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diff --git a/old/50721-0.txt b/old/50721-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 374bc18..0000000 --- a/old/50721-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,53156 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Catholic World, Vol. 17, April, 1873 to -September, 1873, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Catholic World, Vol. 17, April, 1873 to September, 1873 - A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science - -Author: Various - -Release Date: December 19, 2015 [EBook #50721] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, VOL. 17 *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - -—The Table of Contents is shaped as an Index and so it has been -retained. - - - - - THE - - CATHOLIC WORLD. - - - A - - MONTHLY MAGAZINE - - OF - - GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. - - - VOL. XVII. - - APRIL, 1873, TO SEPTEMBER, 1873. - - - NEW YORK: - THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, - 9 Warren Street. - - 1873. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - “Abraham”—“Abron”—“Auburn,” 234 - - Abuse of Diplomatic Authority, An, 130 - - Antiquities of the Law, 69 - - Appeal to Workingmen, 751 - - Art, Necessity _versus_, 558 - - Art Pilgrimage through Rome, An, 808 - - - Bolanden’s The Russian Idea, 27, 161 - - Bolanden’s The Trowel or the Cross, 308, 473 - - Bread-Winner, Woman as a, 223 - - Brittany: Its People and its Poems, 252, 537 - - Bruté, Memoirs of the Rt. Rev. S. G., 711 - - - Casgrain’s The Canadian Pioneers, 687 - - Casgrain’s Picture of the Rivière Ouelle, 103 - - Chapman’s The Evolution of Life, 145 - - Charlevoix, Shea’s, 721 - - Charities, Public, 1 - - Chartres, 834 - - Church and State in Germany, 513 - - Civilization? What is, 486 - - Conciliar Decrees on the Holy Scriptures, 195 - - Country Life in England, 319 - - - Darwinism, More about, 641 - - Dick Cranstone, 392 - - Diplomatic Authority, An Abuse of, 130 - - Domestic Festivities, English, 630 - - Dubois’ Madame Agnes, 78, 182, 330, 446, 591, 731 - - - Early Marriage, 839 - - Education, Home, 91 - - Empire, The, 606 - - England, Country Life in, 319 - - English Domestic Festivities, 630 - - Erckmann-Chatrian, Mme. Jeannette’s Papers, 566 - - Error Rectified, An, 144 - - Evening at Chamblay, An, 765 - - Evolution of Life, The, 145 - - - Fiske’s Myths and Myth-Makers, 209 - - Fontainebleau, 241, 382 - - For Better—For Worse, 257, 408 - - - Germany, Church and State in, 513 - - Grapes and Thorns, 362, 498, 655, 792 - - - Heaven, 220 - - Holy Scriptures, Conciliar Decrees on the, 195 - - Home Education, 91 - - - Indians of Ysléta, The, 422 - - - Jerome Savonarola, 289, 433, 577 - - Jesuits in Paris, The, 701 - - John Baptist de Rossi, and his Archæological Works, 272 - - Joseph in Egypt, a Type of Christ, 77 - - - Koche, King of Pitt, 545 - - - Lace, Something about, 56 - - Laughing Dick Cranstone, 392 - - Law, Antiquities of the, 69 - - Legend of S. Christopher, A, 278 - - Legend of S. Martin, A, 137 - - Life, The Evolution of, 145 - - - Madame Agnes, 78, 182, 330, 446, 591, 731 - - Madame Jeannette’s Papers, 566 - - Marriage, Early, 839 - - Memoirs of a Good French Priest, 711 - - Middlemarch and Fleurange, 775 - - More about Darwinism, 641 - - My Cousin’s Introduction, 171 - - Myths and Myth-Mongers, 209 - - - Necessity _versus_ Art, 558 - - - Palais Royal, The, 113 - - Paris, The Jesuits in, 701 - - Peace, 157 - - People and Poems of Brittany, 252, 537 - - Philosophical Terminology, 463 - - Picture of the Rivière Ouelle, The, 103 - - Poet and Martyr, 40 - - Political Principle for the Social Restoration of France, The, 348 - - Present Greatness of the Papacy, The, 400 - - Public Charities, 1 - - - Ramière’s The Political Principle of the Social Restoration of France, - 348 - - Records of a Ruin, The, 113 - - Reminiscence of San Marco, A, 707 - - Rome, An Art Pilgrimage through, 808 - - Rossi, John Baptist de, and his Archæological Works, 272 - - Russian Idea, The, 27, 161 - - - Sales, S. Francis de, 171 - - San Marco: A Reminiscence, 707 - - Savonarola, Jerome, 289, 433, 577 - - Scholars _en Déshabillé_, 844 - - Shakespearian Excursus, A, 234 - - Shea’s Charlevoix, 721 - - Something about Lace, 56 - - Southwell, F. Robert, 40 - - Stories of Two Worlds, The, 775 - - - Terminology, Philosophical, 463 - - Travellers and Travelling, 676, 822 - - Trowel or the Cross, The, 308, 473 - - - Unity, 307 - - - What is Civilization? 486 - - Woman as a Bread-Winner, 223 - - Workingmen, Appeal to, 751 - - - Ysléta, The Indians of, 422 - - -POETRY. - - Angel and the Child, The, 570 - - - Beati qui Lugent, 271 - - - Christe’s Childhoode, 472 - - - Dante’s Purgatorio, 24, 158, 304 - - Dies Iræ, 221 - - - Marriage Song, 462 - - May Carol, A, 407 - - Mother of God, 710 - - Music, 807 - - - Sonnet: The Poetry of the Future, 399 - - Sonnet: To the Pillar at S. Paul’s, Rome, 590 - - Sonnet: To the Ruins of Emania, 750 - - - Temple, The, 764 - - To a Child, 426 - - To a Friend, 497 - - To be Forgiven, 821 - - To the Sacred Heart, 536 - - - Virgin Mary, The, to Christ on the Crosse, 39 - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - Augustine, S., Harmony of the Evangelists, etc., 855 - - Augustine, S., On the Trinity, 855 - - Alcott’s Aunt Jo’s Scrap-Book, 142 - - Amulet, The, 575 - - - Bagshawe’s Threshold of the Catholic Church, 572 - - Bateman’s Ierne of Armorica, 427 - - Begin’s La Primauté et l’Infaillibilité des Souveraines Pontifes, - etc., 576 - - Bolanden’s, The Progressionists, and Angela, 281 - - Brady’s Irish Reformation, 573 - - Brady’s State Papers on the Irish Church, 573 - - Brann’s Truth and Error, 142 - - Brothers of the Christian Schools during the War, The, 430 - - Burke’s Lectures and Sermons, 718 - - - Caddell’s Wild Times, 284 - - Catechism of the Holy Rosary, 428 - - Church Defence, 280 - - Conscience’s The Amulet, 575 - - Conscience’s The Fisherman’s Daughter, 575 - - Constance and Marion, 432 - - - Deaf Mute, The, 288 - - Devere’s Modern Magic, 575 - - Directorium Sacerdotale, 574 - - Doctrine of Hell, 571 - - Donnelly’s Out of Sweet Solitude, 720 - - - Ernscliff Hall, 288 - - Elements of Philosophy, 427 - - Estcourt’s Anglican Ordinations, 856 - - - Filiola, 288 - - Fisherman’s Daughter, The, 575 - - Formby’s Catechism of the Holy Rosary, 428 - - - Garside’s The Prophet of Carmel, 858 - - Gaume’s Sign of the Cross in the XIXth Century, 429 - - Gaume’s Suema, 428 - - God Our Father, 143 - - Greatorex’s Homes of Ober-Ammergau, 288 - - - Hare’s Memorials of a Quiet Life, 431 - - Herbert’s Wilfulness, 285 - - Hill’s Elements of Philosophy, 427 - - Humphrey’s Mary magnifying God, 428 - - Hundred Meditations on the Love of God, A, 574 - - - Ierne of Armorica, 427 - - Illustrated Catholic Sunday-School Library, 430 - - Isabelle de Verneuil, 430 - - - King and the Cloister, The, 430 - - - Laboulaye’s Poodle Prince, 431 - - Landroit’s Sins of the Tongue, 719 - - Landroit’s The Valiant Woman, 858 - - Life and Letters of a Sister of Charity, 142 - - Life of Dorié, 281 - - Life of Vénard, 281 - - Limerick Veteran, 719 - - Lunt’s Old New England Traits, 720 - - - McGee’s Sketches of Irish Soldiers, 860 - - Mary magnifying God, 428 - - Marshall’s Church Defence, 280 - - Marshall’s My Clerical Friends, 138 - - Meditations on the Blessed Virgin, 860 - - Meline’s Two Thousand Miles on Horseback, 286 - - Meyrick’s Life of S. Walburge, 855 - - Mericourt’s Vivia Perpetua, 575 - - Money God, The, 282 - - Mulloy’s A Visit to Louise Lateau, 574 - - Munro’s Lectures on Old Testament History, 858 - - - Nesbits, The, 283 - - - Old New England Traits, 720 - - Only a Pin, 574 - - Out of Sweet Solitude, 720 - - - Palma’s Particular Examen, 860 - - Peter’s Journey, etc., 285 - - Potter’s Rupert Aubrey, 859 - - Primauté, La, et l’Infaillibilité des Souveraines Pontifes, etc., 576 - - Proceedings of the Convention of the Irish Catholic Benevolent Union, - 287 - - Progressionists, The, and Angela, 281 - - - Quinton’s The Money God, 282 - - - Reverse of the Medal, The, 288 - - - Sainte-Germaine’s Only a Pin, 574 - - Sermons for all the Sundays and Festivals of the Year, 428 - - Sign of the Cross in the XIXth Century, 429 - - Snell’s Isabelle de Verneuil, 430 - - Sœur Eugénie, 142 - - Southwell’s Meditations, 574 - - Stewart’s Limerick Veteran, 719 - - Suema, 428 - - Sunday-School Library, 430 - - Sweeney’s Sermons, 428 - - - Taylor’s Lars, 430 - - Thebaud’s The Irish Race, 432, 718 - - Thompson’s Hawthorndean, 430 - - Threshold of the Catholic Church, 572 - - Truth and Error, 142 - - Two Thousand Miles on Horseback, 286 - - - Valuy’s Directorium Sacerdotale, 574 - - Visit to Louise Lateau, A, 574 - - - Walworth and Burr, Doctrine of Hell, 571 - - Wild Times, 284 - - Wilfulness, 285 - - Winged Word, A, etc., 572 - - Wiseman’s Essays, 431, 575 - - Wiseman’s Lectures on the Church, 143 - - - - -THE - -CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XVII., No. 97.—APRIL, 1873. - - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. -I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at -Washington, D. C. - - - - -PUBLIC CHARITIES. - - -MODERN civilization has no higher or more important question to -deal with than that of ameliorating the condition of the poor, the -unfortunate, the ignorant, and the vicious. Governments are and can -be engaged in no more appalling work than that of legislating wisely -in regard to these classes, and in seeing that not only are their -inevitable wants provided for and the public interests protected, -but also that their rights are secured in fact as well as in theory, -and that the instruments employed in these exalted spheres of public -administration are suited to their purpose, and are guarded against -degenerating from means of amelioration into agencies of oppression, -cruelty, and injustice. - -There are two chief motives which lead to the care and provision for -the unfortunate members of the social body—charity on the one side, -and philanthropy on the other. Religion inspires every motive for this -great and holy work, and of all the virtues which religion inspires, -charity is the highest, purest, and best. Charity is the love of God, -and of man for God’s sake. That God of charity has revealed to us that, -of faith, hope, and charity, the greatest is charity; that he that -giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord; that he who performs works of -charity to the least of the human race performs them _ipso facto_ to -the Lord, creator and ruler of the universe; and that the eternal doom -of every human being at the last dread day will be decided by this -great test. Christianity itself, like her divine founder, is charity. -The church of God, like her Lord and Spouse, is charity. She is imbued -with and reflects his divine essence, which is charity. Charity arises -from no statute or arbitrary decree, which might or might not be made -according to the option of the legislator; it is the essence and motive -of all good. It exists in the very nature of things. And as the love -of God by man is the first and necessary relation of the creature to -the Creator, and as our fellow-creatures exist from God, and in and -by him, it is only through God and in him that we love them. Thus -charity is no human sentiment or affection, like philanthropy or the -natural love of our neighbor and brother; it is a supernatural virtue, -springing from God, and sustained by his grace. The man who does not -love his neighbor cannot love God, but rejects his love and violates -the first law of his being. Every word and act of our divine Saviour, -while engaged on earth in establishing his church, proves this, if -there be need of external proof. Even after his work on earth was done, -and he had ascended to his Father, he speaks to us through the mouth of -S. Paul: “If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, and have not -charity, I am become as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. And if -I have prophecy, and know all mysteries, and 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.”[1] - -Philanthropy, on the other hand, is the love of man for the sake of -man; in other words, humanitarianism. It is a human affection springing -from natural motives. To alleviate human sufferings, and promote human -pleasures and enjoyments, are its aims. Its object is the body rather -than the soul, earth rather than heaven, time rather than eternity. Its -motive power is sentiment or feeling rather than reason or religion. -It is a sensitiveness to all human suffering, because suffering or -pain is repulsive to human nature. Philanthropy is a virtue in the -natural order, springing from human motives, and not a supernatural -virtue springing from religious motives and inspired by divine grace. -Philanthropy is good in itself, for our human nature still remains; -nature and grace are not antagonistic, and may co-exist; nature is -dependent on grace to raise it to the supernatural state and transform -it into charity. Charity includes philanthropy, as the greater includes -the lesser. Philanthropy without charity is earthly in its aims, -frequently rash and sometimes unjust in its measures, tyrannical in the -exercise of power, and not unfrequently barren in its results. - -Now, the church and the state are the organized representatives of -these two virtues, the divine and the human. The church is a divine -kingdom, and cultivates the divine virtue of charity; the state is a -human kingdom, and cultivates the human virtue of philanthropy. The -church is a supernatural body, and practises the supernatural virtue -of charity; the state exists in the natural order, and practises the -natural sentiment of philanthropy. The church is of heaven, and her -greatest jewel, charity, is of heaven; the state is of earth, and the -greatest of her merits is philanthropy, which is of earthly birth. -The church is eternal, so is charity; the state is temporal, as is -philanthropy. The church is of God, God is charity, so the church is -charity; the state is of man, so is philanthropy. The rewards of the -one are eternal; of the other, temporal. Charity is a Christian virtue, -and can violate no other Christian virtue in adopting her measures; -she cannot make the end justify the means; but philanthropy is a human -virtue, and stops at no means necessary to attain its end. Abuses are -not necessarily the results of philanthropy, for philanthropy, guided -by even human reason, is capable of respecting the rights of God and -men, and, when guided by supernatural grace, is exalted to charity.[2] - -What we have chiefly to deal with in this article are institutions of -benevolence, which are either wholly public property, and such as, -though conducted either by private individuals or by incorporated -boards of citizen managers, yet receive large shares of the public -funds for their foundation, buildings, or current support, and thus -become, to that extent, public institutions, and as such liable to be -inquired into and criticised by the state and its citizens who pay the -taxes thus expended. - -The state in our times and in almost every country undertakes the -restraint and custody of the persons of idiots, lunatics, drunkards, -and other persons of unsound mind, for their safety; of paupers, for -their maintenance; and of minors, unprovided with natural guardians, -for purposes of their education, reformation, and maintenance. It is -not for us to discuss at length in this article the right of the state -in any country to _educate and reform_ minors, or, in other words, -to assume the place of teacher and priest; for it cannot undertake -to educate without assuming the place of teacher, and still less can -the state undertake the work of reformation without usurping the -sacred functions of the sacerdotal office. Our faith, our reason, and -our convictions teach us that such offices belong not to the state, -but to the church. The state can establish places of restraint and -punishment, and support and maintain them, both for the protection -of the public, for the safety of the individuals themselves, and for -purposes of philanthropy. Having done this, it is the duty of the -state to leave free the consciences of its wards and prisoners, and -to give every facility to the ministers of every church and religious -persuasion to have free and unrestricted access to the children and -prisoners belonging to those respective churches or persuasions. We -claim this for ourselves as Catholics, and we leave the sects, the -Jews, and every other society of religionists to claim the same for -themselves. We are willing to make common cause with them for the -attainment of our rights. That it is a charity for the state, or, more -correctly speaking, a work of humanity, to assume the temporal care -and provision for those unfortunate members of society who, either by -their own fault, by the visitation of Providence, or by misfortune, -are unable to take care of themselves, we are not disposed to deny at -present, though even this belongs primarily to the religious duties -of the individual, and, therefore, comes within the province of the -church; and we know how well the church discharged this duty before -the Reformation, and is doing it now. Yet we do not deny to the sects, -to all men, and to the state, the right to perform good deeds and to -practise the broadest philanthropy. Such at least seems to be one of -the accepted works of government. We therefore accept such institutions -and works as we find them, and we will view them in the same light -in which our fellow-citizens generally regard them. As citizens, as -Americans, we feel the same interest in them, experience the same -pride in them, and, as a question of property and public right, we -hold them as a common heritage, in which we have the same interest and -authority as our fellow-citizens. We are, therefore, equally interested -in their proper management and good government, and we yield to none -in our desire to promote their prosperity and success. There is no -part of public administration more sacred or important, no function -of the state so momentous, no public responsibility so awful, as -this. Accepting them, as we do, as a part of our common property and -united work, we shrink not from any effort for their good government -and success, and, if need be, for their improvement, reformation, -and correction. When properly conducted, we have nothing but praise -for them; and if, on the other hand, they are mismanaged, the funds -extravagantly applied; if they are made the instruments of cruelty, -perversion, or despotism; if in them or any of them religious liberty -is violated, and systems of proselytizing are carried on against -Catholic children, or the children of the sects, or those of the Jewish -Church, we as Catholics and as American citizens will speak out freely -and boldly in denouncing them. We are not disqualified from doing this, -either as citizens or Catholics; not as citizens, because they belong -to us as much as to other citizens; our money is there with that of -others; and the Constitution gives us liberty of speech and of the -press, and guarantees to us “the right to assemble and petition for -the redress of grievances”;[3] not as Catholics, for we have as such -the experience of eighteen hundred years of the most exalted works of -charity; and because we claim for ourselves no special privilege over -others, but are willing to concede to all what we claim for ourselves. -No clamor will deter us from the exercise of this right, or from the -performance of this duty. And whilst we cannot yield our rights to any -one sect of Protestantism, we are equally determined, while respecting -the rights of all Protestants, not to yield our constitutional rights -to all the sects of Protestantism combined under the false and -deceptive name of unsectarianism. We do not believe in _ex-parte_ and -sham investigations of public abuses in respect to public institutions, -and we do not belong to, and are determined not to be deluded by, -whitewashing committees of investigation and amiable grand juries. We -are ever ready to praise, yet we shrink not from administering censure. - -The theory upon which governmental institutions are founded, and those -established by private citizens or boards are assisted is, that of -protecting society from a large, idle, ignorant, vicious population, -by providing the means for the temporal relief and social improvement -and correction of these classes, so as to bring them to the age of -self-support in the case of children, to punish criminals, relieve -the poor, and thus gradually return them all to society as sober, -enlightened, honest, industrious, and thrifty citizens. For these -purposes heavy taxes are laid on the citizens, immense piles of -buildings are erected at the public expense, and such institutions are -annually maintained or aided at enormous cost to the people. In our -November, 1872, number, while admitting and praising the philanthropic -motive which sustains these institutions, we regarded them “as really -nuisances of the worst kind, so far as Catholic children are concerned, -on account of their proselytizing character. Moreover,” we said, “in -their actual workings they violate the rights both of parents and -children, and we have evidence that these poor children are actually -sold at the West, both by private sale and by auction. The horrible -abuses existing in some state institutions are partly known to the -public, and we have the means of disclosing even worse things than -those which have recently been exposed in the public papers.” It is -difficult to perceive the success of such institutions as ameliorating -or reformatory agents, for our public press is loaded every day with -evidences of the enormous increase of crime and pauperism, and with -dissertations on the causes of such increase. The public are naturally -slow in believing that such institutions, upon which so much treasure -has been spent, are failures. Such a reflection is an unpalatable one; -it is humiliating to our pride, and damaging to the boasted progress -of the XIXth century. It crushes our self-esteem to know that, of all -places needing correction, our Houses of Correction need correction -most; and that, of all institutions calling for the stern hand of -reform, there are none that need so much reformation as our schools -of reform. A religious paper called _The Christian Union_ has given -strong proof of its dislike to have the public eyes opened to these -unpalatable truths, and we do not think we should have returned so -soon to this subject but for a rather disingenuous article in that -paper, couched in terms not calculated to convince the public that it -derived its name from the practice or spirit of the virtue of Christian -union, which, while challenging us to expose these wrongs and abuses, -declared but too great a willingness to believe “that these charges, -so frequently made in Roman Catholic journals, have already received -thorough investigation and perfect refutation.” - -We complain that our Catholic children in institutions which are -supported in whole or in part by public funds—funds, therefore, in -which we have a common property with our fellow-citizens—instead of -being allowed the instruction and practice of their Catholic religion, -are taught Protestantism in its, to us, most offensive form, and are -thus exposed to the almost certain loss of their faith. The facts -upon which we base the charge have never been denied, but, on the -contrary, they are openly admitted and announced. Protestants deny -that they proselytize Catholic children so as to make them members -of any distinctive sect, but they admit that Catholic teaching -and practices are rigidly excluded, and yet that the children are -taught a certain religion. Is it not evident that, if such religious -instruction produces any result, it is to make these children cease -to be Catholics, to become non-Catholics, to take the Bible as their -only rule of faith, to reject the infallible teachings of their own -church, and to accept the teachings of the institutions as all that is -necessary for them to know? This is proselytism of the most offensive -kind; our children are either made _liberal Christians_, or are placed -in circumstances which inevitably lead to their joining one or other of -the distinctive forms of Protestantism or lose all religion whatever. -Wherever a chaplain is employed, he is either a Methodist minister, -such as Rev. Mr. Pierce in the New York House of Refuge, or he is a -Baptist, Episcopalian, or other sectarian minister. In many of these -institutions, the religious instruction is under the direction of a -lay superintendent, as in the Providence School of Reform. And here -we beg to give a piece of testimony showing how incompetent laymen are -for religious instruction in public reformatories. The witness under -examination was at the time one of the trustees of the Providence -Reform School: - - “Q. Have you any knowledge in relation to the distribution of - religious books among the pupils, and their being taken away? - - “A. I don’t of my own knowledge; I furnished once one book of a - religious character, and one only; I furnished it to the _officer - having in charge the devotional exercises_ on the girls’ side; I - gave that to the officer for his own use; it was given to him in - consequence of considerable religious feeling that there was existing - among the girls at the time; the girls were holding among themselves - what they called prayer-meetings; the _gentleman having in charge the - devotional exercises said he felt utterly incompetent to conduct the - devotions in suitable words_,” etc. - -Religious liberty is openly and positively denied in the New York House -of Refuge, as will be seen from their own “Report of Special Committee -to the Managers of the House of Refuge,” 1872; from which it appears, -at pp. 21, 22, that the religion of the house consists in “Christian -worship in simple form, and Gospel lessons in Sunday-schools,” and that -the “inmates are brought into the _same_ chapel for public worship,” -and that “the whole regimen of the house,” including of course the -religious part, “is devised and pursued with careful attention to -the _wants of the inmates, but is not submitted to the control of -themselves or their friends_.” As Americans we have been taught from -our infancy that liberty of conscience is the dearest right of the -American citizen. We learned in our college days that even “Congress -shall make no law respecting the establishment of a religion, or -prohibiting the free exercise thereof”; but we now learn that what the -highest legislative power in the nation, and what no state legislature, -can do, the managers of the New York House of Refuge have done and -are now doing: they have made a law respecting the establishment of a -religion in the House of Refuge, a public institution—a religion which -they have called variously “Christian worship in simple form,” “Gospel -lessons,” “Unsectarianism,” “The Broad Principles of Christianity”—and -have forbidden the free exercise of any other religion. Even if all -Christians were united in this worship and in these principles, have -Jewish citizens no rights under the Constitution? As citizens of the -State of New York, we have learned from the state constitution and -Bill of Rights “that the free exercise and practice of religious -profession and worship without discrimination or preference shall -_for ever be allowed to all mankind_.” Chancellor Kent, in his -_Commentaries on American Law_, says that “_the free exercise_ and -enjoyment of religious profession and worship may be considered as one -of the _absolute rights of individuals_, recognized in our American -constitutions and secured to them by law.”[4] And Story, in his -_Commentaries on the Constitution_, maintains in equally strong terms -“the freedom of public worship according to the dictates of one’s -conscience.”[5] - -But we are now told by the Managers of the House of Refuge that -“delinquency has, under the law, worked some forfeiture of rights, and -that neither the delinquents nor their friends for them can justly -claim, while under sentence of the courts, equal freedom with the rest -of the community who have not violated the law.”[6] Such was the -answer given by American citizens, constituting the Board of Managers -of the New York House of Refuge, to the committee of American citizens -sent by the Catholic Union to demand liberty of conscience and freedom -of religious worship for the Catholic children in the Refuge! Either -this answer means that the children in the House of Refuge are not a -portion of _mankind_, or that religious freedom is one of the rights -forfeited by delinquency, or the Board of Managers have proclaimed -themselves guilty of the grossest violation of the rights of man and -of God. We presume these gentlemen will not admit either the first -or the third of these alternatives; indeed, they almost say in terms -that a commitment to the House of Refuge works a forfeiture of that -religious liberty guaranteed to all mankind. We know delinquency under -the law suspends the civil rights of the delinquent while in prison, -such as the right to hold public office or administer a private trust; -but it does not work even a forfeiture of property except in the case -of an outlawry of treason. These are all the forfeitures worked by the -highest crimes known to the law. Religion is not a civil right; no -crime can forfeit it; no power on earth can extinguish it. The greatest -of public malefactors, the murderer and the traitor, enjoy it even on -the scaffold: does the child whose only offence is poverty or vagrancy -forfeit it? In the sacred names of Liberty and Religion, what sort of -_Refuge_ is this to stand on American soil? - -The Children’s Aid Society is another New York institution largely -supported by public funds. We learn from its Nineteenth Annual Report, -1871, that one of its objects is to shelter in its lodging-houses the -orphan and the homeless girls and boys, and labor incessantly to give -them the “_foundation ideas of morals and religion_” (p. 5). Alluding -to the _Italian_ School, No. 44 Franklin Street, the report says: “We -have _conquered the prejudices and superstition of ignorance_, and -_converted_ into useful citizens hundreds of this unfortunate class.” -With such a programme of unsectarian conversion, the leading feature -in which is indifferentism in religion, the immediate forerunner of -infidelity and agrarianism, it is no wonder that the report immediately -proceeds: “So much so, indeed, that the Italian government,” that same -godless government which is so ferociously waging war on Catholicity, -“has taken a deep interest in our institution” (p. 28). - -It is only necessary to read these reports to be convinced that the -system either leads to materialism, the religion of worldly prosperity -and thrifty citizenship, or to some form of Protestant sectarianism. -The system of “emigration” pursued by such institutions, by which -children are sent out West and placed with anybody and everybody who -will take them, completes the work commenced in the East. On pages -54-56 of the report last quoted is related the case of a youth sent -East, who “cannot speak of his parents with any certainty at all”; it -matters not what religion they were of, the son is now _preparing for -the ministry_ of one of the sects. His letter also recites a similar -case in reference to another boy “who was sent out West.” It is certain -that he is not preparing for the Catholic ministry, for his impressions -of a miracle are thus expressed: “To be taken from the gutters of New -York City and placed in a college is almost a miracle.” The story of -young “Patrick,” p. 59, whose education was obtained at the Preparatory -School at Oberlin and at Cornell University, is significant. On page -60 is told the story of an _Irish_ orphan girl sent to Connecticut, and -placed with “an intelligent Christian woman, who means to do right.” -On page 63 is told the history of a little boy sent to Michigan, who -is well pleased with toys and new clothes, “like all other children; -he has a splendid new suit of clothes just got, and _he attends church -and Sabbath-school_.” A similar case is related at page 65, of a -little girl sent to Ohio, and we shall show below what has become of -little girls sent to that state. These are some of the model cases of -which this unsectarian society makes a boast in its report. It is a -significant fact that, of the 8,835 who came under the influences of -this society in one year, 3,312 were of Irish birth, and it may be -estimated with certainty that a considerable proportion of the other -children of foreign, as well as many of home birth were Catholics. -The number of children born in Ireland who were sent West during the -year was 1,058. This institution received for the furtherance of these -unsectarian objects the sum of $66,922.70 in this year from our public -funds. - -We have also before us the Twentieth Annual Report of the New York -Juvenile Asylum, 1871, which proves the proselytizing character of -this public-pap-fed unsectarian institution. “The children that are -entrusted to us are at the _most susceptible period of life_,” etc., -“when their destiny for time, if not _for eternity_, may be fixed” (p. -9). “They must be drilled into systematic habits of life in eating, -sleeping, play, study, work, and _worship_” (p. 10). To “attend church” -(p. 21), and “the evening worship,” and religious services generally, -are frequently recurring duties of the children. In this institution -the children of foreign birth during the year were 3,648, and of these -1,981 were born in Ireland. Of course we cannot say how many of the -children of home birth were the children of Irish and Catholic parents. -We have, alas! but too much certainty that a large proportion of the -children are Catholic. We casually met recently with an interesting -proof of this in _Scribner’s Magazine_, November, 1870, in an account -given by a visitor to the Juvenile Asylum. In the evening the visitor -was invited to see the girls’ dormitory as the girls were going to bed. -She writes: “All the children were saying their prayers. I noticed that -several of them made the sign of the cross as they rose.” Touching -evidence of their traditional faith and parental teaching! a simple -but sublime tribute to holy church! an earnest sign of love and hope -for those sacraments which came to us through the cross, but which, -like that cross itself, were not a part of the religion, worship, and -practice of this unsectarian asylum. - -In the list of model examples presented in the report of the Western -agent will be seen the usual proselytizing influence of such -institutions. The cases either show mere material or worldly advantage, -or the embrace of pure sectarianism. On page 50 is related the case -of a little girl, who “scarcely remembers her parents,” of whom it is -related that “she is a member of the Presbyterian Church.” Two other -girls are indentured to members of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The -“church and Sunday-school” are prominent features in nearly every case. -The amount received during the year by this _unsectarian_ institution -from our public funds was $62,065.24.. - -The Five Points House of Industry, which received, from 1858 to -1869, the sum of $30,731.69. from our Board of Education, states -in its charter, among the objects for which it was incorporated, -the following: “III. To imbue the objects of its care with the pure -principles of Christianity, as revealed in the Holy Scriptures, -without bias from the distinctive peculiarities of any individual -sect.” This means that the children belonging to distinctive religious -denominations, instead of being allowed to follow the distinctive -tenets, and practise the worship, in which they were reared, are -deprived of this right, and, as respects the Catholic children, they -are to reject and exclude every tenet and devotion distinctively -Catholic. How far even this profession of unsectarianism is carried -into practice will be discovered from the _Monthly Record_ of the Five -Points House of Industry for April and May, 1870, p. 302, giving an -account of the dedicatory exercises: - - “The services consisted of an opening anthem by the children, followed - by a prayer by _Rev._ Dr. Paxton, asking a blessing upon the House and - its objects. - - “This was followed by a hymn; a statement of the affairs of the - institution, by _Rev._ S. B. Halliday; a recitative by the children; - a statement as to city missions, by _Rev._ G. J. Mingins; a short - discourse on the ‘Union of Christian Effort,’ by _Rev._ H. D. Ganse; a - discourse on the ‘Lights and Shadows of Large Cities,’ by _Rev._ John - Hall, D.D.; and, finally, a roundelay given by the children.” - -How far the pledge given in the charter of this establishment, “without -_bias_ from the distinctive peculiarities of any individual sect,” -is carried out is further seen from the following extract from a -letter addressed by the president to the Rev. John Cotton Smith, a -prominent minister of the Episcopalian sect: “Between your church and -the institution the most kind and harmonious _co-operation_ has ever -existed. They will ever cherish a most pleasing remembrance of the -relations that have subsisted between them.”[7] - -We might have alluded to the “Howard Mission and Home for Little -Wanderers,” founded by that arch-proselytizer, the Rev. W. C. Van -Meter, which during seven years _disposed of_ 7,580 “little wanderers” -of this city, in an unsectarian manner; but want of space forbids -our doing so. But the _animus_ pervading this and other unsectarian -institutions is exhibited to us now in the fact, that this reverend -has transferred the field of his labors from the Five Points to the -city of Rome, the centre and headquarters of Catholicity. He has there -established a mission and home for the little Romans. We do not stand -alone in our opinion that such institutions are nuisances for Catholic -children, and we quote the closing words of a letter recently addressed -to the Rev. Mr. Van Meter by the editor of the _Voce della Verita_, at -Rome: - - “Now, dear sir, excuse me if I remind you, that although a very - ignorant person, ‘when I was a little boy,’ I also went to school, - and learned a few things about your country. I remember to have heard - it said that misery and ignorance abounded there, and that many - hundreds of thousands of your compatriots knew of no other God than - the almighty dollar. Why do you not go back and teach in Nebraska - or Texas, and leave us alone? You might positively do some good - there—now you are a—well, let me tell the truth—a _nuisance_. By - your homeward voyage, you will benefit both your own country and - ours.”[8] - -Another complaint that we make against our semi-governmental charities -relates to the violation of the rights of parents and children, in the -sale of these children at the West. This pernicious practice of exiling -and transporting children from New York to the West is still in full -vigor amongst these institutions. How can we boast of our charities, -when their main feature consists in shifting the burden from our own -shoulders to those of others, and they are strangers? It is in vain -that we claim these children as the wards and _protégés_ of society -and of our city, if we repudiate the duties and responsibilities of -our guardianship. Against this cruelty and injustice we protest in the -names of civilization and Christianity. The institutions whose reports -we have referred to not only admit, but they boast of this outrage upon -the rights of parents and of children. One of them, the Children’s Aid -Society, refers to this branch of operations, “its Emigration System,” -as the “crown” of all its works. The number of children thus exiled -from the state by this society and transported to distant regions, -during the year of the report referred to, was 3,386; the whole number -since 1854 was 25,215. More than half the 3,386 were sent to Ohio, and -to the distant states of Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Kansas, -and Nebraska. Of one little boy thus exiled, who was separated from his -parents at the age of eight years, the Western agent reports: “I think -his mother would scarcely know him.” He reports that the mistress to -whom another was “disposed of” writes of him: “Indeed, I don’t know -what I should do without him, for he saves me a great many steps. I -wish we could find out about his brother and sister, he often cries -about them.” - -Exile and transportation of children is also practised by the Five -Points House of Industry. They have obtained extraordinary powers for -this purpose from the Legislature. For while the Commissioners of -Public Charities and Correction, a purely governmental institution, -possess the power of indenturing children to citizens of the state of -New York and adjoining states only, the Five Points House of Industry -has received the power to send them anywhere and everywhere. But the -Commissioners of Public Charities and Correction send the poor children -they get into their power to the most remote states in violation of the -express law of the case. For instead of confining their indentures to -citizens of New York and the adjoining states, as the law directs, they -send them indiscriminately to every state, even the most distant. We -ask those public servants by what fiction of law they make California -and Texas _adjoin_ New York? - -The New York Juvenile Asylum has also a “regular agency at Chicago, by -which the work of indenturing children at the West is conducted.”[9] -The total number of children sent West during fifteen years, from 1857 -to 1871 inclusive, is 2,206, and the annual average, 147-1/15 (p. 47). - -The extent to which this _crowning_ cruelty of our non-sectarian -institutions is carried, is appalling. We have only cited the -cases of the three whose reports happened to be before us. But we -have been informed, unofficially, and we think the statement can -be made good, that there are in the city of New York no less than -twenty-eight _charitable_ institutions engaged in this cruel practice -of transporting our New York children to the West and other remote -parts, and the average number of these little exiles per week is about -two hundred, making about ten thousand every year. What untold abuses -and hardships must result from this barbarous practice! However noble, -generous, and philanthropic may be the motives of the citizen-managers -of these institutions, they cannot attend in person to the details or -even the general management of their work. Not only are their houses in -the city confided to the management of hired and salaried agents and -servants, but the work of transporting children to the West is confided -generally to the same class of agents, and we intend to show how this -_charitable_ function is discharged. They are actuated by no higher -motives than usually actuate their class. The love of God, and of man -for God’s sake, is not the spirit that inspires their labors and guides -their steps. Corruption and infidelity to duty have stalked brazenly -into the public service everywhere; what reason have we for claiming -an exemption in favor of those who find profitable employment in the -administration of public charities? - -But, as the _Christian Union_ demands further proof than is accessible -to the public, we will produce some additional evidence, although we -think we have already shown enough to condemn this system; and the tone -of that journal’s article leads us to believe that if an angel from -heaven disclosed to its view the same corruption and oppression which -we see in this branch of public administration, it would still cling to -its idols. - -Now we have before us a letter, dated September 23, 1872, addressed by -a clergyman at Tiffin, Ohio, to a clergyman in the East, from which we -quote: - - “In answer to your request concerning those children brought on some - four or five years ago from the East to be disposed of, I might say - with prudence, that to several counties of Ohio had been brought - car-loads of children from three years on to twelve and thirteen years - old, and offered to the _public_ to take one or more; for they who - offered the children said those who would take them had to pay the - expenses of bringing them to the place. For some children the man said - the expense would be fifteen dollars, for others more, others less. - This is the way the affair was carried on for some time.” - -The gentleman to whom the foregoing letter was addressed, and who -sent it to us, gives also his own testimony on this public traffic in -innocent human beings. His letter is dated September 25, 1872, and -reads as follows: - - “At that time,” some four or five years ago, “I was on a trip to - Tiffin. Delayed for a short time at Clyde, I asked some questions of - the baggage-master. Three little girls were near him, and I asked him: - ‘Are these your daughters?’ A. ‘No, I bought them?’ ‘Bought them! how? - from whom?’ A. ‘Oh! from the ministers. They bring car-loads of these - little ones every few weeks, and sell them to any one who wants them. - I gave $10 for this one, $12 for the next, and $15 for the oldest. I - had not the money, but I borrowed it from the tavern-keeper, and paid - for the girls. Lately there was another load of them. There was a very - fine girl. I wanted her. But the minister said, ‘No; I have promised - her to a rich man in Forrest, who will pay more than you.’ After some - further conversation of a similar character, the train came in sight, - and I left. The next day I was speaking of the circumstance at table. - Rev. Mr.—— remarked that he knew the baggage-master well, and that - what he said was true. He added, ‘Within the last month there was a - sale of some thirty of these children in our Court House. One of my - parishioners, Mr.——, came along as the sale was about over. A little - boy was standing before the Court House crying; the German asked him, - ‘What is the matter?’ He said, ‘That man wants to sell me, and no one - will buy me.’ The boy was bought by the German for $10. I had heard - such transactions described in one of his lectures by F. Haskins. - But I scarcely realized how fearful such conduct is until I heard a - description of these sales from persons who had seen them.” - -Such, indeed, is the “crowning” work of some of the charitable -institutions of New York! Is this the fulfilment of the Gospel of -charity, or of the Sermon on the Mount, or of the broad principles of -Christianity? Perhaps, rather, it is the Rev. Mr. Pierce’s _elastic_ -system of religion.[10] Compare these humiliating facts with the -self-congratulatory reports on “Emigration” of the Children’s Aid -Society, which in 1871 sent three hundred and seven of these little -wards of the city to the same state of Ohio.[11] At page 10 we read: - - “Every year we expect that the opposition of a very bigoted and - ignorant class will materially lessen this _the most effective of our - charitable efforts_. We have surpassed, however, owing to the energy - of our Western agents, the results of every previous equal period, in - the labors of the past year. - - “Crowds of poor boys have thronged the office or have come to the - lodging-houses for a ‘chance to go West’; great numbers of very - destitute but honest families have appealed to us for this aid, and - our agents have frequently conveyed parties of a hundred and more. - The West has received these children _liberally_ as before; and there - has been less complaint the past year than usual of bad habits and - perverse tempers. The larger boys are still restless as ever, and - inclined to change their places where higher inducements are offered. - But this characteristic they have in common with our whole laboring - class.” - -Again: - - “Emigration.—This department has worked most successfully the past - year. A larger number has been removed from the city than ever before.” - -It would seem, however, that the experience of the New York Juvenile -Asylum, though still persevering in this traffic as a good work, has -not been as satisfactory as that of the Children’s Aid Society. We will -give an extract from the Twentieth Annual Report, showing even from the -mouths of those who practise it as a good work what a crying evil this -is, and confirming the extracts we have given in reference to the sales -of children in Ohio: - - “Removing and replacing children is one of the important functions - of the agency. Our children are first placed on trial, and in nearly - every company some have to be replaced over and over again before they - are permanently settled. But even after indentures have been executed, - new _developments_ often compel removals. Such are the weaknesses - of human nature, and such the instability of human affairs, that, - without provision to meet the exigencies consequent upon them, _cases - of extreme hardship and inhumanity would be frequent_. They who have - not had experience in this kind of work are not apt to realize, and it - is often difficult to persuade them of, _the imperative need of such - provision_. _Children will not unfrequently get into improper hands in - spite of every precaution, and in many cases success is more or less - problematical._ Death of employers also, and change of circumstances, - are often the occasion of removals. _Not a month goes by that does not - furnish cases where, but for timely attention, suffering, mischief, - and irreparable evil would result._ A little familiarity with the - field work of this agency would convince its most obdurate opponent - that _to leave children without recourse among strangers in a strange - land is an unjustifiable procedure_.” - -Apart from the inhumanity of this procedure, from its unchristian -character, from its proselytizing effects, we protest against it in the -name of law, of right, and of human liberty. The common law of England -is our heritage, and by that common law “no power on earth, except -the authority of parliament, can send any subject of England out of -the land against his will; no, not even a criminal. The great charter -declares that no freeman shall be banished unless by the judgment of -his peers or by the law of the land; and by the _habeas corpus_ act -it is enacted that no subject of this realm who is an inhabitant -of England, Wales, or Berwick shall be sent into Scotland, Ireland, -Jersey, Guernsey, or other places beyond the seas.”[12] Chancellor -Kent, in his _Commentaries on American Law_ (ii. 34), claims the same -proud privilege as one of the absolute rights of American citizens, -and, while declaring that “no citizen can be sent abroad,” states that -the constitutions of several of the states of our confederacy contain -express provisions forbidding transportation beyond the state. - -We come now to the last and not the least painful task, which the -_Christian Union_ insists upon our undertaking; it relates to “the -horrible abuses existing in some of our state institutions.” And -here, as in the preceding remarks, we must confine ourselves to a -portion only of the mass of materials before us, and, in fact, confine -ourselves to a single institution; for, if such things exist in a -single case, this is enough to prove not only the possibility, but also -the probability of the same thing in others, and to dispel the fatal -blindness which can see nothing defective either in their constitution -or management. We must pass over the charges recently preferred against -the New York House of Refuge, relating to improper food, of excessive -labor, of cruel punishments, employment of unfit and incompetent agents -in the management of the institution, and of religious intolerance. -While we think that the evidence produced on the trial of the boy, -Justus Dunn, for killing one of the officers of the Refuge, goes far -to substantiate most of the charges preferred, we have, in common with -the community, but little respect for the whitewashing certificate -given by the grand-jury, who made a flying visit to the institution, -by invitation, on an appointed day. Of course the officers put their -house in order, and failed not to put their best foot foremost, on -this preconcerted occasion. The managers placed no reliance on this -acquittal, for they courted another soon afterwards. The second -investigation by the State Commissioners of Charity was very little -better; it was _ex parte_ on all the charges except that of religious -intolerance, and the Refuge was acquitted on all the charges except -this last. - -We must also pass over, for want of space, the revolting case which -occurred at the New York Juvenile Asylum in June last, in which one of -the inmates of the asylum, a colored girl, instead of finding there -an asylum from temptation and seduction, fell a victim to the lust -of one of the officers of the institution, who fled precipitately on -discovery of the fact.[13] We must pass over, for the same reason, the -investigations recently conducted at St. Louis, which are far from -showing a satisfactory result for the management and conduct of public -reformatories. We must confine ourselves now to a single institution—a -case in which the evidence is replete with horrible abuses, cruelties, -improprieties, and wrongs. While we would be sorry to apply the maxim, -_ex uno disce omnes_, we can but regard this case as a general warning -to our people to beware of regarding as good everything in the moral -order that goes under the much-abused name of _reform_. - -The Providence School of Reform is an institution supported by funds -received both from the state of Rhode Island and from the city of -Providence. Its object seems to be the temporal, social, and moral -reformation of juvenile delinquents of both sexes. Some time prior to -1869, it had been the subject of the gravest charges and investigation, -which tended to show that, so far from having been in all its -departments and workings a school of reform, it had in some instances -become a school for vice and immorality. The whitewashing process, -that facile and amiable way of avoiding disagreeable complications, -prevented the accomplishment of any change for the better. But in -1869 the charges against the institution took a more definite form, -and were signed and presented by thirty-one citizens of Providence to -the corporate authorities—citizens of the first respectability and -standing. The Board of Aldermen of the city of Providence, headed by -the Mayor, undertook the investigation, and the evidence is contained -in two large volumes in one, extending over eleven hundred and -forty-two pages.[14] - -The charges were the most serious ones that could be brought against an -institution, especially against one professing _reform_, and had their -origin with citizens without distinction of creed. Their true character -and extent can only be understood by a perusal of them: - - “First. That vices against chastity, decency, and good morals have - prevailed in the school, and have been taught and practised by - teachers as well as by pupils; that these vices have existed both in - the male and female departments, and that the children usually leave - the school more corrupt than when they entered it. - - “Second. That teachers have used immodest and disgusting language in - the presence of children, and have addressed females in an indecent - manner by referring to their past character, and by calling them vile - and unbecoming names. - - “Third. That modes of punishment the most cruel and inhuman have been - used in said school, such as knocking down and kicking the pupils, and - whipping them when naked, and with a severity not deserved by their - offences. - - “Fourth. That young women are said to have been kicked, knocked down, - dragged about by the hair of the head, and otherwise brutally treated, - but more especially that all modesty and decency have been outraged - by stripping them to the waist and lashing them on the naked back; - taking them from their beds and whipping them in their night-dresses; - tying their hands and feet and ducking them; and by other forms of - punishment which no man should ever inflict upon a woman. - - “Fifth. That names of children committed to said school have been - changed and altered by the officers of the said institution. - - “Sixth. That children have been apprenticed to persons living in - remote sections of the country, and who have no interest in taking - proper care of them, and that a needless disregard to the rights and - feelings of their parents has often been evinced by the officers of - the school. - - “Seventh. That the goods of said school are reported to have been used - dishonestly for purposes for which they were not intended, and that - the state of Rhode Island is said to have been charged with the board - of children who were living at service and were no expense to said - school. - - “Eighth. That a spirit of proselytism and of religious intolerance - has prevailed in the school, as is shown in the fact that children of - different creeds are compelled to attend a form of worship which is - contrary to the conscientious convictions of a large majority of them; - which is directly in conflict with the spirit and letter of our state - constitution, which ensures to the inhabitants thereof the liberty - of conscience, in the following language: ‘No man shall be compelled - to frequent or to support any religious worship, place, or ministry - whatever, except in fulfilment of his own voluntary contract;’ and - that the children of said school are denied the use of books and all - religious instruction in the religion of their choice.” - -Although there is evidence in the volume of _Investigation_ before us -tending to sustain the “fifth” and “seventh” charges, we yet except -those two charges from our remark, when we say that the other six -charges, constituting the gravamen of the prosecution, are not only -sustained in whole or in part by nearly one hundred witnesses, but, -with all deference to the five aldermen out of ten who found most of -them _not proved_, we think that no unbiassed reader of the heavily -laden and sad volume before us, no true philanthropist, no man of true -charity, can fail to pronounce the word _guilty_ as to all or some -part of every one of the first, second, third, fourth, seventh, and -eighth charges. We are sorry to be forced to the conviction that the -testimony is overwhelming. There are cases of punishment cruel in the -extreme—some have called them inhuman, and even brutal—inflicted on -about sixty boys; and, while nearly every page shows this, we refer -particularly to pages 112, 123, 172, 234, 238, 274, 279, 280, 281, 289, -290, 295, 318, 364, 366, 375, 379, 383, 387, 388, 402, 403, 410, 414, -416, 419, 421, 425, 432, 437, 440, 446. See evidences more particularly -referring to the use of the loaded whip, page 378; the strap, the cat, -the strings, 286, 339; the butt, 492; blood drawn, 364, 485; terrorism, -239, 269, 270, 305, 371, 418, 424, 425, 492; whipping little boys over -the knuckles with a bunch of keys, 146, 147; kicking, 447, 485, 526, -and 323 of vol. ii.; boys struck on the head with a hammer, 331, 379; -profanity and indecency, 280, 302, and page 135 of vol. ii.; Catholic -books taken away from Catholic children, 308, 309, 310; state of Rhode -Island charged with board of children who had been put out of the -institution, 307, which was regarded as “an error of the head and not -of the heart,” 327 of vol. ii. - -There are also detailed in the _Investigation_ cases of about thirty -girls punished in a cruel and revolting manner. For girls lashed, -bodies striped and bruised, see pages 18, 19; a girl struck, caught -by the throat, pounded, and dragged by the hair of the head, 23; a -girl struck with fist, and black eye, 55; a girl stripped to the -waist of all her clothes, except undergarment, and whipped with -cat-o’-nine-tails, and body marked, 93; another girl dragged by the -hair, 95; a girl ducked, 102; a girl boxed until her nose bled, and -water dashed on her, 102; a girl chased, kicked, and held under flowing -water, 108; a girl dragged by the hair, kicked, and ducked, 219, 220; -another girl dragged by the hair and kicked, 228; another lashed black -and blue, 229; a girl lashed on the back after she had gone to bed, -338; another girl whipped with the straps, and kicked, 344; another -girl stripped to the waist, leaving only undergarment on, and whipped -with a knotted strap, 360; a girl ducked, 272. A mother is refused -permission to see her child, who was whipped, and refused information -as to whither the child was transported. The mother said: “I will -travel Rhode Island through, and I will travel Connecticut through, -but what I will find her. I have not seen her for the last six or -eight years, and a mother’s nature goes beyond any mortal thing in -this world. A mother wants to see her child. I could not get anything -from them,” 374. Another girl is stripped like the others, and lashed, -marked, and scarred on the back, 395. A witness, at page 396, says: -“I saw—— stripped with her dress down; she was badly bruised on the -shoulder; I did not see any blood, but I saw the bruises were pretty -bad bruises; there were scars clear across her shoulders; you could not -see scarcely a piece of plain flesh on her shoulders.” At page 443, a -former inmate testifies to the treatment received by another inmate: “I -saw him shower her and strike her; he knocked her against the building -with his fist, and the blood ran out of her nose and ears while she -was by the fence, while he stood there punishing her.” At page 454, -we read an extract from the testimony of a Mrs. Bishop: “Q. Were you -ever kicked or beaten in the school by——? A. Yes, sir. I was punished -up-stairs because I could not learn my lesson. I had had no schooling -at that time; I could not do much reading; he punished me up-stairs; I -told him I could not learn it, unless he could let a girl come up and -help me; I was told to kneel down; I looked around, and he kicked me -across the aisle; he pulled me by my dress, and kicked me across the -aisle, and twice across the room; I was put up-stairs before devotions -were to come off; I said I was going to tell my mother; he said I could -not see my folks again if I did tell her; he was going to give me two -hundred dollars if I had not said anything; I was sick after this -kicking; he carried me home himself away from the school; I could not -move nor stir; I could not move one eye; I walked on crutches after it; -it affects me now; affects my gait, so I can’t walk all the time; I -have to hire my work done part the time now; when there comes a storm, -I can’t move, I have to sit still in the house; sometimes I have to -lie in bed, because it affects me so; I was thirteen years old at that -time.” A girl, a new-comer only three days in the school, is ducked, -strapped, and locked up two days for laughing in school, p. 629, and -further ill-treated, 639. Another girl dragged by the hair, pounded, -and dreadfully bruised, 661. Girls ducked and whipped at night, 678. -Girls called names of supreme contempt by teachers in allusion to their -past lives, 684, 737, and 39, 71, 317, of vol. ii. A girl taken up at -night, and whipped in her night-clothes by male officer, 693. A girl -is pulled over the desk by the hair, for not singing, 705. A girl is -imprisoned and fed on bread and water for twenty-three days, 320 of -vol. ii. - -For instances of girls whipped on the naked back by men, see pp. 61, -339, 630; girls kicked by men, 318, 328, 345, 348, 354, 360, 631; same -proved by defence, 41 of vol. ii.; girls dragged by the hair by men, -231, 347, 348, 636; girls struck with fist by men, 347, 349; black eye -given, 350; marks on bodies, 360, 367, 395, 719; girls taunted about -their former lives, 86, 96, 100, 397, 687, 737, and 317 of vol. ii.; -terrorism, 269, 270, 305, 371, 424, 425, and 41 of vol. ii.; girls -ducked by men, 92, 94, 97, 102, and 295 of vol. ii. - -The first charge, the most serious that could be brought against -a school of _reform_—“crimes against chastity, decency, and good -morals”—is fearfully sustained. One of the employees, a man of years, -who had become notorious for his vulgarity and indecency in both the -male and female departments, to both of which he had access, is caught -_flagrante delicto_. The partner of his sin was one of the female -inmates, who was sent there to be _reformed_, and they were detected -by other female inmates of this school of reform (page 75). And again, -_horribile dictu_, a _teacher_ in the same nursery of _reform_ lived, -“month in and month out,” in criminal conversation with one of the -inmates of the female department (pages 63, 76), and the appalling fact -is again proved by the defence (ii. 322). But, more shocking than all -this, not only were immodest and indecent conversations held by an -employee with the boys and girls, but another fiend in the flesh, an -officer of the Providence School of Reform, introduced among the boys -and taught them habits the most immoral and disgusting, destructive at -once of their souls and bodies, of their manhood, and of their temporal -and eternal happiness. This fact is proved solely by the defence at -page 321 of vol. ii. The offender was dismissed, but the school still -exists! Where are Sodom and Gomorrah? - -The evidence for the defence consists chiefly of denials and -_non-mi-ricordos_ by the officers and employees; but some of the -charges are proved by the defence itself, and some of the most damning -evidence against the institution came from this very quarter. The mayor -and one of the aldermen declined to take any part in the decision, -because they were members of the board of trustees. Three other -aldermen refused to sign the decision, and gave decisions of their -own, finding portions of the charges true. Five out of ten of the -judges sign the decision, which, while finding most of the charges _not -proved_, strongly inculpates the institution on several of the charges. -In it is stated that two instances have occurred of offences against -chastity, decency, and good morals, on the part of officers and female -inmates, page 384 of vol. ii.; that knocking down was practised, though -alleged to have been in self-defence; and that boys were whipped on the -bare back, 384 of vol. ii.; that girls have had their dresses loosened -and removed from the upper part of the back and shoulders, leaving only -the undergarment on, and thus punished by the (male) superintendent; -and in a very few cases during the past nine years, when they have, in -violation of the rules of the school, made loud noises and disturbances -in the dormitories at night, they have been punished in their -night-clothes (by a male officer) in the presence of a female officer, -page 385 of vol. ii.; ducking is admitted, page 385. - -One of the dissenting aldermen in his decision says: “Being fully -aware that the class of inmates sent to this school require a strong -and efficient discipline, and not feeling competent to say what that -discipline should be, yet I cannot resist the conviction that the -punishments described have a tendency to _degrade rather than to -elevate_, not only the one who receives, but the one who administers -them.” “I therefore feel bound to protest against such punishments, -and earnestly hope that some better mode of discipline will speedily -be adopted by the managers of this institution” (p. 394, vol. ii.). -The superintendent stated on oath that, in case a child sick and _in -extremis_ required a Catholic priest to be sent for, he would first -go and seek the advice of three or four of the trustees before he -would admit, even under such circumstances, a Catholic or any other -clergyman; and on this subject the same alderman remarked: “In my view, -any superintendent of this institution who would hesitate to allow the -consolations of religion to be administered in the form desired by -the child, under such circumstances, should be promptly relieved from -duty,” page 396 of vol. ii. Another alderman says: “I am of opinion -that cruel and unnecessary punishment has been inflicted. I do not -suppose that striking with the clenched fist, kicking, or dragging by -the hair of the head has been common, but I think it has occurred in -some instances,” page 397; and he mentions the case of an “unfortunate -girl who seems to have suffered every form of discipline known to this -school, from being _ducked_ to being ‘pushed under the table with the -foot.’ If it be said she was vile, I would ask how she came to be? She -was but six or seven years of age when she entered this institution. -No one is wholly bad at that tender age. She remained under its care -and influences for _nine years_, and, if she is vicious and dissolute, -why is she so? If, on the other hand, she was insane, is it not painful -to reflect that such punishments were inflicted on an irresponsible -child?” (p. 399.) One of the trustees actually resigned a year before -the investigation, rather than be connected with such scenes; he -started an investigation, but it seems to have done no good; and such -was the condition of things at the time of this first investigation -that the assistant superintendent offered to give one hundred dollars -to a friend to shield him from being called as a witness. - -The religious instruction given in this institution is _of course_ -unsectarian; everything distinctively Episcopalian is denied to -Episcopalian children, everything distinctively Baptist is denied to -Baptist children, everything distinctively Methodist is denied to -Methodist children, everything distinctly Presbyterian is denied to -Presbyterian children, and everything distinctly Catholic is denied to -Catholic children. Nothing whatever is said tending “to keep children -in the faith to which they belonged when they entered the school.” “Q. -Does not the system of religious instruction tend to bring the children -to that form of religion which gives to each person the private -judgment and interpretation of the Scriptures? A. We hope it tends to -make them better. Q. Does it not tend to have them choose their own -Bible and their own interpretation of it as the source and principle -of religion? A. I should hope that it tends to have them accept the -Bible. Q. Do you teach them the doctrine of the private interpretation -of the Scripture? A. No, sir, not at all. Q. As I understand it, all -the religious instruction they get is simply reading from the Bible, -and no interpretation. They can interpret it just as they please. -A. They can interpret it just as they please. Sometimes one speaker -comes, and sometimes another” (page 234, vol. ii.) ... “Q. Now state -the afternoon services on Sunday? A. One of the trustees (they all -alternate except the mayor) procures a speaker for Sunday afternoon -to address the scholars. Q. Of what class are those speakers—of any -particular or of all classes? A. Since I have been there, I think every -denomination has been represented or been invited to speak? Q. Are -they particularly members of churches, or laymen, lawyers, doctors, -or anybody who will give a moral address to the children? A. I could -not speak with certainty of the professions. We often have clergymen, -perhaps oftener than any other class, but not unfrequently men of other -professions, and many times those following no profession to speak in -connection with others. We often have more than one speaker—sometimes -half a dozen. Q. These are business men of the city? A. Yes, sir. Q. Do -you have lawyers sometimes? A. I think all professions are represented. -Q. Do you have ministers if you can get them? A. Yes, sir.” And yet in -this unsectarianism the most direct sectarianism prevailed. “Q. Do you -know what version of the Bible is used? A. It is the common English -translation. Q. (By the mayor) It is the ordinary Bible, is it not? -A. Yes, sir. (By Mr. Gorman) The _Douay_ is the ordinary one. (By -Mr.——) We call that an _extraordinary_ one” (page 62, vol. ii.). - -Now, we have the Bible without comment, but ministers, lawyers, -doctors, and business men are called in every Sunday, sometimes half -a dozen at one time, to give the comments, each according to his own -view. Every religious denomination was invited, but it does not appear -that any Catholic ever accepted the invitation; for, if he accepted, he -would leave his Catholicity outside until he finished his unsectarian -discourse. There may be something in common with all the sects which -sometimes may be called general Protestantism, though they profess to -call it unsectarianism; but one thing we know is common to them all, -and this something is opposition to Catholicity, and the dodge of -unsectarianism is adroitly invented in order to exclude Catholics from -enjoying equal rights with Protestants in matters relating to public -education and public charities. The state must let religion alone, and -unsectarians must desist from their disguised effort to unite church -and state in this country, while it has so strenuously opposed their -union in every Catholic country. They know that Catholics can take no -part in unsectarian teachings, but they would like us to do so, for in -proportion as we did so would we cease to be Catholics. The Catholic -view was so admirably expressed by the late Bishop Fitzpatrick, of -Boston, in his letter in the Eliot School difficulty, that we must give -it to our readers: - - “I. Catholics cannot, under any circumstances, acknowledge, receive, - and use, as a complete collection and faithful version of the inspired - books which compose the written Word of God, the English Protestant - translation of the Bible. Still less can they so acknowledge, accept, - or use it, when its enforcement as such is coupled expressly with - the rejection of that version which their own church approves and - adopts as being correct and authentic; and yet this is required of - them by law. The law, as administered, holds forth the Protestant - version to the Catholic child, and says, ‘Receive this as the Bible.’ - The Catholic child answers, ‘I cannot so receive it.’ The law, as - administered, says you must, or else you must be scourged and finally - banished from the school. - - “II. The acceptance and recital of the Decalogue, under the form and - words in which Protestants clothe it, is offensive to the conscience - and belief of Catholics, inasmuch as that form and those words - are viewed by them, and have not unfrequently been used by their - adversaries, as a means of attack upon certain tenets and practices - which, under the teachings of the church, they hold as true and sacred. - - “III. The chanting of the Lord’s Prayer, of psalms, of hymns - addressed to God, performed by many persons in unison, being neither - a scholastic exercise nor a recreation, can only be regarded as an - act of public worship—indeed, it is professedly intended as such in - the regulations which govern our public schools. It would seem that - the principles which guide Protestants and Catholics, in relation - to communion in public worship, are widely different. Protestants, - however diverse may be their religious opinions—Trinitarians, who - assert that Jesus Christ is true God, and Unitarians, who deny he - is true God—find no difficulty to offer in brotherhood a blended - and apparently harmonious worship, and in so doing they give and - receive mutual satisfaction, mutual edification. The Catholic cannot - act in this manner. He cannot present himself before the Divine - presence in what would be for him a merely simulated union of prayer - and adoration. His church expressly forbids him to do so. She - considers indifference in matters of religion, indifference as to the - distinction of positive doctrines in faith, as a great evil which - promiscuous worship would tend to spread more widely and increase. - Hence the prohibition of such worship; and the Catholic cannot join in - it without doing violence to his sense of religious duty.” - -Non-sectarianism is the plea upon which those public institutions -justify their interference with the religious rights of their inmates. -They argue that, because this system is acceptable to Protestants of -every sect, therefore it must be acceptable to Catholics. Whereas, -on the contrary, what is called unsectarianism is the concentration -of sectarianism. Unsectarianism is made up of all those points upon -which the sects concur, and is therefore pre-eminently sectarian. It -is either that or simple deism; for if you take away the distinctive -tenets of Catholics, Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists, and of all -the distinct sects, there remains nothing but deism. This involves, -and will inevitably lead to, the denial of revelation; and the very -Scriptures themselves, which Protestantism claims as the sole source of -religious teaching, must and will inevitably, if non-sectarianism long -prevails, be cast away. Is the teaching of deism alone inoffensive to -Christians? The teaching of a few points, even if agreed upon by all, -would be, on account of its exclusiveness, as sectarian as any other -religious system—indeed more so; and is subject to an objection not -applicable to the others, in that it conceals its true nature, and -assumes a false name: whereas the Catholic Church and the avowed sects -proclaim their distinctive and exclusive character, and in this at -least are truthful and honest. If religious teaching resolves itself -into latitudinarianism, it then constitutes a new sect in itself. A -perfect neutrality, as long as anything positive is taught, is an -impossibility. This very selection, which makes up this professed -unsectarianism, is an anti-Catholic principle. It proclaims the right -of man to determine all things in religion by his own private judgment, -and in this consists the distinctive feature of Protestantism. - -We have thus shown that non-sectarianism, as a system of religious -teaching, is an impossibility. We now propose to show that in our -schools, asylums, reformatories, etc., it is in practice, as well as -in theory, an impossibility. We will show this, too, by Protestant and -unsectarian authority. At p. 264, vol. ii., _Providence Reform School -Investigation_, we read from the testimony of a Protestant Episcopal -trustee, who resigned on account, in part, of this impossibility: - - “Q. Didn’t you know that no sectarian instruction was admitted inside - that institution? A. I don’t know what you call sectarianism. It is - pretty hard to say down in that school. We have had everything taught - and preached there. Q. Was not this an Episcopal book? A. It was a - book of devotions and prayers—a work by a divine of the English - Church. It was an Episcopal book. Q. Do you mean to say that a book of - Episcopal exercises is or is not a sectarian work? A. I am a member of - the Episcopal Church; we do not call ourselves a sect. Q. Didn’t you - know at the time you gave this book to the teacher that it was against - the rules of the school to have the doctrines of the true church given - out there, or of any church? A. I had never supposed it was against - the rules of that institution, and I should have been unwilling to - have sat for one hour as its trustee if I had supposed that I was - myself forbidden to pray, or to advise others to pray there, through - Jesus Christ, our Lord; and if the prayers I indicated, marked, and - numbered in that book are prayers forbidden in the Providence Reform - School or any other school, I have for the first time to learn what - is sectarianism. They are prayers which every Christian, whether he - belongs to any one of the various organizations of Christians in - this or any other country or not, would, I think, be willing to use - morning, noon, and night. Q. Didn’t you know that the by-laws place - religious instruction exclusively under the care of the superintendent - of the school” [who is a layman]? - -The Hon. John C. Spencer, Secretary of State and Superintendent of -Schools in 1840, said in his report to the New York Legislature: -“There must be some degree of religious instruction, and there can be -_none_ without partaking more or less of a _sectarian character_. _The -objection itself proceeds from a sectarian principle_, and assumes the -power to control that which it is neither right nor practicable to -subject to any denomination. Religious doctrines of vital interest will -be inculcated.” - -Another who has discussed this question of sectarianism with force and -great plainness of speech is the Rev. Dr. Spear, of Brooklyn, in the -columns of the _Independent_, thus: - - “It is quite true that the Bible, as the foundation of religious - belief, is not sectarian as between those who adopt it; but it is - true that King James’ Version of the Holy Scriptures is sectarian as - to the Catholic, as the Douay is to the Protestant, or as the Baptist - Version would be to all Protestants but Baptists. It is equally true - that the New Testament is sectarian as to the Jew, and the whole Bible - is equally so as to those who reject its authority in any version.... - There is no sense or candor in a mere play on words here. It is not - decent in a Protestant ecclesiastic, who has no more rights than the - humblest Jew, virtually to say to the latter: ‘You are nothing but - a good-for-nothing Jew; you Jews have no claim to be regarded as - a religious sect, or included in the law of state impartiality as - between sects which Protestants monopolize for their special benefit. - Away with your Jewish consciences! You pay your tax bills, and send - your children to the public schools, and we will attend to their - _Christian_ education.’ It is not decent to say this to any class of - citizens who dissent from what is known as Protestant Christianity. - It is simply a supercilious pomposity of which Protestants ought to - be ashamed. It may please the bigotry it expresses, but a sensible - man must either pity or despise it. In the name of justice we protest - against this summary mode of disposing of the school question in - respect to any class of American citizens. It is simply an insult.” - -Again, Dr. Anderson, President of the Rochester University, one of the -first men in the Baptist Church in these United States, addressing the -Baptist Educational Convention in the city of New York, says: - - “_It is impossible for an earnest teacher to avoid giving out - constantly religious and moral impulses and thought. He must of - necessity set forth his notions about God, the soul, conscience, sin, - the future life, and Divine Revelation._ - - “If he promises not to do so, he will fail to keep his word”—these - are true words—“or his teachings in science, or literature, or - history will be miserably shallow and inadequate. Our notions of God - and the moral order form, in spite of ourselves, the base line which - affects all our movements and constructions of science, literature, - and history. Inductions in physics, classifications in natural - history, necessitate a living law eternal in the thought of God.” - -These gentlemen speak of religious instruction, only inasmuch as it -is connected with the education of youth, and yet their logical minds -showed them the absurdity of unsectarianism. What, then, could they -have said of visionary men attempting direct teaching of religion -without sectarianism? - -The following extract is too pertinent to our subject and too clever -to be omitted, as an illustration of the impossibility of teaching -religion upon the unsectarian system: - - -“UNSECTARIANISM.” - -SOME OF THE DIFFICULTIES OF A TEACHER IN A MIXED SCHOOL. - - (From the New Orleans Morning Star.) - - We find the following in our San Francisco contemporary, the _Pacific - Churchman_, taken originally from the _London Church Review_, an organ - of the Church of England. The editor of the _Churchman_ remarks that - “with some changes it will equally apply to some of our _un_-sectarian - schools.” As far as the _Churchman_ goes against _un_-sectarian - schools in this country, we are with it. This seems to be one scene - taken from others. Considering that it conveys a good argument for us, - our readers will excuse the term “Romanism,” thrown in as a reproach. - We quote: - - The schoolroom of a boarding-school. Time, the hour of religious - instruction. Bible to be read and explained without inculcating - the dogmas of any particular denomination. Teacher certificated, - unsectarian, highly conscientious. Class consisting of children from - thirteen down to six or seven, and of various grades, from respectable - poor to gutter children. Schoolroom and teacher span new. Teacher a - little nervous. Children—some looking curiously about them, some - disposed to loll and idle, some attentive. Teacher opens the great - Bible, and begins to read St. Matthew ii., as being a narrative likely - to interest the auditory, and easy to explain in an undenominational - sense. First, however, a little preliminary explanation is necessary. - - _Teacher._ You must know, my dear children, that Joseph and Mary - were two very good people who lived a very great many years ago in a - country far away from London, and I am going to read to you about them - and their son (reads slowly verse 1. of the chapter). - - _Ragged Arab_ (not accustomed to observe much ceremony). Please, sir, - who’s that? - - _Teacher_ (aghast, and wishing to gain time). Whom do you mean, my boy? - - _Arab._ That there Jesus. - - _Teacher_ (aside). [How can this question be answered in an - undenominational sense? This is the religious difficulty, full blown. - If I say “a good man,” that will hardly do, for I know several of the - boys are the children of the church people and Romanists; and if I say - “the son of God,” that won’t do, for Tommy Markham is a Unitarian, or, - at any rate, his parents are; besides, such a dogmatic statement is - sectarian.] (Aloud.) I will explain all about him when I have finished - the chapter. - - Continues to read. The class listens with various degrees of attention - until the 11th verse is finished, and then— - - _A Boy._ Please, sir, who’s Mary? The mother of the little baby, - wasn’t she? - - _Teacher._ Yes; she was his mother. - - _Boy._ Oh! and what does “wusshupped” mean? - - _Teacher._ It means paying great respect, kneeling down and bowing, as - we should to God. - - _Another Boy_ (better taught than boy No. 1, and jumping at once to a - sectarian conclusion). Then, that there baby was God, sir? - - _Tommy Markham_ (stoutly). No, that he wasn’t! - - _Teacher._ Silence, boys, the lesson cannot go on if you talk and - quarrel. (Struck by a bright idea.) You know that a great many people - believe that he was God; but some do not; but we must not quarrel - because we do not all think alike. - - _First Boy_ (disagreeably curious). Well, but what do _you_ think, - master? - - [Terrible dilemma! Teacher hesitates. At length, desperately]— - - _I_ think he was God. - - _Boy._ Don’t yer _know_ it? - - _Teacher_ (aside). [Perverse youth. Pest take his questions and him - too! If I’d known what “unsectarian” teaching involved, I’d sooner - have swept a crossing. What _will_ the Board say? Why, the very - essence of our principle is to _know_ nothing and think anything. But - you can’t make the boys reason.] (Aloud.) My dear boy, it is very - difficult to say what we know. I can only teach you what I think, and - teach you how to be good and do what is right, and obey all that God - tells you to do in this Holy Book. - - _A Boy_ (interrupting, _sans cérémonie_). Did God write that there - book? - - _Teacher._ Yes; and he tells us what we are to do to get to heaven; - and his son came, as you see, as a little child, and when he grew up, - he preached and told us how we ought to love one another, and all we - ought to do to lead a good life. - - _Boy_ (interested). And was he a _very_ good chap? - - _Teacher_ (a little shocked). Yes, of course; you know he - was—[pauses; his haste had almost betrayed him into a dogmatic - explanation, and the forbidden word “know” had actually passed his - lips]. - - _Another Boy_ (with vexatiously retentive memory). You said afore, - master, that he was God, and the gentlemen wusshupped him—was he - _reelly_ God? - - _Teacher_ (boldly, taking the bull by the horns). Yes. - - _Boy._ And did God’s mother wusshup him too, master? - - _Teacher._ You must not call her the mother of—[interrupts himself; - recollects that it is as sectarian to deny to the Blessed Virgin the - title of Mother of God as to bestow it upon her; continues]: yes, she - worshipped him too; but I want you to learn about the things that he - told us to do. - - _Another Boy_ (doggedly). But we wants to know fust who he be, ‘cause - we ain’t to do jist what a nobody tells us; only, if that there - gentlemen be God, there’s somethin’ in it, ‘cause I’ve ‘eard parson - say, at old school, where I was once, that what God said was all right. - - _Teacher_ (aside). [Certainly that poor Arab has got the root of - denominational education. It is, I begin to think, a failure to - attempt the teaching of morality without first making manifest what - that morality is based upon, and the moment you come to _that_ you are - in for denominationalism at once. (Wipes his brow and continues)— - - Of course, my boy, you must know why it is right to tell the truth and - do what is right, but then if I tell you God commanded all this and - read to you what his Son said about it, there is no need for troubling - so much about—about— - - _Boy_ (interrupting). Oh! but I likes to ax questions, and it ain’t no - sort of use you telling us it’s wrong to lie—nobody at ‘ome ever told - me _that_—if yer don’t say who said it, ‘cause I ain’t bound to mind - what _you_ say, is I? - - [_Teacher_ checks the indignant “Indeed you are” that rises to his - lips, arrested by the terrible and conscientious thought whether it - be not a new and strange form of denominationalism for the teacher - to make his own dictum infallible in matters of morality. Would not - this be to elevate into a living, personal dogma an unsectarian - teacher?—a singular clash, surely. Teacher shivers at the bare idea. - Soliloquizes: How can I meet this knock-down reasoning? These Arabs - are so rebellious, so perverse; why must they ask so many questions, - and require to know the why and wherefore of everything? (Glances at - the clock.) Ah! thank my stars, the time is almost up! but this dodge - won’t do every time. I’m afraid I shall have to give up the whole - thing as a bad job.] (Aloud.) We have only five minutes more to-day, - lads, so you must let me finish the chapter without asking any more - questions. - - (Boys relapse into indifferent silence. Curtain falls.) - -In conclusion, we insist that the state shall obey its own -constitution, and let religion alone. In purely state institutions, -the consciences must be left free, and no experiments with religion -can be tried. Every child in such institutions must enjoy liberty of -conscience and free access to its own ministers and sacraments. - -If any sect undertakes to help the state to do its work, by -establishing reformatories, protectories, and asylums for its own -children, excluding all other religions and the children of other -religions, we shall not object to its receiving a just _per capita_ -from the state; and under this system we claim the same and no more for -purely Catholic institutions doing the work of the state in respect to -Catholic children. If, however, sectarian, unsectarian, or non-Catholic -institutions receive support from the state, and receive the children -of the Catholic Church and of other persuasions, they must be conducted -upon the same principle with state institutions, and in them “no law -respecting the establishment of a religion” must be made or enforced, -but the most perfect liberty of conscience must prevail. We ask no -special favors for ourselves or our church; all we claim is perfect -equality before the law and the state, and the full benefit of that -fair play which we extend to others. - - - - -DANTE’S PURGATORIO. - -CANTO SEVENTH. - - [Still among souls, on the outside of Purgatory, who have delayed - repentance, Dante, in this Canto, is conducted to those who had - postponed spiritual duties from having been involved in state affairs. - The persons introduced are the Emperor Rodolph, first of that Austrian - house of Hapsburg, Ottocar, King of Bohemia, Philip III. of France, - Henry of Navarre, Peter III. of Aragon, Charles I. of Naples, Henry - III. of England, and the Marquis William of Monferrat. To know more - of these men the curious reader must consult more volumes than we - have space to mention in this magazine. He may spare much research, - however, and find the most accessible information by turning to - the interesting notes which Mr. Longfellow has appended to his - translation.—TRANS.] - - - THREE times and four these greetings, glad and free, - Had been repeated, when Sordello’s shade - Drew from embrace, and said: “Now, who are ye?” - And thereupon my Guide this answer made: - “Ere to this mountain those just souls, to whom - Heavenward to climb was given, had guided been, - My bones Octavian gathered to the tomb. - Virgil I am, and for none other sin - But want of faith was I from heaven shut out.” - Like one who suddenly before him sees - Something that wakes his wonder, whence, in doubt, - He says, _It is not_; then believing, _’Tis!_ - Sordello stood, then back to him without - Lifting his eyelids, turned and clasped his knees. - “O glory of the Latin race!” he cried, - “Through whom to such a height our language rose, - Oh! of my birthplace everlasting pride, - What merit or grace on me thy sight bestows? - Tell me, unless to hear thee is denied, - Com’st thou from hell, or where hast thou repose?” - -VIRGIL. - - He to this answered: “Grace from heaven moved me, - And leads me still: the circles every one - Of sorrow’s kingdom have I trod to thee. - My sight is barred from that supernal Sun, - Whom I knew late, and thou desir’st to see, - Not for I did, but for I left undone. - A place below there is where no groans rise - From torment, sad alone with want of light, - Where the lament sounds not like moan, but sighs. - The little innocents whom Death’s fell bite - Snatched, ere their sin was purified, are there: - And there I dwell with guiltless ones that still - The three most holy virtues did not wear, - Though all the rest they knew, and did fulfil. - But if thou knowest, and may’st us apprise, - Tell us how we most speedily may find - Where Purgatory’s actual entrance lies.” - -SORDELLO. - - “We have,” he answered, “no set place assigned; - Around and upward I am free to stray; - My guidance far as I may go I lend: - But see how fast already fails the day! - And in the night none ever can ascend: - Best, then, we think of some good resting-place. - Some souls there be, removed here to the right, - Whom, if thou wilt, I’ll show thee face to face, - And thou shalt know them not without delight.” - “How, then,” said Virgil—“should a soul aspire - To climb by night, would other check be found? - Or his own weakness hinder his desire?” - And good Sordello drew along the ground - His finger, saying: “Look! not even this line - May’st thou pass over when the sun hath gone: - Not that aught else, though, would thy power confine, - Save want of light, from journeying upwards on: - Darkness makes impotent thy will. By night - One may go back again, and grope below, - And, while the horizon shuts the day from sight, - Wander about the hillside to and fro.” - My Master then, as ‘twere in wonder, spake: - “Then lead us thitherward where thou hast said, - That we in lingering shall such pleasure take.” - Nor had we forward far advanced our tread, - When I perceived that on the mountain-side - A valley opened, just like valleys here. - “We will go forward,” said our shadowy guide, - “Where on the slope yon hollow doth appear; - There let us wait the dawning of the day.” - ‘Twixt steep and level went a winding path - Which led us where the vale-side dies away - Till less than half its height the margin hath. - - Gold and fine silver, ceruse, cochineal, - India’s rich wood, heaven’s lucid blue serene,[15] - Or glow that emeralds freshly broke reveal, - Had all been vanquished by the varied sheen - Of this bright valley set with shrubs and flowers, - As less by greater. Nor had Nature there - Only in painting spent herself, but showers - Of odors manifold made sweet the air - With one strange mingling of confused perfume. - And there new spirits chanting I descried— - “Salve Regina!”—seated on the bloom - And verdure sheltered by the dingle side. - -SORDELLO. - - “Ere yon low sun shall nestle in his bed” - (Began the Mantuan who had brought us here), - “Desire not down among them to be led; - You better will observe how they appear, - Both face and action, from this bank, instead - Of mixing with them in the dale. That one - Who sits the highest, looking, ‘mid the throng, - As though some duty he had left undone, - Who moves his lips not with the rest in song, - Was Rodolph, Emperor, he who might have healed - Those wounds which Italy have so far spent - That slow relief all other helpers yield. - The other, that on soothing him seems bent, - Once ruled the region whence those waters are - Which Moldau bears to Elbe, and Elbe the sea. - His name was Ottocar, and better far, - Yea, in his very swaddling-robe, was he - Than Vincislaus, his big-bearded son - Whom luxury and ease have made so gross. - And he of slender nose, who, with the one - So bland of aspect, seems in consult close, - Died flying, and in dust his lilies laid. - Look! how he beats the breast he cannot calm: - Mark too his mate there sighing, who hath made - For his pale cheek a pillow of his palm! - One is the Father of that pest of France, - Father-in-law the other: well they know - His lewd, base life! this misery is the lance - That to the core cuts either of them so. - And he so stout of limb, in unison - Singing with him there of the manly nose, - Of every virtue put the girdle on; - And if that youth behind him in repose - Had after him reigned in his Father’s stead, - Virtue from vase to vase had been well poured, - Which of the other heirs may not be said. - Frederic and James now o’er those kingdoms lord, - In whom that better heritage lies dead. - Rarely doth human goodness rise again - Through the tree’s branches: He hath willed it so - Who gives this boon of excellence, that men - Should ask of him who can alone bestow.” - - “Not more these words of mine at Peter glance - Than him he sings with (of the large nose there) - Whose death Apulia mourneth, and Provènce, - So ill the tree doth with its stock compare! - Even so much more of her good lord his wife - Constance yet vaunts herself, than Margaret may, - Or Beatrice. That king of simplest life, - Harry of England, sitting there survey - All by himself: his branches are more blest! - The one who sits there with uplifted gaze - Among the group, but lower than the rest, - Is Marquis William, in whose cause the frays - Of Alexandria have with grief oppressed - Both Monferrato and the Canavese.” - - - - -THE RUSSIAN IDEA. - -FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN. - -“We must obey the emperor rather than God.” - - -I. - -A GOOD MOTHER. - -THE Baroness Olga von Sempach was respected, wealthy, benevolent, and -therefore loved by the poor. When, in the summer, she visited her -estates in Posen, to breathe for some months the healthy country air, -the poor of that place would exclaim: “Our mother has come again!” - -The baroness had, however, seemed lately to be greatly depressed, and -her sad countenance had excited the sympathy of every one. - -“Our mother is sick,” said the poor. “Her face is pale, and her kind -eyes look as though she wept often. We will pray for our benefactress, -that God may preserve her to us.” - -And in the hours of want and suffering, many hands were raised in -supplication to heaven for their mother Olga; but the eyes of the -noble lady continued to be dim with weeping, and her sorrow seemed to -increase daily. - -She was sitting, one morning, in a room of her palace; her hands -were clasped together, and she gazed absently before her, while tear -after tear streamed down her cheeks. Opposite to her on the wall -hung a crucifix, upon which she would often fix her eyes; but her -sufferings seemed to be those of the spirit rather than of the body. -The affliction of soul, as seen in her distressed face, had something -sublime and venerable in it, for it was the grief of a mother. - -The sound of approaching footsteps are heard. The baroness made -an effort to conceal her agitation; she wiped away her tears, and -endeavored to receive with a smile the young man, who, upon entering, -saluted her. - -“I am rejoiced, dear Edward, that you have come to visit us at our -retired summer-residence,” said she. “The invigorating air of the -country will be of great service to you. Your incessant application to -study is injurious to health, and you must therefore remain with us for -several weeks.” - -He hardly seemed to hear her words of welcome, so lost was he in -astonishment at the appearance of his noble hostess. - -“I must ask your pardon, gracious lady, for having disturbed your quiet -household last night at such a late hour,” said he; “but the train was -delayed, and I could not find a carriage to bring me here.” - -“No formal excuse is necessary, Edward! Have you spoken yet with my -son?” - -“Only a few words. He is writing to his betrothed.” - -These latter words made such an impression upon the baroness that it -seemed as though a sword had pierced her heart. The emotion did not -escape the observation of the young gentleman, and, together with her -sad aspect, convinced him that her son was in some way the cause of her -unhappiness. - -“O sorrowful mother that I am!” she exclaimed, “to see my Adolph, my -only child, rushing into certain misfortune, perhaps into eternal ruin, -and I unable to help or save him—how it pains and terrifies me!” - -Her lips trembled, and she found difficulty in preserving her -self-command. - -“You alarm me, dear baroness! Why should Adolph fall into such deep -misery because of his marriage as you seem to predict? He loves -Alexandra truly and sincerely. He praises her noble qualities, her -magnificent beauty, her accomplishments, and therefore I see every -prospect of a happy life for them both.” - -“Alexandra is beautiful, very beautiful!” replied the baroness sadly; -“but this exterior beauty, perishable and worthless as it is, unless -united with nobility of mind as well as virtue, blinds my son. -Alexandra’s personal loveliness prevents him from seeing the ugliness -of her heart, mind, and spirit.” - -The young professor seemed really perplexed. He knew that the baroness -was an admirable judge of character, and he loved his friend. - -“Adolph wrote to me in his last letter that Alexandra is the daughter -of a Russian nobleman named Rasumowski, who fills the distinguished -position of governor of a province in Poland. I should think that the -daughter of a man to whom the Russian government has confided such a -trust would resemble her father.” - -“She is his counterpart,” replied the Baroness von Sempach; “and her -father is the incorporate spirit of the Russian form of government; -he is imperious, proud, tyrannical, and utterly destitute of feeling. -You know the inhumanities practised by Russia upon Catholic Poland. An -endless succession of oppressive laws completely crushed the unhappy -Poles, from whom everything was taken—liberty, religion, property, -and life. In this atmosphere of cruel tyranny and injustice Alexandra -has grown up. From her childhood she has breathed an air which has -stifled all the gentle emotions of the heart. In a word, Alexandra is -a thorough Russian. How, then, can my son, with his respect for the -rights of man, with his enthusiastic love of freedom with his studious -disposition of mind, and his warm heart—how can he be happy in the -possession of such a wife? Never! A terrible awakening, bitter sorrow, -and lasting misfortune will soon poison the life of my child.” - -“I believe you, dear madame! Why have you not expressed your fears to -Adolph?” - -“I have done so often and urgently; but his blind passion for Alexandra -makes him deaf to all my representations.” - -“If,” said Edward, after some reflection, “we could only succeed in -letting Adolph have a closer insight into Alexandra’s nature and -spiritual life, I am sure that he would turn with aversion from her.” - -“But in this lies the difficulty, dear Edward. The Russians understand -well how to conceal by an artificial gloss of refinement their real -spiritual deformity.” - -“Notwithstanding all this, the mask must be torn from the face of the -Russian lady, in order to save Adolph. I know what to do! My plan will -succeed!” exclaimed the professor. - -“What do you intend doing, Edward?” - -“I will enlighten my friend Adolph in regard to Russian manners. Do not -question me any further, dear madame, but confide in me!” said he, with -a cheerful face. “Wipe away your tears, and have courage, noble mother!” - -He bowed and then sought the presence of his host. Adolph, a stately -young man with a kind face and the expressive eyes of his mother, had -just concluded a letter to his betrothed. - -“Have you at last finished writing?” asked Edward. “You lovers never -know when to stop. I wonder what you have to say to each other day -after day?” - -“A heart that loves is inexhaustible,” replied Adolph. “I could write -ten letters a day, and not say all I wish.” - -“I know it,” said Edward, nodding his head. - -“What do you know?” - -“The readiness of love to make sacrifices,” replied his friend. - -Adolph laughed aloud. - -“The idea of your understanding what it is to love! When you begin to -love, the world will come to an end!” he exclaimed good-humoredly. “As -the city of Metz has inscribed over her gates, so also can you write -upon your forehead, ‘No one has ever conquered me.’ Although you speak -with great wisdom about many things, you know nothing of love.” - -“But I am of the opposite opinion,” said Edward, looking with his -brilliant eyes at the laughing face of his friend. “Your love is about -six months old, but mine has lasted for ten years; it commenced when I -was sixteen. My love has been put to the test, and is still as enduring -as it was in the beginning. Your young love of only six months’ -duration must, however, be tried as yet. How will it be when ten years -have passed away, and Alexandra’s beauty has faded? My beloved, on the -contrary, never grows old. She is always young and beautiful, like her -Father, the eternal fountain of all knowledge—like God; for my beloved -is—Knowledge.” - -“You malicious fellow, to remind me of Alexandra’s future wrinkles! I -do not care, however, for my betrothed is at present the handsomest -girl living.” - -“I will not deny the fact,” said Edward. “And if you will introduce -me into the much-to-be-envied atmosphere which the beautiful Russian -breathes, you will oblige me and my beloved very much.” - -“I do not understand you!” - -“I wish, in other words, to know something of Russian affairs by means -of my own observations,” replied Edward. “I would like to make a study -of her government for the benefit of the Germans.” - -“For the benefit of the Germans?” - -“Yes, indeed; for it is a well-known fact that the Russian system of -government is to be gradually introduced into the German Empire. A -beginning has already been made by enacting the famous law against the -Jesuits and kindred orders. Alexandra’s father is the highest official -of his district. Through him I could easily obtain a peep into state -matters, if you would recommend me.” - -“With the greatest pleasure, my friend!” exclaimed Adolph, springing -from his chair in joyful surprise. “We will go together. I will -introduce you myself to the governor, and, while you labor in the -interest of your ever-youthful beloved, I will devote myself to -Alexandra.” - - -II. - -THE PLETI. - -Two days later, the friends were sojourning in the Rasumowski palace, -a stately building, formerly the property of a noble Polish family -whose only son now languished in Siberia. When the guests arrived, the -governor was absent, but his daughter received them with the greatest -hospitality. Edward found the youthful Russian lady very beautiful in -appearance, but his keen eyes soon detected beneath the surface of -her charming exterior a spirit of such moral deformity that he became -really alarmed in regard to the fate which threatened his friend if he -persisted in uniting himself to such a being. - -“Oh! what joy! What an agreeable surprise!” exclaimed Alexandra. -“It is, in truth, an imperial joy! And papa also will be imperially -delighted to see you and your friend.” - -“Is your father absent, Alexandra?” asked Adolph. - -“Only for a few hours. He is with a distinguished gentleman from -Berlin. I expect him any moment, and his surprise will be really -imperial.” - -The professor seemed astonished at her language. He availed himself of -the first suitable opportunity to satisfy his desire for knowledge. - -“Pardon me, mademoiselle; you use the word imperial in a manner which -is incomprehensible to me—you speak of a really imperial joy, of a -truly imperial surprise. Will you permit me to ask you why you make use -of this peculiar expression?” - -“If you had ever travelled through the holy Russian Empire,” she -replied, with a haughty look, “you would know that we use the word -imperial in the same sense as you in Germany say divine. Are you amazed -at that?” - -“Indeed, mademoiselle,” answered the professor calmly, “I never -imagined that the words imperial and divine could be synonymous, for -the reason that there is an infinite difference between the emperor and -God.” - -“That is your view of the subject, but we think differently in our holy -empire,” replied the arrogant beauty. “In Russia, the emperor is the -most exalted of beings; he is the autocrat of all Russia, and upon his -dominions the sun never sets. If we wish to express the highest degree -of joy, of surprise, of pleasure, or of beauty”—and she threw her head -proudly back—“then we say an imperial joy, an imperial pleasure, an -imperial beauty!” - -“I am greatly indebted to you for this interesting explanation,” said -the professor, bowing low. - -At this moment, the sound of an approaching carriage was heard. - -“They have arrived!” said Alexandra. “What a pity that our -distinguished visitor from Berlin makes it necessary for papa to absent -himself so often!” - -“Your company, dear Alexandra, is a charming substitute for your -father’s absence,” said Adolph von Sempach. - -Two loud male voices in animated conversation resounded through the -corridor. Alexandra ran to open the door of the salon. - -“Papa, who do you think is here? You will be delighted.” - -“Who is it? Can it be Prince von Bismarck?” replied a rough voice, and -the governor entered the room. He was an elegantly dressed gentleman, -of stout appearance, and wore a light mustache; but his rubicund -countenance, which plainly betokened an unrestrained appetite, was -almost repulsive, on account of the cruel look in his eyes. The visitor -from Berlin followed him; he was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a -bald head, sharp eyes, a heavy mustache, which overshadowed an ugly -mouth, and with features not less disagreeable than were those of the -Russian. - -“Oh, Baron von Sempach? Is it possible!” exclaimed the governor, -pressing the hand of his future son-in-law. “It is really imperial!” - -“My friend Edward Beck, Professor of History,” said Adolph, introducing -his travelling companion. - -The untitled name seemed to displease the Russian, for he looked almost -with contempt at the stranger, and returned his bow with a scarcely -perceptible nod of the head. Von Sempach noticed this reception of his -friend, and, although very angry, hastened to pacify the ill-humor of -his proud host. - -“I must inform you, governor,” said he, in a whisper, “that my friend -Edward Beck occupies a distinguished social position; and not only -that—he is the owner of vast estates, and the possessor of two -millions of guilders.” - -“I feel highly honored at your presence in my house, Herr Beck,” said -the now polite Russian. “Allow me to introduce to you my esteemed -guest, Herr Schulze, of Berlin.” - -The tall Prussian made a desperate effort to smile, and to force his -rigid, military figure to return the professor’s bow. - -“The visit of my friend to your country has, at the same time, a -scientific object in view,” said Adolph. “He desires to learn something -of Russian affairs by personal observation. You will therefore oblige -me very much, Governor Rasumowski, if by means of your high official -position you consent to further his wishes in this respect.” - -“What a happy coincidence!” replied the governor, with a significant -glance at the gentleman from Berlin. “Herr Schulze has come for the -same purpose. He also seeks to inform himself in regard to the glorious -administration of state and social affairs in our holy empire; but of -course with a different motive from that of Herr Beck, whose researches -are of a purely historical nature.” - -“The knowledge of which I am in pursuit is for practical ends,” said -Herr Schulze, assuming a learned air. “I wish to examine and see if the -admirably constructed machinery of the Russian government cannot be -introduced with advantage into the new German Empire.” - -“I am rejoiced to hear you speak as you do,” replied Beck; “for your -opinion in regard to the policy now in force throughout the new German -Empire corresponds with mine. Since the last Diet, it has become -evident to me that in future Germany must be governed as Russia now -is. The map of Europe,” he added, with a meaning smile intended for -Rasumowski, “would then not only have a Russian Poland, but also a -German Russia.” - -“Rejoice at such a beneficial change, gentlemen!” exclaimed the -governor. “All nations can learn from and profit by the example of -our holy Russian Empire. In no country upon earth is there a stronger -government, and nowhere has the absurd idea of liberty taken less root, -than in the immense territory of the czar. Of course, in Germany, -some little concessions must be made at first, until an iron-bound -constitution, like that of Russia, can be formed—above all, the -inferior German princes must be set aside.” - -“The beginning has been already made; it is only necessary to continue -our efforts,” replied the Berlin gentleman. - -“See with what regularity everything proceeds with us,” asserted -Rasumowski. “All the wheels of state are controlled by the will of one -man, of our gracious sovereign, the emperor”—and he made a reverence -before the marble statue of the czar. “Whoever does not obey the will -of the sovereign will be surely crushed into atoms.” - -A servant announced dinner. The party entered the dining-room, where -a magnificent banquet was served. The whole attention of Adolph was -absorbed by Alexandra, and Edward saw with deep regret his burning -passion for a creature who was unworthy of his noble-minded friend. - -“As I said before, gentlemen, with us everything moves with -regularity,” said Rasumowski. “We do not permit the least -contradiction. The word liberty has no meaning with us; for -unconditional obedience is with us the fundamental law of the empire, -and whoever does not wish to obey must go to Siberia.” - -“As far as I can understand, there does not exist in Russia any -fundamental law of state,” said Beck. “Or am I wrong?” - -“No; you are right. We know nothing about it. The sovereign law is the -will of the emperor. Nothing but what the emperor commands has legal -power. The meeting of Deputies, Chambers, and of Diets is unheard of in -Russia. The almighty will of the czar answers instead of it. All laws -and decrees, no matter how long they have existed, can be abolished -by the emperor with one stroke of the pen. To him, as the sovereign, -everything belongs: the country and the people, the peasants and the -nobility, the church and the state. In fact, it can be said that the -only fundamental law of state in the holy Russian Empire is absolute -obedience to the will of the czar.” - -“Excellent!” said Schulze. “If we had only made the same progress in -our new German Empire!” - -“It is to be questioned whether this manner of government can be -introduced into Germany,” replied Beck. “There the people have a will -which makes itself heard in the Chambers.” - -“Bah! of what account are the Diet and the Chambers?” exclaimed Schulze -contemptuously. “Acknowledge candidly, Herr Beck, what a miserable -_rôle_ our Chambers have recently played. Is not the will of the -chancellor the only law? Is not everything possible to the diplomatic -wisdom of Bismarck? Do the Deputies, Chambers, or Diet dare to -contradict the all-powerful minister? No! They only make such laws as -are pleasing to their master. Therefore I am right when I say that the -people no longer have a voice in the new German Empire. Wait a little -while, and the antiquated folly of Chambers and Diets will be also -abolished.” - -“Your view is not entirely correct,” said Adolph von Sempach. “A strong -party in the Diet is opposed to the designs of Bismarck.” - -“Yes, the ultramontanes!” answered Schulze. “But we are prepared for -them; we will conquer this rebellious set, so hostile to the empire!” -he exclaimed, with an angry flash of his eyes. “The ultramontanes in -Germany form only a rapidly disappearing minority, and this rabble, so -dangerous to the state, will soon be exterminated. Liberalism reigns -supreme in the new German Empire; Bismarck depends upon its support. -Every right-thinking man will see that in a well-organized state but -one will must be paramount, and not two or even three wills. The -emperor alone must rule. Therefore away with the will of the people, -away with the will of the church! The form of the Russian government -alone is sound; for here the emperor is the head of the state and of -the church. The civil officers rule according to the command of the -emperor—in a word, everything is done, as the governor has correctly -remarked, with regularity. And whoever does not obey will be sent to -the mines of Siberia.” - -Von Sempach, whose countenance gave evidence of his disapproval, wished -to reply, but, at a sign from his friend, he remained silent. - -“Yes, indeed, Siberia is a splendid place!” exulted the Russian. “The -new German Empire must also have a Siberia, to which her rebellious -subjects can be sent.” - -“If German affairs continue to shape themselves so closely after the -example of Russia, we will undoubtedly have a Siberia very soon,” said -the professor, with an ambiguous smile. - -“Without Siberia, what would we have done with the unruly Poles?” -exclaimed the charming daughter of the governor. “There in the mines, -in want and misery, the wretches can do penance for their presumption, -and repent for having disobeyed the Emperor of Russia.” - -At hearing her remarks, all color forsook Adolph’s face; he looked -with amazement at his beautiful betrothed. Beck, however, noticed with -secret delight the impression she had made upon his friend. - -“I am really anxious to learn,” said he, “how the people of the holy -Russian Empire live, and if they are so supremely happy.” - -“You shall have proofs of it this afternoon,” said the governor. “We -will drive in half an hour to a village in the vicinity of the city. -The village is inhabited by Roman Catholics; but even there you will -find that the will of the emperor is respected.” - -All now rose from the table; the guests retired to their rooms; but -Adolph, who seemed greatly depressed, sought the society of his friend. - -“How do you like Alexandra?” - -“She is, in truth, imperially beautiful,” answered Beck. - -“But you heard her cruel remarks about the poor Poles?” - -“Yes, I heard what she said, and am not astonished that a Russian lady, -whose father is governor, should think as he does; it is very natural,” -replied the professor. - -Adolph appeared to be overwhelmed with sadness. - -“Will you not go with us on our tour of inspection?” asked Edward. - -“After such a painful exhibition of Alexandra’s sentiments, I need -something to distract my thoughts.” - -“Have you noticed that the bust and portrait of the emperor, seated -on his throne, is to be seen in every corridor, chamber, and salon of -the palace?” remarked Edward. “He is like an idol in the house, before -which even the lovely head of Alexandra bows in reverence. This fact is -of the highest interest to me. Man must have a god, a sovereign being, -to serve. In Russia, the emperor is this sovereign; and Almighty God -in heaven is, as the Russians imagine, the vassal of the emperor; for -bishops, priests, and popes can only teach and preach that which the -imperial sovereign commands and permits. And such a sovereign is to sit -upon the throne of the new German Empire! A glorious prospect for us!” - -“Ridiculous nonsense!” exclaimed the young nobleman. “The German nation -would never submit to such a yoke of tyranny. Germans will never become -slaves!” - -“Do not be too confident, Von Sempach! A keen observer has said that -the Germans are a most servile people.” - -“But they never will be the slaves of a Russian czar,” replied Von -Sempach. “The German people, two years ago, gave ample proofs of what -they can do. Like our imaginary Michael,[16] who for a long time -allowed himself to be kicked about and abused, but who suddenly shook -off his lethargy, and fought like a lion, so will it be with Germany, -which seems to have fallen into a state of good-humored torpor, during -which cunning men have taken advantage of her apparent indifference to -deprive her gradually of her ancient privileges; but let the Germans -once feel the weight of Russian despotism, and you will see with what -fury they will break loose the chains that bind them.” - -Ten minutes later, the carriage of the governor rolled through -the streets of the city. He had given orders to be driven over a -well-paved public road to a neighboring village. At a short distance -from the carriage followed four Cossacks, mounted on small horses from -Tartary. One of them carried in the belt of his sabre a very peculiar -instrument. Attached to a strong wooden handle were nailed seven straps -of leather, which terminated in hard knots. It was commonly called “the -pleti,” and was, by the command of the Emperor Nicholas, used as a -substitute for the notorious knout. - -Just as the village became visible behind the rows of trees that -bordered the public road, the governor commanded the driver to stop. In -looking from the window, he had observed, upon a lately cleared space, -a collection of wooden huts which were situated a short distance from -the road. - -“What is the meaning of this? Who has dared to build these huts?” he -exclaimed, in amazement. - -“They look very much like our barracks in Berlin,” said Schulze. “Some -poor wretches built huts outside of the city because they could not -earn enough to pay house-rent. The fact of their being permitted to -remain so near Berlin is a disgrace to the intelligence of the capital -of the new empire. It will be quite difficult to remove them.” - -“I shall not tolerate such things in my district,” said the Russian -abruptly. - -The carriage proceeded on its way, and stopped before a handsome house, -the residence of the mayor, who was the only person in the village who -belonged to the Russian state Church. This man had very small eyes and -an immense mustache; and it was evident, from the odor of his breath, -that he had been imbibing freely. When summoned before the governor, he -assumed a most abject appearance, and his form seemed really to shrink -while in the presence of the powerful official. - -“What huts are those outside of the village?” said Rasumowski, -addressing him roughly. - -“To reply, with your honor’s permission, they are the dwellings of -some poor people who have settled there. They are very orderly, pay -their taxes punctually, and support themselves by mending kettles, by -grinding scissors, by making rat and mouse traps, and such means.” - -“Who gave them permission to settle there?” - -“The parish, your honor. The ground upon which the huts stand belongs -to the parish.” - -“Listen, and obey my orders!” said the governor. “These huts must be -taken down without delay; for the emperor has not given this ground to -peasants, that they may propagate like vermin. If the rabble cannot -rent houses in the village, then they must go further, perhaps to -Siberia, where there is plenty of work in the mines.” - -The mayor of the village bowed most obsequiously. - -Beck watched his friend Adolph, who seemed greatly revolted at the -inhuman command. - -Herr Schulze, of Berlin, on the contrary, looked as though he had heard -something that would prove of incalculable benefit to mankind. - -“On what text did the Catholic pastor preach last Sunday?” asked the -governor. - -“With the permission of your honor, his sermon was on redemption -through Jesus Christ.” - -“Did he make no mention of the emperor?” - -“No, your honor.” - -“Did he say nothing about the obedience due the emperor?” - -“No, your honor.” - -“Go at once, and bring the priest before me!” - -“I beg pardon, your honor, but he has gone to visit a sick person at -some distance.” - -“Then send him to me in the city. To-morrow, at nine in the morning, he -must appear before me, and bring his sermon with him!” - -The mayor made an humble obeisance. - -“Did the priest presume to say anything about the Pope?” - -“No, your honor; since the Roman Catholic priests who preached about -the Pope were sent to Siberia, nothing is said about him.” - -“With regard to other matters, how are things progressing in the -village?” - -“Admirably, your honor! After the twenty Catholic families were sent -to Siberia, all the inhabitants are willing to die in obedience to our -good emperor. The people are all satisfied; no one wishes to go into -exile.” - -“In how many villages of Germany,” said the governor to his guests, -“can you find the people so contented and ready to give their lives -in obedience to our good emperor? The form of government in the holy -Russian Empire works miracles. Now, gentlemen, follow me to the -schoolhouse, so that you may see how Russia educates her subjects.” - -They left the mayor’s residence, and crossed the street to the -schoolhouse. - -“I must tell you in advance,” observed Rasumowski, “that in Russia we -do not cultivate a fancy for popular education. Our peasants are only -entitled to be taught three things: to obey, to work, and to pay taxes. -In this consists their knowledge; it is the axis around which revolves -our national education.” - -He opened the school door. About one hundred children, dirty and poorly -clad, sat upon the benches. The schoolmaster, who had already espied -the arrival of the governor, bowed in fear and trembling. - -“How is it with the children of the emperor, teacher? Do you fulfil -your duty in obedience to my orders?” - -“I endeavor to do so, your honor.” - -“I shall convince myself, and ask some questions from the catechism of -our state religion,” said the governor. - -He called up several children, and began to question them, which -questions were as remarkable and as interesting to the professor as -were the answers. - -“Who is your sovereign lord?” - -“The good emperor of holy Russia.” - -“What do you owe to the emperor?” - -“Unconditional obedience, love, and payment of taxes.” - -“In what does the happiness of a Russian consist?” - -“In being a brave soldier of the good emperor.” - -“Where does the soul of man go after death?” - -“To heaven or to hell.” - -“What soul goes to heaven?” - -“That soul which always obeys the good emperor and owes no taxes.” - -“What soul goes to hell?” - -“That soul which was disobedient to the emperor.” - -The governor turned towards his guests. - -“You have already commenced a system of compulsory education in -Germany,” said he; “but when you succeed in establishing a state -church, and have a catechism of state religion, then will the new -German Empire, like our czar, be able to educate subjects who must obey -him blindly.” - -He now turned again to the children. - -“Is there a pope in Rome?” - -The child who was questioned looked at the teacher, who had become as -pale as death. - -“Answer me! Is there a pope in Rome?” repeated the governor. - -“No; there is only one emperor, who is at the same time the pope of all -the Russians,” replied the child. - -“Schoolmaster, I am satisfied with you,” said Rasumowski approvingly. - -“You know that the only things which every good Russian must do is -to work diligently, to pay taxes punctually, and to blindly obey the -emperor. These three things you must impress upon the minds of the -children!” - -The governor was about to leave the schoolroom, when he suddenly -stopped, and his face became crimson with anger. He had espied the -portrait of the emperor, which hung in a gilt frame on the wall. -The glass that covered it was broken, and it was soiled with a few -ink-stains. - -“Schoolmaster, what is this?” exclaimed the governor furiously. - -“Pardon, your honor!” implored the trembling teacher. “A wicked boy -threw his inkstand at the picture.” - -“And you, miserable wretch that you are, left it thus disfigured upon -the wall! Follow me!” - -The governor, with his guests and the teacher, left the room, and -entered an office where the mayor held his sessions. - -“Schoolmaster!” began the governor, “you deserve to be sent to Siberia, -for you Roman Catholics are only fit for the mines. You refuse blind -obedience, and deny the right of the emperor to command in church -affairs; you are constantly rebelling against the empire, and all of -you should, therefore, be sent into exile. For your insolence, however, -in leaving the portrait of our holy emperor in this neglected state, -you will receive ten blows with the pleti.” - -He stepped forward to the window, and summoned the Cossack who carried -the instrument of torture. - -“Corporal, give ten heavy strokes with the pleti on this teacher’s -back!” - -The Cossack seized a bench, and motioned the teacher to stretch himself -upon it. - -Von Sempach and Beck, finding it impossible to conceal their -indignation, left the room. In going down-stairs, they heard the -whizzing sound of the lash and the screams of the poor teacher. - -“I shall lose my senses,” said Adolph, while waiting at the threshold. -“My God! has Alexandra grown up amid such scenes?” - -The professor was delighted to hear this remark. - -“It is, indeed, a very demoralizing atmosphere for a woman to breathe,” -said he. - -“Can it be that Alexandra has escaped the contaminating influence of -Russian customs? Has _she_ also lost all feeling and the delicacy of -her sex? We must find out, if possible.” - -Rasumowski and Schulze approached. - -“Ah! gentlemen,” exclaimed the governor laughingly, “the singing of -the pleti caused you to leave! Well, we Russians accustom ourselves to -such things. When, with other practical institutions, the pleti is also -introduced into the new German Empire, then you will learn to think it -as useful an instrument as is the whip in the hands of the cartman.” - -“Who drive oxen and donkeys,” added the professor. - -“Our new German Empire has already introduced a punishment for the -soldiers, which causes as much pain as the pleti,” said Adolph von -Sempach. “I have read repeatedly in the newspapers that soldiers, while -upon drill, have fallen fainting to the ground. The reason was their -being compelled to carry heavy stones in their knapsacks, until their -strength gave way.” - -“It is a Russian invention that you have borrowed from us; we have long -practised it,” asserted Rasumowski. - -“And I suppose we have also adopted your severe system of military -arrest, which Count von Moltke justifies by ingeniously remarking that -even in time of peace the soldier owes his health to his country.” - -“Yes, it is true we keep up the same strict discipline,” exclaimed the -Russian; “but Moltke should have said that the soldier owes his health -and life to the _emperor_, and not to the _country_. Words are useless; -acts are what we insist upon.” - -When leaving the house, there were a number of men, women, and children -outside who awaited the governor. At seeing him, they all fell upon -their knees, and lifted up their hands in supplication. - -“Pardon! Mercy! Humanity!” were heard in confused accents. - -“Keep quiet!” commanded Rasumowski. “Schulze, what does this mean?” - -“Your honor, these are the poor people who live in the huts. They ask -you, for God’s sake, not to destroy their only place of shelter.” - -“Asking me to do a thing for God’s sake!” exclaimed the governor -harshly. “If they had asked me to do so for the emperor’s sake, I would -perhaps have granted their request. Begone! Away with you! My orders -are to be obeyed!” - -The people, however, did not rise, but burst forth into fresh -lamentations and tears. - -“Your honor,” said an old man, “graciously listen to us, as the good -emperor would do, who always wishes to help his people. We built those -huts by permission of the parish, and we strive to make a living in an -honest way. We pay the taxes, and are not in debt to the emperor. If -your honor destroys our huts, whither shall we poor people go? Must we -live with the foxes and wolves in the forests? Is this the will of the -emperor?” - -“The emperor desires his subjects to live in comfortable houses, for -which reason the huts must be removed,” answered Rasumowski. - -“Your honor, we have no means to build comfortable houses,” replied the -old man. “Look at the little children; they will die if the orders of -your honor are executed.” - -“I will hear no more: it is the emperor’s will!” exclaimed the governor. - -The words “It is the emperor’s will” had the most disheartening effect -upon the poor people. The haggard, wretchedly-clad assemblage gave way -to despair, but a low murmur was all that was heard. - -Rasumowski looked triumphantly at his guests, as if he had said in so -many words: “You see what the will of the emperor can do!” - -But the professor was not to be deceived. The suppressed wrath plainly -visible in the faces of the men did not escape him. - -A young man rose humbly from his knees, and looked with strangely -glittering eyes upon the governor. - -“It is not true!—the emperor does not, cannot wish us to suffer!” he -exclaimed. - -Rasumowski looked with astonishment at the bold youth. - -“How do you know that it is not the will of the emperor?” he asked. - -“The emperor is human, but what you command is inhuman!” answered the -intrepid peasant. - -The Russian governor absolutely trembled with anger. - -“Fifteen lashes with the pleti—give it to him soundly!” he cried, and -walked towards the carriage, which drove slowly through the village. - -Adolph von Sempach sat depressed and silent. What he had seen and -heard did not tend to elevate the character of the beautiful Alexandra -in his estimation, as her remarks concerning the cruelties upon the -unfortunate Poles seemed to prove that she had inherited the barbarous -disposition of her father. - -“Do you hear the screams of the insolent fellow?” said the governor. -“The pleti is unfortunately a poor affair—it has not sufficient -swing and force. The old knout was much better; for it was made of -strong leather straps, intertwined with wire. The Emperor Nicholas I. -introduced this new knout, however—and whatever the czar does, is well -done; but if I were consulted, I would bring the old knout again into -use.” - -“I fear, governor,” said Beck “that even the new knout or the pleti -would meet with invincible opposition in Germany.” - -“You are mistaken,” answered the Russian. “The Germans can also be -subdued—the German neck must bow to him who has the power. Now, -gentlemen, I will show you some evidences of the industry of our -farmers,” he continued, when the carriage had left the village. “Look -at our abundant crops! The German farmer can hardly excel the Russian. -You find everywhere signs of prudent husbandry as well as of diligence -and perseverance.” - -Herr Schulze gave a token of assent, the professor knew nothing about -agriculture, and Von Sempach preserved a gloomy silence. - -“Do you see that village?” said Rasumowski, pointing in a certain -direction. “All the inhabitants are Roman Catholics, with the -exception of the mayor, of course; but for ten years they have been -without a priest, without divine service, without a church.” - -“I think I see a church,” remarked Beck. - -“Yes, the church is there, but it has been closed for ten years. The -former Roman Catholic pastor, who persisted in preaching upon the -dignity of man, the liberty of the children of God, and even of the -pope and other dangerous things, was transported to Siberia, and the -church was closed by my command.” - -“I admire your eminently practical method,” observed the guest from -Berlin. “We would not dare as yet to do such a thing in the new German -Empire.” - -“But it will be done in good time,” replied the Russian. - -The carriage, in returning, had by this time reached the outskirts of -the city. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Herr Schulze in joyful surprise, “the huts have already -disappeared. I shall write at once to my friends in Berlin, and apprise -them of the expeditious manner in which the Russian government acts.” - -TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER. - - -THE VIRGIN MARY TO CHRIST ON THE CROSSE. - - What mist hath dimd that glorious face? what seas of griefe my sun - doth tosse? - The golden raies of heauenly grace lies now eclipsèd on the crosse. - - Iesus! my loue, my Sonne, my God, behold Thy mother washt in teares: - Thy bloudie woundes be made a rod to chasten these my latter yeares. - - You cruell Iewes, come worke your ire, vpon this worthlesse flesh of - mine: - And kindle not eternall fire, by wounding Him which is diuine. - - Thou messenger that didst impart His first descent into my wombe, - Come help me now to cleaue my heart, that there I may my Sonne - intombe. - - You angels all, that present were, to shew His birth with harmonie; - Why are you not now readie here, to make a mourning symphony? - - The cause I know, you waile alone and shed your teares in secresie, - Lest I should mouèd be to mone, by force of heauie companie. - - But waile my soul, thy comfort dies, my wofull wombe, lament thy - fruit; - My heart giue teares unto my eies, let Sorrow string my heauy lute. - - —_Southwell._ - - - - -POET AND MARTYR.[17] - - - - -PART FIRST—MARTYR. - - “Hoist up sail while gale doth last, - Tide and wind stay no man’s pleasure: - Seek not time when time is past, - Sober speed is wisdom’s leisure. - After-wits are dearly bought, - Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought.” - - “Time wears all his locks before, - Take thou hold upon his forehead; - When he flies, he turns no more, - And behind his scalp is naked. - Works adjourn’d have many stays; - Long demurs breed new delays.” - - —_Robert Southwell, 1593._[18] - - -CONCERNING the writer of these beautiful lines, the English historian, -Stow, makes the following brief mention in his _Chronicle_: “February -20, 1594-5.—Southwell, a Jesuit, that long time had lain prisoner in -the Tower of London, was arraigned at the King’s Bench bar. He was -condemned, and on the next morning drawn from Newgate to Tyburn, and -there hanged, bowelled, and quartered.” From this account we are unable -to discover that the man whose judicial murder Stow thus records was -put to death for any offence but that of being a JESUIT, -and of having “long time lain in prison in the Tower of London.” -And yet, in thus stating the case, Stow tells the simple truth; for -Southwell was guilty of no more serious crime than his sacerdotal -character, and of suffering the imprisonment and tortures inflicted -upon him in consequence thereof. For three years previous to his -death he had been in prison and in the Tower, had lain in noisome -and filthy dungeons, and been subjected many times to torture and -the rack. From the high social position of his family, the fame of -his literary accomplishments, his admirable and saintly bearing as a -missionary priest in England, for six long years carrying his life -in his hand while ministering to a scattered flock, obliged to move -from place to place in disguise as though he were a malefactor, and -finally, from the wonderful fortitude and constancy with which he was -said to have suffered torture, his case was very generally known in -London, and deeply commiserated even by many Protestants. So deep and -widespread, indeed, was this sympathy that, when it was determined by -the officers of the crown to try and condemn him on one and the same -day, and execute him the next morning, they withheld from the public -all announcement of his execution, meanwhile giving notice of the -hanging of a famous highwayman in another place in order to draw off -the concourse of spectators. But it availed not, for there were many -who kept so close a watch upon the movements at Newgate, to which -prison he had been removed a few days before his trial, that, when -Southwell was brought out to be drawn on a sled or hurdle to the place -of execution at Tyburn, he was followed by great numbers of people, and -among them many persons of distinction, who witnessed the carrying out -of his dreadful sentence, which was that he should be “hung, bowelled, -and quartered.” - -That our readers may understand that our qualification of Southwell’s -execution as a judicial murder is not the result of mere personal -sympathy or of religious prejudice, we will here record the judgment -of several Protestant authorities, who speak out concerning it in a -manner not to be misunderstood. In the valuable _Cyclopædia of English -Literature_, by Chambers, we read concerning Southwell that, after -having ministered secretly but zealously to the scattered adherents -of his creed, “without, as far as is known, doing anything to disturb -the peace of society, he was apprehended and committed to a dungeon -in the Tower, so noisome and filthy that, when he was brought out -for examination, his clothes were covered with vermin. Upon this his -father, a man of good family, presented a petition to Queen Elizabeth, -begging that, if his son had committed anything for which, by the -laws, he had deserved death, he might suffer death; if not, as he was -a gentleman, he begged her majesty would be pleased to order him to -be treated as a gentleman. Southwell after this was somewhat better -lodged, but an imprisonment of three years, with ten inflictions of the -rack, wore out his patience, and he entreated to be brought to trial. -Cecil is said to have made the brutal remark that, ‘if he was in so -much haste to be hanged, he should quickly have his desire.’ Being at -the trial found guilty, upon his own confession, of being a Romish -priest, he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn accordingly, -with all the horrible circumstances dictated by the old treason laws of -England. Throughout all these scenes he behaved with a mild fortitude -which nothing but a highly regulated mind and satisfied conscience -could have prompted.” - -Cleveland (_Compendium of English Literature_, p. 88), after stating -the circumstances of Southwell’s imprisonment, trial, and execution, -remarks: “The whole proceeding should cover the authors of it with -everlasting infamy. It is a foul stain upon the garments of the maiden -queen that she can never wipe off. There was not a particle of evidence -at his trial that this pious and accomplished poet meditated any evil -designs against the government. He did what he had a perfect right to -do; ay, what it was his duty to do, if he conscientiously thought he -was right—endeavor to make converts to his faith, so far as he could -without interfering with the right of others. If there be anything to -be execrated, it is persecution for opinion’s sake.” - -Allibone, in his _Dictionary of English Literature_, says that -Southwell, “to the disgrace of the English government, suffered as a -martyr at Tyburn, February 21, 1595, after three years’ imprisonment -in the Tower, during which it is asserted he was ten times subjected -to the torture. He was a good poet, a good prose writer, and a better -Christian than his brutal persecutors.” - -Old Fuller, in his _Worthies of England_, as might be expected, views -Southwell with a stern English Protestant eye, and thus dismisses -him: “Robert Southwell was born in this county (Norfolk), as Pitsons -affirmeth, who, although often mistaken in his locality, may be -believed herein, as professing himself familiarly acquainted with him -at Rome. But the matter is not much where he was born, seeing, though -cried up by men of his own profession for his many books in verse and -prose, he was reputed a dangerous enemy by the state, for which he was -imprisoned and executed March the 3d, 1595” (vol. iii. p. 187). - -Robert Southwell was the third son of Richard Southwell, Esq., of -Horsham, St. Faith’s, Norfolk. The curious in genealogy, while -investigating family lines associated with the Southwell pedigree, -have found connected with it, in degrees more or less near, the names -of Paston, Sidney, Howard, Newton, and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Of his -early years there is but slight record, save that, when still very -young, he was sent to Douai to be educated. From Douai he passed to -Paris and thence to Rome, where, in 1578, before he had yet reached -the age of seventeen, he was received into the order of the Society of -Jesus. On completion of his novitiate and termination of the courses -of philosophy and theology, he was made prefect of studies of the -English College at Rome. Ordained priest in 1584, and, as appears -from his letter addressed, February 20, 1585, to the general of the -order, seeking the “perilous” errand wherein his future martyrdom seems -rather to have been anticipated than merely referred to as a simple -possibility,[19] he left Rome on the 8th of May, 1586, a missionary to -his native land, or, in other words, took up his line of march for the -scaffold and for heaven. We have, naturally enough, but scant record -of the young priest’s journey to and arrival in England; for, as the -mere landing in England by a Catholic priest was then a penal offence -punishable with death, Southwell’s return to his native country was -surrounded as much as possible by secrecy. Although yearning to visit -his home and embrace his family, he carefully abstained from going near -them—of doing that which, in his quaint phrase of the day, “maketh my -presence perilous.” But he was aware that his father was in danger of -losing, if he had not already lost, his faith; and these fears were -almost confirmed by the facts that he had formed a marriage with a lady -of the court, and that his wealth gave him entrance to court circles -which were necessarily violently Protestant. Deeply solicitous for his -father’s spiritual condition, he therefore addressed him a letter of -admonition and advice, not less remarkable for its tone of affection -than for its energy and eloquence. We cite it in another place. - -HUNTED DOWN. - -At a time when, as Mr. Grosart says, “it was a crime to be a Catholic: -it was proof of high treason to be a priest: it was to invite ‘hunting’ -as of a wild beast to be a Jesuit,” we cannot reasonably look for many -recorded traces of Father Southwell’s presence and journeyings to and -fro while in England. He could only move in disguise or under the -darkness of night; he was liable to be thrown into prison anywhere on -the merest suspicion of any irresponsible accuser. The few Catholics -who were ready to give him shelter and hospitality did so with the -halter around their necks; for confiscation and death were the penalty, -as they well knew, for “harboring” a priest. It is nevertheless certain -that his refuge in London was the mansion of the Countess of Arundel, -whose husband, Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, was imprisoned in the -Tower, and died there, the noblest victim to the jealous and suspicious -tyranny of Elizabeth, _non sine veneni suspicione_, as his epitaph -still testifies. - -Hundreds of Southwell’s letters to his superiors still exist, but they -are all from necessity written in such general terms and in so guarded -a manner as to afford but little historical information. Here is one -of them, as given by Bishop Challoner in his _Memoirs of Missionary -Priests_: - -1. “As yet we are alive and well, being unworthy, it seems, of prisons. -We have oftener sent, than received, letters from your parts, tho’ they -are not sent without difficulty; and some, we know, have been lost.” - -2. “The condition of Catholic recusants here is the same as usual, -deplorable and full of fears and dangers, more especially since our -adversaries have look’d for wars. As many of ours as are in chains -rejoice and are comforted in their prisons; and they that are at -liberty set not their heart upon it, nor expect it to be of long -continuance. All by the great goodness and mercy of God arm themselves -to suffer anything that can come, how hard soever it may be, as it -shall please our Lord; for whose greater glory, and the salvation of -their souls, they are more concerned than for any temporal losses.” - -3. “A little while ago, they apprehended two priests, who have suffered -such cruel usages in the prison of Bridewell as can scarce be believed. -What was given them to eat was so little in quantity, and, withal, -so filthy and nauseous, that the very sight was enough to turn their -stomachs. The labors to which they obliged them were continual and -immoderate, and no less in sickness than in health; for, with hard -blows and stripes, they forced them to accomplish their task how weak -soever they were. Their beds were dirty straw, and their prison most -filthy. Some are there hung up for whole days by the hands, in such a -manner that they can but just touch the ground with the tips of their -toes. This purgatory we are looking for every hour, in which Topcliffe -and Young, the two executioners of the Catholics, exercise all kinds of -torments. But come what pleaseth God, we hope we shall be able to bear -all in him that strengthens us. I most humbly recommend myself to the -holy sacrifices of your reverence and of all our friends. (January 15, -1590.)” - -PURSUIT AND ESCAPE. - -In a work[20] published so lately as 1871, we catch a few fugitive -glances of Father Robert Southwell. Father Gerard spoke of him at the -time (1585) as “excelling in the art of helping and gaining souls, -being at once prudent, pious, meek, and exceedingly winning.” - -A descent was made by the pursuivants upon a house in the country, -where the two fathers happened to be together, and but for the devotion -of the domestics the two missionaries would have been captured. They -escaped, however, and journeyed away together. The peculiar danger -they were then subjected to was that arising from intercourse with the -gentry. Father Gerard tells of a gentleman who violently suspected -him, and adds: “After a day or so he quite abandoned all mistrust, as -I spoke of hunting and falconry with all the details that none but -a practised person could command.” He concludes: “For many make sad -blunders in attempting this, as Father Southwell, who was afterwards -my companion in many journeys, was wont to complain. He frequently -got me to instruct him in the technical terms of sport, and used to -complain of his bad memory for such things; for on many occasions when -he fell in with Protestant gentlemen he found it necessary to speak of -these matters, which are the sole topics of their conversations, save -when they talk obscenity or break out into blasphemies and abuse of the -saints or the Catholic faith.” - -With danger of possible arrest at every house and on every road, -followed by swift and barbarous execution, Father Southwell for six -long years carried his life in his hand. - -PROTESTANT OPINION. - -“Granted,” says his Protestant biographer (Grosart, xlix.), “that -in our Southwell’s years 1588 is included, and that the shadow of -the coming of the Armada lay across England from the very moment of -his arrival; granted that, in the teeth of their instructions, there -were priests and members of the Society of Jesus who deemed they did -God service by ‘plotting’ for the restoration of the old ‘faith and -worship’ after a worldly sort; granted that politically and civilly -the nation was, in a sense, in the throes of since-achieved liberties; -granted that _Mary_, all too sadly, even tremendously, earned her -epithet of ‘Bloody’; granted that the very mysticism, not to say -mystery, of the ‘higher’ sovereignty claimed for him who wore the -tiara, acted as darkness does with sounds the most innocent; granted -nearly all that Protestantism claims in its apology as defence—it -must be regarded as a stigma on the statesmanship and a stain on the -Christianity of the reformed Church of England, as well as a sorrow -to all right-minded and right-hearted, that the ‘convictions’ of -those who could not in conscience ‘change’ at the bidding of Henry -VIII., Elizabeth, or James were not respected; that ‘opinion,’ or, -if you will, ‘error,’ was put down (or attempted to be put down) by -force, and that the headsman’s axe and hangman’s rope were the only -instrumentalities thought of. The State Trials remain to bring a blush -to every lover of his country for the brutal and ‘hard’ mockery of -justice in the higher courts of law whenever a priest was concerned—as -later with the Puritans and Nonconformists.” - -FALSE BRETHREN AND THE MAN-HUNTER. - -With malignant pursuit that never slackened, and that old peril of -S. Paul, “false brethren,” Southwell’s arrest was, of course, a mere -question of time. His day came at last, after six years of labor and -danger in the field. The circumstances are as follows, from Turnbull, -verified by other authorities. There was resident at Uxenden, near -Harrow on the Hill, in Middlesex, a Catholic family by the name of -Bellamy, occasionally visited by Southwell for the purpose of religious -instruction. One of the daughters, Ann, had in her early youth -exhibited marks of the most vivid and unshakable piety; but having -been committed to the gatehouse of Westminster, her faith gradually -departed, and along with it her virtue: for, having formed an intrigue -with the keeper of the prison, she subsequently married him, and by -this step forfeited all claim which she had by law or favor upon her -father. In order, therefore, to obtain some fortune, she resolved to -take advantage of the act of 27 Elizabeth, which made the harboring -of a priest treason, with confiscation of the offender’s goods. -Accordingly she sent a messenger to Southwell, urging him to meet her -on a certain day and hour at her father’s house; whither he, either -in ignorance of what had happened, or under the impression that she -sought his spiritual assistance through motives of penitence, went at -the appointed time. In the meanwhile, having apprised her husband of -this, as also the place of concealment in her father’s house and the -mode of access, he conveyed the information to Topcliffe, an implacable -persecutor and denouncer of the Catholics, who, with a band of his -satellites, surrounded the premises, broke open the house, arrested -his reverence, and carried him off in open day, exposed to the gaze -of the populace. Topcliffe carried Southwell to his own (Topcliffe’s) -dwelling, and there, in the course of ten weeks, tortured him with -such pitiless severity that the unhappy victim, complaining of it to -his judges, declared that death would have been preferable. A letter, -qualified by Grosart as “fawning, cruel, and abominable,” written by -this human bloodhound, Topcliffe, and addressed to no less a personage -than Queen Elizabeth, reports the capture and torture of Southwell, and -states, with details, how he proposes further to torture him. - -The letter is dated Westminster, June 22, 1592, and advises the queen: -“I have him here within my strong chamber in Westminster churchyard -(_i.e._ the gatehouse). I have made him assured for starting or -hurting of himself by putting upon his arms a pair of;[21] and so to -keep him either from view or conference with any but Nicolas, the -underkeeper of the gatehouse.... Upon this present taking of him it is -good forthwith to enforce him to answer truly and directly; and so to -prove his answers true in haste, to the end that such as he be deeply -concerned in his treachery may not have time to start, or make shift -to use any means in common prisons; either to stand upon or against -the wall will give warning. _But if your highness’ pleasure be to know -anything in his heart, to stand against the wall, his feet standing -upon the ground, and his hands put as high as he can reach against the -wall_ (like a trick at Tremshemarn), will enforce him to tell all; -and the truth proven by the sequel....[22] It may please your majesty -to consider, I never did take so weighty a man, if he be rightly -considered.”[23] - -The reader will here readily recognize a partial description of one -of the modes of torture then most common in use throughout the reign -of Elizabeth. It seems that it _was_ “her highness’ pleasure” to know -something that was in this poor martyr’s heart, for Southwell was -afterwards again repeatedly tortured. The intimate personal relations -existing between the virgin queen and this man Topcliffe, whose very -name was a stench in the nostrils of Protestants of respectable -behavior, were maintained long after the Southwell capture, as we learn -from the best authority. The cruelty of Elizabeth was only surpassed -by her mendacity, as her mendacity was only exceeded by her mean -parsimony, and when she travelled or made progress from one country to -another it was always at the expense of her good and loyal subjects. -Eventually the announcement of a visit from their good queen, received -outwardly with such declarations as might naturally follow the promise -of the call of a special envoy from heaven, was in reality looked upon -as the coming of a terrible calamity. It was at that time considered at -the English court—where, as we all know, all the civil and religious -virtues had taken refuge—an excellent jest to so direct the course -of the queen’s progress as to make her visits fall at the residences -of well-known Catholic gentlemen. It is only necessary to say that -the anniversary of all such events yet lives in the traditions of the -descendants of such families as that of a day of horror. The royal -retinue treated the house like a captured place, and it was well for -the proprietor if confiscation or death, or both, were not the sole -reward of his generous hospitality. - -Mr. Topcliffe gives us valuable information on this point. On the -30th of August, 1578, he writes to the Earl of Shrewsbury: “The next -good news (not in account the highest), her majesty hath served God -with great zeal and comfortable examples; for by her council the two -notorious papists, young Rookwood (the master of Ewston Hall, where -her majesty did lie upon Sunday now a fortnight), and one Downs, a -gentleman, were both committed, the one to the town prison at Norwich, -the other to the county prison there, for obstinate papistry; and seven -more gentlemen of worship were committed to several houses in Norwich -as prisoners; two of the Lovells, another Downs, one Benings, one -Parry, and two others.... Her majesty, by some means I know not, was -lodged at his (Rookwood’s) house, Ewston, far unmeet for her highness, -but fitter for the blackguard; nevertheless her excellent majesty -gave to Rookwood ordinary thanks for his bad house, and her fair -hand to kiss; after which it was braved at. But my lord chamberlain, -nobly and gravely understanding that Rookwood was excommunicated for -papistry, called him before him, demanded of him how he durst presume -to attempt her real presence, he, unfit to accompany any Christian -person; forthwith said he was fitter for a pair of stocks; commanded -him out of the court, and yet to attend her council’s pleasure; and -at Norwich he was committed,”[24] etc. etc. In the beginning of the -letter Topcliffe “joys at her majesty’s gracious favor and affiance in -your lordship—next some comfort I received of her for myself that must -ever lie nearest my own heart.” Tender Topcliffe! But we must have “no -scandal about Queen Elizabeth,” and our most delicate susceptibilities -for the fair fame of the royal virgin may be quieted by the certainty -that the comfort nearest the human bloodhound’s “own heart” was -something substantial—a country house, an estate, or the like. - -Lodge says that this Topcliffe was respectably connected, but that -he could only find that he was distinguished as a most implacable -persecutor of Roman Catholics. In a letter of Sir Anthony Standen, in -which he praises the agreeable manners of the Earl of Essex, he writes: -“Contrary to our _Topcliffian_ customs, he hath won more with words -than others could do with racks.” From another letter of the period -it appears that _Topcliffzare_ in the quaint language of the court -signified to hunt a recusant. - -But to return to Southwell. Transferred to a dungeon in the Tower, -“so noisome and filthy that, when he was brought out at the end of -the month, his clothes were covered with vermin,” his father wrote -to her majesty Queen Elizabeth the letter we have already mentioned. -This petition was to some extent regarded. A better lodging was allowed -him, and leave accorded his father to supply him with “cloaths and -other necessaries”; and amongst the rest, with books which he asked -for, which were only the Holy Bible and the works of S. Bernard. “The -selection of books,” says Mr. Grosart, “_the_ book of books, and the -father of the fathers, for a poet is very noteworthy; and through all -his weary imprisonment ‘spiritual things,’ not civil or earthly, were -his theme when he discoursed to his sister Mary (Mrs. Bannister) or -others permitted occasionally to visit him.” - - -TRIAL AND EXECUTION. - -We adopt mainly the relation of Southwell’s trial and execution as it -is given by Bishop Challoner, supported by a Latin MS. preserved in the -archives of the English College of S. Omer’s: - -“After Father Southwell had been kept close prisoner for three years -in the Tower, he sent an epistle to Cecil, Lord Treasurer, humbly -entreating his lordship that he might either be brought upon his trial -to answer for himself, or at least that his friends might have leave -to come and see him. The treasurer answered that, if he was in so much -haste to be hanged, he should quickly have his desire. Shortly after -this orders were given that he should be removed from the Tower to -Newgate, where he was put down into the dungeon called _Limbo_, and -there kept for three days. - -“On the 22d of February, without any previous warning to prepare -for his trial, he was taken out of his dark lodging and hurried to -Westminster, to hold up his hand there at the bar. The first news of -this step towards his martyrdom filled his heart with a joy which he -could not conceal. The judges before whom he was to appear were Lord -Chief-Justice Popham, Justice Owen, Baron Evans, and Sergeant Daniel. -As soon as Father Southwell was brought in, the lord chief-justice made -a long and vehement speech against the Jesuits and seminary priests, -as the authors and contrivers of all the plots and treasons which, he -pretended, had been hatched during that reign. Then was read the bill -of indictment against Father Southwell, drawn up by Cook, the queen’s -solicitor.” - - -THEIR FAITH WAS THEIR GUILT. - -It would be well to remark here that Protestants nowadays frequently -contend that the missionary priests judicially murdered during the -reign of Elizabeth were not executed on account of their religion, -but because they were stirrers up of sedition and traitors, and were -in every case so proven to be upon their respective trials. The good -people who set up such pretext are sadly in ignorance of the history of -that dark period. So far from asserting the slightest pretence of guilt -on the part of such acts accused of as commonly constitute sedition and -high treason, the statute of Elizabeth under which they were sent to -the gallows only made it necessary to show that they were Englishmen -and Catholic priests, and were arrested in England. The statute, in -fact, enacted substantially that, “if any Jesuit, seminary priest, or -deacon, or religious or ecclesiastical person whatever, born within -the realm, shall come into, be, or remain in any part of this realm, -every such offence shall be taken and adjudged to be high treason.” -The indictment against Southwell was “drawn up by Cook, the queen’s -solicitor,” says the S. Omer MS. Now, “Cook, the queen’s solicitor” -here referred to was no less a personage than the great Coke. Here is -the indictment presented by him in Southwell’s case, from which it will -be seen that the prisoner was charged only with the crimes of, _first_, -being a priest of English birth; _second_, of having remained in the -county of Middlesex: - - “The jury present, on the part of our sovereign lady the queen, that - Robert Southwell, late of London, clerk, born within this kingdom - of England; to wit, since the feast of S. John the Baptist, in the - first year of the reign of her majesty, and before the first day of - May, in the thirty-second year of the reign of our lady the queen - aforesaid, made and ordained priest by authority derived and pretended - from the See of Rome; not having the fear of God before his eyes, and - slighting the laws and statutes of this realm of England, without any - regard to the penalty therein contained, on the 20th day of June, the - thirty-fourth year of the reign of our lady the queen, at Uxenden, in - the county of Middlesex, traitorously, and as a false traitor to our - lady the queen, was and remained, contrary to the form of the statute - in such case set forth and provided, and contrary to the peace of our - said lady the queen, her crown, and dignities.” - -The grand jury having found the bill, Father Southwell was ordered to -come up to the bar. He readily obeyed, and, bowing down his head, made -a low reverence to his judges; then modestly held up his hand according -to custom, and, being asked whether he was guilty or not guilty, he -answered, “I confess that I was born in England, a subject to the -queen’s majesty, and that, by authority derived from God, I have been -promoted to the sacred order of priesthood in the Roman Church, for -which I return most hearty thanks to his divine Majesty. I confess, -also, that I was at Uxenden, in Middlesex, at that time, when, being -sent for thither by trick and deceit, I fell into your hands, as is -well known; but that I never entertained any designs or plots against -the queen or kingdom, I call God to witness, the revenger of perjury; -neither had I any other design in returning home to my native country -than to administer the sacraments according to the rite of the Catholic -Church to such as desired them.” - -Here the judge interrupted him, and told him that he was to let all -that alone, and plead directly guilty or not guilty. Upon which he -said, _he was not guilty of any treason whatsoever_. And being asked by -what he would be tried, he said, “By God and by you.” The judge told -him he was to answer, “By God and his country,” which, at first, he -refused, alleging that the laws of his country were disagreeable to the -law of God, and that he was unwilling these poor harmless men of the -jury, whom they obliged to represent the country, should have any share -in their guilt, or any hand in his death. “But,” said he, “if through -your iniquity it must be so, and I cannot help it, be it as you will; I -am ready to be judged by God and my country.” When the twelve were to -be sworn, he challenged none of them, saying that they were all equally -strangers to him, and therefore charity did not allow him to except -against any one of them more than another. - -After Coke had presented the case to the jury, they went aside to -consult about the verdict, and in a short time brought him in guilty. -He was asked if he had anything more to say for himself why sentence -should not be pronounced against him? He said: “Nothing; but from my -heart I beg of Almighty God to forgive all who have been any ways -accessory to my death.” The judge having pronounced sentence according -to the usual form, Father Southwell made a very low bow, returning him -most hearty thanks as for an unspeakable favor. The judge offered him -the help of a minister to prepare him to die. Father Southwell desired -he would not trouble him upon that head; that the grace of God would -be more than sufficient for him. And so, being sent back to Newgate -through the streets, lined with people, he discovered, all the way, the -overflowing joy of his heart in his eyes, in his whole countenance, and -in every gesture and motion of his body. He was again put down into -limbo, at his return to Newgate, where he spent the following night, -the last of his life, in prayer, full of the thoughts of the journey he -was to take the next day, through the gate of martyrdom, into a happy -eternity; to enjoy for ever the sovereign object of his love. - -We have seen by what device and with what ill success the officials -directing the execution sought, on the next morning, to draw away the -crowd from Tyburn where Father Southwell was to be “hung, bowelled, and -quartered.” - - -EXECUTIONS UNDER ELIZABETH. - -The modern reader generally, and very naturally, supposes that this -sentence, horrible as it is in its simplest form, would be carried -out as stated, that is to say, that, when the condemned man was hung -until dead, his body was then butchered as described. This probably was -the intention of the law, and the latter two of the three incidents -of the executions were intended more as indignities to the remains -of a criminal supposed to be guilty of the greatest of human crimes -than as any part of the means of procuring death. But under the -reign of Elizabeth the cruelty and bestiality of the mode in which -the horrible sentence was carried out had reached its height. As a -general thing, the victim was butchered alive. According to the whim -or the bloodthirstiness of the executioner, the condemned man was -allowed to hang a short time, or he was scarcely swung off before he -was cut down and the hangman was—as he is described in a well-known -phrase—“grabbling among his entrails.” Sometimes the executioner would -spring upon the body as it was swung off, and plunge his knife into the -victim before they reached the ground in their fall together. When a -young priest named Edward Genings was executed, in 1591, the butchery -was superintended by Topcliffe, who adjured the victim to submit and -recant and he should be pardoned. His reply was: “I know not in what I -have offended my dear anointed princess; if I had, I would willingly -ask forgiveness. If she be offended with me because I am a priest, -and because I profess my faith and will not turn minister against my -conscience, I shall be, I trust, excused and innocent before God. I -must obey God, saith S. Peter, rather than men.” At this Topcliffe was -enraged, and bade the hangman turn the ladder; scarcely giving him time -to say a _Pater Noster_. Cut down by his order before he was dead, the -butchery began, and, the hangman’s hand being already on his heart, -Genings was heard to say, “Sancte Gregori, ora pro me!”—which the -hangman hearing, he swore, “_Zounds, see, his heart is in my hand_, and -yet Gregory is in his mouth! O egregious papist!”[25] - -We return to Father Southwell, who was drawn on a hurdle or sled from -Newgate to Tyburn, and resume the account of the S. Omer’s MS.: “When -he was come to the place, getting up into the cart, he made the sign of -the cross in the best manner that he could, his hands being pinion’d, -and began to speak to the people those words of the apostle (Rom. xiv), -‘Whether we live, we live to the Lord, or whether we die, we die to the -Lord; therefore, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.’ Here -the sheriff would have interrupted him, but he begged leave that he -might go on, assuring him that he would utter nothing that should give -offence. Then he spoke as follows: ‘I am come to this place to finish -my course, and to pass out of this miserable life; and I beg of my Lord -Jesus Christ, in whose most precious Passion and Blood I place my hope -of salvation, that he would have mercy on my soul. I confess I am a -Catholic priest of the Holy Roman Church, and a religious man of the -Society of Jesus; on which account I owe eternal thanks and praises to -my God and Saviour.’ Here he was interrupted by a minister telling him -that, if he understood what he had said in the sense of the Council of -Trent, it was damnable doctrine. But the minister was silenc’d by the -standers-by, and Mr. Southwell went on, saying: ‘Sir, I beg of you not -to be troublesome to me for this short time that I have to live: I am a -Catholic, and in whatever manner you may please to interpret my words, -I hope for my salvation by the merits of Our Lord Jesus Christ; and as -to the queen, I never attempted, nor contrived, or imagined any evil -against her, but have always prayed for her to Our Lord, and for this -short time of my life still pray, that, in his infinite mercy, he would -be pleased to give her all such gifts and graces which he sees, in his -divine wisdom, to be most expedient for the welfare both of her soul -and body, in this life and in the next. I recommend in like manner, to -the same mercy of God, my poor country, and I implore the divine bounty -to favor it with his light and the knowledge of his truth, to the -greater advancement of the salvation of souls, and the eternal glory of -his divine Majesty. In fine, I beg of the almighty and everlasting God, -that this my death may be for my own and for my country’s good, and the -comfort of the Catholics my brethren.’ - -“Having finished these words, and looking for the cart to be -immediately drove away, he again blessed himself, and, with his eyes -raised to heaven, repeated with great calmness of mind and countenance, -‘Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit,’ with other short -ejaculations, till the cart was drawn off. The unskilful hangman had -not applied the noose of the rope to the proper place, so that he -several times made the sign of the cross whilst he was hanging, and was -some time before he was strangled, which some perceiving, drew him by -the legs to put an end to his pain, and when the executioner was for -cutting the rope before he was dead, the gentlemen and people that were -present cried out three several times, ‘Hold, hold!’ for the behavior -of the servant of God was so edifying in these his last moments, that -even the Protestants who were present at the execution were much -affected with the sight.” After he was dead he was cut down and the -remainder of the sentence carried out. Turnbull relates that “Lord -Mountjoy (Charles Blount), who happened to be present, was so struck by -the martyr’s constancy that he exclaimed, ‘May my soul be with this -man’s!’ and he assisted in restraining those who would have cut the -rope while he was still in life.” - -Father Southwell’s reverend and Protestant biographer declares, in -concluding his relation of the execution: “I must regard our worthy as -a ‘martyr’ in the deepest and grandest sense—a good man, and full of -the Holy Ghost. I should blush for my Protestantism if I did not hold -in honor, yea reverence, his stainless and beautiful memory. - - ‘Through this desert, day by day, - Wandered not his steps astray, - Treading still the royal way.’ - - —_Paradisus Animæ._ - -“So perished Father Southwell, at thirty-three years of age, and so, -unhappily, have perished many of the wise and virtuous of the earth. -Conscious of suffering in the supposed best of causes, he seems to have -met death without terror—to have received the crown of martyrdom not -only with resignation, but with joy.”[26] - -It is matter of regret that there exists no authentic portrait of -Southwell. His biographer is of opinion that a genuine likeness of him -would have shown an intellectual, etherealized face, and fancies that -he might have sat for the portrait of the Prior in _The Lady of Garaye_: - - “Tender his words, and eloquently wise; - Mild the pure fervor of his watchful eyes; - Meek with serenity and constant prayer, - The luminous forehead, high and broad and bare. - The thin mouth, though not passionless, yet still - With a sweet calm that speaks an angel’s will. - Resolving service to his God’s behest, - And ever musing how to serve _him_ best, - Not old, nor young; with manhood’s gentlest grace, - Pale to transparency the pensive face, - Pale not with sickness but with studious thought, - The body tasked, the fine mind overwrought; - With something faint and fragile in the whole, - As though ‘twere but a lamp to hold a soul.” - - - - -PART SECOND.—POET. - - -And here, first, a few words on the prose writings of Southwell. We -have already referred to the remarkable letter of admonition by him -addressed to his father. It is a severe test to put the prose of any -cultivated language to that of comparison with the productions of the -same tongue nearly three centuries later. And yet this letter will -support such comparison surprisingly well both as to substance and -style. The reader will bear in mind the peculiar circumstances under -which Southwell addressed this - - -LETTER TO HIS FATHER. - - “I am not of so unnatural a kind, of so wild an education, or so - unchristian a spirit, as not to remember the root out of which I have - branched, or to forget my secondary maker and author of my being. It - is not the carelessness of a cold affection, nor the want of a due and - reverent respect, that has made me such a stranger to my native home, - and so backward in defraying the debt of a thankful mind, but only - the iniquity of these days that maketh my presence perilous, and the - discharge of my duties an occasion of danger. I was loath to enforce - an unwilling courtesy upon any, or by seeming officious to become - offensive; deeming it better to let time digest the fear that my - return into the realm had bred in my kindred than abruptly to intrude - myself, and to purchase their danger, whose good-will I so highly - esteem. I never doubted but what the belief, which to all my friends - by descent and pedigree is, in a manner, hereditary, framed in them a - right persuasion of my present calling, not suffering them to measure - their censures of me by the ugly terms and odious epithets wherewith - heresy hath sought to discredit my functions, but rather by the - reverence of so worthy a sacrament and the sacred usages of all former - ages. Yet, because I might easily perceive by apparent conjectures - that many were more willing to hear of me than from me, and readier - to praise than to use my endeavors, I have hitherto bridled my desire - to see them by the care and jealousy of their safety; and banished - myself from the scene of my cradle in my own country. I have lived - like a foreigner, finding among strangers that which, in my nearest - blood, I presumed not to seek.” - -Then, regretting that he has been barred from affording to his dearest -friends that which hath been eagerly sought and beneficially attained -by mere strangers, he exclaims passionately: - - “Who hath more interest in the grape than he who planted the vine? - Who more right to the crop than he who sowed the corn? or where can - the child owe so great service as to him to whom he is indebted for - his very life and being? With young Tobias I have travelled far, and - brought home a freight of spiritual sustenance to enrich you, and - medicinable receipts against your ghostly maladies. I have with Esau, - after long toil in pursuing a long and painful chase, returned with - the full prey you were wont to love, desiring thereby to ensure your - blessing. I have, in this general famine of all true and Christian - food, with Joseph prepared abundance of the mead of angels for the - repast of your soul. And now my desire is that my drugs may cure you, - my prey delight you, and my provisions feed you, by whom I have been - cured, enlightened, and fed myself; that your courtesies may, in part, - be counterveiled, and my duty, in some sort, performed. - - “Despise not, good sire, the youth of your son, neither deem your - God measureth his endowments by number of years. Hoary senses are - often couched under youthful locks, and some are riper in the spring - than others in the autumn of their age. God chose not Esau himself, - nor his eldest son, but young David, to conquer Goliath and to rule - his people; not the most aged person, but David, the most innocent - youth, delivered Susannah from the iniquity of the judges. Christ, - at twelve years of age, was found in the temple questioning with - the greatest doctors. A true Elias can conceive that a little cloud - may cast a large and abundant shower; and the Scripture teacheth us - that God unveileth to little ones that which he concealeth from the - wisest sages. His truth is not abashed by the minority of the speaker; - for out of the mouths of infants and sucklings he can perfect his - praises.... The full of your spring-tide is now fallen, and the stream - of your life waneth to a low ebb; your tired bark beginneth to leak, - and _grateth oft upon the gravel of the grave_; therefore it is high - time for you to strike sail and put into harbor, lest, remaining in - the scope of the winds and waves of this wicked time, some unexpected - gust should dash you upon the rock of eternal ruin.” - -The entire letter is given in both Walter and Turnbull’s _Memoirs of -Southwell_, and has been extravagantly praised as being the composition -of Sir Walter Raleigh, among whose _Remains_ it is frequently -reprinted. Mr. Grosart, a Protestant clergyman, says of it: “I know -nothing comparable with the mingled affection and prophetlike fidelity, -the wise instruction, correction, reproof, the full rich scripturalness -and quaint applications, the devoutness, the insistence, the pathos of -this letter.” The edition of Sir Walter Raleigh’s _Remains_, published -in London in 1675, was the subject of an article in the _Retrospective -Review_ for 1820, in which the reviewer remarks: “‘The Dutiful Advice -of a Loving Son to his Aged Father’ is supposed to be a libel on -Sir Walter, written by his enemies. It will be seen, however, that -it bears a strong resemblance to his style, although the metaphor -is more profuse and ornamental, and seems to be rather engrafted on -his thoughts than to spring up with them. That this piece should be -dictated by personal hostility is strange. It contains exhortations -that might with the greatest propriety be directed to any man. - -“It is possible that it might be written by another in imitation of -Sir Walter Raleigh’s ‘Advice to his Son’; _yet if he was an enemy, he -was of a most uncommon description_. As the advice, however, is worth -quoting for its own merit, and is written with great force and beauty, -we shall give our readers an opportunity of judging for themselves.” - -This letter is Southwell’s earliest dated prose, and was followed by a -variety of treatises, epistles, and pamphlets, printed on the “private -press” at his own house in London. Besides these, there remain several -English and a large number of Latin prose writings still in manuscript. -“Mary Magdalene’s Funerall Teares,” although prose in form, is in fact -far more fervid and impassioned than the greater part of his poetry. - - -SOUTHWELL’S POETRY. - -To the readers of poetry for its merely sensuous qualities of flowing -measure, attractive imagery, and brilliant description, the poems -of Southwell possess but few attractions. Their subjects are all -religious, or, at least, serious; and, in reading him, we must totally -forget the traditional pagan poet pictured to us as crowned with -flowers, and holding in hand an overflowing anacreontic cup. Serious, -indeed, his poems might well be, for they were all composed during -the intervals of thirteen bodily rackings in a gloomy prison that -opened only upon the scaffold. And yet we look in vain among them -for expressions of the reproaches or repining such a fate might well -engender, and we search with but scant result for record or trace -of his own sufferings in the lines traced with fingers yet bent and -smarting with the rack. The vanity of all earthly things, the trials -of life, the folly and wickedness of the world, the uncertainty of -life, and the consolations and glories of religion, are the constantly -returning subjects of his productions, and, however treated, they -always reflect the benignity and elevation of the poet’s character. - -Certain it is that Southwell was largely read by the generation that -immediately succeeded him. Many years ago, Ellis[27] said: “The -very few copies of his works which are now known to exist are the -remnant of at least seventeen different editions, of which eleven -were printed between 1593 and 1600”; and at a later period, Drake, in -his _Shakespeare and his Times_, says:[28] “Both the poetry and the -prose of Southwell possess the most decided merit; the former, which -is almost entirely restricted to moral and religious subjects, flows -in a vein of great harmony, perspicuity, and elegance, and breathes -a fascination resulting from the subject and the pathetic mode of -treating it which fixes and deeply interests the reader.” - -A valuable tribute of admiration to Southwell’s poetic talent is that -of Ben Jonson, who said: “that Southwell was hanged; yet so he (Jonson) -had written that piece of his, ‘The Burning Babe,’ he would have been -content to destroy many of his.”[29] Our readers, we are sure, will -thank us for giving it here, although we strongly suspect that Mr. -Grosart will not approve of its modern orthography. - - As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow, - Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow; - And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, - A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear, - Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, - As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears - were fed; - Alas! quoth he, but newly born, in fiery heats I frye, - Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I! - My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns, - Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scornes; - The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals, - The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls, - For which, as now, on fire I am, to work them to their good, - So will I melt into a bath to washe them in my blood: - With this he vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away, - And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day. - -Our limits will permit but slight citation from the body of -Southwell’s poetry. He is most widely known by his chief poem -“S. Peter’s Complaint,” consisting of one hundred and thirty-six -stanzas (six-line). But his most attractive pieces are his shorter -poems—“Times go by Turns,” “Content and Rich,”[30] “Life is but -Loss,” “Look Home,” “Love’s servile Lot,” and the whole series on our -Saviour and his Mother; and, making some allowance for the enthusiasm -of our editor, no true lover of poetry who reads these productions of -Southwell will seriously dissent from Mr. Grosart’s estimate of them. -“The hastiest reader will come on ‘thinking’ and ‘feeling’ that are -as musical as Apollo’s lute, and as fresh as a spring budding spray; -and the wording of all (excepting over-alliteration and inversion -occasionally), is throughout of the ‘pure well of English undefiled.’ -When you take some of the Myrtæ and Mæoniæ pieces, and read and re-read -them, you are struck with their condensation, their concinnity, their -polish, their _élan_, their memorableness. Holiness is in them not as -scent on love-locks, but as fragrance in the great Gardener’s flowers -of fragrance. His tears are pure and white as the ‘dew of the morning.’ -His smiles—for he has humor, even wit, that must have lurked in the -burdened eyes and corners o’ mouth—are sunny as sunshine. As a whole, -his poetry is healthy and strong, and, I think, has been more potential -in our literature than appears on the surface. I do not think it would -be hard to show that others of whom more is heard drew light from him, -as well early as more recent, from Burns to Thomas Hood. For example, -limiting as to the latter, I believe every reader who will compare the -two deliberately will see in the ‘Vale of Tears’ the source of the -latter’s immortal ‘Haunted House’—dim, faint, weak beside it, as the -earth-hid bulb compared with the lovely blossom of hyacinth or tulip or -lily, nevertheless really carrying in it the original of the mightier -after-poem.” - -Our warmest tribute of praise can render but scant justice to the -intelligence, the industry, the erudition, the keen poetic sense, and -the enthusiasm which the editor of the volume before us has devoted to -what has evidently been to him a labor of love. Mr. Grosart is well -known in the literary world as the editor of Crashawe and of Vaughan, -as also of the forthcoming editions of Marvell, Donne, and Sidney. -His laboriously corrected version of our martyr-poet’s legacy has, it -may be said, restored Southwell to us, so obscured had he become by -mistakes, misprints, and false readings. Indeed Mr. Grosart’s somewhat -jealous love of his subject betrays him into apparently harsh judgment -on the efforts of others, when, for instance, he declares himself -“vexed by the travesties on editing and mere carelessness of Walter -earlier (1817) and Turnbull later (1856) in their so-called editions of -the poems of Father Southwell,” adding: “Turnbull said contemptuously, -‘I refrain from criticism on Mr. Walter’s text’—severe but not -undeserved, only his own is scarcely one whit better, and in places -worse.” - -There is one passage at the close of Mr. Grosart’s interesting -preface which has a special interest for us as Americans. We mean his -reference to the verdict pronounced on Father Southwell’s poetry by -Prof. James Russell Lowell in his charming book _My Study Windows_. -“It seems to me,” says Mr. Grosart, “harsh to brutality on the man -(meet follower of him ‘the first true gentleman that ever breathed’); -while on the poetry it rests on self-evidently the most superficial -acquaintance and the hastiest generalization. To pronounce ‘S. -Peter’s Complaint’ a ‘drawl’ of thirty pages of ‘maudlin repentance, -in which the distinctions between the north and northeast sides of -a (_sic_) sentimentality are worthy of Duns Scotus,’ shows about as -much knowledge—that is, ignorance—of the poem as of the schoolman, -and as another remark does of S. Peter; for, with admitted tedium, S. -Peter’s complaint sounds depths of penitence and remorse, and utters -out emotion that flames into passion very unforgettably, while there -are felicities of metaphor, daintinesses of word-painting, brilliancies -of inner-portraiture, scarcely to be matched in contemporary verse. The -‘paraphrase’ of David (to wit, ‘David’s Peccavi’) is a single short -piece, and the ‘punning’ conceit, ‘fears are my feres,’ is common to -some of England’s finest wits, and in the meaning of ‘fere’ not at all -to be pronounced against. If we on this side of the Atlantic valued -less the opinion of such a unique genius as Prof. Lowell’s, if we did -not take him to our innermost love, we should less grieve over such -a vulgar affront offered to a venerable name as his whole paragraph -to Southwell. I shall indulge the hope of our edition reaching the -‘Study,’ and persuading to a real ‘study’ of these poems, and, if so, I -do not despair of a voluntary reversal of the first judgment.” - - -ARIS WILMOTT - -pronounced Southwell to be the Goldsmith of our early poets; and -‘Content and Rich,’ and, ‘Dyer’s phansie turned to a Sinner’s -Complaint’ warrant the great praise. But beneath the manner recalling -Goldsmith, there is a purity and richness of thought, a naturalness, a -fineness of expression, a harmony of versification, and occasionally a -tide-flow of high-toned feeling, not to be met with in him. - -“Nor will Prof. Lowell deem his (I fear) hasty (mis)judgment’s -reconsideration too much to count on, after the present Archbishop of -Dublin’s well-weighed words in his notes to his _Household Book of -English Poetry_ (1868): - - “‘Hallam thinks that Southwell has been of late praised at least as - much as he deserves. This may be so; yet, taking into account the - finished beauty of such poems as this (“Lewd Love is Loss”) and No. - 2 (“Times go by Turns”) of this collection, poems which, as far as - they go, leave nothing to be desired, he has scarcely been praised - more than he deserves. How in earlier times he was rated, the fact - that there were twenty-four editions of his poems will sufficiently - testify; though probably the creed be professed, and the death which - he died, may have had something to do with this. Robert Southwell - was a seminary priest, and was executed at Tyburn in the reign of - Queen Elizabeth, in conformity with a law, which even the persistent - plottings of too many of these at once against the life of the - sovereign and the life of the state must altogether fail to justify or - excuse’ (pp. 391-392). - -“To Archbishop Trench’s I add, as equally weighty and worthy, the -fine and finely sympathetic yet discriminative judgment of Dr. George -Macdonald in _Antiphon_ as follows: - - “‘I proceed to call up one WHO WAS A POET INDEED, although - little known as such, being a Roman Catholic, a Jesuit even, and - therefore, in Elizabeth’s reign, a traitor and subject to the - penalties according (accruing)? Robert Southwell, thirteen times most - cruelly tortured, could “not be induced to confess anything, not even - the color of the horse whereon he rode on a certain day, lest from - such indication his adversaries might conjecture in what house, or in - company of what Catholics, he that day was,’ etc. - -“I believe, then,” concludes Dr. Grosart, “I shall not appeal in vain -to Prof. Lowell to give a few hours behind his ‘Study Windows’ to a -reperusal of some of the poems of Southwell named by us and these -sufficiently qualified critics.” - - - - -SOMETHING ABOUT LACE. - - -THERE is probably no article, not a necessity, which has employed so -many heads and hands, and been the subject of such varied interests, -as lace. The making of it has given employment to countless nunneries, -where the ladies, working first and most heartily for the church, have -also taught this art to their pupils as an accomplishment or a means of -support. It was, indeed, so peculiarly the province of the religious -that, long after it was done in the world, it still bore the name of -“nun’s-work.” - -In those old days when railroads were not, and when swamps and forests -covered tracts of land now thick with villages and cities, country -ladies made fine needle-work their chief occupation; and it was the -custom in feudal times for the squires’ daughters to spend some time -in the castle, in attendance on the _châtelaine_, where they learned -to embroider and make lace. It was then a woman’s only resource, and -was held in high esteem. In the cloisters of Westminster Abbey, one -Catherine Sloper was laid to rest, in 1620, with the inscription on her -tombstone that she was “exquisite at her needle.” - -Millions of poor women, and even men and children, have earned their -bread by this delicate labor; women of intelligence and fair estate -have devoted their lives to it; and noble and regal ladies have been -proud to excel in the art. - -It is related that when Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio went down to -the palace at Bridewell to seek an interview with the repudiated wife -of Henry VIII., they found her seated among her ladies embroidering, -and she came to meet them with a skein of red silk around her neck. In -those days they wrought and made lace with colored silk. We can imagine -how the bright floss must have trembled over the tumultuous beatings of -that wronged heart during the cruel interview that followed. - -But the work of Catherine of Aragon was not for vanity’s sake, nor even -to pass the heavy hours. In her native Spain the rarest laces were made -for the church, and not only nuns, but ladies of the world, wove pious -thoughts in with that fairy web. Perhaps nowhere else, save in Rome, -was the church lace so rich as in Spain. Images of favorite saints and -Madonnas had wardrobes of regal magnificence, changed every day, and -the altars and vestments were no less regally adorned. - -Beckford writes that, in 1787, the Marchioness of Cogalhudo, wife of -the eldest son of the semi-regal race of Medina Cœli, was appointed -Mistress of the Robes to Our Lady of La Solidad, in Madrid, and that -the office was much coveted. - -It is supposed that the peasantry of Bedfordshire, in England, first -learned lace-making through the charity of Queen Catherine. While at -Ampthill, it is recorded that, when not at her devotions, she, with -her ladies, “wrought a needle-work costly and artificially, which she -intended for the honor of God to bestow on some of the churches.” - -The country people had the greatest love and respect for the disgraced -queen; and, till lately, the lace-makers held “Cattern’s Day,” the 25th -of November, as the holiday of their craft, “in memory of good Queen -Catherine, who, when trade was dull, burnt all her laces, and ordered -new to be made. The ladies of the court followed her example, and -the fabric once more revived.” Lace was and is considered a suitable -present from a king to a pontiff. These earlier gifts were, it is true, -sometimes of gold and silver lace wrought with precious stones, but -they were scarcely more costly than the later white-thread points. In -the Exhibition of 1859 was shown a dress valued at 200,000 francs, the -most costly work ever executed at Alençon. This Napoleon III. purchased -for the empress, who, it is said, presented it to his Holiness the Pope -as a trimming for his rochet. Also, so early as the XIIIth century, the -English cut-work was so fine that, according to Matthew Paris, Pope -Innocent IV. sent official letters to some of the Cistercian abbots -of England to procure a certain quantity of those vestments for his -own use. His Holiness had seen and admired the orfrays of the English -clergy. - -The finest specimens extant of this old English work (_opus -Anglicanum_) are the cope and maniple of S. Cuthbert, taken from his -coffin many years ago in the cathedral of Durham, and now preserved in -the chapter library of that city. One who has seen them declares them -beautiful beyond description. - -This work seems to have been at first used only for ecclesiastical -purposes, and the making of it to have been a secret preserved in the -monasteries. - -Nor have the clergy been merely the wearers of lace. We hear of monks -being praised for their skill in “imbrothering”; and S. Dunstan himself -did not disdain to design patterns for church lace. Pattern-books for -these needle-laces were made by monks as well as laymen, and plates -in them represent men seated at the embroidering frame. Some of these -old pattern books of the XVIth century are preserved in the library -of S. Geneviève at Paris, inherited from the monastery of that name. -These books are prized and sought for as some of the earliest specimens -of block-printing. But few remain, and doubtless their high price -prevented them from being made in great numbers. Their place was taken -by samplers, into which were copied the patterns desired. From these -old lace-samplers come the later alphabetical samplers, which many now -living will remember to have made in their youth. - -Large quantities of rich old lace were lost in the last century, when -the French Revolution brought in gauzes and blondes, and fashion tossed -aside as worthless these exquisite products of the needle. In Italy, -where the custom was to preserve old family lace, less was destroyed; -but in England it was handed over to servants or farm people, or stowed -away in attics, and afterwards burned. Some ladies gave point-laces -which now they could not afford to buy, to their children to dress -their dolls with. Sometimes it was thrown away as old rags. - -In the church, however, fashion had no power, and old lace has been -usually preserved. Some collections are exceedingly valuable. Notable -among these is that of the Rohan family, who gave princes-archbishops -to Strasbourg. Baroness de Oberkirck, in _Memoirs of the Court of Louis -XVI._, writes: “We met the cardinal coming out of his chapel dressed -in a soutane of scarlet moire and rochet of inestimable value. When, -on great occasions, he officiates at Versailles, he wears an alb of -old lace of needlepoint of such beauty that his assistants were almost -afraid to touch it. His arms and device are worked in a medallion above -the large flowers.” This alb is estimated at 100,000 livres. - -It is impossible to exaggerate the extent to which lace was used prior -to the French Revolution, or the immense extravagance of the sums -spent on it. Everybody wore it, even servants emulating their masters -and mistresses. It trimmed everything, from the towering Fontanges, -which rose like a steeple from ladies’ heads, to the boot-tops and -shoe-rosettes of men. Men wore lace ruffles not only at the wrist, -but at the knee, lace ruffs, cravats, collars, and garters; and bed -furniture was made of lace, or trimmed with it, costly as it was. A -pair of ruffles would amount to 4,000 livres, a lady’s cap to 1,200 -livres. We read that Mme. du Barry gave 487 francs for lace enough to -trim a pillow-case, and 77 livres for a pair of ruffles. Lace fans were -made in 1668, and lace-trimmed bouquet-holders are not a new fancy. -When the Doge of Venice made his annual visit to the convent _Delle -Vergini_, the lady abbess used to meet him in the parlor, surrounded by -her novices, and present him a nosegay in a gold handle trimmed with -the richest lace that could be found in Venice. - -Voltaire says that the mysterious Iron Mask was passionately fond of -fine linen and rich lace. - -So extravagant had the use of this luxury become that in England -there was an outcry against it, and the Puritans laid great stress on -discarding vanity in clothing. - -We have a little scene illustrative, between the Princess Mary and -Lady Jane Grey. The princess had given the maiden some gorgeous -dresses trimmed with lace. “What shall I do with it?” asks Lady Jane. -“Gentlewoman, wear it,” was the reply, a little vexed, may be. “Nay,” -says Lady Jane, “that were a shame to follow my Lady Mary against God’s -will, and leave my Lady Elizabeth, which followeth God’s will.” - -“My Lady Elizabeth,” however, set aside her scruples before long, and, -when queen, did not hesitate to adorn herself as bravely as she might, -though she had no mind her fashions should be copied by the vulgar; for -we read that, when the London Apprentices adopted white stitching and -guards as ornaments for their collars, Queen Elizabeth forbade it, and -ordered that the first transgressor should be publicly whipped in the -hall of his company. - -There is another incident, which, as one of the sex in whom vanity is -supposed to be prominent, we take special pleasure in relating. - -The Puritan nobles had not in dress conformed to Puritan rules as -strictly as some desired, the foreign ambassadors dressing as richly as -ever. When, therefore, the Spanish envoy accredited to the Protectorate -of Cromwell arrived and was about to have an audience, Harrison begged -Lord Warwick and Colonel Hutchinson to set an example by not wearing -either gold or silver lace. These gentlemen did not disapprove of rich -clothing, but, rather than give offence, they and their associates -appeared the next day in plain black suits. But, to their astonishment, -Harrison entered dressed in a scarlet coat so covered with lace and -_clinquant_ as to hide the material of which it was made. Whereupon -Mrs. Hutchinson remarks that Harrison’s “godly speeches were only -made that he might appear braver above the rest in the eyes of the -strangers.” - -Lace has frequently employed the thoughts of law-makers, and in 1698 -was the subject of a legislative duel between England and Flanders. -There was already in England an act prohibiting the importation of -bone-lace (_i.e._ bobbin-lace), loom-lace, cut-work, and needle-work -point; but this proving ineffectual, since everybody smuggled, another -act was passed setting a penalty of twenty shillings a yard and -forfeiture. We regret to learn that forfeiture meant, in some cases at -least, burning, and that large quantities of the finest Flanders lace -were seized and actually burned. It reminds one of the burning of Don -Quixote’s library of chivalric records. - -Flanders, however, with its nunneries full of lace-makers, and its -thousands of people depending on the trade, had no mind to be thus -crippled without retaliation. An act was immediately passed prohibiting -the importation of English wool; whereupon the wool-staplers echoed -with addition the groans of the lace-makers, and England was forced to -repeal the act so far as the Low Countries were concerned. - -As we have said, everybody in England smuggled lace in those days. -Smuggling seems indeed to be everywhere looked on as the least shameful -of law-breaking. But never, perhaps, were officers of the customs as -incorruptible as these. Suspicious persons were searched, no matter -what their rank, and no person living within miles of a seaport dared -to wear a bit of foreign lace unless they could prove that it had been -honestly obtained. Many were the devices by which men and women sought -to elude the customs. When a deceased clergyman of the English Church -was conveyed home from the Low Countries for burial, it was found that -only his head, hands, and feet were in the coffin—the body had been -replaced by Flanders lace of immense value. Years after, when the -body of his Grace the Duke of Devonshire, who had died in France, was -brought over, the custom-house officers not only searched the coffin, -but poked the corpse with a stick to make sure that it was a body. -The High Sheriff of Westminster was more fortunate, for he succeeded -in smuggling £6,000 worth of lace in the coffin that brought over from -Calais the body of Bishop Atterbury. - -In the present century, Lady Ellenborough, wife of the lord -chief-justice, was stopped near Dover, and a large quantity of valuable -lace found secreted in the lining of her carriage. - -At one period, much lace was smuggled into France from Belgium by means -of dogs trained for the purpose. A dog was caressed and petted at home, -then, after a while, sent across the frontier, where he was tied up, -starved, and ill-treated. The skin of a larger dog was then fitted to -his body, the intervening space filled with lace, and the poor animal -was released. Of course he made haste to scamper back to his former -home. - -_A propos_ of the customs, there is a story in which George III. -had an active part, and displayed his determination to protect home -manufactures. - -On the marriage of his sister, Princess Augusta, to the Duke of -Brunswick, the king ordered that all stuffs and laces worn should be of -English manufacture. The nobility, intent on outshining each other on -this grand occasion, took but little notice of the command. We may well -believe that the rooms of the court milliner were gorgeous with these -preparations; that there was unusual hurry and flurry lest everything -should not be done in time; and that high-born and beautiful ladies -were constantly besieging the doors, bringing additions to the stock. -Fancy, then, the consternation of the expectant and excited dames, -when, only three days before the wedding, the customs made a descent on -this costly finery, and carried off in one fell swoop the silver, the -gold, and the laces! There was not only the loss of these dear gewgaws -to mourn, but a new toilet to be prepared in three days! - -The camp, too, as well as the church and the court, has cherished lace, -and the warriors of those days did not fight less gallantly because -they went into battle elegantly arrayed. Lace ruffles at the wrist did -not weaken the sword or sabre stroke, nor laces on the neck and bosom -make faint the heart beneath. Possibly they helped to a nobler courtesy -and a braver death; for slovenly dress tends to make slovenly manners, -and slovenly manners often lead to careless morals. - -A graceful fashion called the Steinkerk had a martial origin, and was -named from the battle so-called, wherein Marshal Luxembourg won the day -against William of Orange. On that day, the young princes of the blood -were suddenly and unexpectedly called into battle. Hastily knotting -about their necks the laced cravats then in fashion, and usually tied -with great nicety, they rushed into action, and won the fight. - -In honor of that event, both ladies and gentlemen wore their cravats -and scarfs loosely twisted and knotted, the ends sometimes tucked -through the button-hole, sometimes confined by a large oval-shaped -brooch; and Steinkerks became the rage. - -But evidence enough, perhaps, has been brought to prove that lace is -not an entirely trivial subject of discourse. We may, however, add that -Dr. Johnson condescended to define net lace in his most Johnsonian -manner. It is, he says, “anything reticulated or decussated, with -interstices between the intersections.” After that, ladies may wear -their ruffles not only with pleasure, but with respect; for if he was -so learned in defining plain net, what unimaginable erudition would -have entered his definition of Honiton guipure, or the points of -Alençon, Brussels, or Venice! - -Spiders were probably the first creatures that made lace, though the -trees held a delicate white network under the green of their leaves. -After the spiders came the human race, following closely. Old Egyptian -pictures and sculptures show us women engaged in twisting threads; -and the Scriptures are full of allusions to “fine twined linen” and -needle-work. Almost as soon as garments were worn they began to be -adorned at the edges; and among savages, to whom garments were of -slight consequence, tattooing was practised, which is the same idea in -a different form. - -The Israelites probably learned from the Egyptians, and from them the -art travelled westward. One theory is that Europe learned it from the -Saracens. It matters but little to us which is the real version. It -is most likely that all the children of Adam and Eve had some fancy -of this sort which reached greater perfection in the more cultivated -tribes and nations, and was by them taught to the others. The waved -or serrated edges of leaves would suggest such adornments to them, or -the fur hanging over the edge of the rude skins they wore. The very -waves of the sea, that curled over in snowy spray at their tips, had a -suggestion of lace and ornamental bordering; and the clouds of sunrise -and sunset were fringed with crimson and gold by the sun. Flower petals -were finished with a variegated edge, and it was not enough that birds -had wings, but they must be ornamented. - -When embroidery at length became an art, the Phrygian women excelled -all others. Presently close embroidery became open-worked or -cut-worked, and out of cut-work grew lace. - -This cut-work was made in various ways. In one kind, a network of -thread was made on a frame, and under this was gummed a piece of fine -cloth. Then those parts which were to remain thick were sewed round on -to the cloth; and afterward the superfluous cloth was cut away. - -Another kind was made entirely of thread, which was arranged on a frame -in lines diverging from the centre like a spider’s web, and worked -across and over with other threads, forming geometrical patterns. -Later, a fabric still more like our modern lace was made. A groundwork -was netted by making one stitch at the beginning, and increasing a -stitch on each side till the requisite size was obtained. On this -ground was worked the pattern, sometimes darned in with counted -stitches, sometimes cut out of linen, and _appliqué_. Still another -kind was drawn-work, threads being drawn from linen or muslin, and the -thinned cloth worked into lace. Specimens still exist of a six-sided -lace net made in this way, with sprigs worked over it. - -The earlier rich laces were not made of white thread. Gold, silver, -and silk were used. The Italians, who claim to have invented point -lace, were the great makers of gold lace. Cyprus stretched gold into -a wire, and wove it. From Cyprus the art reached Genoa, Venice, and -Milan; and gradually all Europe learned to make gold lace. In England, -the complaint was raised that the gold of the realm was sensibly -diminishing in this way, and in 1635 an act was passed prohibiting the -melting down of bullion to make gold or silver “purl.” And not only -in Western and Southern Europe was this luxury fashionable. A piece -of gold lace was found in a Scandinavian barrow opened in the XVIIIth -century. Perhaps the lace was made by some captive woman stolen by -the vikings, a later Proserpine ravished from the South, who wove the -web with her pale fingers as she sat in that frozen Hades, while her -piratical blue-eyed Pluto looked on marvelling, and waiting to catch a -smile from her relenting eyes. Gold lace was sold by weight. - -Some of the most magnificent old points of Venice were made of silk, -the natural cream-color. The rose Venice point—_Gros point de Venice, -Punto a rilievo_—was the richest and most complicated of all points. -It was worked of silk, on a parchment pattern, the flowers connected by -_brides_. The outlines of these flowers were in relief, cotton being -placed inside to raise them, and countless beautiful stitches were -introduced. Sometimes they were in double, sometimes in triple, relief, -and each flower and leaf was edged with fine regular pearls. This -point was highly prized for albs, _collerettes_, _berthes_, and costly -decorations. - -Another kind of Venice lace—knotted point—had a charmingly -romantic origin. A young girl in one of the islands of the Lagune, a -lace-worker, was betrothed to a young sailor, who brought her home from -the Southern seas a bunch of pretty coralline called mermaid’s lace. -Moved partly by love for the giver, and partly by admiration for the -graceful nature of the seaweed, with its small white knots united by -a _bride_, the girl tried to imitate it with her needle, and, after -several unsuccessful efforts, produced a delicate guipure, which soon -was admired all over Europe. - -We must not, in this connection, forget that handkerchief given by -Othello to Desdemona, the loss of which cost her so dear. It was -wrought, he tells her, by an Egyptian sibyl, who - - “In her prophetic fury sewed the work.” - -And he declares that - - “The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk.” - -The flat points of Venice were no less exquisite than the raised, the -patterns sometimes being human figures, animals, cupids, and flowers. - -In the XVIth century, Barbara Uttmann invented pillow-net, a great -advance in the making of lace. This lady’s father had moved from -Nuremberg to the Hartz Mountains, to superintend mines there, and there -the daughter married a rich master-miner, Christopher Uttmann, and -lived with him in his castle of Annaberg. Seeing the mountain girls -weave nets for the miners to wear over their hair, her inventive mind -suggested a new and easier way of making fine netting. Her repeated -failures we know not of, but we know of her success. In 1561 she set up -a workshop in her own name, and this branch of industry spread so that -soon 30,000 persons were employed, with a revenue of 1,000,000 thalers. -In 1575, the inventress died and was laid to rest in the churchyard of -Annaberg, where her tombstone records that she was the “benefactress of -the Hartz Mountains.” - -Honor to Barbara Uttmann! - -Pillow-lace, as most people know, is made on a round or oval board -stuffed so as to form a cushion. On this is fixed a stiff piece of -parchment with the pattern pricked on it. The threads are wound on -bobbins about the size of a pencil, with a groove at the neck. As many -of the threads as will start well together are tied at the ends in a -knot, and the knot fastened with a pin at the edge of the pattern; -then another bunch, and so on, till the number required by the lace is -completed. The lace is formed by crossing or intertwining these bobbins. - -Hand-made lace is of two kinds, point and pillow. Point means a -needle-work lace made on a parchment pattern, also a particular kind -of stitch. The word is sometimes incorrectly applied; as, _point de -Malines_, _point de Valenciennes_, both these laces being made on a -pillow. - -Lace consists of two parts, the ground and the flower pattern or gimp. - -The plain ground is called in French _entoilage_, on account of its -containing the ornament, which is called _toilé_, from the texture -resembling linen, or being made of that material or of muslin. - -The honeycomb network or ground—in French, _fond_, _champ_, -_réseau_—is of various kinds: wire ground, Brussels ground, _trolly_ -ground, etc. Double ground is so called because twice the number of -threads are required to make it. - -Some laces, points and guipures, are not worked upon a ground, the -flowers being connected by irregular threads worked over with _point -noué_ (button-hole stitch), sometimes with pearl loops (_picot_). -Such are the points of Venice and Spain and most of the guipures. To -these uniting-threads lace-makers in Italy give the name of “legs,” in -England “pearl ties,” in France “brides.” - -The flower is made either together with the ground, as in Valenciennes -and Mechlin, or separately, and then either worked in or sewn on -(_applique_). - -The open-work stitches in the patterns are called “modes,” “jours,” or -“fillings.” - -The early name of lace in England and France was _passement_, so -called because the threads were passed by each other in the making. -The learned derive lace from _lacina_, a Latin word signifying the hem -or fringe of a garment. _Dentelle_ comes from the little toothed edge -with which lace was finished after awhile. At first, it was _passement -dentelé_, finally _dentelle_. - -The meaning of guipure is hard to connect with the present use of the -word, which is very loose and undefined. It was originally made of silk -twisted round a little strip of thin parchment or vellum; and silk -twisted round a thick thread or cord was called guipure, hence the name. - -The modern Honiton is called guipure, also Maltese lace and its -Buckingham imitations. The Italians called the old raised points of -Venice and Spain guipures. It is hard to know what claim any of these -have to the name. - -A fine silk guipure is made in the harems of Turkey, of which specimens -were shown in the International Exhibition. This _point de Turquie_ is -but little known, and is costly. It mostly represents black, white, or -mixed colors, fruit, flowers, or foliage. - -The lace once made in Malta was a coarse kind of Mechlin or -Valenciennes of one arabesque pattern; but since 1833, when an English -lady induced a Maltese woman named Ciglia to copy in white an old Greek -coverlet, the Ciglia family commenced the manufacture of black and -white Maltese guipure, till then unknown in the island. - -It is the fineness of the thread which renders the real Brussels -ground, _vrai réseau_, so costly. The finest is spun in dark -underground rooms; for contact with the dry air causes the thread to -break. The spinner works by feeling rather than sight, though a dark -paper is placed to throw the thread out, and a single ray of light is -admitted to fall on the work. She examines every inch drawn from her -distaff, and, when any inequality occurs, stops her wheel to repair the -mischief. - -The _réseau_ is made in three different ways: by hand, on the pillow, -and more lately by machinery—the last a Brussels-net made of Scotch -cotton. The needle ground costs three times as much as the pillow; but -it is stronger and easier to repair, the pillow ground always showing -the join. - -There are two kinds of flowers: those made with the needle, _point à -l’aiguille_, and those on the pillow, _point plat_. The best flowers -are made in Brussels itself, where they excel in the relief (_point -brode_). - -Each part of Brussels lace is made by a different hand. One makes the -_vrai réseau_; another, the footing; a third, the point flowers; a -fourth works the open _jours_; a fifth unites the different sections of -the ground together; a sixth makes the _plat_ flowers; a seventh sews -the flowers upon the ground. - -The pattern is designed by the head of the fabric, who, having cut the -parchment into pieces, hands it out ready pricked. In the modern lace, -the work of the needle and pillow are combined. - -Mechlin lace, sometimes called _broderie de Malines_ is a pillow lace -made all in one piece, its distinguishing feature being a broad, flat -thread which forms the flower. It is very light and transparent, and -answers very well as a summer lace. It is said that Napoleon I. admired -this lace, and that, when he first saw the light Gothic tracery of the -cathedral spire at Antwerp, he exclaimed: “_C’est comme de la dentelle -de Malines._” - -Valenciennes is also a pillow lace, but the ground and gimp, or flower, -are all made of the same thread. - -The _vrai Valenciennes_, as it was at first named, that made in the -city itself, was made in the XVth century, of a three-thread twisted -flax, and reached its climax about the middle of the XVIIIth century, -when there were from 3,000 to 4,000 lace-makers in the city alone. -Then fashion began to prefer the lighter and cheaper fabrics of -Arras, Lille, and Brussels, till in 1790 the number of lace-workers -had diminished to 250. Napoleon I. tried unsuccessfully to revive -the manufacture, and in 1851 only two lace-makers remained, both -over eighty years of age. This _vrai Valenciennes_ which, from its -durability, was called _les eternelles Valenciennes_, could not, it -was asserted, be made outside the walls of the city. It was claimed -that, if a piece of lace were begun at Valenciennes and finished -outside of the walls, that part not made in the city would be visibly -less beautiful than the other, though continued by the same hand, with -the same thread, upon the same pillow. This was attributed to some -peculiarity of the atmosphere. That lace, therefore, which was made in -the neighborhood of the city was called _bâtarde_ and _gausse_. - -The makers of this lace worked in underground cellars from four in the -morning till eight at night. Young girls were the chief workers, great -delicacy of touch being required, any other kind of work spoiling the -hand for this. Many of the women, we are told, became blind before -reaching the age of thirty. So great was the labor of making this lace -that, while the Lille workers could produce from three to five ells per -day, those of Valenciennes could not finish more than an inch and a -half in that time. Some took a year to make twenty-four inches, and it -took ten months, working fifteen hours a day, to finish a pair of men’s -ruffles. - -It was considered a recommendation to have a piece of lace made all by -one hand. - -This old Valenciennes was far superior to any now made under that name. -The _réseau_ was fine and compact, the flowers resembling cambric -in their texture. The fault of the lace was its color, never a pure -white, but, being so long under the hand in a damp atmosphere, of a -reddish cast. In 1840, an old lady, Mlle. Ursule, gathered the few -old lace-makers left in the city, and made the last piece of _vrai -Valenciennes_ of any importance which has been made in the city. It was -a head-dress, and was presented by the city to the Duchesse de Nemours. - -In the palmy days of Valenciennes, mothers used to hand these laces -down to their children as scarcely less valuable than jewels. Even -peasant women would lay by their earnings for a year to purchase a -piece of _vrai Valenciennes_ for a head-dress. - -One of the finest specimens of this old lace known is a lace-bordered -alb belonging to the Convent of the Visitation, at Le Puy, in Auvergne. -The lace is in three breadths, twenty-eight inches wide, entirely of -thread, and very fine, though thick. The ground is a clear _réseau_, -the pattern solid, of flowers and scrolls. - -There is a story of Le Puy that in 1640 a sumptuary edict was issued by -the seneschal, forbidding all persons, without regard to age, sex, or -rank, to wear lace of any kind. Lace-making being the chief employment -of the women of this province, great distress resulted from the edict. -In this time of trial, the beggared people found a comforter in the -Jesuit F. Régis. He not only consoled them, but he proved the sincerity -of his sympathy by acts. He went to Toulouse, and obtained a revocation -of the edict; and at his suggestion the Jesuits opened to the Auvergne -laces a market in the New World. - -This good friend to the poor is now S. Francis Régis, and is venerated -in Auvergne as the patron saint of the lace-makers. - -The finest and most elaborate Valenciennes is now made at Ypres, in -Flanders. Instead of the close _réseau_ of the old lace, it has a clear -wire ground, which throws the figure out well. On a piece of this Ypres -lace not two inches wide, from 200 to 300 bobbins are employed, and for -larger widths as many as 800 or more are used on the same pillow. There -are now in Flanders 400 lace-schools, of which 157 are the property of -religious communities. - -We may say here that lace-makers now use Scotch cotton chiefly, instead -of linen, finding it cheaper, more elastic, and brilliant. Only -Alençon, some choice pieces of Brussels, and the finer qualities of -Mechlin are now made of flax. The difference can scarcely be perceived -by the eye, and both wash equally well, but the cotton grows yellow -with age, while linen retains its whiteness. - -Alençon, the only French lace now made on a pillow, was first made in -France by an Italian worker, who, finding herself unable to teach the -Alençon women the true Venetian stitch, struck out a new path, and, -by assigning to each one a different part of the work, as Brussels -did afterward, succeeded in producing the most elaborate point ever -made. Early specimens show rich scroll-work connected by _brides_. One -piece has portraits of Louis XVI. and Maria Theresa, with the crown -and cipher, all entwined with flowers. The patterns were not at first -beautiful, scarcely at all imitating nature; but their work was perfect. - -Point Alençon is made entirely by the hand, on a parchment pattern, in -small pieces afterwards united by invisible thread. This art of “fine -joining” was formerly a secret confined to France and Belgium, but is -now known in England and Ireland. - -Each part of this work is given to a different person, who is trained -from childhood to that specialty. The number formerly required was -eighteen, but is now twelve. - -The design, engraved on copper, is printed off in divisions upon -pieces of parchment ten inches long, each piece numbered in order. -This parchment, which is green, is pricked with the pattern, and -sewed to a piece of very coarse linen folded double. The outline of -the pattern is then made by guiding two flat threads around the edge -with the left thumb, and fixing them by minute stitches passed with -another thread and needle through the holes in the parchment. The work -is then handed over to another to make the ground, either _bride_ or -_réseau_. The _réseau_ is worked back and forward from the footing, or -sewing-on-edge, to the _picot_, or lower pearled edge. The flowers are -worked with a fine needle and long thread, in button-hole stitch, from -left to right, the thread turned back when the end of the flower is -reached, and worked over in the next row, making thus a strong fabric. -Then come the open-work fillings and other operations, after which -the lace is taken from the parchment by passing a sharp razor between -the two folds of linen. The head of the fabric then joins the parts -together. When finished, a steel instrument is passed into each flower -to polish it. - -The manufacture of Alençon was nearly extinct when Napoleon I. restored -its prosperity. Among the orders executed for the emperor on his -marriage with Marie Louise was a bed furniture of great richness. -Tester, coverlet, curtains, and pillow-cases were all of the finest -_Alençon à bride_. Again the manufacture languished, though efforts -were made to revive it, and, in 1840, two hundred aged women—all who -were left of the workers—were gathered. But the old point had been -made by an hereditary set of workers, and the lace-makers they were -obliged to call to their help from other districts could not learn -their stitches, consequently changes crept in. But the manufacture -was revived, and some fine specimens were shown in the Exhibition of -1851, among them a flounce valued at 22,000 francs, which had taken -thirty-six women eighteen months to complete. This appeared afterwards -in the Empress Eugénie’s _corbeille de mariage_. - -Alençon was chiefly used in the magnificent _layette_ prepared for the -prince imperial. The cradle-curtains were Mechlin, the coverlet of -Alençon lined with satin. The christening robe, mantle, and head-dress -were also of Alençon, and Alençon covered the three _corbeille_ bearing -the imperial arms and cipher, and trimmed the twelve dozen embroidered -frocks and the aprons of the imperial nurses. - -Remembering all the magnificence which clustered around the birth of -this infant, who had - - “Queens at his cradle, proud and ministrant,” - -one thinks with sadness of that exiled boy who now, weeping bitterly -the loss of a tender father, beholds receding from his gaze, like a -splendid dream, that throne he once seemed born to fill. Nowhere on the -face of the earth is one who has possessed so much and lost so much as -that boy; and nowhere are a mother and son around whom cling such a -romantic interest and sympathy. - -The specimens of Alençon in the Exhibition of 1862 maintained the -reputation of the ancient fabric. _Bride_ is but little made now, and -is merely twisted threads, far inferior to the clear hexagon of the -last century. This hexagon was a _bride_ worked around with _point -noué_. - -Of late, the reapplication of Alençon flowers has been successfully -practised by the peasant lace-workers in the neighborhood of Ostend, -who sew them to a fine Valenciennes ground. - -The Chantilly lace, which owed its foundation to Catherine de Rohan, -Duchesse de Longueville, has always been rather an object of luxury -than of commercial value. Being considered a royal fabric, and its -production for the nobility alone, the lace-workers became the victims -of revolutionary fury in ‘93, and all perished on the scaffold with -their patrons. The manufacture was, however, revived, and prospered -greatly during the First Empire. The white blonde was the rage in Paris -in 1805. The black was especially admired in Spain and her American -colonies. No other manufactories produced such beautiful scarfs, -mantillas, and other large pieces. Calvados and Bayeux make a similar -lace, but not so well. The real Chantilly has a very fine _réseau_, -and the workmanship of the flowers is close, giving the lace great -firmness. The so-called Chantilly shawls in the Exhibition of 1862 were -made at Bayeux. Chantilly produces only the extra fine shawls, dresses, -and scarfs. - -Honiton owes its reputation to its sprigs. Like the Brussels, they -are made separately. At first they were worked in with the pillow, -afterwards _appliqué_, or sewed on a ground of plain pillow-net. This -net was very beautiful, but very expensive. It was made of the finest -thread procured from Antwerp, the market price of which, in 1790, was -£70 per pound. Ninety-five guineas have been paid a pound for this -thread, and, in time of war, one hundred guineas. The price of the -lace was costly in proportion, the manner of fixing it peculiar. The -lace ground was spread out on the counter, and the worker herself -desired to cover it with shillings. The number of shillings that found -a place on her work was the price of it. A Honiton veil often cost a -hundred guineas. But the invention of machine-net changed all that, and -destroyed not only the occupation of the makers of hand-net, but was -the cause of the lace falling into disrepute. - -Desirous to revive the work, Queen Adelaide ordered a dress of -Honiton sprigs, on a ground of Brussels-net, the flowers to be copied -from nature. The skirt of this dress was encircled with a wreath of -elegantly designed sprigs, the initials of the flowers forming her -majesty’s name: Amaranth, Daphne, Eglantine, Lilac, Auricula, Ivy, -Dahlia, Eglantine. - -Queen Victoria’s wedding lace was made at Honiton, difficulty being -found in obtaining workers enough, the manufacture had been so little -patronized. The dress, which cost 1,000 pounds, was entirely of Honiton -sprigs connected on a pillow. The patterns were destroyed as soon as -the lace was made. Several of the princesses have had their bridal -dresses of Honiton. - -The application of Honiton sprigs upon bobbin-net has of late almost -entirely given place to guipure. The sprigs are sewed on a piece of -blue paper, and then united by the pillow, by cut-works, or purlings, -or else joined with the needle, button-hole stitch being the best of -all, or by purling which is made by the yard. But Honiton has fallen in -public esteem by neglecting the pattern of its lace, which does not -well imitate nature. - -A new branch of industry has lately risen there—that of restoring or -remaking old lace. - -When old lace revived, it became a mania. The literary ladies were the -first to take this fever in England. Sidney, Lady Morgan, and Lady -Stepney made collections, and the Countess of Blessington left at her -death several large chests full of fine antique lace. - -In Paris, the celebrated dressmaker, Madame Camille, was the first one -to bring old laces into fashion. - -Much lace is taken from old tombs, cleansed, and sold, usually after -having been made over. All over Europe it was the custom to bury the -dead in lace-trimmed garments, and in some cases these burial toilets -were of immense value. In Bretagne, the bride, after her marriage, laid -aside her veil and dress, and never wore it again till it was put on -after she was dead. Many of these old tombs have been rifled, and the -contents sold to dealers. - -In Ireland, lace-making was at one time quite successful. Swift, in the -last century, urged the protection of home manufactures of all kinds, -and the Dublin Society, composed of a band of patriots organized in -1749, encouraged the making of lace, and passed strong resolutions -against the wearing of foreign lace. Lady Arabella Demy, who died in -1792, a daughter of the Earl of Kerry, was especially active in the -work, and good imitations of Brussels and Ypres lace were made. In -1829, the manufacture of Limerick lace was established. This is tambour -work on Nottingham-net. But the emigration of girls to America, and the -effort of the manufacturers to produce a cheap article, thus bringing -it into disrepute, have prevented this lace from attaining success. - -For half a century, machine-lace has been striving to imitate hand-made -lace, and in some instances with such success that the difference -can scarcely be perceived. In 1760 a kind of looped lace was made in -England on the stocking-frame, and the fabric has been constantly -improving. But hand-made lace still maintains its supremacy, and is -growing in favor, and old laces are more highly prized even than -old jewels, since the former cannot be imitated, or can scarcely be -imitated; the latter may be. There is a delicacy and finish in needle -and pillow laces which the machine can never give; besides that, -the constant tendency of machine-work, when once it has attained -excellence, is to deteriorate. - -We are glad of this revival of lace-making; for in no other way can the -luxury of the rich in dress so well benefit women and children among -the poor. Most working-women have to work too hard, and they have to -leave their homes to earn money. But lace-making accords admirably with -feminine taste and feminine delicacy of organization, and it can be -done at any time, and at home, and of every quality. It is refining, -too. One can scarcely imagine a very coarse person making a very -beautiful lace. It teaches the worker to observe nature and art, in the -selection and working of patterns, and it stimulates inventiveness, -if there be any. And more than that, by the multitudinous ticking of -these little bobbins, and the myriad points of these shining needles, -thousands of that tortured and terrible class called “the poor” might -be able to keep at bay not only the wolf of hunger, but the lion of -crime. - - - - -ANTIQUITIES OF THE LAW. - - -[WE have received this article from a very distinguished and learned -member of the New York bar, with an accompanying letter, in which he -writes, among other things, as follows: - -“Confined as I am by my infirmities to my house, and wearying of the -sameness of the life I have to lead, I sometimes vary my occupation by -delving into the ‘Antiquities of the Law.’ - -“I have lately come across an old law book published in 1711, which -has been several years in my library, but entirely lost sight of by me -until recently. - -“From that I have been compiling some articles for one of our law -journals, and began the accompanying article for the same publication. - -“While writing it, it occurred to me that it might be more useful, -if not more interesting, to the readers of such a journal as your -CATHOLIC WORLD than to those of a mere law journal; and as I -abhor religious intolerance in all forms, and see so much of it in this -country, I concluded to send it to you, thinking perhaps you may deem -it advisable to use it.”] - - -ABJURATION.—The statute 35 _Eliz. cap._ 2 was made wholly -against Popish Recusants convict above 16 Years of Age, enjoining them -not to remove above 5 Miles from their Habitation: if they do, and not -being covert (married?), nor having Land to the Value of 20 Marks _per -Annum_ or Goods worth £40, they must abjure the Kingdom. _Hale’s Pl. -Cr._ 228. - -“Likewise upon Persons who absent themselves from Church without just -Cause, and refusing to conform within 3 Months after conviction.” _35 -Eliz. cap. 1._ - - -ARMOUR.—(Recusancy was denying the Supremacy of the Queen -and adhering to the Pope as Supreme Head of the Church.) “The Armour -of Recusants convict shall be taken from them by Warrant from Four -Justices of Peace.” - -“If they conceal their Arms or give any Disturbance in the Delivery, -one Justice may commit them for 3 months without Bail.” _3 Jac. cap. 5._ - - -BAIL: When allowed or denied.—A Minister “depraving” the -Common Prayer-Book, as fixed by Statute, was liable, for first offence, -to commitment for 6 months; for second offence, for a year; and for -third offence, for life. - -“Being present at any other Form: First Offence, Commitment for 6 -Months; Second Offence, 12 Months; Third Offence, for Life.” - -Recusants. “Suspected to be a Jesuit, Seminary, or Priest, and being -examined refuseth to answer, may be committed till he answer directly.” - -“Impugning the Queen’s Authority in Ecclesiastical causes; perswading -others to it or from coming to church; meeting at Conventicles, under -Colour of Religion, or perswading others to meet there, commitment -till they conform and make an open Submission and Declaration of their -conformity.” - -“Absenting from Church on Sunday, and no Distress to be had, Commitment -till Forfeiture is paid.” - -“Above the Age of 16, and absenting for a Month: Forfeiture 20_s._ per -Month, or be committed till paid.” _23 Eliz. cap. 1._ - -Keeping a School Master or “any other Servant in the House, and not -coming to Church for a Month, the Master of such House forfeits £10 -_per_ Month.” - - -BLASPHEMY.—By Statute 9 and 10 _Will._, “Any Person bred -in or professing the Christian Religion, and who shall, by Writing, -Printing, Teaching, or advised Speaking deny any one of the Persons in -the Trinity; or assert that there are more Gods than one; or deny the -Christian Religion to be true, or the Holy Scriptures to be of Divine -Authority, shall be disabled to have any office,” and “if convicted -a second time, he shall be disabled to sue in any court, or to be a -Guardian or Executor or Administrator, and be incapable of any Legacy -or Gift, or of any office, and shall be committed for Three Years -without Bail.” - - -CHURCH WARDENS.—“By Common Law they are a corporation to take -care of the Goods of the Church.” - -“An Attorney cannot be made a Church Warden.” _2 Roll. Abr. 272._ - -“He is to see that the Parishioners come to Church every Sunday and -Holiday, and to present the Names of such who are absent to the -Ordinary, or to levy 12d. for every offence, _per Stat. 5_ and _6 Ed., -1 Eliz. cap. 1_.” - -“Arresting a Minister going to or returning from Church may be punished -by Indictment or bound to Good Behaviour. The Offence is the same -if a Layman be arrested. Quarreling in Church or Church Yard, if a -Layman may be suspended _ab ingressio Ecclesiæ_; if a Clergyman, _ab -officio_. But if a Weapon be drawn with intent to strike, the Party may -be convicted, etc., and Judgment to lose one of his Ears by cutting it -off, and if no Ears, to be marked in the Cheek with the Letter F.” _5_ -and _6 Ed. VI. cap. 4_. - -_Seats in Churches._ “The Ordinary may place and displace whom he -thinks fit.” - -“A Man may have a Seat in a Church appendant to his House, and may -prescribe for it, etc. But one cannot prescribe to a Seat in the _Body -of the Church_ generally.” _Roll. Abr., 2 Pars. 288._ - -“The case is the same in an _Isle of a Church_.” _2 Cro. 367._ - -“_Presentments_” are to be made by the Church Wardens, usually twice a -year, but cannot be compelled oftener than once a year, except at the -Visitation of the Bishop. - -The Articles commonly exhibited to them to make their Presentments may -be reduced thus, viz.: - -_To Things which concern_ the Church, the Parson, the Parishioners. - -_And First, to those Things which concern the Church; as_, - -Alms, whether a Box for that Purpose; Assessments, whether made for -repairs; Bells and Bell Ropes, if in Repair; Bible, whether in Folio; -Canons, whether a Book thereof; Carpet; Chest, with three Locks; Church -and Chancel in Repair; Creed in fair Letters; Cups and Covers for -Bread, etc.; Cushion for Pulpit; Desk for Reader; Lord’s Prayer in fair -Letters; Marriage, a Table of Degrees; Monuments safely kept; Parsonage -House in Repair; Church Yard well Fenced; Commandments in Fair Letters; -Common Prayer-Book; Communion Table; Flaggon; Font; Grave Stones well -kept; Queen’s Arms, set up; Register Book in Parchment; Supplies, -whether any; Table-cloth; Tombs well kept. - -2. _Those Things which concern the Parson_: - -Articles 39, if read twice a Year; Baptizing with Godfathers; Canons, -if read once a Year; Catechising Children; Common Prayer, if read, -etc.; Dead, if he bury them; Doctrine, if he preach good; Gown, if he -preach in it; _Homilies_, if read or he preach; _January_ 30th, if -observed; May 29th, if observed; Marrying privately; _November_ 5th, -if observed; Preaching every _Sunday_; Peace Maker; Perambulation; -Sacrament, if celebrated; Sedition, if vented; Sick, if visited; Sober -Life; Surplice, if wear it. - -3. _Those Things which concern Parishioners_: - -Adulterers, if any; Alms Houses, if abused; Ale Houses, and in Divine -Service; Answering, according to Rubrick; Baptism, neglected by -Parents; Blasphemers; Church, resorting to it; Dead, if brought to be -buried; Drunkards, if any; Fornicators, if any; Legacies, if any given -to pious Uses; Marrying within prohibited Degrees; Marrying without -Banns, Licence, or at unlawful hours; Sacraments received 3 times in a -year of all above 16, whereof Easter to be one time; School, if abused; -Seats, if Parishioners are placed in them without contention; Standing -up; _Sundays_, working therein; Swearers, if any; Women, if come to be -Churched.” - -“A Warrant against one for not coming to Church. - -“To the Constable, etc.: “Sussex, ss. Whereas Oath hath been made -before me That J. O. of, etc., did not upon the Lord’s Day last past -resort to any Church, Chapel, or other usual Place appointed by Common -Prayers, and there hear Divine Service according to the Form of the -Statute in that case made and provided. - -“These are therefore to require you, etc., to bring the said J. O. -before me to answer the Premises. Given, etc.” - -“Any Man may build a Church or Chappel, but the Law takes no Notice of -it as such till it is consecrated, and therefore, whether Church or -Chappel, it must be tried by the Certificate of the Bishop.” - - -CLERGY AND BENEFIT OF CLERGY.—“Before the 20 _Ed. I._, the -Clergy paid no Tenths to the King for their Ecclesiastical Livings, but -to the Pope; but in that King’s reign, their Livings were valued all -over England, and the Tenths paid to the King; and by the Statute 26 -_Hen. VIII. cap._ 3, they were annexed to the Crown forever.” - -Many of their privileges were “confirmed by _Magna Carta_, viz., _Quod -Ecclesia sit libera_.” - -“As to the Benefit of Clergy, it was introduced by the Canon Law, -Exempting their persons from any Temporal Jurisdiction. ‘Tis a -Privilege on purpose to save the Life of a Criminal in certain cases, -if he was a man of learning, as accounted in those Days, for as such he -might be useful to the Publick.—At first it was extended to any person -who could read, he declaring that he had vowed or was resolved to -enter into Orders, and the Reading was to show he was qualified.—But -afterwards the reading without a Vow to enter into Orders was held -good, and now ‘tis become a legal conveyance of Mercy to both Clergy -and Laity.” - -“But tho’ the Ordinary usually tenders the Book, the Court are the -proper Judges of the Criminal’s Reading: Therefore, where the Ordinary -answer _Quod legit_, the Court judged otherwise, fined the Ordinary, -and hanged the Person.” - -“Now, if a Man cannot read where Clergy is allowable, and ‘tis recorded -by the Court _Quod non legit_: if the Offender be reprieved, the Book -may be tendered to him again because ‘tis _in favorem vitæ_, for which -Reason he may have it under the Gallows.” _Dyer_, 205 _b_. - -“In those days, an offender might have his Clergy even for Murder -_toties quoties_, but this was restrained by the statute of 4 _Hen. -VII. cap._ 13, that he should have it but once. And for the better -Observance of that Law, it was then provided That the Criminal should -be marked upon the Brawn of the Left Thumb, that he might be known -again upon a second Offence”—“which was not intended as any Part of -the Judgment”—“It was only a Mark set upon the Offender that he might -not have his Clergy a second Time.” - -By the Common Law, “all Offenders, except in Treason against the Person -of the Queen,” should have the Benefit of Clergy “and _toties quoties_; -but by statute of 25 _Ed. III. cap._ 4, it was prohibited in Treasons; -and by that of 4 _Hen. VII._ it is restrained to one Time, so that -now (_i.e._ in 1711) there are but very few cases wherein the Common -Law denies Clergy, but in many ‘tis taken away by several acts of -Parliament.” - -Among those from whom it was thus taken away, were Popish Recusants by -act of 35 _Eliz. cap._ 1 and 2, and those who receive Priests being -natives of England, and ordained by the See of Rome by act of 27 _Eliz. -cap._ 2. - -“In Anno 2 _Ed. VI._, the Reformers, intending to bring the Worship -of God under set forms, compiled a Book of Common Prayer, which was -established by Act of Parliament in that year.” - -“But because several things were contained in that Book which showed -a compliancy to the superstitious Humours of those times, and some -Exceptions being made to it by precise Men at Home and by JOHN -CALVIN abroad, therefore two years afterwards it was reviewed, in -which _Martin Bucer_[31] was consulted and some Alterations were made, -which consisted in adding some Things and leaving out others, as in the -former Edition: - - - { A general Confession - { of sins to the daily service. - { - { A general Absolution - { to the truly Penitent. - { - { The Communion to - { begin with reading the - The { Commandments, the - Additions { People kneeling. - were, viz.: { - { And a Rubrick Concerning - { the Posture of - { kneeling, which was - { afterwards ordered to be - { left out by the statute of - { the 1 _Eliz._, but is now - { again explained as in 2 - { _Ed. VI._ - - { The use of Oil in Confirmation - { and Extream - { Unction. Prayers for - { Souls departed. - Left out: { - { And what tended to a - { Belief of the Corporeal - { Presence in the Consecration - { of the Eucharist.” - -“Afterwards, _Anno_ 5 _Ed. VI._, a Bill was brought into the House of -Lords to enjoin Conformity to this new Book with these Alterations, by -which all People were to come to those Common Prayers under pain of -Church Censure, which Bill passed into a Law, _Anno_ 5 and 6 _Ed. VI._; -but not being observed during the reign of Queen Mary, it was again -reviewed by a Committee of Learned Men (naming them), and appointed to -be used by every Minister, _Anno_ 1 _Eliz._, with some Additions, which -were then made, viz.: - -“Certain Lessons for Every Sunday in the Year, some Alterations in -the Liturgy, Two Sentences added in the Delivery of the Sacrament, -intimating to the Communicants that Christ is not Corporeally present -in the Elements, etc. The Form of making Bishops, Priests, and Deacons -was likewise added.” - -“Upon these and other Statutes several Things are to be considered: - -1. The Punishment of a Minister for refusing to use or depraving the -Book of Common Prayer. - -2. The Punishment of any other Person depraving it, and of such who -shall hear or be present at any other form. - -3. Who are bound to use it. - -4. Who must provide it.” - -The Punishment of the Minister was for 1st offence, loss of a year’s -Livings and six Months’ imprisonment; 2d offence, Deprivation and -Imprisonment for a Year; 3d offence, Imprisonment for Life and -Deprivation. - -Any other Person, for 1st Offence, six months’ Imprisonment; 2d -Offence, twelve months; and 3d Offence, for Life. 5 and 6 _Ed. VI. -cap._ 1. - -“No Form of Prayer should be used in any Public Place other than -according to the said Book.” - -By Statute 3 _Jac. cap._ 4, Constables “must once a Year present to the -Quarter Sessions those who absent themselves for the space of a Month -from Church”; and he must levy certain forfeitures on those who keep -or resort to Bowling, Dancing, Ringing, or any sport whatever on the -Sabbath; and on a Butcher who shall kill or sell Flesh on that day. - - -RECUSANTS “are those who refuse or deny Supremacy to the Queen -by adhering to the Pope as Supreme Head of the Church.” - -“_Anno_ 24 _Hen. VIII. cap._ 12, Parliament prohibited _Appeals_ to -_Rome_, etc.” - -25 _Hen. VIII._ “The King appointed that _Convocations_ should be -assembled by his Writ, and that no _Canons_ or _Constitutions_ should -be contrary to his Prerogative or the Laws of the Land.” - -“In the same Year an Act passed to restrain the Payment of _First -Fruits_ to the Court of _Rome_.” - -“In the next Year, 26 _Hen. VIII._, An Act passed by which the First -Fruits of all Spiritual Livings were given to the King.” - -In the same Year, “an Act passed, prohibiting _Investitures_ of -Archbishops or Bishops by the Pope; but that in a Vacancy the King -should send his _Letters-missive_ to a Prior or Convent, Dean or -Chapter, to choose another.” - -“Likewise, in the same Year, all _Licenses_ and _Dispensations_ from -the Court of Rome were prohibited, and that all _Religious Houses_ -should be under the _Visitation of the King_.” - -And by an Act passed the same Year (viz., 1534), The King was “declared -to be _Supream Head of the Church_.” - -“But he did not exercise any act of that Power till a year afterwards, -by appointing Sir Thomas _Cromwell_ to be his Vicar General in -Ecclesiastical Matters, and Visitor of all the _Monasteries_ and other -Privileged Places in the Kingdom.” - -In 27 _Hen. VIII._ (1536) “all the _lesser Monasteries_, under the -number of _twelve Persons_, and whose Revenues were not of the Value of -£200 _per annum_, were given to the King, his Heirs and Successors; and -a Court was erected on purpose for collecting the Revenues belonging to -these Monasteries, which was called _The Court of Augmentation of the -King’s Revenue_, who had full power to dispose of those Lands for the -Service of the King.” - -The officers of this Court had, among its other duties, that of -inquiring “into the Number of _Religious_ in the House, and what Lives -they led; how many would go into other Religious Houses, and how many -into the _World_, as they called it.” - -The whole of the goods thus confiscated were valued at £100,000, and -the rents of these small Monasteries came to £32,000 _per annum_. - -“This occasioned great Discontents amongst the people,” to appease -which the King sold some of the Lands “to the Gentry” at low Rates, -“obliging them to keep up Hospitality.” - -“This pleased both them and the ordinary Sort of People for a little -time; and, to satisfy others,” the King “continued or gave back -thirty-one Houses. But these, about two Years afterwards, fell under -the Common Fate of the great Monasteries, and were all suppressed with -them.” - -“But notwithstanding he gave back some of these Houses, yet the People -were still discontented, and openly rebelled in _Lincolnshire_, which -was quieted by a Pardon: There was another Rebellion in _Yorkshire_ and -the Northern Counties, which ended also in a Pardon, only some of the -chief of the Rebels were executed for this last Rebellion.” - -Most of the Monasteries, “seeing their Dissolution drawing near, -made voluntary Surrenders of their Houses in the 29th _year of Hen. -VIII._, in Hopes by this means to obtain Favor of the King; and after -the Rebellion, the rest of the Abbots, both great and small, did -the like; for some of them had encouraged the Rebels, others were -convicted by the Visitors of great Disorders, and most of them had -secured all the Plate, Jewels and Furniture belonging to their Houses, -to make Provision for them and Relations and then surrendered their -Monasteries.” - -“Afterwards, _Anno_ 31 _Hen. VIII._, a Bill was brought into the House -of Peers to confirm these surrenders. There were 18 Abbots[32] present -at the first Reading, 20 at the second, and 17 at the third. It soon -passed the Commons and the Royal Assent; and by this Act all the -Houses, etc., were confirmed to the King.” - -“‘Tis true, the Hospitallers, Colleges and Chanteries, etc., were not -yet dissolved.... These had large endowments to support themselves and -to entertain Pilgrims,” etc. - -“But notwithstanding the King was declared to be the Supreme Head -of the Church, yet these Hospitallers would not submit,” etc., “and -therefore, Anno 32 _Hen. VIII. cap._ 24, The Parliament gave their -lands to the King and dissolved their Corporation.” - -“The Colleges and Chanteries still remained; but the Doctrine of -Purgatory being then grown out of Belief[33] and some of those -Fraternities having resigned in the same manner as the Monasteries, -the Endowments of the rest were then thought to be for no purpose, and -therefore, _Anno_ 37 _Hen. VIII._, all these Colleges, Free Chapels, -Chanteries, etc., were given to the King by Act of Parliament.” - -“Thus in the Compass of a few years, the Power and Authority of the See -of _Rome_ was suppressed in this Kingdom. And because frequent Attempts -have been made to revive it, therefore, in succeeding Times, several -Laws have been made to keep them in subjection.” - -Among those were the following: Recusant Convict above 16 must go -to his place of Abode and not remove 5 miles without license or -otherwise abjure the Realm. Not departing within the time limited by -the Justices, or returning without license from the Queen, was felony -without Benefit of Clergy. 35 _Eliz. cap._ 2. - -“To absolve or to be absolved by Bulls from the Bishop of Rome was High -Treason.” 13 _Eliz. cap._ 2. - -“Bringing an _Agnus Dei_ hither, or offering it to any Person to be -used, both he and the Receiver incurs a _Premunire_.[34] 13 _Eliz. -cap._ 2. All Armour shall be taken from Recusants by order of four -Justices.” 7 _Jac. cap._ 6. - -Bringing over Beads or offering them to any person, both he and the -Receiver incur a Premunire. 13 _Eliz. cap._ 2. - -“Two Justices may search Houses for Books and Relicks, and burn them.” -3 _Jac. cap._ 5. - -“Every Popish Recusant must be buried in Church or Church yard -according to the Ecclesiastical Laws, or his Executor or Administrator -forfeits £20.” 3 _Jac. cap._ 5. - -“Children of Recusants must be baptized by a lawful Minister, or the -Parent forfeits £100.” 3 _Jac. cap._ 5. - -“Popish Recusant, if he sue any person, the Defendant may plead it in -Disability.” - -He “shall not be Executor, Administrator, or Guardian.” 3 _Jac. cap._ 5. - -A married woman, a Popish Recusant convict, “not conforming within 3 -months after conviction, may be committed by two Justices until she -conform, unless her Husband will pay to the King 10 shillings per month -or a third part of his Lands.” 7 _Jac. cap._ 6. - -“Popish Recusant marrying otherwise than according to the Forms of the -Church of England shall forfeit £100. If a woman, not have her Dower or -Jointure or Widow’s Estate.” 3 _Jac. cap._ 5. - -“Saying Mass forfeits 200 marks, hearing it 100 Marks.” - -“Jesuits, Seminary Priests, etc., and other Ecclesiastical Persons -born within the Queen’s Dominions, coming in or remaining in the said -Dominions, is guilty of Treason.” 27 _Eliz. cap._ 2. - -“Any knowing a Jesuit or Priest to be here and not within 12 days -afterwards discovering him to a Justice of Peace shall be committed and -fined.” 27 _Eliz. cap._ 2. - -“Per Stat. 3 _Jac. cap._ 4, to move any one to promise Obedience to the -See of Rome or other Prince is High Treason in the Mover and he that -promiseth Obedience.” - -“Recusant Convict must not practice the Art of Apothecary, Civil Law, -Common Law, Physick, or be an officer in any Court or amongst Soldiers, -or in a Castle, Fortress or Ship.” 3 _Jac. cap._ 5. - -“Sending Persons beyond Sea to be instructed in Popish Religion -forfeits £100, and the Persons sent are incapable to take any -Inheritance.” 1 _Jac. cap._ 4. - -“Children shall not be sent beyond Sea without License from the Queen -or six of her Privy Council, whereof the Principal Secretary of State -to be one.” - -“Notwithstanding all these Laws, the Parliament (11 and 12 _Will._) was -of Opinion that Popery increased, and therefore to prevent its growth -a Law was made That if any person should take one or more _Popish -Bishop_, _Jesuit_ or _Priest_, and prosecute him till he is convicted -of _saying Mass_ or exercising any other part of the Office or Function -of a _Popish Bishop_ or _Priest_,” he shall have a reward of £100. - -“If any Popish Bishop, Priest or Jesuit, shall be convicted of saying -Mass, etc., or any Papist shall Keep School, etc., he shall be adjudged -to perpetual Imprisonment in such place where the Queen by Advice of -her Council shall think fit.” - -“Every Papist, after the 10th of April, 1700, is made incapable of -purchasing Lands, etc., either in his own Name or the name of other -Person, to his use.” - - -THE SABBATH.—“Shoemaker putting Boots or Shoes to sale -forfeits 3_s._ 4_d._ and the goods.” 1 _Jac. I. cap._ 11. - -“Carriers, Drivers, Waggoners, travelling on that day forfeit 20_s._” 3 -_Car. I. cap._ 1. - -“Butchers killing or selling, or causing to be killed or sold or privy -or consenting to kill or sell Meat on that day, forfeit 6_s._ 8_d._” 3 -_Car. I. cap._ 1. - -By 29 _Car. II. cap._ 7 “Public and private Duties of Piety are -enjoined, all worldly business is prohibited, and all above the Age of -14 forfeit 5_s._” - -“Drovers or their servants coming to their Inns on that day forfeit -20_s._” - -“If the Offender is not able to pay the Forfeiture, he shall be put in -the Stocks for two Hours.” - -“Meeting together out of their own Parish for any Sports or Pastimes, -forfeit 3_s._ 4_d._” 1 _Car. I. cap._ 1. - - -SACRAMENT.—“Depraving or doing any Thing in contempt of the -Sacrament must be committed.” 1 _Ed. VI. cap._ 1, 1 _Eliz._ 2, 3 _Jac._ -4. - - -SCHOOLMASTER.—“Not coming to church or not allowed by the -Bishop of the Diocese, forever disabled to teach Youth, and shall be -committed for a year without bail.” 23 _Eliz. cap._ 1. - - -TYTHES.—“A canon was made _Anno_ 1585 for payment of Tythes -as founded on the Law of God and the ancient Custom of the Church.” - -“When Glanville wrote (about 1660), a Freeholder was allowed to make a -Will, so as he gave the best Thing he had to the _Lord Paramount_, and -the next best to the _Church_.” - -“They are said to be Ecclesiastical Inheritances collateral to the -Estate of the Land, out of which they arise, and are of their own -Nature due only to Spiritual Persons.” - -Certain Lands were, however, exempt. “Most orders of Monks were first -exempted; but in time this was restrained to three orders—Cistertians, -Hospitallers, Templars.” - - -DISSENTERS.—After the various laws against “Popish -Recusants,” as they were called, had had the effect of rendering -somewhat firm the establishment of the English Protestant Church, and -about the time of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, a new trouble arose -from those who dissented from that church, in its forms and in some of -its principles, and government then began to interfere with them. - -In the 1st Year of the reign of William and Mary these “Dissenters” -were exempted from the statutes of 1 _Eliz. cap._ 2, 23 _Eliz. cap._ -1, 3 _Jac. cap._ 4, above mentioned. “But they must not assemble in -Places with Doors locked, barred, or bolted, nor until the place is -certified to the Bishop of the Diocese or to the Arch Deacon or to the -Justices at the Quarter Sessions, and registered there and they have a -certificate thereof.” - -Their Preachers must declare their Approbation, and subscribe the -“Articles of Religion,” except the 20th, 34th, 35th, and 36th articles, -and must take the oaths and subscribe the Declaration prescribed Dy -certain statutes, and that at the Quarter Sessions where they live. - -So that, from the reign of Elizabeth, through the reign of James -I., and until the the troubles which ended in the civil war and the -Protectorate of Cromwell, Dissenters were subject to many of the -restrictions which had been imposed on the Roman Catholics; and even -when those troubles finally ended in the flight of James II., and the -elevation of William and Mary to the throne, freedom of religion was -not allowed to the Dissenters, but they were permitted to enjoy their -dissent from the forms and ceremonies of the Church of England only by -declaring their assent to many of its most important tenets of faith or -doctrine. - -The oaths of allegiance and supremacy enjoined by the statutes of _1 -Eliz._ and _3 Jac._ were abrogated by the Statute of _1 Will., and Mar. -cap. 8_, and the following substituted: - -“I, A. B., do sincerely promise and swear that I will be faithful and -bear true allegiance,” etc. - -“I, A. B., do swear that I do from my Heart abhor, detest and abjure -as Impious and Heretical, that damnable Doctrine and Position that -Princes excommunicated or deprived by the Pope or any authority of the -See of Rome may be deposed by their subjects or any other whatsoever; -and I do declare that no Foreign Prince, Person, Prelate, State or -Potentate, hath or ought to have any Jurisdiction, Power, Superiority, -Pre-eminence or Authority, Ecclesiastical or Spiritual, within the -Realm. So help me God.” - - - - -JOSEPH IN EGYPT A TYPE OF CHRIST. - - -LOOK down, O Lord, holy Father, from thy sanctuary, and from thy high -and heavenly dwelling, and behold this all-holy Victim, which thy great -High-priest, thy holy Child Jesus, offers thee for the sins of his -brethren; and have mercy on the multitude of our iniquities. Lo! the -voice of the blood of Jesus our Brother cries to thee from the cross. -For what is it, O Lord, that hangs on the cross? Hangs, I say; for past -things are as present with thee. Own it, O Father! It is the coat of -thy Joseph, thy Son; an evil wild beast hath devoured him, and hath -trampled on his garment in its fury, spoiling all the beauty of this -his remanent corpse, and, lo! five mournful gaping wounds are left in -it. This is the garment which thy innocent holy Child Jesus, for the -sins of his brethren, has left in the hands of the Egyptian harlot, -thinking the loss of his robe a better thing than the loss of purity; -and choosing rather to be despoiled of his coat of flesh and go down to -the prison of death than to yield to the voice of the seductress for -all the glory of the world.—_S. Anselm._ - - - - -MADAME AGNES. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -IN WHICH WE ARE MADE ACQUAINTED WITH MADAME AGNES. - - -ABOUT twenty years ago, I lived in a town in France which I may be -allowed to call Philopolis. It need not be sought on the map: it will -not be found there, at least under the name I think it proper to call -it by, in order to avoid all appearance of indiscretion. The story I am -about to relate is really a true one. - -I had just finished my school-days, and, having carefully thought over -the different professions which seemed to accord with my tastes, I -felt—and it may be imagined how bitterly—that not one of them was -within my means. To embrace any of them would have required a larger -sum than I had the least hope of. Under such unfavorable circumstances, -I became a tutor in a Lycée. - -God preserve my very enemies, if I have any, from so trying an -occupation! At the end of three months, worn out with my labors, and -overwhelmed with humiliations and sadness, I had fallen into such a -state of discouragement, not to say of despair, that I regarded myself -as the most unfortunate of men. - -To those who wish to be distinguished from the crowd, there is -something peculiarly attractive in looking upon themselves as more -unhappy than common mortals. I gave myself up to this notion, at first -through vanity. But this kind of superiority is by no means cheering, I -assure you, so I soon sought consolation. Thank God, I had not far to -go. My old friend, Mme. Agnes, was at hand. I sought refuge with her. I -speak as if she were advanced in years, but it must be acknowledged she -would have seemed a mere child to Methuselah. She was thirty-six years -of age; but I was only eighteen, and thought her old. - -Mme. Agnes lived on a broad and pleasant quay that gently sloped -towards a noble river. Not fifty steps from the house rolled the swift -current of the Loire. Beyond was an extensive plain from which rose -innumerable spires. - -When I arrived, I found my friend in her usual seat near the window. -She was in a large arm-chair, with a table before her, on which were -all the materials necessary for a painter of miniatures. Mme. Agnes was -renowned in Philopolis as an artist. Her uncommon talent enabled her to -support her mother and young sister in a comfortable manner. Alas! poor -lady, she had been a paralytic for ten years. - -According to her custom, she laid aside her work when I entered, and -welcomed me with a smile. But this expression of pleasure gave place to -one of motherly anxiety when she observed the sad face I wore. - -“What is the matter, my poor child?” said she. “You have grown -frightfully thin.” - -“I cannot say I am ill,” I replied, “but I am down-hearted, and have -so much reason to be, that things cannot continue long in this way: I -should die.” - -Thus saying, I leaned my head against Mme. Agnes’ chair, like a great -child as I was, and cried heartily. I had so long restrained my -tears!... - -Mme. Agnes softly placed her hand on my head, and consoled me with a -kindness truly maternal. When my explosion of grief had passed away, -she made me give her an account of my troubles. I told her, perhaps for -the tenth time, what an inclination I had for a literary life, only -I was absolutely too poor to embrace it. I added that my duties as a -tutor were repugnant; the pupils were insolent and unfeeling; in short, -I concealed nothing that afflicted me. At length I ended with these -words: - -“You now see, Mme. Agnes, that I could not be more wretched than I am. -This must end. Give me, I beg, some of the good advice I have so many -times received from you. Tell me what I must do.” - -“Have patience, my child, and wait till God makes the way smoother.” - -“Wait! when one suffers as I do?... When I abhor my position?... When -I feel how happy I could be elsewhere!... Ah! Mme. Agnes, if you knew -what I have to endure—if you only comprehended my complete despair!” - -“Poor child, your trials are bitter, I acknowledge; but you are young, -capable, and industrious, and will get a better position by-and-by.” - -“To be forced to endure it only a year would be beyond my strength. -Neither my disposition, nor tastes, nor health could stand what I have -to bear.” - -“How many others are in a similar position, but without even the hope -you have of soon exchanging an employment without results—detestable, -if you like—for one more congenial! The task they are pursuing must be -that of their whole lives. They know it, and resign themselves to it. -You, who have only to bear your trials for a certain time, must imitate -their example. Come, come, my friend, every one has his cross here -below. Let us bear ours cheerfully, and it will soon seem light.” - -These consoling words were uttered in a sympathetic tone, as if they -came from the heart. I was touched. I began to look at Mme. Agnes -more attentively than ever before, and the thought occurred to me -like a revelation: “How much this woman must have suffered, and how -instructive would be the account of her life!” - -“Mme. Agnes,” said I, “your advice is excellent, but example would -produce a still greater impression on me. I beg you to relate the -history of your life. You have evidently gone through much suffering, -and with great patience, I am confident. I will endeavor to conform to -your example.” - -“You require a sad task of me,” she replied; “but no matter, I will -gratify you. My story—and who of us has not one?—will prove useful -to you, I think. But you must not be so ready to declare me a saint. -I never was one, as you will soon see. Yes, I have suffered, as you -suppose—greatly suffered, and have learned that the best means of -mitigating our sufferings is to submit to God’s will, and to cherish -it. The lesson to be derived from my history will be of use to you, I -trust, and therefore I yield to your request. - -“One word more before commencing. I would observe that the account of -my own life is closely interwoven with the lives of several persons -whom you will not reproach me for making you acquainted with. By -a concurrence of circumstances which would appear to me almost -inexplicable did I not behold the hand of God therein, my life for -many years was identified, so to speak, with theirs. I witnessed the -struggles these loved ones had to make; I shared their very thoughts; -I sympathized in their sorrows, as they in mine; and I also had the -happiness of participating in their joys. - -“When, therefore, I invoke these remembrances you wish me to recall, I -find all along the pathway of my life these friends now gone. I could -not relate my own history without relating theirs. But everything -encourages me to go on. The task is pleasant. It is sweet to speak of -those we have loved! The faithful picture I am going to draw of their -lives will be as full of instruction to you, my friend, as that of my -own.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -PROVIDENCE SENDS A LODGER. - - -To begin: my father, a worthy man and a sincere Christian, was a _Chef -de Division_ at the Préfecture. A sudden illness bereft me of his care -when I was barely fifteen years old. My mother, my young sister, and -myself were left in quite limited circumstances, being wholly dependent -on the rent of this small house, which had belonged to the family many -years. Some time after, a pension of five hundred francs was added to -our income by the government which my father had faithfully served. -Our position was very sad, and the more so because, during my father’s -life, we had everything in abundance. But our misfortunes offered us -a thousand inducements to draw nearer to God. It is only ill-balanced -souls—at once proud and weak—that disregard him who chastises them. -Poor souls! they are doubly to be pitied, for they suffer and do not -have recourse to him who alone can console them! As for us, God granted -us the grace to recognize his agency. He sustained us, and we humbly -submitted to his divine decrees. Misfortune only rendered us the more -pious. - -I had had a special taste for painting from my childhood, but still -lacked proficiency, notwithstanding the lessons I had taken. I now set -to work with ardor, though I had no master. At the end of a year I -had made so much progress that an old teacher of mine, the principal -of a boarding-school—an excellent person, who took an interest in -our affairs—received me as teacher of drawing in her establishment. -She also made me give English lessons to beginners. This additional -resource restored ease in a measure to our household. Nevertheless, we -were obliged to practise the strictest economy. To enable us to get on -swimmingly, as my mother said with a smile, we at last resolved to rent -the spacious ready-furnished apartments on the ground floor. The first -story was occupied by a lodger, who was, at the same time, a friend of -ours. As for us, we lived in the second story. - -Things went on thus for some years. I was nearly twenty, when one day a -young man, whom neither my mother nor myself knew, called to say he had -heard our furnished rooms were vacant, and that he would like to occupy -them. My mother was greatly pleased with his frank, open manner. She -is very social, you know, and made the stranger sit down. They entered -into conversation, and I sat listening to them. - -“Am I mistaken, monsieur?” said my mother, after a while; “it seems as -if I have already met you somewhere.” - -“Yes, madame,” replied the young man, “I have had the honor of seeing -you more than once.” - -“But where?” - -“At M. Comte, the apothecary’s. I was the head clerk there.” - -“That is it!... I remember now.... And you have left him?” - -“Under the most singular circumstances. It seems I am a writer without -being aware of it.” - -“How so?” - -“You know the Philopolis _Catholic Journal_?” - -“Certainly: an excellent paper. It is a great pity it is not so -successful as it deserves to be. But between us, it is partly its -own fault: it lacks interest and ability. It has only one able -contributor—Victor Barnier, but he does not write often enough.” - -“The poor fellow cannot help it. His duties at the apothecary’s shop -have naturally superseded his taste for journalism.” ... - -“What! are you Victor Barnier?” - -“Yes, madame.” - -“Ah! well, young man, you do not lack talent.” - -“Others have said the same, madame. I hope you are not all mistaken, -especially for the sake of the _Catholic Journal_, of which I have -been appointed the principal editor. I refused the post at first, -the responsibility seemed so great. They insisted. The position -surpassed my wishes. Without any one’s knowing it, I had for many -years ardently longed to be a writer. But like so many others, the -limited circumstances of my family prevented it. Now, thanks to this -unexpected offer, the opportunity of following my natural inclinations -is so tempting that I cannot resist it. My good mother tells me it is a -perilous career, and that I shall meet with more trouble than success. -No matter! I am so fond of literary pursuits that, were they to afford -me only one day of happiness in my life, I should still cling to them. -And then, I say it without boasting, I love above all things the cause -I am to defend, and hope through divine assistance to become its able -champion. I have, therefore, left M. Comte’s, though not without some -regret. I enter upon my duties to-morrow, and—am in want of lodgings.” - -“Oh! well, that is all settled. You shall come here and be well taken -care of.” - -After this, Victor left us. I have only given you the substance of the -conversation in which I more than once took part. I must confess Victor -won my esteem and good-will at this first interview. He merited them. -He was at once an excellent and a talented man—that was to be seen at -the first glance. The better he was known, the more evident it became -that his outward appearance, pleasing as it was, was not deceptive. -He was then twenty-five years old, but, though young, he had had many -trials, I assure you—trials similar to yours, my young friend, but -much more severe. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -TRUE LOVE—HAPPY UNION. - - -The following day Victor took up his abode with us. Before a fortnight -had elapsed, my mother was enchanted with her new lodger. She sounded -his praises from morning till night. This may perhaps astonish you, -but you must know that she and I were always in the habit of telling -each other our very thoughts. This reciprocal confidence was so perfect -that it might be truly said we concealed nothing from each other. - -And I must confess Victor showed himself every day more worthy of my -mother’s admiration. He was the most modest, amiable, industrious, and -orderly of young men—a genuine model for Christian men of letters. He -rose every morning at an early hour, and worked in his room till about -eight o’clock. Then, unless his occupations were too pressing, he heard -Mass at a neighboring church. After that, he went to the _Journal_ -office, where he remained till noon; then he returned to breakfast. He -left again at one, came back at three, worked till dinnertime, then -studied till ten at night, and often later. - -“Why do you work so hard?” said my mother to him one day. “The life -of a journalist, according to you, is that of a galley-slave. I never -should have thought an editor had so hard a time. You have all the four -large pages of the _Journal_ to write yourself, then, M. Victor?” - -“By no means, dear madame. I write the leading article every day, and -in a short time, too, for I have the peculiarity of not writing well -when I write slowly. This done, I look over the other articles for the -paper. As I am responsible for them, I do not accept them till they are -carefully examined. This is my whole task—apparently an easy one, but -tedious and difficult in reality.” - -“Yes; I see you have a great deal to do at the office; but why do you -continue to work at home?” - -“Two motives oblige me to study—to increase my knowledge, and prevent -ennui. Having risen from a mere apothecary’s clerk to be the chief -editor of an important journal, I have to apply myself to keep apace -with my new profession. A journalist must be imprudent or dishonest who -discusses any subject on which he has not sufficient information. And -think of the multitude of questions connected with politics, political -economy, legislation, literature, and religion itself which I have in -turn to treat of! In the Paris newspapers, each editor writes on the -subjects he understands the best. The work is thus divided, to the -great advantage of the paper and its editors. Here, I alone am often -responsible for everything. Nevertheless, the care of my health, as -well as my indolence, would induce me to rest a few hours a day; but -where shall I pass them?—At the café? I go there sometimes to extend -my knowledge of human nature; but one cannot go there much without -being in danger of contracting injurious habits.—With my friends? I -have none, and am in no hurry to make any. The choice of a friend is -such a serious thing! One cannot be too cautious about it.” - -“Come and see us,” said my mother, with her habitual cordiality. “When -you have nowhere else to go, and your mind is weary, come up and pass -an hour in the evening with your neighbors.” - -Victor came, at first occasionally, then every day. Only a few weeks -elapsed before I felt that I loved him. His companionship was so -delightful; he had so much delicacy in little things; he was so frank, -so devoted to all that is beautiful and good! Did he love me in return? -No one could have told, for he was as timid as a young girl. - -But this timidity was surmounted when my feast-day arrived. He came in -blushing with extreme embarrassment—poor dear friend! I can still see -him—holding a bouquet in his left hand, which he concealed behind him, -while with the other he presented my mother with an open paper. She -took it, glanced at it, and, after reading a few words, said: - -“But this is not addressed to me. Here, Agnes, these stanzas are for -you, my child! And I see a bouquet!” - -Victor presented it to me in an agitated manner. I myself was so -confused that I longed to run away to hide my embarrassment. I -concealed it as well as I could behind the sheet on which the stanzas -were written, and read them in a low tone. They gracefully thanked -my mother for all her kindness to him, and ended with some wishes -for me—wishes that were ardent and touching. In a tremulous tone I -expressed my gratitude with a sincerity which was quite natural. Our -embarrassment was not of long continuance. It soon passed off, and we -spent the evening in delightful conversation. One would have thought we -had always lived together, and formed but one family. - -The next morning, when I returned from giving my lessons, what was my -astonishment to find Victor with my mother! - -“Here she is to decide the question,” exclaimed the latter joyfully. -“M. Victor loves you, and wishes to know if you will be his wife.” - -“Mother,” I replied, “must I be separated from you?” - -“Less than ever,” cried Victor. - -My delightful dream was realized! I was to be united to the man I loved -with all my heart—whom I esteemed without any alloy! And this without -being obliged to separate from her of whom I was the sole reliance. - -I extended my hand to Victor, and threw myself into my mother’s arms, -thanking her as well as I could, but in accents broken by tears.... - -A month after, we were married, and happy—as happy, I believe, as -people can be here below. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -SAD PRESENTIMENTS. - - -Thenceforth began a life so sweet that I am unable to describe it. -Victor and I lived in the most delightful harmony. Our love for each -other increased daily. We had but one heart and one soul. Our very -tastes accorded. - -Oh! how charming and happy is the wedded life of two Christian souls! -What mutual sympathy! How they divine each other’s thoughts! How -readily they make the concessions at times so necessary, for the best -matched people in this world do not always agree! A life more simple -than ours cannot be imagined, and yet it was so sweet! - -I worked beside Victor in the morning and during a part of the -afternoon, looking at him from time to time, saying a few words, or -listening as he read what he had just composed. He said he first tried -the effect of his writings on me. How happy I was when he thus gave me -the first taste of one of his spirited articles, in which he defended -his principles with an ardor of conviction and a vigor of style which -impressed even those who were sceptical. - -Before dinner we went to walk together. I persuaded Victor to devote -a part of each day to physical exercise as well as mental repose. Our -conversation always gave a fresh charm to these walks. And yet we did -not talk much, but we infused our whole souls into a word or two, or a -smile. How often I dreamed of heaven during those delicious hours! It -is thus, I said to myself, the angels above hold communion with each -other. They have no need of words to make themselves understood. - -Among the pleasant features of that period, I must not forget that -of Victor’s success. Before he was appointed editor, the poor paper -vegetated. There were but few subscribers. No one spoke of the obscure -sheet which timidly defended sound principles and true doctrines. -What a sad figure it made in the presence of its contemporary, _The -Independent_—a shameless, arrogant journal which boasted of despising -all religious belief, and scoffed at the honest people foolish enough -to read it! - -Victor had scarcely been chief editor of this despised paper three -months before there was a decided change. Every day added to the list -of subscribers. The _Catholic Journal_ was spoken of on all sides. -The sceptical, even, discussed it. As to _The Independent_, it was -forced to descend into the arena. In spite of itself, it had to engage -in conflict against an adversary as skilled in irony as in logic. I -acknowledge I was proud of Victor’s success, and, what was more, it -made me happy. For a long time, young as I was, I had groaned at seeing -Catholic interests so poorly defended. They were now as ably sustained -as I could wish, and by the man whom I loved. All my wishes were -surpassed! - -Nevertheless, there is no perfect happiness in this world. Even those -blissful years were not exempt from sorrow. God granted me twice, with -an interval of two years, the long-wished-for joy of being a mother, -but each time Providence only allowed its continuance a few months. -My first child, a boy, died at the end of six months. The second, a -daughter, was taken from me before it was a year old. You are young, my -friend and cannot understand how afflicting such losses are. A mother’s -heart, I assure you, is broken when she sees her child taken from her, -however young it may be. My husband himself was greatly distressed when -our little boy was carried off after an illness of only a few hours. -But his grief was still more profound when our little girl died. Dear -child! though only nine months old, her face was full of intelligence, -her eyes were expressive, and she had a wonderful way of making herself -understood. She passed quietly away, softly moaning, and gazing at us -with affection. Her father held her in his arms the whole time of her -long agony. It seemed as if he thus hoped to retain her. She, too, -was sad, I am sure. She seemed to know we were in grief, and to leave -us with regret. Her sweet face only resumed its joyful expression -after her soul had taken flight for heaven; then a celestial happiness -beamed from her features consecrated by death. Victor stood gazing at -her a long time as she lay on the bed with a crucifix in her innocent -hands. His lips murmured a prayer in a low tone. It seemed to me he -was addressing our angel child—begging her to pray that God would -speedily call him to dwell for ever with her in his blissful presence. -The thought made me shudder. It seemed as if I had at that moment an -interior revelation. I knew that was Victor’s prayer, and I had a -presentiment it would be heard. - -From that day, though we had a thousand reasons to consider ourselves -happy, we were no longer light-hearted as we once had been. There -was a something that weighed on our minds and kept us anxious, and -empoisoned all our joys. Life seemed unsatisfactory, and we drew nearer -to God. We were constantly speaking of him and the angel who had flown -from us, and we often approached the sacraments together. It was thus -that God was secretly preparing Victor to return to him, and me to -endure so terrible a blow. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -AN UNEXPECTED ASSAULT. - - -No man was ever more fond of domestic life than Victor. The happiest -hours of the day were those we all spent together—he, my mother, my -young sister, and myself—occupied in some useful work, but often -stopping to exchange a few words. It was with regret Victor sometimes -left us at such hours to mingle with the world. He refused all -invitations to dinners, soirées, and balls as often as possible, but -he could not always do so. He had taken the first place—a place quite -exceptional—in local journalism, and it was impossible for him to -decline all the advances made him. Besides, he wished, as was natural -to one of his profession, to ascertain for himself public opinion on -the question of the day. I cannot tell you how dull the evenings seemed -when he was away, or how anxious I was till he returned. There was -something dreadful about his profession. In vain he resolved to avoid -personalities; they were often discovered when none had been intended. -If he was fortunately able to keep within the limits he had marked out -for himself, and confined himself to the defence of justice, morality, -and religion, he found these three great causes had furious opponents. -Whoever defended them incurred the ardent ill-will of the enemies of -all good. This is what happened to Victor. Their secret hatred burst -forth on an occasion of but little importance. - -A renowned preacher of the South, worthy in every respect of his -reputation, came to preach at the cathedral during Advent. This man, -as eloquent as he was good, attacked the vices of the day with all the -ardor of an apostle. Many of the young men of the place who went to -hear him were infuriated at the boldness of his zeal. Some supposed -themselves to be meant in the portraits he drew of vicious men in -a manner so forcible and with such striking imagery as to make his -hearers tremble. At the close of one of these sermons, there was some -disturbance in the body of the church. Threats were uttered aloud, and -women treated with insult. Victor, indignant at such conduct, had the -courage to rebuke the corrupt young men of the place. Never had he -been more happily inspired, and never had he produced such an effect. -The article was everywhere read. It gave offence, and we awaited the -consequences. - -The next day Victor received an invitation to a large ball given by a -wealthy banker. The invitation surprised him, for he knew the banker -was a liberal with but little sympathy for the priesthood and its -defenders. I begged Victor to decline the invitation politely. I feared -it was only a pretext to offer him some affront. He gently reassured me -by saying that, though M. Beauvais was a liberal, he had the reputation -of being an honorable man. “I am glad,” added he, “to become acquainted -with those who frequent the banker’s salon. I shall probably find more -than one Christian among them,” as, in fact, often happened. - -When the night came, Victor went away, leaving me quite uneasy, in -spite of all his efforts to reassure me. I made him promise to return -at an early hour. I was beginning to be anxious towards eleven, when -all at once there was a sound of hasty footsteps. I sprang to the -door—I opened it—it was he. As soon as he entered the room, I noticed -he was extremely pale. He vainly endeavored to appear calm, but could -not conceal the agitation that overpowered him. - -“Victor,” I cried, “something has happened!” - -“Yes, but not much. Somebody tried to frighten me.” - -“Are you wounded?” - -“No, they did not wish to take my life.” - -“I conjure you to tell me frankly what has happened.” - -“Well, here are the facts: I had left M. Beauvais’ house, where I was -politely received, and had gone two streets, when I observed three men -walking swiftly after me on the Place. They seemed well dressed, which -removed my suspicions. I turned into the little Rue St. Augustine. It -is dimly lighted in the evening and almost always deserted.” - -“How imprudent!” - -“That is true. I did wrong. I had scarcely gone a hundred yards, before -the three men overtook me.” - -“‘Stop!’ exclaimed one of them. I stopped to ascertain what they -wished. The same voice continued in these terms: ‘How much do those -_calotins_ give you to defend them?’ - -“‘I have only one word to say in reply to your insulting question—I -defend my own principles, above all because I cherish them in the -depths of my soul.’ So saying, I sought to keep on my way. - -“One of them detained me. ‘Before going any further,’ said he who -seemed to be the spokesman, ‘swear never to abuse the young men of this -town again!’ - -“‘I attack no one individually,’ I replied. ‘Am I forbidden to defend -my own cause because it is not yours?—But this is no time or place for -such an interview. It should be at my office and by daylight. Come to -see me to-morrow, and I will answer your questions.’ - -“The three men were so wrapped up in their bernouses and large -comforters that I could not tell who they were. I thought it time to -disengage myself from the grasp of the one that held me. I made a -violent effort. In the struggle, my cloak fell off. As I stooped to -pick it up, I received several blows. I then called for assistance. -Several windows in the neighborhood opened. The three cowards -disappeared. As you see, I am neither killed nor wounded. On the whole, -no great harm has been done.” - -My whole frame trembled during this account. When it was ended, I -became somewhat calmer, and, passionately throwing my arms around -Victor, I begged him to promise me solemnly never to go out again in -the evening. He did so willingly. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -VICTOR AT THE POINT OF DEATH. - - -The next morning Victor told me he did not feel any effect from what -had occurred. He therefore went to the office as usual, and wrote a -spirited article, in which he made known and energetically stigmatized -the base proceedings of those who had attacked him. The article -attracted particular attention, and gave us the pleasant satisfaction -of realizing to what a degree Victor had won the good-will of upright -men. On all sides they came that very day to express their indignation -at the violence used against him.... - -We should neither overestimate nor decry human nature. There are -certainly a multitude of base men with low natures and vile instincts. -But even among those who are the farthest from the truth there are some -souls that have preserved a certain uprightness and hearts of a certain -elevation for whom we cannot help feeling mingled admiration and pity. - -That same evening Victor complained of not being well, but kept -saying it was nothing serious. Without asking his consent, I sent -for a physician, who examined him. Victor was forced to acknowledge -he had been chilled the night before. He was very warm when he left -M. Beauvais’ house, and, to counteract the effect of the keen north -wind, he started off swiftly, and was in a complete perspiration when -overtaken by his assailants. Stopped in the middle of the street, he -was exposed to the cold night air, which was of course injurious. What -was still worse, his cloak fell off, and it was several minutes before -he recovered it. - -I was seized with terror at hearing these details. It seemed as if my -poor husband had just pronounced his own death-warrant. At the same -time a horrible feeling sprang up in my heart, such as I had never -experienced before. I was frantic with rage and hatred against those -who were the cause of this fatal chill. I begged, I implored Victor and -the physician to promise to take immediate steps for their discovery, -that no time might be lost in bringing them to justice in order to -receive the penalty they deserved. - -“Agnes,” said Victor mildly—“Agnes, your affection for me misleads -you. I no longer recognize my good Agnes.” - -But I gave no heed to what he said, and was only diverted from my -hatred by the care I was obliged to bestow on him. In twenty-four -hours my poor husband’s illness had increased to such a degree that -I lost all hope. Poor Victor! he suffered terribly, and I added to -his sufferings instead of alleviating them! I loved him too much, or -rather with too human an affection. I afflicted him with my alternate -outbursts of despair and anger. - -“Live without you!” I would exclaim—“that is impossible! Oh! the -monsters who have killed you, if they could only die in your stead! But -they shall be punished and held up to infamy as they deserve! If there -is no one else in the world to ferret them out, I will do it myself!” - -These fits of excitement caused Victor so much sorrow that the very -remembrance of them fills me with the keenest remorse—a remorse I have -reason to feel. His confessor, the physician, my mother, and he himself -tried in vain to soothe me. One told me how far from Christian my -conduct was, and another that I deprived my husband of what he needed -the most—repose. I would not listen to them. I was beside myself. - -One evening I was sitting alone beside the bed of my poor sick one, and -was abandoning myself anew to my unreasonable anger, when Victor took -my hand in his, and said, in a tone that went to my very heart: - -“Agnes, I feel very weak. Perhaps I have not long to live. I beg -you—I conjure you—to spare me the cruel sorrow of having my last -hours embittered by a want of resignation I was far from expecting of -you! Of all my sufferings, this is the greatest—and certainly that to -which I can resign myself the least. What! my dear Agnes, do you, at -the very moment of my leaving you, lay aside the most precious title -you have in my eyes—that of a Christian woman, a woman of piety and -fortitude—which transcends all others?... What! are you unable to -submit to the will of God! Because his designs do not accord with your -views, you dare say that God no longer loves you—that he is cruel!... -My dear, do you set up your judgment against that of God? Do you refuse -him the sacrifice of my life and of your enmity?... Does not my life -belong to him?... And is not your enmity unchristian?... Did they who -have reduced me to this condition intend doing me such an injury?... -I think not. Could they have done me the least harm if God had not -permitted them?... No matter at what moment the fatal blow falls on us, -no matter whence it comes, it only strikes us at the time and in the -manner permitted by God.—Agnes, kneel here beside me, and repeat the -words I am about to utter. Repeat them with your lips and with your -whole heart, whatever it may cost you. It is my wish. It is essential -for your own peace of mind, and also for mine. Agnes, my dear love, we -have prayed a thousand times together and with hearts so truly united! -Now that you see me ill, perhaps dying ... can you refuse me the -supreme joy of once more uniting my soul with yours before God in the -same prayer?” ... - -I burst into tears, and obeyed. - -“O my God!” he cried, “whatever thou doest is well done. Nothing can -tempt me to doubt thy goodness. Is not thy loving-kindness often the -greatest when it seems disguised the most?... I firmly believe so, and -I forgive all those who have tried to injure me. I pray thee to convert -them. As for me, I beg thee, O my God, to deal with me as thou judgest -most for thy glory and for my good.” - -Victor uttered these words with so much fervor and emotion that I was -stirred to the depths of my soul. A complete change took place within -me which I attributed to my dear husband’s prayers. My eyes, hitherto -tearless, now overflowed. My anger all at once disappeared. A profound -sadness alone remained, mingled with resignation.... - -Victor’s life continued in danger some days longer. Then—oh! what -happiness!—when I had made the sacrifice and bowed submissively to the -divine will, the physician all at once revived my hopes. To comprehend -the joy with which my heart overflowed at hearing that perhaps my -husband might be restored to life, you must, like me, pass through long -hours of bitterness in which you repeat, with your eyes fastened on -your loved one: “A few hours, and I shall behold him no more!” - -A week after, Victor was convalescent. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A PROVIDENTIAL EVENT. - - -Victor and I then entered upon a singular life of which I think there -are but few instances. I felt from the first that his convalescence -was deceptive, and the physician secretly told him so. We both felt -that God allowed us to pass a few more months together, but no longer. -The disease was checked, but it still hung about my dear one. It -assumed a new form, and changed into a slow malady that was surely -accomplishing its work. As frequently happens in such complaints, -Victor was but partially cured of inflammation of the lungs, and now -became consumptive. - -A great poet says that no language, however perfect, can express all -the thoughts, all the emotions, that spring up in the soul.[35] This -is true. I have often felt it, and now realize it more than ever. Ten -months elapsed between Victor’s amelioration and his death—months -memorable for great suffering, but which have left me many delightful, -though melancholy, remembrances. I wish I could impart these -recollections to you. I hardly dare attempt it, so conscious am I of my -inability to do them justice. - -How, indeed, could I depict the love, stronger than ever, that bound -me to my husband, spared in so unhoped-for a manner, though but for a -brief period—so brief that I could almost count the hours? How make -you understand how elevated, superhuman, consoling, and yet sorrowful, -were our conversations? How many times Victor said to me: “Agnes, how -merciful the good God is! See, he could have recalled me to himself -at once, but still leaves me with you a few months longer. Oh! how -heartily I desire to profit by this time in order to prepare for death, -though I fear it not! I do not wish to spend one of these last hours -in vain. I wish to do all the good in my power, and love you better -and better as the blessed do in heaven. Oh! how sweet it will be to -enter upon that perfect love above, which we have imagined, and had a -foretaste of, here below—what do I say?—a thousand times sweeter, -more perfect. Its enjoyment will be without any alloy of fear or -sadness, for in loving, we shall have a right to say: ‘It is for ever!’” - -But of all the thoughts that occupied Victor’s mind at that period, -that which was most constantly in his heart he expressed in these -simple but significant words: to do all the good possible! Penetrated -with this desire, he resumed his duties at the _Journal_ office as -soon as he was able. His talents had developed under the influence of -suffering. Every one remarked it. But controversy fatigued him, and he -was not able to go out every day. He was, therefore, provided with an -assistant—a young man of ability, to whom he could transfer most of -the labor. He took pleasure in training him for the work, saying to -himself: “He will be my successor. I shall still live in him, and have -some part in the good he will do.” - -A part of the day, therefore, remained unoccupied. He employed these -hours in writing a small work—a simple, touching book, which was -published a short time before his death, and is still doing, to my -knowledge, much good among the people. - -Training his successor and publishing a useful book were two good acts -he took pleasure in, but, so great was his ardor for benefiting others, -that they did not suffice. He earnestly longed for some new opportunity -of testifying to God how desirous he was of making a holy use of the -last moments of his life. “And yet,” he added, “I acknowledge this -work is perhaps presumptuous. It is asking a special grace from God of -which I am not worthy.” But God granted him this longed-for opportunity -of devoting himself to his glory, and he embraced it with a heroism -that won universal admiration. - -Spring returned, and we fell into the habit of going from time to time -to pass a day in the country with Jeanne, my old nurse. Jeanne was one -of those friends of a lower condition whom we often love the most. -There is no jealousy in such a friendship to disturb the complete union -of soul. It is mingled with a sweet sense of protection on one side, -and of gratitude on the other—which is still sweeter. - -We went there in the morning, walked around awhile, then breakfasted -and resumed our walk. Jeanne lived at St. Saturnin, six kilomètres -from town. It is a charming place, as you are aware. Near the village -flows a stream bordered by poplars and willows that overshadow the deep -but limpid waters. One morning we were walking in the broad meadow -beneath the shade of these trees, when suddenly we saw a young man on -the opposite shore, not six rods off, throw himself into the stream. -Victor still retained a part of his natural vigor. Before I thought -of preventing him, he sprang forward, and, seeing that the man who -had precipitated himself into the water did not rise to the surface, -jumped into the river, swam around some time, and finally succeeded -in bringing the stranger to shore. I was wild with anxiety and grief. -Without allowing him to stop to attend to the person he had rescued, -I forced him to return to Jeanne’s in order to change his clothing. -He gave orders for some one to hasten to the assistance of the poor -man for whom he had so courageously exposed his life. Several persons -hastily left their work, and in a short time returned with the man who -had tried to drown himself. He was still agitated, but had recovered -the complete use of his faculties. At the sight of my husband in the -garb of a peasant, he at once comprehended to whom he owed his life. -He was seized with a strange tremor; he staggered, and seemed on the -point of fainting. Victor made every effort to bring him to himself, -and at length succeeded. As soon as this young gentleman, who was clad -with uncommon elegance, recovered his strength and self-possession, -he seized my husband’s hand and kissed it with a respect that excited -strange suspicions in my mind. Victor appeared to know him, but I did -not remember ever having seen him before. Why had he thrown himself -into the river? To drown himself, of course.... Why, then, did he -testify so much gratitude and respect for one who had hindered him from -executing his project?... - -He requested, in a faint, supplicating tone, to be left alone with -Victor. The rest of us withdrew into the garden. At our return, Victor -whispered to me: “This gentleman is Louis Beauvais, the banker’s oldest -son. He himself will relate his history to you after our return home.” - -The carriage was not to come for us till four o’clock. We therefore -passed several hours together at Jeanne’s. Victor devoted himself to -Louis with an attention that touched me inexpressibly. As to Louis, a -son could not have shown more affection to the best of fathers than he -to Victor. - -The hour of our departure came at last. We entered the carriage, and -were all three at home in half an hour. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -HOME EDUCATION. - - -AS the family is the type and basis of society, so does it contain, -as in a microcosm, all the questions, problems, and difficulties that -agitate the larger world. Marriage is first in importance within the -family and in society, as representing the principle of creation; -education comes next, as representing the principle of development. -Given a new and perfect society, made up of individual couples whose -union should be absolutely satisfactory, and whose motives, thoughts, -and actions absolutely irreproachable, how is it to be perpetuated in -this desirable state? If to the perfection of marriage were not added -the consequent perfection of education, the new society, for a moment -raised up above former standards of approximative goodness, would, in -the course of half a generation, be reduced lower than any standard of -Christian times. This is so well understood that education has come to -be the one cry of all parties, representing with some the conscientious -result of their religious belief, with others merely their ambition to -make a stir in the political world. Christians look to it as fitting -men for heaven; statesmen turn to it as fashioning the law-abiding -citizen; atheists see in it the means whereby successfully to blind -mankind, and make them swallow the poison hidden under the appearance -of superficial cleverness; the devil grasps it as a tool, or recoils -from it as from a thunderbolt; but to no thinking being can it be a -matter of indifference. - -We do not propose to go into that broader question of public education -which, once within the scope of the law, and face to face with -established national systems, immediately sets both hemispheres in -a ferment; but to discuss that preliminary and more vital training -whose silent power shows itself every day in the homes of thousands, -neutralizing on the one hand good examples and wholesome teaching, and -on the other often redeeming from utter badness its half-corrupted -subject. And first taking the literal meaning of the word education, -_i.e._ to _lead up_, or _out of_ (_e-duco_), we must remark that as -education is coeval with the dawn of reason, so it is also continuous. -It begins in the cradle, and goes on hand in hand with life to the -grave. All experience, good or bad, is education, not only the lessons -taught in school-hours, the lectures given in classes, halls, and -colleges, not alone the books we read and the examinations we undergo, -but, more emphatically, the places we frequent, the people we meet, -the misfortunes we go through, the work we perform. Even prosperity is -education, though seldom in the highest sense, but it is chiefly in the -lower walks of fortune that the more important part of this daily and -hourly education is imparted. For this reason specially, and in view -of the future in which a chance word heard in the street or a stray -visit to some place or person may become of such subtle and paramount -gravity, should home education in the Christian sense of the word be -encouraged to the utmost. More particularly should this be the case in -non-Catholic countries. We have no outward atmosphere of religion to -trust to; no wayside crosses to remind us of the sufferings which our -sins caused our Blessed Saviour; no simple shrines to bid us remember -to pray for our invisible brethren in purgatory; no street processions -to bring vividly before our minds that our King is more than an earthly -lord, and our Mother more than an earthly parent. - -We do not breathe Catholicity in our daily life, and there is therefore -the greater need of our drinking it in with our mother’s milk. This -insensible and gradual instilling of religion into our infant minds -is the essence of Christian “home education.” First among all the -influences that go towards it is example. This extends over every -detail of the household, and can be and should be kept in view in the -poorest as well as the most comfortable home. In the latter, certainly, -the duty is more stringent, the incentives to its performance lying -so near at hand that it requires an absolutely guilty carelessness to -neglect them. In the former, though a thousand excuses might be made -for the neglect of this paramount duty, it should still be remembered -that God’s grace is all-powerful, and never fails those who seek to -do his will. Parents sorely tried during a day of toil and anxiety -are often found more loving and forbearing towards their helpless -children than others who, with no trouble on their minds, yet delegate -the “tiresome” office of nurse to a hired attendant; and although it -is certainly to be deplored that in so many cases the children of the -poor should be nothing but little men and women already weighed down -by cares that ought to belong only to a later age, still it may be -questioned whether even this is not a lesser evil in the long run than -that other sort of neglect which makes the children of the rich, for -the most part, only the playthings of their parents. - -The poor, on the contrary, though necessity may make their children -drudges, yet have in them early friends, while too often among their -more fortunate neighbors children count only as the ornaments of -the house. So that even out of evil comes good, and God has planted -consolations in the path of his poor which go far to soften the -miseries of their inevitable lot. We say inevitable, not as denying the -immense, unexplored possibilities of alleviating this lot which remain -in the power of future philanthropists, but as believing in our Lord’s -prophecy, “The poor you have _always_ with you,” which blessed promise -we count as a staff vouchsafed in mercy to help us on our way to heaven. - -We have said that the duty of good example is incumbent upon every -parent, rich or poor. But not only those broad examples which could -hardly fail to strike even an idiot, such as abstaining from unseemly -brawls, from excesses of language and of self-indulgence—in plain -words, from swearing and drinking—or from manifest dishonesty; there -are subtler things than these, and which produce indeed greater effect -on the child spectator. Gross vice has often that redeeming phase of -being its own antidote by disgusting those who come in daily contact -with it. The principle on which the Spartans educated their children in -temperance by exhibiting before them the drunken helots was (however -cruel its application on the persons of their unhappy prisoners) a -consummate proof of practical wisdom. That which does not carry such an -antidote with it is more to be feared in the education of a child. A -spirit of irritability between husband and wife; a carelessness on the -part of either in entering cordially into the other’s little interests; -an exhibition of temper over absurd trifles or of unamiability in small -questions of self-denial—these tell gravely upon a child’s character. -Observation and criticism are childhood’s natural characteristics, -and very logical and very pitiless are childhood’s judgments. The -old-fashioned code of a “well-behaved” child used to be never to ask -questions; we are not so sure that this code was faultlessly wise. We -suffer perhaps under a somewhat aggravated form of a very dissimilar -one just now, and may be tempted—not unpardonably—to wish for the -peace of the good old times back again. As usual, the middle course is -the most rational as well as beneficial, and if it were in our power to -stop the violent swayings of the social pendulum from one extreme to -the other, we would gladly do our part in the work. - -It is therefore in the more unheeded and less abnormal occurrences -of every day that the greatest force of example lies, and that harm -or good may be done beyond recall. Christian gentleness, that daily -unobtrusive charity which in rough homes amply makes up for what -outward refinement may be lacking, and in more prosperous households -alone sets the seal of true worth upon such exterior polish as there -is, is the golden secret of a perfect example. And this spirit should -extend to every domestic relation, covering the whole field of -contingencies which may assume such grave proportions in a child’s -memory. Your deportment to the poor, if you are rich yourself, has -an invaluable force of example; the patience with which you listen -to a tale of distress, the delicate courtesy implied in an attentive -attitude, the gracefulness of your alms, and the wise but gentle -discrimination of your questioning, all have an untold effect upon the -little trotter by your side, hardly old enough to reason however dimly, -but old enough to bear away a nameless impression of the scene. On the -other hand, think of the responsibility incurred by a rude or callous -reception; a sneering or lofty air of caution against what you think -may be an imposture; above all, perhaps, a careless alms given to be -rid of a disagreeable importunity, and a half-expression of relief when -the interruption is happily over! The child at your side bears away -this impression quite as surely, and in after-years uses its imitative -powers quite as skilfully, as if the impression had been one of mercy -and kindness; and a very few scenes of this sort are enough to mould -for a child a certain standard of behavior. - -Among the domestic relations, none is more likely to strike a child’s -eye than that between master and servant. Here also dangerous seeds of -future heartlessness may be easily sown by the example of a careless -or haughty parent. Considerate thought for the proper comforts of -those whose toil ensures your leisure is one of the foremost Christian -duties. A child is naturally tyrannical, and this disposition, if -fostered by an injudicious mother, may lead to a shameless persecution -of the very persons to whose care children are most often left. This, -in turn, will encourage tyranny on the nurse’s part, and engender a -system of mutual deceit; the child and the servant trying to circumvent -each other in carrying tales, and then sheltering themselves by lies -from the consequences of having carried them. Now, all this is to the -last degree injurious to the future character of the child; it withers -the principle of honor; it kills all manliness and straightforward -dealing, and sows the seeds of those two inseparable vices, cruelty and -cowardice. In after-life, when the despairing mother sees her darling -sink below himself, and earn the unenviable names of bully and sneak, -can she blame him for shattering the ideal she blindly worshipped in -his person? Not so, for with justice can she look back on her own -folly, and with bitterness cry out, “_It was my fault._” - -Very different is the other and the good example shown by so many holy -and conscientious women in their relations with their households. -Considerateness and forbearance in all things are not incompatible with -firmness in some. A sense of your own dignity, were it nothing higher, -will dictate a kind bearing towards those in humbler station; for to -those who never obtrude their superiority a double homage will ever be -accorded. A child can exercise on its attendants some of the noblest -virtues of manhood; the household is a little world, a preparatory -stage on which to rehearse in miniature the opportunities of -after-life. Pleasure given to some, a little gift or a gracious speech -vouchsafed to others; consolation afforded to one in grief, attention -shown to one in sickness; and, above all, a mindfulness of not making -the yoke of servitude too galling by restricting the natural and proper -diversions of those whom God has destined to bear it—such are a few of -the lessons a child should learn, not in words alone, but in the manner -of its parents and the unconscious radiating of an habitual example. - -Another class of influences under which a child will necessarily -come is that of social relations. For the most part, children are -made too much of a show. They are taught—or allowed—certain little -mannerisms which, at their age, are called charming, but, if looked -at by the light of common sense, are simply as absurd as they are -forward. Later on, when they begin to use their reason, they are -often listeners to frivolous or scandalous conversations, in which -they pick up, if not a half-knowledge of vice, certainly a whole -love of gossip. Now, all this is deplorable from a Christian point -of view. In a really Christian home—a home such as we aspire to see -at least in every Catholic family—the case would be very different. -Entertainments and fêtes would be judiciously “few and far between,” -and in its mother’s visitors the child would see only fresh objects of -its mother’s charitable tact. If anything against charity were said, -the hostess would gently check the conversation, either by palliating -the fault alluded to, suggesting a better motive than the apparent one -concerning any person implicated, or turning the conversation skilfully -to some less dangerous topic. Those formal visits, made to kill time -or otherwise uselessly, would have no part in her day’s programme, and -with ever charitable but firm demeanor would she effectually check the -frequent demands thus made upon her time by others. The child, quick -of perception, as almost all children are, would be unconsciously -moulded to habits of orderly and discriminating hospitality, and would -soon learn to do something for God in every social pastime which it -legitimately enjoyed. - -This brings us to the subject of order, an important virtue in the -Christian home. Education itself, if given in a desultory fashion, -would be next to useless, and some of that strict apportioning of time -which gives to our study hours their wholesome monotony is essential -also for the home training of youth. This may seem at first sight a -very arbitrary decision, but, when we come to look deeper into it, we -find that it has the same relation to the future moral life as the -study of the classics or of mathematics to the intellectual life. A -knowledge of the Greek and Latin poets, orators, and historians has -perhaps very little influence on the practical and ultimate result of -a college education; but the effect of refinement it has on the mind, -and the polished tone it imperceptibly gives to thought, manners, and -conversation, are benefits simply incalculable. So with mathematics. A -boy may not have any aptitude for that science, and may never hope to -become proficient in it; still, the habit of application, the facility -of concentrating and commanding his thoughts, which is the natural -result of the close study demanded by the exact sciences, are things -whose influence on his future career cannot be rated too high. They may -not unlikely ensure temporal success, and, in these days of feverish -competition, this argument should not be overlooked. Still, it is from -a higher motive that we say the same of habits of order in the home. -This regularity, which, no doubt, may be tedious, just as mathematics -may be dry, is not lost on the general impressions of childhood, and, -were it only for its own sake, should be looked upon as a seal of -likeness to the works of God, which cannot fail to hallow the family -circle. We have said that the family is the world in miniature, and -as the principle of order was the presiding attribute in creation, so -ought we in our daily lives to take it as a means of creating more and -more time, more and more opportunities, for the service of God. “Be -perfect, even as your heavenly Father is perfect.” - -In the education given by the constant example of the parents, nothing -is more important than family prayer, or, at least, prayer said at -the mother’s knee. In the most solemn of duties, it is not fitting -that parent and child should be separated. If Jesus has said that -his Father can refuse nothing to “two or three _gathered_ together -in his name,” how much more invincible must be the joint prayer of -those who are linked by such close and sacred ties, those who present -to him a faint shadow of his own humble home at Nazareth! Think you -that Jesus in his kingdom forgets the simple hearth where his Mother -taught him, according to the development of his human nature, those -formulæ of prayer and thanksgiving which he himself, in his divine -nature, had taught to the Jewish lawgivers? Does he forget the rites -of circumcision and presentation, the offerings and ransom paid for -him according to the law, the visit to the temple at Jerusalem? He has -shown us in his obedience to these religious observances his wish that -we should imitate his outward devotion and submission to the church. -Family worship is dear to him in remembrance of his own childhood, and -as it is one of the most solemn, so it is also one of the sweetest -duties of the Christian parent. It tends to give the child a proper -spirit of faith and simple reliance, in that it sees its earthly -parent, to whom it looks up for everything and considers as the final -arbiter of its small world, prostrate before a higher Fatherhood, and -taking towards the divine Omnipotence the very attitude of a submissive -and expectant child. - -Next to prayer itself, pious reading cannot fail to demand our -attention as the second great spiritual help in the routine of -home education. This should be simple and well suited to the -understanding of young children, and, above all, should not be a dry -and barren formality, but should be explained and amplified by the -mother’s comments. How, unless questions are freely allowed—nay, -encouraged—can the extent of the impression made by spiritual reading -be measured? Then, what an inexhaustible resource does not this -reading or its equivalent—descriptions by word of mouth—afford to a -thoughtful parent! The beautiful narratives of the Old Testament, the -stories of the four gospels, the many striking incidents in the lives -of the saints, the legends of the faithful middle ages, the histories -of the contemporaneous manifestations of God’s mercy, all offer mines -of wealth to a skilful narrator. If, instead of goblin tales more -fit for the entertainment of rational people than for the staple of -a child’s too credulous meditations, these holy histories became the -nursery rhymes of the future generation, it would be well indeed for -the spiritual advance of our age. If among the romances of mediæval -times more of those were chosen in which religion figures than of those -where fairy and elf appear, it would be a better promise for the future -health, moral and physical, of our people. Who knows how much of that -nervousness which is the characteristic disease of our day is due to -those unwholesome terrors of infancy, those threats of bogy and ogre, -with which children are frightened into silence or lulled into uneasy -sleep! The child who would be, in a manner, the companion of the boy -Jesus, of the child Precursor, the infant Samuel, the Holy Innocents, -the children of whom our Lord said, “Suffer them to come unto me, and -forbid them not,” and of the many boy and girl saints—S. Rose of -Viterbo, S. Aloysius Gonzaga, S. Stanislaus Kostka—would be a far -healthier and more manly subject than the mental companion of deformed -sprites and forest goblins. The young mind is so impressionable that it -is the greatest possible mistake to let its first exercise of reason -spend itself on unrealities; they are apt to take on an influence not -readily shaken off, and to cumber the ground long after room is needed -for more serious growths of thought. This may seem an exceptional mode -of proceeding, perhaps an eccentric one, the contrary having for so -many ages held sway, but we take leave to think that it has reason, -expediency, and religion on its side. - -To this great duty of example, which ramifies itself as often as there -are distinct classes of influence, is added the duty of vigilance. -Parents need not only the knowledge of what to impart, but the instinct -of what to shun. As watchers over a citadel, they have to guard against -the masked inroads of the enemy, and carefully to sift their children’s -surroundings, whether social or domestic, lest any taint should lurk -in the association. We have read somewhere in a book of devotion that -those who carry great treasures in a frail vessel naturally take the -greater care as to their gait and speed; they look well to see if the -road is level, or to avoid its irregularities if it is not; they take -heed to keep their eyes and mind intent on what they bear, so as to -bring it safe to its destination. Even so does the mother carry in her -hands the priceless treasure of a human soul, and her solicitude for -its perfect preservation from all taint or attack should be little less -than that of the child’s Guardian Angel himself. If, as we have just -hinted, she should choose with such scrupulous care even the companions -of his fancy, so much the more should this judicious censorship be -extended to the real companions of his studies or recreations. Perhaps -the influence of childish association is even greater than the mother’s -own, and what the latter may have laboriously sown will be uprooted in -a moment by the former. Children’s minds, in indiscriminate contact -with each other, are as powder and spark brought together; if each -had been kept until the right moment, and applied in the right way, -we might have had an illumination; as it is, we have a conflagration. -As childhood merges into youth, the choice of a school brings this -question of companionship into prominence. In a public institution, -it is not possible to admit only children who come, well-taught and -docile-minded, from irreproachable homes; the very aim and end of -the institution would thus be frustrated. Nor is it possible for its -parents, once a child is admitted, to choose absolutely who, among its -many school-fellows, shall be its special friends. Much may be done -in that way by advice, tact, and prayer; still, guidance falls far -short of absolute choice. It is therefore evident that the greater -care should be taken to choose the school which in itself shall have -the greatest influence in moulding the character of its scholars, -and thereby in transforming into fitter companions for the new-comer -those very children who, _nolens volens_, must needs be his everyday -acquaintances. But the influence of home does not cease with the first -day at school. Letters from home, breathing the old atmosphere, will -carry the child back, week by week, to his old associations, be they -good or bad; the holidays will bring him again within the fascination -of the old circle, and occasional visits from the companions of his -early childhood will complete the charm. Thus an infinite amount of -good, or a corresponding amount of harm, may yet be done after the home -education period has, strictly speaking, passed away. - -And here is, perhaps, the best place to touch upon the holy influence -which an elder brother or sister may exercise on a younger one. This, -one of the most powerful means of good, is only second to that of the -parents themselves, and may furnish a very beautiful illustration -of true and discerning brotherly love. It is spiritual friendship -engrafted upon the stock of natural affection, itself a noble virtue -and most sweet tie, which has often, even in heathen times, produced -great effects. Under this figure of brotherhood God has typified -his union with creatures; he made himself our Brother through the -incarnation; and everywhere brotherhood is synonymous with the -dearest and purest fellowship. Our brothers and sisters in the flesh, -especially if they are younger than ourselves, are as much our care -and charge as they are of our parents; and of this we have a striking -instance in the very first book of the Pentateuch, and only a few -years after the sinless creation of Adam. Cain’s defiant plea, “Am -I my brother’s keeper?” failed to meet with God’s endorsement, but -brought instead the terrible answer that he should be “a fugitive and -a vagabond upon the earth.” In the daily companionship of brotherhood, -this scene is often re-enacted; souls are slain by their own kindred, -and the world smiles and passes blindly on. But God has set a mark upon -the murderer by which the devils know him and kill him not, because -they know too well whose road he is even now treading, and that in the -last day his mark shall be revealed to all. Here is the dark side of -that continuous education which is as potently at work in dens of shame -and places of pleasant danger as it is in Christian homes and schools. -Here is that nefarious education which neutralizes or obliterates the -happy past, and leads our young men by tortuous paths of gradual vice -to the end of many such deceptive panoramas—the gallows or suicide. - -False example, insidious promptings, rash indulgences, intoxicating -freedom, wily friendship—through these and many kindred forms, subtle -may be and proportionately dangerous, the devil, in the person of your -brother or your seeming friend, leads you on till the murder of Abel -is repeated, and the insolent excuse flung back to heaven: “Am I my -brother’s keeper?” - -The system of rewards and punishments has much to do with the moral -training of youth. With regard to this, we may startle our readers -by broaching views so different from those time-honored ones that -pretend to find their sanction in the Biblical rule, “Spare the rod, -and spoil the child,” as to seem heretical to good old-fashioned, -jog-trot parents.[36] But what if the Scripture itself were to fail -them? What authority have they for understanding “the rod” in its -literal instead of its figurative sense? The rod was, with the Hebrews, -an emblem of power: witness the miracles of Aaron in Egypt, and the -blossoming of his rod when his supreme authority was called in question -by the rebellion of Core. “The rod” may therefore very plausibly be -taken as meaning parental authority, and the text would thus imply -nothing more than a declaration that the _carelessness_ of the parent -will be responsible for the wrong-headedness of the child. In this -sense we prefer to read this passage, and for this reason: physical -punishments and rewards will be indissolubly associated in a young -child’s mind with his good or bad actions, just as they are coupled -in the memory and instinct of a dog with the various desirable or -undesirable things it has been taught or forbidden to do. This produces -a low and degrading standard by which moral actions are henceforward -measured by the child, and later on will lead to the impression that -the absence of such tangible consequences argues the right to do as -he pleases, irrespective of merely moral restraints; whereas, if -the rewards and punishments meted out to him are of the moral and -intellectual order, his conception of the principle of duty will be -abstract and independent. Childhood has a natural leaning towards -deception; therefore truth should be made not only prominent, but -attractive. To own a fault, and even to confess it unasked, should be -an understood palliation of the fault itself; whereas any attempt at -concealment should be treated as a far graver offence than the action -concealed. In a word, the principle of Christian honor should be the -keynote of home education, and any meanness should be condemned as -the most contemptible of all faults. Sensitive as children are to -the slightest alteration of manner in their regard, they would feel -keenly the silence and avoidance which this plan presupposes in their -parents’ conduct towards them when guilty of a dishonorable action, -and, by associating the idea of _wrong_ with that of _disgrace_, would -very soon be brought to a truer estimate of morals than if wrong with -them was only the synonyme of _pain_. Again, the system of physical -punishment invariably leads to defiance; it stirs up a spirit of -contradiction and sullenness which gradually encrusts the young mind -with the deplorable proof-armor of ultimate indifference. We need give -but one example—a personal one—of the immense superiority of moral -over physical punishment. As a child, we were stubborn and self-willed, -and were frequently treated, not exactly to corporal indignities, but -to threadbare schoolroom devices for overcoming temper. Two or three -times it happened that, these worn-out means proving as inefficient -as “water on a duck’s back,” fatherly authority had to be invoked. It -always took one form—silence. For a week there would be none of the -happy familiarities between father and child, but, instead, a cessation -of the usual pleasant and indulgent intercourse, and now and then a -grave look of displeasure as the culprit would make some spasmodic -and despairing advance. This was the only punishment which made the -slightest impression, and the keen remembrance of it lasts to this -day. Sometimes, when we were older, another variety was tried. Instead -of being, according to the old code, starved on bread and water in a -dark closet, we were seated alone at a table, while the rest of the -family ate together as usual; every dish was ceremoniously brought up -and served at our solitary meal, and every servant in the house was -perfectly aware of the cause; no one spoke or offered us the least -attention beyond the ordinary formalities, and we were treated half -like a distinguished prisoner, half like an excommunicated person. The -result was admirable, prompt in the extreme, and certain to ensure an -unusually long term of subsequent docility. - -Rewards are no less important than punishments. Of these, knowledge -and religious opportunities should, in our idea, form the staple. -They are thus invested with a personal interest to the child; they -come before him as things specially concerning his own good behavior -and his parents’ appreciation of it. For instance, the mother reads -him Scripture stories and the legends of the saints; he listens with -absorption, and longs to read the book himself, but the road through -the alphabet and spelling-book is uninviting. Why not teach him through -the book itself? The illuminated capitals will strike him by their -beauty, the pictures will lend force to the difficult words, and help -his memory to connect them with the illustrated subject. Instead of -finding church services an irksome interruption to his games, he might -be made to look upon them as the highest rewards he can obtain. For a -well-learnt lesson in catechism, he might be taught to chant one of -those immortal poems, the Psalms; for proficiency in Bible history, -he might be taken to some of the most picturesque of our solemn -ceremonies, and hear, on the way, of the typical manner in which it -is connected with that history; for an act of childish self-denial, -he might be allowed to serve as acolyte at Mass. Even these rewards, -however, should not be injudiciously multiplied, for familiarity would -beget irreverence,—the worst stumbling-block that could be laid in -a child’s spiritual path. We think that a Christian education in -the early days of childhood could go no further in perfection than -this—the thorough identification of all happiness with religion. - -We have yet to speak of a detail in household economy, which, in point -of interest, is one of the foremost. Personal attention to a child is a -part of the mother’s duty of vigilance, and the fashionable custom of -leaving such attention to domestics cannot be reprobated too strongly. -This personal care is, first of all, an instinct of nature which it -must require a very thick coating of frivolity entirely to supersede; -and it is, secondly, a duty of religion from which even great physical -sickness cannot conscientiously release the parent. Numberless evils -flow from a neglect of this imperious duty. The forsaken child will -learn in time to forget its mother, to think of her as a splendid -being very far from him—one not to be annoyed by his cries or made -nervous by his romps, but to be gazed at from afar, like a grand -picture or work of art. Happy child if an affectionate, compassionate -nurse takes the vacant place of his own mother, and makes him familiar -with those sweet, nameless trivialities that make up the world of a -child’s heart; but, even so, how sad the necessity for such comfort! -How much more sad, then, the position of the unloved child, neglected -even by its nurse, or left to the well-meaning but questionable petting -of the other servants! They will not be reticent, though they may be -obsequious, and the future character of their charge will be warped -beyond remedy. Pride, too, will be ridiculously fostered, and will -drive tenderness away; a certain recklessness will be infused into -the child’s habits, and reverence, refinement, sensitiveness, will be -petrified within him. He will feel himself of no value, since no one -cares for him, and, if no happy influence stops his downward course, he -will be a cynic before he is twenty-five. - -We have said so much in this strain, and made so much of the gloomy -side of the question, that we feel bound to speak a little more fully -of the model Christian home, not only as it should be, but—thank God -that we can say it!—as it very often is. We know that, according -to Father Faber’s beautiful expression, “God has many Edens in this -world,” and surely among our Christian homes many deserve this name. - -There are those in which the father is not absorbed in business and the -mother by fashion, where the servants are happy and attached members of -the family, where daily prayer and cheerful work alternate with each -other in order, where recreation does not degenerate into riot, nor -work conduce to moroseness. Healthy exercise and early hours keep the -doctor from the door, while constant industry repulses the proverbial -visitor who always “finds mischief for idle hands to do.” The father -is the genial companion of his children, and does not lose their -respect by gaining their confidence; the mother is the guardian spirit -of the household, the wise woman of the Proverbs, “whose children -rose up and called her blessed; her husband, and he praised her.” -Towards each other the husband and wife behave as they would before -the angels of God, because they remember that he who scandalizeth “a -little one” is accursed, and that the angel of “the little one,” who -is there continually beside him and in some sort represents him in -heaven, “beholds the face of the Lord.” The children are submissive, -not through fear, but through _reason_ and love; for the acknowledged -superiority of their elders has a rational force with them, and they -think themselves honored in obeying those who are wiser than they. They -have Jesus of Nazareth ever before their eyes—the Boy who, as he grew -in years, “waxed strong in wisdom and grace,” and who, though he was -God, “went down, and was subject to them.” - -This life, peaceful, orderly, religious, the life of the cloister -translated into the home, is in itself education. Its holy influence -is not confined to space or time, but will live in the hearts of -the scattered family through youth and manhood to extreme old age. -In fancy, they will be able to reconstruct that home; in spirit, to -revisit it long after its dearest inmates shall have left it for their -heavenly home, long after its material frame shall have passed away to -other, perhaps to careless, hands. In their various resting-places, -whether a new home, the daughter of that shrine, or only a rock just -above the level of the sea of fortune, the hallowed remembrance will -come back to them freighted with hope and strength for the future. Even -in heaven, the Son of God is called Jesus of _Nazareth_, and can _we_ -forget the home and the mother that made us what we are? - -In all that pertains to this ideal, although man is bound to subserve -it to the utmost, woman is more solemnly pledged to its fulfilment. -Man has the world for his empire: woman has man—during the years of -his pupilage. The mother’s education is the child’s second birth, and -she who, being mother to the body of her child, neglects that more -laborious training which accompanies its moral development, practically -refuses to be the mother of its soul. To a woman failing in her home -duties is attached more reproach than to a neglectful husband and -father, because her office is the more sacred, her position the nearer -to God. It was a woman who was glorified by the most miraculously close -union with God that the universe has ever seen, and by that standard -alone should womanhood and motherhood be judged. If it falls short of a -faint copy of Mary the mother of Jesus, it is condemned, for the state -that has been the most divinely exalted should ever after remain the -most humanly perfect. - -The mere temporal importance of home education, though secondary to -its spiritual aspect, cannot be overlooked. Besides the duty of the -angel—training souls for heaven—woman has the duty of the citizen, -_i.e._ training patriots for the state. Without faith there is no love -of country in the highest sense; without discipline, no love of law. -It is woman’s task to mould the men who, in the future, will mould the -nation. High or low it matters not: the mother of the statesman and the -mother of the laborer work alike towards their country’s glory. The -state needs hands as well as heads, and the mason who cuts the common -stones has as much part and should have as much pride in the completed -building as the artist who carves the wonderful pinnacles or fashions -the marvellous capitals. - -We have spoken perhaps too exclusively of the duties and circumstances -of the higher classes in this matter of home education. Perhaps it is -not altogether unprovidential that we should have been led to do so; -for of the various divisions of humanity which our Lord in his parable -of the sower represents under the figure of the different accidents -that befell the good seed, we know which is, unhappily, the least -productive. Jesus himself has explained that the thorns which choked -the seed are the “cares, and riches, and pleasures of this life.” -Mark well, the _cares_; not only the riches and pleasures, for those -self-sought and profitless cares have not the blessings on them which -the God-given cares of poverty have. The poor and lowly too often -shame their more fortunate brethren by their greater self-devotion and -generosity. Their homes, so much less prosperous, are yet often so much -more edifying, than ours; and let it be remembered that every act of -theirs has, according to the measure of their inferior opportunities, -double the merit of any similar act of ours. So with the wholesome -reticence which becomes us who have so many opportunities _and neglect -them_: we have preferred to point out the beam that is in our own -eye, rather than pharisaically to expatiate on the mote that is in -our neighbor’s. Yet we would not that any class should deem itself -exempt from the duties of home education—duties which, with the poor, -have all the added merit of absolute heroism. The poor are told, and -doubtless truly, by our teachers and superiors, that their condition -should be dear to them because it was that of our Lord himself; but -we, their brethren and fellow-pilgrims, should labor to supplement -this teaching by making that very condition less irksome to them. Who -can dream of Jesus on earth as _not_ being poor and destitute? But, on -the other hand, who would dare, were he now on earth, to be behindhand -in ministering to his poverty? Now, the alms we _owe_ to his earthly -representatives are twofold, _i.e._ spiritual and temporal. Among the -former, none are so meritorious as good examples. Have we not in these -days a perpetual and most sadly grotesque picture of class aping class, -of tawdriness following close on the heels of fashion, of aspiring -vanity actually crowding out the legitimate needs of the body? If -this system of imitation must be, why not give it a worthy subject to -practise upon? - -Reform, to be practical, must begin in the higher strata of society; -for not only to individuals, but also, in a wider sense, to classes, -is the keepership of brotherhood entrusted. We _are_ our “brother’s -keeper,” and our “brother” is the mass of men who look up to us for -guidance. As long as our fathers and husbands care more for their -office than their home, so long will the bulk of the nation be mere -animated machines snatching after precarious wealth; as long as our -wives and mothers care more for the drawing-room than for the nursery -and study, so long will the mass of women be heartless coquettes or -abandoned harlots. We speak strongly, because we feel strongly. This -is an age of initial struggle, which our faith should turn into an -era of better things. If we need any “new departure,” let it be the -departure from frivolity to domesticity, from contemptible weakness -to the manliness of the Gospel. And here let us say one word to the -head of the family, to him without whose example even the mother’s -influence is incomplete. Business is _not_ the whole of life; it is -_not_ even the first earthly good to be sought for. Success often kills -happiness, and its exclusive pursuit always kills peace. The father who -allows business to isolate him from all the tenderer interests of his -home achieves two things: he alienates his children’s affection—after -having very likely worn out his wife’s devotion—and he teaches them -betimes the baneful lesson that before Mammon all other interests -must bow. This false doctrine his children will teach to theirs by an -example equally gloomy with his own, and thus God will be forgotten in -the very gifts which one word of his mouth could turn in a moment to -dust and ashes. - -Shall this be so, or will Christian parents take heed to their duty? - - - - -THE PICTURE OF THE RIVIÈRE QUELLE. - -A CANADIAN LEGEND. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF M. L’ABBE CASGRAIN. - - -I.—THE MISSIONARY. - -READER, have you ever been in the old church of the Rivière Ouelle? In -one of its side-chapels is an _ex-voto_ which was placed there many -long years ago by a stranger who was miraculously preserved from death. -It is a very old picture, full of dust, and of no artistic value, -but it recalls a touching story; I learned it when very young, on my -mother’s knees, and it has remained as fresh and vivid in my memory as -when I first heard it. - -It was a cold winter evening, long, long ago. The snow was beating -against the window-sashes, and the icy north wind howled and shrieked -among the naked branches of the great elms in the garden. The whole -family had assembled in the _salon_. Our mother, after playing several -airs on the piano, allowed her fingers to wander restlessly over the -keys—her thoughts were elsewhere. A shade of sadness passed over her -brow. “My dear children,” said she, after a moment’s silence, “see what -a fearful night this is; perhaps many poor people will perish before -morning from cold and hunger. How thankful we ought to be to God for -our good food and warm, comfortable beds! Let us say our rosary for the -poor travellers who may be exposed to such dangers during the night.” -And then she added, “If you say it with devotion, I will tell you all -a beautiful story.” Oh! how we wished that our rosary was finished! At -that age the imagination is so vivid and the soul so impressionable. -Childhood possesses all the charms of the golden dawn of life; -enveloping every object in shade and mystery, it clothes each in a -poetry unknown to any other age. - -We gathered around our mother, near the glowing stove, which diffused a -delicious warmth throughout the apartment, and listened in a religious -sort of silence to her sweet and tender voice. I almost think I hear it -now. Listen with me to her story: - -Toward the middle of the last century, a missionary, accompanied by -several Indians, ascended the south bank of the St. Lawrence River, -about thirty leagues below Quebec. The missionary was one of those -intrepid pioneers of faith and civilization whose sublime figures are -thrown out from the dark background of the past, surrounded by a halo -of glory and immortality. Nailed on Golgotha during the days of their -bloody pilgrimage, they shine to-day on a new Tabor; and the light -which radiates from their faces illuminates the present and throws -itself far into the future. At their names alone, the people, seized -with wonder and respect, bow low their heads; for these names recall -a courage most superhuman, a faith most admirable, and a devotedness -most sublime. He whom we are following at this moment was one of those -illustrious children of the Society of Jesus, whose entire life was -consecrated to the conversion of the savages of Canada. He was not -very tall, and stooped slightly; his beard, blanched prematurely by -hardships, and his pale and attenuated features, seemed to indicate -a want of strength and endurance for so hard a life; but this frail -body concealed one of those grand souls which draw from the energy of -their will an inexhaustible strength. His large, expansive forehead -suggested a proportionate intellect, and his features wore an -expression of incomparable sweetness and simplicity; the least shade -of a melancholy smile played over his lips—in a word, his whole face -seemed filled with that mysterious glory with which sanctity illumines -her predestined souls. - -The leader of the little band was a few steps in advance. He was -an old Indian warrior who a long time before had been converted to -Christianity by this holy missionary, and who from that time became the -faithful companion of all his adventurous wanderings. - -The travellers advanced slowly on their _raquettes_[37] over a soft, -thick snow. It was one of those superb December nights whose marvellous -splendor is entirely unknown to the people of the South, with which -the old year embellishes its waning hours to greet the advent of the -new-comer. Innumerable stars poured their light in silver tears over -the blue firmament of heaven—we might say tears of joy which the -glory of the Sun of Justice draws from the eyes of the blessed. The -moon, ascending through the different constellations, amused itself -by contemplating in the snowy mirror its resplendent disk. Toward -the north, luminous shafts radiated from a dark cloud which floated -along the horizon. The aurora borealis announces itself first by pale, -whitish jets of flame which slowly lick the surface of the sky; but -soon the scene grows more animated, the colors deepen, and the light -grows larger, forming an arch around an opaque cloud. It assumes the -most bizarre forms. In turn appear long skeins of white silk, graceful -swan-plumes, or bundles of gold and silver thread; then a troop of -white phantoms in transparent robes execute a fantastic dance. Now it -is a rich satin fan whose summit touches the zenith, and whose edges -are fringed with rose and saffron tints; finally, it is an immense -organ, with pearl and ivory pipes, which only awaits a celestial -musician to intone the sublime hosanna of nature to the Creator. The -strange crackling sound which accompanies this brilliant phenomenon -completes the illusion; for it is strangely like the sighs which escape -from an organ whose pipes are filled with a powerful wind. It is the -prelude of the divine concert which mortal ears are not permitted -to listen to. The scene which presented itself below was not less -fascinating in its savage beauty than that of the sky above. - -The cold, dry atmosphere was not agitated by a single breath; nothing -was heard but the dull monotonous roaring of the gigantic river, -sleeping under a coverlet of floating ice, which dotted its dark waters -like the spotted skin of an immense leopard. A light white vapor rose -like the breath from the nostrils of a marine monster. Toward the -north, the blue crests of the Laurentides were clearly defined, from -Cape Tourmente to the mouth of the Saguenay. In a southern direction -the last slopes of the Alleghanies stretched along, covered with -pines, firs, and maples; almost the entire shore was densely wooded, -for at the remote period which we describe those vast clearings along -the banks covered with abundant meadows were not to be seen, nor the -pretty little whitewashed houses grouped in villages along the shore -so coquettishly, a person could easily compare them to bands of swans -sleeping on the river-banks. A sea of forest covered these shores. A -few scattered houses appeared here and there, but this was all. - - -II.—THE APPARITION. - -The travellers advanced in silence toward the middle of the wood, -when suddenly the leader of the party stopped, making at the same -time a sign with his hand for his companions to do likewise. “You are -mistaken, comrade,” said the missionary to him; “the noise that you -have just heard was only a tree split by the frost.” - -The Indian turned slowly toward him, an almost imperceptible smile -passing over his face. “My brother,” said he, in a low voice, “if you -saw me take your holy word,[38] and try to read in it, you would laugh -at me. I do not wish to laugh at you, for you are a black-gown; but -I tell you, you do not know the voices of the forest, and the noise -which we have just heard is a human voice. Follow me at a distance, -while I go on to see what is happening yonder.” The travellers walked -on for some time without seeing anything. The father began to think he -had not been deceived, when they came to an opening in the woods, and -saw the Indian stop. What was his astonishment, when, following the -direction in which the savage was looking, he saw at the extreme end of -the opening a very extraordinary light, apparently detached from the -obscurity of the trees. In the midst of this luminous globe appeared -a vague, indistinct form, elevated above the ground. Then another -spectacle that the brilliancy of the strange vision had prevented him -from seeing before, was presented to his gaze. - -A young man dressed in military uniform was kneeling at the foot of a -tree. His hands were clasped and his eyes turned towards heaven; he -seemed absorbed in the contemplation of a mysterious and invisible -object. Two corpses, which were easily recognized as an officer and a -soldier from their uniforms, were lying by his side in the snow. The -officer, an elderly man with gray hair, was lying against a maple; in -his hands was a little book, about to slip out of them. His head was -leaning on his right shoulder, and his face had that ashy hue which too -plainly told that death already claimed him. A bluish circle surrounded -his half-closed eyes, and a last tear stood congealed on his livid -cheek. A placid smile was on his face, indicating that a supreme hope, -which faith alone could inspire, had consoled his last moments.[39] - -The noise made by the travellers’ feet in the snow caused the young -man, who was still on his knees, to turn suddenly round. “O father! my -father!” cried he, rushing toward the missionary, “it is Providence who -has sent you here to save me. I was about to share the terrible fate of -my unfortunate companions, when—a prodigy!—a miracle!”—suffocated by -his tears and sobs, he could say no more, but, throwing himself into -the arms of the missionary, he pressed him to his heart. - -“Calm yourself, my dear son,” said the old man; “for in your feeble -and exhausted state such violent emotion might prove fatal.” Scarcely -had he finished the words, when he felt the young man’s head sink -heavily on his shoulder, and his body become a dead weight—he had -fainted. - -The travellers eagerly bestowed on him every care that his situation -required and that lay in their power. His two friends, alas! were -beyond reach of human succor. The savages dug their graves in the snow, -and the saintly missionary, after reciting some prayers over their -bodies, cut with his knife a large cross in the bark of the maple at -the foot of which they had breathed their last—a simple but sublime -monument of hope and love, destined to guard their earthly remains. - - -III.—A CANADIAN HOME. - -See you yonder, on the slope of the hill, that pretty cottage, so neat -and white, with its little thatched barn, so clearly defined against -the caressing foliage of that beautiful copse of maples? Well, that is -a Canadian home. From its high green pedestal it smiles at the great -rolling river, in whose wave is mirrored its trembling image, and which -so gently comes to expire at its feet; for the happy proprietor of this -pretty dwelling loves his great, beautiful river, and has been careful -to establish his home on its banks. Sometimes, when necessity obliges -him to go away, he is always homesick, because he must listen to its -grand voice, and contemplate its wooded islands and distant shores; -he must caress with his eyes its waters, sometimes calm, sometimes -foaming and turbulent. A stranger who is not familiar with the -_habitant_ of our country, and who imagines that there is an affinity -to his ancestor—the peasant of old France—is much mistaken. More -enlightened, and, above all, more religious, he is far from sharing -his precarious condition. The former is, in comparison, a veritable -prince; perfectly independent on his sixty or eighty arpents of land, -surrounded by a cedar enclosure, he is furnished with everything -necessary for an honest and comfortable subsistence. - -Let us now peep under this roof, whose exterior is so attractive. -I should like to sketch it just as I’ve seen it so frequently. On -entering the _tambour_, or passage-way, two pails of fresh water, -standing on a wooden bench, and a tin cup hanging against the wall, -hospitably invite you to quench your thirst. In an inner room the -mother of the family is quietly spinning near the window, while the -soup is boiling on the stove. A calico cape, a blue skirt of domestic -manufacture, a _caline_[40] neatly fixed on her head, completes her -toilet. The baby sleeps in its cradle at her side; from time to time -she smiles at its bright little face, as fresh as a rose, peeping out -from the quilt, whose triangular patches of the brightest colors are -ingeniously distributed over it. In a corner of the room the eldest -daughter sits on a chest, singing merrily, while she works at her loom; -quickly and skilfully the shuttle flies between her hands; she makes -in a day several measures of cloth, which she will use next year to -make into garments. In another corner stands the huge bed, with its -white and blue counterpane, and at its head a crucifix surrounded with -pictures. That little branch of withered fir above the cross is the -blessed palm. Two or three barefooted little urchins are playing on -the floor, harnessing up a dog. The father, bending over the stove, -gravely lights his pipe with a firebrand. He is accoutred in a red -woollen cap, vest and pants of a grayish material, and rough, heavy -boots. After each meal he must “take a smoke” before going out to -plough or to thresh in the barn. There is an air of thrift and comfort -about the house; the voices of the children, the songs of the young -girl, with her spinning-wheel accompaniment, the appearance of health -and happiness written on their faces, tell of the peace and serenity of -their lives. - -If ever, in travelling through this country, you are overtaken by a -snowstorm or severe cold, go and knock without fear at the door of -the Canadian cottager, and you will be received with that warmth and -cordiality which their ancestors have transmitted to them as a souvenir -and a relic of the Old Country; for this antique French hospitality, -which can scarcely be found now in certain parts of France, seems to -have taken refuge under the roof of the Canadian _habitant_. With his -language and religion, he has piously preserved many of his old habits -and customs. The traveller who rested under his roof a century ago -would to-day find the same manners and characteristics. - -It is in the parish of the Rivière Ouelle, in the bosom of one of these -good Canadian families, that we find again our missionary and his -companions. All the family, eager to hear the extraordinary adventures -of the young officer, had gathered round him. He was a young man, from -twenty to twenty-five years of age, with fine, delicate features; -his dark wavy hair fell over and partially shaded his high forehead, -and his proud glance revealed the loyalty of the French soldier; but -an extreme pallor, consequent on the fatigue and privations he had -undergone, had left a touching and melancholy expression on his face, -while his refined and finished manners told of an equally finished and -careful education. - - -IV.—THE SILHOUETTE. - -“More than a month ago,” said the young officer, “I left the country -of the Abnakis, accompanied by my father, a soldier, and an Indian -guide. We were bearing very important dispatches to the governor of -the colony. We travelled along through the forest for several days -without any accident, when, one evening, overcome with fatigue, we lit -a fire and camped for the night near an Indian cemetery. According to -the custom of the savages, every corpse was wrapped in a shroud of -coarse bark, and placed high above the ground on four stakes. Bows -and arrows, tomahawks, and some ears of maize were hung against these -rude graves, and shook and rattled as the wind passed over them. Our -own savage was seated just in front of me, on the half-decayed trunk -of a pine-tree that had fallen to the ground, and seemed half buried -in profound meditation. The fitful flames of the fire threw a weird -light over his gigantic frame. An Indian might readily have compared -him to one of the superb maples of our forest, had he been able at the -same time to have united with it the cunning of the serpent and the -agility of the elk. His height was increased by a quantity of black, -red, and white feathers tied with his hair on the top of his head. His -ferocious features, piercing black eyes, his tomahawk and long knife, -half concealed by the trophy of scalps which hung from his belt, gave -him a wild and sanguinary appearance. The night was dark and bitter -cold. The low and unequal arch formed by the interlacing branches of -the trees, and illuminated by the flickering light of our pine-wood -fire, seemed like a vast cavern, and the old trunks of the rotten -trees, which were buried in the snow, looked like the corpses of giants -strewn around. The birches, covered with their white bark, seemed -like wandering phantoms in the midst of this _débris_, and the dull -rumbling of the distant torrent, and the wind moaning and whistling -through the leafless branches, completed the weird funereal aspect -of the place. Any one slightly superstitious could easily believe he -heard the sighing spirits of the Indian warriors who lay buried so -near us. In spite of myself, a shiver of horror ran through my veins. -Here, in the midst of all this grim rubbish, where every rock and tree -was transformed by the shadows into as many spectres watching his -movements; our audacious savage appeared as grave and tranquil as if he -had been in his own cabin. - -“‘Comrade,’ said I to him, ‘do you think we need fear any danger still -from those Iroquois whose trail we discovered yesterday?’ - -“‘Has my brother already forgotten that we found it again this morning?’ - -“‘But there were only two,’ said I. - -“‘ Yes; but an Iroquois can very quickly communicate with his comrades.’ - -“‘But these were not on the war-path; they were hunting an elk.’ - -“‘Yes; but the snow is deep, and they could soon kill him without much -fatigue, and then—’ - -“‘Well!’ - -“‘And then, their hunger once satisfied—’ - -“‘Finish!’ - -“‘I say they might, perhaps, amuse themselves by hunting the -whiteskins.’ - -“‘But the whites are at peace with the Iroquois.’ - -“‘The Iroquois never bury but half of the war-hatchet; and, besides, -they have raised the tomahawk against the warriors of my tribe, and if -they discover the track of an Abnakis among yours—’ - -“‘You think, then, that they might pursue us? Perhaps it would be more -prudent to extinguish our fire.’ - -“‘Does not my brother hear the howling of the wolves? If he prefers -being devoured by them to receiving the arrow of an Iroquois, he can -extinguish it.’ - -“The words of our guide were not very reassuring, but I was so overcome -with fatigue that, in spite of the evident danger to which we were -exposed, I fell asleep. But my sleep was filled with the wildest -dreams. The dark shadow of our guide, that I saw as I went to sleep, -seemed to lengthen and rise behind him, black and threatening, like -a spectre. The dead in the cemetery, shaking the snow from their -shrouds of bark, descended from their sepulchres, and bent towards -me. I fancied I heard the gritting of their teeth as the wind rushed -through the trees and the dry branches cracked and snapped. I awoke -with a start. Our guide, leaning against a post of one of the graves, -was still before me, and from his heavy and regular breathing I knew -that he slept profoundly. I fancied I saw just above him, peeping over -the grave against which he was leaning, a dark form and two fixed -and flaming eyes. My imagination is excited by my fantastic dreams, -thought I, and tried to compose myself to sleep again. I remained a -long time with my eyes half shut, in that state of semi-somnolence, -half watching, half sleeping, my stupefied faculties scarcely able to -discern the objects around. And yet the dark shadow seemed to move -slightly, and to lean more and more towards our savage, who was still -in a deep sleep. At that moment the fire suddenly blazed up, and I saw -distinctly the figure of an Indian. He held a long knife between his -teeth, and, with dilated eyes fixed on his enemy, he approached still -nearer to assure himself that he slept. Then a diabolical smile lit up -his face, and, seizing his knife, he brandished it an instant in aiming -a blow at the heart of his victim. The blade flashed in the firelight. -At the same moment a terrible cry rang out, and the two savages rolled -together in the snow. The flash of the steel, in awakening our guide, -had also betrayed his enemy. Thus my horrible nightmare terminated in a -more horrible reality. I had hastily seized my gun, but dared not fire, -lest I should kill or wound our guide. It was a death-fight between -them. The snow, streaked with blood, blew up around them like a cloud -of dust. A hatchet glittered in the air, then a dull, heavy sound, -followed by the cracking of bones. The victory was decided. A gurgling -sound escaped from the victim—it was the death-rattle! Holding in -one hand a bloody scalp, the conqueror, with a smile, raised himself -proudly. At that instant a shot was heard. A ball struck him in the -breast, and our savage, for it was he, fell dead in front of the fire. -Taking aim with my gun, and sending a ball in the direction whence -the shot had come, and where I saw another shadow gliding among the -trees, was for me the work of an instant. The Indian, with a terrible -death-cry, described an arch in the air with his body, and fell dead to -the ground. The tragedy was finished; our savage was avenged, but we -had no longer a guide. I then thought of our conversation that evening, -and how his apprehensions of the two savages whom we had tracked in the -morning had been so fearfully realized.” - - -V.—DEATH. - -“Abandoned, without a guide, in the midst of interminable forests, we -were in a state of extreme perplexity. We hesitated a long time whether -to proceed on our route or retrace our steps. The danger of falling -into the hands of the Iroquois, who infested that part of the country, -decided us to continue our journey. - -“The only means left of finding our way was a little compass which my -father had fortunately brought along. Several days later found us still -on our painful march, in the midst of a violent snowstorm. It was a -veritable tempest; the snow fell so thick and fast we could scarcely -see two feet in advance. - -“In every direction we heard the trees splitting and falling to the -ground. We were in great danger of being crushed. My father was struck -by a branch, which completely buried him under the snow, and we had -great difficulty in extricating him. When we raised him up, he found -that the chain around his neck which held the compass was broken, and -the compass had disappeared. We searched long and carefully, but in -vain—it could not be found. In falling, my father received a severe -injury on the head. While dressing the wound, which bled freely, I -could not restrain my tears on seeing this old man, with his white -hair, enduring intense suffering with so much fortitude, and displaying -such calmness in the midst of an agony which he tried to conceal from -me by an outward show of confidence. ‘My son,’ said he, when he saw my -tears, ‘remember that you are a soldier. If death comes, it will find -us on the roll of honor. It is well to die a martyr to duty; besides, -nothing happens except by the will of God. Let us submit at once with -courage and resignation to whatever he pleases to send.’ - -“We marched two days longer in an intense cold, and then my father -could go no further. The cold had poisoned the wound in his head, and -a violent fever came on. To crown our misfortunes, our little store of -matches had become damp, and it was impossible to kindle a fire. Then -all hope abandoned me, and, not having been able to kill any game for -the past day or two, we had been almost entirely without food; then, -in spite of all my warning and advice, the soldier who accompanied us, -exhausted by fatigue and hunger, and utterly discouraged, went to sleep -in the snow, and, when I found him some time after, he was dead—frozen -stiff! Overcome by the most inexpressible grief, I remained on my knees -by the side of my dying father. Several times he besought me to abandon -him, and escape death. When he felt his last hour approaching, he said, -handing me an _Imitation of Christ_ which he held in his hand, ‘My son, -read to me.’ I took the book, and opened it at chance, reading between -my sobs: ‘Make now friends near God, in order that, after leaving this -life, they will receive you in the eternal tabernacles.’[41] ‘Conduct -yourself on earth as a traveller and a stranger who has no interest in -the affairs of the world. Keep your heart free and raised toward God, -because here below you have no substantial dwelling-place. You should -address to heaven every day your prayers, your sighs, and your tears, -in order that, after this life, your soul will be able to pass happily -into the bosom of our Lord.’ - -“I replaced the book in his hand. A smile of immortal hope passed over -his countenance, for these lines were a _résumé_ of his entire life. -After a moment’s silence, he said: ‘My son, when I shall be no more, -take this little gold cross which hangs around my neck, and which was -given to me by your mother on the day of your birth’—there was a -moment’s silence. A shade of profound sadness passed over his face, -and, taking my two hands in his, he added, ‘Your poor mother!—oh! if -you live to see her again, tell her I died thinking of God and of her.’ -Then, making a supreme effort to put aside this painful thought, at -which he feared his courage might fail him, he continued: ‘Always wear -this little cross in remembrance of your father. It will teach you to -be faithful to your God, and to your country. Come nearer, my son, that -I may bless you, for I feel that I am dying.’ And with his faltering -hand he made the sign of the cross on my forehead.” - -At these words the young man stopped. Large tears rolled down his -cheeks as he pressed to his lips the little gold cross which hung on -his breast. All around him remained silent, in respect to his noble -grief, but their tears flowed with his. Sorrow is so touching in youth! -We cannot see, without a pang, the bright flowers which adorn it wither -and fade away. The missionary was the first to break the silence. “My -son,” said he, addressing the young man, “your tears are legitimate, -for the cherished being for whom you weep is worthy of them; but do not -weep as those who have no hope. He whom you have lost now enjoys on -high the recompense promised to a life devoted to sacrifice and duty.” - -“But, oh! my father, if only you could have been with him to console -his last moments!” - -After a pause, he continued: “I pressed my father for the last time -in my arms, and imprinted a last kiss on his pale, cold forehead. I -thought at this moment he was dying. He remained immovable, his eyes -turned towards heaven, when suddenly, as if by inspiration from above, -he said, ‘I wish you to make a vow that, if you succeed in escaping -with your life, you will place a picture in the first church which you -reach on the road.’ I promised to do as he desired. Some moments after, -a few vague and incoherent words escaped his lips, and all was over.” - - -VI.—THE VISION. - -“How long I remained on my knees beside my father’s corpse I cannot -tell. I was so utterly overwhelmed by grief and sorrow that I was -plunged in a kind of lethargy which rendered my soul insensible to -everything. Death, the loneliness of the forest, terrified me no -longer; for solitude dwelt in my heart, where so short a time before -all was bright and joyous. Dreams, illusions—those flowers of life -that I have seen fall leaf by leaf, to be swept away by the storm; -glory, happiness, the future—those angels of the heart who so lately -entranced my soul with their mysterious music, had all departed, -veiling with their drooping wings their sorrowful faces. All had -gone—all. Nothing remained but a void, a horrible nothingness. But -one feeble star watched yet in the midst of my night. The faint lamp -of the inner sanctuary was not entirely extinguished; there came a ray -from its expiring flame. Remembering the vow that my dying father had -desired me to make, I invoked with a sort of desperation the Blessed -Virgin, Comfortress of the Afflicted; and behold, suddenly—but can -I tell what took place within me? Human words are inadequate to -unveil the mysteries of God. I cannot explain, human ears cannot -comprehend—yes, suddenly, in the midst of my darkness, my soul -trembled, and a something seemed to pass through me like an impetuous -wind, and my soul was carried over the troubled waters; then, rapid as -the lightning that flashes through the storm-cloud, a light appeared -in the darkness, in this chaos—a dazzling, superhuman light—and the -tempest was appeased within me; a wondrous calm had entered my soul, -and the divine light penetrated its most remote recesses and imparted -a delicious tranquillity and peace, but such a peace as surpasses -all comprehension; and through my closed eyelids I saw that a great -light was before me. O my God! dare I tell what happened then? Would -it not be profane to weaken thus the marvels of your power! I felt -that something extraordinary, something supernatural, was taking place -around me, and a mysterious emotion, a holy terror, that every mortal -should feel at the approach of a Divine Being seized me. Like Moses, -my soul said within me, ‘I will go and I will see this grand vision’; -and my eyes opened, and I saw—it was not a dream—it was a reality, a -miracle, from the right hand of the Most High. No; the eye of man has -never seen, nor his ear heard, what was permitted that I should see -and hear then. In the midst of a cloud of dazzling light, the Queen of -heaven appeared, holding in her arms the divine Child. The ineffable -splendor that enveloped her form was so brilliant that in comparison -the sun is only a dim star; but this brilliancy, far from fatiguing -the sight, refreshed it deliciously. Twelve stars formed her crown, -the colors of the rainbow tinged her robes, while under her feet were -clouds which reflected the colors of aurora and the setting sun, and -behind their golden fringing myriads of angels were smiling and singing -hymns which have no echo here below. And what I saw and heard was so -real that all that I had heard and seen heretofore seemed like a vague, -dark dream of night. The divine Virgin looked at me with an immortal -smile, which was reflected no doubt from the lips of her divine Child -on the day of his birth. - -“She said to me: ‘Here I am, my son. I come because you called me. The -help that I sent you is very near. Remember, my son—’ But, oh! what -was I going to say! I am only permitted to reveal a few words of this -celestial conversation, which relate to my deliverance. The rest is a -secret between God and myself—sufficient to say these words have fixed -my destiny. - -“For a long time she spoke to me, and my soul, ravished, absorbed, -transfigured, listened in unspeakable ecstasy to the divine harmony of -her voice. It will vibrate eternally in my soul, and the torrents of -tears that poured from my eyes were as refreshing as dear to my heart. -At last the mysterious vision gradually vanished. Clouds, figures, -angels, light, all had disappeared, and yet my soul invoked the -celestial vision by ineffable sighs and moans. - -“When at last I turned round, the help which had been miraculously -promised to me had arrived. ‘Twas then, reverend father, that I -perceived you near me. You know the rest.” - -The next day there was great excitement among the little population -of the neighborhood. The news of the miracle had spread rapidly, and -a pious and devout crowd had gathered in the modest little church -to assist at a solemn Mass celebrated by the holy missionary. More -than one pitying look was turned during the ceremony toward the young -officer, who knelt near the sanctuary, praying with an angelic fervor. - -It is said that some time after, in another country, far, far beyond -the sea, a young officer who had miraculously escaped death abandoned a -brilliant future, and consecrated himself to God in a cloister. Was it -he? No one has ever known positively. - -If ever you pass by the old church of the Rivière Ouelle, don’t forget -to stop a moment. You will see hanging in one of the side-chapels the -antique _ex-voto_ which recalls the souvenir of this miraculous event. -The picture has no intrinsic value; but it is an old, old relic, that -one loves to see, for it tells a thrilling story. Often travellers who -come from distant lands stop before this dusty old picture, struck by -the strange scene it represents. Oftentimes pious mothers stand before -it with their little ones, and relate to them the wondrous legend; for -the souvenir of this thrilling story is still vivid throughout the -country. - - - - -THE RECORDS OF A RUIN. - - -THE Palais Royal derives its chief historical interest from its -association with the memory of Cardinal Richelieu. When it first -attracted his notice by its situation, at once delightful and -convenient, surrounded by richly planted gardens, and close to the -Louvre and the then fashionable thoroughfare of the city, it was the -property and residence of the Marquis d’Estrée. From this nobleman -Richelieu purchased it in 1624. Soon, however, the elegant mansion, -which had been abundantly spacious for the lords of d’Estrée with their -innumerable retainers and long corteges of valets of every degree in -the lengthy domestic hierarchy of those days, became too small for the -growing importance of Louis XIII.’s magnificent minister. - -Richelieu fell a conquest to the building and decorating mania -prevalent at that period amongst princes and princely prelates; he -threw down the walls of the Hôtel d’Estrée at the north end, pushed -the house into the gardens, drove the gardens further out into the -open space beyond, and pierced a way through into the street which was -henceforth to be honored by bearing his name. Philippe of Champagne -was invited to paint the ceilings and decorate the walls of the -stupendous eminence whose cipher gleamed over all the doors, sometimes -engrained in gold letters upon marble, sometimes curiously interlaced -with emblematic figures, or emblazoned in the Richelieu arms. When all -was complete, it was necessary to rechristen the dwelling which had -been so enlarged and renovated as to be virtually a new edifice—the -mansion which had been metamorphosed into a palace. After much serious -consultation, and many times changing his mind, Richelieu decided that -it should be called Palais Cardinal. A slab bearing these two words -in large gold letters was accordingly placed over the gates of the -_ci-devant_ Hôtel d’Estrée. The next morning all Paris beheld it, and -burst out laughing. The _beaux-esprits_ of the sarcastic capital, with -Balzac at their head, rushed in a body to the square in front of the -new palace, and woke the echoes of the sleeping aristocratic gardens -with their uproarious mirth; there they stood, armed with grammars, -lexicons of divers tongues, and pens and portfolios, discussing with -much solemnity the two inoffensive nouns on the marble slab; every -now and then a wag from the crowd raising shouts of laughter by some -ludicrous explanation of his own. Presently the gates were swung apart, -and out drove the cardinal, and beheld the spectacle, so eminently -gratifying to his sensitive pride, of “all Paris laughing at him.” - -The scoffers gathered round his equipage, books and pen in hand, -imploring him to enlighten their ignorance from the depths of his -unfathomable erudition; how were they to parse the name of his -eminence’s house? _Palais_ and _Cardinal_—it was most perplexing to -their weak intelligence. The conjunction was a turning upside down of -all established rules—a topsy-turvy of principles and of all known -precedents. - -Separately, the two nouns were comprehensible, but joined together, -what were they? Was it, mayhap, Greek or Latin construction, or was it -taken from the legends of old Gaul French, or a specimen of some new -and unknown tongue evolved from the universal genius of the minister? -Richelieu, writhing under the pitiless hilarity of the tormentors, -lent a deaf ear to them, and rode forth in scornful taciturnity; -petitions from imaginary savants, who professed to be laboring in -the mazes of a new grammar, flowed in the following days upon the -unlucky author of the ungrammatical inscription, beseeching him to -let the ignorant world into the secret of its proper parsing; the -enemies of the cardinal, in fact, made capital out of his vanity to -their heart’s content, but Richelieu’s pride was a match for them. The -only answer he condescended to make was to point to the inscription -over the Hôtel Dieu. The precedent was no doubt unanswerable; but -vanity remained, nevertheless, more prominent in the imitation than -either sense or grammar. It held its place, however, in spite of all -attempts to laugh it down. The splendors of the Palais Cardinal have -been enlarged upon in most of the memoirs and chronicles of that time. -Richelieu, while busy making and mending quarrels between the king and -the queen-mother, Marie de Medicis, governing France, and pulling the -strings of all the governments of Europe, found time to devote to his -hobby of enriching and beautifying his palace, overseeing in its most -minute details the architectural part of the work, and directing the -research after objects of art far and near for its adornment. While -he was thus variously occupied, a knot of literary men were in the -habit of meeting quietly once a week close to his palace gates, to -read aloud their own works, and discuss the state of letters, whose -horizon was just then beginning to brighten under the rising sun of -the great Corneille. The meetings were held at the house of one of the -circle; they were quite unostentatious, and aspired to no notoriety -beyond their own circle; the members sought only to encourage each -other by honest criticism, and by the emulation that comes of working -in common towards a common end. Soon, however, these weekly gatherings -became talked about; courtiers heard of them, and begged to be allowed -to assist at them. By-and-by Richelieu came to hear of them; his -curiosity was excited, first from a political point of view—he feared -the so-called _réunions littéraires_ might be a covert for something -more dangerous; he was not slow, however, to find out his mistake, -and to detect in the modest literary club a germ of future greatness; -he expressed his desire that the meetings should be held henceforth -at the Palais Cardinal, and under his immediate auspices. The members -protested; they were not worthy of so distinguished an honor, etc.; -but Richelieu assured them that he saw in their modest labors the -promised fulfilment of his long-cherished desire “to raise the French -language from the ranks of barbarous tongues, and to cleanse it from -the impurities which it had contracted in the mouth of the people -and on the lips of courtiers.” The little band of writers yielded -reluctantly to the pompous summons so flatteringly sent forth against -their independence, and the Académie Française was founded. Louis XIII. -gave it letters-patent, and became its chief patron, while Richelieu -was named President. The number of academicians was limited to forty. -Amongst the great and gifted men who figure at the birth of this modern -Areopagus, destined to be glorified in its after-career by so many -brilliant members, Pierre Corneille stands out conspicuous. The young -poet found in Richelieu a kind and munificent patron, until he had the -ill-luck to wound his vanity in one of its most vulnerable points. Not -content with being a potentate, a warrior, a financier, and innumerable -other things besides, the insatiable cardinal aspired to being a -poet—a disastrous form of ambition which gave a cruel handle to his -enemies, and furnished them with many a shaft of ridicule wherewith -to pierce his thin-skinned susceptibilities. Richelieu, however, -pursued his way in serene self-confidence, despising the ignorance -and jealousy of the vulgar herd, and periodically bringing forth the -offspring of his genius in the shape of plays and poems. One set of -verses with which he was particularly satisfied he handed in MS. to -Corneille, desiring to secure his approval before launching them on -the sea of public criticism, and modestly requesting the young poet -to overlook them and make any alteration that he thought advisable. -Corneille had not graduated long enough in the school of courtiers to -know what this flattering request was worth, so he set about complying -with it conscientiously, pruning and altering with his fine critical -pen as it ran along the course of the ministerial poem. Richelieu’s -amazement on beholding his masterpiece thus audaciously overhauled was -only equalled by his indignation. Corneille, instead of falling on his -knees and crying _peccavi_ when he saw his mistake, proceeded with -infantine _naïveté_ to argue the case with the wrathful poet, and prove -to him that every correction had been called for by some glaring fault. -This did not mend matters. Such insane honesty met with the fate it -deserved—the fate that from time immemorial it has met with in similar -circumstances. The scene between Gil Blas and the bishop was enacted -in the library of the Palais Cardinal between Corneille and Richelieu, -and certainly Gil Bias was not more astonished by the effect of his -candid criticism on the bishop’s long-winded sermon than was the young -academician by the thunderbolt which fell from his patron’s brow on -perusing his MS. revised and corrected. He was dismissed peremptorily, -and withdrew cursing his own stupidity, and vowing that never again -would he be entrapped into the folly of believing in the common sense -of a patron. Shortly after this mishap, while wandering about in -listless pursuit of an object at Rouen, his native place, he fell in -accidentally with a gentleman who had read his first poetic efforts, -and discerned through their faults and trammels the promise of true -genius that lay beneath. “Why do you waste and hamper your talent in -the threadbare conventionalities of French art?” inquired M. de Chalan. -“You want a higher and a wider scope; read Guillen de Castro, and there -you will find a subject worthy of you, and which will bring out your -powers with a fire and force unsuspected by yourself.” - -“Unfortunately, I am not acquainted with Spanish,” replied the young -man. - -“But I am,” returned M. de Chalan, “and, if you like, I will teach it -to you.” - -Corneille, having nothing else to do, accepted the proposal, and to -this chance circumstance the world apparently owes _The Cid_. That -masterly composition came upon the dramatic world of France—hitherto -fed on threadbare conventionalities, as de Chalan had well said—like -a revelation, and raised such a tempest of senseless vituperation and -malignant opposition as has no parallel in the history of literary -cyclones. Richelieu, who was far too good a judge not to see the rare -merits of the poem, had not the magnanimity to proclaim his opinion, -and thus quell the storm, but fell in with the rioters, and was one -of the loudest in crying down the new tragedy. He could not forgive -the young poet who, without his patronage, nay, in spite of his own -disgrace, had succeeded in climbing to the topmost round of the ladder. -Corneille’s star rose steady and clear above the stormy waters, and he -lived to see it shine out in glorious lustre through the clouds of envy -and hostile criticism. His career was one of unparalleled triumph, till -the appearance of his last work, _Pertharite_, written in 1653. It was -played on the boards of the Palais Cardinal theatre, that had echoed to -so many of his previous triumphs, and was received with a coldness that -was equivalent to condemnation. Corneille saw in this isolated defeat -the ruin of his poetic fame; he became possessed by a morbid despair, -flung away his lyre, and gave up the theatre in disgust. During the -interval of depression that followed this fancied humiliation, he -devoted himself to the translation of Thomas à Kempis’ _The Imitation -of Christ_, sacrificing, as he said himself, “his own reputation to the -glory of a sovereign author.” - -The Palais Cardinal, during Richelieu’s multifarious reign, was the -theatre of many boisterous scenes, dark intrigues, and events otherwise -important than these literary skirmishes that occasionally engage -the thoughts of ambitious statesmen. Its propinquity to the Louvre -enabled him to keep his lynx eyes on the busy hive of friends, foes, -and tools who gathered round the king; to frustrate the petty plots -of courtiers; and forestall the schemes of faction by his ubiquitous -presence. Nor are comic chapters lacking in the annals of the Palais -Cardinal at this period. One related by the sprightly Duchesse de -Chevreuse, in a letter to Mme. de Motteville, is grotesque enough to -be worth recording, as characteristic of the cardinal and the court. -Richelieu, it was said, had dared to raise his eyes to the queen, then -in the full bloom of her youth and beauty. As might be expected, the -unwarrantable presumption inspired Anne of Austria with no gentler -feeling than contempt, not unmixed with disgust. She gathered up her -purple robes, as she might have done at the touch of a viper, and -shook them, and passed on with a shudder and a shrug. But her volatile -friend, Mme. de Chevreuse, whose _rôle_ was fun at any price, thought -the cardinal’s love too good a joke not to be turned to account. She -proposed playing him a trick which would have the double advantage -of giving herself and her royal mistress an hour’s good fun, and of -making Richelieu, whom she hated with a woman’s inventive hate, appear -thoroughly ridiculous. “Let me tell him from myself,” she entreated, -“that your majesty is only inexorable because you do not believe in -the sincerity of his love; but that, if he can give you proof of it, -you are open to conviction. I will propose that he come here by the -private way, dressed as a harlequin, and dance the saraband before -you one of these evenings, assuring him, if he does this, you will -believe in the reality of his protestations.” Anne was young, her life -had not much sunshine in its splendor, and the demon of frolic which -so madly possessed her friend was not without its power over her. -She consented that the outrageous joke should be played off on her -gloomy swain. The duchess accordingly informed him that the queen was -passionately fond of the saraband, and had often expressed a desire -to see it danced by one whose dignified deportment and elastic figure -were so admirably adapted to bring out the peculiar characteristics -of the spirited and stately dance, and that nothing would gratify and -flatter her more than to see his eminence yield to this fancy. It was -necessary, she added, that he should be dressed as a harlequin, in -order to bring out in all their perfection the picturesque points of -the dance. Richelieu bit at this outlandish bait, and it was agreed -on a given night he would roam to the Louvre, and disport himself in -the aforesaid manner for the edification of the queen, he being alone -in one room, while her majesty looked on at the performance from -behind a screen in an adjoining one; a musician, concealed also from -view, was to accompany the performance on the violin. The duchess, -who had not bargained for her own share in the sport, took care not -to be deprived of it, but stood beside the queen, peeping through -the screen, while the haughty statesman, bedizened in the variegated -costume of harlequin, “with bells on his fingers, and bells on his -toes,” and jingling from his comical fool’s cap, tripped it on the -light fantastic toe. Mme. de Chevreuse describes the scene with the -mischievous glee of a schoolboy: herself and the queen squeezing each -other’s hands, and terrified lest one explosive burst should betray -them and suddenly cut short the performance; the musician convulsed in -another corner, scratching away frantically at his fiddle to drown the -irrepressible laughter of the trio; while Richelieu, the proud, the -grave, the vindictive and all-powerful Richelieu, capered backwards -and forwards on the polished floor, snapping his fingers at each rapid -_pirouette_, stamping his heel and pointing his toe as the figures of -the saraband demanded. The performance over, he donned his cloak, and -made his way back discreetly to the Palais Cardinal. No time was lost -in recapitulating the farce to the court, and the merriment that it -provoked may be readily imagined. But who might laugh with impunity -at Richelieu? The true motive of the unseemly burlesque to which he -had lent himself was soon made known to the hero, and terrible was the -vengeance that awaited its authors. He bided awhile, and then began -that series of calumnies and persecutions that poisoned so many years -of the young queen’s life. Richelieu had insinuated himself into the -confidence of Louis XIII., and his influence over him was boundless. -This tremendous weapon he used against the queen with cruel ingenuity. -He contrived to implicate her in the odious and diabolical conspiracy -of the arch-traitor de Chalais; accused her of having plotted to -dethrone and murder the king, with a view to putting Gaston d’Orléans, -his brother, on the throne, and marrying him. When Louis XIII. brutally -challenged his wife to vindicate herself from the twofold criminal -charge, she replied, with _spirituelle_ disdain: “I had too little -to gain by the exchange.” It is more than probable that Louis never -seriously suspected Anne of Austria of having had any share in the -guilt laid to her charge by Richelieu; but the calumny did its work -efficiently in another way: it cut at the root of her affection for -her husband and of his trust in her—it chilled and alienated them for -years. The Duchesse de Chevreuse, accused, with some show of truth, of -having conspired with Gaston d’Orléans to dethrone the king, was exiled -from France. Richelieu followed up the advantage of his first attack by -accusing the queen of keeping up a correspondence with the enemies of -the state. Anne, too proud to justify herself, imprudently paraded her -contempt for Richelieu’s malevolent intrigues by openly and on every -occasion showing her love for her own family, at that time at war with -France; expressions full of the warmth of natural affection were made -a handle of by her enemies, construed into treason against the king -and the state. The birth of Louis XIV. (1638) brought about a partial -reconciliation between her and the husband who had insulted and treated -her with systematic neglect. But Richelieu’s sway remained unshaken to -the end. It was entirely an intellectual sway; the heart had no share -in it on either side. The minister hated the king, and the king hated -the minister; their natures were essentially antagonistic, and mutual -interest alone held them together. Louis, hearing that he was about to -be freed from the bondage under which he had chafed so long—that the -summons had come for Richelieu—went in haste to the Palais Cardinal to -receive the adieux of the dying minister. The interview between them -was short and utterly devoid of pathos; no shade of tenderness had -entered into the bond that was about to be dissolved. The breaking up -of it was simply a matter of business. The king left the death-chamber -of the man to whom he owed all the glory of his reign, without a tear -in his eye or a passing emotion in his heart, and paced the adjoining -room with a steady step and satisfied air, while a smile, amounting -at intervals to a suppressed laugh, was visible on his features. When -all was over, and the signal came forth that Richelieu was no more, he -exclaimed tranquilly: “_Voilà un grand politique de mort!_”[42] (1642.) -A few months later, he himself had joined the great politician in -another world. - -Richelieu, whose more than royal munificence of state had roused the -jealous susceptibilities of the king, atoned for it by bequeathing his -beautiful palace, with its accumulated treasures of art and industry, -to his unthankful master. Anne of Austria inaugurated her reign as -regent by taking up her abode under the roof of the man who had been to -the last day of his life her implacable enemy. Immediately after the -death of Louis XIII., she came to the Palais Cardinal with the little -king and his brother, the Duc d’Anjou. The theatre on which Richelieu -had lavished so much taste and wealth was included in the bequest, -though he had often expressed his intention of presenting it to the -nation, and endowing it for the benefit of rising dramatic artists. - -Notwithstanding that Anne of Austria had good reason to execrate the -cardinal for his injustice and malignity to herself personally, she did -full honor to his merits as a statesman; and years after his death, -when at the zenith of her popularity as regent, she said once, looking -up at a portrait of Richelieu which hung in the state-saloon of the -Palais Cardinal: “Were that man alive now, he would be more powerful -than ever.” It was a generous and exhaustive tribute to the memory of -those services which had consolidated the monarchy in France, and made -her own position what it was. - -The name of Palais Cardinal, which, despite its equivocal grammar, was -appropriate while Richelieu inhabited it, ceased to be so when it -passed into the possession of the crown. Anne was advised to change it, -but refused to do so, at the solicitation of the Duchesse d’Aiguillon, -who besought her to retain a name which so honorably associated -Richelieu with the glorious reign of Louis XIII. Public opinion, -however, prevailed before long, and the palace was henceforth by common -consent designated as the Palais Royal. With its new name began a new -era in its annals. - -Anne has been compared by some of her admirers and biographers to -Blanche of Castille; but, while rendering full justice to the queenly -qualities of the Austro-Spanish regent, we own that the comparison -strikes us as being suggested rather by their circumstances than by -the characters of the two queen-mothers who each played so remarkable -a part in the history of their epochs. Blanche of Castille made it -her first and paramount ambition to render her son worthy of that -imperishable crown which awaited him in the Kingdom that is not of -this world: Anne of Austria aimed at securing for hers the supremacy -of earthly glory—at making him a great and powerful king. In each -case, as it mostly happens, the omnipotent mother’s will worked out -its own ideal. The minority of the future Grand Monarque opened in -troubled times; the elements of the Fronde were fermenting deep down -under the apparently smooth surface, and the _fêtes_, and masquerades, -and merry-making with which the regent celebrated her tardy accession -to sovereign power were soon followed by more exciting events. Mazarin -had succeeded to Richelieu—oily, pliant Mazarin, so zealous in his -endeavors to keep well with all parties; flattering the ambitious -hopes of Gaston d’Orléans, and laying himself out with elaborate zeal -to please the regent and secure her confidence; yielding outwardly, -with alluring grace, to every caprice of her soft despotic sway; and -pulling dexterously the complicated strings of the malcontents, Condé, -and Conti, and Longueville, and many other illustrious personages who -chafed uneasily under the sceptre of the foreigner; benevolent and -outspoken, but irreclaimably despotic. Mazarin, in his desire to please -all parties whom it was of use to propitiate, and make money plentiful -where it was needed for his purposes, had gone on taxing till he raised -the devil in the _then_ much enduring people. Everything was ready for -an outbreak. The _Te Deum_ after the victory of Lens gave the signal -for it. It was a burning day in August, in the year 1648. The city -had turned out to join in the jubilee, and, amidst the inspiriting -chorus of trumpets, and cannons, and bells that sent exulting chimes -from many belfries, such small matters as hunger and empty hearths and -misery in its multiform moods and tenses were forgotten for a moment. -But it needed only a touch to rouse the sleeping furies in the hearts -of the hungry, rejoicing crowd. Broussel was seized by the troops, who -had just played their part in the gay thanksgiving, and carried off -to prison—Broussel, the venerable magistrate, the people’s sturdy -friend; who had fought their battles over and over again against mighty -Mazarin himself; who had stood by them and upheld their rights in the -teeth of the foreign queen and her foreign minister; Broussel, whom -the people called _notre père_—were they going to see him seized by -soldiers, and carried off before their eyes? No; they would stand by -him as he had stood by them. The last notes of the _Te Deum_ were -still ringing over the city, when up leaped the shouts of revolution -and the cry “To arms!” and chased away their holy echoes. The mob -surrounded the carriage in which Broussel was placed, guarded on all -sides by armed men; they were beaten back and trodden down; the people -returned to the charge undaunted, and finally bore down on the Palais -Royal, vociferating unmannerly threats, and demanding Broussel: “Give -us Broussel, or we will burn down your house about you!”—pleasant -sounds for the queen to hear beneath her windows! Anne of Austria -had not foreseen this bursting up of the vulgar depths over which -she had hitherto ridden in safe and scornful unconcern; nor, in all -probability, had Mazarin. He was with the queen in that sumptuous -apartment called the queen’s boudoir, whose one broad window, mounted -in a frame of massive silver wrought like a brooch, looked out upon -the court; the regent paced the room in feverish excitement, her face -flushed, her hands, alternately crossed on her breast with an air of -stern resolve, moving in the animated and expressive play that was -familiar to her; every now and then she would stand in the embrasure -of the rich and cunningly carved window, and cast a glance of mingled -scorn and defiance on the vociferous rabble below. They catch sight -of her, and greet her with ominous signs and gestures. They see in -her cool courage a taunt that rouses them to desperation. All unarmed -as they are, except with stones and sticks and such like unmilitary -weapons, they are ready to give battle to her troops. At this crisis, -when the Fronde was born, a young man named Gondi starts to the -surface, shooting up from the dark horizon like a glittering rocket. -He is endowed with that peculiar kind of alcoholic eloquence which -appears to be in all climes and ages the apanage of demagogues. Gondi -had already made himself conspicuous as a discontented spirit whom it -would be well either to crush or to conciliate; and Mazarin would in -all likelihood have adopted the latter plan but for the fact of his -jealousy having been aroused by the queen’s kindly notice of the young -firebrand; he foresaw a possible rival in Gondi’s ardor and talents, -and forthwith decreed his ruin. Gondi was just now making himself -popular by declaiming on the wrongs of the people, and denouncing the -seizure of Broussel as iniquitous and tyrannical. There was some talk -of sending a despatch to the regent to demand his release; Mazarin -caught at this opportunity of lowering Gondi in the estimation of the -queen by placing him in the position of a leader of the Fronde, so he -sent word to him indirectly to come to the Palais Royal and present -the people’s petition. Gondi, who saw in the mission an occasion -for distinguishing himself with all parties, accepted it. He told -the people that he undertook to ask, and pledged himself to obtain, -the liberation of Broussel within an hour. They followed him with -enthusiastic cheers to the Palais Royal, where he was admitted to the -presence of the queen. She received him with flattering promptitude, -unconscious of the motive of his visit. Anne was in no mood for -compromises or concessions; the rebellious attitude of her subjects had -steeled her heart for the moment against the demands of clemency, and -when Gondi, announcing himself the bearer of the demands of the people, -asked for the liberation of the magistrate, her anger broke out into -violence: “Give up Broussel!” she cried, with a sardonic laugh, “I will -strangle him first with my own hands!” And clenching those beautiful -little hands that have been sung by every poet of her day, she went -close up to Gondi, and shook them in his face. The deputy, confounded, -stood rooted to the spot, and uttered not a word; when Anne, abruptly -turning away, said, with a quiet sarcasm the more chilling from its -sudden contrast with her foregoing vehemence: “Go and rest, Monsieur de -Gondi; you have worked hard.” - -He left her presence, and carried his perplexity to Mazarin. But -Mazarin, who had led him into the dilemma of playing false to the -people and vexing the queen, coldly declined interfering, and bowed -the unsuccessful diplomatist out. Gondi, betrayed and baffled, left -the Palais Royal with an oath that the morrow would see him master -of Paris. When a lad of eighteen, he had written an essay on the -_Conjuration de Fiesque_, which drew from Richelieu the remark: “_Voilà -un esprit dangereux._”[43] The day had come when the fiery young -author was to fulfil this sagacious prophecy. The future Cardinal -de Retz had entered the Palais Royal an ambitious courtier: he left -it an infuriated _frondeur_. The next day Paris was bristling with -barricades—its traditional mode of expressing its irritated feelings. - -This day, famous as _la journée des barricades_, saw Mathieu Molé -appear in one of the finest attitudes that have marked his noble and -honorable career. - -While still young, Molé had risen to the brilliant and perilous -position of _Premier Président du Parlement de Paris_ by the mere -force of talent and rigid integrity of character; he had never courted -the patronage of a minister, nor accepted a favor from one; he had -lent no base compliance to Richelieu’s despotism or to Mazarin’s -more captivating rule; he had remained the staunch friend of the -heterodox Abbé de St. Cyran, holding faster by him in his disgrace and -imprisonment than in the days of his transient popularity, persecuting -Richelieu to obtain his pardon, dodging the inaccessible minister late -and early, waylaying him in all possible and impossible places with the -same persistent cry, “Give me back my friend St. Cyran,” till at last -Richelieu, worn out with his importunity, seized the president by the -arm one day, and said: “This M. Molé is a worthy magistrate, but the -most obstinate pleader in France,” and gave him back his Abbé de St. -Cyran. This was the man who was chosen to head a second embassy from -the people to the Palais Royal. The regent was aware of his coming, -and received him with cold civility; but her high spirit was slightly -subdued since the preceding day; she had passed a sleepless night -waiting for the events of the morrow, and was disposed to admit the -possibility of coming to a compromise with her unruly citizens. Mathieu -Molé was not an orator in the classical sense of the word, but he had -that sort of eloquence that stirs the hearts of men. It achieved a -victory, in the first place, over the angry mob by making them listen -to reason and take a dispassionate view of their position, and now it -gained an equally important one with the regent, inducing her to yield -a reluctant consent to the liberation of Broussel. The barricades -were lowered, and Paris gave a joyous welcome to its friend. But the -blaze thus rashly kindled was not to be so quickly quenched. Anne of -Austria eventually conquered both the Fronde and the less violent but -equally dangerous pretensions of Mazarin, who, succumbing with a fairly -good grace before the indomitable courage and inflexible firmness of -the regent, renounced the ambition of making her his tool, and was -satisfied with being her right hand in governing the state. How high -his ambition soared may be guessed from the following trait. Once, when -conversing with Anne of Austria, emboldened by that gracious _abandon_ -of manner which made the haughty Spaniard so charming in her amiable -moods, Mazarin alluded to the boyish passion of the king for his niece, -Marie Mancini, and observed how deeply he would have deplored it had -his majesty, yielding to the infatuation of the hour, committed the -chivalrous folly of marrying her. Anne of Austria drew herself up with -all the pride of her Castilian blood, and answered: “Had my son been -capable of such an unworthiness, I should have placed myself with his -brother at the head of the nation against him and against you.” The -proud daughter of kings, who, by the strength of her solitary will, -could govern a nation and cow the daring leaders of the Fronde, was -in person as tender and delicate as a child; her health was fragile, -and her skin so sensitive that it was difficult to find any cambric -soft enough to clothe without hurting her. Mazarin, alluding once to -this Sybarite delicacy of temperament, declared to the regent that her -purgatory in the next world would be to sleep in Holland sheets. Yet, -when Anne was attacked by the cruel malady which ended her days, no -Roman matron could have endured it with greater fortitude. Her piety, -which had guarded her youth through the alluring temptations of the -court, despite the neglect and rudeness of a morose and heartless -husband, sustained her in the protracted tortures of her last illness. -Shortly before she expired, Louis XIV. was kneeling by the bedside of -his mother, weeping bitterly, and covering her hand with his tears; -she drew it gently away, and, looking for a moment at that hand which -had been her chief woman’s vanity, she murmured: “They are beginning -to swell; it is time to go!” Some historians have flippantly taxed -Anne with having systematically kept her son in the background, and -sacrificed him selfishly to the prolongation of her own power; but -Louis’ passionate grief at her death, and his lifelong gratitude to -the memory of his mother, sufficiently repudiate this charge. Louis -XIV. never resided at the Palais Royal after her death; when necessity -obliged him to remain in Paris, he occupied the Louvre. - -The characters and careers of Richelieu and Mazarin furnish one of -those points of comparison which history is so fond of. Richelieu was -undeniably the more brilliant statesman of the two; he was endowed with -greater originality and a larger breadth of view; he left a deeper -impress on his time, and his remote action on France was more enduring; -but if the achievement of peace be more valuable to a people than the -prosecution of war, Mazarin has paramount claims on the gratitude of -his country. The Treaty of Westphalia, and the Peace of the Pyrenees, -are two monuments raised by Mazarin to his own fame that out-top all -the dazzling trophies of his predecessors, and establish a nobler -claim to the admiration of the civilized world than all Richelieu’s -victorious accomplishments in war. Both statesmen were pre-eminently -gifted with that power of reading men which is so serviceable an agent -in the hands of those who are called to govern. It was this electric -instinct which prompted Richelieu to single out Mazarin from the crowd -as the man best fitted to be his successor—a choice which the young -Italian justified by carrying out with unswerving fixity of purpose -the vast unfinished designs of the patron whom death had cut short in -the midst of his work. Mazarin, on the other hand, gave a striking -proof of this same subtle insight when he said of the young king, then -a mere boy in his mother’s leading-strings, and as yet having done -nothing to reveal the future grand monarch: “There is stuff enough in -him to make four kings and one honest man.” Both ministers set their -influence and power above the interest and authority of the sovereign; -but both labored with unflinching steadiness of aim to raise the -monarchy to a height of splendor it had never before reached, and was -not destined long to retain. Both carried their _soutane_ with more -of martial dignity than priestly gravity—that _soutane_ of which -Richelieu boasted: “I mow down everything, I upset everything, and -then I cover it all with my red _soutane_.” Both made it the business -of their lives while at the head of the state to humble Austria and -Spain, and both succeeded. The marriage of Louis XIV. with the Infanta -of Spain was one of Mazarin’s most successful diplomatic acts; he -foresaw in this union the probable succession of the Bourbons to the -crown of Charles Quint. But alongside of his many services to his -country, there is one act of his that goes far to annul them—this -was his introduction of gambling into France. To this deplorable -importation the Abbé St. Pierre traces, not perhaps without a shade -of exaggeration, but with palpable logic, the rapid decadence of the -national morals and character; he says that Mazarin inoculated the -young king with the passion for games of hazard, in order to keep his -mind aloof from things in which it became him better to be interested, -and thereby to prevent his interference in the affairs of state; the -regent, in her turn, became smitten with the novel mania, and would -spend whole nights with her court playing cards. Mazarin himself was -an incorrigible gambler, and often devoted to this passion the hours -he should have given to sleep after his day’s arduous task. He was -looked upon more as a player of doubtful honesty—“_un joueur plus que -suspect_”; but “who allowed others in turn to cheat him, provided they -did it cleverly,” St. Pierre tells us; and he goes on to say: “The -young nobles, first at court, and then all over the country, followed -his example, and took to card-playing; they forsook the athletic -sports and manly amusements which had delighted their fathers, and -gave themselves up to this enervating and ruinous passion; they became -weaker, more ignorant, and less polished; women caught the fever, and -grew to respect themselves less, and to be less respected.” Mazarin’s -avarice was as insatiable as his ambition; he died colossally rich; -but during his last illness, seized with remorse, he made over all his -unjust gains to the king, who, of course, refused to accept them, and -the cardinal then divided his vast wealth between Louis, the queen, -Condé, Turenne, his friend Louis de Haro, and several members of his -own family. He bequeathed a large sum for the foundation of a college, -which he also endowed with his splendid library, recollected after its -dispersion by the Frondeurs at immense trouble and expense. He wished -this college to be called _Collége des quatre nations_, destining it -chiefly for the education of young men belonging to the four provinces -annexed to France during his ministry—Pignerol, Alsace, Roussillon, -and Artois. Le Tellier, who was his executor, punctually obeyed all -his instructions except the last-named. By desire of the king, it -was called Collége Mazarin, which was to become the magnificent -Bibliothèque Royale of to-day. - -Henrietta Maria of England occupied the Palais Royal in 1644. The -marriage of her daughter Henrietta to Philip of Orleans, then Duc -d’Anjou, was celebrated here with great pomp, and here the young -princess held a brilliant court for a few years, while her mother dwelt -in the cloistered retreat of Chaillot. The thread of this bright young -life was suddenly snapped asunder. Bossuet’s “O night of horror!” came -like a thunderbolt from a summer sky, scattering the volatile court, -and spreading the news of its loss over the whole of France. Then came -the Regency, which was to add a chapter of such dark and lamentable -notoriety to the history of the Palais Royal. The nephew of Louis -XIV. inherited all the vices and foibles of his race without any of -their redeeming qualities. His selfish, easy-going _bonhomie_ has been -sometimes lauded as clemency; but it may more justly be considered -a combination of weakness and cynical contempt for the claims of -justice. When the enraged populace gathered before his palace, dragging -three naked corpses—the victims of their legitimate but misplaced -anger—along with them, the regent looked out at the tempestuous scene, -and remarked coolly: “The mob are right; the wonder is they bear so -much from us.” And truly it was a wonder; and if the Revolution of -‘93 did not break out under the lawless and exasperating rule of the -Regency, it must only have been because, as St. Simon explained it, -“three things are necessary to make a revolution: leaders, brains, -and funds, none of which were to be found in France at this period.” -The _petits soupers de la Régence_, which have acquired an infamous -celebrity through all the chronicles of the time, can have no place in -our sketch. - -The visit of Peter the Great broke in on the luxurious and effeminate -court of the Palais Royal like a Spartan appearing suddenly in the -midst of a banquet of Sybarites. Peter, who had “civilized his people -by cutting their heads off,” set his heart on visiting France during -the preceding reign; but Louis XIV., partly from an insurmountable -antipathy to the semi-barbarous autocrat, partly from political -motives, had signified to his brother of all the Russias that his -absence would be more agreeable than his presence. Peter was compelled, -therefore, to wait until the Grand Monarque had rejoined his ancestors -before gratifying his desire to visit Paris. The regent, far from -making any difficulty about receiving him, made the most sumptuous -preparations for the Northern reformer, and invited him to be his guest -at the Palais Royal. But the hardy Muscovite could not conceal his -contempt for the epicurean habits of his host, and horrified him by -declaring that he never slept on anything softer than a camp-stretcher, -which he carried with him in all his peregrinations, and used on the -field of battle and in his own palace, and which he insisted now on -substituting for the luxurious couch prepared for him. Altogether, -the ways of Peter bewildered the nephew of Louis XIV. He was up with -the birds, and flying over the city to see things and people that -the latter would never have dreamed of calling his attention to. He -expressed a wish to see Mme. de Maintenon, then living in dignified -retreat at St. Cyr. Her Solidity, as Louis XIV. had dubbed her, pleaded -ill-health as an excuse for declining the honor and fatigue of an -official reception. Peter, therefore, set off one morning and scared -the learned and sedate ladies of St. Cyr out of their propriety by -requesting to be shown at once to Mme. de Maintenon’s room. On arriving -there, he entered without knocking, walked straight to the bed, pushed -aside the curtains, and, sitting down beside the astonished lady, -entered brusquely into conversation. The Sorbonne he also honored -with one of these unceremonious visitations; perceiving a statue of -Richelieu in one of the galleries, he rushed up to it, and, clasping -the marble in his arms, exclaimed: “O incomparable man! would that thou -wert still alive, and I would give thee one-half of my empire to teach -me how to govern the other!” - -But with all this rough and somewhat ostentatious disregard of -etiquette, Peter had a keen sense of what was due to his imperial -mightiness, and, with the caprice of a despot, could assert it -trenchantly enough when he thought fit. The regent invited a number -of the most illustrious men of the day to meet his eccentric guest -at a banquet at the Palais Royal. As they were about to enter the -dining-room, little Louis XV. stood back to let the czar pass first; -Peter was unwilling to take precedence of the King of France, and -equally reluctant to walk behind a child, so he wittily solved the -difficulty by catching up the small monarch in his arms and carrying -him to his seat. - -The regent closed his ignoble life at the Palais Royal in 1723. His -son Louis, Duke of Orleans, succeeded him. This prince brought his -young bride, Jeanne de Bade, there soon after he took possession of his -ancestral home, and lost her after a brief and blissful union. At the -time of her death, Louis XV. was lying mortally sick, it was believed, -at Metz, and thither, in the frenzy of his grief, the bereaved husband -flew, and, going straight to the room of the dying king, demanded -admittance; the attendants expostulated, but Louis pushed them aside, -and kicked in the door to announce his loss to the kinsman who himself -lay battling with death. He survived Jeanne some years, but never -recovered her loss; he led a solitary and desolate life, and gave -himself up to works of benevolence and the study of oriental languages. -He became a perfect adept in the Arabic, Hebrew, and Greek tongues, -and never appeared at court as a widower except when the imperious -etiquette of Versailles occasionally demanded it. He died in 1752. His -son’s reign at the Palais Royal is chiefly remarkable by his having -inoculated his own children with small-pox; the daring experiment, -which was performed by Tronchin, summoned from Geneva for the purpose, -was crowned with success. Paris, transported with joy, made bonfires in -the Place in front of the palace, and for a time the rash and fortunate -father was the hero of toast and song. Another event which signalized -his occupation of Richelieu’s palace was the destruction of the theatre -by fire (1763). The duke rebuilt it on a somewhat larger but infinitely -less gorgeous scale as to decoration. He was an enlightened patron -of art, and especially kind in assisting young men whose talent was -struggling to make head against poverty. He divined the genius of the -young poet Le Fèvre, and encouraged him both by personal notice and by -liberal gifts. He was so pleased with Le Fèvre’s tragedy _Zuma_ that -immediately on its appearance he bestowed a pension of 1,200 crowns -on the poet out of his privy purse; and on the latter’s asking what -services were expected from him in return for this munificence, the -duke answered: “It obliges you to work henceforth more ardently for -your own fame—nothing more.” This prince, though he allowed himself -to be drawn, to a certain extent, into the fashionable follies of -the court, had inherited from his father many sterling and beautiful -qualities. His benevolence was unbounded; but it was only after his -death that his real character was revealed, so carefully did he shun -everything like ostentation in the exercise of his favorite virtue. It -was then discovered that two-thirds of his immense revenue had been -spent upon the poor, in the payment of pensions to artists, men of -letters, widows, etc.; some granted in his own name, others in the name -of one or other of his ancestors. His condescending kindness towards -his dependents endeared him to all who approached him. A chamberlain -coming one day to announce to him the death of a most inefficient -and tiresome valet, who had been twenty years in the duke’s service, -“Poor fellow!” sighed the duke, “for twenty years he served me, and -for twenty years he worried me!” “Why did you keep him, monseigneur?” -inquired a bystander. “Why, he would never have found a place if I had -turned him away,” replied the prince, and then added: “We must see now -that his wife and children are provided for.” Was it not Sophocles who -said, “Only a great soul knows how much glory there is in being kind”? -What a germ of true glory there lies buried in this quiet little trait -of Louis d’Orléans! - -The death of this magnificent patron, forbearing master, and generous -father of the poor makes way for another prince of the House of Orleans -who has earned a louder but less enviable notoriety on the world-stage -of history. Almost immediately on his becoming master of the Palais -Royal, the new Duc d’Orléans had the vexation of seeing the theatre so -recently rebuilt by his father burnt down again. Discouraged, no doubt, -by this precedent, he refused to rebuild it at his own expense, and -applied to the city of Paris for the necessary funds; but that body -declined to furnish them. The _Comédie Française_ was consequently -transferred to the Porte St. Martin, where a building was erected in -the space of six weeks by Lenoir. It was not till many years later -that Richelieu’s beautiful temple to dramatic art was rebuilt by a -prince of the House of Orleans, to be henceforth hired out on lease to -enterprising managers. - -We are told that in his early youth Joseph Philippe d’Orléans gave -promise of an estimable manhood. How wofully this promise was belied by -his after-life and shameful and tragic death we know. He was born at -St. Cloud in 1747, and married, in 1769, the only daughter of the Duc -de Penthièvre—a creature endowed with every charm of person and mind -to make her at once reverenced and loved. Philippe was tall, slight, -and well proportioned, his features finely cut and lit up with vivacity -and intelligence, his manners gracious and dignified. Such is the -portrait handed down to us of him in those early days before the shadow -of coming infamy had obscured the picture. He fell soon into habits of -unbridled dissipation; but, so long as he confined himself to this, -to mad charioteering pranks on the boulevards, and aerial escapades -in balloons, with boon companions as mad as himself, the people -looked on in contemptuous disapproval. It was necessary, in order to -stimulate this passive feeling to one of direct antagonism, that he -should interfere with the popular pleasure and convenience. This he -did by turning his broad and richly planted garden into a huge shop, -thus depriving the _bourgeois_ and idlers of Paris of their accustomed -resort on the sultry days and long mellow evenings of summer. His royal -highness had contrived very soon to compromise a fortune more than -royal in its extent; and, in order to replenish his coffers, he decided -to cut down his ancestral chestnuts, and build up in their place long -rows of shops, to be hired out at a high rent to tradespeople. The -fashionables and the _bourgeois_, and, more important than all in a -Frenchman’s eyes, the children, were thus driven to promenade under a -stone colonnade, instead of enjoying the green shade of Richelieu’s -groves, where the buzz of a multifarious bazaar had replaced the -cooing of doves and the twitter of singing-birds. By-and-by we see the -thermometer rising from resentful dislike to fierce hatred. Philip -is smitten with Anglomania, and spends his time and, what is of more -consequence to Paris, his money in London. He wears only London-made -coats, drives English horses, hires English grooms, altogether affects -the ways and manners of _outre-mer_, to the great disgust of Versailles -and the boulevards. Wretched Philip! well had it been for him and -for Versailles had he dwelt content in these puerile masquerades and -self-degrading follies! But under the frivolous surface there lay -a substratum of cruel vindictiveness, a bristling self-love, that -was quick to see an affront, and implacable in avenging it. Marie -Antoinette had the dire ill-luck to offend her disreputable cousin of -Orleans. When her brother, the Archduke Maximilian, came to see her -at Versailles, the queen, then in her twentieth year, very naturally -desired to see as much as possible of this dear companion of her -childhood during his short stay; so she dispensed, as far as she could, -with court ceremonial, remaining chiefly in her private apartments with -her brother. It did not probably occur to her that, in omitting to -invite the Duc d’Orléans to share this sisterly intercourse, she was -inflicting a wound that would one day distil its deadly poison upon -herself and those dearest to her. So it was, however. Philip never -forgave what he considered a slight, and bitterly did he make the -thoughtless young queen repent having inflicted it. - -The gardens of the Palais Royal, which had given rise to his first -unpopularity, were destined to be the scene of the upheaving of the -revolution. All was ready, only waiting for a bold hand to give a push -to the pendulum and set it going. Camille Desmoulins did it. It was -the 12th of July, 1789. Yesterday the great crisis had been prepared, -and to-day it burst. Necker, the universal genius whose advent to the -ministry was hailed as the panacea for all discords, and difficulties, -and threatened dangers; Necker, the “Achilles of computation,” whose, -vigorous hand and capacious brain were to seize France, tottering on -the brink of some invisible gulf, and steady her; Necker, to whom -the timid, apathetic king, and the proud, valiant queen, had all but -gone on their knees to induce him to come and redeem the treasury by -“swift arithmetic,” and save the government and—yes, even at this -date they must have included it in the salvations to be accomplished -by Necker—the throne; Necker, who had yielded to the royal suppliants -with these words: “I yield in obedience to duty, but with the certainty -that I am doomed”—Necker had been dismissed. On the 11th of July, -Louis XVI. signed the letter imploring the minister to leave the -kingdom “at once and without _éclat_.” When his secretary objected that -Necker’s extraordinary popularity was a strong presumption against his -obeying this last command; that he had only to show himself, and the -people would rise _en masse_ to prevent his flight, Louis replied: -“I know Necker; he will guard us against himself; he will obey me -scrupulously, and fly without _éclat_.” And he was right. The minister -received the letter at three in the afternoon, and quietly put it in -his pocket without communicating its contents even to his wife; he -dined at the usual hour with some friends already invited; nothing in -his appearance or conversation betrayed the slightest emotion during -the repast; on leaving the table, he showed the letter of dismissal -to Mme. Necker, ordered his carriage, and they went out for a drive; -when they were about two hundred yards from the house, he pulled -the check-string, and desired the coachman to drive to the nearest -post-station. It was not till the following morning that his daughter -and his numerous friends knew of his departure. The news electrified -everybody. Camille Desmoulins’ grand opportunity had arrived. He -had already made himself notorious as a leader of malcontents; this -afternoon he was drinking with a certain set of them in a _café_ at -the Palais Royal—of late a favorite rendezvous of patriots of his -type—noisy and blustering, believing in copious libations as the -most efficacious proof of patriotism. Desmoulins, on hearing the -news, rushed out, pistol in hand, and, jumping on an orange-tree tub, -proceeded to harangue the assembled multitude. He was afflicted with a -painful stuttering in his speech, but this impediment appears to have -been no hindrance to the effect of his oratory; on the contrary, it -gave it a more vehement character, impelling him to wild and passionate -gesticulation, by way of helping out his defective utterance. He spoke -with his eyes, his teeth, every member of his body; he would shake -out his hair in lion-like fashion, stamp his feet, toss his arms with -clenched fists above his head to supply the word his tongue refused to -articulate, and the energetic pantomine elicited the sympathy, while -it fired the passions, of his hearers. “Citizens!” he cried, “I come -from Versailles.” (He came from a neighboring _café_, as we have seen, -but what of that?) “Necker is dismissed. This dismissal is the tocsin -of S. Bartholomew for all patriots. Before the sun has gone down, we -shall see the Swiss and German battalions marching from the Champs de -Mars to murder us like dogs. One chance yet remains to us. To arms! -Let us choose a cockade whereby we may know each other.” This exordium -was covered with thundering salvos by the patriots. “What color shall -we choose?” continued the orator. “Speak, patriots! Select your own -flag. Shall it be green, the emblem of hope, or blue—the color of free -America, of liberty, and democracy?” A voice from the patriots cried -out: “Green, the color of hope!” But the choice was negatived by the -voice of popular prejudice. Green, it was said, was unlucky. No; they -would not have green. - -A scene of indescribable tumult followed while the momentous question -of the cockade was being canvassed. Finally, by what train of argument -history does not record, blue, white, and red were elected to the honor -of representing the patriots. They happened to be the colors of the -House of Orleans. From the tub which served as a rostrum to the orator -the decree was shouted to the serried ranks around, and all through -the gardens it was borne along the colonnade rapid as lightning, -swelling, as it went, into a deafening peal that soon reverberated -from the boulevards and the thoroughfares of Paris to Versailles. It -is said, we know not whether or not on authentic testimony, that while -this wild uproar, which terminated in the adoption of his House’s -colors by the popular party, was going on under his windows, Philip of -Orleans, henceforth to be known under the title of Egalité, was coolly -looking out at the performance, smoking his cigar, and discussing the -probable effect of it all at Versailles. By the time the whole city -was out-of-doors, it was the hour for the performance to begin in -the Palais Royal theatre, close by the scene of Camille’s rhetorical -triumph; other more interesting pieces, beginning with comedy and -ending with tragedy, were now to be performed; a band of patriots, -with Camille at their head, burst into the theatre, and, rushing on -the stage, summarily reversed the programme of the evening. They flung -tricolor cockades right and left, and called the spectators to arms. -“The audience rose _en masse_” at the appeal, like a true-born Parisian -audience, and, surging from pit and boxes, poured out impetuous and -desperate, it knew not well why, at the bidding of Camille Desmoulins. -He marched off, with the swelling stream behind him, to the studio -of the sculptor Curtius; there the patriots seized a bust of Necker -and Philip of Orleans, and carried them in procession through the -streets. This was Egalité’s official _début_, as a leader of the Red -Revolution. It was at the Palais Royal he was arrested. Here, on the -site of its first eruption, the wild demon which he had, in the measure -of his power, evoked and called up from the smouldering lava depths -to the full activity of its satanic life, and flattered and bowed -down to, was doomed at the appointed hour of retribution to raise its -bloody hand against the regicide, and strike him down. On his way to -the guillotine, the car, whether by accident or design, passed under -Egalité’s old home. He raised his eyes for a moment to the windows, -and, surveying them with an unmoved countenance, turned his glance -calmly again upon the yelling crowd. - -While the Terror lasted, the Palais Royal remained untenanted. After -the Restoration it was occupied by Louis Philippe while Duke of -Orleans; when the son of Egalité called himself to the throne of his -nephew, he forsook it for the Tuileries, and during the remainder of -his reign it was open to the public as an historical monument and -museum. On the resurrection of the Empire, the Palais Royal became -the residence of Prince Jerome Bonaparte, only surviving brother of -Napoleon I. When this last venerable twig fell from the old imperial -tree, it continued in the possession of his son, Prince Napoleon. -Hither, in March, 1859, he brought his young bride, the Princess -Clothilde, daughter of Victor Emmanuel, and there he resided until the -memorable summer of 1870, when the disastrous war with Prussia came -like a cyclone, and tore up the old tree by the roots, and sent the -branches flying hither and thither over the astonished face of Europe. - -The Commune closes our retrospect of Richelieu’s palace. The Tuileries -and the Palais Royal sent up their petroleum flames together to the -soft summer skies where the bright May sun was shining down, serenely -sad, upon the awful spectacle of Paris on fire—a funeral pile whereon -were consumed, let us hope never again to rise from their ashes, the -Commune itself, and the delusions of the few honest fools, if such -there were, who believed in its insane theories. Surely as they fled, -scared from their old historic haunts by the blaze and stench of the -devilish modern fluid, the ghosts of Richelieu, and Mazarin, and Anne -of Austria, and all that band of majestic figures from the unburied -past, must have laughed a bitter laugh, wherein horror was not without -a note of triumph, as they looked back upon the ghastly scene. “Our -little systems had their day,” the dead legislators may have said, -one to another, as they stood in the lurid light of the conflagration -that illuminated, to the eyes of their disembodied spirit, the -far-stretching vistas of the present and the past; “they were all -faulty, how faulty we know now with unavailing knowledge, but, compared -to this, were they not the Millennium, Eutopia, the ideal of the reign -of justice upon the earth?” - - - - -AN ABUSE OF DIPLOMATIC AUTHORITY. - - -THE tendency, to which we have heretofore alluded, to ostracize -Catholics, and to take it for granted that this is a Protestant -country, to be ruled exclusively by anti-Catholics, has had even a -more dangerous and far-reaching effect beyond our borders, and that, -too, apparently with official sanction. The popular prejudice has not -unnaturally reached and infected the authorities at Washington. We -do not allude especially to the present Administration or Congress, -for the evil is of long standing; but we have no hesitation in saying -that our diplomatic and consular systems as at present conducted are -unjust to a very respectable minority of the American people, and are -likely to mislead and deceive the nations with which we are on terms of -peace and amity. The foreign appointees are, almost without exception, -taken from the ranks of non-Catholics and without regard either to -the feelings of a large class of our own citizens or the wishes of -the people to whom they are sent. The ministers plenipotentiary to -the great powers of Europe have been invariably selected from the -ultra Protestant class like Motley; while the numerous consuls, with a -few honorable exceptions, have been men of the same way of thinking, -according to their limited understanding. When the Holy Father was yet -in possession of his dominions, we used to delight in sending him now -and then a specimen of a genuine Know-Nothing; and when Spain—Catholic -and conservative Spain—began to feel the Gem of the Antilles slipping -from her grasp, we despatched an atheistical _filibustero_, Soulé, to -assure her of our friendship and good-will With Catholic countries -generally we have acted in the same spirit of contradiction, as if our -object were to excite hostility rather than to perpetuate kindness and -harmony, as among them, particularly in South America, each legation -and consulate habitually formed the nucleus of anti-Catholic society. -As long as this blundering—we will not call it by a harsher name—was -confined to our European appointments, it mattered little; for the -relative condition of Catholics and the sects in this country is there -pretty well known, and, the faith of the people being well fixed, -prejudice and bigotry, even when protected by the stars and stripes, -could do little harm. - -It is of the character of our representatives in Turkey, Africa, India, -China, and other places _in partibus infidelium_ that we have most -reason to complain. These American envoys and consuls seem to become -volunteer lay evangelizers; and if, like our friends of the Methodist -and Presbyterian missionary societies of this city, they do not succeed -in converting the benighted heathen from the error of their ways, they -endeavor, by the exercise of all their delegated authority, to thwart -and depreciate the labors of those who can—the Catholic missionaries -from other countries. Take, for example, India and China, the great -missionary fields of the world, containing as they do at least one-half -of the whole human race in a comparative state of civilization. The -former being a province of Great Britain, it is natural that sectarian -missions should receive at least a semi-official recognition and -protection from the appointees of the head of the Protestant Church “as -by law established”; but even in this respect the English officials -have been outdone in zeal and officiousness by our own agents in the -Indian Peninsula, as we learn from a late work on that country.[44] -But in China, with its four or five hundred millions of idolaters, -the case is different. There the Catholic priest and the devoted -Sister of Charity, unsupported by the temporal arm, and unawed by -threats, torture, and death, have been most active and most successful -in advancing the standard of the cross and winning souls to Christ. -Their converts are numbered by tens of thousands, and their churches, -schools, and orphanages dot the southern and western coasts; while the -sectarian missionaries, lacking the sustaining power of the state, have -practically done nothing. This has long been a source of much chagrin -to the various dissenting proselytizing societies in England and the -United States, as it also seems to have been the cause of exasperation -to our Minister at Peking, Mr. Frederick F. Low. - -That gentleman’s mission to China appears to have embraced but three -objects, if we except his attempt and absurd failure to bring the -Coreans into communication with the outside world. The first of these -was the protection of American Protestant missionaries, and them only; -the second, to convince the Chinese officials that the United States -have nothing to do with Catholics, or, as he is pleased to style them -on all occasions, “Romanists”; and the third, to send home false -despatches and mistranslated documents. - -In looking over the foreign correspondence of our government for 1871, -as presented to Congress with the President’s Message,[45] we find -that, in October, 1870, Mr. Low, without any authority whatever from -Washington, ordered a United States war-vessel from Chefoo to Tungchow, -for the sole purpose of returning some Protestant missionaries to -the latter place, who, with their usual regard for the first law of -nature, had fled from it upon the slightest rumor of danger. The -ship was the _Benecia_, and her precious cargo consisted of “the -missionaries (number not stated), their teachers and servants, also -_their children_, amounting to a total of twenty-four persons.” Of -the reverend gentlemen at whose disposal a public vessel had been so -obsequiously placed by the accommodating Mr. Low, Commander Kimberly, -in his report, bluntly says: - - “The missionaries expressed themselves perfectly satisfied with - everything that had been done in regard to returning them to their - homes, and wished me to visit the shore and walk about the city with - the officers of the ship in full uniform, which I declined to do, - as, after the promises made by the Chinese officials, I considered - it unnecessary, and the Chinese being perfectly willing and pleased, - as far as I could judge, that they had returned. From my interview, - I came to the conclusion that there never existed any real danger at - Tungchow-foo, but the missionaries were frightened by the threats of - some Chinese not in authority. Mischievous persons are found in every - community, and Tungchow-foo is not free from this infliction. The - massacre of Tientsin capped the climax, and the missionaries left in - consequence.” - -The cowardly conduct of the missionaries, who were thus so honorably -reconducted to their homes, is even partially admitted by the minister -in his explanatory despatch, for he says: “In this connection, I desire -to say that I have had no information from the missionaries, except a -short note from one of them saying that they had all reached Tungchow. -Without expressing any opinion as to the real peril they were in, or -whether there was or was not cause for the step they took, I am of the -opinion that their removal and the manner of their return will, on the -whole, result in good.” - -We admit that it is the duty of every envoy, consul, or other foreign -agent of our government to succor and protect our citizens abroad in -all things lawful; but here, in this respect, their duty ends. They -have no shadow of right to employ the public vessels of the country, -paid for by the public at large, and destined for far other purposes, -in any other business, much less for the transportation of runaway -missionaries, “their teachers, servants, and children.” This is not -a Protestant country _de facto_ or _de jure_, and, as far as the -national government is concerned, no religion whatever is recognized. -If it were an equal number of merchants or traders who had fled in -terror from imaginary danger, is it likely that Mr. Low would have -depleted our small squadron in the Chinese seas by putting at their -service, and that of their “teachers, servants, and children,” one of -the best vessels in the fleet? Or does any one suppose that, if those -persons had been Catholic missionaries, he would have been guilty of -a similar abuse of authority? But he apologetically says, “The manner -of their return will, on the whole, result in good.” Just so. Good to -Mr. Low, though we have not yet heard of a vote of thanks having been -presented to him by any of our numerous foreign missionary societies, -or that they have sent on to Washington deputations for his retention -or promotion. That his conduct deserves such commendation from these -bodies no one can doubt who reads further his despatches to the State -Department. - -In 1858, a treaty was formed between China, on the one part, and the -leading Western powers, on the other, whereby, among other things, it -was stipulated that the Christian converts in the former country should -practise their religion without molestation, and also enjoy certain -immunities; and that in the free or open ports and districts the -ministers of religion should be guaranteed the full exercise of their -functions, etc. In 1870, as previously agreed upon, this treaty came -up for revision, and France, ever foremost in the work of civilization -and conversion, proposed five amendments to the treaty, all relating -directly or indirectly to commerce. The second of these reads as -follows: - - “You have expressed a desire to know the demands which I have engaged - my government to make from the Chinese government when the treaty of - 1858 is revised. I have no objection to satisfy you, for I believe - that the alterations are indispensable, and I shall be happy to learn - that the other governments allied with China have decided also to - demand them.... Second, I demand that we shall have the right to place - salaried consuls wherever we judge proper, and that those cities where - consuls reside shall also be opened to foreign trade.” - -These demands seemed rational enough, and have since, we understand, -been substantially complied with; but our clear-sighted minister -immediately detected the danger that lurked beneath them, particularly -the one just quoted, and hastened to advise his government not to -second the propositions of the French ambassador. Here is one of his -reasons: - - “I see so many objections to such a treaty provision, and so many - chances of its proving a delusion and a snare, that, unless the - proposition can be more definitely defined, I should not be inclined - to favor it. If the exact truth could be ascertained, it would be - found, I expect, that the whole idea of the French _chargé_ in this - scheme is the better protection of the French missionaries; and were - it possible to obtain the concession asked for, these additional - consuls would be, to all intents and purposes, agents of Roman - Catholic missionaries. Their official positions and influence would be - used to sustain missionary claims and assumptions, some of which have - been described in a former despatch. So far as trade is concerned, it - may well be questioned whether the presence of French consuls in the - interior would not prove a damage instead of a benefit.” - -And this is the representative of a free and commercial people who -desire to be considered Christian! Rather than see Catholic missions -extended, and paganism eradicated from the hearts of millions of -human beings, he would be willing to keep some of the most populous -and fertile portions of the Celestial Empire closed for ever against -civilization and commerce. But let us follow this model minister a -little further. - -In February, 1871, the Chinese Foreign Office submitted to the foreign -representatives at the capital, for consideration and approval, the -draft of a minute, and eight rules for the guidance and government -of missionaries in the entire empire. They were drawn up with true -Tartar cunning and ingenuity, and were intended, if adopted, to baffle -the straightforward demands of France. In terms they were plausible -enough, but in reality exceedingly restrictive, and evidently aimed -at the Sisters of Charity, whose schools and orphan asylums were -rapidly increasing, and at those zealous and enterprising missionaries -who, under various disguises, and despite the vigilance of the local -authorities, are in the habit, at imminent personal danger, of -penetrating into the very heart of the country, and preaching the Word -of God where his name has never before been heard. This was a chance -for Mr. Low to exhibit his sectarian bigotry before the mandarins, and -he eagerly availed himself of it. Answering their communication in his -official capacity, and while dissenting generally from their views, he -takes occasion, we think very gratuitously, to say: - - “It is a noticeable fact that, among all the cases cited, there does - not appear to be one in which Protestant missionaries are charged - with violating treaty, law, or custom. So far as I can ascertain, - your complaints are chiefly against the action and attitude of the - missionaries of the Roman Catholic faith, and, as these are under - the exclusive protection and control of the government of France, I - might with great propriety decline to discuss _a matter with which the - government of the United States has no direct interest or concern_, - for the reason that none of its citizens are charged with violating - treaty or local law, and thus causing trouble.” - -And again, with equal truthfulness and appositeness, he adds: - - “Whenever cases occur in which the missionaries overstep the bounds - of decorum, or interfere in matters with which they have no proper - concern, let each case be reported promptly to the minister of the - country to which it belongs. Such isolated instances should not - produce prejudice or engender hatred against those who observe their - obligations, nor should sweeping complaints be made against all on - this account. Those from the United States sincerely desire the - reformation of those whom they teach, and to do this they urge the - examination of the Holy Scriptures, wherein the great doctrines of the - present and a future state, and also the resurrection of the soul, are - set forth, with the obligation of repentance, belief in the Saviour, - and the duties of man to himself and others. It is owing, in a great - degree, to the prevalence of a belief in the truth of the Scriptures - that Western nations have attained their power and prosperity.” - -Having thus, as he thought, directed the prejudice and hostility of the -authorities against the Catholics exclusively, and put in a good word -for the evangelizers; and assured them that, as far as the former were -concerned, the United States had no concern whatever, and by inference -that they might maltreat and murder as many of them as they pleased -without let or hindrance from us, Mr. Low next proceeds to mislead his -government in a manner which may be diplomatic, but is certainly far -from honorable. - -In transmitting to the Department of State a translation of the rules -alluded to, he remarks: - - “A careful reading of the memorandum clearly proves that the great, if - not only, cause of complaint against the missionaries comes from the - action of the Roman Catholic priests and the native Christians of that - faith; although the rules proposed for the government of missionaries - apply equally to Protestants and Catholics.” - -“A careful reading” of the document as translated under his auspices -would indeed seem to bear out Mr. Low’s views, for it is filled with -complaints and denunciations of “Romanists,” and the derivative -adjective “Romish” is used with a freedom that would delight the heart -of the most virulent _colporteur_. But, unfortunately, there was -another translation of the same document in England, and in it, behold, -all the “Romanists” are turned into “Christians”![46] Even Mr. Davis, -of the State Department, could not help noticing this discrepancy -between the two papers, and in a letter dated Oct. 19, 1871, calls upon -the Peking minister for an explanation, which, of course, was never -given, for the good reason that the deception was intentional. If, as -according to Blackstone, forgery consists in the material alteration -of the body of a written instrument, as well as in the imitation or -alteration of a signature, we fear our respected representative has -been guilty of a very serious legal mistake. The assistant secretary -writes: - - “Two versions of these regulations have found their way to the - Department—the translation enclosed in your No. 56, and a translation - apparently made from a French version presented to the houses of - Parliament in Great Britain in June or July last, and printed in - _British Blue-Book_, entitled “China, No. 3, 1871.” These versions - differ widely in form and expression, and, to some extent, in sense. - - “The version presented to Parliament has been or will be made the - subject of instructions by her Majesty’s government to Mr. Wade. - A copy of these proposed instructions was communicated to this - Department by her Majesty’s _chargé_ at Washington in August last. A - copy is herewith enclosed, and also a copy of the version to which - they relate. - - “The most material variance between the two versions is in the - designation of the missionaries against whom the Chinese Foreign - Office complains. Your version limits the complaints to missionaries - of the Roman Church. The British translation, following the French - version, represents the complaints against ‘Christians.’ For instance, - the British version renders the beginning of the first article or - rule as follows: ‘The Christians, when they found an orphanage, give - no notice to the authorities, and appear to act with mystery.’ Your - translation of the same sentence reads: “The establishment of asylums - for training up children by the Romanists has hitherto not been - reported to the authorities, and as these institutions are carefully - kept private,’ etc., etc. From the English version of the accompanying - note from the Yamên, it is evident that the Chinese Foreign Office - recognizes that there are in China Christian missionaries of different - faiths; for they say that ‘the people in general, unaware of the - difference which exists between Protestantism and Catholicism, - confound these two religions under this latter denomination.’” - -The sectarian views of the minister in Peking were ably seconded by his -subordinate, the consul-general at Shanghai. That official, Mr. G. F. -Seward, under date August 22, 1871, sends to the Assistant-Secretary -of State a cursory review of the general condition of China, and -a detailed account of the horrible massacre of Tientsin, June 21, -1870; with a report of the trial and execution of some of the -miscreants engaged in it. His communication, as might be expected, is, -whenever possible, thoroughly anti-Catholic, filled with innuendos, -insinuations, and even broad statements against the missionaries of -that faith, and the Sisters of Charity; the usual elegant phrases -“Romish” and “Romanist” being used at every opportunity. As a sample of -this _commercial_ agent’s style and skill in the art of hinting a fault -and hesitating dislike, we quote the following passages from his letter: - - “Various allegations have been made against Roman Catholic - missionaries. It has been alleged that the bishop of one of the - western provinces resides in a palace which vies with that of the - viceroy; that he uses a palanquin decorated in a way allowed only to - the highest officials of the empire; and that his progresses from - one part of his diocese to another are made in a regal way. It has - been asserted that the priests claim the right to correspond with the - officials on terms of equality; that they combine with and arrange - combinations among their converts to defeat the objects of the - government; that they claim for their converts various unusual and - objectionable immunities; that, in fact, they are building up a rule - within the territorial rule which is very dangerous to the state. One - who has studied the history of the Roman Church cannot be surprised - when he hears that China is seriously alarmed; but we can estimate the - actual danger more perfectly than she. Any exposition of her fears - which she is likely to make will exhibit many puerilities. Yet we must - admit that her statesmen would be unwise if they should fail to study - the problems which the presence of the church presents.” - -So much for some of our diplomats in Asia. If they had been sent out -by the Methodist missionary body or any other fanatical society, they -could not have shown more narrow-minded bigotry or less regard for the -advancement of religion and true civilization; but as representatives -of this republic, where all are regarded as equal, and where the -general government is supposed to represent the interests of every -class and creed alike, it is not too much to say that they have been -sadly recreant to the trust reposed in them. - -Turning over the pages of this voluminous collection of foreign -correspondence from all parts of the world with the Department of -State, we came upon the following curious despatch. It is dated Mexico, -April 29, 1871, signed by our minister, Mr. Thomas H. Nelson, and -referred to in the index as “The Spread of Protestantism”: - - “The Protestant movement in Mexico has for the past year been making - considerable progress, chiefly owing to the efforts of the American - clergyman, Rev. H. Chauncey Reilly, a letter from whom upon this - subject was forwarded by me, forming an enclosure to my No. 38, of - August 9, 1869. There are now about fifty congregations or assemblies - of Mexican Protestants in this city and vicinity, and an equal or - greater number scattered throughout the country. Most of these - assemblies still meet in private houses, though in some small places - of the interior they form a numerical majority, and have, therefore, - acquired possession of the parish churches. In this city, through the - efforts and personal liberality of Mr. Reilly, the Protestants have - acquired two fine churches of those which were secularized and sold by - the government some years since; one of these is the former convent of - San Francisco, the most magnificent as well as the first one erected - in Mexico. It is now being repaired for its new use. The other is the - commodious church of San José de Garcia, which, having been thoroughly - repaired, was dedicated to the Protestant service on Sunday, the - 23d instant, in the presence of an immense multitude. Two or three - Catholic priests of some prominence have, within the past two or three - months, joined the Protestant communion, and two of them have ventured - upon the decisive step of matrimony. One of the recent converts, - Father Manuel Auguas, formerly an eloquent preacher of the Dominican - Order, has become the pastor of the new church. This event has caused - a vigorous polemic in the newspapers of this city; the two papers - considered especially Catholic have been filled with attacks upon the - new religious movement, while most of the other papers have exhibited - a commendable spirit of tolerance or even of good-will toward the - Protestants. I enclose an interesting article upon this subject from - the _Two Republics_ of to-day, translated from the _Federalista_, and - written by M. Ignacio M. Altamirano, who is considered as the chief of - the Mexican literary writers of the present day. Yours, etc.” - -This is the entire communication, no other subjects being touched upon; -but the matter seems of so much importance and of so great national -interest as to warrant the sapient Mr. Nelson in making it the basis -of a special official despatch. Is this gentleman the envoy of the -United States, or a commissioner appointed by some Bible or tract -society to report on the “spread of Protestantism” in the neighboring -republic, or does he unite the two characters in his own person? Does -he receive the public money for puffing the Rev. H. Chauncey Reilly, -and transmitting his diatribes and the effusions of a certain M. -Altamirano for preservation in the archives of the nation? If so, it is -time the public should know it. Mr. Nelson’s letter, however, explains -an incident that occurred in Washington a few years since. It was this: -the mission to Mexico was vacant, and it was applied for by a gentleman -every way qualified for the post. He was thoroughly educated, knew -the Spanish language well, and had served with high rank and marked -distinction during the late war. He was appointed by the President, -and his nomination by the Senate was urged by several influential -citizens, including the then Secretary of State, the late Mr. Seward. -The committee of the Senate refused to report his name favorably, and, -in reply to the query of the writer what objection could be urged -against the applicant, a leading senator replied that “he understood -him to be a very violent (meaning practical) Catholic!” The policy of -this gentleman, like that of many others at the national capital, was -not to send a Catholic to a Catholic country, but one who would report -on the “spread of Protestantism,” and doubtless, find materials for his -despatches. - -Nor must we blame the government too severely for their injudicious -sectarian appointments. Its views are but the reflex of popular -opinion, and, as long as we tolerate bigotry and proscription in our -popular elections, we must expect that those who are supposed to -represent us will follow the bad example thus set them. The fault -hitherto has been partly ours, and the remedy is in our own hands. This -remedy consists in discountenancing all subsidized newspaper writers -and demagogues whose abuse and slanders prevent good men from filling -the national and state councils; in trampling under foot all party and -religious prejudices, and invariably voting against those who would -maintain them; and by supporting for offices, both at home and abroad, -only those who will attend to the public business, and let sectarian -missionaries and the “spread of Protestantism” alone. - - - - -A LEGEND OF S. MARTIN. - - -AFTER many strifes and battles, and after having been for years -Administrator of Thrace, Asia, and Egypt, with Dacia and Macedonia, -to which the dethroned and executed Emperor of the West, Gratian, -had appointed him, Theodosius I., the Roman emperor, returned from -Thessalonica, his former headquarters, to Constantinople. - -The day was cold and stormy, and many a one of the emperor’s suite -wrapped his cloak closer around his shivering body, as the snowflakes -fell thicker and faster, covering the road quickly in the white mantle -of winter. - -The troop had just entered a small village, when the emperor’s horse -was stopped by a man miserably clad and trembling with cold. - -Impatient of the detention, Theodosius pressed his spurs into the sides -of his steed, and flew past the wretched beggar. - -But a knight called Martin, from Pannonia, who followed next, halted -and looked pityingly upon the poor trembling form. Willingly would he -have given him money or clothing, but a soldier seldom has much to -give, and, except his hat and coat, the knight possessed nothing. One -moment only he reflected, and the next he drew forth his sword, and cut -in two the large cloak hanging over his shoulders. Handing the one half -to the beggar, and wrapping himself closely in the other, he followed -the emperor with lightning speed, without listening to the words of -blessing which fell from the lips of the mendicant. - -After the sun had set, the emperor and his followers took quarters for -the night. - -All had gone to rest, and Knight Martin also had laid himself down, -and soon was fast asleep. Shortly, however, he felt as if his eyes -were forced open by a most brilliant and dazzling light. He sat up, -and perceived at his feet a man upon whose head was a crown of thorns. -Shining angels surrounded him, and the mantle which Martin had given to -the beggar hung around his shoulders. Pointing to it, he asked S. Peter -(who stood by his side) in sweet and gentle voice: “Do you see this -mantle?” - -“From whom did you receive it?” S. Peter questioned. - -“From Martin here,” was the reply, given in a heavenly voice, his -finger pointing at the same time to the astonished soldier. “Rise, my -son,” he then continued—and his angelic smile was ravishing to the -eyes of Martin—“I have chosen thee henceforth to be my servant. Until -now thou hast been a blind heathen: thou shalt now become a shining -light in my army. Put up thy sword; thou shalt be a soldier of God.” -And then Martin knew that it was the Lord himself who spake to him. - -An angel kissed the mantle’s border—and Martin awoke. - -The morning broke. He rose quickly, and left the place, never resting, -never stopping, until he had reached the portal of a cloister; there he -knocked and entered. - -Soon he became famous for his goodness and piety, and, as bishop, -served his Master with spiritual rather than material weapons. - - - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - - MY CLERICAL FRIENDS, AND THEIR RELATION TO MODERN THOUGHT. - New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - -We are glad to announce the publication of the American edition of this -work, our previous notice having been based upon the advance sheets of -the English edition. - -The Catholic Publication Society has done good service to religion by -its handsome edition of this most important book. It is divided into -four chapters, which treat of “The Vocation of the Clergy,” “The Clergy -at Home,” “The Clergy Abroad,” and “The Clergy and Modern Thought.” -Under these divisions, the distinguished author has grouped together -a most interesting series of facts and arguments which cannot fail to -carry conviction to any honest mind. He deals principally with what may -be called the advanced clergy of the Anglican Church, shows their real -position in the present state of controversy, and the utter absurdity -of their claims. If there is anything properly called ridiculous, it -is the aspect of a small portion of a sect pretending to be that which -every one else in the world denies them to be, and flaunting their -professions to the entire denial of history, tradition, and even common -sense. Our Ritualistic friends have no regard for anything in the past, -present, or future but themselves, and, therefore, they cannot be -reasoned with. Their half-way house may be a stopping-place for a time -for honest hearts, but no sincere mind can rest there, for Almighty -God never leaves the true in mind without the assistance of his grace -or the use of their natural faculties. We commend this book to all in -the Anglican communion who desire to look facts in the face or to save -their souls. And we beg in all charity to tell them that they cannot -save their souls without sacrifice. If they prefer to keep this world, -they will lose the next. There may be in our author’s clear and bright -presentation of truth something that may seem to them harsh or severe. -We can assure them that there is no kinder heart than that of our -distinguished friend, the author; but he has such keen perceptions of -right and wrong that he cannot fail to put, with telling effect, the -absurdity of their religious position. And deny it as they may, and -perhaps will, the whole world appreciates the inconsistency of their -actions with their professions. Kind people pity them, while worldly -people laugh at them. - -Beginning with the theory that the _one_ church of God can be divided, -which is a contradiction in terms, they claim to be a _branch_ of -something that confessedly can have no branches. Then, they are not -simply a branch, but a _branch of a branch_. And the branch of which -they form part renounces them, and casts them out, but they will not be -cast out. Their mother, the Church of England, does not know herself as -these her children do. Then, there is one thing they can hang on to the -last, even if everything else fails. They were admitted to apostolical -ordination by _Barlow_, whom they will have a bishop, though there is -no proof whatever that he was one, and while he himself denied the -necessity or the virtue of the sacrament of order. “If schism,” as Dr. -Newman says, “depends on the mere retention of the Episcopal order, -there never was and there never will be a schism,” for bishops are -as likely to be corrupted as priests. But the truth is, nobody ever -pretended to any apostolical succession in the English Church until the -Dissenters became so strong that, out of opposition to them, “a few -Anglican prelates began to talk of pretensions which, during several -generations, they had treated as a jest and a fable.” “According to -Barlow, an English bishop could dispense with orders; and, according -to Cranmer, with grace.” There was no pretence of any doctrine of -priesthood on the part of the _founders_ of the Church of England, and -surely these intelligent men ought to have known what they intended to -do. Hooker is one of their greatest defenders, and he expressly denies -the necessity of Episcopal ordination. “Being about to appear before -God, he sent—not for an Anglican minister—but for his friend Saravia, -and accepted from his unconsecrated hands those quasi-sacramental rites -which, according to Ritualistic views, he had no power to dispense.” -These divines were the faithful interpreters of the mind of their -church. - - “‘It is quite clear,’ observes Bishop Tomline, expounding the 25th - Article, ‘that the words of the Article do not maintain the necessity - of episcopal ordination.’ Bishop Hall, again, though he wrote a - well-known book in defence of episcopacy, gave up the whole question - when he said: ‘Blessed be God, _there is no difference_, in any - essential matter, betwixt the Church of England and _her sisters of - the Reformation_.’ And this was the language even of men who had - written the most earnest apologies for episcopal government. They - never attempted to maintain that the apostolical succession was - necessary to the integrity of a church. Thus Bramhall said, with - easy composure: ‘The ordination of our first Protestant bishops was - _legal_,’ _i.e._ it had the royal sanction; ‘and for the _validity_ of - it, we crave no man’s favor.’ Andrewes is a more important witness. - Though Ritualists may not approve his subservience to that robust - theologian, James I., he is still held in honor among them as almost - a High-Church prelate, and is regarded as the most imposing figure of - his time. Yet Andrewes, on their own principles, was as flagrant a - betrayer of the doctrine of the Christian priesthood, if he ever held - it, as Hooker himself, or even as Barlow or Whittaker. He not only - gave the Anglican sacrament to a Swiss Protestant, Isaac Casaubon, but - related afterwards, with impassioned and approving eloquence, that his - friend died loudly professing with his latest breath the strictest - tenets of the Calvinists of Geneva.” - -There are many other points that will attract the attention of the -reader, and which we cannot speak of in this short notice. The last -chapter, upon “The Clergy and Modern Thought,” is particularly adapted -to the superficial age in which we live, and answers all the objections -which are made by the really shallow thinkers who, according to the -language of the apostle, “professing themselves to be wise, have become -fools.” - -We bespeak for this most interesting and instructive book a large -circulation and many attentive readers, who will unite with us in -thanking the accomplished author for the pleasure and profit they have -received from him. May God grant him yet many years to live in which to -do good with his able pen! - -The following letter of the author, correcting a mistake into which he -had fallen, appeared in the London _Tablet_ of February 8: - - -“MR. LECKY AND ‘MY CLERICAL FRIENDS.” - - “_To the Editor of the Tablet_: - - “SIR: I am assured by friends of Mr. Lecky, the well-known - author of the histories of _Rationalism in Europe_ and of _European - Morals_, that I have misunderstood a passage in the latter work, and - attributed to the distinguished writer sentiments which he disavows. - Mr. Lecky has displayed in his remarkable writings such unusual - candor, and even, in spite of much that is painful to a Christian, - such elevation of thought, that to do him wilful injustice is a fault - of which no Catholic ought to be capable. I ask your permission, - therefore, to make the following explanation. - - “The passage which I am said to have misunderstood is this: ‘Had the - Irish peasants been less chaste, they would have been more prosperous. - Had that fearful famine, which in the present century desolated - the land, fallen upon a people who thought more of accumulating - subsistence than of avoiding sin, multitudes might now be living who - perished by literal starvation.’ Interpreting these words by the - light of other statements of the same author, and especially by his - announcement that ‘_utility_ is perhaps the highest motive to which - reason can attain,’ they seemed to me, as they seemed to all whom I - have been able to consult, to bear only one meaning. I was mistaken. - They really meant, I now learn, ‘that the habit of early marriages in - a nation is detrimental to its economical prosperity.’ I am further - reminded that Mr. Lecky has written admirably on the grace of chastity - which adorns the Irish nation, and could not, therefore, have wished - to say that sin is a less evil than famine and destitution. - - “I am too familiar with the writings of Mr. Lecky, which I have read - more than once, and always with extreme interest, not to recognize his - great moral superiority over the contemporary school of Rationalists. - The study of his books has even created in me a strong personal - sympathy for the writer. In quoting him frequently, I think I have - manifested this feeling. But if I have done him injustice in the case - referred to, I regret that he did not more carefully guard himself - from a misapprehension which was purely involuntary, and into which - others fell who share my admiration of his candor and ability. I have - only to add that, if the opportunity should occur, I will suppress the - passage to which Mr. Lecky’s friends have called my attention. Yours - faithfully, - - “THE AUTHOR OF ‘MY CLERICAL FRIENDS.’” - - - SERMONS ON ECCLESIASTICAL SUBJECTS. By Henry Edward, - Archbishop of Westminster. American Edition. Vol. II. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - -This dauntless champion of the faith is once more in the field. In -the present volume, the great Archbishop of England presents himself -in that which is his special character and vocation, to wit, as the -defender of the rights and doctrines maintained and promulgated by -Pius IX. in the face of his enemies and of some timid or misguided -persons among his friends. The sermons are not all new ones, since they -range in time from 1866 to 1872; but as now collected they make a new -whole out of previously separate parts belonging to one great theme, -the rights of the Holy See and the church as opposed to the nefarious -system of modern liberalism. The masterpiece of the volume is, however, -the Introduction, a most able and eloquent analysis and confutation -of the principles of the revolutionary party in Europe which aims at -the overthrow of the Catholic Church and of the Christian religion. -Archbishop Manning has done immense service to religion, and his power -seems to have been continually and steadily increasing since he first -entered the lists as a champion of the true church. Before the Council -of the Vatican, he was one of those who contributed most efficaciously -to the preparation of the greatest event of this age, the definition -of the dogma of Papal Infallibility, by which Gallicanism, the mother -error of that brood of false doctrines condemned in the Syllabus of -1864, was destroyed. During and since the Council he has combated these -errors with equal ability and courage, and seconded the great Pope, who -now fills the place of Christ on the earth, by re-echoing the divine -harmonies of his doctrine through the English-speaking world. It is -most important that all our educated laity should be thoroughly imbued -with this pure and saving doctrine, in which alone is contained, not -only the salvation of the soul, but of sound science, of nations, of -society, and of all human interests. We know of no such thorough and -perfect interpreter of Pius IX., the infallible teacher of the nations, -in the English language, as the Archbishop of Westminster. His writings -are those which ought especially to be circulated and read among the -educated laity, as the exposition of that truth which is the special -antidote to the fatal errors of the times. They are especially suitable -for this purpose, because they are the writings of a bishop; and it -is to the priests of the church, and especially to the chief priests -and pastors, to whom is committed the office not only of teaching the -faithful personally, but of giving to the writings of the subordinate -clergy and of learned laymen the only canonical sanction which they -possess, that the laity are to look for instruction in sound doctrine -under the supreme authority of the Holy See. The private opinions of -a bishop have, indeed, no more weight than is given them by their -argumentative value. This is always very great in the writings of -Archbishop Manning, who is accustomed to sustain his positions by a -very great force of evidence and reasoning. But a still greater merit -of his writings is found in the fact, that he never obtrudes his -private opinions as Catholic doctrine, or goes beyond the mark placed -by the authority of the church or the common teaching of approved -theologians. Not only does he avoid extenuating, but he equally -avoids exaggerating statements respecting Catholic doctrine. And, -moreover, although of uncompromising strictness in his orthodoxy, and -apostolic severity in his language respecting contumacious heretics -and rebels against divine authority, he is considerate and gentle -towards those whose errors may, in charity, be regarded as excusable. -In this respect, his writings are a model for those who undertake the -advocacy of the great Catholic truths which are opposed to the errors -of the day. May God preserve the worthy successor of the great English -cardinal to see the triumph of the church in the land of S. Edward and -S. Thomas of Canterbury! - - - LENTEN THOUGHTS: Drawn from the Gospel for Each Day of Lent. - By the Bishop of Northampton. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1873. - -We recommend this little book to all who wish to spend the season of -Lent in conformity with the spirit and intention of the church. The -style is simple and chaste; the thoughts are elevated and suggestive. -There is, too, an air of serenity and even cheerfulness about the book -which we cannot but consider as in perfect accord with the true nature -of penance as understood by the church: - - “Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure - Thrill the deepest notes of woe.” - -“When you fast, be not as the hypocrites, sad,” says the church to her -children on Ash-Wednesday, re-echoing through the ages the words of her -divine Spouse. - - - MEDITATIONS FOR THE USE OF THE CLERGY, for Every Day in the - Year, on the Gospels for the Sundays. From the Italian of Mgr. Scotti, - Archbishop of Thessalonica. Revised and Edited by the Oblates of S. - Charles. With a Preface by His Grace the Archbishop of Westminster. - Vol. I. From the First Sunday in Advent to the Sixth Saturday after - the Epiphany. London: Burns & Oates. 1872. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -The remaining three volumes of this work, we are told, may be looked -for in the course of the present year. The whole will form a manual of -meditations for priests to which we have seen nothing comparable. That -such a work is needed who will deny? For if any one ought to meditate, -it is a priest; and how few books of meditation in our language are -at all what he wants! Of the present compilation, then, his grace the -Archbishop of Westminster, in his prefatorial letter to his clergy, -says: “In dedicating to you this first part of Scotti’s _Meditations -for the Clergy_, I need only add that it is a book held in high esteem -at Rome. Having found by the experience of many years its singular -excellence, its practical piety, its abundance of Scripture, of the -fathers, and of ecclesiastical writers, I have thought that it would be -an acceptable and valuable addition to your books of devotion.” - -After this recommendation, let us simply express a wish that the work -may become known to every priest who speaks the English language. -And again let us thank the good Oblate Fathers for one of the most -estimable services they have ever done for religion. - - - S. ANSELM’S BOOK OF MEDITATIONS AND PRAYERS. Translated - from the Latin by M. R. With a Preface by His Grace the Archbishop - of Westminster. London: Burns & Oates. 1872. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -These meditations differ very much from ordinary compositions with -that name. They are divided into brief sections, a single one of which -will suffice the devout soul for a whole day’s food. There is nothing -stiff and formal, nothing meagre, nothing dry. While, together with -honeyed colloquies—now with ourself, now with God or the saints—there -is a deep philosophy in a very simple guise. We are, therefore, most -grateful for such an addition to our devotional literature. - - - THE ‘OLD CATHOLICS’ AT COLOGNE. New York: J. A. McGee. 1873 - -This clever _jeu d’esprit_ is by the brother of Dr. T. W. M. Marshall, -who was one of the joint authors of the _Comedy of Convocation_. It is -a little coarse in some parts, too much so for our taste, and in this -respect inferior to the famous _Comedy_, which was unexceptionable -in that respect. Nevertheless, it has a great likeness in some of -its salient points to that remarkable piece of logical sarcasm. The -argument is unanswerable, and very cleverly put; and terrible as the -ridicule is which is heaped on the Janus clique, whose final fiasco -was made at Cologne, they deserve it richly; for never was there a more -absurd as well as detestable little generation of vipers among the -whole of the noxious brood of heretics who in various ages have hissed -against the decrees of the Œcumenical Councils. We can assure all -readers that they will be amused and instructed by this brochure. - - - SŒUR EUGÉNIE: The Life and Letters of a Sister of Charity. - Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. 1873. - -The subject of this memoir was a French lady of rank, brought up a -Protestant, but converted in early life to the Catholic faith. It is -an interesting, edifying, and well-written, as well as beautifully -printed, little book, not at all commonplace, but with the freshness of -unusual incidents told in the charming style which belongs to modern -English literature of the best class. - -There is something very attractive in the French character when -unperverted by scepticism and frivolity. The energy, zeal, and -enthusiasm they throw into their work for God are very captivating to -colder natures. And the higher one ascends in the social scale, the -more decided, apparently, do these traits become. Whereas, in other -nationalities, prosperity and position frequently have a deleterious -effect; they often bring a Frenchman’s better qualities into higher -relief. In the religious orders, many illustrious examples of this -remark may be found—of men brought up in ease and affluence who have -adopted the mortified life of missionaries, braved every danger, and -courted death itself, if thereby they could win some souls for Christ. -The French nuns and Sisters of Charity have also been preeminent, as -the unwritten history of the late war alone would demonstrate. The -charitable spirit which lies at the foundation of that suavity and -grace too often characterized as surface politeness, peculiarly fits -them for the delicate and trying duties they assume. - -In the subject of this memoir we recognize the same winning -characteristics to which we have adverted. Of high birth, she left all -which usually attracts youthful ambition for a life of self-abnegation -and charity. The name Eugénie, already endeared to thoughtful readers -through the _Letters_ and _Journal of Mlle. de Guérin_ (for we learn -to appreciate a character full as much through the productions of the -subject as by the portrayal of others), will receive new lustre from -the memoirs of another saintly wearer. Such a record, though simple, is -full of beauty and edification to those who follow in the same path, as -well as those whose sphere of duty, though lying in the world, is yet -elevated above it. - - - TRUTH AND ERROR. By the Rev. H. A. Brann, D.D. New York: D. & - J. Sadlier & Co. 1873. - -This book is of small size, but on an important subject, viz., the -nature and sources of certitude. It is clear, logical, sound, and -written in a good style. As an antidote to the wretched, poisonous -trash sold under the name of philosophy, which is nothing but -methodical scepticism and materialism, this little book must do -good if it is read and understood by those who have need of it. The -unhappy intellectual vagrants of our day are afflicted with the two -great miseries which poor “Jo” complained of: “Not knowing nothink, -and starwation.” Jo often sadly muttered to himself, “I don’t know -_nothink_!” Mr. Bain and all that set are so many Joes, repeating for -ever, “I don’t know nothink, you don’t know nothink, nobody don’t and -nobody can’t know nothink.” The sophist of Königsberg was a Jo of -genius, nothing more. Dr. Brann will give a substantial breakfast to -any one of these hungry Joes who will read his book. - - - AUNT JO’S SCRAP-BOOK. Vol. II. Shawl-Straps. By Louisa M. - Alcott, author of _Little Women_, _An Old-fashioned Girl_, _Little - Men_, _Hospital Sketches_. Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1872. - -This book is written in a light, trifling, flippant style, which may be -very pleasant and appropriate when used to describe certain things, but -when applied indiscriminately to all that one sees abroad, it certainly -is not agreeable, to say the least of it. Neither is it pleasant, in -a book of travels, to find that nothing is considered true, or even -worthy of respect, unless the _author_ believes in it. A Mass at S. -Mark’s, Venice, is described in this way: “The patriarch was a fat -old soul in red silk, even to his shoes and holy pocket-handkerchief; -and the service appeared to consist in six purple priests dressing -and undressing him like an old doll, while a dozen white-gowned boys -droned up in a gold cockloft, and many beggars whined on the floor -below.” A visit to the Carthusian Convent, Pavia, calls forth the -following comment: “A nice way for lazy men to spend their lives, when -there is so much work to be done for the Lord and his poor! Wanted -to shake them all round,” etc. In the description of the inundation -of parts of the city of Rome we read: “Livy indulged the sinful hope -that the pope would get his pontifical petticoats very wet, be a -little drowned and terribly scared by the flood, because he spoiled -the Christmas festivities,” etc. Victor Emmanuel is spoken of as “the -honest man,” with the remark that “that is high praise for a king.” -Such expressions as “sullen old gentleman in the Vatican,” “silly -Madonna,” and others of the same character, enliven the pages in -various places. - -We can scarcely believe that this book is from the same pen as _Little -Women_, and we think it would be far better, when one is only willing -to see things through their ignorance and prejudices, not to attempt to -make others see with their eyes. - - - GOD OUR FATHER. By a Father of the Society of Jesus, author - of _The Happiness of Heaven_. Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1873. - -After reading this little book, we felt an ardent desire to tell -everybody we had found a treasure. Its title, a rather unusual thing -nowadays, is the true exponent of its contents. That God is our -Father—our kind, indulgent, beneficent, merciful, loving Father—it -proves as we have never seen proved before. We do think, if Voltaire -had seen this little treatise, he would not have called God a “tyrant -and the father of tyrants,” and he, Voltaire, would not have been a -fool and the father of a generation of fools. Some Christians other -than Calvinists are accustomed to regard God as a stern judge or an -exacting master, ignoring altogether his parental relationship. This -way of regarding God not unfrequently produces a morbid spirituality, -if not worse. Under its baneful influence, the soul is parched up and -rendered incapable of any other sentiment than that of fear. It is true -that “fear is the beginning of wisdom”; but it is no less true that -“love is the fulfilment of the law” and the sublime summary of the new -dispensation. And who can love a being whom he sees only in the light -of a stern judge, an exacting master? God, as he is represented in this -work, is a being whom you cannot but love. In very truth, the author -himself must love much, or he could never write so eloquently of divine -love. - -To all Catholics who look with a filial confidence to God, and love him -as their Father, we recommend this book as a means of strengthening -their confidence and increasing their love. To those Catholics, -happily few, who see in God only a rigid master, we prescribe the -perusal of this work as the best remedy for their dangerous disease. -To our separated brethren, who want to get a Christian idea of our -common Father, we would respectfully suggest the careful study of this -treatise; they will find it sufficiently scriptural and sufficiently -simple for their tastes. - -We cannot, perhaps, pay the publishers a higher compliment than by -saying that the setting is in every way worthy of the gem. - - - LECTURES ON THE PRINCIPAL DOCTRINES AND PRACTICES OF THE CATHOLIC - CHURCH. By Cardinal Wiseman. New York: P. O’Shea. - -These two volumes belong to the uniform series of Cardinal Wiseman’s -works now being issued by Mr. O’Shea, and, as we understand, are -printed from the same plates as the one-volume edition heretofore -issued by Kelly, Piet & Co. - -It is a strong evidence of the permanent interest which attaches -to Catholic doctrine—the faith ever ancient, ever new—that these -lectures are read now with almost equal avidity with that which greeted -their appearance almost forty years ago, while as many weeks suffice to -lay on the shelf the productions of many a popular preacher of the day. - -This course constituted the _Lent_ at S. Mary’s, Moorfields, in 1836, -when the Oxford movement had already acquired considerable headway, and -the public mind was alive to the subjects discussed. In view of the -audience which he addressed, they were doubtless prepared with great -care, and may therefore be considered most favorable specimens of the -distinguished author’s style. - -One is struck, in looking over Cardinal Wiseman’s works, by the fact of -the singular diversity of his gifts, and his preeminence in the varied -fields of research and discussion—as if he had made each a specialty. -His _Lectures on the Connection of Science and Religion_, delivered the -preceding year, has maintained a position in the front rank of works -devoted to that subject, and may be said to have become obsolete only -in so far as science has presented new phenomena and discoveries for -elucidation; while the present work has remained, to our thinking, -the most exhaustive popular exposition of Catholic doctrine in the -language. His more elaborate historical and critical essays have -attracted marked attention, and been thought worthy of publication in -separate volumes, while his distinctively belles-lettres works have -enjoyed almost universal favor. His _Fabiola_ confessedly stands at the -head of Christian fiction. It is a little remarkable that _The Hidden -Gem_, and one of the most acute critiques of the day upon Shakespeare, -should have been the production of one who it is fair to infer scarcely -ever-witnessed an acted drama. - -The same house has brought out in similar style the _Four Lectures on -the Offices and Ceremonies of Holy Week_ by the same author, which we -hope will prove a valuable aid to the intelligent participation in -the devotions of the present season. The interest in the Lectures is -enhanced by the fact that they were delivered at Rome, and relate to -the ceremonies in the Papal chapels. - - * * * * * - -The Catholic Publication Society will publish in a few days, from -advance sheets, a new work by the author of _My Clerical Friends_, -entitled _Church Defence: Report on the Present Dangers of the Church_. - - -AN ERROR RECTIFIED. - -_Card of the Editor of The Catholic World._ - -AN error in respect to a matter of Catholic faith into which the -author of an article in our last number inadvertently fell, and which -escaped my notice until it was too late to make any earlier correction, -requires me to make the present explanation. I do it for the sake of -the reverend gentleman who first animadverted upon this erroneous -statement, and for others at a distance who are not in a position to -know personally the utter impossibility of any statement bordering on -“Gallicanism” being admitted into THE CATHOLIC WORLD with the -knowledge of the editor. The passage in question is as follows, and is -found on p. 784: “Who can wonder if the Church, in this dire emergency, -_delegates to one man_ the power she can no longer collectively -exercise in peace?” The mistake of the writer, who is a lay Catholic -and not a theologian, is very excusable. The responsibility for the -doctrine of the articles published rests exclusively with me, as the -editor in the absence of the Very Rev. F. Hecker. If any statement -which is contrary to Catholic doctrine or sound theology is allowed -to pass in any article, it is by accident, and any reverend gentleman -or layman who notices anything of the kind will oblige me by sending -a communication to me directly, pointing out the error. Any such -communication will receive due attention from myself or from the -editor-in-chief, when he is in town and able to attend personally to -the duties of his office. In this connection, I take occasion to remark -that another worthy clergyman, entirely unknown to me, who has recently -expressed himself as aggrieved by the remarks of THE CATHOLIC -WORLD upon Italy, has wholly misapprehended their intention. -The articles on this subject which have appeared have been generally -written by myself, or prepared under my direction. I have no hostility -except against the wicked party which tyrannizes over the Catholic -people of Italy, and would with pleasure have admitted the letter of -the Italian missionary, pleading the cause of his country, to the -columns of THE CATHOLIC WORLD. It is the aim of the editors -of THE CATHOLIC WORLD to make it Catholic in its spirit and -tone of charity and courtesy, as well as orthodox in doctrine, and -to remember that it becomes those who profess a special loyalty to -the Holy Father to pay attention to _all_ his admonitions, especially -to that one in which he gave such an emphatic warning against the -violation of charity by those who are very zealous for his authority. - - AUGUSTINE F. HEWIT, C.S.P. - - - - -THE - -CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XVII., No. 98.—MAY, 1873. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. -I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at -Washington, D. C. - - - - -THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE.[47] - - -THE question of the origin of species—the question, namely, whether -the vegetable and animal species now on the earth, and those which from -the study of its strata we know to be extinct, were in the beginning -called into existence by the direct creative _fiat_, and substantially -with the forms they now have; or whether they have been developed -from other and pre-existing beings with forms essentially different -from their own, in obedience to natural law—is one upon which, since -Charles Darwin published the first edition of his book upon the -subject, now about twelve years ago, much has been said. We may add -that the answer given to it by Mr. Darwin has been much misunderstood. -It has been misunderstood in _itself_ by those who would not take the -trouble to inquire in what its precise merits consisted: how much of -certainty, and how much of mere theory, it contained; what facts or -series of facts, if admitted, it was incompetent to throw light upon; -and whether there were any facts, botanical or zoological, in conflict -and irreconcilable with it. It has been misunderstood, too, _in its -bearings on revelation_, and that by two classes of men: on the one -hand, by mere scientists, for the reason that they knew nothing of -theology, and were therefore not in a way to decide whether the Bible -and the theory of development are compatible with each other; and, -on the other, by well-intentioned advocates of Christianity, because -frequently they knew nothing of science in general—little of this -question, and the precise meaning and worth of Darwin’s answer to -it in particular. The former have been at fault in asserting that a -science—theology, Catholic theology, we mean, is a science—of which -they knew nothing did not harmonize with a hypothesis of which they -knew perhaps all that is to be known; the latter, in not acknowledging -distinctly the grain of truth or of certainty contained in the -speculations of Darwin. - -The question is an interesting one, and has accordingly called forth -a large literature in England, Germany, France, and Italy. Mr. -Chapman’s book is, we believe, the only one written in this country, -and professedly devoted to the advocacy of the theory that, to use the -author’s own words, “the development of the higher forms of life from -the lower has been brought about by natural selection, and that man has -descended from a lower extinct form of which the gorilla and chimpanzee -are the nearest living representatives”—which is Darwinism pure and -simple, and which ought to be distinguished from the more general -theory of “evolution.” That Mr. Chapman’s book has been published in -America, and that we wish to say a few words on the question which it -treats, and especially on the bearings of that question on revealed -religion, constitute its only claims on our attention; for neither the -style of the writer nor the lucidity of his argument, much less its -originality, entitles it to any particular notice. The work is a mere -compilation, which, however, may be of service to those who desire to -possess in a convenient shape the facts, and to examine the nature of -the reasoning, by which the Darwinian hypothesis is supported. - -When we have said this, and that Mr. Chapman devotes a chapter of -his book to the argument from zoology, geology, embryology, etc., -respectively, in favor of Darwinism; that these arguments are neither -as elegant, scholarly, or cogent as they might be made; that he has -followed the materialists of Germany in their version of the theory, -and further than there is even the shadow of a warrant to follow it, we -have said all that we wish to say about his book, and bestowed upon it -the highest praise it is in our power to bestow consistently with truth. - -What our views on the Darwinian theory are will appear in the sequel. -Here we wish simply to say a few words on certain doctrines drawn -from it by Mr. Chapman, or, if not drawn from it, associated with it -both by him and others—doctrines which, in our view, are not part -and parcel of it because mere assumptions in no way countenanced by -facts. Thus, Mr. Chapman desires us expressly to understand that -“natural selection,” the meaning of which we will explain in a -moment, does not imply the existence of a “natural selector”; and -this, without any forced interpretation, may be construed into a -profession of atheism. Now, as we will see a little further on, the -admission of the Darwinian theory does not necessarily lead to any -such conclusion. Again, he informs us, p. 14, that life is only a -“physical phenomenon, and that the nervous system produces ideas and -all the acts of intelligence”—which is rank materialism. That Mr. -Chapman advocates fatalism is no less plain, for he assures us that -morality is necessarily progressive. On the last page of his book, he -defines morals to be “duty to one’s self.” We confess that we do not -understand how he reconciles his assertion that morality is necessarily -progressive with his definition of morals. It seems to us that, if -necessarily moral, men will necessarily do their duty; or rather, -they will have no duty to do, since necessity and duty exclude each -other. According to this theory, there can be no distinction between -good and evil, and all the crimes that are committed are the necessary -consequences of man’s origin. Indeed, the author tells us, p. 180: -“Crimes and outrages are committed even among the most civilized, -simply, in the words of Mr. Spencer, because man ‘partially retains the -characteristics that adapted him for an antecedent state. The respects -in which he is not fitted to society are the respects in which he is -fitted for his original predatory life. His primitive circumstances -required that he should sacrifice the welfare of other beings to his -own; his present circumstances require that he should not do so; and in -as far as his old attribute still clings to him, in so far he is unfit -for the social state. All sins of men against each other, from the -cannibalism of the Carib to the crimes and venalities we see around us, -have their causes comprehended under this generalization.’” - -Now, if all this be so, we cannot see why murder, or robbery, or any -other crime, is not perfectly legitimate. If to the exercise of his -“old attributes” in the struggle for existence man owes his “survival” -and his place among the fittest, in any degree, however small; and -if there be nothing in man not produced by natural selection, we -cannot see why he should not even now continue the exercise of these -“attributes”; in other words, we do not see why any propensity, -passion, or inclination originated by the agency of “natural -selection,” to the exclusion of all other agencies, cannot legitimately -be exercised to the full extent to which “natural selection” has -developed it. If man exercises these “attributes” simply in obedience -to a law of nature, we should not if we could, nor could we if we -would, resist them. If, indeed, these views of morality be correct, -then might is right, the Decalogue a code against nature, civilization -an abnormal condition for man, and barbarism his only true state. - -So much for the atheism, materialism, and fatalism, we do not say of -Darwin—for we have reason to believe that that gentleman himself is -none of these—but of Mr. Chapman’s version of evolution. There is -one very important point, however, on which Mr. Darwin, the man of -science, and the compiler, Mr. Chapman, are at one—a point of very -great consideration because of its bearings on revelation—the doctrine -that the difference between man and the lower animals is not one of -“kind,” but of “degree.” We do not wish to argue this point here in -full. What we wish to say is that men of the school of Darwin, etc., -should be the very last persons in the world to make an assertion of -this character, for the reason that they confine our knowledge to -appearances, to phenomena. The question, however, whether man and the -lower animals differ in “kind” or only in “degree” is not a question of -phenomena or appearances: it is a question of _noumena_, of essence, of -reality. We do not grant that even appearances warrant the assertion -that man differs from the lower animals in nothing essential. There -are appearances which forbid any such conclusion. But we maintain -that, whether they so differ or not, Darwin and his school are, by the -principles of their philosophy, estopped from asserting that they do or -do not. They cannot say that the same phenomena imply the same noumena, -the same accidents, the same essence, the same appearances, the same -reality, because, to assert the identity of nature of two things, both -must be known in what constitutes their essence, whereas these men -expressly say that of noumena, reality, or essence nothing can be known. - -Mr. Chapman is more a disciple of Haeckel than of Darwin, and follows -that gentleman in all his vagaries—a course well calculated to -increase rather than decrease the amount of prejudice against what -there may be of truth in Darwinism. Among the advocates of this, as of -almost all theories, there are extremists. Our author seems to have -gone to school to all of them, and swallowed all they told him, no -matter how paradoxical, no matter how little proof to substantiate it. -On the other hand, of all that has been said against pure Darwinism, -not a word has been recorded by Mr. Chapman; and of those who, like -Prof. Agassiz, do not agree with Mr. Darwin, or who, like St. George -Mivart, have, as we think, dealt his theory blows from which it will -not recover, he does not make the smallest mention. Yet it cannot be -that Agassiz and Mivart are too small to be noticed by Mr. Chapman. -Agassiz is too venerable a name in science to need any demonstration -that his opinion on scientific matters is entitled to consideration. -Mivart is, we take it, a younger man; yet, if he has not made himself -an abiding reputation by what he has the modesty to call his “little -book,” the _Genesis of Species_, he has made a name which must live, if -Darwin’s, and Lyell’s, and Huxley’s do; since all these men have found -in him a foe worthy of their steel—and the latter of the vials of his -wrath. - -We would not consider this article complete without a condensed history -of the controversy between Mr. Huxley and Mr. Mivart, occasioned by -the publication by the latter of his admirable work, the _Genesis of -Species_. We give it here for this, as well as for the reason that it -will serve as the best general answer it is in our power to give to Mr. -Chapman and other writers of his character. - -But first a few remarks on Darwin’s theory. It is only a theory, a mere -hypothesis. Mr. Darwin does not pretend to have proved it himself; nor -does his advocate, Mr. Huxley, who seems to have taken Mr. Darwin and -the Darwinian theory under his special protection, pretend that it is -proved. - -Bearing in mind that the Darwinian theory is only a hypothesis, we must -estimate its value as we estimate that of other hypotheses, viz., by -its ability to account for all the facts of which it pretends to be the -solution. - -The Copernican system of astronomy, for instance, is only a hypothesis; -yet, as there is no known astronomical fact absolutely contradictory -to it, we accept it as true. If there were only one fact which it did -not explain and could not explain; above all, if there were one fact -at variance with the hypothesis, the hypothesis must give way, and the -fact stand; for one fact is worth a thousand hypotheses, and one fact -in cases of this kind, as Mr. Huxley says, as good as five hundred. - -Are there, then, any facts which the Darwinian theory of development by -natural selection should explain and does not? Mr. Huxley himself says -there is one set of such facts—the facts of hybridism; and, as we will -presently see, there are a great many others. - -To St. George Mivart, a scientist, but more than a scientist, a -philosopher in a degree, somewhat of a theologian as well, and -therefore a man of greater intellectual grasp than either Darwin or -Huxley, we are indebted for the fullest presentation of the facts -inexplicable by natural selection that has yet been given to the -reading world. This that gentleman has done in his book before referred -to, _The Genesis of Species_. - -One of Mr. Mivart’s great merits is that he accords to Mr. Darwin’s -theory its full meed of praise. He is a scientific man, and as such -a good judge of its merits and demerits, therefore competent to -acknowledge the one and point out the other. - -We are not at all prejudiced against Mr. Darwin or his theory. We agree -entirely with Mr. Mivart that it “is perhaps the most interesting -theory, in relation to natural science, which has been promulgated -during the present century.” Before pointing out, however, why it is -the most interesting theory of the kind, let us see in brief what the -Darwinian theory of natural selection is. - -In the words of Mr. Mivart it may be stated thus: - -1. “Every kind of animal and plant tends to increase in numbers in a -geometrical proportion. - -2. “Every kind of animal and plant transmits a general likeness with -individual differences to its offspring. - -3. “Every individual may present minute variations of any kind in any -direction. - -4. “Past time has been practically infinite. - -5. “Every individual has to endure a very severe struggle for -existence, owing to the tendency to geometrical increase of all kinds -of animals and plants, while the total animal and vegetable population -(man and his agency excepted) remains almost stationary. - -6. “Thus, every variation of a kind tending to save the life of the -individual possessing it, or to enable it more surely to propagate -its kind, will in the long run be preserved, and will transmit its -favorable peculiarity to some of its offspring, which peculiarity will -thus become intensified till it reaches the maximum degree of utility. -On the other hand, individuals presenting unfavorable peculiarities -will be ruthlessly destroyed. The action of this law of ‘natural -selection’ may thus be well represented by the convenient expression, -‘survival of the fittest.’” - -Now as to the series of facts which this theory throws light upon. Here -they are as enumerated by Mr. Mivart. It explains: - -1. Some singular facts “relating to the geographical distribution of -animals and plants; as, for example, on the resemblance between the -past and present inhabitants of different parts of the earth’s surface. - -2. “That often, in adjacent islands, we find animals closely resembling -and appearing to represent each other; while, if certain of these -islands show signs of more ancient separation, the animals inhabiting -them exhibit a corresponding divergence. - -3. That “‘rudimentary structures’ also receive an explanation by means -of this theory. - -4. “That the singular facts of ‘homology’ are capable of a similar -explanation.” - -5. That “that remarkable series of changes which animals undergo before -they attain their adult condition, which is called their process of -development, and during which they more or less closely resemble other -animals during the early stages of the same process, has also great -light thrown on it from the same source.” - -6. That “by this theory, and as yet by this alone, can any explanation -be given of that extraordinary phenomenon which is metaphorically -termed ‘mimicry.’” - -To explain in detail the exact import of each of these heads would -carry us beyond the limits of a magazine article; and the reader who -wishes for more minute and definite information on them we must refer -to Mivart’s own book, or to Darwin’s _Origin of Species_. - -Pass we now to those facts which Darwin’s theory is incompetent to -explain, and to the arguments against it. Mr. Mivart enumerates them -thus: - -1. “That ‘natural’ selection is incompetent to account for the -incipient stages of useful structures. - -2. “That it does not harmonize with the coexistence of closely similar -structures of diverse origin. - -3. “That there are grounds for thinking that specific differences may -be developed suddenly instead of gradually. - -4. “That the opinion that species have definite though very different -limits to their variability is still tenable. - -5. “That certain fossil transitional forms are absent which might have -been expected to be present. - -6. “That some facts of geographical distribution supplement other -difficulties. - -7. “That the objection drawn from the physiological difference between -‘species’ and ‘races’ still exists unrefuted.” - -Our readers will readily understand that, if species, or rather -individual animals, were originated by natural law, and if that law be -“natural selection,” the action of “natural selection” must be able -to explain not only the production of the animal as a whole, but of -its several organs, both when they have reached the point of maximum -utility, and at all stages previous thereto. - -Mr. Mivart shows that it does not accomplish this; that it does not -account for “the incipient stages of useful structures, _e. g._ the -heads of flatfishes, the baleen of whales, vertebrate limbs, the -laryngeal structures of the new-born kangaroo, the pedicellariæ of -echinoderms”; and thus he established his first charge on purely -scientific grounds, as a scientist writing for scientists. The other -charges are equally well sustained. It would, however, require the -rewriting of Mr. Mivart’s book to follow him through all his facts and -arguments, and we must beg again to refer the reader who would study -the matter in detail, to the book itself. - -Another series of objections brought forward by Mr. Mivart against the -same theory is equally well sustained—objections that go to show that -“it cannot be applied at least to the soul of man,” as Mr. Darwin has -applied it. - -Here, again, everyone will see that, if the human soul is not created -by God, it, too, must have been gradually evolved from what, for lack -of a more convenient term, though not without protest, we must call -an animal soul, by the process of natural selection; and therefore -there is nothing in man’s soul which was not in the ape’s—the same -faculties, moral and intellectual, in kind, different only in degree. -This question Mr. Mivart discusses in a separate chapter on “Evolution -and Ethics.” - -The result of the discussion he thus sums up: - -1. “Natural selection could not have produced, from the sensations of -pleasure and pain experienced in brutes, a higher degree of morality -than was useful; therefore it could have produced any amount of -‘beneficial habits,’ but not an abhorrence of certain acts as impure -and sinful. - -2. “It could not have developed that high esteem for acts of care and -tenderness to the aged and infirm which actually exists, but would -rather have perpetuated certain low social conditions which obtain in -some savage localities. - -3. “It could not have evolved from ape sensations the noble virtues of -a Marcus Aurelius, or the loving but manly devotion of a S. Louis. - -4. “That it alone could not have given rise to the maxim, _Fiat -justitia, ruat cœlum_. - -5. “That the interval between material and formal morality is one -altogether beyond its power to traverse.” - -Mr. Mivart further shows “that the anticipatory character of moral -principles is a fatal bar to that explanation of their origin which -is offered to us by Mr. Herbert Spencer”; and “that the solution of -that origin proposed recently by Sir John Lubbock is a mere version -of simple utilitarianism, appealing to the pleasure or safety of the -individual, and therefore utterly incapable of solving the riddle it -attacks.” - -It is hardly necessary that we should dwell on these points. Our -Christian readers need no demonstration of them. Knowing, on the one -hand, what Christian morality is, and, on the other, what mere animal -behavior, they must know the difference between them, and, knowing this -difference, that by no possibility could the one be developed from the -other, there being no oneness of kind in them. - -Just here we would remark that, in addition to his other arguments, Mr. -Mivart might have added that from philology against Darwinism, and with -good effect. There are those who, from that science, argue the other -way. But, in a series of able articles on “Darwinism and the Science -of Language,” the Rev. J. Knabenbauer, S. J., has shown that philology -points to a diversity of origin for man and the lower animals. - -He argues that the ultimate elements, the roots of all language, are -expressive of general ideas. Now, general ideas are the products of the -intellectual processes known as abstraction and generalization. Hence, -before the formation of roots, before the beginnings of language, man -was man, since he could abstract and generalize. Hence, also, language -is not a development of animal cries, nor man of the brute, since the -brute can neither abstract nor generalize. - -Finally, Mr. Mivart shows in his chapter on “Evolution and Theology” -that evolution and creation by no means exclude one another; and that a -Catholic—Mr. Mivart is a Catholic—may accept the theory of evolution, -ancient writers of authority in the church having “asserted abstract -_principles_ such as can perfectly _harmonize_ with the requirements of -modern science,” and, “as it were, provided for the reception of its -most advanced speculations.” - -In support of this view, Mr. Mivart quotes from S. Augustine, S. -Thomas, Cornelius à Lapide, and refers to the Jesuit Suarez, with the -doctrines of all of whom it is perfectly consistent to hold that animal -species were created only potentially, _potentialiter tantum_. - -By that we do not mean to insinuate that the naked Darwinian theory is -compatible with Catholic faith; but of this more hereafter. - -It was not to be expected that Mr. Mivart, in his criticism on -Darwinism, would meet with no opponents. He must have expected to be -attacked from two quarters, and by two different classes of men: by -those committed to the Darwinian hypothesis, in the first place; and, -again, by those who value that hypothesis less for its scientific merit -than for—as they suppose—its incompatibility with Christian doctrine, -and the service they think it might render in the disintegration of the -Christian societies. Among the latter we are compelled to class Mr. -Huxley, who, if a very good scientist, is, notwithstanding, one of the -most arrogant of men. - -He replied to Mr. Mivart, and in his reply does neither more nor less -than constitute himself the infallible teacher of all mankind, the -supreme pontiff of science, empowered to speak with authority on all -matters pertaining to religion and philosophy, as well as to anatomy. -He has the commendable modesty, even, to tell Catholics what they -may believe, and what they must reject. He interprets the Bible for -them, expounds the teachings of the Fathers of the church, comments -on the schoolmen, all for their benefit; in fact, entirely forgets -the good old maxim, “Let the cobbler stick to his last,” and imagines -that, because he has learned a considerable amount about brains and -stomachs—dead brains and stomachs, for the most part—he can legislate -for the Christian world; that anything in heaven or on earth which -he cannot weigh or measure, upon which he cannot bring the knife, or -the blowpipe, or the spectroscope to bear, does not exist, or exist -otherwise than as it takes form in his own by no means humble mind. - -In his reply to Mr. Mivart, he virtually passes over all of the latter -gentleman’s scientific objections, and fastens on his assertion that -evolution is at all _compatible_ with Catholic doctrine. - -Mr. Mivart had, as we have seen, referred to Suarez, and that, Mr. -Mivart assures us, because, in Mr. Huxley’s words, “the popular repute -of that learned theologian and subtle casuist was not such as to make -his works a likely place of refuge for liberality of thought.” - -Of course Mr. Mivart did not intend to represent Suarez or the other -writers we have mentioned above as advocating the very modern doctrine -of evolution, but only abstract principles harmonizing with it; and, -if anything, broader than it, inasmuch as they are broad enough not -only to take in the recent theory of evolution, but any other theory -of development which may be yet advocated; yet Mr. Huxley assumed -that Mr. Mivart meant to convey the impression that F. Suarez was a -Darwinian or a disciple of Herbert Spencer, which he could not well be, -having lived some centuries too early to enjoy any such good-fortune. -Having erected this theory, Mr. Huxley went, in his “More Criticisms on -Darwin,” deliberately to work to demolish it, in doing which he left -his way considerably, raising questions on which Mr. Mivart had said -nothing whatever, and which in the discussion are wholly irrelevant; -as, for instance, the meaning of the word “day” in the first chapter of -Genesis, as advocated by some authorities. - -Mr. Mivart retorted through the pages of the _Contemporary Review_, and -demonstrated that Suarez was “an opponent of the theory of a perpetual -direct creation of organisms,” and “that the principles of scholastic -theology are such as _not to exclude_ the theory of development, but -rather to favor it.” He quoted again from Suarez, to show that that -writer, treating of the opinion that individuals of kinds like the -mule, leopard, lynx, etc., must have been created from the beginning, -expressed the view that the contrary seemed to him more probable, -thus asserting _the principle_ that those kinds of animals which are -_potentially_ contained in nature need not be supposed to be directly -and immediately created. More than this, Mr. Mivart shows that the same -authority recognizes the possibility that certain organisms may be -originated directly from the inorganic world by cosmical influences. - -Our readers already know what were the views of S. Augustine on this -matter. Mr. Mivart shows that other theologians besides S. Thomas, such -as S. Bonaventure, Albertus Magnus, Denis the Carthusian, Cardinal -Cajetan, Melchior Canus, Bannes, Vincentius Contenson, Macedo and -Cardinal Noris, Tosti, Serri, “and others down to the present day,” -agree with S. Augustine in his views on the question we are considering. - -The great result—the only result in which we feel especially -interested—of this controversy was the bringing into clearer light the -fact that the kernel of truth contained in Darwinism or in evolution is -not at variance with revelation, as indeed it cannot be and be true. -This is what Mr. Huxley has done for the church. - -Of Mr. Huxley’s treatment of his opponent’s objections on the score of -morality we have nothing to say which would be of the least service to -our readers. - -Remains the question: How far may a Catholic accept the special -Darwinian theory or the doctrine of evolution? Mr. Mivart asserts -that a miraculous origin of the body of man is not necessary; that it -might have been evolved from that of some lower being by natural law. -Darwinians and evolutionists generally maintain an analogous origin for -the human soul. Is there anything in this contrary to revelation? - -We have not space, if we had the ability, to go into a lengthy -examination of this question. Nor is there any reason that we should. -It has already received the attention of able Catholic writers, and we -can do no better than give the results of their investigation. They -have shown[48] that, with respect to all organisms lower than man, the -doctrine of the fathers is that Catholic faith “does not prevent any -one from holding the opinion that life, both vegetable and animal, -was in the world in germ at its creation, and afterwards developed -by regular process into all the various species now on the earth”; -therefore, that “all living things up to man exclusively were evolved -by natural law out of minute life-germs primarily created, or even out -of inorganic matter,” is an opinion which a Catholic may consistently -hold if he thinks fit so to do. - -As to the question of the _body_ of man, the same writers have shown, -and we take it to be the safer opinion—in which, perhaps, we differ -from Mr. Mivart—“that to question the immediate and instantaneous -(or quasi-instantaneous) formation by God of the bodies of Adam and -Eve—the former out of inorganic matter, the latter out of the rib of -Adam—is at least rash, and probably proximate to heresy.” - -That the human soul was specially and separately created is an article -of Catholic faith. - -There is not a fact in science at variance with these views of the -origin of the body of man and of the human soul. Even Mr. Wallace—to -whom the credit of pointing out the influence of “natural selection” -in modifying organic beings belongs by right of a title not less valid -than that of Mr. Darwin—believes, and he has reason to believe, in the -action of an overruling Intelligence in the production of “the human -form divine”; and that, in view of man’s special attributes, “he is, -indeed, a being apart”—not, therefore, evolved, either as to his body -or his soul, from any inferior organism. When a man like Mr. Wallace -holds such a view, we may rest assured that the facts in the case do -not require any one to hold the contrary. Let us now endeavor to sum up -the results in relation to the Darwinian theory and the bearings thus -far obtained: - -1. The tendency of every kind of animal and plant to increase in -geometrical progression, and to transmit a general likeness with -individual differences, as well as to present minute variations -of any kind in any direction, the great length of past time, the -struggle of animals and plants for existence, and the preservation and -intensification of favorable variations, are facts on which the theory -is based. - -We accept these facts. - -2. We do not accept the theory, because, although it throws light on -some facts, there are others with which it is not compatible; and -because those even on which it does throw light do not require us to -accept it. - -3. There is nothing in the Darwinian theory, or in the more general -theory of evolution countenanced by facts bearing on the development of -life, which a Catholic may not accept, if he wishes so to do. - -4. The teaching of Darwinism as to the origin of man’s body is probably -next to heretical. At all events, the only safe opinion is that it -was not evolved from the body of a lower being, but was directly and -quasi-instantaneously created by God. - -5. Its teaching concerning the origin of the human soul is in direct -and irreconcilable contradiction with an article of Catholic faith. - -6. There is—apart from revealed doctrine—an absolute scientific -certainty of the truth of that same doctrine respecting the creation of -the human soul, and the highest probability of the immediate creation -of the human body. - -So much for the facts, so much for the theory, so much for its bearings -on revelation. - -In all we have said, we do not wish to be understood as advocating -the Darwinian theory, even in so far as it does not conflict with -Catholic faith, nor as committing ourselves to the general doctrine of -evolution. The fact is, we do not care as Catholics to pledge ourselves -hastily to any hypothesis whatever. We know some little of the history -of hypotheses, and we know that it has been a history of failures. - -When the Darwinian hypothesis or the theory of evolution shall -have stood the test of years and facts, and the most searching -investigations, let the Catholics who will be then alive accept them. -There is no special reason why we should profess our faith in them. We -do not need them to account for the phenomena about us. - -On the other hand, we can readily understand why a certain class of -minds should subscribe to it. - -The human mind naturally seeks for an explanation of the origin of -things. Intelligent men know the human race has not always been on -the earth, that the phenomena about us are not eternal, that animal -and vegetable life must have had a beginning here. Catholics know the -same, and knew it before science had demonstrated it or discovered its -minutiæ. - -Men who wish to get rid of God welcome any hypothesis which seems to -remove him to a greater distance from them, even before that hypothesis -has more in its favor than against a it. Catholics, who believe in God, -have no such anxiety. They are willing to wait, since they have already -an explanation of the origin of things in their belief in God, and in -the teachings of his revelation that he in the beginning created the -heavens and the earth, and all that they contain. The minutiæ, the How -of that creation, they leave it to science to discover. When discovered -and proved, they will accept it. But science can never give them -anything not contained in the first article of the Creed: “I believe -in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.” All it can do -is to explicate and confirm this. - -If it be objected that scientists accept the theory, and that we -therefore should, we reply, _mere_ scientists do; and of all men, the -least safe of guides is the mere scientist. No other man is more apt to -become a blind worshipper of the idols of the Cave. He confines himself -within the narrow limits of his laboratory, among instruments of death, -and then would excogitate a solution to the problems of life and of the -universe; as if with bolts and screws he could wring from nature the -secret it will not yield. - -Goethe well knew that from such men we need not expect the answer to -the riddle of the universe; that one glance at the world as a whole as -it lies bathed in the sun on a summer’s day tells us more than all the -tomes of philosophers. - - “Ah me! this dungeon still I see, - This drear, accursed masonry, - Where even the welcome daylight strains - But darkly through the painted panes, - Hemmed in by many a toppling heap - Of books worm-eaten, gray with dust, - Which to the vaulted ceiling creep, - Against the smoky paper thrust, - With glasses, boxes, round me stocked, - And instruments together hurled, - Ancestral lumber stuffed and packed: - Such is my world: and what a world! - And do I ask wherefore my heart - Falters, oppressed with unknown needs? - With some inexplicable smart - All movement of my life impedes? - Alas! in living nature’s stead, - Where God his human creature set - In smoke and mould, the fleshless dead - And bones and beasts surround me yet!” - -And although we can see some force in the general theory of evolution, -we cannot accept it till it settles its account with the principle on -which the whole inductive method is raised—the constancy of the laws -of nature. - -The theory of evolution strikes, it seems to us, at the very root of -this principle. It proclaims that there is not and has never been any -constancy in nature. It devours all other law, or rather destroys it. -It means simply change. Permanency, constancy, and their synonymes -are opposed to it; and thus the theory of evolution must invalidate -all the sciences which are founded on the assumption that nature is -constant; in other words, that it does not change, does not evolve. The -definition of evolution given by Mr. Spencer makes it simply a change. -True, he states the method or law of that change. But the method is -discovered by induction. Induction is in turn annihilated by evolution. -The fabric as it rises loses its foundation, and floats in the air, a -baseless vision. - -But if we are in no haste to yield assent to Darwinism or evolution in -general; as applied to man’s soul by advocates like Spencer or Chapman, -we reject it _in toto_. It is incompetent to account for the facts, -nay, in glaring contradiction to them. - -We take our stand against man’s relation to the ape on facts as -undeniable as any the zoologist or anatomist advances in its favor. -These compare man’s body and the ape, and _find_ no very great -superiority of the one over the other as they lie recently dead on the -anatomist’s table. Let the two lie there only a little longer, and none -at all will be discoverable. A little dust which the winds of heaven -will soon scatter to the four points of the compass is all that will be -left of either. Shall we therefore infer their oneness of kind? By no -means. - -We know that man is in some respects not unlike the ape in form; but we -know, too, that there are Godlike faculties in man which are not in the -ape. We know this, and we know, moreover, that the philosopher through -whose brain roll vast choruses of thought; who stands on the heights -of Christian philosophy and human speculation, and discourses on death -and immortality; who, from the eminence to which Christianity has -raised him, looks down, not with indifference and not with contempt, -but with deep serenity, on the little loves and little hates of the -world, because conscious of his eternal destiny—we know, we have an -intuition, which we trust more than we trust Darwin and Huxley, that -this philosopher is more than a developed ape. - -And when the anatomist tells us there is little anatomical difference -between man and the ape, therefore between man as man and the ape as -ape there is little difference or a difference only of degree, we -reply: Between man and the ape, between a Newton or even a savage and -a monkey, there is, in the intellectual order, a vast difference, -an infinite difference. _This_ we take as the fact, and draw the -conclusion that the amount of anatomical difference between a monkey -and a man is no criterion or measure of the real difference. - -We treat the argument from embryology in the same way. Because -at a certain stage in its development the human embryo cannot be -distinguished from that of certain of the lower animals, we are assured -that man differs from these only in degree. We grant the fact, we -reject the inference; and we reason: notwithstanding you can detect -no difference at certain stages between the two, time develops one -so great that the one may become a Shakespeare, the other becomes -only a Shakespeare’s dog. What follows? Simply this: that there is a -something in the human embryo which is not in the other—a something -which the sense cannot detect, but the existence of which the mind -may infer; that there is more of life than the embryologist can find -out by his methods, as there is more of the rose than is found in its -ashes—more of life than we would be apt to see in a dissecting-room or -a charnel-house. - -No; whatever force the special Darwinian theory may have to the student -of animal life, to the student of man as an animal, it can have very -little to him who views man in his higher manifestations. Whatever else -it may account for, it never can throw any light on the facts of man’s -moral nature. It never can explain the origin of a being who believes -in purity or pity. - -Let the Darwinian, indeed, explain, if he can, how, if man owes -his existence and his development, physical, moral, and mental, to -success in the struggle for existence—in other words, to natural -selection—and this success, in turn, to the exercise of the selfish or -combative faculties, or to both combined—faculties which, according to -this theory, he must have exercised, his present and previous states -taken together, for ages unnumbered—so long, indeed, that they ought -to have grown into uncontrollable instincts—and which are the only -ones he can have exercised from the beginning, to which, therefore, as -the most imperious, all others should be subordinate—let him, we say, -explain who can how this tendency to battle, inherited through infinite -ages, has not taken complete possession of man, nor caused his life to -be a continual strife with his fellows; let him explain how, instead of -all this, there _are_ men who have learned, not to hate, but to love -their enemies, to compassionate the weak, the poor, and the lowly, to -nurse the sick and the dying, to care even for the dead; nay, how it -comes that there are men who are guided by the sublime command: “Love -them that hate you, bless them that curse you, pray for them that -persecute and calumniate you”; or, further yet, how, in spite of the -exercise of the selfish and combative faculties, in the struggle for -existence, the tendency of which must have been to strengthen by use -the organs of destruction, the same organs should gradually disappear, -and that in man not one of them should be left. - -Let him explain, again, how out of mere animality, by “natural -selection,” out of the mere brute, in a “struggle for existence,” -beings should come—men to whom this would be a law: Be pure; for “he -that looketh after a woman to lust after her hath already committed -adultery with her in his heart.” There are such men—men to whom this -is a law, and who obey it. Will a Vogt or a Büchner believe it? Will a -Darwin account for it by “natural selection”? - -Finally, let him explain how, if man has always been only growing out -of some lower condition, he has yet learned, in a measure, to go beyond -himself, to harbor an ideal which he has never reached, but towards -which he ever strives, inasmuch as he endeavors to fulfil the command -of the Son of God: “Be ye perfect, as my heavenly Father also is -perfect.” - - -PEACE. - -THIS supplication of the Suffering was that also of the Militant -Church, which daily offered it as now with sighs and tears, and, by the -light which this reflection casts on history, we can catch a glimpse -for an instant at the immense multitude of the pacific men who in the -middle ages were existing upon earth; for as many as were joined in -spirit to the church, were united with her in this ardent, insatiable -desire of peace. How do we know that the Catholic Church, which the -holy Fathers call the house of peace, was so profoundly attached to -peace? From a simple review of her liturgy: for in the first place, her -great daily sacrifice itself was nothing else but the mystery of peace, -the pledge of future and eternal, the diffusion of present peace to -man. At this holy and tremendous celebration in which God hath given -peace reconciling the lowest with the highest in himself, the good of -temporal peace was also formally invoked, at the _Gloria_, at the _Te -igitur_, at the spreading of the hands before the consecration, at the -_Libera nos_ at the salutation of the people, at the _Agnus Dei_, at -the three prayers which follow it, and in the prayer for the king; for -as the apostle assigns the reason for the latter, _that we may lead -a secure and peaceable life_, so with that intention the holy church -prays for all rulers, even for such as are transgressors of the divine -law;[49] which intention is formally expressed in her solemn litany, -where she prays that kings and Christian princes may have peace and -true concord, and all the people peace and unity. The innumerable -priests, who celebrated throughout the earth, knew that the inestimable -price of the world, and the great Victim for the salvation of men, -could only be immolated in a spirit of peace, and with a contrite -heart; and that, as Peter of Blois says, it is never lawful to offer it -without that preparation.[50]—DIGBY, _Mores Catholici_. - - -DANTE’S PURGATORIO. - -CANTO EIGHTH. - - In this Canto, Dante introduces the souls of Nino Visconti, judge of - Gallura in Sardinia; and of Conrad Malaspina, who predicts to the poet - his banishment. - - ‘Twas now the hour that brings to men at sea, - Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, - Fond thoughts and longing back with them to be; - And thrills the pilgrim with a tender spell - Of love, if haply, new upon his way, - He faintly hear a chime from some far bell, - That seems to mourn the dying of the day; - When I forbore my listening faculty - To mark one spirit uprisen amid the band - Who joined both palms and lifted them on high - (First having claimed attention with his hand) - And towards the Orient bent so fixed an eye - As ‘twere he said, “My God! on thee alone - My longing rests.” Then from his lips there came - _Te lucis ante_, so devout of tone, - So sweet, my mind was ravished by the same - The others next, full sweetly and devout, - Fixing their gaze on the supernal wheels, - Followed him chanting the whole Psalm throughout. - - Now, reader, to the truth my verse conceals - Make sharp thy vision; subtle is the veil - So fine ‘twere easily passed through unseen. - I saw that gentle army, meek and pale, - Silently gazing upward with a mien - As of expectancy, and from on high - Beheld two angels with two swords descend - Which flamed with fire, but, as I could descry, - They bare no points, being broken at the end. - Green robes, in hue more delicate than spring’s - Tender new leaves, they trailed behind and fanned - With gentle beating of their verdant wings. - One, coming near, just over us took stand, - Down to th’ opponent bank the other sped, - So that the spirits were between them grouped - Full well could I discern each flaxen head; - But in their faces mine eyes’ virtue drooped, - As ‘twere confounded by excess and dead. - “From Mary’s bosom they have both come here,” - Sordello said—“this valley to protect - Against the serpent that will soon appear:” - Whence I, unknowing which way to expect - This object, turned me, almost froze with fear, - And to those trusty shoulders closely clung. - Again Sordello: “Go we down and see - These mighty shades, and let them hear our tongue: - Thy presence will to them right gracious be.” - Only three steps I think brought me below - Where one I noticed solely eyeing me - As if who I might be he fain would know. - ‘Twas dusk, yet not so but the dusky air, - Between his eyes and mine, within the dell, - Showed what before it did not quite declare. - Towards me he moved, and I towards him as well: - Gentle Judge Nino, when I saw thee there - What joy was mine to find thee not in hell! - We left unsaid no form of fair salute: - Then he inquired: “How long since thou didst come - O’er the far waters to the mountain’s foot?” - “O but this morn,” said I, “the realms of gloom - I passed: in the first life I am, but fain - Would find the next by following on this track.” - Like to men suddenly amazed, the twain, - He and Sordello, hearing this, drew back. - One looked at Virgil, one into the face - Of a companion sitting there, and cried, - “Up, Conrad! see what God hath of his grace - Bestowed,” then turning unto me replied: - - -NINO VISCONTI. - - “By that especial reverence, I beseech, - Which thou ow’st him whose primal way is hid - So that none sound it, if soe’er thou reach - The shore beyond the vasty waters, bid - My child Giovanna for my peace implore - There where the cry of innocents heaven heeds. - Her mother I am sure loves me no more - Since she put off her widow’s paly weeds, - But in her misery fain would wear this day. - From her full readily may one be taught - How soon love’s flame in woman dies away - If sight or touch full oft relume it not. - The chanticleer upon Gallura’s shield - Had graced her sepulchre with fairer show - Than will that viper, which to battle-field - Marshals the men of Milan.” With such glow - He uttered this as in his face revealed - The heart’s just passion smouldering yet below. - Still that sole part of heaven I fondly eyed - Where the stars move, even as a wheel doth move - More slowly next the axle. Said my Guide: - “Son, what dost thou so gaze at there above?” - “Up there! at yon three torches,” I replied, - “Whose splendor makes this pole here all ablaze.” - And he to me: “The four clear stars that rose - This morn before thee have abased their rays, - And these have mounted in the place of those.” - While thus he spake, Sordello to his side - Drew Virgil, and exclaimed: “Behold our Foe!” - And pointed to the thing which he descried. - And where that small vale’s barrier sinks most low - A serpent suddenly was seen to glide, - Such as gave Eve, perchance, the fruit of woe. - Through flowers and herbage came that evil streak, - To lick its back oft turning round its head, - As with his tongue a beast his fur doth sleek. - I was not looking, so must leave unsaid - When first they fluttered, but full well I saw - Both heavenly falcons had their plumage spread. - Soon as the serpent felt the withering flaw - Of those green wings, it vanished, and they sped - Up to their posts again with even flight. - The shade who had approached the judge when he - Accosted him, had never moved his sight - Through this encounter, looking fixed on me. - - -CONRAD MALASPINA. - - “So may that light,” the spirit began to say, - “Which leads thee up, find in thine own free will - Sufficient wax to last thee all the way, - Even to th’ enamelled summit of the Hill. - If thou true news of Val di Magra know’st, - Or of those parts, inform me of the same, - For I was mighty once upon that coast, - And Conrad Malaspina was my name. - Not the old lord, but his descendant, I: - The love which once I to my kindred bore - Is here refined.” “O,” thus I made reply, - “That realm of yours I never travelled o’er; - But where throughout all Europe is the place - That knows it not? The honor Fame accords - Your house illustrates not alone the race, - But makes the land renowned as are its lords; - He knows that country who was never there: - Still the free purse they bear, and still bright swords - So mount my soul as this to thee I swear! - Custom and nature privilege them so, - That, if through guilt the world’s guide lead astray, - They in the path of right straightforward go - Sole of all men, and scorn the evil way.” - To these my words, “Now go,” the spirit said, - For the sun shall not enter seven times more - That part of heaven where Aries o’er his bed - Stretches and spreads his forked feet all four, - Ere this thy courtesy’s belief shall be - Nailed in the middle of thy head with nails - Of greater force than men’s reports to thee - If, unimpeded, Judgment’s course prevails. - - -THE RUSSIAN IDEA. - -FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN. - -CONCLUDED. - -III. - -RUSSIAN VICTIMS. - -THE following morning, Rasumowski sat with his guests at a sumptuous -breakfast in his elegant summer-house, the roof of which rested upon -beautifully ornamented pillars. Adolph von Sempach appeared very sad; -for he had again received evidences of Alexandra’s indomitable pride -and want of feeling. Beck remarked the disposition of his friend, and -he thought with satisfaction of the deeply afflicted mother in her -lonely palace at Posen. - -“Some years ago, the emperor emancipated the serfs—did he act -prudently?” asked the high official of Berlin. - -“Whatever the czar does, is well done,” answered the governor; “and -if the future czar again introduces the former system of servitude, -that also will be right. But you must not understand the abolition of -servitude in a literal sense. The serfs; were freed only from servitude -to the nobility; the Russian nobility have lost by it. But both peasant -and noble will always remain slaves of the emperor. Consequently -servitude still exists in Russia, the same kind that you desire to -establish in the new German Empire. Ah! there comes the Roman Catholic -pastor!” exclaimed the governor, his features assuming at once their -accustomed look of ferocity. “Now, gentlemen, see how I shall deal with -this hero of liberty, who preaches rebellion to the people!” - -The pastor timidly approached the Russian dignitary, and allowed -himself to be treated in a manner unworthy of his priestly dignity. - -But the priest had seen many thousands of his Catholic brethren put -to death and transported to Siberia. He knew that, by a stroke of the -pen, Rasumowski could doom him to the same fate; and to this must -also be added the fact that in Poland Catholic clergyman are educated -by professors appointed by the Russian government. These professors -very naturally train and discipline the seminarians according to the -commands of a government hostile to the Roman Catholic religion. Solid -theological learning and a proper appreciation of the dignity of the -priesthood are not sufficiently esteemed, for which reason we must make -allowances for the cringing deportment of the village pastor. - -After having made a low reverence before the governor, the latter -rudely accosted him by saying, “Have you your sermon with you?” - -“It is at your service, your honor,” replied the priest, taking with -trembling hands from his pocket a written sheet of paper, which he -handed to the governor. - -Rasumowski began to read, while now and then a sign of contempt or a -shade of anger would spread itself over his face. - -“By the heavens above me! pastor, this is incredible; in your sermon -there is not one word said about his most high majesty the emperor! -What is the meaning of this? Do you wish to go to Siberia?” - -The priest shook like an aspen-leaf. - -“Pardon me, your honor, pardon me!” stammered the priest. “I preached, -as your honor may condescend to see, not about the most high emperor, -but concerning Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, who has redeemed -men through his death upon the cross, and has freed them from the -servitude of Satan.” - -“Bah!—Saviour of the world—nonsense!” interrupted the governor. “You -must always preach about the most high the emperor. Your remarks about -the Saviour of the world are altogether superfluous. And then,” he -continued, with a threatening frown, “in your sermon you repeatedly -use words not approved of by the government; that is, _freedom_ and -_servitude_. You must never again use such expressions, for, if you -do—remember Siberia!” - -“Pardon, your honor! My intention was to show the people that we must -obey God from motives of gratitude.” - -“That, again, is nonsense!” exclaimed the governor. “If God wishes the -people to obey him, let him march his soldiers against the disobedient. -Our first duty is to the emperor; this you must preach to your -parishioners!” - -He rang the bell, which was immediately answered by a Cossack. - -“Bring me a sheet of official paper, and the pen and ink!” said -Rasumowski to the servant. “Now, listen, pastor, to what I say! If -you again preach upon _liberty_ or _servitude_, you will be sent to -Siberia; for in the holy Russian Empire there is neither _freedom_ nor -_servitude_; and, in order that you may become a practical preacher, -you must preach for a whole year on nothing else but on the _kindness_, -_mildness_, _glory_, _wisdom_, _power_, and _benevolence_ of the -emperor, but, above all, on the strict obligation of unconditional -obedience due to him. Will you do this?” - -“At your honor’s command,” replied the intimidated priest. - -Rasumowski wrote upon a sheet of paper which bore the printed -superscription: “Police Notice.” He then read aloud what he had -written: “In this church the only topic to be preached upon for a whole -year is on the high qualities of the emperor, and on the obligations of -his subjects to him.” - -He then folded the paper, and gave it to the priest. - -“That your congregation may be informed of my command,” said he, “you -must nail this police notice upon the church door. Now go!” - -Before the priest had left the garden, the Berlin official burst into -a loud laugh. - -“Oh! this is sublime!” he exclaimed. “I must confess that you have -these priests under splendid subjection. The Russian method is -admirable, and must be introduced into the new German Empire.” - -“My opinion,” said the professor, in a tone of indescribable sarcasm, -“is that this Russian method is even excelled by the Prussian. The -governor has not forbidden the pastor to preach, he has simply given -him matter for his sermons; but upon the doors of several churches in -certain cities of Prussia _police notices_ are placed, which forbid -preaching altogether; and not only preaching, but even the hearing of -confessions and the celebration of Mass. I think, therefore, that we -have surpassed the Russians.” - -“That is so,” replied Herr Schulze; “but the order of which you speak -is unfortunately directed only against the Jesuits.” - -“It is all the same,” answered Beck. “Catholic preaching, the holy -Mass, and confession were forbidden. The war of destruction is not made -solely against the Jesuits, but against the church.” - -“You are correct, professor!” answered Schulze. “Do you know Dr. -Friedberg, of Leipzig?” - -“Not personally,” replied Beck; “but I am familiar with some of his -writings.” - -“Well,” continued Schulze, “Dr. Friedberg is Bismarck’s most faithful -adviser and assistant in the combat against the ultramontanes, who -are so hostile to the empire. Friedberg has lately published a work -in which he expressly says that war is to be made not on the Jesuits -alone, but on the whole Catholic Church, and that this war must be -energetically carried out.” - -“Without reference to Dr. Friedberg’s pamphlet,” said Beck, “it is -clearly evident to every man of judgment, that the destruction of -the Catholic Church is the one thing aimed at. It is really amusing -to see how opinions change. Some years ago, the liberal press spoke -of the Catholic religion with the greatest disrespect and contempt. -The Pope was a feeble old man, and Catholicity tottering to its fall; -it was, in fact, not only lifeless, but even unfit to live. To-day, -however, this same liberal press proclaims the very reverse. The Pope -is now so dangerous that Bismarck is already using every effort to -secure at the next election of a pope a man who has what is popularly -called _extended views_, and who will make very little use of the -extraordinary powers of his office. It has become evident to the -liberals that Catholicity is by no means a worn-out, dead thing, but -that it is to be feared and is strong enough even to overthrow the new -German Empire.” - -“You make the newspapers of too much consequence,” replied Schulze. -“Our journalists write under great restrictions, of course; but they -are well paid for their work, and cost us a great deal of money. -Bismarck’s organ, _The North-German General Gazette_, alone costs the -empire every year over twenty thousand dollars. Bismarck, nevertheless, -has a very low opinion of newspaper-writers; he calls them, as is -well known, _his swine-herds_. You cannot, however, deny the fact, -professor, that the Catholic Church is hostile to the empire.” - -“If you ask me as an historian, Herr Schulze, I must contradict some -of your assertions,” said Beck. “The Catholic Church is a spiritual -power, but is not hostile to the empire, as far as the new empire -aspires after the liberal development of noble ideas. Culture, -freedom, civilization, true humanity, are children of the Catholic -Church. As you know, Herder, our great writer, has said: ‘Without the -Catholic Church, Europe would have become in all probability the prey -of despots, the theatre of perpetual discord and strife, or else a -vast desert.’ If, however, the new German Empire intends to introduce -a Russian form of government, and with it servitude and the knout, -then, of course, the Catholic Church will fearlessly manifest her -displeasure.” - -The governor and Herr Schulze opened their eyes, and gazed with -astonishment and suspicion upon the daring speaker. - -“Do not forget,” remarked Von Sempach, “that my friend speaks only from -a historical standpoint.” - -“On the whole you are right, Herr Beck!” exclaimed the governor. “The -Catholic Church confuses the minds of the people by preaching about -_liberty_, _about being the children of God_, about _the dignity of -man_, and all such absurdities. The Pope and his priests make their -people proud, obstinate, and rebellious, and difficult to manage. Mark -my prediction, Herr Schulze: you cannot introduce the Russian form of -government into Germany until Catholicity is exterminated.” - -“We will rid ourselves of it,” said Schulze confidently. “The Jesuits -are already expelled, and now we are using stringent measures to -suppress their kith and kin—that is, all the orders and convents—so -that we shall gradually have the Catholic Church under the same -subjection as it is in Russia. And have you noticed, gentlemen, how -quietly all has been effected? The Jesuits were sent away without the -least opposition on the part of the Catholics; the riot at Essen was -only the demonstration of a few workmen.” - -“There was, however, great excitement among the liberals,” replied Von -Sempach; “for, when the German religious were innocently proscribed and -forcibly driven from their homes, the national liberals applauded and -cried out ‘Bravo!’” - -“If you imagine, Herr Schulze,” said Beck, “that the patient endurance -of Catholics in witnessing the expulsion of their priests is not -dangerous, you deceive yourself. Their manner of combat, however, is a -very singular one. Recourse to arms, or rebellion against authority, is -forbidden them by their religion; but history teaches that the weapons -employed by the Catholic Church have proved most disastrous to all -her enemies. And it is to me as clear as the sun at noon-day that, in -consequence of this persecution of the church, the German Empire will -succumb.” - -“You speak in riddles, Herr Beck!” said Schulze. “What do you mean when -you speak of the Catholic manner of combat?” - -“That which is, in fact, the very essence of Catholicity,” answered -the professor. “Catholics believe that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, -is the founder of their church; they know that God will never abandon -his church, because he has promised to abide always with her. Since -they are forbidden to conspire and rebel, they have recourse to prayer, -and they pray to Almighty God to keep his word—in my opinion, a very -dangerous mode of combat; for no power, not even that of the new German -Empire, can stand against the Lord. And it is a remarkable truth -that the Catholics, for over 1,800 years, have conquered all their -oppressors. If Bismarck should commence to boil and roast Catholics, as -did Nero and other cruel tyrants who persecuted them for three hundred -years, he would meet with the same fate that befell the pagan emperors -of Rome.” - -“What you say, professor, is no doubt incontrovertible, for the facts -are historical,” replied Schulze. “We do not, however, intend, for -the present, to either boil or roast Catholics, and it is not even -necessary to adopt such severe measures. If the liberal government -once gets undisputed control of all the academies and public schools, -Catholicity must naturally die out.” - -“Another deception, Herr Schulze,” replied Beck. “The apostate -Emperor Julian, fifteen hundred years ago, adopted this very plan of -exterminating Catholics. He established infidel instead of Christian -schools; but the Emperor Julian perished, together with his empire, -while the Catholic Church still exists, and is the terror of her -enemies.” - -“We have heard enough!” exclaimed the governor. “We will not deny the -assertion of our learned friend. The Catholics in the new German Empire -can suffer and pray, and look for assistance from above, until they say -their dying prayer, as they do in Poland.” - -From the eyes of the professor there shone a brilliant ray of light. - -“You are mistaken, Governor Rasumowski,” said he; “not Catholic Poland, -but the Russian Empire, is saying its dying prayer.” - -If lightning had come down from heaven, it would not have made a -greater impression upon the Russian when he heard Beck’s remark. - -“You seem astonished, governor,” said the professor. “Are you really -ignorant of what a volcano the Russian Empire is standing upon? I -have made diligent inquiries upon the subject, and know something of -the interior dissensions that prevail in Russia. The present emperor -is also aware of it; for his father, when dying, admonished him, -saying: ‘Soucha (that is, Alexander), take care, lest thou become the -Louis XVI. of Russia!’ Excuse my candor, and permit me to wish you -good-morning, as I intend to accompany my friend to the city.” - -The two young men walked through the garden, followed by the angry -looks of the Prussian and the Russian. - -Severe weather prevailed for some days. Excursions into the country -were out of the question. Schulze visited the public institutions of -the city, which were managed according to the Russian system. - -One day, Von Sempach found the professor busily writing in his room. - -“Are you taking notes, Edward?” - -“I am collecting important Russian items to send to Bolanden, that he -may use them for the good of the German people, and for the benefit -of other nations, who do not desire to be governed according to the -Russian mode.” - -“I protest against it,” replied Von Sempach. “I have no desire to -figure in a novel.” - -“Do not excite yourself, my dear Adolph! Bolanden will change our -names, and perhaps call the gentleman from Berlin _Schulze_. How is -Alexandra?” - -The young man sighed heavily, and seemed greatly distressed. - -“I wish that I had never known her!” said he; “for I can tell you, in -confidence, that a deformed soul dwells in her beautiful body. Her -pride is insufferable, her want of feeling repulsive; in fact, she is -utterly devoid of those amiable qualities of heart and mind which a -woman must possess in order to make a happy home.” - -“She is the child of a Russian governor, who, by means of the pleti and -Siberia, keeps in subjection the serfs of the divine emperor,” replied -Beck. “I told Schulze and the governor my real opinion in regard to -the decayed condition of the empire of the czar, and yet I was very -temperate in my language; I should have added that Almighty God also -is the arbiter of nations, and suffers the continuance of Russian -barbarities only to show how deeply empires can sink, and how wicked -men can become, when an emperor has unlimited command in church and -state. The same result will take place in Germany, if she takes Russia -as her model.” - -“I hope you will not use such expressions before Rasumowski,” said -Adolph warningly. - -“No; we must not cast the pearls of truth before swine, for they would -perhaps attack us with their Cossacks and the pleti!” - -“Why do you jest?” said Adolph. “The discoveries I have made concerning -Alexandra’s real nature have made me very sad. Why must I bind myself -for ever to such a creature?” - -“Reason and the desire for true happiness forbid it!” answered the -professor. “You are free, and not a Russian serf. Act like a man; -destroy the magic charm which her fatal beauty has woven around you. My -travelling-bag is ready, let us go back to your dear mother Olga. I am -disgusted with everything in this corrupt, stupid Russian Empire.” - -The servant of Von Sempach now announced dinner. As the two friends -entered the dining-room, Schulze, with an air of triumph, held out a -newspaper. - -“Herr Beck, you cannot say now that the Germans are unwilling to adopt -the Russian form of government,” he exclaimed. “Here, read _The Cross -Gazette_. You remember what trouble we had with reference to the -village of huts which some miserable and poverty-stricken wretches -had built outside the gates of Berlin. Well, these huts have been all -removed, according to the Russian method.” - -“So I understand!” said the professor, who had read the article. “_The -Cross Gazette_ announces that the President of Police, Herr von Madai, -had given orders to several hundred policemen and soldiers to take -down, in the night from Monday to Tuesday, the collection of huts -outside of the Landsberg-gate; the poor settlers, who were roused from -their sleep, were driven away without difficulty, although the men -murmured, and the women and children wept; but there was otherwise no -disturbance or resistance. What a fine contribution to the history of -the new German Empire!” added Beck. - -“Is it not also stated,” asked Adolph, whose face was glowing with -indignation, “that the humanity on which they pride themselves held the -torch while the sorrowing women and children were driven from their -wretched homes into the cold, dark night?” - -“Why, Von Sempach, do not be so sentimental!” exclaimed the governor. -“Be like a Russian, who wastes very little time or sympathy on such -occasions.” - -Dinner was served. Alexandra had never appeared more lovely; her -toilet was exquisite. She had remarked the serious deportment of her -betrothed; for she made use of every species of blandishment in order -to regain possession of his heart. - -But something happened which brought matters to a crisis. - -The dessert had just been laid, when a servant of the governor handed -him an official paper. He had only read a few lines, when a grim smile -diffused itself over his face. - -“I have a surprise for you, gentlemen!” said he. “The nearest Prussian -police-station has had the kindness to deliver up to me the Jesuit F. -Indura, so that I may forward him to his native place, Kosow.” - -“A Jesuit? Oh! that’s imperial!” exclaimed Alexandra, filled with -curiosity. “I have heard so much of the Jesuits, and wish to see one. -Papa, will you not have him brought here?” - -“If it gives you pleasure, why not? That is, if our honored guests have -no objection.” - -“None at all, governor!” replied Adolph von Sempach, with stern -formality. “You alone have to decide.” - -“And I think that it is always praiseworthy to be willing to see and -hear a Jesuit,” said Beck. - -“Tell the commissioner of police,” commanded Rasumowski, “to bring -before me without delay the Jesuit of Kosow!” - -“Oh! that will be interesting!” exclaimed Alexandra. “I am so anxious -to see a man who belongs to that terrible order which has sold itself -to the devil, and labors only in the interest of hell.” - -“Do you really believe what you say, mademoiselle?” asked Von Sempach, -in astonishment. - -“Certainly! I have often read in the newspapers shocking things about -the Jesuits. They are said to possess in an extraordinary degree the -power of deceiving people, and they owe this spiritual power to Satan, -with whom they are in league.” - -“You have derived your information from the Vienna _New Free Press_, is -it not so?” - -“It may be, I do not know exactly. The new German Empire, in its fear -of God and love of morality, acts very prudently in expelling these -diabolical Jesuits.” - -“But suppose these diabolical Jesuits come to Russia?” - -“Oh! we are not afraid of them; we will send them to Siberia!” - -“Here comes the Jesuit,” said Rasumowski, when he heard the clattering -sound made by the guards’ sabres. - -Deep silence reigned in the dining-room. All sat with their eyes -intently fixed upon the door. In the hall were heard heavy, weary -steps, as though an aged or sick man was moving forward with great -difficulty. Then a hand appeared, grasping the side of the door, and -finally the Jesuit father, a tall, thin man, very much bent, and -leaning on a cane. - -“Come in, quick!” cried out Rasumowski roughly. - -F. Indura staggered into the room. The door was closed after him. - -Those who were present gazed in silence at the suffering priest, who -could hardly stand on his feet, and who leaned exhausted against the -wall. Although still young, the incredible hardships that he had -undergone of fatigue as well as of hunger and thirst seemed to have -entirely destroyed the bodily strength of the Jesuit. His face was -deathly pale, and the hand which held his wide-brimmed hat trembled -from excessive weakness. His black habit was covered with dust, as if -he had been driven like a prisoner on the highway. Upon his breast -there hung an honorable sign of distinction, bestowed by the new German -Empire—the iron cross. After having saluted those present, this victim -of modern humanity and liberal justice silently awaited the command of -the Russian governor. - -“Your name is Indura, and you come from Kosow?” commenced the governor. - -“Yes, your honor!” answered the priest, in a feeble voice. - -“You have been expelled by the Prussian government, and in the holy -Russian Empire you can find an abiding-place, and perhaps secure for -yourself a splendid position, if you will renounce the Society of -Jesus, and embrace the Russian state religion. Are you determined to do -this?” asked the governor. - -“No, your honor! I prefer death to apostasy!” - -“Well, we will not hang you yet awhile!” brutally exclaimed the -governor. “But we can send you to the mines of Siberia.” - -“That will be impossible, sir!” replied the Jesuit, with a faint smile. -“for my strength is too far gone ever to reach Siberia.” - -Von Sempach had until now been a quiet spectator of the scene; -alternate feelings of compassion and indignation filled his breast -whenever he looked at the priest. He turned to Alexandra, in whose -impassive features not a vestige of sympathy was visible. - -“Mademoiselle,” said he in a subdued voice, “a work of mercy is -necessary in this case. This poor clergyman is dying from exhaustion. -Will you have any objection if I offer him my seat?” - -The Russian lady turned fiercely around, like a serpent that had been -trodden upon. - -“What do you mean, sir?” she answered, with a proud disdain. “Do you -think that I will grant such a disgraceful request?” - -An angry flush overspread the face of the young man; his eyes gleamed -with a new light, and a proud, contemptuous smile wreathed his lips. -Alexandra at this moment had for ever forfeited the love of a heart of -which she was unworthy. - -The governor meantime continued his questions. - -“As you still wish to remain a Jesuit,” said he, “that is, a man -dangerous to the empire, an enemy of modern civilization, you will be -sent to Siberia!” - -“Will your honor not procure me a passport to India?” - -“What do you want to do in India?” - -“We have missions there,” replied the priest. “As it is my vocation to -work for the salvation of souls, I wish to preach there the doctrine of -Christ according to my humble capacity.” - -“I must reflect upon your petition,” replied the governor. “The -government may not wish the Jesuits to continue their activity even in -India. For the present, you must go to prison!” - -The priest made a motion to leave, but his strength failed him, and a -cold sweat appeared in large drops upon his forehead. Then Adolph von -Sempach rose. - -“Governor Rasumowski,” said he, “I do not believe that I shall appeal -in vain to your feelings as a man. I therefore urgently beseech you to -allow me to offer some refreshment to this exhausted gentleman from -your hospitable table.” - -Von Sempach spoke in such an earnest tone of voice that it seemed -impossible to refuse him. - -“If you wish to assume the character of the good Samaritan, Von -Sempach, I do not object,” answered the Russian, making a great effort -to conceal his real displeasure. - -Adolph approached the weak and feeble priest, and, giving him the -support of his arm, led him to his seat. - -“Allow me, reverend sir, to serve you.” - -The Jesuit looked at him with gratitude, and Adolph commenced to fill -his plate. The half-starved owner of the iron cross began to eat, and -like a lamp whose dying flame is revived when oil is poured upon it, -so also was it with the proscribed priest, who soon felt the benefit of -Adolph’s tender care. - -Alexandra had left the room when she saw that her father would grant -the request of Von Sempach. With an expression of unutterable scorn and -disgust, she gathered up the train of her rich silk dress, and retired -to her own apartment. - -“Will the new German Empire send us any more of such guests?” asked the -governor, who was filled with suppressed wrath at seeing a Jesuit at -his table. - -“Hardly!” replied Schulze. “The majority of the Jesuits are Germans or -Swiss; there are only a few Poles among them.” - -“Are only the foreigners expelled, and not the Germans?” asked the -Russian. - -“No Jesuit, even if he be a German, can remain in the new German -Empire, and discharge any sacerdotal or educational functions,” replied -Schulze. - -“It has made a very strange impression upon me,” said the professor, -“to see men condemned and treated like criminals, against whom not the -least fault can be proved. Even the bitterest enemies of the Jesuits -confessed this at the Diet, saying, ‘We find no fault in them!’ An -old proverb asserts that ‘Justice is the foundation of kingdoms.’ The -conduct of Russia against Poland excepted, there is not a similar -example in modern history.” - -“Is your remark intended as a reproach, Professor Beck?” asked the -Russian. - -“I refer only to historical facts,” replied the professor. “My personal -opinion has nothing to do with it.” - -“And I must openly acknowledge to you my belief that Germany acts -very prudently in imitating the Russian method in treating defiant -Catholics!” retorted the governor. - -“Then, we shall have violence done to conscience, and the destruction -of human liberty in the highest sense of the word,” said the -professor. “From this tyranny of conscience would result, as a natural -consequence, a state of slavery and a demoralized condition of affairs. -Religion would cease to ennoble man, because her enemies would -misrepresent her doctrines in such a way that she would cease to be the -revelation of God; she would become a machine of the state, and this -machine would be called a National Church—a hideous thing that would -prove to be the grave of all liberty. Finally, an abyss would open, and -swallow up the whole; for Almighty God will not suffer the wickedness -of man to go beyond a certain length. History records his punishments; -as, for example, the Deluge, the destruction of the kingdoms belonging -to the Babylonians and Persians, the destruction of Jerusalem and of -the Jewish nation.” - -Rasumowski was about to answer, when the Jesuit father rose from his -chair. - -“Sir!” said he to Adolph von Sempach, “you have, in truth, performed a -work of mercy. May the Lord in heaven reward you!” - -“He has already done so, your reverence!” replied Von Sempach, with a -look at Alexandra’s vacant seat. - -“Accept my grateful thanks, your honor!” said Indura to the Russian. - -“That will do!” interrupted the governor. “The commissioner is waiting -for you.” - -Adolph left the room with the priest. - -“All learned gentlemen do not seem to approve of the war of -extermination against the Catholic Church,” said Schulze, in a -slightly ironical tone. - -“At least, not those who have preserved some sense of justice,” replied -Beck. “I cannot understand how so many millions of Catholics can -submit to be insulted and threatened in a way that should excite the -indignation of Christendom.” - -“It is all very clear,” explained Schulze. “A national church is to be -established in Germany, just as it is in Russia. Protestantism sees the -necessity of the change, and makes no resistance; but it is not so with -Catholicity.” - -“I agree to the last assertion, Herr Schulze,” said Beck. “From the -very earliest ages there have been cowardly bishops and cowardly -priests; but the Catholic Church has never made concessions in matters -of faith, and will never do so in all time to come.” - -“For this very reason she must be exterminated, even if we have to -resort to extreme measures,” answered the great official of Berlin, in -a transport of passion. - -“And do you believe in the possibility of extermination?” asked Beck. - -“Why not? The educated portion of the world has long since repudiated -all belief in the nursery tales of religion.” - -“I most solemnly protest against your remarks,” said the professor. -“Religion is as much a nursery tale as is the existence of God, who -manifests himself in his works; the most wonderful work of whose hands -is the Catholic Church, particularly her miraculous preservation. While -everything else in the course of time falls into decay; while the -proudest nations disappear from the face of the earth, leaving scarce a -trace behind them; while sceptres are constantly passing from the hands -of rulers, the chair of Peter stands immovable. No intelligent man can -refuse to respect and admire the Catholic religion. On the other hand, -I do not deny that liberalism in its spiritually rotten condition, -devoid as it is of every high aspiration, is ripe for the establishment -of a national church, which is to be fashioned after the Russian model. -The new German Emperor-pope will be able, without opposition from the -liberals, to introduce the Russian catechism. Liberalism will not -object to the introduction of the pleti and to a Siberia; for it is -servile, without principle, and utterly demoralized. Those Germans, -however, who have preserved their holy faith, their dignity as men, -and their self-respect, are no slaves, and will never wear the yoke of -Russian servitude.” - -“Sir, you insult me!” vociferated the Russian governor. - -“In what manner do I insult you?” said Beck. “You yourself maintained a -few days ago that the Russians were all serfs of the czar.” - -“Yes, they are; but I will not allow you to speak of it with such -contempt,” responded the irritated dignitary. - -“Since we are not as yet serfs in the new German Empire,” said the -professor earnestly, “you will permit a free man to express his views.” - -“No, I will not allow you to do so!” cried Rasumowski, with a loud -voice. “If you were not, unfortunately, the friend of my future -son-in-law, I would send you to Siberia as a man dangerous to the -empire.” - -The professor rose. - -“Governor!” he exclaimed, in a tone of unmistakable self-restraint, -“your rudeness makes it impossible for me to stay one moment longer -under your roof. The very thought of having received your hospitality -is painful to me.” - -At this moment, Adolph von Sempach appeared. - -“Governor Rasumowski,” said he, “I have come to say farewell. Your -daughter, whom I have seen, will communicate to you the reasons of my -departure.” - -The Russian, with widely distended eyes, looked with astonishment at -the young nobleman, who bowed and disappeared with his friend the -professor. - -At the entrance of the palace, the servant of Von Sempach held open the -door of a carriage. The friends entered, and drove to the depot. - -“But, Adolph, how do you feel? Tell me what has happened!” asked Beck. - -“That which had to be done, unless I chose to make myself unhappy for -my whole life,” replied Von Sempach. “I have broken my engagement with -Alexandra.” - -“I congratulate you from my whole heart!” said Beck, warmly pressing -the hand of his friend. - -The next morning, the Baroness Olga welcomed the returned travellers; -and when Adolph related what had happened, joy and happiness -illuminated the face of the good mother, who embraced and kissed her -son. The professor stood smiling at her side. - -“You see, most gracious lady,” said he, “that the study of Russian -affairs is very apt to convince every good German of the impossibility -of obtaining real happiness and prosperity from the land of the knout.” - -A few days later the poor people exclaimed: “Our mother Olga is well -again; her eyes have lost their sad expression, and the kind smile has -returned to her lips.” - - - - -MY COUSIN’S INTRODUCTION. - -THE only fault we could possibly find with the Gastons was that they -were Roman Catholics. - -True, they were our own cousins, quite as well off as ourselves, and as -well educated and respectable as any family in the country; but then, -being Romanists, you know, they associated with such queer people, had -such singular notions, and attended a church filled every Sunday with -families that you and I would never think of speaking to, you know. - -Aunt Mildred went to Mass with them one Sabbath, just out of curiosity, -and declared there wasn’t a decent bonnet in the whole congregation -outside of Cousin Mary’s pew; and father, who looked in at the chapel -on Christmas Day, told us he didn’t see a single carriage at the -entrance—nothing but a lot of farmers’ and workingmen’s wagons. - -Nevertheless, the Gastons were charming people. Our affection for -them went to the full extent of our cousinly relationship, and I -in particular—by the way, I forgot to introduce myself—George -Willoughby, at your service, just twenty-one—nice age, isn’t it? -Graduated at—but I won’t mention what college in New England, lest -you might expect too much of me. Well, as I was saying—and I in -particular had conceived quite an attachment for my Cousin Richard -Gaston. He was three years my senior, had received his education in -some out-of-the-way Catholic college situated on the top or at the -foot—I really forget which—of some mountain among the Alleghenies. We -had frequently met and exchanged visits during our vacations, and the -only objection I had to Cousin Dick was that on these occasions he made -no end of fun of my Protestant Latin pronunciation, asking me to read a -page of Virgil, and then rolling over in his chair, splitting his sides -with laughter. What he found so comical in my recitation I could not -imagine. I saw nothing in it to laugh at. This was several years ago. I -now know the cause of his mirth. - -But even if Dick did make fun of my Latin, and call it barbarous, -he was a good fellow, although I must say that at times he presumed -a little upon his seniority so as to be a trifle mentorish. Indeed, -I loved him as a friend, independently of my affection for him as a -relative. He was considerate, too, and never troubled me with any of -his Romanish notions, except when I sometimes asked him a question -about the church, or touching some point in Catholic history, and -then I generally received more information than I either expected or -desired. One of these occasions I well remember, for the conversation -eventually led to serious results for me. I had gone down to spend a -week with the Gastons. One rainy afternoon—too wet to drive over to -the village, as we had intended—I had just waded through the strange, -eventful story of that gay and festive American citizen, Mr. St. Elmo, -and, as usual when at a loss for something to do, I began to look -around for Dick. - -I soon found him in the library, but so entirely engrossed with a book -that he did not notice my entrance. - -“What are you reading?” I asked. - -“Oh!” said he, “nothing that would interest you.” - -“Let me see?” I took the book, and read the title-page: _Introduction -to a Devout Life. From the French of S. Francis of Sales._ “Why, Dick,” -said I, “this is Thursday, not Sunday.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Why,” said I, “on Sunday you get out the Bible, or some pious book, -and read a spell—needn’t read very long, you know, about enough to -keep your face straight for the rest of the day. It’s the thing to -do—good young man, and all that sort of thing, you know—_Cela vous -pose_, as the French say; but as to pious reading, except for that or -to fight a rainy Sabbath with—never heard of such a thing. But what’s -your book about? Who is your Sales man? Some old ‘stick-in-the-mud’ of -a stupid hermit, eh?” - -“Your phrase is not of the politest,” replied Dick, “but I will answer -your question. S. Francis of Sales was not what you describe, but an -elegant, accomplished gentleman, a graduate of the Sorbonne at Paris, -and of the University of Padua, where, after a brilliant examination, -he took the degree of doctor of laws with great distinction.” - -“That might all be,” I answered, for I was determined not to accept -Dick’s saint without a fight, as was indeed my duty, being a staunch -Protestant—a _rôle_ no one need ever have any trouble in filling, -for, as I understand it, you have nothing to do but deny everything -the Romanists assert—“that might all be. I suppose he took refuge in -orders and sanctimony because he had a game-leg, like your Loyola man -there—what do you call him? yes, S. Ignatius—brave fellow, by the -way, and a good soldier—or else he was jilted by some handsome girl.” - -“Nothing of the kind. His early years, his youth, his student life, and -his advent in the world were all marked by a modesty, a purity, and a -piety that seemed to be the sure precursor of a saintly life.” - -“Oh,” said I, “I have it now. He must have been a hard-featured fellow, -so ugly, most probably, that, piety being his only resource, he became -a regular old square-toes of a monk in advance of the mail.” - -My cousin took a new book off the table, and said, “How ugly he was you -shall hear from his Protestant biographer.[51] Listen: - - “‘A commanding stature, a peculiar though unstudied dignity of manner, - he habitually moved somewhat slowly, as though to check the natural - impetuosity of a vigorous, healthy frame; regular though marked - features, to which a singularly sweet smile, large blue eyes, and - pencilled eyebrows gave great beauty; a complexion of almost feminine - delicacy, in spite of ceaseless exposure to all weathers. His voice - was deep and rich in tone; and, according to one who knew him, he was - in appearance at once so bright and serious that it was impossible to - conceive a more imposing presence.’” - -“That’s all very well,” I answered, determined not to give it up -yet; “but that work of his you were reading, that _Devout life_, -is nothing but a string of prayers anyhow, isn’t it?—a sort of a -down-on-your-marrowbones manual?” - -“Quite the reverse, my dear George. When the book was first published, -it was seized upon with avidity, and became immensely popular, -precisely because its author, not content with prescribing rules for -exterior acts of devotion, sought also to lead souls into the interior -life of piety. But judge for yourself. Let me read now a short extract -from the very first chapter, and you will at once see that, in the -opinion of S. Francis of Sales, the mere down-on-your-marrowbones -performance, as you not very elegantly phrase it, will not, of itself, -take you to heaven.” - -“Well,” said I, “Dick, this is getting to be rather more than I -bargained for; but I’ll fight it out on this line if it takes me till -tea-time. So go on.” And he read: - - “As Aurelius painted all the faces of his pictures in the air and - resemblance of the woman he loved, so every one paints devotion - according to his own passion and fancy. He that is addicted to - fasting, thinks himself very devout if he fasts, though his heart - be at the same time filled with rancor; and, scrupling to moisten - his tongue with wine, or even with water, through sobriety, he - hesitates not to drink deep of his neighbor’s blood by detraction and - calumny. _Another considers himself devout because he recites daily - a multiplicity of prayers_, though immediately afterwards he utters - disagreeable, arrogant, and injurious words amongst his domestics and - neighbors. Another cheerfully draws alms out of his purse to relieve - the poor, but cannot draw meekness out of his heart to forgive his - enemies. Another readily forgives enemies, but never satisfies his - creditors but by constraint. These by some are esteemed devout, while, - in reality, they are by no means so.” - -“That’s pretty plain talk,” was my comment—“a good deal plainer than -they give it to us down at our meeting-house. It sets a fellow to -thinking, too.” And here I was about to make a damaging admission, -when I fortunately recollected that I was in line of battle, with my -enemy in front. So I charged again with: “Oh! it’s easy enough to write -or preach the most pious precepts, and, at the same time, not be at -all remarkable for their practice. If your Sales man was such a fine -gentleman as you describe, I strongly suspect that that very fact kept -him pretty closely tied to the world, and that he may have been, after -all, a mere ornamental guide-post to point out to others the road he -had no idea of travelling himself.” - -“George, you are incorrigible, and I doubt that you really believe -the half of what you are saying. But I shall not ask you to accept my -opinion of S. Francis of Sales’ personal piety. Here is a Protestant -estimate of it: ‘There is a beauty, a symmetry, an exquisite grace of -holiness, in all that concerns the venerable Bishop of Geneva which -fascinates the imagination and fills the heart. Beauty, harmony, -refinement, simplicity, utter unself-consciousness, love of God and -man, welling up and bursting forth as a clear fountain that never can -be stayed or staunched—such are the images and thoughts that fill the -mind as we dwell upon his memory.’ - -“It was in 1592,” continued my cousin, “that Francis of Sales returned -to the paternal mansion, after having been for twelve years a scholar -at the universities, and a student of the great world. His father had -ambitious projects for the advancement of his only son. By agreement of -the parents on both sides, he was to marry a rich heiress, the daughter -of the Seigneur de Vegy; and the reigning Duke of Savoy tendered him -the high position of senator; yet, notwithstanding the most energetic -remonstrances and prayers of his father and many friends, he calmly -but resolutely declined both the marriage and the senatorial dignity, -and in 1593 was received in minor orders by the Bishop of Geneva, and -ordained priest in December of the same year.” - -“After which,” I interposed, “he, of course, had an easy time of it.” - -“Listen, and you shall hear. The duchy of Chablais, adjoining -the Genevese territory, had in previous years been conquered and -occupied by the Bernese, and, as one of the results, Calvinism became -predominant. Restored to the Duke of Savoy in 1593 as the result of -treaties, it was important to provide for the spiritual wants of the -few scattered Catholics who remained. A learned and pious priest -named Bouchut was sent to one of the towns of the Chablais, but was -compelled to leave it, on account of the fierce and hostile attitude -of the inhabitants. It was soon understood that any Catholic priest -who undertook to minister there publicly would do so at his peril. -There was an absolute necessity that some one should go, but the -Bishop of Geneva naturally hesitated to order any of his priests to so -dangerous a mission. He would gladly have sent Francis of Sales, for -he saw that he possessed all the qualities desirable in so critical an -emergency—bravery, firmness, prudence, and gentleness, besides a name -and family position which commanded respect throughout the country. -Sorely embarrassed, the good bishop convened a chapter, and all his -ecclesiastics were summoned to be present. He laid the matter before -them, together with the letters of the reigning duke, spoke plainly of -the difficulties and perils of the mission, and asked their counsel -as to what should be done. As in the case of an overwhelming peril at -sea, or a desperate charge on a fortified place, where the captain -or commander hesitates to order men to certain death, and calls for -volunteers, so the good bishop in this manner really asked, ‘Who will -undertake this dangerous duty?’ - -“As the head of the chapter, it was for Francis of Sales to speak -first. No one present knew as well as he the most serious dangers of -the proposed mission. - -“Amid profound and discouraging silence, he arose, and said, -‘Monseigneur, if you hold me capable of the work, and bid me undertake -it, I am ready’—few words, but to the point. Information of what -had taken place soon reached Château de Sales, and in spite of his -seventy-two years, the father instantly ordered his horse, and rode to -Annecy, where he imploringly remonstrated with his son, and begged him -to withdraw his offer. - -“From the son the old man went to the bishop, and protested in tears -against the step about to be taken. ‘I give up,’ he exclaimed, ‘my -firs-tborn, the pride and hope of my life, the stay of my old age, to -the church; I consent to his being a confessor; but I cannot give him -to be a martyr.’ The father’s remonstrance was so powerful, his grief -so violent, that the good bishop was deeply moved, and gave signs of -wavering, when Francis, perceiving it, cried out: ‘Monseigneur, be -firm, I implore you; would you have me prove myself unworthy of the -kingdom of God? I have put my hand to the plough; would you have me -look back, and yield to worldly considerations?’ - -“But the father held out as well as the son. ‘As to this undertaking,’ -he said to Francis, in parting, ‘nothing can ever make me either -sanction or bless it.’ At the last moment, several priests offered -the brave volunteer to accompany him, but he would take no one but -his cousin, the Canon Louis de Sales. It would be a long but most -interesting history to go into the details of the Chablais mission. -Under other circumstances, the people of that province might have run -the risk of being dragooned into Catholicity as they had been into -Protestantism. But the mild counsels of its noble apostle prevailed. -After trials, labors, and dangers most formidable, his holy life -and winning words of peace and reconciliation shamed persecution, -transformed hatred into respect and admiration, and the conversion of -the Chablais was the result of his holy daring. It was during this -period that he even penetrated into the camp of the enemy, going to -Geneva several times to visit Calvin’s successor, Theodore Beza, then -seventy-eight years of age. - -“The Apostle of the Chablais, as Francis de Sales was henceforth called -by the reigning duke, was now urged by the aged Bishop of Geneva to -become his coadjutor, and with great difficulty was almost forced -to accept the position. He was soon after sent to Rome, to ask the -good offices of the sovereign pontiff in arranging a serious dispute -between Savoy and France, as to whether Geneva was included in the -provisions of the treaty of Vervins. Having transacted the business -of his mission, he was notified by Clement VIII. to prepare for a -public examination in his presence within a few days. It is related, as -characteristic of his strong sense of justice and independence, that, -with all his reverence for pontifical authority, and his well-known -personal humility, the first impulse of Francis was to resist this -order as an infringement upon his ecclesiastical rights. He laid the -matter before the ambassador of Savoy, who immediately sought an -audience of his holiness. Clement VIII. at once recognized the validity -of the objection, and promised that the case should not be treated as -a precedent. He had heard so much, he said, of the ability and talent -of De Sales, that he was desirous of an opportunity of judging of it -himself, as was also the College of Cardinals. The order, it was then -agreed, should stand, and the examination go on. The only preparation -of Francis for this formidable trial was—prayer. Indeed, there was no -time for any other, for there were but three days between the order and -the ordeal. - -“Among the cardinals before whom he appeared were Baronius, Federigo -Borromeo, Borghese, and, among their assistants, the great Bellarmine. -Added to these was a crowd of archbishops, bishops, generals of -religious orders, and many eminent ecclesiastics of lesser dignity. A -Spanish priest of distinguished learning, who was to have presented -himself with Francis for examination before this body, was so -overpowered on entering the hall that he fainted. The scope of the -examination included civil law, canon law, and theology, but it was -confined to the last-named branch. Thirty-five questions were proposed, -and every possible objection was raised by the examiners to all the -answers. The examination over, his holiness expressed his supreme -satisfaction, went to Francis, and embraced him in presence of the -assembly, repeating the verse: ‘Bibe, fili mi, aquam de cisterna tua, -et fluenta putei tui; deriventur fontes tui foras, et in plateis aquas -tuas divide.’[52] - -“In January, 1602, Francis was sent to Paris, charged with the -arrangement of certain ecclesiastical difficulties which had arisen in -consequence of the late transfer of the small territory of Gex from -Savoy to France. Negotiations with royal ministers are proverbially -slow, and a matter that Francis supposed might be terminated in six -days retained him at Paris six months. But for him this was not lost -time. He gave the course of Lenten sermons at the Royal Chapel, -preached constantly in various churches and communities, and was so -tireless in his spiritual labors that during these six months he is -said to have delivered one hundred sermons. It was during this visit -that he suggested to Pierre de Berulle (afterwards cardinal) the -foundation in France of an order for the education of the clergy, on -the model of the Oratory established in Italy by S. Philip Neri. The -project was carried out, and in 1611, when the Oratory was established -in France, its founder asked Francis of Sales to be its first superior. - -“The reigning King of France was then Henry IV. He so highly prized -and admired De Sales that he offered him every inducement to remain in -France. He recognized in Francis the possession of all the qualities -and virtues belonging to the model ecclesiastic, and best calculated -to make religion respected and loved in a community scarcely recovered -from the evil effects of religious wars. The learned Cardinal du -Perron also appeared to be of the same opinion, for he said: ‘God has -certainly given him (De Sales) the key of hearts. If you want merely to -convince men, bring me all the heretics, and I will undertake to do it; -but if you want to convert them, take them to Mgr. de Genève.’”[53] - -“Richard, cousin of mine,” said I, “your measure is Scriptural, heaped -up and running over. I ask you a question about that little book there -on the table, and you give me the entire biography of your Saint of -Sales. It’s all very edifying, certainly, but I want to know about the -work.” - -“Oh! _The Devout Life?_” he replied. “I will tell you. In the first -place, a singular fact connected with it is that the work was completed -before S. Francis was aware that he had written a book. It happened -thus: A young, beautiful, and wealthy lady of the fashionable Parisian -world was so impressed by a sermon preached by the Bishop of Geneva -that she resolved to lead a new life, and solicited his spiritual -advice. His counsels of enlightened piety soon taught her that it was -possible to serve God with zeal without absolutely leaving the world. -Seeing her but seldom, he wrote from time to time such instructions as -he wished to convey, and also answered her letters asking for further -advice. On a visit to Chambéry, Mme. de Charmoisy—for that was the -lady’s name—showed these papers to the learned and pious Père Forrier, -rector of the College of Jesuits at that place. He was so much struck -with their contents that he had them copied, and wrote to Francis of -Sales, now Bishop of Geneva, urging him to publish them. The bishop -did not at first understand what he meant, and replied that he had -no talent for authorship, and no time to write. When the matter was -explained, and he ascertained that Père Forrier had studied and written -out what he called his ‘few miserable notes,’ he exclaimed: ‘Truly, -it is a wonderful thing that, according to these good people, I have -composed a book without knowing it.’ Very opportunely there reached him -at this juncture a letter from the secretary of Henry IV. of France, -expressing his majesty’s earnest wish that Mgr. de Genève would write a -work setting forth the beauty of religion, and showing worldly people -that a life of piety was not incompatible with a busy, active career. -‘No one,’ said the king, ‘could write such a book but Mgr. de Genève.’ - -“Thus pressed on all sides, the bishop set to work, made some changes -and additions[54] in the manuscript, and published it under the now -familiar title of _Introduction to a Devout Life_. - -“The work had no model in French literature. It was neither apologetic -nor controversial, but purely moral and advisory; and this was much -in a period torn by religious dissensions and wars. Its success was -enormous. Praises of the book and its author poured in upon all sides. -Exaggerated encomiums disturbed the good bishop. ‘What!’ he said, -‘cannot God make fresh-water springs to come forth from the jaw-bone -of an ass? These good friends of mine think of nothing but me and my -glory, as though we might desire any glory for ourselves, and not -rather refer it all to God, who alone works any good which may be in -us.’ - -“Meantime, the _Introduction_ was translated into all languages, and so -widely read[55] that it was called at the time the _breviary_ of people -of the world. - -“The imagery and symbolism of the book are full of grace and -attraction. It draws illustrations from pictures and flowers, and its -style is rife with similes and images which light up the essential -solemnity of the subject. As Sainte-Beuve says, ‘He puts plenty of -sugar and honey on the edge of the vase.’[56] - -“But this grace of language and of style is not obtained at the -sacrifice of strength or of principle. The work has many passages full -of sombre energy, and, in particular, a meditation on death (first -book), which displays something of the peculiar vigor of a similar -chapter (twenty-third of the first book) in _Thomas à Kempis_. - -“Then, there is a sharpness of penetration and a delicacy of insight -surprising to those who have not closely watched the springs of human -action and the workings of the human heart in themselves as well as in -others. Distinguished moralists, such as Montaigne and Franklin, have -discoursed eloquently and effectively on the morals and motives of -men, but you will find in none of them the elevation and purity of S. -Francis of Sales. Take, for instance, the thirty-sixth chapter of the -third book, in which he points out the almost imperceptible motives of -partiality and injustice which prompt us in everyday life to the most -selfish acts, consulting only interest and passion, while we pretend -to ourselves and others to be totally unconscious of anything in our -conduct that is not entirely praiseworthy. Listen and see how admirably -he introduces the subject: ‘It is reason alone that makes us men, and -yet it is a rare thing to find men truly reasonable; because self-love -ordinarily puts us out of the path of reason, leading us insensibly to -a thousand small yet dangerous injustices and partialities, which, like -the little foxes spoken of in the _Canticle_ destroy the vines; for, -because they are little, we take no notice of them; but, being great in -number, they fail not to injure us considerably.’ - - “Now, remark how unerringly he places his finger on spots and - blemishes that to our eyes are apparently as white as snow: - - “‘Are not the things of which I am about to speak unjust and - unreasonable? We condemn every trifle in our neighbors, and excuse - ourselves in things of importance; we want to sell very dearly, and - to buy very cheaply; we desire that justice should be executed in - another man’s house, but mercy and connivance in our own; we would - have everything we say taken in good part, but we are delicate and - touchy with regard to what others say of us; we would insist on our - neighbor parting with his goods, and taking our money; but is it not - more reasonable that he should keep his goods, and leave us our money? - We take it ill that he will not accommodate us; but has he not more - reason to be offended that we should desire to incommode him?... On - all occasions, we prefer the rich before the poor, although they be - neither of better condition, nor more virtuous; we even prefer those - who are best clad. We rigorously exact our own dues, but we desire - that others should be gentle in demanding theirs: we keep our own - rank with precision, but would have others humble and condescending; - we complain easily of our neighbors, but none must complain of us; - what we do for others seems always very considerable, but what others - do for us seems as nothing. We have two balances: one to weigh to - our own advantage, and the other to weigh in to the detriment of our - neighbor. _Deceitful lips_, says the Scripture, _have spoken with a - double heart_; and to have two weights, the one greater, with which we - receive, and the other less, with which we deliver, is an abominable - thing in the sight of God.’” - -“The book must be interesting,” said I. “You must lend it to me.” - -“Candidly, George,” my cousin answered, somewhat to my surprise, “you -had better select something else for your reading; for, if you wish -merely to pass away the time in its perusal, it will most certainly -disappoint you, and you will find it dry and dull. If, indeed, you -desire to read it with a motive corresponding to the author’s aim in -writing it, that’s quite another affair. The book is for the heart -and the soul, not for the calculating head and worldly mind. There’s -nothing about it of what your admired Carlyle calls _dilettanteism_, -and its object is your welfare—not in this world, but in the next.” - -“In what language,” I inquired, “was this work written?” - -“In French, of course.” - -“But Francis of Sales was, you say, a Savoyard?” - -“True,” replied Dick; “what then?” - -“Why, perhaps he didn’t write pure French?” - -“Perhaps not. You are an American, are you not, George?” - -“Of course I am; what then?” - -“Why, then, perhaps you don’t speak the English language correctly. And -that,” continued Dick, “reminds me, as our late President used to say, -of a little story. You know that queer old original Major Eustace, who -lives just beyond the lake. I heard him relate that, when a young man, -he was travelling in Europe, and found himself one fine day at Moscow -without funds or tidings from home, except a letter advising him of -the failure of his father’s house. This was at a time when travelling -facilities were far inferior to those of the present day. He could not -get away, and so sat down and studied the Moscow advertisements. One -of them demanded an English tutor for the two sons (aged respectively -fourteen and sixteen years) of a Russian nobleman residing at a -well-known château near the city. Eustace was a college graduate. He -felt himself abundantly qualified for the position, and made instant -application. He was cordially received for the chances of obtaining -an English tutor at Moscow were very slim. The Russian questioned -Eustace very closely as to his acquirements—this conversation being, -of course, in French—and things went on swimmingly until he asked our -American cousin from what part of England he came. Eustace replied that -he was an American. The Russian’s face fell. ‘And what language do they -speak in America?’ - -“‘In the United States we speak English,’ replied Eustace. - -“‘But it must be a _patois_,’ objected the Russian. - -“‘Not at all,’ said Eustace. ‘We have no dialects, and, taken as a -body, the American people speak better English than the people of -England.’ - -“The Russian could not comprehend it. The result was that Eustace was -not engaged. Our nobleman went all the way to St. Petersburg for what -he wanted, and returned home triumphant with his born-English tutor. -Meantime, Eustace found something else to do, and remained at Moscow -long enough to acquire the Russian language, and make many pleasant -acquaintances. Being in London five years afterwards, he found the -Russian colony there in a fit of Homeric laughter over the strange -mishap of two young noblemen recently arrived from Moscow. Eustace at -once recognized the name of the Russian who insisted that Americans -speak a _patois_. His sons had been taught English by the tutor picked -up in St. Petersburg, and, fortified with plenty of money and excellent -letters of introduction, had been sent over to acquire the polish of a -London season in the best English society. In this society, then, they -made their _début_ speaking English fluently in _the broadest Yorkshire -dialect_! - -“Now, to return to your Savoyard objection,” continued my cousin. “You -must know, my dear George, that Savoy is essentially French in tongue -and general characteristics of race. The French language is both spoken -and written there in all its purity; and many authors of worldwide -reputation as French writers are, in reality, Savoyards. There is, for -instance, Vaugelas the grammarian, Saint-Réal the historian, Ducis -the poet, the great Joseph de Maistre, his brother Xavier de Maistre, -whose _Voyage autour de ma Chambre_ I know you have read; and, in our -own day, Cherbuliez, whose success as a novelist has made the Parisian -romancers look sharply to their laurels. I have reserved mention of -S. Francis of Sales for a special reason. He wrote at a period when -the French language under the influence of Malherbe was soon to settle -down into its modern form; and so pure is his language and phraseology, -even tried by the highest French standard, that he is one of the model -authors adopted by the French Academy when its celebrated _Dictionary_ -of the language was undertaken. The list of prose writers included, -among others, the names of Amyot, Montaigne, Charron, Arnauld, S. -Francis of Sales, Duplessis-Mornay, Cardinal du Perron, etc., etc.[57] -S. Francis of Sales is thus, you perceive, a French classic. The -English translations we have of his works,” continued my cousin, “fail -to do him justice.” - -“Oh!” said I, “the old story—_traduttore_—_traditore_[58]—as the -Italians say.” - -“Precisely so, for the sense and substance; and then, for the form and -setting, a period of nearly three hundred years has so modified shades -of signification and value in words which to-day apparently have the -same general meaning, that in our modern rendering the subtle aroma and -the more delicate beauties of thought and language appear to evaporate -in the process of translation. - -“There is a certain charming simplicity and quaintness in the original -to which our grand modern style refuses to bend; and it appears to me -that we might have had an English version of the _Devout Life_ really -redolent of its author’s spirit if it could possibly have been done by -one of that noble band of young Jesuit martyrs judicially murdered by -Queen Elizabeth—say Campion or Southwell, for instance, who wrote in -the English of Shakespeare’s day—a period exactly corresponding with -that of S. Francis de Sales.” - -“To sum it all up, then,” said I, “you ask me to accept this work as -perfection, and yet refuse me an opportunity of judging for myself.” - -“On the contrary, George; for, although I contend that it is admirable -and, indeed, unsurpassed for its purpose, I have already said that -a reader seeking in it purely literary gratification would most -certainly be disappointed. I will say more, for I will not allow you -to monopolize the functions of _advocatus diaboli_: the book, to our -nineteenth century eyes, has several defects.” - -“What do you mean by calling me the devil’s advocate?” - -“Well, merely this, Cousin George. In our church, whenever it is -proposed to canonize as a saint a person of holy life, there is a -member of the commission appointed to examine the case, whose duty it -is rigidly to scrutinize all the testimony presented as to the holy -life of the deceased, to require the strictest proof, and to present -and urge every valid objection to its saintliness, such as charges of -any irregularity or lapse in conduct, morals, or faith. This official, -in short, is a sort of infernal prosecuting attorney, and has hence -received the descriptive nickname of _advocatus diaboli_. Now, it -appears to me, Cousin George, that, from the moment our conversation -on the _Devout Life_ began, you have been plying his vocation pretty -vigorously.” - -I could not deny it, so I said nothing, and allowed Gaston to go on. - -“No; so far from claiming perfection for the work, I will volunteer -a criticism or two upon it. In the first place, there is an excess -of symbolism, and the multitude of comparisons and images becomes -fatiguing. Many of these images are full of grace and simplicity, -especially those drawn from the writer’s observation of nature; for -S. Francis of Sales, as we gather from this book, had a quick and -sympathetic appreciation of the charm of landscapes, the song of birds, -the fascination of flowers, and the thousand beauties of nature visible -only to one who truly loves nature, and sincerely worships nature’s -God. But there is an excess of all this; and when he gets beyond the -line of personal sympathy and observation, the comparisons become -stiff, and frequently violate good taste. Those drawn from natural -history, for instance, are strained and incongruous. The writer must -have found his Paphlagonian partridges with two hearts in Pliny. There -are many things, too, which to us appear to be in excessively bad -taste; but that is a defect not chargeable to the author individually, -but to the prevalent style of the age in which he lived. After all, -there are ‘spots on the sun.’ S. Francis of Sales did not write for -fame as an author, nor, indeed, from any worldly motive. A ‘classic -style’ and ‘the French Academy’ were inducements which never engaged -his attention. There is nothing of the rhetorician in his phrase, for -it is almost familiar in its ease and simplicity. But there’s the -tea-bell, my dear George, probably a happy release for one of us, for I -fear I have bored you dreadfully.” - -“On the contrary, my dear Dick, for I have been as much edified as -interested in the saintly life you have revealed to me.” - -“Why, my dear boy, I haven’t told you the half of it; nor, indeed, do I -know it thoroughly. But if it at all interests you, here it is.” - -I read it, and have since read the lives and some few of the works of -several other saints, with what result it does not interest the public -to know. I can only say that I am going to fight it out on my present -line if it takes till doomsday. Cousin Dick and I are firmer friends -than ever, and Aunt Mildred from time to time asks me, with a slight -tone of sarcasm, if I saw any fashionable bonnets at our church last -Sabbath? - - -MADAME AGNES. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS. - -CHAPTER VIII. - -CONFESSION. - -AT our return, we found my mother had prepared the dinner as usual on -the days we went into the country. We joyfully seated ourselves at -the table. What is more delightful than a family dinner? And we were -all united. Louis was also in our midst. Victor was uncommonly lively -that evening. His face, so open, intelligent, and kind, was radiant. -I had never seen him so social and witty. His animation enlivened us -all—we loved him so much! Excellent man! what made him so happy was -the remembrance of the good deed he had done at the peril of his life. -I asked him more than twenty times that evening if he felt any worse, -and if it were not advisable to send for a physician. He invariably -replied that he felt as well as the day before, and even better. But -his cough grew worse from that time, and caused me serious alarm. -During dinner we conversed on general subjects, and afterwards went to -the _salon_. Victor installed himself beside the blazing fire which I -always had made for him in the evening. My mother and sister went up to -their own apartments. We were thus left alone with M. Louis Beauvais. -He turned towards Victor with a look full of respect and affection, and -I observed with astonishment that tears were streaming from his eyes. - -“Madame,” said he to me, “I must appear strangely to you. Ah! that is -not the worst of it. I am a great sinner.” - -Victor tried to stop him. - -“No,” said he; “I will not keep silence. Mme. Barnier must know -everything, as well as you, noble-hearted man, whom I dare not call my -friend: I feel too unworthy.” - -He seated himself, and, sadly gazing into the fire, began his story in -a tone as grave and sorrowful as if he were making a solemn avowal of -his faults before dying: - -Ten years ago, said he, I was a Christian, not only in name, but in -heart and soul. My mother, a pious, energetic woman, such as we do not -see in our day, brought me up with extreme care, and I did my utmost -to correspond to her efforts. It is so easy and delightful to practise -one’s religion when one has faith, and feels that his endeavors are -at once pleasing to a mother and to God! My other studies over, I -became a candidate for the Polytechnic School, but was not successful -in my application. I then entered another, in order to learn civil -engineering. By the end of a year, I had given up all my pious habits -through want of moral courage. My principles, however, remained firm -enough to condemn me and fill me with remorse, but they were incapable -of restraining one who had imbibed a taste for error. Even my mother’s -death and her last words, though they affected me, did not bring me to -a sense of duty. A short time after I completed my studies in civil -engineering, my father gave me possession of what I inherited from my -mother, and asked what course I intended to pursue. “Remain at home,” -I replied,” and work under the direction of M. C——,” an architect of -the department, and a friend of the family. My father gave his consent -to this. - -Left to myself, and master of my time and property, I made no delay in -commencing a life of dissipation and pleasure. My father was, above all -things, a man of forethought and calculation, and my conduct disgusted -him. We had several painful disputes, and at last he declared, to use -his own expressive language, he would give up the reins, and cease -to reproach me, but I must not thenceforth expect of him the least -advice or even aid, if I needed it. He then centred all his affections -on my brother and sister. As for me, I had begun by being idle and -extravagant: I soon became openly irreligious. My religious principles -were a restraint, and I determined to throw them aside. I thought -this would be easy. And I did prove myself uncommonly impious when -the preacher we had some months ago told us so many plain, wholesome -truths. I was not one of those guilty of disorderly conduct, whom all -respectable people must condemn; but—the acknowledgment is due you—I -approved of it, contemptible and wicked as it was. My conscience was -now roused, and remorse filled my soul with secret anger. - -My mother being dead, there was no longer any one at home to speak -to me of religious things. My father is an honorable, upright man, -and attentive to his business, but as regardless of another world as -if there were none. My young brother is pious to a certain degree, I -suppose, but he is timid and reserved. Only my sister remains. Aline -left boarding-school about six months ago. She is nearly ten years -younger than I, and bears a striking resemblance to my mother. She has -the same kindness of heart and the same tone of piety, at once fervent -and rational, which I always loved and admired in my mother. I had been -separated from my sister many years, and when I met her again, I was -struck, with this resemblance, and at once conceived so much affection -and respect for her as to astonish myself. - -As soon as Aline returned home, the appearance of everything changed: -the house became more attractive. I certainly do not wish to impute any -blame to my father—I love and respect him too much for that—but you -know as well as I that a house is not what it should be that has no -woman to preside over it. An Arabian poet says the mistress of a house -is its soul, and he is right. After my mother’s death, the house became -gloomy, but there was a marked change when Aline returned. It seemed as -if my mother had come back after a long absence to diffuse once more -around her cheerfulness, order, and piety. - -But the superintendence of the household affairs, and her obligations -to society, did not wholly fill up Aline’s time. Like her whose -living image she was, she was eager to extend her knowledge. Before -her return, my father had subscribed for that wretched journal which -is the delight of the unbeliever, or those who wish to pass as such. -Aline sometimes read it, but she disliked it, as you may suppose. She -imparted her impressions to me, but I did not conceal from her my -sympathy with its irreligious views. - -“Well, I do not agree with it in the least,” said she; “and, as I like -to know what is going on, I wish I could subscribe for M. Barnier’s -paper. Mme. C—— has lent it to me for some time. It is an able, -thoughtful journal, and edited by a sincere Catholic. That is the kind -of a newspaper that suits me.” - -“Then, order it to be sent you.” - -“That would be ridiculous. A young girl cannot subscribe for a -newspaper.” - -“I see no other way of having it.” - -“Excuse me, there is. If you were obliging, you would see the way at -once.” - -“And subscribe for you!... I subscribe for a _journal de sacristie_?... -That would be going rather too far; I should be laughed at.” - -“You must have publicly compromised yourself, then, to fear making -people talk by subscribing for a respectable paper.” ... - -The cut was well aimed. I reddened, but made no reply, and went away. -That night I subscribed for your paper, and received my first number. -Of course I opened it at once, out of perverse curiosity. I should have -been overjoyed to find a single flaw in it. - -A short time after this, the incident at the cathedral occurred. As I -have already told you, I was not among those who made a disturbance -at the church door, but I was with them in heart. Père Laurent was -repulsive to me, as well as to most of those who displayed their -anger in so reprehensible a manner. He was everywhere the topic of -conversation. At home, my sister, who never lost one of his sermons, -annoyed me with his praises. Above all, she irritated me by repeating -his very words—words that seemed chosen expressly to disturb me and -force me to reflect. - -The day after that atrocious manifestation, I eagerly opened your -journal. I was sure you would speak of the outbreak of the previous -day, and wished to see how far you would condemn it. The article -surpassed my expectations. You showed yourself more courageous than -ever. Never had you written anything that so directly hit my case. You -made use of certain phrases that reminded me of my shameful course, my -base inclinations, and my secret remorse, and in so forcible a manner -that the very perusal made me tremble with anger. That night, at our -club—that well-known circle of young men devoid of reason, and so -many men of riper years even more thoughtless—we had a great deal to -say about the occurrence of the previous day, and your article of that -morning. There was a general indignation against the preacher, and that -excited by what you had written was still stronger. - -One of the _habitués_ of the club—one of those men who assume -the right of imposing their opinions on others about every -subject—seriously declared he had made a very important discovery: -the clerical party wished to overrule the city, and assert its adverse -authority as in the fearful times of the middle ages; but, however well -contrived the plot might be, it had not escaped the sagacious eye of -the speaker. The Conference of S. Vincent de Paul, more flourishing -than ever; the new development given to the journal you edit; the -arrival of an eloquent preacher—were they not all so many signs that -ought to arouse us to the imminence and extent of the danger? - -The simplest and worst members of the club allowed themselves to be -influenced by this absurd declamation. I was, I confess, of the number. -Others shrugged their shoulders. The orator perceived it. - -“Ah! you smile, messieurs; you think I exaggerate! In a year you will -confess I was right, but then it will be too late! Your wives will have -become devotees, the very thought of whose bigotry is enough to make -anybody shudder; your daughters will only aspire to the happiness -of entering a convent; the theatres will be closed for want of -patronage; and, if any one wishes an office, it will only be obtained -by presenting a certificate of confession. _Allez! allez!_ when that -black-robed tribe undertakes any scheme, it knows how to bring it -about. Instead of shrugging your shoulders when I reveal what is going -on, you would do better to take proper precautions. It is high time.” - -A young fop in the assembly, the head clerk of a notary, notorious for -his volubility, his shallowness, and his assurance, rose and took up -the thread of discourse in his turn: - -“I agree with what M. Simon has just said. We must consider the means -of utterly routing this dark race. The shortest course would be to -attack their leader. I will take that on myself. Barnier shall hear -from me.” - -“No rashness!” was the exclamation on all sides. “We must beware of -making a martyr of him!” - -“What course shall we take, then?” asked some of the party. - -“Intimidate him,” said a voice. “Write him a letter of warning of so -serious a character as to make him desist.” - -“That is also a bad plan,” objected M. Simon. “Anonymous letters are -treated with contempt, or are laid before the public. In either case, -the effect would be unfavorable to us.” - -The young fop who had begun the subject now resumed: - -“M. Simon, who has so clairvoyant an eye with respect to danger, ought -himself to suggest some way of bringing Barnier to reason.” - -M. Simon assumed a solemn air: “I only know of one way, but that is a -good one. We must bribe him, not to withdraw from the paper—that would -be a false step, for another would take his place, and continue to -annoy us—but to induce him, in consideration of a certain sum, to wage -henceforth only an apparent war on us. That is the best thing to do.” - -“Well,” replied the young fop, “it is hardly worth while to criticise -others, and then propose something not half so good. Barnier is not to -be bribed.” - -“Why not?” asked M. Simon. - -“Because a man whose opinions are the result of conviction can never -be bought. He fights for his flag, and is not much concerned about -anything else.” - -“Convictions!—flag!—disinterestedness, indeed!” retorted M. Simon, -with a gesture of supreme contempt. - -It was in vain to say that most of us had carefully observed you, and -were not mistaken as to your character. We were nearly all of the -clerk’s opinion. For once in his life, the fellow had a correct notion. -We then separated without coming to any decision, but each one promised -to think of some means of bringing you to reason, as we expressed it. -I dwelt on the subject the whole evening, and was still thinking of it -the next day when I took my place among the family at the dinner-table. - -Aline was at that time greatly interested in the _soirée_ to which you -were afterwards invited, and the preliminaries were discussed at table. -To my great astonishment, she proposed to place your name on the list -of invitations. This proposition made me angry, and I flatly declared -it absurd. I was sure my father would make a similar reply. I had no -idea he would open the doors of his _salon_ to you, for I knew there -was no similarity of opinion between you. The result was precisely -contrary to my expectations. Was my father desirous of gratifying -Aline? Or did he wish to seize an opportunity of showing how little -value he attached to my opinion? I know not. But he allowed me to -finish what I had to say, and then said, in a dry tone: - -“Aline, send M. Barnier an invitation. It is my wish.” - -I was confounded. In my fury, I inwardly swore to be revenged. The -means of intimidating you, which the members of the club had not -been able to find without compromising themselves, I thought I had -discovered myself the night before. I communicated my plan to two of my -friends whose names I will not give. They declared it excellent, and -promised to second me. - -What took place you know, but I will give you some details impossible -for you to have ascertained. I did not attend the _soirée_, but one of -my accomplices was there to keep me informed of your movements. When -you were ready to leave, he came to my room to notify me. It took only -a moment to disguise ourselves. We went out by a private door, and -dogged your steps. Ah! my dear friend, what infamous behavior! What had -you done to me that I should thus dare violate in your person the laws -of hospitality which even savages respect? - -At this revelation, I turned pale. M. Louis Beauvais perceived it. - -“Is not such an act unpardonable, madame?” said he. “And do you not -look upon me as worthy only of your contempt and hatred?” - -“I have forgiven those who committed this wrong, whoever they might -be,” I replied. “Now I know it was you, and see how fully you repent of -it, I forgive you even more willingly.” - -Thank you, madame, said he; but let me assure you that, culpable as my -intentions were, they were less so than they must have seemed to you. -We were desirous of intimidating M. Barnier, and making him believe -he exposed himself to constant serious danger by the boldness of the -course he had taken. We did not—I mistake—I did not intend to show -any physical violence, for that I considered base and criminal. I was -indignant when I saw one of our number strike him. I have ever since -regarded that young man with profound contempt. I had more than one fit -of remorse that night. The next morning, Aline, after accosting me, -said: - -“You know what happened to M. Barnier last night after leaving us. It -is infamous! It must have been a plot. I am sure you know the guilty -authors! Who are they? They ought to be punished.” - -“How should I know them?” I exclaimed angrily. - -“You know them only too well,” said Aline, regarding me with an air of -severity; ... “but you are not willing to betray your friends.... What -friends!” - -I endeavored to appear unconcerned. She continued looking at me with a -steadiness that made me shiver. - -“Do not add to my distress,” said she. “Do not lay aside the only -virtue you have left, my poor brother—your customary frankness! I -understand it all, and know what I ought to say to you, but words fail -me. Ah! if our poor mother were still alive!” ... - -Aline went away without another word. As for me, I remained motionless -and silent for some moments, by turns filled with shame, remorse, and -anger.... It would seem as if so grave an occurrence should have led -me to serious reflection. I felt inclined to it at first, but resisted -the inclination. I found excuses for myself, and soon thought no more -of it. - -I continued, therefore, to live as I had for five years, one pleasure -succeeding another, and spending my property without reflecting what I -should do hereafter. But the day was at hand when I found myself in a -critical position in consequence of my prodigality. - -When my father, in order to avert cause for contention, put me in -possession of my mother’s property, I at once took my papers to a man -in whom I placed entire confidence. I did this in order to throw off -all care. He had been for a long time my father’s cashier. He was and -is honesty itself. - -“F. Martin,” said I, “here is all I possess. It will be a care for me -to keep these papers and collect my income. Do me the favor to take -charge of my property.” - -F. Martin was confused and gratified at such a proof of confidence. But -his pleasure was somewhat modified when I added the following words: - -“F. Martin, I attach one condition to this arrangement: you are not to -take advantage of it to sermonize me. I now tell you, with a frankness -that will preclude all surprise, I wish to amuse myself.... To what -degree, or how long, I cannot say, but such is my present intention, -that is certain.” - -“O M. Louis, if your mother could only hear you!” - -“F. Martin,” said I, with a gesture, as if to take back my portfolio, -“if you are going to begin to preach to me, take care!... I shall -give my papers to some one who may rob me. Then, instead of merely -curtailing my property a little, I shall spend it all in two years, or -four at the furthest; or rather, we shall spend it between us.” - -“Dreadful boy! I always said you had the faculty of making everybody -yield to you. Well, I will do as you wish.” - -“Ah! that is right. One word more. When I have but twenty thousand -francs left, you may warn me—not before!” - -Things went on thus till a few days ago. I spent my property with a -rapidity that frightened me when I thought of it. My father perceived -it. My extravagance excited his indignation, but, faithful to his -resolution to avoid all contention, he forebore saying anything. -Not quite a fortnight ago, I met with a sad disappointment. An old -aunt of mine died. I had calculated on being her heir, but she left -all she had to my sister and other relatives, and gave me nothing. -My unwise conduct had for some time prejudiced her against me. This -disappointment made me quite thoughtful. I wrote F. Martin that I -wished to know the exact state of my affairs. The next day Martin -arrived at the appointed hour. He was pale and agitated—pitifully so. - -“M. Louis,” said he, “you anticipated me. I was going to request an -interview with you. You have now only twenty thousand francs!” - -I made a strong effort to control myself, and replied, with a smiling -air: “Well done! that is rather fast work!” - -“So fast that I can hardly believe you have come to this. But it is -really so!” - -“Where are the twenty thousand francs, Martin?” - -“Why, I have not got them, M. Louis! I have only five thousand left -besides what you took.” - -At this, my strength almost failed me. I at once realized I was -completely ruined. Fifteen months before, I had withdrawn twenty -thousand francs from Martin’s hands under the pretext of investing -them in a particularly advantageous manner. A trip to Germany, play, -and some pressing debts absorbed this sum without Martin’s knowing it. -I quietly dismissed him, saying I would see him again the next day. -Left alone, I balanced my accounts. Alas! my affairs were desperate! -The five thousand francs in Martin’s possession were all I had left, -and my debts amounted to four times that sum! - -All day yesterday I remained stupefied, as it were, at so unexpected a -disclosure. My father had gone to Paris. I resolved to take refuge in -the country, and come to some decision. I went, scarcely knowing what -I was about, angry with myself, with everybody else, and desperate. -All night I sought some way of escape from the terrible blow that -had befallen me. I walked to and fro. From anger I sank into the -most profound dejection. The very thought of applying myself to any -occupation whatever appeared, above all, intolerable. - -When morning came, I mechanically went to walk beside the river that -runs about a hundred yards from our house, and fell into a gloomy -reverie. The sleepless nights, the rioting, the habits to which I had -successively given myself up for years, the painful anxiety of the -previous night, had excited and weakened my nervous system. I was, as -it were, deprived of my reason. - -While I was thus lingering on the shore, it seemed as if a mysterious -voice invited me to bury myself in the current before me. A terrible -struggle took place between my reason, the instinct that restrained -me, and the hallucination that kept drawing me nearer the bank. Reason -failed me. In a fit of despair, I cast myself into the stream. As soon -as I felt the cold water, my reason, my faith, awoke as ardent as in -the days of my boyhood. A cry issued from the very depths of my soul: -“O Mary, save me!” It would be impossible to tell you with what fervor, -what terror, I uttered this short prayer—impossible, also, to express -the immense joy that filled my heart when I realized I was saved. -But what confusion mingled with this joy—what gratitude, too, what -admiration of the designs of God, when I saw it was you who had rescued -me at the peril of your life! - -CHAPTER IX. - -BROTHER AND SISTER. - -M. Louis Beauvais had finished his story. - -“And now,” said Victor, in the cheering, confidential tone of one -friend who wishes to encourage another, “what are you going to do?” - -“That is precisely the question that preoccupies me. In fact, I see -no way of solving it. Were you to ask me what I am not going to do, -oh! then I should not be embarrassed for a reply. At all events, had -I even the means, I should not wish to continue the life I have led. -Nor do I any longer desire to escape from the trying position I am in -by having recourse to the cowardly, criminal means I took in a moment -of madness. Suicide fills me with horror! One must behold death face -to face, as I have to-day, to realize how easily a man can deceive -himself. I had really arrived at such a state of indifference and -insensibility that it seemed as if I had never had any religion; but -the terrible thought no sooner sprang up in my soul that I was about -to appear before God, than I found myself as sincere a believer as on -the day of my first communion. My whole life passed in review before -me, and I condemned myself without awaiting the divine sentence. When I -recall the inexpressible terror of that moment; when I remember if God -had not sent you to my assistance, and that, had it not been for your -heroism, I should have been for ever lost, there springs up in my heart -a continually increasing gratitude to my heavenly Father, and to you -who were the agent of his mercy.” - -“Then, my friend,” replied Victor gravely, “you will allow me to make -one request.” - -“Consider whatever you would ask of me granted in advance.” - -“Then, forget the past six or eight years of your life, and become -again what you were under your mother’s influence.” - -“I pledge you my word to do so, and hope by the divine assistance never -to break my promise—a promise I make with inexpressible joy. But that -is not all. What course do you advise me to take?” - -“If I may form an opinion of your sister from what you say, she must be -a person of intelligence, kind feelings, and decision. In your place, I -would go to her, make known my exact situation, and ask her advice.” - -“Yes; that is the best course to take. The idea pleases me. I will put -it in execution this very evening. My father is to be absent a day or -two longer. I shall have a good opportunity of talking freely with -Aline. I will go directly to her when I leave you. To-morrow morning I -will return and give you an account of our interview.” - -Louis left us a few moments after. We commended him to God with all -our hearts at our evening devotions. It was so impressive a spectacle -to behold a soul break loose from past habits, and return to God -humiliated and conscious of his weakness—repentant, and burning with -ardor to enter upon a new life. - -During the night, Victor was seriously ill. Fearing he was going to -die, I exclaimed, in a moment of anguish: - -“Oh! that unfortunate adventure! That wretched young man will be the -death of you!” - -“Take that back, dear,” said Victor; “it pains me. Instead of deploring -this occurrence, and calling it unfortunate, you should thank God. -He has thus granted my dearest wish. From the time I found my days -numbered, I prayed God to grant me every possible opportunity of -showing how earnestly I wished to serve him during the short time -left me on earth. He has now granted my desire. If my going into the -water to-day leads to my death, I shall have the infinite joy of being -in a certain sense a martyr, for I fully realized the danger. But an -interior voice whispered: ‘There is a soul to save,’ and I plunged into -the river.... Others would have done the same, but God does not give -every one such an opportunity. I thank him for having granted it to me.” - -By degrees Victor’s alarming symptoms wore off. When he awoke the next -morning, he was much better than I had dared hope. He recalled with -a lively joy the events of the previous day, and expressed an eager -desire to know what Louis and his sister had decided upon. - -We were not kept in suspense long. Louis arrived about nine o’clock. -Seeing his face was calm and happy, my poor husband manifested a -livelier satisfaction than I had ever known him to express. - -“Sit down there,” said he, pointing to an arm-chair beside his bed, -“and give us the details of all you have done.” - -As we agreed upon last evening, replied Louis, I went directly home -after leaving you, and inquired if my sister was in. They told me she -was. I went to her room. It was vacant. A servant informed me that -she had given up her old chamber some weeks before, and now occupied -my mother’s. I found Aline sitting in the middle of the room beside -a stand, in the same arm-chair my mother made use of to the last. I -cannot express the emotion that overpowered me when I entered. The -aspect of the room, the sight of the well-known furniture, Aline’s -grave air, and her resemblance to my mother, all carried me back ten -years. It seemed as if I were once more in the presence of her whom -I loved so much, but whose counsels I had followed so poorly. My -agitation increased when Aline sprang towards me, clasped me in her -arms, and covered my face with her tears. - -“Wicked, wicked boy, she cried; you wished to put an end to your life! -How sinful in you! and what sorrow for us! Oh! conceal nothing from -me.... You are very unhappy, then?... You have no confidence in me?... -Come, tell me all. Leave me no longer in a state of uncertainty. And, -first, have you renounced your horrible project?” - -Her voice betrayed such profound emotion, her eyes such tender -affection and deep anxiety, that I was affected to tears. I began by -begging pardon for all the anxiety I had caused her. I pledged my word -to enter upon a new life. When we were both somewhat calmer, I told her -all I had related to you. At the end of the account, she looked at me -as a mother would at her son, and said: - -“Louis, the hand of God has visibly interposed in your behalf. -Everything shows you would have been drowned. And what a horrible -end!—in that river where so few people go, especially the spot you -chose, had not Providence, at the very moment you plunged into the -water, sent a man, a noble-hearted man, to save you at the peril of -his life. That is not all. When you were able to thank your deliverer, -you found it was—the very man who had already been brought to death’s -door through your fault. If I am not deceived, this is a wonderful -interposition of Providence. You have been a great sinner, my poor -boy, and your conversion had to be effected by a great sacrifice. This -sacrifice has been offered by M. Barnier in risking his life in order -to restore you to existence, which you wished to deprive yourself of. I -believe—pardon my great frankness—God wished, I believe, to inspire -you with thorough repentance by showing you your victim under the form -of your deliverer. Oh! if this repentance is not lasting, I shall -tremble at the thought of the chastisement that the justice of God, -weary of pardoning you, has in reserve. But, no!—there is no fear of -that. And now, what are you going to do?” - -“Put an end to my idle life.” - -“Very well. It was idleness especially that caused your ruin. But what -occupation will suit you? No imprudent heroism! You must do something -that will be congenial.” - -“I am an engineer. It is time to remember it. I am going to Paris. -Either there or elsewhere I can easily find a place in some -manufactory.” - -“Very well. Father is to return to-morrow evening. What has occurred -cannot be concealed from him. I am even of the opinion it would be best -to tell him the whole truth. Only ... you will allow me to speak with -the frankness of a sister who loves you, will you not?” - -“Oh! yes. Speak to me as our mother would.” - -“Well, then, I must acknowledge father is extremely offended with -you. He is kind, very kind, as you know, but he cannot endure want of -calculation, especially in money matters, and your manner of conducting -has excited his indignation. I fear, therefore, he will at first be -greatly irritated at learning what has taken place. Public rumor will -at once inform him of it, so that, when he sees you for the first -time, you will not be able to induce him to listen to you. With your -consent, I will talk with him first. To prevent a premature explanation -with him, I propose you should go and pass two or three days with Aunt -Mary. She is now at her country-seat in M——. It is not far off. I can -easily send you word when it is time for you to return.” - -I need not say with what gratitude I accepted this proposal, which -revealed the kindness of a sister, the delicacy of a woman, and the -prudence of a mother. - -Aline continued: “I have two more requests to make. If you were a -different person, I might hesitate. But you were once pious. You are -better instructed in our religion than most of the poor young men -of our day. In a word, you have never lost your faith. Do not delay -having recourse to the remedy. Go to confession as soon as possible. -Confession develops repentance, puts a seal on our good resolutions, -and confers a special grace to keep them. I speak as I think. A -repentance that remains purely human cannot be lasting.” - -I promised to go to confession to Father——, and shall keep my promise. - -“One favor more,” resumed Aline. “It is a somewhat delicate matter, -but let us talk with the same freedom and simplicity that we did in -our childhood. That is the shortest way to come to an understanding. -You say you are fifteen thousand francs in debt. Knowing my father’s -disposition as I do, I am sure this will cause trouble if he knows it. -He is a man who would forgive your spending a hundred thousand francs, -but a debt of five hundred would make him extremely angry. This is -strange, but it is so. And you may be sure as soon as your creditors -hear of your ruin, they will come upon you. We must, therefore, hasten -to forestall them. We must settle with them where they are. Will you -permit me to render you a little service?... Sit down here, and draw -up, as papa would say, a schedule of your debts. I will give it to our -head clerk to-morrow, bind him to secrecy, and before noon you will be -free from debt.” - -I was profoundly moved by so much generosity, and so profuse in my -thanks as to greatly touch Aline herself. But she concealed her emotion -under a lively, playful manner. I had to make out a list at once. I did -so, and gave it to Aline. She took it with a smile, and folded it up -without looking at it. There were two small sheets, one of which was -nearly blank. - -“Why two papers?” she asked mechanically. - -“One contains the list—the sad list; the other is a note which”.... - -“Ah! that is too much! Louis, my poor Louis, you are only half -converted! You do not really love me! You are unwilling to receive -anything from me. You would deprive me of the pleasure of giving this -to you. Ah! that is wrong. Oh! the contemptible _rôle_ you wish me to -play! I lend it to you! Fie, fie!” ... - -So saying, Aline tore up the unfortunate note. - -The night was far advanced before we separated. I had already bidden -my sister good-night. She retained my hand in hers, and, looking at me -with a caressing air, said: - -“Louis, one favor more! Let us say our night-prayers together at the -foot of that bed where our dear mother made us say them so often. We -will pray for her. She watches over us. What has happened to you is a -proof of it.” - -We sank on our knees beside each other. Aline said the prayers aloud. -I repeated them with my lips and in my heart, and with so much joy and -emotion that I melted into tears. - -This morning I took leave of Aline. She means to come here herself, -in order to express her gratitude. My mother could not feel more. Oh! -how she loves you! As for me, I am going away ruined, but happier than -if my fortune were increased tenfold. Pray for me. And you, my dear -friend, take care of yourself. I trembled yesterday at the thought of -the danger to which you had exposed yourself in order to save my life. -I trembled as I came here, fearing your heroic imprudence might have -led to fatal results! Thank God! there is nothing serious. But redouble -your precautions; I shall need you for a long while. You will be my -best guide in the new way upon which I have now entered. - -Louis then departed, leaving us exceedingly happy at the favorable turn -in his affairs. - -CHAPTER X. - -ALINE’S HOPES. - -The second day after Louis’ departure, we had in the afternoon an -agreeable surprise: Aline called to see us. All that Louis had told us -about her prepossessed us in her favor. The sight of her only increased -our disposition to love her. - -Aline was at the time I am speaking of—and still is—a fine-looking -woman, tall, well-formed, and with a pleasing, intelligent face. Her -manner is a little cold at first, but her reserve is not unpleasing, -for it indicates a thoughtful mind. When she came into the room, my -husband and I were reading. She went directly to Victor, and with -emotion, but without any embarrassment, said: - -“Monsieur, I am late in expressing my gratitude. Pardon this delay. -It has not been without good reasons. I was expecting my father every -moment, and was greatly preoccupied with all I had to communicate, as -well as about the reply he would make.” ... - -“Mademoiselle,” replied Victor gently, “there is no need of excusing -yourself. I am happy, very happy, to see you, but had no right to -expect your visit.” - -“No right, monsieur?... What! did you not save my brother’s life?... -And was it not you the unhappy fellow had before” ... - -“O mademoiselle! do me the favor never to mention that circumstance!” - -“You are generous, monsieur! But that is no reason why we should show -ourselves ungrateful—rather the contrary. Louis and I can never forget -that, before you saved his life, he had injured you to such a degree -that he can never be sufficiently repentant. As to my father, I have -not dared inform him of these details too painful to be acknowledged. -My father, alas! is not religious. Louis’ fault would seem so enormous -to him that he would never forgive him.” - -“It is, however, of but little account. If harm has resulted from it, -Louis was only the involuntary cause. Let us adore the divine decrees, -and forgive our poor friend. He had not, after all, any very criminal -intentions.” - -Aline looked at Victor with a sadness she could not wholly conceal. His -wasted features, his eyes hollowed by suffering, his air of languor, -nothing escaped her observation. - -“I wish I could think so,” murmured she, as if speaking to herself. -“Ah! poor Louis, what remorse he must feel!” - -This allusion to Victor’s sad condition brought tears to my eyes. -Victor suspected my emotion, and at once changed the subject. - -“M. Louis has become my friend,” said he to Aline; “therefore pardon my -curiosity, mademoiselle, if it is indiscreet. May we hope to see him -again soon? Is M. Beauvais greatly offended with him?” - -Everything is arranged for the best, though not without difficulty. -My father was not originally wealthy. It has only been by dint of -order, economy, and industry, that he has attained the position -he now occupies. When he learned that Louis had lost, or rather -squandered, his maternal inheritance, his anger was fearful. But by -degrees I made him comprehend that Louis, though ruined, had shown new -resolution—that he was willing to work; he wished to become useful, -and regain all he had lost. My father then grew calm. And yet all my -fears were not allayed. I had to tell him of Louis’ sad attempt at -suicide, of which he was still ignorant, but which he could not fail to -learn. I told him of it, dwelling on your devotedness, which struck him -most of all. - -“Has Louis shown himself duly grateful to M. Barnier for the service?” -he asked. I replied that he had. - -“So much the better. Such a sentiment does him honor. This circumstance -may lead to a friendship between them which cannot be too intimate, in -my opinion. And you say our prodigal son is willing to work? What is he -going to do?” - -“Anything you wish, father.” - -“That is easily said, but a poor reply. Nothing is well done that we -do not like to do. Has he manifested an inclination for any special -occupation?” - -“Louis is a civil engineer. He would like to find a place somewhere in -that capacity.” - -“Ah! he at length remembers he is a civil engineer!... He wishes to -turn his acquirements to some account?... It is a wonder! He need not -exile himself for that. You know Mr. Smithson?” - -“Is not he the cold, ceremonious gentleman who came to see us Sunday?” - -“The very one. Mr. Smithson is a wealthy Englishman who has been in -France these twenty years. He came on account of his health. He settled -at first in Paris, where he married a charming woman—a Catholic of -no property, but of a good family. This excellent Mr. Smithson was -so foolish as to speculate too much at the Bourse some years since, -and his losses were considerable. To withdraw himself from such a -temptation, he established his residence at St. M—— six months ago. -The situation pleased him, and there was another inducement: a large -paper manufactory there was offered for sale. He bought it, hoping -not only to find occupation, and feed his incessant activity, but to -repair the losses of the last few years. The mill is well situated -and well patronized. Everything would prove advantageous if Mr. -Smithson were better versed in the knowledge of machinery. But though -an Englishman, he has not been through the studies necessary to enable -him to superintend his industrial project as he ought. Besides this, he -is subject to frequent attacks of the gout. He has therefore besought -me to find him a man capable of superintending the mill under his -direction, and even of taking the whole charge if necessary.” - -“So much for Louis’ affairs. What do you think of the arrangement? I -approved of it without any restriction. And you, monsieur?” - -“I think, mademoiselle,” replied Victor, “that Providence continues to -treat Louis with parental kindness.” - -“Oh! yes; truly parental! He will now remain under your influence. Even -in the house he is to enter, everything will encourage him, I hope, to -persist in his good resolutions. Mme. Smithson is said to be a woman of -lovely character. She has a daughter who must be a prodigy, unless I -have been misinformed. My father, who is very practical, and but little -given to exaggeration, is enthusiastic in her praise.” - -Victor knowingly smiled at this last communication. - -“You have divined my thoughts,” said Aline, blushing a little. “Well, -yes: this thought at once occurred to my mind. I said to myself, if -Louis can find at Mr. Smithson’s not only an occupation that will -enable him to forget the past, but an affection that will continue to -sustain him in a better course, I shall consider him the most fortunate -of men. But it is too soon to speak of that. This dear brother must -first return home, and be accepted by Mr. Smithson, to whom my father -wrote to-day.” - -The next day both these things took place. Louis returned. Mr. Smithson -at once accepted him as his assistant. After calling on us with his -father, he left for St. M——. - -While M. Beauvais was speaking to me, Louis said to Victor, in a low -tone: - -“Everything is done. The bonds of iniquity are completely broken. I -have been to confession and to Holy Communion, and a new life has -begun!” - -The air of satisfaction with which he uttered these words, the calmness -and unaffected gravity he manifested, all announced he had indeed -become a new man. - -“In a year he will be an eminent Christian!” said Victor, as Louis -disappeared. - -He was not mistaken. - - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - -CONCILIAR DECREES ON THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. - -FROM THE ETUDES RELIGIEUSES. - -THE church has been commissioned to teach all mankind. It is by -preaching she fulfils this great work. But to aid her in this divine -mission, her Founder has furnished her with books written under the -inspiration of the Holy Ghost, which contain the very word of God -graven in ineffaceable characters. So precious a treasure has always -been preserved by the church with the respect it merits. Her doctors -have carefully weighed every word of these holy books; they have -taken pleasure in developing the different significations; and their -commentaries form the finest monuments of Christian literature. There, -as in a well-furnished arsenal, they have sought spiritual arms in -their warfare against the enemies of the faith, and they have defended -the Bible with unequalled zeal against all attacks and alterations -by heretics. The Scriptures have been the object of the fury of -persecutors, and more than one hero has shed his blood to defend them -from the insults of the unbeliever, and thereby had his name inscribed -on the glorious roll of the martyrology. - -Protestantism, at its very birth, was desirous of profiting by this -respect of the Christian world. It affected an ardent zeal for the -sacred books, and, carrying its veneration beyond reasonable limits, -maintained that the Bible is the only rule of faith. But its very -exaggerations, by a law of Providence, have led it to the opposite -extreme. Three centuries have hardly elapsed, and the followers of -those who acknowledged no other rule of faith than the Bible, gradually -led to the verge of rationalism, accord a merely human authority to the -sacred volume. - -Even from the very dawn of the Reformation, the pernicious influence -of free examination gave a deadly blow to the canon of Scripture. -Luther was the foremost. Everything in Holy Writ that conflicted with -his doctrines of wholly imputative justification, of free-will, and -the sacraments was boldly consigned among the apocryphal books. The -canon of Scripture, thus at the option of individuals, no longer had -any stability. Individual caprice led to the admission or rejection -of books that had been regarded as inspired from all antiquity. The -authenticity of the Scriptures was not only questioned, but also -their legitimate meaning. Luther denied the doctrinal authority of -the church, and was obliged to make the Bible the ground of faith; -that is, the Bible interpreted according to the particular notions -of each believer. In reality, Luther wished to subject his followers -to his own interpretation. Like rebels of every age, he arrogated an -authority he refused to legitimate power. But logic has its inevitable -laws. The Lutheran theory claimed absolute independence. It made all -Christians, even the most ignorant, even those the farthest from -the knowledge of the truth, judges of the real signification of the -Scriptures. It promised each believer the interior illumination of -the Holy Spirit in ascertaining the true meaning of the sacred text -beneath all its obscurities. But, as the divine Spirit is not pledged -to fulfil the promises of the Reformer, each Protestant interprets the -Bible according to his own views, and the various sects sprung from -the Reform have, in the name of the Scriptures, maintained the most -contradictory opinions. - -Besides the change in the canon, and the false interpretation of the -holy books, there was another abuse—that of unfaithful translations. -Protestantism rejected the authority of the church, therefore it would -not receive her version of the Scriptures. It had no regard for the -Vulgate. The innovators, with Luther at their head, undertook new -translations. In their boldness, they did not shrink from attempting -to surpass the work of S. Jerome. They were not well versed in -the knowledge of the original idioms; they had access to but few -manuscripts; the copies they had were not the choicest; and yet they -imagined they could excel the great doctor who spent so large a part -of his life in Palestine, absorbed in the profound study of the -ancient languages; who took pains to collate the best manuscripts, -and was aided by the ancient rabbis the most versed in the knowledge -of Hebrew antiquities and in the languages of the East. Every day a -new translation appeared, which, under the pretext of adapting God’s -own Word to the common mind, diffused heretical novelties by means of -insidious falsifications. - -The Reform was equally unscrupulous as to the correctness of the -text. The Bible was left to the arbitrariness of its editors and the -carelessness of printers. Through unscrupulousness or negligence, -many incorrect expressions crept into the versions sold to the -public. The new heresy was not wholly responsible for the numerous -faults in the various editions of the Bible. The sacred book had for -ages been subjected to all the hazards of individual transcription. -The distractions of the copyist had, in many instances, caused the -substitution of one word for another, the omission of a part of a -verse, or the transferring of the marginal gloss to the text. Hence so -many copies alike in the main, but full of discrepancies. - -II - -Such was the state of the Bible question at the opening of the Council -of Trent. Its importance could not escape the bishops who composed -that assembly, and the theologians who assisted them with their -acquirements, consequently it was the first proposed for consideration. -On the 8th of February, 1546, the fathers being assembled in general -congregation, Cardinal del Monte, the chief legate of the Holy See, -proposed the council should first consider the subject of the Holy -Scriptures, and make a recension of the canon, in order to determine -the arms to be used in the struggle against heresy, and also to thereby -show Catholics whereon their faith was grounded, many of whom lived -in deplorable ignorance on this point, seeing the same book accepted -by some as dictated by the Holy Spirit, and rejected by others as -spurious.[59] The president of the council afterwards determined the -principal points to be submitted to the consideration of the Fathers. - -But this is not the place to review the account of this interesting -discussion. We will only state the results. - -In the fourth session, held April 8, 1546, the council promulgated its -celebrated decree respecting the Holy Scriptures, which comprehended -two very distinct parts: the first, dogmatic; the second, disciplinary. - -The dogmatic part established the authority of the sacred books in -matters of faith and morals, their divine origin, the canon, the -authenticity of the Vulgate, and the rules for interpreting the -inspired text. - -The disciplinary prescriptions had reference to the use of the -Vulgate in the lessons, sermons, controversies, and commentaries; the -obligation of interpreting the Scriptures according to the unanimous -teachings of the Fathers; the respect to be paid to the divine Word, -and, consequently, the crime of those who apply it to profane, light, -or superstitious uses. The council likewise enacted severe laws against -publishers who issue the holy books, or commentaries on them, without -a written authorization of the ordinary, and against the vendors or -holders of prohibited editions; finally, it ordained that the Holy -Scriptures, especially the Vulgate, be henceforth printed with all -possible correctness. - -To these prescriptions of the fourth session we will add the first -chapter of the decree of reform, continued in the fifth session, -ordering the institution of a course of Holy Scripture in certain -churches, in order that the Christian community might not be ignorant -of the salutary truths contained in the sacred volume. Such was the -reply to Protestant calumnies which accused the church of withholding -the sacred treasure of God’s Word from the faithful. - -Such, briefly, were the labors of the Council of Trent with regard -to the Holy Scriptures. The importance of the decree of the fourth -session must not be estimated according to the brief place it occupies -in the canons, for, brief as it is, it has had an incalculable -influence on sacred science. This decree, in fact, gave rise to those -admirable works of criticism that have defended the authentic canon -against the attacks of heresy, and reduced the pretended discoveries -of Protestantism respecting the true canon of holy books to their -proper value; thence the number of excellent commentaries that for -three centuries have been enriching Catholic theology; and thence so -many apologetic works which have defended the truth of the Biblical -narrative against the false pretensions of rationalistic history. -To this same decree we owe the many learned researches concerning -the original text, the primitive versions regarded as genuine in the -ancient churches, and, above all, the incomparable edition of the -Vulgate—the result of thirty years’ labor by those most versed in the -study of sacred literature. - -It would seem as if there were no necessity of reconsidering a question -so fully weighed by the Council of Trent. And yet the Fathers of the -Vatican also deemed it proper to take up the subject of the Holy -Scriptures, in order to reaffirm what had been defined by the Council -of Trent, to give greater prominence to points that the council had -left obscure, and to clear up some difficulties of interpretation that -had arisen within three centuries even among Catholic schools. The -dogmatic part of the decree of Trent alone was renewed and completed -by the Fathers of the Vatican. The exclusively doctrinal character of -the decree _Dei Filius_ admitted no reconsideration of the disciplinary -laws relating to the publishing of the holy books, or their -commentaries, and the abuses that might be made of the sacred text. -Besides, the penalties decreed by the Council of Trent were such as in -our day could not be put in execution, as they consisted not only of -spiritual censures, but pecuniary fines. The ecclesiastical authority, -deprived of its ancient tribunals, and living in the midst of a society -whose leading maxim is liberty of the press and liberty of conscience, -could not revive the old penalties. The Fathers of the Vatican also -omitted everything respecting the authenticity of the Vulgate. Many of -them, however, requested the council to ratify the decree of the fourth -session of Trent on this point, but the greater part of the bishops did -not deem it advisable to accede to the request. What, indeed, could -they add to that which had been so wisely defined by the Fathers of -Trent? Besides, is not the Vulgate received without protest by the -whole Catholic world as the only version recognized by the church as -authentic? As to the rationalists, it is not the translation of the -sacred books they attack, but the books themselves, their canonicity -and supernatural origin. - -Laying aside, therefore, all these questions so important in -themselves, but which are not now points of controversy, the Council of -the Vatican only dwelt on the authority of the Scriptures, their divine -origin, the canon, and the rule of interpretation. On all these points -it had to oppose modern rationalism, and banish false and dangerous -theories from Catholic schools of theology. - - -III. - -First, in opposition to rationalism, the council teaches that divine -revelation is comprised in the Scriptures and tradition. This was -declared in the same terms by the Council of Trent, but it was by no -means useless in these times to renew so fundamental a definition. -Modern science rejects revelation: to be consistent, it ought also -to reject its monuments. It regards the Holy Scriptures as merely of -human authority. It does not, it is true, imitate the cynicism of the -philosophers of the XVIIIth century: it does not make our holy books -the butt of their foolish railleries. On the contrary, it affects -a profound respect for them, though it refuses to accept them as -the organ of divine communications. It regards them as it would the -discourses of Socrates—as books full of admirable wisdom which every -philosopher ought to know and study, but which do not owe their origin -to inspiration, properly so-called, or to revelation. - -Discussion as to such an error was impossible. The council had merely -to pass its judgment, and repeat what the church had taught its members -for eighteen centuries, as a fresh proof that the Christian faith does -not falter in encountering the many new forms of incredulity. Having -affirmed the truth of revelation, it was necessary to point out what -it was contained in, that the Christian might know where to study the -science of salvation. It says: “This supernatural revelation, according -to the belief of the universal church, as declared by the holy Council -of Trent, is contained in the written books and in the unwritten -traditions that have come down to us.” - -But what books contain this revelation? Pursuing the subject, the -council defined anew the canon of Scripture, which the state of the -times made, if not necessary, at least very opportune. Protestant -critics have not ceased since the Reformation to attack the canon -sanctioned by the authority of the church. Rationalism has come to the -support of Protestant criticism, and sometimes flatters itself it has, -by its historical discoveries, blotted out the entire list of the -holy books. The unadulterated traditions preserved by the church have -no scientific value in the eyes of rationalism, which only admits the -canonicity of those books that can trace the proofs of their origin -back to the very time of the apostles. Tertullian took a wrong stand in -asserting that the dogmas of faith should have prescriptive proof. In -vain the Catholic points out the wholly exceptional circumstances that -surround the Scriptural canon—the impossibility from the very first -of admitting books of doubtful origin as coming from the apostles, -or that these books could have been changed in any respect under the -jealous guardianship of a church and hierarchy spread over the face of -the earth, and charged with the conservation of the sacred deposit. -The incredulous critic refuses to receive proofs which the most common -mind perceives the full value of as well as the good sense. What does -he substitute for them? Theories founded on mere conjecture, and -constantly changing, but which are welcomed as the final conclusions -of science. Have we not seen the school of Tübingen found on some -obscure words of Papias a whole system tending to establish the more -recent composition of the Gospels? These new doctors regard the books -of divine truth as some of those legends that are embellished as they -pass from mouth to mouth till they are collected in a definite form by -some unknown writer. And has not this strange theory met with ardent -panegyrists in France, as if it were the definite solution of the great -controversy on the origin of the Gospels?[60] - -Whoever attentively examines these strange theories will soon perceive -their weak point. But where are the men in the present generation who -read with sufficient care to see the hollowness of such solutions? -Their authors have seats in our academies; they occupy the most -important professorships; there is not an honorary distinction that -does not add its recommendation to their apparent knowledge. Skilled in -praising one another, the journals and reviews regarded as authorities, -even by certain Catholics, extol their labors. One would think they had -a monopoly of science. Has not all this been a source of real danger to -the faith of Christians? - -The church had to counteract the influence of a criticism as bold as -it was easy, by her immutable decrees. It must once more affirm the -ancient canon of Scripture. This catalogue of the sacred books had -been solemnly approved at the end of the IVth century, in a celebrated -decree of the Councils of Hippo and Carthage, in which the Fathers -declared they received this canon from their ancestors in the faith. A -little later, Pope S. Innocent I. sent this same canon of Scripture to -S. Exuperius, the illustrious Bishop of Toulouse. S. Gelasius, in 494, -included it in his synodical decree. Finally, the Council of Florence, -in its decree relating to the Jacobites, and, at a later period, the -Council of Trent, sanctioned it by their supreme authority. Several -of the Fathers of Trent proposed to subject it to a re-examination; -not in order to retrench anything, but to satisfy the heretical, and -convince them by such a discussion that the Church of Rome had not -lightly decided on the list of the inspired books. But a large majority -of the Fathers thought, and with reason, that such a discussion -was appropriate to schools of Catholic theology, but to a council -it belonged to pronounce authoritatively. The canon of Scripture, -being a dogma of faith, formally defined by popes and councils, and -consequently unchangeable, could only be proclaimed anew and without -discussion.[61] The Council of the Vatican came to a like decision, -and, in declaring its acceptance of the canon of the Council of Trent, -with each of its books, in all the parts, it strengthened the faith of -Christians against the shameful pretensions of false science. - -This course has shocked the Protestant historian of the council. M. -de Pressensé is indignant at so summary a procedure. “The council,” -he says, “has fallen into a profound and dangerous error on two -important points. In the first place, it proclaims the indisputable -canonicity of all the books of the Vulgate, including the Apocrypha[62] -of the Old Testament, thus showing it regards the immense labors of -the critics of the XIXth century as of no account, and acknowledging -that it is not permitted, for example, to question the origin of the -Gospel of Matthew, or the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews, by -referring to such and such an expression of a Father of the IId and -IIId centuries.[63]The Catholic Church is thus prevented anew from -taking any part in the great work of Christian science of our day, -which consists in establishing a safeguard to the true canon of Holy -Scripture by free and conscientious research. What confidence can we -have in Catholic theology, on those points disputed by rationalism, -like the authenticity of the fourth Gospel? Examination, even, is -forbidden. Everything must be accepted in a lump. How much valuable -co-operation is thus lost or made fruitless through the council!”[64] - -The church, then, at the bidding of this Protestant theologian, should -renounce her right to decide on the true Scriptures, and give up the -canon to the researches of rationalistic science, and this in order -to provide a safeguard for this same canon. An amusing idea, to give -up the catalogue of holy books to the caprice of incredulous critics -in order to preserve it intact! And besides, what new documents can -rationalistic science bring to light not perfectly known and considered -by the Catholic theologians of the last three centuries? Catholic -doctors have seen and weighed these difficulties as fully, to say -the least, as Protestant critics, but they have not thought a few -obscurities ought, scientifically, to outweigh immemorial prescription, -or, dogmatically, the perpetual usage of the church and the decrees of -councils. - -Rationalism, on the contrary, appeals to obscure passages, or hasty -conclusions sometimes to be met with in the Fathers, in order to -exclude books from the Scriptural canon that have been venerated from -time immemorial as inspired. On which side is the real scientific -method? If historical records merit any confidence in spite of -difficulties of detail, no person of sincerity would hesitate to give -the preference to the theological rather than the rationalistic method. - -As to the reproach made against the church for confining criticism -within such narrow limits as to stifle it, nothing is more contrary -to experience. The Council of Trent likewise decided on the canon of -Scripture, and yet what extensive labors, how many learned works, -have been published within three centuries in reply to the attacks of -Protestantism, and in order to establish the authenticity of the books -rejected by the Reformer! No, indeed; the church, in defining the -canon of Scripture, does not discourage the researches of the learned -respecting the Bible. The love of sacred literature, in the first -place, and also the necessity of defending Catholic belief against the -constantly renewed attacks of heterodox criticism, will keep Catholic -apologists constantly at work. The church, in maintaining its canon, -directs their labors, but without putting any restraint on their -abilities. - - -IV. - -Besides reaffirming the ancient decrees relating to the canon of -Scripture, the Council of the Vatican has completed and explained more -clearly what faith requires us to believe respecting the origin of the -holy books. This point had not been fully decided. The wants of the -times had not before required it. But the attacks of rationalism, and -the misinterpretations of semi-rationalism, required a more definite -decision in order to put an end to dangerous teachings even in Catholic -schools. - -Christians have from the beginning believed God to be the author of -the Holy Scriptures. The Fathers of the fourth Council of Carthage, in -the profession of faith required of the new bishops, expressly made -mention of this truth. The same profession of faith is made in our day -by those who are promoted to the episcopate. Pope S. Leo IX., in the -profession of faith to which he required Peter of Antioch to subscribe, -declared God to be the author of the Old and New Testaments, including -the law, the prophets, and the apostolic books. The Council of Florence -inserted this same article in the decree about the Jacobites: The most -holy Roman Church “confesses that it is one and the same God who is the -author of the Old and the New Testament; that is to say, the law, the -prophets, and the Gospel; the saints of both Testaments having spoken -under the inspiration of the same Holy Spirit.” Finally, the Council -of Trent, renewing the decree of Florence, accepted all the canonical -books of the two Testaments, God being the author of them both: _Cum -utriusque unus Deus sit auctor_. Besides, all these decrees were only -an expansion of the words of the Nicene Creed: _Qui locutus est per -prophetas_. - -The Catholic dogma is explicit: “God is the author of the books -of the Old and the New Testament.” The definitions of the ancient -councils had for their direct object the condemnation of the errors -of the Manichees, who made a distinction between the two Testaments, -attributing the first to the evil principle, the second to the true -God. But, secondarily, these definitions, referring to the actual -origin of the Holy Scriptures, declare they have God for their author. -The Council of Florence gave this explanation: “Because the saints of -both Testaments wrote under the inspiration of the same Holy Spirit.” - -But what is meant by inspiration? An important question, on which not -only Protestants differ from Catholics, but on which even orthodox -writers are not agreed. - -To say what Protestantism understands by the inspiration of the -Scriptures would be difficult, or, to speak more correctly, impossible. -In a system where all belief is founded on free examination, there -must be an infinite variety of doctrinal opinions. The first Reformers -understood the inspiration of the holy books in the strictest -sense—every word of Scripture was sacred. Now, Protestantism, even -the most orthodox, allows greater latitude. Constrained to make more -or less concession to the encroaching spirit of rationalism, it takes -refuge in vague expressions that leave one in doubt as to the part -God had in the composition of the sacred books. Here is a pastor who -considers himself orthodox, and boasts of remaining faithful to the -principles of Luther and Calvin; he enters upon the subject of the -Scriptures, and speaks at length on the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. -Nevertheless, in these holy books inspired by God, he admits the -possibility of complete error when there is any question of history or -science which does not touch directly on religious dogmas or precepts. -Even in what relates to religious truth, inspiration, to him, is -reduced to I know not what particular assistance granted those who -had witnessed the life of Christ, in relating what they had seen and -heard.[65] - -According to this theory, every way so vague, we ask ourselves, What -was the nature of the inspiration imparted to the Evangelists SS. Mark -and Luke, who were not witnesses of our Saviour’s deeds, but merely -related what they had heard from others; what was the nature of that -imparted to S. Paul, who had never seen Christ, and took something very -different for the subject of his epistles from the acts and discourses -of the Redeemer? - -The incertitudes of Protestantism had pervaded more than one Catholic -school, especially in Germany. Jahn, in his introduction to the books -of the Old Testament, confounds inspiration with assistance. A book -composed by the mere light of reason and pure human industry might be -placed on the catalogue of Holy Writ, if the church declared God had -preserved the writer from all error in the composition of the work. -Who does not see the falseness of a system which would include all the -dogmatic decrees of the popes and councils in the canon of Scripture? -Others confound inspiration with revealed truth. Every book written -according to the precise spirit of divine revelation could be placed -in the canon. According to this, not only the definitions of popes and -councils, but many ascetic works, sermons, and catechisms, might be -reckoned among the Holy Scriptures. - -Finally, others, desirous of explaining the difference to be seen in -the various books of the Bible, think several kinds of inspiration -are to be distinguished. Sometimes the truths the sacred writer had -to record were above human comprehension, or at least unknown to him, -and could only be learned by actual revelation. The inspiration God -accords for this class of truths supersedes all effort on the part -of the writer. It is a suggestive inspiration, or, as it is called, -_antecedent_. - -If the sacred writer was himself aware of the facts he related, and the -philosophical maxims he proposed to insert in his book, or if he had -drawn from any other source the truths he undertook to record, he had -no need of suggestive inspiration. His book, however, is to be regarded -as the work of God if he received special assistance to guide him in -the choice of the truths he recorded, and prevent him from making any -mistake in expressing himself. This is what is called _concomitant_ -inspiration. - -Finally, suppose a work composed by mere human wisdom, without any -other participation on the part of God than general assistance, and -it comes to pass that God, by the testimony of his prophets, or the -voice of the church, declares this book exempt from error, it is -thereby endowed with infallible authority, and may be reckoned among -the Scriptures. This kind of approval has been styled, though very -improperly, _subsequent_ inspiration. - -These three distinct kinds of inspiration have been taught by eminent -theologians, such as Sixtus of Sienna (_Biblioth. Sac._ l. viii. Hæres, -12 ad. obj. sept.), Bonfrère (_Proloq._ c. viii.), Lessius and Hamel -(_Hist. Congreg. de Auxiliis_, a Livino de Meyere, l. i. c. ix.). But -these doctors never actually applied this distinction to the books that -compose the canon of Scripture. It was for them a mere question of -possibility: could books thus authentically approved have a place in -the Scriptural canon? They replied in the affirmative. But are there -actually any of our holy books that are wholly due to human industry, -and which God has declared sacred by subsequent approval? We give -Lessius’ opinion: “Though I do not believe this kind of inspiration -produced any of our canonical books, I do not think it impossible” -(_loc. cit._). - -But the wise reserve of these great theologians has not been imitated -by all. A learned German professor, who is likewise a highly esteemed -author, has not hesitated to apply the distinction of these three -kinds of inspiration to the existing books: “The kind of inspiration,” -he says, “that produced such and such a book, or such and such a -passage, it is almost impossible to determine in particular. We can -only say that the parts where we read, _Thus saith the Lord_, or a -similar formula, probably belong to the first kind of inspiration; the -historical narrations that came under the writer’s observation belong -to the third (subsequent inspiration); the poetical books seem to come -under the second (concomitant inspiration).”[66] - -These systems, it is manifest, weaken one’s idea of the inspiration -of the sacred volume as always understood by the church. We want an -inspiration by virtue of which the book is really the work of God, -and not of man—the truths it contains of divine, and not of human, -origin: man is the instrument, he who dictates is the Holy Ghost: -man lends his hand and pen, the Spirit of truth puts them in action. -But in the systems referred to, it is not really God who speaks: it -is man. Supernatural testimony gives indeed a divine authority to a -book, but it could not make God the author of what was really composed -by man. And though these writings should contain the exact truths -of revelation, they would be as much the result of human wisdom as -sermons, catechisms, ascetic books, and even the creeds and decrees of -councils which clearly state the doctrines of the church. - -It was the duty of the council to put an end to interpretations which, -depriving the sacred books of the prestige of divine origin, diminished -their authority among the faithful. It has therefore defined what every -Catholic must believe concerning the degree of inspiration accorded to -the sacred writers. This definition is first stated in a negative form: -“The church holds them (the Holy Scriptures) as sacred and canonical, -not for the reason that they have been compiled by mere human industry, -and afterwards approved by her authority; nor only because they contain -revelation without error.” To this definition in a negative form -succeeds a positive one, in which the council declares the essential -condition of a book’s being placed in the canon of Scripture—“because, -having been written under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, they -have God for their author”: _propterea quod Spiritu Sancto inspirante -conscripti, Deum habent auctorem_. - -The council, therefore, by this dogmatic definition, has excluded -any other meaning to the inspiration of the Scriptures that does not -ascribe them to the special agency of God. The schools are still free -to discuss what this divine operation consists in, and the conditions -on which a book may be said to have God for its author. But they must -first reject every explanation that reduces the agency of God to mere -assistance, and, still more, to subsequent approbation. It is in this -sense we must understand the fourth canon of the second series: “If any -one shall refuse to receive for sacred and canonical the books of the -Holy Scriptures in their integrity, with all their parts, according as -they were enumerated by the Holy Council of Trent, or shall deny that -they are inspired by God, let him be anathema.” It is the same anathema -pronounced by the Council of Trent, to which the Council of the Vatican -has added the express mention of the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. - -There are other important observations to be made concerning this -definition. Though by no means favorable to the system of Sixtus of -Sienna, Bonfrère, and Lessius, it does not, however, condemn them in -formal terms. These theologians, as we have said, only considered the -subject _in abstracto_: Would subsequent inspiration or approbation -give a book a right to be placed in the canon?—a verbal question -rather than one of doctrine. It is certain that such a book would -have a sacred authority, but it is also certain that it could not be -called the work of God in the same sense as the holy books now in -our possession. The council, in its definition, only considered the -actual point; it declared all the books of our canon have God for -their author, because the Holy Ghost was the chief agent in their -composition. But the opinion of the modern exegete who applies the -doctrine of subsequent approbation to the books contained in our actual -canon appears to us really condemned by the new definition. - -Now, the decree of the Vatican does not forbid the division of the -holy books into several classes according as the truths they contain -are recorded by the writer as a special revelation, or from knowledge -acquired by his natural faculties. But this distinction does not -infringe on the overruling agency of God in the composition of the book. - -Finally, the question of verbal inspiration, so often discussed by -theologians, remains as free since the council as before. It is not -necessary for a ruler who issues a decree to dictate every expression, -but merely the substance of the new law: the secretary clothes it in -his own style. The latter is not a mere copyist: he, too, is the author -of the decree, but in a secondary sense. It is the same with regard to -the Holy Scriptures. The Holy Spirit suggests the truths to be recorded -in the prophecy, and directs the writer, but David and Isaias clothe -them in their own royal style, Amos in his rustic language. - - -V. - -We come now to the question of the interpretation of the holy books. -On this point, also, the Council of the Vatican has renewed and -completed the decree of the Council of Trent, which, in its fourth -session, endeavored to check the boldness, or, to make use of its -own expression, the restlessness of the free-thinkers of the age. -Protestants are constantly appealing to the Scriptures, but to the -Scriptures according to private interpretation. Agreed merely in -their opposition to the church and its doctrines, they are divided -infinitely as to the signification of the simplest texts. The strangest -interpretations are daily astonishing the faith of the believer, and -giving rise to scandals among Christians. To obviate this abuse, the -Council of Trent made the following decree: “In order to restrain -restless spirits, the council decrees that no one, relying on his own -wisdom in matters of faith and morals pertaining to the edification of -the Christian doctrine, shall wrest the Holy Scripture according to his -own private notions, and have the boldness to interpret it contrary to -the true sense in which it has been and is held by our holy mother, the -church, to whom it belongs to judge of the interpretation of the Holy -Scriptures, or contrary to the unanimous consent of the Fathers.” - -This decree, as to its form, is chiefly disciplinary: it prohibits -interpreting the Scriptures contrary to the definition of the church -and the unanimous opinion of the Fathers in all that relates to faith -and morals. - -This disciplinary prescription is based on a dogmatic principle which -the Council of Trent did not define, but which it referred to as an -incontestable truth: to wit, that to the church it belongs to judge -of the true meaning of the Scriptures: _cujus est judicare de vero -sensu et interpretatione Scripturarum sanctarum_. This truth is the -necessary consequence of the supreme magistracy of the faith. All -Catholics venerate the church as the depository of revealed truth, -and consequently of the Scriptures. But the deposit is not merely a -material one. The Christian receives the Scriptures from her, first, -because it is by her testimony he is assured of the true canon, that -they have God for their author, and that he is enabled to distinguish -the real text from the inaccuracies that have, in the course of time, -been introduced by the carelessness of copyists, as well as the -unscrupulousness of heretics. Moreover, he receives them from the -church, because through her he is made aware of their true meaning. -What would it avail him to possess the inspired volume, if, like the -book in the Apocalypse, it were sealed with seven seals? And who has -the power to break these seals but the church—bride of the Lamb? - -In vain Protestantism repeats that the Scriptures are plain in -themselves, or, at least, that the interior illumination of the Holy -Spirit renders them intelligible to all. If this is really the case, -why, whenever the voice of the church is unheeded, the infinite number -of ways of interpreting the same passages? How was it that Calvin -plainly saw a mere figure of the Presence in the passage relating to -the Eucharist, when Luther clearly understood it to mean the Real -Presence? Would the Holy Spirit speak to Luther in one way, and to -Calvin in another entirely opposite? Whatever the Reformers may say, -the Scriptures are full of obscurity. The truths of salvation they -contain are not expressed in the didactic manner of a theological -treatise. The truths are there, but veiled in mystery, expressed in a -language now dead, and full of allusions to a history and to customs -widely differing from ours, as well as to the institutions and local -circumstances of a nation no longer existing. Private research would, -no doubt, enable a small number of men of intelligence and learning -to comprehend many parts of our holy books; but this means is not -accessible to the masses, who would remain for ever deprived of the -truths contained in the Scriptures if there were not on earth an -authorized interpreter of the divine text. What certitude would the -learned themselves have on this point without the help of the church? -How many divergent opinions would not liberty of interpretation -produce! It was, therefore, necessary that the church, when entrusted -with the Scriptures, should at the same time receive power to -interpret them authentically. This is why the Council of Trent forbids -interpreting them contrary to the defined meaning of the church. - -Now, the church acquits itself of its duties as interpreter in two -ways: by solemn definitions, and by the ordinary teachings of its -doctors. The definitions of the church are not, in fact, restricted -to the declaration of dogmatic decisions: they often decide the real -meaning of the Scriptures. Thus we see the Council of Trent is not -satisfied with defining the divine institution and existence of the -sacrament of Extreme Unction: it also declares that the well-known -words of the Apostle S. James refer to this sacrament, and designate -its ministry, its matter, its form, and its effects.[67] In like -manner, with regard to the sacrament of Penance, not content with -defining its existence, it declares, in the first chapter of the -fourteenth session, that our Lord referred to this sacrament when, -addressing his disciples, he said: _Quorum remiseritis peccata_. We -could point out many other passages of Scripture of a similar nature -which the Council of Trent and other councils have authentically -defined the meaning of. - -But the interpretation of the sacred text is more frequently shown -by the usage of the church, especially in its liturgy, and by the -unanimous or almost unanimous teachings of the Fathers and doctors. -It was thus the meaning of the passages concerning the Eucharist were -clearly determined by the liturgy, the writings of the Fathers, the -teachings of the schools, and the general sentiment of the Christian -world a long time before it was expressly defined by the Council of -Trent. In the same way, the church did not wait for the definition of -the Council of the Vatican to regard the promises of Christ to S. Peter -as made to the See of Rome, and including the essential prerogatives of -the Pontifical power. - -Such was the twofold manner of defining the meaning of the Scriptures -the Council of Trent had in view when it forbade their interpretation -on points of faith and morals contrary to the sense in which they are -held by holy church and the unanimous consent of the Fathers. - -This decree appears sufficiently explicit. And yet semi-rationalism -found two ways of eluding its bearing. The first was to regard this -part of the decree of the fourth session as purely disciplinary, -doubtless necessary in the condition of Christendom at the time of -the Council of Trent, but susceptible of being afterwards modified. -Now, in our day, the Catholic faith is no longer attacked as it once -was through the authority of the Scriptures. Knowledge has increased. -The commentator is forced to be mindful of the progress of human -intelligence, and to reconcile the meaning of the Scriptures with the -discoveries of the age. If one persists in asserting that the decree of -the council relates to faith as well as discipline, semi-rationalism -has recourse to another evasion: it understands this decree merely -in a negative sense; namely, that it is not lawful to interpret the -Scriptures contrary to the Catholic belief, which does not imply any -obligation to regard the meaning the church attaches to a passage -of Scripture as an article of faith. According to this rule, the -Catholic theologian could not interpret any text in opposition to the -existence of the sacrament of Extreme Unction, but, notwithstanding the -declarations of the Council of Trent, he would remain within the bounds -of orthodoxy, even if he denied that the words of S. James had any -reference to this sacrament. - -Such is the half-way manner in which unsubmissive souls flatter -themselves they can remain true to the faith without accepting the -teachings of the church. For a long time this doctrine was practically -followed, though not formally stated. We will give an example. In the -XVIIth century, the Oratorian, Richard Simon, carried the boldness of -his criticisms to such an extreme that he openly acknowledged he made -no account of traditional interpretation, the authority of the Fathers, -and the teachings of the church; pretending to correct, according -to the Hebrew or Greek text, the meaning constantly followed by the -doctors of the church. Our readers are well aware with what vigor -Bossuet attacked a system so thoroughly Protestant.[68] - -But this way of understanding the decree of the Council of Trent was -in direct opposition to the terms in which it is conceived. The form -doubtless is disciplinary, but the foundation of this law is expressly -stated, and is wholly dogmatic: _Cujus (ecclesiæ) est judicare de vero -sensu et interpretatione Scripturarum sanctarum_. This was not a mere -disciplinary prescript made for the first time by the council, but the -reminder of an obligation imposed on all Christians by the very nature -of revelation and the authority of the church. - -If it is not true that this decree is purely disciplinary, it is -still less so that it should be understood in a mere negative sense, -as if the council only intended forbidding the interpretation of the -Scriptures contrary to the express dogmas or even the definitions of -the church and the unanimous opinion of the Fathers. The principle -on which this decree is founded goes still further: “It is to the -church it belongs to judge of the true sense and interpretation of -the Holy Scriptures.” Consequently, we ought not only to refrain from -contradicting her authentic interpretation, but should regard her as -our guide, and her decision in matters of interpretation as binding on -every Christian, so that he would fall into heresy who should refuse to -accept the meaning of a passage of Scripture as defined by holy church. -Such is the evident meaning of the decree of the Council of Trent. - -This truth is so manifest that the profession of faith by Pius IV. -substitutes the positive and general form for the negative and -restrictive terms of the decree: “I also admit the Holy Scriptures -according to that sense which our Holy Mother the church hath held -and doth hold, to whom it belongeth to judge of the true sense and -interpretation of the Scriptures; neither will I ever take and -interpret them otherwise than according to the unanimous consent -of the Fathers.” Here the teachings of the church and the opinions -of the Fathers are plainly made the positive and authentic rule of -interpretation. - -There could be no doubt as to the meaning of the Fathers of Trent. -But a controversy having arisen on a point of so much importance, the -Fathers of the Vatican were forced to explain this decree in such a way -as to prevent any ambiguity. They did so in these terms: “And since -those things which the Council of Trent has declared by wholesome -decree concerning the interpretation of the Holy Scriptures, in order -to restrain restless spirits, are explained by some in a wrong sense; -we, renewing the same decree, declare this to be the mind of the synod: -that, in matters of faith and morals which pertain to the edification -of Christian doctrine, that is to be held as the true sense of the -sacred Scripture which Holy Mother Church, to whom it belongs to judge -of the true sense and interpretation of the sacred Scriptures, has held -and holds: and therefore that no one may interpret the sacred Scripture -contrary to this sense or contrary to the unanimous consent of the -Fathers.” - -It follows from the definition of the Vatican that the decree of the -Council of Trent was not purely disciplinary, but likewise dogmatic: -that consequently it was not intended for a particular epoch and -exceptional circumstances, but was the expression of a divine law -applicable to every age, and as lasting as the church and the world; -that this decree not only forbids understanding the Scriptures contrary -to the belief and interpretation of the church, but makes it a positive -obligation to accept the meaning the church attaches to the sacred -text; in short, that the disciplinary law is founded on a dogmatic -truth which makes the authentic interpretation of the church a rule of -faith to which every mind should submit in the study of Holy Writ. - -It is thus the Council of the Vatican has renewed, explained, and -completed the definitions of the Council of Trent touching the great -question of the Scriptures. The second chapter of the Constitution -_Dei Filius_, in addition to the decree of the fourth session of the -Council of Trent, henceforth forms the basis of theological teachings -in everything relating to Biblical science. - - - - -MYTHS AND MYTH-MONGERS.[69] - - This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answered - indirectly—_Shakespeare, Henry IV._ - - -AUTHORS are proverbially not the best judges of their own works. It is -as rare, therefore, as it is gratifying to meet with one whose verdict -on his own production exactly coincides with that of the critic. Such -a fortunate concurrence of opinion between the writer and the person -to whose lot it has fallen to pass sentence on a work for a certain -portion of the public, relieves the latter gentleman of a vast amount -of responsibility, and renders his difficult task infinitely lighter -and more pleasant than such a task generally proves to be. - -When, then, Mr. Fiske, the author of _Myths and Myth-Makers_, is kind -enough gratuitously to inform us in his preface that the “series -of papers” of which his book is composed is “somewhat rambling and -unsystematic,” it can be considered no injustice to him, and no -presumption on our part, to say that we cordially agree with him. -And when he further informs us that, “in order to avoid confusing -the reader with intricate discussions, he has sometimes cut the -matter short by expressing himself with dogmatic definiteness where a -sceptical vagueness might perhaps have been more becoming,” we find -nothing whatever to object to in this statement, with the solitary -exception of the word “perhaps,” which, if suppressed, would bring it -nearer the exact truth. - -However, Mr. Fiske has here furnished us with a very fair idea, of -what the reader is to expect from his _Myths_. He himself has passed -sentence on himself. He tells us practically that we must not expect -too much from his “rambling” papers; he forestalls, if he does not -deprecate, criticism by assuring us at the outstart that his fault -has not been on the side of modesty of opinion and judicial weighing -of what he set forth. What, then, is left for the critic to do but to -confirm the self-condemnation of the author? - -But we cannot allow Mr. Fiske to escape us in this fashion. Mr. Fiske -is an M.A., and Mr. Fiske is an LL.B., and a professor, and a professor -of philosophy—at Harvard, too. So that, although the dates so -carefully affixed to the end of each of his “rambling and unsystematic” -papers indicate that Mr. Fiske knocked this book off in three months, -still three months of philosophic chaff from a Harvard professor ought -surely to contain some grains of wheat. - -The book in itself is not an uninteresting one. It is chock-full of -mythical stories, or folk-lore, or whatever people may please to -call what in our younger days we should have comprised under the one -delicious head of fairy-tales. To be sure, the stories were all told -before and by somebody else; but then, Mr. Fiske gives everybody -due credit, and confines his own portion of the work to a running -commentary with an undercurrent of foot-notes, and all sorts of -quotations, from the Rig-Veda down to Jack and Jill. We cannot in -justice say that Mr. Fiske’s portion is as interesting as the myths -themselves, though partaking considerably of their character. - -But to come to the point—what does Mr. Fiske mean by his book? What -idea would he convey to us? What would he have us infer from it? “A -book’s a book, although there’s nothing in’t.” - -If it is suggestive of anything at all, it is this: all or the chief -portion of the great myths of antiquity refer to the struggle between -darkness and light. It was the phenomenon of night and day which -puzzled people in the dawn of the world, ages before men possessed the -great blessing of this XIXth century, which blessing is, according to -Mr. Fiske, _via_ M. Littré, “scientific faith,” seemingly the only sure -thing in this enlightened age. - -Some people might require a definition of this wonderful faith of -modern invention; but then, some people always will ask disagreeable -questions. For their benefit, it may be said to mean taking nothing for -fact or truth except what you can arrive at, or prove, or demonstrate -by a scientific process: in plain English, no faith at all. - -Mr. Fiske then takes up this theory: that all men, being puzzled by -this daily phenomenon of light and darkness, day and night, and having -no “scientific faith” to guide them, and nothing better (Mr. Fiske -will pardon us this little bit of heresy against the XIXth century) -to supply its place, set to thinking and endeavoring to solve this -tremendous problem. They were all a dreadful sort of people all the -world over: they “knew nothing about laws of nature, nothing about -physical forces, nothing about the relations of cause and effect, -nothing about the necessary regularity of things.” As a set-off against -all these “nothings,” they possessed a something in the shape of “an -unlimited capacity for believing and fancying, because fancy and -belief had not yet been checked and headed off in various directions -by established rules of experience.” To all of which, and a great deal -more of the same nature, we feel very much inclined to append that -awkward _Q. E. D._ of the geometry which somebody would tag on to the -end of those beautiful propositions at school, and which our professor -terrified us by translating, “Which must be proved.” - -Mr. Fiske, then, having set this profound and eternal conundrum before -the crazed intellects of the human race, which were gifted, according -to him, with nothing but this “unlimited capacity for believing and -fancying”—one would imagine that there might have been room for -Revelation here; but Revelation, of course, clashes with “scientific -faith,” and is therefore a myth in Mr. Fiske’s eyes—what were the -poor beings to do but endow everything, particularly the sun, with the -“volition” which they felt within themselves? How or why this _must_ -have been so Mr. Fiske fails to explain, or indeed that it was so -at all. However, just for argument’s sake, let us take his word for -it, though by so doing we are false to scientific faith. Mr. Fiske’s -proposition, then, runs thus: Given the sun, and given the people with -eyes to gaze at the sun, the people must necessarily have endowed the -sun with “volition,” and worshipped the sun as a god. Once more, _Q. E. -D._ - -Hence Mr. Fiske proceeds to argue: “The conception of infallible skill -in archery, which underlies such a great variety of myths and popular -fairy-tales, is originally derived from the inevitable victory of the -sun over his enemies, the demons of night, winter, and tempest. Arrows -and spears which never miss their mark, swords from whose blow no -armor can protect, are invariably the weapons of solar divinities or -heroes.” Consequently, Mr. Fiske is cruel enough to knock on the head a -considerable number of fictitious characters who were much better known -and loved by us years ago than many real characters to-day. He levels -his shaft tipped with scientific faith, whiz!