a king or Emperor are usually called, by even -respectable writers, monarchies, and those that have not are usually -called republics, whether democratic like ancient Athens, aristocratic -like Venice prior to her suppression by General Bonaparte, or -representative like the United States. But this distinction is not -philosophical or exact. All governments, properly speaking, in which -the sovereignty is held to rest in the people or political community, -and the king or emperor holds from the community and represents the -the majority of the state, are Republican, as was Imperial Rome or is -Imperial France; all governments, on the other in which the -sovereignty vests not in the political community, but in the -individual and is held as a personal right, or as a private estate, -are in principal monarchical. This is, in reality, the radical -distinction between republicanism and monarchy, and between -civilization and barbarism, and it is so the terms should be -understood. - -The key to modern history is the struggle between these two political -systems, or between Roman civilization and German barbarism, and -subsequently to Charlemagne, were especially between feudalism and -Roman imperialism. In this struggle the sympathies and influences of -church have been on the side against barbarism and feudalism, and in -favor of the Roman system, and therefore on the side of republicanism, -Rome, theoretically and in name, {629} remained a republic under the -emperor from Augustus to Augustulus. However arbitrary or despotic -some of the Caesars may have been and certainly were in practice, in -principle they were elective, and held their power from the political -community. The army had always the faculty of bestowing the military -title of Imperator or emperor, and all the powers aggregated to it, as -the tribunitial, the pontifical, the consular, etc., were expressly -conferred on Augustus by the senate and people of Rome. The -sovereignty vested in the political community never in the person of -the emperor. The emperor represented the state, but never was himself -the state. In principle Roman imperialism was republican, not in the -strict or absolute sense monarchical at all. - -The barbarian system brought from the forests of Germany was in its -principle wholly different. Under it power was a personal right, and -not, as under Roman imperialism, a trust from the community. With the -barbarians there were tribes, nations, confederations, but no -commonwealth, no republic, no civil community, no political people, no -state. Republic, _res publica_, Scipio says, in the _Republica_ of -Cicero, cited by St. Augustine in his _De Civitate Dei_, means _res -populi_; and he adds, that by people is to be understood not every -association of the multitude, but a legal association for the common -weal. "Non esse omnem coetum multitudinis, sed coetum juris condensu -et utilitatis communione sociatum." [Footnote 175] In this sense -there was no people, no _res populi,_ or affairs of the people, under -the barbarian system, nor even under the feudal system to which, with -some Roman ideas it gave birth after Charlemagne. Absolute monarchy, -which alone is properly monarchy, according to Bishop England, did not -exist among the barbarians in its full development; but it existed in -germ, for its germ is in the barbarian chieftainship, in the fact that -with the barbarians power is personal, not political, a right or -privilege, not a trust, and every feudal noble developed is an -absolute monarch. - - [Footnote 175: Apud St. Augustine, tom. vii. 75. B.] - -These two systems after the conquest occupied the same soil. What -remained of the old Roman population continued, except in politics, to -be governed by the Roman law, _lex Romanorum_, and the barbarians by -the _lex barbarorum_, or their own laws and usages. But as much as -they despised the conquered race, the barbarians borrowed and -assimilated many Roman ideas. The ministers of the barbarian kings or -chiefs were for a long time either Romans or men trained in the Roman -schools, for the barbarians had no schools of their own, and the old -schools of the empire were at no time wholly broken up, and continued -their old course of studies with greater or less success till -superseded by modern universities. The story told us of finding a copy -of the Civil or Roman Law at Amalfi, in the eleventh century, a fable -in the sense commonly received, indicates that the distinction between -barbarian and Roman in that century was beginning to be effaced, and -that the Roman Law, as digested or codified by the lawyers of -Justinian, was beginning to become the common law in the West as it -long had been in the East, and still is in all the western nations -formed within the limits of the old Roman empire, unless England be an -exception. There was commenced, even before the downfall of Rome, a -process of assimilation of Roman ideas and manners by the barbarians, -which went on with greater force and rapidity in proportion as the -barbarians were brought into the communion of the church. This process -is still going on, and has gone furthest in France and our own -country. - -The barbarian chiefs sought to unite in themselves all the powers that -had been aggregated to the Roman emperor, and to hold them not from -the political community, but in their own personal right, which, had -they {630} succeeded, would have made them monarchs in the fall and -absolute sense of the term. Charlemagne tried to revive and -re-establish Roman imperialism, but his attempt was premature; the -populations of the empire were in his time not sufficiently Romanized -to enable him to succeed. He failed, and his failure resulted in the -establishment of feudalism--the chief elements of which were brought -from Germany. The Roman element, through the influence of the church -and the old population of the empire, had from the close of the fifth -century to the opening of the ninth acquired great strength, but not -enough to become predominant. The Germanic or barbarian elements, -re-enforced as they were by the barbarians outside of both the church -and the empire, were too strong for it, and the empire of Charlemagne -was hardly formed before it fell to pieces. But barbarism did not -remain alone in feudalism, and Roman principles, to some extent, were -incorporated into feudal Europe, and the Roman law was applied, -wherever it could be, to the tenure of power, its rights and -obligations; to the regulation, forfeiture, and transmission of fiefs, -and to the administration of justice between man and man, as we apply -the Common Law in our own country. But the constitution of the feudal -society was essentially anti-Roman and at war with the principles of -the Civil or Roman Law. Hence commenced a struggle between the feudal -law and the civil--feudalism seeking to retain its social -organization based on distinctions of class, privileges, and -corporations; and the civil law, based on the principle of the -equality of all men by the natural law, seeking to eliminate the -feudal elements from society, and to restore the Roman constitution, -which makes power a trust derived from the community, instead of a -personal right or privilege held independently of the community. - -In this struggle the church has always sympathized with the Romanizing -tendencies. It was under the patronage of the Pope that Charlemagne -sought to revive Imperial Rome, and to re-establish in substance the -Roman constitution of society; but his generous efforts ended only in -the systematization and confirmation of feudalism. The Franconian and -especially the Swabian in emperors attempted to renew the work of -Charlemagne, but were opposed and defeated by the church, not because -she had any sympathy with feudalism, but because these emperors -undertook to unite with the civil and military powers held by the -Roman emperors the pontifical power, which before the conversion of -the empire they also held. This she could not tolerate, for by the -Christian law the Imperial power and the pontifical are separated, and -the temporal authority, as such, has no competency in spirituals. The -Popes, in their long and severe struggles with the German emperors, or -emperors of the holy Roman empire, as they styled themselves, did not -struggle to preserve feudalism, but the independence of the church, -threatened by the Imperial assumption of the pontifical authority held -by the emperors of pagan Rome. This is the real meaning of those -struggles which have been so strangely misapprehended, and so grossly -misrepresented by the majority of historians, as Voigt and Leo, both -Protestants, have conclusively shown. St. Gregory VII., who is the -best representative of the church in that long war, did not struggle -to establish a theocracy as so many foolishly repeat, nor to obtain -for the church or clergy a single particle of civil power, but to -maintain the spiritual independence of the church, or her independent -and supreme authority over all her children in things spiritual, -against the Emperor, who claimed, indirectly at least, supreme -authority in spirituals as well as in temporal's. For the same reason -Gregory IX. And Innocent IV. Opposed Frederic II., the last and -greatest of the Hohenstaufen, the Ward in his childhood of Innocent -III. {631} Frederic undertook to revise Roman imperialism against -mediaeval feudalism, but unhappily he remembered that the pagan -Emperor was Pontifex Maximus, as well as Imperator. Had he simply -labored to substitute the Roman constitution of society for the feudal -without seeking to subject the church to the empire, he might have -been opposed by all those Catholics, whether lay or cleric, whose -interests were identified with feudalism, but not by the church -herself; at least nothing indicates that she would have opposed him, -for her sympathies were not and have never been with the feudal -constitution of society. - -In the subsequent struggles between the two systems, the church, as -far as I have discovered, has uniformly sympathized with kings and -kaisers only so far as they simply asserted the republican principles -of the Roman constitution against feudalism, and has uniformly opposed -them, whenever they claimed or attempted to exercise pontifical -authority, or to make the temporal supreme over the spiritual, that is -to say, to subject conscience to the state. But in this she has been -on the side of liberty in its largest and truest sense. Liberty, as -commonly understood, or as it enters into the life, the thought, and -conscience of modern Christian nations, is certainly of Greek and -Roman, not barbarian origin, enlarged and purified by Christianity. -The pagan republic united in the sovereign people both the pontifical -and imperial powers as they were in the pagan emperors, and hence -subjected the individual, both exteriorly and interiorly, to the -state, and left him no rights which he could assert before the -republic. The Christian republic adds to the liberty of the state, the -liberty of the individual, and so far restricts the power of the state -over individuals. This personal or individual freedom, unknown in the -Graeco-Roman republic, Guizot and many others tell us was introduced -by the German invaders of the Roman empire. They assign it a barbarian -origin; but I am unable to agree with them, because I cannot find that -the German barbarians ever had it. The barbarian, as the feudal, -individual freedom was the freedom of the chief or noble, not the -freedom of all men, or of all individuals irrespective of class or -caste. This universal individual freedom, asserted and in a measure -secured by the Christian republic, could not be a development of a -barbarian idea, or come by way of logical deduction from the barbarian -individual freedom, for it rests on a different basis, and is -different in kind. The only ancient people with whom I can find any -distinct traces of it are the Hebrew people. It is plainly asserted in -the laws of Moses for the Jewish people. Christianity asserts it for -all, both Jews and Gentiles, in that noble maxim. We must obey God -rather than men. Every martyr to the Christian faith asserted it, in -choosing rather to be put to death in the most frightful and -excruciating forms than to yield up the freedom of conscience at the -command of the civil authority, and the church shows that she approves -it by preserving the relics of martyrs, and proposing them to the -perpetual veneration of the faithful. The martyr witnesses alike to -faith and the freedom of conscience. - -To this individual freedom, as the right of manhood, the real enemy is -the feudal society, which is founded on privilege; and where then -should the church be found but on the side of those who asserted -Graeco-Roman civilization as enlarged, purified, and invigorated by -Christianity against the barbarian elements retained by the feudal -society? It was her place as the friend of liberty and civilization. -There can be no question that since the beginning of the fifteenth -century the interests of humanity, liberty, religion, have been with -the kings and people, as against the feudal nobility. It is owing to -this fact, not to any partiality for monarchy, even in its -representative sense, that the church has supported the monarchs in -their struggle against feudal privileges and corporations. - -{632} - -But it is said that she has favored Roman imperialism not only against -feudalism, but also against democracy. This is partially true, but she -has done so for the very reason that in the twelfth and thirteenth -centuries she opposed the German emperors, because everywhere, except -in the United States, it seeks to unite in the republic or state, -after the manner of the pagan republic, both the imperial and the -pontifical powers. In the United States this has not been done; our -republic recognizes its own incompetency in spirituals, protects all -religions not _contra bonos mores_, and establishes none; and here the -church has never opposed republicanism or democracy. In Europe she has -done so, not always, but generally since the French revolution assumed -to itself pontifical authority. In the beginning of the French -revolution, while it was confined to the correction of abuses, the -redress of grievances, and the extension and confirmation of civil -liberty, the Pope, Pius VI., the cardinals, prelates, and people of -Rome, encouraged it; and the Pope censured it only when it transcended -the civil order, made a new distribution of dioceses, enacted a civil -constitution for the clergy, and sought to separate the Gallican -Church from the Catholic Church, precisely as the Popes had previously -censured Henry IV., Frederic Barbarossa, Frederic II., Louis of -Bavaria, and others. She opposes to-day European democrats, not -because they are democrats, but because they claim for the people the -pontifical power, and seek to put them in the place of the church, -nay, in the place of God The more advanced among them utter the words, -people-pontiff and people-God, as well as people-king, and your German -democrats assert almost to a man humanity as the supreme God. She -opposes them not because they make deadly war on monarchy and -aristocracy, and assert the sovereignty, under God, of the people, but -because the war against catholic truth, the great eternal, universal, -and immutable principles of the divine government, which lie at the -basis of all government and indeed of society itself, and of which -she is the divinely appointed guardian in human affairs. If she -supports the European governments against them, it is not because -those governments are monarchical or aristocratic in their -constitution, but because they represent, however imperfectly, the -interests of humanity, social order, civilization, without which there -is and can be no real progress. She cannot oppose them because they -seek to establish democratic government unless they seek to do so by -unlawful or unjust means, because she prescribes for the faithful no -particular form of civil government, and cannot do it, because no -particular form is or can be Catholic. She offers no opposition to -American democracy. - -The church opposes, by her principles, however, what is called -Absolutism, or what is commonly understood by Oriental despotism, that -is, monarchy as understood by Bishop England, under which the monarch -is held to be the absolute owner of the soil and the people of the -nation, and may dispose of either at his pleasure. This is evident -from the fact that when she speaks officially of the state generally, -without referring to any particular state, she calls it _republica_, -the republic; especially is this the case when she speaks of the civil -society in distinction from the ecclesiastical society. Our present -Holy Father, in his much miss apprehended and grossly misrepresented -Encyclical of December 8, 1864, calls the civil community _republica_, -or commonwealth. St. Augustine denies that God has given to man the -lordship of man. He gave man the lordship or dominion over irrational -creations, but not of the rational made in his own image, "Rationalem -factum ad maginem suam noluit nisi irrationabilibus, dominari: non -hominem homini, sed hominem {633} pecori. Inde primi justi pastores -pecorum magis quam reges hominum constituti sunt." [Footnote 176] -Hence he denies that the master has the lordship of his servants or -slaves, and admits slavery only as a punishment, as does the civil law -itself. For the same reason we may conclude against despotism. If the -master has not the absolute lordship of his servants, far less can a -king have the absolute lordship of a whole nation. St. Gregory the -great cites St. Augustine with approbation, so also, if my memory -serves me, does St. Gregory VII., the famous Hildebrand, who tells the -princes of his time that they hold their power from violence, wrong, -Satan. - - [Footnote 176: De Civit. Dei. Opera, tom. vii. 900.] - -Catholic writers of the highest authority St. Augustine, St. Thomas, -Bellarmin, and Suarez, whom to cite is to cite nearly the whole body -of Catholic theologians, follow in the main the political philosophy -of Greece and Rome as set forth by Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero; and -there is no doubt that, while vesting sovereignty in the community, or -the people politically associated, they generally incline to monarchy, -tempered by a mixture of aristocracy and democracy, as does Aristotle -himself. But the monarchy they favor is always the representative -monarchy, the Roman, not the feudal or the oriental. The prince or -king, according to them, holds his power from the people or community, -_jure humano_, not _jure divino_, and holds it as a trust, not as a -personal and indefeasible right. It is amissible; the king may forfeit -it, and be deprived of it. St. Augustine asserts, and Suarez after -him, the inherent right of the people or political society to change -their magistrates and even their form of government; and the Popes, on -more occasions than one in the middle ages, not only excommunicated -princes, but declared them by a sovereign judgment deprived of their -crowns, which proves, if nothing else, that kings and kaisers are held -by the church to be responsible to the nation for the manner in which -they use their trusts, for the Popes never declared a forfeiture -except on the ground that it was incurred by a violation of the civil -constitution. - -There were numerous republics in Europe before the reformation, as -Venice, Genoa, Florence, the Swiss Cantons, and many others, not to -speak of the Lombard municipalities, the Hanse towns, and the Flemish -or Belgian communes, all of which sprang up during Catholic times, and -were founded and sustained by a Catholic population. Nearly all of -them have now disappeared, and some of them almost within our own -memory; but I am not aware that there is a single republic in Europe -founded and sustained by Protestants, unless the United Dutch -Provinces, now a monarchical state, be a partial exception. The fact -that Catholics as a body are wedded to monarchy is therefore not -susceptible of very satisfactory proof, not even if we take monarchy -only as representing the majesty of the people, in which sense it is -republican in principle. - -Protestantism is in itself negative, and neither favors nor disfavors -any form of government; but the reformation resulted, wherever it -prevailed in Europe, in uniting what the church from the first had -struggled to keep separate, the pontifical and the imperial or royal -powers, and also in maintaining the feudal monarchy instead of the -Roman or representative monarchy. In every nation that accepted the -reformation the feudal monarchy was retained, and still subsists. The -crown in them all is an estate, as in England, and in some of them is, -in fact, the only estate recognized by the constitution. The elector -of Saxony, the landgrave of Hesse, the margrave of Brandenburg, the -kings of Sweden, of Denmark, and of England and Scotland, became each -in his own dominions supreme pontiff, and united in his own person the -supreme civil and ecclesiastical powers. The same in principle {634} -became the fact in the Protestant Netherlands and the Protestant -cantons of Switzerland; and though some Protestant European states -tolerate dissent from the state religion, there is not one that -recognizes the freedom of religion, or that does not subject religion -to the civil power. The political sense of the reformation was the -union of the imperial and pontifical powers in the political -sovereign, and the maintenance of the feudal monarchy and nobility, or -the constitution of society on feudal principles. Nothing, then, is or -can be further from the fact than that Protestants generally incline -to republicanism, except the pretense that Protestantism emancipates -the mind and establishes religious liberty. - -No doubt, the feudal monarchy and nobility struggled in all Europe to -maintain themselves against the Greco-Roman system represented by the -Civil Law and favored by the theologians of the church and her supreme -pontiffs. So far as the struggle was against the feudal nobility, or, -as I may term it, the system of privilege, the church, the kings, and -the people have in their general action been on the same side; and -hence in France, where the struggle was the best defined, the great -nobles were the first to embrace the reformation; they came very near -detaching the kingdom itself from the church, during the wars of the -Ligue, and were prevented only by the conversion, interested or -sincere, of Henri Quatre. Henry saw clearly enough that monarchy could -not struggled successfully in France against the feudal nobility -without the support of the church and the people. Richelieu and -Mazarin saw the same, and destroyed what remained of the feudal -nobility as a political power. They, no doubt, did it in the interest -and for the time to the advantage of monarchy. Louis XIV. concentrated -in himself all the powers of the state, and could say "_L'etat, c'est -moi_--I am the state," and tried hard to grasp the pontifical power, -and to be able to say, "_L'eglise, c'est moi_--I am the church;" but -failed. Always did and do kings and emperors, whether Catholic or -non-Catholic, seek to enlarge their power and to gain to themselves -the supreme control not only of civil but also of ecclesiastical -affairs, and courtiers, whether lay or cleric, are always but too -ready to sustain absolute monarchy. Warring against the system of -privilege, for national unity against the disintegrating tendencies of -feudalism, monarchy threatens in the seventeen and eighteenth -centuries to become absolute in all Europe, but it met with permanent -success in no state that did not adopt the reformation, and ceased to -be Catholic. - -I hold that Roman constitution, as modified and amended by -Christianity, is far better for society and more in accordance with -religion and liberty, then the feudal constitution, which is -essentially barbaric. If we look at Europe as it really was during the -long struggle hardly yet ended, we shall see that it was impossible to -break up the feudal constitution of society without for the moment -giving to the kings and undue power, which in its turn would need to -be resisted. But in all countries that remained Catholic, monarchy was -always treated as representative by the theologians, and the -republican doctrines that subsequent to the reformation found -advocates in Protestant states were borrowed either from the agents or -from Catholic writers--for the most part, probably, from the mediaeval -monks, of whom modern liberals know so little and against whom they -say so much. It was only in those countries where the reformation was -followed and religion subjected to the state that the feudal monarchy -developed into the oriental. England under Henry VIII., Edward VI., -Elizabeth Tudor, and James and Charles Stuart, had lost nearly all its -old liberties, and nearly all power was centred in the crown. The -resistance offered to Charles I. was {635} not to gain new but to -recover old liberties, with some new and stronger guaranties. The -Protestant princes of northern Germany governed as absolutely as any -oriental despot. The movement toward republicanism started in the -south, not in the north, in Catholic not in Protestant states. The -fact is patent and undeniable, explain it as you will. - -I admit that Catholic princes, as well as Protestant, sought to grasp -the pontifical power, and to subject the church in their respective -dominions to their own authority, but they never fully succeeded. The -civil power claimed in France more than belonged to it; but while it -impeded the free movements of the Gallican Church, it never succeeded -in absolutely enslaving it. Louis XIV., or even Napoleon the First, -never succeeded in making himself the head of the Gallican Church; and -the Constitutional church created by the Revolution, and which, like -the Church of England, was absolutely dependent on the civil power, -has long since disappeared and left no trace behind. In Spain, -Portugal, Naples, Tuscany, Austria, attempts to subject religion to -the state have not been wanting, but, though doing great harm to both -the ecclesiastical and the civil society, they have never been -completely successful. It is only in Protestant states that they have -fully succeeded, or rather, I should say, in non-Catholic states, for -the church is as much a slave in Russia as in Great Britain. - -Bossuet, courtier and high-toned monarchist as he was, and as much as -he consented to yield to the king, never admitted the competency of -the king in scriptuals strictly so called; and if he yielded to the -king on the question of the regalia, it was only on the ground of an -original concession from the head of the church to the kings of -France, or the immemorial custom of the kingdom, not as an inherent -right of the civil power. He went too far in the Four Articles of 1682 -to meet the approbation of Innocent XI., but he did not fall into -heresy or schism. And it may be alleged in his defence, that if he had -not gone thus far the court would most likely have gone further, and -have actually separated the Gallican Church from the Holy See. - -Bossuet was unquestionably a monarchist and something of a courtier, -though he appears to have had always the best interests of religion at -heart; and we can hardly say that he did not take the best means -possible in his time of promoting them. As one of the preceptors of -the Dauphin, father of the Duke of Burgundy, of whom Fenelon was the -principal preceptor, he taught the political system acceptable to the -king; but he impressed on his pupil as much as possible under that -system a sense of his responsibility, his duty to regard his power as -a high trust from God to be exercised without fear or favor for the -good of the people committed to his charge. Fenelon went further, and -hinted that the nation had not abdicated its original rights, and -still retained the right to be consulted in the management of its -affairs; and he was dismissed from his preceptorship, forbidden to -appear at court, and exiled to his diocese, while every possible -effort, in which it is to be regretted that Bossuet took a prominent -part, to degrade him as a man and a theologian, and to procure his -condemnation as a heretic, was made by the French court. But heretic -he was not; he simply erred in the use of language which, though it -had been used by canonized saints, was susceptible of an heretical -sense. The Congregation condemned the language, not the man, nor his -real doctrine. He retracted the language, not the doctrine, and -edified the world by his submission. - -There is hardly any doctrine further removed from every form of -republicanism than that of the divine right of kings, defended by -James I. of England in his Remonstrance for the Divine Right of Kings -and the Independency of their Crowns, written in reply to a speech of -the {636} celebrated Cardinal Duperron in the States-General of France -in 1614--the last time the States-General were convoked till convoked -by the unhappy Louis XVI. at Versailles, in May, 1789. In that work, a -copy of the original edition of which, as well as of "his majestie's -speech in the Star-chamber," now lies before me, their kingship -immediately from God, and are accountable to him alone for the use -they made of their power. He denies their accountability alike to the -Pope and the people. This was and really is the doctrine, if not of -all Protestants, at least of the Anglican Church and of all Protestant -courts; but it is not and never was a Catholic doctrine. The utmost -length in the same direction that any Catholic writer of note, except -Bossuet, ever went, so far as I can find, is that the king, supposing -him to be elected by the people, does, when so elected, reign _de jure -divino_ or by divine right; but Suarez [Footnote 177] refutes them, -and maintains that the royal power emanates from the community, and is -exercised, _formaliter_, by human right, _de jure humano_, and thus -asserts the real republican principle. Balmes, in his great work on -the Influence of Catholicity and Protestantism on European -Civilization compared, cites an instance of a Spanish monk who in the -time of Philip II. ventured one day to preach the irresponsibility of -the king, but was compelled by the Inquisition to retract his doctrine -publicly, in the very pulpit from which he had preached it. - - [Footnote 177: De Legibus, lib. iii., cap. 3 and 4, i.] - -He who has studied somewhat profoundly the internal political history -of the so-called Latin nations of Europe, will find that they have -had, from very early times, a strong tendency to republicanism, and -even to democracy, and that the tendency has been checked never by the -church, but by the kings and feudal nobility. The doctrines of 1789 -were no novelty in France even in the thirteenth century, and they -were preached very distinctly and very boldly in the Ligue when the -nation was threatened with a non-Catholic or Huguenot king, even by -Jesuits. The great Dominican and Franciscan orders have never shown -any strong attachment to monarchy in any form, and have rarely been -the courtiers or flatterers of power. That the sad effects of the old -French revolution produced a reaction in many Catholic minds, as well -as in many Protestant minds, in favor of monarchy, is very true; and -perhaps the most influential portion of European Catholics, living as -they do in the midst of a revolution that makes war on the church, on -civil order, on society, on civilization itself, cling to the royal -authority as the lesser evil and as their only security, under God, -for the future of religion. And it is not strange that they should. -But this, whether wise or otherwise, is only accidental, and no people -will be more loyal republicans than Catholics, when the republic gives -them security for life and property, and more than all, for the free -and full exercise of their religion as Catholics, as is the case in -the United States. - -The republic of the United States, we are told, was founded by -Protestants, and it is only the United States that can give the -slightest coloring to the pretense that Protestants are inclined to -republicanism. But, closely examined, the fact gives less coloring -than is commonly supposed. The republic of the United States can -hardly be said to be founded either by Catholics or Protestants: it -was founded by Providence, not by men. The Puritans, the most disposed -to republicanism of any of the original colonists, were dissenters -from the Church of England, and the principles on which they dissented -were in the main those which they had borrowed or inherited from -Catholic tradition. They objected to the Church of England that she -allowed the king to be both king and pontiff, and subjected religion -to the civil power. In this they only followed the example of the -Popes. They {637} with the Popes denied the competency of the civil -power in spirituals. This was the principle of their dissent, as it -has recently been the principle of the separation of the Free Kirk in -Scotland from the national church. As the king was the head of the -Church of England, making it a royal church, they were naturally led -to defend their dissent on republican principles. M. Guizot seems to -regard the English revolution, which made Cromwell Lord Protector of -the realm, as primarily political; but with all due respect to so -great an authority, I venture to say that it was primarily religious, -that its first movement was a protest against the authority of the -king or parliament to ordain anything in religion not prescribed by -the word of God. I state the principle universally, without taking -notice of the matters accidentally associated with it, and so stated -it is a Catholic principle, always asserted and insisted on by the -Popes. It was primarily to carry out this principle, and to regain the -civil liberties lost by the nation through the reformation, but not -forgotten, that they resisted the king, and made a republican -revolution, which very few foresaw or desired. The Puritans who -settled in the wilds of America brought with them the ideas and -principles they had adopted before leaving England, and if they had -republican tendencies, they were hardly republicans. - -Mr. Bancroft, in Volume IX. of his History of the United States, just -published, shows very clearly that at the beginning of their disputes -with the mother country the colonists were not generally republican in -the ordinary sense of the word, but attached to monarchy after the -English fashion, and also that the struggle in the minds of the -colonists was long and severe before they reluctantly abandoned -monarchy and accepted republicanism. The American revolution did not -originate in any desire to suppress monarchy as it existed in Great -Britain and establish republicanism, but to resist the encroachments -of the mother country on their rights as British colonists, or rather, -as British subjects. The rights of man they asserted had been derived -from the civil law, for the most part through medium of the common -law, and the writings, if not of Catholic theologians, at least of -Catholic lawyers. They held as republicans not from Protestantism, but -chiefly from Greece and Rome. Moreover, a monarchical government was -impracticable, and there really was no alternative for the American -people but republican government or colonial dependence. In the main -our institutions were the growth of the country, and were very little -influenced by the political theories of the colonists or the political -wisdom and sagacity of American statesmen. Hence they are more -strictly the work of Providence than of human foresight or human -intelligence and will. It is therefore that their permanence and -growth are to be counted on. They have their root in the soil, and are -adapted to both the soil and the climate. They are of American origin -and growth. - -Religious liberty is not, as I have shown, of Protestant origin. Most -of the colonists held the Catholic principle of the incompetency of -the civil power in spirituals, but the greater part of them held that -the civil power is bound to recognize and to provide for the support -by appropriate legislation of the true religion, and that only. Yet as -they were not agreed among themselves as to which is the true -religion, or what is the true sense of the revealed word, and having -no authoritative interpreter recognized as such by all, and no one -sect being strong enough to establish itself and to suppress the -others, there was no course practicable but to protect all religions -not _contra banos mores_, and leave each individual free before the -law to choose his own religion and to worship God according to the -dictates of his own conscience. This was of absolute necessity in our -case if we were to form a political community and carry on civil -government at all. - -{638} - -I do not claim that Catholics founded civil and religious liberty in -the United States, nor do I deny that so far as men had a hand in -founding them, they were founded by Protestants, but I do contend that -our Protestant ancestors acted in regard to them on Catholic rather -than on Protestant principles. We have so often heard civil and -religious liberty spoken of as the result of the reformation that many -people really believe it, and many good honest American citizens are -really afraid that the rapid increase of Catholicity in the country -threatens ruin to our free institutions. But the only liberty -Protestantism, as such, has ever yet favored, is the liberty of the -civil power to control the ecclesiastical. There is no danger to any -other liberty from the spread of Catholicity. There is a great -difference between accepting and sustaining a democratic government -where it already legally exists, and laboring to introduce it in -opposition to the established and to the habits, customs, and usages -of the people where it does not exist. And even if Catholics in other -countries had a preference for the monarchical form, they would not -dream of introducing it here, and would be led by their own -conservative principles, if here, to oppose it, since nothing in their -religion requires them, as a Catholic duty, to support one particular -form of government rather than another. - -Protestantism affords in its principles no basis for either civil or -religious liberty. Its great doctrine, that which it opposes as a -religion to the church, is the absolute moral and spiritual inability -of man, or the total moral and spiritual depravity of human nature, by -the fall. This is the central principle of the reformation, from which -all its distinctive doctrines radiate. This doctrine denies all -natural liberty and all natural virtue, and hence the reformation -maintains justification without works, by faith alone, in which man is -passive, not active, and that all the works of unbelievers or the -unregenerate are sins. Man is impotent for good, and does not and -cannot even by grace concur with grace. All his thoughts and deeds our -only evil, and that continually, and even the regenerate continue to -sin after regeneration as before, only God does not impute there seems -to them, but for his dear Son's seek turns away his eyes from them, -and imputes to them the righteousness of Christ, and with it covers -their iniquities. There is no ground on which to assert the natural -rights of man, for the fall has deprived man of all his natural -rights; and for republican equality the Reformation phones at best the -aristocracy of grace, of the elect, as was taught by Wickliffe, and -attempted to be realized by Calvin in Geneva, and by the Puritans in -New England, who confined the elective franchise and eligibility to -the saints, which is repugnant to both civil and religious liberty for -all men. - -It is time that our historians and popular writers should reflect a -little on what they are saying, when they assert that the reformation -emancipated the mind and prepared the way for civil and religious -freedom. This has become a sort of cant, and Catholics here it -repeated so often that some of them almost think that it cannot be -without some foundation, and therefore that there must be something -uncatholic in civil and religious liberty. It is all a mistake, and -illusion, or a delusion. The principles of the reformation, as far as -principles it had, were and are in direct conflict with them, and -whatever progress either has made has been not buy it, but in spite of -it, by means and influences it began its career by repudiating. The -man reared in the bosom of the reformation has no conception of real -religious, civil, or mental liberty till he is converted to the -Catholic faith, and enters as a freeman into the Catholic Church. - -I have dwelt at length on this subject for the sake of historical -truth, and also to quiet the fears of my non-Catholic countrymen that -the spread {639} of the church in our country will endanger our -republican or democratic system of government. That system of -government is quite as acceptable to Catholics as it is to -Protestants, and accords far better with Catholic principles then with -the principles of the reformation. The church does not make our system -of government obligatory on all nations; she directly enjoins it -nowhere, because no one system is adapted alike to all nations; and -each nation, under God, is free to adapt its political institutions to -its own wants, taste, and genius; but she is satisfied with it here, -and requires her children to be loyal to it. It is here the law, and -as such I supported it. I might not support a similar system for Great -Britain, France, or Russia; because, though it fits us, it might not -fit equally well the British, the French, or the Russians, or as well -as the systems they already have fit them. My coat may not fit my -neighbor, and my neighbor's coat may not fit me. I am neither as a -Catholic nor as a statesman a political propagandist. But I love my -own country with an affection I was unconscious of as a Protestant, -and Americans bred up Catholics will always be found to be among our -most ardent patriots, and our most stanch defenders of both civil and -religious freedom. - -The mistake is that people are too ready to make a religion of their -politics, and to seek to make the system of government they happen to -be enamored of for themselves a universal system, and to look upon -all nations that do not accept it, or not blessed with it, as deprived -of the advantages of civil society. They make their system the -standard by which all institutions, all men and nations, are to be -tried. They become political bigots, and will tolerate no political -theories but their own. Hence, the American people are apt to suppose -there is no political freedom where our system of government does not -prevail; and to conclude because the church recognizes the legitimacy -in other forms of governments in other countries, and does not preach -a crusade against them, that she is the enemy of free institutions and -social progress. All this is wrong. Religion is one and catholic, and -obligatory upon all alike; political systems, save in the great -ethical principles which underlie them, are particular, national, and -are obligatory only on the nation that adopts them. There are catholic -principles of government, but no catholic or universal form of -government. Our government is best for us, but that does not prove -that in political matters we are wiser or better than other civilized -nations, or that we have the right to set ourselves up as the model -nation of the world. Other nations may not be wholly forsaken by -Providence. Non-Catholic Americans cry out against the church that she -is anti-republican; but if we were monarchists we should cry out as -did the monarchical party in the sixteenth century, that she is -anti-monarchical and hostile to the independence of kings. Let us -learn that she may in one age or country support one form of civil -constitution, and without inconsistency support a different system in -another. - --------- - -{640} - - -From All the Year Round. - - -"DEO OPT. MAX" - - Art thou drowsy, dull, indifferent, - Folder of the hands, - Dreaming o'er the silent falling - Of life's measured sands? - - Living without aim or motion, - Save thyself to please, - Careless as the beasts that perish, - Sitting at thine ease? - - Not for thee the mighty message - Rings in startling tone; - Vainly would its peeling accents - Strike through hearts of stone. - - Sounding o'er the clash and clatter - Of this earth's vain din, - Unto you, that live in earnest, - And that work to win, - - Thus it speaks: "Aspirants, toilers - For some lofty gain, - See ye spend not strength and spirits, - Hope and faith, in vain! - - "All that soars past self is noble-- - Every upward aim-- - Make it nobler yet--the noblest! - And immortal fame! - - "Let not good or great content ye-- - Higher and still higher, - Only for the best, the greatest, - Labor and aspire! - - "Spurning all that's partial, doubtful, - All your vigor bend - (Worthiest aim and worthiest effort) - To a perfect end! - - "Thus have all true saints before ye, - All true heroes striven, - Reaching for the best, the highest, - Beyond earth to heaven." - ------- - -{641} - -Translated from the French. - - - -ROBERT; OR, THE INFLUENCE OF A GOOD MOTHER. - - - -CHAPTER FIRST. - - - "Although young on the earth, - I am already alone. - . . . . . - And when I ask myself - Where are those I love? - I look at the green turf." - LAMARTINE. - - -THE ORPHAN. - -The traveler who passes through the village of the baths of Mount -Dore, situated at the base of the mountain of Angle, will find that -between the mountains the little streams of Dore and Dogne unites, and -take the name of the river Dordogne. In looking at the course of this -new-born River, he will see to the left of the mountain of Ecorchade, -thus named for its ruggedness and its deep ravines. This mountain -crumbles away each day under the powerful hand of time, and its -volcanic wrecks move the valley with strange sounds, which the echo -takes up and wafts to the most distant spots. On the other side of the -valley, to the right of the mountain, and in front of Ecorchade, is -another mountain, the round top of which is covered with verdure and -with wood. Its base is formed of basaltic columns of black, white, and -gray rocks of different shapes and sizes, which stand there like a -troop of phantoms. Near the base, and in one of the fissures of this -mass of rocks, piled up by some giant hand, there was, about -twenty-five years ago, a little house, constructed, one might imagine, -by the spirit of the mountain, to serve as a refuge for travellers -when the furious children of the tempest were unchained. Hidden by the -abrupt flanks of the mountain, and masked in the spring and summer by -the dense foliage of trees centuries old, this retreat suddenly became -visible to mortal eye. But the chief interest attached to it is, that -for twelve years it was inhabited by a high-bred lady, who chose this -secluded spot, and placed herself, one might say, on the first step of -this gigantic ladder, which seemed by degrees to draw her nearer to -heaven, and away from the vain pursuits of earth. She came unattended, -carrying in her arms an infant several months old. This child, her -son, was the object of her most tender care, and was the only thing -that was to endear her to this savage solitude. From whence came this -person, who was she, and what were her resources for living? No one -knew. Her real name even was to remain a mystery for all, even for -those eager and pitiless people who are always ready to unravel the -causes of secret sorrow, and who rejoice when they can see tears and -suffering. Such people are like a species of wasp that only approach -to sting you most cruelly. The people of the valley had on many -occasions tried to stop this young woman and capture her confidence by -testimonials of friendship and feigned sensibility, but they had seen -their insidious advances repulsed with such coldness that, deceived -and disappointed, they were obliged to put an end to their efforts. -Finally, when all curiosity had subsided and given place to the most -complete indifference, they learned in some way that she called -herself Madame Dormeuil, and her little boy Robert. There was one -person, however, who had received the intimate confidence of Madame -Dormeuil, and that was the cure of the village, and from time to time -he was seen directing his steps toward the solitary abode, where more -than one indiscreet eye had wished to penetrate. At the time this -story opens it is {642} night, one of those glorious nights of the -month of May, nights full of sweet mysteries and soft perfumes, nights -the nightingale resounds in harmonious cadences. It is the hour of -silence and repose for humanity; but still a dim light shone through -one of the windows of this isolated house. As the hours of the night -advanced, when all nature slept, even the smallest insect under the -humid leaves of the rose, hard necessity constrained even the inmates -of this house to sleep, but alas! It proved a funeral awakening. The -tender mother, who, during the infancy of her child, had tasted in -this modest asylum moments of happiness, pure and chaste, such as our -only given to maternal love, closed her eyes, and breathed out her -last sigh, with no one here but her little son. In vain he calls his -dear mother, her voice can reply to him no more. Poor child! what will -become of him? for he has no one in the wide world to love and protect -him; and in the bitterness of his grief he sobs and cries, "Dead! -dead! I have no mother now!" and takes her hand, but it is cold and -stiff, and no longer sensible to the soft pressure of his. The -unaccustomed silence of those lips, that never parted but to speak -tenderly to him, is more than he can bear, but suddenly his face -recovers its habitual serenity, and a smile lights up his pallid -cheeks. What means this sudden change, this almost instantaneous -forgetfulness of sorrow, which drives in an instant the tears of love? -But do not blame him; it is not forgetfulness, but remembrance--the -remembrance of his mother's last words--her last adieu, her last -sublime expression of a love which cannot be extinguished, even by the -cold shadow of death, for it re-lives in heaven. "My child," said his -mother to him on that day, "I have loved you much, but I must leave -you. I am going to live with the angels, but I will watch over you. Be -wise, honest, laborious; love God with all your heart, and others as -yourself, and he will bless you. Do not grieve for my loss, for I will -still be useful to you in heaven. I will pray there for you. Take -courage, and always remember, when you are in trouble, to raise your -thoughts to the eternal throne, and consolation will not be denied -you." These were the words which Robert remember, and which stopped so -suddenly the violence of his grief. This was why he almost thought his -mother was not dead; this was why he felt no fear, though alone; with -these sweet thoughts forever present, he fancied her eyes would reopen -and smile upon him. He knelt in prayed with fervor, seeming to solicit -some special manifestation, and his attitude told that he mentally -invoked of his mother and the Protector of children what he knew to be -good for them; and his prayer, no doubt, was favorably received, for -it his imagination he saw the home of the saints. "My mother!" cried -the child, transported with joy, "is it thee? Oh! speak, I pray thee, -speak to thy Robert!" But the celestial vision faded, and he saw -nothing but the thousands of little globes of light, the sparkling -fire of which dazzled his eyes. Thus maternal influence, even from the -tomb, comes as a gentle authority to this pious orphan. We will see -him in each important event, and in each critical phase of his life -invoking this mysterious and beneficent power that presides over him -from heaven, in the presence of his mother. It is already under the -generous impulse of this belief that he is consoled and strengthens, -and returns to the funeral chamber, and calls again upon prayer and -reflection. - -Robert had never played with children. Always with his mother, whom he -passionately loved, and who conversed with him as she would have done -with an older person, he had acquired a seriousness of conversation -and a precocity of judgment which made him, though still a child in -years, almost a man in his intelligence and good sense. Child of -solitude, wild flower of the mountain, he was {643} entirely ignorant -of the habits of cities and of society, but he possessed an instinct -which took the place of large experience in human nature. He was what -God had made him, good and generous, loving the beautiful with the -fervent adoration which characterizes great souls, and feeling a deep -repugnance for even the appearance of evil. These inestimable gifts -God in his wisdom has seen fit to endow to certain souls. - -Robert was not more than twelve years of age, but he could read and -write well. Possessed of a good memory, he had retained the many -recitations made him by his mother in geography and sacred and profane -history. His course of reading had not been extensive, for his mother -had but few books; but she had been to him the living book from which -he had gained all he knew, and which developed the qualities of the -heart and Christian virtues which, later in life, shone so brilliantly -in him. Robert was often absorbed in thinking over his past life, so -rich in delicious memories. He remembered that his mother had spoken -to him of Paris with an emotion which betrayed itself in her trembling -voice. She was born there, she had told him, and had passed a part of -her youth there. He remembered perfectly that, each time his mother -referred to the subject, she exercised upon him a charm which entirely -captivated his attention. If by her glowing descriptions of Madame -Dormeuil had any intention of exciting in her son the wish to go to -that city, she completely succeeded, for, notwithstanding his tender -years, the words of his mother had filled him with an ardent desire to -see the place predestined to be the most beautiful and most wonderful -city ever built by the hands of man. This desire taking hold of him, -he naturally thinks of the means of satisfying it, if the unfortunate -circumstances in which he finds himself will forget. Moved by the -strong wish, which was not weekend when obstacles presented -themselves, Robert tried to get things ready to start. Opening a -closet where he had often seen his mother put things she intended for -him, the first object that met his eyes was a package, tied, and -bearing this inscription, "For my son when he is twenty-one years of -age." Under this was another paper, folded double, but not tied. He -opened this, looking at the words which were written at the top: "My -last requests." "When I shall be no more, my son," said Madame -Dormeuil (and unfortunately the hour of death approaches very near) -"quit this mountain where thou hast been a happy child, and go to -Paris, where thou wast born. God and my love will conduct thee there, -but constantly place thyself under his protection. Work; make thyself -beloved, by thy sweetness and perseverance and good conduct. A voice -within said to me one day, that happiness crowned all virtuous -efforts, and this prediction of my heart will be realized, and thy -mother will rejoice in heaven when she sees it descend on thee. Thou -wilt find in a purse some crown pieces; it is all that I possess. -Start soon, walk the short roads, have courage. Avoid bad children, -seek the old and the wise. Pray to God fervently, and he will never -abandon the good who walk in his presence and keep in their hearts the -counsels of a mother. Adieu, my child, my dear and much loved Robert I -will meet you in a better world than that in which I leave you, my -poor little one, and then we will never part again." - -Robert covered with kisses and with tears the words traced by the -failing hand of his mother; then, when he was a little calmed, it made -him happy to know that she had conceived a plan which was precisely -the same he had thought of, and that she was solicitous for him to go. -The rest of the night passed slowly enough to the young orphan. At -daybreak he came down from the mountain and knocked at the door of the -rectory. The virtuous and worthy cure, who preached to the inhabitants -of the village of Bains, received him with the utmost kindness, for he -had known him long and well, and had already initiated him into the -{644} mysteries of our divine religion, and from his pure and touching -morals he had been led to give him his first communion. When he saw -the poor child in such distress he could scarcely utter a word, so -much did he feel for his bleeding heart, either could he ask him the -questions he knew he ought relative to his leaving the isolated place -in which he had lived, nor could Robert have answered them so full was -he of emotion; but he said to him in a paternal tone and full of -interest: "Let us see, my child, what is to be done with your effects. -Don't you think that you should leave the place, now that you are -alone? What do you intend to do? Have you formed any project? If you -have confidence in me, tell me your ideas, speak to me openly, and all -that I can possibly do for you I will with pleasure I have no -occupation but to do good to others, to console them in their sorrows, -and take them by the hand with a need assistance." "Thank you, good -cure," replied Robert, with sweetness and respect. "I desire to obey -the wishes of my mother, who tells me to go to Paris. See what she -says to me--this dear, good mother--before she dies," holding to him -with the trembling hand the precious paper containing the -interpretation of his mothers wishes. He then said: "Is it not a -sacred duty I owe my mother, that of accomplishing her last request?" -"Yes, my dear child, but you are very young to make so long a journey -on foot to Paris. Do you know any one there?" "No, sir; but my mother -said I must go, and no matter how I get there I must do it." "Your -resolution is praiseworthy my child, yet it seems to me that you -should reflect a little, before undertaking what seems so much for -you. But if you really must attempt it, I will give you a letter to a -friend of mine, who is now cure of the Church of Saint-Germain -l'Auxerrois. This recommendation, I hope, will be of great assistance -to you, for my friend is a man of rare virtues and inexhaustible -charity Place your cell under his protection, and I do not doubt but -you will soon be out of embarrassment. I think you should sell your -furniture, the proceeds would in large your funds very much. But, my -child, your extreme youth frightens me. I am afraid you will never get -to Paris." "Oh! be tranquil, good father. I trust so much to God as my -guide that I know I shall arrived without accident, and with but -little fatigue." "Go, my child, I have no longer any objection; and -since you desire it so much, I will do all I can to facilitate your -project. While I am gone refresh yourself; take something to eat, it -will strengthen your body, which cannot but be feeble under the -sufferings of your soul. Do you hear, my child? I want you to take -some nourishment, if it is only a little you will feel better after -it. I will return directly," and, looking kindly at him, the venerable -cure went out, to see which of his parishioners would purchase the -furniture belonging to the orphan. - - -CHAPTER II. - - "Still an hour of suffering, - Still a sad farewell". - -. . . . . - -THE FAREWELL. - - -The cure was a all time absent, and when he return had no good news -for Robert; his errand had been ineffectual. "My child," said he, "my -wishes for disposing of your furniture have been in vain, but do not -be discouraged. Let us go and pay the last mark of respect to your -mother, and then we will speak of other things." Robert followed him, -and on the way told him of the package of papers he had found in the -closet, the contents of which he was not to know until he had attained -his majority. - -"I advise you, my child, to leave me the package to take care of. If -you should lose it, it would be an irreplaceable loss, and might be -attended with {645} serious results. You need fear no accident on my -part, for, if God should call me to him, before we meet again, I will -put it in safe hands; for instance, if it please you, to the Notary of -Besse, a small town about two leagues from here. It might be a long -time before you would return, but the grave of your mother will draw -you here, and I know you are too good a son to forget it. I am sure, -then, of seeing you sometimes if God wills it, for it is the Supreme -Arbiter who decides the length of our days." They had come by this -time to the house, the door of which was opened by a woman who had -been sent there by the cure to "lay" out the mother of the poor -orphan. Her body was then enclosed in the coffin, and the _cortege_ -took the way which led to the churchyard, where rest at last the king -and his subjects, the rich and the poor. Oh! what courage it requires -to bear up under the sorrows of this last sad walk, above all when the -earth receives the remains of a cherished mother. How each sound that -fell on the coffin bruised this poor child's heart! And were it not -for the consoling hope, the firm belief, that his mother was in -heaven, his life would be one of despair; but he believed what she -told him before she died, that she would rest on the bosom of God, and -that she would watch over him with the same love and the same -solicitude of which she had given him so many proofs during her life. -He was the last to leave this new grave, which hid from his sight -forever the only being he ever loved, and which was watered with -filial tears. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "if I can only put a stone over my -good mother, it will be a consolation to know, when I visit the spot -where I leave my heart, that it is marked by the love of a son." Full -of this idea he revealed it afterward to the good cure, who took an -interest in it, and listened, with tears in his eyes, while the child -cultures the cost of a simple so. "But, my child," he said sadly, "all -simple as it may be, it will still be too dear for your feeble -resources. Wait for executing this pious wish until you have more to -spare. I cannot promise you that it will be a new one, but I will -place a wooden cross on your mother's grave." Robert, although -saddened at the non-success of his project, felt the wisdom of the -advice which was given him. He resigned it for the present, hoping -that a more prosperous time would come, when miserable pecuniary -considerations need not stop him in the accomplishment of what he felt -was a filial duty. Then after having thanked the pastor, and told him -how grateful he was to him for his paternal care and loving advice, he -asked his permission to pass another night in the house where he first -remembered the light of day. "Go, my child," said the cure, moved by -his touching resolution, "go if you feel strong enough: solitude -raises the soul and purifies its approach to the Creator. Sometimes -remember the consoling words of our divine Saviour, 'Blessed are they -who mourn, for they shall be comforted.' It is time for you to go. May -God in the silence of your solitary night visit your desolate soul, -and with his paternal hand wipe away your tears. To-morrow morning I -will see you, and we will arrange about your affairs." - -The courageous child, for he was courageous to put himself face to -face with so many dear remembrances, wished to visit once more the -haunts of his infant joys, where his mother had guided his tottering -steps, and, later, where she had explained to him the wonders of -nature in the presence of these wonders. Yes, he wished to see them -all again, and engrave them in an ineffaceable manner upon his memory. -They were all dear to his heart, all filled with thoughts of his -mother, and the most tender caresses had been exchanged there between -them. He recalled the dreams of those days when his head rested on his -mother's bosom, and he felt himself {646} bathed in love and -happiness; he recalled the charm of that intercourse, when two hearts -are bound in sweetest sympathy; and it was for this purpose that he -wandered over the mountain, stopping at each loved spot, until he -reached the highest plateau. There he sat down, but not before looking -around him, for, for the first time in his life, he felt a little -timid and frightened. The magic beauty of his surroundings was not -new, he had seen it all often before, had contemplated it a thousand -times, but a sort of unquiet terror seizes him, and betrays itself in -tears. It seems but a day since he bounded and frolicked gayly in the -same places, under the eye of his mother, and now what a strange and -sorrowful change! He is alone; his strength and courage all gone. He -seems so small and insignificant by the side of these masses of rocks, -so gigantic and imposing, which look at him as though they would crush -him. Little by little he becomes reassured; he thinks he hears above -him chords of infinite sweetness; these ravishing sounds seem to come -from the sky; it is a choir of angels, who chant the notes of some -sweet melody. The child is transported with delight: he listens; his -soul is strengthened, he is not deceived. From among those harmonious -voices he discovers one well known to him, the sound of which makes -him happy. He knows it is his mother's, and she calls tenderly to him: -"Robert, what do you believe? am I not always with you? Look, my -child, and admire this grand picture, radiant with waves of gold and -purple from the declining sun. Look in wonder at what God has done for -you." These words transformed Robert. He is transported with a new -emotion, and, prostrating himself on his knees, cries, "O God! O God! -how wonderful art thou, how grand are thy works!" After he had -satisfied his soul with the enchanting scene, he went to all the spots -where he had sat with his mother, and gave them each a long and -sorrowful look, and then bade farewell to them. "Farewell, dear -mountain, farewell beautiful valley. I gaze at you perhaps for the -last time. And, shady wood, where I have so often slept, watched by my -tender mother, you who have protected me from the two great heat of -the sun, farewell also. I must leave you now, and I know not if I -shall ever gaze upon your glories again. I would I could pass my life -in your deep shades, and hear you whisper unceasingly the cherished -name of my mother. But it cannot be; and now farewell. And thou, -beautiful and fertile Limagne, that I see shining in the distance, I -salute thee, and will soon traverse light green fields. Be hospitable -to the poor little orphan, and made by smiling aspect and fresh -verdure be a happy presage for me." He stood some moments silent and -immovable, lost in regrets, and then returned to the house. During the -night involuntary fear filled his mind. When the rays of the moon -penetrated his chamber and the stars shed their soft light, he felt -revived, and waited for the vision of the preceding night, but it came -not, and his lips quivered, and at last sleep came to close his -eyelids and repair the strength of his body and mind. The next day the -cure found him somewhat consoled, at least more calm than before he -slept. Together they made an inventory of his modest furniture, which -was worth about fifty pounds. In one of the drawers they found a small -medallion containing the portrait of a gentleman. The face was -handsome and expressive, though a little hard. It was easy to see that -it was a person of high rank; and if the good cure had been less -preoccupied and had examined closely the face, he would, perhaps, have -been struck by the resemblance which existed between the features of -the child and those of the miniature. He would have concluded beyond -doubt that it was his father. But he simply handed it to Robert, -saying almost mechanically, "It is necessary to preserve this with -care." The {647} examination being concluded, he said to him: "My -child, I have not found any purchasers for this furniture, and may not -for some time. I will give you, however, what I suppose to be its -value, and if I should get more for it shall be glad to remit it to -you; by thus doing I will have time to look about, and can, perhaps, -dispose of it two more advantage." The poor child knew not how to -reply to this kindness, but he said, "All that you have done is right, -my dear father, you are too good to take so much trouble for me, and I -thank you with all my heart." Again the cure closed the door and took -Robert's hand. He burst into sobs at the idea of being separated from -all which reminded him of his mother, but he baked him to have -courage. "Courage, my child. I know you suffer in leaving a spot -sacred to your mother's memory; it is but a natural feeling but you -cannot stay. Leave all to my care, accomplish the wish of your mother, -go to Paris, and if the blessing of an old man, a blessing which calls -down that of God, can inspire you with resolution and confidence in -the future, I give you mine, and made it make you happy." In saying -these words he had laid his hands on the head of the child, who was -kneeling before him. - -Robert past several days with the kind father, where he gained -strength and courage; and one morning at sunrise, with a small bundle -of his shoulder and a stick in his hand, set out, accompanied by the -good cure, who had wished to render less painful by his presence the -first steps of this sad journey. He had sent a letter to his friend -the cure in Paris, in which he enclosed the fifty pounds, not thinking -it prudent that Robert should carry it with him. A half league from -the village, on the route to Claremont, the excellent man embraced the -child, pointed to heaven, and bade him farewell! - - -CHAPTER III. - - "We may know by a child's actions - If his motives are pure and right." - Proverbs. - -As long as it was possible, Robert followed, with burning eyes, the -charitable man who had comforted him in his severe affliction. Several -times he turned to see if the mountain had yet disappeared, on which -he had passed so many happy days. At last the charm was broken, it was -no longer visible, and tears chased each other down his checks, but he -walked on quickly, saying, "My mother wishes it." His mind was so -occupied that he walked on without looking at the road which ran ahead -of his thoughts and his regrets, until, involuntarily raising his eyes -to the scene before him, he stops in the extremity of his surprise; -his eyes refuse to believe their evidence; they wander from object to -object without knowing why, without being able to explain the mystery -which plunges him into a sort of stupor, and he believes himself under -the dominion of a feverish and fantastic dream. He raises his hand to -see if he is asleep, but he is wide awake, and laughs at his -simplicity. It is easy for us to understand this. He recognizes no -longer men, things, or even nature. All that he left behind him was -different from what was before and around him. He was in a new world, -on strange ground, and everything which was presented to his sight -caused him an undefinable sensation. Was there not enough to surprise -him? These large fields, these plains of vendure, these yellow -harvests, were to him a new spectacle, strange, singular, sometimes -even monotonous to the eye of a little mountaineer, habituated to the -fantastic forms of the rock and the sombre and imposing verdure of the -woods which covered the sides of his native mountain. Where are the -great heaps of volcanic rocks among which he had been reared and which -were so familiar to his eyes? All had {648} disappeared, and it seemed -to him that, without transition he had passed from severe and grand -nature to simple and gay, rich with flowers and fruits and corn white -and golden. It was the contrast which frightened him, and made him -think he had been transported by some invisible hand a thousand -leagues from his home. Like a bird slightly wounded which flies to the -parent nest and seeks shelter under the warm wings of its mother, so -Robert, restless and inquiet, longs for the maternal arms in which he -can hide his fears. He feels his loneliness; the road seems longer at -every step, and he cannot see the end of it. He invokes through his -mother the blessing of God, and his fears are dissipated, and strength -and hope are given him to hasten on. With the versatility which is the -happy accompaniment of childhood, he put a sweet security in place of -the most foolish fears. And now he was brave again. This transition of -sentiment, this quick changing of the most lively sorrow into a kind -of gayety, is natural to youth. They have extremes of joy and sorrow, -and, without being prepared for either, we see them pass suddenly from -one to the other. Happy, happy childhood! Robert was now full of a new -sentiment, and the birds fluttered round him and sang their merriest -songs; the long, low murmur of the insects was delightful to his ears. -Why should he be sad when all nature was so joyous? A universal hymn -of gratitude and love is being sung by all that exist, by everything -that breathes, in honor of our divine Creator; and, no matter how many -the sorrows and desolations of man, calmness comes to his heart, in -the sweet perfume of joy, the suave harmony and gracious gayety that -fill all nature under the life-giving influence of a beautiful summer -morning. As we are all, sooner or later, initiated into the sufferings -of life, we must feel for others and pour what balm we can into every -wounded heart. Robert walked on until he came to an inn where he asked -to pass the night. His fresh, open face, his gentleness, and the title -of Orphan, gained for him the heart and good graces of his hostess. -She asked him whither he was going and if he wished to go. He told -her, and that it was his mother's wish, and, of course, if hers, his, -that he should go to Paris. The next morning he started off, -overwhelmed with the caresses of this woman, for she was a mother, and -felt a tear moisten her cheek, as she saw this little boy take up his -bundle and resolutely pursue his way, and she prayed God to take care -of him. Robert felt his mother's loss hourly when fatigue weakened his -limbs and hunger made him cry, but he saw her with the eyes of faith -in heaven. Yes; believe me, dear little children who have lost your -mothers! turn to heaven, and there you will see them looking at you -with eyes of love, and saying to you: "Be good, my darlings, and when -you are asleep I will visit you, and kiss your pure and innocent -foreheads." Yes; look to heaven, and I promise you you will see your -mothers there, if you are good. It was this which recalled to Robert's -heart each day the remembrance of his mother and filled his eyes with -tears. It carried also to his heart a secret encouragement and gave -him strength. - -As he walked on he left behind him Clermont, Rion, Aigueperse, and -Grannot. Some leagues before this he had bid good-by to the beautiful -district of Limagne, which had charmed him by its sea of verdure, it's -deep golden foliage, and its rich and fertile plains. This was the -first canton of France which was considered worthy of a particular -description, and it was of this part of l'Auvergne that Apollo Lidoine -said: "It is so beautiful that strangers who go there cannot leave it, -and there have even then instances of persons forgetting their own -country when there." It was of this country, so favored by heaven, -that King Childebert said, "that before dying he desired but one {649} -thing, and that was to see beautiful Limagne d'Auvergne, which is the -masterpiece of nature, and a scene of enchantment." We cannot say that -Robert shared in their opinion, but it is certain that he passed it -with regret, although he was drawn by so strange of feeling toward -Paris, the object of his hope and his ambition. He walked to St. -Pourcain, Moulins, and all the small places, and rested a day when -overfatigued. Great was his delight when he reached Fontainebleau, -which royal residence had witnessed the first abdication of the -emperor. All was still in motion at this place, and more than one old -soldier twisted his mustache, and with a fierce and martial air walked -on the edge of this great forest, weeping for the liberty of his -emperor, his god, his idol. It was with delight that our young hero, -the child of the woods and solitude, sought the fresh shades, which -recalled to him, by a striking similarity, his cherished mountain -home; and the immense piles of irregular rocks attested that this -place, too, had been the theatre of some great convulsion of nature. -At mid-day, when the sun sheds his fiercest rays, when the tired -flowers lean on their stems, when the birds hide under the leaves, -when all nature seeks repose, the better to enjoy the freshness of the -evening, Robert, too, followed the example, and lay down and slept at -the foot of a huge chestnut-tree many centuries old; the vast shade of -which form and impenetrable cover from the heat of the sun. He awoke -refreshed, rose, and ventured into one of the long alleys or walks to -which a sign conducted him. For several hours he wandered about lost -in this tangled maze and looking in vain for an opening. But he was a -patient child, and obstacles did not stop him, neither was he -discouraged by his unfruitful efforts; on the contrary, he redoubled -his ardor, and finally reached a clear space, in the center of which -was a fountain ordered by rose-beds. Four paths diverged from it, and -of such great length were they that it fatigued the eye to look at -them. In exploring in turn each of these paths, Robert found in one of -them a sign pointing out to strangers the various labyrinths of the -forest. He had nothing else for a guide, but thought if he could only -find his way to the palace again, there must be some one there who -could tell him how to go; so he followed the path which he thought -might be right, and it was, and led him into the avenue which wound -round by the palace. When he got right in front of the principal and -only truly royal edifice of France, or rather of Napoleon, he stopped -and wondered at the vast aspect of this assemblage of buildings, -producing an effect at once imposing and majestic. Nothing like this -had ever entered his imagination, and the most lively astonishment -shone on his face, and his eyes burned with the fire of intelligence -and pleasure. A few steps from him was an old soldier who was entirely -absorbed in contemplating the building, and who looked worn and sad. -He, too, was in a sort of ecstasy, but he gazed in silence and seemed -lost to all around him. His expression was of one in anguish, and his -eyes rested with a strange fixedness upon the steps of honor. He waits -and watches as if hoping to see some one whom he ardently loves -appear; but his hope is deceived, and two tears trickle slowly down -his dark cheeks, scarred and burned by the fires of a hundred battles. -At this moment when marks of supreme sorrow told so eloquently of his -sufferings, Robert turned, and seeing his tears he was deeply moved at -this testimony of profound sorrow, and, eagerly approaching the -soldier, said to him in a touching voice: "Why do you cry, sir? Have -yon also lost your mother? I fear you have." Robert had never wept but -for one sorrow, and that we all know, and in happy ignorance of the -other misfortunes of life he thought all wept {650} for the same -thing; and in his great loss he looked to older persons to console -him, which proved how tender, delicate, and generous are the -sentiments that live in the hearts of children. Their young souls are -mirrors have to which we should only give pure, chaste, and pious -images to reflect and show them good examples, that without effort -vice might be crushed out, and the world left an Eden of purity. - -Hearing so touchingly compassionate a voice, the old soldier turned -and looked at the child, while tears glistened in his eyes. "No," said -he in a coarse tone, "it is not for my mother that I weep, it is for -my emperor." "And who is it that is your emperor?" "Alas! I have no -father, and have just lost my mother," he said sighing. "Was your -emperor good, and did you love him so much that you weep or him? I -shall never forget my mother, she was so sweet and good to her little -son. But tell me, sir, tell me of your emperor. My mother said I -should always love those who were good, and I want to love him too." -The old fellow twisted his mustache, and growled some words between -his teeth, looking alternately at the palace and the child, who smiled -at him with an expression so gentle that it moved the soldier's heart. -You could see he was the victim of an emotion he vainly sought to -conceal. "Wonderful!" cried he, vanquished by the magical eyes of -Robert. "You are a good child, and speak to my heart when you tell me -that you love my emperor. But who does not love him, except those -cowards! those scoundrels! those traitors! But stop, I have said -enough." He saw that Robert was a little frightened, for his ears had -only been accustomed to the caressing voice of his mother. "Do you see -that staircase? My emperor descended by it to embrace the eagles of -his flag, the victorious eagles which have made him immortal, and -which led his way to glory. Yes, the embraced them, and wept because -he could not embrace all his old soldiers had not betrayed him and -would have followed him to the end of the world. And some of his old -guard still live. Oh! if they had only sent me with him into the loan -island of his misfortunes, if I could be with him there, I should be -content. But since I cannot, I must go to Paris and see what is doing -there. See, my child, you are going there too, and I believe you said -you had neither father nor mother. Have you any relatives?" "No," said -Robert. "Why, then, are you going to Paris if you have no friends -there?" "My mother said I must go, and I'm going." "I don't wish to be -too curious, but tell me from whence you come?" "From the village of -Mount Dore, eight leagues from Clermont." "Pretty walk for such little -legs, I think; but as we are both going to Paris, and you have no -father or mother to protect you, and I and a poor old soldier, I will -take care of you, for you have moved my heart by your gentle words, -and we will travel together, so that the walk will be shorter for -both." "Oh! how delightful," said Robert; "and then you can tell me -about your emperor. I know I can walk fast enough in hearing you talk -about one whom you love so much." "Yes, my boy," he replied, "I could -speak forever of my emperor; but it must be when we are alone, for his -glorious name, which once made kings and conscripts alike tremble, is -now called usurper, and is forbidden to be pronounced. A thousand -thunders! the thought enrages me; and if I had his traitorous subjects -I would strangle them, or my name is not Cyprien Hardy." This -conversation was held with furious gestures on the one side and great -astonishment on the other, until they came to the modest inn where -Robert had left his bundle. The child in his new friend, the old -soldier, who justified the name, made a frugal repast, and continue -{651} their journey. On the way Robert related the history of the -twelve years he had passed on his cherished mountain with his beloved -mother, which simple recital gained him the lasting friendship of his -companion, whom Robert looked upon as a friend provided for him by -that kind Providence who watches over orphans. He bore the fatigue of -the journey well, and was in perfect health when they reached that -magnificent chaos called Paris. The old soldier is, then, the second -friend that God has given our little hero. And how strange it was that -these two were isolated beings should meet in such a place, before the -grand palace of kings--the one a man of resolute energy, who carried -on his bold forehead great scars of glory, but who shed tears of -despair at the fall of his well-beloved chief, in whom he had found -parents, country, family; the other a charming youth, representing -brilliant promises for the future, young, beautiful, and full of -ambition. Cyprien Hardy was one of those true French hearts to whom -the name of patriot was not a vain word. He was moved like many others -when dangers threatened the republic and the when powerful allies -audaciously invaded its territory. He was one of the first to take up -arms, having entered the army as a volunteer at twenty-one. Some years -later he served in the first regiment of the soldiers of the guard, -after having made the memorable campaigns of Italy, Egypt, and -Germany, always following the "Little Corporal," always the first in -battle, and always respected. Dangers made him smile; his courage was -inexhaustible. One thing alone could move him, and that was the voice -of his chief. This electrified him, and made him forget all but noble -actions. He had always loved Napoleon, and this affection increased -with the fortunes of the great man whose word or look transformed -soldiers into heroes. It was in the forts of Moscow that his emperor -had given him the "Cross of Honor," for a wound which he received from -a cannon ball while waving his flag. In this disastrous retreat the -brave soldier, dying with cold, fatigue, and hunger, preserved his -heroic exaltation and his confidence in and love for his emperor; and -if he ever grumbled, it was only because he could not kill every -Cossack that he laid his eyes upon. His courage and energy never -diminished, and he believed so implicitly in his emperor that he -thought good fortune must return. But it had gone forever. His heart -revolted at the thought; and he swore that the author of this infamous -treason should repent, and this was why he was going to Paris to see -if he could find any of his old companions. - - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - ----------- - - -ONE MOMENT. - - A trooping forth of buried griefs like ghosts,-- - Temptations gathering swift in serried hosts,-- - Of angel guardians a glittering band,-- - God watching all--shall we desert or stand? - --------- - -{652} - - - - -PROBLEMS OF THE AGE. [Footnote 178] - - [Footnote 178: erratum: In the last number, p. 524, 2d col. 12th - line, for "created in sanctity and justice," read "constituted."] - -(CONCLUDED) - - -XII. - -THE MYSTERY OF REDEMPTION. - -The next article of the creed, in order, is that which expresses the -Mystery of Redemption: "Crucifixus etiam pro nobis, sub Pontio Pilato, -passus, et sepultus est." "Who was also crucified for us under Pontius -Pilate, who suffered, and was buried." The redemption implies the -incarnation, and is based on it. The incarnation having been already -treated of, in immediate connection with the Trinity, we have only to -proceed with the exposition of the doctrine of satisfaction for sin -and restoration to grace through the sufferings and death of the -Divine Redeemer. - -It is no part of the Catholic doctrine that it was necessary for the -second person of the Trinity to take upon himself human nature and -suffer an infinite penalty, in order that God might be able to pardon -sin without violating his justice. All Catholic theologians, from St. -Augustine down, teach that God is free to show mercy and to pardon, -according to his own good pleasure. The reason and end of the -incarnation has been shown already to be something far above this -order of ideas. The incarnation does not of itself, however, imply -suffering or death. We have to inquire, then, why it was that in point -of fact the incarnate Word was manifested as a suffering Redeemer; and -why his death on the cross was constituted the meritorious cause of -the remission of sin and restoration of grace. - -The church has never made any formal definition of her doctrine on -this point, and it is well known various have been the theories -regarding it maintained at different times. We shall endeavor to -present a view which appears to us adequate and intelligible; without, -however, claiming for it any certainty beyond that of the reasons on -which it is based. - -The original gift of grace not having been due to Adam, or to any one -of his ordinary descendents, injustice, the restoration of that gift, -when lost, was not due. Aside from the incarnation, there was no -imperative reason why Adam and his race should not have been left in -the state to which they were reduced by the original transgression. -God, having determined to accomplish the incarnation in the human -race, owed it to himself to complete this determination, in spite of -all the sins which he foresaw would be committed by men. The foreseen -merits of Christ furnished an adequate motive for conferring any -degree of grace upon any or all men, he might seek to be fitting and -necessary for the fulfillment of his eternal purposes. It was not -necessary, however, that the Son of God should suffer or die in order -to merit grace for mankind. By the define decree, indeed, the shedding -of his blood and his death was made the special meritorious act in -view of which remission of sins and grace are conferred. But all the -acts of his life had the same intrinsic worth and excellence, which -was simply infinite on account of the divine principle of imputability -to which they must be referred. There must have been some reasons, -therefore, of fitness, on account of which it was determined that -Jesus Christ should suffer death for the human race. - -{653} - -We may find one of these reasons in the law of suffering and death -which God had imposed, out of a motive of pure love, on the whole -human race. This law was, indeed, promulgated under the form of a -penalty, but in its substance it was a real blessing. The way to -heaven through the path of penance and by the gate of death is a sure -and safer way then the one in which Adam was first placed; it is one, -also, affording higher and more extensive scope for virtue, heroism, -and merit. It was, therefore, fitting that the chief and prince of the -human race should go before his brethren in this way of sufferings. -"For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all -things, who brought many sons to glory, to perfect, by suffering, the -author of their salvation." [Footnote 179] As a particular consequence -of this general law, heroes, patriots, reformers, prophets, and -saints, have always been especially exposed to suffering and to -violent modes of death. They have been obliged to sacrifice themselves -to their own fidelity to conscience and to that sacred cause to which -they have been devoted. And this sacrifice of life has consecrated -their memories in the hearts of their fellow-men more than any other -acts of intellectual or moral virtue, however brilliant. It was -fitting, therefore, that the Saint of saints, the Saviour of the -world, should not exempt himself from the peril of death, to which the -very character of his mission exposed him. - - [Footnote 179: Heb, II. 10.] - -Another reason for the suffering of the Divine Mediator, is found in -the manifestation thereby made of the love of God in Christ to the -human race. There is no need of dwelling on this, or of noticing other -reasons of a similar kind which have been so frequently and so fully -developed by others. - -We pass on, therefore, to the consideration of the final and highest -reason for the death of Jesus Christ, the expiation of sin. - -The true and only possible notion of expiation or satisfaction is that -which apprehends it as a compensation for the failure to perform some -obligatory act, by performing another act of at least equal value in -the place of it. Every noble soul, when conscious of having been -delinquent, desires to repair the injury which has been done, as well -as to redeem its own honor, by some act which shall, if possible, far -exceed the one which it failed to perform. The same principle impels -those who have a high sense of honor to make reparation tor the -delinquencies of others with whom they are closely related in the same -family, the same society, or the same nation. Now, the human race has -been delinquent in making a proper return to God for the infinite boon -of grace. The fall of man and the innumerable sins of the individuals -of the human race have deprived Almighty God of a tribute of glory -which was due to him, and have brought ignominy upon mankind as a -race. Although, therefore, Almighty God might provide for the -glorification of the elect who are to share with the Incarnate Word in -his divine privileges, by an act of pure mercy; it is far more -glorious both to God and man that a superabundant satisfaction should -be made for the injury which has been done to the Creator by the -marring of his creation, and a superabundant expiation accomplished of -the disgrace which man has incurred. It was, therefore, an act of -divine wisdom and love in God to determine that this satisfaction and -expiation should be made by the second person of the Trinity in his -human nature. The Incarnate Word, being truly man, identified with the -human race, and its chief, necessarily made its honor and its disgrace -his own. Although he could redeem his brethren without any cost to -himself, his solicitude for their honor and glory would not permit him -to do it. He desired that they should enter heaven on the most -honorable terms, without any of the humiliation of the delinquency of -the race attaching to them, but, on the contrary with the {654} -exulting consciousness that every stain of dishonor had been effaced. -Therefore, as their king and chief, he fulfilled the most sublime work -of obedience to the divine love which was possible; he made the most -perfect possible oblation to God, as an equivalent for his boon of -grace which had been abused by sin. In lieu of that glory which God -would have received from the perfect obedience of Adam and all his -posterity, and that glory which would have been also reflected upon -the human race, he substituted the infinitely greater glory of his own -obedience unto death, even the death of the cross. By this obedience -Jesus Christ merited for the human race the concession of a new grant -of grace, more perfect than the first, by virtue of which not only the -original sin which is common to all men was made remissible to each -individual, but all actual sins were made also pardonable on certain -conditions. - -That this statement completely exhausts the true idea of the -satisfaction of Christ, we will not pretend to affirm. It appears to -us, however, sufficient to give a clear and definite meaning to the -language of Scripture and the fathers, and to include all that -Catholic faith requires a Christian to believe. - -Jesus Christ having merited by his death the right of conferring grace -without stint or limit upon mankind, and all the grace given after the -fall and before the redemption having been bestowed in the foresight -of his death, every spiritual blessing enjoyed by men is referred to -the death of Jesus Christ as its cause and source. Strictly speaking, -it is only the meritorious cause. By giving himself up to die, he -merited the right to communicate the grace contained in the -incarnation to men, notwithstanding the failure of the father and head -of the race to fulfil the probation on which the transmission of the -grace to his descendants depended. He merited also the right to renew -this grace in those individuals who should lose it after having once -received it, as often as these, without regard to the number or -grievousness of their sins, or the frequency of their lapses. It is, -however, the Holy Spirit; dwelling in the Incarnate Word in the -plenitude of his being, and communicating to his human nature the -fulness grace, not for itself alone, but for all men; which is the -ultimate and efficient cause of all spiritual life. It is the grace of -the Holy Spirit which actually removes all guilt and stain of sin from -the soul, and constitutes it in the state of justice and sanctity. The -Holy Spirit is, therefore, the efficient cause of justification. The -formal cause is the personal sanctity of each individual. That is, -this personal sanctity is that which makes each one worthy of the -complacency of God, of fellowship with him, and of everlasting life. -The work of the incarnation and redemption must, therefore, produce -its results and attain its consummation through the Holy Spirit as the -sanctifier of the human race. Consequently, the creed, after finishing -it's expression of the Catholic faith so far as the person of Christ -is concerned, proceeds to enunciate it as regards the person and -operation of the Holy Spirit, is sent by Christ to complete his work. -The articles containing this enunciation complete the creed, and bring -man to his final destination. - - - -XII. - -THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, AS THE INSTRUMENT OF -THE SANCTIFICATION OF THE HUMAN RACE. - - -The next articles of the creed are: "Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum -et Vivificantem, qui ex Patre Filioque procedit, qui cum Patre et -Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur, qui locutus est per -prophetas; et in unam sanctam, Catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam; -confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum." "And in the Holy -Ghost, the Lord and Lifegiver, who proceedeth from the Father and the -Son, {655} who with the Father and the Son together is worshipped and -glorified, who spake by the prophets; I confess one baptism for the -remission of sins." - -The relation of the Holy Spirit to the Father and the Son in the -Trinity has been already considered. The temporal mission of the Holy -Spirit as the consummation of the divine work _ad extra_ is exercised -through the Catholic Church; and, therefore, the article concerning -the church follows immediately in the creed the one concerning the -Holy Spirit. [Footnote 180] - - [Footnote 180: Vid. Archbishop Manning's Mission of the Holy Ghost.] - -The organic unity of the Catholic Church follows necessarily from the -principles laid down in the foregoing essays. It is an immediate -consequence of the unity of the race, and of the incarnation, which -are two distinct facts, but which have one principle. The order of -regeneration must follow the order of generation. Mankind exist -essentially as a race; as a race they received the original gift of -supernatural grace; as a race they lost it. All human life and -development is generic. The redemption of mankind must, therefore, -re-establish the generic relations which were disturbed by the fall. -Jesus Christ, the second Adam, must become the head of a redeemed and -regenerated race of men, organized in a supernatural society. -Continuity and perpetuity of life are, therefore, the essential notes -of the divine society, or human race regenerated, in which true -spiritual life is communicated to the individual. The sole possession -of these notes demonstrates the divine authority of the Catholic -Church. [Footnote 181] The continuity of life, embracing integrity of -doctrine and law and the faculty of conferring grace, descended from -the patriarchal church through the Jewish, with the increment added by -the immediate intervention of the divine Lord of the world in person, -to the Catholic Church. - - [Footnote 181: Vid. Leo, Univ. Hist., vol. I. Lacordaire's - Conferences, and the Works of Dr. Brownson, passim.] - -The Catholic Church is, therefore, the human race, in the highest -sense. In early times, one nation after another broke away from the -unity of the race, carrying a fragment of the integral, ideal humanity -with it. Integrity, continuity, and perpetuity of life were, -therefore, rendered for them impossible. The same phenomena are -exhibited at the present time in all nations and societies outside of -the Catholic Church. Partial and temporary developments only can be -made of that integral, universal, perpetual life, whose seat is in the -bosom of the church, and which is sufficient to vivify the whole human -race, if the impediments were removed. The proof, _a posteriori_, or -by induction, of the Catholic Church, must be sought for in those -works which treat professedly of the subject. Our object is merely to -show the conformity of the idea of the Catholic Church with the idea -of reason, by deduction from primary, ontological principles. The -attributes of the church follow so immediately from its primary note, -as the human race restored to unity in the fellowship of God in -Christ, that they require no special elucidation; especially as this -particular branch of theology has been so repeatedly and so amply -treated by authors. - -In regard to special dogmas of the church, most of those which present -any great difficulty to the understanding have already been discussed -in the former part of this essay; and the remainder find an easy -explication from the same principles. - -The doctrine of the sacraments is explicated from the principle that -the church is the instrument of sanctification. The sacraments are the -particular acts by which the church communicates the spiritual -vitality which resides in her to individuals. They have an outward, -sensible form, because the nature of man is corporeal, and all human -acts are composed of a synthesis of the sensible and the spiritual. -They contain an inward, spiritual grace, because the nature of {656} -man is spiritual, and receives life only from a spiritual principle. -The only one of the sacraments which presents any special difficulty -to the understanding is the holy eucharist; on account of the mystery -of transubstantiation which is included in it's essence. The ground of -this difficulty, which lies in crude, philosophical notions, and is, -therefore, purely a spectre of the imagination, has been already -removed by the doctrine we Have laid down respecting the nature of -substance and the proper conception of space and extension. The senses -transmit to the soul nothing more than the impressions of the -phenomena, which the soul, by an intellectual judgment, refers to a -real, intelligible substance, or active force, as their productive -cause. The substance itself is not sensible, but intelligible; is not -seen as an essence by the eye, but concluded by a judgment of the -mind. By divine revelation it is disclosed to us, that the substance -of bread and wine is the eucharist is succeeded by the substance of -the body and blood of Jesus Christ; the phenomena or sensible effects -of the former substance still continuing to be produced in an -extraordinary manner. There is a mystery here it is true; but it is -only the mystery which belongs to the inscrutable nature of the -essence of matter as active force, and the mode in which this active -force produces various sensible phenomena. The definitions of the -church do not furnish a complete explanation of the Catholic dogma, -which is left to theologians; and even theologians do not precisely -coincide in their conceptions or expressions. All we can do then, -after stating the Catholic dogma, is to give the explanation which -appears to be the most probable, according to the judgment of the best -authors and the most weighty intrinsic reasons. This is enough, -however, for our purpose; for all that is required is to furnish a -conception which is, on the one band, theologically tenable, and, on -the other, rationally intelligible. - -We may separate the synthetic judgment pronounced by the church, in -the definition of the dogma, into four analytic judgments. First, the -absence of the substance of bread and wine after the consecration. -Second, the presence of the substance of the body of Christ. Third, -the absence of the natural phenomenon of the body of Christ. Fourth, -the presence of the natural phenomenon of bread and wine. In order to -reconstruct these elements of the church's dogmatic judgment into a -more perfect synthesis, it it is necessary to analyze further these -separate propositions. There are three principle, distinct conceptions -contained in them: the conception of substance; the conception of -presence, or relation in space; and the conception of phenomena, or, -to use the precise term employed by the schoolmen, of _accidents_. -There is, also, the conception of the mode in which the phenomena of -bread and wine subsists out of relation to their proper productive -substances, or, the conception of the immediate, efficient cause to -which they must be referred. These first three conceptions have been -sufficiently analyzed in a former part of this treatise. The absence -of the substance of bread and wine after consecration may be -explained, in accordance with the conception of substance, by -annihilation, removal, or identification with the substance of the -body of Christ. The senses cannot take cognizance of its presence -before consecration, it being there office merely to report phenomena; -they cannot, consequently, take cognizance of its absence. They are -not, therefore, deceived in reporting the phenomena as unchanged after -the consecration, since they really remain unchanged; nor is the mind -qualified to pronounce on the report of the senses, that the substance -is unchanged, by an intellectual judgment; since the judgment which -would otherwise be validly made is superseded by a divine judgment, -made known through revelation, that in this instance the substance has -been {657} changed for another by the creative power of God. The -simplest mode of conceiving the effect of consecration on the -substances of the bread and wine is to suppose their annihilation. St. -Thomas, however, denies that they are annihilated, because the -terminus of annihilation is nothing, whereas the terminus of the act -of transubstantiation is the body of Christ. In plain words, the -argument is: if the substances were annihilated, the effect of -consecration would be properly expressed by saying that they are -reduced to nothing, whereas the language of the church is, that they -are converted into the body and blood of Christ. The same argument -applies to the notion of their removal elsewhere. Nevertheless, since -they are not supposed to be annihilated or removed simply for the sake -of getting rid of them, and their destruction or removal is not the -end or final term of the act of divine power, but only its proximate -term, in order to the substitution of the body of Christ, this -argument is not decisive. It is proper to say that the substance of -bread is changed into the body of Christ, if the body of Christ is -substituted for it; The natural phenomena which formerly indicated the -presence of the one substance remaining the same, and indicating the -presence of the other substance instead of that of the former -substance. - -Another explanation is based on the notion of one generic substance -individualized in all distinct, material existences. According to this -explanation, the bread and wine, being deprived of their individual -existence, are not thereby destroyed; but, as it were, withdrawn into -the generic substance, which is identical with the substance -individualized in the body of Christ; and therefore properly said to -be converted into the substance of his body. We are unable to -understand how the notion on which this explanation is based, which -appears to require us to accept the realism of William de Champeaux -and the schoolmen, can be made intelligible; and, therefore, prefer -the former, which, we believe, is the one more commonly adopted. - -The presence of the body of Christ, without its natural phenomena, and -under the phenomena of bread and wine; which presents usually much the -greatest difficulty to the understanding, is really capable of a much -more easy and certain explanation. It is present not by its extension, -but by its pure substance, or _vis activa_, that is, as Perrone says, -_per modum spiritas_, after the manner of spirit. Spirit, as all -Catholic philosophers teach, is related to objects in space, by the -application of its intrinsic force to them. The presence of the body -of Christ in the eucharist is, therefore, the application of its _vis -activa_; which is, indeed, finite, but, by virtue of its supreme -excellence in the created order, through the hypostatic union, -commensurate with the whole created universe and all its particular -parts. The body of Christ, therefore, while it is circumscribed as to -its extension; and, according to the ordinary sense of the word, is -present only in one place; is, in a different but real sense, present -everywhere where the species of the eucharist are present. These -species or phenomena of bread and wine in the eucharist, are the signs -indicating its presence by its substantial force or _vis activa_. They -may be produced, as every one will admit they can be, by the immediate -act of God; or, by the _vis activa_ of the body of Christ; which, as a -perfect body containing eminently all the perfection of inferior -material substances, can produce their proper effects. The body and -blood of Christ contain substantially and essentially the virtue of -bread and wine, and, being in hypostatic union with the divine nature, -may be capable of producing the phenomena and effects proceeding -naturally from this virtue in many places at once. It appears to us -more in accordance with the language of Scripture and the church to -make this latter supposition. We sum up, there fore, the explanation -of the mystery {658} which appears to us the most probable and -rational, in this short formula. By the effect of the divine power, -exercised through the act of consecrating the eucharist; the sensible -phenomena, indicating before the act the presence of the _vis activa_, -of bread and wine, cease to indicate it; and indicate instead of it, -the presence of the _vis activa_ of the body and blood of Christ, The -language of the definition pronounced by the church is thus exactly -verified. There is a change of substance, without any change of -phenomena. There is a transition of the substance of the bread and -wine; which ceases either altogether as a distinct existence, or, at -least, as the cause of the phenomena; in order to give way to the -substance of the body of Christ; which is properly called a -transubstantiation. - -The mystery still remains, and must remain, incomprehensible by the -human understanding, however clear the explanation of the difficulties -which beset it may be made. Neither the senses nor the intellect can -perceive the presence of Jesus Christ in the eucharist. It is believed -by an act of faith in the word of Jesus Christ. The mode of this -substantial presence and of its action on the soul is, moreover, but -dimly apprehended; because substance itself, as a _vis activa_, and -the mode of its activity, are impenetrable to reason. The rational -argument respecting the dogma of faith, therefore, merely proves that -it is not contrary to reason; and that it is partially intelligible by -analogy with other known truths and facts. We thus understand that the -presence f Jesus Christ in the species of the eucharist is _possible_. -And, the revelation of its reality once made, we see also its fitness. -It is most fitting and congruous that Jesus Christ should unite -himself in the most perfect manner which is consistent with the -condition of man in this life, with his human brethren; and that this -union should be manifested to the senses. This is accomplished in the -eucharist in such a way that the intellect, the imagination, or the -heart of man, cannot conceive or desire anything more perfect and -admirable. [Footnote 182] - - [Footnote 182: _Vide_ F. Dalgairn's on the Holy Communion for a - more complete elucidation of the philosophy of substance and accidents.] - -We shall simply note with the greatest brevity the remaining doctrines -whose consideration falls under the present head. - -The absolute necessity of grace for works worthy of eternal life, and -the inability of man to perform them by his natural strength, is -explained by the supernatural principle of which we have already given -exposition. - -The merit of good works is explained by the doctrine of probation; and -the distinction between this kind of merit and the merits of Christ, -as well as their natural relation and harmony, is obvious from the -exposition which has been made of the latter. - -The Catholic doctrine respecting the Blessed Virgin and the Saints is -explained by the doctrine already laid down of the glorification and -deification of human nature through the incarnation. - -The whole exterior and visible _cultus_ of Catholic worship is -explained by the doctrine, of sensible things as signs and -representations of the invisible, and of the essentially corporeal -constitution of man. These, and all other particulars of Catholic -doctrine, are contained in the universal or Catholic idea, which -shines by its own light, and proves itself by its sublimity, -integrity, symmetry, and correspondence with all the analogies of the -natural world. - - -XIV. - - THE FINAL DESTINATION OF ANGELS AND MEN; - CONDITION OF THE UNREGENERATE IN THE FUTURE LIFE; - ETERNITY OF THE PENALTY OF SIN; - STATE OF FINAL THE BEATITUDE. - - -The closing articles of the creed are: "Expecto resurrectionem -mortuorun et vitam venturi saeculi, Amen." "I look for the -resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world of come, Amen." - -{659} - -Thus, the creation, which proceeds from God as first cause, is shown -to have returned to him as final cause. This is especially -accomplished in the beatification of the elect; and consequently it is -the glory and blessedness of heaven which is immediately and -explicitly affirmed in the creed. The entire creed, however, implies, -what the Catholic church in her exposition of the creed teaches -dogmatically, that only a portion of the angelic hierarchy and the -human race attain heaven. The doctrine of hell, or the place and state -of those who are excluded from heaven, is, therefore, the necessary -correlate of the doctrine of heaven. So far as the human race is -concerned, we have to consider, first, what is the condition in -eternity of those who are subject to the consequences of original sin -only. - -It follows from the doctrine already laid down, namely, that the state -to which man is reduced by original sin, is entitively the same with -that in which consists the state of pure nature; that the condition of -this class of human beings in eternity is the same that it would be if -they had never been constituted in the order of the supernatural. They -are destitute of supernatural beatitude, but attain to all the -felicity of which they are capable in the natural order. They are -elevated in the due course of nature to that integrity and perfection -of soul and body which, in the case of Adam, was anticipated by a -gratuitous gift. Their felicity consists in a perfect exemption from -an liability to sin, in the complete evolution of their natural -capacities, and in the possession of the proper object of their -intelligence and will, that is, in the knowledge and fruition of the -works of God, and of God himself by abstractive contemplation. This -last expression needs some explanation in order to show its conformity -with the doctrine we have laid down at the beginning of these essays -respecting the primitive intuition of reason. We have there affirmed -that the original intuition of reason is the intuition of that idea -which is afterward demonstrated by reflection to be identical with the -being of God. Some, rejecting this doctrine of the idea, object to it -that it leads to a confusion of the act of intelligence constitutive -of rational nature with the act proper only to beatified nature, that -is, the intuitive vision of God. Others, who accept it, endeavor to -rebut this objection, and to show the distinction between the -knowledge of God derived from rational intuition and that which is -communicated by the light of glory. But in doing this they make the -first to be only the inchoation of the second, and the second the -completion or full evolution of the first. It would follow, then, that -a rational creature cannot attain to the proper object of his -intelligence and will, consequently cannot attain perfect felicity, -without the beatific vision. We cannot admit either that the objection -is a valid one or that the explanation which is made in order to do -away with it is sufficient. We venture, therefore, to suggest another. - -It is real and concrete being, not possible and abstract being, which -is the intelligible object of reason. Reason, however, does not, by an -intrinsic, perceptive power, actively elicit the intuition of its -intelligible object. In other words, it is not by its virtue as -intelligence that real being, or the intelligible, becomes -intelligible to it. The intelligible has the precedence and the -superiority in the act of intelligence. The presence of the object -makes the subject intelligent in the first act, and this first act is -one in which the creative spirit is the agent and the created spirit -the terminus of the act. The original, immediate contact of the -intellect with real, concrete being, that is, with God, is, therefore, -a contact in which the soul is passive, because this contact precedes -and is the cause of its activity. It is only by reflection, or bending -backward upon itself, that the intellect can have distinct -self-consciousness and elicit thought. When it does so, it takes -always the affirmation of real, necessary being, by which {660} God -created it rational, as the first and absolute elements of its -thoughts. But this affirmation, as soon as it enters into reflection, -and becomes an element of the spontaneous activity of the soul, -becomes _abstract_. It is not a pure abstraction, or an act which -terminates on the abstract or possible as its ultimate object, but an -abstraction formed from the concrete object as apprehended by the -passive intelligence, or an abstract conception of the concrete idea. -It would require too much time to develop this statement fully. But it -is plain at a single glance that it is justified by the facts of -consciousness. All our judgments respecting necessary and universal -truth are abstract. The judgment respecting necessary cause, that -respecting the infinite and the eternal, that respecting ideal space -and time, those which respect mathematical relations, and those which -form the data of logic, are all of this kind. There is no direct, -immediate intuition of God as the infinite, concrete, personal truth, -to be found in our consciousness; as we have previously proved in our -demonstration of the being of God. The necessity of using the term -_intuition_ in reference to our apprehension of the idea is, -therefore, an unfortunate one, and gives rise to a confusion of the -act in which we conclude the existence and attributes of God by a -rational, deductive judgment, with the act in which the soul -immediately beholds him by an intellectual vision. Intuition and -vision are, strictly speaking identical. Experience teaches us that -our first distinct vision is the vision of sensible objects, and that -we refer constantly to this as the standard of clear vision, since -there is nothing which appears to us equally clear and distinct. By -the aid of our perception of the sensible, we attain to the perception -of ourselves as existing, thinking spirit, and of other spirits like -our own. But we never attain a similar intuition of God by the mere -exercise of our intellective activity. It is of the essence of a -created spirit that its active intuition or intellective vision is -limited to finite objects as its immediate terminus, commensurate to -its finite visual power. It sees God only mediately, as his being and -attributes are reflected and imaged in finite things, and therefore -its highest contemplation of God is merely abstractive. The natural -felicity of created spirits is, therefore, at its maximum, when they -attain the most perfect exercise of their faculties in this mode of -action which is connatural to them. It is the fruition of God -mediately through his creation. - -We now proceed to show that the Catholic doctrine permits us to -believe that this perfect felicity which is possible without -supernatural grace is actually conceded to those who die in original -sin only. It is reasonable to believe that any felicity which those -souls can attain, consistently with their position as liable to the -eternal consequences of original sin, will be actually attained by -them. For God has created them for good; and to what end as he made -them capable of this felicity, unless it be that they may possess and -enjoy it? We shall quote from a treatise written in the seventeenth -century by F. Maria Gabrielli, in defense of the doctrine of Cardinal -Sfondrati, a very thorough summary of the opinions of the theologians -on this point: [Footnote 183] - - [Footnote 183: Dispunctio Notarum, 40 etc, Colon. 