—and down drop William -Tell, William of Cloudeslee, Beth-Gellert, Jack and the Beanstalk, -Roland, Sir Bedivere, Ulysses, Achilles, Balder the Beautiful, -Hercules, and a whole host of other famous heroes—or rather they -mount, for one and all represented the sun, and were types and figures -of his solar majesty. - -Well, though we grieve to say it, it may be so; but the consolation -is still left us that, even if it be so, “it’s of no consequence,” as -our old friend Mr. Toots was wont sagaciously to remark. There is so -much of reality around us, and so much real sham, to speak a paradox, -to wing with our arrows, to shoot at all our lifelong and make no -visible impression on, that we have neither time, nor inclination, nor -patience to bother our brains with wire-drawn theories as to whether -Tell was Tell or the sun; whether a man ever performed the impossible -feat of piercing an apple, which happened to be on his boy’s head, with -a shaft or not, or whether a dog was killed by its master in mistake. -Such things may serve to amuse children or people who can find nothing -better to occupy their time. So far there is nothing to object to in -it. But when a man takes every imaginable story, collects them all as -he would old fossils, and tickets each off with a bad explanation, -or throws them together into a bag, as it were, and, charlatan-like, -shakes them all up in order to see if by any chance they might tumble -out in a shape antagonistic to Christianity, a work which, in view of -the many realities around us, is rubbish at the best, becomes in Mr. -Fiske’s hands rubbish at the worst. - -For he does not hold to his tether; he will go out of his way to drag -religion into a place where, if it must enter, it shows itself, as -always, full of majesty, and beauty, and sublime truth, but not a thing -of ridicule, as this writer, by hint, and innuendo, and insinuating -little foot-note, and sly little chuckle, and weak little laugh, and -wit of the very smallest, would make it. - -“The religious myths of antiquity, and the fireside legends of ancient -and modern times, have their common roots in the mental habits of -primeval humanity. They are the earliest recorded utterances of men -concerning the visible phenomena of the world into which they were -born.” - -Now, there is nothing particularly startling in this passage; it is -just such an one as the reader might or might not assent to, being -really utterly careless on the subject. He would scarcely stop to -inquire how far Mr. Fiske’s “religious myths of antiquity” extended. -There is a seemingly unconscious vagueness about the phrase that -allows it to pass without question. And Mr. Fiske’s theories, if we -may dignify them by such a title, run on smoothly enough in killing -Beth-Gellert for the thousandth time, and bringing his powerful mind -and the infallible test of his “scientific faith” to bear on old -nursery jingles—such, for instance, as: - - “Jack and Jill went up the hill - To get a pail of water; - Jack fell down and broke his crown, - And Jill came tumbling after.” - -“This may read like mere nonsense,” says Mr. Fiske. Again we agree -with him it may; but the rising smile fades on the lip when met by the -solemn assurance immediately following: “But there is a point of view -from which it may be safely said that there is very little absolute -nonsense in the world.” - -We grieve to say that the thought which struck us immediately on -reading this aphorism of Mr. Fiske’s was that, if one thing more than -another could tend to make us dubious as to its truth, it would be the -perusal of his own book. But _revenons_: “The story is a venerable -one,” he proceeds _in re_ “Jack and Jill.” “They—the children—fall -away from one another as the moon wanes, and their water-pail -symbolizes the supposed connection of the moon with rainstorms.” - -Leaving our readers to ponder over this profound mystery so solemnly -set forth by the author, dazzled and bewildered, doubtless, by this -latest exhibition of moonshine, we pass from it to other things. It is -of a piece with all the author’s deductions, and as fair a sample as -any other of the ingenuity of his argument and the profundity of his -conclusions. We do not attempt to refute them; that task is above us; -we leave such questions to be argued out in their more fitting sphere, -where the characters in the story are best known and believed in—the -nursery. - -To all this sort of thing we do not object; it is very harmless, -and though scarcely the style of study and method of deduction one -might expect from a professor of philosophy at what is esteemed the -leading university in the United States, we can only arrive, however -regretfully, at the conclusion that we had perhaps made a false -estimate of the intellectual standing of that university, and of the -calibre, mental and moral, of its professors. Still, Mr. Fiske may -argue all his lifelong in this fashion, and we can only wish him better -employment. But unfortunately he does not stop here. - -All the unravelling of these worthless myths has one aim and tendency: -the connecting with them true religion, Judaism first, and afterwards -Christianity, the belief in Christ, the Christian sacraments, Christian -observances, Christian practices; not as the one truth of which all -these myths formed so many broken and distorted fragments, but—hear -it, Christian fathers who send your sons to Harvard to learn wisdom and -truth from such men as the one under our notice—a myth with the rest -of them! - -Ulysses, Achilles, Ormutz, Thor, Tell, William of Cloudeslee, the sun, -Jesus Christ—“These be thy gods, O Israel!” - -A mad world, my masters! We are all wrong; living in a myth, -worshipping a myth, teaching a myth, our social and political state -to-day built upon a myth. “We may learn anew the lesson, taught with -fresh emphasis by modern scholarship, that in the deepest sense there -is nothing new under the sun.” So says Mr. Fiske. There is nothing sure -but scientific faith as expounded by M. Littré and—Mr. Fiske. All the -rest is myth. - -It would be no surprise to us if Mr. Fiske were indignantly to reject -the construction which the Catholic, or the Christian reader of -whatever denomination, who possesses any knowledge of Christianity, -must put upon his words. Apparently he himself is not sufficiently -acquainted with Christianity to understand the meaning of those words; -and yet he is a “professor of philosophy” at a presumably Christian -university. He is, to judge him by this book, of that school of -would-be atheists so fashionable tod-ay, who talk mild infidelity -over their tea, and take it down with their muffins—a toast-and-water -infidelity, nice to take hob-and-nob with and to the admiration of -some antiquated Blue-Stocking. Mr. Fiske, like his class, might be -considered an atheist did he only possess the faintest conception of -what Christianity meant. An atheist is not a man who does not, but -who _will_ not, know God—a rebellious spirit who, like the fallen -archangel who has seduced him, rejects God, flings back his offering, -and cries out: “I will not serve!” - -Such is atheism—negation, not unconsciousness; denial, not lack of -knowledge. Mr. Fiske’s toast-and-water stuff partakes of the latter -character. It is so very weak, so very thin, so supremely unconscious -of its feebleness, so full of self-sufficiency, so sublimely ignorant -of the fact that the poor little hobby-horse which it rides astride of, -and on which it pranks out, with “all the pomp and circumstance” of -mimic warfare, to have a tilt with the church, has been long ago ridden -to death by far doughtier champions than Mr. Fiske, but with a like -result—a tumble in the dust. Like the carpet-knight, who, “but for -those vile guns, might himself have been a soldier,” but for the vile -faith, these carpet-atheists might themselves have become Christian. -Did we not recollect that they possess immortal souls destined for one -of two eternities, we might almost congratulate ourselves on their -defection. - -But not to lay so very serious a charge at Mr. Fiske’s door without -just grounds, we proceed to give a few instances of that gentleman’s -mythical contortions, which will sufficiently vindicate the severe -strictures we feel compelled to pass upon his book—a book, indeed, -which should have passed unnoticed, only that it is typical of the tone -and tendency of the class of writers remarked upon above. - -Mr. Fiske would seem to have received some sort of a Christian -education, if we may so call it, in his youth; for he tells us “of -that burning Calvinistic hell with which his childish imagination had -been unwisely terrified.” Calvinism probably drove him into revolt -against Christianity, as it has driven so many others, and, instead of -returning, and examining, and searching for truth, he has adopted the -easier course of saying that it was all a sham—the devil was only a -bogy conjured up by nurses to frighten children and make them good. -Christianity was an excellent religion for children and timid old -maids; but for MEN, men of the XIXth century, it was a little -too much. On reading the fables of the pagans, he found that they had -their bogies to frighten their children, as the heathen possesses them -still. All the same, all the same, all the way down to the cradle, if -there be such, of the race. - - “Black spirits and white, - Red spirits and gray, - Mingle, mingle, mingle, - You that mingle may.” - -Such, if put into a coherent shape, would be, we think, Mr. Fiske’s -mode of explaining his belief. To him all mystery is myth, and the one -true guide is scientific faith. - -There is no mention of Revelation from beginning to end of the book: -the author evidently does not believe in it. But though he is careful -not to say so in express words, the meaning of all his deductions is -very clear; and passages from the sacred Scriptures are contorted to -suit his purpose. - -Thus, we are told[70] that “the very idea of an archfiend, Satan, -which Christianity received from Judaism, seems to have been suggested -by the Persian Ahriman, or at least to have derived its principal -characteristics from that source. There is no evidence that the Jews, -previous to the Babylonish captivity, possessed the conception of -a devil as the author of all evil. In the earlier books of the Old -Testament, Jehovah is represented as dispensing with his own hand the -good and the evil, like the Zeus of the _Iliad_.” - -Of course, to a man of Mr. Fiske’s vast knowledge and profound -erudition, it would be an impertinence to suggest that, as the -name—the mere name, apart from all belief in it—Jehovah is the more -ancient of the two, it might have been more in order to invert its -position, so that it would run: “The Zeus of the _Iliad_, like the -Jehovah of the Old Testament, was the dispenser of good and evil.” But -Mr. Fiske studiously sets Jehovah first in place, though second in -time, giving one to understand thereby that Zeus was his precursor. -This may have been done inadvertently, but, if so, there is a strange -method in Mr. Fiske’s carelessness. He is clearly a believer in that - - “Divinity which doth shape our ends, - Rough hew them as we may.” - -Then, again, Mr. Fiske is correct enough in the passages which he cites -as showing that the Jehovah of the Old Testament dispenses “with his -own hand the good and the evil.” There is nothing startling in this: it -is the soundest Catholic as well as Jewish doctrine. We believe that -God does dispense the good and the evil alike; but the “dispensing -of the good and the evil” is a very different thing from the phrase -which concludes the preceding sentence: “The author of _all_ evil.” -Mr. Fiske plumes himself on his philological knowledge; he is great -in word-science, if we may so call it; does he, then, recognize no -distinction between “a dispenser” and “an author,” or again, between -evil and evil, or still further, between “evil” and “_all_ evil”? - -“Evil is natural and moral,” says the dictionary. In the first sense, -it means what we generally comprehend by the word “misfortune”; as, -evil tidings, evil news, evil accident. In this sense, God is said -to be the dispenser of evil; that is, of trials which he sets his -children, as a father sets his son a hard task, to prepare them, to -test them, to educate them, to lift them up to the fulness of manhood, -which is in God. “Whom the Lord loveth, he chastiseth.” But “moral -evil” or what Mr. Fiske calls “all evil,” is a very different thing. It -is that which is evil naturally, _in se_ and _per se_, which is in the -will of the devil, and which it is blasphemy to attribute to God. Evil -in the first sense may be, is generally, good in itself: the latter, -never. It may not be blasphemy in Mr. Fiske, for, as we said, he does -not, from insufficient acquaintance with the subject, know the meaning -of his own words. But observe how carefully all these words are placed -in connection and juxtaposition one with another, and how easily each -slides into its wrong place. Again, there is a singular method in Mr. -Fiske’s glaring—for a milder term in the face of what we have just -pointed out would be impossible—inaccuracies. - -He goes on: “The story of the serpent in Eden—an Aryan story in every -particular, which has crept into the Pentateuch—is not once alluded -to in the Old Testament.” To this he adds a note: “Nor is there any -ground for believing that the serpent in the _Eden-myth_ is intended -for Satan?” Though Mr. Fiske is overrunning our space far more than we -intended he should do at the beginning, the next sentence is too good -to omit, as replete with a piece of criticism unique in its simplicity -and loftiness of tone: “The identification (of the serpent in the -Eden-myth with Satan) is entirely the work of modern dogmatic theology, -and is due, naturally enough, to the habit, so common alike among -theologians and laymen, of reasoning about the Bible as if it were a -single book (!), and not a collection of writings of different ages and -of very different degrees of historic authenticity.” - -To all his readers the question will naturally suggest itself: Has Mr. -Fiske ever been outside the walls of Harvard? But there—we leave the -matter: it suggests its own comment; and, moreover, Mr. Fiske promises -us, “in a future work entitled (start not, ye publishers!) _Aryana -Vaedjo_, to examine, at considerable length, _this interesting myth_ of -the Garden of Eden.” We hope to see it. - -Well, here we have in plain English the whole story of the fall of man, -the origin of good and evil in this world, and the cause of all the -consequences which followed therefrom; the whole story of the Creation -in fact, as in another place that of the Deluge, set aside quietly -and easily, without a word of doubt, or difficulty, or hesitation, as -a myth. It would be interesting to know what Mr. Fiske does believe -on these points—but his book is to come. We trust he will take the -pains to set us right on the subject of the origin of man and of the -Creation generally. Of man we should judge him to have as high an -opinion as Mr. Darwin, when he explains his present condition as being -brought about by “that stupendous process of breeding which we call -civilization; which has strengthened the feelings by which we are -chiefly distinguished from the brutes, leaving _our primitive bestial -impulses_ to die for want of exercise, or checking in every possible -way their further expansion by legislative enactments. (Draw this to -its legitimate conclusion, and there is no such thing as morality, it -being merely synonymous with law or education.) But this process which -is transforming us from savages into civilized men is a very slow one; -and now and then there occur cases of what physiologists call atavism, -or _reversion to an ancestral type of character_.... Now and then -persons are born possessed of the bestial appetite and cravings of -primitive man, his fiendish cruelty, and his liking for human flesh.” - -This is a Harvard professor who thus explains what people generally -accredit to the maxims of the Gospel and the teachings of Jesus Christ. -Morality is simply education or force, and evil is inherent in the -naturally brutal being, man, who, like Topsy, gradually “growed” up to -what he is. - -It were easy to go on thus multiplying instances of the truth of our -observation, that Mr. Fiske reduces Christianity to a myth; but we -think there is enough proof already. We pass by many things, therefore, -where the author’s display of shallow learning is only equalled by his -flimsy remarks. In a note (p. 48), he would have us infer that the -Jews believed in a plurality of gods just as did the pagans, because -Elohim—God—is plural—a common use of the word even in the English -Version, as when God says, “Let us go down and confound their tongue,” -etc.; but the Jews certainly never interpreted it as meaning anything -else than the one God, whom they adored. It was merely a foreshadowing -of the doctrine of the Trinity. In another place, he informs us that -S. Ursula is Artemis and Aphrodite, S. Gertrude the heathen Holda. He -is evidently unaware that one of the most popular books of Catholic -devotion is written by the “heathen Holda.” Stupid inaccuracies of -this description are unaccountable. In any other person they would -indicate a mind inflated with that dangerous “little learning” which -Pope warns us against; in a Harvard “professor of philosophy,” they -doubtless take the form of Shakespeare’s sins against grammar and good -taste, and go down as “beauties.” “Angels—women with large wings” -(_sic_)—are kinsfolk of the werewolf family, and Christianity has -“_degraded_ the beneficent lightning-god, Thor,” into the “grotesque -mediæval devil.” Odin and other glorious divinities undergo a similar -hideous transformation under the “degrading” influence of Christianity. -In fact, Christianity is but a system of plagiarizing, and plagiarizing -which by no means improves on the old pagan superstitions. The devil is -really a good-natured sort of being, or was till Christianity came and -spoiled his temper and himself generally. Of course such a being never -existed except in the brain of superstitious people unendowed with -scientific faith, who were racking their brains to find out the meaning -of that eternal puzzle, darkness and light, so that they at length came -to embody darkness in the form of the devil, and light in the person of -God, or Jupiter, or Apollo, or William Tell. That is the plain English -of Mr. Fiske’s book. - -Mr. Fiske seems to think that he has struck a new vein, and opened up -to the world a golden ore long hidden. His theory is as old as any -other; and he has only given us a poor rehash of what much cleverer -men than he have oversurfeited us with ages ago. Before attempting to -handle the subjects he has touched upon, it would be advisable to go -to school again, and he might thus be saved a lamentable display of -childish ignorance on points known to all the world, save apparently -to Mr. Fiske. In a very weak review of a most interesting and clever -book, _Juventus Mundi_, written by a scholar and a thinker, neither of -which titles we feel justified in applying to Mr. Fiske, this latter -gentleman remarks, with astonishment, that Mr. Gladstone draws an -analogy between the gods of heathendom and the God of Christianity; -in other words, between distorted truth and its first original. This, -again, is as old as the hills. _Prometheus_, for instance, has struck -all readers as a wonderful type of the Saviour; and so with other -gods and heroes of antiquity. Scholars are pleased to draw likenesses -between the characters of the fables of pagan antiquity and those of -the sacred Scriptures; such connection is by no means necessary to -prove the truth of Christianity and of the doctrines of Revelation. -Christianity is here, around us, living, real: we are in it. It is -clear, well defined, unchanging, distinct, a solemn and awful fact: -deal with _it_, study it, destroy it, if you can. It has no connection, -claims no connection, needs no connection, with paganism. It stands -alone, self-sufficient, for God is its centre. It embraces the world; -it rules nations; and the better the governments, the nearer they -approach to the observance of its codes. History hallows it; scientific -discovery only tends to confirm our faith in it. It is superseding all -things, as its Founder meant it should; and people have the impudence, -for it is nothing else, to come and tell us to-day, in out-of-the-way -notes in silly books, that this stupendous fact is a myth! We can only -say to them, _tolle, lege_! - -It is easy for a man to sit down in his chair, and spin out a theory, -connecting the most distant objects together in his own mind. Thus -Mr. Fiske drives Tell back to the sun, or Ulysses, or Odysseus, as he -prefers to call him, for he takes kindly to what we may be pardoned -calling the _Grotesque_ etymology; and even in this, like all poor -imitators, goes beyond his master. Homer tells us Ulysses was a man, -a great traveller, who had seen many lands. Oh! no, says Mr. Fiske; -Homer made a great mistake; he did not know what he was talking about; -Ulysses was meant for the sun. And yet Mr. Fiske tells us that the -“minds of primitive men worked like our own, and, when they spoke of -the far-darting sun-god, they meant just what they said.” Why should -not this reasoning hold good for Ulysses, as well as for Apollo? - -Why, we might take up the story of Mr. Stanley’s discovery of -Livingstone, and concoct a far better myth out of it than Mr. Fiske has -out of many of his materials. Livingstone, like Ulysses, is a man who -had seen many lands; he is hurried away and lost to the world in a dark -and fiery country—a land of demons and impenetrable burning deserts. -The world laments his loss, and Stanley, the youthful, the Dawn, goes -out to seek him, and, after the usual obstacles, finds him in the dark -land, clothed in rags, with a blue cap on his head, adorned with a gold -band, a long beard falling gray over his breast, surrounded by the dark -children of the desert. When that fabulous New Zealander sits on the -ruins of London Bridge, some future Professor Fiske will probably take -up this story of to-day, and weave a myth out of it as the present one -has done with Ulysses; but Mr. Fiske may remember that the prophet who -foretold the New Zealander in his incongruous position only did so to -serve as an example of the indestructibility of God’s church. - -If he must refer everything back to light, why not go a little beyond -the sun to the _Lux Mundi_—the light which shineth in the darkness, -but which the darkness comprehended not? Light and fire run from the -beginning to the end of the New and Old Testaments, as typical of God. -The first thing God made was light; he spoke to Moses in a burning -bush; his angel accompanied his people in a cloud and a pillar of -light. Man cannot look upon his face and live, for the glory of it. Is -it possible that Mr. Fiske, who is so keen at connections, could miss -such palpable indications of the connection between the traditions he -has mentioned and Revelation, without being struck by it, unless he did -so intentionally? - -Had we space, we could show by comparison that the very words he has -quoted from Indian and other traditions of the Michabo, the great white -One, of the origin of the world and the history of the Deluge, are -almost identical in phrase even with the Scriptures. From F. De Smet’s -interesting Indian sketches, appearing in the _Catholic Review_, we -find that the Indians adore the Great Medicine, who is, above all, the -All-powerful, and sacrifice to him through the sun and the thunder, -because the sun is his great servitor. - -And as for the devil, whom Mr. Fiske finds such an amusing character -(happy man! may he never be undeceived!), it may make him laugh at us, -but, for our part, we have a very decided belief in his existence and -power to do harm; in fact, did we only discern a spice of something -stronger and more powerful than Mr. Fiske presents us in his book, -just the faintest flavor of the genuine article—real brimstone and -fire—we should have been led to refer its authorship to the very -personage whom Mr. Fiske so despises. As it is, the work is unworthy -of his Satanic majesty. He inspired the idea which animates it long -ago, but the present execution is by too weak a hand for his. In this -we find an indication that the idea is used up and gone beyond working -order—driven to death, in fact. - -Superstition undoubtedly did exist in the middle ages; perhaps—for -we are not too ready to believe this age so very far superior in -many points to those days as is generally conceded; at all events, -the world, as the world, is materially even very little better off -than it then was, notwithstanding all our boasted science, and the -rest, and the days allotted to man are not lengthened—perhaps, then, -superstition did flourish at that time to a greater extent than it -does to-day; but what does that prove? Simply that Christianity, “that -stupendous process of breeding,” did not convert the world in a day. - -Did superstition prevail to a greater or less degree than it did prior -to the introduction of Christianity, before the old Jewish order passed -away, and gave place to the new—to the religion which was no longer -to be restricted to a single nation, but which was to spread abroad, -to become Catholic, and embrace the world, the family of God’s human -creatures, within its bosom? Was it, so much of it as did exist, more -or less hideous in the supernatural figures with which it peoples the -universe? Were the Norse gods of blood and bestiality, Thor, and Odin, -and Friga, “degraded”? Could they be degraded? Was Venus degraded, or -Jupiter, or Bacchus, or the multitude of others, by being replaced by -the truth, by the light which was so long coming and expected of the -nations—by the Sun of Justice? - -It was this bursting of the light of the world upon nations which -dispelled for ever the dark mists of superstition that had so long -hidden the creation from its Creator; this was the Sun the nations -dimly saw and adored; this was the victorious Conqueror who overcame -all obstacles by his own sufferings, and death, and sacrifice; who, -like Prometheus, “came to cast fire upon the earth,” and who died in -agony to save his fellows, and destroy the false Jove with his heaven -of immorality—Jesus Christ! at whose name “every knee shall bow.” - -And the darkness was this very devil, the author of all evil, who fell, -freely and consciously, in eternal rebellion against God; who cannot -be destroyed, for God created him immortal; who uses the power still -left him, which was once heavenly, in order to lead into rebellion -all creation against the God he hates with an eternal hatred; who is -permitted by God to tempt man, for man is a free agent—God not having -endowed a mere machine with the breath of life, the breathing of his -spirit—and, if man falls, he falls freely and consciously as did Satan. - -Here lay the puzzle of darkness and light, good and evil, right and -wrong. The world saw itself bounded everywhere by the impassable; by -its wickedness it had lost the clear knowledge of its God; it would -overleap those barriers, and reach him again. The craving of its heart -was eternal; it saw the marks of its God around it: “The heavens -declared the glory of God, and the firmament displayed the wonders of -his works.” Men felt the supernatural, and worshipped; but their eyes -were blinded, and, groping in the darkness for their God, they mistook -his enemy, and worshipped him. - -Paganism was and is the worship of the devil. The evil one allows men -to worship him under whatever form they please, provided only they -rebel against God. Impurity, bestiality, drunkenness, intellectual -pride, all things that lead astray, are for him good; but the law -of God is one and unchangeable, the same yesterday, to-day, and for -ever; and, therefore, though it is hard to kick against the goad, the -free-will of man whispers rebellion to him ever, for he finds God -everywhere. - -What, then, dealt the death-blow to superstition? Was it scientific -faith, or the coming of Christ? - -In order completely to fill a void, you must have something adequate. -The world through all the ages had this yearning for a something -wanting, this searching after a something lost. It felt the -supernatural, the beyond—it felt, but did not see. So each one made -him a religion of his own. To fill that eternal void, to make all one, -to satisfy the craving of the world, that void must be filled. But what -can fill it, save the supernatural? An infinite want can only be filled -by infinity. Jesus Christ came in form and with surroundings the very -reverse of what those who had waited most anxiously for him expected. -Consequently, their pride revolted, and they refused to accept the -Messiah. Nevertheless, no sooner was his doctrine made known, than -the world outside, the gropers in the darkness, felt the Sun; the -scales dropped from their eyes, the void was at length filled, the -craving satisfied; they saw their God, and knew him. Then superstition -ended, for they found a reason for every mystery in the all-powerful, -all-pervading God. - -Had the world to wait for scientific faith to clear up its doubts and -give a reason for its longings and beliefs, superstition would still -reign paramount among men. What is scientific faith? What can it do? -That science has advanced since the days when men built the pyramids, -constructed cities whose ruins are the wonders of to-day, converted -the Eastern deserts into gardens, constructed the alphabet, built the -Parthenon, devised the geometrical figure, organized the sciences -of numbers, philosophy, the heavens, and set up leaning towers, we -concede; but the men who performed those wonders can scarcely be set -down as “knowing nothing of the laws of nature, nothing about physical -forces, nothing about the relations of cause and effect.” This age -has made an advance on them, it is true; but an advance utterly -disproportionate to the centuries which have rolled between; nay, in -some things it has retrograded. - -Did people wait, then, for scientific faith to lift the veil from their -eyes, or was it the teachings of Christianity and the appearance of -Jesus Christ which lifted it? How much more has scientific faith taught -us than it taught the men who centuries ago, by their intimate and -accurate knowledge of natural causes, wrought those wonders touched -upon above? The supernatural still confronts us as it did them. Science -ends with the scientist. Can it tell him who he is, or why he is? Can -it touch the lightning, weigh the sun, reveal the mystery of life and -death? It can tell us we live and we die; that, when such or such a -circumstance occurs, what we call life is over. But can it tell us what -is life, whence it came, whither it goes? what the world is, who made -it, why it was made? what the seed is, why it grows up into a tree, -why the leaves sprout from the hard wood, who set all this principle -of life going, and why? Here lies the mystery that puzzled men; here -science stops, and God reveals himself: it is awed into silence, and -listens for his voice. - -On reading this article once more, the thought has occurred to -the writer that objection may be taken to its tone as not exactly -in accordance with that myth of myths which goes by the name of -“amenities of literature.” Catholics very rarely come across this -pleasing illusion in the columns of adverse writers. But even should -this charge be well grounded, it is idle for Catholics to wrap what -they have to say in wadding, lest it fall too roughly on the delicate -sensibilities of people who undertake to insult a religion of which -they know nothing. Mr. Fiske is only a type of a class to whom is -entrusted the sacred mission of educating the youth of this country, -those particularly whose means admit of the highest education, and from -whom, therefore, much should be expected. Men wonder at the immorality -of our youth—the young man of society of to-day. Why wonder, when his -professors teach him that morality is a name, Christianity a fable, and -all religion a sham? We cannot affect to toy when the stakes played for -are so high. The morality of the coming race depends on the education -it receives. When, therefore, we find men, set in high places in our -foremost universities, abusing their position, and striving by every -means in their power to sap and undermine Christian education, we -think studious phrases idle and polished courtesy thrown away. Insult -and evil must be met with other weapons. If Mr. Fiske wishes to know -whether Christianity is a myth or not, let him sit down and study -before pronouncing. When he has sought and inquired earnestly, he will -find plenty to furnish him with the right answer. - - -HEAVEN. - -WHAT man that is journeying abroad, doth not hasten backward to his -native land? Who that is speeding a voyage toward them he loves, longs -not with more ardor for a prosperous wind, that so he may embrace his -friends the sooner?... It is a large and loving company who expect us -there: parents, brothers, children, a manifold and numerous assemblage -longing after us, who, having security of their own immortality, -still feel anxious for our salvation.... Ah! perfect and perpetual -bliss! There is the glorious company of the apostles; there is the -assembly of prophets exulting; there is the innumerable multitude of -martyrs, crowned after their victory of strife and passion; there are -virgins triumphant, who have overcome, by vigor of continency, the -concupiscence of the flesh and body.... To these, dearest brethren, let -us with eager longings hasten: let it be the portion which we desire, -speedily to be among them, speedily to be gone to Christ. God behold -this thought of ours! This purpose of our mind and faith may the Lord -Christ witness!—who will make the recompenses of his glory the larger -according as man’s longings after him have been the stronger.—_S. -Cyprian._ - - -DIES IRÆ. - - Day of Doom! O day of terror! - Prophet’s word, and Sibyl’s finger - Point to one dread day of anger, - - When the skies shall warp and wither, - Ocean shrink and dry together, - Solid earth consume to cinder. - - Day of nature’s dissolution, - Day of final retribution— - Some to joy, and some to sorrow. - - Hark! the trumpet-blast terrific. - How the dead, in mingled panic, - Gather to the dread assizes! - - Death shall stand aghast, and Nature, - When from dust the summoned creature - Rises trembling to make answer. - - Ah, the wonder! oh, the wailing! - When the heavens above unveiling, - Show the Judge of all descending. - - Now begins the awful session. - Sinner, make thy full confession; - Naught avails the least evasion. - - Lo, the Book of Doom! each action, - Secret sin, or bold transgression, - Idle word, foul thought, is noted. - - Strictest justice is accorded; - Grace to gracious deed afforded, - Death to deadly sin awarded. - - Oh! where saints must fear and tremble, - Could I stand the test, thus sinful? - Could I find a plea for pardon? - - Could an advocate avail me? - Pleas and advocates all fail me. - Jesus! thou alone canst save me. - - Mighty Monarch! oh, remember - That blest day of blest December— - ‘Twas for me the Virgin bore thee. - - Seeking me, beside the fountain - Thou didst rest thee; to the mountain, - For my sake, thou didst betake thee; - - On that dear cross, to redeem me, - Thou didst hang. Lord! is it seemly, - So much costing, I should perish? - - Thou didst smile on Mary’s unction, - Tearful love, and deep compunction, - On the dying thief’s confession. - - Like them guilty, like them grieving, - Like them loving, and believing, - Lord! show me a like compassion. - - To thy mercy I confide me; - From thy justice, Saviour, hide me, - Ere that day of dread accounting. - - Oh, that day of strange uprising! - Oh, that solemn criticising! - Oh, that sentence past reversal! - - Peace to thee! departed brother, - Tenant once of this cold clay! - Jesus! give him rest alway. Amen. - - C. W. - - - - -WOMAN AS A BREAD-WINNER. - -IN all things that are not of precept, we must needs, if we wish to -influence the world, take the world as it is. We may deplore that the -stream has passed the romantic scenery through which its course once -flowed, but we are powerless to turn the current back. Indeed, its -oncoming strength is so ominous that no wise man can stand long on its -banks without seeing the urgent need of providing fresh outlets for -its impetuosity, lest it should come upon him unawares, and sweep him -away in a roaring inundation. The mental ferment of our age is this -stream which demands of us new channels whereon to spend its exuberant -activity; and it perhaps depends upon Catholic action whether the new -development shall be a blessing or a curse. The church knows that her -place is in the van of humanity, and to each young century she turns -her speedy encouragement, bidding it go forth and do its allotted -work under her banner. She hallows all discoveries, and knits them to -herself by the services she causes them to render to the truth, and, a -bolder innovator than the veriest sceptic, she opens her arms to every -development whose capabilities may be turned to a divine account. We -may depend upon this: that no new thing or idea which does not at once -draw upon itself the church’s approving notice, is worth more than a -passing thought. She lets the ephemeral go by, and fixes her eyes only -on the stable and the solid. More than that, all that is claimed as new -and good is contained or foreshadowed somewhere within her pale, either -in the hidden achievements of her sons, or in the written record of her -attitude towards human progress. - -Now, the position of woman is a topic universally discussed, and one -which it has become the fashion to look upon as the pet offspring -of this particular century. There are two questions involved in the -discussion: one theoretical, upon which we have already touched, and -one practical. The former treats of the abstract right of equality -between man and woman, the latter (more sensibly) of the employment of -women, and of their fitness for bread-winning purposes. Woman has so -many spheres that it is difficult to mass her duties and rights in one -sweeping code; and, though her peculiar gift of home ministry is the -one which renders her most amiable in the eyes of the opposite sex, -it should be remembered that it is this very domesticity which often -obliges her to take to self-supporting labor. In this, how far superior -is womanhood to manhood! For whereas a man’s chief thought when -entering a profession or learning a trade is for his own advancement -and pecuniary success in life, a woman’s intention when working for her -bread is almost invariably the support of one weaker than herself, or -the lightening of the burden already borne by the other. In this sense, -we may say that woman is more heroic than man, constrained as she is by -the very nobility of her nature to ennoble the lowest things with which -necessity brings her in contact. Work in itself, simply as occupation -and discipline, is a noble thing and the fulfilment of the divine -law, but when undertaken with a motive such as the support of aged -parents and of sick children, or the reparation of an act of dishonesty -committed by a dishonorable member of the family, it rises even to -sublimity. Women are not exempt from the law of labor, though it has -been an immemorial custom that their fathers, brothers, and husbands -should shield them from its heaviest penalties. Work, in a mitigated -sense, has always been the lot of woman, but among Christians it is so -hallowed as to be rather a privilege than a yoke. In heathen nations, -woman’s work was merely that of a female animal, necessarily not quite -so hard as man’s, but only lighter in consideration of her physical -powers, and certainly not in reverence for her rightful dignity. It -was not the wife and mother who was thought of then: it was the female -beast of burden, at most the favorite of the hour. Judaism, the dawn of -a broader and holier dispensation, naturally betrayed its divine origin -by protecting the person and property and regulating the labor of -woman, thereby elevating drudgery into home duties, and raising to the -dignity of a contracting party one who had been hitherto but a servile -tool. Christianity went a step further, and threw open the doors of the -temple to woman, suffering her to assume every position her mental or -moral ambition led her to desire, save the office of the priesthood. -Judaism had sanctified and glorified marriage by looking upon every -union as a possible link in the future genealogy of the Messiah; and -the perfection of the Hebrew ideal culminated in Mary, the veritable -human mother of the Eternal Word. But Christianity had an additional -crown to bestow on womanhood, and, unlike Judaism, instead of leading -up to this new perfection, it first reared its ideal, and then called -upon all unborn generations to follow it as closely as might be. Thus -the two systems, marriage and virginity, converged for one miraculous -moment in the stainless person of the Blessed Virgin Mary; and since -after that unique motherhood there could be no aspiring to become an -earthly ancestor of the Promised One, a new relationship with God—that -of Spouse—came to be the highest honor attainable by womanhood. Step -by step, God had brought about woman’s enfranchisement, had united in -his law the dignity with which the Jews had invested her, and a new, -mysterious, unearthly dignity which he alone can understand, and had, -in one word, made perfection easy of attainment by her. Her work, too, -necessarily came under this ennobling process, and she can look back -with pride to the example of the typical woman—the last perfect Jewish -matron, the first perfect Christian virgin—and see the daughter of -kings and the Mother of God stooping to lowly household duties. - -The Old and New Testament are full of circumstances or sayings with -reference to the subject of woman’s work. Although it is not expressly -mentioned in the curse pronounced on Adam after the Fall, there can -be little doubt that it is included in it. The race of man was there -doomed to earn its bread by the sweat of its brow, and though a special -punishment was also awarded the offending “mother of all the living,” -still she seems to have been included in the general curse of labor. -Events have proved this, and so long and regular a succession of events -must needs have had a deeper reason than mere temporal expediency. -In the history of Jacob and his two wives, we see a plain reference -to the importance of woman in a question of wages and inheritance. -Jacob, after serving his father-in-law Laban for twenty years, -departs secretly, but before doing so takes counsel with his wives, -and puts his case before them, calling them to witness that Laban -has overreached him and striven to do him harm. Their answer is as -practical as could be wished for: they complain of their father having -wasted their lawful inheritance and having counted them as strangers, -while they commend Jacob for championing their rights by taking, as the -Lord had commanded, all that was otherwise denied them. - -In the history of the infant Moses, Pharaoh’s daughter makes a regular -engagement with the child’s unknown mother “to nurse him for her, and -she would give her _her wages_.” It was a fair contract, by which the -Hebrew woman earned an equivalent for her services as nurse. - -Then, again, we have Anna, the wife of Tobias, a genuine bread-winner, -though perhaps a lesser example of patience than she is of energy. -“Now, Anna his wife went daily to weaving work, and she brought home -what she could get for their living by the labor of her hands.”[71] -The picture of her domestic trials is pathetic, and her husband seems -to have had but a poor opinion of her discretion, for he asked her one -day, when she had brought home a young kid, whether she were sure that -it was not stolen? Her answer was certainly petulant, and consisted of -what many modern wives would say under the same provocation, but it was -ungrateful towards God. Human nature was much the same then as it is -now; and one charm of the old Bible narratives lies just in this, that -they _are_ so naïvely human. In the Book of Ecclesiasticus we read: “He -created of him [man] a helpmate like to himself: he gave _them_ counsel -and a tongue, and eyes, and ears, and a heart to devise....”[72] The -woman is here expressly included in the intellectual benefits heaped -upon man, and it is contrary to the whole spirit of the Scriptures to -suppose that these gifts were in her merely ornamental. Matters of -foresight, discretion, and business evidently come under the head of -things to be “devised.” Again, a little further on we find that “a -good wife is a _good portion_,” and “the grace of a diligent woman -shall delight her husband and shall _fat his bones_.”[73] By this is -meant “increase his substance,” which a woman can do in two ways—by -husbanding her means, or earning something herself. Even if the -“diligent woman” gave her husband nothing but counsel, that in itself -would be a material help: “A _prudent_ wife is from the Lord.”[74] - -To guard against the abuses of unremunerated labor, to which through -poverty or improvidence the Hebrews might be subjected, Moses provided -the law of the seventh year of remission and the fiftieth of jubilee. -“Thou shalt not oppress him with the service of bond-servants, but he -shall be as a _hireling_ and a _sojourner_,” and “_his wages_ being -allowed for which he served before.”[75] With regard to women, the -laws were the same. “When thy brother a Hebrew man or Hebrew _woman_ -is sold to thee and hath served thee six years, in the seventh year -thou shalt let him go free. And when thou sendest him out free, _thou -shalt not let him go away empty_; but shalt give him for his way out -of thy flocks, and out of thy barn-floor and thy wine-press,”[76] and -it is specially recommended that bondmen and bondwomen should not -be of the chosen race, but of the “nations around” the Hebrews. As -to the responsibility of women concerning vows, we read that a woman -under the power of her father or husband shall be bound to fulfil a -vow contingently on the consent of her superior, but an independent -woman is bound like a man: “The widow, and she that is divorced, _shall -fulfil whatsoever_ they vow.”[77] This argues at least a recognition -of woman’s full powers of reasoning, choice, and accountability, all -of which are involved in the serious matter of a vow. In the Gospel -of S. Luke, there is a passing allusion to female manual labor in the -parable that foretells Christ’s second coming: “_Two women_ shall be -_grinding_ together, the one shall be taken and the other left”—which -allusion is not meaningless. All through the New Testament, additional -light is thrown on the figurative expressions by the common customs of -the country during our Lord’s human life in Judea, and so we may infer -that in those days women frequently helped their husbands in various -agricultural pursuits. - -Martha, the sister of Lazarus, has always been looked upon as a -type of active, busy life, according to our Lord’s words, “Thou -art troubled about many things.” But this was not wholly meant as -a rebuke, for there is a great difference between being _troubled_ -and being _absorbed_ by worldly matters. Some among us must bear the -domestic burden, in order that others may have the leisure needed for -contemplation. Their place in the world is none the less holy because -it is not the most perfect, for if there were no rungs to the ladder -but the topmost one, how would it be possible to reach heaven? The -workers of this world have a mission as well as the seers, and Martha -holds almost as high a place in heaven as her sister who chose “the -better part.” In the Acts of the Apostles, it is related that S. -Paul, going out of the gates of Philippi and seeing there some women -assembled, spoke to them, whereupon “a certain woman named Lydia, _a -seller of purple_ of the city of Thyatira ... did hear ... and when -she was baptized, _and her household_, she besought us, saying: ... -come into my _house_ and abide there. And she constrained us.”[78] -This woman must doubtless have been sufficiently well-off, and was -most likely a widow or an unmarried woman. Her business, which she -probably conducted herself, since she is distinguished by the epithet -“a seller of purple,” must have brought her affluence, for her house -and household are specially mentioned, and it strikes us also as a -proof of her self-supporting and successful operations, that, being of -the city of Thyatira, she had travelled to Philippi and established a -home for herself within its walls. S. Paul and Silas are put in prison -and freed again while in Philippi, and as soon as they leave their -confinement, it is to Lydia’s house that they again repair. “And they -went out of the prison, and entered into the house of Lydia; and having -seen the brethren, they comforted them and departed.”[79] The natural -inference is that the house of the generous “seller of purple” was the -centre, for the time being, of the little Christian community; that -here were the assemblies held and religious ceremonies performed; and -that Lydia, in fact, gave up her dwelling to be practically a school -and church. Her riches were her own; legitimately accumulated by an -ordinary trade. We are told nothing of her origin, her education, her -social position; she appears only as a “seller of purple” and a docile -recipient of God’s Word. There was probably nothing at all wonderful -about her—she was the ordinary business woman of her day: thrifty, -since she had worked to so successful a purpose—simple-minded, -since she so quickly believed the Word of God—generous, since she -“constrained” the Apostles to dwell with her. S. Paul, who found in -women such powerful auxiliaries, speaks in his Epistle to the Romans -of “Phœbe, our sister in the ministry of the church [a deaconess] ... -that you assist her in whatsoever _business_ she shall have need of -you: for she also _hath assisted many_.”[80] Now, this clearly points -to her having, or having had, either great possessions, which must have -entailed many cares of management, or great zeal in stirring up others -who were wealthier, which zeal also proves a capability for affairs. -But let us turn back to yet more emphatic Scriptural proof that woman -is noways debarred from a certain share in even great enterprises, -so long as her modesty is not endangered by it. Judith, the queenly -widow, occupied a position of this kind. “And her husband left her -great riches, and very many servants, and large possessions of herds -and oxen.”[81] The sequel of Judith’s history showed that she was as -wise as she was rich, and that prudence and discretion were her most -conspicuous gifts. She must have had great powers of government, and -an eye for ruling the many subordinates whom she probably employed -in the management of her possessions. She was no doubt a mother and -a guardian to her servants, and, although young and beautiful, as -the Scripture tells us she was, yet possessed a gravity and dignity -beyond her years. Her mind was not set upon the frivolities of social -life, and she gave herself much to prayer and fasting, abiding “shut -up with her maids” in an upper chamber of her house. It is a great -mistake to suppose that piety interferes with business habits in either -man or woman. The legitimate cares of life are perfectly compatible -with an unusual degree of spirituality, indeed, in many cases such -cares become absolute duties. The spiritual life reacts upon the -outer sphere of business relations, and while eliminating from it all -tendency to mere selfish aggrandizement, enhances and hallows the -worldly qualities requisite to its successful development. The world -needs holy and grave influences to leaven its pursuits in every field, -whether artistic, literary, or commercial, and while women can impart -to every lawful calling into which they enter that natural grace and -refinement which is their birthright, they should also strive to infuse -into it a supernatural influence. In the Book of Proverbs,[82] we read -the memorable description of the “wise woman,” and nothing is further -removed than this Scripture ideal from the various types of modern -womanhood which, in the clamor of the present questions as to woman’s -place and proper employment, have terrified the sight and darkened -the understanding of observers. Of her devotion to her husband, it is -said that “his heart trusteth in her, _and he shall have no need of -spoils_.” She is not of that aggressive, self-protecting type with -which we are (for our sins) familiar; she is not of those to whom a -husband is an appendage, insignificant at all times, removable at -any; she is not of the independent sisterhood who take their passions -for inspirations and their caprices for rules. Her influence must -mightily serve her husband’s lawful interests, for we are told that “he -is honorable in the gates when he sitteth among the senators of the -land.” This points to the wise woman’s high social position, no doubt -more due to her efforts, her industry, and her prudence, than simply -to her noble birth. She might—like many of her modern sisters—have -been born in the more fortunate walks of life, she might have been -educated with care and assiduity, she might have been taught that -perfect command of domestic details which secures an orderly and -attractive household, she might even have acquired that unconscious -good-breeding that marks the well-born and gently nurtured all over -the civilized world; and yet with all these advantages she might still -have failed to take a place in life—she might still have remained a -social nonentity. How many such worthy and estimable blanks are there -not in this world, in all ranks and shades of social standing! But the -model woman of the Scripture has risen above this level of neglected -or barren opportunities, and bears away the first honors of the race -of life, simply because she is _wise_. The prudence of her counsels, -shown in the ordering of her well-appointed household, her bargains and -her forethought, her stores of bread, linen, and wool, redound to her -husband’s honor; and when he “sitteth among the senators” he is known -as possessing a treasure that doubles all his wealth, and is herself -worth all his riches thrice doubled. But she is not entirely dependent -on him in her transactions, for we see that “she hath considered a -field and bought it; with the fruit of her hands she hath planted a -vineyard.” This bears very closely on our subject, and proves how -far the Scriptures hold a woman competent to think, speculate, work, -and achieve, unassisted by man. “She hath tasted and seen that her -traffic is good: ... she made fine linen and sold it, ... and hath -not eaten her bread idle.” Now, all this points to more than mere -domestic thrift. Here we see woman, not as a divorced wife, not as an -aggressive spinster, not as a frivolous social ornament, not as a mere -household drudge, but woman as a responsible being, with grave duties -and a wide field of action, taking a place in the world fully equal to -and yet utterly distinct from that of a man. She considers, she buys, -she sells, she rules, yet all the while she is solicitous for her -“maidens,” charitable and gentle to the poor, beloved by her husband, -and blessed by her children. She appears here as judged by the real -standard of her real worth. “Favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain; -the woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the -fruit of her hands; and let her works praise her in the gates.” - -So that she is not only to earn, but to enjoy. She is to have a stake -in the world, and a voice in matters of importance—she “opens her -mouth in wisdom, and the law of clemency is on her tongue.” Her opinion -is to be sought, considered, followed; her example is to be looked upon -with reverence, and criticism is to merge into admiration. Her position -is to be that of an arbiter and referee, neither sinking to that of -a petted child nor drifting into that of an unmated, unloved, and -defiant waif. It is not from a band of social outlaws, whose common -exile links them in common defence, that she is to seek support; but -in the circle of her own home, in the centre where God and nature have -placed her, she is to take the helm and gracefully mount the throne. No -violence and no straining after impossible immunities are to disfigure -her calm attitude of secure headship, and, even if her advice be -disregarded, time and not she herself must vindicate its wisdom. - -It may be objected that all this is very well in theory, and would work -admirably if all women were _wise_, and all men worthy of them. But -who does not know that ideals will never become healthful influences -unless translated into facts, and that theories will never succeed in -bettering the world unless exemplified here and there in trial cases? -Would the _theory_ of Christianity be worth anything to the outside -world unless realized in the daily life of its Founder and in the model -existences of thousands of saints? It is impossible that anything -should take hold of the human mind and mould it to new perfections -before it has been put into tangible shape, and it is equally -impossible in our fallen state that _all_ the world should be converted -at once into so many perfect entities. Yet because all men will not -become saints, because all cannot write like Shakespeare, paint like -Raphael, or compose like Beethoven, are religion, poetry, and art to -be eschewed by lower aspirants, and relegated to the barren region of -things to be admired but not imitated? If, because absolute perfection -was never attainable by man, every man had therefore resigned himself -to a hopeless contemplation of the fine possibilities of Christianity, -we should have had no Anthony, no Jerome, no Augustine. If, later on, -because it was impossible to reform the _whole_ world and strike at -the root of _every_ abuse, the pontiffs had calmly looked on while -Christendom crumbled away, we should have had no Gregory the Great, -no Hildebrand, no Innocent III., no Sixtus V. Again, if an inflexible -adherence to rule were the only point worth aiming at, should we have -had a Dominic, a Teresa, a Francis Xavier, a Philip Neri, a Vincent -of Paul? In this world there are many experiments—tentative steps -leading to higher things, and opening doors of possibility to hitherto -untried systems. Even in the church, where all else is immovable, -there is constant _human_ progress, and if here or there one soldier -falls at his post—not through lack of enthusiasm, but through the -force of adverse circumstances, or the darkness of mind which still -shrouds his contemporaries while he himself has prematurely pierced -beyond it—still the great search after perfection, the great work of -Christian development, rolls on. So it is in the world, in art, in -philosophy, in science, in society. What if woman’s position never -has been made absolutely and securely certain? The church has always -theoretically pointed it out, and has often secured its partial -realization within her pale; it remains for the world to open its eyes, -and extend those barriers of the church to the furthest limits of -civilization, taking with it those improvements which it has so long -groped for in its wilful darkness, and which all the time have been -steadily in operation in the sanctuary of the old church. - -So that it is idle to object that all we have said about woman’s work, -reward, and position is “very well in theory.” If a few pioneers will -do for the system what companies or even enterprising individuals -are ever ready to do for any material scheme that presents but the -slightest chance of success, the world would soon see the noblest -reform of all achieved in the very core of society. Nay, we will say -more: the pioneers _are_ there, the reform _is_ going on; only let the -busy, sceptical world stop a moment and look into the silent, gigantic -work ever renewing its strength in the church; let it pause and see -homes where woman, either as manager or worker, holds her supreme -rod of gentle authority; let it see the maiden toiling cheerfully -for her aged parents, or bringing home food and clothes to helpless -little sisters or ailing brothers—the wife helping and encouraging -the husband, and eking out by skilful management a pittance into an -income, and evolving comfort out of what in careless hands could hardly -compass necessaries; the widow keeping her sacred state, unassailed by -calumny, through the earnings which secure her privacy, or the widowed -mother joyfully burdened with the twofold legacy that gives her both -an object to live for and a memory to live in. Hidden homes these may -be, poor homes they almost all are—homes bounded by the four walls of -one squalid room, homes cramped in the garrets of tenement-houses or -saddened by the dreary respectability of furnished lodgings, but none -the less precious in the sight of the angels, and an example in the -sight of men. - -We have spoken much of the Scriptural conception of woman as a -bread-winner, because upon this as a solid foundation we can build up -the further development of such a woman’s position. Everything that is -compatible with the _spirit_ of this conception may be said, in broad -comprehensiveness, to be allowable in woman. Everything that can be -referred to this ideal, as naturally flowing therefrom, is admissible -in her relations with the great working hive of mankind. Intellectual -labor especially is befitting to her, within the limits prescribed -by modesty. Manual labor, especially agricultural or mining, is -proportionately less fitting, both because of her physical weakness and -more still because of the too free association with men which it often -necessitates. Domestic labor, where this is not unreasonably heavy, is -certainly within her sphere—and for this no better reason can be given -than that the women of patriarchal times thought domestic labor no -shame. - -With this view, we say that as many openings for the employment of -woman as can possibly be made, consistently with delicacy and womanly -modesty, should be speedily contrived. No one need fear that such -openings will deprive us of necessary comforts in the way of domestic -attendance; there will always be a residuum of womankind to whom -service will be the most natural and desirable outlet, to whom in fact -it will be the only career which will give scope to the capacities -they have. This will be the least difficulty; the real problem will -always remain rather on the other side—that is, as to how many -women can be redeemed from the bondage of circumstances by any known -method of redemption. It is appalling to think of the many women, -delicate-minded, earnest, persevering, who see in their womanhood, -which should be their crown and their boast, only the barrier to their -aspirations, the prison-door of their capabilities. It is terrible -to reckon the number of women who lose themselves, and wander away -from their place in society, either through the door of open shame -or through the only less revolting path of that which is called but -is not marriage; or visionary, defiant “independence.” How many -fallen women sadly excuse themselves by saying that they could find -no work to do, and yet could not bear to starve! On the other hand, -in women who have obviated that degradation by leaping into another, -we see the inevitable action of the narrow-mindedness of the world -upon an undisciplined nature. Women are often accused of being always -in extremes, and the accusation, in the case of women untrained by -religious influences, is in the main true, although it may as well be -said that the fact holds equally good with men who are not restrained -by such influences. So, between open degradation and blatant “woman’s -rightism,” the mind of the untutored woman will almost certainly, -except by a happy chance, find no mean. - -Is this picture overdrawn? We are ready to affirm again and again -that it is not; the annals of society scandals and the records of the -divorce courts show that it is not; for what difference is there but a -despicable and conventional one between the legalized re-marriage of a -guilty woman to her seducer, and the illegal union of so many unhappy -couples whose relations it is a breach of propriety even to mention? - -This is womanhood outside the church. It is no more a fancy picture -than that other blessed one of the homes we have already praised, the -homes of honest work and perfect peace. The world, to secure a nation -of women bred in such homes, must turn to the church, and ask her to -teach it the secret of such womanhood. The secret is in the Gospels, -in the old hallowed traditions of the Hebrews, and in the fulfilled -evangelical counsels. Voluntary poverty is the safeguard of holy and -allowable wealth; voluntary obedience is the counterpart of lawful -freedom; voluntary chastity is the hidden grace that obtains for others -wedded love and a grave Christian home. The hostages of humanity are -praying in the cloisters for the commendable domestic happiness of -their numerous brethren, and, in proportion as the world scorns their -sacrifice, so does it lose the fruit of their prayers. - -We have said that woman’s work should be decided, God willing, by her -capabilities. This is to say that more ways should be open to her -than are open now to improve the talents God may have given her. In a -great measure she can, and does, open these ways for herself, and an -energetic nature of course will, like water, sooner or later “find its -own level.” Still, many who have mental powers have little strength -in battling with life, and might be helped if their luckier sisters -would be a little less selfish in their easily acquired security. -Work means self-respect, and self-respect means success. There is no -one so proud as the woman who knows her own worth, and lifts herself -by this knowledge high above all sordid temptations. She will be -a good wife, for she will choose no man for a husband save on the -lofty principle of his own worthiness of her, while her estimate of -herself will unconsciously become his also. She will be a tribunal to -herself and to him, and the slightest wrong action or paltry motive -in either will take, in the eyes of the other, the proportions of a -blot on their self-esteem. She will be a good mother, for her standard -of superiority will be the first her children will know, and with -them it will be inseparably blent with their personal affection for -their mother. The home will thus be created on a footing that years -will strengthen as they pass, and the austere yet happy gravity of -a Christian household will become a hereditary tradition with the -children. But for all this, the basis of work is wanted—work of some -sort, voluntary occupation or necessary drudgery, it matters little. -It is the discipline, not the fact, of work which is essential, and in -this sense the rich and high-born may be as hard workers as the poor -seamstress or the factory-girl. Yet, since this labor question touches -the poor chiefly, it is for them we would chiefly speak. Woman’s work -is circumscribed by her physical powers, man’s is not. Therefore, in -all things that a woman can do as well as a man (and of course in all -those which she can do better), the preference should be given to her. -There are many trades in which men cut not only a very useless but a -most ridiculous figure, and which the fittingness of things would point -out as woman’s proper field. Everything relating to feminine clothing -comes under this head; and were this department wholly given over to -women, it would at once relieve the poverty and shield the virtue of -many homes, and also spare the public the absurd spectacle of strong -men engaged in handling delicate ribbons and filmy laces. Printing -and kindred trades have been found practicable for women, and we know -that watchmaking and jewellery work are also accessible to the “weaker -vessel.” Still, it has at present gone no further than this, that -women are associated with men in many employments. Now, we could wish -that there should be many trades of which they would have an exclusive -monopoly. In this we think there would be no inconvenience; at any -rate, no one could assert that there was until the system had been -given a fair trial. - -Society, in its present state of godless disorganization, not only -affords very little help to women who are eager and willing to help -themselves, but positively, despite the loud boasting of the century -as having originated “woman-reform,” places barriers in their way. -For what else is it but a barrier to honest advancement that, when a -respectable and virtuous woman of pleasing appearance goes to apply for -some desirable situation offered by advertisement, she is often, very -often, insulted by disgusting propositions, and her very expressions -of indignant surprise put down as a part skilfully played by her -before the inevitable surrender? This has been repeatedly done, in -many cases successfully, for precautions had been taken beforehand -to cut off the victim’s retreat and drown her cries; in others, when -cowardice, the twin-sister of vice, has shrunk from the determined -attitude of a virtuous woman at bay, the effort has happily failed. -The public papers have sometimes—with their proverbial inefficiency -and spasmodic, theatrical manner of showing up an abuse they know it -will pay better to speak of than to act against—taken in hand this -outrage to civilization, and published letters from the aggrieved women -detailing the attempted insult, but how many more women, sensitive and -gentle, shrink with horror from putting into print an experience they -would gladly blot from their memory! It will be asked, what remedy can -be devised for this? Immediate remedy, perhaps none; but remotely, -the remedy of a newly formed habit of regarding women with at least -the same respect as men who earn their daily bread. Physical weakness -will always be an incentive to wicked men to insult unprotected -women—that is to say, the vices of fallen human nature will never be -wholly blotted out; and in this juncture, as in all others, the real -remedy is the influence and authority of the church. Nowhere more than -in Italy—that maligned country in which Protestants refuse to see -anything save the last stage of corruption brought on by an “effete -priesthood and a degraded religion”—is that touching charity known of -portioning poor girls and affording them temporary refuge while out of -employment. In Rome, this was one of the foremost Papal charities; the -Holy Father took an especial personal interest in it; the Roman ladies -vied with each other in enlarging the numbers of its recipients and -adding to the fund provided for its continuance. In Venice, it used -to be the affair of the Doge, who was conventionally father to all -the dowerless, and the sworn protector of impoverished and threatened -innocence. Many saints have made this their favorite charity, and many -Italian marriages in the higher grades of life are accompanied by -this crowning token of Christian brotherhood—the portioning and safe -marrying of a poor young girl who might have otherwise fallen a victim -to the licentiousness of some professional _roué_. - -While it is to be deplored that the openings for female employment -should still be so restricted, it is still more to be lamented -that there are actually employments in which female labor is most -unwarrantably used. In mining districts, this is peculiarly the case. -There men and women work promiscuously, often with very little clothing -on, and with still less sense of decency and morality. Little girls are -brought up there with no knowledge of themselves as responsible moral -agents, and conscious only that their work is not quite so valuable -because their muscles are not quite so strong as those of their -companions. Ignorance of religion, of moral restraints, and of social -decencies, combine to make of these immortal beings only lithe savages, -less enduring than the negro, less clever than the Indian. For the -white race in some sense seems born to civilization, and when removed -from civilizing influences relapses into far more brutal savageness -than others. Again, we find the problem only solvable through the -influence of the church; for she who originally drew together the -nomad hordes of the North and East, and gathered from their ranks -the founders of empires, the lawgivers of her own system, and the -discoverers of the New World, is still the only mistress the dominant -race which she once civilized will ever again acknowledge. Christendom -has been rent in twain, and the Christian nations deprived of the bond -that once knit them in one vast confederation and unity of interests; -and until this whole has been restored, barbarism will struggle -periodically to the surface, and strive to regain that ascendency it -lost more than a thousand years ago. The abuses and horrors of female -labor in mining districts are a blot upon civilization which never -had any existence before the recent disruption of Christendom; for, -wherever an abuse reared its serpent head, the church was at least -there to protest, and exert her moral influence if not material force. -It is idle to object that she did not, as a matter of fact, quell all -abuses; this objection might be urged against the apparently frustrated -mission of our Lord himself, as far as immediate tangible reforms -were concerned, but the essential fact stands, that as long as the -church’s authority remained undisputed there was at least in the world -one tribunal which, being the acknowledged visible representative of -God, could brand beyond appeal all encroachments on the rights of the -defenceless, and wither the plans of cunning and cruelty against the -poor. To those defended, this was a consolation; to those upbraided, it -was at least a secret dread. - -Having said so much upon the question of woman’s position as a -bread-winner, we can only end by acknowledging that whatever is to -be done will have to be done in fragments, and under the auspices -of private enterprise alone. We cannot expect that in the present -condition of the world any but individual efforts will be made for the -advancement of the weaker sex, nor can we anticipate any but partial -and isolated results. But, nevertheless, these efforts will not lack -their reward, and we, who in the eyes of the world are now working in -the dark, can be content with the knowledge that from these disjointed -earthly efforts God is silently building up a great spiritual temple -of rescued souls. It may be that we never shall succeed but in part, -but this is the fate of all workers at a perfect system, and need not -dismay us in the least. Theologians say that if the merits of our -Lord’s Incarnation and Passion had redeemed but the single soul of his -Blessed Mother, still such unheard-of merits would not therefore have -been in the least superfluously applied; and in the same way may we -humbly think of ourselves, that if each life spent in the effort of -bettering the condition and widening the intellectual horizon of woman -had no result save in the increased welfare of one individual, still -the labor of such a life would not have been in vain. - - - - -“ABRAHAM”—“ABRON”—“AUBURN.” - -A SHAKESPEARIAN EXCURSUS. - -_Merc._—“Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim.”—_Romeo and -Juliet_, act ii. sc. I.[83] - -CERTAINLY, this very singular prefix to the ordinary appellation of -the god of love suggests difficulties of interpretation not easy of -solution. It would appear to be one of those cant phrases familiar -enough, we may presume, at a certain period, for, if not readily to -be understood, the poet was unlikely to make use of it in such a -connection. But the reason for its application has passed out of mind, -and all the commentators have been at a loss to discover its meaning. -Mr. Singer, editor of a well-known edition of the poet’s plays, -disposes of the embarrassment in a manner equally summary and, as it -seems to us, unsatisfactory. Accepting the suggestion of Mr. Upton, -another commentator, that the word “Abraham” should be “Adam,” these -critics agree in conferring upon Cupid a prænomen which it is clear -neither Shakespeare nor his early editors affixed to the name by which -he is usually known. It is equally certain that no other writer has -ever employed the term “Adam” in such a way. In this state of the case, -we seem still left to seek the meaning of the word “Abraham,” as thus -used. In order to exhibit the whole merits of the question, let us -subjoin the note of Mr. Singer in reference to it, and also that of Mr. -Richard Grant White, editor of an American edition of Shakespeare. Mr. -Singer remarks: - -“All the old copies read _Abraham_ Cupid. The alteration was proposed -by Mr. Upton. It evidently alludes to the famous archer, Adam Bell. So -in Decker’s _Satiromastix_: ‘He shoots his bolt but seldom, but, when -Adam lets go, he hits.’ ‘He shoots at thee, too, Adam Bell; and his -arrows stick here.’ The ballad alluded to is ‘King Cophetua and the -Beggar Maid,’ or, as it is called in some copies, ‘The Song of a Beggar -and a King.’ It may be seen in the first volume of Percy’s _Reliques of -Ancient Poetry_. The following stanza Shakespeare had particularly in -view: - - ‘The _blinded_ boy, that _shoots so trim_, - From heaven down did hie; - He drew a dart, and shot at him, - In place where he did lie.’” - —_Singer’s Note._ - -Now, though it cannot be doubted that Shakespeare had in mind _the -blinded boy that shoots so trim_, as set forth in the ballad referred -to, nor that the expression “shot so trim” grew out of it, yet this -fact is far from affording good reason for the belief that he had -also Adam Bell in view, or that he had any thought of conferring the -Christian name of that noted outlaw upon Cupid himself. The presumption -would be that however _trim_ a bowman that “belted forestere” may have -been, yet the skill of Cupid in this respect is too preeminent and -well allowed, to admit of any compliment or illustration derived from -the name of the very best merely human archer who ever drew cloth-yard -shaft to ear. Mr. Singer appears to us, therefore, to have been misled -by a merely superficial analogy into too great confidence in an -improvident suggestion, when he ventured to substitute a conjectural -emendation of the text for a reading which was uniform in “all the old -copies.” - -The note of Mr. White is as follows: - -“Upton gave us the _Adam_ which takes the place of ‘Abraham’ in all the -current editions, except Mr. Knight’s. But, as Mr. Dyce says, there is -not the slightest authority for the change. The last-named gentleman -conjectures that ‘Abraham’ in this line is a corruption of _Auburn_; as -it is unquestionably in the following passages which he quotes: - - ‘Where is the oldest sonne of Pryam, - That Abraham coloured Troian? Dead.’ - —_Soliman and Perseda_, 1599, sig. H, 3. - - ‘A goodlie, long, thicke Abram colored beard.’ - —_Middleton’s Blurt_, _Master-Constable_, 1602, sig. D. - -And in _Coriolanus_, act ii. sc. iii. - - ‘Not that our heads are some browns, some - blacke, some Abram,’ - -as we read in the first three folios. - -“The suggestion is more than plausible; and we at least owe to Mr. Dyce -the efficient protection which it must give to the original text. Cupid -is always represented by the old painters as auburn-haired.”[84] - -But Mr. White, it will be observed, begs the question as to the -passages quoted from other authors. These passages simply prove that -“Abraham coloured” and “Abram colored,” as applied to the hair and -the beard, were common enough expressions at and before the time of -Shakespeare. Besides, only conceive whether it would be characteristic -of Shakespeare to write so tamely as “Young auburn Cupid”! - -In fact, the term in question must have had a pertinent, significant, -and peculiar meaning, well understood by his contemporaries. - -Mr. Knight conceives the term _Abraham_ to be thus appropriated from -the vagrants and beggars called “Abraham-men,” who were too often -cheats;[85] and it is to be feared that he thus means us to imply -the propriety of the appellation in this instance, upon the ungallant -hypothesis that Cupid is himself the prince and chief exemplar of -deceivers in general. But this specific characteristic we have always -understood to belong to Mercury. For however, popularly, Cupid is -estimated as a gay deceiver, Mercury was held by the Greeks the god of -fraud and falsehood. The sailors have a phrase of “shamming Abraham” -when one of the crew shirks his duty on pretence of sickness or for any -other pretended excuse. No one seems to have thought of the possible -origin of this proverbial expression, as used in reference to the -beggars from whose habits it is evidently derived. It has occurred to -us that, since Abraham was the father of the faithful, that is, the -person most eminent for faith, his name may have been thus taken up, in -a manner savoring more of wit than of reverence, in relation to persons -disposed to live rather by _faith_ than by _works_—in fact, who showed -the amplitude of their trust in whatever might turn up, oftentimes in -a somewhat questionable shape, by doing no work at all. This would -manifestly be a sort of _shamming Abraham_. - -But however this may be, since all the old copies read _Abraham_ Cupid, -and since the alteration of the text commended by Mr. Singer and others -cannot be justified upon any grounds which they offer, or in any other -mode, we must find some means of explaining the phrase as it stands, -or remain in the dark as to its true interpretation. Certainly the -matter is not at all cleared up by unauthorized substitution. Against -Mr. Knight’s theory, on the other hand, militates the plain fact -that, in every example cited, unless the one in controversy be taken -as an exception, the word stands for a certain _color_, and not as -qualifying any moral characteristic, or implying any personal defect. -There is a difficulty, besides, in the _auburn_ hypothesis which it -must be admitted is hard to get over. Supposing the word had been found -written as it is, nowhere but in these two passages of Shakespeare, -it might, perhaps, so pass muster. He might not very unnaturally be -thought to have put such a corrupt form of the word _auburn_ purposely -into the mouth of the worthy citizen in _Coriolanus_; and the term -_auburn_, in such a connection, but misprinted in the course of time, -might possibly be considered not absolutely inconsistent with the -character of Mercutio and the strain of his speech. But when we find -the same word used by two other writers contemporary with Shakespeare, -both of whom would be likely to know the correct form and so to write -it, if “Abraham” or “Abram” were merely a corrupt form of it, and -especially as in one of the examples it occurs in a serious passage of -a tragedy—it seems much more probable that the term “Abraham” itself, -as so applied, had its own distinct and well-understood meaning, -so familiar as to excite, at that period, no necessarily ludicrous -association. And that this term _Abraham_ was a cant phrase which -had come into common use is actually implied by the correspondent -expression in the preceding line of this very speech of Mercutio: - - “Speak to my gossip, Venus, one fair word, - One _nickname_ for her purblind son and heir; - Young _Abraham_ Cupid, he that shot so trim.” - -Now, it is obvious that _auburn_, as being a common adjective, could -constitute no nickname; whereas Abraham, as a noun proper, and at the -same time signifying a certain color, serves that purpose completely, -as, for example, _Cicero_, or _Nasica_. - -We must own that a passage in Bishop Hall’s _Satires_ at first a little -puzzled us, viz.: - - “A lustie courtier whose curled head - With _abron_ locks was fairly furnished.”[86] - -But upon reflection it will be found that, although _abron_, at first -sight, looks much more like auburn than does either _Abraham_ or -_Abram_, and it might appear, therefore, to be, in fact, a less corrupt -form of that word than either of the other terms, yet, on the other -hand, _abron_ is itself both in form and sound much nearer _Abram_ than -it is to _auburn_, and may, therefore, be only a misspelt variation of -the first rather than of the second expression. - -In this philological dilemma, we believe we are able to throw a gleam -of light on the obscurity; and, though the explanation is derived -from a source apparently remote, there is, nevertheless, good ground -for thinking it may prove satisfactory. We happen to have in our -possession a copy of the quarto edition of the Latin Dictionary -published at Cambridge, England, in 1693, which is the foundation of -those dictionaries of the Latin language in common use which have -succeeded it. The word _vitex_ is thus translated in it: “A kind of -withy or willow, commonly called agnus castus, in English, park-leaves, -_Abraham’s balm_, chaste or _hemp_ tree.” - -Now, it is no less certain than melancholy to reflect upon that our -respected ancestry, like their descendants, were compelled to supply -the loss of hair by some adventitious covering, and that their periwigs -were sometimes perhaps commonly manufactured out of either the coarser -or the finer filament of flax or hemp, since those made of hair were -very costly. We are confident we have read of a splendid and no doubt -full-bottomed article of the latter material costing as much as fifty -guineas, a couple of centuries ago.[87] We speak of flax and hemp -indiscriminately, however botanically different, as those predecessors -of ours were in the habit of doing, and as being, in fact, used for -similar purposes, _e.g._, “Except the flax or hemp plant, and a few -other plants, there is very little herbage of any sort.”[88] - -To the coarser filament of both, after the article is heckled, is -still, we believe, applied the name of _tow_. In either case, the -substance, when thus subjected to the nicer process of manufacture, -presents that well-known whitish brown color so often and so -enthusiastically celebrated by the elder English poets in the aspect -of “flaxen locks.” We do not know, and, after considerable research, -have been unable to ascertain with accuracy, what was the peculiar -relation of the “hemp-tree” to those other vegetable productions; but -infer from the name that there was a certain resemblance in the fibre -of the one to the others, and that probably to some extent it was -formerly used for similar purposes. At any rate, it is only with the -name and the associations it calls up that we have particularly to do. -If the hemp-tree, otherwise called “Abraham’s balm,” furnished when -manufactured an article similar in color to that of the other vegetable -productions referred to, a sufficient foundation is laid for this -inquiry. - -Bosworth’s _Dictionary of the Anglo-Saxon Language_ affords a striking -illustration of the general subject. He says that “flax signified, in -earlier times, also _hair_ and all kinds of hairy thread. In Austria, -the flax is called haar, hair. The Danish hör signifies the same.” He -adds: “The Old English flix-_down_, soft hair, is another instance that -flax in earlier ages was used to designate hair.” - -Of the metaphorical use of the word the poets are full of pregnant -examples, for instance: - - “Her flaxen haire, insnaring all beholders, - She next permits to wave about her shoulders.”[89] - - “All flaxen was his poll.”[90] - - “Adown the shoulders of the heavenly fair - In easy ringlets flowed her flaxen hair; - And with a golden comb, in matchless grace, - She taught each lock its most becoming place.”[91] - -If to these examples we add the following passage, we shall perceive -that the hue in question enjoyed a special distinction and favor: - -“The four colors signify the four virtues; the _flaxey_, having a -whiteness, appertains to temperance, because it makes _candidam et -mundam animam_.”[92] - -And as this is a hue which frequently distinguishes the heads of -youngsters, a large proportion of whom, at an early period of life, we -know as _white-headed_ urchins, and in England as well as in the United -States even as _tow-heads_, we are very strongly inclined to believe -the color and the term “Abraham” or “Abram” to be thus derived from -association, and to be so applied to the boy Cupid; the word _Abraham_, -in this connection, having come to express, to a certain extent, the -_tow_, or the color of the tow, of _hemp_, or flax, or equally of the -finer part which remains after the tow is combed out. So that, in all -probability, the cant term “Abraham,” as thus applied in Shakespeare’s -day, meant precisely the same as _flaxen_, with, perhaps, a slightly -humorous allusion. And in this view of the case, we must put in a -_caveat_ to the allegation of Mr. White, that, if “Cupid is always -represented by the old painters as auburn-haired,” then they have so -depictured him without sufficient authority; indeed, in contradiction -of the best authorities; for the classical evidence on this point -will show his hair to be described as of that color which is usually -known by the style of “flaxen”; since auburn is really a dun color, or -“reddish brown,” whereas Cupid’s hair was flaxen, or, as we now say, -blonde. For instance: - -“The god of love was usually represented as a plump-cheeked boy, rosy -and naked, with _light_ hair floating on his shoulders.”[93] - -“Eros is usually represented as a roguish boy, plump-cheeked and naked, -with _light_ hair floating on his shoulders.”[94] - -We cannot but think, therefore, that this manifest distinction of -hue effectually disposes of the theory that “abron” stands for any -misspelling of _auburn_, as suggested by Mr. Dyce, and adopted by Mr. -White. - -It appears, by the bye, that this same _agnus castus_, or hemp-tree, -which has given occasion for these remarks, was supposed from an early -period to possess some peculiar virtues, which prompted its other -appellation of “The Chaste Tree”; and to this circumstance was owing, -doubtless, its introduction by the poets in their descriptions of -various ceremonials. Thus, Chaucer has three several references to it -in his “Floure and Leafe,” and very noticeably, as follows: - - “Some of laurer, and some full pleasantly - Had chaplets of woodbind; and, sadly, - Some of _agnus castus_ weren also - Chaplets fresh.” - -So Dryden, also, modernizing this very passage of the older poet: - - “Of laurel some, of woodbine many more, - And wreaths of _agnus castus_ many bore.” - -It ought to be suggested that the statement herein made as to the -earlier practice of wearing wigs of flax and tow, in addition to some -direct evidence to the point, is partly a matter of inference, and -partly due to rather vague recollections of youthful studies (to which -we have not thought it worth while to recur) among the romance writers -of the last century. Their famous heroes undoubtedly were more or less -familiar with “Abraham-men” and personages of that description; and -it must be confessed that the impression of the “tow-wigs” worn, for -purposes of disguise or with whatever object, by the highwaymen, sturdy -beggars, and other worthies introduced into their novels, is amongst -the strongest left on our mind by those lucubrations of their genius. - -The inference which we have ventured upon is that, since wigs were -articles of supposed necessity, and certainly have been used from -early times; and since those manufactured of hair must have been much -more costly in former days than at present, the probabilities are very -strong that this important description of head-gear was made, more or -less commonly, out of that material which still, we believe, affords -the foundation of those ingenious works of art, the color and beauty -of which furnished the poets with an ordinary and apt illustration of -bright and flowing locks. - -We are not without testimony on this point, however, and that, too, of -no less authority than Walter Scott, which is literally to the point: - -“The identical Peter wears a huge great-coat, threadbare and patched. -His hair, half gray half black, escaped in elf-locks around a huge wig -_made of tow_, as it seemed to me.”[95] - -Addison also tells us, in a paper of the _Spectator_, as quoted by -Johnson: - - “I bought a fine flaxen long wig.” - -It is true, Dr. Johnson cites this example in his _Dictionary_ as only -meaning something “fair, long, and flowing, as if made of flax”; but we -are far from thinking the qualification of his definition inevitably -correct, any more than in some other well-known instances. The great -lexicographer imagines a wig of hair as presenting the appearance of -one made of flax; but we see no reason why the excellent _Spectator_ -should not be taken literally according to his expression; nor why -he may not have appeared upon the occasion to which he refers in a -veritable wig of flax, especially since such an object of manufacture -was common, could be made to bear so close a resemblance to hair, -probably looked better, and was of much less cost. We find a still more -decisive example in the _Spectator_, which scarcely admits of any other -than the most literal interpretation: - -“The greatest beau at our next county sessions was dressed in a most -monstrous flaxen periwig that was made in King William’s reign.”[96] - -The following example is equally pertinent: - -“A fair, flaxen, full-bottomed periwig.”[97] - -In this instance, the word “fair” would seem clearly to apply to the -color, and “flaxen” to the material, for otherwise the use of both -expressions would be tautological. - -Indeed, we have not left this matter to conjecture and inference -merely; for we took occasion to inquire upon this topic, several years -ago, of a late celebrated hair-dresser; and, in fact, these notes have -been kept on hand for a period considerably longer than the nine years -prescribed by Horace for the due refinement and perfection of immortal -verse. Our excellent friend, M. Charrier, of Boston, informed us that -he had been called upon to manufacture actual wigs of the filament of -flax; and he remembered one particular occasion, when an article of -special beauty was required for the use of a popular actress, who was -to perform in a play which he thought was called “The fair maid with -the golden locks.”[98] Thus we trace the article to the stage itself, -and there, in all probability, its construction of the material in -question is traditional, and is much more likely to have originated -at a period earlier than the time of Shakespeare than at a later -date. Of course, if M. Charrier had lived to our day, he would have -found plenty of business in constructing those mountainous piles of -various vegetable material with which ladies now see fit to load their -heads—“some browne, some blacke, some Abram.”[99] - -In corroboration of these views, explanatory, we hope, of the strange -expression, Abraham Cupid, to modern eyes and ears, we have just met -with a singularly apt illustration. A very young lady of our family -received last Christmas, as a present, a doll with a remarkable head of -hair. It was long, fine, profuse, admirably curled, and exactly of that -brilliantly fair color, the lightest possible shade of brown, sometimes -but rarely seen in its perfection on the heads of young persons, and -of the hue which might well be imagined as a peculiar and suitable -attribute of the god of love. An examination of this attractive -ornament to the seat of whatever intellect a doll might be supposed to -possess showed at once, that it was skilfully manufactured, doubtless -by accomplished French artisans, of the filament of flax.[100] - -From these premises the following propositions seem to be fairly -deducible: - -1. That, in the time of Shakespeare, the word _Abraham_ was sometimes -employed as a cant term expressive of a certain color. - -2. That, since the name “Abraham’s balm” was used for a certain shrub -or bush, otherwise called the hemp-tree, the color in question was -probably that of dressed hemp or flax, which nearly resembled each -other in hue; the word tow being still applied to the coarse filament -of both. - -3. That the color attributed to “flaxen locks,” so celebrated through -the whole range of English poetry, is, in fact, that light and fair, -that is, blonde, color of the hair assigned to Cupid. - -4. That “Young Abraham Cupid,” therefore, means nothing else than -_flaxen-haired_ or _fair-haired_ Cupid. - -In regard to the term “Abraham’s balm,” as applied to the hemp-tree, we -beg leave to suggest that such an appellation may have been bestowed -on such a tree, as intimating a natural and appropriate cure for such -infirmities as resulted in mistakes about property, to which we may -suppose Abraham-men and their associates were only too subject. The -figure may be thought similar to that highly metaphorical expression -conveyed by the passage: - - “Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then.”[101] - -As to “Abraham-men,” a rope may, in fact, have been thought, in extreme -cases, a “_balm_ for hurt minds.” - - - - -FONTAINEBLEAU. - -IT stands girdled with its forty thousand acres of forest, or gathering -of many palaces rather than a united single one, and presents perhaps a -wider and more varied retrospect than any of its historical compeers. -Poet, philosopher, and historian alike find inexhaustible food for -meditation before the grand, irregular pile that rises up before us -with its towers and gables massed against the sky—the most elaborate -epic ever written in stone. But prior to the stupendous poem that -we behold to-day, an idyl rose upon its site; a song, half sacred, -half sylvan, floats to us across the distant tide of time, the -record of an undying past. A vast virgin forest where the chant of -prayer and penitence mingles with the voicing of the primeval choir -of oaks, and sycamores, and elms, and spire-like poplars, ranged in -many-octaved lyres for the winds to strike with strong melodic finger; -and human souls set up in the high places, higher than forest trees -or earth-built towers; harps wooing the touch divine of the Master’s -hand, joining in the ecstatic song of seraph praise; souls these who -have cast aside crowns of gold, and trodden their purple garments under -foot, to choose the crown of thorns and the scant robe of poverty—love -driven to the strange madness, of the cross; others there are who sing -the deep plain-song of humility and forgiven sin; while some, whose -snow-white brow the dark shadow of sin has never crossed, carol forth -in innocent joy with the matins of the lark the hymn of deliverance, -the psalm of praise and worship, of intercession and thanksgiving—such -is the concert of celestial harmony that echoes to us from the long-ago -of the grand old forest. Many changes, will follow: we shall see a -busy stir of multitudinous life alternating with the chill silence of -the tomb; princes and prelates hurrying to and fro, noble matrons, -and frail women, and death in many forms, beautiful and terrible, -serene and tragic, passing and repassing the gates; and we shall hear -the woods reverberating to other sounds than those of prayer—to the -clanging of civil strife, to the voice of laughter and of tears. - -Distinct amidst all the earlier memories of Fontainebleau stand out -the figures of S. Louis and his mother, Blanche of Castille. There -are many versions as to the origin of the place; the most popular one -records that S. Louis, being out hunting one day, lost a favorite -hound called Bleau, and, after scouring the forest in search of the -truant, found him at last quietly drinking at a fountain, and was so -enchanted with the beauty of the surrounding scene that he determined -to build a hunting-lodge on the spot; he did so, and, in memory of the -incident, it was named Fontaine de Bleau. But this pretty legend is -rejected by the most reliable historians, who have searched out traces -of a much earlier origin for Fontainebleau. There seems sufficient -evidence of its having been used as a royal residence by Hugh Capet, -and frequented as a favorite rendezvous for the hunt by all the earlier -kings of France. The existence of the famous monastery of S. Germain -l’Auxerre, at the western extremity of the forest, is advanced as a -proof, and a strong one, of its being in those remote times inhabited -by royal patrons, for monasteries sprang of necessity where kings -lived; and there is no doubt that the greater portion of the abbey -lands were grants from good King Robert. Blanche of Castille retired -to an old château of some sort at Fontainebleau during her husband’s -absence while at war with England or the Albigenses; she founded in the -neighborhood the Abbaye de Lys, which was later on munificently endowed -by her son, Louis IX., who even went the length of giving up to it some -acres of the forest that he loved so well. It was here that a great -portion of his childhood was passed. Under the shadow of the old woods, -or pacing the solemn cloisters of the abbey, his mother instilled into -his mind those first lessons of fear and love upon which his life was -so faithfully modelled. “My son, I love thee dearly, but, so help me -God, I would rather see thee dead at my feet than have thee live to -sully thy soul with one mortal sin.” Truly, a valiant mother of the -Machabean mould—a woman of strong faith, worthy to be the mother of a -Christian king. - -When the child has grown to manhood, we see him still at Fontainebleau, -holding his court of justice under the broad shade of a giant oak, he -seated on the gnarled trunk, while his people gathered round him—a -young patriarch settling the disputes of his tribe, dealing out the -law; justice and mercy being counsel, and judge, and jury, and the -king’s word supreme. Sometimes we see him dashing through the glade, -followed by his courtiers, while the merry hunting-horn scares the wild -birds from their nests, and rouses the tusky boar in his lair; but -more frequently we see the king alone, meditating on the frail tenure -of earthly joys and pride, or surrounded by the wise and learned men, -too noble to be called courtiers, whose society he enjoyed better than -that of youths of his own age. Louis preserved through life a taste for -the monastic offices that he had joined in habitually with Blanche de -Castille in his childhood; and, when he could spare a few days from the -cares of his kingdom, he would spend them in the prayerful solitude of -the monastery of the Mathurins, assisting at all the offices with the -monks, and helping them in tending the sick and teaching the poor. His -young courtiers made merry over this strange pastime for a king, but -Louis only laughed, and said: “Let them laugh, these young ones! It -hurts no one, and God is not offended. If I spent my time in hunts, and -tournaments, and dancing, they would not blame me. Let them laugh; pray -God I may never give them cause to weep!” Once S. Louis fell ill at -Fontainebleau, and, being considered at the point of death, he called -his little son to him, and gave him some touching advice concerning his -conduct and private life; then suddenly changing his tone to one of -great impetuosity, he exclaimed: “I pray thee, fair son, make thyself -loved of my people! for verily I had rather a Scotchman came from -Scotland to govern the kingdom well and loyally than that it should be -unfairly or unkindly governed by thee!” - -Joinville, who was the close companion of S. Louis through the -most active part of his career, finds no words wherewith to praise -adequately the character and virtues of the king. “What concerned -himself alone could never move him to joy or wrath,” says this -trustworthy chronicler; “but when it touched the honor of God, or the -happiness of his people, Louis knew no fear, and brooked no delay, nor -could any earthly consideration hinder him in the discharge of a duty.” -Yet Joinville censures his master severely for having undertaken the -second Crusade, which he condemns as a great military and political -mistake. Had it succeeded, however, Egypt would have become a Christian -colony, and the cross would have been planted on the pyramids; this was -what S. Louis looked to beyond the conquest of Jerusalem; and, if his -dream had been realized, Joinville would hardly have pronounced it a -“great mistake.” - -A quaint anecdote is told of a trick played by S. Louis to ensnare -his nobles into enlisting in this fatal expedition. The court was at -Fontainebleau for the celebration of Christmas. It was customary for -the king to present the courtiers with furred cloaks called _liveries_ -to wear at Midnight Mass on Christmas eve. S. Louis had a great number -of these made, and gave orders that a cross should be embroidered in -dark silk on the shoulder of each, and that they should be distributed -at the last moment in a dimly lighted apartment; this was done, -according to the king’s command; the courtiers hurriedly donned -their _liveries_, and it was only when they entered the brilliantly -illuminated church that the wearers beheld the symbol on each other’s -backs. They were at first astonished and displeased, says Joinville, -but when the king came forward with the cross on his own shoulder and -the crucifix in his hand, and asked if they would tear theirs off, and -send him forth alone to the Holy Land, a thrill of chivalrous ardor -ran through the assembly, and all answered as one voice: “No; we will -follow you! We will keep the cross!” And they did. - -Blanche de Castille, whose religious enthusiasm is rightly or wrongly -credited with the responsibility of this ill-fated enterprise, held -the regency during her son’s absence, and proved by her courage in -confronting the dangers and difficulties of the charge, and by her -wisdom and counsel, that even in those unprogressive days a wise and -virtuous woman made no bad substitute for a man in the mighty task of -government. She spent most of her time in the comparative retirement -of Fontainebleau; but when the news came of the disastrous issue of -Mansoorah, where the Christian army was cut to pieces, and the king -with his noblest captains taken prisoners, she left it, and hastened -to the capital, in order to work more actively for the ransom of her -son and his brave companions in arms. It was a terrible time for a -mother. The queen knew that those who had taken her son captive had -no power over his soul; she knew that Louis was more commanding in his -chains than he had even been at the head of his armies; that adversity -would teach him no language unbecoming a Christian prince; that neither -threats nor torture would wrench from him any compromise unworthy of -his honor; and that captivity, nay, death, in so august a cause was the -most enviable destiny she could have wished him; but she was a human -mother withal, and in this hour of trial her motherhood vindicated -itself relentlessly. Blanche labored day and night to raise a ransom -that might tempt the Turk to give up his prize. She heard that eight -thousand _besants_[102] would be accepted for the king himself, and -this sum was with great difficulty mustered and sent to Palestine. -But when Louis heard it, he sent word to the sultan that “the King of -France was not to be ransomed with gold or silver; that he would give -the town of Damietta for his own person, and eight thousand _besants_ -for his army.” The offer was rejected with scorn, and Louis was -subjected to still greater cruelties and humiliations; but at last, -worn out by the indomitable heroism of his victim, the sultan gave -way; the regal fortitude in which suffering had clothed their captive -had subdued even his jailers into wondering admiration, and they set -him free, declaring that “this king was the proudest Christian that -the East had ever seen.” No sooner was he at liberty, than, instead of -hastening away from the scenes of his misery and misfortunes, Louis set -to work to spread the Gospel far and wide in Palestine; but Blanche -had earned a right to clasp him to her heart after those three years -of separation. She felt, too, that the days were growing short; so she -wrote, entreating him to come home. S. Louis was repairing the ramparts -of Sidon when the summons reached him; he immediately prepared to obey -it; but, before he had left Sidon, the mother who, next to God, had -been the supreme love of his life had taken her flight to a better -world. She died at Fontainebleau. “He made great mourning thereat,” -says Sire de Joinville, “that for two days no speech could be gotten of -him. After that he sent a chamber-man to fetch me. When I came before -him in his chamber, where he was alone, he stretched forth his arms, -and said to me, ‘O seneschal! I have lost my mother. My God, thou -knowest that I loved this mother better than all other creatures, but -thy will be done. Blessed be thy name!’” Philip le Bel (IV.) was born -at Fontainebleau. There are conflicting versions as to the place of -Philip’s death, but it is generally supposed to have taken place at -Fontainebleau, in the same room where he was born. There was a current -belief at the time, and it was preserved through many succeeding -generations, that his death was the result of a summons issued against -him by the grand master of the templars, Jacques de Molai. A hundred -and thirteen templars perished at the stake during Philip’s reign, and -these _autos-da-fe_ were crowned by that of the grand master, who was -burnt alive in the gardens of his own palace. As the flames rose round -his naked body, the templar lifted up his voice, and, in the hearing of -the vast multitude of spectators, solemnly summoned Philip “to meet him -at the judgment-seat in four months from that day.” The death of the -king precisely four months from the day of De Molai’s execution gave a -sanction to the credulity of the people, and the legend passed into -an historical occurrence. The fact of the summons is accepted; we can -have no difficulty in admitting its inevitable effect on the mind of -the individual against whom it was sent forth. There was a prevailing -belief that a dying man had the power to issue the formidable command, -and that obedience was compulsory. Philip, whose passion for gold -had led him to confiscate the treasures of the templars, and then to -calumniate and persecute them in order to justify his own spoliations, -was haunted by the words of De Molai. He grew sick, and his illness, -defying all the arts of medicine, soon brought him to the verge of -death. Feeling that his days were numbered, he begged to be taken to -Fontainebleau, that he might gaze once more upon the home of his happy -childhood. On arriving there, he sent for his children and his friends, -and took a sorrowful farewell of them. “They entered the chamber where -the king was,” says Godefroid de Paris, “and where there was very -little light. They asked him how he felt, and he answered: ‘Ill in body -and in soul. I have put on so many _tillages_ and laid hands on so much -riches that I shall never be absolved. Methinks I shall die to-night, -for I suffer grievous hurt from the curses which pursue me.’” And that -same night he died (1314). - -The sons of Philip frequented Fontainebleau very faithfully. So -did Charles V.; but a veil of mist hangs over the history of the -castle during the greater part of the XIVth century. We only find -it mentioned now and then as a meeting-place for the hunt of royal -sportsmen. Isabeau de Bavière honored it often with her presence, -and enlarged a portion of the building. But the romantic history of -Fontainebleau dates from Francis I. He was to it what Louis XIV. was -to Versailles. It is customary amongst the admirers of those two -brilliant representatives of French monarchy to set them side by side, -and compare their characters and achievements. And no doubt there are -points of resemblance between them, but it is difficult to pursue the -comparison much below the surface. Louis XIV., as a king, certainly -has the best of it, and, as a man, Francis seems to have had all the -vices without many of his successor’s redeeming virtues. Louis was -dissipated, but he put a limit to his dissipation: Francis knew none; -he exhausted the treasury by his wanton prodigality and the army by his -senseless ambition; he burnt La Provence, he broke his plighted word to -Charles V., and yet we hear him spoken of as the rival of Bayard, “sans -peur et sans reproche.”[103] - -History passes strange verdicts sometimes, but stranger still is the -blind credulity with which posterity endorses them, and clings to them -in spite of the light that by degrees pierces through the darkness, -showing up the idol or the monster, stripped of masks and drapery, and -exposed in its nakedness, or clothed with its own deeds, that make the -only garment it has a right to wear; we acknowledge that we have been -worshipping a false standard, or forswearing an honest one; but we go -on with a dogged tenacity worshipping and forswearing still, rather -than forsake an old love or renounce an old antipathy. There are few -personages in history who have usurped this kind of worship and held -it more successfully than Francis I. Fontainebleau is not, however, -the appropriate place for challenging his claims to the applause of -posterity; here he is on his vantage-ground; we see him at his best, -all his faults, if not obliterated, mellowed in the blaze of borrowed -glory that encircles him; here he is the graceful knight-errant, the -magnificent patron of art, and science, and learning, surrounded by -men of genius, whom he treats as equals and as friends; we forget his -profligate follies, his reckless waste of the kingdom’s money and the -kingdom’s blood, when we see him petting Leonardo da Vinci, doing the -behests and humoring the crotchets of the cantankerous old genius so -tenderly, and bearing his unreasonable jealousy and his reproaches like -a chidden child. It would go hard with us to be severe on so lovable -a scapegrace, even if he were not the King of France. Francis ought -never to come before us except in the midst of his beloved artists. -There he is perfect. To Leonardo his demeanor is especially touching. -When the proud old man, still in the zenith of his fame, but stung by -the coldness of Leo X. and frightened by the rising glory of Michael -Angelo’s sun, turned sulkily away from his native land, Francis -invited him to Fontainebleau, received him with open arms, and treated -him like a prince as he was of the true _right divine_ creation, -and laid himself out to console him and brighten the evening of his -days. The exile was querulous from ill-health, as well as soured by -disappointment and the ingratitude of the Medici; but Francis bore with -his temper and his lamentations with the sweetness of a woman; there -was no tender gracefulness that sympathy could devise to cheer the old -man’s spirit and heal his aching pride that the king had not recourse -to; he would have kept him at Fontainebleau, near his own person, but -Leonardo, who was so fond of solitude and meditation that he never -married, “because the clatter of a wife’s tongue would have disturbed -his thoughts,” could not bear the gay bustle of the court, and said he -must go somewhere to be quiet; so Francis gave him a splendid suite of -apartments in the Château de Clou at Amboise. He spent the remaining -four years of his life there, painting his celebrated Mona Lisa, the -most exquisitely finished perhaps of all his works, and in writing his -treatise _Della Pittura_, a book of great originality and learning, -written, like all Da Vinci’s books, after the manner of the Eastern -manuscripts, from right to left—a singularity which he adopted, it -is said, to foil the curiosity of those around him, and prevent his -brother artists from discovering his secrets. The king paid twelve -thousand livres for Mona Lisa—an unprecedented sum for a work of art -in those days. When Leonardo was thought to be near his end, Francis -had him conveyed to Fontainebleau that he might watch over him himself -and be with him at the close. - -On the morning of his death, when the king came into the room, the -dying man tried to raise himself on his couch to welcome him, but the -effort was too much; he sank forward, and would have fallen but for the -timely arms that rescued him. Francis laid the venerable old head upon -his breast, and there it lay till Leonardo breathed his last. - -The artist had been pursued for months before his death by a morbid -terror of being buried alive, and had implored Francis to let him be -kept three days before the coffin was closed. The king complied with -the wish, and caused his friend to be exposed with royal honors, and -the body laid in state for three days. He was buried in the Church of -S. Florentin, near his own abode at Amboise. - -Benvenuto Cellini is another shining stone in the pedestal of Francis -I. Discontented with the recognition that his genius met with at home, -he too was enticed from the blue skies of Florence to the colder but -more genial atmosphere of Fontainebleau, and was petted by the graceful -king only in a less degree than Da Vinci. But Benvenuto, who knew so -many things, who excelled almost equally as a poet, a sculptor, and -a painter, was lamentably ignorant in the art of being a courtier. -The Duchesse d’Estampes was queen of the gay palace of Armida, and -all the great men that frequented it bowed before her; but this bold -Florentine, who had a dash of the brigand in his composition, thought -he might dispense with her patronage, and refused to do homage at -the common shrine; he knew that he had had the bad luck to displease -the haughty fair one by his untutored manners from the first, and, -instead of trying to conciliate, he determined to conquer her. The -duchess was a liberal and enlightened patroness of art, and seems -to have merited in some degree by her personal accomplishments the -flattering title bestowed on her by one of her protégés of “the most -beautiful of _savantes_ and the most learned of belles.” Her sway over -Francis rested, therefore, on something stronger than the ephemeral -tenure of mere beauty; but, had it been otherwise, what chance was -there for Benvenuto against the favorite of the king? He, foolish -mortal, braved her so far as to ask the king direct, without having -recourse to her intervention, for an order to cast a bronze statue -for the great gallery which was in process of completion, and Francis -gave him the order, with carte-blanche for the execution. The statue -was finished, and a day appointed for the king to see it. This was a -precious opportunity for a woman’s vengeance; the duchess knew that -the triumph of the artist depended altogether on the first impression -produced on the king, and that the triumph of the work depended mainly -on the light in which it was seen: Cellini had named an hour when the -sun would pour in soft, full floods of light down the gallery; and, -long before the appointed time, he was there, watching every changing -shadow that it cast upon his statue, counting the minutes impatiently, -while his friends and all the court flocked in to assist at the king’s -entrance, and witness the triumph or the humiliation of the sculptor. -But the hour passed, and another, and another, and there was no sign of -Francis; the sun was gathering up its light, and speeding away to the -west, and the brown twilight was creeping into the gallery. Benvenuto -grew nervous, then outrageous. He paced up and down before his Jupiter -like a man gone mad. Where was the king? Would no one take pity on him -to go and call the king? But Benvenuto knew full well that none in that -courtly crowd would be guilty of so rash an act. Not even he himself -would dare to do it. He knew whose fault it was that the king was not -forthcoming, and he gnashed his teeth in savage but impotent rage. But -genius, like prophecy, has a ready handmaid in inspiration. “Let fall -the curtains, and bring lights,” cried the sculptor, with a sudden -bound from despair to triumph. The partisans of the “_belle savante_” -groaned, and stood still; the friends of Cellini flew to obey his -orders. It mattered not that they did not understand: the master did. -In less time than it takes to tell, the gallery was illuminated from -end to end; lamps, torches, waxlights, every luminary that hands could -carry, was put in requisition, till Jupiter shone out magnificent, -terrible, and dazzling in the blaze of an impromptu illumination more -weirdly effective than the brightest daylight could have been. - -Cellini’s spirit rose to frenzy. He ran hither and thither, arranging -the lights with a view to more striking effect; clustering many flames -in a group at one point, leaving another in partial shade; clapping his -hands in wild delight one minute, impatiently knocking down one of his -helpmates the next. It was finished. The king was heard approaching. -Cellini, with an imperious gesture, commanded silence; the doors of -the gallery were thrown open, and the colossal bronze god flashed out -in all his dark effulgence on the astonished and enchanted gaze of the -monarch. The triumph of the hour was complete; but it cost the sculptor -dear. The duchess gave Francis no peace till he quarrelled with her -enemy, and dismissed him from the court. - -Many Italian artists had followed Leonardo da Vinci to France, some out -of love for the great master himself, others tempted by the generosity -which the King of France showed universally to their class. The most -distinguished of these disciples of Leonardo was Andrea del Sarto. But -he was of too restless a disposition to settle anywhere permanently; -camp, court, and studio alike wearied him after a time; his wings -were too buoyant to remain long folded even in the enchanted clime of -Fontainebleau; he was not more than a year there, when he declared it -was a necessity of life for him to return to Florence, the ostensible -motive being to see his wife. Francis proposed to send for her, -promising that she should be made welcome to his court as an honored -guest; but Andrea said this would not do: he must go himself and fetch -her. All the king could obtain was a promise that he would return to -France in a year; and, to make the promise more binding, he entrusted -him with a considerable sum of money, to be expended, according to -Andrea’s taste and judgment, on objects of art for the decoration of -the palace. But when Andrea found himself once more in Florence, in -the company of his wife and his former boon companions, he forgot all -about his mission, and spent the king’s money in merry-making; he did -not dare show himself at Fontainebleau after this, but frittered away -the rest of his life in his native city, where he eventually died in -poverty and contempt. It would take too long to enumerate the various -European celebrities who fill up the brilliant picture presented by -Francis’ court at this period; but we cannot refuse a passing mention -to Serlio, the accomplished Bolognese architect, whom the king lured -away from Italy by his gold and his honeyed flattery. Serlio rebuilt -the palace almost entirely; his genius was allowed full scope, and the -result justified the confidence of his patron. - -The area of the old building being much too small for the magnificent -new plan, Francis bought in the Mathurin Convent and the noble grounds -with which Louis IX. had endowed it, and added them to the original -site. The design of the library had been sketched by S. Louis, and -this Serlio adhered to strictly, making no change of his own. When the -edifice was finished, Francis swept Italy and Spain for artists to -adorn and beautify it. Rosso came to paint the walls in fresco, and his -design for the grand gallery, which was to be called the Gallery of -Francis I., carried the prize over all his competitors; he embellished -it with paintings, friezes of great beauty, and rich stucco-work. -So delighted was the king with the result of Rosso’s labors that, -in addition to other favors, he created him a canon of the Sainte -Chapelle. This wonderful gallery had sixteen frescoes representing the -most remarkable incidents in the life of Francis; the famous _porte -dorée_[104] was decorated by the same gifted hand. It is lamentable to -think that these glorious works of art, which formed Rosso’s principal -claim on the admiration of the world, were sacrificed to the vindictive -jealousy of a rival. Francesco Pellegrini had been the early friend -of Rosso; but, when they met as fellow-laborers at Fontainebleau, the -friendship turned to a rivalry which soon developed into bitter enmity, -and ended in the tragic death of Rosso. Primaticcio, as Pellegrini -is usually called, was accused by his rival of having stolen a large -sum of money from him; he was put to the torture, but acquitted -triumphantly. Rosso was then seized with shame and remorse; haunted -in imagination by the shrieks of the innocent man, the friend of his -youth, whom he had given up to the torture, his mind gave way, and in a -fit of insanity he took poison, which killed him in a few hours. Some -say that Rosso knew that the accusation was false, and that he brought -it designedly against Primaticcio, hoping to get rid of him; but his -frantic grief on discovering his mistake, and the fatal consequences of -his remorse, may be taken as contradictory evidence of this opinion. -Primaticcio, moreover, by his subsequent conduct, vindicates his -unhappy rival from having done him so very great a wrong in suspecting -him capable of the theft, for he unblushingly stole from Rosso what was -incomparably more precious to him than gold—his fame. No sooner was he -master of the field, than he set about to destroy all traces of Rosso’s -beautiful compositions, pulling down the walls which they adorned, -under pretence of enlarging the space. Some few that were spared by the -relentless destroyer have been obliterated by damp and the effects of -time. There is one fine painting of his to be seen in the Louvre—“Mary -receiving the homage of S. Elizabeth.” - -The fêtes given at Fontainebleau by Francis I., though perhaps inferior -in splendor to those of Louis XIV. at Versailles, surpassed them -in picturesque elegance; they were rather the ideal festivities of -an artist than the gorgeous pageants of an Arabian caliph. But the -leisures of Francis were not all wasted in frivolous amusements. In -his sane moments, when he was not flying after that will-o’-the-wisp -that cost France and him so dear, the conquest of the Milanese, he was -something more than the mere fascinating madcap that his enemies make -him out; for it is his lot, like that of all charming but unprincipled -sovereigns, to inspire panegyrics and denunciations equally -exaggerated. He was not only a patron of those artists who contributed -to the adornment of his dwellings: Francis courted the society of -learned men for learning’s sake. The luxurious repasts of Fontainebleau -were enlivened and refined by the presence of such men as Clement -Marot, whose style, full of terseness and incisive grace, the king was -fond of emulating in verses of his own composition, not altogether -devoid of poetic merit. He delighted in the chivalrous lays of the -middle ages, and in the harmonious cadence and florid imagery of the -ballads of the troubadours. The witty Curé of Mendon was a frequent -guest at the royal table, Francis provoking his lively sallies, and -heartily enjoying them, though the sarcasm was often boldly pointed -at himself. Learned men of every class—doctors, bookworms, and even -printers—were admitted to the same honor. Erasmus was one of the -few who withstood the wiles of the charmer; he steadfastly refused -all invitations to reside permanently at Fontainebleau; but he kept -up a brisk correspondence with Francis, the honest freedom of whose -tone throughout does equal honor to the scholar and the king. The -French court was, in fact, the most polished and the gayest in Europe -at this period. The sprightly Queen of Navarre—that sister whom -Francis so tenderly loved, his “Marguerite des Marguerites”—was its -presiding genius and brightest ornament. She was passionately fond of -Fontainebleau, and made it her home during the greater part of her -first husband’s life, and after her marriage with Henri de Navarre, -who was so frequently absent, either in her brother’s service or -in the pursuit of war on his own account. Her image is everywhere -associated in our memory with that of Francis in his favorite palace. -In her boudoir, a spacious and magnificently decorated room, leading -out of Rosso’s noble gallery, the royal brother and sister passed -many delightful hours, either in affectionate converse together, or -surrounded by the artists and learned men whom they both loved to -honor. Here Francis placed the library of rare books and manuscripts -for which he had scoured Italy, Spain, and Greece. The erudite Erasmus -would sometimes deliver one of his learned discourses on deep and -elevating themes in the privacy of this enchanting retreat, while -Marguerite de Navarre worked out, in rainbow-tinted silks and golden -threads, the poem of one of her artist friends, or some chivalrous -exploit of her idolized Francis. Happy had it been for Francis and for -France had he dwelt content amidst the peaceful and refined delights -of this Eldorado. But there was the Milanese—that unlucky Milanese, -the bane of his life, and of his people’s while his lasted. Again -and again he flew at it like a moth at the flame, or a madman at his -_idée fixe_—failure and humiliation, instead of disgusting him with -his hobby, only goaded him to its pursuit with greater zest. And what -odd, shifting relations grew out of this standing duel between him and -Charles V.! Alternately, they were rivals, friends, deadly foes, and -“dear brothers.” Beside the gloomy, vindictive Spanish warrior, subtle -in his policy, swift and ruthless in his vengeance, the brilliant -figure of Francis shone at its best; he had all the qualities that his -rival lacked; his uncalculating generosity, his rash impulses that -led him into so many grievous straits, all stand out in bright relief -against the dark background of the contest. The story of the broken -Treaty of Madrid is one of the many vexed questions over which the -apologists of both princes have broken innumerable lances, but they -leave it pretty much where it stood in the year of grace 1527, after -the Notables decided that the conditions of the treaty were monstrous, -and had been unjustifiably imposed by a jailer on his prisoner, and -that Francis was right in maintaining _que prisonnier gardé n’est tenu -a nulle foye, n’y se peut obliger à rien_.[105] - -Charles had no right to exact the abdication of his conquered foe, -and the latter had no power to effect it without the consent of his -Notables, which he knew full well would never be granted. Still, the -solemn oath sworn on the crucifix by Francis in presence of the emperor -is not to be disposed of so easily. It would have been more consistent -with the character for Bayard-like chivalry, which the French prince -arrogated, to have withheld the pledge which he knew he could not -redeem, than to purchase his liberty by a subterfuge that has left -an equivocal mark upon his memory. He was only a lifetenant of the -crown of France; he might resign it, but he had no power to alienate -its most insignificant fief; in swearing, therefore, to hand over the -duchy of Burgundy and the counties of Flanders and Artois to Charles -V., he was performing a vain sham; for, had he been willing to carry -out the promise of renunciation himself, he was well aware that the -states-general and the parliament of the realm would never ratify the -act, and that without their ratification it remained null and void. The -strong epithets used by Charles in denouncing the disloyalty of his -quondam captive in violating this preposterous treaty are, however, -somewhat misplaced, considering the duplicity and cruelty which he -himself had displayed in extracting impossible concessions from a brave -and conquered foe. - -It was not long before Francis had an opportunity of vindicating his -much-prized character for chivalrous magnanimity by heaping coals of -fire on the head of Charles. The emperor was on his way to Ghent, and -applied to the king for a safe-conduct through his dominions. It was -granted at once, but on condition that the emperor should remain for a -few days the guest of Francis. Charles was in such a hurry to castigate -the rebels that he would have promised more than this in order to -arrive swiftly on the scene of vengeance; he consented to halt at -Fontainebleau; but no sooner had he set foot on the soil of his “good -brother of France,” than he was seized with tremors and suspicions -that made his life miserable; he accused himself of madness in having -so rashly rushed into the arms of a prince whom he had persecuted -meanly when he was in his power, and whose state he had grievously -injured; nor did the magnificence of the reception which greeted him -on his arrival calm his fears. Francis, who was utterly incapable of a -base breach of hospitality, could not forego the pleasure of playing -a little on the agonies of Charles; he occasionally repeated to him -the murmurings of the Queen of Navarre and the Dauphin, who would fain -have improved the rare opportunity by compelling their guest to undo -some of the mischief he had done their brother and father. Francis even -recounted to the emperor with great merriment an epigrammatic little -passage between himself and his favorite dwarf, Triboulet: while the -latter was diverting the king with his usual antics on the night of -the Spaniard’s arrival, he suddenly pulled out his tablets, and began -to write with an air of great gravity. “What are you writing there, -Triboulet?” inquired his master. “The name of a bigger fool than -myself,” replied the dwarf. “Who is that?” said Francis. “Charles,” -replied Triboulet. “But suppose I keep my word, and let him go?” -queried the king. “Then,” answered Triboulet, “I would rub out Charles, -and write Francis instead.” - -The question of the Milanese was discussed between the two sovereigns -during this period with great earnestness on one side and consummate -skill on the other. Charles promised solemnly to bestow the investiture -on the Dauphin; but, when Francis urged him to confirm his pledge by a -written guarantee, he cunningly retaliated his host’s answer concerning -the Treaty of Madrid: “_Prisonnier gardé n’est tenu à nulle foye, -n’y se peut obliger à rien._” He declared, however, that on reaching -Flanders he would give the promise in writing. We know how he kept his -word. - -TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER. - - - - -BRITTANY: ITS PEOPLE AND ITS POEMS.[106] - -THIRD ARTICLE. - -IN a former notice, we expressed an intention to present our readers -with the translation of certain curious fragments relating to Merlin; -to be followed by some of the historical poems which succeeded the -Druidic compositions of earlier times. We proceed to fulfil our promise. - -The name of Merlin (Myrrdhin, or Marzin) is so closely associated with -the early mystic and mythological poetry of Cambria and Armorica that -it will be desirable to give some account of this personage, as far as -the uncertainty of his history renders it possible to do so, before -reproducing any of the poems of which he is the subject. - -It has long been supposed that there existed two Merlins, one of whom, -a magician, was the offspring of a Christian virgin and a Roman consul -who lived in the Vth century, in the reign of Ambrose Aurelian; or, -according to the popular tradition, whose father was no mortal, but a -malignant _Duz_, whom, under the form of a bird, she unwittingly let in -at her window: and the other, a warrior and bard, who after the battle -of Arderiz, in which he had unintentionally killed his nephew, lost his -reason, and retired from the world. - -But critics of the present day agree in considering that it is one -person who is the subject of a triple tradition, and that it is the -same Merlin who appears in the light of a mythological, historical, and -legendary hero. - -The fragments which still remain in Wales of the poems of this bard -are either very much modernized or almost wholly transformed. Of the -ballads relating to him which exist in Brittany, there seem to be four -principal ones. First, a cradle-song, intensely pagan in spirit, in -which his mother plaintively relates to him his mysterious origin while -rocking him to sleep, and when, to her amazement, the infant derides -her regrets, and defends his father, declaring himself to be born to -be the good genius of the Breton nation. This poem it is needless to -reproduce. We give translations of the remaining three, beginning with - -MERLIN THE WIZARD. - -(MARZIN DIVINOUR.) - -VTH CENTURY. - - “Merlin, sage Merlin, say, whither away, - With your Black Dog, at the dawn of the day?” - “Seeking am I, in each wave-hollowed cleft, - Egg red as blood, by the sea-adder left. - - “Cress I would seek in the meadowland low, - Magical gold-herb, and weird mistletoe; - Deep in the forest to find must I go, - Where by the fay-haunted fount it doth grow.” - - “Merlin, sage Merlin, your steps, ah, retrace! - Mistletoe leave, the old oak-tree to grace; - Leave the green cress and the gold-herb to grow, - Hid in the well-watered meadowland low. - - “Leave the red egg of the snake of the sea - Mid the wild foam of the breakers to be. - Merlin! turn back from the path you have trod, - One and the only Diviner is God!” - -The latter half of the poem appears to be the voice of S. Kado, the -Christian bishop to whom tradition attributes the conversion of Merlin. - -The gold-herb figures as one of the most approved charms of Druidic -days. It is said to sparkle at a distance like gold—whence its -name—and is greatly esteemed by the Bretons for its medicinal -qualities. It must be gathered at dawn, by a person who is in a state -of grace, fasting, barefoot, and clad in white linen which has not -been previously worn. A circle is traced round it, and no steel must -approach it, but it must be carefully plucked by the hand. Should any -one chance to tread upon the plant, he sleeps forthwith, and can hear -and understand the language of animals and birds. - -In the next poem, Merlin no longer appears as a magician. He is himself -overcome by a sorceress, who, after depriving him of his harp and his -gold ring, the symbols of his dignity as bard, takes advantage of a -particular taste he seems to have had for apples (if we may judge -by the praises lavished upon that fruit in poems of his composition -still extant in Wales[107]) to ensnare him, and to make even his will -powerless by their means. - -The tradition of his disappearance is common to Wales and Brittany. -“The tomb of Merlin is known to none,” says the bard Myvyrian, who -lived before the Xth century. And in the Welsh Triads[108] it is -written that “he embarked with nine other bards, and whither he went -cannot be known.” He himself says that he fled from the court to dwell -in the woods.[109] - -The king mentioned in the ballad appears to be Budik, chief of the -Bretons of Armorica, a British prince who emigrated from Cornwall, and -who was a valiant defender of the independence of Brittany against the -Franks. He was assassinated by order of Clovis, who had been unable to -overcome him in battle, about the year 506. He married his daughter -Alienor to a prince whose name is unknown, and gave her Léon for dowry. - -MERLIN THE BARD. - -(MARZIN BARZ.) - -I. - - “Good grandmother, pray list to me: - Fain would I go the feast to see— - The feast commanded by the king, - And join the races in the ring.” - - “To see the feast you will not go, - To this, nor other one I trow; - Go you shall not to see the sight: - I see that you have wept this night. - Go you will not while I can let, - If dreamings fond your cheeks make wet.” - - “Sweet little mother, love you me? - Can _you_ forbid me there to be?” - “In flying thither, you will sing: - Returning, you will droop the wing.” - -II. - - Bridled has he his chestnut colt, - His chestnut colt so red: - Its hoofs, well shod with glittering steel, - Strike fire at every tread. - - Gleams on its neck a ring, and on - Its tail a ribbon gay; - Fair trappings o’er its back he throws, - Then mounts and speeds away. - - E’en as he gains the glittering course, - The horns all loudly sound; - While, in the ever-thickening crowd, - The eager horses bound. - - “Who the great barrier of the field - Shall leap at one clear spring, - Perfect and free, the same shall wed - The daughter of the king!” - - Wildly thereat the young colt neighs, - Prances, and bounds amain; - His gleaming eyes flash eager fire, - He paws the ground with keen desire, - Then flies across the plain. - - Far, far behind, the others all - Were long ago pass’d by: - He flies alone. With one great bound, - He clears the barrier high. - - “My lord the king, your royal word - Is pledged that so it be: - The fair Linor I therefore crave, - For surely mine is she.” - - “The princess Linor think not thou - In any wise to win. - No sorcerer my daughter weds, - Nor any of his kin.” - - An aged man, whose snowy beard - Upon his breast flowed down, - White as the wool by furze-brake torn - Upon the moorland brown— - - An aged man, with robe of wool, - Bordered by silver band - Throughout its length, sat by the king, - Upon the king’s right hand. - - Unto the royal ear he bent— - He bent, and whispered low; - Then did the king his sceptre raise, - And struck a sounding blow— - - A blow upon the table thrice, - That all the field might hear: - It hushed the crowd to silence, while, - With voice both loud and clear, - - Thus spake the king: “So bring thou me - The harp of Merlin old, - Which by four chains hangs by his bed— - Four chains of finest gold: - If Merlin’s harp thou bring to me, - My child, perchance, shall marry thee.” - -III. - - “Good grandmother, I pray give heed, - And counsel me in this my need: - My heart is broken!” “Oh, indeed! - Hadst thou not set at naught my rede, - Thy hap had met with better speed. - Poor grandson mine! Yet weep not so: - The harp shall be unbound, I trow. - A golden hammer here behold, - No sound rings from its stroke of gold.” - -IV. - - “Now fair befall this palace high, - And joy to all therein! - Behold, with Merlin’s harp I come, - Which scarce I hoped to win.” - - When the king’s son these tidings heard, - Low to his sire spake he: - And thereupon thus said the king, - To that bold youth and free: - - “If thou from Merlin’s own right hand - Safe unto me shalt bring - The ring he wears, Linor is thine - When I receive the ring.” - -V. - - He went his way, and, weeping, sought - His grandame, with new care distraught: - “Behold, the king his word hath spoken! - Behold, the king his word hath broken!” - - “Nay, fret thee not: there is small need; - Only, to that I bid, give heed: - My little coffer open thou, - And take thereout a slender bough, - Whereon twelve glittering leaflets grow: - Like fiery gold they gleam and glow. - ‘Tis now full seven years agone - Since seven woods I searched, alone, - On seven nights, at darkest hour, - Ere I could win that plant of power. - When you the midnight cock-crow hear, - Your red horse waits: speed forth, nor fear: - In slumber deep will Merlin be; - So fear thee not: good speed to thee!” - - When loud the cock at midnight crowed, - The red steed bounded on the road; - And ere his notes he ceased to sing, - The youth had borne away the ring. - -VI. - - Ere dawn had brightened into day, - He stood the king beside, - Whereat the king in wonder gazed, - Silent and stupefied. - - And all with him: “His wife, behold, - He verily has won!” - The king retires a moment, with - The old man and his son. - - Anon the king returns, and still - The two are at his side: - And thus he spake; “‘Tis true, my son, - That thou hast gained thy bride; - - “Yet is there one adventure more - Which thou must undertake; - When that is sped, my son-in-law - Forthwith I thee will make. - - “The princess Linor shall be thine, - And all the country fair - Of Léon I bestow for dower; - This, by my race, I swear. - - “Do but the thing which I demand, - (And this the last shall be:) - To celebrate the marriage, bring - Bard Merlin unto me.” - -VII. - - “O Merlin, Bard, alone, forlorn, - With all thy garments soiled and torn: - O Merlin, Bard, whence comest thou, - With weary step, with clouded brow, - Bareheaded and barefooted? Say; - And whither wouldst thou wend thy way? - Thy holly staff can barely stay - Thy bending form, thou Druid gray.” - - “Alas! To seek my harp I go: - Best solace that my heart can know - In this world. I am wandering - To seek my harp, to seek my ring: - Both have I lost: no more I sing, - But wearily am wandering.” - - “Nay, then, O Merlin, grieve not so; - Yet shalt thou find thy harp, I trow: - Thy harp and eke thy golden ring; - So cease awhile thy wandering. - Enter, O Bard, and rest thee here, - And taste a morsel of my cheer.” - - “Nay, pray me not: I will not stay, - Nor pause upon my weary way; - I will not cease my painful quest, - I will not eat, I will not rest, - Until I seek no more in vain: - Until my harp I find again.” - - “Hear me, O Merlin, and obey: - In sooth, thou wilt not long delay - Thy harp to find. Come in, I pray, - A little space, nor say me nay.” - - She so besought, so urged him, till - Her wily wit had worked her will. - - With night approaching, home there came - The grandson of that ancient dame; - And when he drew the hearth anear, - Back started he with sudden fear; - For there Bard Merlin sat at rest, - His head low bowed upon his breast: - Yes, there forsooth sate Merlin gray; - And he?—how should he flee away? - - “Hush, grandson mine! fear naught; in deeps - Of slumber most profound he sleeps. - Eaten has he red apples three, - On the hot ashes cooked by me. - Whither we list we now may fare, - And he will follow everywhere.” - -VIII. - - In early morning, ere the queen - Had risen from her bed, - Her waiting-lady to her side - She called, to whom she said: - - “What in the city has befall’n? - And what the noise, I pray, - That shakes the columns of my bed, - Ere yet ‘tis dawn of day? - - “And what has happened in the court? - And wherefore do the crowd - With eager tumult thus press on - With joyous shouts and loud?” - - “It is that all the town is glad, - And keeping holiday, - Because unto this palace high - Bard Merlin comes to-day; - - “And by his side an aged dame - In robe of white wool fair: - The royal son-in-law, behind, - Follows the ancient pair.” - - This heard the king, and ran to see: - “Haste thee, good crier arise! - Rise from thy bed: make speed: proclaim - The feast in gallant wise. - - “Make proclamation through the land, - And summon great and small - Alike, to keep the marriage feast, - And make high festival. - - “Come all who will, come high and low: - The daughter of the king - Affianced eight days hence will be - With the betrothal ring. - - “Bid to the nuptials nobles, lords - Of ancient Brittany, - Dukes, marquises, and judges grave, - And all of high degree. - - “Bid churchmen, warriors, and knights; - But summon first of all - The great crown-vassals of the land: - The rich, the poorest, call. - - “Run, messenger, the country through, - With diligence and speed; - To hasten quickly thy return - See that thou give good heed.” - -IX. - - “Good people all two ears who own, - Wide open let them be, - And silence keep—keep silence all, - And hearken unto me. - - “Hearken to that which is ordained: - The daughter of the king - In eight days hence betroth’d will be, - And wear the ‘spousal ring. - - “Come to the nuptials all who list, - Rich, poor, or great, or small; - Churchmen and judges, counts and knights, - The king inviteth all. - - “Nothing to you shall lacking be, - Nor silver bright, nor gold, - Nor meat, nor bread, nor hydromel, - Nor wine, for young and old, - - “Nor seats for you to sit upon, - Nor valets quick to wait. - Two hundred bulls, two hundred swine, - Will be served up in state. - - “Two hundred heifers, and of roes - One hundred from each wood - Throughout the country, oxen white - And black, two hundred, good; - - “Whereof the hides shall equally - Be shared among the guests; - And there will be a hundred robes - Of white wool for the priests. - - “A hundred chains of burnished gold - For warriors brave and true; - And for young girls a roomful gay - Of festal mantles blue. - - “Eight hundred nether garments good - For folk of poor estate, - And seemly gifts for every guest - Or be he small or great. - - “A hundred skilled musicians there, - Each seated in his place, - Music will make, by day and night, - The festival to grace. - - “And in the midst of all the court, - With fitting pomp and state, - Merlin the Bard that marriage high - Will duly celebrate. - - “In short, the feast will all surpass - That e’er have been before; - Nor will there be in time to come - Its equal evermore.” - -X. - - “Chief of the royal kitchens, say, - The marriage, is it done?” - “Finished, and paid for; and the guests - Departed every one. - - “For fifteen days the feast was kept - With gaiety and glee, - Then, laden with rich gifts, the guests - To go their ways were free, - - “All with protection from the king; - And thus, with joyful heart, - To Léon with his royal bride - Did the king’s son depart. - - “All are gone hence, well satisfied; - Not so the king alone: - Merlin the Bard is lost again, - And whither is he gone?” - -It is believed that Merlin was assassinated, but popular tradition has -not suffered the mysterious bard to die. - -The story of the conversion of Merlin in his old age comes down to us -from very early times, and has been sung by the Christian bards of -Wales, Armorica, and the Gaelic clans. The following ballad, as well -the foregoing fragments relating to Merlin, is still sung in Treguier, -and other parts of Brittany. - -CONVERSION OF MERLIN. - - S. Kado walked the forest maze, - Through many a darkling dell: - S. Kado walked thro’ the forest green - Ringing his clear-toned bell; - - When out from the shade of the ancient trees - A phantom bounding sprang; - But still S. Kado went his way, - And still his clear bell rang. - - The phantom’s beard was like lichen gray - Spread o’er an ancient stone, - And its restless eyes, like boiling water, - Glitter and danced and shone. - ‘Twas Merlin the Bard that Kado met, - That S. Kado met this day, - With fiery eyes that wildly glared, - And beard so long and gray. - - “In Heaven’s name, I bid thee, phantom, - Tell me who art thou?” - “A bard was I when in the world, - To whom did all men bow. - If I into the palace came, - A joyous crowd pressed round, - And gleaming gold fell from the trees - When my harp began to sound. - - “My country’s kings all loved me well; - And strange kings held in fear - The mighty bard with harp of gold, - To Brittany so dear. - Now in the woods I dwell alone: - Men honor me no more. - Grinding their teeth, there pass me by - The wolf and fierce wild boar. - - “My harp is lost; the trees are felled - From whence dropped glittering gold; - The kings of Brittany are not; - The land to strangers sold. - ‘Merlin the fool!’ now shout the folk, - And pelt, with scoffings bold.” - - “Poor innocent, return to God, - Who pity has on thee, - And rest thy weariness on him - Who died on Calvary.” - - “Ah, then in him I will confide, - Will he but pardon me.” - “Pardon from him do I pronounce: - The Blessed One in Three.” - - “A cry of joy my heart sends forth, - To honor heaven’s high King; - And through eternal ages I - His praise will ever sing.” - - “Go, Christian soul, and may his angels - O’er thee spread their wing.” - - - - -“FOR BETTER—FOR WORSE.” - -THE mother of a family of three children sits musing while she mends -their clothing which lies heaped upon a table beside her. The pile -has lowered slowly under her patient and busy fingers during the long -afternoon. The slanting sun now shines across her bowed head while she -still continues her work. It touches up the homely furniture of the -room with a glow richer than the gilding of art, and lends to the place -a cheerful aspect which does not accord with the mood of its occupant. -She is a woman of about twenty-four years, with considerable claim to -beauty in her regular features and dark, intelligent eyes. But there is -a look of discontent on her face, and a querulousness in her voice, as -she occasionally reproves the noisy children playing about her. Yet the -eyes wear a patient look, in spite of the discontent expressed, and a -sort of hushed resolve seems stamped upon her features, as if, whatever -is the trouble with which she battles, no acknowledged recognition of -it shall find vent. Nature, however, has her way, and that which the -voice refuses to utter the eye often betrays, and there will be found -lines written upon the human face which those who study physiognomy may -translate. It is the chirography of the soul. She writes upon the face -as upon a tablet, often also extending the characters to the whole of -the frail temple she occupies, leaving her traces in motions of the -hands, carriage of the head, the very posture of the body, and in the -gait, so that all are eloquent of her subtle influence. How often a -pure pious soul, dwelling on heavenly things, recoiling from grossness, -and courting all that is divine, praying fervently always not to be -led into temptation, but delivered from evil, glorifies a plain face -into a seraphic beauty which makes the beholder wonder whence comes -this loveliness! We see plain features. We wonder that this face should -please as much as it does, forgetting the soul’s high mission. We see -not the lamp behind the screen of flesh: we only see the effect of -the rays. Again, we see faces where nature has done much to beautify, -and where a soul not delivered from evil has written such ugly marks -that the fair tablet is disfigured with blots and stains of sinful ink -flowing from the pen held in the grasp of passion. - -Whence comes the writing on the face of this mother sitting in the -golden sunshine, doing the work which mothers are usually content to -perform? She is striving as best she may with a lot in life distasteful -to her, but from which she sees no means of escaping, and, indeed, -as yet does not dream of trying to escape. This lot is that of being -married to a man of coarser nature than her own, who seldom sympathizes -with her in anything at all above the most grovelling interests. -Why she married him seems to her now an ever-unsolved puzzle, a -never-ceasing source of regret. If she had read the lines, she might -conclude with the poet that it was “accident—blind contact and the -strong necessity of loving.” Not being acquainted with that answer -to her riddle, she blames fate and her own inexperienced youth, and -the need of a home and protection at a time when her own heart had -not yet asserted its rights. Now, she knows she does not love her -husband, and she thinks she hates him at times. Not that he is cruel, -not that he is unfaithful—he is neither of these; but he is narrow, -jealous, exacting, unintellectual, and coarse; while she is aspiring, -even poetic, in her nature. Fond of the beautiful, seeking it in every -way, cultivating her intellect as best she can against the odds of a -deficient education, limited means and time, and overtaxed strength of -body, she longs for a better position in life. Care has fretted, if -not furrowed, her fair white forehead already; yet still she reaches -out and clings to every refining influence. All books that have -fallen in her way she has read, stealing the time from toiling hours -already filled to overflowing with household work. On this particular -afternoon, there lies among the stockings she is mending a poem of -Whittier’s, which has taken such a hold upon her fancy and morbid -feeling that the discontent deepens and the hunger of her starving -heart gnaws more sharply than usual. This poem, _Maud Muller_, read so -gaily by the happy many, with pleasure at its pretty conceits, allies -itself so to this woman’s experience that it finds an echo she cannot -silence, in the lines— - - “She wedded a man unlearned and poor, - And many children played round her door; - But care and sorrow and childbirth pain - Left their traces on heart and brain.” - -Although she has never had any other lover, or even a passing fancy for -any other man, save some vague ideal of some one different from her -husband John Thorndyke, as she reads: - - “And for him who sat by the chimney lug, - Dozing and grumbling o’er pipe and mug, - A manly form by her side she saw, - And joy was duty, and love was law,” - -she seems to herself the heroine of the poem, and John Thorndyke the -very unpleasant companion portrayed. And yet no thought of escaping -from what she considers her “shackles” obtrudes upon her musings. -She is a severe Puritan in her education and faith, and thus far has -escaped the base free-thinking and “free-love” tendencies of the day. -Marriage, disagreeable as it has proved to her, seems still, if not -a sacrament, a binding, honorable state, to be borne with according -to her promise, “for better or for worse.” She has been married by -an Episcopal clergyman, because it had been most convenient, and her -husband had preferred that form; and thus her spoken promise has always -seemed to her yet more definite. “For better for worse, for richer for -poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till -death us do part.” That sounds always to her like a doom. Joy is not -duty, and love is not law, in her case; but she patiently takes “up her -burden of life again, saying only, ‘It might have been.’” - -But in her lonely heart, she has one pure God-given instinct to glorify -her otherwise gloomy religion, and ennoble her dull, hard lot. This -is charity in its loveliest form—a disposition for nursing the sick -and attending to the needy—a positive vocation for the work, which -she does from enthusiasm, not from cold duty. Ever her willing hands -minister to the suffering, and often is she called to watch through -lonely nights at their bedsides. In this way, her acquaintance has -extended far beyond her husband’s sphere of life. Often in the houses -of her neighbors, both rich and poor, are her skill and kindness called -into requisition. Tact and cleverness, and, above all, a willingness -to help in time of need, soon make a woman appreciated and respected -among those by whom she is surrounded, and so it happens that her own -life presents itself to her in sharper contrast with the lives of other -women. - -That unsatisfied hunger at her heart gnaws more and more, and her -husband grows to her more and more repulsive; but while he repels her -thus, and every tendril of her nature reaches out vainly for supporting -strength, she fails not in any duty as wife and mother. While her heart -calls vainly, her conscience is answered and obeyed in every exaction. -Courting no admiration from others, even where willing tribute is paid -to her beauty and refinement; dressing in Quaker-like simplicity, not -only in accordance with her limited means, but her own severe taste; -leading a quiet, industrious life, Agnes Thorndyke is irreproachable, -and esteemed by all who know her. The serpent coiled down in the -shadows of her soul is waiting to rear its head—waiting for an evil -hand, an evil breath, to warm it into strength, that its venom may -poison this pure life. - -That evil hand, that evil breath, are coming, as they are always sure -to come— - - “When such thoughts do not come of themselves - To the heart of a woman neglected, like elves - That seek lonely places—there rarely is wanting - Some voice at her side, with an evil enchanting - To conjure them to her.” - -“Deliver us from evil.” How well our Lord knew the need of that -petition for us! How wise the church to require its frequent use! It -is the cry of the direst human need, in its last extremity, to its -last refuge. How will the evil come to Agnes Thorndyke? and how will -she be led into temptation? The gate is opened apparently by her very -virtues. While she sits brooding over the thoughts which Whittier’s -pretty poem has suggested, her attention is aroused by a loud cry, and -noise of clattering hoofs and wheels. Running to the window, she sees -a crowd around a gentleman who lies bruised and senseless before her -door, while a horse and shattered carriage are fast disappearing down -the street. Standing on her porch, elevated above the heads of the -little crowd, she perceives that the stranger is not killed, but that -he must be cared for instantly. She calls to the men to bear him within -her open door, that she may assist to dress his wounds, while a surgeon -is summoned. This she does so deftly and so gently that the sufferer -thanks her warmly, and the surgeon compliments her on her skill. - -The man is not very dangerously hurt, but the doctor advises that he be -kept very quiet for a time. At this the stranger looks perplexed, and, -casting first a searching glance about the room and over the person of -Mrs. Thorndyke, he says: - -“If I could be allowed to remain here for any remuneration which this -lady would consent to receive, I would pay it willingly, and also -consider it a great favor. I am a stranger in the place. I had finished -the business for which I came, and I was hurrying to the railway -station, when this unlucky accident befell me, and threw me upon your -kindness.” - -He looks now at Mrs. Thorndyke. She does not speak immediately, but -seems to be considering the expediency of yielding to his request. Her -quick sympathy shows her at once that it will be best for him not to be -disturbed. - -“If you cannot consent, Mrs. Thorndyke,” says the doctor, “he had -better be removed to the hotel above here.” - -“Pray, no!” interposes the patient. “I came from there, and glad enough -I was to leave it. It is a noisy, dirty, wretched place. Can’t you -think of some better refuge than that?—if I may not stay here.” - -There is peevishness in his tones while speaking to the doctor which -soften to a gentle pleading as he turns at the last words again to his -hostess. It is not lost upon her. She is touched by his evident desire -to stay, and equally evident need of quiet and rest. - -“If my husband does not object when he returns,” she says, “I will -undertake to be your nurse; but I am afraid our plain house and ways -will hardly satisfy you when you are stronger.” - -“Oh! thanks—a thousand thanks,” he replies; “no danger of any -fastidiousness of mine standing in the way of my gratitude and content.” - -And so it is arranged; for the pecuniary help which the stranger offers -is not unwelcome to John Thorndyke in the growing needs of his family. - -This stranger, Martin Vanderlyn, is a handsome man of thirty-five -years, with the kind of beauty and manner which takes captive the -fancy of many women, yet which is really satanic; hard and cruel gray -eyes, but capable of a soft, imploring expression; dark hair; pale, -clear skin; and tall, well-knit figure; a voice agreeable in most of -its cadences, but with a treacherous note occasionally grating on the -ear, though corrected quickly, as if he himself had felt it; inherent -strength, but not purity of purpose; persistent patience in executing -his own selfish and sensual will; apparent gentleness, and refinement, -and culture, made subservient to his own desires; poetry, and flattery, -and irreligion, and sophistry always on his lips and in his eyes—such -is the patient which it becomes Agnes Thorndyke’s loving task to nurse -day after day. In this dangerous companionship, this hungry heart finds -solace. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” should -be her constant prayer now. How can she help seeing his admiring eyes -follow her, and look into her own? How can she prevent the dangerous -familiarity sanctioned by their relative positions of nurse and -patient? Well he knows how to increase the ever-ready sympathy for his -sufferings. Soon and easily he reads the disappointment in her life, -and detects the cause. Is there no scruple of conscience, no emotion -of gratitude, to stay him in his bad designs, framed and nursed on -his sick-bed during the very time she so tenderly cares for him? Not -one. Day by day he weaves the net and casts the toils about her so -surely that her whole manner towards her husband has changed to a -querulousness and impatience which speedily provoke a response of the -same nature; and discord and hatred sit in the place where once reigned -duty and peace. - -John Thorndyke, although of a heavy, is also of a spiteful and jealous, -temperament. He has been, in his dull way, proud of his wife, and -selfishly pleased at the comfort she has brought him. It has not -occurred to him to try to brighten her life. Indeed, he has not known -that her life needed any cheer. He thinks that she is his, and all her -duty is to him, and so long as he knows himself faithful to her, and -gives her all the pecuniary support he can command as a mechanic, it -does not occur to him that he fails in any respect. He has never even -questioned himself on that point. No misgivings apparently disturb his -sluggish conscience. In this, he differs widely from his wife. She has -sharply questioned her conscience, being perhaps dimly aware of the -weak spot in the citadel, of the serpent coiled in the shadow. But as -she has never before given the slightest cause for his jealousy, she -has not been even suspicious of how terrible a sway it can have over -him. Even now she does not read the signs aright, being blinded by her -own new infatuation. - -In the meantime, Martin Vanderlyn is convalescent, and making himself -more and more interesting to her. He addresses her always with so much -respect and courtesy that it is a continual flattery to her; for this -woman has her vanity under all her severe simplicity of garb and mien, -and to be recognized as being superior to her position in life is the -strongest—or _weakest_—desire of her heart. To so regard her is to -flatter her more surely and insidiously than to praise her beauty or -her grace. - -Sitting one day over her sewing, she is suddenly surprised by the -remark from Vanderlyn, who has been silently studying her: “Mrs. -Thorndyke, you are not happy.” - -She looks up with a sort of frightened expression, as if detected in -some crime. After a moment of deprecating, silent supplication in her -eyes, she responds with the commonplace question, quite at variance -with her look and manner: - -“Why do you think so?” - -“Because,” he says, “I am a physiognomist, and I have been studying -your face until I can read it as I would a book; and a more eloquent -book could not be found.” - -The last words are spoken in a softened voice which makes her blush and -keep her eyes steadily averted. She has not been used to compliments -before his advent, and cannot toss them off or return them lightly. -She feels guilty now at liking this so well. Looking steadily at her -meanwhile, and pleased at her embarrassment, he says, “I have read in -this book that your life is not a happy one, and I am not surprised -at reading it. Perhaps my own past experience has made me quicker at -translating the language of your book; for, Mrs. Thorndyke, I have not -been happy myself, and I think your discontent springs from a similar -source.” - -Again that deprecating look, as if battling with her conscience, which -whispers to her that the cause of her trouble should not be avowed or -even tacitly admitted. Complaint against her husband should not be -made to Martin Vanderlyn, above all. There is already too dangerous a -sympathy between them. A subtle intuition tells her that she is being -led into temptation, and that she ought to end this now and for ever. -Yet she does not do so. The serpent in the shadow has even now warmed -and stirred. Curiosity, also, concerning Mr. Vanderlyn’s former history -leads her to encourage him to proceed; so she says, “I am sorry to hear -that your life has not been, a happy one. I had thought of your leaving -us to go to brighter scenes and kinder friends.” - -She has pondered over the absence of any communication with friends -or relatives during his illness, and so this last remark is not quite -truthful. She has often wondered if he has ever had wife or lady-love. -He answers all this by his reply to her last words: - -“I am glad that I cannot return to the unhappy time I speak of. That is -closed for ever. It was when I had a wife, Mrs. Thorndyke; I have none -now.” - -“She is dead, then,” says Agnes, looking up, and speaking in a low -voice which she instinctively feels should not seem sympathetic with -a grief he evidently disavows, for it is rather a relief which he -confesses. - -“I know not,” he says, with a careless tone; “she may be, for aught I -know or care. She is dead to me, and I know I feel quite dead to her. -We are divorced, and I am a free man again. To that unhappy time of -my life I cannot return. The chains are broken. It was a woeful time. -I can imagine no surer blight on a human being’s happiness than an -unsuitable marriage. I know how it poisons a life, because mine, for a -time, was so poisoned. I think if there is any hell, my marriage was -arranged there by the prince himself, who is particularly interested -in the marriage question. I think divorces are made in heaven, not -matches, for my relief on getting my divorce was heavenly. The -sacrament of divorce for me! The feeling it gave me was that which old -John Bunyan ascribes to Christian when the pack of sins fell off his -back.” - -He speaks with an audacity which frightens her Puritan prejudices, -while it lures her feminine admiration for his courage in daring to -speak out and assert himself. There is some romance here also, and a -subtle flattery in being made his confidante. For to her more delicate -sense, this, which he would brazenly declare to any one who might -listen, seems a sacred confidence. Her face looks her sympathy. The -answering chord is struck, and he sees it. The serpent has stirred to -the evil breath. - -“Do you not think, Mrs. Thorndyke, that we have the inborn right to -seek our own happiness? Has not nature implanted that feeling within -us? Are not our lives a continual protest against being made miserable -or uncomfortable for the sake of sustaining a law of church or state? -The law of love is above these, and it can glorify a life, or the -absence of it can debase one.” - -“And joy was duty, and love was law,” echoes in Mrs. Thorndyke’s -memory; and here is the “manly form by her side.” - -He continues without pause: “If it is our right to pursue happiness, it -is equally our right to seek our love freely, casting off fetters which -love disdains; they chafe his delicate wings—love cannot live bound.” - -“But he must be, to some extent,” she almost gasps, frightened at this -new and dangerous doctrine. “Society, respectability, require that -there should be a marriage bond by which the law can hold either party -to the contract. Else what would become of us? So many would escape who -have no right to do so.” - -“I doubt that they have no right to escape. The very desire for escape -constitutes the right. If the law of love is there, no escape will be -desired.” - -“Yes; but, Mr. Vanderlyn, in many instances, the possibility of escape -causes a desire for it; and where there is no way of escape, the -inevitable is accepted. ‘What can’t be cured must be endured,’ you -know.” And there is a mournful cadence in her voice, a drooping of her -head and eyes. - -“That is just the cruel part of it,” he says—“that freezing endurance -sitting like a vampire on our hearts.” - -She puts her hand up suddenly to her heart, and clutches at her dress -nervously, as if to hide the vampire hidden there. Is it not rather a -tightening of the serpent’s coil? The next moment she is composed, and -ashamed of the momentary effect his words have caused in her outward -manner. He has seen the motion, however, but gives no evidence of it. -As if absorbed only in his own remembrances, not desiring to stir up -hers, he continues: - -“I speak as one who knows and has felt, not as one who deals with -the cold abstractions of theologians and political economists. We who -know through bitter tasting of the cup are the true philosophers. Our -eyes have been opened, and we see the light. We no longer grope in the -darkness of the middle ages. We cast off the chains forged for us ages -ago. We will be free in our love, and in our beliefs or disbeliefs, -for creeds are chains. Do not let me shock you, my gentle Puritan. I -beg your pardon. Do not look at me so reprovingly, I cannot bear it. -Remember I am a sick man still, and you are my good, sweet nurse. You -must not grieve me with your displeasure. It is bad for me, you know. -Your frown makes me unhappy—come, smile on me.” - -Ah! such idle, easy, words for him to speak—such dangerous ones for -her to hear! None such ever fall on her ear from John Thorndyke’s lips, -and, if they should, they would not please her so from him. She knows -this only too well, and that this man ought not to have the power to -please her so easily. But she allows herself this pleasure, arguing -that her life is bare enough. - -“Do you forgive me enough to care to hear my story?” he says, after a -pause. - -“Oh! yes,” she answers; “I am interested in that which has so colored -your feelings on this subject, and has given you such strange views of -law and religion.” She tries to speak it lightly, but he detects the -interest in himself. It is what he wishes. - -“It is not much of a story,” he says. “I was married very -young—attracted and deceived by a pretty, saintly face, such as one -sees in pictures, and which always pleases youth. I found my saint to -be a stubborn bigot, who put her confessor above me, and set me and my -happiness entirely at naught in computing her debit and credit with -her church. Such selfish looking after one’s own interest in the next -life is to me disgusting. Every generous impulse must be stifled for -that end. The certain present is offered up a victim to the uncertain -future. I and my happiness had to be forgotten in prayers, penances, -fastings and foolishness. Bah! it sickens me to remember it. Enough -that, after bearing every discomfort, I sought a divorce, and _took_ -it.” - -He says the last in a strange tone, which long afterwards she recalls. - -“Had you no children?” she asks. - -“Yes, one; but it died, happily for it. I should not have liked to see -a daughter of mine trained in that church, as of course she was doomed -to be had she lived. That alone would have goaded me to madness—to see -the fastings and prayings duplicated. Two at it, against one.” - -Here the conversations ends, and Agnes Thorndyke takes “up her burden -of life again,” with an added protest against it. How she wishes that -she could cut the cords, and let it fall like Christian’s pack! Poor -John Bunyan! “to what base uses has he come at last!” Christian’s pack -of sins made to represent the sacrament of marriage! But if “the devil -can quote Scripture for his purpose,” he will not scruple to use John -Bunyan’s quaint fancies. - -About this time, Mrs. Thorndyke begins to have her attention drawn to -certain vile papers and periodicals of the day, introduced cautiously -at first, and with some discrimination, as if the better (or rather, -_less bad_) ones have been selected. She finds them lying about Mr. -Vanderlyn’s room, and she reads them without comment, but the seeds -take root. Afterwards Mr. Vanderlyn calls her attention to certain -cleverly written but mischievous articles; flattering her intellect -by appealing to her supposed ability to decide on these abstruse -questions. When he finds that she reads with avidity all he procures, -faster and thicker the vile flood, which disgraces the press and the -name of literature, pours in upon her. Here she is almost defenceless. -With no thorough education, no religious influence to penetrate into -her life, and guard her against this assault, she is left to stem this -torrent of sophistry, to answer these devil’s thoughts penned too often -by the hand of her own sex. It is a sad but significant fact that, in -this sort of vile writing, women, when they do stifle their better -natures and take up unclean pens, excel the other sex. Some of the most -dangerous books of the day are written by females, under the guise of -pretended morality, which deceives silly girls and weak women who read -them and are unable to detect the poison under the honey. Alas! that -women should thus prostitute their intellects in the service of the -devil! - -When a woman of Agnes Thorndyke’s stamp can be found reading long -editorials in a paper devoted to the destroying of the marriage -relation, and to the advance of “free-love” principles, alas! for the -happiness, the very legitimacy, of her children! But what cares Martin -Vanderlyn for any such considerations? To corrupt this woman’s nature -and to win her is his present and sole object, and so he calls to his -aid all those of her own sex as well as of his, who dip their pens in -envenomed ink for mercenary ends. - -But John Thorndyke has become jealous, and, being so, he is not -a more agreeable husband. He soon signifies his desire that Mr. -Vanderlyn shall find for himself some other lodgings. In doing this, -he expresses himself so coarsely, and hints so broadly at the cause of -his displeasure, that it increases the very danger he seeks to avoid, -by forcing an understanding and recognition of the situation between -his wife and her patient. This is just what Mr. Vanderlyn desires. He -wishes Agnes Thorndyke to know him to be her lover, long before he -will dare to avow it to her. Well he knows that he must prepare her -for that, lead her step by step up to that avowal; and he knows that -she may recoil at any moment, and turn out from the slippery path -through which he is leading her. Too many good instincts and habits of -early training are warring with the bad teachings he is so assiduously -implanting, to make his task a perfectly easy one. Now that John -Thorndyke has shown his jealousy so plainly, these two cannot look -into each other’s eyes without knowing there is some cause for it. -They cannot ignore it, and, while Mr. Vanderlyn is preparing to leave, -he improves the opportunity to remark how unhappy he is at the sad -necessity. He tells her how pleasant it would be if he could continue -to pass all his days with her; and at last, finding himself unreproved, -he asks if that is not possible? - -At this she does recoil, with a wild and frightened look like that of a -hunted deer. But he knows that it is the first shock which either kills -or leaves the victim able to bear another. Her mind has taken in the -full force of the proposal, and yet she does not send him at once from -her presence. She only says, “How can it be possible?” admitting by the -very question that she might like it to be possible. - -“Leave him, Agnes,” he says, “and come to me—to me, your adorer—I -can appreciate the jewel of which he knows not the value!” - -“But I am his wife, and I cannot be that to you; so, if not that, -nothing, Martin.” - -“Yes; you can be a wife to me, Agnes, if you must be tied by the law. -The law will soon free you as it has freed many another. Cast off your -chains as I cast off mine, and come to me!” - -He holds out his arms as he speaks, and she goes to them. The serpent -has coiled almost his last coil! - -In no relation except that of wife can this woman be persuaded to live -with Vanderlyn; but the law may be perverted, her marriage contract -basely set aside and broken. “For better, for worse” she has taken -John Thorndyke, and she has plighted him her troth; but she will not -have the worse, and her troth she will not keep. Yet the law must make -her _seem_ a wife, even in this degradation. So it is agreed that -steps shall be taken to obtain a divorce, Vanderlyn’s money being at -her service. It is so agreed, but not without many struggles on her -part. If she is not a loving wife, she is a tender mother. This new -infatuation cannot crush the true maternal instinct in her heart. It -requires the wildest assurances on Vanderlyn’s part that the law will -give her the control of her children, and that he will care for them -and educate them as if they were his own, to keep her from receding. - -Vanderlyn is no longer an inmate of her house, but he hovers around her -neighborhood, seeing her during her husband’s absence, upon which she -can always count for a certain number of hours every day. He writes to -her letters which seem to her gems of poetry and eloquence, but which -are really only fulsome flatteries, and sophistries of a godless school -which he studies and copies. He knows that it is necessary to keep her -mind always clouded by these false arguments, and her vanity fed by -these protestations, because she is not by nature prone to the falsity -to which he is luring her. This woman with a better husband, or even -with a worse husband, and better religious teaching, could not have -been so tempted. She is no syren, no coquette; it really needs much -careful tact, and study, and address on Vanderlyn’s part to make her -take the first steps in this path. - -The children seem to be her guardian angels now. In their innocent -helplessness there is great strength. Vanderlyn often wishes them in -their graves, for it seems to him, chafing in his vexation, as he -repeats, - - “Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother’s breast,” - -that these are rivals indeed, which may yet laugh him down and bring -her rest, unless he is unremitting in his efforts to prevent it. - -As if in answer to his bad desires, scarlet-fever prostrates them all -at once, but drives him, for the time, from the thoughts of their -mother. Wan and pale with watching, anxiety, and dread, Agnes weeps -and prays over her little flock—prays as she has not prayed for a -long while. Yet two are taken. The youngest darlings are buried in one -grave, leaving a boy of seven years to fill the empty places. - -For a time, Vanderlyn almost thinks his game is lost to him, and that -Death has checkmated him; for the dead children, whose lives have -seemed in his way, are even yet his most powerful opponents. So truly -does Agnes mourn now, so bitterly reproach herself, that, if her -husband will meet her with any tender sympathy in this their common -sorrow, some love for him may yet spring up, watered by her tears for -children which were his as well as hers. - - “Oh! the child, too, clothes the father with a dearness not his due.” - -But John Thorndyke is not the man to be tender and delicate to any -one whose grief takes such a form as hers. Her brooding melancholy he -calls “moping.” Her silence and shrinking from every one, he speaks -of as “airs” put on to disturb him. He thinks the loss is his as well -as hers, and _he_ is not inclined to “mope and take on so.” He goes -to his work every day as usual, and, although he does miss his little -prattlers, to whom he has always been indulgent, the world does not -seem all dark to him. He is utterly incapable of understanding how -differently this blow affects her, and it chafes him that she does not -bear it as he does. He cannot see that the very need of going to his -daily toil, of mixing with other men whose minds are not on his loss, -and the leaving of his sad home every day, helps to dissipate much -morbid feeling which might cling to him were he obliged to stay at -home, as his wife is compelled to do. He never thinks of the greater -difference which it has made to her in every little change which the -absence of the children demands. The very lightening of her care and -toil for them leaves greater time and room to grieve. Her bereaved -heart cries for love and sympathy in this her sorest need, and her -husband does not heed the cry; does not soften to her just at the time -he can save her. - -Vanderlyn does not slight the chance of increasing his influence. He -has been jealous of these children living, he has feared their memories -may even now crowd him from the mother’s heart, but he sees the need -of some one to _appear_ at least to share her grief. She does not -scruple to tell him how cold and unfeeling her husband is at this time; -and thus she furnishes him with one more weapon in the contest he is -waging against her better nature. He plays now the part of tender, -devoted friend, rather than that of lover. He sees that just now no -lover’s image can obtrude before the angel faces always present to her -thoughts; he has the tact and patience to wait and turn the present -digression ultimately to his favor. It may be that, after all, if -these children had lived, she never could turn entirely from her duty. -But this delicate attention to her now in her grief, contrasting so -unhappily with Thorndyke’s unfeeling, stupid impatience with her, is -the most dangerous temptation of all, because it wins her confidence in -his being a real friend as well as lover. - -When the first acute feelings have worn off after the children’s death, -and her life has gradually become more cheerful, she turns from her -husband with a bitterness and contempt which produce in him a still -worse frame of mind. Now he taunts her for her assumed superiority to -him, and scoffingly pictures how happy she might have been with some -rich man—Vanderlyn, for instance. And so matters go on from bad to -worse, until he consents to her applying for a divorce, seeming as -willing as she to part for ever. - -Of what use lingering over the details? The divorce is granted, as -such things are, in open defiance of Heaven’s decree and the apparent -law of the land. When a New York daily paper has frequently a list of -divorces longer than its list of marriages, can we wonder over the -fact? In this case, it has been necessary to change their residence -for a time, because the laws of one state are more favorable to this -object than another. But Christ’s law is the same everywhere. Can a -couple be considered married to each other in one part of our country, -and divorced in another? Are the children of a second union legitimate -in one state, and illegitimate in another? It would really seem so. - -But Agnes Thorndyke, or rather, Agnes Rodney, as she is now -called—taking back her maiden name, without her maiden heart—is -deprived of one comfort on which she had surely counted. Her one child -is left to its father. Thorndyke has schemed for this with deliberate -malice. It is not that he loves the boy overmuch, but it is his revenge -upon her. He would rather burden himself with the care of this little -child than forego the pleasure it gives him to punish her. And so, -while the father of her child lives, she lays her head on another man’s -breast, and calls him husband. Vanderlyn is spared either the keeping -or the breaking of his promise to care for her children—two in the -graves where he wished them, and one in a strange woman’s care. He has -all he wished for—John Thorndyke’s pretty wife at last. - -Thorndyke takes to his forsaken home a housekeeper at first, as if he -were a widower. This woman is a widow who makes him so comfortable that -he speedily marries her, without considering law or Gospel as they may -bear on his case. No compunctions trouble her easy conscience, and she -accepts the lot offered to her as the best thing in a business point -of view likely to fall to her. Being disinclined for reading poetry, -having no refined yearnings, having little intellect to cultivate, she -never reads _Maud Muller_, nor thinks of herself as out of her place -in any sense. Being good-natured and not oversensitive, she gets along -with John Thorndyke remarkably well, and no thought of Agnes ever makes -a ripple of disturbance between them. She might be forgotten, except -for the boy, with her eyes and features, left in her old home. He calls -the woman in her place “mother,” and does get quite motherly treatment. -He loves the brothers and sisters who in time spring up around him, and -seems as happy in his boyish plays as if his own mother were guarding -and guiding him. Who can say how much his future life might be changed -if that mother had been left to him? To be sure, her death might have -brought as great a change to him, and we will now only follow her fate. - -Is she happy in her new relations? Is joy her duty, and love her -law, now? Can that ever be, after broken vows and outraged honor? -“It is not in the bond.” For a time she thinks herself happier in -all her more refined associations; with leisure, books, servants, -all at her command, and with Martin Vanderlyn devoted to her. He -does not introduce her into society, but lives remote from all his -acquaintances and former friends. This never troubles her. Two people -like these, who have closed or tried to tear out a chapter in their -life-history, naturally shrink from having it recalled. They prefer -to think themselves sufficient for each other, looking always to the -future—never to the past, if they can avoid it. - -But before a year is passed, Agnes begins to see that Vanderlyn is -not so entirely devoted to her as she would wish and he has at first -seemed. It is the first shadow of a misgiving, not really harbored, -but resting upon her heart in spite of herself. She does not wish to -see any difference in him, and she tries to think it is business which -keeps him so often away from her. He says it is, and why not think so? -why not believe him? Alas! small clouds of doubt already dot the sky of -her belief in him. Whence they have arisen she can scarcely tell; but -there they are, and threatening to increase. However, she has risked -too much for him, braved too much, to foster anything now which may -wreck her life-venture. If this man fail her, where can she turn? But -after a while a little child is born—a boy to help divert her thoughts -from that other boy bearing another father’s name. The mother does -blush when she thinks of these boys, each hers, having each a different -father living _now_. She had named her first-born after her own father, -and some idea of trying to fill his place leads her to call this one by -the same name—George Rodney. Vanderlyn, however, playfully calls him -Martin after himself, and, as the child grows, he learns to answer to -that, and calls himself “Martie” quite as often as by the name which -his mother has given him, and which she will never relinquish. - -So truly does the pure instinct of motherhood show her the falsity of -her present position that she often feels that two fathers should not -be living at the same time for the two boys for whom she is mother. Of -that other boy she often thinks still with yearning love, and of his -sisters in their little grave; more now than at first, when Vanderlyn -was with her so much, for his absences grow longer and more frequent. -He takes no father’s pride in this child of his, but rather seems bored -by the care and trouble it has brought. A baby _is_ a tyrant in a -household, especially if it is loved as Agnes loves this one, giving it -almost all her time and care. Now, indeed, Vanderlyn might say, if he -remembers the poet he quoted before in his jealousy of her love for her -children: - - “Nay, but nature brings thee solace; for a tender voice will cry: - ‘Tis a purer life than thine—a lip to drain thy trouble dry: - ... My latest rival brings thee rest.” - -But it does not bring her rest. She often now remembers that Thorndyke -was a fonder and better father than his successor; that his children -seemed at their birth and during their lives to form a tie between his -wife and himself; that he always faithfully brought his hard-earned -money to her, to spend or save for them as well as for himself. She -gives him this credit now, because Vanderlyn, with his more abundant -means, shows in many ways a carelessness of her comfort and pecuniary -wants. True, she has not really suffered, but small misgivings have -oppressed her that she may yet come to that. She has found that -Vanderlyn is not the substantial business man she was at first led to -believe. She had thought him a lawyer, and so he is by education; but, -in reality, he is an adventurer and a speculator, and, although often -commanding money easily, he has no real fortune, and has only a very -fluctuating income. This it is that worries him and takes him often -away from home long at a time. He has not the honesty to deny himself -any accustomed luxury for the sake of those dependent upon him. It -chafes him to be obliged to meet his household expenses, and not always -have the means to do so conveniently. He knows that Agnes will not -insist upon unnecessary expenditure, but he has not the courage to tell -her frankly of his affairs. There is a respect for her in his heart -in spite of all, and he knows that there is an uprightness about her -which would lead her to insist on plainer living and fewer servants. -She is not weakly self-indulgent as he is. He is so unprincipled at -heart that no tie, no obligation, can bind him when it once becomes -irksome. He is a greater moral coward than the woman he has perverted. -And so at last, when her boy is about five years old, Agnes finds -herself deserted. Martin Vanderlyn has gone to California, and left -her with her household effects, and about one hundred dollars in -money—that is all. - -She looks her fate steadily in the face. Young enough and strong enough -yet for work, but with a helpless child upon her hands, what shall she -do? She sells promptly her furniture, books, pictures, and jewelry. For -the last she has never cared, but Vanderlyn had lavished it upon her -during the days she was seeking a divorce. Very rarely has she worn it. -With the sum thus raised, she can, for a time, pay her board until she -can find employment, and she seeks the most retired house she can find -for a refuge. - -In bitterness of spirit beyond anything she has ever endured while the -honest wife of John Thorndyke, Agnes now feels in almost overwhelming -force the folly of the course she has pursued—_almost_ overwhelming, -but not quite, for she still believes herself to be Martin Vanderlyn’s -lawful wife. Bad as he has proved himself, she as yet has no doubt -that he is her lawful husband, and so, in her present abode, she calls -herself Mrs. Vanderlyn, with no thought but that she is so honestly, if -not wisely. - -She has been in her new home rather less than a week, when, passing -along the corridor, she meets, coming from a room near her own, two -Sisters of Mercy, who have apparently just taken leave of an invalid -lady; at least, so she judges from the voice which comes through the -open door, saying: - -“Good-by, and come again soon, Sisters,” followed by a cough that to -her experienced ear sounds like consumption. She has heard that cough -in the night when she has been wakeful, and she hears it again many -times this day. She thinks of the invalid often, with her old instinct -of sympathy for the sick—a sympathy which of late years has not been -much called forth in her retirement. The next day, coming in from her -quest for employment, she meets on the porch a gentleman who, she feels -almost sure, is a Catholic priest. He enters the house at the same -time with herself, and, proceeding before her up the stairs, passes -directly and quietly to the room occupied by her sick neighbor. “She is -a Catholic, then,” says Agnes to herself; “but that does not matter. I -wonder if I could do her any good?” And she acknowledges to herself a -very strong desire to see her neighbor, and offer any service in her -power. But she does not act at once. Her peculiar position makes her -shrink from meeting strangers or forming acquaintances. Still, the -cough strikes upon her ear appealingly, all the more that there comes -no sound of any voices from the room, save when the priest or the -Sisters of Mercy are there. She knows her neighbor must be alone, and, -she suspects, lonely also, for many hours. She resolves to go to see -her, and take little George, thinking, in the fondness of her mother’s -heart, that his pretty ways may divert the sick woman. - -But who is she, and what is her name? Agnes asks this of her landlady -the first time she finds that everbusy and worried woman alone. - -“The sick lady in the front room? Why, she is your namesake, perhaps a -relation.” And the landlady eyes keenly her questioner, thinking her -curiosity about both of her boarders will now be gratified, as she -slowly adds: “She is a Mrs. Vanderlyn, as well as yourself.” - -Agnes feels herself trembling and almost choking at the swift rush of -conviction coming over her as to who this Mrs. Vanderlyn is: The priest -and the Sisters of Mercy! Martin Vanderlyn’s wife was a Catholic! She -can hardly command her voice to ask: - -“Is she a widow?” - -“I guess so, but she hasn’t said so,” replied the landlady. “She has -no friends, except them horrid spooks of nuns and that there sneakin’ -priest; I do declare I’m ashamed to see ‘em a-comin’ in and out o’ my -door—but _you_ be’ent a Catholic, be you?” she says, in sudden alarm, -lest her burst of confidence has been misplaced. Agnes reassures her by -saying: - -“Oh! no; I am not a Catholic, nor is any of my family; so I think this -lady can be no relative, as my husband was never a Catholic.” - -What makes her voice change as she shapes her reply in this evasive -way? It is not altogether the keen, inquiring eyes of the landlady -trying to find if she is wife or widow. She can scarcely tell herself; -but the sharpened sense of expectation of some coming revelation, or -else the nearness of Martin Vanderlyn’s wife, makes her feel for the -first time a sense of guilt in speaking of him as her husband. Not that -she says even to herself as yet that he is _not_ her husband; but the -two wives—if this is his wife—in such close proximity, impresses her -much as the fact of the two living fathers of her two boys has done. -It cannot seem to her quite right for herself to be Martin Vanderlyn’s -wife, while the woman in the next room is such a reality. As long as -the divorced wife had seemed to belong to the past—perhaps dead—it -had not impressed Agnes so keenly as to be living under the same -roof with her; for Agnes feels almost sure that it is so. Still, her -desire to see her neighbor is by no means lessened; and it is not idle -curiosity, but a nobler feeling, which leads her to ask the landlady to -introduce her. That person has, in the meantime, remarked: - -“The lady is a real lady, and, if she _is_ a Catholic, I can’t say -aught agin her. I do hate to see them beads, and crosses, and figgers, -and picturs of folks with Saturn’s rings on their heads, which she -keeps in her room; but, if she gits any comfort from ‘em, poor soul, -why, I can’t begrudge her that. Only I wish she had more light and some -_real_ religion, now that she’s so near dyin’. I do hate to see her -sunk in darkness, without no light o’ the Gospel. But ‘tain’t no use -talkin’ to her, she never gits offended; but, when I wanted to send a -good Methodist minister to pray with her, she said her spiritooal needs -was already cared for by. Father what’s-his-name, and she jist give me -back that lovely tract about _Going to Hell_, as if she warn’t scared a -bit. ‘Tain’t no use, Mrs. Vanderlyn, to talk to her. They’re all of ‘em -so set and superstitious they _can’t_ experience religion or have any -realizin’ sense o’ their sins.” - -Says Agnes: “I don’t want to minister to her soul. That is not my -mission. I only thought she was lonely, and I might do her some good in -being a little company for her some of the time, if nothing more.” - -“And so you might, and it’s right good of you to think of it. It’ll -take some off my mind to know you’ll see her sometimes, as I can’t -find time to go in and sit with her as often as I think she may expect -of me.” - -And the landlady, followed by Agnes, taps at the door of Mrs. -Vanderlyn’s room. In a minute more, Agnes finds herself face to face -with the invalid, who is sitting in a large easy-chair by the window. -After some words from the landlady, explaining Agnes’ kind intention -and sympathy, that garrulous person withdraws to her pressing household -cares. - - TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER. - - - - -“BEATI QUI LUGEANT.” - -FROM THE FRENCH OF MARIE JENNA. - - Go; vainly in thy breast lies hid the steel - That pierces. I perceive thy sad estate, - Thy silent fortitude; and for thy weal - I pray thee meet thy fate. - - And weep before me! Cast thy burden down, - I know that sorrow finds a drear relief - In solitude, and wears abroad the crown - Of a majestic grief. - - The hand of friendship may not put aside - The heavy folds of the funereal veil, - And on the threshold of an arid pride, - Words seem to faint, and fail. - - But days have passed, I come—nay—never start, - Suffer my presence, place thy hand in mine, - Pour thy full soul into my faithful heart - Whose pulses all are thine. - - If friendship only bore me to thy side, - I would withdraw before thine icy face, - Obey the teachings of my _human_ pride, - My eager steps retrace. - - But I, too, have known sorrow, and have earned - The right to minister before its shrine. - A mighty secret, too, my heart has learned, - Whose sources are divine— - - A secret that shall set thy soul aglow - When once its holy meaning I unfold, - And make thee bless its author for the woe - That _thus_ could be consoled. - - - - -JOHN BAPTIST DE ROSSI AND HIS ARCHÆOLOGICAL WORKS. - -FROM THE HISTORISCH-POLITISCHE BLAETTER. - -THE ruins that lie by the banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates give us -a better notion of the power of the kings of Babylon and Assyria, of -the civilization, religion, and moral condition of the ancient peoples -of these countries, than the writings of historians. The obelisks and -pyramids, the ruined temples and the columns covered with hieroglyphic -characters, tell us more of Egypt than Herodotus and Manetho. In like -manner do the tombs and inscriptions in the catacombs bear witness to -the faith and morality, the usages and manner of living, of the early -Christians. - -The study of these catacombs has therefore a double aim: one dogmatic, -the other historical. Considered from the latter standpoint alone, -the discoveries recently made in the catacombs destroy the theories -and appreciations of many historians. It is literally true, as a -distinguished non-Catholic has said, that, “since Rossi published -his works, the history of the age of the Christian martyrs has to be -rewritten.” The distinguished Alfred de Reumont, on page 806 of the -first volume of his _History of the City of Rome_, says: “No one knows -better than the author how much this work is indebted to the researches -of De Rossi.” - -The pontificate of Pius IX., among its other glories, can claim that of -having especially aided De Rossi in his archæological studies; and on -this account alone it would deserve the gratitude of all the friends -of science. Pius IX. has deserved the name of the “second Damasus,” -not only because he founded “The Archæological Commission for the -Investigation of the Ancient Christian Monuments of Rome,” and aided -it with pecuniary subsidies, but more particularly because he took a -lively personal interest in all its undertakings. - -The zeal of Pius IX. found in John Baptist de Rossi, a born Roman, a -most suitable person for the advancement of archæological lore. And, -in fact, Rossi alone, as all acknowledge, made more progress than -all his predecessors. Although he has been more than a quarter of a -century at work, he is still a hale man; and if Piedmontese brutality -or revolutionary barbarism does not prevent him, he may yet make -more splendid progress in his learned studies. Rossi has wonderful -powers of observation, united with great calmness and perseverance in -investigation, ardent love of science, and vast erudition. He is well -versed in all the branches of his favorite science—in archæology, -bibliography, history, æsthetics, topography, and architecture. With -keen discernment, which his complicated investigations never lead -astray, he knows how to choose and value his materials. We know -not which to admire more—the persevering industry, or the great -and unflinching mental and physical strength, which he displays in -assorting the various materials which come before him. His judgment in -forming hypotheses, in drawing conclusions and consequences, is always -prudent. He prefers to prove too little rather than too much. On this -account, as well as because of his critical acumen, he has obtained -such a reputation among archæologists that Martigny, in his _Dictionary -of Christian Antiquities_, says: “We can rely implicitly on every word -that Rossi writes.” Rossi never builds a card-house; he makes no vague, -superficial reasonings. All is deeply thought; monuments and documents -are always brought in to corroborate his assertions; and we know that -nothing is more solid and convincing than the hard marble. - -It is true Rossi has not published the half of his immense collections; -but from what has been published we can perceive that nothing so -important has appeared in the archæological world since the time of -Bosio, perhaps never anything so vast from one archæologist. - -The first great archæological work of Rossi appeared when he was yet -a young man. It was printed in the third volume of the _Spicilegium -Solesmense_, published by the celebrated Benedictine Dom Pitra, now -cardinal of the church. Rossi always quotes it with pleasure as his -first work. The title is _A Letter on the Christian Monuments bearing -the Inscription ΙΧΘΥΣ_. Paris, 1855. - -The figurative and poetical style of the Sacred Scriptures, as well -as the discipline of the secret, introduced into the “Church of the -Catacombs” those numerous symbols, so full of meaning, which, disguised -in the simplest pictures or the simplest words, expressed so much to -the initiated. The lamb, the anchor, ship, the stag, peacock, the cock, -the dove, etc., were symbols of sublime Christian ideas. But the most -important of all the Christian symbols was the _fish_. It is mentioned -as a Christian hieroglyphic all through the works of the Fathers, and -appears on all the old monuments. On these latter, sometimes the Greek -word _ΙΧΘΥΣ_ sometimes the painted, and some times the engraved, image -of the fish, is found. During the period of the discipline of the -secret, especially during the first three centuries of the church, the -most holy mysteries of Christianity were concealed from the uninitiated -under the symbol of the fish. - -The fish is the symbol of Jesus Christ. The Fathers before the IVth -century insinuate this in obscure and ambiguous terms, while those of -the IVth and Vth centuries proclaim it plainly. Thus writes towards the -end of the IVth century Bishop Optatus Milevitanus:[110] “The fish, -according to its Greek orthography, _Ιχθυς_ expresses by its letters -a number of holy names, which in Latin are _Jesus Christus Dei Filius -Salvator_”—Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour—_Ιησοῦς Χριστός Θεοῦ -Υἱὸς Σοτήρ_. S. Augustine[111] expressly says that, if you take the -first letters, of these five Greek words, and unite them together, you -have _ἰχθυς_, _i.e._ _fish_, which name is a symbol of Christ. - -Some ecclesiastical writers strive to connect the fish-symbol of Christ -with the Sibylline prophecies; other Fathers endeavor to find in it -certain analogies between the nature and acts of the fish and the human -nature and works of Christ. The different passages of ancient writers -on these points are brought together in De Rossi’s treatise. Rossi -himself has beautifully explained the origin of this symbol. - -The fish is the symbol of Christ according to his human nature. In the -figurative language of the church, the present life is likened to a -sea. _Ubique mare sæculum legimus_,[112] says Optatus Milevitanus. -Ambrose calls men the fish who swim through this life. When the divine -Word became man, he became a fish as we. Hence Gregory the Great wrote: -“Christ condescended to hide himself in the waters of human nature, in -order to be captured by the angel of death.” - -More frequently the fish is used as the symbol of the divine nature of -Christ. The large fish caught by Tobias that he might have food for his -journey, use the liver and gall to free Sara from devils, and restore -sight to his father, was considered by the Fathers as a striking symbol -of the divine Redeemer, who by the light of his doctrine cures the -blindness of ignorance, redeems the world from the power of demons, -and feeds us with his body on the pilgrim route from earth to heaven. -Therefore is Christ symbolized as Teacher of truth in his church; as -Redeemer from the power of Satan by baptism; and as Food of souls in -the Eucharist. - -Out of the many beautiful and expressive symbolical representations of -the intimate connection between Christ and his church, we shall select -only the two figures numbered 104 and 105 in De Rossi’s tract. In the -midst of a surging sea a fish is swimming, carrying on its back a ship, -the symbol of the church. It is the divine _Ιχθυσ_, who, according -to his promise made to his church, carries her safely through the -storms of the world. The ship is managed by rowers, the hierarchy of -the church. The only pilot and leader of the ship is the Holy Ghost, -represented by a dove sitting on the top of the mast. In order that -no one may mistake the vessel, the scene of Christ giving the keys -to Peter is painted in the foreground exactly as our modern painters -represent it. In order to make this point clear, namely, that the Holy -Ghost is guiding the bark of Peter, the words _ΙΗΣ_ (_Ιησοῦς_) and -_ΠΕΤ_ (_Πέτρος_) are written over the picture. - -Man is born the child of divine wrath: Christ frees him from -Satan’s power by baptism; makes him a child of God, a new man, a -_neophyte_.[113] Now, as Christ the Fish scatters these his blessings -in the baptismal font, it was called by the names of _baptisterium_, -_illuminatorium_, and, more frequently during the time of the -discipline of the secret, _piscina_, or fishpond. Therefore Bishop -Oriontius of Auch wrote in the Vth century: “The fish, born in -the water, is the author of baptism.” Therefore were the oldest -baptisteries commonly ornamented with the picture of a fish (Rossi, p. -3). - -In many of the monuments collected by Rossi, near the word _ΙΧΘΥΣ_ we -have also the word _ΝΙΚΑ_. The fish conquers. The neophyte is freed -from ruin and the power of Satan—he is a trophy of Christ’s victory. - -Since the word fish, as well as the picture of it, was perfectly -identified with Christ the Redeemer, it was natural to use this symbol -to conceal that mystery which the pagans so fearfully misrepresented -when they said that the Christians met together at stated times, -slaughtered a child, drank its blood, and ate its flesh.[114] - -The fish became the symbol of the Holy Eucharist. This could be done -with the greater propriety, since Rossi tells us that, at the banquets -of the wealthy pagans, fish was considered a delicacy, and it is seldom -found on pagan monuments. Hence, to eat _the fish_, and to receive -Holy Communion, became synonymous expressions. Prosper of Aquitaine -calls Christ the great Fish, who gives himself as food to his disciples -and the faithful. - -We cannot enter into details, and shall only consider the monumental -inscription found at Autun in 1839, which has attracted so much -attention from the archæologists. The text begins with the words: -_Ιχθυσ οὐρανίου θεῖον γένος ἤτορι σεμνῷ χρῆσαι_: “O divine race of -the heavenly Ikthus, guard, after you have received it, the immortal -fountain of grace flowing from divine sources. Bathe thy soul, my -friend, in the ever-flowing waters of wealth-giving wisdom. Receive the -sweet food of the Saviour of the saints; eat and drink the Ikthus which -thou holdest in thy hands.[115] O Ikthus, I have prepared my hands, -I long for thee, my Lord and my Redeemer! That I may behold thee in -happiness, O my mother; I beseech this favor of thee, O light of the -dead. Aschaudius, my father, thou dearest to my heart, with my sweet -mother and my sisters, in the peace of the Ikthus remember thy son -Pektorius.” - -The first verse of this beautiful inscription which many of the learned -in the time of Marcus Aurelius and at the end of the IIId century use, -alludes to the grace of baptism; the following sentences refer to the -sacramental use of the Ikthus. In the concluding phrase, the founder -of the monument, Pectorius, addresses himself to his parents and -relatives, with the petition that they would remember him in heaven, -where they enjoyed the peace of the Ikthus. - -From this important monument, as well as from many others collected -by Rossi, it is proven that the Holy Eucharist was thought to be a -_sacrament_ by the early Christians. In others, it is equally clear -that they considered it a _sacrifice_ also. - -In one of the oldest cemeteries, that of Domitilla, as well as in -that of Callistus, we see a thrice sweet sacrificial table, on which -three loaves and one fish are lying. On each side of the table are -seven baskets with loaves. The meaning of the picture is plain. The -connection of the Ikthus with the bread is clearly shown. “The table -represents the Christian altar. This was usually a portable slab of -marble with brazen rings, placed over a martyr’s grave, and supported -by little columns. But what else could the Christian artist wish to -symbolize by placing the fish beside the bread than the offering of -the divine Ikthus on the altar? We have, therefore, on the one hand, -the invisible presence of the divinity in the fish; on the other, the -visible form of the bread, and then the position of the mysterious -representation. The sacrifice is the table of the Lord, the Eucharistic -banquet. To make this clearer, the seven baskets filled with loaves -surround the sacrificial table. They represent the seven baskets which -were filled with the remnants left after the multiplication of the -loaves in the wilderness—a miracle which has always been considered a -type of Holy Communion.”[116] - -Dom Pitra, in his _Spicilegium_, has added to Rossi’s documents -many found in Gaul. Ferdinand Becker, in the _Historisch-Politische -Blätter_, vol. lxiii., p. 736 _et seq._, has written, since Rossi’s -time, a remarkable article on the “Symbol of Jesus Christ under the -Figure of a Fish.” Professor Jacob Becker has published something -on the same subject. Rossi naturally did not treat of the German -discoveries in this line of archæology. - -It is singular that the symbol of the fish continued to be used in -Germany up to the middle age. In the _Hortus Deliciarum_ of the Abbess -Herrad, written in the XIIth century, and still preserved in the -Strasbourg Library, there is a representation of the sacrament of the -altar, by means of a small basket with a loaf and a fish. In a picture -in the cathedral library at Einsiedeln, there is the symbol of a fish -whose blood is represented as opening the gates of limbo. - -Northern Africa, once so celebrated in the annals of the church, did -not escape the research of Rossi. Léon Rénier has collected, in a -work entitled _Roman Inscriptions of Algeria_, published at Paris, -A.D. 1838, most of those documents which caused Rossi to -undertake his second great work, _A Letter to J. B. Pitra, Benedictine -Monk, on the Christian Titles found at Carthage_. These documents are -very important as explaining the symbol of the cross. The Christians, -for various reasons, were unwilling at first to represent the cross -among their symbols. The cross was the _damnata crux_ of Apuleius, -the _infelix lignum_ of Seneca, the _teterrimum, crudelissimumque -supplicium_ of Cicero. The Christians, therefore, did not wish to give -the pagans an occasion of insult, nor to give scandal to the weak -faith of the catechumens. Prudent respect, as well as wise foresight, -induced them to conceal their most holy symbol in the interest of the -progress of faith. Consequently, as Rossi proves, we find the _cruces -dissimulatæ_ among the symbols, which, by their similarity with the -real figure of the cross, became Christian symbols, but, on account -of their being also recognized as heathen symbols, excited no scandal -or suspicion. Such concealed symbols, or _cruces dissimulatæ_, are, -according to Rossi, the _Tau_ or crooked cross, the oblique or S. -Andrew’s cross, the anchor cross, and the monogram of Christ with all -its varieties. - -The oldest monogram is the simple _Χ_, the first letter of Christ’s -holy name. At a later period, the _Χ_ was united with the _Ι_, the two -together standing for _Ιησοῦς Χριστός_. Before the time of Constantine, -the monogram was represented by the union of the Greek letters _Χ_ and -_Ρ_, the two first letters of the word _ΧΡΙϹΤΟϹ_. After the conversion -of Constantine, when the punishment of the cross was abolished, and all -that was offensive or scandalous in it removed, the symbol became more -striking by the introduction of a cross-line. In the second half of the -IVth century, in spite of the Julian persecution, the symbol of the -cross became more plain. But when Christianity, in and since the time -of Theodosius the Great, took possession of the laws, and ordinances, -and customs of the empire, the symbol became so clear that all could -understand it. Therefore, after the end of the IVth century, and in the -beginning of the Vth, we find the simple figure of the cross on all -public monuments, without any attempt to conceal it. - -The progress of this symbol of the cross was not so slow in development -in some of the remote provinces as in the city of Rome and its -environs. In some of the distant provinces, the power of paganism -ceased to control the people at an earlier date than in the city, and, -consequently, allowed the Christians to manifest their symbols without -fear. This happened as early as the IId century in Northern Africa, -where the Christians were powerful at a very early date. Rossi, in the -same work, gives us valuable documents and proofs to show the important -place which the symbol of the triangle should hold in archæological -disquisitions. It was a recognized symbol of the Holy Trinity. - -It is a common custom among certain prejudiced modern writers to speak -of the “hatred of the early Christians for art.” By degrees, however, -the bandage begins to fall from their eyes, and the truth becomes -clearer. To Rossi much credit is due for having labored to destroy this -prejudice also. The attention of the early Christians was called to -works of sculpture rather than to works of painting. And this was quite -natural. The statues were mostly naked. And “among the entirely naked -Aphrodites of the later Greek and Roman artists, there is hardly one in -which the woman does not predominate over the goddess. Sensuality and -grossness are conspicuous in most of them.”[117] Some of them also knew -that the Venus of Praxiteles, which he represented at first entirely -unclothed, was copied after a model of Phryne. - -It is different with painting—after music and poetry, the most -spiritual of arts. “By the blending of light and shade, and the laws -of perspective, it can give a tone of spirituality to the bodily form, -and an ethical appearance to the inanimate. Painting is the art of -soul impressions. Everything great, noble, and refined can be better -expressed on the canvas than in marble.” The Christian muse, therefore, -naturally took to painting. Hence on the walls in the catacombs we find -the first efforts of the Christian painters. Likenesses of the Mother -of God are among the first which we meet. These pictures, in which -virginal innocence, maternal tenderness, holy worth, tender grace and -piety, are manifested, have been collected and published in 1863 in -large chromo-lithographs in his work entitled _Imagine Scelte della B. -Vergine tratte dalle Catacombe Romane_. - -The earliest likeness of the Mother of God is found in the catacombs -of Priscilla. On account of the many likenesses of the Blessed Virgin -found in them, these have been called the Marian Catacombs. There is no -doubt that these pictures are of apostolic date, and originated with -that Priscilla who was known both to Peter and Paul, the mother of -the Senator Pudens, and grandmother of the holy virgins Praxedes and -Pudentiana. In the arch of the central crypt, the adoration of the magi -is painted. The Blessed Virgin holds the Infant Jesus in her bosom; -before her in the sky is the star whose light leads the three wise men -from the East to visit the divine Child. - -In another crypt is delineated the annunciation of the angel. The -Blessed Virgin sits on a throne like the ancient episcopal chairs; -before her stands the archangel as a beautiful, ethereal youth, -without wings, dressed in tunic and pallium, his right hand raised, -and the index finger of it pointed at the Virgin. In her face there -is a look of surprise and holy, virginal shyness. On the ceiling of -another grave-niche, in the very oldest part of the catacomb, close -to the graves of the family of Pudens, we find a painted picture of -the Virgin and Child in the pure classic style. Rossi, supported by -the most various archæological and historical documents, places this -picture in the time between the second half of the Ist and the first -half of the IId century. The Blessed Virgin, clothed with many-folded -drapery and cloak, bears on her head the veil usually worn by the -married or betrothed. Over her hangs the star of Bethlehem; before her -stands a young, powerful-looking man, with a prophet’s mantle thrown -over his shoulders. In his left hand he holds a scroll, and with the -right he points to the star and the Virgin and Child. He is Isaias -the Prophet, pointing out the favored Virgin, the branch of the root -of Jesse, who was to conceive and bring forth the blessed Fruit; and -showing the great light which was to shine over Jerusalem. The beauty -of the composition; the grace and dignity of the figures; the swelling -folds of the drapery; and the correctness and spiritual beauty of the -expression, make this, although the oldest picture of the Madonna, one -of the most striking which we possess. The elder Lenormant did not -hesitate to compare it with Raphael’s best productions. - -The picture of the Madonna in the second table of Rossi is of more -recent origin. In this picture, the Mother of God sits on a chair of -honor, holding the divine Child in her lap. The three kings, led by a -star, come to meet her. It is from the cemetery of Domitilla. We omit -the other pictures of the adoration of the magi in the other catacombs -of Callistus, Cyriaca, etc. - -The assertion of the Calvinist historian Basnage, that the pictures of -the Blessed Virgin were not introduced into the church until after the -Council of Ephesus, A.D. 431, sinks to the ground in the face -of Rossi’s documents. - -He has collected in his works the chief inscriptions to be met with -in the catacombs, and has surpassed all his predecessors in the -completeness of his information and documents. Although, after the -discovery and investigation of the catacombs by the celebrated Bosio, -many authors like Aringhi, Bottari, Boldetti, the Jesuit Lupi, Marchi, -and others, had treated on them, and the relations of their contents to -theological sciences and ecclesiastical studies, none has equalled the -distinguished Rossi, whose ardor, energy, and talent were always aided -by the most liberal sympathy of the Roman Pontiff. - - - - -A LEGEND OF S. CHRISTOPHER. - -OFFERO (the bearer), afterwards S. Christopher, being proud of his vast -strength and gigantic limbs, resolved to serve—for he was poor—only -the most powerful monarch on earth. - -Accordingly, he searched far and near until at last he came to the -court of a king who, as he was told, was the greatest monarch on earth. -To him Offero offered his services. - -They were gladly accepted, for his powerful frame pleased the eye of -the king, who knew that no other prince could boast of such a servant. - -Offero, supposing his master to be afraid of no one, was greatly -surprised on perceiving the king tremble and cross himself, whenever -the name of Satan was mentioned. “Why dost thou do so?” he inquired of -the monarch. - -“Because Satan is very mighty,” replied his master, “and I am afraid -lest he should overcome me.” - -“Then I must leave thee, for I will serve only him who is afraid of no -one,” said Offero. - -Again he commenced his wanderings; this time in search of Satan. One -day, on crossing a desert, he perceived a horrible object with the -appearance of great power coming towards him. Offero’s great size -seemed not in the least to startle him, and with an air of authority he -asked: “Whom dost thou seek?” - -“Satan,” Offero answered, “for I have heard that he is the most -powerful upon earth. I wish to have him for my master.” - -“I am _he_,” said the other, “and thy service shall be an easy one.” - -The giant bowed low, and joined his followers. - -As they pursued their way they came in sight of a cross. No sooner had -Satan’s eyes perceived it, than he turned with evident fear and haste -and took another road, so as to avoid passing the cross. - -Offero was not slow in noticing these signs of alarm. “Why dost thou do -so?” he asked his master. - -“I fear the cross,” Satan made answer, “because Christ died upon it, -and I fly from it lest it should overcome me.” - -“Then there is one more powerful than thou, and I shall leave thee and -seek him,” replied Offero. With these words, he left Satan and went in -search of Christ. - -After much toil and long wanderings, he came to a hermit, whom he -entreated to tell him where Christ could be found. - -The holy man, seeing him thus ignorant, pitied and taught him. “Christ -is indeed the greatest king in heaven and on earth,” he said, “for his -power will endure throughout eternity; but thou canst not serve him -lightly—he will impose great duties upon thee, and he will require -that thou fast often.” - -“I will not fast,” said Offero, “for that would weaken my strength, -which makes me so good a servant.” - -“Thou also must pray,” continued the hermit, taking no heed of the -interruption. - -“I have never prayed and will never do so. Such service is for -weaklings, not for me,” replied the giant. - -“Then,” said the hermit, “dost thou know of a river whose waters are -wild and deep, and often swollen by rains, sweeping away in its swift -current many of those who would cross it?” - -“Yes,” said Offero. - -“Then go there and aid those who fight with its waves; carry the weak -and little ones across upon thy strong, broad shoulders. This is good -work, and, if Christ will have thee in his service, he will assure thee -of his acceptance.” - -Offero went to the river, and on its banks built himself a hut. Day -and night he aided all who came, carrying many upon his shoulders, and -never wearying in assisting them across the river. A palm-tree was his -staff, which he had pulled in the forest, and which was well suited to -his great strength and height. - -One night, when resting in his hut, he heard a voice like that of a -weak child, and it said: “Offero, wilt thou carry me?” - -He rose quickly and went out, but, search as he would, he could find -no one; and he re-entered his dwelling; but presently the voice -called again: “Offero, wilt thou carry me?” A second search proved -fruitless. At the third call he rose again, taking with him a lantern. -He searched, and at last found a child. “Offero, Offero, carry me over -this night?” - -He lifted him up and began crossing the stream. Immediately the wind -commenced to blow, the waves rose high, and the roar of the waters -sounded like thunder. The child also began to increase in weight, -grew more heavy upon his shoulders, and Offero feared that he must -sink; but, with the aid of his staff, he kept himself up, and at last -succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. Then he cried: “Whom have I -carried? Had it been the whole world, it could not have been heavier.” - -Then the child replied: “_Me_, whom thou desirest to serve, and I have -accepted thee. Thou hast not only carried the world, but _him_ who made -it, upon thy shoulders. As a sign of my power and my approbation of -thee, fix thy staff in the earth, and it shall grow and bear fruit.” - -Offero did so, and soon it was covered with leaves and fruit. But the -wonderful child was gone. Then Offero knew that it was Christ whom he -had carried, and he fell down and worshipped him. - -Thenceforth he called himself Christopher, served his Master -faithfully, holding fast to his new faith through all kinds of tortures -and sufferings. - -King Dagnus of Lycia, after having thrown him into prison, and not -succeeding in turning him from his faith, commanded that he should be -executed. - -Arrived at the place of execution, he knelt down and prayed that all -who saw him and believed in Christ, should be delivered from earthquake -fire, and tempest. It was believed that his prayers were heard, and -that all who look upon the figure of S. Christopher are safe, for that -day, from all dangers of earthquake, flood, and fire. The sight of it -is believed also to impart strength to the weak and weary. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - CHURCH DEFENCE. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. - - “Our Clerical Friends” appear to be suffering pain from the strong - sinapisms of Dr. Marshall. At least, we suspect they must be in pain, - from certain suppressed, inarticulate cries and moans of the _Church - Journal_, _Churchman_, etc. Their doctor is inexorable, however, and - has already applied another blister. Their internal disorder is too - deeply seated and obstinate to allow of any milder treatment. They - have been seized with such a violent madness of fancying themselves - priests and playing at Catholic that argument is lost on them, unless - plentifully infused with ridicule. _Church Defence_ is unmerciful - in its ridicule, like the _Comedy of Convocation_, but it is also - perfectly genteel and polished in its style, and as overwhelming in - argument as an essay by Dr. Newman. Those who have laughed over the - sparkling pages of the classic _Comedy_, will enjoy another laugh - over this new drama, and those who have been thrown into a rage by - _My Clerical Friends_ will be at a loss for epithets wherewith to - give vent to their pent-up bosoms when they read this new amiable - discussion, which they will and must do, in spite of themselves. Dear - friends and would-be Catholics, you might as well laugh with the whole - world that is laughing at you! Your little farce is played out. It is - a small business to be trying to cheat poor girls who are entrapped - by your counterfeit Sisters, by pretending that you are Catholic - priests and can give them sacraments. Something else is wanted besides - acolytes and nicolytes, candles and high celebrations, mimicry of our - sacerdotal dress, and high collars or high altars. You are outdone - even in counterfeiting Catholicity by the little Greek schismatical - chapel, where there is a better Signor Blitz than any of your feeble - imitations. Do, if you please, try something new for the amusement of - mankind, and let the curtain fall on the Anglo-Catholic farce! - - - THE PROGRESSIONISTS, AND ANGELA. By Conrad von Bolanden. New - York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - - The second of these novelettes by the most popular writer of fiction - among the Catholics of Germany is really a charming story. The - character of “Angela” is remarkably well drawn, and is the type of - a perfect Christian woman, in the three phases which are so full - of moral and poetic beauty, as maiden, bride, and mistress of the - household. The first one is very different, dealing with incidents and - scenes which are not so pleasing, but unfortunately equally real. As - both are reprints from the pages of this magazine, our readers will - remember them, and no doubt be glad to get them in a separate form. - Those who have not read them will find them not only entertaining - reading, but full of thought and instruction on most important and - practical topics of modern life. - - - LIFE OF J. THEOPHANE VÉNARD, Martyr in Tonquin; or, What Love - Can Do. Translated by Lady Herbert. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1873. - - LIFE OF HENRY DORIÉ, MARTYR. Translated by Lady Herbert. New - York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - - These two works are translations from the French by Lady Herbert, for - the benefit of S. Joseph’s Foreign Missionary College at Mill Hill - near London, to which she has been a warm friend and liberal patron - from the beginning. Americans cannot help feeling a great interest in - that institution, for the first band of missionaries it sent forth - came to labor among the colored people of our Southern States. - - Nothing could be better calculated to stimulate the fervor of the - aspirant to the missionary life than the example of these two young - Christian heroes worthy of the primitive ages of the church—worthy, - it might be said, of the XIXth century; for never was there an age - that required more firmness of purpose and constancy to the truth - than this, with its glorious confessors of the faith in Asia, and as - large an army of martyrs on the other side of the globe undergoing the - slower torture of heart and soul that is far worse than that of the - cangue. - - The lives of the two missionaries before us are affecting to the - last degree. Every Catholic youth should read them, if not to fully - emulate their example, to which all have not the happiness of being - called, at least to catch something of the unworldliness and burning - piety they manifested from their very childhood. Indeed, we wish - everybody could read them, for there could be no better proof of the - holy influences of the Catholic religion upon the young heart. We - linger with admiration over the account of their boyhood overshadowed - by their future martyrdom. One golden thread runs through their - whole lives—one constant aim—the wish to win souls to Christ, and - at last to gain the martyr’s crown. And this intense desire for - martyrdom was no mere youthful enthusiasm, as was proved when their - lifelong prayer was granted. But amid all the self-denial with which - they fitted themselves for their glorious destiny, nothing in their - character is more striking than the tender affection—passing ordinary - human love—apparent in their intercourse with their families, as - if religion had refined every fibre of their hearts, and made them - more keenly susceptible of love, of suffering, and of devotion to - the service of God. They never allowed earthly affections, however, - to come between them and their great aim in life. What angels of the - sanctuary they were while preparing for the sublime functions of the - priesthood! What a lofty conception they had of the sacrament of holy - orders that consecrated them to a life of sacrifice! How joyfully they - entered upon the life that promised them the radiant crown. - - “Prepared for virgin souls and them - Who seek the martyr’s diadem.” - - “_Souffrir pour Dieu_—To suffer for God—will henceforth be my - motto,” said Henri Dorié, about to leave his country for ever. - Everything at the _Séminaire des Missions Etrangères_ was calculated - to strengthen this desire for suffering. Old missionaries, who bore - in their bodies the marks of the Lord Jesus, were their professors. - Every day they went to pray in the Hall of Martyrs, around which - are ranged the relics of those who have suffered for the faith in - China, Japan, and the isles of the sea, together with the instruments - of their martyrdom—an appalling shrine at which to pray! And the - whole room is crimsoned with the light diffused through the red - hangings—significant of blood and suffering.... Among other sacred - articles in this hall is the blood-stained crucifix of Bishop Borie, - whose interesting life has been written by the Rev. F. Hewit. - - One of the most affecting scenes related in these books is when a - band of missionaries is about to leave for their field of labor. On - the eve of their departure, the young apostles all stand before the - altar—victims ready for the glorious sacrifice—and one by one the - loved companions and friends they are to leave behind come up to - prostrate themselves, and kiss the feet of these heralds of salvation, - the whole congregation meanwhile chanting: _Quam speciosi pedes - evangelizantium pacem, evangelizantium bona!_—How beautiful are the - feet of them who preach the Gospel of peace, of them that bring glad - tidings of good things! - - M. Vénard went to labor in Tonquin. When the first missionary to that - country—a Dominican friar—landed there in 1596, he found a great - cross on that unknown shore, which seemed to prefigure what awaited - those who should attempt to evangelize it. And to see how truly, we - need go no further back than 1861, when, in the course of nine months, - sixteen thousand Christians were martyred in only two provinces of - Anam, and twenty thousand condemned to perpetual slavery. This was the - year in which M. Vénard was martyred. The letter he wrote his beloved - sister in his cage at midnight on the eve of his martyrdom has been - styled by an eminent Frenchman “one of the most beautiful pages of the - history of the martyrs of the XIXth century.” - - Henry Dorié was sent to Corea—the very name of which is symbolical to - the Christian ear of persecution and martyrdom. The whole history of - the church in that country is written in blood. Its first missionaries - were all martyrs, its first bishop, its first converts. In one - year—1839—over eight hundred Christians were martyred, and a still - larger number perished from want in the mountains where they had taken - refuge. But M. Dorié had but one desire—when his labors were ended, - to win the palm. His prayer was not denied him. - - It is thus the sufferings of Christ are daily perpetuated in some - member of his body in various parts of the world. We should all have a - share in this great sacrifice of atonement, according to the measure - of our calling, if not by personal labors, at least by our prayers - and contributions. England is taking up the foreign missionary work. - America, too, should have her part in it. Such a work would react on - our own hearts, and develop a self-denial and generosity that would - constrain us more powerfully in promoting every good work at home. - As Archbishop Manning says: “It is because we have need of men and - means at home that I am convinced we ought to send both men and means - abroad—in exact proportion as we freely give what we have freely - received will our works at home prosper, and the zeal and number of - our priests be multiplied.” - - - THE MONEY GOD; or, The Empire and the Papacy. A Tale of the - Third Century. By M. A. Quinton. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. 1873. - - _The Empire and the Papacy_—a title of fresh significance in these - days. It is remarkable how soon the Roman emperors realized that - their authority could not exist in Rome with that of the pope, - the importance of whose office became more and more apparent. The - influence of the papacy gradually widened, and so asserted itself as - to overshadow the very authority of the emperor himself. It excited - alarm. Decius declared he would rather hear of a rival springing up to - contest for the empire than of the election of a new bishop of Rome. - How notoriously eminent must have been the dignity of that office to - excite such jealousy! Was it the dread of this new mysterious power - that led so many of the emperors to exile themselves, as it were, from - their capital? Though pope after pope lived in Rome, and died there, - even if by martyrdom, not one emperor from the time of Heliogabalus - till Constantine ended his days in that city. One was killed in - Germany, another strangled in Carthage, a third slain in Thrace, a - fourth killed by lightning beyond the Tigris; not one died in Rome. - And for more than a century and a half they resided elsewhere, hardly - daring to show themselves in the capital, because they felt more - and more their moral isolation in the midst of the Roman people. - Diocletian went to Rome to be recognized as emperor, but returned - to Nicomedia. When Maximian was made his colleague and assumed the - government of Italy, he did not establish himself at Rome, but chose - Milan as his residence. Constantine’s great object, after triumphing - over his enemies, was to leave Rome and found a new capital. “The - same girdle could not enclose both the emperor and the pontiff,” - says M. de Maistre; “Constantine gave up Rome to the pope.” It was - a moral necessity that the papacy—a power “far above king, law, or - popular right,” should be free, and this has never been contested with - impunity since. - - In the work before us, the contrasting influence of the empire and - the papacy is exemplified in the history of two boys who were stolen - from their mother in Thrace and sold at Rome as slaves. Separated in - their childhood, one providentially fell into the hands of Agatho, a - Christian hermit; the other gave himself to the service of Plutus, - the “Money God.” We wish, for the sake of the young into whose hands - this book may fall, that the early history of Eva, their mother, had - been somewhat veiled. It affords, however, a strong contrast between - the violent, passionate courtesan and the subdued and humble Christian - which she finally becomes. A confessor of the faith, she fully redeems - her early career by a life of penitence. Her sad form gives relief - to that of Plautia, a noble Christian matron. Tertullian tells us - how much Christianity improved the condition of woman. No sage of - antiquity ever thought of developing her spiritual nature and thereby - giving her greater moral elevation, but the humblest Christian priest - made this a duty. We have only to read the writings of the Fathers, - particularly S. Jerome, to realize the great renovation that took - place in woman’s nature when her soul was awakened to higher aims - and became conscious of a holier destiny. The _Acts_ of the early - martyrs set before us some of the noblest types of womanhood. There is - a grandeur in their unalterable serenity of soul under persecution, - examples of which are given in the book before us. Indebted so greatly - to the Christian religion, woman became its efficient supporter. We - learn from Ammianus Marcellinus that the first popes were chiefly - supported by the offerings of the Roman matrons. Their devotion to - the service of the church is manifest from the jealous exclamation of - Diocletian: “I hate, as a usurpation of my powers, the influence of - these Christian priests over the matrons.” - - This tale of the IIId century evinces great familiarity on the part of - the author with classical and antiquarian lore as well as the early - Christian writers. - - - THE NESBITS; or, A Mother’s Last Request, and other Tales. By - Uncle Paul. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - - The first of these stories and the principal one, _The Nesbits_, is a - rapid sketch of the life and fortunes of a young American, none the - less interesting and, it may be hoped, true to nature because the - figure of the hero, Ned Nesbit, is exactly the reverse of the “Young - America” of the popular imagination. He is honest, manly, truthful, - and religious; and it may be a surprise to some readers to find that - those unusual characteristics of “Young America” neither make him - insipid nor offer an insurmountable barrier to his success in life. - The scenes of the story shift from the backwoods to New Orleans, from - New Orleans to Mexico. There is plenty of fresh air, of sea and sky, - pleasant bits of Mexican scenery and vistas of Mexican life; there are - camping out and long rides and “brushes” with the Indians, hit off - rapidly, and though in an unpretentious style, one admirably adapted - to its purpose. There is a pleasant and harmless little love-plot - that Uncle Paul’s chief readers—the young folk—are likely to vote - “slow,” but they will find plenty of other things more congenial to - their sanguinary tastes scattered throughout the book, while the tone - is thoroughly Catholic from beginning to end. The second story of the - volume—“The Little Sister of the Poor”—is a sketch, condensed from - the French, of a little hunchback, who, finding her deformity rather - an obstacle to her walking pleasantly in the ways of this world, and - that even a dower of 10,000 francs did not serve to smooth it down, - finally hides it away in religion, and becomes “a little sister.” The - story would be very entertaining only that it may tend to strengthen - the stupid idea so prevalent among non-Catholics, that the nun’s - habit is a good covering for personal deformity, and that a convent - is a sort of receptacle for ladies who can “do no better”: whereas, - God culls his flowers where he wills, and women in convents are just - the same as women anywhere else, with the exception that they have - devoted their lives entirely to God’s service. In his last story—“The - Orphan”—Uncle Paul has struck upon a vein which might be worked with - as much profit as interest. It is a short, indeed too short, sketch - of a thing that a few years back was of very common occurrence in - this country. An Irish emigrant girl finds herself suddenly bereft of - her parents, and placed in the keeping of a Protestant family. The - author has made her position superior to that of the generality of - her sisters under similar circumstances; she is a ward rather than a - servant, and among friends rather than enemies to her race and faith. - But even so, she finds herself, young and friendless, placed amid - the thousand difficulties of Protestant surroundings. Her triumph - over them is very touchingly told. The idea contained in this story - might be worked to much greater advantage; and the tracing up some of - those poor children who were snatched away and buried among heretical - families, which, even if acting with the very best intentions, might - consider the religion of these orphans something they were bound to - abolish, would form a sadly interesting story, and one which would - take in much of our recent Catholic history in this country. - - - WILD TIMES. A Tale of the Days of Queen Elizabeth. By Cecilia - M. Caddell. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. - - This is a new and handsome edition of a story which, though it came - out some years back in London, is probably unknown to very many of our - readers. It is just one of those books which Catholics sadly stand - in need of to adorn and grace their, to a certain extent, cumbersome - literature. Miss Caddell has been fortunate in her choice of _Wild - Times_, and _Wild Times_ have been fortunate in Miss Caddell. The - period of the Reformation forms for the Catholic of to-day the most - interesting one of English history; and recent researches, such as - are exhibited in F. Morris’ late books (_Our Catholic Forefathers_, - and _The Condition of Catholics under James I_.) and others similar, - are bringing that particular period home to us with a clearness and - fulness of knowledge which tend to make us acquainted with all the - intricacies and common details of life, particularly Catholic life - in those wild times, as we are with the humdrum life of to-day. Miss - Caddell’s story is really the history of one of the very few noble - English Catholic families who stood firm to their faith in that dark - hour, and who, for the simple reason of being true to their God, were, - according to law, false to their sovereign and country. The chief - characters are two young brothers, Sir Hugh and Amadée Glenthorne, the - latter a Jesuit educated on the Continent, and returning by stealth - to the work of the ministry, which at that time meant martyrdom; the - former a fiery, high-spirited English gentleman, whose hot blood and - lofty aspirations cannot run tamely in the dismal groove set him by - the “law,” because he happens to be a Catholic, but who, when the - hour of trial comes, and he is weighed in the balance, is not found - wanting. Around these two, with their charming sister Amy, the plot - gathers; and the tracing of their fortunes and misfortunes makes a - most beautiful and moving tale. There are plenty of other characters - in the book: Blanche Monteman, Hugh’s betrothed, and Guy, the lover - of Amy, both Protestants, give occasion for some very skilfully - constructed complications; and the proud nature of the girl, and the - terrible fall of that pride, are given with what the lady author may - allow to be called a masterhand. There is also a weird gipsy queen, - Ulrique, who turns out eventually to be something quite different, - powerfully drawn, whilst the premature death of the mischievous little - imp, Tom Tit, is as touchingly told, if not more so, as that of Little - Paul Dombey. To enter into the plot of the story further than has - been done would be to deprive the reader of _Wild Times_ of half the - pleasure of a story so skilfully woven that the interest is sustained - to the very last line, and its development hidden until the author - chooses to disclose it. The style is of the purest, occasionally - rising to the strongest, English. Miss Caddell has mastered the old - forms, without making them as wearisome as some of Scott’s Northern - dialects cannot fail to be to the unhappy uninitiated. The love in - the story is by no means of the namby-pamby order, but good, and - honest, and true; in a word, manly and womanly in the true sense - of those words; and though mainly carried on between Catholic and - Protestant, it serves for that very reason to heighten the interest of - the story, and as here depicted seems a very natural thing in those - wild times; whilst one has the hope all through that earthly love will - blend with a higher. The gradual change effected in the blunt, fiery - character of Hugh by the chastening hand of affliction, under which - at first he chafes till you fear for him, but finally rises with all - his strength of character to the heroism of a Sebastian, is as ably, - though naturally and unconsciously, developed as anything the writer - remembers seeing in this style of book. The only thing he quarrels - with is the preface. Without being dogmatic on the point, it is very - doubtful whether, “when the queen—Elizabeth—ascended the throne, - Catholicity was still the religion of the great masses of the people, - and was either secretly followed or openly professed by a large half - of the noblest families in the land.” English history scarcely bears - this out; and had only one-half the noblest families in the land been - even secretly Catholics, still less such Catholics as Hugh Glenthorne - and his brother, England would never have sworn by a goddess in - petticoats, and Mr. Froude would never have felt compelled to write - his history. Again, when the author speaks of “the brightest and - bravest of the band who form a halo of glory round the throne of Queen - Elizabeth,” the reader involuntarily asks himself, What band? And the - very question is its own answer. Still, a notice is not for a preface; - and however one may quarrel with that, with the story itself no fault - can be found. It is a beautiful, high-toned, moving picture of noble - Catholic struggle, suffering, and death, drawn evidently with infinite - pains and after historic study, and with that highest art which is - nearest nature. - - PETER’S JOURNEY, AND OTHER TALES. By the author of - _Marion Howard_ and _Maggie’s Rosary_. WILFULNESS AND ITS - CONSEQUENCES. By Lady Herbert. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1873. - - The little book before us is intended for a premium-book for schools, - and is admirably adapted to this purpose. The stories are thoroughly - natural, and written in a good, healthy Catholic spirit. They are - calculated to reach the masses in the most satisfactory way which - could be chosen, that is, through their children. A great deal is - constantly said about the authority of parents in the home, but - we should not forget the immense and preponderating element of - the children’s influence on their parents. This, if used in the - right direction (which means, if guided in that direction by the - teacher) may become of the utmost importance. It may civilize many - a half-savage unfortunate who seems dead even to the stings of his - own conscience; it may turn to serious reasoning the mind hitherto - careless, because not exercised on spiritual things; it may shame - into decency a character not irredeemably bad, but overgrown with the - evil habits of half a century. In _Peter’s Journey_, or a drunkard’s - dream, we see put into plain words the devil’s plea against the victim - of intemperance. He claims him as his own by _fair barter_. “When - thou didst ask for drink, did I not ask thee in return, not only thy - wife’s affection, thy children’s happiness, thy home’s comfort, but, - more than all, did I not demand thy soul? _I asked thee openly, and - thou didst willingly agree...._ Well, didst thou not have the drink, - morning, noon, and night? _And if so, shall I not have my price in - full?_” This is a dark, but far from overwrought picture. Yet the - mercy of God is greater than even such malicious sins, and till the - very last the “pearly shadow” of his angel guardian protects the poor - sinner. Peter awakes, and a sudden reformation is at hand. The poor - wife, breaking down under her troubles, is weary and fretful, but - Peter does not heed this, and in his stormy exit is only stopped by - the baby, who is “examining the handle [of the door] with an attention - worthy of an amateur locksmith.” Peter raised it in his arms, looked - at it for a moment, and then, kissing it almost reverently, gave it - to Mike and clumped down-stairs. “Poor Norah hoped he had not got - _delirium tremens_.” It was a long time before Peter came back; when - he did, it was behind the rampart of a large basket bursting with - eatables. He goes down on his knees to his wife and begs forgiveness - in the most charmingly abrupt and natural way, and when Norah recovers - from a fainting-fit, everything is bright and happy again. “Certain - it is that, when the _Angelus_ rang, it found them sitting side by - side, shelling peas, and the baby on his knee, chuckling over a stick - of rhubarb that it expected every one to smell every five minutes.” - And what is the end? A triumph for Peter, and a hopeful example for - all those who are honestly trying to follow in his footsteps. “In - the whole parish there is not a cleaner house, better children, or - a happier wife than Peter’s.... He collects the subscriptions for - the schools, takes the money in church, carries the big banner at - processions, and seems to do the work of half a dozen men made into - one.... Is there a drunkard to reclaim, Peter is the man to take him - in hand, depend upon it. Is there a drunkard’s widow struggling with - her little ones alone, Peter will help her and put her in a way to get - her living ... and he thanks God for all things, for his home, his - little ones, his means of doing good, but, more than all, he thanks - him for his wife Norah, and for a journey he took, of which he never - speaks, on the Feast of S. Peter and S. Paul.” - - Of the “other tales,” we much prefer “A Carpenter’s Holiday.” - The evils of bad companionship are here depicted, the absurd - temptations which human respect thrusts in the path of young and - often weak men, the manliness and true Anglo-Saxon spirit which even - outsiders recognize in a firm refusal to yield to such temptations. - The character of Sam is very interesting, and the history of his - conversion quite a natural one. A lesson here and there is worth - taking from it. For instance, the Catholic carpenter says to his - friend, “People talk so much about our flowers and candles that really - one would think they was a great part of our religion, _and, as it - is, they’re just nothing_.” The old lesson of the example of converts - is also well put forward. The end is, of course, an introduction to - an earthly paradise, in the shape of a snug little farm, “the house - hidden by roses, jasmine, ivy, and honeysuckle ... a dear, large, - old-fashioned garden, with its apple and pear trees, its currant - and gooseberry bushes, and its bed of flowers and cabbages, never - thinking, as grand people’s flowers and cabbages seem to think, that - they are not fit company for each other.” We are inclined to think - that, if all discontented, restless people believed this sort of thing - to be the inevitable reward of virtue, they would immediately become - virtuous and leave off being discontented and restless. _We_ should, - at any rate. And if this kind of life was the ending to which all - good carpenters who spent their early holidays properly had a chance - of attaining, why, then, we should be much freer than we are from - trades-union strikes and International Associations. “The Carpenter’s - Holiday” is the story most full of human interest and natural incident - among all the little group by the author of _Maggie’s Rosary_.—We now - come to Lady Herbert’s story of _Wilfulness_. This is an extract from - the diary of a Sister of Mercy, and reveals one of the many phases - of silent misery of which a large city is always full. The story is - interesting if only as a picture of the heroism, the sacrifices, - the sufferings, and the charity of people in humble, struggling - circumstances, who could never hope to have their virtues set before - an admiring public, and whose only motive was evidently the love of - God and reverent trust in his divine providence. The last days of - the heroine are touchingly told, her unselfishness in behalf of her - father especially. “Every shilling which had been given her to spend - in the little comforts so urgently required, had been hoarded up by - her for this long-expected situation, when she was determined that her - father’s appearance should do no discredit to his kind recommender. - ‘Only think,’ she continued, ‘I had enough for everything but one pair - of boots, and I could not conceive where that eighteen shillings was - to come from. But I set to work and prayed one whole night for it, - and the next morning a young priest came to see me, and brought me a - sovereign, which he said a gentleman had given him that very day to - give to his first sick call!’” - - TWO THOUSAND MILES ON HORSEBACK. A Summer Tour to the Plains - and New Mexico. By James F. Meline. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1873. - - This is the fourth edition of this excellent book, which is now - published by The Catholic Publication Society. As we noticed this book - at some length in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for February, 1868, we - can only reiterate what we then said, viz.: - - “There is just about enough fact to make the work decently solid, a - good deal of fancy and impression, and, above all, a light hand. - The style as a whole is really good, because it does pretty evenly - just what it attempts and professes—sometimes more, seldom less. - The descriptions of Denver and Central City, and the account of the - Pueblos of New Mexico, interested us especially—the former for its - manner, the latter for its interesting and curious facts. But another - reader would call our selection invidious, and cite quite another set - of incidents. The fact is, Mr. Meline is everywhere vivid, easy, and - suggestive, and we do think we like those two parts best because we - have friends in Denver and take a special interest in the old Poltec - question.” - - PROCEEDINGS OF THE FOURTH ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE IRISH CATHOLIC - BENEVOLENT UNION, HELD AT PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER 16-18, 1872; TOGETHER - WITH THE CONSTITUTION, ADDRESSES, ETC. Philadelphia: Office of - the _Catholic Standard_. 1872. - - This was a convention of the representatives of nearly 20,000 Catholic - workingmen. These men, living in different parts of the country, - are organized into numerous beneficial societies, each independent - for its own purposes and government, yet enjoying a fellowship with - all the others for the sake of mutual benefit. The Benevolent Union - makes these men each others’ friends, in sickness and in death, in - any part of the country where a society exists. We say it makes them - friends—we might better say brothers; for attention and support in - sickness and Catholic burial after death are acts more than friendly. - Any society which is beneficial and composed exclusively of practical - Catholics, can become associated on payment of five dollars initiation - fee, and not to exceed twenty-five cents a year for each member—this - tax last year having been but ten cents. From these sources a fund - is raised to pay the expenses of the conventions and a very small - salary to the secretary and treasurer. Any member away from home is - entitled to recognition by simply presenting his travelling card. - In case of sickness, it entitles him to receive from any affiliated - society whatever aid his own would give him, and in case of death, to - the expenditure of the same amount for his funeral as would have been - allowed at home. Expenses thus incurred are refunded by the society to - which the recipient belonged. - - The mere statement of these advantages suffices to explain the - extraordinary success which has attended the Union. Begun in the - little city of Dayton, Ohio, with a small number of societies, it - has in four years extended itself in every direction; sometimes - creating new societies, sometimes affiliating old ones, everywhere - attracting great attention and eliciting the warmest encouragement; - until it is not too much to say of it now that it is one of the great - beneficial institutions of the country. At the last convention, - the President of the Philadelphia City Council extended a public - welcome to the delegates. The proceedings were opened by a sermon - from the distinguished Jesuit Father Maguire, and the speeches and - debates were orderly and dignified, and sometimes eloquent, the most - important questions being discussed and decided expeditiously and - without ill-temper. Among other things, we noticed that measures - were instituted looking to the settlement of immigrants in favorable - places, and to their safety and comfort while in transit. A full - and minute account was rendered of the receipt and disbursement of - the common fund, and expression frankly and powerfully given to - the unanimous sentiment of the societies with regard to Catholic - education, and of sympathy with the Holy Father in his present - distress. There was no evidence whatever of any spirit of rivalry; on - the contrary, a committee was appointed to negotiate for the extension - of the benefits of the Benevolent Union among other Catholic bodies. - - These large assemblages of intelligent and zealous Catholics supply - one of the greatest wants of the church. After business matters - are fairly disposed of, the convention becomes a great Catholic - representative body—not indeed to make laws or to enforce them, but - to give voice to the thoughts of the Catholic laity on questions which - concern the general welfare of the church. Never did the clergy, from - the Pope down to the parish priest, stand in greater need of the - encouragement of the faithful, and never before have the faithful - exhibited greater alacrity in giving it. Such gatherings as these - are the best support which the church nowadays can have in resisting - oppression and securing her rights. We therefore pray God to give this - Benevolent Union a great success; and we are at a loss to perceive why - such should not be the prayer of every good Catholic. The organization - of a branch society in a parish will be the best preventive of - Freemasonry and other condemned societies; it will secure the poor - man and his family from want in case of sickness or accident at home - or among strangers; it will give the priest and the educated layman - an audience outside the church for the advocacy of Catholic public - rights; and at least once a year the convention will exhibit to the - American public, in a most striking manner, the unity, the charity, - the patriotism, and the power of the Catholic people of this country. - - - THE HOMES OF OBER-AMMERGAU. A series of Twenty Etchings in - heliotype, from the original pen-and-ink drawings, together with Notes - from a diary kept during a three months’ residence in Ober-Ammergau, - in the summer of 1871. By Eliza Greatorex. Munich: Published by Jos. - Albert, photographer to the courts of Munich and St. Petersburg. 1872. - New York: Putnam. - - Many books have been published about Ober-Ammergau and its - Passion-Play. This one is not, however, a mere repetition of their - substance under a different form. It is altogether different in - substance, and, therefore, a really new as well as most interesting - description. The accomplished author does not occupy her pages with an - account of the play itself, but takes us into the homes of the actors, - and among the scenes of that picturesque German village. Though - she is not a Catholic, her heart is full of kindliness, sympathy, - and reverence, and we have read her truly exquisite portrayal of - the primitive and most Christian life of the favored inhabitants - of Ammergau with pleasure and admiration. The etchings are in the - style of the best and truest art. The author has been honored by an - autograph letter from the King of Bavaria, who, in spite of his faults - as a ruler, is a man of taste and cultivation in the fine arts, and - by a very kind reception at the private audience which was granted to - her by the august Pius IX. We recommend this beautiful volume very - cordially to all lovers of art, and of the most genuine, simple, and - charming phases of nature and of Catholic piety which are to be found - in the modern world, which is so full of glaring but empty illusions. - As the edition in the hands of the New York publisher is a small one, - those who desire to procure a copy would do well to be in haste about - ordering it from the publisher. - - FILIOLA. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. 1873. - - ERNSCLIFF HALL. THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL. Dramas for young - ladies’ school exhibitions. New York: The Catholic Publication - Society. 1873. - - The latter of these, a whimsical satire on the discontent of each - class with its own duties, pleasures, and belongings, and envy of - those of every other class, is amusing. To every rose there is a - thorn, and while some envy their superiors in position those luxuries - which the latter care nothing for, these again are often constrained - to envy the freedom of those on a lower level. But nothing is truer - than the adage, that _the back is fitted to the burden_. - - THE DEAF-MUTE: OR, THE ABBÉ DE L’EPÉE. Historical Drama in - Four Acts. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - - The following, taken from the preface of the work, is a synopsis of - this little play: Julius is exposed in Paris at the age of ten by his - uncle, who procures a written evidence of the boy’s death, and then - seizes upon his property. The Abbé De l’Epée, Director of the Deaf and - Dumb Asylum in Paris, finds the youth, and educates him. Suspecting - the boy to be of noble blood, he bestows all his care on the helpless - deaf-mute during eight years, creates his soul anew, as it were, and - in the meantime endeavors to find out the place of his birth. For this - purpose the Abbé travels with his protégé over a great part of France, - and finally arrives at Toulouse, which city the young man recognizes - as the place of his home. The Abbé consults the young lawyer Frauval, - a friend of St. Alme, who is the son of Julius’s uncle. Darlemont - refuses to recognize his nephew, but is at last prevailed upon to - restore Julius to his rightful inheritance, by the threatened exposure - of his son St. Alme. So the matter is settled amicably, and Julius - grants to St. Alme, his former playmate, half of his estate. - - - - -THE - -CATHOLIC WORLD. - - -VOL. XVII., No. 99.—JUNE, 1873. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. -I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at -Washington, D. C. - - -JEROME SAVONAROLA. - - “No breath of calumny ever attainted the personal purity of - Savonarola.”—_Henry Hart Milman, Dean of S. Paul’s._ - -THE bright and shining fame of Girolamo Savonarola, the man upon -whom, in the XVth century, the wondering attention of the whole -civilized world was admiringly fixed, fell during the XVIIIth century -into oblivion or contempt—a not uncommon fate in that period for -religious reputations and religious works. The generally received -opinion concerning him was that of the sceptic Bayle, who, with show -of impartiality and phrase of fairness (‘Opinion is divided as to -whether he was an honest man or a hypocrite’), but with cold and -cruel cynicism, covered the unhappy Dominican with his sharpest and -most pungent sarcasm, leaving the reader to infer that he was a mean -impostor, who most probably deserved the martyrdom he suffered. - -In our own day, Dean Milman, of the Established Church of England, asks: - - “Was he a hypocritical impostor, self-deluded fanatic, holy, - single-minded Christian preacher, heaven-commissioned prophet, - wonder-working saint? Martyr, only wanting the canonization which was - his due? Was he the turbulent, priestly demagogue, who desecrated - his holy office by plunging into the intrigue and strife of civic - politics, or a courageous and enlightened lover of liberty?” - -And—unkindest cut of all—punishment transcending in degree the worst -faults and most terrible crimes of which he has been unjustly accused -by his most cruel enemies—modern German Protestantism has placed -him in bronze effigy in company with the bigamous Landgrave Philip -of Hesse, and with Prince Frederick of Saxony, on the monument at -Worms, as one of the predecessors and helpers of Luther. The ascetic -Savonarola the acolyte of the beery Monk of Wittenberg! The chaste -Dominican the inferior of the sensual Reformer! The ecclesiastic who, -in the flower of his manhood and the fulness of his intellect, made the -unreserved declaration of Catholic faith[118] in which he lived and -died, the aider and precursor of the archheresiarch! - -Truly, so far as the judgment of this world is concerned, one hour of -the degradation of Worms is sufficient to have cancelled all his sins. -Poor Savonarola! - -Jerome Savonarola, born in Ferrara, in 1452 (Sept. 21), was the son of -Nicholas Savonarola. His mother Helen was of the Buonaccorsi family of -Mantua, and his paternal grandfather a physician of Padua of such high -reputation that Nicholas, Prince of Este, induced him, by the bestowal -of honors and a pension, to come to Ferrara. Jerome’s youth was serious -and studious, and, under the fostering care of one of the best of -mothers, his character developed favorably. At the age of ten, he went -to the public school of his native city, and it was intended that he -should complete the usual studies necessary to his becoming a physician. - -The traveller of to-day, who sees the deserted squares and grass-grown -streets of Ferrara, can form but little idea of the Ferrara of that -period; a splendid city of one hundred thousand inhabitants, possessing -one of the most brilliant courts of Italy, and witnessing the frequent -passage of princes, emperors, and popes, whose presence gave constant -occasion for pageants, processions, and banquets. The young Jerome, it -was noticed, sought none of these, but was fond of lonely walks and -solitude, even avoiding the beautiful promenades in the gardens of the -ducal palace. - -He pursued his medical studies for some time, but his favorite reading -was found in the works of Aristotle and S. Thomas Aquinas. Long years -afterward, he said of the latter: “When I was in the world, I held him -in the greatest reverence. I have always kept to his teaching, and, -whenever I wish to feel small, I read him, and he always appears to me -as a giant, and I to myself as a dwarf.” Although, like most youths of -his age, he indulged in making verses, his were not of the ordinary -callow model. One of his short youthful poems which survived him was on -the spread of sceptical philosophy and the decay of virtue. “Where,” he -asks—“where are the pure diamonds, the bright lamps, the sapphires, -the white robes, and white roses of the church?” Such language, taken -in connection with his declaration at the time that he would never -become a monk, shows that the idea, although in a negative form, was -already working in his mind. He afterwards related that, being at -Faenza one day, he by chance entered the church of S. Augustine, and -heard a remarkable word fall from the lips of the preacher. “I will not -tell you what it was,” he added, “but it is here, graven on my heart. -One year afterwards, I became a religious.” - -Modern novels and the average silly judgment of worldly people in such -matters are usually unable to comprehend why any man or woman should -enter a convent unless they are what is called “crossed in love.” Some -such story is related of Savonarola, and Milman says of it: “There is -a vague story, resting on but slight authority, that Savonarola was -the victim of a tender but honorable passion for a beautiful female.” -We should also incline to be of the same opinion, were it not that -Villari[119] refers to it as having some foundation. He says that, in -1472, a Florentine exile, bearing the illustrious name of Strozzi, and -his daughter, took up their abode next to the dwelling of Savonarola’s -family. The mere fact that he was an exile from Dante’s native city -was sufficient to excite Savonarola’s sympathies. He imagined him -oppressed by the injustice of enemies, suffering for his country and -for the cause of liberty. His eyes met those of the Florentine maiden. -Overflowing with confident hope, he revealed his heart to her. What was -his bitter disappointment on receiving a disdainful answer rejecting -him, and giving him at the same time to understand that the house of -Strozzi could not lower itself by condescending to an alliance with the -family of Savonarola. He resented the insult with honest indignation, -but, says his chronicler, _il suo cuore ne restó desolato_—“his heart -was broken.” This may all be, but certain it is that the disappointed -youth did not instantly rush into a convent to bury his blasted hopes. -On the contrary, the incident of the sermon at Faenza occurred nearly -two years afterward. On this circumstance he frequently dwelt, saying -that a word, _una parola_, of the preacher still strongly affected him, -but he always reserved it as a sort of mysterious secret even from his -most intimate friends. - -In returning from Faenza, he was light of heart, but found, on reaching -home, that a hard trial was before him. It was necessary to conceal -his intention from his parents, but his mother, as though she read -his secret, would fix her eyes upon him with a gaze which seemed -to penetrate his very soul. This struggle went on for a year, and -Savonarola often refers to his mental sufferings during that period. -“If I had made known my resolution,” he says, “I believe my heart -must have broken, and I should have allowed myself to be shaken in -my purpose.” Again, on another day, the 22d of April, 1475, Jerome, -seating himself, took a lute, and played an air so sad that his mother, -turning to him suddenly, as if moved by the spirit of prophecy, said to -him in a tone of sorrow: “My dear son, that is a farewell song.” With -great effort, the young man continued to play with trembling hand, but -dared not raise his eyes from the ground. - -The next day, April 23, was the feast of S. George, a great festival -for all Florence. Savonarola had fixed upon it to leave his father’s -house, and, as soon as the religious ceremonies of the morning were -over, he quitted home, and made his way to Bologna, where he knocked -for admittance at the - - -CONVENT OF THE DOMINICANS. - -He was then just twenty-two and a half years old. Announcing his desire -to enter on his novitiate, he wished, he said, to be employed in the -most menial of the offices of the community, and to be the servant of -all the others. Being admitted, he seized his first leisure moment that -same day to write a long and affectionate letter to his father, in -which he sought to comfort him and explain the step he had taken. It is -a memorable letter: - - “DEAR FATHER: I fear my departure from home has caused - you much sorrow—the more so that I left you furtively. Permit me - to explain my motives. You who so well know how to appreciate the - perishable things of earth, judge not with passion like a woman, - but, guided by truth, judge according to reason whether I am not - right in carrying out my project and abandoning the world. The motive - determining me to enter on a religious life is this: the great misery - of the world, the iniquities of men, the crimes, the pride, the - shocking blasphemies, by which the world is polluted, for there is - none that doeth good—no, not one. Often and daily have I uttered this - verse with tears: - - ‘Heu fuge crudelas terras! Fuge littus avarum.’ - - I could not support the wickedness of the people. Everywhere I saw - virtue despised, and vice honored. No greater suffering could I have - in this world. Wherefore every day I prayed our Lord Jesus Christ to - lift me out of this mire. It has pleased God in his infinite mercy to - show me the right way, and I have entered upon it, although unworthy - of such a grace. Sweet Jesus, may I suffer a thousand deaths rather - than oppose thee and show myself ungrateful! Thus, my dear father, - far from shedding tears, you should thank our Lord Jesus, for he has - given you a son, has preserved him to you up to the age of twenty-two, - and has deigned to admit him among his knights militant. Can you - imagine that I have not endured the greatest affliction in separating - from you? Never have I suffered such mental torment as in abandoning - my own father to make the sacrifice of my body to Jesus Christ, and - to surrender my will into the hands of persons I had never seen. In - mercy, then, most loving father, dry your tears, and add not to my - pain and sorrow. I am satisfied with what I have done, and I would not - return to the world even with the certainty of becoming greater than - Cæsar. But, like you, I am of flesh and blood; the senses wage war - with reason, and I must struggle furiously with the assaults of the - devil.[120] They will soon pass by, these first sad days, bitterest in - the freshness of their grief, and I trust we will be consoled by grace - in this world, and glory in the next. Comfort my mother, I beseech - you, of whom, with yourself, I entreat your blessing.” - -In the convent at Bologna, Savonarola spent seven years. During his -novitiate, his conduct was the admiration of all his brethren. They -wondered at his modesty, his humility, and his faultless obedience. He -appeared to be entirely absorbed in ecstatic contemplation of heavenly -things, and to have no other desire than to be allowed to pass his time -in prayer and humble obedience. To one looking at him walking in the -cloisters, he had more the appearance of a shadow than of a living man, -so much was he emaciated by abstinence and fasts. The severest trials -of the novitiate seemed light to him, and his superiors had frequently -to restrain his self-imposed denials. Even when not fasting, he ate -hardly enough to sustain life. His bed was of rough wood with a sack -of straw and one coarse sheet; his clothes, the plainest possible, -but always scrupulously neat. In personal appearance, Savonarola was -of middle stature, dark, of sanguine-bilious temperament, and of -extraordinary nervous sensibility. His eyes flamed from beneath dark -eyebrows; his nose was aquiline, mouth large, lips thick but firmly -compressed, and manifesting an immovable determination of purpose. -His forehead was already marked with deep furrows, indicating a -mind absorbed in the contemplation of grave subjects. Of beauty of -physiognomy there was none, but it bore the expression of severe -dignity. A certain sad smile, passing over his rough features, gave -them a kindly expression which inspired confidence at first sight. -His manners were simple and uncultivated; his discourse, plain to -roughness, became at times so eloquent and powerful that it convinced -or subdued every one. - -As Savonarola advanced in his studies, he devoted all the time he -could possibly spare to the writings of the Fathers and to the Holy -Scriptures. There are no less than four different copies of the Bible -still existing in the libraries of Florence, and a fifth in the library -of S. Mark, in Venice, of which the margins are covered with Latin -notes written by him, which are excessively abridged, and in a writing -so fine as to be read only with difficulty. According to the custom of -the order, the young monk was in due time sent out on the mission, that -is, to different cities and towns, to preach and exercise his other -clerical duties. In 1482, he was ordered to Ferrara, whither he went, -very much against his will. His relatives desired that he should remain -there, in order to be near his family. Referring to this, he wrote to -his mother: “I could not do as much good at Ferrara as elsewhere. It -is seldom that a religious succeeds in his native place. Hence it is -that the Scripture commands us to go forth into the world. A stranger -is better received everywhere. No one is a prophet in his own country. -Even concerning Christ, they asked: ‘Is not this the son of the -carpenter?’ As to me, it would be inquired, ‘Is not this Master Jerome, -who committed such and such sins, and who was not a whit better than -ourselves? Ah! we know him.’” - - -THE CONVENT OF S. MARK. - -From Ferrara, Fra Hieronimo was sent to the Convent of S. Mark, at -Florence. A mass of saintly and artistic recollections cluster around -the history of this convent. Holy men passed their lives within its -austere cloisters, and eminent artists here consecrated their works by -Christian inspiration. It is sufficient to mention from among them the -names of Fra Angelico, whose admirable frescoes adorn its walls, of -Fra Bartolomeo, known to the world as Baccio della Porta, the equal of -Andrea del Sarto, of Fra Benedetto, and of the brothers Luke and Paul -della Robbia. Villari dwells on one of its greatest illustrations, F. -Sant’ Antonino, the founder or renewer of nearly all the charitable -institutions of Florence, and in particular of the Buoni Uomini di -San Martino, which exists to this day in all its beautiful Christian -edification, if, haply, the tide of modern progress, under Victor -Emmanuel, have not swept it away. - -F. Sant’ Antonino’s memory is still cherished there as that of a -man burning with divine charity, and consumed with the love of his -neighbor. His death, which took place in 1459, was deplored in Florence -as a public calamity. - -The early history of the convent is closely connected with that of -Cosmo de’ Medici, who was its munificent patron. Besides large amounts -spent on the building, he made them a still more valuable donation. -Niccolo Niccoli, a name well known to scholars, a collector of -manuscripts of European fame, had spent his life and a large fortune in -making a collection of valuable manuscripts which was the admiration -of all Italy. At his death, he bequeathed it to the public, but the -donation was useless by reason of the heavy debts against his estate. -Cosmo paid them, and, retaining for himself a few of the most precious -documents, gave all the rest to the convent. This was the first public -library in Italy, and it was cared for by the monks in a manner which -proved them worthy of the gift they had received. S. Mark became, as it -were, a centre of learning, and not only the most learned monks of its -affiliated convents in Northern Italy, but the most distinguished men -of that period, sought every occasion to frequent it. - -Savonarola’s arrival in the Florentine convent had been preceded by his -reputation for learning and for piety. It was even said of him that he -had made some miraculous conversions, and the story was told that, in -making the journey from Ferrara to Mantua by the river, he had been -shocked by the obscene ribaldry of the boatmen. He turned upon them -with terrible earnestness, and, after half an hour of his impressive -exhortation, eleven of them threw themselves at his feet, confessing -their sins, and humbly demanding his pardon. - -Savonarola was at first delighted with all he saw of Florence. The -delicious landscape bounded by the soft outline of the Tuscan hills, -the elegance of language, the manners of the people, which appeared to -increase in refinement and courtesy as you approached Florence, all had -predisposed him to find delight in this flower of Italian cities, where -nature and art rival each other in beauty. To his mind, so strongly -imbued with the religious feeling, Florentine art seemed like a strain -of sacred music, attesting the omnipotence of genius inspired by faith. -The paintings of Fra Angelico appeared to him to have summoned the -angels to take up their abode in these cloisters; and, gazing at them, -the young religious was transported into a world of bliss. The holy -traditions of Sant’ Antonino and of his works of charity were still -fresh among the brethren, and everything appeared to draw him closer -to them. His heart was filled with hopes of better days, he forgot -his former disappointments, as well as the possibility that there -might be fresh ones in store for him when in time he came to know the -Florentines better. - - -LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT. - -When Savonarola came to Florence, Lorenzo the Magnificent had been its -ruler for many years, and was then at the apogee of his fame and his -power. Under his sway[121] everything looked prosperous and happy. -The struggles that formerly convulsed the city had long ceased. Those -who refused to bend to the domination of the Medici were imprisoned, -exiled, or dead. All was peace and tranquillity. Feasts, dances, and -tournaments filled up the leisure of this Florentine people, who, once -so jealous of their rights, now seemed to have forgotten the very -name of liberty. Lorenzo participated in all these diversions, and -even exerted himself to invent new ones. Among these were the _Canti -Carnascialeschi_, first written by him and sung by the young nobility -and gentry of Florence in the masquerades of the Carnival. Nothing -perhaps can better depict the corruption of the period than these -songs. At this day not only educated young men, but the lowest of the -populace, would hold them in scorn, and their repetition in public -would be an offence against decency swiftly to be suppressed by the -police. And yet such were the occupations of predilection of a prince -praised by all, and considered as the model of a sovereign, a prodigy -of courtesy, a political and literary genius. And there are those -who are to-day inclined to think of him as he was then looked upon, -to pardon him the blood cruelly spilled to maintain a power unjustly -acquired by him and his, the ruin of the republic, the violence by -which he forced from the community the sum necessary for his reckless -expenditure, the shameless libertinism to which he abandoned himself, -and even the rapid and infernal corruption of the people which he -studied to maintain with all his force and mental capacity.[122] And -all this must be pardoned him forsooth, because he was the protector of -literature and the fine arts! - -Among all the Italian historians who have painted Florence at this -epoch, there is but little difference except in the variety and depth -of the colors used by them. Bruto writes, and what he says is neither -useless nor irrelevant reading if, as we progress in his description, -we bear in mind to what extent it may be applied to New York in the -year 1873 as well as to Florence in 1482. “The Florentines,” he says, -“seeking to live in idleness and ease, broke with the traditions of -their ancestors, and in immoderate and shameful license fell into the -way of the most disgraceful and detestable vices. Their fathers, by -dint of labor, fatigue, virtue, abstinence, and probity, had made the -country flourish. They, on the contrary, as if they had cast aside -all shame, seemed to have nothing to lose: they gave themselves up to -drinking, gambling, and the most ignoble pleasures. Lost in debauch, -they had shameless intrigues and daily orgies. They were stained with -all wickedness, all crime. General contempt of law and justice assured -them complete impunity. Courage consisted in audacity and temerity; -ease of manner, in a culpable complaisance; politeness, in gossip and -scandal.” - - -SAVONAROLA IN FLORENCE. - -In consideration of his acquirements, Fra Hieronimo, was appointed -a teacher of the novices, and held the position for four years -(1482-1486). In 1483, owing either to a want of preachers or to the -high opinion formed of him from his success as a professor, he was -appointed to preach the course of Lenten sermons at the church of -S. Lawrence. Meantime, what he had learned of the Florentines from -personal observation had not tended to raise them in his estimation. He -had discovered that, in spite of their finished education and highly -cultivated intellects, their hearts were filled with scepticism, and -an ever-present sarcasm hovered on their lips. This want of faith and -of high principles caused him to shrink anew into himself, and his -disappointment was the greater as it contrasted so keenly with the -hopes he entertained on entering Florence. With these feelings he -for the first time ascended a Florentine pulpit. Hardly twenty-five -people came to hear him a second time. Twenty-five persons! They -could hardly be seen in the vast building. His voice was feeble, his -intonations false, his gestures awkward, his style heavy. His preaching -was a failure. But he was not discouraged, and was anxious to make -another attempt. His superiors, not caring to renew the experiment in -Florence, sent him to San Gemignano for two years. He made no attempt -to change his style. The Florentines had been accustomed to preachers -who carefully studied the elocutionary part of their sermons, many of -them seeking to form themselves upon some classical mould, and their -delivery was generally polished and graceful. Savonarola despised -these aids, and thundered in his rough, uncultivated way, against -scandals and want of faith, speaking with scorn of the modern poets -and philosophers, and despising their fanaticism for the classics. -The Bible he quoted profusely, and made it the foundation of all his -sermons. His success at San Gemignano was by no means a decided one, -nevertheless it was sufficient to give him confidence in himself, and -to confirm the course he had marked out for himself as a preacher. -Returning to his convent, he continued to fulfil his modest duties as -reader or professor until 1486, when by his superiors he was - - -SENT TO LOMBARDY, - -where he remained four years. These four years are the most obscure of -his life. It is known, however, that during this period he preached -in various cities of that country, and especially at Brescia. Here -his power in the pulpit first fully revealed itself. He preached on -the Apocalypse. With fervid words, imperious accents, and impressive -voice, he reproached the people with their sins, and threatened them -with the anger of God. Making startling application of the prophecies -to Brescia itself, they should see, he told them, their city a prey -to furious enemies, who would make their streets run rivers of blood. -Crime and cruelty would visit them in their worst shape, and everything -would be delivered up to terror, fire, and destruction. His menaces -appalled them, and his voice appeared to come from another world. These -prophecies were recalled when, a few years later, in 1512, Brescia -was taken by assault by the French troops under Gaston de Foix, and -the city sacked and devastated with the most dreadful barbarity. Six -thousand of its inhabitants were killed. - -Savonarola is next heard of at Reggio, in 1486, where a chapter of -Dominicans was convened for the discussion of certain questions of -theology and discipline. A number of learned laymen were also present, -attracted by the prospect of theological discussion. Among these was -the celebrated Pico di Mirandola, then only twenty-three, but already -famous as a prodigy of intelligence and learning. He was struck by the -appearance of Savonarola before the monk had said a word, and had noted -his pallid countenance, and sunken eyes, and forehead ploughed with -furrows of thought. In the theological debate, Savonarola took no part, -but when the question of discipline came up he spoke and thundered. -What he said left upon Mirandola the impression that he beheld an -extraordinary man, and on his arrival at Florence some time afterward, -he besought Lorenzo de’ Medici to have Savonarola recalled to -Florence.[123] After preaching at Bologna and Pavia, and delivering a -course of Lenten sermons at Genoa, he was, at the instance of Lorenzo, -recalled by his superiors to Florence, in 1490. Thus it was that the -bitterest enemy of the Medici, the subverter of their power, was by -one of themselves invited to return. Notwithstanding his discernment -Lorenzo little knew what sad disasters he was preparing for his house, -or what a flame he was kindling in the convent which his ancestors -had built. In order to give an example of the Christian simplicity he -preached, Fra Hieronimo made the journey home on foot, and, owing to -physical weakness, accomplished only with difficulty his - - -RETURN TO FLORENCE. - -In his convent he quietly resumed his functions of reader. There -was no question of his preaching, for he had not forgotten the icy -indifference of the Florentines. Devoting himself sedulously to the -instruction of his novices, they became the objects of his tender care -and of his fondest wishes. Meantime his powers had increased and his -fame had spread. It was echoed from Northern Italy, and confirmed by -Mirandola. Gradually the professed brothers of the convent joined -the novices in listening to Savonarola’s lectures, and scholars and -learned men of the city demanded permission to be admitted to them. -Among those was his adviser Pico. The study-room in which he gave his -lectures was no longer sufficient to hold the crowd. The garden of the -convent was then taken possession of, and there, under the shade of a -bush of damask roses, carefully renewed to this day by the brothers -of the convent with religious veneration, he continued his lessons. -His subject was the exposition of the Apocalypse. The crowd of his -hearers still increased, and it was proposed to the Prior of S. Mark -that Fra Hieronimo should continue his lectures in the church. This -was accorded, and on Sunday, August 1, 1490, crowds flocked to hear -the preacher, who, formerly so much despised in Florence, had gained -such a reputation in other parts of Italy. From an account of it left -by himself, he that day preached a terrible sermon. He continued -his explanation of the Apocalypse. The walls rang with his terrible -conclusions, he succeeded in communicating to the excited multitude the -impetuosity of his own feelings, his voice seemed to them superhuman. -The success of that day was complete. Nothing else was talked of in all -Florence, and the literati for a short time forgot Plato to discuss the -merits of the new Christian preacher. Here is his own account of the -event: - - “On the first day of August of this year, 1490, I began publicly to - expound the Apocalypse in our church of S. Mark. During the course - of the year, I continued to develop to the Florentines these three - propositions 1. ‘That the church would be renewed in our time.’ 2. - ‘Before that renovation, God would strike all Italy with a fearful - chastisement.’ 3. ‘That these things would happen shortly.’ I labored - to demonstrate these three points to my hearers, and to persuade them - by probable arguments, by allegories drawn from sacred Scripture, - by other similitudes and parables drawn from what was going on in - the church. I insisted on reasons of this kind; and I dissembled the - knowledge which God gave me of those things in other ways, because - men’s spirits appeared to me not yet in a state fit to comprehend such - mysteries.” - -The reader will not fail to notice the portentous intimation conveyed -in the last sentence of this remarkable record. Savonarola already -believed himself the recipient of supernatural communications “the -knowledge which God gave me of these things in other ways.” We shall -find him presently boldly announcing his celestial visions and commands -from heaven, and here may be discerned clearly and at once the point at -which his noble mind and pure spirit, disturbed by the excitement of -years of mental tension and meditation on Apocalyptic visions, lost its -clearness and its balance, and fell into the gravest errors of judgment -and doctrine. - - -THE FAMOUS SERMONS. - -Crowds continued to press into the church of S. Mark to hear the -preaching of Fra Girolamo, until the utmost capacity of the building no -longer sufficed to hold them. For the Lent of 1491, his preaching was -appointed to take place in the cathedral, and the walls of Santa Maria -del Fiore for the first time echoed to his voice. From this moment -he was lord of the pulpit and master of the people, who, increasing -every day in number as hearers, redoubled in their enthusiasm for -him. The pictures he drew charmed the fancy of the multitude, and the -threats of future punishments exercised a magic influence upon all, -for sinister forebodings appeared to rule the hour. All this was far -from satisfactory or pleasing to the Magnificent Lorenzo, and naturally -begat among his adherents a feeling of strong opposition to Savonarola. -The result was that a deputation of five of the principal citizens -(Domenico Bonsi, Guidantonio Vespucci, Paulo Antonio Soderini, Bernardo -Rucallai, and Francesco Valori) waited upon him, with instructions to -advise him that he was risking his own safety and that of his convent, -and to admonish him to be more moderate in his tone when teaching or -preaching. Savonarola abruptly cut short their discourse, saying: “I -see that you come not of your own motion, but that you are sent by -Lorenzo de’ Medici. Tell him to make haste to repent of his sins, for -God is no respecter of persons, and has no fear of the great ones -of this earth.” Proud of his independence as a priest, Savonarola -desired thus to crush at the outset the established custom in S. Mark -of continually bending and prostrating before the house of Medici. At -this the deputation pointed out to him the danger he was in of being -exiled; and he answered: “I have no fear of exile from your city, which -is, after all, a mere grain of dust upon the face of the earth. But -although I am only a stranger in it, and Lorenzo a citizen and its -head, know ye that I shall remain, and ye shall depart.” - -To this he added a few words concerning the actual condition of -Florence, which made them wonder at the intimate knowledge he possessed -of its affairs. Shortly afterward in the sacristy of S. Mark’s, in the -presence of several persons, he said that the affairs of Italy would -soon change, for that the Pope, the King of Naples, and Il Magnifico -had not long to live. - -The ill-will of the Mediceans was naturally strengthened by such an -incident as this. Their murmurs increased, and, coming from a small but -influential portion of the citizens, Savonarola took it into serious -consideration whether he should not give up for the time the prophetic -strain of his sermons, and confine himself to the inculcation of moral -and religious precepts. There is but little doubt that he struggled -earnestly and conscientiously to bring himself to this resolution, and -he has himself left the record of it in his _Compendio di Rivelazione_. -“I deliberated with myself,” he says, “as to suppressing the sermon -on the visions I had prepared for the following Sunday’s cathedral -service, and for the future to abstain from them. God is my witness -that throughout the whole of Saturday and during the entire night I lay -awake; and every other way, every doctrine but that, was taken from me. -At daylight, fatigued and exhausted by my long vigil, while I prayed, -I heard a voice which said to me, ‘Fool, seest thou not that God wills -that thou shalt persevere in thy path?’ And that day, I preached a -terrible sermon.”[124] - -It was, doubtless, as he says, “una predica tremenda,” for, persuaded -as he was of his divine mission, he no sooner entered the pulpit than, -with his imagination excited, his senses in febrile agitation from -the effect of vigils and fastings, his subject carried him away into -bursts of denunciatory eloquence that frightened while they charmed his -hearers. In his excitement he again sees the nocturnal visions of his -cell, loses consciousness of his own personality, and confounds the -words there heard with the language of Scripture, for in his sermons he -frequently, in the rush of language, cites as passages from the Bible -the phrases of his own visions. Among these was his famous _Gladius -Domini super terram cito et velociter_. - - -THE NEW PRIOR. - -Meantime, in the interior of his convent, the learning, the simplicity, -the profound piety and purity, and benevolence of Fra Girolamo had won -for him the love and veneration of all his brethren. At the election -of a new superior in 1491, they naturally chose him for their prior. -Savonarola, who had always felt and sought to inculcate the higher -appreciation of the dignity of the church and its ministers, seized -this occasion to protest practically against a ceremony, which to him -seemed not only compromising but degrading. Ever since the reign of -the Medici, it was the custom for every newly elected prior of S. Mark -to render homage and swear fealty to the reigning chief. Savonarola -gave no sign of conforming to it, and from his silence might have been -supposed to be ignorant of it. Some of the older monks reminded him of -it as a formality which they had always considered obligatory. This -view of it was natural enough from the fact that the Medici really -founded the convent and had been its most generous benefactors. The new -prior’s reply was characteristic: “Is it God or Lorenzo de’ Medici who -has named me prior? I acknowledge my election as from God alone, and -to him only will I swear obedience.” This was carried to Lorenzo, who -said: “You see, a stranger comes into my house, and deigns not even to -visit me.” - -It must be conceded that, considering his position and personal -character, Lorenzo acted with great moderation, for he evidently -desired to conciliate the prior of the convent and to avoid the scandal -of a quarrel with a religious. More than once he attended Mass at -S. Mark’s and afterwards strolled in its garden. On these occasions -some brother would run to the prior to tell him of the distinguished -personage who was walking alone in the garden. “Did he ask to see me?” -was Savonarola’s answer. “No, but ...”—“Then let him walk there as -long as he pleases.” - -The monk judged Lorenzo severely, and acted in consequence, for he knew -all the injury to public morals he had done, and looked upon him not -only as the enemy and destroyer of liberty, but as the most serious -obstacle to any amelioration and christianizing of the people. Failing -in one course, Lorenzo began to send to the convent liberal alms and -rich gifts, but this only increased Savonarola’s contempt for him, and -he even made scornful allusion to it in the pulpit, intimating that -such an attempt only confirmed him in his former resolution. Shortly -afterward were found in the “alms-box” of S. Mark’s a number of pieces -of gold. The prior understood perfectly that they came from Lorenzo, -as in fact they did, and, separating the princely gold from the modest -offerings of the faithful, he sent it to the Buoni Uomini of the city -for distribution among the poor, with the message that “silver and -copper sufficed for the wants of the convent.” - -Thus far thwarted at every turn, Lorenzo was not the man to give -up a struggle once entered upon, and he was determined to turn, if -possible, the rising tide of the Dominican’s popularity. The preacher -most admired at that period in Florence had for some time been Padre -Genazzano—the same whose sermons were attended by crowds when Fra -Girolamo could scarce retain a dozen or two of people to listen to -him. Lorenzo requested the former to resume his preaching. He did so, -and his sermon was announced for Ascension Day. All Florence rushed -to hear him. Taking for his text, “Non est vestrum nosse tempora -vel momenta”—“It is not for you to know the times or seasons”—he -imprudently presumed too far upon his princely patronage, and -violently attacking Savonarola by name, qualifying him as a false and -foolish prophet, a sower of discord and scandals among the people, -so revolted his auditory by his intemperate speech and uncharitable -denunciation that, in the short hour of his discourse, he utterly lost -the reputation of long years’ acquisition. On the same day, Savonarola -preached upon the same text, and, so far as the popular judgment was -concerned, remained master of the field. Lorenzo, seeing the total -failure of his scheme, and suffering from the rapid advances of a -malady that was soon to become mortal, fatigued, moreover, with the -struggle against a man whom, in spite of himself, he felt forced to -respect, he left him henceforth to preach unmolested. - - -SAVONAROLA’S SERMONS, - -as printed, give us, on reading them, but a very imperfect idea of -their effect as delivered. Of that tremendous power he wielded in -the pulpit, and concerning which the amplest testimony of both his -friends and enemies entirely agree, the source cannot be traced in -the published copies of his sermons. The earliest of these are those -preached in 1491, on the first Epistle of S. John. It would be a -difficult task to present a general idea of this collection. In form, -they offer no unity of subject nor connection of parts, added to -which, the strong originality and waywardness of Savonarola’s style -and studies make it difficult for a modern reader to bring order out -of this apparent disorder. He always commences with a citation from -Scripture, grouping around it all the ideas theological, moral, and -political which it suggests to his mind, resting these in their turn -upon fresh Biblical texts. The apparent result to him who reads them -to-day is a heterogeneous mass of discordant materials of which the -confusion is hopeless. But these sermons were actually preached by -Savonarola with a very different result. To him everything was clear. -These words before him in manuscript are but the dry bones which he -clothes with the magnetic life of inspiration, and to which he gives -voice in the thunders of his own eloquence. The fire of his imagination -kindles, figures of gigantic power present themselves to his mind, -his gesture is animated, his eyes flame, and, abandoning himself to -his originality, he becomes what he really was—a great and powerful -orator. At times, he appears to fall back into a mass of artificial -ideas without connection, again and again to free himself by force -of natural talent, for, born orator as he was, he needed the arts of -oratory; and it was only when his subject mastered him, and carried -him away, that nature took the place of art, and he was eloquent in -spite of himself. Of his originality and depth of thought some idea may -be gained from the following extract taken from one of his nineteen -sermons upon the first Epistle of S. John, in which he explains at -length the mysteries of the Mass, giving in it religious precepts and -counsels to the people: - - “The word we utter proceeds out of our mouths separated and divided - by a succession of syllables, in such manner that, while one part - exists, the other part is already extinct, and, when the whole word - is pronounced, it exists no longer. But the Verb, or the Divine Word, - has no divisions; it is one in its essence, it is diffused throughout - the created world, and lives and endures throughout eternity like - the celestial light which is its companion. Therefore it is the Word - of Life, and one with the Father. We accept, it is true, this Word - in various senses. By ‘life’ we sometimes mean the natural being of - mankind, sometimes we mean by it their occupation. Hence we say, the - life of this man is science, the life of the bird is singing. But - there is but one true life which is in God, for in him all things have - their being. And this is that blessed life which is the object of - man, and in which he may find infinite and eternal happiness. Earthly - life is not only fallacious, but powerless to give us happiness from - its want of unity in itself. If you love riches, you must give up - sensual pleasures; if you are abandoned to these, you must renounce - the acquisition of knowledge; and if you give up the acquisition of - knowledge you cannot obtain offices of responsibility and honor. But - the joys of life eternal are all comprised in the vision of God, which - is supreme felicity.” - - -DEATH OF LORENZO. - -With a mortal disease fastened upon him, Lorenzo the Magnificent -had retired to his villa at Careggi. Hope of his recovery there was -none, for the physicians had exhausted the last resources of their -art. Even the renowned Lazzaro da Ficino had been called from Pavia, -and had administered his wonderful draught of distilled gems without -result. Death approached rapidly, and in this solemn hour Lorenzo’s -mind turned seriously on his religious duties. He seemed entirely -changed. When Holy Communion was to be administered to him, he made a -superhuman effort to rise from his bed, and, supported in the arms of -those around him, to receive it kneeling, but the priest, perceiving -his weakness and his agitation, insisted on his being returned to his -couch. It was impossible to calm him. The past rose up before him in -horrible visions. As he approached his end, his crimes assumed gigantic -proportions, and became every moment more menacing, filling him with -a wild dismay, and depriving him of the peace and comfort he would -otherwise have derived from the consolations of religion. Having lost -all confidence in men,[125] he even doubted the sincerity of his own -confessor. Accustomed to have his slightest wish obeyed, he began to -doubt if that ecclesiastic had acted with entire freedom. His remorse -became harder and harder to bear. “No one ever dared say ‘No’ to me,” -he thought within himself, and this reflection, once a source of -pride, now became his most cruel punishment. Suddenly the image of -Savonarola in its grave severity presented itself to his mind, and he -remembered that he at least had never been influenced either by threats -or flatteries. “He is the only true _frate_ I know,” he exclaimed, -and expressed a desire to make his confession to him. A messenger was -instantly sent to S. Mark’s for Savonarola, who was so astonished at -the strange and unlooked-for summons that it seemed to him incredible. -He gave answer that it appeared to him useless to go to Careggi because -his words would not be well received by Lorenzo. But when he was made -to understand the gravity of Lorenzo’s condition, and the fact that he -had really sent for him, he set off instantly. That day Lorenzo felt -himself rapidly sinking. Summoning his son Piero, he gave him his last -instructions and his dying farewell. He afterwards expressed a wish -to see Pico di Mirandola, who came immediately, and the pleasure of -his society had a soothing effect upon the moribund. Scarcely had Pico -left, when the prior of S. Mark was announced. He advanced respectfully -to the bedside of the dying man. Three sins in particular lay heavy -upon his conscience. These were: the sack of Volterra; the plunder of -the treasure set apart for the dowry of poor Florentine damsels, which -had driven many of them to evil lives; the blood he had shed to revenge -the conspiracy of the Pazzi. - -While speaking, Lorenzo’s agitation increased alarmingly. But -Savonarola, in order to calm him, kept repeating, “God is good, God is -merciful.” - -“But,” he added, when Lorenzo had finished, “three things are -necessary.” - -“What are they, father?” asked Lorenzo. - -Savonarola’s countenance became grave, and, reckoning upon his fingers, -he said: “First, you must have a firm and lively faith in the infinite -mercy of God.” - -“I have it fully.” - -“Second, you must make restitution of all money unjustly acquired, or -charge your son to do it for you.” - -At this Lorenzo was sorely grieved and perplexed, but with a great -effort he signified assent by nodding his head. - -Savonarola then rose, and, drawing himself up to his full height, -said with solemn countenance and impressive voice, “Lastly, you must -restore to the people of Florence their freedom.” He fastened his eyes -upon those of Lorenzo, awaiting his answer. The dying man, gathering -what little strength was left him, disdainfully shrugged his shoulders -without deigning to utter a single word. - -Thus—so runs the story—Savonarola left him, and Lorenzo the -Magnificent, lacerated with remorse, soon afterwards breathed his last -sigh (8th of April, 1492).[126] - -The death of Lorenzo seriously affected the public affairs of Tuscany -and of Italy. His personal influence over other princes, his prudence -and ability, had made him in some sort the moderator of Italian -politics. Piero, his son and successor, was in every respect his -opposite. Of handsome and powerful physique, he abandoned himself to -athletic sports and to gallantry. He possessed a certain facility of -improvisation and a pleasing address, but centred his highest ambition -on horsemanship, tournaments, and games of strength and dexterity. - -He inherited from his mother all the pride of the house of Orsini, but -from his father none of that simplicity and modesty of manner which -had so powerfully contributed to render him popular. His manners were -rough and displeasing to all: he yielded frequently to transports of -rage, and one day, in the presence of many persons, gave his cousin a -violent blow with his fist. These things were looked upon in Florence -as worse than an open violation of the law, and of themselves sufficed -to create for him a great number of enemies. Not only to his subjects -were his manners displeasing, but from the very commencement of his -reign he so disgusted all the Italian princes that Florence soon lost -the preeminence which Lorenzo had gained for her. He utterly neglected -the public affairs, and was solicitous only to concentrate in himself -all the power of the government. Day by day he successively swept away -even the few remaining semblances of liberty which Lorenzo had taken -great care to leave intact, and to which the people naturally clung -with affection. General dissatisfaction spread rapidly, and swept -into a threatening opposition even many of the strongest partisans -of the Medicean dynasty. A certain uneasy expectation of a change in -public affairs began to manifest itself, a change the more necessary -and desirable as Piero, deserted by citizens of repute, was forced to -surround himself by men either unknown or incapable. - -Meantime the multitude pressed around the pulpit of Savonarola, and -looked up to him as the preacher of the anti-Mediceans. The fact that -Lorenzo, at the approach of death, had desired him for a confessor, -gained him many adherents among the admirers of that prince, who -rapidly fell away from Piero on account of his personal faults and -defective administration. The populace, moreover, recollected that -Savonarola, in the sacristy of S. Mark’s, had predicted the approaching -deaths of Lorenzo, of the Pope, and of the King of Naples. One portion -of this prediction had been verified, and the fulfilment of another -seemed close at hand. The vital powers of Pope Innocent VIII. were -rapidly failing him, and he died on the 25th of April, 1492. The death -of the King of Naples, it was known, must soon follow. And now all eyes -were involuntarily turned to the man who had predicted the disasters -which seemed impending over Italy, and whose prophecies seemed so -strangely fulfilled. The universal belief in his prophecies seemed to -confirm Savonarola’s confidence in his own power, and spread his name -throughout the world. He was at once the cause and the victim of his -own visions. His exaltation increased. The time he had foretold seemed -close at hand. He read and re-read the books of prophecy, and preached -with greater fervor. It is but little to be wondered at that in this -frame of mind his visions went on increasing in number. - -Toward the end of the same year, while preaching the Advent sermons, -he had a dream which to him appeared like a vision, and which he did -not hesitate to look upon as a divine revelation. He seemed to see -in the heavens a hand holding a sword on which was written: _Gladius -Domini super terram cito et velociter_. He heard many voices, clear and -distinct, promising mercy to the good, but menacing punishments to the -wicked, and crying out that the wrath of God was nigh at hand. Suddenly -the sword points to the earth, the sky is overcast, it rains swords and -arrows, the lightnings flash, the thunders roll, and the whole earth is -given up a prey to war, famine, and pestilence. - -The vision ceased with a command to Savonarola to menace the people -with approaching punishments, to inspire them with the fear of God, and -induce them to beseech the Lord to send good pastors to his church, who -would seek and save the souls in danger of being lost. In later years -we find this vision represented in an infinite number of engravings -and medals, and become, as it were, a symbol of Savonarola and of his -doctrine. - - TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -DANTE’S PURGATORIO. - - -CANTO NINTH. - - FORTH from the arms of her beloved now, - Whitening the orient steep, the concubine - Of old Tithonus came, her lucent brow - Adorned with gems whose figure formed the sign - Of that cold animal whose tail with dread - Strikes trembling nations; and the night, where we - Now were, had made of her ascending tread - Two of her paces and was making three, - With wings through weariness less fully spread, - When I, in whom the weakness was alive - Of Adam’s nature, sank in slumber’s power - Where sat already on the grass all five. - - Near to the dawning and about the hour - When first the little swallow wakes her lays - (Haply remembering her old woes afresh), - And when our mind, relieved of thinking, strays - More of a pilgrim from its cage of flesh - Till to its vision ‘tis almost divine, - Dreaming, I seemed to see in heaven suspended - An eagle that with golden plumes did shine - And with spread wings as he to swoop intended: - And in that place it seemed to be, methought, - Where Ganymede, abandoning his own, - Was up to heaven’s high consistory caught. - Then I considered; haply here alone - His wont to strike is, and he scorns elsewhere - To bear up what he snatches in his feet; - Methought he next wheeled somewhat in the air, - Then struck like lightning, terrible and fleet, - And rapt me up to the empyrean: there - We burned together in so fierce a heat, - And such of that imagined fire the smart, - My dream perforce was by the scorching broke. - Not otherwise Achilles with a start - Rolled his amazed eyes round him, newly woke, - And knowing nothing where he was, when flying - His mother bore him, slumbering on her breast, - From Chiron to the isle of Scyros hieing, - Whence the Greeks, after, forced him with the rest, - Than I too started! so that all repose - Fled from my features; deadly pale and chill - I grew, like one whom fear hath well-nigh froze. - Sole stood my Comforter beside me still; - My face was towards the sea-shore turned; the sun - Was risen already more than two hours high. - “Fear not,” my Lord said, “we have well begun: - Shrink not! but every way enlarge thy strength; - Thou hast arrived at Purgatory! See - Yon cliff that circles it; behold at length - The entrance, parted where it seems to be.” - - In the white light that comes before the morn - While slumbering in thee lay thy soul, there came - Over the flowers this valley that adorn - A woman, saying, “Lucia is my name: - This man here sleeping let me take in care; - So shall I speed him forward on his way.” - Sordello, with his gentle comrades there, - Remained: she took thee and, at dawn of day, - Up hither sped, and I behind her straight. - Here she reposed thee; first with her fair eyes - Showing the aperture of yonder gate, - Then vanished and thy sleep in even wise. - As a man, doubting, comforteth his fear - At truth’s discovery, confident once more, - So did I change; and seeing me appear - Without inquietude, my Guide up o’er - The cliff moved on, I following in his rear. - - Reader, thou well observ’st to what a height - I lift my matter, therefore wonder not - If with more art I strengthen what I write. - We still approached and now had reached the spot - Where that which first had seemed to me a rent, - Like to a fissure in a wall, my view - Made out a gate, and leading to it went - Three steps, and each was of a different hue; - A guardian sat there keeping the ascent. - As yet he spake not, and as more and more - Mine eyes I opened, on the topmost stair - I saw him sitting, and the look he wore - Was of such brightness that I could not bear. - The rays were so reflected from his face - By a drawn sword that glistened in his hand - That oft I turned to look in empty space: - Then he began: “Speak ye from where ye stand! - What seek ye here? who leads you to this place? - Take heed lest climbing upward from the strand - You come to harm!” My Master answered thus: - “A heavenly lady, of such things aware, - Spake in these words not long ago to us: - ‘Go ye up yonder, for the gate is there.’ - And may she speed you on your way to good!” - Rejoined that gracious guard. “Up to our flight - Advance you then!” We therefore came and stood - At the first stair, which was of marble white, - So clear and burnished, that therein I could - Behold myself, how I appear to sight. - The second was a rough stone, burnt and black - Beyond the darkest purple; through its length - And crosswise it was traversed by a crack. - The third whose mass is rested on their strength - Appeared to me of porphyry, flaming red, - Or like blood spouting from a vein; thereon - God’s Angel kept with planted feet his tread - Sitting upon the threshold’s gleaming stone, - Which seemed to me of adamant. My Guide - Led me with my good will up that ascent, - Saying, “Beg humbly that the bolt may slide!” - And at those hallowed feet devout I bent. - “In mercy open to me!” I implored, - But first I smote me thrice upon my breast. - He on my forehead with his pointed sword - Traced P. seven times, then spake me this behest: - “Wash thou these wounds when thou hast past the door.” - Ashes or dry heaps dug from gravelly earth - Were of one color with the robe he wore, - From under which two keys he next drew forth. - One was of gold, one silver; first he plied - The white, then used the yellow on the gate, - In such sort as my spirit satisfied; - Then said: “To none is passable the strait - When either of these keys be vainly tried, - And in the wards without response it grate. - One is more precious, one more asketh wise - Counsel and intellect the lock to free, - Because ‘tis this which error’s knot unties. - From Peter’s hand I hold them. He on me - Enjoined this rule, that I should rather err - In opening unto penitents, than be - Slow to unbind, if at my feet they were.” - Then of that pass he pushed the sacred gate, - Saying—“Go in; but be ye warned, before - You enter! who looks back returneth straight.” - And when the hinge-bolts of the holy door, - Which are of strong and sounding metal, rolled - Round in their sockets, the Tarpeian rock, - When robbed of good Metellus and its gold, - Rung not so loud nor yielded such a shock. - At the first thunder, as the portal swung - I looked about, and as I stood intent - Heard _Te Deum laudamus_! clearly sung, - And the gate’s music with the song was blent. - The same impression what I heard gave me - As on the listener’s hearing is begot - When men with organs join their voice, and we - Now hear the words, and now we hear them not. - - - - -UNITY. - -HE who holds not this unity of the church, does he think that he -holds the faith? He who strives against and resists the church, is he -assured that he is in the church? For the blessed Apostle Paul teaches -this same thing, and manifests the sacrament of unity, thus speaking: -_There is one Body and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one Hope of -your calling; one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God_. This unity -firmly should we hold and maintain, especially we bishops presiding in -the church, in order that we may approve the Episcopate itself to be -one and undivided. Let no one deceive the brotherhood by falsehood; -no one corrupt the truth of our faith by a faithless treachery. The -Episcopate is one; it is a whole, in which each enjoys full possession. -The church is likewise one, though she be spread abroad, and multiplies -with the increase of her progeny; even as the sun has rays many, yet -one light; and the tree boughs many, yet its strength is one, seated -in the deep-lodged root; and as, when many streams flow down from one -source, though a multiplicity of waters seems to be diffused from -the bountifulness of the overflowing abundance, unity is preserved -in the source itself. Part a ray of the sun from its orb, and its -unity forbids this division of light; break a branch from the tree, -once broken it can bud no more; cut the stream from its fountain, the -remnant will be dried up. Thus the church, flooded with the light of -the Lord, puts forth her rays through the whole world, with yet one -light, which is spread upon all places, while its unity of body is not -infringed. She stretches forth her branches over the universal earth -in the riches of plenty, and pours abroad her bountiful and onward -streams; yet is there one Head, one Source, one Mother, abundant in the -results of her fruitfulness.—_S. Cyprian._ - - - - -THE TROWEL OR THE CROSS; - -FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN. - -“_This is your hour, and the power of darkness._”—S. Luke xxii. 53. - - -BOLANDEN’S stories have been received with such marked favor, both in -the original and translation, that we have thought a short biographical -sketch of the author would be acceptable to the readers of The Catholic -World. - -Joseph Edward Charles Bishoff, better known as Conrad von Bolanden, was -born August 9, 1828, at lower Gailbach, a village of the Palatinate, -formerly belonging to Lorraine. - -His father was a wealthy merchant, and, when his son had reached a -suitable age, he placed him under the direction of a private tutor; -but the child gave no indication of talent, and made slow progress in -his studies. He exhibited an equally backward disposition in the Latin -school at Blieskastel, which he attended at the age of eight years. -When his parents afterwards moved to Fischbach in Breisgau, it was his -delight to roam through the forests, and remain many hours among the -ruins of Hohenburg, situated upon the summit of a high mountain. To -his close observation of the beauties of nature at this early age we -are doubtless indebted for the graphic descriptions of natural scenery -which we find in his works. - -Having studied Latin for some time with the reverend pastor of Schönau, -he entered, at the age of thirteen years, the Bishop’s Seminary of -Speyer. Here also he was accounted a very dull scholar, for the reason -that the method of instruction was unsuited to him, and because he had -already commenced to write poetry and romances. - -In the year 1849, he became a student of the University of Munich, and -applied himself diligently to the study of theology, for he felt within -himself the vocation to become a priest. During this time, he wrote -a _feuilleton_ for the _Volkshalle_, published at Cologne, in which -he describes an incident of the French Revolution. On the 20th day of -August, 1852, he was ordained priest by the Rt. Rev. Bishop Nicholas -von Weiss, in the seminary-church of Speyer, and became assistant -priest of the cathedral. He devoted himself with zeal and enthusiasm -to his new sphere of duty; but, at the end of two years, the bodily -strength of the young assistant was completely exhausted, and he was -made pastor of Kirchheim Bolanden, a small city at the Donnersberg. The -parish numbered 1,303 souls, who were distributed among not less than -40 stations, in the midst of Protestants. Here again was a hard and -fatiguing field of labor, but the experience which he acquired during -his sojourn in Bolanden concerning the nature of Protestantism, was the -foundation of his _Wedding-tour of M. Luther_. In memory of this his -first mission as pastor, he called himself Conrad von Bolanden. - -Ten months later, he was made pastor of Boerrstadt. There he wrote, -within three years, _Eberhard of Falkenstein, or the Power of Faith_, -_Franz von Sickingen_, and _Queen Bertha_. - -From the year 1859 to 1869, he was pastor of Berghausen, about two -miles from Speyer. Now followed in rapid succession novels and -historical romances, which were at once translated into all the living -languages, and gave the author a more than European fame, since his -writings were printed and read also in America. His social romance, -_The Progressionists_, lately reproduced in this magazine, became very -popular. Workingmen of all classes made up funds to buy the book. Among -the higher class also, and even in the family of a certain prince, -this work created a furor; but it was the cause of great trouble to -the author. A man of exalted rank and power, whose scandalous habits -were known far and wide, imagined that he saw himself depicted in _The -Progressionists_. The wrath of this person was the reason why many, -out of fear of incurring his displeasure, avoided the presence of -Bolanden. His shattered health, as well as the loss of friends, induced -him, in the year 1869, to resign of his own accord his position as -pastor, especially as the compensation he had received for his works -had secured him an independent fortune. He purchased for himself a -comfortable house in Speyer surrounded by a large garden, and there he -now lives, always employed in writing, but in strict retirement. - -His method of life is very regular. Every morning at nine o’clock he -appears in his garden, where he occupies himself with his flowers and -fruit-trees, after which he reads the newspapers and letters he has -received. He never writes either in the morning or late at night. He -commences work at two in the afternoon, and ceases at five. - -Having no sisters, brothers, or other near relatives, Von Bolanden’s -house is presided over by his aged mother, Eleonore Languet, a -venerable matron, whose motherly love is never exhausted, and whose -devotion is repaid by the respectful and childlike affection of her -distinguished son. - -One of the peculiarities of Von Bolanden is his decided aversion -to travelling, and to stopping at hotels. “I feel uneasy when out -of my house.” he often remarks. Like many literary men, he is very -absent-minded; he will look at the clock to ascertain a day or date, -and, during the hottest days of summer, he will approach an empty stove -to light his cigar. - -His great merits as a Catholic novelist, and his fearless exposure -of historical falsehoods, as well as his efforts for the religious -enlightenment of the people, have been recognized by Pope Pius IX., who -has made him a Monsignore. This distinction is important, inasmuch as -it implies the approval of Bolanden’s works by the highest authority on -earth. - -God grant that the intrepid author may be spared for many years to -uphold the banner of truth, and increase his merits by waging a combat -against the enemies of the Catholic Church. - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE CONSPIRATORS OVERHEARD. - -A FARMER stood on the border of a meadow, and, with hands clasped upon -the handle of his axe, looked with disappointment at the appearance of -the grass. He shook his head sadly, and exclaimed aloud: “All labor and -skill are useless if God does not bless the land!” - -He pushed his cap from his brow, and the expression of his face became -more discontented than before, when suddenly he raised his head, -listened, and gazed in the direction of the forest. His whole aspect -now changed; his eyes lighted up with joy at the sound of a beautiful -tenor-voice merrily singing: - - “If I were only king, - I would be just to all,” etc. - -A gentleman on horseback soon became visible, followed at some distance -by a second rider, who was evidently a servant. The gentleman, who was -young and handsome, was dressed in gray; he wore his felt hat jauntily -on one side, thus leaving exposed his good-humored, intelligent -countenance, and his dark and brilliant eyes. - -At the first curve of the road, he checked his horse. A thriving -village is seen in the distance, and a palace belonging to the king -crowns the summit of the hill. - -“Franz, do you not think the weather unusually pleasant to-day?” - -“Yes, your lordship.” - -“Do you know the reason why the atmosphere is so pure, Franz?” - -“I do not know, your lordship.” - -“Well, I will tell you,” said the young gentleman, taking off his -hat, and passing his right hand through his curly hair. “The air -is invigorating and fresh because it is not breathed by the ladies -and gentlemen of the court. I have often observed that, whenever -the caravans from the city come out here, the air becomes damp and -oppressive. Nature seems to shroud its loveliness in a mourning-veil. -Every shrub and flower shrinks, as it were, within itself, in the vain -attempt to shut out the idle babbling of courtiers and the noxious -smell of musk which they use in such quantities. To-day, however, -the country is radiant in beauty; peace dwells everywhere, the most -profound stillness reigns, and the Spirit of God fills the heart, -therefore, Franz, I shall not return yet; you can ride home alone.” - -He sprang from his horse. - -“Give me my portfolio and my plaid!” - -The servant handed him both. - -Throwing the plaid over his shoulders, the young count turned in the -direction of the woods, whose tall beech-trees covered the sides -of a small hillock. The road ended in a circle surrounded by young -fir-trees. Benches with comfortable backs invited the traveller to -rest; but the count continued his walk until he reached a certain spot, -when he seated himself upon a large moss-covered stone. Through an -opening in the forest he saw the farmer, whose whole deportment and -walk again expressed care and reflection. - -“He also is a thinker,” said the count to himself, “and the subject -of his meditation is doubtless more profitable to mankind than are -those of many who make pretensions to profound learning. As he stands -there, he is the very personification of care! He is evidently devising -some plan by which the waters of the little brook may be led into -his parched meadows. Idle work, my dear fellow! If you should succeed -in turning its fertilizing streams into your land, and if you should -enrich the soil with the sweat of your brow, the terrible military -ordinance will devour the fruits of your labor. If you have sons who -are healthy and strong, they cannot be of assistance to you, for the -army will claim their service. The minister of war is insatiable in his -demands, and it is necessary that he should be so, for we are living in -strange times.” - -He continued to gaze musingly upon the scene before him. Gradually his -countenance assumed an earnest and almost solemn expression; his bright -eyes became dreamy, as if communing with spirits of the invisible -world, until, as though yielding to some mysterious impulse, he seized -his pencil, and began to write. - -Suddenly a gruff voice was heard. The poet is startled out of his -dreams. Four elegantly dressed gentlemen are seen coming up the road, -and approach the circle. - -“Who can escape his fate?” said the young count angrily. “The heavenly -muses are put to flight by hostile spirits; but what do I see?” he -continued, looking through the branches at the group. “Three of -the most powerful men of the kingdom? Three master-masons and the -grandmaster of all the Freemasons within a circumference of three -hundred miles? What can bring these sons of night to this peaceful -spot? I hope they will not remain long enough to poison the fragrant -air with their foul plotting and plans. Truly, their presence has -already effected a change: the sun does not shine as brightly, and it -is becoming cloudy.” - -He then sat listening. - -“I do not understand you, professor,” said the person with the gruff -voice. “To say the least, it is a very singular fancy of yours to -defend the Jesuits.” - -“No fancy at all, Herr Director; it is simply the result of knowledge,” -replied the professor. - -“The knowledge acquired in your high-school is certainly wonderful,” -answered the director, with a mocking laugh. “But your effort to defend -the Jesuits surpasses even the bounds of knowledge!” - -“If you scorn knowledge when right and truth are in question, you will -surely allow a man of sound judgment to have some respect for that -which is founded on facts,” said the university professor, with great -warmth. - -“Oh! you have my permission to say what you choose between these green -walls,” exclaimed the director, pointing with his hand towards the -young fir-trees. - -“And you, most worshipful grandmaster—do you also allow the free -expression of opinion?” inquired the professor of a man with a gray -beard, whose eyes and features indicated a disposition of great -craftiness. - -“Certainly; we are not in the masonic lodge,” replied the gentleman -addressed. “I am not grandmaster here, but a simple chief-magistrate, -Be careful, however, in your expressions, we might be overheard.” - -The professor walked around the circle, and looked in every direction. - -“There is no one within hearing distance,” said he, returning. - -“This is growing interesting; I must take notes of what will -transpire,” said the invisible count; and he at once commenced to write -down what he heard. - -“Our order has determined upon the extermination of the Jesuits—well! -As this resolution has been passed, it no longer admits of debate,” -continued the professor. “I do not speak now as a Freemason, but as a -close observer of matters and things; and what do I see? Attacks on all -sides upon the Jesuits. At Munich, our Masons have clothed themselves -in the garment of Old Catholicity, that they might hurl from the -standpoint of belief their anathemas against the Jesuits. In Darmstadt, -our first Masons even went so far as to appear in the garb of Luther, -that they might condemn the Jesuits from Protestant pulpits also, and -demand their expulsion by actual force. All our newspapers denounce the -Jesuits, and stir up a hatred of them among the people. But, gentlemen, -in my estimation, the newspapers have gone too far; any man of common -sense can convict them of falsehood and calumny. Here is a Bavarian -paper of yesterday, called the _Kemptener Gazette_,” said he, producing -the journal. “Listen to this article, which endeavors to incite the -fears of the credulous.” - -And the professor read: - -“What are all the calamities which threaten and even destroy the human -race in comparison to the crimes of the Jesuits? For centuries they -have immolated thousands upon the scaffold, and justified their acts -by appealing to an all-loving Deity. Children and their parents, the -young and the old, virgins and matrons, have been sacrificed to their -cruel and insatiable thirst for power. Amid, horrible torments and -unspeakable sufferings, innumerable beings, despairing of the mercy of -God, have been put to death at their command. They have been the means -of introducing treason and parricide into the world; they have artfully -managed to incite with a word one nation against the other; while at -the same time they point with a hypocritical face to the cross, the -symbol of an all-governing love. But what caps the climax is that they -seek to effect the ruin of men, not for _time_, but for _eternity_. -With unheard-of cruelty, they everywhere stifle spiritual freedom in -its very birth. They have secretly murdered kings and emperors who -would not submit to their will. To obtain their end, they destroy the -welfare of nations, and humble the majesty of princes into the very -dust. Like an evil spirit, they have triumphantly placed their yoke -upon enslaved mankind, and they yet strive to carry out their base -designs, as the experience of our own times teaches us—in a word, they -are the enemies with whom the spirit of truth has now to combat.” - -“Now, gentlemen, I ask of you,” said the professor, holding up the -paper, “are not these accusations most ridiculous and absurd? A long -chain of the gravest crimes and of the most diabolical designs are -fastened upon the Society of Jesus, and yet not a single one of these -allegations can be proved. They are wicked and stupid fabrications, and -cannot but appear as such to a man of ordinary intelligence.” - -“To an intelligent man, perhaps!” answered the director. “But the -article is not written for that class of people, but only for the -ignorant, who are easily duped.” - -“And we must remember,” said one of the four Masons, “that the article -fulfils its end; it is even well written; for it will fill the minds of -the common people with hatred and distrust of the Jesuits if they read -such things of them.” - -“Perfectly true, Herr Counsellor!” said the director. - -“The end, indeed, sanctifies the means, we may say with truth,” replied -the professor. “Let us, however, not forget that the present attack -upon the Jesuits will be recorded in history. A future age will judge -for itself, and I fear it will decide in favor of a society which in -our days is assailed with such senseless fury. Posterity will look upon -the present treatment of the Jesuits as not only contemptible, but -as cowardly and wicked. According to the testimony of centuries, the -Society of Jesus is the most active, the purest, the most influential -and learned order of the Catholic Church. The Jesuits are acknowledged -to be the best teachers, the most prudent instructors of youth, the -most experienced confessors, and the most zealous priests. They are -known as the vanguard of Rome; they are wonderful in mortification and -in obedience, and are always ready to make any sacrifice whatever for -the church. I can prove this by innumerable passages from Protestant -works.” - -“It is not necessary, Herr Professor!” interrupted the grandmaster. -“The Jesuits are no doubt excellent people. The society is a masterly -organization; each member obeys without contradiction the commands of -an experienced general; they form the strongest bulwark of Rome; for -that very reason, they must be suppressed. ‘The Trowel or the Cross!’ -that is to be the watchword! The trowel, the symbol of Freemasonry, -must triumph over the cross, the symbol of Christianity. According to -the spirit and plan of our order, all religion must disappear from the -face of the earth. The trowel must reign, the cross be broken. As the -Catholic Church gives the strongest support to religious belief, and -because the Jesuits are the most active propagators of the doctrine of -Christ, it is necessary that the Jesuits should be exterminated.” - -“Well, Herr Counsellor, I agree with you,” replied the professor. -“The death-sentence has been pronounced upon the Jesuits, and must -be executed; but, to accomplish such a result, neither brutal force -nor the interference of the government should be used; we should call -knowledge to aid us in gaining the victory. There are perhaps two -hundred Jesuits in the whole German Empire; thus there is one Jesuit -to twenty learned men. Now, I ask you, will it not be disgraceful to -our enlightened age if twenty well-informed doctors cannot render -inefficient the activity of one Jesuit? Will it not be a neverending -cause of shame to German science if it cannot gain the mastery over -such a small number of unarmed and persecuted men? It is humiliating to -my pride to use such means for the extermination of this little band of -enemies. Science must be made to destroy the Society of Jesus, but not -a decree issued in the spirit of the barbarous and tyrannical Nero!” - -“Don’t talk to me about your sciences!” said the grandmaster -impatiently. “I am an old, experienced Freemason, and you may believe -what I tell you. Science will not be able to disconcert even one -Jesuit. Do not forget, dear professor, that the Jesuits are proficient -in all the sciences, and that they understand how to fight upon that -ground. We must not skirmish long with such an enemy; we must advance -quickly, and must concentrate all our forces for the great battle. It -must now be decided—the trowel or the cross! If the dominion of the -cross is to cease, the religion of Jesus of Nazareth must disappear; if -the spirit of Freemasonry is to obtain the victory, then the Jesuits -must first be exterminated by every possible means.” - -A deep murmur came from behind a large tree in the vicinity. The sound -proceeded from the same farmer, who, having walked around his meadows, -was on his return home, when he heard voices in animated conversation, -and he lost no time in hiding himself behind the tree. There he stood, -tall and broad-shouldered, listening attentively; he would every now -and then clinch his strong fists, and would dart fiery glances at the -assembled group of Freemasons. - -“The most natural and efficacious means,” remarked the professor, -“would be a decree of suppression, which could be easily obtained -from the Chamber of Deputies, the majority of whom belong actually or -at least in spirit to our order. But the question is, Will the king -consent to it?” - -“Bah! he is a narrow-minded man, who does not govern, but is governed!” -said the grandmaster contemptuously. “Our Masons have excited his fears -to such a pitch in regard to the pretensions of the infallible Pope -that he is ready at any moment to attack Rome.” - -“Splendid!” said the count to himself, underlining the words in his -note-book: “A narrow-minded man, who does not govern, but is governed!” - -“Our victory is certain!” declared the counsellor. “The time for -a decisive battle could not be more favorable. The majority of -intelligent people and of the working classes are without any -religion. The lower orders must be indoctrinated by our Masons and -apprentices; our newspapers must confuse and alarm them concerning -the claims of the infallible Pope. Besides, the German emperor is -a Freemason, the Crown-Prince of Germany is a Freemason, all the -ministers of our country are Freemasons, and many ministers of other -German countries are Freemasons. In Spain, we are already so powerful -that the Grandmaster, Zorilla, gave the royal crown to a prince of -his own choice. In Rome, for 1800 years the seat of the popes, the -“Grand-Orient” of our order will erect his seat above the chair of -an imprisoned and helpless Pope. As I have already remarked, affairs -are everywhere so propitious to our cause that the trowel will surely -conquer the cross!” - -“This is indeed your hour, and the power of darkness!” thought the -count. - -“Only hear the villains!” muttered the farmer behind the hedge, “What -pious creatures these Freemasons are!” - -“You are mistaken in regard to one point,” replied the professor. “The -Emperor and the Crown-Prince of Germany are undoubtedly Freemasons; -but the real object of our World Union is not known to either of them. -Neither William nor Fritz dreams that after the downfall of the altar -follows that of the throne. The cross is well adapted for the crown of -princes, but not the trowel. Suppose the emperor shall discover the -fundamental law of our order? Do you think that he would espouse the -cause of religion, and war against us?” - -“Care has been taken that he shall never know it,” said the -grandmaster. “Do not torment yourself with fears that will never be -realized!” - -“If the German emperor could only hear these rascally Freemasons talk!” -thought the indignant farmer within himself. “I must look closely at -these fellows.” - -“Well, professor,” inquired the grandmaster, “are you at last convinced -that the Jesuits must be first driven out, and that this can only be -done by force?” - -“I am not convinced of your last assertion; but yet I submit, in -obedience to my oath as a Freemason most worshipful grandmaster!” -replied the professor. “I shall endeavor, in my sphere of labor, to be -restlessly active, so that we may attain our great end. I shall do my -best to destroy religious faith in all the young men confided to me, -by appealing always to the light of science. Our universities of the -present day are justly considered to be the most successful mothers of -religious unbelief. To the destruction of altars, to the downfall of -thrones, to the universal fraternization of all nations by means of a -universal republic without a God, without heaven, without hell; for -liberty in our pleasures, for liberty of will, for liberty in life and -death, shall my whole strength be dedicated in submission to the rule -of our order!” - -The grandmaster nodded his head approvingly. Suddenly the group were -startled by the appearance of the farmer, who, no longer able to -control his wrath, stepped into the circle. Holding his axe in his -hand, he gazed attentively at the strangers. - -“What do you wish, good man?” asked the grandmaster condescendingly. - -“I have heard much about the Freemasons, and, as I now have a chance, I -must look at them a little.” - -“Well, well, this is fine work!” replied the counsellor, concealing his -perplexity by a loud cough. - -“How do you know that we are Freemasons?” asked the director. - -“I know it because I have been listening to your confessions,” replied -the farmer. - -The confusion now became general. - -“What did you hear?” asked the professor. - -“I heard enough! But I must tell you this, you Freemasons, your -undertaking will fail, for your motives are wicked,” continued the -farmer, with rising indignation. “You say that you will expel the -Jesuits, and destroy and exterminate them? Slowly, gentlemen; the -people also will have something to say about that. We Catholics know -what the Jesuits are. In the Bavarian Diet, some one said that the -skulls of the Catholics should be beaten in. All right; but I tell you, -Freemasons, that I will break with this my axe the skull of the first -one who dares to come near our parish for the purpose of driving away -our dear, good Jesuit father. Only try it! Do you think,” he exclaimed, -while he shook his clenched fist at them, “that we Catholics intend to -be tormented by vagabonds and good-for-nothing fellows like you who do -not believe in a God, nor in a heaven, nor in a hell? Do you imagine -that we will allow ourselves to be trampled under foot, that we will -permit our religion to be destroyed, our faith undermined, our priests -abused and expelled? Do you think that we are such fools? Commence your -work, and you will see what will happen! We are not African slaves: -we are free Germans; you Freemasons would do well to keep out of the -way. Our fists are stronger than your trowels, and defence, in case of -necessity, is lawful!” - -The dignitaries of the most powerful order in the world, observing the -wild looks of the angry man, were silent. - -“Do you see the cross upon the steeple of the church there?” asked -the farmer, pointing to the village beyond. “How many such spires are -there not in Germany? And you wish to take down that cross from the -church—the cross upon which the Saviour has died for us—and put on -your dirty mason-trowel? Ha! ha! that’s too ridiculous!” - -“Is your pastor a Jesuit, my friend?” inquired the professor, in a -bland tone of voice. - -“Yes, indeed; our pastor is a Jesuit; he has been three years with us, -because there is a scarcity of secular priests. And what a pastor he -makes! I can tell you, Freemasons, that our Jesuit father is so good, -so zealous, so full of piety, that all of you put together are not fit -to unloosen his shoes. Yes; you may scowl at me, but it is so! And -then, gentlemen, I have something else to say to you! If you think so -much about freedom, and about the welfare of the people; if all your -ministers are Freemasons; and if you are all-powerful in the chambers, -why do you heap burden after burden upon the shoulders of the people? -Why is it that the taxes are growing heavier every day? Why is it that -the farmers are pressed by the collectors as if they were grapes? Why -does the war-budget constantly increase, so that we are in danger of -being forced to work in the end only for the soldiers? See, Freemasons, -these are our troubles; you can, if you choose, help the oppressed -people; but I warn you to keep your hands away from the Jesuits and -from our religion ... or ...” and he made a threatening gesture, “you -will be sorry. Franz Keller, of Weselheim, from yonder village, has -said it.” - -He placed his axe upon his shoulder, and walked away with long, -determined strides, while the Freemasons preserved a deep silence. - -The count laughed at their evident discomfiture. - -“Another significant proof of the powerful influence of the Jesuits,” -said the grandmaster. “The parish of Weselheim was formerly indifferent -in regard to religious matters; but now they are made fanatical by -having had a Jesuit among them for three years. He must leave!” -continued he angrily. “The clock of his activity has run down.” - -“Will the king receive us at his villa?” asked the counsellor. - -“On the 14th of this month, at eleven o’clock precisely!” replied the -director. - -“It is growing cold, gentlemen, let us return,” remarked the -grandmaster, whereupon they all left the forest. - - -CHAPTER II. - -A JESUIT AS A PASTOR. - -IN a meditative mood, the count walked towards the village. The serene -and joyous expression of his handsome face had disappeared, and was -replaced by a grave earnestness. - -“A valuable experience!” said he to himself. “So ‘The Trowel or the -Cross!’ is to be the watchword of those who govern! Thrones are to be -broken over the ruins of the altars, so that, in the end, a general -fraternization of mankind may, according to the spirit of Freemasonry, -crown the whole. Fraternization—hem! The real meaning of all this is -that men who are not rich and are not liberals are to become the slaves -of the liberals and the rich. The farmer was right: these Freemasons -are wicked rascals, for they do not believe in God. And this spiritual -rascality is, without doubt, more wicked and dangerous to the state -than open drunkenness. This farmer is a brave fellow; I like him!” -continued the count, laughing. “Healthy in body and spirit, courageous, -sincere, and free! Like a night-bird before the eagle, so also do these -light-hating Freemasons shrink before righteous and honest anger.” He -sauntered through the streets of the village, observed with pleasure -the universal cleanliness that prevailed, and returned politely the -friendly salutations of all who greeted him, after which he entered his -hotel. When he had dined, and while reading the newspaper, his servant -appeared. - -“Some men are here, your lordship, who desire to speak with you.” - -“Who are they?” - -“Good people from the country, your lordship.” - -“Send them up!” - -Slowly, and bowing respectfully, at least a dozen villagers entered the -room. The count at once recognized the tall form and broad shoulders of -Franz Keller. The men were dressed in their Sunday attire, and their -weather-beaten countenances were full of care and solicitude. - -“What can I do for you, my friends?” began the count, who saw their -embarrassment. - -“We have come here on business, your lordship,” said the leader of the -little troop. “I am the burgomaster of this place, and these men are -the aldermen.” - -“I am greatly rejoiced to make the acquaintance of the principal men of -Weselheim,” replied the young count kindly. “What is the nature of your -business with me?” - -“I will tell your lordship. For three years we have had a Jesuit father -as our pastor—a good, pious, and zealous priest. The government -has, for the last four months, endeavored to take him away from us, -because he is a foreigner. He has received no less than three letters -ordering him to leave, but he will not desert his post. He says that -the government did not make him pastor of our church, but the bishop, -and therefore government cannot dismiss him from the care of souls. -But because the Freemasons hate the Jesuits, and because they are -all-powerful with the government, our pastor is to be taken away from -us by force. The whole congregation are indignant at this, for it will -be difficult to find another pastor like him. If the gendarmes come, I -do not pledge myself that they will not be driven out of the village; -we all feel that it would be a sin crying to heaven if we allow a -pious, innocent man to be taken away by gendarmes like a thief. No; we -shall never submit to such treatment! Now, this is our humble request -to your lordship: to-morrow, or after to-morrow, our most gracious -king will arrive at the palace yonder, and, since your lordship is the -friend of his majesty, the entire parish beg of you to speak in our -behalf, so that we may be able to keep our pastor.” - -“I thank you, Herr Burgomaster, and all the parish for the confidence -they place in me,” said the count. “At the same time, I must confess -that it is a long time since I have heard any praise of the Jesuits; -the fashion is now to heap insult upon them, and to accuse them of -every known crime.” - -“I ask pardon, your lordship,” said Keller; “only those who do not know -the Jesuits will ever insult them. We know them. Our Jesuit father is a -very pious man; he has no fault—or at least one only.” - -“Well, what fault has he?” inquired Count von Scharfenstein. - -“He gives away everything to the poor, your honor,” replied the -burgomaster. “He keeps nothing of what we give him; the lay brother who -lives with him carries it away to others. A man must eat and drink well -if he expects to work well.” - -“Very true!” said Von Scharfenstein, hardly able to restrain a laugh. -“And because your pastor does not eat and drink well, he therefore does -not work well either.” - -“Oh! yes, your honor, oh! yes. I did not mean to say that. What I -wanted to say was that our pastor works very hard, but that he does -not eat enough, and therefore looks pale and thin. We cannot make him -grow fat.” And the burgomaster cast a satisfied glance at his own well -nourished body. “If we give him the very best we have, he will not eat -it, but gives it away, and that provokes us.” - -“Console yourselves!” answered Von Scharfenstein. “The poor to whom -your pastor gives the best he has will not be displeased with him for -it. And for the very reason that he is such an incorrigible friend of -the poor, I shall speak to the king in his behalf.” - -The interview now came to an end. - -“God reward your honor!” said each one of the delegation, as they bowed -and took their departure. - -Von Scharfenstein, whose thoughts were generally in the clouds, and who -paid very little attention to the course of things in the world around -him, walked thoughtfully up and down his room. The touching fidelity, -love, and reverence of the villagers for their priest, at a time when -authority was mocked at unless supported by brute force, excited in him -great admiration. - -“The hatred of Freemasons for Jesuits is very natural,” said he. “The -grandmaster is right: it will never be possible to plant the banner of -infidelity upon the ruins of the altar as long as the bravest soldiers -of the church militant exist. This forcible expulsion of the society is -a political blunder. The case merits attention; I must take a look at -the theatre of action.” - -He put on his overcoat and hat, and went forth into the twilight. -Well-freighted wagons were returning home from the fields. Those who -met saluted one another, or spoke a few words together. Children -carried small bundles upon their heads, grown persons dragged their -burdens after them. It was a scene of animated activity. No swearing -or angry word was heard, but the day’s work ended in the most peaceful -manner. The same thing was repeated every evening during the sojourn of -the count in Weselheim, but, having never felt any interest in rural -life, he was astonished at all that he saw. - -In the middle of the road, a heavily-laden wagon came to a stand-still; -the horses refused to proceed, notwithstanding the efforts of the -driver. The count could not but admire the patience of a man who did -not swear at or ill-treat his horses. Several peasants came to offer -assistance. They pushed the wheels, but in vain, for the animals would -not move. - -“I do not know what is the matter with the horses to-day,” exclaimed -the driver. “I have not overloaded them.” - -“Just a little too much, Jacob!” said a voice. - -At once all hats and caps are raised. A tall, thin form now approached. - -“May Jesus Christ be praised, your reverence!” was the respectful -salutation of all the men. - -“Now and for ever!” answered the good priest. “Well, Prantner, what has -happened?” - -“Your reverence, the horses will not stir!” - -“Because they want to rest a little,” replied the Jesuit. “We do the -same when we are tired; and it is a heavy, a very heavy load,” said he, -with a glance at the towering height of the wagon. - -“I have just told him that the wagon was overloaded,” remarked another -peasant, in a tone of reproach. - -“Perhaps—but Prantner knows that his horses are very strong, and -he therefore has great confidence in them,” said the pastor. “They -are splendid creatures,” patting the broad necks of the horses, and -stroking their manes. The horses commenced to snort, to toss their -heads, and to paw the ground. “Ah! see, they like to be complimented,” -he continued cheerfully. “Let us always acknowledge merit, and that -which seems difficult will then become easy. Now, Prantner, go on!” - -The priest had hardly stepped back, when the horses proceeded on their -way without further urging. - -“Was there ever any one like our pastor?” exclaimed the peasants, in -astonishment. “He understands everything.” - -“Where is he going, so late?” - -“To Michael the carpenter, who is dying, and who refuses to be -reconciled with his neighbor.” - -“Michael has always been very stubborn; may Almighty God grant him a -happy death!” Saying which, the men dispersed. - -The count, who had watched the proceedings, also went his way. - -“The leading spirit of this parish is evidently the Jesuit, and he -deserves to be,” thought Von Scharfenstein. - -The Angelus now rang; at once every head was uncovered; for the silvery -tones of the bell reminded the villagers of the incarnation of the Son -of God. From all the houses resounded the angelic salutation, sometimes -uttered by the clear voices of the children. - -“What a pity that those men of the trowel are not here to shake their -empty heads compassionately at the pious usages of an ignorant but -believing people!” said the count. “In my opinion, a people who are -reminded thrice during the day of the incarnation of the Son of God, -and who are admonished to walk in the presence of the Omniscient, are -better than a people who have no faith in either the justice or the -mercy of God.” - -Before the windows of a house there stood several persons, principally -women. The count approached out of curiosity, and looked into a -well-lighted room. The table near the wall was covered with a white -cloth. Between two burning candles stood a crucifix and a holy-water -vase. At the bedside of the dying man sat the Jesuit father, making -impressive exhortations. He held the hand of the sick man in his own, -and would frequently bend his head towards him, as though expecting -some reply. At the foot of the bed knelt a young man, who covered his -face with both hands. Two young girls and an aged woman stood near with -sad and depressed countenances. - -“What is the matter here?” inquired the count, in a low tone. - -“Alas! sir, it is a sad affair!” replied one of the women. “Michael the -carpenter is dying, and the priest cannot give him the last sacraments.” - -“Why not?” - -“Because Michael has for a long time been at enmity with his neighbor. -For the last eight days, our pastor has come several times a day to -visit him, in order to persuade him to be reconciled; but Michael will -not listen to any advice. It is a pity for any one to be so malicious -and obstinate.” - -At this moment, there was a movement in the sick-room. The young man -who knelt at the foot of the bed rose hastily, and left the house. - -“At last, at last!” exclaimed a voice, “Michael has again become a -Christian!” - -A man was now seen to enter the room; he was the carpenter’s neighbor. -The dying Michael held out his emaciated hand to him, which the -neighbor took, although nearly blinded by tears. The Jesuit said a few -words, and the reconciled enemies again shook hands. The women standing -near the window were loudly sobbing. Von Scharfenstein was also greatly -moved by what he witnessed. - -The priest left the house, and hurried to the church. - -“He will now bring the holy viaticum,” said a voice. - -“Thanks be to God!” said another. - -The count returned slowly to the hotel. - -“I have until now examined only superficially into the activity of the -Jesuit father, and must confess that he works admirably—light and -darkness combat each other, it cannot be otherwise. The Freemasons are -naturally the sworn enemies of an order which fulfils its mission with -zeal and prudence. The trowel will never attain an ascendency as long -as the cross is defended by such brave soldiers, so well trained to -combat!” - - TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER. - - - - -COUNTRY LIFE IN ENGLAND. - -BY AN ENGLISH CATHOLIC. - -THE “intelligent foreigner,” that convenient critic whom Englishmen are -so fond of using as a mouthpiece for their own often just criticisms, -is supposed to have seen little or nothing of England unless he has -visited the country mansions for which our island is famous. And -this is very true, even if he have been touring in the Lake country, -taking notes in the “Black Country” around Wolverhampton, inspecting -cotton-mills in the North, or admiring the gigantic human engine called -the “City” in London. All these are phases of English life, yet none -is so distinctively English as life in agricultural neighborhoods. -After all, social life is the most visible test of difference of -nationality, and although the uniformity of the XIXth century seems to -have fallen like snow upon the world, covering its hedges and fields, -levelling its hillocks with its valleys, and hiding alike its various -flowers and different weeds, yet here and there some landmarks of the -old social systems still hold their heads above this uninteresting -pall of sameness. The English are traditionally tenacious of their -individuality; gracefully so at home, boastfully, and, at times rather -absurdly so, abroad. But the indomitable “British tourist” is too well -known to claim much attention; his personality is better expressed by -caricature than by sober description. - -Country life is often imitated abroad, but the copy is at best but -a sorry caricature, for this institution of social England cannot -be transplanted, as is evident by a very simple reason. It has its -roots in the whole moral, political, and physical system of the -Saxon race; it comes of mediæval and feudal feeling; it is bound up -with the territorial traditions that hitherto have been England’s -bulwarks as much and more than her navy, her insular position, or -her parliamentary institutions. It is worth notice that in France -the beginning of the great Revolution was the centralization of all -social interests in Paris and its court. Landed proprietors envied the -court office-holders; they contrasted their “dull” existence with the -brilliant and meretricious pageantry that framed the lives of their -luckier friends, and, hurrying to join in the profitless triumphs -or even the disgraceful successes of certain courtiers, they became -absentees, spent more than their mortgaged and encumbered lands would -yield, had recourse to money-lenders, lost all hold on the sympathy of -their tenants, and finally incurred the hatred of some and the contempt -of all. The only nobles who, during the Revolution, could count on a -guard of faithful defenders and practical adherents, were those of -Brittany—the rugged country gentlemen whose lives were spent among -the tenantry, and whose knowledge of farming and hunting made them the -daily companions of the class whom they headed. When the storm burst, -the peasants of La Vendée alone were faithful to those who had ever -been faithful to them, while the court favorites were betrayed by the -very servants whose truculence they had mistaken for attachment. - -This unfortunate system of neglect never prevailed in England to the -same extent as it did in France, though, during the brilliant reign of -Charles II., some poison of this kind began to creep into the habits of -the landed gentry. Upon the whole, the English lords of the soil have -justly and generously lived _for_ as well as _upon_ their possessions, -and, if we have not had a “Reign of Terror,” this is one of the chief -reasons. The great land-owners of a county (we speak specifically of -the midland counties) divide among them the municipal and political -offices; the Lord-Lieutenant, the High Sheriff, the M. P., the local -magistrates, are all gentlemen and property-holders, and personally -interested in the individual progress of the county. Each manor-house -is a petty court of justice, and offenders of a minor sort, such as -poachers, window-breakers, and the like, are tried and sentenced -with exemplary despatch as well as impartiality by the squires of -the neighborhood. There is generally a yearly agricultural show, -and as almost all the gentlemen are cattle-breeders, or keep studs -for hunting or racing purposes, and all the ladies are more or less -poultry-fanciers, the whole community meets with equally eager pleasure -upon common ground. The yeomanry and militia, which answer to the rural -national guard in other European countries, are formed of well-to-do -young farmers whose pride in their accoutrements or horses is a healthy -token of sound national feeling; the officers are the gentlemen of -the county, the same who sit upon the bench, and who entertain their -military tenants at the annual rent-dinner. As for this gathering, it -has no ominous meaning for the thriving men who attend it; the meeting -is signalized by an unlimited flow of good spirits, of kindly feeling, -and, occasionally, of local and rural wit. True, the speechifying is at -times prolix, and the number of toasts alarmingly great; the smoke of -the farmers’ pipes becomes sometimes rather dense, and the wit turns to -pleasantry which has a slightly “heady” flavor like the wine, no doubt; -but, for all that, there is nothing more reassuring in a political -point of view than such a gathering, and nothing more charming to -an imaginative mind than this unfeigned hospitality and baronial -good-fellowship. - -It might be said, speaking broadly, that, “next to a gentleman, there -is nothing like a farmer.” - -The farmer has his pride of caste and descent as eminently as any child -of Saxon earls or of Norman barons; his family have often lived on -the same land, under the same roof, and owned the same allegiance to -a long uninterrupted line of noble landlords for centuries back. Of -nothing is he prouder than of this, and when, as is often the case, he -entertains the family of his lord, nothing can be simpler, grander, -and more utterly gentleman-like than his conduct. No straining after -effect, but homely and lavish abundance; no attempt at fine speeches, -but cordial and undisguised rejoicing; respect that is not the contrary -to independence, but the very assertion and expression of it. In one -estate, it happened, perhaps about a hundred or more years ago, that -an Earl of G—— wooed and married the pretty daughter of one of his -chief tenants; both families are living now on the same lands, and, -when the farmer looks towards the chancel of the parish church from his -capacious pew in the nave, he sees the marble monument of his beautiful -ancestress, who was twice the wife of a man distinguished by noble -birth, and generally beloved for his goodness. (After the death of her -first husband, she married his Cousin Tom, the great local sportsman -of his times.) Her portrait, in her countess’ robes and ermine-lined -coronet, hangs conspicuously in the dining-room of the family mansion, -while her two successive husbands are represented not far from her, the -one in the gorgeous court dress of a peer, the other in the familiar -green velvet hunting-coat, with a fox-hound by his side. - -The farmers of the midland counties are often land-owners on their own -account, and, far from being indifferent or adverse to sport, they are -its chief encouragers. Fox-hunting is an instinct with them—another -likeness they bear to their landlords. You never hear a complaint of -fields ridden over, or crops injured; the owner will gallop over his -own furrows, or break through his own fences, utterly reckless of -anything but the pursuit of the fox. Meanness is a thing unknown to -them, and yet you will hardly meet many who are extravagant. There is -a broadness of character, an incapacity for doing or thinking anything -petty, a love of Old-World customs and hereditary modes of thought, -that seem to keep them out of the selfish narrowness born of modern -commerce, and, while it makes them less sharp, less peculating, makes -them also incomparably more lovable. - -Surrounded by such people, of whom they are the pets and the pride, the -children of the landlords cannot fail to grow up healthy in mind and -body, full of fun and frankness, loving country sports and pastimes, -learning early how to manage land and crops, entering heartily into -the feelings and wishes of those they will one day be called upon to -rule, noting the idiosyncrasies and carefully handling the prejudices -of their early comrades and future co-laborers. A bond of union, -friendship, and help is thus formed which grows stronger every year, -and stronger still with each succeeding generation. The old men and -women, whose place is by the capacious hearth, seem to live just long -enough to tell their master’s grandchildren how they danced at his -“coming of age” fifty years ago, while their own little grandchildren -laugh as they think that, in a few years more, there will be another -“coming of age,” and that they, too, will dance at the old hall, and -taste the wonderful ale their father told them of when they passed the -ghostly stairs leading down to the great cellar. - -Then come the weddings of the daughters of the house, and, as they have -been familiarly known in the village nearest their home by all the -poorer cottage tenants and the Sunday-school children, the young brides -find the whole population personally enthusiastic over each detail of -the ceremony. Young men and girls have seen the ladies of the “house” -bringing cordials and delicacies to their poor dying parents, and -strewing costly flowers over their plain coffins in the churchyard; and -they remember this as the same fair girl whom they saw minister to them -in their sorrow, takes upon herself another and a lifelong ministry -with the hopeful trust of youth and the holy certainty of love. Again, -as the bride comes forth, the children remember the feasts in the -grounds, the armful of buns and cakes thrown into their pinafores at -leaving, the delightful romps on the lawn, the adventurous row round -the pond which their imagination magnified into a stormy sea—all the -pleasures, out-doors and indoors, which were associated with the sight -and presence of that slender, white-robed, and white-crowned figure. -Thus, while there are class distinctions in rural England, there are -no class _divisions_, and servants and masters, landlords and tenants, -form, as it were, one clan with common interests and reciprocal -sympathies. - -Then, life in the country is so much more individual than in town. All -tastes are there easily gratified; books and magazines are constantly -pouring down from London; guests, not compulsory, as is the genus -“morning caller” in town, who lounges in utterly exhausted, and asks -languidly whether “Lady So-and-so’s ball last night was not perfectly -delightful?” while his general air of boredom proclaims that he is -surfeited with all mundane _delights_—guests not such as this inane -specimen of humanity, but chosen friends, gay, witty, brilliant, are -at hand at the shortest notice for those whose life is cut out for -society; morning rambles for the solitary; moonlight effects for the -romantic; hours of leisure for the studious; a wide field of usefulness -for the charitable; a matchless opportunity for indulging in the -woman-gossip, without which that essentially English institution, -five o’clock tea, would be “flat, stale, and unprofitable”; and last, -not least, the best chances for marriage that any sort of social -intercourse can afford. - -The only drawback to this state of things is that it sometimes becomes -a little too artificial. Even rusticity may be aped, and, indeed, -this is the tendency of the day, as it was the tendency in former -days also, when shepherdesses were represented by ladies of fashion -in silk skirts, beribboned crooks, and high-heeled shoes. But this -pseudo-rusticity spoils the real, tangible pleasures of life in the -country. Studied simplicity is worse than studied art. Young ladies -“got up” like Dresden china are not peasants, and have neither the -charms nor the merits of peasants. They are probably _blasées_, and so -miss the freshness symbolized by their costume; and they are incapable -of work, and so miss the usefulness also distantly suggested by their -dress. In one expressive word, they are a _sham_. - -There are many houses, however, where healthful pleasure is dominant, -and no fine-ladyism finds favor—houses where the chapel is not far -from the drawing-room, and where masters and servants, guests and -hosts, meet silently to greet their Maker before they enjoy his gifts -for the day. Then comes the ten o’clock gathering round the breakfast -table—a picture in itself, with bright flame-colored flowers amid -the delicate white glass and china, and pretty faces joyously eager -for the day’s programme of amusements. Perhaps there are ruins to be -seen—a great resource in country visiting—at all events, there is a -church. The churches are certainly one of the proudest inheritances -of the old land, and the way in which they have been preserved speaks -well for the naturally reverential turn of the Saxon mind. In every -county, some distinctive feature is visible; in Kent, hardly anything -is used in churches but flint, and the bells are generally hung in a -square massive tower instead of a steeple. In the midland counties, -on the contrary, steeples are a great feature; there is one at a -little village called Ketton, which is peculiarly fine, though it -certainly looks too heavy for the church it crowns. Wicliffe’s church, -at Lutterworth, is a standard sight for the guests of a large old -family mansion near by; you are shown the pulpit said to be Wicliffe’s -own, and, in one of the aisles, his tomb, with a long Latin epitaph -sufficiently bombastic and untruthful, as it states that, despite of -monks and bishops, he instructed the populace in plain Gospel truth, -and was the first to translate the Bible into the vernacular! But -Lutterworth church has for us of the old faith a more interesting -memorial of the “good old days.” This consists in a very primitive -fresco representing the resurrection of the dead. The colors are not -much varied, and the draperies are quaintly angular; yet this early -effort of art is far more simply and honestly Christian than many of -those skilful productions of later periods, when the painter thought -more of the fame his execution of a subject might bring him than of -the solemn truth contained in the subject itself. Here we see Our Lord -seated on some very solid-looking clouds, while below, on the right -side, the angels are helping the good out of their sepulchres, and, -on the left, the devils doing the same service to the wicked. Some -of the tombs are open, as if burst asunder by an explosion, and the -skeletons stand bolt upright; some are half closed, and their occupants -creeping quietly out; while in others the disjointed bones are seen, -not yet rebuilt into human shape, or a skeleton is detected half -clothed with flesh, and some bones still protruding in their original -bareness. Much the same scene is portrayed on the left side, but the -expressions even in the skeletons are very different; the attitudes -are distorted, and the impish figures of the demons prominently drawn. -If there is a lack of harmony and beauty in the whole composition, it -is quite compensated for by the evident earnestness of the artist, -the gravity of the angels’ demeanor, and the reverent intention which -animates the grotesque _ensemble_. As an archæological memorial, it is -invaluable, as very few such specimens of Catholic art of so early a -date (certainly no later than the XIIIth century) are in existence in -England. - -Some of the country churches are beautifully restored according to old -Catholic models, and, with the restoration of the ancient worship, -might again become what they were at the time they were christened -by those suggestive names, All Hallows’, S. Mary’s, S. Chad’s. -Others, however are terribly neglected, though this is a fault fast -disappearing, together with the fox-hunting, easy-going parsons of the -Georgian era, and all other laxities of an unusually stagnant age. The -music in these country churches is not always equal to the imposing -exterior, a harmonium in the choir being sometimes all there is -wherewith to guide and sustain the voices. Still, this is a step in the -right direction, as formerly the utmost a village church could boast -of was an orchestra composed of the local shoemaker with a dilapidated -fiddle and the smith with a bass-viol out of tune. Any self-elected, -occasional amateur with a strong or a thrilling voice would be, of -course, a welcome addition, but the instrumental groundwork might be -always depended upon. Most churches near family seats have remarkable -monuments, some of the ancient Elizabethan style, with rows of decorous -sons and daughters praying in bas-relief at the feet of their dead -parents, their quaint costume, heavy-folded robes, and immense ruffles -seeming marvellously to suit the immobility of the material in which -they are sculptured; some, again, dating back to the times of the -Crusaders, but many, unfortunately, of the pseudo-Grecian Renaissance, -which to a Catholic mind seem both irreverent and absurd. Fancy a Cupid -with eyes bandaged and torch inverted as an emblem of that sacred grief -for the dead which is inseparably mingled with the steadfast hope of -the Christian for the day of resurrection! Or again, as we once heard -a sarcastic friend aptly express it, a woman crying over a tea-urn! -Really, some of these monuments are no better than that, and deserve -no other description. How much more dignified are those ancient Gothic -tombs where the quiet, stately figures of a knight and his wife, a -bishop, a magistrate, lie as on a bed, in the sleep of expectation, -not in a ridiculous simulation of life, nor symbolized by some vulgar -heathen myth. - -A visit to the parish church is an ordinary recreation on the first -morning of a guest’s stay at a country-house, after which there will -very likely be croquet, that eminently modern and English contrivance -which is pretty enough if one could only make up one’s mind to consider -men and women nothing more than grown-up children. A great deal of care -is often expended on the croquet lawn, and ladies are even careful -in the choice of a croquet costume. A lounge through the grounds, -admiring the host’s specimen trees—the Wellingtonia is generally the -chief attraction—and sauntering through the hot-houses, occupies the -time till luncheon. Most Englishmen have a passion for rare trees and -shrubs, and often carry home from distant countries seeds and cones -for their grounds at home. We have seen a lovely Ravenna pine, grown -from a cone picked up in the celebrated forest of Ravenna; every other -shrub of its kind perished from the effects of the climate, while -this solitary one throve well, and filled a considerable space in the -garden. The copperbeech is a very favorite specimen tree in England, -and looks beautiful among the shaded greens of limes, foreign oaks, -and fir-trees. It is generally the ladies of a household to whose -share fall the hot-houses and the flower-garden, but in one place -in Cheshire, where the visitor is unfailingly taken through miles -of glass, the whole thing is under the special supervision of the -master of the house. Lord E—— of T—— is an old man, and not very -active, on account of his impaired health; but, being passionately -fond of horticulture, he spends half his day in his hot-houses. The -orchid-houses, particularly, are a perfect marvel; there are eighteen -or twenty species of these lovely flowers in bloom at all times of the -year, and the conservatory into which some of these glass passages lead -is a palace of camellias, azalias, and other rare and delicate flowers. -The garden and grounds are mostly a wilderness of rhododendrons, -of which magnificent, far-spreading bushes cover even the islets -of the artificial lakes. But the most beautiful of Lord E——’s -floral possessions is the fernery, where seven or eight New Zealand -arborescent ferns spread their palmlike branches overhead, hiding the -glass roof above them, and suggesting the earthly paradise to the least -impressionable mind. The ground at their base is covered with rock-work -overgrown with mosses and ferns of various sorts, and water trickles -hiddenly in the tangle, its very sound denoting coolness and repose. - -In the autumn and winter, the men of the party disappear after -breakfast, and return, tired with sport or laden with game, about -five o’clock; but in summer, during the brief interval between the -London season and the 1st of September, the pleasures of the ladies -are shared with their knights. A picnic is often the most amusing -resource for a day, and it would be needless to describe it; but what -is not so common an occurrence in the country is a breakfast, that is, -a two o’clock reception in the open air, and a magnificent spread of -cold _chefs-d’œuvre_ of the culinary art. Let us suppose the _locale_ -to be this: a pretty piece of water running here and there into -creeks fringed with bulrushes and water-lilies, and a queer little -erection of no classifiable style of architecture, neither pavilion -nor villa, but very convenient and even sufficiently picturesque. -Clematis and honeysuckle climb over its walls, and to the front is a -rather irregular lawn which is partly carpeted for the occasion. In -England, we are never quite sure of not getting our feet damp, and -the flimsy summer toilets appropriate to this social festivity would -be but a slender protection against wet weather. All the county, far -and near, is asked—brides just returned from their honeymoon trip; -old stay-at-home fogies, childlike in the pleasure they exhibit on -this novel occasion; merry young people bent on enjoying themselves to -the utmost. One old lady has confidentially informed her best friend -about a wonderful new bonnet she has bought on purpose, and which -turns out to be something “fearfully and wonderfully made.” It is -curious to see the many different kinds of vehicles that draw up at -the door of “Fort Henry.” Old chaises driven by the most ancient (and -delightfully tyrannical) of family coachmen; queer little low cars, -called by the complacent owner “Norwegian cars,” drawn by a diminutive -pony resembling a Shetland; hired flies from the country town; open -barouches of unimpeachable make, but painfully, suggestive of the -“shop”; two-wheeled dog-carts, the prettiest carriage for the country, -driven by young unmarried land-owners whose arrival causes a stir among -the “merry maidens,” as Sir Gawain called his pretty companions in -Tennyson’s _Holy Grail_; lastly, a large “brake,” or capacious car, -filled with cross-seats, on which a whole party from some neighboring -mansion is comfortably and amicably packed; for not only are neighbors, -friends, and acquaintances asked, but any visitors they may happen to -have staying with them. When all are gathered, the luncheon begins; -and certainly the table is a masterpiece of floral decoration. The -cook, too, has surpassed himself, and the rarest wines and fruits are -lavishly added to the more substantial hospitality. The ladies’ dresses -are a _parterre_ in themselves; the prettiest things that taste can -dictate are worn for this _fête_, and the beautiful peacocks that range -the banks of the lake must find themselves rivalled for once in their -own domain. How different is this from a London “breakfast”! Here we -have no simulated _ennui_, no cadaverous looks resulting from sleepless -nights and constant dissipation, no hurry to get away, no empty forms -of hypocritical civility. It is almost a family gathering. After -luncheon, the boats are ready. Large and small—the largest manned by -four stalwart “keepers,” hereditary retainers of the family—these -boats are quickly filled; and, while the “state barge” (so to speak) -solemnly carries the elders of the party around the pretty lake, the -smaller skiffs, rowed by amateur oarsmen, and filled with a laughing -freight of girls, go off to try the famous echo, or to sing glees -near the old bridge at the lower end. This is not all the music, -however; a band is stationed in a boat that follows the grand barge, -or sometimes stops to let the guests hear the echo of a few loud notes -sounded on the horn. The effect of the music, the echo, the gaily -ringing laughter of the younger guests as they row swiftly from place -to place, is like a reminiscence of the days of Paul Veronese and his -pleasure-loving Venetian companions. At one end of the lake there is -an old horse-chestnut, whose branches stretch far out over the water, -and then droop into it, forming a green vault over a shady little nook. -It is difficult to steer a boat well in; therefore no boat passes by -without trying. At the other end, the water is choked with weeds and -tall bulrushes, and the plantation slopes to the brink, with beautiful -sunset lights playing on its Scotch firs, and bringing out the blue -green of their foliage in peculiar contrast with their dinted, reddish -stems; now and then a peacock’s harsh cry is heard, or the water-fowl -take a swift, low rush over the surface of the water, while the swans -move about as undisturbedly as if the scene were to them an everyday -occurrence. Presently the sun sets; the boats unload, and the carriages -begin to get ready again. A few stragglers, probably the host’s own -visitors, who have not far to go home, take a stroll up to the graceful -bark temple raised on the hillock opposite the lake; the view is -pretty from there, and the whole thing looks like an animated English -water-color. - -But this is not all the pleasure that a country visit affords: a -great resource lies in _tableaux vivans_. Very little trouble is -necessary; in some houses, a small stage is kept in readiness, or can -be extemporized in an hour, just when the performance is agreed upon. -Pictures and poems are laid under contribution; sometimes a particular -garment evidently suggests such and such a use, and a suitable -tableau is got up to exhibit it; and some costumes are so very easy -of arrangement that they are naturally chosen. The “Huguenot Lover,” -by Millais, is a very favorite scene, so is “Titian’s Daughter”; and -there are “Faith, Hope, and Charity,” or other allegorical figures, -always at hand to fill up any gap in the inventive genius of the -performers. But the best series we can think of is one—not a little -ambitious—representing dramatically the story embodied in Tennyson’s -song, “Home they brought her Warrior dead.” How often we have listened -to those words, so mournfully sung! The first tableau is very rich in -details; the year-old bride, in the gorgeous white and gold embroidered -robe which she had donned to meet her husband, sits tearless and pale -in the centre, her dark hair escaping from the jewelled fillet, her -white hands hard pressed together. The body of her husband lies at -her feet covered with a dark cloak, his pallid face just revealed, -and the four men who have borne him in stand in sorrowful silence -in the background, while the attendant maidens press round their -mistress, each dressed in some graceful, flowing costume. Any amount of -ornamentation, such as tapestry, vases, porcelain, jewellery, would be -in keeping with the tableau and enhance its beauty. The second scene -(the curtain being dropped for a moment) is the same, with the addition -of a hoary old nurse placing her child in the widowed mother’s arms, -while the bereaved one herself turns on the babe a look of passionate -and agonized yearning. The child is not a very easy part of the tableau -to manage, and it might, strictly speaking, be left out; still, the -story is more completely told thus, and its representation considerably -improved. - -These are only a few of the numerous and variable pleasures to be -enjoyed by a large gathering of friends: the winter brings others -peculiar to itself. - -A _meet_ is a very pretty sight, but never more so than when it takes -place in front of an old manor where the hunting-breakfast is going on. -This carries one back to the days of our grandfathers, and gives to the -sport of fox-hunting a certain traditional air of poetry. The servants, -whose livery is almost a costume in itself, carry trays of substantial -refreshments and foaming tankards of old ale among the farmers and -professional sportsmen, while the friends and county neighbors of -the host circulate through the house, lighting up our XIXth century -dead-level of dress by their scarlet, or, to speak more technically, -their pink coats. This word is used to denote the color the coat -_ought_ to have after a good sporting season; for it is as inglorious -in a true sportsmen to wear a new and undiscolored garment as it would -be for a soldier to bear an unharmed standard or unbroken weapon out of -the battle. In many counties, the full dress for dinner of those who -are known as sportsmen is a scarlet coat, the rest of the dress being -the ordinary costume of our day; and very gratifying it is to see the -old custom kept up by the gentlemen of the midland counties, where -fox-hunting is in its glory. At the meet, not a few ladies appear, some -on horseback, devoted followers of their brothers and husbands in the -chase, some in carriages, with their little children prettily dressed -in red, or otherwise suggestively clad. The host’s wife or daughters -come out among the hounds, perhaps in the graceful riding-habit, or -more often in jaunty little cloth suits, with red feathers coquettishly -peeping out of a sealskin cap. The hounds are all collected in front of -the hall-steps, and answer whenever called by name by the huntsmen. At -last the cavalcade is off, and winds past the margin of the park and -grounds, till the sound of the horn and the crack of the whip die away -in the distance, to be heard again a few hours later, when the whole -field, after making a circuit of, say, ten miles, returns to some cover -near the house, where the unhappy fox is caught at last. Boys follow -the hounds as soon as they can ride, and, indeed, sometimes perform -feats that make them heroes in a small way in the eyes of their -companions. A few years ago, the youngest son of the chief land-owner -of the Cotswold Hills in Gloucestershire, distinguished himself in this -way, and, upon a tiny gray pony, Asperne by name, kept so close to the -huntsmen that he was always first in at the death, and many a time was -the first to break a gap through a hedge or a stone wall, through which -the whole field would follow him. He often brought home “the brush” (a -fox’s tail), and the sportsmen from the opposite side of the county -used to ride ten or twelve miles to the next meet to see the wonderful -boy whose exploits and reckless daring were in every one’s mouth. - -The early autumn, before the fox-hunting has regularly begun, brings -its own pleasures with it, one of which is a nutting expedition. -This generally involves a tea-picnic—a far more amusing affair than -the conventional mid-day meal known by that name, and devoted to the -consumption of sandwiches, cold meat, salad, and soda-water. This -tea-picnic has often occupied a pleasant afternoon within our own -recollection, especially when a very informal party of young foreign -guests was gathered at E—— House. There was a representative of -Germany, a young man high in office at the former Hanoverian court, -who bore a remarkable likeness to Prince Albert, and to whom the queen -even spoke of this, to her, touching fact. Very fresh and childlike was -this young Prince S——, and very different from certain of his English -contemporaries, who, at eighteen, declare that life is a _bore_, and -amusement a sham. These are the men who discredit our century, and -belie nature herself. They affect to have no faith in woman and no -hope in religion. We have known one of these when he first began to -go into society. He was fresh and charming, said the most innocent, -boyish things in a fearless, truthful way that was especially winning. -He excelled in all social pursuits, and rejoiced in all healthy -amusements. Add to this that he was uncommonly good-looking, with dark -hair and eyes such as are not often met with in England, and was an -only son, heir to a fine Northern property, part of the family house -dating as far back as the XIIth century. We met him two seasons later, -and he was hardly recognizable. The same handsome features, but with a -wearied, listless air marring them; in his voice no animation, in his -manner not a trace of that early frankness that was his greatest charm. -He used to seem like a girl of seventeen; now he was, morally speaking, -a misanthrope of five and thirty! He owned himself that all amusements, -even dancing (which was a special accomplishment of his), _bored_ him, -and that there was nothing but pigeon-shooting that excited him! Even -during the famous matches at Hurlingham (a villa near London where -the pigeon-shooting is done, and which has become of late one of the -most _recherché_ haunts of fashionable idlers, and a field for the -display of the loveliest toilets), this young victim of _ennui_ hardly -vouchsafed to seem interested; yet beneath all this was a soul worthy -of great things; a will that, guided aright, might achieve much good to -society or even to the country; and a personality eminently fitted for -moral and intellectual success. And this energy was being thus wasted -by day, while, according to his own confession, billiards occupied the -greater part of his nights! Poor England, indeed, when her manliness is -thus thrown away! Who would not look back with pride and regret to the -days of the “good old English gentleman,” with his boisterous and rough -pursuits, his fox-hunting and his farming, but, withal, his healthful -vitality and his active usefulness? - -Besides the young German, so pleasant a contrast to the _blasé_ youth -of London drawing-rooms, there was round the gypsy kettle in the woods -of E—— a Spaniard as good-natured as he was stately; and, strange to -say, here was another royal likeness! Many might have mistaken him for -the Prince of Wales. Other Spaniards, too, there were, more lively and -not less good-natured, one with a smile that was irresistibly comic, -the other with the profile of a S. Ignatius, and principles and habits -that well suited his appearance. The English girls of the party were -well matched with their companions, and looked very picturesque as they -toasted immense slices of bread at the end of forked sticks at least -a yard and a half long! The tawny golden hair of one, the willow-like -figure and gravely childish glee of another, the restless activity -of a third, as they all joined in the search for dry fire-wood, made -a pretty subject for an artist; and, in the midst of the bustle, the -father, enjoying the young people’s fun, gave a touch of pathos that -much enhanced the beauty of the rustic scene. - -A drive home through the tall bracken, and along the grassy roads of -the numerous plantations, perhaps a rapid visit to deserted “Fort -Henry,” and a row to the Echo, sufficed to fill up the evening, and a -project for paying a visit to an old Quaker tenant on the morrow would -perhaps be discussed during dinner. - -It is no wonder that foreigners grow enthusiastic over this side of -English life; the pity is that so many rush to England and leave it -again before they have a chance of seeing a family gathering in the -country; those who have not seen it know little more of English society -than we do of the fruits of the West Indies after we have tasted them -in the shape of candied peel and preserved jellies. Drawing-room life -is the same in Paris, St. Petersburg, or New York; individualism -thrives only in the country, and it is there the character of a nation -should be studied. - - - - -MADAME AGNES. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS. - - -CHAPTER XI. - -EUGENIE. - -A WEEK after, Louis came to see us for the first time. - -“Well,” inquired Victor, “do you like your new manner of life?” - -“Yes and no, my dear friend,” replied Louis. “Yes, because I feel that -the new life on which I have entered is good for me. It is just what I -needed, I must confess—for I think aloud here. It is such a relief to -speak to some one who understands, who loves you, and is always ready -to excuse and pardon you! But I forewarn you I need, and shall need, -great indulgence, though nothing ought to seem too hard to one who was -on the high-road to destruction, soul and body, and would at this very -instant be lost, had not God, in his mercy, sent you to my aid. This -benefit has filled me, I assure you, with so much gratitude from the -first that, in view of my past life and the divine goodness, I feel I -ought to be a saint in order to expiate so many transgressions—I ought -to prove my sincerity by some heroic sacrifice for God.” - -“Oh! oh! that is somewhat ambitious.” - -“I suppose it is absurd. Not that it is necessarily absurd to aspire to -heroism, but the means should be taken into consideration. Now, mine -are fearfully, pitifully inadequate. I am cowardly, fickle, and a lover -of my ease.” - -“Come, come! do not calumniate yourself. We must neither judge -ourselves with too much leniency nor with too much severity. We must -see ourselves as we are. This is difficult, but it is essential.” - -“Well, my kind friend, that is exactly the way I regard myself.” - -“I doubt it.” - -“You shall judge for yourself. My duties oblige me to remain night and -day at St. M——. Alas! this very necessity I find harder than I can -express. There is not a day in which I do not find myself regretting -the city three or four times. This is very wrong, when the city has -been so pernicious to me....” - -“Come, you exaggerate things. You were born and brought up in the city, -and have always lived here till now. I see nothing astonishing at your -finding it disagreeable at first to live in the country.” - -“What a lenient judge! We shall see if you are as much so after the -other acknowledgments I have to make. There are times when work seems -insupportable. To rise at six o’clock and superintend workmen and -machinery the live-long day irritates and fatigues me to such a degree -that I am sometimes tempted to give it all up.” - -“You have not yet yielded to the temptation?” - -“No, indeed; that would be too despicable.” - -“Since you yourself regard such a step as it deserves, pursue your -occupation without being concerned about a slight disinclination for -work. Even people who have always been accustomed to labor have such -temptations. I assure you, in a year there will be no question of all -this. You will have acquired a love for your business, and, active as -you are, you will not be able to do without it.” - -“You think me at the end of my confession. The worst is to come. Mr. -Smithson is polite and sincere, but reserved and ceremonious, like all -Englishmen. He keeps me at a distance, and appears as if my errors -and loss of property, which of course he is aware of, gave him some -superiority over me. I think he does wrong to make me feel this.” - -“Ah! this is more serious, my dear friend. Like all people in a wrong -position, you are inclined to be unduly sensitive. Watch over yourself. -Endeavor to be guided by reason. I do not wish you to submit to too -much haughtiness, but do not attribute to people airs, and especially -intentions, they are not guilty of.” - -“You are a thousand times right. I appreciate your advice, and promise -to follow it. It would, indeed, be foolish to make myself needlessly -unhappy. St. M——, as you know, is a lovely place. The river on which -the mill stands has many charming views. During my leisure hours, I can -draw and paint at my ease. I have a great deal to do, and my work is -frequently burdensome, but I shall become accustomed to it, for it is -a source of real interest. By an excess of good luck, I have lodgings -that suit me in apartments near Mr. Smithson’s house. There I can read, -meditate, and pray at my leisure. One thing only is wanting—a little -society in the evening; but that will come, perhaps. I am invited -to dine at Mr. Smithson’s next Thursday. I hope that will be the -commencement of closer intercourse with the family. Hitherto, I repeat, -they have kept me at a distance. I have exchanged a few words with -Mme. Smithson, who appears very affable, but I have only had a glimpse -of the daughter—Eugénie, I believe her name is. As far as I could -judge, she is tall, fine-looking, even dignified in her appearance, -with something haughty in her air. I frankly confess it will be a treat -to meet these three people. I have always had a fancy for studying -different characters, and shall enjoy it particularly now, I am so -unoccupied in the evening.” - -“And your workmen—what do you make of them?” - -“I am constantly observing them, and assure you they are as interesting -to study as any one else. What a source of reflection! We have, you -must know, workmen of every grade, good and bad—yes, fearfully bad. -There are four hundred and fifty people—men, women, and children—who -represent every phase of humanity.” - -“To study mankind, my dear friend, to confine one’s self to that, is an -amusement suitable for a philosopher. But a Christian has higher views: -he studies human nature in order to be useful.” - -“That idea has occurred to me. I have even formed a series of fine -projects; but I am so poor a Christian, and so inexperienced!” - -“No false modesty! Excuse my bluntness; but false modesty is the shield -of the indolent, or their couch, whichever you please. Have you any -desire to benefit the people among whom you live?” - -“Yes, certainly, if I can.” - -“You can. You only need zeal and prudence; the one ought always to -guide the other. Come, what plans have occurred to you?” - -“I should like to found an evening-school, and take charge of it. Those -who are the best instructed might serve as monitors.” - -“Perfect! That would be a means of keeping the young men, and even -those of riper years, from idleness and the wine-shops, and afford you -an opportunity of giving them good advice. What else?” - -“I should also like to establish a fund of mutual aid.” - -“Excellent!... Reflect on these two projects till Sunday. I will do -the same. Consult Mr. Smithson also about them, and come and dine with -us in a week. We will talk it over, and you can tell me how you like -the family you are about to become acquainted with. I hope you will be -pleased with them.” - -“I hope so too, but have my fears. If they were all like Mme. -Smithson, everything would be propitious. I took a fancy to her from -the first. But Mr. Smithson is frigid, and his daughter seems equally -unapproachable. It is singular, but I had met her once or twice before -I entered her father’s employ. I thought her beautiful and intelligent, -and heard her very highly spoken of. But really, I begin to believe -that she, like many others, is brilliant rather than solid.” - -“Come, come! no rash judgments!” - -“What can I say? I was deceived in her. I thought her an uncommon -woman—one capable of comprehending all the delicacy of my position, -and of coming to my assistance. She ought to realize that I am out of -my element there. You must confess that Mlle. Smithson’s coolness does -not tend to console me.” - -“Why, my dear friend, you are very exacting!... Would you expect as -much from every one?” - -“No; but this young lady occupies an important place in the house, -without trying, I confess, to take advantage of it.” - -“And an important place in your thoughts ...,” said Victor, with the -friendly, significant smile so natural to him. - -Louis blushed. - -“I am inclined to think your opinion of her will be less severe in a -week. I, too, have heard her highly spoken of.” - -These words seemed to afford Louis great satisfaction. Victor did not -continue the subject. - -If you have carefully followed the conversation I have just related, -you must see that Louis, though unaware of his sister’s hopes, already -thought more of Mlle. Eugénie than he confessed or even acknowledged -to himself. I think I shall only anticipate your wishes in making you -acquainted at once with that young lady, who is to fill an important -_rôle_ in my story. And this cannot be done better than in her own home. - -Eugénie is in her chamber. It is the morning of the day Louis and some -other acquaintances are to dine with her father. She is engaged in -completing her toilet. A more charming room cannot be imagined. It is -furnished in exquisite style. Nothing is lacking. The pictures are all -rare, and arranged with artistic taste. The book-case contains, not -so many books, but solid works that will bear reading over and over -again. What, above all, completes the charm of this young girl’s bower -is the view to be seen from the two windows, which are like frames to a -picture. They afford a glimpse of a terrestrial paradise through which -flow the limpid waters of a deep stream. A breeze, playing through the -poplars that stand on its banks, softly rustles the leaves. Directly -across, on the opposite shore, is a broad meadow, bright with flowers, -with here and there clumps of trees. As far as the eye can reach are -objects on every side to satisfy the soul, and excite it to reverie: -a windmill with its long wings of white canvas swaying in the air; a -villa with its gardens; a little hamlet, and, overlooking it, a church, -the slated belfry of which is glistening in the sun. - -The world is full of material souls whom it would be a kind of -profanation to introduce into a place so attractive. They would be -unable to appreciate the charm. What is nature, however beautiful, to -a man eaten up with avarice and ambition?—to a woman who only dreams -of pleasure?... To such degenerate souls, nature is a sealed book—a -divine picture before a sightless eye. - -But to this number Eugénie did not belong. The daughter of a Catholic -mother and a Protestant father, she had been educated in one of the -best schools in Paris. Shall I call her pious? No; that would be -exaggerating. Eugénie did not lack faith. Her religious instincts were -well developed, but checked by her father’s coldness and her mother’s -frivolity. She was by no means insensible to all the beautiful and true -in religion. They filled her with admiration. She always fulfilled -the obligations rigorously imposed by the church, but avoided going -any farther through indifference as well as calculation. She had a -horror of what she called petty religion and little practices of piety. -Poor girl! she, too, closed her eyes in this respect to the light. -The practices she disdained—frequent prayers, the raising of the -soul to God, visits to the church, and assiduous frequentation of the -sacraments—are they not what truly constitute religion, such as it -ought to be, in order to be the companion, friend, and guide of the -whole life?... This is what Eugénie did not comprehend, or rather, what -she did not wish to comprehend. In short, she was religious in her own -way—half-way religious—quite so in theory, but in reality much less -so than she should have been. - -The somewhat indirect influence her parents exercised over her in -a religious point of view also affected her in other ways. Eugénie -possessed two natures: she was cold like her father, and kind like -her mother, but without displaying it. Let us also add another -characteristic by way of completing her portrait—she was romantic. -In everything, she had a repugnance to what she called commonplace. -An object, an individual, or an action, to please her, must have a -peculiar stamp, an original turn, which she wished might be more -frequently met with. She only liked what was out of the common course, -according to the elevated standard of a certain ideal she had formed in -her own mind. - -Eugénie’s exterior, her distinguished manners, her fluency in -conversation, and the tone of her calm, well-modulated voice, all -inspired a respect bordering on admiration. She was beautiful without -being bewitching. She was kind, but in so inexpressive a way as to -inspire at first fear rather than confidence. As has been said, she -possessed a character not easily read, and, though only twenty-one -years old, she passed for what is called, and with reason, a person of -ability. Her father and mother doted on her: she was their only child. -Yet there was a difference in their affection. Mr. Smithson tenderly -loved her as a daughter: Mme. Smithson loved her with a shade of fear, -as we love a companion or friend whose superiority we feel. - -Her toilet otherwise completed, Eugénie rang for her waiting-maid -to arrange her hair. Fanny did not keep her waiting. There was a -striking contrast between mistress and maid. Fanny was towards forty -years of age. She was of ordinary height, neat in person, but plain -and unattractive in appearance. She had a bad complexion, large eyes -hidden under thick lashes, a wide mouth, and a large fleshy nose, which -made up one of those vulgar faces that are never observed except to -laugh at. She was beloved by no one except her employers. This was not -strange. She had an observing eye and a keen, sarcastic tongue. Her -nature was soured, rather than instinctively bad. She was selfish and -bitter—a good deal so. This selfishness and bitterness sprang from -two causes which she would by no means have acknowledged. She was no -longer young, she knew she was homely, and she had no hope of being -married. Such a hope she had once, and a few days of happiness was the -result. Fanny would have been so glad to be, in her turn, mistress over -her own house! But her dream had vanished, and under circumstances not -calculated to sweeten her temper. - -For some years, Fanny was a servant at Mme. Smithson’s sister’s. That -lady was in the commercial line at Paris. There Fanny made the conquest -of a smart young man from the country employed by her mistress as -head clerk. He was an excellent person, but, like many others, wished -to reconcile his affections with his interests. He said to himself -that, by waiting awhile, he might, some fine day, find a wife richer, -prettier, and younger than Fanny. As he was bound to her by no actual -promise, he finally obtained another situation, and disappeared without -any warning. The poor girl regarded such conduct as infamous. She felt -that all hope of ever marrying was now lost, and the disappointment -made her ill. Unbeknown to her, her mistress had followed all the -scenes of this little domestic drama. She nursed Fanny with a care -that was quite motherly. When the girl recovered, she expressed her -gratitude, but begged permission to go away. The house had too many -cruel associations. Her mistress willingly consented, and Fanny entered -Mme. Smithson’s service. When the latter left Paris, Fanny accompanied -her to St. M——, and had now been in the family several years. - -Having, to her great regret, no prospect of marrying, forced to -acknowledge to herself that she should never have a house of her own -to manage, Fanny had but one desire, but this was an ardent one—to be -installed in a family which, if not her own, might prove as pleasant, -and where she could rule while appearing to obey. But where find this -ideal home?... She resolved to create it. And in this way: her old -mistress, Mme. Smithson’s sister, had a son named Albert, who was five -years older than Eugénie. Fanny had known him from his childhood. She -was attached to him, and, above all, she understood his disposition. -No one knew better than she that Albert would be the easiest, the most -manageable, in short, the mildest of masters. On the other hand, she -knew that Eugénie, energetic as she was, would not be difficult to -please. “Mademoiselle lives in the clouds,” she said to herself; “she -will be glad enough to have some one manage the house for her.” - -Fanny, therefore, resolved to make a match between the two cousins. -There is reason to believe she made skilful overtures to her former -mistress and to the young man himself, and that these overtures were -well received. Albert was now preparing his thesis with a view to the -law. As he was not rich, his cousin’s fortune was a very pleasant -prospect, and still more so to his mother. Besides, Albert had always -known Eugénie and loved her, as is natural to love a cousin that is -pretty and intelligent. He and his mother, therefore, made Fanny their -intermediary, without committing themselves to too great an extent. - -But Fanny had a good deal to overcome. Mr. Smithson was not partial -to lawyers. The profession was not, in his estimation, clearly -enough defined or very elevated. As to Eugénie, no one knew what her -sentiments were with regard to her cousin. Fanny thought she had, if -not a very strong attachment to him, at least an incipient affection. -But she was not sure. Thence resulted continual fears. Every young -man who entered the house was to her an object of alarm. Perhaps her -prospects, so slowly ripening and so dear, would be again overthrown by -this one! - -It may be imagined that Fanny looked with an unfavorable eye on Louis’ -connection with the manufactory. If Mr. Smithson had chosen another -kind of a man to aid him, one who was obscure, a mere common man of -business, she would not have minded it. But in the course of a week, -she was fully informed as to the history of the new-comer. She knew -he belonged to one of the best families of the city; that he had been -rich, and might become so again; that, till recently, he had been -regarded as one of the most brilliant young men in society; and he -was intelligent, well-educated, and of irreproachable morals. “I am -lost!” thought she. “All these people are linked together to ruin my -plans. This M. Louis comes here as an engineer?... Nonsense! it is -an arrangement between his father and Mr. Smithson. They wish him to -marry mademoiselle. What a contrivance! And that poor Albert, what will -become of him?...” - -These suspicions quite upset her. She resolved to make inquiries, in -order to relieve her mind, if by chance she was mistaken. But whom -should she question?... Mr. Smithson?... That must not be thought of. -Eugénie? Fanny made the attempt. Eugénie, with her usual coolness -and wit, replied in such a way that Fanny retreated every time more -uncertain than before. - -The day of which I am speaking—the notable day of the dinner—Fanny, -out of patience, could endure it no longer. She resolved to carry -matters so far that, whether she liked it or not, her mistress would -be forced to revive her hopes, or utterly destroy them. Hardly had she -entered the chamber before she opened fire: - -“How shall I arrange mademoiselle’s hair?” - -“As usual.” - -“Then we will dress it differently this afternoon with ribbons and -flowers.” - -“Why such a display?” - -“Can mademoiselle have forgotten it is the day of the great dinner?” - -“Great dinner? What do you mean by such nonsense, Fanny? Why, whom are -we to have at our table of so much importance? Nobody is invited that I -have not known a long time: our neighbor, M. Daumier, with his wife and -daughter, Dr. Ollivier, and M. Dupaigne. Really, it would be singular -for me to receive them with any ceremony.” - -“Mademoiselle has not named all the guests.” - -“Whom have I forgotten?” - -“M. Louis Beauvais.” - -“Ah! that is true. I overlooked him. But his coming will not change my -intention to remain as I am.” - -These words were uttered in a tone of perfect indifference. Fanny was -overjoyed, but careful not to manifest it. Then, as she continued to -busy herself about her mistress, she began to reflect. “She does not -care for him,” she said to herself. “There is nothing to fear for the -moment, then. But who knows how it may be by-and-by?... I must at once -find out if, under favorable circumstances, she might not conceive an -affection for him, and try to prevent such a misfortune. I will take -the other side to find out the truth.” - -“A charming young man, this M. Louis, and quite worthy of interest,” -said she, without appearing to attach any importance to her words. - -“What do you find so charming in him?” - -“He has a serious air, which I like.” - -“Yes; it might even be called gloomy.” - -“He may well have.” - -“Really! Ah! Fanny, then you know his history?” - -“Yes, mademoiselle; and a very curious one it is.” - -“Well, relate it to me. Only suppress the details; you always give too -many.” - -“Three months ago, M. Louis was the finest dancer and the gayest -young man in the city. Unfortunately, these young men are not always -remarkable for uniformity. He lived like a prince for six years, and -one fine morning found himself penniless.” - -“And what did he do then?” - -“They say—I am unwilling to believe it, but everybody says so—that he -tried to drown himself.” - -“A weak brain. That is not to his credit.” - -“They also say that M. Barnier, the journalist, saved him at the risk -of his life, and converted him so thoroughly that the poor fellow came -near entering a monastery.” - -“A queer idea! That shows he has more imagination than reason!” - -“But he did not stick to his first intention. He is now established -here, and will remain, I feel sure, ... and this alarms me!...” - -“Why are you so sure? And how can this assurance cause you any alarm?” - -“That is a secret. Mademoiselle will excuse me from replying. Though I -have known mademoiselle from her childhood, she intimidates me.” - -“Not much, Fanny.” - -“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I do not understand you.” - -“You understand me perfectly, but I have to dot your i’s for you. Well, -I will do so. I do not intimidate you much, I say. You dare not tell me -what you mean, but you give me a hint of it. What are you afraid of? -Tell me. I insist upon it.” - -“As mademoiselle insists upon it, I feel obliged to tell her what she -wishes to know. Mademoiselle is not to be resisted. But I should prefer -keeping it to myself. If it were to displease mademoiselle ...” - -“No; go on.” - -“Well, then, mademoiselle, I have everything to fear! This young man -has lost his property.... He passes himself off here as a creditable -person.... He has secret designs ...” - -“What designs?” - -“Mademoiselle puts me in an awkward position.... It is such a delicate -point to speak to mademoiselle about.” - -“That M. Beauvais aspires to my hand through interested motives?” - -“I should not have dared say so.” - -“Well, that would be audacious! I accept a man for a husband whom -poverty, disgraceful poverty, alone inclines towards me!” - -“Without doubt, he has committed many faults, but there is mercy for -the greatest sinner, and he is so pious just now!” - -“I know—he goes to church often, even during the week. That is his own -affair. That is enough, Fanny. Let there be no further question of this -between us. You take too much interest in what concerns me, as I have -told you before. I am astonished you should force me to repeat it.” - -Fanny, thus dismissed, went away furious and more uneasy than ever. But -if she could have read Eugénie’s inmost thoughts, her fury would have -turned to joy. As soon as she was gone, Eugénie seated herself in a -low arm-chair, and began, as she sometimes laughingly said, to put her -thoughts in order. - -“That malicious girl is no fool,” she said to herself. “This young -man may have entered my father’s service from secret motives, perhaps -suggested by his family. Who knows but my parents themselves smile -on his projects? My father seems to be on the best of terms with his -father. Perhaps they have come to an understanding with a mere word, -or even without speaking at all. That would be too much! Well, if it -is so, if the whole world conspires against me, I will defeat their -calculations.... In the first place, I do not fancy this M. Louis, and -I will soon let him see it, as well as those who favor him. The mere -supposition that I could ever be his wife makes me indignant and angry. -I marry a man who has ruined himself, who only aimed at my fortune, and -would squander it in a few years! I give my heart to a man who does -not love me, and, even if he sincerely vowed he loved me, would be in -such a position that I should always have reason to doubt it! And, -besides, what a weak mind this hare-brained fellow must have to play -so many _rôles_ one after the other! I wish my husband to have purer -motives and a stronger head. This man must have a false heart. He is an -intriguer, and that includes everything....” - - -CHAPTER XII. - -MORE ABOUT EUGENIE—A REAL FRIEND. - -THAT evening, Louis found himself for the first time in the midst of -the Smithson family. We often thought of him that night, and wished we -could know at once what kind of a reception he had met with, especially -from Eugénie. But we were obliged to wait for these interesting details -till Louis could relate them himself. We did not have to wait long. -When he came, he was gloomy and dispirited. Victor pretended not to -observe his dejection. - -“Well,” said he, “you have now made the acquaintance of the Smithsons. -What do you think of them?” - -“A good many things, but I can sum up my impressions in a word: they -are queer people!” - -“Indeed! did they hurt your feelings in any way?” - -“Yes; ... yet I do wrong to be angry, or even to be astonished. I -should have expected it.” - -“This great dinner, then, did not turn out as I hoped—a means of -cementing amicable, if not affectionate, relations between you?” - -“By no means.” - -“You greatly astonish me!” - -“It is just so.... The way things were managed shows the Smithsons to -be sagacious people. They invited me, in order to make me understand -at once the position I hold in their estimation—that of engineer and -superintendent, nothing more.” - -“I am really amazed!” - -“And I am equally so. I did not expect it, but the fact is too evident.” - -“Well, tell me all that happened, without omitting anything.” - -“Not to omit anything would make the story long, and it is not worth -the trouble. I will briefly relate what I think will interest you, -that you may have an idea of this first visit. There were but four -other guests, whom I only regarded with indifference. They were neither -pleasing nor displeasing, so it is useless to speak of them. We will -confine ourselves to the leading members of the household. I will first -speak of the real though unacknowledged head. My mind is made up on -this point. As I saw from the first, it is Mlle. Eugénie who rules the -house.” - -“Even her father?” - -“Yes; even her father; not as openly and directly as she does her -mother, but as unmistakably by dint of management.” - -“Is she really a superior woman, as I have been told, or is she merely -shrewd and imperious?” - -“Oh! no. Those who have sounded her praises have not deceived you. -She is by no means a common person. In the first place, it must -be confessed she is really handsome. There is especially a rare -intelligence and dignity in her appearance. She converses well, often -says something profound, and is always interesting. She is a lover of -the arts, and all she says, all she does, evinces an elevated mind.” - -“Such a person as is seldom met with, then—a model of perfection?” - -“She has all that is necessary to become so, ... and yet she is not. -One fault spoils everything, one or two at the most, but they are -serious. She is proud or egotistical, perhaps both.” - -“Are you not too severe upon her? You scarcely know her, and yet you -are very decided in your condemnation.” - -“I have reasons for my opinion. You shall judge for yourself. My -position with respect to Mr. Smithson is very trying. He knows, and -doubtless the rest of the family too, all the follies I have committed -within a few years, and how I regret them. He cannot be ignorant, nor -they either, that the office I hold under him, however respectable, -must awaken a susceptibility that is natural and excusable, even if -exaggerated. In this state of things, I had a right to expect that Mr. -Smithson and his family, if they were really people of any soul or -breeding, would treat me with a delicacy that, without compromising -them, would put me at my ease.” - -“I am of your opinion. And have they been wanting therein?” - -“Yes; and in a very disagreeable way. It is little things that betray -shades of feeling, and it was thereby I was hurt. In leaving the -_salon_ for the dining-room, each guest offered his arm to a lady. Mr. -Smithson, his daughter, and myself were the last. Mlle. Eugénie took -her father’s arm with an eagerness that was really uncivil.” - -“It was from timidity, perhaps.” - -“She timid?... I must undeceive you! She certainly is not bold, but she -is far from being timid. At table, I found myself consigned to the -lowest place. None of the guests were great talkers, and more than once -I took part in the conversation. Mlle. Smithson undisguisedly pretended -not to listen to me. She even interrupted me by speaking of something -quite foreign to what I was saying.” - -“Her education has been defective.” - -“Pardon me, she is perfectly well-bred. To see her an hour would -convince you of this. When she is deficient in politeness, it is -because she wishes to be.” - -“I believe you, but cannot comprehend it all.” - -“I have not told you everything. The worst is to come. Towards the -end of dinner, the conversation fell on a certain cousin of Mlle. -Eugénie’s. His name, I think, is Albert. She praised him highly, -to which I have nothing to say; but she added—and this was very -unreasonable or very malicious—that this dear cousin did not imitate -the young men of fashion, who were extravagant in their expenditures, -acquired nothing, and ended by falling into pitiful embarrassment. I -was, I confess, provoked and angry. I felt strongly tempted to make -Mlle. Smithson feel the rudeness and unkindness of her remark. But I -bethought myself that I was a Christian, and that, after all, the most -genuine proof of repentance is humility. Therefore I restrained my -feelings, and remained silent. The rest of the evening I cut a sorry -figure. Mlle. Smithson seemed perfectly unconcerned as to what I might -think.” - -“Her behavior is so inexplicable,” said Victor, “that, if I had these -details from any one else, I should refuse to believe them.” - -(At this part of her story, Mme. Agnes made a remark it may be well to -repeat to the reader: “You must bear in mind,” said she, “that neither -Victor nor I then had any means of knowing what I related a few moments -ago as to Fanny’s projects and Eugénie’s suspicions; and we were -completely ignorant of her turn of mind and romantic notions.”) - -“Well,” resumed Louis, “her way of acting, at which you are astonished, -does not amaze me. I can easily explain it. Mlle. Eugénie imagines -that I aspire to her hand, or rather, to her fortune. She is mistaken; -I aspire to neither. I acknowledge she has a combination of qualities -calculated to please me, but her disdain excites my indignation. I -mean, therefore, to put a speedy end to her injurious suspicions. Then -I will leave the place. I have already begun to put my project into -execution.” - -“Do not be precipitate, I beg of you. It is a delicate matter. What -steps have you taken?” - -“None of any importance. This morning, the work-rooms being closed as -usual on Sunday, I went, before Mass, to sketch a delightful view not a -hundred steps from the manufactory. I was wholly absorbed in my work, -when Mlle. Smithson approached. I will not deny I was moved at seeing -her.” - -“Then you are no longer indifferent to her?” - -“Oh! I think I can vouch for the perfect indifference of my sentiments -for the moment. But would this coldness towards her always last -if I did not watch over my heart?... She has so many captivating -qualities! I have seen so few women to be compared to her! No, no; I -will not allow myself to be captivated unawares; that would be too -great a misfortune for me.... I have resolved to raise myself in her -estimation. I will clearly convince her she has calumniated me in her -heart; that I am in no respect the man she thinks; and, when I have -done that, I shall leave. So, when she approached, I bowed to her with -respect and politeness. - -“‘You are sketching, monsieur?’ she said, bending down to look at my -work. ‘It is charming.’ - -“‘It ought to be, mademoiselle. There could not be a landscape better -calculated to inspire an artist. But while I am admiring what is before -me, I regret my unskilfulness in depicting it. It is my own fault. I -have so long neglected the art of drawing. I have acted like so many -other young men, and lost some of the best years of my life.’ - -“She understood the allusion—perhaps too direct—to her sally of the -other day. A slight blush rose to her face. ‘One would not suspect -it, monsieur,’ she said. ‘But as for that, even if you have lost your -skill, it can easily be regained in the midst of the delightful views -in this vicinity.’ - -“‘It is true, mademoiselle! A lovelier region it would be difficult to -find. I wish some of these views for my sketch-book, as I may leave any -day.’ - -“I uttered these words in a cool, deliberate tone, and then resumed my -work. Mlle. Eugénie seemed to wish to continue the conversation, but, -slightly abashed, had not the courage, I think, to make any advances. I -bowed ceremoniously, and she went away. My opinion is, she stopped out -of mere curiosity. She had shown how little she esteemed me, and was -not afraid of my attaching any importance to her speaking to me. Such a -course favors my plans.” - -“Wonderfully! But—nothing headlong! Forbear leaving Mr. Smithson too -precipitately. You are now near your family. Time may show things to -you in a different light. And, above all, it seems to me great good can -be done there, and more easily than in most places. Tell me something -of your workmen. Have you thought of the two projects we talked about -the other day? Have you spoken to Mr. Smithson about them?” - -“No; it seems to me they would not particularly please him. I really do -not know whether this Englishman has any heart or not. I am inclined to -regard him as an egotist, merely employing men to increase his wealth, -and not very solicitous about their welfare.” - -“I must undeceive you. I have reason to think Mr. Smithson a very -different person from what you suppose. We have not many Protestants -here, you know, but still there are a few. Among them are some who -are really actuated by good motives. They assembled a few months -ago at the house of Mr. Carrand, the rich lawyer you are acquainted -with. They wished to establish a charitable society, in imitation of -our Conferences of S. Vincent de Paul, but did not succeed in their -plans. To effect such an enterprise, there must be the zeal and -charity that animate the Catholic Church. To her alone God grants -the sublime privilege of devoting herself with constancy and success -to the physical and moral welfare of mankind. Though their project -remained unfruitful, it revealed a generosity much to the credit of -the Protestants interested in it Mr. Smithson himself was one of the -foremost on this occasion to manifest how earnestly he had at heart the -welfare of the poor; and this without any evidence of being influenced -by selfish motives.” - -“What you say surprises me, but it gives me great pleasure. I shall -henceforth be less reserved with him.” - -“And you will do well. I even advise you to consult Mme. and Mlle. -Smithson about your charitable plans. They are Catholics, and will -comprehend you at once.” - -“I have no great confidence in their piety.” - -“My dear friend, I regard you with the affection of a brother....” - -“Say, rather, of a father, as you are, in one sense, having saved my -life; and also by another title, in aiding me to become an earnest -Christian, such as I once was.” - -“Well, then, let us use a medium term. My regard for you shall be -that of an elder brother. I thank you for allowing me this title. My -affection for you makes me take an interest in all that concerns you. -I have obtained very exact information respecting the Smithson ladies -from a reliable source. They are not as pious as they might be, but -they do not lack faith, and they fulfil the absolute requirements of -the church. I know that Mlle. Eugénie is keenly alive to the poetical -side of religion. You have, I believe, an important _rôle_ to fill -in the family and in the whole establishment. You can do good to -every one there, and, at the same time, to yourself. The course to be -pursued seems to me very simple. I feel sure Mlle. Smithson has some -misconception concerning you—some injurious suspicions. Endeavor -to remove them from her mind. Act prudently, but as promptly as -possible. That done, induce her to take an interest in the work you -are going to undertake. She will lead her father to participate in it. -In a short time, you will see the good effect on your workmen, and -derive from your charitable efforts the reward that never fails to -follow—an ever-increasing love of doing good, and a livelier desire of -sanctifying your own soul. The exercise of charity is of all things the -most salutary. I can safely predict that the Smithson ladies will both -become pious if they second you; and as for you, you will be more and -more strengthened in your good resolutions. Who knows?—perhaps you may -have the sweet surprise of seeing Mr. Smithson converted when he sees -that Catholicism alone enables us to confer on others a real benefit.” - -“These are fine projects, and very attractive; but I foresee many -obstacles and dangers.” - -“What ones?” - -“Of all kinds. First, I expose myself to conceive an affection for -Mlle. Smithson it would be prudent to guard against. She does not -like me. I imagine she loves some one else—the cousin she praises so -willingly.” - -“A supposition without proof! What I have heard from others, as well as -yourself, convinces me that Mlle. Smithson has not yet made her choice. -The praise she so publicly lavishes on her cousin is, in my opinion, a -proof of her indifference towards him.” - -“But if I were to love her—love her seriously, and she continued to -disdain me; if her prejudice against me could not be overcome?...” - -“I should be the first to regret it. But listen to me. You were once -truly pious, my friend, and wish to become so again. This desire is -sincere, I know. Well, it is time to take a correct view of life. For -the most of us, especially those who are called to effect some good in -the world, life is only one long sacrifice. Jesus Christ suffered and -died to redeem mankind; the way he chose for himself he also appointed -for those who become his disciples. It is by self-sacrifice that we -acquire the inappreciable gift of being useful to our fellow-men. Do -not cherish any illusion with regard to this!” - -Louis and I exchanged a sorrowful glance as Victor spoke. Poor dear -fellow! how he realized what he was saying! He was about to die at -thirty-six years of age, in the very height of his usefulness, and this -because he likewise had voluntarily chosen the rough path of sacrifice -that was leading even unto death! - -“My friend,” replied Louis, “what you say is true. I feel it. You are -yourself an eloquent proof of it—you whom I have stopped in the midst -of your career....” - -“Do not talk so,” interrupted Victor; “you pain me. Your manner of -interpreting my words makes me regret uttering them. Do not mistake -my meaning. What I would say may be summed up thus: to effect a -reformation in Mr. Smithson’s manufactory, where there are many bad men -who corrupt the good; to enkindle a spirit of piety in the hearts of -the Smithson ladies, by associating them in the good you are to effect. -Whatever may be the result, devote yourself to this work without any -reserve. You must not hesitate! Your sufferings, if you have any to -endure, will not be without fruit, and perhaps God may not suffer them -to be of long duration.” - -“You have decided me. I will begin to-morrow. I will commence with the -evening-school, and by visiting the most destitute families.” - -“Do not forget that the destitution most to be pitied is moral -destitution. Visit those who have nothing, but especially those who are -depraved.” - -Louis went away in a totally different frame of mind from that with -which he had come. Victor, in his gentle way, had increased his esteem -for Mr. Smithson, and inflamed him with the zeal—the ardent desire -of usefulness with which he was filled himself. When he was gone, -Victor and I talked a long time about him. I confessed I had no great -faith in his perseverance. Victor replied: “His mother’s piety and -careful training must lead to his thorough conversion. And how he has -already changed! He realizes the worthlessness of the aims to which he -once gave himself up. There is no fear of his receding. He has taken -the surest means of persevering—the apostolic work of doing good. -Nevertheless, I acknowledge I wish he could find some one to aid him. -And what a powerful aid it would be if he loved and felt himself loved! -Ardent as he is, he would communicate his piety to the object of his -affection. And how much good would result from their combined efforts! -But I fear it will not be thus! Our poor friend will, perhaps, purchase -the right of winning a few souls at the expense of his own happiness.” - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -LOUIS AT WORK. - -LOUIS took two whole days to reflect on the important subject of his -conversation with my husband. Was the profound love he subsequently -felt for Eugénie already springing up in his heart? Such is my -opinion, though I dare not say so positively. He probably was not -conscious himself of the real state of his mind. Since that time, I -have often dwelt on all that took place then and afterwards, and it -has always seemed to me that, from the very moment Louis first knew -and appreciated Mlle. Smithson, he conceived an affection for her -as serious as it was sudden. This affection was one of those that -seem destined, from the beginning, to a continual increase. Does this -mean that I have adopted the foolish and erroneous theory of novel -writers, who regard love as an overmastering passion to which one -is forced at all hazards to submit?... Neither religion nor reality -will allow one to yield to such an error. But they do not hinder me -from believing there are inclinations and affections that all at once -assert themselves with so much force that, if one would not be speedily -overcome by passion, he must at once raise an insurmountable barrier -against it, such as flight, reason armed with contempt, and, what is a -thousand times better than all—prayer. Such, in my opinion, was the -love Louis at once conceived for Mlle. Smithson. - -How shall I account for his being so captivated, when Eugénie had -wounded him so deeply, and was so proud and every way original? For he -too was proud, and his pride was allied with an unvarying simplicity -which by no means accorded with Mlle. Smithson’s turn of mind.... I -account for this in many ways. Eugénie had very distinguished manners. -This naturally pleased Louis, for he had been brought up by a mother -who was a model of distinction. Eugénie had a noble soul. Her opinions -were not always correct, but they were always of an elevated nature. -She was, it is true, peculiar and romantic, and Louis was not. But he -liked all these peculiarities in her. They seemed to him charming. -Lastly, and this is one of my strongest reasons, I think it was because -Louis felt himself worthy of being Eugénie’s husband, and, seeing -himself slighted by her, was the more strongly tempted to win her. - -As Victor and I were his confidential friends, he kept us informed of -all his proceedings, and, I may safely say, even of his thoughts. It is -therefore easy for me to retrace the story of his love, which I will do -without any exaggeration. - -But first, let us return to his charitable projects, and the way -in which he executed them. Louis was not merely an engineer in Mr. -Smithson’s establishment, but a Christian, and all the more zealous -because he was anxious to expiate his past errors. He knew by -experience to what an abyss the passions lead, and was desirous of -warning others. If he had been a man of ordinary mind and heart, he -would no doubt have been animated by entirely different motives. After -his ruin, and rescue from a watery grave, desirous of regaining not -only his father’s esteem, but that of the world, he might have chosen -the very position he now occupied, but he would have taken care to live -as easily as possible. He would perhaps have sought to win Eugénie’s -affections, and in the end would have thought only of her and labored -for her alone. Such a life would not be worth relating. The lives of -ordinary men are as unworthy of interest as the egotism that is the -mainspring of their actions. - -Louis’ life was a very different one. That is why I am desirous of -making it known. But do not suppose his nature was thus transformed -in an instant. God did not work one of those miracles that consist in -the complete, instantaneous change of a man’s character. Our faults -veil our better qualities, but do not suppress them; so a return to -piety gives them new brilliancy, but does not create them. Louis, as -I afterwards learned, had in his youth manifested uncommon elevation -and purity of mind, and the piety of a saint. After his arrival at -manhood, deprived of his mother’s influence, and led away by his -passions, he placed no bounds to his follies. But suddenly arrested -in the midst of his disorderly career, providentially saved at the -very moment of being for ever lost, he at once broke loose from his -pernicious habits. Like a traveller who returns to the right path -after going astray for awhile, he resumed his course in the way of -perfection with as much ardor as if he had never left it. There was -only one reproach to be made against him at the onset. With his earnest -nature and tendency to extremes, he manifested too openly the interior -operations of grace. The difference between the young exquisite whom -everybody knew, and the new convert observed of all eyes, was rather -too marked. Louis’ serious and somewhat stern air, his austere look, -and his habitual reserve, repelled those who had no faith in his entire -conversion. Thence arose backbitings, suspicions, and accusations of -hypocrisy which did not come to our poor friend’s ears, but were the -cause of more than one annoyance. I must, however, acknowledge, to Mr. -Smithson’s credit, that he showed a great deal of charity for Louis at -that time. If he sometimes accused him of undue zeal, he was from the -first disposed to believe it sincere. - -I will briefly relate what Louis accomplished during the few weeks -subsequent to his last conversation with Victor. My husband had advised -him not to undertake anything till he had consulted Mr. Smithson. -Louis followed his advice, and begged an interview with his employer. -It was then in the month of June. The conversation took place without -witnesses, in the open air, on a fine summer evening. I give it as -related by Louis. - -“Monsieur,” said he, “I am aware of your interest in benevolent -objects. The workmen you employ, and whom I superintend under your -orders, are not in your eyes mere instruments for the increase of -wealth, but men to whom you wish to be as useful as circumstances will -allow.” - -Mr. Smithson was never lavish of his words. He made a sign of assent, -and appeared pleased with what was said. - -Louis continued: “I also am desirous of being useful to my fellow-men. -I have done many foolish things, and would like to preserve others -from similar mistakes, for the consequences are often fatal. With your -permission, I will not content myself with aiding you in the management -of the mill, but beg the honor of being associated, in proportion to my -ability, with all the good you are desirous of doing.” - -“Monsieur,” said Mr. Smithson, “your unexpected offer somewhat -embarrasses me. I am quite ready to accede to your wishes, but could -not, in truth, consider you my co-laborer. What I have hitherto done -has been but little, but I know not what else to do. I assist the -needy, and give good advice here and there; that is all. You can follow -my example. I shall be glad. Is that what you wish? Or do you happen to -have anything better and more extensive to propose? If so, go on. I am -ready to hear it.” - -“Yes, monsieur; I have some other plans to suggest.” - -“State them without any hesitation. I only hope they are of a nature -to second my views. The first condition for that is, to propose only -what is simple and practical. Doubtless too great an effort cannot -be made at this time to aid and improve our workmen, both for their -own interest and for ours. Everything is dear. The country is in a -ferment. Among those we employ, there are a number of turbulent fellows -and many wretchedly poor.” - -“Precisely so. What I wish is, to aid the needy, and reform the bad.” - -“Your design is worthy of all praise—as a theory; ... but its -realization will be difficult, not to say impossible. Listen to me, -monsieur; I have a frank avowal to make. I have been engaged in this -business but a short time. I know the common people but little. I -belong to a country and a religion that have a special way of aiding -the indigent. The government takes charge of that with us. In France, -it is different: private individuals take part in it. You find me -therefore greatly embarrassed. Enlighten me, if you can. I ask for -nothing better.” - -“Well, monsieur, it seems to me that beneficence should be exercised in -three different ways. First, it is our duty to come to the assistance -of those in distress; ... only I cannot, in this respect, do all I -would like.... I could have done so once ... now ...” - -“Do not let that worry you. My purse is open to you on condition that -you only aid those whose destitution you can personally vouch for. It -is also advisable to ascertain what use they make of that which is -given them.” - -“I promise this, and thank you. No; it is not sufficient to give them -money. One must see it is made a good use of. The poor should be taught -to double their resources by economy. The assistance of the needy, -then, is the first benevolent effort I would propose. I now come to -moral beneficence. This does not refer to the indigence of the body, -but to that of the soul. I think it especially desirable to preserve -from corruption those of our workmen who are at present leading upright -lives, particularly the young. This does not hinder me from thinking it -necessary to bring those who have gone astray under good influences.” - -“Fine projects! I, too, have made similar ones, as I said, but I was -discouraged by the difficulty of executing them. What means do you -propose to employ?” - -“What would you say to the formation of a library in one of the rooms -of the manufactory—for instance, that which overlooks the river? It -is now unoccupied. The workmen might be allowed to go there and read -in the evening, and even to smoke, if they like.... This library could -be used, during the hours of cessation from labor, as a schoolroom, -where all could come to learn, in a social way, what they are -ignorant of.—Would not this be a means of keeping them away from the -wine-shops, and afford one an opportunity of conversing with them, and -giving them good advice—advice which comes from the heart?” - -“I like the idea. It really seems to me you have conceived a happy -combination of plans; but nothing can be done without a person to put -them in execution.” - -“I will do it if you will allow me. I am eager to try the experiment.” - -“Your courage and enthusiasm will soon give out. At every step, you -will meet with difficulties impossible to be foreseen. I have mingled -only a little with the working classes, but enough to know they are -difficult to manage, and often ungrateful to those who try to be useful -to them.” - -“God will aid me. He will reward me, and they may too. But I shall not -be difficult to please. If some of them correspond to my efforts, it -will be enough. I will forget the ingratitude of the rest.” - -Mr. Smithson was amazed at his zeal. His own religion, cold and -formal, had never taught him to take so much pains for those who might -prove ungrateful. He and Louis separated quite pleased with each -other. Louis felt he had been comprehended. He had also the promise -of assistance. Mr. Smithson, with all his reserve, was captivated by -Louis’ enthusiasm for doing good. But though he had promised to aid -Louis, he pitied him. “He will fail,” he said to himself. - -The work was begun a few days after, thanks to the co-operation of -Mr. Smithson, who smoothed away the difficulties inseparable from all -beginnings. At seven in the evening, Louis, laying aside the title and -functions of an engineer, became the friend and teacher of the workmen. -They assembled in a large room where benches, tables, and a library -were arranged. At first a certain number of workmen came through mere -curiosity. They found what they did not expect—a teacher who was -competent, kind, ready to converse with them and teach them what they -wished to learn, and this with a heartiness quite different from an -ordinary schoolmaster. Louis devoted himself with so much pleasure to -these evening exercises that his pupils soon learned to like them, and -gave so captivating an account of them to the rest that the number of -scholars increased from day to day. Thus the school was permanently -established without much delay, and numbered about thirty men of all -ages and varieties of character. Louis showed perfect tact in profiting -by so happy a commencement. Every evening, he gave oral instructions, -sometimes on historical subjects, sometimes on a question of moral or -political economy. In each of these lectures, the young master mingled -good advice, which was willingly listened to, given, as it was, in -the midst of instructions that excited the liveliest interest. The -workmen felt they were learning a thousand things they could never have -acquired from books. A book is a voiceless teacher that requires too -much application from unaccustomed pupils. - -Mr. Smithson watched over the development of this work, and became more -and more interested in it in proportion as its success, which at first -he had doubted, became more probable, and its utility more evident. -At the same time, without acknowledging it to himself, suspicion and -distrust began to spring up in his heart. Even the best of men under -certain circumstances, unless checked by profound piety, are accessible -to the lowest sentiments. Mr. Smithson began to be jealous of his -assistant, and even to fear him. - -“What!” he said to himself, “shall he succeed in a work I dared -not undertake myself! He will acquire a moral influence in the -establishment superior to mine!...” Then, as his unjust suspicions -increased: “It is not the love of doing good that influences him: it is -ambition,” he thought. - -Louis had no suspicion of what was passing in his employer’s mind, -and therefore resolutely continued to pursue the course he had begun. -He had formerly accompanied his mother in her visits among the poor, -and thus learned how to benefit them. She had taught him it was not -sufficient to give them money: it was necessary to mingle with them, -talk with them, give them good advice—in a word, to treat them as -brethren and friends. Having organized his evening-school, he resolved -to visit the most destitute and ignorant families in the village, which -was about a kilometre and a half from the manufactory. He went there -every evening towards six, and spent an hour in going from one house to -another. Chance, as an unbeliever would say, or Providence, to speak -more correctly, led him to the house of a poor woman quite worthy of -his interest. She was fifty years of age, and slowly wasting away from -disease of the lungs, complicated with an affection of the heart. -This woman was one of those lovely souls developed by the Catholic -religion oftener than is supposed. People little suspected how much she -suffered, or with how much patience she bore her sufferings, but God -knew. She was a real martyr. Married to a drunken, brutal man of her -own age, she had endured all the abuse and ill-treatment with which he -loaded her without a murmur. She had brought up her son piously, and -labored as long as she was able to supply her own wants and those of -her child. Broken down by illness and the continual ill-treatment of -her husband, she would have died of want, had not Mlle. Smithson come -to her aid. - -When Louis went to see this poor woman, whom we will call Françoise, -she spoke of Eugénie so enthusiastically, and with so much emotion, -that he was greatly impressed. It was sweet to hear the praises of one -whom he dreamed, if not of marrying, at least of associating in his -good works. - -The next day, he repeated his call on the sick woman, and for several -days in succession. I think he had a secret hope of meeting Eugénie, -without daring to acknowledge it to himself. As yet, he had merely seen -her. He found her, as you know, handsome, stylish, and intelligent, but -cool towards him. He longed to observe her in this miserable dwelling. -Here, apart from other influences, she might show herself, as he hoped -she really was—exempt from the imperfections he had remarked in her -at home with regret. Without acknowledging it, he loved her, and it is -hard to be forced to pass an unfavorable judgment on those we love. But -days passed without their meeting. The sick woman was visibly failing. -One evening, Louis found her weaker than ever. - -“My dear monsieur,” said she, “I am very happy. I am about to enter -the presence of the good God! But I have one cause for anxiety at the -hour of death. I depend on you to remove it. When the wealthy die, -they leave their friends valuable legacies, but we poor people have -only burdens to bequeath. Mlle. Eugénie has promised to watch over my -little boy. She is very kind!... And I have another favor to ask of -you, monsieur. Not far from the village is a family by the name of -Vinceneau. The father is employed in the tile works you have to pass in -coming to see me. Hereafter, when you come by, continue to think of me, -and pray for me!... But that is not the point. The man I am speaking of -is intemperate like my husband. The mother would be an excellent woman, -were it not for two faults. She is indolent and envious—always ready -to think evil of the rich. She works at your mill. It is not these two -people I am going to recommend to you, but their daughter. The poor -child is as handsome as a picture, and as pious as an angel. She often -comes to see me. I tremble lest she be lost through the bad example of -her parents, or through dangerous society. I have a feeling that, in -some way, you will find means of being useful to her, if necessary. -I should have recommended her to Mlle. Eugénie, but her father and -mother, as I have said, are good for nothing, and I should not like -to send mademoiselle where I know she is detested on account of her -wealth.” - -Louis gladly acceded to her request. He left a few moments after to -attend his evening-school. Half-way home, he perceived Eugénie coming -from the mill, and could not help meeting her. - -TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -THE POLITICAL PRINCIPLE OF THE SOCIAL RESTORATION OF FRANCE. - -BY F. RAMIERE, S.J. - -FROM LES ETUDES RELIGIEUSES. - - -THE great danger of France at the present time is neither the -decline of her military power, nor the diminution of her political -influence, nor the deep wound inflicted on her finances by an enormous -war contribution, nor the aggrandizement of Prussia, nor even the -unchaining of the Revolution: it is the division among right-thinking -men. - -Supposing that all men in or out of the Assembly, united by the -indissoluble bond of principle, sincerely desired the re-establishment -of order, the revolutionary monster would soon be rendered harmless. -The healthy influences now paralyzed would regain their action; with -security, legitimate interests would recover their power of expansion; -the vital strength of the country would develop rapidly; and, thanks -to the vigorous elasticity which characterizes our race, we would soon -resume the rank in Europe that belongs to us. - -Let us recollect the wonderful promptitude with which France, reduced -to extremity by the religious wars, reached the apogee of her -prosperity under Louis XIII. We would rise again with equal facility, -if the good dispositions, not wanting in France, could be bound -together, and oppose a compact fasces to the revolutionary passions, -alas! too well united for destruction. - -Unfortunately, it is not so. Unity of thought and action, which is the -supreme necessity of every government, is wanting to-day in those who -are alone able to save us, and it has become the exclusive privilege -of the party that is working for our ruin. M. Le Play, who, in a -recent treatise, warns us of the danger of the situation, sees but one -remedy: the abandonment for a time at least of political questions, -and the concentration of the efforts of all true men for the study and -solution of the social question. Says M. Le Play: “The enlightened men -who compose the majority of our Assembly render themselves powerless -by their division on what is called the political question—that is -to say, on the form of sovereignty. They may be assured that each -political party, when it advances its principle, raises against it -a majority formed by the coalition of rival parties. When, on the -contrary, this same party takes up the social question, that is to -say, the immediate interest of the family, it gains the majority, -sometimes even unanimity. It is sufficient to know the cause of the -evil to find the remedy. The conservatives have the power to establish -a strong majority. It is only necessary to avoid the subject that -divides them, and to devote themselves to the one that draws them -together.” - -There is much truth in this observation, and we are far from wishing to -combat it on the whole. The eminent publicist who, in this same work, -accords so favorable an opinion to our studies on the rights of men, -knows with what warm sympathy we follow his useful labors for social -reform. We appreciate as fully as he the importance of the question to -which he desires to draw the attention of all true friends of order. -With him we believe that the social order is anterior to the political, -and that, at a time when society is disorganized even in its original -elements, it is there above all that the remedy must be applied. -How can a good government be given to a nation that the anti-social -propaganda has rendered ungovernable? - -We must acknowledge, however, that, to the rule which M. Le Play -has laid down, objections arise which at the first glance appear -sufficiently grave. We have heard intelligent men doubt whether even -the temporary withdrawal of the political questions would be opportune -or possible, and that for several reasons. - -In the first place, because these questions are irresistibly imposed -upon us. They are discussed every day in the debates of the Assembly or -by the press. If we give up treating them according to true principles, -they will certainly be determined in the sense of the Revolution. - -In effect, and it is a second reason, if men of order deny themselves -entrance on this ground, it is indispensable that the revolutionary -party should promise to abstain likewise. But how can we hope that it -will make, much less that it will observe, this engagement? The first -aim of this party is evidently to possess itself of political power, by -means of which it will be easy to realize its anti-social theories. We -must put forth our whole strength in this contest, if we do not wish to -have it become impossible for us to defend the social interests. - -Finally, here is a consideration which, to the eyes of the men whose -sentiments we express, appears still more decisive. They say that in -order to make it possible to abstract political questions, and give -ourselves exclusively to the study of the social, there should be a -line of demarcation drawn between these two domains so closely united. -This is what they cannot accomplish. Social and political rights repose -on the same basis, they have the same enemies, and are attacked with -the same arms. Why is the family disorganized? Why, in labor, is the -harmony so necessary between the employer and the employed replaced by -an antagonism equally hurtful to both? Is it not, above all, because -every rank of society suffers from the rebound of the attacks made -politically on the principle of authority? - -We do not dispute the fatal influence of the false principles pointed -out by M. Le Play—the original perfection preached by Rousseau, the -native equality of men maintained by Alexis de Tocqueville, have -had their share, and their great share, in the disorders which have -totally overthrown society. But the principal cause of these disorders, -the revolutionary principle by excellence, is the negation of all -authority superior to that of man! - -How shall we answer these arguments? It will not be difficult. We -can admit them without injury to the thesis of M. Le Play. We would -misapprehend him if we placed the Christian principle of authority -among the number of political questions which he counsels us to avoid. -This principle, in reality, is not less social than political. It is -the common foundation of these two orders, the fourth commandment of -the decalogue, and, consequently, constitutes one of the essential -articles of the social restoration, whose complete programme M. Le Play -finds in the decalogue. - -What are the political questions we should avoid, if we would see union -and strength succeed to the divisions which now paralyze us? Those that -spring from opinions. - -Opinions divide parties, and create among them interminable struggles. -S. Augustine has well said: _In necessariis, unitas; in dubiis, -libertas._ Necessary principles are the domain of unity; doubtful -opinions, by provoking liberty, engender division. It is in the very -essence of opinion to arouse against it other opinions, to which their -probability, more or less great, gives the right to struggle against -every light but that of proof. Here is, then, what experience teaches -us, and what the dangers of society command us: it is to lift ourselves -above this obscure and troubled region where opinions clash, and to -rise to the peaceful sphere that principles illumine with a steady -light. Here there can be no subject of division among sincere minds. -In the social as in the political order, principles convince by their -proofs all intellects which have not made a compact with error; and -their necessity, as incontestable as their truth, conquers the adhesion -of all just men. - -We can, then, without contradicting M. Le Play, establish the following -proposition: to obtain this union among right-thinking men, without -which there is no salvation to be hoped for France, political parties -must be silent on the questions which divide them, and cling to -the immutable principle whose negation is the chief cause of our -misfortunes. - -But what is this principle? This is the question we will endeavor to -answer with a precision which will leave no doubt in sincere minds; no -pretext for the division of parties. - -Our aim is very clear, and we hope it will be understood by our -readers. We do not intend to discuss the various political opinions, -still less to ask their defenders to sacrifice them; we seek the -indisputable, the first principle of the political order, around which -can be immediately formed that union of honest and upright men which -will place them in a position to struggle against the Revolution, and -will prepare for the future a more complete harmony, and the permanent -restoration of France. - - -I. - -We must, above all, distinguish clearly “the saving principle” from -the opinions with which it might be confounded. It will be easier to -understand what it is when we will have said what it is not. - -In the first place, this principle is not that of _absolute monarchy_. - -In the happiest period of our history, the power of the monarch was -modified by institutions of various kinds: by the states-general, -which, having the right to confirm or reject new taxes, afforded an -opportunity of laying at the foot of the throne the complaints and -the wishes of the country; by the magistrates, who, almost sovereign -in the judicial order, exercised an efficacious control over the -legislature; by the church above all, that energetically defended the -supremacy of divine law against the caprices of princes. Whatever may -be thought of the causes which, after the invasion of Protestantism, -led to the destruction of these guarantees, and to the concentration -of power; whatever may be said to excuse or glorify absolute monarchy -in the past, it evidently cannot now be presented as the immutable -principle through which we could ask our salvation. - -It is not necessary to add that the inferior institutions which -surrounded the monarchy at divers epochs, merit still less the name -of principles. Formerly these institutions had a reason for existing, -but nothing proves that they should survive the circumstances which -gave them birth. Neither the warlike feudalism of the middle ages nor -the nobility disarmed, but still privileged, of later times, belongs -to those elements essential to all society, to which we are bound to -restore their energy as soon as possible, if we would not condemn -ourselves to perish. - -Nor can we give the name of principle to _divine right_ as understood -by the Gallican school. According to this school, Providence, at -the commencement of society, chose a man or a family to exercise -the supreme power. The course of events which decided the form of -government of infant societies was, in its opinion, a manifestation of -the divine will sufficient to invest with the right of commanding those -who had the strength to enforce it. This right is then divine, since -it is held immediately from God; and, in the language of theology, the -power of divine right is that which comes from God without passing -through any human intermediary. The Gallican school recognized two -sovereignties of divine right: that of the temporal order, which was -royalty; and the papal sovereignty, which was spiritual—if it was -allowable to say in this system that the pope was sovereign, since, -contrary to the policy which sustained absolute political power, -they wished in the spiritual order that the pope should share his -sovereignty with the episcopate. - -To dissimulate nothing, let us say here that lately theologians -and Catholic philosophers, strangers to the Gallican school, have -defended the thesis of divine right. But their adhesion, in giving new -weight to this doctrine, does not take it from the category of simple -opinions. It has always against it the arguments and authority of our -most illustrious doctors, according to whom the right of princes is -divine only in its first origin and in its abstract essence; but in -its immediate origin, its concrete form, and in the appointment of the -subject to be invested with it, this right is human, since it would -only receive the determinations indispensable to its exercise by the -expressed or tacit consent of society. The providential events of which -we have before spoken were more or less indicative of the divine will, -but the majority of doctors refuse to see in them a sufficient motive -for investing with the right of commanding a man previously supposed to -be without it. - -The doctrine of the _absolute inamissibility of power_ generally -maintained by the partisans of divine right should also be ranked among -the disputed opinions. It is logic that he who has received power -immediately from God can only be deprived of it by God. The defenders -of the opposite opinion admit, on the contrary, that, in extreme -cases, power can be withdrawn from him who abuses it by only using for -the destruction of society what was given to him for its preservation. -And as it is difficult to distinguish in such cases, as error on such -occasions could only be disastrous, as anarchy could easily spring -from the most legitimate resistance to tyranny, Catholic theologians -do not wish that these doubtful cases of conscience should be left -to the passions of parties or to the blind fury of the mob; but they -find a guarantee qualified to defend every right and to reassure every -interest in the authority, ever impartial and paternal, of the Vicar of -Jesus Christ. - -The first basis of social order which we are now seeking, can neither -be found in the _monarchical principle_. - -In reality, whatever may be to the minds of the greatest philosophers -the prerogatives of a limited monarchy, they cannot maintain that it -is the only legitimate form of government; and consequently, as the -monarchical principle is neither universal, absolute, nor immutable, it -has none of the marks of a true principle. - -Besides, the firmest partisans of monarchy do not assume for it this -universal necessity. In the states with which it is identified, by long -and legitimate possession, with the principle of right, they justly -claim for it all the prerogatives of that principle. Unreasonable as it -would be to pretend that monarchy is the only legitimate government for -all times and all peoples, equally absurd would it be to maintain that, -when it is legitimately established, it can be legitimately combated -and overthrown. There is no right against right. The monarchical -principle thus defended has no adversaries but those fanatical adorers -of the republican form whose absolutism is a hundred times more -unreasonable than ever was that of the most servile worshippers of -royal power. - -These topsy-turvy legitimists condemn, from the height of their pride, -the immense majority of the human race, arrogating to themselves in -favor of their opinion the authority which they refuse to the church of -God; and they take to themselves, in remaking it, the motto with which -they have so often reproached us: No salvation outside of the republic! -After twenty-five centuries, they renew the foolish enterprise of -the Babylonian despot: they wish to compel all the nations under the -sun to prostrate themselves before the statue of their republic, and -acknowledge it as the only true divinity. - -No more tyrannical intolerance can be imagined. Whence do these -absolutists derive the right of imposing their opinions on their -equals? From what have they taken the halo with which they surround -the cap of liberty, after having trampled all crowns under their feet? -Undoubtedly, government exists but for the people, but does it follow -that it should necessarily be exercised by the people? To refute -their exclusive theories, it would be sufficient to compel them to -make an application of them in their own families. In fact, from the -moment that the principle becomes absolute, it should be applied to -all authority; and there is no reason why the family and the workshop -should not share with the state the advantages of the republican form. - -But it is waste of time to dwell on this fanaticism, of which, thank -God, we do not find a trace among the partisans of monarchy. The -necessity which they attribute to it is not absolute, but hypothetical. -They affirm that monarchy is the only form of government suited to -the characters, defects, customs, and traditions of certain peoples. -They say that nations, like individuals, have different temperaments; -and, consequently, it would be absurd to impose the same rule on all. -Nations, like individuals, when the constitution is formed, when -inveterate habits have become a second nature, cannot, without danger, -suddenly adopt new customs. What would become of a people who should -persist in making this dangerous experiment? Against their will, they -would carry their old customs into the new system; they would preserve -their monarchical manners in the midst of a nominal republic; and this -bastard government would have all the inconveniences of the monarchy, -without its stability and other advantages. - -More even than individuals, nations live by traditions. By them, the -past extends its influence over the present, illumines it with the -reflection of its glory, and animates it with its spirit. Traditions -bind together the successive periods in a nation’s existence, and -preserve among its children the unity produced by a long community of -dangers and struggles, of triumphs and reverses. A people that breaks -with tradition is like an uprooted tree; its existence is similar to -that of a man, who, having lost his memory, cannot connect the present -with the past. Now, it is evident that a nation whose institutions -and customs for centuries have reposed on monarchy cannot have this -basis overthrown without breaking all traditions, and throwing society -entirely out of its beaten tracks. - -These observations are evidently the dictates of good sense and -experience. It is impossible not to be vividly struck by them, when one -has lived among a people faithful to its traditions; as the English, -for example. Nothing is more striking than the contrast between the -general security, the vitality, the friendly enjoyments, whose source -is respect for tradition, with the instability and anxiety which the -Revolution has produced in our French society, formerly so calm and -joyous. - -But however well grounded may be this induction, it cannot take the -place of the absolute and indisputable principle by which we wish to -bind together all true and earnest men. - -Let us pursue our research, and congratulate ourselves on being -dispensed in our present position from pausing at the thorny -distinction between the _power of right_ and the _power of fact_. -For too long a period has this been a cause of incurable division -between the most honest and religious men. Of all the problems which -belong to the social order, it is perhaps the most difficult to -resolve practically. On one side, it is certain that the violation -of right cannot destroy it, and that the usurper who, to gratify his -ambition, imperils the gravest interests of society, does not become -legitimate, even though his attempt be crowned by success. On the -other side, however, the maintenance of public order being the reason -of the existence of the rights of power, obedience cannot be refused -to him who alone has the strength and the means of attaining this -indispensable end. - -From this springs one of those conflicts of opinion which make the -social question so difficult. The same public order which commands -obedience to the usurper alone capable of defending it, forbids -encouraging the ambition of future usurpers by the full acceptation -of triumphant crime. The friends of order can then follow different -paths, according to the preference they may have for either of these -interests. The power of fact will attract men who, most affected -by present necessity, will hope to find in their adhesion to the -established order a safeguard against new convulsions. Others will see -in this adhesion to the revolution consummated an anticipated sanction -of future revolutions, and will think themselves obliged to provide -for the permanent necessities of society by remaining faithful to the -fallen power. - -This is not the place to decide such a difficult question, where -even the supreme authority of the church has thought it often wiser -to abstain. We need only state as a fact, unfortunate as inevitable, -the division which springs from this conflict of duty. It will last -until the illegitimate power is overthrown, or until, by the lapse -of time, all trace of its origin is lost. In the first case, the -transitory right which the usurping government borrowed from fact -having disappeared with the fact, the power of right recovers its -preponderance. In the second case, fact is transformed into right by -becoming alone capable of defending society; and legitimacy, of which -social interest was the base, will disappear with the real possibility -of saving this supreme interest. - -It is what happened in England, where the tories, the former partisans -of the Stuarts, have long since adhered to the reigning dynasty. -But in France, neither of the two dynasties which succeeded to that -of our ancient kings established its domination firmly enough, or -sufficiently renounced its revolutionary principle, to render evident -to all eyes this union of right and fact. For fifty years, we have seen -conservatives, religious men, and even the clergy, divided into two -or three political fractions; and this division has not been one of -the least causes of our weakness, and of the growing strength of the -Revolution. - -The evil appeared irremediable, and each day it acquired fresh gravity; -for the government of fact, instead of seeing in the adhesion of men -of order a motive for returning openly to conservative principles, -believed it to be their interest to conciliate the men of disorder by -supporting the principle of the Revolution. - -Providence has drawn us from this position, apparently inextricable, -and, by the result even of our faults, has made the cause of our -divisions disappear. The Revolution has destroyed the governments -blind enough to lean upon her. The power which exists to-day, and -whose strength lies in the Assembly, has more than once acknowledged -its provisional character. France is, then, free to return to the true -principles of order, and to reunite under one flag all those who are -sincerely devoted to the holy cause. Nothing prevents her fulfilling a -celebrated prediction, and to close, by the proclamation of the rights -of God, the revolution which opened with the proclamation of the rights -of man. - - -II. - -Herein lies our salvation: to the revolutionary principle, which -weakens all powers and all social rights, in making them depend on -man’s caprice, we must oppose the Christian principle, which gives them -an immovable solidity, in reposing them on the supreme authority of God. - -No innovation is required: we must simply return to the eternal law’s -of social order. If imprudent architects attempt to change the laws of -equilibrium, what should be done to repair the ruins accumulated by -their folly? Remember those laws, and enforce their observation. There -is also an equilibrium in the moral order, and it was the unpardonable -fault of our fathers that they overlooked its most essential condition. -Let us hasten to restore all splendor to the truth whose darkening was -the cause of our misfortunes. Foreseen and accepted without dispute by -the pagans themselves, this generative dogma of society was, in the -dawn of Christianity, promulgated by S. Paul as one of the principal -articles of revealed religion; and it did not cease to rule the nations -of Europe until the epoch when, with the law of Christ, order and peace -were driven from their confines. Reason and religion are in perfect -harmony when they proclaim the Christian principle. They tell us, -with one voice, that God, who directs all with so much wisdom in the -material world, wishes equally, and with much more reason, that order -should reign in the moral. In commanding men to unite in society, so -as to assure by their common efforts the happiness of all, he imposes -on them an obligation to bridle the selfish passions which unceasingly -conspire against the general interest. And as the only efficacious -means of keeping them in order is the institution of a power armed with -strength for the defence of the right, God wills that this power should -be created, if it does not exist, and obeyed when it exists. - -Thus, according to the teaching of Christianity, civil power is divine -in its origin, and, although a human element must interpose in the -principle to determine the form and choose the depositary, he that -is once elected commands really in the name of God. “All power comes -from God,” says S. Paul; it is by order of God that it exists, and -consequently it cannot be resisted without resisting the order of God, -and without drawing down the damnation justly reserved for those who -revolt against God. - -It is evident that between this principle which belongs to Catholic -faith, and the Gallican opinion of divine right, the difference is not -so great as would at first appear. Both parties agree as to the origin -of power, its mission, its rights, and its duties. Only on one point do -they differ: according to one, the man who, in the commencement, was -invested with power, received it immediately from God; while the other -holds that the investiture was made by the expressed or tacit consent -of society. This divergence is clearly more speculative than practical, -as, with this exception, they both believe the same doctrine. - -It is therefore wrong to seek any analogy between the revolutionary -theory and the opinion of Catholic doctors the most favorable to -the primitive rights of society. It is only necessary to thoroughly -understand their doctrine to see this resemblance, which is merely -apparent, instantly vanish. According to them, it is true that power -depends for its first organization on those whom it will soon command; -but once constituted, it is independent of them in its exercise within -the limits inherent in the form of government. Society, in reality, is -not the source of the authority with which it invests its elect: it -is only the channel. If it has the right to determine the form and to -choose the subject, it is also obliged to make use of this right, and -to arm the power instituted by it with the full prerogatives necessary -for the maintenance of order. - -Nothing is wanting to authority thus understood; it has a precise end -and an indispensable reason for being—the defence of individual -rights, and the maintenance of public order. It has an immutable -base—the will of God, the guarantee of rights and the protector -of order. It has a universal and inevitable sanction—the eternal -punishment which the contemners of the law cannot escape, even though -they succeed in avoiding temporal chastisement. In resting social -order on the first principle of all things, this doctrine places it -in perfect harmony with the general order of the universe; and it is -as satisfactory in theory to the mind of the philosopher as it is -efficacious in practice in maintaining the order of society. Equally -favorable to all legitimate interests, it elevates at the same time the -majesty of power and the dignity of obedience; for, if it is glorious -for rulers to command in the name of God, it is not less so for the -governed to obey only God. - -What, on the contrary, is the effect of the revolutionary principle? -Instead of establishing authority, it destroys it; and, under the -pretext of elevating obedience, degrades it. - -It destroys authority; for there is no true authority, except where -a superior will is invested with the right to command, and an -inferior one is obliged to obey. Now, these two conditions cannot be -realized in the revolutionary theory. The principle of this theory, -such as Rousseau laid it down in his _Social Contract_, is that the -power placed over civil society draws all its rights from the free -concession of those whom it is called to command. It is, then, their -mandatary, and not their superior; consequently, it has no more the -right to command them than they are bound to obey it. Rousseau says it -in these very terms: in obeying it, they only obey themselves; and, -consequently, they can, when they please, dispense themselves from -obedience. - -Thus, instead of creating authority, the revolutionary principle -renders it impossible; and since authority is the essential condition -of the stability, strength, well-being, and existence even of society, -it cannot be denied that this principle is the overthrow of social -order. - -But at the same time that it annihilates the majesty of power, it -debases the dignity of obedience. It is very well to say to the -members of society that, in obeying their mandatary, they only obey -themselves; it will not prevent them in a thousand circumstances from -being directed to do the contrary of what they would like. What will -then happen? If the discontented are numerous and strong enough to -make their will prevail over that of power, they will revolt; but, if -resistance is impossible, they will be compelled to obey. What will be -this obedience? The act of a slave who yields to force, and not the act -of a reasonable man and a Christian who conforms his will to that of -God. - -Instead of the alliance which Christian doctrine establishes between -the majesty of power and the dignity of obedience, the revolutionary -theory creates an irreconcilable antagonism between these two essential -elements of society; it is only by degrading the subjects that the -rulers can ensure the execution of their orders. - -This radical and absolute opposition between the two doctrines -necessarily extends to their consequences. Whilst the Christian -principle gives an inviolable stability to power, and guarantees with -equal efficacy the rights of the subjects, the revolutionary principle -has for result inevitable anarchy and tyranny. - -Anarchy first; for how can a power which is absolutely without a base -sustain itself for any length of time? Consistently with itself, the -theory of the Revolution intends that society, in establishing power as -its mandatary, should not strip itself in any manner of sovereignty. -As society created it freely, by an act of its own will it can reverse -it when it seems desirable, without any one having the right to demand -an account of its acts. As a consequence, the revolutionary theory -involves daily appeals to new _plébiscites_ and to new elections -for the overthrow of the established power, and the substitution of -another more in accord with the present will of the nation; and, as the -triumph of the discontented of yesterday will infallibly create other -dissatisfied ones, these will have the right to organize to-morrow a -new agitation to overthrow everything. - -The constitution cannot legitimately reprove or arrest these attempts; -for, emanating like the government from the national will, it is also -subordinate to the fluctuations of that capricious sovereign. The -small number of the agitators can be no objection; and you cannot -oppose to them the wishes and rights of the majority. If there is no -authority superior to that of man, all human wills are equal, and all -equally sovereign. The number of those who differ from me gives them a -preponderating force, but it does not confer on them a superior right. -If, then, I think my sentiment the best, nothing can hinder me from -working to make it prevail. By making use of intrigue and violence, -the smallest minority easily becomes the majority; and, with strength, -it acquires the right to do all that the revolutionary principle -attributes to majorities. - -What can be opposed to this argument? Is it not perfectly logical? -If the consequences appear intolerable, there is but one means of -escape—the return to Christian principle, alone capable of preserving -social order from the convulsions to which it is condemned by these -attempts against power. Christian doctrine repels the attacks made upon -public order with much more severity than the violations of individual -rights; it brands them as crimes of treason against society. Except in -the extreme cases of which we have already spoken, it declares power -inviolable; not in virtue of the personal prerogative of him who is -invested with it, but in virtue of the interest of which he is the -necessary guarantee. - -Thus we have heard S. Paul tell us that he who resists power resists -the order of God, and draws damnation on his head. This sentence, we -know, does not agree with the verdict of public opinion, as indulgent -in regard to political crimes as it is severe against those which come -under the head of crimes of common right. - -On which side is the truth? If public power is the indispensable -bulwark of individual rights, can the attempt be made to overthrow it, -without, at the same time, attacking all those rights? If a man, who, -during the night, forces his entrance into a house, and seeks to enrich -himself to the prejudice of the legitimate possessor, is thrown into -prison as a criminal unworthy of compassion, how can he merit less -severe punishment who shakes the entire social edifice, to gratify his -cupidity and ambition at the expense of the public peace? Nothing is -clearer: in listening to the revolutionary theories in preference to -the Christian doctrine, public opinion is in complete disagreement with -reason. - -Would to God that it was all limited to a theoretical opposition! -Unfortunately, nothing is more practical than revolutionary error; as, -for a century, the conclusions to which logic has led us have been but -too well confirmed by experience. Nothing, then, is wanting to enable -us to judge the two rival doctrines with full knowledge of the case. We -have seen them at work—one for fourteen centuries, the other during -the age nearest our own time; they have given their measure, and are -known by their fruits. One, in semi-barbarous times, endowed France -with the unity, glory, concentration of strength, and expansion which -placed her in the first rank among the nations of the world; the other, -in an age of advanced civilization and unheard-of material progress, -heaped ruins upon ruins on our unfortunate country—religious ruin, -moral ruin, social ruin, political ruin, financial ruin, military -ruin—nothing remained standing when with the principle of authority -the necessary foundation of society was overthrown. - -And let it not be imagined that, in thus delivering the social body -to the ravages of anarchy, the revolutionary principle guarantees it -against the rigors of tyranny. No; it condemns it inevitably to suffer -those rigors. At the same time that it disarms power with regard to the -wicked passions, it arms it with an all-powerful force against the most -sacred rights. Rousseau avowed it frankly; and, from the Convention -to Prince Bismarck, all revolutionary governments have practised this -lesson. Nothing escapes the sovereignty of the state from the moment -that the state is emancipated from the authority of God. The soul -of the citizen belongs to it with the same title as his body; the -questions of doctrine are not more independent of its control than -those of policy; the church and the school are under its jurisdiction -as well as the public streets and the prison. - -Since society recognizes no authority above it, and the state -represents the social will, it is absolute master, it is all-powerful, -it is God. It is the state that makes justice and truth, that creates -rights, that is the supreme arbiter of conscience; and its omnipotence, -as unlimited as fragile, leaves to the citizen but the choice between -two expedients: either to bend with docility under its yoke by -abdicating all moral dignity, or to overthrow it, with the certainty of -seeing it replaced by an equal tyranny. - -Thus the revolutionary theory, which is permanent anarchy, is at the -same time organized despotism. At other periods, we have seen society, -deprived of its equilibrium, oscillate between these two extremes, -passing in turn from anarchy to tyranny, and from tyranny to anarchy. -Thanks to revolutionary progress, we can enjoy simultaneously the -advantages of these two states, and taste the vexations of despotism, -without escaping the agitations of anarchy. Since the proclamation of -the pretended liberal principles, we have seen disappear the liberties -which, under the most absolute systems, were considered as inviolable. -Provincial and communal franchises, the rights of the father over his -children, of the proprietor over his possessions, of the testator over -his estate—all have been grasped by the iron hand of the state. It -has broken all counterbalancing influences, and those that it has not -completely annihilated only subsist during its good pleasure. - -How different is the theory of power, regarded by the light of -Christian principle! Instituted for the protection of rights and the -repression of injustice, it extends its jurisdiction only by the means -necessary for attaining its end. As soon as it would leave that sphere, -it becomes an usurper. Its power is limited in every sense by divine -law and by the pre-existing rights of the subjects; for, instead of -the revolutionary theory that the state creates the rights of private -individuals, it is Christian doctrine that the rights of individuals -incapable of defending themselves rendered necessary the creation of -the state. - -According to the first, society is everything, the individual -nothing; according to the second, the individual alone has immortal -destinies, and civil society is but a temporary means to facilitate the -accomplishment of those destinies. The least of the subjects has, then, -the right to oppose his conscience as a brazen wall against the unjust -will of a despot; and, if this protestation is not heeded, another -voice will soon be heard which will resound to the extremities of the -universe—the voice of the incorruptible defender of justice, and the -protector of oppressed weakness; of him whom God has placed on the -earth to speak in his name, to promulgate his law, and to recall alike -princes and people to the respect of justice. - -It is not necessary to give further proof of the doctrine we have -endeavored to explain. There is not one of our readers who will not -instantly understand the principle whose restoration we have declared -indispensable for putting an end to the fatal reign of the Revolution. -We were not wrong in giving it the name of principle, as from it flow -all the laws of political order, at the same time that itself is -immediately derived from the very idea of that order. It is, then, -necessary, universal, and absolute; it extends to all times, all forms -of government, all degrees of civilization. At once political and -religious, rational and revealed, it belongs to universal ethics, and -is part of the traditional dogma. He who denies it will be condemned -by the church as a heretic, and will be disowned by reason, as both a -rebel against evidence, and guilty of an attack on the essential laws -of social order. - - -III. - -If we have succeeded in demonstrating this truth, it will not be -difficult to decide upon the duties it imposes upon us, and the means -we must employ to incline in the way of salvation the undecided balance -of the destinies of France. - -Since the proclamation of the revolutionary principle in the last -century was the commencement of our ruin, we can only save ourselves -by denying it with all possible solemnity, and in placing the contrary -principle as the basis of the future constitution of our country. -We must, in fine, leave the ways which have misled and lost all the -powers that during fifty years have assumed in France the mission -of restoring public order. Undoubtedly, none of them accepted the -revolutionary theory to its full extent; they even by more than one act -implied its negation. But these isolated efforts, extorted from them -by the instinct of preservation, did not prevent them from habitually -submitting to the influences of the Revolution, and even often -rendering homage to its principles. - -Sprung from its bosom, they dared not deny their origin, and they -did not understand that, while shrinking from this disavowal, they -condemned themselves to be overthrown by the blind force which -had lifted them on its shield. One after the other they deceived -themselves, and France with them, by taking “the great principles of -‘89” as the palladium of their thrones and their dynasties. It was -asking a guarantee of duration from the most energetic dissolvent, -and giving a solemn falsehood to France as a political creed. We have -shown elsewhere that, under ambiguous formulas intended to deceive -thoughtless good faith, the declaration of 1789 contains, in seventeen -articles, the pure theory of the Revolution. We willingly admit that -this hypocrisy of language might, at the first moment, put on the wrong -scent a generation intoxicated with the desire of reform; but to be -still seduced by it, after so many bloody revolutions have too clearly -commented this ambiguous text, would be intolerable. - -If we push blindness to this excess, will we deserve to be called the -most intellectual people in the world? We have been duped by a comedy -of fifteen years; will it be so with a comedy of a hundred? It is thus -that posterity will name the century in which the principles of ‘89 -were the theme of the most gigantic mystification found in history. -All the civilized nations have been more or less cheated by this -jugglery of the most precious liberties, in the name of liberalism; -but France has played a separate part. It is she who, after being -herself deceived, endeavored to make the entire universe share in her -deception, and thus took upon herself both the shame of the fraud, and -the responsibility of the imposture. - -Let us be done with this odious falsehood, and return to reality. -Let us seek true liberties in the proclamation of true principles, -and ensure respect for the rights of man by the restoration of the -authority of God. - -This is the first duty that the vital interest of France imposes on all -men called to take any part whatever in the re-establishment of power. - -But henceforward we have another obligation to fulfil. Honest men of -all parties must unite in the proclamation of the Christian principle, -and renounce any alliance with the defenders of the Revolution. Former -parties must disappear, and only leave in the field the great armies of -order and disorder. This division alone has a reason for existing in -the present state of society. Old parties, on the contrary, can only be -divided by personal questions, to which it would be shameful to attach -any importance in presence of the dangers that menace society. All -parties, even those that seem to yield the most thorough allegiance to -the Revolution, contain a greater or less number of friends of order -whose equivocal connections do not prevent their disowning, in the -bottom of their hearts, the revolutionary principle. - -The moment has come to separate these contrary elements united by -purely accidental affinities. We are approaching one of those fatal -dates that betokens the end of one world, and the commencement of -another; one of those partial judgments of Providence that prelude the -general one by which divine justice will close the era of time, to open -that of eternity. Now, as then, the terrible blows of the Almighty -dissipate illusions, crush adverse interests, and bring to light the -two contrary tendencies which have been hidden in the depths of hearts; -the two opposite loves that, since the beginning of the world, have -divided humanity into two hostile cities. - -It is, then, indispensable to take a side; the time of tergiversation -and compromise is past; we must be for truth or falsehood, for order or -the Revolution, for Jesus Christ or the infernal chief of all rebels. -And it does not suffice to carry the truth in the heart: it must be -professed openly and courageously. The more evident is the necessity -of adhering to the Christian principle, the more manifest is the -double obligation that flows from it for honest men of all parties to -form a compact league, whatever may have previously been their mutual -estrangement, and to separate themselves from the revolutionists, with -whom circumstances may have connected them. - -We will go on no further, for we have resolved not to leave the region -of principles; but the men to whom Providence has given the mission and -power to save us cannot stop there. They must bring down the saving -principle from the region of abstractions to that of facts, give it -a concrete existence, a determined form, a durable organization, a -strength sufficient to maintain itself, and to raise us up. It is not -our province to guide them in the accomplishment of this task; may God -give them, with the light which will show them the path of salvation, -strength to follow it, and draw France after them! They are called to -be nothing less than the saviours of their country and of Christendom; -for it is not only the destinies of France which they hold in their -hands, but those of Christian civilization, incapable, if France -yields, of escaping from the invasion of the double revolution of -Cæsarism and demagogism. May they feel the gravity of the situation, -and understand that such great peril demands heroic resolutions! - -To worthily fulfil this mission, the most important, perhaps, ever -confided to a deliberative assembly, they must rise above all -consideration of persons, all interests of parties, and they must -choose, in the sincerity of their conscience, the man and the form -of government that will most surely guarantee the restoration of the -Christian principle, and the repudiation of the revolutionary, the -destruction of anarchy and Cæsarism, the protection of every right, -and the re-establishment of true liberty. This choice, which alone -can save us, will not be difficult from the moment that they agree on -the principle from which it must proceed, and the end which must be -attained; and once the choice made under the eye of God, it will be -still less difficult, with his help, to make it acceptable to France. - -The Comte de Breda recently recalled to us, as appropriate to the time, -the consoling and prophetic words written by Joseph de Maistre in 1797, -at an epoch when the restoration of order appeared still more difficult -than at the present time: “Can we believe that the political world -moves by chance, and that it is not organized, directed, animated, by -the same wisdom which shines in the physical? The great criminals who -overthrow a state necessarily produce heart-rending wounds; but, when -man works to re-establish order, he associates himself with the Author -of order, he is favored by nature—that is to say, by the harmony of -secondary causes, which are the ministers of divine power. His action -has something in it of divine; it is at the same time gentle and -imperious; he forces nothing, and nothing resists him.” - - - - -GRAPES AND THORNS. - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSE OF YORKE.” - - -CHAPTER I. - -CRICHTON, AND THE CRICHTONIANS. - -THE delicate exuberance of a New England spring was making amends for -the rigor of a New England winter, and for its own tardy coming. Up -through the faded sward pushed multitudinously all the little budding -progeny of nature; out through rough bark burst the tender foliage; and -all the green was golden-green. Light winds blew hither and thither; -light clouds chased each other over the sky, now and then massing their -forces to send a shower down, the drops so entangled with sunshine as -to look like a rain of diamonds. Birds soared joyously, singing as -they flew; and the channels of the brooks could scarcely contain their -frolicsome streams. Sometimes a scattered sisterhood of snowflakes -came down to see their ancestresses, and, finding them changed into -snowdrops, immediately melted into an ecstasy, and so exhaled. - -This vernal freshness made the beautiful city of Crichton fairer yet, -with curtains waving from open windows, vines budding over the walls, -and all the many trees growing alive. It set a fringe of grasses -nodding over the edges of three yellow paths ravelled out from a new -road that, when it had travelled about a mile westward from the city, -gave up being a road for the present. One of these paths started off -southward, and sank into a swamp. In summer, this swamp was as purple -as a ripe plum with flower-de-luce, and those who loved nature well -enough to search for her treasures could find there also an occasional -cardinalflower, a pink arethusa, or a pitcherblossom full to the -brim with the last shower, or the last dew-fall. The second path ran -northward to the bank of the Cocheco River, and broke off on the top -of a cliff. If you should have nerve enough to scramble down the face -of this cliff, you would find there the most romantic little cave -imaginable, moss-lined, and furnished with moss cushions to its rock -divans. A wild cherry-tree had in some way managed to find footing just -below the cave, and at this season it would push up a spray of bloom, -in emulation of the watery spray beneath. Fine green vines threaded -all the moss; and, if one of them were lifted, it would show a line of -honey-sweet bell-flowers strung under its round leaves. - -The third path kept on westward to a dusky tract of pine-woods about -two miles from the town. No newly-sprouting verdure was visible amid -this sombre foliage; but there was a glistening through it all like -the smile on a dark face, and the neighboring air was embalmed with its -fine resinous perfume. - -Out from this wood came sounds of laughter and many voices, some -shrill and childish, others deeper voices of men, or softer voices of -women. Occasionally might be heard a fitful song that broke off and -began again, only to break and begin once more, as though the singer’s -hands were busy. Yet so dense was the border of the wood with thick, -low-growing branches that, had you gone even so near as to step on -their shadows, and slip on the smooth hollows full of cones and needles -they had let fall, not a person would you have seen. - -A girlish voice burst out singing: - - “‘The year’s at the spring, - And day’s at the morn; - Morning’s at seven; - The hillside’s dew-pearled. - The lark’s on the wing, - The snail’s on the thorn; - God’s in his heaven— - All’s right with the world!’ - -Only day is not at the morn,” the voice added correctingly; “for it is -near sunset. But,” singing again, - - “‘The year’s at the spring; - The lark’s on the wing; - God’s in his heaven— - And all’s right with the world!’ - -—which may be called making a posy out of a poem.” - -A young man’s voice spoke: “All will soon be wrong in a part of the -world, Pippa, if I do not call the sheep to fold.” And immediately a -loud bugle-call sounded through the forest, and died away in receding -echoes. - -Presently a Maying-party came trooping forth into sight. - -First, stooping low under the boughs, a score of boys and girls -appeared, their cheeks bright with exercise and pure air, their silken -hair dishevelled. After them followed, more sedately, a group of youths -and maidens, “Pippa,” otherwise Lily Carthusen, and the bugler, among -them. All these young people were decked with wreaths of ground pine -around their hats, waists, and arms, and they carried hands full of -Mayflowers. - -Lastly, two gentlemen, one at either hand, held back the branches, and -Miss Honora Pembroke stepped from under the dark-green arch. - -If you are a literal sort of person, and make a point of calling -things by their everyday names, you would have described her as a -noble-looking young woman, dressed in a graceful brown gown, belted -at the waist, after a Grecian fashion, and some sort of cloudy blue -drapery that was slipping from her head to her shoulders. You would -have said that her hair was a yellowish brown that looked bright in the -sun, her eyes about the same color, her features very good, but not so -classical in shape as her robe. You might have added that there was -an expression that, really—well, you did not know just how to name -it, but you should judge that the young woman was romantic, though not -without sense. If you should have guessed her age to be twenty-eight, -you would have been right. - -If, on the other hand, you are poetically Christian, ever crowning with -the golden thorns of sacrifice whatever is most beautiful on earth, -you would have liked to take the Mayflower wreath from this womanly -maiden’s hand, place the palm-branch in its stead, and so send her to -heaven by the way of the lions. Her face need hardly have changed to go -that road, so lofty and delicate was the joy that shone under her quiet -exterior, so full of light the eyes that, looking straight before her -into space, seemed to behold all the glory of the skies. - -The girl who came next was very different, not at all likely to suggest -poetical fancies, though when you looked closely you could see much -fineness of outline in the features and form. But she was spoilt in -the coloring—a sallow skin, “sandy” hair, and light eyes giving a -dingy look to her face. She was spoilt still more by the expression, -which was superficial, and by being overdressed for her size and the -occasion, and a little ragged from the bushes. This is Miss, or, as -she likes to be called, Mademoiselle, Annette Ferrier. If at some -moment, unawares, you should take the liberty to call her Niñon, with -an emphatic nasal, she would forgive you beamingly, and consider you -a very charming person. Mademoiselle, who, like three generations of -her ancestors, was born in America, and who had spent but three months -of her life in France, had no greater ambition than to be taken for a -French lady. But do not set her down as a simpleton. Her follies are -not malicious, and may wear off. Have you never seen the young birds, -when they are learning to fly, how clumsily they tumble about? yet -afterward they cleave the air like arrows with their strong pointed -wings. And have you not seen some bud, pushing out at first in a dull, -rude sheath that mars the beauty of the plant, open at last to disclose -petals of such rare beauty that the sole glory of the plant was in -upbearing it? Some souls have to work off a good deal of clinging -foolishness before they come to themselves. Therefore, let us not -classify Miss Ferrier just yet. - -She had scarcely appeared, when one branch was released with a -discourteous haste that sent it against her dress, and a gentleman -quickly followed her, and, with a somewhat impatient air, took his -place at her side. Mr. Lawrence Gerald had that style of beauty which -suggests the pedestal—an opaque whiteness of tint as pure as the -petal of a camellia, clustering locks of dark hair, and an exquisite -perfection of form and feature. He and Miss Ferrier were engaged to be -married, which was some excuse for the profuse smiles and blushes she -expended on him, and which he received with the utmost composure. - -The second branch swung softly back from the hand that carefully -released it, and Mr. Max Schöninger came into sight, brushing the brown -pine-scales from his gloves. He was the last in order, but not least -in consequence, of the party, as more than one backward glance that -watched for his appearance testified. This was a tall, fair-haired -German, with powerful shoulders, and strong arms that sloped to the -finest of sensitive hands. He had a grave countenance, which sometimes -lit up beautifully with animated expression, and sometimes also veiled -itself in a singular manner. Let anything be said that excited his -instinct of reserve or self-defence, and he could at once banish -all expression from his face. The broad lids would droop over those -changeful eyes of his, and one saw only a blank where the moment before -had shone a cordial and vivid soul. - -When we say that Mr. Schöninger was a Jew who had all his life been -associated more with Christians than with his own people, this guarded -manner will not seem unnatural. He glanced over the company, and was -hesitatingly about to join Miss Pembroke, when one of the children left -her playmates, and ran to take his hand. Mr. Schöninger was never on -his guard with children, and those he petted were devotedly fond of -him. He smiled in the upturned face of this little girl, held the small -hand closely, and led her on. - -The order of march changed as the party advanced. Those who had been -last to leave the wood were made to take precedence; the youths and -maidens dropped behind them, and, as both walked slowly forward, the -younger ones played about them, now here, now there. It was like an air -with variations. - -The elders of the company were very quiet, Miss Carthusen a little -annoyed. She need not have wasted her eloquence in persuading Mr. -Schöninger to come with them, if he was going to devote himself to -that baby. Miss Carthusen was clever, and rather pretty, and she liked -to talk. What was the use of having ideas and fancies, if one was not -to express them? Why should one go into company, if one was to remain -silent? She considered Mr. Schöninger too superb by half. - -The sun was setting, and it flooded all the scene with a light so rich -as to seem tangible. Whatever it fell upon was not merely illuminated, -it was gilded. The sky was hazy with that radiance, the many windows -on the twin hills of Crichton blazed like beacons, and the short green -turf glistened with a yellow lustre. Those level rays threw the long -shadows of the flower-bearers before them as they walked, dazzled the -faces turned sidewise to speak, turned the green wreaths on their heads -into golden wreaths, and sparkled in their hair. When Miss Pembroke -put her hand up to shade her eyes in looking backward, the ungloved -fingers shone as if transparent. She had been drinking in the beauty -of the evening till it was all ready to burst from her lips, and there -seemed to be no one who perceived that beauty but herself. She would -have liked to be alone, with no human witness, and to give vent to the -delight that was tingling in her veins. A strong impulse was working -in her to lift a fold of her dress at either side, slide out that -pretty foot of hers now hidden under the hem, and go floating round in -a dance, advancing as she turned, like a planet in its path. It would -have been a relief could she have sung at the very top of her voice. -She had looked backward involuntarily at Mr. Schöninger, expecting some -sympathy from him; but, seeing him engrossed in his little charge, -had dropped her hand, and walked on, feeling rather disappointed. “I -supposed he believed in the creation, at least,” she thought. - -Miss Pembroke was usually a very dignified and quiet young woman, who -said what she meant, who never effervesced on small occasions, and -sometimes found herself unmoved on occasions which many considered -great ones. But when, now and then, the real afflatus came, it was hard -to have her lips sealed and her limbs shackled. - -As she dropped her hand, faintly and fairylike in the distance she -heard all the bells of Crichton ringing for sunset. - -_Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus_, she sang softly, clasping her hands, still -walking forward; and so went on with the rest of the hymn, not minding -where the others of the party were, or if there were any others, -till she felt a little pull at her dress, and became aware that Mr. -Schöninger’s young friend had urged him forward to hear the singing, -and was holding up her hand to the singer. But the Jew’s visor was down. - -Miss Pembroke took the child’s hand, which thus formed a link between -the two, and continued her singing: _Benedictus qui venit in nomini -Domini_. She felt almost as if the man, thus linked to her by that -transparent, innocent nature of the little girl between them, were -spiritually joining her in the Hosanna. How deep or bitter his -prejudices might be she knew not. Their acquaintance had been short, -and they had never spoken of their theological differences. That his -unbelief could be profound, yet gentle and tolerant toward her belief, -had never occurred to her mind. She would have been scarcely more -shocked than astonished could she have known the thought that almost -escaped his lips. “She is too noble to be a worshipper of strange -gods,” he thought. “When will this miserable delusion be swept away!” - -A slim, light hand stole into Miss Pembroke’s arm on the other side, -and Miss Carthusen’s cheek pressed close to her shoulder. Miss -Carthusen was a foundling, and had been adopted by a wealthy and -childless couple. Nothing whatever was known of her parentage. - -“Lady Honora,” she whispered, “this scene reminds me of something. I -am like Mignon, with my recollections gathering fast into a picture; -only my past is further away than hers was. I almost know who I am, and -where I came from. It flashes back now. We were dancing on the green, -a ring of us. It was not in this land. The air was warm, the sward -like rose-leaves; there were palms and temples not far away. I had -this hand stretched forward to one who held it, and the other backward -to one who held it, and so we danced, and there were wreaths on our -heads, vine-leaves tangled in our hair. Suddenly something swept over -and through us, like a cold wind, or a sharp cry, or both, and we all -became fixed in a breath, the smile, the wreath, the tiptoe foot, and -we hardened and grew less, and the air inside the ring died with our -breaths in it, and the joy froze out of us, and the recollection of -all we were faded. We were like flames that have gone out. There was -nothing left but an antique vase with Bacchantes dancing round it in -a petrified circle. Have you ever seen such a vase, with one figure -missing?” - -“Silly child!” said Honora, smiling, but shrinking a little. This girl -was too clinging, her imagination too pagan. “It is said that, at the -birth of Christ, that wail was heard through all the hosts of pagan -demons. ‘Pan is dead!’ they cried, and fled like dry leaves before a -November wind. Pan is dead, Lily Carthusen; and if you would kindle his -altars again, you must go down into the depths of perdition for the -spark.” - -She spoke with seriousness, even with energy, and a light blush -fluttered into her cheeks, and faded out again. - -Miss Carthusen, still clinging to the arm she had clasped, leaned -forward to cast a laughing glance into the face beyond. “To Mr. -Schöninger,” she said, “we are both talking mythology.” - -Miss Pembroke freed her arm decidedly, and stepped backward, so as to -bring herself between Miss Ferrier and Lawrence Gerald. She took an arm -of each, and held them a moment as if she were afraid. “Annette, Lily -Carthusen must not help us to trim the altar,” she said. “It is not -fitting. We will do it ourselves, with Mother Chevreuse.” - -“But Lily has such taste,” was the reluctant answer. “And she may be -displeased if we do not ask her.” - -“Our Lady thinks more of devotion than of taste, Annette,” Miss -Pembroke said earnestly. “It seems to me that every flower ought to be -placed there by the hand of faith and love.” - -The other yielded. People always did yield when Miss Pembroke urged. -And Miss Carthusen, fortunately, saved them the embarrassment of -declining her assistance by walking on, engrossed in a gay conversation -with the German. When she recollected, they were already far apart. She -and her companion were close to the town, and the others had stopped -where the three paths met. - -The children gathered about Miss Ferrier, and began piling their -Mayflowers and green wreaths into her arms; for the flowers were all -to decorate the altar of Mary in the beautiful church of S. John the -Evangelist. These children were not half of them Catholic; but that -made no difference in Crichton, where the people prided themselves on -being liberal. Moreover, Miss Ferrier was a person of influence, and -could reward those who obliged her. - -Then they scattered, dropping into different roads, one by one, and -two by two, till only three, heavily laden with their fragrant spoil, -were left walking slowly up South Avenue, into which the unfinished -road expanded when it reached the city. They were to take tea at Mrs. -Ferrier’s, and afterward go to the church; for this was the last day of -a warm and forward April, and on the next morning the exercises of the -Month of Mary were to begin. At the most commanding spot on the crown -of the hill stood Mrs. Ferrier’s house; and one has but to glance at it -to understand at once why mademoiselle is a person of influence. - -Seventeen years before, those who knew them would have imagined almost -any change of fortune sooner than that the Ferriers should become -people of wealth. There was Mr. Ferrier, a stout, dull, uneducated, -hard-working man, who had not talent nor ambition enough to learn any -trade, but passed his life in drudging for any one who would give him -a day’s work. A man of obtuse intelligence, and utterly uncultivated -tastes, but for the spark of faith left in that poor soul of his, he -would have been a clod. But there the spark was, like a lamp in a tomb, -showing, with its faint but steady light, the wreck of the beautiful, -and the noble, and the sublime that was man as God made him; showing -the dust of lost powers and possibilities, and the dust of much -accumulated dishonor; showing the crumbling skeleton of a purpose that -had started perfect; and showing also, carven deep, but dimly seen, the -word of hope, _Resurgam!_ - -Those human problems meet us often, staggering under the primal curse, -ground down to pitiless labor from the cradle to the grave, losing in -their sordid lives, little by little, first, the strength and courage -to look abroad, then the wish, and, at last, the power, the soul in -them shining with only an occasional flicker through the _débris_ of -their degraded natures. But if faith be there buried with the soul in -that earthy darkness, the word of hope is still for them _Resurgam!_ - -There was Mrs. Ferrier, a very different sort of person, healthy, -thrifty, cheerful, with a narrow vein of stubborn good sense that -was excellent as far as it went, and with a kind heart and a warm -temper. The chief fault in her was a common fault: she wished to -shape and measure the world by her own compasses; and, since those -were noticeably small, the impertinence was very apparent. She was -religiously obedient to her husband when he raised his fist; but, in -most matters, she ruled the household, Mr. Ferrier being authoritative -only on the subject of his three meals, his pipe and beer, and his -occasional drop of something stronger. - -And there were five or six young ones, new little souls in very soiled -bodies, the doors of life still open for them, their eyes open also to -see, and their wills free to choose. These little ones, happy in their -rags, baked mud pies, squabbled and made up twenty times a day, ate and -slept like the healthy animals they were, their greatest trial being -when their faces were washed and their hair combed, on which occasion -there was an uproar in the family. These occasions were not frequent. - -The Ferrier mansion had but one room, and the Ferrier plenishing was -simple. The wardrobe also was simple. For state days, monsieur had -a state costume, the salient points of which were an ample white -waistcoat and an ancient and well-preserved silk hat which he wore very -far back on his head, both these articles being part of his wedding -gear. Madame had also her gala attire, with which she always assumed -an expression of complacent solemnity. This toilet was composed of a -dark-red merino gown, a dingy _broché_ shawl, and a large straw bonnet, -most unconsciously Pompadour, with its pink flowers and blue ribbons. -For great occasions, the children had shoes, bought much too large -that they might not be outgrown; and they had hats nearly as old as -themselves. The girls had flannel gowns that hung decently to their -heels; the boys, less careful of their finery, had to go very much -patched. - -On Sundays and holidays, they all walked two miles to hear Mass, and -each one put a penny into the box. On Christmas Days, they each gave -a silver quarter, the father distributing the coin just before the -collector reached them, all blushing with pride and pleasure as they -made their offering, and smiling for some time after, the children -nudging and whispering to each other till they had to be set to rights -by their elders. Contented souls, how simple and harmless they were! - -Into the midst of this almost unconscious poverty, wealth dropped -like a bombshell. If the sea of oil under their cabin and pasture had -suddenly exploded and blown them sky-high, they could not have been -more astounded; for oil there was, and floods of it. At almost any part -of the little tract of land they had bought for next to nothing, it was -but to dig a hole, and liquid gold bubbled up by the barrelful. - -Mr. Ferrier, poor man! was like a great clumsy beetle that blunders -out of the familiar darkness of night into a brilliantly lighted room. -Perhaps something aspiring and only half dead in him cried out through -his dulness with a voice he could not comprehend; perhaps the sudden -brightness put out what little sight he had: who knows? He drank. He -was in a dream; and he drank again. The dream became a nightmare; and -still he drank—drank desperately—till at last nature gave way under -the strain, and there came to him an hour of such utter silence as he -had not known since he lay, an infant, in his mother’s lap. During that -silence, light broke in at last, and the imprisoned light shone out -with a strange and bewildered surprise. The priest, that visible angel -of God, was by his side, instructing his ignorance, calming his fears, -calling up in his awakening soul the saving contrition, leaving him -only when the last breath had gone. - -After the husband went child after child, till but two were left, -Annette and Louis. These, the eldest, the mother saved alive. - -We laugh at the preposterous extravagance and display of the newly -enriched. But is there not something pitiful in it, after all? How it -tells of wants long denied, of common pleasures that were so distant -from those hopeless eyes as to look like shining stars! They flutter -and run foolishly about, those suddenly prosperous ones, like birds -released from the cage, like insects when the stone is lifted from -them; but those who have always been free to practise their smooth -flight through a sunny space, or to crawl at ease over the fruits of -the world, would do well not to scorn them. - -The house Mrs. Ferrier had built for herself in the newest and finest -avenue of Crichton was, it must be confessed, too highly ornamented. -Ultra-Corinthian columns; cornerstones piled to the very roof at each -angle, and so laboriously vermiculated that they gave one an impression -of wriggling; cornices laden with carving, festoons, fancy finials -wherever they could perch; oriels, baywindows, arched windows with -carven faces over them—all these fretted the sight. But the view from -the place was superb. - -When our three flower-bearers reached the gate, they turned to -contemplate the scene. - -All round, a circle of purple hills stood bathed in the sunset. From -these hills the Crichtonians had borrowed the graceful Athenian title, -and called their fair city the “city of the violet crown.” Forming -their eastern boundary flowed the stately Saranac, that had but lately -carried its last float of ice out to sea, almost carrying a bridge with -it. Swollen with dissolving snows, it glided past, a moving mirror, -nearly to the tops of the wharves. Northward was the Cocheco, an -untamed little river born and brought up amid crags and rocks. It cleft -the city in twain, to cast itself headlong into the Saranac, a line of -bubbles showing its course for half a mile down the smoother tide. - -The Cocheco was in high feather this spring, having succeeded at last -in dislodging an unsightly mill that had been built at one of its most -picturesque turns. Let trade go up the Saranac, and bind its gentler -waters to grind wheat and corn, and saw logs, and act as sewer; the -Cocheco reserved itself for the beautiful and the contemplative. It -liked that lovers should walk the winding roads along its banks; that -children should come at intervals, wondering, half afraid, as if in -fairy-land; that troubled souls, longing for solitude, should find it -in some almost inaccessible nook among its crags; but, best of all, -it liked that some child of grace, divinely gifted to see everything -in God, should walk rejoicingly by its side. “O my God! how sweet are -those little thoughts of thine, the violets! How thy songs flow down -the waters, and roll out from the clouds! How tender is the shadow of -thy hand when at night it presses our heavy eyelids down, and folds us -to sleep in thy bosom, or when it wakens us silently to commune with -thee!” For such a soul, the river had an articulate voice, and answered -song for song. - -Yes; that was what it had to do in the world. Away with mills and -traffic! Let trade go up the Saranac. - -So for three years watery tongues had licked persistently at posts and -timbers, legions of bubbles had snapped at splinters till they wore -away, and the whole river had gathered and flung itself against the -foundations, till at last, when the spring thaw came, over went the -mill, and was spun down stream, and flung into the deeper tide, and so -swept out to sea. Let trade go up the Saranac! - -But the patient Saranac sawed the logs, and carried away their dust -and refuse, and took all the little fretted brooks and rivers into its -bosom, and soothed their murmurs there. And both did God’s will, and -both were good. - -Half hidden by the steep slope of the hill, as one stood in Mrs. -Ferrier’s porch, was the church of S. John the Evangelist. Only the -unfinished tower of it was visible, and a long line of slated roof seen -in glimpses between spires and chimneys. - -“I really believe, Lawrence, that Crichton is the pleasantest place in -the world,” remarked Miss Pembroke, after a short silence. - -A servant had taken away their flowers to keep fresh for the evening, -and Miss Ferrier had gone in to change her dress. The mother being -away, there was no need the other two should enter, when the lovely -evening invited them to remain outside. - -Receiving no reply, the lady glanced inquiringly at her companion, and -saw that his silence was a dissenting one. He had thrown himself into a -chair, tossed his hat aside, and was looking off into the distance with -fixed and gloomy eyes. The tumbled locks of hair fell over half his -forehead, his attitude expressed discontent and depression, and there -was a look about the mouth that showed his silence might proceed only -from the suppression of a reply too bitter or too rude to utter. - -Seeing that her glance might force him to speak, she anticipated him, -and continued, in a gentle, soothing tone: “If one loves religion, here -is a beautiful church, and the best of priests; if one is intellectual, -here is every advantage—books, lectures, and a cultivated society; if -one is a lover of nature, where can be found a more beautiful country? -Oh! it is not Switzerland nor Italy, I know; but it is delightful, for -all that.” - -She had spoken carefully, like one feeling her way, and here she -hesitated just for a breath, as though not sure whether she had better -go on, but went on nevertheless. “Here every one is known, and his -position secure. He need not suffer in public esteem from adverse -circumstances, if they do not affect his character. There never was a -place, I think, where a truly courageous and manly act would be more -heartily applauded.” - -“Ah! yes,” the young man said, with hasty scorn; “they applaud while -the thing is new, and then forget all about it. They like novelty. I -don’t doubt that all the people would clap their hands if I should take -to sweeping the streets, and that for a week the young ladies would tie -bouquets to the end of the broomstick. But after the week was over, -what then? They would find me a dusty fellow whose acquaintance they -would gradually drop. Besides, their applause is not all. I might not -enjoy street-sweeping, even though I and my broomstick were crowned -with flowers as long as we lasted.” - -Miss Pembroke had blushed slightly at this sudden and violent -interpretation of her hidden meaning; but she answered quietly: “No: -their applause is not all—the applause of the world is never all, but -it helps sometimes; and, if they give it to us for one moment when we -start on the right path, it is all that we ought to expect. Life is not -a theatre with a few actors and a great circle of spectators: we all -have our part to play, and cannot stop long to admire others.” - -“Especially when that other is only the scene-shifter,” laughed the -young man, throwing the hair back from his face. - -“I know well that ordinary, inelegant work would come very hard to you, -Lawrence,” she said kindly; “and, if it were to be continued to the end -of your life, I might think it too hard. But there must be ways, for -other men have found them, of beginning at the lower end of the ladder, -even very low down, even in the dust, and climbing steadily to a height -that would satisfy the climber’s ambition. It needs only a strong will -and perseverance; and I firmly believe, Lawrence, that, to a strong -will, almost anything is possible.” - -“A strong will is a special gift,” he replied stubbornly. - -“Yes; and one for which we may ask,” she said; then, seeing that he -frowned, added: “And for you I like Crichton, as I said. One is known -here, and motives and circumstances are understood. A thousand little -helps might be given which in a strange city you would not have. All -would be seen and understood here.” - -“All would be seen, yes!” he exclaimed, with a shrug and a frown. “That -is the trouble. One would rather hide something.” - -She would not be repelled. “There is, of course, sometimes a -disadvantage in living where everything is known,” she admitted. “But -there must be disadvantages everywhere in the world. Look at the bright -side of it. If you were in a great city, where all sorts of crimes -hide, where men the most abandoned in reality can for a long time -maintain a fair reputation before the world, how your difficulties -would be increased! You would not then know whom to trust. Here, on the -contrary, no wrong can remain long hidden.” - -He had not looked at her before, but at these words his eyes flashed -into her face a startled glance. Her eyes were looking thoughtfully -over the town. - -Feeling his gaze, she turned towards him with a quick change of -expression and manner. A friendly and coaxing, almost caressing, -raillery took the place of her seriousness: “Come! drive away your -blues, Lawrence, and take courage. Study out some course for yourself -where you can see far ahead, and then start and follow it, though you -should find obstacles grow up in the way. Bore through them, or climb -over them. There must be a way. There is something in you for honor, -something better than complaining. Cheer up!” - -She extended her hand to him impulsively. - -“What motive have I?” he asked. But his face had softened, and a faint -smile showed that the cloud had a silver lining. - -“For your mother’s sake,” she said. “How happy she would be!” - -“I can make my mother happy by kissing her, and telling her she is an -angel,” he answered. - -It was but too true. - -“For poor Annette, then. There is a good deal in her, and she is -devoted to you.” - -He shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows: “She loves me as -I am, and would love me if I were ten times as worthless, poor silly -girl!” - -Miss Pembroke withdrew her hand, and retired a step from him. Again he -had spoken the truth, this spoiled favorite of women! - -“For God’s sake, then.” - -He did not dare give another shrug, for his mentor’s face was losing -its kindness. “You know I am not at all pious, Honora,” he said, -dropping his eyes. - -She still retained her patience: “Can you find no motive in yourself, -Lawrence? Do you feel no necessity for action, for courageous trial of -what life may hold for you?” - -His pale face grew bright with an eager light. “If life but held for me -one boon! O Honora....” - -She made a quick, silencing gesture, and a glance, inconceivably -haughty and scornful, shot from her eyes. - -“Are you two people quarrelling?” Miss Ferrier inquired, behind them. -“If you are, I am in good time. Tea is ready, and I suppose the sooner -we are off, the better.” - -“I sent the flowers to the church,” she continued, as they went in -through the gorgeous hall, “and directed John to tell Mother Chevreuse -that we should come down in about an hour. But he brings me word that -she is out with some sick woman, and may not come home till quite late. -So we are but three.” - -Mother Chevreuse was the priest’s mother. It had grown to be a custom -to give her that title, partly out of love for both mother and son, -partly because Father Chevreuse himself sometimes called her so. - -“It will require one person to carry your train, Annette,” Mr. Gerald -said, looking at the length of rustling brown silk over which he had -twice stumbled. “And that takes two out; for, of course, you can do -nothing in that dress. Honora will have the pleasure of decorating the -altar, while we look on.” - -Only the faintest shade of mortification passed momentarily over the -girl’s face, and vanished. She knew well the power her wealth had with -this man, and that she could not make it too evident. Miss Ferrier was -frivolous and extravagant, but she was not without discernment. - -“Did you ever know me to fail when I attempted anything?” she asked, -with a little mingling of defiance and triumph in her air. “Honora goes -calmly and steadily to work; but when I begin....” - -She stopped, embarrassed, for a rude speech had been at her lips. - -“You do twice as much as I,” Miss Pembroke finished, with sweet -cordiality. “It is true, Annette, though you did not like to say it. -You have great energy.” - -She put her hand out, and touched caressingly the shoulder of her young -hostess in passing. “You are just what Lawrence needs.” - -Tears of pleasure filled Annette’s eyes. For all her wealth and the -flatteries it had brought her, she had seldom heard a word of earnest -commendation. - -To be praised by Honora was sweet; but to be praised before Lawrence -was sweetest of all. - -They hurried through their tea, and went to the church. Mother -Chevreuse had not returned home, and the priest also was away. The -pleasant task of adorning the altar of Our Lady was left to them. - -The stars were beginning to show faintly in the sky when they commenced -their work, and all the church was full of that clear yellow twilight. -The pillars and walls, snowy white, with only delicate bands of -gilding, reflected the softened beams, and seemed to grow transparent -in them. But around the side-altar burned a ring of brilliant gas-jets; -and through the open door of the sacristy was visible, ruddily lighted, -a long passage and stairway leading to the basement. - -The light of heaven and the light of earth were thus brought face to -face—the one pure, tender, and pervading, the other flaring, thick, -and partial. But as daylight faded away, that inner light brought out -strange effects. There was no longer anything white in the church: -it was all turned to rose-color and deep shadow. Carven faces looked -down with seeing eyes from arch, capital, and cornice; the pillars, -standing up and down in long rows, appeared to lean together, to move, -and change places with each other; there was a tremor in the dimly-seen -organ-pipes, as though the strong breath of music were passing through -them, and would presently break out in loud accord. A picture of S. -John beside the grand altar showed nothing but the face, and the face -was as glowing as if it had just been lifted from the bosom of the Lord -to look into the Lord’s eyes. - -One might fancy that this fair temple in which God had taken up his -dwelling only waited for those three to go away, that it might break -into joy and adoration over its divine Guest. - -On a pedestal at the gospel side of the altar stood the statue of Our -Lady, lovely eyelids downcast, as she gazed on those below, loving -hands and arms outstretched, inviting all the world to her motherly -embrace. An arch of white lilies had already been put up against a -larger arch of green that was to be set with candles and a crown of -light. They were now engaged in putting under the lilies a third and -smaller arch of Mayflowers, that the whole might be like the Lady it -was meant to honor—radiant with glory, mantled in purity, and full of -tender sweetness. - -Annette had redeemed her promise of usefulness. Her long train was -pinned about her, leaving a white skirt with the hem close to her -ankles, and the flowing drapery of her sleeves was bound above the -elbow, her arms being quite free. Mounted on the topmost step of an -unsteady ladder, she fastened the higher flowers; lower down, at either -side, Lawrence Gerald and Honora tied the lower ones. Not much was -said, the few necessary words were lowly spoken; but they smiled now -and then in each other’s lighted faces. - -It was ten o’clock when they went out through the basement, leaving -a man to extinguish the gas and lock the door. On their way to the -street, they passed the priest’s house. Only one light was visible in -it, and that shone in a wide-open stairway window. The light, with a -shadow beside it, was approaching the window, and presently a man’s -head and shoulders appeared above the high sill. Father Chevreuse had -returned home, and was going up to his chamber. He stopped, holding a -candle, and put out his right hand to close the window, but paused, -hearing a step outside. “Who’s there?” he asked authoritatively, -peering out, but seeing nothing in the darkness. - -“Three friends who are just going home,” answered a voice. - -“And who are the other two, Honora Pembroke?” demanded the priest. - -“Annette and Lawrence. We have been arranging flowers for Our Lady.” - -“That’s well. Good-night!” - -He pulled the sash down with a bang; but Honora, smiling in the dark, -still held her companions beneath the window. It opened again with -another bang. - -“Children!” he called out. - -“Yes, father!” - -“God bless you! Good-night!” - -Again the sash came down, more gently this time, and the light and the -kind heart went on climbing up the stairway. - -“He wouldn’t have slept well to-night if he had not said ‘God bless -you!’ to us,” said Miss Pembroke. “And I believe we shall sleep better -for it, too, God bless him!” - -They walked up the steep hillside from the lower part of the town -toward South Avenue. Half-way up the hill, on a cross-street that led -out toward the country, was the cottage in which Lawrence Gerald lived -with his mother, his aunt, and Honora Pembroke. As they approached this -road, Annette Ferrier’s heart fluttered. Lawrence had been very amiable -that evening. He had praised her, had twice smiled very kindly, and had -put her shawl over her shoulders before they came out, as though he -were really afraid she might take cold. Perhaps he would leave Honora -at home first, and then go up with her. - -What great good this would do her she could not have explained; for -seldom had she heard from him a word too tender to be spoken before -witnesses. Still, she wished it. He might say something kind, or listen -willingly to some word of affection from her. At any rate, she would be -a little longer in his company. - -Miss Pembroke anticipated her wish, or had some other reason for -making the proposal. “Just go as far as the gate with me, and then you -can escort Annette,” she said. “You will not mind a few extra steps, -Annette?” - -“Oh! come up with us,” the young man interposed hastily. “It is a -beautiful night for walking, and I know you are not tired yet. You can -bear twice the walking that Annette can.” - -She hesitated a moment, then went on with them. His request displeased -her on more than one account: she did not like his indifference to the -company of his promised wife, and she did not like his preference for -being with herself. But his mother would be anxiously watching for him; -and it would be something if he could be lured in at an early hour -after a quiet evening. - -Down in the black heart of the town, among the offices, was a certain -back room where the windows were not so closely curtained but those who -watched outside could see a thread of light burning all night long. To -this room men went sometimes in the hope of mending their fortunes, -or, after the demon of gambling had caught them fast, to taste of that -fiery excitement which had now become to them a necessity. Honora more -than suspected that Lawrence Gerald’s steps had sometimes turned in -there. A year or two before, in one of his good moods, he had confessed -it to her, with an almost boyish contrition, and had promised never -to go again. It was his last confession of the sort, but, she feared, -not his last sin. Of what worth were the promises of a weak, tempted -man who never sought earnestly the help of God to strengthen his -resolution? Of no more value than an anchor without a cable. Lawrence -needed to be watched and cared for; so she went on with them. - -“I am so sorry to trouble you both,” Miss Ferrier exclaimed, in a voice -trembling with anger and disappointment. “I could have had John come -for me, if I had thought.” She snatched her hand from the arm of her -escort, and pulled her shawl about her with nervous twitches. - -“It would have been better to have had John,” Honora said; “for he -could have gone home with me. I am the troublesome third, as it is. But -then,” speaking lightly, “if I am the last, Lawrence will be obliged to -go in early.” - -With another twitch of her shawl, Annette took her escort’s arm again -as abruptly as she had left it, and, held it closely. - -Careless as the last words had sounded, she knew their meaning, for -there had been something said on this subject before. She chose to take -it defiantly now, and it comforted her to do so. Others might blame -and doubt him, but she would not. He seemed nearer to her in the light -of her superior devotedness than to any one else. She would never fail -him; and by-and-by he would know her worth. The glow of this fervent -hope warmed the girl’s chilled heart, and gave her a sort of happiness. - -And so they reached the house, and, after a quiet good-night, separated. - -The walk back was passed in silence; and Miss Pembroke did not choose -to lean on her companion’s arm; she wished to hold her dress out of the -dust. - -The street they went through was one of those delightful old ones which -a city sometimes leaves untouched for a long time. Over-arching elms -grew thickly on either side, and the houses were all detached. - -Midway up this street stood the cottage of the Geralds, with a garden -in front and at the back, and a narrow green at right and left. Three -long windows in front, lighting the parlor, reached almost to the -ground. The steep roof slanted to a veranda at each side, leaving but -one upper window over the three—a wide window with casements swinging -back from the middle. The cottage was in the shape of a cross, and at -one arm of it a lighted window shone out on the veranda. - -At sound of the gate-latch, the curtain was drawn aside a little, and a -woman looked out an instant, then hastened to open the door. - -“Are we late, Mrs. Gerald?” Honora asked, and stepped forward into the -sitting-room. - -“Oh! no, dear; I did not expect you any sooner.” - -Mrs. Gerald lingered in the doorway, looking back at her son as he -stopped to leave his hat and overcoat in the entry, and only entered -the sitting-room when she had caught a glimpse of his face as he came -toward her. He was looking pleasant, she saw, and was contented with -that. - -“Well, mother!” he said, and sank indolently into the arm-chair she -pushed before the open fire for him. It was the only arm-chair in the -room. - -She drew another chair forward, and seated herself beside him. Honora, -sitting on a low stool in the corner, with the firelight shining over -her, told what they had been doing that afternoon and evening. The son -listened, his eyes fixed on the fire; the mother listened, her eyes -fixed on her son. - -Mrs. Gerald was an Irish lady of good descent, well educated, and well -mannered, and had seen better days. We do not call them better days -because in her girlhood and early married life this lady had been -wealthy, but because she had been the happy daughter of excellent -parents, and the happy wife of a good man. All were gone now but this -son; the husband dead for many a year, the daughters married and far -away, the wealth melted from her like sunset gold from a cloud; but -Lawrence was left, and he filled her heart. - -One could read this in her face as she watched him. It revealed the -pride of the mother in that beautiful manhood which she had given to -the world, and which was hers by an inalienable right that no one could -usurp; and it revealed, too, the entire self-forgetfulness of the woman -who lives only in the life so dear to her. The face showed more yet; -for, hovering over this love and devotion as the mist of the coming -storm surrounds the full moon, and rings its softened brightness with a -tremulous halo, one could detect even in the mother’s smile the mist of -a foreboding sadness. - -How ineffable and without hope is that sadness which is ever the -companion of a too exclusive affection! - -Honora Pembroke looked at the two, and pain and indignation, and the -necessity for restraining any expression of either, swelled in her -heart, painted her cheeks a deep red, and lifted her lids with a fuller -and more scornful gaze than those soft eyes were wont to give. Where -was the courtesy which any man, not rudely insensible, should show -to a lady? Where the grateful tenderness that any child, not cruelly -ungrateful, pays to a mother? This man could be gallant when he wished -to make a favorable impression; and she had heard him make very pretty, -if very senseless, speeches about chivalry and ideal characters, as -if he knew what they were. He had even, in the early days of their -acquaintance, maintained for a long time an irreproachable demeanor in -her presence. She was learning a doubt and distrust of men, judging -them by this one, of whom she knew most. Were they often as selfish -and insensible as he was? Were they incapable of being affected by any -enchantment except that which is lent by a delusive distance? Here -beside him was an ideal affection, and he accepted it as he accepted -air and sunshine—it was a matter of course. The mother was in person -one who might satisfy even such a fastidious taste as his; for though -the face was thin and faded, and the hands marred by household labor, -there were still the remains of what had once been a striking beauty. -Mrs. Gerald carried her tall form with undiminished stateliness, her -coal-black hair had not a single thread of white among its thick -tresses, and her deep-blue eyes had gained in tenderness what they -had lost in fire. To use one of Miss Pembroke’s favorite expressions, -it was not fitting that the son, after having passed a day without -fatigue, should lounge at ease among cushions, while the mother, to -whom every evening brought weariness, should sit beside him in a chair -of penitential hardness. - -But even while she criticised him, he looked up from the fire, his face -brightening with a sudden pleasant recollection. - -“O mother! I had almost forgotten,” he said, and began searching in his -pockets for something. “Neither you nor Honora mentioned it; but I keep -count, and I know that to-day your ladyship is five times ten years -old.” - -He smiled with a boyish pleasure more beautiful than his beauty, -and the little touch of self-satisfaction he betrayed was as far as -possible from being disagreeable. He could not help knowing that he -was about to give delight, and cover himself with honor in the eyes of -these two women. - -“Now, mother,” opening a tiny morocco case, “this is the first ring -I ever gave any woman. The one I gave Annette was only a diamond of -yours reset, and so no gift of mine. But this your good-for-nothing son -actually earned, and had made on purpose for you.” - -He drew from the case a broad gold ring that sparkled in the firelight -as if set with diamonds, and, taking the trembling hand his mother had -extended caressingly at his first words, slipped the circlet onto her -finger. - -“I had no stone put in it, because I want you to wear it all the time,” -he said. “Doesn’t it fit nicely?” - -“My dear boy!” Mrs. Gerald exclaimed, and could say no more; for tears -that she wished to restrain were choking her. - -A fiftieth birthday is not a joyful anniversary when there is no -one but one’s self to remember that it has come. Just as the mother -had given up hope, and was making to herself excuses for his not -remembering it, her son showed that it had been long in his thought. -The joy was as unexpected as it was sweet. - -When she said her prayers that night, Mrs. Gerald’s clasped hands -pressed the dear gift close to her cheek; and no maiden saying her -first prayer over her betrothal-ring ever felt a tenderer happiness or -more impassioned gratitude. - -“Dear Lawrence! it was so nice of you!” whispered Honora, and gave him -her hand as she wished him good-night. - -He threw himself back in the arm-chair again when he was left alone, -and for a few minutes had a very pleasant sense of being happy and the -cause of happiness. “Who would think that so much fun could be got out -of a quiet evening spent in tying Mayflowers round a pole, and giving -a gold birthday ring to one’s mother?” he mused. “After all, the good -people have the best of it, and we scape-graces are the ones to be -pitied. If I were rich, I should be all right. If I had even half a -chance, I would ask no more. But the poverty!” He glanced about the -room, then looked gloomily into the fire again. - -Yes; poverty was there—that depressing poverty which speaks of decayed -fortunes. The carpet, from which the brilliant velvet pile was worn -nearly off, the faded and mended covers of the carved chair-frames, the -few old-fashioned ornaments which had been retained when all that would -sell well had gone to the auction-room, each showed by the scrupulous -care with which it had been preserved a poverty that clung to the rags -of prosperity in the past because it saw no near hope of prosperity in -the future. Miles of unbroken forest could be seen from the cupolas of -Crichton; yet in this room the very stick of wood that burned slowly -on the andirons was an extravagance which Mrs. Gerald would not have -allowed herself. - -“Yes; the good ones have the best of it,” the young man repeated, -rousing himself. - -He drew the andirons out, and let the unconsumed stick down into the -ashes, lighted a candle, and turned the gas off. Then, candle in hand, -he stood musing a moment longer, the clear light shining over his face, -and showing an almost childlike smile coming sweetly to his lips. -“After all,” he said softly, “I haven’t been a bad fellow to-night,” -and with that pleased smile still lingering on his face, went slowly -out of the room. - -And so the stillness of night descended, and deep sleep brooded over -the town as the lights went out. - -Crichton was a well-governed city: no rude broils disturbed its hours -of darkness. Decency was in power there, and made itself obeyed. You -might see a doctor’s buggy whirl by, like a ghost of a carriage, its -light wheels faintly crunching the gravel; for only the business -streets were paved. Now and then, on still nights, might be heard the -grating of ropes, as some vessel sailed up to the wharf after a long -ocean voyage. Perhaps a woman in one of the houses on the hill above -would hear that sound through her dream, and start up to listen, -fancying that, in the word of command the soft breeze bore to her -casement, she could detect a familiar voice long unheard and anxiously -waited for. Perhaps the sailor, whose swift keel had shot like an arrow -past the heavy junk of Chinese waters, and scattered, as it approached -the shore, clear reflections of tufted palms and dusky natives—perhaps -he looked eagerly up the hill to that spot which his eyes could find -without aid of chart or compass, and saw suddenly twinkle out the lamp -in the window of his home. - -But except for such soft sounds and shadowy idyls, Crichton was at -night as still as sleep itself. - -The Crichtonians had a pleasant saying that their city was built by a -woman, and the best compliment we can pay them is that they made this -saying proudly, and kept in honored remembrance the hand of the gentle -architect. But not so much in brick and stone was it acknowledged, -though they owed to her their first ideas of correct and symmetrical -building: in their society, high and low, in many of their pretty -customs, in their tastes, in their freedom from bigotry of opinions, -even in their government, they felt her influence. - -While the city lies sleeping under the stars, strong, adult, and -beautiful, full of ambitious dreams, full, too, of kind and generous -feeling, let us go back to the time when, an infant town, it began to -use its powers, and stammer brokenly the alphabet of civilization. - -Hush, fair city, all thy many thousands, while the angels watch above -thee! and, sweeter marvel yet! while the dear Lord waits unsleeping -in thy midst, where that solitary taper burns. Sleep in peace, “poor -exiled children of Eve,” and be grateful at least in dreams. - -Not very long ago, this place was a wild forest, with a rude little -settlement hewn out of it on the river’s banks. It was shut in from the -world, though the world was not far distant. But the river was broad -and deep, the ocean only ten miles away, and within a few miles were -large and growing cities. Soon the sound of the axe and the saw were -heard, and little craft, sloops and schooners, floated down the Saranac -laden with lumber till the water rippled close to the rails. The story -of her growth in this regard is the story of a thousand other towns. -The vessels grew larger, their voyages longer, more houses were built, -some men became comparatively wealthy and gave employment to others, -while the majority kept the level of the employed. Social distinctions -began to show themselves, detestable ones for the most part, since -there was no social cultivation. Indeed, this poor settlement was in -a fair way to become the most odious of towns. The two meeting-houses -began to be called churches by the aspiring; the leading woman of the -town ventured to call her help a servant (on which the indignant “help” -immediately deserted her); and the first piano appeared. But let us -mention this piano with respect, for it was the pioneer of harmony. - -When Crichton had about fifteen hundred inhabitants, a stranger came -there one day, as a passenger on board a bark returning from a distant -city. This bark was the chief vessel, and was owned by the three chief -men of Crichton. It had gone away laden with laths, and it brought back -tea, coffee, sugar, and other foreign groceries; and, more than all, it -brought Mr. Seth Carpenter. He was not, apparently, a very remarkable -man in any way, except as all strangers were remarkable in this young -town. He was plain-looking, rather freckled, and had a pair of small -and very bright eyes which he almost closed, in a near-sighted way, -when he wished to see well. Behind those eyes was a good deal of will -and wit, and the will to put the wit into immediate practice. Moreover, -he knew how to hold his tongue very cleverly, and baffle the curious -without offending them. Nothing but his name transpired. He might be a -mountebank, a detective, a king’s son—how were these people to know? - -In fact, he was nothing more mysterious than a respectable young man -twenty-five years of age, who, having his fortune to make, had thought -best to leave his prim, sober, native town, where nothing was being -done, and where the people were mummies, and seek what, in modern -parlance, is called a “live” place. In his pockets he had nothing but -his hands; in his valise was a single change of linen. - -The very morning of his arrival at Crichton, Mr. Seth Carpenter went -to the highest hill-top, and from it viewed the town, the river, and -the receding forests. He then strolled down to the river, and looked -through the mills, and from there sauntered to the ship-yard, where -he found a ship on the stocks, almost ready to be launched. He walked -round the yard, whistling softly, with an air of critical indifference. -He paused near two other men who were viewing the ship, and, since -their conference was not private, listened to it. - -One of these men, a sailor, rather thought he might make up his mind to -buy that ship. Did his companion know what was likely to be asked for -it? The other reckoned, and calculated, and guessed, and expected, and -finally owned that he did not know. - -Mr. Carpenter, his eyes winking fast with the sparks that came into -them, and his fingers working nervously, walked out of the yard, and -found the owner of the ship, and, still with nothing in his pockets but -his hands, made his bargain with all the coolness of a millionaire. -Before sunset, the ship was nominally his; and, before sunrise, it had -changed owners again, and the young adventurer had made five hundred -dollars by the bargain. - -“I will yet rule the town!” he said exultingly, when he found himself -alone; and he kept his word. Everything prospered with him, and in a -short time even rivalry ceased. Men who had been proud to add dollar -to dollar shrank and bowed before this man who added thousand to unit. -Half the men in town, after ten years, were in his employment, and -business prospered as he prospered. In another ten years, Crichton was -a city, with all barriers down between her and the great world; but -a raw, unkempt city; jealous, superficially educated, quarrelsome, -pretentious, and rapidly crystallizing into that mould. Only a -person of supreme position and character could now change it. Mr. -Carpenter had the position, but not the character. He thought only -of money-making, and of the excitement of enterprise and power; the -rest he viewed with a pleasant indifference not without contempt. At -forty-five he was still a bachelor. - -We have mentioned the first piano with respect, because others followed -in its train, rendering a music-teacher necessary; so that, after a -succession of tyros, Miss Agnes Weston came, bringing the very spirit -of harmony with her into the town she was to conquer. - -She did not come as a conqueror, however; nor probably did she -anticipate the part she was to play any more than the Crichtonians -did. She came to earn her bread, and, while doing so, was anything but -popular. Nothing but her brilliant musical abilities, and the fact that -she had been educated at Leipsic, saved her from utter failure. People -did not fancy this self-possessed, unpretending young person, who could -sometimes show such a haughty front to the presuming, and who was, -moreover, so frightfully dark and sallow. They did not understand her, -and preferred to leave her very much to herself. - -One person only found her not a puzzle. To Mr. Carpenter she was simply -a refined woman among uncongenial associates; becoming discontented -and unhappy there, too, before many months had passed. He did not -choose that she should go away. He had become pleasantly accustomed to -seeing her, had sometimes met her on her long walks out of town; and -once, when he had politely offered to drive her home—an offer which -any other lady in Crichton would have accepted beamingly, without the -preliminary of an introduction—had been refreshed by receiving a cold -refusal, and a surprised stare from a pair of large black eyes. The -great man, surfeited with smiles and flatteries, was immensely pleased -by this superciliousness. - -But though strangely disturbed at the prospect of Miss Weston’s -leaving, he hesitated to speak the word which might detain her. A -bachelor of forty-five does not readily determine on making a sensible -marriage; it usually needs some great folly to spur him on to a change -so long deferred. He had, moreover, two other reasons for delaying: he -wanted a charming wife, and was in doubt whether even his power could -transform this lady into his ideal: the other reason had blue eyes, and -a dimple in its chin, and was a very silly reason. - -But no one who knew this gentleman would expect him to remain long in -doubt on any subject. Within a month from the day he first entertained -the thought of running such a risk, Crichton was electrified by the -announcement that Mr. Carpenter was soon to be married to Miss Weston; -and, before they had recovered from their first astonishment, the -marriage had taken place, and the quiet, dark-faced music-teacher was -established as mistress of an imposing mansion on North Avenue. - -It was now Mr. Carpenter’s turn to be astonished, and he was enchanted -as well. Never had he pictured to himself a woman so charming as -this grub, now become a butterfly, proved herself; and never had he -imagined that even his wife could obtain so beautiful a supremacy as -she gradually established and never lost. She was born to rule, and -seldom had such power been placed in any woman’s hands. Mr. Carpenter -was the first of her vassals. With a refined and noble arrogance, she -esteemed him as the first man in the world, because he had been the -first to appreciate and exalt her. For this she gave him a faithful, -if condescending, affection, and quoted his wishes and opinions so -constantly that one might have thought they were her only guides. So -thorough was her tact and her courtesy toward her husband he scarcely -guessed his own inferiority, and never dreamed that she was aware of it. - -She grew beautiful, too, as well as amiable. Now that the drudgery of -toil was lifted from her, and her cramped talents had room for full -and exhilarating play, the swarthy skin cleared, showing a peach-like -bloom, the fine teeth lit a frequent smile, and the deep voice lost its -dull cadence, and took a musical, ringing sound. - -Mrs. Carpenter used her power well. Crichton was as clay in her hands, -and she moulded it after a noble model. What arrogance could never -have done was accomplished by tact and sweetness. Her forming touch -was strong and steady, but it was smooth, and nothing escaped it. -Thoroughly womanly, speaking by her husband’s mouth when she deemed it -not fitting that her proper voice should be heard, she could influence -in matters where women do not usually care to interfere. She thought -nothing out of her province which concerned the prosperity of the town -she honored with her presence, and she inspired others with her own -enthusiasm. That streets should be wide and well kept, that public -buildings should be architecturally symmetrical, that neat cottages for -the poor, replacing their miserable huts, should start up sudden as -daisies along some quiet road—these objects all interested her, though -she worked for them indirectly. - -But in social life she ruled openly; and there her good sense and good -heart, her gentle gaiety and entire uprightness, became the mould of -form. Ill-nature went out of fashion, and, in the absence of charity, -self-control became a necessity. When people of opposite creeds met at -her house, their feuds had to be laid aside for the time; and, once two -foes have smiled in each other’s faces, the frown is not so easy to -recall. - -Gradually the change which had been imposed outwardly became a real -one; and, when Mrs. Carpenter died, full of years and of honors, her -spirit continued to animate the place, in its opinions and actions, at -least, if some fairer grace of heart and principle were wanting. She -died as she had lived, out of the church; though the church had ever -found her a friend, bountiful and tenderly protecting. Of its doctrines -and authority she seemed never to have thought; but the copy of the -Sistine Madonna in her drawing-room had always a vase of fresh flowers -before it. - -She left no children. A niece whom she had adopted married in -Crichton, and had one descendant, a grand-daughter, living there. This -grand-daughter was Honora Pembroke. - -Wake again, Crichton, for morning is come. Long rays of golden light -are shooting out of the east; and down the hillside, in the church of -S. John, Father Chevreuse is saying, _Sursum Corda_! - - TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -FONTAINEBLEAU. - -CONCLUDED. - -CHARLES had a dangerous enemy in the person of the Duchesse d’Estampes. -She was furious at his being allowed to enter France at all, and still -more at his leaving it without paying such a ransom as his host might -easily have enforced; but to all her arguments and blandishments -Francis was nobly inexorable; he remained true, in this instance at -least, to the instincts of his better nature and the promptings of -knightly honor. He could not, however, resist saying to Charles, when -presenting the duchess to him: “Here is a lady who advises me to undo -at Paris the work done at Madrid.” To which the emperor replied coldly: -“If the advice be good, you ought to follow it.” The story goes—a -most improbable one, considering the position occupied by the Duchesse -d’Estampes, whose jewels were worthy of a queen of France—that at -supper that same evening, when, according to the complimentary custom -of the times, she presented Charles with the urn of perfumed water -to rinse his hands, he dropped a diamond ring at her feet, and, on -her picking it up and handing it to him, replied: “Keep it, madame; -it could not be in fitter hands.” Whether Charles bribed the _belle -savante_ with a diamond or any other device, it is certain that, before -he left, they had become very good friends, and she had quite adopted -the king’s more generous view of the case. - -At the close of 1546, Francis fell ill, and was supposed to be dying. -The courtiers, true to the traditions of their race, immediately fled -from Fontainebleau to greet the Dauphin, who was at Amboise. Francis -was conscious enough to notice their disappearance, and to divine -the cause of it. It stung him to the quick, and roused him to make a -desperate effort to disappoint them. He rallied, and announced his -intention of following the procession of _Corpus Christi_ next day. -The doctors remonstrated, but in vain; nothing could shake the king’s -determination. He dressed himself in his robes of state, had his pale -cheeks brightened with rouge, and thus, under a mask of returning -health, appeared in the midst of his astonished court, and held the -canopy during the procession. But the ceremony was no sooner over than -he fell exhausted into the arms of his attendants, and was carried -back to bed. He remained for some time unconscious; on recovering his -senses, his first exclamation was, “Well, at any rate, I will give them -one more fright!” Four months after this childish piece of bravado, he -died at the Château of Rambouillet. - -The forest of Fontainebleau was infested during his reign with a -quantity of noxious vermin—serpents eighteen feet in length, which -did great damage, and filled the inhabitants with terror. One of these -snakes, by his depredations on man and beast, earned the reputation -for himself of a sort of mythological dragon. Some bold men had -undertaken to combat him, but all had perished in the attempt. Francis -declared at last that he would fight and kill the dragon himself. He -equipped himself accordingly in a suit of armor covered all over with -long blades as sharp as razors, and, thus armed, sallied forth to the -perilous duel. The serpent coiled itself round the glistening blades, -and, in clasping his victim, cut himself to pieces. This fantastic -exploit of Francis was magnified by the adulation of his courtiers into -a deed of supernatural prowess. - -The death of Francis was the signal for the downfall of the Duchesse -d’Estampes, who retreated like a dethroned sovereign before the now -transcendent star of Diana of Poitiers. Diana’s frailty was unredeemed -by the intellectual gifts and native kindliness that distinguished -her rival. There is no counterpart even in French history to the -sway exercised by this Dalila over Henri II. Madame Du Barry’s is -the nearest approach to it, but even that falls far short of the -precedent. Diana not only ruled the king and the kingdom, but openly -usurped the honors, prerogatives, and official state of a legitimate -queen. Her cipher, interlaced with Henri’s, was carved and emblazoned -on all the public monuments; not a door or gallery of Fontainebleau, -aptly nicknamed by the people “the Temple of Diana,” that was not -surmounted by the monogram H. D. It was to be seen in the stained glass -windows of the chapel, as well as on the plate served on the royal -table under the eyes of Catherine de Medicis. Diana appropriated the -crown jewels, and appeared at all the public ceremonies decked in the -hitherto sacred regalia of the queens of France. Catherine looked on -and was silent—she could wait; her hour would come. It came sooner -than either she or Diana anticipated. The king fell mortally wounded -in a tournament given to celebrate the nuptials of his daughter, the -Princesse Elizabeth, with the King of Spain (1559). He was carried to -the nearest shelter; Catherine flew to his side, and gave orders that -no one should be allowed to approach him; at this crisis, at least, the -wife should be supreme. Diana soon presented herself at the door, but -the guard refused her admittance; the queen had forbidden it. “And who -dares to give me orders?” demanded Diana, with flashing eyes; “if the -king breathes, I have no master yet.” Soon he had ceased to breathe, -and Diana, without further protest, bowed to the queen’s command, which -bade her “restore the crown jewels, and retire forthwith to her Château -d’Anet.” - -Her beauty was marvellous, and lasted in all its bloom long after -the meridian of life was past. Brantôme describes her at the age of -sixty-five as “still beautiful as a girl.” The death of Henri II. -was the signal for Catherine de Medicis’ real queenhood. Her reign -lasted over thirty years, and may be justly styled, in the most -comprehensive sense of the word, a reign of terror for the nation. Her -first business was to create discord in the family as a prelude to -civil war in the state. She imported into France, with the enlightened -love of the arts imbibed at the court of the Medicis, their crafty -Italian policy; a system of cabal and intrigue which worked well -enough in the narrow compass of petty states, but was fruitful of -the most disastrous results in a large kingdom where government can -only be carried on successfully by well-organized institutions and -strong and wise laws justly administered. Catherine was born with a -genius for intrigue; her love for conspiracy amounted to a mania. The -faculty of dissembling, with which nature had so pre-eminently endowed -her, did her good service in the first years of her residence at -Fontainebleau. It required all the tact of an accomplished dissembler -to steer between the rival powers of the Duchesse d’Estampes and Diana -of Poitiers—a feat which the wily pupil of the Medicis achieved -with singular success. To the last day of their reign and her own -thraldom, she contrived to remain friendly with both. Catherine’s -ambition was unbounded, and drove her to excesses of wickedness that -have few parallels in modern history. She systematically labored to -corrupt the minds and hearts of her children, and to sow dissensions -amongst them, so as to draw the power that should have been theirs -into her own hands. Jealousy of one son, Francis II., drove her to -espouse the cause of the Huguenots for a time; and, when his death -placed the sceptre in the hands of his brother Charles IX., she veered -round, and persecuted her quondam _protégés_ with cold cynicism and -ferocity. Five civil wars can be traced home to the dark intrigues of -this unnatural mother—a woman who never took a straight road when she -could find a crooked one, who regarded human beings as an apparatus -composed of an infinite variety of tools to be used one set against -another as the special nature of her work demanded. The massacre of -S. Bartholomew was but another manifestation of the same spirit which -had led her to stir up the Huguenots to revolt when she thought their -rebellion would serve her aims. This sanguinary despot had most of -the foibles of a woman, combined with the fiercer passions of a man. -Her frivolity and extravagance knew no bounds; and when her ministers -ventured to hint to her that the lavish prodigality of her expenditure -was exasperating the people, and might lead to trouble, she shrugged -her shoulders, and replied, with serene simplicity: “Good heavens! -one must live.” The sweet, pathetic face of Marie Stuart appears for -a moment at Fontainebleau in the earlier days of Catherine’s rule—a -bright meteor flashing on a troubled sky; poor Marie, whose sky was -gathering up the storm that was to break at no distant day over her -young life, and beat it some twenty years with a fury that was only to -be silenced by the great tranquillizer—death. Fierce and long-raging -were the storms that swept over Fontainebleau through the same -darkling years. Henri de Navarre bears down on it like a whirlwind, -and forces the queen, with her son Charles IX., to fly before him and -his Huguenots to Melun. They have not taken breath at Melun when the -Duc de Guise meets them like a contrary wind, and blows them back to -Paris. Soon follows the night of S. Bartholomew, that blackest of -black nights, under whose pall, as it has been pithily put by a modern -Frenchman, “a few scoundrels killed a few scoundrels.” Its gloom was -still hanging over the city when Catherine and the king were bowling -along the road to Fontainebleau—he shuddering, a Macbeth terrified at -his share in the ghastly deed; she triumphant, unappalled by ghost or -conscience, her sharp, elastic mind busy on the next step to be taken. -How was she to undo the one awkward consequence of her triumph—the -remorse and mistrust of this faint-hearted son? A hundred and fifty -maids, miscalled of honor, were recruited from the beauty of France, -and brought to Fontainebleau to aid in the task of soothing the king’s -scruples and mending the queen’s nets. But her hold upon Charles -was loosened, and not all the charms of all the houris of Mahomet’s -paradise would lure it to her grasp again. Catherine, however, could -accommodate herself to the decrees of fortune, and turn even her own -blunders to account. Charles, obdurately sullen, refused to revoke the -edict of the pacification of Amboise, thus quenching for once, instead -of lighting, the smouldering flames of civil war. Catherine smiled -bland approval on her blighted schemes, and was full of satisfaction, -as if, instead of chaining the war-dogs, she had been allowed to let -them loose. She received the ambassadors in regal state, and laid -herself out to captivate all men by her smiles and honeyed courtesies; -feuds and jealousies were lulled to sleep with soft music of delight; -all the heads of all the factions, civil and religious, turned in the -dance till they were giddy, carousing, and embracing, and pledging one -another in loving cups, while their followers were cutting each other’s -throats hard by; fireworks sent rockets blazing to the sky—merry -rockets, red, white, and green; and Fontainebleau was once more a -palace of Armida, an Arabian night’s dream, where men came and drank, -and were inebriated. A dark and agitated scene is that which France -presents at the close of Catherine’s reign. We turn from it with relief -to see Henri de Navarre enter his “good city” of Paris. After the -peace of Vervins, which put an end to religious wars in France, and -allowed Europe to breathe once more, the gay Béarnais came to enjoy his -well-won conquest at Fontainebleau. Sully, the true and trusty friend, -goes with him, supreme, though not alone, in his influence with the -soft-hearted monarch. Gabrielle d’Estrée contests the field with him; -but, to Henri’s honor be it said, she is defeated. Gabrielle had, in a -weak moment, extracted from the king a promise that he would make her -Queen of France—a promise which, as a matter of course, he immediately -confided to Sully. The minister burst out into indignant protest, and -outswore the Béarnese himself in the vehemence of his indignation. They -parted, as usual, in a rage, and, as usual, Henri soon calmed down, and -declared that Sully was right. When Gabrielle recurred to the promise, -he told her the result of his conversation with “my friend Rosny.” -The lady flew into a tantrum, called Rosny hard names, and wound up -by insisting that “that valet” should be dismissed from the court. -The insolent appellation, coming from such a quarter, roused the king -to a sense of his own disgraceful weakness. “Ventre S. Gris, madame,” -he cried, “if I must needs dismiss either, it shall be you a thousand -times rather than my faithful Rosny—my friend without whom I could -not live!” Gabrielle saw that she had overstepped the mark; for Henri, -if he had the faults of a man, was no emasculated puppet, like so many -of his predecessors, to be bound hand and foot by a Dalila; he had -still the spirit of a king. Gabrielle fell at his feet, and begged his -pardon, and Sully’s too. Shortly after this incident, Sully’s fears on -her account were put an end to by her death. Henri’s grief for a time -was so violent as almost to deprive him of his reason. But his fickle -heart soon found consolation in a new allegiance. Mlle. d’Entragnes was -the next to captivate it. For this fair siren, Henri went so far as to -draw out a written promise of marriage. Before, however, giving the -document into the hands of the fair lady, he, of course, showed it to -Sully, the dauntless Sully, who was the most discreet of confidants, -but the most unmanageable of accomplices. This time he was too deeply -moved for anger; he did not bully the king, but coolly read the paper -twice over, and then, tearing it deliberately into four fragments, he -flung it into the fire. “_Parbleu_, Rosny, you are mad!” cried the -king. “Would to God, sire, I were the only madman in France!” replied -Rosny. Henri turned on his heel, and there was no more said about -that marriage. He married finally Marie de Medicis. She gave birth to -the Dauphin Louis XIII. at Fontainebleau. Henri’s joy was unbounded. -He made his wife a present on the occasion of the Château of Monceau -with its beautiful park and grounds, which had formerly been a gift to -Gabrielle d’Estrée. Marie de Medicis was blest with wonderfully robust -health—a fact which her husband comments upon rather quaintly in a -letter to Sully ten days after the birth of the Dauphin. “My wife,” -he says, “dresses her own hair, and talks already of getting up; my -friend, she has a terribly robust constitution!” Sad pity that anything -should spoil the attractive beauty of Henri IV.’s portrait as it hangs -before us in the long gallery of royal sitters at Fontainebleau; but, -alas! there it is, the black blot on the bright disk, the treacherous -breach of hospitality perpetrated in his name toward an old companion -and brother-in-arms. There is abundant proof that the arrest of -Maréchal de Biron and his death were repugnant and painful to the king, -and that for some days he combated both by every means in his power, -stooping to tears and passionate entreaty with Biron, and pleading -eloquently in his behalf with his own ministers; and that it was only -after all his efforts had failed to convince the latter, or to wring -from Biron’s stubborn pride the confession which could have saved him, -that Henri’s signature was obtained for the death-warrant. This no -doubt absolves him from the odium of a cold-blooded, premeditated act -of vengeance; but it is a poor apology to say that he only consented -to invite his old brother-in-arms to Fontainebleau, and let him be -arrested in a dark corridor at nightfall, and taken to prison, and -eventually put to death, because he was overruled and circumvented by -the iron will of his wife Marie with the “terribly robust constitution.” - -The gardens of Fontainebleau are full of delicate and poetic memories -of Henri de Navarre in which Rosny plays a prominent part. The -courtiers looked on at the familiar, schoolboy friendship between the -king and his minister with envious eyes, and set to work with malignant -diligence to loosen the bond. They succeeded in getting up such a -plausible story against Rosny that the king, who had been some time -without seeing him, was staggered; he examined the deed of accusation, -and admitted that the circumstances looked badly. The minister was -in Paris working away for his master as hard as any galley-slave at -the arsenal. Henri sent for him. When he arrived, the king was on -the terrace surrounded by the court; he greeted his friend with a -gracious formality foreign to the habitual free and easy manner of -their intercourse. Sully was pained and mystified. But the restraint -was equally intolerable to both. Henri called him aside presently, -and they walked up and down an alley in sight of the terrace, but out -of ear-shot. The king pulled out the deed of accusation, and handed -it to his friend. Rosny cast his eye contemptuously over the paper, -and in a few words scattered all its contents to the winds. Henri saw -that he had been the dupe of a base, designing jealousy, and broke -out into bitter self-reproach at having been led to doubt even for a -moment the fidelity of his tried and faithful servant. He held out his -hand; Sully, overcome with emotion, was about to fall on his knees to -kiss it; but, quick as lightning, the king caught him in his arms, -exclaiming: “Take care, Rosny! Those fellows yonder will fancy I am -forgiving you.” - -The visit of the Spanish ambassador to Fontainebleau led to the -construction of the large and handsome Chapel of the Trinity. After -going all over the interminable galleries and halls of the vast -edifice, they came to the chapel. It was very pretty, but quite out -of keeping with the space and splendor of the rest of the building. -Don Pedro’s minister was scandalized at the irreverence implied in -the contrast, and, with the impulse of a Spaniard, exclaimed, looking -round at the narrow walls of the little sanctuary: “Your house would -be perfect, sire, if God were as well lodged in it as the king.” Henri -was pleased with the outspoken rebuke, and at once set about building a -temple worthier of the divine worship. - -His ungovernable passion for the chase was a frequent cause of -altercation between himself and Sully, who shared his master’s love for -the sport, but, unlike him, knew where to stop in the indulgence of it. -The title of _Grand Veneur_,[127] attached to the office of master of -the royal hounds, dates from Henri’s time, and takes its rise from a -phantom which made its appearance in the forest in the shape of a man -larger than life, dressed in black, and surrounded by a pack of hounds, -and who vanished as soon as the spectator tried to approach him. Sully -had long laughed at the story of this spectre, but, once coming to meet -the king, he came face to face himself with the _grand veneur_; he -owned to the fact, but was still sceptical, though unable in any way to -explain away the mysterious apparition, which he took great pains to do. - -Louis XIII. resided much at Fontainebleau, and continued the work of -embellishment, which needed little now to make it perfect. Anne of -Austria enriched the new chapel with many valuable paintings. For a -period, Richelieu is the presiding genius of the grand old palace. Then -he passes away, and makes room for Mazarin, who received here Henrietta -of England with a splendor becoming her double majesty of misfortune -and royalty. - -The first time that Louis XIV. honored the palace with his presence was -on the occasion of signing the marriage contract between Ladislas of -Poland and Marie de Gonzagne (1645); the marriage itself was celebrated -at the Palais Royal. - -Christina of Sweden furnishes one of the most thrilling chapters in -the history of Fontainebleau. This eccentric woman, whose ambition it -was to entwine the laurels of Sappho with the jewels of her crown, -gave up the throne of Sweden to wander about the world like an Arab. -That sort of eccentricity being rarer in those days than in our own, -it passed for genius, wisdom, anything the owner chose to call it. -Christina gained the reputation of possessing extraordinary erudition, -and a mind gifted with the powers of a man, as well as adorned with -the graces of an accomplished woman. Anne of Austria was filled with -admiration for the queen who cast away a crown to go in pursuit of -science and philosophy; and, when Christina announced her intention -of visiting France, the regent made preparations to receive her which -surpassed anything that Fontainebleau had witnessed since the reception -of Charles V. by Francis I. Christina made her entry on horseback, -surrounded by a guard of honor composed of the highest nobles of the -kingdom, all magnificently attired, and followed by a _cortége_ of -noble dames, some riding on horses caparisoned in housings of cloth -of gold and silver, others drawn in chariots of state. The _fêtes_ -given for the royal Sappho’s entertainment were on a scale equal -to the splendor of this reception. She showed her sense of Anne of -Austria’s appreciation of her superior merits by making herself very -agreeable to her; but she earned the dislike of the young king by -ridiculing openly his boyish love for Marie Mancini, and pointing -an epigram at the fair Italian. Lo, when, on her return from Italy, -she intimated her intention of again coming to France, Louis sent -word that he placed the Palace of Fontainebleau at her disposal, but -begged she would not show herself in Paris. During this second visit, -Christina committed the crime which has so irretrievably damned her -memory. Monaldeschi, who had been her pampered favorite for years, -rightly or wrongly incurred her displeasure. Christina determined that -he should die, and did not pause to consider that it was adding a -darker hue to her crime to perpetrate it under the roof of a brother -king. The hour suited her vengeance—that was enough. The whole thing -was planned with a business-like coolness worthy of Louis XI. in his -best days. The queen ordered her victim to be taken to the _galerie -des cerfs_, and herself gave the most minute instructions as to how -he was to be killed, and by whom: he was not to be despatched by one -or even a few successive blows, but struck a great many times and at -short intervals, in hopes of extracting certain avowals from him. -Christina then retired to an adjoining room, and remained in animated -conversation with her _entourage_ while the horrible tragedy was going -on close by. Occasionally she sent in to ask if Monaldeschi were dead; -when the answer again and again came back that he was still struggling, -she expressed first surprise, and then impatience, and at last, unable -to brook the delay, she rose and opened the door of the gallery; -Monaldeschi, on beholding her, stretched out his arms in an attitude -of supplication, but the queen exclaimed sharply, “What! thou art not -yet dead?” and, walking up to where he lay writhing on the ground, -she slapped him on the face “with that hand,” says Voltaire, “which -had loaded him with benefits.” Monaldeschi had cried out for a priest -to help him to die, and this last grace had been granted. Christina -stood by till her victim was dead, and then quietly paid the assassins, -and went back to her conversation. The news of the abominable deed of -blood travelled quickly to Paris; as soon as Mazarin heard it, he sent -her a peremptory order to leave Fontainebleau and France forthwith, -adding that the King of France harbored no assassins as his guests; to -which Christina returned the contemptuous reply that “she was queen -wherever she was, and took no orders from the King of France, and -was accountable for her acts neither to him nor any one else.” It is -curious to observe how little horror seems to have been produced in the -public mind by this execrable murder, committed under circumstances -which rendered it tenfold more revolting; the ladies and courtiers of -the time make no more than a passing mention of it in their letters, -and, in speaking of Christina, reserve their sharpest criticism for -her style of dressing her hair and her manner of dancing, which they -condemn as “fantastic and awkward.” Two years after this event, we find -Christina abjectly begging for an invitation to the carnival ballet -in which Louis XIV. was to dance! The fact of the invitation being -granted is perhaps as significant as that of its being asked for. It -was accompanied, however, with the condition that the Queen of Sweden -should only remain in Paris the three days that the ballet lasted; this -she agreed to, and Mazarin’s apartments at the Louvre were placed at -her disposal. - -Louis XIV. restored Catherine de Medicis’ pavilion at Fontainebleau, -called the _Pavillon des Poêles_,[128] for Mary of Modena, and fitted -it up in a style of elegance and splendor befitting rather a royal -bride of France than an exiled queen. But all his graceful gallantry to -the beautiful exile, and professions of brotherly love to her husband, -did not prevent Louis from signing in 1698 the treaty whereby he -pledged himself to recognize the Prince of Orange, and not to disturb -him in the possession of his kingdom. - -Louis XV. was married in the chapel at Fontainebleau to Marie Leczinska -(1725). He never cared for the palace as a residence, and merely used -it as a hunting-lodge. His first-born son died there. Shortly before -his death, the young prince, leaning over a balcony from one of the -upper rooms of the palace which looked towards Paris, was heard saying -to himself with a deep-drawn sigh: “What delight the sovereign must -feel who makes the happiness of so many men!” A great deal has been -built on this exclamation—regrets for the blighted promise which -the feeling that prompted it held out to France. But twenty years -before, Louis XV. had said as much, and felt it, very likely, just as -sincerely. Fontainebleau was spared the shame of the saturnalian orgies -that profaned Versailles and Trianon under the reign of Du Barry. The -grim towers that had sheltered Francis, and the Medicis, and Henry -de Navarre had many tales to tell that were better left untold, but -at their worst they showed white beside the vulgar blackness of the -Pompadour and Du Barry chronicles. - -Louis XVI., who seldom visited Fontainebleau, has left no mark -of his passages there. Under the Revolution, it was used as the -military school which has since been transferred to St. Cyr. Napoleon -compensated the royal old château for the neglect of his predecessors; -he preferred it, next to St. Cloud, to all the other palaces of which -France had given him temporary possession, and repaired it with -elaborate magnificence, adhering rigidly to the original style in -every detail. He also added a stirring chapter to its history. When, -by his orders, General Radet scaled the walls of the Quirinal at three -o’clock in the morning, and, attended by a band of soldiers, brutally -dragged Pius VII. from his bed, it was to Fontainebleau that the -venerable pontiff was conveyed; here he was kept in close confinement, -and fed upon the bread of insult, with which it was Napoleon’s wont to -nourish his captives; but Pius VII., disarmed, isolated from friends -and counsellors, surrounded by spies paid to interpret his every word -and gesture according to the interests and wishes of their paymaster, -broken in bodily health, his mind bending under the accumulated weight -of every torture that ingenious cruelty could devise, was still a -greater conqueror, in the noblest sense of the word, than Napoleon ever -was on the field of battle. Moreover, a day of reckoning was at hand. -Fontainebleau, which had been the theatre of so many of Napoleon’s -most gorgeous pageants of the melodramatic and sentimental kind—for -he could be sentimental, this great butcher of men and despoiler of -crowns; he could, “with delicate forethought, and at vast expense, -cause a multitude of pine-trees to be planted” amidst the elms and the -oaks of the sombre Medicean forest, in order that his young Austrian -bride might find some reminiscence of home when she walked out for -her evening stroll—Fontainebleau was to witness the going down of -his sun. Fortune, exasperated at last by the excesses of her spoilt -child, plucked the brilliant meteor from the sky, and cast it out -into the darkness. Once, in an interview with Pius VII. during his -captivity, Napoleon, after lavishing all his art of flattery on the -pope, stooping to tender caresses and the most winning attitude of -supplication to wrest from his captive the coveted concession of the -Concordat, presently paused to see the effect of the experiment. Pius -VII. was silent awhile, then, looking up at the emperor with a smile of -withering scorn, he answered: _Commediante!_[129] Like lightning the -tactics were changed; curses rained where kisses had been showered; -threats and gestures fierce as blows succeeded to bland entreaties; -the actor struck his forehead with clenched fists, stamped, grew red -and white in turn, and swore that a thunderbolt should be hurled by -the Tuileries at the Vatican which should crush her defiant pride, and -bury all Christendom under its ruins. Again he “paused for a reply.” -Pius raised his eyes, and, looking fixedly at Napoleon, murmured, -this time with no smile: _Tragediante!_[130] The whole life and -character of the man are summed up in those two epithets: _commediante, -tragediante_. But if Bonaparte played comedy well, tragedy was his -forte, and his last appearance at Fontainebleau was a splendid -farewell representation. It is a little past mid-day. A bright April -sun pours down from a cloudless sky upon the courtyard of the palace; -the horse-shoe staircase, bathed in the unmitigated sunshine, gleams -white and majestic—a stage of the antique fashion well suited for -the closing act about to be played upon it. The audience are already -gathered to the place; thousands of the inhabitants have flocked in -from the town and neighborhood, but the inner circle, the reserved -seats, are filled by the grenadiers of the guard, the Old Guard of a -hundred battles and as many victories, and by the marines of the young -guard. The time seems long, for every heart is beating in sympathetic -emotion with the coming crisis. At last the curtain rises. The doors -opening on the horse-shoe staircase are thrown back, and Napoleon comes -forward. A cry goes up to him from the depths of those many thousand -hearts. But hush! He waves his hand for silence. He is going to speak. -The crowd sways to and fro, a human wave ebbing at the base of an -adamantine rock, whence its idol of twenty years looks down upon it. - -“Officers, non-commissioned officers of the Old Guard, I bid you -farewell!... For twenty years you have given me satisfaction. Be -faithful to the new sovereign whom France has chosen. Grieve not for -my fate; I might have died, nothing would have been easier to me—but, -no; I shall to the last tread the path of honor. I will write what -we have done together....” Sobs, such as break the stout hearts of -warlike men, interrupt him. He waits for a moment, and then resumes: -“I cannot embrace you all, but I will embrace your general. Approach, -General Petit.” The general advances, and Napoleon clasps him in a long -embrace. “Bring me the eagle!” - -They bring it. He gathers the colors to his heart, and kisses the -symbol passionately. - -“Dear eagle! May these kisses find an echo in the hearts of every brave -man!... My children, farewell.” The voice that had electrified them on -a thousand battle-fields ceased to speak; it has stirred those brave -hearts to their depths; the veterans sob like women. Napoleon descends -the monumental steps of the horse-shoe, and passes through the midst -of them in silence. Bertrand is waiting for him at the gate. He gets -into his carriage, and drives away. Thus the unrivalled actor took -his leave of the world-stage on which he had figured so long and so -brilliantly. The colors which he clasped in that last touching embrace -were henceforth treasured as a sacred thing; half a century later, they -were laid on his tomb at the Invalides. - -The gallery of Diana, which had been left unfinished by Napoleon, -was completed after the restoration of the Bourbon. Louis XVIII. has -commemorated the achievements on a slab bearing in golden letters -the date of the completion of the gallery—“_in the 20th year of my -reign!_” And on the table on which Napoleon signed his abdication he -caused the following to be engraved: “The 5th of April, 1814, Napoleon -Bonaparte signed his abdication on this table in the king’s cabinet, -the second after the bedroom, at Fontainebleau.” With the singular -mixture of obstinacy and simplicity which characterized his Bourbon -mind, he systematically ignored in conversation and in all official -deeds the reign of Napoleon altogether, and continued to the last to -date as if that stormy meteor had never broken in upon the dull horizon -of his sovereignty. Those inscriptions are the only two traces of Louis -XVIII.’s passage which are to be found at Fontainebleau. - -Charles X. never resided there, and seldom even visited the palace. It -fell into sad neglect, but was entirely restored by Louis Philippe, not -only the edifice, but the pictures and costly works of art with which a -long line of sovereigns had so magnificently endowed it. - -Under the Empire, Fontainebleau came in for the share of imperial favor -which was so impartially divided amongst the still habitable castles of -France. Every autumn it was the scene of brilliant hunting-parties and -varied hospitalities. - -We will close this fragmentary record of the past of Fontainebleau by -an incident, which, though not yet within the range of history, may one -day take its place there, and be quoted with interest as an indication -of the character of one destined, for aught we know, to play his part -in the annals of the coming age. - -The Prince Imperial, then a mere child, was playing one day in the -_galerie des cerfs_ with a little friend of his, the son of an officer -of the household. Suddenly, in the midst of their game, the latter -rather irrelevantly remarked: “This is where Queen Hortense killed a -man.” “Queen Hortense was my grandmother,” retorted the young prince -indignantly; “she never killed anybody!” “Oh! but she did, though,” -persisted his companion; “she killed one somewhere hereabouts; I’ve -read it in a book.” - -This was too formidable an argument to be met by mere words; the -descendant of the injured Hortense clenched his little fist, and laid -on vigorously to the traducer of his grandmother. The noise of the -battle soon drew the attention of some ladies who were at the other end -of the gallery; they ran to separate the combatants, and inquire the -cause of the row; but the young prince, crimson with rage, and with the -big tears rolling down his cheeks, broke away from them, and rushed to -his mother, who was somewhere in the neighborhood. - -“He says that my grandmother killed a man,” cried the child out loud, -“and I say it is a lie!” Then, throwing his arms round the empress’ -neck, he whispered: “It’s not true, is it, that she ever killed -anybody?” - - - - -LAUGHING DICK CRANSTONE. - -IT was not that soft, white, feathery stuff that flutters to the ground -pleasantly and lighter than the fall of a rose-leaf; that, dancing and -darting around and about everywhere with gleaming whiteness and varied -and graceful motion, makes the empty air seem a living thing smiling -at its own frolic. No; the snow was not of that character at all. It -was a sharp, fierce storm that made at you in a determined manner, as -though it had a sort of spite against you and the whole human race -generally for bringing it down out of its bed somewhere up there among -the clouds; that, as it was compelled to make the journey, made up its -mind to let you and everybody else have the full benefit of it. So -down it came fiercely in bitter lines so regular that a William Tell -might shoot an arrow through them without touching a single flake. It -rushed at you, it beat you in the face, it snarled around your legs, it -powdered your hair, and made for the small of your back; it peeped up -your sleeves, and made acquaintance with the inside as well as outside -of your boots, as though it thought of getting a pair itself, and -wished to examine your shoemaker’s handiwork. It laughed at umbrellas, -and made such a savage assault on your overcoat and waterproof that it -was plainly as enraged as it could be at being foiled, and in revenge -settled down on them, till it made you look from top to toe as though -you had been just rolled in feathers, _minus_ the tar. - -Ah! it was a dreary day—a day that made one shiver and think of the -poor, and shiver again. It spoiled the play of the children, and little -Bessy would sit “anyhow,” as her nurse termed it, in her chair, with -one hand mechanically endeavoring to pull the cane at the back of it -to pieces, while her big round blue eyes would look out in silent -wonder at the ugly day; and little Benny would flatten his already flat -nose in desperation against the window-pane, creating quite a little -atmosphere of fog around him; while Harry, the big brother, ten years -old last birthday, would make a false attempt to keep up his spirits by -riding that imaginary horse round and round the room, making him curvet -and caper, and shy at that corner, and evince a particular dislike to -the nurse, and kick so furiously at the door-key, till a crack of the -whip suddenly brought the restive animal to his senses, and Harry would -be still a moment, and gaze silently with the rest of the world out at -the cheerless snow. - -Was it the snow that Cranstone of Cranstone Hall was gazing at so -fixedly out of the library window? Was it the snow that made those -cheeks so deadly white, save for the two little purple spots on each -of them? Was it the snow that made him clench his hands till the nails -almost tore the flesh? What was he looking at so fixedly out there in -the Park? What did he see out in the blinding snow, driving down on -his own meadow-lands, and draping the strong forms of his ancestral -oaks in mystic drapery, while from the bottom where the river ran, -stole up a snaky mist in curling ashy-gray folds? He saw no snow, no -mist, no oaks: he looked through them, beyond them, straight out at a -tall form striding along, its back to Cranstone Hall, and its face to -the wide, wide, bitter, cold world—striding on, and on, and on, and -never looking back to the home where he fell one day like one of these -little snowflakes out of heaven, and grew up straight, and tall, and -honest, and true, and manly, with a head, and a handsome head too, on -his shoulders, and such a heart in his bosom!—the pride of all the -country-side, and the heir of Cranstone Hall. It was Dick Cranstone -whose figure his father was gazing at so fixedly, though that figure -had been gone three hours, and was far out of sight—Dick Cranstone, -his father’s only son, the only relic of his dead mother, the boy on -whom all the father’s strong heart was now set, who was striding along -through the snow and the mist out into the bleak world on that winter -morning, cast out from his father’s hearth and heart, driven away with -a bitter curse. - -What had Dick Cranstone done to bring down this curse and chastisement -on his handsome young head? Dick and his father had been companions -as well as father and son, for Ralph Cranstone was still a youngish -man, and bore such years as he had well. His heart and his hopes were -centred in this boy, whose mother had been snatched away so early; and -when he saw the bright-eyed, laughing lad ripen into a great, handsome, -clever young fellow, who rode with him, and played cricket with him, -and scoured over the country neck and neck with him—for there was a -dare-devil drop in the Cranstones—it would be hard to find a happier -man in this world than Ralph, or a more loving son than Dick; in fact, -“Oh! they’re as fond of each other as the Cranstones” had grown into -a proverb in all the country-side. What, then, was Dick’s great crime -that left him in a day fatherless, and his father childless, and rent -asunder with a fierce wrench two hearts which all their lives had run -together? - -The Cranstones were an old family, older than Elizabeth, though it -was at her time that Cranstone Hall first came into their possession. -That was a good reign for people blessed with an elastic conscience. -The Elizabethan Cranstone was a Catholic. He had the choice of running -his neck in a noose and dying a martyr for his faith, or renouncing -the religion he believed in, and taking instead the goodly Abbey of -Cranstone, with its river, meads, and all its appurtenances. He did not -hesitate long. Like most of his countrymen, he threw up his religion, -and took to the abbey, turned out the monks, became a bitter persecutor -of the church, changed the name of the place to Cranstone Hall, lived -to a good old age, and the rich man died and was buried—in Cranstone -churchyard. The old country folk round about tell you that this -particular old Cranstone, whom they look upon as the first of the race, -“died a-yellin’ for holy water like hell-foire”; but then, such people -are always foolish. However, to come back to the story, the Cranstones -remained from that day out a flourishing, wealthy family, strongly -devoted to church and state, fierce persecutors of the Catholics whilst -persecution was the fashion; when not so, what Catholics call bigoted -Protestants. - -Ralph was no exception to the rule. He honored the queen, and hated the -pope and Papistry as genuinely as the old Elizabethan Cranstone had -professed to do. He thought the country was going to ruin when he found -Papists throwing up their heads, and walking about on English ground, -just as though they had as much right there as anybody else. And when -his old friend and neighbor Harry Clifford, who had been at Eton and -Oxford with him, and whom Ralph had pronounced over and over again “the -best fellow going,” turned Catholic one fine day, as soon as Ralph -heard of it, and met Harry by chance at a friend’s, he turned on his -heel, and walked out of the house, leaving the latter standing there -with the old friendly hand outstretched towards him. From that day out, -all intercourse ceased between the Cliffords and Cranstones, and the -old friends were as dead to each other as though they had never met. - -In good time, Dick went off to Oxford, with an Eton fame as a good bat -and all-round cricketer, a handy man at the oar, the best runner and -jumper in the school, added to the lesser reputation of being able to -knock off the best Latin poem in the college, and running Old Barnacles -hard for the head of the class—Old Barnacles, who did nothing but grub -at his books night and day, and who sucked at Greek roots as little -chaps would at lollipops. He made one of “the eleven” that year against -Cambridge at Lord’s, and saved the game from becoming a disastrous -defeat to his university by his plucky and cool play against that -terrible left-hand bowler. How proud his father was of him that day! He -could almost have gone up and shaken hands with Harry Clifford, whom -he saw there with his wife and a beautiful young lady in the carriage, -so divided in looks between Harry and his sweet wife that she could -have belonged to no one else but to them. “A Clifford to the tip of her -nose!” he kept repeating to himself, as he stole a sly glance at them -now and then, and yearned for a grasp of his old friend’s hand; but the -stubborn Cranstone blood was too strong within him, and he turned away -slowly to watch the game. - -It was going badly for Oxford in the second innings; the Cambridge men -had a hard hitter in, who hit so hard and so furiously, and had so -completely “mastered the bowling,” that the score mounted rapidly, and -every new hit elicited shouts of applause for Cambridge. All over the -field flew the ball, sometimes in among the rows of carriages which -lined the ground. “They’ll never get him out,” said the spectators -one to another, as the Cantab struck away right and left as freely as -though he were playing with the bowlers. “There she goes! Bravo! Well -hit!” they shouted, as the ball flew from the bat right across the -field, straight and furious, full at the carriage where were seated -the Cliffords. “Look out there! Look out—look out!” they shout, as -the carriage party, conversing together, are utterly unconscious of -the danger approaching them. It takes a long time to tell this here, -though it was all over in half a minute. The cricket-ball was flying -at lightning speed straight at the head of the young lady, who at the -moment was looking in another direction, inattentive to the warning -cries that rose from all parts of the field. The shouts were hushed -into that deadly silence that will settle so awfully over a vast -assembly when every eye is bent in one direction, and every heart -beats as one great one with the expectation of immediate disaster. All -saw the danger of the young girl, but no one could prevent it, when -suddenly there is a rush of something white, a leap in the air, a bare -arm flashes in the sun, and the ball is clasped in the hand of one -who never missed a catch yet, as he falls back over the side of the -carriage, right in among the party, holding the ball all the while, and -the great Cantab is out. - -“Bravo, Cranstone! Bravo, Cranstone!” What a shout from the Oxonians! -What a shout and a rush from all sides of the field to applaud the -young fellow whose Eton fame had not belied him for speed, and whose -swiftness and agility, and that high leap in the air and splendid -catch, had perhaps saved a young girl’s life, while it rid his side -of a terrible foe, and revived the hopes of Cambridge! But Cranstone -never heeded the shouts; he lay back there in the carriage, lifeless, -his head on Harry Clifford’s knee, his eyes closed, and his face white, -while the frightened ladies, who scarcely yet knew from what a danger -they had escaped, bent over him in terror. He had fallen heavily on the -side of the carriage, and the shock caused him to faint. - -The crowd is parted by a strong man, who rushes wildly to the spot. -“Dick, my boy, Dick, are you hurt? Good God! Harry, it’s my son. Water, -some of you—water. Clear away there, and let him have air!” The water -is brought, and in a few moments he revives, to open his eyes on a pair -of the tenderest blue eyes looking pityingly and frightened into his. -A shake or two, like a strong mastiff, and he is all right again; the -game goes on, and, though Oxford was beaten, that catch lives in men’s -memories; while Ralph Cranstone and Harry Clifford were old friends -again, and Mr. Dick Cranstone was reintroduced to his old playmate, -Miss Ada Clifford. - -Dick went back to Oxford that year with another feeling creeping into -his heart side by side with the great love for his father which had -hitherto possessed it. He was not over head and ears in love with -Ada Clifford, nor, since it must be confessed, she with him; but his -father and himself rode over often that vacation, and Dick found the -family one of the most agreeable in every way that he had ever met, -while Ralph atoned for his former rudeness in a thousand ways that come -with such an indescribable charm from a strong nature. Dick took back -this memory with him to the university, and perhaps it saved him from -getting among the “fast men”—a society only too fascinating for young -fellows blessed with health, strength, good nature, good looks, and -money. - -Without actually giving up his practices of muscular Christianity, -association with more intellectual minds brought him soon to perceive -that there was a higher ambition in this life for a young man than -being the captain of a cricket eleven, the “stroke” of a university -eight, the best pigeon shot, or the proprietor of the most startling -“turn-out” on the road. Association with intellectual men brought with -it intellectual thoughts, inquiries, pursuits; while under all happily -ran the boy’s innate love of honor, of what was fair and truthful, -supporting him somewhat, and keeping him, on the whole, straight in the -midst of the dangerous speculations and vexed problems which were being -agitated around him, and discussed with all the boldness natural to -undisciplined minds. - -His Oxford course was drawing to a close, and he began to think of -adopting some career, though the wealth and property to which he was -heir necessitated no pursuit at all other than that of a quiet country -gentleman living on his estates. During his last year particularly he -had read and studied much, and the result of his studies and inquiries -always came home to him in the form of the old question of Pilate, What -is truth? He was, like his father, a loyal Englishman, a supporter of -the state, rather because he found it there established, and could see -no better, than for any divine right which, in his father’s mind, and -in the minds of so many Englishmen, the glorious British Constitution -possesses. But the church was another affair. That question puzzled -him sorely. That it might be a very fine institution, that it had -given birth to many splendid minds, that it still possessed many very -amiable and worthy followers, he did not deny; but that an institution -which was at best a very mixed affair, which was not believed in by -the majority of his countrymen, which had been patched, and stretched, -and mended, and cobbled to meet the exigencies of every changing hour, -which was not believed in even by so many of its professed members and -teachers, was in any sense a divine institution, he could not concede. -To his truthful mind, it dated from Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, not from -Jesus Christ; it was simply in its present form an amiable machine of -state, not a divine organization which should command the approving -consent of all were it what men who believed in salvation ought to -follow. As for the rest of the wrangling sects, he looked upon them as -so many ecclesiastical tinkerings, better calculated to bore holes in -the edifice of faith than to build up a system strong, enduring, and -right. - -Filled with thoughts of this description, he came home restless, -dissatisfied, questioning; too true and too earnest to throw quite -overboard all belief as a sham, and take the world as he found it—a -mixture of good and bad, inexplicable save as a result of chance and -conventionality. He visited the Cliffords, and they found laughing Dick -Cranstone an altered man, somewhat graver, and evidently unsettled. -One day, when his father was not present, he unbosomed himself to Mr. -Clifford, who was a very intellectual man. The latter listened kindly -to the boy, though he knew the story well; he had gone through it all -himself. He did not try to explain matters there and then; he merely -told him that what he was then experiencing was the exact counterpart -of what he himself had experienced. “If you like to come over in a few -days, I expect to have F. Leslie here, a Jesuit, and a convert like -myself. He will explain matters to you much better than I can, if you -are not afraid of meeting a Jesuit, Richard.” - -Dick winced a little at this proposal; he had never in his life met -with a Jesuit, and his opinion of the society was formed on what he had -read of them as the most deceitful, crafty, and cunning set of men -ever organized to blind men’s eyes and lead them astray from freedom -and light; though, when he came to think the matter over, he could not -bring to mind a single case of any of his friends who had come across -them and been converted to Catholicity, as some of them had, turning -out fiends or blind enthusiasts. So he resolved to meet F. Leslie. - -It was the old story. After due inquiry and preparation, he was -converted, and immediately after went straight to his father, and told -him all. - -To describe Ralph Cranstone’s wrath at the news would be impossible. He -only saw one terrible fact—his family disgraced for ever in the person -of their last descendant his son, from whom he had hoped so much. The -line of the Cranstones was poisoned, defiled in the person of one who -could thus turn traitor to his queen and country. A Cranstone a Papist! -And that Cranstone his son Dick! He did not ask him to retract—he rose -up and cursed the boy, and turned him out of the house. - -Protestant friends, this part of the story, though inwoven with -fiction, is a very hard fact. It is not of unfrequent occurrence; the -writer to-day has friends who in their own persons can corroborate it. - -Ralph Cranstone could have borne anything rather than this—that his -son should turn Papist. He might become an infidel, and believe in no -God at all; he might join any one he chose of the sects, however low; -he might even turn Mussulman or Jew—but a Cranstone a Papist! Good -God! it were better that he had never been born. - -And so Ralph sat there looking out into the storm, where the form of -his brave, handsome boy had vanished. He was conscious only of the -storm raging in his own breast, of the terrible curse he had uttered -out of his heart on the head of the one he had loved more, infinitely -more, than himself. That curse was ringing around the room still, -and seemed to mock him like a fiend. He rose at last, and staggered -to his room, not noticing the tearful old housekeeper, who knew that -something dreadful had happened, and who came timidly asking him to -take something to eat, for the day had gone. His day had gone out with -his boy, and the light of his life went out with Dick into the winter -storm, to be swallowed up and buried away in it for ever. - - * * * * * - -Dick had a hard time of it. He refused all offers of assistance -tendered him by Mr. Clifford. He would not even go down to visit them; -he would not appear in the neighborhood; for he could not meet his -father again. He wrote to him many times, but his letters were always -returned unopened. He soon received news from Mr. Clifford that his -father had broken up his home, left the neighborhood, and gone no one -knew whither. He could only pray for him to the God to whom, for the -first time in his life, he found he could pray with a strong faith and -earnest belief. He still would not go to the Cliffords’, though he -corresponded with them from London, and saw them now and then when they -came up. He had friends on the press, and with their assistance managed -to eke out enough to live upon by means of his pen. He worked away, -sustained, in his loss of father, fortune, and place, by the religion -of Jesus Christ, discovering each day new wonders in an exhaustless -region. His father he never heard from, nor gained any intelligence of -his whereabouts, nor whether he was living or dead. The trial was a -sore one, but he felt that perhaps he was in some small degree atoning -for all the evils which had followed that first defection of his family -from the religion to which they belonged. And so he worked away, and -rose; for he had talent, and soon attained a position which relieved -him from all fears of absolute want, though still poor enough. - -The Cliffords were a great comfort to him, and the thought of Ada often -inspired the weary pen to fresh exertion when it flagged from sheer -fatigue. The more he found the love of her growing upon him, the more -he avoided the presence of the family; for his poverty set a boundless -sea, in his imagination, between himself and her. He excused himself -for not calling on them by a thousand reasons—press of business, and -the usual excuses; till at last their intercourse almost ceased, and -poor Dick, laughing Dick, became wretchedly miserable, and began to -look upon the world as a poor sort of place after all, while Cranstone -Hall would force itself upon his mind, dreary and deserted, the garden -weedy, and the oaks lonely, with that terrible, heartless curse hanging -over all. - -One night, while seated in his room thinking such thoughts as these, a -hasty knock came to the door, and, opening it, the old housekeeper fell -forward almost fainting in his arms, with the exclamation: - -“O Master Richard! Master Richard, dear! he’s come back at last.” - -Dick staggered as though the old woman’s trembling voice had been a -giant’s arm which smote him. - -“Yes, yes,” he murmured. - -“For God’s sake and your dear mother’s, Master Richard, fly! He’s -ill—he’s dying—he’s raving of you!... At the Hall.... Yes. Go, go, or -you’ll be too late.” - -He rushed into the street, she following him. The snow was falling -again as bitterly as on the day when he last saw his father. The train, -though it flew along, seemed to him to travel at a snail’s pace. The -snow blocked the roads leading to the Hall: the chaise could not -advance. He leaped out, unyoked one of the horses, bade the driver -follow as best he could with the housekeeper, mounted the animal, and, -by what means he never knew, found himself at the Hall. He was about -to dash up to his father’s rooms, when a light in the library window -attracted his attention. Mother of God! can that be his father? - -The brown curls bleached to snow, the face white, and thin, and -bloodless, the eyes staring wildly straight out of the window, the form -shrunk, the mouth mumbling some incoherent words. The light of a candle -shone full on his father’s face, altered to that of a ghost. - -Dick entered trembling, uncertain whether it was a spirit or his father -himself whom he saw before him. - -“I want my boy, my Dick, my brave, handsome son. Bring him back to me. -You stole him away. Where is he?” - -“Father, he is here. Look at me, father. Here I am, Dick—your own son -Dick, come back to you. Do you not know me?” - -“You? You’re not my son. I’ve got no son. He went away from me. He -hates his father—his poor father. I—I—cursed him, when I could have -blessed him, and he believed me; and Dick’s gone—gone—gone.” And the -poor creature moaned, and covered his crazed head with his hands, while -the sharpest pang that ever rent his boy’s heart rent it at that moment -with the thought that, perhaps, it was all his fault, and that, had he -only forced himself upon him, his father might have forgiven him, all -might have gone well, and he would not now have been summoned to the -side of the lost wreck before him. - -They bore him back to the bed whence he had stolen while those who -should have watched him had dozed a little. The next day the Cliffords -came over, and took up their abode in the old Hall, where Ada and her -mother watched and tended the sufferer as only women can do. Dick was -around them and about them, and in and out, and happy and miserable, -and all contraries in a breath. Ada alone could set him right, and -prevent him from going as mad as his father. - -Ralph lay long between the two worlds. His strong reason; once forced -out, seemed sullen to return. But it did come at last, and his weak -eyes opened on his son, while the heart of the father, with all the -pent-up feelings of these years, gushed out over his boy. He had gone -away and wandered everywhere. He drank till his brain gave way, and -only enough reason was left to lead him home to die. - -But death seems a long way off from Ralph Cranstone yet. The saying is -oftener than ever on people’s lips, “They’re as fond of each other as -the two Cranstones.” Old Cranstone’s face—the Elizabethan—has taken a -new scowl, for underneath his picture rises up an ivory crucifix which -Ralph himself set there. The snow falls merrily and cheerily; the old -oaks smile in their winter garb; no mist rises up from where the river -runs. Yes; that’s young Ralph there dashing out of the hall door to -meet his uncle and papa; there he goes climbing up uncle’s legs, and -shaking him as though he were a telegraph post set up there for him to -shake; and, if ever there was a happy couple, that couple is Ada and -laughing Dick; and the old Cranstone frowns down on it all out of his -dim canvas, for the Cranstone line has gone back to its old faith. - - -SONNET - -TO A BOOK OF IMAGINATION; OR, THE LITERATURE OF THE FUTURE. - - Go forth, fair book! Go, countenanced like that man - Upon whose brow all Eden’s light was stayed; - Beauteous as truth, go forth to cheer and aid, - Breathing of greatness ours ere sin began; - With angel-wing from eyes earth-wearied fan - Convention’s mist; revive great hopes that fade; - Bid nature rule where reigned but masquerade; - Bear witness to the joy divine that ran - Down to Creation’s heart, while, bending o’er it, - The great Creator saw that all was good— - The mightier joy, when, dying to restore it, - He rose who washed it in his conquering blood. - Go forth, a seer in minstrel raiment clad; - Say to the meek, “Be strong”; the poor, “Be glad!” - - —_Aubrey de Vere._ - - - - -THE PRESENT GREATNESS OF THE PAPACY. - -FROM THE CIVILTA CATTOLICA. - - -I. - -WE do not know that history, ancient or modern, offers a spectacle -similar to the one presented to the world by the Vatican to-day. Upon -the brow of that hill sits an august Pontiff and king, an octogenarian, -unarmed, dethroned, a prisoner. He is strong only in the power infused -into him from God; rich only in heavenly wisdom and the love of -nations; great in his merits towards Christendom; great, above all, in -the treasure of rights divine and human which he represents. The powers -of earth have attacked or forsaken him; the base world concentrates -against him all its rancor for the extermination of everything that -Christian civilization holds sacred. Standing alone, with serene -brow and heart unshaken, he lifts his head before this concourse. He -humbles, confounds, sears them; the more furious the attack, the more -does he show himself invincible to assault and terrible to assailants. - -The enemy has hitherto triumphed over all and conquered all; subduing -empires, destroying kingdoms, subjugating nations. He holds in his -hand all the instruments of brutal force, and in his service all the -passions of brute nature. He is to-day almost master of the civilized -globe; yet he cannot rule that venerable man of eighty years, who -stands as high in glory and authority as the opponent lies low in vile -infamy. - -Such is the spectacle, historically unique in all its accessories, -which we have witnessed for several years, and have never seen so grand -and august in aspect as to-day—the contrast between Pope Pius IX. and -the Revolution. Unique, we say, for in no age of Christianity do we -find its equal for the universality of war, and arms, and desolation, -or for the duration and variety of outrages. Therefore, the contrasts -between Gregory VII., Innocent III., Boniface VIII., and Pius VII., -with the impious sovereigns who dared to oppress them, do not in -several points present a parallel. - -There are feeble spirits, unmindful of the past, and weak of faith -in the unfailing promises of Christ, who cannot read the lucid words -graven by his finger on the tiara of Pius IX.: I am the strength of -God; let no man touch me! - -Through the shower of hostile darts raining around the Vatican they do -not discern the glory of moral grandeur radiating from it. Therefore -they are discouraged and scandalized. For the comfort of such as these, -it seems well to speak of this grandeur, which, in our opinion, is -clearly shown in the glorious cause defended by the Pontiff, in the -mode and circumstances of his defence, in the quality of the enemies -who attack him, as well as of the friends who support him. - - -II. - -The cause for which Pius IX. wages so stern a war is the cause of God -and man; the cause of liberty, individual, domestic, and social; in -short, a cause embracing all those ordinances without which no public -or private right, no property, or virtue, or justice, or peace, could -be maintained. In the Sovereign Pontiff temporarily imprisoned in the -Vatican, the Revolution attacks not only the liberty of the supreme -Catholic apostolate and the legitimacy of the most inviolable of -thrones, but also all rational liberty of conscience, and the source of -all social authority. In the Sovereign Pontiff, it attacks God, whose -vicegerent on earth he is, and with God all rights and duties of nature -and of grace, which proceed originally from him. - -The Revolution, essentially satanic, full of hate towards God and man, -_extollitur supra omne quod dicitur Deus_.[131] It tries to supplant -God, whose every image in creation it would gladly see cancelled. From -the beginning, it has always attacked the Papacy as the most vivid and -universal representation of God among men; of God under the double -aspect of Creator and Saviour, author of reason and faith, eternal -founder of natural society and of the church; in one word, of Christ -the God-man. As it cannot dethrone Christ in heaven, it would dethrone -him on earth: and, to accomplish this hellish work of madness under -the guidance of Satan, it directs all its efforts against the Roman -Pontificate, truly the true vicariate of Christ, the king of the world. - -All moral grandeur, human and divine, is therefore included in the -cause defended by Pius IX. against the ministers and satellites of the -enemy of human nature and of God’s Word. The accursed phalanx make use -of innumerable frivolous and false pretexts to reach their aim; but in -truth they thirst to destroy the Papacy because the Papacy embraces all -morality of reason and faith emanating from the Word, the unchangeable -and eternal wisdom. In vain the Revolution masks its batteries behind -the dazzling names of liberty, civilization, and progress, pretending -to seek the destruction of the Papacy as their implacable adversary. -Indeed, after eighty years of experience, it is evident, palpably -certain, that under its false liberty lies hidden the most ruinous -tyranny that ever oppressed the world. It usurps the dominion of -conscience and of family life, and confiscates at its wanton and fickle -will the blood and gold of nations which it has trampled underfoot, -giving them in return only the liberty of corruption and blasphemy. -Its treacherous civilization covers a refined barbarism fully shown by -the carnage and ruin of France in 1793, and of Spain in 1834, and by -the massacres and conflagrations of the Commune in 1871. Its baleful -progress tends to change the partnership of Christian nations into a -horrible hell of disorder, where, as in the kingdom of Satan, _nullus -ordo sed sempiternus horror inhabitat_.[132] - -Therefore, strictly speaking, Pope Pius IX., with his indomitable -resistance, defends all the wealth of humanity against the monster -that would destroy it as the communists destroyed it before our eyes -in Paris lately. The religious, civil, and material ruin of the human -race is the final end for which, directly or indirectly, with or -without deliberate purpose, all the partisans of the Revolution exert -themselves, from the most hypocritical or dull of moderates to the -grossest socialist. - -The immeasurable grandeur of this cause defended by the Roman Pontiff -is generally seen and felt by all, even more by the enemies than by the -friends of the Papacy. Upon their war against the Vatican they have -concentrated their best strength, sagacity, and industry. They care for -nothing so much as for the least trifle connected with the Pope; they -talk, and write, and vociferate of nothing so much as of the Pope’s -sayings and doings; of the hopes and fears which agitate them in this -war. Hence the first position in the political world and in what we -call public opinion is held by the Pontiff. It is preserved to him and -nourished by that very Revolution which would gladly annihilate for -ever his name and memory. It cries a thousand times a day that he is -dead and buried, and a thousand times a day it is forced to bewail his -vitality and energy; neither more nor less than do the demons and the -damned in the abyss, forced to glorify God for ever, in that they will -eternally blaspheme him. - -This is one of the marvellous sports of Providence in our day: to make -use of the wild beasts of the Revolution to strengthen the Papacy. When -they think to devour it, they find themselves drawing its triumphal -car. So it was with Nero and Domitian in their persecutions against -Christianity; so with Henry IV. and Barbarossa in the middle ages; so -with the Directory and Bonaparte in modern times. What doubt can there -be that the same will come to pass with the Lanzas, the Bismarcks, and -their compeers in our own day? - - -III. - -But the glories of the cause for which Pius IX. is fighting receive -also wonderful lustre from the strange modes and conditions of his -warfare. He has neither arms nor soldiers; he is poor in gold; neither -diplomacy, nor journalism, nor the telegraph is subject to his orders; -he is morally deprived of the liberty of leaving the precincts of -the Vatican, whose outer gates are guarded by the cut-throats of the -Revolution. Arms, money, diplomacy, newspapers, and the telegraphic -wires are in the hands of the enemy who besieges him before the tomb -of S. Peter, and who uses them as far as possible to his injury. The -artifices, conspiracies, calumnies, outrages, and insults of the -Revolution succeed each other like waves on a tempestuous sea. And to -make them more exquisitely atrocious, the greater number are hurled at -him with the absurd protest that his inviolability is guaranteed by the -majesty of the laws.[133] - -Literally speaking, no other arms are left to the Holy Father than -his constancy and his word; but it is a constancy that makes the -enemy despair, and a word that confounds him. That apostolic breast -is inaccessible to seduction, those august lips are inexhaustible of -truth. He boldly defines theft to be theft, injustice to be injustice, -tyranny to be tyranny; his language does not change with the times, nor -to suit any one whomsoever. In condemning crimes and reproving villany, -he has no respect for persons. He fears the powerful no more than the -faint-hearted. He does not suffer himself to be deluded by the promises -or dismayed by the threats of those who boast innumerable armies and -glory in formidable artillery. The heart of Pius IX. is undaunted by -the flash of swords and the thunder of cannon. The Revolution, unable -to shake the firmness or chain the tongue of Piux IX., regards him with -a shuddering admiration, and exalts with demoniac yells his superhuman -power. - -In very truth, a strange case! We see a victim and an assassin. The -victim has only the moral strength of dignity and right: the assassin -is opulent in brute force; yet the victim does not tremble before the -assassin, but the assassin before the victim. The Revolution does not -make Pius IX. turn pale: Pius IX. intimidates the Revolution. A rebuke -from the victim strikes sharper terror into the assassin than the whole -arsenal of the assassin can infuse into the victim. - -This fact alone, in our opinion, is a striking proof that the Papacy -is divine in origin, in its prerogatives, its life, its activity, its -manifestation. The mysterious power which, with the simple virtue of a -_non possumus_ and a _non licet_, it exercises on earth, proves that -God speaks in it, and its word proceeds from the Word of truth. What -other mere mortal could by his own power produce effects so great with -arguments so slight? A motto of Napoleon I. intimidated whole nations, -because at his beck armed men stood forth and always victorious: his -power was founded on iron and in blood. But on what soldiery rests the -word of the Vicar of Christ, imprisoned in the Vatican? What invasion, -what battle, can be dreaded as the result of a _non possumus_ and a -_non licet_ of Pius IX.? Yet these words, uttered by his lips, strike -perplexity into the leaders of all Revolutionary armies. How explain -this wonder without admitting that the strength of Pius IX. is God’s -strength? And after that, how deny that the stupendous greatness of -the Roman Pontificate never shone more gloriously than now, whilst -Pope Pius, in the name of the King of kings, and of the Lord of lords, -_pugnat gladio oris sui_,[134] strikes with the sword of the Word, and -conquers the satanic hydra of the insolent Revolution? - - -IV - -The assailants of the Papacy are wont to say, in their own praise, -that the Vatican has for its adversaries the most enlightened, -cultivated, and virtuous men of our time. We, on the contrary, see -the very opposite. With certain exceptions, including the blind, -the dull, and the deluded, in the throng of declared enemies of the -Roman Pontificate, we find only the moral dregs of society. There -are great and small, of course, but, when put to a moral test, they -are all equal, one as good as another, unless, indeed, the great are -worth less than the small. In the throng, there are heretics without -a creed, Jews without a Testament, atheists without a God, and -Catholics without laws. We find deserters from every flag—those who -betray their masters, and bite the hands of benefactors; doubled-faced -deceivers—men who have instigated horrible massacres, and flattered -every social crime; men guilty of infamous sacrilege, awful rapine, -nefarious murders. We see corruptors of the people—burglars, brawlers, -bombarders of harmless cities, mercenary writers, vendors of honor, -protectors of evil haunts, worshippers of luxury. We notice all the -apostates from the church and the priesthood: renegade Christians, -silenced priests, unfrocked friars. We see men who insult God, disturb -civil order, tear down thrones, cheat and defraud their neighbor—in -short, men who blaspheme against the faith, and trample on the Ten -Commandments. There is no kind of sectarian, from the most stupid of -Freemasons to the most brutal of communists, that does not make part of -this crowd of enlightened, cultivated, virtuous men of the present age. - -The Prophet Daniel contemplated, in four shadowy, mysterious creatures, -not only the four great monarchies of the earth, but the four great -persecutions to which Christ’s church would be subjected in the course -of ages. The interpreters of this acceptation of the vision agree in -saying that the first, symbolized by the lioness, meant the persecution -of Gentiles so cruelly prosecuted by the Roman Cæsars; the second, -denoted by the bear, that of heretics; the third, represented by the -leopard, that of false Christians; and the last, figured by a nameless -creature awfully hideous, that of Antichrist, and so designated -because, _in ea erit omnium perversitatum concursus_, it shall contain -in itself the wickedness of the three preceding ones.[135] - -It is, indeed, difficult to decide whether the terrible and universal -persecution which the Catholic Church is now sustaining, especially in -the person of the Sovereign Pontiff, should be referred to the third as -its completion, or to the fourth as its preparation. When we consider -the quality of the persecutors, they are undoubtedly false Christians, -and worthy to be compared in ferocious malice to the leopard. But when -we see in them the union of all perversity united to slay the church -in its head, we suspect that the present is, indeed, a preparation for -that final persecution which must forerun the consummation of the human -race. - -However that may be, it is beyond controversy that the persecution of -to-day bears all the marks of Antichristianity, and that its promoters, -followers, and accomplices accord with the description given by the -apostle S. Paul to his disciple and Timothy. We give the text, let him -deny it who can: - -“Know also this, that, in the last days, shall come dangerous times. - -“Men shall be lovers of themselves, covetous, haughty, proud, -blasphemers, disobedient to parents, ungrateful, wicked, - -“Without affection, without peace, slanderers, incontinent, unmerciful, -without kindness, - -“Traitors, stubborn, puffed up, and lovers of pleasures more than of -God;” and the following verses.[136] - -Now, if, according to the proverb, the vituperations of the wicked -are praise, is it not glory for the Papacy to see unchained against -it to-day all the malice of the world, and to be lashed by all that -Christendom holds in its bosom most odious, despotic, base, and -abominable? Is not this the highest summit of grandeur? Is it not an -unexampled participation in the glories of Christ? - - -V. - -The more startling the contrast of opposite qualities in those who -love and are faithful to the Papacy, the more must we admire them. -To the moral dregs of society we see opposed the very flower of good -men of every condition and in every country; not only among Catholic -Christians, but among Protestants and schismatics, and even among -Turks, Jews, and the barbarians of Asia. In vain does the Revolution -try to vilify with terms of reproach those who are devoted to the -Pope and to his sacred rights. It cannot prevent them from being what -they are—an honor to the world, and the support of justice. It is -impossible to be sincere, to understand clearly the significance of the -cause defended by the Papacy, and not feel for it love and veneration. -For this end it is not necessary to have supernatural faith, and -to belong to the fold of the church: the light of reason, human -understanding, are sufficient. Reason and sense make it clear to the -least astute minds that the Pontiff is now defending all order, every -right, every social law, against an enemy who hates God in humanity, -and every good of God in the good of mankind. - -The ardor of Catholics all over the world for Pius IX., and the close -union of the whole ecclesiastical hierarchy with his see, constitute a -plain and lasting fact which will surely be the greatest glory of this -age in the annals of Christianity. It is a glory due chiefly to the -Revolution, which has been providentially permitted and ordained by -God, chiefly for the end of better strengthening and confirming unity -in the hierarchy of his church. The result has been an exaltation of -Papal authority among Christian nations so new and striking that it -now forms a large part of the strength with which the Papacy repels -the attacks of the Revolution, and promises to surpass before long -the effective power which it possessed in the middle ages of our era. -The complication of events leads nations to recognize in the Roman -Pontificate the sole anchor of safety left to them in these tempests -raised by the Revolution. We may say that an irresistible power is -little by little bringing them to seek refuge in this asylum. Not only -has the Pontiff’s voice found a wonderful echo in the soul of peoples, -but his sacred person is oppressed, so to speak, with demonstrations of -faith and love more solemnly magnificent than could be imagined. The -voluntary tribute of blood has been and is offered to him by thousands -of valiant men; that of gold is constantly given to him by millions of -the faithful. He is truly the most beloved, praised, and honored among -men. In our time, there is no name of magnate or of king which ranks so -high as the name of Pius IX. - -It is true that governments occupied almost everywhere by the -Revolution strongly oppose, with a thousand corrupting and despotic -artifices, this movement of nations towards the Papacy; but all in -vain. The wind blows from that quarter, and it is a wind that crushes, -sweeps, and grinds to powder all impediments. See how rapidly the deeds -and men of the Revolution succeed each other in the nations oppressed -by it; the instability of its kingdoms, the fragility of its empires, -the fickleness of its victories, the inanity of its statistics, the -weakness of its institutions; all about it is variable, changeable, -inconstant: the buildings of yesterday crumble to-day. - -This is because its satanic power is that of a meteor, not of a star; -it appears, falls to ruin, and disappears. The power of the Papacy, on -the contrary, is a sun which does not pass away, but lives; and the -vivid flashes which it sends through the clouds gathering around the -Revolution already show that the meteor is about to break and melt away. - - -VI. - -Yes, the present greatness of the Roman Pontificate, impersonated in -Pius IX., the visible pole of all social order in this world, the -terror of bad hearts, and joy of upright souls—this glory is only the -first gleam of that which his heroic and lingering passion is preparing -for an approaching future. - -For the comfort, meanwhile, of the weak and timid, we repeat, with -the more sagacious minds of our own day, that the future is for the -Papacy, not for the Revolution; that the Papacy has already conquered -the Revolution. We will conclude by making our own those noble words -upon the immortal youth of the Church, spoken by our Holy Father to the -representatives of the Catholic youth of Italy, on Epiphany of this -year, in the Vatican. We accommodate them with perfect propriety to the -supreme office of the Vicariate of Christ, with which he is divinely -invested, and which he so gloriously sustains in the presence of God, -of angels, of men, and of the infernal Revolution itself: - -“My sons, let us give battle, and fear nothing. Remember that the -enemies of God are vanishing, and the Papacy remains. The Child -Jesus fled into Egypt, but in the night-time he was told to return, -‘for they are dead who sought the life of the child.’ How many -persecutors of the Papacy are dead! After giving vent to their fury, -and decimating the faithful who served God, they are dead: and the -Papacy is left. Yes; _ipsi peribunt_, but thou, beloved Peter, living -in thy successors—thou, constituted by God his vicar on earth—thou -remainest, and thou shalt always remain: _ipsi peribunt, tu autem -permanebis_. Thou shalt remain, young, vigorous, constant, in contrast -to the persecutions which purify the church, whose head thou art, -wash away its every spot, and make it stronger. _Ipsi peribunt, tu -autem permanebis._ Thou art still with us in the teaching of truth and -morals, in many ways, under many appearances. _Ipsi peribunt, sed tu -permanebis._ - -“Let this be our consolation, our comfort, our faith. Let us feel -assured that _ipsi peribunt, Petrus autem permanebit usque in finem -sæculorum_.”[137] - -And you, great Pontiff, in uttering these sublime words, little thought -that, three days later, he would perish suddenly who for many years had -been the treacherous tormentor of the Papacy in your august person. - -Napoleon III. perished uncrowned, humbled, in exile; that Napoleon -who, in the intoxication of his empty triumphs, thought to hold in his -hand, after your death, the victory over the Roman See, _periit_. He -died, let us hope, repentant; and you, Holy Father, survive him to pray -for his peace after death, with the same generous soul that, like your -divine Model on Golgotha, always pardoned him in life. He has vanished -like a shadow, first from the greatest throne in Europe, then from the -sight of men, _periit_; and the Papacy _permanet_ in you more than ever -invincible. You, Pope Pius, for the time a prisoner, continue, from -the Vatican, with Christ and in Christ, to reign beloved, blessed, -applauded, over all who have a believing heart, an upright soul. -Napoleon III. has gone down to that city of the dead which shall form -the pedestal of your greatness in all ages: _scabellum pedum tuorum_; -peopled by beings like Cavour, Palmerston, Mazzini, and by a throng of -many others, who girded their loins for the mad enterprise of crushing -out in his Vicar Christ our God, King of Heaven and Earth. - - - - -A MAY CAROL. - -BY AUBREY DE VERE. - - - Is this, indeed, our ancient earth? - Or have we died in sleep, and risen? - Has earth, like man, her second birth? - Rises the palace from the prison? - - Hills beyond hills ascend the skies; - In winding valleys, heaven-suspended, - Huge forests, rich as sunset’s dyes, - With rainbow-braided clouds are blended. - - From melting snows through coverts dank - White torrents rush to yon blue mere, - Flooding its glazed and grassy bank, - The mirror of the milk-white steer. - - What means it? Glory, sweetness, might? - Not these, but something holier far— - Shadows of him, that Light of Light, - Whose priestly vestment all things are. - - The veil of sense transparent grows: - God’s face shines out, that veil behind, - Like yonder sea-reflected snows— - Here man must worship, or be blind. - - - - -“FOR BETTER—FOR WORSE.” - -CONCLUDED. - - -“PRAY take an easier chair, Mrs. Vanderlyn,” says the invalid; “I thank -you for your sympathy, and trust my cough has not disturbed you.” - -“Oh! not at all,” says Agnes; “it only made me want to come to see you, -and I hope you will not regard it as an intrusion on my part.” - -“By no means. You are very kind. I see it in your eyes. You do not shun -the sick. It is a good heart that leads you to me. I thank you.” - -These words are interrupted by painful coughing, but, after the -paroxysm has passed, she becomes more quiet, and Agnes has a better -opportunity of studying her face while they converse. - -In spite of her wasting disease, it is a beautiful and _saintly_ face -still, and evidently has been much more beautiful in health and youth. -Refinement and purity are stamped on every feature, and in every -gesture and every fold of her raiment. The small, thin hands, folded -over the book in her lap, are those of a delicately bred lady. A heavy -plain gold ring, on the third finger of her left hand, is so loose that -it is guarded by another and smaller one. These are all the ornaments -she wears. A soft, warm wrapper of brown merino, a little white cap of -thin muslin which does not altogether hide her abundant dark hair, are -all of feminine costume to tell of the wearer’s character. - -The room is very neat and comfortable, and shows no sign of poverty. On -the walls are a few wood engravings, mostly of religious subjects, and -a few photograph portraits finished in oils. A crucifix stands on the -mantel, and a smaller one, attached to a rosary of Roman pearls, on the -table by her side, where also is an exquisite Parian statuette of the -Blessed Virgin and Child. Agnes sits on the other side of this table, -and, while she converses with her hostess, her attention is drawn to a -small book lying near her. Apparently only to read the title, she takes -up this book, and opens at the fly-leaf. It is a prayer-book, and, in a -lady’s writing, she reads: - -“Martin Vanderlyn, from his wife.” Although prepared to know the truth, -almost knowing it before she came into the room, Agnes feels her cheeks -and lips grow pale; but she has always great command of herself, and -now has not been taken quite by surprise. - -“My husband is not a Catholic, although that book bears his name,” says -Mrs. Vanderlyn. “Perhaps he is a relative of yours,” she adds, looking -inquiringly at her guest. - -“I never heard my husband speak of any relative of that name,” Agnes -says. “The name is not a very common one, either. It seems strange that -two of us should meet here. Is your husband absent?” She has remarked -that Mrs. Vanderlyn had said, “My husband is not a Catholic,” and the -avoidance of the use of the past tense gives her the chance to put her -question, which she does to cover her own confusion, and mislead the -lady as to herself. An expression of pain passes over Mrs. Vanderlyn’s -face, as she quietly replies: - -“Yes; he is absent, travelling.” It is not the first time that the poor -lady has been obliged to answer a similar question, so she is not much -disturbed; but Agnes feels sorry she has asked it. Mrs. Vanderlyn goes -on speaking of her increased indisposition: “Mr. Vanderlyn does not -know how very rapid has been the progress of the disease. I am much -worse now than when he left home.” - -Agnes cannot find it in her heart to ask how long it is since he left -her. She thinks she knows, and she thinks she understands that Mrs. -Vanderlyn does not wish her to know that she is a divorced woman. -She respects this as a delicacy of feeling which her own position -fully teaches her to appreciate. With her present knowledge of Martin -Vanderlyn as a husband, her sympathies are all with his wife. She -believes now that it was his fault and not hers which made the trouble -between them. Her strong good sense tells her that Mrs. Vanderlyn being -a Catholic was no sufficient reason for his separating from her; and -she cannot believe that this lady has been a disagreeable companion to -live with. - -Overwhelmed with all the thoughts surging in her mind, she soon takes -her leave, all the sooner that she hears her boy calling to her. - -“You have a little son,” Mrs. Vanderlyn remarks. “Will you not bring -him in to see me? I am very fond of children, and the only one I had is -dead; I shall soon meet her, I hope. But to-morrow you will bring your -boy to see me, will you not?” And she holds her hand out to Agnes, and -looks wistfully in her face. Agnes is touched almost to tears as she -promises. - -The next day, with her “curled darling” clinging to her skirts, she -goes to see this _sister_, as she somehow feels Mrs. Vanderlyn to be -to her. Are they not both the deserted wives of the same man? And she -feels that this one is more truly the wife than herself, in spite of -all the law can do for her. And it has not escaped her notice that Mrs. -Vanderlyn spoke of Martin as her husband still. - -As she approaches Mrs. Vanderlyn, little George is hiding his face -in her skirts, only allowing himself to look out, from time to time, -between his fingers, at the lady. No urging from his mother seems -likely to get him out of his intrenchment. - -“Let him alone,” Mrs. Vanderlyn says; “that is the way with many -children. When we stop urging him, he will show himself of his own -accord.” - -And so he does. After the attention of the two is, as he supposes, -removed from himself, the chubby fingers come down, and the bright eyes -gaze steadily at Mrs. Vanderlyn. She, becoming aware of this, turns, -saying, “What is your name, darling?” - -“Martin Van’lyn,” proudly speaks out little George, using the name by -which his father had nearly always called him, and which he now seems -to choose in a spirit of sheer mischief, for Agnes has rarely called -him by that name. She had opposed it because it confused the address -she used for his father. The child speaks out the “Martin” with unusual -distinctness too, although he has oftener called himself “Marty” than -Martin. Agnes has never thought of the boy thus betraying her, and she -has said truly that his name is George. She is confused, and looks -distressed, feeling that Mrs. Vanderlyn will naturally suspect her of -falsifying, if not much more. - -That lady seems equally disturbed, but in a different way from that -which the child’s blunder might be supposed to create. She pauses, -stammers, and, in great agitation, looking at Agnes, exclaims: - -“_Whose_ child is this? I could almost think I had my own again! Holy -Mother, help me!” Then reaching for a little velvet miniature case, she -opens it with trembling fingers, saying, “Look at that!” - -Agnes looks, and sees the face of a child nearly the age of her own, -which is so good a likeness of George that it might be taken for him. -What wonder? It is the picture of his half-sister. These children -of the same father had inherited a resemblance to his family rather -than to himself, and here is little George looking at Mrs. Vanderlyn -with the eyes and smile of her own child. Who has not observed how -wonderfully lineage will proclaim itself in this way? The poor lady is -more overcome by this sight than by any question as to George’s name; -but that has not escaped her notice. She lays her wasted hand on the -arm of Agnes, and says appealingly: - -“Tell me the name of this child’s father! Pardon me! See, I will tell -you first why I ask, that you may know why I take this liberty with -you. I am Martin Vanderlyn’s deserted wife. This is his child’s face, -and that is your child. He says his name is Martin. Pardon me, dear -lady, again, for asking. I do not wish to pain you as I am pained; but -what that man did to one woman he may have done to another—deserted -her. I have heard that he did deceive another, and married her. I -had not believed it, because he came to me for money within the past -year, and spoke of returning to me after he had done travelling. I -could not believe he had pretended to marry another woman; but with -this” (pointing to the picture and to the boy), “you see I cannot help -believing it. Are you that unfortunate woman?” - -She speaks with tender commiseration for Agnes rather than with any -animosity toward her. Agnes has stood during all this time, with her -hands nervously clutching her dress, and vainly trying to be composed. -Of what need, after all, is concealment from this woman, evidently not -long for this life, and so full of pity and forgiveness? So she answers: - -“You have rightly guessed. This is Martin Vanderlyn’s son, and I am -what you truly call that unfortunate woman whom he has deserted. But I -knew you immediately to be his divorced wife.” - -“Divorced! who says so? No; I am not _that_. He would have made me so, -but I am a Catholic, and I would not consent to it. I _could_ not. -He is my husband still, and, while I live, no law can make another -woman his wife. But, oh! this is too cruel to you!” she says, seeing -Agnes droop at once. “Did you really believe, dear, that you had the -law on your side? You thought he was divorced from me. Ah! no; not -even that doubtful right had he to marry you. He has not even the -Protestant permission, for he is not divorced from me. Even if the law -had so parted us, he ought not to have married another, and I, as a -Catholic, _could not_ do so; for you remember our Lord’s words that -“he who shall marry her that is put away, committeth adultery.” I pain -you, madam, very much, I know, but I must not deceive you more than -you have been deceived already. I have not much longer to live, and I -must speak truth. If he ever returns to you, as I once hoped he would -return to me, I may be in my grave then. Beg him, in that case, to -marry you, else you will never be his wife. I say this for your good. -I am sure you cannot think it is in malice. Look at me. I have nearly -done with this life—above all, with Martin Vanderlyn. You have shown -me kindness. I say to you what I do now, that you may see to it that -no more wrong in the sight of Heaven is done. I cannot look into your -face, and think that you will live with him again while I live.” - -“Oh! no, no! God forbid!” cried Agnes. “I am not _that_, I could not -be!” - -“Then see to it when I am dead,” says Mrs. Vanderlyn, and she sinks -back exhausted in her chair. Agnes kneels before her, and does -everything in her power to restore her; but, in the meantime, her own -condition is almost as pitiable. Little George has got hold of Mrs. -Vanderlyn’s rosary, and is quietly playing with it during all this -time. When Mrs. Vanderlyn is more composed, Agnes gives way herself. -Drawing her boy to her heart, she cries: - -“Oh! what am I, and what is he? What is our name, and what can we -call ourselves? Can a few words more or less from judge or jury thus -disgrace us? If I am not his wife, what am I? God knows I insisted on -marriage with him, and entered upon it in good faith.” - -“I do not doubt you,” Mrs. Vanderlyn says gently. “But, my dear, -call yourself by your own name again. Try to put yourself, as far as -possible, back into your old life, until you can get him to make it -right.” - -Alas! she little knows how these words pierce Agnes, and enlighten her -as to the great wrong that has been done. Her own name again? Why, what -is it? Not Thorndyke now. Her old life! She shall - - “Hear the ‘Never, never,’ whispered by the phantom years.” - -Another woman fills her place, closed now for ever to her, even if -she could wish to take it. No honored wife can she be now; only a -dishonored woman, deceived, betrayed, deserted. Her child without -a father’s name to call his own—in the eyes of the law, “nobody’s -child.” Where shall she go? What shall she do? To earn their bread -she expected, but she had not thought to do it in disgrace. The two -women weep together, Mrs. Vanderlyn trying to comfort Agnes, who now -tells all her former history to this new and strange friend. Strange, -indeed, that to Martin Vanderlyn’s true wife this shameful story should -be confessed by his victim; but Agnes feels that she has not a wiser, -kinder friend. - -“Oh! where shall I go? What shall I do!” she sobs, with her head in -Mrs. Vanderlyn’s lap. - -“My dear, if you were a Catholic, I should answer: ‘Go to your -confessor.’ As it is, could you not seek advice of your pastor? What -kind of Protestant are you, dear?” - -“Alas! I have no pastor. I _was_ a Presbyterian. I am nothing now. _He_ -destroyed all my faith.” - -“Yes, yes; I can well believe it; only a faith rooted deep as mine is, -and as invulnerable, could withstand his assaults,” Mrs. Vanderlyn says -sadly. “But, my poor child, you need some counsel wiser than I can give -you, and a strength greater than your own or mine to lean upon in this -sore trial. Are you too prejudiced to let me bespeak for you the aid -of my own pastor, F. Francis? Our fates seem so to meet in this great -trouble of our lives (though I know yours is the greater burthen) that -I feel sure F. Francis will give you the advice and consolation you -need.” - -Agnes is startled at the proposition, but it does not repel her as -it once would have done. This much, at least, unbelief will do for -its victims, if they have been Protestant—it destroys that intense -prejudice against the Catholic clergy which is the very life of -Protestantism. Indeed, it often ploughs up the soil of the mind, and -roots out the weeds of prejudice and bigotry, leaving a fair chance -for the seeds of the true faith to find root. Agnes has been a very -thoughtful woman, and has often suspected that there must be some -divine influence in the Catholic religion to bind its believers to it, -and to sustain them as she has seen no others held and sustained. In -Mrs. Vanderlyn, she has perceived, through all her own perplexity and -grief, a marked example of this divine assistance. Now that the way is -open, she feels a yearning to lay hold of the same support. It is the -desperate groping of a despairing soul for something beyond itself. -Moreover, she has seen the gentle face of F. Francis, and heard the -kind tones of his voice. So she answers humbly: - -“If he will let me, Protestant as I am, trouble him with my affairs, -I would be indeed glad to have his advice. He must be often called to -comfort distressed Catholics, who keep nothing back from their priests.” - -“Indeed he is—none oftener. Then I will tell your part of this sad -story to him first. He, of course, knows mine already. What shall I -call you to him, dear? You will be Mrs. Thorndyke still to him and -to me, but you may not like to hear the name from us, and we must -designate you.” - -“Call me Agnes Rodney—my father’s name may yet be mine. This is the -second time I have taken it back. I gave my boy that name. Poor child! -He has no other now.” - -The boy has been sleeping on the pillows of a sofa for some time, -happily hidden from Mrs. Vanderlyn’s sight by the back of his mother’s -chair. As he turns now in his sleep, Agnes rouses him, and leads him -from the room. - -On the following day, Agnes is asked by a servant to come to Mrs. -Vanderlyn’s room. She suspects that it is to meet F. Francis, and she -is not mistaken. It is not so great a trial to her as she has feared, -for Mrs. Vanderlyn has told the story first to him. - -From this interview she goes with a chastened spirit, and yet with -more of comfort than she has thought it possible for her to feel. He -has not spared her in the matter of how much she has been blamable all -through her trials in not bearing with her husband more patiently and -dutifully, and, above all, in tampering with divorce. He has shown her -how the church regards marriage: not as a civil contract, but as a -sacrament; and that, in his eyes, she is still John Thorndyke’s wife. -So the wish of Mrs. Vanderlyn that Martin might be persuaded to legally -marry Agnes after her own death, could not be granted while Agnes had -yet a husband. True, the _law_ has freed her from that tie, but no -Catholic could bid her take any such advantage. Moreover, it is very -doubtful if she will ever see Vanderlyn again. No thought of pursuit or -of punishment ever enters her mind. To work for herself and her boy is -now all that is left for her, and F. Francis promises to try to find -that work for her to do. In the meantime, it is arranged that she shall -stay for the present with Mrs. Vanderlyn, making no difference in her -name to the landlady, to whom she says that they have discovered that -they are remotely connected. - -“I guessed it would turn out so,” says the landlady, “and I am right -glad the poor soul has found a friend. I think she grows worse very -fast. She won’t last long.” - -The landlady is not wrong in her conclusions. From this time, Agnes -devotes herself to the care of Mrs. Vanderlyn in her fast-failing -strength. Indeed, did Agnes not fill the place of nurse, a hired one -would be necessary, for the invalid has no relatives in the country -upon whom to call. She was an only child, and her father the only one -left of his family. From him she has inherited a small competence -which has placed her above want and above the need of trying to wring -from her husband any support. It was this which tempted him to come so -meanly to her, even while living with Agnes, for pecuniary aid, well -knowing, as he did, her generous nature. - -It is a loving, but short task for Agnes to perform. In little more -than three months, Margaret Vanderlyn is dead. But what a missionary -even on her dying bed she has proved herself! Agnes sees now what it -was that gave the angelic patience, and lent such a glory to the last -days of her friend. Day by day, she has been necessarily thrown within -the influence and teaching of F. Francis. The soil has indeed been -ready, and, after Mrs. Vanderlyn’s burial, she feels, in her desolate -condition, that only in the bosom of kind Mother Church is there -any consolation for her. Perhaps, too, the desire to get as far as -possible from all the infidel tendencies and teachings which Vanderlyn -had brought to bear upon her mind makes her turn to the church as the -surest and safest refuge. So Agnes Rodney becomes a Catholic, and a -sincere one. As she kisses the crucifix, which was Mrs. Vanderlyn’s, -she feels that she is a Magdalen, and longs to pour some precious -ointment over her Saviour’s feet. - -Mrs. Vanderlyn has left nearly all of her property to Agnes, not only -as an acknowledgment of untiring devotion in her last days, but as some -amends for the wrong done to her by Martin Vanderlyn. No finer proof of -Margaret’s noble heart could have been given than in this generosity to -the woman who had supplanted her. - -But Agnes cannot rest content in the ease thus afforded her. She feels -that she does not deserve it. She longs to make some greater expiation -than any she has yet offered for the error of her life. A Magdalen she -seems always to herself. It is this feeling which culminates at last in -a desire to make the devotion of all her energies, and the sacrifice of -all ease the precious ointment to pour at his feet. With this thought, -she goes to F. Francis, and proposes to place her boy in a Catholic -asylum, and that she may become a religious in some severe order. - -“My daughter, it must not be,” replies the good priest sadly. - -“Why not, father? I will strive so hard; I think I can be steadfast, -with God’s help, after all I have endured. It would be such a blessed -refuge, too, from my name and from my sad place in life—perhaps too -great a privilege for me,” she adds, watching the unconsenting look in -F. Francis’ eyes. - -“You have said it, my child,” he replies. “Those who wear that garb -have never been in your doubtful position. Besides, your husband lives.” - -Agnes’ face falls. She never thinks of herself now as a married woman. - -“But if I should become a real widow ever?” she pleads; for the purpose -is dear to her, and she has hoped that her boy can be made a priest. - -“Even then,” says F. Francis, “that which was your relation to Mr. -Vanderlyn would be in the way of your reception into any of these -orders, and your boy’s birth would be an impediment to his entering the -priesthood.” - -Never before has Agnes felt how great has been her degradation as -now, when she finds that the all-pitying, loving, and gentle church -which has washed her sins and granted her comfort and hope has yet its -reservations for such as she and her boy. - -It may be taken as a proof of the thoroughness of her conversion that -she so meekly acquiesces. - -“But, my daughter, I will tell you what you may do, if you feel like -devoting yourself. We will put George in an asylum, and educate him, -and by-and-by we will find his place for him; and you can go into a -hospital as nurse.” - -Her face brightens. - -“You may not be a real sister; but a good hospital nurse, braving all -contagion, and discomfort, and fatigue, is the next thing to one; and -you may fashion your garb plainly, and shun the world’s comforts and -pleasures very effectually in such a calling.” - -“I will, father! Oh, I will!” she says with warmth, for this is her -true vocation. “And then I may not have to part from George entirely, -which, after all, would wound me _here_.” She lays her hand upon her -heart as she speaks. “He is the only tie that is left me now.” - -So Agnes Rodney watches beside the sick and dying in a hospital. -Dressed in a plain brown gown, with her hair drawn under a simple white -cap, she looks almost a real “sister,” and many of her Protestant -patients think her such. She is happier now than ever since her -girlhood. She is doing her Saviour’s work and that which she has -always loved—ministering to the sick. No other nurse throws into her -work such tender, loving care, such sympathy for the homeless and -friendless. The doctors rely upon her skill; the patients love her for -her gentle ministrations. - - “And slow, as in a dream of bliss, - The speechless sufferer turns to kiss - Her shadow, as it falls - Upon the darkening walls.” - -It is some five years from the time when Agnes Rodney commenced this -life, that a young man, indeed scarcely more than a youth, for he -cannot be more than nineteen, is hurt by a fall from a scaffold, and -brought into the hospital. He is a carpenter, and has been at work -on an adjoining building. To care for him, Mrs. Rodney is sent. The -youth is unconscious at first, and under the surgeon’s hands. She does -not learn his name at once, and it seems as if no one knows it. His -fellow-workmen have withdrawn for the time, but will return to-morrow. - -While Mrs. Rodney is disposing of this youth, washing and removing -superfluous clothing, a pocket-book falls from his pockets, opening, -and scattering its contents. She gathers these up, and is returning -them, when her eye falls on a little picture which makes her start and -gaze curiously at the youth on the bed before her. This picture is -of a woman much younger than herself, and fairer, but it is her own -likeness, nevertheless, taken many years ago. The face has a sweet -girlish look, and soft, dark ringlets hang about the white throat. Her -own hair is now more gray than dark, and stern lines are traced about -the eyes and mouth; yet something of the same expression characterizes -the face of the picture and the face of the hospital nurse. How many -changes have come in her life since the sun portrayed that girlish -face! How well she remembers sitting for it years ago! She gazes at it -now, and criticises it, as if it were that of another person—never of -herself. So completely changed does she seem to herself that no feeling -has she now in common with the girl in the picture. And yet she knows -it so well. Who is this youth who carries it about him? Is it for a -chance admiration of it? She knows this may be, for it is the picture -of a very pretty girl of about his own age. She almost fears to allow -herself to believe who he may be as she scans his face closely. He -moans and opens his eyes, turning to her, saying: - -“Please give me some water.” - -She gives it, and asks, with a quiet voice, but with eyes and ears -expectant of the answer: - -“What is your name?” - -“George Thorndyke, ma’am.” And Agnes knows that her own son lies before -her. How anxiously, for many days and nights after this, does she -devote herself to this patient! No wonder the boy grows to be very fond -of her? To him she is only Mrs. Rodney, and he has connected no idea of -his mother with that name, although it has been his middle name also. -His father struck it out, and he does not even know his mother’s maiden -name. During his illness, she, by little and little, gleans this from -him—that his father is dead; that he has three sisters (she sighs to -herself as she remembers the other two); that he is working with a -carpenter, of whom he is learning his trade; that his “_stepmother_” -has been always good to him, but that she is gone, since his father’s -death, to live far away. This explains one thing which has puzzled -her—that only his employer and fellow-workmen have come to see him in -the hospital. She has feared every day that some of his family might -come. One thing yet she yearns to know—does he know any thing of -herself, or does he think her dead? She longs and yet dreads to know -this. At last, when it is evident that he will soon be well enough to -leave the hospital, she asks him if he remembers his own mother, or if -he was too young when he “_lost her_.” - -“Yes, ma’am; I remember her a very little; but I have got her picture -in my pocket-book.” And he shows it to her. - -“This was taken when she was very young, I should think,” says the -nurse. - -“Oh! yes; mother said, the day she found it, that she guessed it was a -keepsake of father’s once, but that she thought I had the best right to -it. She told me never to let him see it, or know I had it, and that’s -the reason I got to carrying it around with me. Why, nurse, I think she -had eyes like yours.” - -The nurse smiles, and busies herself in such a way that her head is -turned away for some moments. - -“Don’t you think she was pretty, nurse? _I_ do?” continued Thorndyke. - -Thus challenged, Agnes looks critically at the little picture. - -“Yes; she _was_ pretty, I think,” she answers slowly; “but, if she had -lived, she might have been no better-looking than I am now.” - -“And that would be nice enough for me; but, nurse, stoop down. I want -to tell you something. She isn’t dead, or wasn’t when my father married -my stepmother. They think that I think so, but a boy told me that she -went away, and was divorced. I didn’t believe it at first, but I found -out that it was true, and I would so much like to find her.” - -“Why?” - -“Because I believe it was father’s own fault that she went away. It -may be wrong in me to say it, but I know he could be hateful sometimes, -and I think he never liked me so well as he liked my sisters; and I -always thought my stepmother was kinder to me than he was.” - -“God bless her for that!” - -Thorndyke looks at the nurse, surprised at the earnestness of the words. - -“Why, yes,” he says, encouraged in his confidences by her sympathy. -“She was always good to me, but I guess my own mother was superior to -her, and father knew it; but they got along very well together, and she -was good to him when he was sick at last.” - -“Did he prosper?” - -“Yes, quite well; but what he left wasn’t much, divided among four -of us, and mother’s share out. I’ll have a little to start me with, -though, and I got good schooling.” - -“I am glad of that,” says the nurse. - -“Why, nurse, what an interest you take in me; I think it very good of -you, indeed. Is it so with all the poor fellows who get shut up here?” - -“George Thorndyke, let me tell you something which I _must_ before you -go away and I lose all trace of you. I knew that picture as soon as I -saw it, for I saw it before you were born.” - -“Then you knew my mother! Where is she? Say! Is she living?” - -“She is here. Can you forgive her and love her?” - -They are not alone, so this revelation has to be made with hushed -voices and guarded manner; but George Thorndyke says, grasping her -hands: - -“I would rather you were my mother than any woman I have ever met; and -I will work for you all the days of my life.” - -“No, George; this is my place, and this is my work.” - -“But you must come out of it; you’ll get your death here. Gracious -goodness! I can’t take it all in! Why, what a good thing it was for me -to get that tumble, as it led me to you!” - -And then he questions her very much, and many of his questions are hard -to answer. At last he says suddenly: - -“But you’re a Catholic, are you not?” - -“Yes,” she answers. - -“Did that make the trouble, mother?” And he looks as if he thinks he -has guessed it all. - -“No, my son; if I had been a Catholic then, it would never have -happened, and I should never have been here, and perhaps not you, -either.” - -He refrains from any further questions, but goes on declaring that he -will take her from there, and work for her. It is pleasant to this -lonely woman to feel that here is a manly heart and strength to lean on -which she may honestly claim, but she answers: - -“No, George; I cannot allow it; you must work, and take a wife, -by-and-by, to yourself. I have my place and my work here, and there is -another for whom I work too. But I have some money besides. There is no -need for you to work for me, although I am here. Why, I am almost rich.” - -“Another?” he says curiously, and scarcely noticing her last words. - -“Yes,” she says, and has the pain of blushing before her own son, as -she tells him he has a brother. “There is another George who is as near -to you as those sisters of whom you have told me. I named him George to -fill your place, after the law gave you to your father and not to me. -O my son! I never meant to leave _you_. God knows I did not.” - -“I do believe that,” he said; “but keep quiet, or they’ll notice. Where -is—my—brother?” There is a slight hesitation over the last word—ever -so slight—and he puts it bravely, but she feels it. That nice sense of -motherhood has always been so quick with her. In all her vicissitudes, -it has never been blunted. She tells him where George Rodney is, and -asks if he wishes to see him. - -“Yes; I do, for your sake; and, besides, he is my namesake, and did -almost crowd me out, which I can’t allow, you know. But—is—is—Mr. -Rodney living?” - -Ah! what a keen although unconscious thrust is that! - -“Rodney is my maiden name, George, and I have dropped the other. The -Catholic Church does not recognize me as the wife of any other than -your father.” - -“Ah! I see,” he says, in evident relief. - -She goes bravely on to have it over: - -“But little George’s father is gone from us, I do not know where; I -never expect to see him again. Rodney was in your name too, George.” - -“I never knew that,” he says. - -“Well, let it pass; perhaps your father did well to leave it out, and -your brother keeps it now.” - -They are interrupted here, and the nurse leaves her son, to attend -to other duties. He finds enough to think about, and wants no other -company but his own thoughts. - -It is not many days after this that George Thorndyke leaves the -hospital; but he never lets a day pass without going to see his mother, -and he meets his brother kindly, if not affectionately. But to all his -entreaties, and for a long time, Agnes refuses to leave her hard life. -She means to “die in the harness” which she has voluntarily assumed. -But at last her health begins to fail with the long strain upon her -endurance, and the doctors say she must rest. F. Francis also counsels -it. Now, and not till now, does she allow her son to make a home for -her. It is a very comfortable one, for, with the money left her by Mrs. -Vanderlyn, added to her long-saved pay as a hospital nurse, and George -Thorndyke’s wages in his trade, they live in quiet refinement, if not -luxury. And Agnes Rodney is a happy mother of two good sons. - -A year has passed, and Agnes sits on a ferry-boat, in company with -George Rodney, who is spending a short vacation with her. They sit -near a man who is closely watching them, but whom they do not observe. -This man has a sallow, unhealthy, and dissipated face, but withal a -rather handsome one. The hair is dark, the eyes are gray, but sunken, -and restless in their expression. A very heavy beard covers all the -lower part of his face. A broad-brimmed felt hat shades his forehead -and eyes. He seems very curious about Agnes, and shifts his seat, and -leans nearer to hear her voice every time she answers George’s frequent -questions. As they pass from the boat, he hastens to walk close behind -her. He hears her say to the boy, “Wait, _George_, not so fast,” and -his eye lights up at something in these few words. The mother and son -get into a street-car. The man follows them, but seats himself on the -same side, and at the other end of the seat. He keeps his head turned -the other way whenever Agnes appears likely to look in his direction. -He is at the end of the car where she will not pass him in leaving it. - -When Agnes and George get off, he follows quickly, still without their -noticing him. He sees the house they enter, surveys the neighborhood, -repeats the number to himself, and then walks up the street and around -the block, apparently in deep thought. When he comes around to the -house again, he goes slowly up the steps, and reads “Thorndyke” upon -the door. This seems to puzzle him. He looks around the neighborhood -again. - -“No; I am right,” he says; “that is the church opposite, and this is -the number, but what does _this_ name mean! John Thorndyke is dead, but -she seems to prefer his name! Well, I’ll just see.” And he rings the -bell. - -“Is Mrs. Thorndyke in?” he says to the maid who opens the door. - -“There hain’t no Mrs. Thorndyke,” says the girl, taking it as a -personal grievance that he is not aware of this fact. - -“Oh! well, the lady of the house—Mrs. Vanderlyn,” he says, not -wishing to appear too ignorant before this austere damsel. Now she is -exasperated. - -“There hain’t nobody of _that_ name, neither; but isn’t it Mrs. Rodney -you want?” - -The moment he hears this name, he appears satisfied, and, without -noticing the girl’s rudeness, he says: - -“That is the lady I mean.” - -“Well, she’s in.” And the girl waves her hand to the open parlor door, -as if she disdains further words with him. She suspects he hasn’t known -the name of Rodney at all before she mentioned it. All his offence is -in asking a question which she has been obliged to answer several times -before to pedlars and others of that kind, but she visits upon him the -accumulated vexation caused by his predecessors. - -“_What name_ shall _I_ take to her?” she asks, with an unpleasant -emphasis, as if she doubts whether he knows his own name, or has any. - -“What name? Ah! yes. Say Mr. _Martin_ would like to see her.” - -The girl goes up-stairs, and tells Mrs. Rodney that Mr. _Morton_ is -waiting in the parlor. - -After he is left alone, the man looks about the comfortable -appointments of the room with a quick business eye. He seems satisfied, -but has not much time for scrutiny, as he hears a step coming down the -stairs. He rises, and stands ready to meet Agnes as she enters. When -her eye falls on him, she stops at once, and stands looking steadily -at him without speaking, but growing very pale. He comes toward her, -saying, “Agnes!” and holding out both his hands. She does not take -them, nor offer any welcome, but says, in a cold, quiet voice, “What do -you want of me?” - -“Are you, then, so unforgiving to me, Agnes? After all my long search -for you, is this all the greeting you can give me?” - -“I do not know how long your search may have been, but I am sorry that -you have succeeded in finding me. What is it you want of me?” she says, -in the same cold tone. - -“To live with you, as I would have done all these years if you had not -so unaccountably hidden yourself away.” He says this with an air of -boldness, and of assertion of some right which he supposes she must -recognize. - -She smiles disdainfully. She divines the selfishness of this move, and -she sees that he is ignorant of the extent of her knowledge concerning -him. - -“Where have you been all these years?” he asks, as she continues -silent. - -“I am not bound to account for myself to you,” she replies. - -“Come, now, Agnes, this is foolish. Why not be friendly? It is best for -you to be so. I have seen you with the boy. He is mine, and I can claim -him, you know.” - -“No, sir! you cannot do that.” - -“You think I cannot? Pray, why? You are my wife, and he is my son.” - -“He is your son, but I am not your wife,” she says, in a firm tone. - -“Not my wife! But you were married to me. Oh! shame, Agnes! I did not -expect that _you_, who insisted on the tying of that knot, would be the -one to untie it. In what position does it place you and the boy if you -are not my wife? I suppose you have considered _that_, and you must -have advanced somewhat in your ideas to be so independent now of public -opinion.” - -Her face is very pale, and her lips have been firmly set. There is a -cold, stern light in her eyes as she answers: “I was never your wife. -You were not free to marry me, even if I had been free to marry you. -You were never divorced from your wife, so you can have no claim on me.” - -He looks astonished, and for a moment cringes just a little as she says -this. But he rallies, and says, “That will not matter now, my wife is -dead; do you know that?” - -“Yes.” - -“You do? Why, how do _you_ know so much, when I only know that bare -fact? Pray, can you tell me anything more?” - -His tone is half satirical, half beseeching. He really wishes to -know more than the meagre information which he has gleaned from the -neighbors of the house where Margaret died—that a Mrs. Vanderlyn was -buried from that house. The landlady has gone they know not where. -They remember the funeral, that is all. He is anxious to know what -has become of Margaret’s money. He thinks the priests have it; but -he is not sure of this, however, for one person has told him that a -relative who was nurse for the Catholic lady at the last inherited all -her money. It has puzzled him very much to guess who this person could -have been. He has not succeeded in finding any record of Margaret’s -will. F. Francis and Mrs. Vanderlyn had thought it wiser not to have -it recorded, considering Agnes’ peculiar relation to Vanderlyn, who -might yet return to dispute the possession of the money with her, -or to trouble her. Now that Agnes seems to know something of his -wife, it occurs to him that she may possibly be that _relative_ who -inherited the money. Knowing the disposition of each of these women -as he does—the one for nursing the sick, the other generous and -forgiving—he sees that, if they met at all, this might have been the -consequence. Remarkable quickness of deduction and conclusion he has -always possessed, and it serves him now, and makes him more determined -in his designs upon Agnes; but he is desirous of playing his game -adroitly. She, on her part, wishes to shorten the interview, and be rid -of him. - -“I can tell you,” she says, “that your wife died as she lived, a -saintly woman; that she was the kindest, truest friend to me I ever -had. I knew from her the falsehood you told me when you said you were -divorced from her, and the base deception you practised on me in -pretending to make me your wife.” - -“For love of you, Agnes! There was no other way for me. Let my love be -my excuse.” - -She disdains any notice of this interruption, and continues: - -“It was an infamous falsehood and treachery to me; but let that pass. -I was almost equally to blame, for I had no real right to marry you.” - -“How so? You, at least, were free,” he says. - -“No; my husband lived. I was still John Thorndyke’s wife in the eyes of -the church.” - -“Church!” he repeats scornfully. - -“Martin Vanderlyn, I am a Catholic. It may modify your tone and remarks -to be aware of that. I am proud and thankful to be of Margaret’s faith.” - -He frowns, but thinks quickly that he may turn this to his advantage. - -“Why are you called Rodney, then, and Thorndyke on your door, if you -are Mrs. Thorndyke still?” - -“My son’s name is Rodney. He has no other, and I will bear his. I -decline to account to you for the name on my door.” - -“You are very proud, Agnes, but I think it is best for you to be -friendly with me, considering all things. I certainly am free to marry -you now, and give the boy and you your right name and place. I should -think you were the very woman to wish that. I happen to know of John -Thorndyke’s death, too, so I think you are as free as I am now, even -on your own ground. Agnes, I never meant to leave you so long. I wrote -to you, and got no answer. I have searched for you in every direction, -and only now I find you. Why are you so unwilling to live as my wife -with me, when you see that it would place you and your son in a more -respectable condition?” - -Agnes remembers Margaret’s words: “See to it that he marries you when -I am gone!” Then it had seemed doubtful if he could be persuaded to -do so. And here he is suing for her consent. She remembers his son’s -position, “nobody’s child,” but she remembers also her first-born son. -She remembers the bold, false, bad heart and life of Martin Vanderlyn; -she sees the possible effect of his evil influence on both her sons, -as it formerly blighted her own life, and she shrinks in horror and -disgust at the bare thought of such a stepfather introduced into their -home. She answers his question without hesitation: - -“I do not love you. I cannot respect you. You were false to your wife -and false to me. I have been able to live happily without you all these -years, and I shall live apart from you still.” - -He keeps down his pride, and appears yet to hope to change her -resolution, thinking it may be only the result of a woman’s pique. -Moreover, he feels almost sure now that the comfortable home around -her is purchased with the money left by Margaret. At all events, he -is determined on getting a home if possible at her expense, and he -does not scruple at any misrepresentation regarding his own means of -support. To her last scornful words, he replies, with an air of kind -consideration: - -“But, Agnes, you will not always be able to support yourself as well as -I can support you. I know not how you do it, but I can place you above -the need of any effort on your part. Why can you not be frank with me, -and tell me how you have managed to live? You did not receive all the -money I sent, for some of it came back to me. Tell me, Agnes.” - -“Martin Vanderlyn, I will not accept anything for either of us from -you. We can do without you, and we _will_. My decision is final.” - -“Do you know the harm I can do you?” he says, in an angry voice, and -with flashing eyes. “I can brand you to the world and to the boy. -Would you rather that than have a husband, and a father for your son?” - -She seems to shrivel and whiten at his threat, but she stands firm, and -answers him: - -“You committed bigamy when you married me. What will the law do about -_that_? I can prove it, sir! Now, had you not better leave me?” - -“No! I swear I will not leave you until you promise to marry me!” - -At this moment, a man’s step is heard in the hall. He has entered the -house, quietly opening the door with a key of his own, and, while -taking off his overcoat, has heard the last words of both the speakers. -He steps within the room, and comes to Agnes’ side, passing his arm -around her trembling form. He is a powerful young man, in full and -vigorous health, which contrasts strongly with Vanderlyn’s sallow face -and wasted figure. He looks at Vanderlyn with piercing eyes as he says: - -“What do you mean, sir, by speaking to this lady in this manner? -Mother, has he any right here that you acknowledge?” - -“None, my son; I wish only to be rid of him.” - -“Then, go,” says Thorndyke, “or I will see that you do. And if you -trouble her again, I will see that the law lays its hand on you more -heavily than I will lay mine if you do not leave us at once.” - -Vanderlyn has gazed in great astonishment at this unexpected champion -for Agnes. When he hears him call her “mother,” it flashes upon his -quick perception why “Thorndyke” is on the door. He does not forget -that there was a boy left in Agnes’ old home, whom he once promised to -care for as if he were his own. Not much more has he cared for his own; -but this is an opponent he does not like. This is a different kind of -quarrel from the one he supposed he had with a defenceless woman. His -game is lost; he knows it, but he tries to be very brave in his defeat. -He says scornfully: - -“Mr. Thorndyke, I do not ask _your_ hospitality. I remember the quality -of the article I had from your father some years ago. Yours seems to -be of the same sort. I will not disturb the _honorable_ repose of -your family, or try to become further acquainted with my son, _your -brother_.” - -George raises his clenched hand to fell him to the floor, but Agnes -interposes, and Vanderlyn leaves the house untouched—leaves it, but -reels as he goes down the steps—staggers—falls upon the pavement only -a few paces from the door. A few moments later, George Rodney, coming -in the house, cries: - -“A man has fallen dead in the street, just by the corner! I was coming -around the other side, and I almost met him!” - -George Thorndyke rushes out, and sees the men carrying Martin -Vanderlyn’s senseless body away. - -The next day, Agnes and her sons read in the papers that the man died -of heart disease, which the doctors thought had been aggravated by some -recent excitement. The mother and son are thankful that George’s hand -did not fall upon him; but George Rodney never knows that the man he -“almost met,” and who dropped down before his eyes, was his own father. - - - - -THE INDIANS OF YSLETA. - -THE rich and thriving Pueblo of the Ysléta Indians is situated on the -western bank of the Rio Grande del Norte, about nine miles below the -little town of Albuquerque in New Mexico. - -We strike southward from Albuquerque along the east bank of the -river. Three miles below the town we enter on flat and uninteresting -bottomland. The eye is not relieved by a dwelling, not even by a tree, -for a distance of five miles. We thus come to a rancho, deserted when -we last passed there, but which still gave evidence of former comfort. -The owner had joined the Texan Confederates, and quitted the territory. - -Now we begin to cross the Sand Hills—a not unexciting performance. -The road is a narrow and shifting one, growing daily narrower and of -steeper slope, as the winds blow the sand upon it and fill it up. The -wagon moves along slowly at an angle of 45°. The road winds tortuously -along the face of the Sand Hills for about two miles, sometimes making -short and abrupt turns. It is from two to three hundred feet above the -river which washes the base of the hills. I feel an unpleasant tingling -sensation at my elbows, and a great and almost uncontrollable desire -to walk—“to lighten the load,” of course. Once on the road, there is -no going back, and one is entirely at the mercy of one’s mules. You -must let them go their own way. If they should grow restive or become -frightened, a broken neck, a general and irretrievable “smash up,” an -unpleasant and unrecorded grave in the quicksands of the Rio Grande, -would be the result. A six-mule wagon went off at one of the sharp -turns some years ago. Its fate was discovered by persons who travelled -some hours behind it, and who noticed the tracks. The wagon and team -had been engulfed, and had entirely disappeared before they arrived. - -From the Sand Hills, we have a beautiful view of the Pueblo of Ysléta -on the opposite side of the river. The spectacle of the Indians fording -the river in certain spots, and driving their _burros_ up the steep -sides of the Sand Hill on which their Pueblo is built, enhances the -picturesqueness of the scene. - -We have passed the Sand Hills, and now we cross the river to visit the -Pueblo. We have struck a little above the ford, however; the water is -in the bed of our wagon. We have to stand on the seats in order to keep -dry, and we perceive, not without alarm, that the mules are swimming. -By striking down-stream a little, however, the mules find bottom again, -and pull us out all safe on the western bank. - -A steep and narrow path leads up to the summit of the Sand Hill on -which the Pueblo is perched. The Pueblos always have built and still -build their dwellings on the hill-tops: for defensive reasons in the -olden times, for security against inundations in the present. The -houses are built of the customary adobe. They are washed outside with -a whitish wash which resists the action of the weather; the mode of -its preparation is said to be known only to the Pueblos. I have seen -nothing like it in any of the Mexican towns. The houses are generally -two stories high, the lower story projecting considerably beyond the -upper. The entrance is through the roof, to which you climb by a ladder -placed against the outside. This mode of entrance is also a relic of -defensive precaution in past times of hostilities with other tribes of -Indians and with the Spanish invaders. The internal arrangement of the -houses is the reverse of ours. The kitchen is in the upper story, and -the sitting or sleeping room in the lower. You descend into the latter -from the former by an opening in the floor so small that not even the -lightest weight of the Fat Man’s Club could hope to squeeze through. -The Pueblos have no monstrous developments of adipose tissue; the -opening is large enough for them. The lower room is thoroughly secured -even against ventilation. The only window consists of one piece of -glass, without frame, imbedded in the wall. - -The earthen vessels for family use are manufactured by the Pueblos -themselves, and are ornamented with fantastic designs of most primitive -execution. Chief among these vessels is the _tinaja_, globular in -shape, with an orifice at the top large enough to permit taking out the -liquid contents with a small dipper. The _tinaja_ is porous, to permit -evaporation through its sides. In hot weather, the _tinajas_ are filled -from the river or spring before sunrise, carefully covered, and set in -the shade. With these precautions, they keep the water almost ice-cold. -They are used in all Mexican _ménages_, as well as in the households of -the Pueblos. - -The costume of the Pueblo men is not lacking in picturesqueness, more -particularly when distance lends its proverbial effect. They wear -a short loose sack of white cotton, or manta, ordinarily made of -carefully washed flour-sacks; for your Pueblo Indian is economical, -and, when he has sustained the inward man with the contents of -the flour-sack, he covers the outer man with the sack itself. The -pantaloons are of the same material, loose but short, not usually -reaching below the knee. The enchantment of distance dispelled, -however, traces of the former uses of the material may be discovered -in such inscriptions on the shoulders or the seat as the following: -“Superfine Family,” or “Choice Family Extra.” The Pueblo wears his hair -long, tied behind in a cue, around which is wound a piece of red cloth -or ribbon, according to the financial standing of the wearer, or mayhap -the greatness or solemnity of the occasion. The head gear is generally -a broad-brimmed straw hat. The foot covering is a deer-skin moccasin. - -The costume of the gentler sex is eminently ungraceful. The women -wind long strips of buckskin tightly around the leg, in successive -layers, resulting in an enormous bandage from three to four inches -thick reaching from the ankle to above the knee. The _chaussure_ is a -moccasin. The effect produced by this arrangement is that of a feminine -_torso_ set on two huge bolsters. All symmetry of form or grace of gait -is destroyed. The walk is a sort of shuffle. The upper covering of the -figure is a dark woollen stuff, coarse in texture, and of Pueblo woof. -This reaches to the knee, and is composed of two rectangular pieces -joined at the upper edges, which form the shoulders, and leaving a -space for the passage of the head and neck. The pieces hang down before -and behind, and are held together at the waist by a belt or cincture. -The women cut their hair squarely across the forehead, leaving the -side locks and back hair to hang down loosely. Many of the men, too, -besides wearing a cue, cut the hair straight across the forehead, and -wear the pendent side-locks. The women wear their arms bare, save the -ornamentation of from one to a dozen bracelets of thick wire, which -glitters, but is not gold. They wear necklaces of coral, moss-agates, -or common glass beads, according to the wealth or importance of the -wearer. The men also frequently wear similar necklaces. - -The portion of the feminine toilet which requires most elaboration is -evidently the leg-bandage. It is taken off to cross the ford on foot, -and its removal seems to be as slow a process as unrolling a mummy. The -object of such a covering for the nether limbs I am unable to imagine. - -The Pueblo is a handsome Indian. I have seen very finely cut features -among the men. Many of them have beautifully fresh complexions, on -which a bright apple-rosy tint is gradually shaded into a deep rich -brown. They are generally of medium stature, however. Their feet and -hands are correspondingly small. Their faces have not that animal, -that _wolfish_, expression of the wild Indians of the mountains or the -plains; on the contrary, they beam with good nature, simplicity, and -single-heartedness. They are thrifty and industrious. The men do the -out-door work; the women attend to the household affairs, or, in the -season, peddle the grapes, apricots, peaches, melons, etc., raised in -their Pueblo. Should you meet a Pueblo and his squaw travelling with -the universal _burro_, you will always find the lady mounted on the -animal, while her cavalier, urging on John Burro with his stick, trots -along gaily behind, and smilingly gives you a cheery “_Come te va?_” as -he passes. - -The Pueblos do not intermarry with the Mexicans. The women are chaste -in their lives, and domestic in their habits. Vice is almost unknown -among them. I have lived some years in the vicinity of two or three -Indian Pueblos, and have neither known of nor heard of an abandoned -woman among them. I wish I could say the same of other races in the -territory. In this regard, the Pueblos also differ greatly from the -wild Indians whose lives are continued scenes of bestiality. - -During my residence in their vicinity, the Pueblos had daily access -to my dwelling. They were our fruit and vegetable purveyors. I have -not known an instance of their stealing a pin’s worth, though they -had ample opportunities to pilfer had they been so inclined. In this -regard, their example might be imitated with profit by people with -greater pretensions to civilization, and in this also they differ -widely from the savage Indians who are, to a man, thieves both by -nature and habit. In fine, the Pueblos are among the most moral, -peaceful, simple, and honest citizens of New Mexico. - -The Pueblos are Catholics. Their Catholicity, in its out-door -festivals, has just sufficient tinge of the antique observances of the -Montezumas to throw a romantic glamour around it. They have churches -in all their Pueblos. Some of these—Ysléta among the number—have a -priest regularly stationed in them, and many of the churches are served -by the priests of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction in which they are -situated. The churches are adobe structures, not always cruciform, with -a belfry, and adorned inside with grotesque figures, the product of -their own primitive art. - -The weapon of the Pueblos is still the bow and arrow. A few have -old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifles. The Pueblos do not lack the -combative instinct, and are more than a match for the Apaches and -Navajoes, man to man. They have frequently acted in conjunction with -our troops against these tribes; but their co-operation is often -rendered valueless by their custom, most strictly adhered to, of -returning to their village as soon as they have taken a scalp, for the -purpose of having the customary scalp-dance. I regret to say that they -give no quarter, and spare neither age nor sex, except when it suits -them to make _peóns_, or slaves, of the women and children. They say, -in self-justification, that little Indians soon become big Indians if -allowed to grow. The measure they mete is meted again to them by the -hostile tribes. - -As in courtesy bound, we direct our steps to the dwelling of the -“governor,” who is known as “Don Ambrosio.” His house is of more modern -construction than the customary Pueblo dwelling. We were admitted -through a _corral_ and a door—not in the roof, but in the side of the -house, after the fashion of “the whites.” The room we were received in -was a long apartment _à la Mexicaine_, with benches around the walls. -Some of the finest Navajo blankets I ever saw were displayed upon the -benches. The walls were hung around with French colored lithographs of -a religious character. - -Governor Ambrosio was a dapper little Indian, with long snow-white -hair falling loosely to his shoulders. His complexion was clear -and peach-bloomy. Though full of years and honors, he was full of -life and health. His son, who acted as his lieutenant, was a man -about thirty-odd years, the image of his father, in stature, size, -complexion, and everything except the white hair, the junior’s being -jet-black. The women of the family were pleasingly featured, but their -inartistic dress destroyed the effect of their good looks. - -Ambrosio is said to be quite wealthy, with fifty or sixty thousand -dollars in _oro_ and in _plata_; for your Pueblo does not consider -greenbacks good hoarding. Ambrosio, Jr., showed us the fruithouse, -where the senses of sight and smell were regaled with the pleasant -spectacles and odors of heaps of rich, fragrant quinces and apples, the -latter small but rosy as young Ambrosio’s pleasant face. - -Ambrosio’s style of farming is more in accordance with modern -progressive ideas than that of some of his neighbors. His mules were -fat, round, and sleek, and in the _corral_ lay an American plough of -modern construction. Many among the middle and lower classes in New -Mexico still plough “with a sharp stick.” The irrigating dikes, or -_acequias_, of the Pueblos are well and carefully attended to; they are -not permitted to overflow in the wrong places and at the wrong times—a -neglect which so frequently causes the traveller from the valley of -the Rio Grande to soar from prosaic observation to the sublimity of -anathema. In their fields, I saw men, only, engaged in agricultural -labors. - -S. Augustine is the patron saint of Ysléta. Its great _fiesta_ is -the “San Augustin.” The feast is held about the time when all the -grapes are gathered and some of the new wine already made. It is -essentially a grape and wine feast. But to his other virtues, the -Pueblo adds the great one of temperance. Mass is celebrated in the -morning, and the whole Pueblo is out in its showiest attire. The dance -known as “the Montezuma” is performed by young men selected for the -occasion. Americans and Mexicans are kindly received and hospitably -entreated in the Pueblo on these festival occasions. I have heard of -but one instance in which this kindness and hospitality was abused. -It was by a miserable gambler—a “white man,” and, I regret to say, -an American—who, at the San Augustin of 186-, without the slightest -provocation, shot dead a Pueblo boy. The territory got rid of the -desperado, who had to fly, for his worthless life, from the wrath of -the outraged Indians of Ysléta. - - -TO A CHILD. - - You little madonna, so very demure! - You draw me, yet awe me: - As warning, half scorning, - That kissing a face so religiously pure - Is almost a sacrilege, I may be sure. - - Yet, awed as I am, I but love you the more. - You meet me and greet me - Serenely and queenly; - And image so sweetly the one I adore - When She was a child in the ages of yore. - - Her name it is Mary Regina—your own. - You share it and wear it - As flower its dower - Of fragrance—predestined hereafter, full-blown, - To reign with the lilies that circle Her throne. - - Be fragrant for me, then, O lily! and pray— - Each hour, little flower, - Exhaling availing - Petitions—to Mary the Queen of your May, - To breathe on my Autumn your pureness to-day. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - ELEMENTS OF PHILOSOPHY, COMPRISING LOGIC AND ONTOLOGY, OR GENERAL - METAPHYSICS. By Rev. W. H. Hill, S.J., Professor of Philosophy - in the St. Louis University. Baltimore: J. Murphy & Co. London: R. - Washburne. - -We are glad to see this anxiously expected volume. The author proves -himself quite competent to the most important task he has undertaken, -and writes with the ease and precision of a thorough student and -practised teacher of the highest and most necessary but most neglected -and abused of all the rational sciences, philosophy. In his doctrine, -he follows S. Thomas and Suarez, and is therefore necessarily sound in -his principles and method. The most subtile, abstruse, and controverted -points in respect to which there is the most difference among the -votaries of scholastic philosophy, and those topics also where there -is the best opportunity for the author to display special ability in -his explication of doctrines in which all scholastic philosophers -are substantially agreed, are found in the special metaphysics. The -present volume, proceeding no further than general metaphysics, does -not enable us to judge of the way in which the author will treat these -questions. So far as he goes, we are satisfied with his explication -of the grand fundamental principles and truths of philosophy, and -wait with favorable anticipations his second volume. The style is -admirably precise and clear, and as neat and elegant as our imperfect -language will admit in such a treatise. An able correspondent, whose -letter will appear in our next number, has laid down certain rules in -regard to this point, and made some pertinent observations in which we -concur, and we refer our readers to that forthcoming letter. We think -he will find that F. Hill has generally adopted the style which he -recommends. We find, so far as we have had time to examine, only one -word which appears to us open to criticism, “cognoscive,” used in place -of the term cognoscitive, employed by Cudworth and found in Webster’s -_Dictionary_. The term _Idea_ also seems to us to need a more full and -precise explanation, in connection with the terms _species sensibilis_, -_species intelligibilis_, _species impressa_ and _expressa_, and -_verbum mentis_, as used by S. Thomas, which we presume we may expect -to be given in the treatise on psychology. A teacher who has been -thoroughly taught philosophy will find this treatise, we think, well -suited to the purposes of a text-book. The question, how far teachers -who read only English, and are obliged to learn themselves a sound -system before they can teach it to others, or intelligent pupils in -their own private studies, will find the exposition of philosophy in -this volume intelligible and satisfactory, can better be answered -after a fair trial. The logic has been much shortened and simplified, -yet includes, we think, all that is essential for training the class -of pupils who will use the book in the rules of correct reasoning. If -something more is needed for exercise in syllogisms, any of the books -of logical praxis in common use will answer the purpose. We recommend -the adoption of F. Hill’s philosophy as a text-book to all teachers -in Catholic schools, both male and female, where English text-books -are used. It is the only English text-book fit for use in teaching -philosophy. Our impression is—that it will be found on trial to be an -excellent text-book for the higher classes of pupils, and we thank the -author for the great service he has rendered in preparing it, hoping -that he will not delay to finish his work. - - IERNE OF ARMORICA. By J. C. Bateman. (Fifth volume of F. - Coleridge’s Quarterly Series.) London: Burns, Oates & Co. (New York: - Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -This is an historical novel after the fashion of _Fabiola_ and -_Callista_. The scene is laid in the time of Chlovis, about the period -of his marriage to Chlotildis. The author has brought extensive and -accurate learning into play in this story, which is thus a picture -of the times it describes. It is also a well-written and interesting -romance. We think he has made Chlotildis, who is exquisite as an -ideal character, somewhat too perfect for the strict historical truth. -Although a saint, she had a little of the barbarian left in her, before -she achieved the full measure of the perfection of Christian meekness, -gentleness, and charity. All readers will be pleased with the perusal -of this book. Our young friends in college and convent, who are always -keen for a new book for wet days, of which we have had so many of late, -will be delighted with this one, and, while they are reading it, will -forget the disappointment they are apt to feel when their favorite -prayer, _Donnez nous un beau jour_, is not granted. - - SERMONS FOR ALL SUNDAYS AND FESTIVALS OF THE YEAR. By J. N. - Sweeney, D.D., O.S.B. In two volumes. Vol. I. London: Burns, Oates & - Co. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - - MARY MAGNIFYING GOD—MAY SERMONS. By William Humphrey, of the - Cong. of the Oblates of S. Charles. Same Publishers. - -These two volumes of sermons are excellent in regard to matter and -style. F. Humphrey’s little volume is specially marked by a dogmatic -character. Both will be found serviceable to priests in preparing -sermons, and to the faithful for their private reading. - - SUEMA; or, The Little African Slave who was Buried Alive. By - Mgr. Gaume, Prothonotary Apostolic. Translated, and with a Preface, - by Lady Herbert. London: Burns, Oates & Co. (New York: Sold by The - Catholic Publication Society.) - -The recent mission of Sir Bartle Frere, by the British Government, -to the Sultan of Zanzibar, with a view to the suppression of the -slave-trade in East Africa, has attracted American notice. Now, -although government intervention will be able to put a stop to -the shipping of slaves across the seas, it cannot interfere with -slave-labor in Zanzibar itself and the adjoining towns, or prevent the -atrocities of Portuguese and Arab agents who act as traders on their -own account. Catholic charity, then, has found a way of reaching where -government influence has no bearing. There is a community in Brittany -which devotes itself exclusively to the education of little negresses, -purchased from the slavers in the African marts. And, jointly with this -community, the Fathers of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost and of the -Sacred Heart of Mary, who have founded a mission in Zanzibar, buy up -as many slave children as they can, and educate them in the Catholic -faith. These devoted religious would, of course, be able to do much -more in this way had they the pecuniary means at their command. The -thrilling story of Suema is put forth in order to excite an ardent zeal -in the hearts of Catholic readers for the purchase of slave-children in -East Africa, whereby the curse that has befallen them is turned into a -blessing. The story is perfectly authentic, the substance of it having -been taken down from Suéma’s own lips, translated into French, and sent -home by the superior of the Zanzibar mission. - -We are very sure the narrative itself, as also the admirable preface -and introduction which accompany it, cannot fail to awaken the sympathy -of our Catholic readers. When, then, they learn that the sum of fifty -francs, or about ten dollars in currency, will purchase a boy or -girl of seven or eight in the slave-marts, they will not be slow, we -believe, to contribute towards so glorious a work. And the price of a -single slave-child “will be received with the greatest gratitude by the -R. P. Procurator-General of the Congregation of the Holy Ghost and of -the Sacred Heart of Mary (who have charge of the Zanzibar Mission), 30 -Rue Thomond, Paris, or by Monseigneur Gaume, 16 Rue de Sèvres, Paris.” - - A CATECHISM OF THE HOLY ROSARY. By the Rev. Henry Formby. New - York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - -This is a neat little book in catechism form containing about 60 pages -of the most necessary and useful instruction on the fifteen mysteries -of the Holy Rosary. F. Formby is doing a great work. He is the right -man just at the right time, and seems to anticipate the wants of priest -and people. His other books are admirably well calculated to interest -not only the youth for whom they were especially intended, but also -those of riper years. The little book before us ought to be in the -hands of every Catholic, young and old. It is also well calculated -to instruct those who think that our devotion to the Blessed Virgin -excludes God and the Saviour from our prayers. All we have to say -is let any such person read this catechism, and they will be forced -to admit that the Rosary is nothing more or less than an epitome of -the New Testament history of our Lord, and that he is mentioned on -nearly every one of the pages of this beautiful little book, for the -appearance of which we thank the Rev. author most heartily. - - THE SIGN OF THE CROSS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By Mgr. - Gaume, Prothonotary Apostolic. Translated from the last French edition - by A Daughter of S. Joseph. Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham. 1873. - -This work, which might, to a passing glance, appear fanciful and -unimportant, is truly philosophical and of rare interest. It comes to -us not only with the Imprimatur of the Bishop of Philadelphia, but also -with a Brief of His Holiness Pius IX., granting an indulgence of fifty -days to the sign of the cross, in response to the illustrious author’s -petition. - -The author is able to say, in his preface to the second edition, that -the book has had a wonderful success: “The first French edition was -sold in a few months. Three translations of it have been made into -different European languages—one in Rome, one in Turin, and one in -Germany. Catholic papers have vied with one another in recommending -its perusal, and many letters have been sent to us bearing the -congratulations of the most respectable men of France and of foreign -countries.” He then, after quoting the Neapolitan review, _Scienza e -Fede_, appends a portion of a letter from the Dean of the Catholic -Chair at Rome, and also a circular from the commission charged with the -care of the regionary schools, to the effect that the book should be -read by the pupils, and distributed as a premium. - -The preface to the first edition explains the origin of the -treatise—how a young German of distinction, having come to study -at the College of France, found his companions there laugh at him -for making the sign of the cross before and after meals, and so by -requesting the author’s opinion of the practice, and of the sign in -general, occasioned the twenty letters which form the volume. - -These letters exhaust the subject in a masterly way truly French. -Besides proving over again what has been proved so many times before, -the antiquity of the holy sign among Christians, and how the noblest -intellects of primitive times both taught and practised the use of it, -Mgr. Gaume shows that it was made in some way before Christianity, and -from the beginning of the world. “The sign of the cross is so natural -to man that at no epoch, among no nation, and in no form of worship, -did man ever put himself in communication with God by prayer without -making the sign of the cross.” Then he gives the “seven ways of making -it”: - -“(1) With the arms extended: man then becomes an entire sign of the -cross. (2) With hands clasped, the fingers interlaced: thus forming -five signs of the cross. (3) The hands joined one against the other, -the thumbs placed one over the other: again the sign of the cross. (4) -The hands crossed on the breast: another form of the sign of the cross. -(5) The arms equally crossed on the breast: fifth way of making it. -(6) The thumb of the right hand passing under the index finger, and -resting on the middle one: a sign of the cross much in use, as we shall -see. (7) And, finally, the right hand passing from the forehead to the -breast, and from the breast to the shoulders: a more explicit form, -which you know.” - -“Under one or other of these forms,” he adds, “the sign of the cross -has been practised everywhere and always in solemn circumstances, with -a knowledge more or less clear of its efficacy.” - -Accordingly, he proceeds to show, first, how the Jews made it, -instancing Jacob, Moses, Samson, David, Solomon, and others. And here -he only echoes what the Fathers have observed before him. Next, he -tells us how the pagans made it, attaching to it some mysterious value. -Three of the ways of making it were known to them; and these ways, -being universal, were not arbitrary. - -Some curious facts of undoubted authenticity are related of the power -of the holy sign when made even by strangers to Christianity. And this -sets off its efficacy as it is made in the church. Now, our author -laments, and, we fear, with good reason, that the sign of the cross is -fast becoming obsolete among a large number of Catholics. Those who -make it at all, too often make it very imperfectly and carelessly. -The object, therefore, of the present work is to revive the ancient -practice of making the sign frequently and making it thoroughly. And -it is with the same intention that the Pope has granted fifty days’ -indulgence to it when made reverently and with invocation of the august -Trinity. - - THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC SUNDAY-SCHOOL LIBRARY. 6 vols. - 18mo, in box. Containing: The Apprentice, and Other Sketches. Mary - Benedicta, and Other Stories. Faith and Loyalty, and The Chip - Gatherers. Agnes, and Other Sketches. Lame Millie. The Chapel of the - Angels. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - -Sensible stories with good illustrations are always welcome to -children. This set of books is well calculated to please the eye and -satisfy the tastes of both reader and purchaser. They are excellently -printed, handsomely bound in bright colors, and present a variety -of healthful reading seldom found within the compass of six small -volumes. The cuts, from neat and chaste designs by a skilful artist, -will attract the attention of every child, and lend additional interest -to the tales. In the selection and arrangement of the stories, good -judgment is shown, many of them being now published for the first time. -As premiums, no series of volumes could be more desirable for the -little folk. - - THE KING AND THE CLOISTER; OR, LEGENDS OF THE DISSOLUTION. By - the author of Cloister Legends, etc. London: Stewart. - -These legends are well suited to readers of a romantic turn of mind and -fond of the marvellous and tragical. Being purely Catholic stories, and -perfectly innocent, our young readers will, we hope, have a good time -over them. - - THE BROTHERS OF THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS DURING THE WAR OF - 1870-71. From the French. With thirty-two Illustrations. - Westchester: Printed at the Catholic Protectory. 1873. - -This book exhibits Christianity in action. Plato said, “If virtue -could be seen embodied”—he meant in living form—“all men would love -and adore it.” Plato’s dream was realized when Love became incarnate, -and walked about doing good to the bodies and souls of men; but all -men did not adore it. Virtue, to be adored, must be known. The book -before us makes known the cardinal virtue of Christianity, charity, -by exhibiting her in human form, and telling us, not what she can do -or should do, but what she _did_ do by the hands of the Christian -Brothers during the late memorable war between France and Prussia. Of -the success of this glorious order in doing the work for which it was -started by its venerable founder, it is not our purpose to speak, but -of the book which lies before us, and which tells so graphically the -deeds of charity and heroism of these Brothers during the terrible war -of 1870-71. It is translated from the French of J. D’Arsac. - -The mechanical execution of the volume is creditable to the boys at the -Protectory where it has been brought out. - - HAWTHORNDEAN; or, Philip Burton’s Family. By Mrs. Clara M. - Thompson. Philadelphia: Peter F. Cunningham. 1873. - -This is a book written by a lady, and it bears in every chapter and -page the impress of a delicate, sensitive, and refined mind. It cannot -be called artistic in the truest sense, for the plot is simple, and -the characters are so natural that we feel in reading it that we are -only renewing our acquaintance with old friends. The scene is laid in -this country, and the actors are Americans, some by birth, others by -adoption, and in this respect it has the advantage over most of the -works of fiction which have issued from the press of late, which, while -treating us, or pretending to treat us, to a view of the inside lives -of Europeans, utterly ignore the fact that at our very door there are -abundant materials for a hundred novels and romances, still unused and -neglected. - - ISABELLE DE VERNEUIL; OR, THE CONVENT OF S. MARY’S. By Mrs. - Charles Snell. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. - -This is a story about life in a convent school, written in an -interesting and ladylike style, and with a sufficient number of -exciting incidents to gratify the well-known taste of young ladies of -about the age of Mlle. Isabelle de Verneuil. - - LARS: A PASTORAL OF NORWAY. By Bayard Taylor. Boston: James - R. Osgood & Co. (late Ticknor & Fields). 1873. - -This poem is dedicated to John Greenleaf Whittier. It is fully worthy -his acceptance. Besides a delicious freshness which pervades the -story, like the air of its rural scene—the leading characters are -strikingly delineated. One sees their very faces; while never was -contrast more perfect than between Per and Lars, Brita and Ruth. The -last, the angel of the piece, is a Quakeress, and the tale seems -written in the interests of that persuasion, yet contains nothing -designedly offensive to a Catholic. The verse, smooth and strong, is -very scholarlike, and wisely modelled on Tennyson. - - ESSAYS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. By Cardinal Wiseman. In six - volumes. Volumes I. and II. New York: P. O’Shea. 1873. - -This is, in one respect, the most desirable of Mr. O’Shea’s reprints -of the great Cardinal’s works, inasmuch as it is the only one, of the -_Essays_, that has yet appeared in this country, and the original -edition is out of print. It is needless to say aught in commendation of -these incomparable writings. - - MEMORIALS OF A QUIET LIFE. By A. J. C. Hare, author of _Walks - in Rome_, etc. New York: G. Routledge & Sons. 1873. - -The life which this book relates was sufficiently quiet, so far as its -immediate subject was concerned, to suggest to other than personal -friends the sense of tame and insipid, were it not for its association -with characters more or less historical. And this reminds us of the -difference between Catholic and Protestant biography: whereas the -latter is restricted in its range to one country or language, the -former embraces within the scope of its interest all nations and races. -The record of the obscurest priest, if true to his vocation, may excite -sympathy in those widely separated from him in time and space: for his -spiritual life is quickened by the same blood which courses through -kindred veins in the highest social walks, and among the rudest tribes -of distant islands; the works of mercy and charity in which he is -engaged also occupy the thoughts and energies of his brethren in every -part of the globe; and the same seal which attests his ministry may be -recognized in theirs also. - -The subject of this volume, the widow of Augustus W. Hare, was the -daughter of a clergyman, and in her maiden years was an intimate -friend of Bishop Heber, then rector of Hodnet, England. Her husband, -himself a clergyman, was joint author with his brother Julius W., also -a clergyman, of _Guesses at Truth_. The family trace their descent -from Francis Hare, one of the bishops of George II.’s reign, and boast -of other prelatical and noble connections with the church “as by law -established.” - -It might naturally be inferred, therefore, that the author, a nephew of -the subject, would be thoroughly penetrated with Anglican “principles,” -and find all his ideals in the communion to which we are inclined to -attribute the discovery of the “happy medium” between truth and error. -But, alas for the perversity of human nature! he cannot see the schemes -of Victor Emmanuel through a rose-colored lens. He has the temerity to -express sympathy for the august prisoner of the Vatican; his regret -for the dismemberment and spoliation of convents and monasteries—the -dispersion of their libraries, the interruption of the charitable works -in which they were engaged, and the appropriation by the government of -the dowers which these religious brought with them to their respective -houses; the wiping out of many beautiful religious associations, along -with the destruction of the monuments with which they were connected. -He even has the hardihood to doubt whether there is a moral gain in -the freedom now vouchsafed to the vendors of Protestant Bibles and -the flood of _popular_ literature, which has signalized the advent of -the Sardinian usurper, as we glean from an article by the author in a -recent number of _Good Words_. - - THE POODLE PRINCE. By Edouard Laboulaye, Member of the - Institute. Translated by W. H. Bishop. Milwaukee: Office of the - _Journal of Commerce_. Pamphlet. - -This is a most clever _brochure_, full of wit and humor, which is, -however, only the sparkle of serious thought, for the object of the -author is a serious one. M. Laboulaye is a Protestant and a Liberal, -but he is, we believe, one of the most respectable and moderate writers -of that school, and is certainly one of those who are disposed to be -respectful toward the Catholic Church. Writers of this class, though -they are deficient in respect to their positive political doctrines, -are yet often the most effective and powerful opponents of that -Cæsarism which Catholics have so much reason to detest and oppose. The -present _brochure_, which we regret not to have the pleasure of reading -in its original French, is a satire on Napoleonic Cæsarism, together -with a brilliant fancy sketch of what the author dreams of as a happy -political condition for France. The Poodle Prince is king of the -Fly-catchers, and receives his funny appellation from the circumstance -that his godmother, a fairy, occasionally turns him into a poodle. -She does this whenever he is about to be befooled by his ministers, -or to make a fool of himself. In his character as poodle, he meets -with mishaps and acquires a knowledge of the actual state of things -among his subjects, which are very serviceable to him, and he finishes -by becoming a model of what a wise and patriotic prince ought to be, -and doing what such a prince ought to do, according to the idea of M. -Laboulaye. This idea is simply that the institutions of the Republic -of the United States are those which France ought to copy, with, as -we suppose the author intends, a nominal monarch and a responsible -ministry, in place of an elective chief-magistrate. - -We agree with him in respect to the end which he wishes to attain, -viz., the just liberty and prosperity of the mass of the people, by -means of a government which is properly restrained by laws and other -efficacious checks from tyrannizing over the nation. We do not believe, -however, in transplanting our institutions to French soil. They are -the best and the only ones for ourselves, because they have grown here -naturally. But we are convinced that France can only prosper under -a monarchy, and that a real one in which the king rules as well as -reigns. This does not hinder the formation of a constitution and a -mixed government in which the people have a share as voting citizens, -and by which the monarchical power is limited, though not destroyed. -The Napoleon Dynasty is the creation of the Revolution, and therefore -will not do. The Orléans family has compromised with the Revolution, -and therefore will not do, unless it will renounce the maxims of -1789, and return to its proper place under the headship of the Count -de Chambord. The latter, in his avowed principles, gives the best -guarantee France can have for liberty as well as order. The restoration -of her ancient monarchy, with Henry V. for king, and the _fleur de lis_ -for her symbol, with the church re-instated in her complete rights -and privileges, and with the modifications of political and social -relations suited to the present time, is, in our view, the only way -of realizing that which F. Ramière, in his able paper published in -our present number, points out as the way of salvation for _la belle -France_ “_Le Drapeau blanc c’est un beau drapeau_,” and we hope to see -it supplant the tricolor, and wave in triumph over regenerated France. - -To return to M. Laboulaye. His exquisite satire has been well rendered -into good English by his translator. Whoever reads it, and is able to -appreciate the finest intellectual sword-play, will enjoy a rich and -rare pleasure. Moreover, there is so much truth, and good sense, and -genuine philanthropic sentiment contained under the envelope of fancy -and satire, that we can sincerely and conscientiously commend its -general scope and spirit, and pronounce it a work as well worth reading -for a serious purpose, as it is for amusement. - - CONSTANCE AND MARION: OR, THE COUSINS. By M. A. B. Baltimore: - Kelly & Piet. 1873. - -The scene of this little story is laid in Ireland. It is one of the -best of the many nice books of the kind which have been recently -published, and may be read with pleasure by adults as well as young -people. The writers of these unpretending, modest little books are -doing more good than they can imagine, and we trust they will keep on -writing. - -_The Irish Race in the Past and in the Present._ By the Rev. A. J. -Thebaud, S.J., is announced to be published this month by the Messrs. -Appleton. F. Thebaud’s book has been anxiously expected, as it is -understood to take up a phase of Irish history hitherto neglected—the -_race_ itself rather than the repetition of the sad events which, in -the main, constitute its history, and are only too well known. A book -of this kind is required for Irish history—one that may serve as a -light whereby to see the facts in their true colors, and which must -prove doubly interesting by reason of those facts having been brought -so recently before us. - - - - -THE - -CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XVII., No. 100.—JULY, 1873. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. -I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at -Washington, D. C. - - -JEROME SAVONAROLA. - -PART SECOND. - - “Ye fathers! let your children learn grammar, and keep able men as - teachers who are accomplished, and not players, pay them well, and see - that the schools are no holes and corners. All should practise grammar - in some degree, for it wakens the mind, and helps much. But the poets - should not thereby destroy everything else. There should be a law made - that no bad poet should be read in the schools, such as Ovid, _De Arte - Amandi_, Tibullus and Catullus, of the same sort, Terentius in many - places. Virgil and Cicero I would suffer, Homer in the Greek, and also - some passages from S. Augustine’s work, _De Civitate Dei_, or from - S. Jerome, or something out of the Holy Scriptures. And where your - teachers find in these books Jupiter, Pluto, and the like named, say - then, Children, these are fables, and show them that God alone rules - the world. So would the children be brought up in wisdom and in truth, - and God would be with them.”—_Sermon of Savonarola._ - -IT was but natural that the striking events of the life of Savonarola, -and the tragic scenes of the close of his career, should have absorbed -the attention of his early biographers to the exclusion of the less -attractive and more difficult duty of appreciating and presenting -the moral and intellectual side of his character. He is constantly -described by those friendly to his memory as a grand pulpit orator and -Heaven-inspired reformer; by others, as the sensational preacher and -extravagant innovator; while little or nothing is said by either of his -literary and philosophical acquirements. By turns, and according to -their several views, they exhibit him to us as fanatic and impostor, as -prophet and martyr, while the figure of the scholar, the philosopher, -and the theologian remains invisible. It is, nevertheless, but fair -to say that this arises partially from the fact that a very important -portion of Savonarola’s literary productions was unknown to his -contemporaries and their immediate successors. Modern research has -brought to light a large number of which they never heard. Another -circumstance has contributed to confirm the mistaken impression -concerning him as a man wanting in literary capacity, namely, the -effort to make of him the enemy of literature by classing him among -the opponents of the so-called revival of letters in Europe. - -What is styled the revival of letters in the XVth century really -began in Italy long before, and was prepared, says Hallam, by several -circumstances that lie further back in Italian history. The classic -revelation of the XVth century was indeed a revelation to Germany, -France, and England, but not to Italy. The true restorer of classical -antiquity in Italy, and consequently in Europe, had already appeared -in the XIVth century, and his name was Petrarch (1304-1374). It was -he who first inspired his countrymen with his own admiration of the -classic beauties of Virgil and Cicero. The larger portion of his works -is written in Latin, and he died under the delusion that his _Africa_, -a Latin poem, was his greatest work. A taste for the cultivation of the -Roman classics grew steadily from this period, gaining strength and -ardor every day, until it became the absorbing passion of all ranks -of scholars. Even Poggio Bracciolini, usually assigned exclusively to -the XVth, belongs partially to the XIVth century. So also does Guarino -Guarini, the greatest of the early Hellenists. - - -PAGANISM IN LITERATURE. - -The tide of classical enthusiasm was now swollen by the introduction -of the Greek classics and the emigration to Italy of numerous -distinguished Greek scholars. Historians vie with each other in -describing the enthusiastic ardor of the Italians in the cultivation -of these two great ancient literatures. It amounted to an intoxication -that seized upon young and old, laity and clergy, women as well as men. -The purely literary advantages to be obtained by so general a devotion -to classic lore were of course enormous. But in this world, says a -distinguished English Catholic divine[138] in referring to the period -in question, “evil follows good as its shadow, human nature perverting -and corrupting what is intrinsically innocent or praiseworthy. It was -not Virgil, nor Cicero, nor Tacitus, nor Homer, nor Demosthenes that -was most read and imitated, but Propertius, and Tibullus, and Apuleius. -Pagan ideas colored men’s thoughts; pagan ethics supplanted Christian -morals; pagan theogony was better understood than the Christian -catechism; and their influences spread not only through the schools, -but to the cloister. Men sought in those classics, not poetry, but -pruriency; not finished style, but abandoned vice; not accountability -in a hereafter, but nothingness in the future. The Fathers, many of -whom wrote for the express purpose of denouncing the heathen immorality -of these productions, must not be studied, because, forsooth, of the -uncouthness of their style. Paganism impressed itself on everything, -and men sought to ignore the road to Calvary that they might enter the -flowery path of Olympus.” - -Unfortunately, the period was most propitious for the introduction and -spread of this moral poison. For long years, Italy had been demoralized -by violent factions and bloody wars. Society was disorganized. The -removal of the head of the church to Avignon had been fatal to -ecclesiastical discipline. The effects of this laxity produced that -most frightful of scourges—a corrupt clergy; and although scores of -volumes have been written describing with great minuteness all the -details of the rapid march and wide extent of this fatal influence, it -would be difficult to present in any shorter space at this day any -adequate idea of its depth or intensity. Alone and unaided, Savonarola -dared to attack paganism in literature in its stronghold; for Florence -was at that time the centre of the Hellenic and Roman revival, and -filled with its most passionate devotees. He thus arrayed himself -against Italy and the spirit of the age. He denounced pagan literature, -and scouted as absurd the fanaticism for its study. Not the laity -alone, but the clergy and the hierarchy, came in for a share of his -strictures. “In the houses of the great prelates and great doctors,” -he cries out, “nothing is thought of but poetry and rhetoric. Go and -see for yourselves: you will find them with books of polite literature -in their hands—pernicious writings—with Virgil, Horace, and Cicero, -to prepare themselves for the cure of souls withal. Astrologers have -the governance of the church. There is not a prelate, there is not a -great doctor, but is intimate with some astrologer who predicts for him -the hour and the moment for riding out or for whatever else he does. -Our preachers have already given up Holy Scripture, and are given to -philosophy, which they preach from the pulpit, and make it their queen. -As to Holy Scripture, they treat it as the handmaid, because to preach -philosophy looks learned, whereas it should simply be an aid in the -interpretation of the divine Word.” - -In another sermon, he says: “They tickle the ears with Aristotle, -Plato, Virgil, and Petrarch, and take no concern in the salvation of -souls. Why do they not, instead of books like these, teach that alone -in which are the law and the spirit of life? The Gospel, my Christian -brethren, must be your constant companion. I speak not of the book, but -its spirit. If ye have not the spirit of grace, although you carry the -whole volume about with you, it will be of no avail. And how much more -foolish are those who go about loaded with briefs and tracts, and look -as if they kept a stall at a fair? Charity does not consist of sheets -of paper. The true books of Christ are the apostles and saints: the -true reading of them is to imitate their lives.” - -Because Savonarola thus denounced ancient classic literature, it -must not be supposed that he was either ignorant of it or unable to -recognize what was really valuable in it. On the contrary, he was -as familiar with Greece and Rome as his adversaries, and denounced -only such pagan authors as were dangerous to morality. He might as -consistently have been charged with ignorance of Aristotle, the whole -of whose philosophy and writings he had, as it were, at his fingers’ -ends, because, after denouncing from the pulpit the blindness with -which that philosopher was followed, he would ask: “Has your Aristotle -succeeded in proving the immortality of the soul?” - -Savonarola’s denunciation of the evil effects of pagan literature is -too often represented as sweeping and indiscriminate, while in point -of fact he falls short in both these respects of a writer of the XIXth -century who counts a certain number of respectable adherents. We refer -to the Abbé Gaume, who, in a remarkable work published in France in -18—, _Le Ver Rongeur des Sociétés Modernes_, maintains that very -many of the evils of society that have their origin in the education -of youth may be traced to the pagan ideas imbibed in the early study -of the Greek and Roman classics.[139] Savonarola’s position on this -subject, in fact, appears to have been substantially the same with that -of Tertullian, S. Basil, and S. Jerome. - -Partial justice has been done to Savonarola as a powerful logician -and a learned theologian. His intimate knowledge of the Scriptures -was something exceptional—not a mere rote knowledge, for it is said -he knew them by heart, but a searching and thorough familiarity which -showed a wonderful intellectual and spiritual grasp of their body and -spirit. - - -HIS PHILOSOPHY. - -As a philosopher, he has been credited by all writers with a -familiarity with the systems of Plato and Aristotle, then dominant; -but his latest Italian biographer, Villari, shows satisfactorily that, -in his theological writings, he reasons with so much freedom and -independence that he had practically freed himself from the dominion -of Aristotle.[140] His early biographers made neither attempt nor -pretence to do more than relate the material facts of his career. Later -writers, with more attention to his published works, saw more clearly -his intellectual power, although his philosophical productions were -almost entirely neglected. M. Perrens does indeed direct attention to -them, but merely as “_des catéchismes sans prétention_.” Rudelbach[141] -is so engrossed with his sharp search for Protestant ideas that he -takes no notice of his philosophical writings. Meier[142] perceives -that in philosophy “he shows a judgment and critical power of his -own”; while Poli, in his additions to Tennemann, remarks his order and -clearness. “Not to acknowledge Savonarola as a powerful logician,” says -Rio, in his remarkable work on Christian art, “an accomplished orator, -a profound theologian, a genius comprehensive and bold, a universal -philosopher, or rather, the competent judge of all philosophy, would be -an injustice which history and his contemporaries would not tolerate.” -The same author goes on to give him credit for the possession of -faculties rarely found united with those which make the logician and -the theologian. He says: “One might imagine without doubt that it -would be more just to deny him the possession of that rare gift of an -exquisitely acute and intuitive perception of the beautiful in the -arts of imagination, which is not always the privilege of the greatest -genius, and which supposes a sensibility of soul and a delicacy of -organs too difficult to meet with, either the one or the other, in a -monastic person devoted to the mortifications of the cloister; and yet -it is no exaggeration to say that both are found united in a very high -degree in Savonarola.” The historian Guicciardini, who had made special -study of Savonarola’s works, says: “In philosophy, he was the most -powerful man in Italy, and reasoned on it in so masterly a manner that -it seemed as if he had himself created it.” - -Although the mass of published works of Savonarola may be truly called -enormous, very many of his productions never appeared, most of his -manuscripts having been destroyed, or, in a few instances, but lately -brought to light. Among these latter, Villari mentions a compendium of -all the works of Plato and Aristotle, regularly catalogued as in the -library of S. Mark. Some of his smaller treatises also survive, and the -same author recognizes the writer’s originality and the bold hand (_la -mano ardita_) of Savonarola in such passages as these: - - “We must, in all cases, proceed from the known to the unknown; - for thus only can we arrive at truth with any degree of facility. - Sensations are nearest and best known to us; they are gathered up in - the memory, where the mind transforms individual sensations into one - general rule or experience; nor does it stop here, but it proceeds - further, and from many united experiences arrives at universal - truths. Therefore, true experience resolves itself into first - principles—primary causations; it is speculative, free, and of the - highest nature.”[143] - -Savonarola’s definition of _veracity_, strikingly acute and clear, -is one not likely to have been made by a man at all weak either in -philosophy or moral principle. It is well worth attention: “By veracity -we understand a certain habit by which a man, both in his actions and -in his words, shows himself to be that which he really is, neither more -nor less.” This, though not a legal, is a moral, duty, for it is a debt -which every man in honesty owes to his neighbor, _and the manifestation -of truth is an essential part of justice_. Savonarola was, in fact, -the first to shake off the yoke of ancient authority in philosophy. -He alone, if we except Lorenzo Valla, who spoke more as a grammarian -than a philosopher, dared to declare against it. “Some,” he says, “are -so bigoted, and have so entirely submitted their understandings to -the fetters of the ancients, that not only dare they not say anything -in opposition to them, but abstain from saying anything not already -said by them. What kind of reasoning is this? What additional strength -of argument? The ancients did not reason thus; why, then, should we? -If the ancients failed to perform a praiseworthy action, why should -we also fail?” And this sentiment he constantly presents in various -forms; not in theory alone, moreover, but in practice; not only in the -special discussion of philosophy, but in its practical application. His -_Triumph of the Cross_[144] which is generally accepted as his greatest -work, is an exposition of the whole Christian doctrine by reason alone. -He thus states it in his preface: “As it is our purpose to discuss the -subject of this book solely by the light of reason, we shall not pay -regard to any authority, but will proceed as if there had not existed -in the whole world any man, however wise, on whom to rest our belief, -taking natural reason as our sole guide.” And he adds: “To comprehend -things that are visible, it is not necessary to seek the acquaintance -of things invisible, for all our knowledge of the extrinsic attributes -of corporeal objects is derived from the senses; but our intellect, -by its subtlety, penetrates the substance of natural things, by the -consideration of which we finally arrive at a knowledge of things -invisible.” - -We have spoken of the large number of Savonarola’s published works. -There would not be space in an article like this even for a list of -his popular treatises on practical religious duties, of which four -were published in one year alone (1492). These were _On Humility_, _On -Prayer_, _On the Love of Christ_, and _On a Widow’s Life_. With all -their pious fervor, they are marked by strong practical judgment, and -it is but little wonder that the people of Florence should have been -enthusiastic in their admiration of a priest who, in all the various -lines of his duty as teacher, as confessor, and as preacher, was always -equal to his high calling. His harshest critics have said of him that, -so violent was the asceticism he taught and preached, he opposed -matrimony, and would have turned Florence into a convent. They are more -than answered by the following passage from _A Widow’s Life_—_Libro -della Vita Viduale_: - - “Widows are like children—under the special protection of the Lord. - The true life for them to lead is to give up all worldly thoughts, - and devote themselves to the service of God; to become like the - turtle-dove, which is a chaste creature; and thus, when it has lost - its companion, no longer takes up with another, but spends the rest - of its life in solitude and lamentation. Nevertheless, if for the - education of her children, or through poverty, or for other good and - sufficient motive, the widow desire to marry again, let her do so by - all means. This would be preferable to being surrounded by admirers, - and so expose herself to the risk of calumnies and to a thousand - dangers. Let the widow who is not inclined to maintain the strict - decorum, the somewhat difficult reserve, becoming her position, - rather return to the dignified life of a married woman; but let those - who feel that they possess strength and temper of mind equal to the - demands of their state become a model to other women. A widow ought - to dress in sober attire, to live retired, to avoid the society of - men, to be gravity itself, and to maintain such severity of demeanor - that none may dare utter by word or show by a smile the least want - of respect. By such a life, she will be a continual lesson to other - women, and will render it unnecessary for a widow to use words of - counsel by which to acquire influence over others. It is unbecoming a - widow to be prying into the lives and failings of other persons; it is - unbecoming for her to be or even appear to be vain, nor ought she, for - the sake of others, to forget what is due to herself.” - - -SCHOLAR AND POET. - -Mention has already been made of Savonarola’s devotion to the task -of teaching the novices of the order, not only by his famous “damask -rose-bush” lectures which all learned Florence crowded to hear, but -his classes of the humanities and physical sciences. Not content with -this, and desiring that the monks of his convent should live by the -fruit of their own labors, he established schools in which they might -learn painting, sculpture, architecture, and the art of copying and -illuminating manuscripts. He also opened a department of oriental -languages, where Greek, Hebrew, Turkish, and Chaldean were taught. In -urging their cultivation, he said he hoped that he and his brethren -would be sent by the Lord to spread the Gospel among the Turks. - -When, after the expulsion of the Medici, the Florentine signiory, on -account of the financial embarrassments of the republic, resolved -to sell the Medicean library, there was great danger that this -magnificent accumulation, then the most valuable collection of Greek -and Latin authors known in Europe, and specially rich in the most -precious MSS., would be either scattered or fall into the hands of -strangers. There was no private citizen in Florence wealthy enough to -purchase it. Savonarola, who fully appreciated its value, and who had -already brought up the library of his own convent to a high standard, -making it accessible to all, and the first free library in all Italy, -resolved that these treasures should not leave the city. His first -act of authority as prior had been to enforce the original rule of S. -Dominic as to the poverty of the order. The saint’s last words were: -“Be charitable, preserve humility, practise poverty with cheerfulness: -may my curse and that of God fall upon him who shall bring possessions -into this order!” Nevertheless, under certain so-called reformed rules, -the convent at Florence had adopted the power of holding property, and -its wealth in landed possessions had greatly accumulated. Savonarola’s -first reform was to enforce the practice of poverty in the order, -while the absence of landed income was to be supplied by the labors -of the monks and a yet more rigid economy. It so happened that the -sale of the convent property, in pursuance of this reform, had just -been made, and Savonarola had at his command a sum of two thousand -florins—a large amount for that period. His convent bought the library -for three thousand florins, paying two thousand on account, and -binding themselves to liquidate the balance, which was a claim held -by a French creditor, in eighteen months. This transaction occurred -precisely during the period of the celebrated bonfire of vanities, at -which Savonarola is unjustly charged with having destroyed innumerable -classical manuscripts. - -Space fails us to speak of Savonarola as a poet. Like many other boys, -he scribbled verses in his early youth, and wrote a poem, _De Ruina -Mundi_, at the age of twenty. There is something anticipatory of Byron -in the sadness and gloom of its tone: - - “Vedendo sotto sopra tutto il mondo, - Ed esser spenta al fondo - Ogni virtute, ed ogni bel costume, - Non trovo un vivo lume, - Né pur chi de’ suoi vizi si vergogni.”[145] - -We find in his youthful productions, says Villari, “both vigor and -poetic talent, but united with negligence of form.” Later in life, -he wrote numerous spiritual lauds, composed for the purpose of -counteracting and taking the place of the degrading carnival songs -in vogue under the Medici. As poetry, they possess no special merit. -Villari mentions several of his canzoni, written when he was a young -man, and cites one in praise of S. Catherine of Negri, in three long -stanzas of fifteen lines each, in which he finds great delicacy and -exquisite tenderness of feeling. He also refers to some of his Latin -compositions modelled on the Psalms, which are eminently poetical. In -one of them, he celebrates the praises of God, saying: “I sought thee -everywhere, but found thee not. I asked the earth, Art thou my God? and -I was answered, Thou deceivest thyself: I am not thy God. I asked the -air, and was answered, Ascend still higher. I asked the sky, the sun, -the stars, and they all answered me, He who made me out of nothing, -he is God; he fills the heavens and the earth; he is in thy heart. -I then, O Lord, sought thee far off, and thou wast near. I asked my -eyes if thou hadst entered by them, and they answered, We know colors -only. I asked the ear, and was answered that it knew sound only. The -senses, then, O Lord, knew thee not; thou hast entered into my soul, -thou art in my heart, and thou makest manifest thyself to me when I am -performing works of charity.” - -Owing to his terribly earnest denunciation of pagan excesses in poetry -and painting, and his indignation at their imitation by Christians, -Savonarola has been held up as the enemy of both poets and poetry, -and this even in his own day. To this charge he replied in his work -on _The Division and Utility of all the Sciences_, one part of which -treats of poetry. We select a few of its points. He begins: - - “It never entered my mind to say a word in condemnation of the art - of poetry. I condemned solely the abuse which many had made of it, - although I have been calumniated on that account by many persons, both - in speaking and writing.... The essence of poetry is to be found in - philosophy. If any one believe that the art of poetry teaches us only - dactyls and spondees, long and short syllables, and the ornaments of - speech, he has certainly fallen into a great mistake.... The object of - poetry is to persuade by means of that syllogism called an example, - expressed with elegance of language, so as to convince and, at the - same time, to delight us. And as our soul has supreme delight in song - and harmony, the ancients contrived the measures of versification, - that, by such means, men might be more readily excited to virtue. But - measure is mere form; and the poet may produce a poem without metre - and without verse. This, in fact, is the case in the Holy Scriptures, - in which our Lord makes true poetry consist in wisdom; true eloquence - in the spirit of truth; hence, our minds are not occupied with the - outward letter, but are filled with the spirit.” ... He then goes on - to denounce “a fallacious race of pretended poets, who know no better - than to tread in the footsteps of the Greeks and Romans; keep to the - same form, the same metre; invoke the same gods, nor venture to use - any other names or words than those they find in the ancients.... - This is not only a false poetry, but one most pernicious to youth. - We find the heathens themselves condemning such poets. Did not Plato - himself declare that a law ought to be passed to expel those poets - from the city who, by the allurements of the most corrupting verses, - contaminate everything with vile lusts and moral degradation? What, - then, are our Christian princes about? Why do they not issue a law - to expel from their cities not only these false poets, but their - works also, and all the works of ancient authors who have written on - libidinous subjects and praise false gods? It would be well if all - such works were destroyed, and none were allowed to remain except such - as excite to virtuous conduct.” - -It is on such passages as these that Savonarola’s enemies base their -charges of enmity to poetry, etc. The charges are unfounded. His -æsthetic opinions were in harmony with the purest principles of art, -and his sense of the true and the beautiful was always acute. “In what -does beauty consist?” he asks, in one of his sermons. “In colors? -No. In figures? No. Beauty results from harmony in all the parts and -colors. This applies to composite subjects; in simple subjects, beauty -is in light. Look at the sun and the stars—their beauty is in light; -behold the spirits of the blessed—light constitutes their beauty; -raise your thoughts to the Almighty—he is light and is beauty itself. -The beauty of man and woman is greater and more perfect the nearer it -approaches to the primary Beauty. But what, then, is this beauty? It -is a quality resulting from a due proportion and harmony between the -several members and parts of the body. You would never say that a woman -was handsome because she had a fine nose and pretty hands; but when her -features harmonize. Whence comes this beauty? Inquire, and you will -find it is from the soul.” - -Addressing himself to women, he said: “Ye women who glory in your -ornaments, in your head-dresses, in your hands, I tell you that you are -all ugly! Would you see true beauty? Observe a devout person, man or -woman, in whom the Spirit dwells—observe such an one, I say, while in -the act of prayer, when the countenance is suffused with divine beauty, -and the prayer is over. You will then see the beauty of God reflected -in that face, and a countenance almost angelic.” - -We have thus endeavored, in referring to Savonarola’s acquirements, and -by presenting him to our readers in a variety of mental aspects, to -convey some idea of the moral, intellectual, and æsthetic sides of his -character, in order that, as the story of his life and the account of -the exciting incidents with which it is filled progress in our pages, -they may be the better able to appreciate his action by at least a -partial knowledge of his spiritual constitution and mental resources. -We resume, then, the thread of our narrative. - - -THE SERMON AT BOLOGNA. - -Savonarola preached his usual course of Lenten sermons in 1493, not at -Florence, but at Bologna. His correspondence with his brother friars at -S. Mark’s during his absence shows that he had gone there unwillingly, -and it is hence supposed that Piero de’ Medici had brought about his -absence through orders from his superiors at Milan and at Rome. The -friar confined his preaching to subjects of doctrine and morals, and at -the outset attracted but little public attention. The _beaux esprits_ -set him down as “a poor simpleton, a preacher for women”—_uomo -semplice e predicatore da donne_. But his animation and sincerity -were contagious, and hearers soon came in crowds. The tyrant Giovanni -Bentivoglio then ruled Bologna, and his wife, an Orsini, appeared at -all the sermons, entering late, and followed by a large retinue of -gentlemen, pages, and ladies—_gentildonne e damizelle_. The silent -rebuke of stopping short in his sermon until the disturbance thus -caused had subsided was tried by the preacher several times in vain. -He then referred to the disedification given by such interruptions, -and mildly requested that ladies who came to hear the sermon should -endeavor to be present at its beginning. In response, the haughty woman -made a point of continuing the annoyance with offensive and increased -ostentation, until one morning, when thus breaking in upon the friar -while in all the fervor of his discourse, his patience gave way, and he -cried out: _Ecco, ecco il demonio che viene ad interrompere il verbo -di Dio_—“Behold the demon who comes to interrupt the word of God!” -All the blood of all the Orsinis boiled over at this public insult. A -reigning princess to be thus treated by a mere _frate_! As the story -runs, she ordered two of her attendants to slay him in the pulpit; but -whether their courage failed them, or the crowd would not permit them -to reach the friar, they did not carry out their order. Still enraged, -she sent two other satellites to his cell, where Savonarola received -them with such dignity and impressive calmness that their resolution -oozed away, and they said with great respect: “Our lady has sent us to -your reverence to know if you had need of anything.” To which suitable -and courteous reply being made, they were dismissed. In his closing -sermon at Bologna, the preacher announced: “This evening I shall depart -for Florence with my slender staff and wooden flask, and I shall sleep -at Pianoro. If any person want aught of me, let him come before I set -out. _My death is not to be celebrated at Bologna, but elsewhere._” - -The legend runs that it was on this journey, when near to Florence, -that Savonarola, unable to take any food and broken with fatigue, sank -by the roadside, powerless to go further. Quickly there came to him the -vision of an unknown man, who, giving him strength, accompanied him -to the city gate, and disappeared, saying: “Remember that thou doest -that for which thou hast been sent by God.” Each reader will decide -for himself as to the degree of credibility to be attached to such a -legend. Certain it is, nevertheless, that Savonarola himself and many -men of the strongest minds of that day fully believed in it.[146] - - -INDEPENDENCE OF S. MARK’S. - -On his return to Florence in the spring of 1493, Savonarola found a -worse state of things than he had left on his departure. The rule -of Piero de’ Medici was rapidly becoming every day less tolerable, -and the discontent of the people more marked and bitter. One thing, -however, the people knew well. It was that Savonarola was their friend. -Piero de’ Medici was also perfectly aware of it, and, as he had the -power, might at any moment through his influence have the Dominican -prior ordered away to Milan by his superiors in Lombardy or Rome, -as the Tuscan convents formed one province with those of Lombardy. -This union had been brought about some fifty years before by reason -of the depopulation of the Tuscan convents from the plague. As this -state of things had long ceased to exist, and the convents were again -full, it occurred to Savonarola to seek the restoration of the Tuscan -convents to their original condition of an independent province. In -his management of this important and difficult piece of practical -business, there was nothing whatever of the visionary monk, and he set -to work with all his energy to carry out a measure in which he felt -that the purity and elevation of his order and the liberties of the -Florentine people were at stake. The authorization for the measure he -desired must of course come from Rome, and, in order to obtain it, he -sent thither two of his friars, Alessandro Rinuccini, a member of one -of the most illustrious families of Florence, and Domenico da Pescia. -The latter in particular was unreservedly devoted to his prior, ardent -in his admiration of him, and fully persuaded that he was a prophet -sent by God. On arriving at their destination, they encountered a -formidable opposition. Not only the Lombards, but the King of Naples, -the republic of Genoa, the Dukes of Milan and Ferrara, and Bentivoglio -of Bologna, all joined in striving for the defeat of the petition. -Strangely enough—and it is mentioned by historians as an evidence of -his frivolous mind and inattention to serious matters—Piero de’ Medici -had been persuaded to favor a measure of which the main object was to -free S. Mark’s and its prior from his authority. In fact, Savonarola -could not have advanced a step without obtaining his approbation, -inasmuch as the application of the convent as made could not be allowed -to be presented without the approbation of the Florentine government. -In bringing about this important success, Savonarola had the assistance -of Philip Valori, and John, Cardinal de’ Medici, a brother of Piero, -who afterwards became Pope Leo X. While at Rome, the general of the -Dominicans and Cardinal Caraffa of Naples warmly supported him. -Nevertheless, the two friars of S. Mark’s who had been sent to Rome -were dispirited by the formidable aspect of the opposition they there -encountered, and wrote to their prior that success was impossible, and -he must give up all hope of carrying his point. Savonarola’s reply was: -“Away with doubts! Stand firm, and you will be victorious; the Lord -scatters the councils of the nations, and casts the designs of princes -to the ground.” In a consistory of the 22d of May, the Tuscan question -came up, but the pope refused to approve the brief, and dismissed the -consistory until the following day. All the cardinals departed with the -exception of Caraffa, who took the liveliest interest in the success -of the measure, and had a strong personal influence with Alexander VI. -They entered into a friendly conversation, during which the cardinal -produced the brief, and asked the pope to sign it. With a smile, -he declined; when, presuming on his personal familiarity, and in a -half-jesting manner, Caraffa took the pontifical ring from the pope’s -finger, and sealed the brief. Just then, in hot haste, came in fresh -and stronger remonstrances from Lombardy, but the pope replied that it -was too late—“What is done is done”; and he would hear no more of it. - -Savonarola’s first care was to reform and strengthen the discipline -of his convent, and it was at this juncture that he brought it back -to the original rule of poverty established by the founder of the -order, as we have already stated. Then followed the enforcement of the -strictest personal economy, the acquisition and practice of useful arts -by the monks whereby to earn their livelihood, and the study of the -oriental languages. In all his conventual reforms, the new prior taught -by example as much as by precept. His monks saw that he inculcated -no principle of which he was not a living model. Sober in his diet, -ascetic in all his habits, of an application to study that seemed to -know no fatigue, he inspired all by his labor and self-denial. In all -the whole convent, the humblest monk was not more poorly clad than his -prior. No cell so naked, no pallet so hard, as his. Rigid with others, -he was severe with himself. Numerous candidates presented themselves -for admission to the Convent of S. Mark, which was now the admiration -of all Tuscany. The sons of the most distinguished families in Florence -sought to become inmates of S. Mark’s, and the Rucellai, the Salviati, -the Albizzi, the Strozzi, and even the Medici, pressed into the narrow -limits of the crowded convent, in order to receive at the hands of -Savonarola the robe of S. Dominic. Additional buildings were absolutely -necessary, and those of the Sapienza were obtained—the same that were -a few years since used for the stables of the grand duke. - -Under the brief lately obtained from Rome, the Dominican convents of -Fiesole, Prato, and Bibbiena, and the two hospices of the Maddalena, -asked for reception into the Tuscan congregation under Savonarola’s -authority, and were admitted. Even the friars of another order, the -Camaldoli, were desirous of uniting themselves with S. Mark’s, in order -to be under the rule of Savonarola; but he could not accede to their -request, for want of authority. All this success and honor did not in -the slightest degree affect his character. If, during his career, he -manifested pride and daring, it was towards the great and powerful. In -private life, and in the interior of his convent, he was to the end the -same gentle and humble brother the monks had known as Fra Girolamo. - - -ADVENT, 1493. - -It was natural, under the circumstances, that the Superior of the -Tuscan Congregation of Dominicans, the preacher whose predictions had -been so wonderfully verified, the exemplary monk who had been called -to the bedside of the dying Lorenzo the Magnificent, should enter upon -the delivery of his course of Advent sermons for 1493 with increased -confidence and far greater freedom of speech than the comparatively -unknown Fra Girolamo had ever manifested. His audiences grew daily more -numerous, and crowds awaited for hours his coming. The twenty-five -sermons of this course were on the Seventy-third Psalm (_Quam Bonus_). -His principal topics were the unhappy and ruinous condition of the -church, the immoral lives of the Italian princes and many of the higher -clergy, approaching punishments, and the desire of all good men to stem -the rising tide of depravity. We have already cited the passages (“They -tickle the ears with Aristotle, etc.,” and “In the houses of the great -prelates”) in which he denounces the clergy and hierarchy; and he thus -describes the princes of Italy: “These wicked princes are sent as a -punishment for the sins of their subjects; they are truly a great snare -for souls; their palaces and halls are the refuge of all the beasts and -monsters of the earth, and are a shelter for caitiffs and for every -kind of wickedness. Such men resort to their courts because there they -find the means and the excitements to give vent to all their evil -passions. There we find the wicked counsellors who devise new burdens -and new imposts for sucking the blood of the people; there we find the -flattering philosophers and poets who, by a thousand stories and lies, -trace the genealogy of those wicked princes from the gods; and, what is -still worse, there we find priests who adopt the same language. That, -my brethren, is the city of Babylon, the city of the foolish and the -impious, the city which the Lord will destroy.” - -And then, after speaking sharply of a superfluity of golden mitres and -golden chalices, he adds: “But dost thou know what I would say? In the -primitive church, there were wooden chalices and golden prelates; but -now the church has golden chalices and wooden prelates....” - - “What doest thou, O Lord? Why slumberest thou? Arise and take the - church out of the hands of the devil, out of the hands of tyrants, out - of the hands of wicked prelates. Hast thou forgotten thy church? Dost - thou not love her? Hast thou no care for her? We are become, O Lord, - the opprobrium of the nations. Turks are masters of Constantinople. We - are become tributaries of infidels. O Lord God! thou hast dealt with - us as an angry father; thou hast banished us from thee; hasten the - punishment and the scourge, that there may be a speedy return to thee. - _Effunde iras tuas in gentes_—’Pour out thy wrath upon the nations.’ - Be not scandalized, my brethren, by these words; rather consider that, - when the good wish for punishment, it is because they wish to see - evil driven away, and the blessed reign of Jesus Christ triumphant - throughout the world. We have now no other hope left us, unless the - sword of the Lord threatens the earth.” - - -THE DELUGE. - -In Lent, 1494, Savonarola resumed his preaching in a course of sermons -which, as published, have been entitled _Sermons on Noe’s Ark_ -(_Prediche sopra l’Arca di Noé_). It was, in fact, a continuation of -the expounding of Genesis begun in 1490. The impression produced by -them upon his auditors was very great. All the biographers unite in -describing how the people were carried away, the wonder he excited, -and how marvellously all that was foretold came to pass. His Advent -sermons had dwelt on the near approach of punishments—a coming deluge -of calamities—and he now constructs a mystical ark in which all may -take refuge. He prophesied the approach of a new Cyrus who should -conquer Italy without resistance. At length, on Easter morning, his ark -being completed, he invited all to hasten to enter it with the virtues -which distinguish Christians: “The time will come when the ark will -be closed, and many will repent that they had not entered therein.” -Thus the short chapter of Genesis relating to the ark occupied the -whole of Lent, and he resumed the subject in the month of September -following. On the twenty-first day of that month, he was to expound the -seventeenth verse, relating to the Deluge. - -The Dome of Florence was crowded. All waited for the sermon in anxiety -and excitement, but attentive and motionless. Mounting the pulpit, -and surveying the multitude in impressive silence for a few moments, -he thundered out: “And behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters -upon the earth.” A thrill of terror convulsed the vast assemblage. -Pico di Mirandola relates that a cold shiver ran through all his -bones, and that the hairs of his head stood on end; and Savonarola -has recorded that he was profoundly moved. That very day the news had -arrived that a horde of foreign troops were descending the Alps to -conquer Italy, and popular credulity made their numbers countless, -invincible in arms, gigantic, cruel, and ferocious. “Having, before -the arrival of the King of France, just closed the ark, these sermons -caused such terror, alarm, sobbing, and tears, that every one passed -through the streets without speaking, more dead than alive.” (_MS. -history in Magliabecchian library._) Terror there was indeed. Italy -was helpless. There was neither nation nor national army. The princes -were defenceless, and the whole country must fall an easy prey to the -invader. Men saw rivers of blood before them. What could save them? -All rushed to Savonarola, imploring counsel and help. He alone could -succor them. All his words had been verified. All those whose deaths -he foretold had gone to their graves. Punishment threatened had begun. -The sword of the Lord had indeed descended upon the earth. Not only -the people flocked about him, but the graver men and magistrates of -Florence asked his counsel, and his admirers and adherents became in a -moment, as if by magic, the rulers of the city. - -Here may be said to terminate the monastic life of Savonarola, and, in -order to follow his career, we must with him quit the cloister, and -accompany him among the people of Florence down in the public places. - - - - -MADAME AGNES. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS. - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -PERHAPS PROPHETIC. - -IT was the first time for many weeks that Louis had met Eugénie alone. -He felt greatly excited, and naturally said to himself: “Ought I to -manifest any appearance of avoiding her?... Or, on the contrary, shall -I keep on? Any avoidance might make her think unfavorably of me.... -But would it be prudent to speak to her?...” While thus debating with -himself, he looked at Eugénie as she advanced towards him, handsome and -dignified as ever, and as calm as he was agitated. He still kept on, -yielding to an irresistible attraction without bringing himself to an -account for it. As he advanced, he recalled how Françoise had praised -her. “That dear woman,” he said, “could have no interest in deceiving -me. A soul so upright and pure could only tell the truth. And who has -had a better opportunity of knowing Mlle. Eugénie?... Well, I must -study this unique girl a little more!... I will speak to her!... I have -judged her too severely. I must learn her real nature. I must show -her what I am. She has, I am sure, conceived some suspicion about me -which she may already regret. At all events, my line of conduct here is -plainly marked out. I am resolved to regain her esteem, and obtain her -assistance in the good I am doing, in order that it may be done more -effectually and speedily. Now is the time to make the attempt!...” - -As he said this to himself, he met Eugénie. She did not appear at all -embarrassed as he advanced to speak to her, but said, in a frank, -natural tone: “You have been to see my patient; she spoke of you -yesterday.” - -“Yes, mademoiselle; I have just come from there. I do not think she -will need our assistance long. Poor woman, or rather, happy woman, she -is at last going to receive the reward she so well deserves!... But -how many others there are still to be aided when she is gone!... There -is so much wretchedness whichever way we turn! If there were only more -like you, mademoiselle, to look after the poor!” - -“And you also, monsieur. My father has told me something of your plans. -I will not speak of my approval: my approbation is of little value; -but I assure you they please me. Above all, I hope you will not allow -yourself to be discouraged by difficulties you are likely to meet with.” - -“I hope, with the help of God, to overcome them, mademoiselle. But the -efforts of an isolated individual like myself are of little avail, -especially when one has had no more experience and is no richer than I.” - -These words were uttered in a tone of frankness and simplicity that -produced a lively impression on Eugénie. “If he is sincere in what he -says,” said she to herself, “my suspicions about him are unjust; but -this frankness and simplicity of manner are perhaps subtle means of -blinding my eyes.” She therefore remained on her guard. “Ah! monsieur, -it is not money alone we should give the poor! What they need, above -all, is advice, which you are much better fitted to give than I who -have had no experience of life.” - -There was a tinge of irony in these last words that did not escape -Louis, but he pretended not to observe it. - -“I do not think,” said he, “that I have had as much experience as you -suppose, mademoiselle. However, a Christian seeks aid from a different -source than the insufficient arsenal of human experience. What we -should, above all, remind the poor of, what we should induce them to -love, are the precepts of religion which they may have forgotten and no -longer practise for want of knowing their value.” - -“You are very pious, it seems, monsieur,” she said, in a slight tone of -raillery. - -“I must put an end to this,” said Louis to himself. “She seems to -regard me as a hypocrite. I will prove to her I am not. If she refuses -to believe me, her persistency in such odious and unjust suspicions -will redound to her own injury.” - -“Mademoiselle,” said he, “I am not very pious, but I desire to be -so, or rather to become so again, for I was as long as my mother -lived. She was taken away too soon for my good, for I had need of her -counsels and guidance. I have realized it since! You have doubtless -had an account of my life. It may be summed up in three words: folly, -despair, and return to God. I dare not pledge my word that this return -is irrevocable: I have given too many proofs of weakness to rely on -myself. God, who has brought me back to himself, can alone give me -the necessary strength to remain faithful to him. But if I cannot -promise ever to falter again, I can at least venture to declare that my -conversion is sincere—so sincere that, having lost all I had, I regard -this loss as extremely fortunate, for it was, in God’s providence, the -means of leading me back to the faith. Such a benefit can never be too -dearly purchased!” - -Louis kept his eyes fastened on Eugénie as he spoke. She looked up more -than once; the expression of his face and the tone of his voice were so -evidently those of an honest man, that she felt all her doubts give way. - -“Monsieur,” said she, “I do not know as I should reproach myself for -what I said with regard to your piety, though I perceive it has wounded -you, for it has led to an explanation on your part which....” - -“Which has made me happy,” was what Eugénie was about to say, but she -stopped quite confused as she bethought herself of the interpretation -he might give to her words. - -Louis comprehended her embarrassment; he saw her fears, and came to her -aid. “Which you thought necessary, mademoiselle,” suggested he. “I can -understand that. It is rather a rare phenomenon to see a young man pass -from dissipation to piety.” - -Eugénie immediately recovered her usual serenity. “Well, monsieur,” -said she, “now I know your intentions and projects; I assure you my -mother and myself will second them as much as is in our power. What is -there we can do?” - -“Tell me what charitable offices you like the least, mademoiselle, or -what you find too difficult to perform.” - -“That is admirable! We have often longed for a representative, a -substitute, who could effect what we were unable to do. But how can we -otherwise aid you?” - -“You are kind enough, then, to allow me to be the medium of your alms. -It is a pleasant office to receive contributions for the benefit of -others, especially from people as benevolent as you, mademoiselle. I -accept the post with lively gratitude, and will at once ask you for -some good books for the library I have established for the workmen.” - -“I will bring you twenty volumes to-morrow that are of no use to me, -and are exactly what you want.” - -Louis and Eugénie then separated. The interview was short, but it led -to the very points which enabled them to study and appreciate each -other better than they could have done in two hours in a _salon_. - -That evening, Louis appeared to his workmen more cheerful and social -than usual. He was at last sure of gaining Eugénie’s esteem. Without -acknowledging it to himself, he already loved her to such a degree that -he was extremely desirous of revealing himself to her under an aspect -more and more favorable. This is loving worthily and heartily. - -As to Eugénie, when she entered the presence of the poor woman she went -to visit, she could not resist the desire of speaking again of Louis. -An instinctive, perhaps superstitious, feeling made her believe, as -well as he, that this woman, who was dying in so pious a frame of mind -after so heroic a life, could not be mistaken in her opinion. “So pure -a soul ought to be able to read clearly the hearts of those around -her,” she said to herself. - -“Has M. Beauvais been here to-day, Mère Françoise?” she asked. - -“Yes, mademoiselle. I am glad you spoke of him. I do not expect to see -him again in this world, and was so taken up with a favor I had to ask -him that I forgot to express my gratitude for all his kindness to me. -Every day he has brought me something new; but that is the least of his -benefits. I particularly wished to express my thanks for all the good -he has done me by his conversation. Ah! mademoiselle, how I wish you -could hear him speak of God, the misery of this world, and the joys -of heaven! If I die happy, it is owing to him. Before he came to see -me, I was afraid of death. However poor we may be, we cling to life so -strongly!... Thanks to him, I now feel I cannot die too soon.... I have -told M. le Curé all this, and he made me promise to pray for one who -has so successfully come to his aid. When I reach heaven, I shall pray -for him and for you, mademoiselle. You have both been so kind to me. -Promise to tell him all this.” - -This testimony, so spontaneous and heart-felt, from a dying person, -with regard to Louis’ goodness and piety, and this union of their names -in the expression of her gratitude, produced a profound and lasting -impression on the tender, romantic soul of Eugénie. All the way home -she dwelt on what had occurred. She began to reproach herself for -her suspicions—suspicions now vanished. It was not that she loved -Louis, or even had an idea she might love him, but her noble mind had -a horror of the injustice she had been guilty of towards an innocent -and unfortunate man. “I will repair it,” she said to herself, “by -faithfully keeping the promise I made him.” - -That very evening, she spoke of Louis to her father and mother, -repeating the conversation she had had with him, and expressing a -wish to co-operate in the good work he was undertaking. “It is a work -in which we cannot refuse our sympathy,” she said, “for its object -is to ameliorate the condition of our workmen—a question that has -preoccupied us all for a long time.” - -Eugénie’s object in this was to induce her parents to express their -opinion of Louis. She particularly wished to ascertain Mr. Smithson’s -sentiments. He was almost an infallible judge, in his daughter’s -estimation, and therefore it was with sincere deference she awaited his -reply. It was the first time she had forced him to give his opinion of -Louis, or that there had ever been any serious question concerning him -in the family circle. - -“My child,” said Mr. Smithson, “M. Louis means well, I think. He -seems to be a considerate person, or at least tries to be. I approve -of your wish to aid him in collecting a library; but, if he proposes -your joining him in any other benevolent enterprise, you must consult -me before coming to any decision. This young man, I say, has good -qualities, but he is a little enthusiastic. His ardor just now needs -moderating; after a while, it may be necessary to revive it. Let him go -on. We will aid him when we can be of service, but must be a little on -our guard.” - -The oracle had spoken. Eugénie reflected on what had been said. It -was evident that Louis inspired her father with some distrust. Mr. -Smithson, according to his habit, left his wife and daughter at an -early hour to work in his office. - - -CHAPTER XV. - -A QUESTION. - -EUGENIE, being left alone with her mother, resolved to obtain, if -possible, some light on the question her father’s words had excited -in her mind. She felt anxious to know why he distrusted Louis. He was -now a subject of interest to her. This was not all: she had begun by -judging him unfavorably; then she reversed her opinion. Now she had -come to the point of wishing to repair her secret wrongs against him -without his being aware of it.... But should she carry out her wish, -or, on the contrary, return to her past antipathy?... On the one hand -was the impression left by her interview with Louis; on the other, the -depressing state of doubt produced by her father’s reticence. She was -one of those persons who prefer certainty to doubt, whatever it may -be. “My mother must be aware of my father’s real sentiments,” she said -to herself; “I will ask her.” Nothing was easier. Mme. Smithson and -her daughter lived on a footing of affectionate equality that I do not -exactly approve of, but which excludes all restraint. - -“Mother,” said Eugénie, “give me a sincere reply to what I am going to -ask. What do you think of M. Louis?” - -“You are greatly interested in this M. Louis, then? You talk of nothing -else this evening. What is the reason? Hitherto you have paid no -attention to him.” - -“Yes; I am interested in him. I have been studying him. You know I -have a mania for deciphering everybody. Well, he is still an enigma. -Yet I am sure of one thing: he is a man to be thoroughly esteemed or -despised, not half-way. In a word, he is that rare thing—a character. -Only, is he a noble or a contemptible character?... The question is a -serious one. I wish to solve it, but cannot with the light I now have.” - -“Well done! here is some more of your customary exaggeration! Of -what consequence is it, my dear, what he is? He has come here for -well-known reasons. Your father was tired of attending to all the -details of the manufactory, and employs him to take charge of essential -though secondary duties. He pays him a very high salary—too high, -in my estimation—but he is pleased, delighted with his aptitude and -activity; that is all I care for.” - -“Excuse me, that is not enough for me. I repeat: M. Louis is different -from most men, mother. He is a man, and the rest are only puppets.” - -“Really! I should not have suspected it. He seems to me quite -commonplace.” - -“But not to me.” - -“What can you see in him so remarkable?” - -“He has, or at least appears to have, an elevation of mind and -constancy of purpose that are striking.” - -“Why, my dear, you make me laugh. Really, if all the gentlemen you see -would only adapt themselves a little to your humor, there is not one -you could not turn into a hero of romance.” - -“Not at all. The proof is that I have hitherto only seen men unworthy -of any serious consideration. When did I ever acknowledge I had found a -man of character such as I would like to see?...” - -“And you think M. Louis this white blackbird?” - -“I really do.” - -“Well, I confess you astonish me. I never should have dreamed of your -noticing him. Perhaps you have taken a fancy to him.” - -“Mother, we are accustomed to think aloud before each other. I do not -fancy him—understand that—in the least. I do not even believe I ever -could fancy him. This does not prevent me from thinking him, as I said, -different from other men. Whether in good or ill, he differs from young -men of his age. But is he better or worse?—that is the question—a -serious one I would like to have answered. Till to-day, I have thought -him worse.” - -“It is not possible! The poor fellow has committed some errors, as I -have told you. I certainly do not wish to palliate them, but we must -not be more severe than God himself: he always pardons.” - -“It is not a question of his sins.” - -“What is the question, then? You keep me going from one surprise to -another this evening.” - -“It is a question of knowing if he is the man he pretends to be—that -is, one who has forsaken his errors, acknowledges he has gone astray, -repents, and resolves to live henceforth in a totally different -manner. If he is such a man; if he can resign himself courageously -to his modest situation here, and, moreover, has the noble desire of -comforting the afflicted, instructing the ignorant, and reclaiming -those who have gone astray, I tell you M. Louis is worthy of the -highest esteem; we ought to encourage and aid him with all our might. -But if he is not the man I think—if these fine projects are only a -lure, an artful means....” - -“A means of doing what?... Goodness! Eugénie, you get bewildered -with your fancies. Do you imagine he wishes to revolutionize the -establishment, and supplant your father?...” - -“Let us not exaggerate things, I beg, mother. What I wished you to -understand was a delicate point. I hoped you would guess it from a -word. Come, have you no suspicion of what so greatly troubles me?” - -“I haven’t the slightest idea.” - -“Indeed!... I am astonished. Well, may he not manifest all this zeal, -and affect all these airs of disinterested benevolence, to bring about -a secret project?” - -“What one, I ask you again? When you go to dreaming impossibilities, -you know I can never follow you. Explain yourself clearly.” - -“Well, since I am forced to call things by their right names, is he not -aiming at my hand?” - -“What a droll idea!... Why, he has not a sou left! Everybody knows -that. He spent his property in six or seven years, and has nothing -more to expect for a long time. So you believe he resolved to become -religious, thinking that would be sufficient capital, in Mr. Smithson’s -eyes, to obtain his daughter? I think he has too much sense to imagine -anything so absurd; especially to give it a serious thought.” - -“But if he hoped to please me by this means?... to win my esteem, my -good will, my affection?...” - -“All romance that, my dear.” - -“But not impossible.” - -“I prefer to think, for my own peace of mind and your father’s, that -things will turn out differently. We have never intended you to marry -a man without property. The idea of your having a husband who, instead -of being wealthy, has squandered all he had, and might spend what you -brought him!...” - -“Ah! I understand you: you do not think him sincere.” - -“I do not say that! He may be changed for the present, but who can be -sure his conversion will be lasting?” - -“It will if it is sincere; I am sure of that, for I have studied him. -He possesses one quality which I either admire or detest, according to -the use made of it: he has a strong will. He has been here a month, -and, having nothing better to do, I have observed him, and have not -discovered a single inconsistency in his conduct. He has always shown, -exteriorly at least, the same love of labor, the same desire of doing -all the good he can, and the same unassuming deportment. Either he is a -man of rare excellence, or is uncommonly artful. I wish I knew exactly -what my father thinks of him.” - -“And why this persistency in discovering a mystery of so little -importance?” - -“Because I do not wish to despise M. Louis if he is worthy of esteem, -and it would be wrong not to encourage him in well-doing if he has -entered on that path with a sincere heart. Besides, I regard what he -has undertaken and all he wishes to do as admirable as it is useful. I -had been wishing for such an attempt to be made here, and could not be -better pleased than to see my idea so speedily realized. M. Louis is, -in my eyes, either a saint or a hypocrite. I have no fancy for loving -either the one or the other; but, if he is a saint, I should feel like -aiding him to a certain degree. After all, mother, is there anything in -the world more desirable than to do good to those around us, especially -when we are so situated as to make it a duty? Have you not often said -so yourself?” - -“You are right, my dear Eugénie. I feel what you say, and approve of -it. As I advance in years, I feel a constantly increasing desire of -laboring for Almighty God, for whom I have hitherto done so little. -You need not fear; neither your father nor I have any doubts as to M. -Louis. Nothing we have observed or have been told leads us to think -him a hypocrite. As you desire it so strongly, I will tell you your -father’s secret opinion, but do not betray me. He only dislikes one -thing in M. Louis: he is too devoted a Catholic. It is all in vain: -we cannot induce your father to like our religion. Catholics are -too ardent every way, too superstitious, he says. He distrusts the -engineer because he thinks him overzealous, that is all....” - -When Eugénie went to her chamber, she selected the books she wished to -contribute to Louis’ library, and then retired to rest, thinking of -all the good that would now be done by him, as well as herself, in a -place where want and every evil passion were to be found. Her noble, -ardent soul had at length found its sphere. Hitherto she had dreamed -of many ways of giving a useful direction to her activity, each one -more impracticable than the rest. The right way was now open. Louis had -pointed it out. Eugénie longed to become the benefactress of St. M——. -Her imagination and her heart were pleased. It seemed to her as if she -had become another being. She prayed that night with a fervor she had -not felt for a long time. Then she fell into a reverie. In spite of -herself, Louis’ image continually recurred to her mind. Before she fell -asleep, she murmured a prayer for poor Françoise. Her name recalled the -last words of that excellent woman: “In heaven, I shall pray for him -and for you!” And circumstances were tending that same day to link them -together as the dying woman had joined their names in prayer. There -was something singular about this that struck Eugénie’s imagination. -“Can her words be prophetic?” she said to herself. “So many strange -things happen!... But this would be too much. He pleases me in no way -except....” And she reviewed his good qualities, then blushed for -attaching so much importance to the thought.... - -The next morning, she went with the books she had selected the night -before. Fanny accompanied her. Louis received her with the exquisite -politeness he never laid aside but with a cold reserve he had resolved -to maintain towards her. Their interview only lasted a few minutes. -Fanny, who had been easy for some time, was greatly astonished when -asked to accompany her mistress to the engineer’s office. Their -conversation showed they had recently seen each other, but under -what circumstances she could not make out. All this redoubled her -suspicions. On her way home with Eugénie, she remarked: - -“That M. Louis is a charming young man; more so than I had supposed. -What respect he showed mademoiselle! I am sure mademoiselle judges him -with less severity than she did several weeks ago.” - -“I have never judged him with severity,” replied Eugénie, with that -lofty coolness which made those who did not know her accuse her of -pride. “Why should I judge M. Beauvais? that is my father’s business.” - -Fanny returned to the assault: “That is a queer notion of his to wish -to instruct all those ignorant people. Much good will it do them! The -more they know, the more dangerous they will be!...” - -“Fanny, you should address such observations to M. Louis or my father. -It is they who have founded the library and school, and they intend -doing many other things without consulting you, I imagine.” - -“Common people sometimes give good advice.” - -“But they should give it to those who need it. All this does not -concern me, I tell you again.” - -“O the deceitful girl!” said Fanny to herself when alone in her chamber -that night. “I always said she would deceive me. Where could she have -seen him?... Is she already in love with him?... She is capable of -it! But I will watch her narrowly, and, if it is not too late, will -counteract her projects! I have a good deal to contend with, however. -This M. Louis is an artful fellow. And on the other hand, it is no -easy matter to lead Mlle. Eugénie.... I only hope she is not yet in -love with him!... If she were to marry him instead of her cousin, I -should go distracted.... Poor Albert! if he knew what is going on here. -Fortunately, I am on the spot to watch over his interests. And there is -more reason than ever to be on the lookout.” - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -LOVE WITHOUT HOPE. - -LOUIS came to see us as often as his occupations allowed. He made -us a long call the very day after Eugénie gave him the books for -his library, and seemed more excited than usual. He related his -conversation with Mr. Smithson, and spoke of his pleasure at meeting -Eugénie and regaining her good opinion by a frank explanation of his -plans and the motives by which he was influenced. - -“Well,” said Victor, “does she continue to please you?” - -“More than I wish.” - -“Why this regret?” - -“It is only reasonable. My happiness is involved in being pleased with -her.” - -“Come, I see we shall not be able to agree on this point.” - -“Yes, my dear friend; the more I reflect, the plainer it is that I -ought not to become attached to her; at least, to make her aware of it, -should such a misfortune happen. But I will not conceal it from you: I -fear I already love her....” - -“You are decidedly tenacious in your notions. Why do you torture -yourself with scruples that are evidently exaggerated?...” - -“All your friendly reasonings are of no avail. However disinterested -my love might be, it would seem to her only the result of calculation; -this is enough to justify me in my apprehensions.” - -“I cannot agree with you. Delicacy of sentiment is a noble thing, but -it must not be carried to excess. I am willing you should conceal your -love for her till you can prove it sincere; that is, not the result of -calculation—I will go still further: till the time comes when they -voluntarily render homage to the nobleness of your intentions. But -when that day comes, and you see that Mlle. Eugénie esteems and loves -you....” - -“She will never love me.” - -“How do you know?” - -“Mlle. Smithson has rare qualities which make her the realization of -all my dreams, but I see I am not pleasing to her. Before any change -in her sentiments is possible, she will have another suitor with more -to offer her than I, and without a past like mine to frustrate his -hopes. He will please her, and I can only withdraw. Well, I confess I -wish to reserve one consolation for that day, feeble as it may be—the -satisfaction of being able to say to myself: “She did not know I loved -her.” - -“My poor friend, you take too gloomy a view of the future.” - -“Do not imagine my fears will result in a dangerous melancholy. I -realize more fully than you may suppose the advantages of my present -position. I might at this very moment be in another world—a world of -despair.... To us Christians, such a thought is full of horror. Instead -of that, I see the possibility of repairing the past, and of doing -some good. When I compare my present life with that I was leading a -year ago, the favorable contrast makes me happy! I had discarded the -faith, lost the esteem of upright men, and given myself up to ignoble -pleasures!—useless to the world, an object of disgust to myself. I had -not the courage to look at myself as I was. How all that is changed! -How happy I ought to be!... But, no; the heart of man is at once weak -and insatiable. At a time when I ought to be happy, I am so weak as -to yield to a love I should have denied myself. If I cannot overcome -it, it will be a source of new regret. I know there is one means of -safety, or perhaps there is—that of flight.... But, no; I will not, I -cannot thus ensure a selfish security. It would be cowardly to recede -before the noble work God has assigned me. There is no doubt now as to -my future usefulness at Mr. Smithson’s. I could not find elsewhere the -same facilities for doing the good I long to effect. I will remain....” - -“I will not assert it would be cowardly to leave, but a man as -courageous as you are and have need to be ought to remain at his post -at whatever cost. Like you, I believe that is the post to which God -himself has called you.” - -“I shall remain.... You cannot imagine how happy I am there when my -heart is not agitated. Provisions are dear this year, and we have -quite a number of hands forced by want to leave Paris. These two -things combined have produced unusual demoralization among the men -we employ. Some give themselves up to drunkenness by way of relief; -others, listening to the evil suggestions of hunger, conceive an inward -hatred against those who are rich. There are a few ringleaders, and -a good many disaffected men, all ready to yield to the most criminal -proposals. Mr. Smithson is aware of this, and therefore fully approves -of my plan for the amelioration of so mixed a set. I must do him the -justice to acknowledge he has been generous. His wife and daughter -are still more so. I shall therefore remain as long as I can. I only -beseech God for one favor—to bless my efforts, and give me the courage -necessary to make the great sacrifice if it be required....” - -“Ah! then you really love Mlle. Smithson. I thought at the most you -were only afraid of loving her.” - -“No; I will no longer keep this secret to myself; it is too great a -burden to bear alone. Besides, this concealment would not be worthy of -either of us. I was still in doubt this morning, but have since read -the state of my heart more clearly. And this is what enabled me to do -so: - -“I returned home from church this morning with Mlle. Eugénie and her -mother. The church, you know, is a kilometre and a half from the mill, -but the road is delightful. On coming out of church, Mme. Smithson, -who is an excellent woman, and quite pleasant and easy in her manners, -invited me, as it were, to accompany them. Mlle. Eugénie at first -remained apart with her waiting-maid, but still near enough to hear -what we said. We first discussed the things suitable to give the poor, -and the utility of familiar conversation with them in their houses. I -expressed a determination to perform this act of charity as often as -possible. I begged Mme. Smithson to mention the families she thought it -advisable to visit in this way, as she knows them better than I. She -promised to give me a list. Mlle. Eugénie then drew near, and said she -would add a few names to it; then, taking a part in the conversation, -and even directing it with the grace she shows in everything, she spoke -in turn of charity, religion, and literature with an elevation of -thought and in such beautiful language that it was a pleasure to listen -to her. From time to time we stopped to look, now at one object, and -then at another—the large trees by the wayside, the bushes, or the -cottages. Mlle. Smithson found something charming to say of everything. -We were half an hour in going a distance we might have accomplished in -twenty minutes—a delightful half-hour, but it had its bitterness, as -all my joys will henceforth have. I see it is the will of God that I -should expiate my offences. Like you, I am persuaded that the privilege -of doing good—the most desirable of all privileges—is only to be -purchased at the price of suffering.” - -“Yes,” said Victor; “but at the price of what suffering? Who can assure -you it is that of which you are thinking?... That is a secret known -only to God.” - -“That is true, but I am sure I had to-day a foretaste of the suffering -I allude to. She was there beside me—that beautiful young girl -who would be a model of feminine excellence did she not lack one -quality—piety—a piety more womanly, more profound, and more simple. -She said many striking things—things that go straight to the heart: -there was perfect sympathy between her soul and mine, but I watched -over myself that I might not betray the admiration, the delight, -the emotion, with which I listened to her! In the expression of her -eyes, the tone of her voice, and whole manner, I could see, alas! how -indifferent she was towards me; that she regarded me as her father’s -agent—a mere employé, worthy only of passing attention.” - -“How do you know? You are so accustomed to reading hearts that perhaps -you take imagination for reality.” - -“I do not think so.... She has changed towards me, I acknowledge. She -regards me as a sincere, upright person. I know how to keep in my -place, but there she allows me to remain, and will continue to do so.” - -Louis was extremely agitated when he left us that evening. My poor -Victor, ill as he was, and he was now worse than ever, was thoughtful -and sad for some time after Louis had gone. - -“What is the matter?” I asked. - -“I am thinking of Louis,” he replied. “I fear things may turn out badly -for our poor friend. I do not know whether he will ever marry Eugénie -or not; but I have a presentiment, I know not why, that this love is to -cause him great suffering. And yet this attachment could not fail to -spring up. If it is God’s will that Louis should pass through a severe -trial, promise me to stand by him.” - -“But you will also stand by him?” - -“I shall no longer be here.” - -Sad words! they were soon to be verified. Meanwhile, the hour of trial -was approaching our poor friend—the trial he himself had foreseen. - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -A SOUBRETTE’S PLOT. - -MEANWHILE, Fanny was preparing sad hours for Louis. - -Louis thought Eugénie maintained great reserve during the conversation -that took place on their way home from church—so insatiable is one who -loves! But Fanny received quite a different impression. Never had she -seen her mistress so inspired, or converse with so much fluency and -animation. Mme. Smithson’s kindness towards Louis, the appreciatory -remarks she and her daughter made after their return home, and the -dry, haughty manner with which Eugénie put Fanny in her place when she -attempted to speak of the engineer, all excited the cunning servant’s -suspicions in the highest degree. - -“There is nothing lost yet,” she said to herself; “perhaps there has -been no danger of it. Mademoiselle is not in love with him now, but -she may be soon, if care is not taken. To delay any further would risk -everything. I will hesitate no longer. How M. Albert would reproach me -were I to warn him too late! How much I should reproach myself! Instead -of having that excellent boy, so dear to me, for a master who would -allow me to govern his house in my own way, I should be the humble -servant of this gentleman, who is by no means pleasing to me, and who -appears determined to make everybody yield to him. He is humble for the -moment, because he has nothing; but I can read in his eyes: the day -he is master here it will be in earnest. I shall then have to start. -That would be distressing. There is only one way of avoiding such a -misfortune: I must hasten to write Albert’s mother!” - -So saying, Fanny seated herself at her table. An hour after, her -_chef-d’œuvre_ was completed. She reminded Mme. Frémin, her old -mistress, of the affection she had always cherished for her and her -son—which was true; she spoke of having wished for several years -to see Albert marry Eugénie, and pointed out the perfect harmony of -taste there was between the two cousins. This point, however, remained -problematical. Fanny added that she should not be happy till the day -she saw her two dear children united and established, and she herself -living with them, entirely devoted to their interests. - -Like all shrewd people, the _soubrette_ reserved the most important -communication for the end of her letter. She then remarked that Mlle. -Eugénie seemed to be tired of the country, and it was time for Albert -to offer himself; for, if another suitor appeared first, which she -insinuated was by no means improbable, Albert might regret his delay. -She had serious apprehensions.... Albert must really come. She would -tell him all; he would never regret having undertaken the journey. But -he must be careful, if he came, not to mention that she, Fanny, had -urged him to do so. If she wrote thus, it was only because she was in -a manner constrained by her affection for Albert and Eugénie. He must -therefore be careful not to risk everything by his indiscretion.... - -This letter, carefully corrected and copied, was taken to the -post-office in town the next day. No one suspected Fanny had written -to Tante Frémin. It is useless to speak of the impatience with which -she waited to see what her _protégé_ would do. She trembled at the idea -that he might not be roused till it was entirely too late to come. - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -A GLEAM BEFORE THE STORM. - -A WEEK after, Louis was again invited to dine at Mr. Smithson’s, -whose birthday they were to celebrate. The only people invited out of -the family were the doctor and the _Curé_ of St. M——. The _curé’s_ -invitation was an affair of importance, as you will see. - -Mr. Smithson, as I have remarked, was an Englishman by birth. He had -been induced by two motives to settle permanently in France when about -thirty years of age: the climate suited his constitution better than -that of his own country, and he could live more at his ease on the same -income than he could in England. - -Taking a house in Paris occupied by several tenants, his attention was -drawn towards a young girl employed in a mercer’s shop on the ground -floor of the same building. This girl was no other than the present -Mme. Smithson. She lived with her mother, who was in comfortable -circumstances, but made no pretensions. They were very estimable -people, and gave the rich Englishman to understand that he could -only be admitted as a visitor on condition of acknowledged serious -intentions. Mr. Smithson at first hesitated. The girl was not rich, she -belonged to a class he considered inferior to his own, and, what was -more, they were of different religions. But it was too late to call -reason to his aid. For six months he had felt a constantly increasing -love for her. He therefore offered her his hand, merely requiring one -concession on her part before he could marry her: she must embrace -the religion he professed himself. Neither of the women who listened -to this proposition was pious, but they did not lack faith, and they -fulfilled the absolute commands of the church. They therefore replied, -without a moment’s hesitation, that Mlle. Suzanne could not give up her -religion for the sake of marrying him. At this, Mr. Smithson hesitated -anew, but, as before, love carried the day. He renewed his offer, -promising not to interfere with Suzanne’s religious belief if she -would become his wife. He only made one condition to their marriage: -they should respectively practise their religion without making any -attempt to convert each other. As to the children, the boys must be -brought up in their father’s belief, the daughters in that of their -mother. Deplorable arrangement! showing the shameful indifference of -both parties, or their foolish and culpable inconsistency. You know -the church expressly forbids such concessions. It only tolerates mixed -marriages on a precisely contrary condition: the parties to be married -must pledge themselves that their offspring shall be brought up in the -Catholic religion. I do not know how Mlle. Suzanne, in becoming Mme. -Smithson, found means to evade this new difficulty. It is possible -that, through ignorance or culpable weakness, she yielded to the terms -without acknowledging it to any one. She doubtless hoped, when the time -came for testing the arrangement, to find some means of extricating -herself from it. At all events, they were married. Mr. Smithson -remained an Anglican, and, astonishing to say, a thorough one. His -attachment to the Church of England was easily explained by those who -knew him. He still cherished an ardent love for his country, and almost -reproached himself for leaving it. His fidelity to the English Church -was a last testimony of attachment to the country he had abandoned. - -When Eugénie was born, her father manifested a temporary sullenness and -ill humor at her baptism that frightened Mme. Smithson. Nevertheless, -she was firm. Eugénie was brought up very strictly, and her father -gradually became accustomed to her being a Catholic, to see her -practise her religion, and even hear her speak of it with enthusiasm, -for she was enthusiastic on all great themes. - -These were, it must be said, the only concessions Mr. Smithson made to -the true faith. He never entered a Catholic church. He even refused -to acknowledge that which its very enemies are forced to concede—the -grandeur and utility of the enterprises she alone successfully -achieves; the efficacious assistance she renders each one of us at -critical moments in our lives; and the happiness—earthly happiness -even—that she bestows on all who are faithful to her teachings. -But the decided stand Mr. Smithson took against the true faith was -specially manifested by his antipathy to the priesthood. Though he had -lived a year and a half at St. M——, he had never had any intercourse -with the Abbé Bonjean, the _curé_ of the commune. Mme. Smithson -and her daughter went to High Mass every Sunday, made the _curé_ a -brief call on New Year’s Day, and went to confession at Easter—that -was all. I had some reason, therefore, to say it was a thing of no -small importance to see the _abbé_ at Mr. Smithson’s table. What had -effected such a change in the mind of this dogmatic Englishman?... -Had his daughter begged it as a favor?... By no means. Eugénie was -not pious enough to care for the society of the _curé_.... Had Mme. -Smithson ventured to break the compact which forbade her broaching, -even remotely, the subject of religion to her husband? Still less -likely. Madame had not the courage unless forced to revolt against some -enormity like apostasy. What led Mr. Smithson to invite the _abbé_ -was the result of his own reflections. Since he had taken charge of -a manufactory, and been brought in contact with a large number of -workmen, some poor and others corrupt, he had felt an increasing -desire of being useful to them, both morally and physically. Mr. -Smithson had really a noble heart. Catholic benevolence excited his -admiration more than he confessed. It caused him to reflect, though he -was careful not to reveal his thoughts. These salutary reflections had -gradually convinced him that, if he wished to reform the place, he must -obtain the aid of some one not only of good-will like Louis, but of -incontestable moral authority.... Where find a person with more means -than the _curé_?... With the extreme prudence habitual to him—and he -was more cautious now than ever, as it was a question of a priest—he -was desirous of studying his future co-laborer. He could not help it; -this black-robed man inspired him with distrust. “I will begin by -studying him,” he said to himself; “and, for that, he must come to my -house.” This plan decided upon, he acted accordingly. Without telling -any one of his secret intention, without even giving a hint of it, -except to his wife and daughter at the last moment, he invited the -_abbé_. - -Louis had already begun to understand his employer’s prejudices, and -was therefore extremely astonished when he arrived to find the _curé_ -had been invited. But his astonishment was mingled with joy. He had -already become acquainted with the _abbé_, and had been to confession -to him more than once, and had more than one conversation with him. The -_curé_ was even aware of all Louis’ plans, and, as may be supposed, -gave them his entire approbation. - -There was some stiffness and embarrassment as the guests seated -themselves at table, and looked at one another; but, after a few -moments, the genuine simplicity of the _abbé_, who was no fool, and the -doctor’s facetiousness, broke the ice. Mr. Smithson alone maintained -his usual reserve. He had sent for the _abbé_ that he might study his -character, and he was not neglecting it. As to Louis, seated opposite -Eugénie, he seemed to emulate the wise man of the Scriptures who had -made a compact with his eyes and his tongue. He tempered the fire of -his eye, restrained his flow of words, and courageously filled the part -he had imposed on himself—that of a man serious unto coldness, calm -unto insensibility. - -Everything passed off very well till the dessert. Mr. Smithson then -directed the conversation to the condition of his workmen, and spoke of -his desire to ameliorate it. Eugénie warmly applauded what her father -said; she spoke of some visits she had made, and gave many interesting -details respecting the families she had assisted. - -The good _abbé_ had, alas! one fault. Priests have their faults as well -as we—fewer, without doubt, but still they have some. The _curé’s_ -defect was a want of prudence. He was agreeable in conversation, and -had the best intentions in the world, but he did not weigh his words -sufficiently. He never troubled himself about the interpretation, -malevolent or otherwise, that certain people might give to them. He -was a good man, but not sufficiently mindful of our Saviour’s counsel -to be wise as a serpent and simple as a dove. He was amiable and -sincere, but lacking in discretion: that was a misfortune. At a time -of religious indifference and of impiety like ours, more than usual -prudence is necessary for all who love their religion: the impious are -so glad to find a pretext for their calumnies! The _abbé_ now began -in the heartiest manner, and very sincerely too, to compliment Mr. -Smithson for all he had said, and Mlle. Eugénie for all she had done. -He gave a thrilling but true sketch of the ravages want and immorality -were making among the working-classes, and dwelt on the necessity of -an immediate and efficacious remedy. All this was proper. There was -nothing so far to criticise. But the _abbé_ should have stopped there. -He had, however, the indiscretion to keep on, adding many things ill -adapted to those before whom he was speaking. “I know what remedies are -necessary,” said he; “and who of us does not? They are—instruction to -a certain degree, visiting the poor in their houses, dropping a good -word, and, above all, the infinite service of leading them back to the -holy Catholic religion, which alone knows how to influence the heart -of man, and inspire benevolent souls with the wisdom and perseverance -necessary for perfecting their noble enterprises. I hope I wound no -one’s feelings in expressing myself thus. What I have said is only a -well-known truth, readily acknowledged by a multitude of upright souls -who have not, however, the happiness of belonging to us.” - -Mr. Smithson said nothing. He felt the shaft, however blunted, that -was aimed so directly at him. The _curé_ himself seemed conscious of -having gone too far in the ardor of his untimely zeal. The Englishman -was one of those men who only retort when obliged to: he remained -silent. The poor _curé_ hurt himself still more by enthusiastically -eulogizing Louis a few minutes after in these words: “M. Louis, by -another year, you will have shown yourself the good angel of the whole -country around.” - -This appeared exaggerated to Mr. Smithson. It excited his jealousy, -already awakened. He imagined he saw proofs of an understanding -between the _curé_ and the engineer in this unfortunate remark. Their -understanding had an evident aim, in Mr. Smithson’s eyes, to diminish -his moral influence, and even suppress it. “That is the way with -Catholic priests,” he said to himself. “They are ambitious, scheming, -eager to rule, and knowing how to find accomplices everywhere.” The -_curé_ and Louis thenceforth became objects of suspicion, though he was -careful not to show it outwardly. - -Louis had begun to understand human nature, and at once realized all -the imprudence of the _curé’s_ remarks. He foresaw the bad effect they -would have on the master of the house. He tried in vain, by some adroit -turn in the conversation, to lessen, if not to annul, the unfortunate -impression the _abbé’s_ conversation might have produced. The _curé_ -persisted in his opinion, and only added to his previous blunder. Louis -felt he should not gain anything, and stopped short with so distressed -an air that it was pitiful to see him. - -Mr. Smithson, led away by his prejudices, thought Louis’ depression -the consequence of his accomplice’s betraying so awkwardly the secret -tie between them. “The engineer is, perhaps, the more dangerous of -the two,” he said to himself. “I should never have suspected their -plan, had it not been for the _abbé’s_ imprudent frankness.” Hence he -concluded there would be more need than ever of keeping an eye on his -subordinate. - -Eugénie, though not pious, understood her religion too well, and loved -it, or rather, admired it too much, to be astonished at what the _curé_ -had said. She thoroughly agreed with him, but, as the conversation -became serious, she only attended to the most important points, and -paid but little attention to the _abbé’s_ imprudent remarks. The -praise he bestowed on Louis did not seem to her excessive. She rather -approved than condemned it. She did not, therefore, suspect the cause -of Louis’ sadness, but attributed it to a want of ease naturally -occasioned by the inferior position into which he had been thrown -by his misfortunes. More than once she came to his aid, politely -addressing the conversation to him. Seeing him still preoccupied, she -ended by proposing after dinner that he should sing something to her -accompaniment. Louis excused himself. “I insist upon it,” she said, in -a tone of sweet authority that instantly transported him into a new -world. He forgot the _curé’s_ imprudence, its probable effect on Mr. -Smithson, and his own difficult position. The first time for a long -while—ten years, perhaps—he had one of those moments of cloudless -happiness that rarely falls to man’s lot, and can never be forgotten. -It seemed as if a mysterious, ravishing voice whispered that Eugénie -was beginning to love him. At least, he no longer doubted for the -moment the possibility of her loving him some day. Louis had the soul -of an artist, and possessed undoubted talent, and he sang that evening -as he had never sung in his life. - -When the song was ended, he turned toward Eugénie, and read in her eyes -sincere astonishment and admiration, but nothing else. All his doubts, -all his sadness, revived. An instant before, his heart overflowed -with joy: now he was so cast down that he was alarmed, and wondered -what misfortune was going to happen to him. I am not exaggerating: -ardent natures often pass through such alternations of extreme joy -and sadness. The evening passed away without any new incident. Before -midnight, the guests returned home, and were free to yield to their own -thoughts. The few hours just elapsed had modified the sentiments of all -who had dined together at Mr. Smithson’s. - -Eugénie, without allowing it to appear outwardly, had also had one -of those sudden revelations that like a flash reveal everything with -unexpected clearness. For the first time, she fully realized the -possibility of loving one whom she at first despised. Louis’ dignified, -melancholy air, his grave, earnest manner of conversing, his remarkable -musical talent, and the sympathetic tone of his voice, all produced an -effect on Eugénie she had never experienced before. Not that she loved -him yet, but she asked herself how long her indifference would last. -First impressions are hard to efface from ardent souls. Eugénie was -alarmed at the idea of loving one who had at first inspired her with so -much distrust. She resolved to watch more carefully over herself, and -keep an observant eye on one who might take a place in her heart she -did not wish to give, unless for ever. - -This was wise. One cannot take too much precaution when there is reason -to fear the heart is disposed to yield. The heart is the best or the -worst of counsellors, according as it is guided or abandoned by reason. -Besides, Eugénie was wholly ignorant of Louis’ feelings towards her. - -Poor Louis ended the evening in disheartening reflections. He began by -dwelling on a painful alternative: either Eugénie did not suspect his -love for her, or, if she perceived it, her only response was a coldness -that was discouraging. “And yet,” thought he, “if I am mistaken!... If -she already loves me in her heart!... If at least she could some day -love me!” ... He smiled. Then another fear, still worse than the rest, -crossed his mind. “Well, if it were so, there would be another obstacle -in the way more dangerous than the indifference of Mlle. Eugénie -herself—the opposition of her father. He would never consent to the -marriage. His antipathy to me has always been evident. The _abbé_ has -completed my ruin. I am henceforth a dangerous man—a fanatic—in Mr. -Smithson’s eyes!” - -“What shall I do?” added Louis, by way of conclusion. “Shall I give up -the work I have undertaken? Ought I to practise my religion secretly, -in order to give no offence?... No, indeed; that would be cowardly, -unworthy of a man of courage, and criminal ingratitude towards God, who -has been so merciful to me.... No hateful concessions! With the divine -assistance, I will do what I think is for the best. Whatever happens -will be the will of God.... Whatever it may be, I shall be sure of -having nothing to repent of....” - -To be serious, I should add that Louis, in forming this resolution, was -not so heroic as he really believed himself to be. He was young, he was -in love: and youth and love have always some hope in store. - -It is useless to speak of Mr. Smithson. We are aware of his sentiments. -Louis was not wrong in his fears respecting him. And yet, however sad -Louis’ position might be, it was soon to become still more so. A new -cloud was rising without his suspecting it. - - TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -MARRIAGE SONG. - -BY AUBREY DE VERE. - - Love begins upon the heights, - As on tree-tops, in the spring, - April with green foot alights - While the birds are carolling: - Aye, but April ends with May: - Love must have the marriage-day! - - II. - - Love begins upon the heights, - As o’er snowy summits sail - First the dewy matin lights - Destined soon to reach the vale: - Love-touched maidens must not grieve - That morn of love hath noon and eve! - - III. - - Love begins with Fancy first, - Proud young Love the earth disdains - But his cold streams, mountain-nursed, - Warm them in the fruitful plains - Ere the marriage-day be sped:— - Peal the bells! The bride is wed! - - - - -PHILOSOPHICAL TERMINOLOGY. - -A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF “THE CATHOLIC WORLD.” - -THE suggestion often made in your excellent magazine, that Americans in -general, and American Catholics in particular, should be supplied with -some means of acquiring sound knowledge of philosophical truth, led me -to consider what particular plan might be most adapted to this end, -and what resources were at our disposal for carrying out successfully -such a praiseworthy undertaking. The result of this my investigation -is not calculated, perhaps, to excite that degree of interest which -the subject deserves; yet, as it may be the occasion of other useful -reflections on the part of those who wish to promote this enterprise, I -have decided to offer it to your philosophical readers. - -I assume that our plan should unquestionably embrace either all that -is worth knowing in philosophy, or at least all that is needed for the -explanation and vindication of all important truths, as well as for the -radical refutation of all modern errors. - -To carry out such a plan, a writer would need an extensive knowledge -and a keen appreciation of the teachings of the scholastic philosophers -and theologians, and especially a masterly comprehension of the general -principles on which those teachings have their rational foundation. -Such a writer, I think I may safely add, should be of that sort of men -who not only know the doctrines of the great masters of the old school, -but who also feel the greatest respect for those eminent thinkers; -and he should be prepared boldly to follow their leadership in all -fundamental questions concerning principles, without the least regard -for what is now circulated as “modern thought.” His style should be -modern, but his principles should be the principles sanctioned by the -wisdom of all past ages. - -Every one, of course, will allow that we modern men, in many branches -of natural science, have attained to a degree of information vastly -superior to what the ancients even dreamed of. Accordingly, we may not -improperly consider ourselves better qualified than they were for the -solution of a great number of physical questions, of which they are -known to have either overlooked the very existence, or missed the true -interpretation. It is quite certain, however, at the same time, that we -are immensely inferior to them with regard to strictly philosophical -knowledge; and this is the more surprising as one would suppose that -our superior information concerning the laws of nature would have -enabled us to reach truth from a higher standpoint, and to correct and -improve, even to perfection, the philosophical theories of the old -school. Yet the fact is certain and notorious: we have only a few good -philosophers, while we need a great many to stand against the torrent -of infidelity. - -As it is, I think that no man of judgment will deny that we cannot -raise ourselves to a competent philosophical level and secure the -triumph of truth unless we learn again, and turn to account in our war -against our modern barbarians, those doctrines that triumphed over the -barbarians of old, and made Europe remain for centuries the shining -centre of the civilized world. Wisdom was not born yesterday, and -philosophical principles are as old as mankind; hence, new facts may be -seen, but no new principles of philosophy can be invented. - -It therefore remains for us, if we wish to spread sound knowledge and -foster true wisdom, to cling to the old philosophical principles, to -vindicate them so far as in our present struggling condition it may be -necessary, and to apply them judiciously to the close discussion and -consistent settlement of arising questions. This is the road that will -lead us to the goal; and it is a short and easy one, too; for the first -principles of all things are not very many, and can be mastered with -ease, while their application needs only two conditions, namely, first, -a sufficient knowledge of the primitive facts and laws of the physical -order; and, second, a rigorous logic. - -As the main object we should have in view is the improvement of -American thought concerning moral and social truths, it might seem -that the work of which I am speaking should mainly be a work of moral -philosophy, comprising the treatment of all natural rights and natural -duties whether of individuals or of societies, and leaving dialectics -and metaphysics mostly in the background as idle speculations, or -at least as teaching nothing that is essential to the happiness and -prosperity of private and public life. It is a fact that the general -reader is inclined to look upon all logical and metaphysical subtleties -as a string of mere quibbles or an array of unsubstantialities. Though -I am sure that, in the present wretched state of our public education, -many would be found, even among our best citizens, ready to adopt and -countenance such a view of the subject, I must say that the view is -intrinsically wrong. - -Philosophy is a whole whose parts are not merely _integrant_, but -_constituent_; for each of these parts is essentially linked with the -others. As time cannot exist without motion, so neither can moral -philosophy without logic and metaphysics; and so sure as no velocity -can exist apart from a moving body, even so rational philosophy cannot -exist apart from all metaphysical truth. To see this the more clearly, -let us examine what are the relations that bind together the parts of -philosophy. - -The old division of this science into _rational_, _real_, and -_moral_, which we find to have been given by Plato,[147] is drawn -from the inmost nature of things and the very constitution of -philosophy. Everything that is perfect, whether it has an existence -in the fields of reality, or only in the region of thought, is found -to involve in its constitution, 1, something competent to give a -certain determination; 2, some other thing liable to receive such a -determination; 3, some third thing which is the immediate result of -the concurrence of the other two. That which gives a determination -is called the “formal” constituent of the thing; that which receives -such a determination is called the “material” constituent of the same -thing; finally, that which results is called the “formal complement,” -and is the actual constitution or the very actuality of the thing thus -constituted. Thus, for example, the human soul, inasmuch as it gives -life to the human body, is the formal constituent of man; the organic -body, inasmuch as it receives life through the soul, is his material -constituent; and actual conscious life, which is the immediate result -of the concurrence of soul and body in one compound nature, is the -actuality of the being thus constituted, and makes it formally complete -in its individual reality. - -Now, philosophy is similarly made up of three such constituents. The -formal constituent and, as it were, the soul of philosophy (and of all -other sciences, too) is logic, or _rational philosophy_. Its duty is to -impress a kind of rational stamp on the objects of science by applying -to them the process of definition, division, and argumentation, which -is the scientific process, and constitutes the “form” of science. For -this reason, logic holds that place in regard to any object of science -which the soul holds in regard to its body, and is therefore to be -considered as the formal constituent of philosophy. - -The material part, or the body, of philosophy is “all real being as -such,” or, in other terms, all the subject-matter of metaphysics, or -_real philosophy_; for metaphysics is nothing but the knowledge of -real things acquired through the consideration of their intrinsic -constitution; hence, all reality, be it created or uncreated, matter -or spirit, substance or accident, is the “material” constituent of -philosophy inasmuch as it is subjected to the scientific form by the -application made to it of the logical process. The objective truth -of things, so long as it is not subjected to the searching scrutiny -of speculative reasoning, mostly belongs to the lower region of -experimentalism, which scarcely deserves, though it has usurped, the -high name of science; but, when pervaded by intellectual light, rises -suddenly as vivified by it, and takes up its place in the serene -region of metaphysics, where it shows itself in all the glory of its -ontological beauty. Hence it is that metaphysics may be compared to a -living body, of which logic is the soul. - -Finally, by the application of logic to objective realities, namely, -by the study of metaphysics, a wonderful bond is established between -the rational faculty and objective truth, the first getting hold of -the second, and the second reacting after its own manner on the first; -so that reason, enlightened by objective truth, knows how to pronounce -a right judgment on the merit of things, and in its natural rectitude -feels compelled to give them that relative place in its estimation to -which each of them is reasonably entitled. As the soul, therefore, -owing to its intimate connection with the body, “feels” what suits or -suits, not the requirement of the animated organism, and is pleased -with the one, and displeased with the other, so also reason, owing -to its clear possession of objective truth, “perceives” what agrees -and what clashes with: the objective order of things, and, with the -authority of a judge, pronounces its sentence that the first must be -approved, and the second condemned. Such dictates of reason form the -object of _moral philosophy_; and it is through them that the moral law -is naturally communicated and promulgated to all rational creatures. - -Hence, it is evident that the knowledge of morality is the result of -an intellectual knowledge of the real nature of things, and of their -intrinsic perfection, exigencies, and manifold relations. Hence, also, -the conclusion that the rational, the real, and the moral order, -though distinct objects of knowledge, are so bound together in one -general science that it would be scarcely possible to speak of the one -without referring to the other. Hence, finally, the further conclusion -that the greater the importance of a true and thorough knowledge of -morality, the more stringent is the necessity of securing to it the -foundation of good, sound, and intelligible metaphysics. To neglect the -latter would be to tamper with the most vital interests of the former. - -Perhaps I might go even further, and say that what we need just now is -not so much a new book of logic or of ethics as of metaphysics. A good -metaphysical work is the surest foundation both of a good logic and of -a good moral philosophy. The laws of thought and the laws of morality -must be explained in accordance with the laws of real being; and the -better we understand these last, the more truly conversant shall we -become with the first. Besides, with respect to logic and ethics, -we have no new doctrines to teach, whilst in metaphysics we have to -settle a number of old and new questions regarding the constitution of -natural things, and their causality, and their mutual connection, as -we find that such questions are not satisfactorily treated either by -the ancient metaphysicians or by our modern unphilosophical physicists. -Such questions regard, as I said, natural things; but their solution -has a bearing on many other philosophical doctrines, because it -materially effects the terminology by which those doctrines are to be -expounded. - -I do not wish, nor would this be the place, to enter into particulars -with regard to the method which might be followed in the treatment of -different philosophical subjects; yet I think it worth remarking in -general that the fewer the principles on which a philosopher shall -build his reasonings, the more clear, uniform, and satisfactory -will his demonstrations generally prove; and, on the other hand, in -proportion as these principles shall be higher, the fewer will be -needed. This leads me to believe that one of the best means which could -be made available for the much-desired success of the undertaking -would be to take our standpoint as high as possible (according to the -very nature of philosophy, which is _scientia per summas causas_), and -to base our demonstrations on the very first constituent principles -of being. Looking down from such a height, we could easily dissipate -the vague phantasmagory, and control the dangerous influences of many -other so-called principles or axioms whose intrusion into the body of -philosophy is due to ignorance or wrong interpretation of the facts and -laws of the physical world. It is through these assumed principles that -a very lamentable discord has been fostered and perpetuated between -the votaries of physics, on the one hand, and those of metaphysics, on -the other; and it is through the same cause, that even now the same -student, after learning one thing as true in his class of metaphysics, -is obliged to hear it declared false in his class of natural -philosophy. This should not be; and we may hope that it will not be -when our philosophical reasonings are ultimately grounded on first -principles, and when no secondary principles are admitted which are not -demonstrated, or corrected, or restricted by some evident and adequate -reduction to first principles. - -But now a question is to be answered which professors of philosophy -will perhaps be the first to propose. The question is this: Can a -sound and thorough work of philosophy, such as we want, be written in -common and popular English, so as to prove easy reading for the average -American student? Or must a special language be used which none but -trained philosophers will understand? - -Every one who knows how peculiar is the language of other sciences -and arts will anticipate the answer. Of course, the English tongue is -as fit as any other to express common thoughts; but common thoughts -are the thoughts of common people, who do not commonly think with the -utmost philosophical precision, nor talk of matters (of which there -are many in philosophy) that transcend the common wants of their -ordinary avocations. This being the case, it is obvious that, in -writing a philosophical work (especially if it be intended to serve as -a text-book for our higher Catholic institutions), it will be necessary -to make use of a special language, which, though English, cannot be -that easy-going and popular English which we find in common use, but -must be a precise, guarded, dry, methodic, abstract, and perhaps -stiff language, such as the gravity, subtlety, and difficulty of -philosophical investigations often require. - -I said, “Especially if the work is intended to serve as a text-book,” -because, in this case, it will be absolutely necessary to adopt in it -the whole of the philosophical terminology that has been handed down to -us by our Catholic ancestors. Terminology, in all branches of study, -is the faithful exponent of the various achievements of science, and -contains, as it were, a summary of all that mankind has succeeded -in learning in the course of centuries. To ignore more or less the -philosophic terminology is therefore to ignore more or less the wisdom -of all past ages. Moreover, it is only by means of an exact terminology -that a teacher can convey the knowledge of exact truth to his pupils’ -minds; and accordingly, all who study philosophy _ex professo_ need to -be well acquainted with its language, that they may acquire a clear, -distinct, and precise knowledge of things; so that, when called upon -in after-life to discuss or expound philosophical matters in a plain -and popular way for the benefit of the unlearned, they may use such -circumlocutions as will not essentially conflict with the truth of -things. Experience shows that those who have not a clear and distinct -conception of things, however much they may try to explain themselves, -are never well understood. - -But what if our work be not especially intended for the class-room, -but only for common reading? Would it still be difficult to have it -written in a plain and intelligible manner? I think it would, unless, -indeed, we leave out the most fundamental questions of metaphysics. If -we were asked only to write a few “academical” essays on philosophical -subjects, without concerning ourselves with the intimate nature of -things, it would not be very difficult to perform such a task in -tolerably readable and popular English; but if we are asked to go to -the root of things, and to give a consistent, clear, accurate, and -radical account of them and of their objective relations; if we are -expected to lay down and explain those grounds of distinction between -similar things that will enable us to avoid latent equivocations, to -detect paralogistic inferences, and to expose the sophistry of our -opponents; if, in short, we must prepare a standard work which will -create a deep and lasting interest, and take hold of the public mind by -its fitness to uproot prejudice, to confound error, and to silence, -if possible, all philosophical knavery, then, I say, we cannot do this -in the language with which people are generally familiar, without -filling it with a number of other words, phrases, and formulas of our -own. This, however, should not be looked upon as discouraging; for the -popularity to which a work on philosophy aspires is not the general -popularity of the newspaper or the novel, but a popularity confined -within the range of deep-thinking minds. Philosophy is not intended for -blockheads nor for the general reader; hence, if these have no relish -for our philosophical style, we shall not, on that account, complain of -any want of popularity. - -We must own, however, that a number of philosophical words have -become popular in other modern languages which are still above -popular comprehension in the English; and on this account the range -of popularity of a philosophical work will be less in our country -than it would, all other things being equal, in France, Italy, or -Spain. In these last countries, where languages are so nearly akin to -the philosophic Latin, and where the study of philosophy under the -supervision of the Catholic Church formed for centuries a prominent -part of public education, every educated person soon learned how to -express in his national idiom what he had been taught in the Latin of -the schools. It is through this process that the language of philosophy -gradually became, in those countries, the language of all educated -people. In England, the same process was going on up to the XVIth -century, and, if continued, would have led to the same results; but -it was checked at the time of the Reformation, to the unphilosophical -and maleficent genius of which it must therefore be ascribed that -all further popular development of the philosophic language has been -arrested for three centuries in the Anglo-Saxon race. - -Had England remained Catholic, and continued, like her sister nations, -to cultivate the fields of speculative knowledge, there is little -doubt that English writers, and the clergy in particular, would -have popularized and brought into common use those philosophical -and theological expressions which had been received already in -their dictionaries, and might have been a most valuable instrument -for improving the intellectual education of the country. But while -this process of familiarizing speculative knowledge was carried on -throughout Catholic Europe, England had something else more pressing -to do: she busied herself with tearing to pieces and burning the -metaphysical and theological books she had inherited from the great -Catholic founders and luminaries of her universities. How could -the Anglo-Saxon race attain to even a common degree of philosophic -development under the sway of a system which was the very negation of -philosophy? Could any one be a philosopher, and yet “protest” against -conclusions of which he had to concede the premises? Protestantism was -not the offspring of reason, but of passion and tyranny; it is carnal, -not intellectual; it popularizes matter, and studies material comfort, -but cannot raise the people to the contemplation and appreciation of -eternal and universal truth. Hence, whilst in all the branches of -knowledge which are connected with their senses the English people -made remarkable strides, in philosophy they remained infants; and it -was only by rowing the boat against the stream that a few privileged -beings saved some relics from the great national wreck. Even now -the Anglo-Saxon Protestant is fated to admire Hume and Bain, Darwin -and Huxley, Mill and Herbert Spencer; and it will be long before he -realizes that it is a shame to talk of these sophists as “our great -national philosophers.” - -The same evil that stayed in England the process of popularization of -the philosophical language, caused this language to remain deficient -in many useful and some necessary words wherewith other nations wisely -enriched their vernacular tongues. This is equivalent to saying that -the English idiom, even as used by the learned, does not always -afford sufficient facilities for the exact expression of metaphysical -relations, and that, therefore, a writer who wishes to be quite -correct in treating of them will be tempted to take liberties with the -language, and will yield to the temptation. - -As an example of this, suppose we wish to say in plain English what -S. Thomas Aquinas teaches in the following sentence (in 1. _Sentent_. -Dist. 2. q. 1, a. 2): “In Deo est sapientia, et bonitas, et hujusmodi, -quorum quodlibet est ipsa divina essentia; et ita omnia sunt unum. Et -quia unumquodque eorum est in Deo secundum sui verissimam rationem, -et ratio sapientiæ non est ratio bonitatis in quantum hujusmodi, -relinquitur quod sunt diversa ratione non tantum ex parte ipsius -ratiocinantis, sed ex proprietate ipsius rei.” - -How should we here translate the word ratio? Andrews’ _Dictionary_ -gives _reason_, _account_, _business_, _relation_, _regard_, _concern_, -_care_, _manner_, _plan_, _reasonableness_, _proof_, and such like; -to which we may add the very word “ratio” used by the English -geometricians to express the quotient of a quantity divided by another -of the same kind. Now, which of these terms can we employ in the -present case? There is not one of them which would not transform this -beautiful and important passage of the angelic doctor into a clumsy -piece of nonsense. To speak of the _reason_ of wisdom, of the _concern_ -of goodness, of the _manner_ of eternity, or of the _business_ of -immensity would be absurd. The temptation to infringe on the rights -of lexicographers is therefore evident. But what other English word -can we employ? Should we translate, _the concept_ of wisdom, and _the -concept_ of goodness? By no means. Not that this last meaning of the -word _ratio_ is not legitimate, but because it is not what we need in -the present case; for the holy doctor does not say that God’s wisdom -and goodness are distinct only on account of our conceptions, but -explicitly teaches that they are distinct on their own grounds, “ex -proprietate ipsius rei.” Hence, “concept” is not the right word; and, -instead of “concept,” we should rather say “that which is the ground -of the concept.” Yet this circumlocution, besides being too long to -replace a single word, does not exactly correspond to it, as every -intelligent reader will easily perceive. The force of the word _ratio_ -might be sufficiently rendered by the compound expression “objective -notion”; but this is forbidden by our dictionaries, according to which -the word “notion” has only a subjective sense. We cannot translate -“the nature” of wisdom and “the nature” of goodness, because it would -then seem that divine wisdom and divine goodness are of a different -nature objectively, and therefore _really_ distinct; which is not the -case, as they are only _mentally_ distinct, though on their own _real_ -grounds. Perhaps, to avoid misconceptions, we might add an epithet to -the word “nature,” and translate _ratio sapientiæ_ as “the notional -nature of wisdom,” that is, as that formality which is distinctly -represented by the notion of wisdom. This last expression might be -considered tolerably correct; yet I should prefer to stick to the Latin -_ratio_, which is so much simpler and clearer, and which has, moreover, -a general and uniform application to all objects of thought; as we -everywhere find _ratio intelligibilis_, _ratio entitativa_, _ratio -generica_, _ratio specifica_, _ratio personæ_, _ratio substantiæ_, and -a great number of similar ratios. And, again, the word _ratio_ has -another very superior claim to adoption, inasmuch as it is the only -word that exactly expresses the transcendental unity resulting from -the conspiration of a material with a formal principle, and implies -in its concrete meaning the two principles from which it results as -actually correlated; for, as the geometric ratio implies a numerator -and a denominator correlated as “that which is mensurable” and “that -by which it is measured,” so the _ratio intelligibilis_, the _ratio -entitativa_, and all the others, imply and exhibit a potential and a -formal principle, correlated as “that which is determinable” and “that -by which it is determined”; and as the terms of a geometric ratio, -inasmuch as they are correlated, give rise to a simple result which -is the value of the ratio, so also the constituent principles of all -beings, inasmuch as they are correlated according to their mutual -ontological exigency, give rise to the actuality of the ontological -_ratio_. It would therefore appear that, if mathematicians are allowed -freely to use the word “ratio,” as they do, in the peculiar sense just -stated, metaphysicians too, _a fortiori_, may be allowed the free -use of the same word in that general sense which I have pointed out, -and which, solely through English philosophical apathy, was unduly -restricted to its present narrow mathematical meaning. - -What I have said of this word may suffice as an instance of the poverty -of our philosophical language. There are other words which philosophers -are sometimes disappointed not to find in our dictionaries, and which -it will be necessary to borrow from other sources, or to translate -from the works of the schoolmen; but, as I cannot come to particulars -without entering into discussions which would lead me much further than -I at present intend to go, I will say nothing more on this point. - -I beg to conclude with a last remark which some readers may deem -superfluous, but which should not be overlooked by the teachers or the -friends of philosophy. It is not so much the want of proper words as -the vague and improper use of the words which we already possess that -is calculated to impair the merit and mar the usefulness of an English -work of philosophy. If I knew that any one was engaged in such a work, -I would earnestly entreat him to spare no efforts to the end that all -indefiniteness or looseness of expression may be excluded from it, and -to take care that his philosophic language be, if possible, as precise -and as carefully wielded as that of the mathematician. In philosophy, -nothing is so dangerous as loose reasoning; and loose reasoning is -inevitable with a loose terminology. Truth, by careless wording, is -often changed into error, and even great heresies are frequently -nothing but the incorrect expression of great truths; according to the -remarkable sentence of S. Thomas: _Ex verbo inordinate prolato nascitur -hæresis._ Hence, all those terms which in the popular language have -a vague meaning should in philosophy be either avoided or strictly -defined, and constantly taken in the strict sense of the definition. - -I remember having found years ago, in the works of an Italian -philosopher whose celebrity has since vanished, nine or ten _different_ -definitions of the word _idea_. Which of such definitions he adopted -as his own I could not discover; but it seemed to me that he adopted -them all in succession, according as they suited the actual needs of -his multiform argumentation—a proceeding which, while confounding -the minds of his readers, was certainly not calculated to give weight -to his conclusions. This same word _idea_ in our popular English is -extremely indefinite; it stands for _object of thought_, _plan_, -_judgment_, _opinion_, _purpose_, and _intention_, none of which would -be the correct philosophical meaning of the word; for “idea,” in all -the approved treatises of psychology, means the knowledge of a thing -directly perceived in any object of first apprehension. Hence, no -accurate philosopher would say that we have an “idea” of God, or of his -immensity, or of virtue, but only that we have a “concept” of God, of -his immensity, of virtue, and of all those other things that are not -objects of first apprehension, and the notions of which can be acquired -only by a special operation of the intellect on pre-existing ideas. -This distinction between “idea” and “concept” is very important in -psychology, and should therefore be adopted in a philosophical work at -the very first beginning of logic, as a first precaution against the -equivocations of the ontologists. - -It is not my intention to point out other words the popular meaning of -which must be sharply looked into by a philosopher before he makes use -of them; I will only add, in connection with the word “idea,” that, -in the classical books of philosophy, the direct knowledge of the -existence of a thing was not called “idea,” but _notitia_. In English, -we have the word “notice”; but this word means, according to Webster, -_the act_ by which we have knowledge of something within the reach of -our senses, whilst the Latin word _notitia_ means rather the permanent -_knowledge_ acquired by that act; whence we see that the Latin _notitia -facti_ cannot be translated “the notice of the fact,” and yet why -should not a philosopher be allowed to use the word “notice” in the -sense of the Latin _notitia_ when he wishes to contrast the knowledge -of the existence of a thing with the knowledge of its properties? This -would be, after all, only a late justice done to the word by again -recognizing its primitive legitimate meaning. - -On the contrary, the word _conscientia_, which in Latin has two -distinct meanings, the psychological and the moral, in English -has been represented by two distinct words, “consciousness” and -“conscience.” This is a real improvement, so far as it goes. But the -word “consciousness,” which properly expresses the knowledge of self -and of the affections of self, has already acquired, as used by modern -authors, a very indefinite meaning, inasmuch as it already replaces -not only the Latin _conscientia_, but every kind of knowledge as well; -so that our educated men do not scruple to declare their consciousness -of the rotation of the earth, or their consciousness of your presence -in the room. In philosophy, where no word should be liable to two -interpretations, such a promiscuous and illogical use of the word is -really intolerable; and I respectfully submit that the word should by -all means be again restricted to its natural signification. - -Not to tire the reader with other considerations of a similar -nature, I will come to an end. My object has been to point out in a -general manner what I considered to be most needed in a good English -philosophical work. Certainly, a work based on unobjectionable -principles, ample in its scope, complete in its parts, and precise -in its terminology, would be a great boon to the higher classes of -American society. Let a writer come forward who, besides a sound -knowledge of philosophical truths, possesses the rare art of expressing -them correctly and forcibly in plain language, and he will see his -efforts so fully rewarded that he will never regret the labor he may -have endured in such a difficult undertaking. - -A FRIEND OF PHILOSOPHY. - - -CHRISTE’S CHILDHOODE. - - TILL twelve yeres’ age, how Christ His childhoode spent - All earthly pennes unworthy were to write; - Such actes to mortall eyes He did presente, - Whose worth not men but angells must recite: - No nature’s blottes, no childish faultes defilde, - Whose Grace was guide, and God did play the childe. - - In springing lockes lay chouchèd hoary witt, - In semblance younge, a grave and aunchient port; - In lowly lookes high maiestie did sitt, - In tender tunge, sound sence of sagest sort: - Nature imparted all that she could teache, - And God supplyd where Nature coulde not reach. - - His mirth, of modest meane a mirrhour was, - His sadness, tempred with a mylde aspecte; - His eye, to trye ech action was a glasse, - Whose lookes did good approue and bad correct; - His nature’s giftes, His grace, His word, and deede, - Well shew’d that all did from a God proceede. - - —_Southwell._ - - - - -THE TROWEL OR THE CROSS - -FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN. - -“_This is your hour, and the power of darkness._”—S. Luke xxii. 53. - -CONCLUDED. - - -CHAPTER III. - -JESUIT AND NEW PROTESTANT. - -EARLY the next morning, the count was awakened suddenly from his -slumber. The three bells of the church-tower gave forth sorrowful -tones. The peasants assembled from all parts. Von Scharfenstein opened -a window, and looked in vain for the rising smoke, in order to discover -the whereabouts of the fire; but neither flame nor smoke was to be -seen. And yet all the inhabitants, men, women, and children, were -moving in the same direction, so that there must have been some cause -for the alarm. - -“Where is the fire?” he asked of an aged man, who could hardly walk -even with the aid of his cane. “Where is the fire, good man?” - -“There is no fire; the gendarmes are here to arrest our pastor.” - -Von Scharfenstein closed the window. - -“This is too much,” said he angrily. “The Freemasons, who are -ordinarily cunning enough, have this time committed a great mistake. If -the sons of the cross are not more prudent than the sons of the trowel, -there will be bloodshed in this case. The peasants will defend their -priest with scythes and axes.” - -Meanwhile, the police commissioner who had come from the city with two -gendarmes endeavored to put a stop to the ringing of the bells. Before -going to the church, he had foolishly stationed the gendarmes upon the -high step of the pastoral residence, so that the Jesuit should not -escape. - -“Stop the ringing of the bells,” cried out the commissioner to the -bell-ringers. - -“Ring away!” exclaimed a sturdy, well-dressed farmer who had closely -followed the commissioner. “Continue to ring; the bells are ours; there -is fire!” - -“I am the police commissioner,” said the officer sternly. “I am here by -the command of the government, and I repeat my orders to stop at once -the ringing of the bells!” - -“And I am the burgomaster of this place, and repeat that the bells -shall be rung,” replied the angry and excited villager. “You have no -right to command here, and much less in the church. When the whole -parish is assembled, the bells shall be stopped, not before.” - -The commissioner ground his teeth. He quailed before the determined -aspect of the burgomaster, and returned to the priest’s house. There -his anger changed into fear. The large yard before the house, the -surrounding walls, and the street were thickly covered with people. He -saw threatening looks and fierce eyes glaring upon him when he ascended -the steps. The crowd was as yet quiet, but already there were signs of -a coming storm. - -The police commissioner unceremoniously entered the presence of Prince -Joseph von Eberstein, the Jesuit father. - -“There, look!” he exclaimed rudely. “That is your work—open rebellion -against the government!” - -“Pardon me, Herr Commissioner,” replied the priest calmly; “how could I -have caused the tumult, since I had no knowledge of your coming?” - -“You have nevertheless incited the people to revolt against the -government, and here is the result of your teaching!” - -“Sir, I have not incited the people against the government; the -government itself, by a violent and unjustifiable act, has provoked the -honest wrath of these simple peasants. I beg you to be less prejudiced.” - -The bells were now silent; in the yard, a threatening murmur was heard; -the crowd seemed to be greatly incensed, and the commissioner saw that -the situation was becoming very critical. He listened at the window. - -“To carry away our priest like a thief, like a murderer!” exclaimed a -trembling voice. “We will not permit it; he must remain here!” - -“If our pastor was a servant of Judas,” said another voice, “and would -betray our religion to the Freemasons, then they would not persecute -him. But because he is a pious, conscientious priest whom we all love -and respect, they wish to take him away.” - -“Yes; that is the reason.” - -“We will not suffer it; we will keep our priest; he shall not go!” -exclaimed many voices confusedly. - -The officer looked at the excited crowd, and acknowledged that it would -be dangerous to use violence. - -“I regret this commotion,” said Prince von Eberstein. “If, however, you -choose to follow my advice, you can yet take your prisoner.” - -“What is your advice?” - -“Send away the gendarmes at once; their presence only serves to -exasperate the people. After that, I will speak to my parishioners, and -will enter the carriage with you.” - -“Your advice is discreet,” replied the commissioner, who went out, and -commanded the gendarmes to leave Weselheim forthwith. - -The departure of the gendarmes tranquillized the crowd. The threats -ceased, and the clinched fists were opened. Upon the steps of his -residence the prince now appeared dressed in his cassock. - -“May Jesus Christ be praised, your reverence!” exclaimed the assembled -parish. - -“Now and for ever, dear children! First let me thank you for the love -and sympathy you have always shown me during my stay among you. You -know that the government objects to my remaining here because I am a -foreigner. I have been frequently directed by the temporal power to -leave my parish. But because our Lord Jesus Christ has not commanded -the temporal powers to preach the Gospel, to administer the sacraments, -or to govern the church, but has given that right to the Pope, the -bishops, and the priests, and because I have derived my mission not -from the temporal authority, but from the church, I have refused to -leave the dear fold entrusted to my care, nor shall I leave it. In -order that these unfortunate disturbances may not recur again, I intend -to accompany the commissioner to the city. There I will lay the whole -affair before our most gracious king, who is a wise and just ruler. -I shall ask him to arrange matters so that I shall not be molested -again in the discharge of my sacred duties. Are you satisfied, dear -parishioners?” - -The deepest silence reigned. - -“Your reverence,” exclaimed a voice, “if you promise us to come back, -then we are satisfied.” - -“I promise it to you,” answered the priest firmly. - -He then re-entered the house. - -“Herr Commissioner, have the carriage immediately brought before the -steps, so that any further excitement may be avoided.” - -This was done. When, however, the children saw their pastor getting -into the carriage, they commenced to weep aloud, in which the girls and -women joined, so that heart-rending lamentations filled the air. The -driver whipped the horses, and the carriage almost flew through the now -desolated village. - -“Do not weep so!” said Keller; “our pastor will return: he has promised -it.” - -“But if they imprison him?” said a timid woman. - -“Ah! bah! things have not yet come to such a pass!” observed the -burgomaster; “the parish will protect him!” - -The people now separated. Only the burgomaster and some of the -influential villagers remained in the priest’s house conversing -together. In a short time, another carriage stopped at the door. The -astonished men saw an official wearing a very rich uniform descend from -the carriage. - -“I think I know him,” said Keller. “Yes; I am right: he is one of the -four Freemasons.” - -A priest who accompanied the official was received by the villagers -with sharp and suspicious looks. - -“Good-morning!” said the friendly official. “I am rejoiced to meet here -in the priest’s house such a number of gentlemen. Herr Burgomaster, if -I am not mistaken?” - -“Yes; I am he, and these are the councilmen.” - -“This is splendid; what a fortunate circumstance!” remarked the -official. “I am the government counsellor, and have come to introduce -this reverend gentlemen into his office, so that the good parish of -Weselheim should not be one moment without a pastor.” - -The men looked at one another; they were greatly perplexed, and seemed -hardly to understand what was going on. - -“But, Herr Counsellor,” said the burgomaster, “we have a pastor. He -went only an hour ago to the city to see his most gracious majesty the -king, and to-morrow he will return.” - -“You are mistaken, Herr Burgomaster,” assured the smiling counsellor -and grandmaster of the Freemasons. “The Jesuit will not return.” - -The last words fell like a thunderbolt among them. - -“What?—O ho!” exclaimed the men. “We shall see! Our pastor is the Rev. -Herr von Eberstein; we wish no other.” - -“Unfortunately, Herr von Eberstein is a foreigner,” replied the -counsellor, shrugging his shoulders. “I introduce to you a pious priest -whose zeal will certainly bring a blessing upon the parish.” - -The priest bowed and smiled, but the villagers evidently did not like -him. - -“What is your name, if we may be allowed to ask?” - -“My name is Stechapfel” (thorn-apple), answered the priest. - -“What! Stechapfel?” cried they all, drawing back. - -“Are you not the New Protestant Stechapfel of whom we have read so much -in the newspapers?” inquired Ewald, one of the councilmen. - -“I am not a New Protestant, but an Old Catholic,” replied Stechapfel. - -“It is really so—it is he!” exclaimed Keller. “Do you know, Herr -Stechapfel, what you call ‘Old Catholic’ is understood among Catholics -as ‘New Protestant’? We know also why the heretics of our day have -invented the word ‘Old Catholic’: they did so to throw sand in the -eyes of the people; as if they, the heretics, had remained faithful -to the old Catholic doctrine, but the Pope and all the bishops and -priests, as also all Catholics, had renounced the true faith. Luther, -the first Protestant, did the very same thing. He accused the Pope -and the bishops of having left the old doctrine, but that he, Luther, -had retained it, for which reason he was an Old Catholic. The same is -repeated to-day; it is deception—pure deception; therefore we do not -call these deceivers ‘Old Catholics,’ but ‘New Protestants.’” - -“I deplore all this confusion,” replied Stechapfel devoutly. “I have -nothing to do with Luther nor with heresy of any sort. I keep firmly to -the Old Catholic doctrine.” - -“Please listen to me, Herr Stechapfel; I wish to ask you something,” -began Keller, moving his cap on one side of his head. “Do you believe -that the Pope is infallible when he explains and defines how an article -of faith or of morals is to be understood?” - -“No; I do not believe it, because it was never believed before,” -replied Stechapfel. - -“Was never believed before—only hear that!” exclaimed the villagers, -laughing. - -“Then let me continue—I am not through yet,” said Keller. “You -believe, therefore, Herr Stechapfel, that the Pope and all the bishops -erred when they maintained this doctrine in the council?” - -“Of course they erred; for they invented a new article of faith,” -answered Stechapfel. - -“Ha! ha! That is too absurd!” cried out some of those present. - -“Do not laugh, men; it is not a laughing matter,” said Keller. “Now, -Herr Stechapfel, since you are to be our pastor, you can perhaps -explain something that I do not understand. Our Lord instituted an -infallible teaching tribunal in his church before he ascended to -heaven. That he was obliged to institute this infallible tribunal I can -understand; for fifty years would not have elapsed after his ascension, -before learned men would have begun to misinterpret and distort his -doctrine. Therefore an infallible tribunal was necessary, that it might -tell the people what is and what is not the doctrine of Christ. Our -Lord has also promised and given to this infallible tribunal the Holy -Ghost, that he should remain with it unto the end of the world, and -establish it in all truth. But now, this tribunal, that is, the Pope -and the bishops, has declared that the Head of the church is infallible -when he gives to the whole world a decision or an interpretation -concerning the meaning of an article of faith or morals. Now follows -what I do not understand. You New Protestants maintain that it is not -so. But if it is not true, then the infallible tribunal has erred; -then our Lord has told a falsehood. How does this all agree, Herr -Stechapfel?” - -The counsellor and the priest could not conceal their vexation. - -“You are well instructed,” said Schlehdorn. - -“This is in consequence of having had a good and zealous priest,” -replied the burgomaster. “Are you not a New Protestant, Herr -Counsellor?” - -“By no means! I hold fast to the original doctrine of the Holy Catholic -Church; therefore I am, strictly speaking, an Old Catholic.” - -“I do not believe it!” exclaimed Keller, with a fierce gleam in his -eyes. “You are a Freemason; although you have shaved off your beard and -moustache, yet I know you. Did you not a few days ago meet three other -Freemasons on the Vogelsberg (mountain of birds)? Did you not then say, -‘The trowel or the cross’? Did you not say that there was no God, no -devil, no heaven, no hell?” - -“You are mistaken in the person,” replied the astonished official, in -great embarrassment. - -“Well, what of it?” cried Ewald consolingly. “Do not for that -reason excite yourself, Herr Counsellor. We knew long ago that the -New Protestants had very little religion. Who are the most zealous -New Protestants? Just those who never go to confession or to holy -communion. They have wrapped themselves in the little cloak of ‘Old -Catholicism,’ so that they might work the better against the Catholic -Church.” - -“Enough!” exclaimed the official, who had regained his self-command. -“I am not here to expose myself to rude attacks, but to introduce this -priest into his office.” - -“That is not necessary!” exclaimed the men. “You can take the New -Protestant at once back again with you; we do not want him.” - -“We are not in Bavaria,” said the burgomaster. “We shall be faithful -to the Pope and his bishops; we care nothing for the infallible -professors. We do not believe that any man is infallible of himself; -but the Pope is infallible by virtue of his office as teacher; and the -Holy Ghost is neither promised nor sent to the professors.” - -“Herr Burgomaster,” began the counsellor sternly, “I make you -responsible for the safety and official influence of Pastor Stechapfel.” - -“Alas! Herr Counsellor, you have asked too much!” replied the -burgomaster. “We in this village are Catholics in the strictest sense -of the word. Therefore, we cannot have Herr Stechapfel, because he is -a New Protestant. Do you imagine, Herr Counsellor, that the people -will allow themselves to be commanded in religious matters? Do you -think that our faith is to be knocked into and out of our heads by -police-clubs, just because you say the word? No; I refuse to become -answerable for the New Protestant pastor you have brought us, and I -also assure you that, if he enters the church, the people will run out.” - -Keller, who had evidently devised some plan of action, gave the -burgomaster a secret sign. - -“I think,” said he, “as the government counsellor has come purposely -hither, we should give Herr Stechapfel a trial. By the way of -beginning, you should introduce Herr Stechapfel into the pastor’s -residence.” - -“You have spoken very wisely,” answered Schlehdorn. “I must now go; -farewell, gentlemen!” - -The official thereupon returned to the city, and Stechapfel and the -burgomaster entered the priest’s house. - -Keller remained outside; he spoke earnestly with the other men, and the -nature of his communication created great but suppressed mirth among -them. - -After a short interval, Keller and Ewald appeared before Stechapfel. - -“Have you maturely considered the matter? It will not do,” commenced -Keller. “If it becomes known in the village that an Old Catholic New -Protestant is here, there would be a terrible tumult. The people would -be wild at the thought of having a man as their pastor who is more -infallible than the Pope and the bishops, and who is at the same time -excommunicated. To avert misfortune, you must leave at once!” - -“I protest against such treatment; I shall remain!” exclaimed -Stechapfel. - -“You can protest as long as you wish; it becomes you very well, for you -are a New Protestant!” replied Keller indifferently. “But remain here -you cannot!” - -“The government has sent me as pastor to this village, and I shall -maintain my right to the position!” exclaimed the Old Catholic. - -“Bah! the government! That is New Protestant nonsense! If you were a -Catholic, you would know that the government has no right to dispose -of ecclesiastical offices. Offices of the church are bestowed by the -church. Therefore, you must go! Where is your hat?” - -“This is an outrage; it is nothing less than violence!” - -“There, take your hat! I ask you whether you will leave voluntarily?” - -“No; I will not go!” - -“Well, then, we will accompany you until you are out of the village,” -said Keller; and he put his arm under that of Stechapfel, while Ewald -executed the same manœuvre on the other side. In vain did the intruder -resist. The strong men took him out of the house, across the yard, and -through the village. The people of Weselheim stood around and laughed -at the comical scene. - -“Whom have you there?” asked a passer-by. - -“We have here an Old Catholic New Protestant who has strayed away from -Bavaria. We are now showing him the way out of the village.” - -“What are you doing?” cried out another, in surprise. “I hope you will -not lay hands on a priest?” - -“Certainly not,” said Ewald; “we only expel the wolf who wished to -creep in clothed as a sheep.” - -A short distance out of the village, the men halted. - -“So, Herr Stechapfel, now you can proceed alone,” said Franz Keller. -“If you wish to be again taken out, then you must revisit us; it will -be a pleasure for us to escort you as we have just done. If you are -really a duly ordained priest, then I ask your pardon; but I have not -to ask pardon of you personally, for you bear too close a resemblance -to the traitor Judas. You can tell the gentlemen in the city that we in -Weselheim shall remain true to the cross: the trowel the Freemasons may -keep for themselves. Good-by!” - - -CHAPTER IV. - -APPEAL FOR HELP. - -FROM the tower of the palace floated a banner—a sign that the king had -taken up his residence there. In the royal park, a gentleman in the -prime of life was walking. His countenance bespoke a kind disposition, -and his dark eyes were full of spirit and intelligence. He sought out -the most lonely paths, and seemed lost in thought, while his gaze -rested upon the lovely flowers of the forest, the green moss, and the -gigantic oaks. Hurried steps are heard coming up the well-gravelled -road; joy beams from the face of the gentleman; he stretches out his -arms, presses the youthful count to his bosom, and imprints a kiss upon -his forehead. - -“Have you come at last, my Adolph? How fresh and handsome you look!” - -“No wonder, your majesty! I drink water, and eat potatoes with sour -milk,” replied the count merrily. - -They walked on arm in arm. The count was distantly related to the king, -who was a great lover of art, and therefore took pride in the poetic -talents of his young relative. - -“For how long has your majesty freed yourself from the affairs of -state?” asked Adolph. - -“For two weeks—a short time. Even here I cannot rest; I have promised -an audience to many persons.” - -“Why did you promise?” - -“Because those who wish to see me belong to a powerful organization,” -replied the king. “The grandmaster of all the Freemasons of the country -will present an address to me—in two days, I believe.” - -“The grandmaster?” exclaimed the count, taking his portfolio from under -his arm. “These leaves contain both good and bad. To keep either secret -from the king would be treason, and on my part a great violation of my -duty as his friend.” - -“Have you written a drama?” - -“Yes, your majesty; or rather, I have copied one; you also are one of -the actors, as well as the grandmaster. Can I begin to read?” - -“Certainly; I am most anxious to hear what you have written.” - -Von Scharfenstein, after a few words of introduction, described his -hiding-place in the forest, and the circle of unsuspecting Freemasons -assembled at his feet. He then commenced to read. The king listened -with undivided attention. Gradually a dark frown settled upon his brow. - -“Many thanks for your valuable communication,” said he, when Von -Scharfenstein had finished reading. “So I am a narrow-minded man who -does not rule, but is ruled! Outrageous impertinence!” - -“It is contemptible and vulgar; but what else do you expect from -Freemasons!” answered the count. - -“And these very Freemasons are always professing to be the most -obedient servants of the crown,” said the indignant king. “They are -constantly clamoring about the dangerous designs of Rome upon other -governments, and they also pretend to decry the intrigues of the -ultramontanes!” - -“In reality,” replied Von Scharfenstein, “it is these men of the -trowel and apron who undermine the authority of the crown; they make -the people hate their rulers, they violate and wound the holiest -feelings of subjects, and they do this clothed in the garment of -official authority. I will give you an example.” And the count related -the forcible expulsion of the Jesuit father, and the request of the -inhabitants of Weselheim. - -The king walked a few steps in silence. - -“Justice shall be given to the oppressed, and punishment to the -guilty,” said he, and then turned towards the palace. - -Two days later, the councilmen left their village, dressed in their -best attire, and carrying with them the prayers of all the inhabitants. -The burgomaster led the procession, followed by the others, until they -entered the royal park. The nearer they approached the palace, the -slower were the footsteps of the men; for it is no trifling matter for -humble subjects to enter the presence of their king. - -“George, do justice to our cause!” said Ewald to the burgomaster. - -“I will do all that I can, but you must help me!” And the burgomaster -wiped the perspiration from his forehead. - -They walked in respectful silence upon the clean gravel-path that -led to the palace. At some distance from them, they espied their -good friend Count von Scharfenstein coming up a by-road. He saw the -diffidence of the men, and saluted them kindly, in order to infuse new -courage into them. - -“The parish of Weselheim is held in high estimation by the king, for -he only gives audience here to princes and to very intimate friends,” -said he. “Therefore, you must speak freely to him. The king likes a -plain and truthful statement of facts. At the same time, my friends, -the question is, Can the king help you, that is, for any time to come? -There is only one thing which will be of help.” - -“What does your lordship mean?” inquired Keller. - -“I mean that the Freemasons and liberals aim at the destruction of -religion. They have worked at this for many years, and not in vain. -They have succeeded in expelling in many places a large number of -priests from the schools, so that the children, if possible, may grow -up without religion. They have declared war against conscientious -bishops and priests. At present they have driven out the Jesuits, -because they are very active and zealous in the discharge of their -duty. After the Jesuits will follow the other religious orders, then -the seminaries will be closed, bishops and priests will be deprived -of their rights, and the church as they imagine, will be rendered -helpless. It is a most cruel tyranny, and a real stigma upon the German -name; but what can be done? The tyrants are all powerful.” - -“Our gracious king can put a stop to their wickedness,” said the -burgomaster. - -“You are mistaken,” replied Scharfenstein. “The king cannot do -everything. He has sworn to uphold the constitution, and he must keep -his oath. If, therefore, the representatives of the country, the -Chamber of Deputies, make laws hostile to religion, the king is often -obliged to confirm them. Consequently, only one thing can really help -you.” - -“And what is it, if we are permitted to ask your lordship?” - -“It is for you to exercise more prudence in the elections for the -Chamber and the Diet. Send pious, religious men as your representatives -to the Diet, and then your religion will not be insulted, and you will -have good laws. Why are the Freemasons now in the ascendency in the -Chamber, in the ministry, in the government, everywhere? And who are -to blame for it? The people, yes, the people have given the reins to -their bitterest enemies. If the Catholic people had elected proper -representatives, the Freemasons and liberals would never have become -so powerful. If, therefore, the enemies of religion use their power -for the destruction of the church and of religious belief, it is very -natural, and the careless indifference of the people is the cause of -their triumph.” - -“Your lordship is right,” answered the burgomaster. - -“It will be very different at the next election,” said the other men. - -“I hope so,” remarked Von Scharfenstein. “Remember what I tell you. -Only one thing will be of lasting benefit to you, and that is to send -practical Catholics to the Diet; and this you can do if you choose. -Unscrupulous men who do not believe in God, in eternal reward or -punishment, do not hesitate to deprive the people of their religious -rights, to impose oppressive taxes upon them, and to make slaves of -free men!” - -The villagers acquiesced in what was said. - -“I wish that we had never believed the sweet-sounding words of the -liberals and their lying newspapers,” remarked Ewald. “We must really -confess that, as a people, we are too ignorant, and allow ourselves to -be too easily duped.” - -“It is time for you to become prudent,” replied the count. - -The deputation had now reached the palace. - -“Do you see the man with the long official staff in his hand, standing -there in the hall? Tell him who you are, and he will take care of you.” -Saying this, Von Scharfenstein saluted them, and returned to the park. - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE AUDIENCE. - -IN the audience-chamber there stood three gentlemen in animated -conversation: the grandmaster and two other Freemasons, the director, -and university professor. They were handsomely dressed, and wore -several orders upon their breasts. They seemed to be very familiar with -their surroundings, for they moved about with perfect unconcern. The -grandmaster of the Freemasons especially appeared to be full of his own -importance, and he glanced haughtily at one of the king’s attendants -when he entered the apartment. - -“Something has gone wrong to-day,” said he, looking at his watch. “It -is already a quarter of an hour after the appointed time. I have never -been treated so before.” - -“I also remark something unusual,” exclaimed the director. “There, -behind the table, stands a chair of state. The king never seats himself -when giving audiences; why, therefore, has this rule been violated? -There is a bell upon the table—what does all this mean?” - -“The king has his humors, no doubt,” replied the grandmaster -sarcastically, placing meanwhile an address upon the silver salver -which stood upon the table. - -At once the folding-doors opened, and the king entered, looking grave -and dignified. He advanced towards the chair of state, and, placing -his hand upon it, he waited until those present had finished bowing. -No gracious smile lighted up his features, and he returned their -salutation with a scarcely perceptible nod of the head. - -“Most gracious majesty!” commenced the grandmaster, “it cannot have -escaped your notice that a serious disturbance threatens the peace of -the whole German Empire, as well as the kingdom which is so happy as -to be governed by your wise and prudent rule. The infallibility of the -Pope, so dangerous to the state, and invented only to bring princes and -people under the sceptre of the Roman Pontiff, has provoked universal -indignation. Everywhere societies and meetings are protesting against -this usurpation of Rome. At Munich and Darmstadt, good and learned men -have taken part in the proceedings. In both cities, resolutions were -passed which your majesty will be graciously pleased to accept.” - -The king silently took the address from the salver, and laid it upon -the table. - -“Your majesty will permit me to remark,” continued the grandmaster, -“that, at the Protestant Diet of Darmstadt, the Jesuits were specially -designated as the most dangerous conspirators in the service of Rome, -and particularly hostile to the German Empire. Now, as the Society -of Jesus exists also in your majesty’s dominions, we have ventured, -actuated solely by the interest we take in the peace and political -welfare of the kingdom, to humbly petition that your majesty will -insist upon the immediate expulsion of the above-named society.” - -“Are you a Catholic, Herr Counsellor of the High Court?” asked the king. - -“Strictly Catholic, your majesty—strictly Catholic,” replied the -Freemason. “I hold firmly to the old doctrines of the Holy Catholic -Church, and shall resist with all my strength the innovation of the -last council.” - -“According to what you say, your petition asking for the suppression -of the Jesuits does not come with such ill grace from you, for you, -as a Catholic, speak about Catholic affairs,” said the king. “But -why a Protestant diet should meddle itself with the ecclesiastical -discipline and religious belief of Catholics is beyond my conception. -The Catholics also have public meetings; but I never hear that they -concern themselves in the slightest degree about Protestant matters. I -am aware of the resolutions passed by the Protestant Diet of Darmstadt, -and regret them exceedingly, because they are only calculated to -grieve Catholics, to disturb the peace, and to seriously embarrass -governments. The Gustave Adolph Society is a proof how, in former -times, Protestants have united themselves with the foreign invader -and destroyer of our country against the Catholic Emperor of Germany. -Hostile treatment, or even an attempt to suppress the Catholic -Church on the part of the state, might in like manner force Catholic -Germans to unite themselves with a foreign power in opposition to the -Protestant Emperor of Germany. A faithful people are not in need of -forgiveness if they love their God and their religion more than they do -the tyranny of their fatherland.” - -The Freemasons were astonished; they did not expect to hear the king -speak as he did. - -“You make mention of the resolutions of the glass palace at Munich, -which were also directed against the Jesuits,” continued the king. “Do -you believe the grave accusations which they bring against the Society -of Jesus?” - -“I have the fullest conviction of their truth,” replied the -grandmaster, bowing low. - -The king now seated himself, and looked through the address. The men of -the trowel cast significant glances at each other. - -“A ruler must be just; he should never belong to a party,” said the -king. “You demand the suppression of men who are highly respected -and venerated by thousands of my subjects. The Burgomaster and -principal men of Weselheim are here to petition for the restoration -of their pastor, a Jesuit father. If, after hearing these men, I am -convinced that the actions of the Jesuits correspond with the Munich -resolutions, then I will not be disinclined to grant your request for -the suppression of the society; but, if the contrary, then justice must -be done!” - -He rang a bell. The folding-doors at the lower end of the _salon_ -opened, and the burgomaster, together with the councilmen of Weselheim, -entered, all looking anxious as to the result of the interview. The -king rose from his chair, and his whole manner changed; with a friendly -gesture, he invited the embarrassed deputies to draw nearer. - -“Ah! Herr Burgomaster, I am delighted to see you again!” said he to -the burgomaster, giving him his hand. “You have not become older in the -course of the year—always young and active. How are the trout? Shall I -see any more of them upon my table?” - -“O most gracious king!” replied the delighted burgomaster, “the whole -parish will catch trout for your majesty.” - -“I am glad to hear it!” rejoined the king. “And how is your little -golden-haired son with the rosy cheeks? Has he grown tall?” - -“Two feet taller this year; your majesty would not know him!” - -The councilmen were enchanted. The ice was broken. - -“You desire your pastor, the Jesuit father, to return to you again?” -began the king, seating himself in the chair. “That is right; such a -request is honorable to you all. Parishioners should always esteem a -worthy pastor. But, my dear people,” he continued, “there are some -difficulties. It is asserted that the Jesuits are men dangerous to the -state; that their teachings are destructive to morals. It is further -said that the Jesuits conspire against the government; that they -are opposed to the enlightenment of the people; and I am therefore -petitioned by some of my subjects to authorize their expulsion. These -are the very words contained in the address I hold in my hand.” - -The men looked at one another; they evidently did not comprehend the -meaning of the accusations made against the Jesuits. - -“I ask pardon, your majesty; but we do not understand you,” said -the burgomaster. “We know, indeed, that there are many who hate the -Jesuits, and who wish to see them exterminated, none more so than the -Freemasons. But your majesty must not listen to such persons; for even -our Lord was accused by his enemies of inciting the people, of being -dangerous to the state; and they even went so far as to nail him to -the cross. If our Saviour would come again to-day in the flesh, the -Freemasons would not be satisfied until they had crucified him again.” - -The king cast a quick look at the flushed countenances of the -Freemasons. - -“I ask you, upon your conscience,” said he to the burgomaster, “if your -Jesuit father ever taught immoral doctrines?” - -“O great heaven!” exclaimed the excited burgomaster. “Immoral -doctrines—our pastor? Why, your majesty, he is like a saint, and he -does his best to make saints of the whole parish. If two young persons -of a different sex live together without being married, our pastor -never rests until both have given up their scandalous life and are -married. If enmities exist, and lawsuits and quarrels, our pastor is -indefatigable until he effects a reconciliation. Thus, our pastor -is like an angel for our parish. Formerly there were many who hated -each other; we had dissensions among ourselves; but now everything is -peaceable and quiet in the village, and all this we owe to our pastor, -the Jesuit father.” - -“And what he does for the children is beyond belief, your majesty,” -said Keller. “He visits the schools every day; the children love him. -In _former_ times, parents had to command the children to pray in the -morning and the evening; _now_ they pray without being told to do so. -And our children are so obedient, for our pastor impresses upon them -the full importance of the fourth commandment.” - -“Has your pastor no enemies in the parish?” inquired the king. - -“Yes, most gracious majesty; he has enemies, that is, three rascals, -who would like to see him driven out,” said the burgomaster. - -“You see, gentlemen,” said the king to the officials, “that your -accusations against the Jesuits are by no means confirmed.” - -“The Jesuit of Weselheim may perhaps be an exception,” replied the -grandmaster. - -Franz Keller seemed possessed with a desire to speak, but he controlled -his impatience. - -“Your majesty will excuse me for saying that the accusations against -the Jesuits appear very surprising to me,” remarked Ewald. “In -the Bible, we read that the Jews dragged our Saviour before the -high-priests, and accused him of different crimes. And when our Saviour -defended himself, one of the servants struck him in the face, whereupon -our Saviour said: ‘If I have spoken evil, give testimony of the evil; -but, if well, why strikest thou me?’ It is the same with the Jesuits. -If they are really as wicked and criminal as their enemies assert, -well, let them be brought before the law, and be punished according -to the law. But if nothing can be proved against them, why continue -to slander and persecute them, and to treat them like murderers and -thieves?” - -“Very well said, and very true!” answered the king. - -“Most gracious king, I can tell you what people are against the -Jesuits—the Freemasons,” began Keller, unable any longer to keep -quiet. “A short time ago, I heard them talking on the Vogelsberg. These -three gentlemen (pointing to the Freemasons) were there, and one other. -The one with the gray beard said: ‘The trowel or the cross, that is the -watchword!’ Then they all declared that the religion of Christ must be -exterminated; and, because the Jesuits are good preachers and zealous -priests, therefore they must be the first to be overthrown. And they -also said that, when the altars were destroyed, the thrones must be -demolished. What else they said, most gracious king, I will not grieve -you by repeating.” - -The king looked silently, but with an expression of severe displeasure, -at the officials. - -“Will your majesty permit us to withdraw?” inquired the grandmaster. - -“You will remain; we have not finished yet,” replied the king sternly. - -“Most gracious king,” entreated the burgomaster, “be kind enough to -look through the window.” - -The king did as requested, and saw at the foot of the hill the whole -parish of Weselheim congregated together—men, women, and children. -They all stood with their faces turned towards the palace. Many knelt -upon the ground. The king was visibly affected at the sight. - -“The whole village unite with us in asking your majesty to give us back -our dear, good, pious Jesuit father,” said the burgomaster. - -At this moment, a chamberlain appeared, and handed the king a written -communication. - -“He is very welcome; admit him at once!” commanded the king. - -The delegation were attentive spectators of what was transpiring. In -the antechamber they heard the voice of the pastor, who now entered the -_salon_, and was most graciously received by the king. The presence -of royalty alone prevented loud exclamations of delight from his -parishioners, whose faces shone with joy. - -“The Society of Jesus was very active during the last war,” said the -king, after certain formalities had been gone through. “How many German -Jesuits were on the scene of action?” - -“Nearly all, your majesty—one hundred and eighty-eight,” replied the -Jesuit. “Our older members took care of the sick; for, during the war, -all our colleges were converted into hospitals.” - -“No proof of hostility to the state,” remarked the king, turning to the -officials. “How many Freemasons were employed in attending to the sick -and wounded in the hospitals during the war?” - -“The care of the sick does not belong to the vocation of a Freemason,” -answered the grandmaster shortly. - -“Much is said and written to-day concerning the extraordinary power of -the Jesuits,” said the king to the reverend father. “I have in vain -endeavored to discover the secret of this power; you may perhaps be -able to enlighten me on the subject?” - -“Your majesty, the so-called power of the Jesuits is a mere phantom -invented by our enemies to excite the fears of the credulous,” answered -the priest. “In fact, the Jesuits are, of all men, the weakest. They -are slandered, persecuted, suppressed. In many places, they have not -even the right to exist or to breathe, as in Bavaria and Switzerland. -All societies are protected in Bavaria, all associations can exist in -Switzerland, except the Society of Jesus. If the Jesuits, therefore, -possessed in reality the power claimed for them, they would not permit -their members to be treated like slaves, as they now are.” - -“I believe you,” rejoined the king. “Being a foreigner, your reverence -had to abandon the sphere of your labor; but now I grant you the right -of a subject, and liberty to return to your mission. May you live many -years to be a blessing to the parish of Weselheim!” - -He took the hand of the priest, and led him to the village delegation. - -“Here, you have your pastor back again! Honor and obey him!” said he to -them. - -“Most gracious king, may Almighty God reward you a thousand times for -what you have done!” exclaimed the men, down whose cheeks the tears -were streaming; and, if two of the chamberlains had not interfered, and -led them out of the _salon_, they would have committed many breaches of -etiquette, so great was their joy. - -The king now approached the Freemasons; his manner was cold, but his -eyes were ablaze with indignation. - -“I thank divine Providence,” said he, “for having exposed before my -eyes the cunning and malicious snare in which you sought to entrap -me. The Jesuits are not the enemies of culture nor of the state; but -the Freemasons are. The foundation of culture is Christianity, and -not Freemasonry, which is the enemy of Christianity. In my kingdom, -the cross, and not the trowel shall be the symbol of government. The -Jesuits neither teach nor practise a false and corrupt morality, -but the Freemasons do, for they seek to overthrow not only altars -but thrones. The Freemasons are unscrupulous, false, and perjured -officials, for they have presumed to say that their king to whom they -have sworn fidelity was a narrow-minded man who did not govern, but was -governed! It would be nothing more than just to have the whole order -prosecuted for high treason!” - -The excited king ceased speaking. The Freemasons, who at first looked -defiant and unconcerned, now trembled with fright. His majesty stood -for a while in perfect silence. From the foot of the hill resounded -many hundred voices chanting the grand hymn of praise, the German _Te -Deum_, while they accompanied their beloved pastor to the village. - -The king, who had recovered his self-command, now pronounced the -following sentence: “The director, the Counsellor of the High Court, -the professor of the university, and the government counsellor -Schlehdorn are from this time forth deprived of their offices. I shall -not institute judicial proceedings against them, out of regard to the -feelings of their innocent families!” - -The king turned, and left the _salon_. - -The Freemasons looked at one another. Upon the lips of the grandmaster -an ironical, revengeful smile was seen. - -“A blow in the water will startle any one, if it is given -unexpectedly,” said he, “and our present discomfiture is only of that -nature!” he continued, with a peculiar movement of the hand, and in -language whose obscure meaning they evidently understood. “Brethren, -our labors in a small sphere are only discontinued that we may resume -the work on a grander scale; for the trowel of the Freemasons shall yet -build the arch that covers the grave of the greater as well as of the -smaller!” - -The other Freemasons bowed affirmatively to the words of the -grandmaster, and followed him out of the _salon_. - - - - -WHAT IS CIVILIZATION? - - -THE word civilization, adopted into almost every European language, is -derived from the Latin of _civitas_, a city, and _civis_, a citizen. -Webster thus defines civilization: “It consists in the progressive -improvement of society considered as a whole, and of all the individual -members of which it is composed.” And further: “A well-ordered state of -society, culture, refinement.” Now, it is worth while to inquire into -the tangible ideal of that people to whose language we are indebted -for this comprehensive word. The Romans considered their empire the -appointed head, by divine right, of the whole world. They could not -take in the idea of their supremacy being disputed, much less resisted, -and hence the proud motto, “_Civis Romanus sum_,” which was meant to -express the _ne plus ultra_ of human dignity. No greater honor could -be bestowed upon a stranger, whether ally or conquered foe, than to -make him a Roman citizen. It was a title more valuable than that of -Cæsar; it had privileges attached to it which neither the blood of a -Machabee nor an Alexander could claim; it compelled greater respect -than the heroism of a Leonidas or the uprightness of a Socrates. -Thus early had false notions of material civilization corrupted the -genuine meaning of a word which should always stand, not for political -supremacy, but for moral excellence. Rome, the heart of the dominant -empire which had vanquished and absorbed at least two civilizations of -higher degree than its own, the Hebrew and the Greek, has transmitted -to the word civilization the spirit of its intensely local autonomy. -Every kindred word derived from the same root has a like meaning, -especially “civility,” a synonyme of “urbanity” (from _urbs_, a city), -thereby conveying the insinuation that city customs alone have that -grace and refinement necessary to pleasant social intercourse. Another -meaning naturally flowed from this arbitrary assumption of perfection -to imperial Rome. Civil came to mean national as opposed to foreign; -as we say, for instance, civil, for intestine, war. More or less all -nations of the world have adopted this way of looking upon civilization -as a local thing; and, to the greater majority of mankind, there is -a certain flavor of disparagement implied in the terms foreign and -foreigner. We speak in a tone of half-concealed pity of men from -far-off countries, as if they must needs be a little lower in the -scale of creation than our enlightened selves. We have not forgotten -that “barbarian” and “foreigner” were terms used interchangeably by -the Greeks, and our local pride still unconsciously crops out in the -most childish and laughable demonstrations. Nothing shows better how -very arbitrary is the interpretation of the word civilization than our -various estimates of its essence. The Chinese who wears yellow for -mourning smiles compassionately at the European in his dusky garment -of sorrow; and the European who is accustomed to eat his dinner with -a knife and fork thinks that a nation can hardly be civilized which -tolerates the use of chop-sticks. To come nearer home, we have known -an Englishman of distinguished birth and position refuse the hand of -his daughter to a French diplomat, a nobleman of the old stock, an -accomplished gentleman, a rich land-owner, for the weighty reason that -“he was a foreigner”! - -The word “barbarian” (from the Greek _βάρβαρος_) is given in Webster’s -_Dictionary_ as meaning, in the first and literal sense, foreign. -Barber or Barbar was originally the native name of a part of the -coast of Africa. The Egyptians, fearing and hating its inhabitants, -used their name as a term of contumely and dread, in which sense it -passed to the Greeks and Romans. Thus the kindred words barbarous and -barbarity have kept the meaning of “cruel and ferocious,” but the main -stock of _βάρβαρος_ generally signifies the two almost synonymous -things, “foreigner” and “barbarian”! The imitative sound of _barber_ -was applied by the Greeks to the ruder tribes whose pronunciation was -most harsh and whose grammar most defective. Dr. Campbell says that the -Greeks were the first to brand a foreign term in any of their writers -with the odious name of barbarism. This word with the Greeks had the -additional general meaning of ignorance of art and want of learning, -and as such has been used by Dryden. Barbaric remains to this day the -synonyme of foreign and quaint, far-fetched, as Milton, following the -Greeks, has used it: - - “The gorgeous East with richest hand, - Showers on her kings _barbaric_ gold and pearl.” - -But Dryden has also put the more unusual word barbarous for the same -thing: - - “The trappings of his horse embossed with _barbarous_ gold.” - -The misapplication of all these terms, and more especially of -“civilization,” is of daily recurrence. We cannot open a newspaper -without seeing its self-eulogium expressed in the term “a journal -of civilization”; we cannot read a leading article on the financial -prosperity of the country without finding it confidently stated that -such prosperity is an infallible sign of civilization; we hear of -railroads “carrying civilization” among the wild tribes of Central -Africa; and we see atheism and false science parading their unhappy -progress as the “march of civilization.” - -Now, admitting the very just definition we have quoted above, that -civilization is “the progressive improvement of society _as a whole_, -and of each individual member of which it is composed,” it seems to -us conclusive that only one perfect form of it could exist on earth, -_i.e._ that which flourished for a short time in the Garden of Eden. -Mankind in the state of innocence was _ipso facto_ civilized, and -civilized to the highest moral and intellectual degree possible to -mere human creatures. Had there been no original sin, and had Adam’s -posterity continued in utter sinlessness to inhabit the peaceful -and fruitful earth, we should have had that well-ordered state of -society in which the only progressive improvement would have been -ever-increasing love and knowledge of God. - -But this, the only perfect civilization, was lost with all other -precious gifts—incorruptibility, innocence, and clear insight into -the things of God. The state of grace followed the state of innocence, -and man, having fallen from his innate mastership over nature when he -fell from his mastership over himself, found that civilization and -progressive improvement must henceforward mean nothing to him but the -painful effort to regain as much of his former power as God would -allow him, in guerdon of his repentance, to regain. All civilization -since the Fall, therefore, has been only approximative, and can never -be more than this. This explains why the highest civilization has -been attained only since Christianity has prevailed, the state of -accomplished redemption being the most perfect mankind has yet reached, -superseding even the state of expectancy of the Hebrew dispensation. -It explains, too, why the Jews were the most civilized of all ancient -nations—a point to which we will refer at greater length in another -place. From the few details briefly mentioned in Genesis, we infer -that the earliest civilization after the Fall was by no means inferior -to our own as far as material prosperity was concerned. Besides the -obvious callings of husbandman and shepherd, always the first and -indeed indispensable foundation of civilized life, we find that during -the lifetime of Adam, _i.e._, the first thousand years after the -Creation, cities were built and the arts cultivated. Cain was the first -to build and organize a town, and his descendant Jubal is called the -father of “them that play on the harps and organ.” Tubal Cain was “a -hammerer and artificer in every work of brass and iron.” Hunting and -the use of weapons were of course familiar to the pioneers of the human -race, for tradition tells us that it was while hunting that Lamech -slew a man, supposed by some to have been Cain, mistaking him for a -wild beast. It was not long before solemn religious ceremonies were -instituted, as appears from this passage: “This man (Enos) began to -call upon the name of the Lord,” which is thus interpreted: although -Adam and Seth had called upon the name of the Lord before the birth -of their son and grandson Enos, yet Enos used more solemnity in the -worship and invocation of God. The natural bent of fallen man, however, -prevailed over the efforts of a few faithful souls, and that material -civilization which, could we in imagination reconstruct its gorgeous -completeness, would undoubtedly not fall below that of the great -empires of Assyria, Egypt, or Persia, led surely though insensibly to -moral corruption. The fatal beauty of the women of Cain’s race, “the -daughters of men,” their wealth too, doubtless their worldly prosperity -and lavish display, tempted the descendants of Seth, “the sons of God,” -till, in a few hundred years, “all flesh had corrupted its way,” and -“it repented God that he had made man.” This was the first example of -the deteriorating effect of mere animal civilization, and, alas! how -faithfully has it been copied in all ages since! How persistently and -with what unwearying perseverance have its details of profligacy been -imitated by the succeeding generations of mankind! - -A historical review of each separate attempt at civilization made by -the dispersed nations after the building of the Tower of Babel would be -a serious task, and its result too long for these pages; but, before we -leave this part of our subject to turn to the more abstract question of -the essence of civilization, let us stop to remark what a high pitch -of human culture had already been attained in times so remote that, -save through revelation, no memorial of them remains to us. Wendell -Phillips has partially developed this idea in his lecture on the “Lost -Arts,” proving that three-fourths of our _discoveries_ are plagiarisms, -that our best witticisms are borrowed from the Indian and the Greek, -and that our most boasted arts are but gropings in the dark after some -vanished ideal of antiquity. And how much more learning than we can -conjecture must there not be utterly buried out of sight in the sealed -records of antediluvian times! The only likeness which we can safely -boast of with those colossal days is the likeness of unbelief and -corruption. The “mighty men of old,” of whom the Bible so mysteriously -speaks, were doubtless as much above our standard of intellect and even -of prosperity as vulgar superstition ranges them above our standard of -physical strength and height. A veil of mystery shrouds them and their -lives from our utmost research, and we know only one thing for certain; -that is, their sin and its awful doom—little more than is told us of -the fall of Lucifer and his angels, yet enough to teach us that all -civilizations which in their arrogance dare to defy the laws of God -must inevitably fall beneath his rod. - -And now, what _is_ civilization? What _is_ the “good of society -considered as a whole”? - -Two things are indispensable to it—the inviolability of the family, -and the stability of the laws of property. On these two pillars, -humanly speaking, is society built, and whatever is antagonistic to -these fundamental principles is necessarily and directly antagonistic -to civilization. - -Paternal and patriarchal government was the first known because the -most natural; and, when the increasing number of families confused -the original system and complicated its duties, the ruler chosen to -take charge of the whole tribe or nation still looked to no higher -title than that of _father_ of his people. The stability of the laws -regulating property was in all lands reckoned the gauge of prosperity -and the test of national vigor. The desire of personal possession, of -undisputed ownership over a tract of land however small, is a natural -and legitimate instinct of man; its realization alone can bring with -it to each individual that independence, that self-respect, which, in -the aggregate, creates the feeling of national honor. Patriotism is not -an intangible virtue; it springs from the broader basis of domestic -affection; it follows the feeling of responsibility induced by the -knowledge of having a personal stake in your country’s advancement. -The Romans have left us their motto: _Pro aris et focis_—“For our -altars and our hearths.” If we could no longer qualify these hearths -as _ours_, what a lessened interest they must necessarily have in our -eyes! The man who works for himself alone is reckless even if brave, -lukewarm even if conscientious. He may do his work, but he does it -without enthusiasm. He who works for those near and dear to him, to -gain or defend a patrimony for those who in the future will take his -place and bear his name, is gentle, considerate, patient, far-seeing, -persevering, as well as brave and conscientious. But granted that -these social and domestic laws are well-guarded, in what else does -civilization consist? There are four things which dispute the title -to forming the highest test of a well-ordered state of society: -riches, political freedom, education, and religion. Some men would -combine these elements in varied quantities to form _their_ ideas of -civilization; others would sink every element but one, and try the -experiment as long as it could be made to minister to their own private -aggrandizement; others, again, look for the visionary supremacy of one -element alone, and the subordination to itself of every other, whether -baser or nobler. We need not say to which class we hope to belong—the -sequel will show. - -Does civilization consist in riches, whether national or individual? -True, the command of wealth inspires respect in neighboring peoples; -for national wealth means large resources, speedy armaments, -flourishing colonies, and means of thwarting the commerce of lesser -nations. But national wealth is seldom attained unless from the basis -of individual wealth. It is impossible for the state to absorb and -administer such resources as these, and yet to compel private citizens -to lead lives of Spartan frugality. The individual cannot be made to -acknowledge any right on the part of the state which will interfere -with his own right of accumulating capital, provided he makes over to -the government a fair share of his profits in the shape of legitimate -tribute. Private wealth then becomes the source of private luxury and -extravagance, and behind extravagance lurks moral decay. Factitious -wants are created, an abnormal state of society is brought about, -unmanning the body and weakening the mind. To many men, riches simply -suggest new means of indulging in vice; and to all men, vice, in the -long run, means disease. Material prosperity has thus reached its -apogee, has overshot its mark, and has found a fitting punishment in -physical deterioration. There is yet another side to the question. -Inordinate riches in the hands of a few, especially if unsupported by -territorial prestige, by hereditary honors and the semi-feudal spirit -which in Europe still links the agricultural and landed interests -in personal association, are apt to breed class jealousies, and to -estrange labor from capital. A civil war far more terrible than an -armed insurrection is set on foot and slowly undermines the political -structure. It is true that the most fatal example of this kind was the -upheaval of the French Revolution of ‘93, and that it took place under -a monarchical government; but, though monarchical, it was not a feudal -government, and the men whose birth, wealth, and station marked them -out as the victims of the people’s rage were essentially men whose -associations had long been dissevered from the land. Their estates had -been abandoned to unscrupulous agents or sold to ambitious _roturiers_; -and for what reason? That its price might cover their needless display -at an unstable court! At the present day, where is socialistic -agitation most rife in Europe? In the manufacturing towns: not in the -agricultural districts. Almost to a man, every factory-gang is ready to -turn against its employer; while, in the country, laborers will even -die in the defence of their landlords. In the former case, the master -is always a “self-made” man, a man of the people, or at least one whose -associations are obscure; in the latter, the master is the hereditary -representative of gentle blood and gentle nurture, the personal friend -of each man on his estate, identified with the neighborhood, and -attached to the soil. - -The verdict of history has certainly gone against the theory that -times of material luxury, pushed to its furthest extent, are therefore -times of great national prosperity. Athens was at the height of her -ultra-refined civilization when the rude and martial Roman conquered -her autonomy; Rome herself, made effeminate by the conquering vices -of her conquered foe, was at the giddiest pinnacle of merely physical -prosperity when the resistless tide of the barbarians poured over her -frontiers; Spain had just grasped the New World with its teeming riches -when she fell from her political supremacy in the Old; France was -revelling in her Augustan Age when the tocsin of the Revolution woke -her from her dalliance. Great wealth has everywhere been the herald -of national misfortune; and, as if to set off this truth yet more -palpably, we have the republics of Sparta and of Switzerland to show -us that, both in classic and in modern times, frugality is the best -preservative of freedom. - -But the existence of abnormal wealth as a criterion of civilization -has yet another phase. If it is possible under a republican form of -government and under a constitutional régime, it is still more likely -to reach gigantic proportions under a despotic system. Thus the East -produces more princely fortunes than even the “enlightened” West, -because, wealth being restricted to fewer individuals, it follows -that these few fortunes must be colossal. Unlimited pomp, dazzling -trains of slaves and camels, a fabulous blaze of gems, a limitless -harem, seem to be matters of course for the favored few whose almost -omnipotence has become proverbial among men as typical of the East. -Therefore, if wealth be a gauge of civilization, we must conclude that -despotism is the most civilized of states, since it is certainly the -most favorable to the accumulation of riches. If so (and, for the sake -of argument, let us grant it), how shall we reconcile this conclusion -with the claims of the second and, according to some, infallible test -of civilization—political freedom? - -We understand by this the extreme of so-called self-government, the -government by ballot and universal suffrage. We have had but very -lately many signs of its woful fallibility; we have seen how cleverly -it can throw the cloak of legality over the most unblushing frauds; -we have seen hired violence control the very medium of government -itself. Men who respected themselves would as soon touch pitch as -defile their hands with voting tickets, or stand up by the side of -illegally naturalized citizens, pressed into momentary service by the -unscrupulous manipulators of the ballot-box. A form of government -which in theory is more perfect than any other, and more in accordance -with ideal human dignity, but which in sober practice has sometimes -been found an inadequate safeguard against corrupting influences, is -not apt to strike any one who has been familiar with the results of the -last few years’ political wire-pulling as the most exalted criterion -of civilization. The cant phrase of political freedom has unhappily -come to mean political corruption, which hardly entitles this second -candidate for the exclusive patent of civilization to a lengthened -discussion in these pages. The third is education. - -This is certainly a more plausible test than the two former. Learning, -the arts, the sciences, the classics, all relate to the higher part -of man’s nature, and reflect honor on those who strive to be their -interpreters. This seems worthy of man, akin to his primeval state, -and like the occupation of his future life. But alone even education -cannot stand. When dissevered from religion, it falls, either into -atheism or fanaticism, sometimes into both. At least one example of -its pernicious moral results when thus left to itself is the brilliant -shame of the Medicean renaissance. In the new groves of Academe, the -ducal gardens of Fiesole, heathen voluptuousness speedily followed -heathen philosophy; polished manners and elegant diction redeemed loose -morals and equivocal conversation; Christianity was voted _barbarous_, -and Christian pageants uncouth. It was the age of Boccaccio. The poison -spread far and wide, the fever of a misdirected and one-sided education -seized all classes, and the fathers of the church were forgotten for -the lascivious poets of Greece and Rome. The mysteries of Bona Dea -were almost enacted over again, the dances of Bacchus were revived, -and the processions of Venus and Cupid took the place of Christian -solemnities. The corruption was thus forced on the people, who, excited -by gorgeous public entertainments of pagan complexion, caught the -hollow enthusiasm of their rulers, and emulated the servile Romans of -the empire who cried out, _Panem et circenses_, while they blindly -surrendered their freedom into the crowned showman’s hands. Material -prosperity and godless learning combined, stifled the last semblance -of Florentine liberty under the rule of the Medici. In France it was -atheism concealed under the guise of learning which prepared the way -for the Revolution of ‘93; it was the delicately veiled irony, and the -sportive unbelief of Voltaire’s disciples, which first made the “little -rift within the lute.” The savage leaders of the Reign of Terror had -nothing to do save crown with the guillotine the elaborate system of -corruption already founded by the “philosophers.” - -Education without religion has been as treacherous and as frail a -support to the civilization of men as the reed that pierces the hand -of him who leans upon it; political freedom (?) without religion has -been only another name for a retrograde movement towards anarchy, and -material wealth without the controlling influence of religion has -proved the most dangerous because the most emasculating of allies to -those nations who have built their civilization on its basis. - -Each and all of these experiments have fallen far short of the ideal -of the Garden of Eden, and each has practically confessed by its -failure the radical infirmity of the theory it represented. The reason -is self-evident: a system which undertakes to guide the complex -workings of human nature cannot afford to disregard any of nature’s -manifold instincts, and, by obstinately refusing to give a place to -all legitimate aspirations, overbalances itself, and falls sooner or -later into a trap of its own setting. You cannot govern man through -his animal wants alone or through his intellectual yearnings only, any -more than you can rule him solely through his spiritual instincts. He -must be fed, clothed, and housed, true, but this alone will not satisfy -him; his reason cries out for development and exercise, and his heart -also puts in a claim to the notice of any one who would undertake to -rule him. It is true that man is not an angel, and that spiritual food -alone would not allay his hunger, but it is equally true that he is not -a brute being, to be abundantly satisfied with good fodder and a dry -stable. His nature is threefold: animal, intellectual, and spiritual, -and claims an equal recognition of each of its phases. Neither mere -riches addressed to the contentment of his lower instincts, nor mere -educational and political advantages addressed to the satisfaction -of his nobler self, are enough for his welfare; his soul is a higher -region yet, and one which demands yet more imperatively an adequate -amount of attention. This soul it is which, when bound and blinded -as it but too often is in mere worldly systems of civilization, ends -by grasping, like Samson, the insecure supports of this partial -civilization itself, and in the untamed strength of despair dragging -down the fabric in ruins at its feet. - -There remains one more element which is still claimed by a brave -minority, as the essence of all true civilization, and that is -religion. This is the most comprehensive criterion of a “well-ordered” -state of society, for it includes all the rest as a matter of course. -Religion is not incompatible with the possession and accumulations -of wealth, as some erroneously suppose, but she requires that such -interests shall be amenable to the dictates of moderation, and of -charity; she does not scout learning as an ally, but eagerly welcomes -it, so long as it keeps within its province and does not use its power -to stifle the spiritual nature of man; she is no enemy to political -freedom or to any particular form of government whatever, but she -firmly resists the claims to omnipotence which every strong government, -whether popular or absolutist, has in the hour of its worldly triumph -invariably made. With a wisdom the counterpart of that which equalizes -and controls the various forces of nature, religion holds in her hand -the various emotions, passions, and necessities of man, and balances -according to a divine standard the proportions in which each one may -be legitimately satisfied. She subordinates the lower satisfactions -to the higher, in exact proportion as the lower nature of mankind is, -or should be, subordinate to the higher; she places delegates in each -inferior sphere, that there may be no violence done to the spiritual -order in furthering the interests of the material; she bids honesty -watch over the legitimate increase of wealth, integrity temper the -efforts of men in the cause of political freedom, and reverence guide -them in the pursuit of learning. She gathers up these single threads -of our lives, and, weaving them into a triple cord, imparts to them a -strength which her blessing alone can confer, and which individually -they could never have attained. It is she alone who skilfully brings -within the practical reach of the poor, the oppressed, and of the -ignorant, those theories which in the mouth of worldly apostles seem -either poetical dreams or subversive and socialistic principles. -It is she who is the true reformer, the true progressist, the true -patriot. But why is she so? Simply because she is also the only true -conservatrix in the world. Her mission is to foster the good, to seek -it out, to make it known, to assimilate it to herself, to absorb it -into her system. Material good is not excluded; wherever it is, it -belongs of right to her; whether it be old or new, foreign or native, -it matters not, religion takes it into her bosom, gives it immortality, -sanctions its use, recommends its adoption. Being founded on the -rock of truth, she can safely stoop to draw from the wreck of error -any fragment of good contained in it, whether it be a scientific, a -literary, or a domestic addition to the stock of ideas which is the -common property of human nature, and of which she stands the perpetual -guardian. This broad, open-armed, fearless, progressive spirit is -the nearest approach to the ideal of the lost paradise: this is -civilization—this is Christianity. - -As an example of the superiority of religion over any other test of -civilization, let us return for a moment to what we have said of the -Jews. To the only reasonable and dignified conception of the Godhead -known to the nations of old, they added the only worthy conception of -human duties and responsibilities. Their domestic system was the only -one in which woman bore a seemly part; their political organization, -whether in the desert, under Moses and his “rulers over thousands, -and over hundreds, and over fifties, and over tens”[148] (the same -division afterwards prevalent in the Roman army), or in the land of -Chanaan under the Judges, was essentially self-governing, federal, -and independent. Their laws were minute in detail and stringent -in execution, not only after their establishment as a nation in -Chanaan, but during the forty years of their nomadic existence in -the wilderness, a period which with any other people would have been -one of irremediable lawlessness. Compacts and treaties are mentioned -in the Bible even before the direct segregation from the world of -what was afterwards known as the people of Israel. Abraham and Lot -agreed solemnly and peaceably to settle the differences between their -followers, by each tribe taking up its abode within certain given -limits; Abraham and Abimelech came to a public understanding, the -former meaning to do the heathen and alien leader no harm, and the -latter restoring a well of which his servants had possessed themselves -by force; Abraham insisted upon paying a full and fair equivalent -in money to the Hethite who offered him _gratis_ the funeral cave -of Mambre; Eleazar made between Isaac and Rebecca a formal marriage -contract; Esau when he had voluntarily sold his birthright, though -at the bidding of necessity, was bound to hold by his rash cession; -Jacob made and faithfully kept with his uncle Laban an engagement to -give him his services for fair wages for a given number of years. Such -social compacts, rigorously adhered to even when made with idolaters, -are among the most convincing proofs of the high state of a country’s -civilization, and present a strange, suggestive contrast with the rude -polity of nations who, at that time and even many ages later, knew no -right of property save that of forcible possession, and no guarantee of -good faith save that which the sword could enforce. Attention to the -duties of hospitality, another prominent sign of civilization, was a -characteristic of the Jews. We have so many Biblical examples of this -that it is impossible to give them. The division of the community into -fixed orders of occupation is another recognized sign of an advanced -state of society. Of course this and many others were held by the -Jews in common with several nations of heathendom, some eminently -distinguished for heroism, for honor, for learning, etc; and yet which -of all the polished nations of antiquity had not some festering sore -of pauperism, superstition, or barbarity, to conceal beneath its fair -outside of dazzling “civilization”? The people of God, on the contrary, -the only representatives of the true religion, were free from such -social ulcers, and, even when their history shocks us by scenes of -mysterious cruelty, it is universally admitted that the hand of God was -working through them, and that they were but as instruments wielded in -the dark by a power mightier than themselves. - -Agriculture, or the “arts of peace,” called by some the representative -of civilization, was an honored calling among the Hebrews. The riches -of Judith and of Booz were fields and cattle; the promises of future -prosperity scattered through Holy Writ are always typified by “fields -and vineyards”; the inheritances and dowers of the sons and daughters -of Israel were herds and fields, and so jealous was each tribe of -its landed possessions that it was enacted that its members should -intermarry only among themselves, under pain of forfeiting all claim to -the legal portion allotted the offender. So careful of the condition -of the land and its products were the divinely inspired laws of the -Hebrews that they provided every seven years a season of rest, “the -Sabbath of the land,” when for a twelvemonth the fields should not be -ploughed nor the vineyards pruned, neither any fruit forced to grow and -produce by artificial means. It would take a volume to develop this -mysterious superiority of the chosen people, as regards even material -civilization, over every other contemporary nation during fully two -thousand years. They saw whole systems of social economy rise from -barbarism, and fade away into political dotage, or disappear beneath -the heel of conquest; they watched nations live and die, and drop out -of the memory of mankind as completely as Pharao’s hosts were hidden by -the waves of the Red Sea, and yet they stood firm and indestructible, -with unchanged laws, with fixed customs, a people small in number, but -great in tradition, invincible as the sun, immovable as a rock. And -why? Because their political existence and their social system was -founded on truth, and controlled by religion. The Hebrew nation was the -one holy and only true church of those days. And for the same reasons -which gave the Jews that supernatural vitality, Christianity is at -this day in the van of civilization. Everything we have said of the -one applies to the other; the signs which we noticed as such prominent -features of Jewish polity—division of orders, fixed occupations, care -for agriculture, good faith, property and family laws, individual -and federal government—whence have they come to us? We say it -unhesitatingly, from Christianity. To put it into plainer language, let -us say, from the church, and chiefly through the monastic orders. - -These armies of peaceful conquerors invaded the morasses and forests -of the North, and, carrying with them all that made the Hebrew system -divine, planted that very system in the midst of the barbarian hordes. -The monks were the first agriculturists, the first mechanics, the first -engineers, of our modern civilization. What need to tell again the -story of their giant labors and glorious success? After teaching us -how to build our houses, to till our fields, to protect our rights, to -clothe our bodies, they taught us how to beautify our lives by art, and -store our minds with learning. They gave us cathedrals, that we might -know how glorious was the God they taught; they gave us Roman, Greek, -and Hebrew lore, that we might see how liberal was the Master they -served. The laws under which all European nations and their offshoots -now live were framed on the model of the Canons of the Church, -themselves based on the Tables of the Mosaic law; and the sciences, the -literature, and the arts, of which we in our pygmy self-glorification -are so proud, have been painfully transmitted to us by the patient -labor of monastic scholars. Christianity in the person of these heroic -pioneers has paved the way for all the civilization we can boast of, -and those who seek to divorce civilization from Christianity thereby -disown their very title-deeds. Once blot the church out of the map of -the world, and civilization will speedily follow. Thank God that that, -at least, is now impossible! - -Having therefore inherited all that made the Hebrew system the most -perfect approach to the ideal of the Garden of Eden, Christianity -stands to-day in the position of the only legitimate representative of -true civilization. For one thousand five hundred years, Christianity -meant Catholicism, and to the reign of her undisputed supremacy belongs -every important discovery, every material progress, the world has ever -made. Why then, when we face to-day that world which owes it to the -church that it is strong enough to face anything—do we meet everywhere -the reproach of intolerance, of retrogression? - -Is the reproach true to-day which in the days of S. Columba was false? -Have we changed, has the church changed? If not, where is the fault? - -It lies, as all human mistakes do, in the confusion and perversion of -terms. The world in its aberration has turned against its teacher, and -wounded itself with the weapons that only a practised and steady hand -may safely wield. It has erected its own puny tribunal at the foot of -God’s throne, and judged the Eternal from its own point of view. If -the childish madness were not so sad in its results, it would make one -smile at its presumption. But it has the power of damning a human soul, -and of frustrating the work of God himself on Calvary, so that we dare -not smile at its arrogance, how supremely ridiculous soever it may be -from a merely philosophical point of view. It is this aberration of the -human mind which for the last three centuries has dubbed Christianity -as retrograde. When the Pope’s Syllabus made the difference clear -between true progress and its infidel counterfeit, the world cried out -that he was retrograde. “See” it said, “he condemns the liberty of the -press, the liberty of association, the right of self-government, the -spread of education; he would have heretics burnt at the stake, and all -Protestant sovereigns deposed from their thrones.” - -Was it so? We know that it was not. We know that it was the _abuse_, -not the _use_, of these things which was condemned, and that the -denunciation of error is a very different thing from the extermination -of that error’s victims. We know this, and the world too knew it, but -it suited the purpose of the world to say otherwise, and to raise -against us the cry of intolerance, fanaticism. Well, be it so; but who -fashioned the languages in which that cry is raised, who taught the -world the meaning of such words as intolerance and fanaticism, who led -the way to the contrivance without which the liberty of the press could -not exist? - -Our civilization, it is true, is of a different order from that now -in fashion. It is a civilization which has no need of iron ships and -monster armies; it can subdue and humanize by other methods than the -bullet and the shell. It tolerates all and any customs that do not -strike at morality; it can adapt itself to any nation, and make itself -_all things to all men_. It does not pin its faith to the color of the -skin, the fashion of a garment, or any social conventionality; it does -not supersede individuality, either personal or national, but engrafts -itself upon it and makes it serve a higher purpose. It does not address -itself exclusively to one branch of human development, but cultivates -them all, each in its turn, making them subservient at last to the -spiritual interests of the soul. - - - - -TO A FRIEND. - - - If ever, lady, any word of mine, - Spoken in sorrow, came to thy own heart - With any sense of comfort or of peace, - My sorrow that before was half divine - Becomes a joy! and I would never part - With its remembrance. Why should sorrow cease - That makes one happy? I would rather twine - Roses than cypress round a grief so dear; - And I could set as in an emerald shrine - That sadness in my soul for evermore. - How gladly would I live that evening o’er - Thinking of thee! Not vain, amid the scenes - Of that proud park, my mood was, from the shore - Watching the slow state of those ermined queens. - - - - -GRAPES AND THORNS. - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSE OF YORKE.” - - -CHAPTER II. - -A GLANCE FROM MR. SCHÖNINGER. - -NONE but people of routine ever used their prayer-books while F. -Chevreuse was reading or singing Mass, and it was seldom that even such -people used them the first time they heard him; for it was not enough -that those who assisted should unite their intention with that of the -priest, and then pray their own prayers, recalled now and then to the -altar by the sound of the bell: their whole attention was riveted there -from the first. - -That penetrating voice, which enunciated every word with such exquisite -clearness, speaking rapidly only because so earnest, was heard -throughout the church, and its vivid emphasis gave new life to every -prayer of the service. When F. Chevreuse said _Dominus vobiscum!_ one -replied as a matter of course—would as soon, indeed, have neglected to -answer his face-to-face greeting on the street as this from the altar; -the _Orate, fratres_, compelled the listener to pray; and, at the -_Domine, non sum dignus_, one felt confounded and abashed. - -Was it, then, you asked yourself, the first time this priest had -said Mass, that he should stand so like a man who sees a vision? No; -F. Chevreuse had been fifteen years a priest. Had he, perhaps, an -intellect more high than the ordinary, or a superior sanctity? No, -again; though a clearer mind or a nobler Christian soul one would -scarcely wish to see. The peculiarity lay chiefly, we should guess, in -a large, impassioned, and generous heart, which, like a strong fountain -for ever tossing up its freshening tide, overflowed his being, and -made even the driest facts bud and blossom perennially. In that heart, -nothing worthy of life ever faded or grew old. Its possessions were -dowered with the freshness of immortal youth. - -Still, these gifts might have been partially ineffectual if nature had -not added to them a sanguine temperament, and the priceless blessing -of a body capable of enduring severe and prolonged labor. F. Chevreuse -was spared that misery of a bright intelligence and an active will for -ever pent and thwarted by physical incompetence, the soul by its nature -constantly compelled to issue mandates to the body, which the body by -its weakness is as inevitably compelled to disobey. In that wide brain -of his, thoughts had ample elbow-room, and could range themselves -without crowding or confusion; and the broad shoulders and deep chest -showed with what full breathing the flame of life was fanned. His mind -was always working, yet there was no sign of a feverish head; the eyes -were steady, and the close-cut gray hair grew so thick as to form a -crown. - -For the rest, let his life speak. We respect the privacy of such a -soul; and, though we would fain show him real and admirable, we sketch -F. Chevreuse with a shy pencil. - -The church of S. John was a new and unfinished one on Church Street. -This street ran east and west, parallel with the Cocheco, and half-way -up the South Hill, which here sloped so abruptly that the buildings -on the lower side had one more story at the rear than in front, and -those on the upper side one more story in front than at the rear. In -consequence of this deceptive appearance, those who liked to put the -best foot forward preferred to live on the upper side, though it doomed -them to a north light in their houses, while those who thought more of -comfort than of display chose the other side with a southward frontage. - -The church was set back so as to leave a square in front, and its -entrance was but four or five steps above the street; but at the back a -large and well-lighted basement was visible. The priest’s house stood -close to the street, on the eastern side of this square, and so near -that between the back corner of its main part and the front corner of -the church there was scarcely space for two persons to stand abreast. -This narrow passage, screened by a yard or so of iron railing, gave -access to a long flight of stairs that led to the basements of the -church and of the house. - -Seen from the front, this house was a little, melancholy, -rain-streaked, wooden cottage, which might be regarded as a blot upon -the grandeur of the church, or an admirable foil for it, as one had -a mind to think. The door opened almost on the sidewalk, and beside -the door were two dismal windows with the curtains down. In the space -above, another curtained window was set between the two sharp slants of -the roof. On the side opposite the church, where a lane ran down to the -next street, the prospect was more cheering. You saw there an L as wide -as the main building, though not so deep, and projecting from it so as -to give another street door at the end of a veranda, and allow space -for two windows at the rear of the house. This L was Mrs. Chevreuse’s -peculiar domain, as the house was that of the priest. Her sitting-room -and bedroom were here; and no one acquainted with the customs of the -place ever came to the veranda door unless they could claim an intimate -friendship with the priest’s mother. - -The parlor with the two dismal front windows beside the entrance -was used as a reception-room. Back of that was the priest’s private -sitting-room, with two windows looking out on the veranda, and one -window commanding the basement entrance of the church, the pleasant -green space around it, and the flight of stairs that led up to the -street. F. Chevreuse’s arm-chair and writing-table always stood in this -window, and behind them was a door leading into a little side-room -containing a strong desk where he kept papers and money, and a sofa on -which he took an occasional nap. - -Up-stairs were two sleeping-rooms; down-stairs, as the hill sloped, the -kitchen, dining-room, and the two rooms occupied by Jane, the cook, and -Andrew, the priest’s man. There was space enough in the house, and it -had the charm of irregularity; but from the street, as we have said, it -was a melancholy-looking structure. F. Chevreuse, however, could not -have been better pleased with it had it been a palace. Within, all was -comfort and love for him; and he probably never looked at the outside. -The new church and his people engrossed his thoughts. - -Mrs. Chevreuse was not so indifferent. “It would not look well for -me to go up on a ladder, and paint the outside walls,” she said to -herself, her only confidant in such matters; “but, if it could be -turned inside-out for one day, I would quickly have it looking less -like an urchin with a soiled face.” - -No one could doubt this assertion after having seen the interior of -this castle of the rueful countenance. There she could go up on a -ladder without shocking any one, and from basement to attic the place -was as fresh as a rose. But the nicety was never intrusive. This lady’s -house-keeping perspective was admirably arranged, and her point of view -the right one. Cleanliness and order dwelt with her, not as tyrants, -but as good fairies who were visible only when looked for. If you -should chance to think of it, you would observe that everything which -should be polished shone like a mirror; that the white was immaculate, -the windows clear, and the furniture well-placed. You might recollect -that the door was never opened for you by an untidy house-maid, and -that no odors from the kitchen ever saluted your nostrils on entering, -though a bouquet on the stair-post sometimes breathed a fragrant -welcome. - -Now, housekeepers know that the observance of all these little details -of order and good taste involves a great deal of care and labor; but -they sometimes forget that their exquisite _ménage_ loses its principal -charm when the care and labor are made manifest. It cannot be denied -that the temptation is strong now and then to let Cæsar know by what -pains we produce these apparently simple results, which he takes as a -matter of course; but, when the temptation is yielded to, the results -cease to be entirely pleasing. The unhappy man becomes afraid to walk -on our carpets, to touch our door-knobs, to sit in our chairs, eat -eggs with our spoons, lay his odious pipe on our best table-cover, or -tie the curtains into a knot. The touching confidence with which he -was wont to ask that an elaborate dinner might be prepared for him in -fifteen minutes vanishes from his face like a rainbow tint that leaves -the cloud behind. “A cold lunch will do,” he tells you resignedly, and -you detect incipient dyspepsia in his countenance. The free motions -that seemed to feel infinite space about them are no more. The anxious -hero pulls his toga about him in the most undignified and ungraceful -manner, lest it should upset a flower-pot or a chair. In fine, the -tormenting gadfly of our neatness stings him up and down his days, till -he would fain seek refuge and rest in disorder. - -Mother Chevreuse knew all this perfectly, and behaved herself in so -heroic a manner that her son never suspected, what was quite true, that -the unnecessary steps he caused her might make several miles a day. - -One morning after early Mass, toward the last of May, she seated -herself in the arm-chair by the window, and watched for the priest to -come in from the church. This was a part of her daily programme, and -the only time of day she ever occupied what she called his throne. -After his breakfast, they did not meet, save incidentally, till -supper-time; for, except when they had company, F. Chevreuse dined -alone. The mother had perceived that, when they dined together, there -had been a struggle between the sense of duty and courtesy which made -him wish to entertain her, and the abstraction he naturally felt in the -midst of the cares and labors of the day, and, ever on the watch lest -she should in any way intrude on his vocation, had herself made this -arrangement. The fact that he did not oppose it was a sufficient proof -that it was agreeable to him. - -This mother was the softer type of her son, as though what you would -carve in granite you should first mould in wax. There was the same -compact form, telling of health, strength, and activity, the same -clear eyes, the same thick gray hair crowning a forehead more wide -than high. Their expressions differed as their circumstances did; -cheerfulness and good sense were common to both; but, where the priest -was authoritative, the woman was dignified. - -Presently her face brightened, for the fold of a black robe showed -some one standing just inside the chapel door, and the next moment -F. Chevreuse appeared, his hands clasped behind him, his face bent -thoughtfully downward. Seeing him thus for the first time, you are -surprised to find him only medium height. At the altar, he had appeared -tall. You might wonder, too, what great beauty his admirers found in -him. But scarcely had the doubt formed itself in your mind, before -it was triumphantly answered. The priest’s first step was into a -shadow, his second into sunlight; and, as that light smote him, he -lifted his head quickly, and a smile broke over his face. Wheeling -about, he fronted the east. The river-courses had hollowed out a deep -ravine between him and the sunrise, and the tide of glory flowed in -and filled that from rim to rim, and curled over the green hills like -wine-froth over a beaker. He stood gazing, smiling and undazzled, his -face illuminated from within as from without. It might be said of F. -Chevreuse, as it was of William Blake, that, when the sun rose “he did -not see a round, fiery disk somewhat like a guinea, but an innumerable -company of the heavenly hosts crying, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God -Almighty!’” - -The mother watched, but did not interrupt him. She knew well that such -moments were fruitful, and that he was storing away in his mind the -precious vintage of that spring morning to bring it forth again at some -future time fragrant with the bouquet of a spiritual significance. -“Glimpses of God,” she called such moods. - -He threw his head back, and, with a swift glance, took in the whole -scene; the fleckless blue overhead, the closely gathered city beneath, -the lights and shades that played in the dewy greensward at his feet, -and, turning about, his mother’s loving face—a fit climax for the -morning. - -“_Bon jour, Mère Chevreuse!_” he called out, touching his _barrette_. - -As he disappeared into the house, Mrs. Chevreuse went into her own -sitting-room, which opened from his, and gave a last glance at the -table prepared for his breakfast. The preparation was not elaborate. A -little stand by the eastern window held a pitcher of milk, a bowl and -spoon, and a napkin; and Jane, following the priest up-stairs, added a -dish of oatmeal pudding. - -F. Chevreuse walked briskly through the entry, and threw the street -door wide open, then came back singing, “Lift up your heads, O ye -gates, and the King of glory shall come in!” and continued, as he -entered the room, his voice hardly settled from song to speech, “What -created things are more like the King of glory than light and air? They -are as his glance and his breath.” - -The look that met his was sympathizing, but the words that replied were -scarcely an answer to his question. “Your breakfast is cooling, F. -Chevreuse,” she said. - -He took no heed, but, clasping his hands behind him, walked to and -fro with a step that showed flying would have been the more congenial -motion. - -“Mother,” he exclaimed, “the mysteries of human nature are as -inscrutable as the mysteries of God. Would the angels believe, if they -had not seen, that a Mass has been said this morning here in the midst -of a crowded city, with only a score or so of persons to assist? Why -was not the church thronged with worshippers, and thousands pressing -outside to kiss the foundation-stones? When I turned with the _Ecce -Agnus Dei_, why did not all present fall with their faces to the floor? -And when Miss Honora Pembroke walked away from the communion-railing, -why did not every one look at her with wonder and admiration?—the -woman who bore her God in her bosom! And just now, when the sun -rose”—he stopped and looked at his mother with a combative air—“why -did not the people look up and hail it as the signet of the Almighty?” - -Mother Chevreuse smiled pleasantly. She was used to being set up as a -target for these unanswerable questions, especially in the morning, at -which time the priest was likely to be, as Jane expressed it, “rather -high in his mind.” - -“If you could take your breakfast, my son,” she suggested. - -“Breakfast!” He glanced with a look of aversion at the table that held -his frugal meal, considered a moment, recognized the propriety of its -existence, finally seated himself in his place, and began to eat with a -very good appetite. “You were quite right, my lady,” he remarked; “the -sunshine was drinking my milk all up. What thirsty creatures they are, -those beams!” - -Let it not be supposed that F. Chevreuse was so ascetical as never to -eat except when urged to do so. On the contrary, he took good care to -keep up the health and strength necessary for the performance of his -multiform duties as the only priest in a large parish, and he used a -wise discrimination in allowing others to fast. “Some fasting is almost -as bad as feasting,” he used to say. “Besides injuring the health, -it clogs the soul. You look down upon eating when you have dined -moderately; but, when you have fasted immoderately, the idea of dinner -is elevated till it becomes a constellation. I do not wish to starve, -till, when I kneel down and raise my eyes, I can think of nothing but -roast beef. Asceticism is not an end, but a means.” - -“Mother,” he said presently, laying down his spoon, “why is it that the -oatmeal and milk I get at home are better than that I find anywhere -else?” - -“Children always think the food they get at home better than what they -get abroad,” she replied tranquilly. - -Why should she tell him that what he called milk was cream, and that -the making of that “stirabout” was a fine-art, which had been taught -Jane line upon line, and precept upon precept, till every grain dropped -according to rule, and the motion of the pudding spoon was as exact as -a sonnet? Instead of being pleased, he would have been disturbed to -know that so much pains had been taken for him. - -“I like no earthly comfort that has cost any one much trouble or pain,” -he would say. Like most persons who have been spared the petty cares of -life, he did not know that in this discordant world there is no earthly -comfort to any one which is not a pain to some other. - -Breakfast over, the priest went promptly about his business; and -Mrs. Chevreuse, shutting the door between their rooms, brought her -work-basket to the stand where the tray had been, and seated herself to -mend a rent in a _soutane_. - -It was a pleasant room, with its one window toward the church, and an -opposite one looking over the city and the distant hills, and most -enticingly comfortable, with deep chairs, convenient tables, and tiny -stands always within reach, and an open fireplace which was seldom, -save at mid-summer, without its little glimmer of fire at some time of -day. And even then, if the day was chilly or overcast, the fact that -it was mid-summer did not prevent the kindling of Mother Chevreuse’s -beltane flame. From this room and the bedroom behind it could be heard -on still nights the dashing of the Cocheco among its rocks. - -Mrs. Chevreuse worked and thought. The sunbeams sparkled on the -scissors, needles, bodkins, and whatever bright thing it could find in -her work-basket, on her eyeglasses and thimble, on the smooth-worn gold -of her wedding-ring, and the tiny needle weaving deftly to and fro in -an almost invisible darn, of which the lady was not a little proud. Her -mind wove, too; not those flimsy fancies of youth so like spider’s webs -upon the grass, that glitter only when the morning dew is on them: the -threads of her dream-tapestry ended in heaven, though begun on earth, -and their severance could only change hope into fruition. And all the -time, while hand and heart slipped to and fro, the lady was aware of -everything that went on in the house. She heard Andrew come into the -next room with the morning mail, heard the sound of voices while he -received his orders for the day, heard him go clumping down-stairs, -and out through the kitchen into the chapel. Presently the clumping -resounded outside, and, glancing across the room, she saw the old man -standing on the basement stairs, his head on a level with her window, -looking at her across the space that intervened, and gesticulating, -with a twinkling candlestick in each hand. - -Mother Chevreuse, still holding her work, went and threw the sash up. - -“I think, madame, begging your pardon, that I can clean these just as -well as you can,” says Andrew, with a very positive nod and a little -shake that set all the glass drops twinkling and tinkling. - -“Do you, Andrew?” returned madame pleasantly. “Very well, then, you can -clean them, and save me the trouble. But don’t forget to rub all the -whiting out of the creases.” - -Andrew changed countenance as he turned slowly about to descend the -stairs. Mrs. Chevreuse had been gradually taking the care of the altar -from his rather careless hands, and this had been his diplomatic way of -escaping the candlestick cleaning of that day without asking her to do -it. He hobbled down-stairs again discomfited, and the lady went smiling -back to her work. - -“It is all very well for Sharp’s rifles,” she remarked, threading her -needle; “but I don’t like being fired at in that spiral manner.” - -Still weaving again with hand and heart, she heard Jane going about, -like a neat household machine doing everything in its exact time and -place, severe on interruption, merciless on mud or dust, ever ready -to have a skirmish on these grounds with Andrew; she heard the rattle -of paper from the next room, as letters and parcels were opened, the -scratching of F. Chevreuse’s quill as he wrote answers to one or two -correspondents, or made up accounts, and the little tap with which he -pressed the stamp upon the letters. - -How peaceful and sweet her life was, all she loved within reach, all -she hoped for so sure! She breathed a sigh of thanksgiving, then -dropped her work and listened; for the priest was preparing to go out. -Every morning was spent by him in collecting for his church. He had -found in Crichton a thousand or more practical Catholics, with one -shabby old chapel to worship in, and nearly as many nominal Catholics -who did not worship at all; and in three years, with scarcely any -capital to begin with besides faith, he had raised and nearly finished -a large and beautiful church, and gathered into it the greater part of -the wanderers. - -“Be prudent, my son!” the mother had warned him when he began what -seemed so venturesome an enterprise. - -“I am so,” he replied, with decision. “It would be the height of -imprudence to leave these people any longer straying like lost sheep. -When the Master of the universe commands that a house be built for him, -is it for me to fear he will not be able to pay for it?” - -She said no more. Mme. Chevreuse always remembered to distinguish -between the son and the priest, and was never more proud of her -motherhood than when her natural authority was confronted by the -supernatural authority of her child. But she always sighed when he -started on a collecting-tour, for his faith had to be supplemented by -hard work, and often he came back worn with fatigue, and depressed by -the sights of poverty, sorrow, and sin he had witnessed. - -All had gone well with the church, however—so well that a new -enterprise had been added, and a convent school was just making its -small beginning in Crichton. - -“Is madame visible?” asked a voice smothered against the door. - -“_Entrez!_” she answered gaily; and the priest put his head in. - -“Say a little prayer to S. Joseph for F. Chevreuse to-day,” he said; -“for he is collecting for the great note.” - -“Oh!” She looked anxiously at him, and met a reassuring smile in return. - -“Never fear, mother!” he said cheerfully. “Do not all the houses and -lands belong to God?” - -“Certainly!” she answered, but sighed to herself as he went away: “it -is very true they all belong to God, but I’m afraid the devil has some -very heavy mortgages on them.” - -Later in the day, Miss Ferrier called for Mrs. Chevreuse to go out and -visit the sisters at the new convent. “I have taken all I could think -of this morning,” she said, and enumerated various useful articles. “I -suppose they want nearly everything.” - -Mrs. Chevreuse commended her liberality. “But I am glad you did not -think of cordage,” she added; “for that is the very thing I did -remember.” - -She opened a large basket, and laughingly displayed a collection of -ropes and cords varying from coils of clothes-line and curtain-cord to -balls of fine pink twine. “Jane’s clothes-line gave out yesterday,” she -said, “and that made me think of this.” - -Miss Ferrier gave a little shiver and shrug. “It is very nice and -useful, I know; but ropes always remind me of hanging.” - -“Naturally,” returned the lady, tying on her bonnet: “that is their -vocation.” - -“But hanging is such a dreadful punishment!” And the young woman -shivered again. - -“Why, my pictures seem to enjoy it,” Mrs. Chevreuse replied, -persistently cheerful. - -“Now, really, madame—“ - -“Now, really, mademoiselle,” was the laughing interruption, “what has -put your thoughts on such a track this morning? If you want my opinion -on the subject, I cannot give it, for I have none. All I can say is -that, if I thought any one were destined to kill me, I would instantly -write and sign a petition for his pardon, and leave it to be presented -to the governor and council at the proper time. Think of something -pleasant. I am ready now. We will go out through the house.” - -She locked the veranda door, and put the key in her pocket. “I have -only to give Jane an order. Jane!” she called, leaning out the window. - -A head appeared from the kitchen window beneath, and the mistress gave -her order down the outside of the house. “It saves so much going up and -down stairs for two old women,” she explained. “Now, my dear.” - -They went into the priest’s sitting-room, and again the door was -locked behind them, and the key this time hung on a nail over the -writing-table. “Wait a moment,” said madame then, and began picking -up bits of paper scattered about the room. The priest had torn up a -letter, and absently dropped the fragments on the carpet instead of -into the waste-basket, and a breeze had been playing with them. - -“How provoking men are,” remarked Miss Ferrier, stooping for a fragment -which a puff of air instantly caught away from her. - -“Are they?” asked Mrs. Chevreuse quietly. “I do not know, I have so -little to do with them. Most people are provoking sometimes, I dare -say.” - -Having made a second ineffectual dive for the strip of paper, the young -woman had not patience enough left to bear so cool an evasion. “F. -Chevreuse deserves a scolding for strewing this about,” she said. - -The mother glanced at her with that sort of surprise which is more -disconcerting than anger. Miss Ferrier blushed, but would not be so -silenced. - -“If you should oblige him to pick them up once,” she continued, “that -would cure him.” - -“Oblige him!” repeated the mother with a more emphasized coldness. “I -never oblige F. Chevreuse to do anything. I should not dream of calling -his attention to such a trifle. He has higher affairs on his mind. Now -we will go.” - -Their drive took them through the town by its longest avenue, Main -Street, which followed the Saranac half-way to its source. School -children in Crichton looked on Main Street as their meridian of -longitude, and were under the impression that it reached from pole -to pole. It crossed the Cocheco by the central one of three parallel -bridges, climbed straight up the steep North Height, and stretched out -into the country. The convent grounds were on the west bank of the -Saranac, twenty acres of rough land, roughly enclosed, with an old -tumble-down house that had been a tavern in the early days of Crichton. -It was a desolate-looking place, with not a tree nor flower to be seen, -but needed only time and labor to become a little Eden. - -In the eyes of Sister Cecilia it was even now an Eden. Her ardent -and generous nature, made still brighter by a beautiful Christian -enthusiasm, saw in advance the blossom and fruit of unplanted trees, -and seeds yet in the paper. Full of delight to her was all this -planning and labor. - -She was out-doors when the carriage drove up, in earnest consultation -with two workmen, directing the laying out of the kitchen-garden, and, -recognizing her visitors, hastened toward them with a cordial welcome. -Sister Cecilia was a little over forty years of age, tall and graceful, -and had one of those sunny faces that show heaven is already begun -in the heart. When she smiled, the sparkling of her deep-blue eyes -betrayed mirth and humor. - -“Dread the labor?” she exclaimed, in answer to a question from Miss -Ferrier. “Indeed not! I was so charmed with the idea of coming to this -wild place that I had a scruple about it, and was almost afraid I ought -not to be indulged. It is always delightful to begin at the beginning, -and see the effect of your work.” - -She led them about the place and told her plans. Here a grove was to be -planted, there the path would wind, vines would be trained against this -stone wall. - -“But I don’t see any stone wall,” protested Miss Ferrier. - -Sister Cecilia laughed. “I see it distinctly, and so will you next -year. There are piles of stones on the land which will save us a good -deal of money; and we are very likely to have some work done for -nothing. Do you know how kind the laborers are to us? Twenty men have -offered to do each a day’s work in our garden free of charge. Those -are two of them. Now, here we are going to have a large arbor covered -with honeysuckle and roses. It must be closed on the east side, because -there will be a river-road outside the wall some day, and we should be -visible from it. But the south side will be all open, so we can sit -under the roses and look down that beautiful river and over all the -city. You see the knoll was made on purpose for an arbor.” - -As they went into the house, a slender shape glided past in the dusk -of the further entry. The light from a roof window, shining down the -stairs, revealed a face like a lily drooped a little sidewise, a wealth -of brown hair gathered back, and a sweet, shy smile. It was as though -some one had carried a lighted waxen taper through the shadows where -she disappeared. - -“It is Anita!” exclaimed Miss Ferrier, stopping on the threshold of the -parlor. “Why did she not come to us?” - -“That dear Anita!” said the sister. “She has a piano lesson to give -at this hour, and would not dream of turning aside from the shortest -road to the music-room. If you were her own mother, Mme. Chevreuse, she -would not come to you without permission. Yet such a tender, loving -creature I never knew before. Obedience is the law of her life. Next -spring she will begin her novitiate.” - -The house was looked over, the other sisters seen, and the offerings -brought them duly presented and acknowledged; then the two ladies -started for home. - -Miss Ferrier was rather silent when they were alone. She had not -forgotten the reproof of the morning, and she felt aggrieved by it. -Mrs. Chevreuse had known that she was but jesting, and might have been -a little less touchy, she thought. What was the matter that almost -every one was finding fault with her lately? Her mother accused her -of being cross and captious, her lover found her exacting, and Mrs. -Gerald had thought her too assuming on one occasion, and yet all she -was conscious of was a blind feeling of loss—some such sense as -deep-buried roots may have when the sky grows dark over the tree -above. Little things that once would have passed by like the idle wind -now had power to make her shrink, as the lightest touch will hurt -a sore; and trifles that had once given her pleasure now fell dead -and flat. The time had been when the mere driving through the city -in her showy carriage had elated her, when she had sat in delighted -consciousness of the satin cushions, the glittering harness and -wheels, and even of the band on the coachman’s hat and the capes that -fluttered from his shoulders. Now they sometimes gave her a feeling -of weary disgust, and she assured herself that she knew not why. If -any suspicion glanced across her mind that a worm was eating into the -very centre of her rose of life, and the outer petals withered merely -because the heart was withering, she shut her eyes to it, and kept -seeking here and there for comfort, but found none. Honora was the -only person who ever really soothed her; and, for some reason, or for -no reason, even Honora’s soothing now and then held a sting that was -keenly felt. - -“Is it possible she is resenting my reproof?” thought Mrs. Chevreuse, -and exerted herself to be pleasant and friendly, but without much -success. Miss Ferrier’s affected gaiety was gone, and she had no -disposition to resume it. - -“She is not so good-tempered as I believed,” the priest’s mother -thought when they parted, with one of those unjust judgments which the -good form quite as often as the bad. - -Miss Ferrier drove on homeward. She had no need to tell the coachman -which way to drive, nor how, for he knew perfectly well that he was to -make his horses prance slowly through Bank Street, where, in a certain -insurance office up one flight of a granite building, Mr. Lawrence -Gerald bit his nails and fumed over a clerk’s desk, and half attended -to his business while inwardly protesting against what he called his -misfortunes. Perhaps his desk faced the window, or maybe his companions -were good enough to call his attention to it; for it seldom happened -that Miss Ferrier, glancing up, did not see him waiting to bow to her. -He did not love the girl, but he felt a trivial pride in contemplating -the evidences of that wealth which was one day to be his unless he -should change his mind. He sometimes admitted the possibility of the -latter alternative. - -To-day he was not at the window; but his lady-love had hardly time -to be conscious of disappointment, when she saw him lounging in the -doorway down-stairs. He came listlessly out as the carriage drew up, -and at the same moment Miss Lily Carthusen appeared from a shop near -by, and joined them. This young lady took a good deal of exercise in -the open air, and might be met almost any time, and always with the -latest news to tell. - -“I congratulate you both,” she said, in her sprightliest manner. “That -dreadful organist of yours has put his wrist out of joint, and cannot -play again for a month or two. Isn’t it delightful?” She laughed -elfishly. “Haven’t you heard of it? Oh! yes; it is true. It happened -this morning when he came down the dark stairway in his boarding-house. -He tumbled against the dear old balusters, and put his wrist out. I -never before knew the good of dark stairways.” - -“Why, Lily! aren’t you ashamed?” remonstrated Miss Ferrier, smiling -faintly. - -“Do you think I ought to be ashamed?” inquired Miss Lily, with an -ingenuous expression in her large, light-blue eyes. - -“Yes; I do,” replied Miss Ferrier, much edified. - -“Well, then, I won’t,” was the satisfactory conclusion. - -“I am sorry for Mr. Glover,” Miss Ferrier remarked gravely. - -“Now, my dear mademoiselle, please don’t be so crushingly good!” cried -the other. “You know perfectly well that he plays execrably, and spoils -the singing of your beautiful choir; and you know that you would be -perfectly delighted if F. Chevreuse would pension him off. Don’t try to -look grieved, for you can’t.” - -“I don’t pretend to be a saint, Miss Carthusen,” said Annette, dropping -her eyes. - -“And I don’t pretend to be a sinner,” was the mocking retort. - -Mr. Gerald smiled at this little duel, as men are wont to smile at such -scenes. It did not hurt him, and it did amuse him. - -“But the best part of the business is that F. Chevreuse has asked Mr. -Schöninger to play in his stead,” pursued the news-bringer. “He has -written a note requesting him to call there this evening.” - -Miss Ferrier drew her shawl about her, and leaned back against the -cushions. She had an air of dismissing the subject and the company -which, not being either rude or affected, was so near being stately -that Mr. Gerald was pleased with it, and, to reward her, begged an -invitation to lunch. - -“I had just come out for my daily sandwich,” he said; “but if you will -take pity on me—“ - -She smilingly made room for him by her side, and drove off full of -delight. - -The afternoon waned, and, as evening approached, Mrs. Chevreuse sat -in her own room again, waiting for the priest to come home. She had -visited her sick and poor, looked to her household affairs, stepped -into the church to arrange some fresh flowers, and see that the -candlesticks shone with spotless brilliancy, and was now trying to -interest herself in a book while she waited. But it was hard to fix -her attention; it constantly wandered from the page. Jane had heard -and told her of the accident to their organist, and the rumor that -Mr. Schöninger was to take his place; but had not told the news by -any means with the glee of a Lily Carthusen. On the contrary, it had -seemed to her mind an almost incredible horror that a Jew was to take -any part in a service performed before the altar whereon the Lord of -heaven was enthroned. To Jane’s mind, every Jew was a Judas. That he -could be moral, that he could adore his Creator and pray earnestly -for forgiveness of his sins, she did not for an instant believe. The -worst criminal, if nominally a Catholic, was in her eyes infinitely -preferable to the best Jew in the world. - -“Andrew declared it was so, madame, and that he carried a note to that -Mr. Schöninger before dinner,” she said, concluding her lamentation; -“but nothing will make me believe it till I hear F. Chevreuse say so -with his own mouth.” - -“Oh! well, don’t distress yourself about it, Jane,” her mistress -replied soothingly. “Perhaps it is a mistake; but, if it is not, you -may be sure that F. Chevreuse knows best. He always has good reasons -for what he does. Besides, we must be charitable. Who knows but the -services of the church and our prayers might, by the blessing of God, -convert this man.” - -“Convert a rattlesnake!” cried Jane, too much excited to be respectful. - -But Mrs. Chevreuse, though she had spoken soothingly to her -subordinate, was not herself altogether satisfied. She was a woman -of large mind and heart; yet, if any one people in the world came -last in her regard, it was the Jewish people. Moreover, she had seen -Mr. Schöninger but once, and then at an unfortunate moment when -something had occurred to draw that strange blank look over his face. -The impression left on her mind was an unpleasant one that there was -something dark and secret in the man. - -“Of course it will all be right,” she said to herself, annoyed that she -should feel disturbed for such a cause. “I am foolish to think of it.” - -The street door was opened and left wide, after F. Chevreuse’s fashion, -and she heard his quick, light step in the entry. Dropping her book, -she smiled involuntarily at the sound. How sweet to a woman is this -nightly coming home of father, son, or husband! He came in, went to -the inner room, and opened and closed his desk, then returned to the -sitting-room, threw up the corner window, from which he could see into -her apartment, and seated himself in his arm-chair, leaning forward as -he did so to bow a smiling recognition across to her. His day’s work -was as nearly over as it could be. In the morning, he must go out to -meet his duties; in the evening, they must seek him. The hour for their -social life had come; and though subject to constant interruptions, so -that scarcely ten minutes at a time were left them for confidential -intercourse, they were free to snatch what they could get. - -Mrs. Chevreuse put her book away, and opened the door between the two -sitting-rooms. “Father,” she said immediately, “is it true that you are -going to have that Jew play the organ at S. John’s?” - -The priest rose hastily, and his mother’s foot was arrested on -the threshold; for just opposite her, coming into the room from -the entry, was Miss Lily Carthusen, leading a little girl by the -hand, and followed by “that Jew”; while, in wrathful perspective, -like a thunder-head on the horizon, gloomed the face of Jane, the -servant-woman. - -The silence was only for the space of a lightning-flash, and the flash -was not wanting; it shot across the room from a pair of eyes that -looked as though they might sear to ashes what they gazed upon in -anger. The next moment, the eyes drooped, and their owner was bowing to -F. Chevreuse. - -Miss Carthusen was perfectly self-possessed and voluble, seeming to -have heard nothing. “This little wilful girl would come with Mr. -Schöninger, madame,” she said; “and, as he is not going back, I was -obliged to come and see her home again safely.” - -The truth was that Miss Lily, who boarded in the same house with the -gentleman, had encouraged the child to come, in order that she might -accompany her. - -F. Chevreuse had blushed slightly but he showed no other embarrassment. -It was the first time that Mr. Schöninger had entered his house, and he -welcomed him with a more marked cordiality, perhaps, on account of the -unfortunate speech which had greeted his coming. - -“You are welcome, sir! I thank you for taking the trouble to come to -me. It was my place to call on you, but my engagements left me no time. -Allow me to present you to my mother, Mme. Chevreuse.” - -“My mother” had probably never been placed in so disagreeable -a position, but her behavior was admirable. The man she had -involuntarily insulted was forced to admit that nothing could be -more perfect than the respectful courtesy of her salutation, which -maintained with dignified sincerity the distance she really felt, while -it expressed her regret at having intruded that feeling on him. - -“Yet they talk of charity!” he thought; and the lady did not miss a -slight curl of the lip which was not hidden by his profound obeisance. - -The introduction over, she left Mr. Schöninger to the priest, and took -refuge with his little friend, since she could not with propriety leave -the room. The young lady was not agreeable to her. Mme. Chevreuse had -that pure honesty and good sense which looks with clear regards through -a murky and dissimulating nature; for, after all, it is the deceitful -who are most frequently duped. - -Miss Carthusen went flitting about the room, making herself quite -at home. She selected a rosebud from a bouquet on the mantelpiece, -and fastened it in madame’s gray hair with her fingers as light as -snowflakes; she daintily abstracted the glasses the lady held, and -put them on over her own large pale eyes. “Glasses always squeeze my -eyelashes,” she said; “not that they are so very long, though, at -least, they are not so long as Bettine von Arnim’s little goose-girl’s. -Hers were two inches long; and the other girls laughed at them, so that -she went away by herself and cried. Perhaps, beyond a certain point, -eyelashes are like endurance, and cease to be a virtue. Who is it tells -of a young lady whose long lashes gave her an overdressed appearance in -the morning, so that one felt as though she ought to have a shorter set -to come down to breakfast in?” - -Mrs. Chevreuse observed with interest the striking difference between -the two men who sat near her talking, both, as any one could see, -strong and fiery natures, yet so unlike in temper and manner. The -priest was electrical and demonstrative; he uttered the thought that -rose in his mind; he was a man to move the crowd, and carry all before -him. The ardor of the other was the steady glow of the burning coal -that may be hidden in darkness, and he shrank with fastidious pride -and distrust from any revelation of the deeper feelings of his heart, -and held in check even his passing emotions. He would have said, with -that Marquis de Noailles, quoted by Liszt: _Qu’il n’y a guère moyen de -causer de quoi que ce soit, avec qui que ce soit_; and, doubtless, he -had found it so. - -F. Chevreuse had explained his wishes: their organist was disabled, and -they had no one capable of taking his place. If Mr. Schöninger would -consent to take charge of their singing, he would consider it a great -favor. - -Mr. Schöninger had no engagement which would prevent his doing so, -and it need not be looked on at all as a favor, but a mere matter of -business. His profession was music. - -F. Chevreuse would insist on feeling obliged, although he would waive -the pleasure of expressing that feeling. - -Mr. Schöninger intimated that it was perhaps desirable he should meet -the choir an hour before the evening service. - -The priest had been about to make the same suggestion, and, since the -time was so near, would be very happy to have his visitor take supper -with him. - -The visitor thanked him, but had just dined. - -Nothing could be more proper and to the point, nor more utterly stiff -and frozen, than this dialogue was. F. Chevreuse shivered, and called -little Rose—Rosebud, they named her—to him. - -The child went with a most captivating mingling of shyness and -obedience in her air, walking a little from side to side, as a -ship beats against the wind, making way in spite of fears. Her red -cheeks growing redder, a tremor struggling with a smile on her small -mouth, the intrepid little blossom allowed herself to be lifted to -the stranger’s knees, her eyes seeking her friend’s for courage and -strength. - -Mr. Schöninger smiled on his favorite with a tenderness which gave his -face a new character, and watched curiously while the priest reassured -and petted her till he won her attention to himself. His own experience -and the traditions of his people had taught him to look on the Catholic -Church as his most deadly antagonist; yet now, in spite of all, his -heart relented and warmed a little to one of her ministers. He knew -better than to take an apparent love for children as any proof of -goodness—some of the worst persons he had ever known were excessively -fond of them—yet it looked amiable in an honest person, and F. -Chevreuse’s manner was particularly pleasant and winning. - -Embarrassed by the notice bestowed on her by all, yet, with a premature -address, seeking to hide that embarrassment, the child glanced about -the room in search of some diversion. Her eyes were caught by a picture -of the Madonna. - -“Oh! who is that pretty lady with a wedding-ring round her head?” she -cried out. - -“She,” said F. Chevreuse, “is a sweet and holy Jewish lady whom we all -love.” - -The little girl glanced apprehensively at her friend—perhaps she -had been told never to speak the word Jew in his presence—and saw a -quick light flicker in his eyes. He was looking keenly at the priest, -as if trying to fathom his intention. Was the man determined to win -him in spite of his coldness? Was it his way of making proselytes, -this fascinating delicacy and tenderness? He did not wish to like F. -Chevreuse; yet what could he do in the presence of that radiant charity? - -“I think our business is done, sir,” he said, rising. - -The priest became matter-of-fact at once. - -“It is not necessary for me to make any suggestions to your good -taste,” he said; “but I may be permitted to remark that our service -is not merely æsthetic, but has a vital meaning, and I would like the -music to be conducted earnestly.” - -“I shall make it as earnest as your composers with allow, sir,” the -musician replied, with a slightly mocking smile. - -“My composers!” exclaimed the priest, laughing. “I repudiate them. Was -it one of my composers who wrote the music of the _Stabat Mater_, and -set his voices pirouetting and waltzing through the woes of the Queen -of sorrows? The world accuses Rossini of showing in that his contempt -for Christianity. I would not say so much. I believe he thought of -nothing but the rhythm and the vowel-sounds.” - -“And was it one of my composers,” the Jew retorted, “who set the _Kyrie -Eleison_ I heard on passing your church last Sunday to an air as gay as -any dance tune? If the words had been in English instead of Latin, it -would have sounded blasphemous.” - -F. Chevreuse made a gesture of resignation. “What can I do if the -musicians are not so pious as the painters, if they will put the sound -in the statue, and the sense in the pedestal? My only refuge is the -Gregorian, which nobody but saints will tolerate. I am not a composer.” - -The call was at an end, and the visitors went. - -As soon as they were in the street, Miss Carthusen observed: “I notice -that F. Chevreuse adopts Paracelsus’ method of cure: he anoints with -fine ointment, not the wound, but the sword that made the wound.” - -She had been annoyed at the little attention paid to herself in -contrast with the honor shown the priest’s mother, and wished to find -out if Mr. Schöninger kept any resentment toward Mme. Chevreuse. He -felt her inquisitive, unscrupulous eyes searching his face in sidelong -glances. - -“The priest was very courteous to me,” he replied calmly. “And I should -think that madame might be a very agreeable person to those she likes.” - -The young woman instantly launched into a glowing eulogy of the -priest’s mother, till her listener bit his lips. He was not quite ready -to be altogether charmed with the lady. - -“And, _à propos_ of medicine,” said Miss Carthusen lightly, “it has -been revealed to me to-day who the first homœopathist was.” - -“Is it a secret?” - -“It was Achilles,” she replied. “Do you not remember that nothing but -Achilles’ spear healed the wound that itself had made?” - -As soon as they were gone, Mme. Chevreuse turned to her son. “Need I -say how sorry I am?” she exclaimed. - -Tears were in her eyes. She was touched to the heart that, though -he must have been deeply mortified, he should still not have failed -for a moment to treat her with even more than ordinary courtesy and -affection, as if to show their visitors that he did not dream of -reproving her. - -“I knew that you felt worse about it than I did, dear mother,” he said, -taking her hand. “And this will remind us both that it is not enough -to be cautious in the expression of our thoughts. We must allow no -uncharitable feeling to remain in our hearts.” - -“‘Murder will out,’” he added more lightly, seeing her moved. “And, -after all, isn’t Mr. Schöninger a fine fellow?” - -Madame made no direct reply. She could not yet be enthusiastic about -the Jew. “I think we should have supper,” she said, and went down to -look after Jane. - -“O madame! did you see the look that man gave you?” cried the girl. - -“No matter about that,” the lady said calmly. “It was unfortunate that -I should not have known he was coming. You must be careful to give -some sign when visitors are coming in, and not introduce them in that -noiseless way.” - -Madame held, with the Duke of Wellington, that it is not wise to accuse -one’s self to a servant. The humility, instead of edifying, only -provokes to insubordination. - -“I was coming down from the chambers, and met them at the street door, -madame,” Jane made haste to say; “and I thought you would hear the -steps.” - -“Very well, Jane; it’s no matter. I’m sure you do your duty faithfully. -And now we will have supper.” - - - - -CHURCH AND STATE IN GERMANY. - -THE new laws for the regulation and adjustment of the relations between -church and state in Prussia, for the establishment of what Prince -Bismarck calls a _modus vivendi_ between the power spiritual and the -power temporal—laws which have won the approval of the liberal and -sectarian press in Europe and America—are substantially as follows: - -1. All Prussian citizens who wish to receive ecclesiastical functions -must matriculate at the state university. After matriculating, they -must attend the university course for three years. On concluding their -ecclesiastical studies, they must pass another state examination; that -is to say, at the university. _No candidate can be admitted to the -priesthood unless he satisfy the state in this examination._ - -2. The creation of new (ecclesiastical) seminaries, great or small, is -prohibited. The seminaries already existing shall be placed under state -surveillance, and are forbidden to receive new scholars. - -3. The candidate for the priesthood who is nominated by the bishop -must be approved of and installed in his office by the president of -the province. The bishop who nominates a candidate otherwise than -in accordance with the law, shall be punished by a fine of from 750 -francs to 3,750 francs ($150 to $750). The candidate submitting to such -nomination shall be punished by a fine of from 3 francs (75 cts.) to -375 francs. - -4. Ecclesiastical disciplinary power can only be exercised by -ecclesiastical authorities _of German nationality_. The ecclesiastical -functionaries who, by exercise of their functions, transgress the laws -of the state or the ordinances of the civil authority, may, at the -demand of that civil authority, be deposed, if the maintaining of their -functions prove incompatible with public order. - -A single question may not be inappropriate here: Why all this? Why must -all Prussian citizens who wish to embrace the ecclesiastical state -matriculate at the university? What special advantages are either they -or that undefined thing called the state likely to derive from this -matriculation? Matriculation is a very small thing at the best, and -Catholics do not object to it even in a state university, as in London, -where they do not possess one of their own. But why must ecclesiastical -students be compelled to pass it? The matriculation examination as it -obtains at the London University embraces a hodge-podge of study, a -great part of which is of no absolute service to the clerical student -in his career. All the subjects are touched upon more or less in his -college course; but he naturally devotes his attention particularly to -those which relate more especially to his vocation. And when the state -forces a man who is studying to be a priest to attend a university -course of three years, it steps out of its province, and commits a -useless and tyrannical act. - -As for the final examination at the end of the course, S. Paul -certainly could never have passed it to the satisfaction of the -present Prussian state—a man who taught such dangerous doctrines as -that Christ was “above all principality, and power, and virtue, and -dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but -also in that which is to come.” - -There is no need to pursue this part of the subject further. It must -be plain to everybody that this provision of the bill is simply aimed -at preventing candidates from aspiring to the priesthood at all, -and hindering those who are perverse enough to aspire from becoming -priests—a view which is strengthened by the clause following. - -The candidate for the priesthood whom the bishop wishes to ordain and -appoint must first meet with the approval of the president of the -province, and not only meet with his approval, but be installed in his -office by him. That is to say, the candidate must not be what the state -would call an ultramontane—in other words, a Catholic; and ordination -is practically transferred, if that were possible, from the bishop to -the state. What can the president of the province possibly know about -the candidate, an utter stranger to him? Or how is he to judge of his -fitness or unfitness for the divine vocation? Is the president of the -province for the future to undergo a course of theology, so as to be -“up” in his duties? But it is needless to pursue this inquiry. - -Jesus Christ, when he called his apostles, never consulted Pilate or -Herod. He sought not men for the ministry who were learned in the -wisdom of the schools: poor, ignorant fishermen were the foolish -ones whom he chose to confound the wise and convert a world. Humanly -speaking, and to human eyes, the Son of Joseph the carpenter was -himself an ignorant man. There is no record of his studying, as did S. -Paul, “at the feet of Gamaliel.” The apostles asked no man’s permission -to preach; they consulted no powers in “the imposition of hands”; -they carried on all the business of the church, they ordained and -excommunicated, without ever consulting the president of the province -in which they happened to be. Their successors will continue to do the -same. - -In military matters, for instance, which are purely state affairs, -the interference of the president of the province would be resented. -Courts-martial try offenders—the civil law may not touch them, and no -president is ever called in to sanction the appointments to the various -military grades. Why not? Simply because, in plain words, it is none of -his business. - -It seems foolish to examine this theme so closely, so flagrant -is the violation of all common sense even, not to speak of -legal right. Nevertheless, here is the _Pall Mall Gazette_, an -ultra-liberal organ—so _ultra_, indeed, that it despises “commonplace -liberalism”—giving its hearty concurrence to these measures, on -the ground that priests are out of date, and the fittest judges of -education are men of the world, statesmen, lawyers, and business men, -who are more clever, better educated, and brisker in every way than the -clergy—with much more to the same effect. Regarding its charge that -the clergy are less fitted to cope with the question of education than -men of the world: - -In the Catholic Church, the Society of Jesus is the principal teaching -order of modern times. But outside of it there are plenty of teaching -orders and societies—the Benedictines and others—possessed of -excellent colleges and schools. There are also the colleges belonging -to each diocese under the control of the respective bishops. Moreover, -all education has come to us through the hands of the clergy; and the -Catholic writers who have come out from Rome, and Louvain, and other -purely clerical centres, even in these enlightened days, might possibly -stand the trying test of comparison with the writers on the _Pall Mall -Gazette_. But not to wander into so wide a field as this, the _Pall -Mall_ may be referred to its own columns for a refutation of at least a -great part of this charge. - -Writing last year on the expulsion of the Jesuits from Germany by the -same power which has framed these laws for the education of the clergy, -and which, as it confesses, are “almost enough to take one’s breath -away,” the same journal said: “One of the most remarkable traits of the -Society of Jesus has always been its literary productiveness. Wherever -its members went, no sooner had they founded a home, a college, a -mission, then they began to write books. The result has been a vast -literature, not theological alone, though chiefly that, but embracing -almost every branch of knowledge.” - -And of their work in the particular profession which the _Pall Mall_ -itself graces at present—there is no knowing what it may not come to -be in the future if its principles are only carried out—it said: “In -Italy, Germany, Holland, and Belgium, the most trustworthy critics are -of opinion that there are no better-written newspapers than those under -Jesuit control.” - -This is only _en passant_; and, as it is often more satisfactory to -let those outside of the church answer themselves, here is the opinion -of the London _Spectator_ upon this particular point, given in direct -answer to the _Pall Mall_: - -“Is an age of the world in which few men know what is truth or whether -there be truth, one in which you would ask statesmen to determine its -limits? We suspect that a race of statesmen armed with such powers -as Prussia is now giving to her officials would soon cease to show -their present temperance (!) and sobriety, and grow into a caste of -civilian ecclesiastics of harder, drier, and lower mould than any of -the ecclesiastics they had to put down.... To our minds, the absolutism -of the Vatican Council is a trifling danger compared with the growing -absolutism of the democratic temper which is now being pushed into -almost every department of human conduct.” - -On the larger question of the dangers of modern universities, the -opinion of one of the keenest of living English statesmen was given -in unmistakable language at the annual meeting of the Church Congress -last year at Leeds. The Marquis of Salisbury is quite as true an -Englishman as any writer on the _Pall Mall Gazette_, and his words -may be considered to possess at least equal weight with those of the -distinguished journal mentioned. - -Referring more immediately to the abolition of the “Test Acts,” by -which the state had hitherto guaranteed to overlook and prevent the -teaching of infidelity, he said: “All hindrance to the teaching of -infidelity has been taken away, and that is the great danger of -the future. The great danger is that there should be formed inside -our universities—especially, I fear, inside Oxford—a nucleus and -focus of infidel teaching and influence; not infidel in any coarse -or abusive sense, but in that sense in which Prof. Palmer used the -words ‘heathen virtue.’ _I fear that the danger we have to look to is -that some colleges in Oxford may in the future play a part similar -to that disastrous part which the German universities have played in -the dechristianization of the upper and middle classes._” And the -only advice he can give to England now is: “If the parents of England -who send their sons to these colleges will be alive to the heavy -responsibility which is now laid upon them, then perhaps we may have a -better security, a better guarantee, than we have had that Oxford shall -not be the means of uprooting the Christian faith which they had learnt -at home.” - -These words of the real, if not the nominal, leader of the conservative -party in the British House of Lords, who at the same time is, or was -when he delivered the speech, chancellor of the university of Oxford, -are worthy of attention, and may be commended to that fussy little -termagant, the _Pall Mall Gazette_. They have been doubly corroborated -since by another British statesman whose testimony on such a subject -is of at least equal weight with that of the ultra-liberal journal, -inasmuch as he is the leader of the liberal party—the present Premier -of England, in his recent great speech at Liverpool, which was -principally devoted to exposing the errors of Strauss. - -Passing on to the other laws, why, considered merely from a financial -point of view, should the creation of new seminaries, great or small, -be prohibited? This is controlling the private purse with a vengeance. -The Prussian state, or Prince Bismarck and the professordom, forbid -Prussians or anybody else to erect ecclesiastical seminaries. Of -course, this means that Prussian or German youth are in future to be -educated only in the state schools and universities. If they want to -become priests, they must learn their theology as best they may; at -least there shall be no schools or colleges for them to study in, for -those already in existence are to be placed under state surveillance, -to receive no new pupils—in a word, to be closed, or converted from -the purpose for which they were founded by private funds into state -schools with state professors at their head, which is just as though -Gen. Grant swooped down on all the banking-houses in the United States, -set them under government control, and bade the bankers go about their -business. And yet Catholics who find some reason to object to this -summary mode of dealing with their property and what they considered -were their rights, are told that they are traitors to the state, -conspirators against the empire, and that they only object in slavish -obedience to a mandate from Rome. - -This measure was well devised. Its framers said: We have banished the -Jesuits; we have banished religious societies of every description; we -have abolished the sacrament of marriage; we have banished religion -from the schools; we now proceed to abolish ecclesiastical seminaries -altogether: that is to say, we abolish the priesthood, we abolish -God as far as Germany is concerned, and men shall worship us and us -only—the supreme power. - -What else does this law mean? It strikes out the priesthood, root and -branch, as effectually as did the penal laws in England; nay, more so. -The next clause fits in neatly. The bishop who nominates a candidate -otherwise than in accordance with the law is fined heavily. As there -are a good number of bishops, and as they are likely to disregard the -law in this respect, this will ensure a constant revenue to the state -as long at least as they are allowed to remain in the country. - -Ecclesiastical disciplinary power can only be exercised by -ecclesiastical authorities of German nationality. This, of course, is a -blow struck directly at the Pope in his capacity of universal head of -the church; indirectly at whoever may hereafter be appointed as bishops -of the church in Germany. It simply forbids the Catholic bishops and -priests to obey the commands of the Holy See, and, if carried out, -would be subversive of the whole edifice of Christ’s church, which its -divine Founder made one, indivisible, and CATHOLIC. “Go ye, therefore, -and teach _all_ nations.” Prince Bismarck aims at carrying out what -Bolanden calls “the Russian idea”—the erection in Germany of a state -popedom. And again, Catholics are traitors to the state for objecting -to it, though it is an amendment introduced into Article 15 of the -Prussian constitution for the purpose of nullifying that truly liberal -and wise measure, which was to the following effect: - -The Evangelical and the Roman Catholic Churches, as well as all other -religious societies, may administer and regulate their affairs in -perfect freedom. All religious societies may continue in the possession -and enjoyment of their institutions, foundations, and funds destined -for worship, instruction, and charity. - -This is the law that works in England, in this country, and wherever -else the name of freedom is known. It left the Catholic Church -little to desire in Prussia. The justice, the wisdom and necessity -of substituting for this law those which appear at the head of this -article, will be apparent. - -Moreover, that same article very wisely and fairly provided that the -state right of nominating, proposing, electing, and confirming in the -offices of the church be suppressed, with the single exception of -ecclesiastical appointments in the army and in public establishments. - -That law worked to the satisfaction of all parties—the state, the -Evangelicals, and the Catholics. The state never complained of it; the -Evangelical Church never complained of it; the Catholic Church never -complained of it. Why reverse this order now? Why, after handing the -disciplinary power over into the hands of the church, and after having -proved it so satisfactorily for half a century, do you now forbid the -exercise of that power by authority which is not of German nationality? -The constitution of the Catholic Church is exactly the same now as -it was when that article was drawn up. The Catholic bishops were not -self-appointed. Who conferred ecclesiastical disciplinary power in the -first instance? The church through its head, the representative of -Jesus Christ, who is not of German nationality; who, as head of the -Catholic Church, is of no nationality; and to whom in that capacity the -question of nationality does not apply: for the laws of which he is the -keeper refer to the spiritual part of man’s nature, the moral order, -which in all men is the same, and which takes as little color from -the accidents of place or climate as it does from the darkness or the -whiteness of the skin. - -This law cannot be obeyed: its framers evidently were assured of this -fact, for they provide that the ecclesiastical functionaries who, -by exercise of their functions, transgress the laws of the state or -the ordinances of the civil authority, may, at the demand of that -authority, be deposed, if the maintaining of their functions prove -incompatible with public order. - -This means the destruction of the Catholic episcopate, or its total -subserviency to the state. “I will strike the shepherd, and the flock -will be dispersed,” said our Lord on a memorable occasion. That is -precisely what Prince Bismarck says: Take all power out of the hands of -the Pope; destroy the bishops if you cannot win them over to the state; -strive to set priest against superior, by telling him that, if he -disobey, the voice of his church is powerless to affect him whilst the -arm of the state supports him. Swell the ranks of the “Old Catholic” -party thus, and we shall force a schism on the church; after a short -time, the people will go this way and that; the true shepherds gone, -the flock will be dispersed, and the nation is ours to do as we please -with, for there is no longer the voice of religion to rise up against -us: the people are ripe for the worship of force. - -Observe the steps which have led up to the present consummation from -the foundation of the German Empire two years ago. The Jesuits, the -vanguard of the church, are driven out. Why? For conspiring against the -empire. Proofs? None. - -All the other orders are driven out for the same reasons, and with the -like proofs of guilt. - -The universities are placed in the hands of infidels. - -The schools are taken from the hands of religious, and placed -altogether in the hands of the state. - -The solemnization (!) of marriage is placed in the hands of the state. - -Ecclesiastical seminaries are suppressed, and given over to the state. - -Ecclesiastical students are for the future to be educated and appointed -by the state. - -Catholics must not subscribe money to build colleges of their own; if -they do, those colleges will, like all the others, be appropriated by -the state. - -The bishops, the divinely appointed successors of the apostles, are -only allowed to hold office at the will of the state. - -He who disobeys is deposed from office by the state. The church is a -thing of state. The human conscience is a thing of state. It has no -rights, no thoughts, no feelings, no desires, that are not absolutely -controlled by the state, “for in the kingdom of this world the state -has dominion and precedence.” - -There is the whole doctrine out, plain and undisguised. Those last -words are taken from the speech delivered by Prince Bismarck to -the House of Peers in the debate of March 10 on the question under -consideration. And now that they are there, what is the state? - -“The state is I,” said Louis XIV., and he was right in his estimate; -but the fact of his having been right at the time when he made the -boast did not prevent the French Revolution, rather helped it on, and -does not prevent us to-day from repudiating the doctrine. - -What constitutes the state in Prince Bismarck’s eyes? Is it the -emperor, or himself, or Dr. Falk, or the German professordom? Is it -the representatives of the country as collected in the Lower and Upper -Prussian Houses? On the educational question, the Upper House, in which -lay the strength of the conservative party, gave an adverse vote to -the government, and the House was immediately dissolved. A number of -mushroom peers were hastily created in an unconstitutional manner, and -sent in as the creatures of Prince Bismarck, for the sole purpose of -passing these bills, in order to give a show of free discussion, and -make the measure of Prince Bismarck appear as the will of the nation. -But does the following read like the speech of a man who was likely -to favor free discussion, or rather, of one who pined for absolutism, -and was determined to have it? It is an extract from the speech of -the prince on resigning the premiership of the Prussian Parliament -to Count von Roon: “There is no fear that Prussia will lose her -legitimate influence in the federal government, even if the individual -members of the cabinet are not on all questions at one.... Prussia’s -territory making five-eighths of all Germany, she will always command -the authority naturally belonging to her. Besides, the identity of the -German and Prussian politics is guaranteed by the fact that the German -Emperor and the King of Prussia happen to be one and the same person. -_I do not deny that the premier should be invested with more extensive -prerogatives than are now his own._ He might, for instance, be accorded -the right of suspending the decisions of the cabinet until their -approval or otherwise by the king; or he might be granted some other -prerogative with a view to regulating the action of the administration. -_All this, I dare say, will come to pass in course of time_, but, not -being as yet conceded to him, he has to shift as best he may.... There -is too much talking over one’s colleagues involved in the premiership -to leave a man time for anything else.” - -That speech was delivered some months ago. Since then, the speaker -has come nearer to the boast of Louis XIV. This is how the echo -of the German chancellor, the Berlin special correspondent of the -London _Times_, speaks of it, with a cringing tone that to free -stomachs brings an absolute nausea: “With a decisive struggle against -popery looming ahead, it would be a great mistake in this loyal and -king-loving country to strip the ministry of the authority it derives -from representing _the crown rather than the parliament_”; whilst the -_Times_ itself remarks editorially, with a mental blindness strange -indeed, if unintentional: “We do not anticipate any retrogression -in the development of Prussia, but it seems inevitable that there -should be some check in the progress of change, some slackening in the -audacity of legislation, some disposition to rest and be thankful.” - -To show how far freedom of discussion prevails in the Prussian -Parliament over and above the speech quoted of Prince Bismarck, the -dissolution of the Upper House on refusing to go the length of the -government on the education question, and the creation of new peers -for the purpose of overcoming that opposition, may be added the very -significant announcement made by Dr. Falk on presenting the bill to the -Chamber in the first instance, before a word of discussion had taken -place on it, that his majesty’s sanction was certain beforehand; which -was saying practically: You may vote as you please, but this bill must -be passed, and he who opposes its passage is an enemy to the throne—no -small threat in a military nation. - -So much for freedom of discussion! Where, then, is one to find that -mysterious body, the state, of which there is so much talk? Of course, -this bill has passed both houses; it has been debated and divided on, -and the divisions have gone with the ministry. Well, in representative -governments, such is the rule. Whatever the majority votes becomes law. -All looks fair. The bill has gone against the Catholics, and that is -all that can be said about it. - -But how has it gone against them? It is a sweeping measure; of that -there can be no doubt. It is the most tremendous measure framed within -this century, perhaps in all time, for the suppression of the faith; -for, to any honest mind, these laws are absolute suppression of all -that constitutes the Catholic Church, so far as human enactments can -effect it. Prince Bismarck endeavored from the beginning of this -contest with the church to throw a false light over it. He banished -the Jesuits and the other orders on the plea that they were conspiring -against the empire. There was no trial, or searching, or investigation. -It was simply his _ipse dixit_: he commanded, and they were banished. -At that time his contest, as he and his organs and representatives in -the Chamber continued to assure the world, was one with conspirators, -and in no wise with the Catholic Church. The secularization, which has -been better called the dechristianization, of the schools, and the -abolition of the sacrament of marriage, had nothing whatever to do with -the Catholic faith. What mockery! Now he comes and forces this bill -through the parliament, which, if carried out, as it doubtless will be -to the letter—for Prince Bismarck does nothing by halves—simply and -absolutely stops the life of religion, not alone the Catholic, but all -religion with any pretension to the name, throughout Germany; and still -he persists in declaring that the contest is not with the church. In -his speech of March 10, which will be remembered in history, and in -calmer moments read aright by all, the prince chancellor said: “The -question in which we are at present involved is placed, according to -my judgment, in a false light if we call it a confessional religious -question. It is essentially political; it has nothing to do with the -conflict of an evangelical dynasty against the Catholic Church, as our -Catholic fellow-citizens are taught to believe; it has nothing to do -with the conflict between faith and infidelity: it has solely to do -with the ancient contest for dominion, which is as old as the human -race; with the contest for power between monarchy and priesthood—the -contest which is much older than the appearance of the Redeemer in the -world.” - -Now, if this statement of the relative position of the opposing forces -be correct, Prince Bismarck makes the contest all the easier for the -Catholics. He professes to remove it altogether out of the region -of religion into that of politics, and thus the conflict, according -to him, is one between two purely political parties. As will be -shown, the party opposed to the present Bismarck policy is not at all -restricted to the Catholics; it embraces the greater portion of the -Evangelicals, most probably all of them, as well as those who, outside -of Germany, would be called democrats. Basing the contest, then, on -purely political grounds, the majority of the German Empire is driven -by sheer force of the will of one man or of a few men, backed by the -most powerful army in the world, into accepting a state of things -which it abhors, and against which it vehemently protests. The claims -of either party are to be decided purely on their own merits, and the -verdict of a fair mind cannot fail to side with that at whose head -stand the Catholics; for they claim nothing more than that the Prussian -constitution, under which all up to the present have lived happily, -be preserved inviolate. “Leave the Prussian law as it stood,” demand -the Catholics and the Evangelicals. “We are content with it; we demand -nothing more.” How such a plain and patriotic request can be contorted -into conspiracy against the empire it is hard to conceive. As for -the allegation that the relations of Catholics to the state have been -altered one jot by the declaration of infallibility, that is idle. -Catholics believe now precisely what they believed from the beginning. -Prince Bismarck, then, was fully alive to the importance of the -question he was engaged in at the time. It was no insignificant measure -that might quietly sneak through the House almost without the House -being aware of its existence. The German Empire numbers 40,000,000 of -souls; of these 14,000,000 are Catholics; that is to say, more than -one-third of the entire population. Call the relation existing to-day -between these 14,000,000 of Catholics and the head of their church, -the Pope, between them and their bishops and clergy, what you please, -political or religious, the result of the passing of this measure is -one and the same—the total breaking up of that relation in all that -makes it what it is, in so far as it lies in Prince von Bismarck to -effect that result. And so the world understands it. - -“There is no parallel in history,” says the _Pall Mall Gazette_, -“to the experiment which the German statesmen are resolutely bent -on trying, except the memorable achievement of Englishmen under the -guidance of Henry VIII.... Like all these measures, the new law -concerning the education of ecclesiastical functionaries, which is the -most striking of the number, will apply to all sects indifferently, -but, in its application to the Roman Catholic priesthood, it almost -takes one’s breath away.” - -The London _Times_ of April 19, in a curious article on our Holy Father -which will call for attention afterwards, sums up the situation thus: - -“The measures now in the German Parliament, and likely to become [which -since have become] law, amount to a secular organization so complete -as not to leave the Pope a soul, a place, an hour, that he can call -entirely his own. Germany asserts for the civil power the control -of all education, the imposition of its own conditions on entrance -to either civil or ecclesiastical office, the administration of all -discipline, and at every point the right to confine religious teachers -and preachers to purely doctrinal and moral topics. Henceforth there -is to be neither priest, nor bishop, nor cardinal, nor teacher, nor -preacher, nor proclamation, nor public act, nor penalty, nor anything -that man can hear, do, or say for the soul’s good of man in Germany, -without the proper authorization, mark, and livery of the emperor.” - -The _Times_ is no special advocate of Catholic interests, so that, when -it puts the case thus, it is out of no love for them. But after such -a graphic picture of the situation, it is needless to reiterate what -has been maintained, that, call these measures what you please, they -simply involve and mean the legal suppression of the Catholic Church in -Germany. - -The bill, then, required some consideration; for it could only be -regarded by one-third of the empire at least, and by the millions of -their co-religionists outside the empire, not simply as an outrage on -their conscience—that would be a weak word for it—but as a measure, -whether it passed or was defeated, to be resisted with all the power -that lies in man’s nature. In this light alone could it be looked upon -by the Catholics, and thus the hearts of one-third of the empire were -at once and, if freedom of conscience be not a meaningless phrase, most -justly alienated from the government of an empire scarce yet two years -old. - -But the opposition was not confined to Catholics alone. The Evangelical -party, though a few of its members and organs had opposed the -intermeddling of the state with church affairs from the first, as a -whole accepted the expulsion of the Jesuits and the other arbitrary -measures as a good thing, and as a deadly blow struck at Rome. But -when these crowning measures appeared, it saw that, as usual, the blow -struck at Rome was a blow struck at all freedom, and strove to retract -when too late. To quote the _Pall Mall Gazette_ again: - -“The difficulties of Prince Bismarck are not decreasing. The Jesuits -have found a fresh ally in Prussia, and the ranks of the enemies of -the new ecclesiastical legislation are swollen by combatants whose -loyalty hitherto has been unswerving. Herr von Gerlach no longer stands -alone as a Protestant opponent of the chancellor’s policy. A portion -of the Evangelical clergy and a section of the Protestant aristocracy -of the old provinces of the kingdom have passed over into the camp -of the enemy. In Pomerania and Silesia, a bitterness of antagonism -has revealed itself which was never suspected. The feelings that have -fed this opposition have evidently been long in existence, but only -now have they betrayed themselves openly. The occasion on which this -was done was the emperor’s birthday. It has been customary to have -religious services in the churches at such times, and they had come to -be expected by the population as a regular part of the celebration. -This year, however, many of the Evangelical clergy in different towns -omitted the usual services, and kept their churches closed. A letter in -the _Spener Gazette_ remarks upon the astonishment excited in Neusalz, -in Lower Silesia, because of the omission. Another letter from Wolgast -says neither in that town nor in Kammin or Schievelbein was ‘the divine -service held to which we have been always accustomed.’ The same thing -occurred at Wernigerode, where the only notice of the occasion was in -the prayers at the usual Sunday service the day after. These facts have -excited much comment in Germany. The official papers openly accuse the -Protestant clergy of the eastern provinces of becoming the allies of -the ultramontanes” (April 12). - -Thus does this “loyal and king-loving” people manifest its gratitude to -the monarch for the forcing of this bill upon it. How is it that the -bill hurts them, the Evangelicals, who detest the Pope, most of them, -just as cordially as does Prince Bismarck? Alas for human nature! There -was a touch of the weakness of the flesh in it after all. - -When this bill met their gaze, the eyes of the Evangelicals were at -last opened. They saw that its provisions were all-embracing, and that -there was no distinction made between Catholic and Protestant, so just -and righteous to all is the Gospel promulgated by Prince Bismarck—the -gospel of the state! They had thought to get off scot-free; they -lent no voice to the noble protest of the Catholic bishops at Fulda; -but at length their zeal is aroused, and they generously throw their -weight into the scale, praying that the new laws may take the form of -exceptional measures for the Catholic Church. - -Such was the form which the Evangelical objection took—on purely -conscientious grounds, no doubt. While the internal budget was being -discussed, some of the progressionists were so stupidly logical as to -vote a refusal of the very respectable subsidy which this generous, -charitable, and conscientious body enjoys. But Dr. Falk, the liberal, -came to the rescue, and saved it. - -The Prussian correspondent of the London _Times_ has an instructive -little paragraph on this subject, which may serve to throw some further -light on this eleventh-hour opposition: - -“But the Catholic dignitaries are not the only ecclesiastics opposed -to the bill. The new measures applying not only to the Catholic -Church, but to all religious communities recognized by the state, the -Oberkirchenrath, or Supreme Consistory of the Protestant Church in the -old provinces, has also thought fit to caution the crown against the -enactment of these sweeping innovations. The principal reason given by -the Oberkirchenrath against the clause in the new laws facilitating -secession from a religious community, is that many a Protestant might -be tempted to forsake his faith on the eve of the building of a new -church. Rather than contribute his mite, as compelled by law, he might -prefer being converted to something else.” - -If letters could blush, that last sentence ought to be of a scarlet -color. However, to keep to the question at hand: whatever may have been -the motive, certain it is that at length the Evangelical party, as a -party, a body, political or religious, as you please, is aroused, and -turns upon the government, of which it was ready to be the obedient -servant so long as all things went smoothly. A similar instance of a -great uprising of religious zeal against government innovation was -exhibited and is witnessed still in that “loyal and king-loving” body, -the Irish Protestants, on the disestablishment of what was called the -Irish Church. Here, then, are the Evangelicals protesting against the -government, and the Catholics protesting against the government; how -much of the nation is left? The Catholics are 14,000,000; the number -of the Evangelicals is unknown to the writer, but it probably doubles, -perhaps trebles, that of the Catholics—certainly in Prussia; at all -events, it may be safely said that the majority of the German Empire -protests against these laws. Where is the state to be found, then? The -state certainly does not lie in the majority of the people. On purely -political grounds, therefore, Prince Bismarck’s measure is tyrannical; -nevertheless, “in the kingdom of this world, the state has dominion and -precedence.” - - “Ave, Cæsar! Morituri te salutant!” - -Prince Bismarck expected this opposition. So powerful did he imagine -it would be that he even feared it, and in his own speeches and organs -mingled cajolery with threats. Whilst the ecclesiastical bills were -still being debated, the _Provinzial-Correspondenz_ (official), in a -flaring article on the protest of the Catholic bishops at Fulda, and -the Catholic opposition to the ecclesiastical laws, wrote: - -“The state, of course, being responsible for the welfare of the -inhabitants in every measure adopted, will have to be guided by a -_strict regard for what is just and upright_. It will have carefully -to refrain from meddling with the creed or interfering with the -ecclesiastical institutions and usages immediately connected with -the sphere of religious belief. Only the other day, the Minister of -Education (Dr. Falk) expressed his conviction in the Lower House -that, directly the new bills became law, the Catholic subjects would -perceive that no one intended to injure their religious faith, oppress -their church, or interfere with the preaching of saving truth.” (Dr. -Falk’s convictions are of a piece with his notions of “truth.”) ... -“In carrying through their present task, government is prepared to -encounter serious resistance and much trouble; but it is also aware -that the bills now under discussion, if once they become law, will -supply it with effective means of exerting its authority.... If the -washes of the government and parliament are fulfilled, the bills under -discussion will be a work of peace.” - -“That is, in case the bishops yield,” remarks the Prussian -correspondent of the London _Times_. “In the other event, they are sure -to be successively fined, deposed, incarcerated, and perhaps sent out -of the country. All this the new legislation empowers the government to -effect.” - -The government, then, or the state, or whatever be the name by which -Prince Bismarck chooses to be called, dreaded a powerful opposition. -Nevertheless, it determined to pass these bills—which were absolutely -uncalled for, as far as the harmony of the relations between Catholic -and Protestant went, and that of either or both of these bodies with -what ought to be the state, the true representative rulers of the -people, and not a man or a few men elevated on the bayonets of a -million soldiers—conscious that it was doing what the conscience -of its people might of necessity endure for a time, but could never -consent to. How long, then, did it take to bring this stupendous -measure about, fraught as it was with all these consequences, and a -cause of alarm and anxiety even to the government itself with all its -bayonets? - -The laws are dated January 8 of this year; they were presented to the -Chamber on the following day, and, by the 21st of the same month, their -first discussion is over. On April 25, they finally passed the Upper -House. - -In three months! A bill which altered throughout the whole relations -between church and state in Germany, down to their minutest details; -which involved the appropriation to state purposes of every -ecclesiastical college or seminary subscribed for, and erected, and -founded by the money of private individuals; which, involving as it -does the suppression of the bishops and the clergy, as a necessary -consequence hands over to the state a vast amount of funded property -in churches and houses; which, above all this, meets religion at every -turn, and makes it bow down and worship the state; which threatens a -future of disturbance and danger of every kind—is pushed through both -Houses of Parliament, and supposed to be fully discussed and decided on -in a period of three months! - -Why, a bill for the laying of a new line of railroad twenty miles in -length would have required longer time and called for more discussion. -There it stands now, law, and all Germany must obey it, because the -state calls it law. On April 24, Germany could be Christian; on April -26, to be Christian is a crime against the state; to obey the dictates -of conscience is a crime; to establish a school in the name of God is a -crime; to establish a college for the education of God’s ministry is a -crime; to obey the pastors, the priests, and bishops of God’s church, -whom to obey hitherto was a virtue, is now a crime; to acknowledge the -Pope as the head of the universal church, a crime; in a word, to be -anything but German, body and soul, mind and heart and thought, is a -crime, to be punished by all the rigor of the law! - -Prince Bismarck, while he is about it, should go further. “To-day we -will proceed to create God,” said a countryman of his, a philosopher, -an enlightened man and apostle of the stamp of Dr. Falk, the putative -father of these bills. The chancellor should create a German heaven -to correspond with this German religion and reward its devotees, the -worshippers of the divine state. What German Dante will arise to give -us the Bismarck _Inferno_? - -The steps which led up to this measure, the ingredients which compose -it, the manner in which it was forced through, the meaning of it, and -the effect, if carried out, it will produce on religion, have now been -set before the reader, and he may fairly pronounce for himself upon -the whole question. But the question asked at the beginning remains -still unanswered: _Why_ has all this come about? Why has so wise a -statesman as Prince Bismarck is reputed to be raked up these embers -of dissension, and fanned them into so fierce a flame? Is it to his -advantage to turn one-third, the majority even, of his empire against -him? Why, if the contest were not, as he and his supporters of the -liberal and religious press allege, in a manner forced upon him, should -he be so unwise as to run the danger of rending his empire asunder, -and opening up that bitterest of difficulties, the religious question, -which lay so quiet? In one word, was or was not the Catholic Church a -danger to the new empire? - -This is becoming the question of the day; and what concerns Germany -concerns the whole world. The Catholic Church is a danger to the state. - -Again, why? - -Because you obey an infallible Pontiff, an absolute ruler, blindly and -implicitly. Matters were not quite so bad before the declaration of the -dogma of infallibility; but since that date, the Pope has taken a new -stand which governments cannot admit. They cannot endure to have any -portion of their subjects ruled by a foreign potentate. They cannot -have their measures thwarted and decrees opposed by a mandate, open or -secret, from Rome. They cannot admit the pretensions of a well-meaning, -no doubt, but rather unpractical and decidedly impracticable old -gentleman to the sovereignty over the whole world. Those whom he claims -as his subjects may venerate him as much as they choose; they may even -obey him, as far as believing in a God and all that sort of thing goes, -if it bring any unction to their souls; they may believe in any mortal -or immortal thing they please; but they must obey the laws of the land -in which they live, _whatever those laws may be_. Religious belief may -be anything you please, as long as it is confined to the individual’s -mental faith; but his conduct must not be ruled by it. Whenever -religion crosses the state, religion must give way. Governments cannot -admit the disloyal theory of “a Catholic first, a nationalist if you -will.” - -It all lies there: the contest between Prince Bismarck and the church, -between Italy and the church, between the whole world and the church. -This contest did not begin with the German chancellor. There is a -power behind the throne that moves even him to this deed of violence -upon the sacred person of the spouse of Christ, his holy church: the -same old tempter that first whispered to man in Eden: “Ye shall be as -gods”; that drove the kings to stone and persecute the prophets; that -moved the Jews to crucify Christ; that directed the arm of the pagan -emperors of Rome. It is not in man of his own will merely to stir up -this strife, and wage war upon his brother for the matter of faith. The -spirit of evil is ever working; and his present chief representative, -unconsciously it may be hoped, is the powerful chancellor of the German -Empire. Here is his standpoint, as given by the Berlin correspondent -of the New York _Herald_, in the remarkable speech of March 10. In -the extract already given, the chancellor pronounced the contest he -has entered upon as having “solely to do with the ancient contest for -dominion, which is as old as the human race; with the contest for power -between monarchy and priesthood—the contest which is much older than -the appearance of the Redeemer in the world.” After endeavoring to -connect every great movement of recent and mediæval history inimical, -or supposed to be inimical, to Germany with the machinations of the -Papacy, he goes on to say: “It is, in my estimation, a falsification -of politics and of history when His Holiness the Pope is considered -exclusively as the high-priest of any one confession, or the Catholic -Church as representative of churchdom in general. The Papacy has been -in all times a political power which, with the determination and -with the greatest success, interfered in all the relations of this -world; which meant to interfere, and considered such interference -as its legitimate programme. This programme is well known. The aim -constantly kept in view by the Papal power (like the Rhine borders -before the eyes of the French)—the programme which, at the time of -the mediæval emperors, was very nearly realized—is the making the -secular power subject to the clerical—an aim eminently political, the -effort to attain which is, however, as old as humanity; for so long -have there been persons, whether cunning people or real priests, who -have asserted that the will of God was better known to them than to -their fellow-citizens; and it is well known that this principle is the -foundation of the Papal claim to dominion.” - -Now, there is no denying that this is a very fascinating doctrine for -nations. The rulers studiously misrepresent the Papacy, setting it down -as a political power: as that most dangerous of political powers which -would clothe politics in the garb of religion, as Mahomet did, and give -to their selfish schemes the name of the cause of God, so as to arouse -an enthusiasm and fanaticism in their devotees which mere human powers -can never hope to enkindle. Mahomet was just one of those “cunning -people” who “asserted that the will of God was better known to him than -to his fellow-citizens,” if they could be designated by that title. And -the conquests that Mahomet achieved by that deceit are in the memory of -all. The Pope is the Mahomet of the XIXth century, according to Prince -Bismarck. - -When Shakespeare put that famous sentence into the mouth of King John, -“No foreign power shall tithe or toll in my dominions,” he only said -the same thing. “You are about to disestablish the church in Ireland, -because it was imposed by a foreign power,” said Mr. Disraeli, during -the debates on the question of the disestablishment. “You will do so; -but what will you have in its place? A nation ruled by a foreign power; -for the Pope is an absolute sovereign.” The words are from memory; but -the aim and substance are correct, and he of all men understood the -fallacy of the argument; but he knew that it was a valuable party-cry -to stir the blood of the patriotic Englishman. So, recently, Mr. -Gladstone told the House of Commons that the Irish University Bill was -defeated by Cardinal Cullen, under mandate, of course, from Rome. And -so runs the cry through the world. - -It buzzes around our ears out here even in certain quarters, though -much less, happily, than it was wont to do. Terror of Rome! is the -string to harp on. The Catholics wish to surrender the country into the -hands of the Pope! - -Laying aside the consideration of the practical impossibility of such a -thing, suppose the Pope did reign as emperor in Germany to-day, would -the people be less happy than they show themselves to be under the rule -of Prince Bismarck? Would the Pope encircle his throne with a cordon of -steel, or reign in the hearts of his people? How much happier are the -inhabitants of the Papal States to-day under the rule of Victor Emanuel -than they were under that of Pius IX.? Let the correspondents of the -secular press answer with their periodical record of outrage and crime. - -How is it possible to convince people that all these allegations are -utterly and maliciously false? The Pope is infallible; and so was Peter -when our Lord made him the rock upon which he should build his church. -Peter had the same conflict with Rome that Pius has with Germany, not -simply because he was Peter, the head of the church on earth, and -the vicar of Jesus Christ, but because he was a Christian. And every -Christian who is faithful to the law of his crucified Master is bound -to say to the state “I cannot” when the state would have him deny that -Master, and break loose from the teachings of the church. It is not the -Pope these men are fighting: it is Christianity. As far as the German -laws of making the divinely instituted sacrament of matrimony a merely -civil contract, of preaching disobedience to the pastors of the church, -go, were the Pope to die to-day, and, if possible, an interregnum, -which seems to be so desired by many, to ensue, that fact would not -make a bit of difference in the opposition of Catholics to these state -measures. Wrong would be wrong still; the laws of God would remain as -binding as ever; and to hinge the Catholic faith _in this fashion_ on -the Papacy is a transparent trick. The Pope teaches what Jesus Christ -bade him teach; and no pope has ever swerved from that line. - -It is almost useless to discuss this theme, and yet it must be taken -up, though those violent opponents of what they call ultramontanism, by -which they mean Catholicity, will still continue to close their eyes to -the truth that the Catholic religion has no connection of any kind with -politics as pure politics. But where politics touches upon religion, of -course religion is to be taken into account. It would far overstep this -article to go into all the details and intricacies of this question; -but the statement of the position which Catholics take upon the subject -may serve best to put the matter before the reader. - -Catholics read history differently from Prince Bismarck and the -scientific historians who surround him. For them all practical history, -if the term may be used, begins with Jesus Christ. All the rest, as -far as theories of government, of the relations of the state to the -individual, go, may be considered as blotted out, as a _tabula rasa_, -and the world, in the moral order, began anew. Before the coming of -our Lord there was no government, in the modern sense of the word, -outside of the Jewish nation: there was force. Jesus Christ laid down -laws which should enter into every relation of the life of man, and -could not be mistaken. These laws were just as binding on the monarch -as on the subject, on the government as on the governed; they did not -destroy government: they guided and helped it, and infused into it -the first principles of freedom. Men recognized this fact, and, as -Christianity advanced, governments began to fashion themselves closer -and closer upon the law of the Gospel, until at length what is known -as Christendom grew up, grounded, as its very name implied, upon -the religion of Christ—that is to say, upon the law of Christ. Of -course, in the various governments, many things remained contrary to -this law, not, however, as rights, but as wrongs which only time and -Christian influence could remove. However, governments were measured -as to their justice and injustice, not by a standard antecedent to -the Christian era, nor by any standard which they might choose to set -up for themselves, but by their assimilation to, their agreement or -disagreement with, the law of Jesus Christ. - -Of course, to those who deny the divinity of Jesus Christ, all this -reasoning goes for nothing; but Prince Bismarck does not profess -to do so. Where, then, was this law to be found? Had it a keeper, -a guardian, a propounder, one to whose care its divine Founder had -entrusted it, guarded against the possibility of mistaking its -teachings, or did he leave the dead letter to commend itself in a -variety of ways to a variety of minds? Were all men blessed from birth -with perfect intelligence and personal infallibility, there would have -been no need of leaving anything more than the dead letter of the -law, as in that case all would have agreed as to its meaning. But as -men do not as a rule lay claim to perfect intelligence and personal -infallibility, without going further into the question here, it seems -obvious to common sense that, if Christ left a law to the world, he -left it in somebody’s keeping: he left a government and a head, as -the representative of himself. This representative is the Pope, whom -all Christendom recognized for so many centuries, not as king of this -mundane world, but as the supreme head of the universal church of -Christ. - -In time, he came to have a patrimony of his own, which was freely given -him, and has been recently very freely taken from him. That patrimony -he did not rule infallibly as king. His policy as an earthly monarch -might even be defective, like that of any other ruler; but, in the -domain of faith and morals, he, when speaking _ex cathedrâ_, could not -err, and Christendom bowed to his decisions. - -Here it is, then, that Catholics bind their faith in the Pope; not in -Pius IX. as ruler of Rome, but in Pius IX. as the successor of Peter, -as the vicar of Jesus Christ, as his living representative on earth. -When, therefore, Christendom departs from Christianity, from the law of -Christ upon which it was founded, and devises measures or promulgates -doctrines in opposition to the law of Christ, Catholics look to the -decision of him with whom the Word abides to say if this be true or -untrue, right or wrong. He pronounces, and they believe and obey. He -simply says this is or this is not the law of Christ—the law that -rules the government as well as the governed. If governments enforce -wrong with the strong arm, you must use all lawful resistance; but, -rather than deny the truth, you must die as your Saviour died. - -The tendency of governments to-day is to say: “We bow to no law, we -recognize nothing higher than ourselves, and the laws we make must be -obeyed without question.” This is going back to the ante-Christian -era, and reviving the worship of force. Such is the tendency to-day: -disbelief in Christ; disbelief, consequently, in his doctrines, in his -church, in Christianity, in the head of his church. To be Catholic, -consequently, is to be anti-national, in the eyes of the state, when -in reality it is to be the truest citizen of the state. Home employed -a Christian legion, and, though in bravery and devotion to the empire -that legion knew no superior, many of its members were martyred because -they recognized a spiritual power higher than the state. - -And therein Catholicity is compelled to oppose the state: dating from -Christ, believing in Christ, building itself upon Christ, its followers -members of the church of Christ, it follows the state in all things -save where it transgresses the commandments of Christ; hence the _non -possumus_. - -Coming back, then, to the present question, Catholics believe the Pope -to be the infallible head of the Catholic Church, not the absolute -emperor of the kingdoms of this world. Jesus Christ, whose vicar he -is, himself proclaimed, “My kingdom is not of this world.” Nations may -assume what form of government best suits them; all that is nothing to -the Pope. A Catholic is absolutely free in this country, for instance, -to vote whatever ticket he may please, Republican or Democratic. As far -as those names and their meaning go, Catholicity has absolutely nothing -whatever to do with them. But a political party erects what it calls -a platform, raises a party-cry, and, as in the present instance in -Prussia, calls itself liberal, and its liberalism attempts to wipe out -absolutely the Catholic religion from the land and from the world if -it could. Is it in human reason to expect Catholics not to allow their -religion to influence their votes in such a case as that, or in such -a case as the Irish university question, or in any similar case that -might occur here? - -What are votes given for? Surely to protect ourselves against tyranny -of every form, and to secure our proper representation in the body -to whose care is entrusted the government of the country. God forbid -that religion should not influence politics! Why should it not? Let -it alone; leave it free to do God’s work; leave it its churches, its -colleges, its schools, its hospitals, its asylums, its associations, -its free worship, its beliefs, and its institutions. But if you come, -as Prince Bismarck has done, to say to religion, I will take from you -your schools, which are your own private property; I will take from you -your sacraments, which you believe to have been instituted by Jesus -Christ; I will strip you of your ecclesiastical colleges, and educate -your students myself; I will take your ordination out of the hands -of your bishops, and ordain your priests myself; I will appoint your -bishops as I please, and they who displease me are no longer bishops; -I will take from you your head, the Pope, and make myself pope in his -stead: all this will I do, but still you are at liberty to believe in -and worship God—what must the answer be? - -This is a mockery! This is paganism; it is violence, not law. We cannot -obey. There, says Bismarck, or the state, that is treason. Why cannot -you obey? Because the Pope, “that old conjuror of the Vatican,” forbids -you. That is just the point: either the Pope must rule or I. - -Because conscience forbids me, because human reason forbids me, -because Jesus Christ forbids me, is the response of the Catholic. -Catholics cannot consent to the doctrine that in the dominion of this -world the state has precedence. What is the state? An accident. The -Czar of Russia, the Sultan of Turkey, Bismarck, the British Parliament, -the _Commune_, all these in turn call themselves the state. Government -indeed is supreme, and to be obeyed, _in its own sphere_; but if -there be no law higher than the material laws which men construct for -themselves, and change as occasion demands, good-by to all stable -government. If government be merely a creation of man, it must be -subject to the varying temper of man; it cannot fix absolutely the -rights of man; it can have no absolute title to his obedience. We -utterly repudiate this doctrine, and refuse to accept anything as final -which we construct for our own use. Its powers are limited as are those -of all human institutions: once it oversteps these boundaries, it -becomes tyranny. State to-day means Bismarck, to-morrow the _Commune_; -it is a case of circumstances; and, if there lie no law beyond all -this, no principles which are fixed and come from a Power above “this -world,” one is as good as another. This power is religion, and the -church is the embodiment of religion, and the Pope is the head of the -corporate body, infallible indeed when teaching the universal church, -else is he an accident the same as all the others. - -Suppose our Blessed Lord were to come down in the flesh at this moment -into Germany, what course would he take upon this question? Would he -bow to Cæsar in this? Neither will his vicar nor his children. With the -army at his back, Prince Bismarck does this wrong. It is said that he -is driven to it for the unity of Germany. Germany was united without -it. All the states cheerfully submitted even to Prussian preponderance, -without thought of dragging in the religious question. The laws as they -stood on that point were satisfactory. Well, Germany is united now; but -it has become the union of galley-slaves, chained together, watched by -a hard taskmaster whose blow is death. The enemy of true German unity -to-day is Prince Bismarck. - -There is the law, and it is sure to be carried out. Well, the bishops -will go to prison, will pay the fines, or become exiles. They will -continue to ordain priests and educate them, irrespective of that power -called the state. And the real difficulty begins now. The Catholics -cannot yield: sooner or later, the state must. - -One fact has come out of it all which is worthy of notice. This XIXth -century, at least this latter half of it, has been lauded and glorified -superabundantly as the age of freedom, the liberal age. - -Catholics began to forget their history. They began to think the era of -persecution for conscience’ sake over, when they heard it proclaimed -on all sides that perfect freedom of thought was the order of the day; -there was to be no such distinction as Catholic or Protestant, or Jew -or Gentile, any more; the lion was to lie down with the lamb, the world -to become a haven of brotherly love, and the dawn of the millennium was -seen in the heavens. The rack, the gibbet, the fagot, and the hurdle -were all to be banished out of sight and forgotten, or only preserved -in museums as evidence of what horrible beings our sires could become. -It was all very gushing and nice; the narrow lines of prejudice were to -be softened down, and old-fogy, stiff-kneed notions to be voted out. - -Suddenly rang out the voice of Peter’s successor: _Liberalism_ is -false: beware of it. It is only a few years back since these words -startled the world in the Syllabus. A storm of hatred and malign fury -arose on all sides, endeavoring to drown the voice of the church. Who -are you who condemn us? asked the world. - -The infallible head of the church! Men proclaimed that Catholics -themselves did not accept it; and the Catholic Church spoke out boldly -in these days, not to proclaim a new doctrine, but only to acknowledge -to a doubting world what it had always accepted and believed, that -the head of the church upon earth is infallible. There was no more -talk of softening down of lines: Catholics believed this, or were -not Catholics. Listen to the voice of one of the bitterest and most -persistent enemies of the Pope, speaking only the other day: - -“It is impossible to imagine a belief more sincere, a vision more -intense, a life more consistent, than that of the man who has claimed -for more than a quarter of a century to be the lord and master of the -whole world. If there be neither folly nor sin in such a claim, then we -may admire Pius IX., _and indeed must worship and obey him also_.”[149] - -Was the “intense vision” mistaken in detecting the poison which lay -at the bottom of liberalism? Prince Bismarck has just deserted the -conservative party to which he adhered so long—all his political -life almost—and thrown himself into the arms of the liberals. These -ecclesiastical bills are the result—such is liberalism. “We will -force your children to go to our schools and receive the education we -give them, which you call godless,” says Huxley, scientific liberal -like Dr. Falk. _La Commune_ was the essence of liberalism, and it shot -the Archbishop of Paris and the priests out of pure sport apparently. -“A free church in a free state” was the Cavour doctrine for liberal -Italy, and the bill for the appropriation of church property and of -that belonging to the religious orders has followed naturally upon the -appropriation of the Papal States and the imprisonment of the head of -the church. Switzerland, the liberal republic, banishes the Jesuits, -closes the convents, and follows Bismarck’s steps in its dealings with -the Catholic clergy. The South American states are doing the same in -the name of liberalism. The whole world may be traversed, and wherever -liberalism is strongest, there is violence done in the name of freedom. - -And here in this free republic men are found, like the writers in the -_Nation_ and throughout the Protestant press, to approve of all this. -And they are republicans—Americans—lovers of freedom. If Americans, -they are traitors to their country, repudiators of the principles -of their sires. They forget their history. What brought the Pilgrim -Fathers hither? The refusal to take the oath of supremacy to the state. -Is what was right in them wrong in us? Freedom was the one word written -on the virgin brow of this yet young republic. You who approve of these -measures in Prussia would wipe that word out, and set in its place -slavery. - -The effect which these measures have produced on the outer world is -significant. Those who hailed the first outburst on the part of Prince -Bismarck with such loud acclaim begin to hesitate and draw back. The -secular journals in this country and in England, as a rule, either -watch and pronounce upon the steps which have led up to this final -outrage with timid caution, or, in a few instances, with downright -disapproval. - -“We deny entirely that Prince Bismarck himself ever adopted this policy -on its merits in the sense in which the _Pall Mall_ admires it. On the -contrary, we believe that, as a statesman, he distrusted it seriously, -_and has even now little confidence in its success_. We believe that -it will result in giving a new stimulus to Roman Catholicism, and that -the fanatical vehemence with which the German people have adopted it is -a sufficient evidence of _the rash and ill-considered character of the -policy itself_.”[150] - -“This rough-and-ready method of expelling ultramontane influences ‘by a -fork’ can hardly fail to suggest to a looker-on the probability that, -like similar methods of expelling nature, it may lead to a reaction. -Downright persecution of this sort (we are speaking now simply of the -Jesuit law), unless it is very thorough indeed—more thorough than is -well possible in this XIXth century—usually defeats itself.”[151] - -In this country, the secular press seems generally inclined to shirk -the question, or devotes an occasional paragraph to it from time to -time, as to a disagreeable subject which will force itself upon the -sight, but which it is better to get out of the way as speedily as -possible. The religious press among us has gone wild over it from the -beginning as a death-blow to Rome. But even they begin to distrust it, -and soften their jubilant notes to a mild _piano_, that they hope all -good from this measure—they do not exactly see what good, but they -live in hope, whilst one of their number, the New York _Observer_, a -fine hater of “Popery,” actually declared the other day that, in its -opinion, “Cæsar was going too far.” - -In Germany itself, as may be gathered from some of the extracts already -given, the state-god is not yet accepted as infallible and supreme -even in this world. Prince Bismarck marches very fast; and he would -make Germany march with him. Sedan was won by marching: but this moral -Sedan, as he would consider it, laughs at the snail’s pace of the -other. There is such a thing as “riding a gift horse to death”; and -Prince Bismarck seems intent on accomplishing that foolish feat. - -And here a word may be devoted to the false allegation, which is -now beginning to be dropped, that the Catholics were foes to the -consolidation of the empire. The Jesuits were banished as conspirators -against the empire; the whole Catholic Church was in a conspiracy -against it; the Pope had gone further, and, with the rashness -characteristic of him, “openly declared war against Bismarck and his -ideas” (New York _Nation_). We have looked in vain for the details of -this mysterious conspiracy, which have not yet seen the light, though -it was so “well known.” Not a single scrap of evidence appeared, not a -single riot occurred, not a house was fired; there was no gun-powder -discovered, not even the traditional slouched hat and dark-lantern; the -supreme majesty of the law was never violated even in the sacred person -of a solitary policeman. - -As for the other allegation, that Catholics were opposed to the unity -of the fatherland, they had ample opportunity to speak prior to the -war with France. There was no necessity for the Catholic German states -to join Prussia, and spend their wealth and the lives of their sons in -a terrible war. Why did not the Catholic clergy and bishops and the -Pope, who are nothing but a political power, use the vast political -power which they are supposed to wield in preventing the fatal alliance -between Protestant Prussia and the Catholic states? Then was the time -to pronounce, and how did they pronounce? - -There was no doubt or hesitation on the part of either clergy or -people. Napoleon made the fatal mistake of endeavoring to throw a -religious color over his campaign, to win Catholic Germany to his -side. Catholic Germany stood by its homes and altars, and its bishops, -priests, and Jesuits stood with it. The Prussian Catholics gloried in -their country, and would yield the palm of religious freedom to no -nation, not even to ourselves. Mgr. Ketteler had long ago pronounced -for the unity of the German Empire. So let that allegation drop. - -After the war, each state continued in full and free possession of the -right to manage its own home affairs: Prussia was the centre of foreign -policy alone. First the Prussian system of service in the army was -forced upon all, contrary to the wishes of the states, particularly -Bavaria. When Prince Bismarck made up his mind to force this -ecclesiastical bill upon Prussia, he saw clearly that, if it remained -law for Prussia only, and a dead letter for all the federal states -outside, it could not stand: it must be German or nothing. In order to -bring this about, he sounded the states for the transfer of the home -policy also to the hands of Prussia. - -The proposition was vigorously opposed by all, chiefly by Bavaria. -Everybody understood the thing dead, when suddenly the announcement -came one morning that all the states, with the exception of Bavaria, -were in favor of placing the home policy also in the hands of Prussia. -Bavaria was left to do as it pleased, and now Prussia is the centre of -all power in Germany, so that the reins of absolute government over a -number of federal states, which two years ago were free, rest now in -the hands of a man whose chief doctrine is the natural preponderance of -Prussia. - -The measures of the Bismarck régime in Germany have been from first to -last measures of violence, not simply as regards the Catholic Church, -but as regards the whole of the federal states; and their effects begin -to show themselves already in the disrespect shown the emperor on his -birthday, in the various riots which have taken and are taking place. -And be it marked, not one of these riots has been attributed to the -Catholics; they are too obedient to the religion which Prince Bismarck -would destroy to take this form of endeavoring to right their wrongs. -The riots have been generally called beer riots; but they are following -so fast one upon the other, and occurring in so many different cities, -that, however exciting a topic beer may be, people begin to hint at -something else as cause for them. - -“The riots at Stuttgart, which were due, _apparently at least_, to -the hereditary quarrel with the Jews, were paralleled at Frankfort on -Monday by a great beer riot, said to be due to the high price of beer, -in which sixteen breweries were wrecked, twelve persons killed, and one -hundred and twenty arrested. A correspondent of yesterday’s _Times_, -who was in Frankfort and saw the riot, regards the deeper and more -remote cause as being the thorough dissatisfaction of the people with -the Prussian system of government.”[152] - -Our readers will remember the very serious riot which took place in -Berlin at the meeting of the emprors last year right under the noses -of their imperial majesties. A _Herald_ correspondent, writing on -March 23, tells of a riot in Berlin on the birthday of the emperor; of -another which occurred on March 18, the anniversary of the Revolution -of 1848 in Berlin; and the correspondents both of the London _Times_ -and of the _Herald_, describe the ferocity with which the mounted -police charged upon the unarmed mob, using their drawn sabres. The -_Herald_ correspondent concludes his letter thus: - -“A slight demonstration on the part of the social democrats took place -at Brunswick. - -“A feeling of dissatisfaction at an undefined something is constantly -gaining ground in Germany. There is a yearning after the freedom -promised with the united empire. ‘Germany is great, but she is not -happy!’ This seems to be the condition of the empire. The revolutions -that have just taken place in France and Spain, the declaration of the -republic, have had a positive influence in Germany. The democratic -element is again lifting its head, and a great meeting of democratic -leaders is soon to be held at Frankfort-on-the-Main, unless it be -prohibited by the authorities. The Catholic element of the German -population is also in a state of continual excitement.” - -It is with no feeling of pleasure that these extracts are given here -from such a variety of non-Catholic quarters, showing the distrust and -growing dislike with which the Prussian rule is regarded. It is only to -show that Catholics, in battling for their religion, are only battling -for freedom and the rights of man. The mailed hand, red already with -the life-blood of three nations, which now smites the church, will not -hesitate to crush to powder every semblance of freedom which dares -stand in its path. He who attacks the rights of God will laugh at the -puny rights of man, simply as man. And you who bow down before the -state; you who set up this state above you, and surrender yourselves to -it absolutely—you have breathed life into the statue of Frankenstein; -you would rid yourselves of it if you could, but you have created -that which you cannot destroy, and forged for yourselves an agent of -self-destruction. - -Happily, Catholics have faith in a God above it all. If it has done no -other good, it has brought out to the eyes of the world, in a wonderful -manner, at once the vastness and the unity of the Catholic Church. -Two years ago, the cry was: Catholics will not accept infallibility. -When the Jesuits were driven out from Germany, the cry was: “Catholic -Germany rejoices.” When the last remnant of the Papal States was -torn from the Holy Father, the world cried out: “Now is the Papacy -dead.” When a few disappointed and faithless men showed their heads in -Germany, with all the power of the throne at their back, men cried out: -“There is to be a new schism.” What do they say now? - -Part of it has been seen already. M. John Lemoine, one of the -oftenest-quoted writers of the day, a Protestant, writes to the -anti-Catholic _Journal des Débats_ on the defeat of the Irish -University Bill: “From the depths of that palace which he calls his -prison, the now helpless old man (_le vieillard désarmé_), who reigns -only over consciences, has just shattered the most solid government of -Europe (the Gladstone ministry), and overthrown the greatest minister -of England. We would remark that never was the Pope more sovereign, -more a dictator, more omnipotent, than since he has relinquished the -command of subjects for that of the faithful only.” - -After concluding that the stars in their courses have fought against -Pius IX., and that his failure is Heaven’s doom, the London _Times_ -says: - -“Indoors the whole universe is at his feet, but he cannot look out of -his windows without seeing a world in arms against him.... Pius IX. has -done all that devotees could dream, and suffered all that the world -could accomplish. He has achieved an absolute dominion over the human -intelligence, and lost every inch of his temporal power.... We may -concede, we may be even well content, that he still holds and rules the -most impulsive, the most imaginative, and the most sentimental races -of the civilized world, and that he himself is admirably adapted for -that empire over souls.... We envy the Pope his Irish, French, and -Peninsular subjects as little as we envy them their infallible guide.” - -The _Times_ forgets the 14,000,000 German “subjects,” as it calls -them, and the other millions outside of the races it has mentioned. -From all it concludes, however, that “Rome will be Rome to the end of -the chapter,” and that indeed it would be a pity that it were not so, -though it ought to change a little with the world. - -How, then, stands Rome to-day? Never more united, though never did the -whole world collect its forces with greater _animus_ to overwhelm it. -The state in Germany banishes the Jesuits, and takes infidels to its -bosom; in Spain, it banishes the Jesuits, and finds in their place -the _Descamisados_; in Switzerland, it ejects Mermillod, and embraces -Loyson; in Italy, it imprisons the Pope, and welcomes Victor Emanuel or -Garibaldi: _Non hunc sed Barabbam!_ - -Meanwhile, the Catholic world speaks out, and from the ends of the -earth comes back the protest, echoed from point to point, and gathering -volume as it goes: We protest as men, we protest as free citizens, -we protest as Christians! Protestation does little, say some. True, -but, if it has done nothing else, it has at least silenced the false -cry that Catholics approved of these measures. Protestation at last -tells; and when the interests of those who are now indifferent come, -as sooner or later they must come, to be affected by the policy to-day -so successful in Prussia, our voices and warnings will be remembered. -Catholics cannot at present take up the sword; they can only use, -then, the weapons at their disposal—the voice and the pen. They -must use them unceasingly and unsparingly until justice is done, and -Catholics are granted the rights of citizens, which Freemasons are -allowed to enjoy undisturbed. The rights of the state, whether monarchy -or republic, are sacred in their eyes, but they live for something -more than the state. All the armies in the world cannot coerce the -free soul of one man, for they cannot reach it: it is beyond their -province. There always will be two laws in this world—the law of God, -and the law of man. The first is equivalent to _right_, the second is -not necessarily so. The difficulty between states and the Catholic -Church lies in the fact that the states consider _legality_ synonymous -with _right_, and that what is legal therefore must commend itself to -the Christian conscience. Were men ruled by the law which makes the -Catholic proclaim himself “a Catholic first, and a nationalist if you -will,”[153] all difficulties would be at an end. We are Catholics -first, because to be a true Catholic is the truest patriotism, and the -perfection of citizenship; because to be Catholic is to be Christian, -and all civilized governments draw all that is sound and good in them -from Christianity, from Christ. When the state constructs no law which -is not right, then will Lord Denbigh’s famous sentence have lost its -meaning. - - - - -TO THE SACRED HEART. - - “Ego dormio, et cor meum vigilat.”[154]—Cant. v. 2. - - HEART of hearts, a love is thine - Madly tender,[155] blindly true! - Love in vastness so divine, - In excess so human too! - Seems it more a burning grief— - Pining, aching for relief. - - Seems thou dost not, canst not live, - Save to sue us for thy rest: - While the all that we can give - Is as nothing at the best. - Wondrous Lover! Shall I say - Thou hast thrown thyself away? - - Drench’d with anguish, steep’d in woe, - Thou must needs, insatiate still, - Linger wearily below, - Prison’d to thy creatures’ will: - While the current of the days - Murmurs insult more than praise! - - Here I find thee, hour by hour, - Waiting in thy altar-home, - Full of mercy, full of power— - Mutely waiting till we come: - Waiting for a soul to bless, - Some poor sinner to caress. - - Forth, then, from the fragrant hush, - Where I almost hear thee beat, - Bid a benediction gush— - O’er me, thro’ me, thrilling sweet! - Heart of Jesus, full of me, - Fill mine—till it break with thee! - - FEAST OF THE SACRED HEART, 1873. - - - - -BRITTANY: ITS PEOPLE AND ITS POEMS. - - -FOURTH ARTICLE.—CONCLUSION. - -LIKE the Cambrian bards, their brethren of Armorica sang the triumphs -and misfortunes of their country, and the deeds of her defenders, -during the twelve centuries that they were governed by chiefs of their -own race. The great names of Arthur,[156] of Morvan Lez-Breiz, of -Alan Barbe Torte, and of Nomenöe, offered stirring subjects for the -inspiration of the bards. In a former number, we gave “The March of -Arthur,” of which the original, with the exception of the last two -lines, bears every stamp of antiquity, and probably dates from the -VIth century. The epic of “Lez-Breiz,” of which we proceed to give a -translation of the fragments still extant, is about two centuries later. - -Morvan, Machtiern or Viscount of Léon, son of a _Konan_, or crowned -chief, was famous in the IXth century as one of the maintainers of -Breton independence against the encroachments of the Franks under Louis -le Débonnaire, and received from his grateful countrymen the surname of -“Lez” or “Lezou Breiz”—the Stay, or the Hammer, of Brittany. - -The story of Lez-Breiz, in a weakened and modified form, exists in -Wales in the fragmentary ballad of _Peredur_. - - -MORVAN LEZ-BREIZ. - -PART I. - -THE DEPARTURE. - -I. - - Wandered forth the young child Lez-Breiz - From his mother’s side, - Early on a summer morning, - Through the forest wide. - There the shade and sunlight glancing - On the armor played - Of a mounted knight, advancing - Through the greenwood glade. - - Under spreading oaks and beeches - Rode the steel-clad knight, - Till his warlike splendors nearer - Flashed on Morvan’s sight. - “‘Tis the great Archangel Michael,” - Thought the child, and then - Straight he crossed himself devoutly, - Ere he gazed again. - - Down upon his knees in wonder - Fell the trembling boy; - “O my lord! my lord S. Michael, - Work me not annoy!” - “Nay, boy, no more lord S. Michael - Than a serf am I; - But a dubbed and belted knight, sooth, - That I’ll not deny.” - - “Never saw I belted knight, nor - Heard of, till this day.” - “That am I: say, hast thou seen none - Like me pass this way?” - “Nay, first answer me, I pray thee: - This, what may it be?” - “‘Tis my lance, wherewith I wound all - Whom it liketh me. - - “But this weighty club far better - Than my lance I prize; - Whoso dares provoke my ange - With one blow he dies.” - “What this dish of steel, which thou, sir, - On thine arm dost wield?” - “Dish, child! ‘Tis nor steel nor dish: - It is my silver shield!” - - “Mock me not, sir knight, for silver - Moneys more than one - I have handled: this is larger - Than an oven-stone. - What may be the coat you wear, like - Iron strong and hard?” - “‘Tis my steel cuirass: from sword-strokes - Safely this can guard.” - - “Were the roes thus clad in harness, - Hard to kill were they! - Tell me, were you born, lord knight, just - As you are to-day?” - Thereupon the old knight, laughing, - Shook his sides with glee. - “Then what wizard clad you thus, if - So it might not be?” - - “He alone the right who claimeth.” - “Who, then, has the right?” - “Me my lord the Count of Quimper - In my armor dight. - Now, boy, answer in thy turn: hath - One passed by this way - Like to me?”—“‘Tis even so, as - Thou, my lord, dost say.” - - -II. - - The child ran home in eager haste; - Leapt on his mother’s knee. - ‘Ma Mammik, ah! you do not know” - (He said, with boyish glee): - “You cannot guess what I have seen, - What I have seen to-day! - My lord S. Michael in the church - Is not so grand, so gay. - - “A man so bright, so beautiful, - I ne’er before have seen.” - “Nay, son, more fair than angels are - No man hath ever been.” - “Pardon me, mother, but you err: - These knights (men call them so) - Are fairer. I would be as they, - And after them will go.” - - Then thrice the mother, at these words, - Fell fainting to the ground: - While Morvan to the stable went, - Nor once his head turned round. - A wretched beast he found therein, - Then mounted, and away; - Bidding farewell to none, he sped, - He sped without delay. - - After the noble knight went he, - Urging his steed forlorn - T’wards Quimper, from the manor old, - The home where he was born. - - -PART II. - -THE RETURN. - - Marvelled much Sir Morvan Lez-Breiz, - Now a knight renowned; - Famous, among warriors famous - All the country round,— - Marvelled much Sir Morvan Lez-Breiz, - When, in ten years’ time, - To his home once more returning, - In his manhood’s prime, - - Brambles he beheld, and nettles, - Springing wild and free - In the court and on the threshold, - Desolate to see. - Thickly clung the clustering ivy - O’er the ruined wall, - And a poor, blind, aged woman - Answered to his call. - - “Canst thou, worthy grandame, give me - Lodging for the night?” - “Willingly, my lord, but ‘twill be - Neither fair nor bright. - Ever since the child went wandering, - Wandering far away, - Young and headstrong, has the manor - Fallen to decay.” - - Scarcely had she finished speaking, - When a damsel fair, - When a damsel fair came slowly - Down the broken stair. - And she sadly gazed upon him, - Through her tears she gazed: - “Wherefore, maiden, art thou weeping?” - Lez-Breiz asked, amazed. - - “Why, my lord knight, I am weeping - Freely will I say: - Of your age I have a brother. - Long since gone away. - Forth he went to be a warrior, - Ten long years ago; - So, whene’er a knight I see, my - Heart is full of woe. - - “Therefore ever am I weeping - When a knight I see, - For I think, my little brother, - Where, ah! where is he?” - “Had you, then, one only brother, - Gentle maiden? say: - And your mother? prithee tell me - Have you none, I pray?” - - “Have I yet another brother - In the world? Ah! no; - But and if he be in heaven, - That I do not know. - Thither passed away my mother, - Who for sorrow died - When he left us. I have now my - Nurse, and none beside. - - “There, beyond the door, my mother’s - Bed you still may see: - And her arm-chair by the hearth-stone, - Where ‘twas wont to be. - Her blest cross I wear—the only - Comfort left to me.” - - Groaned so deeply Seigneur Lez-Breiz - That the maiden said, - “You, lord knight, have lost a mother? - Your heart, too, has bled?” - “Lost my mother have I truly: - Her myself I slew!” - “In the name of heaven, then, sir, - Who and what are you?” - - “I am Morvan, son of Konan: - Lez-Breiz named am I, - Sister mine.” The young girl trembled - As one like to die. - Both his arms the brother folded - Round his sister dear, - And the maiden fondly kissed him, - Shedding many a tear. - - “Long, my brother, have we lost thee, - Since God let thee go; - He again to me has led thee, - Having willed it so. - Blest my brother, blest be he, - Who has pity had on me!” - - -PART III. - -I. - - With Lez-Breiz be the victory! - Lez-Breiz the Breton knight - Goes forth with Lorgnez to engage - In single-handed fight. - Heav’n grant that in the combat fierce - Victorious he may be, - And send good news to gladden all - The folk of Brittany. - - Said Lez-Breiz to his young esquire, - “Awake, my page; arise: - Furbish my helm, my sword, my shield - And lance, in heedful wise. - To crimson them with Frankish blood - Forth am I fain to go; - By help of heaven and my two arms, - The Franks to leap I’ll show.” - - “Oh! bid me also, my good lord, - Go with you, I implore.” - “Ah! what would thy poor mother say, - Shouldst thou return no more? - If on the ground thy blood should flow, - Who then would be her stay?” - “Oh! if you love me, my good lord, - You will not say me nay. - - “But let me follow in the fight; - The Franks I do not fear: - My heart is firm; my steel is sharp - And true, my master dear. - And let who list lay blame on me, - Where you go, there go I; - And where you fight, there I will fight, - Whether I live or die.” - - -II. - - Forth to the combat Lez-Breiz went, - With his young page, till he - Came to S. Anne of Armor, when - Into the church went he. - “O blesséd lady, sweet S. Anne, - In youth to thee I came - To pay my homage, and to crave - The shelter of thy name. - - “I had not reached my twenty years, - Yet twenty fights had seen, - And every one, O lady blest, - Won by thine aid had been. - If to my own land yet again - It may be granted me - Safe to return, I give this gift, - Mother S. Anne, to thee: - - “With cord of wax encompassed thrice - These very walls shall be; - Thrice round the churchyard and the church, - When I my home shall see. - And I will offer thee, S. Anne, - A goodly banner fair - Of velvet and white satin wrought, - And staff of ivory rare. - - “And likewise seven silver bells - Shall in the belfry swing, - Which merrily above thy head - By night and day shall ring. - And for thy holy-water stoup, - Thrice on my knees I’ll go, - Water to fetch from where the stream - Doth clearest, purest flow.” - - “Go, Lez-Breiz, fearless to the fight, - I will be with thee, noble knight.” - - -III. - - Hear ye? ‘Tis Lez-Breiz who arrives: - He comes, ye need not doubt, - With goodly number in his rear - Of steel-clad warriors stout. - Hold! on a small white ass he rides, - Bridled with hempen cord; - And all his suite one little page - Who followeth his lord! - And yet he is a mighty man - As any that draw sword. - - Now, when the squire of Lez-Breiz saw - Them onward nearer ride, - He closer pressed and closer to - The knight his master’s side. - “See you, my lord? ‘Tis Lorgnez comes, - And with him warriors ten, - And ten surround him as he rides, - Followed again by ten. - - “Round by the chestnut woods they come: - Alas, my master dear, - Against such fearful odds to fight - Will cost us much, I fear.” - “When once they taste my polished steel, - Then thou fell soon shalt see, - Though now they number thirty men, - How many left will be. - - “Strike against mine thy sword, my page, - Then march we forward, and engage.” - - -IV. - - “Ha! Chevalier Lez-Breiz: good-day to thee.” - “Ha! Chevalier Lorgnez: the same from me.” - - “Is it alone thou comest to the fight?” - “Nay, sooth, I am not come alone, sir knight: - S. Anne herself is with me, lady bright.” - - “I from the king come forth to-day: - He bids me take thy life away.” - - “Thy king I scorn, as I scorn thee, - Thy sword, and all thine armed menie: - Return ‘mid womankind to be, - And wear gilt garments gallantly - At Paris; and begone from me! - - “Sir Lez-Breiz, say to me, I pray, - In what wood saw you first the day? - The meanest serf that eats my bread - Shall make your helm leap off your head.” - - Then Lez-Breiz swift his good sword drew: - “The son shall make full well to rue - Him who the father never knew.” - - -V. - - In friendly wise the hermit spake, - As at his door he stood— - To the young page of Lez-Breiz spake - The hermit of the wood: - “Thou speed’st apace the forest through, - Thine armor dashed with blood: - Come to my hermitage, my child, - Come in for rest and food; - Come in and wash thy stains away.” - Thus spake that hermit good. - - “Nay, father, this is not the time - For me to eat or rest: - A fountain in all haste I seek - At my poor lord’s behest. - So sorely is my master spent - With most unequal strife - That well it is from this affray - That he escapes with life. - - “Lie thirteen knights, Sir Lorgnez first, - Beneath him, slain to-day; - And I as many overcame: - The rest all ran away.” - - -VI. - - Breton at heart he had not been - Who had not laughed to see - The green grass red with Frankish blood, - As red as it could be; - While near the slain sate Lord Lez-Breiz, - Resting him wearily. - - And he had been no Christian, sure - Who wept not to behold - The tears from Lez-Breiz’ eyes that fell, - And dropped upon the mould, - All in the church of good S. Anne, - Where, on his bended knee, - Weeping he thanked the patroness - Of his own Brittany. - - “Mother S. Anne, all thanks to you, - All thanks to you I give: - ‘Twas in your might I fought the fight, - Still, thanks to you, I live.” - - -VII. - - This combat fierce to keep in mind - Is sung this goodly song; - In honor of the brave Lez-Breiz - May Bretons sing it long! - Sing it in chorus everywhere, - And all men in the gladness share. - - -PART IV. - -THE MOOR OF THE KING. - - Said to his lords the Frankish king, - The Frankish king one day: - “True homage he will render who - For me shall Lez-Breiz slay. - Naught doth he but my warriors kill, - And aye, with all his might, - My power withstands, nor ceaseth he - Against me still to fight.” - - Now, when the king’s Moor heard these words, - Before the king spake he: - “True homage have I rendered oft - And pledge of loyalty; - But since another pledge you crave - And warranty, O sire, - The knight Lez-Breiz shall furnish me - With that which you desire. - And if to-morrow I should fail - Sir Lez-Breiz’ head to bring, - With pleasure offer I mine own - Unto my lord the king.” - - Now, scarcely had the morrow dawned, - When swift the young squire ran - To find his master. “O my lord!’ - (The trembling page began,) - “The giant Moor defiance flings - Against my lord to-day.” - “Defiance? be it so: I’ll answer - Him as best I may.” - - “Ah! my dear lord, then know you not - He fights with demon charms?” - “He doth? Then Heaven’s aid be ours, - And blessing on our arms. - Haste thee, equip my good black steed, - Whilst I my armor don.” - “Pardon, my lord, your charger black - You will not fight upon. - - “Within the royal stables stand - Three steeds, and from the three - One must you choose: pray listen to - A secret thing from me. - I learnt it from an ancient clerk, - Right holy, sooth, was he, - A man of good and saintly ways, - If any such there be. - - “Do not thou take the charger white, - Nor yet take thou the bay, - But the black steed between them both - Take forth and lead away; - For that the king’s own Moor himself - Hath tamed with his own hand: - Trust me, and mount it when you go - The giant to withstand. - - “And when into the royal hall - The Moor shall enter, he - Will throw his mantle on the ground: - Let yours suspended be: - If under his your garment lay, - Doubled his might would be. - - When the black giant draws anear, - Then fail not with your lance - To make the sign of holy cross, - Or ever he advance. - And when he rushes full of rage - And fury on my lord, - Receive him on its point, the lance - Will break not, trust my word. - By aid of heaven and your two arms, - Naught will avail his paynim charms.” - - By aid of Heaven and his two arms, - The trusty lance brake not - When they against each other rode - In fierce encounter hot: - When in the hall they dashed amain - To onset, breast to breast, - Steel against steel, as lightning swift, - With lances firm in rest. - - The Frankish king sat on his throne, - ’Mid lords of high degree, - To watch the fight. “Hold firm,” he said, - “Black Raven of the Sea! - Courage! hold firm, thou Raven bold, - And plume this _merle_ for me.” - - Then, as the tempest breaks upon - The corsair, so the Moor, - With furious might and giant weight, - Down upon Lez-Breiz bore; - His lance in thousand splinters flew, - And, with one mighty bound, - Unhorsed by that dread shock, he fell - And rolled upon the ground. - - And when they found themselves afoot, - Then each, with all his might, - Fell on the other furiously - In close and deadly fight. - The sword-strokes, falling thick as hail, - Rang through the palace halls, - With sounding blows upon the mail - That shook the very walls. - - At every clashing of their arms - A thousand sparks leapt out, - Like red-hot iron from the forge, - Beaten by armorer stout. - At last, through one unguarded joint, - The Breton’s sword made way - And pierced the giant’s heart. He fell, - And bled his life away. - - Forthwith, when Morvan Lez-Breiz saw - His Moorish foe lie dead, - His foot he placed upon his breast, - And straight cut off his head. - He hung it by the grisly beard - His saddle-bow unto; - And, for its stains of Moorish blood, - His sword away he threw. - - Upon his good steed then he sprang, - He sprang without delay, - And, followed by his page, went forth - Upon his homeward way. - When home, he hung aloft, - Upon his gateway high, - The hideous head with grinning teeth - In sight of passers-by. - - And now the warriors said, Behold! - A mighty man indeed - Is Lez-Breiz, stay of Brittany - In every time of need. - Whereto Lord Lez-Breiz answered straight: - “I twenty fights have seen, - And twenty thousand armèd men - By me have vanquished been; - - “Yet never was I so beset, - So hardly pressed before, - Until this last encounter when - I slew the giant Moor. - S. Anne, my dearest mother, thou - Dost wonders work for me, - Wherefore, ‘twixt Ind and Léguer, I - A church will build to thee.” - - -PART V. - -THE KING. - - Behold! Sir Lez-Breiz goes to meet - The king himself to-day. - Who brings five thousand horsemen brave - To aid him in the fray. - But, hark! before he rideth forth, - A peal of thunder dread - Rolls through the echoing skies, and breaks - Above Sir Lez-Breiz’ head. - - His gentle squire lent anxious heed - That omen ill unto: - “In heaven’s name, my lord, I pray - Stay you at home. This opening day - Augurs not well for you.” - - “What, then, my page? Abide at home? - Nay, that can never be. - The order I have given to march, - And, therefore, march must we. - And I will march while spark of life - Remains alight in me, - Until that king of forest land - Beneath my heel I see.” - - This hearing, sprang his sister dear - Up to his bridle-rein. - “My brother, go not forth, for ne’er - Wilt thou return again. - Then wherefore, brother, thus to meet - Thy death wouldst thou be gone? - For wert thou slain, I should be left - Alone, thy only one. - - “The White Horse of the Sea behold - I see upon the shore; - A monstrous serpent him around - Entwineth more and more. - Behind, his flanks are interlaced - By two terrific rings; - Around his body, neck, and legs - The hideous monster clings. - - “The hapless creature, stifled, scorched, - On his hind feet uprears, - Turns back his head, and with his teeth - The serpent’s throat he tears. - The monster gaping wide, his tongue— - His triple tongue—darts forth, - Fiery and pois’nous, rolls his eyes - And hisses, mad with wrath. - - “But, ah! his snakelings, venomous brood, - To aid him swarm around; - The strife is all unequal: fly - While thou art safe and sound.” - “Nay, let the Franks by thousands come; - From death I do not flee.” - E’en as he spake, already far, - Far from his home was he. - - -PART VI. - -THE HERMIT. - -I. - - In his cell at midnight sleeping, - Lay the hermit of Helléan; - When upon his door three blows fell, - With a little pause between. - - “Open to me, holy hermit, - Open unto me thy door; - Here a place of refuge seeking, - Let me lie upon thy floor. - - “Icy cold the wind is blowing - From the bitter Frankish land; - From the sea it blows, ice-laden: - Bid me not without to stand. - - “‘Tis the hour when flocks are folded, - Cattle herded in the stall: - E’en wild beasts and savage creatures - Cease to wander, sheltered all.” - - “Who comes thus at midnight, seeking - Entrance at my lonely door?” - “One to Brittany, his country, - Known full well in dangers sore; - In her day of anguish, _Lez-Breiz, - Armor’s Help_, the name I bore.” - - “Nay, my door I will not open; - A seditious one are you, - Who against the Lord’s anointed - Oft have earned a rebel’s due.” - - “I seditious? Heaven is witness - None am I of rebel crew. - Whoso dares to call me traitor, - He the slander well shall rue. - Cursèd be the Frankish people, - Cursed their king, and traitors, too! - - “Yes; the Franks are coward traitors! - Else the victory were mine.” - “Man, beware! nor friend nor foeman - Curse thou: ‘tis no right of thine. - - “And the king, the Lord’s anointed, - Least of all be curst by thee.” - “Say you so? Nay rather, soothly, - Satan’s own anointed he: - Brittany by Heaven’s anointed - Devastated ne’er would be. - - “But the silver of the demon - Goes the ancient Pol to shoe;[157] - Yet unshod is Pol, and ever - Silver is he fain to sue. - - “Come, then, venerable hermit, - Open unto me thy door. - But a stone whereon to rest me, - This I ask, and ask no more.” - - “Nay, I cannot bid thee enter, - Lest the Franks should work me woe.”[158] - “Open! or the door itself I - Down upon thy floor will throw.” - - Hearing this, the ancient hermit - Sprang from off his lowly bed, - Lit in haste a torch of resin, - And forthwith to open sped. - - Opens, but recoils with horror, - Back recoils with horror dread: - Lez-Breiz’ spectre slowly enters, - Bearing in both hands his head. - - Of his eyes the hollow sockets - Gleam with fierce and fiery light, - Wildly rolling; pale, the hermit - Trembles at the fearful sight. - - “Silence! then, old Christian, fear not, - Since ‘tis highest Heaven’s decree - That the Franks should take my head off - For a time: so let it be. - - “Me have they _de_capitated. - But to thee, behold, ‘tis given - Forthwith to _re_capitate me: - Wilt thou do the will of Heaven?” - - “If, in sooth, high Heaven permits me - To recapitate my lord, - With good will I do so, proving - By my very deed my word; - For right well have you defended - Bretons by your knightly sword. - - “Thus I place upon your shoulders - Once again your severed head: - Be, my son, _re_capitated, - In the Name all spirits dread.” - - By the power of holy water - Freely sprinkled him upon, - Back to very manhood changing - Lez-Breiz stood—the spectre gone. - - When the spectre thus had vanished, - Changed to veritable man: - “With me now you must hard penance - Do,” the hermit sage began. - - “You a leaden cloak fast soldered - Round your neck must henceforth wear, - Wear for seven years, and daily - Other penance must you bear. - - “Daily, at the hour of noontide, - Fasting, you must wend your way. - Up to yonder mountain summit: - There a little stream doth play. - From that little mountain streamlet, - Water you must bear away.” - - “Holy hermit, only say - What your will, and I obey.” - - When the seven years were ended, - Bared his heels were to the bone, - Where the leaden cloak had worn them; - Long and grey his hair had grown. - - Grey his beard flowed o’er his girdle; - Any who his form had seen - Had a hoary oak-tree thought him, - Which for sev’n years dead had been. - None who Lez-Breiz met had known him, - Altered thus in face and mien. - - One there was alone who knew him - Through the wood a lady bright, - Through the greenwood swiftly passing, - Clad in garb of purest white, - Stayed her steps and wept, beholding - Lez-Breiz in so piteous plight. - - “Is it thou, my dear son Lez-Breiz? - Lez-Breiz, is it thou indeed? - Come, my child, that I may free thee - From thy burden sore, with speed. - - “Let me with my golden scissors - Sever this thy heavy chain. - I thy mother, Anue of Armor, - Come to end thy lengthened pain.” - - -II. - - A month and seven years had flown, - When Lez-Breiz’ faithful squire - Throughout the land his master sought, - With love that cannot tire. - - And as he rode by Helléan’s wood, - He to himself did sigh: - “Though I have slain his murderer, yet - My dear lord lost have I.” - - Then to him from the forest came - A wild and plaintive neigh, - Whereat his horse, with answering cry, - Snuffing the wind, his head thrown high, - Sped, with a bound, away. - - Away they sped the greenwood through, - Until they reached the spot - Where the black steed of Lez-Breiz stood, - But them he heeded not. - - The charger stood the fountain by, - He neither drank nor fed; - But with his hoofs he tore the ground, - With sad and downcast head; - Then raised it, neighing dismally, - He wept, so some men said. - - “Tell me, O venerable sire, - Who to the fountain come, - Who is it that beneath this mound - Sleeps in his narrow home?” - - “Lez-Breiz it is who lies at rest, - Here in this lonely spot. - Famed will he be through Brittany - Till Brittany is not. - He with a shout shall wake one early day,[159] - And chase the hated Frankish hosts away.” - -Of the two warriors mentioned in the poem, the first is unknown except -under the opprobrious epithet of “Lorgnez,” or “the leper.” The “Moor -of the King” appears to have been one of those whom Louis took captive, -after having conquered the city of Barcelona, and retained in his -service. With regard to the avenging of his master’s death by the -esquire, tradition relates that, at the moment when a Frankish warrior -named Cosl struck off the Breton’s head, the esquire of Morvan pierced -his back with a mortal wound. According to Ermold Nigel, a Frankish -monk who accompanied the army of Louis, the head of Morvan was carried -to the monk Witchar, who, when he had washed away the blood and combed -the hair, recognized the features to be those of Lez-Breiz. He also -relates that the body was carried away by the Franks, and that Louis -le Débonnaire thought proper himself to arrange the ceremonies for -its sepulture, doubtless with the intent to guard his tomb from the -rebellious piety of the Bretons. The popular belief declared, as it has -done with regard to other heroes, and in other lands, that from his -unknown grave he should one day awake, and restore to his country the -independence of which his death had deprived her. Seven years after the -death of Morvan and the consequent subjugation of Brittany, Guiomarc’h, -another viscount of Leon, of the race of Lez-Breiz, in 818 again roused -his country to arms, and, after a vigorous struggle, succeeded in -throwing off the foreign domination so hateful to his countrymen. - -Nomenöe, one of the most astute as well as determined of the Breton -kings, after deceiving Charles le Chauve for some time by a feigned -submission, suddenly threw off the mask, drove the Franks beyond the -Oust and Vilaine, seized the cities of Nantes and Rennes—which have -ever since formed a part of Brittany—and delivered his countrymen from -the tribute which they had been compelled to pay to the French king. M. -Augustin Thierry considers the following description of the event which -occasioned the deliverance of Brittany to be “a poem of remarkable -beauty, full of allusions to manners of a remote epoch, ... and a -vividly symbolical picture of the prolonged inaction and the sudden -awakening of the patriot prince when he judged the right moment to have -come.” - -The fierce exultation of the poet when the head of the Intendant -is swept off to complete the lacking weight, recalls the words of -Lez-Breiz not many years before: “Can I but see this Frankish king, he -shall have what he asks. I will pay tribute with my sword!” - - “Si fortuna daret possim quo cernere regem, - Proque tributali hæc ferrea dona dedissem.”