1699.] - -"Joseph Maria de Requesens [Footnote 184] enumerates in his little -book on the state of infants many theologians of great name who -concede to these infants a certain kind of imperfect natural -beatitude. - - [Footnote 184: de Statu Parvui. Rom. 1684.] - -He says that Richard (of St. Victor) teaches that these children will -have more goods and greater joy in their possession than sinners have -who possess created goods in this life. Lyra says, that according to -the opinion of all doctors they will enjoy a happier life than would -be naturally possible in this present world. Almost in the same way -speak Origen, Marsilius, St. Buonaventure, Cajetan, and others {661} -cited by Cornelius a Lapide, who all teach that children dying without -baptism lead a happier life than those who are living on the earth. -Lessius writes, that although they may be said to be damned because -eternally deprived of the celestial glory for which they were created, -it is nevertheless credible that their state is far happier and more -joyful than that of any mortal man in this life. Salmeron says, these -children will rise again through Christ and above this natural order, -where they will daily advance in the knowledge of the works of God and -of separate substances, _will have angelic visits_, and will be like -our rustics living in the country, so that as they are in a medium -between glory and punishment, they will also occupy an intermediate -place. Suarez says, that children will remain in their natural good -and will be content with their lot; and, together with Marsilius as -quoted by Azor, he describes to them a _knowledge and love of God -above all things_, and the other natural virtues. Didacus Ruiz, a -theologian of extensive reading, lays down this conclusion: Great -mercy will be mingled with the punishment of infants dying in original -sin, although not a diminution of the punishment of loss, since that -is incapable of diminution; yet in the remission of death which was -the punishment directly do to original sin, and would naturally have -endured to eternity, so that in spite of this infants will be -resuscitated at the day of judgment nevermore to die, endowed with -supernatural incorruptibility and impassibility, and they will also -supernaturally receive accidental, infused sciences, and will be -liberated from all pain, sadness, sickness, temptations, and personal -sins, which are naturally wont to arise from original sin. -Consequently, they are liberated from the punishment of hell which -they might have incurred. Albert (the Great), Alexander (de Hales), -and St. Thomas agree with this doctrine. Suarez shows that these -children obtain some benefit, in a certain way, from the merits of -Christ; and says that it pertains to the glory of Christ that he -should be adored and acknowledged as prince and supreme judge on the -day of universal judgment even by infants who died without grace. He -also considers it more probable that they will understand that they -have done neither good nor evil, and therefore receive neither glory -nor pain of sense, and also that they are deprived of glory on account -of sin (that is, original). He adds the reason of this, to wit, that -they may understand the benefit which they received, first in Adam and -afterward in Christ, and on this account may worship and adore him. -Martinonus adds: when even the demons love God in a certain way even -more than themselves as the common good of all, according to St. -Thomas, why shall not these children love Christ as their benefactor -and the author of their resurrection, and of the benefits which they -receive with it through Christ, who is the destroyer of corporeal as -well as spiritual death? He cites also what Suarez says, that although -one who should speak of the bodies of infants in the same way as of -the other damned would say nothing improbable, since St. Thomas speaks -of all indifferently, nevertheless since those bodies will have a -greater perfection and some gifts or benefits which are not at all due -to nature, therefore, in regard to these gifts, Christ may be said to -be their model. The same Martinonus subjoins: although those words of -the apostle, "In Christ all shall be made alive," Suarez affirms, must -be properly and principally understood of the predestined, -nevertheless they can probably be applied to a certain extent to these -children, inasmuch as they will have in their risen bodies a certain -special conformity and relation to Christ, which will be much less and -more imperfect in the damned than in the predestined. Nicholas de Lyra -affirms that "infants dying without baptism do not endure any sensible -punishment, but have a more delightful {662} life than can be had in -this present life, _according to all the doctors_, [Footnote 185] who -speak concerning those who die in original sin alone." - - [Footnote 185: This is true of the great majority, but not of all.] - -Those who die in actual sin, and the fallen angels, although in the -same state of existence with those who die in original gin only, that -is, in the Infernum, or sphere below the supernatural sphere of the -elect angels and men, have to undergo a punishment corresponding to -their individual demerits. This truth, which is clearly revealed in -the Holy Scriptures and defined by the church, is confirmed by the -analogies of this present life. The transgressions of law is punished -in this world in accordance with the sense of justice which is -universal among men. There is no reason, therefore, for supposing that -the same principle of retribution is not continued in the future life. -Moreover, there is positive proof from reason that it must continue. -There has never been a more absurd doctrine broached than that of the -Universalists. To suppose that all men are saved on account of the -merits of Christ without regard to their moral state or personal -merits, is most unreasonable; and subversive of the moral order as -well as destructive of the idea of a state of probation. It is equally -absurd to imagine that the mere fact of death can make any change in -the state of the soul, or that separation from the body causes the -soul to make a mechanical rebound from a state of sin to a state of -holiness. The soul can be made happy only from its own intrinsic -principles, and not by a mere arbitrary appointment of God, or a -bestowal of extrinsic means of enjoyment. Sin brings its own -punishment, and the state of sin is in itself a state of misery. Plato -and other heathen sages taught the doctrine of future punishment, Mr. -Alger, who has written the most elaborate work on the subject of the -history of the doctrine of a future life which has appeared in recent -times, has fully proved the universality of the doctrine of future -punishment. Other rationalistic writers of ability have also of late -years seen the impossibility of removing this doctrine from the -teaching of Christianity and from universal tradition. We have already -fully proved that God does not deprive any of his rational creatures -of the felicity which is proper to their nature by his own act. It -follows from this that it is the creature himself who is the author of -his own misery. Existence is in itself a good, a boon conceded from -love by the Creator. So far as this good is turned into an evil, it is -by a voluntary perversion of the gift of a benevolent sovereign by the -subject himself. The punishment which he must undergo in eternity is, -therefore, the necessary consequence of his own acts, together with -such positive penalties as are required by the ends of justice and the -universal good. This doctrine, which is the doctrine of the Catholic -Church, based on the clear evidence of Scripture and ecclesiastical -tradition, [Footnote 186] is also the doctrine of calm, unbiased -reason, and of the common sense of mankind. The probation of the -Angels having been finished with their first trial, and the probation -of men ending for individuals at death, and for mankind generically at -the day of judgment, the epic of grace is closed for ever with the -completion of this present cycle of providence; and consequently the -state of all angels and men is fixed for eternity. Hell is, therefore, -an eternal state out of which there is no possibility of transition -into heaven. - - [Footnote 186: It is now considered by the best authorities as fully - proved that Origen and St. Gregory Nyssen, who have been so often - cited by the advocates of the doctrine of universal salvation, did - not teach anything contrary to the Catholic doctrine of eternal - punishment.] - -Heaven, or life everlasting, is the eternal state of supreme, -supernatural beatitude, to which the elect angels and men are elevated -by the grace of God, and in which they participate in the {663} -glorified and the deific state of the Incarnate Word, through and -ineffable fellowship with the three persons of the Blessed Trinity. - -Man being integrally composed by the union of soul and body, and his -corporeal nature being hypostatically United with the divine nature in -the person of the Word, the resurrection of the body must necessarily -precede his complete glorification. The only difficulty which the -doctrine of the resurrection of the body presents to the understanding -relates to the principal of identity between the earthly and celestial -body. This principle of identity, or unity and continuity of life, -must be the same with that which constitutes the unity of the body in -all the stages of its natural growth; and through all the changes of -its material particles, from the instant of its conception to its -disintegration by death. It is the soul which is the form of the body, -its vivifying principle. The soul and body have an innate -correspondence with each other, not only in the generic sense, but in -the sense of an individual aptitude of each separate soul for its own -body, and each separate body for its own soul. The soul and body act -and react upon each other perpetually while the development of both is -going on, producing a specific type in each individual which is a -modification of the generic type of manhood. The determination of the -active force of the soul to the production of this type remains with -it after the separation from the body. At the resurrection, it forms -anew its own proper body in accordance with this type which is the -product of the conjoint action of the soul and body during the earthly -life. There is, therefore, the same continuity and identity between -the earthly body and the celestial body that there is between the body -of the embryo and that of the full-grown man. The celestial body is -the same that it would have been if there had been no death -intervening between the two corporeal states, but a transformation of -the earthly body into the celestial perfection and glorification of -its proper type. If this is not all which is included in the -definition of the church respecting the identity of the body in the -two states, we must believe, in addition to what has been stated -already, that there is a material monad which forms the nucleus of the -corporeal organization and is a physical principle of identity. This -physical principle must contain virtually the whole body, as the germ -does the plant; it must be preserved when the body is disintegrated; -and reunited to the soul at the resurrection, in order to become the -physical germ from which the celestial body is developed. - -The natural beatitude of the glorified angels and saints, which is -only a more exalted grade of that felicity which is accorded to the -inferior intelligent creation, need not be specially noticed. It is -the essential and supreme beatitude consisting in the clear, intuitive -vision of God, which is the principal subject of the divine revelation -proposed by the creed as the object of faith. - -The possibility of this divine vision will not be called in question -by any who are properly speaking theists and rationalists, and with -others we have nothing to do at present. Much less will it be -questioned by any class of believers in the divine inspiration of the -Scriptures. We have not, then, the task of laboring to show the -intrinsic reasonableness and credibility of the doctrine, but merely -of setting forth that which can be made intelligible respecting the -_relation between our present state in which we are unable to see God, -and the future state in which we may be enabled to see him_. The -examination of this relation includes that of the means and method by -which the soul is elevated to an immediate intuition of that which -constitutes the divine essence and personality. It requires a -statement which shall show what is the nexus between the act which -constitutes the soul in the power to exercise {664} intelligence, and -that which constitutes it in the power to behold God immediately. It -may be said, that the essence of the soul is transformed or enlarged -in such a way that it becomes able, _per se_, to see God as it now -perceives the creation. But this would be equivalent to the creation -of a new essence with a new personality; which would destroy the -identity of the subject who is supposed to be elevated to this new -grade of existence. Moreover, according to the doctrine we have laid -down, that supernatural grace elevates the soul _super omnem naturam -creatam atque creabilem_, the supposition is impossible. We cannot go -over again the principles already discussed, but merely endeavored to -state such a theory of the mode of the beatific vision as shall be in -harmony with these principles. We, therefore, dismiss this first -supposition without further discussion. Another supposition may be -made, that the complete evolution of the idea of God which the soul -possesses in the present state in an obvolute manner bring it to that -relation _vis-a-vis_ two God as its intelligible object, which -corresponds to the relation of the visual faculty to the visible, -material object. We cannot accept this supposition any more than the -other. It contradicts the principles we have previously laid down, and -the generally accepted maxims of Catholic theology respecting the -supernatural quality of the power conceded by God to the creature of -beholding his intimate essence, just as palpably as the first one. We -do not deny that the reason of man is to a great degree in a obvolute -condition in this life, and that it is capable of evolution in another -and higher life. In this higher life the soul may be capable of -perceiving immediately the essence of things, and spiritual -substances, after the mode of intelligence which is proper to the -angels. But the angels themselves, according to Catholic theology, -though created at the summit of the intelligent order, with the -complete exercise of intelligence in the highest possible grade, have -no natural power to see God immediately; and their natural knowledge -of him, though very perfect, is merely abstractive contemplation like -that of men. The power of seeing spiritual substances, and the perfect -evolution of the idea of God in the soul, therefore, do not give the -intuition of the essence of God which constitutes the beatific vision. -The beatific vision is supernatural, by means of immediate light -communicated by God to the intelligence, called by theologians _lumen -gloriae_, the light of glory. By means of this light the intelligence -perceives God by an active intuition, or a clear, distinct act of -reflective consciousness, as immediately present to it in the creative -act, the cause of its existence, the source of its active power, the -light of its reason, in whom it lives in moves and as it's being. God -presents himself to the intelligence immediately in his concrete -being, as the visible world is presented to the eye by the light of -the sun. This is not accomplished by the creation of any new essential -faculty in the soul or the addition of anything to its substance. The -very same intelligent, thinking principle, or subject, which in this -present state of existence of firms to itself the existence of God by -and intellectual judgment, behold him in the beatific state by an -intuitive vision. It must be, then, by a concurrence of God with the -same faculties of the mind by which we think and reason and perceive, -and our self-conscious, in our natural mode of rational activity, that -the intelligence is raised to this higher power of supernatural -intuition. That act which constitutes it rational in the natural -order, must be the basis and substratum of its supernatural tuition of -the divine essence. It has already been proved that a created spirit -cannot be constituted rational in the first instance by the beatific -vision of God; that is, cannot have an essence whose intrinsic, -necessary act is a clear intuition of the divine essence, like that -{665} act in which God has the eternal, necessary intelligence of -himself. The created spirit must first be constituted a rational, -intelligent subject, before it can be capable of a supernatural -illumination. It must be extrinsicated from God, made a distinct, -thinking substance, and constituted in its own finite, rational -activity; before there can be any subject, or really existing, active -force, with which God can concur; with which he can unite himself, and -to which he can communicate the power of looking back upon himself by -a distinct intuition. The created spirit must be, therefore, in a -certain sense, self-subsisting, or containing in itself its own -rational principle. It must have its own separate self-consciousness -as a thinking substance, containing within itself all the necessary -principles of thought. The necessary, the universal, the eternal, or, -in a word, the idea, cannot be contained in a created spirit in its -concrete being, but only in an abstract form, any image, or a created -word. This is identical with the intelligence itself; it is what -constitutes its intellective force and principle of activity. In man, -as we have already seen, this intellective activity needs the -concurrence of exterior, sensible objects, acting on it through the -senses and occasioning perceptions and reflections, before it can -attain distinct reflective consciousness of itself, and evolve its own -ideal formula. This reflective consciousness cannot go back of the -soul itself, where it finds the abstractive idea passively received -from concrete being. The contact of being, or of God who is alone -being, gives the apprehension of being to the soul by creating it. The -creative act, and the being who produces the creative act, are -unperceived by the soul, and lie back of its existence, which is the -terminus of the creative act. The soul's separate activity begins at -the terminus of God's activity, and is projected forward to its own -proper terminus. Its natural activity would never bring it face to -face with its creator, God, or enable it to contemplate him in any -other way than it is now able to do so, by the vividly apprehended -demonstration of his being from its own first principles and exterior -works of his hand. In order that the soul, in its reflexive acts, may -see God continually and clearly, it is necessary that he should unite -himself in a new and ineffable manner to its substance and its -faculties, and concur with them in such a way that they can look -beyond their natural limit of vision into the infinitude of the being -of God which surrounds the creation like an ocean on every side. The -soul, which is, so to speak, projected from God by creation, must -receive a movement of return, which does not arrest itself at the mere -fact of self-consciousness, but brings the soul to a consciousness of -God as immediately and personally producing its self-consciousness. -This act is most perfect in the human soul of Jesus Christ, the -Incarnate Word. The personality of the human and divine natures in him -being one, there is but one Ego. The human soul, therefore, terminates -its act of self-consciousness, not upon itself, as its own -_subsistentia_, but upon the divine Ego or person. It is conscious of -itself as a distinct substance, but not a substance completed and -brought to distinct subsistence in itself. Its consciousness -terminates in the divine person, and is referred to it, so that Jesus -Christ, in every human act, affirms himself by self-consciousness as -both God and man in one person. The union of glorified spirits to God -is similar to this hypostatic union, though not so perfect, and not -implying personal identity. The nature and mode of this union of the -created spirit with God, by which it is glorified, beatified, and even -deified--as the doctors of the church fear not to affirm, in -accordance with the declaration of the Holy Scripture--is impenetrable -to the human understanding. The Indian philosophers, having retained a -confused idea of it from the primitive revelation, have expressed this -idea in their sublime mysticism with all the superb imagery of their -luxuriant imaginations. With {666} them, it is an absorption of all -individual souls in the infinite fount of being. Nearly all their -language may, however, be adopted, in a good sense, as expressing the -Christian dogma, if clear, philosophical conceptions are substituted -for their obscure and unscientific notions of the creative act. -Without these clear conceptions and definitions, it is impossible to -escape money into pantheism. The language of Christian mystic writers, -even, is liable to misapprehension as expressing the pantheistic -notion of the identity of God and the creatures, unless their terms -are properly explained. In point of fact, Eckhart did give expression -to some propositions which implied pantheism and were condemned by the -Holy See. The mystic writers continually affirm that the soul is made -_una res cum Deo_, and becomes God by participation. By this, however, -they do not mean that the soul loses its distinct substance or becomes -identified with the divine nature. They intend to signify and -ineffable union between the soul and God, in which, each remaining -distinct in its own proper essence, God communicates his own -knowledge, sanctity, glory, and beatitude to the soul; and admits it -into the Fellowship of the Blessed Trinity. This is the vanishing -point of all theology, and of all sciences, beyond which even the most -illuminated eye cannot penetrate. The return of all things which -proceed from God as first cause to God as final cause, consummated in -this beatific union, solves all the problems of time; there remains -only the problem of eternity, which eternity alone can solve. - --------- - - -ORIGINAL. - - -MY AUNT'S WORK-BOX. - - - Sure, such a mess was never seen - Of white and brown and black and green! - Not Noah's Ark, Pandora's box, - Such dire confusion e'er displayed - Here's wool, shorn from the fleecy flocks - That o'er Circassian Meadows strayed, - With spools of cotton, every number; - Buttons and studs, and other lumber; - Needles of every size and kind, - The blunts and sharps, the coarse and fine; - White linen, recent wounds to bind; - And rows of pins in order to shine. - Lo! Thimbles, for each finger fit, - And yarn too darn with or to knitt. - Here's sewing-silk of every hue - From brilliant red to modest blue; - And floss, with which the maiden traces, - With all the painter's art and skill, - Flowers, landscapes, birds, and human faces, - The verdant field or purling rill. - Here every sort of thread is seen, - The jolly ball and languid skein; - And here's the ivory thing that shapes - Small eyelet-holes in caps and capes. - -{667} - - Look at that pair of rusty tweezers! - They must blame their many years. - Dear! what a tiny pair of scissors! - Sure, they're the twins of those huge shears. - Here's lots of crewel, which I mean - To use, someday, to work the screen. - Here are pin-cushions and emery bags, - Small shreds of lace and other rags, - Linen, calico, and crape, - And hanks of twine and bits of tape. - In short, here's every earthly thing - That thrifty wife could wish, I ween; - But I've not time to say or sing - The treasures of this magazine. - --------- - - -Original. - -HOW MY AUNT PILCHER FOUND THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. - - -Perhaps you don't know my aunt, Patients Pilcher? Very likely not. i -know her very well, and am going to tell you something about her. She -is my mother's sister, and was born in the town of Squankum, Vermont, -where she lived until she was over thirty years old--she says, -twenty-five, but that don't matter--when she came to New York to see -Uncle George. Well, Aunt Pilcher was mightily pleased and surprised -when she saw New York; and as she knew every house, barn, and fence, -and every lane and field in Squankum, and to whom they belonged, she -thought she must find out as much about New York. She had no sooner -taken off her bonnet and shawl when she got to our house--I say _our_, -because I live with Uncle George since mother died--than she wanted -to put them on again and go out "and see the places, and find out -where people lived, and git introduced," as she said, adding that she -would "hev to begin directly, or she would never git through." - -My Aunt Pilcher is a very tall, thin woman, with a very cold face, as -I found out on the first day she came to our house, when she bent over -and kissed me. She thought I wiped off her kiss, and said "Oh, fie!" -but it wasn't that, it was the cold. As I was saying, she wanted to -see all of New York, and I believe she has, too, by this time; but she -soon got disgusted with what she called "the offishness of the -Yorkers." "You don't know anybody," said she, "and nobody 'pears to -want to know you." She never tired, however, of seeing the many -beautiful buildings in the city, and among them all the churches seem -to her to be the most attractive and the most worthy of her close -investigation. - -"I'm gittin 'most ashamed of our wooden meetin'-house to Squankum," -said she, one day, after returning from a visit to Trinity Church; "we -used to be kinder proud of it, though, when some of the folks down to -Rattlebog came over to spend Sabbath with us; 'cause ye know what a -mis'able little country skule-house of a place they've got over there. -Then, ye've got sich a lot o' churches, my! I'm 'most afeered never -see them all, or I'll forgit abeout the first ones afore I git -through." - -"What sort of churches have you seen, aunty?" I asked. - -{668} - -"Oh! I've seen white-marbled ones and brown-stun ones, and a sort o' -speckled mixed ones like Washin'ton cake, ye know, a streak o' jelly -and a streak o' cake. Then agin, I've seen all kinds o' styles; -Grecian, Beshantem, Gothys, high-steepled style, low-steepled style, -and no-steepled style. But I haint seeing a green winder-shutter one -like ours to Squankum yit. I s'pose the taste in architectur here in -York don't run that 'a way." - -But I was not thinking of the outside of the churches when I asked her -the question, but of their inside. The truth was that Uncle George and -I had been two or three times to see Mass and Vespers in the Catholic -Church, and I was so full of all I had seen and heard there that I was -nearly dying to talk with some one about it. But Uncle George had told -me that he thought Aunt Jane--that is, Uncle George's sister who keeps -house for him and me--might possibly disapprove of our going again if -I happened to mention it, and so I took care to say nothing about it. -I was very anxious to find out if Aunt Pilcher had seeing a Catholic -Church, so I asked her if she happened to see any boys in the churches -she had been to. - -"Boys!" said she. "Why boys? Of course boys. Shouldn't boys go to -meetin' as well as girls?" - -"But boys dressed up," said I. - -"Dressed up! Laws yes, in their best Sunday-go-to-meetin', as they ort -to be." - -"In long red coats, perhaps, down to their heels," I suggested, in -spite of Uncle George's frown; "with nice white lace jackets over that -again, and carrying torch-lights and censers, and going up and down -and all around?" I added, eager to describe all I had seen. - -"Why! what's come to the boy?" exclaimed Aunt Pilcher, raising up her -hands in astonishment. "He ain't right," meaning in my head."' - -"Oh! yes, he is!" said Uncle George, "that's the way the Catholics go -on in their churches, and I suppose that Fred must have seen it -somewhere." - -"Catholics!" ejaculated Aunt Pilcher, in a tone of horror, and half -looking over her shoulder as if some ghost of one might come in at the -sound of the word. "Ye don't mean them papists and other Jesuits that -call themselves Catholics! It's enough to make a body hate the name." - -"That won't do, you know, sister Pilcher," said Uncle George, "because -it is in the Apostles' Creed." - -"I know it," returned Aunt Pilcher, "but I'd like to know what the -Holy Catholic Church in the Apostles' Creed has got to do with them -ignorant idolaters, the Catholics, the Roman papists, I mean?" - -"It's the same name, that's all," said Uncle George, with a sly -twinkle in his eye; "and they say it's the same thing." - -"Which in course is nonsense!" ejaculated my aunt. - -"Oh! of course it is," rejoined Uncle George. "We are the real and -true Catholic Church, and if some one wanted to come to our true and -real Holy Catholic Church we would just tell him to ask for the -Catholic church and anybody would show him." - -"Well, they ort to, that's all I got to say," said Aunt Pilcher -doubtfully. - -"Certainly," continued Uncle George, "and I've no doubt now, sister -Pilcher, that if you were to go out and ask people in the street here -to point you to a Catholic church that they would show you our -Protestant churches directly." - -Aunt Pilcher looked very hard at Uncle George, as if she feared he -might be making game of her; but he looked so solemn and sedate that -she didn't suspect, but I did, and I got a crick in the back of my -neck trying to keep from laughing. She seemed to think that she was -bantered by my uncle, and said: - -"Well, I never sot eout to do a thing yit that I didn't do it, and I'm -going to do _that_." - -"Hurrah! Aunt Pilcher," I shouted, "I would too, if I were you." And -that confirmed her in her engagement, {669} for the very next morning -she put on her bonnet and shawl, and hung her reticule on her arm, -without which she never went out of doors, and off she started. She -was gone all day and did not return until tea-time, appearing -completely fagged out and exhausted. She was not in the best of humors -either, to judge of the way she pulled off her out-door additions to -her ordinary dress, and bade me "carry them things up-stairs, for -people dead a'most and starved can't always be expected to wait on -theirselves." But not a word did she say about the object of her long -day's journey. I was all curiosity to know where, she had been and -what she had seen; and when we had nearly got through tea, that is, -Uncle George, Aunt Jane, Aunt Pilcher, I, and Bub Thompson, who had -come to play with me in the afternoon, and said he smelt short-cake, -and wondered whether Aunt Jane could make it nice, and so got invited -to try them--then I could stand it no longer, and said I, "See -anything nice to-day, Aunt Pilcher?" - -"I didn't particularly _see_ anything, my dear, but I heered something -I shan't forgit, I can tell you, if hearin' a thing a hundred and -ninety-nine times over is enough to' make a body remember it." - -"What did you hear, aunt?" asked everybody at once. - -"Hear!" exclaimed she. "These Yorkers never knows anything if a body -asks them a perlite question abeout who lives in any house, or which -is the way to somewhere; but to-day I do think they was all possessed, -for everybody 'peared to know only one church, when, dear knows, they -ort to know their own churches, I should think, and not be a' -directin' everybody everlastin'ly to St. Peter's." - -"How was that, aunt?" asked every one again. - -"Well," said she, "I told you what I was goin' eout for, and I went. -Neow I always do things in order: commence at the beginnin', I say, -and then ye'll know when ye git to the eend. So I went clean deown to -the battery, and then I turns reound and comes up. Not wishin' to ask -questions of people _too_ fur off (for these Yorkers don't know where -anythin' is ef it ain't right deown under their nose), I walked on -till I got pretty near Trinity Church, belongin' to the Episcopals, -and says I to a knowledgable lookin' man, says I, 'Couldn't ye pint me -eout, neow, a Catholic church?' 'I can't precisely pint ye to it,' -says he, which I thort was queer, with a Christian church right afore -his eyes, 'but I can tell you where one is: in Barclay street, right -up Broadway, ma'am, Saint Peter's church,' and off he went like a -shot. These Yorkers air in _sich_ a hurry, they won't stop to hear a -body eout. Well, on I walks, and I saw another church, Saint Paul's in -Broadway, similarly belongin' to the Episcopals; and this time I got -straight in front of it. The folks 'peared to be in sich an orful -hurry jist here that I thort somebody must be dead; or somebody's -house had ketch't afire, and I couldn't git eout the first word afore -the person I spoke to was a whole block off, and I got kind o' -bewildered like. At last, I tried a lady--for I give the men folks -up--and says I to her: - -"'Is this a meetin'-house of the Holy Catholic Church, ma'am?' - -"'No, ma'am,' says she rather short, 'ef you want to go there, you had -better go deown Barclay street, next street above, St. Peter's on the -left,' and off she went. Well; I goes deown Barclay street, jist to -see this St. Peter's, and do you believe, I found eout it was one of -them papist churches.' - -"That was rather strange," interrupted Uncle George. - -"I thort it was a leetle so myself," said Aunt Pilcher, "and I began -to conceit people took me for a papist or a Jesuit, so I made up my -mind to say so to once; and on I walks agin till I come to Broome -street, deown which I went till I found a nice look-in' church, and -says I to a minister-lookin' gentleman, says I: - -{670} - -"'I'm not a Jesuit, sir.' - -"'Glad to hear it, ma'am,' says he, 'there are concealed Jesuits all -over.' - -"'I'm a Protestant,' says I, 'pre-haps you can show me a meetin'-house -that believes in the Holy Catholic Church; is that one there?' - -"I am grieved,' says he, 'that anybody should wish to know anythin' -abeout the Catholic Church, and I hope you have no intention of goin' -to sich a place of abomination.' - -"He didn't 'pear to know my mean-in', so says I, 'I mean the _real_ -Catholic Church.' - -"'Ma'am,' says he, 'real or unreal, it is always the same thing; -always was and always will be. That is a Baptist church, ma'am, before -you, and not a Catholic mass house. There is one of them, called St. -Peter's, in Barclay street, I believe,' and off he walked without -sayin' another word. 'Patience,' says I to myself, 'be true to your -name,' for, to tell the truth, I was gettin' a leetle bit flustrated. -I walks on, turnin' corners and reound and reound, and at last I got -into a street called Bedford street. There I saw a meetin'-house with -a sign over the door tellin' it was a Methodist. Says I to a man that -was jist then sweepin reound the door--thinkin' to begin right this -time--says 'I: - -"'My Christian friend, the apostles believed in the Holy Catholic -Church.' - -'"Not a bit of it,' says he. - -"'Oh! yes,' says I, 'they did; it is in the Apostles' Creed.' - -"'Is it?' says he. - -"'Yes, it is, and what's more, you ort to know it,' says I, gettin' -bothered with sich ignorance. - -"'None o' yer impudence,' says he. - -"'Why, good lands!' says I, almost swearin', 'they believe in the Holy -Catholic Church in this meetin'-house, don't they?' - -"'No, they don't, and don't want to,' says he, and slammed the door in -my face. Then I wanders reound and seen lots of churches, but I didn't -see anybody, to speak to till I got ever so fur off in the Fifth -avenue, where I saw a handsome brick church with a tall steeple, and -there I saw some people goin' in. I asked what was goin' on, and they -said it was a prayer--meetin". I should liked to have jined in a York -prayer-meetin', but I wasn't in a fit state jist then--in sich a -twitter as I was--so I ups and speaks to a young lady who looked like -a Sabbath school teacher, and says I: - -"'The real Catholic Church in the Apostles' Creed is where the gospil -is preached.' She kinder opened her eyes at me, and says she: - -"'The gospil is preached here, ma'am; but this is not a Catholic -church; this is a Presbyterian church.' - -"'But,' says I agin,' where the gospil is preached is the true -Catholic Church.' - -"'I guess not,' says she, 'the gospil is not preached in the Catholic -Church.' - -"'Well, ma'am,' says I, feelin' considerably riled, 'I guess I larnt -my catechism, not afore you was born, but abeout the same time, I -should say; and I'm jist lookin' for somebody else that knows it, and -if anybody in York knows what and where the Holy Catholic Church is;' -and do you believe she actually turned 'reound to another gal and said -I was crazy, and had run away from a 'sylum. I went away disgusted and -tried agin, one plase and another. I even tried the Washin'ton cake -church in the Fourth avenue, but not a soul would own up to what they -ort to believe. You wouldn't get papists sendin' you to their St. -Peter's, I'll be bound, if you asked them for a Protestant church." - -"Of course not," said Uncle George, "and what conclusion have you come -to, sister Pilcher?" - -"I've come to the conclusion," said Aunt Pilcher, "that these Yorkers -don't know the Apostles' Creed." - -"I should say," said Bub Thompson, "that those folks you 'saw didn't -believe it." - -{671} - -"Boy!" exclaimed Aunt Pilcher, with an awful expression of -countenance, "speak when you air spoken to." - -"How is it when you're spoken about?" asked Bub; "'cause I'm a -Catholic, a papist as you say, and you've been speaking about my -church." - -"My! I never!" ejaculated Aunt Pilcher, looking first at one and then -at another for explanation. - -"Sister Pilcher," said Uncle George, "the truth is, it is no use for -us Protestants to call ourselves Catholics, for we are not. You see -how everybody denied it. Of course you could never get a Protestant to -own to the name of 'Catholic,' either here in New York or anywhere -else, any more than you could persuade any one to give us the name; -and it seems to me that where the name is, and always has been, the -reality is likely to be. As for your experiment to-day, it is just -what would have happened thirteen hundred years ago; for I read in a -book that Bub Thompson's father lent me, that St. Augustine said, -speaking about the sects that tried to call themselves 'Catholics' in -his time: 'The very name of _Catholic_ detains me in the Catholic -Church, which that church has alone, and not without cause, obtained -among so many heretics, in such a way as that while all heretics wish -to be called Catholics, nevertheless not one of them will dare to -point out his basilica or house to a stranger inquiring for a place of -Catholic worship." [Footnote 187] - - [Footnote 187: Epist. contra Manich. I. 5, 6.] - -"Well! sakes alive! live and larn," exclaimed Aunt Pilcher, "but it's -enough to make a body think they never knowed anythin' when they find -oat some things!" - ----------- - - -Translated from Le Contemporain. - -A PORTRAIT OF FRA ANGELICO. - -BY EDMOND LAFONDE. - - -At dawn of a summer's day in the year of grace 1453, a Dominican monk -set out from his convent of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, at Rome. He was -an old man, but the brightness of youth still shown in his aged -countenance, attributable, perhaps, to the shadowless sanctity of his -life, and the purity of a soul which had never known wrinkles. He -walked slowly in his dress of white woolen covered with a black -scapular, his shaven head bared to the sun, his eyes cast down, and -his hands employed in rolling the beads of the Rosary of St. Dominic. -He traversed the square of the Pantheon, and was going to cross the -bridge of St. Angelo, when, in passing the prison of the Tor di Nona, -he saw coming out of it a funeral cortege; a condemned person, led to -death in the usual place of execution, the piazza della Bocca Verita. -A man nearly forty years of age, of noble and proud figure, but -seemingly worn out by vice or grief; his costume curious, and wholly -oriental; clothed in red silk, with a turban ornamented with gold and -ermine. A Franciscan accompanied him, but endeavored in vain to direct -his thoughts to heaven, and make him kiss the crucifix, from which he -turned away his lips in discussed. The crowd that followed, becoming -infuriated, exhorted him to penitence, crying out, "Amico, pensa a -salvar l'anima." "My friend, think of saving thy soul." - -{672} - -As soon as the Franciscans saw a brother priest, he called to him, -saying: "Ah! Fra Giovanni, in the name of the holy friendship which -united our two glorious patriarchs, St. Dominic and St. Francis, come -to my aid. You see this unhappy man. He is one of the Greeks just come -from Italy, since the taking of Constantinople. His name is -Argyropoulos. He has murdered a Roman woman; is doomed to die, and -will not reconcile himself with God. He is not merely schismatical, -but pagan. Try if you can be more successful than I." At a sign from -the chief of the guard the _cortege_ stopped--for in Rome, since the -earliest age, pontifical justice does not wish to kill the soul, and -makes every effort to save it while sacrificing the guilty body. Fra -Giovanni tried to speak to the Greek, but was met with repulse and -blasphemy. With tears rolling down his cheeks he whispered a few words -to the Franciscan, who, elevating his voice, thus addressed the chief -of the guard: "This son of St. Dominic," he said, "is Fra Giovanni of -Fiesole, the favorite painter of his holiness. He is going to the -Vatican, and will ask the Holy Father a delay of one day, in order to -try once more to induce the sinner to repent." The people applauded, -and the captain of the guard declared himself willing to assume the -responsibility of suspending the execution while awaiting a new order -from the sovereign pontiff. The condemned man, who remained apparently -immovable during this debate, was re-conducted into the prison of Tor -di Nona, where still later were to be enclosed the guilty family of -Cenci, and the Franciscan entered with him. The crowd remained a long -time before the door, losing none of its interest or curiosity. Fra -Giovanni again pursued his way to the Vatican, his soul, so calm -ordinarily, deeply agitated and troubled by the unfortunate event. -Arrived at the square of St. Peter, he kneeled by the obelisk which -contains a piece of the true cross; then passing the guards, who were -daily accustomed to see him, entered without difficulty into the -pontifical palace. He repaired immediately to the new chapel, which -Pope Nicholas V. had just finished, and charged him to decorate; for -it is time to say that Fra Giovanni was the painter-monk of Fiesole, -whose purity of genius and sanctity of life had surnamed him Beato -(blessed) or Fra Angelico (the angelical brother), under which latter -name he is most generally known, and which is equally appropriate to -his beauty of soul and to his works. The great Pope Nicholas V., who -had known him at Florence, and watched the budding of these marvellous -products of his pencil in the convent of St. Mark, had just called him -to Rome, where Eugene IV. had already bid him come, to enthrone in his -own person Christian art in the Vatican. Nicholas V. had built in his -palace a small chapel, in which he desired the painter-monk to retrace -for him the story of St. Lawrence and St. Stephen, reuniting them in -the same poetical commemoration; as had been the custom of the -faithful to invoke them, since their bones had lain united outside the -walls in the ancient basilica of St. Lawrence. This chapel being very -small is lighted by a single arched window; happily it has been -preserved, and is one of the sanctuaries where the friends of -Christian art love to make a pilgrimage. Below the window is now -placed the altar which formerly faced it. On the three other sides Fra -Angelico has painted two series of compositions, one above the other; -in the arches of the upper part is represented, in six compartments, -the history of St. Stephen, and in the lower that of St. Lawrence. On -entering the chapel Fra Angelico fell on his knees to pray God to -guide his pencil, then commenced to paint the scene where St. Stephen -was led to martyrdom. He there represented an enraged Jew, who -conducts the saint outside of Jerusalem, while others pushed and -pursued him with stones in their hands. While painting the violence of -the Jews Fra Angelico {673} thought deeply of the Greek whose -execution he had arrested, and awaited with pious impatience the -arrival of the Pope, who never failed daily to visit the works of his -favorite painter. The Dominican interrupted his work now and then to -rest, reposing his mind with prayer and singing occasionally a stanza -of Dante, who was then for mystical painters an unfailing source of -religious inspiration. He recited the exquisite passage where Dante -paints the glorious martyrdom of St. Stephen: - - "Poi vidi genti accese in fuoco d'ira - Con pietre un giovinetto ancider, forte - Gridando a se pur; Martira, martira, ect." - -"Then I saw an excited and angry crowd, stoning and forcing onward a -young man, with loud cries of 'Kill him, kill him!' And him I saw bent -to the earth by the weight of death, but with eyes uplifted and turned -to heaven; in the midst of the terrible struggle praying the sovereign -God to forgive his enemies, with an expression so beautiful as to -command pity and respect." - -At last the door of the chapel opened and the Pope entered. Nicholas -V. was old, but more bent by sorrow than age. In his youth he was -called the poor student of Sarzana, and had passed his life in the -society of saints and literary men. Become sovereign pontiff, he -encouraged piety, science, art, and letters; laid the foundation of -St. Peter's, embellished Rome, and merited truly to give his name to -the fifteenth century as Leo X., gave his to the sixteenth. During the -Council of Florence he had known Fra Angelico, and soon perceived that -the soul of the Dominican artist was worth far more than his pencil. -Pope Eugene IV. had thus judged him when he wished to name this holy -religious Archbishop of Florence. Fra Angelico, seized with fear on -learning the intentions of the pontiff, besought to be spared so great -a weight. His vocation, he said, was not to govern, but stated at the -same time he could recommend a brother of his order far more worthy -than he of such a dignity. Eugene IV. listened to his suggestion and -named for archbishop the monk who was afterward to be St. Antonine. -When Nicholas V. entered the chapel he appeared so unhappy that Fra -Angelico, in kneeling to implore his blessing, could not forbear -asking the cause of his sadness; if some recent misfortune had not -befallen him. "O my son," replied the Pope, "the misfortune which has -happened me is the catastrophe long since foretold, but not the less -bitter to all Christian hearts, the taking of Constantinople by the -Turks! My dreams, even, are troubled, for since I have been Pope the -principal aim of my pontificate has been the pacification of -Christianity, so as to unite and direct all our forces in a crusade -against the Turks. But the unfortunate Greeks have upset all my -projects in their hatred of the papacy, preferring the turban to the -tiara. They have broken the peace of Florence, ill received the -assistance of the Latins, and now their capital is no longer for Jesus -Christ, but Mahomet. Ah! Fra Giovanni, can any one in the world be -more wretched than I? Were it not that I fear a failure of duty, I -would renounce the pontifical dignity, to become again Master Thomas -of Sarzana. Then, one day gave me more true happiness than I have -since enjoyed in a whole year." The Pope shed tears abundantly. -[Footnote 188] - - [Footnote 188: See this scene in Muratori, volume 25th, page 286. - The taking of Constantinople was a mortal blow to Nicholas V. From - that day he was never seen to smile.] - -Fra Giovanni deeply commiserated him, and replied in a voice choked -with emotion: "Most Holy Father, let us resign ourselves to the will -of God. Bear your cross as did he of whom you are the vicar; I wish I -were the good Cyrenean to aid you. Let us contemplate the images of -the two martyrs I am to paint on the walls of the chapel, and, like -them, let us learn to suffer." "You are right, Fra Giovanni. Your soul -and talent are truly consolatory, and I love to come here and open my -heart, charged as it is with incurable anguish." {674} Just then -twelve o'clock struck. The Pope knelt down to recite the Angelus, and -dried the tears which since St. Peter so often had reddened the eyes -of the sovereign pontiffs. At this moment a prelate came to announce -that the dinner of his holiness was ready. "My son," said the Pope, -"do not leave me in this hour of affliction. I beg you to dine at my -table." "Holy Father," replied the humble monk, "without the -permission of the prior I dare not do so. I must dine with my -community." "But, my son, I can dispense with this obligation. Come, -come!" The Dominican dined, therefore, _tete-a-tete_ with the Pope, -but in silence, and with eyes cast down, as if he had been in his own -refectory. It was not a day of abstinence, and meat was served on the -Pope's table, but the monk refused to partake of it, "Fra Giovanni," -said Nicholas, "you exhaust yourself with this painting, and I perhaps -urge you too closely to finish it. You have worked hard to day, and -should strengthen yourself anew by eating some meat." "Holy Father, I -can not without the permission of the prior." The Pope smiled, but -could not help admiring the innocent scruples of the pious monk. "My -son," said he, "do you not think the authority of the sovereign -pontiff greater than the permission of your prior? For to-day I -dispense with the rule of St. Dominic, and order you to eat all that -is offered you." [Footnote 189] - - [Footnote 189: This scene, which so well portrays the virtue of Fra - Angelico, is related by Vasari and Fra Leandro Alberti; De Viris - Illustribus Ordinis Predicatorum, libri sex.] - -The Dominican obeyed in silence, but his mind seemed preoccupied. He -thought unceasingly of the poor guilty Greek whose execution he had -suspended, but he dared not speak of him to the Pope. Nicholas V. -perceived his distraction and asked him of what he was thinking. Then -Fra Angelico related to him the story of Argyropoulos, and added: -"Holy Father, with justice your government has condemned this unhappy -man to be executed, but I know your holiness desires not the death of -his soul, and I have hoped your mercy would grant him the delay of a -day that he may still have time to repent." "My son, I thank you for -having acted thus. I accord you not only one day, but several if -necessary." Nicholas V. then wrote an order suspending the execution, -and gave it to Beato, who full of joy, asked permission to retire -without finishing his repast. He obtained it, and in haste quitted the -Vatican. After passing the bridge of St. Angelo, he was strongly -tempted to stop at the prison of Tor di Nona; but he considered his -duty to his convent, where doubtless his absence from dinner had -occasioned surprise. When he entered the cloister of Santa Maria sopra -Minerva, the brothers had left the refectory, so the prior exacted of -the dilatory monk a penance, which consisted of eating his dinner in a -kneeling posture. The Beato, without saying a word to excuse himself, -knelt down and simply made a sign he would rather not eat. The prior -then ordered him to explain his absence. "My Father," said he, "I am -guilty; mea culpa. His Holiness wished me to dine with him, and -obliged me to eat meat without your permission." The prior admired the -simplicity and obedience of the blessed one, but said nothing to -disturb his humility. The habit of obedience was so natural to him -that all orders for his art were received through his spiritual -superior; and when any work was requested of him, his friends were -referred to the prior, as nothing could be done without his consent. -He refused to stipulate a price for his works, and distributed all -they bought him to the poor and unfortunate. "He loved the poor during -his life," said Vasari, "As tenderly as his soul now loves the heaven -where he enjoys the glory of the blessed." If he loved the poor, Fra -Angelico better loved souls; he obtained from the prior permission to -go immediately to the prison. He ran thither with the wings of -charity, and showed the order from the Pope which delayed the -execution. He gained {675} admittance to what is now called the -prisoner's cell, now that so many of our ancient abbeys are -transformed into houses of detention. Argyropoulos presented himself, -grave and sad, clothed always in his red dress and white turban, which -gave him an air of majesty quite oriental. He was seated on a straw -bed, but his attitude was King Solomon enthroned. The Dominican, with -his white robe and angelical figure, resembled one of the beautiful -lilies he so often painted in the hands of the angel of the -annunciation; one of the lilies of the field, of which the Saviour -himself has said, "Not Solomon in all his glory could be arrayed like -one of these." Fra Angelico, without saying anything at first, stopped -at the entrance, and, kneeling, prayed God to cure this ulcerated -soul. A ray of light, which shone obliquely through the only window, -illuminated his bared and shaven head, and gave him the anticipated -crown of glory of the blessed. The Greek contemplated with -astonishment this luminous apparition, and thought he dreamed again -the dream of the patriarch Jacob, who saw angels ascend and descend a -mysterious ladder. Having strengthened himself by prayer, Fra Angelico -approached the prisoner, and said in a voice truly angelical: "My -brother!" But the charm to which Argyropoulos had given himself up at -the vision of the blessed one was broken by the sound of his voice; he -saw in him only a Catholic monk, and thus a being he detested. "I am -not thy brother, we have nothing in common, and I hate the religion of -the Azymites." [Footnote 190] - - [Footnote 190: A name that the Greeks gave the Catholics on account - of the discussion on the _unleavened_ bread as material of the - eucharist.] - -"My brother, you and I are Christians, although fifteen years ago you -have separated the Greek and Latin churches, which the Council of -Florence so happily united." - -"No! As our great Duke Notaras said, there is no peace between us. I -would rather see the turban of Mahomet at Constantinople than the -tiara of the Pope." - -"O my brother, can you say so? If you are not Catholic, are you not -Christian?" - -"No, I am so no longer. I do not believe in God; and besides, if there -is a God, I have committed crimes too great for him to pardon. I am -pagan and of the school of Plato; I prefer Jupiter to Jehovah, Plato -to the Scripture, and the gods of Homer to the Saints of -Christianity." - -"Why, my brother, you have gone backward two thousand years, to -breathe what Dante calls the fetid air of paganism, 'Il puzzo del -paganes mo.'" - -Fra Angelico tried in vain to move this heart, as hardened and -desperate as that of Judas; during three days he fasted, prayed, and -begged the prayers of his fraternity, offered himself to God as a -victim to save this soul, and employed against his own body the -instruments of penance. But God did not grant him the grace he sought. -Every morning, while painting at the Vatican, he rendered an account -to the Pope of his unsuccessful efforts, and recommended the Greek to -the pontifical prayers. The three days expired; again he solicited a -still longer delay of the execution. "Holy Father," said he, "a -residence in prison seems to exasperate this unhappy man; perhaps I -might obtain a better hearing if I could take him out and let him -breathe the fresh air." "I can refuse you nothing, Fra Giovanni. Bring -him to see this chapel, I am sure your painting will do his soul some -good." "I will bring him to-morrow, since your Holiness permits me, -and at the same time solicit your daily visit, as I am certain his -meeting the vicar of Jesus Christ will have more effect on him than my -pictures." Nicholas V. promised to do so, and wrote an order to place -the captive at liberty for one day, and at the responsibility of Fra -Giovanni. It was a touching spectacle to see the Pope and the monk so -generously united in their {676} efforts to convert this paganized -schismatic. - -The next morning Fra Angelico ran to the prison, brought out the -Greek, and proposed to him to see his pictures, without mentioning the -Pope. Argyropoulos, who rather prided himself on his knowledge of art -as well as of literature, willingly accepted the invitation. The fresh -air and the glorious Roman sun softened his mood, hitherto so -ferocious, and gave him an air almost of serenity. Fra Angelico, -transported with joy, conducted his future neophyte to the Vatican, -and introduced him to the chapel, praying God to work in him the same -miracle which he had granted to St. Methodius, whose painting of the -Last Judgment, on the walls of a palace belonging to the King of -Bulgaria, had not only converted the king, but as many of his subjects -as looked upon it. The Greek was deeply affected by these admirable -pictures, and took upon himself to explain them lengthily. To show his -artistic knowledge, he criticised the executioners who stoned St. -Stephen, and thought their countenances lacked sufficient energy. The -painter monk humbly accepted the criticism, which was not wanting in -justice. A competent judge has said that the character of Fra Angelico -was so formed of a love amounting to ecstasy that he never could -familiarize himself with dramatic scenes where hateful and violent -passions had the ascendency. In the painting of the life of St. -Lawrence, the Beato begged the Greek to particularly observe the -prison window where the martyr was converting a man on his knees, who -afterward became St. Hippolytus. "In painting this scene of conversion -I thought of you, my brother," he said, in a voice so sweet and tender -it would have touched a heart of marble; but Argyropoulos turned away -his eyes, and pretended not to hear him. Fra Angelico's heart was -grieved, and he felt his only hope was in the sovereign pontiff. He -had not long to wait for him. Nicholas V. entered into the chapel, -with a dignity tempered by an ineffable tenderness. The Beato knelt -down--his forehead in the dust--to kiss the feet of His Holiness. The -sight of the Pope always caused him transports of joy, equal to those -of St. Joseph of Cupertino, who went into ecstasy whenever in the -presence of the vicar of Jesus Christ. But a contrary effect was -visible in the mind of the pagan of Constantinople. At the sight of -the pontiff he reassumed all his dignity. "On your knees, my brother, -on your knees!" in vain said Beato to him, while pulling his dress. -"Never," cried the Greek, "never will I bend the knee before the idol -of the Azymites--before a priest who wished our submission at the -Council of Florence." Angelico sighed in the dust at the obstinacy of -this pagan, but the Pope, calm and dignified, began to converse in -Greek with Argyropoulos, who, captivated instantaneously by this -graciousness, replied by a verse of Homer. "My son," said Nicholas V., -"I also will cite you a passage from Homer. In the second book of the -Iliad, the prudent Ulysses cries out: 'All Greeks cannot reign, too -many chiefs would do harm; let us have but one sovereign, but a single -king, him to whom the prudent Saturn entrusted the sceptre and the -laws to govern us: - - [Greek text] - -Thus, my son, God wished in his church but one chief, one flock, and -one shepherd." At these words the Greek grew angry and replied in -harsh terms. "My son," said the Pope to him with tenderness, "I -forgive you, I pity your blindness, and I will continue to pray God to -enlighten you." - -Nicholas V. withdrew. - -Argyropoulos, mortified at his own conduct, returned to Fra Angelico, -and again commenced to eulogize the pictures. "My paintings are worth -nothing," cried the monk, bursting into tears, "since they have failed -to convert you. I am unworthy the name of preacher, since all my -teaching has not succeeded, {677} and I have brought you before the -holy father, only to hear you outrage the dignity of God's -representative on earth." The remembrance of this scene completely -overcame the tender and pious soul of Fra Angelico. He became pale and -weak, sank on his white robe like a lily on its stalk, and fell on the -pavement as one dead, according to Dante: - - "E cadi, come corpo morte cade." - -The Greek, seized with pity and astonishment, tried vainly to restore -him. He thought he had killed him, and this man, whose hands were -already bloodstained, imagined he had committed another murder. He -hated himself when he saw this angel extended at his feet. He knelt -before him, rubbed his hands in his own, and threw in his face the -water in the vase which was used in his painting. "Father, father," -cried he, "come back to life, and I swear to do all you wish." The -Angelico opened his beautiful eyes, languishing and moist with tears. -"My brother," said he, "you restore me to life, but again you will -give me to death if you forget your promise. Now we must leave the -chapel; it is time, according to my duty, that I take you back to -prison." Notwithstanding his pallor and feebleness Fra Angelico -insisted on leaving the Vatican immediately, and returned home leaning -on the shoulder of Argyropoulos. He said nothing until they reached -the prison of Tor di Nona. But there again, alone with him, the -angelical monk knelt before the prisoner, and reproached him for his -conduct toward the Pope with that sweetness he never lost, and which -so greatly astonished his biographer Vasari. [Footnote 191] - - [Footnote 191: "Never," said he, "could one surprise him in an angry - moment. This seemed to me incredible: Il che e grandissima cosa e mi - pare impossibile a credere."] - -This touching kindness greatly affected the Greek, who had been -already so deeply moved by the fainting of Beato. He began to -comprehend the love with which this pious monk was inflamed for the -salvation of his soul. "My brother," said the Dominican to him, while -joining his hands, "you have restored me to life, but in promising to -do as I wish, and I only desire to save you. You must discharge your -conscience of its weight of sin--you must confess." "But I cannot -believe in the necessity of confession, or in its divine institution." -"O my brother, if you could contemplate your poor soul in its mirror -of truth, it would appear so shaded and sullied. Your soul is bound in -cords ruder than those that chained your body when they led you to -execution. But confession would deliver you from all." "Let me see -this with my eyes, or I can never believe it." A sudden inspiration -came to the mind of the angelical painter. "My brother, we will speak -again of this. I am hurried to finish a picture; would you be pleased -I should paint it with you by my side, that I might every morning -distract your thoughts and keep you company?" "Oh! yes, my father, I -should be most happy, for you are very good to the poor prisoner." The -Beato obtained permission from Nicholas V. to suspend for some days -his work at the Vatican, and from the next morning he installed -himself in the prison, accompanied by his pupil Benozzo Bozzoli, who -brought with him an easel, some brushes, and a box of colors. After a -fervent prayer, he placed on the easel a small panel of wood, upon -which he commenced to paint rapidly, and without retouching, according -to his custom; he never perfected his paintings, leaving them -according to his first impression, believing, as he said, so God -wished them. "His art," says M. de Moutalembert, "was so beautiful in -his eyes, and so sacred, that he respected its productions as the -fruits of an inspiration much higher than his own intention." He -commenced by painting, as a foundation for his picture, some trees, -which rose near a house of simple appearance, and a modest church, -decorated by a portico supported by four pillars in Florentine style. -In a court grown over with herbs and studded here and there with {678} -flowers, he grouped five personages. At the right our Saviour, clothed -in a blue robe and draped in a red mantle, is seen in profile; a large -nimbus of gold encircles his tender and majestic countenance, his -golden hair falls on his shoulders. The Saviour has an attitude of -command, and extends his arm and hand which holds a golden rod. He -accomplished one of the greatest acts of his mercy, he institutes the -sacrament of penance, he gives to his apostles the power to remit -sins: one can almost hear him repeat the words which he addresses to -Peter, that he may transmit them to the entire Christian priesthood: -"Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and -whatsoever ye shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." -[Footnote 192] - - [Footnote 192: In the convent of St. Mark at Florence, the Beato has - painted the grand scene of Calvary, where he represents St. Benedict - holding in his hand the rod of penitence.] - -The painter monk put into action these words of Christ. He painted a -priest in Florentine costume; a red cap encircled with ermine and a -blue dalmatic, which hung in graceful folds; his figure is youthful, -and expression benignant. This priest approaches a sinner in a red -dress, and turbaned with a cap of gold and ermine. The sinner is bound -with cords which are passed several times around his body. The priest -approaches him with ineffable compassion. With what care, what -delicacy, what respect, what love, he unties the cord with his white -and pure hands! With what grace and dignity he fills his office of -priest and confessor! The seven capital sins are figured by seven -demons chased from his body by absolution, and who are making every -effort to re-enter it. Rage and impatience are depicted on the faces -of these servants of Satan, and their attitudes are as various as -strange. One of them still threatens the sinner with his iron trident. -In the second part, Fra Angelico represents a person in a green robe -and turban, who expresses, by figure and gesture, his admiration at -the sight of this miracle of divine mercy, which is called the -institution of confession. Near this man, and right against the -Saviour, is a second personage, of whom the face only is seen. His -head is bared, and his angelical features seem to recall those of the -Beato, such as they are sculptured on his tombstone at Santa Maria -sopra Minerva. The Greek had followed with curiosity and profound -interest all the details of this picture, accomplished in three days -under his own inspection. He had admired the piety of the Angelico, -who, according to his custom, had not dared to paint the head of the -Saviour but on bended knees. Contrary to his usual manner, he had only -lightly sketched the face of the sinner bound with the cord. It was on -the third day that he suddenly finished it. But how express the -surprise and emotion of Argyropoulos, when he perceived that, under -the pencil of the painter-monk, this face became his own portrait! The -blessed one had painted his gray beard, his noble profile, and -expressed in his face at the same time the grief of being restrained -by sin and the hope of a speedy deliverance. Argyropoulos, in the -midst of the picture, had truly an expression of contrition in the -intensity of his regard. "It is I," cried the Greek, "it is I indeed!" -And he burst into tears. The divine touch of grace had vanquished him -at last. "My father, my father, untie me also, deliver me from the -bonds of many sins." The Angelico seized him in his arms, and in -transports of joy pressed him to his breast, then begged him to kneel -with him and render thanks to God. He passed several days in -explaining to him Catholic truths; then he received the acknowledgment -of his faults, baptized him conditionally at St. Jean de Latran, in -the baptistry of Constantine. [Footnote 193] - - [Footnote 193: The author has here fallen into a mistake; the - sacraments of the Greek Church are never reiterated conditionally. - --Ed. CATHOLIC WORLD.] - -{679} - -The eve of this great day he had enjoined him, as penance, to go to -the Vatican, throw himself at the feet of the Pope, and ask pardon on -his knees for the invective he had cast on the holy father in the -chapel. Nicholas V. received him kindly, and said: "My son, Jesus -Christ has pardoned you, and I could not do otherwise than he of whom -I am vicar; I absolve you, not only for what you have said against me, -but the crimes committed against society. I grant you full and entire -pardon from the punishment you have merited, in the hope that your new -life will atone for the past." The Greek prostrated himself with -gratitude, and kissed his feet; then showed the picture from which he -would never part. The Pope admired it, and said to the painter-monk: -"Your pencil has worked another miracle of conversion." The humble -artist replied that only to God must be given the glory, and recited -the verse of David: "Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da -gloriam." This was the device of the Templars, and we have seen it in -Venice engraved on the wall of the old palace Vendramini. "Most holy -father," said the Greek. "I know with what goodness your Holiness has -received my compatriots, Theodore Gaza, George of Trebizond, -Calchondylos, and Gemistos Plethon, who after the taking of -Constantinople took refuge on a Venetian galley, and have come to -Italy, bringing with them the precious manuscripts of the ancient -Greek authors and fathers of the Greek Church, which but for them -would have been burned by the infidels. They have been most happy to -repay your hospitality by enriching the library of the Vatican with -these literary treasures." "It is true," said Nicholas V. "Thanks to -their and other conquests, we have become able to reunite in the -Vatican nearly five thousand manuscripts; it is, we believe, the -richest collection made since the dispersion of the Alexandrian -library. But I still have one gap to fill, and I have promised a -reward of fifty thousand ducats to him who will bring me the gospel of -St. Matthew in the original language." "O holy father, how can I -express my happiness! I possess this manuscript, which I brought from -Constantinople. After having committed the crime by which I merited -death, I hid this book in a place in the Roman campagna, where I could -easily find it again. To thank your Holiness for all your goodness, I -am only too happy to offer you the gospel of St. Matthew," Nicholas V. -was delighted, he who ever thanked God for the taste given him from -his youth for literature, and the faculties necessary for its -successful cultivation. On the receipt of the manuscript the Pope paid -to the Greek the fifty thousand ducats, who, finding himself possessed -of so great a fortune, resolved to go to Venice, and engage in -commerce with one of his compatriots. He quitted Rome with regret to -leave Fra Angelico, but returned at Easter to confess to the saviour -of his soul, as he called him, and receive the communion from his -hands in the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. The mass said by the -Beato inspired him with great devotion, and he was happy to receive -from such pure hands the body and blood of Jesus Christ. The year that -followed 1455, the Greek appeared at the same epoch, carrying ever -with him, in a casket of cedar, the precious painting which had been -the determining cause of his conversion, [Footnote 194] and which, -he never ceased to contemplate with love and, gratitude, repeating -what Vasari said of another picture of the Beato: "I can affirm I -never contemplate this work that it does not appear new to me, and I -am never satisfied gazing upon it." - - [Footnote 194: This picture on wood is painted _a tempera_ and - enriched with gold. It is twenty-seven centimetres high, and - twenty-three broad. After various vicissitudes it was carried from - Rome to Venice, from Florence to Turin, and finally found an asylum - in Paris, in the celebrated Pourtales gallery. To-day it is in - possession of him who relates the story, according to a traditional - account received by him at Rome.] - -{680} - -Scarcely landed at Rome, Argyropoulos hastened, according to his -custom, to the convent of Santa Maria sopra Minerva and asked for Fra -Angelico. At this name grief overshadowed the countenance of the -brother porter, who replied: "Alas! signor, the blessed one has gone -from earth and left us to sorrow. His death was as angelical as his -life." The prior, who appeared, confirmed the sad news and gave the -details to the heart-broken Greek. The holy father said he was so -impatient to enjoy his beautiful chapel that he hurried continually -our blessed brother to finish his work; and he, ever willing to be -sacrificed to duty, and believing he worked for God in serving this -vicar, would not even interrupt his work during the fever season, -which is always more pernicious at the Vatican than elsewhere. His -health was lost by it entirely, he languished, and died at last of -malaria. Argyropoulos shed tears and asked to pray by the tomb of his -friend. It is still seen at the left of the church choir, a simple -tombstone encased vertically in the wall; the painter-monk is rudely -sculptured in bas-relief in his Dominican robe, with hands joined, his -head uplifted, and mouth partly opened as in prayer, as he was in -life, as he was particularly in death. I have often contemplated this -sepulchral stone, and recalled the verse of Dante, which could so well -have described the heart of Argyropoulos: - - "Come, perche di lor memoria sia, - Sovr' a sepoiti le tombe terragne - Porton segnato quel ch'elli eran pria; - Onde li molte volte siripiagne. - Por la pun ura della rimenbranza - Che solo a pii da della calcagne." - -"As to preserve the memory of the dead, the tombs given them on earth -bear the impress of their features as they were in life, so each time -one weeps over them the pious heart is pierced with the remembrance." -"Nicholas V.," said the prior to the Greek, "was inconsolable at the -death of his painter and friend, and survived him but a few weeks. It -is this great Pope who has erected this monument to Fra Angelico, and -who composed the epitaph you can read on this stone: - - "'Hic jacet ven. Pictor. - Fr. Jo. de Flor. Ord. P. - MCCCCLV. - Non mihi sit laudi quod eram velut alter Apelles. - Sed quod lucra tuis omnia Christe dabam - Altera nam terris opera extant, altera caelo; - Urbs me Joannem flos tulit Etruriae.'" - -"Here lies the venerable painter. [Footnote 195] Brother John, of -Florence, of the order of Brother Preachers; 1455. Let me not be -praised because I have painted as another Apelles, but because I have -given all I made to the poor. O Christ! I have worked for heaven at -the same time as for earth. I am called John, the town which is the -flower of Etruria was my country." - - [Footnote 195: We must remark this title of venerable given the - Angelico immediately after his death, and which justifies the - popular canonization which has surnamed him in Italy, Il Beato.] - -Argyropoulos remained long kneeling by the tomb, then on rising said -to the prior: "Tell me exactly the day of his death; for me it will -ever be an anniversary to be celebrated with prayers and tears." "It -was the 18th of last March," replied the prior, "that the blessed one -went to heaven, there to contemplate the true models of the dear and -holy pictures which, with so much love, he painted on earth." - - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - - -"I AM THE WAY." - - "I am the way." I well believe thy word; - The truth of it is plain enough to see. - For never was there yet a man, O Lord, - So roughly trodden under foot like thee! - --------- - -{681} - -ORIGINAL. - -CHRISTINE. [Footnote 196] - - [Footnote 196: Christine, and other Poems. By George H. Miles - New-York: Lawrence Kehoe.] - - -The writer of the present remarks made his first acquaintance with the -volume under consideration during the magic season of Indian summer, -and perused many of its pages beneath the shade of sycamores by the -side of a woodland streamlet, ever and anon lifting his eyes from the -book to scan the many-colored foliage of trees mellowed by the -distance and draped in luminous haze. He took it up a second time when -driven into the house by equinoctial storms, and a third when the -trees had doffed their painted leaves and stood as black and cold as -the iron woods we read of in the Scandinavian Edda. But whether -in-doors or out, by waterside or fireside, he always found Christine -and her sisters the same genial and charming companions. - -Who does not prefer the sunny side of a landscape to the dark one? Are -not coins and medals more pleasing when viewed on the side bearing the -principal legend and inscription? Juicy fruit, whether plum, peach, or -apple--does not the eye dwell with more pleasure upon the side which -is tinted with the finest blush and which glows with the rosiest -bloom? The same may be said of a pigeon's neck, a maiden's cheek; and -why not of a volume of poems? Let us, therefore, fix our eyes upon the -bright points, the beauties; and as every human production _must_ have -its imperfections, let us, when we discover these last, pass them over -lightly and almost in silence. The poet, when he composed his book, -hoped that its perusal would add to our enjoyment, and expected to -accomplish this, not by means of its defects, but by reason of its -many excellences. - -Many, many such excellences belong to Christine. Open the book, -reader, and as if by magic you will find yourself transported some -eight hundred years backward in the world's history, and will fly on -fancy's wings from the age of steam-cars and telegraphs to that of -chivalry and the crusades. You will find yourself now in the -south-east of France, now in Savoy, gazing in succession at the Rhone, -the Isere, the Alps, Pilate's Peak, and the Grande Chartreuse, and, in -short, wandering over that romantic land so dear to all true lovers of -poetry, and so renowned of old for - - "Dance, Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth." - -The story is founded on one of those old devotional legends of the -early church, many of which have afforded such fine subjects both to -the painter and poet. Were I to enumerate one-tenth part of the fine -specimens of pictorial art which have been founded on such subjects, I -should soon swell out the list to a sufficient number to constitute a -good-sized picture-gallery. I will only allude, in passing, to a few -masterpieces, most of which are familiar, even to the untravelled -reader, from engravings, copies, and written descriptions. Among the -most noted are the St. Cecilia by Raphael, the Vision of Constantine -by the same artist, the the Assumption of the Virgin by Murillo, the -Marriage of St. Catharine by the same, the Archangel Michael by Guido, -and St. Patronilla by Guercino. These two last have been copied in -mosaic to adorn the interior of St. Peter's. Of poems of this nature -might be cited as among the best, Dryden's Ode to St. Cecilia, the -Virgin Martyr by Massenger, the Golden Legend by Longfellow, and the -Eve of St. Agnes by Keats. - -{682} - -Christine, I think, may fairly be catalogued among the same sainted -sisterhood. - -These traditions and legends of an earlier and more credulous age may -be likened to the eggs, beautifully spotted and fantastically marked, -which some delighted school-boy finds in spring-time, after hours of -climbing and nest-hunting. Such eggs, curious in themselves, and -brooded over by genius, often break forth into winged and musical -poems, which afterward soar high above the nests and the tree-tops in -which they were first cradled. Such is the case with the one now under -consideration. In a new world, in a land which was not then even -dreamed to be in existence, it arises lark-like, soaring and singing -toward "heaven's gate." Let us watch it for a few moments, reader, and -listen to its matin melody; my word for it, we shall be none the -worse, either in heart or head, for having done so. - -I shall not mar the beauties of this radiant little poem by attempting -a cold and prosaic outline; this would, indeed, be to offer a dingy -silhouette in place of a picture glowing with all the colors of a -Tintoretto. Instead of this, I say, let the volume speak for itself; -procure it, read it aloud to your friend; there is music sleeping in -the book, awaken it to the sound of your own voice, and even though -you may be a Protestant of the strictest school, you will find here -nothing to offend, nothing to call forth a word of disapprobation, -with one proviso, however, and that is that you read it as the -title-page directs. Remember always that it is supposed to be "A song -by a Troubadour." - -A troubadour? And what was a troubadour? And what were his mainsprings -of action? Hear an answer in the language of one of the most gifted of -their number. - - "A Dien mon ame, ma vie au roi, - Mon coeur aux dames, l'honneur pour moi!" - -This, interpreted into tamer and more prosaic language, means that his -ruling principles of action were religion, loyalty, gallantry, and -honor; in other words, his soul, his life, his heart belonged -respectively to God, to the king, to the ladies, and only his honor he -reserved to himself. Such was his creed, such was the disinterested -and noble spirit which animated him, and which breathed through all -his lays, his vire-lays, his morning songs, his serenades, his -sonnets, his idyls, his villanercas, his madrigals, and his canzonets. -In this spirit acted the enthusiastic Rudel, who became enamored of -the Countess of Tripoli from the reports which he heard of the -hospitable manner in which she treated the Crusaders, and who, without -having ever seen her, actually started of on a long voyage to visit -the object of his admiration. Who has not heard of Blondel, and of the -romantic incident by which he discovered the lion-hearted Richard -while imprisoned in the castle of Lovenstein? - -But in addition to the above-mentioned motive principles, the -troubadour was influenced by another sentiment, which had a powerful -effect on all the feelings and actions of his life. This was an -intense and romantic veneration for the Virgin Mary. In fact, with -little variation the following words, which we find in another poem in -the same volume, entitled "Raphael Sanzio," might with equal propriety -be attributed to one of the troubadours. - - --"Her whose colors I have worn since first - I dreamed of beauty in the chestnut shades - Of Umbria--Her for whom my best of life - Has been one labor--_Her, the Nazareth maid, - Who gave to heaven a queen, to man a God, - To God a mother_." - -Such, then, was the troubadour. His birthplace was Provence. It was -there, in fact, that during the darkness of the Middle Ages the muse -relit her torch which had long been extinguished. Many years before -Dante's great poem rose like a sun--never again to set--the -troubadours, those morning-stars of poesy, "sang together and shouted -for joy." The troubadour preceded the Saxon bard, the Anglo-Norman -minstrel, and the German minnesinger. There were held those curious -courts of love where {683} queens and noble ladies often presided, and -there were exhibited, on green and flowery meadows, those poetical -contests, those festive jousts and tournaments, the idea of which -seems to have been caught from the neighboring Saracens of Spain. The -cross and the crescent both added something to the great result, the -one contributing the deep and earnest glow of devotion, the other the -pomp and circumstance of chivalry. - -Of all these circumstances our poet has, with exquisite tact and -skill, availed himself. Christine herself, when only ten years old, -had accompanied her father to the Holy Land. This throws an oriental -richness around her whole bearing and manner of thinking: - - "Sooth thou art fair, - O ladye dear, - Yet one may see - The shadow of the East in thee; - Tinting to a riper flush - The faint vermilion of thy blush; - Deepening in thy dark-brown hair - Till sunshine sleeps in starlight there." - -The gray charger which plays so conspicuous a part in the action was -born under the palm-trees of Palestine, and his name, Caliph, would -seem to indicate an Arabian descent. By this subtle link the -connection between Provencal and Arabic poesy seems delicately to be -hinted at. The fact that the main poem concludes in sonnet-form, if -accidental, is curious; if brought about by design, is a happy -thought, inasmuch as the sonnet derived its birth in Provence, and -also from the fact that, from the number of its lines (twice _seven_), -and the collocation of its rhymes, it is instinct with Christian -symbolism. - -The song itself, or story of Christine, is divided into five cantos or -sub-songs, which, like the five acts of some romantic melodrama, -arrest the attention from the start, and conduct the reader by five -stages of increasing interest to the jubilant conclusion. - -This main picture, as it may be called, has hanging on each side of it -a smaller lateral one, one of which is a kind of _prelude_ and the -other the _finale_ to the whole performance. This reminds us of some -of those works of art by the older masters, in which a smaller -side-picture may be seen to the right and left of the main -representation. These appendages, though apparently slight and worded -with extreme conciseness, are artistically conceived and add greatly -to the general effect. They are also in fine keeping with the time and -spirit of the legend itself, reminding us of one of those -triple-arched emblazoned windows so often seen in old Gothic edifices. -But the chief advantage derived from such an arrangement is, that the -two smaller or lateral pieces serve as links to connect the more -confined interests of the story with that grandest event in history, -namely the Crusades, and thus to impart to the whole a breadth and -grandeur of design which the size of the poem scarcely led us to -expect. In the prelude we are presented with a view of the troubadour -himself, who is supposed to sing the song, and not only himself, but -his lady love, together with Richard of the Lion Heart, his queen, and -all his chivalry. These last are at the time gazing over the blue -Mediterranean, on which, in the distance, King Philip of France is -seen sailing homeward with his receding vessels. The finale exhibits -the arrival of a fleet under English banners. In both, a glimpse is -caught of the troubadour who sings the song; in the one case, before -he commences his romaunt, in the other, as he retires unnoticed and -unthanked by the English monarch. - -In the midst of so many beauties and artistic excellences, it is with -reluctance that I notice two little circumstances which some might -consider as slight blemishes. Caliph, the charger above alluded to, is -spoken of as "the gallant gray." This expression sounds almost too -trite and commonplace to find a place in so original a poem. Even if -the color were preserved, I should {684} prefer some more novel and -striking form of words. But would not pure _white_ be a hue more -suitable in itself, and also form a finer contrast with the -_coal-black_ steed which is ridden by the Goblin Horseman of Pilate's -Mount? The last personage forms the evil, as Christine forms the -_good_, principle of the poem. By placing one upon a white and the -other on a black horse, the antagonism would be brought out in bolder -relief, and we should be reminded of the fine allegory in Plato's -Phaedra, where the chariot of Psyche is represented as drawn by two -steeds of opposite colors, under the guidance of Reason, who is the -charioteer. - -The other--a trifle scarcely worthy of mention--is this: For the -expression "Santo sudario" I should like to see substituted -"Veronica," not so much on account of its effect upon the ear, as on -account of those subtle trains of associated ideas which either lead -us _off from_ or _on_ to poetical ground, as the case may be. - -In justice to the author I must add that of these supposed blemishes I -am doubtful, whereas of the beauties above alluded to I feel perfectly -certain. It is much more easy to suggest alterations when a work is -finished than by one's own effort to finish a perfect work. As a -whole, there is a youthful fire and glow about the poem which cannot -fail to render it captivating to the young, and a devotional and -earnest tone of feeling which must be extremely acceptable to those -more advanced. Reserving the "other poems" which accompany it for a -future article, I shall conclude my remarks by a short extract taken -almost at random from the third song: - - "They are coming from this 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 intertwined, - Gowns whose white folds imprison - Wafts of the wandering wind. - The boughs of the charmed woodland - Sing to the vision sweet, - The daisies that couch 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 from her dark-brown hair. - Hand in hand tripping to meet her - Bird-like they carol their joy, - Wedding soft Provencal numbers - To a dulcet old strain of Savoy." - -How trippingly and buoyantly do these verses gallopade adown the -jocund page, as if one of the blithest of the old masters of the "gaya -scientia." had been thrown by Merlin into an enchanted sleep, and, -awaking from his slumber of eight centuries, was even now pouring into -verse one of the freshest of his matin visions. And that bevy of -dancing maidens! long may they continue to bound in tiptoe jollity -adown the salient page. The glad creatures are as yet ignorant of the -fact that Christine's noble lover is lying in a death-like a swoon, -and that Christine herself has just had an interview with the fearful -demon who wishes to bear her off in triumph. Each one of them seems to -be a kind of Provencal Minnehaha, and may be compared to one of those -merry waterfalls which come tumbling down the mountain-side, leaping -in joy from rock to rock, and quite heedless of the black precipices -which surround them. - -But enough. As Cleopatra's barge of old went sailing down the river -Cydnus, with burnished hull and perfumed sails, and silver oars rowing -in unison with dulcet flutes, so ever and anon, at long intervals, is -launched into the world some rare poem, which moves sailing down the -river of time, to the admiration of all beholders. It behooves us, -when such an apparition heaves in sight, whether it be poem or vessel, -to be on the lookout and not to miss the pleasure of saluting it with -our heartiest cheers. - --------- - -{685} - -ORIGINAL. - -GENIUS IN A PARISIAN ATTIC [Footnote 197] - - [Footnote 197: In a private letter received from a member of the - Guerin family--one whose name is held in gentle reverence by all - the readers of Eugenie's Journal--we are asked if it would be - possible to interest devout souls in America in the reconstruction - of the little church of Andillac. We would gladly answer this - question in the affirmative, for the restoration of Eugenie's - parish church would be a monument that even her humility could not - reject. - - The smallest sums for this purpose will be gratefully received and - forwarded to Andillac by Miss E. P. Cary, Cambridge, Mass., or - Office of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, 145 Nassau Street, New-York.] - - - -In a former article [Footnote 198] we traced the course of Maurice -de Guerin's career at La Chenaie; and left him in Paris, bewildered by -the rush and whirl of such a city, one day to become so familiar to -him. We will now let his journal and letters exhibit the curious -change through which he passed in turning from the fair Utopian dreams -of Lamennais to the work-day experiences of an unsuccessful author. - - [Footnote 198: See article in THE CATHOLIC WORLD of June, 1866, - entitled: Two Pictures of Life in France before 1848.] - -To do this fully we must retrace our steps to Le Val, the asylum -thrown open to him by Hippolyte de la Morvonnais when he left -Ploermel. Guerin's record of that peaceful sojourn in Brittany is as -distinct from our popular ideas of French life as Eugenie's sketches -of Rayssac and Le Cayla. The brother and sister have successfully -proved that all Frenchmen are not deceitful and unbelieving, nor all -Frenchwomen vain and perfidious. Surely no young man in any country -ever met with influences more sound and elevating than Maurice found -in the society of Eugenie and Mimin; of Louise de Bayne, Madame de la -Morvonnais, and Caroline de Gervain; or with friends more enduring -than Hippolyte, Paul Quemper, Marzan, Trebutien, and D'Aurevilly. - -There is in France an undercurrent of domestic life as pure and fresh -as the superficial existence in her great cities is shallow and -turbid. Indeed, the more familiar one becomes with French life and -manners, the more one appreciates the truth of the _mot_ of a certain -cardinal: "There is no purgatory for Frenchmen; they go straight to -heaven or hell." But we will no longer detain the reader, by moral -reflections, from the perusal of the selections we have made from -Guerin's writings. - -LE VAL, Dec. 7th, 1833. - -After a year of perfect calm, but for interior tempests for which I -must not blame the solitude that has unfolded me in such silent peace -that any soul less unquiet than mine would have slumbered deliciously -therein; after a year, I say, of absolute tranquillity, Fate, who had -let me enter the holy house to rest awhile, smote on the door to call -me forth again; for she had not gone on her way, but had sat waiting -on the threshold till I should gather strength to resume the journey. -"You have tarried long enough," she said; "Come." And she took me by -the hand and tramped on like the poor women you meet in the road, -leading a tired, lagging child. But what folly it is to complain; are -there no troubles in the world but mine to weep for? I will say -henceforth to the fountain of my tears, "Dry up," and to the Lord, -"Lord, heed not my complaints," whenever I am tempted to invoke God -and my tears in my own behalf; for suffering is good for me, who can -merit nothing in heaven by my actions, and, like all weak souls, can -earn nothing there except through the virtue of suffering. Such souls -have no wings to raise them up to heaven, and the Lord, who would fain -possess them, sends help. He lays them on a pile of thorns, and -kindles the fire of grief; the consuming {686} wood mounts up to -heaven like a white vapor, or like the doves that used to spring -upward from the dying flames of a martyr's stake. This is the soul -which has completed its sacrifice, and grown light enough in the fire -of tribulation to rise to heaven like a smoke. The wood is heavy and -immovable; set fire to it, and a part of itself will ascend to the -clouds. - -8th.--Yesterday the west wind blew furiously. I watched the shaken -ocean, but to me its sublime disorder was far from equalling the -spectacle of a calm blue sea, and yet why say that one is not equal to -the other? Who can measure these two sublimities and say that the -second surpasses the first? Let us only say: "My soul delights rather -in serenity than in a storm." - -Yesterday there was a great battle fought in the watery plains. On -came the bounding waves, like innumerable hordes of Tartar cavalry -galloping to and fro on the plains of Asia--on to the chain of granite -islets that bar the entrance to the bay. There we saw billows upon -billows rushing to the assault, flinging themselves wildly against the -rocky masses with hideous clamor, tearing along to leap over the black -heads of the rocks. The boldest or lightest sprang over with a great -outcry; the others dashed themselves with sluggish awkwardness against -the ledges, throwing up great showers of dazzling foam, and then drew -off growling, like dogs beaten back by a traveller's staff. - -We watched the great struggle from the top of a cliff, where we could -hardly keep our feet against the whirling wind. The awful tumult of -the sea, the rushing boisterous, waves, the swift but silent passing -of the clouds, the sea-birds floating in the sky, balancing their -slender bodies on wide-arched wings; all this accumulation of wild, -resounding harmonies, converging in the souls of two beings five feet -(French) high, planted on the crest of a cliff, shaken like two leaves -by the energy of the wind, and not more apparent on this immensity -than two birds perched on a clod of earth. Oh! it was something -strange and wonderful, one of those moments of sublime agitation and -deep revery combined, when the soul and nature rear themselves in -majesty before each other. - -From this height we clambered down into a gorge which opens a marine -retreat, such as the ancients could have described to peaceful waves -that rock themselves to sleep there murmuring, while their frantic -brethren lash the rocks, and wrestle among themselves. Huge blocks of -gray granite, embossed with white lichens, are thrown in disorder on -the slant of the hill which has hollowed out an inlet for this cove. -They look, so strangely are they tossed about, half tipping toward the -slope, as if a giant had amused himself with hauling them from the -height above, and they had been checked by some obstacle, some a few -feet from the point of departure, and others half way down; and yet -they seem to have paused, not stopped, in their course, or rather they -appear to be still rolling. The sound of the winds and waves pouring -into this echoing recess makes glorious harmony. We stood there a long -time, leaning on our walking-sticks, looking and listening and -wondering. - -9th.--The moon was shining with a few stars when the bell called us to -mass. I especially enjoy this mass, celebrated in the early morning -between the last rays of starlight and the first beams of the rising -sun. - -In the evening Hippolyte and I wandered along the coast, for we wished -to see what the ocean is like at the close of a calm, gray December -day. Mist veiled the distance, but left space enough to suggest -infinity. We stationed ourselves on a point where a tidesman's hut -stands, and leaned against the wall. To the right a wood, spreading -over the slope of the coast, stretched its thin, naked branches out -into the pale light with a faint, sighing sound. Far away to our left -the tower of Ebihens vanished into the {687} mist, and then appeared -again with a faint gleam upon its brow, as some furtive ray of -twilight succeeded in eluding the clouds. The sound of the sea was -calm and dreamy, as on the fairest days, but with a more plaintive -tone. We followed this sound as it swelled along the shore, and only -taking breath when the waves that had poured it forth gave place to -another. I believe it is from the deep, grave tone of the advancing -wave as it unfurls itself, and from the shrill, pebbly sound of the -retreating wave, gritting against the shells and sand, that the -marvellous voice of the sea is created. But why dissect such music? I -could say nothing worth hearing on the subject, for I am no adept at -analysis, so we'll go back to sentiment. - -The shadows thickened around us, but we never thought of going away, -for as the earth grew still, and the night unveiled its mysteries, -grander grew the harmony of the sea. Like those statues set on -promontories by the ancients, we stood immovable, fascinated and spell -bound by the beauty of the ocean and the night, giving no sign of life -except to look up when we heard the whistling wings of the wild duck -overhead. - -The thread of my wandering fortunes led me to a solitary headland in -Brittany to dream away an autumn evening, there for several hours -those interior sounds were hushed that never have been still since the -first tempest arose in my breast. There a sweet, heavenly melancholy -stole into my heart with the ocean chords, and my soul wandered in a -paradise of revery. Oh! when I shall have left Le Val and poured my -parting tears into the bosom of your friendship; when I shall be in -Paris where there is neither vale nor ocean, nor any soul like yours; -when I shall wander alone with my sadness and with an almost -despairing heart; what tears I shall shed over the memory of our -evenings; for happiness is a fine, gentle rain that sinks into the -soul, and then gushes forth in torrents of tears. - -21st.--For several days the weather has done its worst. The rain falls -and the wind blows in gusts till it seems as if everything would be -torn to pieces by the storm. These three nights I have started up wide -awake as the gale swept by at midnight, besieging the house so -furiously that everything in-doors shook and trembled. I spring up in -my bed white, and listen to the hurricane, while a thousand thoughts -that swept, some on the surface, others deep down in my soul, start -into shuddering wakefulness. - -All the sounds of nature; the winds, those awful breathings from an -unknown mouth, rouse up the innumerable instruments in the plains or -on the mountains, hidden in the hollow of valleys or massed among the -forests; the waters with their marvellous scale of tone, ranging from -the tinkling of a fountain through moss, to the wondrous harmonies of -the ocean; thunder, the voice of that sea that floats above us; the -rustling of dry leaves beneath a human foot or before a whirling -breeze; in short, for I must stop short in enumerating innumerable -sounds, this continual emission of tone, the floating rumor of the -elements, dilates my thoughts into strange reveries, and throws me -into unutterable amazement. The voice of nature has taken such hold -upon me that I can hardly free myself from its perpetual influence, -and in vain I try to turn a deaf ear. But to wake at midnight amid the -cries of the storm, to be assailed in the darkness by a wild, -tumultuous harmony, overthrowing night's peaceful empire, is something -incomparable among strange impressions. It is ecstasy in the midst of -terror. - -CAEN, 24th January. - -I have been wandering along the streets of this city by the dim light -of the street lamps. What did I see? Black phantoms of steeples and -churches, whose outline I could barely trace. The mystery of night, -which enveloped them without limiting their dimensions {688} like dear -daylight, added to their impressive influence, and filled me with an -emotion that was worth more, I believe, than forms. My thoughts soared -up to heaven with the never-ending spires, and wandered awe-struck -through naves that were mournful as sepulchres. That was all. The -streets were crowded, but what is a crowd by night, or even, by day? -At night I enjoy more the sound of the wind, and in the daytime those -grand assemblies, now silent and now rocking and roaring, called -forests. Besides, I met several of that class of men who always put me -to flight; students strutting along in gown and cap, and wearing in -every feature a nameless expression that reduces me to rout and -discomfiture. Oh! my dear journal, my gentle friend, how I felt that I -loved thee, as I worked my way out of the multitude. And here I am -with thee now, though the night is far advanced and I am half dead -with fatigue; all alone with thee, telling thee my griefs, and letting -thee peacefully into my secrets. Can I recall often enough those -memories all steeped in tears, that will ever dwell incorruptible -within my soul? Kind Hippolyte and his exquisite Marie! I bade her -farewell; she answered me in a few words of touching kindness. I -stammered out a few words more, and was running down the steps -thinking that she had not come beyond the threshold, and that all was -over; when I heard another farewell coming to me from above, and, -looking up, saw her leaning over the balustrade. I answered very -softly, for her voice had taken away the little strength I had to keep -back my tears. - - MAURICE DE GUERIN TO - M. H. DE LA MORVONNAIS. - - PARIS, Feb. 1st, 1834 - -You thought you would receive news of me by the end of this week. Your -calculation has proved false, and you are feeling impatient, and -thinking that I am neglectful, and that the tumult of Paris has dulled -my ear to the sweet, lovely voice of friendship that sings unceasingly -in the depths of my soul. Imagine no such thing, my dear friend. God -knows that since I came to Paris I have listened to nothing but the -two farewells that I heard on that black Thursday evening, one from -her whom you must let me call your sweet Marie, who, as I went -down-stairs thinking that everything was at an end, leaned over the -balustrade to say good-by once more; and the other from you, on the -steps of the carriage, uttered half aloud as you clasped my hand. I -hear these two voices incessantly, and never fail to listen to them, -while all other sounds pass by as if they were not. - -I did not see Quemper until two days after my arrival, Tuesday -morning, when I surprised him in bed, dreaming, between sleeping and -waking, of music, dancing, fresh garlands of young maidens, and all -the other vague and enchanting images that float through the -imagination long after the magic of a ball has passed away. Our friend -had spent the night at one of those radiant entertainments, whose -brilliancy his pen, fresh as if dipped in a dew-drop, depicts with -such sparkling charm. All of a sudden my pale and melancholy visage -appeared to put these fair dreams to flight; but though it must have -looked among them much like one of those crows that we used to see -flying among flocks of white sea-gulls, he embraced me with all the -cordiality that you remember in him. I sat down by his bedside, and -the vivacity of our first greetings having effervesced, a long and -charming conversation gradually unrolled itself, of which this is the -substance: remember that he was the speaker and that I interrupted him -very seldom, so anxious was I to gather up all his instructions. - -The most difficult task to accomplish at the beginning of the career -which we have chosen _is to get published_, to bring one's name before -the public; {689} and he mentioned the names of several young men who -had been vainly knocking at the gates of journals for several years -past. We are already far advanced, since two are thrown open to us, -Catholic France and the European Review. Booksellers have no faith in -the unknown, and would refuse obstinately to have a masterpiece -printed if it were the first attempt of its author, while if they have -seen his name ever so little in reviews and journals they would prove -facile and accommodating. Therefore we must devote our whole strength -to making our names known through magazines and papers. - -But in order to write acceptably for this sort of publication one must -adapt one's self to its habits, speak its language, and become all -things to all men--in matters of style merely, you understand. Let us -strive, then, to catch their ways, as the saying is, and to throw our -thoughts into the conventional mould, until we shall have attained to -such independence of pen as will leave us free to clothe our thoughts -after our own fashion. There is no use in disguising the fact that as -long as we serve under an editing committee (I dwell upon this point -because it is an important one, and Quemper insisted upon it very -strongly), we must, to a certain degree, renounce the habits of style -peculiar to ourselves, and adopt those of the journal; so that, while -preserving our individuality, we may blend and combine it with customs -foreign to our nature. It is hard for men like us, with characteristic -traits of their own, proud and independent of the fashions they have -railed at and disdained; it is hard for such men to muffle themselves -in the livery of the day, to follow instead of leading, to copy -instead of designing; but necessity with her iron nail stands before -us. Finally, the committee of the European Review refused an article -of Cazales himself because it was in Germanic form. - -As to the Review, we must share the editing of it thus: Each number -should contain a leading article purely philosophical, an article of a -high order of literary criticism, and an article, artistic or -imaginative, of a light character fitted to relax the mind after -reading the first two. You, Duquesnel, and I could share the labor and -play into each other's hands, so that each number should have as often -as possible three articles from us, conceived in the manner that I -have just indicated; only remember that you must leave the light -article for me, because I know nothing of philosophy or criticism. - -. . . . . - -And now let me tell what my present position is. I have hired a little -room at twenty francs a month, near my cousin. He could not take me -into his own family; my friend, Lefebvre, could not accommodate me -either; and besides, the fact is that one must be alone and quite -independent if one would work well; it is better to have a house of -one's own. I take my meals at my cousin's; in short, I am in a very -tolerable position, and one that will allow me to try my fortune for -three months to come, and I hope much longer. - -Add to this a most charming perspective, from which I hope much for -the advancement of my fortunes and the maintenance of my courage. At -the end of this month Quemper is going to change his lodgings. He has -in view, still, in the rue des Petits-Augustins, an apartment -consisting of three rooms, two bed-chambers and a parlor. He proposes -that I should take one of these rooms, which would cost me twenty -francs, like the one I have at present, and that we should share the -parlor. You may imagine that I accepted the plan with both hands, -especially because it will be so delightful to live with such a -friend. We have already laid out a life of uninterrupted happiness not -to be described, a sort of Le Val for us two in the midst of Paris. -{690} Can discouragement seize upon me there? and if it comes, cannot -we put it to flight? Quemper has drawn up a rule of life for me, and -given lessons in a double economy of which I knew nothing--that of -time and money; in short, as he says, he will pilot me through life -and Paris, two paths where I lose myself completely, though I number -twenty-three years of life and eight years of Paris. I begin to -believe that in spite of myself or any evil genius, I shall accomplish -something. - -If I turn to the source of all these blessings, I find you, my dear -friend, who by your exhortations and generous reproaches, sowed in my -soul the first germs of the courage that I feel stirring within me -now. You urged me to come to Paris when I was contemplating a cowardly -retreat; you bound me in that ripe sheaf of friendship with yourself, -Quemper, and Duquesnel, an endless blessing from which, perhaps, all -the success of my life will grow; to you I owe two months of beautiful -impressions and pure happiness. You let me look upon Le Val as a -second Le Cayla, love it with the affection that belongs to one's -birthplace, for it was the June of my second birth; weep for it in -momenta of sadness, and sing of its charms when I am glad. - -My cousin's little girl is nine months old; she is charming, can stand -alone already, without walking of course, has an enchanting smile; in -short, would be a companion angel for Marie. When her tongue is -loosed, I will teach her all the little words that her baby sister in -Le Val can say, "_Bon jour, ma, a tantot, le v'la lia_" and I will -swing her in a napkin; in short, I will do everything I can to make -her another Marie, her faithful and bewitching likeness. - -I have not yet written to my sister. I shall do so this evening with -exhortations and entreaties. How happy it would make me to see a firm -friendship grow up between Madame de La Morvonnais and Eugenie! those -two souls so formed for mutual understanding, and to draw forth the -wealth of sweetness from each other's souls. - -Offer my homage to her who will, I hope, soon call my sister friend, -and win the same title from her; as it is between you and me, my dear -friend. Countless kisses to Marie. Don't forget me, I beg, when you -write to Mordreux and St. Malo. Love to Duquesnel and Francois. - -At the time the following idyl was written, the pernicious style of -literature which it satirizes was confined to France. To-day, when our -bookstores teem with works of the same class, we fear that the -allegory may meet with less favor among American readers than it would -have aroused thirty years ago. - - MAURICE DE GUERIN TO - M. H. DE LA MORVONNAIS. - - PARIS, February, 1834. - -I fear me much that the month of May will bring us snow-balls instead -of roses. - -When I left you, dear friend, your solitude was just ready to burst -forth into flowers and verdure. The reddening fruit walls in your -garden, and the little chilly shrubs that love the sun, were trusting -their tender foliage, in all confidence, to the benign and gentle -winter, smiling upon them with the grace of spring. The wood that -stretches over your sloping shore, dipping almost into the sea, wore -that look of life and gladness that trees put on as spring-time draws -near. The sticky, oval buds of the Indian chestnut, glistened in the -sun; beech buds, sharp and slim, pricked themselves up with pert -vivacity, even the small round oak buds were beginning to gather in -bunches at the end of the branches, and yet the oak leaves out later -than other forest-trees. We saw the young shoots of undergrowth -blushing with the red tint that colors them at the awakening of -vegetation, as if blood were purling through their veins instead of -sap. The grass, pushing its way up through the bed of dead leaves and -withered vegetation, thrown over {691} it in autumn, was bordering the -paths, and spreading a velvet carpet in every glade, decked with the -enamel of a thousand Easter buds and daisies. Everything was gay in -preparation for the great feast of nature. Oh! if nightingale, -swallow, oriole, and sparrow knew all this, how they would bestir -themselves to fly _dulcesque revisere nidos_. It may be that their -European brothers have sent messengers to tell them that everything is -ready for their reception, woods, groves, hedge, and bush; that seeds -and berries will come early; that, morning and evening, the gnats are -whirling in myriads in the beams of the rising and setting sun; that -all is lovely here, and they must hurry home to enjoy the glorious -festival. I don't know that our domestic birds have paid this -attention to their travelled brethren, but at least they have given -themselves up to joy and harmony in awaiting their return. Do you -remember, Hippolyte, how the blackbirds whistle, the gay, sweet warble -of the thrush, or the twitter of some wren perched on the top of a -wall, used to beguile us from our study, tempting us forth to pleasant -rambles? - -Such was your Thebaid, as you call it, the day before I left you, full -of warmth and animation, vivid with rising sap and the labor of -vegetation. To-day I will wager that the eruption of leaves and -flowers is far advanced, that the birds are hopping about in search of -moss, twigs, stray feathers, and bits of down, and that you are -wandering in spring revery under the first shade of your chestnut -trees. But, my friend, are you slumbering serenely on these fair -promises? Does it never occur to you that this may be all a stratagem -of winter, and that the old despot may have manoeuvred, merely to draw -out verdure and blossom, and kill them with his baleful breath? Do you -never fear that thus the acme may be reached of our delusions? What if -this balmy, perfumed air turned to a north wind; if a black, sharp -cold condensed all this living sap, this fecundity now gushing through -the veins of nature; if the frost crystallized your woods and their -tender leaflets; if your little eddying brooks were to clasp in ice -the flower, stems, and stalks of herbs that grow upon their beds and -borders; if, instead of nightingales and singing-birds from southern -shores, you should see triangles of long-necked geese and swans -pouring down from the north, and files of those ducks that we used to -hear cutting the clouds with whistling wings on December evenings; if -the exterminator, winter, were to kill in one night all these -first-born of the year; in short, if your Thebaid were to turn into a -Siberia, what would become of your dreams of plenty, fruits, and -flowers, soft siestas under the shade of a tree, songs on the -sea-shore, and of that whole existence, nourished upon sunlight, -gentle breezes, and sweet odors, that you lead in your dear -wilderness? - -If you had power over nature, I should say to you: "Give your gardens -and woods and birds a lesson of wisdom. Bid those buds that I saw -gaping in the sunshine to hold back well in their envelope the leaves -entrusted to their care, scare them with the rigors that may surprise -them; the brightest sun is a deceiver. Put them on their guard against -the wiles of a fair day, teach them to be austere, and tell them the -thousand tales you know of flowers that have crumbled into dust -because they heeded the lures of a passing breeze or of a glowing -sunbeam. Tell them that, if perchance a few be saved amid the general -havoc, they will one day bear shrivelled, meagre, tasteless fruit that -no fair hand shall ever gather, and that shall wither on the branch or -fall a prey to the vile appetite of insects. Tell them that their thin -and pallid foliage shall draw disdain upon them from the panting -traveller, the young maidens, and the winged musicians that take -refuge under their shade to rest or dance or sing. Men will take them -for useless cumberers of the earth, and one day {692} perhaps the axe -will be laid at their root." As to the birds, the best advice you can -give them is, to leave their brothers in exile until the first day of -true spring shines. It is better to bear banishment a little longer -than come home to find their country the wretched slave of winter. Let -your birds beware how they recall their brethren or begin to build -their own nests. The brood would not prosper; the poor mothers would -shiver on their eggs, and the bitter cold, stealing under their wings, -would kill the chicks in the shell, despite the warmth of the maternal -bosom. Oh! if you had, power over nature, what a discourse I would -send you for your Thebaid, to save it from the seductions of this -perfidious spring whose perils I know so well. - -Do you take all this seriously, my friend? I fear not, and that you -will dismiss it with a smile, as the prattle of a child. I even fear -that you may regard my letter as very eccentric, and say to yourself: -"What nonsense is this? Talking of woods and flowers to a hermit; -wandering on into homilies addressed to birds and flowers, when he is -writing from Paris, and not one word of what is stirring in the world! -He deserves in punishment that I should send him an essay upon the -dramas and romances of last year!" My friend, restrain your wrath, and -contain yourself long enough to hear, my reasons. - -Horace said: "At Rome I prate of Tiber, and at Tiber I prate of Rome." -Don't imagine that my taste is light and changeable as the wind, and -thus explain to yourself my long tirades on your solitude. When I was -in your Thebaid, did I ever speak regretfully of the joys of Paris? -Did I not, on the contrary, say always that a city life is repugnant -to my taste, and that I care not at all for any pleasures to be -enjoyed here? Don't you remember how the little rough huts of your -tidesmen used to excite my envy, and that I used to have dreams of -hollowing out a cool, dark grotto in the heart of a rock in one of -your creeks, and letting my life glide away in the contemplation of -the vast ocean, like a sea-god? If you recall all this, you'll easily -understand why in Paris I talk of the country and forget Paris. -Indeed, you will see that it cannot be otherwise; for having said to -the fields, as you know, - - "Le corps s'en va, mals le cocur vous demeure," [Footnote 199] - -my discourse must turn on them, and I can only live in this mad -tornado of Paris as not belonging to it. - - [Footnote 199: Froissart (manuscript note).] - -If you know me well, these reasons will more than suffice to make you -understand the beginning of my letter. But will you be able to resist -the perpetual impulse that makes you look for mysteries in the -clearest things, so insatiable is your taste for divining? No; you -will look under the natural sense of my words, and think you have -surprised a sly meaning, crouching like a serpent under flowers, -beneath my sentences, which breathe only sweet images of spring. I'm -not afraid of your discovering some political allusion in them, for -you are too solitary, and hold yourself too much aloof from such -things for that idea to occur to you. But, if your eyes turn from the -arena of politics, they will settle on the noble field of literary -doctrines; and because lately the combat has grown hot, and the noise -of the melee is resounding far and wide, you will fancy that I am a -passionate spectator of the struggle, amusing myself with winding the -opposing party in subtle mocking allegories. Let me tell you that this -interpretation, or any similar one given to my idyl on the precocious -spring, misses its aim; that my idyl veils no satire; and that if it -seems to you the least in the world insidious or guileful, 'tis only -because you've breathed your own malice upon the innocent thing. I -repeat, it conies merely to discourse with you about nature; and what -can be more natural? Know that never has a ray of sunlight shone -directly {693} into the room where I live; I receive it only by -repercussion. Toward noon the sun strikes some garret windows opposite -that send across to me a few pale reflections, without warmth or -cheerfulness, like the rays of a lamp; and even this vague, -languishing light vanishes in a quarter of an hour. These are the -beams that gladden my eyes, accustomed to the broad overflowing -liberality of a southern sky. A narrow, sombre court-yard, where -there's not a blade of grass growing in the cracks of the pavement, -nor a flower-pot on a window-sill to smile upon me--this is the -horizon to which I am reduced; I, who so many, many times have scaled -with you your rocks and downs and sea-cliffs, whence our eyes embraced -the divine expanse of ocean, the marvellous indentures of your coast, -and the wide fields all green with wheat and flax. And now that I've -fallen from these fair heights into a hole that hardly admits the -light of day, do you suppose I shall not try to live over again these -charms in imagination, or that I shall talk to you of anything but -yourself and your solitude? And you, you cynical recluse, would -envenom these sweet, innocent recollections, and find some apologue or -another in the images of nature among which I seek recreation? But as -I have every reason to suppose that you are not attending to me, and -are still working to disentangle the metaphors, let us see if -perchance malice can make anything out of my precocious spring, and to -what allusion it can be turned. - -Interested as you are in literary matters, and attentive to the -disturbances that have risen tip lately among our authors, I am sure -that it will not be long before the _facile literature_ comes to your -mind. Then you will think you have the clew, and with that thread -you'll plunge into the labyrinth of my supposed allegory, hoping to -emerge maliciously triumphant and content. I allow that, without any -extraordinary flights, imagination might pass from the buds, opening -prematurely on the faith of a brilliant winter sun, to this young -literature, which has burst into blossom before its time, and -innocently exposed itself to the returns of frost that I predict to -your woods and groves. But, my friend, will you, who rejoice so -ardently at sight of an almond-tree in flower, will you reproach -severely these trusting souls that have opened in the broad-day light -and displayed with touching faith their treasures to the graces of -heaven? Blame rather the burning sun of our day, and the atmosphere -all charged with fatal heat, which have hastened this development and -perhaps reduced the harvest of our age to a few ears. - -And the trees whose blossoms are only born to die, and those that bear -bitter fruits which no one will ever pluck, or will gather only to -throw away--ah! you'll not have much trouble in seeing in them the -emblems of the many authors who have appeared once and vanished for -ever; the many authors whose books, distasteful to a few grave judges, -are welcomed by seekers after novelty and romance readers; and who, -having filled these vain souls with vain ideas, often sink into the -well of oblivion with hands relaxed by the lethargy that comes from -dull satiety. - -Will you have it that the trees shunned by travellers, young maidens, -and birds figure those renowned books, worthy of their fame as works -of art, which do not contain a grain of the hidden manna, nor one of -the sweet, beneficent thoughts that nourish the soul and relax it -after fatigue?--books that maidenly hands dare not touch, and that put -to flight everything fresh and innocent--a thought to make one die of -shame and grief! Will you have it so? I yield the point with good -grace, for in truth my thoughts bear your interpretation as well as if -I had really hidden it therein, and I will follow you no further in -your suspicious investigations, feeling sure that my test will not -suffer violence from you, {694} and that you will go on to the end -without losing your way. - -What conclusion do you draw from all this? First, that, resolved to -enter the lists, I am preparing in secret my lance and chariot, and -kindling my wrath. But are my peaceful inclinations unknown to you, or -the weakness of my arm and my very doubtful courage? I a combatant! -Just remember that the least tumult scares and routs me like a flying -prey, and that my strength bravely suffices to drag me out of danger; -so how could it drag me in? - -In the second place, you will suppose that I am nursing an aversion -for the new school and calling out for a classical reform. M. Nisard, -of course, does not wish the new school to perish, but to amend its -ways; and it is with that belief, and, I dare to say, on that -condition, that I pray ardently for the success of the campaign he is -about to open. The Catholic faith would never allow me to sympathize -entirely with a sceptical and fatalist literature, that sets no value -upon morality. But, on the other hand, the same faith makes me feel a -certain interest in it; for is not this disorderly, frantic new school -a truant from our fold? - -No, dear friend, I am not a prey to devouring anger; but I must groan -in solitude over the wanderings of this literature, which has -forgotten the home and the teaching of its father, and has so -hopelessly lost itself, until the last and most terrible romance, in -that style, would now be its own history. Amid these sighs there come -to me a few reflections upon the cause of the evil and the means to -remedy it; and that is what I meant to announce to you in this -incoherent letter, in which I beg you to see only a whimsical prelude -of my imagination, turning, as it always does, toward you. - - MAURICE DE GUERIN TO - M. H. DE LA MORVONNAIS, - AU VAL SAINT POTAN. - - AU PARC, July 9th, 1834. - -I wrote to you on leaving Paris a short letter, of which I begged you -not to take any notice. To-day, dear Hippolyte, when I have all -possible leisure, and the untroubled peace of the country is around -me, I resume our talk with every intention of carrying my confidence -to the utmost limits; that is, to the point where I shall begin to -fear that my chattering bores you. - -I announced to you a complete account of my affairs and my position -during these five months past. Now I am going to begin and you must -listen. You know what my hopes were when I left Le Val; I felt a -decided taste for literary life, the profession of a journalist smiled -upon me, and I was hugging some bright phantom or other of the future -that had sprung up in my imagination; and in spite of the distrust -that you know I mingled with my love, I had given myself up to this -dream with intense ardor. For, let me tell you, _en passant_, that I -throw myself impetuously into every new project that can modify my -existence; and whether a walk is proposed to me for the next day, or -whether I am told, "To-morrow your destiny is to be completely -altered," I feel equally excited, and rush to meet the two events with -equal impatience. A strange activity of thought possesses me, and I -shake myself and champ my bit because time prevents me from seizing at -a bound what I am already devouring with my eyes. You may imagine -that, with a soul subject to such ardent cravings, I reached Paris -full of enthusiasm and seized the journalist's pen with a quiver of -delight. But, as usual, my enthusiasm did not last long, and -difficulties, personal as well as external, made themselves felt. I -saw the entrance to the journals bolted and barred by that selfishness -which guards the gates of everyplace against the approach of poor -young fellows who come to Paris full of innocent hopes. Catholic -France alone admitted me within its circle; but this journal, -notwithstanding the good-will of its directors, could not satisfy my -needs. My articles were favorably received, {695} but the narrow frame -of the journal cut me off from frequent contributions, and in four -months I had only appeared four times. - -In the mean time expenses were not behindhand, and, although I lived -in a very small way, my expenditure was large in comparison to my -resources. I was exhausting fruitlessly time and money, my own -patience and my father's. For several months I persisted in this -disposition, holding my ground against adverse fortune in order to -save appearances and not yield the field without making fight. But at -last everything went so badly that I had to decide promptly upon a -plan suggested by the extremity of the ease. If I had been alone, I -don't know what would have become of me in my utter failure of -strength and courage; but God, as if for my preservation, has placed -around my wavering soul friends who prop and sustain it, restoring me -to myself with touching solicitude. I went to Paul, and laid before -him the whole story of my painful position. I proposed to him the -terrible enigma of my destiny and asked him for a solution. Without an -effort he untied the Gordian knot with these words: "If you leave -Paris, the future will slip through your hands. Do not let go your -hold at any cost. Make your father feel that this concerns your whole -life, that our last effort may save everything, and a first refusal -may ruin everything." And thereupon we set to work to compute article -by article all the necessities to be satisfied, all the debts to be -paid, all the most threatening possibilities of the future; and the -whole account, amounting to the sum of twelve hundred francs, I sent -to my father, with a petition written by my cousin in order to give it -more weight. - -At the end of a fortnight my father returned it with his approbation -and a gift of the sum I had asked. What happiness it was to go in -search of Paul that I might thank him, triumph with him, overwhelm him -with joy for my joy; for I knew his kindness too well to doubt that he -would share all my transports. I was not mistaken; his rejoicings over -my success were sweeter to me than my own, and I had the inestimable -pleasure of seeing it communicated to my other friends, Francois, -Elic, etc. How delightful it is to receive such proofs of pure, -heartfelt sympathy! In short, my dear Hippolyte, here I am launched -upon the waves, provisioned with money and courage, and walking with -assured step to meet the future; I feel as if a light were guiding me, -and as if I were advancing toward an unknown goal. For the present -this is what I mean to do: I shall spend the end of August and the -whole of September at the College Stanislas, where I shall have a -class during vacation: when the term begins, I shall establish myself -in the college if there is a place for me; if not, I can have quite an -advantageous situation at my cousin's, by helping him to keep his -little _pension d'eleves_. This is an abridged history of these last -five months; it gives only a superficial view, but you are well enough -acquainted with my inner life to understand the course of my thoughts -during the time. Here I am at rest, dreaming of the future, giving -myself up to the pleasures of friendship and conversation, and -drinking in the country-life and all the dear idleness that one can -never fully enjoy except in the fields. Our solitude is so profound -that we do not even know the result of the elections. Another -ignorance, harder to bear, is concerning all that is going on among -our friends and affairs in Paris. I know nothing more than when I left -them, and it is a very long time also since I heard from my sister. - -Pray, present my respectful compliments to Madame Morvonnais, and my -remembrances at Mordreux and Saint-Malo. I am going to write to -Amedee. Ask Marie, who can answer me now, if she remembers M. Guerin, -who sends her a thousand kisses. - - - TO M. H. DE LA MORVONNAIS. - PARIS, Sept. 21st, 1834. - -I have just received your manuscript, my dear friend, and the letter -{696} it enclosed; it has only this moment arrived, and I write before -reading, that my despatch may be ready for Paul, who leaves day after -to-morrow in the morning. You are to possess this inestimable treasure -of friendship, freshness of soul, and warmth of heart. He will rest -from his busy, devoted life in the fair sanctuary of peace and -friendship, of which you are the priest; he will bathe in the current -of those easy, limpid days that murmur beneath your roof. What an -interruption and vacuum in my life will be between his departure and -the day of his return with the other brothers! What will become of me -in my _ennui_. Tomorrow evening we shall have our farewell _soiree_. -Do you know what evenings we have now and then? We meet at dinner-time -and have a cosy dinner, intimate talks, long wandering walks under the -chestnut-trees of the Tuileries, through the perfume of -orange-blossoms and flower-beds in the gleams of the setting sun. -These talks come and go between Paris and Le Val, from one friend to -another, from present to future, from melancholy to the liver, -philosophy to poetry, weak sadness to firm and manly resolutions, from -one thing in life to another. To paint these conversations for you -would be like trying to render with a style the colors of twilight, -the vague nonchalance of the breezes, or, a still more difficult task, -what comes more softly shaded to our hearts. Tomorrow will be the -farewell evening, the close of these melodious evenings. How many -things come to an end under our eyes! I will not speak of my own -affairs; Paul will tell you where I stand, and how my hopes ebb and -flow, rising to the chair of rhetoric of Juilly, and falling to a -little schoolroom. He will tell you about my firm resolutions and the -manly efforts of my will to seize the empire of my soul. It would be a -long story to relate the history of my interior revolutions, changes -of government, civil wars, anarchy, despotism, gleams of liberty. -These are annals that write themselves in rude characters upon the -soul and in wrinkles on the brow. Sometimes I feel that I _can no -more_, like an old empire. O my charming hermit, my sea-swan, my -poet-philosopher, how shall I express the jumble there is in my soul -at this moment of pleasure and pain, the pell-mell of joyful and sad -tears that rush from my eyes and roll over each other down my cheeks? -I see you in my soul; I see Paul's departure and embrace him in -farewell; I see Le Val, your meeting, the charm of your life, the -isolation of mine, and my longings after my dear Brittany. My friend, -sometimes the soul wanders out of sight, and is restless and troubled -like the sea. - - MAURICE DE GUERIN - TO M. H. DE LA MORVONNAIS. - - PARIS, Oct. 19th, 1834. - -At last, my dear friend, I can be with you, I can open my heart and -confide my soul to you; a doubtful privilege, perhaps you think, but -unluckily I cannot keep it to myself. Today, then, this gray Sunday, a -calm day, a day of decline quite suited to the fall of leaves and the -emigration of souls, my busy life, heated with action, pauses to -recover its strength, and resume its confidential intercourse so long -interrupted; to give itself up to the genius of autumn and lend its -ear to the memories whose rustling we hear so distinctly on certain -days; and, all laden with impressions, reminiscences, and autumnal -melodies, to retire into some lonely corner far from chances of -interruption, and pour itself out to you. But I have left behind me -the mystery that I wish to unveil to you: _My busy life, heated with -action_. What! I a man of action! Some potent voice must have bade me -take up my bed and walk! The day after Paul left me I was to go to -Versailles, where I had reason to hope I could have a place as teacher -in an institution. I went to Versailles, and this was what I found: -four hours of teaching {697} every day, _des salles d'etudes_, -recreations, walks with the pupils, and a salary of 400 francs. The -position I had hoped for in the College Stanislas having failed me -also, there remained only my last plan, that of going to my cousin's. -But, as if to complete and crown the lesson that she was resolved to -give me, fortune decreed that my cousin should all of a sudden be -absolutely without scholars. Thus for a time was I trampled beneath -the feet of destiny. Then indeed I had time to write to you, I had a -superabundance of leisure. To punish me for my sins--me, so long a -rebel against the ancient condemnation to labor, God took from me the -possibility of doing anything. He turned aside and removed from my -reach all working tools at the moment when my hands were eager for -them. Leisure on every side, far stretching, never ending, condemned -to bury myself in unlimited leisure as in a doleful desert. Why did I -not write to you when my whole life lay before me at my own disposal? -My friend, I had nothing to tell but misfortunes, and my recital would -only have grieved you. I preferred waiting for the wind to blow away -these black days and clear my atmosphere. The tempest was short; the -sky of my little world is tinged anew in the east, and it is by the -light of its first gleams that I write to you. The professor of the -fifth class at Stanislas asked leave of absence for a month; I have -taken his place and shall have 100 francs for the work. I am looking -for private lessons and have found several. Classes and recitations -occupy my day from half-past seven in the morning until half-past nine -in the evening; I sleep at my cousin's, the college dinner serves me -for breakfast, and in the evening I get a dinner for twenty-four sous -like a _debutant_. Such has been my life for the last three weeks; a -sudden revolution in my existence, an abrupt transition from careless -revery to breathless action. An urgent pressure, a little reason, a -few grains of irritating self-love, supply fresh strength to my soul, -which is exhausted at the first tug. However, I must say that in the -deepest and most hidden recesses of my being, in the sanctuary of the -will, lives a resolution, that is, I believe, firm and steady, to -sacrifice half my existence to external things, in order to insure -repose to the inner man; and therefore I have decided to prepare -myself for the _agregation_ (corresponds to the expression, master of -arts). I have explained to you the facts, accidents, and external -circumstances; let us go deeper. Latin, Greek, and all the bustle of -laborious life, absorb a certain portion of my thoughts; but it is -that floating and least, valuable portion which, without regret, I let -flutter in the wind like the fringe of a cloak. These are the waves -that break upon he beach; the sand drinks them in, men gather their -spoils, the sea tosses them to any one who wants them. Thus, as I tell -you, my mind near its shores is occupied by the cares and duties of -active life; but far out at sea nothing touches it, nothing passes -over it, nothing is lost from its waves, except by the continual -evaporation of my intelligence drawn up by some unknown star. - -It will soon be a year since from the heights of Crehen I hailed Le -Val, lying all golden on the hillside beneath the beautiful autumn -sun. Dear anniversary, full of gentle melancholy like the season that -brings it. Every morning, on the way to college, I cross the Tuileries -where the ground is covered with the heaps of autumn leaves, the wind -sighs through the branches as in a desert, and, like the ring-doves -that build their nests in ancient chestnut-trees, a few of the poems -of solitude flutter about in these city groves. Sometimes the murmur -of a breeze among the boughs recalls to me the sound of the sea, and I -pause to possess myself of the delusion, and isolate myself with it -from the whole world: these are the waves, I am walking along the -shore with you, wandering over headlands in the evening twilight; I am -sitting on La {698} _Roche-Alain_. Then when I feel the illusion is -fading away, I resume my walk, all full of emotion, all full of you, -and cry like the _Young Bard_: "Good God, give us back the sea!" - - - MAURICE DE GUERIN - TO M. H. DE LA MORVONNAIS. - - PARIS, Dec. 5th, 1835. - -Your impatience to know how I dispose of my time, and all the turnings -of the roads I am following, that you may go with me in thought, -roused in me a very delightful feeling, and one that does not easily -find expression in words. But your idea of my life is quite too -elevated; you attribute to it a dignity with which it is not invested -when you speak of my sufferings and the courage with which I bear -them. No, my dear Hippolyte, my lot is not so beautiful as you would -make it out. The difficulties of my life consist in a few material -fatigues, to which the body easily becomes hardened, even deriving a -certain strength from contending with them; and in the distaste for a -profession which is conquering my antipathy through the slow but -irresistible action of habit, which tames the wildest spirits, and -reduces them to complete submission almost without their knowledge, -everything becomes deadened, everything dissolves insensibly. The -firmest revolutions yield each day something to the progress of the -hours. All rebellions are absorbed again by degrees into the common -soul. All things lie upon a declivity which opposes itself to -continued ascent. I have chosen my course in life; I come and go in -the leading-strings of habit, keeping my mind in the middle of the -road, restraining it carefully from those thoughts that would draw it -aside, and mar the blessed monotony which lends something to the -pettiest existence. Being reduced to this state, I have no need of -courage. I required, of course, some resolution to arrive at it, but -it was not worth much and was borrowed from circumstances. - -These are the principal features of my day: I set forth on foot at -seven o'clock to give a lesson in the neighborhood; then I go to the -College Stanislas; at the other end of Paris, and remain there until -six in the evening. That leaves me an hour and a half to dine and -retrace my steps again to the further extremity of Paris, where my -last lesson awaits me, which ends at half past eight. My liberty -claims possession of the night. Custom having worn away the asperities -of this life, only one defect remains, but a capital one; and that is -the difficulty of using the fragments of time that are left to me -after using the larger portions for studies that are to raise me above -my present condition. How to make the cares of self-subsistence agree -with these exacting labors seems to me an insoluble problem in Paris. -But time is so fertile in good advice, and sometimes unties knots so -easily that would have defied a sword, that I await its solution in -patience. You wish me to compose, to unveil the gifts which you think -I possess. My friend, why interrupt the course of a wise resolution -and mar a work that is so slow of formation and so costly? Let the -waters flow in their natural hidden course, following their tranquil -destinies in a narrow, nameless bed. My mind is a domestic animal, and -shuns adventure; that of the literary life is especially repugnant to -its humor, and excites its contempt, speaking without the least -self-sufficiency. I see delusion in the career, both in its essence -and in the prize we seek, charged often with the venom of a secret -ridicule. Looking at life with the naked eye, in the severe, -monotonous expanse she presents to some of us, seems to me more -conformable to the interest of the mind, and more in accordance with -the laws of wisdom, than unceasingly applying one's eyes to the prism -of art and poetry. Before I embrace art and poetry, I wish to have -them demonstrated with an eternal solemnity and certainty, like {699} -God. They are two doubtful phantoms, and wear a perfidious gravity -that conceals a mocking laugh. That laugh I will not bear. - - - - MAURICE - TO MLLE. EUGENIE DE GUERIN. - - PARIS, Feb. 9th, 1836. - -I saw Madame ------ (name illegible) day before yesterday. She is to -leave Paris in a fortnight, and offered very obligingly to take charge -of my commissions to Gaillae. I shall profit by her kindness to send -you what you ask, the velvet neck-ribbons, the net for your hair (but, -pray, why have you adopted this very ugly coiffure?) and the albe that -Mimi asked me to send her. I hope the little articles I send will suit -you both and fulfil your expectations exactly. But why be afraid of -being indiscreet in drawing upon my purse a little? Think, dear -friends, that I am your treasurer here, and that I wish you to -consider me as such. If you had reminded me sooner of the cloaks, you -would have had them now. I would gladly have deferred getting one for -myself until next year, and should not now be regretting the fact that -my shoulders are well covered, while I know that cold and damp air are -penetrating to yours as you go to Andillac. I am quite provoked with -myself for not having thought of it. Am I not very ungracious, never -beforehand with any idea, but waiting to be urged out of what looks -like indifference? Are you annoyed with me for this, and could you -ever judge me by mere external signs? Never, I am sure. You have too -much penetration to deceive yourselves for a moment about my -affection, when it is most hidden or most ungainly. - -I am glad to know that the union which has been so long uncertain is -at last secured. I have no doubt that all the conditions of happiness -will be found in it, if only health can be added to them. - -The lime of papa's journey is drawing near. From a distance it is -difficult to judge his course correctly; the moment itself must have -arrived before one can appreciate it truly. - -I am trying to find out at this moment what I may count upon in the -future for the accomplishment of my dearest hopes. - - -The last sentences in this letter refer to Guerin's marriage with -Mlle. de Gervain, which is so fully described in Eugenie's letters -from Paris that it needs no comment here. Then followed a few months -of tranquil success, a lingering illness at Le Cayla, a happy -death-bed; and our story ends, as all true stories must end, in a -graveyard. By the gateway of that old cemetery of Andillac, where -Eugenie sunned herself one day sitting on a tombstone, while waiting -for her turn to go to confession, is a white marble obelisk surmounted -by a cross. Caroline placed it there as her last gift to her husband, -and it bears these words: - - Here rests my friend - Who was my husband - Only eight months. Farewell. - Pierre George Maurice - De Guerin du Cayla. - Born August 4th, 1810, - Died at Le Cayla - July 19th, 1839. - -Close by stands the little church whose chief ornament is a delicately -wrought statue of the Blessed Virgin, presented by Queen Marie Amelie -at Eugenie's petition. The belfry is crumbling to decay, and the -tottering porch under which the dove of Le Cayla passed so often -appeals pitifully to those who have a zeal for the preservation of -God's house. - --------- - -A record has been made of Eugenie's daily life by one who had hourly -opportunities of watching her actions, and we cannot refrain from -laying it before our readers. Nothing concerning the sister of Maurice -can be inappropriate in an article devoted to him, and it will be well -to see how holy and regular a life may be led in the world without -singularity or narrowness. - -{700} - -"She rose at six in the morning when she was not ill. After dressing -she made a vocal or mental prayer, and never failed when she was in a -town to hear mass at the nearest altar. At Le Cayla, after saying her -morning prayer, she went into her father's room, either to wait upon -him, or to carry his breakfast in and read to him while he took it. At -nine o'clock she went back to her room and followed mass spiritually. -If her father was well and did not need her assistance, she occupied -herself with reading and writing or with sewing, of which she was very -fond (fairy in hands as she was in soul); or in superintending the -household, which she directed with exquisite taste and intelligence. -At noon she went to her room and said the Angelus; then came dinner. -When it was over, if the weather was good, she took a walk with her -father, or sometimes made a visit in a village if there was any -invalid to see or any afflicted person to console. If she resumed -reading on her return, she took up her knitting also and knitted while -she read, not admitting even the shadow of idle hours. At three she -went to her room, where she generally read the Visit to the Blessed -Sacrament by St. Alphonsus Liguori, or the life of that day's saint. -This ended, she wrote until five o'clock if her father did not call -her to be with him. At five she said her rosary and meditated until -supper time. At seven she talked with the rest of the family, but -never left off working. After supper she went into the kitchen for -evening prayers with the servants or to teach the catechism to some -little ignorant child, as often happened during the vineyard times. -The rest of the evening passed in working, and at ten o'clock she went -to bed, after reading the subject of meditation for the next day, in -order to sleep upon some good thought. And, finally, it should be -added that every month she prepared herself for death and chose some -saint whom she loved best that she might imitate his virtues. Every -week she went to communion, and even oftener during the last years of -her life, when her failing health would allow her to go to the church, -which was at some distance from Le Cayla." - -The hour of release came at last for her too, after a lingering -illness of which we possess few details. After receiving the last -sacraments, she gave a key to her sister, saying: "In that drawer you -will find some papers which you will burn; they are all vanity." She -died in 1848 on the last day of the beautiful month of Mary, which she -and Mimin had always observed with such tender devotion in the -_chambrette_. - - "All was ended now, the hope and the fear and the sorrow, - All the aching of heart, the restless unsatisfied longing, - All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience." - -The dear old father survived "his angel, his second self and much -more," only six months. Grembert died in 1850. Three graves now -surround Maurice's, and on one of them, which is already regarded with -veneration by the country people, is a wooden cross, bearing a -circular medallion that encloses a virginal crown with these few -words: - - "Eugenie de Guerin, died May 31st, 1843." - -"Soft as the opals of the east at dawn, and sad as the gleams that die -away so quickly in the twilight, she will be, for those who read her, -the Aurora of her brother's day; but an Aurora who has tears too! May -these tears fertilize the grave over which she wept, and make the -flower of glory spring up rarer than ever now for poets! The -materialism of our times has thickened the earth, so hard to break at -all times. We know there is a flower that pierces the snow, but one -that can penetrate the mind of an age devoted to matter is harder to -find." (Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly's unpublished notice of Mademoiselle -de Guerin.) - --------- - -{701} - - - -From The Month. - -SYRACUSE AND AETNA. - - -Tourists bent on the ascent of AEtna leave Catania at the end of the -long straight street which terminates in the Piazza Giorni. The ascent -begins at once. On both sides of the road luxuriant groves of orange, -citron, almond, and carouba trees alternate with vineyards and -cornfields rich in the promise of future crops. Yet all are growing on -the lava, and lava meets you at every turn: the walls, festooned with -the "Bourgainviller," the passion-flower, and beautiful yellow roses, -are still of lava; so are the pretty villas and the _riant_ -farm-houses and the lodges in the vineyards--all are built of it. The -streets through the villages are paved with it. There is a sort of -allegorical beauty and poetical justice in the way in which the great -common enemy has been, as it were, conquered and subdued--at least for -a time--and forced to repair the terrible mischief it has wrought. As -the road ascends higher and higher, the vegetation diminishes, and you -come at last to a wild waste of rock sprinkled with broom and dwarf -oak. A twelve-miles' drive brought our travellers to Nicolosi, where -their first visit was paid to the kind old professor and geologist, -Dr. Gemmellaro, from whom every kind of assistance is obtained for the -ascent of the mountain, which is, as it were, both his child and his -home. He is a most good-natured and agreeable old man, whose whole -life has been devoted to this one great interest, and whose greatest -pleasure seems to be to make others share in the knowledge which he -himself possesses. His house a museum of curiosities, and contains a -carefully arranged collection of all the geological phenomena of the -mountain. Among other things, he showed the party a ptarmigan which -had been "caught sitting" by the lava stream, and had been instantly -petrified, like Lot's wife! the bird preserving its shape perfectly. -The village of Nicolosi is composed of low houses built up and down a -long straggling street, with a fine church in the centre. Horse-races -were going on the day of our travellers' arrival, and causing immense -excitement among the people, who were all in the street in holiday -attire. The horses ran, as at the carnival in the Corso, without -riders, and were excited to a pitch of madness by the shouts of their -starters and the _bandeleros_ stuck in their sides. After watching the -races for some little time, our travellers returned to the kind -professor's, who had seen the guides required for their ascent of -AEtna, but who advised them to delay their expedition for two or three -days to allow of a greater melting, of the snow, the season being -backward, and to procure the requisite number of mules for so large a -party. It was also necessary to send some one beforehand to clear out -the snow from the Casa Inglese, the small house of refuge which the -professor had built on the summit of the mountain, at the base of -the principal cone, and where travellers rest while waiting for the -sunrise, or before commencing the last portion of the ascent to the -crater. He is very anxious to have this house better built and -provided with more comforts, and tried to enlist the interest of our -travellers with the English Government in its behalf. Having arranged -everything with him, our party retraced their steps to Catania, having -decided to visit Syracuse first, and take AEtna on their return. - -{702} - -The following morning, consequently, at half-past three, they started -for Syracuse, so as to arrive there before the great heat of the day, -and also in time for mass. A long marshy plain occupied the whole of -the first stage; after which the road wound through limestone rocks -and rich cultivation, till they reached the picturesque village of -Lentini. The lake of Lentini is the largest in Sicily, famous for its -wild fowl, but also for its malaria. There is a beautiful view of the -little town, with its wooded cliffs and deep ravines, from the -Capuchin convent above. The scenery increases in beauty as you -approach Syracuse, the road descending into deep glens full of ilex, -myrtle, oleander, and a variety of aromatic shrubs, and rising again -over rocky hills scented with thyme and every kind of wild flower. -From hence comes the delicious Hybla honey, which rivals that of Mount -Hymettus. Over the wide downs which stretch seaward, the picturesque -town of Augusta was seen, perched on the edge of the broad sandy bay. - -Our travellers had excellent horses; so that it was not more than -half-pas ten when they reached the gates of Syracuse and found -themselves in the comfortable little hotel near the port. One of the -party started off at once to find a mass; but the good people of -Syracuse are very early in their habits, and the lady wandered half -over the city before she found what she sought in the beautiful little -church of St. Philip, where there happened to be on that day the -exposition of the blessed sacrament, and in consequence masses all the -morning. On her return she found that the vicar-general had been -kindly sent by the archbishop to show her the curiosities of the -place. He first took them to the temple of Diana, now converted into a -private residence, and of which nothing remains to be seen but some -very ancient Doric columns. From thence they proceeded to the -world-famed fountain of Arethusa. The spring rises from an arch in the -rock, and is protected by a bastion, which defends it from the sea. -The papyrus grows here in great luxuriance, and the party gathered -some as a specimen, having first duly drank the anciently sacred -water. Resuming their carriages, their kind guide now conducted them -outside the town to the interesting church and crypt of San Marzian, -the first church of Sicily, built on the spot where St. Paul preached -during his three days' stay in Syracuse. It is a simple, massive -building, of the shape of a Greek cross, and contains the episcopal -chair of St. Marzian. Here also is the tomb of the saint, who was the -proto-martyr of Sicily. Near the tomb is the rude stone altar where -St. Paul said mass. A column of gray granite is shown as that to which -St. Marzian was attached for the scourging previous to his execution: -it is tinged with his blood. The crypt, however, is the most sacred -spot. Here came the apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, with the -evangelists St. Mark and St. Luke, on their successive visits to the -holy bishop, St. Marzian; where also the local tradition affirms that -St. Mark was martyred. The curious font now in the cathedral was found -in this crypt, and was probably used for the baptism of many of the -early Pagan converts. Adjoining is the place of St. Marzian's -martyrdom. The church itself is built over the site of an ancient -temple of Bacchus. Leading out of a side door is the entrance to the -catacombs, which are more extensive than even those of Naples or Rome, -and abound in Christian emblems: crosses, palm-branches, the dove, and -other Catholic symbols, are rudely carved on all the vaults and -niches, with here and there an early fresco of the Blessed Virgin and -Child, or a Greek inscription. - -From the catacombs our travellers crossed the plain, thickly studded -with ancient columns, sarcophagi, and remains of Greek and Roman -buildings, till they came to the little church of St. Nicolo. -Underneath is a reservoir with an aqueduct, leading to the great -amphitheatre; the principal monument left of Roman work in Syracuse, -and {703} still in perfect preservation. Recent excavations have -cleared the space, so that the seats and arena are clearly visible. -From the amphitheatre, a five-minutes' walk leads to the Latomia del -Paradiso--a quarry containing in its further recesses the famous Ear -of Dionysius. This cavern was excavated by the tyrant for a prison, -and so constructed that the faintest whisper could be heard in the -chamber above, where he sat listening to the conversation of his -victims. It is to be supposed that the listener, according to the -proverb, rarely heard any good of himself. It is a wonderfully -picturesque spot; the sides of the quarry being lined with fruit-trees -and ferns and flowering shrubs, mingled with masses of fallen rock and -fragments of ancient masonry. Pistols were fired off by the guides to -let the party hear the full force of the echo, which is tremendous. -Round a deep spring at the further end of the cavern grew the most -beautiful maiden-hair fern. Close by is the Greek theatre, the largest -in Sicily, hollowed out of the rock, and capable of containing more -than 20,000 spectators. - -Returning home to luncheon, the ladies visited on their way the -Sisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, who are lodged in one of -the fine old mediaeval palaces of Syracuse, with beautifully carved -windows and doorways. But it is very much out of repair, and very -inconvenient for their large orphanage. There are only six or seven -sisters here. Their superior is a charming person, and only another -proof, if one were needed in that wonderful religious order, of the -way in which energy, zeal, and, above all, a burning charity can -triumph over the sufferings entailed by a delicate frame and sickly -constitution. - -After luncheon our travellers started again to meet Monsignor B------ -at the cathedral. It is built on the site of an ancient temple of -Minerva, but has been ruined by modern church-wardenship and -whitewash. There are two fine side chapels, however; one dedicated to -the Blessed Sacrament, the other to St. Lucia, in which, is exposed a -large silver figure of the saint of great antiquity. The font, of -which notice has been taken above, is of marble, supported by seven -fine bronze lions. There is a beautiful renaissance doorway leading to -the sacristy. A beautiful benediction service with litany was being -sung; after which the relics and treasures were examined, which -include a beautiful chalice of amber, cut out of one piece, and a -pastoral ring of great size and value. In the Place, or court of the -cathedral, are fourteen fine columns of Cipollino marble, supposed to -have formed part of the ancient temple of Ceres. Opposite the north -door of the cathedral is the museum, containing all the antiquities -lately discovered in Syracuse and its neighborhood. The finest is a -beautiful torso, a Venus of the best date of Greek art. There are also -some very fine cameos and medals. The day was closed by a sweetly sung -benediction at the orphanage of the Sisters of Charity. - -The next morning, after a daybreak mass at the cathedral, one of the -party breakfasted with the archbishop, who afterward showed her his -palace and gardens, which are very fine. In the latter grew the -largest citrons she had ever seen, very nearly equalling the gigantic -oranges at Jaffa. Adjoining his garden-wall is a convent of -Benedictine nuns, which was likewise visited. The good-natured prefect -then insisted on taking the whole party in his carriages to the -Franciscan convent of St. Lucia outside the town. There is an -interesting Norman church attached to it, raised over the site of the -saint's martyrdom; and a granite column is shown as that to which she -was fastened on the occasion. Her tomb is cut in the rock at the back -of the altar, underneath which is a fine statue of the saint by -Bernini. - -From this spot a narrow lane, traversing vineyards fenced by stone -walls, leads to the convent of Sta. Maria di Gesu, in front of which -is a fine stone {704} cross. Passing by an aqueduct in very tolerable -preservation, and by a succession of old tombs cut in the cliff, our -party arrived at the Capuchin convent--a fortified building, with -fosse and drawbridge and machicolated battlements. A little gate at -the side led them into the Latomie, or quarries, from whence the stone -was taken to build the city. Here is one of the most beautiful spots -in the neighborhood of Syracuse. It is a vast pit, about a hundred -feet in depth; and of many acres in extent, planted with oranges, -citrons, pomegranates, figs, and cypresses, with an undergrowth of -roses, arums, acanthus, ferns, and creepers of every kind, and overrun -with ivy and wild vine. The whole is walled in by lofty gray cliffs -hung with creepers; and from the midst of this wilderness of beautiful -and almost rank vegetation rise two tall insulated masses of rock, -with an ancient flight of steps cut in the side of one of them, but -now inaccessible. The cliffs are hollowed into vast halls or caverns, -in one of which the prefect told our travellers that he had given a -_fete_ to Prince Alfred on his first visit to Syracuse. The kind old -monk who had been their escort brought them fruit, bread, and wine in -this deliciously cool retreat, and sat a long time talking of the Holy -Land, where he had been, and which he was delighted to find was -equally well known and appreciated by his guests. Here and there, -embedded in the rocks, are traces of ancient sepultures; and one or -two Protestant epitaphs on the cliffs prove that the quarries have, -even in late days, been used for purposes of burial. Leaving this -beautiful spot with great regret, and acceding to the request of the -good old monk that they would first pray with him for a few minutes in -the church for a blessing on the Holy Land Mission, our travellers -visited one or two more of the antiquities in the neighborhood, -including the recently excavated baths of Diana, full of beautiful -marbles and mosaics; the sepulchral road, the perpendicular sides of -which are lined, with niches for cinerary urns; the tombs of -Archimedes and Timoleon, and other interesting remains of Greek and -Roman times; after which they returned once more to the city and to -the museum, where the collection of natural history had yet to be -seen, which contains everything most interesting of the kind in -Sicily, and also the library. The latter contains priceless treasures, -of which the most remarkable are--a rare copy of the gospel of St. -John, of the twelfth century; a Koran on paper, of 1199, brought from -Egypt by Lord Nelson, and given by him to the Cavalier Landolina, who -was the real founder of the library; a very fine block-book, a replica -of one of those in the Wilton library; and many beautifully -illuminated martyrologies and missals. - -Nothing can be kinder or more hospitable than the residents of -Syracuse. The visit of our travellers was necessarily too limited in -point of time to enable them to profit by it; but every one offered -their carriage and horses, and put their palaces, not figuratively, -but actually _a leur disposition_. There are still some beautiful -medieval palaces in the town, especially the Palazzo Montalto, with -its pointed windows and dog-tooth mouldings. It bears also some -curious Gothic inscriptions, like the houses at Avila, and with the -date 1397. - -A charming boating excursion was made by one or two of the party from -Syracuse to the fountain of Cyane, up the river Anapus, the only spot -in Europe where the papyrus still grows wild. Nothing remains of the -temple of Jupiter Olympus, which one visits by the way, but two broken -columns. But there is a lovely sketch a little further on of a ruined -bridge, with a date-palm overhanging the stream, and a foreground of -magnificent tangled vegetation of reeds, sugar-cane, acanthus, iris, -and every kind of aquatic plants, and which the slow progress of one's -boat through the weeds enables one fully to enjoy. The Anapus {705} -leads into the Cyane, which is a far clearer stream, but very narrow. -Here the papyrus grows luxuriantly among flags and castor-oil plants. -It was sent from Egypt by Ptolemy to King Hieron II., and has -flourished ever since. Struggling up the narrow stream and through the -choking mass of vegetation, which threatened to close the passage -altogether, our travellers' boat at last arrived at a beautiful -circular basin, fringed with papyrus and purple iris; the water, very -deep, was clear as crystal, and swarming with fish. This was known in -old times as the famous "dark-blue spring," converted by heathen -mythology into a nymph; and an annual festival was held here in -honor of Ceres. Now it is utterly deserted, save by an occasional -traveller or sportsman seeking food for his gun from the -multitude of snipes and wild fowl which resort to its banks and -make their nests in its undisturbed arid reedy shores. That same -evening our travellers returned to Catania, charmed with their -expedition, and full of gratitude for all the kindness which had been -showered upon them. - -The following morning found one of the party very early at the -convent of her old friends the Benedictines, where the superior -received her with his usual fatherly kindness, and presented her, as a -surprise, with the deed of affiliation to their order, which -he had obtained for her from Monte Casino; together with a picture -of the saint and the miraculous medal or cross of St. Benedict, with -its mysterious letters, _C.S.S.M.L._ (Crux sacra sit mihi lux), a -medal always given by St. Vincent de Paul to his Sisters of Charity, -as a defence in the many perils of their daily lives. Once more the -traveller heard that glorious music, which, beautiful at all times, is -so especially thrilling at the benediction service. The organ -begins with a low, sweet, wailing sound, which those beautiful and -cultivated voices respond: and then bursts into thunder, expressing, -as far as mortal instrument can, the glorious majesty of God. It was -the feast of St. Monica--that saint so dear to every widowed mother's -heart; and the fact, in connection with the English stranger, had not -been forgotten by the kind abbate, who came up and whispered to her as -she knelt before mass: "My child, the prayers and communions of the -community this day will be offered up for _you_, that you may follow -in the steps of St. Monica, and finally reap her reward." - -Returning at seven to the hotel, the whole party started once more -for Nicolosi, on their way to undertake the more formidable ascent -of AEtna. Arriving, after a four hours' drive, at the house of their -old friend Professor Gemmellaro, they found he had kindly made every -arrangement for their start; and after about an hour's delay in -settling the pack-saddles, packing up provisions for the night, and -arranging everything with the guides, they mounted their mules and -began the ascent. For some miles they passed through a tract of lava, -sprinkled here and there with broom and heather, till they reached a -cattle-shed, called Casa di Rinazzi, where they came to a picturesque -wood of dwarf oak looking like the outskirts of an English park. From -thence to Casa del Bosco the road is both easy and pleasant, and our -travellers began to think that the difficulties of the ascent (to -people who had crossed, as they had done, the Lebanon in deep snow) -would be comparatively trifling. They soon, however, discovered their -mistake. At the Casa del Bosco they stopped to rest their mules and -make some tea, while the guides advised them to put on as much -additional clothing as they could for the coming cold. The peasants -were at work round them collecting the snow in reservoirs close to the -cavern called the Grotta delle Capre--that snow so invaluable to the -dwellers in the plain, and the sole substitute for ice to the -inhabitants of Catania. - -{706} - -But here the real toil of the ascent begins. It is only nine miles -from hence to the summit; but those nine miles are terribly severe, -not only from their steepness, but from the nature of the ground, -composed of a black loose ash, interspersed with sharply pointed lava -rocks, on which you tread and stumble, and seem to recede two steps -for every one you take. As you ascend higher the snow conceals the -inequalities of the ground, but does not make them the less fatiguing. -The cold, too, increases every instant, and our travellers regretted -that they had not followed their guides' advice and brought both -overstockings and gloves. After toiling up in this manner for two -hours, they came to a pile of lava which marks the distance halfway -between the Casa del Bosco and the Casa Inglese. The snow here -increased in depth--the rarefaction of the air became painfully -intense; while the clouds of sulphur from the eruption, which still -continued on the opposite side of the mountain, driven in their faces -by the wind, made some of the party so sick that they could scarcely -proceed. The cold, too, became well-nigh intolerable. The mule of one -of the ladies sank in a snowdrift, rolled and fell some way down the -precipice, compelling her to continue the journey on foot; but her -feet and hands were so numbed and so nearly on the verge of being -frostbitten, that it was with the utmost difficulty she could go on. -At last the Casa Inglese was reached. It is a low stone house, built -on what is called the Piano del Lago, a small ledge of frozen water, -10,000 feet above the sea. In spite of the orders of the professor, it -was still half full of snow when they arrived; and this had to be -cleared out, and made into what the children call "snow men," before -the frozen travellers could enter and endeavor to make a fire with the -wood they had brought with them. The guides cautioned those who were -still on their mules to descend very gently, as, in the semi-frozen -state they were in, the least, jerk or slip might occasion a broken -limb. One of the party was lifted off her horse at last and laid on -some rugs by the fire, which for a long time resisted all efforts to -light; and then her limbs had to be rubbed with snow to restore some -kind of animation. When this object was attained, the overpowering -smoke--for there was no chimney or fireplace--made the remedy almost -worse than the disease. All this time they had been well-nigh deafened -by the detonations from the mountain, which, at regular intervals, -sounded like artillery practice on a large scale. Everything they had -brought with them was frozen, including the milk they had got at -Nicolosi, and of which they were obliged to break the bottle before -they could melt any for their tea. After a time, the younger portion -of the travellers lay down to rest on some straw arranged in wooden -shelves or layers round the inner room, one at the top of the other, -after the manner of pears and apples in a kitchen-garden house in -England. A French geologist and two other professors had joined their -party, and of course had no other place to go to; but the appearance -of the company, roosting in this way on the shelves, was comical in -the extreme. - -At three o'clock, however, every one rose, and commenced the ascent of -the cone, so as to reach the top by sunrise. The distance is short, -but intensely steep; it is like going up the side of a house; and the -difficulty is heightened by the loose ashes in which you sink at every -step, and the hot fumes of sulphurous vapor which pour out of the -sides of the cone. Only a portion of our travellers persevered to the -top; the others being reluctantly compelled by faintness and violent -sickness to retrace their steps. On reaching the crater, they at first -saw nothing but a deep yawning chasm, full of smoke, which kept -pouring out in their faces. The eruption, which one of the party had -{707} seen in perfection two months before, was some miles off, and -had burst out of a new crater on the Taormina side of the mountain. -But with the dawning light the whole magnificent scene was revealed to -them. It has been so admirably and accurately described by Mr. -Gladstone, that any attempt at a fresh description could be but a poor -repetition of his words. Sufficient, then, is it to say that the view -at sunrise repaid all the sufferings of the ascent. AEtna, unlike -other mountains, stands alone, rising straight from the plain, with no -rivals to dispute her height, or intercept any portion of the glorious -view below. The whole of Sicily is stretched out at your feet, the -hills below looking like the raised parts of a map for the blind. Not -only is the panorama unequalled in magnificence, but there are -atmospherical phenomena in it which belong to AEtna alone. As the sun -rises over the Calabrian coast, a perfect and distinct image of the -cone is reflected--as on the sheet of a magic-lantern--on the horizon -below, gradually sinking lower and lower as the sun becomes brighter, -and finally disappearing altogether. As it was early in the season, -the snow extended over the whole of the so-called desert region, while -the wood below seemed to encircle the mountain as with a green belt, -which added to the beautiful effect of the whole. Tired and exhausted, -and yet delighted, our travellers descended the cone, and rejoined -their companions at the Casa Inglese, who had been compelled to -content themselves with seeing the sun rise from a green hillock just -below the house. They determined on their way home to diverge a little -from the straight route, in order to visit the Val del Bove, that -weird and ghost-like chasm which had struck them so much when looking -down upon it from the height of the cone. Floundering in the snow, -which was a good deal deeper on that side of the mountain, their mules -continually sinking and struggling up again, breaking their -saddle-girths in the effort, and consequently landing their riders -continually on the soft snow, the party arrived at last on the edge of -this magnificent amphitheatre. It is of vast size, enclosed by -precipices 3,000 feet in height, and filled with gigantic rocks, of -wonderfully strange and fantastic shapes, standing out separately, -like beasts--hence its name. The perfect silence of the spot reminds -one of some Egyptian city of the dead. Smoke, explosion, dripping ice, -or rushing torrents characterize the other extinct craters in this -wonderful mountain; but in this one all is still and silent as the -grave. It is stern as the curse of Kehama, and as if the lava had been -cast up in these wonderful shapes in some extraordinary convulsion of -nature, and then had been petrified as it rose. Our travellers -lingered long, looking over the edge of the precipice, vainly wishing -to be able to descend into the enchanted valley, and at last -reluctantly turned their muels' heads in the direction of Nicolosi. -The descent was intensely fatiguing, from the continual jerking and -slipping of their beasts; and they arrived more dead than alive at the -kind professor's house, after being more than eight hours in the -saddle. A few hours later found them once more in the burning sunshine -of Catania, where the thermometer in the shade, was 86 deg., while it had -been 27 deg. on the mountain, a difference in one day of 59 deg. degrees of -temperature. But no difficulties should discourage the traveller from -attempting the ascent of AEtna, which is worth coming the whole way -from England for itself alone. A few days later saw our party on the -deck of the Vatican steamer, _en route_ for Naples, carrying away with -them recollections of enjoyment and kindness such as will ever -associate piety in their minds with pleasant thoughts and grateful -memories. - ------------- - -{708} - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - -THE FIRST SIEGE OF LIMERICK. - - -JAMES'S FAREWELL. - -The fight at the Boyne was over; the English, Dutch, Danish, and -French allies resting, or preparing to rest, as well as the ground -near the Pass of Duleek would allow, and their defeated but not -dispirited foemen marching wearily in the summer night toward Dublin. -James accompanied by Sarsfield's horse was already far in the van, and -in due time he reached the castle. We can scarcely fancy a more false -or uncomfortable position than that in which James now stood, when, -calling together his council, the lord mayor, and other notables, he -addressed them for the last time. An ill-disposed historian might have -invented this speech for him if no memory of the one really delivered -had survived. "My dear and loyal Irish subjects, I believe I ought not -to have risked the disastrous battle of yesterday against the advice -of my judicious officers. After the fighting was determined on, I -unhappily did much to discourage the undisciplined fellows who so well -exhibited their loyalty and bravery at the Boyne. We are beaten, I am -sorry to say, and I am getting away as fast as I can to place hundreds -of miles between myself and the cannons and muskets of my callous -relative. Make as good terms, my poor people, with William as he will -grant you. I. can do no more for you than leave you my blessing, to -which you are heartily welcome. Adieu!" - -There is an ill-natured tradition still afloat that in his greeting to -Lady Tyrconnell he alluded to the agility of the Irish in running away -from the field, and was in return complimented by that lady for having -outstripped such very fleet runners. The anecdote bears every mark of -a lie about it. The orderly retreat at the Boyne was nothing like a -dastardly flight, and James's disposition would have been worse than -his ill-wishers have ever represented it, had he cracked that bitter -jest on his loyal supporters. We prefer the following sketch of the -final interview from the pen of a writer whose Williamite leanings, -though strong, are regulated by calm judgment and generous feelings: - - "In the cold grey of the winter's morning it were hard to imagine a - drearier or less inviting spectacle than this group of loyalists - presented. While they were waiting thus, James, a man of punctuality - to the last, was employed in paying and discharging his menial - servants, previously to his taking final leave of his Irish capital. - At last however the door opened, and James followed by two or three - gentlemen and officers, including Colonel Luttrell who kept garrison - as governor of the city, entered the apartment. . . . There was that - in the fallen condition of the king, in the very magnitude of his - misfortunes, which lent a mournful dignity to his presence, and - which in spite of the petulance which occasionally broke from him, - impressed the few disappointed, and well-nigh ruined followers of - his cause who stood before him with feelings of melancholy respect. - - "'Gentlemen,' said the king after a brief pause, 'it hath pleased the - Almighty Disposer of events to give the victory to our enemies. . . . - The enemy will be in possession of this city at least before many - days are passed. . . . Matters being so, we must needs shift for - ourselves as best we may. Above all we do command you, we do implore - of you, gentlemen, in your several stations, and principally you, - Colonel Luttrell, as governor of this our city, to prevent all undue - severities, all angry reprisals, all violences .... upon the - suspected within its walls. We do earnestly intreat of you all to - remember that this is our city, and they our subjects; protect it and - them as long as it shall seem wise to occupy this town for us. This - is our last command, our parting request.'" - -{709} - -The poor king was overcome during his speech by the part his own -daughters were acting in the bitter drama then in progress. However, -that does not excuse the reference to the want of capacity or courage -which he was pleased to discover among his Irish supporters. For from -the beginning they appeared more interested in his success than he did -himself. - - -WILLIAM IN DUBLIN. - -But the speech came to an end, and the king departed, and conflicting -and varying hopes and fears agitated the citizens, as the Irish troops -marched in with drums beating and colors flying, and again quitted the -city, and proceeded to Limerick, and so on till the arrival of the -Duke of Ormond and the Dutch guards on Thursday. - -The king rode in from the camp at Finglass on the next Sunday, -attended divine service in St. Patrick's cathedral, and returned to -the camp in time for dinner. On the 7th of the month he issued a -proclamation from which a few extracts are here presented: - - "WILLIAM, R. - - "As it hath pleased Almighty God to bless our arms in this kingdom - with a late victory, . . . . we hold it reasonable to think of - mercy, and to have compassion on those whom we judge to have been - seduced. Wherefore we do hereby declare, we shall take into our - royal protection all poor labourers, common souldiers, country - farmers, plough-men, and cottiers whatsoever: as also all citizens, - trades-men, towns-men, and artificers, who either remained at home, - or having fled from their dwellings, shall return by the first of - August. . . We do also promise to secure them in their goods, their - stocks of' cattel, and all their chattels personal whatever, willing - and requiring them to come in, . . and to preserve the harvest of - grass and corn for the supply of the winter." - -Those who held from Protestant landlords were to pay their rent as -usual, but tenants of Roman Catholics should hand their money to -commissioners appointed to receive it. The term REBELS is applied in -the proclamation to all in arms for King James, a proof that privy -councillors dating from the royal camp at Finglass, 7th July, 1690, -were determined to hold the adherents of James sternly to their -constitutional position. - -Devoted partisan as was our chaplain, [Footnote 200] he was sometimes -blessed with kindly feelings toward his master's foes. He thus -continues after copying the proclamation: - - "This declaration was published in the camp two days after, and had - it been punctually observed according to the intent of it, we had - had fewer enemies at this day by at least 20,000. For though the - king was punctual in his observance of it, some officers and - soldiers were apt to neglect the king's honour, and the honour of - our country and religion, when it stood in competition with their - own profit and advantage." - - [Footnote 200: Rev. George Story, chaplain in King William's army.] - - -DOUGLAS'S SLOW JOURNEY TO ATHLONE. - -On the 9th of July, William divided his forces, sending one portion -under General L. G. Douglas to force the pass at Athlone, himself -conducting the rest toward Limerick. Douglas did not tire his soldiers -with rapid marches. The first night they bivouacked at Chapel -_Issard_, which place a citizen of Dublin will reach easily on foot in -an hour. The second night they encamped at _Manouth_ (May-nooth?), but -here we must quote our historian. - - "Friday we encamped at _Glencurry_ (Clon-curry?) about five miles - further, and we had not got this length till we begun to plunder, - though the general gave strict orders to the contrary. Saturday the - 12th, we marched to _Glenard_ (Clonard) bridge, and here we staid - all Sunday. The soldiers went abroad and took several things from - the Irish, who had staid upon the king's declaration, and frequent - complaints came already to the general'; but plundering went on - still, especially among the northern men who are very dexterous at - that sport. . . At _Mullingar_ several of the Irish came in for - protections, though when they had them they were of little force to - secure their goods or themselves.". - -{710} - -General Douglas and his soldiers arrived before Athlone, which our -authority locates fifty miles north of Dublin, though it happens to be -nearly due west, on the 17th, having marched out of Chapelizod on the -9th (six and a quarter miles per day). Not a whit fatigued or daunted, -they summoned stout old Colonel Grace to surrender. Story says he -fired a pistol at the herald, to show the value he set on his request. -We must pronounce the old warrior a recreant, unless the charge was -mere powder, or the muzzle pointed upward, which we opine was the -case. Colonel Grace expressed at the same time his determination to -eat his old boots rather than capitulate; hence the application of -_Boot-eater_ to stout defenders of fortresses. So besiegers and -besieged fired guns long and short, wide and small bores, at each -other till the 25th, when General Douglas, hearing that Sarsfield was -coming to the relief of the place, raised the siege, and marched -southward to meet the main army near Limerick. Mr. Story says that -about three or four hundred men were lost between Dublin and Limerick, -of which number thirty only were slain before Athlone, say three men -and three quarters of a man each day. Very indifferent gunners were -those behind the walls of Athlone if this statement be true, Our -observant author makes curious mistakes in topographical matters at -times. In this portion of' his narrative he mentions the Shannon as -falling into the sea beyond Knoc Patrick. Every child exercised on the -map of Ireland, is able to lay finger on Cnoc-Patrick in Mayo, seventy -miles or so north of the Shannon's mouth. - -After laying the deaths of the three or four hundred men missing to -sickness, hard marching, six and a quarter miles per diem, surprises -by Rapparees, and sundry other disadvantages, he cracks a gentle joke -by way of cheering up his reader's spirits. "W e killed," says he, -"and took prisoners a great many thousands, but more of' these had had -four feet than two." Having brought this division of the army safe -through the "Golden Vale," let us see what the other portion under the -immediate attention of the king were about. - - -HOW WILLIAM ENFORCED DISCIPLINE: - -On the 9th of the month, William encamped at Crumlin, and the next -night between the Ness [Footnote 201] and Rathcoole. It was well for -the inhabitants of the line of march that the king commanded in -person. - - [Footnote 201: Naas was anciently the seat of the kings of North - Leinster. The word means a fair or a commemoration. Rathcoole - implies a lonely fortress.] - - "Little hapned remarkable except the king's great care to keep the - souldiers from plundering, and every night it was given out in - orders that on pain of death no man should go beyond the line in the - camp, or take violently to the least value from Protestant or - Papist. The 11th the army marched to _Kill-Kullen_, Bridge, the king - this morning passing by the _Ness_ saw a souldier robbing a poor - woman, which enraged his majesty so much, that he beat him with his - cane, and gave orders that he and several others guilty of the like - disobedience should be executed on the Monday following. People were - so wicked as (to) put a bad construction on this action of the - king's, but it had so good an effect upon that part of the army, - that the country was secured from any violence done by the souldiers - during that whole march. Two of the sufferers were _Iniskillin_ - dragoons." - -Had General Douglas acted thus the worthy chaplain would not have had -to record so much cruelty and injustice inflicted upon the harmless -country people. - -Story takes occasion, on Colonel Eppingar's proceeding with a party of -1,000 horse and dragoons [Footnote 202] to Wexford, to inform his -English readers about the people in the south of the county. - - [Footnote 202: In 1660, Marshal Brissae, fancying or feigning - dragons to be in the habit of spouting fire out of their mouths, - get the muzzles of short muskets adorned with the effigies of - these monsters, and therewith armed some troops of horse. The - early dragoons discharged the duties of infantry and cavalry. The - Scots Grays formed in 1683 were the earliest British dragoons.] - - "Hereabouts were the first English planted in Ireland. They were a - colony of west-countrymen, and retain their old English tone and - customs to this day. I am credibly informed that every day about one - or two o'clock in summer, they go to bed, the whole country round; - nay, the very hens fly up and the sheep go to fold as orderly as it - were night." [Footnote 203] - - [Footnote 203: The people of "the barony" are the descendants of a - Flemish colony who had settled in Wales at the invitation of Henry - I. Beans were the favorite crop, and dry bean-stalks furnished - their chief fuel. If the gossip of the inhabitants of the northern - part of the county could be credited, the barony of Forth formerly - furnished priests for all Ireland.] - -{711} - -Good Mr. Story was as fond of a bit of picturesque or romantic hearsay -as Herodotus himself. The well-to-do farmers really indulged in a -siesta, but as to the degeneracy of manners among the hens and sheep -we are altogether incredulous. Some time before the _Ninety-Eight_, -household and village councils were held for a month in a townland of -the barony to decide whether a farmer, to whom a legacy had been left -in Dublin, should relinquish his right to it, or encounter the risks -of the journey to the city. At last it was decided that prayers were -to be solemnly offered up for his safety in all the neighboring -churches and chapels, and then let him in God's name brave the perils -of the way. - -A good deal of irresolution prevailed at this time in William's -proceedings. Ill news came rife across the water, and at one time he -retraced his route even as far as Chapelizod with the intention of -crossing to England. There, however, he received tidings which -reassured him, and he returned to the camp at Golden Bridge, which he -reached on the 2d of August. On the 8th General Douglas arrived, and -on the 9th the united forces approached the Irish stronghold. - - -INTERIOR OF THE IRISH COUNCILS. - -The Irish and French chiefs who had collected to Limerick after the -day at the Boyne were far from being of the same opinions or -aspirations. According to Colonel O'Kelly, Tyrconnell desired nothing -more than to give up Limerick and all the other garrisons to King -William, and Count de Lauzun was more anxious to get back to that -centre of delights, the city of Paris, than co-operate in the defence -of their present hold, which, he said, required only a smart discharge -of roasted apples to be made listen to terms. - - -THE PARLEY BEFORE THE FIGHT. - -Limerick, now apparently devoted to destruction, consisted of an -island within two arms of the Shannon, and a smaller area outside -called the Irish-town, both portions being connected by Ball's-bridge. -King's Island was and is connected with the Clare side of the river by -'I'homond-bridge, and contains a legacy left by King John in the shape -of a castle. William's people set to work forming batteries and -trenches as well as the balls coming from the ramparts of' Irish-town -would allow them, and the moment they were ready they proceeded to -exchange iron and leaden compliments with the folk behind the -parapets. - -Hostilities, however, did not really begin till some civil -communications had taken place on both sides. A herald-trumpeter, -blowing his instrument and displaying his white flag, entered the city -with a polite request to the authorities to surrender the place. -Monsieur Boiselieu, chief in command, calling the Duke of Berwick and -Major-General Sarsfield to council, indited a politely expressed -letter to Sir Robert Southwell, secretary of state, in which was -implied some wonder at the request, and a determination on his part, -and that of his officers and soldiers, to gain the good opinion of the -Prince of Orange by defending the city against his forces while -defence was feasible. On the return of the trumpeter firing began, the -king inspecting the hot business from Cromwell's fort. - -Story says that a Frenchman, escaping into the city the day the enemy -sat down before it, gave accurate information to Sarsfield of the -complete economy of the English camp, and of a battering-train, tin -boats, wagons of biscuits; etc., approaching William's camp from -Dublin. {712} Part of the sequel is given in his own words: - - "Monday the 11th in the morning, came one _Manus O'Brien_ a - substantial country gentleman to the camp, and gave notice that - _Sarsfield_ in the night had passed the river with a body of horse, - and designed something extraordinary. . . . . The messenger that - brought the news was not much taken notice of at first, most people - looking on it as a dream. A great officer however called him aside, - and after some indifferent questions, askt him about a prey of - cattel in such a place, which the gentleman complained of - afterwards, saying he was sorry to see general officers mind cattel - more than the king's honour. But after he met with some acquaintance - he was brought to the king, who, to prevent the worst, gave orders - that a party of five hundred horse should be made ready, and march - to meet the guns. . . . Where the fault lay, I am no competent - judge, but it certainly was one or two of the clock in the morning - before the party marched, which they then did very softly till about - an hour after they saw------" - -What shall be told farther on. - -SARSFIELD'S GREAT FEAT. - - "From Limerick that day bould Sarsfield dashed away, - Until he came to Cullen where their artillery lay; - The Lord cleared up the firmament, the moon and stars shone bright, - And for the Battle of the Boyne be had revenge that night." - -Poor John Banim inserted these stirring lines in his romance of the -Boyne Water as belonging to an old ballad; we suspect them to have -been his own composition. Whoever might have given Sarsfield -information--a rapparee was as likely as the Frenchman mentioned by -the chaplain--he crossed Thomond-bridge at the head of five hundred -horse on Sunday night as soon as it was sufficiently dark, and the -party moved up as noiselessly as they could along the western bank of -the Shannon to Killaloe, or _Killalow_, as Rev. Mr. Story spells it. -There they crossed the river and penetrated among the Tipperary -mountains, over which the Keeper and the "Mother of Mountains" towered -in pride. Among the hills they spent the rest of the night and the -whole of the next day, being kept aware of the movements of the convoy -which meantime was working its slow way along the Cashel road. Toward -evening Sarsfield and a few who were most in his confidence, lying -among the dry grass and fern of the hill-pass since called -Lacken-na-Gapple (_Lagan-na-Capal_, "Hollow of the Horses"), were -inspecting the last stage of the convoy. At that hour the train had -passed the village of Cullen, and were about taking their rest on and -about the road leading up to the grassy platform on which stood the -old fortalice of Ballyneedy. This was about five miles from the -mountain pass where the Jacobite general was on the watch. He waited -as patiently as he could till the sun had sunk some time behind the -Galteigh mountains, and the watch-fires began to glimmer from the -encampment. - -The watch-word that night among the wearied men and their sentinels -was SARSFIELD, an ill-omened coincidence. How the party conspiring -their destruction found it out is not so very apparent; but when the -officers were asleep in the waste castle, and the soldiers by their -wagons, Sarsfield's men sang out the password to the sentinel placed -in advance of the village, to the sentinels in the village, and to the -sentinels immediately in advance of the unconscious groups. There the -commander thundered out "Sarsfield is the word, and Sarsfield is the -man." Deafening shouts came from the rushing horsemen, and of the -awakened slumberers some were slain gallantly resisting, a few -escaped, and a few others got quarter. The spoils consisted or eight -pieces of heavy battering-cannon, five mortars with their carriages, a -hundred and fifty-three wagons of ammunition, twelve carts loaded with -biscuit, eighteen tin boats for the passage of rivers, and all the -cart and cavalry horses. - -The commander, wisely judging that troops were at the moment marching -from Limerick to interrupt his plans, had the cannons charged to the -mouth and set in the earth, muzzle downward. {713} These he surrounded -with the wagons and their contents, and skifully laid trains of powder -were not neglected. The successful party then withdrawing to a safe -distance--they needed a wide berth, taking the quantity of powder into -account--set fire at once to the lines of powder, and at one and the -same moment all the contents of the great guns and the -ammunition-carts were ignited. There was an intolerable blaze, a roar -and its reverberations; accompanied by a blowing up in the air of -pieces of metal and blazing wood, and the combined effect was sublime -and terrible beyond conception. The darkest recesses of the mountain -glens were lighted up as in the summer noon, and the shock was felt -for many miles in every direction. Sir John Lanier, who was hastening -when too late to protect the convoy, saw the blaze and heard the -terrible explosion at several miles distance, and comprehended the -terrible disaster in a moment. The concussion was perceptible even in -William's camp at a distance of about thirteen miles, and it is -probable that the general who had "_askt_" Manus O'Brien about the -prey of cartel, felt (to use a provincialism) very lewd of himself. -Sir John Lanier directed his squadron of five hundred horse to the -left to intercept the Irish party, but it was not his fortune to meet -with them, and Sarsfield recrossed the Shannon without the loss of a -man. - -The Rev. Mr. Story relates that no one was made prisoner at Ballyneedy -"only a lieutenant of Colonel Earle's, who being sick in a house hard -by, was stripped and brought to Sarsfield, who used him very civilly." - -While the Irish chief is snatching a short relaxation after his -successful sortie, and all within the walls are filled with a -momentary joy for the signal benefit, let us introduce a slight sketch -of the career of the brave Earl of Lucan, whose memory is still held -in love and veneration by the great mass of the Irish people, and of -whom no disrespectful word is ever pronounced by the descendants of -the brave men against whom he often waged battle. - - -SARSFIELD'S CAREER. - -The first of the name known in Ireland was Thomas Sarsfield, -standard-bearer to King Henry II. In the reign of Charles I., Patrick, -the then representative of the family, married Anne, daughter of -Ruaighre (Roger) O'Moore, and their children were William and the -subject of our sketch Patrick, who succeeded to the estate on the -death of his brother. "He had received his education in one of the -French military colleges, and saw some early campaigns in the armies -of Louis XIV. His first commission was that of ensign in the regiment -of Monmouth in France, after which he obtained a lieutenancy in the -Royal Guards of England." He commanded for James in one of those -skirmishes which took place with William's Dutch troops on their march -from Torquay. At the commencement of the Irish campaigns his estates -produced L2,000 annual revenue, so that it did not inconvenience him -much to raise a. company of horse. We shall not here touch on his -achievements during the war in Ireland, as these have found, or will -naturally find their places in the course of our narrative. On -arriving in Paris after the treaty of Limerick, "he was received with -kindness and distinction by the ex-king of England and Louis XIV." - - "The former appointed him colonel of his body guards, and his most - Christian majesty bestowed on him the rank of lieutenant-general in - the French armies. He might have obtained a marshal's staff had his - life been spared. He fought under Luxembourg at Steenkirk in 1692, . - . . . and on the 29th of July, 1693, a little more than one year and - a half after his voluntary banishment from his own country, he was - killed in the command of a division at the great battle of Landen. - It was a soldier's death on a glorious and memorable field. - -{714} - - "There are few names more worthy to be inscribed in the roll of - honour than that of Patrick Sarsfield, who may be quoted as a type - of loyalty and patriotic devotion. In the annals of Irish history he - stands as a parallel to Pierre du Terrail, Chevalier de Bayard in - those of France, and may be equally accounted 'Sans peur et sans - reproche,' the fearless and irreproachable knight; in his public - actions firm and consistent; in his private character amiable and - unblemished. . . . (At the end of the war) William III. would gladly - have won his services, and offered to confirm him in his rank and - property; but he listened to no overtures, and left his native - country attended by thousands of that gallant body, who, under the - title of the Irish Brigade, filled the continent of Europe with - their renown." [Footnote 204] - - [Footnote 204: "Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan, a Biography;" - Dublin University Magazine for November, 1853; the writer, John - William Cole, Esq., formerly captain in the Royal Fusiliers. Mary, - sister of the earl, was married to Colonel Rossiter, County - Wexford, and to a lineal descendant of theirs, the gentleman just - mentioned, we are indebted for the only life of Sarsfield yet - given to the world. He could find but scant materials, though it - is supposed they might be made available if the living - representative of an old family of the Pale would take the trouble - of a search among the archives of his house. Mary Sarsfield's - great granddaughter was the wife of Lieutenant (afterward colonel) - James Cockburn, who was on the personal staff of General Wolfe on - the memorable day at Quebec. His portrait (to the right of General - Moncton's) was introduced by West into his picture of the "Death - of Wolfe." He afterward commanded the Thirty-fifth in the American - war of Independence. Colonel Cockburn's daughter, Margaret, - married Thomas Cole, Esq., of Callan, in the county of Kilkenny, - major in the King's Fencibles. Our authority the issue of this - marriage could not resist the martial impulses of his race; so he - smelled powder along with Rev. R. Gleig at Washington and New - Orleans and elsewhere. Since he laid aside the "spurtle blade and - dog-skin wallet," he has usefully employed his leisure hours in - literary composition of a healthful character. We suspect the - papers in the University Magazine on ancient military tactics - illustrated by plans of battles to be his. Among his other - productions are biographies of General Vallancey, Tyrone Power, - and other Irish theatrical celebrities.] - -In his Military Memoirs of the Irish Nation, Mathew O'Connor speaks -thus of his military qualifications: - - "As a partisan and for a desultory warfare, he possessed admirable - qualifications; brave, patient, vigilant, rapid, indefatigable, - ardent, adventurous, and enterprising; the foremost in encounter, - the last in retreat. He harassed his enemy by sudden, unexpected, - and generally irresistible attacks, inspiring his troops with the - same ardour and contempt of danger with which his own soul was - animated. . . . No general was ever more beloved by his troops." - - -A SIEGE INCIDENT OR TWO. - -Whatever William might have felt on being made acquainted with the -loss of his cannon and ammunition, he said very little on the subject. -He was one of those whose fixed purpose is not to be set aside for -defeat or check. With his battering-train augmented by two great guns -and a mortar from Waterford, he continued to pound the walls day after -day. The trenches were relieved at midnight till the following unlucky -mistake occurred, all the particulars of which are not very -intelligible to civilians: - - "Monday 18th August at night the trenches were relieved by - Lieut.-General Douglas, My Lord _Sydney_, and Count _Nassau_, as - major-generals, and Brigadeer _Stuart_. We made our approaches - towards the fort outside the wall, and Lieut.