[160] - - -THE TRIBUTE OF NOMENÖE. - -(DROUK-KINNIG NEUMENOIOU), A.D. 841. - - Cut is the gold-herb.[161] Lo, the misty rain - Forthwith in steam-like clouds drives o’er the plain. - -Argad! To war! - - -I. - - Spake the great chief: “From the heights of the mountains of Arez, - Mildew and mist for the space of three weeks have passed o’er us, - Mildew and mist from the land that lies over the mountains: - - “Still from the land of the Franks, more and more, thickly driving, - So that in no wise my eyes can behold him returning, - Karo, my son, for whose coming from thence I am watching.” - - “Tell me, good merchant, who travellest all the land over, - Hast thou no tidings to tell me of him, my son Karo?” - “May be so, Father of Arez, but where and what does he?” - - “He, wise of head, strong of heart, with the chariots departed, - Drawn by three horses abreast, into Rennes with the tribute, - Bearing among them the toll in full weight of the Bretons.” - - “Chief, if your son bore the tribute, in vain you expect him: - Each hundred pounds’ weight of silver was found to be lacking, - Lacking by three when they weighed it: whereon the Intendant - - “Cried out, ‘O vassal, thy head shall make up the scant measure!’ - Straight, with his sword swept his head off, and then, by the long - hair - Taking it up, he has thrown it down into the balance.” - - Hearing these tidings, the aged chief fell, nigh to swooning, - Heavily fell on the rock, with his long white hair hiding, - Hiding his face, groaning, “Karo, my son! my son Karo!” - - -II. - - The aged chief is journeying with all his kith and kin, - Till he to Nomenöe’s castle strong the way doth win. - “Say, porter at the castle gate, your lord, is he at home?” - “Or be it so, or be it not, to him may no harm come!” - - E’en as he spake, his lord came riding through the portal strong, - Returning from the chase, his fierce hounds scouring swift along; - His bow he carried in his hand, and o’er his shoulder slung - A wild boar of the forest, huge, all dead and bleeding, hung. - - “Good-day to you, brave mountaineers, and father, first to thee. - What tidings bring you, or what is it you would ask of me?” - “We come to learn if Justice lives—if God in heaven there be: - We come to learn if still there is a chief in Brittany.” - - “Sure, I believe that God in heaven ever dwells on high; - And, so far as I can be, chief of Brittany am I.” - “Who _will_ be, _can_; and he who can will drive the Franks away, - Will chase the Franks, defend the land, vengeance on vengeance pay. - - “My son and me he will avenge: the living and the dead: - Karo, my child, from whom the Franks have stricken off his head. - The excommunicated Franks, who pity know nor truth, - Have slain him in the early flower and beauty of his youth. - - “His head, so fair with golden hair, they threw to make the weight, - They threw it in the balance, and have left me desolate.” - Then thick and fast the tears fell from the father’s aged eyes, - And glittered down his long and silvery beard in piteous wise; - They sparkled like the morning dew upon the aspen white, - When earliest sunbeams wake them into gems of quiv’ring light. - - When Nomenöe that beheld, a fearful oath he swore: - “By this boar’s head, and by the dart wherewith I pierced the boar, - I swear my country to avenge ere many hours be o’er: - Nor will I wash away the blood from thee, my crimsoned hand, - Till I have washed the bleeding wounds of thee, my injured land.” - - -III. - - The thing which Nomenöe did no chief hath done before: - With sacks to fill with pebble-stones he went down to the shore: - Pebbles and flints for tribute to the bald-head Frankish king: - No chief but only Nomenöe e’er hath done this thing. - - He shod his horse with silver shoes, turned backwards every one, - And he himself to pay the tribute forth to Rennes is gone, - Prince that he is: no chief but he did ever this before, - And never chief will do the like again for evermore. - - “Ho, warden! open wide your gates! wide open let them be, - That I may enter into Rennes as it beseemeth me. - Hither come I, Lord Nomenöe, bringing store of gold: - My chariots all are filled therewith as full as they can hold.” - - “Descend, O chief! my lord, descend, and enter in, I pray; - Enter the castle, and command your chariots here to stay, - And in the hands of your esquires your white steed leave below, - While you ascend to supper; but you first would wash, I trow: - Hark! even now to horn the water[162] do the cornets blow.” - - “All in good time, my lord, I wash: be first the tribute weighed.” - The first sack brought they, well tied up, the weight in full it made. - The second sack was eke the same, and then the third they threw - Into the scales. Oh! oh! there lacks the weight that here is due! - - When the Intendant that beheld, quick stretched he forth his hands - All eagerly upon the sack, to loose the knotted bands. - “Hold! Sir Intendant, I will cut the fastening with my sword.” - And swift it from the scabbard leapt ere he had said the word. - - Upon the crouching Frank it fell, it fell with might and main, - Clean from his shoulders swept his head, and cut the balance chain. - Then rolled the head the scales into, and weighed the balance down. - “Stop the assassin—stop!” they cried all wildly through the town. - - He flies! he flies! The torches bring; haste! follow him with speed! - “Ha! bring your links to light my way—the night is dark indeed. - The night is dark, the road is ice: ‘twill spoil your gilded shoes - Of leather blue so fair bedecked, and ye your toil shall lose; - For ne’er again your scales of gold shall you, for evermore, - Use to weigh flints from Brittany and pebbles from her shore.” - - - - -KOCHE, KING OF PITT. - - -KOCHE, the subject of this memoir, was born on the remote island of -Chatham, in the Southern Pacific Ocean. Forced by a cruel servitude to -fly from his native island, he passed many years in absolute solitude -on the little uninhabited island of Pitt, lying some miles distant -from Chatham. Here he reigned undisputed master of the land and all it -contained: whence the title of “King of Pitt” among those who knew him. -His account of his native island and its inhabitants, together with his -own adventures, show him to have been a man of an undaunted spirit, -which no adverse fortune could bend, much less break; and had he been -known to Carlyle, would have been placed by him among his heroes for -worship and imitation; but, unluckily, Carlyle never heard of him. - -It is well, in order to understand the life and adventures of Koche, -“King of Pitt,” to relate the history of the country and people from -which he sprang, before going into the details of his career. - -Ware-kauri, one of the South Sea islands, called by the English, -Chatham, lies several hundred miles to the eastward of New Zealand. Its -history up to the year 1791 rests upon tradition, as prior to that date -its inhabitants had not acquired, among their many accomplishments, the -art of letters. Koche himself, from whose mouth this narrative has been -taken, says that his people were from the earliest period inclined to -peaceful pursuits, and subsisted chiefly upon fish and seal; that they -enjoyed a democracy, and conducted their simple affairs by a council of -notable men. He did not hesitate, however, to acknowledge that when at -long intervals, covering a generation, a high and prolonged west wind -drove a canoe-load of New Zealanders upon their shores, they forthwith -and without ceremony slew them. But he justified this departure from -their ordinary habits on the ground of public policy; as, had they -received them in charity, and pursued the peaceful tenor of their way, -their involuntary visitors would have ended by slaying and, moreover, -devouring them; the first party of this sort who landed on the island -having made it distinctly understood that men and women were their -favorite articles of diet. But among themselves, the taking of life, -he said, was unknown; and why should it not be, since they were not -fond of men, as some people were, and never suffered for want of food; -and on the sea-shore they found plenty of seal and birds, and, in the -marshes and lakes of the interior, fish and fowl in abundance? No! the -race of the Tuïti, his forefathers, were no man-eaters; they had become -“missionaries,” or Christian, in the days of his father, and remained -so ever since, such of them as had not been devoured or driven to death -by the hated Zealander—at whose name his black eye flashed fire—who -had made a slave-pen and shambles of his once happy island. - -Their tradition goes back to a first pair, man and woman, who appeared -on the Isle of Rangi-haute, a score of miles to the southeast, called -by the English, Pitt. It is a solitary volcanic mountain, lifting its -truncated summit above the waters of the South Sea, whose waves have -beaten in vain for untold centuries upon its rock-bound base. How the -first pair came is unknown; whether brought by the Spirit from above, -or created on the mountain, none could tell; the time was remote, and -tradition was confused in going back to the origin of the human race, -to the beginning of the world; the memory of man did not run beyond the -apparition on Rangi-haute. - -But the history of the couple and of their children is handed down in -the following legend: They lived upon the top of the mountain, from -whence they caught and worshipped the first ray of the morning sun, -and bowed in adoration to that luminary as he sank beneath the western -wave. The ground was held sacred; and their descendants in after-days -consecrated like spots, devoted alone to prayer and propitiation, -on which no article of dress even could be placed, and from the -desecration of one of which arose the destruction of the race. - -Trees clothed the slopes of the mountain, and everywhere among them, -planted by the beneficent hand of the Creator, rose the karaka -(bread-fruit) laden with golden fruit—the sole food of man, and -source of perpetual youth and health. In after-days, it turned acrid, -and fatal to life, until the pitying Creator taught his children, by -immersion in boiling water and a running stream, to restore it in a -measure to its pristine state. - -One day, a youth wandered down to the sea-shore among the birds that -lined the rocks, and, seating himself near where an eagle was perched -pluming his wing, they fell into conversation. The eagle complained -that they could no longer soar into the high air, by reason of a -spell cast over his tribe he believed by the Tuïti; his progenitors, -he said, had sailed over the mountain at will, and preyed upon the -living mako-mako, or honey-eater and the tuïs, or mocking-bird; while -he could fly only in the heavy air along the beach, and was compelled -to consort with sea-fowl, who held him in contempt; and to feed on -garbage. The youth answered that the blood of the honey-eater and -the mocking-bird had cried to the Creator, and brought down upon the -eagle his banishment. The Tuïti warred neither with the Maker nor his -children; they fed on fruit, and shed no blood: the eagle had banished -himself. The king of birds, avoiding the issue, replied that in the -great island to the northwest, which his friend had doubtless seen from -the mountain, the woods were filled with beautiful birds, and fruit of -every color, hanging over the dark, transparent waters of many lakes, -while here—what a poor place! One solitary mountain, no lakes, and no -fruit, save the karaka, which, sweet as it was, was bitter compared -with the fruit which grew in the west. There was no man upon it to rule -the great island. It called aloud for a master—a son of Tuïti—to go -over. The youth listened to the tempter, and ambition elated his soul; -he arose from the rock, and asked to be shown the path that led over -the water. The eagle, looking at him askance, promised him wings to -fly over, provided he would first render an easy service by taking him -to the top of the mountain. On hearing this, the youth cast himself -upon his face on the sand, trembling; where he lay for hours torn by -the conflict between the good spirit of obedience, and the evil one of -ambition, as they warred within him for the mastery. As the sun sank, -his guardian angel fled discomfited, and he rose to his feet with a -shudder, and, taking the eagle on his wrist, ascended the mountain, and -in the dark cast him loose in the forbidden field. All night long the -flutter and death-cry of birds smote upon his ear, and, when morning -dawned, the song of the mako was mute, and the tuïs had ceased to mock. - -The people assembled in alarm. A child to whom its mother had given -fruit fell dead; they gathered about its body in terror. The eagle -hovered over them, and uttered his war-cry. The conscience-striken -youth confessed. The day was passed in penitence and sorrow about the -body of the child in the lap of its wailing mother. Hunger assailed -them; they burned the remains on a funeral-pyre built of the fragrant -kalamu, and, descending the mountain, fed upon the root of the fern, -and drank from the living spring. - -The youth wandered by the shore, alone, stung with remorse, and, -meeting the eagle, was taught by him to construct the korari, the model -of all canoes, made in the likeness of a sledge, with a wicker-work of -tough creepers, having a false bottom filled with buoyant kelp. He put -to sea with his family, and landed on Ware-kauri, which he found, as -the eagle had said, uninhabited by man, a continent in size compared to -Rangi-haute; with undulating, fertile plains to the south, and lofty -mountains in the north, sparkling with lakes of dark transparent water, -and vocal with the song and bright with the plumage of birds. Filled -with new joy, he sent back tidings to his kinsmen, and was followed by -successive emigrations, until Rangi-haute was deserted save by a timid -few who feared the sea. Thus came about the settlement of Ware-kauri: -and to this extent is the tradition of the people. - -From this time on they had lived in single families, or in companies of -two or three, moving from place to place as food became less plentiful, -or as fancy or a love of change dictated; being careful, in pitching -their new and fragile habitations, not to crowd upon established -groups. In the sealing season, the families of the interior came down -to the coast, and laid in from the rocks and reefs a supply of meat and -skins; and when fishing on the shore became dull, or the birds wild -with much hunting, the people of the sea bundled up their effects, and -moved to the interior lakes, chiefly to the great Tewanga, filled with -fish, and covered with wild fowl. - -They dressed in cloaks of sealskin. Their only weapon of offence or -defence was a club, seldom used except in killing a seal. Tattooing -was unknown. No ornaments were in use. The teeth of deceased relatives -were burned with their bodies, not worn about the neck and wrist, as in -New Zealand, where they commit the absurdity of placing the departed -in a sitting posture in wooden boxes, after abstracting their teeth to -deck the survivors, in the name of religion. The Tuïti burned their -dead to avoid the fearful idea of prolonged decay. Man springs from -the earth as the flower springs: they return him to his mother, as the -fall fires, sweeping over the plain, return the flower; she drinks in -with the rain the ashes of her children, man and flower, and sends them -forth again after a season of repose to reign over and to beautify the -land. The songs of the women were plaintive and sweet, rivalling those -of the honey-eater, the mako-mako, who sang of love, and of the tuïs, -or mocking-bird, that mimicked from every tree and bush, and filled the -island with its false but beautiful notes. - -Thus had lived the race in peace and plenty for centuries beyond their -simple means of computation, and thus were living, fearing no evil -from without, save the landing of a stray storm-driven canoe from -Zealand, when, towards the end of the last century, the sloop-of-war -_Discovery_ and its armed tender _Chatham_, commanded by Vancouver, -made a voyage of discovery around the world, by command of his majesty. -The _Chatham_, Captain William Henry Broughton, separated in a storm -from her consort, discovered the island on Nov. 29, 1791, and took -possession of it with the customary ceremonies, in the name of his -majesty, as first discoverer. - -Broughton, as he approached the coast, saw a continued white sandbeach -interspersed with cliffs of reddish clay, and mixed with black rocks. -The country appeared very pleasant, with clearings here and there, -and smoke arising above the trees. With his glass he perceived some -people hauling up a canoe, and proceeded to the shore in a cutter. The -natives, seated on the beach, invited the party to land, and approached -and saluted them by meeting noses; and with great noise entered into -an animated but unintelligible conversation by signs, gestures, and -speech. They were a cheerful race, the conversation of the English -frequently exciting them to bursts of laughter. The young wore feathers -in their hair, and a few among them a necklace of mother-of-pearl. All -were cleanly and neatly dressed. The woods, which grew in a luxuriant -manner, afforded delightful shade, free of low limbs and underbrush, -and in many places were formed into arbors by bending and interlacing -the branches when young. The soil was rich, and the forests and beach -alive with birds of various species, which appeared as though never -molested. - -The surprise of the islanders, their exclamations, and admiration on -beholding the strangers, could hardly be imagined. They pointed to the -sun and then to Broughton, and inquired if he came from thence. In -answer he gave them a dead bird, pointed out the cause of its death, -fired his gun, and advanced upon them. All fled to the wood excepting -one man, who stood his ground and offered battle. War was proclaimed. -The hero was reinforced, and the sailors fell back to the beach, -followed by fourteen men, armed with spears or driftwood picked up -as they advanced. “When abreast of the boat,” says Broughton, “they -became clamorous, talked loud to each other, and surrounded us. A young -man strutted towards me in a menacing attitude, distorted his person, -turned up his eyes, and made hideous faces and fierce gestures. As the -boat came in, they began the attack. We fired. Johnson’s musket was -knocked from his hand by a club. Our men were forced into the water, -when the boat’s crew opened upon them and they fled, save one who -fell on the beach with a ball through his breast. As we pushed off, a -man came out of the woods, sat down by the deceased, and in a dismal -howl uttered his lamentation.” He explains that in making the boast -which brought on hostilities he merely wished to show the natives the -superior effect of his firearms. This may be so, or it may be that -in the laborious process of confirming his majesty’s title to the -island, and in order to make assurance doubly sure, he had emptied more -bottles to his majesty’s health than was good for him, and had fired to -astonish the natives. Be this as it may, it was deeply to be regretted -that the answer to a question indicating such deep respect should -have been a warlike demonstration. But the Saxon knows but one way to -colonize, and that leads the aborigines “into the blind cave of eternal -night.” - -The father of Koche told him that as the ship was leaving the shore the -atmosphere became dark, sultry, and gloomy, and thunder and lightning -descended the mountain and pursued the retreating strangers into the -sea. Meantime, the dead man lay on the white beach with a bullet -through his heart. Civilization had paid the Tuïti its first visit. - -A council was held, and the fact that the slain was not carried off was -considered proof that “the children of the sun” were not cannibals, and -by some doubts were expressed as to their intent in landing. It was -concluded, in the event of their return, to meet them with an emblem -of peace. Accordingly, when in after years a sealer entered the bay of -Waitangi and its boat touched the sands, the natives laid down their -spears and clubs, a man advanced and placed one end of a grass plant -in the hands of the captain, and, holding on to the other, made him a -speech of welcome, threw over him his own cloak, and thus established -a firm and lasting peace; and from thenceforward the fishermen who -frequented the coast found them hospitable, cheerful friends, and -willing assistants in their labor, and “love between them flourished -like the palm.” - -On the quarter-deck of an American vessel traversing the Pacific -Ocean, and chiefly at night, Koche related the sorrows of his race, -the private and public wrongs that had reduced the Tuïti to a handful -of slaves. Of his own mistreatment he made little account, relating -his personal oppression in a spirit of fun and bravado, relieved -occasionally by a flash of hate. In calm weather his broken narrative -ran tersely, and was marked by humor and a lack of strong feeling; but -when the storm-spirit arose, and washed the lower deck and enveloped -the upper in spray, his voice grew hoarse, his eye flashed, and his -white teeth from time to time came together with a clash that made the -blood tingle. - -He said that one summer, about eighteen years before, a vessel in -search of seal anchored in the small oval bay of Pohaute, overlooked -by the Maunga Wakai Pai, a volcanic pyramid, the loftiest on the -island, at the base of which he lived. With his family and friends, -he went down to greet the new-comers, when, to the surprise of every -one, there landed among the white men a New Zealand chief armed to the -teeth. His hair, carefully combed and oiled, was tied up on the crown -of his head, and surrounded by a fillet of white feathers, and from -his ears protruded bunches of soft down. Evidently a man of power, -accustomed to command, he inspired a mysterious dread, and would have -been slain but for the protection he was under. The future darkened -as he walked the beach, questioning the people on their politics and -religion, manners and customs; and it was long remembered that he -highly commended the veneration they entertained for sacred places, and -walked off musing when in answer to his inquiry one was pointed out. It -was Mate-oro, chief of the Nga-te Motunga, who had lately been defeated -in battle by the Waï Kato, and driven with his tribe from the valley -of the Komimi to the coast of New Zealand, from whence he had embarked -for Ware-kauri, and appeared among the simple inhabitants as Satan in -Paradise—the forerunner of troops of fiends. - -A red bluff beetled over the bay—a conglomerate of particles of -colored clay, cemented by a carbonate of lime, embedded with dark -shining nodules of iron, and traversed by dikes of basaltic lava. -Its summit was sacred. One morning before sunrise, a native ascended -to offer his devotions, and was horror-struck on beholding in the -holy field an iron pot. He sped down to communicate the startling -intelligence, and returned with a party of thirteen to verify the -reported sacrilege. Koche, who was of the number, threw off his cloak, -tore up a fragment of rock, and dashed the profane utensil to pieces. -A party of sailors, with a couple of bull-dogs, guided by Mate-oro, -pursued and overtook them. He shot dead one who turned and attempted -an explanation; the remaining twelve were bound and hung by the feet -from a tree, head downward, until nearly dead. The chief returned to -New Zealand, assembled his people, represented the island as fertile -and full of unarmed slaves, and recommended its subjugation. The brig -_Lord Rodney_, taking her pay in pigs, potatoes, and flax (and flame, -later on!), in two trips landed the tribe, numbering eight hundred, -on the fated isle. The natives offered no resistance to their fierce -invaders armed with firelocks, and were duly parcelled out among their -conquerors, and condemned to hard labor for life. No idea of moderation -in the amount exacted was entertained. In a short time, they furnished -thirty vessels annually with supplies. But the race began rapidly to -run out, with bent backs and paralytic limbs. Skulls on the beach, -pierced by musket balls or battered by clubs, told a tale to visitors -their tyrants could not deny. Valuable as was their labor, in drunken -orgies they were slain for food. - -Once cheerful, full of mirth and laughter, they became morose and -taciturn. Koche, with many others, persistently refused to work; some -died under, others yielded to, the lash; and he, who had been dragged -by a rope to the field, and beaten in vain, and would neither yield -nor give up the ghost, was taken by the chief to his house to break -in. He continued moody, and maintained his independence so far as to -execute only such commissions as pleased him, frequently courting death -by mutely and stubbornly refusing to obey orders. Mate-oro seemed -to respect his attitude to some extent, and employed him to supply -his table with sea-fish, giving him a canoe furnished with nets and -lines for the purpose. The struggle between them now ceased, for this -occupation gave Koche solitude and freedom when afloat, and opportunity -to muse over the condition of himself and people. He soon came to -the conclusion that it was useless to attempt an insurrection, the -population being unarmed, dispirited, and under an iron subjugation. -But for his single self, he was resolved on resistance to the last, -and, as his boat tossed on the wave, he brooded over many schemes for -the destruction of his would-be master. A personal conflict was most -in accordance with his disposition, and many a time he was tempted, -unarmed as he was, to close in a death-struggle, out of which, -doubtless, he would have come victorious, if uninterrupted; for though -but little above the middle height, he was broad and deep-chested, -with sinews of iron, and capable of immense exertion; and, above all, -was animated by a spirit that would have revelled in the fight. But -followed as the chief was, fair play was not to be looked for, and he -reluctantly abandoned his favored purpose. His thoughts often wandered -to the cradle of his race, now uninhabited, to which he had made a -visit with his father in youth, where he felt assured he would find -a harbor of refuge, if Mate-oro could be first despatched. Whilst -in the midst of such reflections one afternoon, he drew up from the -ocean a fish seldom taken—the mo-eeka, pleasant to the taste, but -a virulent poison, a small portion of which when eaten producing a -deathly sickness, and a full meal, death. His massive face beamed with -satisfaction, and his dark eye glistened as he unhooked and dropped -it into the boat, contrary to the custom, which was to kill and throw -it back into the sea. On landing, he placed his dangerous prize in a -small salt-water pool near the beach, into which, as he caught them, -he placed others, until a large mess was collected. This he brought -home one night when the wind blew from the northwest, and persuaded -the cook to serve up for the morning meal. Directing her to throw the -offal to the wood-hogs, he disappeared, and soon after midnight reached -the east coast, seized a canoe, and put to sea. The cook, who had her -more immediate grudge to gratify, regaled the favorite dogs with the -heads and entrails; and this deviation from orders frustrated the -amiable purpose of her co-conspirator. The howls of his four-footed -companions in the night, followed by their death in the morning, told -the suspicious Indian a tale of poison, which a visit to the kitchen -confirmed. A portion of the breakfast thrown to a stray dog promptly -finished him. - -Koche was sought for high and low, the island ransacked in vain; no -trace of him was found, and the conclusion was arrived at that he -had thrown himself into the sea. The chief had taken up a hatchet to -kill his cook, but she sullenly asserted she had never seen a mo-eeka -before, and was believed and spared, partly because the fish was rare -and seldom brought to land when taken, and partly because her good -cooking tickled his palate. - -Prior to this attempt to treat him to the mo-eeka, Mate-oro had swept -the Isle of Rangi-haute of its inhabitants. The number of captives had -proved much smaller than had been anticipated, amounting in all to ten -families, and barely repaid the trouble and risk of the voyage. - -When Koche, on the day following the episode of the poison-fish—the -last, as he flattered himself, of Mate-oro—ascended the mountain of -Pitt, and stood upon a throne— - - “He was monarch of all he surveyed, - His rights there were none to dispute: - From the centre all round to the sea, - He was lord of the fowl and the brute.” - -His first care was to make a royal progress over his dominion, in which -he fully expected to reign to the termination of his life. He felt -no fear of invasion, having traversed Ware-kauri, and effected his -embarkation unseen. No motive existed sufficiently strong to induce -one, in the face of the difficulties of a return trip against the wind, -unless it might be revenge on the part of Mate-oro, who was dead, and -had ceased to trouble him. Of domestic foes he had none. The Norway -rat, a deserter from a seal-ship, was the only quadruped on the island; -and the seal and sea-lion, the only amphibious animals that had ever -frequented the coast, had long since been extirpated, and the sealers -came there no more. All looked favorable for a quiet reign. - -Near an old seal camp, he found growing some wild wheat, which he -cultivated after a manner, and which, with wild celery, water-cresses, -fern-root, and karaka, left him nothing to desire in the way of -vegetable food. On the shore, he found crabs and lobsters, and the -echini (sea-eggs) in the hollows of the rock; and at times, to -supplement his feast, the sea threw up her orange-colored pear. The -blue petrel had their habitations in the woods, in the ground under -the roots of trees, and in crevices of rocks, and were speared at -night as they flew about in numbers with a noise like the croaking -of frogs. They passed the day at sea-fishing, and not one was to be -seen until dark put a stop to their pursuit, when they returned to -land, and fluttered and croaked for hours before retiring to rest. But -the subject that gave its sovereign least trouble was the dark-brown -water-hen, of the size of a barnyard fowl, which inhabited the skirts -of the woods, and fed on the beach. It was unable to fly, and made no -attempt to escape when approached, but stood its ground, and bowed, -like a pious Turk, to its fate. - -At the base of the mountain, near a strong spring, he formed a -summer-house—an arbor of the trees and shrubs of aromatic myrtle—and, -besides supplying his wants, did little else but wander over the isle -during the summer season; but, when winter came, he retired to a cave -in the mountain, from which he expelled the bats, and devoted his -leisure to making the utensils of the chase, toilet, and kitchen. He -manufactured baskets, nets, and lines of twisted fibre, fish-hooks of -mother-of-pearl, knives of sharp quartz, razors of shell, and mats for -bedding and cloaks. - -He covered his fish alive in red-hot ashes, and, when cooked, peeled -off the skin, and ate the flesh from the ribs. He cooked his meat in an -oven, of which he had one at each residence, and several at points on -the shore. It consisted of a hole in the ground lined with stone, in -which he built a fire, and placed pebbles and stones. His game, after -the ordinary cleaning, was scrubbed with sand on the outside, and well -washed inside and out. Hot pebbles were placed in the belly and shaken -in under the breast, and green aromatic leaves stuffed in upon them. -The oven was then cleared of fire and pebbles, and lined with green -leaves, and the game placed in the bottom. The fat was washed, and -placed with hot pebbles in a vessel of bark, and beside it the blood, -tied in a leaf, and propped with hot stones. Then came a layer of such -vegetables as were in season or at hand, and the whole was spread over -with leaves, on which the remaining hot stones were placed, covered in -turn with leaves, and filled in with sod and earth. After an interval -according to the size of the mess, it was taken out, spread upon a -cloth of the glossy leaves of the karaka, and eaten hot. - -No king fared better, and no one that ever reigned passed his days in -equal quietude and peace. No opposing politicians were there to vex his -soul with diverse counsels, and make the worse appear to him the better -reason; no blood of fellow-men weighed down his spirit; no friends -clamored for reward, or silent enemies shrank from punishment. - -He knew neither hunger, thirst, nor cold, nor fear, nor jealousy, -and approached as near as it lay in fallen man to the estate of our -renowned ancestor in the garden before the presentation of Eve. He was -content, wanting no Eve, or Cain, or Abel. And for ten solitary years -his wish was gratified: he was unapproached, and reigned unchallenged. - -In 1839, the captain of a vessel from Sidney offered to buy of Mate-oro -a portion of the island of Ware-kauri that lay about the bay of -Waitangi, then owned and possessed by a branch of the tribe commanded -by Nga-te-Toma. The terms were agreed upon, payment to be made on -delivery. But the Nga-te-Toma could not be prevailed upon to deliver -their possessions of black loam on demand, the more especially as -Mate-oro was to handle the purchase-money. War was declared, and the -contumacious Te-Toma were driven in the following spring into their -stronghold near the beach, and regularly invested. - -At this juncture, the bark _Cuba_, having on board one Dieffenbach, -a naturalist, dropped anchor in the bay, entered into negotiations -with both parties, and, moved by the spirit of Christian charity, -ended by taking off the Te-Toma at night in boats to their ship—first -the women and children, followed by the naked warriors, stained with -ochre, armed, feathered, and equipped. The last to leave set fire to -the huts and abandoned property. The flames gave the alarm to their -opponents, who rushed through the fort to the beach, where they arrived -just too late, and presented, illuminated by the burning village in -the background, a vivid picture of baffled rage, going through the -war-dance with fearful yells and contortions. But they danced in vain, -though the exercise may have afforded them a melancholy gratification. -The _Cuba_ forthwith put to sea, and landed her human freight on the -northeastern shore among friends; but not until she had taken from them -deeds in fee of all their possessions in the west. Then, judging wisely -that Mate-oro would be found in no mood at that moment to discuss their -lately acquired title, she put to sea and bore down on Rangi-haute, -being the first vessel to cross the channel since Koche passed over in -his canoe ten years before. - -Dieffenbach landed with a party, and in botanizing the isle was led to -the bower by a small spiral column of white smoke that arose from the -oven. No inhabitant was to be seen. The summer-house was ransacked of -nets, pearl-hooks, knives, and baskets; the oven opened, and a spread -of roast duck, hen, and karaka highly relished. The dark, transparent -water of the spring reflected the faces of the robbers, as they bent -over to drink, with a distinctness of outline unattainable by the white -water of other lands; but when Koche returned to his habitation, which -he did when the ship was well at sea, the reflection had vanished -from his mirror, the dinner from his oven, and the furniture from his -bower. As from a rock he watched the receding bark, freighted with his -peace of mind, he hoped and prayed she would pass Ware-kauri without -touching; but she ran in nevertheless, communicated with her friends, -and related the visit to the isle. The news that Rangi-haute was -inhabited soon reached Mate-oro, who read the riddle at once, and soon -after went over in person in pursuit of his quondam slave. - -The party landed before noon, and, separating, closed in upon the -bower from different directions to find it empty. They soon, however, -struck a fresh trail, which led them down the coast to a small inlet, -in which it disappeared. Finding it did not issue on the opposite side, -they ascended either bank, watching closely for signs, until the bed -of the stream dwindled to a rivulet and entered a thicket; when the -trail was taken up and followed with difficulty through bushes and -underwood, matted with vines, until it failed totally. Circuits were -made, and much time wasted in fruitless search, but the thread was -lost, when the leader suddenly ordered the party back on the trail to -the mouth of the inlet, which they crossed, and moved down the beach -looking for footprints in the sand. Late in the afternoon they arrived -opposite a coral rock that stood out a mile in the sea. The water was -smooth, and a man swam out to reconnoitre. They watched him until he -disappeared behind the rock, which presented a bluff to the shore, and -waited patiently to hear from him, but an hour had elapsed and he made -no sign. The general opinion was that he had been devoured by a shark. -Mate-oro thought otherwise. He sent back a couple of men with orders -to bring down the boat at daybreak, set a watch on the beach, built a -fire, and went into camp. - -A favorable breeze springing up, the boat came in early, took aboard -the party, and rowed out. In a deep fissure in the rock, from which he -was unable to extricate himself, they found the Indian who had swum out -the evening before. He told them that when he turned, and was about to -land, he was seized by the foot and drawn under the water, and, being -tired and out of breath, almost instantly lost consciousness. - -When he recovered he found himself in utter darkness, and thought he -had passed into the spirit-land and was imbedded in a mountain for -punishment. After a time he had looked up and seen the stars, but could -make nothing of his condition. He had seen or heard no one, but as well -as he could recollect, the grasp on his ankle felt like the hand of a -man. Several pieces of fresh broken coral were found, but no footprints. - -The party hastened ashore, and, leaving a man with the boat, moved down -the beach, and an hour later struck the trail coming out of the water, -and pursued it up a frightful chasm in the mountain, apparently without -an outlet. But as they neared the head they discovered the point at -which the trail began the ascent, and abandoning their dogs, the men, -after much difficulty and danger, gained the summit; when, to their -inexpressible astonishment, the trail led them directly back to their -camp on the beach—on reaching which they found their boatman lying on -the sand bound hand and foot with a running vine, gagged, and stunned -by a blow on the head, and the boat gone. - -The rage of Mate-oro was excessive, and expended itself upon the -ill-starred boatman, whom he ordered to be tossed into the surf—a step -he speedily regretted and attempted to rectify; but when dragged out -to be cross-questioned, the body could return no answer; its shade had -quitted it, and was paddling a phantom canoe over the Stygian river to -the shadowy fishing-grounds. - -The pursuers, full of wrath, set to work and built a korari, in which, -when the wind became favorable, they made their way home, calling down -maledictions upon the head of the rebellious runaway. During their stay -they scoured the island for Koche, and kept a lookout for their lost -boat, but saw nothing of either. - -To the eastward of the southern point of Rangi-haute, and five miles -distant, lies the islet of Ranga-tira, consisting of a single mount -of moderate elevation, from two to three miles across at the base, -behind which Koche took shelter in his captured boat. The same favoring -breeze that brought down his enemies in the morning, enabled him in a -short run to double the “tira,” and land upon her little beach of forty -yards, quite out of sight and reach. - -Had the fugitive been content to take up his permanent habitation -here, all might doubtless have gone well; but the islet was too small -to offer a place of concealment, and he feared an unsuccessful search -on the larger island would be followed by one on the smaller, in -which event escape would be impossible. For this and other reasons, -in which the question of food entered, but a cat-like attachment to -his old haunts ruled, he returned in the night after an absence of a -month, and, reconnoitring, found the coast clear. He had resumed his -old habits, adding to them a bright lookout to the northwest, when one -morning at daybreak, some months later, he discovered three canoes -close in to shore. He instantly struck into a deep ravine, and hoped by -doubling to gain time to reach and launch his boat. But he had hardly -got fairly off before his trail was taken up, and after a hot chase, -in ascending a dark defile, the dogs brought him to bay, and, turning, -he took up a rock and dashed out the brains of the foremost, and was -in deadly conflict with the pack, bleeding and faint, when a Zealander -came up with a club and felled him to the ground. When he recovered his -senses they were dragging him down the mountain by a rope tied about -the waist, torn with stones and briers, and bathed in blood; but even -then, until they reached the white beach, soon stained red, he caught -at every root, and projecting stone, and bush, and log, and held on -with such tenacity that they were compelled to beat his hands to force -them to relax. He lay on the sand bound hand and foot all night, with -parched mouth and throat, so bitten by the black sand-fly that by noon -on the following day he was swollen out of the semblance of man. - -When taken back to Ware-kauri he was confined and watched closely, -taunted with the title of “King of Pitt Island,” fed and watered, but -not bodily ill-used. When sufficiently recovered and ordered to work, -he stood mute under two days’ lashing, seeking death; but his master, -who felt his honor enlisted in the contest, had resolved to break, not -kill him; and no provocation could wring from him the death-stroke. -Perceiving this on the third morning, Koche set to work when ordered, -and from thence performed the labor of two men; apparently completely -subjugated. From the fight with the dogs in the defile he had not -uttered a word; now he became cheerful and talkative. - -In the fourth year of his renewed captivity, all watch upon him having -been removed, he was one evening among the slaves, employed in paddling -out canoe-loads of provisions to a whale-ship that was lifting her -anchor to sail. He boarded, and hid away in the hold unnoticed; and the -ship was clearing the harbor, when Mate-oro came out and instituted -search. He was found and dragged on deck, but broke from his captors -and sprang overboard. The ship’s boat gave chase, overhauled him, and, -as Mate-oro rose up in the bow to lay hands on him, he dived, and, -coming up behind, unshipped their rudder, and in the gathering dark -reached the headland and disappeared. He made his way by forest paths -to the eastern coast, where, finding an abandoned and broken canoe, -he stuffed her with kelp, and put to sea; by daylight he had sunk her -below the eastern horizon, and at nightfall ran her on the beach of -Rangi-haute. - -Koche was himself again. He breathed anew the air of freedom, and his -soul exulted. Taught in his little school of adversity, he knew that -vigilance would be the price of his liberty, and determined to exercise -it, and carried out his resolution as well, perhaps, as any man since -the sun first shed on Eden his delightful beams—that sun which shone -upon him in his frail canoe that day for the last time for two dark -years; and on which, of his own free will, he never would have looked -again. - -After picking up what food he could find upon the beach, and breaking -up and burying his canoe in a sand dune, he crossed the mountain, and, -plunging into an obscure thicket, almost impenetrable, crawled into -a crevice surrounded by jagged fragments of volcanic rock. The spot -was almost absolutely inaccessible, and the danger of approach would -have appalled a spirit less dauntless than his—not bent on liberty -or death. He had breasted his way to it in the glare of day when -perambulating his dominion; he now entered it with speed and safety a -fugitive at midnight. - -In his retreat, he made and used no instrument whatever—no spear, or -snare, or knife, or line, or net. He never once approached the shore, -or left the circle of his crags and dense surrounding thicket. At dusk -he peered from his sepulchre, and watched the birds take up their -roosts upon the overtopping trees and bushes, and climbed up and caught -them in the night, and ate them raw. Hunger at first assailed him; -but his eye, becoming adjusted to the dark, marked down his prey with -unerring certainty, and he was soon able to drive and keep the wolf -from his den; and a water-drip in the rock quenched his thirst. At dawn -he sank into the earth, leaving behind no trace, no print of foot, no -trail; and when the sun uprose, - - “The mists were curl’d - Back from a solitary world.” - -The annals of his dark reign are soon told. Sleeping one day down -in the impenetrable darkness, he was startled by the deep bay of a -bloodhound; and his prophetic soul told him that the day of his second -dethronement had dawned, and his night of freedom passed. Mate-oro had -searched the isle in vain, and given up the hunt, when Gobiah, a New -Zealand son of Belial, brought over a slave-hunter whose deep hate -penetrated the impenetrable, and ran the fugitive to earth. - -Expectation in Ware-kauri was on tiptoe during the absence of the -hunting-party; and on its return with the captive king a curious crowd -assembled on the beach to greet them. As the boat came through the surf -with Mate-oro on the prow and Koche bound at his feet, a shout went -up in honor of the chief, followed by derisive howling for the “King -of Pitt.” The march across the island was triumphal. Crowds flocked -to gaze upon the principal figures. The New Zealanders praised their -persevering chief, and called upon the “king” to burst his bonds. The -Tuïti, apart, with sullen and downcast looks, felt their faint hearts -beat quick as they caught a glance of their indomitable countryman, -stimulated by the sunlight, erect and proud, by whom the taunts of the -malignant masters were passing as the idle wind. - -Gobiah and the hound shared the honors of the day, and all went merry -as a marriage-bell. - -The capture, with its varying and contradictory details, was the -sensation of the period, and would have filled the columns of a -newspaper, had one existed, for a month. It subsided in due course, and -Koche, after another futile attempt to get himself despatched, went -to work as before with vigor and good cheer. His sovereign character -was now universally recognized, and he was invariably addressed by -his title in full. He accepted it in good humor, tinged with a little -pride. The Zealanders looked upon him with secret respect, while by -his own people he was regarded as one who, had their lot been less -hopeless, would have proved the leader and saviour of the nation. - -Two years elapsed, when an American vessel, ready for sea, was boarded -by Mate-oro, and a demand made for the fugitive king. The ship was -searched from deck to keel, but no trace of him found. Unwilling to -anger the fierce chief, who still declared he was aboard, she lay over -a day, and the search was renewed with like effect. In the afternoon -she stood out to sea, and at nightfall her hull was down, and the -island had disappeared, all save one volcanic peak that rose like a -pyramid above the waves. Then Koche came out from the fore-chains, in -which he had in some mysterious manner buried himself, and caught a -last glance of his native mountain as it sank for ever from his view. - - - - -NECESSITY _VERSUS_ ART. - - -WE live in very busy days, and our lives hurry on to their end after -a very unceremonious fashion. Courtesy is out of date, and the world -scrambles on chiefly according to the principle embodied in the -words, “Every one for himself, and God for all.” This is the age of -individualism on the one hand, of levelling on the other. The system -of aggregate life, of Christian brotherhood, and helpful fellowship -is broken, and each one lives his little span to himself, jealously -cherishing a phantom of independence which, when appealed to for -protection, has a tendency to shelter itself under the broader ægis -of state supremacy. We live fast, and our lives wear us out. We pass -through all the emotions, all the experiences, of life in fewer years -than our forefathers took to study their classics or prepare themselves -for a profession. Young men who have reached the _nil admirari_ stage -before they are twenty, and young women who, before they are out of -their teens, have gone through the various religious phases, and made -up their minds that infidelity is the only rational system to adopt, -are unfortunately on the increase among us. After pleasure, after -controversy, what remains? Nothing but business. The mind of our day -is essentially practical. A certain social necessity exists of living -as well as your neighbors do, and of not “going down in the world.” -Certain artificial habits are formed almost unconsciously in early -youth; certain fictitious indispensabilities grow up silently by -your side, and, to keep up appearances, a certain amount of money is -wanted. In a new country where there is no privileged class, no landed -aristocracy, no law of primogeniture, each individual, to keep his head -above water, imagines he must take some means to increase his income -as years go on. This means that the whole community should devote -itself to commerce. But how does this “necessity” affect the abstract -principles of right and wrong, of moral beauty, of intellectual -development? In this race for life, where is all that makes life -beautiful? This utilitarian spirit looks upon all that from its own -point of view, as an auctioneer, not as an artist. The question is, -“Will it pay?” or “How much will it bring?” not “Is it civilizing, is -it beautifying, is it ennobling?” - -Beauty is nothing to modern critics; it is no longer judged by -an abstract standard, but by the use which can be made of it. It -is utterly debased from its original estate; for, from being the -consolation of the many, it has become the luxury of the few. Rich men -think it right and proper that they should be surrounded by ornamental -objects, not because they appreciate their worth, but because it -shows off the wealth whose surplus they could afford to waste on such -expensive baubles. Costliness in ornamentation is the fashion of our -day, as simplicity and studied ruggedness were the fashion in the days -of Cromwell; and, cost what it may, the fashion must be followed. Do -these men care for their treasures? See what they would do with them if -it ever became the fashion again to sit on wooden chairs, and eschew -looking-glasses. They are valued, as in a shop, by the price they cost; -and old or new, elaborate or plain, it is all the same. The number -of figures on a Dresden vase is nothing: the number of dollars the -vase cost is everything. Some people would think nothing of a gem of -workmanship if it was got “at a bargain” or picked up on an old stall; -some would not be satisfied if the velvet they wore had been purchased -at half price, so that they could not boast it had cost twenty-five -dollars a yard! We will hope that such people are exceptions; still, -they exist. This is the exaggeration of the spirit of the age, and -prevails chiefly among those whom the latter half of the age has just -landed among the inhabitants of the modern El Dorado; but, in a more -or less rampant state, this spirit shows its cloven foot everywhere on -this vast continent. - -But this is not the worst. If the appreciation of true art is wanting -in the patron, the time to perfect æsthetic productions is wanting to -the artist. Nowadays everything must be done at once; people cannot -wait; their houses must be run up in six weeks; for their churches -they will not wait longer than a year. Ornaments of all kinds must be -forthcoming immediately, and, indeed, if any vegetable model could -be found, which, like the acanthus leaf of Greek sculpture, might -be identified with the idea of our modern “art,” who shall say that -the mushroom is not a most fitting type? Must we suppose it to be -the result of our wonderfully rapid progress in art that we should -constantly change our ideals, and demand quite a different standard of -beauty this month from that we asked for last June? No doubt we are -so much more enlightened now that we could not wear the same colors -we wore last spring, and really thought quite pretty then, or that -we could not sit upon a sofa of the same shape as we found perfectly -charming last year! Of course, since our standards of taste vary so -quickly, it could hardly be expected that very minute care should -be bestowed on our ornamental surroundings. In old days, when men -worked for future ages, the leg of a chair was as delicately carved -as a cathedral buttress; when houses were built for twenty coming -generations to live in, the sculpture of a mantelpiece was wrought with -as much care as a monumental effigy. But _nous avons changé tout cela_. -Our houses are only intended to stand till they are pulled down to make -room for a railway depot, or till some advantageous offer is accepted -to turn them into a suite of _modiste’s_ or confectioner’s show-rooms. -Our furniture is meant to remain under our eyes only until we see a -set five times as gorgeous and ten times as expensive, when the things -we once thought so perfect will be sent as antiquated rubbish to some -auction-room, or ignominously hidden in the nursery or garret. And in -the meanwhile, where is art, nay, where is even comfort? Shall we not -very soon have overshot the mark, and find our lives becoming little -short of a pilgrimage from hotel to hotel? An English lady, whose -husband owned estates in all parts of England, Scotland, and Wales, and -who had at least six country-houses, each claiming the advantages of -family residence during a short part of the year, once said to a friend -less plentifully encumbered: “My dear, I envy you. I have half a dozen -houses in the country, and a large town-house; and, among them all, I -have not got a _home_!” - -This constant change of fashion necessitates flimsiness of material -and carelessness of detail. But this is not all: it kills the artist -spirit. The old workmen had a chance of becoming artists because they -had plenty of time to exercise and sharpen their faculties; they became -used to certain sorts of work, and could perfect their ingenuity in -one particular line; and they had plenty of room for originality. Now, -on the contrary, it is more likely that the artist will degenerate -into a mere workman. He is hurried in his designs; he is often -dictated to by ignorant patrons, who, not having the divine _afflatus_ -themselves, have not even the wit to trust to those who have; he is -called upon for six times the amount of invention that any man’s brains -can possibly furnish within a given time; and, to crown all, he is -limited as to price—which simply means as to materials, size, detail, -and ornamentation. He is in danger of becoming either a drudge or a -renegade, very often both. His art gets to be a mere bread-winning -business, a dry round of machine work, a careless fulfilling of an -unpleasant contract; and, under such adverse influences, no wonder the -creator-spirit leaves him, and he becomes simply a mechanic. - -Art was once a power in the world: now it is rather an appendage to -a power of a different sort. Even while it was patronized by popes -and sovereigns, it was held as little less than sovereign itself; it -dictated terms, and claimed a full meed of independence in the choice -of its expressions within the limitations of orthodox symbolism. Now, -on the contrary, it is only tolerated so long as it conforms to the -fashion of the hour, so long as it ministers to the belittled taste -of to-day. Its votaries are no longer the honored guests of princes, -the equals of sovereigns, the arbiters of character. Of old, a painter -could immortalize a man by placing him in a certain part of his -picture, or he could ruin him by giving him a place on the opposite -side. Dante did the same thing in his unrivalled poem, and the sting -went home. But now what would the result be? The painter would lose -his custom, like a tradesman who sold damaged goods! Truly a dignified -position for the successors of Michael Angelo! - -To be popular—and popularity just now is apt to be confounded -with greatness—art must truckle to the vitiated taste of a mob of -ignoramuses; architecture must give up noble proportions for the sake -of speed and cheapness; painting must give up historical memories -and religious inspirations for the sake of quick sales and gaudy -coloring; music and poetry must adapt themselves to the maudlin taste -of the age, and pretty, shallow ballads and idyls must take the -place of symphonies, anthems, and epic poems. So with oratory—it -must be graceful and piquant; that it should be logical and forcible -is immaterial. So with sculpture—we must have Rogers’ groups, -sewing-girls (why not have a sewing-machine and operator in marble?), -shoe-blacks, anything that is domestic and prosaic, provided we have -nothing heroic that will strain our powers of admiration, or excite -high aspirations after the ideal. - -As to minor articles which of old were real objects of art, how do we -stand? Our jewelry, for instance—in what stage of decay is it? Would -Benvenuto Cellini think our clumsy plate worthy of his attention, or -our massive barbaric bracelets _artistic_ productions? On the other -hand, the lighter work is flimsy and insecure, equally unworthy of a -chiseller’s notice, except he toss it into the furnace, and reduce the -materials into an usable shape. Again the money test comes in: the -mere value of a precious stone is all, in modern times; the delicacy of -the setting, the thought of the designer, the time of the worker, are -perfectly immaterial. - -Then our glass: it has no individuality whatsoever. We remember -noticing the strange contrast which happened to be most vividly -exhibited in a certain street in London, where two shops side by side -showed a glittering array of their respective specialty, English and -Venetian glass. The former, all blown by machinery, showed the most -perfect symmetry of design, each glass of a set the exact counterpart -of the other, the designs not varied to the extent of more than half a -dozen patterns, and the very prettiest things—baskets, for instance, -or horns of glass—pairfully, like three or four dozen similar ones, -allotted to their particular corner in the shop. The Venetian glass, -on the contrary, was a study for a painter. Every conceivable variety -of color, shape, and design, a luxuriance of detail, a fertility of -invention perfectly incredible, a picturesque individuality which will -not allow even pairs to do more than bear a general likeness to each -other—such are a few of the characteristics of this beautiful display -of ornaments. We took up a fruit-dish of opaque glass, and asked if -there were any more of that sort, none but that one being visible in -the shop. It was a marvellous conglomeration of colors, veined like -marble, vivid shades dying off into browns and dusky yellows, etc. -No; there were no more of them. “How was this produced?” we asked. -“I cannot tell,” said the polite Venetian who kept watch over these -treasures; “this is a mere chance; the glass sometimes runs into these -designs, but we might try for years, and never be able to reproduce -this.” The other articles, some useful, some ornamental, and all -moulded by the hand, attested the most delicate and fantastic skill; -the fancy of the workman had been allowed to run riot within certain -general limits; no line was the exact counterpart of the other—in a -word, the work was artistic, not mechanical. The contrast was evidently -unfavorable to the faultlessly mathematical proportions of the English -glass, which, however, in its own line, and freed from comparison with -higher products, is very beautiful. - -Machinery has spoilt many minor arts; even the choir-stalls and the -screens of our day are often “turned” instead of carved, and in the -place of wrought-iron we have cast-iron in our grates and railings. -Even the domain of music has been invaded, and we have barrel-organs, -orchestrions, and musical boxes. Some new mechanism in a Geneva box -will command thousands of dollars, and for a musical canary with -jewelled eyes, caged in a tiny gilded cage, people will give any -sum; but who thinks twice of some unknown Beethoven or struggling -Mendelssohn whose sonatas and anthems might rival those of the masters -of old? - -All that we have said is merely an introduction to an explanation -of the main subject of which we wish to treat, _i.e._ the effect -of this modern spirit on artists themselves. There are personal -ramifications consequent on this low estimate of art which amount just -to this: intellectual murder. The artist starts in life full of young -enthusiasm—and we include here all scholars and men who, in different -professions, reverence the principle more than they care for the use of -their craft—he feels that there is an intellectual world beyond and -above the world of business and fashion, and he strives to spread the -love of this ideal among commoner mortals. He finds them unresponsive, -though he feels himself a teacher sent to enlighten them. Still they -remain callous; they look on and laugh, and he starves. His art is all -he has whereby to live; for the spirit that recruits the ranks of art -is a vagrant and fitful one, and does not qualify men for steady habits -of lucrative drudgery. The truth now stares him in the face: he must -either pocket his principles or lie down and die of hunger. If he is -unusually persevering, and has that genius which does not alight more -than three or four times in a century on any child of Adam, he may -end by winning a place at last in public opinion, by commanding what -prices he likes, and by drowning, in the precarious tide of success, -the remembrance of the days when he fell below his own standard, and -had to drudge for bread. More often he will never succeed at all; he -will give up the unequal struggle, and be too glad if, by bartering his -independence, he can feed his wife and children. - -We need hardly stop to say how baleful marriage too often is in the -case of artists; every one must see that. Unless in the rare instances -when a man meets a woman heroic enough to help him on in the difficult -paths of genius, nothing is more fatally clogging than marriage. It -is idle to speak of the joys and comforts which it brings. These are -ephemeral in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred where an artist of even -average talent is concerned, while the responsibilities and vexations -of marriage grow heavier every day. An artist’s joy in his wife can -only be of two kinds: it results either from her physical beauty or -from her intellectual sympathy. The former any sane man will weary -of, even if he be rich enough to surround it with all those adjuncts -without which the beauty itself will soon disappear; the latter -implies that ideal union which we have reason to deplore as being too -rare to be even taken into practical consideration. We are speaking -emphatically of poor artists, and every one knows the peculiarly -trying circumstances of poverty in any shape, more especially poverty -endured by a refined nature. The domestic vexations of a poor artist’s -married life are something incalculable, and are almost enough to -destroy the patience of a saint. He may be poet, painter, or musician, -it little matters what; but it is simply impossible that the daily, -hourly shocks to his sensibilities should not leave a woeful impression -on his spirit. Is it encouraging to be interrupted in the middle of -a fine stanza by shrieks from the kitchen, and frantic appeals to -come and rescue the urchin who has pulled the wash-tub over himself? -Is it inspiring to be interrupted in a fugue by the sound of a -servant’s shrill answer to the scolding of her incensed mistress? The -contemplation of an empty larder, and the calculation of how to fill it -again at the lowest figure of expense, is not an elevated occupation, -nor is it likely to produce a very spirited picture or soul-stirring -poem. Except in very rare cases, a rising artist should put off -marriage till his fame is in all men’s mouths. A drag is a different -thing from a companion, and to most such even a few years’ solitude -ending in a mature choice ought to be far preferable to an uncongenial -yoke which, long before success has softened it, has become only a -necessary evil. - -But even to the unmarried artist or scholar, life holds out terrible -temptations. Many mistake popularity for greatness, sensationalism for -genius. If the higher walks of art do not “pay,” let us forsake them, -and pick up gold in the byways! The trace of the clay will not stick to -the precious metal, and, if it has come from the pocket of ignorance -to pay the price of vulgarity, still it is “hard cash,” and will be -none the less welcome at the exchange! It will buy houses and land, it -will buy broadcloth and velvet, it will buy champagne suppers and opera -tickets. The artist sees that he must be a slave—a slave either to his -own necessities or to the bad taste of his patrons. The former means -silent worship at the shrine of true art, an early death, an unknown -grave, and an obscure name; the latter means unblushing indifference -to principle, a long and merry life, and a name on the lips of -thousands. Human nature is weak, and, out of twenty men who once had -the possibilities of genius, nineteen will crush its development to -earn their daily bread. No wonder that we have so few artists nowadays; -no wonder that men who might have been so are only caterers for public -amusement and “turners-out” of so many landscapes or interiors a year. -What are the subjects most in vogue just now, not to speak of nudities -and immoralities? Everything that is trivial, pretty, if you will, but -commonplace—children picking flowers, drawing-room scenes, a farm -kitchen, a group of cattle, a nosegay lying beside a flagon of wine, a -few vegetables sliced open, a woman mending a shirt, etc.! Truly most -noble subjects whereon to expend the time, care, and ingenuity of a -man of genius—a man, at least, who might once have aspired to genius! -But these things sell—everything trivial, childish, and _mesquin_ -does in our day—and the artist must live! When necessity and art come -into collision, art must go to the wall! In music, ballads are the -order of the day—pretty little nothings set to pretty little tunes; -strains that are often no better than a cross between a popular song -and a revival hymn! In poetry, the case is no better; in the drama, it -is worse. The very patronage which lifts a man into notice kills his -genius and insults his manhood. A drawing-room pet is the highest title -an artist can claim in these days, and, to gain that pitiful renown, -he must throw overboard all respect for principle, all love of art. He -must even make himself uncomfortable, forego innocent habits, burden -himself with stupid formalities, in order to reach that favor which -he feels in his inmost soul will only degrade him when he has won it. -Many a man sells his soul to the devil in these days, just as in former -times, but with this difference: that, in the old legends, the devil -always gave a generous equivalent, whereas now he puts one off with -very shabby gifts. - -There is a quaint old tale of this sort current at Bruges, concerning -an unhappy organist of very mediocre talents but immense ambition. He -was dying with envy because the organist of the cathedral drew crowds -to hear his marvellous playing, while he himself could barely draw -out a few meagre harmonies. At last, in despair, he made a compact -with the devil, bartering his soul for a long lease of years, during -which he should be enabled to eclipse the best musicians in Europe. -Suddenly it began to be noised about that there had been some strange -charm at work; the obscure artist had blossomed into a prodigy, and the -cathedral was deserted. Years went on, and all the musical talent of -the mediæval world made pilgrimages to Bruges to hear the wonderful -musician whose fingers could evoke such matchless harmonies, and -cause the most hardened sinners to melt into tears. But one day, the -poor man got frightened, and, with much contrition and many prayers, -besought a priest to get him back his contract. The priest succeeded, -and the devil was compelled to release his victim. The organist went -as usual to his instrument. The church was full; foreigners were there -and many of the notabilities of the town; but the musician’s power had -fled. The result was a disgraceful failure, and the strangers left the -church, declaring that a trick had been put upon them. The unhappy man, -distracted and overwhelmed with shame, could not bear the ridicule of -his altered position, and, in a moment of desperation, called again -upon his former ally. The devil forbore to reproach him, and gladly -gave him back the fatal talent. Things went on as before; it was said -that a sudden indisposition had been the only cause of that memorable -break-down, and crowds again flocked to hear the inspired organist. His -end is darkly hinted to have been terrible. - -Well in this case—supposing it to have been true—the power over -the organ was a tangible and valuable gift; but nowadays artists -and their patrons rather remind us of the story of Esau selling his -birthright for a _mess of pottage_! Rich men should feel themselves -honored by contact with artists, not _vice versa_. It is no more an -honor for an artist to please a millionaire than it is for the church -to receive again a truant and gifted son. The abstract laws of art and -intellect are above the superficial and shifting necessities of the -world, and, if there is to be any intercourse between the votaries of -the former and the slaves of the latter, it should be the part of the -lower natures to do homage first to the higher. A great king once said -to his courtiers, when one of them importuned him to bestow a title -upon him: “Assuredly I can make you a duke, monsieur, but God alone -can make you a gentleman.” God alone can make an artist; God alone -can mould a spirit as refined, a soul as complex, an organization -as sensitive, as art requires in its devotees; and it follows that -whosoever wilfully debases this spirit destroys God’s own handiwork. -The world at large and its absurd maxims are much to blame, but the -imprudence or carelessness of artists is none the less deplorable. No -one should without reason arrogate to himself this position; it is a -species of priesthood, and, except a man or woman be impelled to an -æsthetic career by an irresistible impulse, it is not a safe or happy -path to tread. None can live in that atmosphere unless God has really -fitted them for it, and to them, if they carry their lamps unquenched -to the end, it must needs be a path of trial. As a pure speculation, it -is the worst career a practical man can embrace. It dooms the artist to -a solitary life—solitary in fact if he wishes to succeed; solitary in -spirit if he hastily burdens himself with a badly chosen companion. - -We were going to say that the ideal state of art would be that -all artists should be born rich; but, though that would have its -advantages, it would perhaps take away from the dignity of art. -Meyerbeer was born of a wealthy family, and Titian lived like a prince, -but those are exceptions. Besides, Titian won his riches by his art, -though his is a bad example to refer to, by the way, since he truckled -very much to the prevalent taste of his gorgeous era. All artists who -have touched the noblest chords of human nature have lived and died -poor, and all artists in the future who care to emulate these giants -of the past will have to resign themselves to a like poverty. Money, -in these days—and perhaps, if we had lived in other days, we should -have found it much the same then—means a compromise with principle. -Those who are born with it can alone enjoy it unmolested, and, say what -you will, they will always know how to enjoy it best. No one is so -discriminating a patron of art and so considerate a friend of artists -as the hereditary land-owner whose ancestors for generations were born -to wealth and its duties; no one loves beauty so disinterestedly as one -to whom the beautiful has never in any shape been a source of profit. - -An aristocracy of birth and education is better fitted than one of -wealth to appreciate the aristocracy of intellect; both are, in the -purest sense of the word, a “privileged class,” and both ought to be -actuated by the proud old motto: _Noblesse oblige_. Money can never -be the test of the unseen; genius cannot be purchased, and art has no -price. The heaviest equivalent ever paid for any work of art is but -a drop in the ocean compared to the thing gained; for it is not the -material you pay for—the canvas, the marble, or the painting; it is -not even the artist’s time, though that is most precious; but it is -the very soul of the man, the breath of his life, the essence of his -being. What can ever be sufficient compensation for that? You can buy -the expression of his thought, but his thought itself remains with him, -so that his work is more his own than it is yours even after you have -purchased it. His creations are his children, and belong to him by that -inalienable right of paternity which no human law of sale and barter -could possibly supersede. - -After this, what are we to think of art? Simply that it is the most -divine gift, in the natural order, vouchsafed to man, and entitles the -artist to a place more exalted than that of any favorite of fortune, -be he prince, noble, or merchant. When will the common world of rich -men understand that? When will artists themselves ensure that it be not -forgotten? That it is not merely a means of living, a bread-winning -drudgery? It is a reflection of God, a ray of his creative power, a -solace given to earth, a humanizing influence left among the barbarians -of all times (for we are all barbarians in the long run, and saints and -artists are the only civilized beings worth notice!) Let us, then, bow -down our heads, and accept the dictation of art, rather than presume to -impose our trivial conventionalities on one of God’s chosen messengers. - - - - -MADAME JEANNETTE’S PAPERS. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN. - - -WHEN I was a boy, I used to go every day after school to watch -Jean-Pierre Coustel, the turner, at his work. He lived at the other -end of the village. He was an old man, partly bald, with a queue -hanging down his back, and his feet encased in old worn-out shoes. He -used to love to talk of his campaigns on the Rhine and on the Loire -in La Vendée. Then he would look at you and smile to himself. His -little wife, Mme. Jeannette, sat spinning in the corner behind him; -she had large black eyes, and her hair was so white that it looked -like flax. I can see her now. She would sit there listening, and she -would stop spinning whenever Jean-Pierre spoke of Nantes; it was there -they were married in ‘93. Yes; I can see all these things as if it -were yesterday: the two small windows overgrown with ivy; the three -bee-hives on a board above the old worm-eaten door, the bees fluttering -in the sunshine over the roof of the hovel; Jean-Pierre Coustel with -his bent back turning bobbins or rods for chairs; the shavings winding -themselves into the shape of corkscrews.... I can see it all! - -And I can also see coming in the evenings Jacques Chatillon, the dealer -in wood, with his rule under his arm, and his thick red whiskers; -the forest-keeper, Benassis, with his game-bag on his hip and his -hunting-cap over his ears; M. Nadasi, the bailiff, walking proudly, -with his head up, and spectacles on his nose, his hands in his -coat-pockets, as if to say: “I am Nadasi, and I carry the citations to -the insolvent”; and then my Uncle Eustache, who was called “brigadier,” -because he had served at Chamboran, and many others besides; without -counting the wife of the little tailor Rigodin, who used to come after -nine o’clock in search of her husband, in order to be invited to drink -half a pint of wine—for, besides his trade of a turner, Jean-Pierre -Coustel kept a wayside tavern. The branch of fir hung over the low -door; and in winter, when it rained, or when the snow covered the -window-panes, many liked to sit under the shelter of the old hut, -and listen to the crackling of the fire, and the humming sound of -Jeannette’s spinning-wheel, and the wind whistling out of doors through -the street of the village. - -For my part, I did not stir from my corner until Uncle Eustache, -shaking out the ashes of his pipe, would say to me: “Come, François, we -must be going.... Good-night all!...” - -Then he would rise, and we would go out together, sometimes in the mud, -sometimes in the snow. We would go to sleep at my grandfather’s house, -and he used to sit up and wait for us. - -How plainly I can see these far-off things when I think them over! - -But what I remember best is the story of the salt marshes which -belonged to old Jeannette—the salt marshes she had owned in La Vendée -near the sea, and which would have made the fortune of the Coustels if -they had claimed their rights sooner. - -It appears that, in ‘93, they drowned a great many people at Nantes, -chiefly the old aristocracy. They put them into barks tied together; -then they pushed the barks into the Loire, and sank them. It was during -the Reign of Terror, and the peasants of La Vendée also shot down all -the republican soldiers they could take; extermination was the rule -on both sides, and no mercy was shown by either party. Only, whenever -a republican soldier demanded in marriage one of these noble ladies -who were about to be drowned, if the unfortunate girl were willing -to follow him, she was immediately released. And this was how Mme. -Jeannette had become the wife of Coustel. - -She was on one of these barks at the age of sixteen—an age when one -has a great dread of death!... She looked around to see if no one would -take pity on her, and just then, at the moment the bark was leaving, -Jean-Pierre Coustel was passing by with his musket on his shoulders; he -saw the young girl, and called out: “Halt ... a moment!... Citoyenne, -wilt thou marry me? I will save thy life!” - -And Jeannette fell into his arms as if dead; he carried her away; they -went to the mayoralty. - -Old Jeannette never spoke of these things. In her youth, she had been -very happy; she had had domestics, waiting-maids, horses, carriages; -then she had become the wife of a soldier, of a poor republican; she -had to cook for him, and to mend his clothes; the old ideas of the -château, of the respect of the peasants of La Vendée, had passed -away. So goes the world! And sometimes even the bailiff Nadasi in his -impertinence would mock at the poor old woman, and call out to her: -“Noble lady, a pint of wine!... a small glass.” He would also make -inquiries about her estates; then she would shut her lips tight, and -look at him; a faint color would come into her pale cheek, and it -appeared as if she were going to answer him; but afterwards she would -bend down her head, and go on spinning in silence. - -If Nadasi had not spent money at the tavern, Coustel would have turned -him out of doors; but, when one is poor, one is obliged to put up with -many affronts, and rascals know this!... They never mock at those who -would be likely to pull their ears, as my Uncle Eustache would not have -failed to do: they are too prudent for that. How hard it is to put up -with creatures like these!... Every one knows there are such beings. -But I must go on with my story. We were at the tavern one evening at -the end of the autumn of 1830; it was raining in torrents, and about -eight o’clock in the evening the keeper Benassis entered, exclaiming: -“What weather!... If it continues, the three ponds will overflow.” - -He shook out his cap, and took his blouse off his shoulders, to dry it -behind the stove. Then he came to seat himself on the end of the bench, -saying to Nadasi: “Come, make room, you lazy fellow, and let me sit -near the brigadier.” - -Nadasi moved back. - -Notwithstanding the rain, Benassis appeared to be pleased; he said that -that day a large swarm of wild geese had arrived from the north; that -they had lighted on the ponds of the Three Sawmills; that he had spied -them afar off, and that the shooting on the marshes was about to begin. -Benassis laughed and rubbed his hands as he emptied his glass of brandy -and water. Every one was listening to him. Uncle Eustache said, if he -went to shoot them, he should go in a little skiff; for as to putting -on high boots and going into the mire, at the risk of sinking in above -his ears, he would not fancy that much. Then every man had his say, and -old Jeannette musingly murmured to herself: “I also owned marshes and -ponds!” - -“Ah!” cried Nadasi, with a mocking air, “listen to that: Dame Jeannette -used to own marshes....” - -“Certainly,” said she, “I did!...” - -“Where were they, noble lady?” - -“In La Vendée, on the sea-coast.” - -And as Nadasi shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say, The old woman -is crazy! Mme. Jeannette ascended the little wooden staircase at the -back of the hovel, and then came down again with a basket filled with -various articles, needles, thread, bobbins, and yellow parchments, -which she deposited on the table. “Here are our papers,” said she: “the -ponds, the marshes, and the château are there with the other things!... -We laid claim to them in the time of Louis XVIII., but my relations -denied our rights, because I had married a republican. We would have -gone to law, but we had no money to pay the lawyers. Is it not so, -Coustel, is it not true?” - -“Yes,” said the turner, without moving. - -The persons assembled took no interest in the thing, not any more than -they would have done in the packages of paper money of the time of the -Republic, which may still be found in old closets. - -Nadasi, still mocking, opened one of the parchments, and was raising -his head to read it, in order to laugh at Jeannette, when suddenly his -countenance become grave; he wiped his spectacles, and turning towards -the poor old woman, who had sat down again to her spinning. - -“Are these your papers, Mme. Jeannette?” said he. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Will you allow me to look at them a little?” - -“You can do as you please with them,” said she; “they are of no use to -us.” - -Then Nadasi, who had turned pale, folded up the parchment with several -others, saying: “I will see about that.... It is striking nine o’clock; -good-night.” - -He went away, and the rest soon followed him. - -Eight days after this, Nadasi set out for La Vendée; he had obtained -from Coustel and Dame Jeannette his wife their signature to a paper -which gave him full power to recover, alienate, and sell all their -property, taking upon himself the expenses, with the understanding that -he was to be repaid if he obtained the inheritance for them. - -Soon after a report was spread in the village that Mme. Jeannette was -a noble lady, that she owned a château in La Vendée, and that Coustel -would soon receive a large income; but afterwards Nadasi wrote that he -had arrived six weeks too late; that the own brother of Mme. Jeannette -had shown him papers which made it as clear as the day that he had -held possession of the marshes for more than thirty years; and that, -whenever one holds the property of another for more than thirty years, -it is the same as if one had always had it; so that Jean-Pierre Coustel -and his wife, on account of their relations having thus enjoyed their -property, had no longer any claim to it. - -These poor people, who had thought themselves rich, and whom all the -village had gone, according to custom, to congratulate and flatter, -when they found they were to have nothing, felt their poverty still -more keenly than before, and not long afterwards they died within a -short time of each other, like Christians, asking of the Lord pardon -for their sins, and confident in the hope of eternal life. - -Nadasi sold his post of bailiff, and did not return to the country; -doubtless he had found some employment which suited him better than -serving citations. - -Many years had passed; Louis Philippe had disappeared, then the -Republic; the couple Coustel slept on the hillside, and I suppose even -their bones had crumbled into dust in the grave. For my part, I had -succeeded my grandfather at the post-house, and Uncle Eustache, as he -himself had said, had taken his passport, when one morning, during the -gay season at Baden and Homburg, there happened to me something quite -surprising, and of which I still think frequently. Several post-chaises -had passed during the morning, when, towards eleven o’clock, a courier -came to inform me that his master, M. le Baron de Rosélière, was -approaching. I was at table. I immediately rose to superintend the -relay of horses. Just as they were being harnessed, a head was put -out of the coach-window—an old wrinkled face, with hollow cheeks, -and gold spectacles on the nose—it was the face of Nadasi, but old, -faded, worn out; behind him leaned the head of a young girl; I was all -astonishment. “What is the name of this village?” inquired the old man, -yawning. - -“Laneuville, sir.” - -He did not recognize me, and drew back. Then I saw an old lady also in -the coach. The horses were harnessed: they set off. - -What a surprise, and how many ideas passed through my mind! Nadasi was -the Baron de Rosélière. May God forgive me if I am wrong! but I still -think that he sold the papers of poor Jeannette, and that he assumed -a noble name to ward off the questions of the inquisitive. What was -there to prevent him? Had he not obtained all the title-deeds, all the -papers, all the powers of attorney? And now has he not had the thirty -years of possession? Poor old Jeannette!... What misery we meet with in -this life!... And God permits it all!... - - - - -THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF REBOUL. - - - An angel bent with pensive air - Above an infant’s dream, - And seemed to view his image there - As in a stainless stream. - - “O beauteous child!” he said, “I see”— - His breath like music’s sigh— - “The earth is all unworthy thee: - Come with me to the sky. - - “Earth has no happiness complete; - The soul can never lift - Thee to a height where round thy feet - No clouds of pain will drift. - - “At every feast, unbidden guest, - Some fear will still intrude: - No day so calm but in its breast - The morrow’s storm may brood. - - “And shall care leave with passing years - Its impress on this brow? - And sorrows dim with growing tears - These eyes so tranquil now? - - “No, no, sweet child! Come, let us mount - Above the fields of space; - Kind Heaven will cancel the account - Of life’s foreshadowed days. - - “I pray no selfish grief may view - This day with mournful eyes, - Or with reproachful words pursue - Our way to paradise. - - “But let your mother lift her brow - To Faith’s serenest light; - To one as innocent as thou, - Life’s last hour shines most bright.” - - A subtle radiance from his wings - Upon the child was shed; - The angel mounting upward, sings: - “Poor mother! thy child is dead.” - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - THE DOCTRINE OF HELL, VENTILATED IN A DISCUSSION BETWEEN THE - REV. C. A. WALWORTH AND WILLIAM HENRY BURR, Esq. New York: The - Catholic Publication Society. 1873. - -This is a very small 18mo volume of one hundred and fifty-one pages, -containing more solid matter than some large octavos, as any person -who knows F. Walworth’s style of writing would naturally expect. It -contains a correspondence between himself and the gentleman whose -name is given above, who was a classmate of F. Walworth and one of -his fellow-members in the Presbyterian church of Union College. This -correspondence appeared in the _Investigator_, a notorious infidel -newspaper of Boston, and was called forth by an indignant denial -sent to that paper by F. Walworth of a false and utterly groundless -report that he had refused submission to the decrees of the Council -of the Vatican. Mr. Burr, who has renounced the errors of Calvinism, -and embraced those of infidelity and spiritism, took occasion from -this denial and the explicit avowal of perfect submission to all the -doctrines of Catholic faith involved in it, to question his former -classmate in regard to the doctrine of eternal punishment, and to -inquire of him how far his present belief in that doctrine agrees with -his former belief while a Presbyterian. This brought on a controversy, -in which Mr. Burr attempts to argue against the Catholic doctrine by -ridiculing and denouncing certain descriptions of the torments of -hell given by various writers, both Protestant and Catholic, bringing -in at the same time a number of discursive and random remarks about -many other topics, which are generally both very silly and altogether -irrelevant. F. Walworth, on his side, steadily refuses to be drawn from -the proper subject of controversy, or to permit his adversary to make -him responsible for the private opinions of any person, Protestant or -Catholic, and adduces strong, solid, irrefutable arguments from reason -in support of the strictly Catholic doctrine taught authoritatively -by the Church and obligatory on all her members. The only point which -F. Walworth professes to aim at, and toward which his argument is -directed with undeviating logic, is this. The doctrine which the church -authoritatively teaches and imposes as obligatory on the conscience -of her children is not contrary to reason, but in accordance with it, -and capable of being proved by rational arguments. In his statement -of what that doctrine is, F. Walworth follows Petavius, Perrone, and -Archbishop Kenrick with theological accuracy. He says (pref., p. 9), -“I have planted myself simply and purely upon the defined doctrine of -the Catholic Church, and what that doctrine necessarily involves.” -This is evidently to be understood of doctrine as defined, in the more -general sense of definitely and precisely taught by the infallible -magistracy of the church, by whatever method the church may exercise -this magistracy, and not to be restricted to definitions _de fide_ -contained in explicit decrees of popes and councils. The logical -deductions following necessarily from that which is precisely the -article of Catholic faith are included in the obligatory doctrine. And -where these deductions have not been expressly drawn out and defined -in ecclesiastical decrees, the authority of the concurrent teaching of -theologians is acknowledged in explicit terms by F. Walworth: “Where -any questions remain undefined, I bow respectfully to the concurrent -opinions of [the church’s] leading theologians. Beyond this I will not -be bound” (p. 47). He says further: “All the language of Holy Scripture -on the subject must be accepted and maintained” (Pref., p. 8), which -is in accordance with a monition of the last Council of Baltimore to -Catholic writers on this subject. The same council also admonishes -Catholic writers not to diminish the punishment of sin in such a way -as to destroy its proportion to the sin. And if any one will examine -what F. Walworth has written, he will see that in this respect also he -has fulfilled the precept of the Fathers of Baltimore to the letter. -The statement of the defined doctrine of the church respecting hell -made by F. Walworth is precisely that of Petavius: “There is a hell, -and it is eternal.” Into the question of the specific physical nature -and instrumental causes of the punishments of hell he does not enter -very deeply. The only opinion of a Catholic writer which he expressly -opposes is that of F. Furniss, that the torments of hell increase in -geometrical proportion throughout eternity—an opinion which, so far -as we know, is not supported by any grave authority. Opinions which -are matters of lawful difference and discussion are left on their own -proper ground within the domain of theology. The point to be proved -is that reason cannot show any valid objection to the doctrine of -the everlasting punishment of the man who finishes his term of moral -probation on the earth in the state of mortal sin. Mr. Burr produces no -such objection. His admissions even confirm the truth of F. Walworth’s -positions. He admits that a state of intellectual and moral degradation -is in itself a state of misery. The sinner is in this disordered state -when he dies. If he lives for ever in the same state, this everlasting -state of existence is hell. But who can bring conclusive evidence that -there is any necessary cause which must bring him out of this state in -the future life? Such evidence not being forthcoming, reason has not -a word to say against the teaching of revelation, that those who fail -in their earthly probation have no other, and must abide for ever the -consequences of their own acts. - -Some persons may object to the publication of a controversy in which -infidel arguments are placed within the reach of Catholic readers. -In the present instance, we think the cause of infidelity has alone -any reason to fear anything from Mr. Burr’s letters. His reasonings -are so weak and rambling, and the replies of F. Walworth so plain and -conclusive, that it must do good to any reader who has a Christian -belief to see what a wretched, disgusting substitute for divine -religion is offered to the dupes of infidel sophistry. Infidelity -destroys the mind and the manhood of the human being. In the form of -materialism, it makes him a beast; in the form of spiritism, a lunatic. -We do not say that books of this kind should be expressly placed in -the hands of all readers, especially children and those who never read -anything or hear anything except what is good; but we say to those who -do hear and read the infidel sophistry and blasphemy of the day, and -therefore need a refutation of it: Take the two sides represented in -this book—“Look on this picture, and then look on that.” - -We must add that there are some most beautiful passages in F. -Walworth’s letters; that, as a literary work, they are a gem; and that -the appendix on the universal belief of mankind in hell, though brief, -is remarkably comprehensive and valuable. - - THE THRESHOLD OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH: A Course of Plain - Instructions for those entering her Communion. By Rev. John B. - Bagshawe, Missionary Rector of S. Elizabeth’s, Richmond. With a - Preface by the Right Rev. Monsignor Capel. New York: The Catholic - Publication Society. 1873. - -The first part of this manual contains instruction in the truths of -faith; the second part, on sacraments, rites, devotions and similar -matters. It is good for candidates for admission into the Catholic -Church, for recent converts, and for clergymen, religious ladies, -teachers, and others who have converts to instruct. - - - A WINGED WORD, AND OTHER STORIES. By M. A. T., author of _The - House of Yorke_. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. - -This collection of stories, already published separately in THE -CATHOLIC WORLD, ought to be welcome to all readers of taste and -discernment. It is just the book for summer reading, the only companion -one could bear in the retirement of the woods, and one whose spirit -would never jar upon any of nature’s moods. Fancy reading Miss Braddon -or Wilkie Collins under the forest canopy or by the river bank! But -here is a book which, at every page, will help you to put your own -vague thoughts into words, and will almost make you think that you -understand the song of the bobolink and the chatter of the squirrel. -And yet it is a book full of human interest, made up of human stories, -and treating of sorrow and want as well as of joy and peace. If we did -not know that the authoress was a New Englander, we should say she was -a German, so subtle and so spiritual are her principal characters, -so tender and so chaste her infinitely varied language. There is no -passion, no stir, no sensation in her plots, and her words do not pour -forth like a lava torrent, suggesting dangerous possibilities, and -caressing the animal instincts of our lower nature, like too many of -the successful and popular authors of our day. Reading her books, one -experiences a sense of coolness, and feels as if transported to a white -palace, where a crystal fountain plays unceasingly, and the silent -silver bells of lilies hang in clusters over the stream. It would -fill all the space we have at command to quote any of her beautiful -descriptions of scenes in the woods or by the golden sea-shore; she -seems to have gone down into the heart of every flower and learnt its -secret, to have lured the confidence of every brooklet, and made every -tree sing her some woodland poem. - -The stories themselves (except the last) are the merest sketches, made -to hang beautiful thoughts upon, just as we plant a slender pole for a -scarlet vine to creep over. Yet they are each of them very original, -such as only “M. A. T.” would or could write. - -One passage in “Daybreak” has been criticised in the Philadelphia -_Standard_ as containing the Nestorian heresy. It is found on p. 183: -“If you are willing, I would like to teach her to bless herself before -praying, and to say a little prayer to the Mother of Christ for your -safety. I won’t make her say ‘Mother of God.’” A little attention to -the context will make it perfectly evident that this criticism is -groundless, and that any Catholic might use this language in a similar -instance with perfect propriety. Mr. Granger and his little daughter -were Protestants. Margaret had no right to teach the child anything -which was against the conscience of her father. He was willing that she -should address the Blessed Virgin as the Mother of Christ, but not that -she should use the term Mother of God. Mother of Christ is a perfectly -proper and orthodox title, and is used by the Church in the Litany of -Loretto. Therefore, it was right to teach the child to use it, with -her father’s permission, and to abstain from teaching her to use the -expression Mother of God, which is really its precise equivalent. S. -Basil did not even require certain persons who were estranged from the -Catholic fold through the Arian heresy, but who wished to be admitted -to the communion of the Church, to profess in express terms that the -Holy Ghost is God, but was satisfied with a profession of his divinity -in equivalent terms. If an equivalent term may sometimes be admitted -in the case of Catholics, much more may it be employed in teaching -those who are not Catholics. It is one thing to use terms which are -heretical, another to use those which are less explicit, but more -easily understood by those who do not know the true meaning of the more -explicit Catholic terms. - -One of the stories in this collection, “What Dr. Marks Died Of,” might -have been omitted without any loss to the volume. It may easily be -taken as a shot at the medical profession, and if that was the author’s -aim, it is one which we cannot approve. If it was not, the story is an -arrow in the air. - - THE IRISH REFORMATION; or, The Alleged Conversion of the - Irish Bishops at the Accession of Queen Elizabeth, etc. By W. Maziere - Brady, D.D. Fifth Edition. London: Longmans, Green & Co. 1867. (New - York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - - STATE PAPERS CONCERNING THE IRISH CHURCH IN THE TIME OF QUEEN - ELIZABETH. Edited by W. Maziere Brady, D.D. London: Longmans, - Green, Reader & Dyer. 1868. (New York: Sold by The Catholic - Publication Society.) - -We have had frequent occasion of late to notice with pleasure and to -congratulate our readers and the Catholic community generally on the -revival in England of Catholic literature, and particularly of that -class of works which has a tendency to illustrate the dark era of -persecution and proscription which, commencing under the reign of Henry -VIII., may be said to have reached almost down to our own day. In the -last generation, Dr. Lingard, by his impartial _History_, cleared away -a good deal of the rubbish with which the deformities of the so-called -English Reformation were hidden from view; subsequently, Lady Fullerton -and other distinguished writers of fiction attempted, and with success, -to gain the attention of the public to their admirable portraiture of -the sufferings and fortitude of the Catholics of England in the times -of Elizabeth and James I.; while the erudite editor of the _Narrative -of F. Gerard_ has, by his industry and conscientious labors, placed all -future historians under a great debt of gratitude. - -The works before us, though treating of a different subject, and -written by a Protestant clergyman, have a tendency very similar to -that produced by the writings we have mentioned. The first is devoted -to a discussion of the question whether the Protestant hierarchy in -Ireland can legally and historically claim descent from the ancient -church in Ireland; or, in plainer terms, have the Anglican bishops -in that country ever been consecrated at all, at any time, or by any -competent authority? In tracing up the succession of the defunct -“Establishment,” the author gives very succinct and accurate sketches -of every incumbent, Catholic and Protestant, of every diocese in -Ireland from the middle of the XVIth century and proves by dates, -facts, and public documents that the “reformed” prelates have no -more right to claim apostolic succession than they have to claim -to be the apostles themselves. When we mention that Dr. Brady is a -beneficed clergyman, and was formerly chaplain to the lord lieutenant, -our readers will have little hesitation in accepting conclusions so -damaging to his own church, and which, as he tells us himself, only the -cause of truth could have compelled him to publish. - -The other book, though not so interesting, is to us on this side of -the Atlantic of much greater value, as few of us have an opportunity -of consulting the originals. It is a collection of state papers, -letters, documents, and petitions “touching the mode in which it was -sought to introduce the Reformed religion into Ireland,” and are all -authenticated copies taken from the records of the State Paper Office -in London. However much Dr. Brady may have done by these publications -to damage the cause of Protestantism in Ireland, and to humble the -pride of a faction that never has and never can possess the respect -or affection of the people upon whom it has so long preyed, he has -deserved by his fairness and courage the esteem and thanks of all -impartial lovers of historical truth. - -—Since the above was in type, we find occasion for congratulating -the author upon having arrived at the conclusion to which his -investigations naturally led, _i.e._, his reception into the Catholic -Church. - - - A VISIT TO LOUISE LATEAU. By Gerald Molloy, D.D. Boston: P. - Donahoe. 1873. - -This pretty little gem of a book, which has an engraving of the cottage -of the Lateau family as a frontispiece, will charm and edify all those -who take an interest in reading about the wonders of divine grace with -which our age is specially favored. - - - DIRECTORIUM SACERDOTALE: A Guide for Priests in their Public - and Private Life. By F. Benedict Valuy, S.J. With an Appendix for the - use of Seminarists. London: John Philp. 1873. - -This manual for ecclesiastics is highly commended by the Abbé Dubois, -an eminent director of a seminary in France, and an author of works -specially intended for priests, who calls it “the priest’s _Following -of Christ_,” and by the Bishop of Shrewsbury, to whom it is dedicated -by the translator. A valuable appendix has been added, containing a -catalogue of books for a priest’s library and for a mission, _i.e._, -parochial and lending library. It is enough to see Mr. Philp’s name as -publisher to know that it has been carefully, neatly, and conveniently -printed. - - - A HUNDRED MEDITATIONS ON THE LOVE OF GOD. By Robert - Southwell, Priest of the Society of Jesus. Edited, with a Preface, by - John Morris, S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1873. - -There is a delicious quaintness about these meditations. They are -colloquies with God and with self, and come from the soul of a poet -who “aspired to and attained martyrdom.” A sketch of the saintly -author has recently appeared in THE CATHOLIC WORLD (“Poet and -Martyr,” April, 1873), so that it is needless to give one here. But the -frontispiece of the volume before us is a portrait of F. Southwell, -which is valuable. - - -ONLY A PIN. Translated from the French of J. T. De -Saint-Germaine. By P. S. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. -1873. - -_Only a Pin_, but an exceedingly valuable one, pointing a moral keenly -and sharply; having a head secure and sound, not likely to be turned -by any accidental twist; altogether a well-manufactured pin, straight -and strong, not weakly bending this way and that to serve illegitimate -uses, but made in the best factory and of good metal; a pin belonging -to the first and oldest family in Pindom, and sure to make its mark in -the literary world. - -We often hear the expression “not worth a row of pins,” but a row like -this pin would be far from worthless. One would hardly expect to -become interested in the events brought about by so small an article as -a pin; yet the accomplished author has managed to engage attention most -agreeably from the first chapter to the last. - -The translation is in the main very natural and easy, but now and then -a sentence seems a little careless or obscure. - - - TALES FROM CHURCH HISTORY: VIVIA PERPETUA; or, The Martyrs - of Carthage. By R. De Mericourt. Translated from the Second French - Edition. New York: P. O’Shea. 1873. - -The heroine of this story is S. Perpetua, the companion of S. -Felicitas. The story is well conceived and powerfully written. We have -not seen the original, but the translation shows an experienced and -competent hand, and has the great merit of reading as if the book had -been composed in English. There are, however, a number of inaccuracies -in respect to names, some careless sentences, and other blemishes of -style, some of which may be due to incorrect proof-reading, as the -errors evidently typographical are numerous. For instance, the Pontifex -Maximus is called the Pontiff Maximus, and in one place two Christian -converts are called “convicts.” Such an admirable story as this is, -with its thrilling delineations of Christian heroism and pagan cruelty, -ought to pass through more than one edition. If it does, we hope the -publisher will have its clerical errors corrected by a competent hand, -and the press-work more carefully performed, so as to make the book in -all respects _comme il faut_. If this is intended as the first of a -series, the project is one worthy of commendation. - -Since the foregoing was put in type, we have ascertained that the story -as it appeared in French was “imitated from the English,” which, we -are informed, means that it was a free translation of an English book. -This accounts for certain omissions which appear rather singular in -a Catholic tale of this sort. No mention is made of the altar, the -sacrifice of the Mass, or holy communion. The explanations of Christian -doctrine and the answers to Vivia’s objections are not complete and -satisfactory. M. de Mericourt has taken care, however, that nothing -contrary to Catholic doctrine should be admitted, and as the events of -the story do not require any minute description of Christian doctrine -or worship, the omissions noted do not essentially detract from its -character as a portraiture of Christian virtue in the midst of the -dangers and trials of pagan life. - - - CARDINAL WISEMAN’S ESSAYS. Vol. III. New York: P. O’Shea. - 1873. - -This new volume contains the splendid refutation of High-Church and -Tractarian theories which appeared at the height of the Oxford movement -in the _Dublin Review_. Few persons have ever convinced so many and -such able antagonists by an argument as the great cardinal did in this -case. If it were possible to obtain the little volume on the last -illness and death of the cardinal, printed in England for private -circulation, to be published with this collection of his works, the -Catholic community would feel itself very much favored. The cardinal -was a holy man, as well as a great prelate. We have had the pleasure -of reading the beautiful account of his last illness and saintly death -in the little volume alluded to, and we cannot help thinking that its -publication would be an act of great propriety and utility, unless -there is some reason for reserving it for a place in a large and full -biography. - -—Before going to press, we have noticed among the English -announcements that the work above referred to has been published. - - THE FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER; THE AMULET. Tales by Hendrick - Conscience. Baltimore: Murphy. 1873. - -It is superfluous to praise Conscience’s tales, which are even better -than Canon Schmid’s. These two are uncommonly interesting, and -published in a very nice and attractive form, which makes them as -pretty little volumes for prizes as boy or girl could wish. - - - MODERN MAGIC. By Schele De Vere. New York: G. P. Putnam’s - Sons. 1873. - -This is a crude hodge-podge of facts which the author has picked up -here and there, in which he utterly fails to distinguish between the -natural, the diabolical, and the divine. He has read some Catholic -works, and is to some extent familiar with the lives of the saints; -but the little that he knows only serves to place his ignorance in a -stronger light. What a pity it is that educated men should be ignorant -of what a child can so easily learn! Except for the additional examples -which he brings from recent times, Mr. De Vere would have been more -usefully employed in translating Görres, from whom he occasionally -quotes. - - LA PRIMAUTE ET L’INFAILLIBILITÉ DES SOUVERAINES PONTIFES, - ETC. Par l’Abbé L. N. Bégin, D.D. Quebec: Huot. 1873. - -This is another timely and admirable course of lectures from the Laval -University. The topics of the lectures are historical, embracing -the chief difficulties presented in the earlier, mediæval, and -later history of the Roman pontiffs respecting the supremacy and -infallibility of the successors of S. Peter. The controversies on -rebaptism, the Philosophumena, the case of Liberius, of Zosimus, of -Vigilius, of Honorius, the subject of the false decretals, the career -of S. Gregory VII., the conflict of Boniface VIII. with Philip le -Bel, the affair of the Templars, the great schism of Avignon, the -condemnation of Galileo, the suppression of the Jesuits, and several -other topics, are discussed in these able lectures in a critical and -erudite manner, in so far as space and the other conditions to which -the nature of his discourses subjected the author, have given him -the opportunity. The whole is preceded by an essay on the doctrine -of the supremacy, and concluded by a short eulogium on Pius IX. The -author is a graduate of the Roman College, and imbued with the sound -scholarship and orthodox spirit of that institution, the headquarters -of sacred science, which may God deliver from the impure horde who -are now defiling its precincts by their odious presence! There are a -great number of intelligent Catholic laymen seeking with anxiety at the -present time for clear, satisfactory information on just these topics -which the Laval professor has handled in the lectures now published. It -is a pity that they are accessible to those only who read French. If -the Quebec publisher would issue an edition in English, we are inclined -to think that the sale in England and the United States would reimburse -him. The lectures on the Syllabus, noticed in this magazine some months -ago, are also worth translating, and the publication of two such -courses in the English language would most certainly bring great honor -to the Laval University. - - * * * * * - -TO CONTRIBUTORS.—New contributors are reminded that no -attention can be paid to manuscripts unless accompanied by the writers’ -real names, and a reference, if they are unknown to the editor. - -We also desire it to be understood that short, pithy articles on -subjects of present interest will have the preference, and that none -should exceed twelve printed pages (of 650 words each), except by -special arrangement. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From BURNS, OATES & CO., London, and The Catholic Publication - Society, New York: The Life and Letters of S. Francis Xavier. By H. - J. Coleridge, S.J. Vol. II. 12mo, pp. xxi-579.—Homeward. By Rev. F. - Rawes, O.S.C. - - From J. MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: A Novena in Honor of S. - Joseph. From the Italian of F. Patrignani, S.J. 24mo, pp. 104. - - From COLLINS & BRO., New York: Teachings of Jesus. 24mo, pp. - 44. - - From HOLT & WILLIAMS, New York: On the Eve. By I. S. - Turgenieff. 18mo, pp. vi.-272.—Count Kostia. By Victor Cherbuliez. - 18mo, pp. 307.—Scintillations from the Prose Works of Heinrich Heine. - 18mo, pp. xx.-185.—Under the Greenwood Tree. By Thos. Hardy. 18mo, - pp. vi.-269. - - From ROBERTS BROS., Boston: Memoir of Samuel J. May. 18mo, - pp. 297. - - From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York: The Tithe-Proctor. By - W. Carleton. 12mo, pp. xiv.-432.—Ravellings from the Web of Life. - By Grandfather Greenway. 12mo, pp. 364.—Germaine Cousin. By Lady - Fullerton. 18mo, paper, pp. 30.—Which is Which? By the same. Paper, - 18mo, pp. 45.—The Elder Brother. By Mrs. Jas. Sadlier. 18mo, paper, - pp. 31.—The Invisible Hand. By Mrs. Jas. Sadlier. 18mo, paper, pp. 36. - - From BRIG.-GEN. ALBERT J. MYER, U.S.A.: Annual Report of the - Chief Signal Officer to the Secretary of War, for 1872. 8vo, pp. 292. - - From DAILY JOURNAL PRINTING HOUSE, Syracuse: Addresses, etc., - at the Inauguration of Alex. Winchell as Chancellor of the Syracuse - University. 8vo, paper, pp. 79. - - From THE SOCIETY: Annual Address of Chief-Justice Daly, the - President, before the American Geographical Society, Feb. 17 1873. - 8vo, paper, pp. 60. - - From G. I. & C. KREUZER, Baltimore: Das Leben des HI. Paul - vom Kreuze. Aus dem Italienischen von einem Mitgliede der Congregation - der Passionisten. 12mo, pp. xvi.-400. - - From HERDER, Freiburg: Leben des seligen Petrus Faber, ersten - Priesters der Gesellschaft Jesu. Von Rudolf Cornely, S.J. 12mo, paper, - pp. 200. - - From WEED, PARSONS & CO., Albany: Remarks of Hon. Thos. - Raines in Reply to the State Engineer and Commissioners. Paper, 8vo, - pp. 28. - - - - -THE - -CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XVII., No. 101.—AUGUST, 1873. - - Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. - I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at - Washington, D. C. - - -JEROME SAVONAROLA. - -PART THIRD. - - “For neither in our own age nor in those of our fathers and - grandfathers has any ecclesiastic been known to be so richly endowed - with virtues, on whom so great reliance could be placed, or who - enjoyed a greater degree of authority. Even his opponents admit him - to have been a man of vast learning in numerous branches.... This was - especially the case in respect of the Holy Scriptures, and in the - knowledge of which it is a general belief that there had not existed - for ages any one at all his equal. He evinced a profound judgment, - not only in literature, but in the ordinary affairs of life.... The - confidence he inspired was marvellous.”—_Guicciardini, Storia Inedita - di Firenze._ - - “ ... Of such a man one ought never to speak but with - reverence.”—_Machiavelli, Discorsi._ - - -CHARLES VIII. crossed the Alps at the head of an army of 22,000 -infantry and 24,000 cavalry—admirably armed and appointed for that -period. They had thirty-six cannons, of which the wonder was related -that they were drawn by horses, the guncarriages having four wheels, -two of which could be detached when they went into battery. To these -forces were to be joined those of Ludovico the Moor, Duke of Milan, -who had specially urged the coming of Charles. To such an army as -this, the Italians feared that all the armies of Italy, even if they -could be consolidated, could offer no effectual resistance. They were -in wretched condition, both as to men and commanders, and the famous -_condottieri_ had degenerated into mere consumers of pay and rations. - -Under the able diplomacy of Lorenzo, the most friendly relations had -been cultivated with France, and Charles VIII. was inclined to treat -Tuscany more as an ally than an enemy. But Piero, with characteristic -ineptness, manifested a preference for Naples, and alienated the French -king. The indignation of the Florentines was intense when they found -that Piero’s course was likely to bring an army of invasion within -their walls; for the French advance was already marked by the brutal -massacres of the people of Rapallo and Fivizzano after the garrisons -had surrendered. Having separated his cause from that of the citizens, -and without men and means to oppose the French, the frightened Piero -set out for the king’s camp to sue for peace. Charles had yet to pass -on his way to Florence three strongholds, Sarzanello, Sarzano, and -Pietra Santa, any one of which with a small force could hold a powerful -army in check. When Piero reached the French lines, Charles had been -besieging Sarzanello for three days without success. The invaders -were in a barren country, shut in between the mountains and the sea. -In point of fact, they were poorly commanded; the French king himself -was a model of stupid indolence and neglect, and they might easily -have been driven back in confusion. And yet the panic-stricken Piero, -without consulting the ambassadors who accompanied him, immediately -yielded to all the conditions demanded by Charles, and even more; for -he surrendered at once the three formidable fortresses, besides those -of Pisa and Leghorn, and agreed, moreover, to a forced loan of 200,000 -ducats from Florence. The fortresses thus given up had been gained by -long sieges and enormous sums of money, and were the military keys of -Tuscany. Naturally enough, the news of their surrender aroused the -Florentines to anger, which was intensified by what they heard from -the ambassadors of the conduct of Piero. Excitement spread throughout -the city. All business was suspended. Groups in the public places soon -swelled to crowds. Fierce and angry-looking men were seen bearing -weapons but partially concealed. Daggers were brandished that had not -seen the light of day since the Pazzi conspiracy. Artisans of all -trades, and in particular the _ciómpi_, the strong-armed wool-combers, -abandoned their workshops, recalling their former triumphs under -Michele di Lando in the days of the republic. But the old friends of -popular liberty among the higher classes had, during the past sixty -years, all melted away in exile or persecution, and there was every -excess and atrocity to be feared from an enraged multitude just freed -from servitude, and making no concealment of their threats against -those who had become wealthy and powerful by oppressing them. Such -crowds as these raged through the streets of Florence, when a sermon -from Savonarola was announced at the _Duomo_. A dense mass of people -soon filled it, and Savonarola from his place looked down on a human -powder-magazine in which the smallest spark in shape of an imprudent -word would create explosion and spread dire disaster. If “turbulent, -priestly demagogue” there were, this was the moment and this the place -to find him. - -What said Savonarola? - -Not a word of their complaints or their wrongs, past or present; not -the slightest allusion to Piero or to the Medici; but, bending over the -pulpit with outstretched arms, and looking into the mass of upturned -faces with gaze of affection and expression of tenderest sympathy, -he poured out words of peace, union, and charity: “Behold, the sword -has descended, the scourges have commenced, the prophecies are being -fulfilled; behold the Lord, who is leading on those armies. O Florence! -the time for music and dancing is at an end: now is the time for -pouring out rivers of tears over your sins. Thy crimes, O Florence! -thy crimes, O Rome! thy crimes, O Italy! are the cause of these -chastisements. Behold, then, give alms, offer up prayers, be a united -people. O my people! I have been to thee as a father; I have labored -throughout my life to make thee know the truth of faith, and how to -lead a good life, and have met with nothing but tribulation, scorn, -and opprobrium. I might have had this compensation at least, that I -might have seen thee performing some good deeds. My people, have I ever -shown any other desire than to see thee in safety, to see thee united? -Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. But that I have said -many times. I have so often cried out to thee, I have so often wept -for thee, O Florence! that it might have sufficed thee. I turn, then, -to thee, Lord; pardon this people, who desire to be thine.” He then -went on enjoining charity and faith with an energy overflowing more -with affection than eloquence, and the crowd who entered the _Duomo_ a -raging multitude, left it in peaceful procession. - -Old Gino Capponi, a man resolute in word and deed, arose in a meeting -of the signiory, and said: “The republic must look to itself; _it is -high time to get rid of being governed by children_. Let ambassadors be -sent to King Charles, and, if they meet Piero, let them not salute him. -Let commanding officers and troops be called in, and, while kept out of -sight in cloisters and other places, hold themselves in readiness, so -that, while nothing is wanting in honorable dealing with the king, we -yet stand prepared to resist designs to which we should not submit. And -above everything, do not fail to send with the ambassadors the Padre -Girolamo Savonarola, to whom the people are so entirely devoted.” - -Capponi’s suggestions were all adopted. The embassy was sent, -Savonarola following it on foot—his usual mode of travelling. The -other ambassadors were coldly received by the king, and immediately -returned to Florence with the assurance that his majesty was by no -means well disposed towards the republic. Savonarola reached the French -camp, and, passing through the soldiery, soon came in presence of the -king, seated among his generals. He was courteously received, and, -with slight preamble, thus addressed Charles in a loud and commanding -tone: “Most Christian king, thou art an instrument in the hand of the -Lord, who sends thee to deliver Italy from her afflictions, as for many -years I have predicted, and sends thee to reform the church, which lies -prostrate in the dust. But if thou be not just and merciful; if thou -pay not respect to the city of Florence, to its women, its citizens, -its liberty; if thou dost forget the work for which the Lord sends -thee, he will then select another to fulfil it, and will let the hand -of his wrath fall upon thee, and will punish thee with awful scourges. -These things I say to thee in the name of the Lord.” - - -EXPULSION OF THE MEDICI. - -Meantime, serious events had occurred in Florence. The reports of the -returning ambassadors had produced still greater excitement. Piero de’ -Medici had attempted to regain possession of the government, but had -failed, was hooted at, mobbed, driven from the city, and a price set -upon his head. _Palle! palle!_[163] once the all-powerful rallying-cry -of the Medici in Florence, fell dead on the ears of the people. The -Medicean palace was seized, and the houses of Cardinal de’ Medici, -and of Guidi and Miniati, confidential agents of the Medici, were -sacked. The turbulent mob appeared disposed to proceed to still greater -lengths, when Savonarola returned from his mission to the French camp, -again preaching charity, union, and peace. - -His bold language had profoundly impressed the French king, who -resolved to be guided by what the monk had said, and on the 17th of -November, 1494, at the head of a portion of his army, some 12,000 -men, he made a peaceful entry into the city of Florence. Meanwhile, -Capponi, resolved to be prepared for the worst, had laid in good store -of munitions of war in buildings where he held reserves of soldiery, in -cloisters and courtyards. Materials for barricading the streets were -provided, and all were ordered to come forth armed at the first sound -of the bell. His precautions were timely. - - -CHARLES ENTERS FLORENCE. - -The reception of the French king was magnificent, and, after the -ceremonies, feasts, and illuminations attendant upon it, he was -sumptuously installed in the Medicean palace. Here the wife and the -mother of Piero de’ Medici contrived to negotiate with him for the -restoration of the Medicean rule. Tempting offers were made him: -Piero was to be brought back, and the government of Florence was to -be shared with the king. The effect of all this was soon visible in -the extravagance of the demands made by Charles upon the Florentines. -The signiory resisted; the king refused to recede, and gave them his -_ultimatum_. On its rejection by the syndics, he said, in a threatening -tone: “Then we shall sound our trumpets.” “And we,” instantly replied -Capponi, springing to his feet—“and we will ring our bells.” - -Charles thought better of it, and the treaty was shortly afterwards -signed. It recognized the republic, and gave the king the sum of -120,000 florins in three instalments. The treaty ratified, still the -king lingered. Troubles arose. Collisions had taken place between -the soldiery and the citizens; robbery and murder were of nightly -occurrence; shops were closed, and trade generally suspended. The worst -consequences were feared, and Savonarola, fully occupied in preaching -peace and warding off dangers, was implored to use his influence with -the French king, and persuade him to depart. He immediately presented -himself before Charles, who, surrounded by his nobles, graciously -received him. - -“Most Christian prince,” said the monk, “thy stay causes great damage -to this city and to thy enterprise. Thou losest time, forgetting the -duty that Providence hath imposed upon thee, to the great injury of -thine own spiritual welfare and the world’s glory. Listen, then, to the -servant of God. Proceed on thy way without further tarrying. Do not -desire to bring ruin on this city, nor provoke the anger of the Lord.” -A few days afterwards, the king and his army departed. - - -THE REPUBLIC. - -Great was the joy of the Florentines to be rid of the foreigner and his -armed legions. Short as had been his stay, it left profound traces. -Pisa, Arezzo, and Montepulciano had risen in rebellion. The enormous -sums paid to the French king had drained the resources of the city. The -wealthy were impoverished, and misery spread among the poorer classes. -Savonarola proposed, first of all, to provide for the wants of these -last, and to take up collections for them. If they proved insufficient, -to turn into ready money the plate and ornaments of the churches; to -reopen the shops without delay; to lighten the taxes, especially to the -lower classes; and, finally, to pray to God with fervor. - -A _parlamento_, or assemblage of the people, was now held to establish -the new government. Without experience or sufficient knowledge on their -part, it resulted in the re-establishment of the old magistrates, and -the maintenance of the old forms so cunningly devised by the Medici, -that, while the people possessed the outward show of an independent -government, it was one which from its nature could easily be wielded at -the will of one man. These defects soon became apparent, and various -propositions for reform were forthwith made at the Palazzo. Differences -were represented by two parties, headed respectively by Paolo Antonio -Soderini, and Guido Antonio Vespucci. Soderini was of the popular -party, and preferred the form of government at Venice as the best model -for the Florentines to adopt, stipulating that, instead of limiting the -Grand Council, as in Venice, it should be composed of the whole people, -and a smaller council called, composed of the _ottimati_, or men of -experience. Vespucci argued strongly against the democratic features -of Soderini’s proposition. It was evident that he carried with him the -majority at the Palazzo, and among them, naturally enough, many recent -partisans of the Medici. While the debates grew warmer and longer, many -citizens feared the result, and appealed to Savonarola for counsel. -He, too, saw the danger even more clearly than they, and resolved -to give the counsel asked. The interference of holy and religious -people in political affairs was no new thing in Italy. S. Dominic had -participated in affairs of state in Lombardy; peace had been effected -between the Guelphs and Ghibellines by a cardinal; S. Catherine of -Sienna interfered to raise the interdict pronounced on Florence by -Gregory XI.; and S. Antonino, the former Archbishop of Florence, had -more than once interposed to prevent the passage of unjust laws. - -On the third Sunday in Advent (Dec. 12, 1494), in the course of -his thirteenth sermon on Aggeus, Savonarola spoke to the people of -government, discussed its general nature, the advantages of its several -forms, and what was best for them; and concluded this ought to be the -groundwork: that no individual shall have any benefit but such as is -general, and _the people alone must have the power of choosing the -magistrates, and of approving the laws_. - -In a subsequent sermon at the _Duomo_, to which he invited all the -magistrates and people except women and children, he presented the four -following propositions: - -First. They should in all things have the fear of God before them, and -there should be a reform of manners. - -Second. All considerations of private utility should yield to the -public good and the cause of popular government. - -Third. General amnesty absolving the friends of the late government -from all blame, and remitting all penalties, with indulgence to those -who were indebted to the state. - -Fourth. Establish a general government which should include all -citizens who, according to the ancient statutes, formed a part of the -state, recommending the form of the Grand Council at Venice as best -adapted, modifying it to suit the peculiar character of the Florentine -people. - -This effectually disposed of the plan of Vespucci, which would -otherwise have prevailed at the Palazzo, leaving Florence under a -patrician government which might ripen into despotism, or be the -ever-frequent provocation of fresh disorders and revolutions. - - -SAVONAROLA ON GOVERNMENT. - -There is nothing more remarkable in Savonarola’s character and career -than the familiarity displayed by him with the principles and practical -working of government, as manifested by his writings and sermons -during the course of the debates and struggles attendant upon the -formation of the new republic. On all the proposals or modifications -of fundamental laws, the popular party would enter into no discussion, -nor take any decisive step, until Savonarola had spoken. And it was -remarked that, during the discussions which followed in the Consiglio -and other assemblies, the new law itself, or arguments pro or con for -a change or abrogation of the old, were presented by those who spoke -in the very words in which he had discussed the matter in his sermons. -It would indeed be matter of legitimate surprise that a monk whose -whole time was, as we have seen, fully occupied with the duties of his -station, should possess even slight command of a subject so foreign -to his calling, were it not that we are apprised of the sources of -Savonarola’s knowledge. They lay in his profound study of S. Thomas -Aquinas for the principles, and in his keen personal observation for -the practice, of government. To the treatise _De Regimine Principium_ -he is largely indebted for his theory of popular government. No modern -writer has pointed out the evils of tyrannical government more clearly -than S. Thomas Aquinas, and none more clearly than he has shown that -government to be the best which tends most to the moral, intellectual, -and material interests of the people, and includes the largest number -of citizens under its protection. We sincerely regret that our -restricted limits will not permit the citation of numerous passages -from “the Angelic Doctor” upon this subject, clothed in to-day’s -English; they might much more readily be taken for the lucubrations of -an advanced political thinker of 1873 than for those of an ecclesiastic -of 1273. And we would express the same regret as to the work of -Savonarola—his _Treatise on Government_.[164] Throughout the entire -range of modern literature, comments on Machiavelli’s _Il Principe_ -are so constantly dinned in our ears that one might suppose the Italy -of that day to have been in profound ignorance even theoretically -of the principles of free government. Savonarola’s treatise is the -antidote of Machiavelli’s _Prince_. There are passages in it from which -it might be concluded that he not only saw the necessities of actual -democratic governments, but also foresaw the dangers of those not yet -in existence. Thus: “Not wealth, as we commonly believe, is the cause -why an individual attains the headship of a state. Rather the cause -lies in this: that an individual attains to overwhelming influence and -exclusive consideration in the state by the possession and distribution -of public offices and dignities. To deprive individuals of this power -is the first stipulation of a popular government, which demands that -no law and no tax, no office nor honor, should be conferred or become -valid without the consent of the whole people. But in order that the -whole people shall not be collected together on every occasion, this -right will be vested in a certain number of citizens,” etc. And he -concludes with this passage: “As in everything, so likewise in the -state spiritual force is the best and worthiest of ruling powers. -Hence it is that, even from the beginning, a still imperfect state of -government will flourish in complete security, and with time acquire -perfection; if it is always universally acknowledged that the end -of all Christian states is the improvement of the citizens by the -withdrawing of all obscenity and all wickedness, and that the truly -Christian life subsists in the fear of God; if, moreover, the law of -the Gospel is esteemed as the measure and rule of civil life and of all -laws that are made; if, further, all citizens show a true love of their -country; if, finally, a general peace shall have been concluded among -the citizens, all past injustice of the former government forgiven, and -all older hatred forgotten—such unity makes strong within, secure and -feared without.” - - -SAVONAROLA’S CIVIL REFORMS. - -The first measures decreed by the new government proved superior -intelligence in political matters. The ancient laws of the city were -found in such confusion that even judges and officials were not aware -of the extent of their duties or their jurisdiction. It was ordered -that these laws should be consolidated in one volume, or, as we would -say nowadays, codified. Savonarola then insisted on a reform in the -system of taxation, which, under the Medici, was not only onerous and -clumsy in application, but unjust in its distribution. The so-called -_catasto_, or system of assessing taxes on the supposed profits of -trade and commerce, was not only exhausting but absolutely destructive -of many branches of trade and industry, at once ruining those who -pursued them, and drying up the sources of wealth to the state. “Lay -the taxes solely on property,” said Savonarola. “Put an end to the -continual loans and all arbitrary imposts.” And he recommended a new -system—one devised with so much prudence, says Villari, so much -wisdom, and on such sound principles, that it has continued to be -acted upon ever since. This new law established a tax on property for -the first time in Florence, and also for the first time in any part -of Italy; it put an end to all loans and arbitrary assessments, and -obliged every citizen, without distinction, to pay ten per cent. of the -income he derived from permanent property. - -A general amnesty for political offences was next decreed, and many -penalties assessed were remitted. Among the latter was one of June 8, -1495, which possesses a certain historical interest: “The magnificent -signiory and Gonfalonieri, considering that Messer Dante Alighieri, -great-grandson of the poet Dante, has not been able to return to this -city, from his want of means to pay the taxes imposed by the signiory -in the past November and December, and they being of opinion that it -is very fitting that some mark of gratitude should be shown, through -his descendants, to a poet who is so great an ornament to this city, be -it enacted that the said Messer Dante may consider himself free, and -hereby is free, from every sentence of outlaw, exile, etc.” - -Savonarola next drew public attention to the sore need of a _Monte di -Pietà_—an institution to which the poor could resort in pecuniary -stress for a temporary loan of money on objects pledged. By reason -of the absence of such an establishment, and the popular indignation -against the Jews, from whom the needy were obliged to borrow, serious -disturbances had broken out under Piero de’ Medici; but the poor were -no better off than before, and the necessity of some aid for them was -a crying one. It was officially ascertained that there were Jews in -Florence who lent money at 32-1/2 per cent., with compound interest, so -that a loan of one hundred florins on their terms would in fifty years -amount to 49,792,556 florins. - -Savonarola urged the subject vehemently from the pulpit, without, -however, attacking the Jews. He desired they should be converted, not -persecuted. A law was passed (Dec. 28, 1495) establishing a _Monte_. -Expenses of the institution were not to exceed 600 florins per annum; -interest to be paid by the borrower not to exceed six per cent.; and -borrowers were required to take an oath that they would not gamble -with the money so lent. Thus, with a fairer administration of justice, -a radical reform in taxation, the abrogation of usury, the permanent -relief of the poor, the liberty to carry arms, the abolition of the -Parlamento, and the establishment of the Consiglio Maggiore, it may be -said that the freedom of the Florentine people was obtained without -bloodshed or riot in a single year. The American traveller of to-day -who visits Florence will remark on the platform in front of the Palazzo -Vecchio the admirable statue of Judith slaying Holofernes—the work of -the immortal Donatello. It was placed there at this time as a symbol -of the triumph of liberty over tyranny. On its pedestal are inscribed -these words: _Exemplum sal: pub: cives posuere MCCCCXCV_. (“The -citizens placed this symbol of the public safety, in the year 1495”). -If the man who was the soul of this great movement had been a great -soldier or potentate, his name would have been handed down to posterity -as that of a new Lycurgus. But he was a simple white-robed monk, with -no other insignia of rank or authority than his persuasive word and the -example of his pure life. Neither in the public places nor the meetings -of deliberation and discussion was he ever seen, nor had he any -system of secret influence or hidden working. Of seeking any personal -advantage or emolument no one ever thought of seriously accusing him. - -All he thought and had to say on matters of public weal he announced -publicly in the pulpit. To those who complained of undue clerical -influence in secular matters, and hinted at the desire of a monk to -govern a republic, he replied that in its trouble he held it to be his -duty to give advice to the new state, especially when so many in the -council feared to proclaim the truth. More he had not done. Seeking to -lead men to propriety and justice is not meddling. Such participation -in civil affairs is neither unworthy itself of a priest nor without -example in history, ancient or modern. He had gone no further than to -denounce open abuses, to encourage men to what was good and peaceful, -and to preach the Gospel. “I have said to you,” he tells them in one of -his sermons, “that I will not mix in government affairs, but only labor -therein to preserve complete the general peace. To recommendations of -individuals or similar solicitations I never yield. Go with these to -the proper officials. I also say here openly, if any of my friends -should be recommended to you, deal no otherwise with him than according -to justice. Yet once more: I do not meddle with state affairs; I wish -only that the people should remain in peace, and receive no injury.” - -Perfect, Savonarola’s work certainly was not, for there was in it -the germ of an oligarchic power which at a later day worked like a -principle of corruption. Savonarola himself would have wished it more -complete. It has been sought to throw personal ridicule upon the great -Dominican, and to deny him any marked political eminence; but when we -gather the opinions of three great Florentines who lived after him, -who were not his disciples, and who were eminently qualified to judge -the subject-matter in question, moderns and foreigners may properly -remain silent. We refer to Machiavelli, Guicciardini, and Gianotti. Of -Savonarola personally, Machiavelli frequently spoke in terms of sarcasm -and irony, although in his writings he refers, to “the learning, the -prudence, and the purity of his mind.” He describes him (_Decennale -Primo_) as “breathing divine virtue”; and again he says: “Of such a -man one ought never to speak but with reverence.” He admits the great -importance of the institutions founded by Savonarola, and tells Leo -X. there is no other way to bring the state of Florence into order -than by the restoration of the Consiglio Maggiore—the council for the -establishment of which Savonarola struggled with such pertinacity. -Gianotti, a noble patriot twice exiled, who made special study of the -subject of government, says: “He who established the Consiglio Grande -was a far wiser man than Giano della Bella, because the latter thought -of securing the liberties of the people by humbling the great, whereas -the object of the other was to secure the liberties of all,” and is -elsewhere enthusiastic in his admiration of Savonarola. Guicciardini -the pompous historian and diplomat, and Guicciardini composing in the -privacy of his study, are two different writers. It is not in his -_Storia d’Italia_ that we must look for his real sentiments on certain -subjects. The diplomat holds the pen there. But in his _Ricordi_, -published long after his death, he says: “Such was the love of the -Florentines for the liberty conferred upon them in 1494 that no arts, -no soothings, no cunning devices of the Medici, ever sufficed to make -them forget it; that there was a time when it might have been easy, -when it was a question of depriving the few of their liberty; but, -after the Consiglio Grande, it was the deprivation of liberty to all.” -Elsewhere he says: “You are under heavy obligations to this friar, who -stayed the tumult in good time, and accomplished that which without -him could only have been attained through bloodshed and the greatest -disorders. You would first have had a government of patricians, and -then an unbridled popular government, giving rise to disturbances -and shedding of blood, and probably ending in the return of Piero -de’Medici. Savonarola alone had the wisdom, from the outset, to arrest -the coming storm by liberal measures.” Finally, in his _Storia di -Firenze_, he has none but the most enthusiastic terms of praise for the -prudence, the practical and political genius, of the friar, and calls -him the saviour of his country. - - -THE SERMONS AGAIN. - -The great questions of government which then agitated Florence did not -for a moment distract Savonarola’s attention from the duty of preaching -practical Christian duties. After the course of sermons on Aggeus, he -preached on the Psalms, for the Lenten course of 1495 on Job, resuming -the Psalms after Lent. Solid teaching and vehement admonition were -never absent, and the sermons of 1494 were quite as strongly marked by -those features as those of the first course at the _Duomo_, in one of -which he tells his hearers: “How have you renounced the devil and his -pomps—you who every day do his works? You do not attend to the laws -of Christ, but to the literature of the Gentiles. Behold, the Magi -have abandoned paganism, and come to Christ, and you, having abandoned -Christ, run to paganism. You have left the manna and the bread of -angels, and you have sought to satiate your appetite with the food that -is fit for swine. Every day avarice augments, and the vortex of usury -is enlarged. Luxury has contaminated everything; pride ascends even to -the clouds; blasphemies pierce the ears of Heaven; and scoffing takes -place in the very face of God. You (who act thus) are of the devil, -who is your father, and you seek to do the will of your father. Behold -those who are worse than the Jews; and yet to us belong the sacred -Scriptures, which speak against them.... Many are the blind who say -our times are more felicitous than the past ages, but I think, if the -Holy Scriptures are true, our lives are not only not like those of our -fathers of former times, but they are at variance with them.... Cast -your eyes on Rome, which is the chief city of the world, and lower your -gaze to all her members, and, lo! from the crown of the head to the -sole of the foot, no health is there. - -“We are in the midst of Christians, we converse with Christians, but -they are not Christians who are so only in name; far better would -it be in the midst of pagans.... For now men have become lovers -of themselves; covetous, haughty, proud, profane, disobedient, -ungrateful, given to ribaldry, without love, without peace, censorious, -incontinent, spiteful, without benignity, treacherous persons, -deceivers, puffed-up, lovers of voluptuousness more than that of God, -_who have the form of righteousness, but who deny the value of it_.” - -More than ever the people hung upon his words. Numbers came from Pisa, -Leghorn, and the neighboring cities to hear him; many also from as -far as Bologna, to remain in Florence during Lent. Residents of the -neighboring villages and hamlets, and mountaineers from the Apennines, -filled the roads to Florence on Saturdays and the eves of feast days; -and, when the city gates were opened at dawn of day on Sunday morning, -crowds were there waiting entrance. Strangers thus coming were received -with brotherly charity, and the duties of Christian hospitality were -observed. Even in winter, the people of Florence rose from their -beds after midnight, in order to reach the _Duomo_ in time to secure -a place, and then waited in church, taper in hand, praying, singing -hymns, or reciting the office, for hours together. The cathedral could -not contain his audience. Seats were put up in an amphitheatre to -increase the space. Men and boys swarmed on the pillars and every point -where it was possible to obtain a position. Even the piazza was full. - -All these remarkable manifestations were not without results. Florence -became a changed city. Not only were churches assiduously attended, -but alms were freely given. Women laid aside their rich ornaments and -expensive jewels, and dressed with simplicity. Light and careless -carriage or demeanor was rare. Habits of prayer and spiritual reading -in the houses of the Florentines became the rule rather than the -exception. The obscene carnival songs of the Medicean period were no -longer heard in the streets, but, in their place, lauds or hymns. -At the hour of mid-day rest, the artisan or tradesman might be seen -reading the Bible or some pamphlet by Savonarola, and young men of -noted licentious or frivolous habits became models of good conduct. -Fast days were observed with such rigor that, in justice to the -butchers, the tax on their calling was lowered. Men and women of -disedifying or tepid life became religious—among them men of mature -age, distinguished in letters, science, and public affairs. Such young -men as the Strozzi, the Salviati, the Gondi, and the Accaiuoli joined -the friars of S. Mark and other religious orders. Restitution of -ill-gotten gains or property was common. But the most wonderful thing -of all, says a historian, was to find bankers and merchants refunding, -from scruples of conscience, sums of money, amounting sometimes to -thousands of florins, which they had unrighteously acquired. - - -PROPHESIES HIS OWN DEATH. - -Still Savonarola pressed on in his work of conversion as though it had -just begun. His followers had prepared themselves for a joyful tone -of victory in his sermons by reason of his brilliant civic triumphs, -and were ready to rend the air with their alleluias. But he, on the -contrary, seemed more serious, more sad, than ever, and, in his first -discourse after the events we have just related, opened with an -allegory full of sorrowful forebodings, and the prophecy of his own -violent death: - - “A young man, leaving his father’s house, went to fish in the sea; - and the master of the vessel took him, while he was fishing, far into - the deep sea, whence he could no longer discern the port; whereupon - the youth began to lament aloud. O Florence! that sorrowful youth - thus lamenting is before you in this pulpit. I left my father’s house - to find the harbor of religion, departing when I was twenty-three - years old in pursuit only of liberty and a life of quiet—two things - I loved beyond all others. But then I looked upon the waters of this - world, and began, by preaching, to gain some courage; and, finding - pleasure therein, the Lord led me upon the sea, and has carried me far - away into the great deep, where I now am, and can no longer descry - the harbor. _Undique sunt angustiæ-_-shoals are on every side. I - see before me the threatening tribulations and tempests, the harbor - of refuge left behind, the wind carrying me forward into the great - deep. On my right, the elect calling upon me for help; on my left, - demons and the wicked tormenting and raging. Over, above me, I see - everlasting goodness, and hope encourages me thitherward; hell I see - beneath me, which, from human frailty, I must dread, and into which, - without the help of God, I must inevitably fall. O Lord, Lord! whither - hast thou led me? That I might save some souls to thee, I am myself so - placed that I can no more return to the quiet I left. Why hast thou - created me to live among the contentions and discords of the earth? - I once was free, and now I am the slave of every one. I see war and - discord coming upon me from every side. But do you, O my friends! you - the elect of God, have pity upon me. Give me flowers; for, as is said - in the Canticle, _quia amore langueo_—because I languish through - love. Flowers are good works, and I wish for nothing more than that - you should do that which is acceptable to God, and save your own - souls.” - -Here his agitation was so great that he was obliged to pause, saying: -“Now let me have some rest in this tempest.” Then resuming his -discourse: - - “But what, what, O Lord! will be the reward in the life to come to be - given to those who have come victorious out of such a fight? It will - be that which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard—eternal beatitude. And - what is to be the reward in the present life? The servant will not - be greater than his master, is the answer of our Lord. Thou knowest - that, after I had taught, I was crucified, and thus thou wilt suffer - martyrdom. O Lord, Lord!” he then exclaimed, with a loud voice that - echoed throughout the church, “grant me this martyrdom, and let me - die quickly for thy sake, as thou diedst for me. Already I see the - axe sharpened. But the Lord says to me: Wait yet awhile, until that - be finished which is to come to pass, and then thou shalt show that - strength of mind which will be given unto thee.” - - -HIS VISIONS AND PROPHECIES. - -He then resumed the explanation of a psalm at the verse _Laudate -Dominum quia bonus_, and declaimed in a burst of ecstatic excitement, -which carried his hearers along with him, sobbing and weeping. It -was by passages like these, in which the magnetic attraction of the -speaker’s features, voice, and gestures predominated, that his hearers -were most affected. And this readily explains the fact that, when -we read his sermons as reported by those present, it is difficult -to invest the words with the tremendous effects they seem to have -produced. This state of ecstasy which seized him in the pulpit -frequently followed him to his solitary cell, where, for days and -nights together, he would remain the sleepless victim of visions, until -sleep happily released him. From his youthful days, he had made himself -familiar with all that S. Thomas Aquinas says of angels and prophets -and of their visions, and, in like manner, with all the dreams and -visions of the prophets and patriarchs as related in the Old Testament. -All these filled his mind, and at night reproduced themselves with -the vividness of original revelations. They increased upon him as -he read the Bible and the Fathers more assiduously, and he accepted -them as divine inspirations sent through the intervention of angels. -It is difficult to believe the extent to which a blind faith and -devotion to these visions had taken possession of all his faculties, -when we look at the calm, decided, and practical manner in which he -disposed of important questions of a merely mundane character, such as -administration, finance, and civil government. - -Savonarola has left on record the fullest account of the workings and -condition of his own mind on the subject of his visions and prophecies, -in two works—_Dialogo della Verita Profetica_ (Dialogue on Prophetic -Truth), and _Compendium Revelationum_. - - -WAS SAVONAROLA A PROTESTANT? - -In these works, Savonarola reveals himself without reserve on the -important subject of the prophecies and visions, and lays bare his -inmost heart. This is a part of his biography we would gladly treat at -length, for the reason that one of the accusations against him is that -of insincerity, bad faith, and deception of the people by abusing their -credulity. We must, however, content ourselves with the remark that, -although these works may afford some proof of an overheated imagination -and an overexcited mind, they certainly afford none whatever of any -thought or impulse of their author not perfectly sincere and loyal. -His two German Protestant biographers, Rudelbach and Meyer, to their -honor be it said, were the first to study these prophetic writings of -Savonarola. Their views diverge but slightly, both seeking to show that -he was a Protestant—a question now scarcely worth while discussing, -notwithstanding the impertinent assertion of the Luther monument at -Worms. In this connection, we may here cite the opinion of a late -writer on Savonarola, a distinguished English Protestant:[165] “So that -the effort made by some of the German biographers, more especially -Meyer, who artistically concocts a complete system of Protestant -dogmatics from his works, appears to be injudicious; and we must come -to the only reasonable conclusion: that, though he (Savonarola) is now -claimed both by Catholics and Protestants, he lived and died in that -church in which he was reared, and which he would not have destroyed, -but purified.”[166] - - -PARTIES AND FACTIONS. - -When we speak of the respect and veneration entertained for Savonarola -by the population of Florence, we must not for a moment suppose he -was any exception to the rule that the presence of a good man is a -reproach to the depraved, or that Florence, like Athens, had not -within her walls those who were tired of hearing a man called just. -The Medici had still a large body of adherents in the city—men who, -whether they preferred or not an oligarchy to a republic, still -regretted the offices or emoluments they had lost—were themselves -of the aristocracy, or sympathized with it. Then came many of the -amnestied, who, themselves pardoned, did not therefore forgive others. -Then, too, those who felt themselves thwarted in their license or -licentiousness by the changed state of public morality. The dominant -party—that of the Frate—went by the name of the _Frateschi_. A -smaller party, composed of those who were not personally his adherents, -but were in favor of a republic, were called _Bianchi_ (white); another -and larger party, made up of partisans of the Medici, most of them -amnestied, were called _Bigi_ (grays), and, while outwardly favorable -to Savonarola, were his bitter and unrelenting enemies, in constant -correspondence with Piero de’ Medici, whose return was the object of -all their devices and plots. The partisans of the oligarchy, so active -in their endeavors to defeat the new government, and bent on getting -the power into their own hands, and establish a pretended republic -under aristocratic rule, were naturally opposed to both Savonarola and -the Medici. They had contemptuously bestowed the name of _Piagnoni_ -(Mourners) on the followers of Savonarola, and, from their known bitter -hatred, were themselves called the _Arrabiati_ (rabid or infuriated). -Carefully avoiding any opposition to the republic, they sought by -every means to cast discredit on Savonarola, to throw ridicule upon -his visions and prophecies, to create discontent with his reforms, -and to foster a spirit of criticism and dislike against him. The -accidental elevation to the office of Gonfaloniere of a man unfit for -it—Filippo Corbizzi—was seized by them as an opportunity to attack -Savonarola as early as 1495. At their instigation, he called together -at the Palazzo a sort of theological council of theologians, abbots, -priors, etc., before whom a charge of intermeddling in the affairs of -state was laid against Savonarola. The council was opened, and the -discussion commenced, when, by the merest accident, Savonarola, in -entire ignorance of what was taking place, entered the hall with his -friend Fra Domenico, of Pescia. He was instantly assailed with words -of abuse and invective, and a Dominican monk of Santa Maria Novella, -who had some reputation as a theologian, made a violent speech against -him. Others followed the monk, and, when all were through, Savonarola, -calmly rising, said: “In me you see verified the saying of our Lord: -_Filii matris meæ pugnaverunt contra me._[167] It truly grieves me to -see my fiercest adversary wearing the dress of S. Dominic. That very -dress ought to remind him that our founder himself was in no small -degree occupied with the affairs of this world; and that from our order -have gone forth a multitude of religious men and saints to take part -in the affairs of state. The Florentine republic cannot have forgotten -Cardinal Latino, San Pietro Martine, Santa Caterina of Sienna, nor -Sant’ Antonino, all of whom belong to the Order of S. Dominic. A -religious man is not to be condemned for occupying himself with the -concerns of that world in which God has placed him. I defy any one to -point out a single passage in the Bible condemnatory of our showing -favor to a free government which is to promote the triumph of morality -and religion.” And he thus concluded: “It is easy to see that religion -ought not to be treated in profane places, and that theology is not a -fit subject for discussion in this place.” - -There was no attempt at reply, except from one, who cried out: “Tell us -now frankly, Do you aver that your words come from God, or do you not?” - -“That which I have said I have said openly; and I have nothing to add,” -was Savonarola’s reply. - - - - -SONNET - -TO THE PILLAR THAT STANDS BESIDE THE HIGH ALTAR AT “S. PAUL’S OUTSIDE -THE WALLS,” ROME.[168] - -BY AUBREY DE VERE. - - - A conqueror called thee from the eternal night, - And said, “Ascend from thy dark mother’s breast; - Sustain my glory on thy sunlike crest, - And by mine altar watch—an acolyte.” - A poet, wandering from Helvellyn’s height, - Beheld thee dead ere born. That Alpine guest - Adjured thee, “Where thou liest, forever rest, - And freeze those hearts that trust in mortal might.” - The years went by; then, clear above that cloud - Which blinds the nations, from her Roman throne - Thus spake the universal church aloud: - “Arise at last, thou long-expectant stone! - For God predestined, consummate thy vow: - Advance; and where the Apostle stood stand thou!” - - - - -MADAME AGNES. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS. - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -ALBERT’S VISIT. - -FANNY, after despatching her letter, was filled with an uneasiness that -was continually increasing. “Will he get here in season?” she asked -herself. “Perhaps mademoiselle will have come to a decision before -Albert arrives.” - -But however partial Fanny might be to her protégé, she could not help -seeing that Louis possessed rare qualities. If her interests had not -been at stake, she would have confessed at once that he alone was -worthy of Mlle. Smithson; but her selfishness kept her wilfully blind. - -Alas! day after day passed away without result. The wonderful letter -Fanny depended so much on produced no effect. Twenty times a day she -went from despair into anger. - -“Such a fine dowry!” she would exclaim. “Such a pretty girl! And he -allowing them to slip through his fingers—to fall into the hands -of another—and what other!... A spendthrift who will squander her -property—a libertine who will neglect his wife!... Ah! she might be -so happy with him, and he with her! And I should be so sure of an easy -life in their house! What is he doing?... Is he absorbed in trifles, -and going to lose such an opportunity? I was right: he is light-headed. -But his mother, Mme. Frémin, has sense enough, I am sure, and has -longed for this match these ten years: is she asleep too? Or has she -changed her mind?...” - -When the day of the dinner came, of which I have just spoken, Fanny’s -distress was unbounded. “The enemy is constantly gaining ground,” she -muttered to herself. “Every day Mlle. Eugénie becomes less indifferent -towards him. Perhaps they will come to an understanding to-night, and -vow to love each other. We are lost! Albert is positively a simpleton!” - -When Eugénie retired to her chamber, Fanny, quivering with excitement, -was there to eye her narrowly, hoping to read the depths of her soul. -She saw her mistress was more thoughtful than usual, and began by -artfully praising Louis. Eugénie seemed to listen with pleasure. All -this caused the wily servant a sleepless night.... When daylight -appeared, Fanny had decided on her course. This _soubrette_ was a -long-headed woman! - -“If I had to choose a husband for Mlle. Eugénie,” she said to herself, -“I certainly should not select M. Louis. Mademoiselle would be far -happier with Albert. As to him, he will never find another equal to -her. But I cannot force them to be happy. It is their own affair. Mine -is to look out for my own interests.... What do I want?... To secure -a pleasant home for the rest of my life. Perhaps this new suitor -would give me one.... Is he really as much of a spendthrift, and as -overbearing, as I feared at first? I have seen him only a few times, -but I know him well enough to see I may have been greatly deceived, -and that there is much more in him than I supposed.... Well, that is -settled: if Albert is not here in season, if I see the other one is -likely to win the day, I shall take sides with him.... But I will make -one more sacrifice for the ungrateful fellow whom I have loved so much! -I will write his mother again, and wait a few days longer....” - -She wrote, and did not have long to wait. Albert arrived the next -day but one. When he appeared, Fanny almost sank to the ground with -astonishment and joy: with joy, because she loved him as spinsters -always love when they love at all—with as much strength as -selfishness; with astonishment, for she hardly recognized him. She -had not seen him for a year and a half. He was then in the third year -of his law studies—a young man of sprightly, jovial air, faultless -in dress, and fluent of speech, though he only talked of trifles.... -_Quantum mutatus!_ ... He now had a grave air, his dress was plain -even to severity, and there was a solemnity in his manner of speaking -that confounded Fanny, but which pleased her. What had wrought such a -change? She was dying to know, but had to wait to be enlightened on the -point till she could see him in private. This could not take place at -once. He must renew his acquaintance with his uncle, aunt, and cousin. - -Albert’s sudden arrival caused some surprise, but not very much, -however, for he had promised several months before to come about this -time. Mr. Smithson received him with his usual quiet, somewhat cool -regard. He looked upon his nephew as frivolous, and for such people -he had no liking. But Mme. Smithson gave her dear Albert a very -different reception. She loved him for his own sake, and especially -for his mother’s, whom she regarded with affection and pity. She was -quite well aware that her sister’s income was very limited, and to see -Albert marry her daughter would by no means have been repugnant to -her. Eugénie also received her cousin with the pleasure and cordiality -natural to a relative meeting the friend of her childhood. - -In the course of two hours, he was made to feel quite at home, at -liberty to go where he pleased, and to do what he liked. All the family -had some employment, Eugénie as well as her parents. Albert at once -profited by this liberty to _prendre langue_, as the saying is—to get -the news from Fanny. For had she not induced him to come here, and -made him aware of her projects?... He found her in a small building -not far from the house. It was on the banks of the river, which was -more charming here than in any other part. Its peaceful current glided -between high banks where grew on either hand a row of willows whose -pendant branches swept the very waters. Everything was delightfully -quiet and romantic. It was Eugénie’s favorite retreat, where she often -came in the morning to read, or to muse as the day declined. But Albert -gave no heed to the beauties of nature around him. - -“At last we can have a talk, my good Fanny,” said he: “talk of our -mutual plans, eh! eh!—for it seems you, too, wish me to marry Eugénie. -Our plans are in danger, if I am to believe your two letters: it -is possible I may be set aside! That would be a pity! My cousin is -handsomer than ever.... But to tell the truth, her style of beauty is -not exactly to my taste: she is too dignified. But ...” - -“Too dignified!... Mademoiselle is enchanting; and then, there is her -fortune, which it is no harm to consider.” - -“My uncle’s losses have made a hole in it, however.” - -“But they are being repaired every day by his industry. You would not -believe how profitable this mill is. Come, tell me plainly, will you -ever find a wife as rich?—with even half as much as she will have?...” - -“_Ma foi!_ no.” - -“And the money you would never find again you have come near letting -slip into another’s hands!... There is some danger of it still.” - -“You alarm me.” - -“It is just so. Why were you so long in coming?” - -“Because ... _Tiens_, my dear, I was just going to tell you a fib, -but it would do no good. I may as well show my hand.... I came very -reluctantly, because I prefer my bachelor life. It would suit me better -to wait a while. Would it be dangerous to ask a delay of two or four -years?” - -“Ah! it is not enough to furnish you with a handsome wife and a fine -fortune! One must wait till you are disposed to accept them! Where are -your wits?” - -“Come, do not get angry. I see I must marry her at once. I will do as -you say. Here, I am all ready to listen to your advice, for you must -tell me what I am to do.” - -“You give in? You may as well! Come, own that you gave me a false -impression. And I was so pleased! Your grave air and plain dress made -me hope you were converted—I see I was mistaken, and am sorry for it.” - -“A fine farce. And so I even took you in! But did you not tell me to -come here like a man seriously disposed? If I succeeded in deceiving -you, the disguise must be perfect. The rest are more easily taken in -than you!... But that is not the point. You look quite frightened. What -are you afraid of?” - -“Everything, and principally lest you make Mlle. Eugénie unhappy.” - -“She shall be mistress: that is what she likes—what else?” - -“When you are married, you will no longer have any need of me, and will -send me away.” - -“Send you away! I am ready to swear.... Here, I will give you my -promise in writing: you shall never leave my house. Fanny, do you -think me capable of such ingratitude? I am frivolous, but I have some -heart, you well know, you old grumbler.... Well, how do affairs really -stand?... Does not your affection for me incline you to take too gloomy -a view of things?... My enemy—my rival, if I rightly understand your -letters—is a fellow who ruined himself, and came here to win the -beautiful Eugénie’s heart and fortune; he is very sedate in appearance, -and artful in reality. But it is not enough to be ruined, and long for -a fortune—the thing is to get it. The first condition is to please the -lady. Is he a handsome fellow?” - -“No; but he has a sensible, refined face calculated to strike the fancy -of a young lady like your cousin.” - -“Has he much wit?” - -“He talks little, but well.” - -“He is religious, I think you said?” - -“Yes; he has founded a library and a school for the benefit of -the workmen, and he visits the poor. All this affords him many -opportunities of meeting Mlle. Eugénie. She gives him books for his -library, paper and pens for his school, and they agree upon the -families to visit.” - -“Ha! he is a knowing fellow. He thinks that a good way to please my -cousin and to see her. Then Eugénie is more religious than she used to -be?” - -“It seems so, but you know it is not easy to tell what is going on in -mademoiselle’s heart.” - -“Fanny, you have rendered me a service I shall never forget. It was -time to come—high time. I am even afraid I am too late. Have you -detected anything to make you think her in love with him already?” - -“She began by regarding him with aversion. This softened into -indifference. What further change there is I do not know.” - -“What caused her aversion?” - -“She thought he came here to catch her.” - -“The deuce!” - -“His piety seemed to her mere artifice.” - -“Evidently!... Is any one ever converted without a motive?” - -“You are a wicked creature, Albert. Louis may be a hypocrite, but all -religious people are not hypocrites. I even begin to think he is not.” - -“Come, go on!... Well, I see Eugénie regards him as a saint. She -admires him, if nothing more. The danger is imminent.” - -“What are you going to do? Nothing wrong, I hope.” - -“Be easy on that score. I am going to keep an eye on that man, and -study him. If he is sincere, I will make him ridiculous; if he is -false, I will unmask him. Of course, I shall also employ other means. -If Eugénie is not yet in love with him, I shall be the foremost to win -her heart. If she is attached to him, I shall do my utmost to appear -more worthy of her regard, and to rout him. It is unnecessary to say I -shall persist in my _rôle_ as a person of gravity. Eugénie is absurdly -romantic. I must endeavor to appear more saintly than this new apostle. -No one will suspect the farce. It is an age since I was here, and -it would not be astonishing if I also had been converted during the -interval.” - -“Don’t go too far!” - -“You may rely on that. There is only one thing I am anxious about. Have -I not some invisible obstacle to contend against?... Eugénie has a will -of her own. If she has already made up her mind, if her heart is set on -him, all my attempts would be of no avail.” - -“Things have not come to that pass yet, I have every reason to believe. -I know where and when she has seen him, and what he has said to her. -She only regards him with esteem, you may be sure.” - -After deciding on his plans, Albert had but one wish—to put them -at once in execution. That very evening at dinner he directed the -conversation to Louis. Mme. Smithson heartily praised the engineer. Mr. -Smithson neither praised nor spoke disparagingly of him. He kept his -suspicions with regard to Louis to himself. He was not in the habit of -doing anything hastily, but had fully made up his mind to dismiss him -if he found him as thorough a Catholic as he had reason to believe; -that is, an overzealous one, secretly contriving with the _curé_ all -sorts of dark plots, the idea of which alarmed him. - -Eugénie, in a perfectly natural manner, confirmed all her mother had -said, spoke of the good works he had undertaken, and finally mentioned -the part she had had in them. - -“I also should be delighted to participate in all these laudable -undertakings,” said Albert. “I must tell you, dear cousin, that I am -beginning to be reasonable. I take an interest in studying the great -social problems, especially the extinction of pauperism, and the moral -improvement of the lower classes.” - -Mr. Smithson gave Albert an incredulous look, and Eugénie broke out -into unrestrained laughter. - -“Well,” said Albert, intimidated and cut to the quick, “you shall see -if what I tell you is not true! To-morrow I will visit this wonderful -school, and offer my services to the person who has charge of it. I -rather think they will not be refused.” - -“Oh!” said Eugénie, “how amusing it will be to see you drilling under -M. Louis’ orders!... You will soon have enough of it.” - -“You think me fickle, then?” - -“Rather so.” - -“You are mistaken. I always like the same things, and especially the -same people, my dear cousin.” - -“How gallant you have become,” said Eugénie, laughing again. “But -what has come over us! We used to say _thou_ to each other; now we -say _you_. Once we kept up a succession of compliments anything but -flattering to each other, and here you are now gracious, amiable, and -complimentary beyond description! It is a pity I can make no return.... -But it is all in vain, my dear Albert; neither your white cravat nor -your subdued air can deceive me. My aunt wrote me not long ago that you -were just the same. Do you hear?—your own mother said there was no -change in you.” - -This unvarnished statement had really been made in one of Mme. Frémin’s -letters. She little thought of injuring her son by showing him in so -true a light. - -“My mother was mistaken,” said Albert, exceedingly vexed at such -annoying remarks; “or rather, you have given a wrong interpretation to -her words. I am indeed the same in a certain sense. When there is cause -for laughter, I am ready to laugh. But though it is proper to laugh at -suitable times, I feel that excessive and constant gaiety is unworthy -of a man who aspires to a high place in the estimation of others.” - -“Ah! to think of your sermonizing, my dear cousin,” cried Eugénie, -looking at him with a mocking air. “But now I begin to understand -your behavior.... Yes; that is it.... You have an eye to the bench. -You consider gravity as part of a judge’s outfit. You are right, but -between ourselves, as no one hears you, confess that the mask is -anything but comfortable.” - -Albert was vexed and uneasy. His attempts were in vain: he could not -persuade Eugénie he was really what he wished to appear. His sagacious -cousin continued to banter him with a wit he found it difficult to ward -off. - -Eugénie had no special design in her bantering, but her very simplicity -and wit disarmed Albert, and thwarted his plans. How far this was from -the _belle passion_ he hoped to inspire! Eugénie treated him merely -like a cousin, almost like a boy. He resolved to let her see he was a -man—a thoughtful and even religious man. “To-morrow,” thought he, “I -will go and beard the lion in his den. I will watch him narrowly; I -will become his friend in order to thwart him. When I have convinced my -uncle and aunt there are others quite as rational as this gentleman, -without being fanatics like him—for he is one, according to Eugénie’s -own account—when I have won the admiration of my romantic cousin, then -we will think of wooing. But we must begin by driving this Jesuit away. -Really, the comedy begins to interest me. A fine fortune and a pretty -wife are at stake. Moreover, there is this dismal creature to cover -with confusion. If I do not come off conqueror, it will be because the -fates are strangely against me.” - -Such were Albert’s thoughts after retiring to his chamber. Then he -betook himself to a novel. He was delighted to find himself so shrewd, -and had no doubt of his success. - -At that same hour, Louis was also awake, but absorbed in prayer. Piety -daily increased in his steadfast soul: so did love in his heart. -Albert’s arrival, which he was at once informed of, produced a painful -impression. “Mr. Smithson distrusts me,” he said to himself; “Eugénie -does not yet love me: it will be easy for this young man to win the -place I covet in her heart.” He dwelt on these sad thoughts for some -time, but soon had recourse to his usual source of consolation, and -confided all his cares to God. The prayer he uttered might be summed -up in these few words, so full of Christian heroism: “O my God! if it -is in his power to render her happier than I could, I pray thee to -bestow her on him, and let me find my only consolation in thee!...” The -true Christian alone can so purify his affections as to render them -disinterested. When Louis fell asleep, he felt a storm was brewing in -the air, but calmness was in his heart. Resignation, trust in God, and -the purity of his love had restored serenity to his soul. - - -CHAPTER XX. - -A VILLAIN. - -Albert called at Louis’ office about ten o’clock the next morning. This -office was in the centre of the manufactory, between two large rooms -always filled with workmen. Here Louis was confined ten long hours a -day. If he went out from time to time, it was first to one place, and -then to another, to keep an eye on everything, and remedy any slight -accident that might have occurred. He everywhere replaced Mr. Smithson. -He saw to everything, and gave orders about everything, and acquitted -himself of these duties with an ability and zeal that his employer -could not help acknowledging. He could not have wished for an assistant -more capable, more energetic, or more reliable. Had it not been for -one suspicion in this cold Protestant’s breast, one cause of antipathy -against this overzealous Catholic, Mr. Smithson would not only have -esteemed Louis, but would have taken him to his heart. As it was, he -contented himself with merely esteeming him, and this against his will. - -The workmen were divided into two parties with respect to Louis. The -good, who were the least numerous—alas! it is so everywhere: the -majority are on the wrong side—were absolutely devoted to him. The bad -feared him. They knew he was inflexible when there was any question -of their morals or the rules of the establishment. Louis would not -tolerate drunkenness, or blasphemy, or any improper talk. The fear he -excited among the bad made him extremely hated by a few. - -When Albert entered the engineer’s office, the latter went forward to -meet him with the ease of a man of the world receiving a visit, and -with the reserve of a diplomatist who finds himself in the presence -of an adversary. From the very moment these two men first saw each -other, they felt they were opponents. Each one had a position to defend -which the other sought for, and both were conscious of it. Before the -Parisian uttered a word, Louis divined what was passing in his heart. -“He has come to drive me away and marry his cousin,” thought he. “If -Providence favors his plans, I shall submit. But it was God who brought -me hither. I do not think I am mistaken in believing he has given me a -work to do here, and I shall not leave till I clearly see I ought to -give it up and go away.” - -Albert had to introduce himself. “I am Mr. Smithson’s nephew,” said -he, “a licentiate of the law, and an advocate at the Paris bar. My -relatives have for a long time urged me to visit them, and I have -profited by an interval of leisure to accept their invitation. I am -aware, monsieur, of the important _rôle_ you fill in the house, and -what a useful man you are, and am desirous of making your acquaintance. -Besides, I have need of your services.” - -“If I can be of any service whatever to you, monsieur, I assure you it -will give me great pleasure to serve you.” - -“My charming cousin Eugénie tells me, monsieur, that you are engaged -in things I am likewise interested in—the relief of the poor and the -instruction of the ignorant around you. Eugénie has even given me to -understand that she is your assistant in this work.” - -Albert kept his eyes fastened on Louis’ face as he uttered these words. -He thought he would betray his feelings at such a greeting—at the mere -name of Eugénie. But Louis’ countenance remained impenetrable as usual. -Albert felt he had before him either a very indifferent or a very -shrewd man. - -“I am glad to learn, monsieur,” replied Louis, “that you take an -interest, as well as I, in these Christian labors, which in these times -are more necessary than ever. Poverty and immorality are making great -ravages. But I should remark that I am a mere novice in such matters. -As Mlle. Eugénie has been so kind as to speak of me, she may have told -you how little I have yet accomplished. And what I have done has only -been through Mr. Smithson’s constant aid. You wish, monsieur, to be -initiated into my undertakings. That will be very easy! I will show you -our library, scarcely established, and our evening-school: that is all.” - -“You must also introduce me to your poor. I am seriously disposed -to make a practical study of the great questions of charity and -instruction. They are quite the order of the day. When can I meet -you?...” - -“This evening, if you like; the school begins at seven o’clock.” - -“And what do you do at this school?” - -“I teach reading and writing to those who are ignorant of them, -orthography to some, and ciphering to others. I end by reading -something carefully selected, with occasional remarks easy to -comprehend and to retain. This affords me a daily opportunity of giving -my audience useful advice.” - -Albert made a slight grimace. This manner of procedure did not suit -him. He wished for exercises that afforded a more promising field for -satisfying his vanity. It was well to propose being useful! He wished -to shine. - -They continued to converse a while longer. Louis, with the shrewdness -that characterized him, led the conversation to the most serious -subjects. Albert replied without suspecting the scrutiny he was -undergoing. Faithful to his _rôle_, he affected to judge matters with -the seriousness of a man armed with unfaltering convictions. But this -seriousness did not blind Louis. Without appearing to observe it, he -caught him a dozen times in criminal ignorance, and, what was worse, -this ignorance was accompanied with a conceit that was ridiculous. At -length the two young men separated. They had formed an opinion of each -other at the first glance. Louis had seen through Albert’s mask, and -found him a man of no depth, poorly aping a person of gravity. Albert -felt he had a sagacious person to deal with. If Louis was his rival, he -was a formidable one. - -It may be supposed that, loving Eugénie to such a degree, Louis felt, -as an impartial observer would have done in his place, that it would -be sad to see a woman of so much worth united to a superficial man. -He could not help feeling that he himself was more worthy of Eugénie -than Albert; that he was more capable of making her happy. He was not -mistaken; he had a right to think so. - -A few days after this first interview, I sent Louis word that Victor -was very much worse. His disease had made alarming progress. Victor had -hitherto struggled courageously against it, but, the evening before, -he took me by the hand, and, fixing his large melancholy eyes on mine, -said: - -“My dear, my beloved wife, I have kept up till now, and continued to -work as usual. But the hour has come for me to lay aside all earthly -thoughts and cares.... It is time to collect my thoughts.... Death is -approaching ...” - -At these words, I began to weep and sob. He waited till this natural -explosion of grief was over. - -“I can realize your distress, my good Agnes,” said he. “I, too, feel -how painful it is to leave you. But we are both Christians. Our -religion is a source of never-failing consolation.... See how good God -has been to us! I might have died months ago: God has left me with you -till now. He has given me time to prepare to enter his presence. And -I truly believe that, by the help of his grace, I have made a good -use of these last days. I have found and trained a man to succeed me -in the journal. He will defend the good cause as well as I; perhaps -better. I have saved the life of a young man who is and always will be -a consistent Christian such as we need more of. I shall, I hope, have -a share in all the good Louis will accomplish; and he will do a great -deal.... Of course, my dear Agnes, it is hard to separate from you, -but we shall meet again on high. The longest life is but brief. How -happy we shall be to meet again far from this wretched world, which I -should not regret were it not for leaving you. [P2 added period missing -in orig] Every day it gives less room to God: the impious and the -hypocritical are fearfully multiplying. This is a sad age! If the very -thought of leaving those we love were not so painful to the heart, ah! -how sweet it would be to soar away from so much wickedness to the pure -radiance of heaven. Why cannot I carry you with me, my poor darling? -Oh! how glad I should then be to go.... But, no; it is not the will -of God. He wishes me to precede you, alone. So be it. When in yonder -world, I shall pray for you!... And now, let us give up all worldly -things to those who have a longer time to live. As for me, I must cease -to labor, and henceforth think of nothing but God and my salvation....” - -The following morning, I sent Louis word of what had taken place. He -hastened to see us that afternoon. When he saw our dear Victor, he -was exceedingly affected. My husband had changed every way within a -fortnight, without my being conscious of it, having been constantly -with him. - -“Oh! how glad I am to see you!” said he to Louis. “Well, well, we shall -not meet many times more, ... here below, I mean, but we shall meet -again in heaven never more to separate.” - -Louis burst into tears. - -“You great child!” continued he. “If it were not for my sweet Agnes -there, I would beg you to congratulate me: I am going home to God! But -the idea of leaving that dear soul, who has made me so happy, hangs -like a cloud between me and heaven. Oh! you will, you will watch over -her as I would myself, will you not?” - -“Yes; as your very self, I solemnly promise you,” cried Louis. Then, -falling on his knees beside the bed, he said: “My friend, assure me -once more that you forgive me. It is I who have killed you!” - -Victor drew him towards him, and embraced him. Louis then begged my -forgiveness also. I could not answer him, but I held out my hand, which -he respectfully kissed. - -“One favor more,” said Louis: “I hope you will not leave us so soon as -you suppose, but it is better to make the request now, as I can do it -to-day without troubling you: give me your blessing!” - -Victor excused himself, but Louis insisted so long that he yielded. -Victor then extended his hand over his friend’s head: “O my God!” said -he, “I am only a sinner, with no right to bless in thy name; but I have -given my heart to thee, and I also love this soul to whom thou has -permitted me to do some good. Watch over him!... Make him happy here -below, or, if it is thy will he should suffer, grant him the necessary -courage to find joy in sorrow itself.” - -This scene was deeply affecting. For some time we remained silent. -Victor, unwilling to leave us so painfully impressed, began to smile -and say the liveliest things he could imagine. Addressing Louis, he -said: - -“How are your love affairs? You cannot imagine how I long for your -union with a woman so calculated to make you happy. The more I think of -it, the more I am convinced that Mlle. Smithson is the very person.” - -Louis replied with a sigh. He related what had taken place at the great -dinner, and the wrong impression Mr. Smithson had derived from the -_curé’s_ imprudence. He also told us of Albert’s arrival, and gave a -brief account of their interview. - -“This man’s unexpected appearance has caused me sincere pain,” he -said. “It has excited a thousand fears only too well grounded. Is it -because I think him capable of destroying my most cherished hopes?... -No; not if it depends merely on him. His meaningless face, his affected -and pretentious manners, and his vacant mind, are not calculated to -fascinate Mlle. Eugénie. Her nature is entirely different from his. His -defects must shock her. But the man, from what I am told, has the luck -of being in his aunt’s good graces. Who knows but Mme. Smithson herself -induced him to come, with the positive intention of giving him her -daughter’s hand in marriage?...” - -“It is possible,” said Victor, “but you have one good cause for hope in -spite of everything. You acknowledge yourself that such a man cannot -please Mlle. Eugénie. Now, she is a woman with a mind of her own, and -her parents are very indulgent to her. These two reasons induce me to -believe she will never marry him.” - -“She is different from most women,” replied Louis. “Her filial -devotion may lead her to accept the husband her parents propose.... -Ah! if she loved me, I should not be alarmed on that score. For an -instant, I thought she did; but the longer I study things calmly, the -more inclined I am to believe I was lulled by a sweet illusion.... She -does not love me yet. It is possible she might, had things remained as -they were. Everything will take a new turn now. This young relative’s -arrival will absorb her attention, and how do I know but she will even -end by taking him for what he pretends to be—a grave, thoughtful man?” - -“I have no fears on that point,” said Victor. “If this intruder is -the superficial person you suppose—and he is, I believe—he will not -deceive a person so observing as Mlle. Smithson.” - -“He is her cousin.... Every one in the house treats him with great -affection.... Mlle. Eugénie is young and without experience, ... and -the man in question does not lack a certain ability.... He has already -annoyed me in more than one way.” - -“Is it possible! How?” - -“I told you that at our first interview he immediately expressed a wish -to aid me in the work I had undertaken. I promised to introduce him to -my school that evening. He was so urgent that he excited my suspicions -at once. My fears were only too well founded, as you will see. I had -scarcely been a quarter of an hour in the schoolroom, before he came in -with Mr. Smithson. I am anxious not to exaggerate anything; above all, -I do not wish to calumniate him. It is, therefore, with all sincerity -I tell you that this designing man, at his first visit, so arranged -everything as to take the precedence of me before my scholars. With -his arm passed familiarly through his uncle’s, he entered with a mere -salutation of condescending patronage. Then, after going to the door -with Mr. Smithson, who had business elsewhere, he remained as if to -superintend and direct me, as the master of the house might have done, -had he wished to assert his rights. I repeat it: this fellow only came -there to make the workmen feel that he was, even in my night-school, if -not the master, at least his representative, and I the humble agent. -In fact, without consulting me, he began to give advice to one and -another, making a great deal of noise, and meddling with everything, so -that, thanks to him, nothing was done. He disturbed everybody, and was -of no assistance. - -“Of course, the idle and talkative, as well as those disposed to -flattery, took to the new-comer. As to me, I frankly confess he had a -singular effect on my nerves. However, I restrained myself, and said -nothing to him that evening. The next morning, he called on me, and -announced his intention of beginning a series of lessons on political -economy. As you know, I am in the habit of reading aloud every evening -from some good book—a historical incident, an anecdote, or a moral -extract calculated to interest the workmen. To this I join some -familiar explanations and reflections of a moral and even religious -nature. This exercise, as simple as it is beneficial in its results, -was not to his liking. He wished to replace it advantageously, as he -said, by instructions apparently learned, but in reality useless and -even pernicious. Nothing is worse than to waste great words on people -absolutely destitute of elementary knowledge. But the very ignorance -of his audience attracted Albert. He thought he should dazzle them -without much effort, and without running the risk of their finding out -how little he really knows. I listened very coldly to his proposal. -When he left, he gave me a slight glance of spitefulness which was -ominous of evil. - -“That night the young man did not appear in the schoolroom, but the -following evening he presented himself. This time he made so much -confusion that I could not conceal my annoyance. He perceived it, and -left the room. I regretted not having, perhaps, restrained my feelings -sufficiently. I followed him into the next room. He received me with -insolent haughtiness, and took my explanations unkindly. When I had -finished, he thus addressed me: - -“‘Monsieur, there are some who do good out of love of being useful: to -such I belong. There are others who do it from motives of self-love and -interest: you may know of some.... You have instituted this school; you -direct it in your own way; you wish to be the sole master. What your -reason is for all this I do not know, but I can certify one thing: you -wish to have your workmen to yourself. It is not my practice to intrude -anywhere, even when I have a perfect right. Consequently I withdraw.’ - -“I stopped him to ask what motive of interest I could have. - -“‘O monsieur!’ said he, ‘the name of a philanthropist is not to be -despised. It leads to many things. You know better than I what use you -wish to make of it; it is not for me to tell you. It remains to be seen -if you succeed.’ - -“He evidently wished to insinuate that I had taken this indirect way -of gaining the esteem of the Smithson family, and perhaps Eugénie’s -affections. I felt my anger rise. I was about to reply in a way I -should have regretted, but he prevented it by going out without giving -me an opportunity. - -“At first, I congratulated myself on my victory. I am ashamed to say -that my pride, which I thought I had conquered, again reappeared -in my heart. ‘He is afraid of me!’ I said to myself. ‘He feels my -superiority, and has gone away through mortification.’ Subsequent -reflection convinced me of my mistake. Albert, in withdrawing, was not -vanquished, but really the conqueror. He had successfully achieved -his perfidious design. He was tired of the school, and felt he should -soon cut a sorry figure in it. He sought the means of getting out of -it, which I unwittingly furnished him, so that his very retreat could -be used as a plea against me. All my subsequent observations have -confirmed my suspicions. I have not met him since, but I can see he has -been secretly plotting against me. Mr. Smithson is colder than ever -towards me. As to Mlle. Eugénie, I have met her only once, walking -with Albert. She saw me, and might have spoken, but pretended not to -observe me.... Ah! my dear friend, I am, I confess, down-hearted. -For days, I have seen that my course and my principles excite Mr. -Smithson’s suspicions, but I had some reason to believe I was no longer -indifferent to his daughter. Now she herself has turned, or rather, -has been turned, against me. In a month, she will no longer be able to -endure me.... What shall I do?” - -“Keep straight on: continue the work you have begun. If an opportunity -occurs for explanation either with the father or daughter, convince -them that you are an honest man.” - -Our poor friend was very gloomy when he left us. We participated in -his sadness, for we did not doubt but this cousin, who had come so -inopportunely, was slyly doing him some ill-turn. We were not wrong in -thinking so. I will relate what had taken place. - -As Louis rightly conjectured, Albert had willingly allowed himself to -be excluded from the school. He immediately presented himself in the -_salon_ with an air of discouragement, but triumphing in the bottom of -his heart. - -“You have returned early this evening,” said Eugénie. “Are you tired of -the school already?” - -“I am not tired of it, but they can no longer endure me there.” - -“Have you made yourself insupportable?” asked Eugénie. She really did -not love her cousin, and under the appearance of teasing him, as is -the way with young people, she told him some pretty plain truths as -often as she could. Mr. Smithson was reading a newspaper. Hearing what -Eugénie and Albert said, he looked up, and said to his nephew, in his -usual grave tone: - -“What has happened?” - -“I have been dismissed from the school.” - -“Impossible!” said Eugénie. - -Albert was astonished at the persistency with which his cousin defended -Louis. He felt his hatred redouble against the engineer. - -“You may well think it impossible,” said he, in an insinuating tone.... -“Really, if this gentleman has a right to figure in the school he has -founded with my uncle’s aid, I, his nephew, and almost a child of the -house, have a right to take a part in it also. But such is not the -opinion of our imperious co-laborer. There is a certain routine about -his instructions that I mildly criticised. For example, he tries, -however awkward it may be, to give a religious turn to everything, -which I, though a great friend to religion, find ridiculous.” - -In this underhand way, Albert skilfully aroused his uncle’s anger and -distrust. Mr. Smithson murmured to himself, with that voice of the soul -inaudible to others: “I thought so: he is fanatical and ambitious. My -nephew, fool as he is, has found it out, and has unmasked him! That is -why the other has got rid of him.” - -Albert partly guessed what was passing in his uncle’s mind, and saw he -had made a good hit. He ended his recriminations in these terms: “The -little advice of a humble nature I gave him; my course so different -from his, and, I may say without vanity, better....” - -Here Eugénie burst into a loud laugh. - -“Eugénie,” said Mr. Smithson gravely, “what your cousin is saying -merits attention. You are far too giddy this evening.” - -Eugénie never resisted her father, except in a case of absolute -necessity; she became silent, and appeared to take no further interest -in the conversation. - -“At last,” said Albert, “I clearly saw this gentleman wished to have -his school to himself, so much at home does he feel even there.... He -rudely ... made me feel that ... I was in the way. I withdrew, but not -without letting him know, in my turn, that I regarded his course as it -merited.” - -“There was no quarrel between you?” inquired Mr. Smithson, who had a -horror of contention. - -“No, uncle.” - -Mme. Smithson thereupon proceeded to console her nephew as well as -she could. The remainder of the evening passed in an uncomfortable -manner. Each of the four persons in the room was absorbed in serious -reflection without wishing it to be obvious, and all felt that they -would not like to communicate what was passing in their hearts. This -caused a want of ease which became more and more awkward as it grew -more perceptible in spite of the efforts each made to conceal it. The -two who were the most troubled, however, were Mme. Smithson and Albert. -The latter no longer doubted Eugénie’s love for the engineer. He ought -to have seen that, as usual, she merely took the side of the oppressed. - -As to Mr. Smithson, it was quite different. A few days previous, he -merely suspected Louis might be fanatical and ambitious, and linked -with the _curé_ to undermine his authority among the workmen. Now he -began to be sure of it. He even went so far as to suspect his daughter -of favoring Louis’ designs. This Catholic league, established in his -own house and at his own hearth, filled him with a terror and anger as -lively as they were ridiculous. - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -CALUMNY. - -The next morning, before any one was up, Albert went in search of -Fanny, with whom he had the following conversation: - -“You have caused me a useless journey,” said he. “Eugénie loves the -engineer.” - -“I do not believe it,” replied the servant, either because she did not, -or because she wished to console Albert. - -“It is of no use to contradict me. I have kept my eyes open, and -drawn my own conclusions. I have a better opportunity than you for -observation. I tell you she loves him! If you cannot devise some scheme -for driving him from her mind, I shall set out to-morrow for the -capital.” - -“Here is what I call hitting the nail on the head.... I thought of -something yesterday exactly to the point.” - -It was Albert’s turn to be incredulous. He shrugged his shoulders as a -sign of doubt. - -“I tell you I can satisfy your demand,” repeated Fanny slowly. “Listen! -In a manufactory, everything is talked about. The engineer has for -some time frequented a house apparently through charity, but it is my -opinion another motive takes him there. There is a young girl in the -house—the prettiest, handsomest girl to be seen, they say, for ten -leagues around. Besides, she is well behaved, intelligent, and even -pious; only, she is pitifully poor.” - -“Tell me how he became acquainted with the family.” - -“The father is a drunkard; the mother an idle, malicious creature who -is employed here. The engineer looks after her. This woman was probably -the cause of his going to the house. They are extremely destitute.” - -“And the girl: what does she do?” - -“She has been very well brought up at an aunt’s in town. The aunt died -recently, and so suddenly that she was unable to make her will, as she -intended, in favor of her niece. The latter has therefore returned -home, to find nothing but wretchedness. I must confess, however, that -she has behaved admirably.... All these details are correct, I assure -you.... What is no less true, Mlle. Eugénie knows all the poor families -that the engineer visits except this one. It is my conviction that -he loves this girl, and intends marrying her some day.... There is no -need of making people out worse than they are. There are some good -things in this M. Louis. All his family are very wealthy. He will not -be poor long, and is at liberty to marry a woman who has nothing, if he -pleases.” - -“Well,” said Albert, “I will reflect on what you have told me. It seems -to me, with this information, I can greatly modify my fair cousin’s -feelings towards her protégé.” - -Before another hour, Albert had gathered full particulars with regard -to the subject, and matured his plans. That very afternoon, he asked -Eugénie to allow him to accompany her in her rounds among the poor. - -“Willingly,” said she. “I have not been to see them for some time. I -was just thinking I ought to go to-day.” - -They set out together. The day was delightful. Eugénie, lively and -witty as usual, took most of the conversation upon herself. Albert had -on a dignified air of offence which he wished his cousin to perceive; -but she did not notice it, or pretended not. Twenty times he was on -the point of alluding to what had taken place the evening before, and -as often refrained. Conceited as he was, Albert could not help it—he -was not at his ease in Eugénie’s society. Her unvarying frankness, her -intelligence, and the vivacity that never forsook her, all these rare -qualities rendered him continually diffident in her presence. - -At some distance from the manufactory, the road divided. One part -turned towards the highway that led to the village; the other followed -a gentle declivity to the river half hidden among the willows, rushes, -and flowers that make that part of the bank so delightful. - -“What a charming view!” said Albert. “Let us go down this way a short -distance. We can afterwards return to the highway.” - -Eugénie allowed herself to be guided by his wish. When within a hundred -steps from the shore, they came to a hut by the wayside, between two -large trees, picturesque in appearance, but indicative of poverty. It -looked like a forsaken nest in a thicket. - -Albert had made particular inquiries, and knew the hut was inhabited by -the Vinceneau family—the one, it will be recollected, that Louis took -charge of unknown to Eugénie. - -“Are there not some of your poor people here whom you ought to visit?” -asked Albert, in the most innocent manner. - -“No; I have no idea who lives in this cottage.” - -“I saw M. Louis coming out of it the other day.” - -“He probably came here on business. I know all the families he visits; -none of them lives here.” - -While thus talking, Albert approached the hut, and, before Eugénie -could prevent him, entered. She followed. - -Mère Vinceneau was at home that day, in one of her fits of idleness and -ill-humor. She at once recognized Eugénie, whom she did not like. She -had, as I have already remarked, a general antipathy against the rich. - -“What have you come here for?” said she. - -“We do not wish to disturb you in the least,” said Eugénie, whose -curiosity was now roused. “My cousin and I merely wish to rest -ourselves. Perhaps you could give us some milk.” - -“I have none.” - -Mère Vinceneau was a tall, spare woman, with a forbidding countenance, -and covered with rags. Had it not been for her crabbed face, she would -certainly have excited compassion. However, Eugénie’s sympathies were -awakened at the sight of her wretched condition. - -“You seem very destitute, my good woman,” said she. “Can I be of any -service to you?” - -La Vinceneau softened a little at this gracious offer. “Thank you,” she -said. “It is true we are badly off, while some people have too much.... -Nevertheless, I ought not to complain. We have one friend.... You -know him well—M. Louis, the engineer of your mill. What a kind heart -he has! There is one who loves the poor! If the rich only resembled -him!...” - -“Do you live here alone?” - -“No; I have a husband employed at the tile-works, and a daughter who -goes out as a seamstress in the village. She is coming now.” - -A slight cloud came over Eugénie’s face. It became still darker when -Madeleine Vinceneau entered. Madeleine was not merely beautiful: she -was dazzling. Poorly but neatly clad, she came forward with a dignity -and grace that inspired astonishment as well as respect. Her large -black eyes, her pale, refined face, her smiling lips, and her whole -appearance, had an air of aristocratic distinction. - -“What a lovely creature!” was Eugénie’s first thought. Then another -presented itself: “Perhaps Louis loves her.” She shuddered. A feeling -of displeasure and sadness came over her: “I must be in love with -him myself without being aware of it, to be so jealous,” she said to -herself. This doubt was natural. Eugénie determined to solve it. Such -is our nature. We can never see so clearly what is passing in the -depths of our hearts as in a tempest. - -Eugénie began to question the girl discreetly. She wished to ascertain -if her nature was as angelic as her exterior. She was soon satisfied -on this point. Madeleine was innocence itself, and as good as she -was innocent. She confirmed all her mother had said, and in her turn -praised Louis with an ingenuousness that assured Eugénie she did not -love him. “But he—is he as indifferent to her?...” was Eugénie’s -thought as she left the house. She could not get rid of the painful -suspicion, consequently she was in rather a gloomy mood. Albert noticed -it, but refrained from saying anything. One unguarded word would have -counteracted the happy effect of his perfidious scheme. But he was -triumphant when he returned to his room. “I have dealt my rival a -severe blow,” said he to himself—“a blow he can hardly recover from; -for he will not suspect its source, and Eugénie will never mention it -to him. Even if she wished to, how could they have any explanation? -They never meet except in the presence of others. Before such an -explanation takes place, I must find other means of completing his -ruin.... I have begun well, and must bring things to a crisis....” - -All this occurred the day before Louis came to see us. Mère Vinceneau -told him of the visit a short time after. He suspected there was -some scheme of Albert’s at the bottom of it, and dwelt on the means -he should use to defeat his calculations. Meanwhile, his enemy was -contriving a new plot destined to cause him still greater embarrassment. - - TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -THE EMPIRE. - -FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE. - - -THE imperial form of government has sprung up in France within seventy -years, and been only slightly modified by the different administrations -that have succeeded each other. And yet nothing could be more at -variance with the traditions, customs, and genius of the nation. This -_régime_ is of foreign origin. It is the recrudescence of the conquest -of Gaul by Julius Cæsar. It has subjected us again to a yoke analogous -to the condition we were in after Gaul lost its independence. The veil -that blinded us to its real nature has fallen off in the shock of -momentous events. It is important to reassert a truth that will now be -better comprehended. The historians of the Revolution have endeavored -to show that the revolutionary movement of 1789 was purely French, -and the result of national necessity; but the very violence that -accompanied it proves the contrary. Natural developments are effected -peacefully. Louis XVI., so far from resisting the torrent, seconded -it, and abandoned himself to it. Nothing shows so fully what an effort -was necessary for the triumph of the Revolution as the impossibility -of its succeeding by regular means and the assent of the country. It -took France by assault. It profited by circumstances, but this does -not change the nature of its deeds or the character of its success. We -do not deny that this pagan and Cæsarean tradition might have found -its way into France with the monarchy, but it is certain that, however -restrained it had been by Christian principles, it all at once broke -through its bounds. Half the members of the Constituent Assembly -belonged to the legal profession. Imbued with the absolutist teachings -of Roman law, they energetically sought to apply them. The Revolution -recalls ancient Greco-Roman days; there is nothing Christian about it. -What is the sovereignty of the people but the very principle that laid -the foundation of despotism in Greece? The title of “citizen” implies -that all Frenchmen belong to the same city or town. This rising _en -masse_, and the notion that every Frenchman is a soldier, are wholly -pagan. The legislative corps—that means the people make their own -laws, only they do so by proxy. What! the people not exercise their -special prerogative! In ancient times, though the people only amounted -to a few thousand voters, they never fully enjoyed the legislative -power. Besides, in consequence of the institution of slavery, every -shade of democracy was equivalent to an aristocracy. The legislators of -1789 only recognized the slavery of citizens with respect to the state, -which induced them to create a power strong enough to counterbalance -and represent their ten millions of constituents. - -Their proscriptions, denunciations, conspiracies, and struggles -recall the time of Marius and Sylla. It is worthy of notice that -in the revolutionary documents the heroes of Athens and Rome -replace the saints of the calendar. This imitation is extremely -amusing. A religion utterly pagan follows. A Pantheon is opened to -modern divinities, and great men deified. Catholicism undergoes a -persecution unsurpassed by the persecutions of the emperors of the -first three centuries. It alone is excluded from the Pantheon. Under -the empire, this imitation is so striking that it is impossible to -mistake it. The Napoleonic era recalls that of the Cæsars. In this -new civilization, or ancient civilization revived, new terms are -necessary to express the changes made. Political language is modified. -First we have consuls, then tribunes, then a senate, and at last an -emperor. The senatus-consultum keeps pace with the plebiscitum. The -subdued provinces are governed by prefects. The judges are merely -Napoleon’s delegates. The whole of this organization is of foreign, -not French, origin. Our history presents no parallel to it. And the -reality corresponds with the appearances: it is the engrafting of -absolute power on the sovereignty of the people. For the emperor never -disguised the source of his authority. He always assumed to be the -representative of the people. Like Augustus and Tiberius, he derived -the imperial inviolability from the tribunitian character with which he -was invested. The empire had its _noblesse_, but a _noblesse_ of titles -and decorations similar to that of the Lower Empire. All independence -was denied this _noblesse_. The army was likewise organized after -the manner of the Roman legion. There were no longer any local -distinctions. Each regiment was composed of a confused mixture of the -various French peoples. The officers even did not belong to their -regiments. They knew, in their nomadic life, only the will of Cæsar, on -whom alone they depended, and who transported them from one regiment to -another, and from one place to another. Passive instruments, they had -no will of their own. Therefore, they were ready for anything. - -Formerly, the army could not be employed against the nation. It -represented the different social elements, and enjoyed the independence -natural to these elements. The officers retained their independence, -for they served at their own expense from a sense of duty. The -administration, the bar, and the army under the empire depended on one -individual. Neither local customs, nor municipal corporations, nor -right of property could withstand this despotism. A universal levelling -under the name of equality smoothed away every obstacle before Cæsar. -What rank could stand before the formidable title of the sovereignty of -the people? This Cæsarean power found no embodiment in one of French -origin. It fell to an Italian, a Roman, to one who rivalled Plutarch’s -heroes. This Italian assumed control of the Revolution without ceasing -to be Italian, or rather Roman; for Roman he was, a cosmopolite. -His aim was to restore the Roman Empire, or the Empire of the West. -The French nation was to be the means of universal conquest, as the -Gauls in the hands of his predecessors, the Cæsars. Of old France he -preserved no vestige. And he carried into Italy his achievements in -France. He extended the Revolution to Spain. There was nothing French -in a single characteristic of his genius. And his race have obstinately -pursued the imperial career which he opened. His nephew, like himself, -a mixture of astuteness, violence, boundless ambition, utopianism, -literary tastes, and fatalism, renewed the glory of the empire. Louis -Napoleon also belonged to all lands. Italian, Swiss, German, English, -American—he had something of them all. He spoke all languages as well -as the French, and his French was that of a refugee. During his reign, -he assembled around him none but foreigners. His apartments were never -clear of the outlandish people he had become acquainted with in his -wanderings. He loved to converse with them, to tell them his plans. And -these adventurers enjoyed being with him. They found him as utopian -as ever, as unchanged in his notions, and the phenomenon interested -them. No Frenchman of note consented to serve him. France was given up -to foreigners. They penetrated everywhere, and took possession of the -country. Imperial cosmopolitanism attracted them, and sheltered them, -and overloaded them with favors. French policy became English, Italian, -American. The denationalization of France was effected by the laws, -public schools, new manners, and the transformation of Paris into an -European capital of pleasures and the arts: France disappeared. This -system was overthrown when, arrived at the highest pitch of madness, -Louis Napoleon, after effecting the unity of Italy, so powerfully aided -King William in setting up the new Empire of Germany as a rival to -France. He sacrificed France to the triumph of the imperial idea in -Italy and Germany. - -The Bonaparte family is completely destitute of patriotism. Its -cosmopolitan character is constantly asserting itself. Louis Napoleon’s -foreign policy was essentially anti-French. His constant desire -to effect the unity of Italy and that of Germany was the wish of -an alien. Our interior legislation became no less opposed to the -national character. What is the civil code but the systematization of -principles laid down in the Digest? The right of property restricted -by the legislator, family rights suppressed for the benefit of Cæsar, -and property, as well as individuals, placed under administrative -direction—all this is Bonapartism as well as Cæsarism. Outside of -the central power, there was no authority possessing any freedom of -action in France. No municipal body was safe from dissolution. No -corporation was allowed to stand alone. Obedience became the lot of the -French; which does not imply order and unanimity, for the government, -with contradictory aims, and without any real permanence, imposed -laws that were contradictory and impracticable. The distinguishing -feature of Bonapartism is the union of liberal theories with absolute -power. In spite of universal suffrage and deliberative assemblies, -despotism increased and was strengthened. It even relied on the -opposing and controlling influences it created. The senate and the -legislative corps were subservient to the empire, and sustained it. -The idea of equality and liberty constantly held out by high imperial -functionaries contributed to the popularity of the Napoleons. Under the -late _régime_, Prince Jerome Napoleon was charged with representing -the democratic side of the imperial government. But we know now, -by the revelations of the papers found, that his opinions always -coincided with the emperor’s. This was what may be called playing -into each other’s hands. The tip of the ear shows itself in those -liberal speeches which were apparently most hostile to the government -in such a way that no one who knows how to read can fail to perceive -it. Under his forcible language is concealed a faint, half-expressed, -vague opinion, but which is clearly and positively opposed to the -rights of assemblies. What enthusiastic liberalism did not M. de -Persigny manifest! According to him, provincial liberty was upheld by -the _préfets_, whom he styled, on one occasion, the fathers of the -departments. This sally caused much laughter, but M. de Persigny did -not laugh. This same minister bethought himself of some conflicting -elements that had evaded the superintending eye of Cæsar. It occurred -to him to place his master officially at the head of the secret -societies, and he transformed free-masonry into an imperial institution. - -The despotism that has weighed on France for seventy years is -unknown to the rest of Europe. We do not say that other nations -have not undergone various degrees of despotism, but the despotism -of a dictatorship founded on the sovereignty of the people is a -privilege France alone has enjoyed. A dictatorship, that institution -of republican Rome, has been known here since 1789. Successive -governments have been set up in the name of the people; they have -all been ephemeral; they have acknowledged no other will but their -own—at least, in the beginning. The dictatorship is renewed every ten -years. At Rome, before the empire, it has been calculated that every -three years and a half a dictatorship was established, which lasted -six months or thereabouts. Our situation, therefore, is preferable. -It may, however, be questioned if it is the ideal of a Christian -nation. Louis Napoleon became the open apologist of Julius Cæsar: -he took sides against the Gauls and Franks, who were our ancestors. -This audacity excited universal astonishment. The Romans from the -beginning were accustomed to absolute power and anarchy. In the vast -series of revolutions that make up their history, we find no fixed -form of government. The consuls, prætors, and tribunes at Rome, and -in the provinces the proconsuls and governors, exercised unlimited -power. The emperor was only a perpetual dictator. Roman civilization -was absolute power opposed to the liberties of foreign and barbarous -nations who preserved a primitive social organization, and lived under -patriarchal institutions. The Roman historians acknowledge that the -barbarians fought for liberty. The Romans governed the provinces as, -at a later period, the Turks governed the countries they conquered. -Science and literature have depicted their sanguinary course with -brilliant sophistry, and erected it into a system. There is no doubt -that the thousands of jurisconsults who devoted their talents to the -empire never questioned the legitimacy of Cæsarism. They did not even -comprehend German liberty. They often spoke of it with a rare ignorance. - -Tacitus sometimes forgets the fidelity with which he has described the -manners of the Germans. He passes this singular judgment on a people -of Thrace whose independent spirit he mentions: _Ne regibus parere -nisi ex libidine soliti_[169]—they obey their kings only according -to their caprice or humor. To us this has no sense. Tacitus sees that -these people obey sometimes, but not always. He does not perceive the -link that connects these two facts. To obey through humor or caprice is -not to obey at all. What is their legal obligation? It is sufficient -to examine their barbarous institutions. The barbarous king is neither -a dictator nor consul: he is like a father. His authority is limited -by other heads of families and by their customs. The tribe obeys, but -only after discussing the point in the assemblies of the nation. The -people obey when the king has received the necessary approval of the -established authorities. There is not, as under the Roman government, -a man who rules, and a nation that obeys. This dualism does not exist -among the barbarians. The king is a part of the nation, as a father -is of his family, which attributes a high dignity to both king and -father, but not great power. Unity of action, in this case, comes by -the concurrence of wills. This concurrence is permanent, and the easier -because nature, through the family ties, softens difference of opinion, -lessens rivalries, and produces men of incontestable authority whose -very birth commands respect. Their laws are less severe and stringent, -but liberty reigns, and society is based on the affections, and not -on the mere predominance of force. Tacitus would be more intelligible -if he said that the people only obeyed after giving their approval -according to forms which custom had established. Strictly speaking, -the word _libido_ might imply either consent or assent. The idea is -somewhat obscure. But there is nothing to authorize a translator to say -the people obeyed their king only through caprice or humor. Tacitus -finds it difficult to comprehend the organization of the tribe, and -does not regard it as of much account. He judges like a Roman who has -a clear notion only of military rule and passive obedience. In spite -of himself, however, he dwells on these barbarians, who inspire him -with a kind of terror. He points out the effects of their patriarchal -institutions from which the liberty of modern nations has sprung. His -books are for us a title of honor. Our ancestors figure therein as -conquered: their features are changed, but not unrecognizable. We love -to find proofs that the traditions of liberty among the French race -preceded the importation of despotism. - -Despotism came to us by the way of revolution. This will not surprise -any one. The empire is the highest and most definite form of despotism -among civilized nations. Our enlightenment, or pretended enlightenment, -so far from having any repugnance to it, evidently led to it. Are we -more enlightened than the Greeks and Romans? Are our rulers better -versed in art, law, or literature than the rulers of Athens or Rome? -The idea of despotism has been so infused into the modern mind that -even the extreme partisans of liberty can conceive of nothing but -despotism as the basis of their theories. M. Jules Simon, the worthy -successor of M. Duruy, dreams of subjecting France to the communist -system of Spartan education. And hardly any one ventures to oppose him. -What notions of liberty have children reared by the state? They are -brought up in the official world, imbibe its sentiments and the ideas -of the state, and reproduce them in their public and private life. We -who cannot consent to the suppression of the family are desirous that -children should bear the impress of family influences. The family yoke -is sweet and light; the assimilation of children to their parents is -easy. The liberty of children is guaranteed. Family authority is a -less burdensome restraint than that of the state, and the multitude -of families creates a sort of counterpoise, so that their minds are -not formed by a single will, but develop according to their various -aptitudes. If any one objects that the state teaches no doctrines, we -reply that to teach none is to teach some. In fact, this is really the -source of indifference, or the system of practical atheism. Is not this -the doctrine that is agitating France? - -Our government has been copied from the Cæsarean government. Everywhere -is to be seen a gradation of functionaries who receive their orders -from Paris, and are not opposed by any provincial action capable -of resisting them. It is useless to enumerate all the public or -collective offices in order to show how they are combined under a -single impulsion. No country in Europe has attained to such perfection -of the imperial _régime_. The Roman Empire even has been surpassed, -for we have the advantage of the press, railways, and telegraphs, -which increase the power of the state to an indefinite degree. New -ideas have also arisen to the aid of this despotism. Political economy -declares the loan to be the best of investments. The patrimony of -future generations has been invested in bonds regulated by the present -generation. By successive loans, all individual capital has fallen -into the hands of the state. In a more or less indirect way, the state -has taken possession of all the charitable or other funds created -by associations or individuals. Confiscations are not nominally -practised, but by the ingenuity of our fiscal system, and the skilful -apportionment of the taxes, the whole value of the soil passes into the -fiscal treasury in forty years. This is really a kind of confiscation. -Cæsarism found out how to transform the Chamber of Deputies into a -fiscal instrument. Instead of moderating, limiting, or abolishing the -taxes, the Chamber of Deputies, and especially our recent legislative -corps, have studied how to increase them. All the representatives of -the people have looked upon their constituents as subjects to be taxed -and made use of. The government has had more income from the taxes than -it wanted. This work of communism has been applauded in a thousand -revolutionary papers. In this respect, the republican assemblies have -not differed from the imperial. Whether the deputies were chosen by the -ballot, by the nomination of Parisian committees, or the appointment of -the Minister of the Interior, the state of the case and the result have -been the same. - -The organization of our army is entirely Cæsarean. Though levied from -the whole country, it takes cognizance of nothing that is local or -provincial. Individual measures are repressed by the bureaucracy, which -is subservient to Cæsar because it is detached from the soil, and is -influenced only by the hope of promotion. - -But the French magistracy at least enjoys independence? It did previous -to 1789. The government did not interpose in the appointment of -magistrates. This system, otherwise very defective, did not err through -servility. The empire, artfully retaining a certain semblance of the -ancient _régime_, was careful not to do so where the independence -of the magistracy was concerned. The emperor nominated all the -magistrates, and made them removable at pleasure. This system did not -suit the Restoration, and immovability was established. Under Louis -Philippe, the magistracy rapidly diminished. The more honest felt -themselves bound by their oath, and refused to serve the royalty of -July. But the Third Empire, by its administrative practices, effaced -the last trace of judiciary independence, and destroyed the permanence -of the office by the prospect of lucrative advancement. Hitherto money -had not seemed to be the aim of the magistrate. The idea of a career to -pursue never entered his head. The magistrate did not have to earn his -livelihood, and he belonged to his native place, where, regarded with -universal respect, he lived on his own fortune, which was the exterior -pledge of his independence. The needy and the ambitious did not seek -such a post. The empire raised the salaries of the magistrates only -to make the office accessible to that class of people who are ready -to obey at whatever cost. Immovability was illusory when the greater -part of the magistrates, desirous only of advancement, went from one -place to another according to the ministerial humor. Besides, the -government asked nothing better than to have in each locality transient -magistrates who were strangers to the people, and only awaited an -opportunity of ascending the ladder of promotion. This allurement was -more efficacious than fear in effecting the change in our judiciary -customs. The justiceship of the peace, which ought to be a kind of -rural and local institution, and which for some time preserved that -character, speedily degenerated. The empire at last ended by bringing -it completely under the yoke of centralism. Instead of being the -independent arbiter of petty quarrels and trivial interests that -required immediate solution because they were not worth the expense -and delay of a suit, the justice of the peace now found himself an -electoral agent, and implicated in politics. He had to be chosen from -the nomadic class of civilians. To prevent all ties with the people, -fees were done away with, and his salary made equal to that of the -judges of the inferior court. The pretext was made that the dignity of -the magistracy did not allow a judge to receive perquisites. The truth -is that there was a very different reason. The justices of the peace, -being natives of the country, and already in possession of a patrimony, -had no eye to the fees. Many of them had scarcely any. On an average, -the perquisites did not amount to more than five or six hundred francs, -and were not always easily collected. A mere income of seven or eight -hundred francs was not sufficient to attract a stranger, especially -when there was no prospect of promotion. The empire sought to bind -the justices of the peace closely to itself, and deprived the office, -practically speaking, of its perpetuity, for the same reason that it -had made the assize judges removable. The justiceship of the peace, -having been made a round of the judiciary ladder, became accessible to -those civilians or agents who only asked to serve the government. Our -judiciary army, as numerous as our administrative army, and composed -of agents nominated directly by the state, had, then, but one course -open to it. Its apparent immovability no longer hid anything. Those -who are familiar with the affairs of the empire know what to think -of a magistracy which takes it upon itself to sound its own praises. -Though founded on very different principles, the French magistracy, by -a sudden deviation, has gone back to the Cæsarean type of Byzantium. - -This mixture of the appearance of freedom with despotism is natural -to an absolute power resting on a popular basis. We cannot see how -it could be otherwise. Ancient Rome afforded the same spectacle. The -Cæsars never ceased to repeat that they were the representatives of the -people, and the defenders of national liberty. We are not astonished -that the French government which sprang from the Revolution has -assumed this attitude. The Romans only admitted Roman civilization, -which they called “Roman peace.” Their poets often speak of “the -majesty of Roman peace.” Civilization, then, consisted in obeying the -proconsuls, paying the taxes, furnishing recruits, and working on -the roads and public monuments. At this price, the provinces enjoyed -a little tranquillity. It is noteworthy that the French Revolution -assumed to be the only light capable of guiding the world in the way -of liberty, equality, fraternity, progress, civilization, comfort, -etc. Its disciples still assert that France is continuing to fulfil -this mission. This is what Louis Napoleon meant when he said that -France alone contended for an idea. This immeasurable pride in thinking -ourselves superior to other nations has had to bow down. It was not -by virtue of our actual qualities that we undertook to assume such a -supremacy, but, on the contrary, by virtue of the errors and vices -that have sprung up in modern times. In the XVIIth century, when our -moral superiority was acknowledged and incontestable, no Frenchman ever -advertised any pretension to overrule other nations, or believed that -our nation was destined to precede others in order to enlighten them. -This pretension sprang up in 1789, at the time when a new system was -promulgated in the midst of the terrors of the Revolution. Supposing -this idea to be new, what right had France to impose it forcibly on -other nations? Europe rose in arms to repel revolutionary or Cæsarean -invasions, and before the coalition France has three times fallen. - -We have been sobered by this experience. The _rôle_, brilliant as it -was, has only left us bitter remembrances. It remains for us to govern -ourselves without any pretension to govern others. Our political -and military organization has suddenly crumbled to pieces. That -masterpiece, which was a combination of contradictions, order, and -disorder, is now only a ruin. Lamentations are heard on all sides. It -is perceived that, under the pretext of equality, all Frenchmen have -been reduced to equal powerlessness. When men of good-will sprang up -on every hand to the help of France, leaders were wanting; there was -no one to direct. Overwhelmed in the first place by number, we ended -by overcoming that difficulty, and then there was a deficiency of -organization. Leaders and discipline are not the work of a day. If -education has not developed individual ability, in vain will you seek -for genuine, natural, and acknowledged leaders. The spirit of the -family alone, by forming the character, habituates men to a necessary -subordination. The atheism of the state tends to root out of every -conscience the sense of duty. How obey, if we do not comprehend the -obligation of obedience, and if those who rule over us do not seem -worthy of ruling us? Discipline is a certain moral order. It should -first exist within us by submission to Providence and to the social -order established by Providence. Imperial and republican despotism -have aimed at moulding the whole French nation after one single type. -And when the overruling, guiding will was gone, the whole nation was -paralyzed. The Roman Empire had the same fate. It fell both in the east -and west from causes analogous to those that are preying on us. An able -despotism, a vast material organization, admirable military traditions, -and the assent of the people, could not ensure the stability of the -brilliant communities of Rome and Byzantium. The same principles must -lead to the same consequences: no stable form of government; the -supreme power constantly at the mercy of elections, factions, and -violence. The Cæsarean system, whenever it obtains sway, gives glory, -and grandeur, and brilliancy to society, but also leads to anarchy and -incurable weakness. - -Roman civilization was overthrown by pastoral nations: in the East, -by the Arabs and Turks; in the West, by the Germans. Cæsarean France -easily obtained the ascendancy over Italy, Austria, and Spain, because, -already initiated into Cæsarism by Roman law, they offered but slight -resistance. But when it undertook a struggle with Germany, its fortune -changed, because that country has many strong elements opposed to -Cæsarism and the principles of the French Revolution. Its _esprit de -famille_, its tendency to decentralization, and its official morality, -superior to ours, are among the differences that carry us back to the -invasions of the first four centuries. Cæsarean France has played a -great part against modern Germany. But France is not so thoroughly -Cæsarean as the Roman Empire. Its interests, its customs, and its -traditions, impregnated with Catholicism, resist this assimilation. -The Italian astuteness of the Bonapartes succeeded in making us think -despotism would lead to liberty. Our eyes are painfully opened to -the imperial _régime_ and modern institutions. We can no longer deny -that our social condition has approximated to ancient Cæsarism, and -reproduced its principal conditions. The empire did not even conceal -this imitation. The public works and the plebiscitum were the popular -side of this _régime_. No nation of Europe has experienced anything -comparable to it. In no other has the government become the contractor -and general constructor of all the public works. - -The Roman Empire alone presents a similar spectacle. The emperors -provided for the amusement of the Roman people. They instituted -festivals and games. They everywhere erected buildings for ornament -or public utility, the ruins of which are still famous. The great -monuments of our ancient monarchies were due to individuals, guilds, -and the zeal of the faithful. The state did not interpose. Since 1789, -the state alone has erected edifices because it alone has had wealth. -This system of public works is only one form of communism. Though Louis -Napoleon had no taste for the arts, he had a passion for building. -This phlegmatic Cæsar, like the Roman emperors, made it a duty to -amuse the people. Family gatherings and the old festivals authorized -by religion did not meet with his approval. Such festivals are, from -their very nature, anti-Cæsarean. They recall principles and sentiments -opposed to Cæsarism. But the individual must not escape Cæsar. Public -amusements have a certain influence of their own. They must divert the -mind from all the influences of family, corporations, and religion, and -partake of the vulgar communism authorized by the state. It is thus -Cæsar undertook to amuse the people. Who does not know what the Paris -theatres became? The towns in the provinces followed the movement, -constrained by the _préfets_ and mayors. Corruption, promoted by books -and official addresses, was put in practice in every theatre of the -empire. When the immense bazaar of the Universal Exposition was opened, -Louis Napoleon invited all the sovereigns of Europe to be present. -They had no wish to attend, but yielded to his importunities. They -held a grudge against their Amphitryon. That was not the only mark of -superiority he affected with respect to them. He proposed a congress -to sanction the principles of the French Revolution. He neglected no -opportunity of influencing their policy. He was constantly shaking the -thrones of Europe by his democratic pretensions. He believed himself -alone to be legitimate, and pitied the other sovereigns who lacked the -consecration of universal suffrage. Experience has once more shown us -that immense powers may rest on fragile foundations, but the lesson -will be of no use to the Bonapartes, who are ready to recommence. Shall -it be lost on France? - -Our revolutions and various _coups d’état_ within a century have -transformed us into a Cæsarean nation. All our political elements -bear the impress of this fatal destiny. The army, the magistracy, -the administration, and the schools are disciplining us for this -social system. There is no power but the state. Property is no longer -managed according to the wishes of the proprietor, but by those of the -legislator. Luxury has increased to an astonishing degree. How easily -it has pervaded all classes of society! It is the government that has -led us to yield to these new requirements of fashion. Economically -speaking, luxury is waste of capital, and an unproductive expenditure. -Old French society, founded on the right of property and the permanence -of families and fortunes, rejected luxuries, superfluities, and useless -expense. In everything, it had an eye to the solid and durable. That, -in fact, was the character of French industry. The Roman Empire was a -stranger to lasting influences and hereditary fortunes. Proscriptions -and confiscations made short work of them. Nothing must appear to -rival Cæsar, and manifest any power or independence. Christian society -pursued and attained a different object. With us, the civil code takes -the place of confiscations and proscriptions; it takes care that -fortunes are as speedily wasted as acquired; it ruins by periodical -liquidations families scarcely formed. In spite of this, the instincts -of nature incline us to a certain care of our property. Speedily -acquired fortunes, made by commerce, industrial pursuits, or legal -transmission, became a source of anxiety to the imperial mind. They -might foster independence! Thence the constant preoccupation of the -empire to lead the whole nation into luxurious habits by the temptation -of pleasures and large salaries. The multiplication of cabarets is an -unmistakable evidence of this. Obliged to expend more than they gained, -the office-holders remained in servitude. And from one to another -the emulation has extended throughout France. Cæsar not only amused -the people, but, led away by example, the people sought additional -amusements at their own expense. Thus property, idly spent, and lacking -the permanence that assures independence, ceased to limit or be an -obstacle to Cæsar’s will. All wealth became dependent on the public -credit and the stock market, and had an interest in the continuance of -Cæsar’s reign. The whole interior policy of the empire was based on -this principle. The political institution of luxury kept pace with the -theatre and literature. - -The immorality of Cæsarism may be readily understood. Morality in a -nation is solely engendered by domestic life. But the family is the -_bête noire_ of Cæsarism. It was by destroying it and assuming its -functions that Cæsarism succeeded in training the people. A man, -separated from his family and the place where he ought to live, and -transported to another region where he is only accountable to the -state, a stranger to the people among whom he lives, no longer thinks -about his morality, but the service he must render to the state. How -many functionaries, inadmissible in one place on account of tricks -frowned upon by public opinion, are sent elsewhere without losing the -favor of the government! - -France was as surprised by the invasion as the old world by the deluge. -Let us admire her patience and courage. We must remember, however, that -it was not Cæsarism that saved her. The official world had disappeared. -What remained rather clogged than aided the movement for repairing our -disaster. Our deliverance sprang from the people not enrolled under -the official banner. Without a government, France has shown her spirit -of unity, and revealed her moral and material resources. It was not -only the emperor, but the whole empire, that surrendered its sword to -the King of Prussia at Sedan. In the same way, Napoleon surrendered to -England after Waterloo. The high functionaries that only existed by -the will or caprice of Cæsar, and who only served him by giving up all -responsibility, were suddenly left in darkness. The emperor only sought -_ex officio_ supporters. In a country like France, these are always to -be found. Messrs. Morny, Billault, Troplong, Rouher, and Ollivier had -pliancy of mind enough to say and do anything to palliate and excuse -everything. Thus, without any counterpoise, the imperial government -consisted in a single will which was intermittent, fluctuating, and a -perpetual source of troubles and catastrophes to France. History is -not a casualty. It has its laws which control events. It is well to -repel invasions; it is better to do away with their cause. Demosthenes -replied to the Athenians who sought news of Philip: “Why, of what -consequence is it? Should he have perished, you would create another by -your dissensions. The Macedonian domination is only the result of Greek -anarchy.” - -The French Empire, like the Roman, is the creation of historic -necessities produced by an age of revolutions and the application of -principles that only find complete development under an autocratic -form. Anarchy, in a proud and powerful nation with a glorious -past and a warlike spirit, will always end in military supremacy. -Christianity alone was able to check the system of perpetual war kept -up by paganism. It framed the law of nations, making them a Christian -republic. By the Revolution of 1789, France abandoned this system. -The Restoration of 1814 re-established it in part, but in 1830 the -European treaties were broken. Europe had to be on its guard against -us, and exclude us from its alliances. Louis Napoleon openly and -officially expressed his contempt for treaties. With him France took -refuge in proud isolation, affecting an intellectual dictatorship, -the prelude of wars. War alone, in fact, can impose the will of one -nation on another. This reign of armed propagandism has not ceased its -manifestations since 1848. The public schools, all the academies, and -the entire press came to the aid of Bonapartism. The personal enemies -of the emperor were his most active auxiliaries. He was well aware of -this. He carefully promoted Carbonarism in Italy, and Jacobinism in -France—two terms for expressing the same thing. The attempts against -his life only promoted his success, instead of being an obstacle to it. -He recognized, so to speak, their justice, for he had taken the oaths -of Carbonarism. When he realized that a crisis was at hand, he was not -willing for France to escape the Revolution, the reins of which he -held with apparent moderation. He successively let loose the press, -the clubs, the secret societies, and even the mob. He weakened and -degraded authority in the person of his agents, assured the pardon of -all political offences, frequently changed his ministers without any -reason or pretext, that the people might be convinced that they were -all puppets. In this way, and under the pressure of invasion, he seemed -preparing for a movement analogous to that of 1792. His death then -would have thrown us into a state of anarchy which would probably have -brought on the same invasion we have just undergone. He left behind him -only reflections of himself. When he disappeared from the scene, all -this was effaced. The regency of Eugénie amounted to about as much as -the regency of Maria Louisa—vain imitation, and a manifest proof that, -apart from the imperial person, there was no imperial government or -recognized authority, and that the empire and anarchy were brother and -sister. - -The downfall of the French monarchy plunged France once more into -a state of paganism. Our wars and invasions have been of the same -character as the wars and invasions of the first centuries of our era. -The French Empire had an insatiable thirst to invade Europe. Germany, -on her side, has retained a power of expansion that recalls ancient -times. She no longer emigrates _en masse_, but by the indirect ways -of modern civilization. She first sends her pioneers. Her tillers of -the soil go to the Sclave provinces of Austria and the Russian coasts -of the Baltic. By their aptitude for labor, they take the lead, amass -capital, and end by controlling the people that receive them. There is -a German party in Russia, and this party has a controlling influence -over the czars, or Muscovite Cæsars. The Sclave race, more impressible, -more poetic, and less tenacious, less laborious, feels set aside by -the new settlers. It realizes that it is the victim of its hospitable -and beneficent nature. A reaction will soon take place. The czar will -be forced to take the national cause in hand. Russia has not uttered -its last word. She has been in some sort under foreign influence -since she imbibed the corrupt Christianity of Byzantium. It was only -under the direction of the French philosophers of the XVIIIth century -that she finally became a part of the European world. After the wars -of the Revolution and the empire, our influence greatly diminished, -and yielded to German influence. Destitute of scientific or literary -traditions, Russia sent her young men intended for office to the German -universities. They returned with the scientific jargon of the schools, -a strong dose of atheism, affiliated with the secret societies, and -without any sympathy with the tastes and sentiments of the Sclave -race. Thus favored, German influence has increased to such a degree -as to cause anxiety in the Russian Empire. In its encroachments on -Austria, Germany did not begin with pacific conquests. Silesia, seized -by Frederic II., was colonized gradually. Finally, German emigration -filled our banks, our counting-rooms, and our railway offices. This -tendency to expansion could only be restrained or repressed by our -alliance with a great nation. Unfortunately, France affected to be -above European law. She pretended to promulgate a new law, a new -civilization. She refused, in the name of the principles of 1789, to -allow that there were any legitimate sovereigns in Europe. France, -plunged into Cæsarism, found a rival in Germany, which had more -ancient Cæsarean traditions, and which, less ravaged by revolution, was -better organized than we for attack and defence. It is still increasing -in population, whereas France, under the rule of economists, diminishes -every day. This alone ought to warn French policy of the error into -which it has fallen. The German Confederation, the imposing remains -of Christian ages, was the safeguard of Europe, by maintaining a -peaceful equilibrium in Germany. France and England, unwisely governed, -allowed the German Confederation to be dismembered. The Germanic union -under Prussia was evidently threatening. Lord Palmerston and Louis -Napoleon, statesmen who had no correct notions of Christianity, could -not see anything or comprehend anything. It was, however, evident that -a peculiar kind of Cæsarism was to spring from this overturning of -Germany. A slight knowledge of history and the German character should -have been sufficient to convince Europe of this. The diplomacy which, -by the treaty of 1856, arraigned the Sovereign Pontiff at its bar, -rejoiced at the destruction of the Germanic Confederation, without -dreaming that a few years later the Empire of Germany would consign -the once powerful nations of England, France, and Russia to the second -rank. At the moment of this change, it is not useless to remark how -many deadly struggles the Papacy has had with Cæsarism. It was by -the diffusion of Christian principles that it laid the foundation of -Christian society. - -The political life of the Papacy has been wholly spent in combating -Cæsarism. It struggled against the Roman emperors for three centuries, -and then against the heresies of Byzantium. In our age, Napoleon -exhausted all his arts and violence on Pius VII. Pius IX. found -himself at issue with Louis Napoleon, and Victor Emanuel, the Italian -representative of Cæsarism. The contest of the popes with the emperors -of Germany is celebrated. It was the Papacy that preserved human -liberty throughout the middle ages. Germany had seized the imperial -sceptre that had fallen from the hands of the weak successors of -Charlemagne. In the XIIIth century, the Cæsarean rule threatened the -whole of Europe. Frederic II., more perverse and more able than his -namesake of the XVIIIth century, found himself the master of Germany. -He triumphed in Italy through the support of the legists, and extended -his claims to the rest of Europe. Innocent IV., by issuing the bull of -excommunication against Frederic II. at the Council of Lyons, stopped -the German Cæsar in his career, and put an end to the invasions of -Italy he was constantly making. Italy, under the auspices of the -Papacy, displayed a long career of municipal liberty. - -The development of Cæsarism in France as well as in Germany has -followed the overthrow of the temporal power of the Holy See. But the -German Empire will always retain an immense superiority over the French -Empire. It is less revolutionary, less democratic, less at variance -with its past history. It is not impossible that it may combine with -the local and municipal institutions of the country. Prussia is far -from our absolute centralization, and there is nothing to indicate that -she is to be subjected to it. She remains the ally of the great powers -of the Continent. She could easily have rallied all Europe against -imperial and Byzantine France. Let us not deny it: no victory of Louis -Napoleon’s could have secured the left bank of the Rhine. The German -coalition would very soon have drawn the rest of Europe after it. This -struggle of one against all is a necessity of Bonapartism. Nothing -can check it. Softness of manners, a refined civilization, pretended -condemnation of war, philanthropy bordering on religion, boundless -industry and credit, the military incapacity of Louis Napoleon, -nor anything else, could have prevented the war from breaking out. -“Revolution is war and bankruptcy,” said Royer-Collard. It obeys its -nature. It upheld the Bonapartes in spite of a kind of material order -and discipline they forced on the people; it required of them an armed -propaganda which they were more capable of managing successfully than -the republic itself. Louis Napoleon, with his mildness of character, -and talent as a writer, desired a peace that would enable him to -continue his utopian experiments in journalism. But he was not his own -master. He felt that a revolution at home constituted only one-half -of his obligations; the other half—revolution abroad—he was also -determined to effect, though to his regret. He regarded the bombs of -Orsini as a salutary warning, and submitted to his destiny. He extended -revolution to Italy and Mexico. He destroyed the influence of Austria. -Prussia profited by these disturbances to unite Germany. But Louis -Napoleon made a pitiful failure. He dashed against a wall with his -eyes shut. The pretext of a Hohenzollern on the Spanish throne was -ridiculous, and the legislative corps and senate that countenanced it -showed the measure of their political knowledge and independence. - -It is difficult to comprehend by virtue of what principle or interest -he opposed the choice of a Hohenzollern. Had he not rejected the -hereditary principle? Had he not aided in overthrowing all the princes -of the House of Bourbon who still reigned through this principle? Was -not his own power based on election? And what did it matter to France -whether that pitiful Spanish crown was on one head rather than another? -What gratitude could he expect from those revolutionary sovereigns -whose patron or director he constituted himself? He took the petty -Subalpine king by the hand, and led him to the Crimea, and to the -Congress of Paris, and thence into all the capitals of Italy. His plans -were unveiled when he forced the unhappy Victor Emanuel to give his -daughter to the imperial cousin. Who then could cherish any illusion -as to the result? It was unfolded. Did the revolutionary union of the -south spring from it? This union could only be effected by the unity -of despotism. Napoleon knew it: his nephew forgot it. Revolutionary -nations are necessarily at war or distrustful of one another, as the -revolutionary factions of a nation are always contending, unless some -master—no matter whether it is an individual or a party—succeeds in -suppressing the rivalry. - -This was the state of the case in our Revolution. Is it not a matter -of public notoriety that the name of Napoleon excites only horror and -disgust in Spain and Italy? - -Louis Napoleon’s aim was not to subdue Europe by war, but to effect an -internal change of government by means of revolutionary principles. -This resulted in exciting all the great powers against him. He -thought there would be a revolution in Russia in consequence of the -emancipation of the serfs which he recommended to the Czar Alexander. -He overthrew the German Confederation though it was so powerful a -guarantee for the safety of France. It was he who made William Emperor -of Germany. The overthrow of the Confederation under the circumstances -in which it took place necessarily led to the empire, as the overthrow -of ancient France led to the imperial _régime_ that has lasted till -now. We need not be astonished at the efforts of the King of Prussia -to re-establish Louis Napoleon. They were accomplices, though Louis -Napoleon has been taken for the dupe. Not that he was not conscious -of the situation, but he warded off the flashes of reason and common -sense he had, and gave himself up to a hallucination. France imitated -him, with the conscript fathers of the senate and the legislative corps -at its head. Louis Napoleon contended for an idea, and he triumphed -after his manner, after the manner of his uncle. Conquered and made -prisoner, he was humiliated, not by defeat, which does not humiliate -the brave, but by accepting his defeat. He yielded to the conqueror, he -surrendered his sword. Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, but he was -not really cast down till he found himself on board the _Bellérophon_. -Then he realized who was victor. The lamentations of St. Helena -reveal the liberal despot. Louis Napoleon also became an author and a -journalist. He dreamed of returning to France. He published at Cassel -under the name of his friend, M. de Grécourt, a _brochure_ designed -to influence Germany in his favor. He had no doubt of being as warmly -welcomed by France as Napoleon was when he returned from the island of -Elba. - -There was no change in France. Our social institutions were still -standing. The republicans had found nothing to modify in the wonderful -machinery of despotism. There was nothing to prevent him from resuming -his place. There was the invasion besides. Did the disasters of 1814 -prevent Napoleon’s reascendancy in France in 1815? Was there any -lack of senators and representatives to welcome Cæsar? Was not the -popularity of the uncle the foundation of the nephew’s success? That -was the sole cause of Louis Napoleon’s accession. This popularity was -nothing more than the result of success. Power and success united -and counted the votes, and proclaimed the result. The revolutionary -power was not entirely destroyed by the events of 1814 and 1815; it -became an organized system, having its regulations, its leaders, its -journals, its secret societies, and its permanent committees variously -disguised under the forms of beneficence, pleasure, science, etc. No -regular government at variance with this many-sided, intangible power -could be established. The regular government of France especially—the -hereditary monarchy—could not take root again. Public opinion and -enthusiasm are like stage machinery that rises and falls. We witnessed -the workings of this machinery from 1848 to 1852. The inventors did not -even give themselves the trouble to hide the workings from the eyes of -the public. This reign of opinion has continued. The word of command -from the emperor was echoed by the ministers, and from them by the -_préfets_, _sous-préfets_, and mayors. The entire administration in -all its gradations walked in the same footsteps. By the public works, -loans, and illusory promises, the mass of electors were so fascinated -that they could refuse nothing to a government that was promoting -such benefits. Universal suffrage is the character in the comedy—the -simple, good-natured Demos of Aristophanes. In reality, it is the -emperor—he who has the _imperium_, individually or by a number of -individuals, who votes at the general election. In the Cæsarean system, -the emperor alone acts, but he acts in the name of the people, and as -the representative of the people. He is the voice of the people. This -must not be lost sight of when we judge the acts of Louis Napoleon. - -In his _brochure_, he claims the good-will of the King of Prussia and -Germany, because it was France alone that desired the war. He did not -desire it; he was not responsible for it. This was pleading his own -imbecility and the culpability of France. What! he did not set France -against Germany? He did not break the treaties of 1815, or officially -condemn them? He did not constantly propose the policy of his uncle -as an example to France? He followed it without condemning an act or -a principle. The Jacobinism of his later years was a mere imitation -of the liberal ideas his uncle brought back from the island of Elba, -and continued to cultivate at St. Helena—ideas that M. Thiers, in his -voluminous compilation concerning the empire, regarded as serious! -This was why Louis Napoleon declared him “the national historian,” -and presided at the obsequies of Béranger, “the national poet.” This -Bonapartism in verse and prose had only one practical aim—the conquest -of the Rhine provinces. That was the favorite topic of old soldiers and -the zealous members of the imperial _entourage_. People of more sense, -who were not overscrupulous, resigned themselves to it as a necessity -of the situation. Ever since 1852, it had been thought there would be -a sudden blow aimed at Belgium or Germany. Was not Austria attacked -in 1859 without any reason or pretext, and, it may be said, without -a declaration of war, and in violation of all the laws of nations? -When and where did universal suffrage countenance this? Where was it -discussed by the ten million voters? What authority did they give -their representatives? The imperialists and liberals have refused the -electors the right which they enjoyed in 1789 to give directions to -those they elected. The member represents, then, only himself, though -individually he may have been acceptable to his constituents at the -time of the election. The elector is not free in his vote, because -he does not know his so-called deputy. And these representatives of -Cæsarism have never been free. No sooner are they nominated, than -they forget their orders and electors, and only aim at “the glory of -obedience” to Cæsar, like the senators of Tiberius. - -Louis Napoleon played to perfection the game of Cæsarism. Conqueror -or conquered, he always kept a foothold. Victory immortalized him, -and assured perhaps his son’s future career. And defeat was not to -be imputed to him. As the representative of the people, he was only -a passive agent. A docile instrument of the passions and sentiments -of the people, he sacrificed himself. Did not this entitle him to -the gratitude of his fellow-citizens? He regarded the republic as -less popular than himself, and condemned by universal suffrage. -Besides, he affected to personify in a supreme degree the republican -element. It was not with respect to France he was anxious. He knew -that the Cæsarean constitution of France left a sure way always open -of regaining the throne. It was by foreigners he was overthrown. He -preferred this fall to the necessity of presiding over new disasters. -He was not sorry, either, to see the city of Paris, which of late -had been constantly opposed to the empire, and whose enmity daily -increased under its liberal laws, chastised by Prussia. King William -thus effected a _coup d’état_ which did not injure the emperor, and -made a return to despotism easier than at the beginning of the empire. -_La Situation_, the Bonaparte organ at London, insinuated that Prussia -had an interest in allying itself with Louis Napoleon, in order to -reconstruct the map of Europe. And it did not conceal that the neutral -countries, Belgium and Holland, were to pay for this reconciliation. In -this way, Bonapartism, though apparently crushed, showed signs of life, -and fostered its hopes. This was a sign it was not morally subdued. It -was overcome only to be restored. But the French republic was not in -a condition to restore it, because it confounded itself with it. It -must be ascertained if Europe feared Bonapartism or France. Bonapartism -aside, France is now a really peaceful, honest, Christian nation. -She has only been formidable since 1789 through the principles of -dissolution she has carried within herself and diffused abroad by means -of newspapers, secret societies, and armies. - -The idea of giving Holland to Prussia, and Belgium to France, was -worthy of Louis Napoleon. Would Europe allow it? Prussia already -preponderates. France would gain nothing. She could not rise from -the inferiority into which she has fallen through late events. The -humiliation that Cæsarism has inflicted on our country is not a thing -of yesterday. Napoleon stated the problem clearly: France must subject -Europe to revolution, or disappear before a torrent of invasions. -These two alternatives have been successively more or less realized. -The Restoration gave peace once more to France and to Europe. France, -regaining her rank, menaced no one, and sustained herself by her -alliances. She fell again in the Revolution of 1830. Foreign sympathy -was withdrawn from us. All the alliances were broken off. The various -governments, stunned by the rebound of the Revolution, stood on their -guard. The monarchy of July sought to favor revolution moderately -abroad, and to direct it with skill at home. From that time, Europe -formed a coalition against us. During the first ten years of the -Revolution of July, the public mind was disturbed as to the possibility -of a great war with Germany. The liberal party used every effort to -bring it on, without any reason certainly, in order to fulfil one -of the conditions of the revolutionary programme, which is an armed -propaganda. It was with such views that the fortifications of Paris -were conceived by M. Thiers. The equilibrium of Europe was destroyed, -therefore, to our sole injury. The empire developed the seeds of -revolution sown by the government of July. France descended lower than -in 1830; she even lost all regard to decency, by giving herself up to -the revolutionary current. The distinguished men of talent who devoted -themselves to the service of Louis Philippe withdrew from the scene, -and were replaced by a crowed of nobodies. Assemblies, ministers, and -emperor entered on such a contradictory course that one might believe -our country had fallen into its dotage. - -The Mexican war made America aware of our political weakness; and, -in the East, our diplomacy lost the last remnant of its influence -by taking a stand apart from Catholicism. The war of 1859 set -Italy against us—a country so lately governed by princes favorable -to France. The Italian unity and German unity consigned France to -a secondary rank. Finally, the commercial treaties have made us -subservient to England. Thus, in renouncing all idea of conquest, -Louis Napoleon did not give up disturbing Europe. France served as the -instrument of this work, and ended by being the victim. The material -disproportion of forces could only produce a catastrophe. Europe was -arming its men, while France, under Louis Napoleon’s direction, was -plunged in revolutionary metaphysics. It does not require any great -sagacity, however, to perceive that a revolutionary nation could not be -in a condition to sustain a conflict with a nation that has remained -true to conservative principles. What could be effected by combining -all these shattered elements? How could we depend on these bruised -reeds? - -So rapid a decadence under the influence of anti-social principles -has permitted neighboring nations to renounce the traditions that -bound them to us. The admiration they felt for the superiority of -our civilization yielded to the fear of falling under a despotism -as unprincipled as it was senseless. It was from the hotbed of -Bonapartism, the inheritor of revolutionary traditions, that have -sprung the various revolutions which from 1814 to 1830 ensanguined all -Europe. The republic of 1848, exhausted in the course of ten months, -consigned its stock of revolutionism to Louis Bonaparte. He made it -yield with usury. Until 1859, he hesitated and felt his way, being -fettered by public sentiment, which was more conservative and Christian -than he could have wished. He skilfully got rid of the honest people -around him, and, once started, he never stopped again. From that fatal -period, he was no longer his own master: he was the ready tool of the -Revolution. It is surprising that the Bonapartes are not satisfied with -reigning over France; they think they have a right to all Europe—a -right to substitute the sovereignty of the people and elective -governments for all the hereditary monarchies. The mission they claim -secures the complicity of all the malcontents. The rulers assuredly -take note of all this danger. They understand that their enemy in -France is not France itself, but the Revolution. - -The German Empire rekindles the fears that Louis XIV. inspired and -Napoleon made us realize. Owing to a remnant of feudalism, it is -founded on a much more solid basis than the French Empire was. When -it attains its utmost limit, there will really be only one power in -Europe. Even now, no one would think of denying its preponderance. -The balance of power can only be preserved by the alliance of the -secondary powers—France, Russia, Austria, and England. No one disputes -the superiority of Prussia. In order to attain it, it would have been -sufficient to be preserved during the half-century just elapsed from -the revolutions that have so lowered France and Austria. Prussian -statesmen labored energetically to unite Germany. By directing the -mental training in the universities, the secret societies, the press, -and the diplomacy, they have shown a system and energy that in France -would have enabled statesmen of another stamp to bewilder and crush the -genius of France, and bring our nation down to the dust. The Napoleonic -Empire was one vast treason. It only allured France in order to deliver -it up to foreigners. By giving her the choice between universal rule -and annihilation, he placed her in an absurd position, and subjected -her to certain ruin for the greater glory of Napoleon. It may here be -remarked that no man ever made a more lavish use than Napoleon of the -word “glory,” which the pagans so constantly had on their lips. It was -comprehensible to people that lived to serve masters who, having all -that could gratify pride and power in this world, aspired to glory -as the supreme recompense. It was under similar circumstances that -Napoleon and his nephew sought and obtained glory. Their names are -imperishable. They are connected with catastrophes human memory will -forever retain. They refused to reign peaceably by fulfilling their -duties as sovereigns. Rejecting a divine authority, and recognizing -no higher power, they made use of the people as the instrument of -their passions. One had a passion for conquering Europe, the other -for revolutionizing it. And France had to promote these designs, be -drained of men under the First Empire, and be revolutionized under -the Second, in order that the revolutionary contagion might be spread -throughout Europe. War, coming to the aid of this work, led to the -third invasion—the crowning achievement of the Third Empire. - -The sole prejudice the French manifest in favor of the empire is that -it maintained the honor of our army, and restored order. This is only -true with respect to the Revolution. For the Revolution was absolute -disorder. And the aim of the empire was not to substitute order for -revolution, but to organize the Revolution by making it possible to -the vulgar mind. It proved, therefore, wholly incompetent to the work -of reorganizing society. Napoleon succeeded republican anarchy, and -would have left us in it at his downfall, had it not been for the -House of Bourbon, which saved us from foreigners and revolution. The -nephew likewise succeeded his mother, the republic, whose death he -hastened. And everybody knows that his natural death at the Tuileries -would have been followed by a triumphant republican rising at Paris. He -made every preparation for that. The republic of the 4th of September, -1870, was established almost as a matter of course, without violence, -without noise. The _régente_ had orders not to oppose anything. General -Montauban declared to all who would listen to him that he should -only offer moral resistance to the expected demonstration of the -4th of September. In fact, after Wissembourg, there was no imperial -government. That government, then, was anarchical in essence and -administrative by accident. It only rose momentarily above anarchy, -and speedily sank into it again. It dreaded nothing more than a peace -that would strengthen institutions, create new influences, and diminish -Cæsar’s personality. Louis Napoleon was perpetually remodelling the -different institutions, and without any apparent object. It was in -this way he did away even with the traditions of the First Empire, and -subjected the army to so many ridiculous experiences. - -It doubtless seems singular—to accuse the uncle and the nephew of -anarchy, when their putting down anarchy was precisely their title -to govern France. But anarchy is not the only feature of the empire: -there was despotism besides; and with these original principles there -was an ingredient of political order which we do not deny. When this -side of things became apparent, the people threw themselves into the -emperor’s arms, and hailed him as the saviour of the country. When all -was lost, they took hold of the first thing that presented itself. In -our modern France, the empire and the Napoleons are the only memories -capable of fixing every eye and directing every vote at a given moment. -The salvage obtained, half the work remains to be accomplished. In the -latter part of its task, the empire always fails. Its principles hinder -it; they only favor order under conditions which prevent its solidity. -Why this special hatred kept up by the Bonapartes against the House of -Bourbon? The Bonapartes have nothing against the Bourbons; our kings -had long lost their power when the Bonapartes seized it. There is no -personal difference between them and the Bourbons. We must look beyond -to find the connection between the cause and effect. The Bourbons and -the Bonapartes are above all that is individual and personal. They -represent two opposite causes. By the intrigues of Louis Napoleon, the -offshoots of the House of Bourbon have disappeared from the thrones of -southern Europe. They are a living protestation against revolutions. -The Bourbons have in vain allied themselves with the revolutionary -party, and ruined their own cause; they never succeeded in gaining the -good-will of their adversaries, so effectually have their principles, -which they cannot divest themselves of, protected the monarchical -cause against themselves! The House of Bourbon, in its downfall at -Naples and Madrid, was elevated by its fall. The dethroned Neapolitan -king has shown himself more Christian, more kingly, than before he -fell. The Spanish monarchy, by the mouth of Don Carlos, has expressed -sentiments truly worthy of a king, and contrasts with the attitude of -the elective and liberal king who has just left. The House of Bourbon -has been purified by the crucible of revolutions, because, in spite of -its failings and misfortunes, it represents the principle of right. -The Bonapartes remain true to themselves. They do not vary in their -_rôle_ or in their pretensions, and remain attached to principles -irreconcilable with the peace of France and all Europe. The recall of -the Bourbons is an European necessity. It will be more easily effected -when the wall of prejudice, which has barred the way, is wholly broken -down. This European war had been foreseen from the beginning of the -empire. Louis Napoleon, in throwing the responsibility of it on France, -acknowledged that he yielded to the fatality of his position. What -could be a more decisive proof, and what other could be wished, that -the empire is war? No one in France desired war. Nothing was ready. The -liberal party curtailed every year the budget of the army. Prussia gave -us no excuse for aggression; all the _chancelleries_ advised peace. It -was then that, a prey to the evil genius of his family, to obsessions -that deprived him of sense and foresight, Louis Napoleon made a sudden -attack on Germany, without looking to see if he was followed, or how he -was followed. - -Our fault was in not being ready, say the Bonapartists. That is an -illusion. At no price could the empire have been ready. The military -organization, weakened by perpetual changes, the corruption and lack -of discipline diffused among the soldiers and under-officers by means -of the public journals and secret societies, the limited resources -available under a system which affected a kind of communism in the -civil order, and constantly encroached on future supplies, rendered -reform impossible. Everything set aside the thought of attempting -it. The budget paid 400,000 men, and our army did not really exceed -200,000! A reform in France on the Prussian model would have required -several years and the overthrow of all our modern institutions. -Can we imagine, with the other expenditures of our budget, eight -hundred millions more for the army? Prussia has been half a century -in achieving its present organization. Germany has its gradation of -ranks and classes. A numerous nobility forms the basis of its military -institutions, and furnishes, in time of war as well as peace, the -natural leaders of the whole nation. And we Frenchmen—we are still -under the elective system, which is that of children at their sports. -Leaders who are improvised remain necessarily without authority, unless -they have been prepared for their _rôle_ by their previous life. Our -military organization corresponds to our social organization: and it is -the empire, a military _régime_, but also a Saint-Simonian _régime_, -that has co-operated actively in the military dissolution of France. It -was by being mixed with Saint-Simonism that it returned to the extreme -notions of 1789 and 1793. This socialism that was to sustain the empire -against the clergy, the conservative party, and the republicans, did it -weigh one ounce in his favor? At the first reverse, all the socialism -in authority disappeared. And Louis Napoleon has had no adversaries -more implacable than all these socialists whom he fed, and who are -making up for their former servility by their present abuse. - -We must not weary of meditating on these words: France fights for an -idea. This idea, under various names, is the Revolution, socialism, and -the principles of 1789. Louis Philippe, that emperor on a small scale, -and that “best of republics,” pursued the same crooked way. He classed -his wars and foreign intrigues under the mild term of “liberalism.” -He propagated in his way, by the assistance of the Assemblies, the -principles of the Revolution. He gradually but persistently violated -the treaties of 1815, which had put an end to twenty-five years of -social war in Europe. It was in violation of these treaties that he -ascended the throne. He interfered in Belgium in the name of the -Revolution; he aided greatly in the downfall of the Bourbons of Spain; -he occupied Ancona, in spite of the Holy See, and indicated a course -to Gregory XVI. that was identical with the terms of Louis Napoleon’s -letter to Edgar Ney. Finally, less Catholic than M. Guizot, he -applauded the ruin of the Sonderbund, and refused Prince von Metternich -the support of France in protecting the interests of the smaller -cantons, our friends and ancient allies. By his inaction, he favored -the revolutionary cause when he did not serve it with his forces. -The revolutionary triumph at Berne soon extended to Paris, and Louis -Philippe had to withdraw more speedily than he came. He propagated -revolutionism in Europe during the whole course of his reign, with less -display than Louis Napoleon, but with as much perversity. Certainly, -neither Prussia, nor Austria, nor Russia were deceived as to the -cause and tendency of the Revolution of 1830. They protested in vain. -England alone took sides with Louis Philippe: thence the subserviency -of our policy to that of England. Louis Philippe made the most of that -ally of the Revolution: through party spirit, he sacrificed even the -interest and honor of France. We recognize there the soldier of 1789, -the former usher of the Jacobin club. And Louis Napoleon, for the same -cause, humiliated himself more profoundly. He put his ministers, his -assemblies, his diplomacy, our commerce, and our industries at the -feet of England. And he certainly was not ignorant that England would -never send him a shilling or a man. But he knew that England protected -revolution on the Continent. He bound her to the revolutionary cause -by the Crimean war and the commercial treaty. England powerfully -seconded it in Italy and Spain. It was Bonapartism that English policy -has developed even while thinking it was making use of it. Coming -events will tell whether England has not, by violating her traditions, -hastened a decline already evident and even alarming. - -It is possible that, by rejecting the pretended English alliance, -which was never anything but a lure, France would have been forced to -closer relations with the Continent, and to conform to the European -law of nations, which would have saved Europe from great calamities. -The sovereigns, then, have some interest in withdrawing France from -English complicity. The Restoration alone understood the practice of -French policy, and alone maintained a firm attitude with respect to -England. Its whole policy, interior as well as exterior, was national -and uninfluenced by England. The conquest of Algiers was the most -brilliant result of that policy. The Restoration made successful wars, -and wars Europe had no reason to complain of; for they were carried on -with the consent of the powers, and to re-establish the law of nations -settled by the treaties of 1815. Such was the character of the war -with Spain in 1823. Peace reigned then among all the great powers of -the Continent, and it was solely to the House of Bourbon it was owing; -that house overthrown, a spirit of revolt broke out on all sides, and -made thrones totter. What profit did France derive from it? Condemning -herself by her institutions to perpetual war, France pronounced her own -sentence of death. She conquered under Napoleon only by the ability of -her leader, when she found herself contending with one or two nations. -She successively defeated each of her enemies. At length her armies -were made up of recruits from every country in Europe; she incorporated -the vanquished through the same policy as ancient Rome. It was an army -composed of soldiers from all parts of Europe that Napoleon led into -Russia. The disaster of 1812 freed Germany. Then, for the first time, -a serious coalition was arranged, and Napoleon was defeated by the -combined forces in 1813, 1814, and 1815. Louis Napoleon attacked Russia -and Austria separately. He isolated Prussia from the great powers, but -his policy of nationality brought on German unity. And it was the whole -of Germany that confronted him when he merely wished to confront the -King of Prussia. The King of Prussia, had he been defeated, would have -appealed to the Emperor of Austria and the czar, who would not have -failed him. Our revolutionary tendencies will always draw a coalition -upon us. The late events have weakened the revolutionary party in -Europe to such a degree that the support it offered us, and on which -we relied, will be of no more avail. Europe, surprised by the outburst -of 1789, yielded to our arms for twenty years. She then united, and, -imitating the imperial military policy, carried it to a degree of -perfection that left us behind. What remains for France and all Europe -but to agree in re-establishing peace by conformity of political -principles? And in 1873, as in 1815, this peace depends solely on the -recall of the House of Bourbon to France. It is to this work that -Europe is invited if she does not wish to perpetuate a revolution -which, after ruining France, will not leave one of the great powers -standing. - -The French Revolution has till now been the object of public attention. -Princes and people have bestirred themselves for a century to oppose -or sustain it. The inability of the principles of 1789 to establish -anything, and the invasion of 1870, have opened the eyes of France, and -better disposed it to make terms with Europe henceforth. But beside the -French Revolution, now growing powerless, rises a political element -that suddenly overawes and disturbs European equilibrium. A policy -of defence and preservation ought to be directed against the Empire -of Germany, not to destroy it, but to guarantee the safety of other -governments by a general alliance and a new law of nations. France -will never declare war against Europe again. Louis Napoleon is the -last to make such a challenge. Personally, there was nothing warlike -in him; but he represented a system that tends to war. To him this war -was an amusement, a distraction. To divert himself by a general war, -in order to escape for a moment from national affairs that perplexed -him! The diversion was powerful; as well blow out one’s brains to -drive away _ennui_. The mass of the French people did not participate -in the madness of the Bonaparte system: they are victims as well as -Europe. Only we have come to that phase of the system which is more -particularly humiliating to France. The three great allied powers of -the North have nothing more to fear from France. But this alliance of -the North is no longer on terms of equality. We say great powers! There -is now but one great power—Germany. And she necessarily threatens -Austria and Russia by her military strength and by her expansive power, -through her hardy and laborious race, that is filling the United -States with swarms of colonizers, extending to the neighboring Sclave -countries in Russia, and putting forth its shoots even on French soil. -German preponderance will pursue its course. It is not universal -rule, but a preponderance that will tend to it, unless a union of the -secondary powers oppose it with a strong, resisting force. Germany -herself will not be wanting in prudence. Her reign will last its time; -it is sure of only a short triumph. In twenty-five years, Russia, in -consequence of the progress of science and industry, will be able to -subjugate Germany. Germany will then have need of France. - -By a law of Providence, nations that rise from an uncertain beginning -seem to attain their height suddenly, and almost as speedily begin to -decline. We Frenchmen have had our day of power and glory in the middle -ages. The age of Louis XIV. was our era of intellectual superiority and -political preponderance. We have come down from that pinnacle; there is -no denying it. Germany, by its material strength, is rising far above -the point we attained. England, France, Russia, and Austria no longer -have any influence, by their diplomacy and alliances, over the hundreds -of petty princes and peoples that constituted the German Confederation. -They are shut out of Germany. Any pretension to interference would -make them a laughing-stock. All these powers, Russia excepted, have -pursued a foolish policy, and are receiving the recompense due to -their shrewdness. Inheritor of Richelieu, the French Revolution so -disturbed Germany as to overthrow all its princes. The German nation -has survived, and by the concentration of its unity has acquired -a power of aggression and conquest it was incapable of under its -former organization. The Revolution of 1789 resulted in the immediate -elevation of England, which from the third rank rose almost to the -first—a rank she would still have, had she not replaced the policy -of Pitt and Burke by the policy of Lord Palmerston and his followers. -Louis Napoleon created the Empire of Germany, but England applauded his -course. All her statesmen have rejoiced in the humiliation of France -that has resulted from it. Those debaters and merchants have advocated -the establishment of an immense military empire in the heart of Europe, -without perceiving that peaceful and industrious England would thereby -lose its influence. She is destined to decline still further. Her -influence on the Continent depended on the old balance of power, and -preponderated through her alliance with Austria. In 1859, she betrayed -Austria, and shamefully disavowed the treaties of 1815. Austria turned -to Russia, or to Prussia, or to both at once. - -The old kingdoms, the historic nations, are breaking in pieces. In -reality, it is the Prussian Empire that has been founded, rather than -the German Empire restored. Germany retains enough of Catholic life -to give her a tone of moral and intellectual grandeur that render her -superior to Russia and the United States. There is nothing to disturb -her but the future, and a future not far distant, if the people of -Southern Europe continue to abandon themselves to revolutionary -principles. We are far from believing that France can never rise -again. She rose after 1815: the same causes produce the same effects. -What concerns Europe is that France will never resume her _rôle_ of -agitator. Bonapartism is still powerful. It prevails through the habits -and necessities which concentrate and direct the whole political, -moral, and mental activity of France. This storm over, the name of -Napoleon will again disturb the public mind, and unite the suffrage. -The republic of 1870 is dragging along in the old beaten track of -imperialism. It has merely set up the men of 1848 or 1830—old, -worn-out functionaries, whose incapacity has increased rather than -diminished. It is time for a reaction against childish prejudices. The -motto of the liberal school is: Revolution and Progress! It is well -to know that a revolution is, etymologically speaking, a turn back. -Our liberals cling to the days of 1789. In a few years, they will be a -century behindhand. France rapidly rose from her helplessness of 1815 -to the Spanish war of 1823, and the conquest of Algiers. Then a fatal -revolution arrested its progress, and it fell back to a state bordering -on that of ‘89. Louis Philippe kept us in subjection eighteen years. -He was overthrown by the socialism which he restrained, but which -with a bound returned to the theories of ‘93 in the name of progress! -These sudden relapses disorganize and destroy the social machine. -The Restoration alone was successful, because it was the regular -government. The House of Bourbon is able to give interior peace to -France. It is not the government of a party, for it does not derive its -title from the popular vote. It appeals to the conscience and reason -like a natural law and a national necessity. It has no other ambition -but to make France once more a Christian kingdom by ensuring the -general peace of Europe on the basis of a new public law. What great -power will dare refuse her its aid, when so strongly interested in the -same cause? - - - - -ENGLISH DOMESTIC FESTIVITIES. - -BY AN ENGLISH CATHOLIC. - - -MEDIÆVAL England was the home of merriment and the scene of all manner -of family festivals and athletic rejoicings. Heir to the old Norse -traditions of Yule-tide, she preserved the spirit of innocent and manly -sport better perhaps than those less hardy and more polished lands of -the Mediterranean whose pleasures were mostly such as could be enjoyed -from the vantage-point of a balcony, and the soft resting-place of a -gilded ottoman. In England, the national pleasures are pleasures of -action as well as of sight; and, even in those specially destined to -commemorate the glories of an ancient feudal family, the members of -the family do not recline in luxurious ease, patronizingly looking on -at the feasts provided to do them honor, but mingle with the people, -share in their games, and compete for prizes with the rest. This it -is that distinguishes English festivities from any other, and stamps -them with an individuality which in the sequel has no little political -significance. The sister countries share in this attribute of hearty -good-fellowship among classes, and indeed what is here said of England -may be said interchangeably of Scotland and Ireland. - -Still, things are not done in our day in precisely the same lavish -and baronial way that was common in Tudor times, and a revival of -this generous style of entertainment, though not infrequent, cannot -be called other than a rarity. This certainly enhances the interest -attaching to one of these social relics of the past; and the great -pageant two years ago at S. Paul’s Cathedral, London, in thanksgiving -for the recovery of the heir to the throne, was perhaps the most -brilliant and successful modern attempt to revive the glories of -England’s “golden age”; but yet, in some measure, more individuality -attaches to country _fêtes_ than even to such a national event as the -“Thanksgiving Procession.” - -Then, too, they are so little known beyond the rural neighborhood -in which they occur that to us across the ocean they come as fresh -revelations of the inner structure—social, political, and domestic—of -the great mother country, whose language is now that of the greater -half of the civilized world. Such a festival is also rendered still -more interesting in our eyes when it takes place in a Catholic family, -under Catholic auspices, and is pervaded with the broad spirit -of Catholic generosity. The best days of “merrie” were those of -“Catholic” England, and the national character, now universally known -as the British—_i.e._, moroseness and gloom of disposition—is wholly -a graft of the unhappy Lutheran Rebellion. Unquestionably, the most -English domestic festival, the most characteristic, and the aptest to -exhibit Englishmen of all ranks and stations in their best aspect, is -a “Coming of Age.” This is celebrated on the twenty-first anniversary -of the birth of the heir to a large property, and is essentially an -outgrowth of the institution of primogeniture. - -In the instance of which we speak, the festival took place in a -Catholic house, on the estate of the largest land-owner of one of the -midland counties of England. There was a large family gathering bidden -from all parts of the country; relatives of all denominations met in -perfect peace and friendship round the board of the Catholic head -of their house; there were clergymen and government clerks, married -sisters with large families, old aunts in sufficiently quaint costume, -young lawyers, parliamentary men, soldiers and sailors, some with -years of service behind them, some with their spurs yet to win; in -fact, each generation, from that of “powder and patches” down to that -of the nursery of to-day, was impartially and favorably represented. -The house, a large, roomy Tudor building, was still too small to -accommodate all the guests, and the lodges and even the inns of the -neighborhood, had to be put into requisition. When we drove through -the park on Tuesday evening, 10th of October, 18—, the first thing -that struck us was seeing moving lights in front of the house; and, -our carriage being suddenly stopped, we found that the lights were -carried by E—— and the servants to prevent our being shipwrecked upon -tent-ropes and poles! By that dim light, we discerned the outline of -the immense tent run out from the end window of the drawing-room; and, -as we looked at the preparations, the work really seemed as if carried -on by fairies, so quickly and perfectly was it accomplished. The place -was looking lovely; some of the beautiful trees were just touched with -the first tints of scarlet and gold, others still fresh and green. At -the east end of the Terrace Garden is a very handsome stone balustrade, -between the flower-garden and the straight walk leading to the old -Hall (a ruined house, once the family mansion, and now standing in the -grounds as a picturesque ornament, and also a convenient place for -school entertainments, servants’ dances, etc.) “To any prosaic mind,” -said a friend of ours, “there is always great amusement in watching -work of any kind; and the object for which all was going on gave me -such a real interest in it that I do not think any one entered more -fully than I did into even the minutest details of preparation.” Lord -G——, the owner of the house, and the father of the young recipient -of these patriarchal honors, gave Captain W—— _carte blanche_ about -many little things, and was so kindly pleased with every endeavor: all -the people worked with _such_ eagerness and good-will. Old Philip (a -garrulous old carpenter who knows the family history far better than -the family itself!) and Captain W—— made fast friends in no time. -The entrance tent became in a few days very pretty—lined with scarlet -and white, the floor covered with red, marble tables at the sides; and -at one end on a table was placed Lord G——’s bust, and a pier-glass -behind it, the two corners of the tent at each side being filled with -plants of variegated foliage. Just opposite the entrance was hung the -large picture of the _fête_ at Fort Henry when Lord G—— came of age -(thirty or more years ago); and very quaint indeed are the costumes and -most charming the “bonnets” of the “period”; but we were assured by -Philip they were all perfect likenesses! There were light chandeliers -suspended from the roof, which had a fine effect even in daytime, and -sofas were placed round the walls, so that one only felt what a pity -it would be when such a pretty entrance hall would be demolished! At -one end was the entrance, and the passage to the front door, all filled -with flowers. Much fun went on whilst all these things were being -placed, and some even said the preparations would be the best part of -all. - -The hero of the festivities himself arrived a day or two after us. -Being in the army, as are most young men of good prospects in England, -he had hitherto been away with his regiment, and only obtained leave -of absence for this occasion. He seemed delightfully happy, but most -naturally, not excitedly; and throughout the whole no one could be more -unaffected or unspoilt by being the one object of all these rejoicings. -Where many a young man might have shown himself over-elated, he was -exactly himself, happy and cheerful, but quiet, calm, and always -self-possessed. When all the preparations were finished, nothing -could be more beautiful. It is not too much to say that they were -princely, yet all was in perfect taste and keeping—nothing of vain -show and ostentation, thoroughly refined, and so truly represented by -the word which to our mind conveys the highest praise, _gentlemanly_; -above all, everything was arranged for the happiness and rejoicing of -others, of high and low, of rich and poor, and nothing overlooked which -could gratify the feelings of participants. On each of the different -approaches to the house, the banners, placed at different distances -on each side of the drives, had a beautiful effect, as well as the -larger flags on the house, on the old Hall, on the church-tower; and -these brilliant colors were set off by the more varied and almost -equally rich tints of the trees. On Monday (the 16th October), the -festivities began in earnest. The first act was our all going directly -after breakfast up to the old Hall to see the gigantic cask of -21-years-old ale opened, and, as in duty bound, to taste the ale to -Charlie’s health. The universal custom in England of brewing a large -quantity of the very best ale the year an heir is born, and keeping it -untouched until the day he comes of age, when the cask is broached and -distributed in prudently moderate quantities to the guests and tenants, -is of very ancient origin, and is most religiously adhered to. Another -custom is that of planting an oak-tree near the house the year of the -heir’s birth, to commemorate the event, and the sapling is always -called after its human foster-brother. This tapping the ale was like -reading a page out of some memoir of former times, and reminded us of -the stories of Sir Walter Scott. - -The cavernous cellar in which stand the mysterious casks, the ivy-grown -ruin overhead, the brawny men opening the family treasures, and serving -as rustic cup-bearers to the guests, all made a thorough old-time -picture. Some of the party, after this ceremony was over, left us to go -to the first village feast, the prototype—a description of which will -equally fit all the others. There are seven villages on the estates, -and each felt itself entitled to a separate local entertainment. -Ridlington, which supplies the family with one of its many titles, was -the first to experience its lord’s hospitality. - -The feast consisted of an abundant supply of meat, ale, and cakes -for men, women, and children alike, with games on the village green, -races for simple prizes, such as articles of useful clothing, etc. The -greased pole formed the chief attraction for the men and boys, and of -course was productive of the greatest merriment, through the harmless -accidents to which it inevitably exposes the candidates for the honors -of successful climbing. During the repast, speeches were freely made -and healths proposed, every one much alike, but all interesting, -through the hearty reciprocity of feeling evinced between landlord -and tenant. Returning home, the host and his daughters prepared to -receive their unexpected guests, the greater number of whom were to -assemble that evening. Our “prosaic-minded” friend here interposed a -characteristic comment, in these words: “When the influx of guests -took place about six o’clock that same evening, you may conceive the -feelings of the ‘family aunt’ descending the stairs before dinner, -as if one of the pictures had stepped out of its frame to mix in -such a crowd of strangers, for such are almost all to me!” As the -drawing-rooms were dismantled in preparation for the ball, there was -only the oak corridor to sit in, and it must be confessed it required -some tact to find seats; whilst, of course, all the men crowded -together, English fashion, under the staircase! Capt. W—— acquired -the name of “master of the ceremonies,” as he and E—— (one of our -young hostesses) drew up the order of march to dinner, and he was -deputed to tell every one who to take—rather puzzling in an assemblage -scarcely one of whom he had ever seen before. The “weighty” matter of -English precedence in such a company is more important than any one -would suppose; and we cannot wonder that such social punctiliousness -should raise a smile among people of simpler though not less generous -habits. - -The dinner was a most elaborate affair; indeed, in England, it is -always the crowning portion of any entertainment, and the test of a -genuine social success. The table looked beautiful with the massive -silver plate: the épergne representing a herd of stags (the white -stag is Lord G——’s crest) feeding under a spreading oak; the vases -of classical shape, formerly wine-coolers, but now, more congenially -to modern refinement, filled with ferns or plants of colored foliage, -contrasting with the frosted silver; flowers and fruit in utopian -abundance, and every vase or dish raised on a stand of crimson -velvet, in artistic relief against the delicate white damask of the -table-cloth—and this, of course, every day the same. Among the guests -we may pause a moment to mention a lady of whom a stranger to her -gave this characteristic description: saying that she was nicely but -quietly dressed, had large, soft eyes, an intelligent expression, and -a thoughtful look. She was certainly the most interesting and the -cleverest person of the company, if the inward history of a mind is to -count more than its outward covering. Suffice it to say that a few of -those present knew how to appreciate her, especially a clergyman of -the neighborhood noted for his historical researches and antiquarian -learning—the Rev. G. H. Hill. Among those whom social reticence does -not forbid us to distinguish by name was also an architect of rare -merit, under whose supervision part of the building had been erected—a -man whose mind is thoroughly artistic, and whose name, already the -property of the public, we need therefore not hesitate to give—Mr. -C. Buckler. His testimony, characteristic as it must be, will not -be inappropriate in this sketch; of the whole festival he could say -with truth, as he did in a charming letter to his patron and host, -that it was thoroughly mediæval in spirit. This is high praise in -the mouth of an Englishman and an artist; for our national pride is -inseparably woven with feudal and ancestral feelings, an admiration for -the open-handed generosity and lavish display of baronial times—for -everything, in a word, that made England a fit nurse for Shakespeare, -and an ideal for Washington Irving. - -If our readers are not weary of pen-portraits, here is one—that of the -daughter of the lady we have just spoken of, which our dear old friend, -the “often-quoted,” thus incisively draws: “She is a pretty little -thing, with a very white skin, delicate wild-rose color, and very -bright and large eyes, and as much as possible keeping close to her -mother’s side, but evidently fond of dancing, and enjoying everything -with perfect freshness.” We are pleased to notice here that this type -of the English girl is not so defunct as some pessimists would have us -believe, and that, despite paint and fastness, and the clumsy imitation -of Parisian vice, there is yet in store for the future a generation -of homeloving wives and mothers. Of another of the near relations of -the host, our friend says: “It suffices to mention Lady L——’s name -to express all that is bright, and kind, and good; her presence was -a charm, but she was obliged to go away after two days, and it was a -blank not to see her.” - -This woman, whose social charm is so irresistible, is none the less a -generous and devoted attendant on a husband whose mind had given way, -and whose health was more than precarious; it was his comfort, indeed, -which was the cause of her short stay in the house of rejoicing. - -The great charm of this thoroughly pleasant gathering was that there -were no “grand people,” no “fashionable people,” no “fast people”; that -all were natural and real, and everybody seemed pleased and happy. But -our “prosaic” friend actually was not satisfied, and complained gently -of the disappointment, among so many young people, of not being able to -idealize any incipient romance; for, she queried, “would it not have -thrown a charm of poetry over the whole thing?” - -No, truly, although the thought is touching and pretty; for, after all, -the fairest ideal of love could not live in a crowd, and the love we -read of in Elizabethan records was more courtly than deep, more gallant -than true. Love is an angel, not a Cupid. - -One evening, there was a ball for the county families, many of whose -houses were filled with their own circle of friends, all of whom were -included in the invitations. The rooms looked gay and brilliant; -toilets were resplendent, and the family pictures, with which the walls -were literally covered, gazed down on an assemblage almost as bright as -their own. In the hall was a white stuffed stag, with hoofs and antlers -gilt, representing in life-size the family crest. The next morning, -breakfast _began_ at the usual hour (ten), but few appeared; but, by -two o’clock, they gradually stole down, when tea and coffee had given -place to luncheon. Wednesday evening, there was the servants’ ball. -Every one went into the large tent, which made a splendid ball-room. -The dancing was rather amusing to watch, for it was not the _forte_ -of the assemblage; but they all looked very happy, and the dignity of -their manners to each other was quite edifying! Still, we thought it a -great shame to criticise. Thursday, there was the feast for other and -nearer villages, Exton, Barrow, and Cottesmore, with games before the -people sat down. And it was a goodly sight when all the tables were -peopled; all the men at dinner, and all the women and children at tea. -Lord G——’s health was drunk first. It was the first occasion on which -he had to speak, and it utterly overcame him; for he alluded to the -former time when they had all been thus assembled to welcome him to -E—— on his accession to the title. But the warmth and heartiness with -which his few words were received must surely have pleased him. Then -they drank his son’s health, to which toast the young man responded -modestly and well. Later on in the evening, there were beautiful -fireworks, which lit up the whole place most gorgeously. - -Fireworks are not a specialty with Englishmen, but on this occasion -they really went off to the credit of all concerned. The host has had -long experience in such things in Italy, where the merest village can -shame London itself on this head. The clusters of Chinese lanterns -among the trees bordering the drives, the Bengal lights shooting up in -fitful illuminations across the broken front of the church tower and -the old Hall, the steadier lamps along the lines of the house itself, -and the reflection of all in the many little lakes within the grounds, -made the display peculiarly attractive. Every one enjoyed it to the -uttermost. - -Friday, the 20th of October, the heir’s birthday, was _the_ day, _par -excellence_. And here we are reminded that we are among those who -have returned to the faith of old England, and have brought back to -the original giver of the great free institutions of the country—the -Catholic Church—all the gifts of intellect, education, culture, -and learning drawn from her alienated universities and the polished -influence of her errant sons. A solemn High Mass, with appropriate -ecclesiastical music, was the first interest that gathered the guests -together. Many not of our faith were there, joining reverently, -and as far as they could, in the beautiful service; the domestic -chapel, almost in size a church, looked very fair in the pale morning -light that streamed through its pointed windows; the shadows of the -beech-leaves, turning to brown and gold, were thrown fitfully across -the Lady Chapel, against whose outside walls the great tree almost -leans; bars of dusky golden light lay on the stone floor of the -memorial chapel, where the foundress sleeps; and, as the white-robed -choristers and acolytes moved softly to and fro in the deep choir, -the beautiful contrast seemed to force itself upon one’s imagination -between them and the worshippers in the nave, clad in dark, quiet -draperies, and massed together in shadowy corners—typifying so -delicately the restful life of the future, and the toiling watch -still to be kept in the present. From this, the most congenial and -appropriate scene we had yet witnessed, we turned regretfully to -the new pleasures of the day. The first event was very momentous, -and was marked by great state, being no less than the presentation -of a silver inkstand to the young hero of the _fête_, Lord C——, -from the servants. All the household was drawn up at one end of the -entrance-tent. Poor good Mrs. H——, the housekeeper, whom nearly -twenty years’ service had made a mother to the host’s children, was -quite unable to restrain her tears, while behind the large round table, -with the inkstand on it, stood J——, the butler, _pale_ with the -responsibility of his coming speech. Lord C—— stood opposite, with -the family and guests behind him. This was the most touching scene of -all, but none the less the most formidable ceremony. The presentation -was very creditably made, and as gracefully acknowledged, to the equal -satisfaction of all parties; and, among the birthday gifts, none was -so valued by the recipient. He had grown up among these old friends; -the few who had not known him as a boy had heard the tales of his -childhood, and experienced the kindness of his manner. All felt as if -he belonged to them, and as though his interests were theirs. This -feeling, too, is one of the relics of the past fast disappearing from -the heartless fabric of modern society; and it is pleasant to see -traces of it yet left here and there in the ancient baronial households -of England. - -The concluding festivity was on a gigantic scale, and proved the -most characteristic of any. This was the grand ball and supper to -the tenants, which furnished the local newspapers with materials for -rapturous descriptions and complimentary “leaders” for at least a -week afterwards. The entrance tent was lined with the officers of -the yeomanry in full uniform (scarlet), to the number of eighteen or -twenty; the band of their regiment was also in attendance, and the -land-steward, to whose management much had been entrusted, introduced -each party of the tenants as they arrived. Nearly five hundred of these -characteristic guests were soon assembled, Lord G——, his daughters, -and two sons dancing in turn with all the most prominent of them. The -ball opened with a country-dance; not the formal quadrille, but the -hearty, old-fashioned performance, in which the elderly and heavy -are as comfortably at home as the young and the supple. The ball, -however, brilliant as it was, was but secondary to the supper, which -was the crowning-point of the week’s doings—the occasion, long looked -forward to, of pleasant and witty speeches, of hearty good-will, and -of manifestations of real and substantial friendship. To borrow the -words of a weekly of the neighborhood, the Lincolnshire _Chronicle_: -“At one o’clock, supper was served in the marquee, which, tastefully -decorated, brilliantly lighted, and filled with the gaily attired -company, presented a scene which will not soon be forgotten by those -who had the pleasure of witnessing it. The yeomanry band played ‘The -Roast Beef of Old England’ as the party glided into the tent, and, when -all had taken their places, grace was said. With the exception of a -buck roasted whole and sent to table with gilt antlers, the whole of -the viands were cold, the _pièce de résistance_ being a splendid baron -of beef. The birthday cake occupied a prominent position at a centre -table, and among other novelties was a fine peacock in full plumage. -Just before the toast of the evening was given, the beautiful present -of plate purchased by the tenantry was carried in and placed in front -of the young Lord C——, on the principal table.” “When all were -seated,” says another local paper, “the _coup d’œil_, from the entrance -of the tent, was very striking; the gay uniforms of the yeomanry, and -the dresses of the ladies, combined with the colored lining of the -tent, the numerous flags and banners, and the innumerable chandeliers -filled with wax candles, presenting a very brilliant effect. The Earl -of G—— and his distinguished visitors were seated at a long raised -table facing the guests of the evening, and immediately in front of -him were two other raised tables, upon one of which was a baron of -beef weighing between 30 and 40 stone, and a whole roasted buck. There -were also 21 joints of roast beef, 15 of pressed beef, 17 galantines -of veal, 24 game pies, 14 large hams, 28 tongues, 15 turkeys, 8 boars’ -heads, 15 rounds of beef, 10 legs and 14 shoulders of mutton, 72 roast -fowls, 54 pheasants, 62 partridges, 20 plum-puddings, etc. etc., making -a total of 1,000 dishes.” - -The speeches being the great characteristic incident of the feast, -we will quote some parts of them, showing in their simple energy -how close the ties of friendship still are between the owner and -the tiller of the soil. Some of the speakers were farmers, most of -them prosperous and pushing men. We take our quotations from the -Lincolnshire _Chronicle_: “Mr. Berridge proposed the health of the -Earl of G—— as a nobleman, a neighbor, and a friend.... The noble -earl had inherited from his ancestors that military blood which always -ran through the veins of the N——ls [the family name of Lord G——]. -If they looked round these halls, they would see the portrait of many -an old warrior.... He understood Lord C—— now belonged to the army, -and he would express a wish that that young nobleman might one day be -commander-in-chief of England (cheers). Speaking of the family, he was -reminded of an anecdote. A friend of his was taking a drive through -the lanes in the neighborhood of this house, when he came in view of -the mansion, and said to an old laborer he met on the road: ‘Who lives -here, my man?’ ‘Lord G——,’ was the reply. ‘Is it an old family?’ was -the next inquiry. ‘They came here, sir, before the Flood,’ was the -response (laughter and cheers).” - -This _naïveté_ of the old man reminds one of the proud boast of some -old French family, that they had an ark of their own at the time of the -Flood, and were quite independent of Noe and his ship of refuge! - -Lord G——, in his earnest reply, gracefully alluded in the following -words to the long tenure of land by the farmers’ ancestors: “There can -be nothing more gratifying than the existence of cordial good feeling -between the occupiers of land and their landlords; and there can be -no better evidence of this happy state of things than to find, upon -reference to records of the past, numbers of families living upon the -same estate for generations—for a longer time, perhaps, than the -owners of the estate themselves (hear, hear). I believe there are many -people here whose ancestors have been for centuries upon this property; -and one can only hope that the same families, from father to son, may -continue here for centuries hereafter, and that what has happened -in years past will be repeated in years to come, so that, by your -descendants and the descendants of my son a long time hence, the same -mutual good feeling may be evinced and similar occurrences be witnessed -as these we celebrate this evening.” - -Lord D——, an early friend of the host, proposed the health of the -young recipient of the day’s honors. His speech, quite the best of all, -is worthy of notice. After a very apt and graceful beginning, he said: -“I am speaking to tenant-farmers and breeders of stock, and you know -that, when you look upon a young animal, you always inquire after his -sire—what he came from (laughter and cheers); and you judge, from what -has been, what will be (renewed cheering). But you know what the N——s -are—what their stock is (great cheering). They have lived in this -country among you and before your eyes for generations. You know they -are a family who love to live among their own. They prefer spending -their money among their own people, and sharing their interests, to -going abroad, as so many others do, and spending their money away. -Unfortunately, it is not uncommon, in speaking of a man, to say how -few vices he has, and not how many virtues; and many a time I have -heard it said, when there were no virtues to speak of, ‘Well, he is a -good-natured fellow.’” He then warmly eulogized his young friend, whom -he had known “ever since he could crawl,” and ended by wishing that he -might be a worthy “chip off the old block.” Then, with well-deserved -praise, he spoke thus of the father: - -“For I will say this of the father, whom I have known most intimately -for the last twenty years: that he is one of whom it may be truly said, -in the full meaning of the word, he is a ‘just man’ (hear, hear), and I -hope his son will walk in his footsteps. May all health and happiness -accompany him through life, and, when his time is up, and he is called -away from this world, may he leave a memory behind him as of one who -lived blessing and blessed, and may he be handed down to posterity as -one who did his duty to God and man!” - -Mr. Wortley—another principal tenant, and the orator of his -neighborhood, a man whose kind heart is father to his innocent pride of -speech—then stood forward on behalf of the committee who had managed -the subscriptions for the birthday gift, and spoke as follows: - -“My Lord C——: I have now the great pleasure and the distinguished -honor to ask your acceptance of this plate, which is contributed by -tenants and friends of the Earl of G—— on the occasion of your coming -of age, as a substantial evidence from us of the cordial manner in -which we share the general joy of this day, and of the great respect we -entertain towards your noble father and the family of the N——s.... It -is given to you, my lord, just stepping, as it were, on the threshold -of active and responsible life, with the earnest wish that you may -be largely blest with those talents for which so many of your family -have been celebrated, and may, like them, enjoy the high blessing of -a disposition to use them, as they have used theirs, for the greater -benefit and advantage of their fellow-creatures.” Then making his -favorite quotation, one largely used on these occasions as strikingly -appropriate, he repeated sonorously the well-known lines: - - “Kind words are more than coronets, - And simple faith than Norman blood.” - -“And still,” he went on, “we, the living, have what past generations -could point to—the bright coronet of old N——l blood to boast of, and -their natural crest of real and crowning charity to be thankful for -(cheers).” - -The presentation plate was a beautiful silver épergne, also convertible -into candelabra, thirty-nine inches high, and a pair of flower-stands -with finely modelled figures of a stag and a doe standing beneath an -oak. According to the universal custom in country neighborhoods, -these costly articles were not procured from London, but from some -local silversmith of good standing; for in England everything like -centralization is instinctively avoided. How much the prosperity of -every part of the kingdom is thereby increased may be seen at a glance. -Mr. Wortley concluded with these words: “It is not presented with the -power of words, but it comes with the far stronger power of hearts -within and without this gorgeous assemblage—warm, devoted, and glowing -hearts—hearts joining with yours, my Lord C——, in wishing that you -may long remain the heir to the title and estate; while we join most -sincerely with each other in the fervent hope and humble prayer that -through life, in whatever clime or condition, God’s blessing may be -your unfailing portion (cheers).” - -Lord C—— made a modest and graceful acknowledgment in a few -well-chosen words, telling his guests “what a value he should always -set on the testimonial as a remembrance of the happy hours he and they -had been permitted to enjoy together” and begging them “to take what -he had said for what it was worth.” “I do not say this by way of any -excuse for what I am certain must be my shortcomings, but I say it lest -you should think I am expressing myself in any way too feebly, or with -too little warmth of feeling.” - -Mr. Thompson (another tenant) proposed the brother and sisters of Lord -C——, and the younger branches of the family. He said facetiously -enough: “Experience has probably taught all of us that it is rather a -misfortune that there should be an only child in a family, and that -there is very apt to be in this case a spoiled urchin on one side, and -not at all unlikely two silly parents on the other.” Of course, this -produced laughter, and the speaker went on in the same strain, till he -remarked finally that he sincerely hoped “not only that there would -always be an heir to the N——l family, but younger branches also.” - -Lord C——’s younger brother answered quite as well as he had been -addressed: “I was not prepared to speak to you on the present occasion. -I was flattering myself I should get through the whole of these -proceedings without having to pass through this ordeal.... As younger -branches, we grow out further and further from the parent stem, until -we are at length lost among the other trees of the forest, while the -other and older branch continues to tower upwards.” - -A speaker, whom we cannot resist designating by a synonyme which is -no longer a disguise, “Lothair,” and who shared these festivities, -proposed “the ladies” in a humorous speech, beyond which we must -make no further quotations. “Somebody,” he remarked, “in speaking of -these festivities, has said that this entertainment had some peculiar -features distinguishing it from other entertainments of its kind; -as, for instance, it is now half-past three in the morning, instead -of about five or six in the afternoon (laughter). It has also this -peculiar feature, ... that it is not confined to a lugubrious class -of men in black, talking nonsense about the army, navy, militia, and -volunteers (renewed laughter). Here we have a few toasts brought in as -an interlude in the middle of an entertainment of which it may be said, -‘It is not good for man to be alone,’ whatever Mr. Spurgeon may have -observed to the contrary.” - -The speaker has since been the subject of an ovation fully as -demonstrative as that in which he took a secondary part last October, -and we may hope that, in years to come, Cardiff may rival Rutland in -the mediæval character of its princely entertainments. - -The birthday cake was home-made, and a _chef-d’œuvre_ of the family -housekeeper. Its weight was 120 lbs., and its structure four tiers -of confectionery, displaying medallions of the arms and crest of the -family; the silk banner (besides many smaller flags) surmounting it -bearing the name and date of birth of Lord C——. Never, indeed, could -there have been more gratifying feelings manifested, and never could a -series of the kindest hospitalities have passed off with more perfect -satisfaction. Throughout the whole week there was nothing but good -feeling, every one vying with each other to do the utmost to make all -succeed. Not a _contretemps_ occurred—all as Lord G—— could have -wished, and so well deserves it should be. There were most regretful -faces the next day, when, after breakfast, the time of parting came; -all, we believe, heartily wishing it could begin again. - -This sketch, which to us has all the personal attraction of a family -record, may perhaps not be uninteresting to some descendants of those -old English families, who are as worthily represented on this side of -the Atlantic as they are in the mother country. - -The poetry of the olden times has not yet quite departed from the -feudal soil of England; and, in these meetings of true friendship -between two of the most powerful classes of the country, we may read a -promise of a common cause being made by their united influence against -the sickening aggression of insensate communism, and the spread of -licentious ideas. In this all good men and true, whether of Old or New -England, are heartily agreed. But what strikes us even more is the -beautiful picture here displayed of the revived spirit of the olden -faith, quickening the pulses, guiding the lives, and hallowing the -pleasures of a new generation of Englishmen. Here are the senators, -the lawgivers, the soldiers of the future, assembled under the -auspices of the old church, putting into generous practice her ideas -of ample hospitality and unquestioning charity; here are England’s -best men bowing like happy children to the customs and the influence -of the faith brought to them by Augustine and Wilfrid; here is the -church represented by the best blood and the most chivalrous class of -England’s sons, who take their place and raise their voice to-day in -society, in the courts, and in the senate, with a fearlessness and a -freedom which a hundred years ago would have cost them their heads! -The Catholic Church stands now in a proud and high position, a social -conqueror on the same soil which she conquered once already by the -splendor of her learning, and the resources of her material energy. -The lands her monks reclaimed from barrenness, the universities her -friars adorned with their matchless genius, after having been torn -from her by violence, are virtually holding out their arms to her -again, and the Gothic chapels that crown the abbey demesnes of new -and wealthy converts are but the practical translation of that better -wealth poured back into her bosom by the converts of the schools and -universities. In England, more than in any other land, the Christian -may exclaim in triumph: _Christus regnat, Christus imperat_, and, for -the encouragement of the future, may confidently point to the records -of the past, and say with Constantine: _In hoc signo vinces._ - - - - -MORE ABOUT DARWINISM.[170] - - -_The Expressions of the Emotions in Man and Animals_ is the title of -the latest work written by Charles Darwin. This author has already -gained a pretty widespread name by his two volumes on the _Descent of -Man_, and on _The Origin of Species_. In all these, he advocates the -theory of only one parent and progenitor, common both to man and to the -animal. - -Man is the offspring of the brute. The only distinction between them -is that of a more perfect development. Man is a monkey perfectly -developed. This developing process is no other than habit transmitted, -imitation, and practice. - -This theory is supposed in the volume before us—_The Expressions_, -etc. It is, indeed, taken for granted, and Mr. Darwin merely seeks -confirmatory proofs in this work. How he does so we shall see. - -The reasoning of the entire volume may be summed up in the following -syllogism: The expressions of the emotions in man and animals are, for -the most part, similar, nay, alike. Now, this could not be so, did man -not descend from the animal; therefore, man is the offspring of the -brute. - -Of course, he will have to admit some accidental differences in the -expressions of each. But these he easily gets over by saying that in -man those external expressions of the emotions are already perfected, -matured, and developed, while in animals they are as yet budding, -developing, and perfecting. - -The principle of evolution would seem to account for all differences. -The animal, by evolving its faculties in a long series of years, rises -gradually to a higher species, and finally, having walked on all -fours, comes to the conclusion it would be better and more sensible to -use only two feet. Having looked downward for a long time, it begins -to think it would be more honorable and decent to assume an upright -posture. And then, grunting and howling are by no means as becoming as -speaking French, or Italian, or Chinese; hence, Mr. Orang comes to the -conclusion that he has been silent long enough, and that it is time -that he, too, should have his say about matters. - -We do not say that this is all expressed in so many words in the volume -before us. Oh! no; Mr. Darwin is too adroit to do that. Like the devil, -he sometimes assumes the garment of light, and puts on an appearance of -virtue. His words are characterized by a tone of modesty and humility -and even diffidence which is not common to that class of writers. He -does not directly affirm anything; but he asks questions that contain -a negative answer. He insinuates. He does not tell us man is a monkey, -but he affirms that man expresses his feelings in the same manner as -do these animals. Hence how explain this similarity, if they be not -brothers? - -We call attention to this fact. It alone can render his work dangerous -to youthful or unguarded minds. We think there is little to fear that -its frivolous arguments will excite anything but laughter and ridicule -among men of solid erudition. - -Unfortunately, the ideas embodied in this book are the creed of many -enlightened persons, even, of this “progressive” age. This alone -accounts for the favor and widespread circulation Darwin’s writings -have acquired. Protestantism has done its work only too well. Casting -off all authority in matters of faith, it has paved the way to all -errors, and its theory has merely been developed by our modern -materialists. - -We are not disposed to deny the great labor and varied research -employed in the work before us; but, we must say, seldom has it been -our lot to witness such shallowness of argument, such loose connection -between premises and conclusions. It will astonish the intelligent -reader that so earnest a student as Mr. Darwin evidently is, could make -use of logic in a manner discreditable to any tyro. - -But we must not wonder at this. The drunkard sees things turning -topsy-turvy, when in reality they stand still. One who wears green -spectacles will behold objects in a green or pale color. We are apt -to judge things according to preconceived ideas or a certain state -of mind. So Mr. Darwin: his great hobby is to make man a monkey, and -_vice versa_. Hence, he takes slight resemblances between the two -as certain proof of his theory. Thus, he says: “With mankind, some -expressions, such as the bristling of the hair under the influence of -extreme terror, can hardly be understood except on the belief that man -once existed in a much lower and animal-like condition. The community -of certain expressions in distinct though allied species, as in the -movements of the same facial muscles during laughter by man and by -various monkeys, is rendered somewhat more intelligible if we believe -in their common progenitor. He who admits on general principles that -the structure and habits of all animals have been gradually evolved, -will look at the whole subject of expressions in a new and interesting -light.”[171] - -This language is clear and unmistakable, though its meaning be artfully -disguised. The logic of his conclusions, however, is not equally -satisfactory. Why trace man’s origin to the monkey, because, forsooth, -his hair bristles when angry? Or is it really so necessary to make -man a brute because the same facial muscles move during laughter? -We had always thought that these accidental resemblances were more -than sufficiently explained by the simple fact that man, besides his -immortal soul, is possessed of a body also, which, being material, -is subject in many respects to the laws of other animals. We say, in -fact, man is a rational animal. He is composed of matter and spirit. -As regards his body, he is subject to the same laws as those which -regulate animals. - -Mr. Darwin has in his conclusions what is not contained in his -premises, and hence he falls into a grave error in regard to the -first principles of logic and sound reasoning. It is quite logical -and perfectly true to say man has some exterior or bodily motions and -expressions similar to those of other animals, and therefore that his -bodily organs have some relation and similarity with those of the -lower animals; nay, we may even infer the same essence to be common -to the bodily organs of both. Thus much strict logic will allow. Thus -much sound philosophy has always admitted. But then, we may ask, How -far does this resemblance extend? Does it merely exist in the bodily -organs, or does it perhaps show itself in all external actions, -even those of the intellect and the will? Does it extend to all the -essential elements in both, or is it merely accidental, relating simply -to minor actions? The answer cannot be doubtful even to the most -superficial observer. We ask, therefore, Is this resemblance of an -essential, or rather an accidental, character? We can only admit that -the latter is the case. There is, it is true, a manifold similarity; -but after all, even where this is most striking, is there not a vast -discrepancy? With the lower animal, all is routine—machine-like, -habitual, ever the same under similar circumstances, nor can it combine -means with the end. In man, these same external actions are regulated -by the will, and can be omitted or done at pleasure. - -Now, will Mr. Darwin say this is merely a trifle—that this, too, -can be acquired by the brute after a long experience and a lapse -of years? Reason and sound philosophy teach that the sensations of -brutes are essentially distinct from, and in nowise contain, reason or -intelligence. How, then, could reason be the product of evolution? How, -then, can that be evolved which does not at all exist? - -We repeat it: Darwin’s conclusion is similar to this: “A dog is a cat, -because, forsooth, both sleep.” He finds in man and brutes some partial -similarities in mere external actions, and straightway he concludes -that they are both of the same essence and parentage. As well might he -say burning lamps are emanations from the sun, because they, too, give -light. - -Instinct is almost entirely left out of account, and all expressions -and external actions are attributed solely to habit and exercise -repeated.[172] We by no means doubt that habit and exercise have a -great deal to do with external actions. But can they all be accounted -for in such a manner? When we ask, How do children, from the very first -day of their birth, make use of their hands and feet, and employ their -mouths in the proper way for imbibing nourishment? Mr. Darwin may -answer: “This habit, too, was transmitted from parent to offspring, and -indicates a long series of generations” (p. 39). - -But we cannot very well see how this answer will satisfy even the -most credulous reader. Habits may be to a certain extent transmitted -by parents to their children; but generally it is, in an imperfect -state, the “tendency” or inclination, rather than the act, that is -transmitted. An intemperate parent may transmit to his offspring a -“tendency” to that vice; but we have not yet heard of a born drunkard. - -Moreover, is this principle applicable in a general manner even in -regard to merely accidental habits? Experience tells us quite the -contrary. - -Weak-minded parents often give birth to most gifted children. On the -contrary, many most cultivated and intelligent parents have children -who are dull and slow of understanding. - -But even granting that habits may be transmitted from parent to -offspring, we ask, What is the nature of such habits? Are they -essential elements of nature, or merely minor and trifling motions? -Mr. Darwin’s own example on the point will confirm our assertion that -they are of the latter sort: “A gentleman of considerable position was -found by his wife to have the curious trick, when he lay fast asleep -on his back in bed, of raising his right arm slowly in front of his -face up to his forehead, and then dropping it with a jerk, so that the -wrist fell heavily on the bridge of his nose. The trick did not occur -every night, but occasionally, and was independent of any ascertained -cause. Sometimes it was repeated incessantly for an hour or more. The -gentleman’s nose was prominent, and its bridge often became sore from -the blows which it received” (p. 34). His son, too, inherited this -trick. The only difference, however, consisted in the son’s nose not -being quite so prominent, and therefore less exposed to the tricky and -mysterious blows. - -Now, what does a fact of this sort prove? Simply that slight, bodily -actions, such as the one alleged, can be transmitted. - -“Language,” he tells us, “has been invented by man in a slow and -tedious process, completed by innumerable steps half consciously made” -(p. 60). It is somewhat amusing to listen to his description of this -process of inventing language. “The sexes,” he says, “of many animals -call for each other during the breeding season, etc. This, indeed, -seems to have been the primordial use and means of development of -voice” (p. 84). - -As an example, he alleges the cow calling for her calf, the ewes -bleating for their lambs (p. 85). This theory is at least amusing, if -not clear and convincing. It only adds another specimen of Mr. Darwin’s -loose logic. His argument can be thus presented: There is a resemblance -between the sound of a cow calling for her calf and the voice of man; -therefore, the latter is derived from the former, being merely its -development—they are both identical in germ. The one is perfected -by the principle of evolution, which has the wonderful capacity of -transforming all sorts of things. - -This is truly making light of that noble gift bestowed upon man by -his Creator—language. But, ingenious as Mr. Darwin strives to be in -assigning the origin of language, he overlooks two little points. -Language he confounds, first, with mere inarticulate sounds. Secondly, -he forgets that there may be a distinction between the sound or voice -as a sign of an idea or of a mere sensation. To confound the two would -be like comparing the tones of a piano, as produced by the hands of an -artist, to the same sounds brought forth by some monkey trying his paws -on the instrument. - -We do not know whether Mr. Darwin has much of a musical ear. If he has, -even in a very slight degree, we think he would soon find a very great -and specific distinction between the production of the musician and the -jargon of the monkey. He would tell us, in the one case, the sounds are -expressive of the musical combination and ideas of the artist, while, -in the other, they are mere unmeaning sounds. So it is with language. -Words express ideas. We can use them as we choose, nay, even wilfully -change or disguise their true meaning. What similarity exists, then, -between language and the sounds of animals? If any, it is in the sound. -Does this justify the conclusion that they are both identical in germ; -that the one is a development of the other? As well might we say the -whistling of the wind among the leaves of trees, and the howling of the -storm, are identical with the voice of man. All these sounds of nature -are no less sounds than those of man and the brute; but will any man of -sound mind identify them? - -Still, Mr. Darwin goes on with an air of perfect self-complacency: -“From this fact, and from the analogy of other animals, I have been -led to infer that the progenitors of man probably uttered musical tones -before they had acquired the power of articulate speech” (p. 87). - -Of course, our progenitors here are none other than monkeys. It is -quite apparent that Darwin’s notion of language is extremely inadequate -and confused. He must allow us to refresh his memory a little on the -subject. A word is an external sign whereby an internal thought or -idea is made known to others, just as smoke is a sign of fire. Still, -words are not expressive of ideas by any natural aptitude. In fact -words are naturally so little adapted to express any particular concept -of the mind that they may be distorted from their meaning. They are -conventional signs: and except so far as they were given to our first -parents by God, they have been adopted and used by positive authority, -custom, or agreement to serve as a medium of thought. - -Herein lies one of the specific differences of human speech from the -sound of animals. These give forth sounds _naturally_ adapted to -express some feeling. Moreover, their utterances are not chosen by -themselves, but dictated by nature. They cannot change them; while -man selects, varies, and changes his words at will. Hence, language -is defined: “The articulate voice of man, having signification by the -agreement of men.” Words are parts of a sentence, which is defined: “An -assemblage of words intended to mean something.” - -We here waive the question whether language was invented by man at all. -Our doctrine is that it was not invented, but was communicated directly -by God to our first parents, Adam and Eve. But this is of no importance -at present; for, whether invented by man, or directly communicated by -God, Mr. Darwin’s theory is equally untenable. - -We sum up the differences of sound or language in man and in animals as -follows: - -1. In man, language is the expression of thought and judgment, while -the sounds of animals are merely spontaneous and natural utterances. - -2. Language in man is the product of reasoning; it presupposes a -perception of the relation of the subject and the predicate. For -instance, when I say, Man is immortal, I must perceive the relation -of the attribute immortality to man. Now, the sound of the animal is -merely expressive of some solitary feeling. - -3. Man directs his words, while the brute’s sound is ever the same. - -Another instance of Darwin’s logic is found in tracing the origin -of the expression of sulkiness in man, especially in children. This -feeling, he says, is expressed by a protrusion of the lips, or, as -it is called, “making a snout.” Now, he continues, “young orangs and -chimpanzees protrude their lips to an extraordinary degree, when they -are discontented, somewhat angry, or sulky” (p. 234). - -But, lo! what is his conclusion? Therefore, he infers, this habit of -man was a primordial habit in his “semi-human progenitors,” who are, of -course, no less than the aforesaid honorable monkeys. Let us hear his -words: “If, then, our semi-human progenitors [_i.e._ Messrs. Orang and -Chimpanzee] protruded their lips when sulky or a little angered in the -same manner as do the existing anthropoid apes, it is not an anomalous -though a curious fact that our children should exhibit, when similarly -affected, a trace of the same expression” (p. 234). Mr. Darwin is -cunning. He wishes tacitly to infer that man comes from the animal, -because both can make “snouts.” Of course, even he must concede that -the monkey can make a better or at least a longer “snout” than man. -And hence the principles of evolution in this case at least would -imply retrogression, not progress. His mode of reasoning is strange -indeed. When he finds an expression in man, he searches whether there -is anything like it among the monkeys or other animals; and, when he -has discovered even a slight trace, he triumphantly exclaims, Behold -the progenitors of man! He does not yet call them genitors; they are -not the immediate parents, but simply grandfathers and grandmothers. -Nor are these progenitors quite human; they are as yet semi-human, -being about half-way between the monkey phase and that of man. Speaking -of man, he says: “The lips are sometimes protruded during rage in a -manner the meaning of which I do not understand, unless it depends on -our descent from some ape-like animal” (p. 243). Mr. Darwin manifests a -strange partiality for the ape-like animals. - -But it is no wonder he cannot understand the plainest facts, which -every Catholic child can tell him. He sets aside all revealed truths. -He knows nothing about the simple but sublime narrative in the first -chapter of Genesis. He ignores the creative act bringing forth, not -one kind, but “the living creature in its kind, cattle, and creeping -things, and beasts of the earth according to their kinds.”[173] To him, -this is of no meaning. True, the Scripture records the solemn creation -of man as entirely distinct from that of animals. “Let us make man,” -God said, “to our image, and likeness; and let him have dominion over -the fishes of the sea, and the fowls of the air,” etc. “And God created -man to his own image: to the image of God he created him, male and -female he created them.”[174] True, Darwin will say, according to the -Scripture, “God breathed into his [man’s] face the breath of life, and -man became a living soul.”[175] - -But what care I for the Scriptures, when my own private and infallible -reason leads me to think that God did not directly breathe into man an -intelligent soul—made after God’s own image and likeness—but rather -that man received it from the animal? Such is, indeed, the result of -the revolt of reason against God. Like Satan, who was cast from heaven -in a moment, when desirous of elevating his throne to a level with that -of God, so man falls and degrades himself when he becomes too proud to -listen to God’s Word, making reason the supreme and sole criterion of -truth and certitude. - -Mr. Darwin seems to admit a Creator of the universe, but holds that -only one, or at most four, species were created. Now, we must not -forget, as he certainly does, that the Creator was an infinitely -intelligent being, and therefore had some object in view in creation. -Every intelligent being must act for some end. We call him a fool -who knows not what he is doing, and therefore is foolish. Hence, in -creation, God destined each creature for some end, to accomplish a -certain task. The Creator must, however, give to each creature the -necessary means to attain its end. It would be unintelligible that God -should destine me to walk, without giving me feet; or create me to earn -my livelihood by the labor of my hands, without giving me hands to work -with. - -Now, this principle, so universally exhibited in nature, will easily -and satisfactorily explain all expressions in animals as well as in -man, without obliging us to have recourse to the monkey theory so -fondly adhered to by Darwin. - -We come now to another proof adduced by Darwin to establish his beloved -ape-descending theory. It is taken from the state of an insane person -(p. 245). We will allow him to speak for himself: “Its symptoms are the -reappearance of primitive instincts, a faint echo from a far distant -past, testifying to a kinship which man has almost outgrown” (p. 245). -These are the words of Dr. Maudsley, cited and approved by him. The -state of insanity in man is compared to the normal state of the animal. -Again, he asks, “Why should a human being, deprived of his reason, ever -become so brutal in character as some do, unless he has the brutal -nature within him?” (p. 246). - -A more silly or childish mode of reasoning could scarcely be thought -of. As well might he say the sun returns to its primitive state when in -an eclipse, or an engine is working properly when the boilers explode -and spread death and consternation all around. - -We say of the idiot, He has lost his mind. Not that it really is -entirely extinct: it is merely out of working order. Its clearness -is darkened by some disorder. The idiot is in a state repugnant to -his natural condition. How, then, infer from such a condition a -former kinship? A machine or clock out of order will, when left to -itself, work indeed; not, however, returning to its normal state, but -destroying itself. So it is with the idiot. It was, therefore, perhaps -rather superfluous for Mr. Darwin to spend so much time and labor, and -give his readers so much trouble, for the sake of finding out in how -many ways idiots resemble his dear monkeys, chimpanzees, and orangs. - -We wonder why the case of Nabuchodonosor did not occur to him. It -would have so well illustrated his theory. For he, without becoming -permanently an idiot, was seized with an irresistible propensity to -return, as Mr. Darwin would say, to his own brethren, and renew his old -friendships and acquaintances. And so well was that gentleman pleased -with his company that he remained in it not less than seven years, -until it pleased God to restore him to his more intelligent and polite -brothers. - -We would suggest to Mr. Darwin a similar experiment. He ought to be -sociable, and from time to time imitate Nabuchodonosor: let his hair -and beard grow until they become long feathers; his ears, too, could be -extended somewhat, and the nails of his hands and feet might very well -become claws; he ought also to eat grass for a while. Thus he would be -fulfilling a duty to his rustic brethren, and he could at the same time -enlighten them a little on bipedal civilization, especially as they -will one day get to be men themselves, and therefore should try to do -honor to their future relatives. - -Darwin may tenderly call monkeys “our nearest allies” (p. 253), or -say: “The playful sneer or ferocious snarl in man reveals his animal -descent” (p. 253); or again: “We may readily believe, from our affinity -to the anthropomorphous apes, that our male semi-human progenitors -possessed great canine teeth” (p. 253)—he may say all this, and still, -we fear, he would not like to have himself introduced at the court of -London as the brother of the long-tailed and widely known orang-outang. -And why? Because his whole moral nature would revolt at such an -indignity, and thus furnish the strongest proof, perhaps, that all his -talk about ape-affinity and descent is nonsense. Human nature rebels at -such a degradation. It protests instinctively against such an alliance. -It is unconscious of such a relationship. - -Now, how is it, otherwise, that our nature is so tender with regard -to all kindred? How is it that brothers and sisters and relatives -love each other so much and without effort; that in all men there is -a feeling of affinity toward their fellows? How, we ask, does our -nature, otherwise so tenderly inclined to all relatives, even the most -distant, forget in this one instance alone a relationship at once the -most sacred and tender—that of a child to its parent? For we, says Mr. -Darwin, are the grandchildren at least of the animal. - -All the materialistic cavils and speculations of so-called philosophers -will suffer shipwreck on this rock—the moral feeling of the dignity -and specific difference of man. But we will explain the symptoms of -lunacy to Darwin in a direct manner. - -We grant that man has the brutish “nature within him.” We do not -concede, however, that he has only the brutish nature and no other. Man -has a soul as well as a body. As regards the nature of the body, we -cheerfully grant all that Mr. Darwin could desire. It is of the same -substance as that of his dear orang. It has, moreover, the same violent -passions and downward tendencies; nay, it can—as experience teaches -in fact it has—outdo the brute in violent bursts of passion. It is, -moreover, regulated by the same laws of climate, food, life, etc. - -But this is all we concede. It has not the same origin, being directly -created by God in its natural state. Much less do we admit that man is -endowed with no higher nature, entirely and specifically distinct from -his body. He has a soul that thinks—a soul that is entirely spiritual -and intelligent, not merely sensible. - -We therefore answer that the state of idiots shows, indeed, that -man has the brutish nature within him, but by no means that he has -no other nature. Only a little logic would have shown Darwin that -his conclusions embody far more than his premises will allow. It -seems plain enough that this simple truth is the key to the fullest -explanations of human nature itself, and its similarities with the -nature of mere animals. Man was defined by the ancients as “a rational -animal.” S. Thomas and the scholastics took up and perpetuated this -definition. Man is an animal, because he has a body like all animals, -and a soul which is created to be the form of that body. Man is, -moreover, a rational being, because, unlike all the other animals, -he has a soul which has a separate existence of its own, is created -immediately by God, and is essentially spiritual. - -This distinction, if only borne in mind by our monkey theorists, -would have aided them not a little, we opine, in their brain-cracking -researches; nor would they have found so many mysteries where -everything is plain and intelligible. - -We now proceed to another principle advanced in the book before us. -Darwin says: “That the chief expressive actions exhibited by man and -by the lower animals are innate or inherited—that is, have not been -learnt by the individual—is now admitted by every one” (p. 351). - -He must allow us to say that such a proposition is, in our estimation, -not admitted by every one. With the exception of the author and a few -monkeyists, we know of no one who ever advocated any such principle. -It is indeed conceded that a “tendency” to most of our expressive -actions may be innate or inherited; but, as to the actions and -expressions themselves, it is commonly taught by all the schools that -they are performed by instinct and reason, and perfected by imitation -and experience. What Mr. Darwin means when he calls expressions innate -and inherited is not the former—the tendency—but the action itself -as transmitted from the father to the son. He illustrates his meaning -by an example, not quite suitable for our pages, which may be found by -the curious on p. 44 of his work. If anything, this example shows that -dogs, and wolves, and jackals are guided by no reason, and do not apply -the proper means to attain an end. But does it follow that man, too, -has inherited his external movements from such progenitors as monkeys? -Does not man direct even all his external actions by reason? It is -true, he may be led away by passion; but that is an exception, and only -proves the rule. - -But we go further. The Catholic Church teaches that the human race is -descended from one common pair—Adam and Eve. From them the whole human -race was propagated. Darwin, too, teaches the unity of mankind. But his -is quite a different unity. Not only do all men descend from a common -human parent, according to him, but both animals and men have a common -parent; so that originally there existed one animal, from which all the -rest, men included, derive their origin. - -Now, we should naturally expect that so grave an inference would be -based upon a no less weighty proof. But herein we are sadly mistaken. -His whole argument rests upon a resemblance of some external actions -common to mankind: “I have endeavored to show in considerable detail -that all the chief expressions in man are the same throughout the -world. This fact is interesting, as it affords a new argument in favor -of the several races being descended from a single parent stock, which -must have been almost completely human in structure, and to a large -extent in mind, before the period at which races diverged from each -other” (p. 361). - -This argument may do very well to confirm the doctrine of the church; -but we do not see how it will establish the ape theory, any more than -it would to infer that the sun and moon are alike because they both -shine. It is really amusing to hear our author so innocently say: -“We may confidently believe that laughter, as a sign of pleasure or -enjoyment, was practised by our progenitors long before they deserved -to be called human” (p. 362). - -From all this it is at least evident that our poor progenitors had to -undergo a long novitiate to become invested with the habits proper to -man. Theirs, indeed, must have been a tedious process before attaining -human activity. One thing, however, he forgets to tell us. It is the -period when such a change of the species occurred. Theory may sound -very well; but we know of no fact of the kind. How is it that, as long -as the world can remember, no monkey ever became a man, or a tree a -pig? We cannot exactly agree with Darwin, therefore, when he calls the -“anthropomorphous apes our nearest allies and our early progenitors” -(p. 363). We are quite aware of the answer he gives to this objection -in his book, on _The Origin of Species_. But it may well be compared -to the method of those romance writers who take good care to place the -scene of the heroic exploits of their heroes in far distant lands as -yet unknown and unexplored. Thus they may write volume after volume, -without any danger of being convicted of telling stories and building -castles in the air. So Darwin. In his _Origin of Species_, he pretends -that the change from one species to another is so long and gradual that -it may comprise even millions of years. As a conjecture, this may pass; -but as an argument in support of a most elaborate system, we fail to -see its efficacy. - -We will now pass to another argument. Speaking of frowning as shading -the eyes, he says: “It seems probable that this shading action would -not have become habitual until man had assumed a completely upright -position; for monkeys do not frown when exposed to a glaring light” -(p. 363). This phrase can be made plainer when paraphrased as follows: -It is a theory, established by me beyond any doubt, that man is the -offspring of the monkey. Now, the monkey does not frown or shade his -eyes, even when exposed to the most glaring light of the sun. Hence, -it follows that frowning is an action peculiarly adapted only to an -upright position. And hence, too, no wonder that the orang did not make -use of it as long as he was walking on all fours and bent downwards. -Hence, we must infer that frowning became a habit, then, only when the -ape, thinking that he had walked long enough on all fours, and that he -might, without any particular inconvenience to himself, dispense with -two feet, stood upright, and became a man. This is the meaning of his -words. On the same principle the following conjecture is based: “Our -early progenitors, when indignant, would not hold their heads erect -until they had acquired the ordinary carriage and upright attitude of -man” (p. 363). Its sense is: As our first parents were brutes, and as -we find that in no instance they held their heads erect when angry or -indignant, it follows, of course, that this action was acquired only -after they made use of their hind feet to walk, and when the fore paws -became hands. - -Blushing is considered by Darwin an expression that requires attention -to one’s personal defects. Now, as it has not been observed in any -monkey or other animal, he of course infers that it became habitual -only when, having emerged from the monkey phase of existence, we became -semi-human. - -“But it does not seem possible”—these are his words—“that any animal, -until its mental powers had been developed to an equal or nearly equal -degree with those of man, would have closely considered and been -sensitive about its own personal appearance” (p. 364). - -Thus far we perfectly agree with him. Blushing is an act predicable -only of an intelligent being. Hence, it is quite logical to say -that animals could not possess it, unless almost as perfect as man. -But we by no means so readily coincide with his conclusion, namely: -“Therefore, we may conclude that blushing originated at a very late -period in the long line of our descent” (p. 364). - -If this were true, it would likewise follow that man ought to become -more prone to blushing as he advances in years. This, however, it -will be confessed, is not the case. Quite the reverse frequently -happens. Youth and innocence blush, while age and vice grow daily more -barefaced and unblushing. Now, if blushing were a mere habit acquired -and developed by physical evolution, how does it come to pass that -full-grown men who are given to immorality lose that blush which rose -to their cheeks when young and innocent? Daily experience only too well -tells the tale how the maiden blush becomes dimmer and fades entirely -when the career of sin and shame has been once entered upon. Where, -then, is the philosophy of Darwin’s principle? - -It is quite true, he tells us, that “we cannot cause a blush by any -physical means. It is the mind which must be affected” (p. 310); “that -the causes of blushing are shyness, shame, and modesty; the essential -element in all being self-attention” (p. 326). Again, he continues: -“Many reasons can be assigned [as causes of blushing] for believing -that originally self-attention directed to personal appearance in -relation to the opinion of others was the exciting cause. Moral causes -are only secondary; the same effect being subsequently produced through -the force of association by self-attention in relation to moral -conduct” (p. 326). - -This shows that, with Darwin, morality is a mere matter of etiquette. -“But modesty,” he continues, “frequently relates to acts of indelicacy; -and indelicacy is an affair of etiquette, as we clearly see with -the nations that go altogether or nearly naked. He who is modest, -and blushes easily at acts of this nature, does so because they are -breaches of a firmly and wisely established etiquette” (p. 335). - -From this, then, it is clear that morality, chastity, and every species -of virtue are nothing more than the external code of regulations which -society has agreed upon in its social intercourse. In other words, all -virtue and morality consist in what we call good breeding. We blush, -not because we break the law of God, but because we violate the precept -of man. Darwin’s ten commandments, we think, might well be summed up as -follows: First commandment: Society is the Lord God of man; thou shalt -adore it alone, by minutely observing all its external regulations, -called etiquette. 2d. Thou shalt not take its name in vain by saying -that man and society can commit any wrong, or be anything but perfect. -3d. Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath; that is, go to church on Sunday, -because others do so, and etiquette demands it. 4th. Honor thy father -and thy mother, because it is customary to do so. 5th. Thou shalt not -be so common a criminal as to kill a man by direct physical means; -but remember that thou must hold every man to be a rogue and a knave -until he proves the contrary. Thou mayest even, especially when thou -art a congressman, take an oath, without being particular as to the -truth of thy statement. 6th and 9th. Thou shalt not commit adultery. -Now, as marriage is merely an ordinary contract, that can of course -be dissolved when the parties mutually agree, go to court, obtain a -divorce, and thou canst marry the wife of another. As to thoughts -against the sixth commandment, thou must not trouble thy head too much -about them. They are nature’s legitimate ebullitions. 7th. Thou shalt -not steal in open daylight, but get as much as thou canst without being -detected. This would constitute the moral code of Darwin. If morality -is reduced to etiquette, it is evident that its obligation is merely -external. - -Finally, we come to another point in the book on _The Expressions_, -etc. It is a curious instance of our former propensities in a primeval -state. At some time or other, we are told, we were possessed of long -ears, and movable at that, such as we see in the mule and dog. The -elephant, also, would afford a pretty good specimen, its ears being -long and quite flexible. - -But let us hear him: “If our ears had remained movable, their movements -would have been highly expressive, as is the case with all the -animals which fight with their teeth; and we may infer that our early -progenitors thus fought” (p. 365). Well, we do not by any means doubt -that these movables would be highly expressive in man. Just imagine, -for instance, Mr. Darwin going through the streets of New York with a -pair of long ears, moving and flapping to his heart’s content! Why, the -New York papers would hail it as a godsend, and the urchins on Broadway -would go in ecstasies over it. - -Our interesting author winds up his somewhat lengthy dissertations -with the inference that his reasonings on the “expression of emotions” -afford another confirmatory proof of his theory that man is the -offspring of the monkey. His two volumes on the _Descent of Man_ were -intended as the corner-stone of his building. This later work was to -finish it. The great pity is that he is building a castle in the air. -He gives no proof. Similarities in man and animals may afford ground -for suppositions, but can never cause conviction. - -“We have seen,” he says, “that the study of the theory of ‘expression’ -confirms, to a certain limited extent, the conclusion that man is -derived from some lower animal form, and supports the belief of the -specific or sub-specific unity of the several races” (p. 367). - -We are now done with Darwin. In perusing the volume, we confess it was -not without a feeling of deep sadness at so much blindness combined -with no ordinary degree of learning and research. Darwin is a student -of no mean class. His research shows that no pains were spared. His -numerous examples demonstrate that he is perfectly at home in natural -sciences. Mixed up with error, there is in his book a great deal both -interesting and highly instructive. His conclusions might perhaps be -correct if there existed no God, no revelation, and no eternity. He is -a striking example of men who set aside the revealed Word of God, and -take reason as their sole guide and standard in the search after wisdom. - -It may not be amiss to subjoin a few general principles that will -refute even more fully the sophisms of the author. - -We lay it down as a certain proposition that sensation is essentially -distinct from intelligence. Sensation is defined: “A certain impression -present to the mind, caused by an external agent on an animated -body.”[176] - -This external impression is received by five sensible organs, viz.: -touch, taste, smell, hearing, and sight. These are evidently material -organs, having size, weight, figure, extension, distance, number, -motion, and rest. The same is the case with the object causing the -impressions. - -Now, is there any specific difference between sensation and -intelligence? Is the understanding of man entirely different from the -sensation of the brute? Or is it merely a development of the latter? -If we believe Darwin, there is no real difference, except that the -one is more perfect than the other. In the monkey, there exists the -same faculty of intelligence as in man. In the former, however, it is -in its incipient stage; in the latter, it is matured and developed. -Can such a theory be reconciled with philosophy? We believe not. In -fact, the difference between sensation and intelligence can be given as -follows: 1. Sensations are external impressions which are not produced -by the mind, but merely received; hence they are passive; whilst the -understanding of man is essentially the actor, and not merely the -recipient. 2. Again, “Sensations are particular facts which never leave -their own sphere.”[177] Intelligence forms ideas that are universal and -absolute, being applicable to all individuals. - -Moreover, sensation does not distinguish one object from the other, -neither does it compare them. The illustrious Spaniard whom we have -already quoted illustrates this by saying: “The sensation of the pink -is only that of the pink, and that of the rose only that of the rose. -The instant you attempt to compare them you suppose in the mind an -act by which it perceives the difference; and, if you attribute to it -anything more than pure sensation, you add a faculty distinct from -sensation, namely, that of comparing sensations, and appreciating their -similarities and differences.”[178] - -This, indeed, is evident. Sensation is simply the external impression -received. As such, it is an isolated act. It does not compare or judge. - -The idea, for instance, of the triangle is one, and is common to all -triangles of every size and kind; the representation or sensation is -multiple, and varies in size and kind. - -Again, the idea or thought of the mind is fixed and necessary; the -representation changeable. - -The idea, _e.g._, of the triangle is “the same to the man born blind, -and to him who has sight; and the proof of this is that both, in their -arguments and geometrical uses, develop it in the same manner.”[179] - -From what has been thus far said, it is evident that there exists a -dividing line between the intellect and sensation; that the one is in -no sense contained in the other, and cannot by any process be derived -from it. Darwin is a mere sensist. He understands little of the nature -and faculties of the human soul. He ignores any essential distinction -between the intellect and sensation. - -There is, indeed, it may be observed, a close connection between the -two. Sensation is the condition of the exercise of the intellect while -we are in this life. It supplies food for the intelligence. It always -precedes and accompanies the intellectual act. Thus, when we think of -God’s mercy, we easily imagine God as a kind father, etc. - -But such is the case only in human intelligence. We have a spirit in -a material and sensible body. Our intellect, by its substantial union -with the body, is bound to adapt its exercises to the conditions -imposed by this union. But unless we deny all revelation, we must -admit the existence of celestial spirits who are not possessed of -and encumbered by any body. These, then, need no visible organs, no -external sensation, no sensible representation, to arouse and excite -their intellect to action. Hence, it follows that the connection -existing between sensation and intelligence is not essential. - -We shall now examine some other acts of the intellect, to confirm what -we have said. Judgment is one of the principal acts of the mind. It is -defined: “The perception and affirmation of the identity or diversity -of two ideas or propositions obtained by comparing them.”[180] Thus, -in the proposition, “Man is mortal,” the mind compares the ideas man -and “mortal,” and affirms their identity. The sensation, however, is -an isolated impression on the mind, a single fact. Another feature of -human actions is the purpose or end for which a thing is done. The -dog may do things that have great similarity to human actions; but -close observation will easily convince one that the brute does so in -a uniform manner, and consequently is impelled by natural instinct. -Man, however, sits down and deliberates. He proposes some object to -be accomplished, and carefully selects the means best calculated -to attain that end. He changes his means at will, according to the -circumstances of the case. Does any animal, even be it Darwin’s darling -monkey, do anything of the kind? Moreover, the end or purpose may be -inherent in the act itself; thus, the sun gives heat and light. An -end, however, may not arise essentially out of the nature of things, -but may be freely intended; thus, man chooses different objects, while -animals necessarily perform them. Again, man observes order in his -actions. Order is defined: “A proper disposition of things, giving -to each its place”;[181] or, “A composition, and arranging things -according to their proper place.”[182] This arrangement may be made -either in relation to the matter, or time, or the object. Now, do we -ever behold animals displaying order in their actions? Has even Darwin -ever seen a monkey arranging books in a library in such a manner as -to place alongside each other those relating to one subject? We doubt -it. We conclude this review by summing up, in Darwin’s words, the -principles by which he contends that all our ideas are acquired. The -first is the principle of serviceable associated habits. According -to it, we gradually acquire all those habits, ideas, and expressions -that conduce to our interest or gratification. The second is that of -antithesis—that is, when something offered to our interest occurs, we -adopt contrary actions and ideas. The third is styled by Darwin the -principle of actions due to the constitution of the nervous system, -independently, from the first, of the will, and independently, to -a certain extent, of habit. This last principle is simply what is -commonly called instinct. No one denies that it causes many actions -pertaining to our welfare; but no man of sound mind will derive from -it intelligence. The first and second principles can be reduced to -that of utilitarianism. In plain language, it amounts to this: if all -the actions, thoughts, and desires of man are regulated merely in -accordance with each one’s private gratification, there would be no -such thing as being concerned about the welfare of others. We finish -by recalling the fundamental idea underlying this work. There are, -Darwin tells us, striking similarities between the external expressions -exhibited by man and the animal. These cannot be explained except on -the supposition that the former descends by a long and slow process of -generation from the latter. This is styled natural evolution. - -There is, we admit, a germ of truth in the theory of evolution. -The mistake is in applying it without limit. The Catholic Church -teaches, 1. that the soul of man is immediately created by God. 2. -That the human body also was created in like manner. This latter, -however, is not so explicitly defined as the former. 3. It is a -commonly received opinion of theologians that all the principal -species of the animal were created directly by God. 4. That, however, -imperfect species, such as hybrids and those generated by corruption, -perspiration—_e.g._, fleas—were created only in germ, or _potentiali -modo_. - -From this, it is not difficult to see how far a Catholic may accept the -theory of evolution. Scientists should not forget that reason is the -handmaid of revelation. - - - - -GRAPES AND THORNS. - -BY THE AUTHOR OF THE “HOUSE OF YORKE.” - - -CHAPTER III. - -“SOWING THE WIND.” - -THE cottage where the Geralds lived was almost the entire inheritance -that had fallen to Miss Pembroke from those large estates which, it -seemed, should have been hers; but her wishes were submitted to her -circumstances with a calmness that looked very like contentment. Mother -Chevreuse called it Christian resignation, and she may have been at -least partly right. But it was contrary to Miss Pembroke’s disposition -to fret over irreparable misfortunes, or even to exert herself very -much to overcome difficulties. She liked the easy path, and always -chose it when conscience did not forbid. She made the best of her -circumstances, therefore, and lived a quiet and pleasant, if not a very -delightful, life. Mrs. Gerald was friendly; their little household was -sufficiently well arranged and perfectly homelike; they had agreeable -visitors, and plenty of outside gaiety. On the whole, there seemed to -be no reason why anything but marriage should separate the owner from -her tenants. - -Of marriage there was no present prospect. Several gentlemen had made -those preliminary advances which are supposed to have this end in view, -but had been discouraged by the cool friendliness with which they were -received. The wide-open eyes, surprised and inquiring, had nipped their -little sentimental speeches in the bud, and quite abashed their killing -glances. Miss Pembroke had no taste for this small skirmishing, in -which so many men and women fritter away first what little refinement -of feeling nature may have gifted them with, and afterward their belief -in the refinement of others; and not one true and brave wooer had come -yet. - -People had various explanations to give for this insensibility, some -fancying that the young woman was ambitious, and desirous to find one -who would be able to give her such a position as that once occupied -by Mrs. Carpenter; others that she had a vocation for a religious -life; but she gave no account of her private motives and feelings, -and perhaps could not have explained them to herself. She certainly -could not have told precisely what she did want, though her mind was -quite clear as to what she did not want. Mr. Lawrence Gerald’s real -or imaginary love for her did not, after the first few months, cause -her the slightest embarrassment, as it did not inspire her with the -least respect. The only strong and faithful attachment of which he was -capable was one for himself, and his superficial affections were so -numerous as to be worthy of very little compassion, however they might -be slighted. - -Sweet-brier Cottage, as it was called, might, then, be called rather a -happy little nest. - -Nothing could be prettier than the apartment occupied by the owner of -the house, though, since she had her own peculiar notions regarding the -relative importance of things, many might have found the mingling of -simplicity and costliness in her furnishing rather odd. An upholsterer -would have pronounced the different articles in the rooms to be “out of -keeping” with each other, just as he would have criticised a picture -where the artist had purposely slighted the inferior parts. The deal -floors were bare, save for two or three strips of carpeting in summer, -and sealskin mats in winter; the prim curtains that hung in straight -flutings, without a superfluous fold, over the windows, around the -bed, and before the book-case, just clearing the floor, were of plain, -thin muslin, plainly hemmed, and had no more luxurious fastenings than -brass knobs and blue worsted cords to loop them back; but a connoisseur -would have prized the few engravings on the walls, the candlesticks of -pure silver in the shrine before the _prie-dieu_, and the statuette of -our Lady that stood there, a work of art. In cleanliness, too, Miss -Pembroke was lavish, and one poor woman was nearly supported by what -she received for keeping the draperies snowy white and crisp, and -wiping away every speck of dust from the immaculate bower. No broom nor -brush was allowed to enter there. - -“It is such a pleasure to come here,” Mother Chevreuse said one day -when she came to visit Honora; “everything is so pure and fresh.” - -“It is such a pleasure to have you come!” was the response; and the -young woman seated her visitor in the one blue chintz arm-chair the -chamber contained, kissed her softly on the cheek, removed her bonnet -and shawl, placed a palm-leaf fan in her hand, then, seated lowly -beside her, looked so pretty and so pleased that it was charming to see -her. These two women were very fond of each other, and in their private -intercourse quite like mother and daughter. Theirs was one of those -sweet affections to which the mere being together is delightful, though -there may be nothing of importance said; as two flames united burn -more brightly, though no fuel be added. It might have been said that -it was the blending of two harmonious spheres; and probably the idea -could not be better expressed. The sense of satisfying companionship, -of entire sympathy and confidence, the gentle warmth produced in the -heart by that presence—these are enough without words, be they never -so wise and witty. Yet one must feel that wit and wisdom of some kind -are there. There is all the difference in the world between a full and -an empty silence, between a trifling that covers depth, and a trifling -that betrays shallowness. - -Our two friends talked together, then, quite contentedly about very -small matters, touching now and then on matters not so insignificant. -And it chanced that their talk drifted in such a direction that, after -a grave momentary pause, Miss Honora lifted her eyes to her friend’s -face, and, following out their subject, said seriously: “Mother, I am -troubled about men.” - -But for the gravity that had fallen on both, Mother Chevreuse would -have smiled at this naïve speech; as it was, she asked quietly: “In -what way, my dear?” - -“They seem to me petty, the greater part of them, and lacking in a fine -sense of honor; lacking courage, too, which is shocking in a man.” - -“Oh! one swallow does not make a summer,” said Mother Chevreuse, -thinking that she understood the meaning of this discouragement. “You -must not believe that all men fail because some unworthy ones do.” - -“It is not that at all,” was the quick reply. “You think I mean -Lawrence. I do not. He makes no difference with me. I mean the men from -whom one would expect something better; the very men who seem to lament -that women are not truer and nobler, and who utter such fine sentiments -that you would suppose none but a most exalted and angelic being could -please them or win their approval. I have heard such men talk, when I -have thought with delight that I would try in every way to improve, so -as to win their admiration, and be worthy of their friendship; and all -at once, I have found that they could be pleased and captivated by what -is lowest and meanest. It is disappointing,” she said, with a sigh. -“It is natural that women should wish to respect men; and I would be -willing to have them look down on me, if they would be such as I could -look up to.” - -“Has any one been displeasing you?” Mother Chevreuse asked, looking -keenly into the fair and sorrowful face before her. She suspected that -this generalizing sprang from some special cause. But the glance that -met hers showed there was at least no conscious concealment. - -“These thoughts have been coming to me at intervals for a good while,” -Miss Pembroke answered calmly. “But, of course, particular incidents -awaken them newly. I was displeased this morning. I met a lady and -gentleman taking a walk into the country, and I did not like to see -them together.” - -“But why should you care, my dear?” asked Mother Chevreuse, with a -look of alarm. She understood perfectly well that the two were Mr. -Schöninger and Miss Carthusen. - -The young woman answered with an expression of surprise that entirely -reassured her friend: “Why should I not care for this case as well as -another? He is a new-comer, and all my first impressions of him were -favorable. I had thought he might prove a fine character; and so it is -one more disappointment. But I am making too much of the matter,” she -said, with a smile and gesture that seemed to toss the subject aside. -“I really cannot tell why I should have thought so much about it.” - -She bent and gaily kissed her friend’s hands; but Mother Chevreuse drew -her close in an embrace that seemed by its passion to be striving to -shield her from harm. She understood quite well what Honora did not yet -know: that the nature which the Creator defined from the beginning when -he said: “It is not good for man to be alone,” had begun to feel itself -lonely. - -“I would try not to think of these things, my dear,” she said -earnestly. “Trust me, and put such thoughts away. There are good men in -the world, and one day you will be convinced of that; but it is never -worth while to look about in search of some one to honor. Think of God, -and pray to him with more fervor than ever. Add a new prayer to your -devotions, with the intention of keeping this useless subject out of -your mind. Remember heaven, work for the poor, and the sinful, and the -sick, and, above all, do not fancy that it is going to make you happy -though you should be acquainted with the finest men, or win ever so -much their esteem. It isn’t worth striving for, even if striving would -win it. Nothing on earth is worth working for but bread and heaven.” - -Miss Pembroke looked a little disappointed. She had expected sympathy -and reassurance, and had received instead a warning. “I hope, mother, -you do not think me bold in speaking on such a subject,” she said, -dropping her eyes; and then Mother Chevreuse knew that she had better -have spoken lightly. - -“Certainly not!” she answered, laughing. “Do you think I fear you are -going to lecture on woman’s rights?” - -And so the little cloud passed over; and, when her visitor went away, -Honora had quite dismissed the subject from her mind. There were her -simple household duties to perform; then Lawrence came home to take an -early luncheon and dress to go to Annette Ferrier’s, where there was to -be a musical rehearsal; and, as soon as lunch was over, who should come -in but F. Chevreuse! - -Lawrence had a mind to escape unseen; but the priest greeted him so -cordially, pointing to a chair close beside his own, that it would have -been rude to go. And having overcome the first shyness that a careless -Catholic naturally feels in the presence of a clergyman, he found it -agreeable to remain; for nobody could be pleasanter company than F. -Chevreuse. - -“I beg unblushingly,” he owned with perfect frankness, when they -inquired how his collecting prospered. “To-day, I asked Dan McCabe -for a hundred dollars, and got it. He looked astonished, and so does -Miss Honora; but he showed no reluctance. At first blush, it may -seem strange that I should take money that comes from gambling and -rumselling. My idea is this: Dan is almost an outlaw; no decent person -likes to speak to him, and he has got to look on society and religion -as utterly antagonistic to him. He is on the other side of the fence, -and the only feeling he has for decency is hatred and defiance. He -takes pride in mocking, and pretending that he doesn’t care what people -think of him. But it is a pretence, and his very defiance shows that he -does care. It is my opinion that to-day Dan would give every dollar he -has in the world, and go to work as a poor man, if he could be treated -as a respectable one. He is proud of my having spoken to him, and taken -his money, though I dare say he will pretend to sneer and laugh about -it. You may depend he will tell of it on every opportunity. Better than -that, he will feel that he has a right to come to the church. Before -this, he had not, or at least people would have said he had not, and -would have stared at him if he had come. Now, if he should come in next -Sunday, and march up to a front seat, nobody could complain. If they -should, he would have the best of the argument, and he knows that. -Then, once in the church, we have a chance to influence him, and he a -chance to win respectability. He isn’t one to be driven, nor, indeed, -to be clumsily coaxed. The way is to assume that he wishes to do right, -then act as if he had done right. He never will let slip a bait like -that. He will hold on to that if he should have to let everything else -go, as he must, of course. I knew, when I saw him look ashamed to meet -me, that he wasn’t lost. While there’s shame, there’s hope. So much for -Dan McCabe. Am I not right, Larry?” - -Lawrence stooped to pick up F. Chevreuse’s hat, which had fallen, and -by so doing escaped the necessity of answering. One glance of the -priest’s quick eyes read his embarrassment, and saw the deepening color -in Honora’s face. - -“I am sure you are quite right, father,” Mrs. Gerald said hastily, with -a tremor in her voice. “Perhaps Dan would never have been so bad if too -much severity had not been used toward his early faults. And so your -collecting goes on successfully. I am so glad.” - -The priest, who perceived that he had, without meaning it, stirred deep -waters, resumed the former subject briskly: - -“Yes, thank God! my affairs are looking up. But there was a time when -they were dark enough. I have been anxious about Mr. Sawyer’s mortgage. -He is not so friendly to us as he was, or else he needs the money; for -he would grant no extension. Well, I raked and scraped every dollar -I could get, and I knew that, before next week, I couldn’t hope to -collect above one or two hundreds in addition; and still it did not -amount to more than half of the two thousand due. So I wrote off to -a friend in New York who I thought might help me, and set my mother -praying to all the saints for my success. For me, I don’t know what -came over me. Perhaps I was tired, or nervous, or dyspeptic. At all -events, when the time came for me to receive an answer to my letter, -all my courage failed. I was ashamed of myself, but that didn’t help -me. While Andy was gone to the post-office, I could do nothing but walk -to and fro, and shake at every sound, and watch the clock to see when -he would be back. I always give the old fellow half an hour. I wasn’t -strong when he went. In ten minutes I was weak, in fifteen minutes I -was silly, in twenty minutes I was a fool. ‘I can’t wait here in the -house for him,’ I said; ‘I’ll take to the sanctuary, and, whatever -comes to me there, it can’t kill me.’ So I left word for Andy to bring -my letters to the church, and lay them down on the altar steps, and -go away again without speaking a word; and out I went, and knelt down -by the altar, like an urchin who catches hold of his mother’s gown -when somebody says bo! to him. By-and-by, I heard Andy coming. I knew -the squeak of his boots, and the double way he has of putting his -feet down—first the heel, then the toe, making a sound as though he -were a quadruped. Never had he walked so slowly, yet never had I so -dreaded his coming. I counted the stairs as he came up, and found out -that there were fifteen. For some reason, I liked the number; perhaps -because it is the number of decades in the rosary. I promised in that -instant that, if he brought me good news, I would climb those stairs on -my knees, saying a decade on every stair in thanksgiving. Then I put my -hand over my face, and waited. He lumbered in, panting for breath, laid -something down before me, and went out again. I counted the fifteen -steps till he was at the bottom of them, then snatched up my letter, -and broke the seal; and there was my thousand dollars! When I saw the -draft, I involuntarily jumped up, and flung my _barrette_ as high as I -could fling it, and it came down to me with a mash that it will never -get over. But, my boy,” he said, turning quickly, and laying his hand -on Lawrence Gerald’s knee, “that your hat may never be mashed in a -worse cause!” - -Lawrence had been listening intently, and watching the speaker’s -animated face; and, at this sudden address, he dropped his eyes, and -blushed. Alas for him! his hat had more than once been mashed in a -cause little to his credit. - -“And now,” continued F. Chevreuse, with triumph, “I have at home in my -strong desk two thousand dollars, lacking only fifty, and the fifty -is in my pocket. After this, all is plain sailing. There will be no -difficulty in meeting the other payments.” - -The ladies congratulated him heartily. In this place, the interests of -the priest were felt to be the interests of the people. Making himself -intimately acquainted with their circumstances, he asked no more than -they could reasonably give; and they, seeing his hard and disinterested -labors, grieved that they could give so little. - -Presently, and perhaps not without an object, F. Chevreuse spoke -incidentally of business, and expressed his admiration for pursuits -which one of the three, at least, despised. - -“There is not only dignity but poetry in almost any kind of business,” -he said; “and the dignity does not consist simply in earning an honest -living, instead of being a shiftless idler. There is something fine in -sending ships to foreign lands, and bringing their produce home; in -setting machinery to change one article into another; and in gathering -grainfields into garners. I can easily understand a man choosing to -do business when there is no necessity for it. I have just come from -a sugarstore down-town, where I was astonished to learn that sugar -is something besides what you sweeten your tea with. It was there -in samples ranged along the counter, from the raw imported article, -that was of a soft amber-color, to lumps as white and glittering as -hoar-frost. Then there were syrups, gold-colored, crimson, and garnet, -and so clear that you might think them jewels. I remembered Keats’ - - ‘Lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon.’ - -They asked me if I would like to taste these. Would I taste of -dissolved rubies and carbuncles? Why not I as well as Cleopatra? Of -course I would taste of them. And how do you suppose they presented -this repast to me? On a plate or a saucer, a stick or a spoon? By no -means. The Ganymede took on his left thumb a delicate white porcelain -palette, such as Honora might spread colors on to paint roses, -heliotropes, and pinks with, and, lifting the jars one by one with his -right hand, let fall on it a single rich drop, till there was a rainbow -of deep colors on the white. When I saw that, the sugar business took -rank at once beside the fine arts. And it is so with other affairs. -If I were in the world, I would prefer, both for the pleasure and -the honor of it, to be a mechanic or a merchant, to being in any -profession.” - -When the priest had gone, Lawrence Gerald went soberly up to his -chamber, thinking, as he went, that possibly an ordinary, active life -might, after all, be the happiest. The influence of that healthy and -cheerful nature lifted for a time, if it did not dispel, his illusions, -as a sudden breath of west wind raises momentarily the heavy fogs, -which settle again as soon as the breath dies. For one brief view, this -diseased soul saw realities thrusting their strong angles through the -vague and feverish dreams that had usurped his life. On the one hand, -they showed like jagged rocks that had been deceitfully overveiled by -sunlighted spray; on the other, like a calm and secure harbor shining -through what had looked to be a dark and weary way. - -He opened a handkerchief-box, and absently turned over its contents, -rejecting with instinctive disdain the coarser linen, curling his lip -unconsciously at sight of a large hemstitching, and selecting one that -dropped out of fold like a fine, snowy mist. A faint odor of attar of -roses floated out of the box, so faint as to be perceptible only to -a delicate sense. The same rich fragrance embalmed the glove-box he -opened next, and the young man showed the same fastidious taste in -selecting. - -It appeared trivial in a man, this feminine-daintiness; yet some excuse -might be found for it when one contemplated the exquisite beauty of the -person showing it. It seemed fitting that only delicate linen and fine -cloth should clothe a form so perfect, and that nothing harsh should -touch those fair hands, soft and rosy-nailed as a woman’s. Yet how much -of the beauty and delicacy had come from careful and selfish fostering, -who can tell? Physical beauty is but a frail plant, and needs constant -watching; it loses its lustre and freshness in proportion as that care -is given to the immortal flower it bears. Both cannot flourish. - -“I wouldn’t mind doing business after it was well established,” he -muttered, carefully arranging one lock of hair to fall carelessly over -his temple, in contrast with its pure whiteness. “It is the dingy -beginning I hate. I hate anything dingy. People mistake when they fancy -me extravagant, and that I like show and splendor. I do not like them. -But I do like and must have cleanliness, and good taste, and freshness, -and light, and space.” - -What he said was in some measure true; and “pity ‘tis, ‘tis true” that -simple good taste can, in the city at least, be gratified only at an -extravagant price, and that poverty necessarily entails dinginess. - -He glanced about the room, and frowned with disgust. The ceiling was -low, the paper on the walls a cheap and therefore an ugly pattern, the -chairs and carpet well kept, but a little faded. Plain cotton blinds, -those most hideous and bleak of draperies, veiled the two windows, and -an antiquated old mahogany secretary, the shape of which could have -been tolerable only when the _prestige_ of new fashion surrounded it, -held a few books in faded bindings. - -The young man shrugged his shoulders, and went toward the door. As -he opened it, the draught blew open another door in the entry, and -disclosed the shaded front chamber, with its cool blue and snowy white, -its one streak of sunshine through a chink in the shutter, and its wax -candle burning before the marble Madonna. - -“That is what I like,” he thought, and passed hastily by. Annette would -be waiting for him. - -The sensible thoughts inspired by F. Chevreuse lasted only till the -quiet, shady street was passed. With the first step into South Avenue, -and the first glance down its superb length, other feelings came, -and cottages and narrow ways dwindled and were again contemptible. -The high walls, and cupola, and spreading wings of his lady’s home -became visible, and he could see the tall pillars of Miss Ferrier’s -new conservatory, which was almost as large as the whole of the house -he lived in. The fascination of wealth caught him once more, and the -thought of labor became intolerable. - -Miss Ferrier was indeed on the lookout, and, brightening with joyful -welcome, came out to the porch to meet her visitor as he entered the -gate. He had so many times forgotten her invitations that she had not -felt sure of him, and the pleasant surprise of his coming made her -look almost pretty. Her blue-gray eyes shone, her lips trembled with a -smile, and a light seemed to strike up through her excessively frizzled -flaxen hair. If it had only been Honora! But, as it was, he met her -kindly, feeling a momentary pity for her. “Poor girl! she is so fond of -me!” he thought complacently, feeling it to be his due, even while he -pitied her. “But I wish she wouldn’t put so much on. She looks like a -comet.” - -For Miss Ferrier’s pink organdie flounces streamed out behind her in a -manner that might indeed have suggested that celestial phenomenon. She -had, however, robbed Peter to pay Paul; for, whereas one end of her -robe exceeded, the other as notably lacked. - -“Mamma has not yet come back from her drive,” she remarked, leading the -way into the drawing-room. “It is astonishing what keeps her so long.” - -“Oh! it’s one of her distribution days, isn’t it?” Lawrence asked, with -a little glimmer of amusement that brought the blood into his lady’s -face. - -Two mornings of every week, Mrs. Ferrier piled her carriage full of -parcels containing food and clothing, and drove off into some of the -poorest streets of the town, where her pensioners gathered about her, -and told their troubles, and received her sympathy and help. The good -soul, being very stout, did not once leave her carriage, but sat there -enthroned upon the cushions like some bountiful but rather apoplectic -goddess, showering about her cotton and flannels, and tea and sugar, -and tears and condolences, and perhaps a few complaints with them. It -is more than probable that, under cover of this princely charity, Mrs. -Ferrier had a little congenial gossip now and then. Among these poor -women were many no poorer than she had once been, and they were much -nearer to her heart and sympathies than those whom Annette brought to -her gorgeous drawing-rooms. Mrs. Ferrier was far from wishing to be -poor again, but for all that she had found wealth a sad restriction on -her tastes and her liberty. To her mind, the restraints of society were -worse than a strait-jacket, and it required all Annette’s authority -to keep her from defying them openly. But here she was at home, and -could speak her own language, and at the same time be looked on as a -superior being. Jack and John could leave the carriage, and step into -the little ale-house at the corner; and, if one of them should bring -her out a foaming glass, the simple creature would not resent it. There -was always an idle urchin about who was only too proud to stand at the -horses’ heads while Mrs. Ferrier had a chat with some crony, who leaned -toward her over the carriage-steps. - -Miss Annette was sometimes troubled by a suspicion that her mother did -not always maintain with her _protégées_ as dignified a distance as was -desirable; but she was far from guessing the extent of the good lady’s -condescension. Her hair would have stood on end had she seen that glass -of ale handed into the carriage, and the beaming smile that rewarded -John, the footman, for bringing it. Her misgivings were strong enough, -however, to make her blush with mortification when Lawrence spoke of -the distribution days. The pleasure with which she had anticipated -a short _tête-à-tête_ with her intended husband died away, and she -seated herself in a window, and anxiously watched for her mother’s -coming. - -She was not kept long in suspense. First there appeared through the -thickly flowering horse-chestnut trees a pair of bright bays so trained -and held in that their perpendicular motion equalled their forward -progress; then a britzska that glittered like the chariot of the -sun. In this vehicle sat Mrs. Ferrier in solitary state. One might -have detected some apprehension in the first glance she cast toward -the drawing-room windows; but, at sight of the young man sitting -there beside her daughter, she tossed her head, and resumed her -self-confidence. She had a word to say to him. - -Jack brought his horses round in so neat a curve that the wheels -missed the curbstone by only a hair’s breadth; and John descended from -the perch—whence during three hours he had enjoyed the view of a -black-leather horizon over-nodded by the tip of Mrs. Ferrier’s plume of -feathers—and let down the step. - -We are obliged to confess that Mrs. Ferrier descended from her carriage -as a sailor descends the ratlines, only with less agility. But, what -would you? She was already of a mature age when greatness was thrust -upon her, and had not been able to change with her circumstances. -Moreover, she was heavy and timid, and subject to vertigo. - -“I’m much obliged to you, John,” she said, finding herself safely -landed. “Now, if you will bring that parcel in. I’d just as lief carry -it myself, only....” - -A glance toward the drawing-room window finished the sentence. Of -course, Miss Annette would be shocked to see her mother waiting on -herself; and, in all matters relating to social propriety, this poor -mother stood greatly in awe of her daughter, and, indeed, led quite a -wretched life with her. - -As the lady walked through the gate and up the steps, with a -half-distressed, half-defiant consciousness of being criticised, one -might find a slight excuse for the smile that showed for an instant -on the lips of her intended son-in-law; for it must be owned that in -decoration Mrs. Ferrier was of a style almost as Corinthian as her -house-front. A rustling green satin gown showed in tropical contrast -with a yellow crape shawl and a bird-of-paradise feather; she had curls -and crimps, she had flounces and frills, she had chains and trinkets, -she had rings on her fingers, and we should not be surprised if she had -bells on her toes. - -“O mamma!” cried Annette, running out into the hall, “what made you go -out dressed like a paroquet?” - -“Why, green and yellow go together,” mamma replied stoutly. “I’ve heard -you say that they make the prettiest flag in the world.” - -The young woman made a little gesture of despair _à la Française_. “Of -course, colors can’t help going together when they’re put together,” -she said. “The question is whether they are in good taste. And cannot -you see, mamma, that what is very fine for a banner isn’t proper for a -lady’s dress? But no matter, since it cannot be helped. And now, I have -something to tell you. I read in a book this morning that fleshy people -could make themselves thinner by giving up vegetables and sweets, and -living on rare beef and fruits, and using all the vinegar they could on -things. That’s worth your trying.” - -“But I don’t like raw beef and vinegar,” cried the mother in dismay. - -“It is not a question of liking,” replied the young woman loftily. “It -is a question of health, and comfort, and good looks. It certainly -cannot be to you a matter of indifference that the whole neighborhood -laugh behind their blinds to see you back down out of the carriage.” - -“Let ‘em laugh,” said the mother sulkily. “They’d be willing to back -out of carriages all their lives if they could have such as mine.” - -Annette drew herself up with great dignity: “Mamma, I do not consider -anything trivial when it concerns the credit of the family. To keep -that up, I would starve, I would work, I would perform any hardship.” - -To do the girl justice, she spoke but the truth. - -“You might take claret with lemon in it, instead of vinegar,” she -added after a moment. “And, by the way, I have ordered dinner at -half-past four, so as to be through in time for an early rehearsal. Mr. -Schöninger is engaged for the evening, and they are all to be here by -half-past five. Do be careful, ma. Mrs. Gerald is coming up.” - -“I don’t care for ‘em!” Mrs. Ferrier burst forth. “I’m tired of having -to mince and pucker for the sake of those Geralds. What are they to me? -All they want of us is our money.” - -Annette hushed her mother, and tried to soothe her, leading the way -into a side room; but, having begun, the honest creature must free -her mind. “You’ve had your say, and now I want to have mine,” she -persisted, but consented to lower her voice to a more confidential -pitch. “I’m going to have a talk with Lawrence to-day when dinner is -over. I sha’n’t put it off. If company comes before I get through, you -must entertain them. My mind is made up.” - -“Oh! gracious, mamma!” cried Annette, turning pale. - -“There are some things that you know best, and some that I know best,” -the elder woman went on, with a steady firmness that became her. “I -give up to you a good deal, and you must give up to me when the time -comes. I shall talk to that young man to-day; and, if you know what is -best for you, then say no more about it. You are not fit to take care -of yourself where he is concerned, and I’m going to do it for you. No -matter what I want to say to him. It is my place to look out for that. -All you have to do is to be quiet, and not interfere.” - -Annette was silent; and, if you had looked in her face then, you would -have seen that it by no means indicated a weak character. She was -looking at facts sharply and bravely, considering which of two pains -she had better choose, and swiftly coming to a decision. Strong as was -her will in that province where she ruled, it was but a reed compared -with the determination her mother showed when her mind was made up. The -daughter would sometimes yield rather than contend, and she was always -ready with reasons and arguments to prove herself right. But the mother -had none of that shrinking, on the contrary, took pleasure in having -a little skirmish now and then to relieve the tedium of her peaceful -existence; and, not being gifted in reasoning, was wont to assert her -will in a rather hard and uncompromising manner. Moreover, having once -said that she would or would not act in any certain manner, she never -allowed herself to be moved from that resolve. This was so well known -to her family and intimates that they took care not to provoke her to a -premature decision on questions that affected their interests. - -“Well, mamma,” Annette said, looking very pale as she yielded, “you -must do as you please. But don’t forget that Lawrence has not been used -to rough words. And now it is time for you to change your dress.” - -At these words, the sceptre changed hands again. Mrs. Ferrier sighed -wearily, remembering the happy days when she could put on a gown in the -morning, and not take it off till she went to bed at night. - -John, the footman, sat in the hall as the two ladies came out of the -library, and, instead of going directly up-stairs as her daughter -returned to the drawing-room, Mrs. Ferrier made a little pretence of -looking out through the porch, to learn the cause of some imaginary -disturbance. When at length she went toward the stairs, she was -fumbling in her pocket, and presently drew out a small parcel, which -she tossed down over the balusters to John, standing under. The paper -unfolded in falling, and disclosed a gorgeous purple and gold neck-tie, -which the footman at once hid in his pocket. - -“Do you like the colors, John?” she asked, leaning over the rail, and -smiling down benignantly. - -He nodded, with a quick, short answering smile, which shot like -lightning across his ruddy face, disturbing for only an instant its -dignified gravity. - -“Ma, are you going up-stairs?” called Annette’s sharp voice from the -drawing-room. - -“Yes; if you’ll give me time,” answered “ma,” hastening on. - -There was no reason why she should not buy, now and then, a little gift -for her servants, and there was no need of proclaiming what she had -done, and so making the others jealous. Or perhaps John had asked his -mistress to exercise her taste in his behalf, himself paying for the -finery. He was a very sensible, independent man, and did not need to be -pecuniarily assisted. - -At the head of the stairs, the mistress of the house met Bettie, the -chambermaid, who had been a witness to this little scene. - -“How do you get along, Bettie?” the lady asked, trying to patronize. - -The girl turned her back and flounced away, muttering something about -some folks who couldn’t get along so well as some other folks, who -could go throwing presents over the balustrade to other folks. - -Poor Bettie! perhaps she envied John his neck-tie. - -The rich woman went into her chamber, and shut the door. “I declare, -I’m sick of the way I have to live,” she whimpered, wiping her eyes. -“I don’t dare to say my soul’s my own. I’m afraid to speak, or hold my -tongue, or move, or sit still, or put on clothes, or leave ‘em off, -or to look out of my eyes when they’re open.” She wiped the features -in question again. “And now I’m likely to be starved,” she resumed -despairingly; “for, if Annette sets out to make me do anything, she -never lets me rest till I do it. I was happier when I had but one gown -to my back, and could act as I pleased, than I’ve ever been with all -the finery, and servants, and carriages that are bothering the life out -of me now. It’s all nonsense, this killing yourself to try to be like -somebody else, when what you are is just as good as what anybody is.” - -Which was not at all a foolish conclusion, though it might have been -more elegantly expressed. - -She stood a moment fixed in thought, her face brightening. “I -declare,” she muttered, “I’ve a good mind to—“ but did not finish the -sentence. - -A wavering smile played over her lips; and as she sat on the edge of -the sofa, with a stout arm propping her on either side, and her heavily -jewelled hands buried in the cushions, Mrs. Ferrier sank into a reverie -which had every appearance of being rose-colored. - -When she was moderately pleased, this woman was not ill-looking, though -her insignificant features were somewhat swamped in flesh. Her eyes -were pleasant, her complexion fresh, her teeth sound, and the abundant -dark-brown hair was unmistakably her own. - -She started, and blushed with apprehension, as the door was briskly -opened, and her daughter’s head thrust in. What if Annette should know -what she had been thinking of? - -“Ma,” said that young woman, “you had better wear a black grenadine, -and the amethyst brooch and ear-rings.” - -Having given this brief order, the girl banged the door in her -energetic way; but, before it was well shut, opened it again. - -“And pray, don’t thank the servants at table.” - -Again the Mentor disappeared, and a second time came back for a last -word. “O ma! I’ve given orders about the lemons and claret, and you’d -better begin to-day, and see how you can get along with such diet. I -wouldn’t eat much, if I were you. You’ve no idea how little food you -can live upon till you try. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you were -to thin away beautifully.” - -At last she departed in earnest. - -Mrs. Ferrier lifted both hands, and raised her eyes to the ceiling. -“Who ever heard,” she cried, “of anybody with an empty stomach sitting -down to a full table, and not eating what they wanted?” - -This poor creature had probably never heard of Sancho Panza, and -perhaps it would not much have comforted her could she have read his -history. - -We pass over the toilet scene, where Nance, Miss Annette’s maid, nearly -drove the simple lady distracted with her fastidious ideas regarding -colors and shapes; and the dinner, where Mrs. Ferrier sat in bitterness -of soul with a slice of what she called raw beef on her plate, and -a tumbler of very much acidulated claret and water, in place of the -foaming ale that had been wont to lull her to her afternoon slumber. -These things did not, however, sweeten her temper, nor soften her -resolutions. It may be that they rendered her a little more inexorable. -It is certain that Mr. Gerald did not find her remarkably amiable -during the repast, and was not sorry when she left the dining-room, -where he and Louis Ferrier stopped to smoke a cigar. - -She did not leave him in peace though, but planted a thorn at parting. - -“I want to see you in the library about something in particular, as -soon as you have got through here,” she said, with an air that was a -little more commanding than necessary. - -He smiled and bowed, but a slight frown settled on his handsome face -as he looked after her. What track was she on now? “Do you know what -the indictment is, Louis?” he asked presently, having lighted a cigar, -turned his side to the table, on which he leaned, and placed his feet -in the chair Annette had occupied. “Milady looked as though the jury -had found a bill.” - -Louis Ferrier, whom we need not occupy our time in describing, didn’t -know what the row was, really; couldn’t tell; never troubled himself -about ma’s affairs. - -Lawrence smoked away vigorously, two or three lines coming between his -smoothly-curved eyebrows; and, as the cigar diminished, his irritation -increased. Presently he threw the cigar-end impatiently through an open -window near, and brought his feet to the floor with an emphasis that -made his companion stare. - -“If there is anything I hate,” he cried out, “it is being called away -into a corner to hear something particular. I always know it means -something disagreeable. If you want to set me wild, just step up to -me mysteriously, and say that you wish to speak to me about something -particular. Women are always doing such things. Men never do, unless -they are policemen.” - -Young Mr. Ferrier sat opposite the speaker, lolling on the table with -his elbows widespread, and a glass of wine between them, from which he -could drink without raising it, merely tipping the brim to his pale -little moustache. He took a sip before answering, and, still retaining -his graceful position, rolled up a pair of very light-blue eyes as he -said, in a lisping voice that was insufferably supercilious: “Ma never -does, unless it’s something about money. You may be pretty sure it’s -something about money.” - -The clear, pale profile opposite him suddenly turned a deep pink, and -Lawrence looked round at him with a sharp glance, before which his -fell. The little drawling speech had been delivered with more of a -drawl than that habitual to Mr. Ferrier, perhaps, and it seemed that -there was a slight emphasis which might be regarded as significant. -Gerald had not taken any great pains to conciliate his prospective -brother-in-law, and Louis liked to remind him occasionally that the -advantages were not all on one side. - -Lawrence rose carelessly from the table, and filliped a crumb of bread -off his vest. “I say, Louis,” he remarked, “do you know you have -rather a peculiar way of putting your head down to your food, instead -of raising your food to your mouth? Reminds one of—well, now, it’s a -little like the quadrupeds, isn’t it? Excuse me, that may be taken as -a compliment. I’m not sure but quadrupeds have, on the whole, rather -better manners than bipeds. Grace isn’t everything. Money is the chief -thing, after all. You can gild such wooden things with it. I’m going to -talk about it with your mother. Good-by! Don’t take too much wine.” - -He sauntered out of the room, and shut the door behind him. “Vulgar -place!” he muttered, going through the entries. “Worsted rainbows -everywhere. I wonder Annette did not know better.” A contrasting -picture floated up before his mind of a cool, darkened chamber, all -pure white and celestial blue, with two little golden flames burning in -a shady nook before a marble saint, and one slender sun-ray stretched -athwart, as though the place had been let down from heaven, and the -golden rope still held it moored to that peaceful shore. The contrast -gave him a stifled feeling. - -As he passed the drawing-room door, he saw Annette seated near it, -evidently on the watch for him. She started up and ran to the door the -moment he appeared. Her face had been very pale, but now the color -fluttered in it. She looked at him with anxious entreaty. - -“Don’t mind if mamma is rather ... odd,” she whispered hurriedly. “You -know she has a rough way of speaking, but she means well.” - -He looked down, and only just suffered her slender fingers to rest on -his arm. - -“I would help it if I could, Lawrence,” she went on tremulously. “I do -the best I can, but there are times when mamma won’t listen to me. Try -not to mind what she may say ... for my sake!” - -Poor Annette! She had not yet learned not to make that tender plea with -her promised husband. He tried to hide that it irritated him. - -“Upon my word, I begin to think that something terrible is coming,” he -said, forcing a laugh. “The sooner I go and get it over, the better. -Don’t be alarmed. I promise not to resent anything except personal -violence. When it comes to blows, I must protect myself. But you can’t -expect a man to promise not to mind when he doesn’t know what is going -to happen.” - -A door at the end of the hall was opened, and Mrs. Ferrier looked out -impatiently. - -“‘Anon, anon, sir!’” the young man cried. “Now for it, Annette. One, -two, three! Let us be brave, and stand by each other. I am gone!” - -Let _us_ stand by each other! Oh! yes; for ever and ever! The light -came back to the girl’s face at that. She no longer feared anything if -she and Lawrence were to stand together. - -Mr. Gerald walked slowly down the hall. If his languid step and -careless air meant fearlessness, who can tell? He entered the library, -where Mrs. Ferrier sat like a highly colored statue carved in a green -chair, her hands in her lap (her paws in her lap, the young man thought -savagely). She looked stolid and determined. The calm superiority which -he could assume with Annette would have no effect here. Not only was -Mrs. Ferrier not in love with him, which made a vast difference, but -she was incapable of appreciating his real advantages over her, though, -perhaps, a mistaken perception of them inspired her at times with a -sort of dislike. There is nothing which a low and rude mind more surely -resents and distrusts than gentle manners. - -The self-possessed and supercilious man of society quailed before the -_ci-devant_ washwoman. What would she care for a scene? What shrinking -would she have from the insulting word, the coarse taunt? What fine -sense had she to stop her at the point where enough had been said, and -prevent the gratuitous pouring out of all that anger that showed in her -sullen face? Lawrence Gerald took a strong hold on his self-control, -and settled instantly upon the only course of action possible to him. -He could not defy the woman, for he was in some way in her power. He -could marry Annette in spite of her, but that would be to make Annette -worse than worthless to him. Not one dollar could he ever hope to -receive if he made an enemy of Mrs. Ferrier; and money he must have. -He felt now with a new keenness, when he perceived himself to be in -danger of loss, how terrible it would be to find those expectations of -prosperity which he had been entertaining snatched away from him. - -Mrs. Ferrier looked at him glumly, not lady enough to point him to -a seat, or to smooth in any way the approaches to a disagreeable -interview. There was no softness nor delicacy in her nature, and -now her heart was full of jealous suspicion and a sense of outraged -justice, as she understood justice. - -The young man seated himself in a chair directly in front of her—he -would not act as though afraid to meet her gaze—leaned forward with -his arms on his knees, looked down at the eyeglasses he held, and -waited for her to begin. A more polite attitude would have been thrown -away on her, and he needed some little shield. Besides, her threatening -looks had been so undisguised that an assumption of smiling ease would -only have increased her anger. - -The woman’s hard, critical eyes looked him over as he waited there, -and marked the finish of his toilet, and reckoned the cost of it, and -snapped at sight of the deep purple amethysts in his cuff-buttons, not -knowing that they were heir-looms, and the gift of his mother. He was -dressed quite like a fine gentleman, she thought; and yet, what was -he? Nothing but a pauper who was trying to get her money. She longed -to tell him so, and would have expressed herself quite plainly to that -effect upon a very small provocation. - -“I want to know if you’ve broken that promise you made me six months -ago,” she said roughly, having grown more angry with this survey. “I -hear that you have.” - -“What promise?” he asked calmly, glancing up. - -“You know well enough what I mean,” she retorted. “You promised never -to gamble again, and I told you what you might depend on if you did, -and I mean to keep my word. Now, I should like to know the truth. I’ve -been hearing things about you.” - -A deep red stained his face, and his lips were pressed tightly -together. It was hard to be spoken to in that way, and not resent -it. “When I make a promise, I usually keep it,” he replied, in a -constrained voice. - -“That’s no answer to my question,” Mrs. Ferrier exclaimed, her hands -clenching themselves in her lap. “I’ll have the truth without any -roundabout. Somebody—no matter who—has told me you owe fifteen -hundred dollars that you lost by gambling. Is it true or not? That is -what I want to know.” - -Lawrence Gerald raised his bright eyes, and looked steadily at her. “It -is false!” he said. - -This calm and deliberate denial disconcerted Mrs. Ferrier. She had not -expected him to confess fully to such a charge; neither, much as she -distrusted him, had she thought him capable of a deliberate lie if the -charge were true—some sense of his better qualities had penetrated her -thus far—but she had looked for shuffling and evasion. - -He was not slow to see that the battle was at an end, and in the same -moment his perfect self-restraint vanished. “May I ask where you heard -this interesting story?” he demanded, drawing himself up. - -Her confusion increased. The truth was that she had heard it from her -son; but Louis had begged her not to betray him as the informant, and -his story had been founded on hints merely. “It’s no use telling where -I heard it,” she said. “I’ll take your word. But since you’ve given -that, of course you won’t have any objection to giving your oath. If -you will swear that you don’t owe any gambling debts, I’ll say no more, -unless I hear more.” - -He reddened violently. “I will not do it!” he exclaimed. “If my word -is not good, my oath would not be. You ought to be satisfied. And if -you will allow me, I will go to Annette now, unless you have some other -subject to propose.” - -He had risen, his manner full of haughtiness, when she stopped him: “I -haven’t quite got through yet. Don’t be in such a hurry.” - -He did not seat himself again, but, leaning on the back of a chair, -looked at her fully. - -“I wish you would sit down,” she said. “It isn’t pleasant to have you -standing up when I want to talk to you.” - -He smiled, not very pleasantly, and seated himself, looking at her with -a steady gaze that was inexpressibly bitter and secretive. She returned -it with a more piercing regard than one would have thought those -insignificant eyes capable of. She had not been able to understand his -proud scruple, and her suspicions were alive again. - -“If all goes right,” she began, watching him closely, “I’m willing that -you and Annette should be married the first of September. I’ve made up -my mind what I will do for you. You shall have five hundred dollars to -go on a journey with, and then you will come back and live with me here -two years. I’ll give you your board, and make Annette an allowance of -five hundred a year, and see about some business for you. But I won’t -pay any debts; and, if any such debts come up as we have been talking -about, off you will go. If this story I’ve heard turns out to be true, -not one dollar more of mine do you ever get, no matter when I find it -out.” - -“I will speak to Annette about it,” he said quietly. “Is that all?” - -She answered with a short nod. - -Annette was anxiously waiting for him. “What is it?” she asked, when -she saw his face. - -He snatched his hat from the table. “Come out into the air,” he said; -“I am stifling here.” - -She followed him into the gardens, where an arbor screened them from -view. “Did you know what your mother was going to say to me?” he asked. - -“No!” It was all she had strength to utter. - -“Nothing of it?” - -“Nothing, Lawrence. I saw that she did not mean to tell me, so I would -not ask. Don’t keep me in suspense.” - -He hesitated a moment. Since she did not know, there was no need to -tell her all. He told her only her mother’s plans regarding their -marriage. - -“You see it’s a sort of ticket-of-leave,” he said, smiling faintly. “We -are to be under _surveillance_. Hadn’t you better give me up, Annette? -She will like any one else better.” - -The sky and garden swam round before her eyes. She said nothing, but -waited. - -“I only propose it for your sake,” he added more gently, startled at -her pallor. “In marrying me, you run the risk of being poor. If that -doesn’t frighten you, then it’s all right.” - -Her color came back again; but no smile came with it. These shocks had -been repeated too many times to find her with the same elasticity. - -“This cannot go on a great while,” she said, folding her hands in her -lap, and looking down. “Mamma cannot always be so unreasonable. The -best way now is to make no opposition to her, whatever she proposes. I -may be able to influence her as we wish after a while. You may be sure -that I shall try. Meantime, let us be quiet. I have learned, Lawrence, -never to contend unless I can be pretty sure of victory. It is a hard -lesson, but we have to learn it, and many harder ones, too. The best -way for you is to laugh and seem careless, whether you feel so or not. -The one who laughs succeeds. It is strange, but the moment a person -acts as if he felt humiliated, people seem to be possessed of a desire -to humiliate him still more. It doesn’t do in the world to confess to -any weakness or failure. I have always noticed that people stand in awe -of those who appear to be perfectly self-confident and contented.” - -Lawrence Gerald looked at her in surprise as she said this in a calm -and steady way quite new to him. Some thought of her being strong and -helpful in other ways besides money-bringing glanced through his mind. -“You know the world at least, Annette,” he said, with a half-smile. - -No smile nor word replied. She was looking back, and remembering how -she had learned the world. She, a poor, low-born girl, ignorant but -enthusiastic and daring, had been suddenly endowed with wealth, and -thrown upon that world with no one to teach her how to act properly. -She had learned by the sneers and bitterness, the ridicule and -jibes, her blunders had excited. Mortification, anger, tears, and -disappointments had taught her. Instead of having been led, she had -been spurred along the way of life. She had seen her best intentions -and most generous feelings held as nothing, because of some fault -in their manifestation; had found the friendships she grasped at, -believing them real, change to an evasive coldness with only a -surface-froth of sweet pretence. Strife lay behind her, and, looking -forward, she saw strife in the future. As she made this swift review, -it happened to her as it has happened to others when some crisis or -some strong emotion has forced them to lift their eyes from their -immediate daily cares; and as the curtain veiling the future wavered in -that breeze, they have caught a glimpse of life as a whole, and found -it terrible. Perhaps in that moment Annette Ferrier saw nothing but -dust and ashes in all her hopes of earthly happiness, and felt a brief -longing to hide her face from them for ever. - -“Your company are coming,” Lawrence said. He had been watching her with -curiosity and surprise. It was the first time she had ever disregarded -his presence, and the first time he had found her really worthy of -respect. - -She roused herself, not with a start, as if coming back to a real -present from some trivial abstraction, but slowly and almost -reluctantly, as though turning from weighty matters to attend to -trifles. - -“Can you be bright and cheerful now?” she asked, smiling on him with -some unconscious superiority in her air. “These little things are not -worth fretting for. All will come right, if we keep up our courage.” - -As she held out her hand to him, he took it in his and carried it to -his lips. “You’re a good creature!” he said most sincerely. - -And in this amicable frame of mind they went to join the company. - -Crichton was eminently a musical city. In the other arts, they were -perhaps superficial and pretentious; but this of music was ardently and -assiduously cultivated by every one. Wealthy ladies studied it with all -the devotion of professional people, and there were not a few who might -have made it a successful profession. Among these was Annette Ferrier, -whose clear, high soprano had a brilliant effect in _bravuras_ or -compositions requiring strong passion in the rendering. All this talent -and cultivation the Crichton ladies did not by any means allow to be -wasted in private life. Clubs and associations kept up their emulation -and skill, and charitable objects and public festivals afforded them -the opportunity for that public display without which their zeal might -have languished. The present rehearsal was for one of these concerts. - -They were to sing in the new conservatory, which was admirable for -that purpose. It was only just completed—an immense parallelogram -joined to the southwestern corner of the house, with a high roof, and -tall pillars making a sort of porch at the end. No plants had yet been -arranged, but azaleas and rhododendrons in full bloom had been brought -in and set in a thicket along the bases of the pillars, looking, in all -their airy roseate flush of graduated tints, as if a sunset cloud had -dropped there. Against this background the benches for the singers were -ranged, and Annette’s grand piano brought out for Mr. Schöninger, their -leader. Sofas and arm-chairs were placed near the long windows opening -into the house for a small company of listeners. - -“I wish Mother Chevreuse could have come,” Mrs. Ferrier said, surveying -the preparations with complacent satisfaction. - -Mother Chevreuse was employed much more to her own liking than she -would have been in listening to the most excellent music in the world: -she was waiting for her son to come home from his collecting, and take -tea with her in her cosy little parlor. If the day should prove to -have been successful to him, then he could rest a whole month; and, -in expectation of his success, she had made a little gala of it, and -adorned her room and table with flowers. The curtains next the church -were looped back, to show a group of sunlighted tree-tops and an edge -of a bright cloud, since the high walls hid the sunset from this room. -The priest’s slippers and dressing-gown were ready for him, and an -arm-chair set in his favorite place. He must rest after his hard day’s -work. The evening paper lay folded within reach. - -Mother Chevreuse looked smilingly about, and saw that all was ready. -The green china tea-set and beautiful old-fashioned silver that had -been preserved from her wedding presents made the little table look -gay, and the flowers and a plate of golden honeycomb added a touch -of poetry. Everything was as she would have wished it—the picture -beautifully peaceful and homelike. - -“What would he do without me?” she murmured involuntarily. - -The thought called up a train of sad fancies, and, as she stood looking -out toward the last sunny cloud of evening, long quivering rays seemed -to stretch toward her from it. She clasped her hands and raised her -eyes, to pray that she might long be spared to him; but the words were -stopped on her lips. There was a momentary struggle, then “Thy will be -done!” dropped faintly. - -At this moment, she heard a familiar step on the sidewalk, the street -door opened and banged to again, and in a moment more F. Chevreuse -stood on the threshold, his face bright with exercise and pleasure. - -“Well?” his mother said, seeing success in his air. - -He drew himself up with an expression of immense consequence, and began -to declaim: - - “‘Dick,’ says he, - ‘What,’ says he, - ‘Fetch me my hat,’ says he, - ‘For I will go,’ says he, - ‘To Timahoe,’ says he, - ‘To the fair,’ says he, - ‘To buy all that’s there,’ says he.” - -“You’ve made out the whole sum!” was her joyful interpretation. - -“Yes; and more,” he answered. “I am rich, Mother Chevreuse. All the -way home, my mind has been running on golden altar-services and old -masters.” - -Mother Chevreuse seated herself behind the tea-tray, set a green and -gold cup into its appropriate saucer, and selected a particular spoon -which she always gave her son—one with a wheat-ear curling about -the quaint, half-effaced initials; he, insensible man that he was, -unconscious whether it was silver or tin. - -“While you have a resting-place for the Master of masters, you need not -give much thought to any other,” she said. “But I own that my thoughts -often run on a golden altar-service. Only to-day I was reckoning that -what I possess of my own would buy one.” - -“O vanity!” laughed the priest. “You want to make a show, mother. -Instead of being content to help with the brick and mortar, or the iron -pillars, you must approach the very Holy of Holies, and shine in the -tabernacle itself. Fie, Mother Chevreuse!” - -“I mentioned it to F. White,” she said, “and he almost reproved me. -He said that there was more need of feeding the hungry than of buying -golden altar-vessels. I told him that gold endures, but bread is soon -eaten; and he answered that, if the eating of bread saved from theft -or starvation, and put hope into a breaking heart, it was making finer -gold than could be wrought into a chalice. A good deal of grace may be -found in a loaf of bread, said F. White.” - -“That’s true,” answered the priest cheerfully. “F. White has sense, -though he grudges me a gold chalice. I’ll remember that when he comes -here begging for his organ. F. White, says I, it’s sheer vanity to talk -of organs when there are suffering poor in the world. A tobacco-pipe is -better than an organ-pipe, when it stops an oath in the mouth of a poor -hod-carrier who has no other comfort but his smoke. Much grace may be -found in a clay pipe, F. White, my darling.” - -Merry, foolish talk, but innocent and restful. - -“And, by the way,” resumed the priest, “that same F. White has gone -away, and I must go and attend a sick call for him. I got the telegram -as I came along.” - -“Not to-night!” the mother exclaimed. - -“Yes, to-night. I sent word that I would come. The man is in danger. -Besides, I could not spare time to-morrow forenoon. I can drive the -five miles before ten o’clock, stay the rest of the night there, and -come home in the morning in time to say Mass at six o’clock. That is -the best plan. I don’t care to be out very late.” - -“It is the better way,” she said, but looked disappointed. “I don’t -like to have you out late at night, it gives you such headaches.” - -“Headache is easier to bear than heart-ache, mother,” said the priest -brightly, and went to the window to give Andrew his order for the -carriage. “Have it ready in front of the church at a quarter before -nine o’clock,” he said. “And, Andrew, light the gas in the sacristy.” - -Mother Chevreuse anxiously served her son, urged him to take a muffler, -lest the night air should prove chilly, poured a second cup of tea -for him, and, when he was ready to start, stood looking earnestly at -him, half in pride of his stalwart manliness, half in tender, motherly -anxiety lest some accident should befall him on the long, lonely drive. - -“Hadn’t you better take Andrew with you?” she suggested. - -“And why should I take Andrew with me?” the priest asked, putting a -stole in his pocket. - -“Why ...” she hesitated, ashamed of her womanish fears. - -“An excellent reason!” he laughed. “No, madam; I shall take no one -with me but my good angel. My buggy holds but two. Good-night. Sleep -soundly, and God bless you!” - -She stood with her lips slightly parted, watching him earnestly, as if -fearful of losing some slight word or glance; but his cheerful talk -woke no smile in her face. - -He would not appear to notice anything unusual in her manner, and was -going out, when she stopped him. - -“Give me your blessing, dear, before you go,” she whispered, and fell -on her knees before him; and, when he had given it, she rose and tried -to smile. - -The priest was disturbed. “Don’t you feel well to-night, mother?” he -asked. - -“Yes, quite well,” she replied gently. “Perhaps I am foolish to be so -nervous about your going. It seems a lonely drive. Go now, or you will -be late.” - -She followed him to the door, and stood there till she saw him come out -of the church, step into his buggy, and drive away. - -“Good-night! good-night!” she said, listening till the last sound of -his carriage-wheels died into stillness; then, breathing a prayer for -his safety, she went back to her own room. - -Jane had cleared away the table, drawn the curtains, and lighted a -lamp, and had gone down to her company in the kitchen. - -“What does make me so lonely and fearful?” exclaimed the lady, wringing -her cold hands. - -She busied herself in little things, trying to drive the trouble away; -refolded the paper her son had not found time to read, pushed his -arm-chair nearer the table for herself, and, discovering a flake of -smooth-pressed clay which his boot had left on the carpet, took it up, -and threw it into the fireplace. That homely little service brought a -faint smile to her face. - -“The careless boy!” she said fondly. “He never could remember to wipe -his boots on coming in, even when he was a mere lad. I can see his -bright face now as it looked when he would argue me out of scolding -him. His mind was occupied with lofty matters, he said; he could not -bring it down to boots and mud. It sounded like a jest; but who knows -if he might not even then have been about his Father’s business!” - -Dropping into his chair, she sat thinking over the old time and her -boy’s childhood. How happy and peaceful their life had been! Half -chiding herself, as if she knew he would have called it folly, she -went into her bedroom, and brought our a little trunk, in which were -preserved _souvenirs_ memorable in her life and his. - -There was his christening-robe. She shook out the length, and pushed -two of her fingers through the tiny embroidered sleeve. - -“How little we dream what the future is to be!” she murmured. “I wonder -how I would have felt if, when I was embroidering this, there had -risen before my eyes the vision of a chasuble hanging above it? But I -couldn’t have been prouder of him than I was. He was a fine healthy -boy, and had a will of his own even then. When he was baptized, he got -the priest’s stole in his baby fist, and I had to pull it away finger -by finger, the little fellow clinging all the time.” - -There were boyish toys, schoolbooks adorned with preposterous -pencil-drawings, in which the human figure was represented by three -spheres set one over the other, and supported on two sticks; there were -letters written his mother while he was away from home, at school or -college, and a collection of locks of hair cut on successive birthdays, -till the boy had laughed her out of the custom. She placed these side -by side now, ranging them according to their dates, and studied the -gradual change from the silken-silvery crescent of a curl cut from the -head of the year-old babe, through deepening shades, to the thick brown -tress cut on his twentieth birthday. Every little lock had its story to -tell, and she went over each, ending with a kiss, in fancy kissing the -child’s face she seemed again to see. And as she sat there conning the -past, memory struck every chord of her heart, from the sweet, far-away -vibration when her first-born was placed in her arms, and coming down -through deepening tones to the present. - -She lifted her face, that had been bent over these mementos. “Now he -is Father Chevreuse, and I am an old woman!” she said; and, sighing, -rose and put the souvenirs all away. “We have had a glad and prosperous -life; how little of sorrow, how little of adversity! I never before -realized how much I have to be thankful for.” - -Presently she put a veil over her head, and went out through the -basement into the church to say her prayers. She always said her -evening prayers before the altar; and now she had double cause to be -scrupulous. She must atone for past unthankfulness, and pray for her -son’s safe return. - -By ten o’clock, the house was closed for the night, and the inmates -had all gone to their quiet slumber. Mother Chevreuse’s uneasiness was -all gone, and, after devotions of unusual fervor, she felt an unwonted -peace. “Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit!” she said, and sank -to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. - -About midnight, she started up, wide-awake, and listened. There was a -low, stealthy sound, as of a door being softly opened. Could her son -have changed his mind, and come home again? Some one was certainly in -his room. She stepped out of bed, and listened keenly. There was a -faint noise like the rattle of a latch or lock, and then a soft step -retreating. - -“It is he come back!” she thought joyfully; and, even in thinking so, -was smitten by a wild and sudden fear. She slipped on a dressing-gown -and sandals, and hurried toward the door. “My son!” she said -breathlessly as she opened it. - -Faintly seen in the dim light, a man’s form was leaving the room by the -entry. A shawl or cloak wrapped him from head to foot, and he held a -little chest in his hand. In that chest F. Chevreuse kept his money. - -All personal fear deserted his mother’s heart at that sight. She -thought only that the fruit of her son’s long labors was being carried -away under her eyes, and that, after the brief joy of his success, he -would come home to bitterness and disappointment. - -She ran after the retreating figure, and caught it by the arm. “Shame! -shame!” she cried. “It is the money of the poor. It belongs to God. -Leave it, in God’s name.” - -The man bent down, and wrapped his form still more closely from -recognition, as he wrenched himself loose. But while forced to let go -his arm, she caught at the casket he held, and clung with all her -strength, calling for help. - -“Let go!” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “Let go, or I shall do you -harm!” - -As she still clung and cried for help, they stood at the head of the -stairs leading to the basement of the house. Steps were heard below, -and Jane’s voice calling Andrew, and screaming from the window. - -The man made one more fierce effort to free himself. Drawing back from -the stairs, he turned quickly, and threw himself forward again. There -was a sharp cry, “My son!” and a fall. Then a fainter cry, “My God!” -and then silence. - - - - -TRAVELLERS AND TRAVELLING. - - -WHAT does one gain by travelling? says some old wiseacre, with a shake -of the head. Better the man that settles down and grows with his native -or adopted dwelling-place. “The rolling stone gathers no moss,” is a -venerable saying. Men who stay only a short time in one place can never -be sufficiently known or loved by any people, and hence their credit -and fortune cannot increase. - -What does one not gain by travelling? says the boy who is just old -enough to relish _Robinson Crusoe_, whose natural curiosity is feverish -for knowledge. For him, all countries are more interesting than his -own. He longs to climb the hill that bounds his native plain, to see -what lies beyond. No one for him so interesting as the soldier or -sailor come back from foreign lands, and he asks, with deep, attentive -inquiry, “if there are boys in such places, too, and whether they -are born there, or if they also went away from here?” Power, wealth, -beauty, have no charm for him. Money he values merely because it opens -his path to distant lands; and his instinctive desire to know is the -passion of his youth. This is the story of all of us, at least all of -us boys. It is only when our curiosity is satisfied either by personal -experience or by credible hearsay, when we meet members of the whole -human family, and find them seeking in our country that peace and -beauty which we used to ascribe to theirs—it is then we realize that -life is not poetry; that one’s native land is generally happiest for -him; and that the best thing for one to do is to choose a spot thereof, -and, as “H. G.” used to say, “to settle down and rise with it.” - -Between the sturdy proverb of the oldest inhabitant and the boundless -dream of the boy exists the medium wherein we shall find the uses of -travel. There is nothing which may not be abused, and travelling may -degenerate into a passion in individuals; but the strength of the ties -of country, home, and family, whereby nature has bound us, forbids any -but solitary instances of men who have wandered, useless vagabonds on -the earth, trespassing on all countries, and aiding none; while, if the -Holy Ghost call forth some apostle from his kindred to sound the trump -of faith among many peoples, the Lord, who gives him an extraordinary -mission, will endow him with special grace, and the world will gain -by his vocation. This is the greatest traveller: who goes forth, not -to his own gain, nor to further his nation’s weal, but to extend the -kingdom of God on earth; to enlighten those who sit in darkness, and -bring them to the knowledge of the truth. - -Why do people travel? People travel for health, for pleasure, for -business, and for knowledge. Some fifty thousand Americans travelled -in Europe last summer with one or other of these objects in view. -Have they all gained by their trip? Has the nation profited? Are they -healthier, happier, richer, wiser, for their tour in Europe? A general -answer to these questions cannot be given. All depends on the character -of the individuals who composed that large army. Their particular -circumstances and characteristics may have caused some to gain, others -to lose, both when there is question of health, as well as when we -speak of enjoyment, riches, and useful knowledge. I was one of that -invading army that descended on Europe last year, and will try to make -others partakers of whatever is communicable of the advantages derived -from the trip which under advice I took to the other hemisphere. We -will see who are they that lose by going abroad, what danger and -damage they incur, and the reasons why. We will also find what persons -profit by the excursion, what dispositions are required for this; and, -by contrasting and comparing each, we shall be enabled to conclude -how much of loss and how much of gain there is in travel, how the -one is avoided, and the other achieved. All this I will make bold to -illustrate from my own experience. - -A change of air is well known to influence one’s health very much; for -a man lives as much on good air as on what are commonly considered the -elements of sustenance. I heard a gentleman state that the change from -Newburg to New York in summer had caused him to gain eleven pounds -in a fortnight. It was all in the change. A citizen flying from this -pent-up atmosphere to the expanded vision and pure breezes of that -delightful town could hardly have gained more in the same period. Hence -the doctors prescribe change of air so frequently. An English physician -says: “It is undoubted, explain it how we may, that a change of air, -diet, and scene rouses the faculties, improves the appetite, and -raises the spirits. When you set out for France, then, on your little -trip of twenty-five miles across the channel, pray Heaven you may -get thoroughly sea-sick, that nothing old or vitiated may make a bad -foundation for the new man you are going to build up.” People from the -plain gain by a change to the mountains; people from the mountain by -visiting the plains. People from inland by going to the sea-shore, and -those from the beach by retiring to the meadows. As with the body, so -with the mind. Our faculties become as it were choked up and stagnant -by continual monotony; even the most brilliant conversation, music, the -best jokes of a friend, fail at last to please or rouse the spirit. -Activity and exercise are necessary for the mind and soul as well as -for the body, and are obtained by seeking contact and conflict with new -ideas, sights, and wonders to move the imagination; and the consequent -enlivening of the spirits acts at once on the body, and does more -to restore physical power than any material food. It is by visiting -foreign places; seeing strange customs which excite our curiosity; -wondering at Alpine heights and Rhenish castles; sympathizing with the -decayed glories of Venice and old Rome; confronting ourselves with the -soul-entrancing beauty of the Bay of Naples and the awe of that burning -mountain which stirs the depths of the spirit—it is thus we produce -that friction, that reaction requisite for rousing soul and body from -tepidity and the stagnancy of hypochondria and disease. Our spirits -rise, the circulation is quickened by the winds of France and the music -of Italy, the strange _cuisine_ of other lands start all our organs -into activity, and happiness and health are the result. - -There are those, however, who travel, and yet gain neither in spirits -nor in health. What often makes the difference, other things being -equal, is the bigotry and contrariety of certain individuals. Some -persons are so ignorant, and therefore so bigoted, that they will never -tolerate customs different from their own, hold all who think otherwise -than they in profound contempt, and will persist in following their -own ways no matter where they go, and although the habits and opinions -of an entire nation are opposed to them. Such persons never gain good -spirits; for they will not open the windows of their miserable little -souls, to let in the rays of happiness in which the people about are -basking. An Englishman of fifty years ago, for instance, sets out with -the notion that whatever is not English is contemptible. Hence, he is -disgusted with the pleasant sounds of the French tongue; the agreeable -politeness of the lady in the restaurant irritates him—perhaps he -feels angry that a Frenchwoman should be so much at ease in his -presence; the play he despises, because his taste is too debased to -rise to its enjoyment, or because Parisians applaud it. He will have -his beefsteak in the morning and his heavy slices of bread, no matter -though the whole French nation should think a light breakfast more -healthful. Hence, it is impossible that this man’s health should -improve. Instead of getting mentally sea-sick (he can’t help getting -bodily so; and the prouder he is, the more amusing his appearance -then), and throwing off prejudice, he keeps in his mind a bile that -jaundices his views, and corrodes every healthy idea that may possibly -enter his soul. He follows his own notions at the table; and, as the -food and habits of his northern isle do not suit southern latitudes, of -course he gains nothing in health, and often becomes sick, and returns -home disgusted with dons and messieurs, signors and mynheers, and tells -you “there’s no use in travel—he tried it.” The first requisite, then, -is, when you go to Rome, to do as the Romans do. The customs of a place -show what its inhabitants prefer; and it is silly in any man to set his -own little ideas against the experience of a whole people. - -My friend and I had the misfortune to meet one of this class on setting -out on our trip, and thrown together as we necessarily were on an ocean -steamship, it caused us a great deal of inconvenience. The poor man was -actually yellow from dyspepsia and bigotry. I am sorry to say he passed -for an American. Whether his bigotry caused that viselike fastening up -of his better nature, and, reacting on his body, ruined his digestion, -as might easily be, or whether the desperate state of his chylopoetic -fluids produced a corresponding straitness in his soul, which we -assumed as the more charitable supposition, I can’t say; but certainly -all the benefit of new and entertaining society, all the advantages of -sea air, change of diet, etc., were lost, necessarily lost to him. What -was the cause of his old-fogyism? One dreadful incubus—you might call -it a standing evil, a nightmare (diurnal as well as nocturnal)—was -the presence at the same table, and in the willing association of -those whom he also preferred, and whose company he courted, of us two -priests. The man could not look us in the face, could not accept the -salt at our hands, would not “do us the pleasure of wine,” as they -say on English ships; in fact, his bigotry stood between him and his -own enjoyment and good appetite, rendered our position disagreeable, -caused the rest of the company (Protestants themselves) to condemn -his behavior in the strongest terms on deck, and ruined the pleasure -of our voyage, at least during the time spent at table. One of his -acquaintances was a whole-souled, honest, generous gentleman, a -Methodist from Brooklyn. He, on his part, took every opportunity to -throw sunshine about him, and to be polite to us especially, as if to -make up for the fellow’s savageness; and one day, when the dyspeptic -was complaining to the waiter as bitterly as if he were being flayed -alive, the other turned to him, and said aloud: “Ebenezer, if I was an -undertaker getting up a funeral, I’d hire you for chief mourner.” John -invited us to his cabin, and the other turned away from its door when -he saw us within. John proposed to take his cheerful, amiable wife to -Ireland first; Ebenezer declared his abhorrence of the Irish and his -contempt for Killarney. “He wouldn’t advise anybody to go to Ireland; -he’d been there three times, and there was nothing to see but beggars.” -John took him up before the company: “Why did you go there the second -and third time, Eben?”—a question which disconcerted the dyspeptic, -and caused intense amusement to the passengers. Such an one had no use -to go travelling for health or anything else. You must open the windows -of your soul, slacken the risible muscles of your face, and reduce -yourself to a soft, pliable, impressionable condition, if you want to -benefit by change of air, scenery, and society. Dry, hard wax does not -receive the impression of the seal. But let a man set out with proper -dispositions, leave care and prejudice behind, be ready to speak of -men and things as he will find them, let no thought of business come -up for a while, but move along easily and quietly through the scenes -and people of other lands, and he will experience the advantages of -travelling for health. - -Another motive for travel is business. The post and the telegraph -afford wonderful facilities for carrying on commercial relations -between different firms and branches of the same house in different -countries; but many circumstances render personal visits and interviews -often necessary. Hence, the number of travellers on business is very -large. Many New York houses send trusty men to Europe annually or -oftener to buy the stuffs and to inspect and select the styles which -fickle fashion imposes on her votaries. - -The American is not satisfied with looking through foreign eyes, for -he knows that short or long-sightedness is often the defect of even -business men in those old countries. Hence, he goes to see and inspect -for himself, and commonly finds an opening where the Frenchman, the -German, even the Englishman, did not suspect its existence; throws a -bridge over a chasm which to them seemed impassable; works his way -through difficulties they thought unsurmountable; and pushing on over -precipices and untrodden ways, “that banner with the strange device, -Excelsior,” in his hands, astonishes the natives, and secures the trade -of the world. Thus Singer, the sewing-machine man, goes to the ancient -mediæval city of Nürnberg, amongst other places—a city seemingly so -dead as to have recently erected another monument to Albrecht Dürer, -the artist, the only statue in the town; as if the last man of push and -note they produced was dead 350 years. Singer goes to this sleepy old -city, and, in spite of the depth and inflexibility of the old channels -in which trade had been running for a thousand years, attempts to -revolutionize it all at once with his sewing-machine. In spite of the -opposition of the tailors, which similar endeavors in parts of Great -Britain failed to overcome, he succeeds; for, instead of hiring a plain -office, in the simple manner of the country, and cautiously investing -a little capital at the outset, the American, with characteristic -enterprise and self-approved wisdom, spends hundreds in advertising -and thousands in erecting a building the most imposing and expensive -of its kind in the venerable city, astonishes the slow Bavarians while -attracting them by the employment he gives, makes them believe that -he is indeed the bringer of the great good he claims, obtains their -trade, and, while filling his own pockets, is a herald of his country’s -genius and enterprise. Another instance: while sailing down the Rhine -last October in one of those steamers which approach nearest to the -graceful beauties of our own rivers, and which are therefore most -highly praised by tourists, we were a little surprised and considerably -proud at seeing “Lent’s Floating American Circus” (like a vast floating -bath) paying a visit to one of the cities of that noble stream, up -and down whose banks it for ever roves, catering for the amusement -and instruction and picking up the loose thalers of Fatherland with -as much _sang-froid_ as Dan Rice on our Mississippi. When the people -of the Continent behold the Americans coming three thousand miles -over the sea, passing inside England, from whom we learnt these very -institutions, whose child our nation was, they naturally form a very -high opinion of the superior enterprise and skill of the republic, so -that our democratic institutions gain respect and our flag honor, while -English influence gradually decays. Thus George Pullman goes over and -steps in before John Bull, and secures the sleeping-car business on the -Continent. Nay, it is only now that, roused by his aggressive boldness, -England begins to adopt our great improvements in travel, afraid -of being left still more shamefully behind. Thus does the business -traveller, while making his own fortune, advance his country’s name -and influence; and his successful policy is always that of generosity, -accommodation, and politeness. - -A class of men called commercial travellers is very numerous in England -and Ireland. They are a relic of the period preceding this great -advertising age, and go about from town to town soliciting orders and -selling goods of which they carry samples. Many of them are peddlers -also, and sometimes carry great value in money, jewelry, etc., and -offer story-tellers an attractive field for wild tales of robbery on -lonely roads, and murder in wayside inns. They all have some story -of this kind to relate. In Ireland, a room in every hotel is set -apart, called the commercial room, for the exclusive use of these men, -whose business transactions and responsibility require special care -and convenience, and where they can deposit their valuables without -danger of loss or damage. I was in a car once with one of these lonely -gentlemen, and he told me he travelled from the 1st of January to the -23d December. - -The company of a wife is not considered conducive either to economy or -to profit; but their life must be a dreary one, especially in Ireland, -where the accommodation on the railroads and in some of the country -hotels is not only very poor, but even dangerous to health. In England -even, they have just begun to heat their cars, which are far below -those on the Continent; and in Ireland, at least in winter, I have had -to sleep in a room with a quarter inch of mildew dank and dark upon -the walls. Persons travelling for pleasure, however, are not generally -subjected to this last inconvenience, as the localities frequented by -tourists are furnished with whatever is needful for their comfort. - -Pleasure is, doubtless, the object of most travellers; but it includes -much more than the word in its usual acceptance might imply. The -wealthy English travel in the mild, genial climates of southern Europe -during the prevalence at home of that indescribably abominable weather -which sits on London like a plague during the autumn and winter. Some -of them also go abroad because they cannot afford to reside at home. -They revel in the atmosphere of Rome and Naples—so mild that oranges -bloom and flowers deck the walls all through the wintry season. The sun -is bright, while the weather is not so mild as to interfere with balls, -parties, concerts, etc.; and hunting the fox, the wild boar, and the -deer, with the intoxicating pleasures of the carnival, and visits to -the interesting monuments of pagan and Christian times, make up a round -of diversion and entertainment peculiar to Italy. - -The American tourist partakes of the same enjoyments, only that his -pleasure is sometimes interrupted and marred by the workings of his -practical and ever-active brain. I heard of one of our countrymen -paying a moonlight visit to that noblest of ruins, the Coliseum, in -company with a party composed of various nationalities. While they -gazed in silent, entranced contemplation at its dark majesty, with the -rays of the pale planet making its black recesses visible by contrast; -while they pictured to themselves 100,000 fair women and brave men -seated in its circuit, witnessing the bloody tragedy of the dying -gladiator or the triumphant martyr of Christ, the Yankee was asked -his impressions, and replied, on reflection, that “it was rayther -large, but money might be in the concern if ‘twas only roofed in and -whitewashed!” - -I need not go to great length to show the pleasure which travelling -affords; the delight which all take in seeing new and strange places, -customs, works of art, ruins of antiquity, cataracts, mountains, -rivers, etc.—all of which have a wonderful charm in lightening one’s -heart, wearied by care; in purifying and strengthening the brain, -dimmed and dizzied by labor, and filling us with pure and exquisite -delight. Besides, many find in travel a refuge from the routine of -fashion, and the prospect of that lingering pain which follows her -severe, artificial, often painful enjoyments. In other countries you -do as you please. You are not criticised if you be not absolutely _en -rapport_ with the usages of the tyrant fashion at home, because she has -stayed there; nor with the ways of her sister abroad, because no one -extages pects you to be _au fait_ in customs not your own. Moreover, -you can live more cheaply, and your health is benefited by the change. -Hence, families broken down often leave England and go abroad for -economy’s sake, thus obtaining freedom by their apparent misfortune. - -The student of history and the classics is the one who finds most -pleasure in visiting foreign lands. Every town, every river, plain, -mountain range, and country, has an indescribable attraction for him, -and he gazes still charmed upon scenes which may very soon sate the -curiosity of others. His pleasure is one which, if you are a reader, -you will appreciate; and, if not, it would be impossible for me to make -you understand. See one of these visiting Lake George. His imagination -covers the water with the three hundred boats in which Montcalm -advanced to the siege of Fort William Henry. He sees Leatherstocking -and Uncas plodding through the forest on their war-path, dropping -silently down the stream by night, and putting up their heads from -under the water for a stolen breath of air, while the bushes on the -bank are filled with savages watching for their scalps; stopping to eat -and drink in the middle of the forest at what we now call the Congress -Spring at Saratoga. Let him gaze for the first time on the coast of -Ireland—what an interest has that venerable and lovely land for him! -He at once looks out for the ruined castles of her decayed nobility; -he seeks thirstingly a sight of those round towers which stand old but -fresh monuments of that time “when Malachy wore the collar of gold -which he won from the proud invader”; and he remains alone, apart on -the deck, recalling in sad satisfaction the scene that presented itself -long ago, when abbeys, churches, and schools crowned the fair hill-tops -of Erin. Let him stroll companionless through London’s busy streets—he -is not alone. David Copperfield, Pickwick, Micawber, Sim Tappertit, -Agnes, Little Dorrit, Bill Sykes, and Fagin are always passing and -repassing; acting their parts for his entertainment. Let him view the -tall, white cliffs of Dover, and he sees Cæsar’s fleet approaching to -the conquest of Albion. Calais recalls the days of Catholic England’s -greatest military glory. Every spot of France, Germany, Italy lives -again for him in one short space its life of two or three thousand -years; for all the events of its history, all the heroes of its glory, -are present to his memory and imagination even more than their present -phases to his vision to-day. He sees the tradesmen of Flanders, the -butchers, bakers, weavers, smiths, combining for the liberation of -their country at the battle of the Golden Spurs, so called from the -immense number of these articles found on the field, representing the -number of professional soldiers of knightly rank slain by these bold -democrats, whose liberties they came to invade. He feasts his eyes -upon the “vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine,” which -his boyish imagination had pictured and laid back in the most loving -recesses of his heart. In Switzerland, the mountain-passes are crowned -for him by the native heroes, sons of Tell, and of those others who, in -the days of Catholic Switzerland, rose against the Austrian despot, and -in a band of 1,300 patriots defeated 60,000 hirelings of tyranny at the -battle of Morgarten. At Innsbruck, he venerates the soil consecrated -by the deeds of the citizen-soldier and martyr of liberty, Andreas -Höfer; at Venice, he recalls the glories of the republican queen of -the seas; while his interest and pleasure reaching their height in -the city of the popes, he pursues a boundless career of enjoyment as -he gazes on the monuments, walks over the localities, peoples again -the streets and forums, making all the heroes, poets, and great women -of royal, republican, imperial, and Papal Rome live their lives and do -their great deeds over again, and all for him, all for him. No amount -of reading or meditation at home can supply the pleasure derived from -visiting the famous places of history, while the previous reading -creates the desire and predisposes for the pleasure. Hence it is that -all students like so much to travel, and to travel on foot. - -Those who travel expensively lose a great deal of the benefit and -interest of travel. The magnificent hotels are filled with English -and Americans, principally those who affect that rank and demand that -obsequiousness abroad to which they could not aspire at home. Many -of them are very ignorant, and the waiters, for their sake, speak a -mongrel kind of English, which is simply unbearable when it is not -absolutely needed. The latter affect English ways; and, though you -may desire to practise your college French, German, or Italian, they -insultingly reply in your own tongue, as if to spare you any further -exhibition of your ignorance, and because their avarice makes them -more anxious to learn English than that you should acquire a foreign -tongue. I asked one of these servants once how much I was to pay the -hackman. My question was in German, his answer in English; but I was on -the point of paying thirty-six cents for the lesson I gave him in our -language, as he told me to give the man eighty-four kreutzers instead -of forty-eight, because he didn’t know how to translate _acht und -pfierzig_. The tourist who, through his ignorance of the language or -his desire of display, frequents these English hotels, learns nothing -of the languages, nothing of the customs of the people, scarcely -anything of the _cuisine_, but becomes a target for the attacks of -interpreters, guides, lying _ciceroni_, and a host of hangers-on, who -impose on him in proportion to his ignorance, and palm off falsehoods -on him suited to his bigoted preconceptions on every subject. In the -drawing-room and at the table, he may as well be at home in London or -New York, as far as language, habits, etc., are concerned, and he often -leaves a country with less real knowledge of it than he had before he -came. - -The artist, the student, the gentleman bachelor, who stroll about -for their own pleasure, and pay no unnecessary homage to fashion or -humbug—these are the ones who derive genuine pleasure from the novelty -and constant surprises of new customs, languages, and people. I have -seen such persons, some of them men of independent fortune, travelling -in omnibus or on foot about Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. They send -their trunks on to some known hotel in a place fifty miles off, and -then, carrying simply a knapsack with necessaries for a few days, take -a stick and perhaps a pencil and paper, and leisurely walk along the -fine roads of those countries, meeting a village every few miles, where -they can take some refreshment, or stay over night. This is seeing -a country, and knowing its language, customs, people, by personal -observation, and not through the uncertain medium of hotel guides. And -who would compare the restrained formality of fashionable moving about -to the glorious freedom of this? The students of the English College -at Rome used to travel thus two or three together during vacation, and -spend the time delightfully. - -When visiting the ancient, interesting city of Nürnberg last -August—its old castle where the peace of Westphalia was signed, and -where many of the Western emperors resided; its curious walls and -fortifications; its old mediæval houses, with six stories, under an -oblique roof; its curious fountains; and the residence of Albrecht -Dürer—I entered a magnificent temple of old Catholic times, that of -S. Lawrence, now devoted to Lutheran worship. All the crucifixes, -pictures, and statuary with the altars still remain; for Luther was -a much more intelligent man than many who imitated his rebellion. I -was admiring the tabernacle of marble tracery, which reaches from the -pavement seventy feet up to the roof along one of the pillars, and is -the most exquisite piece of poetry in miniature stone I ever saw, when -my attention was drawn to two students, boys of sixteen or seventeen, -who were likewise visiting the church. They were very plainly dressed; -for the old Catholic universities are free in Europe, and good conduct -only is required as a condition of membership. On their backs, they -had knapsacks with straps coming over the shoulders, and containing -doubtless a change of clothing, while the long German pipe was seen -stuck into the bundle. They carried sticks in their hands, and one -had a guide-book, and was reading therefrom, and pointing out to his -companion the objects of interest existing in the church. I watched the -boys with great interest, and felt how happy they were in their simple -manners and pure friendship—happy in the possession of knowledge more -than if they had the Rothschilds’ wealth or Bismarck’s power; they were -in love with and betrothed to wisdom, and independent of the world. -Walking about afterwards round the great moat and curious turreted -walls of this famous town, I came across my two friends, seated on a -bench in the shaded, turf-set promenade which girds part of the city, -taking their frugal meal of the inevitable sausage and brown bread of -the country. Thus they strolled about from town to town, living plainly -and simply as their means—the gift, perhaps, of some patron—required, -but happy in the banquet which their own erudition and friendship -provided. I have seen many travellers, and they have remained longer or -shorter in my memory; but the picture of the two students of Nürnberg -will remain with me always. - -Among those who travel we may include that class so numerous in -our own day in proportion to the increase of the enemies of the -supernatural—those who, to satisfy their devotion, visit holy places. -The sight of persons or localities associated with supernatural events -or with the lives of those whose heroic sanctity we venerate, impresses -us beings of half spiritual, half corporeal formation in a wonderful -degree. I need not dilate on this. It is the reason why, in all ages, -such multitudes have traversed land and sea, spent years even of their -lives in visiting the Holy Land, Rome, Loretto, Compostella. That they -obtained pleasure and sensible satisfaction you may easily imagine; and -that they aided the faith by supplying constant information relative -to the locality of sacred events, and thus kept up the strength -of tradition, cannot be denied; but I would console those whose -responsible care of family or office, whose want of means or leisure, -prevent their assuming the pilgrim’s scrip and staff, with the words of -Thomas à Kempis: _Qui multum peregrinantur, raro sanctificantur_. - -There is so much to distract one in the strangeness and novelty of -foreign places, so much disturbance of order in one’s manner of life, -that, as a rule, one is likely to come home less single-minded and -less edifying than when he set out. However, I must bear witness to an -exception, though it is not calculated to be an example for any one -here. It is that of a Frenchman, a youth of twenty, dressed in the -national blouse (as a duster in the cars over a decent suit of black), -whom I met on the way to the famous shrine of Lourdes. His faith was -so simple, his modesty so perfect, his tongue so _straight_ (to use an -Indian idiom), that I felt that the true Christian is gentlemanly no -matter to what class of society he may belong. I was confounded and -ashamed when I compared my faith and hope with his, and knew that for -the first time I addressed a man who had never breathed the atmosphere -of heresy and unbelief, who had never felt a doubt or recognized a -difficulty regarding the truths of religion or the pious beliefs of -Catholics. Reflecting on the difference between what is termed “the -world” in all the conceitedness of its ignorance, and the class whom -he represented, I could not wonder that God should show his preference -for the simple, truthful people even by the most stupendous miracles. -However, he was still in France. Were he on an American railroad-car, -he might have allowed some of the mire of the world to adhere to his -garments. - -I will not rest long on the subject of the Lourdes pilgrimage, as the -entire press has been forced to notice it, and has given full reports -of the appearance of the shrine, the gatherings of pilgrims, and the -wondrous works. Although the people of the village are said to be -gradually losing their simple, amiable qualities, on account of the -enlivened trade and the continual distraction consequent on the arrival -and departure of perhaps a thousand strangers daily in a village of -2,000 inhabitants, yet we could not help remarking the piety of the -matrons, the modesty of the maidens, and the straightforwardness of -the men—characteristics more refreshing to us than the breezes coming -down from the passes of the Pyrenees. It is delightful to get out of -an artificial state of society, and to see men and women as God made -them. I will have occasion to refer to this subsequently when I speak -of the Irish people. The peasantry of Lourdes, whom God chose for this -manifestation, are poor but not slovenly, simple but not uncouth, -comparatively illiterate but not ignorant. Education is not at all -incompatible with ignorance of reading and writing; while barbarism is -not seldom found united with these accidental accomplishments. - -One evening, having prayed at the famous grotto, which was most -exquisitely decorated with candles supplied by the pilgrims, we -strolled toward a farm-house, and, seeing some peasants just finishing -their day’s labor, stopped and addressed them. Lord Chesterfield would -have been charmed to see the ease and grace with which the farmer rose -from his task, and inquired our pleasure. His conversation was pure, -straight, and full of faith. He spoke of things miraculous just as he -did of other events, evidently not thinking how people can question -God’s power, or wonder at his goodness. He had been one of that -20,000 who at times witnessed the ecstasies of Bernadette; and, after -describing what he saw, he concluded: “Ah! sirs, who ever visits that -grotto treads blessed earth.” My friend complimented him on the purity -of his language, and the politeness he had shown us, and which, indeed, -we strangers scarce expected from one in his dress and employment. -“Why,” said he, “gentlemen, if you take kindness and good grace out of -the world, after all, what is there worth living for?” We were charmed. -There spoke a Frenchman—one of those who made some one say: “They are -a nation of gentlemen.” We visited his poor habitation, and were still -more pleased with his filial and conjugal affection, as evidenced by -his regard for his wife, and care of his bedridden mother. - -_A propos_ of this subject of travelling for pleasure, it was very -beautiful to watch from a height the pilgrims, 1,500 in number, winding -around the road, crossing the bridge, and going down the hillside to -the grotto. First came the cross-bearer with the crucifix shining -in the sun, then the women and children in the dark dresses which -distinguish the inhabitants of the region. Some of them bore lighted -candles; others carried baskets on their arms and heads; others had -jars containing wine for their lunch, or intended to be filled with -the miraculous water. They sang the Litany of Loretto, some priests -along the ranks directing, as they walked in double file. After these -came the men; then the altar boys in full dress, and thirty or forty -in number; then the clerics, priests, and canons in their robes; and -finally the Bishop of Perpignan, in sacred vestments, who had thus come -with his people to visit the spot favored by the Immaculate Virgin. -I never before saw the expression, “The bishop and his flock,” more -perfectly illustrated. - -We were particularly struck by the behavior of these people in the -church—a beautiful marble structure built on the rock, under the side -of which the waves of the passing river had formed the grotto. They had -none of the superstitious reverence of Mahometans nor the cold decency -of Protestants; but acted with that quiet respect, alike remote from -fear and levity, which characterizes well-reared children in their -father’s house and presence. After performing their devotions with -intense faith and childlike fervor, they sat down before the grotto, -on the sweet level bank of the river which skirts the rock, and, in a -spirit of Christian recreation, began their frugal lunch. - -So familiar are fervent Catholics with the wonderful works of God -that they who can talk and laugh when the communion thanksgiving is -ended found no difficulty in innocent relaxation after paying their -respects and perhaps witnessing miracles at the shrine consecrated by -the apparition of Mary. They reminded me of the _αγαπη_ of the first -Christians, and of the feast we school-boys used to have long ago, -after closing our retreat with receiving the body of Jesus Christ; and -I could not but acknowledge that these people were most likely to be -favored with supernatural manifestations by him who said: “Unless you -become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of -heaven.” - - TO BE CONCLUDED IN OUR NEXT NUMBER. - - - - -THE CANADIAN PIONEERS. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF M. L’ABBE CASGRAIN. - - -I.—DETROIT. - -ARE you familiar with that fertile, laughing country, so rich in -historical souvenirs, whose virgin soil was first trodden by our -French ancestors? Are you familiar with these green and undulating -prairies, watered by limpid streams, and shaded by maples, plane-trees, -figs, and acacias, in the midst of which rises, brilliant in youth -and prospective greatness, the flourishing city of Detroit? If you -wish to enjoy fully the enchanting picture that this charming country -presents—whose climate need not be envious of the Italian sun—ascend -the Detroit River some fresh spring morning, when Aurora has shaken -her dewy wings over these vast plains, and when the bright May sun has -thrown its luminous rays through the transparent mists of morning. -Nowhere is there a clearer sky or more ravishing nature. Nowhere -are the wavy lines of the blue horizon more distinctly traced. Here -are wild and uncultivated sites, romantic landscapes, little wooded -islands, like baskets of verdure, all re-echoing the mocking laughter -of multitudes of birds. Pretty promontories whose round arms encircle -gulfs full of shadows and sunlight; whose waves, caressed by these -warm breaths, deposit along the shore a fringe of silver foam. Hills -and valleys, covered with luxuriant verdure, mirror themselves in the -neighboring wave. On either side the shore stretches along, covered -with pebbles or fine gray sand; sometimes embroidered with a lace-like -turf, or bristling with tall reeds, crowned with little tufts, among -which the timid kingfishers perch, and take flight at the least noise. -Here the fresh murmuring rivulets flow under the flowery arches of -interlacing boughs; there tiny paths, edged with strawberries and -forget-me-nots, wind over the brow of the hill; and, more distant, the -fresh spring zephyr trembles on the green meadows, and perfumes the air -with a delicious fragrance. The thousand confused noises of the water -and the rustling foliage, the warbling of birds, the buzz of human -voices, the lowing of herds, and the distant and silvery echo of the -bells of the steamers that ply along the river, ascend from time to -time through the air, and diffuse an indefinable charm in the soul and -through the senses. At short distances apart, pretty little villages -stretch along the shore, or group themselves on the banks of a stream, -or again on the slope of a hill, or crowning its summit like a diadem. -Finally you arrive at Detroit, with its steeples and roofs glittering -in the sunlight. Hundreds of boats, engaged in commercial interests, -are constantly arriving at or leaving its quays, furrowing the river -in every direction. Were I a poet, I would compare this charming city -to the superb swan of this country, which, on awakening in the midst -of the rushes on the river’s bank, shakes its white wings in taking -flight, and showers around a rain of dew and down; or, better still, to -the stately magnolia growing on the banks of the stream, when, shaken -by the aromatic breath of the morning breeze, it covers the wave in -which it is mirrored with the fertile dust of its corolla. - - -II.—THE PIONEER. - -Founded in the year 1700, by M. de la Mothe-Cadillac, Detroit remained -for a long time under the Canadian government. It was taken by the -English in 1760, and remained in their possession until the war of -1812. Then the United States became the happy possessor of this -charming country, which F. Charlevoix has so justly called “the garden -spot.” “Detroit,” says the Canadian historian, “has preserved, in spite -of its many vicissitudes, the characteristics of its origin, and French -is still the language of a large portion of its population. Like all -the cities founded and settled by this great people—the monuments of -whose genius are landmarks in America—Detroit is destined to become a -great business centre, on account of its favorable situation between -Lake Huron and Lake Erie.”[183] Toward the year 1770 or 1780, Detroit -was far from presenting the flourishing aspect which it offers to the -stranger to-day. It was only a small fort surrounded by weak ramparts, -and a stockade in which lived a few hundred Canadian colonists—a -veritable tent in the wilderness. The fort was the advanced sentinel -of the colony, and by consequence constantly exposed to the attacks -of the Indians. Around the fortifications the colonists had cleared -a few acres of land, which they could only cultivate at the risk of -their lives, holding a pickaxe in one hand, and a gun in the other; -while beyond, before, behind, to the right, to the left, everywhere -a wilderness, everywhere interminable forests, whose gloomy shades -concealed multitudes of beings a thousand times more cruel, a thousand -times more formidable and to be feared, than the wild beasts and -reptiles which shared alike the tenebrious shelter. It is easy from -this to imagine what indomitable courage these hardy pioneers possessed -who dared to come and plant the standard of civilization in the -midst of these distant solitudes, in the face of such multitudinous -perils. One of the grandest pictures that the history of the New World -presents, after the sublime figure of the missionary, is that of the -Canadian pioneer. He is the father of the strongest race that has been -implanted on the American continent—the Canadian race; and the noblest -blood that has ever flowed in human veins, flows through his—the -French blood. Everywhere on the continent the Canadian pioneer is to be -found, and everywhere can be traced by his blood. Travel through North -America, from Hudson’s Bay to the Gulf of Mexico, from Halifax to San -Francisco, and on the snows of the North Pole and the golden sands of -California, along the Atlantic strand, and on the moss-covered slopes -of the Rocky Mountains, you will find the print of his footsteps. An -insatiable activity consumes him. Onward! is his watchword, and he only -rests when he has reached the goal of his ambition. But it is not alone -the love of adventure nor the violent thirst for gold that stimulates -him to action: a nobler ambition urges him on, a more legitimate -instinct animates and guides him. He has a mission to accomplish—a -mysterious apostleship. Turn for a moment to the pages of our history, -and especially to the accounts of the Jesuits, and you will see the -Canadian pioneer throughout animated by the most admirable zeal for -the conversion of the savages, opening a way for the missionaries -by the most heroic efforts, and frequently himself making the most -wonderful conversions. We find united in him the three grandest types -of manhood: priest, laborer, soldier. Priest!—by his ardent piety, -his lively faith, his zeal for the salvation of vacillating souls and -obdurate hearts, drawing to the faith entire settlements. Was there -ever a more admirable priesthood? Laborer!—before his powerful axe -the great forests fall with a crash around him, and his plough tracks, -through the fallen trunks, the furrow where the green germ of the -future harvest will soon begin to tremble. Soldier!—by years of mortal -combat, he has conquered the soil that his hand cultivates. Ah! were -I only an artist, to trace on canvas this noble figure in his triple -character of priest, laborer, and soldier. In the background of the -picture, immense forests, in all their savage grandeur; nearer, the -waving grain, growing between the charred trunks. In the foreground, -a portion of the great river, with its emerald waves sparkling in the -sun. On one side, an angle of the old fort, with its ramparts and -stockade, whence rises a modest little belfry surmounted by a cross. -On the other side, a band of Indians flying toward the edge of the -wood. The centre-piece would be my brave pioneer, his eyes flashing, -his hair blown by the breeze, and his forehead bleeding from a ball -which had just grazed it, near him his plough, and holding his gun, -whose muzzle still smokes from a recent conflict. At the right, he -would be pouring the water of baptism on the head of his vanquished and -dying enemy, whom he had just converted to the faith. Oh! how could I -attempt to paint this vigorous figure in the various attitudes of a -soldier-laborer, with his iron muscles, and the calm, serene strength -of the man of the fields; the invincible courage of the soldier, and -the sublime enthusiasm of the priest! Verily, this picture would not be -unworthy of the pencil of a Rubens or a Michael Angelo. Faith, toil, -courage; priest, laborer, soldier—this is the Canadian pioneer. It is -Cincinnatus, the soldier-laborer, become a Christian. It is the Spartan -warrior, who has passed through the Catacombs. The Canadian reader -who peruses these lines can raise his head with noble pride, for the -blood that flows through his veins is the blood of heroes. He can look -attentively at the palm of his hand, and see there still the unction of -earth, of powder, and of the priesthood. The pioneer has nobly filled -his mission: yours remains to be accomplished. A people to whom God has -given such ancestors is necessarily destined for something great, if it -faithfully corresponds with the designs of divine Providence. But let -us leave these teachings, which properly belong to venerable heads, and -return to our story. - - -III.—EVENING. - -At the remote period which we describe, the fur trade of Detroit was -immense; and the Indians, aided and encouraged by the facilities for -reaching there, came in great numbers to sell the products of their -hunting expeditions. There were representatives from the various -tribes—Iroquois, Potawatamies, Illinois, Miamis, and a host of others. -M. Jacques Du Perron Baby was at that time Indian superintendent at -Detroit. This was an extremely important and responsible position at -that period. M. Baby had realized a handsome fortune there in a few -years. Almost all the land on which the Detroit of to-day stands was -then owned by him and a Mr. Macomb, the father of General Macomb, who -commanded a portion of the American troops during the war of 1812. At -the close of this war, the entire property of M. Baby was confiscated -in consequence of his political opinions, which were declared in favor -of Canada _versus_ the United States. His fine mansion stood in the -centre of the fort, surrounded by a beautiful garden. Having luxurious -tastes, he embellished it with all the requirements of refined and -cultivated life. The garden was on raised ground, surrounded by a -sodded terrace; the house stood in the centre, half concealed by a -dense foliage of maple, pear, and acacia trees, which waved their -branches coaxingly over its roof. A number of birds, sometimes -hidden in the branches, sometimes flying through the air, crossing, -pursuing each other, describing a thousand bewildering circles, -abandoned themselves to joyous song, while the little _ramoneur_,[184] -complaining on the chimney-top, mingled his shrill, harsh cry with -their melodious voices. It was evening. The last rays of the setting -sun colored with rose and saffron tints the tops of the forests. -The heat had been intense throughout the day. The evening breeze, -coquetting among the roses, dahlias, and flowering eglantine, refreshed -exhausted nature deliciously, and perfumed the air with the most -intoxicating fragrance. Tea was about being served in the garden, and -the table was most invitingly covered with tempting viands and lovely -flowers. The superintendent and his family were seated around; a young -officer who had been several months in Detroit had been invited to join -the family party. Two colored servants waited most assiduously at the -repast. “What a charming evening!” said the officer—he was a handsome -young man, with light hair, noble and expressive features, and rather -a high forehead. There was a proud, intelligent expression in his -bright eyes, and yet at times something vague and dreamy. “Truly,” he -continued, “I have never seen anything in Italy more delightful than -this; such a climate, and such ravishing scenery, such fine effects -of light and shade! Look there along the horizon, and at those fleecy -clouds which float through the azure sky; they resemble a superb scarf -fringed with purple and gold.” - -“It is indeed a magnificent evening,” replied the superintendent. “We -really enjoy a very fine climate in this section of country. I have -never seen anywhere a clearer sky or more transparent atmosphere, and -nature so grand; but, against all of this, we are deprived of nearly -all of the luxuries and comforts of the old country, to say nothing of -the constant dangers to which we are exposed from the Indians; for we -are on the utmost limits of civilization. You, who have just left the -civilized shores of Europe, can scarcely form any idea of the cruelty -of these barbarians. Life is indeed very severe in this new country.” - -“Yes,” said his wife, whose fine physiognomy indicated her great force -of character; “it is only a few years ago that I was obliged to do -sentinel duty, and stand at the entrance of the fort with a gun in my -hand, while the men were occupied in cultivating the fields around -it.”[185] - -The conversation was here interrupted by one of the servants, who came -to say that a stranger was waiting to see the superintendent and his -wife. They all arose from the tea-table. - -“You look very sad this evening, mademoiselle,” said the officer, -addressing a young girl of sixteen or eighteen years of age, and who, -from a strong resemblance, could be easily recognized as the daughter -of M. Baby. “What can have happened to cause such a shadow to fall on -your fair brow; while all are smiling around you, your heart seems full -of sorrow? It is almost impossible that any one could contemplate this -lovely scene, and not experience a feeling of interior peace. Nothing -so completely bewilders me like an evening of this kind. This graceful -harmony of light and shade is for me full of a mysterious intoxication.” - -“Alas!” said the young girl, “a few days ago I too could have enjoyed -this scene; but to-day, as it were, every object is covered with a -funereal pall. This beautiful sky, these green fields, the flowers -and fruit, these vermilion roses, which charm your sight, all make me -shudder. I see blood everywhere.” - -“My God!” cried the officer, “what misfortune can have happened to you?” - -“Oh! only a few hours ago, I witnessed such a distressing scene that it -is impossible to imagine it. I cannot obliterate it from my mind, or -distract my thoughts in the least from the shocking spectacle. But I -ought not to distress you by this sorrowful recital. I had rather let -you enjoy tranquilly these hours that afford you so much pleasure.” - -“Continue, continue,” exclaimed he. “Relate to me this tragic story. -Happiness is often so selfish, but we should always have our sympathies -ready for the sorrows of others.” - -The young girl then continued: “Day before yesterday evening, a party -of Indians half intoxicated came into the fort to see my father; they -brought with them a young girl, whom they had captured several days -before. Oh! if you could only have seen the despair on her countenance! -Poor child, her clothes were in rags, her hair hung in tangled masses, -and her face was all scratched and bleeding. She did not utter a -complaint, nor did she weep; but stood with fixed eyes, mute and -immovable as a statue. We might have believed her dead but for a slight -trembling of the lips that betrayed the life that was not visible. -It was a fearful sight. I have never seen anything like it. Great -misfortunes are like severe wounds; they dry up our tears as terrible -and sudden wounds arrest the blood in our veins. Compassionating her -distressed situation, my sister and myself made her come in and stay -in our room through the night; but we did not deceive ourselves with -the slightest hope that anything could be done for her rescue, for we -knew too well the character of these savages. Nevertheless, we tried to -sustain her with a little hope that something might possibly be done. -Perhaps our father could succeed in inducing the Indians to let her go. -At last she gradually recovered from her state of stupor, and told us -her sad, sad story.” - - -IV.—AGONY. - -“I have lived for some time,” said she, “near Fort Wayne with my -married sister. One morning, while her husband was at work in the -field, several Indians suddenly entered our house. ‘Where is your -husband?’ they inquired roughly of my sister. ‘He is at Fort Wayne,’ -she replied, frightened by their sinister aspect; and they went out -again. Full of anxiety, we followed them with our eyes for some time. -‘O my God! sister,’ exclaimed I, trembling, ‘I am so frightened, so -terrified. Let us fly; these savages appear to me to be meditating -some dreadful act. I am convinced that they will return.’ Without -paying any attention to my words, she continued to watch them as they -went off in the direction of Fort Wayne. The road which they took lay -only a short distance from the place where her husband was quietly -at work, not having the slightest idea of the danger that threatened -him. Fortunately, a clump of trees hid him from their sight. We began -to breathe more freely, for they had now gone beyond the field; but -suddenly one of them happened to turn around. ‘They have discovered -him! they have discovered him!’ shrieked my sister, almost fainting -with terror. And really they had all stopped, and were looking in the -direction where Joseph was stooping down, gathering up the branches of -a tree which he had just cut down. He had no suspicion of danger. The -Indians, concealed by the trees, were now only a short distance off. -Suddenly we heard the report of a gun, and Joseph fell to the ground. -Believing him dead, they advanced boldly; but the ball had only grazed -his head, and he was stunned for the moment. He quickly recovered -himself, and, making a breastwork of the branches of the felled tree, -seized his gun, and in an instant two of them were stretched stiff -corpses on the ground. The others, alarmed, made a precipitate retreat -toward the edge of the woods, and then a quick firing commenced on both -sides. Joseph was a fine marksman; at each shot, he disabled an enemy. -Three had already fallen. We awaited, in an agony of apprehension, the -result of the mortal combat, which would not have been doubtful had -it been only an ordinary enemy that the savages had to contend with. -But Joseph was a formidable adversary. He fired rapidly, reloading his -gun with the most perfect coolness, while the balls were whistling all -around him. Placing the muzzle of his gun between the branches, he made -the sign of the cross on his breast at the moment of taking aim; then, -pulling the trigger, we counted another Indian less. Every time I saw -a new victim fall, I could not repress a tremor of delight. Joseph’s -unerring ball had just struck a fourth enemy. We began to hope, when we -discovered one of the savages creeping along on the ground behind him. -No serpent could have advanced with more cunning or address. Without -shaking a pebble or disturbing a leaf, he approached slowly; at one -time concealing himself behind a little knoll, then under a thicket -of brambles, only exposing himself when he saw Joseph busy taking -aim. Finally he arrived within two steps of him without being seen. -Then, stopping, he waited until Joseph had reloaded his gun. Without -suspecting the danger behind him, he raised his gun to his shoulder to -take aim; then we saw him lower it quickly, and look around. He had -heard a slight noise in the bushes near him. He raised his head and -listened an instant, then leaned toward the right, and then toward the -left, without perceiving anything; for the savage was lying flat on the -ground, behind a pile of branches. Feeling entirely reassured, he again -raised his gun to take aim. At the same moment, the Indian, with an -infernal smile, raised himself from the earth, and, just as Joseph was -preparing to immolate another enemy, he brandished his knife. A last -shot was heard, a last Indian fell; but Joseph had also fallen, struck -to the heart by the cowardly fiend. The wretch then proceeded to scalp -him, after which he plundered him of his clothes, in which he arrayed -himself.” - - -V.—LAMENTATION. - -“Paralyzed with horror and fright, we thought no longer of saving -ourselves. My sister, in her despair, pressed her baby to her heart, -and threw herself at the foot of a crucifix, which she seized in her -hands, and mutely covered it with tears and kisses, while I, too, -utterly overcome, threw myself on my knees beside her, and mingled -my tears and prayers with hers. Poor mother! she did not tremble for -herself, but for her child—that dear little angel, whom she loved so -tenderly, whom she so adored. It was indeed a beautiful babe, scarcely -eighteen months old, and had already begun to lisp ‘Mamma.’ ‘O my God!’ -cried my sister between her sobs, ‘if I must die, I willingly give up -my life; but save, oh! save my child!’ Then, embracing it, and bathing -it in her tears, she clasped it to her heart, and sank to the floor -insensible. Although more dead than alive myself, I tried to sustain -her, and had her in my arms, when Joseph’s murderer entered, followed -by his cruel companions. Without uttering a word, he advanced toward -us, and violently snatched the child from its mother. She had not heard -them enter the room, but, when they tore the child away from her, -she shuddered and suddenly recovered her consciousness. The savages, -exasperated at having lost seven of their comrades, now only thought -of blood and vengeance. The assassin of Joseph, holding the child at -arm’s length, looked at it with the diabolical expression of a serpent -charming his victim before striking him. It was an angel in the grasp -of a demon. The monster smiled—Satan alone could have laughed as he -did. The baby, as if to supplicate his pity, smiled also, with that -angelic expression of innocence that would have moved the most hardened -and obdurate of hearts. But he, seizing it by the leg, whirled it round -for an instant, and then—oh! horror!—dashed its head against the -heavy edge of the huge stove. Its brains spattered over its mother’s -face. Like a tiger she sprang at the murderer of her child. Maternal -love gave her superhuman strength, and, seizing him by the throat, she -buried her fingers in his flesh. He tottered; his face turned black, -and he fell heavily to the floor, suffocated by the strength of her -desperate grasp. She would have undoubtedly strangled him, had not -another savage at that instant struck her a blow on the head with his -hatchet. My poor sister! her death was indeed a cruel one, but her -agony only lasted a moment—her troubles are ended, and she is now in -heaven. But I—what will become of me? You see the condition that I am -in. O my God, my God! have pity on me.” - -And the young girl, wringing her hands in despair, threw herself -sobbing into my arms, pressed me to her heart, and implored me not to -abandon her into the hands of these brutal savages. But, oh! what is -more heart-breaking than to witness misfortune without the power of -alleviating it! We spent the night in weeping and trying to encourage -her, but I could not help feeling at the time that it was cruel to -inspire her with a confidence that I had not; for I knew these savages -too well. I knew that the monsters never abandoned their victims. The -next day, my father tried in every way to conciliate them, and then -interceded in behalf of the young captive. He offered any amount of -ransom for her, but in vain; nothing would tempt them. The effects -of the liquor had not entirely worn off, and they were sullen and -obstinate. My father used in turn prayers and threats to move them; -but neither presents, prayers, nor threats could rescue her from their -merciless hands. The wretched girl threw herself at their feet, and, -embracing their knees, besought them to listen to her supplications; -but the monsters only replied to her entreaties by bursts of laughter; -and, in spite of her prayers, and sobs, and supplications, they carried -her off with them.[186] - -“Alas!” said Mlle. Baby, looking sorrowfully at the young officer, “are -you surprised now at my sadness, and that I could not smile and be gay -after having witnessed such a scene?” - -“The demons!” exclaimed the officer, stamping his foot in horror -and indignation. “This infamous, bloodthirsty race should be -exterminated—exterminated to the last man. Why did I not know this -sooner? Yesterday, a Potawatamie came to my quarters to sell some furs. -He asked three times as much as they were worth, and I declined buying -them. He hung around for some time, annoying me very much, until I -finally ordered him to leave. He refused to do so; then, losing all -patience with the fellow, I rose from my seat, and, leading him to the -door, I kicked him out. He went away muttering, and threatening me with -his knife. I had a stick in my hand, and I now regret that I did not -knock him down.” - -“How imprudent!” said the young girl. “You ought not to have provoked -that Indian; don’t you know that a savage never forgets an injury? He -may wander around the fort for a year, spying all of your movements, -watching your footsteps, tracking you everywhere, hiding in the woods -and among the rushes in the river, until an opportunity offers, and he -will approach with all the _finesse_ and cunning of a serpent, spring -upon you like a tiger, and strike you a death-blow, when you least -expect it. I see that you go every day out of the fort to fish on the -banks of the river. I advise you not to go any more; it is not safe, -and something terrible might happen to you.” - -“Pshaw!” said the young officer, “you are too timid. I saw the fellow -leave this morning with a number of warriors belonging to his tribe; -they were going to Quebec to sell the furs, which they could not -dispose of here.” - - -VI.—THE DREAM. - -The clock in the _salon_ had just struck one. Mme. Baby and her -daughter were seated sewing in the deep recess of an open window, -with a little work-table in front of them. M. Baby had gone away -that morning, to look after some land that he had just bought on the -other side of the river. The streets were deserted; nearly all the -inhabitants of the fort were at work in the fields in the vicinity. -The heat was intense. Not a breath agitated the trees in the garden, -whose motionless branches drooped languidly toward the earth, as if -imploring a refreshing breath or a drop of dew. A negro servant was -spreading some linen out to dry on the bushes, and put to flight, in -her perambulations, some chickens that were panting with the heat -under the sheltering foliage of the trees and shrubs. The silence was -only broken by the buzzing of insects, and the noisy whirr of the -grasshopper as it danced through the sunlight. The open window, filled -with bouquets, looked into the garden, and the pale, melancholy face -of Mlle. Baby could be seen between them, bending over an open flower -which imaged her loveliness in its fragrant corolla. “Mamma,” said she -at last, raising her head, “do you think papa will be away a long time?” - -“I think he will be back in four or five days at the latest,” replied -her mother. “But why do you ask such a question?” - -“Oh! because I am so anxious to have him back again. I want him to take -us immediately to Quebec, instead of waiting until next month. The trip -will divert my thoughts; for, since those Indians were here the other -day with that poor girl they had captured, I have not had a moment’s -piece of mind. She is always before my eyes. I see her everywhere; -she follows me everywhere. I even saw her in my dream last night. I -thought I was sitting in the midst of a gloomy and immense forest, near -a wild, rushing river that dashed over a precipice into a bottomless -chasm a few steps from me. On the opposite bank, which was covered with -flowers, and charming to behold, stood the young captive, pale and -tranquil, in a halo of soft, transparent light. She seemed to be in -another world. She held in her hands an open book, and, bending towards -me, she slowly turned over the leaves. She turned at least sixteen; -then she stopped and looked at me with an expression of the greatest -sorrow and distress, and made a sign to some one, who then seemed to be -standing near me, to cross the torrent. At the signal, all his limbs -trembled; his knees knocked together, and his eyes dilated, his mouth -gasped with terror, and a cold perspiration stood upon his forehead. He -tried to draw back, but an invincible power drew him toward the abyss. -He turned toward me, and besought my help most piteously. I experienced -the greatest commiseration for him, and tried in vain to extend my -hands to help him; invisible cords bound all my limbs, and prevented -any movement whatsoever. Vainly he tried to cling to the cliffs along -the shore; a relentless force impelled him towards the abyss. He had -already reached the middle of the stream, whose deep and foaming waters -roared around him, as if impatient to swallow him up. He tottered at -every step, and came near losing his equilibrium; but, rallying his -strength, he struggled on. At last a great wave broke over him, and -he lost his balance. His feet slipped; he looked toward me with a -glance of the most inexpressible anguish, and fell. In an instant, he -was borne to the brink of the precipice; he threw out his hands, and -grasped at a piece of rock that jutted out of the water, burying his -fingers in the green and slimy moss which covered it. For an instant, -he hung on with the strength of despair; his body, stopped suddenly in -its precipitate course, appeared for an instant above the waves. The -foam and spray enveloped it like a cloud, and the wind from the fall -blew through his dank and dripping hair. His dilated eyes were fastened -on the rock, which little by little receded from his convulsive grasp. -Finally, with a terrible shriek, he disappeared in the yawning gulf -below. Transfixed with agony and horror, I looked across at the young -captive; but she, without uttering a word, wiped away a tear, and -silently pointed to the last page in the book, which seemed to me to -be covered with blood. I screamed aloud with fright, and awoke with a -start. My God! will it be a page in my life?” - - -VII.—BLOOD. - -Scarcely had Mlle. Baby finished speaking, when the sound of hasty -footsteps was heard at the door, and a man, covered with blood, and -with a terrified look, rushed in. It was the young officer. His right -arm was broken, and hanging at his side. - -“Hide me quickly,” cried he. “I am pursued by the Indians.” - -“Up in the attic, quick,” said Mme. Baby to him, “and do not stir for -your life.” - -In another moment, the savages had entered the room; but, before they -could say a word, Mme. Baby pointed to the next street, and they went -out again quickly, believing that the officer had escaped in that -direction. The admirable composure of Mme. Baby had completely deceived -them. Not a muscle of her face betrayed her excessive agitation, and, -happily, they did not have time to notice the mortal pallor of the -young girl, who, still leaning among the flowers on the window-sill, -had almost fainted away. It was one of those moments of inexpressible -anguish when a chill like death strikes the heart. Mme. Baby hoped -that the savages, fearing the superintendent, would not dare to force -themselves into the house; and yet, who could stop them if they did, -or who could foresee what these barbarians, once having tasted blood, -might do? She hoped that their fruitless efforts might induce them -to abandon their search, or, if they persisted, that she would have -sufficient time to obtain help, in case they again entered the house. -Making a sign to a servant who was at work in the garden, she ordered -him to run as fast as he could, and notify some men belonging to the -fort of the danger which threatened them. Some anxious minutes elapsed, -but the savages did not return. “Do you think they have really gone?” -asked the young girl, in a low tone. A faint glimmer of hope appeared -in her countenance. - -“Even if they should return,” answered Mme. Baby, “they would not dare -...” - -She did not finish, but leaning toward the window, she tried to catch -the sound of human voices which were heard in the distance. Was it the -help that she expected, or was it the voices of the Indians coming -back? She could not distinguish. The sound drew nearer and nearer, and -became more distinct as it approached. “They are our men,” exclaimed -Mlle. Baby. “Don’t you hear the barking of our dog?” And she drew a -long breath of relief, as if an immense weight had been taken from her -heart. - -Mme. Baby did not reply; a faint smile played over her lips. She, -too, had heard the dogs barking; but another noise that she knew only -too well had also reached her ears. Very soon the voices became so -distinct that it was impossible to be deceived any longer. “Here they -are, here they are!” shrieked the young girl, sinking into a seat near -the window, as the different-colored feathers with which the savages -decorated their heads appeared between the trees. - -“Don’t tremble so,” said Mme. Baby in a quiet voice to her daughter, -“or you will betray us. Look out of the window, and don’t let them -perceive your emotion.” - -Courage and coolness at a critical moment are always admirable, but -when a woman possesses these qualities, they are sublime. Calm and -impassive, without even rising from her seat, Mme. Baby tranquilly -continued her work. The most practised eye could not have detected the -smallest trace of emotion, the least feverish excitement or agitation, -on her commanding and noble countenance. A heroine’s heart beat in -her woman’s breast, and it was thus that she awaited the arrival of -the savages. “Tell us where you have concealed the white warrior,” -cried the first one who entered the room. It was the Potawatamie whom -the young officer had so imprudently offended. He was dripping with -perspiration, and out of breath with his long and fatiguing quest. -You could see the rage and exasperation of his disappointment in his -ferocious glances, his scowling brow, and the excitement that made -every feature quiver. - -“Comrade,” replied Mme. Baby, in a tranquil tone of voice, “you know -the superintendent well; and, if you have the misfortune to misbehave -in his house, you will get into trouble.” - -The Indian hesitated a moment, then said, in a feigned mildness of -voice, “My white sister knows that the Potawatamie loves peace, and -that he never makes the first attack. The white warrior is on the -war-path, or the Potawatamie would not have pursued.” - -“I have not hidden the white warrior,” answered Mme. Baby. “It is -useless to search here; you had better look elsewhere, or he will -escape you.” - -The Indian did not reply, but, looking at Mme. Baby with a smile, he -pointed to a little stain on the floor that no one but an Indian would -have discovered. But the sharp eye of the savage had detected there a -trace of his enemy. It was a drop of blood, which Mme. Baby had taken -the precaution to wipe away most carefully. “My sister has told the -truth,” said the Indian, in an ironical tone. “The white warrior has -not passed this way; that drop of blood, I suppose, she put there to -persuade the Indian that she had concealed the white warrior.” Then, -assuming a more serious tone, he continued: “My sister, know well that -the Potawatamie will do the white warrior no harm; only show us where -he is hidden, and we will go away; we only want to take him pris ...” -He stopped, and, bending his head forward, looked through an open -window at the other end of the apartment; then, giving a hideous yell, -he rushed across the room, and leaped out of the window that opened -into the garden. His ferocious companions followed him, howling like a -troop of demons. Without seeing what had happened, Mme. Baby understood -all. The young officer, hearing the Indians return, and believing -himself lost, had the imprudence to jump out of one of the windows -into the garden. He ran toward a covered fountain in the centre of the -_parterre_ to hide, when the Indian perceived him. How can I describe -the scene which followed? The pen drops from my hand. In two bounds, -they had reached him, and one of the savages, striking him a terrible -blow with his fist, sent him reeling to the ground. He fell on his -broken arm, and the excruciating pain caused him to utter a deep groan. -They then seized hold of him, and bound his hands and feet. Poor young -man! what resistance could he make to his cruel enemies, with a broken -arm, and totally disabled and weakened by the loss of blood. He called -for help, but the echoes in the garden only answered his cries, and -redoubled the horror of the scene. Mlle. Baby, bereft of her senses, -threw herself at her mother’s feet, and, hiding her face on her knees, -she covered her ears with her hands, to shut out, if possible, from -sight and hearing the frightful tragedy. While the rest of the savages -were tying their victim down, the Potawatamie drew out his knife, and -deliberately commenced to sharpen it on a stone. His face betrayed no -excitement whatever; not even the horrible pleasure of gratifying his -vengeance, which caused his heart to palpitate with an infernal joy, -could change his stoical countenance. “My brother the white warrior,” -said he, continuing to whet his knife with the utmost coolness, “knows -very well that he can insult the Potawatamie with impunity, because the -Potawatamie is a coward, and would rather run than fight.... Does my -brother now wish to make peace with his friend, the Potawatamie? He can -speak if he wishes, and name his terms, for he is free.” Then, suddenly -assuming a ferocious air, he straightened himself up, and, fixing his -inflamed eyes on the young officer, said: “My brother the white warrior -can now chant his death-song, because he must die.” And brandishing -his knife, he plunged it into his throat, while another of these -monsters caught the blood in a little copper kettle. The rest of the -savages then kicked and stamped upon the body with the most infernal -yells and contortions. The death-rattle of the poor victim, mingling -with these howls, reached the ears of the young girl, and she shook -in a convulsion of horror. At last it all ceased. The victim had been -immolated. Pushing aside the corpse with his foot, the Potawatamie, -followed by his companions, came again toward the house. “Ha! ha! so -you would not tell us where your friend, the white warrior, was?” cried -the Indian, as he entered the room. “Very well, since you love him so -much, you shall drink his blood.” Mme. Baby, pale as a marble statue, -drew herself up firmly. “You can kill me,” said she, “but you can never -make me drink it!” The young girl had fainted, and was lying at her -mother’s feet. They seized hold of Mme. Baby, and tried to force open -her mouth; but failing in their efforts, they threw the contents of the -vessel in her face, and left the house.[187] - - -VIII.—THE SERPENT. - -Several months had elapsed since the events had taken place which we -have just narrated. It was night. In the centre of the garden, a simple -black cross had been erected on the spot where the unfortunate young -man had been massacred. No inscription revealed to the passer-by either -the name of the victim or the fatal circumstances of his death. Alas! -it was written for ever in characters of blood on the hearts of the -family. Every evening, the superintendent, with his wife, children, and -servants, assembled at the foot of this cross, to pray for the repose -of the soul of his unfortunate friend. On this especial evening, all -the family had as usual visited the grave, and returned to the house, -except the young girl, who, dressed in deep mourning, still remained -kneeling at the foot of the sombre monument. She was very pale, and -there was an expression of the most ineffable sadness on her face. The -evening dew had almost entirely uncurled her long ringlets, which now -hung in disorder around her cheeks. You might have mistaken her for a -statue of grief. From the clear, high heaven above, the moon poured -floods of melancholy light. Its dreamy rays fell on the sod at the -foot of the cross and on the face of the young girl like a thought from -beyond the tomb—like a silent and grateful sigh from the innocent -victim whose memory had left so tender and anguishing an impression -in her soul. Her lips moved in ardent prayer—prayer, that celestial -solace of the grief-stricken heart, the smile of the angels through -the tears of earth. For a long time she thus silently held communion -with her God, breathing out her prayers with sighs and tears, as -she knelt at the foot of this cross, on the sod still damp with the -victim’s blood. At last she rose, and was about to leave, when, raising -her eyes for a moment, she thought she saw a shadow moving across an -opening in the wall of a shed near by. A cloud, at that moment passing -over the moon, prevented her from distinguishing what the object was. -She waited a moment until the cloud had passed over, when what was -her astonishment to see a human face in the aperture! It must be a -robber, she thought, and yet she knew positively that the gate was well -secured. “He will find himself nicely caught when the servants come to -lock up,” said she to herself. By degrees, however, the head was pushed -more and more through the air-hole, and gradually emerged from the -obscurity. At the same moment, the moonlight fell clear and full on the -face. The young girl actually shivered. She recognized it but too well; -it was impossible to be mistaken. It was he; she recognized perfectly -his copper skin, his hard, ferocious features, and his yellowish eyes, -rolling in their sockets. It was indeed the Potawatamie, the murderer -of the young officer.[188] - -Her first thought was flight, but an invincible curiosity fastened -her to the spot. The Indian continued to work through the aperture; -one arm was already out, and he held something in his hand which -she could not discern. He tried for a long time to get through the -air-hole, which was too small for his body. Finally, while making a -last effort, he suddenly turned his head, and fixed his eyes with a -very uneasy expression on a little bush near him. He seemed undecided -what to do; then, letting go the object, he rested his hand on the -ground, and, pushing it against the earth with all his strength, tried -to force himself back again through the hole. But his broad shoulders, -compressed on both sides by the wall, held him like a vice, and he -could neither move one way nor another. Then his uneasiness increased, -and he looked again anxiously toward the bushes. A slight rustling of -the leaves was then perceptible, and a small head emerged slowly from -the shadow of the branches, and extended itself toward the savage. -It was a rattlesnake.[189] Immovable and with fixed eyes, the Indian -watched the least movement of the reptile, which advanced softly and -cautiously, as if aware of the strength and power of his redoubtable -adversary. When within a few feet of the savage, it stopped, raised -itself up, and, throwing out its forked tongue, sprang toward his face; -but, before he could touch him, the Indian, as quick as thought, gave -him a violent blow with the hand that was free, and the reptile fell -a short distance from him. Then he began again to make every effort -to disengage himself; but in vain. The snake, now furious, advanced -a second time to recommence the attack, but with more caution than -before. Approaching still nearer to his enemy, he threw himself forward -with much greater violence, but without success; for the hand of the -savage sent him rebounding further off than before. The Potawatamie -then gathered all his strength for a final effort of liberation, but -of no avail: he remained fast in the opening of the air-hole. Quick -as lightning, the reptile, now foaming at the mouth, with blazing -eyes, and jaws swollen with rage, his forked tongue extended, sprang -with renewed strength toward his prey. His scaly skin glistened and -sparkled in the silvery light of the moon, and the slight noise made by -his rattles resembled the rustling of parchment, and alone broke the -silence of the night. This mortal combat in the stillness of night, -between a serpent and a savage more subtle than the serpent, had an -indescribable fascination; it was more like a contest between two evil -spirits, in the shadow of night, over some unfortunate victim. The -serpent now approached so near the Indian that he could almost have -seized him with his hand; he raised himself a last time, and, throwing -back his head, sprang forward. The savage, guarding himself carefully -with his one hand, had followed with his eyes the least movement of -the writhing body. It was plain to see that the final fight had begun, -and could only terminate in the total vanquishment of one or the other -of the combatants. At the instant that the snake sprang like an arrow -upon his enemy, the Indian raised his hand; but this time the attack -of the reptile had been so rapid and instantaneous that, before he -could strike him a blow, his fangs had entered his cheek. A hoarse cry -died away in the throat of the savage, who, seizing the serpent with -his hand before he could escape, raised him to his mouth, and in his -rage tore him to pieces with his teeth. A vain reprisal—the blow had -been struck. A short time after, the most horrible cries and fearful -convulsions announced that the mortal venom had entered his veins. The -victim writhed with despair in the midst of his excruciating agony. -It was thought at first that he had finally succeeded in getting out; -but subsequently they found the body, enormously swollen, still held -in the aperture of the air-hole. His bloodshot eyes were starting -from their sockets, his face as black as ink, while his gaping mouth -revealed two rows of white teeth, to which still clung the fragments of -the reptile’s skin, and flakes of bloody foam. Providence had indeed -terribly avenged the assassination of the young officer. - - - - -THE JESUITS IN PARIS. - - -A WALK in the direction of the gloomy though now as ever fashionable -Faubourg St. Germain is not exactly one that a non-fashionable person -would ordinarily choose; nor does the Rue de Sèvres in that quarter -hold out any particular inducement for a foot-passenger to traverse it. - -However, it was to the Rue de Sèvres that, on the 18th of January, -1873, I bent my steps; for at one o’clock precisely I had an -appointment to keep there with a Father of the _Compagnie de Jésus_; -and No. 35 in that street is the society’s headquarters. - -I crossed the Seine at the Pont Royale, and soon found myself in the -main artery of the faubourg—the well-known Rue du Bac. I splashed -along with omnibuses that seemed determined to do their best to destroy -the roughly macadamized carriage-road; by huge gaps in the façade, -where the _pétroleuse_ had been at work, and where the dull-red walls -looked as if the destroying element were still lurking about them; -by blue-coated and blue-hooded policemen, who scrutinized one to an -extent that made you debate within your mind whether you had or had -not picked the pocket of a passer-by, or lately become affiliated to -the _Internationale_. On, by the “Maison Petit St. Thomas”—a large -dry-goods establishment, the name of which may bring back perhaps to -some of our lady readers the pleasant season passed a few years since -in Paris, with its gay _fêtes_ and agreeable shopping excursions. On, -till the plate-glass of the store windows becomes less costly, and -the fish and the _charcuterie_, or ham and sausage shops, become more -plentiful. On, till at last, to right and left, “Rue de Sèvres,” in -bold white letters on a blue ground, tells me that I have reached my -destination. To save time, I thought it necessary to ask some one where -the particular house that I wanted was situated. I looked at a _sergent -de ville_, but his glances repelled me. I turned towards a cabman, but -I fancied he expected something more than I was prepared to give him; -and then, not in despair, but in the natural order of things, I had -recourse to the inevitable Parisian chestnut-man, who (I having taken -the precaution of buying two sous’ worth of damply-warm chestnuts) -willingly gave me all the information that I required. - -The exterior of No. 35 Rue de Sèvres is as much like that of any other -house in Paris as you can well imagine. There is a certain number of -feet of stucco, relieved by oblong windows; and there are two large -_portes cochères_, or folding-doors, far apart from one another, and -looking incapable either of being opened or closed; although, in point -of fact, the one leads to the church, and the other to the convent. - -I entered, of course, by the last-named portal, and, passing through -the usual French courtyard, knocked at a glass door, from whence it was -evident that a brother porter within held communication with the world -without. - -I presented my letter of introduction to him, and, while he was making -arrangements for the transmission of it to the rightful owner, because -it was raining heavily, and because I saw only one door open, I entered -by that door, and found myself uninvited and unwittingly in the -_conciergerie_, or porter’s lodge, itself. - -The _concierge_ and his occupation afforded me a good deal of -amusement, or, to speak less lightly, a good deal of room for thought -during part of the three-quarters of an hour that I was destined to -wait for the arrival of the priest with whom I had the engagement. -He has under his control the management of ten brown wooden handles, -attached to ten wires, which wires are connected with ten different -doors in different parts of the establishment. - -If a person want a confessor, he pulls the wire connected with the -church. If a lady desires advice, another pull opens the parlors to -her. If a priest wishes to come from the convent, another pull in -another direction is necessary. And as these pulls (except in the last -case) are invariably followed by a message sent through a speaking-tube -by the same brother porter, to inform the priest of the fact that he is -wanted; and as through the before-mentioned glass door and otherwise -he receives all letters, and answers all queries, both from within and -without, he has, I take it, a pretty hard time of it. - -I had been too much absorbed at first to observe what was taking place -around me; but, after a little, I began to remark that the priests, -in passing to and fro through the _conciergerie_, bestowed upon me -more glances of earnest inquiry than I thought my personal appearance -actually warranted. At last the mystery was solved by one father being -so good as to tell me that seculars generally waited in the parlors. -I bowed, thanked him gratefully, and went; but not before I had -discovered that, if the pigeon-holes for letters be a true test, there -were fourteen or more priests resident in the Rue de Sèvres at that -particular time. - -I was not sorry for the exchange of place. It was strangely interesting -to be sitting in those rooms where, so short a time since, the -Communists, under the command of an energetic young gentleman named -Citoyen Lagrange, took prisoner the good Superior Father Olivaint and -his Père Procureur, M. Caubert. - -Strange to sit in those parlors, and gaze upon the large and -well-photographed portraits of those two men and martyrs, and to notice -the remarkable likeness existing between them. How both had the same -square forehead and firmly set, powerful mouth; and how both looked—as -they were—soldiers ready to die under the banner for which they fought. - -_Ne pleurez pas sur moi_,[190] cried Father Olivaint to the solitary -group of sympathizers whom he met on his way to the _Préfecture de -Police_. - -No! _mon père_, we weep not, but rather thank God that the grand old -spirit of martyrdom has not yet died out among us! - -Besides the thoughts which the past suggested to me, it was interesting -to note the living occupants of the rooms. One silver-haired old -gentleman, whom I afterwards found out to be the self-same Père Alexis -Lefebvre whom Lagrange left in charge of the house, telling him to keep -it _au nom de la Commune_, was holding a very serious conversation with -two or three gentlemen, the red ribbons in whose button-holes declared -them to be _chevaliers de la Legion d’Honneur_. Another father was -having quite a small reception of middle-aged married ladies, who -probably had, or desired to have, sons either at the College of -Vaugirard or at that of S. Geneviève. Another—but stay! here is my -particular father, to whose kindness I owe it that I have been enabled -to write this paper. - -The Society of Jesus is so well known to the citizens of New York that -it would be superfluous for me to give any lengthened description of -the general principles of government upon which the order is based. -Suffice it to say, for the benefit of the uninitiated, that, in common -with other religious, they have a head resident at the Roman court; -provincials under him, among whom the supervision of the different -stations is divided; and superiors of individual houses. - -It is peculiar, however, to the Society of Jesus that each provincial -has attendant upon him an officer called _socius_, whose care it is to -look after the pecuniary business of the province, and in many kindred -ways to assist his chief; but this office, I am informed, does not -confer any additional rank upon the holder. - -The case is different, however, with some other officials of the -society, called “consulters,” who, as their name implies, are chosen -from among the number of the elder and more experienced brethren. - -The house in the Rue de Sèvres was reopened in the year 1853, after -having been considerably enlarged. - -The main building consists of a plainly-built quadrangle, on the north -side of which, and in immediate connection with it, stands the church, -dedicated to the sacred name of Jesus. Running along all the inner -sides of the quadrangle, both on the ground and the other two floors, -is a lofty, well-ventilated corridor or cloister, adorned here and -there, after the usual manner of convents, with religious paintings. - -The piece of ground forming the natural centre of the quadrangle is -laid out with shrubbery, though without pretension to anything more -than neatness. - -On the ground floor are situated the refectory, the kitchens, and other -offices; while the first and second floors are devoted exclusively to -the use of the fathers. The cells, like the corridors, are lofty and -well ventilated, but so simple in their arrangement as to require no -description. - -The priests, in the true monastic spirit, sweep and keep clean their -own rooms and even the cloisters; and, from the general air of -cleanliness and order that pervades the place, it is evident that the -work is well done. This walk through the cloisters of the Jesuit house -in Paris would be uninteresting were it not for the remembrance of one -ne’er-to-be-forgotten room; and for the sake of the names printed upon -the cell doors, bringing back as they do to one’s mind the recollection -of past times and weary troubles; and the near presence of men so many -of whom have distinguished themselves in working for the cause of holy -church. - -Tread softly, and be silent now, as ye approach yonder door that bears -no printed name; for the key that turns the jealous lock will disclose -that to thy gaze which should excite thy intensest feelings of humility! - -It is the “Martyrs’ Room,” where are kept the relics of the five heroic -men, each one of whom “pro lege Dei sui certavit usque ad mortem -et a verbis impiorum non timuit; fundatus enim erat supra firmam -petram.”[191] - -Anatole de Beugy was arrested with the Père Ducoudray. - -“Voilà un nom à vous faire couper le cou,” cried the officer in charge -of the party of arrest. - -“Oh! j’espère,” replied the father calmly; “que vous ne me ferez pas -couper le cou à cause de mon nom.” - -I imagine that the officer did not think more highly of F. de Beugy -after this. In fact, all through the time of his imprisonment, his -captors seem not to have liked him or his indomitable _sang froid_. His -coat is there, in this “Martyrs’ Room” (a secular one, by the bye), -and it is pierced with seventy-two Communist bullets—truly, a very -palpable proof of his enemies’ animosity. - -When the Père Olivaint was on his way to execution, as he descended the -stairs of the prison of La Roquette, he found—how naturally!—that he -had his breviary tightly grasped in his hand. “They have me,” perhaps -he thought, “but they need not have _this_”; and he presented the book -to the _concierge_ of the prison, who had shown him some kindness. God -knows what motives the man had, but an officer of the National Guard -snatched it from his hand, and threw it into the flames of a fire near -by. - -The _concierge_ recovered the breviary, or what remained of it, and it -is now in the “Martyrs’ Room.” - -He who can look upon this relic without emotion must have a very hard -heart indeed! - -Do any of us ever think that the spirit of penance—corporal -penance—is dying out amongst us? There are instruments of -self-mortification in this “Martyrs’ Room” that will convince us to the -contrary. - -It is not a miracle—unless the world and life be all a miracle—if, -when men die wondrous deaths, wonderful things should follow upon those -deaths; and when we see a marble tablet in this “Martyrs’ Room” telling -how, not eighteen months ago, at Mass-time, when the priest invoked the -saints whose relics lay beneath the altars in the church, a child was -healed of a grievous disease, we must not be surprised. - -“Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus usque ad consummationem -sœculi.”[192] - -The beds from La Roquette are here—pieces of sacking, stretched out by -a contrivance something similar to that made use of in the formation of -camp-stools. - -Here are the little silver cases in which the fathers concealed the -Blessed Sacrament, to be at last, as each anticipated, his viaticum. - -But enough.... - -The church, as I before stated, is situated on the north side of the -quadrangle. It is Gothic, and of fair proportions, consisting of a -choir and two aisles. The only side chapel worthy of note is that where -repose the bodies of the PP. Olivaint, Ducoudray, Clerc, Caubert, and -De Beugy, murdered on the 24th and 26th of May, 1871, by the Communists -of Paris. The walls, the floor, the whole chapel, in fact, is literally -covered with wreaths of blood-red _immortelles_; while in front of -what, in the event of their canonization, will be the “Martyrs’ Altar,” -are five white marble slabs, bearing upon them the names of the five -victims, together with the incidents and date of their deaths. - -My kind guide—the priest whom I have elsewhere described as being -“my particular father”—having now shown me all that was necessary of -the house and chapel, returned with me to his cell, and, in some very -interesting conversations then and on my succeeding visits, soon gave -me an idea of the important works undertaken by his society in Paris. - -“We are,” said he, “quite a military order. Fighting is as much our -business as it is the soldier’s; and I will even go so far as to say -that he is no true Jesuit who does not fight. Of enemies, as you may -imagine, there is no lack whatever; but, undoubtedly, here our _bête -noire_ is socialism; for you know in Paris, as indeed elsewhere, it -has ever been our aim to undertake, if possible, the education of the -male portion of society. And this, unfortunately, happens to be the -favorite work of the socialists also; for, however faulty their code of -moral philosophy may be in other respects, they have at least grasped -the fact that to educate the affluent youth of a country is to form the -intellect of a rising generation. However,” concluded my instructor -laughingly, “we have never been _very_ popular in European society.” - -“No,” I answered abstractedly; for I was thinking just then of the -sacred name which the order bears—of him who was “Virum dolorum et -scientem infirmitatem”;[193] and my thoughts reverted to the martyr -shrine that I had so lately seen in the chapel. “But perhaps you, who -have in such a special manner enrolled yourselves under the banner of -the sacred name of Jesus, have received of him a greater share than -others of the shame of the cross.” - -The father’s reply was a very practical one. “My dear sir,” said he, -“nothing of the kind. The world dislikes us because we persist in -teaching, and because it knows perfectly well that all our teaching is -impregnated to the core with that particular kind of Catholicity which -it hates—the Catholicity, I mean, whose first principle is devotion -and implicit obedience to the Holy See.” - -It will be seen, therefore, from the foregoing fragment of -conversation, that the Jesuits’ work in Paris is for the most part the -Catholic education of the upper classes. - -The fathers in the Rue de Sèvres do, in one way and another, a good -deal of work, although but little, perhaps, of a character that -directly identifies itself with the peculiar animus of the order to -which I have alluded. They are popular as confessors, and this involves -a good deal of labor. - -They direct two confraternities of men, each numbering respectively -upwards of two hundred members. One is for the fathers of families, -and the other for young men. Each society meets in the chapel upon -alternate Thursdays for Mass and instruction. Again, the Jesuits render -every assistance that lies in their power to the parochial clergy; and -thus the fathers become, now conductors of missions, and now Lenten or -Advent preachers. - -At the Rue de Sèvres are given retreats, not only to their own -brethren and the secular clergy, but also, and on a large scale, to -private individuals—men whom care has driven to seek refuge in the -contemplation of the treasures laid up for them in heaven. - -Jesuits, whose duty calls them to places _en route_ to which Paris -becomes a natural resting-place, find a haven in the Rue de Sèvres. The -provincial resides here when he is in Paris; and, finally, a few men -who, at a moment’s notice, are available to be sent anywhere to meet a -sudden emergency, make for the time this most interesting house their -home. - -In a dark, narrow street in close proximity to the Pantheon—in a -street that, in its unlikeness to some other parts of the city, reminds -one of the Paris of history—is situated the College of S. Geneviève. -This is the chief educational establishment of the order; the other -being that of the school of the Immaculate Conception at Vaugirard—a -village on the southwest side of Paris. - -In concluding this chapter in the life of what, next to holy church -itself, must ever be considered the most wonderful organization that -the world has ever seen, I cannot do better than append a brief account -of the character of the work done in these two houses. - -The Ecole S. Geneviève, founded in the year 1854, proposes for its -object the preparation of youths for admission into the various -professional colleges in France. That the work is a success may be -seen in the fact that, in 1872-1873, sixty-four students were actually -admitted from thence to the military academy at St. Cyr, while -twenty-three more were declared “admissibles”; that the same school -sent sixteen boys to the Ecole Centrale, to be educated as engineers, -seven to the Ecole Navale, and twenty-three to the Polytechnique; and, -lastly, that, exclusive of these, many more have been admitted into -other similar establishments in Paris or elsewhere. The aggregate -number of students appears, from the statistics put into my hands, to -exceed four hundred and fifty. - -The present rector of S. Geneviève is the immediate successor of the -Père Ducoudray; and it is a noteworthy fact that three out of the five -men killed under the Commune were connected with the school; the other -two being PP. Caubert and Clerc. The services of the last-named father -must have been extremely valuable; for, previous to his admission to -the Society of Jesus, he had been for many years a naval officer. - -The school of the Immaculate Conception, at Vaugirard, is perhaps as -perfect a specimen of its kind as can be found in Europe. - -At the present moment, there are upwards of six hundred and forty boys, -representing the flower of the French _beau monde_, receiving at this -institution a sound high-class education. - -On his entrance, the scholar is at first put through an elementary -course, out of which he is drafted into the sixth form, from which he -rises to the third, and then completes his education by successive -courses of classics, rhetoric, and philosophy. - -Thus, to an outsider and to a passer-by in Paris, appears the work of -that grand order whose aim we believe to be no less than the motto they -have adopted: - -_Ad majorem Dei gloriam!_ - - - - -SAN MARCO: A REMINISCENCE. - - -IN all the great cities of the Old World, the cathedral is the nucleus -round which gathers the social life of the community. It is a national -monument, a historical representative; it keeps in its tombs records -more precious to the nation than those treasured in archives and -libraries; it is identified with the city’s success or failure, and -often bears visible marks of this sympathetic life in its trophies or -in its ruins. Of old, the principal church of a city became the mirror -of the people’s individuality; it took on the form that best expressed -the people’s genius; it was an index to the national character. If this -is so with other churches, it is perhaps even more strikingly true of -S. Mark’s in Venice. - -This unique church, the S. Sophia of the West, and the inheritrix -_par excellence_ of Byzantine treasures, is one that, to our fancy, -makes a deeper impression on the stranger than S. Peter’s at Rome. To -describe it technically; to speak of its uneven floor and crowded, -heavy pilasters; to enumerate its columns, and analyze the color of -its mosaics, is simply a desecration, besides inevitably implying an -untruth. Criticism cannot be anything but an afterthought, even though -genuine admiration should not be the first impression of the visitor. -A spell is laid upon you at the very outset, and an indescribable -feeling of reverence steals over your every sense as you tread the -dusky aisles. We have always found it most satisfactory, in visiting -either churches or cities, to slowly drink in the spirit of the place, -rather than rush into a dissection of its detailed sights; and we are -persuaded that this slow, receptive method is the only way in which to -enjoy travel of any sort. - -Thus, for instance, S. Mark’s became so woven in with our daily life -that, without being able to give a single date or statistical fact -concerning it, we were yet entirely penetrated with its peculiar -beauty, but, above all, by its silent influence. - -We went there every morning to early Mass—which, by the bye, is the -only way to see a beautiful church on the Continent. You grow to love -it, to know its every corner, to feel its peace, to be quite at home -in it, to look out for the sunbeam throwing its line of gold over some -particular spot on the marble floor, or for the red glow of the sunset -to illumine some favorite mosaic. Then, too, you begin to know your -fellow-worshippers, and to expect the clamorous hum of devotion with -which this old man tells his beads, or to be disappointed if you fail -to see the old beggar-woman crouching behind the ponderous door, and -stretching out her hand with a ready blessing for the daily alms. S. -Mark’s is one of the most peaceful churches in Europe; silence seems -natural to it, and not even a great ceremony appears to create any -stir there. The midnight Mass, which, by a singular exemption from the -ordinary rule, takes place on Christmas eve, at five o’clock in the -afternoon (this and the Christmas Mass at Vienna are the only such -exceptions), is celebrated with great pomp, and the music is not too -full of repose; yet the spirit of the church seems serenely unaltered, -and the great brooding silence hangs over the echoes of the pageants, -hushing them till the mind wanders away so far from their earthly -presence that it is hardly more conscious of them than a man standing -on a high mountain would be of the suppressed hum of the city lying -at his feet. But another solemnity have we witnessed in this church -much more congenial to its spirit, and indeed the most impressive of -all Christian ceremonies—the office of _Tenebræ_. S. Mark’s is never -lighted by anything save the golden lamps of its distant shrines, and -the tall columns of wax on the high altar. The service on the three -evenings of Holy Wednesday and Thursday, and Good Friday, is generally -after dark, and every one brings his own light—a _cerino_, or coil -of waxen taper—by which to read his book. This will barely suffice -for two persons to read by, so that, from the gallery where we were -stationed, we could see the church sown with stars, like the heavens at -midnight; while, in the various fantastic recesses above and below our -own, called galleries, glimmered a score of similar fitful lights. The -attendance was small, and the beauty of the sight thereby increased. -The chant, coming from below as the invisible choir breathed out the -solemn lamentations, had a weird, stilling effect, like that of the -sighing of the wind among the pines, suggesting everything that was -strange, far-away, and desolate. We had heard the _Miserere_ of the -Sistine Chapel in Rome, and likened it to what one might dream the -angels to have sung while Christ hung on the cross of Calvary; but -this—the same service, the same words, almost the same chant—seemed -rather what the watchers round the sepulchre might have whispered amid -their sobs, as they left the sacred body of their dead Lord on the -evening of the first Good Friday. - -Among the few people whose faces were near enough to be recognized -were some of our acquaintances of the Venetian _salons_. They wore -the customary dress, black gowns and lace veils falling gracefully -around them. One was a great beauty by night, though what looked a -soft, cream-colored complexion then would look sallow by day. She was -the daughter of a Jew, married to a nominal Catholic, but an actual -atheist, and herself practised no religion whatsoever. Here she was, -with her beautiful, hopeless eyes fixed on the religious ceremonial -with a sort of weary, hungry, perplexed look, while a friend tried -earnestly to interest her in the spirit of the ritual. - -Don Carlos and his family were there too, he and his brother being mere -boys at the time, and more occupied by the care required to keep the -_cerino_ from burning down too low than by the solemn ceremonies at -which they were assisting. The daily life, if one may so call it, of -the Venetian Basilica has, however, more power to charm the memory than -its hours of splendid show. We like best to think of it almost empty -and quite silent, its high altar seldom used, and its Lady Chapel, -Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, and altar of the Crucifix quaintly -propped up against the corner of the pilaster, surrounded by the few -worshippers whose faithful instincts bid them haunt the same spots -day after day. In the early morning, you enter the seemingly deserted -church. No hum of prayer is heard; hardly a human form is in sight. -Suddenly, to the right of the high chancel, the sound of a little -bell is heard, and, from the winding path that leads through chapels -and pillars from the sacristy, a priest appears, vested for Mass, and -accompanied by his server. From hidden corners rise up silent forms -that join his train, and follow him to the altar which he has chosen; -a devout congregation is quietly collected, and crowds round the -rails, outside and inside, or, where there are no rails, presses up -to the priest’s very feet, and often impedes the server’s movements. -The latter is not always very reverential, however, and his motions -sometimes savor of abruptness; but the people are too simple-minded to -be shocked. When the bell should be rung, the boy ensconces himself at -the side of the altar, and pulls a string attached to a bell high up -above his head; and here, as in most Italian churches, the _Domine non -sum dignus_ is not distinguished by a bell at all. Another feature of -S. Mark’s is the collector. At every Mass, he comes round, rattling -a box in the face of each person, and crying, in a monotonous tone, -“For the poor, my brethren,” or, “For the souls in purgatory”; and, as -there are many collectors, and the succession of Masses at each of the -three or four altars is uninterrupted, it may be judged whether this -simple and erratic style of collecting is not rather an infliction -than otherwise; yet somehow it fits in with the spirit of the place. -S. Mark’s contains no pictures; that is, no masterpieces of those -whom the world recognizes as the kings of their art. SS. Giovanni e -Paolo, the Jesuit church, that of the Frari, and many others, are -rich in these treasures; but San Marco has its matchless mosaics, -combining Scriptural, historical, and allegorical subjects of colossal -dimensions, with the most fanciful arabesques and purely decorative -tracery. The colors, both in the interior, where the low arches seem -lined with the golden glow of an everlasting sunset, and on the outer -porch, where figures of vast size and groups of bold conception strike -the eye, are almost as brilliant to-day as they must have been a -thousand years ago. - -If there is no _chef-d’œuvre_ of modern art, there is nevertheless -something more suggestive to the Catholic mind. The “picture” we grew -to love most in all Venice was no Titian or Paul Veronese, nor even a -Bellini (though the latter have the fragrance of Beato Angelico about -them); but a brown Byzantine Madonna, hidden behind crowns and necklets -of heavy gold, and enthroned in a deep, receding shrine—a temple of -blazing gems under the massive, overhanging arches of S. Mark’s. The -face, as revealed in the unadorned prints of it sold all over Venice, -is very beautiful, the features severely regular, and the expression -one of infinite majesty and calm. We know more than one of these sombre -masterpieces of unknown artists, which no one admires, because no one, -as a rule, _sees_ them, but which, though overloaded with precious -metals to the detriment of their beauty, and branded contemptuously -by sightseers as mere “miraculous images,” are yet very pure models -of ancient art, and most interesting relics of early Christianity. -For instance, there is one at Warsaw in universal veneration all over -Poland, and whose grave, dignified, and grandly serene cast of features -raises it as a work of religious art far above the portraits of -simpering maidens, buxom peasants, or gorgeous sultanas, whom the world -has recognized for nearly four hundred years as the type of the Mother -of God. Russia is rich in these Byzantine pictures, and the Greek -Church holds them in as great honor as the Catholic. - -We seem to have wandered out of Venice, somehow, in this gossip about -unrecognized pictures; but the mention of Byzantium in reality brings -us back to the lagoons, for it is as familiar to the Venetian as his -own republic. Indeed, one would think that Venice had no civilization -before she invaded Constantinople in 1204; for everything of any -value, artistic or historical, is always traced up to this date. As -it is impossible to create a new Venice, so it would be to build a -new Basilica of San Marco; the city of the Evangelist stands alone -in history, and its cathedral alone in art. It has the rare merit of -suggesting nothing if not Christianity; it is more individual than S. -Peter’s, and less associated with pageants and festivals; it is no mere -imitation or adaptation of the forms of pagan art; it suits the purple -sky and brilliant atmosphere of the South, yet without jarring on the -sense of the Christianity to whose use it is dedicated; and, if its -style is less symbolical than the Gothic, it is at least less servile -than the Palladian. The chief impression it has left on us, as well as -the only analysis we wish to make of its beauties, is this—that it is -the easiest church in Europe in which to pray without distraction. - - - - -“MOTHER OF GOD.” - - - I KNEW, O God! that thou wert great and good, - Holy and just, and yet most loving, too; - But never did I know thy tenderness - Till these sweet words had pierced me through and through. - - It seemed so far to lift my heart to thee, - I could but fear and tremble as I prayed; - Until thy grace made these sweet words disclose - The infinite act of love which thou hadst made. - - Mother of God! Then Thou art one with us— - Our Brother, Lover, Saviour, all in one; - And the great distance ‘twixt our souls and thee - Was bridged by Mary’s words, “Thus be it done.” - - Henceforth, when I would make my act of love, - When my full heart would lift itself to thee, - Should holy awe and fear weigh down my soul, - “Mother of God” upon my lips shall be. - - - - -MEMOIRS OF A GOOD FRENCH PRIEST. - - -IT must not be always that men’s evil manners are writ in brass, their -good deeds in water. The one grand, true, and pure wife of Henry -VIII., with her strong sense of justice, commended the chronicler of -the virtues of her once-potent but then fallen enemy. The history of -conquerors, which most attracts the world’s admiring gaze, is but too -often a record of crime; but, _fiat justitia_, with their crimes let -their redeeming qualities, if any there be, stand forth, so that the -good and the evil may flow down the stream of time in history, as they -move in life, together. - -We have recently read a work which contains in a few pages a large -record of virtue and vice, of good and evil: the actors, however, were -different parties—as far apart in their spheres as the spirits on the -right and the left hand on the day of doom. - -The _Memoirs of the Rt. Rev. Simon Gabriel Bruté_, with his sketches -of scenes connected with the French Revolution, and extracts from -his journal by Bishop (now Archbishop) Bayley, is one of a class -of works which is deeply interesting in its nature and striking in -its contrasts. The glory and shame of France are strangely brought -together. The culmination of the neverending contest between the church -of Christ, on the one hand, and the world and the gates of hell, on the -other, appeared to be reached in the French Revolution. Heaven-born -piety and hell-born iniquity, each in its most potential form, seemed -to meet in a death-grapple. Astonished and awe-stricken nations looked -on as spectators of the combat, as if upon that field hung the fate of -Christianity, of revelation, of, in short, the subordination of the -creature to the Creator. The struggle indeed was appalling; and the -modern followers of that fool who said in his heart, There is no God, -often threw up their fool’s-caps, _bonnets-d’âne_, or _bonnets-rouges_ -in token of victory. But the end was not yet, as it is not yet. In -that struggle, as in all others for eighteen hundred years, the divine -prophecy was vindicated, and the oracles of Satan for a time were -silenced, at least until the father of sin could rehabilitate them -in other forms. The American Catholic whose memory serves him for a -couple of score of years, may remember to have seen at Mount S. Mary’s -College, or in Baltimore, a French priest, whose very physiognomy -would strongly rivet attention. We remember once, in early college -days, passing from Georgetown College, where we were acquiring the -humanities, to Mount S. Mary’s on a holiday excursion. We had fresh in -mind as the very ideal of a venerable priest good old Father Jerome -Dzierozynski, priest, philosopher, scholar, saint, the pastor of the -college, and a model for his younger brethren aspiring to Christian -perfection. We found his counterpart in the French priest, Father -Bruté, at the mountain. His very presence was inspiring. The man of -God was plainly discernible in his calm, placid face, which spoke, -without words, of holiness, of wisdom, of learning, of the subjection -of self and the man of the flesh, of the age, to the spiritual man, -the pilgrim to eternity. Our personal recollections of this eminent -man, however, go not beyond appearances and first-sight impressions. We -are indebted to Archbishop Bayley’s fascinating work for a knowledge -of his eventful career. Born and bred in France in a model Catholic -family, he witnessed in his boyhood the practical workings of the -French Revolution. He had not the honor to undergo exile or martyrdom, -but he knew intimately many of the victims of that reign of _Satanas_; -and his young eyes were made to ache with the lurid coruscations of the -philosophy of Antichrist, which swept over France as fire sweeps over a -prairie. - -Losing his father early in life, his education was conducted by a -wise and prudent mother, such as is called in Holy Writ “a valiant -woman.” He was sent to the best schools of the day in his native city -of Rennes, and he was fortunate in having for his teachers priests -eminent for piety and learning, several of whom gave up their lives -for the faith. For a short time he worked as a practical printer. “In -1793-4,” he writes of himself, “during the height of ‘The Terror,’ -my mother made me work in the printing-office to save me from being -enrolled in a regiment of children named ‘The Hope of the Country’; -and a hopeful set they were.” A regiment of boys was formed, who acted -as so many young demons. “My mother was much pressed to allow me to -join them, and was terribly alarmed on this account. I remained in the -printing-office nearly a year, and became a pretty good compositor.” -To the honor of the craft, we may add that his widowed mother had a -printing establishment under her own direction, probably derived from -her first husband, Francis Vatar, printer to the king and parliament at -Rennes, who prided himself on his hereditary art, his ancestors having -been printers for many generations. - -After this interruption to his studies, he resumed them, and in due -time began the study of medicine. His fondness for the profession, his -talents, his industry, gave sure indications of eminent success. In -1799, at twenty years of age, he entered the Medical School at Paris. -“At the time this occurred,” he says, “I was entirely wrapt up in my -medical studies, and preparing for the prize.” This indeed he obtained. -He graduated with the highest honors. There were at that time eleven -hundred students attending the course; out of these, one hundred -and twenty were chosen by _concursus_ as the best; and among this -number M. Bruté received the first prize after another examination. -An official appointment immediately followed this youthful triumph. -But his thoughts were now turned to another field of labor, and to -that vocation alone more worthy than medicine of his high endowments. -He determined to study for the church. “He was not led to abandon a -profession to which he had devoted so many years of assiduous study, -and which opened its most brilliant prospects before him,” as Dr. -McCaffrey remarks, “from any feelings of disgust. He always honored it -as one of the noblest to which a highly gifted and philanthropic man -can devote himself. Delightful as his conversation was to all, and to -men of science in particular, it was peculiarly so to the student or -to the practitioner or professor of medicine. He turned from it only -because he had higher and more important objects in view. His eleven -hundred classmates in medicine told him that it was easy to find -physicians for the body, but the Revolution had made it more difficult -to find physicians for the souls of men. The guillotine and prisons and -privations of exile had spared but a comparatively small number of the -former clergy, and of these many were occupied in foreign missions. -Dreadful as had been the ravages of infidelity and impiety, and the -almost entire privation of all spiritual succor, an immense number of -the French people still remained faithful to their religion, and a new -supply of Levites, to fill the places of those who had perished, was -called for on every side.” - -The medical student who had gone through the Parisian curriculum with -a pure heart and a sinless soul proved thereby his title to join the -choicest body of Levites. He not only had gone through the course -with virginal purity, but he had already made a fight for the faith -amidst its most potent enemies. If he resembled Aloysius at Rennes, he -showed the spirit of Bayard at Paris. “Not satisfied with professing -and openly practising his religion, he entered into a combination -with several of his fellow-students, particularly those from his own -province, boldly to oppose the false principles to which they were -obliged to listen. They chose such subjects for their theses before -the class as to enable them to avow their belief in revelation, and to -defend its truth. One of the beneficial effects which followed from -this course, was that the attention of the government was called to it. -Bonaparte, then First Consul, was laboring to restore Christianity in -France, as the necessary means of reorganizing society; and the infidel -professors were made to confine their teaching to its proper limits.” - -It would be well if infidel or atheistical professors at the present -day could be restrained to their respective courses of instruction. -Some of them seem to think it incumbent on them to proclaim, _ex -cathedrâ_, their irreligious or atheistical convictions. Such men -are entirely unfit for their occupations, no matter what talents or -learning they may possess, and they ought to be silenced by authority. -This may be considered illiberal by some, but let them make a little -change in the order, and suppose a Catholic professor of anatomy to -give a daily discourse to his pupils on the infallibility of the Pope -before mixed classes of Catholics and Protestants, Jews and infidels: -would such teachings, we ask, be greeted with liberal approbation? -We think not. Then the infidel professor cannot expect a Christian -public to consent to his teachings, beyond his proper course. This is a -practical question of the day, and all honest men should demand in the -teaching of medicine, or of any science or sciences, that the teachers -should confine themselves to demonstrative and demonstrable facts. -It is the last degree of folly or of impudence to attempt to prove -anything of the relations of the soul to the body by the aid of scalpel -or microscope. Professors in the Parisian schools still claim the right -to teach covert or overt atheism, and they deem interference nothing -less than persecution. They are philosophers, and claim free thought. -But their opponents say properly (and this matter has been before the -French Senate) that it is not the thought of the professors which is -the matter in dispute, but their officious _teachings_. If they are -free to think what they please, says an eminent medical writer, M. -Garnier, they are not therefore free to profess or to teach all that -they think. Animism, spiritism, materialism, are equally intractable -to science. In these matters science can prove nothing; the rights of -science, then, are neither compromised nor sacrificed by keeping it -within the limits defined by its very nature. - -All parents and guardians of youth, whatever their faith, or want of -it, should protest against professors of medicine making use of their -chairs to inculcate upon their pupils that the soul is subordinate to -the body, the immortal to the mortal part of man. These are matters -which are not now, never were, and never will be under the dominion of -human wisdom or learning. - -We will now follow Dr. Bruté rapidly in his career as physician in the -higher order, that is, for the souls of men. He made his studies in -divinity with the intense earnestness of his nature. “Theology was a -science for which his mind was admirably fitted. He loved his religion, -and it evidently became his delight thoroughly to explore the very -foundations of it.” He was ordained priest in 1808, and was for a short -time professor of theology in his native city. In 1810, he came to the -United States, and began that active career in Baltimore and at Mount -S. Mary’s College which made him so favorably known to the clergy and -people of this country. “If Mount S. Mary’s, in addition to all the -other benefits it has bestowed upon Catholicity in this country, has -been in a remarkable degree the nursery of an intelligent, active, -zealous priesthood, exactly such as was needed to supply the wants -of the church in this country, every one at all acquainted with the -history of that institution will allow that the true ecclesiastical -spirit was stamped upon it by Bishop Bruté. His humility, piety, and -learning made him a model of the Christian priest; and the impression -of his virtues made upon both ecclesiastical and lay students surpassed -all oral instruction. The Catholic religion alone can produce such men, -and hence their example confirms the faith and elevates the character -of all who come in contact with them. The name of Bishop Bruté has -been, and ever will be, associated with that of Bishop Dubois as common -benefactors to the infant church in this country.” - -The church in America has obligations to a considerable body of -French priests, driven from their own country for the most part -by the ruthless madmen who for a season ruled fair France, which -obligations can never be repaid and have scarcely been recognized. -Even American Catholics often speak of Lafayette and his followers as -the only Frenchmen entitled to our gratitude, forgetting entirely the -valiant soldiers of the cross from the same country who Christianized -our savages in the wilderness, or who astonished our Protestant -civilization with their learning, their talents, and their virtues. -Speaking of Bishop Cheverus, first Catholic Bishop of Boston, “which -of us,” says Dr. W. E. Channing, the most eminent Protestant minister -of his time in that city—“which of us would like to have our lives -compared with his?” This candid and generous admission might have -applied to others as well as to the almost peerless Cheverus, but none -could have deserved it more. How truly is the blood of the martyrs -the seed of the church!—including in the martyrs all who suffer in -person or property for Christ. The French Revolution sent to our shores -as fine a body of priests as the world ever saw—learned, pious, -accomplished, refined, and highly cultured in every sense, they left -an ineffaceable impression upon their successors in the priesthood in -this country. In the order of God’s providence, persecution, in fact, -has given the greatest impetus to Catholicity in America. The perpetual -persecution of the Irish on account of their religion, the recent -or actual persecutions by Garibaldi, Victor Emanuel, and Bismarck, -all give laborers to this vineyard, where they are so much needed, -and where they are doing a world of good a century in advance of an -adequate supply of native priests. - -In 1834, Dr. Bruté was consecrated as Bishop of Vincennes; in 1839, -worn out with much and faithful service, his pure spirit took its -departure. In his poor diocese, he had everything to construct, and -everybody to instruct, even some Indian tribes, who received him with -great joy as a “chief of the black robes,” a priest of “the true -prayer.” He had no sinecure dignity. “At home he was at once the -bishop, the pastor of the congregation, the professor of theology for -his seminary, and a teacher for one of his academies.” These give -a small idea of his labors. When the king of terrors (to most men) -came, he found the bishop at his post, on duty, like the faithful -Roman sentinel at the gates of Pompeii. But there were no terrors for -him. “On the morning of the day before his death, he remarked to the -clergyman who attended him with unwearied solicitude and affection: -‘My dear child, I have the whole day yet to stay with you; to-morrow -with God!’ To another pious friend he used these simple but expressive -words: ‘I am going home!’” And when his pure soul was disengaging -itself, as it were, from the body, having received all the last rites -of the church, he directed the prayers for the departing to be said, -which he answered devoutly and fervently to the last; and then he -entered upon that eternal life which he had always been contemplating, -and for which his whole career had been one long preparation. - -We would wish, if space permitted, to give selections from some of -the good bishop’s “Brief Notes” of his recollections connected with -the persecutions in France in 1793 and the following years, for they -show in their simple details the striking contrasts between the lives -and deaths of the children of Christ and the children of Antichrist, -among the French people of that day. Never before in the history of the -church, or in the history of humanity, did virtue and vice, face to -face, reach loftier heights or deeper depths. - -The aim of the French rulers was to extinguish Christianity. The “age -of reason” had arrived, and its advanced fautors determined that the -world should recognize it. But the priests stood in the way, and, -by some strange mischance, all the honest and meritorious people of -the land made common cause with the priests. To bring these people -to a just appreciation of reason, the churches were plundered and -dismantled, and turned into temples of reason or barracks and stables, -and, if possible, viler uses. To take God’s house from him was to -deprive him of a dwelling-place in France, and the example of France -would be followed everywhere, so that God should be banished from -the earth of his own creation. But the priests—the unreasonable, -intractable priests—instead of adopting the new lights, would adhere -to the doctrines and traditions of past ages. When the churches were -closed, they would worship God by stealth, with their followers, in -private houses, in the fields, in the woods, offering their pure -and unbloody sacrifice on every hill and in every dale and valley -of France. To correct this, their existence, and that of those -who harbored them, was demanded in bloody sacrifice. “During the -progress of the persecution,” says Bishop Bruté, “the greater number -of the priests of the diocese had been either guillotined or shot, -or transported to the penal colonies. The more aged and infirm were -imprisoned in the Castle of St. Michael. Of the few left in deep -concealment, some were almost daily discovered, and, according to the -_law_, led with those who had harbored them to the guillotine within -twenty-four hours.” Young Bruté often followed the accused to the -criminal court, and listened with palpitating heart to the mock trials -of priests and people. His instances are deeply touching. The very -_capitula_ arrest attention: as “Trial of the priest and the three -sisters of La Chapelle S. Aubert, Diocese of Rennes.” The priest, M. -Raoul, was summarily convicted and sentenced; he submitted without a -murmur, but attempted to offer a plea for the sisters, who sheltered -him, when he was immediately silenced. The ladies were then put upon -trial, and convicted and sentenced also. One of them had been a nun, -and, driven from her convent home, had returned to her sister’s house. -She was a woman of spirit, and when under the sentence of death she -had a word to say to the court and the spectators. “When the sentence -had been pronounced, the nun could not restrain her feelings of -indignation. She rose from her seat, snatched from her cap the national -cockade, which even the women were obliged to wear during those days -of national delusion, and, trampling it under her feet, she addressed -alternately the judges and the people with two or three sentences of -vehement reproach: ‘Barbarous people,’ she exclaimed, ‘amongst what -savage nations has hospitality ever been made a crime punishable with -death?’ I cannot now call to mind her other expressions, except that -she appealed to the higher tribunal of God, and denounced his judgment -against them.... The same day these four victims were immolated upon -the fatal guillotine. They were taken, I think, as was often the case, -from the tribunal to the scaffold, which remained permanently erected -under the windows.” “A priest and peasant, bound together, were led to -the ‘Fusilade’ singing the service for the dead.” One morning early, -young Bruté was startled from his studies by the notes of the _Libera -me, Domine_, from the Burial Service of the church, sung by some one -in the streets. “I understood too well what it all meant, and ran to -the door to go out and follow them, agitated and partially frightened -by the usual terror which rested on my heart, but at the same time -animated by the song of death, for it was the priest who was thus -singing his own _Libera_, and the poor peasant stepped along quickly -by his side, looking, as may be supposed, very serious, but without -the least appearance of fear. The impression on my mind is that the -soldiers, who generally followed their prisoners with jokes and abuse, -accompanied these two in silence.” - -Priests and peasants and nobles were victims to the impious rage of -those days, and even women and children. It is appalling to read the -summary account of “children shot and children drowned; women shot and -women drowned; priests shot and priests drowned; nobles drowned, and -artisans drowned, besides the hosts who were guillotined or sent into -exile.” - -We cannot draw further from the pages of this most interesting book, -but the reader may do so at his leisure. We have thought sometimes in -reading it that Victor Emanuel and Bismarck might find its perusal -profitable. While writing this, we see by the papers that the Upper -House of the Prussian diet has passed a bill authorizing a complete -control of the church—that is, of all religious matter—by the state -government. In other words, the church must be the king’s creature, or -must perish. We shall see. There is traditional policy in this move. In -one of Frederic the Great’s letters to Voltaire, he expresses a wish to -break up the Catholic Church first, for then, he adds, the Protestant -churches will be very easily disposed of. - -The modern persecutors might see, if they were not blind, that after -all the follies and crimes and slaughters of the French Revolution—and -surely they can bring nothing worse or more potent than this—the -church has risen again in France in her glory, and that hers is at this -day the only one great conservative influence in France, as everywhere -else in Christendom. Surely it is plain that, though often doomed to -death, she is fated not to die. But how strange the infatuation of -princes or people who would wish to blot out Christianity from the face -of the earth, or to make it a mere servile tool of tyrants! To blot it -out! and what then the history of man? Some philosophic inquirer has -suggested the extinction of the sun, and then on this now bright planet -of ours universal darkness, intense cold, the congelation of all the -waters, the death of all vegetable life, the death of all animal life, -and of the last strong man in the midst of an infinitude of horrors! - -Even so in the moral world if the church of Christ, by the malice of -man, could be extinguished: darkness, crime, and death, death temporal -and eternal, would be poor lost man’s only inheritance. But, thanks be -to God, we know that the bark of Peter will survive all tempests in the -future as in the past, and that she will float over the stormy sea of -time in safety to the consummation of ages; for the divine assistance -is promised to her for ever. - -In conclusion, we beg leave to express the hope that Archbishop -Bayley will give to the world a new and enlarged edition of Bishop -Bruté’s life, as his materials are by no means exhausted. It will be -no detriment to Mr. Clarke’s excellent work to give to many of the -deceased prelates, individually, much more extended biographies than -that gentleman could possibly give in his instructive pages. And -finally, we may express a hope that, when Lady Herbert edits a new -edition, she will not forget to give due credit to the distinguished -author whose labors she has in some sense so fully appreciated.[194] - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - LECTURES AND SERMONS. By the Very Rev. Thomas N. Burke, O.P. - New York: P. M. Haverty. 1873. - -This, the second volume, containing thirty-two of F. Burke’s -magnificent discourses, has just been issued by his authorized -publisher, Mr. Haverty. In neither matter nor form is it inferior to -the splendid volume published a year ago. It contains lectures on -most of the important questions of the day, and nowhere better than -in these lectures may be found a solution to the great problems that -the moral and social condition of our age and country present. The -fundamental principles of religion, order, and law treasured up in -the _Summa_ of S. Thomas, F. Burke has thoroughly mastered and made -his own; and, armed with these, he comes forth in the might of his -eloquence, prepared to offer a remedy for every disease, intellectual -and moral, of the XIXth century. The principles which he advocates and -has proclaimed on the house-tops, from the Merrimac to the Mississippi, -are just those by which modern society must be saved, if saved at -all. His mission has been called a providential one with reference to -the Irish in this country; but we believe it to be a providential one -with reference to the American people at large. Never before have the -genuine principles of human action been so publicly and brilliantly -taught in our land; and the good seed, sown broadcast as it has been, -cannot but take root and produce fruit in due season. - -Even now the conversions to our holy religion, wrought through the -instrumentality of F. Burke’s preaching, are many and widespread. But -how great and palpable the good he has done amongst his own people! -He has aroused their love for faith and fatherland to enthusiasm; he -has made them to realize the important influence they are to exert -on this continent; he has taught them to feel their dignity; he has -told them what is required of them as citizens of the republic; he has -pointed out their dangers, and suggested remedies for their disorders. -His constant aim has been to instil into the minds of his countrymen -every sentiment of religion, patriotism, and honor that could elevate -and ennoble a generous race. Since the days of O’Connell, no one man -has done so much for the Irish people, and none has received so much -of their gratitude and confidence. It is but a short time ago that we -heard a poor fellow say he had resolved “never to get drunk again, -lest he might disgrace a country that could produce such a man as F. -Tom Burke”—a noble sentiment truly, and one that speaks volumes for -the man who could inspire it. We seem to be describing the work of a -lifetime, and surely what we have said and had reason to say would make -a long lifetime illustrious. Yet in very truth are we but enumerating -the labors of a few months. What may not critics be able to write in -the future, should F. Burke return to us, and resume his glorious work? - - THE IRISH RACE IN THE PAST AND IN THE PRESENT. By Rev. Aug. - J. Thebaud, S.J. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1873. - -F. Thebaud has written us a philosophy of Irish history. He has -sought out the characteristics of the Celtic race, and has, we think, -discovered them and successfully traced them down from the earliest to -the latest annals of that grand old people. He has read Irish history, -and reflected on it, and his views, in relation to the Ireland of the -past at least, are correct. We are glad that one not an Irishman has -written this book; for when an Irishman speaks of his country’s bygone -glories, he is pretty generally accused of exaggeration, and the world -refuses to be interested in the details of an antique history which it -supposes to be in great part the creation of national pride. We have -always regretted that Montalembert did not write a history of Ireland, -as he once intended to do, and we have never quite forgiven Victor -Cousin for the part he took in dissuading the count from carrying out -this the cherished scheme of his youth. Had the brilliant author of -_The Monks of the West_ compiled the annals of Ireland, the story of -Erin’s ancient greatness and civilization would now have its fitting -place in the classic lore of Europe. F. Thebaud’s treatment of early -Irish history is very satisfactory; he has a real love and admiration -for that land— - - “History’s sad wonder, whom all lands save one - Gaze on through tears, and name with gentler tone.” - -Christian Ireland in its golden age is particularly dear to him, and he -delights in describing the glories of that Erin, then - - “Lamp of the north when half the world was night, - Now England’s darkness ‘mid her noon of light.” - -In dealing with the events of this period, we think the learned author -more happy than in his treatment of modern Irish history, though we are -not at all disposed to disagree to any great extent with his views of -martyred Ireland’s wrongs and their needs. We, too, believe that - - ... “Ere long - Peace Justice-built the Isle shall cheer.” - -From what he says of the present condition of things in that -misgoverned country, however, we do think he has not consulted the most -reliable authorities on all points; his account of the ignorance and -destitution of the poorer classes is certainly somewhat exaggerated. -This is about the only thing we find to criticise in a book which is -manifestly a labor of love, and executed with an ardor and enthusiasm -that love alone can enlist. F. Thebaud’s work is a valuable and highly -important contribution to Irish history. To our Irish fellow-citizens -it commends itself. To our American and non-Catholic readers who want -to form correct views of Ireland and its people, we commend it. - - - THE LIMERICK VETERAN; OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. By Agnes M. - Stewart. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. 1873. - -This is a historical romance, and a very good one of its kind. -Throughout its two hundred and fifty pages thrilling facts and pleasing -fiction are well and judiciously blended. The style is really good, -and the name of Agnes Stewart is sufficient warrant that the tone is -high and unexceptionable. If there were anything in a name, we might be -disposed to criticise it in this particular; for, in very truth, the -connection between the title and the tale that hangs thereon is slight. -The story opens in Scotland, and the bonny Highlands are kept pretty -well in view throughout, though the scene shifts to England, France, -and Germany, and the curtain falls on a Christmas scene by the frozen -St. Lawrence. In a novel such as this we do believe; it amuses, it -instructs; from such a book much valuable history may be learned in a -pleasing way. - -The publishers have done Miss Stewart justice by giving to the public -her graceful story in an appropriate form. - - SINS OF THE TONGUE. By Monseigneur Landroit, Abp. of Rheims. - Boston: P. Donahoe. 1873. - -Mgr. Landroit is already favorably known to the English reader by -a series of discourses for the use of women living in the world, -translated under the title of _The Valiant Woman_. The present work not -only treats of the subject indicated by the title, but also of “Envy -and Jealousy,” “Rash Judgments,” “Christian Patience,” and “Grace”; -and is intended for those who would naturally derive greater spiritual -advantage from thoughtful reading than from formal meditation. - -From the unrestful condition of things in this age and country it -probably comes that there are fewer vocations to a contemplative life, -and less inclination to habits of systematic contemplation, than in -older and more settled communities. Hence, works like the present are -perhaps more appropriate to those not consecrated to the religious -state than many of the ordinary books of meditation. We therefore -welcome it as we do all judicious efforts to assist persons in the -world to perform the duties to which they may be called, and to resist -the temptations by which they may be assailed. - -The Marthas are likely always to outnumber the Marys, and should have -every assistance at the hands of those capable of leading them in the -path of holiness. The church in this and similar ways is ever adapting -its aids to the varying circumstances by which her children may be -surrounded. - - OUT OF SWEET SOLITUDE. By Eleanor C. Donnelly. Philadelphia: - Lippincott & Co. 1873. - -This modest little volume, a “first book,” gives us confidence that -the authoress will fill a useful place in the Catholic literature of -America. We say a useful place, for poetry like hers is much in demand -in our Catholic homes. - -The three divisions of the volume—“Sacred Legends,” “Poems of the -Civil War,” and “Miscellaneous Poems”—present a pleasing variety, -both of matter and of style. Some of her lyrics are more accurate than -others; and some of her descriptions would be stronger with fewer -epithets. But her verse is, for the most part, as smooth as simple. -And while no one can charge her with affectation, she is certainly not -lacking in originality. - -There is but a single line on which we shall make a stricture. It -occurs in a poem called “The Skeleton at the Feast”: the sixth line of -the fifth stanza, p. 77. She speaks of - - “The flame - Lit for the damned _from all eternity_.” - -Now, God did not create “from eternity”; still less are any of his -creatures damned “from eternity.” We therefore pronounce this line a -slip of the pen, and beg that it may be altered in the next edition. - -In conclusion, we thankfully welcome the authoress into the number -of our Catholic poetesses, and hope that ere long she will be again -tempted to come to us “out of sweet solitude.” - -OLD NEW ENGLAND TRAITS. Edited by George Lunt. New York: -Published by Hurd & Houghton. Cambridge: The Riverside Press. 1873. - -Any one acquainted with the ancient city of Newburyport will have a -special interest in the reminiscences which this very readable book -contains. To those who are not, it will give a very perfect idea of the -New England of the past, which is even now pretty well preserved in -these old seaport towns of Massachusetts. There is not a dry or tedious -page in it from beginning to end, and, both in matter and style, it is -just the kind of a book for any time of year, but particularly for the -summer. At the end, there are a number of ghost stories. Ghosts seem to -thrive well in Newburyport, judging from recent developments as well as -these more ancient ones, and there can be no doubt that the reputation -of Essex County for the preternatural is really very well founded. - - -BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED. - - From W. G. SIMONS & CO., Richmond: Pastoral Letter on - Christian Education. By the Rt. Rev. James Gibbons, D.D. 8vo, paper, - pp. 19. - - From P. O’SHEA, New York: Essays on Various Subjects. By H. - E. Card. Wiseman. Vol. IV. 12mo, pp. 300. - - From LEE & SHEPARD, Boston: The Year. By D. C. Colesworthy. - 12mo, pp. 120. - - From E. O’KEEFE, New York: Third Annual Report of St. - Vincent’s Home for Boys, 10 Vine Street, Brooklyn. Paper, 24mo, pp. 16. - - From D. APPLETON & CO., New York: Insanity in its Relation to - Crime. By W. A. Hammond, M.D. 8vo, pp. 77.—A Review of Prof. Reese’s - Review of the Wharton Trial. By W. E. A. Aikin, M.D., LL.D. Paper, - 8vo, pp. 20. - - From the AUTHOR: Religion in the University: Being a Review - of the Subject as agitated in the Legislature of Michigan. By S. B. - McCracken. Paper, 8vo, pp. 19. - - From the GENERAL THEOLOGICAL LIBRARY, Boston: Eleventh Annual - Report, April 21, 1873. Paper, 8vo, pp. 44. - - From HOLT & WILLIAMS, New York: Babolain. By Gustave Droz. - 18mo, pp. 306. - - From BURNS & OATES, London: The Question of Anglican - Ordinations Discussed. By E. E. Estcourt, M.A., F.S.A. With Original - Documents and Fac-similes. 8vo, pp. xvi.-381.-cxvi.—A Theory of the - Fine Arts. By S. M. Lanigan, A.B., T.C.D. 12mo, pp. xiii.-194.—The - Prophet of Carmel. By Rev. C. B. Garside, M.A. 18mo, pp. xiii.-348. - - From T. & T. CLARK, Edinburgh: The Works of S. Aurelius - Augustine—Vol. VII., On the Trinity. Vol. VIII., The Sermon on the - Mount, and The Harmony of the Evangelists. - - - - -THE - -CATHOLIC WORLD. - -VOL. XVII., No. 102.—SEPTEMBER, 1873. - -Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by Rev. -I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at -Washington, D. C. - - - - -SHEA’S CHARLEVOIX. - - -WHEN the history of American Catholic literature comes to be written, -the name of John Gilmary Shea will hold one of the most honorable -places in the record. So much rough work has been needed to prepare the -ground for the American church, so much polemical discussion has been -called forth by our peculiar position in the midst of a hostile and -prejudiced community, so many problems of philosophy and social science -have pressed upon us for consideration, and the demand for books of -education and devotion has been so urgent, that few of our writers have -found occasion to apply themselves to strictly literary and historical -studies or to those branches of criticism which are included in the -department of polite letters. And yet how richly this neglected field -of research would repay the labors of the Catholic investigator! The -early history of many parts of the North American continent is only a -chapter in the history of the Catholic Church. The most picturesque -characters in the early American annals are the Catholic voyagers -of France and Spain, the settlers of Canada, and Florida, and the -Pacific coast, and the missionaries who followed them across the ocean, -and pushed forward in advance of them into the savage wilderness. -How tame and mean appear the quarrels of the Plymouth settlers with -hostile Indians, and rival adventurers, and preaching sectaries, and -bewitched old women, after one has read of the heroism of a Jogues -and a Brebœuf, and the romantic travels of the discoverer of the -Mississippi. The settlement of Virginia was a prosaic and commonplace -affair beside the settlement of Canada. The monks who accompanied the -armies of the Spanish conquerors passed through experiences of the -most thrilling kind, whose story has been only imperfectly outlined in -the glowing pages of Prescott. Within the limits of the present Union, -the missionary has been the chief actor in many an extraordinary -scene of dramatic interest, and the hero of many a daring enterprise. -Simple-minded F. Mark traversing the desert in search of the seven -mythical cities of New Mexico; the gentle Marquette guiding his canoe -down the great river of the West, and breathing his last prayer on the -shores of the mighty lake; Hennepin, pattern of grotesque mendacity; La -Salle, model of a magnanimous commander and a daring explorer—such are -among the infinite variety of figures in the early Catholic history of -our country. Its later annals are not inferior in interest to the more -remote. Even yet the task of the pioneer is not complete, and startling -incidents are still common in the chronicles of missionary adventure. - -No man has done more than Mr. Shea to preserve the record of all -these events and all these personages. For more than twenty years, he -has devoted himself to the study of the old materials for American -Catholic history. He gave to the world the first authentic and complete -narrative of the discovery and exploration of the Mississippi, and -brought to light the manuscript narratives of the actors in that most -important and striking achievement. He prepared the only connected -account of the various Catholic missions among the Indian tribes, from -the discovery of the country to the present day. He was one of the -joint authors of the only general history of the American church. To -these works, and a large number of books of a miscellaneous character, -short histories, religious biographies, statistical publications, etc., -he has recently added the result of patient and learned research into -the Indian languages; he has recovered the grammars and vocabularies -prepared by the old missionaries; he has assisted in the preparation -of various works on the Indians printed at the cost of the United -States government; he has edited an extraordinary variety of historical -collections and monographs; and, finally, he has prepared for the press -a number of hitherto unpublished narratives, memoirs, and relations in -connection with the early French and Spanish settlements. The value of -these publications can hardly be overstated. The care and judgment of -the editor have been universally recognized by the highest authorities; -and though Mr. Shea can hardly expect an adequate pecuniary recompense -for his time, his labor, and his outlay, he has been rewarded in a most -flattering way by the respect and gratitude of historical students, -Catholic and Protestant alike. - -His latest work is one of the most laborious of his life, and one of -the most splendid in its results. It is a translation, with notes, of -the _History and General Description of New France_, from the French of -the Rev. P. F. X. de Charlevoix, S.J. The first of the six sumptuous -volumes of this elegant work appeared from the author’s own press in -this city in 1866, and the last was issued at the close of 1872. As we -shall see further on, Mr. Shea has expended upon the “translation and -notes” an extraordinary amount of pains of which the modest title-page -affords no hint; but the book was well worth the trouble. No history -of America can be written without a constant reference to the labors -of F. Charlevoix. He is our best and sometimes our only authority for -the transactions in all the French North American settlements. Of -many of the scenes that he describes he was an eye-witness. He was a -diligent and conscientious student; he had access to important and -little-known sources of information; he sympathized with the sentiment -of the early French explorers, and caught as by instinct the spirit of -those curious expeditions wherein the priest and the peddler marched -side by side through the wilderness for the glory of God and of France, -and the spread simultaneously of the Gospel and the fur-trade. Born in -the north of France in 1682, Charlevoix entered the Society of Jesus, -and was sent to the Canada mission when he was about twenty-three years -old. He spent four years in America, returning to France in 1709, and -teaching philosophy for some time in various colleges of his society. -Eleven years later, the king sent him to make a tour among the French -settlements of the New World, and a curious account of this adventurous -journey is preserved in his _Journal of a Voyage to North America_, -a translation of which was published in London in 1761. He landed at -Quebec in October, 1720, visited Montreal and other settlements on the -St. Lawrence, and the following spring set out on his remarkable canoe -voyage to the Gulf of Mexico. This took him through Lakes Ontario, -Erie, Huron, and Michigan. On the 6th of August, 1721, he entered the -St. Joseph River, at the southern end of Lake Michigan. Thence by a -tedious portage he reached the head-waters of the Kankakee. Towards -the end of September, he found himself on the Illinois, and on the 9th -of October his frail bark floated on the waters of the Mississippi. -Stopping at various posts along the bank, he was nearly three months -in reaching New Orleans, whence he embarked in April, 1722, for Santo -Domingo. Wrecked on one of the Florida keys, he made his way back to -Louisiana in an open boat, and at the end of June took ship again -at Biloxi. After touching at Havana, and narrowly escaping another -disaster, he made Cape François, in Santo Domingo, and there found a -merchant ship, which took him home. - -Before starting on this extensive and arduous tour, he had begun a -series of histories of all the countries unknown to Europeans previous -to the XIVth century, giving to that tolerably comprehensive portion of -the universe the general name of the New World. The first instalment of -his task, a _History and Description of Japan_, was printed at Rouen in -three volumes in 1715. He had no expectation of completing the whole -series of proposed histories. That was an enterprise beyond the powers -of one man; but “the same may be said of this,” he remarked, “as of -the discovery of America: the worst was done when it was once begun; -there is, then, every reason to believe that it will be continued after -me, and that, if I have the advantage of suggesting the idea, those -who succeed me will have the glory of perfecting it.” The second fruit -of the scheme was the _History of Santo Domingo_, which appeared at -Paris in two quarto volumes, in 1730. The third was the _History of -New France_, in three quarto volumes, in 1744; and there was a fourth -book, a _History of Paraguay_, in three quarto volumes, in 1756. F. -Charlevoix died in 1761, having been for more than twenty years one of -the principal workers on the famous _Journal de Trévoux_. - -Of the four works embraced in his uncompleted series, three are -little known on this side of the ocean, except in the libraries of -the curious. The _History of New France_, however, has long enjoyed -an American celebrity, through the frequent references to it in the -pages of modern historians; and Mr. Shea is not unreasonably surprised -that it should so long have gone untranslated. Fidelity is by no means -its only merit. It is well planned, and written with a carefulness, -simplicity, and good judgment which give it a very respectable, if -not a very high, literary character. Its style is not remarkable for -eloquence, but it is chaste and direct. It is never ambitious, but -it is always agreeable; rarely picturesque, but never dry. Prefixing -to his work a comprehensive chronology of European explorations and -settlements in the New World (taking that phrase in his own extended -application), and an excellent bibliographical account of the numerous -authors whom he has consulted, he begins his narrative proper with the -voyages of Cortereal and Verazzano to Newfoundland, between 1500 and -1525. It is with the expedition of Jacques Cartier, however, in 1534, -that the story of the French settlements in North America properly -commences. Cartier ascended the St. Lawrence, visited the site of -Montreal, and planned a town there, though he did not succeed in making -a permanent establishment. There is a curious illustration in this part -of the narrative of the simplicity which gives F. Charlevoix’s book -such a peculiar charm. Misled by an unfaithful abridgment of Cartier’s -narrative, the good father gently rebukes the traveller for certain -marvellous tales which he is unjustly accused of bearing back to -France: but there is one strange story to which the reverend historian -is evidently more than half disposed to attach credit. An Indian named -Donnacona is reported to have told Cartier that in a remote part of -the land “were men who had but one leg and thigh, with a very large -foot, two hands on the same arm, the waist extremely square, the breast -and head flat, and a very small mouth; that still further on he had -seen pigmies, and a sea the water of which was fresh. In fine, that, -ascending the Saguenay, you reach a country where there are men dressed -like us, who live in cities, and have much gold, rubies, and copper.” -Now, by ascending the Saguenay, Charlevoix conjectures, and turning -west, an Indian might reach Lake Assiniboin, and thence penetrate to -New Mexico, where the Spaniards had begun to settle—a conjecture -which certainly betrays a rather loose idea of American geography. -The pigmies he supposes to be the Esquimaux. But of the men with one -leg, he remarks that the story is “very strange.” He does not accept, -but he certainly does not reject it. Nay, he cites a long account by -an Esquimaux girl, who was in Quebec while he was there in 1720, of a -kind of men among her country people “who had only one leg, one thigh, -and a very large foot, two hands on the same arm, a broad body, flat -head, small eyes, scarcely any nose, and a very small mouth”; they were -always in a bad humor, and could remain under water three-quarters of -an hour at a time. “As for the monstrous men,” he concludes, “described -by the slave of M. de Courtemanche and by Donnacona, and the headless -men killed, it is pretended, by an Iroquois hunter a few years since -while hunting, it is easy to believe that there is some exaggeration; -but it is easier to deny extraordinary facts than to explain them; and, -moreover, are we at liberty to reject whatever we cannot explain? Who -can pretend to know all the caprices and mysteries of nature?” - -From Canada our historian passes suddenly to Florida, which he defines -as “all that part of the continent of America lying between the two -Mexicos, New France, and North Carolina.” To this part of the new world -Admiral de Coligni sent out a colony of Huguenots in 1562 under John -de Ribaut, who built a fort at Port Royal, near the site of Beaufort, -South Carolina. In all the early settlements of America, there is the -same story to be told of avarice and childish folly. The colonists -were not settlers, but adventurers. They had come in search of a land -where they could grow rich without work, and pick up gold and silver -with no more trouble than the occasional killing of a few Indians. They -depended for sustenance upon what they brought from France and the -provisions they might purchase from the savages. But there was little -to be obtained from a race of hunters who were half the year themselves -on the brink of starvation, and the fresh supplies promised from home -were often delayed. It is almost incredible that no attempt should have -been made to cultivate the fertile lands upon which they established -themselves; but year after year the same blunder was repeated: winter -found the adventurers famishing; and promising colonies were broken -up by their reckless improvidence. Such was the fate of Ribaut’s -settlement at Port Royal. The commander had gone home to obtain -re-enforcements. When the re-enforcements arrived under Laudonniere in -1564, Port Royal had been abandoned. The colonists had built a vessel, -caulked the seams with moss, twisted the bark of trees for ropes, used -their shirts for sails, and, with a short supply of provisions and a -crew composed of soldiers, had put to sea. They suffered terribly. The -water gave out, and some died of thirst. After they had eaten their -last shoe and their last scrap of leather, a soldier named Lachau -offered the sacrifice of his own life to save the rest. They ate -Lachau, and drank his blood. Soon afterward, they sighted land, and -about the same time fell in with an English vessel. - -Laudonniere established himself on the St. John’s River, in Florida. -F. Charlevoix tells an interesting story of his curious dealings with -the Indians and the dissensions of his disorderly colonists. He seems -to have been upon the whole a fair commander, but the fatal mistake of -all these adventurers soon brought him to the brink of ruin. Provisions -gave out. The expected relief from France was delayed. Fish and game -grew scarce. In July, 1567, Laudonniere was trying to patch up his one -small vessel to return home, when he was unexpectedly relieved by a -visit from Sir John Hawkins with four English ships. Hawkins treated -the suffering Frenchmen with great generosity. He gave them bread and -wine, replenished their stores of clothing and munitions, offered the -whole party a passage home to France, and finally persuaded them to -purchase one of his vessels which was better fitted for their use than -their own. Laudonniere now hastened his preparations for the voyage, -and was actually weighing anchor, when Ribaut entered the river with -seven vessels, and set about restoring the dismantled Fort Caroline, -and planning an expedition after gold to the distant mountains of -Apalache. But this whole chapter is a tale of surprises. Six days after -the arrival of Ribaut, another squadron appeared at the mouth of the -river. It consisted of six Spanish ships under the command of Don -Pedro Menendez, whom Philip II. had despatched to conquer Florida, and -drive out the heretics. - -The story now becomes a horrible narrative of battle, treachery, and -murder. Menendez attacked the French vessels without doing much injury, -and then, hastening southward to the spot which he had already selected -as the site of a settlement, began the building of St. Augustine. From -St. Augustine he marched with five hundred men through the swamps, in -the midst of a long and violent storm, surprised Fort Caroline, and -put most of the garrison to the sword. At the spot of the execution, -Menendez erected a stone with the inscription, “I do this, not as -to Frenchmen, but as to Lutherans.” Nearly three years afterwards, -Dominic de Gourgues, after a semi-piratical cruise along the coast of -Africa and among the West India Islands, crossed over from Cuba to the -mainland to avenge the slaughter of his countrymen. He reached the fort -unsuspected, and took it by escalade, with the help of a large force -of Indians. Then the prisoners were led to the scene of the former -massacre, and all hanged upon a tree, with the inscription: “I do -this, not as to Spaniards nor as to maranes,[195] but as to traitors, -robbers, and murderers.” Such is the story of Dominic de Gourgues, as -Charlevoix gives it after contemporary French accounts. No Spanish -version of it is known to exist, and Mr. Shea points out in a note the -reasons for regarding it with some suspicion. The conqueror could not -hold what he had won. Burning the fort, and destroying all the plunder -that he was unable to carry away, he hastened back to France; and so -ended the history of French Florida. - -It was about thirty years after this that the Marquis de la Roche, -a gentleman of Brittany, received from Henri IV. a commission as -lieutenant-general of the king “in the countries of Canada, Hochelaga, -Newfoundland, Labrador, River of the Great Bay [St. Lawrence], -Norimbegue, and adjacent lands,” and fitted out a vessel to explore -his territory. Landing on Sable Island, ninety miles from the mainland -of Nova Scotia (1598), he left there a colony of forty convicts whom -he had drawn from the French prisons, coasted awhile along the shores -of Acadia (Nova Scotia), without accomplishing anything of value, and -then went back to France. Contrary winds prevented his taking off the -wretched colony of Sable Island, and it was not until seven years -later that the king, hearing of the adventure, sent a ship to their -relief. Only twelve remained alive, and these were brought to court in -the same guise in which they were found, “covered with sealskin, with -hair and beard of a length and disorder that made them resemble the -pretended river-gods, and so disfigured as to inspire horror. The king -gave them fifty crowns apiece, and sent them home released from all -process of law.” The expedition of De Monts and Pontgravé (1604) was -more fortunate. It resulted in the settlement of Port Royal (Annapolis) -by M. de Poutrincourt, under a grant from M. de Monts, afterwards -confirmed by the crown; it brought forward Samuel de Champlain, who was -soon to play so distinguished a part in the exploration and settlement -of Canada; and it offered a career to the Jesuit missionaries, whose -heroism reflected so much glory upon the colony. The king had -intimated to M. de Poutrincourt, when he confirmed the grant of Port -Royal, that it was proper to invite the Jesuits to the new colony; -and, by his majesty’s desire, two priests were selected from the -many who volunteered to go. These were F. Peter Biard and F. Enemond -Masse. Strange to say, the first difficulties they encountered were -from their own countrymen. “M. de Poutrincourt was a very worthy man,” -says Charlevoix, “sincerely attached to the Catholic religion; but the -calumnies of the so-called Reformers had produced an impression on his -mind, and he was fully determined not to take them to Port Royal. He -did not, however, show anything of this to the king, who, having given -his orders, had no doubt but that they were executed with all speed. -The Jesuits thought so; and F. Biard, at the commencement of the year -[1608], proceeded to Bordeaux, where he was assured the embarkation -would take place. He was much surprised to see no preparation there; -and he waited in vain for a whole year. The king, informed of this, -reproached M. de Poutrincourt sharply; and the latter pledged his -word to the king that he would no longer defer obeying his orders. -He actually prepared to go; but, as he said nothing of embarking the -missionaries, F. Cotton paid him a visit, to bring him to do so in a -friendly way. Poutrincourt begged him to be good enough to postpone it -till the following year, as Port Royal was by no means in a condition -to receive the fathers. So frivolous a reason was regarded by F. Cotton -as a refusal, but he did not deem it expedient to press the matter or -inform the king. M. de Poutrincourt accordingly sailed for Acadia; and, -with a view of showing the court that the ministry of the Jesuits was -not necessary in the conversion of the heathen, he had scarcely arrived -before he sent the king a list of twenty-five Indians baptized in -haste.” Meanwhile, the king died, and Poutrincourt considered himself -thereupon released from his obligation. It was in this difficulty that -the Marchioness de Guercheville, whose name is so honorably associated -with American adventure, declared herself the protectress of the -missions. But the story of the troubles which this powerful advocate -had to overcome gives us a curious idea of the manner in which American -affairs were regulated at the French court. Biencourt, the son of M. de -Poutrincourt, was about sailing for Acadia, and consented to take the -missionaries. When the fathers reached Dieppe, Biencourt had changed -his mind, or been overruled by his two Huguenot partners, and passage -was refused. Mme. de Guercheville had recourse to the queen mother, who -gave a peremptory order that the Jesuits should be taken on board. The -order was laughed at, and nobody attempted to enforce it. Then Mme. de -Guercheville raised a subscription, bought off the two Calvinists, and -proceeded to treat with Biencourt. Not finding his title clear, she -purchased of M. de Monts all his lapsed privileges, with the purpose of -reviving them, and formed a partnership with Biencourt, under which the -subsistence of the missionaries was to be drawn from the fishery and -fur trade. Thus at last a woman accomplished what the king had failed -in, and F. Biard and F. Masse reached the scene of their labors in 1611. - -Mme. de Guercheville soon fell out with Poutrincourt, and resolved to -found a colony of her own. She despatched a ship under the Sieur de la -Saussaye in 1613. The settlers landed on Mount Desert, and there began -a settlement, bringing FF. Biard and Masse from Port Royal, and having -with them also two other Jesuits, a priest named Quentin, and a lay -brother, Du Thet. The narrative of the destruction of this settlement -as well as Port Royal by the English free-booting adventurer Argall, -from Virginia, is familiar to all American readers. The colony had not -yet assumed a regulated form when the Englishman swept down upon it, -carried some of the settlers to Virginia, and sent the rest to sea in -a small bark. The latter, among whom was F. Masse, were picked up by -a French ship, and carried to St. Malo. The others, after much harsh -treatment at Jamestown from Sir Thomas Dale, were taken back to Acadia -with an expedition sent to complete the demolition of the French posts. -Argall performed his task thoroughly, and set sail again for Virginia. -Of his three vessels, scattered in a storm, one was lost; another, -under his own command, reached Jamestown in safety; the third, bearing -Fathers Biard and Quentin (Brother du Thet had been killed in Argall’s -first attack), and having one Turnell for captain, was driven to the -Azores, and forced to seek shelter at Fayal. Here the Jesuits had only -to complain of the outrages to which they had been subjected, and they -would have been at once avenged. Turnell was alarmed, and begged them -to keep concealed when the officers of the port visited his vessel. -“They consented with good grace. The visit over, the English captain -had liberty to buy all that he needed, after which he again weighed -anchor, and the rest of his voyage was fortunate. But he found himself -in a new embarrassment on arriving in England: he had no commission, -and, although he represented that he had accidentally been separated -from his commander, he was looked upon as a deserter from Virginia, and -put in prison, from which he was released only on the testimony of the -Jesuits. After this time, he was unwearied in publishing the virtue -of the missionaries, twice his liberators, and especially the service -they had done him at Fayal, where they returned good for evil as they -so generously did, foregoing all the advantages which they might have -obtained by making themselves known. Nothing, indeed, was omitted to -compensate for them in England, where they were very kindly treated as -long as they remained.” - -The settlements in Canada proper, however, were now firmly established, -and Quebec was rapidly becoming prosperous. The early history of this -town, the adventures and discoveries of Champlain, the expeditions -of the settlers against the Iroquois, and the surrender of Quebec -to the English under Kirk (or Kertk), who was a Frenchman by birth, -though an officer in the English service, are told by F. Charlevoix -at considerable length. It was in 1629 that Quebec fell, and three -years afterwards the whole colony was restored to France by the treaty -of St. Germain. Champlain returned with the title of Governor of -New France in 1633, and began at once that zealous and enlightened -career of missionary labor by which he has won so glorious a fame. -For we may well style him a missionary. Entrusted with the temporal -government of the young colony, it was not his part to explore the -wilderness with crucifix and missal, to venture into the cabins of the -savages as a teacher of the Gospel, to brave martyrdom, to suffer -unheard-of tortures, even to the stake; but he nevertheless fulfilled -an important, an almost indispensable, function in the establishment of -the Canada missions. He was the best friend and patron of the Jesuits -and other heroes who gave their lives so freely among the Indians. He -took care that a number of these devoted priests should be invited to -the colony, and that the settlers themselves should give an example -of Christian demeanor that might do credit to their teachers. “In a -short time,” says Charlevoix, “almost all who composed the new colony -were seen to follow the example of their governor, and make an open -and sincere profession of piety. The same attention was continued -in subsequent years, and there soon arose in this part of America a -generation of true Christians, among whom reigned the simplicity of the -primitive ages of the church, and whose posterity have not lost sight -of the great example left them by their ancestors. The consolation -which such a change afforded the laborers appointed to cultivate this -transplanted vineyard so sweetened the crosses of the most painful -mission ever perhaps established in the New World, that what they wrote -to their brethren in France created among them a real eagerness to go -and share their labors. The annual _Relations_ which we have of these -happy times, and the constant tradition preserved in the country, -both attest that there was an indescribable unction attached to this -Indian mission which made it preferred to many others infinitely more -brilliant and even more fruitful.” Champlain’s career, however, as -governor was unhappily too short. He died on Christmas day, in 1635. -“He may well be called,” says the historian, “the father of New France. -He had good sense, much penetration, very upright views, and no man -was ever more skilled in adopting a course in the most complicated -affairs. What all admired most in him was his constancy in following -up his enterprises; his firmness in the greatest dangers; a courage -proof against the most unforeseen reverses and disappointments; ardent -and disinterested patriotism; a heart tender and compassionate for the -unhappy, and more attentive to the interests of his friends than his -own; a high sense of honor, and great probity. His memoirs show that he -was not ignorant of anything that one of his profession should know; -and we find in him a faithful and sincere historian, an attentively -observant traveller, a judicious writer, a good mathematician, and an -able mariner. But what crowns all these good qualities is the fact that -in his life, as well as in his writings, he shows himself always a -truly Christian man, zealous for the service of God, full of candor and -religion. He was accustomed to say, what we read in his memoirs, ‘that -the salvation of a single soul was worth more than the conquest of an -empire, and that kings should seek to extend their domain in heathen -countries only to subject them to Christ.’” - -We have insensibly gone deeper into these attractive volumes than we -intended, and we must pass over the remaining books, which record the -growth of the Canadian settlements, the wars with the Indians after -Champlain’s death, the hostilities with the English, and the progress -of the missions. Neither can we linger over the fascinating story of -Marquette’s voyage down the Mississippi, or the expeditions, of La -Salle, or the various attempts at colonizing the shores of the Mexican -Gulf. What little space remains for us we must give to an examination -of a portion of Mr. Shea’s labor which has not yet been duly estimated. -He has given much more than a translation of F. Charlevoix’s -_Histoire_. The text is rendered with great care, and we presume with -great faithfulness, into simple, graceful, and idiomatic English. The -peculiarities of the original, in the orthography of proper names and -in other particulars, are all preserved. It is indeed Charlevoix’s -work, as exactly as any work can be reproduced in a language different -from its author’s. But Mr. Shea has bestowed upon it an editorial -supervision which nearly doubles its value. With extraordinary zeal, -learning, and intelligence, he has traced almost every statement to -its source, collated rare authorities, and in modest and compact -foot-notes, whose number must amount to several thousands, has -corrected errors, identified localities, and thrown a perfect flood of -light upon doubtful passages and controverted statements. The patient -industry, the rare judgment, and the unassuming scholarship which -Mr. Shea has brought to the execution of this noble task can only be -appreciated by one who has studied his work with some care, and to whom -familiarity with the subject has taught something of its difficulties. -He has not only been at the pains of consulting the authors to whom F. -Charlevoix expressly refers, weighing the soundness of F. Charlevoix’s -conclusions from their testimony, and correcting his citations, but he -has made it a point to discover the authorities whom the good father -followed without quoting, and he has often pursued devious statements -backward through a score of forgotten books, until he has reached -at last the sober truth from which they started. Doing this without -parade, without verbosity, and with an icy impartiality, Mr. Shea has -approved himself a model editor. - -The outward appearance of the six volumes will delight the heart of -the fastidious collector. Such beautiful and symmetrical arrangement -of the generous pages, such royal elegance of type, such rich and -refined tints, such noble margins, and such magnificent paper—every -leaf stout enough to stand alone—these things make up the gorgeous -apparel in which the work has been dressed, we may say, by Mr. Shea’s -own hands. Excellent engravings add not merely to its appearance but -its value. There are steel-plate portraits of governors, adventurers, -and missionaries; there are fac-similes of autographs; there are -copies of curious old maps and plans. Finally, the book is furnished -with a copious and systematic index—and so Mr. Shea shows himself -conscientious alike as an editor and publisher. - - - - -MADAME AGNES. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES DUBOIS. - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE ENEMY ON EITHER HAND. - - -WHAT I have just related took place in the month of August. I was at -that time extremely anxious about Victor, but an unexpected improvement -took place in his condition after Louis’ visit. Alas! he was never to -rally again. - -Louis sent every morning for some time to know how his sick friend was, -but he only came to see us once, and then merely for a few minutes. He -only left St. M—— with regret. He seemed to feel that, in absenting -himself, he left the field clear to his bold rival, as it was now -evident he was, and at a time when an attack was threatened against -what he cherished the most—the good work he had begun, and Eugénie’s -affection. He did not, therefore, inform us at that time of all I have -just related. On the contrary, we were left in a state of painful -incertitude. But I had every detail at a later day, even the very -thoughts of both parties, and from their own lips. - -However, Albert was not fitted to play the part of a man of gravity or -that of a hypocrite for a long time. For that, more perseverance and -ability than he had were required. A frivolous man like him may, by -careful watch over himself, assume an appearance of thoughtfulness, -but he will soon show himself in his true colors through weariness, or -at an unguarded moment. He had hardly been in the house a fortnight -before he unconsciously showed what he was at the bottom of his heart. -He rose at a late hour, he resumed his habit of careful attention to -his toilet, he lounged about from morning till night, conversing only -of trivial things or discussing points he was ignorant of, and read -romances of a doubtful character, which, so far from hiding, he left -about in his room. Eugénie kept an eye open to all these things. She -watched her cousin with the natural persistency she inherited from -her father; she drew her own conclusions, and ended by treating him -just as she used to do, like a spoiled child she loved because he was -a relative, but would not, on any account, have for a husband. Albert -tried now and then to resume his gravity; he went to church, and -discussed the loftiest themes. Vain efforts! His uncle and cousin knew -what to think of it all. Albert perceived it, and was inwardly furious. - -Mme. Smithson alone manifested an ever-increasing fondness for him. Her -affection for his mother as well as himself, and her acknowledged but -constant wish for Mr. Smithson’s property to come into the possession -of her own family by the marriage of the two cousins, inclined her -towards her nephew. But of what account was Mme. Smithson in the house? -Very little. Albert was under no illusion on this point, and therefore -had never attached much importance to his aunt’s support. For two or -three days he exulted over the stratagem he had formed for awakening -unfavorable sentiments in his cousin’s heart toward the engineer. -But Eugénie’s suspicions could not last long without her seeking an -explanation. Then all would be lost, for Albert felt that Louis did not -love Madeleine. If, on the other hand, Eugénie was not in love with -Louis, she would keep her conjectures to herself, and merely withdraw -her favor from him. - -Albert’s affairs, therefore, had not in any respect taken the turn he -hoped in the beginning. “What can be done? What can be done?” he said -to himself. “I must devise some way of getting rid of this fellow who -is disturbing my uncle and Eugénie’s peace of mind so much. Things -must be brought to a crisis. If Louis were only dismissed, my cousin -in her despair would accept me as her husband. My uncle would manifest -no opposition out of regard for his wife, and because, after all, I -should not be a troublesome son-in-law. At all events, I should have -the satisfaction of routing a creature I detest. Whether Eugénie loves -him or not, I can never, no, never suffer this artful man to marry her. -If my coming only serves to drive him away, I shall be glad I came.” - -Such calculations were extremely base and dishonorable, but it must be -remembered that Albert was devoid of piety, he coveted his cousin’s -dowry, and his antipathy to Louis became stronger every day. People -destitute of moral principle and religious faith hate those who possess -the good qualities they lack themselves. Albert had tried in vain to -blind himself with regard to Louis; but the more he studied him, the -more clearly he saw he was incontestably a man of great depth, sincere -piety, and uncommon energy. At first he doubted his worth, but he could -question it no longer. - -Eugénie during this time was extremely sad and preoccupied, though no -one would have suspected what was passing in the depths of her soul. -The poor girl could no longer conceal it from herself: she loved -Louis. But she was still uncertain as to his love for her. She even -asked herself—and this was an additional torture—if he was worthy -of the affection she bore him. You will not be astonished if I add -that, romantic as Eugénie was, she was a woman to be driven in such a -conjuncture to the very step Albert was aiming at. Only one thing was -wanting to effect this—the necessity of withdrawing her esteem from -Louis. In a noble nature like hers, it would have quenched her love and -broken her very heart to despise the object of her affections. - -Affairs were in this condition when a new incident came to the aid -of Albert’s schemes. Mr. Smithson, it will be well to recall, was -not originally a manufacturer of paper. A dishonest broker, or one -who lacked shrewdness, led him into a succession of unfortunate -speculations. Repeated losses were the result. Mr. Smithson perceived -his property was diminishing in an alarming manner. He at once settled -up his affairs, and, by the advice of Louis’ father, bought the mill -at St. M——, the proprietor of which had just died. This was in every -respect an advantageous investment: First, it withdrew him from the -arena of stock speculations, where fortune, conscience, and honor are -daily risked; in the next place, the mill he purchased brought in a -fine income. But it was no small affair to conduct such an enterprise, -employing as it did five or six hundred workmen. - -Mr. Smithson’s predecessor, a man perfectly familiar with the business, -directed the establishment himself. Everything went on prosperously, -and Mr. Smithson wished to imitate him. In a few months, he saw he was -going wrong. The workmen were indolent, the machinery deteriorated, -everything was going to ruin. It is not sufficient to be methodical, -intelligent, and energetic, in order to conduct a manufacturing -concern; a man must have a special knowledge of mechanics and a -faculty of adaptation which Mr. Smithson did not possess. He became -conscious of this, and resolved to obtain a book-keeper of probity -and intelligence to keep his accounts, and an engineer equally versed -in his business. They were both soon found, but the book-keeper alone -proved suitable. The engineer had practical knowledge enough, but was -deficient in energy. The workmen and overseers soon perceived it, and -profited by it to do less and less. The engineer was discharged and -Louis chosen to fill his place. - -From the time of Louis’ arrival, the aspect of everything changed. -The workmen felt they now had a superintendent to deal with that was -inflexible but just. The overseers alone were inclined to resist -his authority. They were sharply reprimanded, and the most mutinous -discharged. Mr. Smithson, warned by his previous experience, seconded -Louis with all the weight of his authority. He gave him absolute -control of the manufactory when he was absent, and never failed to come -to his support whenever Louis found severe measures necessary. - -All this did not take place, it may well be supposed, without exciting -some murmurs and secret rancor. Among the foremost of those most -dissatisfied with this necessary rigor was an overseer by the name -of Durand, who came to the mill some months before Louis. He was a -man of about forty years of age, of lofty stature, a sombre face -expressive of energy, and grave and fluent of speech. He came provided -with the best recommendations, but it was afterwards learned they -were forged. This man succeeded both in intimidating the engineer who -preceded Louis, and acquiring his favor. Half through fear, and half -weakness, he allowed Durand to assume an authority he abused in many -ways. When Louis replaced this weak man so afraid of Durand, there -was more than one contest between him and the overseer. Their last -altercation had been very violent. Durand insulted the engineer before -all the workmen, and in so bold a manner that Mr. Smithson, informed -of what had taken place, at once discharged him. Rather than give up -his situation, Durand submitted to the humiliation of begging Louis’ -pardon. Notwithstanding this, he was merely kept on sufferance, though -he was well paid, for he was clever in his way, and in one sense a -model overseer: no one kept better discipline. - -Astonishing as it may seem, when Louis instituted the evening-school, -Durand was the first to offer his assistance, and was appointed -monitor. One thing, however, tried Louis: his monitor, always polite -and respectful to his face, was in the habit of whispering behind his -back, as if secretly conniving with the men. But nothing occurred -to justify his suspicions, and Louis at length ceased to attach any -importance to the overseer’s strange ways. When the night-school -closed, about half-past eight, Durand went away a little before -Louis to finish the evening at the St. M—— café, which was greatly -frequented by the inhabitants of the place. There he gambled and -harangued at his ease, and acquired the reputation of being the ablest -talker in the country around. As to his political opinions, they were -not positively known. He was suspected of being a demagogue, and even -an ultra one, but there was no proof of it. He was less secret about -his religious belief. He called himself a Protestant, and a thorough -one. - -Meanwhile, Albert began to find the life he was leading at his uncle’s -wearisome and monotonous. The evenings especially seemed interminable. -Mr. Smithson read, Mme. Smithson was absorbed in her tapestry, and -Eugénie played on the piano. Albert did not know what to do with -himself. He did not dare have recourse to a novel; conversation with -his aunt was not very enlivening; and, if he addressed himself to -Eugénie, she showed so much skill in embarrassing him on every subject -that he avoided the occasion of appearing to so much disadvantage. -Besides, Eugénie’s superiority irritated him. Had it not been for her -fortune, which he found more and more attractive, and her beauty, to -which he could not remain insensible, he would at once have given up -all thoughts of marrying her. But her property on the one hand, and her -beauty on the other, deterred him. However, with his frivolous mind, -he soon found it intolerable to be confined to his cousin’s society -every evening, even for the purpose of paying court to her. One night, -it suddenly occurred to him to go to the café, and after that he went -there regularly after dinner to pass an hour. He was welcomed very -cordially, especially by Durand, who at once made every effort to win -his favor. The wily overseer was so profuse in respectful attentions -that in a few evenings they were friends. Durand, with his uncommon -penetration, soon discovered from some indiscreet words Albert dropped -what was troubling his shallow mind. He could see he was desirous of -marrying his cousin, and so suspicious of Louis that he detested him -and asked for nothing better than to see him dismissed. Durand at once -resolved to gain Albert’s friendship and profit by it to involve Louis -in some inextricable embarrassment. He was determined to have his -revenge at whatever cost, but it was necessary to proceed with caution. -He began by sounding Albert to make sure of his antipathy to Louis, -that he really wished for his dismissal, and if he cared what means -were employed provided the end was attained. - -Durand gave himself no rest till he was sure of all this—a certitude -he acquired the day when Albert, impatient at the unfavorable progress -of his affairs, resolved to bring things to a sudden crisis by having -Louis dismissed, if possible. The overseer waited till Albert left the -café, and then proposed he should accompany him to the manufactory, -where he lodged. - -“Willingly, my good fellow,” said Albert. It was a fine evening in the -month of September. They set off together by the road that ran along -the river half-hidden among trees, through which the moon diffused its -purest radiance. - -“We do not see you any more at the mill,” said Durand. “I daresay I -could guess why you have stopped visiting the school.... Would there be -any indiscretion in telling you the reason that has occurred to me?” - -“Not the least in the world.” - -“Well, then, if I am not mistaken, there is some one at the mill not -exactly to your liking.... Yes, somebody keeps you away....” - -“That may be.” - -“Ah! I am no fool. I think I have found out the cause of our being -deprived of your visits. It must have been something serious. See if -I haven’t some wit left.... The person you dislike is M. Louis, is it -not?” - -“You are right, my friend,” replied Albert, patting Durand on the -shoulder in a familiar manner. - -“There are others who do not like him any better than you.” - -“Not you? You are his assistant at the school, and seem on the best of -terms with him.” - -“_Seem?_ Yes, I seem; but to seem and be are sometimes very different -things. Listen: the very instant I saw you—excuse my frankness—you -inspired me with so much confidence that, faith, I feel inclined to -tell you all that is on my mind. It would do me good.” - -“Do not be afraid of my betraying you, _mon cher_; speak to me as a -friend.” - -“O monsieur! you are too kind. Well, since you allow me, I tell you -plainly I do not like that man; no, not at all.” - -“He has been insolent and overbearing towards you, I know.” - -“If that were all, I could forgive him. But it is not a question of -myself. I dislike, I detest him for another reason. Whoever likes Mr. -Smithson cannot like the engineer, as I can convince anybody who wishes -it.” - -“Explain yourself; I do not exactly understand you.” - -“Well—but swear you will never repeat what I am going to say.” - -“I give you my word, which I never break.” - -“Well, then, this M. Louis is a Tartuffe—a Jesuit; such men are -dangerous. Woe to the houses they enter! He has wasted all his -property, we know how! It is a shame!... Then he artfully obtained -a place in your uncle’s mill, where he has assumed more and more -authority; he tries to influence the minds of the workmen; he ... -wishes to marry your cousin.... _Parbleu!_ I may as well say aloud what -everybody is saying in secret.” - -“Do they say that, Durand?” - -“Yes, that is the report. But his art and hypocrisy are in vain. More -than one of us understand his projects.... And let me assure you we -tremble lest he succeed! There will be fine doings when the mill passes -into the hands of this Jesuit, who will spend all of Mr. Smithson’s -property, and prepare him a pitiful old age. Do you see now why I -cannot endure that man? Oh! if I were master I would soon set him -a-flying.... But I am not the master, ... it is he who is likely to be. -If somebody could only get him dismissed!” - -“Yes, yes,” said Albert, in a conceited tone. “There is some truth -in what you say—a great deal, in fact.... Since I have been here, I -have watched and studied his movements, and agree with you that it was -rather an unlucky day for my uncle when he admitted this intriguer into -his house. His schemes make me anxious.” - -“Is there no way of defeating them?” - -“It would be no easy matter.” - -“Come, now! As if you, Mr. Smithson’s nephew; you who have more -learning than all of us put together—who have more wit than I, though -I am no fool—as if you could not send him adrift if you wished to!... -You could never make me believe that.” - -“What can I do? I certainly ask for nothing better than to get him into -some difficulty; but how? He performs his duties with exasperating -fidelity.” - -“Oh! it is not on that score you must attack him; he is too cunning to -be at fault there.” - -“Well, if he is not at fault, do you wish me to make him out so?” - -“Precisely. That is what must be done. See here, M. Albert, as you -know of no way, I will tell you an idea that has come into my head; -for I have been a long time contriving some means of driving that man -away. But I must first warn you not to take my plan for more than it is -worth. If it is not a good one, we will try to discover a better one.” - -“Let us hear it.” - -“We have an Englishman at the mill who tells me he does not intend to -remain. This man has been to the evening-school several times. M. Louis -has lent him religious books.... Can’t you guess what I am at?” - -“No.” - -“Well, this is my plan. The man I refer to and I are linked together. -It would be a long story to tell how and why. If I should go to -him—to-morrow, for instance—and say: ‘Adams, I know you intend -leaving St. M——. Will you do your friend a favor before you go? Rid -me of that engineer. I do not mean for you to kill him or do him any -harm: we are neither of us murderers. I simply propose you should play -him some trick, as they call it. You are on good terms with him: he -lends you books. Go and tell him you have come to consult him about -some doubts on the subject of religion. Beg him to enlighten you. Ask -for some controversial works, and cautiously insinuate the possibility -of abjuring your religion. You will naturally be open in your projects. -You will even talk of them with an air of profound conviction. This -will cause some noise. I shall then take hold of it. In case of -necessity, I shall have a violent dispute with the engineer, which -of course will oblige Mr. Smithson to interfere.’ I know he is not -disposed to jest about such matters. Once the affair is brought before -him, the engineer is lost. I will not give him a week to remain at the -mill after that.... Such is my idea; what do you think of it?” - -“Durand, you are a genius. Your plan is admirable. The moment my uncle -finds the engineer is trying to propagate his religion, he is lost, as -you say. You must put your project into execution without any delay.” - -“I am glad to see you approve of it, not only because it flatters my -self-love, but because it makes me more hopeful of success. I should be -better satisfied, however, if you would promise to help us in case you -are needed.... We are not sure of succeeding in our plan. The engineer -is cunning, and Mr. Smithson’s way of acting is not always easy to -foresee. And if we should fail—if I get into difficulty!...” - -“I promise to stand by you. Rest assured I shall not be backward in -trying my utmost to influence my uncle against him. This will be -easy, for he already distrusts the engineer. Nevertheless, admonish -your friend to be extremely cautious. No one must have the slightest -suspicion of the scheme. Success then would be impossible.” - -“Adams does not lack wit. He will know how to manage. But one thing -alarms me, and will him. If his conversion were to offend Mr. Smithson -to such a degree as to cause his dismissal in disgrace! Where could he -go without recommendations?” - -“Why, how simple you are! All this can be turned to his advantage. -As soon as he sees my uncle irritated, he must ask for a private -interview, consult him as to his belief, and pretend to yield to -his arguments. He must end by avowing his determination to remain a -Protestant, and declaring he had been led away by the engineer. The -result is evident.” - -“You are sharper than I. I did not think of that. Your idea makes -everything safe, and settles the matter.” - -“And when shall the first shot be fired?” - -“To-morrow.” - -“But one question more.... It would be vexatious if the engineer -refused the bait and sent Adams a-walking.” - -“No danger of that. The engineer is a genuine fanatic. I am sure of -that, and I have had an opportunity of judging.” - -While thus conversing, our two conspirators had nearly reached the -mill. They separated without being seen. Albert was radiant. As he -retired, he said to himself: “Why did I not think of this scheme -myself?... It is so simple, and cannot fail! A saint like the engineer -will risk everything to gain a soul.... And yet, if he should be -afraid, as Durand said; if he is only a Catholic outwardly!... That -would be embarrassing! Strange! for once, I hope the fellow is -sincere!...” - -The following morning, Durand took a private opportunity of giving his -associate his instructions, and that night Adams begged Louis to grant -him an interview in his room after school. - -The interview took place. Durand had only told the truth: Adams was an -artful fellow—one of those men who conceal uncommon duplicity under -the appearance of perfect candor. He had been Durand’s tool for a long -time. The latter had rendered him more than one service, and employed -him in numerous fraudulent transactions, which he generously rewarded -him for. Durand lent money upon pledge to workmen in difficulty. He -unlawfully appropriated a thousand small objects in the manufactory, -and had them sold. His assistant in this dishonest traffic, his man of -business, as he called him, was Adams, who was well paid, as may be -supposed. - -The Englishman, cunning as he was, had some difficulty in persuading -Louis he was serious in his intention of abjuring his religion. But -he dwelt on his doubts with such apparent sincerity, he manifested -so strong a desire to be rescued from error, if he was in error, -that Louis immediately proposed he should consult the _curé_. Adams -pretended the _curé_ intimidated him; he was more at his ease with -Louis, and could talk to him with perfect openness of heart. “If I -have to go to the _curé_” said he, “well, then, I shall defer it. I do -not wish to expose myself to observations that would not fail to be -made. After all, monsieur,” he added, “I am only in doubt. I am not yet -convinced of being in error. When I see clearly I am, oh! then I will -no longer conceal my sentiments. But meanwhile, I do not wish everybody -to know what is passing in my soul.” - -These plausible statements banished Louis’ suspicions. He received the -young man in his room several evenings in succession. He lent him a -small book, easy of comprehension, that contained a thorough refutation -of Protestantism. Poor Louis! he behaved with genuine heroism on this -occasion. From the first he foresaw all the trouble such an affair was -likely to cause him. He did not deceive himself as to the result of -this abjuration. He had an immediate presentiment of Mr. Smithson’s -anger, and the difficult, nay, intolerable position he would be in if -this conversion took place. No matter, he would brave everything rather -than neglect his duty as a Christian, which obliged him to point out -the true religion to all who sought it. - -He was also preoccupied at this time by the remembrance of what had -taken place at Vinceneau’s, and suffered from the coolness Eugénie -manifested towards him. He saw he was kept more at a distance than -ever by Mr. Smithson, who looked upon him as a dangerous man. Louis’ -situation, it must be confessed, was distressing. He would have given -much to have at least one consoling word from the lips of her whom he -loved, and before whom he saw he had been calumniated. This unhoped-for -happiness was at last granted him under peculiar circumstances. Louis -had just been to see the Vinceneau family, which was in a worse plight -than ever. The father had taken to drink with fresh madness, and -the mother had a fit of indolence that kept her away from the mill. -Madeleine alone worked for the whole family. Louis had been there to -reason with the mother, who gave him the worst possible reception. -He tried to encourage the daughter, but without success. Madeleine -had also, to some degree, the family weakness—a lack of energy of -character. - -Louis had come away unusually dejected. On his way back to the -manufactory, while dwelling, first on these unfortunate people, then on -Adams, who that very day had spoken of soon abjuring his religion, and -finally on Victor, about whom he had just received the most alarming -intelligence, he met Eugénie face to face. She turned pale at seeing -him, and replied to his greeting with extreme coldness as she kept -on.... - -Louis’ sadness redoubled. He took a sudden resolution. “I must justify -myself,” he said, ... and, intimidated as he was—the man who loves -with a pure affection is always timid—he stopped and turned back. - -“Mademoiselle,” said he, addressing Eugénie, “I have a favor to ask.” - -“What is it, monsieur?” - -“Among the poor families I am interested in is one I have never spoken -to you about.” - -“You are under no obligation, monsieur, to inform me of all the -families you visit.” - -“I know it, mademoiselle; but, as I am not ashamed of any of the -places I go to, I have no interest in concealing them. If I have -not heretofore spoken of this family, it was for a special reason. -These people, of the name of Vinceneau, were recommended to me by old -Françoise. She took the liveliest interest in one of the members of the -household—a girl by the name of Madeleine. She feared lest poverty and -her parents’ bad example might be a source of danger to one of her age. -Madeleine is irreproachable in her conduct, but weak in character, like -her father and mother. Françoise made me promise to watch over her. She -would have begged this favor of you, mademoiselle, had not a special -reason prevented her. She knew Madeleine’s parents were envious, -and regarded the rich with an evil eye. She feared exposing you to -impertinence if she brought you in contact with them. Consequently, -she recommended them to me. Madeleine has told me of your call at -the house. Your kindness touched the mother. As to the father, his -shameful passion for drink has brutalized him.” - -Eugénie listened with undisguised interest, and softened as Louis -continued. When he had finished, she said: “What do you wish me to do? -to show some interest in them?” - -“It would be a very timely act of charity. The mother has not done any -work for several days, the father is gone from morning till night, and -the daughter is discouraged. You can rouse her courage much better than -I. And allow me to say, mademoiselle, that the difficulties that once -might have hindered you being removed, this work, for many reasons, is -much more suitable for you than for me.” - -“I will go to see them.” - -“Thank you, mademoiselle,” replied Louis. “I am overwhelmed with cares -and occupations, and give the family up to you with pleasure.” - -“Do you not mean to visit them any more?” - -“I have a great mind not to.” - -“Why not?” - -“It is a delicate subject, but I think the less I go there, the better.” - -“I understand you, ... but still I do not think you are right. _Fais ce -que dois, advienne que pourra_,[196] is my motto. Is it not yours?” - -“It would be, mademoiselle, if the world were not so malicious. -As it is, people even of the best intentions cannot take too many -precautions. I confess there is nothing I dread more than calumny. It -always does injury, and it is hard to feel we are losing the esteem of -those whose good opinion we desire the most.” - -“People who allow themselves to be influenced by calumny cannot have -much character.” - -“Do you think so, mademoiselle?” - -“I am sure of it. Before doubting a person I have once esteemed, I -wait till their acts openly condemn them. If I have the misfortune to -despise them then, it is because they force me to do so.” - -These words were uttered in a significant tone. Eugénie then left Louis -abruptly with a gracious and dignified salutation. - -Louis stood looking at her as she went away, admiring her slender -form and the exquisite distinction of her whole person. This sudden -meeting with her seemed like one of those glimpses of the sun that -sometimes occur in the midst of the most violent storms. He thanked -God; he felt happy at her indirect assurance that she still regarded -him with esteem. He asked himself if she did not love him. He did not -dare believe it, but was almost ready to do so. One fear alone remained -in all its strength—the fear of incurring Mr. Smithson’s anger by -co-operating in the conversion of Adams. - -Ah! if Louis had not been heartily devoted to his faith, how soon he -would have despatched this troublesome neophyte! But, no; he ought not, -he could not. He consoled himself by repeating Eugénie’s words, which -had struck him in a peculiar manner: _Fais ce que dois, advienne que -pourra_.... “Well,” thought he, “what I ought to do is to enlighten -those who seek the truth.... I yield to a sense of duty. Eugénie is -a Catholic as well as I, and cannot help approving of my course. If -Mr. Smithson is displeased, his daughter, to be consistent with her -principles, must confess that I am right.” - -As Louis entered his room, a note was given him from me, imploring him -to come to us as soon as possible. - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -VICTOR’S DEATH.—PLOTS AGAINST LOUIS. - -For ten long months, Victor had suffered from a terrible malady that -never lets go. Every remedy had been tried in vain. His disease was -phthisis of a peculiar kind and of the most alarming character. The two -physicians we consulted could only reply when their patient insisted on -knowing the truth: “Your illness is of an extremely serious nature; but -you are young, and at your age nature often finds unexpected resources -in a time of danger.” - -It was impossible to cure him. They could only prolong his life, and -this was the aim of the physicians. By dint of care, they succeeded -in keeping him alive till the beginning of September. Then the -disease, whose ravages we had not realized, suddenly came to a crisis. -Throughout the whole course of his sufferings, I had, in spite of -everything, cherished a secret hope in the depths of my heart. When one -of those favorable turns came peculiar to such complaints, I flattered -myself that he would get well, and abandoned myself to a foolish joy. -This joy, so natural, and yet so unreasonable, gave Victor pain. He -endeavored to moderate it in a thousand ingenious and delicate ways. He -himself was never under any illusion. His illness was fatal: he knew -it, and calmly prepared himself for what he called the great journey. -He was greatly afflicted to see I was not, like himself, preparing for -our separation, the thought of which became more painful in proportion -to the horror with which I regarded it. He tried to banish all my false -hopes, but his efforts were in vain. I clung to them without owning -it. I only gave them up at the time I have arrived at in my sad story. -Then I began to realize the frightful truth, and, as I saw his alarming -symptoms increase, I thought I should die. - -Victor at length succeeded in restoring somewhat of calmness to my -soul. With a strength of mind that increased in proportion to the -nearness of that awful moment, he made his final preparations. He -gave himself up to the contemplation of eternal things. His friend, -the good Abbé Merlin, administered the last consolations of religion. -Louis received them with a faith that edified every one, and a joy that -showed how he had profited by his illness to prepare for heaven. He -was already there in spirit, and longed to be there in reality. This -touched me, and I confess, to my great shame, I reproached him in my -excessive grief with some expressions of bitterness. This was the last -sorrow I caused my poor husband. Such reproaches could only come from a -selfish soul. I now blush at the remembrance. - -All these necessary steps having been taken, Victor told me I must -send for Louis. As you know, he received my note in the evening. That -very night he arrived. It was high time. We all three passed the night -together talking, praying, and weeping by turns. Victor consoled us. He -even forced himself to express anxiety as to Louis’ affairs. The latter -spoke of them very unwillingly, for his grief overpowered his sense of -love. When Victor learned the trials he was undergoing, he said: - -“My friend, I fear they are contriving some new plot against you. -Eugénie loves you; there is no doubt of that in my mind; but does she -love you well enough to withstand all the difficulties that are rising -up around you? I know not. If, with her knowledge of you, she allows -herself to be influenced by people of evil intentions, it seems to me -you will have a right to judge her severely.” - -“Even then I could not,” said Louis. - -“Your answer does not surprise me. It proves I was right in my -impressions. You love her as much as a good man ought to love. You -even love her too well; for I believe your affection would render you -insensible to the truth rather than blame the object of your love.” - -“That is true.” - -“I cannot approve of that. It is not right. There is only one -thing, there is only one Being, a noble and well-balanced soul, a -soul thoroughly imbued with piety, allows itself to love above all -things—that thing is truth, that Being is God. Believe me, if Eugénie -allows herself to be alienated from you, it will be a proof she has not -the worth you give her credit for, and also that it is not the will of -God she should become your wife. Well, I will not oppose the indulgence -you feel towards her. I consent to it. Say to yourself she has been -deceived, that she is innocent, but submit to the divine will. Do not -attempt impossibilities to link together the chain God himself breaks, -however dear she may be to you.” - -Victor seemed to have recalled all the energy of his manly nature to -utter these words. His firmness and judicious counsel were not lost on -Louis. - -“I will follow your advice,” said he; “but promise to pray this sorrow -may be spared me. God has endowed the one I love with a soul so -elevated that it would be easy to make her as pious as an angel.... And -I love her so much!” - -“My poor friend! I do not know that I shall be permitted to pray at -once for you in yonder world. If I can, I will pray God you may be -united with her, if this union will render you happy—happy, understand -me, in the Christian sense of the word; that is to say, happy and -better, both of you.” - -In the middle of the night, Victor requested me to go into the -next chamber for some papers he wanted. He availed himself of this -opportunity to recommend me to Louis’ care, as I afterwards learned. - -“Agnes,” said he, “has exhausted her strength in taking care of me -so many months. Her physical and mental strength are now merely -factitious. It is the very excess of her grief that sustains her. As -soon as I am gone, she will be sensible of her weakness. I fear the -reaction may prove fatal to her. I implore you to take her and her -mother to some place near you in the country. Find them a temporary -residence that is healthy and pleasant. Change of scene and pure -country air will do her more good than anything else, especially if you -add the benefit of your efforts to console her, on which I depend.” - -Louis made the required promise.... But these recollections are still -too painful. Alas! they will always be so. You will excuse me from -dwelling on them. - -The next day, I lost the companion of my life. That pure soul, so full -of intelligence, sweetness, and energy, took flight for heaven, leaving -me for ever sad and desolate upon earth.... Oh! how happy are those -women who to the very hour of death are permitted by God to retain the -companionship of a husband tenderly loved, and worthy of being so!... - -The first moments of overpowering grief had scarcely passed before -that which Victor had foreseen took place. All at once I lost my -apparent strength. I was weighed down with a dull despair. My poor -mother trembled for my life. Throughout the day I sat motionless in an -arm-chair, interested in no person or subject. My lips alone made an -effort from time to time to murmur the words at once so bitter and so -sweet: “O Lord! thou gavest him to me; thou hast taken him away; thy -will be done!” That was my only prayer. I repeated it from morning till -night. Thus lifting my soul heavenward, I found strength to resist the -temptation to rebel which constantly assailed me. - -During that sad time, Louis’ sister joined him in unceasing attentions -to me. Louis gave himself entirely up to my service, and notified Mr. -Smithson he should be absent several days longer from the manufactory. -You can realize how generous this was in him. To absent himself at a -time his dearest interests were at stake, and leave the field clear for -his enemies, was making an heroic sacrifice to friendship. It was not -till a subsequent period I fully appreciated it. At that time, I was -wholly absorbed in myself. Extreme grief becomes a kind of passion, -and, like all passions, it renders us selfish. - -When Louis at last saw me a little calmer, he told me of Victor’s wish. -“His last request was,” said he, “that you should go into the country -awhile with your mother. The air is purer there, and you will regain -your strength.” - -I exclaimed against the proposition. I declared I would not leave the -house in which Victor died—where everything recalled his presence. -Louis insisted, urged on by the physicians, who declared the change -indispensable. - -“Victor himself implores you through me to consent,” said he. “Remember -you will be still obeying him in so doing.” - -I ended by yielding to their persuasions. “But where shall I go?” said -I. - -“To St. M——, where you will be near me. My sister went there -yesterday, and found you pleasant lodgings. You can easily go that far -with your mother and sister.” - -We went there the next day. It was Louis who made all the arrangements, -and with how much solicitude and affection I need not say. At length -he left us to resume his duties at the mill. The last favor I begged -of him was to come and see me often, but not to mention to any one -the place of my retirement. Like all who are in real affliction, -solitude alone pleased me. The first time for a week, Louis’ thoughts, -after leaving me, recurred to the subjects that had absorbed his mind -previous to Victor’s death. He began to be alarmed. He wondered if -Eugénie had not forgotten him, if she really loved him, if Mr. Smithson -was disposed to regard him with more or with less favor, and if Albert -had not profited by his absence to injure him in the estimation of -Eugénie’s family. But he could only form conjectures as to all this. - -Now that these events have passed away, I can seize all the details at -a glance. I shall therefore tell you many things Louis was necessarily -ignorant of when he returned to the manufactory. He would have trembled -had he been aware of them. He had scarcely left his post in order to -be with Victor during his last moments, when his enemies, thinking the -time propitious, resolved to profit by his absence to effect his ruin. -They all set to work at once. - -The deceitful Adams, who had sought to be enlightened as to his -religious doubts, went around telling everybody the engineer had -convinced him of the falseness of his religion, which he resolved to -abjure, and only waited for Louis’ return. People began by laughing at -what he said. They had no great opinion of the fellow. They suspected -his connection with Durand, who was regarded with fear. Some even -thought it was all a trick. But Adams returned to the charge; he spoke -with an air of conviction, he seemed changed. To carry out the scheme, -he apparently broke off with his former friend, Durand. - -All these things were repeated from one to another till they reached -Mr. Smithson’s ears. He had been obliged to superintend the workmen -during Louis’ absence from the manufactory. Already inclined to be -suspicious of the engineer, and ignorant of the ties that bound him to -Victor, Mr. Smithson interiorly accused him of first manifesting an -ultra, I may say, fanatical zeal, and then falling into an indifference -and carelessness unworthy of a consistent man. “Because one of his -friends is ill,” he said, “is that a sufficient reason for abandoning -his post, leaving me overwhelmed with work, and interrupting the -school he had begun?... And all this without making any arrangement -beforehand!... The man is inconsistent!” - -Mr. Smithson was therefore unfavorably disposed towards Louis, when, to -complete his dissatisfaction, came the news, at first doubtful, then -certain, of Adams’ intended abjuration. He became so angry that he -could not contain himself, though generally so capable of self-control. -The interests of his national religion were at stake. He at once became -furious, and made no effort to conceal it. - -Mme. Smithson and Albert of course took Mr. Smithson’s part against -Louis. He was berated as a man of no discretion, deceitful, fanatical, -and a Jesuit in disguise. Mme. Smithson was one of those people who -boldly say: “I don’t think much of a person who changes his religion!” -As if it were not merely reasonable for a man to give up error for -truth when the truth is revealed to him. Albert was influenced by -motives you are already aware of. He was triumphant. He had never -expected such success from so simple a trick. Circumstances had indeed -favored him but too well. Seeing Mr. Smithson in such a frame of mind, -he had no doubts of his dismissing Louis as soon as he returned. - -But his joy was strangely diminished by an unexpected incident. They -were discussing the affair one evening in the _salon_. “Excuse me, -father,” said Eugénie, “for meddling with what does not concern me, but -you know I always was the advocate of a bad cause.” - -Every one looked up at this unexpected interruption. Eugénie was not -a woman to be intimidated when she foresaw opposition: rather, the -contrary. She continued, without being troubled in the least: “I find -a great many are disposed to attack M. Louis, but no one thinks of -defending him. It were to be wished some one would be his defender, -though I do not say his conduct is irreproachable.” - -“Very far from that,” said Mr. Smithson. - -“But if he is not innocent, is he as culpable as he may have appeared? -What is he accused of? He has been absent several days from the mill. -This adds greatly to your labors, my dear father, but his absence is -justifiable to a certain degree. Do you know M. Louis’ history?” - -“As well as you, I suppose, child.” - -“Perhaps not.” - -“Has he related it to you?” - -“No; Fanny took pains to do that. Fanny is at once curious and a -gossip.” - -“My cousin is very severe towards so devoted a servant. Is she -indulgent only to the culpable?” - -This ill-timed interruption gave Eugénie a glimpse of light. “There is -an understanding between them,” she said to herself, “and that explains -many things.” She continued, addressing her father: “M. Louis made -an attempt at his own life. He was drowning, when a brave man and an -invalid—M. Barnier—at the risk of his own life, threw himself into -the river, and saved him. This was the origin of their friendship, -which does honor to M. Louis and to the person so devoted to him. This -M. Barnier is dying to-day.” - -“Who told you so, my child?” asked Mr. Smithson. - -“The newspapers from town allude to it. M. Barnier is a well-known man, -and esteemed by his very enemies themselves. It is to be with him M. -Louis is gone. Does not such a motive justify his absence?” - -Mr. Smithson had attentively listened to what his daughter said. If we -except what related to religious subjects, he was an impartial and even -kindly disposed man. “With such a reason for his absence,” he replied, -“I shall cease to regard it as inexcusable. Nevertheless, he ought to -have made me aware of what had taken place. He simply said he was going -to stay with a sick friend: that was not a sufficient explanation. What -I dislike in the man is his dissimulation.” - -“I acknowledge there may be some reason for distrust,” resumed Eugénie, -“but he has given no proofs of duplicity since he came here that I am -aware of. He certainly has done nothing without consulting you, father.” - -“He did, to be sure, propose several things he wished to do; but did he -reveal his real aim, his ultimate object?” - -“Had he any?” - -“Had he any?... The Adams affair proves it. The evening-school and the -library were only founded to propagate Catholicism.” - -“With what object?” - -“The aim of these enthusiasts is always the same. They wish to impart -their belief to others, that they may afterwards exercise authority -over their disciples. Louis and the _curé_ are linked together. Their -project is to make my manufactory like a convent, where they can reign -in spite of me. But I will settle that matter.” - -“And you will do right, uncle,” said Albert. “There is no tyranny more -artful and more encroaching than that of the priesthood.” - -“I did not know my cousin detested the clergy to such a degree,” said -Eugénie, with an air of mockery and disdain which convinced Albert -he had made a fresh blunder. “I thought, on the contrary, you had a -sincere respect for priests. It seems I was deceived....” - -“Enough on this point,” said Mr. Smithson. “I will see Adams, and -learn from him what has occurred. And I will speak to the engineer -accordingly when he returns.” - -This conversation took place in the evening. Mme. Smithson was present. -She did not speak, but was extremely irritated. Eugénie little thought -she had caused her mother as great an affliction as she had ever -experienced in her life. For ten, perhaps fifteen, years, Mme. Smithson -had clung to the idea of a match between her daughter and nephew. She -had taken comfort in the thought of uniting the two beings she loved -best on earth. Besides, it was a good way, and the only one in her -power, of securing to Albert a fortune he had need of; for the career -he had embraced, and the tastes he had imbibed, made it necessary he -should be wealthy, which was by no means the case. This plan till -lately had been confined to Mme. Smithson’s own breast; but, since -Albert’s arrival, she had ventured to allude to it in her conversations -with him. The latter responded with enthusiastic gratitude, expressing -an ardent desire to have the proposed union realized. Alas! from the -beginning there had been one difficulty which fretted Mme. Smithson. -Would her husband approve of her scheme? As Albert approached manhood, -this consent became more and more doubtful. Mr. Smithson treated his -nephew kindly, but had no great opinion of him, and did not like him. -How overcome this obstacle? There was only one way: Eugénie herself -must desire the marriage. Mr. Smithson never opposed his daughter, -and would then overlook his antipathy to the object of her choice. -Things were having a very different tendency. Mme. Smithson had long -tried to hide the fact from herself, but she must at last acknowledge -it: Eugénie manifested no partiality for her cousin. This evening’s -occurrence banished all illusion. She not only saw Eugénie had not -the least thought of marrying Albert, but she suspected her of loving -another, ... a man Mme. Smithson could no longer endure. He had in her -eyes three faults, any one of which would have set her against him: -he was her dear nephew’s rival, he had no property, and he was grave -and pious to a degree that could not fail to be repulsive to a trivial -woman and a half-way Christian like her. To complete her despair, -Albert came secretly to see her that very same evening. - -“Aunt,” said he, “our affairs are getting on badly!... Confess that I -had more penetration than you were willing to allow.” - -“What! what! what do you mean? Do you think Eugénie loves that -spendthrift, that bigot?... Nonsense! she only wishes to tease you.” - -“I am of a different opinion. I have long been aware of her fancy for -him. What she said in his favor this evening was very judicious and -moderate, but there was in the tone of her voice, ... in her look, a -something I could not mistake. For the first time, she betrayed her -feelings. I tell you she loves him!” - -“Why, that would be dreadful!” - -“I foresaw it.” - -“Foresaw!—such a thing?” - -“Eugénie is romantic, and the rogue puts on the air of a hero of -romance.” - -“Set your heart at rest, Albert. I promise to watch over your -interests. I assure you, in case of need, I will bring your uncle -himself to your aid.” - -“I will talk to Eugénie to-morrow morning,” she said to herself. “I -shall never believe in such presumption till she confesses it herself.” - -The next morning, Mme. Smithson went, full of anxiety, to her -daughter’s chamber. Eugénie was that very moment thinking of Louis. -The more she examined her own heart, the more clearly she saw herself -forced to acknowledge her esteem for him. She had inwardly condemned -him many times, but had as often found her suspicions were groundless. -Without showing the least partiality for Louis, she could not help -seeing he was intelligent, energetic, and sincerely pious. She even -acknowledged that, of all the men she had ever met, not one was to be -compared to him; he was superior to them all in every respect. From -this, it was not a long step to confess him worthy of her affection. -But he—did he love her?... Not a word, not a sign, had escaped him -to indicate such a thing, and yet there was in his bearing towards -her, in the tone of his voice, and in the value he attached to her -good opinion, a something that assured her she had made a profound -impression on him. But, then, why this coldness so rigorously -maintained?... He was poor—and through his own fault—while she was -rich. His coldness perhaps resulted from extreme delicacy. - -Eugénie cut short her reflections by repeating: “Does he love me?... It -may be. Do I love him?... I dare not say no. But we are in a peculiar -position. If I find him, at the end of the account, worthy of being -my husband, doubtless I should have to make the advances! But I like -originality in everything. My father alone excites my fears. M. Louis -would not be his choice. Why does he show himself so zealous a Catholic -at present? Why not wait till he is married—if married we ever are? -Then he could be as devoted to the church as he pleases.” - -Mme. Smithson was hardly to be recognized when she entered her -daughter’s room. She was generally affable and smiling, but now her -face was lowering and agitated. She was evidently very nervous, as -was usually the case when she had some disagreeable communication to -make to her daughter. Eugénie at once divined what was passing in her -mother’s heart. She was careful, however, not to aid her in unburdening -herself. - -After speaking of several things of no importance, Mme. Smithson -assumed an unconcerned air—a sign of her extreme embarrassment—and -broached the subject with a boldness peculiar to timid people when they -see there is no way of receding. - -“I must confess that was a strange notion of yours last evening.” - -“What notion do you refer to, mother?” said Eugénie, in a tone at once -dignified and ingenuous. She felt the storm was coming. As usual on -such occasions, she laid aside the familiar _thou_ for the respectful -_you_. There was a spice of mischief in her tactics which I do not -intend to applaud. She thus redoubled her mother’s embarrassment, and -by the politeness of her manner increased her hesitation. - -“What notion do I refer to?... You need not ask that. You know -well enough what I allude to.... Yes; why should you, without any -obligation, set yourself up to defend a man who is no relation of ours -or even one of our friends, but a mere employé of your father’s; one -who suits him certainly, but who is likely to cause trouble in the -house; ... who is, in short, a dangerous man?...” - -“You astonish me to the last degree, mother! I never, no, never should -have suspected M. Louis of dangerous designs, or that he even had the -power to disturb us.” - -“Raillery, my dear, is in this case quite out of place. What secret -motive have you for undertaking his defence?” - -“I? I have none. What motive could I have?” - -“Then, why take sides against us?” - -“Why, I have not taken sides against you!” - -“How can you deny it?” - -“I do deny it, mother, with your permission. My father imputed -intentions to M. Louis which perhaps he never had. I merely observed it -would be more just to wait for proofs before condemning him. That is -all, and a very small affair.” - -“Wait for proofs before condemning him, do you say?... Well, he has -them. Adams has confessed everything.... He acknowledges that M. Louis -endeavored to convert him, lent him books, taught him the catechism, -and, what was worse, dwelt a great deal on hell as a place he could -not fail to go to if he, Adams, remained a Protestant. The poor fellow -has not recovered from his terror yet!... Your father has talked to -him very kindly, given him good advice, mingled with kind reproaches. -Adams was affected, and ended by saying he never wished to see M. Louis -again; and he did a lucky thing!” - -“It seems to me that Adams is either a simpleton or a hypocrite.” - -“Eugénie, that is altogether too much!” - -“I do not see anything very astonishing in what I have said. Please -listen to me a moment, mother. To hesitate between two creeds, without -being able to decide on either, seems to me a proof of weakness. But -if, on the contrary, Adams invented this story of his conversion in -order to yield at a favorable moment and gain the good-will of my -father more than ever, would not this show a duplicity and artfulness -that could only belong to a hypocrite?...” - -“Adams could not have invented such a thing. It would have rendered him -liable to dismissal.” - -“I beg your pardon, mother. Adams did not risk anything. The course he -has taken proves it. And that is precisely what makes me distrust him.” - -“How can you impute such motives to anybody!... Adams has renounced his -intention, because he was convinced by your father’s arguments. He has -behaved like an honest man!” - -“Excuse me, mother; we are in more danger than ever of not -understanding each other. Why! you seem to rejoice that Adams has -returned to his errors! You appear to think his course very natural, -and to approve of it!” - -“Yes, I do approve of it; people ought not to change their religion.” - -“You might as well say a person ought not to acknowledge his error when -he is mistaken. I am by no means of your opinion, though I am not very -religious.” - -“_A propos_ of religion, my dear, you seem to have taken a strange -turn. You have grown so rigorous as to astonish me; there is not -an ultra notion you do not approve of. You have completely changed -since.... But I will not make you angry.” - -“Since M. Louis came here?... A pretty idea. But I am not surprised.” - -“You said it yourself, but it is true. Since that man came here, you -have changed every way. I know not why or wherefore, but it is a fact. -Your cousin himself has observed it, and it grieves him. You are no -longer towards him as you once were. You keep him at a distance. You -are not lively as you used to be. You only talk of things serious -enough to put one asleep.” - -“It is nearly ten years since I was brought in such close contact with -my cousin as now. I was very young then. I have grown older and more -sensible. Why has not he done the same?” - -“Your sarcasm is malicious and unmerited. Albert is a charming fellow.” - -“Oh! I agree with you! But this very fact injures him in my estimation. -A charming fellow is one who requires an hour to dress; is skilled in -paying a multitude of compliments he does not mean; has a petty mind -that only takes interest in trifles; in short, a useless being it is -impossible to rely on. When Albert came, he seemed to be conscious -of the absurdity of being a charming fellow. He tried to put on a -semblance of gravity, but it did not last long. Once more the proverb -held good: _Chasser le naturel, il revient au galop_.”[197] - -“Wonderful, my dear. You have every qualification for a _dévote_: -especially one characteristic—maliciousness. Poor Albert! how you have -set him off! Happily, there is not a word of truth in all you have -said. He a man on whom you cannot rely! He has a heart of gold.” - -“I do not dispute the goodness of his heart. I have never put it to the -proof.” - -“What a wicked insinuation! How dreadful it is to always believe the -worst of everybody.” - -“Well, let it be so: he has a kind heart!... But is there any depth to -him?” - -“As much as is necessary. This would be a sad world if we were always -obliged to live with moody people like some one I know of. I really -believe he is your beau ideal.” - -“I do not say that; but, if he is really what he appears to be, he -merits my good opinion. I wish all I live with resembled him.” - -“Well done! A little more, and you will tell me he is the realization -of all your dreams.” - -“I do not know him well enough to accord him all your words seem to -imply.” - -“At all events, you know him well enough to take an interest in him, -and much more than would suit your father.... Your cousin even was -scandalized at your daring to defend him against your father, who had -good reason to blame him.” - -“My cousin would do well to attend to his own affairs, and not meddle -with mine. If he came here to watch me, sneer at me, and give me -advice, he had better have remained in Paris.” - -“He came here hoping to find the friend of his childhood glad to see -him, and ready to show him the affection he merits. Everybody does not -judge him as severely as you do. I know many girls who....” - -“Who would be glad to marry him! Well, they may have him!” - -“That is too much! The son of my sister whom I love with all my heart! -A child whom I brought up and love almost as much as I do you!” - -“But, mother, I am not displeased because you love him. I do not -dislike him. I wish him well, and would do him all the good in my -power. But when I make choice of a husband, I shall choose one with -qualities Albert will never possess.” - -“I have suspected it for a long time. Yes; I thought long ago, seeing -the turn your mind was taking, that, when you married, it would be -foolishly.” - -“What do you mean by foolishly?” - -“Marrying a man without property, or one with eccentric notions, or -some prosy creature of more or less sincerity. I am very much afraid -you are infatuated about an individual who has all these defects -combined. Fortunately.... You understand me....” - -“What, mother?” - -“Yes; we shall watch over your interests, your father and I, and if -you are disposed to make a foolish match, like one that occurs to me, -we shall know how to prevent it. We shall not hesitate if obliged to -render you happy in spite of yourself.” - -“Render me happy?... At all events, it would not be by forcing me to -marry Albert.” - -“Anyhow, you shall marry no one else.... It is I who say so, and your -father will show you he is of my opinion.” - -Upon this, Mme. Smithson went out, violently shutting the door after -her. Like all people of weak character, she must either yield or fall -into a rage. It was beyond her ability to discuss or oppose anything -calmly. - -It was all over! All her plans were overthrown! She must bid farewell -to her dearest hopes! She must no longer think of retaining Albert -and sending for his mother—for Mme. Smithson’s desires went as -far as that! Her dream was to unite the two families by marrying -Eugénie and Albert. Instead of that, what a perspective opened before -her!—a marriage between her daughter and Louis, which roused all her -antipathies at once! She was beside herself at the bare thought of -seeing herself connected with a son-in-law she could not endure, and -who was no less repulsive to Mr. Smithson.... Her maternal heart was -kind when no one contradicted her, but there was in its depths, as -often happens in weak natures, a dash of spitefulness. Having returned -to her chamber, Mme. Smithson began to reflect. She seldom gave herself -up to reflection, and then only when she was troubled, as is the case -with some people. As might be supposed, she was too excited to reflect -advantageously. - -“Oh! oh!” she said to herself, “Eugénie dares resist me the only time I -ever asked her to obey! She despises Albert. She speaks scornfully of -him! And that is not sufficient: she carries her audacity so far as to -sing the praises of a man I detest!... See what it is to be indulgent -to one’s children! The day comes when, for a mere caprice, they tread -under foot what was dearest to you.... Well, since she will do nothing -for me, I will do nothing for her.... She rejects Albert. I will have -the other one driven away.... Since that meddler came, everything has -gone wrong here.... What a nuisance that man is! If he had not come -here, everything would have gone on as I wished.... I will go in search -of my husband. It will be easy to have the engineer sent off, after -committing so many blunders. When he is gone, we shall have to endure -my daughter’s ill-humor, but everything comes to an end in this world. -The time will come when, realizing her folly, Eugénie will listen to -reason.” - -The interview between Mr. Smithson and his wife took place a little -while after. What was said I never knew. Mme. Smithson alluded to it -once or twice at a later day, but merely acknowledged she did very -wrong. The remembrance was evidently painful, and she said no more. - -Eugénie at once foresaw this private interview between her parents. The -conversation she had just had with her mother only served to enlighten -her more fully as to the state of her feelings. Forced to express her -opinion of Albert and Louis, she had spoken from her heart. She was -herself in a measure astonished at seeing so clearly she did not love -Albert—that there was a possibility of loving Louis—that perhaps -she already loved him.... And she also comprehended more clearly all -the difficulties such an attachment would meet with. Her mother’s -opposition had hitherto been doubtful. It was now certain, and the -consequence was to be feared. - -“My mother is so much offended,” she said to herself, “that she will -try to unburden her mind to my father at once, and perhaps influence -him against me. Before the day is over, she will tell him all I said, -and the thousand inferences she has drawn from it. This interview fills -me with alarm! I wish I knew what they will decide upon, if they come -to any decision....” - -Eugénie tried in vain to get some light on the point, but was not able -to obtain much. The interview took place. Mr. Smithson seemed vexed and -thoughtful after his wife left the office. Mme. Smithson went directly -to give the porter orders to send the engineer to her husband as soon -as he arrived. Louis had sent word the evening before he should return -the following day. - - TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -SONNET. - -THE RUINS OF EMANIA (NEAR ARMAGH). - -BY AUBREY DE VERE. - - - Why seek we thus the living ‘mid the dead? - Beneath yon mound—within yon circle wide— - Emania’s palace, festive as a bride - For centuries six, had found its wormy bed - When Patrick lifted here his royal head, - And round him gazed. Perhaps the Apostle sighed - Even then, to note the fall of mortal pride— - Full fourteen hundred years since then have fled! - Then, too, old Ulster’s hundred kings were clay; - Then, too, the Red Branch warriors slept forlorn; - Autumn, perhaps, as now, a pilgrim gray, - Her red beads counted on the berried thorn, - Making her rounds; while from the daisied sod - The undiscountenanced lark upsoared, and praised her God. - - - - -APPEAL TO WORKINGMEN. - -FROM THE FRENCH OF LEON GAUTIER IN THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE. - -DISCOURSE PRONOUNCED JANUARY 13, 1873, TO INAUGURATE THE LECTURES -INTENDED FOR THE WORKING-CLASSES.[198] - - -TO-DAY we inaugurate the lectures specially consecrated to workingmen. -We are full of joyous hopes, and believe that this work of light -will be at the same time a work of reconciliation, of love, and of -peace. The cross, which we have placed conspicuously in all our places -of reunion—the cross, that we elevate and display everywhere as a -magnificent standard—the cross, that we will never consent to hide, -indicates clearly what is our faith and what is our aim. We wish to -enlighten your understandings, dilate your hearts, direct your wills -in the way of the good, the beautiful, and the true. In a word, we -wish to conquer you for Christ, and we say it here with a frankness -which profoundly abhors all cunning of speech. You will give us credit -for sincerity, which you have always loved; for, as has been said by -a great contemporary orator,[199] “The people are not deceived; they -feel when they are approached with faith in them and in their eminent -dignity.” - -We come, then, to you with this cross of Constantine, which has -converted the world. This glorious sign we have surrounded with rays, -to show you that light proceeds from Christianity, as the stream flows -from its source, and the beams radiate from a star. If possible, we -would have adopted as a flag the beautiful cross in the catacomb of -S. Pontian, from which spring roses—symbols of joy. We would have -chosen it, to show you that in Christ is found not only the repose of -the enlightened understanding, but also the repose, the joy, and the -alleluia of the satisfied heart. It is by this sign we will conquer. - -In this first lecture, which will serve as an humble preface to the -discourses of so many eminent orators, we intend only to take up the -working question, to tell you our entire thought on the subject, -to open to you our whole heart. Do not hope to hear an academic -speech; do not expect those vain compliments to which you have been -accustomed from flatterers who did not love you. We say at first and -without circumlocution that between Christian society and the working -world there exists to-day a certain misunderstanding, and it is this -misunderstanding we would wish to dissipate, and we beg of the divine -Workman of Nazareth to direct our words, blessed by him, to the -understanding and heart of the workmen of Paris. - -In the first part of this discourse, which will be brief, we will say -what we are; in the second, what we wish; and in the third, we will -reply to certain objections to the church which are current among -workingmen, and cause the deplorable misunderstanding from which we -wish to deliver your minds and hearts, equally oppressed. It is time -that the truth should free you. - - -I. - -In order that you may better understand what we are, we wish to -commence by showing you what we are not. - -We are not politicians; this we desire to declare openly. Never, never -will there be pronounced in this precinct one word that may even -remotely touch upon our old or recent discords. We will never deserve -to be called partisans. Whatever may be our intimate convictions (and -we have the right to have them), we only wish to be and we will only -be Christians. We suppose there may be in the bosom of all the avowed -parties sincere Catholics who are by no means _independents_. When we -tread upon the threshold of her basilicas, the church, which rises -before us, does not ask if we are monarchists or republicans, but only -if we believe in the eternal Word, who created heaven and earth, who -became man in the crib of Bethlehem, and who saved us on a cross. Thus -will we do, and the only popular song you will hear in this place will -be the Credo; come, come, and sing it with us. - -Thank God, we do not belong to the group, too numerous, of pretended -conservatives, who only see in the labor question a painful -preoccupation which might trouble the calm of their digestion; who do -not wish to impose upon themselves any real sacrifice, and are easily -astonished that the working-classes complain of their sufferings. We -are not like the fashionable and delicate egoists who for several -centuries have given the fatal example of indifference, of doubt, -and of negation in religion, who have followed Voltaire, who have -wickedly laughed in the face of outraged truth, who have torn God from -the heart of the workman, and who nevertheless persist in affirming -that “religion is good for the people”—men of refinement, who to-day -edit journals full of talent, where on the first page is offered -ultra-conservative articles, and on the second ultra-obscene romances. -No; we are not of this class. Away with those sceptics whose fears make -them pretend to have the faith! Away with those who doubt the people, -and who do not love them! - -We are not of those who are led to you by this vile fear or by a still -viler interest; we are not of those who see in you an armed force -before which they must tremble, or an electoral majority before whom -they must kneel. We will never come to solicit your votes, and we are -bent upon serving you with absolute disinterestedness. Briefly, we are -for you and will always be your friends and servants, but will never -condescend to court you. Besides, the victory which we desire is not -that which can be gained by force, consequently we do not count on -force. We only wish to win your understandings with our faith, your -hearts with our love. - -We do not place the golden age in a past too superstitiously loved. -Whatever affection I may feel in my heart for those dear middle ages, -to which I have consecrated all my studies and all my life, I do not -find them sufficiently Christian to be the only ideal. We know that -those centuries, so differently judged, were the theatre of a gigantic -struggle between paganism, more and more conquered, and the church, -more and more victorious; and we draw a fundamental distinction -between the chivalry that so heroically defended the truth and the -feudality that did it such injury. We do not ignore the fact that -paganism, in dying, left to the Christian ages, as a frightful legacy, -the traditions of slavery, impurity, and violence; and we confess that -Christianity could not in one day decapitate the hundred-headed hydra. - -If we regard especially the workmen’s guilds or corporations, we will -go so far as to own that their organization, so admirably Christian -in some respects, nevertheless left too much room for certain abuses -that we hate; and, as a decisive example, we assert that the material -condition of the members was not then what a Christian heart would wish -to-day. We have the religion, not the superstition, of the middle ages; -of that epoch so unworthily calumniated we preserve all the elements -truly Christian, and reject the others. We recognize in that rude and -laborious age the dawn, the beautiful dawn, of Catholic civilization -so scandalously interrupted by the Renaissance. In those centuries, so -slighted and misunderstood, we salute above all the cycle of the saints. - -We ardently love the sublime period when S. Benedict gave to a hundred -thousand men and to twenty generations the order and signal to clear -the minds and the fields, equally sterile; when S. Francis conversed -with the birds of the air, reconciled all nature with humanity -Christianized, and gave to his contemporaries the love of “our lady, -poverty!” We love the period made joyful by the death of slavery under -the font of the church; when all the institutions of the state and of -the family were energetically Catholic; when royalty was represented by -a S. Louis, love by a S. Elizabeth, science by a S. Thomas of Aquinas. -But our soul has still stronger wings, and would fly still higher. We -wish still more, we wish still better, and we will build up the future -with two kinds of materials—with the past undoubtedly, but also with -our desires, which are vast. - -We are not of those who ingenuously think the world at present is -organized as one would wish. Doubtless there are in the working-class -of our time illegitimate desires, guilty jealousies, unrighteous -thirsts; but we also know all that the world of laborers can offer to -the eyes of God, of cruel sufferings, of noble sighs, and of honest -tears. God preserve us from ever laughing at one of those griefs, -even should they be merited! On the contrary, we hope that Christian -society will one day come, through peace and prayer, the sacraments and -love, to a better disposition, a more profound pacification, a happier -distribution of riches, a wider-spread prosperity, and to something -more resembling the reign of God. But, alas! we are convinced that -the definitive repartition and equality will only be consummated in -eternity. Those who do not believe in a future life will never see -their desire of infinite justice satisfied—they condemn themselves to -this punishment. - -We do not despise the work of the hands; far from it, we seek to -place the mechanic close to the artist. For centuries, there have -been Pyrenees between art and industry; these Pyrenees we wish to -remove, and we will succeed. In truth, the workman is an august being; -and the title of his nobility will be easily found in the depths of -faith and of theology. Listen: the eternal type, the adorable type, -of the workman is the Heavenly Father, the _Faber divinus_, who, not -content with making obedient matter spring from nothing, like a -sublime goldsmith chiselled it into a splendid jewel. Beauty, Goodness, -personal and living Truth—such, to the letter, was the first Workman. -God joined, framed, hewed, cemented, carved the whole universe, the -firmament, the stars. His gracious and magnificent hand, armed with an -invisible chisel, is discovered in every part of the creation which -has been wonderfully sculptured by this marvellous Workman. Workmen -of every condition, here contemplate the work of your Model, of your -Master, of your divine Patron. The sombre forests, the transparent -foliage, the flowers whose wonders are only revealed by the microscope, -the mountains, the ocean, the infinite depths—all, all were made by -the great Workman. - -Incomparable Artificer! he conceived the plan of all these beings in -His eternal Word, and one day, to realize this design, he pronounced -these words: “Be they!” and they were. But it was not enough to show -himself the workman; God feared, if I may be allowed so to speak, that -his calling might be despised; and he desired so truly to be a workman -that of a God he made himself a carpenter as well as man. He chose a -noble position, perfectly characteristic, and, with his divine hands, -sawed, planed, polished, worked the wood that in the first hour of -the world he had worked in the design of the creation. Workmen, my -brethren, it is not a fable, it is not a symbol: Jesus, the Son of God, -was the apprentice, the companion, the workman, the carpenter; and the -venerable monuments of tradition show him to us making ploughs, perhaps -crosses. What can I not say to you of the Holy Ghost, considered as -the Workman of the spiritual world, which he had really cemented, -hewed, and framed? What can I not explain of the beautiful realities -of symbolism? With regret I leave this workshop of the church, and now -content myself with the workshop of the creation, and with that of -Nazareth. - -But you question me more earnestly, and ask what I think of the -contemporary workman. And I reply that, notwithstanding his faults and -errors, I feel for him a great love, invincibly aroused by Christ. Yes; -I close my eyes, I abstract myself. I forget so many ignoble flames, so -much blood, the pure blood so sacrilegiously shed. I wish to separate -my thoughts from so many ruins, so many scandals. I come to you, pagan -workman, rebellious to God, and, in the midst of your rebellious and -Satanic orgies, I approach you, who formerly were baptized, and place -my hand upon your heart, that I may not despair. Your mind is darkened, -your will misled; but there are yet some pulsations which allow me -still to hope, and I willingly repeat the words of that great bishop -who has devoted so much time to the social question: “The people love -that which is beautiful, they understand what is great; know that they -have high aspirations, and that they seek to rise.” And again: “The -workman of our day has eliminated the generous ideas from the Gospel, -and yet borrows from Christianity his noble and holy sentiments.” - -Nothing is truer; if chemistry could analyze souls, what Christian -elements would be found in those of workmen! I readily see in each the -admirable material of one of those poor men so powerfully sketched -by Victor Hugo. He speaks of a miserable fisherman on the sea-shore, -who already has five children, perishing from hunger; when one day at -market, he sees and adopts two orphans poorer than he, and thus he -reasons: “We have five children, these will make seven; we will mingle -them together, and they will climb at night on our knees. They will -live, and will be brother and sister to the five others. When God sees -that we must feed this little boy and this little girl with the others, -he will make us catch more fish, that is all!” Workmen of Paris, read -these lines; they are worth more than those of the _Année terrible_, -and paint you exactly. You are capable of this sublime devotion, and I -recall you to the true nobility of your nature. - -You know now what we are not, and I think that we have never failed for -an instant to be truly sincere. On the contrary, we have designedly -multiplied all the difficulties with perfect frankness. It is scarcely -necessary to add that we are not of those who disdain the social and -labor questions, and who, while hiding themselves in the graceful -domain of fancy, repeat with Alfred de Musset: - - “If two names by chance mingle in my song, - They will always be Ninette or Ninon.” - -This charming indifference is but a form of selfishness. Let us go -further, and although in our quality of Catholics (the only nobility, -the only title to which we are really attached) we place a higher -estimate on the future life than the present, we do not think only of -the heavenly destiny of the workman. For more than eighteen hundred -years, the church has not ceased for an instant to occupy herself with -the temporal condition of all the working-classes. In her firmament, -there are fourteen magnificent constellations, which are called the -seven corporal works of mercy, and the seven spiritual. She has made -them all shine on the brow of the workman, and it is for him, above -all, that she preserves the light. This example of our mother, the -church, we always wish to imitate. We know, besides, and it is a -powerful argument, that misery is a poor counsellor, and, if it is -badly accepted, turns souls from duty and eternity. - -Therefore, we declare a mortal war against want and misery, and it is -thus that, in ameliorating the earth, we hope to prepare heaven. - -We wish at this moment our heart were an open book, written in large -characters, and readable for all. Our brothers, the workmen, would see -that we do not blindly accuse them of all the crimes and mistakes of -modern society, and that we very well know how to comment severely on -the other classes. They would there read the programme of our work, -as recently sketched by a great bishop of the holy church: “We should -believe in the people, hope in them, love them.” For you must not -imagine that alms will here suffice, and that the people will accept -them; they exact all our heart, our esteem, our respect. He who does -not respect the workman can do nothing. Thus, this doctrine of respect -for the workman, the truly Christian doctrine, is the base upon which -the Catholic Circle of Workingmen has erected its edifice: may God -prosper and bless it! - -Ask us now with frankness what we are, what is our faith, and listen -well to our reply, which will not be less sincere. - -We believe in one only God, the supreme and sovereign Workman, whom we -do not confound with his work; the work is divine, but it is not God. -Beyond the world, above the world, in an inaccessible region, lives -and reigns from everlasting to everlasting the majesty of God, the -Infinite and Absolute, the Justice and Mercy, the Good, the True, and -the Beautiful, living and personal, the eternal Providence, who watches -over the workmen of all races and of all times. There are among you -some who refuse to this God the free adhesion of their faith, and it is -this negation which we come here to combat with the arms of reason and -of light. All depends upon your faith; even though you may be atheists, -we will love you, but, alas! you will not return our love, and the -reconciliation so ardently desired will not be easily realized; for you -can only be dissolved in love, and God is love. - -We believe, then, in God the Creator, and we bow before him with -the simple and magnificent faith of the humble stone-cutter of whom -Lamartine speaks, and who one day said to our great poet, “I do not -know how other men are made; but, as for me, I cannot see, I do not say -a star, but even an ant, the leaf of a tree, a grain of sand, without -asking who made it; and the reply is, God. I understand it well, for, -before being, it was not; therefore, it could not make itself.” I -quote these beautiful words with great joy under the roof of a chapel -especially consecrated to workmen. Meditate upon them, workmen, who -listen to me; and, if you are republicans, respect, love, believe in -what this republican of 1848 respected, loved, and believed. Then the -workman believed in God; this time must return, and for this necessary -work we will expend our time, our strength, our life. But it is not -enough to believe in God; we must render to the Creator the act of the -creature, and offer him respect, homage, confidence, prayer, and love. -Blessed be this little chapel of _Jésus-Ouvrier_, if this night one of -these sentiments will be offered by one of the souls who are here and -listen to me. - -We also believe in the Son of God, the Word, the interior Speech, -the creative Word of the Father, and we affirm that this Word, at a -determined moment of history, came down on our earth that sin had -stained, and that had to be purified. To arrive at God, who is absolute -purity, we must be white or whitened. Are we white of ourselves? Look -into your souls, and answer. Christ, then, came to suffer, to expiate, -to die for us all, and especially for all workmen, past, present, and -to come. Such is the admirable doctrine of the solidarity of expiation; -and it is here that Jesus is again the type of workmen. Oh! who can -complain of work, when God for thirty years submitted to the rigorous -law of manual labor! Who can complain of suffering, when he bore the -weight of all the sufferings of the body and of the human soul! Who -can complain of loneliness and abandonment, when this God was betrayed -by his tenderest friends, and abandoned by all except his mother, who -remained standing at the foot of the cross! Who can complain of dying -in solitude, in grief, and in shame, on the pallet of a garret or the -bed of a hospital, when he, the Creator of so many millions of suns and -of the universe, gave us the example of the most cruel death, after -having offered us as model the most wretched life! Ah! they had reason -to decree the suppression of the crucifix in the hospitals and schools; -for a true workman cannot look at the crucifix without being moved to -the bottom of his soul, without extending to it his arms, without being -profoundly consoled, without crying, “Behold my Master, my Example, and -my Father!” - -We believe that Christianity is contained in these words, which we -should ponder: “Imitation of Christ,” and, in particular, “Imitation -of Jesus the workman.” It is by that means we will be led to give -a place to private virtues, which our adversaries do not wish to -accord to us. Nowadays it is fashionable among workmen and others to -repeat this ill-sounding proposition, which is an exact summary of -Victor Hugo’s last work: that “Society is bad, and man is good.” Do -not believe it; man is an intelligent, free, responsible being, who -can, when he wishes, and with the aid of God, conquer the evil in -him, and do good. As society is only a composition of men, it follows -and will ever be that, if each one of us becomes purer, more humble, -more charitable, better, society will itself become less savage, -more enlightened, better organized, every way improved. In political -economy, we cannot too highly exalt the _rôle_ of private virtues. - -It can be demonstrated mathematically, and it will soon be shown, that -everything socially springs from sacrifice. If you wish to know here -what distinguishes the Catholics from their enemies, I will tell you -very simply that they place duty before right, and that the enemies of -the church place right before duty. Certainly, we believe in right as -strongly as you can; but we make it the logical consequence and, if I -may say so, the reward of accomplished duty. Weigh well this doctrine, -to which is attached the destiny of the world. - -Finally, we believe in the life everlasting. Doubtless it is to be -desired that all men should make every effort for the reign of justice -on this earth; in this, the Catholics have not been wanting, nor ever -will be. But whatever may be the legitimate beauty of these attempts, -I think that the perfection of ideal justice will only be found in the -future life, and that, to make the definitive balance of the fate of -each man, heaven must always enter in the calculation. Here below there -are too many inconsolable sorrows, more suffering than social equality -can ever suppress. Alas! there will always be the passions that ravage -the heart; always ingratitude and abandonment; always sickness and -the death of those whom we love best. Paradise of my God! you will -re-establish the equilibrium; paradise of my God! if you are, above -all, destined for those who have suffered, you will be assuredly opened -to workmen. In this hope I live. - -And here I am led to recapitulate, not without emotion, all the -benefits that Providence has more especially reserved for you. “A -heavenly Father, who merits above all the title of workman, and who -made the earth; a God, who comes on earth to take up the plane, the -saw, and the hammer, and become the prototype of workmen; an infallible -church that for eighteen hundred years has bent over workmen, to -enlighten, console, and love them; an eternity of happiness, where all -present injustice will be superabundantly repaired.” - -Workmen, my brethren, what can you ask further? In the place of God, -what could you make better? Answer. - - -II. - -What do we wish, however? In other words, what can we promise you? - -First of all, there are twenty promises we cannot make you, and it is -our duty here to warn you of our _non possumus_. - -We cannot promise you ever to consider armed revolt as a duty or a -right. We cling with all the strength of our understanding to the -doctrine that even against injustice the protest should be martyrdom, -heroically accepted, heroically submitted. Thus did the first -Christians; they allowed themselves to be slaughtered like beautiful -sheep, covered with generous blood. This sublimely passive resistance -will not take from us, as it never did from them, the liberty of -speech; they died declaring their belief in God, the supreme Principle, -and in the Son of God, the sovereign Expiator. And when fifteen or -eighteen millions had been killed, the church triumphed; she then came -forth from the catacombs, and to her was given the mission to enlighten -the world. - -We do not promise you the liberty of doing evil, and it would be false -if we even appeared to make such an engagement. At this instant, there -are five hundred men in France who pervert, corrupt, putrefy France; -among these are four hundred and ninety writers and ten caricaturists; -according to our idea, it is deplorable that they can freely exercise -their trade, and destroy with impunity so many millions of souls among -young girls, young men, and workmen. - -We cannot with sincerity promise you absolute equality on this earth. -What we can promise you hereafter is that beautiful equality of -Christians who are sprung from the same God-Creator, saved by the -same God-Redeemer, enlightened by the same God-Illuminator. It is the -equality, the profound equality, of baptism and the eucharist; the -equality of souls in trials and reward; it is, in fine, equality in -heaven. As for the other, we will exhaust ourselves in the effort to -obtain it; but we have two obstacles before us, over which we do not -hope to triumph—sickness and vice. No equality is possible with these -two scourges, and they are ineradicable. We cannot promise you either -illegitimate pleasure or even the end of suffering. In taking suffering -from man—which is impossible—they would take from him his resemblance -to God, and consequently his true greatness and his titles to heaven. -The more we suffer, the more we resemble our Father, the more we merit -eternal joy. In suffering will be found the Christian principle, which -we cannot efface from the Gospel, and which is even the essence of -the Christian life. But we promise to suffer with you, and, as the -church has done for eighteen hundred years, to alleviate your sorrows, -to heal your wounds, to satisfy your material and moral hunger, and -to quench your thirst for truth. The fathers of the church invite us -only to consider ourselves as “depositaries of riches.” All property -is but a deposit in our hands—a deposit which we are strictly obliged -to communicate to you, and for which we must render an account to the -Master. - -We promise you also faith, which gives to the soul a noble attribute -and a happy tranquillity. And with faith we can give you what has -been well called the _intelligence of life_—the intelligence thanks -to which the workman knows how to accept inequality, because he sees -in the horizon the beautiful perspective of eternity. We promise you -calmness in certainty, the consolation that every workman can feel -in regarding his divine type; and, in giving you this type, you will -possess a rare treasure, for which your souls are justly eager. - -We promise you the sweetness of work Christianly accepted. Says a -great Christian: “What matters work when Jesus Christ is there?” It is -here that we must recall those splendid verses of the greatest of our -poets—those verses which we would wish to see written on the walls -of all our transfigured workshops: “God, look you—let the senseless -reject—causes to be born of labor two daughters: Virtue which makes -cheerfulness sweet, and Cheerfulness which makes virtue charming.” And -with work, you will conquer also the “courage of life”; for you will be -convinced that all beings are subjected to this great law, and that the -blows of your hammers are the notes of a universal chant. “All work, -each one is at his post; he who governs the state; the savant, who -extends the limits of human explorations; the sculptor, who makes the -statue spring from his chisel; the poet, who sings between his tears -and his sighs; the priest, who punishes and pardons—all, down to you, -poor workman, in your smoky workshop. We are all living stones of that -cathedral formed of souls and of centuries for the glory of God.”[200] -With such thoughts, the day appears short, and labor assumes an -exquisite character. What joy to say, “I work with the entire universe; -I work as God himself has set me the example.” - -Still further, we promise you honor and pride. The Christian workman, -he whom we hope to see multiplied in Paris, loves his trade; he is -proud of it, and would blush if he did not prefer it to all others. He -contemplates with satisfaction the work which he has just accomplished, -and, like the Creator, with innocent simplicity, finds it beautiful. He -attempts without jealousy to equal and even surpass the best workmen -of his kind. He thinks that his country should be the most honorable -and the most honored of all, and that France should be the equal of all -other powers. On this subject he will not jest, but becomes grave. If -he belongs to a corporation, he is enthusiastic for the glory of his -banner, and will not allow it to be insulted. When a man thus respects -his position, he respects himself, and is led to respect God. Such are -the elements of what I willingly term the workman’s honor. - -We promise you peace of conscience, the happiness that follows -accomplished duty, the repose in joy. Every workman among us should -say to his children what one of the most learned men of the day, the -illustrious Emmanuel de Rougé, wrote in his will: “May my children -preserve the faith. Repose of mind and heart can only be found in -Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and the Saviour of man.” To work, says a -contemporary philosopher, is easy; to repose is difficult. Man works -without repose when he labors relying only upon himself; he works and -reposes when he commences by first confiding himself to God. This is -the repose we offer you; it is supremely delicious, and the workman -will be led to repose, in working for others, like good Claude des -Huttes, the stone-cutter of St. Point, the friend of Lamartine, who, -poor as he was, worked gratuitously for those poorer than he, and said -to himself, when retiring to rest: “I have earned a good day’s wages; -for the poor pay me in friendship, my heart pays me in contentment, -and the good God will pay me in mercy.” O greatness of the Christian -workman! - -We promise to labor as unceasingly for the amelioration of your -material condition as for the enlargement of your understanding. Evil -be to us if we did not think of the lodging, warming, nourishment of -the workman’s family; if we would confiscate science to our profit, and -not extend to you the treasure; if we ceased for a single instant to -open schools, asylums, circles, conferences, institutions of peace and -of light. We do not recoil before progress; no light terrifies us. From -texts of the Gospel, we have and ever will produce new consequences, -religious, philosophical, and social; and these conclusions constitute -a progress incessant and ever new—our progress, the only true progress. - -Finally, we promise to organize with your aid the workingmen’s -associations. Association only frightens us when it leans towards -despotism, and we wish principally to give it a religious character. -The confraternity! an old word, which is ridiculed, but which in -reality is a great thing; men reunited for one temporal aim under the -protection of God, their angel guardians, and their celestial patrons; -free men, discussing with all loyalty the interests of their trade, -and knowing how to govern themselves. You will invent nothing better, -provided always that, in this enlarged institution, the Catholic spirit -is harmoniously mingled with the positive rules of social science. We -are in the midst of a crisis which cannot last long; to our mutual aid -and co-operative societies others will succeed more scientifically -organized, and, above all, more Christian. We hope in this future, -and believe it very near; it is the ideal for this world now, and for -heaven hereafter—heaven, which is the great association of the happy -... - - -III. - -It would seem impossible, in the face of such doctrines, that any -misunderstanding could exist between the church and the workman; but -Satan has not understood it in this manner, and objections pour against -the church. - -It has been said repeatedly that the church has done nothing for the -workman. It is the conclusion that Victor Hugo has given to his _Les -Misérables_, and this book has singularly contributed to develop hatred -in the hearts of the people. Numerous writers, animated with the same -ardent hate, affirm daily that, to find society well organized, we must -go back to antiquity, or take 1789 as the place of departure. - -To refute these assertions, we will first say that, in regard to -antiquity, they forget that it was devoured by the frightful cancer -of slavery; among the greater part of nations before Christ, the -workmen were for a long time principally slaves. Manual labor, -which was universally despised, was performed by entire nations -of slaves, who were paid with lashes of the whip. Thus were built -many of the magnificent monuments of the Greeks, and, above all, of -the Romans—monuments which they place so far above those of the -present. I remember, one beautiful October night in the Eternal City, -contemplating with stupefaction the immense mass of the Coliseum; the -gigantic shafts of the columns which lay pell-mell at my feet; the -colossal aqueducts defined against the horizon—all the splendors -which are still grand even in their ruins. A priest who accompanied me -exclaimed, in astonished admiration, “You must acknowledge that the -Christian races have never produced such great works.” - -“‘Tis true,” I replied, “and I thank God for it; for these monuments -you behold were chiefly constructed by the hands of slaves, and we now -only employ free workmen, whom we pay for their labor.” - -We do not sufficiently reflect on this. Obelisks, immense pyramids, -splendid porticos, hippodromes where so much plebeian blood flowed; -theatres where modesty was brutally violated; temples where they -adored so many passions, so many vices; tombs where so much vanity is -revealed; elegant houses, but where the wife and child were so little -valued; astonishing monuments of incomparable art, I admire you much -less since I know by whose hands you were raised. It is not thus that -they have built since the advent of Jesus Christ and the church. - -There is in history a proposition of more than mathematical clearness, -which I declare solemnly to be true; it is that _the church destroyed -slavery_. It is the church that gradually transformed the slave into -the serf; that by degrees compelled society, formed by her, to change -the serf into the freeman. This is established by the records, century -after century, year after year, day after day. It is true, the church -did not improvise in an hour this admirable change, this marvellous -progress; it is not her custom to improvise, and, truth to say, she -improvises nothing; she moves slowly but surely. She never roused the -slaves to revolt, but she recalled the masters to their duty. She -gave great care to the question of marriage between slaves; for, with -intelligent foresight, she knew that the whole future depended on it: -briefly, in 300, there were millions of slaves—in 1000, not one. - -Everywhere existed admirable confraternities of workmen, who worked -without pay on the numerous cathedrals scattered throughout Europe; -thousands of men labored gratuitously for God, or nobly earned their -living in working for their brothers. Will you deny this fact? I defy -you to do it. The church conquered for the workmen two inappreciable -things—liberty and dignity; and, for so many benefits, she too -often receives but ingratitude and forgetfulness. One day, while -rambling through the wide streets of Oxford, that city of twenty-four -colleges, formerly founded by the church, and which live to-day on -those foundations of our fathers, I inquired if there could be found -a Catholic Church. I was conducted into a kind of room, narrow and -low, which many of your employers would not use for a factory or shop. -That was what they condescended to lease the holy church of God in the -splendid city, built with her hands, and bathed in her sweat. It is -thus with the working-class, which is also a creation of the church; -its mother is forgotten, and it is with difficulty that she is left -a little corner in the workshop; but it is there we will endeavor to -replace her with honor, and then each one of you can say with the poet -Jasmin: “I remember that, when I was young, the church found me naked, -and clothed me; now that I am a man, I find her naked, in my turn I -will cover her.” It is this cry we wish to hear from you. - -Again, we hear that “the church is not the same to the rich and to the -poor.” When will it be proved, when can it be shown, that there are -two Creeds, two Decalogues, two codes of morality, two families of -sacraments, two dogmas, two disciplines, two altars—one for the use -of the great ones of the earth, the other destined for the poor? It -can never be done. They can bring forward a certain number of facts; -they can cite abuses more or less deplorable, and which we condemn -implacably; but the equality remains entire. I go further, and affirm -that the church has unceasingly favored the humble, the weak, and the -laborers. They are her privileged ones, and she has well shown it. - -Another objection current among the working-class, another calumny -which has triumphed over the minds of the people, unworthily deceived, -is the scandalous assertion that “the church is the enemy of -instruction,” and this abominable falsehood is, above all, applied to -primary instruction. Now, it is mathematically proved that, before the -establishment of the church, there did not exist in the much-lauded -antiquity a single school for workmen. This first proposition is -clearly evident, and it is not less mathematically demonstrated that, -since the advent of the church, “free schools have been attached to -each parish, and confided to the direction of the clergy.” Such are -the words of a learned man of our day, who has best appreciated this -question, and who, in order to establish his conclusion, appeals to -texts the most luminously authentic.