-General _Douglas's_ - and Brigadeer _Stuart's_ regiments were posted towards the right. It - was dark when they went on, and they did not perceive the enemy to - be so near them as they really were. [What brought the enemy outside - their walls?] for there was at that time scarce twenty yards - distance between them. They were ordered to lye down upon their arms - which they did, and a great part, both of the officers and soldiers, - fell asleep. The enemy perceived this, and attacked them, which - presently put them into a confusion, and several of them gave - ground, but presently recovered themselves and fired, but did not - know at what. The _Danes_ to the left took our own men for the enemy - sallying, and so fired upon them; they believed the Danes to be the - Irish; and so returned the compliment. The Irish fired upon both, - and they at one another. This confusion lasted nigh two hours, in - which several men were killed; nor did the king or any body else - know what to make of it. At last our men found their mistake, and - the Irish were beat in, crying 'quarter' and 'murder' as they used - to do. After this his majesty ordered the trenches to be relieved in - the day, and our men marched always in and out in the very face of - their cannon." - -If truth lies in a well, it is a pity she should make choice of a -muddy one, where her contours and lineaments are so admirably -confused. Hear another version by John Banim, the novelist, from what, -if any, authority we know not: - - "While day after day the battering, at this one point continued, the - garrison made a midnight sortie upon the besiegers. Taken by - surprise, and thrown into such confusion as to be unable to discern - friend from foe, they attacked each other, and the Irish {715} - having retreated unperceived, so continued until the morning light - showed them their mistake and the shocking havoc that resulted from - it." - -Our chaplain did not much relish that classic and severe style of -composition which critics assigned to a great historical work. -Moreover he was ever as ready as Homer to introduce a gossiping or -traditional episode, and repose his pen from the dry or terrible -details of the main course of events. - -On the 19th of the month King William had another providential escape. -He was riding slowly up toward Cromwell's fort, when, as he was -entering a gap, an officer stayed him about some business. Within a -second or two after the pause of the horse's feet, a cannon-ball swept -through the spot where he and his horse would have been but for the -interruption. - -All this time the people within the walls were in ill-condition, their -diet consisting of beans, or very coarse bread, and the enemy's -mortars throwing bombs and carcasses among them with little -interruption. These things disturbed them much, as Mr. Story says, for -they had not seen the like before. The round or oval iron carcasses -which flashed forth through it's holes a fierce and inextinguishable -fire for some eight or ten minutes was nearly as terrible as the bomb. -Still they doggedly held on, and made no complaint; Sarsfield's energy -and hopeful spirits kept up their courage. The chaplain relates with a -sort of remorseful feeling how his party and himself enjoyed the -burning of a part of the town one night by the bombs and red-hot -balls, "which made me reflect upon our profession of soldiery not to -be overcharged with good nature." - - -HOW LIMERICK AS ASSAILED AND DEFENDED. - -By the 27th of the month, a twelve yards breach being made in the wall -of Irishtown, and William looking on from Cromwell's fort, the -grenadiers, supported on either side by Dutch, Danes, and -Brandenburghers, on hearing a signal of three cannon-shots, sprang out -of their trenches, and cheering loudly, dashed forward to the glacis. -[Footnote 205] They were hotly received from the covered way, whose -occupants mounting the banquette, and resting their muskets on the -edge of the glacis, poured a shower of balls among them; and the guns -on the ramparts, great and small, volleying fast and fiercely, made -wide lanes among the brave fellows. However, the guns from Cromwell's -fort, enfilading the ramparts, soon silenced the engines of death -stationed there, and the grenadiers, undaunted by the thinning of -their ranks, gained the glacis, sprang into the covered way, and after -a terrible struggle forced the defenders from that post, from their -trenches in the ditch, and over the breach into the city. - - [Footnote 205: For the behoof of young renders not conversant with - the outworks of besieged towns, a few explanatory words are given. - Outside the strong walls is a wide and deep, dry ditch. The sloping - side from which the wall rises is the scarp, the opposite slope is - the counterscarp, its upper line meeting with the platform called - the covered way. This covered way is about thirty feet wide, its - outward boundary being the face of the glacis or sloping plane, this - last so situated that men marching along it to attack the fortress - are in the direct range of the guns. The level of the glacis is - higher than that of the covered way by seven or eight feet. The - defenders standing on a small terrace called the banquette at the - base of the glacis, and resting their muskets on its edge, can fire - on the advancing foe.] - -The guns on the ramparts to the right of the breach being silenced, -the firing from the Danes and Dutch on the flanks of the storming -party did considerable damage to those on the ramparts and in the -ditch, but the guns of a fort constructed in King's Island opened on -the foreigners, killed many, and afforded some relief to the -defenders. While these were mowing each other down at a distance, the -grenadiers, driving their opponents across the breach, cheered -lustily, and flung in their hand-grenades, whose bursting and -destructive iron shower were ill calculated to recall the -self-possession of the fugitives. But the pikes and bayonets of their -follows in shelter, now levelled full at their breasts, were {716} as -much to be dreaded as what they expected from behind. Over the breach -and inward dashed Lord Drogheda's grenadiers, but a battery snugly -placed in front of the yawning breach on stones, timber, earth, and -other stuff, all at once belched out a storm of grape upon them, and -after struggling for some time, a second discharge sent them back over -the ruins and into the ditch. - -But no dastard feeling was to be found among the survivors. -Re-enforced by new comrades who had yet done nothing, they returned -once more to the assault, flung their grenades, and cleared the -tumbled masses of lime and stone. Undaunted by the havoc made among -them by a fresh discharge, they rushed on the battery, effectually -silenced it, and now looked on the capture of the town as certain. But -here they were met by fresh and untired foes, who being kept to that -moment in inaction by Sarsfield, now rushed on from either side, and a -dreadful struggle commenced, the badly armed defenders showering -volleys of stones where more effective weapons were not at command, -the mere townsmen and their wives and daughters mingling fiercely in -the desperate fray. Those who had pushed on the furthest were slain to -a man, neither asking nor receiving quarter, and the others, after -effecting everything in the power of energy and dauntless courage, -were for the second time driven forth from the rescued city. - - "From the walls and every place (we quote our chaplain) they so - pestered us on the counterscarp (properly the covered way), that - after nigh three hours resisting bullets, stones (broken bottles - from the very women who boldly stood in the breach, and were nearer - our men than their own), and whatever ways could be thought on to - destroy us, our ammunition being spent, it was judged safest to - return to our trenches. When the work was at the hottest, the - _Brandenburgh_ regiment, who behaved themselves very well, were got - upon the black battery, where the enemie's powder hapned to take - fire, and blew up a great many of them, the men, faggots, stones, - and whatnot, flying into the air with a most terrible noise." - -In some Jacobite memoirs mention is made of a sortie made by Sarsfield -and his driving the wearied assaulters to their camp, and their -rescuing many of the enemy from an hospital which had taken fire. The -exploit is overlooked by the chaplain, who thus concludes his short -account of the day: - - "The king stood nigh _Cromwell's_ fort all the time, and the - business being over, he went to his camp very much concerned, as - indeed was the whole army, for you might have seen a mixture of - anger and sorrow in every bodie's countenance." - -William thus disappointed of bringing the Irish issue to a conclusion, -and his presence being much needed in England, drew off his forces, -and he himself made little delay till he set sail from Waterford to -make matters in London comfortable, and keep a sharp lookout on the -unfriendly proceedings of his bitter foeman, Louis XIV. - -In September Count Solmes, who was left in command after William's -departure, went to England, and Ginckell succeeded to his office. A -better choice could not have been made; he established his -head-quarters at Kilkenny. - - -TYRCONNELL'S POLICY. - -Tyrconnell, who all along was no better than a drag on his party, who -desired peace in order to secure his own estates, and who was accused -of holding secret correspondence with William, sailed to France soon -after the siege of Limerick. Previous to his departure he appointed -the young Duke of Berwick commander-in-chief; giving him twelve -councillors to aid him with their advice. Some of these were men after -Tyrconnell's own heart, such as in our own days are called -_Cawtholics_ by their own party. Sarsfield happened to be among them, -because, if he were not, Tyrconnell's arrangements would have been -little regarded by the men of heart and head among the loyalists. -Count O'Kelly declares that Tyrconnell's reasons for repairing to the -presence of Kings Louis and James were to nullify tile {717} effect -that the gallant defence of Limerick might have made upon their minds. -He would so twist and remould circumstances as to show that there was -not a shadow of hope for ultimate success. James appears to have long -entertained the notion of recovering England by losing Ireland, hence -his enduring patronage of Tyrconnell. Berwick was influenced, of -course, by what he knew were the cherished wishes of his father and -his father's favorite, and by his inaction, and want of cordial -co-operation with Sarsfield and the others, who, like him, were in -earnest, did all that in him lay to make General Ginckell's task easy. -On more than one occasion the Irish party were about deposing the -young duke, but he managed by a show of compliance to still retain his -power. - -In September of this year the brave soldier but faithless adherent, -Lord Churchill, afterward Duke of Marborough, took Cork, which the -Duke of Berwick had previously advised the brave M. Elligot to burn, -and then retire to Kerry, as its defence seemed hopeless. He rather -chose to hold it out for five days. The Duke of Grafton, a natural son -of Charles II., and who bequeathed his name to the Bond street of -Dublin, commanding the navy, perished at the siege, fighting against -his uncle's supporters. Marlborough next marched against Kinsale, -which he entered without opposition, but the new fort commanded by Sir -Edmund Scott held out for twenty days. - - -THE RAPPAREES: UNCOMFORTABLE WINTER QUARTERS, 1690. - -Those patriotic and troublesome light-armed irregulars, the rapparees, -continued during the decline and fall of the year 1690 to do the -English in Leinster and Munster much mischief by unexpectedly visiting -places supplied with provisions, either cattle or corn, and carrying -off all they could seize. So General Ginckell finding himself -straitened, conceived the idea of effecting a settlement in Kerry, -from which Limerick obtained much provender. With this object he -directed Lieutenant-General Douglas to march on Sligo, and take it if -possible, at all events to move down the west bank of the Shannon, and -co-operate with Colonel Richard Brewer, then at Mullingar, in attempts -to pass the river at Jamestown and Lanesboro' above, and Banagher -below Athlone. While the attention of King James's generals would be -drawn to these proceedings in the north and east, Major-General Tettau -would quietly proceed from Cork into Kerry, and take possession of -that ancient "kingdom," seconded in his expedition if necessary by -forces from Clonmel under the brave Ginckell himself. The advance was -really made, and skirmishes and attacks of forts ensued, and after -all, the English forces were withdrawn, leaving matters pretty much as -before, except the damage mutually inflicted. Some desultory -encounters took place on the east bank of the Shannon between portions -of the hostile forces, and the rapparees improved every opportunity of -despoiling the English foe, and collecting munitions into their boggy -or hilly retreats. There are sufficient materials for a dozen romances -in the adventures of Maccabe, Grace, O'Higgins, O'Callaghan, -O'Kavanagh, the White Sergeant, Galloping Hogan. The last-named worthy -indeed figures in the two standard romances of the Jacobite wars which -we are happy to possess. It may be supposed that the deeds of these -heroes smelt unsavorily in the nostrils of our chaplain, who thus -descanted both in sorrow and anger on their proceedings. He prefaced -his remarks with an expression of Lord Baltimore to King James I., -namely, that "the Irish were a wicked people, and had been as wickedly -dealt withal," and conscientiously adds, "I make no application of the -expression to ourselves, the most people that have been in that -country know how to do it." - -{718} - -One expedition of some moment was made by Colonel Foulkes into an -island in the Bog of Allen. This was connected by two toghers or -causeways to two points on the dry land, one of them being furnished -with twelve trenches. These the brave colonel, who brought three -field-pieces along with him, was obliged to fill up one after the -other. When he arrived he found Colonel Piper, who had approached by -the other causeway. The rapparee garrison had all carefully retreated -into the woods when they became aware of their danger, leaving, as Mr. -Story says, "only some little things for the invaders." - -Of course no quarter was ever extended to the poor rapparees. However, -the usual forbearance was exhibited by the regular forces on both -sides toward each other. Opposite Lanesboro, on the other side of the -Shannon, were posted three regiments of Irish, with the duty of -watching the English on the east bank, during some days in December; -and (in Mr. Story's words) "then little hapned of moment only some -small firings, and sometimes they made truces, Colonel _Clifford_ and -the other Irish officers drinking healths over to our men, and those -on the other side returning the compliment." - -It never entered the mind of the warlike chaplain to throw a halo of -interest round one of his rapparee chiefs, though some were perhaps -more worthy of the name of hero than Redmond O'Hanlon or Rob Roy. They -were contemporaries of his, and were directing their chief energies to -bring his master's rule in Ireland to an end. So it was against nature -that he could see in them anything but "thieves, robbers, tories, and -bogg-trotters." - -The most distinguished of the heads of these free companies was -Anthony O'Carroll, named _Fadh_ from his great height. After the first -siege of Limerick he fixed his head-quarters at Nenagh, and -_discomforted_ the English and their allies from that period to the -beginning of the second siege. Though he or any of his followers if -taken prisoners would be hung according to the laws of war, without -mercy, he observed a different demeanor to his captives. Those who had -money ransomed themselves; others were kept as prisoners. When he -found himself crowded by his foes after the day at Aughrim, he set -fire to the town, and brought his garrison of 500 men safe to Limerick -Mr. Story says that he was able to collect 2,000 men to his banner at -any moment while he ruled at Nenagh. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - -SERMONS PREACHED AT THE CHURCH OF -ST. PAUL, THE APOSTLE, NEW YORK, -during the years 1865 and 1866. 12mo, -pp. 440. New York: Lawrence Kehoe. - -The new volume of Sermons by the Paulist Fathers, which Mr. Kehoe has -just issued in a very neat and tasteful shape, derives a special -interest from the fact that it contains several of the hitherto -unpublished discourses of the Rev. Francis A. Baker. In the earnest, -vigorous, affectionate sermons on Penance, on the miracle of Pardon, -on the power of the Holy Ghost as exemplified in good Christians, and -on the duty of Thankfulness, it is easy to recognize the impulses of -that beautiful soul which has now gone to its reward. We have spoken -before of the characteristics of Father Baker's preaching. Here is an -extract, taken at random from the first of the four discourses which -we have mentioned: - - "Do you know, my brethren, what it is that consoles the priest in - his labors in the confessional? Why does he shut himself in that - dark closet for hours? Ah! I will tell you, Like Elias in the cave - of Horeb, he is watching for the manifestation of God; and as the - prophet found the power of God, not in {719} the tempest or the - earthquake, but in the still small voice, so the priest finds the - greatest work of God, the most beautiful, that which consoles him - for every sacrifice; not in the works of nature, not in sensible - things, however great; but in the still small voice of the - trembling, self-accusing soul, that has really come to shake off the - slavery of sin, and to claim once more, through the blood of Christ, - the glorious liberty of the children of God. Beautiful is the earth - and sky, and glorious is the jewelled city of God; but if I may say - what I think, I do not believe in all God's universe there is a work - so stupendous, so grand, so beautiful, as the conversion of a - sinner. - - "Well, then, does St. Augustine say, that to convert a sinner is a - greater work than to create heaven and earth. Well do the saints cry - out, Glory and empire for ever to Jesus Christ, who has loved us and - washed us from our sins in his own blood! Well do the angels in - heaven rejoice over one sinner that does penance. It is a thing for - heaven and earth to wonder at. But, my brethren, it does not speak - well for us that we think so little of it. It shows that we have - very imperfect ideas of the evil of sin, a very inadequate - remembrance of what Christ has done and suffered for us, a very - insufficient conception of the conversion that is required of us. It - seems to me that some men imagine that God pardons sin in much the - same way that a good-natured parent overlooks the slight offences of - a child who owns his fault. Whereas, in fact, God is a holy God, who - tries the reins and hearts, who demands of us, as the condition of - preserving his favor, that we love him with all our mind and - strength and heart. When I see a man who has recently been to - confession, and who has had grievous sins to confess; when I see him - no more thoughtful than before, no more watchful over himself, no - more grateful to God; when I see him forget all about it, and take - it as a matter of course, I fear that he has come away as he went; - that no angel has smiled on his penance, no saint rejoiced over it; - that no droop of the precious Blood has fallen on his heart. Surely - if he had been pardoned he would think more of it. Let it not be so - with us, my brethren. Have we been forgiven a deadly sin, then from - reprobates and castaways we have become children of God. How sweet - it is to receive any grace from God! To look on the sky and earth, - and think that he has made it, to look on ourselves and think that - we have come from his hands, fills us with delight. - - "But to have sinned and to be pardoned, to have sinned and to be - washed in the precious Blood, and then to belong to the family of - God. To have tasted of the heavenly gift, and the powers of the - world to come. To have the love of God, and the peace of God, once - more to renew these dark and stubborn hearts. Where is our gratitude - for favors such as those? Magdalene hath loved much because she was - much forgiven. When is our love and our zeal proportionate to the - pardon which we have received from God? Go, pardoned sinner--sin no - more. Go, and ponder deeply the graces yon have received. Go, and by - your life show what great things he has done for you. Once in - darkness, but now light in the Lord, walk as children of light, - living with St. Paul in the faith of the Son of God, who hath loved - you and given himself for you." - -The same fervent spirit and the same vein of practical exhortation -which we see so admirably combined in the passages which we have -cited, are conspicuous in many other pages from the anonymous hands -which have contributed to the authorship of this volume. The Paulist -Fathers have little to do in their book with controversy; and not a -great deal with dogma, except in so far as it has a direct practical -relation to the duties of every-day life. They seem, in this -collection of sermons, to care more for exhorting than expounding; -more for arousing sinners to the comprehension and performance of what -the church requires of them, than for setting forth the church's -sacred attributes. As discourses addressed to ordinary congregations, -made up of people of the common run who are burdened with the common -imperfections of average humanity, we know of few specimens of pulpit -literature which we rate higher. And they have also the great and -unfortunately rather rare merit of being very impressive and effective -when read in the retirement of the closet. - - J. R. G. H. - - -LYDIA, A TALE OF THE SECOND CENTURY. - -Translated from the German of Hermann Geiger, of Munich. 12mo, pp. -275. Philadelphia: Eugene Cummiskey. 1867. - -We are inclined to believe that the now world-renowned tales of -Fabiola and Callista have prompted the composition of this beautiful -story. The heroine is a young Christian of Smyrna, named Seraphica, -who is cast into prison and condemned to death for her faith. A -terrible earthquake, most powerfully depicted by the author, sunders -the walls of her prison, and she is liberated; but learning that her -{720} mother was carried off to Athens as a slave, she follows her -thither. The captain of the vessel in which she embarks seizes her and -makes a present of her as a slave to a wealthy Athenian lady named -Metella, who names her Lydia from the place of her birth. In the -service of this lady, who is a pious heathen, the Christian slave -passes several years, exhibiting in her life many traits of that -heroic patience, humility, love of suffering, and divine charity which -were inspired by her holy faith; and which is beautifully contrasted -with the pure, natural virtue of her heathen mistress. - -Her Christian patience is rewarded at last by the conversion of -Metella and her son. Freed from slavery, she goes to Rome to seek her -mother, who she finds has in the mean time suffered martyrdom, and -returns to Metella to become her bosom friend and companion. - -We could scarcely wish anything added to the plot of this charming -tale, but the impression made upon us during its perusal was that the -different descriptions, scenes, and tableaux were wanting in a proper -connecting link, being presented to us rather, as it would appear, for -their own sake, than as necessarily united with, or dependent upon, -the life and fortunes of the characters of the story. The translator -has fallen into a common fault from a desire to be too literal; the -intermingling of the historical present with the past. We have not -observed it in any instance without feeling that it detracted very -much from the force and beauty of the description. The volume does the -enterprising publisher the highest credit, its typography and binding -lacking in nothing that we could desire for elegance and taste. We -predict and wish for it a wide circulation. - - -HISTORY OF A MOUTHFUL OF BREAD. -By Jean Mace. Translated from the French by Mr. Alfred Gatty. -New-York: American News Company, 121 Nassau-street. - -This is a very popular work on the branch of physiology which relates -to the organs and processes of nutrition. It is written in a pleasing, -lively style, and with the express purpose of being readable by -intelligent children. Excepting the absurd notion that the globules of -the blood are animalculae, and the grovelling definition of the body -as a digestive tube served by organs, we see nothing worthy of censure -in the book, which, otherwise, imparts valuable information respecting -the merely physical facts of animal life. - - -Goodrich's PICTORIAL HISTORIES OF -GREECE AND THE UNITED STATES, -and -CHILD'S PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. -New editions. Philadelphia: Butler & Co. 1867. - -These new and improved editions of very popular and well-written -histories are very suitable for elementary instruction. We have -examined the history of Greece with some attention, and find it an -excellent epitome. The illustrations are remarkably good. - - -LAWRENCE KEHOE, New-York, has in press, and will soon publish, Lady -Herbert's new work, which has just appeared in London, entitled Three -Phases of Christian Love--namely, Life of St. Monica, Life of -Victorine de Galard, Life of Venerable Mere Devos. - - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, New York. The New Gospel of Peace, -according to St. Benjamin. 1 vol, 12mo, pp. 343; price $2. Alderman -Rooney at the Cable Banquet. Pamphlet illustrated; price 50 cts. Olive -Logan's Christmas Story. Pamphlet; price 50 cts. - -From LEE & Shepard, Boston, Mass. Oliver Optic's Magazine for Boys and -Girls. No. 1, pp. 12; price 5 cts. - -From the OFFICE OF THE AVE MARIA, Notre Dame, Indiana. The Ave Maria -Almanac for 1867. Illustrated, pp. 32; price 20 cts. - -From HURD & HOUGHTON New York. The Riverside Magazine for Young -People. No. 1, pp. 48; price 25 cts. Lalla Rookh, by Thomas Moore. 1 -vol. 12mo, pp. 332. Illustrated; price $1.50. - -From P. O'SHEA, New York. The Rosa Mystica; or, Mary of Nazareth, the -Lily of the House of David. By Marie Josephine. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 290; -price $2. Spirit of St. Francis de Sales. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 372; price -$2. The Manual of the Immaculate Conception, a collection of prayers -for general use. Compiled from authentic sources. Published with -approbation of the Most Rev. J. McCloskey, D.D., pp. 1122. - -From John Murphy & Co., Baltimore. The Southern Poems of the War. -Collected and arranged by Miss Emily V. Mason. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 456; -price $1.50. Good Thoughts for Priest and People; or, Short -Meditations for every Day in the Year, etc., etc. By Rev. Theodore -Noethen, pastor of Holy Cross, Albany, N. Y. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 383; -price $2. - -From KELLY & PIET, Baltimore, Md. Sermons Delivered during the Second -Plenary Council of Baltimore, October, 1866. And Pastoral Letter of -the Hierarchy of the United States, together with the Papal Rescript -and Letters of Convocation. A complete list of dignitaries and -officers of the Council; and an introductory notice, with plates. 1 -vol. 12mo, pp. 244; price $3. - -From BENZIGER BROTHERS, New York and Cincinnati. School Recreations; -or, The Catholic Teacher's Companion. Compiled for the use of Catholic -Schools, with approbation of Archbishop Purcell. l vol 12mo, pp. 94. - ----------- - -{721} - - -THE CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. IV., NO. 24.--MARCH, 1867. - - -ORIGINAL. - -THE CATHOLIC CEREMONIAL. - -BY REV. M. O'CONNOR, S. J. - -Outside the Catholic Church there is a general opinion that we -Catholics make all devotion to consist in the performance of a certain -routine of ceremonies, and are entire strangers to what is called -vital religion. These ceremonies to which we are supposed to attach -such excessive, or rather such superstitious value, are looked on by -those outside the church as an unnecessary and worse than useless -display, or as an empty pageant. Our love of them is set down as one -of the damning ingredients in that bug-bear which they have conjured -up, and designated by the name of "Popery." We, on the contrary, look -upon our ceremonial as one of the most beautiful things in the church, -one of those that most clearly mark the finger of God, and operate -most efficaciously in the work of true vital religion. - -The point, therefore, is a most important one, and well deserving our -most serious consideration. To understand it rightly, let us consider -the principles on which ceremonial is based, and its -practical-working. - -It has been admitted by all nations, that worship is due to the deity; -that worship needs an external and a public expression. Not only the -people of God under the old and new dispensations have admitted this, -but the Turk and the Pagan of every shade have admitted and acted on -it. Many have erred egregiously, and have had recourse to disgusting -and execrable. means to put it in practice; but the feeling itself is -universal, and, therefore, may be enumerated among the first -promptings of reason. - -Its necessity is based on our relation to God; and on our own nature. -God, as in himself infinitely perfect, as our creator, our ruler, and -provider is entitled to our acknowledgment of his perfections and of -his dominion over us, to thanks for benefits conferred, to -supplication for their continuance. We owe him this duty not merely as -beings having souls, but as that which we are--beings, having a body -and soul--as men. The feelings of the soul, especially if earnest, -cannot be pent up in it. They need expression. When strong and earnest -they flow over into the body, they express themselves in bodily -action. Man, as such, acts with the body and the soul. Moreover, we -owe God worship not merely as individuals, {722} but as society. God -made society and all that gives it charms. He is the author of the -bonds that hold it together; he gave us those faculties that force us -into it; the wants that in it alone are satisfied; and the powers that -contribute to their satisfaction. Society, as well as the individual -man, is one of those beautiful and bountiful works that call forth our -admiration and demand our gratitude. Society can recognize and thank -its author only by external and common public worship. The internal -feeling needs something to lean on, as it were, to give itself -strength and almost to give itself an existence. The internal act, is, -of course, the soul of true worship, but, like the soul itself of man, -it needs a body in which it may become incarnate to fill the end of -its being. Without this it has neither life nor power. It needs this -to give itself intensity. - -The external act becomes as it were a depository in which the soul -lays what is produced at one moment, while it is adding more and more. -As the iron receives in deposit the powers of each of the circles of -the magnetic wire that turn and turn again around it, and is ready to -discharge their combined force at any moment, so the external act -catches as it were the fire of the internal emotion, holds it until -that of another is added, and enables the soul to seize again the -power of those that have vanished and resume its work with redoubled -vigor. Thus going on from faith to faith, from worship to worship, -from virtue to virtue, all these rise higher and higher, strike their -roots deeper and deeper, until the internal feeling becomes -intensified and strong and as worthy of the great object to which it -is directed as it can be in a mere creature. - -The ceremonial is nothing else but this external expression of inward -worship. It is an expression that gives it consistency and strength. -It intensifies and preserves it. It transmits it from one to another, -and to succeeding generations. In it society expresses itself. The -individual man has his own organs of expression. The organ of the -Christian body is the minister of the church. Through him she acts as -a body; she expresses herself as a unit. On this account she very -properly regulates minutely, how he shall discharge this duty. This -gives his actions a meaning and a value over and above, and to some -degree independent of, the value they possess, as expressions of his -own individual devotion. - -Worship does not consist, properly speaking, in receiving instruction. -This is, of course, a good thing, but it is only a means to an end. It -is like the ladder to ascend, or the scaffolding used in the erection -of a building. To receive it with respect and other dispositions due -to the word of God, may imply faith in him, and submission to him; -but, properly speaking, in as far as it is mere instruction or -information, it is not worship. Worship is our submission to God, a -performance of the duty we owe him. As far as instruction shows us -how, and leads us to do this in a proper manner, it is good, but in -itself--as a mere expansion of the mind, or the storing of it with -knowledge, it is not worship. In paying worship, we must act, not -merely be acted upon; we must do, not merely hear. For this, the -ceremonial affords most useful aid; not, of course, as far as it is a -mechanical movement, which if it stop there would be useless, but -inasmuch as it is the instrument of the inmost soul. Light and -instruction must precede to give it significance, but when life has -thus been breathed into it, it becomes itself an action, a practice of -virtue, a discharge of the highest virtues, which are those that have -God himself for their immediate object. - -This ceremonial consists of the words that are used, and the acts that -are performed. Words, said or sung, are a part of it, but only a part. -Many acts often express the feelings more effectually. These are -sometimes {723} more or less natural; at other times they may be said -to be conventional. But though arbitrary as words themselves, when -they receive a determined meaning, they become capable of effectually -and powerfully expressing the internal feelings of the individual and -of society. Kneeling or standing erect, raising up or clasping the -hands or striking the breast, an uplifted glance to heaven or a -reverent bowing of the head, will express adoration, reverence, -sorrow, or supplication as well and often better than words. When you -walk in a procession with torch in hand, accompanying the blessed -sacrament, or to honor some other mystery of religion, you are -professing your faith in it as effectually, and impressing that faith -in your soul, perhaps, more deeply than when you recite the creed, -just as the citizen expresses forcibly his political principles by -analogous acts. These, of course in particular cases, may be acts of -hypocrisy or hollow pageant, just as words may be a lie or an empty -sound, but this takes nothing from their intrinsic appropriateness. -Nay, acts of this kind would seem to draw the soul into what is -intended to accompany them and be expressed by them more powerfully -than words. - -Some of the acts of this worship have, in themselves, a power and -efficacy apart from any impression they may produce on the beholder. -Such is the case in all the sacraments. The sacred rite, duly -performed may be compared to the spark, which, however powerless of -itself, when falling on the proper material, awakens a great power of -nature, that will rend mountains, and hurl into shapeless masses, the -proudest works of man. The sacred rite has been chosen by omnipotence, -as his agent and instrument, and its power has only the limits which -omnipotence has been pleased to assign. It is the same thing in the -celebration of mass. The words of Christ, pronounced by his minister, -effect a great change. For he who first took bread and said, "This is -my body," and by his infinite power made true what he said, addressing -his apostles, added. "Do this"--yes, even this, great as it is--"in -commemoration of me." And they "do" it, and by doing it, "show forth -his death until he come." The effect follows by the power of God, no -matter who is present, no matter who is instructed or edified, even -though no heart beat more in unison than did the hearts of the Jews, -who stood by while the great offering was made on Calvary. But other -parts of the ceremonial, which, though not of equal importance, occupy -more time, realize their end only when they express our feelings of -reverence, or give them strength and light. Many are directed to aid -the priest alone, in the proper performance of his high duties. Many, -while they have this object also, are likewise directed to instruct, -and become expressions of the devotion of the people. The ceremonial, -therefore, first of all makes provision for the priest. It is -important for himself and for the people that he be a worthy minister -of Christ; that he discharge the duty of offering up the holy -sacrifice with all the reverence, the humility, the fervor which so -great an act demands. The ceremonies become a means of his doing this. -In performing them properly he exercises all these virtues. The church -makes him descend to the foot of the altar, and there acknowledging -himself a sinner before God and the heavenly court, express by words -and acts his sorrow, demand pardon before venturing to ascend the -altar on which is to be laid the holy of holies. He then ascends with -trembling step, and having again silently prayed for forgiveness, he -intones the noble hymn,"_Gloria in Excelsis Deo_." Whether the voices -of the choir take up its thrilling notes and make the vault resound -with a call to give glory to God on high or he continue it in a -subdued tone, every word he utters, every motion he is called on to -make, enables him to express more and more {724} earnestly his desire -for God's honor, his homage to Christ, "alone holy, alone Lord, alone -most high." - -Prepared by this introduction and having admonished the people to turn -to God, he pours out in simple but touching words his supplications -for our various wants. He then reads choice extracts from the sacred -volume conveying the most important teachings of our holy religion. I -will not stop to describe to you the ceremonies at the offertory, nor -speak of the sublime "Preface" preparatory to the most sacred part of -the sacrifice. Having prayed for all conditions of the church, having -appealed to the blessed in heaven with whom the church on earth is in -communion, he approaches the solemn act of consecration. Every word he -utters, every glance, every motion, is directed to fill him with awe, -with reverence, to express a demand, an act of homage, of gratitude or -of invocation; and when the sacred words are pronounced, and he stands -before the incarnate God truly present, though not visible to corporal -eyes, with profound inclination he expresses his adoration, while the -victim is raised up, that all present may, like him, kneel down and -adore. And so all through the holy sacrifice. - -While these lessons are taught and put in practice by the priest, the -people, before whom they are performed, learn from them to cherish -similar dispositions, and to unite their spirit in the expression of -his devotion. It is the same thing with all the ceremonies, which, -like those alluded to, are expressive of the feelings we should -entertain for God. They frequently express them more forcibly than -words could. Even ordinary feelings often become too strong for -language and seek expression in some action. The fond mother would -find words too tame to express the love she bears her child. She hugs -it to her bosom, and impresses warm kisses on its face. We meet a -long-lost friend. Words would not express all we feel. We clasp him in -our arms, and press him to our heart. The model of repentance, the -prodigal, when he meets his father, forgets a part of the discourse he -had resolved to pronounce, and folded in his father's arms, expresses -his sorrow more forcibly in silent tears and heart breaking sobs, and -is forgiven. Even anger, which cannot find an adequate expression in -the most impassioned language, seeks to manifest itself in the -uplifted clenched fist, if it cannot gain its object by striking a -blow. Do not tell me, then, that all this action in the church -ceremonial is mummery. It is often a higher expression of devotion -than words would afford. - -If yon wish to test this, look at a devout congregation of Catholics -kneeling before the altar. The organ that had lifted up their hearts -when singing the "Glory to God in the highest" is silent, or a few low -notes are heard that make the silence of the congregation more -sensible. No voice, scarcely a breath, is heard, when the priest, -having raised his eyes to heaven, is now inclined over the sacred -elements. Thousands are kneeling around in awe. A slight stroke of the -bell announces that the act is done. The priest prostrates himself in -silent adoration, and then elevates the consecrated host. Every head -is bowed in the presence of a God. Will anyone who has witnessed that -scene, who has tried to enter into the feelings of that congregation, -please tell me the words, or write out the speech, that would have -expressed so powerfully their reverence, their adoration, their -gratitude, and their love? Yes, ceremonies are a noble expression of -our highest feelings. They are even more; for they intensify them, -embalm them, and preserve them from evaporating. They communicate them -and spread them abroad, and transmit them from generation to -generation. - -All this is a consequence of human nature, and this is so true that it -is made an objection to our system. It is said that we build too much -on human nature. But if worship be made for man it must accord with -his nature {725}--not, indeed, with that which is corrupt in it, but -with his nature as it came from God. Now, this need, this power, this -efficacy of the expression of feeling by outward ceremony, is no -effect of the fall: it is in the very nature of man. Hence we have -recourse to it in everything else. What is the shake of the hand when -we meet a friend, or the salute, or the banquet to which we invite -him, but a ceremony to express friendship or esteem? Look at our -processions and various political demonstrations. What are they but -ceremonies in which political or other feelings seek expression--an -expression which we know will strengthen them, deepen them, -communicate them to others by creating and giving force to what may be -called a contagions influence? What are our national and party airs; -our national and party festivals, but expressions of a similar -character looking forward to similar results? - -In these things, as I said in the beginning, the feelings of the soul -seek an embodiment, that will give them consistency and duration. - -No matter what the external manifestation be, even though it be merely -conventional, when it expresses a feeling, it becomes an instrument -for all these purposes. It becomes, as it were, a permanent part of a -structure, to which another stone is added as often as the act is -repeated, until the building grows up in solid beauty that defies the -ravages of time. This is the case with our political or social -sentiments, because it grows out of our very nature. Why then should -it not be the case, or rather is it not evidently the case, with those -also which are connected with religion? These external rites not only -express and intensify the interior feelings, but let philosophers -explain it as they may, they become as it were a depository in which -they may be laid by to be recalled almost at pleasure, nay, even to be -drawn out by others who wish to acquire them. - -Look at that piece of bunting hanging from a flag-staff and flying -before the breeze. What is it? A first glance will tell you that it is -a piece of stuff purchased for a trifle a few days ago from the -merchant, on whose shelves it lay unnoticed and uncared for, except as -far as it was capable of producing some day a few dollars for its -owner. But now it has received a new destiny. It bears the national -symbols, and it is the flag of the country. And, oh! what a change has -taken place! It recalls the glories of the past, the hopes of the -future; it is the symbol of the majesty of the nation. The patriot -heart warms in beholding it; the warrior-breast is bared to do it -honor. Through a hail of fire he stands by it or bears it on, and will -see unmoved a thousand of his companions strewed o'er the battle-field -while this yet floats before the breeze. And, when victory has crowned -his efforts, he salutes it as the genius that nerved his right arm -during the contest. Though torn almost to tatters, he bedews it with -his tears of joy. It is his pride in life. He looks forward to descend -in honor into the grave wrapped in its folds. - -Wherever that flag is raised, one glance leads us to behold the genius -of our country standing up before us with all her claims to our -devotion and our love. Let it receive but the slightest insult, and a -thrill vibrates throughout the land, every heart is wounded, every -hand is ready to be raised in its defence. Yet it is, after all, but a -piece of bunting, worth so many cents per yard. But by becoming a -symbol, by being the object of a rite, it has become the depositary of -the enthusiasm of the nation. It is made capable of evoking this, of -quickening and communicating it, whenever it is unfurled. - -Look at our national airs: what are they? The scientific musician will -find little in them that is soul-stirring; but the feelings of our -fathers are deposited in them. They were the tunes in which we -expressed our gladness in days of triumph, by which we were aroused on -the national holiday, in which we sung our joy on all {726} important -occasions. Our love of home, of kindred, of fatherland, has been -embalmed in them; and when they fall on our ears, all these dear and -stirring feelings, as if buried in their notes, are sent forth, now -unlocked, and again take possession of our souls. They thus arouse the -warrior and the patriot, calling out all the feelings that cluster -around what is most dear. - -The Swiss soldier in foreign lands was so vividly recalled to the -memories of home, by the airs to which he listened in childhood, and -the recollection of his native mountains, and the associations revived -by them, had such power, that a special disease, called -"home-sickness" was frequently the result. As this proved fatal to -many, the playing or singing of such tunes was forbidden in Swiss -regiments in foreign service. And who does not know the stirring -effect produced on certain occasions, when Yankee Doodle or Patrick's -Day has been struck up, no matter what musical professors may say of -their artistic merits. - -In a similar manner our feelings of devotion are consigned to some -homely religious tune. They are first expressed in it. They cling -around it. They become identified with it. They are recalled vividly -when we hear it again. They all come back in their original freshness, -with accumulated force. They are transmitted to others, and thus we -inherit the treasure of the devotional feeling of preceding -generations. - -Though _our_ being supplied with music by great artists, who are -constantly changing, if not improving their compositions, deprives us -in a great measure of the advantages that might arise from this -source, we can feel it at times, in what is allowed to retain this -traditional force. Who is there that does not feel the devotion so -often experienced in assisting at the benediction of the blessed -sacrament, or on other occasions renewed by the tones of the Tantum -Ergo or other familiar tunes, when the performers do not destroy, or -at least smother the old airs by their exquisiteness? Where the songs -of the church are in more general use, the intonation of the Miserere -or the Stabat Mater or the Pange Lingua and many other tunes is like -the opening up of a flood-gate, through which feelings of devotion -rush as it were in a torrent and take possession of a whole -congregation. - -What is said of songs may be applied to other rites. The feelings of -the past are deposited in them; they express them, they arouse them, -they communicate them. This occurs, though they may be chosen -arbitrarily. What more arbitrary, generally speaking, than the meaning -attached to words? The word "home," for example, for all that is in -the sound, might as well have been adapted to signify anything else of -the most different character. Yet now having received a definite -meaning, it recalls uniformly a whole definite series of ideas and -feelings. So it is with a rite--say that of anointing with oil, that -of sprinkling with water, burning incense, the use of candles, or the -making of the sign of the cross. Many rites were established primarily -for this purpose, others had their origin in necessity or convenience -or usage; but the church, anxious to make even these things a source -of edification and an instrument of devotion, gave them a meaning, -attached to them a lesson which they reproduce forever after. Even -those which have a certain intrinsic fitness to signify what they are -established for, derive their chief efficacy in this respect from -their having been chosen for the purpose, or having gradually received -a social meaning, well understood in the Christian family. These have -the additional advantage of speaking out, as it were, a whole -instruction at a glance. The moment you look at one of these acts, a -lesson is presented which could scarcely be communicated in many -words, and in performing them the heart says more, and that more -simply and more effectually, than it could in a long discourse. - -{727} - -I have referred to the flag of the country; of its being raised, and -how a look at it, or a salute, powerfully expresses at once the most -important emotions and lively enthusiasm. Well, we do the same through -the Christian's glorious standard, which is the sacred symbol of the -cross. Be it of wood or of the most precious metal--be it the -production of the most unskilful or the most cunning workman--it is -for us the symbol of man's redemption, and around it cluster our most -tender feelings of veneration and love. It is placed over our altars, -over our churches; it hangs in our rooms; where Catholic feelings can -save it from insult, it is raised up in the highways, and is made to -meet our eyes wherever we turn. We impress its form on our persons -whenever we call on God in prayer, whenever we find ourselves exposed -to temptation or danger. In that one act the faith, the hope, the love -of the church for Christ and Christ crucified, are all expressed. All -these feelings are imbedded in it. All are called out again whenever -that sign is made. What we have heard of him from the pulpit, what we -have read in our private study, what has occurred, to our own minds in -meditation, is all brought before us with the accompanying sentiments -and feelings as soon as that sacred symbol presents itself to our -eyes. All are a wakened, are revived, and seized again at its glance. -No wonder, then, that the Catholic loves the cross; that he loves to -prostrate himself in adoration before it; that he looks to it when he -seeks consolation in suffering, support in affliction, light in his -difficulties, purity of spirit in his joys. Do not tell me that it is -of lifeless wood or of metal, that it is but the work of the -craftsman, Oh! this is like stopping the soldier in battle, to direct -his attention to the price per yard of his flag, or to the name and -address of the store where it was bought, while he is advancing -enthusiastically under its inspiration against his country's foes. -Yes; who does not know that it is of wood or metal? but to me it is -the symbol of my Saviour's love. As such, I love it; as such all my -most sacred feelings cling around it: I impress kisses on it; I bathe -it with my tears. And when, on Good Friday, the priest after bringing -before us the whole scene of Calvary, having led us, in the service, -to look on the death of Christ' as the great turning-point in the -world's history, having shown us the woes of the past that were there -to find a remedy, and the blessings for the future that were thence to -spring forth, holds up the crucifix before the prostrate multitude, -and sings out, in a solemn tone, "Ecce lignum Crucis," "Behold the -wood of the cross on which did hang the salvation of the world," will -we not all send up our whole souls in the deacon's answer, crying out, -with him, "Venite adoremus," "Come, let us adore"? And when the priest -looses his shoes, and on bare feet approaches the sacred symbol of -redemption, that he may kneel down and kiss it with fondness, on the -anniversary of the day on which the tragic scene was enacted; who is -there that will not vie with him in kneeling and pressing the sacred -symbol to his lips? - -The same thing can be applied in different degrees to the various -rites throughout the year, when succeeding festivals bring before us -the other great mysteries of religion, or when we are called on to -express the ordinary feelings of Christian devotion. He who has -studied the simple devotions of the rosary, or the way of the cross, -will be astonished at the mine of devotion, of enlightened piety -contained in them, and at the treasures that are drawn from them by -faithful souls, simple and unpretending as they are, and puerile as -they appear to the self-sufficient. - -But these acts and exercises intended to express and nourish our -Christian feelings, can only be appreciated where there is faith. It -is only into {728} hearts animated by faith that they can enter. It is -only in such they can be aroused. A certain amount of instruction is -even necessary to understand the conventional meaning of many. This -instruction and training is received by the Catholic almost with his -mother's milk. As he learns the meaning of words, which is still more -arbitrary, and acquires a practical skill in the use of language, -notwithstanding its complicated laws, so he learns the meaning of the -ceremonial, and is initiated into its use. With clasped hands the -child kneels before the crucifix, and imprints kisses on it. Little by -little he learns the history of him whose figure is nailed to that -cross, and knowledge grows in him with reverence and love. He goes to -the church, and is struck with what he beholds. He catches reverence -from those around, and infuses it into his own imitation of their mode -of acting. As he learns more and more of what is there done, this -reverence becomes more and more enlightened, and he grows up a devout -and enlightened Christian, performing the acts expressive of worship -with the same ease and intelligence with which he uses the ordinary -expressions of social life. The looker-on who is without faith or -instruction, who has no sympathy, and wishes to have no sympathy, with -him, thinks his acts a mummery, if he do not give them a harsher name. -Such a person may be compared to one who has no ear for music, to whom -the enthusiasm of those who are aroused by a beautiful composition is -incomprehensible; or to one who listens to an eloquent discourse in a -tongue which he does not, and cares not to understand; or he is like -Michol, who laughs at David dancing before the ark, because she has no -sympathy with his jubilant gratitude. The Catholic ceremonial is made -for Catholics. If it enable them to express and strengthen their -reverence, it answers its purpose. Those who have no such feelings to -be awakened cannot be surprised if it strike them without producing -emotion. The ceremonial is useful, not only as an expression of -feeling, it is eminently instructive and educational, if I may use the -expression, by instilling and developing both the knowledge and the -devotion it is intended to express. While it teaches, it leads to act -in accordance with the teaching; properly performed it is itself such -action. It thus instils truth into the mind, and shapes the heart in -accordance with it, which is the highest aim of the best education. - -Some are pleased to look upon the mass of our people as very ignorant -in matters of religion. If by this it be meant to say, that all are -not experts in quoting texts of scripture; that they know nothing of -many controversies that appear of great importance to our separated -brethren; that they do not understand the meaning of many phrases that -have become households words amongst them, though, sometimes, I fear, -passing round without any very, definite meaning, I am willing to -acknowledge the charge. But if it be meant to say that they are -ignorant of those great facts and truths of religion which it is -necessary or important for men to know, I repudiate it most solemnly. -Nay, I contend that there is a better knowledge of these amongst many -or most Catholics who can neither read nor write, if they have only -followed in the paths where the church led them, than amongst many of -our opponents who are considered learned theologians; and this they -owe chiefly to this very ceremonial of which I am treating. They may -know nothing of Greek particles, or of many other things good enough -and useful in their place, but which God has not required anyone to -learn; but they know that the incarnate God died for the salvation of -man. They know the mystery of the Trinity, which is implied in that of -the incarnation. They know the sinful character of man, their need of -such a Redeemer. They are led to thank him, to love him, to {729} obey -him. They know his sufferings, one by one; they are familiar with his -thorns and his nails; they have pondered over his wounds and mangled -flesh; they penetrate into the side pierced for their love. He who -knows even this much is not ignorant. Yet all this, and, much more, is -familiar to every one accustomed to look with faith on the crucifix. -He sees in the face of the crucified One patience, resignation, -compassion for sinners, love even for his enemies. He sees the -consequences of sin, and he beholds their remedy. Looking on this, the -Catholic finds support in his trials or afflictions and moderation in -his joy. Show me the volume he could ponder over and learn as much. -All that he heard at his mother's knee and from the preacher's lips is -brought before him in a single glance at his crucifix. All is brought -up again when he makes the sign of the cross. Yet the cross, so -fraught with instruction and moving appeals, is that which is -presented to him a thousand times in the rites of the church, inasmuch -as it is the great pervading principle that must animate all his -devotion and all his actions. It is brought before him, not in a cold -way, merely teaching him a lesson. He is taught to know and to -believe; he is led to adore and to confide; he is brought to invoke -through it all the graces of which he stands in need. All this is done -every time that he makes the sign of the cross, pronouncing the -blessed words, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the -Holy Ghost." - -While many of your learned expounders of scripture are comparing text -with text on these subjects, trying to remove, but scarcely removing -the doubts which they know to exist among their hearers, which they -feel, perhaps, rising up in their own breasts, or what is worse while -they are proposing theories in a Christian pulpit which make nought -the cross of Christ and the mystery of redemption as ever taught in -the Christian family, the poor Catholic, on whom they look with -contempt, is making his starting point what others are but trying to -prove, and while signing himself with the cross, believing, adoring, -penetrating into the depths of the love of the incarnate God, and -endeavoring to shape his own soul into conformity with its teachings. -And you call him ignorant. Indeed, a pure though simple faith, among -these people enables them to see the great truths of religion with a -clearness that supplies frequently an apt reply to difficulties that -seem very embarrassing to their opponents. - -Yet, this is the first lesson that the Catholic child learns at his -mother's knee, As he goes on, he learns more and more of God's works -of mercy toward man, of his institutions for our salvation and our -sanctification, and all he learns he sees reproduced in a glance in -the ceremonial of the church, which speaks to him in accents more and -more eloquent, as his knowledge expands and his heart is brought more -fully into conformity with God's holy teachings. In the liturgy and -the various other rites of the church, she has enshrined all the great -dogmas of religion. There she teaches them, there she keeps them -beyond the reach of the innovator. The priest himself, the bishop, and -the pope, there see them inculcated, and from thence, as from a rich -treasury, draw them out to present them to the faithful. This teaching -by rites in use from the beginning of the church, addresses itself to -all with power, for in it they find the teaching of the saints and the -sages of by-gone ages, and feel themselves breathing the same -atmosphere with them. The martyrs, who bore testimony to their faith -with their blood, the apostolic men, who by their preaching, their -labors, and their prayers, brought nations to the knowledge of Christ, -the holy confessors and virgins, who, in frail vessels, showed forth -his power in every age, practised these same rites, and were therefore -animated by the same faith. The church, throughout the whole world, -uses them, and therefore believes as we do. What {730} more powerful -for bringing home to each one the faith of the universal, everlasting -church! - -There is great security for the faith of a Catholic in his receiving -it through the teaching of a pastor in communion with the church of -the whole world, and sanctioned by its highest authority; but I would -venture to say that there is something even more solemn in this voice -of the ceremonial, which is a voice of the living and the dead--of -the church of the Catacombs, and of the church of this day--throughout -the world. With all the force which this gives, leaning as the church -does upon Christ, who died to sanctify her in truth, we are taught the -great dogmas of the Trinity and the Incarnation; of the death and -resurrection of Jesus Christ; the plan and means of the redemption, -the need in which we stand of divine grace, and the means of obtaining -it. We are taught the character of the great Christian oblation, the -nature and effects of the sacraments, as well as the dispositions they -require, and the duties they impose. - -Far be it from me to undervalue the oral teaching of the ministry. -That found in the ceremonial presupposes it, and is based on it. Both -are, as they should be, combined in the ministrations of the church; -but the ceremonial fixes the oral teaching. It gives the Christian -system a body, as it were, in which it enables it to prolong its life -beyond the moments of the passing voice. When once embodied in a rite, -the impressions of oral instruction, which otherwise so easily pass -away, live for ever. They are seized in their whole entirety at a -glance; they are brought down to the comprehension of the lowest; they -are put forth with a majesty that the highest may admire. Men are -taught there, and, what is most important they are led to act on the -teaching, and thus conform their hearts as well as their minds, to the -holy dogmas of faith, which is the best and most useful way of -imparting Christian instruction. But I will be told that this -teaching, however useful for those who understand it, is lost for the -great mass of the people, as the language used is a dead one, which -few understand. But, in the first place, it is not lost, even though -the clergy alone should understand it. Is it not an important thing -that the clergy themselves should have something to keep alive -powerfully, amongst them the one, universal and everlasting faith? -Will not all the faithful find strength in their strength, and light -in their light? If they are kept right, the truth spread abroad by -them will easily he preserved pure among the masses of the people. -Almost all heresies--be it said to our shame--either had their source -in the sanctuary, or could not have succeeded if they had not found -support there. And is it not a great thing that he who would become a -prevaricator, must first brand himself as unfaithful, must cease to -minister today, all he did yesterday, and thus give public notice, as -it were, that he seeks to devour the flock which he had undertaken to -feed; that instead of keeping the deposit which was the first duty of -his office, as dispenser of the mysteries of God, he is substituting -some new-fangled theory of his own, palming it off as an institution -of heaven? Luther can establish a new system only by ceasing to say -mass. The church of Cranmer is not at ease until it has formed for -itself a new liturgy. The Greeks and other orientals by preserving -their ancient rites and ceremonies, have preserved almost all their -ancient dogmas, and to re-enter the church have little else to do but -to submit to the authority of its supreme pastor. But apart from this, -the ceremonial itself speaks to all the people in a language which all -understand. The rites are themselves a language easily learned, and -speaking with silent eloquence to men of every tongue. They are to -some extent what the learned have been so long looking for, a -universal language. In fact, when the priest raises up the host, the -Irishman and the German, the Greek and the Armenian, see the presence -of Christ {731} preached to them, and they kneel down and adore. When -the water is poured on the head of the child that is baptized, men of -every clime know that the regenerating rite is being performed. The -rite once properly explained ever after expresses to them better than -any combination of words, the internal change that is effected in the -soul. Then, it must be remembered that the main thing in the public -service is what is _done_, not what is _said_. Every moderately -instructed Catholic is fully aware of what there takes place, and with -this knowledge he can assist, not only devoutly but intelligently, -though he may not understand or even hear one word. - -The great source of mistake, in this connection, with our separated -brethren, arises from the fact that they go to church merely to hear -instruction, or to have words put into their mouths, in which to -address Almighty God. The Catholic also often goes for instruction, -and this he receives in the language which he understands. But he goes -for what is even more important--he goes to take a part in the great -act that is performed in God's holy temple. He knows the nature and -ends of this, and the dispositions required of him, and as I said -before, he can perform his part though he may not even hear, much less -understand one word that is pronounced. I will suppose a case of the -surrender of a large army. The vanquished soldiers march to the place -appointed. They lay down their arms, they lower their flag. The -victorious general, with his warriors, stands, by and receives them. A -speech perhaps is made. But all who are present take an intelligent -part in the Proceedings, though many may not hear one word that is -uttered. So it is with the great action at mass. I will not have -recourse to the common reply, that all that the priest says at the -altar is translated and published; that any one who desires may read -and know for himself; for though the fact be true, it is not the true -solution of the difficulty. I have no hesitation in saying that in -assisting at the most solemn part of the celebration of the divine -mysteries, it is best not to attend to the particular prayers recited -by the priest, whether one hear them or not whether he be or be not -capable of understanding them. It is better to assist with an -enlightened faith in the action that is performed, and then give full -play to such sentiments as this faith will awaken in each individual -soul. This is evidently the view of the church. For this reason, after -the offertory, that is, when the most important portion begins, the -priest is made to recite almost all his part of the liturgy in a low -tone, so that those present cannot hear him even if they be capable of -understanding what he says. Among the Greeks a curtain is drawn across -the sanctuary, so that they cannot even see him, but merely know by -some signals, if I may so call them, given from time to time, in what -part of the sacred act he is engaged. - -The church, by, this evidently tells us, that by an assistance in -faith, each one yielding to the promptings of his own devotion will -derive more profit than by following the priest's words. Indeed, the -parts of the priest and people in this sacred act are so essentially -different, that it is scarcely to be expected that the same prayers -should be best for both. While the church has minutely arranged the -rites and prayers used by him who offers the sacrifice, she is -satisfied with awakening the faith and enlightening the devotion of -others who assist: and then leaving it to their enlightened faith what -each shall say to God on such occasions. She acts like the master of -the house, who prepares the banquet, where each guest finds abundance -of everything agreeable to the palate, and nourishing to the body. -With great care he has prescribed the parts of those who are occupied -in preparing or serving it up, so that all present may receive -substantial proofs of his interest; but when, this is done, he {732} -leaves the invited to partake of what is prepared, as their own tastes -will prompt. It is thus that the Catholic system, which is accused of -tying men down to a performance of mere routine, is that which really -gives more scope to individual liberty in public worship, while public -decorum and dignity are effectually secured by an established ritual. -With your extempore prayers, he who utters them has indeed full scope -for his feeling and his fancy, but he is liable also to their -vagaries, and his hearers are at his mercy. As he weeps or rejoices, -all must weep or rejoice, or he becomes to them a hindrance. Their -hearts move or try to move, not as the spirit, but as the leader -willeth, and not unfrequently may he lend them into paths from which -their instincts will recoil. They, whose whole time is engaged in -following a prescribed liturgy, must ever go on in the same groove. -Whatever be the feelings or the wants or the temper of mind of each -individual habitually or at the moment, the same unchanging road is -chalked out for all. What they hear may be beautiful, but it may be -far from being the best suited for many at that moment. Hence disgust -or cold indifference is sure to follow, of which beautiful forms may -be only a pompous covering. Amongst Catholics on the other hand, while -the church to secure order and truth and public decorum, has carefully -regulated every word and act of the priest, and presents in the -celebration of the divine mysteries the most powerful incentive to -faith and devotion in all its bearings, she leaves each one else who -is present to assist as his own wants and dispositions may prompt. - -The ingenious zeal of pious men has provided helps for all in manuals -of various kinds, and each one will select what he finds best suited -for himself. He will use it or interrupt its use, or drop it -altogether as experience will show him to be most useful in his own -case. When it is not done through apathy or listlessness, he may find -it better to dispense with them all, being satisfied with a look, with -vivid faith, and such other interior acts as a faithful soul will soon -learn to perform with alacrity. Knowing what he himself is, and who is -before him, he will not be at a loss what to say. At one time he will -weep over his sins; at another he will give thanks to God; at another -he will lay open his wants, or ask pardon for his transgressions. -Where can he do any of these things more effectually than in the -presence of him who died for our sins, and to procure for us every -blessing. - -And many, in fact, thus assist in silent prayer, but with more -intelligent and true devotion, though they neither use a book nor hear -a word, than others who are pondering over most beautiful manuals. - -The danger of cold formality from the steady use of prescribed forms, -and nothing else, is so thoroughly realized by the church, and this -fear is so fully justified by her experience that the priest himself -is warned over and over against it. The remedy that is given him, is -the practice of what might be called private individual prayer. All -spiritual writers tell him that if he be not fond of this, if -especially he be not careful to renew his spirit by it, in immediate -preparation for the exercise of his sacred functions, they will -degenerate into mere formalism. With this private preparation he will -prepare and carry into them a proper spirit and will then find them a -heavenly manna, having every sweet taste; without this, he will be but -as the conduit pipe, carrying to others the refreshing waters, but -retaining himself' none of the effects of their invigorating powers. - -These remarks apply to the most sacred and most important part of' the -mass. If the church do not wish us even to hear them, much less -require us to understand them, if she be right in believing that we -may thus assist most advantageously, it is a matter of no consequence -what language the priest uses in addressing the Almighty {733} God, -for he understands him, and that is enough. The rites he performs give -all the instruction of admonition that is useful at that moment, and -this instruction does not disturb our individual devotion. On the -contrary, whatever turn it may take, it enlivens, supports, and -directs it. - -As to the first parts of the mass, to which these remarks are not so -applicable, the "Gospels," which vary at every festival, are required -to be read at least on festivals in their own language, and explained -by each pastor to his people. The "Collects," are known to be all -substantially supplications for grace, to which, therefore, we may -heartily answer, _Amen_, though we do not understand each word. Little -else remains but the "Kyrie," the "Gloria," and the "Credo," and these -like the "Pater Noster," and a few other things sung by the priest, -might be easily learned, so as to be understood by any diligent -person. Indeed, I may say it is the wish of the church that all should -learn them. She would be glad that all would take a part in singing -them, as the people do in many countries. The study of Latin required -for this is not much; for all that I have referred to might be -contained in two or three pages, and is not beyond the reach of -anyone, not even of those who cannot read. Many such learn it by -heart, and understand what they have learned. Doing so would be but a -light task in view of the many advantages gained. All might then join -in the public chants of the church and be gainers in spiritual life, -even if they did not discourse equally elegant music; or, if our -apathy compels the church to let our parts be discharged, as it were, -by deputies in the choir, we would assist and join in the beautiful -sentiments which are expressed, and not merely sit inactive to receive -the sweet impressions of their melodies. - -But though this would better accord with the spirit of the church, if -these parts also through our own apathy are unintelligible, the -intrinsic character of the act for which we are preparing will suggest -pious sentiments that will enable us to pass the time with substantial -profit to our souls. - -But, be it that there is some little disadvantage in having the mass -in a dead language, what I have said, I think, abundantly proves at -least that it is not very great. Look, on the other hand, at the -immense advantages gained by keeping it uniform and without change, -which implies keeping it in the language in which it was first -established. By this, uniformity and steadiness is secured in the -faith. The faith of every nation embalmed, as I said before, in the -liturgy, is before the eyes of the universal church; it is transmitted -untarnished from generation to generation. This uniform and steady -liturgy becomes as an anchor to which every church is moored. As long -as it clings to this, it is safe. And can anyone who knows the value -of faith, of that faith for which legions of martyrs shed their blood, -deem the little loss that is sustained, if any, by our Latin liturgy, -not well compensated by the stability of faith which it secures. For -this reason, though the world in the apostolic days was even more -divided in language than it is now, yet in those times, as we know -from all antiquity, the liturgy was celebrated only in three -languages--the three languages of the cross. These are, the Hebrew, -in its cognate dialects, which are but branches of the one Semitic -tongue, as a homage to the ancient dispensation; the Greek, which was -the language of the civilization of that age, and that adopted in the -New Testament; and the Latin, which was the language of the people -whose capital was to be the seat of the government of the Church of -the New Dispensation. In these three languages was written the -inscription over the bloody sacrifice on Calvary; in these, and in no -others from the beginning, was the unbloody one offered to God by the -church. No others having been adopted was a clear proof that in the -apostolic {734} view it was not deemed necessary that all should -understand the language used in the sacred mysteries; and, when even -these ceased to be popular languages anywhere, what had always been -the condition of the great number became the condition of all. - -In after ages a few exceptions, and only a few, were permitted or -rather tolerated. The liturgy was allowed to be celebrated in one -other language in Asia, the Armenian; in two in Africa, the Coptic and -the Ethiopic; and in one in Europe, the Slavonic. No others were used. -But these were exceptional cases--they occurred at a later period, and -under peculiar circumstances, showing rather the sufferance than the -genuine spirit of the church, while she cordially adopted from the -beginning, and ever clung to the three languages of the cross. - -It is both beautiful and useful to the Catholic to assist at the -divine offices in the same language, and in the main, with the same -rites, in which they have been performed for eighteen hundred years. -They seem like the voice of the martyrs, the confessors, the saints -who have lived through these eighteen centuries. They echo their faith -and their devotion. We feel that in them we are breathing the life of -a church now and ever spread throughout the whole world, everywhere -offering to God one sacrifice of praise. - -A dignitary of the Protestant Episcopal Church in this country has -lately written an angry letter against those of his brethren who are -called "Ritualists," because they are anxious to introduce into their -church many Catholic, or, as he calls them, "Romish" ceremonies. His -ground of complaint is that behind these ceremonies stand the -doctrines of the Catholic Church. "Their course," he says, "means -return to what the reformation cast out with indignation." "It means -Romanism in all its strength and substance," and he enumerates the -various doctrines which it implies, which he considers abominations. I -do not wish to pronounce an opinion on the extent to which his remarks -are justifiable in their application to the parties against whom he -writes; but he is certainly right in believing that behind the -Catholic ritual stands Catholic doctrine, which is nothing else but -Christian doctrine; and as the reformation "cast out" many of the -rites in use in the Christian family from the beginning, with them it -"cast out" a great portion of the Christian dogma. The good man's -charge will only make those who preserve the dogma see more clearly -the value of the rites in which it is enshrined, and cling more -tenaciously to dogmas thus shown to be coeval with Christianity. - -Every rite has thus a lesson, and becomes an act of devotion. The -cross above our churches and our altars, continually reappearing in -all our ceremonies, impresses on us the incarnation, death, and -atonement of Christ crucified, as the great central point of all -religion. To this we are constantly brought back in every prayer which -concludes by asking what we demand, through Jesus Christ, the familiar -closing of which, the "_per omnia saecula saeculorum_," known to every -child, calls forth from all, the heartfelt _Amen_! To this, and to -what should accompany it, the Catholic is constantly directed by the -ceremonial. The church bell, signed with the cross, and anointed with -oil, which is a symbol of Christ, swings in the tower, and as his -messenger, calls us in his name to his house--now, ringing out with -joy, when some great mystery is to be commemorated--now, in deep -solemn notes, to pray for one of his departed members. Three times -every day it summons us to the recital of the Angelus, in which we -commemorate the great mystery of the incarnation, and invoke the -merits of the Saviour's death, and ask the benefit of his -resurrection. If we enter the {735} church, the font at the door, from -which we take a drop of blessed water to sprinkle our foreheads, is -itself a sermon on the purity with which we should approach, and bids -us cleanse our souls before we come near to him in prayer. The burning -lamp speaks to us of him who is the light of the world, now dwelling -on the altar, as well as of the constant fire of devotion, and pure -adoration, due to the present God. The priest whom you see at the -altar, clad in those quaint old vestments, tells you at a glance that -you are in the presence of a worship that has come down from the -remotest ages. The burning lights on the altar, which have now become -an emblem of gladness, speak to you of the catacombs, in which our -fathers took refuge, and preserved for us the sacred deposit, at the -cost of property, of liberty, and of life. - -Like old heirlooms, with their quaint old forms and their several -indentations, these vestments and rites tell at the same time of their -real antiquity and of the many vicissitudes through which they have -passed. They are not like those imitations of the antique in use -amongst some of our friends got up by studying ancient drawings and -descriptions, having all the inconvenience without anything of the -venerable character of what is truly ancient. With us they are -inherited through uninterrupted use from the beginning. Whatever -changes have occurred in minor details, only render them more -venerable, for if on the one hand we are brought back to ancient days, -these are marks of the many ages through which they have passed. -Everything in the rites of the church is fraught with instruction, -with devotion. It enables you to know, and what is better, to -practice--for while it teaches, it leads you to love and adore. Do you -wish to know the efficacy of that ceremonial? Look at those who have -been nursed under its training. See the all-pervading influence of -religion, that exists among them. Long and powerful discourses may -make men skilful talkers and ardent partisans. Those who have been -reared under a divinely inspired ritual have religion deeply engraven -on their hearts. It takes possession and enters into the whole nature -of the man; and even when he gives way to the allurements of iniquity, -it retains its hold on him. This may indeed make him appear, and be, -an inconsistent object of pity or of scorn. But, happy inconsistency! -For if he will not be consistent in good, far better that he be -inconsistent or not consistent in evil. He would otherwise become a -monster. The links by which he is yet bound to what is good, may one -day draw him within the pale of that mercy to which no sinner appealed -in vain, before which no sinner is too great to be pardoned. - -To the Catholic, in every position, the ceremonial is light and -nourishment--a plentiful source of vigor and life. - ----------- - -{736} - -From Le Correspondant. - -MADAME DE SWETCHINE. - -BY REV. FATHER LACORDAIRE. - - -Many times already have I rendered to illustrious Catholics who have -died in our day, a funeral and a pious homage. In turn, General -Drouot, Daniel O'Connell, and Frederic Ozanam have heard my voice -above their tomb, a voice far below that which their glory merited, -but which, nevertheless, holds from a sincere admiration the right to -praise them. To-day, after these familiar names for which praise can -do nothing, I pronounce another name, a name which may appear almost -unknown, perhaps even that of a foreigner, which, however, belongs to -the nation of the great minds of our age. A superior writer, Madame de -Swetchine published nothing; a conversationalist of the first order, -the fame of her salon never penetrated beyond that circle which, -though not public, is more than privacy; a woman of antique faith and -of active piety, she neither founded nor presided over any orders; and -yet, for more than forty years she swayed an empire, to which the -Count de Maistre submitted, before which Madame de Stael inclined, and -which retained around her, even to her last days, admirers accustomed -to act on public opinion, but still more accustomed to enlighten their -own by hers. To the Count de Maistre succeeded M. de Bonald. The Abbe -Frayssinous, M. Cuvier, to these M. de Montalembert, the Count de -Falloux, Prince Albert de Broglie, and many others, a younger -generation, but not less submissive to the ascendency of a soul where -virtue served genius. - -Why should we be silent? Why not tell the living what they have lost -in the dead? While a man lives, modesty should guard all his actions, -and friendship itself should be restrained by it; but death has this -of admirable; that it restores to memory as to judgment all its -liberty. In taking away those from whom it strikes the double rock of -weakness and envy, it permits those who have seen to lift the veil, -those who have received to acknowledge the benefit, those who have -loved to pour forth their affection. Even the obscurity of merit adds -to the desire of making it known; and if this merit was illustrious, -being all hidden, it is almost a religious duty to draw it forth from -the tomb, and to render it before men the honor it has before God. So -I hope I shall be pardoned these few pages; but did I not, yet I -should still write them. I owe them to a friendship which began in the -shadows and perils of my youth, and which since, through all the -vicissitudes of a quarter of a century, never ceased to open to me -perspectives of honor so difficult to recognize in the confused and -agitated times when faith itself is troubled by earthly events, and -seeks a route worthy of its mission. - -Madame Sophie Jeanne de Swetchine was born in Russia, on the 4th -December, 1782. Her family name was Soymonoff. She had a sister who -married the Prince de Gagarin, a former Russian ambassador at Rome; -she herself was united at the age of seventeen to General de -Swetchine, Military Governor of St. Petersburg. She belonged by birth -to the Greek religion, but her education had abandoned her to the -scepticism of the eighteenth century, and {737} according to the -natural course of things, she would have died an unbeliever or a -schismatic in the depth of some half-oriental estate. God willed it -otherwise, and hence arises from the first the lively interest -attached to her life. For a Christian, a soul's predestination, and -the mysterious ways by which God conducts it to its end without -infringing its liberty, are a spectacle that has above all others an -inexhaustible charm. The secrets of grace and free will, so intimate -in our own hearts, are less enlightened in a history which is not our -own; and the communion of saints which makes us all, believing and -loving, one in a single light and a single goodness, gives us, in the -account of a difficult conversion, the feeling of a conquest in which -we ourselves have shared. - -The young Sophie de Soymonoff was then a Greek and an unbeliever. She -had been beguiled from her birth by the illusions of rationalism, and -the snares of the most singular fortune which error ever had; for the -Greek religion has this trait solely its own, that it presents a much -restricted and very firm negation to the true faith, under an -authority cut loose from its base; yet which, however, preserves all -the rest with a profound respect for antiquity. In seeing this exact -episcopal succession, this unaltered symbol, this inviolable -discipline, these sacraments which Rome herself recognizes, we ask if -an error, respecting so long and so well the limits which it traced -when it first arose, does not seem like those rocks which an irruption -has thrown from their foundations and which remain immovable under the -eye and the action of ages? Whilst in the West, Protestantism is -unable to create either dogmas or discipline or hierarchy, and floats -as a wandering cloud from mind to mind, the East, on the contrary, -sees produced the fixity of error. Here dissolution, there -petrifaction; and between the two the truth which is immutable without -being inert, progressive without being subject to change. However -surprising may be this contrast, it is not difficult to account for -it, if we consider, on the one hand, the difference of nature between -the eastern man and the western; and on the other, the diversity of -the political destiny assigned them. The eastern man contemplates and -adores, while his rival, less happy in contemplation, is more so in -acting. Thus the one has created generous institutions, under which he -has from age to age extended his empire, while the other has passed -from servitude to servitude, incapable of seating himself in the shade -of a regular authority, and of developing in a free atmosphere either -the evil or the good which, he has conceived. Hence in Europe error -takes a character of life which conducts it to its most extreme -logical consequences, at the same time that it wears at Constantinople -a character of death, which leaves it what it was, by impotence, not -by virtue. - -Nevertheless, it is easy for a vulgar intelligence to be deceived, -especially where family and national traditions give to error the -reflex of patriotism, and when an absolute government, the jealous -guardian of a religion of which it is the head, suffers no emanations -of the truth to reach the soul. Sophie de Soymonoff was born a -prisoner in an empire of seventy millions of souls. She was six -hundred leagues from St. Peter's, and a thousand years from the true -faith. But, however vigilant despotism may be, however thick its -dungeon walls, God remains ever near, and he draws therefrom, when he -wills, the instruments which his Providence uses to preserve for man -the share which he assigns him in all his works. At an age when Madame -de Swetchine could not yet sound either the poverty of the Greek -schism or the abyss of unbelief, a man of God came to her. He was not -a priest, but an ambassador of a king despoiled of the greater part of -his possessions, shut up in an island of the Mediterranean, and who, -in sending to St. Petersburg a {738} representative of his -misfortunes, thought not that he sent there a _charge d'affaires_ of -divine grace, marked with the seal of the elect. Count Joseph de -Maistre, tor he it was, detested with all his soul the two Colossuses -of his day, the French revolution and the French empire, because in -the one he saw the oppression of European nationalities; and the -other, because he thought he saw it imprinted forever with an -anti-Christian spirit. But he loved France, because, though it was the -seat of the revolution and of the empire, he discerned there an -indestructible faith, the faith of Clovis, of Charlemagne, and of St. -Louis, and I know not what predestination that ravished his judgment, -and rendered him the prophet of that very country which he esteemed so -culpable and yet so great. Born in Savoy, in the country of St. -Francis de Sales, and of Jean Jacques Rousseau, he was French like -them in his genius, but even more so by his faith and his heart, which -had but two pulsations, one for the church, the other for France; -generous mortal who silenced his antipathies by his convictions, in -whom blindness did not extinguish the light, and who, like -Philoctetes, wounded by the arrows of Hercules, could be separated -from Greece, neither in his accusations nor in his affections. Madame -de Swetchine soon met this extraordinary man in the saloons of St. -Petersburg, and it was the first great event of her life. A positive -spirit, but amiable, as his posthumous correspondence proves, M. de -Maistre loved conversation. He did not love it as a throne from which -his genius could display its brilliancy, but as a free and delicate -interchange of thoughts, in which grace unites with intelligence, -taste with boldness, freedom with reserve, bringing together in an -hour all times and all gifts; and forming a bond of union between men -who are pleased with sentiments of kindness and esteem. Generous focus -of cultivated minds of all countries, conversation is the last asylum -of human liberty. It speaks when the tribune is silent; it supplies -the place of books when books are not to be had; it gives currency to -thoughts which despotism persecutes; finally, it warms, and agitates; -it moves, and is, where it can live, the principle and the -all-powerful echo of public opinion. It is not astonishing then that -great men find in it a pleasure which is for them like the -accomplishment of a duty. So long as society converses it is safe. - -It did not look much as if the Count de Maistre could find at St. -Petersburg an aliment for this noble want of his heart. The Russian is -endowed with facility of expression, a quickness of apprehension, and -it is no flattery disrobed of justice which has named him the -Frenchman of the North. But he is closed up as soon as he comes into -the world; deprived of all political liberty, he has not even in his -religion room for his breast to expand, and the Christ he adores -appears to him only under the sceptre of his masters and behind their -implacable majesty. A fortress encloses at St. Petersburg the temple -where sleep the Czars, and, once dead, their people cannot even freely -visit their ashes. Fear, suspicion, doubt, all the shades of -inquietude dwell in the Russian, and are translated on his brow by a -calm which nothing destroys, on his lips by a reserve which nothing -dissipates. To converse it is necessary to be open; and to open one's -self, one must possess his life, his goods, his honor, his liberty. -When therefore the Count de Maistre entered St. Petersburg, he might -say that he entered the capital of silence, and that his genius would -be there only a monologue. - -He was deceived. I knew Madame de Swetchine only during the last -twenty-five years of her life; and she was fifty when I first rested -my eyes on her benevolent countenance. Doubtless age had ripened her -art of thinking and speaking, but it is impossible that she should not -have had something of it in that young outburst which early announced -to others, and to herself, the treasure which was carried in her -bosom. Certain it is that M. de Maistre had soon discovered it. In -{739} the midst of that society of great lords and diplomatists, he -discovered a young woman who bore in her language the marks of -superiority, and whose conversation, springing from a source still -purer than the mind, touched with remarkable tact the frontiers of -liberty, without ever passing beyond them. Confidence is an -irrepressible want of our poor heart; it cannot live alone; it opens -itself unconsciously, and when life's experience has revealed the -peril of abandoning it to itself, it becomes wiser but no fonder of -reserve, and counts it a supreme happiness to meet with security in -the intercourse of society. Less happy, however, than the greater part -of men, the man of genius has need also of a certain elevation in the -minds that come in contact with his own; and, though the crowd has its -charm and its power, were it only in hearing him who rules, yet it is -in the shock of two intelligences, each worthy of the other, that -conversation has its highest flight, and reaches the last fibres of -our being, and reveals to it the eternal pleasure of minds speaking -with minds. Demosthenes discoursing before the Athenians, Cicero -pleading in the Forum or the Senate of Rome, did not make, as perhaps -some may think, a monologue: the multitude responded, and their -eloquence was the fruit of a great soul heard by a great people. There -is no solitary eloquence, and every orator has a double genius, his -own and that of the age that hears him. - -Madame de Stael, who was the first conversationalist of her time, said -she was unhappy because of the universal mediocrity, and yet she -conversed at Paris among the people the most prompt in the world to -speak, and the most confiding: what would she have said at St. -Petersburg? M. de Maistre was there, but he was there with a -Frenchwoman, born in Russia, who would one day, recognizing the -mistake of her birth, live and die in her true country, the country of -an incorruptible faith, and of a liberty which had only an eclipse, -because conversation has always sustained it. Louis XIV. conversed at -Marseilles without suspecting that conversation would kill his -despotism. In the East, the destined seat of absolute power, the -prince does not converse; he gives his order, and is silent. - -It is impossible for two souls to meet each other in a conversation -which mutually pleases them, without having religion, sooner or later, -enter into their discourse. Religion is the interior vestment of the -soul. There are some who tear this vestment to tatters; there are -others who soil it; but there are a few who despoil themselves of it -all save some shred, and this shred, such as it is, is sufficient to -prevent them from appearing absolutely destitute of divinity. Madame -de Swetchine was an unbeliever, and, she had behind her, and beyond -her unbelief, the Greek schism. The Count de Maistre was a Catholic, -not only by faith, but by direct mental intuition. He was at that -point where a man can say, so obvious was the truth to him: I believe -not, I see. What were the talks of these two souls on a subject in -regard to which they had nothing in common, except their genius? What -did they say from 1803 to 1810, from the day when they met for the -first time, to that on which one of them bent before the other, owned -herself vanquished, and, on the bosom of friendship, sighed the last -sigh of error? Doubtless God alone knows. God alone knows the -stratagems which suspended for seven years the efficacy of an -eloquence sustained by divine grace, and disputed with it, step by -step, the victim and the victory. However, two immortal books of the -Count de Maistre: Soirees de Saint Petersbourg, and the book Du Pape, -may give us the secret of that controversy lost to the memory of man, -but which we shall one day find in that of God. - -It is manifest that the wife of the Governor of St. Petersburg opposed -from the first to the ambassador of Sardinia all the negations of the -eighteenth century, those shadows which Voltaire had invested with all -{740} the transparency of his mocking spirit, and around which Jean -Jacques Rousseau had thrown the poetry of his melancholy imagination. -Doubt, which in all men is a profound abyss, is still more so in the -heart of woman. Nature cannot be denied with impunity, and the nature -of woman is to believe, for it is her vocation to love. Happily Madame -de Swetchine was strong and sincere; she could follow with her mind's -eye her friend's thought, and penetrate, little by little, as she -became accustomed to it, into those regions of truth where mockery had -not left even a trace, and where imagination raised not a single -cloud. Laughter ceases as we ascend nearer to God, and so also do -tears without cause; the intellect becomes serious, and the heart -contented. - -When the Count de Maistre had dispelled the phantoms, did Madame de -Swetchine see at a glance the whole reality of Christianity, or did -the Greek Church interpose itself, as a half-light between a doubt -which was no more, and a faith which was not yet? In considering the -slowness of her progress it is natural to believe, and the Count de -Maistre's correspondence confirms it, that the neophyte took the -longest route, and that she did not give herself up to any sudden -illumination. It was then the book Du Pape which succeeded to the -Soirees de Saint Petersbourg. M. de Maistre had dictated it with one -eye on Russia and the other on France. Not that there was any relation -between the two countries in the point of view of religion. France, -since God had made her the eldest daughter of the church, had not been -for a single day a traitor to the sacred unity of her mother; and from -the battle-fields of Tolbiac to the scaffolds of the Reign of Terror, -she held herself faithful on the only and immovable rock where God had -sealed in this world the mystery of truth. But if is true that she was -withdrawn from the public law of Europe, which during several -centuries had accorded a political supremacy to the Roman pontiff and -that she had derived from this sort of resistance, I know not what of -personal independence, which without detracting from her theological -submission, had given her in certain matters a more apparent reserve. -Yet if Louis XIV. had not taken it into his head to establish as a -maxim what was only a national instinct, regulated by a profound -faith, the sentiments of France would never have assumed in the eyes -of Christendom the doubtful coloring which after the ruins of the -revolution struck the genius of the Count de Maistre and inspired him -with the book, Du Pape. He saw in Russia the immense fall of the Greek -Church, caused by this single point of infidelity to St. Peter, and -without fearing for France what no one feared for her, he erected to -the papacy that beautiful and proud, statue, which posterity will ever -regard with honor, even though they should accuse the artist of having -known the past less well than the future. - -_Thou art Peter, and on this rock I build my church, and the gates of -hell shall not prevail against it_. These simple words, regarded in -the gospel and in history, taught Madame de Swetchine that the Greek -Church, although preserving the traditions of episcopal authority, was -detached from the centre of unity, and consequently from the throne -itself of life. After this it was easy to recognize its effects in the -spiritual miseries she had under her eyes. The clergy are not the -whole church; they are only a portion of it. The church is the -assemblage of all souls who know God, and do not consciously reject -either the words he has given the world, or the authority which he has -founded to preserve and propagate his words and his grace. Though a -visible body in the faithful exteriorly marked with his seal, she yet -embraces under the eyes of God, who penetrates and judges all -consciences, a multitude unknown to herself, in whom invincible -ignorance {741} creates good faith, and who live unknowingly the truth -of which she is the depositary. This is the church. As to the clergy, -all is said in these words of our Lord ascending to heaven: _Go and -teach all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to keep my -commandments._ The clergy are the apostolate of the church; they are -the venerated summit of faith, the army of souls called by God to -spread the only law which is infallible, the only force which conquers -the flesh, the only unction which gives humility. "_Who hears you -hears me_," our Lord has said: "_who despises you despises me_." All -may and must befall the clergy, hate, exile, torture, death; there is -but one thing which they cannot and should not merit, contempt. When -Christ suffered in the judgment hall under the blows of the vilest -executioners, when he bore his cross from Jerusalem to Calvary, when -he was raised on it in the face of the whole world, there was against -him from heaven to earth, from Satan to man, a hate deeper and broader -than the ocean. But respect survived; and Pilate in washing his hands, -the centurion in beholding the cross, the virgins in weeping, the sun -in hiding its light, were the revelations of a conscience greater than -the punishment, and which held the astonished universe in expectation -and awe. Now, by a judgment of God, which is the chastisement of a -fault of centuries, the Greek clergy are despised. They are despised -not only by the unbeliever but by the believer; they are despised by -the penitent whose confessions they hear, by the purified Christians -to whom they give the body and blood of their God. This contempt is -striking and universal; the pope or Greek priest bears it on his -forehead as an avenging sign, and even the kiss of the Czar confirms -and enlarges it. - -Placed between this spectacle and the vision of the Count de Maistre, -the whole light came to Madame de Swetchine, and then commenced for -her the second struggle, the struggle of the truth against the holiest -affections of the heart. Truth is, no doubt, the great country of the -mind; it is father, mother, brother, sister, and native land; but man -has on earth another family and another country, the better he is the -more he loves them, and virtue; in so far as it is human, makes them -the cherished centre of all that is good, amiable, and generous. To -these ties already so strong, religion adds its divine influence, and -from the same table to the same altar man leads his happiness, and -there attaches by a single chain time and eternity. What a blow is -that when some day, by an evidence which leaves no possible retreat, -the daughter shall see God standing between her and her mother, -between her and her husband, between her and her native country, and -there shall be said to her in the same voice which Abraham heard: "_Go -out from, thy land and thy kindred, and from the house of thy father, -and come to the land which I shall show thee_." There are some, it is -true, who think this voice should never be heard, but for three -thousand years, since Abraham, it has commanded and been obeyed. God -is stronger than man, and man is great enough to sacrifice to truth -more than himself. - -Madame de Swetchine had not only to fear the rending of her heart, she -had before her an intolerance which the opposition of our century had -only irritated. The Emperor Nicholas did not yet reign, but the -conversion of a Russian soul to the Catholic Church was none the less -an act of high treason, which exposed her to the severities of the -morrow, if she escaped the inattention of the evening. After having -endured this stormy situation for six or seven years, Madame de -Swetchine turned her eyes toward France, and obtained from the Emperor -Alexander, a generous prince, himself agitated by an unknown -inspiration, the permission to live there. France received her in 1818 -at the age of thirty-four, in the plenitude of her faculties ripened -by a long intercourse with men and events. - -{742} - -It is not without a purpose that God draws to himself' a creature -condemned to error by all the ties of family and country, and -transports her far away to a foreign capital in the midst of a new -people. Much less so is it when this grace falls on a choice -intelligence, placed in the first ranks of society, and who unites in -herself all the gifts of nature, and all those of the world. Paris -since 1750 had been the centre of the European mind. It had by half a -century's crusade against Christ, drawn the nations from those old -certainties to which they owed their existence. An unheard of -revolution had been the chastisement of this fault, a chastisement so -much the more remarkable, as France had invoked just principles, -conformed to its ancient traditions, and as it was the defect of a -superior light to restrain herself, that she had traversed everything -with a devastating impetuosity. She had remained faithful only to her -sword, and still after twenty-five years of victory, worthy of her -happiest days, she had just succumbed by excess in the battlefield, -and twice the foreigner had soiled with his presence that superb city, -the mistress, by the ascendency of her intelligence, of the modern -world. It was there on the day after its reverses, that Providence -conducted Madame de Swetchine. The question was to know if France, -aware of the need she had of God to reconstruct her, would hear the -voice of her misfortunes; if recalled to her ancient kings, and -reconciled in her old temples, she would, consent to be again -Christian in order to give her liberty the sanction of the faith which -had always guided and always served her. - -Few minds in either camp discerned this relation of Christianity with -the institutions of a liberally governed people. The example of -England, where the church had always supported the commons, said but -little to the publicists who were the most charmed with her -Parliament. Madame de Swetchine herself had had in the author of -Considerations sur la France, a master who saw plainly the vices of -the French revolution, but who without betraying civil and political -liberty, did not well comprehend, perhaps, either all its necessity or -all its future. Happily she had lived under absolute power; she had -had under her eyes for nearly forty years a Christian Church in a -servile land, and this lesson could not be lost on a mind as true as -hers. The evils of liberty are great among a people who do not know -how to measure it, who at every moment refuse it by jealousy, or go -beyond it through inexperience. But these evils, great as they may be, -belong to the apprenticeship of liberty and not to its essence; they -still leave it daylight, space, and life, a resource for the feeble, a -hope for the vanquished, and above all the sacred emulation of good -against evil. Under despotism good and evil sleep on the same pillow; -souls are invaded by a dull degeneracy because they have no longer a -struggle to sustain, and Christianity itself, a protected victim, -expiates in unspeakable humiliations the benefits of its peace. Madame -de Swetchine saw this. Her great heart was full of this when she -entered Paris, and amid the roar of tempests she knelt, for the first -time in her life, at altars combated, but esteemed. It is necessary to -have suffered for liberty of faith to know its price. It is necessary -to have passed under the gibbets of schism, to be able fully to know -what it is to breathe the atmosphere of truth. How often have I seen -Madame de Swetchine's eyes fill with tears at the thought that she was -in a Catholic country! How often has she been inwardly moved at seeing -a good priest, a good religious, a good brother of the Christian -Schools, in a word, our Lord's image on a sincere brow or in a -virtuous life! Ah! this it is which here we never lose. We {743} can -dishonor I know not how many human and even divine things; but in the -shipwreck Christ remains visible to us in many who worthily love and -serve him. - -The life of Madame de Swetchine during the forty years she passed in -our midst was one continual thanksgiving. More than once under a reign -of persecution, like that of the Emperor Nicholas, she had fears for -the security of her sojourn in France. Once, notwithstanding her great -age, she believed it necessary not to leave it to the zeal even of her -most tried friends, and rushed to St. Petersburg to implore the -forgetfulness of the Czar. God still saved her. She had acquired such -a prestige, that it might be said that she represented at Paris the -honor and intelligence of Russia, and this, it is probable, was what, -in the most difficult times, saved her from being recalled. - -This dependence which she still had on her country, because her -estates there might be held to answer for her personal conduct, -imposed on her an extreme prudence in a saloon which was frequented by -her compatriots and by men of all ranks and all opinions. But this -reserve, which she had acquired as a habit in her own country, -detracted nothing from the grace and sincerity of her discourse; -whether she was silent or whether she expressed her thoughts, -according to the degree of confidence inspired by those present, she -never betrayed it; and in her silence even, she seized things on the -side which remained accessible, and gave them clearness enough, to -instruct without displeasing. An exquisite naturalness covered her -speech, though tact and unexpectedness were its most usual -characteristics. When she met Madame de Stael for the first time, each -knew the other without being told; and happening to be placed at -opposite corners of a large hall, they observed each other with -curiosity. Madame de Stael, accustomed to