[201] We will not pause here to -speak of the profound love of Christ for the ignorant—that love which -shines forth in every page of the Gospel; nor will we linger over the -epoch of the persecution of the early church; but we will transport -ourselves to France in the first period of our history. - -At the commencement of the VIth century, the Council of Vaison declares -that for a _long time_ in Italy “the priests had brought up young -students in their own houses, and instructed them like good fathers in -faith and sound knowledge.” In the year 700, a Council of Rouen goes -further, and commands _all Christians_ to send their children to the -city school: is not that instruction Christianly free and Christianly -obligatory? Meanwhile, Charlemagne appears, and watches energetically -that these noble lights shall not be extinguished, or that they may be -relighted. In 797, a capitulary of Theodulph offers these admirable -words: “That the priests should establish schools in the villages -and boroughs, and that no pay should be exacted from the children in -return.” The same decrees are found in the canons of the Council of -Rome in 826, in the bulls of Pope Leo IV., and in the capitulary of -Hérard, Archbishop of Tours, in 858. - -Observe that these last quotations belong to the darkest, most savage -epoch of our history. Feudalism reigned supreme; that redoubtable -institution had recently come into existence, without having yet at -its side the Christian counterpoise of chivalry. But if we make a leap -of two or three hundred years, and arrive at the XIIth and XIIIth -centuries, all becomes brilliant, and history can furnish the list -of all the schools that then existed even in the smallest villages. -These statistics are extant, and can be consulted; and from so many -accumulated documents, which extend from 529 to 1790, the conclusion, -rigorously scientific, must be drawn that “from a distant period, even -at the foundation of our parishes, the clergy in the country dispensed -instruction to the agricultural classes. It was thus throughout the -middle ages; and even at a recent epoch we have seen the priests in -many parishes perform the functions of teachers.”[202] What do our -adversaries think of such exact testimony? All the schools, then, -having been founded by the church, what satanic skill was needed to -persuade the people that the church had not established one! - -Still more scandalous is the objection that the church has failed in -her errand of mercy; for they accuse her of not having sufficiently -loved the poor and abandoned. We were stupefied, several years ago, -to find this strange assertion in a celebrated review: that the church -owed to the Protestants the idea of the Sisters of Charity. Now, we -have before our eyes acts truly innumerable, establishing clearly -that there were many thousand institutions of charity in France in -the XIIth and XIIIth centuries. During the first ages of the church, -in the midst of the persecution, the poor, _all poor_, were assisted -in their homes by the deacons; and, after the persecutions, these -same poor were reunited in splendid palaces, which were divided into -as many classes as there were miseries to relieve. But for the fear -of being called pedants, we would cite here the _Bretotrophia_, or -asylums for children; the _Nosocomia_, or houses for the sick; the -_Orphanotrophia_, reserved for orphans; and the _Gerontocomia_, -consecrated to old age. - -Such establishments continued to exist from the XIIth and XIIIth -centuries in all the episcopal cities, in the monastic centres, -and in the humblest parishes, where they never ceased, during the -Christian ages, to soothe the suffering, feed the hungry, counsel the -erring, and instruct the ignorant. By these we are easily led to the -XIVth and XVth centuries, when we behold so many hospitals, so many -charitable institutions, flourishing on the surface of the Christian -soil. Where are the tears the church has not dried? the nakedness she -has not covered? the captives she has not redeemed? the sick she has -not visited? the strangers she has not received? the dead she has -not buried with her tears? the sinners she has not pressed to her -heart? the children she has not made smile, and has not instructed and -consoled? the laborers she has not loved? This is a blow to error and -misrepresentation; the proofs are clear—you can, you _must_ read them. - -Again, they object that “the church does not occupy herself at the -present time with the _social, the labor question_.” I can show -a hundred books, bearing the greatest Catholic names, entirely -consecrated to this new science. For eighteen hundred years, the church -has not ceased for an instant to put political economy into action; for -she has not ceased an instant to lean towards all miseries to relieve -them; towards all enjoyments to purify them. Without ever having -regarded sacrifice and resignation as the last solution of the social -problem; without ever having renounced the hope of seeing the reign of -God in a happier future, she has never ceased to preach resignation to -the weak, and sacrifice to the powerful. For eighteen hundred years, -the church has also written her economical theory; for, on account -of the intimate connection between the social question and theology, -it can be said with all truth that, up to the XIXth century, there -have been as many books written of political economy as treatises of -theology. - -Thanks be to God, the day has arrived when a science has been founded -entirely consecrated to the study of the social question. Far from -recoiling before it, the church has valiantly advanced to the charge. -Undoubtedly she has a hundred other works on hand, and is obliged to -choose the hour when she commences the task; the hour has sounded in -this same house, where you listen to me with so much patience; every -Monday a modest council is held, which also wishes to take the name -of _Jésus-Ouvrier_. From all parts of Paris come representatives of -the religious orders, and for that they joyfully sacrifice every -occupation; they occupy themselves with the labor question and the -workman. These meetings last two, three, and even four hours. They -seek to study the principles which govern this question; the history -of the efforts that have been made until the present day in favor of -the workman; the obstacles which oppose the solution of this grand -problem; and, finally, the remedies which can be brought to bear upon -these accumulated evils. This is what is done by these priests, these -religious, these Catholics; they will review one after the other the -workman, the workingman’s family, the workingman’s association. This is -the plan of the book whose materials they are gathering; these are the -three parts of a species of theology of labor which they are preparing -in concert. In twenty other places in Paris are held twenty other -assemblies, not less Catholic, animated by the same spirit, pursuing -the same end; and we can now say that the principle of Catholic social -economy is erected. - -I will now conclude, and throw a last glance over the space we have -traversed together. I commenced with the cross, and will finish with it. - -In one of our romances of chivalry, it is related that the wood of -the cross borne in front of the Christian army in a battle against -the Saracens suddenly assumed gigantic and miraculous proportions; it -touched the sky, and was more luminous than the sun. The infidels, -seized with terror, broke and fled, and the Christians counted another -victory. The cross of the Circles of Workingmen is small, very small, -and will not probably be the subject of such a prodigy; nevertheless, -I hope that its gentle light will end by assuring the victory; and the -victory that we desire is that the workman may be thrown in the arms of -Jesus Christ. - - - - -THE TEMPLE. - - “Know you not that your members are the temple of the Holy Ghost?”—1 - Cor. vi. 19. - - - Come, I have found a temple where to dwell: - Sealed up and watched by spirits day and night; - Behind the veil there is a crystal well; - The glorious cedar pillars sparkle bright, - All gemmed with big and glistening drops of dew - That work their way from out yon hidden flood - By mystic virtue through the fragrant wood, - Making it shed a faint, unearthly smell; - And from beneath the curtain that doth lie - In rich and glossy folds of various hue, - Soft showers of pearly light run streamingly - Over the checkered floor and pavement blue. - Oh! that our eyes might see that fount of grace! - But none hath entered yet his own heart’s holy place. - - —_Faber._ - - - - -AN EVENING IN CHAMBLY. - -SOME years ago, upon occasion of a visit to Rev. F. Mignault, at -Chambly, we were most agreeably surprised to meet an old and valued -friend whom we had not seen or even heard from for many years. We had -known him as a Protestant physician in Upper Canada, and our surprise -was none the less to see him now in the habit of a Catholic priest. - -After the first salutations, tea was served, when we all withdrew to -the cosey parlor of our reverend host—which none can ever forget who -have once participated in its genial warmth, and inhaled the kindly -atmosphere of its old-time hospitality—and settled ourselves for a -long winter evening of social delight. - -Our chat was opened by eager inquiries of the friend, whom we had known -as Dr. Morris, touching the change in his religion and profession. -After some hesitation, and smiling at the urgency of our request for -his narrative, he complied, saying: - - “Should the tale tire you, let this challenge stand - For my excuse.” - -My medical course was completed in a Scotch university, at an earlier -age than was usual with students of the profession. - -Immediately after receiving my diploma, I joined a colony of my -countrymen who were leaving for the wild regions of Upper Canada. After -our arrival, not relishing the rough life in “the bush,” I decided to -settle in the little village of Brockville, instead of remaining with -the colony. - -During the progress of the last war between Great Britain and the -United States, I had a professional call to go up the St. Lawrence, a -two days’ journey. - -It was a glorious morning in June when, having accomplished the object -of my visit, I set out on my return trip. I was then a stranger to -that region, and, attracted by the peculiar beauty of the scenery -on the river, I determined to leave the dusty highway, and enjoy a -stroll along its banks for a few miles. Accordingly, dismissing my man -with the carriage, and directing him to await my arrival at a little -inn some miles below, I turned my steps towards the majestic stream, -whose flowing waters and wide expanse formed a leading feature of the -charming landscape before me, and an appropriate finish or boundary -upon which the eye rested with ever-increasing satisfaction and delight. - -I had loitered on, absorbed in contemplation of the shifting scene, -pausing occasionally to watch the changes wrought by the wing of the -passing zephyr as it touched the polished mirror here and there, -leaving a ripple more like a magic shadow upon its surface than any -ruffling of its peaceful bosom, and peering into its abysses, with the -eye of an eager enthusiast, to see— - - “Within the depths of its capacious breast - Inverted trees, and rocks, and azure skies,” - -lulled, the while, by the blissful consciousness of present beauty, to -forget that— - - “Garry’s hills were far remote, - The streams far distant of my native glens”— - -over the thoughts of which my homesick spirit was but too prone to -brood. - -I had reached a close thicket of low bushes that skirted the water’s -edge, when my steps were suddenly arrested by a rustling sound a little -in advance of me. Peeping cautiously through the leafy screen of my -secure hiding-place, I saw what seemed to my excited fancy more like an -apparition from another world than aught that belonged to this. Upon -the gentle slope of a hill which descended to the water, and close upon -the bank, stood a gigantic tree that threw its shadows far into the -stream, and at the foot of it sat a youthful maiden with a book in her -hand, the rustling leaves of which had first attracted my attention. -She seemed at times to pore intently over its pages, and at others to -be lost in reverie, while her eyes roamed anxiously up and down the -river. - -As she reclined on the bank, her slight form enveloped in the -cloud-like folds of a white morning-dress, it was easy to imagine her -the _Undine_ of those wild solitudes, conning the mystic page that was -unfolding to her the mysterious lore, hidden from mortal ken, through -which the power of her enchantments should be gained and exercised. -While I gazed with admiring wonder upon the serene intelligence and -varying light which played about her fair features, and rested like a -glory upon her uplifted brow, I was surprised by the soft tones of a -voice proceeding from the tangled underwood that clothed the upward -sweep of the hill: “Sits the pale-face alone on this bright summer -morning?” - -“O Magawiska! how you startled me, breaking so suddenly upon my dreams! -I was indeed sitting alone under the shade of this old tree, pondering -over a page in history; counting the white sails far up and down among -the Thousand Islands; watching the boiling whirlpools in the waters of -our dear old St. Lawrence; and thinking of more things than I should -care to enumerate, when your voice broke the spell, and disenchanted -me. How is it, Magawiska, that my sisters of the wilderness always -approach so softly, taking us, as it were, unawares?” - -“In that, we do but follow the example given by all things which the -Great Spirit has created to inhabit the forest. But come away with -me, my White Dove, to the wigwam. That page in history is turned, and -strong hands are even now writing the next one in letters of blood! -Many a white sail has glanced through the mazes of the Thousand Islands -that will never thread that fairy dance again, and the waters, so pure -below, are already tinged further toward their source with the heart’s -blood of many a brave soldier! Let my fair one come away; for old Honey -Bee, the medicine-woman, has just returned from Chippewa, and may bring -some news of the gallant young captain who commands the _Water-witch_. -Floated not the thoughts of my pale sister to him from the folds of the -white sails she was so busy counting?” - -“Nonsense, Magawiska! But your words alarm me. Surely the Honey Bee has -no bad tidings for me from him you name! What can she know of him?” - -“I know not; only I heard her whispering to my mother in the Indian -tongue, and was sure she uttered the name of the Lightfoot more than -once.” - -“Well, I will go with you, and hear whatever news she has for me.” - -“Will my sister venture through the Vale of the Spirit-flowers, by -crossing which the distance to the wigwam is so greatly shortened?” - -“Yes, if you are sure you know the way perfectly; for I have never -traversed its dreary depths myself.” - -“Never fear! the Dove shall be as safe in the home of the wild bird as -in the nest of its mother.” Saying which, the young daughter of the -woods glided away over the hill, followed by her fair companion. - -As they vanished, I quietly emerged from my hiding-place and followed -them at a distance, creeping cautiously along to avoid awakening any -sounds in the echoing forests, into which we soon entered, that would -reach the quick ear of the young native, and at the same time making a -passing note of her appearance. She was quite young and beautiful for -one of her race. Her form was very slight and graceful in every motion, -while her light, elastic step seemed scarcely to press the tender -herbage and moss under her feet in her noiseless course. As she passed -along, she ever and anon cast a sly glance over her shoulder, smiling -mischievously to see the difficulty with which her companion kept pace -with her rapid movements through the tangled recesses of the forest. -After descending the opposite side of the hill, they entered the dingle -at its base to which the young squaw had alluded. I was startled -when I found myself enshrouded in its dim shadows. So faint was the -light therein on this cloudless June morning as to make it difficult -to realize that the hour was not midnight! I could discern something -white upon the ground that I conjectured was mould which had gathered -in those damp shades. Upon examining more closely, I found it to be a -vegetable growth, embracing in form every variety of wild flowers that -abounded in the neighboring woods, but entirely colorless, owing to -the total absence of light. I gathered a quantity of these singular -“spirit-flowers,” which presented the appearance of transparent -crystallizations, hoping to inspect them by the full light of day; but -the moment they were exposed to the sun, to my great surprise they -melted like snowflakes, leaving only fine fibres, like wet strings, in -my hands.[203] - -When they reached the wigwam, I secreted myself in a thicket near -by, where I could hear the conversation between the old squaw and -the beautiful stranger; for having then less knowledge of the Indian -character than I afterwards acquired, I could not feel quite safe to -leave her so entirely in their power. “Magawiska tells me,” she said, -with the blushing hesitation of maidenly reserve, “that you have just -returned from a distant voyage, and may know something of events which -are taking place far up the wilderness of waters.” - -“And if the Honey Bee knows, and should fill your ear with tales of -bitterness, would not the pale-face say she was more ready to sting the -child she loves than to nourish her with sweetness? No, my White Dove! -return to the nest of thy mother, and seek not to hear of ills for -which there is no cure!” - -“I must know, and I will not go until you have told me!” she vehemently -cried. “For the love of heaven! my mother, if you know aught of the -Lightfoot, tell me; for I can bear any ills I know better than the -dread of those I know not!” - -“Even so; if the Bee must wound the heart she would rather die than -grieve, even so; the will of the Great Spirit must be done, and may he -heal what he has broken! There has been a mighty battle; the foes of -thy father are the victors. The _Water-witch_ went down in the midst -of the fight. The Lightfoot was known to be on deck and wounded when it -sank. Thy father is maddened at the triumph of his foes, but rejoices -over the fall of him whom he hated for his bravery in their cause, for -his religion, and for the love the young brave had won from the only -daughter of the old man’s heart and home.” - -How my bosom throbbed in painful sympathy with the moans and stifled -sobs that burst from the young heart, crushed under the weight of this -series of dire calamities, knowing that no human aid or pity could -avail for its relief! After some time, she whispered faintly: “Is -there, then, no hope for the poor broken heart, so suddenly bereft of -its betrothed? Oh! tell me, my good mother of the wilderness, is there -no possibility that he may have escaped? If I could but see him, and -hear his gentle voice utter one assurance of constancy and affection, -even if it were his last, I think I could be reconciled. But this -terrible, unlooked-for parting! Say, mother, may he not have escaped? -May I not see him once again in life?” - -“The hand of the Great Spirit is powerful to heal as to bruise! Since -it was not raised to protect and snatch thy beloved from death when -no other could have saved him, look to it alone, my child, for the -comfort thou wilt seek elsewhere in vain! Were there not hundreds of my -brethren who would gladly have given their heart’s blood for the life -that was dearer than their own, and had been offered in many conflicts -to shield them and theirs from danger? I tell thee, pale daughter of a -cruel foe, that wailing and lamentation went up from the camp of the -red men when the eyes of its fiercest warriors were melted to women’s -tears at the sight I have told thee of!” - -Nothing more was said, and soon after the young stranger departed, -accompanied by Magawiska. - -A few days later, I was summoned in the night to attend upon a -wounded soldier on the American shore of the St. Lawrence. I entered -a bark canoe with a tall Indian, whose powerful arm soon impelled -the light vessel across the broad, swift stream. After landing, he -conducted me into a dense and pathless forest, through which I had -extreme difficulty in making my way with sufficient speed to keep -within ear-shot of my guide. To see him was out of the question; the -interlaced and overhanging foliage, though the moon was shining, -excluded every ray of light, so that my course was buried in -bewildering darkness. A long and fatiguing tramp through the woods -brought us at length to a cluster of wigwams, and I was conducted to -the most spacious one—the lodge of the “Leader of Prayer”—where I -found a remarkably fine-looking young officer lying, faint from loss -of blood and the fatigue of removal. A Catholic missionary, whom I -had frequently met by the bedside of the sick, and in the course of -his journeys from one encampment to another of his Indian missions, -was sitting by him, bathing his hands and face in cold water, and -whispering words of encouragement and consolation during every interval -of momentary consciousness. - -From him I learned that the Indians from the scene of action up the -lake had brought the wounded man thus far on the way to his friends, -at his earnest request. So anxious was he to reach home that he would -not consent to stop for rest after they left their boat, although the -increased motion renewed the bleeding of the wound, which had been -partially checked, until he was so far exhausted as to become wholly -unconscious, when they halted here, having brought him through the -woods on a litter. The priest had given him some restoratives, but had -been unable to check the flow of blood, which was fast draining the -vital current. He had administered the last sacraments to the young -man, who belonged to a family of Catholics who had recently removed -from Utica to a new settlement on the borders of Black Lake. - -I made a hasty examination, and soon discovered the position of the -bullet. I succeeded in extracting it, after which the bleeding was -speedily and in a great measure staunched. - -From the moment I looked upon him, however, I regarded his recovery as -more than doubtful. Had the case received earlier attention, and the -fatigue of removal been avoided, there was a possibility that youthful -energy might have carried him through the severe ordeal; though the -wound would have been critical under the most favorable circumstances. - -When he became conscious for a moment during the operation, and looked -in my face, he comprehended the office I was performing, and read in my -countenance the fears and doubts which possessed my mind. - -“Do not leave me, doctor, until all is over,” he faintly said. “This -reverend father will acquaint my friends with my fate, for he knows -them.” - -I assured him I would remain with him, and he relapsed into the stupor -which I feared would be final. - -We watched by him with silent solicitude. While the priest was deeply -absorbed over the pages of his breviary, my thoughts wandered from the -painful present back to the dear old land from which I was a lonely, -homesick exile; to bright scenes of the past, fond memories of which -neither time nor absence could obliterate, and drew a vivid contrast -between them and the circumstances of my new life, especially at this -hour. What would the dear friends with whom I had parted for ever -think if they could see me in the midst of this wild and dismal scene, -surrounded by the rudest features of savage life? With what dismay -would they not listen to the howling of wolves and the shrieking of -catamounts in the woods around us? How sadly would the continually -repeated plaint of the “whippoorwill” fall upon their ear; while, to -heighten the gloomy effect of the weird concert, the echoing forests -resounded with the shrill notes of the screech-owl, answered, as if -in derision, by their multitudinous laughing brothers, whose frantic -“Ha! ha! ha!” seemed like the exulting mockery of a thousand demons -over the anxious vigil in that Indian wigwam. I was gloomily pursuing -this train of thought, when a slight movement near the entrance of the -lodge arrested my attention, and aroused me from my reverie. Turning -my eye in that direction, I perceived by the dim light the form of -old Honey Bee entering softly, accompanied by a female, in whom, as -she approached the wounded man and the light fell upon her face, I -recognized, to my astonishment, the _Undine_ of my former adventure. -But, oh! the change a few short days had wrought in that fair face! The -very lineaments had been so transformed from their radiant expression -of careless joy to the settled pallor and marble-like impress of -poignant anguish that I could scarcely bring myself to believe it was -the same. - -Calmly she approached and knelt by the sufferer, taking his hand and -bowing her fair forehead upon it. Thus she remained for some time in -speechless agony, when my ears caught the whispered prayer: “O my God! -if there is pity in heaven for a poor broken heart, let him look upon -me once more! Let me hear his gentle voice once again!” Then, placing -her mouth to his ear, she said clearly, in a low, pleading tone: - -“Will you not speak to me once again, my own betrothed?” - -Slowly, as if by a painful effort, the drooping eyelids lifted the long -lashes from his cheek, and his eyes rested with unutterable tenderness -upon the pale face which was bending over him. “Oh! speak to me! Say if -you know me!” she pleaded, with convulsive earnestness. - -Repeatedly did the colorless lips vainly essay to speak, and at length -the words were wrenched from them, as it were, in broken sentences, by -the agonized endeavor: - -“My own, my best beloved! May God bless and comfort you! I leave you -with him! He is good to the living and the dying. Trust in him, my own -love, and he will never fail you. I am going to him, but I will pray -for you ever, ever!” Then, with another strong effort, while a sweet -smile stole over the features upon which death had set his seal, “Tell -your father I forgive all!” A gurgling sound—a faint gasp—and the -light went out from the large dark eyes, the hand which had held hers -relapsed its grasp, and, before the holy priest had closed the prayers -for the departing spirit, all was over! - -It was the old, old story, repeated again and again, alike in every -village and hamlet, on the bosom of old ocean, in the city and in the -wilderness, through all the ages since the angel of death first spread -his wings over a fallen world, and carried their dark shadow into -happy homes, banishing the sunlight, leaving only the cloud. The same -story, “ever ancient and ever new,” which will be repeated again and -again for every inhabitant of earth until “time shall be no longer,” -yet will always fall with new surprise upon the ears of heart-stricken -survivors, as if they had never before heard of its dread mysteries! -Thank God that it closes for those souls whose loved ones “rest in -hope” with consolations that become, in time, ministering angels over -life’s dark pathway, smoothing the ruggedness, lighting up the gloom, -even unto the entrance of the valley whose shadows are those of death, -and supporting them with tender aid through the dread passage. - -Long did we remain in a silence broken only by bitter sobs pressed -from the bleeding heart of that youthful mourner. One by one the -Indians, each with his rosary in his hand, had entered noiselessly and -reverently knelt, until the lodge was filled with a pious and prayerful -assemblage. - -In the course of my profession, I had witnessed many death-bed scenes, -but had never become so familiar with the countenance of the pallid -messenger as to be a mere looker-on. A sense of the “awfulness of life” -deepened upon me with each repetition of the vision of death. But I had -never before been present at one that so entirely melted my whole being -as this—so striking in all the attributes of wild and touching pathos! - -God forgive me! I had hitherto lived without a thought of him or his -requirements, and wholly indifferent to all religion. My life, though -unstained by vice, had been regulated by no religious motives, and, -so far as any interest in religion was in question, beyond a certain -measure of decent outward respect, I might as well have claimed to be -a pagan as a Christian. I resolved by that death-bed, while I held the -cold hand of that lifeless hero in mine, and mingled my tears with -those of the broken-hearted mourner, that it should be so no longer! -Then and there I resolved to begin a new life, and offered myself to -God and to his service in whatever paths it should please his hand to -point out to me. - -As the morning dawned, old Honey Bee, with gentle persuasions and -affectionate urgency, drew the afflicted maiden away, and I saw her no -more. I assisted the good priest to prepare the remains of the young -officer for the removal, which he was to conduct, and then sought his -advice and guidance in my own spiritual affairs, freely opening to him -the history of my whole life. After receiving such directions as I -required, and promising to see him again soon at Brockville, I returned -by the way I went, and never revisited that vicinity. - -Some weeks later, I was called to the residence of a well-known -British officer, a leader of the Orangemen in Upper Canada, to attend -a consultation with several older physicians upon the case of his -daughter, who was lying in a very alarming state with a fever. Upon -entering the apartment of the patient, I was again surprised to -discover in this victim of disease the lovely mourner of that sad scene -in the wilderness. She lay in a partial stupor, and, when slightly -roused, would utter incoherent and mysterious expressions connected -with the events of that night, and painful appeals, which were -understood by none but myself, who alone had the key to their meaning. - -If I had formerly been amazed to see the change a few days had -accomplished, how much more was I now shocked at the ravages wrought -by sorrow and disease! Could it be possible that the shrivelled and -hollow mask before me represented the fair face that had been so lately -blooming in beauty—shining with the joy of a glad and innocent heart? - -The anguish of her haughty father was pitiful to see! Determined not to -yield to the pressure of a grief which was crushing his proud spirit, -his effort to maintain a cool and dignified demeanor unsustained by -any aid, human or divine, was a spectacle to make angels weep. Alas! -for the heart of poor humanity! In whatever petrifactions of paltry -pride it may be encrusted, there are times when its warm emotions will -burst the shell, and assert their own with volcanic power! When the -attending physician announced the result of the consultation, in the -unanimous opinion that no further medical aid could be of any avail, he -stalked up and down the room for some time with rapid strides; then, -pausing before me, and fixing his bloodshot eyes on my face, exclaimed -violently, “It is _better so_! I tell you, it is _better_ even so, than -that I should have seen her married to that Yankee Jacobin and Papist! -At least, I have been spared that disgrace! But my daughter! Oh! she -was my only one; peerless in mind, in person, and in goodness; and must -she die? Ha! it is mockery to say so! It cannot be that such perfection -was created only to be food for worms! As God is good, it may not, -_shall not_, be!” - -While he was uttering these frantic exclamations, a thought struck me -like an inspiration. The image of old Honey Bee arose suddenly before -my mind. I remembered that she had gained the reputation among the -settlers of performing marvellous cures in cases of this kind by the -use of such simples as her knowledge of all the productions of the -fields and forests and their medicinal properties had enabled her to -obtain and apply. - -Therefore, when the haughty officer paused, I ventured to suggest to -his ear and her mother’s only, that the Indian woman might possibly be -able to make such applications as might at least alleviate the violence -of the painful and alarming symptoms. He was at first highly indignant -at the proposal of even bringing one of that hated race into his house, -much less would he permit one to minister to his daughter. But when -I respectfully urged that she be brought merely as a nurse, in which -vocation many of her people were known to excel, and which I had known -her to exercise with great skill in the course of my practice, failing -not to mention her love and admiration for the sufferer, the entreaties -of the sorrow-stricken, anxious mother were joined with mine, and -prevailed to obtain his consent. I was requested to remain until she -should arrive. Nothing was said of the matter to the other physicians, -who soon took their leave. - -When the old friend of the hapless maiden arrived, she consented to -take charge of the case only upon condition that she should be left -entirely alone with the patient, and be permitted to pursue her own -course without interruption or interference. It was difficult to bring -the imperious officer to these terms; but my confidence in the fidelity -of the old squaw, and increasing assurance that the only hope of relief -for the sufferer lay in the remedies she might use, combined with -the prayers of her mother, won his reluctant consent, if I could be -permitted to see his daughter daily, and report her condition. This I -promised to do, and found no difficulty in obtaining the permission of -the new practitioner to that effect. - -Whether the presence of a sympathizing friend assisted the treatment -pursued I do not know. There are often mysterious sympathies and -influences whose potency baffles the wisdom of philosophers and the -researches of science. Certain it is that, to my own astonishment, -no less than to that of the gratified parents, there was a manifest -improvement in the condition of their daughter from the hour her new -nurse undertook the charge. - -In a few weeks, the attendance of old Honey Bee was no longer -necessary. The joy and gratitude of the father knew no bounds. He would -gladly have forced a large reward upon her for services which had -proved so successful, but she rejected it, saying: “The gifts that the -Great Spirit has guided the Honey Bee to gather are not the price of -silver and gold. Freely he gives them; as freely do his red children -dispense them. They would scorn to barter the lore he imparts for gold. -Enough that the daughter of the white chief lives. Let him see that he -quench not the light of her young life again in his home!” - -“What does she mean?” he muttered, as she departed. “Does she know? But -no, she cannot; it must be some surmise gathered from expressions of my -daughter in her delirium.” - -In accordance with my promise, I had called daily during the attendance -of the Indian woman, who found opportunity, from time to time, to -explain to me the circumstances attending the rescue of the Lightfoot. - -The Indians, by whom he was greatly beloved, supposed, when they saw -his vessel go down, that he was lost, as they knew him to have been -badly wounded. A solitary Indian from another detachment was a witness -of the catastrophe while he was guiding his canoe in a direction -opposite to that of the encampment, and on the other side of the scene -of action. He dashed at once with his frail bark into the midst of -the affray, to render assistance, if possible, to any who might have -escaped from the ill-fated vessel. While he was watching, to his great -joy he saw the young officer rise to the surface, and was able to seize -and draw him into the canoe. As he was passing to the shore, he was -noticed by the father of the officer’s betrothed, and the nature of his -prize discovered. A volley of musketry was immediately directed upon -the canoe, and the Indian received a mortal wound. He was so near the -shore that he was rescued by his party, but died soon after landing. - -I told her that I had heard the remainder of the story from the -missionary at the wigwam. - -She then informed me that, after she came to take charge of the maiden, -as soon as her patient became sufficiently conscious to realize her -critical condition, she had implored so piteously that the priest might -be sent for that it was impossible to refuse. When he came—privately, -of course, for it was too well known that her father would never -consent to such a visit—she entreated permission to profess the -Catholic faith without delay. After some hesitation, the priest -consented when he found her well instructed in its great and important -truths, heard her confession, her solemn profession of faith, and -administered conditional baptism; following the rite by the consoling -and transcendent gift which is at once the life and nourishment of the -Catholic soul and the sun of the Catholic firmament. - -The squaw dreaded the violence of her father when he should discover -what had transpired, and enjoined it upon me to shield the victim, if -possible, from the storm of his wrath. Alas! she little dreamed how -powerless I should prove in such a conflict! - -Before the strength of the invalid was established, that discovery was -made. I had known much of the unreasoning bigotry and black animosity -which was cherished by the Orange faction against Catholics; but I was -still wholly unprepared for his savage outbreak. He heaped curses upon -his daughter’s head, and poured forth the most bitter and blasphemous -lamentations that she had been permitted to live only to bring such -hopeless disgrace upon his gray hairs. - -Despite the mother’s tears and prayers, he ordered her from the -house, and forbade her ever to return or to call him father again. -Once more did old Honey Bee come to the rescue of her _protégée_. Her -affectionate fears had made her vigilant, and, when the maiden was -driven from her father’s house, she was received and conducted to a -wigwam which had been carefully prepared for her reception. Here she -was served with the most tender assiduity until able to be removed to -Montreal, whither her kind nurse attended her, and she entered at once -upon her novitiate in a convent there. - -The day after her departure, I also took my leave of that part of the -country, and, proceeding to a distant city, entered the ecclesiastical -state. In due time, I was ordained to the new office of ministering to -spiritual instead of physical ills, my vocation to which was clearly -made known to me by that death-bed in the wilderness. - -And now that I have related to you how the Protestant doctor became a -Catholic priest, I must ask, in my turn, how it happened that you and -your family became Catholics. - -“The story is soon told,” we replied. “Very probably our attention -might never have been called to the subject but for a great affliction -which was laid upon us in the sufferings of our only and tenderly -cherished daughter. She was blest with rosy health until her tenth -year, and a merrier little sprite the sun never shone upon. - -“Suddenly disease in its most painful and hopeless form fastened itself -upon her, and, while sinking under its oppressive weight, she felt -more and more deeply day by day, with a thoughtfulness rapidly matured -by suffering, the necessity for such aid and support as Protestantism -failed to furnish. It was, humanly speaking, by a mere accident that -she discovered where it might be found. - -“During an interval between the paroxysms of the disease, and a little -more than a year after the first attack, a missionary priest visited -our place, and her Catholic nurse obtained our permission to take her -to the house of a neighbor where Mass was to be celebrated. - -“She was deeply impressed with what she saw, and the fervent address -of that devoted and saintly priest melted her young heart. She -obtained from him a catechism and some books of devotion. From that -time her conviction grew and strengthened that here was the healing -balm her wounded spirit so much needed. After long persuasion and many -entreaties, we gave our reluctant consent that she might avail herself -of its benefits by making profession of the Catholic faith. To the -sustaining power of its holy influences we owe it that her life, from -which every earthly hope had been stricken, was made thenceforth so -happy and cheerful as to shed perpetual sunshine over her home and its -neighborhood. - -“By degrees she drew us, at first unwillingly, and at length -irresistibly, to the consideration of Catholic verities. Through the -grace of God operating upon these considerations, our whole family, -old and young, were soon united within the peaceful enclosure of the -‘household of faith.’ - -“When the work of our dear little missionary was thus happily -accomplished, she was removed from the home for which she had been -the means of procuring such priceless blessings to that other and -better home, the joys of which may not even be imagined here. With -grateful hearts we have proved and realized that for those whom God -sorely afflicts his bountiful hand also provides great and abundant -consolations.” - - - - -THE STORIES OF TWO WORLDS: - -MIDDLEMARCH AND FLEURANGE. - - -BETWEEN the world of _Middlemarch_ and the world of _Fleurange_ there -yawns as wide a moral gulf as that which nature has set between the -continents. The one is a world with God, the other without. It is -not that George Eliot’s story partakes of the characteristics which -usually attach to female novelists, with their vague interpretations -of the Sixth and Ninth Commandments; nor, on the other hand, that -_Fleurange_ is in any sense a goody-goody book. But the authors -occupying essentially different stand-points, all things naturally wear -a different aspect; their characters are subject to a different order; -all life has a different meaning; so that, though the subject of each -is humanity, its crosses and loads of sorrow and pain, rather than its -laughter and gladness; though the men and women breathe the same air, -are warmed by the same sun their, faces wet with human tears, their -hearts sore with human sorrows; nevertheless, through either book runs -an abiding tone felt rather than heard, like an unseen odor pervading -the atmosphere, which affects the reader differently throughout. The -characters in the one believe in, pray to, love, obey, or rebel against -a definite, personal God; the presiding spirit in the other veils his -face, and it is not for man to say who he is. The author only sees men -and women gathered together in this world—how, they know not; why, it -is difficult to conceive—and all we know for certain is that here they -are, coming in contact one with the other, increasing, multiplying, -and dropping out after each one has added his necessary mite to the -immensity of the universe. - -There are books and writings which seem rather the production of an age -than of any particular author; which seem to take up and gather into -one voice the long inarticulate breathing of a portion of humanity, -dumb hitherto for want of an oracle. Such were the writings previous to -the first French Revolution; such are the songs of Ireland; such, after -a certain fashion, is _Middlemarch_. It is measuring daily life by the -favorite doctrines of the day, whose holders profess to see things as -they are, and to judge of them purely and solely by what they see, -explaining them as best they may. To remind such people that often the -visible is the appearance only, the invisible the reality, is to speak -to them a language they will not understand. - -_Middlemarch_ is a story of English provincial life as English -provincial life obtained fifty years ago; at the dawn, that is, -practically speaking, of this wonderful XIXth century; before -California and Australia had discovered their golden secret, when steam -was still in its infancy, electric telegraphs unknown, and the sciences -just beginning to take a bolder flight. In England, O’Connell was -thundering for Catholic emancipation, and the nation clamoring for that -vague thing in the mouth of the masses—reform. - -Just as matters were in this chrysalis state, whilst the masses were -still undisturbed by the wonders of the century, or, if the phrase -is better, not educated up to them, George Eliot settles down in that -dullest of places, an English provincial district, to give us - - “The story of its life from year to year.” - -The story covers very extensive ground; all Middlemarch, in fact, -with its parishes and towns, its churches and taverns, its clergy and -magistrates, its physicians and shopkeepers, its gentry and its yokels, -its good men and its rascals, its maidens young and old, its loves -and its hates, its hopes and its fears, its marriages and deaths, its -thoughts, words, and deeds, from high to low—such is the broad scope -of the book, and the author has gathered all in in a manner to make -the reader wonder. Nothing has escaped her eye. One seems to have been -living in Middlemarch all his life, and every character comes and goes -with the face of an old acquaintance. It is not the author’s fault if -the district be a narrow one—narrow, that is, in ideas, in knowledge, -in faith, in all that ennobles man. It is not her fault if its great -ideas take the shape of “keys to all mythologies”; if its religion is -a poor affair at the best; if its leading men are religious hypocrites -like Mr. Bulstrode, or philanthropic asses like Mr. Brooke, who “goes -in” for everything, and talks the broadest and vaguest philanthropy -whilst he pinches his tenants. It is not the author’s fault if -generosity find no place in Middlemarch; if honesty is misunderstood -or at a discount; if the local physicians throw discredit upon Lydgate -with his youth, his burning desire to achieve, his cleverness, and -his genuine enthusiasm; if they call his ideas quackery, because they -threaten their pockets, as the yokels in turn look upon the railway -as destruction, and hold that steam takes the handle from the plough -and the pitchfork; as Middlemarch receives Dorothea Brooke’s generous -aspirations after a higher life than that which, in response to the -question of an ardent nature, “What can I do?” says, “Whatever you -please, my dear”—as “notions” which are wrong in themselves, because -undreamed of in Middlemarch philosophy, which, in Miss Brooke are odd, -and which, if carried a little farther, would find their fitting sphere -of action in the lunatic asylum. - -It is not the author’s fault if all this be so; if there be nothing -in Middlemarch beyond the common good, and very little even of that, -whilst all the rest is mean, sordid, crooked, narrow, and outspokenly -wicked. Such is Middlemarch, and such is it given to us. The only -question is, How far does Middlemarch extend? Is it restricted to the -English county, or is it a miniature photograph of the world as seen by -George Eliot? - -In the keynote to the whole book, the prelude, the author cries out -bitterly that in this world and in these days there is no place for -a S. Teresa. In this assertion, in this wail rather, the author does -not limit her district to Middlemarch. It is a doctrine meant to -apply to the broad world. Throughout the book the same thing is to -be observed. Though with wonderful consistency and truth of local -coloring, and continual recurrence of petty local questions and local -ideas, the author keeps the reader in Middlemarch from beginning to -end, nevertheless, whether with or without intention, from time to -time she strikes out with broader aim, and flings her sarcasm, or her -observation, or her moral, such as it may be, in the face of humanity. - -Therefore, though it would be unfair to infer that George Eliot’s views -of the world, its possibilities, its hopes, its all that makes it what -it is, are confined to the cramped, narrow, provincial district chosen -as the subject of her story; to allege that she believes in nothing -nobler _now_ in humanity than what Middlemarch affords; yet so wide -is the district embraced, so various the subjects entered into, not -merely touched upon—religion, politics, the bettering of the poor, -marriage, preparation for the married state, and the effect of such -preparation on married life, the thousand conflicts that meet, and -jostle, and combine to make everyday life what it is—it is not unfair -to say that the author, in drawing within this somewhat narrow circle -the main elements which compose humanity, has taken Middlemarch up as a -scientist would take a basin of water from the sea to examine it—not -for the sake of that sample only, but with a view to the whole. - -The chief interest of the story, if story it can be called, lies in -this: From the outstart, the author warns you that a S. Teresa has no -place in the world now; and, to prove that her warning is correct, she -takes up a character, Dorothea Brooke, endows her with the aspirations -after a great life, fits her naturally, as far as she can, with every -attribute, physical and moral, which she considers a S. Teresa ought -to possess; with religious feelings, with the continual desire to do -good, with charity, with purity, with the spirit of self-sacrifice, -with simplicity, and truth, and utter unconsciousness of self, with -wealth enough even, as the author says of Mr. Casaubon, “to lend a -lustre to her piety,” and sets her down in the narrow Middlemarch set, -where everything runs in a groove, and life is measured by all the -pettinesses, to see what will become of her. - -The result may as well be told at once. S. Teresa proves a miserable -failure in Middlemarch. Instead of marrying, as the world—that -is to say, Mrs. Cadwallader—had ordained she should do, the -handsome, florid, conventional English baronet, Sir James Chettam, -a sort of aristocratic “Mr. Toots,” who is so amiable and admires -her so much that he brings her triumphs of nature in the shape of -marvellous Maltese puppies as presents, and says “exactly” to all her -observations, even when she desires him to say the contrary—out of -a spirit of religion, self-sacrifice, and veneration, and honestly -because she admires the man, or rather the being dressed out to suit -by her own imagination, she marries Mr. Casaubon, with his sallow -complexion, his moles, his blinking eyes, and his age, which is more -than double her own. Unsympathetic to the loving nature of the girl -as a wooden doll whose complexion has suffered and whose form is -battered by age, but which notwithstanding the girl invests with all -the qualities and beauty of a Prince Charming—a deception that time -alone and that ugly thing, common sense, can remove—S. Teresa speedily -discovers that her “divine Hooker,” as she fondly imagined him, is -after all only “a poor creature,” and she is probably saved from the -divorce court only by the timely death of the “divine Hooker.” She -discovered that she had married the wrong man—exactly what Middlemarch -told her; and there lies the provoking part of the story. Middlemarch -was right in its degree, and the woman, whose ideas soared so high -above it, was all the worse off for not taking its advice at the -outstart. S. Teresa repents of her sin, and characteristically atones -for it by marrying the right man—at least, the man she loves and who -loves her—and is dismissed in the following remarks, which close the -book: - -“Certainly those determining acts of her life were not ideally -beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse -struggling under prosaic conditions. Among the many remarks passed on -her mistakes, it was never said in the neighborhood of Middlemarch -that such mistakes could not have happened if the society into which -she was born had not smiled on propositions of marriage from a sickly -man to a girl less than half his own age, on modes of education -which make a woman’s knowledge another name for motley ignorance, on -rules of conduct which are in flat contradiction with its own loudly -asserted beliefs. While this is the social air in which mortals begin -to breathe, there will be collisions such as those in Dorothea’s life, -where great feelings will take the aspect of error, and great faith the -aspect of illusion; for there is no creature whose inward being is so -strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside it. A new -Teresa will hardly have the opportunity of reforming a conventual life -any more than a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all -for the sake of a brother’s burial; the medium in which their ardent -deeds took shape is for ever gone. But we insignificant people, with -our daily words and acts, are preparing the lives of many Dorotheas, -some of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that of Dorothea -whose story we know. - -“Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were -not widely visible. Her full nature, like that river of which Alexander -broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name -on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was -incalculably diffusive; for the growing good of the world is partly -dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you -and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived -faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.” - -George Eliot writes too earnestly to laugh at. Besides, she is not -a Catholic—very far from it; and therefore her views of what a S. -Teresa is or ought to be must be radically different from those of the -church from which S. Teresa sprang, in which she lived, labored, became -_Saint_ Teresa, and died. Were a Catholic to have written certain -portions of the extract quoted, he would only provoke laughter; but -with this author, the case is different. - -It never seems to have occurred to her that S. Teresas are not -self-made; as little as the prophets were self-made prophets, or the -apostles self-made apostles. Neither were they made by the society -which surrounded them. The supernatural state of sanctity in its -fulness does not spring from humanity merely; else might we have -had eras of sanctity as there have been other eras, and there might -be truth in George Eliot’s words that there will be no place for a -“new Teresa.” Saints are the very opposite to that growing class so -glibly dubbed “providential men,” who seem to come from that vast -but rather undefined region which goes by the name of “manifest -destiny.” The individuals forming that happy class are set willy-nilly -by “Providence” in this world to accomplish some destiny—a theory -laughed at long ago by one of Mr. Disraeli’s worldly-wise characters -in the words, “We make our fortunes, and we call them fate.” What the -saints do they do very consciously. Sanctity consists in not being -merely blameless in life, but in devoting life to God, and turning -every thought, word, and action to him for his sake. The feeling that -produces this state of life may be influenced at the beginning by -earthly surroundings, may be shaped by good example or wise teachings, -but is essentially independent of them. Sanctity comes from a direct -call, as direct as the call of the apostles. It knows neither time nor -place, and is therefore as possible in the XIXth as in the XVIth or the -Ist century. But it is unknown outside of the church, because the head -of the church, “Christ Jesus our Lord,” alone has the power to call -his children to the sanctified state in this life. And if it be asked, -Why, then, does he not call all to be saints here? it is as though one -asked, Why did he not call all men to be apostles directly? - -George Eliot’s difficulty springs from not knowing precisely what -constitutes a saint. - -If she only reads the life of S. Teresa, she will find that the saint -of her admiration had to encounter a Middlemarch circle even in -Catholic Spain. She will find her “young and noble impulse struggling -under prosaic conditions”; that she had to stand the brunt of being -misunderstood and misrepresented; her schemes of reform, of good works, -her noble aspirations and ardent self-sacrifice, set down as “notions.” -In fact, the opposition which meets her heroine at every step in her -desire to do good and to be perfect, not only to herself but to others, -is puny compared with that which S. Teresa had to sustain all through -her life. - -As a matter of fact, S. Teresa was much more of the ordinary woman than -George Eliot, with a novelist’s love, makes her heroine. In her youth, -she was subject to all the ordinary fancies of “the sex,” and has left -us the record of her vanities, which were neither more nor less than -those of ten thousand very excellent ladies living at this moment, -who are no more S. Teresas than they are Aspasias; but good Christian -women, girls with a happy future before them, or smiling mothers of -families. It was not her surroundings which made Teresa a saint: it was -her clear conception of duty, which no “prosaic conditions” could dim, -and her profound and very definite faith, not in that obscure creation -which George Eliot calls “the perfect Right,” but in Jesus Christ, her -God. - -It was perfectly natural that George Eliot’s Teresa should fail; but -the mistake of the author consists in making the failure come from -without rather than from within—a mistake easily understood when it is -borne in mind that the author has no firm faith, possibly none at all, -in Christianity. Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, all failed to make the -world better, not because they may not have wished it, but because they -had not the power. They were themselves uncertain of their schemes. -Their highest flights, like those of the best of modern philosophers -who possess no faith, never pass beyond intellectual excellence devoid -of soul. They may daze the intellect, but they do not touch the soul; -and the life of a man is never regulated by pure intellect. So they -fail, whilst the ignorant fishermen, who lose their personality in God, -move and convert the world. - -In taking issue on these fundamental points with the author of -_Middlemarch_, many of the subjects touched upon would require -elaborate elucidation when read by those who are not of the Catholic -faith. But space does not allow of this, and, therefore, it is to be -understood that this article is supposed only to meet the eyes of -persons fully acquainted at least with the Catholic manner of looking -at things. - -Dorothea Brooke fails in becoming a S. Teresa, as the author seems to -consider she should have become, not because she has lighted on evil -days and on a less congenial set than S. Teresa did, but because, in -Catholic phrase, she had no _vocation_. - -To find out what is meant by a vocation, let us anticipate, and turn -a moment to _Fleurange_ at that point in the heroine’s history where, -having “tasted beforehand the bitter pleasures of sacrifice,” she -retires heart-broken to the convent where she spent her youth, to find -the rest and peace which seemed banished from the world after the -voluntary sacrifice she had made of her affections. - -“Mother Maddalena stood with her arms folded, and listened without -interrupting her. Standing thus motionless in this place, at this -evening hour, the noble outlines of her countenance and the long folds -of her robe clearly defined against the blue mountains in the distance -and the violet heavens above, she might easily have been mistaken for -one of the visions of that country which have been depicted for us and -all generations. The illusion would not have been dispelled by the -aspect of her who, seated on the low wall of the terrace, was talking -with her eyes raised, and with an expression and attitude perfectly -adapted to one of those young saints often represented by the inspired -artist before the divine and majestic form of the Mother of God. - -“‘Well, my dear mother, what do you say?’ asked Fleurange, after -waiting a long time, and seeing the Madre looking at her and gently -shaking her head without any other reply. - -“‘Before answering you,’ replied she at last, ‘let me ask this -question: Do you think it allowable to consecrate one’s self to God in -the religious life without a vocation?’ - -“‘Assuredly not.’ - -“‘And do you know what a vocation is?’ said she very slowly. - -“Fleurange hesitated. ‘I thought I knew, but you ask in such a way as -to make me feel now I do not.’ - -“‘I am going to tell you: a vocation,’ said the Madre, as her eyes lit -up with an expression Fleurange had never seen before—’a vocation to -the religious life is to love God more than we love any creature in the -world, however dear; it is to be unable to give anything or any person -on earth a love comparable to that; to feel the tendency of all our -faculties incline us towards him alone; finally,’ pursued she, while -her eyes seemed looking beyond the visible heavens on which they were -fastened, ‘it is the full persuasion, even in this life, that he is -_all_, our all, in the past, the present, and the future; in this world -and in another, for ever, and to the exclusion of everything besides.’” - -The carrying out of this feeling made Teresa a saint. It is doubtful -whether such thoughts ever entered into George Eliot’s conception of -the character she is continually holding up before her readers as -impossible in these days. Certainly Dorothea Brooke, with all her -natural goodness, never conceived such a life as that possible. The -author may be right in attributing her defects to her Calvinistic -education, but that does not warrant the inference that anything -higher than a life which merely aims at an uncertain good, capable -of influencing those coming within its circle in a certain way, is -impossible in these days. When the author speaks of “great faith taking -the aspect of illusion,” before conceding, one would like to see the -“great faith.” Dorothea Brooke never knew what real faith was; from -beginning to end, all is uncertainty with her. From girlhood up she -lives in an atmosphere of self-delusion and imagination which can -find no other possible vent than aimless aspirations after imaginary -perfection, which must come into collision with the rough, practical -world, and must finally go to the wall. But when the world sees a man -or a woman acting steadily up to a practical belief which guides them -in all their actions, and meets every contingency, however unexpected, -and every calamity, however great, if it does not fall in and follow, -it will at least respect it and acknowledge that there is something in -it. - -It may sound “a hard saying,” but practically there is no such thing -as “ideal beauty”; and those who, like George Eliot, strive after it -as the great good, pursue a phantom, a nothing, an emanation of their -own imagination, and, like the poet in Shelley’s “Alastor,” waste their -life in profitless longings, and when death comes— - - “All - Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit, - Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves - Those who remain behind nor sobs nor groans, - The passionate tumult of a clinging hope, - But pale despair and cold tranquillity.” - -Persons of an undefined faith, women particularly, are very much -attached to this ideal beauty, and, not finding it in man, are apt -to rebel against “prosaic conditions”; and those who regulate their -actions by their thoughts find issue in absurdities, often in crime, -more or less gross. It would be well for these theorists to remember -that man after all has a considerable admixture of clay in his -composition, which may explain many of those vulgar but necessary -“prosaic conditions”; and until the human race comes to be fed on -“vril,” the world must continue to count upon and accommodate itself -to a vast amount of flesh-and-blood reality. And a beauty, far higher -than any ideal beauty, is visible in the everlasting struggle between -spirit and clay. There was no ideal in the death upon the cross, the -consummation of Christian sacrifice. All was terribly real there, and -flesh suffered as well as mind while a flutter of the spirit remained. -Here lies something greater than any ideal—the spirit bracing the -flesh, sustaining it when it faints, enabling it to bear all things, -not blindly and as coming by fate from the hands of a blind destiny or -careless power, but as trials sent from heaven to lead to heaven and -prepare for heaven. - -That is the fault with Middlemarch. It has all the “prosaic conditions” -and nothing else. It wants nothing else; it positively revels in them. -And when anything higher comes to it, it sets the higher down as -“notions” in religion, or “quackery” in medicine, “or swallowing up” of -the little traffic by the big in railroads. - -Into these “prosaic conditions” and surroundings the author drops -another character similar to that of Dorothea, as far as a man can -be similar in nature to a woman, save that his religion consists in -the passion for his profession, the ardent aspiration after the glory -of achievement, aided by all natural gifts, and strengthened by what -have been well called the “pagan virtues.” This is Lydgate, the young -physician, a stranger to Middlemarch, who is possessed by the desire -common to all young ambition of educating Middlemarch up to a lofty -standard, and using it as a lever to move a slow world. Though perhaps -as well fitted as man—considered merely as an intellectual animal -endowed with Christian instincts, moved by a generous if somewhat -impetuous nature, and void of the vices—could be for that purpose, -the result in his case is the same as in that of Dorothea. Instead of -lifting Middlemarch up to the level of his ideal, he finds himself -dragged down to it; and, strangely and perhaps truthfully enough, he -finds, in common with Dorothea, that the very being to whom he linked -his life is the stumbling-block in the way of his achievement. Dorothea -receives a fatal jar to her imaginings in the person of the husband she -adored by anticipation. Lydgate finds his nature crushed and resisted -at all points by the passive resistance of his wife. The woman is -mercifully relieved from her incubus by death; the strong man gives way -before his “so charming wife, mild in her temper, inflexible in her -judgment, disposed to admonish her husband, and able to frustrate him -by stratagem.” - -“Lydgate’s hair never became white. He died when he was only fifty, -leaving his wife and children provided for by a heavy insurance on -his life. He had gained an excellent practice, ... having written a -treatise on gout—a disease which has a good deal of wealth on its -side. His skill was relied on by many paying patients, but he always -regarded himself as a failure: he had not done what he once meant to -do. As the years went on, he opposed his wife less and less, whence -Rosamond concluded that he had learnt the value of her opinion. In -brief, Lydgate was what is called a successful man. But he died -prematurely of diphtheria. He once called his wife his basil-plant, -and, when she asked for an explanation, said that _basil was a plant -which had flourished wonderfully on a murdered man’s brains_.” - -Such is the end of the naturally noble man who marries fair Rosamond, -“the flower of Middlemarch.” This fair Rosamond, like her historical -namesake, lives in a crooked labyrinth of devious ways, where she -fetters her knight, her king, who would fain go forth to conquer -kingdoms, and, if need be, take her with him. But her kingdom is -bounded by her own narrow domain, and she carries him on from labyrinth -to labyrinth, till he is lost and resigns himself to his fate. - -When the lady who is pleased to assume the name of George Eliot first -startled the English reading world, there was great doubt as to the -sex of the new author. Certainly all such doubt, if any still existed, -would be set at rest for ever by the portrait of Rosamond Vincy. No -man could ever have executed that. No man could ever have gone down -into the very fibres of a woman’s nature, and drawn them all out one by -one, and laid them bare before us, to show what constitutes “that best -marble of which goddesses are made.” If Dorothea, with the strong touch -of Calvinism leading her noble nature astray, prove a failure, what -shall be said of “the flower of Mrs. Lemon’s school, the chief school -in the county, where the teaching included all that was demanded in the -accomplished female—even to extras, such as the getting in and out of -the carriage”? - -Rosamond Vincy is, perhaps, the most finished portrait ever presented -of the intelligent animal of the female sex; clever enough to despise -Middlemarch, not because it is low, and mean, and sordid, but because -it is too narrow and unworthy to hold so fair and accomplished a -specimen of humanity as Rosamond Vincy. All young Middlemarch breaks -its heart about her. She refuses it quietly and persistently, wins -Lydgate in spite of himself, not because he is Lydgate, the generous, -ardent, high-souled young man, but because he brings with him the -atmosphere of an outer world, with a hint of great relations, a -distinguished person, and an unconscious air of superiority which -Middlemarch cannot offer. The result of the wedding of two such natures -may be imagined. George Eliot’s version of it is horribly real and -miserably natural; and perhaps the most powerful part of the book -is the struggle going on between the generous nature of the man and -the demon of self incarnate in the perfect form and the narrow but -acute intellect of the woman, who is so supremely selfish that she is -absolutely unconscious of her selfishness, and therefore incurable. -“Lydgate,” after vainly endeavoring to break down this barrier which -lay between them, invisible to the eyes of her who raised it, “had -accepted his narrowed lot with sad resignation. He had chosen this -fragile creature, and had taken the burden of her life upon his arms. -He must walk as he could, carrying that burden pitifully.” - -And she, his “bird-of-paradise,” only once called his “basil-plant,” -when the man whose life had been lost on her died, “married an elderly -and wealthy physician, who took kindly to her four children. She made -a very pretty show with her daughters, driving out in her carriage, -and often spoke of her happiness as ‘a reward’—she did not say for -what, but probably she meant that it was a reward for her patience -with Tertius, whose temper never became faultless, and to the last -occasionally let slip a bitter speech which was more memorable than -the signs he made of his repentance. Rosamond had a placid but strong -answer to such speeches: Why, then, had he chosen her? It was a pity he -had not had Mrs. Ladislaw—Dorothea—whom he was always praising and -placing above her.” - -With regret the examination into this wonderful book, of which three -of the salient characters only have been touched upon, must now close. -The story abounds in other characters, each perfect in its way, as -far as drawing and execution go. It forms quite a study in parsons as -in physicians; and those who quarrel with the author of _My Clerical -Friends_ must feel sore aggrieved at the clerical friends of George -Eliot. There is not a _priestly_ character among them; not a single -devoted man whose heart is given wholly to God, and whose mind is bent -solely on doing God’s work for God’s sake. The Middlemarch parsons are -a narrow set of men of undefined belief and cramped charity; their -belief being measured by their salary, and their charity beginning and -often ending at home with their wives and families. The only agreeable -characters among them as men are Mr. Cadwallader and Mr. Farebrother. -The first of these is a “good, easy man,” whose Gospel is as elastic -as his fishing-rod, of whom the author says, “His conscience was large -and easy like the rest of him; it did only what it could without any -trouble,” and whom his wife characteristically hits off in the sentence -that, “as long as the fish rise to his bait, everybody is what he ought -to be”; whilst she complains: “He will even speak well of the bishop, -though I tell him it is unnatural in a beneficed clergyman. What can -one do with a husband who attends so little to the decencies?” The -other, Mr. Farebrother, is the best preacher in Middlemarch, and really -a man of a noble nature; yet his poverty leads him to play whist for -money and even an occasional game of billiards at the Green Dragon. He -leads us to infer that he knows he has assumed the wrong profession, -but that it is too late to get rid of it. - -The only man who really possesses anything in the semblance of -religion is Mr. Bulstrode, the Methodist banker, of whom wicked old -Featherstone, whose death is so powerfully told, says: - -“What’s he? He’s got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of. A -speckilating fellow! He may come down any day, when the devil leaves -off backing him. And that’s what his religion means: he wants God -A’mighty to come in. That’s nonsense! There’s one thing I made out -pretty clear when I used to go to church, and it’s this: God A’mighty -sticks to the land. He promises land, and he gives land, and he makes -chaps rich with corn and cattle.” That sounds very like the religion -of Tennyson’s Northern Farmer of the new style. As a matter of fact, -old Featherstone turns out to be right. Bulstrode is a hypocrite. His -life and his fortune have been built upon hypocrisy. He is rich on -money that does not belong to him and by wealth ill-gotten; he strives -to silence his conscience by a life of external mortification and by -works set on foot for the improvement of the poor and carried out in -his own way. Yet rather than lose his character for respectability and -goodness, he murders an old associate; that is, he consciously does -what the physician warned him might cause death. - -Mrs. Cadwallader, spite of her wit and her mind, “active as phosphorus, -biting everything that came near into the form that suited it,” must -be dismissed in her own words, though she is the life of Middlemarch, -as one who “set a bad example—married a poor clergyman, and made -herself a pitiable object among the De Bracys—obliged to get her coals -by stratagem, and pray to heaven for her salad-oil”; as must also -Ladislaw, whom Mr. Brooke, who takes him up and transfers him to the -_Pioneer_, characterizes as “a kind of Shelley, you know,” whom he (Mr. -Brooke) may be able to put on the right tack; who has “a way of putting -things,” which is just the sort of thing Mr. Brooke wants—“not ideas, -you know, but a way of putting them.” Lydgate characterizes him best -as “a likable fellow, but bric-a-brac.” He is just the material out of -which Charles Lever constructed “Joe Atlee,” that prince of Bohemians. - -It is difficult also to pass unnoticed by the Vincy and the Garth -families; thriftless Fred. Vincy, who is only saved from taking to that -last resort of an ignoble mind—“the cloth”—by honest Caleb Garth -and his merry, true-hearted daughter Mary, who is, perhaps, after -all the best and jolliest girl in the book, and whose plain, womanly -wit and common sense, plain and undisguised as her open face, is an -excellent foil to the pretty animalism of Rosamond Vincy and the vague -religiousness of Dorothea. What could be better than this by way of -preparation for old Featherstone’s decease?— - -“‘Oh! my dear, you must do things handsomely where there’s last illness -and a property. God knows, _I_ don’t grudge them [the relatives on the -watch] every ham in the house—_only save the best for the funeral_. -Have some stuffed veal always, and a fine cheese in cut. You must -expect to keep open house in these last illnesses,’ said liberal -Mrs. Vincy.” Or than this picture of one of George Eliot’s favorite -characters?— - -“Caleb Garth often shook his head in meditation on the value, the -indispensable might, of that myriad-headed, myriad-handed labor by -which the social body is fed, clothed, and housed. It had laid hold of -his imagination in boyhood. The echoes of the great hammer where roof -or keel were a-making, the signal-shouts of the workmen, the roar of -the furnace, the thunder and plash of the engine, were a sublime music -to him; the felling and lading of timber, and the huge trunk vibrating -star-like in the distance along the highway, the crane at work on the -wharf, the piled-up produce in warehouses, the precision and variety -of muscular effort wherever exact work had to be turned out—all these -sights of his youth had acted on him as poetry without the aid of -poets, had made a philosophy for him without the aid of philosophers, -a religion without the aid of theology. His early ambition had been to -have as effective a share as possible in this sublime labor, which was -peculiarly dignified by him with the name of ‘business.’” - -After all, notwithstanding its wit and power, and fund of worldly -wisdom, one turns almost with a sense of relief from this -disheartening Middlemarch world to the world as seen in _Fleurange_. -Considered merely as a story, for unity of plot and rapidity of -action, _Fleurange_ is, to our thinking, far more interesting than -_Middlemarch_. A young girl who has been educated in an Italian convent -finds herself soon after leaving it thrown almost entirely upon the -world by the death of her father, an artist, to fight the battle of -life single-handed. “Young, beautiful, poor, and alone in Paris, -what will become of her?” With this question the book opens, and, -indeed, the whole story is plainly evolved from this idea. Instead -of wasting her efforts on an impossible S. Teresa, Mme. Craven takes -up the practical case of a young and religious girl, whose training -and education, whatever they may have amounted to in the point of -accomplishments, were built upon religion, not a vague unreality, -but a religion which in the plainest words taught her to kneel down -and pray, not to “the perfect Right,” as did Dorothea, but to God, -to Jesus Christ—a being, it may here be mentioned, who is carefully -excluded from _Middlemarch_. The reader need not infer that this inner -life of the heroine is insisted upon severely, and that he always -finds Fleurange upon her knees. Nothing of the sort. You only feel -unconsciously, by little touches here and there, by the tone of the -whole story, that the girl lives up to the practical accomplishment -of what she was taught in the convent by Madre Maddalena; that she -carries her religion out with her into the world as her only guide -amidst its manifold dangers; that she has not flung it aside with her -leading-strings; and that it is this and this alone which sustains her -in the midst of terrible suffering, and saves her from sinking under -the pressure of trial. - -Fleurange goes first to her uncle’s family in Germany. Their loss of -fortune drives her out again from them into the service of a Russian -princess, where she is surrounded and flattered by all that the world -considers witty, brave, brilliant, and captivating. Her singular -beauty and innate nobility enable her to grace the lofty station to -which the Princess Catherine assigns her. Here, in Florence, in the -very household of his mother, she encounters for the second time Count -George de Walden, a handsome and highly accomplished young gentleman, -the adoration of his mother and possibly of himself, who is just -loitering around Europe, “seeing life.” He met Fleurange before in her -father’s studio as she sat for a picture of “Cordelia.” Of course, he -fell in love with her, as such young gentlemen will do whose time is -heavy on their hands. Father and daughter disappeared. He retained -the picture, but what he wanted was the original; and here, after -feeding on the memory of his unknown love for a year or so, he finds -her actually domesticated in his mother’s household. This is what a -playwright would consider “an excellent situation,” particularly as -the princess suspects nothing of what is passing under her eyes. As -a matter of course, they fall in love, and, equally as a matter of -course, they contrive to make their love known. And this is the trying -time for Fleurange. - -It is not that she is dazzled with the prince, but with what she -considers the perfect man. And indeed, in the eyes of the world, Count -George is a perfect man, whilst, in the eyes of his mother, he is -something still more; and therefore a _mésalliance_ would to her, whose -heart was entirely her son’s—all the rest of her being divided between -the _modiste_, the physician, and the _salon_—seem a greater crime -than many of those which bring men to the scaffold. Fleurange knows -this, and therefore—though, when the confession is forced from her, -she does not even to himself deny her love for George and her desire -to be his wife—she is convinced that their union is impossible. She -does the best thing under the circumstances: she determines to leave -the household of the princess; and thus, not for the first time, do -the promptings of _duty_, of what one ought to do, of what God would -have us do, correspond with those of common sense. George has avowed -his love for Fleurange to his mother, and the confession has such an -effect upon her that she is cured for the time from an attack of one -of those incurable maladies not uncommon with ladies who are blessed -with everything that this world can offer. There is _caste_ even in -illnesses, and fashion in a complaint as in a bonnet. Thus, when some -years back the eye-glass became a fashionable ornament, all young -England, fashionable and would-be fashionable, suddenly grew weak -in one eye, whilst the “sons of industry” remained in their normal -condition. - -The princess rises to the gravity of the situation, and extracts a -promise from her son that he will never marry Fleurange without her -consent. But all her difficulties are smoothed away by Fleurange -herself, who, even though the count has asked her to be his wife, -determines to sacrifice herself for his sake, and go. - -“‘Fleurange,’ said the count, with a grave accent of sincerity far -more dangerous than that of passion, ‘you shall be my wife if you will -consent to be—if you will accept this hand I offer you.’ - -“‘With your mother’s consent?’ said Fleurange slowly, and in a low -tone. ‘Can you assure me of that?’ - -“After a moment’s hesitation, George replied: ‘No, not to-day; but she -will yield her consent, I assure you.’ - -“Fleurange hesitated in her turn. She knew only too well to what a -degree this hope was illusory, but this was her last opportunity -of conversing with him. The next day would commence their lifelong -separation, which time, distance, and prolonged absence would -continually widen. There was no longer any danger in telling the -truth—the truth, alas! so devoid of importance now, but which would, -perhaps, second the duty she had to accomplish quite as well as -contradiction. - -“‘Ah! well,’ she at last replied, with simplicity. ‘Yes, why should I -deny it? Should life prove more favorable to us; if by some unforeseen -circumstance, impossible to conceive, your mother should cheerfully -consent to receive me as a daughter, oh! then what an answer I would -make you know without my telling you. You are likewise perfectly aware -that until that day I will never listen to you.’ - -“‘But that day will come,’ cried George vehemently, ‘and that speedily.’ - -“‘Perhaps,’ said Fleurange. ‘Who knows what time has in store for us? -And who knows that in time the obstacle may not come from yourself?’ - -“She endeavored to say these last words in a playful tone. They were -hardly uttered before she suddenly stopped; but the shade of the large -cypresses that bordered the road prevented George from seeing the tears -that inundated her face.” - -Thus they part, under the cypresses. George thinks she is only leaving -for a short time, to return again. She goes back to the convent, to -bury there her broken heart and the hopes her own strong will has -blighted. But convents are not built on broken hearts; and Madre -Maddalena, who is none the less gifted with common sense and worldly -prudence for leading a retired and saintly life, sends her back into -the world “to continue the contest,” for the reasons already given, -with these words: - -“O my poor child! it would be much easier for me to tell you to remain -and never leave us again. It would be sweeter for me to preserve you -thus from all the sufferings that yet await you. But, believe me, -the day will come when you will rejoice you were not spared these -sufferings; and you will acknowledge that she who is now speaking to -you knew you better than you knew yourself.” - -Fleurange goes back to the world, to her uncle’s family, which is -gradually recovering its fall through the efforts of Clement, her -cousin, who was the first to welcome her among them. Notwithstanding -her suffering, she carries on all the duties of life like a Christian -woman, without despondency as though God were blotted out of the world, -and equally without that foolish ostentation of gaiety sometimes -assumed. She never thought with Dorothea that she had suffered “all the -troubles of all the people on the face of the earth.” The hour never -came to her “in which the waves of suffering shook her too thoroughly -to leave any power of thought”; not that she suffered or loved less -than Dorothea, but because she saw through all something higher than -human suffering and more lovely than human love. That pagan hour never -came to her, when Dorothea “repeated what the merciful eyes of solitude -have looked on for ages in the spiritual struggles of man”; when “she -besought hardness, and coldness, and aching weariness to bring her -relief from the mysterious incorporeal might of her anguish”; nor did -“she lie on the bare floor and let the night grow cold around her, -while her grand woman’s frame was shaken by sobs as if she had been a -despairing child.” Fleurange never, as did Dorothea, “yearned toward -_the perfect Right_, that it might make a throne within her, and rule -her errant wrong.” Whether she yearned or not, she knew what was right -and what was wrong, and, by praying to God for help and strength, she -did right. If women in love stop to ask themselves what is the “perfect -right,” in nine cases out of ten in love matters the perfect right will -be the absolute wrong. Right is fixed; there is a law in those things, -as in all questions of the soul, not evolved out of the individual’s -brains, but out of the heart of Christian charity, which is in Christ. -Duty does not depend on feeling “the largeness of the world,” and on -being “a part of that involuntary, palpitating life,” but on being -a creation of God. George Eliot tends to pantheism, and, spite of -herself, Christian instinct only prompts her heroine to do what is -right. If we are “a part of that involuntary and palpitating life,” and -_nothing more_, there is no _necessary_ reason for charity. - -The difference between Dorothea and Fleurange, two characters which, -allowing for side differences of clime, are naturally similar, consists -in all the sufferings of the one bearing the aspect of self-torture, -whilst those of the other are a sacrifice. The sorrows of Fleurange, -which, after all, are much greater than those of Dorothea, are endured -for God’s sake and as coming from God. They are not a whit less -painful to nature on this account; but they are explicable, and have -a meaning which Dorothea never seems to realize. One suffers because -she cannot help herself; the other because it is God’s will. On George -Eliot’s principle, there is no guarantee for a person doing right at -all, inasmuch as it is so very difficult to determine what is right. -If right be “a part of that involuntary and palpitating life” _only_, -it has no meaning beyond what is contained in the word accident; -that is to say, right and wrong are effects of circumstance. Nor is -this forcing a meaning, as may be seen from various passages in the -book—unless, indeed, we have read them very wrongly. Thus, she speaks -of the spirit struggling “against _universal pressure_, which will -one day be too heavy for it, and bring the heart to its final pause.” -She sneers at our referring a man “to the divine regard with perfect -confidence,” and says: “Nay, it is even held sublime for our neighbor -to expect the utmost there, however little he may have got from us.” -And in another place: “Any one watching keenly the stealthy convergence -of human lots sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on -another, which tells like _a calculated irony_ on the indifference or -frozen stare with which we look at our unintroduced neighbor. Destiny -stands by sarcastic, with our _dramatis personæ_ folded in her hand.” - -This sounds very fine, and that last sentence might have been written -by one of the Greek poets. It is beautifully pagan; but, after all, -human life is regulated in man and woman by a will that is free to use -or reject the “slow preparation of effects,” to laugh at the phantom, -destiny; and when it pleases God to bring this lesser life of time to -“a final pause,” man goes before his Creator to give an account of his -servitude indeed, but not of his slavery. - -Fleurange writes from the convent to the princess. She herself had -arranged the plot which was to blind George to her final departure, and -this is how the princess receives the letter of the girl who had so -freely offered up her heart on the altar of duty. The princess knew of -the sacrifice. It is doubtful whether Rosamond Vincy ever displayed her -unconscious selfishness so thoroughly as this: - -“The Princess Catherine, in an elegant morning _négligé_, was alone -with the Marquis Adelardi in her small _salon_, when a letter was -brought her on a silver salver. She glanced at the address. - -“‘Ah! from Gabrielle’ [Fleurange], she exclaimed. ‘The very letter I -was expecting to-day.’ - -“She opened it and hastily ran over its contents. ‘Very well -done—very,’ she said. ‘Nothing could be more natural. She hit upon the -very best thing to say.... Here, Adelardi,’ continued she, throwing him -the letter, ‘read it. It must be owned that this Gabrielle is reliable -and true to her word. Moreover, she has a good deal of wit.’ - -“Adelardi attentively read the letter. - -“‘What you have just remarked, princess, is very true; but this time -circumstances have favored you. This letter was not written for the -occasion; it is sincere from beginning to end. This young girl can keep -a secret, but is incapable of prevarication. This is not the kind of a -letter she would have written if the contents were not absolutely true.” - -“‘Do you think so?’ said the princess. “It is of no consequence, -however, as to that, though it would simplify everything still more. -But in that case—ah! _ciel!_ let me look at the letter again.’ - -“She now read it entirely through, instead of merely glancing at the -contents. - -“‘But in that case, I have lost my physician, and the only one who -ever understood my case. This, _par exemple!_ is a real misfortune. If -he had had time, at least, to answer my last letter, and tell me what -springs I should go to this year! Whom shall I consult now? May is -nearly gone, and next month I ought to be there. Really, I am unlucky!’ - -“‘What do you expect, princess?’ said the marquis, in a tone -imperceptibly ironical. ‘One cannot always have good luck.’” - -In the quiet of her German retreat, Fleurange suddenly receives the -news that an insurrection has broken out in Russia, in which George is -implicated. He is taken prisoner, and only awaits in St. Petersburg the -sentence which is to banish him to that living tomb, Siberia. Fleurange -now sees the opportunity of uniting herself to her lover by burying -herself with him. As his hopes in this world are for ever blasted, she -obtains the consent of the princess to their union, and sets out for -St. Petersburg under the guidance of her young cousin Clement, who -knows the object of her mission. This journey and its results complete -the fourth book, entitled “The Immolation,” and in it the author rises -to a height of power in pathos, description, and incident which is all -the more telling that it was altogether unsuspected: The long ride -along the dreary strand through the day and through the night; the -crossing of the frozen river in the darkness, with the ice cracking -ominously beneath them; the scene where Clement and Fleurange are left -alone in the face of eternity and immediate death, and where, for the -first and last time, when hope of life seems banished, the confession -of his love bursts out of his young heart to the half-conscious -girl; the last struggle to carry her safe through on her mission of -self-immolation to the man she loves—all told in the same simple, -unpretentious style, but with an inner force that carries the reader -along, and absorbs him as though he were witnessing a tragedy. -The strain is sustained to the close of the story. Amid all the -fascination, and glitter, and glare of the imperial court of the Czar, -when the late Emperor Nicholas was in his “golden prime,” creeps the -oppressive sense of a mute but awful terrorism through an atmosphere -of combustible human passion all the more dangerous for being so -constrained. The petition of Fleurange is about to be granted; but, as -it passes through the hands of Vera, a favorite maid of the empress, it -is represented as coming from her, between whom and George a sort of -betrothal had taken place, and who is in love with him. His sentence, -through the instrumentality of Fleurange, is commuted to pardon on -condition that he should pass four years on his estates in Livonia, -and that he marry Vera before setting out. George is ignorant of the -arrival of Fleurange, of her petition, of her desire to bury herself -alive with him in Siberia. Vera sees Fleurange, and implores her to -save him by the still greater sacrifice of renouncing him for ever. -Fleurange goes back again without a word. The man for whom she made so -many sacrifices was utterly unworthy of her, and congratulates himself -that he escaped committing the foolishness of marrying her, though -really in love with her for a time. The selfishness of the mother -comes out in the son. As Fleurange and her cousin turn homewards, they -meet the bridal party leaving the church. Once more she seeks to bury -herself in the convent, and once more Madre Maddalena warns her back. -She tells her that, at her first visit, her sufferings appeared as the -expiation of an idolatry the extent of which she did not realize; but -that something more was essential—the shattering of the idol, though -its destruction seemed to involve the very breaking of her own heart. - -The shattering of Dorothea’s idol brings a blank despair; and although -she marries Ladislaw, and is presumably happy with him, nevertheless -she felt “that there was always something better which she might -have done, if she had only been better and known better.” The final -shattering of Fleurange’s idol brings peace and opens her eyes to the -silent heroism that had stood at her side all through, and for every -pang of hers suffered a thousand. There is a vast amount of latent -power in this story that stands out the more it is considered. Clement -is kept in the background through much of the action. We only know that -he loves Fleurange, and, prominently as her self-sacrifice is advanced, -the shadow of his always overreaches it with the quiet that becomes a -true man. At last her eyes are opened, and she sees, no longer Clement, -“her brother,” but Clement, the man who has loved her all the while. -The closeness of their relationship—that of first cousins—was almost -necessary to bring out this part of the story, their almost continual -intercourse after their first seeing each other, without the idea ever -occurring to Fleurange that her cousin, who was a stranger to her up -to the age of eighteen, might possibly fall in love with her. It is no -encouragement to marriage within the prohibited degrees to hit upon -such an incident once in a story; as little as it is necessary to -inform the Catholic reader of what he or she will know beforehand: that -the dispensation of the church is necessary to the contracting such a -marriage. - -The book, which has only been touched upon in its leading character, -will afford an excellent foil to _Middlemarch_ in many ways. The -latter, as perhaps the very title indicates, devotes itself chiefly -to the English _middle_ class. _Fleurange_ gives pleasant glimpses -of German and Italian life with what, from intrinsic evidence, might -be judged to be a very true picture of the Russian court and social -atmosphere. Though there are plenty of titled folk, it is a consolation -for once to find a princess talking like a rational being; not -always addressing her attendant as “minion,” her butler as “slave,” -and terrifying the ears and eyes of the groundlings by the splendor -of her cheap tragedy rhetoric, the glory of her equipages, or the -coruscations of her diamonds. Her son, the count, does not, as do most -of his class in the titled novel, divide his time between the stable -and the green-room. The marquis is not “a villain of the deepest dye,” -whether natural or artificial. Though an Italian, he does not carry a -poison philter about with him; he employs no bravos, he never carries -off Chastity in the shape of a milliner, to be finally chastised by -Virtue in a smock-frock. In fact, all these titled folk are very -unlike the article one is accustomed to find within flaming covers. -The heartlessness and artificiality almost necessarily evoked in the -high social atmosphere which Fleurange breathes for a time, is none the -less strikingly brought out because it is not taken in epigrammatic -parcels, as it were, and flung in your face, after the manner of the -author of _Middlemarch_. The lesson of Felix Dornthall’s wicked life -is none the less impressive because, when dying in the hospital ward, -Charity stands by his bedside and prays for him as the ill-spent life -flickers out in the darkness. It is no shock to human feelings to see -Fleurange in her bitter hours kneel down and pray for help to a God she -believes can help her. If life is not all “beer and skittles,” neither -is it all a continual mistake and a bitter trial. If we cannot have -“ideal perfection,” it may be a consolation to some to feel assured -that we can do very well without it, and that there is something in the -striving after _real_ perfection worthy of human endeavor. To George -Eliot, the world was born yesterday, and only grew with her growing -faculties. Christianity has practically gone by, and this is not the -age for its heroes and heroines. The sham and the cant of it only -remain. As long as the sham and the cant produce such characters as -Madre Maddalena, Fleurange, Dr. Leblanc, and Clement, we shall welcome -the sham and the cant in preference to the reality which can only give -us Dorothea and Lydgate as types of true nobility and all that the -perfection of manhood and womanhood may expect to come to nowadays. -Whilst admiring the wit, and the worldly wisdom, and that power which -only ripened genius can give of saying the best thing in the best -way which _Middlemarch_ displays throughout, we confess to a little -heartsickness at seeing all the nature of a woman author going out over -Rosamond Vincy. - -_Fleurange_ is certainly a relief after the unnatural atmosphere -of _Middlemarch_, where all is false, uncertain, cold, hard, and -brilliant. Though the story is very human, and in this respect has -not a whit less of earth than the other, it suffers nothing by an -occasional glimpse of heaven. Poor humanity likes a little hope, -particularly when it has a very sound title to hope. These two authors -traverse it as a hospital; the one surgeon-like, knife in hand, cutting -and lopping the useless and unsightly limbs with bright, keen weapon -and merciless precision, leaving the dead to bury their dead; the -other, like a sister of charity, to bandage the wound, and comfort -the sick, and pray by the dying. How different is the same scene to -the eyes of each, and how different is each in the eyes of the sick -patients! While they admire the skill of the one, they shudder and -turn instinctively from her; on the other streaming eyes are bent, and -troubled hearts murmur, “God bless you!” - - - - -GRAPES AND THORNS. - -BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE HOUSE OF YORKE.” - - -CHAPTER IV. - -AN INCH OF FRINGE. - -MR. SCHÖNINGER had been in such haste to keep his engagement the -evening before that he had made the rehearsal a short one, and the -company did not remain long after he went. Perhaps the family did not -seem to them quite so gay and pleasant as usual. Certainly no one -objected much to their going. The only remonstrance was that uttered by -Annette, when Lawrence Gerald took his hat to follow the last visitor. - -“What! are you going, too?” she exclaimed involuntarily. She was -learning not to reproach him for anything, but it was impossible to -conceal her disappointment. - -He showed no impatience. On the contrary, his voice was quiet and even -kind when he answered her. - -“You cannot think it would be very pleasant for me to stay this -evening,” he said. “I want to wipe away some disagreeable impressions -before I come again. Besides, I must finish my afternoon’s writing -to-night.” - -She had to own that he might well shrink from meeting her mother again -just then, particularly as the lady did not seem to have recovered -her good-humor. In fact, while they were standing together near the -conservatory, she crossed the front hall from one room to another, and -cast a watchful glance back at them, as if she would have liked to come -nearer, but hesitated to do so. - -At sight of her, they turned away, and went out through the garden -door at the rear of the long hall, and came round the house instead of -going through it. This garden was extensive, occupying nearly or quite -two acres of land, and was surrounded by a low stone wall overgrown in -some places with vines, in others shaded by shrubs or trees. Crichton -was so well governed that high walls were not necessary to protect the -gardens, especially when people were so well known to be perfectly -willing and able to protect their rights as the Ferriers. A few notable -examples, made in a very spirited manner at the beginning of their -residence, had inspired transgressors with a wholesome awe of them -and their premises. Not a flower was broken, not a cherry nor a plum -disappeared from their trees, not an intruding footstep printed their -walks. - -These grounds were now sweet with a profusion of June roses, and so -pink that, as Annette walked through them with her lover, they appeared -to be flushed with sunset, though sunset had quite faded, leaving only -a pure twilight behind. Besides the newly planted trees, which were -small, a few large maples had been left from the original forest, and -shaded here and there a circle of velvet sward. A superb border of blue -flower-de-luce enclosed the whole with its band of fragrant sapphire. - -The two walked slowly round the house without speaking, and Lawrence -stepped through the gate, then, turning, leaned on it. Once out of Mrs. -Ferrier’s presence, he was not in such haste to go. Two linden-trees in -bloom screened them from observation as they stood there; and, since -pride no longer compelled him to keep up an indifferent or a defiant -manner, the young man yielded to his mood. He was sad, and seemed to -feel even a sort of despair. In a weak way he had admired all that -was admirable, and despised all that was ignoble, yet he had lacked -the resolution necessary to secure his own approval. He was still -noble enough to feel the loss of that more bitterly than any outside -condemnation. When he could, he deceived himself, and excused his own -shortcomings; but when some outward attack tore aside the flimsy veil, -and showed him how he might be criticised, or when some stirring appeal -revived the half-smothered ideal within him, then he needed all the -soothing that friendship or flattery could bestow. While listening -to Mrs. Ferrier that afternoon, he had not been able to exclude the -humiliating conviction that he had himself forged the chains that -held him in that ignoble dependence, and that ten years of earnest -endeavor would have set him in a position to command the fulfilment -of his wishes. But now, he assured himself, it was too late to begin. -His earliest foe, his own nature, had allied itself with one scarcely -less strong, a pernicious habit, and it was now two to one. He must be -helped, must go on with this engagement, and patch up the life which he -could not renew. - -“If she would give up the point of our living with her, all would -be well,” he said presently. “Why couldn’t we board at the Crichton -House? I don’t mean to be idle, and don’t wish to be. I wouldn’t make -any promises to her, Annette, and I won’t make them to any one who -threatens me; but I am willing to tell you that I really mean to try. -All I want is to get out of my little way of living, and have a fair -start. You know I never had a chance.” - -His lip and voice were unsteady, and, as he looked up appealingly -into her face, she saw that his eyes were full of tears. A grief and -self-pity too great for words possessed him. That element of childlike -tenderness and dependence which survives the time of childhood in some -men, as well as in most women, made him long for the pity and sympathy -of one to whom he had never given either sympathy or pity. - -Annette, woman-like, found no fault, or at least expressed none. It -was enough if he needed her sympathy. She had thought that he only -needed her wealth. Her heart ached with pity for him, and swelled with -indignation against all who would censure him. His foes were her foes. - -“I know you never had a chance, Lawrence,” she said fervently; “but -never mind that now. You shall have one. F. Chevreuse shall talk to -mamma, and make her give me at once what I am to have. It is my right. -Don’t be unhappy about the past, nor blame yourself in anything. -All lives are not to follow one plan. Why should you have begun as a -drudge, and spent all these years in laying up a little money? What -better would you be now for having the experience of an errand-boy -and a clerk, and for the memory of a thousand mortifications and -self-denials? You might have two or three thousand dollars capital, -and be, at best, a junior partner in some paltry firm, which I should -insist on your leaving. Is that so much to regret?” - -He smiled faintly, and, his cause being so well defended, ventured to -attack it. “To be mortified is not necessarily to be degraded,” he -said. “I shouldn’t have been obliged to listen to the lecture I heard -this afternoon.” - -“The degradation of that rests with me!” she exclaimed hastily, with -a painful blush on her face. “I do not like to think nor speak of it, -and I wish you would try to forget it. The time is come for me to tell -mamma that I am not a child. Leave all to me. I never fail when I am -roused, and I promise you, Lawrence, you shall not bear more than one -other insult for my sake. And for the past, I charge you again, do not -suffer any one to dictate to you what you should have done. Let them -correct themselves, which will, perhaps, be sufficient to employ their -time.” - -She could see he was cheered, not much, but a little. He tossed his -head back, and glanced about with an air of renewed courage and -determination. But no thought for the heart that he had burdened with -his pain and care entered his mind. She had given her help eagerly, -glad to give, and he accepted it as a matter of course, and, having got -what he wanted, went away with a careless good-night. - -Annette went into the house, and soon the doors were locked. Mrs. -Ferrier always went to bed early, and the servants usually followed her -example. - -Annette leaned from her window, and counted the city lights going out, -and the noises sinking into silence. As it grew later, the sound of the -Cocheco became fitfully audible, borne on the cool northwestern breeze, -and presently grew steadier, till only one other sound, the pulse of a -far-away steam-mill, was heard tossing on that spray-like murmur like a -little ball on the water-column of a fountain. - -Cool as it was, the room seemed close to her. She was restless, too, -yet could not move about without being heard by her mother. So she -opened her door, and crept softly down-stairs. The long drawing-room -windows looking into the conservatory had been left open, and some -of the sashes in the conservatory were still lowered from the top. A -light and fragrant breeze came through, bringing a sound of rustling -leaves. She stepped over the sill, and threw herself down on a sofa -just outside. The large space was a relief from that cramped feeling -that had brought her down-stairs. Besides, there was only glass between -her and all out-doors. She saw the star-lighted skies, those languid -stars of summer, soft as humid eyes, and the dark trees of the garden, -and the faint outline of hills against the near southwestern horizon. -The flowering plants showed like black shadows lurking about the bases -of the pillars, and the pillars themselves appeared to stretch upward -to the sky, and curl over in capitals of purple acanthus-leaves fringed -with stars. - -Annette rested her head on the sofa-cushions. The space and motion -outside and the waving boughs and vines had a quieting effect; yet she -was in that state of feverish wakefulness wherein one can be quiet only -in a position from which it is possible to start at any moment. - -Her life was changing in its hopes and aims, and she was in all the -tumult of that revolution. The vague, sweet expectations and rosy hopes -which are planted in the heart of every female infant, which spring -up and bud in the maiden’s soul, which blossom or are nipped in the -woman’s, as God shall will, were withered in hers, had withered long -ago, and she was only now owning it to herself. There was to be no -tender homage and care for her. No one was to take delight in her, to -seek her for herself, to think anxiously lest she be grieved or hurt. -Whatever pain might come to her in life, she must bear it in silence. -To tell it where alone sympathy would be precious and helpful to her -would be to bore her listener. Hers was the part to give, not to -receive. Without a man’s strength and hardness, she was to take the -man’s portion, support, cheer, encourage, and defend, and all without -thanks. - -An awful sense of isolation seized upon her. There had come to her that -moment which comes to some, perhaps to most people, once in a life, -when all the universe seems to withdraw, and the soul hangs desolate in -the midst of space, the whole of creation alien. One shrinks from life -then, and would gladly hide in death. - -Annette was too sad and weary to cry out. She lay quiet, and looked -at the tree-shadows. Some good thought crossed her mind, a whisper of -her guardian angel, or an inspiration of the Comforter—“Fall down and -pray to God for help!” it said; but found her insensible. A human love -inexpressibly bitter and engrossing blunted her heart to all else. She -mutely asked God to be merciful to her, but formed no other petition. - -While she gazed without abstractedly, only half conscious of what she -saw, a darker shadow appeared under a tree just visible past the angle -of the house. What seemed to be a man’s form leaned forward partially -into her view, drew something from a garden-chair under the tree, -then disappeared. She was too much occupied by her own thoughts to be -alarmed, and, moreover, was not in any danger. She only wondered a -little what it might mean, and presently understood. Mr. Schöninger, -coming from a long drive that afternoon, had brought a shawl over his -arm, and she had noticed after he went away that it had been forgotten -on the garden-chair where he had thrown it on entering. It might be -that, returning home now, he had recollected, and come into the garden -for it. - -Slight as the incident was, it broke the train of her painful thoughts. -She sat up with a gesture that flung the past with all its beautiful -hopes and wishes behind her, and welcomed the one thought that came -in their stead, sad yet sweet, like a smile half quenched in tears. -Lawrence Gerald did not love her, but he needed her, and she took up -her cross, this time with an upward glance. - -When we have set self aside, from whatever motive, the appeal to God -for help is instinctive, and seems less a call than the answer to a -call. As though Infinite Love, which for love’s sake sacrificed a God, -could not see a trembling human soul binding itself for the altar -without claiming kindred with it. “My child, the spark that lights thy -pyre is from my heart. Hold by me, and it shall not burn in vain.” - -Yet that the happiness of giving love and help is nobler and more -elevating than the pleasure of receiving them Annette did not then -realize, perhaps would not have believed. Who does believe it, or, at -least, who acts upon the belief till after long and severe discipline, -till the world has lost its hold on the heart, and it has placed all -its hopes in the future? Fine sentiments drop easily from the lips of -those to whom they cost nothing, or who have forgotten the struggles by -which their own peace was won. Those who are fed can talk eloquently -of patience under starvation, and those who are warmed can cry out on -the folly of the poor traveller who sinks to sleep under the snowdrift. -Verily, preaching is easy, and there is no one who has such breath to -utter heroic sentiments as he who never puts them in practice. - -As Annette lay there, growing quieter now that all was settled, clouds -came up from behind the hills, and slowly extinguished the stars. -Opaline lightnings quivered and expanded inside those heavy mists -without piercing them, as though some winged creature of fire were -imprisoned there, and fluttering to escape; and every time the air grew -luminous, the azaleas and rhododendrons bloomed rose-red out of their -shadows. Deep and mellow thunders rolled incessantly, and a thick rain -came down in drops so fine that the sound of their falling was but a -whisper. It was a thunder-storm played _piano_. Annette was lulled to -a light sleep, through which she still heard the storm, as in a dream, -growing softer till it ceased. And no sooner did she dream it had -ceased than she dreamed it had recommenced, with a clamor of rain and -thunder, and a wind that shook the doors and windows, and a flash like -a shriek that syllabled her name. - -She started up in affright. The sky was clear and calm, and the storm -had all passed by; but the wet trees in the garden shone with a red -light from the windows, and there was noise and a hurrying to and fro -in the house, and her mother was calling her with hysterical cries. - -Annette would have answered, but her tongue was paralyzed with that -sudden fear. She could only hasten into the house with what speed the -deathly sickness of such an awakening allowed her. - -Mrs. Ferrier was walking through the rooms, wringing her hands, and -calling for her daughter. “Where is Annette? What has become of -Annette?” The servants stood about, silent and confounded by the noisy -grief of their mistress, unable to do anything but stare at her. - -There is usually but one chief mourner on such occasions, however many -candidates there may be for the office. The one who first raises the -voice of lamentation leaves the others _hors de combat_. - -In one of her turns, Mrs. Ferrier saw Annette leaning pale and mute on -a chair near by. - -“O Annette, Annette! do you know what has happened? Oh! what shall I -do?” she cried. - -Annette could only cling to the chair for support. Her mouth and throat -were too dry for speech. - -“Somebody has killed Mother Chevreuse!” The girl slipped down to her -knees, and hid her face a moment. Nothing had happened to Lawrence, -thank God! Then she stood up, shocked and grieved indeed, but no longer -powerless. - -“Will you tell me what it is, John?” she asked, turning to the man. -“Tell me all you know about it.” - -Her mother’s noise and volubility were too irritating. - -John’s story was soon told. Lawrence Gerald, having been awakened by -a messenger from the priest’s house, had been up there to call them -before going for F. Chevreuse. He wished some of them to come down -immediately. - -Annette’s mind was clear and prompt in any emergency which did not -touch her too nearly. She saw at once all that was necessary to be done. - -“Ma, please don’t take all the attention to yourself,” she said rather -impatiently. “It isn’t you who are killed. Try to think of what should -be done. John, you and Bettie will go down with me. The rest of you -lock the house securely, and let no one in whom you don’t know. Louis -and Jack will take care of you.” - -Bettie flew with alacrity to prepare herself, willing to brave all -perils in the company of John; but, coming down again, found that her -mistress was also going. There was no help for it. The servant-maid -fell humbly into the rear, while Mrs. Ferrier clung to the arm of -the footman, and saw an assassin in every shadow. At sight of a man -hurrying up the hill toward them, she cried out, and would have fled if -her daughter had not held her. - -“Nonsense, ma! it’s Lawrence,” Annette said, and went to meet the -breathless messenger. - -“I’m going after F. Chevreuse,” he explained. “Can I have one of your -horses?” - -He stopped only for Annette’s reply: “Take anything you want!” then -hurried on up the hill. - -The little cottage by the church was all alight, and people were -hurrying about, and standing in the open door and the entry. - -“Now, recollect, ma, you must keep quiet, and not get in anybody’s -way,” was the daughter’s last charge as they drew near; then they went -into the house. - -Honora Pembroke met Annette at the door of the inner room. The two -girls clasped hands in silence. They understood each other. The one was -strong to endure with calmness, the other strong to do with calmness; -and, till F. Chevreuse should come, all rested on them. Mrs. Gerald, -weaker of nerve, could only sit and gaze about her, and do what she was -told to do. Jane was in the hands of officers, who were trying to find -out what she knew, and prevent her saying too much to others. It was -not an easy task; for what the woman knew and what she suspected were -mingled in inextricable confusion, and the only relief her excitement -could find was in pouring out the whole to whoever would listen. An -argument was, however, found to silence her. - -“You will help the rogue to escape if you tell one word,” the detective -said. “If you want him to be punished, you must hold your tongue. Have -you told any one?” - -“Nobody but Lawrence Gerald,” Jane answered, recovering her -self-control. It would be hard to keep silence, but she could do it for -the sake of punishing _that man_. - -“Well, say nothing to any one else. Look now, and remember how it -looks, then forget all about it till you are asked in court.” - -Jane and the two policemen in the little room with them drew nearer and -scrutinized closely the contents of a slip of paper that the detective -held in his hand. It was an inch or so of grey worsted fringe torn -from a shawl; and, clinging to the fragment, a single human hair, of a -peculiar light-brown shade. - -Poor Mother Chevreuse! This little clue had been found clenched in her -stiffening fingers when they took her up. - -The three looked intently, then drew back, and the detective carefully -folded the paper again, and placed it in his pocket-book. - -An hour later, F. Chevreuse arrived. We will not enter the house with -him. The two guests that there await him, death and an unspeakable -grief, demand that homage of us, that we do not intrude. - -As Lawrence Gerald was driving away from the door after having brought -the priest, Jane called out to him, and, when he stopped, leaned over -the wheel into the carriage. - -“Don’t let a soul on earth know what I told you we found in her hand, -nor what I saw,” she whispered. - -He muttered some half-stifled word about not being a tattler. - -“Promise me you won’t,” she persisted, laying her hand on his arm. - -He gave the promise impatiently—women’s ways are so annoying when one -is excited and in haste—shook her hand off, and drove away. - -Let us pass over the first days that followed. The gossip, the -wonderment, the show of grief that is merely excitement, and, still -more, the grief that is real, and shrinks from showing itself—who -would not wish to escape sight and sound of them? We may well believe -that one so beloved and honored was followed to her last home by the -tears and blessings of a crowd, and that one so bereaved was the object -of an immense sympathy and affection. We may also be sure that those -to whom the law gives in charge the search for such offenders did not -neglect their task. We will not fraternize with the detectives nor with -the gossips. Let them do their work, each after his kind. - -When weeks had passed away, Mrs. Gerald had not yet dared to mention -his loss to F. Chevreuse; but he spoke of it to her; and, having -once spoken, she felt sure that he wished the subject to be avoided -thereafter. - -“It seems to me that I never was a real priest till now,” he said. “I -was not conscious of making any sacrifice. I had a pleasant home, and -one there to whom I was all in all. Now I have no earthly tie, nothing -to come between me and my Master’s work. I don’t mean to say that she -was an obstacle; on the contrary, she was a great help; but she was -also an immense comfort, more a comfort than I deserve, perhaps. I do -not deny that it is sad, but I know also that it is well. There are no -accidents in God’s providence. The only thought almost too hard for me -to bear is that I took her affection so carelessly. She gave her all, -and I did not remember to tell her that it was precious to me. She was -a tender, loving creature, and, when I was a child, she gave me that -fondness that children need. I forgot that she might need fondness as -much when she grew old. I forgot that, while I had a thousand duties, -and interests, and friends, she had nothing but me. - -“It is too late to talk of it now; but if I could have been permitted -one minute to go on my knees to her, and bless and thank her for all -her love, I could bear this better. For that man, whoever he may be, I -have no feeling but pity. Unless the safety of others should require -it, I hope he may not be taken. I haven’t a doubt the unfortunate -wretch wanted the money, but didn’t mean to hurt any one, except in -self-defence. I do not wish to know who he is.” - -Mrs. Gerald was too much affected to utter a word in reply. It did not -seem to be F. Chevreuse who was speaking to her in that sad voice, from -which the ringing tone had quite gone, and that pale face was not like -his. It seemed, too, that in those few weeks his hair had grown white. - -He resumed after a moment: “There are some things at the house I would -like to have you see to. Whatever is valuable in money, the silver -and a few other things, I mean shall go toward a new altar-service. -She wished it. But there are some trinkets and things that she used, -and clothing and books, that I would like to have you take away. I -don’t want to see them about. Let Honora choose whatever she likes for -herself. My mother was fond of her. Keep what you wish, and give some -little _souvenirs_ to those who would value them for her sake. And now -let us set our faces forward, and waste no time in vain lamentations.” - -“O Mrs. Gerald!” Jane cried, when the lady went there in compliance -with the priest’s request, “my heart is broke! All the light is gone -out of the house.” - -“Don’t speak of that,” Mrs. Gerald said. “Tell me of F. Chevreuse. Is -he quiet? Does he eat anything?” - -“He eats about as much as would keep a fly,” the housekeeper sighed. -“But he sits at the table, and tries the best he can. If you’d seen him -the first night after it was all over! I came up and poured the tea -out for him, and, indeed, my eyes were so full I came near scalding -myself with it. He took something on his plate, and made believe taste -of it, and talked in a cheerful sort of way about the weather and about -something he wanted to have done. But when he saw my hand holding the -cup out to him, he stopped short in what he was saying, and choked up, -and then he leaned back in his chair and burst out a-crying. It was -the same little cup and spoon she always gave him, but it wasn’t the -same woman that held it across the table for him to take. And I set -the cup down and cried too: what else? And, ‘Jane,’ says he, ‘where’s -the little hand that for years has been stretched out to me every -evening?’ What could the like of me say, ma’am, to comfort a priest -in his sorrow? I couldn’t help speaking, though, and says I, ‘May be -there isn’t the length of the table between you,’ says I, ‘and the -little hand is holding out the first bitter cup it ever offered you -to drink. But, oh! drink it, father dear,’ says I, ‘and may be you’ll -find a blessing at the bottom.’ And then I was so ashamed of myself -for preaching to the priest that I ran out of the room. After a little -while his bell rang, and I wiped my eyes, and went in. And there he sat -with a trembling kind of a smile on his face, and says he, ‘Jane, how -am I to get my tea at all?’ So I gave him the cup, and went and stood -by the fireplace. And he talked about things in the house, and asked me -if I didn’t want my mother to come and live with me. The Lord knows I -didn’t, ma’am, through my mother not being overneat, besides taking a -drop now and then. But it’s decenter, and so I said yes. And when I was -cheered up a little, he sent me out. But when I was going through the -door, he spoke to me, and says he, ‘Jane!’ And when I looked back, and -said ‘Sir!’ says he, ‘Jane, you’re right. There is a blessing at the -bottom of it.’ And he smiled in a way that was sadder than tears. Since -that he has the tray set at his elbow, and pours the tea for himself. -And now, ma’am, I’m going to tell you something that you mustn’t let -anybody know, for may be I oughtn’t to speak of it. That first night -following the funeral I heard him walking about his room after I went -to bed, and I knew he couldn’t sleep; though, indeed, it was little -that any of us slept that night. Well, by-and-by, when I’d been drowsy -like, I heard him go out into the entry, and I thought that perhaps -some one had rung the bell. I was frightened for fear of who it might -be; so I got up, and threw something on, and crept up the stairs, and -peeped through the rail, all ready to scream for help. I watched him -open the door, with the street-lamp shining not far off; and, O Mrs. -Gerald! if he didn’t kneel down there and kiss the threshold where she -stood that night watching him drive away; and he cried that pitiful -that it was all I could do not to cry out loud myself, and let him know -I was there.” - -The first sharpness of the impression made by this event wore away, -and people began to talk of other things. Some wealthy Protestants -of Crichton made up for F. Chevreuse the money he had lost, and thus -soothed their regret for the loss which they could not repair to him. -Even those who were most grieved felt their lives closing over the -wound. Duties and plans that had been interrupted were resumed, among -them that for a concert in aid of the new convent. Miss Ferrier’s -rehearsal had been a last preparation for this concert, which had been -postponed on account of the death of Mother Chevreuse, and it was -necessary to have another. - -Annette threw herself into these preparations with spirit. Her affairs -were prospering as well as she could expect. F. Chevreuse had talked -with Mrs. Ferrier, and brought her to reason, and Lawrence had been -induced to yield a little. It was settled that the marriage should -take place on the first of September, and the young couple spend one -year with the mother. After that they were to be free to go where they -liked, Annette with an ample allowance assured her, and a promise that -the property should be equally divided in case of her mother’s death. - -“The young man is behaving very well,” F. Chevreuse said, “and he ought -to be trusted and encouraged. He goes regularly to Mass, and attends -closely to his business. I shall not soon forget how much he did for me -when—when I was away that night. The shock seems to have awakened him. -He sees what indolence and unfixed principles may lead to, and that a -man who rocks like a boat on the tide of his own passions may drift -anywhere. We must be good to him.” - -“If you would only give him a plain talking to, father,” Mrs. Ferrier -said. She had an immense faith in the power of talk. “If you would tell -him what he ought to do, and what he ought not to do. Just warn him.” - -The priest shook his head. - -“I believe in sometimes leaving God to warn in his own way,” he said. -“It is a mistake for even the wisest man to be perpetually thrusting -his clumsy fingers into the delicate workings of the human soul. We are -priests, but we are not Gods; and men and women are not fools. They -should be left to themselves sometimes. God has occasional messages for -his children which do not need our intervention. Too much direction is -degrading to an intelligent soul.” - -F. Chevreuse had been involuntarily expressing the thought that -started up in his own mind rather than addressing his companion; and, -seeing at a glance that she had not understood a word of what he had -been saying, he smilingly adapted his talk to her comprehension. - -“I heard a story once,” he said, “of a careful mother who was going -away from home to spend the day. Before starting, she called her -children about her, and, after telling them of certain things which -they were not to do, she concluded in this wise: ‘And don’t you go up -into the back attic, to the dark corner behind the big chimney, and -take up a loose board in the floor, and pull out a bag of dry beans -there is there, and get beans in your noses.’ Then she went away, -having forbidden every evil which she could imagine might happen to -them. When she came home at night, every child had a bean up its nose. -Don’t you see she had better not have said anything about those beans? -The children didn’t know where they were. No; if you want to keep -any one from evil, talk to him of what is good. The more you look at -evil, even to abuse it, the less shocking it is to you. The more you -talk about it, the more people will do it. Sometimes it must be spoken -of; but beware of saying too much. Do you know when darkness appears -darkest? When you have been looking at light. Therefore, my lady, say -all that is pleasant to this young man, and try to forget that there -ever was anything unpleasant.” - -Mrs. Ferrier was not one to oppose the earnestly expressed wish of a -clergyman, and, at this time, all F. Chevreuse’s people felt an unusual -desire to show him their love and obedience. Besides, she was rather -proud of having been considered so implacable that no one but a priest -could influence her, and of being able to say, in defence of her change -of plan: “I did it for the sake of F. Chevreuse.” She even boasted a -little of this intercession, and took care it should be known that the -church had begged her to be lenient, and had for a moment anxiously -awaited her decision. - -“Besides,” she would add, “he takes a good deal more pains to be -pleasant now.” - -Lawrence, indeed, took no such pains, and, perhaps, liked Annette’s -mother less than ever. The only change was in herself. She had, by -being civil to him, rendered it possible for him to be agreeable. When -he was spoken of slightingly, she had insulted him; when he was praised -to her, she conciliated. It was not necessary that there should be any -change in him. - -Annette, too, had taken his cause up with a high hand. The passion -of love, which had sometimes made her timid in speaking of him, was -unconsciously giving place to a passion of pity, which made her -fearless. Woe to the servant who was dilatory in waiting on Mr. Gerald, -or lacking in any sign of respect for him. He was consulted about -everything. Not a curtain, nor chair, nor spoon could be bought till -he had approved. A cool “I will see what Lawrence thinks of it,” was -enough to postpone a decision on any subject. “He has taste, and we -have nothing but money.” If the phrase is not a contradiction, it -might be said that she abased herself haughtily in order to exalt him. -If they had company to dinner, Lawrence must glance over the list of -dishes; if a new plant arrived, he must advise where it should be set; -if a stranger came to town, it was for Lawrence to decide whether the -Ferriers should show him hospitality. - -“I think our rehearsal may as well be also a little garden-party,” -Annette said to him. “We need scarcely any practice, nothing to speak -of, everything went so well the last time.” - -She was tying on her bonnet before a mirror in the drawing room, and -Lawrence stood by a window, hat in hand, looking out at the carriage -waiting at the gate. He did not seem to have heard her. - -“I should only ask a few persons who will be sure to go to the concert -and help along,” she continued, twirling lightly about to see if the -voluminous folds of her black silk train fell properly. She wanted -Lawrence to notice her, for she was looking uncommonly well. Black was -becoming to her; and the delicate lavender gloves, and bunch of scarlet -geranium-flowers half lost in lace just behind her left ear, gave -precisely the touch of color that was needed. But he stood immovable, -watching the horses, perhaps, or watching nothing. - -Seeing him so abstracted, she looked at him a moment, remembering an -old story she had read of Apollo apprenticed to a swine-herd. Here was -one, she thought, who might have graced Olympus, yet who had been bound -down to poverty, and labor, and disappointment. His pale and melancholy -face showed that he might be mourning even now his ignominious -captivity. Thank God, she could help him! He should not always be so -sorrowful. - -He moved slightly, without looking toward her, aware of her silence, -though he had not noticed her speech. She checked, with an effort, the -impulse to go to him with some affectionate inquiry, and went on with -what she had been saying. “We need the editors, of course, and I can -ask Dr. Porson to bring Mr. Sales. They say he is very clever, and will -bring _The Aurora_ up again. They will give us puffs, you know. If I -send the doctor a note this afternoon, he will tell Mr. Sales this -evening, and he can write a nice little report of the rehearsal before -he comes to it, and have it out to-morrow morning.” - -“Are you ready?” asked Lawrence, turning round from the window. - -“All but this.” She gave him a little gold glove-buttoner; and held out -her hand. - -“By the way,” she said suddenly, “have you heard the story about Mr. -Schöninger?” - -Lawrence let slip the tiny button he had just caught, and stared at her -in silence. Perhaps he remembered something that Jane, the priest’s -housekeeper, had charged him not to tell. - -“Such a romantic story!” she said, smiling at having won his attention. -“I forgot to tell you. They say that he has a lawsuit going on in -England about an immense property to which he is the rightful heir. -It is from some very distant relative who left Germany for England a -hundred years ago. He has no personal acquaintance with any of the -family there now; but ten years ago, he learned that the heirs had died -out leaving him nearest to the estate. He was then in Germany, and had -a little property, on which he lived like a gentleman. He spent every -dollar he had in the effort to obtain his rights, but did not succeed. -Neither did he fail; but more money was needed. And that’s the reason -why he came to this country and became a music-teacher, and why he -lives so plainly, and works all the time. Lily Carthusen told me she -heard that he sent money to England every quarter, and that all his -earnings go into that lawsuit.” - -“Lily Carthusen knows a great deal about other people’s business,” -the young man remarked ungraciously. “She is one of the kind who peep -into letters and listen at doors. I wouldn’t repeat any of her stories, -Annette.” - -“I only tell you, Lawrence,” she replied humbly. - -“Well, I don’t believe a word of it,” he said. “Schöninger is a fine -fellow; and people imagine there is some mystery about him, simply -because he won’t tell everybody his business, and who his grandfather -and grandmother were. There are thousands of persons in this city who, -if you should keep one room in your house locked, would believe that it -was full of stolen goods.” - -They were going out through the door now, and Annette assumed a bright -smile. No one must see her looking mortified or sad, least of all when -she was with Lawrence. She stepped lightly into the carriage, and gave -her order with the air of one anticipating a charming drive. “To the -convent, Jack, straight through the town, and slowly.” - -Which meant that they intended to have some conversation, and were not -unwilling to be observed. - -“I always like to see the sisters when I am out of tune,” Miss Ferrier -said. “They are so soothing and cheerful. Besides, they are brave. They -fear nothing. They are not always quaking, as people in the world are. -They have the courage of children who know that they will be taken care -of. I always feel stronger after being with them. Not that I am usually -timid, though. I think I have more courage than you, Lawrence.” - -She smiled playfully, giving her true words the air of a jest. - -He looked straight ahead, and ignored the jest. “You have a clear -conscience, that is the reason,” he replied. “It’s the old serpent in -the tree that makes it shaky.” - -“It is very true,” she said calmly, after a moment’s consideration. “I -do not believe I ever did anything wicked.” - -“As a rule, I don’t like religious people,” the young man observed; -“but I’ve no objection to any of the nuns. The fact that they will wear -unbecoming dresses and cut off their hair proves them sincere. It’s the -strongest proof a good-looking woman could give. You needn’t laugh, -Annette. Just think a minute, and you’ll find it is so. Now, look at -that little Anita I saw up there once. She’s as pink and white as the -inside of a sea-shell, and her hair must be a yard long, and beautiful -hair at that. Yet she is going to have those braids cut off, and hide -her face under a black bonnet. That means something. I only hope she -may not be sorry when it is too late. I’d like to talk with her. Ask to -see her to-day, won’t you?” - -Annette’s answer was very gravely uttered. “Certainly, if you wish,” -she said. “But you will not have much opportunity for conversation with -her.” - -He roused himself, just beginning to take some interest in their talk. -“You can manage it, Annette. Get her singing for me, then take Sister -Cecilia off out of the room.” - -He spoke coaxingly, and with a faint smile; but she did not lift her -eyes. “You know there must be no trifling with such a person, Lawrence. -Why need you wish to speak to Anita? Is it impossible for you to see an -interesting girl without trying to captivate her? You need not be proud -of such success.” - -He threw himself back on the cushions again. “Oh! if you are jealous, -there is no more to be said about it.” - -As she remained silent, he presently stole a questioning glance into -her face, and, seeing the cloud on it, smiled again. It always amused -him to see any evidence of his power over women, and no proof could be -stronger than the sight of their pain. - -“Don’t be silly now, Ninon!” he said softly. “You know I don’t mean to -trifle nor flirt, but only to satisfy my curiosity. I never spoke to a -young vestal like that, and I would like to know what sort of language -they use. Be good, dear!” - -That coaxing voice could still make her smile, though it could no -longer cheat her into delight. She looked at him indulgently, as one -looks at a spoilt child whom one has no desire to reprove, yet sighs -over. “I will do what I can, Lawrence; but you must be careful not to -behave so that the sisters will wish to exclude you in future.” - -“That’s a good girl!” - -Then his momentary gaiety dropped off like a mask. - -“Yes, I like to see that kind of religion,” he resumed. “But I hate a -gilt-edged piety. I despise those people who are so nice that they call -the devil ‘the D., you know,’ and whose religion is all promenade-dress -and genuflections. I suspect them. I was talking the other day with a -lady who said something about the ‘D., you know,’ and I answered, ‘No, -I don’t know. What do you mean?’ She had to say it; and I haven’t a -doubt she always says it when she is angry. Bah!” - -They had reached the gate, and, seeing no one, alighted and left the -carriage there. But Sister Cecilia met them at the entrance, her -welcoming smile like a benediction. - -As they entered the parlor, they surprised a little domestic tableau. -The door leading to an inner room was partly open, and braced against -a chair in which were a pail of steaming water and a bar of soap. -Sister Bernadette, the chief music-teacher, held the door-knob in one -hand, while with the other she was vigorously scouring the panels. Her -sleeves were rolled up to the shoulders, a large apron covered her from -chin to slipper, and her veil was removed. As she scoured, her full, -sweet face was uplifted, and her large blue eyes watched the success of -her labor with perfect earnestness and good-will. - -A burst of laughter revealed the spectators to her. Mr. Gerald stood -just within the room, bowing profoundly, with gravity and some -diffidence, but the two ladies were thoroughly amused. - -“Would you not think,” cried Sister Cecilia, “that she expected to see -that dingy old door turn between her hands into the great pearl of the -New Jerusalem gate? You certainly did expect a miracle, Bernadette.” - -Sister Bernadette’s blush was but momentary, only the rapid color of -surprise that faded away in dimples as she smiled. Her sleeves were -pulled down and her veil snatched on in a trice, and she went to meet -their visitors with an air that would have adorned a drawing-room. - -“Sister is a witch,” she said. “I was thinking of the gates of the New -Jerusalem, though not expecting a miracle.” - -This lady, whom we find scrubbing a door, with her sleeves rolled up, -was the child of wealth and gentle blood. She had beauty, talents, and -culture, and her life had been without a cloud, save those light ones -that only enhance the surrounding brightness. Yet she had turned away -from the world, not in bitterness and disappointment, nor because it -was to her unbeautiful, but because its fragments of beauty served -only to remind her of the infinite loveliness. She had not Sister -Cecilia’s enthusiasm; but her heart was a fountain for ever full of -love, and cheerfulness, and a gentle courage. She seemed to live in a -sunny, spiritual calm above the storms of life. - -After a few graceful words, she took leave, promising to send Anita -to them. Miss Ferrier wished Mr. Gerald to hear the girl play on the -piano, and Miss Ferrier was a benefactor to their community, and, -therefore, a person to be obliged. Otherwise they might not have -thought it profitable for the child to receive a morning-call from -fashionable people who were neither related to nor intimate with her. - -Anita came in presently, as a moonbeam comes in when you lift the -curtain at night. Softly luminous and without sound, it is there. This -girl was rather small and dark-haired, and had a dazzling fairness of -complexion to which her simple brown dress was in admirable contrast. -Her eyes were blue and almost always downcast, as if she would wish -to hide that full, unsteady radiance that shone out through them. -Nothing could have been more charming than her manner—timid without -awkwardness, and showing that innocent reserve of a child which springs -neither from fear nor distrust. She met Miss Ferrier sweetly, but was -not the first to extend her hand; and Annette’s kiss, to which she -only submitted, left a red spot on her cheek which lingered for some -time after. She was one of those sensitive flowers that shrink from -the lightest touch. No love was delicate enough for her except that -ineffable love of the “Spouse of virgins.” - -Lawrence Gerald watched her with enchantment. The immense gravity and -respect of her salutation to him had made him smile. It was a new -study for him. How sunburnt and hackneyed Annette seemed beside this -fair little cloistered snowdrop! Poor Annette, with her grieved and -disappointed heart, which surely had not chosen the rough ways of the -world, and would gladly have been loved and shielded as this girl had -been, received scant charity from the man whose sole hope she was. So -are our misfortunes imputed to us as crimes! - -Anita played admirably on the piano, turning the music for herself. -After her first gentle refusal of his help, Lawrence did not venture to -press the matter, fearing to alarm her timidity; but he seated himself -near, and, affecting not to observe her, watched every movement. - -After the first piece, Miss Ferrier and Sister Cecilia, seated by -a distant window, began to talk in whispers about various business -affairs; but as the gentleman by the piano was listening, and pushed -toward her a second sheet of music when she laid the first aside, the -performer did not rise. - -“Yes,” Sister Cecilia was saying, her eyes fixed on a rough sofa the -nuns had themselves stuffed cushions for, “I think there is something -up-stairs that will do to cover it. We have several large packages -that have not been opened. They were sent here the day after Mother -Chevreuse died, and we have had no heart to touch them since. There are -some shawls, and blankets, and quilts that Mrs. Macon gathered for us -from any one who would give. I am sure we shall find something there -that will do very well.” - -“And now sing for me,” Lawrence said gently, as Anita ended her -second piece. “I am sure you sing. You....” He checked himself there, -not daring to finish his speech. “You have the full throat of a -singing-bird,” he was going to say. - -He placed on the music-rack a simple little _Ave Maria_, and she sang -it in a pure, flute-toned voice, and with a composed painstaking to do -her best that provoked him. He leaned a little, only a little, nearer -when she had ended, and sat with her eyes downcast, the lashes making a -shadow on her smooth, colorless cheeks. - -“It is a sweet song,” he said; “but you can sing what is far more -difficult and expressive. Sing once again, something stronger. Give me -a love-song.” - -He trembled at his own audacity, and his face reddened as he brought -out the last words. Would she start up and rush out of the room? Would -she blush, or burst into tears? Nothing of the kind. She merely sat -with her eyes downcast, and her fingers resting lightly on the keys, -and tried to recollect something. - -Then a little smile, faint from within, touched the corners of her -mouth, her eyes were lifted fully and fixed on air, and she sang that -hymn beloved by S. Francis Xaverius: - - “O Deus! ego amo te.” - -It was no longer the pale and timid novice. Fire shone from her -uplifted eyes, a roseate color warmed her transparent face, and the -soul of a smile hovered about her lips. It was the bride singing to her -Beloved. - -When she had finished the last words, the singer turned toward the -window, as if looking to Sister Cecilia for sympathy, knowing well that -only with her could she find it, and perceived then that she was alone -with Lawrence Gerald. - -Annette, half ashamed of herself for doing it, had kept her promise, -and lured the sister out of the parlor on some pretext. - -Anita rose immediately, made the gentleman a slight obeisance, and -glided from the room without uttering a word. - -When she had gone, he sat there confounded. “She a child!” he muttered. -“She is the most self-possessed and determined woman I ever met.” - -The love-song he had asked for addressed to God, and her abrupt -departure, were to his mind proofs of the most mortifying rebuff he had -ever received. - -But he mistook, not knowing the difference between a child of earth -and a child of heaven. That he could mean any other kind of love-song -than the one she had sung never entered Anita’s mind. Love was to her -an everyday word, oftener on her lips than any other. She spoke of love -in the last waking moment at night and the first one in the morning. -There was no reason why she should fear the word. As to the rest, it -was nothing but obedience. - -“Why did you come out, my dear?” asked Sister Cecilia, meeting her in -the entry. - -“Sister Bernadette told me never to remain alone with a gentleman,” -Anita replied simply. - -Lawrence was just saying to himself that, after all, her fear of -staying with him was rather flattering, when she re-entered the room -with Annette and the sister, and came to the piano again. It was -impossible for vanity to blind him. He had not stirred the faintest -ripple on the surface of her heart. It was a salutary mortification. - -Sister Cecilia carried in her hands a man’s large gray shawl. Opening -it out, she threw it over their improvised sofa, and tucked it in -around the arms and the cushions. “It will do nicely,” she said. “And -we do not need it for a wrap or a spread.” - -Annette viewed it a little. “So it will,” she acquiesced. “A few large -pins will keep it in place. But here is a little tear in the corner. -Let me turn it the other way. There! that does nicely, doesn’t it, -Lawrence?” - -She turned in speaking to him, but he was not there. He had stepped out -into the porch, and was beckoning Jack to drive the carriage up inside -the grounds. - -They took leave after a minute. - -“Be sure you all pray for the success of our concert,” was Annette’s -farewell charge to the sister. “We are to have our last rehearsal -to-night.” - -She glanced into her companion’s face as they drove along, but -refrained from asking him any questions about his interview with Anita. -His expression did not indicate that he had derived much pleasure from -it. - - TO BE CONTINUED. - - - - -MUSIC. - - - WHEN the heart is overflowing, - Now with sorrow, now with joy, - And its fulness mocks our showing, - Like a spell that words destroy: - - When the soul is all devotion, - Till its rapture grows a pain - And to free the pent emotion - Even prayer’s wings spread in vain: - - Then but one relief is given: - Not a voice of mortal birth, - But a language born in heaven, - And in mercy lent to earth: - - Lent to consecrate our sighing, - Shed a glory on our tears, - And uplift us without dying - To the Vision-circled spheres. - - - - -AN ART PILGRIMAGE THROUGH ROME. - -ROME as we saw it in 1863 was already so far modernized as to possess -two railway lines, one on the Neapolitan and one on the Civita Vecchia -side. The old and more romantic entrance was by the Porta del Popolo, -which was reached by crossing the Ponte Molle. Two traditions help to -invest this plain, strong bridge with peculiar interest. It was within -sight of it that the great battle was fought which decided the triumph -of Constantine and Christianity in the already tottering Roman Empire. -Here the miraculous cross appeared to the great leader the night before -the battle, lighting up the horizon with its mystic radiance, and -blazoning forth those prophetic words: _In hoc signo vinces_—“In this -sign shalt thou conquer”—which were afterwards graven as the motto of -the emperor on his new standard, or _labarum_. Near the Ponte Molle, -too, then called Pons Milviensis, were the spoils of the temple, and -notably the seven-branched candlestick, thrown into the Tiber to save -them from the hands of the invading Huns; and it is seriously believed -that, were the river to be drained and carefully dredged in that spot, -many rare and valuable historical relics would be found. It is supposed -that, the flow of the water being very sluggish, and the mud, with -its tawny color, oozy and detaining, these treasures may easily have -remained embedded in their unsavory hiding-place. - -The modern entrance from the Civita Vecchia side is unattractive in -the extreme, but the new depot at the Piazza de’ Termini affords a -very fair first view of Rome. Before reaching the city, a beautiful -spectacle is presented by the long rows of aqueducts standing sharply -defined out of the low, olive-spotted plain, and by the massive tomb -of Cecilia Metella, rising in towering prominence among the lesser -monuments of the Appian Way. Beautiful at all times, this scene of -lovely and suggestive grandeur is still more beautiful by moonlight; -and, if one could forget the unfortunate details of that most prosaic -of modern buildings, a railway-station, the Piazza de’ Termini would -hardly break the spell. On one side are the ruins of the baths of -Diocletian, their brick walls covered with golden wall-flowers, and -just beyond them the cloister and church of Santa Maria degli Angeli. -The interior of this church is supported by huge monolith columns -of granite, still bearing the marks of the fire which destroyed the -baths, from whose adjoining halls they were taken. On the opposite -side are the prisons for women—a far happier and more peaceful abode -than most places of the sort, the _jailers_ being cloistered sisters -specially vowed to this heroic work of self-devotion. A little further -on is the great fountain, divided into three compartments, each backed -by a _basso-rilievo_ of great merit, the centre one representing in -gigantic proportions Moses striking the rock. The small domed church -of the Vittoria, which faces the fountain, is the national _ex-voto_ -commemorating the battle of Lepanto, and boasts a masterpiece of one of -the sculptors of the Renaissance—a term too often convertible with -artistic decadence. This is a languishing and affected but marvellously -correct statue of S. Teresa on her death-bed; and the church is served -by barefooted Carmelite friars. The streets branching from the Piazza, -though not so narrow, are to the full as crooked as those in the lower -portion of the city; but, to the practised Italian traveller, they will -appear almost wide. Those of Genoa and Venice are veritable lanes, -through which two wheelbarrows could not pass each other, and across -which you could literally shake hands out of the windows of each floor; -so that the Roman streets do not strike you as uncommonly narrow, -unless you are fresh from Paris or Munich. - -Here are the same peculiarities as in most other Italian towns, but -fraught with a deeper meaning, since we are at the headquarters of -the religion which gives them birth: the frequent shrines at the -street-corners, chiefly of the Blessed Virgin and the divine Infant, -rudely enough represented, but denoting the steadfast faith of the -people, and kept perpetually adorned by a lighted oil-lamp in a blue -or red glass; the stalls in the markets, which, by the way, stand only -in the dingier thoroughfares round the Pantheon and S. Eustachio; -the strange medley of meat, vegetables, flowers, antiquities; in -summer, the mounds of cut water-melons (the Roman’s favorite fruit), -and the ricketty stands piled with figs in all the confused shades -of purple, black, green, and white; in winter, the _scaldini_, or -little square boxes filled with charcoal, which the market-women carry -about everywhere—to market, to church, and very often to bed; the -curious antique lamps of brass with two or three beaks, each bearing -a weak flame, and the whole thing a copy, line for line, of the old -Roman lamps of two thousand years ago; on S. Joseph’s day, the 19th -of March, the stalls decorated with garlands of green, and heaped -with _fritellette_ (fried fish under various disguises); the peasant -funeral winding slowly through the crowd, with the corpse, that of a -young girl, lying uncovered, but enwreathed in simple flowers, on an -open bier borne by the cowled members of a pious brotherhood specially -dedicated to this work, and whose faces even are covered, leaving only -the eyes visible through two narrow slits; the droves of Campagna oxen, -cream-colored, mild, Juno-eyed, and with thick, smooth, branching -horns; the flocks of Campagna buffaloes, shaggy and fierce, with eyes -like pigs, humps on their necks, and short, crooked horns—a very -fair impersonation of the evil one for an imaginary “temptation of S. -Anthony”; then, finally, at Christmas time, the _pifferari_, peasants -of the Abruzzi, whose immemorial custom it is to come on an annual -musical pilgrimage to Rome, and play their mountain airs before every -street-shrine in the city. - -These latter are deserving of a more lengthened notice, and, indeed, -no traveller can fail to be struck by the rugged picturesqueness of -their appearance. Some one has not inappropriately called them the -“satyrs of the Campagna,” though they belong rather to the mountain -than to the plain. Their dress is that which we are erroneously taught -to connect with the traditional ideal of a brigand (an ideal, by the -way, very unjustly supposed to be realized by the honest, industrious, -and deluded peasants of whom New York has recently said such hard -things)—a high, conical felt hat, with a frayed feather or red band -and tassels; a red waistcoat; a coarse blue jacket and leggings, -sometimes of the shaggy hair of white goats (hence the title satyr), -sometimes of tanned skin bound round with cords that interlace as -far as the knee. The ample cloak common to all Roman and Neapolitan -peasants completes the costume, and gives it a dignity which sits -well upon them. Their instruments are very primitive, and the tunes -they perform are among the oldest national airs of Italy, transmitted -intact from father to son by purely oral teaching. They always go in -couples, and, while one plays the _zampogna_, or bagpipe, the other -accompanies him on the _piffero_, or pastoral pipe—a short, flute-like -instrument. These are the men who make the fortunes of many an artist, -and who, as models, are transformed as often as Proteus or Jupiter of -old. The broad flight of steps leading from the Piazza di Spagna to -the Pincian hill is their chief resort when off duty as _pifferari_, -and on the lookout as models; and any guide could show you among them -Signor So-and-So’s “Moses,” or Madame Such-a-one’s “S. Joseph,” besides -innumerable other characters, Biblical and classical, sustained by at -most only a dozen men of flesh and blood. A few women there are among -them, some in the characteristic but rare costume which is erroneously -supposed to be the only one worn in the neighborhood of Rome, namely, -the square fold of spotless linen on the head (a style almost Egyptian -in its massiveness) and narrow skirt of darkest blue, with an apron of -carpet-like pattern and texture. A row of heavy coral beads encircles -their throats, and the ample folds of their loose chemise of white -cotton are confined by a blue bodice laced up the front. These figures -suggest themselves as splendid models for a set of Caryatides, but they -are more usually painted as typical peasant women, and sometimes, when -old, as S. Elizabeth, S. Anne, or the Sibyls. - -The confusion of gaily-attired or dark-robed figures in the streets is -at first bewildering to the stranger, especially on a festival day, -when one would think that the middle ages had broken up through the -thin crust of levelling modern decorum. Here are Capuchin friars, in -their coarse brown tunics confined round the waist by a white knotted -cord, hurrying with large baskets on their arms from house to house to -collect their meal of broken refuse; further on is a Papal zouave in -his uniform of gray and his white half-leggings—a foreigner and very -likely a noble, fair, slight, and dignified, like Col. de Charrette, -the grandson of the great Vendean leader of 1793; here, again, comes an -_abbate_, with his enormous black three-cornered hat and his long and -ample cloak or garment gathered in a line of full, close folds at his -back, and sweeping thence around his person with all the picturesque -dignity of a Roman toga; jostling against this dark figure is the -lithe, cat-like French soldier, cheery and open-faced; beyond him -hurry lackeys in rich but faded liveries that look as if they had been -fashioned out of tapestry; peasants in every garb, some clustering -round a _scrivano_, or public letter-writer, established in the open -air at a rickety table, with a few sheets of dirty paper and a heap of -limp red wafers for his stock in trade; and others intent upon their -birthright, _i.e._ noisy and successful begging. - -Perhaps one of the most curious sights to a stranger is to be found -in the back yards of houses inhabited by swarms of families who have -but one well among them from which to draw water. The well is in the -middle of the courtyard, and from it to every window of the house (and -often of several adjoining houses) runs a strong wire cord. On this -is slung a bucket, which is let down or drawn up by a pulley easily -managed from the window; and all day long this ingenious manœuvre is -constantly repeated with sundry whirring noises quite novel to the -northern ear. It would need volumes to give any idea of the mere outer -picturesqueness of Roman scenes, much more of the varied beauties that -do not at once catch the eye. The Ghetto, or Jews’ quarter, affords -one of the most peculiar street-sights. The streets here are narrower, -darker, filthier than elsewhere, the stalls are dingier, the poverty -more apparent. Rags everywhere and in every stage of dilapidation—rags -hung out over your head like banners; rags spread on the knees of the -industrious women, who with deft fingers are mending and darning them; -rags laid in shelves and coffers; rags clothing the swarthy children -that tumble about the grimy door-steps—a very nightmare of rags. And -among them, exiles: gorgeous robes hidden away where you would least -expect them, rare laces of gossamer texture and historical interest, -brocades that once graced a coronation, and even gems that the Queen -of Sheba might have envied. Mingled in race and broken in spirit -as are these Jews, weak descendants of the stern old Bible heroes, -one touching evidence of their loyalty to their ancient traditions -remains. We were told of it by Dr. O——, of the Propaganda College, -who had many friends among the Hebrew Rabbis. The Arch of Titus in -the Forum, or what is now vulgarly called the Campo Vaccino (oxen’s -field or market), is a magnificent trophy commemorating the last -victory of Rome over Jerusalem. Its _bassorilievi_, both exterior and -interior, represent the sacking of the Holy City and the despoiling -of the temple. The carvings of the triumphal procession bearing aloft -the rifled treasures of the Holy of Holies, the great seven-branched -candlestick, the mystic table of the “loaves of proposition,” the -golden bowls and censers, naturally enough excite feelings of bitter -regret in the breast of the exiled and wandering race. So it happens -that no good and true Jew passing through the Forum will ever follow -the road that leads under this beautiful sculptured monument of his -country’s fall, nor even let its shadow fall upon his head as he -passes it by. This sign of faithful mourning certainly struck us as -very significant and poetical. There are two synagogues in the Ghetto, -and it is curious to reflect that these Hebrew temples were tolerated -within the walls of Rome by a government which proscribed Anglican -chapels and relegated the worship of the English visitors beyond the -Porta del Popolo. This restriction may have unheedingly been called -intolerant; but let us stay for a moment to examine its reason. -Rome was a theocracy and swayed by directly opposite principles to -any other existing state, and it could no more allow of promiscuous -worship within its domain than of old the Hebrew high-priest could -have allowed the Moabitish altars to be erected at the doors of the -Ark of God. In speaking of the Rome of the popes, it is absolutely -necessary for a non-Catholic to set his mind to a different focus from -that which answers the ordinary purposes of travel and observation; -it is necessary to do as Hawthorne says somewhere in his romance of -the _Marble Faun_—that is, to look at the pictured window of a great -cathedral _from the inside_, where the harmony of form, of color, and -of distribution is plainly visible; not from the _outside_, where an -unmeaning network of dark, irregular patches of glass vexes the eye of -the gazer. - -One is apt at first to wander through these Roman streets in the -indecision brought on by _l’embarras des richesses_. Shall we seek the -Rome of religion, of history, or of art? Shall we make a tour of the -churches or the studios first? Or shall we go at once to the colossal -ruins, and bury ourselves in the annals of the old republic? All these -regions have been thoroughly explored, and there are guides, both -living and dead, to lead one through the divers cities existing within -the bosom of the whilom mistress of the world. The streets themselves -are a series of pictures, from the Via Condotti—where the most -finished masterpieces of antique jewellery are successfully imitated, -and where wealthy strangers crowd round the counters, eager to take -home keepsakes for less fortunate friends—to the Piazza Montanara, -where the handsome peasants from the country mingle with the stalwart -Frasteverini, who boast of being lineal descendants of the ancient -Romans. One thing which is very apt to strike any thoughtful observer -upon a first saunter through Rome (we speak of 1863) is the sovereignty -of religion in every department of life. Art is wholly moulded by it, -domestic life pervaded by it, municipal life simply founded on it. -Every monument of note is stamped with its impress, as the Pantheon; -every ruin is consecrated to its service, as the Coliseum. Every public -building bears on its walls the keys and tiara of the Papacy side by -side with the “S. P. Q. R.” of the city arms (_Senatus Populusque -Romanus_). Even the private galleries are under government protection, -and not one of the pictures can be sold without the leave of the -authorities. The very collections of classic statuary are the work of -successive ecclesiastical rulers. Education is essentially religious -(as it always is in any country whose ideal still remains civilized -and does not approximate to that of the irresponsible denizen of the -forests), and at the same time national, since every nation has here -its own representative college. The archæological discoveries in the -catacombs and at the Dominican Convent of San Clemente open a new -branch of research peculiar to Rome, while modern art instinctively -follows in the same religious groove, and spends itself chiefly on the -imitation of Christian mosaics, the manufacture of costly articles of -devotion, such as reliquaries, crucifixes, rosaries, and the rivalry of -both foreign and native artists to invent new æsthetical expositions -of religious truth, new embodiments of religious symbols. From the -street-shrines which we have passed to the studios of Christian artists -and the examination of ancient Christian art there is, therefore, less -distance than one would think. The same idea has created them, and -the faith which keeps the lamp alight and inspires the _pifferaro’s_ -tribute is the same that guides the chisel of the sculptor and the -brush of the painter. It is certainly a remarkable fact that in Rome -there is perhaps less landscape-painting than in many other schools and -centres of art, and that, too, in a country so picturesque, so full -of that pathetic southern beauty of luminous atmosphere and intense -coloring. The human element, and, above all, the religious, seems, as -by divine right, to blot out every other in this mystic capital, not -of the world alone, but of the whole realm of intellect. Classicism -itself, the child of the soil, seems an alien growth here, and one -wanders through miles of antique statuary as one would through some -gigantic collection of exotics in a northern clime, expecting every -moment to return to a different and more normal atmosphere. So it is -not to be wondered at, when exploring the field of modern art, that -so many of those wild-looking Germans, with long, fair hair and bushy -beards, extravagance of costume, and universal abundance of the plaid -shawl serving as an overcoat, should be engaged on S. Jeromes or S. -Catherines rather than on Apollos or Minervas. - -The Italians are best represented among the sculptors, and Tenerani, -Giacometti, and Benzoni have made their religious statuary famous -through the Christian world. Discarding the influence of the -Renaissance, they have returned to the austere ideal so well understood -by Canova and exemplified in his figures of Justice and Mercy on the -tomb of Clement XIV. in S. Peter’s—the ideal which Michael Angelo -forsook when he introduced “muscular Christianity” into art. Tenerani’s -“Angel of Judgment,” intended for the tomb of a Prussian princess, is -a magnificent conception. Colossal in size, and divinely impassible -in expression, this grand figure stands as if in the last dread pause -before the call, holding uplifted in his mighty hand the trumpet -that is to awaken the dead. It is impossible to give an adequate -impression of this statue, so majestic and so simple, with its massive -drapery falling straight to the feet, not tortured with a thousand -undignified wrappings, nor flying like a stiffly frozen scarf around -the bared limbs, as it does on the wretched angels whom Bernini has -perched upon the bridge opposite the Mole of Adrian. The two lifelike -statues of Christ and his betrayer, Judas, which are placed at the -foot of the Scala Santa, one of the most venerated shrines of Rome, -are also Tenerani’s handiwork. Judas clutches a bag of money in his -left hand, which he tries to hide behind his back, while his bent body -and the low animal cunning in his look betray the sordid eagerness -that prompts him. Opposite this statue is that of our Saviour, whose -attitude, full of dignity and repose, is more that of a lenient judge -than of an entrapped victim. As far as marble can be god-like, this -figure borrows something of the lofty characteristics of its original; -and it is to be noticed that sculpture can more easily than painting -attain such quasi-perfection. We have all been repeatedly struck by the -effeminacy of almost every representation of our Lord, but this danger -is much diminished in marble, the material itself being more or less -incapable of sensuous interpretation. This is very evident in entirely -or partially undraped figures, which are redeemed from the alluring -repulsiveness of the same subjects on canvas by a certain firmness -of outline and breadth of contour suggestive of strength rather than -tenderness, dignity rather than charm. - -One very beautiful group in marble was the “Taking down from the -Cross,” which in 1863 was still in the _atelier_ of a German sculptor, -whose name we have forgotten. The realistic details, such as the -nails still embedded in the sacred hands of the Redeemer, the crown -of thorns, the tears of the Magdalen who is embracing his feet, -were marvellously and yet not painfully correct, while the whole -expression of the artistically grouped figures was touchingly -Christian. Benzoni’s Eve was another well-known masterpiece, of which -many fac-similes by the sculptor himself were constantly sold to rich -English or Russian patrons; but its chief merit was the wonderful hair, -upon which the “mother of all the living” half sits, and which is -chiselled with minute accuracy. The statue might be that of a beautiful -bather or a grandly moulded Venus, save for the symbolic serpent twined -around the stump of the tree on which she leans. - -Gibson, the English sculptor, was the apostle of the revived art of -tinting statues. He contended that such was the custom of the ancients, -and brought forward many proofs in favor of his assertion, notably a -statue of Augustus discovered at the baths of Livia during our stay in -Rome, and which bore marks of gilding and vermilion on the fringes of -its drapery. Gibson’s studio was a pagan temple, the representative of -classic naturalism, very beautiful, but equally soulless. His tinted -Venus was the marvel of the London Exhibition of 1862, and now he -was at work giving the finishing touch to a very lovely tinted Hebe. -The flesh was skilfully tinged to a faint pink hue, so faint that it -suggested ivory with a glow upon it rather than actual flesh; and -here and there, for instance, round the short kirtle and on the band -around the forehead, ran a pencil-line of gold in delicate tracery. -The artist, gray and withered, and pacing among his statues in a loose -sort of _déshabillé_, reminded one of the ancient Greek philosophers -discoursing on their favorite theories. He was altogether a cultivated -and charming pagan, and had conceptions of the Greek myths which -would have delighted Phidias. He explained his Bacchus to us most -enthusiastically, dwelling on the mistake often made of delineating him -as the bloated god of intemperance and coarse indulgence. “I have made -him,” he said, pointing to his statue, crowned with vine-leaves, “not -less beautiful than Apollo; for he was the god of youth and pleasure, -of dance and song, and not the type of brutal revelry some people would -have us believe. He left that to Silenus.” This statue was not tinted. -Whether the ancients did or did not as a rule use color as an adjunct -of sculpture, or whether, if they did, it was only in the degenerate -stage of art, we cannot pretend to say; but, to our mind, such a -practice seriously detracts from the severe beauty of statuary. It -seems a pandering to passion, a compromise to allure the imagination, -and even a confession of weakness on the part of the artist. - -Story, the American sculptor, was and is by far the ablest -representative of secular art in Rome. His two magnificent statues of -Cleopatra and the Libyan Sibyl were the gems of the “Roman Court” in -the London Exhibition of 1862. The former (or a _replica_ of it) is -in Mr. Johnston’s gallery of modern pictures in New York. Story has -given his heroine something of the Egyptian type, thereby forsaking -the arbitrary rule that decreed the Greek type only to be admissible -in sculpture; and, if he has lost in mere physical beauty, he has -amply gained in power. In his Cleopatra, he has not given us the -voluptuous woman, but the captive queen, brooding over the fall of -her sovereignty, looking into futurity with gloomy apprehension; for -she sees her empire enslaved, her nationality wiped out, her dynasty -forgotten. We dare not pity her, for she is above such a tribute; we -cannot despise her, for we feel that contempt would not reach her. She -is here the tangible embodiment of a principle rather than the splendid -sinner of flesh and blood; and involuntarily we admire and reverence -her, and are silent before her imperial woe. The Libyan Sibyl is not -unlike the Cleopatra in general effect, and bears the same stamp of -loftiness of mind on the part of the artist. - -Of Hoffman, a very different sculptor, and the adopted son of Overbeck, -we remember but one work, as he died between our first and second -visits to Rome, and our recollection of him dates, therefore, from -a somewhat childish period. This work was the bust of a Madonna, -in which seemed blended in some indescribable way the softness of -the painter’s art and the firmness of the sculptor’s. The head is -slightly bent forward, and the eyes look modestly down. Over the back -of the head falls a veil, and the brow is bound by a simple crown of -_fleur-de-lis_. The expression is radiant yet grave, and the artist has -ventured to use the help of gilding to embellish the veil and circlet. -But how different the effect from that produced by Gibson’s tinting! -The thread-like mediæval tracery that forms the half-inch border to the -veil, and the line of gold that just defines the contour of the crown, -have not the least disturbing effect in the harmony of the whole pure -composition. One would think that this was the head of the white-robed -Virgin in Beato Angelico’s fresco in the Convent of San Marco at -Florence, translated into marble. - -Christian art in the department of painting is chiefly represented -by the new German school of Overbeck. The master himself, a worthy -follower of the religious painters of the XIVth and XVth centuries, was -quite a study. His enthusiastic explanations of his cartoons of the -Seven Sacraments, which were in his _atelier_ at the time we visited -him, were very impressive. His own appearance was singularly in harmony -with the tone of his works, and, by its dignified asceticism, could -not fail to remind one that to paint as he did is to pray. One of his -most beautiful productions is now at Munich—a half-length Madonna—in -whose draperies he has managed to combine the most richly varied tints, -all subdued to that velvety depth and mellowness which is so peculiar -to some of the old Pre-Raphaelite masters, and which always suggests -to our mind the tints seen in mediæval stained glass. The Christian -revival linked with his name has spread far and wide, and all over -England, Germany, and France are found memorials of its inspiration. -The nudities of the Renaissance, the anatomies of the school of Michael -Angelo, and the handsome, robust materialities of even the later manner -of Raphael were banished to the realm of secular art, and the revived -ideal of religious chivalry was no longer the muscular athlete, the -handsome peasant, or the graceful _odalisque_. Many disciples followed -the new artistic school, and one of these, Seitz, of whom we have had -personal knowledge, may well find a place here. Seitz had his studio -near the Piazza Barberini, and, when we went in a party to see him, he -was at work on a beautiful group of saints arrayed round the throne -of the Virgin and Child. It was a thoroughly characteristic picture, -designed according to the mediæval custom of representing the family -of the owner by their respective patron saints. It was destined for a -Gothic chapel in England, and has since been transferred there, having -been ordered by a connoisseur in religious art and ecclesiastical -archæology. The minuteness and accuracy of detail, such as are required -by the costumes of S. Charles Borromeo (cardinal), of S. Francis of -Sales, (bishop), and S. Ida (a Benedictine nun), are perfect, yet -without a trace of that pagan naturalism which, since the days of the -Medici, has uncrowned every ideal, and lowered even historical dignity -to the level of vulgar domesticity. The researches necessary to a -correct representation of such royal garments as are distinctive of -S. Constance, the daughter of the Emperor Constantine; S. Edith, the -royal Saxon abbess; S. Edward the Confessor, who holds in his hand a -model of his foundation, Westminster Abbey; and of S. Elizabeth of -Hungary, the queenly almsgiver, whose loaves of bread were turned to -wreaths of red roses as her husband was about to upbraid her for her -too lavish generosity, are also shown, by the success of these figures, -to have been deep and painstaking. S. Thomas of Canterbury, patron -of the chapel for which the altar-piece was intended, is also very -beautifully represented, the pallium and crozier faithfully copied, -while a knife, placed transversely in the interstices of the pastoral -staff, points out symbolically the manner of his heroic death. The -main figures, the Virgin and Child, are radiant with heavenly grace -as well as dignity, the tints of the former’s robe being exquisitely -delicate, almost transparent in their ethereal suggestiveness, while -the disposition of the folds is both grave and modest. The picture -is on a gold ground, and divided into three panels by XIIth century -_colonnettes_ of twisted gold, while the names of the saints are -inscribed in Lombardic characters on the breadth of the frame. Before -we take our leave of modern art, of which, of course, we do not pretend -to have given more than a very superficial summary, we must not forget -the restored mosaics in the Basilica of S. Paul. This is outside the -walls of Rome, and has been in continual process of rebuilding and -embellishment for over forty years. The great fire of 1822, which -destroyed the old Basilica, and swept away the carved cedar roof which -was one of its chief glories, only spared the apse containing some -valuable mosaics of the Theodosian period—an enthroned Christ, around -which was an inscription recounting how the Empress Galla Placidia and -Pope Leo the Great had finished the decorations of the church, and -several medallions purporting to represent the first twenty or thirty -popes. Among the renovating tasks to be undertaken, that of continuing -the series of Papal mosaics became one of the foremost. Those pontiffs -of whom some authentic likeness remained, whether in casts, busts, -medals, or on canvas, were represented according to these data; while, -for the earlier popes of whom no reliable memorial was left, tradition -and symbolism were appealed to. The artists took great pains in -collecting and arranging their models, the ecclesiastical authorities -gave them every help and encouragement in their power, and the result -was a series of new mosaic medallions running all round the nave above -the granite columns, hardly distinguishable from the IVth century work, -and in every respect true to the almost forgotten traditions of this -ancient branch of art. - -Among other praiseworthy restorations of antique industry is the -establishment of Signor Castellani, a true artist and enthusiast, who -stands unrivalled in his application to the study of Etruscan and -Roman jewellery. Here may be seen wonderful and exact reproductions -of Roman _bullæ_, or golden ornaments, hung round the necks of youths -before they attained the age at which they assumed the _toga virilis_, -indicative of manhood and citizenship; _figulæ_, or brooches of gold, -wrought with the heads of lions or leopards, or chased with vine-leaf -patterns; plain, massive rings, armlets and golden waistbelts, delicate -crowns of golden myrtle leaves, hair-pins and ornaments (those with -which Roman ladies are said to have often struck their female slaves in -capricious anger), and various nondescript jewellery. Engrafting upon -these ornaments such later conceits as were appropriate, Castellani -produced rings and brooches bearing the Greek word _Αει_ (for ever) -in plain Etruscan letters, or the reversible words, _Amor_, _Roma_, -etc. Perhaps the most perfect objects of art were the necklaces, with -their little amphora-shaped pendants copied from those found in ancient -tombs, and which are now so well known. The granulated gold-work -used in many of the more solid pieces of jewellery is peculiar to -Castellani’s new antique style, and cost much time, research, and -patience to bring to the old standard, of which the results were also -for a long time the only recipes. - -To return to Christian art and its early origin, we cannot do better -than go straight to the catacombs. Apart from their historical -interest, they have the additional merit of being the birthplace -of Christian symbolism. It should always be borne in mind that art -is a means, not an end. If it aims only at mere physical beauty, -it degrades itself to the level of a common trade. Its inspiration -should come from on high, and its object be to lift the soul from -vulgar to sublime thoughts. Thus began the art of the catacombs. It -was eminently symbolical, like the language of Christ himself in the -parables, and like the venerable traditions of the Old Testament. -We should detain our readers too long were we to propose anything -like an adequate examination of the various types found in the -catacombs. The good shepherd surrounded by his flock, symbolizing -the church; Moses striking the rock, symbolizing the grace of the -sacraments, particularly baptism; and Jonas saved from the whale, -and reposing under the miraculous gourd, typifying the resurrection -and life everlasting, are some of the most oft-repeated subjects. -The multiplication of the loaves and fishes also constantly recurs, -meaning the eucharistic sacrifice and sacrament, the sacrifice of the -Mass, and the sacrament of the body of the Lord under the appearance -of bread. The Deluge and Noe’s ark are frequently depicted, for the -sake of the symbol they contain—that of the church alone saving the -human race amid the general corruption of sin. The fish is a double -symbol, the five letters of the Greek word _Ιχθύς_ being the initials -of the following words: Jesus, Christ, Son (of) God, Saviour, which -form a complete confession of faith; and the animal itself, capable -of existing only in the water, typifying that by baptism alone does -the Christian soul live. Sometimes the fish is put for Christ himself; -as in two very ancient catacomb frescos, where it is seen in the one -swimming in the water, bearing a ship (the church) upon its back, and -in the other bearing a basket of bread, the type of the Holy Eucharist. -This symbol of the fish was so universally accepted, and became so -fixed in men’s minds, that it originated the shape of the episcopal -seal, which was and is still fashioned like a pointed oval or ogive. -In many frescos, a female figure is depicted with outstretched hands, -signifying, as some think, the church in prayer, or, as others say, -the Mother of God interceding for the church. Among the Christian -hieroglyphics, palms and crowns were frequent; a dove often represented -the spirit at peace in Christ (this was frequently the only epitaph -on a Christian’s tomb), and a peacock or a phœnix, immortality. Here -the recollections of paganism were suited to Christian doctrines, -and, like the converted temples, did duty in the service of truth. A -curious instance of this is seen in the frequent recurrence of the -myth of Orpheus depicted in the frescos of the catacombs, the Greek -shepherd with his lyre standing for Christ, who by the magic of his -doctrine and his grace tames the evil passions of man, as Orpheus tamed -the wild beasts of the forest. In the earlier frescos, we see traces -of the pure Greek models of ancient painting; the graceful draperies, -the delicate borders remind us of Pompeian art, but there is nothing -immodest, and the figures themselves are already of a graver and nobler -type. In the later paintings, the beauty of detail and ornamentation -grows less, but the grand ideal is yet more prominent. There is a -transition in art, but the indelible stamp of Christianity is already -impressed on the struggling types of a more perfect future. It was -fitting that Christianity should only use pagan civilization with -all its products as a pedestal—a noble basis, it is true, but still -only a pedestal—and should rear above it a structure wholly her own. -Thus from her inspiration rose a new architecture purely Christian; -new arts, such as stained glass-making; in literature, new languages -capable of more spiritual expressions. It is interesting to find -in Rome the tradition of Christian art so unbroken, and especially -to be able to compare the earliest efforts at a reverent and lucid -illustration of the truths of faith with the latest development of -the same sentiment in the new German pictures. From the catacombs and -San Clemente to the school of Overbeck the transition is natural, and -we find the same master-spirit guiding both pictorial expositions. -The seed that produced such painters as Gian Bellini, Fra Angelico, -Masaccio, Orcagna, Giotto, and Perugino was destined indeed to be -crushed for full four centuries, but what a glorious harvest has the -bruised grain yielded in this age! Of all the productions of the XIXth -century, none to our mind ever deserved its reputation one-quarter so -well as the Christian and Gothic revival, which is leading the human -mind back to the spirit of the early church.[204] - -We do not speak of the much-frequented galleries of the Borghese, -Doria, or Corsini palaces, because every visitor to Rome knows them -as well as we do; nor of the Stanza of Raphael in the Vatican—which -we studied perhaps less than we ought—because we should probably -offend many established predilections by so doing. The pictures most -often under our eyes were those in the Sistine chapel and in S. -Peter’s, and of the former a most painful impression remains upon -our mind. The Christian ideal of art is there utterly violated by -a painter who, as a man, was a most fervent and austere Christian. -The taint of the Renaissance was upon Michael Angelo when he gave -us an athlete enthroned, in the place of Christ the Judge; and we -are happy to reflect that his spiritual conception of divine majesty -was far different from his artistic conception. The _pictures_ in S. -Peter’s, except one, are all mosaics, and a most marvellous triumph -of artistic illusion. Domenichino’s Communion of S. Jerome especially -is so accurately copied in this perplexing material that any one not -forewarned will never dream that he is looking on anything but canvas. -The single exception is the picture opposite the Porta Santa Marta, and -represents the judgment that befell Ananias and Sapphira. - -Of all monuments of early Christianity, whose interest is joined with -that of art, none stands more conspicuous than the church of San -Clemente, served by the Irish Dominicans, and under English protection. -The discovery of the subterranean church and frescos, dating from the -days of S. Clement, the _third_ successor of S. Peter, was an era in -the history of ecclesiastical archæology. Believed to have been the -site of S. Clement’s own dwelling, and to have originated in an oratory -established there by himself, the Basilica of S. Clement is of a high -antiquity. There are proofs of its existence in 417, when Pope Zosimus -chose it as the scene of his condemnation of the Pelagian heresy. To -this date or thereabouts may be referred a certain Byzantine Madonna -in fresco; and the learned and enthusiastic F. Mullooly has built upon -this apparent coincidence a very beautiful and possibly correct theory. -“The very difference,” he says, “between the heads of S. Catherine and -S. Euphemia, with hair flowing down from their jewelled crowns—_i.e._ -human nature decked with the jewels of virginity and martyrdom—and -the countenance of Our Lady, enshrined in a mass of ornaments, without -a single lock appearing—_i.e._ human nature totally transformed by -grace—indicates the limner’s scope.” And again: “_All_ the gifts of -grace are signified by the necklace, breastplate, and the immense -jewelled head-dress, with its triple crown, borne by Our Lady.” We -hear of S. Clement’s Basilica again in 600, of its being restored in -795, and, a century later (855), of its being in “good order.” It is -not accurately known whether it was destroyed by the earthquake of 896 -or in the wars of Robert Guiscard and Pope Gregory VII. in 1084. At -any rate, it disappears from history after this last convulsion, and -not until 1857 was its existence proved by F. Mullooly’s successful -excavations. He has published a book upon the subject, conspicuous for -enthusiasm and archæological accuracy. Many portions of the Basilica -were found in almost perfect preservation, the columns especially -being of great beauty, variety, and costliness, both as to material -and workmanship. But the frescos are the most important part of the -silent testimony to Christian truth borne by this unearthed antiquity -dating almost from the apostolic age. One in particular we commend -to the notice of such advanced Anglicans as proclaim the “Roman” -church of to-day to be other than the apostolic church of the first -four centuries. It represents S. Clement celebrating Mass at a small, -square altar. We quote F. Mullooly’s literal description: “The central -compartment represents the interior of a church, from the arches of -which are suspended _seven_ lamps, symbolizing the seven gifts of the -Holy Ghost. That over the altar is circular in form,[205] much larger -than the other six, and contains _seven_ lights, probably typical of -the seven gifts of the same Holy Spirit. Anastasius the librarian, who -lived in the IXth century, makes mention of this form of lamp, and -calls it a _pharum cum corona_—a lighthouse with a crown—a crown from -its form, a lighthouse from the brilliancy of the light it emitted.” -He also says that it was in common use in all the Christian churches. -S. Clement, in his pontifical robes (_i.e._ a chasuble, an alb, etc., -and more particularly a _pallium_), is officiating at the altar, over -which his name, _S. Clemens, Papa_—Pope S. Clement—is written in the -form of a cross. He has the maniple between the thumb and forefinger -of the left hand. The altar is covered with a plain white cloth, and -on it are the missal, the chalice, and paten. The missal is open, and -on one page of it are the words, _Dominus vobiscum_ (“The Lord be with -you”), which the saint is pronouncing, his arms extended, as Catholic -priests do even to this day when celebrating Mass. On the other page -are the words, _Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum_ (“The peace of the -Lord be ever with you”). These two phrases were introduced into the -liturgy of the church by S. Clement himself, and are still retained. -On the right of the saint are his ministers—namely, two bishops with -croziers in their left hands, a deacon, and a subdeacon. They all have -the circular tonsure (the distinguishing mark of the Latin rite), -and the pope, in addition to the tonsure, has the nimbus, or glory, -the symbol of sanctity.[206] In the neighboring fresco of the life -and death of S. Alexius, the Pope, S. Boniface, is depicted again in -similar pontifical garments, and is attended by two cross-bearers. -Here, too, are the hanging lamps, four in number; the clerics, to the -number of twenty, all wear the circular tonsure, and the pope has on -his head a conical white mitre. It is noticeable in these early frescos -that the shape of the lamps, chalice, crosses, and the fashion of the -vestments, chasuble, alb, altar-cloth, and mitre, are exactly such as -are now reproduced in the English establishments of Hardman & Co., and -the Browns, of Manchester and Birmingham—the style now called Gothic. -F. Mullooly notices the lavishness of these mural decorations in these -significant words: “They appear to have been part of a series painted -about the same time; and, when the colors were fresh, the Basilica -must have presented a brilliant appearance very different from that -Puritanical baldness which some suppose, but very falsely, to have -been the _undefiled condition_ of church walls in the _early ages_.” -A fuller investigation would reveal many interesting facts going far -to prove, by human means alone, the identity of the church of Clement -and that of Pius IX.; and, indeed, it is chiefly this that strikes all -candid English-speaking visitors to the subterranean church. In the -late Basilica built over the ruins of this early one are many objects -of artistic interest, notably the chapel of S. Catherine of Alexandria, -with her life painted in a series of frescos on the walls, and the -curious marble enclosure, four feet in height, round the choir, with -the two _ambones_, or marble desks, for the reading of the Gospel and -the Epistle. These, together with the enclosure, which is raised a -step or two above the level of the nave, are beautifully sculptured; -and already, in these unusual types of birds, beasts, and flowers, we -trace that departure from the tradition of the monotonous acanthus-leaf -which was to blossom forth into such wonders at the Cathedrals of -Cologne, Chartres, York, and Burgos. The frescos in S. Catherine’s -chapel it would take too long to describe; a medallion head of the -saint is especially noticeable for its great purity of outline and -expression, and the heavenly suggestiveness which hallows and rarefies -its human beauty. In a cursory sketch such as this, it is impossible -to do justice to a subject so vast as Roman art, and we have therefore -embodied in it but a few of our personal recollections. The deepest -impressions, however, can never be told in words. No one who has -visited Rome can ever succeed in fully expressing all his sentiments; -there are undefinable sensations that will assert themselves, though -the visitor should strive to the utmost to resist and stifle them; -there are vivid influences which are felt by the infidel, the Puritan, -and the Catholic alike, though the first will not acknowledge them, and -the second has too much human respect to put them into tangible shape; -still, they exist none the less strongly and may bear fruit when least -expected. - -Rome is too much of a landmark in the tale of any traveller’s life to -be passed over in silence, and one might say of its charm and influence -what Rousseau caused to be graven on the pedestal of a statue of Eros -set up in his grounds near Geneva: - - “Passant, adore; voici ton maître; - Il l’est, le fut, ou le doit être.” - - (“Passing, adore; behold thy master. - He is, he was, or he ought to be.”) - - - - -TO BE FORGIVEN. - - - I CALL thee “love”—“my sweet, my dearest love,” - Nor feel it bold, nor fear it a deceit: - Yet I forget not that, in realms above, - The thrones of Seraphs are beneath thy feet. - - If Queen of angels thou, of hearts no less: - And so of mine—a poet’s, which must needs - Adore to all melodious excess - What cannot sate the rapture that it feeds. - - And then thou art my Mother: God’s, yet mine! - Of mothers, as of virgins, first and best; - And I as tenderly, intimately thine - As He, my Brother, carried at the breast. - - My Mother! ‘Tis enough. If mine the right - To call thee this, much more to muse and sigh - All other honeyed names. A slave, I _might_— - A son, I _must_. And both of these am I. - - - - -TRAVELLERS AND TRAVELLING. - -CONCLUDED. - - -ANOTHER shrine most welcome to all who have made a retreat in a -house of the Jesuits is the grotto of Manresa. I went to Spain to -visit this holy spot. I was enchanted with the wondrous appearance -of Montserrat, the most unique mountain, perhaps, on the globe. It -looks like some enormous temple or Valhalla built by the Scandinavians -in honor of their gods. Picture to yourself a high table-land, and -imagine this surmounted by the Giant’s Causeway (wherewith doubtless -you are familiar from the geography plates), and this again crowned by -a multitude of icebergs or by colossal models of the Milan Cathedral, -all forming a structure four thousand feet in height and some miles -in extent, situated in a beautiful country of rounded hills—the -Switzerland of Spain—which make the great mountain more singular and -imposing by the contrast. You may thus form an idea of Montserrat, -which the pious Catalonians say was thus rent by the thunderbolts of -God at the Crucifixion. A famous shrine of the Blessed Virgin lies -far up the mount; thirteen hermitages formerly existed, but were -destroyed by the French revolutionists. To the shrine of Mary the -converted Knight of Loyola repaired for his general confession, and -then, retiring to an open cavern in the side of a rocky hill, and -having the sublime mountain in view, he entered on the famous retreat -which resulted in that great work, the _Spiritual Exercises_. It was -delightful to say Mass in that cavern, preserved in its original narrow -nakedness, and the Mass served by a gentleman from New Granada, himself -a pilgrim to this holy place; to see the same shelf of rock on which -was written that celebrated book praised by so many popes, and which -worked such wonders in the perfecting of soldiers in the spiritual -warfare. But the House of Retreat, which still stands on the roof of -that rocky cavern, was changed from its original purpose, and, having -for a while been used as a hospital, lies now, since the expulsion -of the Jesuits, in empty desolation; its altar literally stripped, -its chapel in ruins, its library scattered, its corridors open to the -elements. Here, at the shrine to which all the novices of the order in -the noble church of Spain used to come on foot to refresh their spirit -at the Mount of God, where Ignatius had received a message from on -high, no one now remains but a lay brother in secular dress, who is -allowed, by connivance of the police, to sweep the church and care for -the chapels. Two other churches of the society and their colleges have -now no trace of their possession; and of two hundred Jesuits who were -formerly here, only three priests and two lay brethren are left, living -on alms, and residing in a more wretched lane than could be found in -New York. - -No Jesuit, Dominican, Franciscan, or other religious, can to-day wear -the dress of his order. Their property was confiscated, their libraries -broken up; they are forbidden to live in community or receive novices, -and no compensation is given them for the means of living whereof they -were deprived. Such is a picture of religious life in that once most -noble country, which controlled the empire of the world when she was -most devoted to the church. In conversing with a young ecclesiastic, -who guided me to the mean dwelling of the Jesuits, up three pairs -of dark stairs, he said: “Every one notices the decay of faith and -increasing corruption of morals, and all acknowledge that the church -militant is practically weak when deprived of the services of her -religious orders.” I might relate visits to other places, and describe -other peoples—tell you of the Cathedral at Burgos, the bearishness of -some people I met, the politeness characteristic of others, the beauty -of Switzerland, the fresh simplicity of the Tyrol, the peculiar charm -of Venice, the prison of SS. Peter and Paul at Rome, the Propaganda -College, and so on endlessly; but I have only desired to illustrate -a little the pleasure of travel, not to describe everything, which -were impossible. So great is the attraction of travelling that a whole -people, the gypsies, spend their lives in constant roaming over the -world; but their condition, like that of certain classes in civilized -communities, shows abundantly that continual wandering is conducive to -advancement neither in morals, learning, nor real happiness. - -Travellers for health, business, or pleasure are not excluded from -the advantages sought by those who travel expressly in pursuit of -knowledge. If one but keeps his head cool and his temper quiet, he -cannot but pick up a great deal of useful information during his -sojourn abroad. Indeed, so true is this that a trip abroad has always -been considered the necessary finish to a young man’s education; and I -would go so far as to say that no one can pretend to the appellative -of educated, in its best sense, unless he has travelled, or at least -mingled with the people and observed the institutions of other nations. -“The proper study of mankind is man”; and it is excellence in the -knowledge of mankind, after the knowledge of God and of self, that -constitutes learning. It is not mathematics alone, nor yet languages, -nor skill in trades nor navigation: it is to know our condition, and -capacity, and progress, and that of other countries; to know what in -law and government is most conducive to the social happiness, not -simply the material advancement; to the eternal weal, not the temporal -aggrandizement only of our race. - -The desire of increasing in knowledge, as well as the pleasure the sage -finds in the pursuit of wisdom, doubtless it was that sent our great -Secretary, Seward, in his white old age, on a tour of the whole world. -It was this that made those collectors of learned lore, Anacharsis and -Herodotus, leave their polished home-circles, and travel amongst other -peoples. It is this that makes the heirs of princely houses set out on -the tour of Europe and America, and even Asia, on the completion of -their college course, that they may understand their position amongst -the nations. It is this that brings the acute and ambitious Japanese -across the globe in search of what is desirable in our products; that -they may see the truth and value of institutions different from their -own. - -In order to attain the object of such a journey, we must observe -certain conditions. In the first place, we should, if possible, know -some of the languages of the countries through which we intend to pass, -or at least some which will most likely be understood therein; such -as, for instance, the French in Italy, Germany, etc., the Italian in -Spain, Greece, and Egypt. We are otherwise necessitated to depend on -the mediation of a class often found faithless in its duty of exact -interpretation. The interpreter, or _cicerone_, is very likely to -digest the information he obtains or to qualify that which he imparts -according to the supposed capacity or prejudice of his employer; and, -for fear of offending one from whom he expects more money, he will -sometimes tell an acceptable lie rather than an unwelcome truth. Most -unlucky is he who is thus fed with the sweet poison of falsehood rather -than the wholesome plainness of truth. What can he gain by travel? - -An Irish bishop, standing before the picture of the martyrdom of SS. -Processus and Martinianus in the Vatican, heard a young lady behind -ask her father what was the subject of the painting. “That’s the -Inquisition, my dear; they are torturing people in the Inquisition.” -He looked like a man who should know how to read, and the name of the -picture was on the frame under it; but it is quite possible that his -information came from a _cicerone_, as they have been known to give it -just as false and malicious. - -In the second place, the traveller must bear in mind that his own -nation does not monopolize the goodness or common sense of the world, -and that, however unintelligible or absurd the customs of other -countries may appear to him, the presumption is in their favor; -hence, he must never ridicule anything, never judge rashly, but wait -till his ignorance is removed and his little experience enlarged to -the knowledge of many excellent things that he dreamt not of before, -remembering that, while it is pardonable in children and peculiar to -boors to laugh at a strange dress or a foreign custom, it is unworthy -of an educated person. We should never be ashamed to learn, nor -therefore to ask questions. Benjamin Franklin (or Dr. Johnson) said it -was by this means he gained so much information. A doctor should be no -more ashamed to ask a farmer about potatoes than he to ask him about -pills. Every man should be supposed to know his own trade better than -others not of it. It is the folly of supposing themselves all-wise and -others know-nothings, that keeps many men bigoted and ignorant. - -Finally, a great secret for acquiring knowledge of strange peoples and -understanding their ways is contained in that advice to “put yourself -in their place.” We will find that, if we were in their place, we would -do just the same, or perhaps would not have done so well as we find -them doing, and it will prevent us forming very wrong impressions of -a government or a people. For instance, when travelling in France, -we were subjected to some inconvenience by the police regulations, -and were tempted to think these French a narrow-minded, suspicious, -timid people, until some one reminded the rest of the surveillance our -government had felt itself constrained to exercise on the line of the -Potomac, the suspension of the Habeas Corpus, and the imprisonment of -editors under our own flag; and we were persuaded that France was also -excusable, filled as she was with the adherents of three contending -political parties, and her territory in part occupied by a conqueror. -When we notice something apparently inconvenient, we must wait and see -what is the corresponding advantage. Thus, one may dislike the brick -and marble floors of Italy. Let him wait till summer, and he will like -them; or let him reflect on the immunity from conflagrations which is -due to them, and then say if the adoption of this flooring instead of -wood is not a cheap price to pay for safety. “During a residence of -thirty-five years in Florence, I know not a single house to have been -burnt.” This is what Hiram Powers, the sculptor, testifies. In like -manner, Dickens was not very much taken with the narrow streets and -peculiar build of Genoa the Superb, yet he adds: “I little thought that -in one year I would love the very stones of the streets of Genoa.” When -he reached Switzerland on his return home, he was no doubt pleased with -the neatness of the people, etc.; but still ... “the beautiful Italian -manners, the sweet language, the quick recognition of a pleasant look -or cheerful word, the captivating expression of a desire to oblige in -everything, are left behind the Alps. Remembering them, I sighed for -the dirt again, the brick floors, bare walls, unplastered ceilings, and -broken windows.” - -One of the great advantages we Americans, just as others, gain -by travelling is improvement in self-knowledge, which is the -foundation-stone of wisdom—beginning to look at ourselves as it were -from a distance, and to see ourselves as we are seen by others. It is -the great profit of this that made the poet exclaim: - - “Oh! wad some power the giftie gie us - To see oursels as ithers see us! - It wad frae mony a blunder free us, - And foolish notion.” - -When we compare the institutions of foreign lands and their results -with our own, we learn a juster appreciation of each, and to remedy -the defects of our own, if need be. On the one hand, the nothingness -of the individual in many parts of Continental Europe, and the -“everythingness” of the state, is very intolerable. The way, too, -the police stare at every one in France, as if you had a suspicious -look, while the people side with the officer, not apparently from love -of the law, but out of fear, just as all the school-boys quake when -one is subjected to the pedagogue’s scrutiny. I was in France during -Napoleon’s despotism, and now under the republic, and it seemed to me -that to the people it was all one; they fear whoever is in power. On -landing at Calais, our names were peremptorily demanded, as if the -nation feared the entrance of some certain individuals who were only -known to it by name. I guess such persons would hardly give their names -in such a case. In Ireland, so little respect is had for the people -that they are not trusted with arms; but, to keep a gun, one must -have a written license from the agents of the inexorable government. -Then, in most of those countries, the huge barracks of the standing -armies, swallowing up hundreds of thousands of strong, healthy youth, -and corrupting the morals of the district wherein they are stationed, -seemed to insult the people, and to say: “If you don’t be quiet, we’ll -cut you to pieces.” And then again their officers strut along in -idleness, or kill time by balls, parties, and cricket-playing, while -the masses are sweating to support them, or dying in the poor-houses, -worn out in the struggle for existence. Of course, there is some -palliation for this. The governments of Europe are afraid of each -other, and many of them are afraid of their people, too. God grant that -we may never fear a foreign foe, or, what is worse, have a government -or laws which the people do not love! But if it is insulting to our -manhood to be forbidden to keep arms, it is certainly wrong for us to -allow every ruffian to have his loaded revolver always in his pocket. -It is worse to have a statute forbidding the carriage of concealed -weapons, and not to enforce it. - -From the exactness wherewith the public honor is guarded and the -criminal laws administered in England—one of those circumstances which -make her paper pass as gold in any part of the world—we may learn -to correct some of our insane, suicidal looseness in these respects -at home, which is destroying all security for life and property, and -making us a by-word among the nations. When we see the learning, -maturity, and integrity required for the judgeship in other lands, -we begin to see how wrong it is to render competition for this high -station subject to the bribery of low politicians, whereby, as we all -know, men who should be punished as criminals are sometimes found -seated on the bench. O my friends! if you but knew what ridicule and -contempt for democratic institutions some of these things cause in -Europe! It is for this that many excellent persons look with horror on -their approach, and cannot appreciate their worth or beauty when they -behold these, howsoever accidental, results of their working. Often had -we to try and correct unfavorable impressions arising from the fact of -known swindlers being allowed to flourish amongst us, and to ruin our -public credit by their gambling speculations or bribery; and when one -of them is, out of private and lawless revenge, murdered by another, -how uncertain it is whether the criminal shall be hanged or restored -to society! When they see how we assemble to hear lectures from women -divorced from their husbands, and shamelessly living with a paramour, -while professing Christian ministers bless such a union, associated -though it be with adultery and murder, is it a wonder that Europeans -should not increase in their respect for democracy? But the American -abroad rouses from the lethargy which the commonness of these things -throws over him at home; and to see the disorder as others see it is -the first step toward reform. God grant it come not too late! - -Until one goes abroad, he is apt to imagine that no country enjoys -as much liberty in any sense as our own, and that, how objectionable -soever some of our practices may appear, still the corresponding -ones in Europe must be intolerably more so. How surprised we are, -for instance, when, having encountered the gentlemanly custom-house -regulations of England, France, and other nations, the politeness of -whose officers is often greater than you often meet with here even -in persons who expect to gain by your visit, we return home, and are -confronted with the hostile demonstrations of our New York institution! -At Liverpool, the officer approaches, and, with a single glance at -your appearance, frequently puts the chalk cross on your baggage; or -gently asks if you have anything dutiable, and takes your word for an -answer; or, at most, slightly examines your baggage, and almost begs -pardon for the trouble he is giving. In France likewise, only that you -are asked to open your valise, “if you please,” and thanked afterwards. -How different in our supposed free atmosphere! Every traveller, citizen -or alien, is obliged to sign a statement, liable to be confirmed with -an oath, to the effect that he carries nothing dutiable, not even a -present for his wife or sister; and then his baggage is examined as if -he had made no declaration at all. If the examination is to follow, -the oath is unnecessary and therefore sinful. If the oath is accepted -as true testimony, is it not insulting to examine, as if it were not -believed, or as if the government wished to detect people in perjury. -I read the experience of a priest in a Holland custom-house, where the -officer insultingly took a crucifix—an image of the crucified Son of -God!—out of the valise, and, holding it on high, asked him what it -was! In Alexandria of Egypt, they examined his person, pocket, and -sounded his stomach, so that he cried out: “What! Is it contraband to -have a stomach? Is there any particular size fixed for it? Are there -any duties to be paid on it?” At least there was no tampering with an -oath in these cases. Such excesses are blamable anywhere, but they are -intolerable in a republic. - -Another contrast unfavorable to us is the independence of the -traveller, at least in this regard: in Continental Europe, no man has -to stand even in an omnibus; while here, not only in the street-cars, -where it may be explained, but often on the cars of some of our -principal railroads, you must stand in travelling. The lawful number -of places is marked in Europe, and the people behave as if they were -what we claim to be—“individual sovereigns”; if one man is without -a seat, the company must either find him one or put on an extra car. -Far different from us, who seem to be the slaves of monopoly, or -“dead-heads” under a compliment, so that we dare not open our mouths. - -When we see how the people of Europe enjoy life, and lengthen their -days, and increase their innocent pleasures by moderation in seeking -after wealth, by observing occasional holidays, by popular amusements, -foot and boatracing, coursing, holding cricket-matches open to the -public (free of charge, just as the rest of the sports in Great -Britain), we begin to feel how absurd it is for us to be burning out -our brains at forty years of age, to break down our bodies by excessive -labor, heaping up riches which we thus inhibit ourselves from enjoying, -to rush through our work as if we were laying up capital for a thousand -years, instead of for ten, twenty, or thirty. By experience of all -these things we find that we have much to learn and to improve; and -while, on the one hand, we feel our own advantages, we are convinced, -on the other, that it was a very silly saying, that of the schoolboy: -“That no one should stay in Europe now, since it is so easy to come to -America.” - -The non-Catholic is disabused of his prejudices by going abroad and -finding Catholic institutions so different from what he had been led -by his training to expect; and their journey to Rome in particular -used formerly to lead many an educated person to the truth. An English -lady of high rank and great repute in her day said to Cardinal -Pacca, the celebrated minister of Pius VII., “There is one thing in -your system which I cannot possibly get over, it is so cruel and -shocking.” “What is it that so excites your ladyship’s indignation?” -“Your Inquisition. I have been told all kinds of terrible things -about it—its punishments, its tortures, and, in fact, all kinds of -abominations.” The cardinal endeavored to remove from the lady’s mind -the absurd notions which fiction and calumny had associated with the -very harmless institution of modern times; but his success was not -altogether complete. “Well,” said he, “would your ladyship wish to see -the head of this dreaded tribunal?” “Above all things; and I should be -most grateful to you for affording me the opportunity.” “Then you had -better come here on such an evening (which he named), and you shall see -this tremendous personage, and you can then judge of the institution -from its chief.” The lady was true to her appointment, all anxiety for -her promised interview with the grand inquisitor. The cardinal, who was -alone at the time of her arrival, received his visitor with his usual -courtly manner, and engaged her in conversation on the various matters -of the day. The lady soon became _distrait_, and at length said: “Your -eminence will pardon me, but you led me to expect that you were to -gratify a woman’s curiosity.” “How was that, my lady?” “Why, don’t you -remember you assured me I was to see the Grand Inquisitor of the Holy -Office?” “Certainly, and you have seen him,” the cardinal said, in the -quietest possible manner. “Seen him!” exclaimed the lady, looking round -the apartment. “I see no one but yourself, cardinal.” “Quite true, my -child; I did promise you that you should meet the head of the tribunal -of which you have been told such wonderful tales; and I have kept my -word, for in me you behold your grand inquisitor! From what you know -of him, you may judge of the institution.” “You, cardinal—you the -inquisitor! Well, I am surprised!” Her ladyship might have added: “And -converted, too,” which she was. - -The Catholic is confirmed in his faith when he witnesses the piety -of Ireland and Belgium; sees the wealth, position, and learning of -the children of the church in other nations. When he visits the -chapter-house in the Abbey of Westminster, where, under the wings of -the church, the House of Commons long held its sessions, the testimony -of its mute walls does more to convince him of the stand of the church -in regard to free institutions than all that has been written on the -subject. When he beholds, in the famous College of the Propaganda, -students of every color, tongue, and clime, united in prayer and study, -preparing to preach the one same faith in every land, he realizes -what he had always held by faith—the Catholicity of the church—and -he understands and feels what some one has expressed: “Elsewhere we -believe, but in Rome we see.” Even from the practice of heretics he -takes a lesson of attachment to his church; and when he sees how -Protestants in Ireland, to avoid the contact with Catholics which they -consider dangerous to their belief, support schools of their own all -the while they are taxed for the national education, he feels still -more the wisdom of the Catholic prelates in condemning mixed education. - -The public man of our country, the member of the legislature, the -priest, finds much to learn in the customs which centuries have -sanctioned; and thus the experience of each supplies the want of this -important and all-testing article at home. He sees by the condition -of Switzerland, Bavaria, the south and west of France, etc., that -people are just as prosperous, as happy and healthy, without the -machines and various inventions on which we are apt to pride ourselves; -while his visit to English manufacturing towns will make him slow -to place much trust in institutions which have generated so much -mental weakness and bodily disease; have tended so much to destroy -the liberty and independence of the people by eliminating the private -tradesman and creating vast tyrannous monopolies; and have, by their -very circumstances and discipline, occasioned such an increase of -immorality in populations heretofore uncorrupted. Having observed them -in their homes, he understands better the circumstances and motives -which influence men of different nationality and religion, and is -enabled to form a more correct judgment of our adopted citizens, no -matter from what land. When he sees the misery of the Irish people -at home—a consequence of English misrule—he can better understand -why they take refuge in the delusive cup, deprived as they are by -their poverty of the commonest conveniences and much more of the -purer pleasures of life; nay, he is even astonished to find that, -with the unspeakable wretchedness of the people, they are so honest -that, in the maritime city of Cork, the doors are often scarce more -than latched; and so wanting in cool, calculating malice that, with -all the strictness of the English, and with judges like Keogh, it is -forty years since a man has been found guilty of wilful murder in that -handsome town. Even the agrarian outrages are mitigated to our view -when we consider that they partake of the “wild justice of revenge,” -and the political disturbances have their spring of action in one of -the noblest aspirations of the human soul. He is even disposed to -pity rather than condemn or despise the Irish when they here become -the tools of infamous politicians; reflecting how easily explained -this is in the case of country people, such as most of them are (not -one in five of whom ever voted before or entered a town except on a -fair day), suddenly exalted to the comparative wealth of the American -laborer, to the lordly exercise of political rights, and exposed to -the new and captivating influences of a great capital. But when the -American traveller meets the city people of Ireland, and learns to -respect their justice, intelligence, and urbanity; when he sees what -a dutiful, sober, conscientious man the Irish peasant can be, as -exemplified in the constabulary, of whom I always heard their priests -and all travellers speak in the highest terms, he will look kindly on -the faults of the emigrant, in the sure expectation that, when his -novitiate is passed, he will stand in the first rank of the citizens of -the republic. - -It will be a pleasure for me, and I trust may not be unacceptable to -the reader, if I digress slightly here as I touch on this subject of -the Irish people. Having Irish blood in my own veins, I naturally had a -great sympathy with the country, especially after hearing the voice of -Catholic Ireland crying in our American wilderness so eloquently, and -was delighted when, on the 21st of June, her shores rose from the sea -in all the charm of sunlight, balmy and verdant freshness, like Venus -from the deep. From four in the morning, we had that long-desired land -in view, and all day long our eyes feasted on its charms, as we stopped -to land passengers and buy fresh meat, entertained by the beautiful -Cove of Cork and the magic shores adjacent; and, when the full moon -mirrored her beauty in the calm Atlantic, we enjoyed the spectacle at -midnight of departing light in the west and the first faint streaks of -day in the east. It was such a day and such a night as one might well -go three thousand miles to enjoy. I do not wish to speak of the scenery -of the country; that is well enough known. I only desire to testify to -my experience of the people. - -Nearly six months we dwelt in the fair city of Cork, one of the most -beautifully situated I ever beheld and I never by any accident -heard profane or obscene language in this town of ninety thousand -inhabitants. Who could walk New York for a week, and relate such an -experience? I was edified by the venerable presence of the faith in -this people, as fresh and strong as ever to-day. You might compare -it to a flourishing young oak that springs out from the body of an -old, and furrowed, and blasted trunk, itself as beauteous as if it -did not come from such ancient roots, and were not vegetating with -the self-same inextinguished life of the patriarchal tree. How much -to the honor of the nation that she has transmitted without a break -the consecration which the hands of Patrick, Malachy, and Laurence -laid upon her hierarchy, while neighboring people have been obliged -to send abroad for pastoral unction! It is most edifying to see the -congregations at Mass, and to hear the loud murmur of faith and -adoration at the elevation of the Host. It is beautiful to see them -stop at the church to pay a visit of a minute as they pass on their -way to work, or at least to take the holy water at the door. Drivers, -policemen, men cleaning the streets, all classes are seen to do this. I -was coming out of a church one day in winter, and found a child’s maid -with a child in her arms, kneeling in the damp, wet porch, praying. -“Why don’t you go inside? ‘Tis quite wet here,” I said. “I was afraid -the child would make too much noise, sir!” It was a week-day, and there -were only a few persons inside. - -The good, simple, peaceable man of _The Imitation of Christ_ is found -in Ireland. I met one of these—a learned, pious, prudent priest, yet -as simple in worldly ways as a child, and amusingly ignorant of our -modern progress, but courageous as a martyr when called on in court -for testimony involving his priestly character. I met another man, a -layman, a pure Celt, strong and vigorous, eighty years of age, simple -in his diet and dress, speaking English poorly, but Irish fluently and -well; he walked at sixty years of age as many miles in three days; -and when at last his son, a man of twenty-three, got tired, he took -him on his back, and kept on. Such a man might Abraham have been. No -wonder his parish priest said to him before me: “I’m glad to see you, -James. I hope to see you often, and that you may live long to inspire -and encourage me and our people by your example!” His daughter died in -Lawrence, Mass., and thus the grandson wrote to the old man at home: -“Mother asked for the holy water, and washed her face with it, and -sprinkled us, blessing us. She then directed that her body should be -carried to the grave on the shoulders of her own flesh and blood, and -asked us to turn her face to the east. We turned her, and we thought -she had gone asleep, but it was the long sleep of death!” Such is -Irish faith. These people are most edifyingly patient and cheerful in -sickness and misery. They never complain, but always say, “‘Tis the -will of God.” In Waterford, one awful, snowy day, I was much struck by -this dialogue between two old persons: “How are you, Mary?” “Oh! then, -pretty well, Denis, only I have the rheumatics.” “Oh! then, ‘tis God’s -will; and you can’t complain, as you’re able to be about!” My friends, -if you had the wretched rags that she and he had on, and their probably -empty stomachs, I think you would have been neither inclined to preach -nor disposed to practise resignation. I never, by any accident, met -any one so ill-clad here as I saw there. Even in the snow they had no -shoes nor underclothing. - -Is it any wonder, then, that the great spirit of Montalembert was -inflamed by visiting such a country? As Mrs. Oliphant says in her -_Memoir_, “He had seen a worshipping nation, and his imagination had -been inspired by the sight, and all his resolutions had burst into -flower.” - -Another spectacle that entertained us here was that of an artless -maiden. Such a treat for an American! To see a girl of eighteen or -twenty years so modest and artless in her ways. There is a charm -about such an one; she seems God’s fairest work, as an honest man is -his noblest. At the convent schools in Ireland one notices the same -gentleness, which contrasts beautifully with what we have so much of at -home, and that feature of which Shakespeare says, speaking of Perdita: - - “... Her voice was ever soft, - Gentle, and low—an excellent thing in woman.” - -I heard an American express his notion of it characteristically by -saying: “How quick these girls would find a husband in America!” An -English writer, speaking of a city which was remarkably Irish, though -not in Ireland, first indulges in some of his usual pokes and jokes -about its inhabitants, and then says: “Nowhere did I ever meet better -bred ladies”; and a lady well acquainted with the high society of one -of our sister cities told me that the ladies in Ireland were far better -educated. Indeed, the love of education is very great amongst the Irish -people. - -I never saw finer schools than those of the Christian Brothers in -Cork, and all supported by the voluntary contributions of the people, -without a cent from the government, and in a very poor country. -Although a poor Protestant is rare in Ireland, the statistics of the -Dublin census for 1872 show that the number of illiterates amongst the -Catholics is smaller than amongst the adherents of any other religious -denomination. And still people will talk of the ignorant Irish, and -the opposition of the priests to education! The ignorance, whatever it -is, of the Irish, like the rags that hang on their limbs, is a sad but -glorious sign of their fidelity to God’s truth! If they had wished to -sell their heavenly treasure, they might have got the mess of pottage -called godless education. All honor to them and to their priests for -the inestimable value they place on the deposit of faith handed down -by saints and scholars! There is a good deal of carelessness and want -of enterprise amongst the Irish people, no doubt; but as for the -former, as F. Burke says: “God help us! Much they’ve left us to be -careless with.” The less a man has, the more thriftless he is likely to -be. Having in this country a sure title to his own and a prospect of -success, I maintain that the Irishman will become as thrifty, without -being niggardly, as any other citizen. - -Their wit is proverbial, their good-nature under all circumstances most -remarkable. In Kilkenny, one Sunday, I saw a party in miserable uniform -marching about playing rather unskilfully on a few musical instruments, -and calling themselves a band. A crowd followed them through the wet, -snow-covered streets, and continually assailed the musicians and each -other indifferently with snow-balls. A policeman standing on a corner -got one behind his ear, but, like most of the rest, laughed and made -nothing of it. Imagine a New York M. P. under similar circumstances! On -one occasion, I watched a group of men bantering a rather old seaman -who complained of toothache; one suggested that he should take a sup -of cold water, and sit on the fire until it boiled; another advised him -to hang his night-cap on the bed-post, and, mixing a little whiskey and -hot water, etc., should drink until he saw two night-caps; a third said -the best thing was to tie the tooth to a tree, and run away from it. He -heard them all very good-humoredly, but simply remarked, as if it were -not worth while now at his time of life to learn cures: “Faix, I can’t -have many more o’ them.” - -A jolly, witty, careless bachelor lived on his own property in -Blackpool. His houses were two; that which he occupied was open to the -weather, and the adjoining one looked as if it had been burned. It was -a complete ruin. They were in such a state that some friend remarked -that they were likely to fall in and bury him. “Faith,” said the poor -lonely bachelor, “‘twould be the best thing that could happen me, if I -was prepared.” We must repeat here the story of an Irish Protestant, -who went to church with his Catholic friend. His surprise at the -strange sights and sounds soon got the better of him, and he whispered: -“Why, Pat, this beats the very ould divil.” “That’s the intention,” -said Pat, and kept on blessing himself all the same. - -Americans, who are not taxed to support a foreign despotic master, who -have a sure and enduring title to their property, and who stand or fall -by their own free, unimpeded efforts, sometimes wonder at the want of -enterprise, neatness, and care of the Irish people. But a visit to the -country and a look into its circumstances explain why this is the case. -The man who feels that his house may be taken from him to-morrow is -not likely to spend much on its decoration; the father who knows that -his children are destined to the lowest servitude is even tempted to -be careless about sending them to school, and no doubt reprehensible -habits which may take several generations to eradicate are naturally -formed in such a condition of things. I have said enough, however, to -show—and a visit to Ireland, combined with a knowledge of her people -under a free and favorable government, will convince us—that these -faults of some of the Irish are their misfortune rather than their -natural character, and that, when they are free from the iron shackles -of a barbarous conqueror, they will shine forth in all the virtues -which adorn a great Catholic nation. - -All the advantages undoubtedly derivable from going abroad are attended -with a danger which sometimes overtakes men of limited education -and small mind, and which experience teaches we are all obliged to -guard against. Contact with the institutions of most parts of Europe -has a tendency to undermine the simple, independent qualities of -the republican. The splendor of the throne, the tinsel of rank, the -worship of mammon, family pride, etc., by which the sterling worth -of the individual is overlooked and individual virtue is disregarded -for the glitter which often covers the rottenness and impurity of -caste—all these appeal temptingly to the wealthy but otherwise -undistinguished American. His daughters are sought in marriage by -members of broken-down princely houses, because they have money; his -sons are courted by noble gamblers, because they are rich; and I need -not tell why it is that principle in these cases is often sacrificed to -that base tendency of our fallen nature which makes us aspire to power, -rank, and title, just as a little boy does to the possession of a whip, -a sash, and a cocked hat. - -I recall now the case of one of our American admirals, who, when -patriotic New Hampshire objected to changing the Indian names of our -men-of-war to Saxon ones, defended his action by saying: “He did not -see why England should have all the fine names.” The poor man was -actually so infatuated by the style, pretension, and wealth of England -that he thought even the stale nomenclature of her vessels preferable -to the fresh, historically endeared ones taken from our native land—a -piece of weakness and folly which drew out the merited protest of the -Granite State, which had given some of those fine old Indian names -to ships that under them gained glory in war, and won admiration and -respect when they visited the coasts of Europe. Imagine exchanging -such names as Tuscarora, Niagara, Oneida, for such ones as Vixen, -Hornet, Viper, Spitfire, or even for Hector, Ajax, and Captain! It -were unjust, however, to the rude health of our republican atmosphere -to suppose that weakness such as this can be called characteristic -of those nurtured on our soil, and were conclusive against hope in -the perpetuity of our institutions. Such exceptional and deplorable -examples need not make us fear the consequences of travel to the -majority of travellers. The really educated, reflecting man knows the -lessons of history too well to be deceived by the glitter of such -institutions, which, like the _ignis fatuus_ itself, is a token of -the underlying rottenness. The religious man feels deeply that, while -obedience to authority is essential to all government, still modesty -and simplicity have given life and vigor, while pride and luxury have -been the bane and caused the death of nations; and he knows that the -conscientious, willing adhesion of the democrat to the laws he has had -an influence in making is more trustworthy, as it is more noble, than -the abject, servile submission of the slave, disgusting to God, as well -as dishonorable to his image. The priest cannot but feel deeply that -the only system and the only land which allows the church to stand or -fall by her own strength and merits is America; and his consciousness -of her increasing prosperity, in contrast to her maimed and bleeding -condition in other lands, must only attach him still more to his -country and her institutions. And while he adverts, as I have done, to -her faults, and wishes her to take pattern by the virtues and warning -by the sins of other nations, it is because his heart as well as his -interest are bound up with her fate: - - “... Sail on, O ship of state! - Sail on, thou Union strong and great - . . . . . . . . - Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, - Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, - Our faith, triumphant o’er our fears, - Are all with thee—are all with thee.” - -We may theorize about patriotism by our firesides at home, but you -feel what it is when you are in a foreign land. The beating of your -heart, the brilliancy of your glance, the warmth of your grasp, -all without reflection and spontaneously occurring when you meet a -fellow-countryman, while they afford a most pure and exquisite delight, -prompt us, with the force of unerring instinct, to love our country. - -I remember, when out on the broad Atlantic, with the monotonous waste -of waters in every direction, to have noticed something in the kiss -of the sunbeams, in the familiar sweetness of the air, denoting the -nearness of home by these embraces, so to speak, of our own clime. -The lifting up of the heart, the light gladness of the spirits that -succeeded, were not even due to the thought of home and friends The -magic influence of atmosphere alone had been enough to produce them. -And is it not natural? - - “Breathes there a man with soul so dead, - Who never to himself hath said, - This is my own, my native land? - Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, - As home his footsteps he hath turned, - From wandering on a foreign strand?” - -If such an one there be, he is a rare and monstrous exception. The -feeling of common humanity is expressed with universal truth in the -lines of sweet-singing Goldsmith in his classic poem, “The Traveller”: - - “Where’er I roam, whatever realms to see, - My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee: - Still to _my country_ turns with ceaseless pain, - And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.” - - - - -CHARTRES. - - -IT is the hour of pilgrimages. Probably never since the middle ages -were they so numerous, or, with regard to the public ones, so carefully -organized as at the present time; whether to the favored localities to -which in these latter days heavenly manifestations have been accorded, -or to the ancient sanctuaries whose history is coeval with that of the -whole Christian era. - -At this moment, when a vast concourse of pilgrims from various parts of -France, and especially from its capital, are gone to pay their homage -to our Lady of Chartres, and beg her intercession on behalf of their -country, it may not be uninteresting to some among our readers if we -endeavor briefly to trace the history of this celebrated shrine. - -On entering the richly sculptured entrance—too large to be called a -porch, and too truly Gothic to be called a portico—of the church of S. -Germain l’Auxerrois in Paris, the visitor is struck with the beauty of -the ancient frescos with which its interior is adorned; so effective in -composition, so spiritual in expression, and in execution so delicate, -simple, and refined. In one of these, which fills the tympanum of a -closed arch forming part of the north side, is depicted the form of a -venerable, white-bearded sage, who might without difficulty serve to -represent a Druid (though in all probability it is the prophet Isaias), -kneeling, with an expression of wonder and joy on his aged countenance, -while an angel, opening a window, shows him a distant vision of the -Virgin Mother and her divine Son. - -The connection between the subject of this fresco and that of the -present article will shortly be apparent. The ancient city, which was -formerly the capital of the Carnutes, claims the honor of having been -the first in the world to consecrate a temple to the Blessed Virgin. - -Chartres, before the Christian era dawned upon the earth, foresaw from -the midnight darkness the shining of the “Morning Star” which should -precede its rising, and by anticipation did homage to the Virgin who -was to bring forth—_Virgini Parituræ_. - -It was previous to the subjugation of the Gauls by the Roman arms -that this homage began. They were still a free, wild, and haughty -race; _Mala gens_, according to the _Commentaries_ of their conqueror; -living little in their towns, much in their pathless forests; they -are, moreover, by the same author reported to be a religious people; -that is to say, submissive to their priests, from whom they had not -only their faith, but also their laws and government. - -These priests were the Druids. If old Armorica was the cradle of their -worship, it is no less true that it had at a very early period spread -not only into Britain, but also over the whole of Gaul, establishing at -Chartres the central point of its continental empire. There the solemn -sacrifices were offered, and there were held the tribunals of justice; -_in loco consecrato_,[207] which expression, by a slight variation, -might fittingly be rendered, _in luco consecrato_, considering the -veneration in which woods and groves were held, and that it was in -these that the assemblies met. - -Not until after the Roman invasion was polytheism gradually and with -difficulty engrafted on the more primitive Druidic worship, which was -evidently neither of Greek nor Latin origin, but rather the offspring -of Egypt or Chaldea, with occasional indications of affinity with the -belief of the Hebrews. The Galli and Cymri had originally come from the -East, being alike descendants of Gomer, the son of Japhet.[208] - -As some writers have imagined the Egyptian cross in the form of the -Greek _Τ_, the _signum vitæ futuræ_, to have proved the expectation -among that nation of the coming of the Messias, so others have seen in -the venerated mistletoe attached to the oak an image of the Redeemer on -the cross, and in the offerings of bread and wine a foreshadowing of -the sacrament of the altar. In any case, these were but vague notions -or veiled presentiments of truths of which Israel alone possessed the -certainty; yet some stray gleam from the light of Hebrew prophecy may -have shown to others than the chosen people a faint and distant vision -of that great second Mother of the human race who should repair the -ills brought on it by the first. - -According to the oldest traditions, it was a hundred years before the -birth of our Saviour that this expectation manifested itself in a -public manner among the Druids of the Carnutes, by the consecration of -a grotto, for a long time previous famous among them, to the “Virgin -who was to bring forth.” - -No written document of equal antiquity to this epoch exists in support -of the tradition; nor would it be possible, from the fact that the -Druids committed nothing to writing, but transmitted the doctrines of -their religion and the facts of history solely by oral teaching. - -The Cathedral of Chartres, however, from the time of its foundation -by the Blessed Aventinus, who is said to have been the disciple of S. -Peter, faithfully guarded the memory of an event which was its peculiar -glory, by consigning the history thereof to its archives. These were -carefully consulted by the Abbé Sébastien Rouillard, especially a very -ancient chronicle which was translated from Latin into French in 1262, -during the reign of S. Louis, and of which he gives the following -account, although, in rendering it into English, we lose the charm -of the quaint original: “Wherefore the Druids having arrived at this -last centenary which immediately preceded the birth of Our Lord, ... -the said Druids being assembled together by the revolution of the -new year to perform their accustomed ceremonies for gathering in the -mistletoe, which, coming from heaven and attaching itself to oaks and -divers other trees, was a figure of the Messias; at that time, in the -assembly of the aforesaid Druids, all being vested in their mantles of -white wool, after their custom, in the presence of Priscus, King of -Chartres, and of the princes, lords, and other estates of the province, -the Archdruid, having made the sacrifice of bread and wine according -to custom, and praying the God of heaven that the sacrifice aforesaid -might be salutary to all the people of the Carnutes, declared that the -divine inbreathing (afflatus) with which he felt himself filled so -greatly overpowered him as well-nigh to take away the power of speech, -causing his heart to beat with vehement blows, and overwhelming it with -extraordinary joy, seeing that he had to announce, by the revolution -of the new century, the presage of her approach who should restore -the golden age, and bring forth Him for whom the nations waited.” -“Wherefore, O heaven! is thy tardy movement slower than the longing of -my desires?... If old age, which has brought my steps to the brink of -the grave, forbids me to behold with my own eyes that which I foresee, -nevertheless I render thanks, O Deity Supreme, to thee, who hast -inspired our sacred college with its expectation. In the midst of this -grotto, and hard by this well, shall be raised an altar and an image to -the Virgin who shall bring forth a Son. And do ye, princes and lords -here present, declare whether this thing is pleasing to you.” Thus -spoke the pontiff, while tears rolled down his long white beard. The -whole assembly, being seized with a spirit of joy and devotion, eagerly -corresponded with the desires of its high-priest. The altar was raised -and the image dedicated—_Virgini Parituræ_. - -The place where this solemn assembly was held is none other than the -hill whereon now stands the Cathedral of Chartres. At that period, a -thick wood surrounded the grotto, which resembled the _Grottes des -Fées_ still to be seen in many secluded country-places in France, and -which were not unfrequently the abodes of Druidesses, the remembrance -of whom is preserved under this popular appellation. - -We have here, according to this tradition, the most ancient pilgrimage, -which was Christian in spirit before being so in reality. The other -Druidic virgins, venerated in various places, as at Nogent, Longpont, -and Châlons-sur-Marne, were all later and in imitation of the Virgin of -Chartres. - -The consecrated grotto in time became the crypt of the mediæval -cathedral which now in all its majestic beauty rises above it. The -original building, in consequence of various catastrophes, changed -its form, and was more than once renewed before obtaining its present -splendor; but the Druidic image has invariably remained in the locality -first assigned to it, whither all the centuries of Christian times have -successively sent multitudes of pilgrims to do homage to _Notre Dame -de Soubs Terre_, and whither we must go to find the copy which has -replaced the ancient and venerable effigy, destroyed, not yet a century -ago, by sacrilegious hands, which, in the time of the great Revolution, -tore it from its sanctuary and threw it into the flames. The present -image is a faithful reproduction of the Druidic one, of which a minute -description is given in a chronological _History of Chartres_, written -in the XVIth century. The Virgin Mother is enthroned, with her son upon -her knees, whose right hand is raised in benediction, while in the left -he holds the globe of the world. Over the Virgin’s robe is a mantle in -form of a dalmatic; her head is covered with a veil, surmounted by a -crown, of which the ornaments somewhat resemble the leaves of the ash. -Her countenance is extremely well formed, oval, dark, and shining, and -the whole figure has much resemblance to the ancient Byzantine type. -With regard to the supposed reasons for the color of the complexion, we -will quote the words of Sébastien Rouillard: - -“La dite image des Druides est de couleur mauresque, comme presque -toutes les aultres de l’Eglise de Chartres. Ce que l’on estime avoir -été fait par les Druides et aultres à leur suitte, sur la présomptive -couleur du peuple oriental, exposé plus que nous aux ardeurs du soleil, -cause que l’Espouse du Cantique des Cantiques dit que le soleil l’a -découlourée, et que pour être brune, elle ne laisse d’être belle. -Néantmoins Nicephore qui avait vue plusieurs tableaux de cette Vierge -faicte par Saint Luc après le naturel, dit que la couleur de son visage -estoit _sitochroë_, ou de couleur de froument. Si ce n’est qu’on -veuille dire que le froument estant meur tire sur le brun ou couleur de -chastaigne.”[209] - -The remainder of the description is so charming that we cannot refrain -from finishing the portrait: - -“La Vierge estoit de stature médiocre.... Ses cheveux tiraient sur -l’or; ses yeux estoient acres et estincellans, aiant les prunelles -jaunastres et de couleur d’olive, ses sourcils cambrez en forme -d’arcade, et d’une couleur noire leur avenant fort bien. Son nez estoit -longuet, ses lèvres vives et flories, sa face non ronde ni aiguë, mais -un peu longuette, les mains et les doigts pareillement longuets. Elle -estoit en toutes choses honneste et grave, parlant peu à peu et à -propos; facile à escouter toutes personnes, affable des plus et faisant -honneur à chascun, selon sa qualité. Elle usoit d’une honneste liberté -de parler, sans rire, sans se troubler, sans se mettre en cholère. -Elle estoit exempte de tout fast, sans se déguiser le maintien, sans -user de délicatesse, et en toutes ses actions monstrant une grande -humilité.”[210] - -In presence of the numerous and invariable testimonies of tradition, -not only the great antiquity, but also the Druidic origin of the -pilgrimage of Notre Dame de Chartres appear incontestable, and this -belief is further confirmed by many historical documents, such as, -for instance, the letters-patent which in the year 1432 were granted -at Loches to the Chartrians by Charles VII., and which contain the -following declaration: - -“L’Eglise de Chartres est la plus ancienne de notre roïaume, fondée -par prophétie en l’honneur de la glorieuse Vierge-Mère, avant -l’incarnation de Notre Seigneur Jhésus Christ et en laquelle icelle -glorieuse Vierge fut adorée en son vivant.”[211] - -Without allowing the same degree of credence to the miracles which, -according to the archives of this church, signalized the future power -of Mary in times anterior to the Christian era, we will mention one -only of those among them which appear to be worthy of belief. This was -represented in the rich mediæval glass of the “Window of Miracles,” -destroyed at the Revolution, where also could be read the name of -Geoffrey [Gaufridus]. - -This Geoffrey, in the time of the Druids, was King of Montlhéry. There -were in those days kings in profusion, and this one was vassal to -Priscus, King of Chartres. Geoffrey had an only son, his chief joy, -who accidentally fell into the deep well of the castle, and was taken -out dead. The king was distracted with grief, but, having heard of -sundry miracles which had been wrought by the Virgin of Chartres (to -the amazement of the Druids, who had known nothing of the kind in -their false religion), he forthwith prayed to her with many tears, -entreating that she would restore his son to life. Little by little -the youth began to breathe, and soon was completely recovered. The -father, full of gratitude, went with large offerings to the grotto to -return thanks for the life of his son. Priscus showed himself no less -devout. He caused a statue to be made after the pattern of the one at -Chartres, and placed it at Longpont, where arose later a celebrated -abbey, and whither pilgrimages have ever since continued to be made. -Having no child, he bequeathed all his rights and possessions to the -Virgin of Chartres. Of these the Druids enjoyed the benefit, and the -French chroniclers observe that the bishops who have succeeded them are -thus, in fact, the temporal princes also of the city, and that the Holy -Virgin is by legal right Lady of Chartres. - -It is, however, on entirely different and sufficient grounds for -belief that the facts must be placed which relate to the arrival of -the illustrious saints, Savinian and Potentian, two of those heroic -missioners who were called _bishops of the nations_, whom Christian -Rome, more eager to make the conquest of the world than pagan Rome had -ever been, sent to evangelize heathendom. - -When these first preachers of Christianity appeared among the -Carnutes, they found them subjugated, indeed, by the Roman arms, but -exceptionally rebellious against all endeavors that were used to induce -their adoption of the Roman gods; still submissive to the Druids, -whom the conquerors persecuted as representing the party of national -resistance. - -Potentian had associated with him in his labors two faithful disciples, -S. Edoald and S. Altinus. Led by the Spirit of God, and knowing the -religious belief of the Druids, he repaired at once to the renowned -grotto, where he found them assembled, together with a numerous -concourse of people; and, adapting to the occasion the words of S. -Paul at Athens, he said to them: “This Virgin whom you honor without -knowing I am come to make known unto you”; and soon the darkness -giving place to light in minds that were predisposed to receive it, a -large number of those present begged forthwith for baptism. They were -baptized in the water of the well, the Druidic image received Christian -benediction, the altar was consecrated to Mary, and the whole sanctuary -dedicated to the true God. - -Mention is made of this ceremony in the breviary of Chartres, on the -17th of October. - -The new Christian community was not destined to enjoy long peace. -Quirinus, the governor of the country under the Emperor Claudius, in -obedience to an edict issued by the latter against the Christians, -entered the grotto with a company of armed soldiers when the faithful -were there assembled, and, seizing S. Potentian, S. Edoald, and S. -Altinus, reserved them for more prolonged sufferings, while he caused -the rest of the worshippers to be massacred on the spot. Among these -was found his own daughter, since honored in the church as S. Modesta. -The bodies of the martyrs were thrown into the well of the grotto, -which from that time bore the name of _Le puits des Saints Forts_. - -The governor, being struck with sudden death, was not permitted to -carry out his designs against S. Potentian and his companions, who, -being set at liberty, proceeded to Sens to continue their labors, -leaving S. Aventine at Chartres, of which city he was the first bishop. - -Setting aside the improbable legend which relates that the people of -Chartres, upon learning that the Blessed Virgin was still living, sent -an embassy to Ephesus to convey to her their homage, and pray her to -receive the title of _Domina Carnoti_, which, according to Guillaume le -Breton, she willingly accepted, we hope in a future article to give the -eventful history of the erection of the cathedral over the primitive -grotto, which in the XIth century grew into the present vast and -massive crypt, perhaps the finest in the world. - - - - -EARLY MARRIAGE. - -WHEN Dr. Johnson advocated the early marriage of young men, he spoke -the morality of the Christian, the wisdom of the philosopher, and the -knowledge of the man of the world. He knew from his own experience, and -from the wild lives of the men with whom he associated during the first -years of his London life, that early marriage is the great safeguard -of youth, the preserver of purity, and the sure promoter of domestic -happiness—“the only bliss of paradise that has survived the fall.” - -Profoundly convinced of this, we deliberately declare that early -marriages should be, as a general rule, recommended and promoted by -those who have influence or authority over young people. By early -marriage, we do not mean the marriage of boys and girls, but of men and -women. Marriage is the only natural, proper, and safe state for the -majority of persons living in the world. If one-third of the angelic -host—those bright and pure spirits fresh from the divine Hand—fell -at the very first temptation, how can man, prone as he is to sin, hope -to escape? If the saints of old, who subjected their bodies to the -spirit by penances so terrible as almost to realize Byron’s remark “of -meriting heaven by making earth a hell”—if these holy men found it so -difficult to resist the allurements of the flesh, how can the pampered -and luxurious Christians of these days, living in an atmosphere -of seduction, mingling in a gay and wicked world, and thrown in -constant contact with men who break all the Commandments with perfect -indifference—how can these Christians of the latter days hope to avoid -the dangers that surround them if they refuse to seek the safety that -is presented to them in marriage, unless they make use of unusual means -and preventives which few are willing to adopt. - -Byron, who had tried all pleasures, and gratified all his passions unto -satiety, declared that the “best state for morals is marriage.” This -was the mature and deliberate opinion of a man who had married most -wretchedly. - -Shakespeare says, “A young man married is a man that’s marr’d.”[212] -But married, as he was, at the early age of eighteen, to a woman -eight years his senior, he was a most glorious contradiction of his -own assertion. So assured is his position as the monarch of the world -of literature, that the most daring and ambitious spirits have never -presumed to dispute his supremacy; much less has there ever been found -a man bold enough to play the part of the Lucifer of literature, and -attempt to deprive Shakespeare of his “pride of place.” Surely, the -fact of the poor Stratford boy filling the world with his name and fame -after marrying at eighteen, is an argument in favor of early marriage. - -“A young man married is _not_ a man that’s marr’d.” Had Byron married -his earliest and purest love, Mary Chaworth, both the poet and the -world would have been the gainers. We would then have had more poems -like the magnificent Fourth Canto of _Childe Harold_, and no poem like -the voluptuous _Don Juan_. Domestic happiness, instead of domestic -misery, would have been Byron’s earthly blessing; for the pure -affection of his noble though erring heart would have been concentrated -upon one adored object. Moore’s early marriage to his beautiful and -beloved Bessie did not “mar” his brilliant career either in literature -or in society. Her love and sympathy cheered him in his young and -struggling days, when— - - “All feverish and glowing, - He rushed up the rugged way panting to fame.” - -When success crowned his efforts, the praise and admiration of Bessie -were dearer to the young poet than all the flattery lavished upon him -by the loveliest ladies of England; and, when misfortune came which -drove away his summer friends, she was ever by his side, brightening -and encouraging the desponding poet. - -The wife of Disraeli was Disraeli’s best and truest friend. Her -influence fired his latent ambition, and brought into active use his -finest talents. Sustained by her, Disraeli abandoned the idle and -aimless life of a London dandy, and became a statesman and the leader -of statesmen, as Prime Minister of Great Britain. His domestic life -was most happy. From the triumph of the senate and the pageantry of -the court, he turned with unaffected delight to his home-life and -home-love. The sweetest associations of his life all clustered around -that home, where he always found the truest sympathy and love. Fully -realizing the blessing of married life, he has written: “Whatever be -the lot of man, however inferior, however oppressed, if he only love -and be loved, he must strike a balance in favor of existence; for love -can illumine the dark roof of poverty, and lighten the fetter of the -slave.” - -These few examples, which may be multiplied indefinitely, are given to -show that, so far as fame is concerned, “a young man married is _not_ a -man that’s marr’d.” - -Now, to another and more practical view of the matter. How many young -men give as a reason for not marrying that they can’t afford it—that -marriage is a luxury only for the rich? We know that the sordid forms -of fashionable society have encircled this heavenly rose called love -with so many thorns that the opulent alone can gather it with safety. -We also know that, in the gay world, as Lady Modish observes in the -_Careless Husband_, “sincerity in love is as much out of fashion as -sweet snuff—nobody takes it now.” But what man of sense, what man who -longs for love and a home, would think of marrying a woman of fashion -whose mornings are passed in bed over a sensational novel, whose -afternoons are spent on the street, and whose evenings are danced away -in the ball-room? - -It is a great and deplorable mistake to suppose that only the rich can -afford to marry. Dining with Chief-Justice Chase in Washington, some -one mentioned that Mr.—— had of late grown cynical and censorious, -because he was engaged and could not afford to marry. Well do we -remember the remark of the Chief-Justice, that “any young man who can -support himself can support a wife—that is, if he is wise enough to -select the right sort of person.” Mr. Chase spoke from his own personal -experience; for he had married when he was young, poor, and unknown, -and his success began with his marriage. Take any young man of average -intelligence and industry—a lawyer, clerk, or journalist—he makes -enough to live comfortably and to save, but he is not willing to -follow Mr. Micawber’s philosophy of happiness: “Income, £100 a year; -expenses, £99 19_s._—happiness. Income, £100 a year; expenses, £100 -1_s._—misery.” Which, in plain English, means—make more than you -spend, and you will be happy; spend more than you make, and you will be -miserable. - -Our young lawyer, clerk, or journalist is not satisfied to live -comfortably: he must live luxuriously. He must smoke the best cigars, -drink the choicest wines, wear the most fashionable clothes; he must -belong to a club, play billiards, go to the opera; he must drive -to the park, when he can ride in the city cars; he must spend his -summer holiday at Saratoga or Long Branch—in short, he must live as -extravagantly as the idle sons of rich men with whom he associates. To -do this, he must necessarily live beyond his means. - -These are the young men who say they _cannot afford to marry_. They -_can_ afford to marry if they will give up expenses which are always -useless and often dangerous. Addison says with admirable truth: “All -men are not equally qualified for getting money, but it is in the power -of every one alike to practise the virtue of thrift; and I believe -there are few persons who, if they please to reflect on their own past -lives, will not find that, had they saved all those little sums which -they have spent unnecessarily, they might at present have been masters -of a competent fortune.” Certainly, if young men will practise the -habit of saving “those little sums” which are so often “unnecessarily -spent,” they will no longer have to complain that they cannot afford to -marry. - -The laws of Sparta required a man to marry when he became of age; if he -did not, he was liable to prosecution. The salutary effect of this was -seen in the superior morality of the Spartans over the other people of -Greece. The morality of the people of Ireland is one of the brightest -gems in the crown of the “loved Island of Sorrow”; the practice of -early marriage among the Irish contributes, in a great measure, to -this angelic virtue of chastity. The pernicious practice of marrying -late in life, which prevails generally among Frenchmen, is one of the -chief causes of the licentiousness of that gay and gallant nation. -Unfortunately, a tendency towards late marriage has been gradually -growing among the American people, especially in our large cities. This -is one of the most dangerous and disheartening signs of the times. It -arises from the love of luxury and display which has overspread the -land and destroyed that republican simplicity of life and manners which -was once the glory and strength of this nation. - -Fathers are unwilling that their daughters should marry young men who -are not rich, forgetting that they themselves were poor when they -married, and that their wealth has been amassed by long years of -constant toil. Such fathers should remember the answer of Themistocles, -when asked whether he would choose to marry his daughter to a poor man -of merit, or to a worthless man of an estate: “I would prefer a man -without an estate to an estate without a man.” Daughters are unwilling -to abandon a life of idleness and luxury in their father’s house to -share the fortunes of young men who, though poor in person, are rich -in worth, and have that within them which will command success. Such -daughters should remember that a young lady once refused to marry a -young man on account of his poverty, whose death was mourned by two -continents—the noble philanthropist, George Peabody. When the late -Emperor of France was living in poverty in London, he fell in love -with a lady of rank and beauty, and solicited her hand. The lady, who -regarded him as a mere political dreamer, rejected his suit, when he -uttered this prophetic remark: “Madame, you have refused a crown.” -Few young ladies have an opportunity of “refusing a crown,” but, in -refusing young men of talent, industry, and virtue, on account of -their present poverty, to accept worthless young men of fortune, they -frequently refuse a life of domestic peace and happiness for one of -splendid misery. - -The ancient philosophers very wisely defined marriage to be a remedy -provided by Providence for the safety and preservation of youth. We all -require sympathy and love, and where can there be sympathy so perfect -and love so enchanting as that which a true wife feels for her husband? -Chateaubriand, in his magnificent work, _The Genius of Christianity_, -gives us a sweet and affecting description of the Christian husband -and wife: “The wife of a Christian is not a mere mortal: she is an -extraordinary, a mysterious, an angelic being; she is flesh of her -husband’s flesh, and bone of his bone. By his union with her, he only -takes back a portion of his substance. His soul as well as his body is -imperfect without his wife. He possesses strength; she has beauty. He -encounters afflictions, and the partner of his life is there to soothe -him. Without woman, he would be rude, unpolished, solitary. Woman -suspends around him the flowers of life, like those honeysuckles of the -forest which adorn the trunk of the oak with their perfumed garlands.” - -Well might the great poet of domestic bliss exclaim of marriage: - - “Such a sacred and homefelt delight, - Such sober certainty of waking bliss, - I never heard till now.” - -All readers will recall the exquisite description of the married life -of Albert and Alexandrina in _A Sister’s Story_; their charming home -at Castellamare, on the Bay of Naples; the soft air and brilliant -skies of Italy; excursions among the lovely islands of the bay; pious -pilgrimages to holy shrines; their summer trip to the East; their -winter in Venice, followed by the declining health of Albert; their -return to France; and the saintly death of Albert at the early age of -twenty-four. - -Our American Catholic youth owe a duty to their church and their -country which they neglect with criminal indifference. What become -of the many young men of brilliant promise who each year leave our -Catholic colleges laden with honors? Why are their voices never heard -after commencement day? Why is their graduation thesis their last -literary composition? It is because the seed of learning planted in -their minds at college, like the seed of the husbandman in the Gospel -which fell among thorns, is choked with the riches and pleasures of -life, and yields no fruit. - -No better example can be offered for the imitation of American Catholic -young men than that of Montalembert, the great orator of France.[213] -Even in his schoolboy days, his aim was high and beautiful: he scorned -all folly and idleness. When he was only seventeen, he solemnly -selected as his motto through life, “God and Liberty,” to which he -remained faithful until death. A young man of brilliant intellect, -vivid imagination, and noble ambition, he determined to play a man’s -part in the world, and earnestly longed for the time to commence his -glorious work. He wasted not the golden days of youth amid the gay -frivolities of fashionable amusement, for he vehemently denied that -youth was the time which should be devoted to the pleasures of society. -He contended that youth should be given up with ardor to study or to -preparation for a profession. “Ah!” he exclaims, “when one has paid -one’s tribute to one’s country; when it is possible to appear in -society crowned with the laurels of debate, or of the battle-field, or -at least of universal wisdom; when one is sure of commanding respect -and admiration everywhere—then it is the time to like society, and -enter it with satisfaction. I can imagine Pitt or Fox coming out of the -House of Commons, where they had struck their adversaries dumb by their -eloquence, and enjoying a dinner party.” - -This admirable advice from one who so worthily won his way in the world -and in society should be carefully considered by the youth of America, -who too frequently rush into society half educated, and wholly unfit -for the duties and responsibilities of the world. An early marriage -is the best beginning for those not called to the ecclesiastical or -religious state. It gives at once an object and an aim to life. It -fixes the heart, and keeps it warm and bright, preventing it from -running to waste. It is a holy state, established by God as the -ordinary means for the happiness and salvation of the greatest number -of the faithful. As a rule, it is the safest state for persons living -an ordinary life, and for many it is the only one which is safe. As -there is no rule, however, without exceptions, we do not intend to -deny that there are many exceptions to this rule. Numbers of persons, -especially among the devout female sex, are called to a single life in -the world either by inclination or necessity, and are both better and -more happy in that state than they would be in any other. The reasons -which we have presented in favor of marriage and of early marriage -apply, therefore, only generally and not universally to persons in all -the ranks and conditions of society, and have their more especial force -in relation to those who live in what is called “the world,” but most -especially in reference to young men. - - - - -SCHOLARS _EN DÉSHABILLÉ_. - -SCHOLARS before the world and scholars at home are often the greatest -contrast to themselves. Daily life is, after all, so levelling that -it makes a _tabula rasa_ of crowned heads and peasants, of sages and -fools, of good men and bad. There is no visible _nimbus_ round the head -of the man who towers above his fellows, as there is round the summit -of the mountain that pierces the clouds. Without the conventional -distinctions of costumes, attendance, or display, there is no means of -telling the man of giant intellect from the man of common attainments. -Not that some men lack that physical superiority which at once causes -a stranger to turn eagerly round and ask, “Who is that?” but this mark -so often accompanies other men whose interior life does not justify its -presence, or whose career has been a mistake and a failure, that it is -practically valueless. The outward sign or “ticket” requisite to denote -a man of acknowledged station is therefore as necessary in this blind -world as it is humiliating to the world’s sense of discernment. Take -an imaginary procession of magnates, financial, political, artistic, -royal, or noble, dress them in plain citizen’s garb, and then send in -a child to pick out the prizes among them, to distinguish the bishop -from the chancellor, the diplomatist from the banker, the king from -the scholar. Guided by purely natural instinct (not unlike that which -presided at the election of barbarian chieftains in the Vth century), -the child will call the tallest, strongest, manliest personage the -king, and will choose the most venerable, gentle, and serious as the -bishop. Ten to one it will have taken a soldier for king, and an artist -for bishop; and so on _ad infinitum_. Now place those great people -in suitable coaches, dress them in appropriate robes, put on them the -crowns, coronets, crosses, and insignia of their order, and the veriest -baby will recognize by the conventional instinct of civilization the -rank and importance of each; only it will then be seen that the king -is that quiet man of banker-like aspect, the bishop yonder retiring -individual with a bald head, the financier that dandy with the -unobtrusive gold ring and faultless yet severe costume, the ambassador -that commonplace-looking person hidden under stars and ribbons. Change -the slide once more, set all these good people down at their respective -homes, and look through the magic-lantern again. What do we see? A -dining-room, a table set with more or less perfection of appointments, -a few noiseless servants and romping children, a homely, middle-aged -matron, serene and placid, perhaps looking over an account-book or -hemming pocket-handkerchiefs. The bishop’s household alone will wear -a distinctive mark, but, compared with other ecclesiastical abodes, -will keep its master’s secrets as well as any secular one. God alone -knows where to point to a saint or a genius among these ordinary -surroundings, and the objects of his discernment would often surprise -any human observer who should be admitted to share his knowledge. - -The craving which men have to know the details of the private life of -any one distinguished from the commonalty by talent or position is an -inexplicable phenomenon, and one that to the end will defy our solution -and persist in remaining in force long after we have decided that it -has no business to exist. Is it that we are envious of everything above -us, and wish to dim its glory by putting it to the same test as our -own dull being? Is it through a morbid desire to analyze that which, -against our will, enchants us, in order that, having done so, and -reduced it to various elements which separately are powerless to charm, -we may depreciate the whole? Or is it through that loftier feeling -that urges us to ally ourselves by sympathy with all that is noble and -exalted in human nature? Do we long to claim at least a fellowship with -intellect through the sacred instincts which intellect and mediocrity -share alike? It is unfortunately as often through the baser as through -the nobler feeling; and yet, when we have sifted the tendency to its -simplest elements, we cannot say that we have personally rid ourselves -of the foible or learned the lesson of lofty incuriousness which by -implication we have taught. - -The daily life and privations, the struggles and successes, the -domestic joys, sorrows, and losses of great men have a deeper meaning -than shows on the surface; for not only have they influenced the works -or writings through which these men have become known to us, but they -show how independent of outward circumstances is their greatness. -In this sense, they present encouragement to many in whom the same -qualities are latent, but who from faintheartedness might otherwise -have neglected their gifts and wasted their powers. They teach yet -another lesson; for in them we see what compensations the mind gives -in the midst of even sordid trials, and how the higher a man’s -intellectual training is, so much the stronger is his moral endurance. -But draw what moral we will from them, the interest in them remains and -will remain to the end of time. Trivial as they are, too, they somehow -fix the personality of a man of genius better in the mind of posterity -than his greatest virtues or doughtiest deeds; as, for instance, King -Alfred is better remembered as the disguised soldier burning the cakes -of his peasant-hostess than as the wise lawgiver and heroic chieftain -of the Saxons. Prince Charlie’s romantic escapes have endeared him to -the Scottish heart and made him the centre of the later traditions of -a romantic people, while no such halo gathers round the person of the -First or Second Charles of England, even though the “Martyr-King” has -won by his tragical death a separate niche in the Valhalla of history. - -In all ages and all climes, learning and wealth have seldom gone -together. Anecdotes of scholars whose daily wants were in sad contrast -with their aspirations abound in the records of all centres of -learning. Dr. Newman, in his lectures on universities, has given us -many touching as well as ludicrous examples of this truth. Among the -disciples of Pythagoras, if we recollect accurately, was one Cleanthes, -a professional boxer from Corinth, who, smitten with a love of wisdom, -came to Athens to become a philosopher. As he had not even the trifling -daily sum required by the professor of learning, he spent half of each -day in earning it by _carrying water_ and doing such like services to -the citizens, while the remaining hours he passed at the academy. One -day, the wind blew his upper garment open, and his luckier companions -most “unphilosophically” jeered him when they saw that his outer -covering was all that he had. He afterwards rose to great proficiency, -and taught a school of his own—never, however, discarding his simple -ways. The well-known story of the three students who had but one cloak -between them and wore it each in his turn in the lecture-hall while the -others stayed in bed, is told of Athenians as well as Saxons, Irish, or -Italians in the universities of the middle ages. Bp. Vaughan’s _Life of -S. Thomas_ abounds with such anecdotes of impecunious and enthusiastic -scholars. S. Thomas himself, it is related, wrote his _Summa_ (not the -great work, but a previous and less comprehensive book) on such stray -pieces of parchment, old letters, torn covers, etc., as he could pick -up or beg from his fellow-students. S. Richard of Canterbury, when -teaching in his chair at Oxford, was so careless of his _honorarium_ -that he generally left it on the window-sill, unless he had need of it -to relieve some poor person. The same saint in his youth was sometimes -so frozen to the bone that he could not continue his studies and was -fain to run round the court of the school for half an hour every night -to restore circulation before he went to bed. The Oxford students -suffered hunger as well as cold in the service of philosophy, for they -often had no other resource than to beg the broken victuals from the -tables of the tradesmen, and one of them avers in a private letter -that, on a great holiday, he and his friends made merry over an unusual -feast—“a penny piece of beef between four.” - -In Paris, the case was the same. The lay students suffered most, for -each of the great religious orders had its own representative house, -and the young religious lived in community. Among the seculars it -was different; they were quartered on the citizens, and, when they -were honest as well as industrious, led a terribly hard life. They -lodged in garrets, and lay on straw; their landlords extorted from -them exorbitant rents for their share of the filthy tenement, and -they often had to depend on charity for their food. Ingenious as -poverty always is, it suggested remedies to these harassed votaries of -learning, even as it has in all succeeding ages. The poorer students -took to copying books and selling them at starvation prices, working -for others when they could find patrons, for themselves when they were -forced to do so. Thus originated bookstalls and private shops for the -sale of books, parchment, wax, and ink. In the dark days of winter, the -want of light was severely felt by those who were too poor to buy oil, -and pale, shivering forms might be seen huddled in doorways, grouped on -corners, or gathered round a street-shrine, anywhere, in fact, where a -lamp could be found, all intent on their notes of yesterday’s lecture, -or busily examining the subject of to-morrow’s lesson. Beside them was -ever the other world of students—the gay, rich, and careless: those -who spent in one night’s revel what would have bought parchment and oil -for six months for the thrifty, hard-working copyist of MSS. But what -martyrdoms were undergone for knowledge’s sake in those days of earnest -search after science no man can tell. Knowing less of the details of -mediæval life than we do of the daily needs of later generations, we -can perhaps hardly appreciate the degree of privation endured by these -sturdy knowledge-seekers. - -Turning to the chivalrous land of Germany, we find, in the same -century as that of S. Thomas and the students of Paris University, -the school of poor minstrels, the famous Minnesingers. Kroeger, in -his work on them and their novel art, says: “These singers led a life -most strange and romantic. At a time when cities had as yet barely -come into existence in Germany, and the castles of the lords were -the chief gathering-places of the vast floating population of the -Crusading times, these Minnesingers, with _little or nothing_ besides -their sword, fiddle, or harp and some bit of love-ribbon or the like -from their sweetheart, wandered from village to village, and castle to -castle, everywhere welcomed with gladness, and receiving their expected -remuneration with the proud unconcern of strolling vagabonds.... For -these singing knights felt no more delicacy in chronicling the good -things they received from their patrons than in immortalizing the -meanness of those who let them depart without _gifts of clothing, food, -and money_.... The young knight was by custom compelled to saunter -forth into the world, and generally by poverty to keep on sauntering in -this fashion all his lifetime. Then he perfected himself in the art of -composing songs and playing some stringed instrument, which became both -a source of infinite enjoyment and an unfailing source of revenue if -the knight was poor. With his art, he paid his boarding-bills; his art -furnished him with clothes, horses, and equipments. More than all, his -art won him the love of his lady.” - -Walther von der Vogelweide—“bird’s pasture or meadow”—was one of -the foremost of these wandering troubadours, and, as he himself -tells us, was very poor. He went to Austria to better his fortunes -by the knightly art alone fit for one of gentle birth, and among his -patrons found one, the Duke of Kärnten, whose meanness has come down -to posterity, through the then obscure minstrel’s verse, in having -“withheld a promised suit of new clothes” from the poet. - -Walther’s best luck seems to have been his appointment as tutor to the -son of the Emperor Frederic II. This led to his being given a small -estate with fixed income; but he had struggled long enough in gay -though hopeless poverty before fortune singled him out for her favors. -As usual, his mind was far beyond the standard of his circumstances; a -thinker, philosopher, observer of human nature, an active member of the -state when he participated in political duties, a conscientious patriot -and a true Catholic. In politics he never refused to recognize whatever -merits the opposite party held, nor to denounce any injustice on the -part of his own; in religion, he was always alive to the abuses of the -time, despite his devout faith and earnest worship. Kroeger says of -him that, though but “little tainted by the prejudices of nationality, -he is, in his thorough earnestness and rare purity of spirit, even -more truly a representative German than either Goethe or Schiller.” Of -later authors, poets, artists, there are ampler memoirs left to teach -us the inner and darker life of the spirit we know in this bright -public envelope. The Greeks, who held that all free-born men, Hellenes -by descent, had a right to become learned and elegant scholars, and -who upon this theory based their practice of having slaves to do that -work which did not comport with the calm attitude of mind necessary -to philosophical study, made use of very cogent arguments, humanly -speaking. It remained for Christianity to do something more sublime yet -than to devote an entire class of men to lofty aims and studies; it was -reserved for Christ’s law to change even menial pursuits and vulgar -necessities into employments fit for the highest intellect. The soul’s -sanctification became a loftier aim than the cultivation of the mind -alone, and every office, however lowly, was made capable of ministering -to this new aim. Thus was the stigma which the pagan world had set upon -poverty and dependence removed, but the fact of poverty was to remain -for ever. Just as by his death our Lord had taken away, not the fact of -death, but “its sting, its victory,” and its ignominy, so by his life -he took all bitterness from that inevitable condition of the majority -of mankind—physical need and suffering. - -How far this century, and indeed the spirit of the world in all -centuries, has succeeded in counteracting this beneficent change, and -in fastening again upon poverty the disgrace entailed, on it by the -pagan system, each one can judge for himself. Nay, many have a personal -standard by which they can judge of it. One cannot read the life of -any person of merit in any branch of learning without this pathetic -element constantly cropping out. Here we have Kepler, the astronomer, -struggling with constant anxieties, telling fortunes for a livelihood, -and saying that astrology, as the daughter of astronomy, ought to keep -her mother. “I supplicate you,” he writes to a friend of his, “if there -is a situation vacant at Tübingen, do what you can to obtain it for me, -and let me know the prices of bread and wine, and other necessaries of -life; for my wife is not accustomed to live on beans.” He had to accept -all sorts of jobs; he made almanacs, and served any one who would pay -him. The gentle, melancholy Schiller wasted by necessity much of his -time in literary hack-work at a period when the pay of authors was -so miserable that they could hardly exist by the pen: he translated -French books at “a shilling a page.” Even Goethe, whose fortune was -quite independent, could not add to his income by his talent; and when -Merck, the publisher, offered three pounds sterling for a drama of his, -the old poet might well ask: “If Europe praised me, what has Europe -done for me? Nothing. Even my works have been an expense to me.” - -Perhaps no life has ever been so continual a struggle as that of -Oliver Goldsmith. From his very childhood he was used to starvation; -for family difficulties caused him to go to Dublin University, not as -a pensioner (as he had hoped), but as a sizar. He had to sweep the -courts, wait at table, and perform other menial tasks of the same -sort. It was a bitter price to pay for learning, but his after-life -was no sweeter in its manifold experiences. Before he left college, -his father died, and he was thrown on his own resources, when he often -had to pawn his books, and at last took to writing street-ballads, -which he disposed of at five shillings per copy. Twice the shiftless -scholar tried to make his way to America, and failed; his pretensions -to Anglican orders were crushed by his failure to pass his examination, -and his venture as a tutor was equally unsuccessful. His good genius, -his uncle, Mr. Contarine, sent him to Edinburgh to become a physician, -and this was the last of the regular professions which he tried. We -find him wandering through Flanders, singing and playing his flute at -the houses of the peasantry, in order to obtain a supper and a night’s -lodging; then attending chemical lectures at the Universities of Leyden -and Louvain; taking part in the open discussions on philosophical -subjects held on certain days in the convents and colleges of Italy, -and returning to England without a farthing in his pocket; then taking -a fortnight to reach London from Dover, begging, performing, or playing -on the road. He went among the London apothecaries, “and asked them to -let him spread plasters for them, pound in their mortars, or run with -their medicines.” It was through a poor journeyman printer, a patient -of his, that he first gained the notice of a great publisher; but his -troubles were only increased by his literary ventures. Now he is in a -garret, with the milk-woman knocking at the door, pressing him for a -trifling milk-score, which he is too poor to pay; now he repeatedly -loses the chance of good situations, because he has not a decent suit -of clothes to his back. Once a publisher provided him with clothes, in -advance, for four reviews for his magazine; but before Goldsmith has -finished his work, his landlord is dragged away by bailiffs to pass -his Christmas in prison for debt. The impulsive author has no money, -but immediately runs and pawns his clothes, liberating his miserable -host, and rejoicing the poor family. Left starving himself, he gets -a trifling loan from a friend on the four books to be reviewed, when -the publisher makes a sudden and peremptory demand for the clothes -and books, or payment for the same. Goldsmith begs him, as a favor, -“for fear of worse happening to him,” to put him in gaol. The pay he -received for his ceaseless work was ridiculously slender; for his -_Plutarch’s Lives_ he got eight pounds a volume. The novel which has -immortalized his name, the _Vicar of Wakefield_, was sold for sixty -pounds, and in the most unceremonious fashion possible. Johnson, the -author’s fast friend, gives the story of the transaction thus: “I -received one morning a message from poor Goldsmith that he was in great -distress, and, as it was not in his power to come to me, begging that -I would come to him as soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and -promised to come to him directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was -dressed, and found that his landlady had arrested him for his rent, -at which he was in a violent passion.... I desired he would be calm; -... he then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, which he -produced to me. I looked into it, and saw its merits, told the landlady -I should soon return, and, having gone to a bookseller, sold it for -sixty pounds. I brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his -rent.” The famous novel, so hastily disposed of to stave off actual -starvation and imprisonment, was thought so little of by its new owner -that it was eighteen months before he published it. Although his fame -grew with years, Goldsmith remained in distress; for he never could -keep what he earned. Indiscriminate generosity, often lavished on -unworthy companions, swallowed up his growing but always transitory -income; and the week after a gorgeous supper or a tailor’s bill of -extravagant items duly receipted, we yet find him writing a short -English grammar for _five pounds_, and, later on, borrowing _one pound_ -from his publisher. - -The young poet Chatterton, impulsive, gifted, and unfortunate, the -contemporary and friend of Goldsmith, was another victim to the -fickleness of the muse. Starving and desperate, he at last committed -suicide in a miserable London garret, in a dirty street leading out of -Holborn, a neighborhood not much more desirable than Baxter Street, New -York. There was no one to claim his body, and it was finally taken to -the “bonehouse” of St. Andrew’s, and buried in the pauper burial-ground -in Shoe Lane. - -In thriving America, the El Dorado of the untaught European -imagination, the scholar is hardly destined to a happier lot than in -the old realms where intellect is supposed to have a traditionary -value. Of Nathaniel Hawthorne we have various records of want and -manful struggle. Always brave under adverse circumstances, this is how -he words his own misfortunes in 1820, when, still a boy, he already -edited a small and obscure periodical called the _Spectator_. Among the -obituary notices one day, the following was conspicuous: “We are sorry -to be under the necessity of informing our readers that no death of any -importance has taken place, except that of the publisher of this paper, -who died of starvation, owing to the slenderness of his patronage.” -In 1839, he had been so lucky, in a worldly sense, as to have secured -the post of head-collector of the port of Salem, Mass.; and, in this -uncongenial yet lucrative situation, he felt beyond the reach of -necessity. He curiously laments his ludicrous dilemma, and comments on -his name, “Nathaniel Hawthorne,” which he had fondly hoped from his -childhood to have sent forth to the world on the title-page of some -important work, now taking wing for the remotest ends of the earth, -scrawled in red chalk on the covers of packing-cases, tea-chests, and -cotton-bales. Political changes twice ousted him from his position, -and the second ejection was definitive—a starting-point in his life. -He went home one evening, and announced his dispossession to his wife. -There were no provisions in the house, save a barrel of flour and some -insignificant adjuncts. The family had hardly any money in hand, but -no one complained. Hawthorne told his wife he was going to write in -earnest, and they must trust to Providence in the meanwhile. Partly by -economy of the most rigid kind, partly by the helping hand of friendly -neighbors, the Hawthornes managed to keep the “wolf from the door” -till the novel was completed. The evening it was finished, the author, -feverish, excited, and emaciated, closeted himself with his wife, and -read her the MS. She listened intently, the interest becoming painful, -her breath came and went, her color faded gradually, and, at the -climax of the wonderful story, fell at his feet almost in convulsions, -exclaiming, “For God’s sake, do not read further; I cannot bear it.” -Next morning, he sent the novel to a friend of his, a sound judge and -unsparing critic in the literary world. The friend _raced_ through the -MS., enthralled by its powerful word-imagery, and came himself with his -answer. Meeting the author’s little boy, Julian, in the garden in front -of the house, he caught him up in his arms, exclaiming: “Child! child! -do you know what a father you have?” and rushed into the house, fairly -storming the newly revealed genius with congratulations.[214] Thus was -the _Scarlet Letter_ produced and Hawthorne’s name made. After that, -his success was rapid, and literature proved a sufficient support for -her gifted votary. - -Another American genius was less fortunate. In Baltimore, a periodical -entitled the _Saturday Visitor_ offered a prize for the best poem and -story (the amount we cannot precisely recollect). When the candidates’ -MSS. were examined, one of them proved to be a collection of clever -poems and a story written almost in “copper-plate” hand. The editors -looked no further, but said, in joke, “Let us give the prize to the -first of geniuses who has written legibly.” The name of the young -author was Edgar Allan Poe. - -“He came just as he was,” says his biographer, “the prize-money not -having yet been sent him, with a seedy coat buttoned up to conceal the -total absence of linen, but with shoes whose gaping crevices could not -be made to hide the absence of socks.” Mr. Kennedy (the editor) took -him to the tailor, and fitted him out as comfortably and completely -as possible, after which he was installed as an inmate of his house, -and for a little time employed on the staff of the _Saturday Visitor_. -This was in 1833. The vicissitudes of fortune were perpetual, though to -his terrible propensity to intemperance much of his constant distress -was due. A gentleman despite the squalor of his appearance, a genius -despite his uncontrolled vices, he was one of the most unfortunate -of men. A few years later, he writes to a friend: “Can you not send -me five dollars? I am sick, and Virginia (his wife) is almost gone.” -In 1839, his prospects were for the moment not so hopeless, and one -who often visited him testified to his home in Philadelphia, “though -slightly and cheaply furnished,” being yet “so tasteful and refined, -so fitly disposed, that it seemed altogether suitable for a man of -genius.” Again, his biographer speaks of him as “always in pecuniary -difficulties, and his sick wife frequently in want of the merest -necessities of life.” For his poem “The Raven,” first published in the -_Whig Review_, and since become the pedestal of his worldwide fame, he -received the sum of _ten dollars_; and in 1848, while writing for the -_Southern Literary Messenger_, he was content to work for two dollars -a page. And yet, so far as fame was concerned, Poe’s name and talent -were known beyond the seas, admired by two continents; and when, upon -entering an office in New York, he would mention who he was, men turned -round to stare at the gifted poet who, all starving as he was, was -already enrolled among the great men of America. - -The philosopher, Jean Jacques Rousseau, had equal occasion to put -his philosophy to the same universal test of patience. Finding a -mercantile clerkship ill-adapted to his poetic and vagrant humor, he -left Geneva and went to Lausanne, where he tried music as a profession. -His experiences were curious. He tried to teach music, but, as he -says himself, “The scholars _did not crowd_, and two or three German -boys, luckily as stupid as I was ignorant of my business, were my only -pupils. Under my tuition they did not become great _croquenotes_. One -day, I was sent for to a house to teach a little ‘serpent of a girl,’ -to whom it gave infinite pleasure to show me a quantity of music I -did not know, and then to play one piece for me, ‘just to show the -master how it should go.’ I knew absolutely so little of reading that -I could not follow a note of my own composition in such a manner as -to be able to regulate its execution.” It may be supposed the poor -man did not thrive on these means of livelihood; his fare was meagre -enough, and he paid only thirty francs a month for his board and -lodging in the little inn where he made his home. For his dinner, he -had but one dish of soup, with something a little more substantial for -his supper at night. Notwithstanding his desire for independence and -freedom from the personal thraldom (_assujettissement_) of a fixed and -sedentary occupation, he found out that “one must live.” So he took -to copying music at a small remuneration, and so fond did he become -of his self-chosen trade (for with him it was not art) that in later -life, when in comfortable circumstances, he took to it again. But his -musical mania went yet further. He composed an operetta entitled _Le -Devin du Village_—“The Village Astrologer, or Fortune-teller”—and -had it executed at Lausanne. He says of its first performance “that it -was such a _charivari_ as could not be surpassed; that every one shut -their ears and opened wide their eyes; that it was a witch’s sabbath, a -devilish hubbub, insupportable and monstrous.” The tide turned one day, -and the same play was performed in the court theatre at Versailles, -the family and courtiers of Louis XVI. calling the music dream-like, -divine, entrancing! This sounds like an anticipation of the diversity -of opinion now observable concerning Wagner and Liszt. - -Real artists, like Mozart, were hardly more fortunate in their domain -of legitimate art than was Rousseau in his queer attempts at music. -Although his name was known, his music extolled to the skies, and his -person retained as a priceless court treasure at Vienna, Wolfgang -Mozart hardly made a competency by his unrivalled and acknowledged -genius. His early death was mainly the result of continual anxiety on -the score of personal necessities. When the mysterious stranger came -and gave the order for the requiem, Mozart was already ill, worn, and -exhausted. The stranger’s opportune gift, or fragment in advance, came -too late, though it was sorely needed at the time; and, before the -order was completed, the great musician was on his death-bed, his wife -Constance by his side, his friends rehearsing the finished part of the -requiem at the foot of his bed, while his haggard features were lit up -to the last by the feverish enthusiasm so soon to be quenched in death. - -It would seem as though the greater the genius, the greater the -destitution. Hardly one has escaped the furnace of poverty. Curran, -the great Irish lawyer and orator, was stranded early in life, without -friends, connections, or fortune, conscious of talent above the crowd -that elbowed him, and sensitive to a painful degree. He himself thus -tells the story of the first fee of any consequence which he received -in his profession: “I then lived upon Hog Hill, Dublin; my wife and -children were the chief furniture of my apartments; as to my rent, it -stood much the same chance of its liquidation with the national debt. -Mrs. Curran, however, was a barrister’s lady, and what was wanting -in wealth she was well determined should be supplied by dignity. The -landlady, on the other hand, had no idea of any other gradation except -that of pounds, shillings, and pence. I walked out one morning, in -order to avoid the perpetual altercations on this subject, with my -mind, you may imagine, in no very enviable temperament. I fell into -gloom, to which from my infancy I had been occasionally subject. I had -a family, for whom I had no dinner, and a landlady, for whom I had -no rent. I had gone abroad in despondence; I returned home almost in -desperation. When I opened the door of my study the first object that -presented itself was an immense folio of a brief, twenty golden guineas -wrapped up beside it, and the name of _old Bob Lyons_ marked on the -back of it. I paid my landlady, bought a good dinner, gave Bob Lyons a -share of it, and that dinner was the date of my prosperity!” - -One of the most Christian and sympathetic authors of France (in a -department in which it must be confessed she does not excel—poetry), -Alphonse de Lamartine, was both in his youth and in his old age -the victim of poverty. Though in his childhood his poverty was not -absolutely sordid, like that of many a scholar as talented and even -as well born, still it was such that his mother had to exercise the -strictest economy on her small property, to help her peasant-servants -in many a lowly household task, and was in such straits that the -failure or success of her slender vintage was to her the chief event -of the year. A noble woman, a Christian Cornelia, she knew how to -turn these troubles into lessons for her son; and a more genial, -lovable “great man” than Lamartine has seldom claimed our homage, -notwithstanding the foibles which necessarily qualify our admiration. -Political and diplomatic success gave him far different prospects in -middle life. His poems were the first heralds, the joy-bells, of a new -school; his name was a talisman. But the shadow of genius—relentless -poverty—fell upon him again, and his last days were little better than -a pauper’s. - -The literary world of Paris presents the acme of this -combination—squalor and talent. Dramatists, poets, painters, -musicians, the smaller fry of the daily press, the heavier authors of -yellow-covered _romans_, all mingled in one inextricable _bohemia_ -of distress, of recklessness, of generosity, of self-sacrifice. Good -and bad are strangely interwoven; the starving writer stints himself -to help the dying artist, or the swaggering playwright repudiates his -debts to gamble away in one night the rare remuneration of months of -toil; and amid the confusion, the din of this assemblage, amid this -fellowship of misery, remains the seemingly eternal truth that the path -of scholarship, or even its counterfeit, is _not_ the legitimate path -of success. - -In France, where the intellect is so fertile that it is almost the -only land where literature is a profession, not a pastime, we may turn -to one figure more, a sweet and angelic one, very different from the -stormy and erratic geniuses among whom we have been wandering—Eugénie -de Guérin, the Catholic poetess, the devoted type of sisterly love. She -was poor, though not to destitution. The family, once famous among the -Languedoc Crusaders, and owning a great feudal estate, had dwindled -down to the possession of a patrimony hardly so large and not half -so rich as a modern farm. The woman now known throughout Europe and -America by her exquisite _Journal_ and _Letters_—the starting-point -of a new class of domestic literature—tells us simply and playfully -enough in those writings—which during life she never dreamed of giving -to the public—of her humble avocations in her father’s household. Now -we see her, having cooked the supper with her sister’s aid while the -servants were all gone to an instruction for confirmation, sitting by -the huge fire in the kitchen, because it was warm there, and making -a hearty meal of coarse soup, boiled potatoes, and a cake baked by -herself, “with the dogs and cats to wait upon us,” as she says. She -did not like these household cares, however; they were a cross to her, -and her good sister “Mimi” took much of this cross off her hands. -Another day she has been washing, but she consoles herself with the -thought of Homer’s Nausicaa washing her brother’s tunics. Once, when -she was lifting a heavy cauldron from the kitchen fire, her father -tenderly said he did not like to see her doing such work; but she -answered with a smile that S. Bonaventure was found washing the dishes -after the refectory meal when the Papal deputation came to offer him -the cardinal’s hat! So she taught herself to do “disgusting things -without feeling disgust; as, for instance, blackening her hands in the -kitchen.” Another time she makes a hasty note of her affection for her -brother and her unconquerable longing after solitude, but adds that -she has no time for it now, “as there are ducks to be plucked, a pie -to be prepared, a little carnival-dinner got up; in a word, because -the parish priest was coming, and her help was anxiously waited for -in the kitchen”; while another day she is mending old house-linen. On -the other hand, she was reading S. Augustine, S. Jerome, S. Teresa, -Bossuet, Fénélon, Plutarch, books of theology and philosophy, mysticism -and morals, the works of great thinkers; she was writing poems of -more exquisite purity and wealth of imagery than the famous young -brother whom Sainte-Beuve and George Sand declared one of the foremost -poets of the day: she was a child in her simplicity, a saint in her -abnegation—a woman in a thousand. We have dwelt with the greater -emphasis and satisfaction on this last reference for the reason that -the modern world, in its haste to find countenance for its license in -thought and morals, has brought into prominence only the less worthy -specimens of French genius, to the neglect of the many admirable -writers who are now for the first time, becoming familiar to English -readers. - -This strangely mingled thread of life which we have illustrated in -these pages has its pathetic as well as its ludicrous aspect. Men are -constantly complaining of the “injustice” of God in making inequalities -among them; if they looked a little deeper, they would see that what -they call inequalities are compensations. The world has to be ballasted -like a ship; the heaviest merchandise is not always the most precious, -but it is none the less necessary. It would be preposterous to expect -_all_ men to be rich, good, and clever; gifts balance each other in -God’s plan, and, since men sigh so for riches, the wise Distributor of -earthly prizes has answered many men literally, and given them riches -alone, leaving their brains a blank. To discuss this vexed question is -not, however, our intention; a few examples, such as we have drawn from -real life, speak for themselves, and facts are ever more tolerated than -disquisitions. We may learn from those facts a new interest in books; -we may remember, when we read a new work, that a human being’s life is -sewed in with those pages; that what we carelessly toss aside after -a moment’s perusal has cost hours of trouble, of research, probably -of privation; that the pathos that draws tears from our eyes is often -transcribed and softened down from the actual experience of the writer; -while the humor we approve of and the piquancy we admire are rather -born of bitter defiance against an adverse fate than grown from the -natural soil of a healthy sense of fun. A book is often the hot-pressed -fruit of an unhappy life rather than the product of elegant leisure, -and one cannot help feeling a tender but far from disparaging pity for -the thousands of educated men and women whose very talent, in a sense, -compels them, through circumstances of privation, to write in haste and -anxiety books that are inadequate representatives of that talent. - - -NEW PUBLICATIONS. - - THE S. AUGUSTINE SERIES: I. On the Trinity; II. Harmony of - the Evangelists, and the Sermon on the Mount. Edinburgh: T. & T. - Clark. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -These two volumes continue the series of patristic translations edited -so carefully and published in such splendid style by the firm of Clark, -at Edinburgh. The publication and perusal of long and entire works of -the fathers, especially S. Augustine, must have a most happy effect -in promoting the cause of the Catholic faith. We notice with especial -pleasure the volume on the Trinity. This is one of the greatest works -of S. Augustine. His argument is wonderfully exhaustive and conclusive, -wonderfully sublime and devout, wonderfully rich in the exposition of -Holy Scripture. It is also very plain and intelligible to a patient -and attentive reader when the peculiar difficulties of the Latin style -have been overcome. In this translation, the structure and meaning of -the sentences and phrases are made very plain, and one reads with a -pleasure and facility much enhanced by the clearness and beauty of the -page. We recommend this translation to all who wish for a very valuable -help to the rendering of S. Augustine in the original, as well as to -those who desire to become acquainted with his doctrine, and can only -do so through the medium of their own language. - - A LIFE OF S. WALBURGE; WITH THE ITINERARY OF S. WILLIBALD. By - the Rev. Thomas Meyrick, S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1873. (New York: - Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -All who love the mediæval saints, and particularly those of once -Catholic England, will find a delicious treat in this simple story. -Besides the life and death of S. Walburge, an account is given of - -the miraculous oil that “distils from the coffer in which her relics -are enclosed in her church of Eichstadt.” Cures are wrought by this -oil to-day. We happen to know personally of one—the instant and final -cure of a case of S. Vitus’ dance by a drop of the oil received on the -patient’s tongue, after a novena and communion in the saint’s honor. - -The “Journey of S. Willibald to the Holy Land,” which forms the second -half of the little volume, was written at Heidenheim about the year -760. “It is interesting,” says F. Meyrick, “as confirming, by the -testimony of an eye-witness a thousand years since, the Catholic -traditions of some disputed localities, and as a specimen of a nun’s -composition in the VIIIth century.” - - THE QUESTION OF ANGLICAN ORDINATIONS DISCUSSED. By E. E. - Estcourt, M.A., F.S.A., Canon of S. Chad’s Cathedral, Birmingham. With - an Appendix of Original Documents and Fac-similes. London: Burns & - Oates. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -A controversial work written in a calm and mild tone is sure to claim -attention and wise confidence, especially if that work deals with a -difficult question, and one involved in much obscurity and uncertainty. -Such is the style of the work before us, and such is the character of -the question the Rev. Canon Estcourt treats—Anglican Ordinations. - -This is truly a masterly work, and the author exhibits throughout that -modesty which is the mark of a true scholar. But he does not condescend -to his antagonist; he is fully aware that he is at warfare, but at -warfare _pro causa veritatis_. He is a brave warrior, and wields a -heavy weapon; he studies his foe well before he strikes, but, when he -strikes, he strikes in a vital part. - -We do not mean to say that he has finished the much-discussed -question of Anglican ordinations, or that Anglicans will hereafter -have nothing to say. They will always have something to say so long -as the Establishment lasts. But we believe there are a large number -of Anglicans who are serious and in earnest, and who conscientiously -believe they have a priesthood, and it is among them we hope to see -this book produce some practical result. - -The present work starts out in the introduction with a “statement of -the question” it is about to treat of, in which the author says he -does not claim to bring forth much in the way of new facts or new -principles, but aims rather at a more careful application of principles -already laid down, and to show the real influence of the facts alleged -by Anglicans (as, for instance, the consecration of Parker), even if -true. It then states the Catholic doctrine on the question of holy -orders, and finally lays down the principles of evidence to be followed -in the investigation of historical facts. - -The author commences with the “Origin of the Controversy,” in which, -after showing how the seeds of heresy were first planted by Wyckliffe, -and spread by the Lollards, and that the heresies on the Continent -and in England were all one and the same growth—which Anglicans have -so strenuously tried to deny—he exhibits the manner in which the -Anglican rite was compiled, and shows that the form of ordination in -the Edwardine ordinal was not primitive, but a compilation from the -ritual of the Roman Church of the middle ages, there being nothing in -it earlier than the IXth century, and most from the XIIIth and XIVth. - -He then treats of the validity of the orders given in the new form, as -tested by Queen Mary’s reign and the acts of Cardinal Pole, and shows -by a number of cases, and a careful analysis of the different classes -the Cardinal Legate had to deal with, that both “the Papal brief and -the cardinal’s acts furnish the clearest possible evidence that the -Holy See regarded the Edwardine ordinations as utterly worthless” (p. -40), and therefore that the Anglican claim of Catholics admitting these -ordinations as valid is a false one. - -The second, third, and fourth chapters are devoted to the “History of -the Controversy.” - -First, the mere matter of fact, with regard to those much-contested -consecrations, is discussed. As to Barlow, the author, while giving -the Anglicans the full benefit of all their documents and proofs of -this poor man so involved in mist, shows that his consecration at least -cannot be proved. - -The author very justly concludes respecting Barlow that while we cannot -come to any positive decision, yet, “with so many circumstances of -suspicion arising from different quarters, yet pointing the same way, -it is impossible to admit the fact of his consecration without more -direct proof of it” (p. 81). - -Parker’s case is next taken up. Of course, the author discards the -Nag’s Head story; and with regard to the mere fact of Parker’s -consecration having taken place, he acknowledges it must be admitted. -But he shows that such a consecration, from the grave doubts whether -Barlow was ever consecrated, and the manner in which ordinations of the -Book of Common Prayer of 1552 were treated, was utterly worthless. - -After giving the testimony of contemporary Catholics in the matter of -Parker’s consecration, he says: “But taking them all together, it must -be granted that they admit the fact of the consecration having taken -place as alleged, but it is also evident that they imply some serious -difficulty respecting it, and apparently touching the persons acting -therein; and, further, that this difficulty extended so far as not -merely to render the consecration uncanonical, unlawful, and irregular, -but also to affect its validity” (p. 126). - -Then having shown the practice of the church with those who returned to -the true faith, he gives a list of the Anglican ministers who became -reconciled to the Catholic Church down to the year 1704, and thus -answers by facts the claim set up by Dr. Lee, founded on the alleged -refusal of twelve converts to be reordained because they claimed to be -true priests. - -Next follows a short review of the controversy as carried on so far by -both Anglicans and Catholics, after which commences what we consider as -really the most important part of the book; for the rest of the work -deals entirely with the _validity_ of Anglican ordinations. - -This second half of the work we look upon as instituting a new era -in the controversy. Heretofore, writers have occupied themselves -principally with trying to disprove the facts with regard to the -Anglican consecrations, and have done very little to prove the -invalidity of such consecrations, even if they took place. Canon -Estcourt has entered into this very thoroughly, and made it clear. - -He commences by an examination of the most ancient forms of ordination, -and coming down through the various rites, and giving the teaching of -the fathers, shows what the matter and form of ordination most probably -consists in. Having established this, he gives the practice of the -church in her official decisions in two important cases. - -The author has devoted a chapter to the refutation of the story of Pius -IV. and Queen Elizabeth, which is the Anglican Nag’s Head, and which we -suppose is at least well to have repeated, as there may be some on whom -this worn-out fable would still have an influence. - -In the concluding chapters, the argument is summed up, and “the -inevitable conclusion follows that Anglican ordinations must be -considered as altogether invalid, and that there is neither bishop, -priest, nor deacon in the Anglican communion. And the reasons for this -conclusion may be stated in a summary way as follows: - -“1. Because from the year 1554 it has been the unvarying practice of -the Catholic Church so to consider and treat them. - -“2. Because there are grave doubts whether Barlow, the consecrator of -Parker, had ever himself received episcopal consecration; and, in fact, -the probabilities of the case incline more strongly against than in -favor of it. - -“3. Because the Anglican forms of ordination have been altered from the -ancient forms, both by way of mutilation and addition, in such a manner -as to exclude, on the part of those participating in the acts enjoined, -any intention of conferring or receiving a sacrament, or sacramental -grace, or a spiritual character, or any sacerdotal or episcopal power. - -“4. Because the same forms have been also altered purposely, with the -view of excluding the idea of the priest at his ordination receiving -power to offer sacrifice. - -“5. Because Anglican bishops and priests, at the time of ordination, -join in a profession contrary to the Catholic faith in the holy -sacrifice, thus assuming on themselves, by their own act, the spirit -and erroneous intentions with which the alterations were made. - -“6. Because the meaning here attributed to the Anglican forms -receives confirmation from the fact of its being doubtful whether -the word ‘priest’ in the Anglican forms of ordination means a priest -in the sense of the Catholic Church; that is to say, _sacerdos_, ‘a -sacrificing priest.’ - -“7. Because the meaning of the same forms is further illustrated from -the ‘Order of Administration of Holy Communion’ in the Book of Common -Prayer, - -which is found to be contrary to the Catholic faith in the doctrines of -the holy sacrifice of the Eucharist and the Real Presence” (pp. 373-4). - -Let us leave the author’s last words for those who are serious and in -earnest, to meditate upon: - -“What, then, Anglicans have to consider, the questions they have to -ask themselves, are these: What do they really believe about the grace -of holy orders, and even about the grace of the sacraments in general? -and next, What are the conditions on which that grace is ordinarily -given? And then to look whether those conditions are fulfilled within -the Anglican communion. If they would seriously, as in the sight of -God, consider these points, we might hope to attain to truth, which is -before all things, and after truth to see peace following in her train, -and union, not based on vague terms and unharmonious professions, but -in ‘one body and one spirit, as called in one hope of our vocation, one -Lord, one faith one baptism’” (p. 379). - - - LECTURES ON CERTAIN PORTIONS OF THE EARLIER OLD TESTAMENT - HISTORY. By Philip G. Munro, Priest of the Diocese of Nottingham, - and Domestic Chaplain to the Earl of Gainsborough. Vol. I. London: - Burns & Oates. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication - Society.) - -This being but the first volume of a most valuable work, we shall wait -for the whole to be completed before writing a lengthy notice. We will -only say at present that the solidity of scholarship which the work -displays, together with its entertaining style, make it a long-desired -aid to the study of the Holy Scriptures on the part of our educated -laity. - -What we have been most struck with in the present volume is the -simple yet masterly proof of a visible church—_i.e._ a teaching -authority—having always existed from the time of Adam; as also of the -coeval use of place and ritual for the worship of God. - - THE PROPHET OF CARMEL. By the Rev. Chas. Garside. London: - Burns & Oates. 1873. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication - Society.) - -This is a peculiar work, hardly classifiable under any conventional -head in religious literature. It has the charm of refined and -elegant diction, joined to the weightier recommendation of practical -usefulness. It is a history of the prophet Elias, following the -startling yet meagre facts of his life as revealed in the Old -Testament, and drawing from them analogies wonderfully suited to our -own times, lives, temptations, and hopes. It is not one of the least -perfections of that incomparable Book, the Holy Scriptures, that -it should apply with such marvellous truth to any time, person, or -circumstance; that it should offer as living a counsel, as efficacious -a comfort, as dread a warning to every individual man in his own -obscure orbit of to-day as it did thousands of years ago to exalted -personages in unwonted trials. It is not only the political history -of one people; it is the history of the human soul at all times -and in all places. Thus, the author has drawn from the mysterious -records of Elias—who at first would seem but a colossal saint, -utterly removed from any appreciation that would seek to go beyond -admiration—parallels between human duties and human weaknesses under -the reign of Achab, and the same duties and weaknesses under the rulers -of our day. There is something in this book of the alluring style of -F. Faber’s religious works, but without that floweriness of speech of -which no one was a safe master but that prose-poet himself. - - THE VALIANT WOMAN. By Mgr. Landriot. Translated from the - French by Helena Lyons. Boston: P. Donahoe. 1873. - -This collection of discourses, addressed to women on the duties of -their daily life by the former Bishop of La Rochelle, now Archbishop of -Rheims, is a most valuable work, and contains an epitome of everything -woman should do, know, and teach. There can hardly be too much of the -same tenor written on this subject, and all that is written should be -sown broadcast over Christendom by the best translations. That before -our notice seems a very terse one, faithful but not slavish. Indeed, a -translator often has it in his power to mar the whole effect of a most -important work by dressing it in such unmistakably foreign garb that it -becomes unacceptable to the peculiar mind of this or that nationality. -Mgr. Landriot’s discourses, though addressed to French women and to -_provinciales_, are couched in such broad terms, and inspired - -by so comprehensive a spirit, that they are equally applicable to women -of all nations, whether in populous cities or retired country towns. -The conditions of all classes are also so delicately brought within -the circle of his consideration that even poor and obscure women may -find in them as effectual guidance as the wife of a cabinet minister -or of a financial magnate. True Christianity alone can inspire true -cosmopolitanism, and that without violating patriotism. The spirit -of petty localism, or, in fact, of any narrow-mindedness on any -subject, is foreign to the wise prelate’s mind, and nowhere defaces -his writings; yet, at the same time, he knows how to make skilful use -of his surroundings, and take illustrations from objects constantly -before the eyes of his immediate hearers. In the fourth discourse he -expounds the text of Proverbs, “She is like the merchant’s ship, she -bringeth her bread from afar” (xxxi. 14); and speaking as the bishop -of a seaport town to a community whose interests were probably in many -cases connected with the sea, he draws the most original comparisons -between an ideal woman and a perfect ship. Masts, helm, rigging, -cargo, ballast, compass, chart, crew, etc., nothing is forgotten, and -every detail tallies with some spiritual attribute of the life of a -holy and “valiant” woman. In another place he compares woman to a -bridge, the support and link of many souls, and makes the bold simile -very plausible by his well-chosen remarks on the united flexibility -and strength required in woman’s character. There is not a point of -domestic life which he does not touch upon fearlessly, not a duty he -does not point out minutely. Sins of sloth, of vanity, of imprudent -speech, of undue susceptibility, are all unmasked; the relations -between woman and those who come in contact with her as wife, mother, -mistress, or friend are all accurately sketched; her pursuits are -regulated, but with no intolerant hand; her sphere mapped out, but with -no niggardly restrictions. Country life and occupation are commended -as healthful for the body, and leading to peace of mind and soul; good -sayings, tersely expressed, are scattered here and there; as, for -instance: “Virtue and vice are distinguished by the quantity of the -dose; put the right quantity, and you have a virtue; take away that -quantity, or exceed it, and you have a vice.” There is in the whole -work a tone of moderation singularly adapted to the needs of the day, a -shrinking from exaggeration in any form, and a hesitancy in condemning -anything the excess of which only can be styled a sin. The lecturer -leans for these moderate views on the writings of S. Francis of Sales, -that rare director of virtuous women in the world. One very beautiful -idea, with which we do not remember ever to have met before in any -shape, is that of the “divine magnetism” exercised by Providence, and -which turns the bitterest draught of human woe into a delicious nectar -for those who trust in God, while “the cup of earthly happiness” held -to the lips of the “spoiled child of fortune ... has infused therein a -poison to disturb and agitate the inmost depths of his being.” - -The picture of the valiant woman of the Proverbs is thus brought before -the eyes of women of the XIXth century, not as something magnificently -inimitable, as personated by a Judith, a Jael, or an Esther, but as -a perfectly attainable state, as exemplified by S. Monica, S. Paula, -S. Elizabeth of Hungary. Neither the heroic, the learned, nor the -commercial side of life is shut out from them, although the domestic is -specially inculcated; and in Mgr. Landriot woman will find a meeter and -more dignified champion than in the prophetesses of “woman’s rights.” -Our only regret is that such “valiant” and perfect women should be so -rare among us. A few such Christian matrons would revolutionize their -sex. - - RUPERT AUBREY, OF AUBREY CHASE. By the Rev. Thos. Potter. - Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1873. - -This a short historical tale of the latter end of the XVIIth century, -and is put together from various records of known details of the Titus -Oates plot. It was quite another phase of religious persecution from -that prevalent a hundred years before under Queen Elizabeth, and Titus -Oates, in his hypocrisy and meanness, forms a contrast to the more -open though not less cruel inquisitors of Tudor days. The incidents -of the story are, as facts, quite imaginary, though fashioned in -accordance with probability and the known incidents of similar _real_ -vicissitudes; the style is very clear and agreeable, and the personages -attractive in character, especially the old soldier and royalist, Sir -Aubrey Aubrey. The details of the martyrdom of the saintly Archbishop -of Armagh, Oliver Plunket, are beautifully woven in with the lesser but -hardly less touching sorrows of the young Rupert, the hero of the tale. -The end is bright and hopeful, unlike many of those solemn tragedies in -days of old, but just such as is fitted to encourage the minds of our -day. There is in the beginning of the book a very pleasant description -of an old English village of Yorkshire, and a hint to travellers who, -in frantic pursuit of distant pleasure, are whirled past such sylvan -retreats on their way to fashionable places of “repose.” - - A TREATISE ON THE PARTICULAR EXAMEN OF CONSCIENCE, ACCORDING TO - THE METHOD OF S. IGNATIUS. By F. Luis de la Palma, S.J. With a - Preface by F. George Porter, S.J. London: Burns & Oates. 1873. (New - York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) - -It would be almost equal to the attempt “to gild refined gold” to speak -approvingly of a work gotten up under the auspices and derived from the -sources above indicated. - -The Jesuits have always been accorded a practical eminence as -father-confessors; and one who is familiar with the _Spiritual -Exercises_ of S. Ignatius and the _History of the Sacred Passion_ of F. -de la Palma will not doubt that he is, indeed, among the masters of the -spiritual life while listening to the counsels contained in the present -work. - - SKETCHES OF IRISH SOLDIERS IN EVERY LAND. By Col. James E. - McGee. New York: James A. McGee. 1873. - -The half-historic, half-conversational style in which these sketches -are written makes good display of the author’s undoubted powers; and -this, too, in spite of some carelessness. With the exception of the -unfortunate mention made of the share which Irish gentlemen took in -the practice of duelling, the book is excellent reading. The subject -is one invested with a sad charm for all who, by blood, or religion, -or love of valor, can sympathize with a cruelly oppressed yet warlike -and adventurous people. The author gives us only a small fragment of -the history of Irish military exploits—“some flowers,” as the preface -says, “culled from the immortal garlands with which modern history has -enwreathed the brow of Irish valor.” Yet it suffices to produce a vivid -impression of how Irishmen have done honor to their own race, and given -generous and valuable service to the military enterprises of nearly -every civilized nation. We hope that as good a pen and as appreciative -a mind will some day give a complete history of the Irishmen who -figured conspicuously in our late war. The author, indeed, dedicates -his book to the memory of his countrymen “who fought and fell” in that -great struggle, and refers specially to some few of them, while turning -over to the future historian the task of doing them all full justice. - - MEDITATIONS ON THE MOST BLESSED VIRGIN. By Most Hon. Brother - Philippe, Superior General of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. - Translated from the French. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. 1874. - -This substantial volume bears the _imprimatur_ of His Grace -the Archbishop of Baltimore. And the other approbation, by the -Vicar-General of the Right Rev. Bishop of Versailles, says that the -writer is officially assured that the work “will prove a new and most -precious fountain from which pious souls may be abundantly supplied -with the healing waters of devotion to the Mother of God.” From what -we have had time to see of the book, we also are convinced that it is -a most solid and valuable addition to the best manuals of a devotion -which can never be exhausted, but, on the contrary, is destined to -increase till He who first came into the world by Mary shall in some -sense come again by her. - -We therefore welcome this volume very gratefully, and recommend it to -our Catholic readers. - - -ANNOUNCEMENTS.—The Catholic Publication Society has in press, -and will publish this fall, _The Life of the Most Rev. M. J. Spalding, -D.D._, Archbishop of Baltimore, by Rev. J. L. Spalding, S.T.L. It will -make a large 8vo volume of over 500 pages, and will be brought out in -good style. Also in press, _The Life and Doctrine of S. Catharine of -Genoa_; _The Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac for 1874_; and _Good -Things_, a compilation from the _Almanac_ for the last five years, -making a handsomely illustrated presentation volume. - - - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[1] 1 Cor. xiii. 1-3. - -[2] We had intended to give a brief outline of what the church has -done from time to time for the various forms of human want, but found -we could not do so in the present article without departing from the -diversified character essential to a magazine. Such a sketch of the -efforts made by the church, during her long history, to alleviate -physical suffering, and for the moral elevation of the race, would -almost be a history of the church itself, inasmuch as the poor have -always been her heritage, in accordance with our Lord’s words. To the -Catholic reader this would have been unnecessary; and if this reference -serves the purpose of inducing the candid non-Catholic to look into the -record, a desirable end will have been accomplished. - -[3] _Constitution of U. S._, Art. 1, of Amendments. - -[4] _Kent_, ii. 24. - -[5] _Story on the Constitution_, ii. 661. - -[6] _Report of Special Committee_, p. 17. - -[7] _Monthly Record_, p. 285. - -[8] _Catholic Review_, January 11, 1873. - -[9] _Twelfth Annual Report_, p. 12. - -[10] See _Half a Century with Juvenile Delinquents_. By the Chaplain of -the House of Refuge, Rev Mr. Pierce. - -[11] _Nineteenth Annual Report_, p. 12. - -[12] _Blackstone’s Com._, part. i, p. 137. - -[13] _Sunday Mercury_, June 23, 1872. - -[14] _Investigation into the Management of the Providence Reform -School_, made by the Board of Aldermen, under the direction of the City -Council of the City of Providence, 1869. - -[15] - - “_Indico legno, lucido e sereno_:” - -Whatever kind of richly tinted wood is referred to in this passage, -_lucid_ and _serene_ do not seem very descriptive epithets, applied -to wood, and it is not much after the manner of Dante to qualify any -object with two vague adjectives. As he is presenting an assemblage of -the most beautiful and striking colors, and since we do not imagine -(as Mr. Ruskin suggests) that by “Indico legno” he could have meant -_indigo_, it seems most natural that he should have mentioned _blue_. -We have therefore ventured to translate as if the verse were written, -“Indico legno, lucido sereno.” In a preceding Canto (V.) the poet has -used _sereno_ in the same way, without the article—“_fender sereno_” -also in Canto XXIX., v. 53: - - “Più chiaro assai che Luna per sereno.” - -—_Trans._ - -[16] A name given in derision to the German nation. - -[17] One of the martyrs omitted by Foxe. - -[18] _The Fuller Worthies’ Library._ The Complete Poems of Robert -Southwell, S.J., for the first time fully collected, and collated -with the original and early editions and MSS., and enlarged with -hitherto unprinted and inedited poems from MSS. at Stonyhurst College, -Lancashire. Edited, with Memorial Introduction and Notes, by the Rev. -Alexander H. Grosart, St. George’s, Blackburn, Lancashire. London: -Printed for private circulation (156 copies only). 1872. - -[19] Turnbull, p. xvi. - -[20] _The Condition of Catholics under James I._ Father Gerard’s -narrative. London. 1872. - -[21] So printed in Strype. - -[22] Topcliffe here describes what he facetiously likens to a -Tremshemarn trick with great delicacy. It was, in fact, a piece of -horrible torture, by which the prisoner was hung up for whole days by -the hands so that he could just touch the ground with the tips of his -toes. - -[23] See _Annals of the Reformation_, Strype, Oxford, 1824 ed., vol. -vii. p. 185. If the reader has any curiosity to see more remarkable -proof of the infamy of this man, Topcliffe, he may peruse another -letter in Strype, vol. vii. p. 53. - -[24] He was afterwards condemned and executed as a traitor. - -[25] For this and many other cases see, _Martyrs Omitted by Foxe_. -London. 1872. Compiled by a member of the English Church. With a -preface by the Rev. Frederick George Lee, D.C.L., F.S.A., Vicar of All -Saints’, Lambeth. - -[26] _Retrospective Review_, vol. iv., 1821, p. 270. - -[27] _Specimens of the Early English Poets_, first edition, vol. ii. p. -166. - -[28] Vol. i. p. 644, fourth edition. - -[29] _Notes of Ben Jonson’s Conversations with William Drummond of -Hawthornden_, p. 13. - -[30] Here are seven of its seventeen stanzas: - - Enough, I reckon wealth; - A mean the surest lot, - That lies too high for base contempt, - Too low for envy’s shot. - - My wishes are but few, - All easy to fulfil, - I make the limits of my power - The bounds unto my will. - - I feel no care of coyne, - Well-doing is my wealth; - My mind to me an empire is, - While grace affordeth health. - - I clip high-climbing thoughts, - The wings of swelling pride; - Their fall is worst, that from the height - Of greatest honors slide. - - Spare diet is my fare, - My clothes more fit than fine; - I know I feed and clothe a foe - That, pampered, would repine. - - To rise by others’ fall - I deem a losing gain; - All states with others’ ruins built, - To ruin run amain. - - No change of Fortune’s calms - Can cast my comforts down; - When Fortune smiles, I smile to think - How quickly she will frown. - - -[31] This was a German Reformer who died in 1551. His name was Kuhhorn -(Cowshorn), but, after the fashion of that day, he Greekified it into -_Bous_ (ox) and _Keras_ (horn): the same as Melanchthon, another German -Reformer, changed his name from Schwarzed (black earth). - -[32] Abbots were then, as Bishops are now, Members of the House of -Lords. - -[33] Some of these “foundations” were made up with Secular Priests, who -had pensions to say Masses for the souls of the founders. - -[34] “Premunire” is a punishment inflicted by Statute, and consists -of the offender’s being out of the Queen’s protection, forfeiting his -lands and goods, and imprisoned during the pleasure of the Monarch. - -[35] “That which is most divine in the heart of man never finds -utterance for want of words to express it. The soul is infinite [this -is saying too much: it is one thing to be infinite, and another to -have a sense of the infinite], and language consists only of a limited -number of signs perfected by use as a means of communication among the -vulgar.”—Lamartine, _Preface des Premières Meditations_. - -[36] As we are not without experience in the management of children, we -cannot agree with our contributor in the proposed banishment of the rod -from the nursery, however much we may prefer moral suasion when found -effectual.—ED. C. W. - -[37] Canadian snow-shoes. - -[38] Breviary. - -[39] The _ex-voto_ spoken of in the beginning of our story represents -this scene. - -[40] Cap worn by the peasantry. - -[41] Luke xvi. 9. - -[42] “A great politician is dead!” - -[43] “This will be a dangerous spirit.” - -[44] _Land of the Veda._ By Rev. Dr. Butler. - -[45] _Papers relating to the Foreign Relations of the United States_, -transmitted to Congress with the Annual Message of the President, -December 4, 1871. - -[46] _British Blue-Book._ China, No. 3, 1871. - -[47] _Evolution of Life._ By Henry C. Chapman, M.D. Philadelphia: J. B. -Lippincott & Co. 1873. - -[48] See _Dublin Review_, July, 1871. - -[49] Hugonis Floriacensis _de Regia Potestate_ lib. i. 4 ap. Baluze -_Miscell._ ii. - -[50] Petr. Blesens, _Epist._ lxxxvi. - -[51] _S. Francis de Sales_, Bishop and Prince of Geneva. Rivingtons: -London, Oxford, and Cambridge. - -[52] “Drink water out of thy own cistern, and the streams of thy own -well; let thy fountains be conveyed abroad, and in the streets divide -thy waters.”—_Proverbs_ v. 15,16. - -[53] The title of his bishopric, by which Francis de Sales was then -generally known in Paris. - -[54] “_J’ai ajouté beaucoup de petites chosettes_,” he said. “_Petites -chosettes_” is almost untranslatable in its deprecating modesty. - -[55] In 1656, forty editions had already appeared. - -[56] “Il met force sucre et force miel au bord du vase.” - -[57] See _Dictionnaire de l’Académie Française. Préface de M. -Villemain_. He says: “En 1637, l’Académie avait discuté longtemps sur -la méthode à suivre pour dresser un Dictionnaire qui fût comme le -trésor et le magasin des termes simples et des phrases reçues. Puis, -elle s’était occupée du choix des auteurs qui avaient écrit le plus -purement notre langue, et dont les passages seraient insérés dans le -Dictionnaire. C’étaient pour la prose”—and he then gives a list of -authors, as above indicated. - -[58] A translator—a traitor. - -[59] Pallavicini, _History of the Council of Trent_, b. vi. ch. xi. No. -4. - -[60] See Renan’s _Vie de Jésus_, Introduction; also, Albert Réville, -_Revue des Deux Mondes_, for May and June, 1866. - -[61] Pallavicini, _History of the Council of Trent_, b. vi. ch. xi. -Leplat, _Monum. Conc. Trid._, vol. iii. p. 386 _et seq._ - -[62] M. de Pressensé means the _deutero-canonical_ books of the Old -Testament. _Deutero-canonical_ and _apocryphal_ are by no means -synonymous. The authenticity of the deutero-canonical books has been -demonstrated sufficiently often within three centuries to prevent -a writer, with any respect for himself, from alluding to them as -apocryphal. - -[63] We wish M. de Pressensé would be kind enough to inform us what -Fathers of the IId and IIId centuries have questioned the origin of -the Gospel according to S. Matthew. We are well aware that French -rationalists have borrowed the German idea of a primitive Gospel, -which, perhaps, served as a basis for the other abridgments. The -promoters of this system are Eichorn, Eckermann, Gieseler, Credner, -and Ewald, in Germany; in France, Messrs. Réville and Renan have lent -to it the support of their names. They have endeavored to support it -by one or two words of Papias, which by no means prove so strange an -assertion. Where are the Fathers of the IId and IIId centuries who -had any doubt as to the authenticity of the first Gospel? As to the -Epistle to the Hebrews, we wish M. de Pressensé would read a few pages -on this question by the Rev. Père Franzelin, in his able treatise, _De -Traditione et Scriptura_. He would see how little doubt the Fathers of -the first ages had respecting this epistle. Some, on account of the -absence of S. Paul’s name, and the difference of style, have doubted it -was by the doctor of nations, but all the Fathers, unless we except two -or three of the least known, invariably asserted its canonicity. For it -is one thing to doubt whether S. Paul was the author of this epistle -and another that it is of the number of inspired books. - -[64] _Histoire du Concile du Vatican_, p. 283. - -[65] Pressensé, _Histoire du Concile du Vatican_, ch. xi. - -[66] _Hist. Revelat. Bibl._, Auct. D. Haneberg, p. 774. - -[67] Sess. XIV. _De Extr. Unct._, c. i. can. i. - -[68] _Défense de la Tradition des SS. Pères.—Instruction sur la Version -de Trévoux._ - -[69] _Myths and Myth-Makers_: Old Tales and Superstitions Interpreted -by Comparative Mythology. By John Fiske, M.A., LL.B., Assistant -Librarian and Late Lecturer on Philosophy at Harvard University. - -[70] Page 122. - -[71] Tob. ii. 19. - -[72] Eccl. xvii. 5. - -[73] Ibid. xxvi. 3, 16. - -[74] Prov. xix. 15. - -[75] Levit. xxv. 39, 40, 53. - -[76] Numb. xxx. 10. - -[77] Deut. xv. 12-14. - -[78] Acts. xvi. 14, 15. - -[79] Ibid. xvi. 40. - -[80] Rom. xvi. 1, 2. - -[81] Judith viii. 7. - -[82] Prov. xxxi. 10-31. - -[83] “Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim.”—Modern editions of -_Romeo and Juliet_. - -[84] White’s _Shakespeare’s Scholar_, 371, 372. - -[85] See note 2, as to “Abraham-men,” in _King Lear_, Singer’s Edition, -act ii. sc. iii. - -[86] _Satires_, b. iii. sat. 5. - -[87] Perusing, while this article is in the press, Thackeray’s -ingenious story of _Catherine_, we observe that he describes one of his -characters (in the year 1705) as wearing “an enormous full-bottomed -periwig that cost him sixty pounds.” - -[88] Cook’s _Voyages_, vi. 61. - -[89] Browne’s _British Pastorals_, b i. s. v. - -[90] _Hamlet_ (song), act iv. sc. v. - -[91] Fawkes, _Apollonius Rhodius_. The Argonautics, b. iii. - -[92] Sir M. Sandys’ _Essays_ (1634), p 16. - -[93] Anthon’s _Classical Dictionary_. - -[94] Keightley’s _Mythology_, 112. - -[95] _Redgauntlet_, i., pp. 219, 220. Ticknor & Co.’s edition. - -[96] _Spectator_, 129. - -[97] Notes to _Dunciad_, b. i. p. 260. British Poets, Little & Brown’s -ed. - -[98] “The Fair One with the Golden Locks” was a Christmas -piece produced on the stage in London, in 1843. See Planché’s -_Recollections_, etc., ii. 67. - -[99] In Thackeray’s _Catherine_, already quoted, a character appears -with “a little shabby beaver cocked over a large _tow-periwig_.” Still -further on he tells us that one of his principal personages “mounted a -large chestnut-colored orange-scented pyramid of horse-hair.” Indeed, -we have reason to believe that the judges and the bar in England still -wear wigs manufactured out of the latter article. - -[100] To show, by a further instance, the employment of another article -than hair for the manufacture in question some time ago. Thackeray, in -his _Book of Snobs_, chapter xxxiv., tells us of a London “coachman in -a tight _silk-floss_ wig.” - -[101] 2 _Henry VI._, iv. 8. - -[102] A sum estimated at about seven million francs of modern money. - -[103] Fearless and stainless. - -[104] Gilt door. - -[105] “A guarded prisoner is not bound by any oath, nor can he be held -to any vow made under compulsion.” - -[106] For the preceding articles of this series, the reader is referred -to THE CATHOLIC WORLD for December, 1868, and June, 1870. - -[107] See _Myvyrian_, vol. i. p. 150. - -[108] _Trioed inis Prydain_, vol. iii. s. 1. - -[109] _Myvyrian._ - -[110] _De Schismate Donatistarum_, lib. iii. c. 2. - -[111] _De Civ. Dei_, lib. xviii. c. 23. - -[112] “We read everywhere that this world is a sea.” - -[113] Gal. iii.; John xv. 16. - -[114] Minucius Felix, _Octav._, c. 9.; Justin, _Dialogicum Tryph._, c. -10; Athenagoras, _Legatio_, c. 3. etc. - -[115] In ancient usage, the Holy Eucharist was put into the hands of -the Christians. - -[116] Maurus Wolter, _The Roman Catacombs, and the Sacraments of the -Catholic Church_, p. 28. - -[117] Overbeck, _History of Greek Plastic Art_, ii. 29. - -[118] “Nihil præter Catholicam fidem, et quidquid Sancta Romana -Ecclesia approbat, a me unquam prolatum est, cujus castigationi semper -me subjeci, et quoties oportuerit iterum atque iterum me subjicio.... -Manifeste apparebit, an ego hæresium, quod absit, an Catholicæ -veritatis sim disseminator.” - -“No word of mine can be produced against Catholic faith or against -whatever is approved by the Catholic Church, to whose correction I have -always submitted, and, if need be, again and for ever submit myself.... -It will be made manifest whether I have disseminated heresy—far be it -from me—or Catholic truth.” - -[119] _La Storia di Girolamo Savonarola e de’ suoi Tempi, Narrata da -Pasquale Villari con l’Aiuto di Nuovi Documenti. Firenze. 1859._ - -[120] The original is very picturesque: “A ciò ch’el diavolo non mi -salti sopra le spalle.” - -[121] He ruled from 1469 to 1492. - -[122] “Egli secondò il secolo in tutte le sue tendenze: di corrotto che -era, lo fece corrottissimo.” “He helped forward the period in all its -tendencies,” says Villari. “From corrupt he made it most corrupt.” - -[123] M. Perrens and Dean Milman both express some doubt as to this -fact, but we prefer to follow Villari, whose explanation of the matter -is satisfactory. - -[124] Here are his own words: “E mi rammento come predicando nel -Duomo l’anno 1491, ed avendo già composto il mio sermone sopra questi -visioni, deliberai di sopprimerle e nell’avvenire astenerme affatto. -Iddio mi è testimonio, che tutto il giorno di sabato e l’intera notte -sino alla nuove luce, io vegliai; ed ogni altra via, ogni dottrina -fuori di quella, mi fu tolta. In sull’alba, essendo per la lunga -vigilia stanco ed abbattuto, udii, mentre io pregava, una voce che mi -disse: Stolto, non vedi che Iddio vuole che tu sequiti la medesima via? -Perchè io feci quel giorno una predica tremenda.” - -[125] The original is, “Avendo perduto ogni fiducia degli uomini,” -which the English Protestant translator (London, 1871) renders, “He had -lost all confidence in the priests.” - -[126] We have followed Villari in the account of this interview. M. -Perrens questions its authenticity for several very good reasons. -If it was a confession, no one would know anything about it. But it -is claimed by some that it was merely a consultation on a case of -conscience, and that Politian was an _ocular_ though not an _auricular_ -witness. If such an interview took place, we should be inclined to -admit Villari’s account of it only on the latter hypothesis. - -[127] Master of the Hounds. - -[128] Pavilion of Stoves. - -[129] Comedian. - -[130] Tragedian. - -[131] 2 Thess. ii. 4. - -[132] Job. x. 22. - -[133] No. 360 of the journal _Il Precursore_, of Palermo, dared lately -to apply to the Sovereign Pontiff Pius IX. the names sacristan-pontiff, -blockhead, dullard, swindler, huckster, dotard, and other epithets -so coarse that the pen refuses to transcribe them. But the Italian -Exchequer, notwithstanding the law which declares the Pope to be as -inviolable as the king, found nothing to say against this foul sheet. -And the government pretends that the so-called law of guarantees is -scrupulously observed by it. We appeal to the common sense, not of -Christians, but of persons simply not barbarians like the Hottentots. - -[134] Apoc. ii. 16. - -[135] “Sunt quatuor persecutiones principales: prima tyrannorum, -secunda hæreticorum, tertia falsorum Christianorum, quarta erit ex -omnibus conflata, quæ erit Antichristi et suorum complicium. Et hæ -designatæ sunt in quatuor bestiis quas vidit Daniel.”—_S. Bonav. in -cap._ xvii. _Lucæ._ Again, see _Ugone card. sup. Psal._ liv. - -[136] 2 Timothy iii. 1-4. - -[137] _Osservatore Romano_, Jan. 8, 1873. - -[138] Rev. John Henry Newman. - -[139] The opinions of the Abbé Gaume are generally regarded by the most -competent judges of matters pertaining to the higher Catholic education -as exaggerated. We concur in this judgment, which is, moreover, in -accordance with the instructions on this subject emanating from the -Holy See. At the same time, we are strongly convinced that there is a -very considerable amount of truth in the criticisms of the Abbé Gaume -on the actual method of education even in strictly Catholic colleges, -and that it needs to be made more Christian.—Ed. C. W. - -[140] It may well be doubted whether this was a real advantage.—Ed. C. -W. - -[141] _Hieronymus Savonarola und seine Zeit. Aus den Quellen -dargestellt._ Von A. G. Rudelbach. Hamburg. 1835. - -[142] Girolamo Savonarola, aus grösstentheils Handschriftlichen Quelten -dargestellt. Von Fr. Karl Meier. Berlin. 1836. - -[143] This passage certainly does not prove Savonarola to have been a -great philosopher.—Ed. C. W. - -[144] Translated in England more than two hundred years ago. _The Truth -of the Christian Faith; or, The Triumph of the Cross of Christ._ By -Hier. Savonarola. Done into English out of the Author’s own Italian -copy, etc. Cambridge John Field, Printer to the University. There is -also a modern translation by O’Dell Travers Hill, F.R.G.S., a handsome -edition. Hodder & Stoughton, London. 1868. - -[145] “Seeing the whole world in confusion; every virtue and every -noble habit disappeared; no shining light; none ashamed of their vices.” - -[146] A precisely similar vision is described by Christopher Columbus -as having appeared to him in America when he was abandoned by all his -companions. The letter in which he speaks of this vision is given by -the rationalist Libri in his _Histoire des Sciences Mathématiques_, -and he justly describes it as one of the most eloquent in Italian -literature. - -[147] Cicero says: “Fuit jam a Platone accepta philosophandi ratio -triplex: una de vita et moribus; altera de natura et rebus occultis; -tertia de disserendo, et quid verum, quid falsum, quid rectum in -oratione, pravumque, quid consentiens, quid repugnans, judicando” -(_Acad._ lib. i. 6). This division is still recognizable in our modern -logic, metaphysics, and ethics. - -[148] Ex. xviii. 25. - -[149] London _Times_, April 19. - -[150] London _Spectator_. - -[151] _Saturday Review._ - -[152] London _Spectator_, April 26. - -[153] This sentence, we wish to have it distinctly understood, is one -which we approve only in the sense that loyalty to the church takes -precedence of patriotism, but not that it is indifferent whether a man -is a patriot or not, provided he be a good Catholic.—ED. C. W. - -[154] “I sleep and my Heart watcheth.” - -[155] “I say, my Jesus, thou art _mad_ with love.”—_S. Mary Magdalen of -Pazzi._ - -[156] See THE CATHOLIC WORLD, December, 1868. - -[157] _I.e._, _Ill-gotten gain never profits_. “Pol” is a contemptuous -name in Brittany for Satan, who is said to have horned hoofs shod with -silver, but he has always lost one of his shoes. - -[158] The head of Morvan, after the battle, was taken to the monk -Witchar, who held on the Breton frontier an abbey, by permission of the -Frankish king. - -[159] Lez-Breiz was slain A.D. 818. In seven years after that -date, Guionfarc’h, another of his family, arose, as a second Lez-Breiz, -to resist the encroachments of France, and maintain the independence of -Brittany. - -[160] Ermold Nigel. - -[161] This mystical plant was only to be plucked by the hand: if cut -with any blade of steel, misfortune of some kind was always supposed to -follow. - -[162] Ablutions were anciently made before a repast at the sound of a -horn; thus “korna ann dour”—to horn the water. - -[163] The balls (six) in the arms of the Medici. - -[164] _Discorso circa il Reggimento i Governo degli Stati e -Specialmente sopra il Governo di Firenze._ - -[165] O’Dell Travers Hill, F.R.G.S., author of a biographical sketch -of Savonarola, and translator of _The Triumph of the Cross_. London: -Hodder and Stoughton. 1858. - -[166] The most conclusive proof of the orthodoxy of Savonarola’s -doctrine is found in the fact that his works, after a rigorous official -scrutiny at Rome, were pronounced free from any error of faith or -morals deserving censure.—ED. C. W. - -[167] Song of Solomon, i. 6. - -[168] This pillar was destined by the first Napoleon for the decoration -of the triumphal arch at Milan, the intended monument of his Italian -victories. His fall frustrated the design. Many years later, -Wordsworth, while descending into Italy by the Simplon Pass, came upon -the unfinished mass as it lay half raised from the Alpine quarry, and -addressed to it his sublime sonnet beginning: - - “Ambition, following down the far-famed slope,” - -and proceeding: - - “Rest where thy course was stayed by power Divine.” - - -[169] _Ann._ l. iv. ch. xlvi. - -[170] This article and the one in our May number are from the pens of -two distinct writers. - -[171] _The Expressions_, etc., p. 12. - -[172] _Expressions_, etc., p. 30. - -[173] Gen. i. 24. - -[174] Gen. i. 26. - -[175] Gen. ii. 7. - -[176] _Tongiorgi_, pars. ii. l. ii. c. iii. p. 292. - -[177] Balmes, _Fund. Phil._, v. ii. c. ii. - -[178] Ibid., v. ii. c. ii. p. 9. - -[179] Ibid., v. ii. c. iii. - -[180] _Tong._, l. iii. c. i. - -[181] S. Augustine, _De Civ. Dei_, xix. 13. - -[182] Cic.,_ De Offic._, i. 40. - -[183] _Histoire du Canada_. Par M. F. X. Garneau, ii. 23. - -[184] Chimney-swallow. - -[185] Fact. - -[186] A fact. She was never heard of afterwards. - -[187] Horrible as this scene is, it is nevertheless perfectly true, -even in minutest detail. - -[188] Persons familiar with the Indian character well know their -thieving propensities. - -[189] These reptiles were still so numerous in this part of the country -not many years ago that it was extremely dangerous to leave the windows -open in the evening. My mother related that, while she was living at -Sandwich with her father, one of the domestics was imprudent enough -to leave a window open. During the evening, they had occasion to -move a sideboard which stood against the wall, and a large snake was -discovered behind it fast asleep. Another day, when playing truant, a -snake sprang upon her, and tried to bite her waist; but happily her -clothes were so thick that its fangs could not penetrate them. While -she ran in great terror, her companions called to her to untie her -skirt. And that advice saved her life.—AUTHOR. - -[190] “Weep not for me.” - -[191] “For the law of his God strove even unto death, and took no fear -from the words of the impious; for he was founded upon a firm rock.” - -[192] “Behold, I am with you all days, even to the end of the world.” - -[193] “A man of sorrows, and acquainted with infirmity.” - -[194] To save disappointment to those who may desire to possess a copy -of the _Memoirs of Bp. Bruté_, we deem it proper to state that the work -is out of print, but that the author has intimated his intention to -publish a revised edition at some future day—of which the public will -doubtless be duly informed.—ED. C. W. - -[195] A nickname for Spaniards. - -[196] Do your duty, come what will! - -[197] “Nature, when driven off, returns at a gallop.” - -[198] These lectures are delivered in the chapel of Jésus-Ouvrier, -on Mont Sainte-Geneviève, every Monday and Thursday. They were -commenced by the Catholic Circle of Workingmen, and have been eminently -successful. - -[199] Mgr. Mermillod, _La Question Ouvrière_, p. 25. - -[200] Mgr. Mermillod. - -[201] M. Ch. de Beaurepaire, _Histoire de l’Instruction publique en -Normandie_. - -[202] Ch. de Beaurepaire, l. i. - -[203] A fact. - -[204] The reader will find this subject amplified, under some of -its aspects, in THE CATHOLIC WORLD for Aug., 1872, article -“Symbolism of the Church.” - -[205] We should surmise the circular shape to be no less symbolical -than the other facts, and to denote the eternity of the church. - -[206] F. Mullooly, _S. Clement, Pope and Martyr, and his Basilica at -Rome_. - -[207] _Cæs. Comm._ - -[208] _Josephus._ - -[209] “This image of the Druids is of a Moorish color, as are nearly -all the others in the church of Chartres. We suppose this to have been -done by the Druids and others who followed them, on the presumptive -complexion of the oriental people, who are exposed more than we to -the heat of the sun; for which reason the Spouse in the Canticle of -Canticles says that the sun has discolored her, and that, although she -is dark, she does not cease to be beautiful. Nevertheless, Nicephorus, -who had seen several pictures of the Virgin taken by S. Luke from life, -says that the color of her countenance was _σιτοχρόε_, or the color of -wheat. This seems to mean the brown or chestnut color of wheat when -ripe.” - -[210] “The Virgin was of middle height.... Her hair bordered on gold, -her eyes were bright and sparkling, with the pupils of an olive color; -her eyebrows arched, and of a black tinge, very pleasing. Her nose -was long, her lips bright red, her face neither round nor sharp, but -somewhat long; her hands and fingers equally so. She was in all things -modest and grave, speaking but seldom and to the purpose; ready to -listen to every one, affable to all, honoring each according to their -quality. She used a becoming freedom of speech, without laughter and -without perturbation, without being moved to anger. She was exempt from -all pride, without lowering her dignity, and without fastidiousness, -and showing in all her actions great humility.” - -[211] “The church of Chartres is the most ancient in our kingdom, -having been founded by prophecy in honor of the glorious Virgin Mother -before the incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in which the same -glorious Virgin was worshipped during her lifetime.” - -[212] _All’s Well that Ends Well_, act ii. sc. iii. - -[213] The mention of the name of Montalembert by the writer of the -present article gives us the occasion to make an explanation which we -think it proper to make, on account of some criticisms that have been -called forth by the manner in which we have spoken of him in former -articles. The eulogium which we give or permit others to give this -illustrious man in our pages by no means implies any approbation of -any opinions or acts of his in sympathy with the party known by the -sobriquet of “Liberal Catholics.” These were deflections from a course -which was in the main orthodox and loyal, and it is not for these -deflections that we honor his memory, but for his virtues, merits, -and services, and the cordial submission to the authority of the -Holy See at the close of life, by which he effaced the memory of his -faults.—ED. C. W. - -[214] These facts are chiefly gathered from an article on Hawthorne by -Mr. Stoddard; but this anecdote is from a weekly publication, to which -we are also indebted for the incident in the life of Edgar A. Poe. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Catholic World, Vol. 17, April, 1873 -to September, 1873, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHOLIC WORLD, VOL. 17 *** - -***** This file should be named 50721-0.txt or 50721-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/2/50721/ - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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