homage, waited for Madame de -Swetchine to come to her. Seeing she did not, she all at once crossed -the long space which separated them, stopped before her, and said in a -lively and caressing tone: "Do you know, Madame, that I am much hurt -by your coldness toward me?" "Madame," was the reply, "it is for the -king to salute first." This remark can give some idea of the ingenuous -and submissive style of Madame de Swetchine's conversation. Different -from Madame de Stael, who disserted rather than conversed, Madame de -Swetchine raised her voice but slightly, and had no accent of -domination; she waited her time without impatience, without caring for -success, always more happy to please than ambitious to dazzle. An -inexhaustible interest in those whom she had once loved, gave to her -intimacy a sweet and maternal character. Her genius was approached as -a focus of light, no doubt, but with a filial disposition which -endeared its brilliancy, which was the fruit of a goodness as manifest -as was her intellectual superiority. Introduced into the highest -French society by the Duchesse de Duras and the Marquise de Montcalm, -sisters of the Duc de Richelieu, she was not long in making felt -around her that attraction which is produced in society by -acknowledged eminence of character. What she had been when young at -St. Petersburg in her husband's salons, she was in the heart of -France; but what at St. Petersburg was only a conquest of suffrages -and of admiration, became at Paris an apostolate. - -When a soul passes to God's side, that is to say, to the side of -Christianity, the only expression here below of the divine life, she -can find nowhere else the principles and motives of her actions. All -in her proceeds from the sacred height and returns to it, Madame de -Swetchine lived in the world, but was not of it; she was held to it -only by its good--only to make her protest for God, and to serve him; -an admirable office in which the world assumes all its grandeur; in -which fallen under the strokes of a mind that {744} knows what it is -worth, it arises and occupies with him every instant of thought and -every vibration of the heart. He who is disabused by the simple -experience of life, despises the world, while he who is disabused by -light from on High esteems it. Being then no longer in the world for -the world, Madame de Swetchine was more than ever there for God; she -followed his course with all-powerful interest, attentive to seize -whatever might remove or approach her to the principle of all life. M. -de Maistre was no more. A different school from his was forming; -Madame de Swetchine saw unfold its first germs, and she surrounded -with her counsels and her affection the young representatives of an -idea which her recollections, perhaps, would have repulsed, but which -the freedom of her mind rendered her capable of judging, for this was -the character as the temper of her genius. In a time of intellectual -dependence, in which parties bore away everything in their train, -Madame de Swetchine made no engagement, and submitted to no -attraction; she isolated every question from the noise around her, and -placed it in the silence of eternity. Thus was one sure after having -heard all that was said, to encounter on crossing her threshold -something which had not been heard, an original view of the truth; and -even when she was mistaken, a proof that her thought did not belong to -herself alone, because she sought it in God. - -It was after the failure of L' Avenir that I first saw her. I -approached the borders of her soul as a seaweed broken by the waves, -and I remember yet, after twenty-five years, how she placed her light -and strength at the service of a young man unknown to her. Her -counsels sustained me both against despondeney and exaltation. One day -when she thought she noticed in my words a doubt or lassitude, she -said to me with a singular accent, the simple words: "Take care." She -was wonderful in discovering the point to which one inclined, and -where it was necessary to bear assistance. The measure of her thought -was so perfect, the freedom of her judgment so remarkable, that I was -long in comprehending to whom and to what she was devoted. Where in -others I should have known in advance what was to be said, here I was -almost always ignorant, and nowhere did I feel myself more out of the -world. This charm from above was not diffused over me alone. Other -minds, my predecessors or my contemporaries, felt its action, and it -is impossible to say for how many souls this single soul was a lamp. -Not only the day, at fixed hours, not only the evening until midnight, -but at almost every moment, confidence sought her with an importunity -which was never complained of. Thus was formed around a foreigner I -know not what country, which was of all times and of all lands, for it -was the truth which was its ground, its atmosphere, its light, and its -motion. - -Nature, it is evident, could not suffice of itself to feed this -inexhaustible conversation. It was nourished by an assiduous reading -of all that was remarkable which appeared in Europe. No book, as no -man, escaped her ardent curiosity. After the example of the Count de -Maistre, who inspired the taste, Madame de Swetchine pencil-marked -every page which struck her, and in her first leisure hour between two -conversations she engraved on a light leaf of brass the thought which -had illumined hers. She added her own reflections with the rapidity of -a first glance, and this triple commerce with books, men, and herself, -which was never interrupted, gave to her intelligence a spring which -was never exhausted. What, however, in the midst of the contradictions -of her century were the principles which guided her, and of which she -shed around her the unfailing clearness? In recalling my recollections -of her, I should say they were Our Lord the life of heaven and earth; -the Catholic Church, the only society of the mind, because it alone -possesses the foundation of faith and the {745} inspiration of -charity; Rome, the centre of the world, because she is the centre of -the church; the human family progressive on a basis that does not -change; civil and political liberty, the daughter of Christianity; -commerce, industry, science, all grand things, but under things -grander still, honor and justice; all man's toil powerless to diminish -poverty without virtue; France, a people loved by God--its revolution -a vengeance and a mercy, a germ under ruins; philosophy, as old as -man, the vestibule of Christianity when not as yet enlightened by -faith, and its crown when faith has transformed it; reason, the inborn -light whence philosophy proceeds, and which Christianity perfects; the -future, an uncertain abyss, but in which God is ever found; error, a -crime sometimes, a weakness oftener; tolerance, an homage to the -truth, a proof of faith; force, which is next to impotency; authority, -an ascendency which has its source in antiquity and in right; -property, the union of man with the earth by labor, the first liberty -of the world, without which no other subsists; liberty the guaranty of -right against whatever is not right. These, if my memory is faithful, -are the sound which at every hour and under every touch was given -forth by that harmonious lyre which we now hear no more. A constant -simplicity in an equal elevation, a goodness which came from Christ, -gave to her doctrines, apart from their merit as truth, a personal -influence. In hearing her this double charm might be resisted, but she -could not be hated or despised; she could not but be loved, and -inspire the desire to become better. Happy mouth, which for forty -years made not an enemy to God, but which poured into a multitude of -wounded or languishing hearts the germ of the resurrection and the -rapture of life. - -Yet, perhaps I deceive those who read me. They may persuade themselves -that the friend of the Count de Maistre and of so many eminent -Christians won their friendship only by the merit of a superior -intelligence. That would be much, but in Madame de Swetchine it was -not all. Intellect, when it comes from God, is inseparable from -charity. Madame de Swetchine loved the poor. Like Frederic Ozanam, -another blessing of Providence that we have lost, she knew how to -forget science in presence of misfortune, and her lips, accustomed to -things profound, had only divine things in the face of suffering and -death. In entering her dwelling this might not be believed. Pictures -by the great masters, dazzling candelabras, precious vases, books -enclosed under crystals richly encased, flowers and drapery, all -suggested the idea of costly magnificence hardly compatible with the -secret love of the unfortunate. But, as I have said, Madame de -Swetchine had in all things, even in duty, a point of view which was -her own. Persuaded that she owed it to her family and to her country, -to represent them worthily in the capital of a great people, she had -the art of being simple in the midst of a splendor which she -considered necessary, and to find economy in unseen privations. Long -before her death, for example, she had no carriage. She walked with -scrupulous exactness to the offices of St. Thomas of Aquina, her -parish church, although she had a private chapel, and though her age -as well as her infirmities would permit her to remain at home or go -out only in a carriage. - -One day her secret escaped her, Troubled, I imagine by something she -had read, or some discourse which I had made her, she asked me with a -kind of anxiety if I believed that in giving a sixth part of her -income to the poor, she accomplished the precept of almsgiving. -Another time, when some early vegetables were served at her table, at -which I appeared surprised: "What would you?" she said to me; "there -are people who raise these for us; would it not be ungrateful for -those who can, not to recompense them for their labor?" This remark -opened to me a new order of ideas. I understood that riches should not -be {746} used simply to support those who cannot gain their own living -whether from want of strength or want of work, but that they should -also, according to their amount, be used to protect all the honest -developments of human toil. It is thus that in the beautiful days of -Venice, Genoa, Florence, and of Pisa, so many Christian merchants -raised immortal monuments to their country, and that at Rome so many -cardinals have built palaces. Magnificence is a virtue, says St. -Thomas Aquinas, when it is regulated by reason, and very different -from luxury, which is vanity and ruin. - -At Madame de Swetchine's house was seen a mute, whom she had adopted -as if in return for the gift of speech, which she had received in so -eminent a degree. It was her custom to associate the care of the poor -with the happy events of her life. Each of them recalled a happiness -which he represented. She visited them on fixed days; she herself -carried them assistance, and above fill the light of her presence. -This intercourse kept alive in her the memory of the man, so quick to -be effaced from those who have not the memory of God. She continued it -even to the last days of her life; and when already the breath was -uncertain and trembling on her lips, she asked for accounts of her -poor. I saw, when we were seated around the sad couch of this -beautiful light, her dear mute watching from an adjoining chamber, a -vigilant sentinel of a life which had given her so much of itself, and -which was fading away between friendship remaining faithful, and -poverty remaining grateful. - -Shall I speak, after the poor, of that beloved chapel, where the -former unbeliever of St. Petersburg opened her heart before the God of -her maturity? It was there, above all, that she lived, and there that -she had gathered into a narrow space all that taste and riches could -do to express and satisfy her love. Charming and pious sanctuary! you -could not contain many souls, but there was one which sufficed to fill -you, and which you filled also. Now you are no more. Death has -despoiled the seats where so many friends came to pray; where prayer -was so sweet, and peace so profound. We shall see you no more, nor -your images, nor your precious stones, nor the tabernacle where at the -side of the Lord reposed the virtue all entire of our friend. You had -her last thought; it was of you she murmured at the moment eternity -seized and carried her before God. Can I, then, better end than with -you? For whom should I still ask a remembrance, a tear, an admiration? - -For several years Madame de Swetchine had had preludes of her end. The -consequences of a fall had left on her face a serious hurt which at -intervals and without warning, rendered speaking very painful. This -pain did not arrest the rapture of her communications. She remained -what she had ever been, the mistress of herself, and occupied with -all, winning hearts as in the days of her youth, when the Count de -Maistre sent her his portrait with these words, written by his own -hand: - - "Docile a l'appel plein de grace - De l'amitie qui vous attend, - Volez, image, et prenez place - Ou l'original se plait tant." - -Happier than this great man who saw only the first dawning of Sophie -de Soymonoff, we have enjoyed her perfect day; he formed her for us, -and happier herself than her master, she could, by the clearness of a -tempered reason, bring to her age a judgment in which hope surpassed -fear, and which best indicated the true route to minds desirous of -knowing and serving it. But at last we had to lose her. Every star -below fades, every treasure vanishes, every soul is recalled. God did -not spare his servant the agonies of death, but he left her to -surmount them the influence which she had acquired over all things by -seventy-five years of combat. Seated in her parlor to the last hour, -she continued to receive those whom she loved, to speak {747} to them -of themselves, and of the future, to foresee all, and to animate all. -Her reclining figure raised itself to smile, she kept the accent and -the thread of her thought, and her eyes with their serenity still -brightened the touching scene in which we disputed for her with God. A -last shock took her from us on the 10th September, 1857, at six -o'clock in the morning, having a few days before received the viaticum -and the unction of eternal life. - -Alas! dear and illustrious lady. I cannot attach to your name the -glory of those Roman women whom St. Jerome has immortalized, and yet -you were of their race: you were of the race of those women who -followed Christ through all the stations of his pilgrimage, who -watched him as he died, who embalmed him in his tomb, and who were the -first to salute him on the morning of his resurrection. You believed -all and saw all. Born in schism, brought up in unbelief, God sent you -to open your eyes, one of the rarest minds of this century; his hand -touched your eyelids, and the sight which your country refused you, -came to you from foreign skies. A Christian, you aspired to the -liberty of Christ; conquered for, God through the language of France, -you wished to live under the French speech, and quitting a country you -always loved, you came among us with the modesty of a disciple and of -an exile. But you brought us more than we gave you. The light of your -soul illumined the land which received you, and for forty years you -were for us the sweetest echo of the gospel, and the surest road to -honor. No failure annoyed you, no success ensnared you; you were ever -the same, because truth and justice do not change. Ah! doubtless your -mission was to do us good in our pale West, but you had another -mission, I believe; you were near us as an advance guard of the -conversion of the East. Daughter of Greece! God wished to show us in -your person, as he already had in several of your compatriots, what -will, one day, be that old church of our first fathers in the faith, -when, brought back from a fatal separation, she shall receive from the -might of St. Peter that emission of unity which she formerly sent us -from Jerusalem and Antioch, and of which we guard for her with -fidelity the precious deposit. Yes, we trust the love which you -preserved for your country; trust the presentiments of your -Evangelist, the great Count de Maistre; trust in the long hopes of the -Latin Church, and its constant respect for Christian Greece. Yes, -sooner or later, the East will bend before the West, as a brother -before a brother. St. Sophia will hear resound again in the two -languages the symbol which has not ceased to unite us. Liberty of -conscience, acquired by the human race, will no longer permit error to -guard itself by persecution. Veils will fall; the obscure victims of -political fear shake off their chains; all minds from one end of -Europe to the other will follow the inclination of nature and grace; -and if there remain, as there must, unbelievers and Protestants, at -least there will remain no longer a nation crucified for error. In -those days, dear and noble friend whom we have lost, and live here to -weep--in those days, you will raise a little your cold stone at -Montmartre, you will breathe an instant the air in which you lived, -and recognizing at once the balm of your first and of your second -country, you will bless God who called you before others, and to whom -you responded with that faith without stain which enlightened us -ourselves, and by that unconquerable hope which sustained us against -all the failures of a century so fruitful in lapses and abortions. - --------- - -{748} - -ORIGINAL. - -THE CRY. - - I sail on an ocean at midnight. - With darkness above and below; - And never a star in the heaven - To pilot me where I would go. - - Fierce tempests that roar in the midnight, - The tempests both cruel and strong, - Are driving me hither and thither; - What wonder if I should go wrong? - - Many thousands of others are sailing, - Like me, o'er this tempest-vexed sea, - All bound for the very same haven, - All bound to the same land with me. - - But some to the leftward are sailing. - Whilst others they steer to the right; - I oft hear the voice of the captains - Who hail me aloud through the night. - - Each one, though so diversely sailing, - Calls out to me, "You are astray! - For this is the course you should steer by - To enter the kingdom of day. - - "See, yonder the light shineth clearly, - Right full on the way that we go." - But which is the right and the true way, - Oh! tell me, for how can I know. - - I look where they're pointing before them, - But never a star do I see; - Where they tell me the beacon is shining - Is nothing but darkness to me. - - My soul is athirst with its longing - To rest on the beautiful shore. - Where is felt not the surge of the billows. - Where the tempest is heard nevermore: - -{749} - - Where the gardens of amaranth blossom, - And meadows of green asphodel - Fill the air with a fragrance immortal; - Where the satisfied voyagers dwell - - Who have passed o'er this ocean before me, - And rest with the holy of old, - In the city whose walls are of jasper. - And roofs of the finest of gold. - - O Lord of the wonderful city! - O King of the kingdom of day! - Let the light of thy truth shine out clearly - To pilot me safe on my way! - - -THE ANSWER. - - I hear thee, my child, in the darkness; - I know where thou wishest to be: - But why in a pilotless vessel - Didst venture alone on this sea? - - Thy way is in doubt and in darkness. - Because thou dost voyage alone, - Rejecting the old Ship of safety. - To choose a frail bark of thine own. - - That vessel is sailing beside thee. - Its course the great Pilot controls. - The tempest will ne'er overcome it-- - It never will wreck on the shoals. - - Who sail in this old Ship of safety, - Know nothing of doubt or of strife. - How can they with him who commands it-- - The Way, and the Truth, and the Life? - - And all through the mist and the darkness - Faith shows a mysterious way, - O'er which sails the good ship of Peter - Straight on to the kingdom of day! - -A.Y. - --------- - -{750} - - -ORIGINAL. - -THE GODFREY FAMILY; OR, QUESTIONS OF THE DAY. - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -DEATH OF MRS. GODFREY. - -A missive soon brought M. Bertolot to the trio. He came as secretly as -possible, and departed in the same way; not so secretly, however, as -to prevent his visit being shortly made known to Alfred Brookbank, -who, with the view of making a final breach between Sir Philip and his -wife, had set spies to watch the movements of the party. He discovered -from the jealousy of the neighbors the intimacy at the Irish cottage, -and surmised the attraction which produced these visits, but could -make no use of this surmise until his agent recognized in M. Bertolot -the French priest who had accompanied the countess to England. The -secrecy of the visit told its purport. Alfred now informed Sir Philip, -as if he had just made the discovery, that Annie had been in Eugene's -company all the time she had been away; that Catholics were their only -society, and that a priest visited them in secret, adding that there -could be no rational doubt that Lady Conway and her mother were both -Catholics. - -Sir Philip's indignation was excessive. Without taking time to -consider the matter at all, he ordered his carriage and drove -post-haste to Estcourt Hall, to which place the family were now -summoned in consequence of the increasing weakness of Mrs. Godfrey. - -Mrs. Godfrey had been brought there by short stages, and had arrived -the night before. Mr. Godfrey and Hester were there to meet her, and -to Hester's great joy she was once more pressed lovingly to her -mother's heart, who was more than happy to see her children united -again in affection. Adelaide was hourly expected; and when Sir Philip -made his appearance he was supposed to come in obedience to a similar -summons. Mr. Godfrey received him; but Sir Philip's agitation was such -that he made no answer to the customary greeting. He looked round the -room, and seeing they were alone, he said in a choking voice: - -"Is Lady Conway here?" - -"She is; she arrived last night." - -"And her brother Eugene?" - -"Is here also." - -"And have they been together all this time? O Mr. Godfrey, how you -have deceived me!" - -Mr. Godfrey was puzzled. He was constitutionally timid, and certainly -was just now in no mood for quarrelling; so he said quietly: "Why, has -any harm come of it?" - -"Harm! What can be greater harm than that Annie and her mother should -both of them be papists?" - -"Is it that which frightens you? Be composed, my dear friend; put such -thoughts from your mind; Annie has too much sense for that. And my -poor wife, she has been a little weak in the head lately, it is true, -but she is not given that way in the least degree; besides, I greatly -fear she cannot live long; her strength is less than I could have -imagined. Come, and see her." - -But Sir Philip was absorbed in one idea. "I tell you," said he, "that -the mischief is already done; that your wife and mine have both been -on their knees to a priest, and that the secrets of both families are -already on the way to Rome." - -"Impossible!" said Mr. Godfrey. - -{751} - -"Try," said Sir Philip; "ask the question; if they dare deny it, I -will produce the proofs." - -Mr. Godfrey laid his hand on the bell-rope. A servant appeared. -"Request Mr. Eugene to come to me immediately." The man bowed and -disappeared. Eugene soon entered. The door was carefully closed. Sir -Philip could scarcely keep himself from springing on him; but Mr. -Godfrey stood between them, and said in a hollow voice: "Eugene, -answer without circumlocution or disguise, say yes or no, are your -mother and sister Annie Catholics?" - -"They are." - -Mr. Godfrey pointed to the door; he could not speak. Eugene left the -room. The two strong men trembled with impotent rage. - -"A curse has fallen upon the house," muttered Mr. Godfrey at length, -as he paced the room. "Who could have dreamed of this?" - -"Mr. Godfrey," said Sir Philip, in tones of thunder, "you will tell -your daughter that she never again will enter my doors. Prepare what -settlements you please, send them to my lawyer; anything in reason I -will consent to, but see her again I will not." - -He quitted the house, nor did he ever see his injured wife again. - -Scarcely had Sir Philip's carriage driven away when another drove up, -containing Adelaide, the young Dowager Duchess of Durimont. She -entered the house in a scarcely less agitated state than Sir Philip -had left it in; but her excitement proceeded altogether from a -different cause. Among Adelaide's numerous faults, want of affection -for her mother certainly did not form one. On the contrary, she was -accustomed not only to love but to reverence her mother as a very -superior woman. Through the sunshine of youth, while enjoying the -warmth of a mother's fondness and protection, Adelaide's affections -had strengthened without that sentimentality of expression which Mrs. -Godfrey would have taught her to repress had she seen it manifested, -but they were none the less deep or tender for having hitherto found -no occasion, of great display. On the first intimation she had -received of her mother's illness, Adelaide had hastened at once to -Estcourt Hall, and was with difficulty persuaded by Mr. Godfrey to -retire. He feared that Adelaide's presence would but increase the -excitement under which Mrs. Godfrey labored, and as the doctor's -opinion was to that effect also, Adelaide was compelled, however -reluctantly, to yield. They gave her no clew whatever as to the cause -of her mother's malady, and though she had a general idea of some -unworthy transaction in which Eugene was wronged and Hester enriched, -she did not enter into particulars, nor mentally connect the facts -with her mother's illness. The only effect it had upon her was to -estrange her from Hester, and in a slighter degree from her father -also. - -When she heard that Eugene and Annie were summoned to her mother's -side, again she endeavored to share their cares; but Mr. Godfrey was -fearful of suffering too great intercourse between Adelaide and -Eugene, and used his utmost endeavors to dissuade her. He insisted -that the physicians absolutely ordered that none should approach her -save those she asked for. The father dreaded the judgment of the -daughter when she should know the cause of her mother's trouble. He -was accustomed to be looked up to by his children, and shrank from -incurring the disapproval of this one in particular; for Adelaide had -ever been considered the most talented and the most intellectual of -the family. He had a sort of consciousness that to the mother's -influence in veiling his foibles from his children's eyes, he owed -much of that reverence with which they habitually approached him; and -he could but feel that he had made but a poor return for a life of -devotedness, when he refused to yield to the first {752} important -demand she had ever made him, and that in favor of his own son. - -But now Eugene had written to Adelaide to say her mother was calm, and -would welcome her. Adelaide entered her father's house pale and -trembling, an attendant supporting her. - -"Is she still alive?" she whispered, as she saw her father; then, as -if fearful he would still oppose her seeing Mrs. Godfrey's, she -refused by a gesture to enter the sitting-room, but made her way at -once up the broad staircase to the room her mother had ever been wont -to occupy. She opened the door, and flinging herself on her knees by -the side of the bed, took the pale hand, and, as she kissed it, said, -with streaming eyes: "Ah! dear mother, why was I not permitted to come -to you before?" - -"And who forbade you, my love?" - -"My father said the doctors--" - -Mrs. Godfrey looked at her husband, who had followed Adelaide into the -room; there was surprise and sorrow, but no anger on her countenance. -She pressed Adelaide's hand and whispered, "Perhaps he was right, I -was unconscious and delirious a long while, my poor child; but now you -will stay with me the little time that I remain on earth." - -"You feel better to-day, my dear mother," said Annie, hopefully. - -"I do, but it cannot last; we must not deceive ourselves. I am glad to -see my dear Adelaide, but I cannot talk to her yet." - -The effort of saying even so much exhausted her; she lay back, and -they watched long hours in silence by her pillow. - -Day after day passed away, the loving children surrounding her, and -Mr. Godfrey sharing their watch. All traces of excitement had gone, in -the solemnity of that watch. Mrs. Godfrey seemed so thoroughly in -peace, that that peace seemed to pass into the circle of hearts -surrounding her. She became, however, perceptibly weaker everyday. Ten -days after Adelaide's arrival she whispered to her one morning: "Tell -your father I wish to speak to him." - -Adelaide summoned her father. Whatever were the words spoken, they -appeared to distress him very much. He gazed at his wife as though in -a stupor. She held his hand and faintly whispered, "My last wishes, -can you refuse them?" "No," said he, half choked, "he shall be sent -for;" and he left her to seek Eugene. That evening a stranger was -ushered by Eugene, as it were by stealth, into his mother's room. -Annie alone was present. The last sacraments of the church were -administered, and the stranger priest passed down the back staircase -so secretly that none knew of or suspected his visit save those -present and Mr. Godfrey, who had insisted on such secrecy being -observed. - -Adelaide had at length gathered all the facts concerning her brother -being disinherited, and the effect the transaction had produced on -Mrs. Godfrey's mind. A great feeling of repulsion for Hester was the -consequence, and her manner soon betrayed symptoms of the feelings -that swayed her. - -"I can never again call her sister," she whispered, half-aloud, one -day, in her meditation, by her mother's side; Mrs. Godfrey's eyes -opened. "My children, love one another," she said. "Love, for he loved -even sinners; forgive, for he forgave those who crucified him." She -sank to sleep after pronouncing these words, and when the watchers -bent over her to see what prolonged that sleep to so unusual a time, -they found that the sweet purified spirit had already winged its way -to the mansions of the blessed. - -Of all the mourners there, perhaps the grief of Adelaide was the most -violent. The feelings of Annie and Eugene were tempered by the hope -that their mother was now happier than she had ever been before. -Hester's were modified by the deep meditation in which she was plunged -by the fact that her mother had received full insight into that faith -of which she had caught but a glimpse, and of which {753} she so -earnestly desired to know more. But she dared not question Eugene or -Annie, for fear of angering her father and her mother! "O mother, pray -for me!" was in her heart, and checked the outward demonstration of' -her grief. - -They were standing round the coffin, those four children, whom she had -brought so faithfully through the cares and dangers of childhood! No -pride of station had withdrawn her from fulfilling her nursery duties; -no sloth, no command of riches had caused her to delegate to hireling -hands the cultivation of their infant minds; riches to them had been -as an accessory, not, as too often happens, causing a withdrawal of -maternal offices. How had they requited her? Oh! happy they who can -stand by the bier of those to whom they are bound by duty or by love, -and feel no remorse for duty oft neglected. - -Adelaide was standing on one side at the head of the coffin, rapt in -grief, Eugene and Annie were on the other side. Hester at the foot -absorbed in intense thought, but tearless and as it seemed to Adelaide -not paying homage in her thoughts to that dear mother. "Was she even -then dwelling on her own wild schemes?" The thought maddened Adelaide, -and forgetting the self-control for which she was usually so -remarkable, she in the overmastering impulse of the moment seized -Hester's arm, led her to the head of the coffin, and, pointing to the -sweet pale face before them, said in a frenzied tone, regardless of -the presence of Mr. Godfrey, who just then entered the room: "And did -you dare to wring the heart of that most noble woman? Was it for you, -whom she loved so dearly, to crush her loving spirit, and then stand -by so calmly contemplating her remains? How my heart loathes you!" - -"Hush! hush! dear sister," said Eugene tenderly, as he disengaged her -clasp from Hester, who fell nearly fainting into her father's arms. -"Hush! Adelaide, hush! she bade us love each other; you have -misconceived this matter. Come with me, I will explain it"--and he -took her to another apartment, and tried to make her understand -Hester's intentions of ultimately settling all according to equity, -while Mr. Godfrey and Annie did their best, to restore Hester to her -usual equanimity. - -Mr. Godfrey was so much moved by this affront put upon his darling -that he forgot his intention of keeping Mrs. Godfrey's change of -religion secret, and in the evening he called Adelaide to his private -study, and there explained that the delusions under which her dear -mother had labored had no particular reference to Hester, but were -caused by religion. "In fact,'" said; Mr. Godfrey, "what she wanted -the day you came to summon me to her, was a Catholic priest. Of course -I refused her nothing; the priest came that night, but secretly, out -of respect to the reputation of the family." - -"Was my mother a Catholic?" - -"She became one latterly." - -"And was it for her religion that you persecuted her?" - -"Persecuted her! Why, Adelaide, how dare you apply such words to your -father? Your mother was never persecuted; even when out of her mind -she had everything she asked for, and as I tell you, a Catholic priest -attended her the other evening. Persecuted, indeed!" - -Adelaide cared not to pursue a theme which brought her out as her -father's accuser, though the impression still remained on her mind -that injustice had occasioned the illness and subsequent death of her -mother, and this prevented her from recalling the offending words. - -The father and daughter parted somewhat coldly that evening, nor were -matters much mended by the family consultation held shortly afterward -as to what was to become of Annie. Sir Philip's message was now first -delivered to her, as Alfred Brookbank had arrived as his agent, with -offers of settlement for Mr. Godfrey's approbation. - -{754} - -"And is Annie not to see her own children again?" asked the duchess, -as she gazed on the speechless, the agonized face of her sister. - -"So says Sir Philip." - -"But have you reasoned with him on the subject? Have you protested -against such a monstrous piece of tyranny?" - -"It were useless, may it please your grace," interposed the soft low -tones of Alfred Brookbank, who was secretly gloating in the agony of -his victim. "It were perfectly useless. Sir Philip's hatred of -papistry--" - -"Please to speak with more respect of the Holy Catholic Church, Mr. -Brookbank," interrupted the duchess. - -"I beg pardon; I knew not that your grace--" - -"It matters not what you knew," haughtily rejoined the duchess. "It -behoves every man of common sense, or of common education, to speak -respectfully of a faith which for so many centuries has formed the -religion not only of the commonalty but of the heroes of the race. The -names of Alfred the Great and Charlemagne, of Copernicus and Michael -Angelo, with countless others, may weigh a little perhaps against the -opinion of so enlightened an individual as Sir Philip Conway." - -The withering sarcasm of tone with which this was uttered made Mr. -Godfrey bite his lips. He felt at once that he had not lowered her -mother in Adelaide's estimation by informing her of that mother's -becoming a Catholic; and he began to wonder which would be the next -seceder from rationalistic principle. "A curse is fallen upon our -house," he again muttered between his teeth. - -The conference was necessarily a painful one; but it was with -indescribable surprise and emotion that the assembled family heard Mr. -Godfrey propose that Annie should take refuge in the convent in which -dwelt her friend Euphrasie. - -"Why, papa;" whispered Hester, "have you changed your opinion of -convents? You used to call them sinks of iniquity. Why do you wish to -imprison Annie in one?" - -"Hush, my dear," answered her father, in the lowest possible whisper, -"all convents are not alike. I happen to know the antecedents of the -superioress and of several of the nuns in this one; they are all -ladies of high birth, and are altogether above suspicion. They are -austere fanatics, that is all. Annie will take no vows, and there she -will see the extent of the folly to which religious enthusiasm lays us -open. If a twelvemonth's residence among the poor Clares does not set -her brain in order, then she is irrecoverably lost to us--we may set -her down as incurably insane." - -While this little dialogue was going on, Eugene and Adelaide, jointly -and severally, were urging Annie to make a home with one or other of -themselves, each promising to do the utmost to regain for her the -custody of her children; but Annie, while she mournfully thanked them -for their kindness, decided that, at least till she had taken time for -reflection, she would abide by her father's advice, that is, provided -the sisterhood would consent to receive her. - -After vainly endeavoring to shake her resolution, the duchess resolved -on accompanying her to the north to see whether suitable arrangements -could be made for her comfort. - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -THE JOURNEY--THE CONVENT. - -It was well for Annie that the care of a sister watched over her -during that sad journey, for sometimes her mind seemed almost to have -lost its balance, and she would weep frantically over the loss of her -little ones, as one who would not be comforted; then with a sudden -revolution of feeling she would stop, and say, "Thy will be done, O -Lord," and would begin to say her beads, as Eugene had taught her, -with most edifying resignation. After awhile the thought of her little -ones would make her weep anew, and again the thought of God would -check her tears. - -{755} - -These alternations were for Annie alone, however. Adelaide felt -unmitigated disgust at the barbarity which could sever a loving mother -from her infants. - -"As if those babes were safer with that bigoted, soft-pated Mrs. -Bedford than with my intellectual, high-minded sister!" she thought. -Certainly the duchess's horror of Catholicity had wonderfully abated -of late. There was little said at first between the sisters on that -three days' journey. But once or twice the exclamation on Adelaide's -lips, "My mother a Catholic!" showed which direction her thoughts were -taking. Once, when Annie was a little calmer than usual, she suddenly -asked her: "What made my mother desire to be a Catholic, Annie?" - -"The grace of God, as I humbly hope," answered her sister. - -"The grace of God! What do you mean by that, Annie?" - -"I mean the special provision with which God deigns to bless every -human soul that desires it with knowledge and love of himself. Adam -had this grace conferred on him at his creation. He lost it, not only -for himself, but for us also. But Christ has repurchased it for all -who come to him. My mother heard this voice pleading within her for a -higher life. She listened and obeyed. This is what theologians call -co-operation with grace. The grace of God needs man's co-operation to -be efficacious, because God will not compel the human will. He desires -free service." - -"Ah, yes," said the duchess, "all other were a mockery. Nature is -bound by stern, inevitable law; that is easily seen: but intelligent -love must have freedom for its sphere of action, or it ceases to be -the love of intelligence; that, too, I comprehend. I thought your -words intended to convey some mysterious action of God on the soul not -given to all men." - -"All do not correspond with it, by a large majority, I fear," said -Annie. - -"And think you God speaks to all alike?" asked Adelaide. - -"Theologians say that a grace corresponded to merits another," -answered Annie, "and that one rejected or unused often loses that -grace, so slighted. This, at least, we know: God loves us all, and -places at our option higher degrees of spiritual attainment than we -oftentimes profit by." - -"God! What is God?" murmured Adelaide. "Truly a _Deus absconditus_ for -man." - -"'He who followeth me walketh not in darkness,' said the Man-God," -replied Annie. "God was a hidden God for the nations of olden time, -perhaps; but for us, Adelaide, he is God manifested in the flesh! and -to as many as receive him gives he power to become 'sons of God.'" - -Where was Adelaide's sharpness at repartee as of old? She meditated -now instead of replying; and Annie solaced her own sorrows by praying -for her sister's conversion. It was in something like tranquillity of -spirit that, she reached the district in which the convent was -situated. - -The next day the duchess accompanied her sister to the dwelling of the -sisterhood. They found it even poorer than they had anticipated. When -it had been first contemplated, Eugene had handed over a well-filled -purse to M. Bertolot with strict injunction to, procure everything -needful; but Eugene's idea of what was needed differed from that of -the superioress. "We did not take vows of poverty," she said, "to live -with every elegance like ladies. The spirit of our holy father, St. -Francis, as also that of our beloved mother and foundress, St. Clare, -requires the utmost plainness and poverty compatible with existence." -Eugene's large offering was refused, and when he on his part refused -to replace it in his pocket, it was distributed among the sick poor. - -{756} - -Euphrasie received her friends with open arms, and conducted them to -the superioress with love and respect. Many of the sisterhood had now -gathered together, and even postulants were not wanting. The -superioress greeted the ladies with calm dignity, and entered with -much feeling into the account given to Euphrasie in her presence of -Mrs. Godfrey's conversion and happy death. - -"And am I to understand, dear ladies," said the superioress, "that you -also share these blessed dispositions?" - -"Annie is a Catholic," answered the duchess, "and a persecuted one. -Sir Philip has shut the doors on the mother of his children because -she has embraced Catholicity." - -Euphrasie, by a sudden impulse, rose and knelt by Annie's side; -kissing her hands and bathing them with her tears. "Now, God be -praised for all his mercies!" she said: "How shall we welcome you, -dear martyr, for his sake?" - -Annie could only reply by returning Euphrasie's caresses and -affection. She placed her arm round her friend, and compelled her to -sit by her side. - -"Will you ask the reverend mother to let me stay with you awhile, dear -Euphrasie?" she said. - -"What! Here? here in the convent? in this poor place?" replied -Euphrasie. "You who have been, cradled in luxury and reared in -abundance? You know not what you ask, dear friend; it is impossible." - -Annie looked at the superioress; she read more promise there. "Dear -reverend mother," she said, "Almighty God has seen how unfit I am as -yet to train my beloved children in the narrow path of mortification -and of humiliation, trodden by our Divine Master. He has sent me to -learn it of you. Will you accept me as your disciple in Jesus Christ? -At least, I can promise you reverence and submission." - -"You are welcome, most welcome, my daughter," said the superioress, -"and may Almighty God, in his own good time, restore your children to -you, to be brought up in the faith and love of Christ." - -"Thank you, dear mother; and if you and the dear sisters will assist -me by your prayers, doubtless he will. He has but sent me here to -school awhile, that I may be able to teach them rightly. I stand as -yet but on the threshold of the church; I have looked in and seen her -glories, but selfish and worldly as I have been from childhood, I -scarce know how to share in her unworldly triumphs." - -"Dear cousin," said Euphrasie, "you must not defame yourself. You were -ever kind and generous, and now your humility will surely bring you a -blessing. We will try to make you happy here." - -"Indeed, yes," said the superioress, "it is a great consolation to us -to receive you. Your heart, so long accustomed to the incredulity of -the age, needs rest--such rest as is produced by dwelling on the love -of Christ for us. After a while it will become for you a necessity to -reciprocate that love, by pouring yourself out as it were in deeds of -charity and kindness for the pure love of him who died for you. Once -accustomed to converse familiarly with him, you will no longer regard -him as divided from yourself, but as one same self with you, so that -with St. Paul you may be able to exclaim, '_I_ live now, not _I_, but -Christ liveth in me.' Yes, my dear daughter, from him you may hope all -things for your children as well as for yourself. Detach yourself from -this world, seek Christ crucified, that you may repose surely in his -love." - -Adelaide listened and wondered. She looked around at the bare walls, -the uncarpeted floor, the plain deal tables, and the common -rush-chairs. "Is the rest of the house like this?" she asked of -herself: "and am I to leave Annie here?" - -Begging the superioress to excuse her for an instant, she drew Annie -apart, and urged upon her that it was useless for her to subject -herself to such privations as these. - -{757} - -"Come home with me, dear Annie, I beg of you." - -"Nay, sister, think not so meanly of me, as to deem that I cannot -endure for a few weeks or months, privations which these dear ladies -suffer always." - -"Oh! they are nuns, you know." - -"But that does not alter, their nature, and once, they were in the -world, rich, titled, honored. I would learn of them what has given -them power thus to trample the world beneath their feet. Leave me for -a while, my sister; if I find the life too hard for me, I will come to -you." - -"You promise?" - -"I do, believe me, Adelaide." - -And with this promise Adelaide was obliged to be content. She prepared -to wend her way homewards. As she rose for that purpose, the -superioress said: "Your grace will have a solitary journey. May I -venture to offer you a book to beguile the tedium of the way?" -Adelaide smilingly assented, and on getting in her carriage, Euphrasie -placed into her hands Avrillon's meditations for every day in Lent. -Absorbed at first in her own thoughts, Adelaide, heeded the book but -little: but after a while, to relieve ennui, she began its perusal, -and was soon astonished at the interest it excited within her breast. - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -On the morning of Annie and Adelaide's departure for the convent, Mr. -Godfrey had ordered breakfast for himself in his library, and had -summoned Hester to attend him, on the pretext of not feeling well, but -in reality to avoid a parting scene with his children. Hester, on the -other hand, dreaded nothing more than they should depart without -farewell; she had keenly felt Adelaide's words beside her mother's -coffin, but in despite of her efforts could not effect an interview -which should dispel the ill-feeling that oppressed her. Her father's -jealousy of her holding any private intercourse with the rest of the -family on the one hand, and the coldness of Adelaide on the other, -seemed to present insurmountable obstacles. At length she heard the -carriage draw up, and the voices departing; hastily she quitted the -breakfast table, and rushed into the hall. The travellers were already -there; she approached Annie with tears in her eyes. Annie was too sad -herself to be angry just then, she imprinted on her sister's forehead -the silent kiss her gesture pleaded for; but Adelaide went forward and -seated herself in the carriage, waving her hand for a general adieu, -and Hester fell back weeping on her brother's shoulder as the vehicle -drove away from the door. - -"O Eugene! I had no hand in this; tell me at least that you believe -me," sobbed the poor girl. - -"I do believe you, and so will Adelaide after a time; take comfort, -Hester." - -"I cannot, with them all against me. Oh! who could ever dream our love -for each other could melt away to this?" - -"It is not, melted a way, dear sister, only obscured; it will one day -return warmer and brighter than ever." - -"Then you, you will write to me, you will not cast me off?" - -"Never, never will I cast you off! never cease to love you!" - -"Then, Eugene, you will help me also; I want to read, to know the -cause of these unhappy divisions." - -"And my father?" - -"O Eugene! that is the misery my father must not know. Eugene, I love -my father; there can be nothing wrong in that, he has only me now. We -cannot help that; but I must be true to him, I cannot break his heart. -He must not know we correspond or that I read your books, or that I am -thinking on the subjects he hates so much. He need not know it; I am a -woman now, I have a right to my {758} freedom. If I conceal my -thought, it is out of love to him; you know well how it would pain him -were he to suspect I read a work that treats on religion." - -"Our correspondence must be secret; then?" - -"I fear it must; at least till my father gets over this miserable -prejudice. You can write and send to me under cover to Norah, my -little maid. I will send her to you presently for some books, and now -good-by, my father will be wanting me. Pray for us both, Eugene." - -Mr. Godfrey was considerably unhinged by the change that had taken -place in his family, and he watched Hester closely. She had truly said -she was now his last hope. That she was dejected at her mother's death -could not surprise him or any one, but that her sprightliness had -altogether departed, that her energy was depressed, her color faded, -and her appetite gone, were sources of great anxiety. Again he took -her to Yorkshire, to endeavor to reinspire her with interest in the -promotion of the "March of Intellect." - -Hester did not feel justified in withdrawing her interest or exertions -from the institutions which she had raised and fostered; but it must -be confessed that these institutions were gradually assuming the -character of mere money-making factories. Mr. Godfrey, dissatisfied -with certain losses, had engaged a man of business to overlook the -whole concern, and in addition to a stipulated sum, this person was to -receive a certain percentage of the profits. This rendered him -particularly sharp-sighted as to doing matters economically; that is, -with the fewest number of hands, at the lowest rate of wages, and -oftentimes employing children in lieu of adults. - -"This is altogether, foreign to our first idea," said Hester, "and I -do not approve of it at all." - -"It cannot be helped, my dear; no enterprise that will not pay can be -proceeded with in the long run." - -"But these children shut up in the close rooms at eight or ten years -of age, for such long hours! it will numb every faculty they possess." - -"If their parents are willing to permit it, I do not see what we have -to do with it." - -"O father! ignorant people often sell their children, without knowing -the harm they do; but this cannot be the way in which the world is to -improve." - -"You were not satisfied with the results of your new plan, which did -not make money. I have put the matter into Mr. Fisher's hands for a -while, because, I know that in his hands, if money is to be made, it -will be made: his talent for business is unrivalled." - -"Money is not the principle of progression." - -"Nothing can be done without it, at any rate." - -These discussions annoyed Mr. Godfrey the more because he felt the -inconsistency between the past idea and the present practice. On the -other hand, Hester was not in possession of the principle she was -seeking; that was acknowledged with regret on her part, though she by -no means gave up the search, and still less rested contented with the -inferior motive of placing all development, all future improvement on -the mere basis of money-making. - -Among Mr. Godfrey's friends, one of the most intimate, because the -most scientific after the fashion of this world's science, was a Mr. -Spencer--a gentleman whose works had already acquired for him a great -share of reputation, and who was gradually acquiring great influence -over Mr. Godfrey. He was a man of about five-and-thirty years of age, -being some twelve years older than our Hester, whom he greatly -admired, notwithstanding that he found her mind a little difficult to -understand. Perhaps he liked her the better that she puzzled him, that -she took different views from him. Certain it is that he haunted her -society whenever he could find an excuse, and Mr. Godfrey seemed -particularly well pleased to find them together, as he {759} hoped -that interviews with such a learned man would dissipate any tendency -to religion, especially the Catholic religion, that Hester might be -fostering in consequence of the proclivities of her mother and of the -rest of the family in that direction. - -. . . . . - -'Twas autumn, a walk through the woods had brought the trio together, -and together they returned to the house; the gusty and fitful wind -scattering in their path the tinted leaves that fell like showers from -the trees beneath which they were passing. Wild clouds were hurrying -through space, as if summoned suddenly to assist at some tempestuous -commotion, and though many miles distant was the sea, the roar of -waves was heard beating on the far-off shore; every sign betokened -that a storm was at hand. The pedestrians hurried to the house, and -scarcely had they reached it, than impulsively they went to the window -to gaze in mute amazement at the scene. A sudden wind was uprooting -trees, unroofing houses, and carrying off all things before it. An old -barn long doomed to be pulled down, which was but awaiting hands to -perform the work, suddenly reeled like a drunken man, and in a few -moments more fell to the ground with a great crash. The servant girls -screamed in the hall, "the men went in for shelter, they must be -crushed to death!" The door was opened that the serving-men might rush -to the rescue, but the wind swept like a tornado through the hall, -tiles were rattling from the house-top, bricks tumbling from the -chimneys. To leave the house was impossible, none could stand against -such a blast. A large boarded roof that was being prepared by the -carpenters was carried off the scaffold, and after being for some time -balanced in the air as if it were a paper kite, fell at length with a -loud splash into the lake some quarter of a mile distant from the spot -whence it was first uplifted. The scene was at once terrific and -sublime, and but for the screams and sobs of the girls, who feared to -have some father, brother, or friend buried beneath the fallen -building, Hester could have enjoyed the spectacle; but she was -occupied in endeavoring to soothe the panic-stricken tremblers, and -for consolation what could she say? She could but stand by and -sympathize, and utter words of hope, meaningless because unfelt. It -was a relief when the storm abated to find that all the men had been -able to quit the building at the first creaking of the rafters, and by -crawling on all fours had reached a place where they lay safely till -the storm had passed--all save one, and he was protected by the manner -in which the beams fell over him, they being prevented from falling -perpendicularly by some obstacles, and formed a sloping defensive -shelter for the young man who happened to find himself in that -particular corner, from which, when the storm abated, he was -extricated by his companions, with no other injury suffered than the -alarm endured for several hours; and in this alarm he had many -sharers, for few of the neighbours could rest in peace until he was -drawn forth unhurt. - -A feeling of relief pervaded the party as with closed shutters, drawn -curtains, and every appurtenance of comfort, they drew round the -bright coal fire, which shed a glowing, cheering warmth throughout the -apartment--while the rain which had succeeded to this storm of wind -was pattering against the windows, enhancing the comfort within by a -sense of dreariness without. - -"How remorseless is nature!" said Mr. Spence, as at length the silence -which had pervaded the three friends became almost painful; "decay, -change, transition, pain, with transient gleams of beauty, as if to -render the surrounding gloom more painful still, and no escape: how -remorseless is nature!" - -"All things have their bright side, I believe," she said, "even so -terrible a storm as to-day's. It is good to feel a grand sensation -sometimes, it stirs up the very depths of one's being." - -{760} - -"How would it have been if those men had been crushed to death, or -worse, hopelessly maimed for life?" - -"That did not happen. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." - -"But similar events often do happen. The battle-field, the pestilence, -man's evil passions, or the remorseless sea tossing man's feeble bark -in sport against the rocks, cause many a grand sensation that is not -good. See in that newly settled swamp the settler's wife surprised -amid her household drudgeries with a startling shriek, and, hurrying -to the water's edge, to find a rattlesnake coiled round her prattler's -leg, inflicting the painful sting that causes the innocent child to -expire in torture: do you call that good?" - -"It does not follow that there is no good because we see it not! The -design of the creation may involve a hidden good to be evolved out of -what seems evil." - -"And meantime the longer we pursue our researches, the more we become -convinced that an all-pervading inexorable law governs events by -necessary connection; that there is no resisting the force of this -law, no disarming it. All that we can do is to study it, and take what -comfort we can individually by an intelligent application of it to -ourselves." - -"And our neighbor's happiness is to tell for nothing?" - -"You will do no good by forcing any system on men for which they are -not prepared," said Mr. Spence. "Ideas remain inoperative when the -civilization or intelligence to which it is addressed is unequal to -its realization; practice does not depend on theories, but on -development, on individual assimilation of the principles, if I may be -permitted to use this word. For instance, moral theories are ever the -same. The Hindoo, the Chinaman, the follower of Zoroaster and the -transcribers of the precepts of Menu, declare with the Jew and the -Christian, that the law is to be honest, virtuous, heedful of others' -pleasure or good, to seek justice, love mercy, reverence age, and -submit to all lawful authority, etc.--each precept requiring a willing -obedience; yet where are the fruits to be found?" - -"But do men believe these precepts to be the rule of right?" - -"Theoretically they are not disputed, but practically man is made by -the external objects that surround him. Give society a system below -its advancement, it rises superior to it; give it one above it, it -does not come up to it. This is observable in nations. Among the lower -order of French Catholics there is less of bigotry and civilization, -with more of the real charity enjoined by religion, than among the -lower order of Scotch Protestants, despite the theory of their -theology. [Footnote 206] Again, the Swedes and the inhabitants of -some of the Swiss Cantons are less civilized than the French, and -therefore it avails them little that they three centuries ago adopted -a creed to which the force of habit and the influence of tradition now -oblige them to cling. Whoever has travelled in these countries will -see how little the inhabitants have benefited by their religion, while -in France you will see an illiberal religion accompanied by liberal -views, and a creed full of superstitions professed by a people among -whom superstition is comparatively rare." [Footnote 206] - - [Footnote 206: See Buckle's Civilization in England. Vol i. pages - 191-193, from which above is extracted. (There are two references - and only one footnote on this page.--Transcriber)] - -"That would rather go to prove Catholicity to be better than -Protestanism," said Hester; "at least, if liberal views and tolerant -actions be a proof of the advancement of society." - -Mr. Godfrey bit his lips, and Mr. Spence, suddenly mindful of certain -proceedings in his friend's family not exactly of the tolerative -description, hastily essayed to cover his mistake: - -"Practically," he said, "men's religious demonstrations are a thing -apart from their theory, and are governed by the character of -individual mental development, rather than (what they are assumed to -be) a power governing development." - -{761} - -"I think that proposition illogical. If religion acts at all, it must -act according to its character as a power. Granting that with many it -is a dead letter, without any action, yet with those it does -influence, its action must be the legitimate result of its doctrine; -and if the civilization resulting from Catholicity is superior, is not -that the superior agency?" - -"You forget how the guardians of the Catholic faith have ever -persecuted science; that proves them intolerant." - -"Not necessarily. The guardians of a faith, amid a crude, undeveloped -people, may well be jealous of novel notions, dispersed out of their -connexion amid an unthinking, unreflecting populace. If the object is -to raise people from the phase of their present existence to a higher -phase, our late experiments have shown that it needs caution in -disturbing present moral influences. The mass are not philosophers; -they will not travel the whole round of a series to trace the whole -chain of what you call the necessary connection. Were I to begin my -experiment again I should take the highest motive then active on the -mind, and try to build higher on that. The first results of science -are usually destructive, and therefore not fit for the masses; -something must be built up again ere we present it to them. As it is, -these masses seem only to amuse themselves by hurling the stones of -the ruined theory at the world and at each other, destroying much, but -advancing nothing good." - -"But philosophy must not be controlled. Science must not be impeded in -its onward march; the hopes of ultimate civilization lie in free -investigation. The evil is transient--the good permanent." - -"Yet you admit that a system may be in advance of a people?" - -"Yes, and forerunners are martyrs, sacrificed to the ignorance, to the -inaptitude of the age in which they live; yet there is a sort of -necessity for their existence, the law for which is not as yet -discovered. Future ages will probably be more enlightened on this -head. All that we know is, that there is a law for all evolutions, a -practical principle--if we could only trace it--to which every -action, every development may be referred. Statistical tables show us -that even crime follows method. In a given number of people in a given -state of civilization there will be a certain percentage of murders, a -certain percentage of thefts, robberies, and the like; nay, a certain -average number of suicides. You may verify these facts by comparing -the statistical tables of large cities such as London and Paris, -[Footnote 207] for a definite series of years. - - [Footnote 207: See Buckle's Civilization in England. Vol. i. page 17 - _et seq._ ] - -"And through what agency is this effected?" asked Hester, in -amazement. - -"Nay, that I can scarcely answer save in general terms. The cause of -law, the cause of evolution, the cause of everything is utterly -unknown. The most we can do is to observe phenomena, to class them, -and then note the sequences which form necessary connection together; -in this way we discover the law, but beyond that science can affirm -nothing. The cause we can know nothing, and affirm nothing of, save -its bare existence as the incomprehensible cause of all phenomena. The -sole possible predication is merely that he, or more properly it, is." - -"Why, surely the cause is God," said Hester, who, new as she was to a -personal recognition of God's rights to her own devotion, had never -dreamed of doubting, that "absolute intelligence" ruled "as cause." - -"God," said Mr. Spence, "is too indefined a term for science, or -rather there are ideas connected with the term which we cannot -scientifically apply to the unknowable. We cannot affirm of this -unknowable that he is either matter or mind; because this would be to -degrade him, by representing him in terms of our finite and human -conceptions. Matter and mind are in fact but phenomena of which the -unknowable is the unknown cause. {762} He is of a far higher nature -than matter or mind, for he is the common cause of both. Of this -nature we can form no idea whatever. We cannot attribute to the -unknowable _reason_; since that would represent him as finite, for all -reasoning is limitation. We cannot affirm of him either justice or -mercy; because these are words borrowed from the human, and to express -the unknown in such terms is anthropomorphism and blasphemy. Such a -religion is but one grade higher than the ancient theologies that -represent God with hands and feet and other human members." - -"Stay," said Hester, "I cannot admit all your assumptions. That the -cause is the great I Am, of whose essential being we know nothing, is -doubtless true, as also that finitude cannot comprehend infinitude: -but that it is wrong or blasphemous to speak of him in the language of -earth, I cannot see. We know the expression is inadequate, that it is -metaphorical, an application of the less to signify the greater, but -it is the only voice we have, and the degree of worship depends on the -spirit of reverence which prompts the utterance, as the freedom from -idolatry must depend on the spirit of appreciative love and submission -with which that worship is offered. - -"But," said Mr. Spence, "all theologies set out with the great truth, -that the deity is incomprehensible. But they immediately contradict -and stultify themselves by proceeding to assign him attributes. In -this way all religions become suicidal as well as irreligious. The -only true religion is to worship God as the unknown and forever -unknowable. True religion and science agree in this, that the cause of -all phenomena is the unknown. Science, in affirming the cause to be -material or mental, becomes unscientific, just as religion, by -pretending to reveal his nature or attributes, becomes irreligious." - -"Pardon me," said Hester, "I think you are begging the question. -Because we know nothing of the interior being of God, it does not -follow that we may not discover the relationships which he wishes to -establish between himself and ourselves, and to the manifestations of -these relationships we may in all reverence and with consistency -assign attributes. Within himself God is the great I Am, unknown and -unknowable to us. Reason, justice, mercy, probably find there, no -exercise. Their exercise is outside in creation; for all creation is -outside God, an expression of his power, as of every other attribute -justly assigned him. Creation itself is limited: man's expression more -so yet: but we do not therefore believe in the limitation of the -deity. We cannot conceive infinity, still less express it; still the -idea exists, and our minds invest the deity with it in reverential -awe, not in blasphemy." - -"You have given the modern theology assuming God to be a spirit and a -creative spirit; and assuming also that the creation is a work of his -design. You do not perceive that you make God the author of evil as -well as good, and that you assume matter was created. Now, the -eternity of matter would be no greater enigma than the eternity of -mind; and we do not know whether the cause be 'matter or mind.' It is -unknown, as it is also unknowable." - -"Why this is sheer Atheism," said the startled Hester. - -"Not so! This doctrine is neither Atheism nor Theism. It is merely the -highest and last formula, at once, of science and religion, ceasing to -represent the unknowable in any conceptions of human thought, and thus -leaving free scope for worship, which (worship) is not assertion, but -humility and transcendent wonder." - -"Nay," said Hester; "religion, as far as I can make it out, consists -in acknowledging the relationships which God has established: first, -between himself and man, and secondly, between man and man. Religion, -if true, is a manifestation or revelation if not of God's essential -nature, yet of his will {763} in man's regard. The discrepancies -between our conceptions of what is evil and evil itself may explain -your difficulty about God being the author of evil. It may be that -mere change, mere transition, is not evil, even when accompanied by -some pain. I read yesterday that the only real evil was, a voluntary -act on the part of a rational creature, performed contrary to the -known will of God." - -"That is so evidently a theological subtlety," said Mr. Spence, -"science deigns it no reply." - -"And yet," said Hester, "your last and highest formula, which refuses -to represent the unknowable in any conception of human thought, bows -down in worship and transcendent wonder to the 'cause' which makes -murder, suicide, and every species of human wickedness result from 'A -Law'! - -"Because we believe that ultimately that law will evolve good. It -appears a fact now thoroughly established, that all the organisms we -are acquainted with, have been evolved by a gradual process rather -than produced by a series of special creations, as has been so long -the theory. And the evolution tends upward; that is, to produce new -and more complicated organisms as time speeds on. This must in the end -evolve higher good." - -"Do you mean that the lesser is ever producing the greater; and that -in the aggregation of insentient matter life is evolved?" - -"Does not the infant grow into the man by the aggregation of -insentient matter assimilated into his being in the shape of food?" - -"Yes, but life was there already; character and power, expansion and -development it receives, but no new function." - -"That is not so certain; or rather it is certain that evolution -constantly manifests changes, which can only be accounted for on the -ground of a great universal law, a law ever producing diversity of -phenomena in unity of operation." - -"But I do not see that it explains anything of the ultimate cause." - -"Have I not already said that the cause is unknown and unknowable?" - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -MODERN PHILOSOPHY,-- -THE SOUL WITHOUT GOD. - - Eternity and space! Remorseless law! - Without a voice or tone of love to man, - Without a sign to soften into awe - The terrors of necessity's dark plan. - Oh! what a wail of dark despair - Rent the unblest, unhallowed air, - As through the spheres the last dark utterance ran-- - There is no God! no deity for man! - The glowing thoughts that thrill man's frame, - And bid him glorious kindred claim. - With all of brilliancy divine - That through the dazzling circles shine; - The thoughts unspeakable that swell - The heaving breast to ecstasy, - And cast their sweet and mystic spell - Until, attuned to harmony, - The winged soul is borne throughout all space - To read the symbols of celestial grace; - Tracing the wondrous lore from sky to sky, - Inflamed by consciousness of Deity - Though veiled, yet present still, and still - "Educing good from seeming ill"-- - That thought is quenched in deepest night! - Vanished each ray of holy light! - The winged soul, all tempest-tost, - Rushes in vain throughout all space; - Amid dark waves of horror lost - No sign appears, her course to trace - In speechless agony, alone, - Finding rest--never! - The wearied spirit hurries on - Wandering forever! - All, all is lost! a dark despair - Fills up the void, the tainted air. - A Upas tree with poisoning shade - Monopolizes every glade; - And shadows flit and utter: "Woe! - Remorseless nature rules below." - - . . . . . . - - Throughout all space-no rest-- - No ray - By which the human heart is blest; - No day - Breaks th' interminable gloom - Around-- - A foul, dark, loathsome tomb! - A burial ground! - Without a star - To light th' abyss! - Stern, elemental war! - No bliss! - - The evolution of a vast decay: - Its beauty transient, as the fleeting ray - That gilds the clouds on fitful April's day. - Eternity! Immensity! - All unillumined lie, - No trace of high design - Doth through their glimpses shine: - Destruction and decay - Repeated day by day-- - Music forgets to joy the earth, - Beauty to give the flowerets birth, - Banished all providence, banished for ever-- - What from the fainting heart sorrow shall sever? -{764} - One charnel-house is the all-teeming earth; - That Fetid Vapor rising sickly bright - To which foul rottenness is giving birth, - Is now man's _only_ source of mental light! - And shadows flit around and utter, "Woe! - Remorseless nature rules _Alone_ below!" - - . . . . . . - -Such were our heroine's reflections. - -Poor Hester! With no settled principle, with no defined religion, it -was little wonder that the gloomy speculations of a conceited science -should overpower her imagination, and that she should become -melancholy and dispirited. Indeed, it became evident that the false -philosophies, the exposition of which she was constantly called upon -to hear, and from which her heart recoiled, even when she could find -no reply to its specious reasonings, were preying on her health, and -the gentleman who had acted as medical attendant to Mrs. Godfrey, now -warned her father that Hester must be looked to, unless he would see -her also fall into despondency. - -Not that Hester believed in a theory which contradicted her instincts, -annihilated for her the use of a faculty. No; but the very enunciation -of such dogmas oppressed her, seemed to spread a snare for her, raised -doubts of disturbance, at the very moment she was seeking to gain from -works her brother had lent her the peace of mind she so much needed. -In spite of herself her mind recurred to the theory which tormented -her, and which she saw was favored by her father. "And yet," mused she -in sadness, "can high ideas spring from the evolutions of matter? Is -matter creative? This panting after justice that I feel, the love of -order, beauty, moral harmony, for which so willingly I'd give my ease, -my leisure, my exertions, nay, to forward the permanency of which I -should esteem my life well bestowed, does that proceed from blind -necessity, from evolution of organic life, itself unconscious of the -boon conferred? Impossible! Idea is as real as is the brain: and there -were mighty minds in days of old, who left examples men have not yet -equalled. He who died upon the cross, and left twelve laboring -unlettered men to propagate his most unselfish lore, was he evolved -from matter's slow progression? And the men who roused the souls and -waked the intellects of poverty, who preached the gospel to those -lowly ones who live a life of toil and weariness, who kindled thoughts -that raised them high above the tyrant's might to claim their heirship -as the sons of God, inheritors of freedom, justice, truth, which -naught save their own act can rob them of, were they evolved from -rottenness? And if they were, why since that time, two thousand years -ago, have there no nobler souls than these appeared, who could show -finer instincts, higher views? Why, amid the luxury of Roman proud -patrician life, did there spring up so suddenly a class who conquered -by defeat, and laid foundations among the lowly of the earth cemented -by their blood, that to this day proclaim their origin to be something -different from the world's natural influences--a class whose leaders -sought renunciation rather than gratification of the senses; who wore -the chains themselves to free the slave, faced death to solace the -plague-stricken, and abjured riches to feed the hungry with their -stores? Why, among this class alone of all the earth's various -classes, is woman honored, and protected alike in her virginity, her -maternity, and her widowhood? Why, here alone, are we taught passion -is to subject itself to the great idea of good, and why here alone is -found that power is given to act on the idea?--that hundreds and -thousands borne above this earth by that idea, have lived a life such -as the poets deem belongs to angels only, justice and truth their path -illumining, and love divine inspired by heaven (so deemed by them at -least) infusing love of all humanity, to bear them nobly through the -world's rebuffs and contradictions, toil and want? That so empowered, -by no exterior means, they walk superior to earthly types, to earthly -influence, erect {765} as sons of God, though meanly clad; their -sorrow only, that amidst this earth good does not reign supreme, that -passion's sway so oft usurps that power to quell high thoughts and -sink their brethren's souls to misery. No! no! it cannot be that all -those glorious acts of heroism, which bore witness to a higher -existence than that lived by the majority of men, an existence which -realized that truth and love could bring down heaven to dwell upon the -earth, amid all untoward exterior appliances, that a power exists -independently of exterior surroundings, a happiness independently of -materialisms--it cannot be that those acts were evolved from the -polluted state of society in which they were performed, but which they -tended to amend, and to guide into a new channel. I do believe in -justice, truth, and love, as motive powers, irrespectively of selfish -gratification to myself. I do believe in a state of being in which -they reign; and as I am not a creator, I must believe in a higher -ideal of this justice, truth, and love, than the one in my own mind, -as also that from that higher ideal my own is derived, for the greater -cannot derive from the less: nor can a newly formed organism, whether -evolved or created, originate." - -Thus mused Hester as she pondered over the lives of the saints which -Eugene had sent her, and as she read that book of books--the gospel. -Yet she dared not confess even to herself the impression she received. -Her father! that source of dread was ever in her thought. - -Meantime that father was uneasy at the evident disturbance in Hester's -mind. Once or twice he had observed a light in her room at late hours -of the night, and yielding to his uneasiness he had softly turned the -handle and opened the door; books were on the table, but the light was -very low, and Hester! could he believe his eyes? Hester was on her -knees, so absorbed as neither to perceive his entrance nor exit. He -closed the door as silently as he had opened it, and turned to think. -What did this mean? Verily, wonders were heaped upon him! What should -he do? That very day Mr. Spence had proposed for Hester's hand, -because of her supposed freedom from superstition, What was to be -done? - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -A CHANGE OF SCENE. -THE SISTERS. - -Adelaide was wondrously desolate on her return home. Her noble -mansion, rcplete with elegance, what was it worth to her now? The -famed Pantheon, for which a splendid gallery had been built, she never -entered. The thought of it seemed to sicken her. Company wearied her, -solitude distracted her. Miss Fairfield, the daughter of a decayed -noble family, who acted as humble companion to her grace, was quite at -a loss. What could be the matter with the lady? The poor humble lady -companion did her best, her efforts were altogether unheeded. The -duchess remained for the most part plunged in a profound reverie. - -Adelaide was reviewing the past; comparing characters; examining -principles. She had not loved the duke, but none the less his death -had proved a loss to her. Rich as she was, powerful as she was, she -was neither so rich nor so powerful as she had been while he lived. -But there was a bitterer feeling far than this. It was, that she had -never been an object of love to him, or to any one. She had coveted -honor, power, wealth. She had these; but there were times when she -would have given them all for the consciousness of having been loved -as Ellen had been. She was jealous of the affections now laid in the -grave, and would ask herself whether, had she been the one whom the -duke had seen first, had they met ere his affections were engrossed, -would he have loved her as he had loved the injured one? "I had youth, -beauty, and intellect," thought she; "why should he not have loved me -as he did that orphan girl?" {766} Strange that these thoughts should -come upon her now; but only now had she compelled herself to -acknowledge the great depth of feeling as well as the power of -intellect which the duke had possessed. - -Until she had read the mystery of the "Passion" in Avrillon, she had -not understood the profound heavings of a contrite heart, which she -had "mocked at" when he lay dying. Her eyes were beginning to open -now; the world to wear a new aspect, although as yet a cloudy mist -hovered over her higher visions; for she understood not the yearning -of her own heart. - -She was in this softened mood when she received a letter from her -father. Six months had elapsed since her mother's death, and Mr. -Godfrey complained that he could not yet rouse Hester to become -anything like her usual self. He had taken her to Yorkshire, but she -no longer cared to interest herself in "progression;" she had been -disgusted at some scenes of immorality, and had voted that -intellectual improvement without the observance of the moral law was a -failure. "In fact," said Mr. Godfrey, "she is absorbed in discovering -a 'new principle,' and more than once I have found her on her knees, -bathed in tears. What can this mean? Has she also been tampered with? -I am uneasy: I am coming next week to pay you a visit, and shall bring -her with me. Help me to rouse her from her melancholy, and above all -to banish fanaticism, if it is that disease which has taken hold of -her." - -Adelaide was not altogether reconciled to Hester, in spite of Eugene's -explanation; but the moment that she realized from this letter that a -restraint was likely to be put upon her sister's freedom of thought, -the images of her mother and Annie rose before her, and she determined -to use such influence as she could to prevent "persecution." "It is -but a mistaken method after all," pondered she, "persecution can only -tend to engender obstinacy, and rouse the pride of our natures. If -Hester has any tendency to Catholicity, it can only be combated by -reason, by showing its absurdity. My father will have to bring out his -learned friends, and we will have the arguments of both sides plainly -propounded. It will be an excitement, if nothing else. What was it -that disgusted Hester with her 'march of intellect' scheme? She is not -fickle-minded naturally; there is something fermenting in her mind -which must be worked out. I am curious to see the termination; and if -Hester makes a friend of me, she shall have freedom to think, and -freedom too to act according to her conscience. There shall be no more -persecution in the family." - -Ah! Adelaide, you have learnt a lesson then from sorrow; it was not -thus the proud young duchess reasoned when at the zenith of her power. - -Adelaide received her visitor most kindly, and soon made Hester feel -at home, though there was a sedateness, almost a melancholy, about -her, quite foreign to her previous deportment. Mr. Godfrey fidgeted -concerning her in a manner quite unusual with him, and seemed to make -it his principal occupation to provide her with interest and -amusement. - -One morning, to the surprise of the sisters, as they were sitting -together Mr. Godfrey entered, accompanied by the rector and his lady. -Adelaide had certainly done the indispensable before, in receiving and -returning a formal call with these parties, but nothing like intimacy -had existed. Adelaide was so rarely at church, that the reverend -doctor and lady did not feel encouraged to push themselves into her -society. However, Mr. Godfrey now insinuated that his youngest -daughter had taken a religious turn, and that he hoped from the -doctor's reputation for learning that he would be able to give that -turn a right direction, since unfortunately some developments in his -family in religions matters had not been satisfactory. - -{767} - -Dr. Lowell had looked somewhat askance on hearing this, as Mr. -Godfrey's latitudinarian opinions and Eugene's Catholicity were both -pretty well known, and had immediately enquired if Hester were a -Catholic also. On receiving a decided negative he complied, though -with some hesitation of manner. Controversy was not to the reverend -gentleman's taste, and but that his wife offered to accompany him, and -do her share of the talking, he would probably have backed out; but -the lady possessing at once more earnestness of character and more -confidence in her power of suasion than her husband, was anxious not -to lose this opportunity of setting forth the value of Protestantism, -and thus preserving Miss Hester Godfrey from following the pernicious -examples set by Eugene and Lady Conway. - -With these dispositions Dr. and Mrs. Lowell were ushered into the -presence of the duchess and her sister, not altogether at ease at -finding themselves in such aristocratic society. Adelaide received -them with her usual quiet dignity, and turned the conversation to -flowers, paintings, sculpture, literature, everything, in fact, save -the topic which they came to discuss. At length, turning to Mr. -Godfrey, she asked if he had introduced Dr. Lowell to the Pantheon. - -"No, indeed," said Mr. Godfrey, laughing, "the doctor is more anxious -about another subject just now; he is desirous of restoring his -church, which has fallen out of repair." - -"Indeed," said Adelaide, "then I must have the pleasure of assisting -him," and she placed a well-filled purse before the doctor. - -"Your grace is very good;" said the reverend gentleman. But Adelaide -had risen to seek a volume of engravings on church architecture, which -she placed in the lady's hand, telling her, as she presented it, that -she presumed it would interest her, and might give her a hint or two -to the style of embellishment suitable. - -The doctor now took courage. "I am glad to see your grace so much -interested in our church," he said. "I feared--" but here he stopped. -Adelaide waited, perhaps a little maliciously, for the conclusion of -the sentence. but it came not. - -"May I ask what you fear, Dr. Lowell?" she said. - -But as the answer did not seem quite ready, the lady of the reverend -gentleman took up the word. "Your grace will pardon us," she said, -"but as we have so seldom the pleasure of seeing you at church, the -doctor feared that its reparation would not interest you so much as -your kind acts now prove that it does." - -Adelaide bowed, but replied simply by turning to an engraving. "I -think it was in this style our church was originally built," she said; -"do you propose to restore it in any way similar to the primitive -idea?" - -"I think not," said the doctor, "we only intend thoroughly to repair -and cleanse it, unless, indeed, your grace desires your own pew -altered." - -"Oh! I will leave that matter to Miss Fairfield, she goes to church -every Sunday, I believe, and I wish she should be made as comfortable -as possible. If you will be kind enough to consult with her in this -matter, I will agree to any arrangement she may make." And the duchess -rang the bell; to request the attendance of the lady named. - -"But," said the doctor, unwilling to lose the opportunity that seemed -now to open, "I cannot believe that one so kind, so considerate, can -be indifferent to matters of religion." - -By this time Adelaide was amused, so she answered with a quiet smile: -"It does not follow that one is indifferent to religion, because one -does not consult the statute-book to find it. Great as is my reverence -for English kings, queens, parliaments and prime-ministers, it is not -to them I should go to learn religion." - -{768} - -The rector stared; his wife was equally confounded. The latter spoke -first. "It is to church we were inviting you grace, to hear the word -of God." - -"The word of the preacher you mean, expounding what is termed the word -of God, according to act of Parliament, and varying according as Henry -VIII., Edward VI., Elizabeth, James, William, Anne, or the Georges -have dictated. You must excuse me, Dr. Lowell, I am a loyal subject, -and as such duly uphold church and state, and you will ever find me -willing to assist your wishes; but to take my religion by act of -parliament home to my heart, to regulate my private motives, and unite -my being to God, is quite another affair. Ah! in good time, here comes -Miss Fairfield. My dear Lucy," continued the duchess, "Dr. Lowell -wishes the advantage of your good taste in rearranging his church; I -give you _carte blanche_ to act in my name on the subject. I must also -beg your kind offices in entertaining him and his lady this morning. -They will like to visit the hot-houses, the conservatories, the -gardens, perhaps, also the picture gallery and the hall of sculpture. -Dr. Lowell, Mrs. Lowell, I hope at my return from my drive I shall -still find you here; you will favor me with your company to dinner." - -Adelaide swept from the room like a queen who had issued commands none -dared to gainsay, carrying off Hester with her. - -Mr. Godfrey accompanied the rector and his lady on their tour through -the house, but neither he nor anyone of the parties made the slightest -allusion to Adelaide's remarks respecting the state religion; nor was -the subject ever broached by them in her presence again. The dinner -passed off pleasantly enough, and in the evening the carriage of the -duchess conveyed the married pair to their homes, they feeling -themselves honored by the gracious reception which on the whole they -had experienced. - -Mr. Godfrey could not but perceive from this attempt that it would be -useless for him to attempt giving any direction to a religious -movement, should such be the subject that occupied his daughter's -mind; though in truth she was habitually so silent now, it was -difficult for him to discover what did interest her. Suddenly he took -it into his head he would like to go to London, and he asked Adelaide -if she would not open her town house, and, go too. - -"Certainly, if you wish it, father. It might amuse Hester also, for as -yet Hester has never gone through the campaign of a London season." - -But on their arrival in town Hester did not seem in any way eager to -launch forth into the great world of fashion; its frivolities -disgusted her, some of the fashions shocked her, particularly the ball -dresses of some of her young compeers. She could not reconcile her -native modesty to do the like, and was soon voted a prude by the -exclusives of _bon ton_. However, as she made no effort to shine, and -had "no success" in attracting the attentions of the gentlemen, she -was soon forgiven and most times overlooked. - -But this latter fact she did not even perceive; she was living within -herself for the most part just now, and looking for a principle when -she took a glance outside. It was not perhaps at Mayfair, among the -sons and daughters of dissipation, that she might expect to find it. -The only thing that was remarkable about her was her propensity to -take a walk before breakfast; this in London was unusual, and but that -the duchess imperiously forbade her household to comment on the -subject, and jealously contrived to conceal the matter from Mr. -Godfrey, threatening dismissal to anyone who spoke to him about it, it -would have been a never-ending topic of discussion. Hester was -accompanied in these walks by her little maid, Norah, but Norah could -never be brought to tell where they had been. "Sure 'twas sometimes -this way and sometimes that, and how should she know the names of all -those fine London streets?" - -{769} - -Mr. Godfrey was not often up on her return, so did not perceive that -she had been absent. One day, however, when Hester came in later than -usual, Adelaide met her in the hall, took her bonnet and clock from -her, and whispered that Mr. Godfrey was already in the breakfast-room. - -Hester entered; but she found Mr. Godfrey so busy unfolding the -newspaper that he did not perceive her entrance. She passed behind him -ere he was aware, and impressed a kiss on his forehead; it was her -usual morning's greeting. - -"Ha! Hester, so you're up at last. I have a letter on your account." - -"A letter for me?" - -"No! yet one that you must answer; the great philosopher of the day is -smitten with the charms of the fair vestal; he asked me ere we left -Yorkshire if her heart was free." - -"And what did you answer him?" - -"That I did not know, but would enquire; this letter is a sort of -reproachful remonstrance for not having fulfilled my promise." - -Hester smiled, and Adelaide enquired who the gentleman was. - -"A man," said Hester, "who thinks we have evolved into human beings -from worms or bats or lower creatures still. By-the-by, father, he -never told us why so many lower creatures remain unevolved." - -"You piece of mischief, be serious; what answer shall I give him?" - -"That I don't like his pedigree: I am looking higher than worms for my -forefathers." - -"But seriously, Hester--" - -"But seriously, father, he says the character of the ancestry often -reappears in the posterity, even after the lapse of many generations; -and as he may have had, a tiger, a hyena, or even a boa-constrictor in -his genealogical tree, I do not feel well inclined to trust myself to -his keeping." - -"Is that the new philosophy?" said Adelaide; "the vicious propensities -of so many of the race are then accounted for, they are but beasts of -prey in tailor's clothes." - -"And yourselves, ladies?" said Mr. Godfrey. - -"Oh!" said Adelaide, hastily, "please do not put us into the same -category, Hester and I are well content with the old story. We are -daughters of men and women, created in the good old style; reigning -over the brutes by special privilege, and claiming no sort of kindred -with them whatever." - -"And Mr. Spence, Hester--" - -"Mr. Spence, father, must seek a mate among his kindred, I am of -another order of beings." - -"Is that your final answer?" - -"It is." - -"You will revoke it, Hester; I will tell him to come and plead for -himself." - -"It will be useless; I shall tell him as I tell you, that I do not -like his pedigree." - -"Is that your only objection?" - -"It is sufficient for a lady to give one objection, I think, -especially when that one is insuperable." - -Mr. Godfrey seemed disappointed, but he made no reply: the entrance of -Miss Fairfield to pour out the coffee summoned the party to the -breakfast table. - -Mr. Godfrey took up the newspaper, and sipped his coffee in silence; -it was his habit to read in company when annoyed. Suddenly, however, -he laid the paper down. "De Villeneuve dead," he said, "my first, my -earliest friend!" He rose and went to the window, but shortly -afterward he left the room, evidently overpowered with the sudden -news. Adelaide took up the paper. "It is the father, the old marquis, -and his eldest son, drowned on Lake--in a sudden squall of wind. Why, -Hester, our old acquaintance now succeeds to the property and title." - -"Was not the elder brother married?" - -"The paper says not; or at least it says he was a widower and -childless, and that the estates now devolve on the second, the -youngest son, the one who was in England last year." - -{770} - -"Yes, and it says that he was about to start for England again when -this event detained him, and that he is expected shortly; why, it is -three months ago since the old marquis died." - -"It's strange the news did not reach us before, but what business can -our M. de Villeneuve have in England now?" - -"There is some talk of his coming over to take the 'Poor Clares' back -with him. He was Euphrasie's guardian, and I know he wished to get her -and the community established in America. It was that wish that took -him back, to see what arrangements could be effected." - -"But will they go?" - -"Nay, that I know nothing about; I suppose he talked with them on the -matter ere he made his plans." - -By this time the breakfast table was cleared, and the sisters were -alone together, and Adelaide suddenly turned the conversation into -another channel. "Hester," she said, "you must make me your friend; -you know that you are pursuing a path of difficulty. You are my -father's idol, have you thought what it will be to break his heart?" - -"O Adelaide! forbear; I have thought of that, and the thought is -nearly killing me, but I must on in spite of myself." - -"It is true, then?" - -"What is true?" - -"That you go to mass every morning, and weep yourself to sleep every -night, my poor, dear sister!" - -"How did you discover this?" - -"Your attendant showed your pillow to Lucy Fairfield, it was no longer -fit to use; and Lucy followed you more than once, and saw you enter -the Bavarian Ambassador's chapel in Warwick street." - -"But she did not tell my father?" - -"No, I have threatened with dismissal anyone who makes a remark on the -subject; meantime tell me, are you a Catholic?" - -"No! but I must see the end of this. Adelaide, out of Christianity -there is no 'power;' and 'power' it is that we want to effect good. -Science is taking the form of Atheism more and more. It represses -rather than elevates. The masses are awakening to consciousness of -possessing a right to intellectual culture under influences that will -finally subject them even more to tyranny; for when man seeks only -sensuous gratification by his science, he must eventually fall under -the empire of the appetites, and then barbarism results. Is not this -the history of all anterior civilization? Our modern rise has been the -gradual growth of intellect evolved under the restraining influence of -religion; and though men have very imperfectly submitted to these -restraints, they have produced immense fruit among the masses. Even -indirectly, the consciousness of the possession of soul, of immortal -power, has elevated the ideal, and the laborer assumes a legitimate -place in humanity. And woman, Adelaide, what is woman out of -Christianity? What was she in Pagan Greece and Rome; what will she be, -again if Christianity is abolished? I see but three phases for her. -The Turkish harem, the Mormon polygamy, or that worse than either -state, which consigns an immense number of our sex to debasement utter -and desperate." - -"There is too much truth in this. But, Hester, be cautious; I will not -hinder you, rather will I help you, and study with you, but you are -not yet a Catholic. I must then say again, be cautions: I dare not -think on the result of my father's knowing your present study!" - -"Indeed it has troubled me more than a little. O Adelaide! why should -there be such a prejudice against any one form of religion?" - -"I cannot answer that, still less can I tell why men of science should -hate it so supremely; but it is so, and you know, dear Hester, that -the shock of your conversion might occasion a terrible convulsion in -my father. Let us proceed quietly, until the result is decided. Have -you ever considered {771} what is the first step to take in the -investigation of truth?" - -"I am inclined to think the process must be a moral one, as well as an -intellectual one. I heard a preacher say lately: 'Souls who would come -to Christ, must first be gathered to the Baptist!'" - -Adelaide hid her face in her hands, "There is a deep meaning in that," -she said. "Hester, I too have my secret. Do you remember the Catholic -priest whom I ordered to quit the house as soon as the duke was dead? -His visage haunts me, he looked up from his prayers at my words, and -his face seemed so full of pity, pity for me, that I half relented; -but matters had gone too far. Well, I wrote to Eugene lately to -inquire about him, and Eugene says he is at H---- on a mission, among -the poor Irish laborers, and that young Henry, the duke's son, is with -him. The mother too, the Ellen of the duke's romance, lives in the -neighborhood. I have an intense desire to pay the place a visit; had -you not come, I should have gone alone; now will you go with me?" - -"Willingly; you are, then, in communication with Eugene?" - -"Slightly; I dare not tell him all that is in my thoughts, lest I -should raise false hopes. I have not faith, but I feel it would be a -great gift." - -"So great that it would be worth any sacrifice; but Catholics say it -is a supernatural gift, and that it must come from God." - -"And Eugene insists that the presence of sin blinds the soul; by -obscuring the spiritual faculty, thus hindering the reception of -faith." - -"If so," said Hester, "we must do what we can to get clear of sin, -even at the price of confession." - -"It is therefor I intend to see the abbe, to make reparation. I will -not voluntarily put an obstacle to the reception of God's gifts. If -grace comes, it shall find me ready to receive it." - -Hester looked at Adelaide in surprise. The haughty duchess had -disappeared; another spirit so gentle looked from those eyes, that -Hester could only throw herself into her sister's arms and weep. - -TO BE CONTINUED - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -ON THE CURE OF BARTIMEUS. - - "Bartimeus, the blind man, - sat by the wayside begging. - And they say to him: - Be of better comfort: - arise, He calleth thee." - - - Out of the windows of my mind---- - From my heart's idly open door, - My gaze the wide world wanders o'er, - And yet, alas! how blind, how blind! - - My sight of things divine how dim! - Though there be not a single day - But Jesus passeth by the way; - All else I see, but blind to him. - - Though rich, I seek the beggar's mite---- - His beauty only do I prize; - And all is darkness to my eyes - Whilst he is hidden from my sight. - - I hear a voice within my soul---- - "Arise, of better comfort be, - And come: the Master calleth thee---- - Thy faith shall also make thee whole." - --------- -{772} - - -From the Dublin Review. - -ORIGEN AT CAESAREA. - -Origenis Libri contra Celsum (inter Opera omnia). Ed. Migne.1857. - - -In concluding our survey of the character and work of Origen, it will -be useful to recall the leading dates in the chronology of his life to -the date of his exodus from Alexandria. Born in or about 186, he -became the head of the Catechetical school at the age of eighteen: -About 211 he visited Rome. From that year till 231, he labored at -Alexandria, with no other interruptions than short journeys into -Arabia, to Caesarea, and into Greece. In 231 he left Alexandria never -to return, and thenceforward the chief place of his residence was -Caesarea of Palestine. In the fourth or fifth year of his sojourn -there (235), Maximin's persecution compelled him to flee to Caesarea -of Cappadocia. Returning to the other Caesarea in 238, he remained -there for about eleven years, that is, until the commencement of the -Decian persecution. During these years, however, he made another -journey into Greece, and two more into Arabia. After the cessation of -the persecution he lived a short time in Jerusalem, and thence removed -to Tyre, where he died in 253, or 254, in the sixty-ninth year of his -age. The chief divisions of his life after attaining manhood are -therefore the following: - - 1. The twenty years (211-231) of his Alexandrian teaching. - 2. The twenty years (231-251) of his life at Caesarea. - 3. The three or four years from the end of the Decian persecution - (251) till his death (254.) - -In our present essay we shall be concerned chiefly with the second of -these periods. It was the time of Origen's most active and dignified -labor. He was now not so much the teacher of disciples as the teacher -of teachers and the doctor of the whole East. The church was, on the -whole, at peace, her numbers were increasing, her organization -developing, and her doctrines becoming daily more and more a subject -of inquiry to intellects, friendly and hostile. We have before taken -notice (Dublin Review, April, 1866, p. 401) how Caesarea was an -important centre, political, literary, and religious; and here Origen -spent the twenty years of which we now speak, in intercourse with such -bishops as S. Alexander, S. Theoctistus, and Firmilian, in training -such pupils as Gregory Thaumaturgus, in preaching such homilies as -those on Isaiah, Ezechiel, and the Canticles, in writing such -apologies as the Contra Celsum, and in carrying through such an -enterprise as the Hexapla. It is to this period that we must refer the -emphatic testimony of S. Vincent of Lerins. "It is impossible," says -he, "to tell how Origen was loved, esteemed, and admired by every one. -All that made any profession of piety hastened to him from the ends of -the world. There was no Christian who did not respect him as a -prophet, no philosopher who did not honor him as a master." The word -piety ([Greek text]) is worth noticing, because something much more -wide and broad was meant by it then than now; indeed, the original -word would be better translated religion or religiousness. The term, -prophet, is also worthy of being remarked; a prophet means one who is -at once teacher of the most exalted class and an ascetic who has -perfectly trampled this world under his feet. Finally, the -philosophers looked to him as their {773} master, though he professed -to teach no philosophy but Christianity, and quoted the Hebrew -scriptures instead of Plato and Aristotle when men came to him with -difficulties about the soul, the logos, and the creator. - -In the present article, therefore, we shall be concerned with his -Caesarean life; and as it is impossible to compress within moderate -limits all that might be said of the literary productions of this -exceedingly rich period of his labors, we shall confine ourselves -chiefly to the consideration of the great work Contra Celsum. First, -however, let us take a glance at the events of the twenty years, for -they are not void of events which give us a notion of the man. - -Since his principal charge at Caesarea was to preach the Word of God -to the people, perhaps the largest part of his extant writings has -come to consist of the homilies that he delivered in the discharge of -this honorable duty. It was the bishop himself who, as a rule, -preached in the church, and no priest was substituted whose learning -and piety were not beyond all question. We have before quoted the -strong words in which Eusebius has handed down the opinion of Origen -held by S. Theoctistus, bishop of Caesarea. On the Sunday, therefore, -as we learn from himself, on festivals, and sometimes, it would seem, -on Fridays or other week-days, he stood forth from among the clergy -with all the weight of his bishop's mandate and of his own character, -to interpret and comment on the Holy Scriptures. It would be -interesting to be able to picture to ourselves that church at Caesarea -in which the great light of the east spoke, Sunday after Sunday, to -the mingled Greek and barbarian Christians of the capital of -Palestine. It would probably be a building designed and founded for -the purpose. Yet it cannot have been grand or sumptuous, or in any way -resembling. a heathen temple, for Origen himself allows that the -Christians had no "temples." 'What it was inside we can better guess. -We know from Origen's own hints that there existed in it the usual -distinctions of position for the various ranks of faithful and of -clergy that are so well known from writers of a century later. We may -therefore conclude that the chancel or altar part was clearly -separated from the rest of the interior, and perhaps elevated above -it; that the altar itself stood at some distance from the eastern -wall, and that round the apsis behind it ran the [Greek text] or -presbyters' bench. Here, in the centre, stood the chair of the bishop, -and here he sat during the sacred liturgy in the midst of his priests, -all in a semicircle of lofty seats. The deacons and inferior clergy -occupied the rest of the sanctuary, which was separated by a railing -from the nave. In the nave, immediately outside the rails, stood the -_ambo_ or reading-desk, sometimes called the choir, for here clustered -the singers and readers whose place it was to intone the less solemn -parts of the liturgy. Hangings, more or less magnificent, according to -circumstances, suspended above the rails, were closed during the canon -of the mass; and shut out the holies from the sight of the people. -Over the altar was the canopy, on four pillars, and upon the altar a -linen cloth; and the chair of the bishop was usually covered with -suitable drapery. When the bishop preached, he stood or sat forward, -probably in front of the altar, but within the chancel-rails; it was a -very unusual thing to preach from the _ambo_, though S. John -Chrysostom is recorded to have done so in Sancta Sophia, in order to -be better heard by the people. Origen, therefore, would preach from -the sanctuary on the Lord's-day; bishop, priests, clergy, and people, -in their places to hear him; the pontiff in his flat mitre with the -_infulae_ of the high priesthood; the priests in the linen chasubles -that came down and covered them on every side; the deacons and others -in their various tunics and albs; the singers and readers with the -diptychs and books of chant laid {774} ready open on the desk of the -_ambo_; the faithful in the nave, men on one side and women on the -other; the virgins and the widows in their seats apart; the various -orders of penitents in the nave or in the narthex, and the band of -listening catechumens in front of the "royal gates" (of the nave) that -they hoped soon to be allowed to enter. His hearers would be of all -degrees of fervor, and of many different ranks; they might include -Greek philosophers and poor _vernae_ or house slaves, patricians of -Roman burghs, and Syrian porters; doubtless the bulk of them were the -poor and the lowly of Caesarea. He had to say a word to all, and he -found means to say it, in the word of Holy Scripture. He had, by this -time, dispensed himself from previously writing his discourses; and -hence many of those that have come down to us are the shorthand -reports that were taken down as he spoke, and afterward corrected by -himself. The text or subject of the discourse was that portion of -Scripture which had just been recited by the reader, or part of it; -though sometimes we find that he had a text given him by the bishop or -by the presbytery, and that occasionally he selected a particular -subject at the desire of "some of the brethren." He held his own copy -of the Scripture in his hand; for we find him comparing it with the -version just used by the reader. His discourses were not set pieces of -eloquence; they were true homilies, that is, familiar and easy -addresses, almost seeming to have developed themselves out of an -earlier style of dialogue between priest and people. They have all the -abruptness, all the questionings and answerings, all the explanations -of terms and sentences, and all the appreciation of difficulties that -suggest rather the catechist with his class than the preacher with his -auditory. We miss the poetry and fine fancy of Clement, but we gain in -orderly and connected development. One is certainly tempted to think -that more artistic and ornamental treatment might have been expected -from the son of Leonides and the teacher of rhetoric. But Origen tells -us more than once that he studiously avoids worldly and profane -eloquence. His reason seems not far to seek. Rhetoric was the main -profession of the pagan teachers that abounded in every town of the -empire; and S. Augustin's expression, that rhetoric meant the art of -telling lies, was not exaggerated. Rhetoric in those days did not mean -the sound and immortal precepts of Aristotle, but the vain heaping -together of empty words. It was the necessity of protesting against -this that has undoubtedly given much of their ruggedness to the -homilies of Origen. His watchword was, edification; his rule and law, -as he expressly says, was, not completeness of exposition, not parade -of words, but the benefit of those who listened. Because he was a -speaker, he rejected tedious and minute disquisitions, which were more -suitable for "the leisure of a writer." Because he was a speaker of -the truth, he avoided, even to austerity, the imitation of profane and -perverted art. He was rich in matter, and poured forth a stream of -doctrine, of exhortation, of reproof. His name and character did the -rest. A word from Origen had more weight than a treatise from an -unknown mouth. We have no record of how his audience took his -discourses, save what is implied in the general testimony to his -prodigious reputation. But, on the other hand, he presents us with a -few facts about his audience. We learn that some were readier to look -after the adorning of the church than the beautifying of their own -souls. It appears that it was difficult to get an audience together on -common week-days, and that they were somewhat remiss in assembling -even on festivals, though he speaks of a few as "constant attendants" -on the preaching. Those who did come to church, too often came not so -much to hear God's word, as because it was a festival, and because it -was pleasant to have a holiday. And {775} some escaped the sermon -altogether by going out immediately after the reading: "Why do you -complain of not knowing this and not knowing that," he says, "when you -never wait for the conference, and never interrogate your priests?" -Moreover, many who were present at the discourse in body, were far -away in spirit, for "they sat apart in the corners of the Lord's house -and occupied themselves with profane confabulation." He did not preach -to an immaculate audience: there were many who were Christians in -name, Pagans in life; many who turned the house of prayer into a den -of thieves; many who preferred the agora, the law courts, the farm, -before the church; and many who could provide pedagogues, masters, -books, money, and time, that their children might learn the liberal -arts, but who failed to see that something of the same diligence and -sacrifice was necessary on their own parts if they wished to become -true disciples of the word of God. But from all this it would be wrong -to infer that Origen's hearers were worse than others in their -circumstances. Doubtless they listened with reverence both to his -teaching and to his rebukes. Perhaps even they applauded him by -acclamation; such a thing was not unknown a century or so later. It -would be little to Origen's taste to have his audience waving their -garments and rocking their bodies in ecstasy or calling out -"orthodox!" as they did to S. Cyril, of Alexandria, or "Thou art the -thirteenth apostle!" as the excitable Constantinopolitans did to S. -Chrysostom; like S. Jerome, he preferred "to excite the grief of the -people rather than their applause, and his commendation was their -tears." S. Vincent, of Lerins, two centuries after Origen's preaching -at Caesarea, speaks of the way in which his "eloquence" affected -himself. If his audience were as well satisfied, they must have -listened to him with great pleasure and profit. "His discourse," says -S. Vincent, in the Commonitorium, "was pleasant to the fancy, sweet as -milk, to the taste; it seems to me that there issued from his mouth -honey rather than words. Nothing so hard to believe, but his powers of -controversy made it plain; nothing so difficult to practise, but his -persuasiveness rendered it easy. Tell me not that he did nothing but -argue, There has never been a teacher who has used so many examples -out of the Holy Writ." The homilies of Origen did not pass away with -the voice that delivered them. Till he was sixty years old he had -generally written them out beforehand. After that time the shorthand -writers beside him caught every word as it fell, and so the discourses -became a treasury for ever. Fortune and time have indeed destroyed far -the greater part of the "thousand and more tractates" which S. Jerome -says he delivered in the church, and of what remain some only exist in -abbreviated Latin translations. But though their letter is diminished, -their spirit pervades the whole field of patristic exposition, and -many of the greatest of the Greek and Latin fathers have not hesitated -over and over again to use at length the exact words of Origen. And so -the sentences first uttered in the church of Caesarea have become the -public property of the church universal, and while Caesarea is a ruin -and its library scattered to dust, the living word and spirit of him -who spoke there, speaks still in cities far greater, and to auditories -far more wide; for every pulpit utters his thoughts, and Christian -people, though they may not know it, are everywhere "edified" by that -which was first the offspring of' his intellect. - -Origen had been laboring at Caesarea for barely four years when one of -those interruptions occurred that he had already become familiar with -at Alexandria. The Emperor Maximin (235), a barbarian giant, whose -unchecked propensities for cruelty and blood seem to have driven him -absolutely mad before the end of his three years' reign, followed up -the murder of his {776} benefactor Alexander Severus by a series of -horrors, in which were involved both pagans and Christians alike. Any -man of name, character, or wealth, in any part of the world that could -be reached by a Roman cohort, was liable to confiscation, torture, and -death in order to appease his frantic suspicions. Caesarea was an -important Roman post, and as no one in Caesarea was better known than -the head of the Christian school, we soon find that Origen is marked -out for a victim. He escaped, however, by a prompt flight, and reached -the other Caesarea, of Cappadocia, the see of his friend Firmilian. He -had no sooner arrived there than the capricious persecution fell upon -the city of his refuge, under the auspices of Serenianus the governor, -"a dire and bitter persecutor," as he is called by Firmilian. In these -straits he managed to lie hid for two years in the house of a lady -called Juliana--a house, indeed, to which he was attracted by other -considerations beside that of safety; for this lady was the heiress of -the whole library of Symmachus the Ebionite, one of those learned -translators of the Hebrew Scriptures whom Origen incorporated in the -Hexapla. He himself mentions with great satisfaction the advantages -which his biblical labors derived from the opportunities he enjoyed in -his Cappadocian retirement. We are also indebted to this period for -two, not the least interesting, of his works. Maximin's informers seem -to have contrived to implicate the good Christian Ambrose in some -trouble. That Ambrose was a man of wealth we have seen, and he was -undoubtedly, also, in some considerable charge or employment which -necessitated his journeying frequently from one Roman city to another. -Whether this persecution caught him at Alexandria or Caesarea, or -elsewhere, is uncertain; but he had received notice of his danger and -was preparing to place himself in security when the insurrection of -the Gordians broke out in Syria and Asia, and in the confusion and -trouble that ensued he became the prisoner of Maximin's troops, and -was immediately sent, or destined to be sent, to Germany, where the -emperor had just concluded a triumphant campaign. The news of the -danger of his zealous friend and patron drew from Origen the letter -that we know now as the Exhortatio ad Martyrium. It was accompanied by -another, the De Oratione, which he had perhaps already composed. These -two works, into an examination of which we cannot enter, show more of -the interior spirit of their writer than anything else that has -reached us. When a history of the early methods of prayer comes to be -written, the treatise on prayer will have to be thoroughly examined. -The Exhortation to Martyrdom is full of the true Adamantine vehemence -and piety. Though addressed to Ambrose, it is really, and would be -accepted as a general call to the Church of Palestine to stand fast -and do manfully in the dangerous times on which they had fallen. The -name of Protectetus, a priest of Caesarea, which is associated with -that of Ambrose in the dedication, as he was also in danger of death, -felicitously localizes it, and we may look upon it as a homily, -delivered in writing and from a distance, and on a new and stirring -subject, to that church which he had been accustomed to edify with his -words during the three or four years preceding. We unwillingly omit to -enter upon it at large. At Maximin's death (238) he returned to his -own Caesarea. After this, his literary enterprises, completed and -undertaken, come thick and frequent. Among other works we meet with -the commentaries on Ezechiel and Isaiah, on S. Matthew and S. Luke, on -Daniel and the twelve minor prophets, and on several of the epistles -of S. Paul. It is to this time also that belongs the celebrated -exposition of the Canticle of Canticles, of which S. Jerome has said, -that whereas in his other works he surpassed all other men, so in this -he surpassed himself. But little of the original has come down to us, -and the translation {777} of Rufinus is too free and abridged to -enable us to understand how this high praise was deserved. - -About the same period he made a second journey into Greece. What -occasion brought him to Athens we are not informed. We find, however, -that he thought very highly of the Athenian Church. In his reply to -Celsus, speaking of the influence and weight that Christians were -everywhere acquiring, he instances the Church at Athens, and boasts -that the assembly of the Athenian people was only a tumultuous mob in -comparison with the congregation of the Athenian Christians. Since -Athens was even then the central light of the whole world, we may -perhaps conclude that Origen's journey thither was caused by some -phase of the conflict between Philosophy and the Gospel with which he -had been all his life so familiar. On his return to Caesarea he wrote -the answer to Celsus, with which we shall concern ourselves presently. -It was written during the reign of Philip the Arabian. We are told by -Eusebius that Origen wrote a letter to this emperor. What this letter -can have been about is somewhat of a puzzle in history. Eusebius, to -be sure, a couple of chapters before he mentions the letter, relates a -story, rather coldly, about Philip's coming to the church (at Antioch) -one Easter time as a Christian, and his seating himself among the -penitents when the bishop (S. Babylas) refused to admit him on any -other terms. S. Babylas might well reject him and place him among the -penitents, for his career, which commenced, as that of most of the -Roman emperors, with the murder of his predecessor, the young Gordian, -had been anything but innocent. Certain it is, however, that the story -was current of Philip's being a Christian. Even if he were not, which -seems the more probable, there is no improbability that he may have -questioned such a man as Origen about Christianity. It must be -recollected, moreover, that this Emperor Philip was by birth an -Arabian, being a native of Bostra. He was the son of a robber-chief, -and we are first introduced to him as taking an important part in the -campaign of Gordian in which the Persians were driven out of -Mesopotamia. The important Roman city of Bostra, though not within the -boundaries of Arabia, was sufficiently near them to be considered the -metropolis of the upper part of Arabia, as Petra was of the middle. -Philip, therefore, was evidently nothing more than a powerful Bedouin -Sheik, such as may be seen at this very day in the countries of which -he was a native, and had succeeded his father in the possession of -wide influence over the predatory tribes that ranged over all -Palestine, Syria, and Arabia, except the actual spots occupied by a -Roman military force. His character is significantly illustrated by -the incident that raised him to the purple. When Gordian's army was in -Mesopotamia, his dangerous captain of Free Lances took care to have -the whole of the commissariat supplies intercepted, and thus caused -the mutiny which, terminated in Gordian's death. Such a feat was easy -and natural to a chief whose wild horsemen commanded every part of the -great Syrian desert that lay between Mesopotamia and the Roman -stations off the Mediterranean coast. But what is more to our purpose -is, that Origen was frequently at Bostra, and was there at the very -time of Gordian's campaign and Philip's accession. Bearing in mind the -extent to which the name of Origen was known among the pagan men of -letters, as well as among the Christian churches, it seems impossible -but that Philip must have heard him mentioned. Only let us grant that -the emperor had a leaning to Christianity, even though in no better -spirit than that of an eclectic, and the occasion of Origen's letter -becomes clear. The mention of the Syrian desert reminds us of another -celebrated name. Palmyra, or Tadmor of the Wilderness, was, at the -time of which we write, almost in the zenith of her beauty, though it -was not till {778} twenty years afterward that her splendor culminated -and collapsed under Zenobia and Longinus. Origen knew the great -philosopher, who had been his auditor at Alexandria, and whom he had -most probably met again at Athens. It is quite possible that Longinus -may have become the guest of Zenobia before Origen left Caesarea for -the last time, and, therefore, during the time he was so familiar with -the Arabian Church. We know that he had more than a mere acquaintance -with the author of the Treatise on the Sublime, and, perhaps, there -were no two minds of the age more fitted to grapple with each other. -Of their mutual influence we have no certain traces, but it may be -noted that amongst the lost works of Longinus there is a treatise, -[Greek text]. Can it have had any relation to that of Origen under the -same name? - -It was at Caesarea, between the years 243 and the breaking out of the -Decian persecution in 249, that was written the famous Contra Celsum. -It is justly considered the masterpiece of its author. Ostensibly an -answer to the gainsayings of a heathen philosopher, it really takes -up, with the calmest scientific precision, the position that -Christianity is so true and hangs together with such completeness of -moral beauty, that the barkings of Gentile learning cannot confute it, -nor the violence of Gentile hatred stop its inevitable march. With no -rhetorical passion, with profound learning, with a knowledge of Holy -Scripture truly worthy of Adamantins, with frequent passages of noble -and profound eloquence, the Christian doctor builds up the monument of -the faith he loved and taught; and the work that has come down to us -through all those ages since it was written, has been recognized for -fifteen hundred years as one of those great, complete, finished -productions that are only given to the world by the pen of a genius. -Eusebius, his biographer, speaks of it as containing the refutation of -all that has been asserted, and, "by pre-occupation," of all that -could ever be asserted on certain vital matters of controversy. S. -Basil and S. Gregory Nazianzen strung together a series of favorite -passages mainly from it and called their work Philocalia, "love for -the beautiful." S. Jerome, whose praise cannot be suspected of -partiality, puts him by the side of two other great apologists his -successors, and exclaims that to read them makes him think himself the -merest tyro, and shrivels up all his learning to a sort of a dreamy -remembrance of what he was taught as a boy. Bishop Bull takes the -Contra Celsum as the touchstone of Origen's dogmatic teaching; "he -meant it for the public," he says, "he wrote it thoughtfully and of -set purpose, and he wrote it when he was more than sixty years of age, -full of knowledge and experience." - -It must have been about the time when Marcus Aurelius was engaged in -persecuting the church (160-180) that a certain eclectic Platonist -philosopher called Celsus, in order to contribute his share to the -good work, wrote an uncompromising attack on Christianity, and called -it by the title of The True Word; or, The Word of Truth. We have -called him an eclectic Platonist; but, in fact, it is very much -disputed among the learned what sect of philosophers he honored with -his allegiance. Some call him a Stoic, others an Epicurean, and this -latter opinion is the common traditional one; and what would seem to -settle the question, Epicurean is the epithet given to him by Origen -himself. That Origen, when he took up The Word of' Truth to refute it, -thought he was going to refute an Epicurean, is quite evident; but it -is no less evident that he had not read many sentences of the work -itself before he began to doubt and more than doubt whether the name -of Epicurean was a true description of its author. In one place he is -amazed to hear "an Epicurean say such things," in another he charges -him with artfully concealing his Epicurism for a purpose, and in a -third he {779} supposes that if he ever was an Epicurean he has -renounced its tenets and betaken himself to something more sound and -sensible. What made Origen hesitate to state plainly that he was no -follower of Epicurus seems to have been the broad tradition that had -attached the epithet to the name of Celsus, thereby identifying the -writer of The Word of Truth with the writer of a certain work against -magic, well known to literary men, which was beyond all doubt from the -pen of an Epicurean Celsus. This latter was also probably the same as -the Celsus to whom the scoffer Lucian dedicated his Alexander, in -which he shows up that impostor's tricks and sham magic; and Lucian, -in his dedication, alludes to the works against magic, just as Origen -does. As Lucian died some years before Origen was born, the works -against magic must have been very widely known, and their author must -have been accepted as _the_ Celsus, and as he was certainly an -Epicurean, that designation fastened itself also upon the other -Celsus, the author of The Word of Truth, who had not had the advantage -of an admiring Lucian to fix his proper title in the memory of the -literary world. But an Epicurean he certainly was not. One proof is -quite sufficient. The subject of magic was a decisive test of a true -Epicurean. Not believing in Providence and professing, in fact, a sort -of philosophic atheism, he considered that gods and demons never -interfered in the concerns of the earth and the human race. Human and -mundane atoms, as they got created by a species of accident and came -together fortuitously, so they continued to blunder against each other -in various ways, and thus caused what men foolishly called the cosmos, -or order of the universe; whilst the divine nature of the immortals, -serene on Olympus - - Semota a nostris rebus, sejunctaque longe, - Jam privata dolore omni, privata periclis, - Ipsa suis pollens opibus, nil indiga nostri, - Nec bene pro meritis capitur nec tangitur ira. - - Lucretius, de Rerum Naturta, I. 50. - -The Epicurian, therefore, laughed alike at the notion of benevolent -god and malignant demon, at providence and at magic, and crowned -himself with flowers and drank and sinned, if his means allowed it, -under the soothing persuasion that "to-morrow" he was "to die." When, -therefore, we find that the author of The Word of Truth not only -attributes miracles to AEsculapius, Aristeas, and others, and magic to -Christ, but also considers that this world and its various parts are -committed to the custody of demons, whom it is, therefore, proper to -propitate by worship and sacrifice, we need no other evidence that he -was no follower of Epicurus. - -On the other hand, a prominent belief in the agencies of unseen powers -was a mark of the Platonist of the day. Whatever Plato may have -thought of the inferior gods and demons (and on some occasions, as in -the Timaeus, he speaks of them with considerable levity), the -followers, who revived his doctrine in the first centuries after -Christ, gave them a very large share of their attention. A creator or -first father of all things was a Platonic dogma, and man and matter -must have in some way come from him; but in order to bridge over the -interval between two such extremes as God and matter, recourse was had -to an immense army of intermediate beings, of which the highest was so -dignified as to be little more than an abstraction, and the lowest -shaded off into a species of superior animal. It is this, multitude of -good and bad demons that makes its appearance in modified shape and -number in Platonist and Gnostic cosmogonies, and which is so puzzling -to follow through all its fantastic intermarriages and combinations. -When Celsus must have been writing, that is, about the time S. Clement -of Alexandria began to teach, the spirit of Plato was abroad, not only -at Alexandria but at Athens and in Rome. Theurgy was openly professed -by the most reputable teachers; their enemies called it sorcery; but -whatever it was, it meant some intimate communion with {780} the -invisible world. A writer; therefore, who puts the moon and stars -under the guardianship of heavenly powers, who pathetically defends -the case of the demons and deprecates their being deprived of the -gratification they derive from the "smell" of a sacrifice, and who -attributes supernatural powers to friends and enemies--calling them in -the one ease miracles, in the latter, magic--is evidently closer to -Saceas and Porphyry than to Epicurus and Democritus. Celsus, however, -though he says all this, cannot be called a real Platonist or -Neo-Platonist. He came in the early days of a revival, and his -philosophic pallium hung rather loosely about him; he was not above -following a new leader on an occasion, provided he saw his way to a -new stroke against the Christians. It must be admitted that he shows a -fair share or learning, some acuteness, and some acquaintance with a -variety of different peoples and customs. On the other hand, he is -occasionally guilty of the most absurd and transparent sophisms, his -conceit is unbounded, and his tone generally sneering and often very -offensive. - -It was this philosopher then, Eclectic, Platonist, and man of the -world, whose Word of Truth seemed to the pious and indefatigable -Ambrose to be so dangerous and damaging that no time ought to be lost -in answering it. With this view, he attacked Origen on the subject, -and by dint of prayers and representations made him take in hand its -refutation. Origen was by no means eager to undertake the work; and we -can partly enter into his objections. The book of Celsus was not a new -one: it had been in the hands of the reading world and in the centres -of learning, such as Athens, Antioch, Caesarea, and Alexandria, for at -least sixty years, and it is to be supposed that answers to its most -important objections were common enough in the Christian schools, -though, perhaps it was itself ignored. Then, it was not the sort of -book that could do the faithful any harm, for they could not read it, -or, if they did, they distrusted it even where they could not refute -it. It was too late in the day for an open-mouthed pagan to have any -chance against the gospel of Christ. The dangerous people were those -who, like the heretics, came with the elements of this world disguised -under the sheep's clothing of Christianity; but an honest wolf only -lost his trouble; and so Origen, whilst promising to comply with the -wishes of his friend, plainly says that what he has undertaken to -overthrow, he cannot conceive as having the least effect in shaking -the orthodoxy of a single faithful man. "That man," he says, "would be -little to my taste, whose faith would be in danger of shipwreck from -the words of this Celsus, who has not now even the advantage of being -alive; and I do not know what I should think of one who required a -book to be written before he could meet his accusations. And, yet, -because there might possibly be some professing believers who find -Celsus's writings a stumbling-block, and would be proportionally -comforted by anything in the shape of a writing that undertook to -crush him, I have resolved to take in hand the refutation of the work -you have sent me." The expressions, "a book to be written," -"writings," and "hand-writing," are noticeable, for they show clearly -enough, what has not been much observed, that Origen's chief objection -to answering Celsus was that Celsus was already answered in the oral -teachings of the church. In this also we have the explanation of the -contempt in which he seems to hold his antagonist--a temper which is -seldom advisable either in war or polemics. But Celsus had been, and -was daily being answered, and the only question was, whether it was -worth while to put formally on paper what every Christian catechist -had by heart. Was it not better to imitate the majestic silence of -Jesus Christ, who spoke no word, but let his life speak for him? "I -dare affirm," he says, "that the defence you ask me to write will be -swamped and disappear before that other defence of {781} facts and the -power of Jesus, which none but the blind can fail to see." And he -adds, that it is not for the faithful he writes, but for those who -have not tasted the faith of Christ, or for those weak believers who, -in the apostle's phrase, must be kindly taken up. - -And yet Ambrose seems to have been quite right in insisting that -Origen should answer the book of Celsus. Its arguments might be stale, -and its influence small, but there it was, a formal written record of -some of the ugliest things that could be said against Christianity and -its founder. What seemed more becoming, than that the foremost -Christian doctor of his day should take in hand, at a time when -external peace and internal growth seemed to warrant it, to give a -formal, written answer to an attack that was a standing piece of -impertinence, even if it did no harm? Besides, some harm it must have -done, at least in the shape of keeping well-meaning pagans from the -truth; and though Origen is always more fond of working for the -spiritual welfare of his own household than of direct proselytizing, -yet Ambrose, as a convert, knew what prejudice was, and what was the -importance of a work from the pen of a Christian doctor who had the -ear of the Gentile world. And Ambrose, moreover, was perfectly aware, -as was everyone except the Adamantine himself, that even if the -refutation embraced only the common topics that were handled daily in -the Christian instructions, yet the result would be as far above the -ordinary catechetical lesson as the master was above the ordinary -catechist. Perhaps he hardly knew, as we know, that his instances -would produce a master-piece of polemical writing, from which all ages -have borrowed, and in which the immense knowledge of Scripture, the -beautiful and tender piety, and the sustained eloquence of expression -were unrivalled until, perhaps, Bossuet wrote his Histoire -Universelle. - -It is by no means our intention to give a detailed analysis of this -wonderful work: it is described at great length in easily accessible -authors. But it will be interesting to seize on some of its most -salient characters, and thus to throw what light may be possible upon -the subject of our discussion. And the first remark that occurs seems -to be a contradiction of Origen's own statement. The Contra Celsum was -written more for the faithful than for the philosophers, and was less -aimed at the dead and gone Celsus than at the living children of the -church. It may be true that it was not meant precisely to confirm -tottering faith or to prop up consciences that the objections of -Celsus had shaken; but its effect would naturally be to encourage the -devout Christian by showing him how much could be said for his -profession, and exposing to scorn with irresistible logic the best -that could be said by his gainsayers. If Origen had not had in view -the same audience as that to which he preached on Sundays and Fridays, -he would hardly have dealt so abundantly in the citations from Holy -Scripture which are such a marked. feature of the work, and he would -not have cared to expand as he does the bare polemical branch into the -flowers and fruit of homiletic exhortation. But the faithful were -always his first thought, and the ground-color of all he has written -is warm and outspoken piety. He knew much about pagan philosophy and -worldly science, but when Porphyry (quoted by Eusebius) says that -Plato was never out of his hands, we can only say that Plato is never -mentioned in his writings save where an adversary or an error-compels -him. A far truer picture of himself is given in his own words to his -favorite pupil, Gregory Thaumaturgus. "You have talents," he says, -"that might make you a perfect Roman lawyer, or a leader of any of the -fashionable sects of Greek philosophy; but the wish of my heart is, -dear lord and my most honored son Gregory, that you make Christianity -your last end" ([Greek text]--alluding to the _summum bonum_ of the -stoics), "and that you {782} use Greek philosophy and all its -attendant sciences as handmaids to the Holy Scriptures, and as the -means ([Greek text],) toward Christianity." This was written, of -course, long after Gregory had become a Christian, and, indeed, about -the very time that the Contra Celsum would be in progress. Not a -little, therefore, in the work which would seem to beg the question, -as against an enemy, becomes an eloquent development, as toward those -who already believed. And this remark will be found not unimportant in -explaining more passages than one. - -The attack of Celsus is that of a clever, well-informed, travelled -man. It is to be feared that we cannot call him a well-meaning one. -The extra-ordinary impudence of one or two of the leading sophisms and -a general tone of rancor and rabidness, very different from the -politeness of Numenius and Porphyry, seem to force the conclusion that -we are dealing with a man who ought to have known better but whose -heart had been hardened by the world and the flesh. He goes over a -large variety of topics, is not at all remarkable for order (as his -opponent complains), and repeats himself more than once. Several -German writers have published accurate accounts of his philosophic -tenets, as far as they can be ascertained. For the present, in order -to arrive at some definite knowledge of the sort of people who opposed -Christianity from the time of S. Clement to the Decian persecution, we -shall present Celsus in a few of the chief characters that he assumes -in his onslaught on Christianity. For he is very many-sided in his -anxiety to get at all the vulnerable points of his enemy, and perhaps -it might be said that his memory is not so good as a polemic's memory -ought to be, and that he contradicts himself once or twice. At any -rate he acts with some success more parts than one. - -The Scoffer was a character in which Celsus had the advantage of a few -recent traditions. Perhaps the thorough pagan scoffer, who really -laughed at Christianity because he believed it deserved to be laughed -at, was rather out of date. But Lucian (and he may have known Lucian) -could have let him see how a man of genius may scoff impartially at -religion in all its shapes. Celsus was not a scoffer of this latter -sort. Either he was really too conscientious, or else he instinctively -hated Christ more than Zeus, and therefore tried to ridicule and crush -the former, while he waived hostilities against the latter. The -scoffer, as impersonated by him, is a decent, lawfearing citizen, who -is quietly engaged in doing his duty to society and making what he can -out of the queer problem called Life, when suddenly a man that calls -himself a Christian bursts in upon his calm existence with the -intelligence that he must believe in a person called Christ, or expect -to burn everlastingly. Of course, the first thing the amazed Gentile -does is to think the man mad. His second, and more charitable idea, -which is the result of some little inquiry and of a comparison of -notes with other amazed acquaintances at the bath and the theatre, is, -that the obtrusive person is an adherent of a new and peculiar sect of -philosophers. He, therefore, resolves to examine the tenets of these -philosophers with the serene impartiality of one who sets small store -by any tenets of philosophy. He finds that their doctrines are not -new, but most of them quite old--the immortality of the soul and a -future life, a rather strait-laced verbal morality, and so on; ideas -which many respectable philosophers have held, and do hold. But is -there any reason in the world for making such a parade, and noise, -merely because another philosopher, called Christ, has chosen to teach -them also? How impertinent, absurd, and unpleasant it is for these -people, instead of keeping their doctrines to the schools, to force -them with threats upon practical men! Of course, practical men and -good citizens do not regard them. If the gods do interfere in the -concerns of the earth {783} (a doctrine which Celsus, in his character -of scoffer, is inclined to waive rather than to admit), why all this -indispensable dogmatism about a Son of God? Let it be enough that we -do admit that there is a God, who in some way is supreme; as sensible -people you can demand nothing more. We call him Zeus; you call him the -Most High, Sabaoth, Adonai, or what else you please, just as the -Egyptians call him Ammon, and the Scythians, Pappaeus. Doubtless you -talk of miracles; so do all these new-fangled sects, but they mean in -reality Egyptian magic. You appeal, moreover, to your intellectual -teaching; we know about that also: no sect is good for much in these -days which does not hang on to the skirts of Plato. Besides, what is -this we hear about disputes among yourselves? This makes the absurdity -of the thing better still! The Jews say the Messiah is to come; the -Christians declare he has come. Pray, which are we to believe? On what -side are we solemnly to arrange ourselves in this momentous dispute -about a donkey's shadow? Why, here we have a squadron of bats--or an -army of ants swarming from their nest--or a congress of frogs in -solemn session on the banks of their ditch--or a knot of worms -assembled in full ecclesia in a corner of their native mud, in hot -controversy which of the lot are the wickedest. We are the ones, they -keep saying, to whom God has foreshown and announced all things; he -has left the whole universe, the broad heavens, and the earth, to look -after themselves, and makes his laws for us alone; to us alone he -sends his heralds, and us he will never cease to prompt and to provide -for, that we may be united with him for ever. He is God; and we are -next to him, as being his sons and like him in all things. We are -lords of all things, earth, water, air, and stars; on our account is -everything, and all is ordained to minister to us. If some of us sin, -God will come, or he will send the Son, to burn up the wicked, that -the rest may live with him eternally. One could listen to worms and -frogs going on in this fashion with more composure than to you Jews -and Christians. - -It is not Origen's object to prove directly the importance of -Christianity. He says that it was no barbarous system of doctrine, and -challenges any philosopher, fresh from the teachings and the schools -of Greece, to come and examine it. "He will not only pronounce it -true," he says, "but he will work it up into a logical system, and -will be able to supply it with a complete demonstration, even to a -Greek. But I must also add this: our doctrine has a certain method of -demonstration peculiar to itself, and far more divine than any that -the Greeks have in their schools. It is that which the apostle calls -the demonstration of spirit and of power; of spirit, that is, by -prophecies, which abundantly prove our whole system, especially those -parts of it which concern Christ; of power, by the miracles which can -be shown to have taken place among us, and traces of which still -remain among those who live according to the will of the Word." And as -Christianity was now well known to the whole world, to scoff at it -either for its insignificance or its absurdity seemed very foolish: it -was a standing fact, and challenged examination. This is partly taken -for granted partly incidentally expressed throughout the reply. But -the impudent scurrility of the passage about the bats, frogs, and -worms, rouses Origen's indignation. "The Jews and the Christians," he -says, "because they hold dogmas which Celsus does not approve, and -which he does not seem to be very well acquainted with, are worms and -ants, are they? The peculiar opinions in which the Jews and Christians -differ from other men, are not unknown to the world. If a man, -therefore, feels inclined to call a part of his fellow-men worms and -ants, I will show him whom to call so. The men who have lost the true -knowledge of God, whose religion is all a sham--the worshipping {784} -brute beasts and graven stocks, and lifeless matter--creatures whose -beauty should have led them to glorify and adore their Creator--these -are the worms and ants. But those who, led on by reason, have risen -above stocks and stones, above silver and gold, and everything -material; who have risen above this whole created universe unto him -that made all things; who have confided themselves wholly to him; who -recognize him almighty over every creature, seeing every thought and -hearing every prayer; who send up their prayers to him only, doing all -that they do as though he saw it, and speaking all their words that -none may be displeasing to him who heareth them all--these, surely, -are _men_; nay, if it were possible, more than men. They may have, -been worms once, but shall not such religion ([Greek text]) as this, -that no trials can shake, no danger, not even death itself, destroy, -no persuasiveness of words overcome, be their shelter against such -jibes for the future? What! shall they who restrain the appetites that -make men soft and yielding as wax--and restrain them because they know -that by continence alone they can obtain familiarity with God -[Footnote 208]--shall they be called the brothers of worms and the -kindred of ants and the near neighbors of frogs? Forbid it Justice! -glorious Justice, that gives social rights to fellow-men, that guards -the equitable, the humane, and the kind--forbid that such men as these -should be likened to birds of night! Call those worms of the slime, -who wallow in lust--the common herd of men, who do evil and call it -right--but surely not those who have been taught that their bodies, -inhabited by the light of reason and the grace of the omnipotent Lord, -are the temples of the God whom they adore.'" It is a subject that -warms him, and he pursues it at some length. He does not imitate the -scurrility and abusiveness of his adversary, though he must have been -sorely tempted sometimes, to say some plain things about paganism. -Celsus shows all the liveliness of language of a man who carries on a -personal quarrel. He is not above calling his enemies "drunken" and -"blear-eyed;" he hardly takes the trouble to mention that they are -irrational fools; and for a specimen of his more fanciful bad language -the passage quoted above will suffice. Origen sometimes complains of -this, as well he may. He says that Celsus "scolds like an old woman," -that he shouts calumny like the lowest of a street-mob, and, as a sort -of climax, that he reminds him of a couple of "women slanging each -other in the street." But the scoffer and the reviler is after all not -our philosopher's favorite _role_. Perhaps he will show better as the -man of intellect. - - [Footnote 208: The expression of the contemporary Platonists.] - -The man of intellect has a face of severely classic mould, whereon -sits normally a thoughtful frown, as though he were ever asking -himself the reason of things, varied by a pitying smile when he finds -it necessary to recognize the existence of a non-intellectual being. -His hands are very white, his pallium neat, his hair scented, and his -whole appearance bespeaks him to be on the most distant terms with the -profane multitude. When Christianity first had the bad taste to talk -to him of penance and hell-fire, he did not deign to speak, but only -scowled disgust; but in a century or two he began to see he must say -something for his own credit. He therefore began to utter lofty -sentences and to employ his smile of pity, though the early look of -disgust was so very deeply printed on his countenance that it never -afterward left him. This is the sum of his case:--"This foolish system -called Christianity makes some little noise, it is true. But a -philosopher has only to glance at it, to despise it. I have read and -examined the books and writings of the sect; I have conversed with its -learned men, and I find that it is essentially low, grovelling, and -vulgar. It repudiates wisdom altogether; it formally forbids the -educated, the learned, and the wise to be numbered among its {785} -members. On the other hand, it energetically recruits its ranks from -among the uneducated, the weak-headed, and the imbecile. These are the -sort of men the Christian teachers declare to be most acceptable to -their God, thus showing clearly that they have neither the ability nor -the wish to make converts of any but the feeble-minded, common people, -and country boors, slaves, women, and children. They are wary; they -are like the quacks and cheap-jacks of the agora, who take care not to -obtrude themselves upon those who could find them out, but show off -before the children in the streets and the loitering house-slaves and -an admiring mob of any fools they can collect. They are mean and -underhand. You shall see, in a private house, your slave, your weaver, -your sandal-maker, or your cloth-carder--a fellow wholly without -education or manners, and silent enough before his master and his -betters--the moment he finds himself alone with the children and the -women, beginning to hold forth in marvellous style. Parents and -preceptors are no longer to be obeyed, but he is to be believed -implicitly; they are mad and doting, immersed in fatuous trifles, and -incapable of seeing or doing what is really good, he alone can impart -the secret of virtue; let the children believe him, and they will be -happy themselves and bring a blessing on the house. Meanwhile, let -father or tutor make his appearance, he mostly gets frightened and -stops; but if he be a determined one, he just whispers in parting, -that children of spirit should not submit to parental tyranny; that he -has much to explain which the presence of others will not allow him to -utter; that he cannot bear the sight of the folly and ignorance of -such corrupted and lost men, who moreover are seeking every pretext -for punishing him; finally, that if the dear children want to hear -more, they must come, with the women and as many of their companions -as they know of, into the women's apartment, or into the carding-room -or the leather-shop--and so he contrives to get hold of them." - -Perhaps there was nothing in Christianity that disgusted the -philosophers so much as the fact that it went out after the poor, the -lowly, and the sinful, and offered them a share in all that it could -teach or promise. That the common herd had no need and no right to -philosophy was an accepted tenet with the new Platonists. The passage -just quoted is interesting; through its transparent misrepresentation -we can see the poor man and the slave, in the second century, in the -actual process not only of having the gospel preached to them, but -also actively preaching it as well as they could to others. The -sophism of Celsus, that Christians prefer fools and sinners for -converts, therefore they must be all a foolish and wicked set, must -have been stale, we may hope, by the time Origen undertook to answer -it. He enters into the whole accusation, however, and refutes, almost -word for word, the whole of what we have just given and more to the -same purpose. - -But the intellectual objector has something positive to say, as well -as something negative. He announces, therefore, with almost ridiculous -solemnity, that he will have pity on these poor Christians, and tell -them how they are to obtain union with God, what masters they are to -follow, and what heroes they are to imitate; in short, he will provide -them with a theology, a gospel, and an assemblage of saints. For the -saints, they are our grand Grecian heroes--Hercules, Orpheus, -AEsculapius, and the rest, from Anaxarchus, who encouraged the tyrant -who was having him bruised in a mortar to "pound away on the mortal -coil of Anaxarchus," to Epictetus, who made a cheerful remark when his -master broke his leg. For the gospel, it is the most powerful teaching -of the divine and immortal Plato; and for the theology, it is the -following sentence from the Timaeus: "To discover the maker and the -father of the universe is a hard {786} thing; to make them known to -others, when discovered, is impossible." This last doctrine he is -afraid the wretched Christians will not be able to take in. They are -such a poor frightened set that the sublimity of Platonic dictum -scares them into their holes; they are such a body-loving race that -they must have a God with a body, and be able to see him with the eyes -of their flesh, which all philosophers pronounce to be impossible. -Origen, in his reply, first of all disposes of these two sneers: "The -Christians a timid set! when, rather than renounce a syllable of their -Christianity, they are prepared to suffer torture and death in its -worst shapes! The Christians a body-loving race! when they are readier -to lay down their bodies for piety's sake than a philosopher is to put -off his pallium! and when the injunction to be dead to sense and -living to soul lies upon the very surface of their teaching! But let -it pass. We must speak to Plato's theology." Here is the answer, as -terse as an epigram, as luminous as the sunlight. "Plato, when he said -God was hard to find, impossible to impart, said a sublime and a -wonderful thing; but our Scriptures give a message from God to man -that changes all the facts, and it is this: God the Word was with God -in the beginning, and the _Word was made flesh_. It is not only hard -for man to find God; it is impossible for him to seek him at all, or -to find him in an elevated order ([Greek text]) unless he whom he -seeks assist him. The knowledge of God is indeed far above man's -nature; but God, out of his kindness and _philanthropy_" (Origen's -usual expression when speaking of the incarnation), "through his -wonderful and godlike grace, has willed that his knowledge appear unto -those whom he foresees will live worthily of it, and whose piety will -be firm even against death itself, though they who know not what piety -is may jeer and ridicule. God, I think, seeing the arrogance and the -insolence of those who, with all their boasted philosophical knowledge -of the divine nature, are idol-ridden and temple-ridden and -mystery-ridden as much as the most ignorant of the mob, has chosen the -foolish things of this world, the poor, simple Christians, whose life -is purer than the lives of most philosophers, to put to the blush -those wise men who can unblushingly treat a lifeless thing as a god or -the likeness of a god. Surely the man of sense must laugh to see the -philosopher, after all his sublime talk about God and things divine, -go and ogle his idol and pray to it, or think there is some being -behind it that requires prayer to be offered up with such a ritual as -that. But the Christian knows that God is everywhere; no image limits -his vision, no temple bounds his power, for the whole world is his -temple; and his servant, therefore, shutting the eyes of his body, -raising on high the eyes of his soul--transcending all this world, -piercing the concave of heaven itself, out of the world and above the -heavens--makes his prayer to God: no sordid or grovelling prayer, for -he has learnt from Jesus to ask for nothing little or sensible, but he -prays only for what is great and really divine--for such things as -lead to that blessedness which is in him, through his son, the Word, -who is God." He has no wish to disparage Plato; Plato has spoken very -beautifully, but the Christian Scriptures have not only beauty; but -they have, what is much more important, plain morality and the divine -virtue of changing the heart. The "ambassadors of the truth" propose -to themselves to convert the whole world, the clever and the dull, the -Greek and the barbarian; not a rustic, not a poor unlettered simpleton -will they consent to abandon. Of what use is Plato in such a work as -this? His brilliant and polished periods may possibly be of use to the -few literary men that can understand them; but in the art of -attracting the attention of the rude populace he is outdone even by -Epictetus. But the Scripture has something in it that not even -Epictetus can show. Its doctrines may possibly in certain cases seem -to repeat the teachings of Grecian philosophy; but {787} it has the -power of making men act on those doctrines, which never a Greek -philosopher yet could boast of. And now as to the heroes and -philosophers, the fathers and saints of paganism. "Let us see what -leaders Celsus wishes us to follow, to the end that we may not be -without ancient and reverend models of heroism. He sends us to -God-imbued poets, as he calls them, the sages, and the philosophers, -whom he indicates in a general way, without naming particular names. -He sends us, also, to Hercules, AEsculapius, and the rest, to learn -heroism from their brave contempt of death, not unfittingly rewarded -by the myth that has deified them. Where he does not mention names it -is hard to refute him. Had he named his divine poet or sage, I should -have tried to show him to be a blind guide; but since he has not done -so, I must content myself with appealing to what everyone knows of the -divine poets as a body, and asking whether they can be compared for a -moment to Moses, for instance; to the prophets of the creator of all -things; above all, to him who has shone forth on all the race of man, -and announced to all the true way in which God would be served; who, -as far as lay in him, has willed that none should be ignorant of his -secret teachings, but, in his super-abounding philanthropy, has both -given to the learned a _theology_ that can raise their souls above all -things here below, and yet at the same time condescends to the weak -intellect of the untaught man, of the simple woman, and the household -slave--himself assisting them to lead a better life, each in his -degree, according to the teachings about God that _every one of them_ -has been enabled to share. He mentions Hercules. Has he forgotten the -ugly story about that hero's base servitude to Omphale. It would take -some persuading to make us pay divine honors to the ruffian that -seized the poor farmer's ox by main force, and devoured it before his -eyes, whilst the owner cursed him, and he seemed to enjoy the curses -as much as the meal itself; whence is derived the edifying custom of -accompanying his sacrifices by a rite of powerful execrations. He -mentions AEsculapius. I have already dealt with AEsculapius: he was a -clever doctor, but he did nothing very extraordinary. He puts up -Orpheus. Of course, Celsus is aware that Orpheus wrote about the gods -far more impiously and fabulously than Homer ever did. Now, he -considers, with Plato, that Homer's poems are unfit to be permitted in -the model republic; so that it is perfectly evident that he introduces -Orpheus here for the sole purpose of defaming us and disparaging -Jesus. Poor Anaxarchus in his mortar undoubtedly affords a great -example of fortitude; but as this happens to be the solitary fact that -is known about Anaxarchus, it would be difficult to make him a model -hero and absurd to make him a god. Then, as to Epictetus: there is no -need of depreciating him; it is enough to say, that his words and -deeds are not worthy of the most distant comparison with the words and -deeds of one whom Celsus despises; for the sayings of Jesus _convert_ -the wise and the simple. Celsus asks: 'What did your God say in his -sufferings, like to this?' I answer that his patience and his bravery -in his scourgings and his thousand ignominies were better shown by his -_silence_ than by any word ever uttered by suffering Greek. But he did -speak." And then he touches on some of the words of Jesus in his -agony. It is to us like a new revelation of the gospel, like a new -Epiphany, to read the comparison of the life of Jesus with the lives -of the best and noblest of antiquity. It brings vividly to our -imagination the brilliancy of the dawn of that day of Christ Jesus -(into whose light we are baptized, and in which we live with little -appreciation), when we can call back again the shades of paganism, and -watch the gross darkness as it lifts and moves slowly off before the -sun of justice. We can realize something of the feelings of earnest -hearts as they came within the reach of that light, and share a little -in the {788} excitement of a conflict wherein the victor overcame, -not, like Perseus, by displaying the horrors of a Gorgon's head, but -by unveiling, philosophically, artistically, enthusiastically, the -charms of a "theology" upon whose beauty and truth there were no -drawbacks, and in whose abysses of gladdening hope there were resting -places for every want and wish of a human heart. Origen lets the light -in upon the poor heroes and purblind sages of a Cimmerian night, and -he forgets the scoffings of wretched philosophy, as he expiates on the -love, the kindness, the philanthropy, the condescending grace of the -Word, who is God. We cannot follow him far. The intellectual objector -has much to say about the unreasonableness of faith; and the Christian -doctor vindicates scientific theology, whilst he shows how the crowd -of men must simply believe or be without any teaching whatever. He -says deep and pregnant things about faith, science, and wisdom, that -would bear fruit if reproduced in an age like ours. Then he enters at -great length into the critical objections of the man of intellect -against the life and actions of Jesus, more especially against the -great corner-stone of faith, the resurrection. And throughout the -whole of his demonstrations on intellectual grounds, he is fond of -calling attention to two grand arguments of fact, that no amount of -subtlety can explain away, and that the dullest wit cannot help -seeing: first; that Christianity has changed and reformed men's morals -in a way totally unexampled; second, that such a system of dogma and -morality can never by any possibility have been the product of human -thought, especially seeing what sort of men have propagated and -professed it, "not many wise, not many noble;" therefore its origin is -divine, and its author is the great creator of whom Plato spoke in -stammering words, and whom all philosophy has sought. - -Celsus, after having laughed at Christianity, and argued against it, -and having sometimes laughed argumentatively, and at other times -argued by a laugh, appears toward the end of his book in the entirely -new character of the citizen, or patriotic opponent of impious -innovations. He defends the old faith in the gods and the myths, the -old sacrifices, in a word, the old civilization, from the awful -radicalism of a sect that were upsetting the very foundations of -social order, and endangering what little religion the common people -could be got to practise. "All this private association and -sectarianism is clearly against the law of the empire. They repudiate -temples, they despise statutes, they mock at the offerings of incense -and the sacrifices of living things; and they tell decent temple-goers -and frequenters of the sanctuaries that they are doing an abomination -and worshipping devils. Now, the proper, sensible, and right thing is, -that each nation preserve its own customs and laws. One people has -found the advantage of one set of institutions, another of another; -let each keep what is once established by due and competent authority. -The Jews are perfectly right in being tenacious of their particular -laws." (This is cool, in one who had just been abusing the Jews with -all his powers of ridicule and logic--but then he is now speaking in a -different character.) "Besides, there is another and a deeper reason -for this. It is probable that in the beginning of things the diverse -parts of the earth were committed to diverse powers and dominations to -be presided over and governed according to their pleasure; it must -therefore be wrong to attack those institutions which they have -established from the beginning in their several prefectures. It seems, -indeed, perfectly certain that there is nothing in the world that is -not given in charge to some demon. Man himself, the moment he enters -the prison of his body, passes under the power of the keepers of this -prison-house. Nay, the Egyptians, who are unexceptionable {789} -authorities here, tell us that to look after the various parts of a -man's body, there are told off no less than six-and-thirty demons or -aerial powers (some say more); and they even mention their names, as -Chnoumen, Chnachoumen, Cnat, Sieat, and others, by invoking whom you -obtain health in your various limbs. Certainly, therefore, if a man -prefer health to sickness, and happiness to misery, there is no reason -why he should not deliver himself from evil by propitiating these -beings who have him in charge. One or two things, therefore; either -the Christians must live in this world and worship those who rule this -world, or they must abjure marriage, never have children, take no part -in the affairs of men, in fact depart from the earth altogether, and -leave no seed behind them. If they are to share in the goods, and to -be protected from the evils of this world, then it is both -unreasonable and ungrateful not to render tribute to the guardians of -what they enjoy and the powers from whom they have so much to fear." -The proud and fastidious philosopher has fallen low. What an interval -between the grand sentences of Plato and the humiliating confessions -of the apologist of idol-worship! And yet both extremes must be duly -considered, before we can realize the Paganism of the Neo-Platonic -revival. The demonology of Zoroaster, which was the practical religion -of the whole East, had encountered the Platonic philosophy and -engrafted itself upon it; and the sages of such Greek cities as -Caesarea found themselves seriously defending the devil-worship of the -wandering Arabs that roved over the plains of Syria and Asia, ignoring -the centres of civilization that Alexander's conquest had erected in -their midst." - -The first part of the objectors patriotic appeal on behalf of -established "institutions" is easily disposed of. The argument, -carried to its lawful lengths, becomes ridiculous. "The Scythian law -kills all the old men; the Persian law sanctions incest; the Crimeans -sacrifice strangers to Diana; in one part of Africa they immolate -their children to Saturn. One national law makes hanging a virtue, -another commends death by fire. Some nations reckon it pious to -worship crocodiles, others pay divine honors to cows, others again -make gods of goats, and one people adores what another eats. This is -making religion, not a truth, but a whim and a fancy. This is making -piety, holiness, and righteousness, affairs of opinion, and not -ascertainable, fixed realities. Suppose some one were to get up and -say the same of temperance, prudence, justice, or fortitude, would he -not be considered an imbecile? The truth is, there are two sorts of -laws; the unwritten law of Nature, of which the author is God, and the -written law of the state. If the state-law is not at variance with -God's law, it ought to be kept and to be preferred before the laws of -strangers; but if it oppose the law of God, it must be trampled upon, -even though danger, ignominy, and death be the consequence." Thus much -for the sentiment of nationality, and the common and obvious reasons, -as Origen calls them, that will make plain men repudiate it. But the -demon-theory and the alleged distribution of things to the aerial -powers, leads to a deeper and more serious question. Knowing, -therefore, that his book will fall into the hands of some who will be -inclined to examine such questions to the bottom, he undertakes to -speak more at length on the matter. This gives him an opportunity of -showing, by the history of the dispersion of Babel, how it is that we -find such diversity of peoples in different parts of the earth. Their -dispersion was a punishment; the ministers of this punishment are the -wicked spirits, acting as the instruments of God. One nation alone -remained in God's favor, and even it had to be punished through the -"princes" or spirits of other nations. Of God's mysterious dealings -with this nation, and of the redemption that was to come {790} through -it to all the other nations, he says he cannot speak out, an account -of the _disciplina arcani_, which forbade the Christian teacher to -enter into explicit details about the evil spirits, and this far the -sake of not affording encouragement to idolatry. - -The time had now come when all the nations were called to the one -saviour, the one lawgiver Jesus Christ, who "issuing a master and a -teacher from the midst of the Jews, feeds with the word of his -teaching the universal world." For punishment, therefore, were the -peoples of the earth delivered to demons; for salvation they must all -return to the law of God, through Jesus. Then, as usual, the Christian -doctor lays down the grand principle that withers with its first -breath all this base and futile service of devils. "The Lord our God -do we adore, and him only do we serve." If demons punish men, or if -angels rule this lower world, it is by his supreme will that they act. -"God, therefore, the one Supreme Lord of all--him we must conciliate -and make propitious, by religion and all virtue. Is not this simple? -Is it not reasonable? Bethink you for one moment. There are two men, -of whom one devotes himself entirely to the Almighty God, the other -busies himself in searching out the names of the demons, their powers -and their deeds, the rhymes that raise them, the plants that please -them, the magic gems and the wizard characters that will elicit their -answers; which of these two, think you, will be most pleasing to the -Lord of All? But little wisdom is required to see that the former, in -his simplicity and trust, will be accepted of the Almighty God and his -familiars; whilst he who for the sake of his health and his comfort -and his base and mean wants, deals, in demon-worship and magic, will -be rejected as evil and impious, and be left to the tender mercies of -the devils he invokes, to the confusion and despair of diabolical -suggestions, and to infinite evils. For Celsus himself owns that these -demons are wicked, that they are covetous of blood, of the savour and -smoke of a sacrifice and of the singing that evokes them; let their -worshipper, then, beware lest they prove slippery in their faith to -him, and lest the adorer of yesterday be abandoned or ruined in favor -of the more ample offerings of blood and of burnt odors that are -brought by the adorer of today. And let not Celsus accuse us of -ingratitude. We know perfectly well what true gratitude is, and to -whom we ought to be grateful for all that we possess; and we fear not -to be ungrateful to the demons, our adversaries and our enemies; but -we fear to be ungrateful to him with whose benefits we are laden, -whose workmanship we are, whose Providence has placed us in our varied -lots in life, and at whose hands we look for life eternal when this -life shall be ended. And we have a symbol of this our thankfulness; it -is the bread that we call the Bread of thanksgiving--the Eucharistic -Bread." This last sentence would read commonplace to the infidel or -the catechumen that might fall upon this answer of Origen to Celsus. -They could not know what the faithful Christian knew, and what the -writer himself knew and must have felt to his innermost heart, that -these passing words were a veil that covered nothing less than the -Tabernacle of the Blessed Sacrament. The great central mystery, for -well-known reasons, does not meet the eye in the pages of Origen, save -in suggestive passages like this; but we Christians of today can -pierce the mystery because we have its key, and can respond with our -Catholic sympathies to a Catholic voice that speaks to us in veiled -accents across the expanse of sixteen centuries. "For our -citizenship," he concludes, "we are no rebels or traitors. You say, -quoting the words of an ancient-- - - 'King there is but one, - whom Saturn's son hath established,' - -We say with you, King there is but one; but in the place of Saturn's -son' {791} we put him who 'raiseth up kings and deposeth them,' and -'who provideth a wise ruler in his season upon the earth.' The kingly -power is from God, and by God's will we obey it; would that all -believed this as we do! You exhort us to enter the imperial armies and -fight for the state. But no men serve their country as the Christians -do. They are taught to use heavenly arms in behalf of their rulers, -and to pray to heaven for 'kings and all those who are in high -places;' and their prayers, their mortifications, and their -self-restraint are of more avail than many soldiers set in array of -battle. And beyond all this, they teach their countrymen the worship -of the Lord of All, and there is no earthly city so little and mean -but they can promise its citizens a heavenly city with God. You exhort -us to enter the magistracy and protect our country's laws and -religion. We have in every city an organization that is to us a second -_patria_, created by the word of God, governed by those who are -powerful in word and sound in work; excuse us if we concern ourselves -mainly with the magistracy of the church. The ambitious we reject; -those whose modesty makes them refuse the solicitude of the church of -God, these we compel to accept it. The presidents of God's state are -called by God's will to rule, and they must not defile their hands -with the ministry of human laws. Not that a Christian refuses his -share of public burdens; but he prefers to reserve himself for burdens -and for a service of a diviner and more necessary sort, wherein is -concerned the salvation of men. The Christian magistrate has a charge -over all men; of those that are within, that they live better every -day; of those that are without, that they may be numbered among those -who act and speak the things of God-service. Serving God in very -truth, instructing whom he may, he lives full of the divine word and -law, and so he is able to lead to the Lord of All every one that is -converted and wishes to live in his holy law, through the divine Son -of God that is in him, his word, his wisdom, his truth, and his -righteousness." - -With this description of the Christian bishop, we conclude our remarks -on Origen. It will doubtless have occurred to most of our readers that -we have too completely ignored the charges of heterodoxy that have so -often been made against the name of Origen. But we do not admit that -Origen was unsound in faith, much less that he was formerly heretical. -Although not unprepared to justify this conviction, we cannot do more -at present than invoke the authority of a new and important -contribution to the Origen controversy, which was notified in our last -number. [Footnote 209] Professor Vincenzi, it is confessed by -competent and impartial critics, has totally dissipated the notion -that Origen denied the eternity of punishment. As to the other -accusations, he goes through them one by one and confutes them, -without admitting anything whatever in the genuine works of Origen to -be theologically unsound, "excepting a few points on which the fathers -of his age were as doubtful and uncertain as himself, since the Church -had not then defined them." [Footnote 210] Thirdly, he undertakes to -prove that S. Jerome was completely mistaken, through no fault of his, -with regard to the merits of a controversy in which he played so -memorable a part; and, lastly, he maintains that Origen was never -condemned by Pope or council, discussing especially the alleged -condemnation by the fifth general council. Under shelter, then, of the -authority of a work that comes to us with the approval of the Roman -censorship, and which on two separate occasions has been warmly -praised in the Civilta, we cannot be wrong in waiving, at least, all -discussion, in articles like the present, on the alleged errors of -Origen. What has been said, though it has left the greater {792} part -of his work unconsidered, may perhaps have served to draw attention to -one who is in some respects the greatest of the Greek fathers. He did -not live long after the completion of the Contra Celsum. As he had -been the faith's champion from his orphaned boyhood to his old age, so -he merited at least to suffer as a martyr for the Truth he had served -so long. His tortures in the Decian persecution did not immediately -cause his death, but they hastened it. He died at Tyre in 253 or 254. -The cities where he taught are now mere names. Alexandria is a modern -Turkish town, Caesarea is a heap of broken columns and ruined piers, -Athens is the capital of a pitiful nation of mongrel Hellenes, Bostra -and Petra are tombs in the deserts of Arabia. But two things are not -likely to grow less in their greatness or to lose the vividness of -their importance, the faith of Christ and what Origen has done for it. -In another region of the world, and in cities with names that are -different, yet with histories as grand as belonged to the cities of -the East, unbelief seems to be bringing back a condition of mind, to -encounter which the Catholic writer will have to put himself into the -circumstances of those ancient giants who met and overthrew scientific -paganism in the second and third centuries. Faith, and what is faith, -and why men must believe, occupied Clement and Origen. The same -questions are occupying the thought of our own day; and many a hint -may be gathered and many a suggestive argument started, by those who -will take the Alexandrian stand-point and look at faith as it is -looked at in the polemical works of the great Alexandrian school. - - [Footnote 209: In S. Gregorii Nysseni et Origenis scripta et - doctrinam nova recension, per Aloysium Vincenzi. 4 vols. Romae - 1865.] - - [Footnote 210: "Dummodo tamen nonnulla exceperis, quae pariter apud - Patres coaevos adhuc dubia manebant et incerta; quippe nondum ab - Ecclesia definita."--_Vincenzi_, ii. 524.] - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -THE TALE OF A TOMBSTONE. - -BY D. O'C. TOWNLEY. - -It is quite true to say, that the American makes a mistake who, in his -European tour, leaves Ireland out in the cold unvisited. He at least -fails to make an acquaintance which could not prove otherwise than -interesting, and possibly to find a burying-place where, if he had -them, he might dispose of his superfluous prejudices bearing upon that -island and its people--prejudices for the most part begotten of -ill-directed reading or formed with the hasty conclusions of a very -limited experience. - -If a politician, he cannot fail to learn, ere he travels many miles, -whether in Connaught or in Ulster, what he ought _not_ to do with a -people having a desire to see them prosperous and contented. If a -historian, he may find food for a chapter unwritten by Hume and -Smollet, or even by the more impartial Macaulay; a chapter which may -throw some light upon the cause, ever obscurely and often untruthfully -given, whose effect is that spirit of retrogression which hovers over -the unhappy island and lays its blighting hand upon every acre from -Cork to the Giant's Causeway. If he be a painter, a poet, or a -novelist, he may find in Ireland and her people an Eldorado with mines -as inexhaustible as the ore is rich. If a tourist merely, even such a -one as does London in a fortnight, Paris in a week, and the Rhine on -the fastest steamer upon that ancient river--that brilliant soul who -takes his sleep o' moonlit nights, and on the days which follow, sits -yawning over dinner till the shadows fall, and the storied head. {793} -lands have been passed unseen--even such as he, stupid or _blase_, as -the case may be, may find in Ireland something to awake to momentary -energy, at least, his sleeping thought and action. - -Approaching the fall of 18--, having done the continental celebrities -the year before, and having been in England since early in the month -of May, I concluded, before returning to New York, that I should pay a -flying visit to the emerald cradle of that prolific race, which is, in -the language of the stump, when it suits the orators to say so, the -bone and sinew of these States; the great level which uproots our -forests; the great spade which hollows our canals; the huge pick and -shovel and barrow, that lay our iron roads over mountain and morass; -and the mighty polling power which develops the peculiarities of -legislators, contributes most generously to the revenue of the excise, -and to the sustenance of the many good and bad people whose business -of life it is to get this truly erratic people into all manner of -trouble, including jails, and out of it. - -With no prejudices against the Irish people, and some -clear-sightedness as to the causes of their proverbial discontent, -unthriftiness, and frequent turbulence, I went quite ready to sorrow -or be glad, just as either mood was suggested by my surroundings; -neither to sneer at their emotional enthusiasm nor to turn disgusted -from their hilarious mirth. - -Crossing from Holyhead to Dublin, I remained in that city for a few -days, then visited the south and west, leaving the industrious north -to finish off with. But as the purpose of this sketch is not to retail -either impressions of the country or its people, or all the personal -experiences of my journey, I must proceed to the narration of the -single incident, the object of this writing, referring the reader, if -his appetite lean in the direction, to the pencillings of Mr. Willis -or the much more truthful story-telling of Mrs. Hall. My immediate -purpose is gained if I have in a slight degree awakened the reader's -interest for that which follows, and if he understands that I had now -almost reached that period which I had set down for the close of my -tour and my return home. - -Of the month I had set apart for Ireland--the _bonne bouche_, or, if -you like the Celtic better, the "_doch an durhas_" of my feast--I had -but one week left when I found myself at Warrenpoint, a pleasant -watering place on the margin of the bay of Carlingford, going -northward to Belfast. Here I had been two days, rather longer than I -had proposed to remain, but the season and the place at this time of -the year are especially attractive. So near Ireland's' highest -mountain as I then was, it occurred to me how discreditable the -confession would be that I had not seen it save in the purple -distance, and I concluded to do myself the honor of a near -acquaintance--sit upon its topmost ridge, and rifle a sprig of heather -from its venerable crown as a relic of the nearest spot to heaven on -the Isle of Saints. - -"No," said mine host, "your honor must never say good-by to Ireland -until you see her only living monarch who has not emigrated or been -transported to a penal colony!" - -Slieve Donard, the king in question, was but twelve miles distant, or -rather the village nestling at its foot. The road to Newcastle, the -name this village bears, was one of peculiar beauty all the way, and I -chose, to me, the most enjoyable of all ways of reaching it--I -determined to walk there. So, about eight o'clock on a beautiful -autumn morning, the dew still upon the grass and glistening upon the -rustling leaves of the beeches in a grove of which my rustic hotel lay -shadowed, armed with a stout blackthorn, a book in either pocket, and -a light breakfast in its appropriate department, I set out upon my -journey; accomplished it most enjoyably, arriving with but a {794} -faint remembrance that I had eaten any breakfast whatever, and just in -time for the _table d'hote_ at Brady's. - -The hotel was full with the motley occupants peculiar, there as -elsewhere, to hotels by the seaside in the bathing season. Among the -guests were reverend gentlemen assorted in the nicest manner, lean -kine and fat; the good-natured parish priest and the more -sanctimonious and exclusive curate of the orthodox persuasion; surly -country squires who had rushed down to please their wives and the -girls--"what did they want with salt water?" the city shopkeeper and -his prim property, exulting in evidence of _ton_ in every word and -movement. Even the eye-glassed, red, and wiry-whiskered Cockney could -be seen and heard, possibly attracted there by the reputation of the -"Hirish girls for fine hiyes and hintellects," or probably from a -peculiar horror, for private reasons, of other watering places nearer -home, where landlords were less generous and accommodating, being more -experienced. These, and such as these, with a few who came to see -rather than to be seen, made up the guests at Brady's. - -After dinner I joined a party of the class last mentioned who purposed -devoting the rest of the afternoon to an excursion upon the mountain, -ascending as high at least as would enable them to enjoy a scene -pronounced by travellers to be one of the finest in a land praised -alike in song and story for its scenic beauty. The unmingled enjoyment -of that ascent--for the labor of the journey was a pleasure too--is -one of the most pleasant of the many happy memories which I owe to the -"Isle of Tears." The landscape which unrolled itself like a scroll as -we ascended was of remarkable beauty. Rich with all the gorgeous -coloring of the season was spread out as far as the eye could reach -the unshorn wealth of corn-field and of meadow. Here and there a clump -of beech or chestnut sheltered, half hidden among the foliage, the -snow-white walls of a farm house. Liliputian figures crept stealthily -along through lane and over pasture, more like the tiny figures in a -Flemish painting than men and cattle at their labor. The rock-bound -bay was alive with its freight of toy-like fishing-boats, whose white -sails borrowed the golden hues of evening as the sun stole down toward -the heathery forehead of Slieve Donard. The whole scene, embraced from -an altitude of fourteen hundred feet, is again before me, and I revel -for a moment, whilst the illusion lasts, in the unspeakable emotion -which was born of it. - -But as I set out to tell a story whose theatre is not the mountain but -the valley underneath, I must e'en come down again to supper and to -prose, leaving, however reluctantly, Slieve Donard and its poetry -behind me. - -Leaving Newcastle with that regret which all must feel who leave it at -such a season, I started next morning after breakfast for -Castlewellan, where I intended taking the coach for Newry, having -ordered my luggage to be forwarded there from my hotel at the Point. - -Castlewellan is but four miles distant, and the journey thither was -said to be one of the most enjoyable walks in this romantic region. - -The road, for the entire distance, is one uninterrupted ascent toward -the summit of one of the lesser hills on which the village stands, -affording from every point--unless when now and then a jutting -mountain crag overhangs the path, and for a moment, intercepts the -vision--a view of the broad expanse of sea, the valley widening as you -rise--each footstep of the ascent adding some new beauty of form and -color, light and shadow to the scene. - -Half way upon my journey I sat down to rest for a minute or two by the -road side and lighted a cigar. Under its soothing influence and that -of the scene beneath me, I dropped into one of those blissful reveries -in which we sometimes forget our earthliness for a while, our souls -absorbed in ecstatic {795} contemplation of the wondrous beauty, yet -still more wondrous mystery, of the Creator's handiwork. - -I had been thus but a short time indeed when the sound of approaching -footsteps broke in upon my thought, followed by the customary -salutation, "God save you, sir, 'tis a heavenly morning that we have." - -Replying in the country phraseology, "God save you kindly," I raised -my eyes to see the passing figure of a stooped old man, with a spade -upon his shoulder, moving slowly onward 'neath his weight of years and -in my direction. Always fond of a companion, when wandering in this -way, being usually fortunate enough to meet with those to whom the -scenes around me were familiar, and from whom I often learned much -indeed that was new and interesting, I arose to resume my walk. -Strongly impressed by the venerable form of the old peasant, as I -deemed him, and thus attracted, I joined him, making some casual -remarks about the appearance of the country, which easily opened the -way to conversation. Enough of years have passed since that autumn -morning to have worn out the then feeble thread of the old man's life, -but palpable to my memory as the recollections of my wedding day is -every lineament of that expressive face. I hear again, as I write, the -gentle music of his voice, his white hairs float before me stirred by -the morning mountain breeze, and I greet again his expressive -salutation, felt again if again unspoken, "God save you kindly." - -To all my inquiries touching the country round about, and the harvest, -then all but gathered from the fields, he replied in that simple yet -lucid manner common to the most uneducated Irish peasant, when he -speaks of things familiar to him, chastened in his every remark by -expressions of his gratitude to God for bounties received, and of his -reliance upon his wisdom and goodness in affliction. - -His calling, he told me, was a sad one. He, too, was a laborer in the -field, but the harvest he gathered was moist with the tears of many. -Death himself was the reaper. He was the village sexton. - -I had often before met men of his melancholy occupation, but the -hearts of these seemed to have been hardened by the very nature of -their handicraft, as they became familiarized with that sorrow, -bitterest to human nature--the parting for ever in this world with the -truest and best beloved; but in the good old man beside me the keenest -sympathy for his suffering fellow mortals seemed to have found a meet -and fitting resting-place. - -I learned from him that a few rods further on my way stood the chapel -and burying-ground of Drumbhan, where, for some fifty years back, he -had made the last dwelling-places of his friends and neighbors. Five -minutes' walking brought us to the open gate and to the pathway -leading to the modest village church, within whose sacred walls a -number of the villagers had already gathered to early mass. - -Guided by my new acquaintance, I also entered, joining in the sacred -ceremony, which began soon afterward. - -How is it, I ask you who have accompanied me thus far, reader, how is -it--and the feeling is common to almost all of us--that in such a -simple edifice as that I knelt in, paintless and unpictured, unadorned -by the bright conceptions of genius or the cunning fingers of art; -with naked floor and whitewashed wall; window untinted with Scripture -story, itself suggestive of devotion; no ornament save the simple -embellishments of the altar; no music save the solemn voice of the -priest, distinctly audible in the respectful stillness of the place; -how is it, I ask you, that in such a sanctuary our souls seem to reach -nearer to their God in silent adoration, than when we kneel on velvet -cushions in the temples of the city, with their graven oak and marble -pillars, their lofty domes of painted glass, their frescoes and their -statuary, their mighty organs and their hundred choristers? - -{796} - -On leaving the church, at the conclusion f the mass, I rejoined the -sexton, who had stopped a moment at the porch for his spade, where he -had left it in an angle as we entered. I followed him across the yard -and through the wicket which separated us from the burying-ground. -Calling my attention to some of the more imposing monuments of the -place, he passed forward along the narrow pathway to perform the -melancholy task which he had told me was his first duty of this -morning--to make a grave for the last, the very last, of the -companions of his boyhood; one, he said, whose death, like his life, -was all peace, and that was part of the reward of the gentleness of -his nature, the fulness of which was hereafter. - -Passing from stone to stone, to linger for a moment at this which told -its tale of the early call of the young and innocent, or at that which -spoke of many years and mayhap of many sorrows, I stopped near to one -which, from the quaintness of the inscription and chaste simplicity of -its form had a peculiar attraction for me. It was a cross in granite -with a wreath not unskilfully chiselled crowning the upper limb, -whilst along the extended arms was a single line, "The 'Widow and her -Son." - -Leaning on a more aspiring tombstone near, I read again and again -these simple words, all the while imagination doing its work of making -a history for the mother and her child, when from this my second -reverie of the morning, I was again aroused by the voice of my aged -friend. - -"I see you have been reading that inscription, sir," he said. "I -have," I, replied, "and it has stirred my curiosity rather strangely. -It seems to me that there is much which the tombstone does not tell." - -"Very much indeed, sir," returned the sexton; "look around me as I may -at these familiar forms, there is not one amongst them tells as sad a -tale as this one." - -"Your reply does not lessen my curiosity," I said; "and even if it be -the saddest of your sad experiences, and that I did not fear to -trespass too much upon your feelings or your time, I should ask you to -tell me the story of those whose resting-place is thus beautifully, -yet strangely marked." - -"No trespass, sir, no trespass," the old man replied. "If the story be -one to recall a scene which will make my old eyes weep, it will just -be such a one as suits my heart this morning. So having yet an hour to -spare before the remains of my old friend can reach the ground, we -shall sit down upon this grave here whilst I tell you the story of -Mary Donovan and her boy." - -Glancing around to see that no unexpected duty called him, he seated -himself on the mound proposed. I sat down beside him, an eager -listener to that which follows, given to you in words as near his own -as may be, but wanting in that richness of accent and figurative -expression peculiar to his class and to his country. - -Had business or pleasure called you to Castlewellan some six years -ago, began the sexton, you could hardly have failed to meet a -good-natured innocent, [Footnote 211] some seventeen or eighteen -years old, ever to be seen the first at Blaney's when a traveller -pulled up his horse for refreshments or coach or car, to set down or -to receive a passenger. Ere the rattle of hoof or wheel had ceased in -the courtyard before the inn, the voice of poor Ned Donovan was sure -to fall upon the stranger's ear in a greeting, wild, yet musical, and -with that peculiarity of expression which told the story plainly, that -he was one of those to whom, for his own wise purpose doubtless, God -had been but sparing in the gift of mind. And yet there was a childish -joyousness in his every look and tone that compensated in some measure -for his misfortune, evidence as it was that he was saved from the -cares and anxieties common even to those of his early years. - - [Footnote 211: Synonymous with "Idiot" among the Irish peasantry - when used in this way; they rarely use the word idiot unless in - derision.] - -{797} - -Ned loved the horses and the cars, and knew every professional driver -that came that way to fair or market for miles and miles around. He -reserved, however, especial affection for the regular roadsters, man -and beast; these I mean that drove daily to Blaney's from Newry, -Rathfriland, or Dromore. The men, well acquainted with his ways, never -spoke a hasty or unkind word to him, although he was occasionally -self.willed in the matter of the horse-feed and the watering. The -horses naturally returned the affection of one whose attendance upon -them was untiring. He talked to them incessantly in public or in -private; their comfort occupied the first place in his thought. He -curried, whisked them down, patted and praised their best points with -all the enthusiasm of a connoisseur, or, when the like happened, -mourned over a broken knee or a windgall as over some serious domestic -trouble, as indeed to him it was. All this and more of the kind was -done without fee or reward, save the privilege at all hours of the -kitchen fireside and the stables, with an occasional ride down to the -river, "wid the creatures for a drink," as he would say or "to wash -the mud from their legs, and bad scran to it." - -Few days passed, however, failing to bring him a chance horse to hold -for a fine gentleman "wid boots and spurs bedad," or when he had not -an errand to run or to lend a helping hand with the luggage of some -generous traveller; and with these opportunities came sixpences, -sometimes even shillings, for his trouble, but oftener still just -because he was Ned Donovan. Many to whom his story was unknown often -wondered at the glistening eager eye with which he counted his -earnings over, and at the happiness an additional sixpence seemed to -give him; all this was so unlike the hourly evidences of his most -unselfish nature. Strangers, less charitable in mind than in pocket, -led astray by this seeming love of money, not unfrequently thought -that much of the boy's idiocy was put on, and they said so; but they -did not know him, nor happily he the meaning of their sneer. It was -amusing to follow him at the lucky moment when he got a shilling or so -in this way, when be invariably made straight for the bar of the inn -to deposit it with the utmost gravity of manner in the safe keeping of -good Mrs. Blaney. He had learnt from bitter experience how unsafe it -was to be his own banker, as he had frequently lost his earnings in -the hay loft or the stable, before the happy thought had struck him to -find a better keeper for them. You would have heard there, too, how he -invariably came at night to withdraw his funds, and how he always had -money given him, more or less. For there were unlucky days for Ned, -when travellers were few or forgetful; but his memory was far from -faithful in this regard, and good Mrs. Blaney was more than kind. - -The reason for this seeming selfishness of Ned is easily told. He had -a mother whom he loved with all his strange impassioned nature, a -widowed mother. To receive her grateful smile in return for the wages -of his industry each evening when he reached his home was the crowning -happiness of the day. - -God was kindly with him--he was not alone, poor boy! He had a mother, -and all that mother's love. Had you travelled that way you must have -noticed their little cottage at the turning going up the hill to St. -Mary's. You may see it even now as you pass, but the roses Mary -trained there are dead and gone, the little latticed window broken, -the garden weedy and desolate, telling its tale of sorrow like the -tombstone. - -Mary Donovan had lived there for many years--since her boy was quite a -child. She came one morning, so the gossips said, a passenger by the -coach, somewhere from the North. Her child was then but four years -old, and then, as ever after, an object for the sympathy of the kind -of heart. She took humble lodgings and applied to the {798} -shopkeepers and the neighboring gentry for employment at her needle, -with which she was wonderfully skilled, they said. The prejudices -which met her at the first, from all save the kind landlady of the -"Stag," soon gave way before her patient, unbending uprightness of -character and the unfathomable sorrow that weighed her down, for -sorrow is a sacred thing; even the voice of scandal hushes in its -presence. Her past history was her secret. Whether it was one of shame -or of suffering virtue no tongue could tell. Silent as the grave to -all impertinent inquiry, meek and humble before her God, and gentle as -gentleness itself with every living thing, her mystery became -respected, and she and her boy beloved. - -From that evening, when wet and weary from her journey, she first -awoke the kindly sympathies of the hostess of the "Stag"--the same -good-natured Mrs. Blaney--for twelve long years the widow pursued her -peaceful way, earning for herself and for her child not merely a -livelihood, but many of the comforts of dress and food, which were -looked upon as luxuries by those around her; and never did mother -receive more fulness of reward in the passionate love of offspring -than she in that of her all but mindless boy. - -When he was yet a child often have I watched him sitting at her feet, -as she sat at the cottage door or window plying her ever busy needle, -listening to the strange stories of the fairies and the leprechauns of -the olden times she could tell so well. Of Heaven and its glories, -too, she would sometimes speak, to be interrupted by some strange -remark, suggestive of more than human wisdom. Then the startled mother -would fix her eyes upon his face so earnestly, as if in hope that God -at last would shed light upon the shadowed mind of her bereaved one, -to meet ever and always the glance of childish adoration, but with it, -alas! the vacant smile that spoke forgetfulness already of the -transitory ray of reason that a moment rested there. - -Often have I stopped, as I passed that way, to listen to some quaint -old ballad full of the melancholy music of her voice, and make my -friendly inquiries for herself and child, sure to find him in his -usual resting-place. My welcome was a warm one always, and my grey -hairs--for they were grey even then, sir--often mingled with the -yellow curls of the boy as he clambered up my knee to kiss me. We were -warm friends, sir, Mary and I, for I and I only, of all living beings, -knew her secret and the story of her sorrow--and this was the way I -learned it: - -One day, soon after her arrival in the town, I had just risen from -early mass in the chapel and turned in here upon my morning round, -when the voice of some one weeping bitterly, and the sad wail of a -child accompanying, drew my attention to a corner of the yard and to -the kneeling figure of a woman and that of a little boy, seated among -the long grass of the grave beside her. Mourners were no unfamiliar -sights to me, even at such an early hour, but the woman's dress -bespoke the stranger and awoke my curiosity. I neared the grave and -recognized it as that of a good old man, once the village -school-master, who had died two years before. I knew him well; for -many years he had dwelt amongst us, respected for himself as for his -calling. He had been happy in the affections of an only child--a -daughter, the very picture of her mother, he used to say, whom he had -buried amongst strangers. In her was centred his every earthly hope. -She was his pride, and her pleasure all the reward he sought in a life -laden with all the petty vexatious of the teacher. She forsook him and -her happy home, and fled to England with one whom she had known for a -few weeks only, who had met her at Rostrevor, where her father's fond -indulgence had sent her for the season; forsook all for a -husband--scandal said, a lover--who, whilst enamored of her beauty, -scorned her father's poverty. The old man never raised his head again -in the village. Two years of sorrow, and the grave closed over him. -{799} I made it. The savings of his industrious life still lay in the -hands of the village pastor in safe-keeping for the lost one should -she ever return to claim it; but Mary never claimed it. - -I drew nearer, for my heart told me who the mourner was. I, too, had -loved the girl, as who indeed had not? I, too, had shared the sorrow -of her honest father, and many a time had yearned to know the fate of -the fair-haired daughter of his affection. - -I drew still nearer; my step was noiseless upon the grass. I leaned -upon a headstone near me. I spoke the words that pressed for -utterance, "Mary, Mary," I said, "You come too late, too late!" - -She started from the grave; an exclamation of terror and surprise -broke from her. She looked me wildly in the face as if the spirit of -her injured father stood in shape before her, and recognizing the sad -features of that father's friend, she sank, sobbing convulsively, upon -the grave again, hiding her pale face in the long grass which covered -it. - -I raised her kindly in my arms, and sitting down beside her, her -wondering yet gentle boy between my knees, I heard her sad tale of -passion and remorse. No other ever heard that story; she asked my -silence and I spoke not. - -From that time forward, year after year, the penitent paid frequent -visits to her lather's grave; her gentle manner asked for no inquiry, -and none was made, and there was nothing left of the once joyous -daughter of the school-master to challenge recognition. The boy, too, -seemed to love the place, and oftentimes accompanied her. For her sake -it was he loved it, seeming to comprehend that here there was -something sharing with him her affection, some link which bound them -both to the place for ever. - -Well, years passed on; and, as I have said, the voice of scandal had -long been hushed; the child had almost reached to manhood, and the -silver threads of time and sorrow had stolen in among the once golden -locks of the mother. Childlike ever, and uniformly good and cheerful, -Ned rose each morning, and as it had been for some years, the daylight -was not more certain to enter the pleasant bar-room of the "Stag" than -was the shadow of the innocent to fall across its threshold, its -earliest visitor. Evening brought him home with his caresses, his -childish chat; and his petty earnings to his mother, who, happy at the -pleasure his employment gave him, was profuse in the praises that he -loved to hear. - -And so matters had gone on for years, just as if they might have done -so for ever, when God in his wisdom brought that sore affliction upon -us all--the famine and the sickness of '47. Who that has lived -through that year of misery and horror, but shudders at the -remembrances its very name recalls? Who but wails some beloved one -snatched away with scarce a moment's warning?--the child from its -mother's arms; the mother from the child's caresses; the youth -standing, full of hope on the threshold of his manhood, when the warm -blood froze suddenly in his veins, the glad visions of his future -faded before him as the relentless hand of death seized him with a -grasp of iron, leaving him upon the earth but one hour of agony, and -the breath to say farewell; the aged flung into the grave upon whose -brink they had, trembling, stood for years clinging to life with more -than the tenacity of the young;--all, all stricken with that horror of -dissolution; bowed down as if a curse had fallen upon us for our sins -as once came the plague upon the Egyptians. - -First amongst the victims was the long-tried, patient Mary. With -sufficient warning only to bring the good priest to her side, to -receive the last rites of her faith, to press in her enfeebled arms -her terror-stricken son, and upon his lips one agonizing kiss--and her -soul was with its God. - -The agony of the boy when once he realized the great grief that had -fallen upon him was, they told me, so fearful and so wild as, to wring -with horror the {800} hearts of all who heard him. After a time he was -somewhat pacified by the gentle persuasion of the priest and the kind -soothing of some good-natured neighbors, who, disregarding the danger -of the infection, had gathered in, out of love and pity. They strove -to lead him from the death-bed; but no! the first paroxysm of despair -once over, he sat him down, silent yet stern, by the bed side. He -spoke not, he wept not. Apparently unconscious of the presence of -others as of his own existence, the icy fingers of one hand clasped in -his, he thus sat gazing, motionless as stone, upon the dead face of -his mother. - -On through the long hours of that autumn night sat the stricken -mourner, and though daylight came, aye, even the sunlight that he -loved stole in and crept up upon the bed till it fell upon the placid -features of the dead illumining them as with the glory of immortality, -still he moved not. Dead as the dead he seemed, in all but the -strange, weird evidence of being in his eyes. Stolid he remained to -all remonstrances; silent as motionless to all words of comfort. The -hour came at last for preparation toward the removal of the body--for -the cholera did not spare the poor body after death, decay set in so -rapidly--when, contrary to the expectation of all, the innocent -voluntarily arose and even assisted at the necessary duties, duties -which must have conveyed to him the knowledge of his approaching -parting with her to whom he still clung as lovingly in death as he had -done in life. - -It was the afternoon of the day following that of Mary's death when a -few neighbors gathered to see her home, poor girl! I should not, say a -few either, for they were many at such a time, when the dead cart -rattled hourly past the door, and sorrowing and desolation was in -every home. - -They bore her from the cottage and along the way leading to the -burying ground of Castlewellan, the parish she had lived and died in. -The wailing orphan walked stealthily behind, his head low bent, -unearthly pallor on his face, his fingers interlaced before him every -motion and expression speaking of the sorrow unto death, of the mortal -agony of desolation. - -Mournfully the procession passed along till it reached the cross road -leading to this village here; but continuing their journey, those -forming it were suddenly interrupted by a wild unearthly cry from the -lips of the idiot. - -"Where are yez goin', men, where are yez goin', men, I say? You must -take her to Drumbhan, you must take her to Drumbhan! She said she -would lie there some day beside her father; do you hear that, men? So -bring her to Drumbhan, I say!" - -His agony was fearful, his shriek inhuman in the fierceness of its -passion. The bearers stopped, the mourners gathered around the boy, -but vain was every effort to appease him, and still his cry rose far -above their words of comfort: "Bring her to Drumbhan, oh! bring her to -Drumbhan!" - -None there knew, as I have said, the mother's story, and all believed -this but a wild unreasonable fancy of poor Ned's; but had it been -otherwise, what could they do? The grave was already made, and the -good priest waiting to give the last religious rite to the body of -this patient and enduring Christian. - -Seeing that they again moved on, Ned suddenly ceased his cry, as if he -had formed some strange resolution which pacified him, and relapsed -into the sudden gloom that had preceded the outcry of his anguish. -They buried her; he came away quietly with them. They sought, some of -them, to bring him to their houses, thinking to save him the agony of -returning home just then to miss her presence; but all efforts to lead -him any way but that toward his desolate home were fruitless He -returned to the cottage. He sat down by the vacant bed and rocked -himself to and fro, singing with mournful pathos snatches from an old -ballad, a favorite of his mother's. - -{801} - -An old neighbor promising to remain with him that night and care for -the cottage till next day, when arrangements were to be made for the -disposal of its contents and for the future of poor Ned, the others -went to their homes. - -The shadows of the night came down. In and near the cottage all was -silent. The old woman crept toward the boy to rouse him from his -lethargy, and to urge him to take some food which she had prepared for -him. He was asleep. Thanking God for this, his greatest gift to the -sorrowing heart, the old woman sat down, and, covering her shoulders -with her clock, dozed away an hour or two, then awoke and watched, -then slept again, again awoke to find the idiot still asleep, then -slept again. - -About an hour after sunrise she started from her seat, alarmed by an -outcry at the door, her name being loudly called, "In God's name, -what's the matter? who's dead now? is it the priest, alanna?" - -"Oh! may the Lord be betune us an harum," said a voice from amongst a -crowd of excited people at the door, "if they haven't raised poor -Mary's body in the night! Here's Brian an' myself saw the empty grave -as we passed by the chapel yard just now. Sure never was such a thing -as that ever heard of before in Castlewellan anyhow." - -"Whisht, whisht, for the love av God," said the old woman, "or Ned -will hear yez," and turning toward the bedside, hoping that he still -slept quietly, she saw but his vacant seat--the boy was gone. - -"I know it all, I know it all," she cried. "As sure as God's in heaven -this day, he's gone and raised her up himself. I heard him in his -sleep, the crature, but thought nothing of his demented talk. Go after -him, men! Go after him, I say! He has gone wid her to Drumbhan." - -They hurried off with many others who now heard this extraordinary -story. They ran eagerly down the hill toward the village here. You -know the distance, maybe? Two long miles at least. Well, when they had -reached within half a mile of this spot, sure enough, God knows, they -overtook the crazy boy, wheeling before him on a barrow the coffin -containing the dead body of his mother. - -Never did human eye see sight like this before. He heard their hurried -footsteps coming on behind him, and setting down the barrow gently on -the road, he turned suddenly upon them with all the frenzy of the -fiercest madness in his face, and raising up the spade that lay beside -the coffin, and brandishing it above his head, he cried, "Back, back, -I tell you all; touch her one of you, and I'll cleave him! Didn't I -tell you to bring her to Drumbhan? Didn't I tell you she wanted to -sleep down here beside her father? You thought that you were good, did -you, and Father Connor, too, to put her up in the hill beside the big -church there? But what did you know? what did you know? Did she tell -any of you last night that she couldn't rest there; did she do that, I -say? No, no, she came to me who loved her, to her own poor Ned--she -came and asked me to bring her to Drumbhan; and so I will--so I will, -I say, in spite of you all! in spite of you all!" - -So saying, he raised the barrow once again and passed onward with his -burden. They spoke not. They made no effort to turn him from his -purpose. Many there were who would gladly have eased the exhausted -creature of his burden, but, awe-stricken, they feared to approach -him, and silently fell behind a second time in sad procession at the -widow's funeral. - -At last he reached the gate there. I was standing at it when he came. -He wheeled his burden along that path behind us, and to the grave, -here. I followed with the rest, as powerless to interfere as they. He -laid down the barrow gently again, and taking up the spade he had -carried with him, began to dig the grave. I joined him. He looked at -me at first inquiringly; then recognizing me, muttered something to -himself as if approvingly. Other hands besides ours were soon at work, -and a {802} few minutes more found Mary resting by her father's side -and the last sod carefully replaced--when, failing only when his task -was done, the worn-out boy sank senseless upon the grave. - -They carried him away gently, and when consciousness returned, they -soothed him with kind words. The women blessed him and praised his -mother, and his love for her, till recollection returned, and tears -for his loss stole silently down the idiot's cheeks. All traces of -passion had disappeared, and in its place there seemed the evidence of -a new-born intelligence in the mute yet expressive sorrow of that pale -face. - -He went with them without a murmur; several times turned hastily -whilst in sight of the graveyard to look back, then disappeared. - -All that day the picture of that poor creature and the scene in which -he played so strange a part, haunted me at every step. Still I saw him -coming as he did that morning down the hill; the barrow, the coffin, -the crowd walking solemnly after. Still I saw it through that long, -long day, and leave my fancy it would not. That night I could not -rest. True, I had loved poor Mary and I had loved her boy; still I had -laid away in their narrow beds many, very many that were dear to me, -linked to my affection by the closest ties of kindred, but I had never -sorrowed, old man as I was, as I had done that day; never felt such -awe at the untold mystery of our nature and the wonderful ways of my -God. - -In the morning I arose early, early for me, and although no duty -called me here till after early prayer's, I took my spade upon my -shoulder and came upon my way, feeling drawn toward the place, I knew -not why. - -The morning was as beautiful as this one, and, as I think I have said -before, the season of the year the same. Already here and there I -noticed, as I came along, familiar faces in the fields, and some, too, -of my neighbors I met upon the road; but contrary to my usual custom l -avoided the familiar chat so frequently indulged in when we met each -other at such an early hour, passing on with a "good morrow" only, -eager to reach Drumbhan. - -Some twenty minutes brought me to the chapel, for I lived then as I do -now, a short mile below there. I went in to say a prayer, conscious of -my weakness, in the hope to shake the weight from off my shoulders -that pressed me down so heavily. Thence passing into the graveyard -here, I turned my eyes in this direction to behold, prostrate upon the -grave of his. mother, the loving, harmless boy. - -My knees trembled as with palsy. How came he here? I said, and when? -Why, I asked not; I knew too well of this love that was more than -earthly. Tottering, I drew near; I called him by his name. He answered -not. I called again. No voice replied; nor sound, nor motion was there -save the echo of my voice and my hurried footfall as I neared the -spot. I stooped, I raised him in my arms, I parted from his brow the -long hair damp with the dew of morning. I gazed upon that pale, pale -face, which, in the holy peace that rested there, spoke of the -goodness and the mercy of our Heavenly Father, into whose holy keeping -the spotless soul had passed. He was dead. - -The sexton's tale was told. - ----------- - -{803} - -ORIGINAL. - -LIGHT. - -Gaudium lucis AEternae. - - - When the twilight veil is closing - Gently o'er each darkening scene, - Love we not the shades reposing - Underneath its misty screen? - - When, like ruins dim and hoary, - Forms are outlined on the sky, - See we not surpassing glory - In the day-god's closing eye? - - Yes! But from the LIGHT is given - All the grace of coming night; - And the change from day to even - Is a change of varied light! - - Silent midnight reigneth over - Scenes so lately bright and fair, - Shades like gliding spectres hover. - Round each faint-traced image there; - - And the darkness' onward stealing - Shrouds the earth with dusky pall, - But from LIGHT, the dim revealing - Even of midnight's glories fall. - - And the purer spirit-vision - Is a world all fair and bright; - Ever in the dream elysian - Joy is of "eternal light." - -Marie. - --------- - -{804} - -From The Dublin University Magazine. - -MEDIAEVAL BOOKS AND HYMNS. [Footnote 212] - - [Footnote 212: The reader will bear in mind that the author of the - following paper is a Protestant minister.-ED. CATH. WORLD.] - -The fall of Rome was the annihilation of a great dominant power, a -power which had been supreme; and when the barbarians marched into her -streets and devastated her homes, the world sunk back into a tenebrous -night of social, intellectual, and moral darkness. Her mighty empire, -held together like one country by her genius, was broken up and -divided amongst the different tribes who had poured down from the -north and overrun Europe, divided just as the fortune of war or the -caprice of choice indicated. It was the approach of a moral chaos; but -the hand whose guidance is to be felt in the life of individuals, and -may be traced in the history of nations, did not abandon the world to -the utter confusion of its own impulses. As the imperial power of Rome -fell away and died out like an effete thing, wasted by its own' -corruption, a new power was springing up in vigorous youth by the side -of that which was declining. Christianity was advancing toward the -west with rapid strides, victorious through the persecution of tyranny -and the jealousy of philosophy; it was then taking its stand in the -world as an influence; but if at this moment amid the vast changes and -subversion of things which took place after the fall of Rome, -Christianity had been merely a reformed philosophy, and had been left -to the mercy of pagan barbarians, it would have been extinguished in -its infancy. That was avoided by a remarkable concatenation of -circumstances. For centuries there had been an apprehension in the -Roman empire of an advance of the barbarous nations in the north of -Europe, symptoms of which had manifested themselves in the earliest -period of the Christian era. Toward the latter end of the second -century the most powerful of these tribes, the Goths, impelled by some -influx of other barbarians, advanced from their position near the -mouth of the Vistula, invaded the Roman frontier, and took Dacia, -where they were found by the Emperor Caracalla at the opening of the -third century, in the middle of which they were allowed by Aurelian to -settle along the banks of the Euxine, when they were divided into two -parts--the "Ostro" or Eastern, and the "Visi" or Western Goths. In the -next century a terrible alarm was raised amongst them, which even -penetrated into the Roman empire, and up to its capital, where it was -related that an awful race of beings--savage, ugly, inhuman, begotten -of the devil--were pouring in thousands out of the deserts and plains -of Asia into Europe. Such were the Huns. Already they had reached the -territory of the Ostrogoths, whom they compelled to supply them with -guides to lead them on toward the Visigoths. These latter at their -approach fled in the extremity of terror toward the Danube, and -implored the protection of Valens the emperor, who allowed them to -settle in Moesia, upon the condition that they should defend the -imperial frontier. In less than forty years afterward from defending -the Roman frontier they sacked Rome. But during this interval an -incident took place which had a great influence upon the destinies of -Christianity. After the settlement with Valens, an intercourse of a -somewhat friendly character sprung up between the Romans and {805} -these barbarian defenders of the frontier. The church was suffering -from her great Arian apostasy--a form of scepticism exactly parallel -to that new light of modern times called Rationalism. Valens was an -Arian, and, wishing to convert these pagan barbarians, sent a -missionary amongst them in the person of the renowned Ulphilas, whom -he made bishop of the Moeso-Goths. This great bishop labored -assiduously for the conversion of the barbarians, invented an -alphabet, and translated the Scriptures with his own hand into their -strange idiom. His labors were blessed with success; the Goths -embraced Christianity, though in the Arian form; and fifty years -afterward, when Alaric led them into Rome, amid the tumult of the -unfettered license of the soldiers, an order was issued to respect the -churches of the apostles and the sacred places. In the midst of the -devastation of the city and through the very thick of the riot, a band -of priests and devotees were seen marching under the protection of -Gothic soldiery, carrying on their heads the sacred vessels of St. -Peter, and mingling with the shoutings of the ravagers the chant of -solemn psalms. Under Gothic protection, and by the express order of -the Gothic king, the sacred vessels were deposited in safety at the -Vatican; numbers of Christians joined the procession and received -shelter, whilst many who were not Christians also availed themselves -of the opportunity to join the band of believers and escape in the -general confusion. [Footnote 213] - - [Footnote 213: Oroslus Hist., lib. vii. c. 39.] - -This was the first indication of the new life which was to dawn upon -the world under the influence of Christianity. Gradually all the -tribes of barbarians yielded to its influence--the Burgundians in -Gaul, the Vandals in Africa, the Suevi in Spain, the Ostrogoths, the -Franks, and then the Saxons in England; but the early conversions of -these barbarians were to the Arian form of Christianity then in the -ascendant. Its principal tenet was the denial of the equality of the -Son to the Father; and the heresy spread until the error, after being -vigorously combated, was suppressed, and the new nations won back to -the orthodox faith. Thus was this compensation for the overturn of -civilization effected; the world was not abandoned to utter -destruction, it was indeed given up to the hands of rude barbarians, -but they in turn were subjected to a new influence which accompanied -them to the various kingdoms founded upon the ruins of' the extinct -empire, and formed the basis in each of those kingdoms of a new and -higher civilization. With the fall of Rome the gods of the pagans were -overturned, their temples destroyed; and in the midst of the -devastation, the ruin, and, the despair into which the world was -sinking, the Church of Christ arose as the guiding spirit, the pioneer -of the new life. Another incident in connection with the establishment -of Christianity, which saved the lore of ancient times from -destruction, was the adoption of the Latin language by the church; for -although that language had made a settlement in many of the countries -subject to the Roman arms, yet a tendency soon sprung up, from the -mixture with barbarian invaders, to the degeneracy of the Latin tongue -and the rise of new and separate idioms. But it was preserved in -comparative purity in the church, which naturally led to the -preservation of its most noble monuments; and it ultimately became, -when the modern languages were in their infancy, the tongue especially -devoted to the transmission of learning. History, poetry, science, and -what little there was of literature, found a medium of communication -and a means of preservation in the Latin language. Had it not been -adopted by the church then for some centuries, whilst the new tongues -were gradually developing and settling into a form, the world would -have been dark indeed, not a book, not a page, not a {806} syllable -would have reached us of the thought, the life, or the events of that -period. - -From the fourth to the seventh century there would have been an -impenetrable gap in the annals of humanity--the voice of history would -have been hushed into a dead silence, and the light of the past which -beacons the future would have been extinguished in the darkness of a -universal chaos. In England, however, the case was somewhat different. -From the earliest period of the Saxon domination there was a struggle -for a literature in the vulgar tongue. The Saxons had brought with -them a vast store of traditional poetry out of which one specimen has -been preserved, consisting of an epic poem in forty-three cantos, and -about 6,000 lines--the oldest epic of modern times. It is called, "The -Gleeman's Song," and was composed by Beowulf in their native wilds and -brought over with them in the fifth century. It is a strange poem, -impregnated with the vigorous air of the North; strength and -simplicity being its chief characteristics. The principal personage is -Hrothgar the king, and the poem is full of incidental descriptions of -manners and customs which afterward became native to England, and -linger about among us even now: there are great halls, ale-carousals, -fighting with giants, the elements of a rude chivalry, and an -invincible prowess which dares both dragons and ghosts. But the first -native writer in Anglo-Saxon after the conversion to Christianity is -Caedmon, who lived in the latter part of the seventh century (680); -The story of his miraculous inspiration is recorded by Bede. -[Footnote 214] - - [Footnote 214: Eccl. llist., lib. iv., c. 24.] - -He was born in Northumbiria and was a monk of Whitby. He paraphrased -large portions or the Scripture, and has aptly been called the -Anglo-Saxon Milton; indeed it is more than probable that the Puritan -poet borrowed the ideas of his sublime soliloquy of Satan in -Pandemonium from this Saxon monk; After Satan's overthrow, Caedmon -says--[Footnote 215] - - [Footnote 215: Thorpe's edition of Caedmon.] - - "Then spake he worde: - This narrow place is most unlike - that other that we formerly knew - high in Heaven's kingdom, - which my master bestowed on me, - Though we it for the All.powerful - may not possess. - We must cede our realm." - -So Milton-- - - "O how unlike the place from whence they fell!" - -and in the words of Satan-- - - "Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, - That we must change for heaven, this mournful gloom - For that celestial light? Be it so, since he - Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid - What shall be right." - -Caedmon's notion of Pandemonium is the prototype of Milton: - - "But around me lie - iron bonds; - presseth this cord of chain, - I am powerless! - me have so hard - the clasps of hell - so firmly grasped. - Here is a vast fire - above and underneath; - never did I see a loathlier landskip; - the flame abateth not - hot over hell. - Me hath the clasping of these rings, - this hard polished band, - impeded in my course, - debarred me from my way. - My feet are bound, - my hands are manacled - . . . . . - About me the - huge gratings - of hard iron, - forged with heat, - with which me God - hath fastened by the neck." - -Nearly all these ideas are incorporated in Milton's sublime picture-- - - ". . . . down - To bottomless perdition, there to dwell - In adamantine chains and penal fire." - . . . . . _Line 48_. - "Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild?" - . . . . . _Line 180_. - "A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, - As one great furnace, flamed." - _Line 61_ - ". . . . torture without end - Still urges, and a fiery deluge fed - With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed." - _Line 67_. - -But after the death of Caedmon (680), there must have been a great -deal of poetry written which is now lost, for we read that Bede, on -his {807} death-bed, repeated several passages from national poets, -one of which is preserved in that interesting description of the last -moments of the great historian, written by S. Cuthbert, who was with -him to the end. [Footnote 216] But the chivalrous poetry of tradition -gave way to that of religion, which is the characteristic of Saxon -song after the sixth century. - - [Footnote 216: Asseri Annaies (Gale's Collec.) ann.; 731.] - -We are also told that Aldhelm, -bishop of Sherbourne, who died in the year 709, was one of the best -poets of his day. But still at this period, although there was a -struggle after a national literature, the great works were all written -in Latin; and Bede, much as he admired the Saxon poets of his country, -intrusted his Ecclesiastical History to the only idiom sacred to -learning. Gildas and Nennius, who preceded Bede, also wrote in Latin. -But the Saxons were the first out of all the barbarians to acquire a -vernacular literature. Of that literature we are scarcely competent to -judge; but from what has come down to us, from allusions in history, -from the state of education among them, we may safely conclude that -although little has survived, it was not a poor literature. We must -remember the continual scenes of devastation which took place during -the period of their domination; when monasteries were rifled, books -burnt, and manuscripts wantonly destroyed. From the time of Alfred, -only one Anglo-Saxon writer of any consequence has come down to us, -Olfric; but from what we know of Saxon progress we may be assured -there were many others. It is evident from the state of education -among them. Before the middle of the seventh century schools had -sprung up, and toward the latter end an impetus was given to learning -by the labors of Theodore and Adrian, of whom Bede asserts that they -gathered together a crowd of disciples, and taught them not only the -books of Holy Writ, but the arts of ecclesiastical poetry, astronomy, -and arithmetic, and adds in proof that some of their scholars were -alive in his day who were as well versed in the Greek and Latin -tongues as their own. [Footnote 217] - - [Footnote 217: Eccl. Hist. lib., iv., c. 2.] - -Even the ladies among the Saxons were well educated, for it was to -them that Aldhelm addressed his work De Laude Virginitatis, and -Boniface corresponded with ladies in Latin. In the ninth century also -we find that schools were flourishing in various parts of the kingdom, -especially the one at York, under Archbishop Egbert, who taught Greek, -Latin, and Hebrew to the scholars, amongst whom was Alcuin the friend -of Charlemagne. From the letters of Alcuin, but more especially from -his History of the Church of York, we may learn that for the same -there was a renowned library there, and as it is the earliest list of -books--the first catalogue of an English library extant--we may as -well subjoin it. Alcuin says that in his library were the works of -Jerome, Hilarius, Ambrose, Augustine, Athanasius, Gregory, Pope Leo, -Basil, Chrysostom, and others. Bede and Aldhelm, the native authors, -of course were there. In history and philosophy there were Orosius, -Boethius, Pompeius, Pliny, Aristotle, and Cicero. In poetry, Sedulius -Juveneus, Prosper, Arator, Paulinus, Fortunatus, Lactantius; and of -the classics, Virgil, Statius, and Lucan. Of grammarians there was a -great number, such as Probus, Phocas, Donatus, Priscian, Servius, -Eutyehius, and Commianus. Boniface was a great book collector, and -used to send them home to England. So that we may fairly conclude that -if the Danish depredations and the internal dissensions of the country -had not been so fatal to the treasures hoarded up in monastic -libraries we should have had much more of Saxon literature. The -influence of Dunstan, too, gave an impulse to learning both in the -country {808} generally and in the church. He himself was a scholar, a -musician, an artist, an illuminator, and a man of science; [Footnote -218] but the most prominent figure is Bede, who, as we observed, wrote -in Latin; he was well versed in Greek and Hebrew. - - [Footnote 218: "Artem scribendi necne citharizaudi pariterque - pingendi peritiam diligenter excoluit."--Cotton MSS.---Cleop., B - xiii., fol., 69. ] - -He wrote many works--thirty-seven according to his own list, including -compilations; but the most important was his Ecclesiastical History, -which traces the course of the national church from the earliest times -down to 731, within four years of his own death. In his introduction -he honestly gives us a list of his materials, from which we can gather -that in all parts of the country the bishops and abbots had -instinctively turned their attention to historical writing; for he -says he was indebted to Albinus, abbot of St. Augustine's, Canterbury, -for the particulars of the Augustinian mission and the history of the -Kentish Church generally, and to Northelm, a priest of London, who had -discovered at Rome the epistles of Pope Gregory upon the subject; from -Daniel, bishop of the West Saxons, he received much assistance as to -the history of that province and the adjoining. Abbot Esius, of East -Anglia, and Cunebert, of Lindsey, are also mentioned as contributing -valuable materials. So that this history of Bede is compiled from the -most authentic sources, and forms one of the most valuable collections -of ecclesiastical annals extant in any nation. It is a fact worthy of -note in the history of letters, that these early prelates of the Saxon -Church, and in fact the monks in the various monasteries scattered -over the country from the earliest period, and even down to their -decadence, silently and patiently recorded the events of their times -and of their church, and that their labors, such as have been rescued -from the ravages of the past, form the only true "materia historica" -of modern writers. But we pass on from the time of Bede to that of -Alfred, under whose influence the Saxon language almost displaced the -use of the Latin. The extraordinary vicissitudes of his life have been -elsewhere recorded, but in literature he was an historian, a -theologian, a commentator, and a transcriber. His principal works were -translations of Gregory's Pastoral Care, the Universal History of -Orosius, Boethius's Consolations of Philosophy, Bede's Ecclesiastical -History, and several parts of the Bible; but he not only translated, -but interpolated whole pages of his own. In the Pastoral Care he has -inserted original prayers; in the History of Orosius there is a sketch -of the state of Germany by him, and the translation of Boethius is -tesselated with profound and pointed thoughts, which fairly entitle -him to the name of philosopher. The greatest achievement of King -Alfred was perhaps the reviving and restarting the Saxon Chronicle. It -is probable that from the earliest times of the Saxon rule a national -record of events had been kept somewhere, either from the instinct of -preservation or by concert. The evidence of Bede proves that it was -done in the church as regards ecclesiastical matters, and we know that -in the time of Alfred there was a short record of bare events, with -now and then a genealogy treasured up and handed down from age to age. -It was his thought and care to reform these records and restart the -Chronicle as a great national archive. For this purpose, he enjoined -Plegmund, Archbishop of Canterbury, to collect what could be found, -write it out fairly, and commence his labors as the chronicler of the -period. From that time the records are fuller and more in detail, and -down to the year 1154 it was kept up by different men in different -monasteries, who were eye-witnesses of the events they recorded, and -out of whose labors there are only six original MSS. extant of this -great national work. The first is called the Plegmund, or Benet MSS., -because it was, as we have said, compiled by Plegmund at the -instigation of Alfred, and is preserved in Benet {809} (Corpus -Christi) College, Cambridge. From the year 891 it is written in -different hands and by different people down to the year 1070. The -second copy is in the Cottonian Collection at the British Museum -(Tiberius, A vi.), written apparently by one hand, which has been -attributed to Dunstan, and it terminates at the year 977, eleven years -before his death. The third copy is in the same collection (Cotton -Tiberius, B i.), and is thought to have been written in the monastery -of Abingdon; it reaches down to 1066. The fourth copy is also in the -Cottonian collection (Tiberius, B iv.), written by different men down -to the year 1079. The fifth manuscript is in the Bodleian library at -Oxford (Laud, E 80), from internal evidence, written in the year 1122, -compiled from older materials, and carried down in different hands to -the year 1154, showing the gradual degeneracy of the Saxon language -under Norman influence, from 1132 to the end. The sixth and last -manuscript is in the Cottonian library (Domitian, A viii.). It has -been accredited to a Canterbury monk; it is written in Latin and -Saxon, and terminates in 1058. Besides these six, one other MS. is -mentioned as of great value, being a transcription of a Cottonian MS., -which perished in a fire at Dean's yard in 1731. It is in the Dublin -library (E, 5-15), and was written by Lombard in 1863-64. [Footnote -219] - - [Footnote 219: For a more detailed account of these MSS. see Preface - to Bohn's edition of the Translation of Bede and Saxon Chronicle.] - -Scarcely any country in Europe possesses such an historical treasure -as this, so authentic and so characteristic. It is a very interesting -study to note its many peculiarities; there are sad gaps in its -records, as though the sorrow of the land was too great to be -recorded, and the hand had failed; there are songs of triumph at the -defeat of the enemy, and pathetic lamentations over desolated homes; -there are noble panegyrics upon men of blessed memory, who had fought -up bravely for their church and country, and words of bitter scorn for -traitors, cowards, and profligates; it contains pious reflections, -ejaculations, and aspirations; it is a most vivid picture of the -manners, the thoughts, the joys, the sorrows of the most interesting -and important period in the history of our country, as though the life -itself, with its characters and incidents, were made to pass before -our eyes in a rapid panorama. - -Such was the result of one of Alfred's many plans for the good of his -kingdom. His own diligence as a writer and translator told vitally -upon the language, then rapidly improving. Latin manuscripts had for -some time previously been interlined with Anglo-Saxon "glosses"--that -is, interpretations of Latin words and passages in Anglo-Saxon--and -this gradually led to the complete transcription of Latin MSS. into -Anglo-Saxon, and the writing of original matter in the vernacular -tongue. [Footnote 220] - - [Footnote 220: A specimen of this interlinear translation may be - seen in the Cottonian collection--Vespasian, A i.--a Psalter - written in the year 1000, in Latin capitals, with an Anglo-Saxon - interpretation between the lines.] - -Although only one writer of any consequence has been handed down to us -from the time of Alfred, yet we may fairly infer that many others -lived and wrote, whose works were destroyed in the ravages made by the -Danes from that time to the Norman conquest, and afterward when Norman -monks looked with contempt upon Saxon MSS., and used them for other -purposes, such as binding or transcription after erasure. The Latin -then once more became the language of literature in this country. -Still the Saxon lived, and would not be trampled out by the Normans, -though it degenerated sadly until, in the fourteenth century, an idiom -sprung up by a mingling of the two, which has been called Semi-Saxon. -Out of this came the early English, from which, after an additional -Saxon infusion from Puritan times, came the idiom we now use, whose -strong Saxon basis bids fair to make it live through all time, and, is -spreading it in every quarter of the world. - -{810} - -It will be interesting to note at this point that two men managed to -preserve a great deal of literary matter out of the gross Vandalism -which was rife, Archbishop Parker and Sir Robert Cotton. Parker's -collection is in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and those of -Cotton in the British Museum, the present reference to which, under -the titles of Roman emperor's, arose from the circumstance that in his -own library they were arranged on shelves, over each of which was a -bust of one of the Roman emperors. In this way, and by the diligence -of these two men, many valuable MSS. were rescued which had passed -into the hands of private individuals and booksellers. - -All hopes of a national vernacular literature were, however, -frustrated by the advent of the Normans. Centuries before, the French -had ceased to sing their mournful litany, "A furore Normannorum libera -nos Domine," and had found it advisable to give these troublesome -strangers a settlement. Here they had multiplied and thriven until the -middle of the eleventh century, when they were the most promising -people in Europe. There are traits in the Norman character not unlike -the Roman. The Gothic tribes generally adopted the language and, to a -certain extent, the customs of the countries they conquered; but the -Normans, like the Romans, always endeavored to graft their own -language and customs upon their vanquished. As soon, therefore, as -William had made his tenure sure in England, he began the work of -Saxon extermination by ordering that the elements of grammar should be -taught in the French language, that the Saxon caligraphy should be -abandoned, and all deeds, pleadings in courts, and laws should be in -French. Saxon then sunk into contempt, and those of the old race who -were more politic than patriotic set to work vigorously to acquire the -elements of the favorite tongue. Then also the custom of writing books -in Latin was revived, and continued, as regards all important works, -down to the sixteenth century; for although books were written in -English before that time, the language was in a very crude state; for -as in Germany and other countries, so in England, the event which -first fixed the language was the translation of the Bible into the -vernacular; the book, which everybody read, soon became an authority, -and was appealed to on points of language. Still the influence of the -Normans was beneficial, both upon the manners and the literature of -the country. The Saxons, with all their greatness, were not a very -refined people; they were given to carousals of which we can scarcely -form any conception, their diet was coarse, and their manners -unpolished; but the Normans, if not more simple in their habits, were -more refined. Norman extravagance found vent, not in drunken orgies -and riotous feasting, but in fine buildings, horses, trappings, and -dress. [Footnote 221] The importation of provincial poetry in the -shape of Trouvere poems, romances, and fabliaux, had a refining effect -upon the literature, and laid the foundation of English chivalry. But -the most beneficial effect was the introduction of two or three master -spirits into the country, whose friendship William had formerly -cultivated. Of the two most important we will give a rapid sketch. - - [Footnote 221: There is a very good comparison of the manners of the - two races drawn by William of Malmesbury in his Gesta Regum; and, - being related to both, he is likely to have given a fair estimate.] - -In the early morning of a day in the first quarter of the eleventh -century, a poor young scholar walked through the gates of Pavia, staff -in hand, into the open country, and made his weary way across the -Alps. He was heavy in heart and light in purse; he had lost his -parents, and had left his native city to seek the scanty livelihood of -a vagrant scholar, and yet bound up in that ragged form, as it were in -an undeveloped germ, were wealth, power, and influence; he was making -his way, {811} as far as he knew, to some of those French schools of -disputation which had sprung up, where a poor scholar whose wits had -been sharpened by scanty fare, might, by a happy sophism or a crushing -conclusion, earn a bed and refreshment for the night; but he was in -reality making his way to fame, distinction, and wealth, to a -conqueror's court, and to the episcopal throne of Canterbury. This -ragged scholar, who thus left his native city, was Lanfranc, a name -familiar to English ears and ever memorable in English history, For -some years he led this vagrant life, travelling from place to place, -disputing and studying, when he once more returned to Pavia and -established himself as a pleader. His eloquence soon brought fame and -competence; but urged by some hidden impulse, he threw up the -prospects open to him; once more left the city, and once more took his -way across the Alps and settled at Avranches in Normandy, where many -schools were established. He soon found disciples; but the secret -yearning of his heart developed itself--the monastery of Bea was not -far distant, and to it he bent his steps, hoping to find that peace -which the cloister alone could afford. But he was not allowed to -remain in obscurity, his scholars and others, attracted by his fame, -crowded around him, flocked to his lectures, and the school of Bea -became so renowned that the attention of the young Duke of Normandy, -who also had in him the germ of a glorious career, was attracted to -this rising dialectician, and through the medium of intellectual -intercourse a friendship was engendered which procured for the -conqueror of England a wise and trusty adviser, and paved the way to -fortune for, the poor student. The remainder of his career may be -summed up in a few words. William had just founded a new monastery at -Caen, and over it, he placed his friend as abbot. But during the -twenty years which had elapsed between the time of his settlement at -Bea and his elevation to the abbacy of Caen, the school he had founded -had become most renowned, and some of the great men of after times -boasted of having sat there at Lanfranc's feet. Among these were -Bishops Guimond, Ives, and another Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm. -On one occasion after the elevation of Lanfranc to the primacy of -England, he was obliged to visit Rome and have an audience of Pope -Alexander II., who paid him such marked respect that the courtiers -asked the reason, and the Pope replied, "It is not because he is -primate of England that I rose to meet him, but because I was his -pupil at Bea, and there sat at his feet to listen to his instruction." - -While at Caen, however, he entered into the renowned controversy with -Berenger upon the doctrine of the real presence in the Eucharist, -Berenger admitting the fact but denying the change of substance. The -results of this controversy, however, were anticipated by neither -party. It led to a thorough change in the mode of investigation of -truth, more especially of divine truth. Berenger had adopted the -course of arguing the point upon the grounds of pure reason, a course -not unfamiliar to an expert dialectician like Lanfranc, but utterly -novel in theological disputation, where authority was omnipotent. -Lanfranc himself says of his opponent that he desired "relictis saeris -auctoritatibus ad dialecticam confugium facere." But like a true -athlete, he meets his adversary with his own weapons, and for the -first time in Europe men beheld a vital theological dogma being -discussed by champions who had agreed to throw aside all the weight of -authority and rely upon the strength of their own logic. This was the -first signal for the union of scholasticism with theology, which -prevailed in Europe for centuries, tingeing even the writings of the -early reformers. What Lanfranc had done in the pressure of -controversy, Anselm took up with all the ardor of a convert; and the -change which passed over the thought of Europe {812} amounted to a -sort of intellectual revolution. But to return to the fortunes of -Lanfranc;--soon after William had been consecrated he returned to -Normandy, taking with him Stigand, the Archbishop of Canterbury, whose -deposition he ultimately procured, when he immediately installed his -friend and adviser, Lanfranc, into the see of Canterbury. At first, -however, Lanfranc declined the post, upon the grounds that he did not -know the language; but his objection was overruled, and in the year -1070 he was consecrated and took up his residence in England. - -To him at Bea succeeded as teacher, Anselm, who made great advances in -the scholastic mode of teaching. He was also prior of the monastery, -and during this period he wrote six treatises on the Fall of Satan, on -Truth, on Original Sin, on the Reason why God created Man, the Liberty -of the Will, and the Consistency of Freedom with the Divine -Prescience. These great questions were then uppermost in men's minds, -and they were treated by Anselm in the new and more attractive mode of -appeal to pure reason. Whilst in the midst of these studies he was -appointed abbot of his monastery, which he reluctantly accepted, and -in the year 1093, fifteen years afterward, four years after the death -of Lanfranc, he was appointed by William II. to the archbishopric of -Canterbury. His relations with the king were not happy; he opposed -that obstinate and rapacious monarch, and a series of -misunderstandings ensued, which led him to retire to Rome to consult -with the Pope. During his absence he wrote that book by which he is -most known, Cur Deus Homo, Why God was made Man. He also took a -prominent part in the Council of Bari, in 1098, where he procured the -decision against the Greek delegates, upon the question of the -Procession of the Holy Ghost. Upon the death of William he returned; -but the rest of his life was occupied in continual disputes on points -of privilege with the king, Henry, and he died in the year 1109. - -But we will now advance to the consideration of that great change -which came over the thought of Europe, and bears the name of -scholasticism. The controversy of Lanfranc with Berenger on the -doctrine of the real presence, may be accepted as the point where the -new method was applied to theology; from that time it became the -favorite mode. But although the scholastic philosophers professed to -rely upon bare reason, they appear to have instinctively felt that -great want of human nature, the want of an oracle, and they found -their oracle in the works of Aristotle, then in use in the university -and schools of Spain, sadly perverted by being filtered through an -Arabic translation. Men flew to Arabic grammars, and to Spain, to -Arabic versions of Aristotle, and the Stagyrite then became the oracle -of the Scholastics just as the fathers were of their opponents. But -still, as is and must be the case in all religious controversies, both -parties lay under the same necessity, and, after all, drew their -premises from the same quarter. The defender and the opposer were -alike subject to the influence of revelation; without that, the -opponent would have wanted the subject of opposition, and the defender -the object of his defence, so that the premises of both appear to be -involved in the same thing, and in fine the Scholastics fell back also -upon the fathers, as may be seen in the Sentences of Peter Lombard, -the handbook of scholasticism, which is nothing but a mass of extracts -from the fathers and popes, worked up together into a system of -theology. In its earliest form it cannot be denied that scholasticism -did good. It was a healthy revival of intellectual life, it stimulated -all classes of thinkers, and created a passion for inquiry; it brought -out such great minds as Abelard, Duns Scotus, and Thomas Aquinas. The -very subjects upon which men debated gave an elevation to thought, and -the result was an intellectual activity which has rarely been -equalled. It must be remembered also that the schoolmen did not -discard {813} the facts laid down by the fathers; they were not -infidels, but their investigations turned more upon the mode of -operation--they accepted the divine presence in the Eucharist, but -what they wanted to ascertain was the way in which it manifested -itself. They believed in the Incarnation, but they desired to know the -exact mode in which that sacrifice had worked out human redemption. - -But we must return to the development of English literature. After the -Norman Conquest, we have already observed, the Latin tongue became -once more the medium of communication for the learned, and all great -works were written in that idiom, so that there were three tongues -used in England: the Latin by the clergy and scholars, the -Norman-French by the court and nobles, and the Saxon, which fell to -the common people. The literature of that period was rich in some -departments, poor in others. In philosophy, whatever we may think of -its merit, it was anything but scanty, and a perfect library of -scholastic writings has come down even to our times, a desert of -argumentation and reasoning, but containing veins of gold, could a -mortal ever be found endowed with the patience to dig deep enough, and -labor long enough to open them. The Book of Sentences, by Peter the -Lombard, bishop of Paris, to which we have already alluded, was one of -the wonders of the twelfth century. It was divided into four parts: -the first treated of the Trinity and divine attributes, the second of -the Creation, the origin of angels, of the fall of man, of grace, free -will, of original and actual sin; the third of the Incarnation, faith, -hope, charity, the gifts of the spirit, and the commandments of God; -and the fourth treated of the Sacraments, the Resurrection, the Last -Judgment, and the state of the righteous in heaven. Although a great -deal is borrowed from the fathers, yet there is in this work a marked -tendency toward the scholastic method; he wanders into abstruse -speculations and subtle investigations as to the generation of the -Word, the possibility of two persons being incarnate in one, sins of -the will and of the action. It did much to mould the thought of -succeeding writers, and it won for its author the title of Master of -Sentences; it was appealed to as an authority; what the "Master" said -was a sufficient answer to an opponent. Another great work was the -Summa of Thomas Aquinas, a book which excites admiration even now. -Duns Scotus and Occam, also contributed voluminously to the stores of -scholastic theology. The literature, however, was richer in history. -Whilst the theologians were debating about questions beyond the reach -of the human intellect, a band of quiet pious men devoted their time -to the recording the tale of human actions. Upward of forty men lived -from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, who have written the -history of the country from the earliest periods down to the dawning -of the sixteenth century. Probably no country in the world is richer -in historical material than ourselves; and as an admirable instance of -monastic diligence, and evidence of intellectual activity in what has -been usually termed an age of dense ignorance, we subjoin a table of -the historical writers, upon whose labors the authentic history of the -country must rest. [Footnote 222] - - [Footnote 222: We omit in our list the supposititious history of - Croyland, by Ingulphus, which has been disposed of by Richard - Palgrave, as of the thirteenth or fourteenth century, and of little - historical value.] - - -MONASTIC WRITERS OF ENGLISH HISTORY. - -_Twelfth Century._ - - William of Poictiers, History of Conquest--Chaplain to William I. - - Ordericus Vitalis, Ecclesiastical History to - 1141--Monk of St. Evroult. - - Anonymous, Gesta Stephani. - - William of Jumieges, History of - Normandy--Monk of Jumieges. - - Florence of Worcester, Chronicon ex - Chronicis to 1119--Monk of Worcestcr. - - Matthew of Westminstcr, Flores - Historiarum--Doubtful. - -{814} - - William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum, Historia - Novella, Gesta Pontificum, Vita Anselmi, - De Antiquitate Glastoniae--Monk of Malmesbury. - - Eadmer, Historia Novorum, and others-- - Monk of Canterbury. - - Turgot, Confessor of Margaret, Queen of - Malcolm Canmore; wrote her Life and - History of Durham (called Simeon of Durham), - History of St. Cuthbert, De Rebus - Anglorum, and other works--Monk of Durham. - - Ailred, Account of Battle of Standards--Abbot - of Rivault, York. - - Geoffrey of Monmouth, British History--Monk of Monmouth. - - Alfred of Beverley, Gestis Regum--Canon of - St. John's, Beverley. - - Giraldus Cambrensis, Itinerarium Cambriae, - Topographia Hiberniae, De Rebus a se Gestis, - etc--Politician. - - Henry of Huntingdon, Eight Books History, - Julius Caesar to 1154--Archdeacon. - - Roger of Hovenden, Chronicle, 732 to 1202, - in continuation of Bede. - - William of Newburgh, Hist. from Conquest to - 1197--Monk of Newburgh. - - Benedictus Abbas, Chronicle, 1170 to 1192 - --Abbot of Peterboro'. - - Ralph de Diceto, Two Chron., one 589 to - 1148, and the other to 1199, Hist. of - Controversy between Henry and a Becket, - Lives of Archbishops of Canterbury to - 1200, in the Anglia Sacra--Archdeacon of London. - - Gervase of Canterbury, Chronicle, from 1100 - to end of century, three other pieces, Contests - between Monks and Archbishop Baldwin, - History of the Archbishops, from Augustine - to Walter, 1205--Monk of Canterbury. - - -_Thirteenth Century._ - - Richard of Devizes, Chron. of Reign of Richard I--Monk. - - Jocelyn de Brakelond, Chron., 1173 to 1202 - --Monk of St. Edmondsbury. - - Roger of Wendover, Hist. to 1235--Monk of St. Albans. - - Matthew Paris, Historia Major. Conq. to - 1259--Monk of St. Albans. - - -_Fourteenth Century._ - - William Rishanger, Continuation of M. Paris - to 1322, Wars of the Barons--Monk of St. Albans. - - John of Brompton, [Footnote 223] - Chron. to 1199, from Saxons--Monk of Jerevaux. - - [Footnote 223: Authorship doubtful.] - - Thomas Wickes, Chron., of Salisbury to 1304 - --Canon of Osney. - - Walter Hemingford, Hist. Conquest to 1273 - --Monk of Gisbro'. - - Robert of Avesbury, Hist. Reign of Edward - III to 1356--Register of Canterbury. - - Nicholas Trivet, Hist. from 1135 to 1307--Dominican. - - Adam Murimuth, Chron. 1303 to 1337--Monk. - - Henry Knyghton, Hist. from Edgar to Richard II--Canon of Leicester. - - Thomas Stubbs, Chron. of Archbishops of - York to 1373--Monk. - - William Thorne, Chron. of Abbots of St. - Augustine, 1397--Monk. - - Ranulph Higden, Polychronicon [Footnote 224] to 1357--Monk. - - [Footnote 224: Caxton printed it, with a - continuation of his own, to 1460.] - - -_Fifteenth Century._ - - Thomas Walsingham, Hist. Brevis to Hy. of - Normandy--Monk of St. Albans. - - Thomas Otterbourne, Hist. to 1420--Franciscan. - - John Whethamstede, Chron. 1441 to 1461-- - Abbot of St. Albans. - - Thomas Elmham, Life of Henry V.--Prior of Linton. - - William of Worcester, Chron. 1324 to 1491--Monk. - - John Rouse, Hist. Kings of England to 1490-- - Chaplain to Earl of Warwick. - - -_Monastic Registers._ - - Glastonbury, 63 to 1400 - Melrose, 735 to 1270 - Margan, 1066 to 1232 - Waverly, 1066 to 1291 - Ely, 156 to 1169 - Abingdon, 870 to 1131 - Bishops of Durham, 633 to 1214 - Burton 1004 to 1263 - Rochester, 1115 to 1124 - Holyrood, 596 to 1163 - -Add to these many historical documents which have been preserved from -destruction, such as the Doomsday Book, the Liber Niger, rolls and -public registers, and we have a repertoire of historical materials -such as scarcely any other nation in Europe can boast of. From the -time when the Saxon Chronicle was commenced down to the age of -printing, the pens of the monks were unwearied in recording the -history of their country; and although they had their share of human -weakness, and were influenced in matters of opinion frequently by the -treatment shown to their order, still among such a mass of writers the -truth may surely be ascertained. The severity of criticism applied to -history in these {815} days is driving men rapidly to active research -among these _origines histoicae_. Formerly when a man wrote a history, -he framed his work upon other men's labors and his own fancy, as was -instanced in the case of Robertson, who coolly tells us that he had -made up his mind to write a history of something, but was undecided -whether it should be a history of Greece, of Leo X., William III. and -Anne, or Charles V. At last he decided upon the latter, and we may -infer from a letter of his to Dr. Birch in what degree of preparation -he was for the work. He says: "I never had access to any copious -libraries, and do not pretend to any extensive knowledge of authors, -but I have made a list of such as I thought most essential to the -subject, and have put them down as _I have found them mentioned in any -book I happened to read_." In another letter he admits: "My chief -object is to adorn as far as I am capable of adorning the history of a -period which deserves. to be better known." Hume was no better than -Robertson, for it appears that the latter had consulted the great -English historian about Mary, who sent him a version which Robertson -at once used. But shortly after Hume received some MSS. from Dr. -Birch, who went more deeply into these things, and in consequence he -wrote to his friend Robertson to the following effect: "What I wrote -to you with regard to Mary, etc., was from the printed histories and -papers, but I am now sorry to tell you that by Murdin's State Papers -the matter is put beyond all question. I got these papers during the -holidays by Dr. Birch's means, and as soon as I read them _I ran to -Millar_ and desired him very earnestly to stop the publication of your -history till I should write to you and give you an opportunity of -correcting a mistake so important, but he _absolutely refused -compliance_. He said that your book was finished; that the whole -narrative of Mary's trial must be wrote over again; that it was -uncertain whether the new narrative could be brought within the same -compass with the old; that this change would require the cancelling a -great many sheets; and that there were scattered passages through the -volumes _founded on your own theory_." [Footnote 225] - - [Footnote 225: Disraeli's Literary Miscellanies.] - -We quote these letters to show how history was written in bygone times -by men who until the days of Maitland and Froude have been regarded as -authorities. The blind led the blind, and the History of Scotland-- -whole sheets of which ought to have been rewritten, and scattered -passages founded upon theory erased--was given to the world, because -the printer refused to disturb the press, and the author was -disinclined to demolish such a fair creation. But the day for -imaginative history is past, and a new light is dawning upon the -world, the necessity of which is apparent from these revelations. For -the future the historian must write from manuscripts or printed copies -of manuscripts, or his theories and his fancies will be soon -dissipated under a criticism which is becoming daily more powerful, -and acquiring new compass as fast as the labors of the Record Office -are being brought to light. The narrative of the most vital periods of -our country's history will have to be rewritten. We are being -gradually taught that the dark ages were not so dark as our -conceptions of them; that some of our favorite historical villains may -yet be saved; and that many of the gods we have worshipped had very -few claims to divinity. The very fact of there being such a repertoire -of historical materials created by the labors of those forty monks of -different monasteries; the existence of a voluminous and important -controversy involving the vital questions of religion, and argued with -scholarship, logical acuteness, wit, and vigor; the works of piety, -art, and architecture which have come down to us from that age--must -convince us that, however rude the physical mode {816} of life may -have been, the intellectual activity and mental calibre of the men of -those days, when we remember their immense disadvantages, were little -inferior to those of our day. We produce many things, but not many -great things; but the labors of mediaeval monasticism were not _multa -sed multum_, and they live now, and probably will live when much of -this multiform literature of our times will be obliterated by the -impartial, discriminating hand of time. - -We cannot pass over this period of what we may call national Latin -literature--that is, when the literatures of all nations were written -in Latin--without noticing the history of one book which has ever -stood out prominently from the mass of mediaeval productions, not only -from its intrinsic excellence, but from the unfathomable mystery -connected with its authorship. We allude to the treatise De lmitatione -Christi, popularly attributed to Thomas a Kempis. His claim rests -chiefly upon the fact that the first printed copy was made from a -manuscript written by him and signed "Finitus et completus Anno -Domino, 1441, per manus patris Thomae Kempis in monte S. Agnetis prope -Swoll." But there is in this subscription no evidence of authorship; -it was the usual formula appended to copies. Kempis was an inveterate -copyist, and it will be a sufficient proof of the untenable nature of -this argument if we mention that a copy of the Bible made by him is -subscribed in a similar manner--"Finitus et completus Anno Domini, -1439, in Vigilia S. Jacobi Apostoli per manus Fratris Thomae a Kempis -ad laudem Dei in Monasterio S. Agnetis." There is no evidence, -therefore, of authorship in the subscription of the MS. - -But doubts existed soon after the publication of the work about its -authorship, and another MS. was discovered at Arone bearing the -inscription, "Incipiunt capitula primi libri Abbatis Johannis _Gesen_ -De Imitatione Christi et contemptu omnium vauitatum mundi," and at the -end was written "explicit liber quartus et ultimus Abbatis Johannis -_Gersen_ de Sacramento Altaris." The house in which this document was -found belonged to the company of Jesus, but as it had formerly been -held by Benedictines, some vigilant members of that active body at -once declared it must have been written by one of their order. They -managed to get possession of it, and immediately brought it out with -the addition in the title after the name of Gersen of "Abbatis Ordinis -Sti. Benedicti." Then commenced that celebrated controversy between -the two monastic orders, the Augustines, who advocated the claims of -Thomas a Kempis, and the Benedictines, who fought for Gersen. A volume -might be written easily upon the bare history of that controversy, as -some hundreds of volumes were during its progress. It began -immediately after the publication of this Benedictine claim in the -year 1616, and it raged in different countries in Europe for more than -two centuries, the last controversy coming to a conclusion in 1832, -which arose from the discovery of a MS. at Paris, copied in 1550, and -a document purporting that it was bequeathed to one of the De' -Avogadri family in the year 1347. This further confirmation of the -antiquity of the work gave rise to the last controversy which ended -like all the others in increasing the doubt as to Thomas a Kempis's -authorship and the uncertainty of the whole question. - -We think it can be shown that the De lmitatione was known before the -birth of Thomas a Kempis, and about the time of the existence of -Gersen; but the evidence of the claim of the Gersenites is so slender -that the mere chronological coincidence is not sufficient to maintain -it. Passages have been collected from works written long before the -time of a Kempis word for word the same as in the De Imitatione. In -the conferences of Bonaventura to the people of Toulouse, written -about 1260, there are many such passages; {817} and in an office -written by Thomas Aquinas for the Pope Urban IV., about the same time, -there are many other passages. [Footnote 226] In fact, in the -Conferences a whole paragraph is quoted verbatim, concluding with the -phrase, "as may be seen in the pious book on the 'Imitation of -Christ.'" Criticism has labored diligently to discover in its text -evidences indicative of the nationality of the author, but they have -ended in contradictions which seem to insinuate that it might be the -joint production of pious minds in different countries, which would -leave to Thomas a Kempis the honor of having collected and arranged -them into one form. However, instead of wasting time over a fruitless -investigation, we prefer taking the book as it is with its wealth of -spirituality, with its calm beauty, its power of soothing the -perturbed spirit, its subtle analyses of the human heart [Footnote -227] and the springs of human action, its encouragement to a godly -life, its fervor, its eloquence, and its strange power; and we are -driven to the conclusion that it is the most marvellous book ever -produced--most marvellous from the universal influence it has exerted -over the minds of men of all creeds, ages, and countries, and from its -adaptability to the common yearnings of all humanity. Like the gospel, -of which it is the exponent, and therefore from which it derives the -quality, it stands out in its marked individuality, in the midst of -every phase of life through which it has passed, a distinct thing, -having nothing in common with the world or worldly pursuits, but -trying to wean men from them, or at least from allowing them to gain -an ascendency over their affections. In the present age this isolation -is more striking. We are far too philosophical, too scientific, too -logical, to attend to the ascetic ravings of this "monkish" book. The -business of life runs high with us, runs too noisily, to allow us to -listen to its small voice. We are so deeply engaged in the pursuits of -pleasure and the acquisition of wealth, that we have no time for the -"Imitation of Christ." We are involved in great undertakings--Atlantic -telegraphs, principles of physical science, railway committees, -parliamentary reforms, and drainage questions, absorb all our -attention. But philosophy, science, and logic fail to exempt humanity -from its ills. The hour comes when man falls sick, sick unto death; -then in that moment when philosophy deserts pain, and science affords -no consolation; when logic is dumb, and the soul with instinctive -apprehension is clamoring for help, then is the moment for such a book -as this. And it was in such a moment that La Harpe, cast into a -dungeon of the Luxembourg, with nothing but death before him, -accidentally meeting with this book, and opening its pages at the -words "Ecce adsum! Ecce ad te venio quia vocasti me. Lacrymae tuae et -desiderium animae tuae, humiliatio tua et contritio cordis -inclinaverunt me et adduxerunt ad te," [Footnote 228] he fell upon his -face heartbroken and in tears. We must conclude this portion of the -subject by repeating that the Latin language retained its position as -the language of literature until the time of the Reformation. But -during the fourteenth century there was a tendency to blend the two -vernacular tongues spoken in England--the French and the Saxon. In the -struggle for precedence the Saxon conquered, and out of it came the -present vigorous idiom spoken by the English; but nothing of any -consequence was written in this tongue until it became settled and -confirmed. - - [Footnote 226: These passages may be seen collected in parallel - columns in a work by M. De Gregory on L'Histoire du Livre de - l'Imitation. Paris,1843.] - - [Footnote 227: Vide the analysis of Temptation, lib. I., c. xiii., - and the well-known chapter on the Royal Road of the cross, lib. II., - c xii.] - - [Footnote 228: "De Imi., lib. III., c. xxi., sec. 6. Behold me! - behold I come to thee because thou hast called me. Thy tears and the - desire of thy soul, thy humiliation and contrition of heart have - inclined and led me unto thee."] - -We now advance to the consideration of one of the most beautiful -emanations of Christianity in the world---her hymns. We take up these -{818} hymns of the church, and we find that they bear testimony, not -only literary but historical, as to the state of the church at any -given time, and certainly one of the best and purest testimonies that -can be found. Few, if any, writers have sufficiently investigated this -branch of ecclesiastical history, the evidence of the hymnology of the -church. If we appeal to her controversial theology we shall find -invariably a mass of one-sided representation, mutual vituperation, -and invective; if we go to ecclesiastical history we shall find that -those histories are written by minds working under the bias of some -inclination toward sect or theory; but if we take up the hymns of the -church we shall have the pure, free, outspoken voice of the church--we -shall see, as it were, its internal organization, its emotions, its -aspirations, its thoughts, living, throbbing, palpitating--the very -heart of the church itself. - -The song of Christianity has never ceased in the world; it has -continued in an unbroken strain. It began at its very outset in the -song of the mother of its founder, and it has been going on ever -since. As the voice of one age dies away, the strain is taken up by -the next. It has sunk at times into a low plaintive melody, and at -others mounted into a grand swelling psalm, heard above the noise of -the world, which ceases its strife to listen. to its music. Of this -melody we shall now endeavor to give a brief history. We begin at the -coming of our Lord; but the whole worship of the true God is marked by -the psalmody of rejoicing hearts. The children of Israel by the Red -Sea broke out into the first recorded song; a considerable portion of -the Scripture is in that form; Jesus with his disciples sung a hymn at -the Last Supper; the apostles continued the practice, and from -post-apostolic times there have come down to us three great hymns, -whose origin is lost in their remote antiquity--the Ter Sanctus, the -Gloria in Excelsis, and the Te Deum. These hymns were used in the very -earliest ages of the church. Of the latter there is a legend that it -was sung by Ambrose spontaneously at the baptism of Augustine. - -The periods of hymnology may be divided into two great sections--the -earliest or Greek period, extending to the dawn of the fourth century, -when the second or Latin division commences; and this latter may be -subdivided into three parts--the Ambrosian, the Barbarian, and the -Mediaeval. The earliest Greek hymns are anonymous; there is one to -Christ on the Cross:-- - - "Thou who on the sixth day and hour - Didst nail to the cross the sin - Which Adam dared in Paradise, - Read also the handwriting at our transgressions, - O Christ our Lord! and save us." - -There is one on repentance, commencing:-- - - "Receive thy servant, my Saviour, - Falling before thee with tears, my Saviour, - And save, Jesus, me repenting." - -And a simple doxology:-- - - "God is my hope, - Christ is my refuge, - The Holy Spirit is my vesture. - Holy Trinity, glory to thee!" - -The first name of a hymn-writer which has reached us is that of -Clement of Alexandria, who lived toward. the close of the second -century. One of his hymns is called, Hymn of the Saviour. But it is -recorded by St. Basil that a hymn was well known in the first and -second centuries, called, Hail, Gladdening Light! which was sung in -the churches at the lighting of the lamps:-- - - "Hail, Jesus Christ! hail, gladdening light - Of the immortal father's glory bright! - Blessed of all saints beneath the sky, - And of the heavenly company! - - "Now, while the sun is setting, - Now, while the light grows dim, - To Father, Son, and Spirit, - We raise our evening hymn. - - "Worthy thou, while time shall dure, - To be hymned by voices pure. - Son of God, of life the giver, - Thee the world shall praise forever!" - -There were several Syriac hymns at this period. Ephraim Syrus, a {819} -monk, and deacon of Mesopotamia. wrote, The Children in Paradise, On -Palm Sunday, The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, and another, called, -The Lament of a Father on the death of his Son, which used to be sung -at the funerals of children. Gregory of Nazianzen is the best known of -the Greek hymn-writers. There are two hymns to Christ extant by him, -and an evening hymn. In one of the hymns to Christ the following -passage occurs:-- - - "Unfruitful, sinful, bearing weeds and thorns, - Fruits of the curse--ah! whither shall I flee? - O Christ, most blessed! bid my fleeting days - Flow heavenward, Christ, sole fount of hope to me! - - "The enemy is near--to thee I cling! - Strengthen, oh! strengthen me by might divine; - Let not the trembling bird be from thine altar driven-- - Save me--it is thy will, O Christ!--save me, for I am thine." - -Gregory's life was spent in a continual conflict with Arianism. At the -age of fifty he went to Constantinople, and as all the churches were -in the hands of the Arians, he preached in the house of a relative. He -was soon subject to persecution, was pelted in the streets, arrested, -tried, and with much difficulty acquitted. Ultimately he succeeded; -the Arian heresy passed away; the house where he had so faithfully -preached became the Church of "Anastasia;" the truth had risen there. -But time, though it brought success, had left him a sad, lonely old -man. He was made Patriarch of Constantinople by the Emperor -Theodosius; but he had lost all his dearest relatives, and he threw up -his dignity and retired from the world. In that retirement he wrote a -beautiful hymn, which sums up his life. We quote the first and last -verses:-- - - "Where are the winged words? Lost in the air. - Where the fresh flower of youth and glory? Gone! - The strength of well-knit limbs? Brought low by care. - Wealth? Plundered. None possess but God alone. - Where those dear parents who my life first gave, - And where that holy twain, brother and sister? In the grave. - - "This as thou wilt, the Day will all unite, - Wherever scattered, when thy word is said; - Rivers of fire; abysses without light, - Thy great tribunal, these alone are dread. - And thou, O Christ my King, art fatherland to me-- - Strength, wealth, eternal rest, yea all, I find in thee." [Footnote 229] - - [Footnote 229: These extracts from translations of Greek hymns are - quoted from The Christian Life in Song, where the full versions may be - seen.] - -St. Andrew of Crete, St. John of Damascus, St. Cosmas, Bishop of -Maiuma, and Chrysostom, were amongst the Greek hymn-writers. Their -productions are characterized by the greatest simplicity and fervor, -reliance upon Christ and love to God being the most prominent topics. -We now come to the period of Latin hymns, and we begin with the first -or Ambrosian division. The principal writers are Ambrose, Hilary, and -St. Prudentius. Augustine, in his Confessions, quotes one of Ambrose's -hymns, as having repeated it when lying awake in bed, "Atque ut eram -in lecto meo solus, recordatus sum veridicos versus Ambrosii tui: Tu -es enim. [Footnote 230 ] - - [Footnote 230: August. Confess., lib. ix., c. 12.] - - "Deus creator omnium - Polique rector, vestiens - Diem decoro lumine - Noctem sopora gratia. - - "Artus solutos ut quies - Reddat laboris usul, - Mentesque fessas adievet - Lactusque solvat anxios." - -Ambrose was born about the year 340; his father was a prefect of Gaul, -and belonged to a noble family. Before the age of thirty he himself -was consul of Liguria, and dwelt in Milan. Up to this time he had no -notion of becoming an ecclesiastic. But Anxentius, the Arian bishop, -having died, a dispute arose between the citizens of Milan and the -emperor, as to who should appoint the successor, each trying to evade -the responsibility. It was left to the people; the city was in a state -of great excitement, and a tumultuous assemblage filled the cathedral, -in the midst of whom appeared Ambrose in his civil capacity, to -command peace, and it is said that in the lull which ensued, a voice -was heard crying, "Ambrose is bishop," which the whole mass of people, -seized by a sudden impulse, repeated. {820} Soon afterward he was -ordained and consecrated. The majority of the people were opposed to -Arianism, and he was soon involved in a dispute with the Empress -Justina, who required him to give up the Portian Basilica to the -Arians. He refused, and accompanied by a multitude of people, took -possession of the church, and fastened the doors. The imperial troops -besieged them for several days, during which time the people kept -singing the hymns of Ambrose. Monica, the mother of Augustine, is said -to have been amongst the crowd in the church. One of Ambrose's hymns -was used for centuries as a morning hymn, called Hymn at the -Cock-crowing; another Advent hymn, Veni Creator gentium; one for -Easter, Hic est dies verus Dei. St. Hilary, Bishop of Arles in the -sixth century, is the next of the Ambrosian period; the best known of -his hymns is that to the morning, Lucis largitor splendide. But the -most prominent name of the period after Ambrose is Prudentius, who was -born about 348, practised in the courts as a pleader, and in his -fifty-seventh year forsook the world, and spent the rest of his days -in religious exercises. One of his great hymns is for Epiphany, O sola -magnarum urbium, another on the Innocents, Salvete flores martyrum; -but the hymn most known is a very beautiful, perhaps his most -beautiful composition, a funeral hymn, beginning Jam maesta quiesce -querela. After the reformation, this hymn was adopted by the German -Protestants as their favorite funeral hymn, their version beginning -"Hoert auf mil Trauern und Klagen." - -The resurrection of the body is thus expressed-- - - "Non si cariosa vetustas - Dissolverit ossa favillis - Fueritque cinisculus arens - Minimi mensura pugilli: - - "Nec si vaga flamina et aurae - Vacuum per inane volantes - Tulerint cum pulvere nervos - Hominem periisse licebit" - - "For though, through the slow lapse of ages, - These mouldering bones should grow old, - Reduced to a handful of ashes. - A child in its hands may enfold. - - "Though flames should consume it and breezes - Invisibly float it away, - Yet the body of man cannot perish, - Indestructible through its decay." - -The next period of hymnology is what we have termed the barbarian, -because it began at the time when the northern invaders were settling -down in the various parts of Europe, which had fallen to their arms. -Though not so fertile in hymns, yet some beautiful things were -produced in this period. We shall only mention three -hymn-writers--Gregory the Great, Venantius Fortunatus, and Bede. The -principal hymn of Gregory's is the Veni Creator Spiritus; but the most -distinguished hymn-writer of this era is Fortunatus; he was an -Italian, born about 530; a gay poet, the delight of society, until -Queen Radegunda persuaded him to be ordained, and to settle at -Poictiers, where she, having left her husband, was presiding over a -monastic establishment. There is a beautiful hymn of his, which -commences-- - - "Pange lingua gloriosi - Praelium certaminis." - -We quote two verses (v. i. and viii.) of the late Dr. Neale's -translation: - -I. - - "Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle, - With completed victory rife. - And above the cross's trophy, - Tell the triumph of the strife; - How the world's Redeemer conquered, - By surrendering of his life. - -VIII. - - "Faithful cross, above all other, - One and only noble tree, - None in foliage, none in blossom, - None in fruit, compares with thee; - Sweetest wood and sweetest iron, - Sweetest weight sustaining free." - -A portion of one of his poems, on the resurrection of our Lord, was -sung in the Church for ten centuries as an Easter hymn. It commences, -Salve festa dies toto venerabilis aevo. [Footnote 231] In another of -his poems, De Cruce Christi, there occurs a beautiful image of the -Cross as the tree around which the True Vine is clinging: - - "Appensa est vitis inter tua brachia, de qua - Dulcia sanguineo vina rubore fluunt." [Footnote 232] - - [Footnote 231: Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, p. 152.] - - [Footnote 232: For the whole see Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, p.130.] - -{821} - -But his most celebrated hymn is the one written on the occasion of the -sending the true cross by the emperor to Radegunda, at the -consecration of a church at Poictiers. It is called Vexilla Regis -prodeunt: - -I. - - "The royal banners forward go, - The cross shines forth with mystic glow, - Where he in flesh, our flesh who made, - Our sentence bore, our ransom paid. - - VI. - - "With fragrance dropping from each bough, - Sweeter than sweetest nectar thou: - Decked with the fruit of peace and praise, - And glorious with triumphant lays. - - VIl. - - "Hall, altar! hail, O Victim! Thee - Decks now thy passion's victory, - Where life for sinners death endured, - And life by death for man procured." [Footnote 233] - - [Footnote 233: Dr. Neale's Mediaeval Hymns.] - -Bede the Venerable wrote hymns also; the two best known are the Hymnum -canamus gloriae, and Hymnum canentes martyrum. - -We now advance to the last and richest of all the periods of -hymnology, the mediaeval. The list is headed with the royal name of -Robert II. of France, who wrote, hymns, one of which is a Veni Sancte -Spiritus. Peter Damian, the cardinal bishop of Ostia, who died in -1072, wrote many hymns, but the two greatest are De Die Mortis and Ad -perennis vitae fontem. [Footnote 234] Adam of St. Victor was another -prolific hymn-writer; thirty-six of his productions are extant, and -well known. [Footnote 235] - - [Footnote 234: Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, pp. 278, 315. ] - - [Footnote 235: Ibid., pp. 53. 111, 160, 202, 212, 227.] - -Peter the Venerable and Thomas a Kempis have also left hymns behind -them. But it was reserved for Archbishop Trench to dig out of the -mouldering relics of the past a hymn written by a monk of Clugny, one -Bernard de Morlaix, the translation of which, by Dr. Neale, has -supplied the church of every denomination with favorite hymns; The -most general name by which it is known is Jerusalem the Golden. The -original is a poem of about three thousand lines, called De Contemptu -Mundi, a melancholy satire upon the corruptions of the times. The -first appearance of it in print, is in a collection of poems, De -Corrupto Ecclesiae Statu, by Flacius Illyricus. We cannot speak too -highly of this poem of Bernard, nor of the merits of Dr. Neale's -translation. The original is written in one of the most difficult of -all metres, technically called "leonini cristati trilices daetylici," -a dactylic hexameter, divided into three parts, with a tailed rhyme -and rhymes between the two first clauses. Dr. Neale gives a specimen -of this verse in English: - - "Time will be _ending soon_, heaven will be _rending - soon_, fast we and pray we; - Come the most merciful; comes the most terrible, - watch we while may we." - -The imagery in the original poem is gorgeous; but Dr. Neale has -exceeded the original [Footnote 236] in many parts of his -translation'. We add a few gems. The opening lines are-- - - "Hora novissima, tempora pessima sunt vigilemus! - Ecce minaciter imminet arbiter ille supremus. - Imminet, imminet, ut mala terminet, aequa coronet - Recta remuneret, anxia liberet aethera donet." - - "The world is very evil, - The times are waxing late, - Be sober and keep vigil, - The Judge is at the gate; - The Judge that comes in mercy, - The Judge that comes with might, - To terminate the evil, - To diadem the right." - - [Footnote 236: The best edition of this poem is the little shilling - volume by Dr. Neale, called the Rhythm of Bernard de Morlaix, - published by Hayes, Lyall-place, Eaton-square. It contains between - two and three hundred of the original lines, with Dr. Neale's - complete translation.] - -Dr. Neale has proved himself a true poet in this translation; the -rendering is most happy, and the whole version forms one of the finest -sacred poems in the language. The lines-- - - "Patria luminis, inscia turbinis, inscia litis. - Cive replebitur amplificabitur lsraelitis - Patria splendida, terraque florida, libera spinis - Danda fidelibus est ibi civibus, hic peregrinis," - -are thus happily rendered-- - - "And the sunlit land that reeks not - Of tempest nor of fight - Shall fold within its bosom - Each happy Israelite; - The home of fadeless splendor, - Of flowers that fear no thorn, - Where they shall dwell as children, - Who here as exiles mourn." - -{822} - -Then the episode-- - - "Sunt radiantia jaspide moenia clara pyropo." - - "With jaspers glow thy bulwarks, - Thy streets with emeralds blaze, - The sardius and the topaz - Unite in thee their rays; - Thine ageless walls are bonded - With amethyst unpriced; - The saints build up its fabric, - And the corner.stone is Christ. - * * * * * - Thou hast no shore, fair ocean! - Thou hast no time, bright day! - Dear fountain of refreshment. - To pilgrims far away. - * * * * * - They stand, those halls of Sion, - Conjubilant with song, - And bright with many an angel - And all the martyr throng; - The Prince is ever in them, - Their daylight is serene; - The pastures of the blessed - Are decked in glorious sheen. - There is the throne of David, - And there, from care released, - The song of them that triumph, - The shout of them that feast; - And they who, with their leader, - Have conquered in the fight, - For ever and for ever - Are clad in robes of white." - -But we must pause, for to give all the beauties of this poem would be -to transcribe the whole. Another St. Bernard, the well-known abbot of -Clairvaux, was a contemporary with him of Clugny. He was one of the -most influential men of his age, a man far in advance of it; the -adviser of popes and the confidant of kings. Many hymns are attributed -to him, one of the most beautiful being that known as Jesu Dulcis -Memoria. In Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry there is a selection of -fifteen verses, but the original consists of forty-eight verses. -[Footnote 237] It is a fine specimen of the ardent loving poetry so -characteristic of the period. A very beautiful version, or rather -imitation of this poem, is extant in the Harleian MSS., written in the -reign of Edward I., and as it is a very good specimen of the English -of the period, and represents the spirit of the original, we venture -to quote a verse or two. [Footnote 238] - - [Footnote 237: Sti. Bernardi Clarae Vallensis Opp: Benedictine - edition, vol. ii., p. 895.] - - [Footnote 238: Printed also in the Percy Society's Publications, - vol. iv., p. 68.] - - -I. - - "Jesu, suete is the love of thee, - Nothing so suete may be; - Al that may with eyen se - Haveth no suetnesse ageynes the. - - -XIV. - - "Jhesu, when ich thenke on the, - And loke upon the rode tre; - Thi suete body to-toren se, - Hit maketh heorte to smerte me. - - -XVIII. - - "Jhesu, my saule drah the to, - Min heorte opene ant wyde undo; - This hure of love to drynke so, - That fleysshliche lust be al for-do. - - -XLV. - - "Jesut thin help at myn endyng, - Ant ine that dredful out-wendyng - Send mi soule god weryying, - That y ne drede non eovel thing." - - -We can only notice one other grand hymn, selected also from a long -poem of Bernard, addressed to the different portions of the body of -Christ on the cross. This is from the Ad Faciem, and commences-- -[Footnote 239] - - [Footnote 239: For the Latin, see Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, p. - 139.] - - "Salve caput cruentatum - Totum spinis coronatum." - -As it is one of the finest mediaeval hymns, and has been translated -into nearly all European languages, we give the translation:-- - - "Hail! thou head so bruised and wounded, - With the crown of thorns surrounded; - Smitten with the mocking reed, - Wounds which may not cease to bleed, - Trickling faint and slow. - Hail! from whose most blessed brow - None can wipe the blood drops now. - All the flower of life has fled; - Mortal paleness there instead. - Thou, before whose presence dread, - Angels trembling bow. - - "All thy vigor and thy life - Fading in this bitter strife; - Death his stamp on thee has set, - Hollow and emaciate, - Faint and drooping there. - Thou, this agony and scorn, - Hast for me a sinner borne; - Me, unworthy--all for me, - With those signs of love on thee. - Glorious face appear! - - "Yet in this thine agony, - Faithful shepherd, think of me; - From whose lips of love divine - Sweetest draughts of life are mine, - Purest honey flows, - All unworthy of thy thought, - Guilty, yet reject me not; - Unto me thy head incline. - Let that dying head of thine - In mine arms repose. - - "Let me true communion know - With thee in thy sacred woe, - Counting all beside but dross, - Dying with thee on the cross; - 'Neath it will I die. - Thanks to thee with every breath. - Jesus, for thy bitter death; - Grant thy guilty one this prayer-- - When my dying hour is near, t - Gracious God, be nigh. - -{823} - - "When my dying hour must be, - Be not absent then from me; - In that dreadful hour I pray - Jesus come without delay, - See and set me free. - When thou biddest me depart, - Whom I cleave to with my heart, - Lover of my soul be near, - With thy saving cross appear; - Show thyself to me," [Footnote 240] - - [Footnote 240: Quoted in Christian Life in Song.] - -There is an excellent version of this in German in the Passion Hymn of -Paul Gerhard, beginning-- - - "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, - Voll Schmerz und voller Hohn!" - -But the grandest of all the mediaeval hymns is that attributed to -Thomas of Celano, known as the Dies Irae. Its authorship is uncertain; -it burst upon the world after a long silence in the church, like some -strain wafted over the earth on the winds of heaven. It has always -been the favorite hymn for solemnities in every country. In Germany -upward of sixty translations have been made of it. Goethe has -effectively introduced it into the "Faust" in the cathedral scene, -where Marguerite is tempted by the evil spirit, who, when the choir -chanted the words-- - - "Dies irae, dies illa, - Solvet saeclum in favilla," - -whispers sardonically into her ear-- - - "Grimm fasst dich! - Die Posaune toent! - Die Graeber beben! - Und dein Herz, - Aus Aschenruh - Zu Flammenquallen - Wieder aufgeschaffen - Bebt auf;" - -and so on through the whole scene, corrupting the meaning of the hymn -in the mind of the broken-hearted girl. It was muttered by the dying -lips of Walter Scott, and has employed the genius of such men as -Schlegel, Fichte, and Herder. We give one passage-- - - "Recordare, Jesu pie, - Quod sum causa tuae viae, - Ne me perdas illa die. - - "Querens me sedisti lassus, - Redemisti crucem passus, - Tantus labor non sit cassus." - - "Think of me, good Lord, I pray, - Who troddest for me the bitter way, - Nor forsake me in that day. - - "Weary sat'st thou seeking me, - Diedst redeeming in the tree, - Not in vain such toil can be." - -The mediaeval period was one rich in art and active in intellectual -work. The great difference between that age and this is, that in -mediaeval times intellectual life was concentrated, and now it is -spread abroad; we get more books and readers, but less great books and -thinkers. Perhaps there has never been a time of such vigorous -intellectual effort in England, unless we except the Elizabethan age, -than that of the scholastic controversies of the twelfth, thirteenth, -and fourteenth centuries. It was in this age, too, that the -essentially mediaeval art of illumination flourished in all the -lettered monasteries of Europe, the age when all the great cathedrals -were built; and when that enchanting song whose notes we have just -been listening to was improvised and sung. The God who presides over -the economy of nature presides also over that of life. His hand is in -both, upholding, protecting, guiding. We take up a phase of human -history like this mediaeval phase, and to us it appears contradictory, -objectless, useless; but we must remember that it is but one part of -the great economy, that as every phase of nature has its separate use, -so every period in the history of humanity contributes its share to -the general result. There are no arid dark wastes in history any more -than in nature. Progressing geographical science is gradually -revealing to our minds the fact that Central Africa is not the deadly -useless desert of our imagination, but is probably belted and -intersected with rivers, whose fertilizing power has only to be -applied. So a progressive historical science is rapidly clearing away -the darkness of these dark ages, revealing to us treasures which have -long lain hidden. We speak of the past as antiquity, and we are apt to -associate the idea of age with it, just as we look {824} toward the -present as youthful and new. But we must remember that antiquity -really belongs to the present as the result of time, and that the past -was the youth. So when we go back into these past ages of the church -we must regard them as her youth, and instead of quarrelling with the -follies and wantonness inseparable from immaturity, endeavour to do -our best to help on the great consummation of her mission in the -world, knowing well that although the hey-day of her youth is past, -she has not yet attained her full maturity; and in times of despair, -when schism is rife, when the sons of her bosom desert her, when men -harden themselves against her love and forsake her, ever bear in mind -the promise of her great head and founder, "Upon this rock I build my -church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." - --------- - -Translated from the French. - -ROBERT; OR, THE INFLUENCE OF A GOOD MOTHER. - -CHAPTER IV. - -"O Paris! gulf of evils, on each of thy stones we could drop a tear, -red with blood, if the sorrows, which thy walls enclose, could appear -before us."--J.J. ROUSSEAU. - - -The city of innumerable wonders, of shining domes, and colossal -towers, with its enchanting gardens, palaces, and gigantic monuments, -which one sees in the distance--the first glimpse he gets of Paris -through the blue haze--now appeared to the astonished gaze of the -little mountaineer, and was like a dream of the Arabian Nights. "O -Paris! Paris!" shouted he joyously, clapping his hands, and looking -eagerly through the misty veil that still enveloped the city. And, as -he approached nearer, his emotions redoubled; for it was there that -his mother predicted he would one day be happy. Oh! sweet security, -blissful trust of childhood, why must it pass away with advancing -years? Why is it that devouring inquietude and mental restlessness -then comes to our souls, and tortures them without ceasing? It is a -sad condition of our probation here, that we must see all the bright -delusions of early life disappear one by one; and submit unmurmuringly -to the different phases of life and the different ideas and feelings -to which time leads us all. And so it may perhaps be for little -Robert, who now trusts so confidently in the future, and in his -mother's prediction being fulfilled. Have confidence, like him, dear -readers--like him hope, without trying to draw aside the veil which -hides your destiny--but follow him, step by step, in all the changing -events of his life, and perhaps we shall see him fill an enviable -position, as the fruit of his good conduct and perseverance. And since -he is now radiant with hope, let us not efface, by our indiscreet -words, this vision which sustains and comforts all. - -As the travellers neared Paris, the old man's forehead wrinkled, his -brows contracted each moment, and flashes of rage burst from his eyes. -The sight of the hordes of the enemy's soldiers who had established -their bivouacs before the capital, put him in a transport of fury. - -The detested uniforms of the English, Austrians, Russians, and -Prussians which he saw before him, made him think he was the victim of -some dreadful hallucination, but the insolent air of the conquerors -awakened him to the frightful reality that the emperor could no longer -expel them. In his terrible rage he beat his breast with his fists, -swore, and uttered words that sounded like distant thunder, gnashing -his teeth at the same time most {825} convulsively. Then he walked on -with a resolute and hasty step, so that Robert was obliged to run, -rather than walk, at his side to keep up with him. He was very -taciturn, but the boy at once comprehended the reason of his stubborn -silence, and he respected the holy indignation of the old warrior, -wounded, in his national pride and his deepest feelings, when he saw -all his dreams of glory vanish with the shadow of the great man who -had made the fame and splendor of all France. To the ex-soldier of the -guard there was nothing left but cruel discontent. In Paris there was -militia of all ranks and grades and countries; but there were no brave -leaders, the old soldiers thought, and most of them were young men who -had yet to see the field of battle. The white stripes had replaced the -three colors, which disappeared with the glorious exile, Napoleon. The -despair of poor Cyprien was as great as his love for his emperor, and -nothing could soften his rage, so violent was the hatred he felt for -the new order of things. - -Robert was much excited by the strange and picturesque spectacles -which presented themselves to his view on every side--by the gay -costumes of' the people, and the movements of this ocean of of human -beings, but he did not address many questions to his sad companion, -for he loved him already, and saw the deep sorrow that filled his -soul, and it made him timid and reserved. - -It was now time to think of getting lodgings, and Cyprien wanted to go -into the most modest quarter of the city, where he was born, and for -which naturally he had the strongest affection. But in the twenty-five -years that he had been a wanderer, vast changes had taken place, and -most of his family had gone to rest. He found himself alone, separated -for ever from his old comrades of glory; but of this he thought -little, so completely was his heart filled with the adored image of -his emperor. The most extraordinary thing was that amidst his grave -thoughts he had found a place for the little orphan, whom chance had -thrown in his way, and for whom he evinced the strongest attachment, -which grew day by day, for Cyprien did nothing by halves; and when he -could for a moment forget his emperor, it was to bestow almost -paternal care upon his young _protege_. One day, when they had been -having a long talk, and he had said things which charmed the sensible -and loving boy, he asked him to take him to the Church of St. Germain -l'Auxerrois, for it was there that he was to find the cure to whom his -letter was addressed. "Willingly," replied Cyprien, "I will take you -there; but I cannot go in, it has been so long since I have made a -visit of that kind, that I don't care to go, but I will wait for you." -Robert presented himself alone at the door of the cure's house, and -was received by him with grace and a touching cordiality. He was a man -of fine address, with eyes that seemed to penetrate the depths of -one's soul, but his scrutiny was accomplished by a smile so -beneficent, that it drew you irresistibly toward the minister of' God. -The virtues he had practised appeared in his person, his language was -full of purity and goodness, and he appeared ever ready to pardon and -bless. Such, in general terms, was the man to whom Robert was -recommended. When he had read his friend's letter, he made the child -sit down and tell him all about his journey and the manner in which he -acquitted himself charmed the good cure, and his lively and -intelligent face set him to reflecting. The purity of his eyes showed -a generous and noble soul, and the good man knew that he was one of -those natures that always remain pure, in the midst of corruption. -These exiled angels have often sorrowful lives, before they reach the -glorious end. Deprived of pecuniary means, they see the paths to fame -closed for them, while it is open for the rich, and made wide and easy -of access. - -{826} - -The good cure, after making these observations mentally, recalled the -illustrious men who have illumined the earth from time to time with -the rays of their genius, and the traces of whose lives are still -visible; but the road to fame has, alas! been sown for centuries with -bitter tears, unknown sufferings, and cries of the despair of -unrecognized genius. He recalled faces radiant with sublime thoughts, -crowned with thorns, the only recompense of their work, and he said -with agony, "O God! if this child should ever be one of the victims, -if he should ever weep over lost hopes, would it not be better to -leave him as he is, simple and natural, ignorant of the delights of a -studious life; ignorant of knowledge, than to be initiated into the -cruel deceptions of hope long deferred, and which may be finally lost? -How often, like a beautiful dream, youth, glory, and mind fade away in -the awful struggle. But no," said he, fixing his eyes on the -expressive face of Robert, "his future will not be so sad. Too much -intelligence burns in his eyes, too much fire is lighted there, to be -extinguished by the wearying labors of mind, or by hunger and -frightful misery. If this diamond in the rough shows so much -brilliancy, what will it not be when it is polished? Then will all its -marvellous lustre appear, and I will have the holy joy of aiding to -perfect this work." These were his reflections, and so had it always -been with him; from the moment he was ordained to his saintly -ministry, he was always looking for the means of doing good to others; -and was a beautiful religious type of charity and goodness. It was so -great a happiness to him to make others happy, that he looked upon his -days as badly spent if he had not dried a tear, or given another joy; -and his doing good was so sweet a duty, that he passed his days and -nights in consoling the unfortunate. But for children especially was -he most tenderly solicitous, He said with one who was all love and -charity when among men, "Let little children come unto me." Like his -divine Master, he drew them to him and pressed them to his heart, his -hands rested on their young heads, and he called down upon them -celestial benedictions. But he did not stop here. He gave them not -only his prayers, but aid and protection. When his purse was -exhausted, and his personal resources no longer sufficed, he had -recourse to that of others. He was eloquent and persuasive when he -pleaded the cause of children, and happy in receiving the offerings -which were always deposited in his charitable hands. Thus he was the -father of a large family, the benefactor of many children, who, -becoming men, repaid his care by unlimited gratitude and -irreproachable conduct, and by the constant practice of the virtues of -which he had given them so noble an example. Robert found in him a -tender and devoted protector, who was interested for him, and in whose -future friendship he might trust. The day when this action was -registered in heaven, the good man felt a happiness he had never known -before in adopting before God the orphan that his friend, the cure of -the village of Bains, had recommended to him in such warm terms. The -vow which he made himself to protect him, was not like those men -usually make, and forget as soon as made. - -During the interview between the child and the cure, the old soldier -was walking up and down outside, absorbed in reflections of quite an -opposite nature. Sometimes hope colored his thoughts; oftener they -were sombre and cold, like the clouds of the region to which memory -transported him, to the fatal soil of Russia, where victory had -abandoned the French flag. An hour was passed by him in recalling -these days of sorrow, but at last he grew tired of waiting, and jerked -at the bell string, which hung so modestly at the cure's door, most -violently. In an instant a servant appeared with harsh words on the -end of her tongue, but the severe face and long moustache of Cyprien -induced her to withhold from speaking them. Scarcely was the door -opened, when a voice, almost of thunder, {827} inquired for Robert. -Hearing it, the cure opened the parlor door, and advancing toward the -soldier, with an affable air, invited him in, saying, "I will be very -glad to talk with you. You were, I suppose, uneasy about your little -friend, whom I have detained a long time, I know, but it is not time -lost; we have become acquainted and are now old friends, and you have -a share of the affection I have avowed for this interesting child. You -have a noble heart, and the Lord will bless you, my friend, you may be -sure of that, for in the midst of your own sufferings you have had -compassion on those of others, and above all you have protected an -orphan!" The soldier was stunned by this benevolent speech; he, raised -his hand mechanically to his forehead, following the cure and -muttering the words "Pardon--excuse--do not pay any attention to me." -Robert had not dared to move, but when Cyprien came near him, he threw -himself into his arms. "There--that will do," said he to him--"pay -attention, the cure speaks." "Why did you not come in with Robert? You -have denied me the pleasure I should have had in talking with I a -brave soldier. Our _protege_ has spoken of you in most affectionate -terms, but he did not tell me you were waiting for him, or I should -not have suffered you to remain outside the door." "Thank you, M. -Cure, but I cannot talk to you, I have so few words, and have not been -accustomed to much, and all I know is how to use 'Arms.'" "Each of us -has his profession, my friend," replied the cure, "and you have made -yours glorious. Nevertheless you must allow me to think you know a -great deal besides." "If that is your idea, kind father, I will not -oppose it, but, with respect to you, I must tell you I have not seen a -book since I knew, the 'Little Corporal,' and we are old -acquaintances. Twenty-five years;" said he, "impossible to forget -that"--wiping away a tear. - -"Yes, my friend, you have reason to regret your emperor, and even to -weep for him, for he was a great man, and loved you all as children." - -"But, oh! how was he repaid?" and then he wept again. - -"The love you bear your emperor honors you. Respect and devotion to -misfortune fills noble souls, and I understand very well how your -attachment is augmented in proportion to the sufferings which weigh -down your chief; and it is not for me, a minister of peace and -charity, to make a crime of your regrets and affection, or to denounce -them. But let us leave this sad subject, until you know me better and -have more confidence in me. For today we will talk about Robert and my -plans for him. I am thankful to you for taking a father's place to -him; without you he would have been lost in this great city, or might -perhaps have met persons who would have placed him in contact with -vice and wickedness. I rejoice that a kind Providence permitted this -child to awaken an interest in you, and that he found you so -affectionate a guide. You must continue your friendship, and I hope to -gain his, by the care I will take of him." - -"Oh! my dear father," said Robert, kissing respectfully the hand of -his new protector, "you are too good to me, but I will try to repay -your kindness by a full and entire submission to your least wishes." - -"Well spoken, little one!" exclaimed the soldier, "this is the first -duty of a conscript." - -"I will try to find the mean s of aiding him to fill a high position -some day," said the cure. "I have acquaintances and friends who will -give me of their wealth, for," said he, in a tone of regret, "I am far -from being rich. But no matter, God will help us; I have this sweet -certainty, so you may take courage, my little friend, and whatever -taste you may have for study, I promise you I will do all that I can -to advance you. You are in such good hands that I shall have no cause -for uneasiness as to how you pass your time; and I will leave you for -a while, {828} and perhaps I may bring back some good news for you." - -After calling at several houses without success, he chanced to see a -wealthy widow who had but one child, a son. This boy was of a most -vicious nature, and although young in years, he had every defect of -character, without a single good quality. He made his poor mother -despair, and she often reproached herself bitterly for her weakness -toward him, but she knew no means that would reform his bad habits, -which assumed the form of fatal and violent passion. When the cure -spoke of Robert, she said: "O God! since he is possessed of so many -amiable and virtuous qualities, entrust him to me. He will be treated -as my own child, will share the studies of Gustave, and have the same -masters; and perhaps God may pity a mother's sorrows, and that this -child may have so good an influence over him, that Gustave may feel a -desire to be good also. I pray you do not refuse me," said the mother -in a supplicating tone; "I cling to this last hope, as a ship-wrecked -man would cling to the plank he hopes will save him from perishing." - -After long consideration of the chances of happiness and success in -the future if Robert accepted it--of the great dissimilarity of the -two persons who would thus be thrown together, and the disagreements -and sufferings for Robert; and still worse, if the pure, rich nature -of the orphan should be corrupted in the society of the wicked child, -whom he knew only too well--he was still undecided. But an -irresistible, though secret, argument spoke in favor of the mother of -Gustave; so that at last her pressing solicitations were acceded to. -He reserved for himself the right to watch closely over the precious -trust that Providence had confided to him, and after this it was -agreed that Robert should be presented to Madame de Vernanges (this -was the name of Gustave's mother) as soon as he could be informed of -it, and if he was willing to accept it. - - -CHAPTER V. - - "The heart of a wicked man sighs for evil, and no - one can find pardon before him . . . . ." - - -Robert was willing to accede to any wish of the good man who had so -generously charged himself with his destiny. We have said before, that -he was gifted with noble qualities; he had a lively perception, his -intellectual faculties were strong, and he seemed to have power to do -all that was required of him. He had no knowledge of what was not -good, and possessed one of those happy organizations which can only be -a gift from God. He felt it his duty to obey all that his protector -wished; and when he told him that his interest required that he should -go to the house of' Madame de Vernanges, and share in the liberal -education this lady gave her son, Robert replied: "If' it is your -wish, I am ready to go." - -'The cure was surprised and touched at this eagerness to fulfil his -wishes, this entire self-abnegation in one who could not but prize the -sweet liberty of acting for himself, which he had so long enjoyed on -his native mountain; and a still further proof of his remarkable -disposition was, that he knew, young as he was, the art of sacrificing -his tastes to duty, and the necessity of making himself agreeable to -those who interested themselves for him. The kind priest did not wish -to spend Robert's money for things which could be dispensed with, but -his clothes were unsuitable to his new position, so he had him a -complete wardrobe prepared, and a woman could not have been more -careful about the minutest details. - -'When all was in readiness he conducted him to the house of Madame de -Vernanges. As soon as she saw him, she felt as if he was a -regenerating angel to be placed near her son. She embraced him -affectionately, and asked him if he "would love her like a mother?" -"Oh!" said he, at once becoming serious at such a question, "I cannot -promise you that, dear {829} madame, for it would be impossible for me -to feel for any other woman the same degree of affection that I feel -for my mother;" but, he added, smiling sweetly, "I think I can assure -you that I will love you much." - -Some author says that a child only loves his mother for the services -she renders him. Can this be true? No--it is blasphemy against filial -love; and were it so, alas for the happiness of mothers! Far sweeter -is the idea that one loves the other for the other's sake alone; one -is the consequence of the other, it is a love eternal like the soul, -like its divine author, like God himself: There may be some selfish -children who measure their love for their parents by the services they -render them, but they are monsters--sad and rare exceptions--and -deserve all our pity. The proof of what we affirm is found in the love -that Robert always preserved in his heart for the dear and sacred -remembrance of his mother. It is the strongest, most lively and -unalterable of feelings, and has no rival in the other loves God has -given to man in his short life. Who can hear the name of mother spoken -without feeling a delicious sensation, and having a tear-drop moisten -the eye? - -Madame de Vernanges was so pleased with Robert's frankness, that she -felt for him from that moment the most tender sympathy. After a few -moments' conversation Gustave was sent for, but the reception he gave -his future companion of play and study, was not very encouraging to -the latter. At first, from the height of his grandeur he looked down -upon him with disdain, and received with a very bad grace the amiable -advances of Robert, who wished to conquer at once the friendship of -his young comrade. He was astonished and sad at the coldness showed -him, but little by little Gustave softened, and laid aside his -insolent air. The acquaintances of this period of life are easily -made. Robert gave himself up with perfect abandon to the new pleasure -of playing and talking with a child of his own age. He was not -distrustful, for he had no experience; and as his own thoughts were so -good and pure, he never suspected others. The mother and the cure, -though seemingly occupied in conversation, followed with observing and -restless eyes the movements of the children. The latter feared, and -not without reason, to see some awkward blunder made by a child raised -so far from the world, and in the simple habits of a happy mediocrity. -But to his inexpressible satisfaction he saw Robert as easy in his -manners as in his language, and he acted as if he had been bred in a -parlor. His rare intelligence displayed itself in his answers to -Gustave, and he could not have been more sparkling in his repartees. -His candor and good nature did not permit him to comprehend the -perfidious intentions of his saucy interrogator, and it was a cruel -mortification for the wicked Gustave, not to be able, in spite of his -_ruses_, to find any fault with Robert. He had counted on a triumph, -and received a complete humiliation; he thought to show his -superiority to the child who was given him as a model, and his -disappointment was that he felt before him his great defects. - -During this time the good priest inwardly rejoiced at the success of -the little orphan, while the poor mother sighed in making a sad -comparison between the children of the same age, but so different in -character; and in spite of her wish to the contrary, she could not but -see the low and envious sentiments which ruled the conduct of Gustave, -and the goodness contained in each word Robert uttered. Her heart was -well-nigh broken, and in bitterness she exclaimed: "Wicked! always -wicked! he has not one good thought, one blameless moment. I am -cruelly punished for my guilty weakness toward him. O God! is it too -late to reclaim him? Is there no remedy for his wickedness? and must I -bear all the ills of such a child?" - -{830} - -Assured by the way in which Robert had taken the first and most -difficult steps in his new abode, the good priest prepared to leave. -It was in warm and pressing terms that he recommended his _protege_; -and embracing him, gave him his paternal benediction. "I will see you -soon," he said to him, and this promise consoled him, for he felt sure -he would always be a generous defender, a tender and devoted. friend. -The child flattered himself for some time that he had gained the -confidence and friendship of Gustave, but he had soon to renounce that -belief, for, in spite of his profound dissimulation, the latter could -not always keep up appearances, and Robert suddenly discovered the -truth. This made Gustave hate him bitterly, and nothing could diminish -it; but Robert spoke of it to no one but the priest. Encouraged by his -silence, which Gustave mistook for the silence of fear, he was always -making war with him when they were alone. Before his mother, or any -other person, he did not dare to do so, but changes of manner were no -trouble to the young hypocrite, for he could put on a bold air, and -give himself the calm serenity of innocence. This premature -corruption, this innate science of' evil, he carefully hid, and was -deceitful above everything to those before whom he wished to appear -good. In the first days of their acquaintance he had conceived a -violent hatred to Robert, but he felt the necessity of dissimulating, -so as not to awaken the suspicions of his mother; so that he did not -openly declare war with his rival, for he knew that would be an -irreparable fault. He trusted to chance, which sometimes helps the -wicked, and waited for an occasion to present itself. - -Robert all this while studied with care the lessons of his different -masters, which the goodness of his benefactress gave him the means of -sharing with Gustave. It was no trouble to him to learn, and his -progress was so rapid and so wonderful, that his masters were -enchanted, and were prodigal of their praises and marks of affection. -Gustave, the lazy, indolent boy, suffered all the torments of envy. -For the first time he felt pride, pushing toward emulation, enter his -heart, and that which neither the prayers nor the tears of his mother -could obtain, the odious sentiment of jealousy brought, and he worked -with ardor, Rage sustained him in his desperate resolution; his duties -were no longer neglected, and his hours for work were so laboriously -employed, that even his mother believed for a time in the complete -reformation of her son, under the happy influence of Robert. This joy -was of short duration, and the error soon dispelled, for, if his mind -profited on the one hand, his heart remained the same, and in it every -bad passion was kindled. Sad fruits of a neglected education, of an -infancy and childhood abandoned to itself, without care and without -culture. - -Nearly a year had passed since Robert entered the house of Madame de -Vernanges, and the time had been most profitable to him in every way. -Study opened to his eyes the treasures that are concealed from the -vulgar, and he was already opening for himself a career sown with the -seeds of art and science, the flowers of which he longed to gather; -and in spite of all the cruelty and sarcasm of Gustave, he was very -happy, for he felt the love of his benefactress and the good cure, and -the remembrance of his cherished mother, and under these affections he -rejoiced, as one rejoices in the sunlight of heaven. From the night -she appeared to him in a dream, he was filled with the desire to be -good, and worked nobly for this end. Often his thoughts would fly to -his mountain home, and to the grave which contained her ashes. Neither -had he forgotten the venerable priest of the Baths of Mount Dore, and -had often written to him, and from time to time sent him small sums of -money to be employed in charities. - -Among Robert's happiest hours now were those he passed with the cure -here; but even these he could not long enjoy alone, for the wicked -Gustave discovered that his sadness vanished {831} whenever he reached -the cure's door, and he took a cruel pleasure in always going with him -under various pretexts, and thus snatching these few moments of -happiness from his victim. But a smile, a kind word from his -benefactor, paid Robert doubly for this painful sacrifice, and Madame -de Vernanges noticed the hatred her son bore him. She was not to be -duped by the friendship he feigned for one he detested from his soul. -More than once the feeble mother had been a witness to the odious -wickedness of the one, and the admirable patience of the other. She -had seen, but had not corrected the guilty, for his strength -discouraged her; she was too heart-stricken to combat with the bad -genius that possessed him. It was easier for her to close her eyes to -it, though she had the justice to seek by delicate attentions and -tender caresses to repay Robert for some of his sufferings. - -We have lost the old soldier for a time, but have not forgotten him. -At the time of their separation, both he and Robert shed bitter tears, -and the latter tried to make him promise that he would come sometimes -to see him in his new abode: "Not there," said the grenadier, "but I -will come sometimes and have a talk with you at the house of the cure, -for I love him, by the faith of Cyprien Hardy." And he kept his -promise, and many were the talks they had there together. On the 20th -of March of that year the exile of Elba made an appeal to all faithful -soldiers, and it was not made in vain. Cyprien responded at once to -the call of his emperor, and when he had buckled on his warlike -habits, he forgot for a while the orphan and the priest. - -Madame de Vernanges counted her days only by her sorrows. She had no -repose--her health was failing so rapidly that the physicians said she -must pass the winter in a warmer climate and under a purer sky. This -was a sudden blow for Robert, for he had become much attached to his -benefactress, and she said he was to go to college with Gustave, who -saw with revolting indifference the sufferings of his mother at the -thought of a separation; but all her friends thought it was best, -hoping some change in his character might take place from the strict -and severe discipline of college life. This new arrangement was -submitted to the cure, who in all things pertaining to him, was guided -by the interest of his _protege_, and it met with his approbation. -Madame de Vernanges' was to be absent six months or a year, and Robert -felt that he should indeed be isolated from her protective affection, -and left alone to the wicked designs of Gustave; who, when they were -thrown together at college, used all his time and his power to turn -the students against Robert, and get them to league with him against -him, for he was longing for an occasion to avenge the marks of -tenderness and preference which his mother had shown Robert. Never was -a child's patience put to a more severe test--neither the goodness nor -generosity of the orphan could soften the hatred Gustave felt for him. -But though Robert was of so even and calm a temperament, he could not -be injured nor oppressed without defending himself, and there was but -one consideration that curbed his indignation, and that was the -certainty he felt that Gustave was the author of the persecutions -which each wicked boy inflicted upon him. Had he not been convinced of -this, he would have used the same means to punish them which they -employed to torture him; but, according to his pure sentiments, this -would not have been right, and he would not have the least reproach -from his benefactress for any unkindness toward her son. He did not -oppose his oppressors in any way, but they saw that he felt the -outrages perfectly, and disdained, and not without reason, to let them -know it. In this combat of all against one, the voice of conscience -was not always heard, and in spite of his efforts to keep silent, -there came a time when it was insupportable. The epithets of "lazy -and coward" {832} resounding in his ears, filled him with indignation, -and those who spoke them did not dare repeat them a second time, for -he dealt with them in a way that convinced them he could not bear -everything. Two or three corrections soon put an end to this state of -things, and placed Robert high in the esteem of the older collegians. -In vain did Gustave try to reawaken the ardor of his partisans. -Frightened by the vigorous attack of Robert, they refused to unite in -any new vexations against one they respected and loved, and they all -vowed they would never take up a prejudice again. Thus Gustave saw, in -spite of all his odious efforts to the contrary, Robert loved by his -masters, respected and esteemed by his companions, who protected him -and despised his persecutor. Things had reached this point when, one -morning, an uncle of Gustave's came and took him hurriedly away, -leaving Robert at college. This strange conduct affected him very -much, and he wondered what it could mean. Could it be that his -benefactress had returned and withdrawn her affection, or was she more -ill? He was lost in sad conjectures for several days, which appeared -ages to him, as he waited in patience to hear. A visit from the cure, -with a sad countenance, revealed to Robert the misfortune which was to -oppress him. "Madame de Vernanges suffers no more," said he, with a -visible effort, drawing to his bosom the weeping child, whose sorrow -was certainly more profound and true than that of' Gustave. "Alas! my -child, you have lost your benefactress; before she died she asked to -see you, but this wish of a heart devoted to you was denied--God -willed it otherwise. But she did not need any further proof of your -love, your conduct has spoken it so often; and God will never abandon -you. Courage then, your recompense will come sooner or later. I will -assume from to-day my entire right of father, and my most tender -solicitude will be for you. Redouble your ardor at work, triple your -strength, and finally the end which I propose for your happiness will -come. Your studies, conscientiously finished, will be the magic keys -which will unlock the door to an honorable career. From this time -Gustave will not torment you, for he will not return to college." - -Robert was too much moved to speak--too many sorrowful remembrances -pressed themselves into his heart, but he had not lost a single word -that was spoken to him. Six months after this he stood before the -abbot of Verneuil, to receive from his hands the crown he so justly -deserved. Oh! how his heart beat with joy when he heard his name -spoken in the sanctuary of science; it seemed then that the sweet -voice of his mother spoke to him. Each time he was named, his eyes -turned towards the cure, as if asking him: "Are you satisfied?" How -light and easy to wear are the laurels won by the victors in every -good work! Is it not a bright day in your lives, my dear children, -when you are proclaimed conquerors? What a sweet remembrance it leaves -in your hearts, that no after thoughts can ever crush out! Our young -laureate passed his vacation--that time of repose so dear to -students--with the cure. To Robert work was so much more a pleasure -than a fatigue, that he was obliged to allow him to study a great -deal; but he did not wish him to spend all his time at his books, but -to take some hours of respite each day. This excellent man, of such -simple habits and manners, and of such contentment, really suffered at -times that he could not from his limited means give Robert as many -pleasures as his heart dictated. He knew he needed air and liberty, -and wished he could send him into the country, where he would be free -from all restraints. "Poor child!" he would say to himself, "how he -must long for his native mountain." So, before he left, to return to -his studies, he thought he would give him an agreeable surprise. The -weather was lovely, and all nature seemed to rejoice. The cure and his -charge started in a _diligence_ for Versailles, the {833} wonderful -and magnificent palace once used as a royal residence. Robert had -never seen this place, once such a gay city, but whose gilded glory -has all departed. No more _fetes_, no more balls, in Louis XIV.'s -beautiful city. The grand palace is still there, but where are the -kings and courtiers? Oh! where? - -The gardens charmed Robert, and he bounded about like a young fawn in -his native wood, to the great delight of the cure, who rejoiced in his -liveliness and happiness, and allowed this little bird that he had -freed to follow his capricious fancies, wherever they led him; for he -believed that all who loved children favored their pleasures; and it -is one of the sweetest joys God has given to man, that he should try -to leave no regrets to this age of life. As night was drawing on, -Robert left off his sports, and they made ready for their departure. -Robert's mind was filled with beautiful pictures of this visit, of -which the result was so sad. As they were entering Paris, the -benediction that the good cure gave the child each evening was -pronounced with much fervor, and it proved the last. They slept in the -same room, and Robert had gone happy and trustful to bed, little -dreaming of the new and terrible misfortune that awaited him, and in -the morning wakes to weep over the inanimate body of his loved -benefactor, whose calm and serene face is radiant with immortal joy. -The angel of death had come softly near the couch on which reposed the -servant of the Lord; and took him from life, to rest on the bosom of -his God, leaving a bright example of a virtuous and godly life. - - -CHAPTER VI. - - "O virtue! gift of God! grace divine! it is thou - that givest the saintly and sublime inspirations of - devotion, that trample down vice, that elevate above all - feebleness and all obstacles." - ANONYMOUS. - - -When Robert realized that he had no longer a protector or friend he -was plunged into the depths of despair, but it was not for the -miserable consideration of interest, which too often possesses -humanity, that he was so full of regret; it was for the wise and -virtuous man that he mourned, for the loss of his sweet and persuasive -language, and his tender and eloquent words, and his indescribable air -of goodness, united to his pure life, which won all hearts, as a -tender and delicate flower attracts and ravishes by its perfume. -Stranger to all that was passing around him, shut up in his sorrows, -made an orphan once more, Robert had still the happy consciousness of -having fulfilled all his duties to his benefactor. He awakened from -his lethargy at the sound of the first shovel of earth that fell on -the coffin of his, beloved cure. The awakening was frightful. The -tears and sobs he heard around him from the crowd of poor children and -unfortunate ones, of every degree, whom he had benefited during his -too short career, recalled with violence to his heart the sad reality. -Another sincere mourner for the cure was his faithful old housekeeper, -who, when she went in to take her last look of the venerable man, saw -Robert standing there in silence and sorrow, and she felt that she, -like him, was alone in the world, and suffered the same sorrow he did. -But his grief and his loss, bitter as it was, was not as fatal for his -advancement as might be supposed. His soul was too strongly fortified -with the blessing of religion to allow him to be long discouraged. And -when he could for a moment forget his losses, he would look to the -future, and dare to hope, that although deprived one by one of his -protectors, the path to success was still open to him. Madame Gaudin -had most bitter thoughts. She was now getting along in years, being -near fifty, and her age would be a barrier to her finding a home where -the work would be light, so that she could live without spending her -hard earned money. From her own personal thoughts she passed to -another subject of solicitude--the future of Robert. If she had not -felt any very strong interest in the fate of her master's _protege_, -{834} she was too compassionate a woman not to pity this child, who -had been the object of his tender care. She thought of how the saintly -man had praised the intelligence and amiable qualities of Robert, and -repeated his favorite words: "This child will be something one day." -Moved by these remembrances, she thought she heard him tell her to -watch over the orphan. Submission and respect for all the orders she -received was a habit with her, and she had been accustomed to obey -with such exactitude, that she took for reality the illusion of her -heart, and resolved to obey the inspired voice, and replace, if -possible, the charitable man who had adopted Robert. This resolution -once made, she thought of nothing but executing it. Going to Robert, -she said, "I know, my young friend, you are thinking of some way of -gaining a living for yourself. We can live together, and it will be -better for us both, and we shall each have some one to take care of -us. I will try to get lodgings and work, and you can be with me when -not at your work, and God will assist us. Unfortunately you will be -obliged to give up your studies for the present, which is my greatest -grief; but we will not lose courage, for I feel sure that, sooner or -later, God will give you another proof of his goodness. Your -penmanship, which is so beautiful, you can make useful and by it earn -money. I will go at once and find us a lodging, and will be entirely -the gainer by the arrangement, for I shall have for company a good -child, who will be like a son; won't he?" Madame Gaudin half smiled at -her project, half cried when she repeated the name of the cure, then -said, "Yes! yes! I am sure he inspires me to do this, he inspires me -with an interest for this child, whom he loved above everything else." -Some days after they were fixed in a small lodging in the rue des -Fosses, St. Germain. She bought a bed for Robert, and he obtained a -situation at twenty-five francs a month. A year passed in this way, -without anything at all remarkable happening. Madame Gaudin worked, -took care of things, and sang Robert's praises to all. After he had -conscientiously finished the day to the profit of his employer, he -returned to his lodgings, took his supper, and attended in the -evenings a gratuitous course of drawing lessons. This art, for which -he felt each day a more and more decided taste, made him forget for a -time his past delightful life of study, which had opened to his -dazzled eyes the book with golden leaves, which had as suddenly closed -to his inexpressible regret. As time wore on, Madame Gaudin's -attachment for Robert increased so much, that she almost believed he -was her son; and well did he merit it all, for he respected her -sincerely, and was most grateful for all she did for him. Whenever he -was out at night, she would await his return with the greatest -impatience, and was perfectly happy when she could be near him while -he was reading, writing, or drawing; which latter employed most of his -leisure hours. He imitated with great care the models given him, and -would have passed the entire night working at them, but that Madame -Gaudin sweetly forced him to lay them aside and go to bed. - -Robert had now reached his sixteenth year, and his salary was -increased to forty francs a month, which gave him great joy, as well -as Madame Gaudin, though she thought that his merit was not yet -remunerated enough, notwithstanding it was a good opening for him to -another career. Some days after he had received this mark of the -satisfaction his good conduct had given, his employer handed him a -letter, with an express recommendation to a celebrated painter, and -asked him to take it to his studio, and wait for an answer. - -Arriving there, he introduced himself into the studio where the artist -sat at his work. He laid down his palette, and when he had finished -reading the letter that was handed him, he saw to his great surprise -the young messenger absorbed before the picture that was on his easel. -After considering {835} him far a few moments in silence, he asked him -several questions, to which Robert replied with an emotion and an -accent that revealed to the painter the inspiration of his soul. The -most striking features of his face were his large and spiritual eyes, -and his broad open forehead, on which thought sat enthroned. The -artist was so charmed with his agreeable exterior, his frank and -expressive language, that he inquired with interest what he was doing, -who were his family, and what were his projects for the future. Robert -satisfied all these questions, which were asked in a benevolent tone, -by the recital of his childhood, of the loss of his mother, of his -studies, interrupted by the death of his benefactors, and finished by -telling his actual position, his love for drawing, and his ardent -desire to come to him to study painting. "Well, you can came, my boy," -said the painter; "but if you should succeed one day, can you hide -from yourself the bitter deceptions which are the sad shadow of glory -and renown? Yet why should I frighten you and inspire you with fear, -when you trust so implicitly in the future? You can only hope. This -word is all-powerful, and with your ideas and wishes you can crush -under your feet every obstacle you wish to surmount. From this day -consider yourself my pupil, and I doubt not you will do me credit. I -will write the answer to the letter you brought me, and tell your -employer at the same time that you belong to me now." Robert really -thought he was dreaming, and was afraid to stir for fear his castle -would fall, until the painter put the letter he was to take into his -hand, and said, "Came back to-morrow." - -He ran all the way, and stopped almost breathless before the door of -Madame Gaudin, opened it hastily, and threw himself into her arms in -an ecstacy of delight. "What is it?" she exclaimed, "what has happened -you? I know it is something good" Her eyes were so eloquent with -curiosity that he at once commenced to tell her, and related, without -omitting a single word, the recent conversation which he had with the -celebrated painter, and his promise to take him as a scholar. This -unexpected event had filled him with such delight, that he entirely -forgot the letter that was entrusted to him, but immediately set out -to deliver it. Contentment gave him wings, and he was delirious with -joy when he pressed against his breast the letter which was the bond -of his liberty and his deliverance; and without regret he bade an -eternal farewell to his former insipid labor, though his heart beat as -he gave it to his employer, and as he stood waiting for him to read -it, the minutes were like years. At last he raised his eyes, and said, -"So you are to leave me, Robert; I am sorry, for I like you, much, and -I shall not soon fill your place; still I cannot stand in the way of -your promotion." Robert's happiness knew no bounds, and he returned -and dreamed the sweetest dreams that ever came to childhood's pillow. -From this time his life of struggle and of real work commenced. Until -now he had lived almost alone, far from the world and its attractions, -and ignorant of all wickedness. When he finds himself face to face -with life's realities, he is like one shipwrecked. He was taken by his -new master into the studio, and presented to the other scholars. -Thrown like a timid lamb into this flock, he found they had no respect -for sacred things, and his innocence and candor were cruelly railed -at, his virtue rudely spoken of, and his religion turned into -ridicule; and then sometimes, under the pretext of friendship, they -would try to make him take part in their noisy revels. But he always -refused, never forgetting that his mother had told him to seek the old -and wise for advice, and to avoid the company of wicked young men. -This enabled him to resist courageously the deceitful pleasures -produced by licentiousness and debaucheries. To his pure mind nothing -was so delightful as the home friendship, the kindness and the sweet -counsels he had with Madame Gaudin. {836} Then he made excursions in -the neighborhood of Paris, where he found nature in all her beautiful -simplicity; he breathed the pure country air, and made sketches of the -surrounding scenery. In a word, he was entirely occupied with his art, -and it was his true enjoyment. The amusement and excesses of gayety, -which ordinarily delight the young, had for him no charm; and he -repulsed with horror the poisoned cup to which so many open eager -lips. My dear young friends, if you only knew what this bitter cup -contained, you would all dash it, far from you, for in drinking it to -the dregs, you will sometimes find crime, always remorse, a weariness -of all things, and a premature old age. - -Robert was spared from falling into the snares which are set to allure -youth, which blessing can only be attributed to the pious education he -had received. First impressions are never effaced, they take deep root -in a child's heart, and if good, become the fruitful germs of many -virtues; if they are bad, they are the source from which vice and -passion flow. In his tender years Robert had loved God and his works; -later, when the good cure had revealed to him the sublimity of -religion, the orphan was penetrated with a great love for that God who -is goodness itself; and when reason and experience confirmed all which -his mother and his protector had taught him, he believed more firmly -still, and found in all nature visible proofs of the grandeur and -power manifested by the Sovereign Ruler of the universe. When his -companions were convinced that they could not make him one of their -band of idlers, they let him alone, and treated him with the most -contemptuous indifference, which was a great happiness to him, for he -was no longer disturbed in his studies, and applied himself with such -ardor and perseverance that his master was enchanted with his -progress, and prodigal of his praises and encouragement, his counsels -and lessons; and aided to the utmost of his ability this rare talent, -which only demanded for its perfection aid and good direction. Not a -day passed without his looking over Robert's studies, correcting them, -and stimulating the generous emulation of the young artist. Robert -proved his gratitude by his devotion to his studies, and if on the one -hand the master was proud of his pupil, on the other so sincere, -exalted, and just was his respect for him, that he would have -considered it but a small sacrifice to have given his life for a man -who was so liberal of his time and knowledge to him. This tribute -which his warm heart gave so willingly, was not the only one Robert -received. Madame Gaudin made a duty of continuing the charitable work -of the Abbe Verneuil, who had shown so sublime and disinterested an -affection for Robert. She spent without regret the sayings of twenty -years, and, although an old woman, she worked like a young girl, -inventing the most ingenious means for hiding the sacrifices she was -obliged to make. She exhausted herself by her labor; but she loved -Robert, and said, with a just pride, "He will be a great painter, and -will repay me a thousand times for all I do for him now. What is a -little trouble? Fatigue soon passes over. I am only an old woman, and -have no need of anything, but he is so young, so good and easily -contented, that if he only has air and sunshine he is happy. He never -spends a cent improperly, and is economical, charitable, and polite. I -could not love him more if I were his mother; and all I ask of God is, -that he will spare me yet a while, that I may work for him." Robert -had not the least idea of the expedients she employed for -dissimulating the privations she each day imposed upon herself, but he -worked with devouring energy night and day, and nothing is a trouble -to him, nothing a fatigue, which brings him nearer to that glorious -end, an artist! a true, soul-inspired artist! But material life and -its necessities must be provided for; yet he thinks not of privations, -so {837} completely is he fascinated with art and dreams of fame. It -soon became difficult for Madame Gaudin to hide from Robert her almost -penniless position, which was all the harder because of her excessive -tenderness and love for him. She seemed to have but one thought, and -that was to spare him all trouble. The courage of women has its source -in the heart, and if they have love as an incentive, they can -accomplish ends that place them far above men. So she kept from Robert -the knowledge of the obligation he was under to her, and for three -years struggled with energy and constancy to give the young painter, -not only the necessaries, but also an appearance of luxuries, which -deceived him to the last degree. Up to this time her heroic courage -was the same, but her health failed suddenly, and religion alone -sustained her, with a firm and consoling hand, when misfortunes came. -Robert also needed it to keep up his spirits, for he felt a keen -anguish when he saw her extended on a bed of pain; but his faith gave -him supernatural strength, and he struggled victoriously with poverty, -abandoning for a time his loved art to attend to the smallest details -of material life, dividing his time between the sick friend whom he -surrounded with delicacies, and upon whom he lavished his tenderest -care, and work; monotonous, but productive work; and with his money he -procured remedies which he hoped would bring back her health who had -done so much for him. In this hour of trial he never despaired, and -spent sixteen hours out of the twenty-four often in copying miserable -and ill-drawn pictures, and all for a salary. But he would exclaim, "I -will be an artist." He returned sacrifice for sacrifice, and while -Madame Gaudin was in danger, he had not a moment of repose, and only -found calmness and tranquillity when convalescence came. The _roles_ -were changed. The protector became the protected; the kind guardian of -the orphan became the object of his earnest solicitude. He became a -man during her sickness; rendering her the attentions of a devoted -son, and providing for the expenses of the household. Brought down -from his fairy land of dreams by the realities of life, he is neither -less amiable nor less good, but stronger, braver, more faithful than -ever. The wings of the child have been folded; he is only a man, that -is all. - ------- - -From All the Year Round. - - "INCONSOLABILE." - - - I am waiting on the margin - Of the dark, cold, rushing tide; - All I love have passed before me, - And have reached the other side: - Only unto me a passage - Through the waters is denied. - - Mist and gloom o'erhang the river, - Gloom and mist the landscape veil. - Straining for the shores of promise, - Sight and hope and feeling fail. - Not a sigh, a breath, a motion, - Answers to my feeble wail. - -{838} - - Surely they have all forgot me - 'Mid the wonders they have found - In the far enchanted mansions; - Out of heart and sight and sound, - Here I sit, like Judah's daughters, - Desolate upon the ground. - - Strangers' feet the stream are stemming, - Stranger faces pass me by, - Willing some, and some reluctant, - All have leave to cross but I-- - I, the hopeless, all bereaved, - Loathing life, that long to die! - - Be the river ne'er so turbid, - Chill and angry, deep and drear, - All my loved ones are gone over, - Daunted not by doubt or fear; - And my spirit reaches after, - While I sit lamenting here. - - Happy waters that embraced them, - Happier regions hid from sight, - Where my keen, far-stretching vision, - Dazed and baffled, lost them quite. - Dread, immeasurable distance - 'Twixt the darkness and the light! - - And I know that never, never, - Till this weak, repining breast - Still its murmurs into patience, - Yonder from the region blest - Shall there break a streak of radiance, - And upon the river rest. - - I shall hail the mystic token - Bright'ning all the waters o'er, - Struggle through the threat'ning torrent - Till I reach the further shore; - Wonder then, my blind eyes opened, - That I had not trusted more. - ------- - -{839} - -ORIGINAL. - -CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. [Footnote 241] - - [Footnote 241: _Poems_, by Christina G. Rossetti. Boston: Roberts, - Brothers. 1866.] - - -We had heard some little of Miss Rossetti, in a superficial way, -before reading this her book. Various verses of hers had met our eye -in print, and if they themselves left no very decided mark upon the -memory, yet we had the firm impression, somehow, that she was one more -of the rising school of poets. Accordingly we thought it well to take -a retrospect of a few post-Tennysonians--Mrs. Browning, Owen Meredith, -Robert Buchanan, Jean Ingelow, and so on--supposed fellow -disciples--so as to be tolerably sure of ranking the new-comer -rightly. On reading this volume, we find our labor lost through an -entirely unforeseen circumstance. Unfortunately, it does not appear -that Miss Rossetti is a poetess at all. That there are people who -think her one, we infer from the fact that this is in some sort a -third edition; why they think so, we are at a loss to see. The book -will not answer a single test of poetry. The authoress's best claim to -consideration is, that she sincerely, persistently, fervently _means_ -to be a poetess. Only the most Demosthenian resolve could have kept -her writing in face of her many inherent unfitnesses. For imagination, -she offers fantasy; for sentiment, sentimentality; for aspiration, -ambition; for originality and thought, little or nothing; for melody, -fantastic janglings of words; and these, with all tenderness for the -ill-starred intensity of purpose that could fetch them so far, are no -more poetry than the industrious Virginian colonists' shiploads of -mica were gold. - -The first cursory impression of this book would be, we think, that its -cardinal axiom was "Poetry is versified plaintiveness." The amount of -melancholy is simply overwhelming. There is a forty-twilight power of -sombreness everywhere. Now, criticism has taken principles, not -statistics, to be its province; but we could not resist the temptation -to take a little measurement of all this mournfulness. Limiting our -census strictly to the utterly irretrievable and totally wrecked -poems, with not a glimmering of reassurance, we found no less than -forty-nine sadnesses, all the way from shadow to unutterable -blackness--"_nfernam Iumbram noctemque perennem_." There is the -sadness decadent, the sadness senescent, the sadness bereft, the -sadness despondent, the sadness weary, the sadness despairing, the -sadness simply sad, the grand sadness ineffable, and above and -pervading all, the sadness rhapsodical. They are all there. Old Burton -will rise from his grave, if there be any virtue in Pythagoreanism, to -anatomize these poems. What it is all about is strictly a secret, and -laudably well kept; which gives to the various sorrows that touching -effect peculiar to the wailings of unseen babies from unascertained -ailments. So sustained is the grief, indeed, that after protracted -poring, we hang in abeyance between two conclusions. One is that Miss -Rossetti, outside of print, is the merriest mortal in the United -Kingdom; the other, that her health is worse than precarious. That one -or the other must be right, we know. There is no other horn to the -dilemma, no _tertiary quiddity_, no choice, no middle ground between -hilarity and dyspepsia. - -Perhaps the reader can judge for himself from these lines, which are a -not unfair sample: - -{840} - - "MAY. - - I cannot tell you how it was; - But this I know: it came to pass - Upon a bright and breezy day, - When May was young; ah, pleasant May! - As yet the poppies were not born, - Between the blades of tender corn; - The last eggs had not hatched as yet, - Nor any bird foregone its mate. - I cannot tell you what it was; - But this I know: it did put pass. - It passed away with sunny May, - With all sweet things it passed away, - And left me old and cold and gray." - -We may be very unappreciative, and probably are sinfully suspicious, -but the above sounded at the first and sounds at the present reading, -exactly like a riddle. We certainly don't know how it was nor what it -was. There is a shadowy clue in its passing away with sunny May, but -we are far too cautious to hazard a guess. If there be any conundrum -intended, all we have to say is, we give it up. - -We do but justice, however, in saying that amid much mere -lugubriousness there is some real and respectable sadness. The -following, in spite of' the queer English in its first lines, sounds -genuine, and is moreover, for a rarity of rarities, in well-chosen and -not ill-managed metre: - - "I have a room whereinto no one enters - Save I myself alone: - There sits a blessed memory on a throne, - There my life centres. - - While winter comes and goes-Oh! tedious comer! - And while its nip-wind blows; - While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose - Of lavish summer; - - If any should force entrance he might see there - One buried, yet not dead, - Before whose face I no more bow my head - Or (_sic_) bend my knee there; - - But often in my worn life's autumn weather - I watch there with clear eyes, - And think how it will be in Paradise - When we're together." - -Here is one of a trite topic--nearly all the good things in this book -are on themes as old as moonlight--but with a certain mournful -richness, like autumn woods: - - "Life is not sweet. One day it will be sweet - To shut our eyes and die: - Nor feel the wild flowers blow, nor birds dart by - With flitting butterfly; - Nor grass grow long above our head and feet, - Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky high, - Nor sigh that spring is fleet, and summer fleet, - Nor mark the waxing wheat, - Nor know who sits in our accustomed seat. - - Life is not good. One day it will be good - To die, then live again; - To sleep meanwhile: so not to feel the wane - Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, - Nor hear the foamy lashing of the main, - Nor mark the blackened bean-fields, nor where stood - Rich ranks of golden grain, - Only dead refuse stubble clothe the plain: - Asleep from risk, asleep from pain." - -This is one of her best poems in point of style. The "waxing wheat" we -are just a shade doubtful about; but the mellowness of the diction is -much to our liking, and it is unmarred by any of the breaks of strange -ill taste that flaw nearly all these poems. If not poetry nor novelty, -at least we find it sadly agreeable verse. - -Our professor of rhetoric once astonished his class by a heterodoxy, -which we have since thought sound as well as neat. "Walter Scott," -said he, "writes verse as well as a man can write and not be a poet." -We are sorry we cannot say as much for Miss Rossetti; she has -considerable faults as a writer. The chief of these has elsewhere been -carped at--her laborious style of' being simple. The true simplicity -of poets is not a masterly artifice, but a natural and invariable -product where high poetic and expressive powers combine. The best -thought is always simple, because, it deals only with the essences of -things: the best expression--the machinery of thought--is simple, -just as the best of any other machinery is. But the grand, obvious -fact to the many is that the best poetry is admired for being simple. -Writing for this market, Miss Rossetti and unnumbered others have more -or less successfully attempted to achieve this crowning beauty of -style by various processes that are to the inspiration of' real -simplicity as patent medicines to vigorous vitality. Almost all hold -the immutable conviction that Saxon words are an infallible recipe for -the indispensable brevity. Accordingly the usual process is by an -elaborate application of' Saxon--if rather recondite or even verging -on the obsolete, so much the more efficacious--to a few random ideas. -Of course, with such painful workmanship, one must not expect the best -material. Original, or even well {841} defined thought seldom thrives -in the same hot-house with this super-smoothness. But without pursuing -the process into results at large, we have only to take Matthew -Arnold's distinction as to Miss Rossetti:--she tries hard for -_simplicite_, and achieves _simplesse_. But there is no such thing as -hard work without its fruits. This straining after effect crops -painfully out in a peculiar baldness and childishness of phrase that -is almost original. The woman who can claim The Lambs of Grasmere as -her own has not lived in vain. This production, with its pathetic -episode of the maternal - - "Teapots for the bleating mouths, - Instead of nature's nourishment," - -has already been noticed in print, and duly expanded many visages. We -pause rapt in admiration of the deep intuition that could select for -song the incident of feeding a sheep with a teapot. It carries us -back, in spirit, to the subtle humor and delicate irony of Peter Bell, -and We are Seven. What a burst of tenderness ought we to expect, if -Miss Rossetti should ever chance to see stable-boys give a horse a -bolus! . . . . . We shall not cite examples of this _simplesse_; those -who like it will find it purer and more concentrated in the bard of -Rydal; or if they must have it, they are safe in opening this book -almost anywhere. - -Of the individual poems, the two longest, The Goblin Market and The -Prince's Progress, are rivals for the distinction of being the worst. -All the best poems are short, excepting one, Under the Rose. The story -is of an illegitimate daughter, whose noble mother takes her to live -with herself at the inevitable Hall, without acknowledging her. There -are able touches of nature in the portrayal of the lonely, loving, -outlawed, noble heart, that, knowing her mother's secret, resolves -never to betray it, even to her. In the following passage, the girl, -alone at the castle, as her mother's favorite maid, describes her -inner life: - - "Now sometimes in a dream, - My heart goes out of me - To build and scheme, - Till I sob after things that seem - So pleasant in a dream: - A home such as I see, - My blessed neighbors live in; - With father and with mother, - _All proud of one another, - Named by one common name; - From baby in the bud - To full-blown workman father;_ - It's little short of Heaven. - . . . . . - Of course the servants sneer - Behind my back at me; - Of course the village girls, - Who envy me my curls - And gowns and idleness, - Take comfort in a jeer; - Of course the ladies guess - Just so much of my history - As points the emphatic stress - With which they laud my Lady; - - The gentlemen who catch - A casual glimpse of me, - And turn again to see - Their valets, on the watch - To speak a word with me;-- - All know, and sting me wild; - Till I am almost ready - To wish that I were dead,-- - No faces more to see, - No more words to be said; - My mother safe at last. - Disburdened of her child - And the past past." - -The Convent Threshold--the last words of a contrite novice to her -lover--has touches of power. There is an unusual force about some -parts, as for example here: - - "You linger, yet the time is short; - Flee for your life; gird up your strength - To flee; the shadows stretched at length - Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh; - Flee to the mountain, tarry not. - Is this a time for smile and sigh; - For songs among the secret trees - Where sudden blue-birds nest and sport? - The time is short, and yet you stay; - To-day, while it is called to-day, - Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray; - To-day is short, to-morrow nigh: - Why will you die? why will you die! - . . . . . - How should I rest in Paradise, - Or sit on steps of Heaven alone? - If saints and angels spoke of love, - Should I not answer from my throne, - 'Have pity upon me, ye, my friends, - For I have heard the sound thereof?' - Should I not turn with yearning eyes, - Turn earthward with a pitiful pang? - Oh! save me from a pang in heaven! - By all the gifts we took and gave, - Repent, repent, and be forgiven!" - -The lines called Sound Sleep, p. 65, we like very well for very slight -cause. It says nearly nothing with a pleasant flow of cadence that has -the {842} charm of an oasis for the reader. Much better is No, Thank -You, John! which strikes into a strain of plain sound sense that we -could wish to see much more of. The style, as well as the sense, seems -to shuffle off its affectations, and the last two stanzas especially -are easy, natural, and neat. - -A strange compound of good and bad is the singular one called - - - "TWICE. - - I took my heart in my hand, - O my love, O my love! - I said, "Let me fall or stand, - Let me live or die; - But this once hear me speak, - O my love, O my love! - Yet a woman's words are weak; - You should speak, not I." - - You took my heart in your hand, - With a friendly smile, - With a critical eye you scanned, - Then set it down - And said: "It is still unripe-- - Better wait a while; - Wait while the skylarks pipe, - Till the corn grows brown." - - As you set it down it broke-- - Broke, but I did not wince; - I smiled at the speech you spoke, - At your judgment that I heard: - But I have not often smiled - Since then, nor questioned since, - Nor cared for corn-flowers wild, - Nor sung with the singing-bird. - - I take my heart in hand, - O my God, O my God! - My broken heart in my hand: - Thou hast seen, judge thou. - My hope was written on sand, - O my God, O my God! - Now let thy judgment stand-- - Yea, judge me now. - - This, contemned of a man, - This, marred one heedless day, - This heart take thou to scan - Both within and without: - Refine with fire its gold, - Purge thou its dross away; - Yea, hold it in thy hold, - Whence none can pluck it out. - - I take my heart in my hand-- - I shall not die, but live-- - Before thy face I stand, - I, for thou callest such; - All that I have I bring, - All that I am I give, - Smile thou, and I shall sing, - But shall not question much." - -This poem, we confess, puzzles us a little to decide upon it. The -imitation is palpable at a glance, but it is a very clever one: the -first three stanzas above all catch the mannerism of their model to -admiration. But the whole, is a copy, at best, of one of the -archetype's inferior styles; and yet we fancy we can see, under all -the false bedizening, something of poetry in the conception, though it -is ill said, and only dimly translucent. There is art, too, in the -parallelism of the first and last three verses. But we do not like the -refrain in the fourth verse--somehow it jars. Perhaps the best we can -say of it is, that Browning, in his mistier moments of convulsiveness, -could write worse. - -There is another imitation of Browning in this book, that is the most -supremely absurd string of rugged platitudes imaginable--Wife to -Husband, p. 61. The last verse is sample enough: - - "Not a word for you, - Not a look or kiss - Good-by. - We, one, must part in two; - Verily death is this, - I must die." - -The metre generally throughout this book is in fact simply execrable. -Miss Rossetti cannot write contentedly in any known or human measure. -We do not think there are ten poems that are not in some new-fangled -shape or shapelessness. With an overweening ambition, she has not the -slightest faculty of rhythm. All she has done is to originate some of -the most hideous metres that "shake the racked axle of art's rattling -car." Attempting not only Browning's metrical dervish-dancings, but -Tennyson's exquisite ramblings, she fails in both from an utter want -of that fine ear that always guides the latter, and so often strikes -out bold beauties in the former. Most of Miss Rossetti's new styles of -word-mixture are much like the ingenious individual's invention for -enabling right-handed people to write with the left hand--more or less -clever ways of doing what she don't wish to do. What possible harmony, -for instance, can any one find in this jumble, which, as per the -printer, is meant for a "song:" - - "There goes the swallow-- - Could we but follow! - Hasty swallow, stay, - Point us out the way; - Look back, swallow, turn back, swallow, stop, swallow. - -{843} - - There went the swallow-- - Too late to follow, - Lost our note of way, - Lost our chance to-day. - Good-by, swallow, sunny swallow, wise swallow. - - After the swallow-- - All sweet things follow; - All things go their way, - Only we must stay, - Must not follow; good-by, swallow, good swallow." - -Where on earth is sound or sense in this? Not a suggestion of melody, -not a fraction of a coherent idea. People must read such trash as they -eat _meringues a la creme_: we never could comprehend either process. - -Truth to tell, we have in this book some of the very choicest -balderdash that ever was perpetrated; worthy to stand beside even the -immortal Owl and Goose of Tennyson. There is a piece at p. 41 which we -would give the world to see translated into some foreign language, we -have such an intense eagerness to understand it. Its subject, so far -as we have got, seems to be the significance of the crocodile, -symbolically considered. We glanced over, or rather at it once, and -put it by for after reading, thinking the style probably too deep for -love at first sight. On the second perusal we fell in with some -extraordinary young crocodiles that we must have missed before. They -had just been indulged in the luxury of being born, but Miss -Rossetti's creative soul, not content with bestowing upon them the -bliss of amphibious existence, made perfect their young beauty by -showing them "fresh-hatched perhaps, and--_daubed with birthday -dew_." - -We are strong of head--we recovered from even this--we became of the -very select few who can say they have read this thing through. There -was a crocodile hero; he had a golden girdle and crown; he wore -polished stones; crowns, orbs and sceptres starred his breast (why -shouldn't they if they could); "special burnishment adorned his mail;" -his punier brethren trembled, whereupon he immediately ate them till -"the luscious fat distilled upon his chin," and "exuded from his -nostrils and his eyes." He then fell into an anaconda nap, and grew -very much smaller in his sleep, till at the approach of a very queer -winged vessel (probably a vessel of wrath), "the prudent crocodile -rose on his feet and shed appropriate tears (obviously it is the -handsome thing for all well-bred crocodiles to cry when a Winged ship -comes along) and wrung his hands." As a finale, Miss Rossetti, too -nimble for the unwary reader, anticipates his question of "What does -it all mean?" and triumphantly replying that she doesn't know herself, -but that it was all just so, marches on to the next _monumentum aere -perennius_. In the name of the nine muses, we call upon Martin -Farquhar Tupper to read this and then die. - -There are one or two other things like this _longa intervallo_, but it -is reserved for the Devotional Pieces to furnish the only poem that -can compete with it in its peculiar line. This antagonist poem is not -so sublime an example of sustained effort, but it has the advantage -that the rhyme is fully equal to the context. Permit us then to -introduce the neat little charade entitled - - "AMEN. - - It is over. What is over? - Nay, how much is over truly!-- - Harvest days we toiled to sow for; - Now the sheaves are gathered newly, - Now the wheat is garnered duly. - - It is finished. What is finished? - _Much is finished known or unknown;_ - Lives are finished, time diminished; - Was the fallow field left unsown? - Will these buds be always unblown? - - It suffices. What suffices? - All suffices reckoned rightly; - Spring shall bloom where now the ice is, - Roses make the bramble sightly, - And the quickening suns shine brightly, - And the latter winds blow lightly, - And my garden teems with spices." - -Let now the critic first observe how consummately the mysticism of the -charade form is intensified by the sphinx-like answers appended. Next -note the novelties in rhyme, The rhythmic chain that links "over" and -and "sow for" is the first discovery in the piece, closely rivalled by -"ice is" and "spices" in the last verse. But {844} far above all rises -the subtle originality of the three rhymes in the second. A thousand -literati would have used the rhyming words under the unpoetical rules -of ordinary English. Miss Rossetti alone has the courage to inquire -"Was the fallow field left _un_sown? Will these buds be always -_un_blown?" We really do not think Shakespeare would have been bold -enough to do this thus. - -But despite this, the religious poems are perhaps the best. They seem -at least the most unaffected and sincere, and the healthiest in tone. -There are several notably good ones: one, just before the remarkable -Amen, in excruciating metre, but well said; one, The Love of Christ -which Passeth Knowledge, a strong and imaginative picture of the -crucifixion; and Good Friday, a good embodiment of the fervor of -attrite repentance. The best written of all is, we think, this one (p. -248): - - "WEARY IN WELL-DOING. - - I would have gone; God bade me stay; - I would have worked; God bade me rest. - He broke my will from day to day, - He read my yearnings unexpressed - And said them nay. - - Now I would stay; God bids me go; - Now I would rest; God bids me work. - He breaks my heart, tossed to and fro, - My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk - And vex it so. - - I go, Lord, where thou sendest me; - Day after day, plod and moil: - But Christ my God, when will it be - That I may let alone my toil, - And rest with thee?" - -This is good style (no _simplesse_ here) and real pathos--in short; -poetry. We do not see a word to wish changed, and the conclusion in -particular is excellent: there is a weariness in the very sound of the -last lines. - -It is remarkable how seldom _thought_ furnishes the motive for these -poems. With no lack at all of intelligence, they stand almost devoid -of intellect. It is always a sentiment of extraneous suggestion, never -a novelty in thought, that inspires our authoress. She seems busier -depicting inner life than evolving new truths or beauties. Nor does -she abound in suggestive turns of phrase or verbal felicities. In -fact, as we have seen, she will go out of her way to achieve the want -of ornament. But there is one subject which she has thought out -thoroughly, and that subject is death. Whether in respect to the -severance of earthly ties, the future state, or the psychical -relations subtly linking the living to the dead, she shows on this -topic a vigor and vividness, sometimes misdirected, but never wanting. -Some of her queer ideas have a charm and a repulsion at once, like -ghosts of dead beauty: _e.g._ this strange sonnet: - - "AFTER DEATH. - - The curtains were half-drawn, the floor was swept - And strewn with rushes; rosemary and may - Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, - Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. - He leaned above me, thinking that I slept - And could not hear him; but I heard him say, - "Poor child, poor child!" and as he turned away - Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept; - He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold - That hid my face, or take my hand in his, - Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head; - He did not love me living, but once dead - He pitied me, and very sweet it is - To know he still is warm though I am cold." - -There is some _chiaro-oscuro_ about this. Under all the ghastliness of -the conception, we detect here a deep, genuine, unhoping, intensely -human yearning, that is all the better drawn for being thrown into the -shadow. We do not know of a more graphic realization of death. Miss -Rossetti seems to be lucky with her sonnets. We give the companion -piece to this last--not so striking as the other, but full of heart's -love, and ending with one of the few passages we recall which enter -without profaning the penetralia of that highest love, which -passionately prefers the welfare of the beloved one to its own natural -cravings for fruition and fulfilment: - - "REMEMBER. - - Remember me when I am gone away, - Gone far away into the silent land; - When you no more can hold me by the hand - Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. - Remember me when no more, day by day, - You tell me of our future that you planned; - Only remember me; you understand - It will be late to counsel then or pray, - Yet if you should forget me for a while - And afterwards remember, do not grieve; - For if the darkness and corruption leave - A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. - Better by far you should forget and smile - Than that you should remember and be sad. - -{845} - -Another marked peculiarity often shadowed forth is our authoress's -sharply defined idea that the dead lie simply quiescent, neither in -joy nor sorrow. There are several miserable failures to express this -state, and one success, so simple, so natural, and so pleasant in -measure, that we quote it, though we have seen it cited before: - - "When I am dead, my dearest, - Sing no sad songs for me; - Plant thou no roses at my head, - Nor shady cypress-tree: - Be the green grass above me - With showers and dew-drops wet; - And if thou wilt, remember, - And if thou wilt, forget. - - I shall not see the shadows; - I shall not feel the rain; - I shall not hear the nightingale - Sing on as if in pain; - And dreaming through that twilight - That doth not rise not set, - Haply I may remember, - And haply may forget." - -Such bold insight into so profound a subject says more for the soul of -an author than a whole miss's paradise of prettinesses. - -In singular contrast with this religious fervency and earnestness, the -sincerity of which we see no reason to impeach, comes our gravest -point of reprehension of this volume. We think it fairly chargeable -with utterances--and reticences--of morally dangerous tendency; and -this, too, mainly on a strange point for a poetess to be cavilled -at--the rather delicate subject of our erring sisters. Now, we are of -those who think the world, as to this matter, in a state little better -than barbarism; that far from feeling the first instincts of Christian -charity, we are shamefully like the cattle that gore the sick ox from -the herd. The only utterly pitiless power in human life is our virtue, -when brought face to face with this particular vice. We hunt the -fallen down; hunt them to den and lair; hunt them to darkness, -desperation, and death; hunt their bodies from earth, and their souls -(if we can) from heaven, with the cold sword in one hand, and in the -other the cross of him who came into the world to save, not saints, -but sinners, and who said to one of these: "Neither do I condemn thee. -Go, and now sin no more." - -But there is also such a thing as misdirected mercifulness; a -dangerous lenity, all the more to be guarded against for its wearing -the garb of charity; and we think Miss Rossetti has leaned culpably -far in this direction. Two poems are especially prominent -examples--Cousin Kate, and Sister Maude. In each the heroine has -sinned, and suffered the penalties of discovery, and in each she is -given the upper hand, and made a candidate for sympathy, for very bad -reasons. There is no word to intimate that there is anything so very -dreadful about dishonor; that it may not be some one else's fault, or -nobody's fault at all--a mere social accident. A few faint hinting -touches there may be of conventional condemnation, but somehow Miss -Rossetti's sinners, _as sinners_, invariably have the best of the -argument and of the situation, while virtue is, put systematically in -the wrong, and snubbed generally. The Goblin Market too, if we read it -aright, is open to the same criticism. We understand it, namely, to -symbolize the conflict of the better nature in us, with the prompting -of the passions and senses. If so, what is the story translated from -its emblematic form? One sister yields; the other by seeming to yield, -saves her. Again there is not a syllable to show that the yielding was -at all wrong in itself. A cautious human regard for consequences is -the grand motive appealed to for withstanding temptation. Lizzie tells -Laura, not that the goblin's bargain is an evil deed in the sight of -God, but that Jennie waned and died of their toothsome poisons. She -saves her by going just so far as she safely can. What, if anything, -is the moral of all this? Not "resist the devil and he will flee from -you," but "cheat the devil, and he won't catch you." Now, all these -sayings and silences are gravely wrong and false to a writer's true -functions. With all deference then, and fully feeling that we may -mistake, or misconstrue, we sincerely submit that some of these poems -go inexcusably beyond the bounds of that strict moral {846} right, -which every writer who hopes ever to wield influence ought to keep -steadily, and sacredly in view. We are emboldened to speak thus -plainly, because we have some reason to believe that these things have -grated on other sensibilities than our own, and that our stricture -embodies a considerable portion of cultivated public opinion. - -In conclusion, we repeat our first expressed opinion, that Miss -Rossetti is not yet entitled to take a place among today's poets. The -question remains, whether she ever will. We do not think this book of -hers settles this question. [Greek text], she has done nothing in -poetry yet of any consequence. These verses may be as well as she can -do. They contain poetical passages of merit and promise, but they show -also a defectiveness of versification, a falseness of ear, and -occasionally a degree of affectation and triviality that, we can only -hope, are not characteristic. To borrow a little of the style and -technology of a sister branch of thought, the case, as now presented, -can be accounted for as in essence a simple attack of the old and -well-known endemic, _cacaethes scribendi_. Probably it befell her at -the usual early age. Only instead of the run of gushing girls, we have -Dante Gabriel Rossetti's sister, Jean lngelow's intimate friend, and a -young lady of intelligence and education, constantly in contact with -real literary society, and--what is thoroughly evident in this -book--read in our best poets. Add all these complicating symptoms, and -is there not something plausible about the diagnosis? We do not say, -observe, and do not mean to say, that this is Miss Rossetti's case; -only all she has done so far seems explicable on this hypothesis. For -ourselves, we lean to the view that she will do more. We judge hers a -strong, sensuous, impulsive, earnest, inconsiderate nature, that -sympathizes well, feels finely, keeps true to itself at bottom, but -does not pause to make sure that others must, as well as may, enter -into the spirit that underlies her utterances, and so buries her -meaning sometimes beyond Champollion's own powers of deciphering. But -her next book must determine how much is to be ascribed to talent, and -how much to practice and good models; and show us whether genius or -gilt edges separate her from the [Greek text]. - --------- - -ORIGINAL. - -THE TEST. - - She stands with head demurely bent, - A village maiden, young and comely, - And he beside her, talking low - And earnestly, is Lord of Bromleigh. - - "Now raise thine eyes, and look at me, - And place thy little hand in mine, - And tell me thou my bride will be, - And I and Bromleigh shall be thine; - In richest silks thou shalt be drest-- - Have diamonds flashing on each hand, - And in all splendor shalt outshine - The proudest lady in the land. - -{847} - - On softest carpets thou shalt tread, - On velvet cushions shalt recline; - Whatever is most rich and rare - That thou mayst wish for shall be thine." - - "I do not covet silk attire, - Nor glittering gold, nor flashing gem; - There is no longing in my heart - To change my simple dress for them. - A village maiden I was born-- - A Village maiden I was bred-- - A happy life for eighteen years - In that low station I have led. - How do I know if I should change - My state for one so high, but then - The world might change, and never be - The thing it is to me again; - But from the field, and from the sky, - The glory and the joy would go; - The greenness from the meadow grass, - The beauty from all flowers that blow; - The sweetness from the breath of spring, - The music from the skylark's song: - Content, and all sweet thoughts that bring - A gladness to me all day long?" - - "Thy fears are idle fears," he said; - "Love, loyal heart, and generous mind, - Can happiness in lordly halls - As well as in a cottage find. - For this is of the soul, and bound - To no degrees of wealth or state: - Then put thy little hand in mine - And speak the word that seals my fate! - I love thee, Marian, more than life-- - Have loved thee, ah! thou dost not guess - How long, unknown to thee, my soul - Hath shrined in thee its happiness. - More precious than the light of day, - Thy beauty is unto mine eyes; - More sweet than all earth's music else - Thy voice that now to me replies. - Oh! would it speak the words I long - More than all other words to hear, - I were the happiest man this day - That breathes the breath of earthly air." - - She raised her head, and in her eyes - A tender look his glances met, - But 'twas not love--though kin to it-- - A look of pity and regret. - - "It pains me more than I can tell - To speak the words I ought; but yet - They must be said; and for your sake - I would that we had never met - -{848} - - For if you love me as you say, - I can conceive how great the pain - I give when I declare the troth, - I cannot love you, sir, again. - And I should sin a grievous sin, - Should do a grievous wrong to you, - If I should put my hand in yours - Unless my heart went with it too. - Not joy and pride, but grief and shame, - Go with the bridegroom and the bride - Into the house where they shall dwell, - Unless love enter side by side. - And I, because my heart is given - To one I love beyond my life. - Could find no joy in Bromleigh Hall - Am all unfit for Bromleigh's wife: - But did I love you, then, indeed, - Although my state be poor and mean, - I were as worthy Bromleigh Hall, - As were I daughter of a queen. - For love hath such divinity - That it ennobles every one - That owns its mast'ry, and can make - A beggar worthy of a throne. - This I have learned--love taught me this; - The love that is my breath of life: - That will not leave me till I die, - That will not let me be your wife. - Forbear to urge me more, my lord; - It gives me pain to give such pain; - Here let us part, and for the sake - Of both, to never meet again." - - "Stay yet a little, Marian, stay! - My heart was wholly thine before. - Or what thou sayst would make me swear - That now I love thee more and more. - A beauty brighter than a queen's, - A mind with noble thoughts so graced. - Among the highest in the land, - Were best esteemed, and fittest placed. - Yes, there thy rightful station is. - Amongst the noble of the earth: - And 'twere a sin unto a clown - To mate such beauty and such worth. - Thou could'st not live thy truest life; - Thy fullest joy thou could'st not find. - Chained to a poor cot's drudgery. - Wed to a dull, unlettered hind." - - Then flushed her face with maiden scorn. - And thrilled her voice with proud disdain; - And proudly looked her eyes at him - Who dared not look at her again. - -{849} - - "For shame! my lord; for shame! my lord; - You shame your rank to slander so - A man, I doubt if you have seen; - A man I'm sure you do not know. - The man I love is no base churl, - No poor unlettered village hind; - But in my soul he lives and reigns, - The wisest, noblest of mankind. - I grant him poor; I know he works - With head and hands for daily bread; - And nobler so in my esteem - Than if a useless life he led. - 'Tis not the accident of birth - Though with the flood the line began, - Nor having lands and countless wealth, - That makes and marks the gentleman. - For these are earthly, of the earth, - And by the vilest oft possessed; - But 'tis the spirit makes the man, - The soul that rules in brain and breast: - The generous heart, the noble mind, - The soul aspiring still to climb - To higher heights, to truer truths, - To faith more heavenly and sublime. - These make the noble of the earth; - And he I love is one of these:-- - And shall I for a title fall - From such a soul and love as his? - Believe me, no! Ten thousand times, - A cot with him I'd rather share - Than yonder hall with you, my lord," - And then she turned and left him there. - Off fell the curls and thick moustache - That hid the true look of his face. - A step--and ere she was aware - She struggled in a strong embrace; - Whilst kisses rained on cheek and lips, - She would have cried for help; but, lo! - The voice was one she knew so well, - Not that which spoke awhile ago. - - "Forgive me, oh! my dear, true love, - If I have seemed thy love to test; - I knew 'twas good, and pure, and true, - As ever filled a maiden's breast: - But I had something to reveal, - And so I put on this deceit. - Deceit! not so--for now I'm true, - The past it is that was a cheat; - For I this happy twelvemonth past, - This year that gave thy love to me, - Have lived a life not truly mine, - Have lived it for the sake of thee. - -{850} - - And though I Harry Nugent am, - The master of the village school, - So am I Harry Nugent Vane, - Lord of a higher rank and rule, - The which I left to win thy love; - And now I know that it is mine, - I take it back, my own true wife. - And Bromleigh Hall is mine and thine. - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -WHAT I HEARD ABOUT RITUALISM IN A CITY CAR. - - -"It ought to be stopped, and it's all nonsense." - -"It is all very well to say 'it ought to be stopped,' and that 'it is -all nonsense,' but, my dear sir, we cannot stop it, for the people -will have it; and I beg leave to differ with you, for I think it is -very far from being nonsense." - -It was in a Seventh Avenue railway car, and as I sat next to the last -speaker, a clerical-looking person, I could not help overhearing the -conversation. The other appeared to be one of those old gentlemen who -are positive about everything--who, even in the tie of their cravat, -say as plain as can be, "This is the way I intend to have it, and I -_will_ have it." - -"I perfectly agree with the Bishop of Oxford," said he. "See here"-- -and he opened a newspaper and read as follows: "'I have no great fear -that as to the majority of the people there is any tendency toward -Rome; and, on the contrary, I believe that in many cases this -development of English ritualism tends to keep our people from Rome. -It may, however, happen that the tendency of these things is to what I -consider to be at this moment the worst corruption of the church of -Rome--its terrible system of Mariolatry.' There, you see what it tends -to, and it is plain enough, although the bishop did not like to say -so, of course, that ritualism in our churches will educate our people -to become Catholics; and so he adds, very properly: 'I regard it with -deep distress. My own belief is that to stop these practices it will -only be necessary for the bishop to issue an injunction to the -clergymen to surcease from them--to surcease from incensing the holy -table--to surcease from prostration after the consecration of the -holy elements--to surcease from incensing at the _magnificat_.' My -opinion precisely." - -"Have you ever considered the true sense of these things?" inquired -his clerical friend. - -"Can't see any sense in it at all," tartly responded the old -gentleman. - -"No?" returned the other; "surely there must be some good reason for -this wide-spread desire of both clergy and laity for a more elaborate -ritual in divine service." - -"Fashionable, fashionable--nothing else." - -"It gives dignity and solemnity to public worship." - -"Mere show." - -"It adds to the apparent reality of the sacred functions of religion, -in the administration of the sacraments particularly." - -"Ha! ha! yes, it would be an apparent reality for us. I read about -that 'apparent reality' lately in the report of the ordination of one -of our bishops, and I thought it a very appropriate remark." - -{851} - -"But you must admit that it tends to edify the worshippers, and afford -them more ample means of lifting up the heart to God." - -"It don't edify me." - -"Then it is, besides, so full of instruction, for every ceremony fixes -the mind upon the religious truth to which the ceremony points, as, -for instance, making the sign of the cross must keep the truth of -redemption forcibly before the mind." - -"Make the sign of the cross!" ejaculated the old gentleman, almost -jumping out of his seat, at which movement half a dozen ladies, -standing up and holding on the leathern straps, made a simultaneous -rush for the place. - -"Why not?" said the other. "I am ready to do anything that will remind -me that my Saviour died for me. Then it is only fulfilling the -prophecy of St. Paul to bow or bend the knee at the mention of his -holy name, and to genuflect before the altar is very proper and right, -if we believe in the presence of Jesus Christ in the sacred elements." - -"But we Protestants don't believe it." - -"You must not be too sure of that; I know many who do. You know the -Scripture is very strong in its favor: 'This is my body--this is my -blood;' and I, as a good Protestant, who take my belief from the -Bible, may have the right to believe it, may I not?" - -"H'm, h'm, but our church don't teach any thing of the kind." - -"Not as a church, I grant you, but she has no right to trammel private -judgment; and if I choose to believe it, and act upon my belief, what -is to hinder me." - -"It seems to me that as a minister of the church you ought to -_minister_ just what the church teaches and no more." - -"If you follow that out, my friend, you will become a Romanist. A -Protestant cannot stand on that ground." - -"Oh dear!" exclaimed the old gentleman drawing a deep breath, and -scratching his head. "I don't know what we are coming to. A man don't -want to be a papist, and yet he goes to his own Protestant church and -must put up with all the bowings and scrapings and genuflections and -candies and flowers, and all the rest of the popish fiddle.de.dees." - -"Now you mention candles and flowers," said the clerical gentleman, -"what can be more appropriate symbols of joy and festivity? And when -the Christian is rejoicing on those solemn and joyful festivals of the -church, as, for instance, the birth of our Saviour at Christmas, and -his resurrection at Easter, how very natural it is that the sanctuary -of religion should be adorned with lights and flowers, than which -nothing could express more fitly the joy and thankfulness of the -heart. If you crush out all expression of these sentiments in the -service of the church you will render it a dull, cold formality; and -in this matter the church of Rome has been much wiser than we in -retaining all those things which, after all, are of apostolic origin, -and used by the earliest Christians." - -"Incense, too, I suppose," added the old gentleman with a snarl. - -"Incense too," repeated the other, "not the least doubt of it, as is -plain from the discoveries in the catacombs, and a beautiful emblem it -is of prayer. You know the scripture, 'My prayer shall ascend as -incense in thy sight.'" - -The old gentleman here looked around the car with an air that seemed -to say, Will somebody have the kindness to tell me if I am asleep or -awake? Turning to his friend, he said: "Then I suppose that all our -protestations on this score against the Roman church have no -foundation either in reason or in holy Scripture?" - -"That is not only my own opinion," replied the clerical gentleman, -"but I have every reason to believe it is the conviction of a very -large number of enlightened Protestants of our day." - -"A conviction I sincerely deplore," said the old gentleman. "Good -morning," and he abruptly rose and left the car. - -{852} - -"Excuse me, sir," said I, "if I, as a Catholic, have been deeply -interested in your conversation just now; but may I ask on what -principle those ritualistic forms and ceremonies are being adopted by -Protestants, and being introduced into their services?" - -"The principle is this, that they are all deeply significant of the -different truths of the Christian religion, a visible expression of -the faith of the worshipper." - -"We understand that perfectly as Catholics," said I, "but as your -congregations differ so widely in their individual belief, these forms -and ceremonies would possess no significance to the half of anyone -congregation of Protestant worshippers. Now, with us Catholics, the -ceremonies have a universal significance, as all our people are united -in one faith." - -"We will educate our people to it," said he. - -"That is, you would make the faith of your worshippers an expression -of the ceremonies you perform, and not the ceremonies an expression of -their faith. In the Catholic church the faith is all one to start on, -and the appropriate ceremonies follow as a matter of course." - -"I acknowledge," returned he, "that we have not paid sufficient -attention to the vital necessity of a ritual which would embody and -show forth the faith of our church." - -"But when you have gotten a ritual which supposes, as it must, certain -doctrines, and which, as you said to your friend, instructs the people -in these doctrines, are you not trammelling the private judgment of -those worshippers who do not believe these doctrines and wish to have -a ritual which is consistent with their belief? What right have you to -impose a ritual upon them inconsistent with their belief?" - -"We do not impose any particular ritual," he replied; "if they do not -like it they can go elsewhere." - -"But then you would have, or ought to have, as many different rituals -as your people have individual differences of belief, and that would -end in endless division and dissension." - -"It is excessively warm, don't you think so?" said the minister. - -"It is," said I, "but I think we are going to have a storm soon; I see -it is getting quite cloudy." - ------- - -ORIGINAL. - -THE BARREN FIG-TREE AND THE CROSS. - - O hapless tree! which doth refuse - Thy fruit to him who thee hath made: - Cursed and withered none may use - Thy barren limbs for fruit or shade. - - O Cross of death! which man did make, - Barren and fruitless though thou be, - Thy sapless branches life shall take - From that sweet fruit he gave to thee. - - O happy tree! divinely blest! - True, thou hast neither leaves nor root; - Yet 'neath thy shade a world shall rest, - And feast upon thy heavenly fruit! - --------- - -{853} - -MISCELLANY. - - -_A Peculiar Conglomerate_.--Mr. John Keily, of the Irish Geological -Society, has addressed a letter to the editor of the _Geological -Magazine_, describing a peculiar conglomerate bed which is on the -shore at Cushendeen, in the county of Antrim. The mass is about fifty -feet above the sea, and some thirty yards long and wide. It is -composed of round pebbles of quartz rock, from two to four inches in -diameter; and they occur so closely packed that everyone is in contact -with another, and no room left, except for the sand which cements -them, and which fills the openings between the pebbles, when -originally heaped together. These pebbles, as just stated, are of -quartz rock, and therefore all of one kind. There is no actual rock of -the same kind, on the shore, nearer than--(1) Malin Head, or Culdaff, -in Donegal; (2) Belderg, east of Belmullet in Mayo, where it occupies -the shore for fourteen miles; and (3) in the twelve bins, near -Clifden, in Connemara, where it forms bands interstratified with mica -slate. This mass is backed by a hill of brown Devonian grits and -shales interstratified, which extends from Cushendeen to Cushendal. In -both those rocks are a few round pebbles of quartz rock, similar to -those in the mass on the shore, but in the rocks of the hill they are -thinly disseminated, perhaps six or ten of them to a cubic yard. Mr. -Kelly desires to know how the quartz pebbles came together unmixed -with any other species of rock. The answer which the editor of the -_Geological Magazine_ gives in a foot-note seems very like the correct -one. It is to the effect that, in the grinding of the several elements -which were being rubbed together to form the conglomerate, the softer -ones became reduced to powder.--_Popular Science Review_. - - - -_Old Roman Mines in Spain_.--In the mines of San Domingo, in Spain, -some discoveries of Roman mining implements and galleries have been -made, which show us the colossal character of the labors undertaken by -that ancient nation. In some instances, draining galleries nearly -three miles in length were discovered, and in others the remains of -wheels used to raise water were found in abundance. The wood, owing, -it is thought, to penetration by copper, is in a perfect state of -preservation, and there appears to be evidence that the wheels were -worked by a number of men stepping on the flanges somewhat after the -manner of prisoners on a tread-mill. There were eight of these -water-wheels, the water being raised by the first into the first -basin, by the second into the second basin, and so on, till it was -conveyed out of the mine. The age of these relics has been set down at -1500 years.--_Ibid_. - - - -_Blood Relationship in Marriage_.--At a late meeting of the London -Anthropological Society, a paper was read by Dr. Mitchell on the above -subject. The conclusions arrived at are: 1. That consanguinity in -parentage tends to injure the offspring. That this injury assumes -various forms: "as, diminished viability; feeble constitution; bodily -defects; impairment of the senses; disturbance of the nervous system; -sterility.", 2. That the injury may show itself in the grand-children: -"so that there may be given to the offspring by the kinship of the -parents a _potential defect_ which may become _actual_ in their -children, and thenceforth perhaps appear as an hereditary disease." 3. -That idiocy and imbecility are more common than insanity in such -cases. - - -_Gigantic Birds'-Nests_.--Mr. Gould describes the Wattled Talegalla, -or Bush Turkey, of Australia, as adopting a most extraordinary process -of nidification. The bird collects together an immense heap of -decaying vegetable matter as a depository for the eggs, and trusts to -the heat engendered by decomposition for the development of the young. -The heap employed for this purpose is collected by the birds during -several weeks previous to the period of laying. It varies in size from -two to four cartloads, and is of a perfectly pyramidal form. Several -birds work at its construction, not by using their bills, but by -grasping {854} the materials with their feet and throwing them back to -one common centre. In this heap the birds bury the eggs perfectly -upright, with the large end upward; they are covered up as they are -laid, and allowed to remain until hatched, when the young birds are -clothed with feathers, not with down, as is usually the case. It is -not unusual for the natives to obtain nearly a bushel of eggs at one -time from a single heap; and as they are delicious eating, they are as -eagerly sought after as the flesh. The birds are very stupid, and -easily fall a victim to the sportsman, and will sit aloft and allow a -succession of shots to be fired at them until they are brought -down.--_Lamp_. - - - -_The Muscular Fibres of the Heart of Vertebrates_.--We have received -from Dr. J. B. Pettigrew, the accomplished sub-curator of the Royal -College of Surgeons' Museum, a copy of his excellent monograph on the -above subject. The memoir is certainly the finest which has yet been -produced; for it is comprehensive, clear, and accurate, and is -accompanied by a great number of beautiful lithographs, which have -been taken from photographs of actual dissections. The arrangement of -the muscular fibres, as demonstrated by the author, sheds much light -upon the peculiar movements of the heart. For this reason the essay -has a great physiological importance, and, from the circumstance that -the anatomy of the heart in the four vertebrate classes is fully -explored by Dr. Pettigrew, it is of equal import and interest to the -comparative anatomist. We have also received Dr. Pettigrew's paper on -the valvular apparatus of the circulatory system, and we commend it -likewise to our readers' favorable notice.--_Science Review_. - ----- - -ORIGINAL. - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - -LIFE OF CATHERINE McAULEY. -Foundress of the institute of Religious Sisters of Mercy. By a member -of the order (belonging to the Convent of Mercy, at St. Louis), etc. 1 -vol. 12mo, pp. 500. New York. D. & J. Sadlier & Co., 1866. - -This biography introduces a new, and hitherto generally unknown, -character to the acquaintance, and, we are sure, to the admiration of -the English-speaking Catholic public. The anonymous religious -authoress has shown herself well qualified for her filial task, and -has conferred a great benefit both on her order and on the cause of -religion in general. The nearness of the period in which her venerable -subject lived, the testimony of a number of the best informed and most -trustworthy witnesses who were personally acquainted with her, and the -materials furnished by other memoirs and letters, have given the -writer of this biography an abundance of the most authentic data from -which to produce a truthful and complete sketch of the Foundress of -the Sisters of Mercy. - -We have had the pleasure of learning something of the history of -Catherine McAuley, and of the foundation of her institute, from one of -her own earliest and most trusted pupils, who has planted the same -institute, and brought it to a flourishing condition in four of the -New England States. The portrait of her drawn by her biographer, -corresponds with, and completes the preconceived idea of her character -we had received from this authentic source. - -It is eighty-one years since Catherine McAuley was born, forty years -since she made the first beginning of her institute, and twenty-five -years since her death. Her period of active life embraced only -fourteen years. Yet there are now more than two hundred convents, and -three thousand sisters, belonging to the congregation of Our Lady of -Mercy, scattered over Ireland, England, the United States, British -America, South America, and Australia; although the mortality among -the sisters is at the high rate of ten per cent a year. - -These facts prove better than any eloquence the value of the life and -works of the foundress of the institute. Her personal history is -uncommonly interesting and highly romantic. She was the daughter of -highly respectable Catholic parents residing in Dublin. Losing her -parents at an early age, she came under the guardianship of relatives -who were strict Protestants and intensely hostile {855} to the -Catholic religion. Consequently, she was not able to receive any -instruction, to go to mass, or much less to receive the sacraments, -before she became a young lady. Her brothers and sisters were easily -induced to give up their minds to the influence of Protestant teaching -and example. Catherine, however, steadily refused to attend the -Protestant church; and, as soon as she was capable of doing so, made a -studious and thorough examination of the grounds of the two religions, -which resulted in establishing her forever in a faith which was not -only firm but intelligent. She eventually succeeded in bringing back -her sister and her nephew and niece to the Catholic church. While -still a child, Catherine McAuley was adopted by an elderly couple -named Callahan, who were very kind-hearted, very wealthy, and, -childless. They allowed her to practise her religion, although quite -indifferent to religion themselves, and gave her the means of -practising many of those acts of charity to which she was always -inclined. - -This part of her history is strikingly interesting, as throwing light -on the state of the Catholic religion among the higher classes in -Ireland, during the latter part of the last century and the former -part of the present one. It contains some scenes of tragic pathos -taken from domestic life. Few are aware of the hatred, the contempt, -the cruelty, the bitter, unrelenting persecution, with which the -Catholic religion has had to contend in Ireland. Miss McAuley was once -obliged to fly from the house of her brother-in-law, at night, through -the streets of Dublin, to save herself from death at his hands. -Nevertheless, she conquered, as the holy faith has always conquered, -by undaunted courage joined with angelic meekness. The same -brother-in-law who had pursued her with a drawn dagger, declared to -her on his death-bed, that if he had time he would candidly examine -into the Catholic religion, and died repeating acts of contrition, -faith, hope and charity, which she suggested to him, leaving his -children to her guardianship. - -At the age of thirty-five Miss McAuley was left, by the death of her -adopted parents, both of whom had become Catholics during their last -illness, mistress of a fortune, the exact amount of which is not -stated, but which appears to have at east equalled the sum of fifty -thousand pounds sterling. The whole of this fortune was devoted by her -to the foundation of her institute, which was opened about five years -afterward, that is, in the year 1827. She does not seem to have -cherished any aspirations after the religious state for herself, -during her youth, much less to have dreamed of becoming the foundress -of an order. In founding her institute in Dublin, she had in view the -plan of combining the efforts of charitable ladies for the benefit of -the poor, the sick, the ignorant, and particularly servant-girls who -were out of place. The community-life, and the whole religious -routine, grew up naturally and of itself. After a time, the judgment -of prelates, clergymen, and other persons of weight, induced Miss -McAuley and her associates to adopt a rule, and take perpetual vows. -The scope of the institute embraces choir duties to a moderate extent, -almost every kind of charitable work for the poor, a particular care -for respectable servant-girls out of place, poor-schools, and -high-schools or academies for girls of the middling classes. - -The noble woman who planned all this vast scheme of good works, and -lavished her fortune with princely generosity to set it in motion, -died in the year 1841, at the age of fifty~four, ten years after -making her vows as a Sister of Mercy. It is an interesting -circumstance that the great and good Daniel O'Connell was one of her -warmest friends during her life, and one of her staunchest supporters -in her undertakings. These two magnanimous souls who loved their -country, their country's faith, and the patient, oppressed, but -unconquerable poor of their country, better than all earthly things, -could appreciate and honor each other. Our readers will thank us for -quoting the following description of the scenes which usually occurred -at the great Liberator's visits to the convents of the Sisters of' -Mercy: - - "In his journeys through Ireland, O'Connell nearly always visited - the convents in his route. On these occasions his reception was a - kind of ovation. The Te Deum was sung, the reception-room hung with - green, the national emblems--harp, shamrock, and - sun-burst--displayed, addresses were read by the pupils, and any - request he asked implicitly granted. His manner at such scenes was - particularly happy. To a young girl who had delivered q flattering - address to the 'Conquering Hero,' he said, very {856} graciously, - that he 'regretted her sex precluded her from that distinguished - place in the imperial senate to which her elocutionary abilities - entitled her.' Then glancing at the girls who surrounded the - oratress, he continued with emotion: 'Often have I listened with - nerve unstrung and heart unmoved to the calumny and invectives of - our national enemies; but to-day, as I look on the beautiful young - virgins of Erin, my herculean frame quivers with emotion, and the - unbidden tear moistens my eye. Can such a race continue in ignoble - bondage? Are you born for no better lot than slavery? No,' he - continued, with increasing vehemence, 'you shall be free; your - country shall yet be a nation; you shall not become the mothers of - slaves.'" (pp. 146-47.) - -What a contrast between such genuine heroic characters as these, the -true glory of their people, and the mock-heroic charlatans, whose -genius show itself only in gathering in money from laboring men and -servant-girls, and organizing raids which end only in the death and -imprisonment of their most unlucky dupes, and bitter mutual -accusations of treachery and cowardice among the leaders. The worst -enemies of the Irish people are those who seek to alienate them from -their clergy, and to lead them astray from the true mission given them -by divine providence, which is identified with their traditions of -faith and loyalty to the church. They are like Achaz and the false -prophets of Judah, who contaminated the people of God with the false -maxims of the nations around them. Men and women like Daniel O'Connell -and Catherine McAuley are the Macchabees and Judiths of their nation. -Through such as these, the faith of Ireland may yet conquer England, -as the trampled faith of Judaea conquered Rome; and her long martyrdom -obtain the due meed of glory from the children of her old oppressors. - -We recommend this book to all those who claim kindred either in -nationality or in faith with its subject, and who wish to rekindle -their devotion or renew the memories of their ancestral home. We -recommend it especially to our wealthy Catholics, that they may -meditate on the example of princely charity given them by this young -heiress, who gave away a fortune more readily than most others would -give one twentieth of a year's income. We request our fair young -readers also, to lay aside their novels for a while, and read the life -of one who was beautiful, gifted, highly educated, beloved of all, -rich in worldly goods, and with all earthly happiness courting her -acceptance; and who, amid these allurements and the severest -temptations to her faith, shone forth a bright model of all high -Christian virtues to her sex. We wish that all those who are -prejudiced against the Catholic faith, and who nevertheless have the -candor which pays tribute to virtue, conscientiousness, and -self-sacrifice, wherever seen, might also read it. The history of -Catherine McAuley and her institute adds another to the many -practical, living proofs, more powerful than any speculative -arguments, of the truth and power of the Catholic religion. Such a -history never has been or will be possible outside the fold of the -Catholic church. Its occurrence in our own times shows that the church -is now, as of old, the fruitful mother of saints, and that the old -Catholic ideas which once made martyrs of young maidens, and raised up -Claras and Teresas, retain all their power over the souls of those who -have inherited the same faith. We have no fear of incurring the -displeasure of Urban VIII. or of his successor, in giving our judgment -that Catherine McAuley was a true Christian heroine, a woman of the -same high stamp of character with St. Teresa, whom she resembles in -many striking respects. - -It is superfluous to say that this biography will be a most useful -book in religious houses. Example is more powerful than precept, and a -recent example is more powerful than a remote one. It were to be -wished that similar biographies were more numerous. There are -materials in the recent history of other orders, as well as in that of -the institute of Mercy, which might be used to great advantage. The -history of the American foundress of the Order of the Visitation would -be worthy of a place, even in the annals of that ancient order. Books -of this kind are not only instructive, but, when well written, -superior in that charm which captivate's the feelings and imagination -of the young, to the romantic tales over which their time and -sensibilities are too often wasted. The present volume is written in -that lively and piquant style, with a dash of humor to flavor it, -which makes a biography most readable and entertaining. Religion wears -its most cheerful and attractive countenance in {857} these pages, and -even the couch of the dying sisters are lit up with gayety. Mother -Catherine's life was a perpetual _Laetare_ Sunday in Lent, spiritual -joy ever decking with flowers the altar of sacrifice, and changing the -violet of penance and self-denial to rose-color. Her tranquil and -benignant countenance, as represented in the portrait which graces her -biography, expresses this type of spirituality which she communicated -to her order. The mirthful laugh of the common-room resounds through -the pages which relate of the unremitting labors and continual prayer, -whose effect decimates the ranks of the Sisters of Mercy every year. -We are not treated to any prosy disquisitions or abstracts of ascetic -treatises, which make some of the lives of saints such tiresome -reading, especially to young people. But we have something better; a -picture of virtue, of piety, of devotion to Jesus Christ, in their -most heroic form, blended with a joyousness to which, the boudoir and -the drawing-room are strangers, and which may well attract pure and -generous hearts to imitate such an engaging model of sanctity. - -There are numerous episodes and sketches of the many persons with whom -Mother Catherine was associated, such as that of her little niece -Mary; of the good Welsh sister from Bridgenorth; of the English earl's -daughter, who entered the convent with her two waiting-maids; of the -accomplished but somewhat eccentric authoress of Geraldine; and the -inimitable Dr. Fitzgerald. Some of these are pathetic, and others -comic in the extreme. We have but one criticism to make, which is, -that a little more restraint and forbearance toward some who are -deemed to have erred in their duty to the order, would have added -another grace to the narrative. There are also some faults of -typography and slight clerical oversights, which will doubtless be -corrected in a second edition. - -We hope we have piqued the curiosity of our readers enough to make -every reader buy the book, or tease papa to buy it. And if the desire -to read it is not enough to wake up our somewhat apathetic Catholic -public, let them remember that by buying the book they are -contributing to that unfailing spring of mercy which flows from the -convents of Catherine McAuley's daughters to relieve the poor. - - -ROBERT SEVERNE, His Friends and his Enemies. A Novel, by William A. -Hammond. Philadelphia. J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 369. - -This novel has the merit of being written by a scholar and a man of -science. The first part of it is well done, and excites no little -interest; but as we progress, it is plain that the author has -permitted his facile pen to have pretty much its own way. The general -impression, therefore, left on the mind is that as a novel it has been -hastily written. The characters are too perfect both in virtue and in -vice; and although the author is at great pains to describe his -characters, we are obliged to differ with him in our opinion of them. -The hero is brought before us as a hard student, yet we have quite -another idea of him from his words and actions. He is in effect a -wealthy gentleman, who moves easily in polite society, and has a fancy -for purchasing rare old books at ruinous prices: finds a Cabana or -Partaga cigar equally at hand in Europe and in his elegantly furnished -study at home (where it is true he consumes a great deal of brain and -time over his books), but we do not find the student in him when he -comes to play his part before us. He has been unfortunate in a first -marriage, and becomes violently misanthropical and suspicious. His -first act, however, is marked by surpassing benevolence and verdant -innocence. He is swindled in the street out of a ten-dollar gold piece -by a prostitute, who feigns poverty, and instantly conceives a violent -affection for this totally unknown person, and most unmisanthropically -determines to catch her, reform and educate her. We may remark, by the -way, that when our hero does "tip" anybody he does it in true Monte -Cristo style: it always is a ten-dollar gold piece, or a -hundred-dollar bill. Of course he falls violently in love with the -heroine at first sight, and loses his misanthropy with his heart. Sal -Tompkins, who is to be his _protegee_, turns out to have some -unusually good points, and having come to warn the heroine of a -premeditated attack upon her grandfather's house by a gang of -burglars, of one of whom she is the mistress, the utmost cordiality -and intimacy springs up between herself and the heroine; and, in fact, -we are led to believe, from a remark made by the grandfather, {858} -that these two ladies occupied the same room that night, if not the -same couch. The heroine's father was a bad man, and Sal Tompkins is -also a daughter of his, which may satisfy the reader, but should not -the parties concerned, seeing they knew nothing of the fact. Sal -becomes a very lady-like person in an incredibly short space of time, -and the discovery of her left-hand relationship is received without -the slightest remonstrance or disgust. The villain of the story is the -hero's lawyer and factotum; a pretty good villain, as far as his -language and intentions go; but he is represented as so violently -villainous that we are led to believe the author is prejudiced against -him. He makes use of a written confession of murder penned by the hero -while laboring under hallucination of mind (a real tit.bit of science, -which the distinguished author could illustrate much better in another -department of literature than he has done here), and on the strength -of it arrests him in England, whither Severne arrives after a -telegraphic journey around the world. The way in which our author here -dispatches messengers to Suez and Constantinople from England, quite -takes our breath away. The imprisonment, trial, acquittal, and -subsequent disgrace of the perjured lawyer quickly follow, to the -utmost satisfaction of the reader, who being behind the scenes (as he -is always kindly permitted to be), suffers no pangs of anxiety for the -results. The author says the heroine showed no emotion whatever of -surprise or annoyance when the self-accusation of murder written by -her affianced husband was shown to her, undoubtedly genuine as it was. -Here again we are sorry to differ with him. Of the other characters -little need be said. There is a portrait of "a lady" in Grace Langley; -an attempt at an imitation of Chadband, the renowned apostle of -"trewth," in Brother Jenkins; and a Mr. Goodall, who is introduced, as -it would seem, to play a part which he does not find. The story of -Ulrich de Hutten with his wonderful unique copy of an old book, and -his magic pentagramme, is made to link in with the principal events of -the story, but from its peculiarly romantic character, has no unity -with it: the best proof of which is that the whole of it could be -erased from the book, and the reader would not miss it. What moral we -are to draw from it we are also at a loss to divine. - -That the author can write well is evident enough, both from this book -and from others of a high order of merit which he has contributed to -the department of science; but that he has accomplished as a novelist -all that he is competent to do, Robert Severne does not, in our humble -judgment, bear worthy testimony. - - -THE SCHOOL OF JESUS CRUCIFIED. -From the Italian of F. Ignatius of the Side of Jesus. Passionist. New -York. D. & J. Sadlier & Co. - -To meet with a book like this among so much that is cold, speculative, -and heartless in the publications of our day, is like meeting with a -blushing red rose in a cotton bale. Its beauty and its sweetness -possess a double charm. Its every page glows with that tender piety -and warm devotion which is the expression of a devout Christian head, -and it cannot fail of kindling a like holy fire in the soul of him who -loves to learn the lessons taught from the summit of the Cross. The -worthy translator speaks thus in the preface: "The school of Jesus -Crucified! What Christian would not wish to study therein? to learn -wisdom and patience and resignation to the divine will, from the -example of a God-man, who came on earth and assumed our frail -mortality to be to us a model, as well as a Redeemer?" A question -which, we think, will serve to interest very many, and induce them to -procure and use this sweet little book. The very appropriate style of -its publication is quite a noticeable feature about it, and commends -itself to all lovers of well-printed and well-clothed books. - - -THE FRENCH MANUAL. -A new, simple, concise, and easy method of acquiring a conversational -knowledge of the French Language, including a Dictionary of over Ten -Thousand Words. By M. Alfred Havet. Entirely revised and corrected -from the last English Edition, with a new system of pronunciation. D. -Appleton & Co., New York. - -{859} - -This is certainly an advance on the old progressive system of -Ollendorff. It fully realizes all its title proposes, and is evidently -the work of one who is a successful teacher of the French language. We -commend it to the notice of all professors of French in our colleges -and schools, by whom, if we do not mistake, its merits will be duly -appreciated. We observe an error among the rules of pronunciation, -however, that should not pass unnoticed. The Parisian would not take -our sound of _wa_ in _waft_, _wag_, and _wax_, to express the sound of -_oi_ in _fois, soif_, etc. We presume the author has been accustomed -to hear those words pronounced woft, wog, and wox, as he dates his -preface from Edinburgh. - - -THE PHYSIOLOGY OF MAN. -Designed to represent the existing State of Physiological Science, as -applied to the Functions of the Human Body. By Austin Flint, Jr., -Professor of Physiology and Microscopy in the Bellevue Hospital -Medical College, etc., etc. Vol. i., 8vo, pp. 495. D. Appleton & Co., -New York. 1866. - -This work has lain on our table for some time. The delay in writing -the notice has been from no lack of admiration or appreciation of the -book or its author, but from a desire to write more than an ordinary -book notice. - -This we will defer till the work is completed, and in the mean time we -hasten to express our hearty approval of a literary and scientific -enterprise, which reflects the highest honor on the profession of -medicine and on the literature of the country. - -Prof. Flint, the young author, has devoted his life to the study and -teaching of physiology. He steadily refuses the allurements and -emoluments of practice, and steadily and successfully pursues the -object of his ambition. His present work, if completed in accordance -with the first volume, will reward him for his past toil, and ensure -him an honorable and most enviable future among the leading minds of -his profession in this country and the scientific world. - -It will be out of place to enter into any scientific discussion in the -pages of a journal devoted to general literature. It is sufficient to -say that Dr. Flint has presented, in elegant language and graphic -style, a correct view of the science of physiology to the time of -writing. He displays great erudition, a thorough grasp of the subject, -and a sincere desire to appreciate and communicate the exact truth. It -is the best book on the subject for college libraries, and is an -almost indispensable necessity to the physician. - -We hope the publication of such works will renew the habit of studying -the philosophy of medicine as part of a liberal education, draw closer -the bond between the intellectual classes and the profession of -medicine, and in this way advance the interests of science, humanity, -and civilization. - -This work is issued in an elegant form, worthy of its eminent -publishers. - - -KING RENE'S DAUGHTER. -A Danish lyrical drama. By Henrik Hertz. Translated by Theodore -Martin. New York: Leypoldt & Holt. 1867. - -This is indeed a poetic gem of the first water, and we venture to -assert that few critics will contest our judgment. The author of the -introductory sketches repeats twice that it is lovely, and we think we -might repeat it twice more and it not be too often. He who will -commence reading it, and not finish it at one sitting, we pronounce -one of those beings so detested of Shakespeare, who has no music in -his soul. - -It forms but one act in seven scenes, but is replete with events, -"stirring, surprising, yet harmonious." A bit of philosophy peeps out -here and there to interest and charm the most unimaginative thinker; -for instance, when Martha, the guardian of Iolanthe, the king's' -daughter, reasons upon her unconscious blindness: - - "May it not be, sir, while we darkly muse - Upon our life's mysterious destinies, - That we in blindness walk, like Iolanthe, - Unconscious that true vision is not ours? - Yet is that faith our hope's abiding star." - -The innocent confession of the hitherto inexperienced passion of love -which springs up in the heart of Iolanthe, at the presence and sound -of the voice of her unknown betrothed, is a passage of rare beauty and -originality. He asks her to place her hand upon his head to mark his -height, that when he returns she may remember him. She answers: - - "What need of that? - I know that few resemble thee in height; - Thy utterance comes to me as from above, - Like all that's high and inconceivable; - And know I not thy tone? Like as thou' speakest - None speak beside. No voice, no melody - I've known in nature, or in instrument, - Doth own a resonance so lovely, sweet, - So winning, full, and gracious as thy voice. - Trust me, I'll know thee well amidst them all!" - -{860} - -The final tableau, in which Iolanthe, with restored sight, recognizes -her father, and she and Count Tristan, her betrothed, each other, is -full of dramatic power. We promise the reader a pleasure in the -perusal of this poem such as he seldom enjoys. - - -OUT OF TOWN. -1 vol. 12mo, pp. 311. New York: Hurd & Houghton. - -This is a sprightly book wrought out of a common and everyday subject: -a change from a city to a country life. The story is told in an easy, -off-hand, and peculiarly attractive way, and engages the attention of -its readers, particularly those of the rising generation. The writer -contrives to invest the most ordinary topics with a zest which keeps -alive the interest of his reader to the close. It is a perfect _pot -pourri_ of fun and humor, dished to suit all palates and all ages. But -it has a fatal blemish in our judgment:--a perpetual parade of -decanters and pipes. The writer seems to think that there can be no -such thing as conviviality or good cheer without intoxicating -libations. Why cannot those who write books for the young avoid this -rock of offence? Surely there is small need, in these days, of such -temptation. Everyday life reeks with the disgusting and pernicious -habit of tippling. Why does it become necessary that every new book -for our children should be redolent of the fumes of the bar-room? Are -our book-makers aware what an impetus they are imparting to that wave -of desolation which is swelling over the fair face of our beloved -country, and which threatens, more than any other one thing, to -submerge and sweep away all those barriers of virtue and morality on -which rely our hopes for the protection of religion and a healthy -morality? - - -SADLIER'S CATHOLIC DIRECTORY, ALMANAC, AND ORDO, -for the year of our Lord 1867. New-York: D. and J. Sadlier & Co. - -This volume consists of about 647 pages of matter of which 290 pages -are devoted to the Church of the United States, 100 to the Church of -British North America and Ireland, and 257 to advertisements. As a -popular Catholic Directory for the United States it may be said that -at least one half of it is but of partial interest. - -The portion devoted to the United States is apparently very full, and -as accurate, no doubt, as the publishers have been able to make it. We -observe however, that the Church statistics of Ireland and British -America possess a valuable little summary at the end of each while no -such summary is given for the Church of the United States. - -If one would look anywhere for it we think it would be in just such a -publication as the one before us, and we must confess to being -disappointed in not finding it here. - - -MR. P. O'SHEA, New-York, has in -press a new edition of The Gentle Skeptic. -By Rev. C. Walworth. - - -BOOKS RECEIVED. - -From D. APPLETON, & Co., New-York. Joseph II. and his Court. By Mrs. -L. Muehlbach. With Illustrations. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, $2 00. - - -From LEYPOLDT & HOLT, New-York. King Rene's Daughter, a Danish Lyrical -Drama. By Henrik Hertz. Translated by Theodore Martin. 1 vol. 12mo, -pp. 100. Price $125. - - - -From M'GILL & NOLAN, Georgetown, D.C. The Messenger of the Sacred -Heart of Jesus, a monthly bulletin of the Apostleship of Prayer. Price -$2 per annum. - - -From BENZlGER BROS. Alte Neue Welt, an Illustrated German Catholic -Magazine. Price $3 00 per annum. - - - -From HURD & HOUGHTON, New-York. Essays on Art By Francis Turner -Palgrave. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 330. Price $1 75. - - -From D. APPLETON & Co. The French Manual: n. new, simple, concise, and -easy method of acquiring a conversational knowledge of the French -language, including a Dictionary of over ten thousand words. By M. -Alfred Harve. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 188 and 112. - - -From D. & J. SADLIER & Co., New-York. Life of Catherine McAuley, -Foundress and first Superior of the Institute of Religious Sisters of -Mercy. By a member of the Order of Mercy. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 500. Price -$2 50. Sermons by the REV. THOS. S. PRESTON. Revised and enlarged -edition. 1 vol. pp. 581. Price $2 50. The School of Jesus Crucified. -From the Italian of Father IGNATIUS, of the Side of Jesus, Passionist. -1 vol. pp. 334. Price 75 cents. The Christian armed against, the World -and the Illusions of his own Heart. By FATHER IGNATIUS of the Side of -Jesus, Passionist. 1 vol: 32mo, pp. 320. Price 50c. - - - -From J. D. LIPPINCOTT & Co., Philadelphia. Robert Severne, His Friends -and his Enemies. A Novel. By William A. Hammond. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 369. -Price $1 75. - - -MUSIC RECEIVED. - -From J. L. PETERS & BRO., St. Louis &. Cincinnati. Shamus O'Brien, an -answer to Norah O'Neill. By William S. Hayes. Let the Dead and the -Beautiful Rest. Little Beauty. Pink of Perfection. Mary's Waiting at -the Window. - ------- - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Catholic World; Vol. IV.; October, -1866, to March, 1867., by E. Rameur - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, OCT 1866-MARCH 1867 *** - -***** This file should be named 43032.txt or 43032.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/0/3/43032/ - -Produced by Don Kostuch - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -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 - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |